#child pris meets future pris

[max05nb]

An echo of past wonders in the midnight sky

(read more for old art I redrawn)

Did I improve?

date 2023 march 18th (~2 years ago) :

[itsabouttimex2]

Plot Idea: Azure Lion unknowingly had a child with his lover before his defeat and death at the hands of Sun Wukong. Subsequently leaving his lover (and future Cub) to live on without him. Maybe their mother passes away during their birth? The kid long out lives their human family and their friends and their village.

Alone, sad and bored they go off on their own to explore the city that they’ve heard traveler’s passing through their village speak off. Megapolis is a bit overwhelming for them at first but they come across Pigsy’s Noodles. Pigsy seeing this borderline feral kid looking in his shop hesitated on shooing them away and offers them some food, a few years later MK arrives and the rest is history…

They finally meet Azure with MK and Mei trying to get the scroll. The kid has no idea that he’s their dad and Azure is just shocked to see them. He sees both himself and his old lover in their features.

His kid feels extra betrayed and he can see it in their eyes when the group confronts the now reunited brotherhood. They are 100% on MK’s side and don’t hesitate to fight with the group.

Maybe they land some heavy enough hits the Azure has to leave them behind or maybe he’s able to capture them and force them to come along with him and his brothers. Though with their rather vicious stubbornness they might be more of a hinderance to his quest than he’d like. Maybe he traps them in the scroll and keeps them on his waist like he does with Wukong?

I’d love to hear your thoughts about this idea 💖

Leonine Love

This is a really fun (and kinda sad) idea! I’m a big fan, actually! I loved this so much that I wrote a little (admittedly, non-yandere) intro because this is such a creative and interesting story idea.

Just… Lion!Y/N being pried from the arms of their dead mother, taken in by humans who recall Azure not as a delusional tyrant but a hero, recalling his mighty blade and fondness for mortals. How he knelt to level with children, how he stopped to help with the harvest. Feeling as though they owe him, the village takes you in and raises your as their own, watching in awe as your leonine ears and tail come in, marveling at the cyan growths.

Through a few generations you grow from infant to child, just in time for the legends of your father’s exploits to be consigned from legend to rumor, and now all the love you were lavished with has turned to dust.

To these new folk you are more fixture than family, an ever-present individual that they merely accustom to.

No more praise or warm embraces, no further tales of your ‘heroic papa’. All that you know about him is written on an old scroll that none are allowed to touch. Each story has been carefully penned, allowing you to preserve the legacy of a father you’ve never met.

With that scroll, a notable stash of pilfered money, and the clothes on your back… you bid farewell to a village that is no longer home, trudging out to find somewhere new.

And what name do you hear again and again?

Megapolis.

A few kind strangers help you along the way, hikers and hermits pointing you to the illustrious city and sharing supplies with what they take as a hapless child.

It feels too much like how you were treated by the original villagers, a communal child to be cherished and loved. Still, you thank them and leave, still intent on seeing this city with your own two eyes.

Of course, you’ve spent all your life in a slow and quiet village, so nothing has prepared you for even a single neon billboard, much less an entire futuristic city of light and noise, electric sugar for the eyes and ears.

The photonic onslaught of blinding light sears your eyes, leaving you disoriented and dizzy. Your stomach turns in circles, empty and begging for food. A strange black post that reaches to the sky blares with sound, causing you to scatter into the back alleys.

Any note of wonder at the electric rainbows and thrumming music is dashed by now, leaving you to curl up and sob, paws clamped tightly over your ears. There’s no one to wipe your tears or ask you not to cry, no one to tell you to be strong and brave. All you can do is crawl into the nearest discarded cardboard box, feeling like a coward and an outcast as you weep yourself to sleep.

And you wake up in a cozy little store, wrapped up tight in a two-tone changpao. A scholar argues at the front counter, the porcine demon behind it looking at you cautiously.

“They’re starving, Pigsy! You can see their ribs poking out, can’t you?!”

“I can see that! I’m just not sure about feeding a demon, Tang…”

“You’re a demon! A pig demon!”

“No, that’s different! I am a perfectly respectable noodle-chef! Not some damn ‘pig demon’!”

Hic. Sniff.

The little pitiful noises draw their attention, looking upon your quivering form with split reactions.

The scholar is worried, clearly. There’s a kindness in his eyes that looks almost ancient, like it’s been passed from generation to generation. He nudges his… friend? Rival?

You can’t tell what their relationship is, really.

The pig isn’t unkind with his gaze or words- cautious, maybe a little nervous. But he grumbles to himself at the sight of tears, stomping off to his kitchen and turning on the stove.

“You better be right about this kid, Tang…”

The scholar- Tang, then, comes to you and ushers your shivering and scrawny form onto a chair, pulling the changpao tighter around you.

“It’s alright, dear,” his soft voice promises. “Just sit down and try to relax. We’ll get a nice bowl of noodles ready for you-“

“There’s no ‘we’ about this, Tang!” Calls Pigsy, his voice booming above the clatter of metal and the sizzle of oil.

Actually, they do remind you of something- the old couples in your village who had been together a little too long and thus grown sick of one another.

But those were always men and women, weren’t they?

Tentatively, you wipe your eyes and ask:

“Are you two married?”

———————————————————————-

“That’s how we met Y/N,” Tang cheerfully explains, patting your head as you fixate your eyes on the ground.

The child (or is he a toddler?) -MK, as your fathers are calling him, looks up at you, stumbling over to your slowly swishing tail. “Kitty,” he says, a new animal he’s learned from the children’s books that you gave him. Tang had gifted them to you not long after he had convinced Pigsy to take you in, and now you had given them to the new kid.

New. Younger. Cuter. No demonic features. No fangs or sharp pupils or sheathed claws.

Are you being replaced?

“Kitty,” the little one repeats, tugging on the cyan fur of your tail. “Meow.” The babbling of a toddler or at least a very young child, stilted and happy. “Kitty.”

“Very good,” Tang praises, clapping his hands to provide encouragement. “What other animals do you like, MK?”

You step out of the room just as the adorable little thing starts to make loud oinking noises.

The storage room is tiny, just big enough to fit a few people and a cleaning cart. It’s fortified in case of emergencies, serving as a tornado shelter. You’ve spent a few prospective storms in here, clinging to Pigsy and sniffling at the sound of blaring sirens. Thankfully, nothing bad had ever even come close to happening, and eventually you shifted to viewing it as almost a break from the world. Just you and your…

Guardian. Boss. Caretaker.

You want to add father to that list. But taking that first step is a terrifying ordeal, and would involve putting yourself through a potential rejection.

You don’t think you could recover from that.

Another person enters the storage room, one hand on your shoulder. It’s not rough or big enough to be Pigsy. Not warm enough, either.

“Y/N? Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, Mister Tang.” Too fast. The words slur together, a falsity even by the first second you speak.

The freeloader sighs, lightly moving to tilt your chin up, meeting you eye-to-eye.

“You don’t come to hide in here when things are ‘fine’, dear. And you don’t slur your words like that, either. Why not tell me what’s wrong?”

“…do you think Pigsy likes MK better than me?”

“Wh-what? Y/N, why would you- dear, what’s going on?”

“…MK is a normal kid, isn’t he? He’s not some half-breed freak like me, and-“

“Y/N. I know you’ve been through a lot, but I don’t ever want to hear you say that again.”

A scholarly man with the build to match, Tang is far from strong. But he’s got just enough strength to pull you into his arms, letting you bury your head into the cloth covering his shoulder.

“Please, Y/N. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m scared that he doesn’t see me as his child,” you gasp out, clinging to Tang. “I’m not just his sous chef, tell me I’m not just his sous chef! Dad, please-“

“Dad?”

You break down a little further, legs giving out as your body struggles with the fearful anticipation of potential disappointment. You wait there against his chest, weeping.

“I don’t mind if you see me as a father figure, dear. If anything, I’m actually flattered. You don’t need to be worried about that.”

“Not mad?” You manage to spit out, face thoroughly drenched in your own tears.

“Not mad,” he confirms, patting your head. “Now, let’s dry those tears and get you something to eat. I talked Pigsy into making grilled cheese dumplings with canned tomato soup.”

A moment to compose yourself is taken, wiping your puffy eyes.

“Pigsy hates using canned food, though. He always says: “It’s a disgrace to my profession, using canned ingredients! There’s no alternative to fresh!” and then he’ll throw a spoon at whoever asked.”

“Well, MK loves them. And you know that Pigsy can’t say no to kids.”

And Tang was the only one who got spoons thrown at him, but he left that little bit out.

“Now, come on. Let’s get you to the bathroom to clean your face up. If Pigsy asks you can just say you got peppercorn dust in your eyes and needed a moment.”

The door opens, and you see the other half of this family, Pigsy and MK.

Family.

A real one, this time. Flaws and cons and stumbles thorned all along interwoven vines of love and adoration.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was yours.

[evita-shelby]

Hello Juli! Your turn to create something around Eva and Tina, I’m curious 🤭

this was very fun to write shark

cw: mentions of torture

The witch and the butcher

Tina Cacciatore has brought out a fear only seldom few had ever done to the Witch.

Cheerful and even bubbly, and yet her hands had more blood than Porfirio Diaz's most seasoned torturers.

“She really spooked you.” Jack finds himself at the end of her knife after he caught her unawares in her greenhouse. He had wanted to make use of the place now that he’d left work early knowing she’s on edge after their encounter with Luca and his pet murderer.

Luca will want to settle the score after Jack taught her how to wrap the piano wire around the man who bombed Wall Street to get rid of them. Celestina Cacciatore was who he needed for his revenge against them…against her.

“People that gleeful and bloody wouldn’t hesitate to torture a child.” Eva reminds him even if she knows his lack of worry is merely a façade.

“Spinetta doesn’t torture kids, goes against their honor code. No kids, no women.” Jack gently pries the knife from her hands and pretends he hadn’t increased the security around their family because of the butcher girl’s reputation.

“I don’t want to lose you, Jack.” The witch has not slept well, always fearing her husband wouldn’t come back one of these days.

“You won’t. You’ve said it yourself, Tommy Shelby will kill Luca in a few months. Butcher Girl will probably go to England to avenge him and will be their problem.” The Bostonian assures her as if he knew the future better than she did. “We’ll go back to Boston or your folks at Rockhall if you want, doll.”

“Can you stand being in my aunt’s company until Christmas?” the witch asks knowing it will be a trial but the Mafia can’t afford to trouble the crème of the crème no matter how high they climb.

Besides with the holidays coming up soon, it’s a good excuse to leave their home in Riverdale and seek safety in the country. They don’t need much to prepare, they only have four children and their suite has a nursery for baby Kathrine.

And yet, on the last day in the city Eva comes face to face with the yellow eyed fiend that haunts her nightmares.

“Hi.”She is bubbly and cheerful despite the unsettling mismatched eyes. Appearing friendly even if a bit too energetic despite the horrors she is capable of.

They were rumors of an exorcism done to see if it could fix her talent for cruelty, but it was no demon behind it, that was just who Celestina Cacciatore was.

“What do you want?” the witch steels herself and tries to remind herself the Black Hand was strict with it’s rules.

No women, no children, just buisness.

That the witch had humiliated Luca at a bath house after making him believe she’d fuck him was enough to make a man forget his own rules.

It had felt good, to corner Luca and get him to drop his guard long enough to get his cock in her hands and wrap the garrote around his balls.

He had been able to hold back his pain, the initial arousal making the experience quite unforgettable. Strega, he’d drawled as the pleasure turned into pain, you’ll pay for this.

Eva had laughed and tightened the wire as Jack helped her do it. They had thought themselves invincible, so untouchable  she and her husband had fucked as Luca laid there bloody and humiliated just across the room.

And now karma had come.

“Nothing, I just wanted to tell you how much I admire you.” The Butcher Girl had said as if she were a shy girl meeting her hero and not her enemy. “Just so fashionable and beautiful and they way no mob wife can even come close to you. Spinnetta's wife wishes she could have as much glamour as you do. And that’s not even talking about how your godfather is the Pope---”

Eva is not sure what to do about this.

Her reputation spoke for itself, she was the impossible ideal, the one and only Mrs. Nelson. That the girl who may one day torture and kill her and Jack was a fan, was the last thing she expected.

She could work this to their advantage.

[lumariane]

I’m only posting this so Tumblr hopefully stops thinking I’m a bot. Don’t plan on being active, but who knows what will come?

Tw: Minor whump; child abuse; hypothermia

Home

He finally made it.

Snowflakes danced in the bright light of street lamps and neon signs as Reva shuffled along the empty sidewalk. He finally made it to the city written on the package, now all he had to do, was to find the address. Everything was going to get better once he arrived. He was so close now that his stomach filled up with butterflies again, but this time they didn’t come from a childish fantasy, from mere ideas and potential futures, no, this was real, he could almost reach it.

His tired feet and sore legs begged for a break, so the boy ducked into the next alley he spotted where he slid down a wall and sat down. Rest. Finally. It didn’t matter that the cold seeped through his clothes, it didn’t matter that he couldn’t feel his toes anymore, or that his lips have turned blue. Was he shaking so violently because of the cold or out of excitement? Both, the boy figured. With trembling hands Reva took off his backpack and pulled out a tattered plushie that once could have resembled a rose coloured bunny.

"Avery look! We’re there! We almost made it!" His breath rose like a little cloud as the boy held the stuffed animal into the air, so it could see the city lights. Avery. He was the only reason Reva undertook this journey. The only reason he had this faint sliver of hope that kept him going, that gave him the courage to run away. Avery, his best friend and the one and only gift he received from his father, his real father, who he was going to find soon.

Three years ago a package arrived at their house with Reva’s name on it, at first he couldn’t even believe that someone sent him a package. Inside were a brand new plushie and a card.

Hello Reva,

I just found out you existed :)

Your mother never mentioned you to me, a shame really! Funny what you learn when you decide to check on old acquaintances isn’t it? Anyways, I’d love to meet you, maybe we can hang out and chat over some ice cream?

—Hisada (Your dad)

Reva couldn’t believe his own eyes. His real father knew about him, and he wanted to meet him! He sent him such an amazing gift too! Just as the boy wanted to go and tell his parents about the fantastic package, his mother dashed into the living room, her face paled with horror, and a letter in her hand. Before the child could say anything she had ripped the card out of his hands, tearing it to shreds after skimming through it.

"We have to leave… we have to move, he- he knows…" she mumbled as she walked back and forth through the living room, frantically trying to breathe.

She hated Reva’s father, he knew that well enough, his mother would always mention how his golden eyes were the same as her ex’s. But could he really be such a bad guy? His parents always called him a monster and were scared of him, but would a scary monster send his son, who he never met, a gift like that? The boy carefully approached his anxious mother "But- but mom, what if- what if he isn’t as bad as- as you think? Maybe he changed- I mean- look what he sent as a gi-!" Reva couldn’t even finish his sentence before his mother slapped him across the face and pried the toy from his hands.

"Don’t! Don’t ever say anything like that again! Don’t mention him, never!" The woman commanded, tears welling in her eyes "He is a monster, and you will not meet that man! Understood?!"

He flinched and yelped at the impact "Y-yes mom… I-I’m sorry" tears rolled over the boy’s red cheek "Can-can I… ple-please keep" Reva carefully pointed at the toy.

"No!" His mother shouted with a cracking voice.

The commotion now drew his stepfather’s attention too, who immediately sent the boy to his room. Later that day his parents announced they they will move, Reva didn’t understand why. But that night his mother apologised and told him he could keep the plushie after all. However, when they gave it back, it looked like they cut it open, some of the filling was removed too. His parents said that thy checked if something bad was inside of it. Reva almost cried again, seeing what had been done to the beautiful stuffed animal, but he knew he should be grateful that he was even allowed to have it back. That night he snuck out to the paper bin and ripped off the part of the package that had the address of the sender on it. He just wanted to keep it… for the future, in case he wanted to look for his father once he was an adult. The boy never expected that he would run away only three years later.

Reva hugged the bunny tightly, as if it could stop the freezing cold from seeping through his old hoodie. "We almost made it, everything will be better." he whispered faintly into Avery’s ear. No matter what his parents told him, it couldn’t be worse than at home, that was impossible. The boy kept telling that to himself whenever he began to doubt his decision, whenever he considered going back. It would only get better, Reva only had to get there.

He promised himself, and Avery that he would do anything to earn that better life. He swore that he would be a good and well behaved boy no matter what. Hopefully his father still wanted to meet him after three years. Surely the man wouldn’t be mad that Reva would just appear unannounced, or that it took him so long, right? How might his home look? Does he live in an apartment? That would make sense since he’s living in a city. Would he have kids? Reva would love that, he always wanted siblings! It had always been so lonely at home. He’d do his utmost to be the best brother there is!

Pictures of a happy family sitting around a richly decked dinner table, or cuddled together on a sofa and watching movies popped into his mind, making his blue lips curve into a smile. "We’re almost… there." Dull fingers carefully placed the bunny back into his bag and took out a faded piece of cardboard >> Hisada Masir ; 1245 Merito Ave << Oh how much he wished he had a phone to simply look up the way right now, but it’s okay, he could do it, he had already come so far. Frozen limbs began to move again, trembling and with rigid moves the boy rose. A thin layer of snow already settled on top of his hoodie as Reva stumbled forward on numb feet, every step hurting more than the last.

"…e..va…? …reva?…"

Snowflakes danced in the bright lights of street lamps and neon signs, as Reva gazed out of the car, his head leaning against the window. Savouring the cool glass against his blazing forehead. He finally arrived after hours on that overcrowded plane. In hindsight he shouldn’t have booked economy clasd.

"REVA!"

He flinched, hitting his head against the glass.

"Hey are you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet ever since we left the airport." His younger half brother looked at him with concern in his eyes. It made Reva chuckle. "I’m okay, just zoning out a little."

"Really? Come on, what’s on your mind? You know you can tell me!" Milo insisted.

"It’s nothing" The man smiled, "I’m just… I’m just getting a little nostalgic, that’s all."

"Good to be back home huh? Hey! Mom told me you’ll start working in the security and investigation department next year! Didn’t take you for that kind of person to be honest~"

"I am not ‘that’ kind of person, regardless of what you’re trying to imply." Reva rolled his eyes "I’m just doing paperwork there"

"Just paperwork? Really? Well I didn’t take you for such a dweeb either" The younger one teased, almost missing a red traffic light.

"Hey! Eyes on the road!” Reva shook his head “Once you reach my age and monthly income then we’ll talk pipsqueak. Anyways, how’s college?"

@a-crumb-of-whump

[apoptosync]

You earned this when you were born. You were groomed for the throne since before you can remember: given lessons in fairness, taught the difference between right and wrong, and punished for your mistakes. "If we do not punish you now for these mistakes, God will punish you worse when you make them in the future."

"Does God hate us?"

"God works in mysterious ways." So, yes, you gather.

Your father is the king. He is a wretched old man. You do not know how old he is and you refuse to ask. You are afraid the number may be much lower than you think. His hair is grey where it still remains and his skin is rippled with scars. When he looks at you all you can see is pain. You do not look forward to your turn on the throne, no matter how much your family and friends and people tell you it is a blessing.

The crown he wears is a permenent fixture. The thorns have been sitting atop his head so long that they have grown into his skull. His halo, as the people call it. The thorns to represent his past mistakes and the ring to represent his fairness and justness in old age. He is beloved; you know this. He does not seem to know this.

When he dies, his funeral is closed casket. "Death is a sin. God has punished his body for succumbing too soon."

"Does God hate us?"

"Hush now. Your father is lucky, he has been forgiven. He is in heaven with God, as is the rite of the king." So, yes, you figure.

You recieve the crown next. The thorns have been pried from your fathers skull. Sometimes you think you can still see his blood crusted on the thin metal spikes. You know enough to realize that the metal is plating; the thing itself is much too light to be solid gold. Perhaps God has mercy on you after all. He has spared you from the heavy burden of a solid crown.

Years tick by. You make mistakes you were never taught about, and God punishes you accordingly. A deal goes wrong with a neighbouring kingdom and you wake up in the night with agonizing fire scorching the fingers you pointed. A village goes without enough food for a week and your stomach acid rises to sizzle and scar your throat. You can feel yourself getting older much faster than you would have liked to.

You meet a wife. Despite all of your desperate attempts to avoid such a thing, God blesses you with a son. Your wife is pleased. You want to throw yourself into the firey pits of hell. She tells you that your son will not make such mistakes as you have made. You vaguely recall the same being said to your father about you.

The crown digs holes into your skull.

With a voice that crackles at the edges and stings to use, you sing your son to sleep every night. As he grows older you tell him stories about kings before you who were righteous and kind. "Like you, papa?"

"If you think so."

"Why does God punish you?"

"For my mistakes. It is the duty of a king."

"Why do you have to be king?"

"Because I was born for it. Just as you were born to be king after me."

"Do you like being king?"

"That is not for me to say."

"Does God hate us?"

"God works in mysterious ways." So, yes, you now know for sure. And you think he knows as well.

"Well, if you did not like being king... Could you stop?"

You have no answer, so you tuck him into his bed; kiss his forehead with your cracked, scarred lips; and tell him to sleep soundly. The question never leaves your mind.

As you live, and as you grow older and more damaged, you think. You think every second of every day about the question you had not been smart enough to ask as a child. What if you had refused to step up? What if being king was not for you? What if being king is not for him? Could you stop? Could he stop? Could your father have stopped?

Your son develops an interest in academia. He loves to read. Your wife insists he focus on his studies for kingship, but he would prefer to read about the stars. You sneak him away to your study so he may enjoy his youth in the way you were never allowed. In the way you were never brave enough to insist upon.

You need to protect him from the fate that this god has placed upon you and your family. A curse is what it is, you decide, rather than a blessing. You begin to speak of this curse and your wife calls you mad. After all, it must be a blessing that your family is so well off. It must be a blessing that such a fair and just king has been appointed. Your mistakes and subsequent punishments have made you strong, or so she tells you. You feel weaker than ever.

You do not stop talking about the curse. Your wife becomes angry with you and scolds you, telling you to watch your mouth in front of your son. He is impressionable, and he cannot be fed such lies as this. "He must become king. Who else could?"

"Anyone. Anyone else but him."

"You are a selfish man. Look at all that God has given you, and you scorn him with talk of a curse. You should be ashamed."

"You would rather our son look like me?"

"My son will not make your mistakes."

"Just as I did not make my fathers."

"He will be better."

"Do you think God hates us?"

"God works-"

"-in mysterious ways. His methods are mysterious, but his intentions are clear. He means to make us suffer. He means to make my son suffer." A tear escapes your eye. You are so filled with grief. You imagine your father must have felt similarly.

"You would question God?"

"I would question anyone who would bring harm to my child. He will not be king. He will never have this crown."

"You have no say in that. You will die and the crown will be passed to him."

In a fit of rage, you reach up and grasp the crown in your hand. The thing is embedded deeply into your head, and now as you grip it the thorns embed themselves into your hands. Your wife shrieks as she sees you impale yourself through the calloused skin and thick flesh of your hand. Your grip does not waver. You grip hard and you yank the crown off of your head. Blood dribbles in streams down your face, falling past your eyebrow and into your eye. A searing pain shoots through your head, but you can not bring yourself to care.

With your other hand, you grip the other side of the crown and impale that one too. One haughty tug is all it takes to break the thing in two. You throw each half to either side of you. Something black and thick oozes out of the hollow gold and splatters against the walls where each half hits them.

Your wife looks horrified. You feel dizzy. "That crown will not be burden to anyone ever again. It never belonged to us."

"You are a mad man. I have married a mad man!"

"And you are a blind woman. Retrieve my medic immediately, or I will walk out of this room myself and find him. Perhaps you would like our son to see what a king looks like after being driven mad."

She runs and does not return. Your medic rushes in to treat your wounds and get you something to drink. Your head feels so much lighter now. You think the crown carried more weight than you had originally suspected. Everything is so clear now.

You realize the next day that your wife has left for good. In the night, while you rested, she had her belongings packed away and driven off somewhere. You do not care to know where. You find your son awake in your study when you pull yourself from your bed in the morning.

He looks up at you from the spread pages of a star map hidden away inside one of his favorite books. His eyes travel up to your bandaged head. You can tell he has been crying. You do not know what to say.

"Mother left last night."

"Yes. Yes, I know."

"She told me she will not be coming back."

"You spoke to her?"

"She spoke to me. Did you destroy the crown?"

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"Does that mean you are no longer king?"

"I am not sure." You move further into the room and turn your eyes down to the star map that covers the majority of your desk. "Did you want to be king?"

"No."

"I thought not."

"Did you want to be king?"

You hesitate. "No."

"I thought not."

You smile. "I did not think I had a choice."

"Do I have a choice?"

"You do now."

He smiles. "You broke the curse."

"I believe I did, yes."

"And mother was angry at you for doing so."

"She believes the curse to have been a blessing."

"She was blind."

"I told her as much."

"Does God hate us?"

You think for a moment. "I believe God was always giving us a choice. But blind faith clouded the vision of those who came before us."

"Who will be king after you pass?"

"I do not know. I will give the people the choice."

"You would let the people choose?"

"I would let the people choose before a God who has never lived among us."

"And if the people choose wrong?"

"Then that is a lesson learned by man for man. Not a lesson learned by man for God."

"I think there has never been a wiser king than you. Even if some may think you to be mad."

"Wiser men than me shall come. You are one of them."

He smiles again and you turn your eyes back up to him. He looks at you with an adoration that you finally feel you deserve.

"I love you."

"I love you too. Come help me make breakfast. My hands are otherwise occupied."

The divine right of kings but it's a curse

[theodosiani]

Cosima de Riva has felt exceptionally fragile most of her life. Not that she small, per se for she towers taller than most elves. At height with and even surpassing some humans, but while her limbs are corded with muscle there is little else besides. Her bird bones brittle beneath, she eats the bare minimum to keep her body from eating itself, for eating much more often makes her want to retch. Viago fusses, he is one of the few to care for her in some fashion, as a child she clung to it but now as an adult she scoffs. He is protecting his investment, it is not a true affection. Love is killed among the crows.

She dodges because if she is hit she will break, she dashes out of the grasp of those who would harm her. Until she can’t and then she braces as knives flay her skin, surgical tools crack her ribs open and the soothing bite of healing magic thrums it all back together so her teachers may do it again. All while chiding for her to stay quieter this time. After the lesson is done, when she shudders and shakes Viago will place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze gently until her body stills its involuntary movements.

She drowns, once, twice, thrice and she loses count. Until she can loose all the air from her lungs and let her body sink like a stone. They leave her there, if she cannot get back then it was a poor investment. She has no memory of swimming to the edge of one of the canals but surely she must have. She wakes up lungs burning, eyes streaming tears, Viago above her. He could not have pulled her out, because to do that would be to interfere with her training and he is such a stickler for rules. He only found her, she assures herself. He practically carries her back to the casino, steady grip around her shoulders and calm, confident voice assuring her she has passed this test.

She grows into delicate features filling out bird bones and once, when she is nearly of age, a man she is sent to kill leers at her before his throat is slit. She thinks of the crow women she knows, seductive and charming and how some of them would have finished this job hours sooner perhaps by slipping into the man’s arms. It fills her with Dread. She slathers kohl around her eyes with shaking hands, traces the dark circles beneath her eyes and broadens them until her face is less a beauty and more grotesque. Morphs her lips from appealing to distorted like a carnival mirror, a face that draws the eye away in disgust with the swipe of a brush. She feels more like herself, more grounded even as Viago’s brows practically raise into his hairline when they next meet.

She struggles often, with looking at people and seeing people not simply future corpses. It isn’t that she feels nothing at all, she felt too much when she was young and it only ever hurt her. It is why she drew back, from her peers and from Viago. He thought her growing and maturing past her clinging ways when truly she’d simply been rotting, soft touches something she feels so incapable as the crows poured more and more poison in her veins. The crows kill more children in Treviso than the antaam, they simply leave half the corpses standing in Antivan leathers holding daggers—

It’s a child that draws her—the cry of a little boy as he’s dragged by an antaam warrior to the other prisoners. His clothes are ragged, too short in the ankles and wrists and his shoes sloppily woven from water reeds by little hands. She had shoes like that once, before the crows gave her finer boots than she’d ever seen and put a debt on her name that could only be paid in blood. She barely thinks, dashing forward a knife in the soldier’s throat and the child in her arms. No more dead children please, her mind begs as she slaughters the rest of the patrol. The crows find her, slathered in Qunari blood, cradling the little boy against the crook of her neck and hushing him with Antivan lullabies.

Viago banishes her the same night, pries the child from her protective grip before passing him along to the other survivors she only just realizes she’s saved. She isn’t allowed back onto crow property to collect her things, so Viago fetches them. One hand on her shoulder like a vice, he hurries her out of the city. The last thing he does is press a pack into her hands, when she opens it hours later she finds rations enough to get her through the week, gold enough to buy safe passage from the next harbor, and wrapped carefully so they did not shatter from hasty packing her cosmetics.

Protecting his investment, as he always has.

[feitania]

𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊:

𝕸𝖊𝖑𝖕𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖊

the muse and patron of tragedy

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘: when you are just a child, your father, Viscount Haitani, promises you to Duke Akashi's second son- the cold and distant Akashi Haruchiyo. Now engaged at the tender age of seven, you fall into your first tragedy of an arranged marriage with a total stranger who doesn't even seem to like you and betrays you the first chance he gets. And even worse; years later when you meet again the hatred for each other still burns in your veins, mixed with something else...

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: hurt/comfort, reader is a child in the prolouge, misogyny

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Sanzu Haruchiyo x Reader

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘: Akashi Haruchiyo, Akashi Senju, Akashi Takeomi, Haitani Rindou, Haitani Ran

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

The first time you met the Akashi Family you were barely seven years old, still hiding behind your mother's legs and shyly burying your face in her skirt when approached by a stranger- too young to fully understand why you suddenly had to spend time with kids you never talked to before.

You rather wanted to spend more time with your brothers who were outside most of the day; Rindou learning with furious motivation how to master hand-to-hand combat while Ran instead specialized on his perfect, noble appearance, riding around the estate with such arrogance yet charming confidence that even your father could only shake his head.

Even when you were standing in the entrance hall of the Akashi household with tears in your eyes, grabbing onto Rindous trousers and begging them to stay with you, it was your mother who harshly pulled you away.

But your parents had made it clear that they didn't want you -the precious and only daughter of viscount Haitani- to run around in the dirt like they allowed your brothers to do.

“Do not start crying now, your face will be all red,” she said while leaning down to smooth out any possible wrinkles on your silk brocade dress. “No man desires a woman with a bloated face.”

That you were far too young to even be desired was something your mother ignored in favour of rearranging the pearl pins in your hair.

Maybe it was the unusual quietness that filled the air with a heavy tension or the frown on Ran's face as he stared straight ahead but instead of opposing your mother's words, you swallowed the tears burning in your eyes and looked at your feet while your father gently pried Rindou away from you.

A maid greeted and escorted you through the garden to the dining hall where you were supposed to meet the Akashis. If you weren´t so nervous you would have enjoyed the walk through the beautiful garden filled with white roses, dark lavender and vines crawling up columns out of black marble with silver ornaments. Small and well-kept ponds with lotus blooming beautifully were seated symmetrically on the side of the stone path leading to the imposing Duchy.

The meeting itself was a quiet affair.

Your brothers had a little bit more interest in the estate, Rindou laging behind to watch an exotic looking fish and Ran pointing at various flowers and whispering their names into your ear- to distract you probably.

“You two must be the sons of the Viscount! And you,” he bowed down to you and smiled, taking your hand and squeezing it, “must be the daughter of my old friend. Haruchiyo´s future bride.”

The Duke and his children were already waiting for you at the entrance, giving your father a nod and your mother a hand kiss which she accepted with blushing cheeks before turning to you and your brothers.

Just as with your mother, he gave you a short kiss on the back of your hand- which you wiped off on your skirt in mild disgust when no one was looking -before turning around to the three children standing behind him.

You knew the Akashi siblings already from your father's stories and your brothers' friends' sister, princess Emma, who occasionally invited you to play dates but you have never seen them, never interested enough to care about other people apart from your brothers.

Takeomi Akashi was a name you had heard at least once at dinner parties when you had to sit at a table with adults who talked about things you didn´t understand. He was crown prince Shinishiro's best friend and the heir to the Dukedom.

Senju Akashi was the daughter, a little younger than you but so beautiful you felt underdressed even when she only wore a simple dark gown and had wild hair with a flower petal still tangled in it while you were dressed in your best clothes and most expensive looking jewellery.

And then there was him. Haruchyio Akashi. The second son of the Duke, a prodigy with incredible wit and fighting talent, the boy who looked like an angel, even more ethereal than his sister.

Your future husband- at least that´s what your mother had excitedly told her friends could happen to be at a dinner party of hers.

You curtsied, bending down low just like your Governess showed you, but instead of lowering your gaze you dared to look up to Haruchiyo again, hoping to find something- anything -that would indicate of his excitement to finally meet you. But there was nothing.

The youngest Akashi didn't even look at you, his aloof gaze went right past you into the distance as if he didn´t even care about you.

In that moment you felt your fragile, young heart breaking for the first time.

In all these years of getting told how important marriage was, especially for a young Lady like you, you always imagined that it would still be out of love. That the person who would be your betrothed would make your heart beat faster, enlighten a firework inside your body and hang you the moon and stars the moment your eyes meet.

The rest was a blur of colors, greetings and meaningless conversation mostly lead by Duke Akashi and your father while your brothers tried to throw peas at each other without your mother noticing and Haruchiyo…ignoring you.

You realized you were lied to.

Over the years, you tried your best to appeal the youngest Akashi son; You were on your best behaviour, asked your mother to dress you in color matching gowns, started sneaking into your brothers’ rooms to read the more mature books about politics and war your father never allowed you to own and followed Haruchiyo and his friends around like a duckling, hopeful he would turn around and take your hand.

He was seated to your right but you didn't dare to peer over to him more than to his hands, which were gripping the silver cutlery until his knuckles turned white. Suddenly you were nearly glad for the distraction in form of a pea being sent your way by Rindou.

When you were ten, he seemed to be more annoyed by your presence with each sent letter, each visit. If it wouldn´t have been for his parents and the prince who was in his company, you were sure he would have started actively hiding from you.

“Oh my dear, look at that: Another present for you.”

Which made the gifts in his name sent to the Haitani estate each week much more confusing for you.

A big bouquet of white and pink flowers greeted you at the breakfast table, as well as a box adorned with a white bow and letter tied to it.

Ran and Rindou were already sitting at the table, grinning at the courting gifts with teasing looks.

“Another little something from your admirer,” Rindou said in a saccharine voice, “what could it be this time?”

“It must be personally hand-picked from Akashi himself, he is such an attentive young man” Ran joined in.

“Boys.”

You´re father looked up from the end of the table to shot your brothers a warning look before turning back to his newspaper.

You sat down, curiously smelling the flowers before gently loosening the bow off the wooden box and looking for it´s content.

It was, like usual, a small but expensive looking accessorie for your dress or hair– mostly golden pins with jewels or pearls looking like tears hanging onto silver bands.

Your jewellery had expanded into an excessive collection over the last years, overflowing with satin ribbons, necklaces, rubies and delicate looking tiaras– offerings that promised devotion, a good life and all of them oh so beautifully unpersonal.

You knew your mother and maids were all enamored with the gifts your fiancé sent you but he could have written any other name on it and it would still be an appropriate present loved by many. It was painfully obvious to you that he probably wouldn't even notice which ornaments were his if he would meet you wearing them.

Only the flowers seemed to be somewhat picked with thought. They matched either your taste or the weeks weather.

But what really got your interest were the letters hanging on the box. The only things that were surely Haruchiyo´s doing.

Still occupied with the jewellery, nobody saw when you let the envelope slip into your lap, hidden away by the layers of your dark red overskirt. This was your secret, not shared with your mother who was currently gushing over the pearls sewn onto the black veil, not with your father or your brothers. It was entirely yours.

You couldn't remember when it started, the letters from him, but you cherished every fast written and messy word on it.

The letters weren´t like the other things he sent, less formal and with sarcastic remarks and dramatic description in mean undertones. They were more outlet for him than a serious message, he probably didn´t think you would catch onto his little secret rant. But you did.

“Why do you smile so bashfully?” Rindou asked from across the table while Ran was still occupied with feeling up the fabric of the newest courting gift.

And you enjoyed every letter.

Your gaze shifted to your brother. His blonde hair was tied together neatly which meant he had classes today, something he hated with a passion you weren´t aware he could muster.

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do!”

“You must be seeing things.”

“You are turning red out of anger then?” He leaned further onto the table, his purple, tired eyes glinted dangerously. Teasing was usually Ran's speciality but when your oldest brother was busy Rindou faithfully took over the task of annoying you until you lashed out and tried chasing after your brothers with your petticoat and tightly laced dress slowing you down constantly.

“Maybe it is your fault I am reddening,” you shoot back.

“Your adoration flatters me, sister.”

“Oh, shut up.” You kicked back your chair and excused yourself before stomping out of the dining salon.

Dearest fiancé,

In your room you threw yourself onto your bed and let your body sink into the soft cover. You waited a few minutes if a maid or perhaps your mother would come in before you fumbled the letter out of your dress. Opening it swiftly with your nails you turned on your belly and eagerly unfolded the letter.

No uniquely dark-colored pearls from the deepest sea could match your smile,

no silk compares to your smooth, oily skin,

Still, I hope, no, I wish for you to cherish this gift,

which I humbly present you as my sign of love and devotion.

Yours entirely and in love

Because of your young age and the fearsome reputation of your eccentric brothers you didn´t receive many love letters and even less gifts and poems, unlike other girls like princess Emma who, at the tender age of eight already had a box full of discarded proposals from men across the country.

H.

When you met her for tea for the first few times, thanks to your brothers' connections to the second prince, she had shown you a few of them and you were mesmerized by the bold and devoted letters men twice your age wrote to the blonde girl.

“My brothers said I shouldn´t read them like a letter but a business proposition,” she had explained to you when you both were hunched over the pile of envelopes in her pink and blue bedroom.

“Why?”

“Because they lie. It´s not like they adore me like a lover does, my brothers said.”

“What do your brothers know of love then?” you had asked, scooting closer and smoothing the edges of your black and white flower dress.

“Oh, I do not think any of them knows what love is,” she had paused for a second to lower her voice, “even less how to talk to a woman.” And then she had fallen over in a fit of giggles which you had joined, rolling around the thick carpet until your tummy hurt.

After that, she had told you about a boy. A friend of her brother, a commoner of low status who caught Manjiro´s attention by sheer luck, always getting kind of awkward and looking out of place yet confident and kind when talked too. You had seen how she had blushed when she described him and you had hoped to maybe, one day, talk about someone with the same smitten expression as she had done.

Lying on your bed and thinking about a smart response, hopefully matching his undertone, wasn't exactly what you thought would be the nearest thing you'd get to the love you have seen in your friends’ eyes but nevertheless you were excited for them, for him.

It was a silly fantasy that you entertained yourself with, having his attention for yourself because he wanted to, not because his parents forced him.

And if you kept all the ill meant letters in a box under your bed fostering a strange attachment to the only honest emotions shown from the older boy, no one had to know.

Half a year later you moved them to your closet to read while the maids dressed you in the morning.

A final, formal letter wearing the akashi family crest callously cancelling your engagement was last to enter the flames. And so you were left humiliated and heartbroken, crying earnestly in the company of your brothers all still clad in ornate mourning attire from Shinichiro's death, and hosting a funeral of your own...

Another half year later and you burned them all, accompanied by your brothers.

[quinntamsin]

Denna let out a cry of joy as the ship crested over a wave and hut the end of it with a hard think. The wind was causing their vessel to speed quickly across the ocean as she and Kwynn headed south to attend a wedding in the neck. The banner of House Ceallach, a white raven on a black banner, sailed above on the mast. Her wife, the Lady Ceallach was busily speaking to the captain as they were only perhaps a few miles before making port.

House of the Dragon S1E8 "The Lord of the Tides". We open with the Lord of Hightide injured from fighting in the Stepstones. Vaemond seems intent on taking it from his own family. Rhaena stands beside Rhaenys as she sits the Driftwood throne. I like how there is still succession debates going on among the Houses of the Blackwater Rush. Is it a Valyrian trait to turn on family; I wonder how they plan on introducing the next Lord of Driftmark, Alyn Hull aka Velaryon. The King tries to focus on the happy as Alicent prays for lord Vaemond. They toast Lucaerys as everyone else including Aegon the fuckwad decides to be a fuckboy. Seriously, that little rapist would reserve the death he gets later. Switching to Dragonstone we see that new fortifications have been built on the great fortress as we zone in on the firemount for some reason. Deep within a crevasse, we see someone stealing a Dragon Egg? It's Daemon he pries the egg from a strange almost dragonglass-made nest. Daemon seems happy about the new eggs as he receives a message from his daughter. Grown-up Jacaerys definitely is lighter in hair than his younger self, as he practices High Valyrian over Aegon's epic table. He is dismissed as Daemon enters to give information to hise Niece-Wife, about the ongoing turmoil of Hightide. Vaemond's own action makes me think he's been causing more problems as we see the Strong Children getting their status questioned. Honestly, I wouldn't put it past Lord Otto to play up the bullshit. The Velaryon-Targs make their arrival back in King's Landing where they hope to put aside ongoing issues with Lady Rhaenys. THey are welcomed by no one, the Queen isn't there (way to go Ali-Karen) and a person pops up without notice. Inside the Red Keep is silent, everything is darker as there's more evidence of the Seven. The typical bullshit of the Andals as many of the Valyrian accouterments have been removed. The Queen Wears a seven-pointed star like it's a fucking shield on her as we see the Greens are trying further to attack the kids. It would have been less outward about it. Sir Erryk alerts the Queen to what we will find out is Aegon being a raper (and her being a total White Karen and pushing to cover it up). Rhae enters her father's chambers with Damon as they are much darker and more forlorn than before. Viserys' illness has spread farther than before. The right of his face is almost entirely bandaged as only his nose is left free. WE can see that the King is fading, Daemon informs the King of the Sea Snakes fall in battle. When Daemon pushes the King seemingly just repeats it. WHen he meets the youngest boys including Visery II and Aegon III, his stuttering scares the children. I mean they are kids. In the Queen's presence the girl is crying, her face roughed and ruffled I am they didn't fucking show us the actual scene. The aftermath is all we need when it comes to the GoT TV series' history of treating women. She tells him how she asked him to stop and the Queen appears to have some mercy for the girl. Some sympathy but honestly, as I watch I know it's all fucking fake. Alicent proceeds to basically threaten the shit out of the girl showcasing that she's not just a bad mother, but also a terrible Queen! She even pays the girl off like a fucking Corporate HR Karen. This scene is so seriously horrific as the girl is forced under duress to drink Moontea to abort the child. So, wow, I really wished they didn't have this, but I will say this Alicent is trying. The soon to be future King as he's ignoring everything all the Queen can do is strike him. Yup, this is a real Bateman hotel. He's ignoring Helaena, and then he tries to whine about how the world is so hard. Helaena pops up and being the just pure soul she is asks for Dyana to watch the kids. Her walk in to speak to Alicent ends as predictably as it could. The Strong Lads head out to the training yard dressed in dark cloaks as befitting their status as scions of House Targaryen. They discuss their current status as Aemond being a total badass in the fighting ring faces off against Sir Criston. Aemond is just so fucking unhinged as he asks his Nephews if they wish to train. In the situation pops Vaemond who is here to be the pissant he is and we prepare as the Lord of the Tides is to be decided. Otto does it all under the guise of putting a child in command. This could easily be decided by Rhaenys standing as a fucking Regent. She has served with her husband and we know Daemon is also a battle-ready fighter. Whatever it is, we travel to the Godswood where Rhaena leads in Rhae to speak to her family. Rhae is right that Rhaenys is there to proclaim herself. Laenor is still alive, and we know Rhae hatched the scheme to let him fuck off under the lie of being dead. It makes me wonder how Rhaenys come to side with the Black Council if she's just going to ignore shit. The Hightowers are going to pry away at Rhae for her status and for her children. We know that Laenor tried to have sex with her, but gave up for his own boundaries. SO she turned to someone to help and that was sir Harwin Strong. If Larys had not broken his family apart as a fucking Kinslayer the Strongs would have been there to back the Black Council. Rhae pops up in the night to speak to her father about the "Song of Ice and FIre". The writers here are leaning hard into more Dreamer work, but we know that Aemond's future came true. Rhae admits she likely didn't really want to lead the kingdom, she's lost a lot here. How all of the ongoing weight of the future and her desire to rule are so damn overpowering. Watching Rhae beg her father is so fucking heartbreaking. She is trying so hard, but her former best friend and her father are tearing it all apart. And the King can do nothing because he's falling apart from his own illness.

Valar Morghulis. As he is wrapped again by the Maesters he speaks to Otto as he calls for supper in the redkeep. He wants his family, his fading vision of family unification, to be somewhat true, even for a moment. As he taken back to bed we see sores covering his body as a shadow of the Seven paints the room. Back in the throne room Otto stands before the chair facing toward those issue and sits upon it. THe fool. Vaemond is up, he goes with the History, and goes on his purist bullshit. The Velaryons have married into the Targs enough for both Houses to have a healthy CLaim. I mean that he pushes harder on declaring the Strong Kids as illegitimate. Rhae's argument begins as someone else, the King enters, and he's hobbling worse than Maester Aemond is. Half is face is masked in gold much like Baldwin IV of Jerusalem. His walk to the Iron Throne is painful as he glances between his wife, brother, sons, grandchildren and his daughter. He basically tells Otto he's there to sit, even in pain, he will sit the Throne. Valar Dohaeris. Bearing down on his cane he is helped up by his brother who for once seems above his own bullshit in this scene. Daemon picks up his brother and the Crown and settles Viserys into the Iron Thone. Excellent acting done by Paddy Considine. THe King's actions here will mean that Vaemond get's set aside, and so does Luke. Baela sits with the Strong Kids, she mentions the fucking marriage agreement. But this seems like a nice build up as Lord Vaemond decides to go full on bullshit. He throws a tantrum and decides to argue with the King. He is about to say it when we see that Daemon is about to go stepdad on his ass and murder the fucker. He calls it out before the King. and insults the heir-apparent of the Seven Kingdoms. And as the king calls for his tongue he beheads Vaemond using Dark Sister. I will be honest, this was an epic as fuck scene, as Lord Rhaenys sits over the body of Vaemond is prepared for funeral. Rhaenys speaks of the STranger, of how Death has haunted her House too much recently. First her daughter, then her goodbrother. Laenor is not included since he was willing to traumatize his family to fuck off. Yes, I get it he wanted to go do his shit, but he left his mother with a lie instead of at least a clue. "It both gladdens my heart and fills it with sorrow." He makes a point at going straight for the jugular at the division of the Hightower and Velaryon Targaryens. He removes his mask to showcase the damage done to his face by the disease that has been eating at him. Valar Morghulis, the king shows him his true face. He's trying so hard for his family to not continue this bullshit. If only Alicent would -just- let shit go. He -begs- them to let it go, and we can see that Alicent is filled with emotion. Which will result as Rhae gives Alicent a compliment, and apology. Rhaena tosses the woman another fucking olive branch, one that could have ended all of this. ALL OF THIS. She admits that Rhae will make a fine Queen, but there's Otto in the background ready to stir shit again. Can someone just off or detongue the bastard. Aegon is a literally drunken fool, and Aemond is a war-weary asshole.  And Aegon decides to insult to injury and Jace stands like a man. He could apologize for attacking Aemond (which would have done nothing, but made him appear the bigger person). He did the smart thing though in not playing to Aegon's childishness. Helaena pops up and talks about how horrible her husband is and this was great. Aegon deserve to be eaten by a fucking Dragon as Jace walks off to be with Helaena. This is a pairing that should have happened, but no Karen Queen had to push them together. The family seems happy hear at least a little bit, Aegon is a fuckwad who should be gelded. Rhae is smiling even Aegon is happy as is the Queen. For a night, the King gets his dream, a family without stsrife, but this is a false narrative. He is dying, we can see as the pain begins to take him and Daemon watches. Aemond decides to open his fucking mouth, decides to level another insult, he decides. Alicent is trying at this point, we can see that it is now the generational feud that is spreading now. She says she will return on Dragonback, but I don't think the Princess will return. We switch to the dark of the Keep as music plays in the background. Someone is stalking somewhere in the night. Is this Daemon visiting the White Worm. No it is someone else. We sweep into the King's bedroom where he is struggling with the pain of his illness. I do rail against ALicent, but the woman IS trying. She is dealing with a father who encourages her to cover up and not actually deal with her sons problem. She is surrounded by men who have pushed her into this situation. And she is in a marriage where her husband is a walking corpse. In his throws of pain he speaks of the prophecy of the Song, and he eventually pushes ALicent into a position which is foolish. If anyone writes a good Alaenyra story giving Rhae and her a good start I will jump on that bitch fast! Alicent leaves her husbands room after hearing his rambling as she thinks he wants Aegon to succeed. Knowing nothing of what he meant she will take this as the King Breathe's his very last it seems. He tears up, seeing how the ravages of his future will result in the death of his line mayhap. Thus the King died, Long LIve King Aegon II and thus came the Dance of Dragons. Gay Canon Damn, like seriously damn, I have some really good ideas involving a few characters here. I wanna say that once I finish up some work I will be dabbling in an Alaenyra story for next season. A sort of spite to the fuckery that is the sexism of Westeros. I want to be clear, this is me spiting what Weiss and Benioff did to a sound storyline. I like what HoTD is doing, I think it has a solid story in its hand. At the same time I want to take in hand what I think could have been a take on the Targs not descending into the sickening rot that will become of their future Kin. Hottakes The Driftwood Throne is pretty bamf.

Thank gods they didn't actually show us that gender violence scene.

I like how they are playing up Aemond as a childish almost sociopathic clone of Daemon. The stand off near the end mirrors their ended together well above the Gods Eye.

This show is really doing a good job as expressing and showcasing generational trauma.

Helaena is fucking precious.

All of these time skips are fucking with my head.

They say only four seasons, I would have made it six with fewer time skips.

[sukirichi]

earned it [01]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it.  But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

request. (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + (dumbification, praising kink)

cw. smut, overstimulation, slight dumbification, praising kink, slight degradation, spanking, belt whipping, explicit murder, rough sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), multiple sex scenes, riding, slight angst, veryyy unedited, sex when standing up, sex in pretzel position, dom! gojo, manhandling

notes. 🦋 anon, thanks so much for the request! i hope you love this one, i absolutely poured my heart and soul into this! minus the effort to edit, i’ll just edit this when i’m no longer sick lol

series masterlist

There he was again.

Working in a high-class restaurant located in the heart of the city meant you were no stranger to seeing people of power and titles, but he never failed to make everyone stop in their tasks every time he came around.

You don’t know his name, much less his usual orders since his usual table – middle 98 – wasn’t in your rotation. But you’re held captive in his presence, attention drawn to his broad shoulders clad in what seemed like a hand-stitched three piece suit, his striking white hair falling down in smooth tendrils. There’s something about the way he walks – confident doesn’t begin to describe it – that makes everyone surrounding him feel like they’re merely spectators to the enigma that was him, and he carries this observation proudly in his shoulders, that mischievous smile never absent from his face.

Your co-worker tugs at your sleeve, nearly knocking the empty wine glasses away from your tray. Barely catching them as you falter, you bow down to them in apology. No matter how intriguing the mysterious midnight comer was, you were still working. You needed to keep your head focused and in the game.

Hours pass by of shifting from one table to another, your hands beyond cramped from scribbling down such intricate orders. It’s a miracle you were hired in a place as luxurious as this in the first place when you couldn’t pronounce, much less spell the main dishes, but you proved through determination and hard work that the miracle was also accompanied by your grit. It didn’t matter that you were the youngest part-timer with little to no experience – unexpected things always happened when you’re backed in a corner, leaving you with no choice but to follow through.

This corner was nothing less than the struggle to make ends meet. While you’re lucky to have gotten accepted in one of the top state universities, there still came the issue of tuition fees, plus dorm occupations.

You don’t have the privilege to complain or whine that your experiences are probably not on par with what they expect of you, so you have to do your best; you have to keep pushing no matter how hard it gets and you’re barely awake for class the next day.

Clocking out, you bid goodbye to your co-workers and thank them for their hard work, about to leave through the back door when you hear his voice.

Your gaze lands on him from outside the kitchen, body twisted in the direction of where he sat, long legs crossed one another. He’s thanking the waiter for the wine, and you wince, because it isn’t just any wine. That’s one of the drinks locked in the special cellar because of its hefty price, yet there he was, swirling the red liquid around in his glass as if the amount of zeroes never bothered him. He’s reading something from his tablet, head tilted to the side as he drinks, and that’s when you see it.

It’s so miniscule you would’ve believed it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’ve seen in this class during one of your laboratory practices, the burn marks on your wrist a painful reminder of your carelessness.

Your boss’ shouts of warning fall onto deaf ears as you push past the double doors, feet moving on its own. The edge of the glass makes contact with his lips, gray lashes flattering across his cheeks, while time and sound becomes nothing but background noise to you. Your cry is inaudible when your hand pushes the glass away from his grip, the sounds of it shattering into pieces like a wake-up call to both of you.

For the first time since you’ve met him, the faintest look of surprise crosses over his face. His hands remain into a reflexive hold of the now missing glass, azure eyes cutting through yours.

You bow down to apologize – you can’t believe you’ve just done that and how his suit was stained and his pants soaked – but the words that left his lips stun you beyond disbelief, effectively freezing you in your state. His voice holds the same iciness as the blue of his pupils, but to you – just for you – there’s a tinge of awe behind them.

“Odd,” he says, “To think my life would be saved by you.”

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutched on the blanket covering your bare frame. There’s sweat forming on your hairline as you look around, wincing at the sliver of light passing through the curtains. Silver, ceiling length draperies obscure the view of the city skies outside, a huge reminder of where you are now – somewhere between the past and the future that’s about to come – and the king-sized bed you lay on almost feels like a dream.

Right. It’s been two years since you’ve met Satoru, the once mysterious customer turned into lover, an arrangement between financial aid and companionship solidifying your relationship with him now.

Your face burns at the sight of your clothes scattered all over your shared room. Your lace panties somehow end up on the chandeliers, the expensive material of your silk dress about to slide off the humongous TV and your bra hanging off the doorknob.

The light ache between your legs does nothing to appease your embarrassment. Even after two years of being with Satoru, it’s still difficult to believe he’s chosen you of all people.

He could’ve had anyone he wants. Not only is he beautiful, young, successful, and smart, he’s also an absolutely god in the sheets, your throbbing core attesting to his never ending array of his skills. Truly, Gojo Satoru was perfect, so much so that you pale in comparison to him no matter how much he’s assured you you’re the only he has eyes on.

It doesn’t make sense to you, but does it have to?

Love never required a logical reason for it to blossom, and you left it at that, fearful that it may just ruin whatever happened between the two of you. Besides, if Satoru wants you, then who were you to question that?

You swing your legs off the side of the bed to make him breakfast, but your legs shake upon contact to the floor, still very much sore after last night’s events.

Satoru’s been away for work for three days, and even though it wasn’t that much of a distance, he still acted like it’s been forever. He sure took his time with you, making you cum three times just with his tongue and fingers alone. He’s a cheeky and mischievous man; there’s no telling whether his words are just sweet lies or plain facts, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Satoru keeps his promises to heart. If he says he’s going to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day, he means it, and now you’re left groaning back onto the bed.

You’re thankful that it’s a weekend. Had it been a school day, it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass. No matter how much he’s covered your school fees, you still won’t risk missing a day.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend clothed in nothing but his boxers, the smile on his face huge at seeing you glare at him. “Aw, baby,” he coos, sliding himself next to you, carrying a tray of pancakes topped with blueberries with him. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulder and laughs into your air when you grumble at the soreness, which he tries to kiss away. “Sorry not sorry for last night. It’s not my fault I’m so addicted to you.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, fighting back that stupid fluttering feeling in your chest. Your attention is diverted to the luscious, fluffy pancakes, and your brows furrow at the sight. “Did you make this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at him; his energy was always off the charts even after fucking you into oblivion. Thanking him under your breath, you reach for the breakfast, eternally grateful that it’s breakfast in bed because you can’t walk anywhere right now. However, Satoru pries your hands away from the fork, making you lean back instead as he spoon feeds you.

It’s a little humiliating – and he’s basking in this judging from the smirk he wears – but you give in anyway. Unlike him, your stamina isn’t monstrous. You’re still a human and you’re utterly tired, the glare endless through mouthfuls of the pancake. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re my baby,” he retorts, smacking a kiss right at your lips.

You complain harder, ever so annoyed that you could never seem to throw him off guard and have the upper hand for once. Satoru eases the frown on your face by kissing you harder, his hand cradling your neck. He’s a fucking tease; his tongue languid and sensual as he tastes the honey coating your lips, sucking your bottom lip inside his mouth before nipping at it.

At the back of your mind, you’re wondering how each moment with him results into touching. Not that you really mind, of course, your stomach only flares up with heat at the thought he wants you just as much as you crave him.

Breakfast is soon forgotten right after seven bites as Satoru leans back against the headboard, thumb soothing circles at your hipbone to guide you on top of him.

He pulls away to breathe, a thin thread of saliva and honey between your lips present, and it’s so erotic that his eyes darken with lust, hands gripping a little tighter. You’re still bare on top of him, hardened breasts on display, but he holds himself back with heavy breaths, not wanting to ruin you further than he already has.

Satoru’s lips lands on your shoulder instead, thumb grazing under the weight of your breasts. He’s kissing you everywhere, almost as if he expects the flutter of his lips to heal you. You gladly let him taste you as he pleases, neck tilted to the side while you catch your breath.

The transition of him from an absolute freak in bed to the caring, compassionate boyfriend he is never fails to give you whiplash.

“How’s your studies?” he murmurs into your skin, his touch feather-like in caressing your back. You feel the hairs stand up at where he grazes them, shivering at the sensuality and tenderness he holds you with. “Doing good? My sweetheart still top of her class?”

“Hmm,” you hum back, planting yourself firm in his lap. He’s already hard under you, his cock twitching when your bare cunt presses on top of his tip, but he controls himself, focusing on your state instead. “My grades are tip-top, all thanks to your support,” Satoru smiles when you’re the one placing kisses all over his face this time, his giggles almost child-like.

Time flies by as you lay there in his arms. You’re lulled back into sleep at the sound of his heart beat, and just as you’re dozing off, Satoru pats your ass. “Baby,” he calls out, “Let me wash you first, then we’ll cuddle afterwards. What do you think about that?”

“That’d be great, I feel sticky.”

Satoru laughs, pulling panicked squeals from you when he suddenly hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. He kicks the door open before turning the heater on in the Jacuzzi, placing you under the shower first.

You close your eyes under the sprinkle of water, hands splayed all over his chest. Your legs are still wobbling, no thanks to him railing you as if there was no tomorrow, but he holds you upright, kneading his hands into your hair then washing every crevice of your body. When you open your eyes, you see him kneeling down to rub the loofah all over your legs, a slight pinch in his brows from sheer focus.

Your heart beats loudly on your chest, unable to process that the Gojo Satoru is on his knees, his touch nothing less of worshipping as if you were a divine being in his eyes.

It makes you breathe sharply as his face comes up before your core, his tongue darting out for a moment before he looks away, focusing on cleaning you up afterwards. His control and care for your well-being leaves you speechless, leaves you breathless, leaves you wanting him more and more and more that you’re kissing him again the moment he brings you both to his Jacuzzi.

He’s taken his boxers off to enjoy the feeling of skin brushing against skin, the fuzz of bubbles foaming up at your breasts only enticing him to kiss you with equal fervent passion.

You’re grinding down on his dick, his length encased between your lips that are extremely warm in comparison to the cool water. Finally, Satoru is stuttering beneath you, little whines leaving his breath as he kneads your ass, resisting the urge to slap the smooth flesh.

“Satoru,” you moan, “N-need you now, please.”

Fuck, his name on your lips mixed with your moans are enough to make him want to lose his restraint and just fuck you hard and deep there. He growls at how unaware you are of your effect on him, and he’s nothing short of starving in his kisses, never getting tired of tasting you over and over again. He wants to keep kissing you until your scent and taste is imprinted on his skin, to carry you around with him even when you’re not there, because he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone this much before. Especially for people like him, love was nothing but a myth.

Everything is a fantasy with you, a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. If you were to ask him to give up everything for you this instant, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

His heart is enslaved by your existence, and he nods, helping you lift your hips up to align his cock to your entrance. He takes note of your soreness as you slowly sink down on his cock, swallowing your whimpers through open-mouthed kiss. You’re shaking inside his arms, tiny scratches mixed with mewls making its way on his chest, further adding to the litter of scars already painted on his body.

Your head lands on his shoulder the second he bottoms out. Satoru groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering down on him, so warm and so tight that he has to lean his head back on the headrest just to catch his breath.

“You ride me, baby,” he manages through pants. “I’ll let you set the pace – do what’s comfortable with you.”

Your jaw clenches at the same time you clamp down on him one more time, eliciting another sinful moan from your lover. A lazy smirk graces your face as you ride him slowly, the image of the almighty Gojo Satoru falling apart at your ministrations burned at the back of your mind. You’ll replay this memory every time he leaves for work again, and the dreadful thought of having to watch him leave one more time fuels you to bounce on him harder, nails dug into his shoulder.

Satoru winces at the slight sting but doesn’t stop you anyway; he’s no stranger to pain. In fact, he’s a master of that and many more in more ways than one, though you didn’t know that – and he’ll never let you know that.

His eyes snap open at the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the water sloshing out the Jacuzzi. He’s met with the sight of you clutching the edges of the tub, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fuck yourself harder on his cock. Your breasts bounce right in front of his eyes, tempting him to latch a mouth around it, which he does, the sudden flicking of his warm tongue on your nipples driving you to the edge.

Your soreness becomes a hazy memory of the past with each slide down his dick, thighs burning from the exertion. Satoru is lapping up your breasts and palming the other expertly, his breath hot on your skin.

Something familiar coils into your lower abdomen with each hard thrust, and you throw your head back, moaning his name as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. You’re growing tired; he can tell from the way you’re barely lifting your hips, but you’re so close, so near, that Satoru takes it upon himself to push you both right where you wanted to be.

Your moan comes out breathless the moment Satoru grips at your hips, snapping his hips upwards at the same time he guides your body to crush down on him. He’s the one controlling your body, but you’re falling on top of him with no reserve, your weight slamming down to his groin in full force that he’s faltering. Satoru is entranced by the motion of your hips gyrating around the head of his cock, the wavering grin on your face a telltale you’re enjoying the act of destroying him, but he lets you – it’s only fair after the countless times he’s done the same with you. But oh, he’ll have you again and again, and he proves his endless desire for you by forcing himself deep to your most sensitive spots, the glimpse of your mouth hanging open as you come making his cock twitch.

Satoru squeezes your hips as he situates you flat on his cock, groaning as he came in thick spurts. You mewl, scratching at his chest as he rides his high out with a few more sloppy thrusts.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers at the top of your hair, well-aware that your oversensitivity is clouding your mind. But he can’t help it, not when you feel so good around him like this. “Just a little more, I’ll be – fuck – right there, oh yeahhh,” he drawls out breathlessly, his cock twitching with the last strings of cum until he grows boneless inside you.

Satoru pulls his cock out, chest heaving up and down from that earth-shattering orgasm. In all honesty, he’s confident he could give you an even better one, but your lids are already fluttering close that he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your temple as a silent you did well.

Somewhere through your half-awake state, you manage to card your fingers through his hair, voice small and weak as you ask, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Satoru’s eyes lour with something unreadable, and he’s thankful you don’t get to see the sudden glooming of his face. He gently pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at his rippling reflection in the water. In his eyes, he sees the truth – he sees a monster holding an innocent angel he lives to protect – the truth he wants to conceal. He can’t even fathom the possibility of you finding out about who he really is, much less what he does that enables him to provide you with everything you need.

He’s the demon himself, caressing someone as pure as you in his arms, his eyes and true self sinister except for the gentle kisses he leaves at the shell of your ear.

If it keeps you safe, he doesn’t mind becoming even more of a monster if it means keeping you safe.

So he keeps you right where you can’t witness the slight moments of vulnerability in which his horns reveal itself, hugging you tight and possessively in the fear he’ll lose the only thing that matters most to him.

“I have a meeting tonight,” is all he says, is what he always says.

He’s mysterious and aloof, too vague every time you inquire him about what he does for a living. Usually, you’d feel worried or even wary that maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you originally thought, but you’re too tired to question him further, and he takes advantage of your weakness wholeheartedly. All to keep you safe.

Satoru closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, no longer bothered by the fact each step he took is getting him closer and closer to a point of no redemption.

He’s not worried about that anymore, not when his salvation is right in his arms, wrapping him with your love and false sense of safety that it becomes the lie he feeds himself every night just to keep going on.

“I just want to be with you a little longer.”

This time around, Satoru tells the truth.

The rust of blood dripping off the concrete walls is as normal to Satoru as breathing is for everyone else. He doesn’t falter in his movements, doesn’t scrunch his nose at the stench, and he doesn’t waver from swinging his arm back, the heavy weight of the wrench already wielded in his hand.

Someone dared come up to their base to face him head-on.

He has to admit, he was impressed with their guts, but now he feels empty save for a slight sliver of irritation at the man’s bloodied face. He’s panting after coughing up blood so much, his face unrecognizable after the beating Satoru gave him, teeth splattered on the floor. Satoru’s right hand man, Geto, stands at the side, silently inspecting his nails.

They’d been going at this for hours now, yet they seemed to be right where they were at the beginning. Torture was usually an effective method of gathering information, but this hostage seemed to be on the same par of monstrous as Satoru from his unyielding nature, even had the audacity to laugh.

Satoru stops in his tracks, a brow raised at what seemed to be so funny.

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” he spat his blood out, his busted eye twitching under Satoru’s stone cold gaze. “They told me you were barbaric, ruthless, the most feared mafia boss out here, but you’re pathetic now, aren’t you? You’re not the same Six Eyes who sees all they claimed you to be,” Satoru watched warily when his hostage smirked, the same one he always wore just moments from bashing the skull out of someone. It’s because he’s so familiar with it that Satoru immediately puts up his walls, Geto stepping beside him with his gun gleaming under his coat. As expected, the man does not falter, his laughter merely increasing in volume. “You’ve grown soft, Gojo. Your little lover is your weakness, it’s written all over your face. Tell me, what’s stopping you from ending my life already? Afraid that if she finds out, she might push you away?” When Gojo doesn’t answer, the man clicks his tongue. “I fucking knew it.”

Geto moves quicker than his boss. He draws his gun and aims it right between his eyes, only to be stopped by Satoru’s indifferent tone. “Stop.”

“But boss-”

“Why did you come here?” he stabs the man in the thigh with a knife, his screams of pain alleviating enough to distract the painful clenching of his chest. “I don’t believe you came here just to prove the rumors true. Now you tell me, why have you come here?” Satoru slams his fist down on the knife, the blade pushing past through muscles and hitting deep to the bone. “Answer me.”

“Th-there’s a drive in my pocket. Open it and you’ll see.”

The man doesn’t stop squirming as Geto rummages through his jacket, nodding to his boss once they got hold of the slick black device. Geto immediately plugs it to the monitor, several photographs popping up in a few seconds, and those few seconds were all it took to bring the infamous mafia boss down.

Because they weren’t just photos, they were photos of you.

Of you laughing with your friends, of you hugging Satoru’s arm in one of your dates, of you kissing him under the streetlight and even an intimate photo of you going down on him while he’s driving. It must be taken from a street cam judging from the blurry quality, but it’s crystal clear to him anyway, and Satoru’s mind muddles with thoughts darker than he once believed he’s capable of. He feels his anger bloom like fire licking up at his skin, his nerves bursting through, and he’s so obvious, so predictable that his hostage guffaws.

“I was right, I was right-!”

“You mean her?” his voice drips down with so much indifference, it shocks even he himself. His hostage shuts up at the sudden change of Satoru’s aura, that dark, fearsome aura that had people begging him to kill them as an act of mercy coming back to life. The man clamps his mouth shut, chills running down his spine because it’s no longer the same Satoru he mocked pulling the knife out from his thigh.

No, this is the Gojo Satoru, the devil incarnate himself, and he’s made the huge mistake of believing he would be affected by a mere woman. Satoru reads the fear on his face too easily, not bothering to hide his sigh as he twirls the bloodied blade between his fingers.

“She’s nothing to me. She’s just another bitch, another paid pussy. Favorite of the month, you could say, but nothing of worth to me,” he announces, ignoring Geto who’s stiffened up at the corner. “Did you really come all the way here just to see if you could find my weakness? If so, then your organization is a lot dumber than I thought, and I hate people who waste my time.”

“No, no, please, I was just jok-” his eyes widen when Satoru snaps his fingers, and Geto rushes to his boss with his gun. “Please, no, I didn’t think she was just a bitch-”

The man never got to finish his words.

A loud ‘bang’ echoes around the room, followed by a slight snap when his head falls backwards. Blood drips from the hole sitting in between his head, the aim perfect and flawless even with Satoru not looking back. He’s still Gojo Satoru, leader of the Gojo Mafia Clan, and he’s not the most feared leader in history for no reason. He’s always been blessed with a physical prowess and fighting abilities that allowed him to take on other clans by himself, but he’s changing. There’s now a chink in his armour, and people are starting to notice.

If he doesn’t do anything about it soon…

“Sir,” Geto begins, following the rushed footsteps of Satoru outside the hall, where his security is lined up with guns poised and ready to risk their lives for him. This was his power, this was his legacy – and this is who he was.

A killer. A monster. A demon – he’s everything you wouldn’t love.

“I know, Geto, I know,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He already knows what he’s supposed to do; he doesn’t need another reminder of it. “You don’t have to tell me anything I know of already. Now send that body back as a warning. I’m going home for tonight.”

Geto is stunned, and he’s got every right to be. After all, in his boss’ 28 years of existence, not once has he called anywhere or anyone home.

He’s always claimed himself to be irredeemable, to be unworthy of love and forgiveness, but slowly yet surely, he was beginning to look at life differently after meeting you, after loving you. The word ‘home’ was never in his vocabulary, and yet, every time your face comes up in his mind, it’s the only word he can think of.

He came home a lot earlier than you expected him to. You’re hunched over the table, legs swinging back and forth as you finish your school packets when the door chimes with the familiar beep. It’s only midnight and he’s already here, the excitement manifesting in you as you jump off the stools, running to greet your beloved.

Satoru ends up as a blur of frantic hands tugging his tie off, his scowl seething with anger and regret pouring off of him in waves.

Before you could say anything, he has you pinned on the wall, one knee inside your legs to keep you upright. Satoru is kissing you, hard, one hand raised to keep both your wrists planted above your head. You’re moaning at his aggressiveness, the sounds encouraged by his erection poking at you from your silk robe.

It’s not rare for him to come home in need of a fuck to clear his head, but…something feels different this time around. He feels different, almost like an entirely new person.

Satoru pulls away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded with lust and lips bruised from the kiss. You’re confuzzled; your lover is the exact same person standing before you, the same person grazing at your breasts until your nipples harden at his touch, so then why does it feel like the person who left and came back are entirely two different people.

“Can I fuck you, angel? Please?”

Your words die down your throat.

Satoru’s never said please before, much less look this devastated as he asks to have you. He always says it with exuberant confidence, his present frown usually a smile. There’s no trace of happiness or even playfulness in his eyes this time around. Instead, they’re filled with fear – desperation, even.

You say yes before you realize it, but it’s enough for Satoru. It feels like he’s only been waiting for that word before he goes on a rampage, for his lips are on yours again, patting your thighs as a silent command to jump. You follow his orders and kiss him feverishly until it becomes a battle for dominance, tongue and teeth clashing against the other. Your hands are tugging at his hair from how rough he’s grabbing at your hips, spanking the sensitive flesh that draws a whimper at you.

You don’t know how Satoru manages to find his way to the leather couch even with his eyes closed, but he takes you there, no longer gentle as he throws your weight down. You’re falling, falling, falling as your knees hit the material, cheeks pressed against the headrest. You turn back to kiss him one more time, but Satoru keeps you down there, the sound of his belt unbuckling reaching your ears.

Satoru wraps the leather around his palm, kissing you flat on the lips just as he slaps the material to your ass. He’s pushed your robe to bunch up at your waist, groaning into your mouth upon the realization you’ve been walking around the house butt-naked.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he nips at your lips, feeding off of the pained moans coating his senses at each whip of his belt. “No underwear while I’m gone – you’re begging to be fucked, angel. You’re so filthy,” he swings his arm back to extend the length of the belt, squeezing your ass before he whips it harder against your flesh. You scream at the contact, nails ripping the leather couch and a slight puddle of drool on your lips.

“S-Satoru!”

“What?” he snaps, gripping your jaw, his eyes replaced with something animalistic as he stares at you. The love is gone in his eyes, your lover almost unrecognizable from the way he whips you again. You jut forwards, arousal pooling and dripping down his sofa. His eyes trail down your gushing pussy, nostrils flared before throwing his belt to the other side of the room. The buckle hits one of his expensive vases until it comes crashing down, the sound of it nostalgic to the first time you met him. “Can’t talk, huh, baby? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” you blurt out, wiggling your hips sensationally at his already throbbing dick. “Please fuck me.”

You suppose you should’ve been more careful with your words, because Satoru lives to please, and if you tell him to do something, you can expect he’ll give his everything.

He knocks the wind out of your lungs by squeezing your waist, sliding himself into you one, full thrust. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but it’s too fast, too early, that the sudden stretch is painfully pleasurable. Satoru delivers one more smack to your flesh that makes it bounce, his growls loud and ragged as he pounds into you.

You’re clutching at the backrest, eyes shut tight as all your attention diverts to the heat in your core. You wish you could see his face, hold his hand or see the way he admires you while he fucks you, but you can’t see anything. Tonight, you could only feel.

Each thrust sends the couch a little ways forward, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s cursing left and right, more focused on getting his anger out his system than pleasuring you. It’s a drastic change to your lover’s behavior in bed, yet you can’t find any muscle in your body that denies this. Satoru can be rough, but he never really goes all out. One way or another, he manages to hold back for your sake, but his mind’s a mess, the voices in his head screaming louder that it drowns out the need to make you cum first.

He’s relentless, grip bruising the harder he fucks into you. You know you’re gone in the instance Satoru plants one foot beside you, the angle causing him to hit deeper.

Satoru ends up fucking into your cervix with each hard thrust, fisting his hand under your robe while he slams forward. It’s so intense that your vision blurs, a faltered grip on the couch. You’re falling limp under his ministrations, his dick successfully hitting that spot that has you seeing white. You’re screaming, babbling nonsense while Satoru uses you as his own fuck toy, pushing past your tight walls and relishing in the way you hug his cock snugly.

He came first, his thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering for a moment. Satoru pulls out so quickly from you that you’re left gasping for air at the sudden emptiness, and that’s when you feel his cum landing on your lower back.

You’re too slow, too weak – or perhaps he’s too strong, too fast – to react properly to his movements.

Satoru doesn’t let you catch your breath as he throws you over his shoulder, your face nearly smacking his ass. You feel dizzy at this position, and the voice in your head tells you that you should be scared he’s manhandling you like this, but seeing him this way – so reveled, so angry, so out of control – has you rubbing your legs, core dripping at the thought of how he’s going to use you tonight.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t head for the bedroom. You were so sure he’d take you there, but Satoru lays you flat on the marble countertops of the kitchen, the cold biting into your skin.

Satoru doesn’t waste another second before he spreads your legs open and dives into your cunt. You squeal, legs instinctively closing around his head when you feel his tongue lick a flat stripe at your pussy, but he only pushes them apart, encircling your ankles hard to keep you open.

You know he’s strong, but you’re still surprised that he’s capable of rendering you motionless, powerless like this. Your mind wanders off to a dangerous path in wonders of how else he’s hurt someone like this – whether intentionally or unintentionally – but he immediately pulls you back to reality when he sucks your clit, his eyes direct with yours.

His hands trail upwards to squeeze at your breasts, the immediacy of it all firing up that tight knot in your stomach that he failed to snap a while ago.

Satoru’s nose rubs at your skin the harder he sucks at your clit, tugging it upwards until you’re whining around him. It’s always so erotic to see his pretty face buried in your cunt like this; you’ll never get used to him eating you like you’re his last meal. He laps up your juices like a starved man, his tongue prodding between your lips and slurping everything you offer him, one of his arms retracting to slide two fingers inside your sopping hole.

You moan at the sudden intrusion. The sounds of your moans mixing in with the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy is extremely embarrassing, even more so because you’re actually gushing down his palm.

Your juices spread all over his face, and Satoru is greedy, thirsty for more. He pumps harder into you, curling them against the ridges of your walls, and finally, finally you’re there. Your orgasm washes down on you violently that Satoru has to keep a palm flat down on your stomach, his tongue not ceasing from lapping up your juices. You’re convulsing from his hold, stuttered moans rewarding to his ears.

He doesn’t stop coaxing your wetness out of your cunt, his fingers working you out and easing the previous pain of when he entered you without warning. Satoru leans up to help you sit up, his lips colliding with yours for a much gentler kiss this time around.

You cup his cheeks, feeling him slide your body across the counters. Your arousal that he’s failed to clean up remains there until it spreads all over the back of your thighs, the feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but you’re more focused in his tongue dancing with yours. He tastes sweet – like mint and sugar – but his moans are sweeter, the sound dulcet and making you weak on your knees as you taste yourself on him.

Satoru tugs you forward, panic flooding you when you feel nothing under you. You feel like you’re falling again and you immediately encircle your arms around his neck, but he chuckles through the kiss, quick reflexes put into work as he carries you.

The kiss is sloppy yet heated, both of you unable to focus properly when he’s growing hard again. You expect him to take you to the bedroom to finish things for once and for all, but he’s impatient – this much you know the moment he walked in, but somehow keep forgetting – wrapping your legs to his waist instead before slipping inside you.

You mewl into his mouth, eyes snapping open to look at him nervously. His legs are slightly bent as he bounces you on his cock like you weighed nothing.

In this position, he’s hitting deep each time you slide down his cock. Unable to help it, you graze your foreheads with his to stare him deep in the eyes, the usual passion in them slowly returning with each thrust. The work is placed on his shoulders as he holds you close to him, the mind numbing sensation of your erect nipples grazing his sensitive skin enticing him to rut harder into you, all to enjoy the way you fall apart above him.

You’ve been rendered speechless, mouth fallen open to release breathy gasps. Hell, you’re unable to moan, not when his cock is sliding in and out of you so lusciously that you feel every vein protruding from the base of his length. How he manages to walk while fucking you is beyond your comprehension by now, but he seems to be having the time of his life based on his grunting, continuously fucking deep into your pussy so much that he refuses to let you go. Satoru kicks the door to your room open and places you gently on the bed this time, trapping you in his arms but with enough space to let you crawl back up on the bed. You stop as your head hits the pillows, and the mood immediately changes.

Satoru stays still inside you, his large hand cupping your face while you both catch your breath. There’s something unreadable about him. He feels young yet old at the same time, giving you the impression that perhaps he’s still just a child trapped in an old man’s body.

There’s so much fear swirling through the blueness of his eyes that you frown, marveling about what happened to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, you swipe the stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, smiling up at him in hopes he’d realize you’re always there for him. “Satoru,” you whisper, breath hitching as he starts to move. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Satoru props you sideways, your leg flat on the bed while he hooks the other one over his thigh that is spread beside your body. You have to tilt all the way to the side just to see his face, your hand now bent in an awkward position. Although he doesn’t answer vocally, his gentle thrusts are enough to tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it – he never does, and he never will – so you shut your mouth, focusing on the pleasure of him hitting deep.

Your heart aches for him. You wish he could tell you everything, to share you his worries, and you can’t enjoy him fucking you too much because you’re crying, chest clenching that he’s growing distant no matter how close he is.

You don’t want to lose him.

“Hey,” he easily reads you, leaning down to flutter his eyes at you. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, okay, angel? But you’re making me feel good, you always do, so let me do the same for you,” Satoru kisses your tears away, the saltiness of it making him fuck harder into you, all to ignore the screaming inside his head.

He wants to hold you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to keep loving you like this, he wants to be with you, he wants to touch you – but it’s not that easy.

It’ll only keep getting harder in the future, but the future isn’t now. Today is the present, and it’s even more precious because you’re there with him. Right now, you’re untouchable by anyone but him, and it’s only him that gets to fuck you like this, only him who gets to see you whimper under him, only him who gets to kiss you hard while he fucks you deep.

He wants to fuck you hard enough that you never forget the feeling of him inside you.

Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he really is demonic, because he wishes that after this you won’t be satisfied with anyone else. He wants to fuck you hard enough you’ll keep wishing it was him, that it’s him who’s hitting your sweet spots and making you see stars, that it’s only him who can make you feel this good.

Satoru interlaces his hand with yours as he feels you tighten around him, the clamping down of your walls a telltale you’re near. You’re moaning, eyes dropping to where your bodies are connected. His cock is slicked with your arousal and he’s still thrusting to passionately, his hands touching you everywhere with the same ardor and impatience one would have when they know time is limited. And Satoru knows better than everyone that no amount of money can buy enough time in this world, because if such was a case, then he’d have done so long ago.

He silences his demons with the only way he knows how to; by kissing you and burying himself deep inside you, snapping his hips angrily as if they would counterattack his fears. Your hold on him is slipping from the sweat dripping down your bodies, but he doesn’t stop, his cock further stretching you out because he’s growing impossibly bigger.

Satoru’s cock twitches inside you, the motion pulling a gasp from you. He bites down on your shoulder, one hand gripping your other leg open as he grunts into your skin, his thrusts focused more on power than speed. He hits deep each time, the sensation of him sliding out slowly only to push back in vigorously to make your pussy throb too intense for you to even form proper sentences. He’s getting nearer, his thrusts growing more fervent and impatient. Satoru thumbs at your clit to coax you into following him, and with his thumb rubbing your clit and flicking it side to side, you end up finishing before him, your moan high-pitched and broken. He eagerly swallows the sound by releasing after you, refusing to pull out even as he feels both your cum trickle afterwards.

The sensitivity is too much for you that you have to push him away, and he complies, falling at your side but not before wrapping an arm around you first. His heartbeat is pumping under you, your hands tracing circles at his chest while he holds you impossibly close, littering kisses at the crown of your head.

It’s clear that something is wrong, but he won’t tell you no matter how much you ask. You know firsthand how annoying it is when someone can’t respect your space, so you close your eyes and let sleep overtake you instead, basking in the after sex glow and relieved only by his touch.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, he can tell you another time.

“Satoru,” you murmur seconds before falling asleep.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s something wrong…you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lies through gritted chest, pushing your head deeper into his sweaty chest. He has a habit of doing this; of pushing you close so you don’t see his face, so you don’t see the tears streaming down his face that are soon lost in your hair. You think that maybe he’s just breathing hard after work and fucking you, but he’s torn inside, feeling too broken that not even you could help fix his heart.

But you’re still there, and that’s enough for him. So he keeps his lips planted on your forehead all the way until the first sliver of light extends its fingertips over the horizon, the orange glow bathing you in an ethereal light while his body remained in the darkness.

It serves as a painful reminder that he’ll never be worthy of your love, that he’ll never earn the blessing that is your heart, that you’ll never truly love him the way he’s always wanted to be loved. Maybe now you think you do, but it will change once the darkness reveals his true nature, and the thought of you pushing him away hurts a lot more than having never been loved in the first place. To him, it’s a thousand times worse when you get a taste of something, only to have it pulled away from you.

And the longer he stays there next to you, he can’t help but picture your smile soon turned into a look of fear, your body bruised with marks and blood instead of his love bites.

They call him the notorious mafia leader who bows and yields to no one, but it’s not true. Gojo Satoru most definitely has his weakness, one that came into a form of his lover, and he can’t handle that you’d get hurt because of him someday that he believes it’s just better to let things be this way.

He’s silent from when he leaves the bed, refusing to look at you one last time as a final resolve of whatever is left in his strength. He quickly dresses himself and picks up your discarded robe on the ground, folding it and leaving it on the counter before shutting the door, the sound of his footsteps mute compared to the frantic beating of his heart.

Geto is already there at the lobby, his face empty yet eyes filled with sympathy. He opens the door for Satoru who slides in wordlessly, his lips pulled into a thin line while he punches in zeroes upon zeroes.

The words transaction complete flashes before him, and for a split second, he gets the urge to run back inside to hold you. But Geto clears his throat from the passenger’s seat, nodding at his phone that Satoru visibly deflates. His hands are numb the whole time he deletes your photos, your videos, and erases your contact, but it only hits hard that its over once he chucked the phone out the window, watching through his sunglasses as the device is crushed under another speeding car.

Its over, its over, its over – it keeps chanting at his head, and he wants to punch himself, wants to never see another daylight again every time he imagines you waking up alone and unable to find him. He wants to be sad, and he is, but there’s that relief blossoming inside him anyway that whispers its over, you’re safe that he can’t help but think…its okay, its over.

With that, Satoru rolls up the windows and nods at the driver who’s been waiting for him the whole time. He makes eye contact with a proud Geto from the rearview mirror, concealing his heartbreak with a laugh as he crosses his leg over the other.

“It’s over,” he says more to himself, “Let’s go.”

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. That’s the reason he got this far in life in the first place, he’s got his tenacity and dedication to thank for. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins as well, and he also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

And the punishment of loving you – only to have you slip from his arms – is a punishment he’ll wholeheartedly accept.

[imaginationmess]

Hardship (Yuta Okkotsu x Reader)

Yuta Okkotsu X Reader

Warning: Violence, Blood, and Broken bones

Word Count: 1,500+

Genre: Angst!

I will probably write how she acted in the sister event in the future, but for now, please enjoy this writing piece. I am still struggling with writer's block, but manage to write this out before it hits me again. Idk if it's good or not.

Inspired by @aliteama Angst anon asks back in January

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‘Am I going to die?’ Yuuji thought to himself as he couldn’t move within the female cursed spirit, Rika's grasp.

The fear of losing his life and dying was overwhelming him once again just like the cursed womb mission. He doesn’t want to die!

The black-haired male emotionless face, was walking closer to stab him in Sukuna’s vessel heart. He was abruptly stopped and jumped away from the spot in front of the Sukuna’s vessel. A katana landing in the exact spot he was standing.

“Kou!”

Yuuji’s eyes widened in surprise hearing his senpai and the one who he started developing feelings for before he felt himself being free and the sight of you slam your elbow into Yuta’s stomach to cause him to fly back from the acceleration and pressure of the attack.

Yuuji being carried by 8 feet, cursed spirit that is attached to you similar to Yuta with Rika, but it was your father who created a deal with it in exchange for his soul and cursed energy to stay beside you as a servant. He didn’t have to but he did it for your sake of surviving many assassination attempts.

“...Kou?” Yuuji looks up in surprise to see Kou in the flesh, you rarely use the spirit unless you are absolutely serious about fighting. He only has heard things about how Kou looks like and always gave out a deadly aura of bloodthirst.

Kou drops him without a word causing Yuuji to shout in surprise, landing on the ground and quickly went to his feet in a fighting stance. The overwhelming bloodthirst in the air make it hard to breathe. The two cursed spirits fighting each other, breaking each other's limbs to only have them grow back. It was quite terrifying to witness both screaming and fighting.

Yuuji smacked his face to snap him out of it to focus on what to do now. He pulls himself back seeing Yuta taking another attempt to kill him by cutting his head off with a new cursed katana he got his hands on.

He most likely used the same one that landed on the spot where he was standing, you would usually travel with two katanas strapped on your back. You know how to use two at the same time as well with a single katana in hand. You were a master of swordsmanship. You are the sole survivor of a clan who was the best when it comes to handling cursed objects to cursed weapons.

“It wasn't Yuuji! It was Sukuna!” You try to reason with Yuta blocking his attacks from harming Yuuji.

“Run away! Yuuji!” You fall to the ground and try to sweep Yuta off his feet but he flips backward.

“I am not leaving you! He wants me! You shouldn’t sacrifice yourself for me.” Yuuji shouts back at you.

“Stay out of it! [Y/N]! Don’t make me physically hurt you! ” Yuta crashing into your katana instead of Yuuji skin.

You know Yuuji is stubborn and isn’t gonna step out of this fight. You gotta work with him to take down Yuta, despite dating each other, but you aren’t gonna let him kill Yuuji without a fight. You care about him just like everyone else who is friends with him. Yuta doesn’t have the same relationship with Yuuji as everyone who learns he isn’t evil but has a good heart. He just got tangled into this mess by eating a finger.

Yuta dodges Yuuji's punches knowing if he even lets Yuuji touch, he might just break a bone in his body. He looks over to see Rika struggling to escape to assist him in finishing the mission. Kou has the advantage due to being older and having more fighting experience than Rika, perhaps even bigger than Rika.

Yuta is trying to keep up on blocking all of the attacks you are giving him by even attempting to break your own katana blade. You were the one who taught him how to katana effectively because you have been a katana user since you were a child. He could say if Maki and you were to have katana fights. It would mostly be tied, but you are probably superior due to knowing all the dirty tricks on disarming katana users.

The only advantage is knowing the tricks you would pull during his training with you to beware when someone is trying to break your katana to disarm. If he didn’t take the time to memorize it, he would be losing this fight.

Yuta elbows Yuuji's face and uses the end of the katana to slam it into Yuuji’s stomach to cause Yuuji to cough and be surprised. Before copying from earlier what Yuuji did to his katana to break your katana, for you only let it go and jump at him without any fear. You tackled him to the ground, pin one arm down by your knee and hold his arm with the katana.

“Take the katana! Yuuji!” You clenched your teeth, fighting against Yuta's strength as he repeatedly slammed his feet on the ground to wiggle out of your grasp. Yuuji pries the katana out of Yuta hands.

“Sorry, but this is gonna hurt a lot!” With all of your strength twisted his arm back, Yuta manages to free his other hand to make you let go. You could see the tears gather in his eyes before hearing a pop from his shoulder. Successfully dislocating his arm, causing him to scream in intense pain.

“Yuta!” Rika screeched, throwing Kou into the building, before appearing behind you to only stab you with her claws on your back and picking you by it causing you to gasp in surprise and blood. Before getting thrown across the road, having Kou following after you know you are injured and needed to be healed.

Rika reacted quickly due to Yuta screaming that he was in pain. She didn’t think anything else was to hurt the person who did and get them away from him. However, she didn’t realize it was you, the only person who wasn’t even afraid to talk to her and was Yuta's girlfriend before they went overseas for more intense training.

You are smiling at Rika with a clay mask on your face while holding nail polish in your hand as you push the brush of the nail polish to paint her claws. You weren’t afraid of cursed spirits due to growing up with numerous scary-looking spirits being around the compound. You did the insane idea to befriend Rika while everyone cowered away in the sight of her.

She remembers, the first time meeting everyone, you were the insane one to call her cute and even asked Yuta for permission if hugging Rika was okay.

“What’s your name? You look so cute” You cooed despite everyone around you looking like you were a maniac approaching a cursed spirit with no guard up.

When you were painting her nails, you mention to her, she wasn't evil as everyone is saying, but she is a good cursed spirit.

“You aren't an evil curse spirit, but a good one who protects Yuta from any danger. You are like his guardian angel just like Kou is mine.” You gave her a soft stare with a big smile on your face.

Yuta hissed through the pain and stood up to pick up the katana that was on the ground. Rika was panicking that she had just gone to hold Yuuji. “Hold him, this  won’t take too long.”

Yuuji panicked once again feeling trapped within Rika's grasp and watching Yuta stab him into the heart without any remorse, despite apologizing for it. “Sorry, Yuuji.”

Rika vanishes from sight, probably hiding away for a while as she acknowledges what she has done to the only human other than Yuta who treated her like a person. Yuta lets go of the sword to hold onto his other arm while running over and hissing at the pain on his shoulder. He knows you were trying to make him not be able to use his dominant hand to make him back down. He doesn’t hold any grudge because you are doing what you thought was right.

He had a mission to accomplish and had to keep any personal feelings to the side. But he needed to know if you were okay. His eyes landed on your tearful ones as Kou was giving him a dangerous glare daring him to come closer and get killed.

“You killed him… didn’t you.” Your lip was trembling as your eyes were tearing up and breathing heavily as Kou was closing your internal wounds.

“I am sorry.” Yuta apologized to only hear your hiccups through your cries and cursing him out from moon to back.

“He was innocent! Yuta! Fucking innocent! Since when did you become a murderer!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, before feeling your eyes heavy due to the fatigue of getting your wounds healed. You passed out while Yuta has tears down his cheeks not knowing what to say.

He did become a murderer….

Perhaps killing an innocent person in the process.

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Thank you for reading!

Feel free to send in your request :D,

Comments/Reactions are greatly appreciated!

MASTERLIST!

[lokimostly]

How would Loki react to an unplanned pregnancy?

Secrets

Loki x Pregnant!Reader

Word Count: 1,829

Warnings: fluff :3

A/N: I got like, 6 requests for this exact scenario. Y’all REALLY hungry for dad!Loki huh 

“Oh, come now,” Volstagg thundered from across the table, a goblet of mead in his hand. “You sorcerers read minds all the time, I know it!”

“It’s not true!” You insisted, laughing. The midsummer banquet had long since ended, but Thor’s group of close friends – yourself included – had simply elected to move the party to his wing of the palace, where you could continue to revel and drink uninterrupted. “Seidr allows us to influence minds only.”

“I don’t believe it,” the red-bearded warrior decided. Finding your answer dissatisfactory, he turned to the more knowledgeable of the two sorcerers at the long table. 

Loki regarded his gaze with the faintest of smiles. “Yes, Volstagg?”

“Can you read minds, Silvertongue?”

Loki took a sip of his drink, which he had undoubtedly magicked into a finer, more sophisticated liquor besides mead, and raised one dark eyebrow, keeping the table in suspense before shaking his head. “No, I can’t read minds.” 

The group erupted. You and Loki shared a mutual smirk amidst the clamor, and you subtly leaned closer to him, speaking in his ear. “A good thing, too, or we would have no secrets between us.”

“Secrets?” He repeated, a confused smirk lighting his poet’s mouth as he lowered his goblet and met your eyes. “What have you yet to tell me?”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, and you forced them down with a nonchalant shake of your head and a light kiss to his cheek. 

“Nothing,” You lied, covering genuine anxiety with a coy and playful tone that, hopefully, he wouldn’t see past.

You hadn’t figured out a way to tell Loki yet.

The only things keeping him in the dark were the medicines you had concocted for morning sickness, your own personal resolve, and time. Sooner or later, one of the three would fail. In retrospect, you had no idea how two intelligent sorcerers could make such a thoughtless error: both magic and herbal contraceptives were commonplace on Asgard, and yet neither had been used. You had no clue how Loki would respond to the news of a child; the two of you had never discussed it before. 

You were drawn out of your thoughts by Thor’s rich, deep voice declaring across the room: “maybe not read minds, brother, but you can search them all the same.”

The party began to argue, and Loki held out a hand, quieting them. “Searching someone’s mind and reading it are two different ideologies,” he clarified. “To break and enter someone’s consciousness is a crime, and incredibly difficult besides. But opening a two-way connection? That would be something else entirely.”

“Read your fair lady’s mind, then,” Sif suggested, smirking wolfishly and setting her cup down on the golden table. “She trusts you. Tell us her thoughts.”

Loki raised his eyebrow and looked sideways at you, and you stalled. You were in no position to refuse. Reluctantly, you set down your goblet of cider and pulled away to face him, straightening your back. Your heart was pounding, but you hid it well, and gave him an easy nod.

The table discussion turned to a murmur as Loki inhaled deeply, stilling himself and narrowing his focus. His green eyes shimmered with seidr and you felt the push of his consciousness when it met yours, like a gust of wind. You shivered.Loki pried gently into your mind with a tangible gentleness, surveying the thoughts that came and went. You tried to think of anything but your secret and keep his attention on more mundane trains of thought: the events of the party, the growing discomfort of your dress, how unbelievably handsome he looked in your eyes. 

Loki’s focus snagged this last thought and shook his head, his cheeks tinging with a light blush. “Don’t try and distract me,” he warned lowly, with a graveling tone that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. 

“What is she thinking?” Volstagg demanded.

Loki shrugged. “Mostly flattery.” He narrowed his eyes and his eyes glowed faintly as he delved deeper. You felt it, and instinctively closed the door of your mind to block him from discovering your secret – he sensed it shut, and unease flickered behind his eyes. What were you hiding from him? 

He veiled his confusion with a light scoff. “She’s evading me.”

Fandral tutted at you as he raised his goblet. “Come now, don’t you trust your lover?”

Loki’s eyes reflected the same question. 

You met his gaze with your hands clasped tight enough to make your knuckles whiten. Your stomach turned over with nausea. You swallowed. The doubt and apprehension in Loki’s expression was as clear and visible to you as if he had expressed it aloud; you didn’t need to read his mind to see that. It was visible in the tension of his jaw, the way his brow furrowed, the nervous tapping of his fingers against his thigh.

If you didn’t tell him now, when would you? 

You took a breath and smiled briefly, reaching forward and wrapping your fingers around his wrist to stop the anxious tapping. “I do,” you affirmed, and after a moment, removed the door inside your mind.

You watched him fall right through it like a fox into a rabbit hole.

Loki’s face paled. A beat of silence passed. 

Then another. 

“What is it?” Fandral asked, expressing the thoughts of the table aloud. “Well? What is she thinking?”

“Silver tongue turned to lead?” Volstagg joked.

Loki blinked, and swallowed. “Excuse me,” he said, standing abruptly and taking you by the arm. A half-spoken apology left your lips before he dragged you out and into the dark hallway outside the banquet room, the heavy doors clanging shut behind you.

The night wind was warm and heavy with the scents of midsummer, carrying the faint voices and music of the city below, lights twinkling in the dark. Your heart was in your throat when Loki cupped your face in his hands, elegant fingers tucking your hair back out of familiar habit. You shied from his touch, expecting rejection and refusing to meet his gaze.

His eyes searched your face, not daring to ask, but knowing he must. “Is it true? Are you–” his voice stalled, and his eyes dropped to your stomach before coming back up again. 

You pressed your lips together and nodded as anxious tears pricked at your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you began, and your voice broke. “I- I would have told you some other way, but–” 

Loki silenced you with a kiss, the taste of sweet wine lingering on his lips. The glass floor of anxiety broke beneath your feet and you leaned into him, cupping his jaw in your shaking hands. A meteor streaked across the dark sky as the two of you stood there, dark silhouettes a backdrop of golden lights. 

He pulled away. His hands slid down your arms, holding you there. “How long?”

“Two months,” you quavered. Your tears spilled over, and you reached up hastily to wipe them with your palm. “You’re– you’re not upset?”

Loki’s mouth opened in surprise. His expression spoke volumes and he exhaled quickly, shaking his head and pulling you to his chest. 

“Upset?” He repeated, laughing in disbelief. He cradled your head beneath his chin, fingers gently tangled in your hair. “Ohh, my love. I’m only sorry that you bore it alone for so long.” You let out a muffled sob of relief against his chest and he held you a bit tighter, running his hand up and down your back.

You stayed there together, holding each other until your tears subsided. You pulled away, wiping your face once more. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, pushing your hair back and sighing. “It’s supposed to be a happy night.”

“It is,” he insisted, leaning down to wipe the remnants of your tears and pressing kisses to your cheeks. He took your hands in his and squeezed them gently. “And if I recall correctly, we didn’t get a chance to dance. There may yet be some fires still burning.”

You chuckled, still a little teary, and nodded. “I’d like that.” You linked your arm through his, leaning your head against his shoulder as you began walking. The night air was warm and sweet, carrying the promise of a good harvest on the gentle breeze. Midsummer on Asgard has always been one of your favorite holidays: it was both a reassurance of the present and a promise of the future. Each one had been memorable. You had a feeling this one would be, too.

Loki’s thoughts were running rampant through his head loudly enough for you to notice, distracting you from enjoying the breeze, and you poked him in the side. “What is it?’

Loki made a surprised noise before looking down at you. “How in all the realms did you manage to hide it from me for so long? What about the sickness?”

You laughed then, raising your eyebrow. “Your mother may have helped me with a remedy,” you admitted, averting your eyes in a feigned expression of innocence. 

As you expected, Loki’s jaw dropped, and he made an indignant noise. “She knew?”

“Of course she did, she knows everything.” 

Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes, pressing his lips together to try and hide the smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “She does know everything. I should have guessed.”

“Well, you know now.”

“That I do,” He agreed. “And I have half a mind to wed you for your treachery.”

“Treachery?” You repeated incredulously, though that wasn’t the word that had caught your attention. The mention of marriage made your face flush and your stomach flip. Out of all the reactions you had envisioned when it came to sharing this secret, a proposal wasn’t one you’d expected. Loki, your husband; you could get used to calling him that. 

You sighed dramatically and tried to quell the butterflies inside your ribs, squeezing his arm. “Well, I accept. The punishment is fitting.” Loki looked down at you and the two of you shared a mutual smirk – you could tell he was excited, too, in the way his green eyes twinkled and his breath caught when you pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

The sounds of music and jubilee coming from the lower city promised a long night of dancing and revelry despite the late hour. The two of you snuck your way down through the crowded alleyways, walking beneath lantern light and watching the silhouettes of people dancing in rings around the fires. The night wind was thick with the scents of wood smoke and summer fruit. Loki reeled you in and held your hand as you joined one of the rings, laughing and stepping your feet with all the rest. 

No one else noticed the two magicians casting dancing shadows of their own on the cobblestone. By the time the next summer solstice came, they would be joined by a third. But for now, it was only you and Loki, dancing in the bonfire light with color in your cheeks and laughter on your lips. Loki’s eyes sparkled and his hands held yours with every assurance of safety and permanence. He loved you. And you didn’t need to read his mind to know that for a fact.

~~~

A/N: thanks for reading! ♡ 

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[mggpleasedontlookhere]

mother’s care

summary: spencer leaves his mother in y/n’s care, but with her violent outbursts she severely injures y/n

word count: 3,331                                                                                     reading time aprox: 13 mins

masterlist

It had been a few days since Spencer had left his mother in my care, and it had been more than a few days since my conscience was clear of worry. The pressing dichotomy between Spencer’s family and work life had been putting a strain on the quality of his life, in which I took it upon myself, with the highest sense of internal deliberation, to offer my services. The thought of lessening the weight on Spencer’s shoulders was the only thing keeping my motivation alive; other than the innate responsibility I had to care for my future mother-in-law. Witnessing the gravity of Spencer’s tired eyes shift into a brighter gleam as he was relieved of being tethered at home, made the strenuous work I endured worthwhile. But the thought could only do so much considering Diana’s behavior became exponentially volatile. 

Spencer had just left for work only hours ago when Diana’s delusions became rampant, her paranoia increasing along with it. “Y/N! Y/N! We have to go now, they’re coming for us!” She yelled frantically while flailing her arms sporadically. “W-we have to hide- we- I- we can’t trust anyone Y/N! Call Spencer!” She rushed towards the peephole of the front door, slamming her palms against the wooden frame. “Where’s my son?!” She screamed profusely. 

In urgency, I grabbed a hold of her wrists to restrict her from hurting herself as she did a few days ago. “Diana- hey, stop that- Diana it’s me Y/N” I struggled to fight against her resistance as she persisted to bludgeon the door with all her might. “Diana! Please! Loo- Look it’s me, I promise!” I urged, finally ceasing her attacks and calming her down to a manageable temper. 

Then just a moment later, all of her anger dissipated as if nothing had occurred previously. “Oh! Hello there Y/N, when did Spencer let you in?” She inquired, ridding herself of my grasp and laying herself down on the couch. I sighed, propping myself up on the back of the door as I composed myself. “Oh my gosh, my scrapbook” She stated in bewilderment, glancing at the book of memories on the coffee table that Spencer had placed to induce her recollection of events. 

“Yes it is” I smiled, pushing the previous outburst aside with an understanding temperance. “Would you like to look through it?” I suggested, making slow strides towards the book that was, now, well adjusted on her lap. 

“That would be nice” She replied sweetly with a giddy smile. She took my suggestion as a notion to begin exploring the scrapbook, flipping through the beginning pages of the memoir. “Would you look at this Y/N!” She excitingly pointed at a picture of a young boy while I settled next to her on the plain colored couch. With an extensive observation of the picture she was referencing, I had come to find out that the little boy was no other than Spencer himself. 

She shook her head in remembrance as I observed her deep in reminiscence, admiring how, for just a moment, clarity had filled her heart and mind. “This was Spencer’s first chess tournament when he was only five years old” She regaled, speaking of her pride and joy in his youth. “At five years old, the boy won against men that were ten times his age- can you believe that!” She expressed, an incredulous smile etching on her lips as she flipped to the next page. 

“Spencer had told me that he had won his first tournament at age four” I added jokingly as the atmosphere began to regain a more pleasant air. I reached for a throw pillow that resided on the end of the couch, tucking it between my knees and chest for comfort. 

“That silly boy” She teasingly scoffed in disbelief as she racked through her distinct memories; shaking her head at the utterance of my words. “He had lost his first chess match when he was four, but he was too proud to ever accept defeat” She explained, flipping through several pages as she spoke. I chucked in response, understanding the familiar- or might I say all too familiar- discourse of Spencer’s intelligent pride. 

“Oh Y/N, dear, look at this with me” She beckoned me to take notice of a picture of a man on a tightrope, only the man’s face was replaced by an old cut-out of Spencer’s young visage. “Did you know that he wanted to be a tightrope walker?” She revealed, laying a gentle hand on the paper memory. 

“I thought he wanted to be a magician?” I inquired.

“Oh, that was afterwards-” She proceeded to pat my thigh in a motherly manner as if I was her own child. “-after he fell off of our fence in the backyard” She chuckled, meeting my amused gaze with her own. I let her sink into her own world, satisfied with her sedated state of mind as I made my way towards my phone to check the time. 

3:28 p.m.

Unfortunately, that meant I had to pull Diana from her comfortable space to give her the medication prescribed from the clinic and the experimental drug that Spencer had placed her on. “Hey Diana” I softly whispered, gaining her attention. “It's time to take your medication” I informed her with an apologetic look. 

“Nah, I don’t like the medicine that Spencer’s been giving me” She waved off casually with a grimace on her face. “They taste awful” She didn’t look up from the book once, disregarding the task that needed to be done. 

“Please Diana” I pleaded, heading to the kitchen cupboards to acquire her prescriptions; going to Spencer’s dresser to fetch the experimental drugs that were included in her regime. “Spencer had strict orders for me and you know how he gets” I playfully insinuated in the hopes of lighting up the tense ambiance. I continued to sift through Spencer’s cabinets- which was an absolute abhorrence to look at, let alone scavenge through- in the means of finding Diana’s prescriptions. 

“Shit” I quietly cursed as some household items fell onto the floor, emitting a loud crash. 

“WHAT WAS THAT!” Diana shrieked in terror, disturbed by the sudden disruption that sounded throughout the entire apartment. The sound of a heavy thud from a book in the next room followed Diana’s deafening shrills of panic, indicating that the crash had triggered another break from reality. “Y/N! Y/N! WHAT’S GOING ON- WHERE AM I?!” She cried in her unnerved state, stampeding into the kitchen as if her life depended on it. 

“He-hey it’s okay Diana-” I dropped the prescriptions on the kitchen counter in a hurry, ignoring the mess, to prioritize Diana’s abrupt outburst. “You’re here in Spencer’s apartment- your son’s apartment- with m-me. Look Di- Diana! Look you’re here with me” I reassured her once again. Although that didn’t put a stop to her labored breathing, trembling hands, and distraught eyes. 

“WHO ARE YOU?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY SON’S APARTMENT!” She vehemently spat in the midst of her frenzy. 

I grabbed the medication off of the counter in a haste, preparing to have them in hand for a window of opportunity in administering them. “Diana- please- Diana, it’s me Y/N- you have to take your medication” I negotiated with her, keeping my tone as amiable as I can. 

“GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!” She threatened, picking up one of Spencer’s textbooks and flinging it at the wall behind me. “GET AWAY FROM ME!” Items continued to soar through the air until Diana began to hysterically strike herself on the forehead. “GET OUT! GET OUT!” She squeezed her eyes shut, pulling at the sides of her hair. 

Without a second thought, I leaped to restrain her from further self-inflicting damage. “Hey Diana- Sto-stop that!” I pried her hands away from herself, balancing the prescription bottles in my hand whilst wrestling against her sporadic movements. “DIANA!” I yelled, feeling my chest heave in exasperation; her provocation of my patience wearing my understanding countenance thin. 

The booming sound of my voice infiltrated Diana’s sensitive ears, similar to one of a gunshot, making her cover her ears instinctively. “SHUT UP! GET AWAY FROM ME!” She wailed, her tone wavering as she enunciated her words. She forced her eyes shut once again, shaking her head while whispering a mantra to herself. 

“Diana...Please” I pleaded, softening my voice in guilt. I uncapped the prescriptions, taking out a few pills to showcase the medication essential to her condition. “If you just take your medicine, you’ll feel better- I promise- please!” I affirmed, taking close observation to her present behavior. She began unraveling from her mental cloud, taking frequent peeks at the pills that lay on my hand. With a tentative reach, she reached out for the drugs and retracted her arm as soon as she had taken possession of them.  

“Yes, Diana, they’ll make you feel better-” I sighed in relief, watching her examine the pills in her hand. “Do you want me to get you water? I- NO DIANA! STOP!” I halted mid sentence, the action of Diana pelting the wall with her pills impeding my ability to coerce her further. By instinct I picked up the pills in a frenzy of indignation, a slew of reprimands impulsively falling out of my lips, like a mother would to her petulant child.  

“What are you doi- DIANA! Why would you do that? I’m just trying to- STOP! I’M JUST TRYING TO HE-” 

A whiff of cold air glided through Diana’s fingers that followed her right hand. For a moment I felt time still, yet it took me an eternity to process the event that had unfolded in front of me- or which I would say to me. My cheek began to blare an ugly rouse, the painful sensation of throbbing encompassing the entirety of the left side of my face. I clutched my cheek in shock and confusion, unable to process her potent and unforeseen capabilities. “I- i, uh-” I stumbled over my tongue, my mind impuissant in regards to its verbal-cognitive skills. 

“JUST GET AWAY FROM ME!” 

In the last attempt of Diana’s impulse driven self-defense, she forcefully shoved me back into the dining table resulting in the wooden edge piercing my spine. I groaned in pain, clutching onto the end of the table as another slew of curses fell from my mouth. In the midst of the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I didn’t notice the stream of blood profusely flowing out of a large gash on my wrist where my veins were located. 

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I panicked, inspecting a metal screw that protruded from beneath the table; the spiral tip now covered in blood and leftover skin. I rushed for my phone and a towel to ease the bleeding, although it was evident that I needed medical attention. Instinctively I dialed Spencer’s number on my phone with the hopes that he would pick up, although due to my misfortune, the call went into voicemail indicating his unavailability. 

By this time, Diana had left the room and locked herself in the bathroom; despite my constant worry of her being, all of my attention had been on contacting medical aid. With a brisk call, paramedics were being sent to the apartment and police officers to document the scene. I whined in pain while the hands on an analog clock, that hung in the kitchen, moved at a snail’s pace, my vision slowly dissipating as my blood enveloped the oak floor. 

I began whispering a comforting mantra to myself- or maybe it was all in my head- that Penelope had taught me. “Sa, Ta, N-na, Mm…” I shook my head to retain my consciousness, the black curtain between my blinks growing in duration. It felt as if my pupils had dilated and pulsed continuously, feeling every nerve in my body weaken along with my frail muscles. 

I hadn’t even noticed the paramedics bursting into the living room, let alone the doorbell ringing to indicate their presence. In a few slips of consciousness, two men in uniforms were placed in front of me to my aid. 

“Ma’am? Ma’am can you hear me?” One of them spoke, although with the combination of stampeding feet and muffled voices I wasn’t able to distinguish a coherent phrase. 

Suddenly with an unexpected shock of adrenaline, I was able to slightly ground myself in reality. “C-call Re-reid, Spencer Reid- FBI” I sputtered out, squinting my eyes at the medical kit that they placed on the floor. “Ple-please, Spen- AH” I whimpered, the paramedics applying alcohol to disinfect the wound. 

I directed my focus away, only for my eyes to land on Diana being taken away by a few police officers and a social worker. She was kicking in screaming, evidently in the middle of her psychotic break from before. She thrashed against the police officers restraints, scared out of her mind as she yelled her son’s name. 

“St-stop” I whispered, catching the gaze of one of the paramedics. “Sh-she’s- fuck- she needs help, she has Schizophrenia and Alzheimer” I informed them, watching their eyes go wide in surprise; one of them rushing off to spread the message to the officers. 

They carefully let her out of their hold, letting her scurry into a confined corner of the room before contacting her emergency contact: Spencer. The sole paramedic continued mandatory procedure with me, placing pressure on the gash while eavesdropping on the scene that unfolded behind him. 

“Spencer? That’s who you want to call right?” The man inquired. 

I nodded in response, grasping his arm. “Please hurry” I managed to say, letting my eyes lull into the back of my head in the attempt to relax. 

Finally in the midst of the chaos, a lanky figure flurried into the doorway in alacrity. His eyes first landed on his mother who was being approached by apprehensive officers, in which he informed them, again, of his mother’s condition; with this the police force let the man run over to his mother to sedate her. 

Then, his eyes fixated on my wavering gaze as he took a moment to take in the scene that laid in front of him. 

“Oh my god, oh my GOD Y/N” He lamented, rushing over to where me and the paramedic were situated. “Y/N- I- Oh my god, I’m so sorry- I shouldn’t hav-” Spencer rambled on, his somber eyes flickering from my face to my wrist. 

“Spencer, please don’t worry...I’ll be fine, go check on your mother. She needs you right now” I muttered. Although it seemed that he didn’t hear anything of what I had said as he continued to ramble through his anxious spiel. 

“I-i got your call, but I sent it to voicemail- I didn’t think- I- I didn’t know it was important- then I got the emergency call from my mot- I- I should’ve answer- Oh my god, I wasn’t there” He punished himself, squeezing his eyes in regret. 

“Spenc-” I attempted to interrupt, although was cut off when the paramedic had informed him that  needed to be transported to the hospital. 

-

After my check ups were done, the team swarmed into the hospital room in a flurry, but with no Spencer in sight. 

“Oh my god! Y/N I’m so glad you’re okay- I’m sure one of my hugs will make you feel extra better” Penelope rushed over to the side of my bed giving me an awkward, yet comforting, hug. 

JJ took this as an opportunity to inform me of my condition, explaining how the wound would take some time to heal, but everything else was fine. I nodded in gratitude, basking in the family that stood in front of me.

“You had us all worried Y/L/N” Hotch added, giving me a cordial nod. 

“Especially pretty boy” Morgan continued. “I’ve never seen him run out of the room so fast. But, I’m glad you’re okay” He comforted me, taking a stance next to Garcia. On cue, Spencer crept in the room with a melancholy, yet relieved expression on his face.

“Speaking of…” Emily trailed off, taking notice of Spencer’s immediate presence. “Let’s give them space” She filed the team out of the room to give me and Spencer privacy. 

The second they were out of sight he engulfed me in a crushing hug, whispering sweet apologies to me. He grasped my face in his hands, placing long kisses on my forehead as a form of consolation. “I’m so sorry Y/N” He sighed, keeping my face and his at an approximate distance. “I should’ve never left you” He antagonized himself, shutting his eyes in search of penance within himself. 

“Hey” I whispered, making him open up his eyes gracefully. “Spencer, you shouldn’t be sorry, it's your mom for god sake- she’s my family too- I would’ve done it again even if you didn’t ask me to” I reassured, drawing small patterns on the dip of his palm. 

“But she- I should’ve warned y-”

“Spencer, you have no control over what she does or how she is. Stop blaming yourself for not being there” I stated, pulling at his arm in a motherly manner. “Come here” I instructed him, tugging at the sleeves of his dress shirt. 

I pulled him into a gentle kiss in the hopes of making his self-reproaching thoughts dissipate. He was tentative in kissing me, letting himself hover over my lips as if I were to crack like porcelain if he were to give him. I gave him a gentle peck on the corner of his mouth as silent reassurance, pressing my forehead against his. 

He understood the message and pressed a long awaited kiss on my lips that made the entire room collapse into nothingness. The warmth that radiated off of Spencer making the interaction more visceral. He lingered in the moment for a few seconds before we parted, staring at me with a woeful look. Although through his somber visage, his love shone through the dark clouds that were present in his eyes. 

“I love you so much Y/N and I-” He paused, sighing in recollection of the events that had unfolded. “I just love you so much- you and my mother- and I’m so sorry I wasn’t there” He apologized, running his thumb over my knuckles as he stared at my bandaged arm. 

“But you’re here now Spencer” I interjected, reminding him to look forward and not back. “Where’s your mom?” I inquired, giving him a soft smile. 

“She’s with her nurse right now” He cringed, his mind not leaving the dark thoughts that enveloped his brain. A slight frown made its way onto my lips as I subconsciously reminded him of the state of his mother. 

“I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s okay Y/N” He reassured. 

Silence ensued before he cupped his hand over my hands, basking in the image of me laying in a hospital bed in front of him. 

“You and-” He paused, collecting his words. 

I encouraged him to continue, squeezing his hand. 

“Y/N. You and my mother are the most important things in the world- no- beyond lifetimes to me” He professed. 

“Spence-” 

“No Y/N- I want to tell you because I don’t know what happens tomorrow. But, all I know is that I love you wholeheartedly and no statistics can explain my exponentially growing love for you” He joked. 

I joined him in his amusement, listening to his words with intent as the atmosphere of the room returned to a more sincere air.

“I love you so much Y/N- and I know that I don’t get to tell you often because I’m always away- but Y/N Y/L/N, you have my whole heart in your hands-” He leaned in, tucking a stray hair away from my rosy cheeks. “-I know you tell me to not worry, but there’s nothing else I can do but worry when it comes to you” He continued. 

“Y/N...you’re my absolute everything and you’ll be damned if you think otherwise” 

-

A/N: 

i hope you enjoy it! i haven’t been writing frequently because i’m preparing for school, but i hope you enjoy it. 

[cloudy-leonhart]

You Took My World Away.

Author Note: Am I starting off with an angst fic about Erwin? Yes. 

Summary: Erwin didn’t really focus on love, not until he met Reader. Although, nothing good really lasts for him, so losing his lover wasn’t that suprising, but his potential baby? it hurts. Really, really, bad.

Pairings: Erwin x Reader

Type: Feminine Reader

Theme: Angst

TW: Death, Swearing, Injuries, Miscarriage.

[gif belongs to the rightful owner]

He knew it’d happen eventually.

Your presence wasn’t there at HQ anymore, he knew that he’d never get to hold your hand one day, he wouldn’t hear and see you greet him a good morning by the kitchen when he walks by, he would never be able to catch you in his arms ever again when your ODM gear breaks down while you swing around during your off days.

He just never knew how soon it was, he realized how much he took you for granted, when they brought what was left of your body to him, he realized how stupid he was to not have been there by your side. How stupid could he have been, you must’ve been so lonely while you passed.

Nobody spoke when Erwin softly cried as he held your body, nobody tried to talk to him to let go of your corpse, not even Hanji or Levi. His friends surrounded him and you, he held you close to his chest as his friends tried to make him feel better, “Erwin? You should let go, alright?” Hanji gently clutched your limp arm as Erwin had quieted down. “No, I-” Erwin strained voice tried to speak.

“Erwin. Let her go.” Levi’s voice cut through, Erwin looked at him with pain and disbelief in his eyes, “You- Why aren’t any of you grieving?-” Mike’s hand placed itself on his shoulder. “We are, Erwin, but you have to let her go.” Erwin’s grip around your body had tightened. Levi held his wrist, as Hanji slowly pulled you out of his grip. Erwin tried to pull you back in his arms, Levi and Mike pulled him back, restricting him from taking your corpse away from the soldiers who were responsible of handling the corpses of other soldiers.

“You don’t understand, I need to-” Erwin tried to explain himself, as he looked at Mike and Levi frantically, as if to tell them to let him go. The two squad leaders struggled to hold him back. “Erwin, snap out of it! You knew this would happen!” Levi’s harsh voice tried to get through to Erwin, but his cerulean eyes were focused on his lover’s dead body as it slowly faded out of his view.

“You can’t take her away from me!” Erwin’s pained cries tried to convince Hanji to turn back, they could feel their tears run down their cheek, they could feel their grip on your body tighten slightly, as if they too, didn’t want to hand you over, with a heavy sigh, you were placed on the rickety wood of the carriage that carried also what remains of soldiers who fought bravely to their deaths.

———

“Oi, Erwin.” Levi leaned by the door frame, watching as the blonde sat in his chair, holding what seems to be a piece of jewelry, by the way the sun rays shone through the window, blanketing his restless figure and the item with different shades of the sun’s gold, the piece of jewelry produced a glare that seemed bright white to those who chose to stare at it head on.

“Levi?” Erwin looked up from his seemingly long gaze at your necklace, looking up to meet Levi’s industrial blue eyes, who seemed to glare at him from the door frame. “What- what are you doing here?” Erwin’s voice sounded rough and dry, as if he was dehydrated or had a sick throat.

“You haven’t left your quarters, not even for meals, besides, Hanji needs a break from being in charge in your place.” Levi looked away from Erwin’s full blue eyes, it has been fairly obvious that Erwin still hasn’t gotten over your demise.

“Oh yeah, uhm, I’ll be there.” Erwin looked over at Levi who seemed to be fishing something from his pockets. “You don’t have to start working soon, I’m just, here to deliver something honestly.” Erwin’s figure perked up as Levi’s footsteps came closer, placing two letters, one was a blood-stained letter, the second, a letter with the doctor’s wax seal was on it.

Of course, the doctor’s letter came first, probably news about you, his beloved, late wife. He grabbed his letter opener, prying gently at the black wax seal that kept it closed until it was delivered to him.

He slowly removed the parchment out of the envelope, placing it on the side as his eyes scanned the words on the parchment. His eyes scanned it over and over again before a heavy and broken sigh came out of his lips. Levi looked over to Erwin who seemed to be on the verge of crying once again.

Levi knew better than to poke through Erwin’s business so he left quietly, closing the door to give his commander some privacy.

Erwin’s hold on the letter tightened as it wrinkled the parchment. It read,

———

Trost District, Jan. 16th 851

Commander Erwin Smith.

Survey Corps.

Commander Smith, I am writing to you about your late wife, Mrs. Smith. I am saddened to share with you that your wife had carried while in battle, she was 4 weeks in her pregnancy, I am terribly sorry to be the one who had to inform you of your late child, I bring my condolences and hope that soon enough, you’ll be able to come from Trost to Wall Sina to collect your late wife’s corpse and give her a final resting place.

My Condolences

Dr. Edward Harley

———

Erwin felt himself freeze, he tried to take in deep breaths, doing anything to prevent him from spilling his tears, he knew if even one spilled from out his eyes, he’d never stop crying again.

The overwhelming guilt of not being able to be there by your side in the battlefield, to not be present during your passing, you must’ve cried for him, he shook his head, trying to rid himself of his thoughts of you and looked up to the dirty ceiling of his quarters as he tried to blink his tears away.

He continued on, he felt his hands weaken as he reached for the blood stained letter, he knew it was from you, the rich royal blue wax seal, a sign of extreme passion for the one who was to receive the letter. His letter opener pried at the wax seal, opening with a bit more force from the knife.

He pulled out the parchment the envelope dropping as soon as he let it go. He read this slowly and carefully, different from the doctor’s letter. His eyes ran over your written words carefully, making sure not to miss not even one letter on the parchment. He didn’t even notice his tears staining the parchment, the ink slowly spreading into the parchment, not being water-proof.

The letter was carelessly thrown onto his desk as he cried his heart out, the letter read,

———

Dearest, Erwin,

My beloved husband, I am currently writing this letter on the day of our wedding, I will carry this letter everyday with me, for in fear of my demise being uncertain whether it’d be today or years later.

It pains me, the thought of leaving such a remarkably amazing husband behind, I knew from the day we both met each other that our lives will be short, which is why we both married as soon as we were sure that we truly wanted to spend every second of our lives being in each other’s arms. I wanted to start a family with you, Erwin. I knew it will be hard to be able to start a family but I want to someday, I hope that both of us live long enough to atleast have a child together, I wish to wake up in your arms everyday, I wish to watch you and our child play around as they laughed cheerfully from enjoying their childhood.

I am sorry that it came to the time you’re reading this now, rather than a time where we lived happily, I was selfish enough to wish that you never had to read this and I was able to throw this letter away. I want you to know that my death will not keep us apart, this world was cruel enough to take me away from you.

I am strong enough to tell you that even if in this time I’m taken away, I will still find you in another life, I will wait a hundred years to be with you again, my beloved husband and hopefully, the future father of my children.

I promise that I will perish with you as my last thought and our wedding as my last memory, may we meet again.

Yours Truly, Y/N Smith.

———

He finally let his cries out, it wasn’t silent nor was it pretty, it was loud and painful, his eyes stung from the salty tears that left it, the painful and broken cries from his mouth went ignored by Erwin, the letter now laid on his desk as he had his head in his arms, his shoulders shook with every cry, his lungs begged to breath big breaths rather than staggered and short ones.

His hands clenched around his hair, it felt easy to pull out his hair, he could feel the cold ring on his finger, which used radiate so much warmth, even if it was the coldest night or the winter days. It was like the ring was powered by your presence. It felt warm rather than cold metal whenever you were with him. Now it feels cold forever, colder than any blizzard or colder than ice on his skin.

He cried out his guilt and his anger, he cried out the guilt of not being able to grant you the one wish you wanted, a family.

He felt horrible knowing that he could never hold you or his child ever again. He should’ve kept you here, he should’ve never let you went on that expedition. He should’ve been there. He wanted to turn back time, even just a few seconds from your death he could’ve at least done something, just something.

Erwin cried for what seemed like endlessly, hours it felt, on the other side of his closed door, was Levi and Hanji, who was stationed around his door, Hanji sat down on the ground, the tray of food originally brought warm enough so Erwin could atleast enjoy something while mourning, now laid beside them cold and tough.

They listened as Erwin let out staggered breaths and pained cries, they listened as their friend was miserable. Levi glared at the closed door of their friend’s quarters, as if it was to blame for the pain Erwin felt.

They sat and listened to Erwin’s cries over and over again, waiting for the right time to come in and comfort their blonde-headed friend.

“Levi..I can’t stand to listen to him anymore, I’m going in.” Hanji pulled themselves up, dusting their uniform before grabbing the door knob, a pale hand covered Hanji’s, they looked over to Levi’s face, emotionless eyes bore straight in Hanji’s pitiful ones.

“Let him cry and mourn, he won’t say anything if we go in there, you know he keeps to himself.” Levi suggested, Pulls back as Hanji let out a small sigh, stepping back from the door.

“I wish I could help him.” Hanji mumbled, sitting back down beside the closed door, trying their best to drown out Erwin’s muffled cries.

“Everyone loses something everyday, it just so happens to be the most important thing, Erwin lost these past few days.” Levi looked over to Hanji before glancing at Erwin’s door and walking away, leaving with slight sympathy in his heart.

Hanji soon walked away with the cold tray in hand, unable to take the overwhelming aura of sadness and guilt radiating off Erwin’s quarters, Hanji walked away with sadness built up inside themselves and a determination to lead while Erwin grieves.

Hanji looked back one more time, seeing Levi retreating back to his office before mumbling something as they walked back to the mess hall, deep in thought.

“Captain Hanji?” Moblit’s voice broke through her train of thought, “Is something wrong?” The blonde spoke worriedly, Hanji looked up at Moblit before speaking softly.

“As much as I think what Levi said is right, I don’t think Erwin just lost something, I think he lost his whole world.”

[yostresswritinggirl]

hello, i love your writin'!! seriously, it's so cool to read and im just ajdhsish and this is the first thing- second thing, would you be comfortable with writin' albedo x gn reader (headcanons are cool yknow!) who dislikes goin' outside alone? like, they worry that somethin' bad will happen to them or are a bit scared of doin' things that might go wrong around people, so they prefer goin' outside with someone? (they also want to get rid of their fears but have no ideas how) i will understand if you don't want to so dw!! 👉👈

First thing, thank you so much for requesting! This took a while, I'm so sorryy! This was supposed to come out yesterday but I got sick and barely had the brainpower to even stand :(( feels better now tho so yey? And yess ahhh thank you for your kind words, you guys have been wonderful too, give yourself some credit too!

This is the last Albedo request in the inbox and woohoo, we ended this streak in one of the hard prompts I've come by so far ahaha

I'm not sure if I interpreted anon right but this shall be a fic as originally requested? I'm apologizing in advance because I don't think I've captured this scenario well enough hehe,,, but I hope you still enjoy this!

Keep Me Intertwined

Albedo with a gn!reader that's scared of going out alone (Mild Social Phobia?)

Albedo is a genuis, everybody knows that, even beyond the walls of Mondstadt. Praised and sought out by scholars to ask for his wisdom and a majority of the time they receive their desired enlightenment.

Indeed, the Kreideprinz is a genuis even if he says otherwise, but he's a genuis in the art of Kemia. And only that. Truth be told there are a lot of things he lacks when it comes to knowledge, as his focus is only in the science he wants to explore. Beyond that, he comes close to a child's understanding of the world.

When he bumped into you when he was strolling through the stalls during a market fair of travelling merchants, he'd thought it would be something he can shrug off easily, but as he moves his head to look at the perpetrator he'd hear a squeak of a "sorry" and a running figure. What?

Albedo silently pats himself down as he continues to watch as the silhouette disappears farther, with a calculating gaze to memorize all their features for... future references.

After he made sure it wasn't a thief that bumped to him to pickpocket, he immediately moves on without another thought.

"Ah, you're the one from the marketplace yesterday." In all honesty, your second meeting was quicker to come than he expected, and at the most curious location of all places. In the Knights of Favonius HQ. How had he not heard or seen of you before?

Your shoulders tense at the sound before you even closed the door of which you came from. This was a room he's never seen anyone use, he realized. Was this where you've been residing all this time? What an oversight on his part but it seems that you two share the common practice of barely leaving your quarters.

When you turned around, behind those surprised eyes lies a gentleness of relief he has not seen a mixture of in the ones he'd observed before. "O-Oh, Chief Alchemist! I'm really sorry about that, I was- I'm really sorry!" He hums in contemplation before shaking his head, assuring you it was a matter that caused no harm.

There was more to it, but his thoughts are distracted with his current task at hand, and with a short goodbye he made his way out down the hall where the stairs resides.

His heavy boots clap on the carpeted floor...

Paired with shuffling light ones to try and match his stride.

Huh? "Are you perhaps going outside?" He confirms with a soft yes as he continues his walk. What are you implying? "Is it okay if I join your company? I uhm also need to get some stuff from outside." He just nods, not one for small talk or questioning. It's nothing much to think about really—

Your loose and subtle grip around the chains hanging by his coat seem to ground him from his musings as you two traverse through Mondstadt in a normal gait. He tries not to think about it too much, but the way you look around with unease when you near other people or your desperate strides to stay a respectable distance to him were things he observed during the walk. Albedo was no man of science focusing on human personality and it bothers him.

It was like a game of cat and mouse between you two running errands, he'll detour to the side and you'll follow him, and if you need to drop by to a building then he'll have to follow you.

And he doesn't know why. Is it because of his mannerism towards taking care of Klee? Or his feeling of responsibility for bringing you along?

During this whole ordeal the Chief Alchemist has brought himself a bright idea (it is not) and went into his scientific mode. He watches you talk to one of the citizens about a commission you had finished yesterday and after confirming your undivided attention, he quietly slips away from the area to visit the Alchemy stall where Timaeus would surely be working on.

It took about an hour before he was allowed to use the table, because Timaeus took so long working on his forgery. Goodness that man needs to work on his studies more.

Ah, speaking of— Albedo realized he'd just up and left you for an hour. Without a second thought he retraced his steps to where he had last seen you. Surely you would have gone off to do your own thing, probably finished up your errands by now and had gone back to the Knights headquarters.

An unmoving force made him tumble forward as his coat seemed to have been caught. If you were there, it would be a sight to see, a rare moment of the Kreideprinz so uncomposed and shocked as he catches himself with a sputter. What the hell? His head snaps to look over his shoulder at such incredible speed, you'd thought it really would have snapped—

The clutch on his chain accessory tightens. With your head down low he couldn't see what expression you were, but your tense shoulders shake with a tremor similar to that of an on-going earthquake. His guilt was more obvious as your knuckles turn white from the deadly grip.

"Albedo-!" You exclaimed in what seems to be a cross between a whine and a whimper. "You disappeared, I couldn't- I couldn't leave..."

He hides a sigh as you refuse to look up to show your face. And in a comforting manner he has 'mastered' with a certain someone, he gently pries off your tight grip (with some urging pats to get you to loosen) before interlocking your fingers with his gloved ones. And he smiles as genuinely as he can, "I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Are you done here? It's almost night, we should get moving."

Your nod of agreement was a breath of fresh air to him.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

Days after that were pretty much as uneventful as uneventful it could be for Albedo's lifestyle.

Holed up in his laboratory for days without rest like the madman he is. Master's alembic and grounds of scarlet quartz able to keep his mind occupied to not wonder. Hyperfocused, no one has seen him out, only Sucrose dropping by with an 'assistant pass' despite the experiment on-going sign hanging by his doorknob.

When he finally stepped out to the hallway, three days already passed. The door behind him clicks as it locks, a sound that echoed with the door four rooms apart to his.

Kaeya looks up from your doorknob when he noticed the approaching silhouette. "Oh, Chief Alchemist? Finally came out of your cave." He quipped as he leans his shoulder against your room's door, visible eyebrow raising slightly after noticing the fleeting gaze Albedo passed at the door.

"Cavalry Captain, good evening. What were you doing there?" Straight to the point.

The taller man's eyebrow rose higher before he composed his amusement. "I didn't expect you to be into rumors, Albedo." The Alchemist's brows furrows in response. "No harm done, worry not. I just accompanied them on their trip outside before retreating for the night."

Humming to himself, Albedo's eyes wonder back to your doorknob before it was protectively shielded by the man's... white fur cloak?

"I also heard you left them alone when you two were out. I didn't expect you to be such a cruel man, amping up their fear after the progress they've made." Fear? Progress? More questions swirled within the genius' mind the more he talked with this.

Kaeya had noticed his faraway look and pieced together the context. Finally, he offered to explain the background of the issue and Albedo was ecstatic to listen in, a first with the blunette.

"Do you understand it now?"

"Mhm."

"Then I'll leave them to your care, I'm sure your genius mind can come up with something."

"Huh?"

And thus you find yourself standing at the bottom steps of the Ordo Favonius HQ the next morning, hand in hand with the Chief Alchemist you've last seen four days ago. Doesn't he have better things to do? No, he reasoned the solution he worked on will take two days to formulate the desired sediment, and so he has that timeframe free for the taking.

You would have been confused and wary he'd abandon you again—

Were you not forced to listen to the two dummies talk about YOU right outside your ROOM.

"You uhm, you don't have to hold my hand during this whole trip, Master Albedo."

"Albedo." He corrected. "And this is necessary, much more convenient and predictable than pulling on my chains really." A touch of a blush framed your cheeks with embarrassment.

"I have nothing in my itinerary today, so feel free to tug me along. It is, after all, the most I can do for what happened."

Despite the rough texture from the long use, the leathered hand in yours brought about more comfort than you would have thought.

Bonus:

The solar isotoma sparkled in pure golden beauty in front of you, but it didn't prevent the anxiety bubbling inside as you watch Albedo hop over the ledge with the help of his geo construct. "What- what are you doing?"

"Experiment. I'll be up in the roof looking over you so you'll know I'm still here, if it makes a difference if your company is far from arms length or not." He replied as he casually hopped over to the roof of a housing unit.

"Albedooo!"

I didn't get to capture all the aspects of the request that I wanted to focus on ahhhhh, I got so conscious of the length I had to stop it! Still ack I hope I captured his personality and context well— and I'm sorry if I amped up the fear more than you gave, I'm not really sure how bad it was supposed to be skskskks

But hey, this being the last Albedo req in my inbox, I am now free from this man *happy sigh* //:Albedo smut leading the leaderboard for the followers event looms over from behind:// *sweats*

[ginanosakka]

Mistakes Were Made

Masterlist

You’re Wrong | Next

“Ryu. .” You trailed off but you couldn’t find the words that would stop the tears pooling in his eyes.

He looked so hurt.

“Tell me, mom! Is Dynamight my dad?!” Ryu yelled, the tears finally spilling over as he pointed an accusing finger at you.

You looked at Katsuki who looked just as lost as distraught as you did, his attention never leaving Ryu despite him not even looking at him. You were baffled in this situation; how did you become the villain again? You spent six years bettering yourself and doing all you could do to be the best mom for Ryu, but all it took was Katsuki coming into the picture to flip the script back to the original plot: the plot where everyone was against you.

“Yes, he’s your dad. . but you don’t understand-“ Ryu cut you off.

“I don’t understand what?! That you were lying about my dad?! He’s right here and he does want to meet me!” He yelled, and as blindsided as you were by this situation you still were his mother and he was getting out of control. It could easily cause him to react with his quirk out of impulse knowing the temper he inherited, and you’d be damned if Ryu talked to you like Katsuki talks to everyone else.

“Ryu L/N,” you snapped in a harsh tone. “I can understand that you’re very upset right now, but I won’t accept you speaking like you've lost your mind and forgotten that I am your mother.”

When you finished speaking the room fell silent. Ryu’s head bowed but you could see the tears hit the kitchen floor. This was all what you were trying to avoid with Katsuki and Ryu, all this frustration and anger that you wanted to brush under the rug has blown up, and you were on the receiving end of the blast. Looking at Katsuki, he just seemed to be watching deep in thought now rather than lost while watching you parent, but there was a look in his eyes after you said his full name that could only be described as discontent.

You sighed and rubbed your temple, “I think we should-“

“I hate you.”

With your heart in pieces in your hands and tears heavy in your eyes, you stormed into your father’s office heaving from the squeezing in your lungs. Your disheveled appearance shocked him enough to stop the paperwork he was doing, something that was a near impossible task, but that meant so little to you now that you’d think you never yearned for his attention in the first place.

“Why did you do it?” You asked, not waiting a second to let him compose himself.

Your father’s brows furrowed, “do what, sweetheart?”

“You bought them all. Everyone. . They only talked to me because you bribed them, they used me because of you!” You raised your voice, stalking closer to his desk and staring dead into his eyes despite the tears that were blurring your vision.

“Y/N. . . it’s not what you think-“ you cut him off.

“I think you ruined my life, and for what?! Am I always going to be some incapable child to you?! You expect me..,” you paused as a sob bursted through your lungs. “You expect me to be like mom and stay in your shadow forever. . I’m not going to do it.”

The only sound in the room was your sobs while you wiped away your tears aggressively to see him stand with an unimpressed look on his face. He was always so gentle with you, treating you like a delicate dove he locked in a golden cage, but in moments it seems like the cage was broken up and you were set free to see everything hidden before. Everything your father kept hidden in plain sight from you through money and affection was now visible, and you were scared and wounded by what you were seeing.

“I can apologize for buying your friends and that boy you like so much, but it seems you’ve forgotten your place. As long as my money and sacrifice is what keeps you warm at night and gives you a future you’d never even be able to comprehend on your own, you’ll do what I say and I won’t hear another word about it.” Your father commanded, his voice booming in the room and causing you to tighten your hands into fists. “Now, how about you go ask your mother to take you shopping to feel better? I’ll find you some new friends-“

“I hate you!” You cried, his words finally pushing you over the edge.

You didn’t want new friends that were bought for you, the fake meteorites you had were already haunting you. Every moment spent with Mina was like some forced business interaction to her, but to you it was your happiness. The love you had for Katsuki was probably a chore for him like he was working some part time job, and now he finally quit and told the truth; the truth of how gullible and brainwashed you were. No one cared about you, you were a pawn even to your own parents, and the moment you decided you didn’t want to play anymore you’d likely be on your own and disowned.

‘I’ll never forgive you, father.’

“Y/N! Y/N!” You blinked back to reality where Katsuki had you by the shoulders shaking you as gently as he could with his naturally rough nature.

Katsuki jumped into the scene when those words fell from Ryu’s mouth, telling him how it wasn’t right and he should apologize as calmly as he could. It wasn’t like the little blonde boy needed a lecture from his twin by blood, he looked like he regretted it the moment he said it. Katsuki half expected you to attack the child like his mother did to him, her ruthless tactics still haunting his brain to this very day, but he could tell you were nothing like that. He hadn’t been around you long, but your world was so obviously centered around his son that it made his stomach turn when he thought about what he said about taking him away from you.

What he didn’t expect whatsoever was for you to completely space out in front of them, staring into the wall with such a pained expression he was worried you were somehow physically wounded by Ryu. The boy himself was in tears again while looking at you, wondering if he had hurt his mommy so bad that she couldn’t take it.

“Take him. Take Ryu with you to your home and take care of him for me. . okay?” You said blankly, even with the numbness that spread over your body you still cared about what happened to your son.

Bakugou nearly had a heart attack at your words, the panic of taking care of his child on his own when he just met them was nerve wracking, and he couldn’t comprehend what was going through your brain to trust him to do that. You looked so drained compared to mere minutes ago, and the hero in him was kicking into overdrive to save you from whatever the hell was going on inside your head.

“Don’t be stupid, dammit! I thought you were a good mother-“ Katsuki had never been silenced by a simple touch until your soft, warm hands grabbed onto his wrists that were still on your shoulders and looked him in the eyes showing how tired you were.

‘How is she doing this again?’ He thought angrily, the way his heart began to race the way it did when he was a teenager conflicting him once again.

“Please.” Was the only word that fell from your lips before you pried his arms off you and walked past him and Ryu out of the kitchen to your bedroom.

Katsuki stood there for a moment, unsure of where to go from here but knowing either way he’d be taking the kid he’d been waiting to see home with him. Ryu, no matter how upset he still was with you, was worried about that look on your face he’d never seen you make. The past and the present had finally met, and everything was becoming unclear and feelings were overwhelming. Luckily, if Katsuki learned anything from his mistakes in life; it was that there was always a way to make a better future.

Even if he didn’t know who you were anymore, or where that spoiled princess went, he was going to put everything he had into making this life work.

“Let’s get you home, kid.”

A/N: This took way too long for the length it is but the holidays have me working overtime. I hope you guys like it, and hopefully the next update will be a lengthy one by next week!

Also... THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLLOWERS <3!!!!!!!!!!

Taglist <3 : @fandomgirllover @cloudsgathering @that-bipolar-renegade-romantic @jazzylove @that-chick212 @bonbonthedragon @misssugarless @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @bakugous-bakahoe @pinkykookie17 @animexholic @arielting @samkysnks @simpforeveryone @damnirina @fireworkemoji102 @deneuves @tsumuuumiyaaaa @ladybeautiful18 @vintage-teddyxo @regalmigraine @samvmgh @iamagalaxy @officialtrashbusiness @xwackk @videogameboiwhowins @marajillana @ellasdilemma @plutoneu @saucey-kneecapzz42020 @thestarsanctuary @star-light-imagines

[lantsovsupremacist]

tiberias (cal) calore vii: illicit affairs

i’m only on the 3rd book so a) pls don’t spoil you’ll break my heart and b) my perception of the characters has only been developed to this point so if you come for me do it with the correct context lmao!!!

you knew what it was.

leaning your forehead against the cool metal post of your bed frame, a shaky exhale escaped from your lips. you wished just like that lost breath, you too could leave behind your body and with it, mind. a few minutes was all you needed, really; some semblance of relief.

even with your door shut tight with a deadbolt, the danger contaminating the palace lingered outside of it. you were not foolish enough to deny the cracks it could slip through. you would give any adversary a worthy fight, though. you could not afford not to, especially now.

for the first time in your life, you had truly encountered a problem that you could not use your abilities to maneuver out of. as much as your lungs screamed and your legs ached to run, you could not. being a swift, your first instinct was always to run. your speed always gave you the advantage in pursuit.

a familiar knock at the door broke you from your trance of pity. you stood up, sniffling as you ran the back of your hand across your nose and mouth. the action of clearing your throat sounded more like a whimper, but you managed as you gathered your skirts and headed for the door. you pushed down the nausea and wrung your hands to settle yourself.

your fingers shook on the deadlock before you pried the door open. the amount of weight on the wood, the length of the echo, and the momentary pause before the second, lighter knock gave away the identity of the person on the other side. you were in his arms before you could take another breath.

despite offering you the comfort you had craved all morning, his touch triggered the sobs caged in your chest. perhaps, it was because your heart was only safe in his hands. but, without the key to let them out, they messily tore through and paved their own path.

a year ago, your greatest worry would be the shame brought to your family on account of conceiving a child out of wedlock, let alone to the crowned prince. now, it seemed the impending war took precedence. you could have laughed; a red threatened your livelihood. a girl, really.

you were always careful, and it did not even happen very often. both you and the prince were very busy people, after all. send offs and reunions.

“we can fix this,” cal murmured into your hair.

“no, you don’t get it,” you broke out with a defiant shake of your head, “there’s nothing to fix.”

he pulled back, stroking your hair and pushing it behind your ears. your golden strategist was at a loss. your heart fell further into the pit of your stomach. you chewed on the inside of your lip, desperate to look anywhere but his eyes. yet, in the space of the same moment, you never wanted your gaze to leave his.

“i won’t leave you,” his warm hands ran up your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, “and i won’t let my father have a say in any of it.”

“it’s not the king i am frightened of,” you admitted with a sour taste in your mouth.

cal nodded with a grimace, “then i’ll be sure she is controlled until the end of the month.”

but who could control the queen who could twist minds? you chewed on the thought to avoid choking on it, forcing it down in distaste. both cal and yourself needed time neither of you had the privilege to claim.

cal communicated the importance of waiting until the traditional queenstrial to propose publicly. while the larger part of you agreed with this position, a small piece of your heart reserved for crippling doubt and senseless paranoia wondered if he was stalling for a different reason. if you could at any time expect desertion, it would be now but true to his word, cal had done no such thing—a loyal soldier until the end.

“and if they don’t chose me?” the secret fear you had harbored far before you had even become aware of your current condition felt a traitor to expose to the boy who had given you everything, kept every promise he could.

he studied your face carefully to ensure he held your full attention (though he was foolish to ever think otherwise), “make them, my dear.”

despite the event’s purpose of selecting a bride for the princes themselves, all of the noble houses knew the eldest had little choice in the matter. while your relationship with cal was not overt due to the inherently illicit nature of the affair, servants were known to talk. even in your deepest frustrations, you could not necessarily blame them.

his confidence in you was endearing but what other choice did you truly have?

you pulled away from his arms and lingering stare, wrapping your arms around your middle. pacing the length of the room, you suppressed a bitter laugh, “and then what? when a baby is born after less than eight months? and that’s to say we can persuade your father to rush a royal marriage.”

“let them talk,” his fingers twitched at his sides and you caught the scent of smoke, “nobody will be able to do anything.”

he thought he could protect from anything. sure, there would be little opportunity for any political action after a marriage was solidified but rumors would swirl. born into the pressures of eyes always watching you, they did not cut deep, but a queen needed a reputation demanding of respect. you did not want to be cruel but you decided that if need be, you could.

you wanted so terribly not to cry but willing it away only drew your focus to it more. you did not think the act made you weak but you would rather avoid the complete exhaustion it often caused. you were already so tired. but, some things were inevitable.

cal caught on before you did, “baby,” his voice was croaky, maybe laced his emotion of his own, “please don’t cry.”

you giggled at the irony. it was watery and your voice was nearly gone but it was there. confusion spread across cal’s features. you studied his face as he began to understand. a slow, crooked smile spread across his freckles and indicated the transition.

“suppose i could have chosen better words.”

“mhm.”

you had not noticed he was slowly rocking you in his arms. calm rushed into your senses. cal radiated your favorite kind of warmth. he monitored his body temperature around you, never too hot but always comfortable. it reminded you of home. he was your home. he smelled of pine and dying embers.

now nearing nineteen, you met the prince at fourteen. your elder sister married sooner than your parents expected, hastening your introduction into political meetings as a representative of the swift house of nornus.

who could blame a young and inexperienced teenage girl for falling in with a powerful, older boy who dared throw her an extra glance. what began as a benefit to palace life at fifteen soon turned into a vice. it was easy to tell yourself that you could stop any time you desired but you were addicted to the way he touched you, the way he tasted, the way he spoke your name.

for a while, you were foolish enough to believe he maybe even loved you. when you turned sixteen, you understood you were a pastime for the prince. so when at seventeen he told you he loved you, you did not believe him. he was gone for service quite a bit and your training schedule stole away any time for secret meetings when he was home. you began to purposefully avoid him but the withdrawal from the high that was cal left you dizzy.

when he did not make a move to find you, you tried even harder to move on. you had both made a mess of your hearts, left bleeding and shattered on the floors of the palace. you watched him escape the palace more often, always finding another place to be. one night, however, you followed him. you told yourself it was curiosity that caused you to slip out of your covers and into a warm coat, a coat you would not have needed if you left with him.

you caught up easily with your inhuman perception and speed and yet, he still saw you coming. he always did. that night, you wandered through a village and blended in. that night, you could be normal. he helped you clean up the mess between the two of you and things were different but the same again. they were better. you still took the long way to his room and pulled him into hidden corridors but the longing stares across meetings reignited.

you cleared your throat, “when you returned from delphie.” you tone held the pace of a simple comment, not the answer to the unspoken question pressing down on both of your minds.

cal turned his lips into his mouth and nodded, taking a deep breath, “i remember.”

it was a good memory, a good time. slow and gentle and loving. rane had worn you ragged sparring evangeline from sun up to sun down. you enjoyed the younger classes attending for the exposition but your muscles felt like weights lodged into your body and your breath had not yet fully returned after running circles around evangeline.

usually when one of you returned from an excursion outside of the palace, you wasted little time in attaching to every piece of each other. but, you were both exhausted—exhausted but greedy for the attention of the other. it had been a month ago, nearly to the day.

you and cal never discussed the prospect of children. even if one of you did not favor the idea, there was no choice in the matter. cal, as a future king, needed heirs, and if you wanted to be queen, you would have to bear them. but, you did want them and secretly, you knew cal did, too. it was more than a superficial requirement.

cal always looked at you, found you in a crowd, so it was hard to study him in secret. when he was with children, however, all attention transferred to those at his feet. it was then you saw him fully relax, the weight of his crown falling off his back. he loved them. you loved him more for it.

“and i don’t regret it,” he continued, dipping his head to place it gently on your shoulder. he kissed you neck once, twice, and then dropped his head back down.