#also it was so strange hearing his voice without it being drowned out by something else. its much more...growly. Good. thank you joe zieja👍

[zeadrous]

he is SO pretty

[worth-the-chaos]

Adventures in Babysitting - Steve Harrington x female!reader - Chapter 17

Chapter Summary: After finding out more information about Vecna, you and your friends prepare for the worst, and tensions rise as you mentally prepare for the possibility of a future without you in it.

Content Warning: swearing, general angst, mentions of sex (like nothing graphic or explicit), Jason being a dick, Upside Down scary shit, existential dread

Word Count: 7.7k

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I’m so sorry that this took so long for me to get written! I am home for summer now, so I’m hoping to have some more down time to write, so hopefully the next chapter won’t take so long! I also am curious as to what you guys think I should do with the story regarding the fact that season 5 isn’t out yet…should I go on hiatus until season 5 drops or would you rather me write an ending with season 4?

Message me to be added to the taglist and get updated when the next chapter is posted! I highly recommend this if you want to keep up with the story since I don’t do regular updates!

Series Masterlist | Part 16 | Next Part

***

Steve felt your body go limp as you dropped the makeshift rope, your head lolling backwards as you collapsed towards him. His heart stopped as he swiftly set you down on the floor next to him, pulling back to look at you.

He felt sick to his stomach when he noticed the way your eyes were rolled into the back of your head, and he felt like he was suffocating on the ash that drifted in between the two of you.

“Y/n,” he shook your shoulders, desperation lacing his voice. You didn’t respond, the only indication that you were still there was a slight whimper that escaped your parted lips. He shook you more aggressively and felt like he could vomit at the way your body caved to inertia.

You were somewhere else.

“Y/n, baby—stay with me!” Steve shouted, his voice cracking as fear invaded his tone, “Wake up, y/n! Wake up!”

His eyes were welling with tears and he felt like his legs were going to give out as panic began to fill his chest. He felt like he was drowning. You had always been his lifeline and he felt like he was watching you fade from existence. Blood started to drip from your nose, and he gently wiped it away, breaking down at the sight of it.

“Come on, y/n,” he sobbed as he pulled you closer, trying to shield you from the dangers of this strange world. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he whispered into your neck as he buried his head there, placing a small kiss against your skin.

He heard arguing above him, and his attention was momentarily pulled back towards the world he was trying desperately to get you back to.

“Madonna, Blondie, Bowie, Beatles—Music! We need music!” Robin’s voice rang out, and he heard the clatter of mixtapes falling to the floor.

“This is music!” Eddie shouted back.

Suddenly, Steve remembered the walkman in your pocket, and his fingers furiously pulled at the ziplock bag. His hands were shaking and he cursed himself as he struggled to get the bag open. He placed the headphones over your ears, hitting play and turning the volume up. He could hear the music faintly playing and watched as your eyes continued their rapid movement side to side underneath your eyelids.

He held his breath, hoping that something—anything—would change, and he thought the world was ending when it didn’t.

But then, suddenly, your eyes shot open as a gasp escaped your lips. You began falling backward and Steve barely had time to wrap his arms around your back to slow your fall, dropping to the floor with you.

You panted and your whole body trembled at the horrors you just witnessed. Vecna—or more accurately Henry Creel’s voice still rang in your ears as you hyperventilated, trying to push the images aside. As you began to settle, another voice filled your consciousness.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here. I’m right here,” you looked up to see your boyfriend’s big brown eyes staring down at you with concern and love and all the words he still had yet to say to you.

Your terrified expression broke into one of great sadness as tears began to fall down your face while sobs wracked your tired frame.

“Sweetheart,” Steve’s voice was a whisper as he wiped away your tears, neglecting the ones that were falling from his own eyes. He cradled your head in his hands and you melted at his touch. In this moment, it was just the two of you; nothing else mattered and nothing else existed.

You took in the sight of Eddie’s denim vest draped over his shoulders, your eyes drifting to his bare arms and the blood and dirt caked against his skin. “We have to get out of here,” you whispered, your fingers gripping into his bicep.

With that, Steve swiftly stood up, and helped you back onto the makeshift rope. You felt his hand on your ass as he pushed you up, trying to quicken the pace at which you climbed. You saw the way your friends stared at you from the real world, concern lacing their features. As you crossed the threshold between the Upside Down and your world, you felt your stomach drop as the gravity switched directions. Your heart jumped to your throat as you free fell for a moment before hitting the springy mattress with the questionable stains.

You didn’t lie there for long before Robin grabbed your arm, pulling you to your feet and into the tightest hug she’d probably ever given you. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying not to cry at the horrors you’d just witnessed as you held on to her. You released a breath you didn’t even realize you’d been holding as you heard a soft thud behind you, knowing your boyfriend had made it safely out of the hell that you’d just been stuck in for far too long for your liking.

“We can stay at my house tonight,” Max spoke up and you broke away from Robin to face her, “my mom should be gone until tomorrow afternoon so we should be fine.”

And with that, you all quickly made your way over to Max’s under the cover of night. Once you got there, everyone spread out as much as possible in the small home to camp out to sleep and Steve and you curled up together on the floor in the living room.

You shut your eyes tight as you tried to tune out the ticking of a small clock on the living room shelf. You buried your face in the crook of Steve’s neck as you both drifted off into a restless sleep.

***

The next morning everyone gave you a bit of space and no one really talked much, giving you a bit of time to cool down from the events of the night before. When you were finally ready, you all huddled up in the living room and everyone waited with bated breath for you to explain what you saw.

You cleared your throat before you spoke up. “He…showed me things that haven’t happened yet. The most awful things. I saw a dark cloud spreading over Hawkins. Downtown on fire. Dead soldiers. And this…giant creature with…a-a gaping mouth, a-a-and this creature wasn’t alone; there were so many monsters—an army—and they were coming into Hawkins, into our neighborhoods…our homes.”

You could barely get some of the words out, taking a deep breath before you continued. “And then he showed me my parents, and-and you guys and you w-were all….” Your voice trailed off as a lump formed in your throat, unable to say the words, afraid that you would speak it into existence. Tears began streaming down your face and Steve was quick to try and ease your pain.

“Okay, but…he’s just trying to scare you, baby. Right? I mean, it’s not real,” he tried to be the voice of reason, but his tone showed his lack of confidence in the truth he was trying to present. The real truth was that none of you knew what was going on, what would happen next.

“Not yet,” you whispered through teary eyes, “but…but there was something else. He showed me gates. Four gates, spreading across Hawkins. They looked like the one outside Eddie’s trailer, but they didn’t stop growing, and this wasn’t Upside Down Hawkins, this was our Hawkins.”

You looked between your friends, each one’s face twisted with worry and fear. The kids all looked so much older, the weight of the world constantly on their shoulders aging them, causing them to grow up too fast. You pushed the thought down as you continued. “Four chimes. Vecna’s clock always chimes four times. He’s been telling us his plan this whole time.”

“Four kills, four gates, end of the world,” Lucas spoke up, elaborating on your explanation.

“If that’s true,” Dustin took over, “he’s only one kill away.”

You felt everyone’s eyes turn to you, and you shrank under their stares, knowing that you were next.

“Try them again, try them again,” Steve looked at Max and she rushed to the phone. Max fingers worried at the cord of the phone before she hung it back up and turned around.

“Rang a few times and then went to busy signal,” she announced.

“Maybe you punched it in wrong, just try again,” Steve pushed, desperation lacing his tone.

“I didn’t punch it in wrong,” Max rolled her eyes.

“Dude I think she knows how to use a phone,” Dustin defended the redhead.

Max dialed again anyway, hanging up the phone with a resounding clang before turning around with a look that screamed I told you so plastered across her face. “Same shit.”

“I told you, Joyce has this telemarketer job. She’s always on the phone, Mike’s always whining about it,” Dustin explained.

“Yeah, but the phone’s been busy for, what, three days now? That’s not Joyce. No way. Something’s wrong,” Max countered.

“Whatever’s happening in Lenora, it’s connected to all of this,” you spoke up. “But Vecna can’t hurt them…not if he’s dead. We have to go back to the Upside Down.”

Steve and Eddie both immediately voiced their disagreement, Steve standing to put his two cents in.

“Woah, woah, woah, let’s think this through,” he put his hands up in a pacifying way trying to calm down your impulsivity.

“What is there to think through?!”

“Y/n, we barely made it out of there in one piece!”

“Yeah, because we weren’t prepared! But this time we will be. We’ll get weapons and protection, we’ll go through the gate, we’ll find his lair, and we’ll kill him.”

“Or he’ll kill us!” Steve yelled back at you. “The only reason you survived is because he wanted you to. He’s not scared of us and I’ll be damned if I let him have a chance to hurt you again. No, not happening.”

He said the words with such finality, but you opened your mouth to argue with him again, anger boiling below the surface. Before you could speak, Robin spoke up.

“We learned something new about Vecna/Henry/One…He’s a number like Eleven, only a sick, evil, male, child-murdering version of her with really bad skin, but-but my point is, he’s super powerful. He could turn us inside out with the snap of his fingers, it is not a fair fight.”

“So why fight fair?” Dustin interjected, “he’s like Eleven but that gives us an upper hand. We know Eleven’s strengths and weaknesses. When El remote-travels, she goes into this sort of trance-like state. I bet the same is true of Vecna. When he attacks his next victim, I bet he’s back in that attic, physical body defenseless.”

“Defenseless? Yeah? What about the army of bats?” Steve gestured to the deep bruising around his neck from his last encounter with Vecna’s very present defenses.

“True. We’ll have to find a way past them. Distract them…somehow,” Henderson replied.

“And, uh, how do we do that exactly?” Eddie looked like he was damn near close to killing the boy.

“No idea. But once they’re gone, he doesn’t stand a chance. It’ll be like slaying sleeping Dracula in his coffin.”

“That all sounds good in theory, but there is no pattern to Vecna’s killings. I mean, at least not one that I can decipher. We don’t know when he’s going to attack next. We don’t even know who he’s going to attack next.” Robin countered.

“Yeah we do,” you spoke up, “I can still feel him. I ditch Kate Bush and I draw his focus back to me.”

“No way in fucking hell!” Steve was quick to cut across the room to approach you. “He’ll kill you!”

“I survived before, I can survive again…I-I just need to keep him busy long enough so that you guys can get into that attic.”

“There’s got to be another way,” Steve pleaded, grabbing your hands in his, his thumbs gently rubbing over the back of your hands.

“Maybe there is,” Dustin spoke up. “Y/n, other than last night—which was clearly just a scare tactic—the last vision you had was in the cemetery, right?”

“Yeah?” Your words came out as a question, not quite following the fast paced turning of the gears in the young genius’s mind.

“Well, then maybe he isn’t after you anymore…I mean, you basically found the antidote. He can’t get to you with that music playing, so maybe you don’t have to be bait at all…maybe he’s moved on to someone else.”

“That’s so highly hypothetical, Dustin. I mean, we’re not in a position where we can operate purely on a hunch!” Robin exclaimed. She wanted nothing more than for it to be true, for you to be safer than you had been, but it was too big a risk to take.

“Think about it! If Vecna was going to kill y/n, why didn’t he just do it last night? They all spent hours in the Upside Down yesterday, and he didn’t even try to get her until the very end to send a message! We’re all so convinced that Vecna isn’t scared of us, but maybe—even to just a small degree—maybe he is.”

“He’s always been two steps ahead of us,” you spoke up, your voice quiet but sure.

“Exactly! And I can’t help but think that he is expecting us to fawn over y/n, trying to keep her safe to prevent the end of the world while he’s just gearing up to cause it somewhere else.”

“I mean, I gotta say, that kind of makes a shit ton of sense,” Eddie supported the boy’s hypothesis.

“But what if we’re wrong?” Steve questioned. “What if we’re wrong and Vecna is still coming for her and she fucking dies? What then?”

“If we don’t do anything, it’s the end of the world either way; it’s just a matter of time,” you replied. You sounded so confident and your words seemed final. He knew you were stubborn enough that once you settled on something, there was no way that you were budging on it. It was something he loved about you—your pure grit, your determination—but he couldn’t help but hate it in this moment.

Eddie had moved across the small living room, pulling a thick phonebook from the highest shelf. He quickly thumbed through it and brushed past you, dropping it down on the table with a satisfying thud.

“Check this out. The War Zone,” he pointed to the bottom left corner of the page, “I’ve been there once. It’s huge…they’ve got everything you need for, uh…well, uh, killing things, basically.”

“Do you think fake Rambo has enough guns there? Is that a grenade? I mean how is any of this even legal?” Robin inquired, critiquing the advertisement in the phonebook.

“Well, lucky for us it is, so…this-this place is just far enough outside of Hawkins. As long as we steer clear of the main roads, we oughta be able to avoid cops and, uh, angry hicks,” Eddie explained.

“If we’re trying to avoid angry hicks, maybe we shouldn’t go to some store called the War Zone,” Erica spoke up.

“Normally, I’d agree with you but we need the weapons so I think it’s worth the risk,” Nancy replied. She sounded tired and you couldn’t help but feel the same. You wished you could just be young adults who had to worry about normal things like figuring out what you wanted to be, what you wanted to do with your lives. Not trying to determine if a calculated risk was going to get you killed.

“Is it worth the time though? It’ll take all day to bike there and back,” Dustin pointed out.

“Who said anything about bikes?” Eddie chimed in.

“You got some car we don’t know about?” Steve questioned.

“It’s not exactly a car, Steve. And it’s not exactly mine, but uh, it’ll do,” Eddie smiled and you knew you were all in for a hectic, chaotic time. “Hey, Red, uh you got a ski mask or a bandanna or something like that?”

And that’s how you all ended up sneaking around the trailer park following Eddie Munson in a Michael Myers mask…which somehow wasn’t the weirdest thing that this group has had to do for the sake of the greater good.

Eddie rounded the corner around an RV and slid open a side window before hoisting himself through it. Steve followed suit and helped pull you through the window, steadying you as you dropped very ungracefully into the vehicle.

Eddie began pulling at wires under the dash and Steve watched him work with a concerned confusion plastered across his face. “Where’d you learn how to do this?”

“Well, while the other dads were teaching their kids how to fish or play ball, my old man was teaching me how to hot-wire. Now, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t wind up like he did, but now I’m wanted for murder, and soon, grand theft auto. So yeah, I’m really living up to that Munson name.”

“Eddie, I’m not sure I love the idea of you driving,” you spoke cautiously as you leaned into Steve’s back to join the conversation happening at the driver’s seat.

“Oh, I’m just starting this sucker. Harrington’s got her, don’t ya big boy?” And just like that, the RV revved to life, and the owners of said RV began banging on the sides of it, screaming at you to get out. You felt bad, like really bad, but you kept reminding yourself it was for the greater good as Eddie and Steve swiftly switched places.

“It’s just a car,” Steve whispered to himself, trying to psych himself up before yelling back to the other passengers of the now stolen vehicle “everybody, hang on to something!”

“Drive, Steve! Drive!” Dustin’s voice rang out and he didn’t have to tell Steve twice, as he put his still bare foot on the gas, taking off out of the trailer park.

“Shit they look pissed,” Lucas pointed out, watching as the RV’s owners tried and failed to run after their vehicle.

“Well, it’s not every day that you lose your house and your car in one fell swoop,” you cringed at how awful your actions were, hoping that you’d somehow be able to return the RV undamaged but that was unlikely given your present predicament.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on!” Steve shouted, making a sharp turn. You nearly would’ve fallen out of your seat if it weren’t for Eddie’s quick reflexes as he grabbed at the collar of your shirt, pulling you back towards him.

What had you gotten yourselves into?

***

Everyone was asleep in the back, catching up from the eventful night that you had the day prior. Naturally, you couldn’t sleep, so you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat next to Steve, and you couldn’t help but feel wistful for the way it all felt so normal. You had fallen into a comfortable silence, until Steve broke it as he spoke up.

“You know, it’s silly, but I…I’ve actually…I always had this dream that I’d have this really big family. I’m talking, like, uh, a full brood of Harringtons, like five, six kids.”

“Six?!” You asked incredulously.

“Yeah, six of ‘em. Three girls, three boys…and-and every summer, I figured all of us Harringtons, we would pack into something like this and just…see the country. You know, the Rockies, Grand Canyon, maybe Yellowstone. And then end up in some beachside town in California, spend a week parked in the sand…learn how to surf or something.”

Your heart was beating a million miles a minute. You and Steve rarely ever talked about the future because everything always felt so precarious. The most you’d ever talked about was wanting to simply have one together. The fact that he’d been day dreaming about a life was almost too much for you to handle. You thought about Vecna and your visions and your headaches and your eyes began welling up with tears at the very real possibility that it would be someone else giving Steve the life that he wanted, the life he deserved.

“That sounds nice,” you whispered through your watery eyes.

“Baby,” Steve noticed your tears, reaching over and putting a hand on your thigh to comfort you. “What’s wrong?” There was a lump in your throat and you couldn’t quite get the words out, so Steve jumped in, trying to make you laugh. “I mean, I guess the six kids part is a bit much—a bit tear inspiring—so maybe I should’ve held that detail back, you know? I’ll work up to it once we already have a few little Harringtons of our own, what do you say?”

If it were under any other circumstances, his effort to make you smile would’ve paid off but instead, it just made you cry harder, considering this future that you were damn near sure you wouldn’t have.

Watching you react like that was sending Steve into a spiral. He wished he could go back and just keep his damn mouth shut because maybe you didn’t want that. Maybe you didn’t want a future like that with him. Hell, maybe you didn’t even want a future with him at all.

He knew that you loved him, but he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you were falling out of love. You had been through so much together, but this shit was so much fucking worse than what you’d been through before. Maybe you were realizing that he wasn’t the one for you…that he wasn’t enough. There’s nothing like a series of near death experiences to make someone rethink all their life choices.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, quickly getting up and moving to the back of the RV, needing some space. Robin had been awake and overheard the conversation the two of you had just had, her heart breaking for her best friends. She’d be damned if she let this blip break up her favorite couple, so just like that she gave Eddie a swift kick to the shins.

“Ow! Robin! What the fuck!” He exclaimed, the abrupt wake up something he was not happy about.

“We’re putting out fires okay? I need you to go talk to Steve and keep him from going fucking crazy.” This was a divide and conquer situation.

Eddie noticed the way you sat in the back corner, sniffling and staring out the window. “Trouble in paradise?” He asked.

“Yeah, but under these conditions, I’d hesitate to call it paradise.”

With that, Eddie made his way up to the front of the RV.

“What do you want, Munson?” Steve groaned, gripping the steering wheel tighter as he tried to keep his anger in check.

“Nice to talk to you too, Harrington,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m just really not in the mood to fucking chat right now, okay?”

“You need to chill out man.”

Steve stared incredulously at the long haired freak in front of him. “Did you seriously just fucking say that to me? Munson, I’d like you to tell me how the fuck you think I should just chill out. It’s not like I’m barefoot, driving a fucking stolen RV to a store called fucking War Zone, and the world is fucking ending, not to mention my girlfriend is basically fucking dying…oh, and if we end up getting out of this shit storm okay, I think she’s going to dump me anyway…so forgive me for not being fucking chill.”

The words dripped like poison from his lips, but he kept his voice to a seething whisper so as not to upset you further. He could hear your soft sobs from the back of the RV and his heart ached as he tried to figure out where he went wrong.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Harrington?”

“What do you mean?” Steve answered Eddie’s question with a question.

“Like yeah, yeah, yeah, all that shit you listed is, well, pretty fucking shit…but there is no way in hell y/n is going to dump your ass.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Steve rolled his eyes, aggressively flipping on his turn signal as he pulled up to another side street.

“I don’t think you know what the hell you’re talking about, man. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people as in love as the two of you dipshits are, and considering you’ve faced the end of the fucking world more times than I can count, I’d say that your relationship outlook is pretty fucking solid.”

Steve sighed, debating whether or not he should open up to Munson. He didn’t really like Eddie all that much before all this shit, but he was learning that the metal head wasn’t as terrible as he thought. Besides, half of his hatred was no doubt misplaced jealousy over the fact that you had been tutoring him and spending extra time with him. Despite this, Steve decided to take the calculated risk of being vulnerable.

“We were sitting up here talking…and-and I just brought up how, in the future, it would be nice to have some kids of our own and pack up into an RV like this and travel the country…and…ugh, and then she just started crying! And, yeah I did say that I want like six kids—“

“Six kids?!”

“Yeah, it’s a lot, but that’s besides the point. And! And I made a joke about it, because yeah it is a fucking lot, but that just made her cry harder and I feel like the only explanation is that maybe she doesn’t fucking want that with me, and she just isn’t ready to rip off the band aid yet. I mean, I know we love each other, but maybe she’s realizing she doesn’t love me like that, you know?”

Eddie sat there quietly for a second considering what his newfound friend just said. I mean, Steve’s thought process did make sense, but Eddie thought back to the conversation you had with him; the one where you told him that you were pretty confident Steve was the one. Eddie swore himself to secrecy, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t put his two cents in.

“Look, there’s no way she doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life with you dude. She is head over fucking heels for you, trust me,” Eddie started out, “Besides, you guys haven’t been officially dating for that long anyway…I don’t see something happening in that short amount of time that would have caused her to change her mind like that. No way, man.”

“I don’t know,” Steve mumbled, and Eddie could tell he was holding something back.

“Spill it, Harrington,” when Steve looked at him hesitantly, Eddie rolled his eyes. “Dude, I’m a wanted man and the whole fucking town hates me. Who am I going to fucking tell? Besides, bro code and all that patriarchal shit.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. You were still locked in a pretty serious and hushed conversation with Robin, so he felt a bit better about the fact that you wouldn’t overhear what he had to say.

“If you tell anyone, I’ll fucking kill you myself, understand?” Eddie nodded, and Steve continued, “okay…we…um, you know how we broke into the high school to find all those files and shit?”

“Yeah…?” Eddie replied, not quite sure where this was going.

“Well, that night, y/n came back to my place to spend the night because she had her first vision and we needed to talk a lot out, and….well, and we had sex.” Steve whispered the last part so quietly it was barely audible.

Eddie stared at him like he was a fucking idiot. “Okay….? And….? You two have been dating for like eight fucking months. You had sex. I don’t get what the big deal is.”

Steve rolled his eyes, trying not to flush with embarrassment about giving Eddie Munson of all people the intimate details of his love life. “We had sex for the first time, okay? So yeah, it’s a pretty big fucking deal,” Steve defended himself.

Eddie looked absolutely dumbfounded. “So you’re saying that you, King Steve, have been dating a girl for eight months and you haven’t fucked her until like a few days ago? I’m sorry man, but I have to call bullshit on that.”

“I swear, dude. Y/n hasn’t really dated anyone before so it was her first time, first time, so we were waiting until she was ready.”

“That had to fucking kill you, man. I’m surprised you waited that long at all,” Eddie tried to hold back a chuckle.

“Hey! Knock it the fuck off, Munson!”

“Was it good?”

“I’ll pull over right now and beat the shit out of you. I’m not fucking joking.”

“Well I am, so you can chill the fuck out,” Eddie laughed. “I still don’t see how this has anything to do with her potentially wanting to dump you.”

“Well, it’s just a change, you know? Like what if she didn’t like it and—and…I don’t know, the spark is gone?”

“Dude, respectfully, that’s surely not the case. There’s probably a shit ton of women in Hawkins who would be lining up just to sleep with you, so there’s no fucking chance that she’s going to break up with you because you’re bad in bed.”

“I did not say that I was worried I was bad in bed; don’t put fucking words in my mouth.”

“What a fragile little ego you’ve got,” Eddie teased, “no dude, but seriously, please don’t worry about it. There’s no way that your little lady isn’t hopelessly in love with you.” Eddie gave Steve a pat on the shoulder before moving back to the back end of the RV.

Meanwhile, Robin was trying desperately to calm you down. Sobs wracked your tired frame as you wiped at the tears that were flowing down your face.

“Y/n, please. What’s wrong?” Robin asked, pulling your hands away from your face so that she could get a good look at you. You took several deep breaths, hiccuping through a few more sobs until you calmed down enough to speak.

“I-it-it’s Steve,” was all you could manage to say before another communication breakdown had you unintelligibly sobbing again.

Robin shook her head, “honey, you have to tell me what’s wrong; I can’t help you otherwise, and I want to help. Please.”

“He’s just so perfect,” you whispered, your eyebrows furrowed together with such a hopelessness that Robin nearly wanted to cry with you. She wasn’t exactly sure what you meant, so she just stayed silent for you to continue. “Like, he was talking about how he wants this future together with all of these kids and-and…and Robin, I want that. I want it so fucking bad, but I don’t think we’re both going to make it to the other side of this.”

Robin’s heart stopped in her chest. “What do you mean, y/n?”

The sympathetic look you shot Robin was enough to kill her. “Robin.”

“No, y/n. What do you mean?”

“I don’t think I’m making it out of this one alive, okay?” You sighed, another tear falling down your cheek that Robin was quick to wipe away. “And…and it’s just hard to hear him talk about a future that he’s going to have to have with someone else…because I want him to have that—I really do, Robin—but I just know it’s not going to be with me.”

“Y/n, you have to let us try. I’m not going to fucking let that happen,” Robin argued as a tear fell down her face, “you and Steve can have all the gross, sticky children you want because our plan is going to work, it has to work, okay?”

You took a deep breath and wiped at your eyes one more time. You didn’t feel confident, but despite that, for your friend, you agreed, the words coming out in a whisper.

“Okay.”

***

As soon as you stepped foot into War Zone, you were immediately overwhelmed. “So much for avoiding angry hicks,” Robin voiced what you all were thinking. The store was packed full of people, and you figured that everyone from Hawkins was probably gearing up for what they thought was the inevitable with an alleged murderer on the loose.

“Let’s be…fast,” Nancy spoke up, and you all split off in different directions to gather the supplies you needed to face Vecna. Not quite ready to face Steve after your breakdown in the van, you sped off to a corner of the store away from him, ducking and weaving between other customers before he could argue.

As he watched you disappear in the crowd, his heart jumped to his throat. He didn’t like the idea of you being out of his sight right now; none of you had any way of knowing what was going to happen, and he liked to keep you close so that he could be there if and when shit hit the fan. The fact that you were still upset was also killing him. You guys usually communicated so well, but this whole Vecna situation was really throwing you off your game. How long would it be before you guys couldn’t communicate at all? How long until you were shells of the people who fell in love, destroyed by grief and pain and tragedy?

Robin pulled him out of his thoughts before he could spiral too much. “How many of these do you think we need?” She asked, holding up a canister of kerosene.

He threw on a jacket he had found in the store, throwing another canister in the cart. “Five or six,” he answered, though in all honesty, who could really be sure?

Steve placed a few more canisters in the cart before noticing that Robin was suddenly very sidetracked. His heart rate picked up for a second, thinking it was due to some sort of threat, but he calmed down a little when he realized that she had spotted Vickie.

“What are you gonna do, Rob? Just stand here and gawk at her?” He asked as a smirk broke out across his features.

“Shut up,” she was quick to respond. Steve’s heart soared as she took a step towards Vickie, but it quickly shattered to the floor when a guy came up behind Vickie, wrapping his arms around her frame. His heart was breaking for his friend as she turned around, running the other way, embarrassed by the hope she’d allowed to grow in her mind.

“Robin! Robin!” Steve called after her, but it was no use.

You stood at the gun counter, rifle in hand, heart pounding as you inspected the firearm. “How much is this?” You asked the man at the counter.

“$120.99, but I’ll throw in twenty rounds of buckshot for ya,” he replied. You were glad you weren’t the only one that was going to have to cover the cost for all of this shit, because you certainly didn’t have the funds for end-of-the-world-apocalypse preparation supplies. You nodded softly at the clerk and he turned to help another customer when you heard a voice that made your stomach drop ring out next to you.

“Hey, can I see this real pretty .375, please?” Jason asked, his hands pressed against the countertop, letterman jacket looking pristine compared to your dirty and disheveled clothes from the hell you’d been through.

“Here you go son,” The clerk handed the gun over the counter and Jason thanked him. You tried to turn away so as not to be recognized, your heart pounding in your ear.

“Y/n,” Jason spoke up, gesturing at you with the pistol, “wouldn’t expect to find you here.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just…scary times,” you used the easy excuse at your disposal. “I’m…really sorry about Chrissy,” you added, and you meant it with every fiber of your being.

“Want my advice?” He took a step closer to you. “Shotguns are not good for much of anything past killing small birds. I mean, they got power, sure, but not much range.” You swallowed back your fear as he took another step closer to you. “And that’s just gonna force you into close-range combat, then someone can just grab that barrel like this and redirect it.“

You jumped as his hand wrapped around the barrel of the shotgun you were holding, inertia carrying you as he jerked the gun towards him.

“You look nervous,” Jason pointed out, his steely gaze not wavering from your eyes.

“Like I said, scary times,” you refused to look away either, meeting his intensity with a burning hatred of your own.

“You…you know Munson,” Jason continued, leaning even closer towards you, if that was even possible. “Physics. You tutor him, right?”

“I did,” you tried to emphasize the past tense nature of that sentiment, hoping that giving him as little as possible would make him let it go.

“He…he here with you, by chance?” You could see the craziness in Jason’s eyes as he said it, and your heart began beating faster. This was a man that had snapped, and you were afraid of what he would do to you and your friends if he knew that you were helping hide Eddie.

“No,” you shook your head, still not breaking eye contact.

“I’m only asking because, after all, he’s in charge of Hellfire, you know?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you feigned ignorance.

“What about his friends?” Jason pushed the question, tightening his grip on the shotgun and taking another small step towards you. “They here with you?”

“Would you let go?” You asked in a hushed tone, your expression settling into something fierce and serious. Jason didn’t respond, his eyes still locked onto yours, his stern expression matching your own, so you raised your voice a bit. “Let. Go.”

“What’s going on over here?” A familiar voice rang out behind you and you felt relief flood your veins as you felt a hand at the small of your back. You wanted to roll your eyes as Jason eased up a bit, his grip loosening on the barrel of the gun in your hand. The countless ways a man will not hesitate to disrespect and intimidate a woman astounded you compared to the complete change in demeanor as soon as his actions could be construed as disrespectful of another man. Bro code was a bunch of certified bullshit.

Steve knew Jason better than you did. After all, they played basketball together just the year prior, with Steve being the team captain. Steve looked at Jason quizzically, his eyes practically daring the letterman jacket wearing jock to cause trouble.

“Steve,” Jason’s crazy, out of control expression melting into a polite smile, “nothing’s going on. Just two friends having a chat. Right, y/n?”

Jason’s stare made you feel nauseous, so you moved your head in a small and stiff nod, being agreeable to avoid any further confrontation. Steve could obviously sense the tension and felt his blood boiling at Jason’s clear attempt to intimidate you.

“It’s just, you’re standing awfully close to my girlfriend, and she’s very clearly uncomfortable,” Steve refused to back down.

“My apologies. Store’s quite crowded, is all,” Jason explained, his expression swiftly changing, menace dripping behind his mundane words.

“Certainly still enough room to back the fuck off,” Steve moved between you and Jason. You quickly waved down the clerk to ring you out for your purchase.

“Woah there, Harrington. Being a little defensive, don’t you think?” Jason’s eyes narrowed. “If I was crazy, I’d even go as far as to say you’re hiding something.”

“I don’t have any clue what the fuck you’re talking about,” Steve took a step towards Jason before continuing. “She’s my girlfriend, so I’m just trying to make sure she’s alright.”

“And Chrissy was mine,” Jason shot back, and you watched the way his fists clenched and unclenched. He looked like he was about ready to lose it and you weren’t really too confident in his ability to self regulate right now with everything that was going on.

“Is everything okay between you boys?” The clerk asked after handing you your bag. At this, Steve and Jason took a step away from each other.

“Everything is fine, sir. Thank you for all your help,” Steve spoke up, putting a hand on the small of your back again and moving you in front of him as he began guiding you through the store towards the front.

Before you could get far, Jason spoke up from behind the two of you, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder to make him stop. “If you know anything, I recommend you tell us because we’ll find out one way or another.”

“Is that a threat?” You questioned, finally finding your voice. You were surprised by the way that it didn’t waver.

“Oh, no” Jason chuckled, “it’s a fucking promise.”

With that, Jason backed away, moving to the other end of War Zone to meet up with the rest of his entourage, and Steve quickly moved the two of you towards the front of the store. Robin, Nancy, Max, and Erica had clearly realized the presence of Jason’s group and were finishing up checking out the rest of your supplies. Nancy finished paying and the five of you swiftly exited the store as fast as you could, all piling back into the RV parked outside.

“Your old friends are here,” Erica announced to Lucas as she boarded the bus.

“Shit!” Lucas exclaimed.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Dustin shouted, fear lacing his tone at the thought of what Jason would do if he got his hands on any of them.

“I’m going! I’m going! Sit down!” Steve shouted as he rushed to the driver’s seat, starting the vehicle up and peeling out of the parking lot.

No one talked for a while, everyone still reeling from the close encounter you had just had in the War Zone. Once you were a considerable distance away, Steve spoke up.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” you let out a bit of a chuckle, trying to play it off like you weren’t still a little freaked out from the way Jason was acting.

“Babe, come on,” Steve glanced over at you, “I know you.”

You sighed. “He just seems so unhinged right now. I felt like he was going to try and fucking kill me right in that store. And I’m just…I’m worried about Dustin and Lucas and Eddie. If Jason was that willing to be that aggressive towards me, who knows what he’ll fucking do to them if he gets ahold of them!”

“He’s hot headed, that’s for sure,” Steve agreed with you, “but we’re going to figure it all out, and it’ll be fine.”

You weren’t so sure that you agreed with him, but you didn’t say anything as he continued driving. He took several backroads until the occasional buildings disappeared, the scenery shifting to rolling hills and open fields. He pulled off into an open field that was shielded enough from the road by the tree line, and you all exited the RV, ready to prep your various weapons.

You sat on a basket, sawing at the barrel of the shotgun you had just purchased as Max and Nancy watched.

“Is this legal?” Max asked.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s a felony,” you replied, continuing to saw without a care in the world of the legal repercussions of your actions. “But it guarantees one thing. I won’t miss.”

Once you were finished, you handed the shotgun to Max, standing up and wiping your hands on your pants, before smiling at her and moving to sit with Steve and Robin.

“I mean, it just doesn’t make sense,” Steve spoke up, holding a funnel as Robin poured kerosene into an empty bottle.

“What doesn’t make sense?” Robin asked.

“That was Dan Shelter. He graduated like two years ago,” Steve went on, and you realized you were clearly missing something.

“So?”

“So, he’s in college, which means he was visiting on spring break. Fast Times was returned, like, I don’t know, a week ago? Right? Unless she’s got some horndog brother we don’t know about which is possible. Or she’s just really into Judge Reinhold?” You finally caught on and realized that this was all about Vickie. Putting two and two together, you figured she must have a boyfriend, putting a total wrench into your plans to land Robin a kick ass girlfriend.

“Steve!” Robin cut him off. “I don’t care, and I don’t understand why you do either with everything that’s going on. Honestly, this feels like a prefect time for that little pull of the rug because in the face of the world ending, the stakes of my love life feel spectacularly low.”

“You deserve to be happy though, Robin,” you spoke up, weighing in on the conversation.

“Not everything has a happy ending,” she reminded the two of you, and your mind flashed back to Steve’s dream of six kids packed into an RV together. You figured now was the right time to speak your mind…after all the world was ending.

“I have this terrible, gnawing feeling that…it might not work out for us this time,” you explained, leaving out the part where you were pretty much 100% confident that it was specifically going to be you that was caught in the crossfire.

“You think we shouldn’t be doing this?” Steve asked, concern flooding his brown eyes.

“I think we’re mad fools, the lot of us…but if we don’t stop him, who will?” You looked out at all of your friends, each of them with their makeshift, modified weapons, and you willed yourself not to cry. “We have to try, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, his expression stoic. He picked up one of the empty bottles that had yet to be filled with kerosene. “To killing Vecna?” He proposed a toast.

“Slash Henry,” Robin added.

“Slash One,” you finished as each of you picked up bottles of your own to clink together. Your free hand searched for Steve’s as you wrapped your pinky around his, silently making an additional promise to him too.

A promise that you were going to fight like hell to live for the future Steve was dreaming of. A promise to believe that maybe—just maybe—everything was going to be okay.

His pinky tightened around yours, and for a moment, that was all that mattered in the world.

***

a/n: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! If you commented or reblogged or even sent an ask about what you thought of it, it would honestly make my whole day! I really enjoy reading your comments and it 1000% motivates me to write more (I also have a list of some ideas for once this story is finished, so stay tuned for that!!!)

taglist:

@season4steve @sassyheroneckgiant @tangledinthegreatxscape @kahhori @palachannie @keeryverse @usaguisenpaisblog @emilieluckwood @sabrinadelreyy @mochminnie @xprloki @kitdjarin1 @kissmxcheek @daemonskitty @bethsvrse @aheadfullofsteverogers @quinnsadilla @chervbs @sheisjoeschateau @goosy-goose @frtfvthg @criesinlies @cycat4077 @kachelleee @killerqueenfan @newyorkangelbaby @spaghetittied @anxfl @huffledor-able541 @mikariell95 @nothergoaway @angie2274

[obsessedfics]

Soft Rain: Gojo Satoru x Reader (SMUT! Mature/Explicit) Part 2

I want to first say I usually try to find a photo that fits the aesthetic of the story but this one was way too good to walk away from. Everyone enjoys this gem <3. Also, this fic because it's too damn long is split up into two parts. Part 1 is already up and is linked here. Highly recommend reading it first before this one so you don't get confused.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*Rating:Mature/Explicit (Sexual scenes)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*Summary: You are in a coffee shop one rainy day when a sad beautiful stranger enters. Slowly, you open up to each other in the warm confinement of the cafe. Little did you know that you would fall in love with this man, and he with you.

I wrote this from the perspective of seeing Satoru with his barriers down. No masks, no facades, just him when he's alone with his haunting thoughts. I wanted to give him a more human perspective and touch on some of the things that plague his mind. I know I have been MIA for quite some time, if you were someone who was waiting for this I am sorry! Life has been a rollercoaster recently but I am finally back to being in a place of stability. This is certainly a longer fic, so I hope you all enjoy it. As always feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments below!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*Word Count: 25k+

October: Halloween, Shibuya 

I know it’s Halloween, but does there have to be so many people outside?!

You began pushing your way through the crowds of people, ignoring the press of anxiety in your chest. All you needed to do was make it to the train station so you could go home, but it seemed as you got closer to the Shibuya Hikarie Building the throng of bodies got tighter. 

Ugh, maybe I should just find a hotel for the night. 

With a huff of air passing your lips, you make to turn around, but you hear something strange through your headphones.

Doubting yourself, you pull out one bud. 

“ Bring Satoru Gojo. ” 

Satoru… Gojo?  

People chanted these words over and over again, stretching down to the train tracks.

What the fuck is going on? 

Swallowing your anxiety, you begin pushing your way inside the building. The clusters of bodies became thicker. Their skin brushed yours as you continued to the center. You ignored the foreign touch, pushing your intrusive thoughts to the back of your mind.

Is it who I think it is? Or am I just being delusional?

Once inside, you couldn’t believe your eyes. 

There he was, hands in his pockets, hovering right in the middle of the building, staring straight down to the train tracks. 

“I can fly!”

Your eyes widened. Running to the edge while elbowing through sweaty bodies. You needed to be closer; to confirm what you are seeing. 

Is it him? Am I hallucinating right now? 

As soon as you’re at the edge, you call out his name, but the crowd drowns out your voice. You shout as loud as you can, but you might as well be whispering. The crowd's anxious chatter washes out your voice, rendering your desperate shouts useless.

Then he descends to the basement, a murderous aura following in his wake. 

An article from 2006 pops into your head.

Satoru Gojo, head of the Gojo Clan, pinnacle of the Jujutsu world.

Without a second thought, you break out in a sprint to the stairs. People stare at you in confusion, but you ignore them, shoving your way through their bodies. His words play in your mind, puzzle pieces falling into place.

“I am the strongest sorcerer of this generation.” “…my role is incredibly isolating.” 

Something is wrong. 

You run, taking two steps at a time, hand ghosting over the railing for support. You knew you were useless, and if he was in any trouble you wouldn’t be able to do anything. But you also couldn’t do nothing . Not when he was right in front of you, not when you spent weeks thinking about him. 

He lingered on your heart like a tattoo – permanent and painfully hard to get rid of. If you loved him, you didn’t know. But you do know your soul yearns to be with him.

Please be safe. I don’t give a shit how strong you are, don’t be stupid. 

Bursting through the doors of the basement floor, you’re met with a sea of bodies. You couldn’t see anything other than people dressed in Halloween costumes for miles. 

Cursing inwardly, you push past them, elbows out to your sides. Their bodies brush your skin, and you ignore your itching flesh. The only thing on your mind was getting to him, was seeing him. 

Sweat coated you from head to toe, you could hear a commotion up ahead, but you were still too far away. 

Your heart raced against your chest so hard, you were afraid it was going to burst. Faint screams filled your ears, but you ignored them. It was like you were possessed, the burn in your legs didn’t matter, the thin air in your lungs didn’t bother you, you just wanted him. 

People started pushing their way into the tracks as the screams became clearer and clearer. Then suddenly, they stopped.

Dead silence rang out. 

Huh? 

Bodies stop moving in an instant, but you don’t. You see Satoru move at a blinding speed. Blood splatters all around you, coating your skin in its warm, sticky substance. You don’t even have time to process anything. The world seems to be fast-forwarded, and you can’t comprehend the sight before you.

Then the area clears. 

He stops, breath heavy with blood on his cheek as he takes in the carnage along with a small box in front of him.

“Satoru–” 

“Gate open,”

The cube box opens, revealing its fleshy body with an eye that stares right at Satoru. He makes to move away but a man with long black hair and a stitched scar across his head steps into view, calling out warmly to him. 

You watch as Satoru freezes, disbelief in his wide blue eyes. 

He asks the theatrically dressed man who he is, anger and confusion dancing in his tone.

The moment the answer leaves the black-haired male's mouth, all air evaporates. The eye sticks to Satoru’s body, rendering him helpless.

Suguru Geto?  

Satoru’s words flash in your mind. 

“I haven’t talked to anyone about Suguru since it happened…” “No, but you could see it that way. He… Was like the other half of me. Someone I could trust. I knew with him, I could let go and be myself. I could breathe…” “He’s dead. It’s been a year,”

There’s no way. This is fucked. I need to do something, maybe a distraction–

Satoru’s eyes flash to you, only meeting yours for a second, but he makes it count by mouthing:

RUN.

You stagger back a step, foot catching on the rail as Satoru starts shouting at the other male – his dead best friend, asking who he is. 

Turning around, you move your leadened legs, each step feeling as if you were pulling a freight train. 

“My six eyes tell me… That you’re Suguru Geto. But my soul knows otherwise! Hurry up and answer!! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

The anger and pain in his voice was so guttural, that it rattled your soul.

What the fuck is going on?! 

You cry silently, forcing your body to run away, even though everything in you told you to turn around. You knew you’d die if you did, so you kept moving through the tears. 

Dead deformed bodies were littered all around you with blood staining the tracks red. You had to force your eyes to the sky, afraid you’d vomit. 

He’s only subdued, sealed. Not dead. Not dead. 

Despite yourself, you return your eyes to the floor to search the dead bodies' faces, fearful that one of them will be his. 

You were panting when you reached the stairs, but you continued pressing on, only repeating one thing to yourself; 

Not dead. 

—

Shibuya was pandemonium. 

People, who you assumed were curse users, are fighting everywhere. You couldn’t see what exactly they were fighting, but you could feel it. The wrongness. 

Your mind was racing, you didn’t know what to do. Anxiety and bile crawled up your throat, as your body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Your legs were numb and your heart was beating erratically. 

I need to get out of here.

Eyes scanning your surroundings, you move, aiming for downtown, away from the central fighting point. But when the edge becomes clearer, you see that people are frantically pressing against an invisible wall. 

A barrier of some sort–

“NANAMIIIII!”

This name is being shouted from the top of a tall building seemingly in the middle of the sector. 

Whoever is yelling has some lungs on them… I can’t get distracted, I have to move. 

Panic began bubbling up in your chest you ran as fast as you could, ducking into a small department store, immediately pulling down the metal guard gate and locking it. 

You pressed your back to the glass doors, head tilted to the ceiling, breaths heavy and uneven. 

Am I going to die here? 

You look down at your body. 

Blood covered you, staining your khakis and shirt. It clung to your skin and matted your hair. The feeling is disgustingly sticky and the smell of iron assaults your senses, nearly making you gag. 

Moving away from the doors, you explore the department store while your body shakes. You needed to move, otherwise countless strangers' dead faces would flash in your mind, making your only thought about their mixed blood covering you. 

It seemed as if you were the only person in the building, so you located the seat behind the front desk and sat down.

So many people died, and Satoru… He’s in a box. 

You felt so incredibly numb. 

You came to Shibuya to buy a few things from your favorite thrift store, but then this happened. Nothing made sense and you couldn’t wrap your head around why so many people passed out and you didn’t. 

Leaning back in your chair, you loosed a shuddering breath. 

“What the fuck.”

Then the world shook.

—

Megumi was on duty for the evacuation team after the Shibuya Incident. Gojo was sentenced to death and so was Principal Yaga, along with the reinstatement of Yuji’s execution. 

This is troublesome. 

He entered a department store on the edge of town, fully expecting no one to be present due to having to break the locked gate. 

“Hello, is anyone here?” He calls out, voice tired and raw from the night prior. His eyes disinterestedly scan the aisles, until something moves.

A woman, covered in dried blood from head to toe, steps out behind an aisle, hammer poised to attack him. Immediately he puts up his hands, summoning his cursed technique for protection. 

“I am not here to hurt you, just here to help you out of the disaster area,” Megumi spoke slowly, but the woman only tightened her hands around the handle of the weapon. 

“The name Satoru Gojo, what does it mean to you?” Her voice, soft and calm, asks him. There was no edge to it, despite the murderous intent of her body language.

“He’s my teacher.” 

What is wrong with this lady? Is she asking because she was forced to ask for him last night? But all that blood… There’s no way she was at the tracks, she wouldn’t be here if she were. 

The woman nodded once, then set down the hammer, approaching him with caution. 

“I am… I know him, in a way.” 

Oh no, not another one. 

“Last night, I followed him down to the basement. I am a normal person, so if he was fighting curses, I don’t know. But I saw him get put in this ancient box covered with eyes. The person who did it is Suguru Geto, but… I think someone is inhabiting his body. That’s all I know, I hope it helps.” 

The woman spoke clearly without any fear, but Megumi only became more confused. 

“There’s no way you would be here though. We’re still removing the unconscious bodies of civilians from the station. Why were you not affected?”

She simply shrugged her shoulders. 

“I don’t know, don’t ask me. The rest of Japan, is it safe?” 

The way she spoke caught him off guard. So matter-of-fact and clear, but her body shook. Clearly, she was disturbed but trying not to show it. 

She’s not a sorcerer, but she knows about Gojo’s significance. Were they close? Did he tell her everything? 

Megumi tried to remember if his teacher mentioned any non-sorcerer woman he was interested in, but nothing came to mind.

“For now, but the situation is unstable. There’s no telling what’s going to happen with that guy gone. We’re going to do everything we can to save him, but I am not sure if it’s possible.” He spoke honestly and the woman nodded, grabbing a piece of paper and writing something down on it. 

“This is my number. I’ll do my independent research. In a week, call me and we’ll check bases.”

With that, she gave him a warm smile and left. 

Who is she? 

November:19 Days After the Incident  

You were sitting on your couch, petting Noir anxiously when you got the call. 

Did it work?

Sliding the green answer button, you shakily pressed the device to your ear. 

“Miss L/N? This is Yuji Itadori. He’s free.” 

Thank god.  

“Thank you.”

The weight on your shoulders lifted and the anxiousness died. 

Not dead.

“I’ll let him know you helped us.” 

“Don’t worry about it, he’s out. That’s all that matters. Be safe.”

Hanging up the phone, you press your nose into Noir’s fur. Her soft warmth seeped into your chest as her purs tickled your skin, relaxing you. 

You cry softly, hugging her body close to yours. Knowing that this changed nothing, he still had so many painful troubles. But he is free, he is alive , and that’s all that matters to you. 

Regardless of what your place in his world is. 

—

“You said a civilian helped you guys expedite my release?”  

Is she safe? Was I distracting enough for them not to notice her presence? 

“Yes. Fushiguro found her and she relayed what she saw on the tracks during your fight.” Yuji explained brightly, even though his friend was now Sukuna’s vessel. 

There’s no way anyone saw what happened. No one except…

He shot out of his seat, surprising Yuji.

“What’s her name?”

“Huh? Oh, it’s Miss L/N? She said she knows you.” 

Satoru scrunched his brows. 

She never told me her last name. 

“Her first name, what is it?” 

Yuji looked at him as if he lost it but he didn’t care. 

“Y/n, I think?” 

He was already moving. 

“Eh? Where are you going?!” 

“I’ll be back!”

—

Rain fell heavily from the gray sky, but not a drop touched him.

She’s dead. You killed her, just like you did to Suguru. Your strength is a curse – not a gift. You’re cursed to be alone.

I am not my past. It does not define me. 

Running as fast as he could, he ignored the thoughts invading his mind, pushing them away with her shared mantra. Images of her body, bloodied and disfigured threatened his vision, but he blinked it away; refusing to let his fear control him. 

Soon he reached the familiar home that is tucked away from the noise of the city – a sanctuary. He hesitated, the familiar feeling of dread washing over him, making his legs leadened. 

Confirm her safety then leave. 

Taking a deep breath in, he forced himself to move, mentally putting in the effort to place one foot in front of the other, until he reached the door.

Satoru raised a shaky hand and knocked, but there was no answer. 

Fear crawled up his throat, making it hard to breathe. 

Please.

Swallowing his dry saliva, he twisted the door handle, surprised to find it unlocked. 

He closed his eyes and held his breath. If she wasn’t here, he would search all of Japan until he found her. 

He had until December… 

Stepping inside the house, the familiar scent of her flooded his senses, making his legs feel hollow. 

Be here, be safe . 

Slowly, he opened his eyes. 

There she was as if nothing happened. 

She had fallen asleep on the couch, the soft glow of golden lights kissing her skin as Noir curled against her body. They looked peaceful enough to make him sigh in relief. 

However, when he stepped closer, he saw the tear streaks on her cheeks.

That peaceful image shattered. 

Satoru moved closer, not trusting his eyes to tell him the truth. 

Noir woke first, big blue eyes recognizing him as she moved out of her owner's arms, careful to not wake her. The feline came up to him, nudging his shaking legs as if telling him to go to her. 

Why are you crying?

Holding his breath, he approached her sleeping figure. Anxiety swirled in his chest as he tried to make sense of his feelings. 

Should I turn around now? You’d be happier without me, right? 

Noir nudged him again, pulling him from his thoughts.

Biting his inner cheek, he crouched down so he was now eye level with her body. For a moment, he allowed himself to take in the sight in front of him. 

Soft even breaths kissed his cheeks and he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. It deafened his thoughts, replacing them with overwhelming relief. 

She’s alive. This isn’t a dream.

“Y/n,” he called and she stirred. 

Satoru watched as she blinked away her sleep, eyes adjusting to her surroundings, confusion on her face until finally she looked his way.

Her lovely eyes met his, soft and kind – the eyes that made him feel seen . 

“Satoru?” she breathed, taking his face in her hands, eyes searching his as if confirming he was real. 

You’re alive. They seemed to whisper, relief swimming in her irises. 

He nodded, wrapping his hands around her wrists, and leaning into her warmth. His blood sang from the contact, tension ebbing out of his body. 

Her presence alone was enough to calm his soul. 

“You followed me, even though you knew it was dangerous.” 

He wasn’t sure if was breathing. His eyes scanned every inch of her body, checking for injury, any sign of pain, thankfully finding nothing. But it didn’t quell the anxiety in his chest. The uneasiness still pressed at his throat, stealing his breath, making it hard for him to think let alone speak.

His only worry when he was in the damned box was that she was alive. That she wasn’t split apart into a thousand unrecognizable pieces. Ash consumed by Sukuna's fire, or buried under the rubble, or worse…  

The woman smiled sadly as if she could read his every thought. Sitting up so she could fully face him, she gently rubbed the pads of her thumbs along his cheeks – an attempt to soothe him. He let himself fall to his knees, strength leaving his body. Her hair softly fell in a curtain around them as lightly calloused fingers played with the tips of his ears anxiously. 

Running his thumbs along the soft skin of her wrists, he took in her features. The serene allure was still there, but it was now mixed with something else – and it was far more beautiful. It’s something that existed only when she looked at him. 

“How could I not when you were all I could think about?” her answer finally came, cutting through the silence.

She traced his face in wonder and he shuddered under her touch.

“You could’ve died,” he whispered, fingers digging into the flesh of her wrists.

He’s seen people he’s cared about die. He killed his only best friend with his bare hands. However, it was different with her. All those people knew that they could die with every mission. But this woman, who had eyes that whispered soft serenity, and a smile that made his heart melt, if she died – he didn’t know if he could come back from it. 

“I know.” her words, a broken croak, pulled at his deep-rooted fear. 

He saw his reflection in her eyes. He looked like a desperate man praying to his God; wonder, awe, and disbelief tracing his features. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to protect you.” 

Satoru hated those words. Admitting that he was helpless, noticing her presence too late to save her from the sight of countless dead bodies. He let himself get consumed by his emotions, by the thrill of a good fight, to the point it rendered him useless. 

I’m useless. She could’ve died, and it would’ve been all my fault. It would have happened all over aga–

With fingers sinking into his skin, she forced him to meet her glass eyes.

“But you did, Satoru. I got away. I am alive because of you.” 

What? 

“While you were powerless, you saved me.” 

His eyes widened as her tears flowed down her cheeks onto his. Wet rain kissing his flesh, just like when they met. 

“I… Saved you? I don’t understand, I only told you to run.” 

She shook her head, taking his hand and placing it over her beating heart. Her warmth, raw and real beneath his fingertips, chased away his fear. With each beat of the muscle grounding him to reality, to her. 

Alive, breathing, real.

“I was frozen. If you hadn’t told me to run, I would’ve rushed to your side out of desperation. You saved me.” 

Her fingers tangled into his hair. The pads of her fingertips lovingly pressed into his scalp, easing his anxiety. 

“You. Saved. Me.” 

“When it mattered the most, I was unable to save those who I deeply cared for.”

I saved her?

The truth of her words clanged in his chest, stitching an old wound on his heart, stealing his breath away. 

Blinking, he met her eyes fully.

Run away. His mind whispered.

Let go of your fear. His heart screamed.

And like a man possessed, he grabbed her face, closing the gap between their bodies.

Desperately, he pressed his lips to hers. Salty tears coated his tongue and her hands fisted into his hair. The soft, warm press of her lips against his drove him mad, making him grab her body, pulling her closer to him. She fell to his lap, legs lightly wrapping around his waist as he deepened the kiss. He allowed his fingers to tangle in the strands of her silken hair, tongue pushing past her lips, drowning in everything that is her . 

Soft rose and sandalwood flooded his nose, the taste of bitter-sweet coffee caressed his mouth, muffled moans teased his ears, as her warmth, tranquil and serene, eased his body. Her tears continued to coat their flesh, and he was sure he was crying, too. 

For the first time in years, his heart felt light. At this moment, in her arms, he is just Satoru Gojo, nothing else.

It was then, it hit him. 

Pulling away from her, he breathed heavily. Saliva coated her swollen lips as she stared into him with eyes hazy and half-lidded. Soft, uneven breaths heated his skin as he ran his thumbs along the flesh of her cheeks. 

“I love you,” his voice came out as a quivering whisper. Because he knew this changed nothing between them. 

Foreign tears fell from his eyes, pooling at his chin. Y/n only smiled softly, thumbs lovingly wiping away his tears as he did the same to hers. 

“How long do we have?” 

Sweet lips kissed away his pain, cracking his heart.

“The end of December,” 

He traced her features, warm rain coating his skin as he began committing every detail of her to memory. 

A small whimper left her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, still pressing soothing kisses to his heated cheeks. 

Allowing that last iron barrier around his heart to crumble, he buried his face into her neck, arms enclosing her torso, hugging her like a child. He cried into her, clinging onto her small body desperately as years of bottled-up emotions began washing over him. 

After Suguru, he never let anyone in, convinced that his strength would always push people away. That he would always be envied, seen as the strongest, never as himself. He drew a line without even knowing it. There was him, and there was everyone else. The touch of others had become so foreign to him, that he forgot what it was like to be embraced – to be loved without expectations. 

Here he was, in the arms of a woman who saw the ugliness of his world, the truth of his power, and still looked at him with the same amount of kindness that she did the first day they met. She didn’t falter or become enamored with him. Instead, she just saw him and accepted it without hesitation. 

She disregarded her well-being and did everything in her power to help him. The woman, who couldn’t stand the touch of others, pushed her way through hundreds of people for a chance to save him. It wasn’t to gain anything from him, it was purely to ensure he was alive, so her restless soul could be calmed. She didn’t broadcast her efforts, instead, she cried, silently and alone, relieved by the sole fact he was breathing. 

That’s all she wanted from him; she wanted him to live . 

“Thank you,” he croaked, words incoherent and muffled against her soft flesh. 

One hand rubbed his back, as her other stroked his hair. She pressed light kisses to his temple, whispering comforting safety. He wasn’t breathing, his breaths came out in heaves as his chest felt like it was caving in. He became putty in her hands, molding his body to her, needing all barriers between them to cease to exist. 

Overwhelming complex emotions continued rushing through him; relief, regret, jubilance, despondence, hope, fear, love…

He allowed these emotions to spill out of him, knowing that he was safe. He knew that with her, it was okay to be human. 

To be normal . 

—

Satoru’s body, for all its power, trembles beneath your fingertips. He’s on his knees, silently crying into your arms as you soothe his mind. 

“It’s okay.” 

Soft whispers against his skin as your lips pepper his temple. 

Your tears, though feeling like an endless well, slowly stop as his scent comforts you. Fresh summer rain, bright and soothing, coaxes your soul; calming your heart. 

I love you. 

His broken confession swirled in your mind, making your heart sing in both joy and despair. You wanted to return his feelings, but they got stuck in your throat, refusing to spill from your lips. 

Taking his face in your hands, you met his beautiful eyes. Like the clearest sapphires, they peered at you, almost sparkling as his tears coated his long eyelashes. 

Ever-so-gently, you wipe away his pain. He smiled sadly at you, turning his cheek to kiss your palm. 

“I need you to listen to me,” you whisper and he nods, hands finding your waist, rubbing soft circles into the fabric of your shirt. 

Closing your eyes, you let yourself breathe, focusing solely on the rhythmic motion of his fingers and the feeling of his blush-kissed cheeks in your palms. 

Taking a deep breath in, you open your eyes, finding your resolve. 

“I am not delusional enough to think that I could ever live comfortably in your world. I am also not clueless. I know whatever is going on, you play an important enough role in it that they tried to take you out of the fight.” 

His eyes searched yours as you tried to formulate a sentence under his raw, naked gaze. 

“But?”

It’s really unfair how beautiful you are. 

Inhaling sharply you continue.

“But, I would also be stupid to let you go. I don’t care if it’s selfish, and whatever time I am granted to be with you, so be it…”  

Pausing, you place a hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat – reminding yourself that he is alive. That this is real. 

You’re alive. I won’t let you walk away a second time. 

“It’s worth it, you’re worth it. And you can try to hide behind the strong nonchalant exterior, but I see right through it. I see you, Satoru. I accept you, invisible scars and all. Let’s heal our hearts together.”

Satoru smiled. A real smile. One that is unpracticed, and it is just for you. 

“I could get hurt, you know that don’t you?” some confidence returned to his wavering voice as his hands slowly traveled up your waist, distracting you from his words. 

“Of course. But if I can handle watching you get put into a fleshy eyeball box by the source of your trauma, I can handle you getting hurt.” 

Scoffing lightly, you run your fingers through his hair, pushing the strands back from his face, fully taking in his lovely features. 

“What if I lose my ability to walk?” he asks sweetly, nuzzling his nose against yours as his hands travel to your bare arms. They ghost over your skin, causing goosebumps to follow in his wake. 

“Apparently, you can fly. I suppose if you’re too lazy I can push you around in a wheelchair.” 

You run your hands along the length of his chest to his shoulders, feeling the muscle beneath the fitted black t-shirt. 

“Hmm, and what if my handsome face gets ruined?” the man mused, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

You were wearing a shirt, but the contact made you jump. You felt him chuckle against you as his hands found your back, fingers dancing up your spine. 

“Well, I recall you telling me that you got stabbed square in that pretty face of yours. As it turns out, you’re still very handsome. So while I think the likelihood of someone harming you to the point you are forever maimed is low, I will still love you regardless.” 

Running your hands down the length of his arms, you watched as your words settled over him. Then realization sparkled in his eyes as he searched your face for answers, almost as if he didn’t believe the words he just heard. 

“Sorry, could you repeat that last part for me? I was a bit distracted.” 

Familiar playfulness kissed his tone as his hands cupped your neck, forcing you to hold his stare. 

“Which part? The one where I said I think someone scarring you is not very likely?” batting your eyelashes innocently, you smile. 

“No no, the good part. Where you said you’re in love with me.” 

One hand came to caress your cheek. Long fingers tangled themselves into the strands of your hair, tickling your scalp as your pores drank in his warmth. 

“Hm, did I say that? I don’t think that’s what I said.” making a show of biting your bottom lip, you looked elsewhere, pretending to think. 

Satoru’s thumb tugged your bottom lip from your teeth, causing you to quickly snap your eyes to his. His lips are pursed into a soft pout as he looks at you expectantly. 

“Just once, let me hear you say it.” his words are a soft plea as his fingers dug further into your skin.

Not fair.

Smiling, you bring your knees to the carpet, raising your body so you can take his face in your hands. You feel him shudder under your touch as his eyes never leave yours, desperation consuming his features. 

“I love you, Satoru Gojo.” 

With those words, the last dark wisp of fear that clutched your heart disappeared in his light.

His lips met yours, hard and fast, all desperation pressing into your body. Your surprised gasp gets swallowed by him as his tongue reclaimed your mouth, filling you with the taste of him; sweet with the undertone of green tea. 

His tongue danced with yours, swirling and teasing, relaxing you further into the intoxicating taunt of his muscle. Warm, calloused hands pressed into your cheeks, angling your head so he could further capture your lips. His kiss is passionate and smooth, making your stomach flutter with butterflies as anticipation travels down your spine. 

Satoru pulls your tongue deeper into his mouth, sucking on the flesh. You gasp lightly, taking his upper lip between your teeth, slowly running them down the plump skin. He lets out a heavy sigh, and you take the opportunity to return his gift, sucking diligently on his swollen muscle.

Feeling him smile into the kiss, he runs his hands down your arms, to your waist, making you shiver. Fire slowly starts to coat your veins, turning the kiss hungrier – there was a need that wasn’t there previously. 

The tips of his fingers dipped under the hem of your shirt, brushing against the bare skin of your back. The light touch made you whimper, body tingling where he made contact with your flesh.

Losing yourself in him, you take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting playfully as you run your hands over his muscled chest. The feeling of him, perfectly soft and firm, beneath your fingers felt heavenly. Satoru let a satisfied groan escape his lips, which you hungrily swallowed, kissing him harder. 

Desire replaced innocence as you sank your hips, pleased to find his hardened length brushing your growing need. Satoru sharply bit your lower lip, a shaky breath escaping him as you let your full weight settle on him, enjoying the slightest bit of release it gave you. 

Pulling away from the lull of his lips, you meet his heated stare. You both were breathing heavily and Satoru looked too good. 

His eyes, though normally bright and alive with brilliant blue, were nearly black due to his dilated pupils. They gazed at you, hazy and half-lidded as his eyelashes fluttered softly against his deeply flushed cheeks. His lips are red and swollen, glistening with your mixed saliva. 

The sight alone made your core throb, sending a delicious chill throughout your body. 

Satoru removed his hand from your waist to grip your face, squeezing lightly as his thumb traced your lower lip. The way he was looking at you made your knees weak. No man had ever looked at you this way. Not only was it blatant desire, but there was a predatory feel to it, with the undertone of unwavering need . 

“If you keep kissing me like that, I won’t be able to stop,” he warned, voice low and gravelly. The words traveled straight to the apex of your thighs as he pressed his thumb harder against your swollen lip. 

“Who said I want you to stop?” 

Holding his stare, you take that thumb between your lips, pressing your teeth down on the pad, swirling your tongue on the bit of flesh. Satoru inhales sharply as the hand holding your waist tightens – a clear attempt to control himself.

You see your reflection in his eyes, the same primal desire looks back at you. 

“Are you sure?” though he asks, his hand is already moving to the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to confirm what he already knows. 

“You getting cold feet?” you tease, dipping your hand between your bodies, ghosting your fingers over his abdomen. 

You were itching to touch him, to taste him, but you were also going to have fun. 

He smirks, slipping his fingers under your shirt, and swirling a gentle finger around your navel. The feeling makes your muscles jerk as fire trails where he touches you. You refuse to let any of that show, only returning his smirk, dragging a nail over his muscled stomach, and taking his tiny little black shirt with you. 

“With you,” he pauses, voice a hushed whisper while he splays his palm flat on your stomach, fingertips just barely pressing under the lining of your bra. 

“I would never. Besides ,” dragging out the last word dangerously slow, he pushes his length up into you, placing the hand that held your face on the back of your thigh, making you moan. The quick relief jolts through you, but disappears quickly, leaving you wanting more.

Bringing his lips so close to your ear that his hot breath tickles your skin, he whispers,

“ You’re the one who’s trembling. ”

Cocky bastard. 

Smiling, you slowly run your lips over the expanse of his neck, lightly licking it with the very tip of your tongue. You feel him shudder beneath you as he breathes heavily in your ear. Licking the shell of his ear, you take the lobe between your teeth as you wrap your hand around the hem of his shirt. 

“Hm, I must be cold. Why don’t you warm me up ?” 

Giving your ear an appreciative nip, Satoru sighs satisfactorily. The deep sound traveled south, making you place your lips to his neck to hide your noise. 

“ Gladly .” 

He began pressing slow, hot, wet kisses to the supple flesh of your neck. He trailed his way down to your collarbone as his hands, re-finding the hem of your shirt, tugged at the fabric playfully. The tips of his soft hair tickled your cheek, heightening your sensitivity to his touch. 

“You know,” his words are a soft murmur against your skin, but you catch them, humming in response as you run your fingers over the dips of his well-sculpted back.  

“I read that the fastest way to warm the body up is when two people are naked. Why don’t we test it out, hm?” 

Pressing a kiss between the juncture of his neck and shoulder, you smile into his skin.

“I could learn a survival tactic,” 

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you press another kiss to his neck. 

“Or two,” 

Licking your way to his ear, you whisper. 

“ Or three. ” 

At your words, Satoru swiftly captures your lips as his hands go to grip the backs of your thighs. Before you knew it he was on his feet, kissing you feverishly while making his way to your room. He shuts the door with one foot, making you laugh against his lips. 

Your body comes in contact with your mattress, but you hardly register it as Satoru grinds his erection into you, greedily swallowing the moan he stole from your throat. Your hands find the hem of his shirt, and you tug as your signal. Satoru groans into you, but pulls back at your command, removing his hungry lips to allow you to expose him. 

“This is too tiny, I think I should remove it, don’t you?” 

Satoru held your smile, spreading his arms wide as you came up to your knees, pulling the thin fabric off his body, revealing the masterpiece beneath. 

Sinewy muscle covered the entire length of his torso. His skin, pale and kissed a soft pink, covered various dips and ripples that you wanted to rake your nails down. You drank him in, from the power of his biceps to the dip of his defined adonis belt, mouth growing dry as you thought about what lurks beneath his concealing white pants. 

Selfishly, you ran your hands along his body. Starting from his chest you worked your way down to his navel, relishing in the warm feeling of his soft, smooth skin. Satoru tilted his head back, sighing as you continued to marvel at his beauty, tracing every outline of his hard work, memorizing each detail of him as he trembled beneath your touch. 

“You really are like a painting, you know,” you murmur in awe and wonder. 

It baffled you that you could even remotely hold this man’s interest, let alone be the one on the receiving end of his love. The thought made your heart squeeze, encouraging you to place a kiss to his bare chest, right above his pounding heart. 

His hand ran down the length of your hair, as his other came to cup your face. He lovingly stared into your eyes, all the desire of earlier there, but they now gazed at you softly. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.” 

The sincerity of his words makes you smile like an idiot. You bury your face in his chest, listening to the sound of his low laugh. Lovely butterflies tickle your stomach as you lace your hands around his neck. 

Slowly, he makes you meet his eyes. You’re both grinning like children, but he had a devilish hint to his. 

“Why hide that smile from me?” pouting, he brings his face close to yours, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

Laughing lightly while leaning into his sweet gesture, you nuzzle your nose into his soft hair. 

“Because you make me happy.” the answer is honest and you press a kiss on his head. 

He hums into you as his hands find your shirt, playfully pulling it up to your neck, but not over your head. He blocks the fabric from leaving your skin as he trails feather-light kisses along your jaw. 

“Do I? Why’s that?” 

His words are soft against your skin, tickling you, making it hard to think. 

“I–” 

Pulling back from his lips, you meet his eyes. 

“I used to think that people who fell in love quickly were idiots blinded by rose-colored glasses.” biting your lip, you consider if you should continue. Satoru catches your hesitation and lightly rubs your lower back, silently encouraging you. 

Let go of your fear.

“But now I know, there is never a ‘right time’ to fall in love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single moment. You make me happy because you could’ve had anyone else in this world, and you chose me. The average girl who you met in a coffee shop on a rainy day. You make me feel seen Satoru. I don’t have to pretend with you.” 

Satoru smiles, bright and alive. His hands come up to your cheeks, cupping them gently as he holds your gaze. 

“Before you, I was convinced that I would live my life alone. That I would never find someone who would ever make me feel whole again. But… You are my sunlight, which I stand in, warmed and seen.” 

With your heart feeling like it’s going to burst out of your chest, you press your lips to his. 

“You see me so poetically,” those words, which he had once said to you, leave your lips in a soft murmur. 

His laugh tickles your lips as he lightly shakes his head, thumbs rubbing your heated cheeks. Satoru deepens the kiss, tongue sweeping past your barriers, sweetly dancing with your own. You melt into him, leaving every worry behind you. 

Slowly, he guides your body to the mattress. You feel his warm stomach press against yours as he settles himself between your clothed hips. He doesn’t do anything except kiss you. 

It’s a slow, passionate kiss. One full of love and appreciation, conveying emotions that words fail to capture. Your whole body felt alive, attuned with every breath, moving with each rise and fall of his chest, reacting flawlessly to the press of his lips. Your blood sang, electrified by his touch, eager to desperately drink him in. 

Satoru’s hands move from your face to the crumpled fabric of your shirt, removing his lips from yours momentarily to rid your neck of the cloth. The music of the kiss changes – now singing a more sensuous tune. 

You feel his thick member throb against your thigh as his hands run down the lengths of your arms, fingers enclosing your wrists. He moves his lips from yours to your cheek, kissing his way to your sensitive ear. Then he licks behind the shell, making you audibly gasp as he brings your hands over your head, holding them down with one hand as his other trails the side of your waist. 

Shivering beneath his explorative touch, you clench and unclench your hands, trying to ground yourself to reality. With each brush of his fingers, your muscles flinch, pure excitement and anticipation coursing through your touch-starved veins. 

“You’re so responsive~” he coos hotly into your ear. You shift under him, hoping to find relief in the friction, but he removes his lower body from yours. The movement makes you pout, but it opens the space for his hand to ghost over your bare stomach. 

Wet lips kiss their way down your neck down to the length of your collarbone. You bite your lower lip when he runs his teeth lightly against the bone. Your body jumps at the new feeling, earning yourself his chuckle as his hand dips under the band of your bra, brushing your left breast ever-so-lightly. 

Long fingers slowly make their way behind your back, easily unclasping the concealing material to only partially remove it from your breasts. He pushes the fabric up to your chest as his lips trail your sternum. His hair brushes against your breasts, and you clench your hands, nails biting into the flesh of your palms. The sensation not only tickles you, but it shocks your hyper-sensitive nerves. 

You meet Satoru’s eyes. He’s drinking in your every reaction, a smirk on his lips as he watches you squirm beneath him. Readying to say a smart remark, you begin to push back on his hand, but he trails his tongue to your nipple – effectively replacing the words in your throat with a shaky sigh. 

Satoru swirls his tongue around your rosey bud, slowly and expertly warming your breast with his mouth. He takes more of the plump flesh into his mouth, sucking diligently as he lets his teeth graze the sensitive peak. You gasp at the feeling, and he groans in response. Each of his intoxicating movements goes straight to that firey pit in your stomach, which only grows hungrier at his touch. 

“Mm, Satoru,” you moan breathlessly as he takes your nipple between his teeth, applying the right amount of pressure to the bud as his free hand comes to work your unattended breast. 

He hums into your skin, sending delicious shivers down your spine as you close your eyes, losing yourself to the lull of his lips. Long nimble fingers work your breast harmonously with his mouth. They roll, pinch, and tease you as his tongue flicks and swirls. You mewl lightly as he switches breasts, giving the same treatment to your other that he gave the first. 

“So beautiful,” he murmurs into your skin, biting into the flesh of your breast, causing you to yelp in surprise.

You open your eyes, meeting his intense blue. He’s smiling against your skin as he ghosts his lips over your ribs, tongue trailing the outline of your tattoo. Your body shivers under him, eager for more as his head dips lower, closer to where you want him the most. 

“You’re the beautiful one,” the words come out as a sigh as he presses a kiss to your hip, right above the band of your sweatpants. 

“Hm,” he hums, trailing an elegant finger from your sternum to your navel, dipping the digit under the band. 

Satoru makes a show of kissing his way across your stomach, from one hip to the other, soft strands of his hair tickling you along the way. 

You squirm under him, wishing desperately to touch his hair. Longing to run your fingers through it, to ground yourself to this reality. He senses it, too. Because he gives you a knowing smile as he dips his hand under your pants, just barely brushing the top of your pelvis. 

“Getting impatient, Y/n?” he asks playfully as he takes his finger, lightly tugging a corner of your pants, exposing more of your hip to his tempting mouth. 

“I want to touch you,” finding some confidence, you push against his restraining hand, silently cursing his immeasurable strength. 

“Let’s see,” Satoru pauses, places his head on your thigh softly, then looks up at you innocently. The pressure is dizzying. So you count your breaths to stay alert, to not close your eyes and lose yourself in his presence. 

“I’ll release your hands as long as you stay still, can you do that for me, baby?” 

There was a mischievous look in his eyes, one that made your throat dry and had you clenching your thigh muscles. 

“Y-Yes?” 

You couldn’t hide your confusion, but he only smiled at the sight. His hand released your wrists and you immediately moved to shake out the numbness of your arms. 

“May I?”

His fingers dance around the edge of your sweats, eyes patiently awaiting your response. 

Eagerly, you nod your head. 

Satoru, still with his devilish smile, removed your sweatpants from your body. He then slid off the bed, dropping to his knees as he dragged your body to the edge. You rose yourself up on your elbows, not hiding your want from him. But also, you took in the sight – Satoru Gojo, half naked, and on his knees for you. 

His hands spread your knees for him, opening your legs wide. You, though still clothed in only your underwear, feel the air hit your heat. It was then you noticed how wet you were, and you know he noticed it too. 

Gently placing your legs over his shoulders, Satoru places a slow kiss on your calf. You watch as he drags his wet lips up your leg, pressing kisses to your tender skin. The higher he goes, the more sensitive you become, finding it increasingly difficult to not shift as muscle-jerking tingles hit you. 

Your hands find the soft strands of his hair as he reaches your inner thigh, now dangerously close to your need. You feel his breath kiss your heated skin, forcing you to clench his hair so you don’t move. Smiling, he presses his lips to the crease between your thigh and pussy making you sharply inhale. You cross your toes as the shiver runs through you, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“You’re already so wet for me,” Satoru hums appreciatively, then he places a kiss on your clothed mound. 

You barely have time to register the feeling, because he licks a zig-zag stripe up your heat, stopping just before meeting your clit. He moans into you as your taste lightly coats his tongue. The vibration makes you squeeze your eyes shut as you moan softly, bringing your hand up to your mouth, and biting down on your pointer finger. 

“Mmph!” 

Your yelp gets muffled into your skin as Satoru lays his tongue flat against your entrance, pressing his hot mouth against you, then drags it up . 

The brief pleasure of him brushing your clit has you trembling. He doesn’t stop till he reaches your navel, tongue dipping into the crevice, swirling around the sensitive skin only to retrace its path down, stopping just above your throbbing clit. His tongue moves left and right lazily, and his saliva coats the cloth of your underwear, intensifying the feeling, but it’s incomplete. 

“Ah, Toru’ – please.” your desperate plea fumbles out of your mouth as saliva begins traveling down your chin. You want – no, you need him on you, without any barriers. 

“Use your words for me pretty girl~” his words are hot and heavy against you, making you moan. And just for emphasis, he gives your needy clit a light flick of his tongue, making you bite your finger harder. 

He knows what you want, but he wants to hear you beg for it. 

“Please,” you breathe, unable to think. 

His hands join the party now. One goes to remove your finger from your mouth as his other presses his thumb to your entrance, goading you as his tongue continues to just barely flick your bundle of nerves. 

“Please what?” he encourages, intertwining his fingers with yours. 

“I-I want you,” 

You weren’t sure what you wanted exactly. Part of you wanted him to make you see stars with that dangerous tongue of his, but the other half wanted to know exactly how full you’d feel with him in you. 

He laughs lightly against you, planting a kiss on your clit as his thumb pushes past your panties, entering your dripping entrance. All air leaves your lungs as he wraps his mouth against your clothed clit, licking while sucking you as his thumb gently pumps your walls. 

A broken string of curses leaves your lips as pleasurable fire dances down your legs. The sudden relief leaves your thoughts tangled and incomplete. It’s sweet and taunting, but you’re stuck, muscle taunt, and breath uneven as you try to keep your body still, unable to fully lose yourself to the pleasure. 

“S-Satoru,” you throatily moan his name. He groans into you, fingers gripping yours harder as he replaces his thumb with two long fingers, curling them up into you. 

Oh fuck. 

“Ah, shit just like that,” 

You tilt your head back, enjoying the way his calloused fingers feel against your velvet walls. Again and again, his digits just barely brush against that spongey spot in you, heightening the feeling of his ministrations against your clit. 

“Deeper,” you plead, needing him to hit your spot. 

Slowly, you open your eyes to see him smirk at you. Then, at your request, he pushes his fingers further into you while curling them up. Your eyes roll back as the new feeling courses through you. 

“Like that baby?” he asks, though he knows the answer. 

“Mm, yes, fuck just like that,” you answer, barely able to think straight. Your feet start to become unbearably hot as your stomach tightens. Your whole body trembles from both pleasure and restraint, and your leash on yourself is slowly slipping. Your back arches as he continues working you, eliciting obscene noises from you. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he praises and you bite your throaty moan back. 

Pressing your palm flat against his scalp, you push his head further into you. Taking your silent plea, he releases your hand to push your soaked panties to the side, tongue finally coming into contact with your bare skin. The intense feeling crashes upon you and you lose control of your limbs. You lock his head into place as you dig your fingers into his hair, grinding yourself against his tongue. His fingers match your unhinged pace and he moans into you, sending sweet vibrations down your clit to that growing bomb in your stomach. 

You feel your walls tightening as your high threatens to crash over you. Your moans are now strangled and incoherent as everything now feels so good . Finally, you open your eyes, daring to see the sight in front of you. 

Satoru’s lovely eyes burn right through you, heated desire evident on his features. The sight of him, on his knees, between your legs, giving you his devout attention, has you shaking uncontrollably. 

“Be a good girl and come for me, Y/n.” 

His words are your undoing. 

You come violently around his fingers, moaning his name like a prayer, walls clenching and unclenching as your body trembles sweetly. Satoru smiles up at you, removing his fingers from you only to replace them with his tongue. 

Bringing those two glistening fingers to your mouth he commands: 

“Suck,” then his tongue is back into your entrance, fucking you with the stiff muscle.

And so you do, wrapping your mouth around his fingers, whimpering as you suck diligently all while your orgasm rips through you. 

He swipes his nose against your hyper-sensitive bud as he laps you up, tongue swirling and curling inside you. You cry out helplessly, fisting your hands in the sheets as your stomach jerks. The pleasure is numbingly good, but it’s too much. 

“S-Satoru– Ah sto– Jesus fucking Christ,” The last part of your broken sentence comes out in English, which grabs the man's attention. Amused blue eyes peer up at you, taking in the sight of the mess he created. His lips glisten with you and they’re pulled into that familiar smirk. You couldn’t help but think he was beautiful, like that of a fallen angel.

He removes himself from your heat, finally taking your ruined panties off your body as you close your eyes, breathing hard and unevenly. You try to collect yourself, but the after-effects of your orgasm still linger in your veins, stealing your attention. 

But you are far from satiated, if anything, it left you wanting more . 

Blindly, you reach out for his body. Your fingers find his biceps and you tentatively run your hands down his smooth skin, despite the tingle in your fingertips. Satoru plants a sweet kiss on your cheek, then your temple, then your forehead, until he’s placed kisses around your entire face, leaving you with light giggles. His weight returns to your body, and you’re happy to feel his bare legs brush against your own. 

“Feel good, baby?” he mumbles dreamily into your skin, still placing soft kisses on your sensitive skin. 

Smiling as you trace the outline of his tricep, you open your eyes to find him looking at you sweetly. The sight makes your heart lurch. So you return his kisses, pressing your lips to his heated skin, tasting yourself on his flesh.

“I think,” whispering, you bring a shaky hand to his chin, wiping away some of your desire. 

“This speaks for itself. But,” 

Kissing the corner of his mouth, you run your other hand down his abdomen, nails lightly digging into every dip and ridge of his defined muscles. 

“But?” he hums, and you feel his lips pull into a smile. 

Your hand travels south till it reaches his length. You take the girthy member in your hand and pump him once, relishing in the way it jumps in your palm as Satoru inhales sharply. 

“I want to taste you, too.” 

With your hand that held his chin, you turn his face to you, capturing his lips. Your desire coats your tongue as his muscle dances with yours. You slowly pump his throbbing member, thumb swiping over the tip, coating his soft skin with a bead of precum. Satoru steals your tongue, sucking on your muscle while groaning. 

Hooking your legs around his, you flip your bodies so you are now on top of him. You pull back from the kiss to admire the sight. Soft white eyelashes flutter against his red cheeks as you continue pumping his cock. 

You watch as his throat bobs up and down and he licks his lips. The image added fuel to your growing fire, filling you with determination to not only please the man before you, but to make him as much of a whimpering mess as he made you. 

A playful smirk tugs at your lips as you place a kiss on his neck. You continue working his shaft, focusing mostly on the head, but with only enough pressure to move his skin, but not to truly stimulate him. Your lips travel south, your tongue joining the mix as you admire his body, ensuring to greedily trace the skin where your mouth doesn’t explore. Satoru shifts under you, slowly growing more impatient as lick your way down the line that separates his abs. 

You hold his stare, watching as his eyebrows knit together the closer you get to his cock. 

Giving the male a knowing smile, you pull his shaft back, allowing yourself the space to flatten your tongue on his pelvis. You feel the light prickle of his growing pubic hair as you drag your muscle to his hip bone, tracing the outline of it with the tip, enjoying the way his body shivers under you. 

Goosebumps pepper Satoru’s skin as his hands find your arms, rubbing them lightly. Smiling, you press your lips to the crease of his thigh, then lick the skin beneath. You feel Satoru’s thigh muscle tense and you chuckle, applying more pressure to the tip, earning yourself a low groan.

“So responsive~” you tease him with his own words, pressing your thumb to his tip, admiring the way his desire coats your skin. 

Bringing your face close to his need, you breathe lightly onto his heated skin, knowing full well what the light sensation did to him. You watch as his eyes roll back slightly, his large hands now wrapping around your biceps as he shudders. 

“Say,” 

Pausing, you swirl your tongue around him once, then flick the head lightly. Satoru half moans, half chokes from the sudden sensation. But you pull back completely, returning to your taunting hand movement. 

“Tell me what you want,” you whisper seductively, licking your way up from his base to the tip, this time allowing yourself to taste him. The salty yet sweet taste coats the very tip of your tongue, and you moan appreciatively. 

Satoru tilts his head back and bites his lip. You feel his hands tremble, noticing his restraint. 

“Your mouth. Now .” 

You click your tongue. 

“Here?” 

Pressing a kiss to his thigh, you feel his cock jump in your hand. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but you were also drunk off of the sheer power you held over this man. Who’s body is sculpted like that of a Greek god and holds the title of the strongest, yet yields to you.

“Y/n,” he warns, voice low and strained. His hands now move to your hair, tangling themselves in your strands, pulling lightly. 

I like it when you say my name. 

“Ah, you’re right. Here?” 

Pushing his skin up so that his precum leaks out, you press a slow open-mouthed kiss to the tip, licking your way across the bulk of the head. You continue this exact motion, pumping him just as slowly as you were kissing him. Satoru watches you intently, hands shaking in your hair as you hold his gaze. 

“More,” he urges desperately, bucking his hips up to go deeper into your mouth. You relent, but only for an inch. 

Removing your hand entirely, you rub the sides of his thighs as you slowly suck that inch of his cock, swirling your tongue at the tip with every motion. You watch Satoru go mad, both hating and loving your tease. There was desperation in his eyes along with restraint, and you took advantage of that. 

As soon as he knew exactly how well you could take it, well, the game would be over. 

“As much of me as you can Y/n,” Satoru is breathing heavily, hands still in your hair but he doesn’t force himself in your mouth. Instead, he holds fast, letting you continue your slow torture. 

You hum around him, allowing half of his cock into your mouth, the tip now reaching the back of your throat. His eyes roll back as you suck a little harder, but not any faster. You bring one hand to cup his balls, gently massaging them as you work his shaft. A soft moan leaves Satoru’s lips as it goes to your core, urging you to forget your game and give him your all. But he’s not near the point where you were when he finally gave in, and that alone makes you hold out. 

Continuing to softly hum into him, you start to add slurping noises to your song. Satoru’s eyes roll shut and a small whimper leaves him. 

“Can you take more of me, baby?” his fingers massage your scalp, feeling the slow bob of your head. 

Oh, you think you're too big, do you? 

With an inward smile, you let your thickened saliva dribble down to his base, then you quickly take all of him in. You hollow out your cheeks and relax your throat, letting his impressive length travel down your esophagus till your nose is touching his stomach. 

“S-Shit–” Satoru curses, strong hands holding your head in place for a moment. Once he releases his grip, you return to your previous position on his shaft, sucking his member slowly. 

His eyes shoot open, looking at you with both shock and confusion. You flutter your eyelashes sweetly as you continue your torturing pace. Satoru sucks in the air between his teeth, the realization of you not being as innocent as he may have thought settling over him. 

“Please,” he breathes heavily, eyes transfixed on the base of his cock where your mouth was just moments before. You could hear the desperation in his voice, and it was delicious . 

Taking him out of your mouth with a satisfying ‘ pop ’ , you stick out your tongue, slapping his cock against it. His eyes turn dark at the sight as his mouth falls slightly open, a satisfied smirk pulled on his wet lips.

“Please what, baby? What do you want? Don’t be shy.” 

You trace the outline of his red tip with your lips, eyes never leaving his. His throat bobs as he considers his words, clearly, he still views you as fragile, and you have every intention of breaking that image. 

“Please let me fuck that dirty little mouth of yours,”

You smirk, planting a kiss on his head, and then you hop off the bed, taking him with you. Satoru silently follows your lead, eyes raking your frame as yours watch the way his member stands proudly against his stomach. Angry red and glistening with your saliva. 

Sending your confused lover a wink, you get back on the bed, laying on your back, hanging your head over the edge. 

You now have a full good view of his perfect body. You hungrily look at his length, happy to find that it has a light curve. You clench your legs together at the thought of him in you, and Satoru smiles. He spreads your clenched legs while his other grabs his shaft, giving it a pump before he slaps it against your lips. 

“Open up baby,” 

At his command, you open your lips, making a show of stretching your neck and sticking out your tongue. Satoru leans forward, bracing himself with one hand as his other guides his cock into your mouth. He slowly pushes himself down your throat, giving you a moment to adjust to his thickness. At this angle, your throat is tighter and it's harder to breathe, but that’s what you wanted. 

He begins moving his hips. His start is slow, allowing your saliva to coat him. You take the time to find the right position, hands going to cup his ass for the support you knew you were going to need. Then, just like you thought, Satoru moves. His hips snap forward with just enough force to push himself down your restricted throat, but not enough to crush your nose. You moan into his skin, happily hollowing out your cheeks, slurping and choking on him. 

“God you’re so fucking perfect,” he moans while his free hand goes to massage your clit. 

Rough fingers work your sensitive bundle of nerves, moving the soft skin with each thrust of his skillfully controlled hips. Your tongue moves with him, licking and wrapping around what it can. You begin to lose yourself in his soft moans, enjoying them as the air in your lungs becomes thinner and thinner. 

It gets increasingly hard to breathe and you love it, sucking down what bit of air you can in between each of his thrusts. Your mouth pools with your thick saliva and it trails down your chin, spilling onto your neck, but you pay it no mind. You simply angle your head further, digging your fingers into his ass to give him better access to your abused throat. 

His hand moves to your entrance, two fingers plunging into you, fucking you at his relentless pace. Satoru's palm rubs against your harden clit and tears prick your eyes. Strangled moans fight to come out of your throat between his movements as abrupt pleasure courses through you, motivating you to please him further. 

Satoru’s thrusts become more erratic and you begin to feel the base of his cock twitch in your mouth, prompting you to moan around him. You send sweet vibrations down his cock, and he curses under his breath, fingers in your pussy delving deeper, brushing that spot, making your stomach tighten. 

“Fuck,” groaning, Satoru thrusts himself deep into your throat, pausing entirely as thick ribbons of his seed shoot down your pipe. His fingers that pleased you move to your throat as he feels himself come in you. You hold still, licking him with your tongue until he readies himself to slowly pull out of your mouth. 

Turning so your belly is flat against the mattress, you start to swallow his seed, ensuring your gulp is audible so he hears you. He watches you with a smile on his face, hand coming to cup your cheek, thumb sweeping over your near-bruised lips. 

You take note of his cock, still very erect against his chiseled stomach.

“You’re full of surprises, Y/n.” 

Your name left his lips in a breathless pant, and it was enough to make your walls clench. 

Satoru smiles down at you, dropping to his knees so he can capture your lips. The kiss is tender and soft, and it sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach. 

“You hurtin’ at all?” he asks between each press of his lips. You smile into the kiss, playfully nibbling his lower lip. 

“Not at all, I could do that again.”  

He chuckles, shaking his head as his hands run down the length of your spine. The touch is light with no intention other than feeling your skin. Satoru pulls back from the kiss to press his soft lips to your forehead. 

“We can stop here if you want.” his voice is full of practiced calm. 

His hand runs down your hair, soothing your mind all while your body is still burning with desire. 

It had been so long since you had shared a kiss, let alone your bed with someone. The touch of others felt so invasive until Satoru. You would be damned if you let him go now. 

“Satoru, you’re not going to hurt me.” 

Nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck, you sigh. You knew he had insecurities, and you know it’s only amplified by you being entirely, well, human. But you want to ease his worries, in every way you possibly could. 

“You don’t know that, Y/n.” 

Pulling back, you force him to hold your stare. 

“Our time is short. I don’t want to live my life with regrets. I want you, Satoru, in all senses of the word.” 

You lovingly hold his face, thumbs gently sweeping over your cheeks like he had done for you. The quiet tender gesture lingers between you as your breaths intertwine. You see him considering your words in those knowing blue eyes, ever-calculating and so full of thought. 

“Promise me you’ll tell me if I hurt you.” 

A laugh almost escaped your lips. The serious look on his face would make anyone stop cold, but it only made you smile. 

“I promise. But you won’t hurt me, I trust you.” 

At those words, Satoru captures your lips, tongue sweetly passing through your lips, immediately claiming yours for his own. Tentative hands explore your body, fingers lightly brushing over your sensitive skin, making you shiver. Moving to tangle your fingers in his hair, you run your teeth along the expanse of his tongue, smiling at the groan that leaves his lips. 

Satoru’s hands guide your body up as he stands, his lips never leaving yours even as he presses your back to the mattress. Gentle hands spread your legs for him and you hiss. The feeling of cool air hits your wet need followed by the feeling of Satoru’s still slick member rubbing up against you. His warmth shocks you and he smiles at the gasp that escapes your lips. He pulls back from the kiss to meet your eyes. 

Primal desire stares back at you.

You can’t help but let your eyes travel south, watching as he rubs himself against your slickness, hand on the base of his cock. His tip just barely brushes your clit and you moan, feeling your walls immediately clench at the swift pleasure. 

“You want this dick, Y/n?” Satoru’s gravelly voice asks as he slaps his cock against your clit. 

Dear lord help me. 

“Y-Yes,” you half breathe, half moan out. 

“Look at me,” 

You do as commanded, tearing your eyes away from his impressive length to find his heated gaze. 

“Use your words,” 

He rewards you with another slap to your clit and you moan, the brief relief making your toes curl. Mindlessly, you run your hands down his arms, raking your nails down his triceps as you try to formulate words. 

“Please fuck me,” you watch his face, eyes full of hope, but he only clicks his tongue and shakes his head, prodding your entrance. His taunt is maddening, and you try to shift your hips down, but a strong hand holds you in place. 

“You can do better princess. Tell me exactly how you want me,” he smirks down at you, tip still just barely pushing at your entrance, all promise of everything you want. 

Biting your lip, you swallow your pride. 

“I want you to fuck me so hard that every time I sit down I can only think of you.”

A small breath leaves his lips and he smiles, shaking his head. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting that answer. 

“So full of surprises,” 

“Surprised are you–”

Before you could finish your sentence he pushes himself into you, stealing all the air from your lungs. 

His thick length pushes past the first ring, and the feeling is so sickeningly sweet. Relief floods your veins as he fills you, your walls stretching to accommodate and hug his member, pulling him further into you. 

“Holy shit,” you sigh, digging your nails into his arms as you spread your legs wider, giving him all of you. 

“God, Y/n, you’re so fucking tight even after all that.” his voice is strained as he grabs your right thigh, fingers digging into the plush of your skin as he bottoms out in your pussy, holding completely still, allowing you to adjust. 

You feel your walls clench and unclench happily, he stretches and fills you so well it is dizzying. You press kisses to his sculpted chest, a silent plea for him to move. He picks up on your hint well, slowly pulling his hips back to only push them back into you. Even a heartbeat of him not being in you made you feel so incomplete, the way his body fit with yours was almost too perfect. 

“Fuck Satoru,” you moan closing your eyes, letting your head fall back, focusing solely on the blissful feeling of him. 

His hips keep a steady slow pace, allowing your bodies the chance to adjust to one another. Satoru shifts your leg to prop it over his shoulder, making him go just a little bit deeper into you, pulling a throaty moan from you. 

“Hold onto something baby,” he warns and you barely register his words, hands enclosing his wrists as he picks up his pace, pulling his cock out of you to the tip to snap it back into you.  

“Oh my fucking God,” your eyes snap open as you watch Satoru rail your pussy. Your breasts bounce at his pace and you moan loudly, unable to hold back your noises. 

“Your pussy feels so fucking good, Y/n.” he praises breathily and you moan, happy for the praise. 

“Mmph– Fuck so do yo– ahh” your sentence is broken, unable to speak due to the dizzying speed of his powerful thrusts. 

Each snap of his hips is expertly controlled. He angles himself up so he doesn’t hit your cervix as he ensures not to fully crush your body. One hand holds your thigh in a fixed position as his other holds your hip, moving your body with his seamlessly. Heavy breasts bounce against your chest as your body feels electric, alive, and taught; like you’re walking on a live wire. Pleasure kisses your nerves, promising new, but terrifying heights. 

“Open your mouth,” Satoru’s strained voice commands, and your pussy pulses in response. 

Swallowing thickly you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out for dramatic flare, trying desperately to keep your eyes open. Satoru smiles at the sight, leaning over you further, then spits in your mouth. Your mixed taste coats your tongue and you whimper as his thumb goes to circle your clit. 

“Hold it in your mouth till I tell you to swallow princess. Can you do that for me?” your stomach tightens at the sensation of his thumb, but it’s almost faint due to the overwhelming pleasure his cock brings you. 

Feeling entirely submissive and breedable you nod your head, your saliva already beginning to build in your mouth.

“Good girl. Now, on your knees.” 

Satoru completely releases your body, allowing you to flip over and get on all fours. A whimper leaves your lips due to the loss of him, but you shake your ass for him. The action earns you a slap to your ass, his fingers dig into your plump skin as he shakes the flesh for himself, and you curse, feeling your desire drip down your inner thighs. 

You feel his nimble finger trail your wet slit, and he whistles. Then, his mouth is on your ass, tongue circling your tight ring. Strong hands shake your ass as he continues to lick and probe your hole, making your legs shake. The feeling is entirely new, and it feels good. Not as good as when he eats your pussy, but it's enough to have your walls clenching and clit throbbing. 

The spit in your mouth begins to push out of the corners of your lips as you try to hold your moans back. Your hands are fisted in the sheets as Satoru trails his way to your dripping entrance, tongue dragging down till his licking your sensitive clit. As if it wasn’t enough, his thumb pushes into your tight asshole, pumping the well-lubricated hole. 

I am not going to survive this man.

“Swallow baby, let me hear you.” 

You gratefully swallow your combined spit, moaning loudly as your first breath leaves your lips. 

“Satoru fuck me please,” you plead, feeling so empty it’s maddening. Now that you’ve gotten a taste, you were certain your body wouldn’t grant you release unless he was in you. 

You feel his head pull away from your pussy as his fingers enter you, just barely scratching your itch. It was laughable to compare the feeling of his fingers to his cock – it wasn’t nearly enough. 

“Like this baby?” his thumb still plays with your asshole as he curls and pumps his fingers in you. Your thoughts are tangled, and words are hard to push out of your throat, getting caught in the thick layer of saliva coating your mouth.

“I want… Your cock. Please, please, please, I–” tears pricked your eyes, you were overstimulated. 

Closing your eyes you took deep breaths, feeling as he pulled his fingers out of you to only wrap his hand around your hair, pulling your neck up. His tip pokes your throbbing entrance as his heavy breath kisses your ear. 

“You want me, Y/n?” the heavy seductive words makes your spine tingle.

“I want all of you, Satoru.” though you tried to force your voice to sound normal, the words came out in a quiver. 

“Good,” 

Then he was in you, cock plunging deep within your velvet walls, stoking the burning fire in your stomach. You arch your back, mewling harshly at the abrupt feeling of him filling you. 

“You feel so good, fuck.” Satoru kisses your shoulder, pulling his hips back to then fill you back up, thick member stretching you too fucking good. 

With his hand still wrapped around your hair, he pushes your neck down so your face is pressed against the mattress. You open your eyes, face rubbing against the bed, and watch the man above you. His head is tilted back, bottom lip between his teeth as he works to make you both feel good – hips rolling into yours, enjoying the feeling of your walls sucking him back in. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you moan softly, completely entranced. 

Satoru smiles, eyes opening and he pushes strands of your hair away from your sticky forehead.

“All you baby girl,” he pushes himself further into you, angling himself up, completely hitting that spot. 

“Oh fuck!” you curse, letting the brief pulse of intense pleasure run through you.

“You like that baby?” knowing full well what he’s doing, Satoru grabs your hips, hitting your spot again, making your muscles jerk. 

“Ah– Yes!” words were lost to you as white-hot pleasurable fire ran through your veins, making your entire body shake. 

“Who’s pussy is this?” Satoru grunts, thrusts becoming more erratic. 

“I– Mmph, yours!” with eyes rolling to the back of your head, you focus on your core, feeling your high threaten to crash over you.

“That’s right, Y/n.” fingers dig into the flesh of your ass “You’re. Mine.” he declares between powerful thrusts, still ensuring to hit that spongey spot, making your vision blot with white. 

“I– I am so fucking close, Satoru,” the words are a cry and you feel your whole body become taught, preparing itself for its inevitable crash to earth.

“Come on my cock baby. Let me make you feel good.” 

And as if the word was law, your body did as he asked. 

Your second orgasm ripped through you, pulling a scream from your throat. It’s dizzying, disorienting, and far too intense. Your body spasms uncontrollably as electrifying pleasure coursed through you, making your toes curl. You try to run away, but you are locked into place by Satoru's strong hands. With each pulse of your orgasm, your walls clench and grip Satrou’s cock, dragging him to earth with you. He ensures to thrust harmoniously to the rhythm of your pulses as thick ribbons of his cum mix with your own, filling up your belly. 

With breath heavy and uneven, you both fall to your mattress. Sartoru's sweaty body presses against your back as he rubs your arms all while pressing kisses to your temple. Your body shook as you came down from your high, thighs jerking with each breath and light movement from the male still plunged within you. 

“You feeling okay, beautiful?” his words are a soft whisper against your skin. 

Eyes still close, you nod. The intense pleasure left you light-headed and unable to speak. So instead, you angle your head and capture your lover’s lips. Soft and sweet, and entirely loving. Satoru smiles against your lips, hands lightly rubbing your sides. 

“Let's turn over so I can hold you, yeah?" his words tickle your lips, making you smile. You let him move your body with effortless ease. 

The male holds you close to his chest as he wraps his arms around your small frame, enveloping you in his radiating warmth. His strong heartbeat sounds in his chest, and you listen to it in earnest, thankful for the fact that he is alive. 

You stay like that for a moment, listening to the sound of him while he kisses your skin, both being silently thankful for the other.  

“I love you, Y/n,” Satoru whispers into your hair, lips still pressed to your scalp. 

With a child-like smile, you peer up at him. Brillant blue peers into your soul, calling to you, to your bond, and your heart sings in response. 

“And I love you, Satoru. My heart is yours.” his eyes fold kindly, just like that first night in your kitchen. 

“And mine is yours. You’ve healed me.” 

—

You spent what little time you had left with Satoru, soaking up every minute, second, and hour. You both decided it was pointless to dwell on the unknown, so instead you enjoyed each moment that you were allotted. Sharing stories of your adventures, travels, and struggles. You healed each other, in ways that one would think impossible. You renewed each other's souls, in turn binding yourselves together. 

“You know, that day we met, I think my heart knew before I did that I needed you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I didn’t even know you, but seeing you was enough to wash away every ounce of my pain. My body moved before I could think. So I dropped the lamest pick-up line ever known to mankind.”

“Haha, yeah. But it worked out didn’t it?”

“That it did. You are my greatest treasure, Y/n. I love you.”

“I love you too, please come back to me safely.” 

Satoru smirked, all of his bravado pulled into every atom of his existence. 

“Don’t worry, I am the strongest. I can’t leave my fiance all alone now can I?” 

“No, you can’t.”

“See? So don’t worry about me, baby.”

With that, the lovely male plants a passionate kiss on your lips, and then walks away.

[peachesofteal]

Omg the new drabble of pregnant Darling finding out that they did it on purpose???? GOLD. You're such an amazing writer! What do you think hurt her the most when she found out? How would Johnny and Simon react to her finding out? I can't help but imagine all the possibilities- Johnny sinking to his knees hugging Darling's belly and begging her to listen and understand and Simon being on edge because he's worried you might run or stress out, which isn't good for the baby. It's just!!!! No thoughts just Dead Disco pregnancy fic 💀

No thoughts we're just ruining Darling's life over here (kind of) Also thank you love!

baby trap au 18+ Dark themes

"How could you do this?" you can hardly see them through your tears, and your voice cracks, raw, and desperate. "How could you do this me?" Johnny's eyes are wide, and his own tears track down his face while Simon tries to reach for you.

"Darling-"

"Don't touch me." The air in the apartment is thin, too thin, and you gasp for it while you try to put some space between yourself and the two of them. You're backing away into the bedroom now, but not any farther away from where they encroach on your space.

"We love you." Johnny says, stepping closer. "We love you so much."

"This isn't love!" This is abuse, isn't it? "This... I trusted you."

"We do love you. We have always loved you." It's a plea, a promise, words that used to hold so much weight now empty and foreign. Strange to hear coming from Simon's mouth.

"No. Get away from me." They betrayed you. They used you. They... they... they trapped you. "Oh, god." You moan, hand covering your face. "Oh my god." Your cheeks are soaking wet now, chest heaving as your lungs tear themselves in two with the strength of your sobs. You entire body feels weak, like you could fall to floor, or float away at any second. "No, no no no. N-no, oh my god." You can hear them talking, but you feel like you're drowning, or being crushed under the weight of everything your mind is trying to process, and then only thing you can do is sob harder.

"-call the doctor."

"if she can't-"

"Darling, can you-"

"Darling-"

Warm arms wrap around you, and then there's a heartbeat beneath your ear, thumping fast, but steadily and strong. It's Johnny's, you can tell, just by the fabric of the shirt, and you clench your eyes shut when you feel a warm hand pressing to your belly.

"We need you to try to relax." It's Simon's voice, near your ear and you cringe. "Your stress could spike your blood pressure." You shake your head, and try to shift away but Johnny holds you firm while he whispers to you.

"We love you so much, so, so much. We can't live without you, we don't want to. And maybe, we made a mistake. Maybe... we did something wrong but- but... we would never hurt you, darling girl. We would never do anything to harm you. You're safe with us. You're still safe with us." This is harm. You have harmed me. The words ring in your mind, but you can't get a word out through your cries.

"Love, can you hear me?" Johnny asks, and you blink to try to clear your vision when a big hand cradles your face.

"Darling, look at me." Simon pleads but you can't, and you turn away to bury your face in Johnny's chest. You sob even harder, throat raw, and Simon's hand shifts to your back, where he rubs up and down your spine in an attempt to soothe you.

You cry until you can't anymore, until they put you to bed, unable to respond to them, unwilling to speak. Silent. When they ask you if you're hungry, or if you'd like to sleep, you stay silent, lost in your own tears, your own devastation, your own loss, until your eyes are slipping closed and you're falling into a dark, deep sleep.

[kasagia]

❄️️Warm my heart pt. 4❄️️

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/ The Darkling x fem! heartrender! reader Summary: The aftermath of the events leads to a (semi-)honest conversation with the general. Various other things are happening too… Warning(s): memories of drowning and trauma (children are sometimes monsters), argument, tension Word Count: 3k Taglist:@aoi-targaryen @budugu @flostvs1508 ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova’s Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 3 ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 5 ~•♤♤♤•~

You wake up wrapped in warm, soft blankets. Before you even open your eyes, you hear the fire crackling in the fireplace, and judging by the softness of your bed, you can't be in the hospital wing of the Little Palace. You open an eye and hiss as the light from the fire in the fireplace and the lamps on the walls reaches your eyes.

You rub your eyes and notice that everything around you is getting darker. You open them slowly, relieved to see a few shadows floating around the room, effectively blocking too much light from reaching your eyes.

"Better?" Aleksander's whisper comes from across the room. He emerges from the shadows, just as you had imagined when your mind was still able to process anything in the icy water.

You nod, staring at him. You don't know what to say to him. Thanking him for saving your life seems... woefully insufficient. You swallow, feeling the slight tension in the room, and it's only now that you realise where you are.

"Why am I in your bedroom?" you ask, your voice cracking and rasping.

"My chambers were closer than yours." he replies, handing you a glass of water. Grateful, you take the glass from him and quench your thirst.

You can see through his poor lies. You know he's lying, and he's lying terribly. But you don't say anything. You drink the water he gave you and pretend his burning gaze doesn't do anything to you.

You see that he wants to say something. You don't push him, though, as well as you don't say anything. Because what are you supposed to tell him? What could you say to him without revealing your feelings for him? That you were afraid of death or glad that he was the one who came for you, that he didn't let you flow downstream under the ice, when all you could think about in your probably last seconds of life was… him.

"You stayed on the shore. You didn't follow me; you just let me do what I wanted. Why?" you ask, remembering his strange behavior. He shudders. You see how quickly he puts on an impassive mask on his face, hiding his true emotions from you.

"I let you save her and become a hero. I didn't want to take away your applause and credit." he lies, running his hand through your hair. He places it on your forehead, checking that the healers have cured you and that you don't have any signs of fever. You grab his hand and pull it away from your forehead, giving him an incredulous look.

"I know you. If you had known in advance what I wanted to do, you would have grabbed me by the collar of my kefta and wouldn't have let me take even one step on that damn ice."

He swallows, his eyes shifting to the fireplace behind you. But you don't let go of your hands. You both unconsciously hold them in a tight embrace. You only notice it when he nervously starts drawing patterns on your hand with his thumb.

"When I was young I… I didn't have many friends. I wasn't able to live in Little Palace with my father, so me and my mother were hiding and travelling from village to village. It was winter. I played with some other Grishas' children, who became friends with me. They found out that, beside being a shadow summoner, I was also… something else."

"Something else?" you ask, confused, wondering what he means by that. His dark eyes meet yours with such an intense, piercing gaze that you shiver.

And then you feel it—a tingling sensation that spreads to you from where your hands touch. You slowly feel the blood in your veins rushing more. You are suddenly aware of every quiet heartbeat in the area, especially one that is so close to you. The flood of new sounds in your head tells you that it's starting to hurt, but you don't let go of his hand... you know that nothing can tear you away from him right now, as he watches your reaction so intently. One wrong gesture, one wrong breath, or one tremble, and you will break the moment between you. And you can't let that happen.

"An amplifier. A living amplifier. Source of power." Aleksander explains and waits until he sees even a sliver of lust in your eyes—lust for his amplifying powers or greed for extensions of your own power.

He had been betrayed many times in the past, by many people. His mother, his sister, and his friends turned out not to be them at all. He was sure you would be next. But with each test he put you through and each piece of himself he revealed to you, somehow you... stayed. You didn't change your behaviour towards him. Except for this situation from a few days ago. In fact, he still wasn't aware of the reasons behind your distancing...

"Like a Morozova's stag?" you ask and he can't help but laugh softly. He squeezes your hand and freezes for a moment, looking down at your joined hands as he realises he still holds on to you. It was so easy for him to just be himself around you... you were a dangerous weakness. A weakness that he protected instead of nipping in the bud.

"Yes… I guess that's a good example. After all, they also wanted my bones… when your friends push you into the ice hole and they cover it with a log of wood, you realise how fake other people can be."

You can't help but reach up and cup his cheek tenderly. He flinches at your touch at first, but as you slowly start stroking his cheekbone and head, he nuzzles his face into your hand.

"You didn't deserve it." you whisper, looking at him. Your eyes meet again, and you hear your heartbeats speeding up.

You think you see tears in his eyes as he looks at you. He tangles his hand in your hair, his fingertips brushing against your cheek, stroking it as softly as a feather, making you quickly forget about his glassy eyes.

At some point, he pulls away from you. He gets out of bed and walks over to his desk as he starts looking through the reports as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just shown you a vulnerable part of himself.

"I don't blame them. Everyone wants to have the strength to defend themselves." he says this nonchalantly, standing with his back turned towards you.

"It is better to fight in a group than alone." you see the muscles in his back tense at your words, and he becomes more and more defensive, trying his best to hide behind his wall of indifference.

"Loneliness toughens you." he states matter-of-factly.

The cool tone of his voice might have made you drop the topic before, but now, lying in his bed, wrapped in his blankets and clothes—with the irrefutable proof that he cares about you much more than he does for the average Grisha or his second-in-command—you decide to pursue the topic further.

"And hurts more than the sharpest blade or worst wound you can get." he freezes at your words.

He puts the papers on the desk and takes a glass of kvass. He drinks it in one gulp, still with his back turned to you, and (changing the subject, as he usually does when he sees that you are losing the discussion or that you are intruding on topics that are too sensitive for him), he says in a tone of voice that is too calm for him:

"You ignored my order there."

"Technically, you didn't give me any orders." at your words, he slowly turns towards you. He looks you up and down and licks his lips.

"Are you trying to tell me now that you didn't hear me calling for you to come back?" he asks, raising an eyebrow in challenge—the only warning he's giving you—your last chance to back out.

"It's not like I did something wrong." you insist on your opinion.

His face darkens, and so do his chambers, as the shadows grow stronger, shrouding the room in greater darkness. You involuntarily shiver, sensing the growing threat. Subconsciously, you know he wouldn't hurt you... not after he put so much effort into keeping you alive. Although... you saw him torture people in various ways. Even Ivan flinched once at that.

"Your little rescue operation delayed our arrival at the Little Palace." he starts calmly, but you can see in his eyes how furious he is. His heartbeat also speeds up.

"We gained a new Grisha thanks to this…"

"What would I care about some kid if I lost you?!" he bursts up suddenly, and you can't help but shiver. It seemed to be the first time he raised his voice at you; you couldn't remember if you had ever been on the receiving end of his anger. "What would I do without you?! MY SECOND-IN-COMMAND! MY HEARTRENDER! WHAT USE WOULD I HAVE FROM YOU IF YOU DIED THERE LIKE AN IDIOT?!" with every word he shouts, he takes a step towards you. You decide to get out of bed and face him in anger as well.

"Given the choice, I'd fucking do it again!" you shout at him, looking at him defiantly. You know you did the right thing, even if your life was on the line. Besides, he had no right to talk to you like that.

"Be careful how you talk to me; I'm your general! I will not have a second-in-command who does not respect my decisions and makes risky, reckless, idiotic decisions, putting herself and others at risk of death!" he growls at you in anger, shadows gathering around you.

Any normal person, with the Black General's furious gaze on them and shadows circling around both of you in a dangerous, threatening way, would have immediately backed down, let him win the argument, admitted he was right, and even begged for forgiveness. But you were never normal.

"It was my choice. I didn't drag anyone along with me!"

"YOU DRAG ME AFTER YOU! And I would send every Grisha into that damned river after you!" his challenge would probably have caught your attention if you weren't boiling with rage.

You clench your fists in anger, unconsciously manipulating his heart. His eyes widen in surprise as he watches you with bated breath, too surprised or paralysed to move.

"WHAT FOR?! If I'm such a burden, such an irresponsible commander, why did you go for me?! Why didn't you let me die?!" you shout as you walk up to him, so determined to win this verbal battle with him that you don't notice the shadows wrapping around your wrists.

You gasp as they suddenly push you against the wall. You unclench your fists, releasing his heart from your control. You look at each other, breathing deeply. Drerad slowly begins to develop within you as you realise what you have done. Shadows still hold onto your wrists.

He takes a step towards you. Shadows move out of his way as he slowly approaches you. You don't flinch, you don't beg for mercy, and you don't make a sound. Your eyes are focused on his as he gets close enough for the tips of his shoes to touch the tips of your toes. Suddenly, you're very aware that you're only in a black nightgown (that's probably his). You swallow thickly as he lifts his hand and gently pushes your hair behind your ear.

"We thought we lost you… I thought I lost you." he whispers, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "When I picked you out of the water… when Ivan said he couldn't feel your heartbeat… I had to shout at the others and summon my shadows to shut them up so he could finally tell that you were still alive."

"I..."

"And when he felt your heartbeat, we noticed you weren't breathing. You had water in your lungs. Tidemaker's hands were shaking as he pulled it out of you. One wrong move, and it could have ended your life. I think I told him to get away from you before I cut off his hands by using my shadows. I had to push the water out of you somehow myself. Ivan and Fedyor helped me. If it weren't for them, I doubt whether any of us would have returned to the Little Palace in such good condition."

"Did you get hurt?" you ask. Aleksander laughs half-mockingly and half-bitterly and shakes his head in response.

"I wish I did." he says, and you shiver as his fingers slowly move from your cheeks to your neck and shoulders. He gently caresses your shoulder, where a bruise had formed from how hard his grip was on you as he pulled you out of the water a few days ago. "I… I've already lost so many good soldiers. Friends… The list is very long, and it seems like it is only getting longer with each passing day. I can't write your name on it either. I can't lose you too… I…" you hold your breath, waiting for his next words. His eyes are fixed on your bruises and small scratches that the healers have not yet healed. He licks his lips and takes a breath to say something. But he closes his eyes and moves away from you. You shiver as your skin is suddenly deprived of his electric touch. "I've invested too much in your training. It would be a waste of time if I had to train another heartrender again to be my second-in-command."

"So? This is who I am? Your investment?"

"Each of you is." he replies with a shrug. He turns his back to you. His shadows follow him as he walks back to the desk and takes a glass of his kvass.

"You don't jump into an ice hole for everyone. Or take off your coat." you joke, and he chuckles, both of you forgetting about the argument between you that happened just a few minutes ago. He turns towards you and gives you an 'almost' affectionate look.

"Not everyone is my right hand." you smile at his response. You walk up to him and grab his hand, squeezing it as you look into his eyes.

"Thank you, Aleksander." you whisper, making him shiver. He's not used to having anyone's gratitude.

Not the honest one. It's starting to dawn on him that he's not used to anything involving you. And maybe that was what kept him drawn to you like a moth to a flame, seeking and wanting something he had never experienced in all the centuries he had lived.

"Anytime." he whispers back, entranced by your gaze. He knows that this… tenderness, understanding, and compassion would've passed the second you knew the truth about him. The truth of his origin, age, plans with the fold, and for Ravka… His mother could be a mean old witch, but she was right about one thing. At the end of the day, no one will be there to stay by his side… at least not in the way he desperately wanted. "Don't ever dare to do that again." he says, clearing his throat. "I won't always be around to pull you out of the river… I also don't like seeing you as white as a corpse with blue lips. You also disobeyed my command… but considering the circumstances, let's just say I'll turn a blind eye to it this once."

"You are a very merciful general." you say teasingly, and you walk over to his desk, looking at the map where he marked some positions with his wooden soldiers. You snort quietly, amused. Boys will be boys… even the fearsome general of the Second Army.

"You have no idea..." he replies. You turn towards him, almost bumping into his chest.

You stand close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin. Your gaze involuntarily moves from his eyes to his lips. You lick your own, imagining for a moment what it would be like to kiss him. Your gaze quickly returns to his eyes, the pupils of which are suddenly dilated.

He tangles his hand in your hair and leans down so that your noses are touching. You hold your breath and close your eyes, taking in his scent and warmth. You hear your hearts beating at an equally fast pace in anticipation.

"I would never let you die. You're my burden to endure." he leans in and whispers, referring to your previous words that you shouted at him. His lips brush against your earlobe, and you can't help but shiver. "And I can't... I can't allow myself to lose you..."

"Aleksander." you whisper, opening your eyes and staring at him as he pulls back slightly. His face is still close to yours, his gaze moving between your eyes and your lips.

His thumb strokes your neck as he slowly leans towards you…

A knock on his door makes you both pull away from each other. Ivan enters with Fedyor. Aleksander clears his throat and listens to what they have to say. As Ivan talks to him, Fedyor looks you up and down and gives you an amused smirk. You roll your eyes at him and place a hand on your flushed cheek, trying to calm yourself down... And don't curse these two for their wonderful timing.

However, all your efforts are in vain when you catch the general's gaze for a moment. The moment between the two of you from a few seconds ago plays in your head, and the possibilities of how it could have ended are haunting your mind.

You groan internally, already hearing Fedyor's teasing about that.

The only comforting thing about all this situation was hearing that Aleksander's heart sped up every time he looked your way. And you can't help but wonder… maybe you could be more to him after all?

You shake your head and quietly leave his chambers. You couldn't stay there forever, even if you wanted to. Besides, you had Christmas to plan. And Winter Fete to get ready to…

[solaneceae]

imprint

a team bolas oneshot. q!baghera centric (read on ao3) hurt/comfort, found family

Day Five is technically one of the good ones, because their minds are not drowning in bloodlust and fog-mist, Foolish is making great progress on the castle off in the desert, and the other teams have been leaving them alone for the most part.

Doesn’t mean it’s a good day for Baghera, though. “My body’s so far away,” she whines, rummaging through the chests in search of iron armor and food. “You need help getting back to it?” Phil asks. The duck shakes her head, because she refuses to make him waste twenty minutes just chaperoning her as she stumbles around the map looking for her corpse. “I’ll be fine,” she sighs, picking up a diamond sword and fastening her mask onto her face. It requires some adjustments, with her having a beak and all, but she makes it work. “I’ll be okay.”

(Ten minutes later, her eyes open to dark cave ceilings and glittering gemstones, body tingling from respawn. She wants to scream.)

Phil is back with more resources, and Baghera feels strange. Not bad, just… strange.

It’s a feeling that’s been lingering even since they all fell into Purgatory, growing stronger or weaker in no discernable pattern, always somewhere at the back of her skull. Like a voice almost, not also not that, because there are no words being whispered, only vague drives. And right now, as their fearless leader busies himself at the crafting table, she gets the uncontrollable urge to get his attention. Hello, she chirps, walking up to him. He hums, but doesn’t acknowledge her further, too focused on his task. Her hindbrain gives unhappy. Hi, hi, she tries again, getting into his personal space and jumping around him and what is she doing? “Phil, Phil,” she quacks, look at me, pay attention to me! She forgot what she needed, what did she need? Hi, flock, dad, dad! 

“You’re— Jesus Christ,” Philza bursts into laughter, evading her smaller form as he moves to a nearby chest. “You’re getting in the way, Baghera.”

“Do you have a boat?” she asks, and right, that’s what she needed. He cocks his head, an amused smile on his face. “Do I have a boat.”

“Yee.”

“I don’t— I mean, sure, I can make you one.” She makes a happy sound, bounces off her heels as he gets to work. Flock, dad. Hello. “I’m not, you know I’m not gatekeeping crafting shit,” he laughs as he hands her the boat and she magicks it into her inventory. “You could make your own.” And yes, that’s true, she could. But she likes it when Philza hands her things, like earlier when he dropped food onto her when she was stuck in that hole. It makes her brain happy, somehow.

It only hits her later, when Phil has gone off somewhere, that she had started to truly associate him with that hindbrain-thrum of dad, not as a bit, but something way too real for her taste. She resists the urge to crawl into a hole and shrivel away, and decides to make one last attempt to recover her old body.

(It fails, as things tend to do today. But at least she got distracted.)

***

The silence is deafening. She can hear the occasional grumble in Portuguese coming from her earpiece as Cellbit works on the maze inside the castle, and she wishes she was there making traps instead of getting dirt all over her wings. “I want to kill some people,” she huffs as she digs through rich soil to plant yet another tea sapling. At least farming she could do without messing things up. “I wanna just— run at them and scream.” Can she have that? Can she have this one thing, can she have a little bit of fun today before her timer runs out?

Cellbit hums into her earpiece. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says, and she can feel another part of her wilt at his final tone. “Death counts too much today, you know?” (You will die, his words twist in her tired mind. You’re weak. You can’t be left alone. You’ll drag us down.) “And Phil did so much for us this morning, I don’t wanna disappoint him.”

Well I already did! she wants to scream. I’m just a dead weight, and I waste everyone’s time and don’t accomplish anything on my own! “...Okay,” she replies instead, whisper-soft, and just keeps planting.

(She misses the rest of the family-flock. She misses Jaiden, and Charlie, and Carré, all asleep inside the nest with no sign of waking up anytime soon. She wishes she could join them, put an end to this cursed day already — but she clings onto her fear of letting Cellbit down even more than she already did, and presses on.)

Cellbit renames Iris after a commercial mascot, and that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. And she knows she shouldn’t be mad, because he doesn’t know she’s just spent twenty minutes having a breakdown over them and imprinting like crazy, but she just feels so dismissed by that. So she buries herself somewhere in the desert and screeches out her frustration where he can’t hear her, comms off.

***

“Baghera?”

Her ear feathers twitch. She looks up from the little cozy spots she had made for Iris (they’re gone now. Probably with Cellbit, helping him withe the maze. the maze she wanted to help with. She wishes Charlie had woken up earlier, so they could commiserate over their shared feelings of inadequacy.) “Phil…?” she sniffles, quickly rubbing at her cheeks to erase the evidence of her breakdown. Didn’t the crow run out of time earlier today? She hears a ch-ch-chrrrrp, and she mimics it without thinking, hindbrain buzzing with something soothing. Philza Minecraft appears from behind a corner, and his eyes are soft  or maybe he’s just tired. “Come here,” he beckons, and she finds himself getting to her feet and stepping up to him. “Something wrong?” she cocks her head at him, and he chuckles lightly. “Nah, mate. Just come over here.”

He leads her out of the alcove and into their… sleeping quarters, which was just another part of the cave with their nest in the middle. “Kay, sit down,” the crow says, patting the side of the nest, and part of her panic with the childish fear of oh shit, am I in trouble? “You’ve got sand in your feathers. Lemme help you get that out before you bring it with you in the family pile, yes?”

Oh. She glances at her comm, realises she only has about twenty minutes before it knocks her out for the day. She clacks her beak in frustration — she had accomplished a whole out of nothing today. Fais chier. “...Okay,” she sighs, because at least a little preening sesh would be a decent way to end this shitty day.

“I noticed you were having a rough time,” the crow hums, carding his claws through the down on her arms to dislodge a few pebbles. “Thought you could use some TLC.”

She blinks owlishly (duckishly?). “I don’t know what that means.”

“Ah, like, just taking care of you a little. You felt sad and frustrated all day.”

She deflates, ear feathers drooping. “Didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“It’s not. I just notice this shit better than most,” Phil hums, dislodging more sand that drop outside the nest and digging his claws further in. Baghera closes her eyes — it feels nice. Her wings had been so itchy all day. “Especially when it comes to other avians.”

Right. Philza had retained more memories of his time outside the island than most of them, that made sense. “I’m sorry for calling you dad,” she blurts out, before she loses the nerve to. “I know everyone… I know everyone did it, for the joke, but I think I forgot it was a joke.” (“Dad, are you proud of me? I killed a silverfish!”) 

She remembers Charlie belting out a ‘papa!’ when Phil came back with apples and berries two days ago. She remembers Jaiden calling him dad when he bandaged her left wing after a bad fall, Cellbit’s whiny ‘daaad, when are you gonna come pick me up?’, Carré jokingly moaning out a ‘gracias papi!'. Foolish is the only one that didn’t follow the pattern at this point, probably because he, too, is an immortal being… and the only one free of daddy issues and trauma, apparently. “I don’t mean to,” she breathes out. “My brain’s been all weird since we came here, and I don’t… I don’t mean when we get all starved and murder-y.”

Phil hums, plucks out a loose feather. “Yeah, same. Something about this place is fucking with our code I think. Mob code, specifically. That’s why they’re buffed to hell, It’s not your fault.”

“But it’s,” she groans, struggling to find the right words, both because of the language barrier and her own messy feelings. “You already have kids. I’m an adult. I can’t force that role on you, but my stupid bird brain keeps screaming at me. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s natural, Baghera. I don’t mind. And… forgive me for pointing it out, but if what you said yesterday was true, then you’ve never had an older avian to imprint on as a child. So it’s no wonder your instincts are going crazy now.”

She freezes. “...Oh,” a quiet realization, shame, regret. “You, um. You understood that.” You took it seriously. You remembered. Somehow, that makes her feel… a bit better. Seen. Despite the fact that she just blurted out her deepest darkest secret as a bit, and lo and behold, consequences. Phil shrugs. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think anyone else did,” he hums, smoothing out her left wing with a satisfied croon. “Gimme the other one? Good, nice.”

“You’re not mad?” she asks, so quiet and hesitant Philza stops and looks up at her. “That I’m a clone. That I’m… Federation property.”

“Don’t say that shit,” he bares his teeth, puts his hands on her shoulders to squeeze them tightly. “They don’t owe you. It doesn’t matter if they made you or whatever, you’re not them. If anything, you’ve got even more of a reason to hate them as the rest of us.”

“I don’t know…. I don’t know what they did, to me. I don’t even think I’m a real avian.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m not like you. Or like Jaiden.” she gestures to her left wing. “I have a bill, you have… human face. Mostly human.” She makes a strangled sound. “Your wings are on your back, mine are just my arms, they’re just this. And even if— even if they weren't clipped, I couldn’t fly with those, only glide, maybe. I know that. They made me wrong.” Her eyes well up with angry tears. “They all… my siblings, they’re all dead, Phil. They all died, and I’m the only one left, and I’m not even good. I’m defective. Maybe that’s why I mess up everything. Maybe that’s why I’m such a burden for you guys.”

“Dude, stop.”

Philza closes his mouth before he can protest, both pairs of eyes turning to a sluggish Charlie, sans glasses, pushing himself up from his blankety prison without rousing Jaiden or Carré. “That’s… that’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard you say. And we debated about human milk cheese and the ethics of eating your own eggs, so that’s saying something,” he mutters, more serious than the duck has ever seen him. The effect is a little diminishes by his squinty, smaller-than-usual eyes (she was so used to seeing him with her glasses permanently stuck to his face) and the yawn that drowns out the end of his tirade, but it still makes Baghera’s breath hitch and her throat close up with emotions. “Charlie…”

“Okay look— I barely feel real right now, yeah? I just woke up, and I haven’t got a modicum of context here, but I’m not letting you talk shit about yourself.” The slime hybrid hauls himself up with a wince, the corruption on his arms and face buzzing and writing angrily for a second. “G-ah. T-Thisssss is gon-gonna b-be a bad, ba-aad day, hu-uuh.”

“Slime— wow, mate, maybe you should lay back down and wait it out.”

“S-Sorry d-aaaad, I’m going th-through mmmmy rebell-bellious phase.” Charlie staggers up to them and sits across Baghera movements stilted and visibly uncomfortable. The duck hybrid opens her bill to tell him off — no no stop it, you’re hurting yourself — but he wraps both arms around her and rests his forehead against her shoulder, the tingle-freeze of his codified parts stunning her into silence. It doesn’t hurt, and she’s not about to refuse a hug from a constantly touch-starved Slime, but it does sting a little. Like static shock, but not quite. “You’re so fucking great dude,” the man says, corruption leaving his voice as the glitches diminish in intensity. “I never told— never told you this, but the first day we met. The wedding? That was the first time in a while that someone was willing to go along with my bullshit.” He squeezes her a bit tighter. His face feels a bit wet agaisnt the feathers of her shoulder, and Baghera lets out a string of hurt? hurt? no, flock, clean. “It felt good. And— hey, not only that, but you were also the only one where who didn’t have pity, or scorn, or, or distrust written all over your face. But maybe I just didn’t know how to read duck body language at the time, haha.”

“I wasn’t pitying you,” Baghera murmurs, trembling arm coming to rest against her friend’s back. Words feel like jagged rocks going up her tight throat. “I didn’t know anything about you. I just found you funny, and you listened to me when we talked about the elections. You kept making sure I was being heard, and… and you were nice to Pomme on her birthday, too. That was enough for me. You know?”

Slime chuckles wetly. “Yeah. She’s a great kid. We’ll fucking get her back, okay?”

“I hope so…”

“Hey. Listen.” He draws away to cup Baghera’s face, squishing it slightly between his hands. Her feathers puff up as a result, it’s funny. “Listen well, Baghera Jones. My—” a sharp intake of breath. “M-My Flippa’s fine, yeah? She’s just waiting for me back at the island, she’s not in danger. But your kid is. And if… haha, if I can be sappy for a sec. With Jaiden, you’ve been the closest thing to a real friend I’ve had for a long time. So I’ll help you get Pomme back, alright?”

The duck’s green eyes well up with tears, some of which start painting dark streaks down her face. “Of… of course I’m your friend,” she sniffles, and she keeps making low chirp-trills Charlie doesn’t understand. “And you’re mine too. I care about you, Charlie.”

“I know. I… I know. And I won’t have you saying bad things about yourself either. You’re litterally so fucking cool, and you put up with my bullshit like nobody else, and I feel safe blurting out the most unhinged crap on God’s cubic Earth because I know you’ll just double down and make me question my sanity, in the best possible way.” He giggles, an unsteady, wild little thing slightly cut up by a stray glitch. “Or whatever’s left of it.”

Baghera’s comm beeps, startling the three of them. Philza approaches (had he moved away to give them space? Aw.), scoffs, glares at the bright red numbers on her wrist. “Fuckin— stupid-ass time limit,” he curses. “We don’t have much time, but we can end your day on a good note, okay?”

The duck hybrid glances at Philza, then at Charlie, pupils so wide the green can barely be made out. She takes a deep breath, thinks of the team. Of her children, waiting for her somewhere. Of everyone else that they lowkey hated right now. And she nods.

***

“Do it Baghera, do it!”

“That’s right, fuck ‘em up!”

“I’m doing it!” the duck woops, pouring the final bucket over the structure and watching it roll across the soil and crops who quickly start to catch on fire. “It’s working, it’s working!”

“Baby’s first lavacast,” Phil coos fondly from his roosting spot, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “I’m so proud.”

He and Charlie watch as Baghera cackles madly, her eyes alight with the fires of war, staring down at her handiwork. “They are so gonna know it was us,” Slime hums, a huge smile on his face as he marvels over Blue’s farm being covered in ash and cobblestone. Phil shrugs. “Yeah, there’s no way. Worth it though.”

“So worth it,” the slime hybrid nods approvingly — Baghera was finally having fun, and seeing her smiling was definitely a highlight of today. “Oh we’re gonna get fucked in the ass tomorrow. No lube, all diamond sword just like God intended.”

Philza bursts into mad, crow-like cackles at that, hitting the slime hybrid’s shoulder to push him off the perch. Charlie falls with an indignant, high-pitched scream that makes Baghera laugh even harder. “How much time left?” the Crowfather calls out at her, and she turns to him with a mad ducky grin. “Eleven seconds!” she quacks back, and Philza’s eyes widen. “What?!”

“Yepp! Gonna pass out now see you tomorrow catch me or let me die I don’t care I have nothing on me!” she sing-songs rabbit-quick, pulling a little jig on top of her dirt tower before her body seizes with a gasp, her comm shocking the literal daylights out of her. Slime lets out a loud oh shit and takes off in a mad sprint as Philza jumps down as well, managing to cushion the duck’s fall with his own goopy, goopy body. “Ow,” he whines, voice muffled by the loose dirt he’s faceplanted into. “My sometimes-existing bones.”

“You good mate?” Philza reached them both, kneeling to check on Baghera — not a single heart of damage on her, her face neutral and peaceful in electronically-induced sleep. “Good catch.”

“Thanks.” Charlie lets his friend roll off his body with a grunt, pulling himself back together quickly before, hauling his friend on his back. “Mission accomplished, Crowfather Phil! Now let’s skedaddle the fuck outta here before Tubbo or BitchBoyHalo shows up.”

“Yeah, time to dip. Back to base, Bolas!”

“WOOOOOOH YEAAAAH! LET’S FUCKING ROLL!”

[otherone12]

Why Me?

Gerard Way × Reader

-> Masterlist

A/N: Hey!! Does anyone really read this?? Well, now I'm not on vacation anymore, so I'll end up posting less frequently. I didn't like this one, but... hope u enjoy it (Ray x Reader fic coming soon <3) 

Summary: You finally get the chance to meet your favorite comic artist, you just didn't know that he would end up finding your nervousness cute enough to ask you to go out with him.

- Word Count: 1.310

- Warnings: none :)

- Ps: I'll not use y/n…

- Ps2: I'm brazilian, so english is not my first language ... sorry if i wrote something wrong.

___________________________________________

1st Person POV:

I’ve waited for so long to finally meet the man who inspired me. I've been into his work since I was a teenager and everytime i wasn’t feeling well, his comics made my day better. Also, he’s really pretty and in all the interviews I've seen of him, he looks so cute.

I’m actually spending all my savings just to go to that event and don’t even know how I'm gonna act when I see him, I mean, I will probably laugh like crazy, stutter some compliments or fall unconscious on the floor. 

However, I convinced my best friend to go with me, so I won't be so embarrassed, or at least not alone if I do something weird.

- You’re sure you’re ready? - My friend asked me when we’re in the row. - ‘Cause you look like you’re about to explode. 

They chuckled and I got a bit more nervous than I already was, the feeling of being that transparent made me uncomfortable. 

- I’m fine… - I said, swallowing hard and breathing deeply. - I just don’t know what to say 

Looking around, I saw that the line was moving quickly and soon it would be our turn to get an autograph and take a picture. 

- To him? 

Wasn’t that the most obvious question in the world?

- Yeah, who else? 

- I don’t know, I mean, you’ve been obsessed with him since you’re like fifteen, right? - They said it in a normal voice tone, but it seems like they’re screaming, so i immediately turned red - And don’t know what to tell him?

A week ago I started to practice in front of the mirror of my room, trying to imagine possible scenes with Gerard, but I will never never told anyone about it. 

- Shut up! -I hit my elbow on their shoulder in desperation and fear that someone had heard, even though he was too far away to hear anything. - I’m not obsessed with him, I admire him a lot. Just that.

- Sure… - The sarcasm made me want to respond, but the cut with the next sentence took my focus away from our conversation. - Look, we’re next

 Even when the person in front of us was taking the photo with Gerard, I looked ahead and I could see him. I swear he looked at me at the same time and my reaction was look away and widen my eyes at my friend

- Holy shit… WHAT SHOULD I SAY?

- Try something like “hi, i'm your fan” - this contrast between us was very strange, on the one hand I was freaking out, but on the other, they was acting as if Gerard Fucking Way was just any guy. - And act normal, please.

In less than a second I felt my body heat up, the closer I got, the more tense I became. I tried unsuccessfully to look into his eyes, but I couldn't maintain my focus for long. 

My stomach filled with butterflies when I heard his voice. Even though I've heard it on the radio several times, it's a totally different experience.

- Hey! 

It took me a few seconds to try to open my mouth, but my brain stopped working. A short awkward moment that felt like hours was cut away.

- Hi! - My friend, who apparently didn’t see Gerard as a celebrity said. without thinking about what i wanted them to say - They're huge fan of you! Like, they don't stop to talk about you for at least a second

- HEY! - I gasped with fright when they finished speaking -T-that’s not true! I mean, I'm your fan, but it’s not like I’m weird or something. 

My scream turned into an almost whisper, which was almost drowned out by the sounds of the environment. 

- That's okay. - He said with a chuckle. - You want a picture?

His sweet and inviting look made me want to hug him, and when he extended his arm towards me I couldn't help but blush even more.

- Sure! 

He wrapped his arms around my body and my friend took a picture of us. My heart was racing and the smell of coffee that he was emitting wasn’t helping me to calm down. 

- So…- He took my comic to sign it, and when he looked at me again, to my surprise, he noticed my Star Wars shirt. - i like your shirt 

- Thanks!

-This will probably sound weird, but… are you free after the event?

I gave him a shy smile and heard my friend giggling by my side. I thought that was my imagination, but i blinked twice and had the clue that Gerard Was has a light blush on his face.

It was a little embarrassing when we exchanged glances, but even stranger than that was the question that came next.

He reached out to hand me the comic and I looked him straight in the eyes.

- I-I am… why?

I took the comic and put it in my purse, without breaking eye contact. 

- Maybe… if you don’t mind… we could go out for a coffee? 

Standing in front of him, I froze. It's not like I don't love the idea, but I know myself well enough to know that I'm definitely going to say something stupid without thinking.

- THEY’RE SUPER IN!

My friend responded before I had the chance. His gaze passed from my friend to me, and his smile grew worried as he seemed to think about the truth of the statement.

- Really? - I asked, still in disbelief that Gerard Way asked me out. 

- If you're up for that… - He put his hand behind his neck, looking at the floor and sounding a little more shy than he had moments before. - Look, if you don’t want to…

- Of course I'm in! 

I tried hard to keep my posture, but the shine in his eyes hit my heart so hard and I smiled, feeling my face burn again.

- We met at the front door in three hours? 

- I’ll be there…

*** time skip ***

After a large amount of people left the place, i finally saw gerard at the door, he was looking around, i assumed that he was looking for me, cause when his eyes meet mine, a tiny smile forms in his lips.

I approached him, avoiding one or another person who appeared on the way.

- You came!

He said, with a relieved sight.

- Yeah! - He opened the door and we started to move to the coffee shop - I mean, It's not often that your idol asks you out, right?

There were few people on the street and the atmosphere was pleasant. Walking next to him was very strange, because at the same time it was something incredible that I had always dreamed of, but on the other hand, it didn't seem real. It was like I was going to wake up at any moment.

- I don’t know… sounds like the perfect one to describe you, in my vision.

- “Idol” is a strong word, don’t you think?

He chuckled a little and I tried not to look like I was fawning over him.

- Why me? - His confused gaze made me explain even more what i was talking about - There were like, a lot of people, why me?

- If you say so…

After a few minutes of walking, we arrived at the coffee shop and, like a gentleman, he opened the door. my heart started to jump in my chest when he chose a table with two seats, facing each other, next to the window.

A friendly girl took our orders and I asked him a question that had been on my mind since the moment Gerard asked me to have coffee with him.

- To be honest… You’re so pretty and looked so nervous, I found it really attractive.

___________________________________________

- Damn i feel like those awful tiktok POVs

We laughed, really loud, and it feels like we knew each other for a century.

~Well, that's it... hope you liked :)

[strawberrygirll13]

I care about you

Dazai x Reader

Pt 1

Warnings: Depression, self harm, mentions of suicide attempts, mental illness.

The restaurant was quiet, save for the occasional clinking of plates and murmurs of other diners. Candlelight flickered softly, casting a warm glow over the table. Across from you, Dazai sat back in his chair, his arm lazily draped over the backrest, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You know,” he started, swirling the wine in his glass, “if this steak were my last meal, I think I’d die happy.”

You set your fork down, a sense of unease already creeping in. “Dazai…”

He didn’t seem to notice the warning in your voice, his eyes gleaming with something darker. “But,” he continued, his voice calm, “if I were to go, I’d want it to be something more dramatic. Something… poetic. Maybe a leap into a river. Or from a high-rise at sunset. You know, something that would leave an impression.”

You couldn’t keep the tension from building in your chest. “Dazai, I really don’t like it when you talk like that.”

He paused for a moment, the grin still playing on his lips. “Oh? Why not?” he said, tilting his head, seemingly unfazed. “It’s the truth. I’ve tried a few things, you know.”

Your fingers tightened around your napkin, and you felt a cold chill run through you. “What do you mean ‘tried a few things’?”

Dazai leaned forward, his gaze sharp as he looked directly at you. “Well, let me think... I’ve tried hanging myself, drowning myself—Yokohama Harbor, to be exact. It was freezing, but strangely peaceful. I really thought it would work that time. But no, a fisherman pulled me out before I could go under for good.” He chuckled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Pathetic, huh?”

You felt your heart drop, but he kept going, unperturbed. “I also tried jumping in front of a train once. The timing was all wrong, though. I only got clipped, nothing serious. And then there was the time I tried poisoning myself, but the drink was too weak. Didn’t do the job. But you know, the one that came closest? Cutting my wrists. I really thought that one would do it. I got pretty close, but again, I ended up surviving.”

Each attempt, each method, he listed it so casually, as if they were simple anecdotes, nothing more than stories to amuse himself. The weight of his words pressed down on you, suffocating, until you couldn’t breathe. You felt a mix of disgust and helplessness, your stomach twisting in knots. This wasn’t just dark humor; this was the product of something deeper, something broken. And it was eating at him.

“Dazai,” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please, stop. I don’t want to hear this. This isn’t funny.”

He raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by your reaction. “Why not?” he asked, genuinely curious. “It’s just a little dark humor. Surely you, of all people, aren’t disturbed by some harmless stories?”

“Harmless?” You stood up abruptly, unable to sit through it any longer. “It’s cruel. It’s wrong. I don’t know why you think this is okay, but it’s not. I care about you, Dazai, and hearing you talk like this…” You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “It makes me feel awful. Can you not see that?”

He looked at you for a long moment, his smile never wavering, though his eyes were colder than usual. “Cruel?” he repeated, amusement still in his tone. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not as though anyone would care if I actually died, anyway. Hell, the world would probably be better off without me. It’s not like I have anyone who would mourn me.”

You shook your head, a knot forming in your throat. This wasn’t just about his words anymore; it was about the way he saw himself. The way he thought of his life as something so expendable.

"And you know," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I’ve been thinking about finding a beautiful woman to share my final moments with. Someone who wouldn’t mind a little poetic death. I’ve been looking for someone who’d be willing to… you know, commit double suicide with me. My dear friend, you’d do perfectly." His grin was wider now, predatory, and it made your skin crawl.

You stared at him, unable to process how casually he could say something so horrifying. “Why would you say that to me? Why would you ask me something like that?”

He laughed, but it was an empty, hollow sound. “Why? Because you’re one of the few people I actually respect. I thought you’d find the idea appealing. You’re beautiful, aren’t you? You would make a perfect match for me in the end.”

Your hands shook at your sides, but you didn’t back down. “No, Dazai. No. I don’t find any of this funny. You’ve made me so uncomfortable tonight, and you did it on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted to make me feel bad. Well, congratulations, you’ve succeeded.”

He blinked at you, for the first time showing a crack in his indifference, his smirk faltering for a split second as he processed your words. But before he could respond, you turned and grabbed your coat, slipping it over your shoulders.

“I’m leaving,” you said, your voice firm but quiet.

Dazai didn’t say anything. He just watched as you moved toward the door, his gaze unreadable. The air between you had shifted, and you couldn’t quite understand it, but you knew one thing for certain: You couldn’t sit there and let him pull you into his darkness.

With one last glance at him, you stepped out into the cold night air, the weight of the conversation lingering with you, but you didn’t turn back.

The days following that tense dinner were markedly different. You kept your interactions with Dazai strictly professional, your usual casual conversations replaced with curt, pointed words. Whenever a task required communication, you went through others—Kunikida, Atsushi, anyone else who could serve as a buffer between you and him. Dazai, however, wasn’t one to let things go unnoticed, especially when they disrupted his carefully cultivated routines.

You knew he’d noticed the shift—he wasn’t an idiot. But instead of apologizing or addressing it directly, he chose his usual route: mischief.

It started small. A sly remark here, an exaggerated sigh there. When you ignored those, he ramped it up. During one meeting, he’d kept dropping pens onto your side of the table, leaning over to retrieve them with the kind of smug grin that made you want to throttle him. When you didn’t react, his antics escalated.

The breaking point came one quiet afternoon when you returned to your desk only to find his desk… wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

He’d moved it.

Right in front of yours, so close the two desks were now touching, effectively making it one long, cluttered mess of books, papers, and his personal junk. Your side was spotless, as always, but his was overflowing—documents spilling over onto your workspace, a half-eaten bag of snacks perched precariously on the edge, and his coat draped lazily over your chair.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the absurdity before you, willing yourself to stay calm.

“Do you mind?” you finally asked, your voice cold as you folded your arms.

Dazai, leaning back in his chair with a lopsided grin, didn’t miss a beat. “Not at all. Cozy, isn’t it?”

“It’s not cozy,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes. “It’s invasive. Move your desk back.”

“But I like it here,” he replied, spinning his pen between his fingers. “Better lighting. Better company. Well... not bettercompany, but you’re here, so it’ll do.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. Instead, you sat down, pushed his papers to the far edge of your desk, and went back to your work.

This didn’t deter him in the slightest. Over the next hour, he kept finding ways to encroach on your space—tossing paperclips onto your side, humming loudly, even nudging your coffee mug with his own until it was teetering dangerously close to the edge.

Finally, when it seemed like he might actually topple it over, you shot him a glare. “If you spill that, I swear—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, leaning in closer. “Yell at me? Ignore me some more? I think you’ve got the ignoring part down pretty well already.”

You didn’t respond, turning back to your work with tight-lipped determination.

His frustration, though, was becoming harder for him to hide. You could see it in the way he kept drumming his fingers on the desk, in the exaggerated way he sighed every five minutes, in the way his usual lazy demeanor seemed a little too deliberate, like he was trying too hard to act like this wasn’t bothering him.

And then, he started writing notes.

At first, he didn’t even try to be subtle about it. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper, folded it neatly, and slid it onto your side of the desk.

You ignored it.

A second note followed, then a third. You didn’t open any of them, and the more you ignored them, the more frustrated he seemed to become.

By the fourth note, he didn’t even bother folding it anymore. Instead, he scrawled the words in large, dramatic letters across a sheet of paper and held it up directly in your line of sight.

“ARE YOU STILL MAD?”

You didn’t look at him, but he kept the note there until you finally sighed and muttered, “Yes.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting an actual answer. Then, with a grin, he grabbed another sheet of paper and scribbled again. This time, he slid it across the desk to you.

“WHY?”

You stared at the note for a moment before crumpling it up and tossing it back at him. “You know why,” you said, your voice quiet but firm.

For once, he didn’t have a quick retort. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his grin faltering ever so slightly as he watched you go back to your work.

But, true to form, he didn’t stay quiet for long. Moments later, another note landed on your desk.

“CAN I MAKE IT UP TO YOU?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t trust yourself to, not yet. And so, the silence between you stretched on, heavy and unresolved, while Dazai sat across from you, bored, frustrated, and—if the look in his eyes was any indication—just a little bit lost.

The silence between you two stretched unbearably as Dazai fidgeted with his pen, occasionally glancing at you, though you didn’t spare him a single look. Despite his antics, you were determined to hold your ground. He deserved to stew in this. To feel the weight of your anger and hurt.

Yet, as the minutes ticked by and the tension grew thicker, you found yourself caving. Not entirely, but enough for curiosity to override your stubbornness. With a sigh, you picked up your pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper, sliding it over to him without looking up.

“Did you mean it?”

Dazai, for once, didn’t respond immediately. You heard the faint rustle of the note as he picked it up, followed by a pause. Then, slowly, he scrawled something down and pushed it back toward you.

“Mean what?”

You stared at the words for a moment before writing again.

“That you want me to die with you?”

When you slid the note back, you refused to meet his gaze, your fingers gripping your pen tightly as you waited for his response. The air between you felt suffocating, heavy with the unspoken weight of the question.

It took him longer this time. You heard the soft scratching of his pen as he wrote, then paused, then wrote again. Finally, the note landed back in front of you.

“Yes.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at the single word, simple and honest in a way Dazai rarely allowed himself to be. When you finally looked up at him, his expression was unreadable, his usual playful grin replaced by something quieter, something that almost looked like vulnerability.

“I wasn’t joking,” he said softly, breaking the silence. “Not entirely, at least.”

Your throat felt dry, and you weren’t sure what to say. For all the times Dazai hid behind humor, behind his endless games and tricks, hearing him admit something so dark, so raw, left you momentarily at a loss.

“Why?” you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, though the motion felt forced, his usual air of nonchalance cracking at the edges. “Because if I had to go, at least with you… it wouldn’t feel so empty. It’d be poetic, don’t you think? Two kindred spirits, disappearing together.”

“That’s not poetic, Dazai,” you said firmly, anger creeping into your voice. “It’s selfish. It’s—” You stopped yourself, exhaling sharply. “It’s cruel that you would suggest that.”

His lips quirked up in a half-smile, but there was no humor behind it. “I told you, I’m a selfish man. You should know that by now.”

Your eyes narrowed, but you didn’t reply. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, the note still clutched tightly in your hand, as the weight of his words settled over you.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dazai,” you began, folding the note neatly and placing it in front of him, “but unfortunately, I do not want to die. And I’d prefer it if you could refrain from doing so either.”

You stood up, your chair scraping against the floor as you grabbed your bag. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be back in a minute.”

But before you could take a step, his hand shot out, quick and instinctive, his bandaged wrist wrapping firmly around yours. It wasn’t harsh or forceful, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks.

“What the hell?” you blurted, glancing down at his hand, then back at him.

For the first time since the conversation began, he looked genuinely caught off guard. His grip on your wrist wasn’t calculated; it was almost desperate, as though the very thought of you leaving—even temporarily—was unbearable.

“I… You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his tone lighter than his expression betrayed. But the crack in his voice, subtle as it was, didn’t escape you.

Your brow furrowed. “Dazai, I work here. I’m just going to the bathroom. I’m not running off into the sunset. Good god, you have issues.”

His lips curved into a faint smirk, but it lacked his usual humor. “Issues? That’s putting it lightly, don’t you think?” He released your wrist, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before he let it drop back to his side. “I guess I just don’t like the idea of you walking away from me… even if it’s just to the restroom.”

“Dazai,” you sighed, softening your tone despite yourself, “I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through them before his usual mask slipped back into place. “Promise?” he asked, leaning back in his chair with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You gave him a flat look. “I’m not promising anything. It’s a bathroom break, not a grand betrayal.”

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the weight of his touch—or the way his voice had faltered, even for just a second. Something about it lingered, clawing at the edges of your mind like an unanswered question you weren’t sure you were ready to ask.

A few hours later ~

The office was quiet now, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the rustling of papers as you gathered your things. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of a single desk lamp. You glanced over at him. His desk—still obnoxiously pressed against yours—was cluttered with papers he hadn’t touched all day. He’d sat there for hours, throwing the occasional quip your way, but you hadn’t said much in return.

It wasn’t just the silence that made the air feel heavy; it was the weight of his words from earlier. He wanted you to die with him. The thought lingered, intrusive and stubborn, no matter how much you tried to shove it aside. You couldn’t understand how he’d asked you something so selfishly, so casually, as if it were just another joke in his endless repertoire.

Shaking your head, you slid your bag over your shoulder and moved toward the door. You didn’t bother to say goodbye.

“Wait,” his voice called out, stopping you mid-step. You turned to find him standing now, hands stuffed into his pockets as he leaned against the edge of the desk.

“What is it, Dazai?” you asked, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

“Let me walk you home,” he said, straightening up and taking a step closer.

You blinked at him, the question catching you off guard. “Are you going to say some weird shit?”

His mouth quirked into a half-smile, though it lacked the usual cockiness. “You know, probably. I mean, it’s me.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as if he were suddenly unsure of himself. “But… I won’t ask you to, you know, do that with me again. Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers in mock sincerity.

You narrowed your eyes, considering him for a moment. “Fine,” you said finally, letting out a small sigh. “But only if you promise.”

“Promise,” he repeated, a flicker of amusement returning to his voice.

As you pushed open the door and stepped into the cool night air, he fell into step beside you. Something about the way he kept just a half step behind, letting you set the pace, felt quieter than usual—almost careful. It wasn’t like him. Then again, nothing about today had been.

The street was quiet as you and Dazai walked down the path, the only sounds being the soft crunch of your footsteps against the pavement and the occasional rustling of leaves in the trees. The streetlamps above flickered on, casting a dim, golden light that illuminated the sidewalk in a soft, almost melancholic glow. The night air was cool, a refreshing change from the stuffy office, and you relished the brief quiet that came with the walk.

You didn't mind walking. You’d never been one to rely on a car, especially when the journey gave you a little peace of mind. Besides, the apartment was only about a 20-minute walk away, and you had plenty of time to clear your head. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

As you walked in silence, your thoughts wandered. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you and Dazai today. His words from earlier still echoed in your mind, but it wasn’t just that. Something about his behavior had felt off—a bit too distant, a bit too… real.

It was strange, but despite everything, you couldn't deny you had feelings for him. Not that you really had a choice, considering how often you saw each other. But you were realistic about it. The idea of him ever feeling the same was almost laughable. He was too much of a mess, too much of a broken puzzle for you to figure out. And even if he did have feelings for you, you weren’t sure it was something you could trust.

The walk continued in silence, and you pulled your coat tighter around you, keeping your thoughts to yourself. But then, without warning, Dazai held out his arm for you.

At first, you were confused. You didn't know what he meant by the gesture. But when he huffed, his voice edged with a hint of impatience, “Come on, I’m not going to bite you,” you could feel a wave of hesitation wash over you.

Before you could respond, he looped his arm through yours, locking it there with a firm but gentle grip. It surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcome. For a moment, you just walked, trying to process what had just happened.

As you did, your gaze slipped over to him. The soft glow of the streetlights caught his brown hair, highlighting the faint tousled mess of it. You’d always admired the way it looked, even when he didn’t seem to care much about it. You wondered, though, how much of his body was covered in bandages. His neck and wrist were always covered, but what about the rest of him? Did he hide it under those clothes, or was there more to it?

The thought made a knot form in your stomach, and you quickly shoved it away. You hated the idea of him harming himself. The thought made your chest tighten, and you didn’t want to think about it—not now, not here, not with him.

“What are you thinking about, Y/N?” Dazai’s voice broke the silence, his tone casual, though there was an edge to it.

You looked up at him, startled, but there was a strange softness in his expression that made you pause.

“Nothing,” you muttered, not wanting to admit to the tangled thoughts swirling in your head. “Just... you know, thinking about work.”

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Really?" he teased, but there was something more guarded in his eyes now. "Because you seem distracted."

You went quiet, your eyes shifting away from his, not wanting to meet his gaze anymore. The cool night air suddenly felt too heavy as the silence between you both stretched on.

Dazai noticed immediately, his pace slowing as he watched the subtle tension build. He didn’t push it at first, but after a few moments, he muttered, almost absentmindedly, “I hate how you don’t let me into your head.” His voice had a quiet frustration in it, like a gnawing irritation that wouldn't let go.

You stiffened, the words from earlier still replaying in your mind. You knew he wasn’t going to drop it, not without pushing the issue. You didn’t want to discuss it, but you couldn’t stay silent either. "Well, it’s kinda difficult to let someone in who has basically said in their own way they want me dead." You kept your voice steady, trying not to let the vulnerability slip through.

The words hung in the air, and Dazai didn’t immediately respond. His arm, still locked with yours, shifted slightly as if he were considering his words carefully.

Then, he spoke. "Y/N, my darling, you and I have two very different perspectives on death." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle between you. "To explain it in the simplest terms, despite how morbid it may seem to you... it is a compliment."

His tone was strange, detached, but also oddly earnest. It was as if he truly believed that what he was saying made sense. And for a moment, you wondered if he even understood how much his words stung.

You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed quiet, your steps slowing to match his. The city seemed farther away now, the night air colder.

"It doesn’t matter how you intended it, Dazai," you said, your voice firm but not unkind. "You are not well. The way you think… it’s all twisted."

Dazai let out a laugh, sharp and self-deprecating. "Oh, I’m very aware," he said with a smirk, though his eyes betrayed something softer, something less cavalier.

The rest of the walk passed in silence. He didn’t let go of your arm, keeping it interlocked with his, as though he feared letting go would shatter whatever fragile thing existed between you both. The city lights grew sparse as you reached your apartment building, and he walked you right up to your doorstep. Even then, his arm stayed linked with yours, his grip firm but not forceful, as if he wasn’t ready to let you go.

Dazai finally stopped, taking a deep breath. His hesitation was unusual, almost unsettling. "Can I ask you something?" he said, his voice softer than usual.

You sighed, fishing your keys out of your pocket. "I’m not going to say no, am I?"

He smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "When you say you care about me… do you mean it?"

You froze, caught off guard by the question. He wasn’t playing this time. There was no sly grin, no teasing inflection. His eyes, brown and deep as they were, searched yours with an almost childlike vulnerability.

"For someone as smart as you are, you’re being quite moronic right now," you said, your voice gentler than your words. His expression shifted slightly—confused, maybe even a little hurt. You softened, letting out a breath. "Of course I care about you, Dazai. I care about you a lot."

He blinked, processing your words, before making a quiet "Oh-ohh" sound, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the information. It was such a Dazai thing to do that it made you smile despite yourself.

Sliding your key into the lock, you turned it and pushed the door open. But before stepping inside, you hesitated. Something tugged at you, a feeling you couldn’t quite ignore.

"Oh, hell, screw it," you muttered under your breath before turning back around. Gently, you reached up and cupped his face, your fingers brushing against the bandages on his cheek. His eyes widened slightly as you leaned in, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his irises, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.

When you pulled back, his expression was one of pure shock. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. You gave him a small smile, your hands still resting against his cheeks.

"Why don’t you think on that, Osamu Dazai," you said, your tone light but meaningful. Then, pulling away, you stepped inside and closed the door behind you with a quiet click.

For a long moment, Dazai stood there on your doorstep, the night air brushing against his face, his lips still tingling from the kiss. Then, slowly, a small, genuine smile curved across his face—one that no one else would have recognized.

[kaigarax]

Time in Our Lives

Saijoni Ukyo x Reader

Quote: “Fall in love with the sound of someone’s voice.”

Saionji Ukyo had fallen in love exactly 2 times in his life.

Sato Mika had been his highschool sweetheart. A clever girl with a smile that could light up a room. She had been his first everything. His first love, his first kiss, his first and his first heartbreak.

It hadn’t been a breakup stirred by jealousy or agony, just one where two individuals had entered into a relationship and had emerged as two different people. A relationship that had become stagnant when both individuals were looking to grow. It wasn’t something unexpected but it still left Ukyo devastated.

It was hard to forget about someone who had been a major part of his life.

Then there was Jane Anderson. She was about four years older than him at the time and had helped introduce him to the new world he suddenly found himself in. Ukyo had stumbled into her acquaintance while overseas and the two of them had fallen into a fleeting relationship. Truthfully it was more of a fling than a full blown out relationship, especially knowing that the two of them had entered into that relationship knowing that it would never last long.

Though in that fleeting time she had managed to steal a part of his heart forever.

There was a strange sort of comfort that came with being someone’s anchor in a strange and unfamiliar world. It was a similar comfort that Ukyo felt around you.

In this strange and unfamiliar world, there was you.

Your voice is the first thing Ukyo remembers when awakening in the New World. You had been explaining the properties behind the chemical compound that released people from their stoney prisons. Ukyo, though, didn’t care all too much about that. He might have fallen asleep in a familiar Japan but he had awakened in a very, very different one.

But even the unfamiliarity of his situation wasn’t what had captured his immediate attention. It was purely the sound of your voice. You were confident in explaining something that was far beyond Ukyo’s groggy understanding. Your voice wasn’t high pitched enough to be considered annoying but it was neither low enough to be mistaken for a boy’s. To him, it was near perfect.

In the spur of events, Ukyo hadn’t even been able to learn your name.

You had disappeared as soon as Ukyo had regained his bearings in the New World.

Ukyo hears you before he sees you during his second meeting with you.

You’re singing a familiar song. Something contemporary and in english. It seems upbeat enough and gets Ukyo thinking about all the things that have disappeared from this world. From the wonderful melodies written in the early 1900s to the new tunes from the 2000s. So much is left purely to the memories of forgotten individuals.

Not that everything about this new world is horrible though. There are plenty of new things that Ukyo likes. He enjoys the silence. Not the lonely kind of silence that seeps into one’s mind at their worst moments, but the simple silence that one looks for when they need to think.

Ukyo also enjoys the singing of the birds. Their melodies are so much more playful without the pollution of man made noises. Ukyo really feels as though he has time to be himself and to just be with himself and nature in this unfamiliar world.

Perhaps, though, the best thing about this New World is the people he has gotten to meet.

Not all of the people that have been awarded the privilege of being revived are the most sociable and intelligent, but they are all nice enough. It helps that they respect Ukyo’s abilities. But there are a few special individuals like you. Certain people that he wouldn’t have gotten to meet if the world had continued moving onwards as it had before.

There are people like you, whose voices get drowned out by louder (and not always smarter) ones.

Then though, as Ukyo walked along the babbling river, Ukyo could make out the sound of your gentle singing voice. You aren’t exactly the best singer Ukyo has ever listened to, but your singing voice is strangely something that Ukyo doesn't want to stop listening to.

You alter melodies from how Ukyo remembers them and sometimes attempt to harmonize despite no one singing the main melody. It’s endearing.

“I’m nothing special~” you sing “in fact I’m a bit of a bore~” It echoes into the night as you wander alongside the babbling river. Your arms are held out to either side as you balance on unstable rocks upon the shore.

Ukyo watches with curiosity and humor as you continue onwards. You don’t seem to have the best balance but challenge gravity regardless. Ukyo finds you brave if not a little reckless.

You eventually do fall into the river.

A small scream escapes your lips as your skin comes in contact with the cold water but you are quick to silence yourself. Before Ukyo can come rushing to save you he hears your laughter.

Your laughter is soft and light. Something that floats in the air and seems to hover around Ukyo. He finds it fluffy and warm. Something that he could surround himself with for days.

When you spot Ukyo your face heats up a bright red colour. You flash him a sheepish smile that he has to look away from in fear of you seeing his own bright red face. He holds his hand out to you, as any gentleman would never leave a lovely lady to get up on her own, and smiles when your cold and wet hand comes in contact with his own.

“Hey, you’re Ukyo right?” You asked.

Ukyo could only nod. He likes the way you say his name. He likes that you remembered him. He likes how you sound when trying to act nonchalant around him. He likes the way you say his name.

You smiled, “I’m (Y/n).”

Ukyo can barely manage a “I know,” in response.

The two of you walk in silence as you make your way back to the camp. Ukyo finds it cute how you try to hide your shivering so he pretends not to notice. You’re obviously acting tough for a reason.

Ukyo, on the other hand, attempts to find various things for you and him to talk about on the way back. You’re giving back one word answers but Ukyo isn’t too distraught. He figures that you’re likely embarrassed that he caught you in the aftermath of a mess from something you shouldn’t have been doing.

The next time you and Ukyo meet you are much happier.

You’re dry, thankfully, and clear minded. You are the first to approach him as you apologise about the fiasco from your last meeting. Ukyo finds it cute how you seem to speak slightly faster than the average person. It’s cute.

As the two of you continue talking Ukyo finds himself at a loss for words.

You move your hands slightly as you get into explaining topics that you find fascinating. You’re easily excited and go into depth about things you care about. And what else can Ukyo do but listen and follow you? Your voice is just mesmerising.

“What are you thinking about, Ukyo?” You ask, swinging upside down from a tree branch.

Ukyo had been propped up against the trunk of a tree while fiddling with the creation of his arrows. He’s momentarily surprised that he hadn’t heard you climb the tree and make it to the branch, but he supposes you have gotten better at sneaking and he had been rather deep in thought. Ukyo supposes that he will need to keep a better eye on things from now on. While you may not have had any bad intentions he couldn’t be certain about everyone else.

“About how loud your breathing is.” teases Ukyo.

You pout, “come on, you’ve got to admit that I did a pretty good job surprising you.”

“And how can you prove that?”

“Because of the slight raise in your eyebrows when I appeared.”

“What?”

You twirl around the branch and land safely in front of Ukyo before leaning in towards him suddenly, “when you’re surprised you raise your left eyebrow ever so slightly. Just like right now.”

“And why would I be surprised right now?”

“Because you struggle when in close proximity with people of the opposite gender.” you grin knowingly, “but specifically, you tend to freeze up around me.”

Ukyo cleared his throat and looked away, hoping to hide the reddening of his cheeks, “what makes you say that?”

“I think you already know the answer to that~”

And he does.

“So!” You take a seat beside him, just close enough for your arm to graze his own when either of you move, “are you ever going to teach me how to shoot a bow?”

“Maybe after you learn to stabilize yourself properly.” replies Ukyo.

“I guess you have a valid point. But it’s not as if I have the worst balance ever.”

“Not the worst doesn't exactly mean good enough.”

“Yeah, I guess not.” you ponder for a brief moment before looking up towards the branches, “what else are you doing today? Aside from sitting down and contemplating life, of course?”

“First of all,” Ukyo feels a small smile form at the corner of his lips as he watches your gaze narrow in on his own, “there is never enough time to contemplate life, and secondly yes. I have to do a border patrol later today. Tsukasa is ever restless about making sure that everyone is ready in case something happens.”

“Want company?”

Yes. “No, that’s alright. Don’t you have to help Yuzuriha with something later today anyways?”

You shrug, “I suppose, but I can also do it while helping you.”

“Why?” Ukyo raises a brow teasingly, “are you looking to spend more time with me?”

“Of course!” You smile. Ukyo hates how easy it is for you to say things like that all the time. You can just openly smile after admitting something embarrassing yet tiptoeing around exactly what everyone else wants to hear. You always seem to evade questions at just the right moment.

The boy once again has to turn away from you.

His pride will be utterly shattered if you happen to catch another one of his embarrassing bashful looks.

You don’t push him farther than he wants to go. You never do and that’s what he likes about you. You always know exactly how far before retreating back; never pushing someone out of their comfort zone.

When Ukyo finally manages to peek at you he sees that your head is leaned back against the tree. There’s a nest of birds up there and your attention seems to be fully captured.

Despite noticing a slight raise in Ukyo’s brow when he’s surprised you suddenly fail to notice his longing gaze. Instead you begin to hum. It’s quiet and likely something done absent mindedly as your gaze stays fixed on the bird’s nest. Ukyo notes that it’s the same song that you had been singing when he had watched you fall into the river.

There are actually three distinct songs that Ukyo has identified.

First, there was that slow song with a strange beat. Something memorable but nothing that Ukyo could pin. It was always a melody that would pop up when you had hung around the Mentalist of this New World. There was almost a strange sort of meleconoly that followed the song along with the need for an answer to a question that Ukyo didn’t even know.

Then, there was ‘Taunt’. Ukyo had overheard you singing the strange lyrics while throwing things into a bag. You had explained the origins of the song, which happened to be a small English band, and the strange origin behind it. It was the song that always seemed to recurred after you finished a patrol with Tsukasa’s other unspoken commander.

And finally, there was this one. The slowest of the three melodies and the one reserved strictly for him. It was the one you hummed and mumbled after and during small meetings like this one. It was the one that echoed in Ukyo’s mind after conversations with you. It was the one that got Ukyo’s blood pumping and it was the one that made him forget about the craziness of this strange world he was in.

There were plenty of other melodies you hummed and tunes you made up, but these three were constant and recurring in the time that Ukyo has spent with and around you. These were the songs that other people (Ukyo included) hummed in and out of camp. Songs that not many people knew but had embedded into their memories.

It seemed that Ukyo wasn’t the only person unable to forget your melodies.

They weren’t the kind that immediately caught the attention of people around you but they were ones that were hummed at just the right frequency. A frequency that tuned into the subconscious minds of various individuals.

Quite the ear-bug you were.

Ukyo heard his own voice ask “what song is that?” before actually realising what he was asking.

“Thank you for the music~” you replied, before immediately going back to humming.

Ukyo swallowed, “it’s a very… nice song!”

“Would you like to learn it with me?”

“No, that’s alright. I actually prefer to just listen to you.” Ukyo smiled, “is it another english song?”

You nodded, “it’s from an english musical.”

“So what happens in the musical?”

“Well, it begins with a mother and daughter who have lived their lives with just the two of them. They both struggle to navigate the life that they have ended up in and are suddenly facing a crossroad. Well, a fork in the path with three very different endings.” you flash Ukyo a sheepish look, “sorry. Am I talking your ear off?”

Ukyo shakes his head, “it actually sounds rather interesting.”

“How about you tell me something?” you ask, “I feel as though it’s always me talking. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself for once?”

“Oh. Well, what would you want to know? I feel like there isn’t much that’s interesting about me. Especially where there are such amazing people here.”

You leaned forward with a soft look in your eyes, “I didn’t know navy guys with really good hearing and are brilliant at archery were common. Would you mind pointing me to the most interesting one?”

“Now I just sound foolish when you say it that way.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to invalidate you, I just wanted you to see that you’re not boring.”

“I do feel pretty normal most of the time though.” Ukyo sighed, “I just feel so… average. Especially these days.”

“And what’s wrong with being normal?”

“Nothing I guess.”

“Then why do you sound so bummed out?”

“Because, what if you… don’t like normal guys?”

“Then I guess that would make me a pretty shallow person. After all, I think I’m fairly normal as well.”

Ukyo raised a brow.

“I have a ‘just below average’ balance. I don’t have many fighting skills. My singing is, at best, average. I’m average build for most girls and I’m not particularly intelligent at any particular subject. There are no skills I excel at, unlike you.”

“Wow. I guess you are pretty normal, huh?”

You gave a light flick to the side of Ukyo’s head, “the point I’m making is, that there’s no shame in being boring. There are millions, well not anymore, but there are tons of other people. You can’t always expect to be the best at something. So why so much emphasis on being special?”

And that was when Ukyo knew.

Saionji Ukyo had fallen in love exactly 3 times in his life.

Sato Mika had been his highschool sweetheart. His first love, his first kiss, his first and his first heartbreak.

Then there was Jane Anderson. A woman about four years older than him who had helped introduce him to the new world he suddenly found himself in. A fleeting love that would ever linger in a part of his heart.

And now, there was you. (L/n) (Y/n).

Ukyo had never been one for words. In fact, he considered himself a man of action. He showed affection through action and was moved through actions that others have done. But you, with your alluring voice, trapped him in an unfamiliar world.

You and your bright laughter and vibrant humming, your soft spoken phrases and social intelligence, had lured him in. But it was your strange words of wisdom that had gotten him to realise that he had fallen in love.

Fall in love because of someone’s voice.

[plasma-studios]

some abridged version of love (x)

The townsfolk leave Nightmare in the woods for the Fae, which is the correct way to deal with a changeling. This is a problem for several reasons:

1) Nightmare is said child and he is not a changeling. 2) Since he is not a changeling, there is no Fae coming to collect him. That means he is being left to die, which is marginally bad.

Perhaps his only hope is the Fae he’s unwittingly drawn the attention of. It’s risky, but really, he was just betrayed by the town he grew up in, so… he has nothing else to lose, why not?

OR: Fae UTMV AU where Fae!Nim adopts the Dreamtale Twins. That’s it, that’s the fic.

Chapter 1: ash, dirt, bone

Nightmare awakes to stinging cold. Which shouldn’t be a difficult problem to solve; at this time, which is surely a late hour, the night air is always chilly. Perhaps there is a window open. 

He knows his room well enough to get to his feet without tripping over his brother, knows his home well enough to locate the window in his room and close it without waking up the rest of his family. However, he is unable to get to his feet. Strange, he thinks to himself. 

He tries to twist, but he only makes it through half of the turn. The blanket must be caught on something, perhaps the edge of the bedframe? He tries to reach out to untangle it, but even that small movement is impossible.

Still, he does not panic. Sleep is only a blink away, though his eyes are still closed. The fatigue is there, smoothing over the edge of any panic that might have otherwise taken root.

It is only when he realises there’s something stuffed in his mouth that he thinks to open his eyes. And when the stinging glare of something much too bright forces him to blink away both the light and the sleep away, he finds the cloth in his mouth is rough. 

Fire, he thinks. A flaming torch. Firelight streaks across the sky turned dark with the late hour; he cannot find the moon, but it must be somewhere above him, because the silver light catching on details around him is what allows his jolted mind to piece it together. 

He strains his neck to look down and sees his wrists and ankles tied with thick rope. The kind of rope he’s seen the butcher use to tie up pigs and sheep before the slaughter. Has he been abducted? He strains to make a noise, one that might alert his family—

Someone’s hand clamps over his mouth. Whatever sound he managed has already been drowned out by the crackling of the fire. He tries to twist away, but there is a huff, and he does not even make half the turn. Panic blooms quickly. He thrashes against the rope, but by the end he is gasping into the cloth, and he is still bound. If not by rope, then by hands, as he is carried none too gently to a place he can only assume spells his doom.

The cloth is bitter with dirt and sweat.

“Stop struggling,” Someone hisses into his ear. He stills. No. No, surely not. He fights to catch a glimpse, as if he is a starving animal faced with food, his breath hitching against the gag. 

The speaker’s breath still warms his earlobe. But they draw back too slowly, and Nightmare had already seen.

That was the voice of his father. And this is his face.

What are you doing? His voice is lost into the cloth. Father?

Already there is the sour ache of muscle tensed too long. But his body has also gone limp. 

“God, it’s so heavy. You should’ve done this sooner.”

That's the voice of their neighbour. The seamstress, he recalls. The one who laughs too loudly after returning from the tavern; voice slurred by cheap ale.

“Not soon enough,” Someone grumbles. The baker’s son. Nightmare knows his face, and his voice. He’s the one that always loiters by the well, complaining about the weight of the pails and the muddiness of the water. 

Nightmare lets out a soft breath. Only he hears it. 

“We didn’t know,” His father mutters some short distance away. “We were only told recently.”

He hears a sneer, or perhaps a scoff. But there is nothing else. There is nothing else for what feels like hours in the dark, save for the moonlight and torch, nothing that he could glean answers from, nothing that helps him make sense of the fact that he’s been bound and gagged. 

There is nothing, when he is suddenly thrown onto the ground. Nothing when he winces at the pressure of a thousand hands and arms pressing down on him, nothing when he feels the ropes shift, nothing when they start whispering, finally, but the whispers merge into some soundless mess he makes no more sense of. 

Nothing when they finally withdraw, and he realises he has been bound to a tree. 

Nothing when he looks up, and realises his father is staring at him. Nothing when he spits in his face.

Sometime in the acrid night, he has begun to cry. “Do we leave him like this?” The voice is gentle. Softer than the others, without any note of accusation.

This is the voice of his mother.

There are more words spoken by more people, but he hears nothing.

He hears her ask something. Plead for something.

Nightmare’s breath hitches. His vision is blurred at the edges, but he strains to find her. To just find her face, in the crowd half-lit by firelight. 

Is she pleading for him?

His mother steps forward hesitantly, her hands wringing the edges of her shawl. He has found her. Her voice quivers as she speaks again. “Just once. Please.”

The silence that follows is swallowing. The only sound there is, is the crackling of the flames and the rustle of the trees. Perhaps, in this silence, they may be hearing him cry. Her hands tremble as she reaches out. The rough cloth falls from his mouth, and Nightmare gasps, choking on the sudden rush of cold air.

“Mother,” He rasps. His throat burns with the effort, but he forces the word out again. “Mother, please.”

She looks so sorrowful, her eyes glistening with tears. “Oh, sweet child.” But she does not move closer. 

“Mother, what’s happening?” He pleads.

She does not answer. Her hand is on his cheek. 

“He looks so scared.” 

Nightmare is scared. He opens his mouth again, and begs her. “Mother?”

“Don't let it trick you, Lydia.” The man, unrecognisably his father, scowls. “This has gone on for long enough. Let's go.”

“And they'll return him? Our boy?”

But he's right here. What do they want returned? Why have they tied him up?

“Yeah.” Some rustle from beyond the trees. “Return the changeling to the Fae, and they return the child. That's how it's always been.”

It feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. There is no air for him to breathe in.

They think he's a changeling.

“Will you? If we return you, will you return him?” She speaks so, so mournfully.

“I'm not a changeling.” His voice is raw and broken. “Mother? Mother, please.” She was pleading for him, even if she had been part of the company dragging him out, she was still his mother. “Please don't leave me here! I'll be good, I promise. Just let me go home.”

For a fraction of a second, he sees something shift. His mother lets out a breath. Her face contorts. Her hand flies to him; she strikes him.

“Stop trying to trick me! I don't need you! I don't want you!” 

Is this his mother? Is this the woman that stayed up all night to nurse him when he was ill? The woman that carefully braided his hair when any other’s hand would be so rough he'd sooner cut everything off than allow them to continue? 

“You made our lives a living hell!”

Nightmare doesn't understand. Is this because he spat out the food two fortnights ago? But the texture had been so slimy, so foreign. If he'd choked it down, would he still be sleeping soundly at home? 

He makes a sound like a wounded animal. 

He could feel the world slipping sideways, tilting further out of his control. Too many sounds— branches snapping underfoot, whispered mutters from the others, his own ragged breaths. All of it scratching at his ears, scraping along his brain like nails on glass.

Her face crumples, but she doesn’t step closer. “Say it,” She whispers. Her voice is soft. “Admit what you are.”

“Admit it?” He is shaking. “I’m— Mother, I’m Nightmare. I’m your son!”

Her eyes glisten with tears, and for a moment, it seems as though she might reach for him. But then her gaze hardens, and she looks away.

She is walking away from.him.

“Do we just leave it?”

She is no longer talking to him.

It.  

“Mother!” He shouts, voice tearing from his throat like an animal’s cry. “Mother, don’t let them leave me! Please, Mother! Please!”

He knows what happens to those left in the woods. He knows he is being left to die.

She doesn't move. Her hands clenches into fists, and her gaze drops to the ground. 

“Mother,” He tries again. But she doesn’t turn back. And then, one by one, they leave him.

“No!” He shouts. He's twisting and thrashing against the rope; but it's so tight it's choking him. “You can’t do this! Mother, please! Please!”

She doesn't come back. None of them do. The footsteps streak further and further away. 

He forces himself to stop crying. The effort makes his chest ache, but he can’t afford to attract attention. Not now. Not here. 

The trees seem taller. Their branches twist up, up, up into the sky, too far for him to trace with his eyes; he swears the wind carries past him faint whispers, rustles that don’t belong to the leaves. It prickles at the back of his neck. It is as if something is watching him.

He needs to get out of these ropes. He’s seen enough to know he’s as good as dead if he stays put. 

Even if nothing comes for him, he is still going to starve. 

He shifts, to test the ropes again. They’re so tight that the tension burns against his skin, but he doesn’t care. His fingers fumble for any give he can find. 

There must be wild things in the area. He does not want to be there when some wolf decides to take a chunk out of his throat. He does not want to be there when some crow decides to peck his eyes out. 

A wolf’s sharp teeth gleaming in the moonlight. The cold, black eyes of a crow.

His panic bleeds into resolve. 

The ropes won’t loosen, but he twists his wrists harder, ignoring the sting, ignoring the metallic taste in his mouth of a bitten tongue; everything aches, but he forces his fingers to stop trembling.

A soft snap. He feels it, more than hears it. He’s broken something in his wrist. Otherwise, it would be impossible for his arm to tumble free; impossible to twist his wrist this far, at an angle that tells him he won’t be able to use it to write anymore. 

A branch snaps.

He freezes completely. Slowly, as if it a dream or a nightmare, he looks down to find the broken twig crushed underfoot. 

Something is rustling. He tries to trace the source, but he curses himself when he finds nothing. He can’t see anything beyond the tangled shadows of the trees.

The rustling is so near. His heart leaps into his throat.

He swallows hard. Don’t panic. Keep quiet. Think. Pull. Scrape. Twist. Repeat. His breath steadies, his mind quieting as he works. 

He presses his back against the tree he’s tied to. His breath is so, so shallow. A soft rustle, too deliberate to be the wind.

There it is again. Closer this time. Something is out there, watching him.

They left me. They left me to this.

Another snap— a crunch, leaves and twigs. Whatever it is, it’s big. Bigger than a wolf, bigger than a crow.

It might be a Fae.

Nightmare presses his lips together. He folds in, pushing himself as much as he can backwards, trying to make himself as small as possible. Maybe it won’t notice he’s here.

The sound stops.

And then, from somewhere just beyond the clearing. 

“Oh, child.” 

The voice… echoes. But there’s no one near him. He cranes his neck, he does not recognise the voice but that means they were not among the people who just sent him to his death. 

It means this person might be of help.

“Poor thing.”

It seems to come from everywhere at once. But that’s not possible. He turns right, turns left, but he sees no one in the small radius of sight the moonlight allows him. 

His breath catches.

Slowly, he looks up.

The branches are twisting. It must be the wind, rustling the leaves— but he’s sure, now. That voice had come from up there. Was there someone hiding in the leaves? He cranes his neck, tries to catch as much as he can; twisting branches, serrated edges, and the deep yawning void—

There is something. A shape of some sort. Too dense of a shadow, fluid as if ink spilling through water.

“Poor thing,” The voice whispers again. Unmistakably above him. 

His knees threaten to buckle as his eyes adjust. The shape resolves, bit by bit: spindly limbs extending outward, not like arms but more like roots, like skeletal branches twisting into something inhuman. A head tilts at an unnatural angle, almost curious, face veiled by shifting night.

The bark has split. 

Out of the gaping void, the thing leans in.

“Poor, poor thing,” It croons, and a hand— if it can be called that— reaches down, its fingers impossibly long and thin, brushing the edge of his shadow.

The shadow clinging to the thing peels away just enough, to reveal a face. Pools of light where the eyes should be, a cross between verdant green and moonlit water. And in each ‘eye’, a faint golden ring. 

He flinches backwards. But there’s nowhere to go.

The thing’s skin glows a faint, opalescent green; the rare translucent spots of skin reveal delicate pulsing veins of gold. There are flowers tangled in every inch of it, most blooming high above in some crown made of twisted branches, and he swears he longer he stares at it the more he catches: the thorns tilting upwards drip with sap, the drops of dew look more jewel than water, and when it smiles, it reveals ivory teeth.

“Why do you tremble, little one?” 

Its voice is soft, threaded with some alien melody. It draws closer, dragging behind flowers blooming and decaying in the same breath.

It tilts its head. The golden rings narrow.

Nightmare lets out a quiet breath. He steadies himself. This is a Fae, if he’s ever seen one. So he has to convince it to help him. 

“Left behind by the other humans to die. Such a shame.” Its voice drips with something dangerously close to pity, or mocking. “You seem quite astute. It would be a waste to leave you, no?”

He feels the compliment latch onto him, and quickly discards it. This is a trap. Everyone knows it’s better to die than end up in the hands of the Fae. His mind races. He has to say something. Ignoring a Fae has been branded as rude in more than one instance, and he very much does not want to be cursed. 

That would be very, very bad.

“You are here?” He twists it into a question to buy time. 

If he asks for help outright, he’s sure the Fae will twist the offer into something terrible. 

A soft titter. “Why can’t I be here? This is my home. You?” Its lips curl into a faint smile. “You are the guest here.”

He swallows. He thinks, thoughts tumbling over themselves in the tussle to find the right words. The safe words. Ignoring it isn’t an option, and he knows better than to stammer out an apology that reeks of his own stupid fear. 

Nightmare opens his mouth.

“Why are you here with me?”

The faint pulse of gold beneath its skin draws his eye despite himself. 

“Your family. Your blood. My, even I would never abandon my young. And yet humans prove they are more cruel than any Fae once more. And here you are, clinging onto life, much too stubborn to die.”

Maybe I wasn’t their blood. The thought is like a splinter under his skin. If he were a changeling, would he even know? Maybe they were right to leave him. 

“You want something from me.” It isn’t a question. And the laugh that leaves the creature is not refuting it. Perhaps there is no answer, because it wasn’t a question. He already knows what it wants, what all the Fae want in each and every story. His True Name.

“My blood,” He repeats. He does not know if this is to distract it, or himself. “Were they my blood?”

Its smile does not crack open. “What are you asking, child?”

“Am I a changeling?”

It tilts its head, the movement slow and deliberate.

“A changeling?” Its voice lilts as it weighs the word. “Is that your fear, little one? That you are not as human as you believe?”

Its eyes— again, pools of verdant light, dig into him. He swallows the discomfort of feeling so very exposed.

“Perhaps.” It hums. His stomach drops. “But perhaps not. They left you all the same. They saw something in you they could not love, could not keep. That is true inhumanity, no? There is no answer I could give you that would change things. Fae cannot lie, dearest.”

Nightmare feels the exact moment his nerves have been struck. Why do Fae talk in circles? Is it that hard to give a yes or no?

“Am I not a changeling?” He tries again.

“Hm. What they did was wrong.”

He is about to interject when she leans in, and he suddenly realises he cannot move an inch. 

He looks down, and swallows a scream. The ropes are buried under vines slithered up from the earth, tangled tighter than the human knots, and even if he breaks his other arm there’s no way he’ll be able to sneak out of the tightening vines. 

“Come now,” It croons, voice soft, deceptively warm. “Let me look at you. Let me see if you are mine.”

He can’t feel his legs. Oh, god. He can’t even see his legs. There is moss, spread across where his legs should be, as thick as a second skin, damp and shapeless. He watches, horrified, as small shoots push through the fabric of his clothes. 

Arms wrap around him. He stills even more. 

The rich smell of earth fills the air. He smells wildflowers, too.

“Shh,” It murmurs softly into his ear. He hates that it soothes the seed of panic in his stomach.

He forces his gaze back up to it. 

“What are you doing to me?” His voice is hoarse with fear.

“Dearest. You were fidgeting so much, how could I look at you properly? There you are.”

This is no different than the ropes. This is worse than the ropes. He bites back a retort, still not keen on a curse.

“Why won’t you give me a straight answer?” This is risky. He does not like to take risks. But he is not disemboweled immediately, so his fear takes a backseat.

It makes a soft noise.

“No. You were never a changeling.”

The vines are digging into his ribs. Nightmare winces.

“Did that help?”

“Yes.” He hisses in pain. “No.”

“You should not lie to the Fae.” Its smile is not kind. “But I shall forgive you for the transgression. What I wonder,” It murmurs, leaning in closer, “Is what you want of me.”

His breath catches. He starts, but she cuts him off. “Don’t deny it. Is it vengeance? I would not fault you for it. It would be very well-deserved.”

Vengeance. The word echoes in his head for a few moments, and he wants so badly to make them pay. But he tastes ash in his mouth. He is so tired.

“I want to go back home.” The moment he says it, it feels wrong. He does want to go home, but the house he grew up in no longer feels like a place he can return to. There is nowhere safe for him in town. Nowhere he is safe.

His voice is so, so small.

“I just want to live.” 

For a moment, the forest holds its breath, and the only sound is the faint rustle of leaves,

“To live,” It echoes. “Such a simple desire.”

The vines loosen slightly, though they do not release him. Not yet.

It studies him.

“You wish to live,” It says, more softly this time. “Then tell me, little one. What are you willing to give for such a wish?”

It is not actually a question. There is only one thing he can give.

For an instant, he considers refusing. Considers being left to die, just as he was meant to. He considers many things. Perhaps he would be better dead, if there is no place he can be safe without giving up his True Name. If this was the price of survival, if this was what it took to live, then maybe there was no life worth having.

There is nothing left for him. Perhaps it would be better to die.

But then he thinks of Dream. Still sleeping, he hopes, in their room. He refuses to believe he knew of the plot to leave him in the forest. They told each other everything, and Dream could never keep a secret.

There’s no way in hell he’s leaving Dream to them. There’s no way he’s leaving Dream there to rot. There’s no way he’s just going to let himself die and leave him to the wolves.

A single breath, then another.

“Nightmare.” The Name drops from his mouth like a stone.

A beat of silence. Then, the wind picks up.

“Nightmare,” She echoes. She tests the name once, then twice. 

A soft crack splits the soil beneath his feet, and in the blink of an eye, the ground gives way.

He jerks away and gasps as cold, slick fistfuls of soil coil around his ankles; before he blinks a second time inches of him have already been swallowed. He has no time to ponder if he’s just made a terrible, terrible mistake. 

“Don’t fight it, Nightmare. You’ll only hurt yourself more.” 

As he cries out he finds he cannot move even as he’s being consumed by the earth. Her voice comes to him as a soft caress. He shudders, despite himself, and his thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

Something is stirring in him. 

He feels something pulling at him, something seeping into him. His head feels very, very delicate, and he does not remember closing his eyes, and he does not quite dislike the soft haziness of it all. It tingles, but only slightly, and everything is dulled over for him. Made softer, made gentler.

“You were never a changeling.” Her voice, wind in the leaves. “But I always wanted a child. This is good for us both, see?”

Then, he understands. 

Oh. He breathes. So that’s how it is.

[capricioussun]

Underfell Papyrus with the prompt "Can’t stop shaking," please

Hope you feel better soon ^^ 💜

This one got away from me a bit so I'm sorry if it's a little janky but also ty ;; 🩵

Ao3

CW, sick fic, sick character's pov, hospital stuff

Prompt list

—

A strange sound filtered in through the darkness. Fuzzy and ticklish, distant in the back of his skull. When it happened again, pain bloomed there, bleeding down his cervical vertebrae to ache through his ribcage.

Feeling began to register as that pain traveled further. Every limb drawn taut like a wooden doll held together with too little string. Tremors held him in a vice grip, unable to think beyond the radiating soreness weighing him down like lead, stifled further by a heavy weight laid atop the length of his body. Not only heavy, but hot, smotheringly so, yet doing nothing to reach the chills shivering up his spine, exacerbating the aches further.

That sound happened again, muffled, but more familiar, a voice. He tried to open his mouth to speak, to question, when that tickling sensation jumped, right to his throat, jolting fully awake with a vicious bout of coughing.

"Oh-!" a large, furry paw smoothed over the top of his head as that sound came again, closer, words, but none clear enough to parse over his own choking. He could hardly open his eyes enough to see the distorted shapes above him, let alone make sense of them.

Something cloth passed across his teeth, and instincts abruptly urged to push his attacker away before they could gag him, but his arms were useless, weak and buried at his sides. As the coughing finally subsided he could hear the stifled rattling of his own bones beneath the thick fabric restricting him.

"It is only me, Papyrus-" still cloudy, but discernible at last, "Toriel. Calm down," her gentle voice finally clicked into alignment with everything else. Toriel, his...friend? His mind grappled for a word or phrase to define what she was to him, but thoughts seemed to jumble together, clinging uselessly to the inside of his skull.

"Do not strain yourself," she soothed again, brushing the side of her paw against his cheekbone. As disoriented as he felt, he could still hear the strain in her steady tone.

Blinking slowly, the stale magic lining his sockets prevented his vision from focusing, but the rest of his unease passed recognizing Toriel's silhouette. When the cloth pressed to his teeth again he made no move to struggle. Not that he could've – he'd become acutely aware he felt awful.

Soon enough, the light pressure disappeared, his eyes fighting exhaustion to squint back open.

"There," she sighed, and then went quiet for a moment. The battle was quickly lost, his eyes drifting back shut, when he heard the floor creak. "I will get you some water." She spoke so softly, not dissimilar to how she spoke to Frisk...it felt disarming to hear it directed at him.

As her steps faded, his own noise became emphasized in the silence. Any white noise of the house settling or Toriel's movements elsewhere went entirely drowned out by every wet, rasping breath drawn, the unrelenting rattling tremble of his bones. Dizzy and nauseous, unable to so much as sit up, dully he remembered what was wrong with him. He was sick.

Very sick.

Without warning, the nausea heightened, coiled below his ribcage and he shuddered, swallowing thickly as much as he could before a sweeping chill wracked him, gasping into another, weaker coughing bout. Even his mind would not cooperate, feeling like his head had been stuffed with static and cotton.

Back underground, pain was simply a facet of life. Being stabbed, broken, bruised and beaten; especially in the guard. Seldom a day went by he returned home plagued only by weariness. But it had always been his brother prone to illness. He could probably count the number of times on one hand he could remember being sick himself, and it had never felt like this. Like his own body trying to exorcise him.

A strange lightheadedness possessed him, whatever few thoughts he could cling to slipping rapidly from his grasp. Only distantly was he aware of Toriel’s return and her attempting to get him to drink, raising his head in a strong, careful grip. He tried to tell her not to, his body was disgustingly soaked in his own sweat, it would matte her fur, surely, but all that came out was a strangled groan as she finally lowered him back to the pillow.

Were it not for lingering common sense, he would've worried his bones were on the verge of rattling apart. His focus had nowhere else to tether as wakefulness loosened from him further, drifting back and forth often enough to keep him miserably aware of his own discomfort, but no more, not enough to think.

Time lost all meaning between snatches of consciousness, if it could’ve been called that. Every brief moment of awareness lost upon every lapse. He wouldn't remember catching whispers of two voices, one he knows better than any other, tense and worried. Wouldn't remember cringing weakly as he was moved, carried by strong, shaking hands to a cool vehicle, trembling hard enough to whimper at the pain of it. Wouldn't remember strangers’ hands replacing trusted ones, or how they caught him as he convulsed, getting sick on unfamiliar tile floors.

None of that remained, nor the days that followed.

Nothing made sense by the time his mind feebly made its way back to him. A low beeping beside him, the warmth of sunlight on his hands. When he managed to pry his tired eyes open, clean, white, unfamiliar walls greeted him. The bed before him less unknown, a hospital bed, with clinical white sheets outlining his body underneath. Wires that must've been attached to him snaked out from beneath – he couldn't feel them, but he couldn't feel much of anything beyond an overwhelming fatigue.

The air brought into his ribcage with every breath felt oddly cool, eyes drifting closed to focused what little energy he had on recalling what had led him here. Nothing came back before that beeping changed, only once, two staccato chirps seamlessly flowing back into its prior rhythm.

Automatically, he tried to look to the source, neck stiff and unwilling but managing enough to see a screen displaying stats he couldn't make sense of. He was in a hospital, of course, but what would he need to be monitored for? Why-

"rus?"

Turning his head too quickly, he flinched with a sharp inhale, "whoa whoa, take it easy, papyrus, s'just me."

Vision clearing from the unexpected jolt, his brother came into view. Outlined in the early morning, or perhaps late afternoon light filtering in from the window behind him, Sans stood beside his bed, obviously looking worse for wear in spite of the easy grin plastered on his features.

"What-" the dryness of his magic choked him, coughing as Sans fussed, pulling a cup of water off a tray he hadn't noticed with a flick of blue magic to force upon him with a mild scold. The surreality of it made him question if he was actually awake.

Clearing his throat more properly, any questions fell to the wayside as exhaustion frustratingly took hold again. He laid back, half-breathless just from drinking, and watched as Sans moved to set the cup back down by hand, aimlessly picking at the few other items on the tray. It didn't seem he actually needed to ask, watching Sans deliberately find things to do, carefully avoiding meeting his eyes. The blanket was his next target, returning to the bed to fix it, smoothing it, brow bones pinched in an unusually tight scowl.

He said nothing, perhaps too tired to be annoyed by the prevarication, or perhaps understanding something bad must’ve happened to upset his brother this deeply.

It wasn’t long before the tension cracked with a sigh. Sans stuffed his hands back into his pockets as he stared down at where a wire was surely attached to his brother’s soul under the sheets. What he was really seeing was anyone's guess, but the string was fully cut when Sans took another, deeper breath, clearing his throat and shuffling the few steps back to the chair he must've been sleeping in.

"you uh, you really don't do nothin' halfway, do ya, kid," he breathed a humorless laugh as he slowly lowered into the chair. That single working eyelight drew up to the gaze rested on him, his own weariness now plain as day.

Papyrus held that attention steadily, hoping the slight furrow of his brow bone asked well enough for him. A shadow passed over Sans' expression, gone again in a flicker as he looked away for a moment before returning, but he didn't miss the tightness of his brother's voice as he answered.

"you got sick, papyrus. really sick." His hands fidgeted where they were clasped in his lap, wringing each other sluggishly. "scared the hell outta tori. wouldn' even let the kid visit 'cause she..."

One hand moved to his knee, clearing the shakiness from his voice and making a poor attempt to cover it with a chuckle. "don' matter now. got a little outta hand ‘cause of a secondary infection, but the doc said yer improving real well so it don' matter."

A small measure of sincerity lightened Sans' smile, voice low and calm, "now ya just gotta rest, got it?" He didn't even realize his sockets were sinking shut as he listened.

"just gotta relax, 'rus, i ain't goin' nowhere. s’gunna be alright."

Of course it would, he didn’t say. He didn’t have to. This time, sleep claimed him much more gently.

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicmas Redux: Shadow To Light

Happy New Year to everyone, and I hope 2024 is a beautiful and positive year for everyone - I think we've all earned it.

As promised, as an auspicious offering, the first 1000 words of the STL Ch 13 draft. Mary-Alice is being profoundly difficult about this chapter, but she's allowed to be a little bit messy.

Here's to a great year with more regular updates and more of my self indulgent nonsense ;)

Fourteen. Starved for so long of beauty

Once upon a time, a lifetime ago, she made a choice. It was an easy choice to make, because it was the right one. Because she didn’t truly know what came next; her certainty in her own visions, her certainty in who she was going to be - who the Major was going to be - had made her confident.

(She doesn’t regret it, she would never wish to go back and make a different decision. She just wishes… she just wishes that she knew better what was to come. What it was like to be stripped right down to the bone, layer by layer, from loneliness and violence and hopelessness. She wishes she’d read the contract she was signing in blood and tears and time, just so she could look fate in dead in the eye and make the same choice without a second thought.)

The Major smells like… he smells like something she doesn’t want to acknowledge.

(He smells like home.)

—

She feels silly after the worst of her panic attack is over, and the Major is there next to her with his arm around her. She feels utterly ridiculous, actually - the stolen t-shirt in her arms, curled against him so tightly… She almost feels ashamed.

(Except… she’s frustrated. She wants to demand answers - when is she allowed to fall down? When is she allowed to break apart and have someone else put together the pieces? In more than eighty years, it’s always been up to her to maintain control, to be the thing that bends but does not break and she’s so tired. But she’s also supposed to be better than this. Isn’t that what the Major always said? Why Peter always resented her? Even Maria noticed. Mary-Alice is sturdy, reliable, consistent. If she falls, she gets back up. It… it would just be nice not to, just once.)

“How are you feeling?”

The Major’s voice is warm and kind and it almost makes her feel less pitiful.

Almost.

“Present.” Her voice is quiet but her tone is clipped and distant, and she regrets it when she feels him withdraw slightly. She’s wrecking this, like she wrecks everything. It’s all she ever does.

(Maybe that’s why she was such a good soldier; she knows exactly how to ruin things.)

But the Major doesn’t leave. He just shifts so he’s not pressed quite so close, his cheek no longer resting against her hair. But his arm is still around her.

“Do you need to hunt?” He asks, and she doesn’t know. Everything feels odd and off balance and maybe she’s not as back as she originally thought.

So she doesn’t answer. She just rests her head back against the wall and closes her eyes.

The Major watches her for a moment before looking away. “When I met the Cullens,” he begins in a gentle voice, “I swear Esme only made Carlisle approach me because I resembled a drowned cat. Hadn’t stopped raining on the East Coast for weeks, and I’d been roaming the woods the entire time. I was disgusting. Maria would have thrown a bucket of water at my head weeks before if we’d been back home.

“And Esme took one look at me and whisper-bullied Carlisle into approaching me, like I couldn’t hear every single word. She kept saying that I looked cold.” The Major chuckles and she’s close enough that she feels the vibrations through his chest and it’s… it’s not unpleasant.

It’s strange being this close to another person and not being on edge. Not waiting for the killing blow, trying to figure out how to get to their throat first. Making sure that she knows exactly where their hands and teeth are, that she’s prepared for their next movement, for the tightening of their muscles before they lunge…

(It’s very strange being this close to someone, at all. She prefers to keep her distance normally. But this… it’s not the bad kind of strange, she doesn’t think. She’s just so intensely aware of him.)

“Just imagine it, will you - Esme wearing a tweed coat and riding boots and a hat to go hunting, and I look like a monster who spent a week sleeping in a swamp,” the Major continued, “And she was worried about me, like I was a soggy kitten.”

She can imagine it, honestly; his hair sticking to his face, and that gaunt, murderous look he got on his face when he was thirsty. Weeks of grime pressed into his clothing, his skin, looking like the monster from an old story or some mythological horror rising from the riverbed. Nothing sympathetic or pitiable about him for most people.

Right now, she feels oddly grateful to Esme for looking past all of that and seeing the Major as he could be.

“And you followed them home?” She tries to make the words sound light-hearted, but they fall flat and ugly, and she wants to take them back.

That makes the Major laugh out loud, a rumble against her side that is startling and she jumps a little.

“No. I told them to fuck off and leave me be; I had to tell them that a few times over the years until I gave in and talked to them. Let Esme convince me that taking a shower and accepting new clothing was a right and not charity. Let Carlisle remind me that I owed them nothing by ‘visiting’ with them. It took a long time for them to lure me over the threshold.” The Major takes her hand in his; his thumb smooths over a patch of scar tissue, a repetitive motion that feels… soft. Nice. “I think in the end, I hinted that I was ready for them to ask me to stay with them. I don’t think I was subtle about it either.”

“They didn’t ask you before then?” Mary-Alice feels the frustration boil for a second. She watched as much as she could bring herself to, for many years, and there are pieces that she’s missing. They just weren’t important enough for her to see, or something changed and recalling what she’d politely dismissed was too difficult.

(She had entrusted the Major to the Cullens. It didn’t matter that they had had no idea, all those years ago, her visions had made the contract. And even now, knowing that it all came together the way it was supposed to, it upsets her that he had to wait for so long to be taken home to his family.)

[mirukimary]

Prompt #1: Steer

Spoilers: ARR (lv46 quest ‘Every Little Thing She Does Is Magitek’).

Pairing: WolCid; One-sided crush.

Iola learns how to walk a magitek armor.

-

Oh how she wished that the noise of the magitek would drown out the sound of her heartbeat. It was annoyingly uncessant, so loud it made it difficult to hear Wedge’s instructions.

What was her name again? Maggie?

Yeah, Maggie. Today was their first ride together. A magitek armor, huh? Iola always found them to be kind of cute, a bit silly in the way they sway around when they move. She had been dreaming of piloting one of these ever since she saw them for the first time. And here she was, about to do just that - a dream come true.

…And here she was, struggling to focus on it.

Her heart was too busy fluttering around, sounding alarms that yes, Cid was there. She knew. She could see him and hear his voice. There was no need to remind her, yet it would not quiet down.

“I've overseen a hundred such tests, but they still play hells with my nerves.” Biggs commented as he helped Iola up the machine. He then lowered his voice and added “And that's without the chief watching…” while throwing glances at Cid’s direction.

Iola’s gaze followed his and soon Cid came into her view. Her heart leaped even higher and her mind started to wander again. Did she pin her hair correctly? Was her skirt behaving as she climbed onto Maggie? Did her pastel clothes look cute against the black steel? She wasn’t about to embarrass herself right?

Her feelings were not showing on her face, right…?

Before she knew it, Iola was sitting atop of Maggie, the machine’s strange controllers blinking in front of her. Even with her mind filled with stupid thoughts, she couldn’t help but be amazed by them. Just a tap on these and she’d move, right? Like the garleans did? With such ease? With Wedge’s approval she moved the controller and Maggie took its first steps forward. It was a weird feeling, almost like the machine was about to topple down. But as soon as Iola started to take note of it, the feeling was gone. The slight noise of the metal hitting the ground became familiar, the sway stopped being uncomfortable and instead felt like the first steps of  freedom. What a curious thing garlean technology was.

A few more tests were run. Maggie slowly turned to the sides, not an issue in sight. Walked backwards. It was uncomfortable and not advised, but still a thing she could do if necessary. A leap, then two. Weird how easy it felt to press a button and fly into the air while piloting something so heavy. What a shame such wonderful things were made just to be destroyed in war.

Iola’s eyes found their way to Cid again. Did he also think the same? Or all was well with him, as long as the machines fulfilled their purpose? She wished these feelings had never met her. It would be so much easier to ask then. 

“First, I'd like you to try climbing that tangle of crystals yonder─as far up as you can go, if you please.” Wedge’s voice cut Iola’s daydream, dragging her back to the task at hand. She noticed him putting a small notepad away, and helped him do some linkpearl tests before moving. All set to go.

Which direction was it again?

Oh yeah, right. She lightly touched the controls and turned the machine towards the crystal path. It answered without issues, and soon Iola found herself piloting a magitek up the small cliff, beautiful orange rocks surrounding them and glistering in the sunlight. Another slight turn to the right and Iola noticed Cid’s gaze on her. Her heart skipped a beat and she turned her head to stare at the controls again. Just a bit more forward, and she was on top of the cliff, away from his field of vision.

“No anomalous movements evident from either leg. Good.” Wedge’s voice on the linkpearl cut her train of thought and brought her back to the present again “Next, jump back down and then sprint north, quick as you can!”

Iola stared at the drop ahead for a bit, wondering if it was even safe. Well, the Garlond Ironworks knew machines much better than her, did they not? With that thought in mind, she pressed the controller forward, and tapped the button to jump. And somehow, that’s the calmest her heart had been that afternoon.

[direwombat]

tagged by: @socially-awkward-skeleton (tysm! 💕)

tagging: @adelaidedrubman, @detectivelokis, @baldurrs, @kittiofdoom, @funkypoacher, @aceghosts, @strangefable, @deputyash, @fourlittleseedlings, @confidentandgood, @sstewyhosseini, @purplehairsecretlair, @roofgeese, @poetikat and god I feel like I'm forgetting people but if you see this and you're not tagged but want to share a wip I am tagging you! (But also. As always. No pressure!)

Still wrestling with ch 1 of kneeling at the crossroads so here's some of that

“Last chance, Marshal…” Whitehorse warns.  She redirects her attention to Burke, watching the realization dawn on his face. His eyes go wide and his jaw goes slack, mouth hanging open as a shaky breath is forced from his lungs. Fear, so sudden and so potent she can practically smell it. He swallows thickly, taking in a deep breath to compose himself. “We’re going in,” he says.  To his credit, he, at the very least, sounds resolute. Whitehorse gives Pratt the order to land the helicopter. Her stomach lurches as the landing skis touch the ground, causing the entire craft to jolt. The blades begin to slow overhead and Whitehorse makes one last call to Nancy. If she doesn’t hear from them within the next fifteen minutes, send in the cavalry.  She takes a moment to check her pistol. She shouldn’t need it -- Whitehorse’s instructions to keep it holstered tell her as much -- but it’s a ritual she’s adopted from her time in active duty. “There are times when your mind and body will fail you,” her old captain had once said. “But a well kept weapon never will.”

And then they’re moving. Burke, Hudson, and the Sheriff all take point in front of her while Pratt stays behind to keep the engine going.  Sybille is no stranger to walking into hostile territory, but nothing could have prepared her for just how familiar it feels as she enters the cult compound. Men and women dressed in various uniform mill about, armed and leering. Dogs bark, lunging against their cages as she and her fellow officers move past. But beneath the cacophony is something low and sweet and melodic. A choir of voices sing out into the night; an old song she knows by heart. One her mother used to sing every night when she was a child. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound… But something about it feels strange. Hollow. Haunting. The mud slows her movements, sucking at her boots like it’s trying to hold her back, stop her -- save her from whatever awaits her inside the church.  Cries of “We’ve done nothing wrong!” and “What are they doing here?” ring out. She holds herself a little taller. Back straight, chin held high, projecting as much authority as she can without being outright intimidating. The Sheriff does his best to soothe the agitated crowds, but even Hudson can’t help but voice her own growing apprehension.  “Jesus Christ, you’re wearing badges, aren’t you?” Burke cuts in snidely.  “Yeah, but they don’t respect badges much around here,” Hudson answers. “They’ll respect a nine millimeter,” Burke mutters, passing a man wielding an automatic rifle. The singing grows louder as they approach the chapel. It echoes into the moonlit night, reverberating deep in her bones and resonating in her chest. Her heart aches at the sound, memories and longings from an easier, simpler time threatening to breach the surface. She stomps them down, but she struggles to bring her focus back to the task at hand. A cloyingly pungent floral smell wafts through the air. Her head spins as it coats the back of her throat and lungs, suffocating her like she’s drowning in perfume. Her limbs are heavy and her head light as she trudges through the mud. A dog throws itself against the chain link fencing. Its teeth are bared and gnashing, flecks of spittle and foam flying from its mouth. She startles, her heart sent jackrabbiting in her chest for the first time since stepping inside the compound. Looking to her coworkers to see if any of them are affected the same way she is, she locks eyes with Hudson. Her own wide-eyed expression is reflected back at her.  She opens her mouth to say something reassuring, but before she can, Burke is moving the push open the church door. The entire edifice is painted an eggshell white, chipped and worn from the elements and carved with scripture. Whitehorse holds out a hand, intercepting Burke and pushing the partially opened door back closed. “We do this my way,” he says. “Quietly. Calmly. You got that?” “Fine,” Burke groans, but as his hands drop, he keeps one placed firmly on his holster. “Hudson, on the door. Watch our backs and don’t let any of these people get in,” Whitehorse orders. “La Roux -- on me. And you,” he turns and looks tiredly at Burke. “Just try not to do anything stupid.”

Burke’s jaw clenches, but he feigns a friendly smile, patting the Whitehorse on the shoulder. “Relax Sheriff. You’re about to get your name in the papers.”  As if anyone other than him actually cares about what the press has to say.

and the intro to the muzzle fic. some sweet polycule au goodness will be had here

“Bunny’s been biting again,” Kit tells him after she returns from her patrol of the courtyard. 

Jacob stands, leaning over his desk as he pores over recent reports from the Project’s remaining outposts. “Other prisoners or the Chosen?” he asks, not looking up. Sybille’s come-downs from the trials have always left her in a more rabid state, snapping at and lashing out at anyone who gets too close. 

“You think I’d be bothering to tell you if it were prisoners?” she says flatly. “She took off a man’s trigger finger. Doctors weren’t able to sew it back on.”

With a heavy sigh, he turns around and folds his arms, leaning back against his desk. He stares at her and scratches at his beard. “Well, we can’t have that,” he says. Kit nods, and by the tightness in her mouth, he suspects she has something to say. “What do you think?” he asks.

“She’s throwing a tantrum and she’s demanding our attention. We do anything and we just give her what she wants.”

He hums and strokes the hair of his chin. “She’s not normally that violent and we don’t want her to be. Ignoring her would only encourage the behavior.”

Her brows lift skeptically. “We’re not rewarding this,” she states plainly. 

“Oh, no, of course not,” he reassures her. “But she does respond better to positive reinforcement.” That skeptical look only deepens. “She’ll stop acting out if we remind her what her incentive is to behave.”

Kit lifts her eyebrows. “You mean…?”

“Next time she’s unconscious, we’ll have her brought up.” He turns back around to his desk full of reports. 

“And if that doesn’t work?”

Jacob pauses before looking back at her. He supposes she has a point. Sybille is the kind of woman who demands some sort of contingency plan be in place. Their clever little rabbit has a way of circumventing even the finest laid traps. But he’s fairly confident that this particular snare is one she won’t be able to escape. She’ll learn her lesson. But on the off chance she resists more than normal…

“Then I guess we’ll have to pull some teeth,” he sighs, though he takes no pleasure in the thought. 

Kit’s face is a carefully trained mask of neutrality, but, while reassured, he can tell she also doesn’t delight in the idea. The sadistic gleam he fell in love with is noticeably absent from her eyes. Hurting their little bunny -- sinking their teeth into her tender flesh, holding her so tight her pale skin bruises a vibrant purple, and pulling those sweet high-pitched sounds from her is fun. But anything that would cause her any actual lasting harm is something they’re both reluctant to do. 

They want her docile, obedient, and well trained. 

Not broken entirely. 

“Just trust me, Kitten,” he sighs, and he pulls her in to press his lips to her forehead. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I know,” she says.

He holds her there for a long moment, combing the fingers of one hand through her thick auburn waves. But then he pauses, his brow furrowing.  “What did she do with the finger?”

“What?”

“The finger,” he repeats. “You said the doctors couldn’t sew it back on. What did she do with it?”

“She spat it out,” Kit says. “But not before chewing it up first.”

An impressed smile tugs at his lips. “Jackrabbit’s got a taste for blood,” he hums. It’s almost too bad they have to remind her of her place in the food chain.

[delicrieux]

𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧  | autumn features (november edition)      

pairing—aemond targaryen x f!reader   summary—an accurate and detailed account of what had truly happened to lady tyrell at court, ages to ten and six to ten and nine. word count—9.6k warnings for this chapter—besides the typical hotd nonsense, there are spoilers for further events in hotd at the very end of this chapter! also tw sa (not at reader) and death tagging @thesadvampire​ @curlszx88  masterlist. ☕.  autumn features.  part 1. part 2.  extra. ♥

Aegon is well into his cups, despite the hour. There are great lines under his eyes and a flush on his cheeks, messy, bed ridden hair and sloppily thrown on vestments that make him, alone in the hall doused in morning sunlight, seem more as a drunken patron of a local bar rather than a prince. The line of soldiers clears after your entrance and the doors shut with a loud, groaning sound. It echoes, rushes past you and into the carved ceiling. His attention is stolen from the cup in hand and redirected to you.

The change in his expression is instant – from a frowning, stony face to a delirious smile, “…Morning, sister.” His eyes roam your body, down the exposed slope of your shoulders all the way to the tidy hems of your new dress, “Looking…dashing this fine hour.”

“What an hour indeed, brother.” You squeeze between your teeth. He hums, takes a generous gulp; a red drop runs down his chin, as if he was feasting on blood. The sight repulses you, “Hope I’m not intruding.” Your voice does not hold the gentle timbre you present to the rest, but rather a sharp edge that will cut cleaner than dragonsteel if prompted. Your eyes burn into him. He merely snorts.

His chair slides backwards with a creak, “Intrude all you please,” He raises his glass to your honour, “you know I’d never mind, my wife-that-never-was.”

“What privilege do I have for you to call me so.” He doesn’t take your sarcasm to heart—he never does. Mostly he’s too drunk out of his mind to care about your thorny words, “And here I was—“

“Save your speeches for someone who cares to hear them.” He interrupts you, though not unkindly. He’s smiling into his drink before tasting it again, “What do you want, sister?”

You raise a brow, “Would it be so strange for me to seek out your company?”

That gets his attention. Even his posture straightens. There’s a beat of silence before his laughter disrupts it, “Well, then,” He shrugs, drowns his cup, sets it harshly on the table, “you’re engaged to my brother, I’m married, but—“ He smacks his thighs in invitation, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“A conversation will do.” You state.

“And you will find that my lap is the only place I’ll care to listen.”

“Charmed, Aegon.” You bite, “Your eloquence truly has no limits.”

“I hope you to find that my actions are much more engaging than my vocabulary.” He tuts, and a slow, pleased smirk pulls on the corner of his lips, “It would be like nothing you’d felt before, I’m certain. Seven be my witness.”

“What did you do?” The severity in your voice catching him off guard. Stumped, for a moment, he can only stare at you, at your rigid, angry features, tightly clasped hands. But he falls into his role easily, so unperturbed and easy-going, smiling to himself without a care in the world.

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“I know it was you.” You say, approaching, and he wilts in his chair a little under the scrutiny of your gaze, “So tell me. Enough of these games, just spit it out so I could fix the mess you have made.” He can’t quite look you in the eye. After a pause, he mumbles something incomprehensible, “Speak up.”

“I didn’t do anything, alright.” He snaps, “Could I at least hear my crime before being prosecuted?”

You huff, “Hear your crime? Don’t be daft, Aegon, your jokes are unbecoming—“

The heavy wooden doors suddenly cry at the hinges and part—in comes a shivering servant girl, her head bent down, holding a pitcher of wine in her trembling hands. She briefly lifts her glassy eyes, the same colour as your own, and quickly looks downward once more, “I-I brought more wine for the Prince.” She announces, but her voice is quiet, rasp, near choked.

You note her untidy dress, dishevelled, (colour) hair, bruised skin around her arms, neck, and shoulders. It’s only too easy to imagine yourself being the recipient of Prince Aegon’s unwanted affection—that was a life you had been saved from. Your gaze slides back to Aegon, and his cheeks are burning red, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

The servant girl scrambles to pour him wine, and all it takes is a twitch of his fingers for her to startle and spill most of it on the floor, “I-I am so sorry, your grace—“

“Come.” You tell her. Setting the pitcher down, she obeys and stumbles over, bottom lip bitten from fright. She tries to adjust her skirt and wipe the remnants of the drink from her hand somewhere where you wouldn’t notice. Tears steadily stream down her cheeks, more and more with each step she takes, and you can barely look at her without flinching, “Have you told anyone?”

She sniffles, “N…No, my lady. I, I only—only went to fetch the wine—“

“Go to my room. Use the servant corridors, and make sure no one sees you. Wait there till I return.”

“My lady—“

“Go. Now.”

She bows and scrambles out the backdoor. Silence reigns broken by your angry breaths. You’re boiling from the inside, and all of that frustration trickles down to your hands where you fiddle with your rings. You think this is what it would feel to burn.

Grinding your jaw you turn to Aegon, “You disgust me.”

He doesn’t pretend to be surprised, merely dips his head, like a child scolded. He scowls, “You forget yourself, Lady Tyrell. You’re speaking to a Prince—”

“Fuck you.” You spit, “Fuck you and your court and your vile antics.”

“Well, if you’re offering—“ He growls, “my lap’s up for the taking.”

“I’d rather hang.”

“And you soon will if you keep speaking like that. Fuck.” He pours himself a drink, downs it, and then pours another, “This the crime I’m punished for? Feeling awfully altruistic, aren’t we, sister? Didn’t give a shit about any of the others, but since this one looks like you—“

“We look nothing alike.”

“You do.” He states, “And you should find my opinion no different from my brother’s—Gods, if you only knew—“

You raise a hand, “The only thing I wish to know is what you told Aemond.”

He leans back in his seat, watching, oddly sober, “Told him what?” He inquires, his voice ringing with a genuine note of curiosity, “That your whole bloodline is full of leeches? Or that you don’t give a shit about the people or the servants in this castle?” He snorts, “Doubt that would be a surprise for him, now, my darling wife on the other hand—“

Your fist thunders down on the table. The cutlery shakes and his cup nearly tumbles over, “Damn it, Aegon!” You hiss, “Tell me what lie you’ve spread so I could salvage this before a greater conflict arises.”

Stunned, he simply stares, “…Had…had something happened? Between you and my brother?”

You gape at him, “…You imbecile.”

“I’ll have you know I had no part in this—“ He quickly states, “—whatever this is. I’m innocent, and quite frankly, you blaming me so baselessly—“

“Seven give me strength…”

“What did you do, anyway?” He asks, “I saw Aemond was in a mood but I just figured—“ He shrugs, “—well, he’s always in a mood. So I didn’t figure anything, really.”

You watch him for a moment, straightening up, “…So you mean to tell me that you truly had no part in this?”

“In what? Trying to break you up? No, learned—“ He quiets quickly, taking his glass.

“Learned what?”

He shrugs again, eyes roaming around the area, “That it’s a bad idea.”

“Oh, a bad idea, I recon?”

“Your intellect almost rivals your beauty, sister.”

“And it shall surely surpass it once you tell me what had happened.”

He holds up a finger, lips turned downward, “…Just to preface, I meant no harm—“

“Speak and I shall decide on the fact.”

“—it was, just, simply, a long…lonely night.” He continues, “And I just, well I figured,” He smiles, though it’s uncomfortable, “not my brightest moment, surely—“

“I’ll grow old before you finish if you keep dallying so.”

“I went to your room.”

“What?”

“And so happened to meet my brother half way and really, now, he was not pleased in the slightest, I almost—where are you going?” Noting your retreat, he stands, “I wouldn’t have done anything!” He calls after you, “Just a chat, (Name)! A fucking chat with an old friend! Gods, you’re prissy just like my brother. You two are perfect for each other! Fucking perfect, you hear?”

The last of his voice gets cut off by the closing door.

You move through the labyrinth of the castle in quick, light steps, hands folded, and though your thoughts blaze with an unfurling scheme, your face betrays none of that inner turmoil. Your ears are hot, and the dress is much too tight to rush in, but you prevail and even manage to beam at the idling lords and ladies on your way to Queen Alicent’s quarters.

Ser Criston must have informed her of your nightly ventures by now – he had caught you in one, but she would be right to assume it had not been the first time you broke a sacred codex of courtly manners. What she thinks of you now may be no better than what Aemond assumes, yet—his name spurts a different image, one that brings this strange tightness to your chest and makes you slow your pace, if barely.

You imagine him there, in the shadowy corridors, lost and conflicted, a wraith that had risen from the grave to seek out something precious. Would his face look even lovelier in moonlight? Would his hair be un-brushed, un-braided, tousled, as if he had ran his fingers through it sleepless before finding you? Would he have remembered to done his leather eye patch, or would he had knocked on your door barefaced, with the emerald gleaming in the dark? Would he had smiled once you invited him inside, or would he had fled before reaching you?

You think that you may have been waiting for him on the eve of his name day, alone in your silks, alert for a gentle knock or a push on the door that informed of a visitor you had been anticipating. Your heart was beating in your throat, and you were restless, pacing back and forth, and while you had assumed you were simply anxious to report to mother, perhaps there had been a different cause entirely.

As if summoned, he appears from behind the corner and you nearly run into his chest, stopping just in time. Momentarily stunned, he says nothing; you note his hands clench into firsts before loosening, promptly hidden behind his back.

“Lady Tyrell.” He greets with leer, and you have, by now, realised that the brothers only refer to you as that when they are deeply displeased or wish to wound you—to remind you that you are not family, despite growing up with them, despite loving them, despite being promised to one of them. And from Aemond, your name sounds particularly dull, as if you were nothing but a passing acquaintance.

You would like to think that it does not hurt, to think you had felt worse, and surely will feel worse in the future – this court and it’s secrets and it’s deceit will wear you down, eventually, as it does to most. But it does hurt. It’s a small poke to a wound that’s barely scabbed and prone to bleeding.

“You seem to be in an awful hurry.” He comments when you don’t respond, “Pray tell where is it that you’re running. Or is someone chasing you, perhaps?”

You keep your smile cordial, “I have important news for your mother the Queen I wish to deliver. Excuse me.”

You brush past him, but his firm hand on your forearms halts you, “I’m curious about this news. Indulge me?”

Even through layers of linen and leather his touch burns you. You would shrug him off, if only it did not feel so pleasant, “It is best kept between your mother the Queen and I, my prince.” His face does not change at the nickname. You recall when he was young, when his cheeks would blaze bright by your call.

He had been gentle once, pliant in your hands. You could have moulded him into anything you wished to.

Vhagar never gave you the chance.

He chuckles—it’s a deep, hoarse sound somewhere in the back of his throat, “Something even I can’t know? My, must be of the gravest importance.”

“It is.”

His hold slackens and you break free. Two steps are all you manage to take before, “Pretty dress.” He says, and it’s an indolent remark. You turn back, “Is there an occasion for it?”

“I’m a Tyrell.” You remind, “I have many pretty dresses, as you should know.”

“I was only curious if there was someone you wished to impress by wearing it.”

“If that were the case, that would only be my future husband, who, as it seems, does not care much for my efforts. I must away, now.”

“Husband, you say?” He wonders aloud, mirthless, “If memory recalls you have been promised to a few.”

“Yet I’m set to marry only one.”

He hums, “Yes, though, you were quite adamant in breaking off that engagement as well—or am I wrong, Lady Tyrell?”

He’s so smug with his observations, so effortlessly poised despite pointing a dagger to your throat. You swallow, and your composure cracks—that smile you had practiced so many times in the mirror falls, “I should think a prince would have better things to do than insult his lady wife,” You speak, “but once again, you Targaryens prove to be unpredictable. If you have nothing else to say—“

“Did you see my brother?” He questions, and his eye is fixed on you, watching carefully for any unplanned movement, any twitch and pull of a lie.

“I have,” You admit, “and if you must know, he is why I must see the Queen in the first place.”

“And it is so important that you can’t even tell me.”

You take a step closer, frowning, hissing, “There’s a serving girl in my quarters, one of many to which he shows his affections, and unless you wish the line for the throne to be even more complicated than it already is, I suggest you leave this be.”

“In your quarters?” He raises a brow, “Pray tell, does she look like you as well?” His hand comes to touch your hair, but you swat it away with a slap. There’s faint amusement in his voice, though his features are as if set in stone, “Perhaps she even bares your name and title—“

You turn away. It’s a quick spin and retreat and you feel your throat closing, lashes trembling, molars grinding. But your back is straight, and your head is held high, and you think of Highgarden and the flowers, carefree days of tea ceremonies and rehearsals, as he continues talking, his voice growing further and further away. Once out of sight, you bitterly wipe a stray tear from your cheek.

He had been gentle once, how had he become so cruel?

Queen Alicent had always been most kind to you, and you had always supposed that she regarded you more as a daughter than her own—more as a child born out of her womb than any of the Targaryens she must call her children. Her sombre features were always quick to break into a smile in your presence, and she loved to hold your hands, trace the lines of your palms, and talk about anything, be it the weather. And when your presence is announced, by Ser Criston of all, she swiftly brakes away from her papers and stands to greet you.

Your exchange is quiet; voice soft, ruptured by a devotion you feel somewhere deep—it’s heavy, ivory, without it you’d feel like missing a bone. You report dutifully, as any good-mannered lady should, of the vile actions of the Prince. She is not astounded by the news, and meets it with a tilted head and a small grimace.

Arrangements are made to brew a tea for the poor girl waiting in your bedchamber. Before you leave Alicent calls after you gently, “I know that you are innocent.”

That dark, red room full of incense flashes in your mind, and you glance at her. She smiles, “Ser Criston had…told me he had found you wandering on the hour of the owl.”

“I was only out to clear my head.”

“I know, my—“ She pauses, clears her throat, “I know, (Name). I know. But where I believe you, others may not, so I only ask of you this: no more. I know, I know you may feel…trapped, at times.” She says that word with such heaviness and hurt you feel she is no longer referring to you, “But,” She composes herself hastily, “but it’s the way it is. Such is our duty, as women of the court.”

“I understand, your grace.” You bow, “It was foolish of me. I shall never do so again.”

You see your murky reflection on the polished floor, the cap of your satin shoes embroidered and jewelled peeping out under the hems of your dress—the same shoes your wear to visit the poorest of districts in King’s Landing. The soles are no longer spotless and the rubies had been coated in a thin layer of dust. They don’t sparkle anymore with every step you take down the crumbled stairs. The peasantry sticks to corners, crevices, small nooks where they can hide and feel safe with the walls of their shabby homes protecting them. They watch you with weakly masked awe and distrust. The crowd of soldiers slinks behind you, keeping their distance by your request.

A flock of servant girls trail alongside, arms-linked and cheery, carrying woven baskets of fruit and silk you intend to give out to those less fortunate. It’s a bi-yearly trek, all of the sake of reputation. Your heart does neither weep nor ache at the sight of a sick child or a whoring mother selling her body to feed her family—these streets, with their filth and sweat and doleful hope, do not inspire much to you at all.

It’s a hot afternoon. You are all purged under the rays of the sun.

Your hands grasp smaller ones with a twirl, and you smile and laugh with the children you pulled into a short dance, “My lady!” One of the servant girls squeak, “You’ll ruin your dress!”

“I have others.” You respond easily. The children hold you so tightly you think they do not want to let you go.

“My lady,” As evening slowly draws across the sky, one of your handmaidens springs to your side with a whisper, “I must inform you of what I’ve heard.” Your head barely tilts to the side, so her lips would speak into your ear only. The streets swim with patrons; your guards march in the back with their armour reflecting the setting sun, “Though, I fear to even speak it, for, my lady, sweet and gentle as you are, you may faint.”

Gracefully, your hand extends, and she produces a linen cloth on which you wipe away the grime from your fingers, “Things seldom surprise me anymore, Laenora.” You utter. The hike to the castle is long, and your legs have grown tired and smile stiff from all this theatre, “But if you feel as though it is something I may not care for, save it for yourself.”

“I think you should know, my lady, though it’s no subject for one pure as you.”

“Do not speak of purity here, Laenora. These people do not know of it.”

“Indeed, my lady, and thus you find my conflict. The news I bare comes from the mouths of the women themselves, and I trust their secrets, as they trust in your coin. It’s about the brothers, see—both of them have become frequent visitors of the Street of Silk.” She nearly mouths the name, repulsed to even voice it. A frown lines her lips and her eyes gleam with sadness—surely, you would find this news most unpleasant, especially since your husband-to-be is entangled in this hearsay.

The news of Aegon is hardly news at all, and Aemond, despite his mostly polite behaviour, is still a man. Perhaps he had taken your comments to heart, “…I see.” Is all you manage to say. It’s not disappointment you feel, though it’s not nothing, either.

“But that is not all, my lady,” Laenora resumes, “no, not at all, for what comes next is, I’m afraid, what may shock you still.”

“Well, speak it.” You state plainly, lifting your dress to trudge up the stairwell—the expanse of the castle looms ahead, towering under the gem-blue sky.

“The women had told me, yes, they’ve said, and I could find no lie, for they love coin,  their truth is bought, much like their bodies—see, my lady, they indeed confessed, that once the princes come to visit, they only request girls that bare your likeness.”

You inhale sharply and your heart tumbles to the pit of your stomach, as if you missed a step by accident. You glance at her, and she is as serious as she ever was, apologetic, almost, to have to relay such indecencies. You recall what Aegon had hinted at many moons ago, and now it all suddenly makes sense.

“…This is…” You begin, not certain how to weave all of your thoughts into a coherent sentence, “Well…”

“Troubling news, my lady, I know.” She murmurs, and her hands come to hold yours tenderly, as if you would bear the weight of this secret easier if it’s shared between two, “I’m sorry, but you must know, I fear, you must.”

“You mustn’t tell anyone else. Not a soul.”

“I will not, my lady, this I swear; it shall be kept between us only.”

The next you see Aemond is by the dinner table doused in candle-light. The old walls of the Keep echo with silent chatter and clanking cutlery, Aegon’s offbeat laugh or loud jousting of his cup. The King is much too ill to ever join for supper anymore—he you see little, only when invited by the Queen herself to pay a visit. The Lord Hand keeps the King’s seat warm whilst he’s resting. You had noticed this subtle shift in power veer and spill over into blatant occupation. The décor had changed, too: all gloomy and wooden and in reverence to the Seven.

Aemond does not look at you; he seems to skip you as his gaze roams around the table.  He is still at cross with you, and when you meet the next day in Helaena’s room, he hardly speaks a word.

The weeks shift into months and your name day looms over the horizon. The fog-laden morning in King’s Landing brims with sleep. The Dragon Pit reeks of flesh and blood and odour, and you have trouble keeping your grimace at bay. You shift in your armour: thousands of leather straps dyed in deep evergreen and fashioned to hold by pins of silver baring the Tyrell crest.

Sunfyre trails the clouds before stooping to the roof with a mighty roar. The sound nearly knocks the wind out of your lungs. Aegon, beside you, laughs merrily, “Sister!” He calls you; the ground shakes as Sunfyre lands, a smelting hot breath of putrid air gushing past the lot of you, “Ride with me, why don’t you?”

“Aegon!” Helaena scolds, fixing her gloves, “Must you jest now?” Her own dragon, Dreamfyre, is being escorted from the Pit, mollified and gentle, much like her. The dragon-keepers speak in High Valerian – what they say is beyond you, and though the language is beautiful, it’s too sharp, like a whip, or a gleaming tooth of a dragon, “Sister,” Her loving smile calms you, if only for a moment, “you needn’t be nervous—“

But her words are drowned in a far-off roar that cracks the sky into two. Aegon is still laughing as he saddles Sunfyre, staring into the swirling clouds and at the vague shape of a massive body casting an even greater shadow. The Queen shakes her head and closes her eyes, as if to shield herself from an upcoming headache. Noting your gaze on her, her lips twitch into a painful smile, “We shall see you shortly. It will be a…” She glances up, “A…quick flight, I recon.”

And there, from the forming storm clouds emerges Vhagar with a splint of sunlight raining down with her. She circles the Pit, slowing, before, gradually, she descends and you note a mane of white hair twirling from behind her head. You hold onto Helaena as she clings to you from the fearsome quake: dust dances in the air a hot vapour slices past your cheeks. The keepers gather, sharp staffs in hand and faces healed in boils, ushering you closer with curt, displeased motions. You dare not move.

You had met Vhagar only twice and it was enough to dissuade you from ever meeting her again. It’s her eyes that frighten you most, ancient and intelligent—she has seen cities burn and be raised again from the ground up, and had, surely, been part of many of such conquests. She’s massive, a body that radiates heat and smoke, with glimmering scales and acute, angular bones. You must crank your neck to look at her, and you grind your jaw to keep your lips from trembling.

This, you think, is what all of it had been for: all of your lessons and ceremonies and late-night dance practices. Perhaps even your own conception. Born and raised to get the only thing the great families of the Seven Kingdoms do not have – dragons. It doesn’t matter which. Power is power, and one breath from either Dreamfyre or Vhagar would leave but a charred shape of you on the floor.

You taste dirt and blood on your tongue, but your features set into grim determination. The leather is uncomfortable and it scathes your skin, but you try your best to ignore it. I’m no warrior, your mind sounds discouraged, I’m not made for this. But your dread hardly matters, if at all. It’s their world and their rules, and the Targaryens have never been considerate.

The keepers help you up, and as you climb, Aemond extends his hand for you to take. Whether he feels the quiver of your body or not is hardly a concern—the beast rumbles beneath you, and one wrong move and you may fall and injure yourself, perhaps incurably. You keep your eyes strained downward anticipating any sudden shift or warning of Vhagar’s discontent. It never comes.

Plopped onto the saddle in front of Aemond, you feel his chest hit your back; silken hair frays in the sides of your vision, and his chin dips to touch your shoulder, “You best hold on tight.” You hear the smirk in his voice more than see it, and your fingers clench around the reigns so tightly they go numb. His arms cage around your waist, “Would you like to steer her?”

“Aemond.” You hiss.

“Surely you know the way to your own home better than I.”

Sunfyre takes off with a gust of wind and a howl; Vhagar stirs beneath you, “I trust your memory, my prince,” You state, “for if you can find my room in the shadows of the night, surely you’ll be able to navigate to Highgarden in broad daylight.”

He stiffens, and the last you hear before take-off is a shout in High Valerian that nearly deafens you.

You feel like something tore out of you and was left with Queen Alicent watching her children fly Reach-ward—your stomach drops and you feel sluggish and heavy, as if the ground was calling back to you. The wind tears at you and it’s so strong that it makes your eyes water and lips frost; in daze, you fall into Aemond’s embrace. He’s mercifully silent about holding your weight. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed it.

The dragons dance and weave through the clouds. Dew collects on your armour and your nose and it’s so cold you barely catch your breath—but then the vistas open, great plain fields and far off mountains soaked in sunlight, the castles and halls of the Red Keep and the maze of the city all minuscule, toy-like, as if made from clay and wax. The world seems to fit in the palm of your hand. Momentarily, you lift it, as if to touch that great expanse, and you laugh, bell-like and wondrous.

“Told you!” Heleana shouts through the noise of flapping wings, “You needn’t be afraid, sister!”

You flash her a smile before Dreamfyre dips and rushes to catch up to Aegon. The journey continues for hours before the first stop. You ride along with the sun, and when night falls, you slumber in the grassy fields under the starry sky, and take flight once more when day breaks.

Its high noon and tears have dried in the creases of your eyes.  Your muscles are stiff and aching and your arms and thighs sting from the imprints of fine leather. Before you, the alabaster towers of Highgarden manifest and grow larger. You lean in as your skin prickles with anticipation – finally, after years of playing at court, you are home.

Yellow-violet wild-flowers swim in your vision. Rose-vines cling to sturdy, ivory stone and sling from windowsills—the air is tinted with pollen, and the ground underneath your feet has never been so unsteady. A flock of servants and soldiers greet you in the outskirts of the city, and the girls hold your arms and all you can see are their grinning faces and flushed cheeks as they dote on you.

“Oh, my lady, Gods be good, you poor, poor woman—“

“—your hands, oh, gracious be the Seven!” One aches once she pulls off you glove.

“—and your hair—“

“—everyone has already gathered awaiting your return—“

“—you must feel faint, my lady, please, away with us—“

“Someone fetch the honey-wine! What had the royal cooks been feeding you—“

“—and the rose-water! Oh, I dread to think—”

“---prepare the oils! This way, my lady—“

“—come, come please, mind your step—“

Aegon’s hearty laugh does little to distract them from their mission. They seat in you a plush, velvety chair in the shade of a white linen tent, and they are quick to fetch the brushes and silk cloths wet with warm rose water and dab fragrant oils under your jaw. Helaena is soon seated beside you, and she’s much more receptive to the loving touches of the maids. They wipe the sweat off of her forehead and rouge her cheeks, fix her braids and help her pick a dessert from the assortment of buns, tarts, pies, glossed, syrupy candy, and melted chocolate cups.

The princes watch the scene unfold with varying states of amusement—Aegon seems ready to burst from laugher and Aemond does not seem to be affected at all, save for the brow he had raised once one of the maids remarked about the stench. It pervades, the smell of dragon, of warm blood and sweat and torn flesh, and it seems to cling to your skin no matter how many oils the maids rub into it. They are dissatisfied with such and entrance, and regard the Targaryens and their large pets with cautious, bleary eyes and pouted lips.

It must seem so silly to the princes, this exuberant greeting. But they fail to understand where they are. Helaena giggles as she sips wine mixed with honey; the girls brush her hair, the pointy edges of golden pins shining when caught in light. One word from you and the maids would slip something into the drink or the powder that coats the princess’ cheeks; weave poison into her robes, or the guards, with a raise of your hand, would slit their throats now or when they slept.

They’re in the court of roses, now. They hold no power here. No one outside the Reach does.

Once the servant girls decide that you’re presentable, a carriage of refined wood and silver ornaments rolls around. They lead Helaena to it, holding her hands and smiling at her words, though you know they likely do not understand what she’s saying. You seldom do, as well. Prince Aegon takes a seat by his wife, already nursing his second cup and entertained without end, delighted by such attention.

A guard brings you a steed, white as snow and smooth as satin, the finest horse in our stables, he says. It’s a lovely mare, and you gently run your hand down its snout. You smile, and it’s just a tad happier than it usually is, “She’s beautiful. Thank you.”

You mount her easily, and this saddle is much more confortable. “Will you not join us in the carriage, my betrothed?” Aemond questions.

You glance at him, “In full armour? I think not. We shall speak more in the castle. After the ceremonies, that is.”

“I should like to ride a horse as well, then.”

“Why? Haven’t had enough of your dragon?”

He grins, though you’re entirely certain he’s mocking you, “I only think it wise that husband and wife should meet the kind people of Highgarden alongside one another. Or would you disagree?”

The guards and stable-hands turn away from Aemond’s prompting look and seek your guidance instead. Bored, you comment, “Get him a horse.”

“Right away, my lady.”

The gates part to the sound of trumpets. The carriage rolls in first, and then you follow along with Aemond, who, despite getting what he had wanted, seems personally slighted by the act of your servants. Petals dance in the air and coat the road underneath the wheels of the carriage. The noise is deafening—people are clapping, waving, celebrating and singing, with their flowers and cups held high over their heads. The royal family rejoices at such reverence, but you know, and it’s a prideful inkling in your chest that these crowds had gathered for you.

You, only daughter of the Lord of Highgarden, you, wonderful lady Tyrell, you, princess-to-be in the wake of your name day have returned home. To them it would seem no different than as if you had returned from war. The twin dragons, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre, take to the sky. The crowd screams in delight at the display. As you weave through the roads leading up to the castle, you don’t stop smiling.

Past the blooming gardens and twinkling fountains, bakeries and shops of finest silks, smithies and jewellers and ripe orchids next to stained glass Septs. High ranking lords and ladies gather by the castle, and your path is paved by yellow roses. There’s music, fragments of sonnets lost to the rhythmical sound of drums, and the air is tinted with so many fragrances that it makes your head spin.

You dismount and dip your head in greeting before entering the castle you grew up in. The hall is lined with soldiers bearing the Tyrell crest and only marginally quieter than outside. The painted ceiling is just as you remember it – vivid and detailed, a depiction of the mythical reign of the first King of the Reach. It’s all gold and ivory and intricate carvings on polished wood. The Red Keep pales in the shadow of this opulence.

At the very end of the hall you spot your father sat in his seat, not unlike a throne. Beside him stands your mother, smothered in her silks and shawls and great luminescent pearls. She’s smiling to herself in the same way she has taught you how, and their position in the very back of the room on the chequered floor reminds you of chess.

This is nothing but a game, too.

You halt, and the Targaryen children stop behind you, silenced by the grandiosity of their surroundings.

“Lady Paramount of the Mander, daughter of the Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach and Warden of the South,” The announcer’s voice rings shrill in the silence, “Lady (Name) Tyrell.”

“It’s good to see you again, father.” You voice.

“Along with come the princes of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, the children of the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms: Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena Targaryen.”

Aegon leans over to you with a whisper, “…Not much of an introduction in comparison.”

Welcome to the court of roses, you wish to say. You only smile.

Your name day is but in three months, and if all the lords and ladies that matter wish to attend, the invitations need to be sent out immediately. Your day is spent signing letters and melting in hot steam baths. You return to your room late into the evening.

It is just how you have left it that many years ago, large and spotless, aired out well. You smell flowers, and when you move to your bedside window, from it you see the rose gardens and a fountain in which you would throw coins into with a wish. What was it that you had wished for? You can’t recall, but you know it had been something dear, something that made you hold the coin to your heart and shut your eyes real tight. But what could a girl that has everything even dream of? You suppose you’ll never know.

Despite the rough journey, sleep does not come. When the fires are blow out and the castle is silent, you leave your room. The guards standing watch merely dip their head in acknowledgement—you know that, even if the King himself demanded them to state where you had left, they wouldn’t say a word, not unless your father ordered them. Their loyalty to the crown only goes as far as you.

It would be a fib to admit that when you entered the library, you hadn’t expected to find Aemond there. Perhaps the only reason you only came here is for the fact that you knew he could not sleep, either. You felt it, in your heart of hearts, and you went into the room quietly, almost anxious to disturb the sacred peace that pervades it.

It’s a large space, lined by tall bookshelves full of heavy old tomes. The collection of scrolls and books is almost as impressive as in Old Town, if not more—most of them had been collected from the great ages past, gifts from Targaryen kings or bought from the best treasure hunters in Essos. There are relics fished out the Narrow Sea and sunken treasures; custom busts from the Westerlands and diadems from  the Vale; cases of old Dornish armour and even fragments of engraved stone from Sothoryos, or so the legends go. The air smells like dry parchment, ink, and sandalwood. If Aemond were to explore any place in Highgarden, it would be here.

He’s sat by a large table with a book in hand, and he has changed out of his coat and leather into pale linen robes. The flickering light paints strange shadows on his face, and you must admit that to you, standing there, between the arches, he looks lovelier than anything you had ever seen. His eye lifts to catch you and the book shuts harshly. His jaw moves, and he slowly sets his reading down.

“Out on one of your walks, I take it.” He mutters. You hum, pretend to be interested in a book pressed in leather in vellum. The printed title reads THE HISTORY OF HOUSE TYRELL, “Is this your first stop?”

“The night is young,” You say, not at all troubled by his tone, “and I am home after many years.” You glance at him, “I shall walk where I please.”

He opens the book again, though his eye does not move to skim the pages, “How did it end, by the way?” He says just a tad louder, “With that servant girl in your room.”

“With tea.”

“I heard the taste is quite bitter.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“How curious.”

“Why is that I am prosecuted from a crime I did not commit?” You question, drawing closer, “I don’t understand, Aemond, what had I done to upset you. Should I swear in the Sept for you to believe me? Or take off my clothes so you could check for yourself?”

He pauses mid-turn of a page, and his eye grows wider in the dim light. He turns to you and you smile, satisfied with such a reaction.

“Awfully quick to suggest that, (Name).” He bites, leaving the book once more. He stands, and his anger is made clear by a scowl, “Must you always disrobe yourself to prove the truth?”

“Why, my proposal was most innocent in nature,” You say, “I figured that, seeing as my lips speak only lies, my actions would persuade you to drop this hearsay, since you would be able to see for yourself. Though,” You feign exhaustion with a shrug and a sigh, “I suppose there’s not much to expect when you have only one eye to see now, is there, husband?”

His fingers cage around your wrist and pull, harshly. “Release me at once.” You snarl, trying to break free. His touch burns under the raw imprints left by your armour. Pain shoots up your arm. He does not budge.

You hit his chest, and when he refuses to back down, you hit it again, “I shall have your hand for that.” He says, grasping the other.

“Then take it.” You hiss, “Take it and my tongue, as you had sworn to do on many occasions. Keep on your promise, my prince, for I shall come to think you dishonour your word.” You reel in, glare into his eye, “And what good is a man that does not keep his word?”

He breathes out, his lips quirking with a smile, “As you wish.”

He captures your mouth in a kiss that knocks the air out of your lungs, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you flush against him. Your hands plant on his shoulders, and in retaliation you bite his lip which only serves him to push you to the wall. Your head aches but neither of you let go, limbs tangled and breaths spent, nails clawing at his shirt and his fingers tearing at your dress.

You taste copper and when he pulls away his lips are swollen, the lower bleeding from your bite. You stare at it, transfixed, and when you meet his gaze you feel dizzy for no one had ever regarding you with such desire. He steps back, releases you, and you feel weak in the knees. He wipes the remains of the kiss from his lips with the back of his hand, “…Satisfied?” He asks. His voice is hoarse and your heart leaps faster just so you could hear more of it. Your jaw clenches, lips thinning into a line. He grins, “I take your silence as a resounding yes, then. Do have a good night, Lady Tyrell.”

The celebration of your tenth and eight name day begins well into the morning, with Tyrell banners fluttering in the wind. Heaps of flowers decorate every corner, and even the townies that are not invited to the feast done their best robes in case you would be wandering around. The main hall brews with life once the sun sets beneath the horizon—candles and incense, silk shawls, gold and glass roses, the finest delicacies coin can buy.

The pile of gifts grows larger—from Pentosian rugs made from the richest yarn, pearl encrusted porcelain eggs for jewellery, to amber pins and rings from the Summer Sea. The lords, with their sons and daughters, keep adding to the mass that crams the table. The King, sick as he is, does not manage to hide the awe from his features, “Those are some fine riches.” He tells the Queen.

She smiles, slightly, taking a sip of her drink, “Indeed. Perhaps rivalling the Lannister dowry, even.”

“Your daughter is most beloved.” Says the King to your mother.

“She is, truly,” She agrees, her eyes catching you dancing with a lord from Old Town, “and there had been many that fought for her hand. Many of which had been your cousins, your grace.” This she says to the Queen.

“We figured,” Your father continues, “that it would be best to marry her to someone we know and trust.” He glances at Lord Otto Hightower seated by the Queen.

“And thus, combining our strength and our armies,” Your mother smiles at the King, “and the rich history between our houses. A splendid union, I believe.”

“Aegon would have been a good husband.” The King notes. The said man himself is drowning cups by a table full of ladies from the Vale.

“That we do not doubt.” Your mother chirps, “Only we thought, and we acted in the interested of the crown and its people, that a Prince Targaryen should have a Targaryen wife.”

“My son’s not the king,” Viserys says, “why on earth should it matter?”

Your mother glances at Lord Hightower, “Yet he is the first-born son, and so, privy to tradition.”

“How well said.” The Queen mumbles.

“What is more, your grace,” Lord Otto speaks up, “we have noticed a…growing affection between Lady (Name) and Prince Aemond.”

“Truly, they had always gotten along beautifully.” Your mother remarks.

“And is it not better to wed from love?” Your father proposes.

The King looks to his wife, and he is old, and weary, and he regards her with something akin to sadness, “…I suppose you are right, Lord Tyrell. A marriage born from love,” He holds her hand weakly, and something within Alicent cracks cleanly into two, “is a fine, strong union. I couldn’t have thought of a better idea myself.”

As parents continue their idle chatter, you bow to the lord that had been keeping you on your feet for a while now. The dance is over and you’re spent, and as soon as you lift your head a glass of wine is placed in your hand, one you gulp down greedily. The visitors clap as the musicians tune their instruments. Aegon is whispering to a blushing maiden dressed in pale blue; Helaena is smitten with a Baratheon Lord that keeps suggesting her pastries; Aemond sits alone, watching, his drink grasped tightly in his hand.  

Before you catch a break, a Lannister lord saunters over, requesting a dance. You’re much too giddy to deny him. His advances are halted when the King takes a stand, and the hall falls into a hush. He smiles, though it seems more as a grimace, and holds up his cup in a toast, “I wish to say a few words, if the lady of the house permits me.” He begins, and his request is directed at you, one you graciously accept with a shy dip of your head, “Many years ago, I, too, was ten and eight, and not nearly as smart nor as charming as our deeply treasured flower of the court.” The crowd laughs, and your hands land on your beating heart, “It is a privilege, I do think,” He continues, “to call you family, and a great honour to have you wed my son.”

Your eyes flick in Aemond’s direction, only to find him already looking at you.

“Thus I toast to your health and beauty and eagerly look forward to saying yet another speech at your wedding.”

The crowd cheers. You can barely contain your joy. The Lannister lord tries his luck yet again, though this time Aemond replaces him. The former tries to protest but one look and he retreats, frightened. You can’t help but laugh. The musicians strum a tune.

“And here I figured,” You speak, palms aligned with his; you circle one another, at ease, despite in the peripherals of everyone in attendance, “you wouldn’t dance with me.”

“I’m only performing my duties as your husband.”

You snort and spin and your dress fluffs and the ornaments in your hair jingle, “Not yet.”

Somewhere deep down you know you should be angry with him and his coldness, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“But soon.” His hands fall on your waist and he lifts you, “Have you thought much of it? Our wedding.”

“Mother hardly lets me speak a word of anything else.” You state, passing him; you fall a step back, “She’s deeply concerned with the invitations. And seating arrangements.” You comment slyly, as if divulging a great conspiracy.

A smile pinches on the side of his lips, “It’s awfully long, I recon.”

“Every lord and lady worth a coin will be invited. If only to sit outside and watch from afar.”

Your arm slinks around his shoulders and he pulls you close, his nose brushing your cheek, “Do I have a say in this arrangement?” But his voice is missing its usual sarcastic drawl.

He’s light on his feet, refined. You would expect nothing else from a brilliant swordsman, “Only if you wish.” You murmur into his ear.

“Then I should like to wed you alone.” He says as you part, “With no audience.”

“Do you not fancy the Lannister lords?” You raise a brow, “I do think they’re quite funny.”

“I don’t fancy any lords.” He states, “Least of all, the Lannisters.”

You twirl with a laugh, “Then let us invite no one,” You sing, “and let our witness be the moon.”

“Considering how fond our families are of theatrics, I doubt such a thing would work.”

Reunited once again, you stand close as the floor floods with dancers, “I shall not tell if you won’t.” You say, glancing at his lips.

He exhales harshly and lets you go. So ends your dance. Your arm is locked with Helaena’s and you’re spun once more.

The festivities continue long into the night, even after you retire. Drowsy and drunk and barely able to stand, you unclasp the necklaces and lose the gloves, throw it all onto the vanity. Your earrings, then, and at last, the pins and ornaments in your hair, and you see your dazed reflection in the mirror, and you smile to yourself, buzzing. Usually, you would not allow yourself such indulgence, even alone. But there is no one around, and you are ten and eight, and you are young, and beautiful, and happy.

And absolutely wine-drunk. Aegon made sure of the fact.

Incense curls into white smoke. Your room drowns in candle light.

The door slowly creaks open and you startle, heart skipping a beat when a tall, slender figure enters and shuts it behind him. Aemond is still in his festive robes, though his shirt is unbuttoned, and his hair is frazzled from the wind. He briefly marvels at the pinks, greens, and lavenders of your room. Such soft colours.

“You should not be here.” You say, though it’s hardly a request to leave.

“Your dogs made my journey quite a hassle.” He says, voice rasp, thoughtful. He’s referring to your guards, “One was most adamant to not let me through.” There’s a note of warning in his tone.

You smile, tilt your head, “They have a sworn duty to protect me.”

“He swayed my hand.”

You quirk a brow, “Surely you didn’t hurt the pup?”

He hums, approaching, “As I said,” but when close enough, he doesn’t move to touch you, “He swayed my hand.”

“I shall need to have a talk with my father, then.” You remark, “For if only one tried to defend my honour, we have little use for the rest that did not.”

His hand lands on the side of your jaw—it’s rough from training, yet all the more pleasant. “I thought you stuck to your quarters on the hour of the owl.” You murmur.

His gaze jumps between your eyes, “You know very well that I do not.” He admits, “Where were you, that night?”

“Out to see my mother.”

“Why?”

You gulp, “I couldn’t sleep. I waited for you, but you never came.”

“I did.” He says, “But you were already gone by then. Why not tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t have.”

“You hurt me, you know.” You tell him.

“And I fear that if you marry me,” His thumb caresses your cheek, “I may hurt you yet.”

You smile, “That is a risk I am willing to take. Only if you promise to never be so harsh with me again.”

“I am unworthy of you.”

Your lips, once again, grace the ragged skin of his scar, “You’re a worthy prince, I know‘t.”

He kisses you again, though it’s soft this time, tender, and you can taste the wine in his mouth. His arms snake around your waist and your tangle into his hair, carding through it.

“I have craved your mouth,” He murmurs as he breaks away, peppering kisses down your neck, “for a long time. As a man in the desert craves cool water. And now that I have you,” Once you’re face to face again, your fingers gently pull at his eye-patch, “How could I ever think to let you go?”

“Then don’t.” You whisper, and finally, he’s unmasked; the leather falls to the floor, forgotten, and the prettiest emerald you had even seen glimmers in candlelight.

“Is that what you want?”

“It is what I had always wanted.”

He kisses you again, and it is as if you are back in the library, no longer fighting the passion that grew over the years. His hand sweeps over the vanity and all of its continents fall to the floor, though neither of you care enough to part. And as you’re seated, legs parted, and his warm hands working on the knots in your corset, the party continues with music and howls of joy. The visitors dance and wine is spilled and the moon shines through the clouds, illuminating a shooting star.

But they feast on foals at dawn.

The Red Keep quakes with a wail. In one wing, Helaena is crumbled to the floor, screaming, pressing her dead child to her chest as if her beating heart would wake him.

On the other side of the castle, you watch as first sunlight casts on the cradle drenched in blood. Maids buzz around you and cry, and all you can do is stare at the forming puddle on the polished tiles before you fall to your knees, your fingers gripping at your stomach. Your girl, your only one, long awaited and beloved, dead before her first name day.

The Gods are cruel and war is kind to no one. You don’t recognise the sound that leaves your lips. You hardly comprehend the pain. There are hands pulling at you but all you can see is the blood. How red it is, and how much it looks like fire in the light.

Fire and blood, have you not lost enough?

FIRE & BLOOD, EXCERPTS FROM THE CHAPTER “FLOWER OF THE COURT”

Princess (Name) Targaryen, nee Tyrell, Lady of Highgarden, was the only daughter of the Lord Tyrell and his lady wife. She came to court young in preparation to marry Prince Aegon II as a conspiracy to become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, as concocted by the shared interest to unite the forces between the Tyrell and Hightower families. The circumstances as to the switch between the princes is unknown, though it is said that Prince Aemond and, then Lady, (Name), were deeply in love and had requested to marry.  […] Their friendship was solid and love unwavering, and it said that they got along well as children and were even closer as adults.

[…] Princess (Name) was kind and deeply beloved by the court and peasantry alike, and she is said to have loved her people in return. Her selflessness is, to this, day, remembered, and a garden of the best flowers from the Reach has been tended to in the Keep in her honour ever since […].

[…] with the death of Prince Lucerys […] came the death of Prince Jaehaerys, the heir to the Iron Throne, and Princess Visenya, daughter of Princess (Name) and Prince Aemond Targaryen. The deaths of the children took a terrible toll on the Greens and greatly weakened their resolve. […].

Soon after the dance began, Princess (Name), along with numerous servants and her mother, died in the siege led by Prince Daemon Targaryen. Prince Aemond Targaryen did not find out of her passing till […].

And so ended the summer of Princess (Name)’s reign and came to the winter of her wake. Her father, Lord Paramount of the Mander, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach and Warden of the South, remarried shortly after, though it is said that he never recovered from the death of his daughter and lady wife.

notes: ty everyone for such a warm & loving response from everyone regarding this fic <3 i unexpected fell in love w it & i’m so glad to see that u have, too! this chapter was supposed to feature like 10 more things, but i couldn’t add all of that since then a) it would be too long, b) narrative wise, it would drag on & not make sense. i might write some one shots regarding these two, though ^_^ thanks again, everyone! can’t wait to see my babygirl in season 2

[pocket-luv101]

Lightning Scars

Fandom: Genshin Impact Ship: CynoNari

Summary: While Tighnari is recovering, Cyno visits him. (Spoilers for the 3.2 archon quest)

“Tighnari, you should be resting.” Hazm’s words were drowned out by the sound of thunder. Even if rain wasn’t pouring around them, he was certain that Tighnari would disregard his warning and continue patrolling. Tighnari leaned heavily on Karkata and continued to walk along the gate of Pardis Dhyai. He struggled to cover himself with the umbrella and hold onto the mechanical crab at the same time. “You’re still recovering from your injuries. Let the staff deal with securing the wall.”

“These plant-based traps are delicate and it’s best that I place them myself. I’m the only one here who has a dendro vision. I’ve rested enough so don’t worry about me. I have Karkata to help me so please go back into the greenhouse.” Tighnari brushed aside Hazm’s concern. “Hazm, the students need you more than I do. They’re probably scared after the Fatui came and a panic is the last thing we need. Go back inside and reassure them that they are safe here.”

Earlier, Pardis Dhyai had been attacked by the Fatui. A thunderstorm forced them to retreat but Tighnari was still wary of the Doctor returning for Haypasia. He planted traps around the main entrance. His body still felt sore after being struck by lightning but he forced himself to move forward. As a Forest Watcher, it was his duty to protect the rainforest.

“You shouldn’t waste your breath trying to change Tighnari’s mind.” Someone interrupted their argument and they turned towards the voice. With the storm around them, it was difficult to see the person aside from their silhouette. The person was tall with strange ears and he almost appeared to be a jackal. While Hazm shrunk back in fear, Tighnari recognized him.

“Cyno, what are you doing here?” Tighnari forgot his pain and started to run towards him. He only took a few steps before Cyno was in front of him and hugged him tightly. In contrast to the rain falling over them, Cyno’s body was warm like the desert sun. They haven’t seen each other since he started his investigation weeks ago and Tighnari wanted to savour his warmth. However, the thunder reminded Tighnari that they couldn’t linger in the moment.

He placed his hands on Cyno’s shoulders and lightly pushed on them. The small gesture was enough to tell him to let go. Tighnari held his umbrella over both of them. “We should go inside before you catch a cold. I already have my hands full treating Haypasia.”

They walked into the greenhouse where the staff and students were taking shelter from the storm. Tighnari had a million questions about Cyno’s investigation and the Traveller’s visit. He searched the greenhouse for a place they could talk without someone overhearing. Unfortunately, the glass walls didn’t provide much privacy.

Tighnari spent countless hours at Pardis Dhyai and he knew of one place they could be alone. Cyno must’ve had the same thought as he took Tighnari’s hand and led him to the back door. They stepped outside but they didn’t become wet from the rain. The petals of the tall, white flower acted like a canopy above their heads. They sat in the thick bush of flowers. When they were students, they would use the spot for their clandestine meetings.

“You surprised me when you came. I didn’t hear a trap being triggered.” Tighnari took a towel and placed it over Cyno’s wet hair. He often listened to Tighnari explain them during their dinners together so he knew them well. He also made him plant-based traps to use during his investigation. “The Traveller and Dehya came and asked about the Doctor. They couldn’t talk about the details but it sounds dangerous. He said they were going to meet you in the city. Did something happen for you to come back here?”

“They said you were hurt in a fight.” The concern and regret in Cyno’s voice made Tighnari pause.

“Did you come back just to check on me?” Tighnari already knew the answer when he looked into Cyno’s red eyes. With a sigh, he untied his belt and white tunic. “My injury isn’t serious and the lightning barely left a scar. I don’t know what you’re planning to do with the Traveller but it’s likely connected to the Akademiya. Rescuing our Archon is important and you can’t let yourself be distracted by me.”

Tighnari started to take off his hoodie but his shoulder protested and made him wince in pain. He cursed lightly at himself. He wanted to reassure Cyno that he wasn’t hurt but it was difficult to hide the lingering pain he felt. Cyno took the hem of Tighnari’s shirt and helped him pull the fabric of his head. His eyes fell onto the violet scars on his shoulder. The electro aura littered his skin like a spider web and the sight made Cyno’s stomach turn.

Tighnari placed his finger beneath Cyno’s chin and guided his gaze back to him. He brushed his wet hair from his face. Their eyes met and Tighnari could see anger clash with the regret he saw earlier. Cyno snarled, “The Balladeer did this to you. As soon as we free the Dendro Archon, I’ll see that he and the sages pay for their crimes.”

“They deserve to be punished but I hope you’re not letting your emotions affect that decision. The Akademiya is a powerful organization and you can’t afford to be reckless with them. You’re the General Mahamatra and you need to be impartial.” Tighnari reminded him.

“General Mahamatra.” Cyno repeated the title and bitterness tainted the words. Even before he joined the Matra, he saw how dangerous the unrestrained pursuit for knowledge could be. Scholars would disregard life and betray each other for knowledge. He believed he could keep scholars on a righteous path by punishing scholars as the General Mahamatra. The sages only saw that title as their hound to control.

“Cyno, I told the Traveller to give you a message and I’ll repeat it now. Trust your own senses and experiences. You have a strong sense of justice that the General Mahamatra needs. The divine spirit chose you as a vessel to enact judgement for a reason.” Tighnari took Cyno’s hands and squeezed them tenderly. “I wouldn’t have asked you to help my master if I didn’t believe in you. I love you.”

Cyno placed his hands on Tighnari’s hips and pulled him onto his lap. He leaned down and kissed his shoulder where the thunder had struck him. “The raid will start tomorrow. I’ll bring them to justice.”

“When you defeat the Balladeer, the rain will stop and I can finally go home to check on Collei. She’s probably worried that we both disappeared all of a sudden. Come home to us as soon as you can.” There was no doubt in Tighnari’s mind that Cyno would succeed. “Though, I wish I could go with you and help with the raid. I’m the reason you’re in this mess.”

Even though Tighnari knew that Cyno was strong and intelligent so he could survive any situation, he didn’t want him in danger. He told himself that he would support him if the situation became dire but he was injured now. To his surprise, Cyno chuckled. “You faced the Doctor by yourself and stopped him from taking Haypasia. You helped our raid more than you think.”

Cyno was already suspicious of the Akademiya’s latest project but Tighnari’s request spurred him to investigate outside of his role of General Mahamatra. There were various reasons the sages would try to trick Tighnari to join them and each one endangered Tighnari. Before Cyno took an oath as the General Mahamatra, he vowed to protect Tighnari because he loved him.

“Admittedly, I wanted to shoot an arrow into his back after what he did to Collei. Killing him would lead to a war since he’s a delegate of the Tsaritsa.” Tighnari huffed as he put on his shirt. He picked up the yellow flower he often pinned onto his tunic. Instead of wearing it, he pressed it into Cyno’s hand. “Take this flower. It can be a charm and remind you that I be-leaf in you.”

A beat of silence passed before Tighnari blushed and turned away in embarrassment. “I was worried that you were still tense after our conversations so I tried to use your technique of telling a joke. I should’ve known that it wouldn’t work.”

“Ah, ‘be-leaf’ is like the word ‘believe’ except you changed it to reference a flower. Your pun would be better if you used…” He began to list a few puns with plants and Tighnari let out an exasperated sigh. As much as he loved Cyno, his jokes felt more forced than funny. Though, his jokes had their own charm because Tighnari understood the reason Cyno made them.

Tighnari leaned forward and kissed Cyno to silence his joke. While Cyno was distracted, he slipped the yellow flower from his hand. He leaned back and grinned up at him. “I changed my mind. Instead of returning my flower after the raid, return my kiss when we see each other again.”

Tighnari sat at his desk and crushed petals into a bowl to make a medicinal paste. The rain had stopped and he knew that it meant that Cyno and the others were able to defeat the sages. He returned to Avidya Forest and immediately started to prepare a salve to treat wounds. The raid was successful but there were likely people injured in the fight. His wound kept him from fighting but he still wanted to help in any way he could.

The sound of sandals against wooden steps made Tighnari’s ears twitch. He immediately recognized Cyno’s footsteps. He stood from his desk and went to open the door for him. As he reached the door, Cyno stepped through the entrance. Cyno had visited him so often that it was second nature to enter without knocking. His breathing was laboured. He carried the Traveller on his back and held a young girl with his right hand.

“Put Aether on the bed and I’ll check his injuries.” Tighnari helped Cyno place Aether on the bed. He looked over his shoulder to the small girl Cyno had bought with them. She didn’t appear to be hurt or need treatment. He spoke to her in a soft voice. “Can you go to the tent in the tree next to us? Wake up a girl named Collei and tell her that we have a patient. Sit down and rest, Cyno.”

“Sorry, I woke you up in the middle of the night.” Cyno sat in a chair. Tighnari wore a large black shirt that he often used when sleeping.

“I wasn’t sleeping. Collei kept telling me to get proper rest so I changed into my night clothes to make her think I was sleeping. Don’t tell her that I was awake and making medicine. Collei has grown up a lot to fret over me. Before you try to lecture me too, I fully recovered.” Tighnari pulled aside his shirt to show Cyno his healed shoulder. “How did everything go?”

“Better than we could hope. Aether fell unconscious but Nahida said that he wasn’t seriously injured.” Cyno said and he saw how Tighnari’s shoulders relaxed.

“You’re always bringing injured people to me.” Tighnari joked. Cyno watched him treat Aether’s wounds and knew that he was right to bring him to Avidya Forest. He considered him more capable than the doctors at the Bimarstan. “What about that little girl you bought back with you? I hope you didn’t adopt another daughter without talking to me first.”

“That’s the Dendro Archon.” His answer almost made Tighnari drop his bowl in shock. He briefly spoke to the Archon when she inhabited Aether’s body but he didn’t expect her to be so young.

Tighnari walked to the window and saw her walking with Collei. “She’s just a child. She’ll need someone to look after her at the Akademiya. You know how scholars are.”

“It sounds like you already decided to adopt her.” Cyno stood and walked to Tighnari’s side. “She offered me the position of General Mahamatra again. I accepted. I’ll protect her from people who would try to lock her up and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”