#before i disintegrate from the sight of such beauty

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[subbmissivesuccubus]

Thinking of Uzui and Rengoku falling in love with you at first sight.

They're out on a mission, several demons sighted at a village and the number was so high they needed multiple people to come and fix the problem. Of course, it was a cake walk for the two of them. Their weapons flashing under the moonlight as it cut through the necks of their enemies like butter, demon after demon falling to their blade.

Despite the task being easy, it still took a few hours so by the time the job was done, they were a bit tuckered out. Every demon was slain- or so they thought.

A demon burst from the rubble, it's sharp claws aiming for Rengoku's face. It was too fast, neither of the Hashira able to react in time as the demon was but a centimeter away from clawing Rengoku's eyes out when you showed up.

Using your breath of Thunder, you cracked through the air like a lightning strike, covering ground within seconds as you managed to cut off the demon's arm before cutting its head off, saving your senior of any injury.

You put away your weapon as the demon disintegrated in front of you, bowing down respectfully to the two pillars, a ranking you hoped to reach one day. They recognized you, having seen you out and about before but this was the first time they'd seen you in action.

Both of their hearts skipped a beat. Beautiful, talented and powerful woman was a plenty within the demon slayer corporation but there was something about you that was just...different. Perhaps it was your kind heart in helping the wounded. Perhaps it was the confidence you carried yourself with. Perhaps it was because you were just too darn cute. But whatever the reason may be, they were enamored by you and couldn't keep their eyes off of you.

Once you helped the others in cleaning up and getting the wounded the help they need, you went back to the two Hashira who were strangely dazed.

"I shall get going now." you reported with a bow, "I'm glad I could be of service."

"Marry me." both of them said simultaneously.

"...huh?"

Thinking of Uzui and Rengoku roping you into sexual escapades as a form of 'training'

You had rejected their marriage proposal, stating that while you respected them, you didn't know them personally and didn't want a husband(s) that you weren't fond of.

They were respectful of that, stating that a great way to get to know each other would be through training. You thought it was unbelievable that two Hashira's were interested enough in you to take time of their schedules to train with you, much less want to marry you, but you decided to agree. Learning from the best would be an invaluable experience, afterall.

"I-I- thought you said we were gonna t-train!" You squealed, tossing your head back against the pillow as Uzui slid a second finger inside you, your pussy gushing around him.

You could barely recollect how you got here, a room in an inn, at the mercy of your two seniors. Your mind was a jumbled mess as their hands and lips attacked your body, hungry kisses against your neck while stripping you of your uniform. Time seemed to go by fast yet slow at the same time, eventually ending up on a bed with Rengoku sucking your breasts while Uzui made himself familiar with your pussy.

"It is training." the sound Hashira said with a smirk, curling his fingers inside you just right, making you gasp. He stuffed his fingers of his other hand into your mouth, making you choke.

"This is to help your technique." he said, "Control yourself and focus on your breathing."

As he said that, Rengoku's lips left your nipple, leaving it a saliva covered stiff bud before moving down and taking your clit into his mouth, making you scream around Uzui's fingers. Your body shook from the pleasure, never having experienced this before.

You knew their claim that this was for training was complete bullshit but dammit- you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Uzui was so deliciously huge compared to you. He was twice your size, his muscular body enveloping you completely as he toyed with your body with ease. His bulging muscles and washboard abs made you drool, your eyes wandering to his nether regions, pussy growing wetter when you saw a big bulge straining against his pants.

Rengoku ran hot, literally. His touch made you shiver as he ran his warm hands over your body, a comforting contrast to the way his hot tongue was assaulting your clit. He sucked on it like a candy, flicking it around before giving it a gentle nibble, making you squeal. With a physique just as impressive as Uzui's, his bright eyes filled with passion and desire made you feel dizzy.

"Focus." Uzui said with a click of his tongue, pushing his fingers further down your throat, making you gag, "you're getting distracted."

'I can't help it!' You tried to defend, but what came out was a bunch of gurgles and gags, unable to say anything.

"If you can't handle this," Rengoku said, giving your clit a sweet kiss before he straightened himself up, "what will you do if a demon attacks you and tries to choke you?"

"Exactly~" Uzui cooed, starting to move his fingers in and out of your throat, a slower rhythm from what he was doing to your cunt, "Bring your breathing under control and maybe, we'll let you cum~"

[sorcerersseestars]

love sweet, taste bitter

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

To you, Gojo Satoru is your silly, loving boyfriend. But Gojo Satoru is also the strongest sorcerer in the world, and that comes with its risks—for both you and him. When his Infinity fails to activate, your mission takes a turn for the worse.

Aka one of you gets hurt, and the other has to bear it.

Warnings: injuries and violence, a gun is used, blood loss, hidden inventory arc spoilers, fight btwn Gojo and reader, reader implied to be shorter/smaller than Gojo, slightly suggestive (not rlly), lowkey a lot of kissing tho??, bad communication skills, emotional whiplash bc gojo doesn't know what to do w his feelings

Word count: 9.2k

*Gojo and reader are in their early 20s

"Cursed technique reversal: red,” Gojo calls out casually, lazily flicking his right index finger at his target.

The curse—hardly an intelligent one, far from being special-grade—stares at the brilliant light with bulging eyes. It's a deer in the headlights, transfixed by Gojo’s power and paralyzed with fear. You can only imagine how that would feel.

You tear your eyes away from the sight of the curse disintegrating into nothing. It's not as gruesome as most curse exorcisms, considering the potency of Gojo’s attacks, but the curse’s expression fading into nothingness still makes your skin crawl. You almost pity the horrible creature.

In comparison to the macabre scene you just witnessed, Gojo's enthusiastic noise of approval nearly gives you whiplash.

"Another job well done by yours truly!" Gojo grins, giving you two thumbs up. "Now let's hurry before that new boba place closes. You said you really wanted to try it, right?"

It takes you a moment to respond, your mind still processing how insanely fast your boyfriend was able to eradicate a threat that would have taken you both a good strategy and a fair bit of time to exorcise. It took practically no effort for Gojo to eliminate, and you know that he fears no curse. For you, fear grips you each time you face off with a curse, no matter how big or small. It doesn't feel fair.

Your fingers curl into a fist as you struggle with your emotions, frustrated with yourself. When you look to him, beyond his shades and into his powerful eyes, something akin to envy pulls at your gut. It makes you feel sick—you're viewing him in the way everybody else sees him. But when he walks toward you, smiling so wide that he looks goofy, your thoughts of his abilities melt away and are replaced by an affection so strong that your chest hurts.

His eyes are so beautiful, their perpetual sparkle even visible from under the dark film of his shades. His cheeks are tinged pink from your constant gaze on him, and it still amazes you that you have the ability to make him fluster at all. His lips are stretched into a toothy grin, his eyes crinkling along in genuine happiness. Your stunning boyfriend that you still can't believe ever gained an interest in plain old you.

That's right. To you, he's not the Honored One, he's not Gojo Satoru. He's just your boyfriend, just your Satoru. Just your boyfriend who is obsessed with anything sweet.

You roll your eyes lightly, a small chuckle bubbling up in your throat, “You mean, the place you've been begging to go to all week?"

He walks to your side, sighing loudly as he approaches. His deft fingers subtly adjust his sunglasses, pulling them down in an attempt to garner your sympathy. The expression on his face is priceless—the strongest sorcerer in the world is pouting because you insinuated you might not want milk tea.

"Don't be so mean, sweets!” He whines. "You said you wanted to try it out, too.”

“Hm, did I now?” You say with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I don’t recall.”

He steps closer, towering over your smaller form. When you dwell on that thought, you suppose you should be scared. You see him brutally destroy curses, leaving no trace of their existence behind. He could do that to you, if you wanted to.

Even knowing that, you aren’t scared.

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest. You can feel his strength through the solid grip he has on you—his arms lovingly cage you in.

Even though he’s done this many times before, your breath still catches in your throat, and your heart races at the proximity.

“C'mon, l know you've been craving brown sugar boba all week... And they even have that tiramisu flavor you go crazy for…”

He nuzzles in close to your neck, warm breath fanning down your nape. When he's this close, you can't resist anything—and he knows it, too.

You sigh as if he's ruffled your feathers, but you can't help but let the chuckle you’ve been holding in escape past your upturned lips.

“Do they have cheese foam?" You hum.

You yelp as his fingers dig into your side—and then your entire body is wracked with heaving, boisterous laughter.

"What a silly question. Of course they do! Only the amateurs lack the essential toppings,” He shakes his head playfully. “Any more funny business out of you, and you'll get punished again."

You twist around in his grasp to face him. Your hand reaches up to ease his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, putting his vibrant blue eyes and pale lashes on display.

“You're so pretty it's unfair,” You pout. "Leave some for the rest of us."

"And yet everyone's always trying to steal you away from me," He counters.

"Says the head-turner," You say with a smile full of your adoration for him. “Haven't you noticed that the rest of the population—myself included—never has all eyes on them when entering a room?"

He shrugs, “How would I know? You think my eyes are on anyone else once I see you?"

The insinuation has heat and electricity coursing through your entire body. He wears a smirk as if he can feel the flames licking your skin. You lower your gaze, suddenly shy.

A warm hand cups your check, gently nudging your face close to his. Your eyes instinctively flit up to his, drinking him in.

His eyes are bright behind his shades. You laugh softly when his shades fully slide down to the edge of his nose as he lowers his head to yours.

“Makin’ fun of me, babycakes?” He pretends to pout, but his tone is playful and warm.

“Maybe,” You tease. “I mean, you are freakishly tall and have glow in the dark eyes. And you call me all sorts of weird names.”

“You–!” He gasps. “You are such a rascal, y’know that? A fiend, even!”

“Mmm,” You hum, humoring him. “Well, would such a fiend as myself do…this?”

You lean in, savoring the warmth of his hands on you. His skin, smooth from its lack of wear due to his Infinity, skates across your skin effortlessly. Your lips are about to touch his, only inches away from bliss, when you both are caught off guard.

There’s a loud bang. So loud, in fact, that your ears ring as soon as the sound waves hit your eardrums. You stagger back from Gojo, crouching down and immediately covering your ears with your hands. You look up at your boyfriend, expecting to exchange confused glances, and are not prepared in the slightest for the scene in front of you.

His eyes are blown wide, shades now missing. Beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead and all color has drained from his face. His expression quickly crumples, lips parting and yet no sound escapes him.

A shudder runs through you—something is very wrong.

Then his shaky hands begin to move, and he quickly clutches his side. Right under his ribs, a stream of blood begins to run down his body, escaping between his fingers. You watch in horror as it pours down at an alarming rate, and you begin to put the pieces together.

Satoru has been shot.

His name leaves your mouth in a panicked howl and then you can't speak anymore, as if all the air has escaped from your lungs. Your mind is ripped back to when Toji Fushiguro sliced Gojo to shreds in front of you. His blood splattering everywhere while you watched on in horror, immobilized and completely useless, not able to do anything but watch the terrors unfold. Not again, not again, it can’t happen again, is what replays through your mind.

You have no more time to linger on that chilling memory. More pops sound through the air, deafening you and spiking fear in the blood that rushes through your veins. It can't happen again. You can't see him like that again.

You immediately throw yourself at your boyfriend, desperately trying to shield him with your body, even though it’s nearly impossible with how tall he is. You shove him down, attempting to cut down his frame to meet yours so that you can cover him, and notice something odd. You can still feel his warmth—your skin brushes against his, when it shouldn’t. Not right now, it shouldn’t.

You move to the side with quick steps and try to pull him along with you, but are unable to. Your heart sinks. He’s completely dead weight. You’re strong in your own regard, but there’s no way you can pick him up and take off with him.

"Satoru, please! C'mon, we have to go, we need to. Please," You plead with him, gripping him so tightly that your hands ache. When he doesn't respond, you start to shake him, trying to get any reaction out of him, but to no avail.

He’s in shock. It’s obvious with his lack of reaction, with how he lets himself be man handled under your body. He prides himself in his ability to protect those around him—he wouldn’t just let you put yourself in the line of fire if he was in his right mind. You know fully well that Gojo could eliminate the shooter in mere moments if he assumed his normal calm and nonchalance—but, unfortunately, his mind is in a freeze state. The bare skin under your fingertips is evidence of this, which only exacerbates your rising panic.

“Your Infinity!” You shout, your voice raw from panic. “Satoru, your Infinity! You need to turn it on! Now!”

Still grasping Satoru tightly, you endure the next round that is emptied into the space next to you—a bullet whistles by your ear, too close for comfort. Gojo’s breathing is ragged, his eyes staring into nothing and appearing so far away at the same time.

You duck down to his eye level and grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Satoru, please! Snap out of it! Please!”

For a few seconds, his gaze locks with yours. His eyes, usually such a vivid blue, are darkened by how large his pupils are. You plead with him, unable to keep your terrified tears at bay.

Then you’re slightly bumped back, now pressing against what feels like a wall, and your body becomes weak with relief. He finally activated his Infinity.

But you're not out of danger yet. Your brain scrambles as you try to figure out how to get out of this while your boyfriend is evidently in shock.

You dare a glance back, eyes scouring the landscape, and immediately curse. As you suspected, you are most definitely being sniped. The enemy has the advantage of higher ground and generous foliage for coverage, while you and Satoru are exposed out in the open clearing below. If you had more time and brain power, you could triangulate their location, but that's just not possible right now.

Even if you were able to surmise their location, you don't even think you can fight back right now, not with how exposed your position is and with how vulnerable Gojo is in this state. And if you can't fight, then you have to flee.

Projectile weapons are ineffective against a moving target—this simple knowledge is what sways your decision. Even though it didn’t work before, you grab Satoru, still trying to keep him low, and begin to run. You breathe a little easier when he moves along with you.

More shots whizz past you, but you keep going, pumping your legs as fast as you can while making sure to be the rear guard. It’s obvious that they’re targeting Gojo—if they hit you, it would merely be collateral damage. The bullseye is on Gojo’s back, not yours.

You don’t stop running until you hit the tree line, and even then you hurriedly usher Gojo behind a stocky trunk many meters back. Before you can catch your breath, you're ripping off your jacket with haste. Quickly realizing that the material is not ideal for the job you intend it for, you quickly tear your shirt from your body. It’s sweaty from all your activity, but it’ll have to do.

You brush away Gojo’s hands, firmly pressing the cloth to his wound. You practically collapse onto your boyfriend as you apply firm pressure, your forehead dipping down to rest on his shoulder. You're wracking your brain for what to do next when Gojo gently pushes you back, places his hands on yours, and shakes his head.

You can't help but think the worst. What does that mean? Is it like that time? Am I too late again?

“I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but y-you're bleeding so much that I have to. Fuck, I’m really sorry for making you run, I’m sure that made it worse, but we just had to get away from whoever was shooting, oh god, how badly did they get you, fuck, this is my fault–”

You don’t realize you’re rambling until he cuts you off. You don't realize you're crying until he brushes the tears away.

“Hey. Stop, sweets. I’m fine, it already stopped bleeding.”

“What? But that can’t be, you were literally shot–”

He raises his shirt, revealing a pink layer of new skin.

He offers you a weak smile, but something is off about it. “Reverse cursed technique, remember? Nobody’s gonna take me down that easily.”

You release a big breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The weight on your shoulders finally eases as you look over his new layer of skin.

“Oh fuck, I’m so glad you’re okay,” You sniffle, leaning in quickly for a hug. “I–mmph!”

You stumble back a step, blinking in surprise. This has never happened before—you hit his invisible barrier.

His eyes widen. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to–“

“No, no, it’s okay!” You wave your hands, trying to dispel his apology. You feel flustered and stiff, awkwardness seeping into your mannerisms. “It’s good that it’s on now.”

It’s then that the disturbing thought hits you. Maybe he should always have his Infinity on. Maybe you’re endangering him.

Gojo holds out his arms for you, now inviting you in. You pause, your thoughts echoing through your head. You take a beat too long—you know he senses your momentary hesitation, and how slowly and gingerly you come into his arms doesn't feel right.

“You okay? Did you get hit?” He asks, squeezing you tightly in his arms. “Fuck, please tell me you didn’t.”

With your head pressed to his chest, you can hear how rapidly his heart beats. He’s scared. He’s scared for you, even though he was the one who got hurt.

His hands run over you, checking for any injuries. You pull yourself out of his embrace gently to still his hands.

You shake your head, “No, I’m fine. But you…you got hurt, Satoru. They shot you.”

And it’s absolutely your fault. If you hadn’t been touching him, this never would have happened. He let his guard down because of you.

“I’m alright now, sweets,” He reassures you, but his tone is again tinged with a strange emotion you can’t put your finger on. “Promise.”

“But–!” You exclaim, about to spill out all of your guilty feelings. The words don’t come, though, stopped by another fear. Will he also realize it’s your fault and get rid of you? Will he realize he doesn’t need you?

“Here,” He says, unballing your shirt and placing it in your hands. “This is proof that I’m fine. Your shirt’s..."

He inspects it funnily, scrunching up his eyebrows and staring at it intently, making a show of it to make you laugh. "...pretty clean and ready to be worn again. Well, unless you don’t want to…can’t say I wouldn’t mind you not putting it back on…there is a little speck of blood on it, after all...”

He smiles at you, a true grin that manages to lift up your weary heart. You burst out laughing, and swat his arm before you hurriedly take it from his hands.

“Satoru! We almost just died and you—” You still can’t contain your laughter, but it stops abruptly once you feel a large wet patch on your shirt. When you pull your hand back, your fingers are stained red with a surprising amount of blood.

“I swear it closed up before you…” He frowns, trailing off. His face turns serious for a moment, but then you touch his cheek with your clean hand and give him a quick peck.

You shrug, “It’s okay. No biggie.”

Face still close to yours, he chases your lips as you pull away from the peck. He kisses you deeply, catching you by surprise and forcing you to hold onto him for support.

"Satoru! I'm gonna get you all bloody with this hand..." You softly protest.

"Don't care," He murmurs quickly, leaning in again and kissing like you don't need to breathe. "It's mine anyway. Just like you."

"Mmph—Satoru—but you need to get looked at properly," You manage to say. "We have to go."

He reluctantly lets you slip out of his arms, sighing as he straightens to his full height.

He groans loudly, frowning at you, "Party pooper!"

"Yeah, yeah, get yourself ready," You fold your arms, acting like you didn't just immensely enjoy that.

He raises an eyebrow at you and smirks as his eyes scan your body.

"What?" You ask petulantly.

He sounds more excited than you’d like, “So…no more shirt?”

You sigh, exasperated, and quickly smooth the shirt back over your body. He laughs and wraps himself around your smaller form, squishing you back against his chest. You relax against him, digging your nose into him, taking in his comforting scent. You both are silent for a few moments, soaking up each other's presence.

“That was scary,” You whisper.

Gojo sighs, “It was pathetic, that’s what it was.”

You snap your head up to look at him. “Hey. What are you saying?”

He shakes his head, looking frustrated. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just…let’s just head back.”

“Satoru…” You start with a warning tone.

“Don’t wanna talk about it right now,” He says flatly. “Besides, we should go back and see Shoko just in case. I want you to get looked over, too."

You want to question him further, but hold your tongue. You know better than to press him when he’s like this.

“Huh? Why’s that?” You simply ask instead, genuinely confused.

He frowns as he looks at your head, scrutinizing it as if something was wrong. Before you can question him, he forms a fist and–

Knock, knock.

“You think it’s in there?” He asks seriously. “Sounds pretty hollow.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief at the absolute disrespect. There’s no way he just knocked on your skull to check if your brain is still in your head.

“GOJO SATORU! Are you- are you implying I don’t have a BRAIN?!” You screech, taking hold of his sorcerer jacket to jostle him around. “Do you have a death wish?!”

He laughs, then uses the same fist to roughly rub your scalp. He even gave you a fucking noogie!!

“That’s it! Take me to Shoko.” You pout, crossing your arms and turning around so your back faces Gojo.

“Aww, sweets, you want a second opinion?” He coos, moving forward to wrap his arms around you from behind. “I’m sure she’ll be able to confirm it…”

“Ugh!”

"...with how willingly you throw yourself into danger."

You stop smiling. "What?"

He's not smiling either, and its absence looks strange on his face. His gaze is almost cold. "Don't do that again."

There are no words that come to your mind, but you wish you could protest and justify your actions and convince him that it was necessary. Instead, you stand there dumbly, transfixed by his cold aura.

Then he smiles sweetly again, as if that hadn't just happened. "Let's go, shall we?"

Shoko sighs loudly at your arrival. "What was it this time?"

"Actually, we're not sure," You admit, looking to Gojo to see if he has any possible answers. When he says nothing, you continue, "We didn't see what—or rather who–it was. 'Must have been a cursed user."

"Even Mr. Six Eyes didn't see them?" Shoko asks, raising an eyebrow. "That's hard to believe. And here I was always thinking he should leave some eyes for the rest of us."

She looks to Gojo teasingly, but he doesn't take the bait. Shoko looks to you with a questioning gaze that says something like—what's up with him?

"It's complicated..." You supply vaguely.

"Well, whoever it was must be bad news," She says. "How did they get Gojo if you couldn't see them?"

"They had guns," You explain. "It was a sniper...or a few snipers, I'm not sure if it was just one or if there was another one too. Their aim wasn't the best, but they got Satoru one time...they shot a few rounds at us, but I guess they got lucky with that shot."

You can't look at him. If you look at him, you'll see his skin pale and washed out from the blood dripping down his abdomen. You'll see his body lacerated and unrecognizable from Toji's ruthless assault. You are always useless, hopelessly useless.

You look at your feet instead and ignore the sour taste of bile in your mouth.

Gojo's cocky snicker brings you back to attention, "They were pretty terrible. They only got one hit, but they should have known better. As if that loser shit would work against me."

Shoko's eyes are on you again, and you know why. Gojo doesn't normally get injured. And by someone with nothing more than a gun? How could he even get hit with Infinity?

Even if you were speaking, you're not sure you would have the strength to tell her. It's my fault he didn't have his Infinity on, is the answer that resonates painfully in your chest. The guilt threatens to consume you whole, but you push it down.

"Everything is 'loser shit' to you with RCT," Shoko decides on. "But I have to say I'm just a little surprised you got hit."

"Yeah, yeah, but I'm all good now," Gojo says dismissively.

"Let me see at least," Shoko rolls her eyes. "Aren't you here to see me for my medical expertise or what?"

"What, we can't see our dear friend otherwise?" You tease with a pout. "You wound me, Shoko."

"That wouldn't be ethical of me,” Shoko plays along, then turns back to doctor mode once she starts getting her supplies ready. "Did you get hurt too?"

“No, just Satoru,” You say with a shake of your head. “You don’t have to check me over.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “I’ll come back to you.”

“Huh? But Shoko…” You trail off, seeing she has already begun inspecting Gojo.

“I’m all good,” Gojo rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t have quite the usual touch of playfulness it usually does. “C’mon, Shoko, don’t waste your time on this. We both know I can’t really get hurt.”

He winks at you, and you smile in return. That almost makes you feel better—he’s being more like himself.

“Uh-huh, but they certainly won’t let me rest until I do a proper check-up,” Shoko says. “You’ve got a persistent one, did ya know?”

He only chuckles at that, giving her some peace to look him over and prod him here or there.

“Well, you’re all good, as expected. It doesn’t seem like there’s any soreness, which is a good sign.”

“My RCT isn’t just for show!” Gojo says proudly. “Works just as good as yours, Shoko.”

She rolls her eyes, “Uh huh. Now, let’s get on to your ‘sweets’.”

You stick your tongue out at her, blushing, “Shoko, I have a name!”

“Not in these parts,” She teases easily, waggling her eyebrows at you. “Alright, just sit up straight for me now. Just gonna prod you a bit, okay?”

You nod, unworried as you let her hands inspect you. You relax and are about to crack a joke about getting a free massage from bestie Shoko, but you find yourself writhing in pain instead. You definitely didn’t expect yourself to wince—and yet you find yourself doing so, hissing out in pain as a stinging suddenly surfaces on your back.

Gojo sits up in alarm at your reaction and quickly jumps up from his cot, making his way over to you and Shoko. “What’s wrong?”

He’s practically hovering over you before Shoko shoos him away with a wave of her hand, motioning for him to let her do her job. He keeps away, but his gaze is trained on the spot her hand is touching.

She lifts your shirt fully, carefully inspecting the wound. It’s bleeding steadily, yet neither of you even noticed it before this moment.

“You got hit?” Gojo practically mewls. He’s never sounded this small and weak before. “But you were—I thought you were fine..."

Now it makes sense why your hand was tinged red when you pulled your hand back from the shirt earlier. It wasn't from Satoru's wound at all—it's your blood.

When you turn to Satoru, you look into a mirror. You know that's how you must have looked earlier when you looked at his bullet wound in horror.

“You probably didn’t feel it because of the adrenaline," You hear Shoko telling you. "It appears to be a graze, but it got you pretty good. There’s no bullet or shrapnel, which might be why you didn’t feel it in the moment.”

You feel embarrassed for some reason. “I seriously didn’t feel anything…it’s fine, then, right?”

Satoru is pale again. Emotions swirl in his agitated eyes—you can’t quite decipher them, since they cycle so fast, but he looks…haunted.

But he shouldn't, not when everything boils down to being your fault.

You immediately turn your attention to Satoru, becoming apprehensive about the look in his eyes. You smile at him softly, eyes crinkling along with your lips, trying to signal that you’re really okay, that there’s nothing to worry about.

But you don’t see the pool of blood steadily growing behind you, Satoru does.

“I’m okay, Satoru,” You smile, but it falters when Shoko presses gauze against your wound.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Shoko sighs. “Lay on your stomach and try not to move too much. I'm going to wrap you, okay? I need to grab some things, but I’ll be right back.”

"Okay..." You accept softly, still surprised by this turn of events.

You obey Shoko's orders and begin to lower yourself onto the hospital bed. You grit your teeth when the skin on your back stretches, irritating your newly discovered wound. You blink once and suddenly he's by your side, holding you steady and angling you so your back doesn't have movement while he gently lays you down.

"Thanks," You say. "I'm fine though, Satoru, really..."

“You don’t see yourself,” He speaks lowly, quietly. “Worry about yourself some.”

You’re left reeling at his words—more so by how he says them. His voice is so weak, uncharacteristically soft and completely candid.

“I’m fine,” You insist, shaking your head. “I didn’t even feel it. It can’t be so bad then, can it?”

You don’t miss the way Gojo’s jaw sets. He didn’t like that response. You see something you don't understand in his eyes, a flash of a strong emotion you didn’t anticipate. You avert your gaze, but it’s burned into the back of your eyes.

The click of Shoko’s heels alerts you of her return. Gojo watches his old friend carefully, taking in her furrowed brow and the way her eyes jump between your wound and her supplies, analyzing. She seems confused, as if she underestimated the severity of your wound. His hands curls into fists, watching your blood drip over the edge of the bed and dropping messily onto the ground below.

Shoko pulls her gloves on swiftly, grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and preparing it for application.

“Sit tight, my friend,” Shoko tells you with a deep exhale. “I gotta get started on this. First I’m going to sterilize it, then you’re going to need stitches. I’m sorry to say we won’t have the luxury of time to sedate you for that.”

You gulp. Your pain tolerance is okay, but you really hate the feeling of anticipating pain. Knowing something will hurt is infinitely more scary to you than getting injured in battle, when your adrenaline is high and it just happens without warning.

You reach your hand out hesitantly, feeling silly for needing comfort just for a few stitches, and are surprised by the immediate grasp on your hand. It’s tight but not uncomfortable; it’s warm and it grounds you.

You grit your teeth and try to limit your whimpers of pain as she treats your wound. You can’t stop yourself from squirming when the needles pulls at your skin again and again, even when she places a heavy hand on your back to hold you in place. All throughout, Gojo’s hand squeezes yours, carrying you through this uncomfortable ordeal.

When it’s finally over, you feel exhausted.

“You did great,” Shoko praises you. “Your wound should be all good for now.”

You let out a small chuckle of relief, almost giddy to be done with the dreaded stitches. You sit up and slide off the bed, wanting to get back on your feet to feel some normalcy, to convince yourself you’re fine.

You truly felt nothing before, but it must be catching up to you now. Your knees threaten to buckle under you as dizziness overtakes you—you wobble on your two feet.

Both Shoko and Gojo rush to you, each taking a side to support you.

“You lost a considerable amount of blood,” Shoko warns in her doctorly tone. “Slow down and take it easy from now on.”

You laugh sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head, “I’m good! Just stood up a bit too fast.”

Shoko releases your arm, but Gojo doesn’t let go. He holds you steady, even pulling you toward him, supporting the majority of your weight.

“I can stand, y’know…” You laugh softly, finding his overprotective actions a bit amusing. But all the humor drains from the situation when you meet his gaze.

You see it in his eyes again, a dark flicker that almost makes you nervous. Before you can muster the courage to question him about it, Shoko interrupts your silent musings.

“Listen closely. I know you like to be up and about, as you just demonstrated, but I want you to limit your movement as to not disturb your stitches. A little walking should be fine, but do not exert yourself. No exercising or training for the next few days. Come see me in three days so I can clear you—if it’s looking good—for activity.”

You resist a sigh, settling on a playful roll of your eyes. “Yes, mom.”

She smirks, “Good. Now get out of here, you two, before I get your couples cooties.”

“Har, har, har,” You pretend to laugh, before sticking your tongue out at her. “Very funny, Shoko.”

It strikes you that Gojo has been unusually quiet, not joining in on your mutual jokes. When you spare a glance, you observe that his facial expression is neutral, if a bit strained. No smile, no cocky smirk. That’s uncommon.

You look at Shoko, exchanging more unspoken words with a few blinks. That confirms it—he’s acting strange.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, but he know he won’t tell you here.

“Ready to go?” You ask instead.

“Ready as ever,” He tries a half smile. It’s not very convincing.

You nod and lean into him, angling your head to smile up at him. Your smile is innocent and sweet. His chest squeezes at the sight, full of a jumble of emotions. He doesn’t reveal any of them; he absently plays with a strand of your hair instead.

As you look up at him, closely examining his soulful eyes for any traces of the emotion from earlier, to see if it still lingered. But the intense emotion is gone, replaced by an even and controlled gaze, leaving you to only wonder at the clear flash of anger you saw earlier in his bright eyes.

When you come back home, Gojo is unusually quiet. He mumbles something about taking a shower when you get back, leaving your side as soon as he gets the chance. You really wouldn't mind, but he seems rather... avoidant, especially with his ensuing actions.

You plop yourself down on your couch, trying to get comfy while keeping your back straight, a nearly impossible feat. Feeling restless, you tap your foot while you watch condensation from a glass on the coffee table in front of you drip down the sides. With each drop that falls, your heart beats a little faster.

You prepared a cool glass of water and a bowl of Satoru’s favorite sweets for when he's done, anticipating a binge of a show you both recently discovered. But, instead of an evening full of your usual snuggles on the couch, him getting handsy while you ‘protest’ about missing the show, you are woken up to a different reality.

When you hear the click of the bathroom door, you straighten in your seat, excited to be close to him again. But before you can even call him over to the couch, Gojo heads straight to your bedroom. You wait a few minutes, assuming he's just changing, but you grow uneasy as the time ticks by.

Maybe he just wants space. Well, how long should you give him? Should you ask him if he wants space? But what if he's waiting for you? Does he just want to be in bed instead?

You wait and wait, tapping your foot anxiously on the floor and checking your phone every few minutes. When the supposed appropriate amount of time has passed, you hesitantly approach the bedroom.

You find yourself knocking on the door before you enter, even though you've never done that to your shared door before.

"Hey, Satoru?" You call out tentatively.

You stand in the doorway, scared to cross an invisible boundary. A sheepish smile is on your face, even though you try to get your lips to stretch normally.

He's on his phone, just scrolling. Oh, maybe he just got distracted by TikTok or something.

"Hm?" He barely responds, not even looking up.

“Is something bothering you?” You ask, worried. “Is it your side?”

“Why would it be my side?” Gojo asks flatly.

Your brow creases in confusion, but you try to keep a light tone. “Oh. Uh, what’s wrong, then?”

"Nothing, why would anything be wrong?" He gives you a tight-lipped smile. His tone is so strange—bordering on sarcastic—and you don’t know what to make of it. As he stands up and passes you, slipping out of the room hastily like you are what’s bothering him. The thought turns your stomach.

You pause for a beat, frozen in the doorway as you process what just happened. Then you turn around, eyes following his form as he enters the living room and unceremoniously sprawls across the couch. He crunches on some candy you brought in the bowl.

Okay. Maybe you should be more direct.

You walk over to him, cautious but trying not to appear nervous, “Satoru, can we talk?”

“We are talking,” He smiles oddly.

“You know what I mean…” You say with a note of annoyance coming through in your tone, then it turns softer. “Is something wrong? Did I do something?”

“Yes.”

You blink rapidly, surprised by his blunt answer. You take a seat next to him.

“Okay…could you tell me what I did?”

“…”

He’s not faking a smile anymore, which is a start. His lips are set in a firm, flat line, instead. His jaw is clenched and his neck muscles are emphasized due to how taut they are; you have rarely seen him tense like this. Your chest aches—what did you do?

“Please, Satoru, what’s wrong?” You ask again, each word filled with care and concern. And somehow, it seems to kill him.

“What’s wrong?” He echoes back loudly. “What’s wrong is that you stood in front of me while there was incoming fire! You can’t just do that.”

That’s not what you expected.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

“I just– fuck, why would you think to do that?” He stresses, pulling at his hair. “You took too much risk—you can’t use RCT!”

“Yeah, me and like ninety-nine percent of all sorcerers. Like it matters. You think I thought of that?” You huff.

“‘Like it matters?’ Are you hearing yourself right now?” He scoffs. “It matters a lot, and you know it does. It’s reckless.”

“When it comes to you, it doesn’t.” You say hotly, unwavering.

“It does matter. You got hurt when you shouldn’t have. When you didn’t need to!”

You’re surprised by his outburst. “I–I was only thinking about protecting you, okay? I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking about that! Caring about getting hurt? That was the last thing on my mind.”

“Yeah, it’s obvious you weren’t thinking,” He sneers. “There’s no need to risk your life like that. Absolutely no need.”

Your jaw drops in shock, and you try not to feel hurt. “You can’t be serious right now, Gojo. You were in no state to protect yourself. I was…doing my best, I just wanted to keep you safe.”

“I still got shot,” He argues back immediately, painfully reminding you.

A small, pained gasp escapes you. You spin around as fast as you can—tears are freely falling without your permission.

You want to tell him that’s not fair, but you don’t trust your vocal cords right now. Not with how tight your throat is from trying to hold back sobs that would surely wrack your body if you let them.

The guilt that has been trailing you all day now collects at the pit of your stomach, practically eating you alive. You feel physically sick. He’s right. He did get shot. He was vulnerable, his Infinity lowered because of you. If…if the bullet had gone through his head, what could you have done then?

You stand up as steadily as you can. You don’t spare him a single glance; you can’t, not with your face crumpling as you try your hardest not to cry. You exit the living room swiftly, holding it all in, all of your emotional pain but also your physical pain. Your wound is throbbing and it even feels hard to stay standing right now.

You finally round the corner into the hallway. Now out of view, you let yourself stagger down the hallway, succumbing to your dizziness. It’s your fault, your fault, only your fault. You can’t handle this right now.

You walk aimlessly down the hall, just wanting to get away from him right now. You wind up in the bathroom and lock the door behind you. You stand in front of the mirror, looking for something redeeming within yourself, but all you can see are your pathetic tears and guilt swimming in your eyes.

You grip the edge of the counter, so tightly that it begins to hurt and your fingers tremble at the effort. You feel unsteady, like the brain Gojo teased you don’t have is lacking oxygen. Maybe you really lack one if you think you could possibly be the right match for the strongest.

You sink to the ground, finally releasing heaving sobs that have been trying to claw themselves out of you. They’re muffled by your hands, which you press firmly against your mouth in an effort to contain your noises, but some of the sound leaks between your fingers. You stuff some of your shirt into your mouth to bite down on, trying to hold it all in, trying to hold yourself together.

Your breath hitches at a throb of pain from deep within your back. It hurts so much, even with the pain reliever Shoko gave you to take. It hurts more than when she was threading the needle between your folds of skin; it’s deeper than that, sharp and intense and robbing you of a normal breathing pattern.

Despite your efforts to keep quiet, pained whimpers start to leave you. And worse—panic floods you, taking advantage of your poor state of mind. All you can focus on is the stabbing pain that refuses to dull.

You rip off the gauze with shaking hands, terrified to see its state. But confusion fills you when there's only dried smears on it—that must be from earlier. If your wound is still closed, then why does it hurt so much?

You shift on the floor, limbs giving out. You contort in pain, which only makes things worse, pulling the stitches to their limits. They stay intact, but the tension brings waves of pain to your back. A yelp is ripped from your throat at a particularly painful pulse.

The thunder of incoming footsteps gives you both fear and a sense of relief. On one hand, you didn’t want him to hear; on another hand, right now all you crave is your boyfriend’s comfort.

“Hey, what was that?” He asks from behind the door, sounding on edge.

“Satoru…” You mewl out in pain.

He calls out your name, voice now urgent. You cringe at the resistance of the lock against his attempt at opening the door.

“M’sorry, I locked it,” You sniffle. “Stupid of me.”

But he still appears in front of you, a locked door holding nothing to his defiance of space and time. He takes one glance at your crumpled form on the floor and curses. All of the tension from earlier melts away, replaced by genuine worry and need.

“What happened? You okay? Did you fall?” He asks as he hurriedly crouches next to you. His hands reach out to you, gently pulling you into his lap. You wince as your back bends, aggravating your wound.

You shake your head. “No, it’s just—agh, fuck—just my back, it suddenly hurts so bad.”

He grimaces. “Can…can I take a look?”

You give your consent and he quickly peels your shirt up. His fingers shake as he does so, even though he doesn’t mind the sight of injuries or blood. Or, at least, when it’s not yours.

He slowly pulls your shirt up just enough to reveal your wound, fearing the worst. You shiver when the fabric chafes against your graze, and he murmurs an apology upon seeing your discomfort. One of his hands rubs soothing circles on your waist.

When he inspects your injury, he’s met with red, puffy skin—the area around your stitches is clearly inflamed, but not unsually so. He breathes a low sigh of relief.

“It looks a bit swollen,” He determines before pulling your shirt back down, careful not to let it touch your wound this time. “But not too bad.”

“It feels bad,” You whine.

"I know," He says gently. “I’ll call Shoko in a second to make sure it's alright. Do you want to head to the bed first?"

“Yes, please,” You request softly.

He hooks an arm under your knees, the other cradling your back. “Alright, sweets. Up we go."

He handles your weight like it’s nothing, and easily unlocks the door you stupidly locked on the way out.

Unshed tears prick your eyes. You couldn’t carry him earlier, even after he had been shot and couldn’t move. You are incapable, unable to handle what he can on a daily basis. Can your relationship really be mutual if he always has to act as the strongest? You could barely protect him earlier.

"It hurts that badly?" He references your teary eyes without mockery, only softness.

If only your tears were from that pain.

"It could be worse, I guess," is what you settle on, neither a lie nor the full truth.

"Could I make it better, maybe?" He asks with a suspicious smile. Before you can answer, he swings you around a few times like he normally would when he carries you, which draws a genuine laugh out of you.

"You're gonna make me dizzy!" You complain, but your smile is so pure and wide, something Gojo doesn't miss.

"You're so beautiful, sweets," He says, affectionately rubbing his nose against yours. You feel warm from the closeness.

You look away shyly, "Yeah, right."

"You don't believe me?" He asks huskily, placing a kiss on your cheek.

"Ugh! Put me down and call Shoko already! It stills hurts," You pout.

"If you say so," He says, but his little smirk is still planted on his face. He lays you down carefully, gently releasing you onto the pile of blankets.

He then turns around and dials the doctor in question, "Yo, Shoko."

You close your eyes, trying to ward off the radiating pain with deep breaths. Gojo's phone call turns to background noise, the words indecipherable.

You tune back into the world at the end of his conversation.

"Okay, thank you so much Ieiri."

You faintly hear Shoko's disgust on the other end of the line, "What's going on with you?? Please never thank me like that again, yuck!"

You can't hold back the giggle that bubbles up at Shoko's reaction. Gojo blows a raspberry into the speaker and promptly hangs up on her.

"What's the verdict?" You ask.

"Well, sweets," Gojo sing-songs. "Did you forget to do something?"

You look up in thought, your brows furrowing, "I don't think so..."

"Really?" He says, then produces a familiar orange pill container. You're forced to stare at it as he shakes it in front of your face. "What about this, hm?"

"What? I already took one," You say, a little indignantly. "When we first got home. It was so horrible tasting and was a giant horse pill, too...Ugh, get that bottle away from me, might as well throw it out. I don't want to take anymore later."

He cracks the bottle open, pouring one into his palm. You narrow your eyes at him. Before you can ask what he intends to do with it, that same pill is shoved into your mouth followed by an amount of water so large that you almost begin to choke.

You cough on the water, and he pats your back accordingly, as if he expected this.

"What-?! Are you trying to waterboard me? I said I already took one, and-" You cough again. "God, where did you even get that water from anyway?"

"Mm. But you didn't notice the pill this time, right?" He looks satisfied with himself.

You deadpan. "No, but-"

"Besides, you were spacing out before we left the infirmary. Shoko specifically said to take two pills when you came home, or else the pain might get bad."

Your face feels hot, "Oh, did she now? Hah hah...I must have misheard her..."

He sighs, and it's only now you notice how tired he looks. There's a lull in your conversation, and you use this time to truly observe him. Dark circles are prominent under his eyes—how come you never noticed that?—and his eyes hold a look of defeat.

He breaks the silence, speaking softly, "You worry me, y'know? When I came in and you were convulsing on the floor...I don't want to see you like that again."

You stay silent, not willing to risk jeopardizing this rare moment of complete and utter vulnerability from Gojo.

"And when Shoko lifted your shirt and there was so much blood pouring out of your back..." He closes his eyes, screwing them shut. "I didn't know what would happen. That really scared me. Even when Shoko said you'd be fine, I didn't believe her until it stopped. And even then, you looked so weak...you still do, and it kills me."

He looks down at the ground, between his hands that are interlocked so tightly that it looks like it would hurt.

"It fucking kills me inside that you got hurt protecting me, and you didn't even notice. If that bullet had come any closer, you-"

He stops abruptly, voice breaking. You reach forward, taking his large hands in yours.

"But it didn't. Look at me, Satoru. I'm fine, I really am. I promise."

He shakes his head vehemently, and you're shocked to see liquid trickle down his face. You almost startle when he embraces you so tightly that you can barely breathe, as if you could disappear at any moment. His head rests on your shoulder, effectively hiding his expression from view.

He whispers by your ear, "What's the use in being the strongest when I freeze up like that? I put you in so much fucking danger."

"Satoru, look at me," You ask again, but his head stays tucked in the crevice between your shoulder and collarbone. "Please."

He slowly raises his head, revealing the expression he tried to conceal. His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are tinged pink; it makes your heart hurt.

"You're not the strongest to me," You say. "You're not even Gojo Satoru. To me, you're Satoru. Just Satoru. You're human and have emotions and memories and trauma, just like everyone else."

You steel yourself for your next words, the ones that have been haunting your thoughts since he got shot.

"I know that what happened reminded you of that...that time with Toji. I-it felt the same for me, and this time...this time I couldn't stand to watch idly. I would rather die than watch that happen to you again. Especially since, this time, it was definitely my fault."

"Your fault?" He laughs dryly.

"Yes!" You instantly cry out, causing his eyes to widen.

"Haven't you realized by now?" You practically sob. "None of this would have happened if I hadn't been touching you. Because your Infinity lowered for me—fuck, it makes me sick saying this out loud—they were able to really hurt you. I'm the one endangering you, and i-if this keeps up then..."

He says nothing. Now that you admitted it, there's no taking it back. And there's no way that he can or should accept this. There's no way he should accept you, you who are so useless and weak and stubborn. And yet...

"That's all?" He says seriously. You're struck with a flash of frustration and anger at his dismissal, but the hard look in his eyes tells you he is just as frustrated and will not budge on this point.

"We'll be more careful. It's a lesson learned for sure, but I'm not giving you up anytime soon. That's what you wanted me to say, isn't it? That I was going to let you go."

You look down shamefully, "W-well..."

He barks out a sharp laugh, "That's not happening. Do you know why?"

You avoid his gaze, and your voice comes out small. "You pity me?"

"I love you." His voice is firm and so sure; it leaves no room for doubt.

Your eyes snap back to his. There’s no bandages or glasses in the way to obscure the emotion shimmering in them—an endless sea of affection and intensity and something else that you couldn’t capture in words even if you tried. Love.

He loves you.

“I love you, so you can’t be reckless. You just can’t, okay? I’ve been going crazy knowing you got hurt, but I couldn’t handle it if…” He takes a sharp breath. “It’s selfish of me, but I don’t fucking care. Nothing can happen to you. I’ll take all of your hits and all of your missions if it means you’ll be safe. You’re the one person I can’t handle losing.”

“Then you’ll understand I feel the same way,” You say with a determined look on your face. “It’s not like I planned to do what I did. It was all instinct. I didn’t care what would happen to me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” He admits, voice raw and so unlike his usual self-assured tone. “You don’t value yourself enough. You matter so much, sweets, more than I could ever say in words. I’d do anything for you, to keep you safe.”

You counter, “And I would die for you, Satoru, because I love you. And I wouldn’t ever regret it.”

Your determined admission renders him silent.

Then he chuckles, “You’re stubborn, aren’t you, sweets? Of course you sound all cute and mad the first time you tell me you love me.”

Your eye twitches, but you exhale into a smile. “Maybe. But so are you!”

“How about this?” He proposes. “How about we both stay alive, live happily ever after, and drink boba and eat kikufuku for the rest of our days?”

“I think I know where this is going,” You say, suspicion clear in your voice. But you can’t stop the way your heart jumps at his words, the insinuation of spending the rest of your days with Satoru making you weak inside.

“Well, sweets, I have an idea,” He says softly, but his words are filled with excitement.

“Hmm?” You muse, playing along. “What is it?”

“I think we need a sweet treat to make us feel better. Don’t you think so? Maybe we could…check out that boba place I talked about earlier?”

“The one ‘I’ said I wanted to go to?” You ask, using air quotes and shaking your head in amusement.

“That’s the one!” He grins, throwing himself around your form. He squeezes you tightly, nuzzling into your neck. “I love you so much that I’ll treat you, seeing as you want to go so badly. Not that I really wanted to go or anything…”

“You’re such a bad liar!” You laugh, pinching his cheek. “But, Satoru…I meant what I said.”

You look at him seriously, not willing to let this slide. You don’t expect him to match your intense energy, but he does.

“So did I. You don’t have to worry about that anymore, because I’ll never let that happen again. I’ll always be here for you, sweets. I’ll always protect you. You can try, but I’ll never make that mistake again. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me, so I won’t let it. I love you too much to let it happen.”

Your heart feels like it could burst. You sniffle, not able to hold the tears back.

“Aw, is my baby crying?” He teases, gently thumbing the tears away from your cheeks. “You okay?”

“Mhm, just happy,” You nod and let out a watery laugh. “Hey, Satoru.”

“Yeah?” He hums.

“Do you love me enough to give me the last kikufuku later?”

You expect him to joke along with you, but he’s perfectly serious in his words back. Only you seem to have that effect on him.

“Even that,” He chuckles along with you, unbridled warmth and affection swimming in his baby blues as he gazes at you, eyes never leaving your form. “Even that, sweets.”

gojo masterlist <3

A/N: I don’t feel like this is the highest quality writing, but I felt really compelled to write this for some reason, so…oh well! <3 I hope it still turned out okay.

Also Satoru definitely should have apologized but I feel like he’s stubborn and hates apologizing so I left that out <3

I think this is the first time I've managed to not use (Y/N) HAHA, sometimes I see comments on other posts about how much it disturbs their immersive experience, so I'm going to try to limit my usage of it from now on...personally, I've seen and used it for so long that it's just part of my x reader vocabulary, but I understand why people don't like it lol.

Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you had a great day today !! <333

[navybrat817]

Incandescent

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Steve Rogers x Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes Summary: Bucky and Steve try to put on a show for you. Word Count: Over 1.7k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, implied vaginal and anal sex, threesome, bondage, dirty talk, tension, polyamory, possessive behavior, porn with feels (it’s me, c’mon), tattooed Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers (they’re warnings, okay?) A/N: Welcome back to my Howling Commandos Tattoo AU! Have you missed them? I know I have! I was nervous posting this as this my first dive into dynamics with Steve and Bucky, but I love it. If that isn't your jam, feel free to skip! ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @whisperlullaby ​but any and all mistakes are my own. Banner created by yours truly, but Bucky and Steve photos were provided by the talented @nixakimbo ! Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky and Steve were your world. You weren’t afraid to voice that. In fact, you were proud to be on their arms when you were out together. You had their hearts and vice versa. You were their best girl. Their Blossom. Nothing would ever change that.

But once you got your hands on them, you were going to strangle them. Not enough to inflict real damage. You would never. You loved them. But they were going to feel some sort of wrath.

Fucking tattooed bastards.

You struggled against the binds, your wrists bound tight enough to keep you from escaping, but not enough to hurt you. Like you wouldn't hurt your boys, they would never harm you either. Your core throbbed enough to ache when they knelt on each side of you and faced each other on the bed.

Why did I let them talk me into tying me up? Damn them and their persuasiveness.

As Bucky moved his hand upwards to cup Steve's cheek, they smiled. From their profiles, you caught a hint of playfulness and something deeper before their lips met. A bond between two men who had been through hell and back together. Somehow you became their heaven on earth, allowing them to be with you and each other. And wasn't that the beauty in your relationship? Boundlessly loving and trusting each other?

No. I will not get mushy. Not when I'm frustrated.

Bucky’s tongue darted out to lick along Steve’s bottom lip as he pulled away. “I think Blossom wants a taste,” he said, turning his head to wink at you. Had you voiced your frustrations out loud or did he know you well enough that being a mere spectator wouldn't be enough today?

Both.

“And she’ll get one when we’re ready,” Steve stated, a sympathetic smile on his face as he gazed down at you. You wondered if he was secretly a sadist since he seemed to take pleasure in your current “pain”. “We made you too greedy, didn’t we, sweetheart?”

You squinted, trying your best to glare when they chuckled at your predicament. “You know why I’m greedy? Because you two can’t keep your hands off me OR your tongues, fingers, and cocks out of me. Excuse me for getting a bit used to it when you're to blame.”

Steve chuckled at that, not disagreeing with you.

He better not. I'm right.

A coo left Bucky’s mouth as he leaned down, his lips moving along your cheek before they stopped at your ear. “Who said we’re not giving you our tongues, fingers, AND cocks? Stevie and I just wanna have a little fun first while you watch. Is that so bad? Hmm?”

You whined in response, your hips rising and pussy begging for attention. Mandy joked that your libido was in permanent overdrive thanks to your boys and she wasn’t wrong. Your body craved and welcomed them. They fit like a glove, missing pieces that made you whole.

It was also a sight watching them. The view alone would've been enough to disintegrate your panties had they not destroyed them already. But tying you up so you couldn’t touch? Not even a small feel of Bucky’s bicep or Steve’s chest? It was cruel and unusual punishment and there would be retribution. Those bastards would rue the day.

No clue how, but they will.

“Do you need to touch us that badly? Are you that desperate for us?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow when Bucky leaned back up.

“Yes! Have you seen you two?” You asked as they shifted their gazes to look each other over. They shed their clothes before they bound you to the headboard, giving you a chance to admire them. Hard muscles, sculpted tattoo gods, one blonde and one brunette. “You were created for at least one person in the world to worship you and drive people insane.”

“Aww, I think she wants to worship us,” Bucky smiled, gliding a hand down Steve’s chest. You watched the blonde swiftly inhale, knowing how much he loved the slow drag down his body. “What do you think?”

“Buck,” Steve groaned when Bucky firmly wrapped a hand around his cock.

“Maybe you can fuck my throat first?” The brunette suggested, lazily pumping him as you bit your lip. “Or at least let me get my mouth around it. Get your cock sloppy and wet before you fuck our girl.”

“Please,” you moaned, unable to spread your legs any further since they were still planted on either side. “I need it.”

If begging is what it takes, I'll do it.

“Or you can suck my cock before I fuck her? I know you love watching me slide in and out of her sweet pussy. She always takes me so well,” Bucky went on, Steve’s eyes slipping shut as he began to leave open mouth kisses on his neck. You understood why Steve shivered. Bucky had a very talented mouth. “Too bad she can’t touch herself while she watches like last time.”

Yeah. Too fucking bad.

“Touch her, Buck,” Steve ordered, making you and Bucky gasp when he gripped his hair and pulled him back with a smirk. “Slip those fingers in her cunt and show me how soaked she is from the sight of us.”

You were fairly certain that Bucky and Steve were the only men in the world who could speak about you like you weren’t there and get you hot and bothered. They didn’t have to touch you to prove how wet you were, but you weren’t going to stop Bucky from curling his digits inside you. Especially when Steve gave the order in that deep, husky tone.

“Please, Bucky?” You asked sweetly, raising your hips again. “I know I've been a little mouthy and impatient, but please? Show Stevie how wet my pretty pussy is?”

You shrieked when Bucky’s hand suddenly came down on your throbbing cunt, the smack loud in your ears. “Not your pussy, doll. It’s ours. Now be good and open up,” he said, his voice rough as he bent down and spread your lips apart with one hand, the other still pumping Steve’s hard cock. “Our pussy really is pretty. What a fucking sight.”

“You gonna apologize for calling our pussy yours?” Steve questioned, arching into Bucky’s touch the moment he slipped two fingers inside your wet hole. It hardly stung, the relief as he thrust his fingers making you whimper. “I think you owe us one.”

“Okay. I'm sorry, you fucking tattooed bastards,” you said, smiling dreamily at Steve when he narrowed his eyes. He said to apologize, but didn’t say anything about getting mouthy. Again.

“And this is why we tied you up,” he said, wiping the smile off your face. “You beautiful brat.”

Not fair.

“Oh. Now you’re being mean, Steve,” Bucky said, smirking when he brushed a thumb over your swollen clit. “But I’m not mean, doll. Gimme a few minutes and I’ll get my mouth on your perfect tits. Love hearing you whimper when I drag your nipples between my teeth.”

You shuddered with your next breath, your breasts lightly shaking with your exhale. Both sets of eyes on you darkened at the movement, your cheeks hot as you squirmed. Maybe being tied up wasn’t such a bad thing after all. It didn’t give you a chance to hide from their hungry gazes. It left you open, vulnerable, ready for whatever they gave you.

And you’d take it all because you were strong and eager enough, just like they took everything you gave them. It made sense why you were their Blossom. You bloomed into the person you were now and they helped you continue to grow. In some ways, you did the same for them.

“And who said I’m not getting a taste of anything?” Steve said, batting Bucky’s hand away from his cock. “Take your fingers out.”

Bucky swiftly removed them, making you whine at the loss. A punched sound came from your gut a heartbeat later when Steve gripped Bucky’s wrist and sucked his fingers into his mouth with a grunt, not stopping until they were clean. “I may not need to get your dick wet if she's that soaked. You might be able to slide on in while I fuck you.”

Fuck, please.

It was Bucky’s turn to tremble when Steve nipped at his earlobe. “I think you’d like that. Me at your back. Her at your front. Both of us loving you the way you deserve,” he said, before he turned a fond gaze your way. One that made your throat go dry. “Loving each other the way we all deserve. I know our best girl would agree.”

“Of course, I do,” you whispered. That wasn't lust speaking, but the pure adoration you had for them.

“I love you both so much,” Bucky said without fear or hesitation, his blue eyes sparkling with joy.

You stopped shifting against the mattress, tears threatening to clog your throat. How could they simultaneously turn you on and resort you to happy crying? They made your heart and holes full.

“Love you both, too,” you said, your chest rising and falling with your next breath. “And I’ll be good and watch until you’re ready for me.”

Bucky swooped down to catch your parted lips with his. Heat surged through your body as his tongue fervently tasted your mouth. As quickly as it began, it stopped so Steve’s mouth could replace his. It was just as demanding and hungry as Bucky’s before they turned their attention back to each other, leaving you a panting mess as you watched captivated as they licked and sucked, their kiss rough and desperate.

You knew exactly how they felt.

Steve’s hand closed around Bucky’s cock, swallowing down his groan of pleasure as you could only look on. You found yourself smiling again as they got lost in each other, each of them making sure to keep a hand on you. They were beautiful. They were yours. And they were your home.

Still might strangle them a bit once I’m free. Nah. I’ll just sit on their faces. Much better way to suffocate them.

Until they took care of you, you’d enjoy the show.

Blossom already has a revenge plan brewing. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Stucky Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[vrystalius]

Can you please make one where Muzan has this maid he was fond of when he was still human, he'd rest his head on her lap and have her sing to him everytime he couldn't control his temper when he was still human. And bow she's turned into a demon like himmmm

Demon king’s maid

Being Muzan’s maid during his human years made him absolutely smitten for you.

(Muzan x fem!reader, sfw/fluff)

Muzan still remembers the exact feeling of laying his head on your plush thighs while your fingers brush through his black strands. Your skin would feel so warm in contrast to his cold, pale and sickly skin. Your thighs were so soft and squishy and always managed to take his mind off the stupid servants that failed to recreate how he ordered his tea, or his incompetent doctor being lazy and not researching his sickness properly. You are the only person in his estate that did things correctly…

Your singing was the most enchanting thing about you. Your voice, no matter what time or day, always sounded like heaven’s singing to him and only for him. For the duration of your song all his pain would disintegrate, his frustration and anger turning into something similar to happiness and calmness.

But Muzan made peace with never seeing you again.

What a shame that you ran away from him once he became a demon. Muzan would’ve loved to keep you around for longer, maybe even make you his personal demoness-maid. What an honour it would’ve been for you to serve the demon king.

Thousands of years of passed since the last time Muzan saw your enchanting face and felt your touch on his skin. He should’ve caught or at least try to find you. That way, you would had been around for longer. He could’ve savoured your presence, your warmth, your beautiful voice… perhaps he’d even marry you and make you stand right beside him as he demolishes the Ubuyashiki clan an the rest of the Demon Slayer corps.

He’d never thought that if he’d see you again, that he would find you amongst the cultists Douma offered showed off to him. That demon proudly presented you as one of the oldest demons in existence, and oh how happy he is to have you here in the Eternal Paradise Cult. You greet looked different than before, your eyes looked much more tired and scared, your hair a little matted, your delicate skin very dirty, and those robes you’re wearing definitely do not show off the figure you had beneath those sad excuses of clothes.

Muzan bathed you by hand and by himself. He wanted go make sure no other demon even came near you and was able to catch a single glance at your heavenly body. That sight is only reserved for his and his eyes only. His sharp nails grazed over your wet skin as he ran a damp cloth over your shoulders and neck. A small smile rested on his face after Muzan soaked the cloth in the warm water.

“So, you still remember me, hm? Your body tenses when I touch you.” His smile faded away for a moment as he lifted your arm and carefully held it, running the cloth over your soft skin. He felt how your muscles tensed up beneath his touch. A sigh escaped his lips as he leaned down, pressing a kiss on your wrist. Muzan nuzzled into your palm, taking in your perfect features.

“You’ve been hiding from me since day one, after I accidentally turned you.” He planted kisses all over your palm.

“You must’ve been so scared and confused… I am sorry for not being there. But now we can be together, forever. How do you like the idea of you marrying me? If you like, you can continue your… “maid” duties.”

💠

Feels so good to have another ask down! I’m gonna work on them the next few days, I missed it so much! I’ll try to post another fic tonight. Requests are still open!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves <3

[i23kazu]

A SERIES OF BEAUTIFUL MOMENTS

characters. xiao zhongli diluc kaeya childe neuvillette alhaitham x gn!reader genre. romantic fluff. an. ough. . | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

xiao

the aftermath of a bloody fight. the remains of a hilichurl lay in front of you, disintegrating back into abyss particles. it's a sad sight, but it had to be done – xiao looks at you, nodding in approval. you did well, for a healer who hates taking away lives, he says. the two of you turn back to center your gaze on the flaming battlefield. some things are meant to be killed.

zhongli

when he mourns for his old life, with old friends, old students, old sights. he buries his head in your lap, the ex-archon's tears staining your hanfu. it's okay to cry, my dear, it's okay to cry, you remind him –it doesn't get any better. grief doesn't come easier after those hopeful words. zhongli can only hope that it will come easier, with your presence in his life.

diluc

brushing his hair after a night of vigilante activities – diluc hisses when your thumb presses on a sore spot, and you gently shush him with a stroke on his neck. i'm sorry, diluc, just hold on a while longer and i promise i'll be done soon – you whisper gently, cupping his face in your hands as you turn his head slightly to the side to check for more scrapes and scratches.

kaeya

braiding flowers into his cobalt blue hair – kaeya laughs when your fingers graze against a sensitive spot. you laugh and tease him, your fingers deftly braiding the daisies you both gathered earlier into the tight braid that was in your hands. it's a serene night – a vast contrast from the previous, turmoil-filled nights. the archons know that both of you need it.

childe

playing tag with the children, with a very exhausted ajax sprawled out on the ground and pretending to pant and gasp for air – alright, perhaps he's not pretending anymore. teucer sits on his torso, poking his sides until his beloved big brother gets up and tickles him until the little boy shrieks. childe leans against your lap, and you stroke his hair until he falls asleep, teucer cuddled up next to him.

neuvillette

waking up in the morning, with your two melusine daughters giggling and jumping on your bed. they startle awake a previously-snoozing neuvillette. he smiles lightly as he greets the girls good morning, who leap off the bed and eagerly run to the kitchen. your husband turns over to look at you – a sweet moment of respite, before kissing you on the lips and turning back to the chaos-filled morning.

alhaitham

reaching for a book that's too high, only to realise that your boyfriend can reach for it with ease. alhaitham bends down to listen to your request, before simply nodding and reaching for your much sought-after book. he smiles gently, afraid that you'll be afraid and intimidated by him... like everyone is. your soft, sweet words of gratitude please him instead. thank you, alhaitham.

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reblogs w/ tags & comments help me lots !!! if you liked this, consider dropping me a follow as well :-) they all go a long way!

[kazudesuu]

sukuna x gn! reader

cw : angst with comfort

i am currently so obsessed with jjk you have no idea.

— reunited again

: sukuna could not love, he thought he couldn’t but you proved him wrong.

sukuna didn’t believe he was capable of love. he was the king of curses, a being made and fuelled by hatred.

he was always seen with a scowl, a smirk perhaps on a good day, or when he’s fighting a particular interesting opponent. other than that, days were mundane for him.

of course, that all changed when you entered his life. a young one with a cursed technique that allowed you to fight on par with him.

you were interesting and sukuna was interested in you.

during the times the you and sukuna weren’t fighting each other, you fought others instead. the heian era dominated by both of you. if anyone back then were to hear either of your names, they were either angry or scared.

some days, you would drag sukuna out to a village, wanting to explore the place. people bowed their heads as you passed, sukuna always ahead of you.

“hey sukuna, try this dango!” you waved the treat in front of him, grinning brightly. the king of curses gave you a bored look before he eventually snatched it out of your hands. you watched in anticipation as he ate one of the balls, wanting to get his opinion on it. if he hated you, you would just kill the store owner.

after a moment of thought, sukuna passed the stick back to you.

“it tastes disgusting,” he spits. you pouted and disintegrated the rest of it. you turned away from the store, too disappointed to kill the owner.

“man, you don’t like anything do you?” you mumbled, kicking a stone away like a child. sukuna almost grins at the sight.

your statement wasn’t true. he liked fighting, he liked the fear in people’s eyes when they saw him, he liked humbling the jujutsu sorcerers who wanted to kill him. he eyes flicked to your figure, walking just a step behind him as you mumbled something incoherent.

he liked you too.

the fact was confirmed when he found himself running to catch your body as you fell with a sword through your abdomen. he watched as blood poured from your mouth.

time felt disoriented as sukuna saw the life in your eyes begin to fade away. he couldn’t do anything to stop it, couldn’t do anything as your body went slowly went limp, couldn’t do anything when you told him three words that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

you died without sukuna telling you how much you meant for him. you died with his heart in your hands. you died unknowing that you taught sukuna how to love.

sukuna finally believed he was capable of love, and at the same time, he’d also become capable of tears.

when sukuna awakened in itadori yuuji’s body, he was met with a familiar sight.

you were as beautiful as the day he lost you, if not even more so.

you stood in front of a younger black-haired male, glaring at him with those eyes he loved so much. “megumi, retreat first.” the male obeyed, running in the opposite direction.

you were afraid that sukuna would follow him and you were ready to put your life on the line to protect the first year at all costs. in your clenched fists, cursed energy was pulsing, ready to activate and take sukuna on if needed.

sukuna and you stared at each other, neither of your moving. your heart was pounding against your rib cage. fear or adrenaline, you didn’t know. what you do know was that you needed to stay alive until gojo arrived.

the king of curses took a step towards you, you took three steps back.

“you do not remember me,” sukuna said, his voice much softer than you expected.

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “you’re ryomen sukuna, king of curses,” you state.

sukuna shakes his head. “so this is how the gods wanted it to be.” he couldn’t help but let out a deep laugh. his voice reverberated through the air and you felt uncomfortable. sukuna took another step towards you, then another and another.

you backed away slowly, cautiously. one wrong move and you’d be dead.

“very well then, i’ll help you to recall.” in a blink of an eye, sukuna was in front of you, pressing his middle and ring finger to your temple. then, you saw it.

memories of you in your past life with sukuna played before your eyes. it was like watching a movie, except you were the main character in each and every scene. everything rushed back you and when you came back to your senses, you realised you were in sukuna’s arm.

the king of curses would have never allowed anyone to touch him. they would be killed in an instant. but as you laid in his warmth, you realised you weren’t just anyone.

“missed me?” sukuna smirked.

you blinked back tears you didn’t even know you were holding in. sukuna’s hand wrapped around yours while you processed what you’ve just witnessed.

after so many years, the two of you were finally reunited, albeit under different circumstances. but nonetheless reunited.

and this time sukuna thought to himself i won’t let you go so easily again.

[herdarkestnightelegance]

Nocturnal eyes

Pairing: Astarion/ g/n Tav

Tags: vulnerable Astarion, angst, friendship, a bit of fluff

Length: 2.4k words

Summary: Astarion notices something is off with his eyes …

A/N: @nyx-knox out here once again, being the ✨best✨ beta-reader I could hope for!

Also: ARE Y'ALL FOR REAL?! Over 750 reactions on my Bedhead fic?? Thank you so much 🥹!!!

Taglist: @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate , @littlelovelore, @onlyancunin @chaoticbardlady99

::::::::::::::::::

Astarion sits in the soft green grass, enjoying the warmth of the setting sun.

Today had been exhausting. The party had finally left the wilderness behind and set up camp on the Mountain Pass. Tomorrow they will head to the Githyanki Crèche, but for now … he’s just relaxing, listening to the soft rustle of the trees above him with his eyes closed.

Because they are hurting again - his damned eyes - causing his head to ache in that awful stinging way. This has been happening semi-regularly since they crashed on that beach. By the end of every day, his eyes feel exhausted. Sometimes he even welcomed the night, the dark bringing relief to his vision, much as he hated to admit that he found any solace in the darkness after having been trapped in it for so long.

It’s not that he wants to be in the dark again - on the contrary! Oh, words could never express how much he enjoys the feeling of the warmth on his skin, the smell of sun-baked earth beneath him, filling him with life, making his undead heart swell with secret joy. It’s just …

“Truly, a sight to behold,” Gale had said, when they first stepped through the gate onto the Pass and were greeted by a magnificent view of the surrounding valley … Or at least Astarion assumed that’s what it was.

Because he can’t tell. Not really. In fact, all he sees are blurry, rugged shapes and a haze of earthy colors far off in the distance.

When Astarion had first opened his eyes after the crash, all he could do was gasp audibly. The sun seared his eyes, the light brighter than anything he had seen in centuries. Immediately, he had shielded his face from the merciless rays, curled into a ball, panic taking over. “No!” he yelped. It’s daytime! I can’t be out! Oh Gods, do I smell smoke? Am I burning up?? Am I disintegrating???

But a few heartbeats passed and to his surprise - and great relief - it was not a burning pain he started to feel. Rather, it was a sensation he thought he had forgotten but that he immediately recalled, having felt it lifetimes ago: The warmth of the midday sun.

Cautiously, he had uncoiled himself and tried opening his eyes again. Gods! It hurts. Of course, Vampire eyes are sensitive to the light, in order to see better at night. An essential trait for nocturnal creatures, predators, such as himself. His eyes hadn’t had to process so much brightness in … forever. So, being blasted with daylight for the first time in roughly 200 years - it hurt like all Hells! 

It took a few moments, but eventually Astarion managed to pry open his crimson eyes. And he began to see. To look. And he saw colors he hadn’t seen in too long. He saw the bright blue sky, the deep purples of the Nautiloid shipwreck, the turquoise water covered with the most beautiful shimmering reflections. Everything was bright. Everything was so vibrant! Everything was so … full of life. He looked up, squinting at the trees and their slightly blurred leaves. Those luscious, green leaves. Gods … I had forgotten how beautiful that particular color is … 

But there had been no time for him to enjoy all those new sights for long. He heard them before he saw them. The others. Friends? Enemies? He couldn’t tell. They were just indiscernible shapes in the distance - but as soon as he had lured one of them close enough to put a knife to their throat, he was back in survival mode, forgetting about the colors he had just reveled in.

That’s what he knew how to do, after all. Hitting his close target. And really, that’s all he should care about, that’s really all he actually needs to see. He’s a master at close-up melee combat, a rogue who sneaks up to his victims, dangerous with his blade. He’s skilled at picking locks and picking pockets. And he’s an amazing lover, always able to read every detail of his victims' expressions to make sure he hits that target just as well. All he needs to see clearly is what’s right in front of him, isn’t it?

But if he was being really honest … it’s not like his usual tricks have actually worked out for him so far, now have they? His first melee attack had earned him a headbutt to the face. He had woken his first victim while sneaking up on them. And he felt his nice little seduction plan for Tav slowly and steadily backfiring on him - but that was a problem for another time. So why not top it all off with embarrassingly inadequate vampiric eyesight to really emphasize it all, he figured?

Astarion opens his eyes again and looks at the hazy, blurred valley below, the wind tousling his white locks, and he scoffs. Ironic, isn’t it? Here he is, finally free from his captor. But of course, even out in the open, he’s not able to look beyond the confines of his own metaphorical cell. As if his eyes are still keeping him prisoner.

A sound behind him snaps him out of his thoughts. Again, he hears them before he sees them coming. Only this time he knows it is a friend. “Astarion?” Tav, he thinks with a knowing smile. He knows their voice anywhere.

“Yes, Darling?” he asks as their leader emerges from the shade of the trees.

Astarion grew to enjoy Tav‘s company quite a bit, if he was being honest. Not only during their passionate encounters, but also just sitting with them, talking about their journey, about the others in their party, sometimes even about his past, which he never thought possible when he had been pressing his knife to their throat just a short time ago.

“Enjoying the view?” they ask as they sit down next to him in the soft grass.

“Oh of course,” Astarion answers as he leans back onto his elbows.

“Especially the Crèche,” Tav continues, pointing into the valley, making casual conversation.

“Why, I agree. Who would have thought the Gith were such marvelous architects,” the pale Elf replies without missing a beat. 

It’s now that Tav turns to look at him. “... Except the Crèche is in the opposite direction?” they say cautiously. 

Shit. Astarion tenses.

He hates this. They know. Immediately he is prepared to snap, to throw a sarcastic comment back at them, telling them to mind their own damn business. Feeling exposed, he keeps his gaze fixed forward, part of him expecting to see mockery, or malice even, should he meet Tav’s eyes. But when he eventually looks up … all he sees is a knowing smile. Their face is so very clear next to him, and so is the genuine fondness that greets him in their expression. The same fondness he is secretly happy to see on Tav’s face every time they look at him.

Astarion takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want his walls to go up. Not for Tav. He resists it, that stupid defensive mechanism and to his surprise, he actually relaxes a bit. “You noticed,” he says quietly.

Tav nods. “On our first day, actually.” His eyebrows go up in surprise. 

“Did you now?” the vampire asks.

“We climbed that platform next to the crash site, remember? You were first up. And you said there’s nothing to see.” Their tone is neither condescending nor reproachful. “But there was... A lot, actually. You know, like, the village? Or the goblin camp. Or, well, this mountain pass. So yeah, I noticed.”

Astarion scoffs. They were right, of course. And back then, he didn’t even realize there was something wrong with his vision. He had still been so overwhelmed with all the light and color, all this blue and green…

For a moment, both sit in silence before Astarion speaks up. “It’s all rather blurry, you know?” he finally admits aloud. “I never noticed it back in Baldur’s Gate.”

Tav listens and nods. “I thought vampirism cures all mortal ailments, even eye problems.”

“Well, maybe there are exceptions? Or maybe I’m just a sorry excuse for a vampire spawn. Honestly, I don’t know. It’s not like any vampire is able to look at vast illuminated landscapes during the day to notice if something is off.” he says in a slightly frustrated, even embarrassed tone, gesturing towards the sunset.

“Your eyes have been adjusted to the night for 200 years. So … maybe they just need a bit to adjust to the daylight now? Give it some time.” The optimism and sweetness in Tav’s voice makes the corner of Astarion’s mouth twitch up into a half-smile.

“Wouldn’t that be something,” he says. Maybe they are right. Maybe. 

This is when Tav clears their throat. “But uhm, until then …” Astarion’s pointy ears twitch slightly as he hears Tav rummaging in their pocket. When they procure something wrapped in a folded leather cloth, he sits up.

“What’s this?” he asked, and they hand him the flat parcel. Curiously, Astarion opens the wrapping. 

In his hand lies the most hideous pair of mismatched spectacles he has ever seen. 

Before he can say anything, Tav begins to talk. “I came across this half broken pair of looking glasses while looting some time ago, and I thought, well, while there is no way we would ever find the perfect pair, we might just try making a custom one, right? I mean, it’s obvious you’re straining your eyes. You might not say anything to us about it, and you don’t have to, but I can tell that you often have a headache by the end of the day, and I, well, wanted to help.” Astarion still says nothing, inspecting the wonky looking thing in his hands.

Quickly, Tav continues, compelled to explain. “But you have no idea how hard it is to find undamaged spectacles! I mean, it makes sense, right? Who would leave their eyes behind? So anyway, I started collecting all the glasses I could find, hoping for an intact pair, but well … eventually I ended up with … this.”

The pair of spectacles in Astarion’s hand was clearly made of two halves from different glasses, held together in the middle by a thin leather cord, wrapped around it several times and in several other places. “Both glasses seemed to be made for looking at things further away. Of course, I can’t say for certain. They are not for me, I mean, if anything, I should be looking into finding a pair for me, so I can finally read that book Gale won’t shut up about. But … anyway, I thought maybe they might be of use to you.”

It’s not often that Astarion is stunned into silence. Tav did this? For him? It takes him a moment to process this … act of kindness. But when he does, he leans over to Tav, turning their face to him with a finger beneath their chin, and softly kisses them. “They … are hideous, my dear,” he says against their lips, with a chuckle and a genuine, soft smile on his face.

“Yeah, I know,” Tav agrees, kissing him back, mirroring his smile, before pulling away. “Well go on then, put them on.”

And he does. Astarion puts on the mismatched, wonky pair of improvised spectacles, the right temple barely fitting over his ear.

“Well?”, Tav asks hopefully.

With the awkward thing perched in his elegant face, the vampire looks down into the valley and takes in an almost inaudible breath. It’s … much better than he could have hoped for. Yes, it’s far from perfect. The glasses are sitting on his aquiline nose lopsided and the left glass is not even close to what he probably needs, yet he feels that nagging strain on his eyes eases immediately.

But that’s not what stuns the pale Elf.

Just as the sun begins to disappear behind the mountains, casting long shadows and a warm orange glow on everything around them, Astarion sees. And all of it this time! For the first time in 200 years, he sees the crisp outline of the setting sun. He sees the mountain tops and ridges. He sees the glowing clouds. By the Gods…

“Astarion?” Tav asks timidly, but he does not react. They sit with him in silence then, watching him watch the sunset in wonder, those red ruby eyes they love so much squinting intently, unmoving, until the glowing disk disappears behind the horizon and the sky slowly begins to turn a lovely shade of purple.

It takes a moment for Astarion to stir again. Carefully, he takes the spectacles off his face as if it’s the most precious thing he has ever owned, before looking at Tav. A lot of things are going through his head at that moment, and - much to his ever-growing confusion - through his undead heart as well. This is not a thing you just do for a travel-companion. Why are you so nice to me? I do not deserve your kindness. “Thank you.”, he eventually settles on, and he knows to Tav those simple words convey everything. 

Tav smiles. “Don’t mention it,” obviously delighted their little gift has been accepted. Why in the hells his favorite travel companion, no, his lover, went out of their way to help him like this, he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Sure, they agreed to help him kill Cazador, but this is not the same! This is special. This is … caring. It is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him. And he is truly, deeply grateful.

This gift would do wonders for his vision, at least until his nocturnal eyes fully embrace looking into the far distance during the day. He knows he will look so foolish with this contraption on his nose and he would probably have to kill Gale should the wizard ever see him with them on, but somehow he didn’t mind wearing these, looking silly, unsightly even, in front of Tav. They wouldn’t judge him, they wouldn’t laugh at him. Because he feels that they care.

After a moment, Astarion puts the spectacles back on, turning his head up to the tree branches above them, that stunning green of the individual, defined leaves still visible in the dim dusk light.

“You know, Darling …”, he says, “I really do love that color.”

[fictionalmenmakemecry]

Never getting over you- Part 2

Characters: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Summary: Carmy seeing you that one night, brought back mountains of memories. Memories he's been trying to bury for a year. With him not being able to get you off his mind. He could only do one thing.

Warnings: Erotic memories, fluff, saliva, cursing

A/N Did not expect that big of response! Thank you guys :) I've been gone for a little bit but with the trailer coming out and the new season this month, I got inspired again.

Part 1

Enjoy!

He couldn't get you off his mind. So many questions raced through his head.

"Cousin!" Richie snapped, bringing Carmy back to reality.

Carmy looked cluelessly at him not remembering what Richie was nagging him for.

"What?!"

"Jesus Christ, am I talkin' to a wall?" Richie exclaimed glancing over at Sydney.

"The people at table 7... The- the fuckin' shellfish allergy. They're paranoid, they want rea-"

"Reassurance, yeah-yeah... I'm a little busy 'ere, can't you do your job?" Carmy went from station to station looking over everything that was firing

" Yo- you don't think I've tried?" Richie followed raising his arms.

"Fine! fine, I'll go..." Carmy yelled

Another night past of pernickety customers. Carmy was finally glad to close and lock his door and take a deep breath in his apartment.

He leaned against it for a few moments, finally taking in the silence of his surroundings and to be left with his thoughts on what the fuck actually happened tonight.

He kicked off his shoes and as if he was on autopilot, made his way to the bathroom, starting up the shower.

His mind never lifting from seeing you across the street. He couldn't believe it at first. With the lack of sleep he has been dealing with lately, he honestly thought he was losing his mind for a second.

Was something wrong?

Were you in trouble some way?

The way things ended between both you and the nasty words that hung in the air ever since. He really did think he wouldn't see you again.

His mind flashed back to seeing your cheeks red and raw with tears staining them. It was hours of fighting, he didn't know what time it was, but with the sound of the birds outside, most likely early morning.

"If you want to go..." Your words broke off, wiping your nose with a disintegrating tissue.

"Just fuckin' go" Your voice turned sour.

He stood leaning against the back of the couch. The only piece of furniture between the both of you.

He knew that if he left your apartment, he wasn't going to come back. He couldn't deal with this right now. The Bear was at a point of maybe not happening.

But you didn't know that. He didn't tell you that because he knew you would blame yourself. He could barely hold himself together.

With his head hanging low, he took one deep breath before bringing his eyes to yours. He took in your beautiful sorrowful eyes one more time.

"Fine... I'll go" He uttered weakly.

As he grabbed his keys and phone off the kitchen counter, a streak of panic ran through your veins.

Was this it?

Was this the final straw?

The last fight?

"Wait-" You spoke up

But he didn't wait, he continued to put on his shoes.

"Carmy plea-" You rushed over to him, grasping his shoulder and pulling him back.

He shrugged your hand off.

"Carmy, baby.. I don't want- please" Tears started rolling down your face as you came to the realization.

He glanced at you one more time as he made his way out the door, and closed it behind him.

You stood there, utterly lost and exhausted. The sinking feeling in your stomach only getting deeper and deeper.

Carmy did what he needed to do and poured himself into his work. He didn't give himself one minute of free time to let his mind drift onto you. He didn't want to feel the pain in his chest. He just needed to keep himself focused and busy until the pain was buried deep enough that he didn't have to deal with it.

But the sight of you tonight made him vulnerable. The dump truck of emotions that he felt shook him completely.

Days went by, and time went slow. Even in the hectic kitchen, service seemed to be a struggle for Carmy. Simple things that he was usually on top of were slipping through his fingers. He couldn't fuck up, after all the shit he has gone through to get The Bear up and running.

Before he knew it, he was outside your door. He thought that maybe he would have backed out on the way there....

Or outside the building...

Or maybe up the stairs...

But here he was, on 1am on a Tuesday.

"Fuck it" He mumbled, biting down on his lip in annoyance and pausing a moment before knocking on your door.

With an unexpected knock, you snapped your head to the door. You looked at your phone to see it was past midnight.

Curiosity got the best of you, made your way to the door and looked through the peephole.

Your eyes widened to see Carmy on the other side. Your stomach dropped and your mind went blank.

A moment went by and without thinking, you opened the door.

Your eyes landed on his tired ones.

"Carmy.." A word you haven't spoke out loud in months. Your were taken completely off guard and your voice showed that with it's softness.

"I-i" He stuttered looking down, his hand stuffed his wool jacket.

"I thought I would che- fuck.."

You could sense the nervousness off of him, with his tumbling of words.

He looked through his eyelids, with his head hanging low.

"Do you want to come in?" You moved aside giving him room to make his way.

Without another word spoken, he walked past you and the oh so familiar smell of cigarettes, gum and just Carmy filled the air around you.

As much you wanted to convince yourself that it didn't.... It made you crumble inside.

You closed and locked the door, turning around to find his eyes on you.

You looked down and realized that you still were wearing one of his white shirts as pjs. Your stare was back on him, a small playful smile was on his face. A smile he was trying to hide.

The last time he saw you in that shirt, you were bent over on his mattress with it riding up your back with every thrust. The memory made his jeans tighter. He noticed how your hard nipples would peek through, making it incredibly difficult to drag his eyes away from them.

He knew you noticed because you crossed your arms immediately and sucked in your lips trying to hide the blush that was appearing on your cheeks.

A million thoughts were running through Carmy's mind. But to find you in his shirt, short circuited something in his brain. He couldn't get past seeing your face contorted in pleasure or the little whimpers that escaped your mouth.

With your eyes back on the ground, you watched as he slowly walked closer to you until you could feel his body radiate heat onto your arms.

Your eyes followed his fingers as they gently brushed up your arms and over your shoulder. They slowly made their way to the bottom of your chin, bringing your face up to his. Where his eyes were already on yours.

"Carm-"

"Do you want me to stop?" He whispered, his warm breath hitting your lips.

His blue, soft eyes slowly got tainted by something darker.

You shook your head subtly feeling his callous fingertips brush your lips.

Nothing could have stopped you from giving in to him. The very drug that you've been withdrawn from for a year. All you wanted to do right now was overdose.

Without any hesitation from either of you, your lips crashed together.

You felt his hungry with the kiss immediately becoming desperate. He brought his hand up and wrapped it around your neck. The sensation you missed so much. With both of your mouths wanting to taste as much as possible, the kiss turned wetter. You could taste the stale nicotine on his tongue. You felt him lean into you more and more until you caught yourself up against the door.

You felt him pull away for a brief moment, only to be able to catch your breath. His hand still on your throat. His blown out pupils searching yours. His fingers still wrapped around your neck, he brought his thumb up to your lips.

You knew exactly what he wanted. Without hesitation, you opened up obediently, letting his thumb brush up against your eager tongue. He clenched his jaw feeling you gently starting to suck his thumb. It only reminded him of how much he loved your mouth.

Your innocent eyes. swollen lips and wet saliva bringing him to the edge of falling apart.

"Fuck- I've missed you"

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my sweet angel babies! Thank you all for the love and kind words! Here is another chapter, now there are going to be two perspectives in this, so when you get to the end, you will see what I am talking about hehe. Enjoy ! &lt;3

Chapter 87: The Other Woman

Days float by as your anger continued to simmer.

Your visits to the Gardens became frequent, irritated energy bouncing through your body, leaving your nights to be restless. And yet to your surprise, Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

You had thought that with his sudden dismissal of his brother to Harrenhal at the news of your pregnancy, that he would make himself present. 

And yet, he hadn't. 

And when Aemond had returned a few short days later to the Red Keep, you had been just as surprised once more. 

Was this a test? 

The two brothers working in tandem to see what you would do?

Or was Aemond's visit truly shortened by his desire to come back to you?

When Aemond arrived back to Kings Landing, his demeanour had shifted once again. He walked around you carefully, chose his words with even more care, and had even refrained from touching you. It was as though he was waiting for you to make the first move. Or maybe he was waiting to you to strike him.

Or perhaps the Prince was waiting for you to respond to the letter you had not read.

When the Prince had returned, you had been seated at the Gardens, nibbling upon a honey drizzled slice of pear, the sweet nectar coating your mouth thickly as you gazed out at the water, concentrating hard to see if you could see any speck of Dragonstone or Driftmark. 

A large shadow moved across the water, and you had craned your head to look up, spotting your husbands large, green, war dragon flying atop the Keep. Her mossy wings, torn in some places, and a deep scar along her side shining in the sun, curtesy of Syndor.

Your resentment bubbled at the sight of his return, and you suddenly felt no desire to continue munching upon the many sweets and treats that your maids had insisted upon giving you. You stood, dusting the crumbs that had settled into your lap onto the stone floor and moved with little haste, knowing that Aemond would most likely seek you out as soon as he landed.

You let yourself begin to walk down towards the beach of Kings Landing, brushing your fingertips atop the many different flowers that you passed. It was not until you came across the fragrant rose bushes that you paused in thought. 

Reaching forward, you grasped a large, blooming, blood-red rose, and snapped it from the bush, bringing it up to your nose to inhale deeply. It was a beautiful colour, and from the exact same bush that Aegon had plucked one for you from. 

You smirked.

You continued on your walk, winding down the path until you reached the stone jetty, finding yourself standing deathly still, rose in hand, as you looked out at the water.

You were waiting for the inevitable.

Waiting for him.

For your shadow.

To come seek you out. To speak to you. To see you.

To beg. To plead. To apologise.

Or perhaps, punish you for your temper.

It was not until you heard soft, steady steps behind you, that you knew he had come, just as you had anticipated. 

Aemond had come to straight to you. 

Not to his King. Not the the Lords. Nor the Small Council. Not even to your shared chambers to disrobe. 

The One-Eyed Prince came straight to you from the back of his dragon.

Bringing the rose to your nose, you inhaled again deeply, and hummed. With a cool breath, your voice flitted towards him, not bothering to turn around.

“Didn’t expect to have you back so soon, Aegon. What did Otto want with you?” And with your last word, you spun, rose still raised up to your face to look at your husband that you knew was behind you.

At the sight of him, you dropped the rose limply to your side, “Oh. Aemond.” You sniffed, “You’re back.” 

His brows were already furrowed, “What did Aegon want with you?”

Those were the first words from his lips.

His first words after coming back from his whore.

You saw red. 

Gritting your teeth you spun away, moving to walk back up the path to the Keep and away from the steady rolling waves of the beach. 

“How was the Whore of Harrenhal?” You snipped, taking the steps in lazy strides, unhurried to get away from him as you twirled the rose in view as you passed.

Aemond’s eye flicked to the flower, then back at your face, his jaw tensed.

You continued up on your path, letting your uncle stew in the possibility of you and his brother having spent time together in his absence. The possibility of Aegon courting you with another rose.

And whilst you had expected it, the Prince did not follow you.

Instead, he stayed rooted in his spot at the bottom of the stairs, watching as you slowly walked up them, singular red rose in hand that you brought intermittently up to your nose to smell.

Aemond found you a while later in the Library, clearly desperate to speak to you, his own insecurities about his brother racing in his mind.

He found you seated on one of the armchairs before the fire, tome in lap with the rose tucked behind your ear. The red atop your hair stood out starkly, and brought out the subtle blush of your lips that you nibbled on gently. 

To Aemond, you looked as though you were engrossed in the story, or perhaps your mind was wondering to a certain older uncle as your fingers danced over the long, thorned stem. His approach did not rouse your gaze, for you knew it was him, choosing to ignore his presence all together.

The One-Eyed Prince stood in front of you, his height doubled yours, as you sat primly in the chair. The air in the Library was tense, and you played upon it, a finger tracing the petals of the flower absentmindedly as you continued to ignore him. 

“Y/n.” Aemond spoke lowly, trying to gage your attention, “I didn’t see her. I attended to my duties, and that was all.”

You hummed boredly, before lifting your gaze to him, the Prince’s jaw locked, hand on the pummel of his sword as he looked at you. You let your gaze drop pointedly at the hand, and to your surprise, he released it, dropping his arm down by his side.

“Aemond.” You sighed, standing, shutting the book in your hands as you stepped forward towards him. You thrust the book against his chest, “I don’t believe you.” 

His hand came to grasp the book, ‘The Loves of Queen Nymeria’, as you brushed past him, making your exit from the library as swiftly as possible. Not hearing his footsteps behind you. 

You found your way to the Godswood, where you always found yourself in troubling times, still holding the rose in your hand as you looked up through its branches. 

You hoped that your parents received the raven.

And even prayed to the Gods that they did. 

What would happened?

Would it be done?

Would she be killed?

How would you know if it had happened?

What if they didn’t get your raven?

You swallowed and sat amongst the roots as you always did, needing to clear your mind, your back against the trunk of the tree as you looked up at the light that shone through the leaves. The tree vibrated with the wind, and in that moment, and as through the wind swept away your doubts, you knew they had gotten your raven.

When the sun had begun to lower in the sky, you took yourself back to your chambers, knowing that your husband would be there waiting, and you would have little place to run.

He would talk to you, and you would listen. 

For a time. 

Aemond was just as you had expected him to be, a creature of habit, sitting in his armchair before the fire, goblet of wine in hand. When you entered the chambers, his head had lazily turned to look at you, eye grazing up and down your body before pausing on the rose you held in your hands. You moved across the chambers and placed it on the small table beside your bed, sighing. 

With contagious irritation, you moved to the side of the room and poured yourself a goblet of wine, sitting opposite Aemond on the chaise as you rose the cup to your lips, sipping the strong spiced red, anger simmering beneath your skin. 

Though, it seemed as though Aemond had bitten off his tongue, and the two of you sat in silence before the warmth of the fire, words unspoken, until the maids entered to light the candles of the chambers, and shortly after, bring your dinner.

You both moved to eat together, a tension filled silence engulfing the room. The quiet chewing and sipping was drowned out by the ever rising beat of your heart in your ears as you looked at him.

You were furious, and angry at the little part of yourself that was relieved to have him back.

Aemond placed his cutlery down onto his plate politely, sensing your heated gaze upon his face. How you wished you punch him in the side of his mouth. To dig your fingers into the cavity where his eye once sat. If only you ha-

“I did not see her.” His voice cut through the tension, and you swallowed thickly, placing your own cutlery atop your plate as you reached forward to grasp your wine. You took a gulping sip as you watched him from over the rim, waiting for him to undoubtedly continue. 

“Kīvin zijo va se Jaes Uēpys se se Sīkuda.” I swear it on the Old Gods and the Seven.

You huffed, taking the goblet from your lips, "Nyke jorepagon pōnta pryjagon ao ilagon syt aōha pirtra.” I pray they strike you down for your lies.

Aemond sneered, "Gaoman daor pirtir. Daor naejot ao. Dōrī naejot ao.” I do not lie. Not to you. Never to you.

You hummed, sipping again, “Pār īlon kessa ūndegon lo iksā pryjatan ilagon iā daor.” Then we shall see if you are struck down or not.

Aemond’s hand on the table twitched, “Kesan daor ūndegon zirȳla arlī, nyke teptan ao ñuha udir.” I will not see her again, I gave you my word.

You pressed the smile away from your lips with a frown. You nodded in agreement, picking up your cutlery again and moved to cut through a steaming piece of meat, dark gravy poured over the top, “Se kostan kivio ao, bona kesā daor.” And I can promise you, you won’t.

You will never see that whore or your bastard child again. 

And it will be because of me.

Aemond nodded, but not because he knew, which made you all the more smug, “Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys, iksā emare ñuha riña. Ñuha jorrāelagon iksis syt ao, se ao mērī.” You are my wife, you are having my child. My love is for you, and you only.

You let out a bitter laugh, “Should have thought about that before you fucked a child into her, shouldn’t you?”

The Prince stayed silent and went back to his eating, cheek twitching with words to say, but none passed his lips.

"Has the bastard been born yet?" You hummed, stabbing another piece of meat and bringing it to your lips as you chewed, Aemond's gaze darkening.

"No."

"Then how would you know that if you had not seen her?" You blinked at the Prince, biting the inside of your cheeks.

"It would be hard to not notice a chil-"

"A bastard of silver hair in a place where Strong blood once resided. I often think on it," You cut another piece of meat with your knife and fork as you felt Aemond's eye burning a hole in your face, "Would the child look like you, or would it come out resembling a Strong boy."

Aemond did not speak, and so you continued, "For years, my brothers and I, despite my obvious parentage, faced the sharp whispers and gossip fuelled by your mother. Exacerbated by you. And now, you are to have another bastard of your own. And not one that you can easily pass off as Aegon's, if she is truly a Strong."

Resting your chin on your palm, you tilted your head looking at him, "Do you even know if Helaena's children are yours? Or at least one of them? I suspected the twins, but Maelor has Aegon's soft face." You paused, watching anger fall over his face, "I wonder if mine will have it."

Aemond's hands slammed on the table as he looked down at his plate, anger radiating off of him.

"Would it not be a cruel joke from the Gods for you to have sired the King's heirs, and he to have sired yours?"

"That child is mine." He growled.

"I suppose time will tell. The bastard certainly is."

"You mean to provoke me. I have performed my duty as well as I can."

"And yet, your whore is pregnant. Who's duty was that? Certainly not that of a Prince."

Silence moved across the table as he stared at you down his nose.

In disgust.

In anger.

In rage.

"I left you a letter." His voice was impatient, as though the piece of parchment would have explained all.

"What letter?" You cocked your head, feigning ignorance.

His brow was drawn, "I left it on the table."

You raised your eyebrows in mock remembrance, opening your mouth, "Oh." Aemond's face seemed, as though the letter would soothe your only rising resentment.

"I burnt it." You smiled at him widely, and resumed your eating.

Aemond's lips twitched as he looked at you, tongue pressing on the bottom of his lip in agitation.

"Sorry, was it something important?"

Aemond did not respond, hands tightening around his knife and fork, his eye narrowed.

You hummed, chewing a piece of potato slowly before you swallowed, "Anything of importance can surely be spoken to me, and not written down on some parchment like a child writes an apology to his mother."

Aemond tossed his knife and fork onto the table angrily, standing from his chair, hands in fists as he looked at you. You looked up at your uncle, and daintily placed your cutlery atop your plate.

"What are you going to do, Aemond? Hit me? When I am with child?" He blinked down at you, eye flickering to your stomach and back up at your face again, shoulders still tensed.

"I told you when you left, when you broke your word to me. I would never forgive you. You did this. Not me." Your hand pressed to your chest angrily, "I am owed this anger. The Gods will surely forgive me, but will they forgive you?"

Sorrow burrowed its way down your throat as anger crawled up it, you looked at him, and the two met in the middle. A thick and heavy stone that was lodged in your throat that you desperately tried to swallow.

Tears stung your eyes, and you watched as Aemond's anger simmered at the sight of it. Any response that was on the tip of his tongue was lost, and Aemond moved away from you to sit at the fire, singular eye staring into the flames, leaving you to sit at the table alone.

Before long, your meal was over, and your two maids came to clear the table, and ready you for bed, slipping a silk chemise over the top of your head, unbraiding your hair, and letting the thick waves cascade down your back.

Aemond had crawled into bed before you, and you had fluttered about the chambers, delaying the inevitable, and enjoying the way he shifted beneath the sheets watching you as he waited. 

When you went to bed, and settled beneath the sheets, you rolled and turned your back to him, tucking your hands beneath your chin as you fought the urge to not laugh. It was all too much. Too much anger. Too much joy. It got all twisted and mixed together, turning your chest alight. 

You could feel the heat of his gaze from behind you and chose to ignore it, closing your eyes as Aemond blew the remaining candles out beside your bed. The chambers were basked in darkness, and eventually Aemond rolled away from you in a huff. 

A grin peaked through on your lips, hidden in the dark, and soon you fell to sleep.

DRAGONSTONE POV

A few short hours away from the shores of Kings Landing, a raven had finally arrived to Dragonstone. The small, black corvid had made its way across the sea to deliver a message to the Queen.

Queen Rhaenyra had been in her chambers, robe wrapped tightly around her body as Daemon leant his head against the front of her stomach. The once Rogue Prince, seated on an armchair by the fire, his wife standing before him, carding gentle and soft hands through his silver white hair.

"Come to bed, my love." Rhaenyra whispered, hand cupping the older mans cheek.

Daemon lifted his head to look up at the woman he adored, her violet eyes glowing in the light of the fire. She was ethereal. Beautiful. And he loved her more than anything in the world.

His large hands came to grasp at her hips, pulling her forward and into his lap, Rhaenyra straddling her uncle on the large chair. Her hands came to the tops of his shoulders, before skimming up to cradle his face.

"The hour is late." She argued, with no true argument on her lips.

"I did not know there were certain hours in which I could love you." The man smirked, hands rubbing against the flesh of her hips.

As Rhaenyra smiled, she dipped her head to catch Daemon's lips, and a knock came at the door.

Both silver heads turned sharply.

It was late.

And there would be only one reason for such a disturbance.

The pair shared a look before Rhaenyra climbed off the King Consorts lap, moving quickly as she called out to the knight to enter.

Ser Erryk Cargyll pushed through the door, bowing and apologising for the intrusion, his helm off, light brown hair pulled back and away from his face. Daemon came to stand behind his wife, always behind or beside her, to show strength, to show unity.

To be there and support her.

As one.

"There was a raven." The pale hand of the knight moved forward, parchment in his open palm as he gave it to the Queen, who all but snatched it from him.

There was no seal, and the parchment was scrunched and bent. As Rhaenyra opened it, and Daemon moved to stand beside her, they read the short message from their daughter, the Queen's hands tightening on the page.

Rhaenyra stiffened, posture straightening as she looked at the knight before her, "Wake the Maester and the Lords. We have word from the Princess."

The knight bowed, swiftly slipping out of the chambers as Rhaenyra turned to face her husband, who's eyes glinted with a dangerous rage. She could feel the fury that curled around him, and she felt her own burn her just as hotly.

"Go," Came the steady voice of the Queen, her hands dropping to her side, parchment still in one tight fist.

Daemon tilted his head, silver hair shimmering in the chamber light, as though he was unsure of what his wife had said.

Before he could open his mouth to respond, the Queen spoke again, tone final, and anger crackling just beneath.

"Before the Council can talk me out of it."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[valentine-cafe]

hàoyû 9948v | fem!reader

*slides in looking like a drug dealer* i'd have this man's babies. i need collateral if this little shit is planning to keep me cooped up inside his mansion especially if he's not around (which is rarely ig-). wdym don't you make contact with a goddamn psychotic hot-ass feral spirit? nuh uh, that sign can't stop me, i'm married to him anyway, i don't make the rules. i need this man to put me in my place, preferably mating press. still, anything works as long he's inside me, like damn, all day all night, no protection, every position, it's okay if i pass out. this man's body ain't coming out without bruises and blood from me biting and scratching him.

wait, i just remember, "let this man fuck you on his altar please" this man is way more feral than me damn, like okay, what's stopping you 'lil guy? your wife ain't going anywhere with your eyes trailing over her. what a freak *twirls hair*

it's okay if he can't get me pregnant, i'll get him pregnant, fuck everything, one of us coming out pregnant. " just because men can't get pregnant, doesn't mean you shouldn't try your absolute fucking hardest” jìngyí 209's words not mine, he's so real for that *disintegrate*

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ verse 9948v hàoyŭ ⊹ ۪ ࣪

˚◞꒰ 🍰 grim reaper x reader, rhytaari x reader, cw: rough fucking, breeding kink, knotting ꒱

the sound of soft groans would scatter across hallways of the abandoned estate. your asscheeks spanked rough and tender. while a pair of hips furiously fuck into you.

dioxazine eyes not once wanting to leave the beautiful sight before him on the altar. a whine leaving the man above you.

a whine, you’ve never heard him whine so pathetically before. perhaps it is the amount of times you have milked him dry now? did it really even matter at this point. the both of you were panting and digging into each other for more. with nails piercing skin and tearing at away at the other.

blood still trickles down your arms and waist. sometimes a smooth and soft tongue rakes across the droplets of red too.

to hàoyu, it is all a signature of your love for him.

to bleed for a rhytaari, is to bleed out of the deepest kind of love.

“fuck, i— ‘m close once more.” bled into the walls as he whispered erratically in your ear. breath fanning against your face. while you groan, taking in each and every inch that he had.

“hàoyu— fuck, hurry up.” you growl impatiently, yanking at his hair and earning a loud and gutteral moan from the man. hips stuttering against yours as he shoots another load of cum inside of you. his body trembling.

to think one could make a rhytaari so sensitive. moan so pathetically.

you loved each and every moment of the power you had over him. the power he had over you, as well. when he would show it.

with another yank of his hair, his hips stuttering again. you push him back into one of the row seats and sit him there. riding him and pushing a few more streaks of cum out of him.

“b— baobei— baobei.” he groans, and with shaky hands grab your hips and begin controlling them for you. which leads to your own ultimate undoing, your words spluttering everywhere. the curves of your body jiggling along with the pace.

and all he does is laugh messily at your own pathetic look.

“you wanted to get pregnant? i’ll fucking make you pregnant. give you a fucking baby or two. maybe more,”

you don’t remember much after that sentence, passing in and out of the pleasure. until the both of you come to a stop eventually and catch your breaths. one leaning against the other and shivering.

“hàoyu” the whine reaches his ears and his eyes roll back a bit from the giddy feelings it brings him to hear you call for him with such desperation and need still.

“shhh” he hushes you softly, keeping his cum plugged in, gently rubbing at the small bulge full of cum in your tummy.

“let us get you some rest my dear. let me make you some tea and something to eat. hmm? did so so well. . .”

with a sigh, he picks you up and carries you with him back to the bedroom. stroking your hair gently as you lay there in your haze. smiling at him like a lovesick fool.

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Triad Part 10 — Reunion Part

A Cazriel x Reader Headcanon

Series Masterlist

A/N: This POV switching is either incredibly hot or completely unhinged, you be the judge. I’ve decided (discovered) that Az has a bit of a daddy kink and loves to be called baby. Please enjoy, ig?

Click here to be added to the taglist so you never miss an update!

Warnings: Forgive me father, for I have sinned. A lot. Smut, anal sex, crossdressing (just a little bit, as a treat, but you might want to skip it if you’re sensitive to this sort of material), long distance sex, unprotected sex (they’re faeries. i think they take a potion for that or something), edging, slight daddy kink and dom/sub vibes

It’s not all sunshine and rainbows and happily ever afters, but you learn how to supplement each other’s magic through the bond and the boys learn to separate Az and Cas from Azriel and Cassian. Out on a mission? That’s Azriel and Cassian. But at home, or in the safety of a private, warded tent? Az and Cas start to spill their softness onto each other. 

Trust and vulnerability are built in the bedroom first. It’s the easiest (and most fun) way to let your guards down, to let each other in. 

Slowly but surely, that comfort starts to seep out into everyday life. It’s subtle, at first. Reassuring hand squeezes, soft smiles, quick pecks on cheeks, foreheads, lips; seeing your mates open up to each other makes the bond (and your heart) swell with love. 

The first time Az calls Cas baby outside of the bedroom, you practically disintegrate. 

Somewhere along the line, the edges blur a little bit. Cas will pull Az into his lap when they’re in Rhys’s office debriefing after a mission, needing to feel the beat of his mate’s heartbeat against his hand as proof that he’s still alive, or Az will send the cool, calming presence of his shadows to give Cas extra strength on the battlefield. 

And tucked away in the relative privacy of a safe house, well…

“Cassian,” Az’s low growl slips through the crack beneath the door into the bathroom where Cas stands in front of the sink brushing his teeth. He pushes the door open and, toothbrush dangling out of one corner of his mouth, pokes his head out. 

His face twitches with amusement at the sight of his mate’s narrowed eyes and furrowed brow; the dark brown sweater that usually pulls taught across Az’s chest sags, hanging loose in the shoulders. Cas’s face disappears for a second so he can spit his mouthful of toothpaste into the sink and then he stalks into the bedroom, crossing the distance between him and Az in long, lazy steps. 

“You ruined my favorite sweater,” Az grumbles, swatting at the arms trying to snake their way around his waist. 

“Sorry, baby, I couldn’t help it,” Cas responds, sending a flash of burning red magic towards his mate, tugging him back into Cas’s chest. “I missed you, and it just smelled so good…” Cas buries his face in Az’s hair, breathing that scent in. 

“We’re supposed to be packing, you know,” Az murmurs, letting his body sink against the broad chest behind him. He’s in no hurry to leave, though he probably should be. 

Cas trails his lips up until they’re hovering above Az’s ear.

“I know, I know. I’m worried about Y/N, too.” Cas pauses to clear his thickening throat. “I’ll finish packing—why don’t you take her down to the cafe for coffee and bring us back breakfast?” He ducks down to suck on Az’s earlobe, relishing in the way the supple flesh gives way to his teeth. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah—go spend some time with our girl, make sure she feels special before we leave.”

While Cas finishes packing, Az takes you on a short walk to the nearest cafe, stopping at a flower cart to buy you a bouquet of beautiful red roses accented by baby’s breath and the most gorgeous, deep blue thistles. 

When you return, Cas is seated at the kitchen table, the bags all packed and set next to the front door. The sight of them makes your stomach tighten and your mates feel a flutter of sadness tickling the bond. 

Az starts setting out the food and you climb into Cas’s lap, straddling him with your flowers still cradled in your arm. His strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you steady, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck. 

“Aw, did Azzie buy you some pretty flowers, baby?” he asks, running a hand up your back to thread his fingers in your hair. 

“Yeah,” you mumble. “They’re red and blue to remind me of you while you’re gone.”

—

The first morning of their mission, Az wakes up to the sound of Cassian’s grunting and heavy breathing outside the little cabin they’re staying in. He peeks out the window to see his mate running through his morning training exercises and lets a smile take over his face at the familiar sight of tanned muscles straining under pressure. 

Unfortunately, Az has to get going. He can’t linger, so he trudges over to his bag and digs out some clothes. Black pants, loose-fitting white tunic, a slim-fitting Illyrian leather vest, socks and… underwear. He can’t find any underwear. Just as he’s about to stomp outside and chew out Cas for forgetting to pack such an essential article of clothing, he remembers the pocket sewn onto the front of the bag. Unzipping it reveals a brightly-colored mess of silky, lacy underthings. Your underthings. 

Frustration gives way to amusement as Az’s lips curl up into a smirk. He’s a man of opportunity, so he takes the challenge presented to him. Two can play at this game. He pulls out the pair he knows Cassian loves the most and layers his clothes over them, heading outside to drop a kiss on Cas’s lips before he leaves for the day. 

—

It’s late. Too late, Cassian thinks as he twirls the glass in his hand, the deep red Fae wine swirling against the inside. Taking a long sip, he lets the alcohol sink in, dulling his worries so you and Az don’t feel them through the bond. 

He drains the liquid and gets up for a refill, settling himself back into the armchair in front of the roaring fireplace. When his cup is nearly empty again, the old, wooden door creaks open and cool shadows stream in, brushing against Cas’s skin. 

Azriel toes off his boots, leaving them on the mat next to the door, and grabs the half-empty bottle of wine off the kitchen counter before crossing the room to stand in front of Cas’s chair. 

Cas eyes the bottle and tugs on Az’s free hand, pulling him closer. 

“Rough day?” he asks, burying his face in Az’s chest. 

“You could say that,” Az says, scowling a bit as he takes a swig straight from the mouth of the bottle. 

Cas hums, knowing that if Az wants to talk about it, they’ll get there eventually. For now, he’s content to settle Az in his lap, letting the Shadowsinger use him as a chair. Az leans back, wings settling against Cas’s broad chest. His head fits perfectly perched atop Cas’s shoulder. The General’s hair is falling out of its messy topknot and Az twists the stray locks in his fingers as Cas works loosening the ties that lace up the back of Az’s vest until he can slip his hands under the soft tunic beneath the leather. Az’s lips tighten to prevent the smile from breaking on his face as Cas explores the expanse of skin now available to him. 

The Lord of Bloodshed takes his time, trailing his fingertips lightly up and around the base of Az’s wings. Slowly, he moves further down, halting when he feels a rough patch situated just below the dips on Az’s lower back. 

Cassian doesn’t attempt to hide his shit-eating grin. Instead, he lets it split him open and tucks his chin over one of Az’s shoulders, pushing the tunic up higher so he can get a good look at the panties peeking out from the tops of Az’s trousers. Red silk, trimmed with matching lace—Cas’s favorites. 

“Did you like the surprise I packed for you, baby?” Cas asks, nudging Az up with one thigh so he can slip those pants down. Az complies readily, malleable under Cas’s touch, and it melts the General’s heart. He was worried that Az would be upset or embarrassed; the few other times they’ve been alone together have been rougher. Growling and fighting for dominance as their bullheaded Illyrian genes kicked in. 

Not this time, though. This time, Az nods against Cas’s shoulder as the other male cups his hands beneath Az. The panties are cheekier on you, the soft flesh of your ass spills out the sides in such a beautiful way, but they hug Az’s pert, muscular cheeks perfectly, too. 

Hey, princess, I have something to show you. Are you alone? Cas asks, opening up the bond to reach out to the third member of their Triad. 

You’re back home, soaking in the tub after a grueling day of work. The clinic has been overloaded with refugees from Under the Mountain, mostly women and children, mostly victims of the tensions rising within the Court of Nightmares. That’s why you aren’t with your mates—Rhys couldn’t justify pulling you away from Madja to tag along on a routine, three-day reconnaissance mission. 

You shift in the tub, lifting your hips and running a hand down your stomach, sending the image through to your mates. Excitement flares up between the three of you, and your effort is rewarded with a peek through Cassian’s eyes. The sight of Azriel on display in a pair of your panties sends heat to your core and you squirm, tucking your fingers down to graze against your clit. 

Enjoying the view? Cas asks, chucking to himself as he feels your arousal pulsating down the bond. You answer with another image, this time one of your finger circling your hole, distorted by the water. 

Az feels his skin heating up and turns slightly to bury his face in Cas’s hair. 

“Aw, baby,” Cas coos, clutching Az closer. “Feeling shy?” 

“No,” Az grumbles. “‘M just tired.” It’s true; Cas can feel Az’s weight pressing down on him as the Shadowsinger lets all the tension release from his body. 

“That’s okay. I’ll take care of you, Azzie. You just gotta sit there and look pretty while we put on a show for our girl. Think you can do that for me?” 

Cas bumps his nose against Az’s, then presses their lips together when the other male nods his assent. While Az is distracted, Cas tugs his vest all the way off and unbuttons his tunic, letting both fall to the floor. Then he helps Az clamber off his lap, swallowing his mate’s disgruntled huff as he maneuvers them both into a standing position so he can push Az’s pants all the way down. He has to pull away to shed his own clothes, which he does in record time, and then he settles back into the chair. 

He takes a moment to appreciate the view in front of him; Az’s cock bulges, straining the thin fabric encasing it. Cas hooks his fingers into the lacy waistband, rubbing his thumb over the small bow that rests just above the wet spot where Az’s tip rests trapped against his stomach. 

Through the bond, you can see everything, and the sight of Az tucked into a pair of your panties has you dipping two fingers into the wet heat of pussy.   

Cas moves his thumb lower, pressing against the wet spot and coaxing a needy whine from Az. 

“C’mere, baby,” Cas murmurs, “sit on my lap again.” Azriel obeys, turning around and lowering his ass until it rests against Cas’s bare cock. Reaching one hand down, Cas adjusts himself so his cock is pressed between the Shadowsinger’s thighs. He grabs Az’s waist and guides him into rocking back and forth, feeling the soft silk rubbing against his own rock-hard length. “That’s it, good boy, already so wet for me, aren’t you?” 

Az whimpers, grinding down in search of more friction, and your walls tighten around your fingers. 

Cas lets one of his hands drop down to palm Az’s clothed cock, feeling the fabric dampen even more beneath his touch. With the other, he slips beneath the silk to trace one finger around Az’s rim, slowly coaxing him open. 

By this point Az is oozing precum, so it’s easy for Cassian to slide forward and collect some with his fingers, using it to help ease first one, then two, then three inside. Az squirms in Cas’s lap as his body opens up to accommodate the intrusion. 

What do you think, sweetheart? Cas asks you through the bond. You think he’s ready for me?

Yes, you say, mental voice just as breathy as it would be if you were speaking out loud. Yes, he’s ready. 

Cas senses your impending orgasm and waits, curling his fingers inside Az to make him whine. 

Wait, love, he coos at you. Your hand stills, obeying his orders even from halfway across Prythian, but you can’t stop your thighs from quivering with the force of holding back the waves of pleasure building up inside you. 

He knows what he’s doing and relishes in the satisfaction of being able to pull you back from the edge with just two words. Making sure the link is wide open so you can see it all, he uses two fingers to pull the panties aside and spread Az open. 

Why don’t you go get one of your toys, princess, Cas tells you as he sinks his cock into your shared mate. Chest heaving, you push yourself up and clamber out of the tub on shaky legs. You swipe a towel off the rack on your way back into the bedroom and toss it down before you collapse into the plush mattress. Reaching over to the nightstand, you dig around in the drawer until your hand wraps around the smooth, flesh-like material. 

You give Cas a glimpse through your eyes at the dildo as you slide it between your aching lips. 

Good girl, he tells you, grunting as he picks up his pace, snapping his hips to fuck up into Az in deep, punishing strokes. Back in Velaris, you increase the speed of your hand, trying to match his. 

Cas’s magic is soaring, bubbling up within him as he absorbs the raw, desperate need flowing into him from his mates. He tightens his grip on Az’s hips with one hand, nails biting into the Shadowsinger’s flesh just above the hem of his panties. The other slips around front to slide down Az’s abs and settles with a flat palm pressing against the soaking silk-covered bulge. 

“Fuck, you’re both so wet for me, aren’t you?” He moans, squeezing Az’s length. Az bucks up, grinding against Cas’s touch in sloppy, desperate circles. 

“Please, Cas, I need to—“ Az whines, moving one foot up to the edge of the chair to use as leverage, to get into the exact right position where he can feel Cas pressing against his prostate and Cas pressing against his cock, the delicious friction of damp fabric against sensitive skin… 

Please, Cassie, you echo, shoving the dildo up until it bottoms out, your thumb pressing against your clit in just the right way… 

Cas is close to bursting, but he pushes through the desire tugging all of the blood away from his head and into his cock. He pushes through the red hot flames circling his groin from the inside out enough to snarl, “Cum for me,” offering sweet release to his mates. The loves of his life. 

He watches through your eyes as your pussy flutters around the dark pink toy, can feel wet heat filling the fabric beneath his hand as Az releases into those Cauldron-damned panties.

The General bows his head to his mates, hair cascading over one shoulder as he pulls Az flush to his chest. The Shadowsinger sighs; and it’s the sweetest goddamn thing Cas has ever heard. 

He explodes. The force of his magic pulsing down the bond sends aftershocks straight to your core and you whimper, slowing but not stopping your thrusts. 

Azriel sinks back against Cassian, boneless and spent, content to wait in the tight embrace of his mate until Cas’s thrusts slow to a stop. 

It takes a while for Cas to come back after that. He just clings to Az, rests his head, chin hooked over one lean shoulder. You lay in bed, toy slipping out of your slickened hole, and muster enough energy to send a bit of shimmering, deep purple magic his way. 

Cas feels it settle into his veins, and his breathing slows. He feels warm and sated and sticky but in a good way. Blinking eyes take in the sight of those panties, stained a shade darker than they’d been when Cassian saw them there, folded up in the laundry like that. Taunting him with the promise of shadows wrapped in red silk, tanned thighs trimmed with lace. Practically begging to be taken. 

You owe me a new pair, Azzie. They can feel you pouting through the bond. Az chokes, sputtering against Cas until you put him out of his misery and coo, you look so pretty in those. I want you to keep them. 

Smirking against Az’s shoulder, Cas sends a chuckle down the bond.  I’ll buy you a whole new drawerful, darling. He pauses and nips at the skin beneath his lip, picturing his mates wrapped up in new lingerie like pretty little gifts from his former self. One for each of you, if you want.

Taglist: @wallacewillow0773638 @hnyclover @anutellaa@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog@queerqueenlynn@brujitafantomatico@nickishadow139@starcrossedsan@dustyinkpages @amberlynn98 @liquormoneysex @moonyscherry @shadowinthedarkknight @daisy94788

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both Worlds (part 37)

Tw: none 4 now , just a short chapter wirh Yves fluff

Part 38

"Yes dear, you may." Yves sat on the chair next to your bed, crossing his legs elegantly as he watches you open the pristine packaging.

You asked him for permission if you're allowed to eat the imported macarons he flew in all the way from France. You're nervous because the box itself looked extremely expensive, his gift looked too beautiful to eat.

You end up closing the box of delectable, colourful pastries. Some had gold leaf on them. They're definitely mouthwatering, especially after days of eating bland hospital food. You didn't touch any of Montgomery's takeaway.

You told him that you're going to save it for later. Yves didn't react to you, instead he pulled out another box with a black ribbon wrapped around it from his massive shopping bag that he no doubt retrieved from a luxury store. Yves kept the box of macarons from somewhere else, so that you had more space to work with. It was large, taking up the entire over-bed table.

You pulled on the neat ribbon before slowly taking the cover off.

Whatever it was, a sheet of black silk was wrapped around it with an envelope that has the brand logo resting atop. You opened it and pulled out a card with golden embossed letters. You had no idea what it says because you couldn't read it. So you set it aside and took out the main item.

You were baffled when you pulled out a large drawstring bag with a velvet interior. But that wasn't the final object, the thing inside it was. Yves second gift to you was a designer backpack, crafted to perfection and made up of only the highest quality materials. You can feel the lavishness through your fingertips rubbing against its fabric.

You opened it to see translucent packaging paper, protecting its form. This must have at least cost him a few grand, you're not accounting for the currency exchange rate. You turned your head to Yves, you looked uneasy. Do you really deserve this?

He simply tilted your head at your discomfort.

"It is time to retire your bag, (name)." He leaned forward, propping his head on his hand. "Unless this isn't to your liking?" You panicked at the sight of sadness in his green irises.

You said no, you love it. But you're scared to use it because it's priceless to you. It will hurt to even have a smidge of dirt on it!

"Then, this shall teach you to be mindful of your belongings." He smiled. "You should treat what you own with care and respect." Yves playfully tapped your nose with his pointer.

Your face heated up at the memory of him discovering the state of your old backpack, finding a dead lizard at the bottom and mold growing in your waterbottle.

"It's the least you could do for the items that uphold your day-to-day activities." Yves continued his lecture as he bent down again to take something else from his shopping bag.

You kept staring at the bag, cautiously packing it back into the drawstring and into the box. Treating it as if it will disintegrate if you handled it a bit too roughly.

"However." He gently guided your head to face him. Yves stroked his fingers under your chin. "I must remind you, they're merely objects. You shouldn't let them dictate your life. They're there to assist you."

He pushed a small box into your hands. It's a miniature version of whatever is on your table.

You untied its ribbon and opened it to reveal a small envelope and a smaller protective drawstring bag, which contained a velvet jewelry box.

You gasp upon opening it. A golden bracelet embellished with stunning pink diamonds. You took it out to inspect it and found that it doubles as a wonderful fidget toy! It has numerous moving parts and gears, providing that satisfaction of sliding and clicking.

You kept playing with it for a few minutes. Until Yves softly cleared his throat to get your attention.

He was smiling adoringly. "I'm happy that you're fond of my gifts, (name)."

You realized you haven't thanked him. Instead of verbally doing so, you decided to grow a pair and peck him on the lips.

You quickly retracted yourself and looked away, feeling shy from what you just did.

It took Yves a few seconds to register what you just did. His fingers ghosting over his mouth as his eyes were wide, staring at your bashful self.

The corners of his lips shakily curled upwards as he silently pushed your over-bed table away.

"Oh, (name)..." Purred Yves as he felt his heart beat so hard and fast against his ribcage, as if it was going to explode. He has no words to describe how adorable, how lovable and how delicious you are to him right now.

He tucked himself into the same bed, snaking his arms around your waist. Soon, you found yourself being cradled by Yves in his lap.

Your back is pressed against his chest as he buried his face into your hair. His own silky strands tickle you by your neck.

You giggled when he nipped at your cheek, he wrapped his lips around his teeth so it wouldn't tear into your skin no matter how hard he bites. It just felt like a firm yet harmless pinch between two knuckles.

He alternated between fluttery kisses and toothless nibbles. You squirmed and laughed hysterically when Yves utilized his nimble fingers to attack your ribs with tickles. It doesn't matter how you scrunch yourself, Yves will always get you to excite yourself.

"You charming little thief, how dare you steal my heart?" He hissed with mock anger before moving on to press his lips against yours.

You grinned and kissed back, loving how soft and supple they were, loving the taste of them. His hair shielded you from the harsh lighting of the room and his comforting smell made you forget the clinical stench of antiseptic in the air. The warmth he provides nullifies the cruel, artificial visual and physical coldness of the room.

He intertwined his fingers with yours, lightly squeezing them in his hold. But that is only with one hand.

The other is gripping so hard on your sheets that his nails started shredding holes into it. His thumb particularly pierced into the mattress. His veins were throbbing and raised, skin taut and digits suffering from tremors.

Yves occupied himself with your lips. Closing his eyes and enjoying the bliss he was handsomely rewarded with. He tries to ignore the fact that he failed to account for the deranged intensity of his cuteness aggression towards you.

Data be damned, he may have lost count of the number of touches he gave you today, but that one rare kiss from you was all worth it.

He lets go of you only to whisper three special words:

"I love you."

Before diving back in and showering you with tenderness as he fights the urge to painfully squash both of your face cheeks.

[silverynight]

In regards to the Tanjiro’s dad lives lighthearted AUs, I would imagine this happening in a hilarious fashion:

*Muzan knocks on the door at night*

Tanjurou opens it, he’s holding a long spiky wooden blade(?) he uses for the yearly ritual and also probably a katana.

He calmly says, “Who TF are you? You look like a human but you are not.”

“Yoriichi?!”

Muzan screams so inhumanly that he has many heart attacks, disintegrates out of sight and immediately goes to Hell for his sins.

Tanjuro just stands there dumbfounded, “Um… that was interesting…”

Tanjiro and the rest of the family peek out, “Father, what was that? It smelled really bad and feels like an evil presence was there.”

Tanjuro turns around and pats his head softly smiling, “That was probably a crazy person or spirit, son. Now let’s go back to sleep.”

A few hours or a day later, Giyuu arrives to the residence to see an unscathed family.

“Excuse me, was there a demon here before?”

“That was a demon? He disintegrated out of fear when he saw me. Perhaps I reminded of this ‘Yoriichi’ person when he screamed that name?”

“Did this demon have any numbers on him?”

“No, but he has red eyes and was dressed like he came from the city.”

*dunno what else to put here*

…

Then the Hashira found out that Muzan was killed by his own fear of Yoriichi or anyone greatly who resembled that man.

While the Hashira finds it amusing that the demon progenitor was killed in that was, they find it cute that the Demon King’s “killer” has a beautiful looking son that looks just like him. And they just can’t stop coming back to that particular residence.

The Kamados really do be making it hard for the Hashiras to date Tanjiro. Like, they have to get the whole family’s approval. 😂

And now the Kamados are the most respected family among all the members of the Corps; Ubuyashiki invites them all for tea to the hashira headquarters and he realizes that the Pillars are head over heels for Tanjirou, the eldest son.

He finds it endearing, but he cannot help them; he respects all members of the Kamado family and the hashira must earn their approval first and find a way to make Tanjirou understand they're romantically interested in him.

[peachipeachy]

cool with you ☆彡 - ch. 02

(gojo satoru x fem!cupid!reader) based on the "cool with you" m/v by new jeans.

warnings; mentions of bow and arrows, use of (y/n), high school era gojo, mild swearing, mad denial on reader's end lol, and apologies for the inaccuracies regarding any geographical information about japan :,)

(this originally was a big big honker of a chapter sobsobsob but i split it into two lol,,, also if anyone would like to be tagged or anything, feel free to let me know)

word count; approx. 1.7k.

masterlist

-----

act i; accismus.

n. a form of irony in which a person feigns indifference to or pretends to refuse something he or she desires.

(where a cupid refuses to acknowledge her growing affection for the earth's strongest sorcerer.)

"i always see you. you're very eye-catching,"

-------

what the hell had gone through her head?! she was losing her mind! she had to be!

(y/n), back atop some random kyoto rooftop and currently mentally kicking herself, had stood behind that tree trunk for almost another hour - remaining still long past satoru and suguru had left. this encounter with her human was too close for comfort.

as her eyes skimmed the streets below, watching the few humans outside during this hour, her mind carried her back to him and her cheeks grew hot. her human. he was, oh, so beautiful. so much prettier up close. from their distance, she had noticed that his eyelashes were the same colour as his hair, a delicate, fluttering white that perfectly highlighted the sparkling blue ocean of his eyes. not only that, his face looked hand-sculpted like the king of kings had commissioned his best artist to create him. simply put, he was gorgeous - enchanting.

he almost looked as cupid as she did - maybe even more so, in her opinion.

cold, night wind smashed her face and pulled at her hair, thrusting (y/n) back into reality. the reality where she was a cupid and he was a human. a simple, normal and unremarkable human. yes. that's exactly what she was, and what he is, and this is how they will stay. moving as parallel lines until an arrow needs to be fired.

(y/n) recalled how his eyes had almost met hers, his long legs moving in her direction before she had panicked and shot at him. granted, she missed. but hey, at least she gave back his glasses, right? that was her only objective anyways. no other reason..

however, she couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if she did hit him, would the spell of cupid still work if she was the only being in his line of sight? is that even possible? could a cupid ever fall in love with a human? moreover, could a human even love a cupid?

(y/n) shoved her face into her hands, a loud, frustrated groan leaving her. what the hell was all "love" talk even about? she couldn't care less about this...this...man? (y/n) groaned again.

all this time spent thinking about him when she doesn't even know his name.

-------

"so...what you're saying is...someone shot an arrow at you and had attached your missing pair of sunglasses to it?"

sitting in the tight squeeze that was gojo satoru's jujutsu high dorm room, shoko stares at him, unamused and unbelieving of his absurd story.

"yes! how else would i have these glasses back!" satoru whined, waving his returned pair in shoko's face.

her expression remained still, looking over at suguru for confirmation. "and you believe this bullshit?"

suguru chuckles, giving a nonchalant shrug, "i like to humour him,"

"do you at least have any proof?" satoru pushed his sunglasses closer to shoko's scowling face, shoving his hand away, "no, you idiot! like the arrow or something!"

satoru scratched the back of his neck nervously, a 'you're-totally-not-gonna-believe-this' smile on his face, "you know, the funny thing is...it kind of...like, disappearedintothinair!"

the pair deadpanned.

"it what?"

"it disappeared, okay!" he whined, sulking like a toddler, "it's like, it disintegrated the moment i picked it up...!"

shoko shot a knowing look at suguru.

"hey! i'm being serious, guys!" satoru deflated, pouting harder as four incredulous eyes stared back at him. "i swear to god...it had something to do with that girl again...!"

"this girl? again?" shoko groaned, "i already told you, satoru - you should sleep more because your dumbass is probably hallucinating,"

"i mean, shoko isn't wrong," suguru added, ignoring satoru's humorously offended expression, "anytime you tell us she's around, there's literally no one there,"

"that's the thing...i don't think anyone can see her..."

his fellow second-years perked up.

"what? like she's invisible or something?"

"i dunno..." satoru muttered, eyebrows furrowed, "i think it might have something to do with my six eyes..."

suguru piped up, "you think she's, like, some kind of humanoid cursed spirit?"

satoru sighed, thinking back on all the times he's seen her - watched her around the city. she certainly didn't give off any kind of cursed energy...not that he was technically thinking of that when he caught glimpses of her. its not his fault! he's still a teenager, and he can't help but stare when a pretty girl---

"if she is, then she must be pretty strong considering none of us can see or even sense her right?" shoko's addition brought satoru back into the conversation, "maybe she'll appear in our next mission or somethi--"

"no!" two pairs of surprised eyes fell on him, he cleared his throat, "i mean...she didn't give off any kind of cursed energy. like at all,"

"well, that has to be impossible," suguru furrowed his eyes too, "all humans possess some amount of cursed energy, significant or not,"

shoko studied satoru's behaviour as he spoke, "well, to be completely honest...i don't really think she is,"

"well," she started, knowing eyes on him, "while you were doing all this thinking about whether she is human, or spirit or whatever, did you think to ask her?"

satoru shrunk into himself, uncharacteristically sheepish.

"haha...no."

-------

as the weekend rolled around, instead of using his time to practice and be a diligent jujutsu high student, satoru found himself roaming the streets of kyoto looking for a specific set of (e/c) eyes framed by (h/c) hair. his search took him everywhere - from neighbourhoods to schools, to shopping centres, and finally, to a bench on the edge of a park-side river. satoru took the finishing bite from his ice cream and contemplated where girls would hang out. why can't he see or even sense her around? he's literally the strongest!

letting his glasses fall to the tip of his nose, he sighed. "if i were a girl, where would i go---!!"

satoru's nonsensical muttering is cut short by the sight of a familiar figure, standing in the middle of the bridge running over the water. despite the handful of people crossing behind her, not one seems to notice the still girl, passing around her even as she blocks their path. satoru's mood brightens - now's his chance!

before his brain could even send a message, his legs moved quickly, dodging other park-goers and bringing him to her side in an instant. though they stood together, she didn't seem to note his presence.

"hey," he starts.

the people surrounding them turn to him in surprise, yet his mystery girl doesn't budge.

"hey! you! (h/c)-haired girl!" he tries again, moving closer.

(y/n) keeps her eyes still, stiffening subtly, watching his pretty face move closer to her.

shit.

ignoring each one of his attempts to get her attention, she sets her eyes on the parkland horizon, trying her absolute hardest to focus on any pending bonds around. she breathes in and out.

find bond, assign target, grab bow, assume position, nock arrow, draw the bow, aim precisely and fire. wait, scout, repeat. that's her job. find bond, assign target, grab bow, assume position, nock arrow, draw the bow, aim and fire--

her attention is soon interrupted by a pair of large, warm palms on her shoulders, spinning her body to his, and big, curious eyes aligned with hers.

"c'mon!! are you really gonna act like i'm not here?" his whining voice forces her mind to a stop.

"h-huh?"

"so you do speak!" a grin breaks out on the boy's face, "c'mon talk to me, what's your deal?"

(y/n)'s brain finally catches up with her, and she straightens up, regaining her composure. and totally no longer distracted by his warmth or proximity. in a few blinks, she remembers where she was standing; on a bridge. in a park. with crowds, and crowds of people. she scans her environment and just as she thought, the hoards of people were staring. at him, specifically. she grimaces - right, they can't see her. unless she directly talks to the entire crowd, they'll continue to think this white-haired boy is insane, and talking to air.

her world spins again as he shakes her shoulders, attempting to regain her attention.

"you really like ignoring me, huh," the boy pouts.

(y/n)'s face feels uncharacteristically hot. she meets his eyes again and feels like her pulse is beating so fast she might explode.

"talk to me, dove, please," his voice is a lot softer this time, and (y/n) cannot take it anymore.

with a sudden burst of energy (and slight sensibility), she pushes her hands against his chest and pulls out of his hold. before he could even react, she turns her back to him and begins to walk.

this is good. this is what she's supposed to do. this way she's doing what's right, and he no longer looks insane. yes. good work, (y/n)--

"wait! at least say something! i can't let suguru know that a pretty girl ignored me...!"

(y/n) pauses. he continues.

"we don't even have to talk a bunch! you could just tell me your name or something!"

she turns her face to him, "stop talking to me. you look crazy,"

his expression brightens and she pushes down the warm way it makes her feel.

"wait! at least let me ask you a couple of questions! please?" he begs, though she sees it more as a whine.

she weighs her options. technically, there are no rules against talking to the humans. sure, it was mildly discouraged, but it's not like it's actually forbidden. and it isn't like she doesn't want to talk to him. in fact, she is incredibly, incredibly keen to.

(y/n) had made her decision.

looking around at all the bystanders, staring at her human like he was crazy, she let out a huff. she spins in his direction, taking hold of his uniformed sleeve and drags him off with her.

"follow me,"

a/n: lololol okay pls bear with me yall this worldbuilding shit is kinda hard... :( anyways i hope you enjoyed! thank you again!!!

-------

taglist; @satoruontopofme

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Dance Among the Embers (Revisit a Life I Still Remember)

Even though the Relation had burned, Joel and Etho's relationship became stronger in spite of it all.

And, because of it all, Etho finally understands why the universe made them soulmates.

word count: 1647

ao3 link

Etho had done this dance before, with the fervent flames as his stage. 

It happened so long ago but watching the Relation burn down brought back so many memories. Memories of a simpler time, when nobody expected to return for another round, much less two.

And Etho wasn’t usually one to dwell in the past. But the similarities were so uncanny, that it almost felt scripted.

****

It was a beautiful tree Etho had built in the center of the village. 

It was a dark oak tree, considered a rarity in this world, and Etho was so proud of his work. He didn’t think anyone would dare to burn it down the very first week.

That was his first mistake.

If given a match, almost every contestant would light it and throw it away, to let “nature” take its course. And usually, “nature” directed itself toward another contestant’s most precious symbol.

Something changed inside Etho, as he watched his tree disintegrate. He was bitter and cold and vengeance was making a nice home in his brain. But he didn’t take it too far. Apart from a few shenanigans, he knew to keep it cool. He knew how to play but, perhaps if he were smarter, he could've won. 

****

Etho glanced back at their work, lighting up in pride. "The ship burns, everything burns," Joel had declared. And he was certainly true to his word. The server had completely dissolved into flames, smoke, and embers billowing in the air. The wildfire spread fast, leaving nothing but destruction and ashes in its path. 

It was breathtaking.

Etho never felt so good being red. And he had Joel to thank for that. Joel earned a reputation for being unstable and violent, always bloodthirsty but never satisfied, desiring to cause as much mayhem as he could.  

The soulbond always united their emotions. But their current status amplified their emotions tenfold and Etho never felt Joel so intensely before. He never felt his soulmate's emotions like this. All the thoughts of vengeance and fire and bloodlust were as overwhelming as it was enticing. Joel would continue to play with fire, even if it meant getting burned, and Etho would follow him to the end of the game, to the ends of this world, even if he burned as well.

Some would call Joel reckless. Etho calls him beautiful.

They returned to the remains of their ship, the smell of burning dark oak lingering in the air. Etho watched Joel the entire time. Actually, it was more accurate to say Etho was admiring him. 

Joel's nails were painted with dried blood and his ruby red eyes were wide. There was a permanent maniacal look in his eyes, an indicator of his diminishing sanity. As terrifying as they were, Etho couldn't help getting lost in them, lost in Joel's presence as a whole. He drank in the sight of his partner, his soulmate, standing there like a God with the flames of his havoc in the background, and Etho was down here, worshipping him, and—

And… Man, was Etho in love with him.

Joel rolled up his sleeves, to reveal faint burns on his arms, and crafted additional flints and steels. Etho had seen the burns several times. Sometimes, he’d absent-mindedly take Joel’s hand and gently brush his thumb over the wounds, mostly for comfort. He didn’t think anything of the burns at first, just that they hadn’t completely disappeared from the previous games. But suddenly, his mind was racing with thoughts and more memories from the past. However, it was Joel's thoughts that Etho was seeing now.

This… Never happened before. 

Memories were seldom shared between soulmates. This only happened if they had an inseparable bond, outside of the tether that connected their lives. 

(Etho’s heart skipped not just beats, but an entire symphony at the implications of that. But if Joel felt that too, it was only the adrenaline and not the shared sensations.)

****

Joel was surrounded by the fire, his roof encased in an inferno. His skin was already scorched from his first death, red and covered with welts that hadn’t completely healed. But he couldn’t escape the fire. He couldn’t put it out fast enough. And he couldn’t heal fast enough. Actually, he couldn’t heal at all. He was too focused on putting out the fire, despite his roof already being a lost cause. Wherever he turned,  there was another flame to step into. 

Below Joel, watching the entire spectacle with a satisfied smirk on their face was Cleo, who was satisfied at first, until Joel mistepped and burst into flames. And he came back, like a phoenix rising from his ashes, but he was one step closer to his grave. 

Joel couldn’t believe that this was all over a missile, that didn’t even work as intended—

Wait. A missile?

Oh. Oh.

That was Etho’s fault, wasn’t it?

It was Etho's plan to fire a missile at the Crastle. He got Joel roped into it. The missile was disarmed before it could set off but Cleo was still furious. Like Joel, Cleo enjoyed playing with fire but was better at not getting burned. Like Etho, Cleo knew how to stay frosty but she was better at winning. Unlike the two of them, however, Cleo knew when to stop getting revenge.

Joel and Etho didn't know when to stop. They didn't want to stop. They'd put an end to this when the universe puts an end to their relationship. And Etho hoped that wouldn't happen for a long time.

“I know what you’re thinking, Etho.” Joel’s voice snapped Etho out of his thoughts. Now that his bloodlust was satisfied (for now), he sounded much gentler and his voice was softer. “Thinking about the burns you gave me, right?”

“Well- Yeah.” Etho walked over to Joel and took his hand, gently running his fingers over the burns. They melted into his skin so well but they didn’t diminish his beauty in any way, shape, or form. In fact, they only enhanced it.“I don’t think I ever apologized for causing them.”

Joel smirked. “Don’t have to. I got burned so many times, it’s honestly ridiculous. Remember Dare to Flare?” 

Etho chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, you gotta give it to Tango. He knew how to make it sound enticing.” 

“He did, he did. And, well, you know me. Always looking for a little danger to spice things up.”

Etho raised a brow, intertwining his fingers with Joel’s. “Maybe that’s why I’m your soulmate,” he hummed, “since I’m so dangerous.”

“Yeah, right…” Joel leaned his head against Etho’s chest, the flames from afar continuing to spread and inch closer to them. “I think I’m the dangerous one here. Dangerous and tall and handsome—”

“And crazy,” Etho interrupted. “You are literally up to my chest right now.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “You could at least pretend. Plus, you can’t say you don’t find my craziness at least”— he rested his hand on Etho’s shoulder—“A little attractive.”

Etho shrugged, mischief glinting in his eyes. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” He lightly grasped Joel’s hip, taking a step backward. Joel reciprocated, a grin slowly appearing on his face. His eyes glittered slightly, like polished gemstones in the light, and Etho’s heart fluttered at the sight. 

They swirled around, the flames in the distance catching up to them. The fire was their stage and, as opposed to succumbing to it, they controlled it, together. It was a dance with death, but Etho and Joel were taking the lead. They’d take this world, hollow it out, and burn its remains while dancing on its ashes. Etho never thought he wanted this. Then again, he never thought he wanted Joel. But the universe proved him wrong.

And he didn’t mind that. 

Etho couldn’t keep his eyes off Joel. He didn’t want to because how had he spent these past few games, not giving Joel anything more than a second glance? How did it take him this long to notice Joel, to notice how seamlessly they worked together? And how could he not admit that he loved Joel, that he’d do anything he asked of him?

Void, did Etho fall for Joel. But he didn’t just fall hard. He fell directly onto bedrock.

Lost in a daze, Etho leaned down to kiss him but was stopped by Joel’s finger. “What, did you forget about the mask?” Joel asked, lips curled up into a smirk.

Ah, right. Etho forgot to take off his mask so often, it was as though it became a part of him.

“Yes, I did,” Etho said as he pulled down his mask. “But you distracted me.”

“Ah! So you do find me attractive!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I think you did.”

Etho tilted his head, slowly closing the gap between them. “I haven't made my case yet.”

“You don’t have to. I already won, just by being my intelligent and handsome sel—” Joel was interrupted by Etho’s lips, pressing against his own. Etho smirked against Joel’s lips. The message was clear: I’m the winner here. 

And Etho had won, as cheesy as it sounds. Though the Relation ship was reduced to ash, their literal relationship felt stronger and more fortified than before. And to Etho, that was a better prize than making it to the end of this game. Now, don’t get him wrong, winning would be nice. But even if their allies backstabbed them, even if they burned together because that was their destiny at this point… That didn’t matter to him.

What mattered was that they were still together, still strong.

And they were both aware that, as the captains, they would both go down with the ship. As long as they went down together, and took the world down with them… it would still be a perfect ending to their story.