#i don't feel i have a firm grasp of his character yet

[posletsvet]

On the Making of Gojo's Goals: Thoughts and Assumptions

One disclaimer which I feel I need to make before getting into this: This is my reading of the events of the JJK manga, and my reading only, no more and no less. I am not claiming that my opinions are anywhere near being correct or true to the meaning intended by the author, I'm just sharing my take on the story I'm currently deeply passionate about.

And spoiler alert, of course!

Okay, but it is actually so interesting to me to be able to trace the events all the way back to how Gojo's goals and motivations begin to take shape, gradually solidify and get put into motion. So here's how I see it.

It's discussed a lot how Geto's presence in Gojo's life provided the latter with a moral compass and an empathetic outlook on things he lacked himself, giving him a sense of direction and playing a role of somewhat guiding and grounding force for him -- even if he more often than not nonchalantly rebelled against the prospect. He could always rely on Geto's judgement, so it spared him from the bother of thinking about what's righteous and what is not and instead gave him space to enjoy his youth and be careless, relishing this breath of fresh air which his friendship with Geto became. And for quite a while, I imagine, they were both content with how things were. Their warm spring of youth, you know. But when Geto left, he as well took that ideological guidance away from Satoru. From that point on, I believe, is when Gojo really takes to crafting his own ideals.

Unnecessarily lengthy discussion of how, in my view, Gojo's goals came into being below the cut!

1. The loss of the moral compass

When the events of SPVI put uncrossable distance between Satoru and Suguru, not least because of how they chose to cope with their trauma, Gojo got separated not only from his one and only closest friend, but also from somebody who, essentially, told him 'Of course, there needs to be a reason to kill people'. But at that time Gojo was driven by inertial forces, stuck in perfecting his technique and prioritised realising his potential to the fullest, because he blamed his failure on his own shortcomings as a sorcerer, as the strongest. And for the time being getting stronger, really claiming the name of the pinnacle of jujutsu for himself seemed enough. Because being the strongest would solve all the problems. Why wouldn't it? In the end, that's what his society trained him to think, preaching that might is always right. He made growing in power his goal, because he genuinely believed that is what he needed in order to prevent another failure, another Riko from happening. He seemed honestly excited and proud of his hard work while presenting his newly mastered ability to Shoko and Geto.

Look, now he's strong enough.

He's got it all covered.

Something that terrible will not happen again.

He was certain at least in this, so he moved in that direction.

Geto's defection left him without as much. I guess at least some part of why the news came as such a shock to Gojo was because it ripped that certainty away from him, made it painfully obvious that strength alone was not enough. It's cruelly ironic that, more or less by coincidence, this blow lands on him right after his cheerfully boastful announcement of the finally tamed Limitless. Because the thing is, I cannot imagine an outcome where Gojo doesn't blame himself, at least a little, for what happened to Geto. He was the one who got too far ahead, got too strong. He made a point of making himself untouchable, unreachable. (Although, in my eyes, it's not entirely true -- as Gojo was the one who actually tried to reach out to Geto. Even if he failed in this, we do see him try. On Geto's part, there was never such an effort. He didn't reach back, nor did he reach out himself. But it's a topic for a different discussion, I guess.) And, in the end, perhaps he trusted Geto and his ability to stay true to his ideals a bit too much.

2. Being the strongest alone is not an option

After Geto's spiral at least one thing was made clear: everything's that's broken in the system won't be fixed merely through sheer power. Yes, Gojo reached his destination, became the strongest, but him being strong didn't stop Geto from breaking and leaving, did not do anything to help him. If anything, it only made things worse, creating a gap between the two which deepened Geto's self-isolation (and perhaps enabled it in the first place).

When Geto leaves and Gojo's belief that simply being the strongest is going to fix everything falls short, Gojo is forced to reconsider his ideas and figure out a different solution. And that's what he comes up with: if being the strongest alone is not enough, then everyone should be the strongest. His thinking still relies heavily on the concept that power is everything in jujutsu society, but from what happened with Geto (who, in Gojo's eyes, failed to catch up with him in strength and therefore broke under the weight of his responsibilities and went down the wrong path) he derived that, basically, strength comes in numbers. The system isn't going to provide its sorcerers with necessary support, so they themselves should be able to shoulder the load without faltering. Therefore, they need to be strong like him.

And secondly, there's that:

He can only save those who are already prepared to be saved. As I see it, with this phrase Gojo comes to a conclusion that there's only so much he can do. Even if his cursed technique is called the Limitless, he can't do the impossible. He can't be his society's Atlas holding up the weight of the world (though he tries to), can't blame himself for every loss and tragedy, so he's consciously narrowing the list of things he holds himself responsible for. Now, allow me to put a pin in this thought, I will get back to it shortly.

3. No support in the system

The next stepping stone in Gojo's journey to forming his final goals is taking Megumi (and Tsumiki) under his care. It's after this decision of his, I believe, he becomes determined to become a teacher and educate the youth. And it also somewhat ties to the 'saving only those who are prepared to be saved' bit.

For me to elaborate on this, let's take a few steps back. Throughout both seasons, but the second one especially, the story goes to great lengths to show how alone young sorcerers in fact are in their duties. Students are basically left to their own devices from the very moment they enroll into Jujutsu High, and the stakes are as high as they get, with the obligation to carry out missions more often than not putting them into life-and-death situations. And Geto and Gojo being considered the strongest sorcerers of their generation is still no proper excuse for delegating responsibility for the thing that their whole society relies upon to them. They were still literal teenagers who had not even finished their education as sorcerers at that point. They were sixteen and held responsible for somebody's life and well-being, with it constantly being threatened by members of two exceptionally dangerous organisations -- not to mention the whole price-on-Amanai's-head business. And all the while we get no notion of any teacher, any adult in charge and authority over them, bothering to check in on their progress with the mission whatsoever. And what about their emotional state, what about the severely traumatic -- nearly fatal -- experience they both endured? Did anybody make sure they went into, I don't know, therapy, like they should have? Were they provided with at least some extra emotional support from their mentors? I would gamble the chances of this actually happening are little to none. Almost like the system adopts this 'don't care' attitude merely because there is no point in tending to emotional well-being of somebody who they already view as disposable.

That being the case, it comes as no surprise that Geto did not know how to give voice to everything that was troubling him, did not know how to reach out for help when he found himself drowning in doubts. The system does not give the youth any room to develop healthy coping mechanisms, does not provide its sorcerers with any support in case they find themselves struggling mentally. No one is ever there to give Geto and Gojo or Nanami or even Shoko comfort, advice and guidance they all needed. Thus they just don't know how to apply for help -- because they are simply not used to, not taught how to. To circle back to my previous thoughts, the system does not prepare young sorcerers to be saved. The end result is inevitably trying to reach out to somebody struggling without that person ever reaching back or even recognising there is a need for them to do so in order to get help.

Gojo starts to break this pattern by taking in a child with no support system. And while no, I'm not saying Gojo was anywhere near equipped to play the role of that system to Megumi at that time, this decision on his part still counts as a step forward, even if a baby one (no pun intended).

4. Educating the youth

So, after taking it upon himself to help take care of two children, Gojo eventually drives to the conclusion that making sure that the younger generation in jujutsu society gets necessary support is indeed in order.

And I think there's somewhat a relation to be found between the role Gojo plays in Megumi's life and the way he delivers on his responsibilities as a teacher. Although Gojo oversees Megumi and Tsumiki's upbringing, he does so not as a parental figure, but rather as a mentor and a benefactor who ensures their well-being. The same may be applied to how he treats his students. He does not offer them emotional support himself, he isn't even by any measure the one who ties them together as a group, but he does in fact bring them together and does actively try to create the environment where they can bond and become each other's support system. Gojo's flawed personality is something even he himself admits to have, so he isn't necessarily the best man for the job when it comes to handling children's emotions. But he still, for instance, recognises that Yuuji has high emotional needs, so he brings him to Nanami -- an adult who is actually equipped to take care of his mental health. One other example of this is how, when the Goodwill Event fails in its purpose as an 'opportunity for the students to get to know each other in the spirit of competition', Gojo goes out of his way to instead organise a simple baseball game for them to play -- a team sport and an actual, normal as in 'non-lethal' bonding activity for teenagers.

There's an argument that Gojo too, in actuality, is not exactly always there for his students, but it's rather due to Gojo's high demand as a sorcerer than negligence or indifference on his part. In the end, Megumi does make a habit of calling Gojo when something goes downhill on a mission. And I would say it's a significant improvement in comparison with how things were back in Gojo's (and Geto's) day.

Also, that 'being a jujutsu sorcerer is an individual sport' reasoning on Gojo's part during his conversation with Megumi straight after the baseball game kind of speaks against everything I have been talking about for the last couple of paragraphs. Except that, as I personally take it, it's more indicative of the fact that Gojo, due to his inability to go beyond the bounds of power-oriented thinking, still puts too much weight on being strong as a sorcerer. Therefore here the more pressing issue for him was Megumi trudging behind and struggling to catch up with his own potential. That one thing which Geto didn't manage to do: keep up with the strongest. And Gojo does not want another Geto case.

After all, even Geto himself, the one who arguably suffered the most from the lack of concern towards young sorcerers' mental state and their detachment from literally everybody who could and probably should provide emotional support for them, somewhat gives credit to the improvements made since Satoru became a teacher.

(Whether Gojo's secret intention to push Yuuta to unlock his true potential by sending two children into the fight they couldn't win does or does not cross out the fact that he's forcing his students to stand up for each other. *coughs nervously*)

5. Conclusion

Perhaps it's somewhat inappropriate for me to go throwing around assumptions in a concluding part of this post, but I have very little experience with writing analysis and making concrete conclusions, so please bear with me for just a bit longer.

What really succeeded in striking me as odd when going through the story for the first time, is the interpretation which states that what Gojo really seeks to achieve by becoming a teacher is influencing his students and cultivating a particular mindset in them -- the one that would allow him to use them as valuable assets when it comes to overthrowing the current system. But how could that possibly be true if he doesn't even try to discuss politics with any of them, let alone force his own ideals and goals upon them? The only thing which he keeps insisting on in his students' regard and which is linked to his views is that they should be allowed to be kids, to have their youth inviolate.

While there's no doubt that Gojo wants the system to change, my guess is that he also wants to bring about this change through his students, with them truly living out his ideal, not simply parroting it at his prompting. And Gojo actually does want to raise strong and reliable comrades who can think for themselves and recognise the need for the system to change, making them into trustworthy allies -- not only to himself, but to each other, too.

His students really are all his hopes and dreams, huh?

In case everything written above seems to lack logical connections, here's the train of thought which led me through this rambling:

losing moral guidance and falling into power-oriented thinking → recognising that strength is indeed needed, but being strong alone is not enough → coming to take care of two children → decision to become a teacher → fostering the younger generation into strong allies capable of providing help for each other when needed and being each other's support system → how to do that? let kids be kids and forge strong relationships which they can rely upon

Thank you for reading through this mess of my making!! 🧡

[uzurakis]

hii! could you please do like after a really big argument it like gets to the point that the reader wants to break up with then and how they would handle it? i just request that choso is one of them<3

WANT US TO BREAK UP, YOU SAY?

featuring: choso kamo. gojo satoru. nanami kento. fushiguro megumi.

n. hi nonnie! thanku for the req. i usually don't write for choso, this is the first time i'm writing for him, i hope it doesn't stray out of his character. confession: i didnt proofread so.. enjoy </3

GOJO SATORU

the room was heavy with silence after your heated argument. you stood near the desk, arms crossed, emotions swirling. as for him, gojo leaned against the wall, his sunglasses off, revealing eyes that bore into you with a mix of frustration.

"this isn't working, satoru," you fidgeted your nails and shifted your feet. "i think we should break up."

he pushed off the wall, taking a step closer to you. "hell no," he said firmly, those blue eyes you know so well never leaving yours. "i'm not letting that happen."

you clenched your fists, anger and hurt bubbling to the surface. "you can't just decide that for me. we’ve been fighting constantly, and it’s exhausting.”

the man crossed the room in a few quick strides, stopping just in front of you. "we're not breaking up," he repeated, voice low and steady. "you're upset, i'm mad, and we had a fight, but that doesn't mean we break up."

tears welled up in your eyes as you met his gaze. "you don't get it, satoru. i can't keep doing this.”

he reached out, his hand gently but firmly grasping your wrist. "you’re not leaving," he said, his tone softening but still commanding. "we can fix this. together."

you tried to pull away, but his grip held you in place. "toru, this isn't just about one fight.” then his grip changed into him interlocking his fingers with you. “we keep hurting each other…”

his expression softened, but his grip remained steady. "i know, and i'm sorry, darling. but running away won't solve anything. i love you, and i'm willing to fight for us."

NANAMI KENTO

nanami’s expression remained calm, but you could see the tension in his eyes. he took a deep breath and walked over to you, his movements slow and deliberate. “please, sit down,” he said softly, gesturing to the couch. “we need to talk about this calmly.”

you hesitated, still seething with emotion, but his gentle tone made you relent. you sat down, crossing your arms defensively. nanami sat beside you, maintaining a respectful distance but close enough to show he was there for you.

“why do you want to break up?” he asked, his voice steady and soothing.

“like i said,” stating once again. unlike his, your voice cracked. “i feel like we don't have time for each other, not like we used to.”

he nodded, listening intently. “i understand,” he said, his tone even. “but breaking up isn’t the solution, sweetheart. we need to address it.”

nanami reached out, taking your hand in his. his touch was warm and reassuring. “every relationship has its challenges,” he said gently. “what matters is how we handle them. i believe we can work through this if we’re both willing to try.”

CHOSO KAMO

his eyes widened in shock, and before you could react, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around you. his embrace was firm yet gentle, a stark contrast to the turmoil in your heart. “please, don’t say that,” he whispered, his voice filled with desperation. “you can’t just say that, baby.”

you struggled against his hold, tears streaming down your face. “choso, don’t hold me back..”

he held you tighter, saying soothing words despite the urgency. “i know it’s been hard for both of us, but never say that, i don't want to hear you say that again.”

feeling the warmth and genuineness of his embrace, you drew in a shaky breath and found yourself losing resolve. “i just, i don’t know what to do with us.” your voice breaking.

choso loosened his hold just enough to meet your gaze, his love and concern visible in his eyes. “every relationship has its struggles, but i'm sure we both can overcome them. i love you, and i’m committed to working through this with you. so please, i dont want to give up on us yet."

he gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch warm and reassuring. “i’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this work. are you?”

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

your boyfriend’s shocked eyes became wider. “what? no!” he took a step forward, expressing a mix of disbelief and urgency. “that’s not how you solve this problem.”

with a hand raked through his hair, he was clearly frustrated. "i understand that we've been fighting a lot, but splitting up isn't the answer. we have to discuss our concerns and work towards–”

“i’m fucking trying, okay?” you hurried to cut his explanation. “you always have a logical answer for everything,” biting your lower lip, is he seeing that you don't need reasoned answers? but simply, perhaps some reassurance? “but it doesn’t change how i feel. it hurts, and i don’t see a way out of this.”

megumi took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “i’m sorry.”

“…”

“look, i need you to hear me,”

“i don’t want to fight either, heck, i’m too tired to argue,” he gently pulled you into an embrace. “but i don’t want to lose you. i can't promise you, but we can find a way to make this better."

"let’s be patient and work through our problems one step at a time.”

@uzurakis

[nanamis-bigtie]

sentience

↬ yuta x gn!reader | lucid love ↬ lucid love masterlist // jjk masterlist // ao3 version

cw: smut, gender neutral reader (no excessive body descriptions, no gendered pronouns), aged up character, dom reader, handjob, overstimulation, cum play summary: the strongest in the world, the sweetest in your bedroom. yuta loves succumbing to your hands word count: 1.6k a/n: yuta fuckers, this one is for you (i say, as if i wasn't one of you). i don't write dom reader often but ngl, despite initial difficulty, i found this quite fun to work with. i hope you will enjoy this too! tag list: @thesacredfanfics

"One more time?"

It's a question in your mind but words falling out of your lips pass more as an order. And he treats them so, obediently opening his eyes and rolling his head between pillows so he can look straight at you.

He was so beautiful when sunken in them, avoiding your piercing gaze and trying to hide his flushed cheeks. He's even more beautiful now, watching you with half-closed glossy eyes, his lips swollen and slightly parted, his chest heaving and muscles spasming, the remnants of his latest orgasm still shaking him whole. He's a mess, but for the few rounds you've already put him through, he's quite holding himself collected. As expected from the strongest.

"Please be gentle with me," Yuta smiles, such a pretty sight when mixed with bright-pink taint. He lifts himself on elbows and adjusts his position, your weight perched in his lap meaning nothing to him. 

You let him squirm for now. You know he'll listen when the right time comes, meanwhile relishing in the touch of reins in your hands. He entrusted you with full control over him, despite being in power in almost every other dimension of your life. Little can you both do about it, the gap of battle experience, social status and sheer strength is too great to be just adjusted to your whims. But here, in your shared bedroom, he's eagerly kneeling in front of you and laying his head in your lap, not the strongest anymore, just your pretty plaything to spoil and use however you want.

Yes, you let him have this little control from time to time. As a reminder he could, if he wanted, enforce his position even here. As a reminder that he never will—because you're in power far greater than what he possesses.

He's finally found a comfortable position for you both and blends into his pillows again. Still holding his cock with a firm grasp, you lean forward and kiss his sweaty forehead, then claim his lips, sloppy, lazy—yet, merciless with the way you steal the little breath he's gathered when recovering from his high. You feel him spasm under you when he's at his limit, much faster than a few rounds ago, but you don't stop just yet, not until you hear a pleading whine for air.

"There, there," you coo, stroking his cheek with a thumb and watching his chest twitch with sharp drafts for oxygen. "It's okay now."

Slowly, testing the current waters, you resume stroking. His cock is hot and slick with cum and so deliciously sensitive against your palm. You don't need to move much to have his abs twitching and breath growing heavier—so you're not overdoing it for now, instead feeding your eyes with the views. Your hand and his abdomen are covered in thick, milky ropes of his prior releases. His hair, from the long and thick strands plastered to his forehead and sides of his face to his soft pubes, is drenched in sweat. So is his skin, glistening in the ray of light sneaking through loosely drawn curtains. 

The game of moisture and shadows brings out the subtle lines of his muscles. You trace them with the thumb of your free hand, relishing in ticklish spasms, then switch your interest to the net of scars and stretch marks of his sudden height growth. For someone still relatively so young, Yuta is adorned with lines and crevices like a fatigued map—and always laughs your concerns away. Now, when he's the strongest, hardly anything can reach him anymore. 

The scar he's wearing on his forehead is the last mark he's received, and it's been...years. Yet, it always looks so fresh, and whenever your attention is pulled towards it, you only crave stronger to melt and spoil him.

You reach out to trace it, and Yuta steals this opportunity to nuzzle his cheek into the palm of your hand, then to kiss it when your eyes meet.

"Did I say you can?" You click your tongue, softly, not really mad nor disturbed with his little disobedience.

"I can't help it." The way he smiles at you now, his eyes seeming even bigger when he tilts his head to net even more of your warmth, melts you straight from the core. "Your skin tastes so good."

His tongue darts out to steal moisture from your wrist—and this is where you finally set the line. Your hold on him tightens, until he's wincing and inhaling sharply through clenched teeth. It's just some discomfort, nothing he couldn't handle, and you soon replace it with a different, more pleasant yet intense sensation. His eyes flick wide open when you switch between them so abruptly, his hips stutter upwards, following the motion of your wrist in search for another release, approaching so fast with his nerves already strained and fried.

"Yuta." There's a warning in your voice and he immediately stills, only his chest heaving with desperate breaths. "That's right. This is how a good boy should behave."

You've listened to his body though and returned to lazy, almost gentle strokes from a while ago. You take this time for yourself too, your wrist and knees feeling the time you've spent on doting on him and torturing him in turns. You try to not squirm too much in his lap, shifting your weight forwards just a little, to find a more comfortable angle for your feet. It's enough to drag a reaction out of him—a delicious, loud moan and a sharp twitch of his cock. 

You clench your hand around it harder and cease the strokes, pushing the wave away, and hold it until his mewls calm down enough to be sure he's going to actually listen.

"Not yet," you smile at his almost disappointed face. "We're going to milk you properly, sweet thing."

If there's anything you can still milk out of him, you wonder as you return to your tracks. With your hand drenched in his cum, you can't even tell if he's still gushing any fluid like he's been before, so starved of your touch. At least he's still as reactive, each of your strokes rewarded with sweet noises, his muscles tensing and Adam's apple bobbing as he tries to swallow. Most of his drool ends elsewhere, flowing free out of his wide-open lips, such a messy thing, already slipping into mindless, blissed-out state. You scoop some of it from his chin and slide your thumb into his mouth; Yuta follows instinctively and sloppily sucks on it.

"Good boy." You approve with your touch as well, applying more pressure to your strokes and relishing in the loud and obscene moan, just barely muffled by your finger. 

His hips snap out of control again and this time you're not trying to stop it. He's too far out of his mind to listen, your digit in his mouth and your hand around his cock the only world that matters to him. He's rutting into your palm like an animal, following your strokes and racing even after you've ceased them again, focusing just on the right pressure. He's sparing your wrist and giving you an opening for something you've had in mind for a while but haven't tested when so engrossed with his expressions and reactions.

All you need is to catch the right moment.

Yuta's eyes roll to the back of his head and hands clench on sweat-drenched sheets underneath. His cock throbs in your hand differently, harder than before, all of his muscles focused on gushing another load out of him. You finally move your hand again, squeeze him right under his glans and hold until the tension is almost gone, and his expression starts to melt.

Then, you release the hold, dragging him away from dry orgasm right at the very last moment. Built-up pressure spurts out of him, having his cock twitch and bob, even if for the few past orgasms it only lazily poured.

"You still had something for me?" you coo, tracing a new rope of cum he's left over his abdomen. "Such an insatiable, messy thing."

Yuta whines under your touch, his abs spasming almost painfully and his breath teetering on the brink of hiccups. His back arches when you grab his cock at its base again, there are tears pooling at the corners of tightly shut eyes, so delicious and tempting. You listen to your sadistic call just for a few more strokes, until he's almost sobbing, so sensitive it hurts without a doubt.

Still, he's not calling for a break. And he looks at you almost grumpy when you let go of him.

"Look what have you done to me." You show him your hand, sticky with his cum from the tips of your fingers down to your wrist and forearm. "Will you make it up for me?"

He opens his mouth immediately, you order, he listens. However weak, he's swirling his tongue around your digits and eagerly sucks his own seed off them and prompts you to slide even deeper. For being such a good boy for you, you can only oblige, making him gag until his tears flow down his flushed cheeks.

You watch his cock with attention meanwhile. After all of this, he's still not growing soft.

Truly an insatiable thing.

"One more time?" You pull fingers out to let him speak—and smirk at the disappointed whine he lets out as soon as he's allowed to make a noise.

"Yes." Yuta almost chokes on saliva and cum mix filling his mouth. "Yes, please."

[tragicromanceisland]

Unexpected Situations- Twisted Wonderland

Content: pre-established relationships, mutual pining, sexual tension - unresolved. Drinking.

Note: I write aged up characters 18+ also...this turned out longer than I imagined. Not me bias toward my favorites

Riddle Rosehearts - It happened by chance as you were attending afternoon tea with him. You were both happily chattering away. His slate colored irises, making passing glances at you. How could his eyes betray him and watch as your lips touch the rim of the decorative tea cup. How could he be foolishly envious of an inanimate object. It was absurd. Yet before he knew what he had done, his face was now inches away. You blinked, surprised at how close he suddenly was. You could feel the heat of his breath against your lips.

You were certain he would kiss you. Instead, he took a strand of your hair in his fingers and pressed it to his lips. His slate eyes fixed on you. "Don't let anyone else kiss you..."

His mumbled demand left a bloom of color tinting his cheeks. Did he really just say that?

Cater Diamond - In the corridor after last class. Cater was telling you about the new trend on magicam and asked if you would be interested in helping him out with it. As it was a two person trend. You agreed, and he beamed. Delighted that you accepted.

You were in his room, wondering what exactly you had agreed to. You were pressed up against the wall in his room. Your heart pounding as Cater was very close to your body. When he leaned into your neck, it was just close enough. You swore his lips would touch you if you made the wrong move.

"It's hot, right?"

You shuddered, and he chuckled upon seeing how flustered you were. He pulled away just enough to meet your gaze, lips an inch apart.

"Shall we kiss?"

Trey Clover - He caught you before you stumbled over a box of dry ingredients he had sitting on the floor by the counter. Your chest rose and fell as your heart thundered in your chest. In his grasp, his face close. His glasses had slid down his nose in his efforts to catch you, but it made him all the more attractive.

His surprised gaze softened into something unreadable and he leaned into your face. You were awaiting to see if he was going to kiss you as it felt like it was going to happen. His grip around your waist firm as his other hand held yours.

"You should be more careful...the kitchen can be quite dangerous."

Though something about the way he said that made you believe he was talking more about you being alone with him in said kitchen.

Ace Trappola - You arrived at the gym to see Ace practicing by himself. Making your way toward him, he didn't realize you were there until you were almost near him. He was surprised.

"I didn't expect to see you here." He confessed tucking the ball under his arm.

You hummed. "Yes, which is why I wanted too show up."

Ace grinned, a mischievous look in his eyes. "I might begin to believe you love me."

You stepped closer until the tops of your shoes touched his. "And if I do?"

The ball slipped out from under his arm as he pulled your body against his. You gasped at the sudden reaction the ball bouncing on the floor from the sudden drop echoed throughout the empty court. His hands moved up to the middle of your back and you felt your body respond to his touch. Feeling your face warm, one hand leaving your back as he used his thumb and forefinger to hold your chin. His this thumb resting on your lower lip.

"Then I'd have to make you mine of course."

Deuce Spade - You immediately felt your body warm. You half panicked, how did you end up in this situation. But it was clear He had wanted to lessen the impact of your fall by being the buffer between you and the ground. If only you hadn't tripped.

"I'm so sorry Deuce I didn't mean too."

He sat up on his elbows. "It's fine...but how long do you think you'll stay on me?"

The look in his deep ocean eyes told you he was serious yet his flushed cheeks showed he was embarassed. You felt your cheeks burn and scrambled to stand on your feet. Only for Deuce to grab you before you could stand and kept you on his lap as if he changed his mind.

"Deuce?" You whispered as your eyes widened.

Sitting up he pulled you into his arms. "Just stay like this with me for a moment."

Azul Ashengrotto - You were now breezing through the assignment you had difficulty with. You had asked him if he would be willing to help you understand the topic better. Luckily for you he was already soft for you. His aquamarine eyes observed you as you worked. Admiring you.

He sometimes wished you'd ask him for help more often. Without realizing it, he had reached out and tucked a strand of your hair that had fallen into your face behind your ear.

You flinched when you dropped your pencil and met his startled gaze. "I- apologize...I know I shouldn't have bothered you."

You gave him a small smile before laughing. "Azul...you aren't bothering me."

His brow ticked up, his curiosity peaked. "Then..." He began as he leaned into your ear. "Would it be a bother if I touched you a bit more?"

Floyd Leech -

He approached you in the vacant library.

"Well, well if it isnt little Shrimpy."

You shuddered at how close he was to you. Turning your head slightly to the right his face right there.

"Damnit Floyd why do you have to sneak up on me all the time?"

He chuckled. "Where's the fun in approaching ya normally?"

You turned around and grabbed his cheeks. His eyebrows raised as he blinked a few times. He grabbed your hands and bit down on one of your fingers. You winced.

"Floyd that hurt!"

He smirked. "Didn't anyone ever tell ya I bite? Right now..." his smirk disappeared as he gave you a serious expression. "I'm thinkin' I'm gonna teach you a lesson."

Your eyes blew wide as his devious smirk appeared once more.

Jade Leech - He saw you sitting alone at the lounge. He wondered why you were alone. Even Grim who normally accompanied you was gone. Making his way across the room he stopped beside your table.

" ______, what brings you by?"

"I'm here to see you."

He arched his brows before a smile slowly spread across his face. "I'm delighted. You see, it's been quite some time since you've been unaccompanied by your companions. I would be pleased if you would allow me to join you."

You nodded as Jade took a seat beside you. You wondered why he wasn't sitting across from you as usual. He was rather close, as his thigh was pressed against yours. He held up his hand as he leaned in close to the side of your face.

"Tell me, was your reason because you can't stop thinking about me?"

Your face warmed as you turned and met his determined gaze. He stifled a chuckle your expression told him everything. It turns out you loved being squeezed by him. This only made the situation a bit more difficult seeing as you were both in view of prying eyes.

Leona Kingscholar - The low rumble in his chest warned you he wasn't messing around. You were agitating him. How were you supposed to tell him you just wanted to mess around with his ears and tail? He never said 'no' so you deducted it would be fine. However, right now the moody lion prince had you pinned onto the floor. To be precise as soon as you had rubbed his soft ears and grasped his tail he had tumbled you onto the floor in his room.

His piercing gem colored eyes felt like he was trying to burn you alive. Though despite the situation and his tail flicking you, intentionally smacking you thigh. He was rather close to be that mad. A smirk slowly spread over your lips.

"Leona did I aro- "

His face scrunched up in a scowl as he used a gloved hand to cover your mouth. His hair fell around his face as his lips nearly touch the back of his covered hand.

"Don't you dare say it herbivore." Because he knew if you spoke the feelings he tried so hard to trample he would give into you.

Ruggie Bucchi - He dropped the sweet treat in his hand as he gaped at you. Did you just-? Ruggie's eyes widened. You just beamed at him with a soft giggle.

You began to walk away from him but were pulled back. Your back pressed into his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist. He was so happy. It was the first time since you started dating you initiated an impromptu kiss and all to lick off the powder from his donut.

"Hey...do it again..."

He was shameless, he knew it. But he loved what you did to him.

Jack Howl - His ears twitched, and he tried to keep his tail from wagging. However, it proved impossible. You gave him head pats as Jack appeared like it was annoying but his tail gave away how he truly felt. He helped you rearrange the heavy furniture in your dorm.

"You love when I praise you don't you?"

His tail swished even more and Jack's face twitched in annoyance. Though he should know it was no use fooling you anymore.

"It's not a big deal. I don't love it."

Lies.

You wrapped your arms around him and held him tight. He gave a weary sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck. His tail swishing happily.

You nipped his ear and he jolted, his golden eyes blew wide at your action. His tail sticking out.

"You really love the affection I give you though."

"You- " He growled, his face was flushed as his arms wrapped around your body. "You're gonna get it now."

Kalim al Asim - You walked with Kalim down the palace corridors in scarabia. Kalim was busy telling you all about his family and the gifts they still kept sending him. He was a ray of golden sunshine, and you wished nothing more than to keep seeing that smile.

"I'm thinking of having a party tonight. Would you like to stay here? We have plenty of rooms and I'd love it if you could, it'll be a blast!"

You considered it, Grim was already with you, but he was far more interested in the tuna Kalim had given him to care what you two were talking about. Well it would be fun and it would give you more time to be around Kamil so you accepted.

However, you hadn't expected it would end like this. Kalim had too much to drink and had pulled you aside from the others. Whispering in your ear as his eyes watched his hands feel along the sides of your body.

"I've always wanted to go further in our relationship... ______ what do you say?"

The alcohol was certainly making him brave.

Jamil Viper - He was helping you study for a make up exam at your dorm. Grim was fast asleep as it was becoming late. The subject was Alchemy and you had missed it thanks to the unfortunate overblotting of Azul. As he was helping you go over the questions and you gave a brief response or you had no idea.

"I'm sorry I just don't know if I can do this." You frowned.

Jamil hummed and decided you needed a better way to recall the information.

What a better way than rewarding you with his affection for your correct responses.

"Okay, then how about this. For every right response I'll give you a kiss." He explained.

You turned to him astonished. "If I get it wrong?"

A smirk crossed his lips as he leaned into the side of your face and whispered. "Then you lose an article of clothing."

Your heart began to pound an excitement and a tendril of fear laced together and coursed through your blood stream. "You're lucky Grim is sleeping."

Vil Schoenheit - You were embarassed. How could Vil have posted that picture of you to his magicam. You had a feeling it would turn out for the worst. A lot of the comments were wondering who you were and the louder commenters -who were obsessed fans- were nit picking everything about you.

You held yourself up in your room and even Grim had tried to convince you to leave the dilapidated dorm. You were too ashamed to show your face so Grim often brought back some food for you and stayed with you.

That's when the door to the dorm swung open after knocking once. You gasped.

"Vil?"

His eyes were narrowed as he stood a few inches from you his arms crossed.

"What exactly do you believe you are doing? Holding yourself up in this forsaken place isn't going to do you any good. Do you understand?"

You went to open your mouth and his brows furrowed. You closed your mouth realizing he wasn't going to listen to your poor excuses.

"Come with me." He demanded and grabbed your hand pulling you out the door. While Grim scrambled to follow behind you two.

He took you to Pomefiore dorm and immediately went to work, leaving Grim with Rook. Vil personally pampered you, pulling your hair back with a headband, and began to apply a face mask.

"It's important you realize those comments don't matter..." He began stern, as the soft bristles containing a green clay brushed against your forehead. Inhaling the invigorating scent of mint as well as a hint of earthiness from the clay. "...I choose you, my dear potato. Which should always outweigh the comments of others who don't even know you as I do."

Your gaze that had been fixed to your lap, flit up to meet Vil's sincere and determined stare. Only now did you realize how close his face was to yours.

"Vil..."

He gave a soft smile, now that he finally has your attention. His eyes flit to your inviting lips as he leaned in as he captured your mouth. When he pulled away to see your dazed expression, he chuckled.

"Darling, I know my kiss leaves you breathless, but what is with that expression?"

You felt your cheeks warm as your gaze shifted from his. He leaned in close, and his breath caressed you.

"Could it be...you want more?" He smirked.

Rook Hunt - had been observing you for some time now. He found it amusing you hadn't noticed his presence. Then again...Could he successfully be considered a hunter if his prey noticed him right away? He counted it a success.

All day he took notes of your habits, what you enjoyed eating, who you spoke with the most, and he was also aware of how found of Grim you were. Ah if only he could be so lucky to earn that much affection from you! His heart fluttered at each smile and every laugh. Even the sound of your voice captivated him. Truly, he had it bad.

He had waited for you in the courtyard where you encountered him. Even though you believed it by chance. He had planned this meeting. "Mon amor, I simply can't take waiting a moment more. Say you'll partake in an outing with me in the woods."

You arched a brow with a sly smile. "How long have you been waiting to ask me?"

He took your hand and pressed it to your lips, his observant eyes fixed on yours. "Long enough, my little trickster. I do hope you know how much I long for you to be mine."

Malleus Draconia - Obsession. Passion. Desire. Love. These four words kept popping in his thoughts. Each one describing how he felt toward you in a varying degree. He narrowed his eyes in thought as he took his usual walk away from the suffocating watch of Sebek.

Aside from admiring anything with gargoyles and abandoned buildings that appeared to hold signs of previous existence. You occupied his thoughts. At first he believed his initial encounter with you had left him at a loss for words. Had anything at that point peaked his interest this vast since he took up his appeal for gargoyles?

He had questioned it so many times and he had his answer from the moment you spoke to him so casually and without fear. However, winning your heart wasn't so simple. How many nights would it take for him to win you over?

How many nights...and perhaps he could do that one thing he had seen you read about in those love stories. The rather intimate moment in which the protagonist and their love interest finally confirm their feelings with a touch of their lips until it turned into more. He stopped walking as he brought his hand to his chin pondering silently. Until a familiar voice broke freed him from the lure of his ideas.

He turned in your direction, eyes wide in surprised. It was late so why...?

"______?" He spoke and it held a surprising fondness that even he had not expected.

You smiled at the way he spoke your name. As of late it seemed you were becoming closer with Malleus and though it was probably not the best idea, you had allowed yourself to become close to him.

"Malleus, what has you so deep in thought?" You inquired as you approached him.

Malleus' heart throbbed when you spoke his name. He wished you would say it more. He truly was such a greedy dragon. Even more than that it wasn't just something as simple as his name he wished you to speak more of. He wanted to own your heart, your very soul and if he was lucky you would accept that he wanted to have every part of you all to himself. Whether out of a deep yearning or obsession. The two blended in his mind.

"Come closer and I'll tell you."

You noted the glint in his bright absinthe irises. You obliged as you stood before him. His eyes softened as he reached out, his hand bringing a strand of your hair to his face taking in the scent of your shampoo. Releasing your hair the back of his hand caressed your cheek.

"Would you be willing to allow me to show you exactly how I feel about you?"

"As in..."

He bent his neck his cheek against yours, his fingertips caressing along the column of your neck. "Being my mate."

Lilia Vanrouge - Popping in out of nowhere was kind of his thing with you. He would always get a kick out of your startled expressions. What could he say he liked to tease you. Definitely in more way than one.

He had lots of delights that appealed to you. The main one he knew of was the old-world attraction that only he possessed. Though he was well versed in the modern know abouts of the world. Well rounded and he had been around the block a few times to know how to attract you. Which is how you ended up in his trap.

"Hee hee hee. Did you think I wouldn't come for you my dearest? I was quite serious..." His voice husky as he nipped his fangs against your neck as you squirmed beneath him on his bed.

You shuddered as you whimpered. His eyelids lowered a smirk on his face. "How much fun should we have tonight ______? Me thinks it should go further than last time."

Silver - You found Silver asleep, beneath a tree in the courtyard. It wasn't the first time you found him sleeping somewhere conspicuous. You sat down beside him, taking note of how handsome he was. You mindlessly brushed his hair out of his face. The gentle sound of his breathing matching the peaceful area of the courtyard.

Your fingers brushed over the side of his cheek and his eyes shot open. You flinched not expecting him to wake up at that moment.

"_____? What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you of course."

He blinked, then nodded. "I suppose it has been a few days since we last spoke. Is there something you wanted to do?" He asked sitting up.

"Yes, let's have a date night Silver."

Well it wouldn't be impossible but the chances of having zero interruptions was not likely. Still, it was time he could spend with you and that's what mattered the most.

"As long as we can avoid my fa- Lilia then we should be fine." He gave a small smile as he pulled you into his arms. It just hoped he didn't fall asleep on you like last time you both went on a date.

Idia Shroud - You had left your notebook in Idia's room. You knew from last time you shouldnt interrupt him while he is gaming. You decided to take a chance. Knocking on his bedroom door you called out to him.

"Idia, can I come in for a moment?"

Idia who had been on his bed reading his favorite web comic perked up at hearing your voice. He stood up and walked to the door cracking it open.

"What brings you by?"

You tilted your head as you gave a confused expression. Idia internally was freaking out at how adorable you were. He opened the door and stepped back to allow you inside. You stepped in and he closed it behind him.

"I forgot my notebook..." You trailed a faint bloom of color across your cheeks.

Idia nervous laughed as he knew why you had forgotten it. He mentally kicked himself for how he just let you leave like that.

"Oh that, let me grab it." He offered.

Walking over to his desk he grabbed the sticker covered notebook and extended out it out to you. You smiled and took it from him.

"Idia about-"

He cut you off, "I'm sorry it was my fault I got caught up in the moment... i shouldn't have let myself go like that."

You blinked and frowned. "Did you hate it?"

Idia's eyes blew wide and he panicked internally why did you look so upset?

"N-no of course not I would have gone much further than that if I knew you liked it."

You met his gaze and he immediately regretted saying that. Stupid he was so stupid.

"I mean..." He averted your gaze, nervous.

However he was caught off guard by your lips suddenly pressed against his.

....

...What?

"Then, let's continue were we left off." You suggested.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Push the Sky Away - Part One

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Angst. Canon typical violence. Mention of loss of virginity. Smut. Word count: ~6.5k

Summary: We are getting to know Aemond in this chapter. Some scene setting and world building, not much to be found of our OC until she is introduced towards the end. Laying the groundwork for what's to come later.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Fire and Blood, the infamous words of House Targaryen. It is a phrase that both haunts and eludes Aemond Targaryen from an early age, with its promise of greatness and constant reminder of all he will never be. 

The Targaryen name is the only thing of any value that Viserys has ever bestowed upon his sons. Aemond ponders whether his father’s disinterest in him is a result of the illness that weakens his body by the day, or if he simply has no room in his heart for the children borne of his second marriage. When he watches him interact with Rhaenyra, how he lights up in her presence in a way that he does not for him or his other siblings, he knows it is the latter.

The fireplace warms his skin, uncomfortably so, and despite the septa’s caution that he not sit so close, he refuses to budge. Sweat prickles the back of his neck, dampening and curling the ends of the hair that sticks to it. His discomfort is of little importance to him, he needs to remain within this proximity to the hearth in order to keep his egg warm, to ensure it hatches. It is a vigil he has kept for as long as he can remember, not moving until he is forced to bed with aching joints and soot covered hands. Unable to understand why it had never hatched in his cradle, he is certain that if he does his due diligence then soon he will have a dragon of his own.

His mother is alerted of his disobedience, and Alicent regards him with sadness in her large brown eyes, as she reaches for him.

“Come away, my dearest love, you will have a dragon of your own one day.”

He simply shakes his head. She could not understand. He does not want just any dragon, he wants his. There must be a reason why this particular egg was imparted upon him, otherwise it is all for nothing.

Despite this, day after day the hardened scales remain cool to the touch, little more than a rock between his tiny fingers. Perhaps placing it within the flames themselves will yield the result he hopes for?

He leans forward into the fireplace, heat blazing against his pale cheeks, and an acrid stench fills his nostrils. It is not until he is pulled forcefully back by the firm grasp of the septa that he realises the ends of his long, fair hair have singed, charred and blackened by the heat of the fire.

The egg is taken away after that, and Aemond weeps bitterly at the unfairness of it. It is his birthright, his only birthright, and now his sole purpose for being has been snatched from him; it seems there is little point to his existence now. He never sees the egg again, but he often wonders what would have happened if he had been left uninterrupted to place it upon the flames.

When Aemond is a little older, he begins to frequent the Dragonpit, for what is a Targaryen without their dragon? If he no longer has his own egg then he will find another, or perhaps claim a riderless mount of his own.

The warmth beneath the Grand Sept is different from that of the fireplace. It is dank and humid within the pit, the odour of droppings hangs heavy in the air, mixed with sulphur and ash. The smell sticks to his clothes when he returns to the Keep each evening, and momentarily he feels his chest swell with pride as his mother winkles her nose in disgust at the scent. It is the same look of distaste that she bestows upon both Helaena and Aegon when they return from flying, and for the briefest of moments he can pretend that he has too.

Yet still he goes to bed each evening dragonless, and begins each day anew with the bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth as he watches his nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys, interact with their dragons, Vermax and Arrax. Targaryens are considered to be closer to gods than men, so it feels like a cruel twist of fate that his half sister’s bastard offspring should be blessed with eggs that hatched in their cradles when his did not. Rhaenyra’s children have the favour of the Seven, whereas they seem to have turned a blind eye to him.

Aemond’s heart soars with hope when the dragonkeepers reveal to his sister that Dreamfyre is gravid. If she produces a healthy clutch of eggs then he can claim one, one that will actually hatch. In spite of the warnings that the she-dragon be left in peace during this sensitive time, and Helaena’s frustrated and repeated requests to stop disturbing her, he cannot resist the pull towards where she roosts within her darkened cave. If she is to lay an egg, then he wants to be the first to see it, to ensure he can take one for himself.

The blistering heat of the flames that Dreamfyre expels with her mighty roar of anger as he approaches yet again causes him to stagger backwards, wide eyed and slack jawed. But Aemond feels no fear as gazes into her fiery maw, his only thoughts are that one day soon a beast of his own will do much the same.

When Aegon claps a heavy hand upon his shoulder, steering him forward, and claiming a dragon has been found for him, he does his best to remain calm. He is used to his brother and nephews’ cruel japes at his expense. But as he stands at the top of the slope to the Dragonpit, he cannot help the way his heart races with excitement at the possibility that it might be true.

His hopes are dashed when a pig is led out to him, trussed up in wings, having been jokingly named “the pink dread”. He bows his head at the raucous laughter of Aegon, Jace and Luke around him, humiliation flushing his cheeks for having dared to believe it could be true.

The echoes of Aegon’s mocking pig grunts ring in his ears all the way home, and he stands dejectedly as Alicent delivers yet another scolding for him having dared to disturb Dreamfyre. He is usually silently accepting of her scorn, confident he knows better, and prepared to defy her all over again the next day. However, this time he can no longer bear the injustice of it all.

“They gave me a pig!” He cries, feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes. “They laughed, they all laughed.”

The warmth of his mother’s embrace does little to comfort the inferno that blazes inside of him. Today is proof of the fact that his own brother does not view him as equal - how could he? Aemond is a second born son and has no dragon. He is worth nothing.

If he is not destined to be a dragonrider, then Aemond decides he will give his all to becoming a fearsome warrior instead. He excels in the training yard with each daily practice, every strike of his wooden sword against the straw stuffed target more ferocious than the last. The proud glint in the eye of Ser Criston Cole as he watches diligently, offering guidance on both stance and technique, serves to spur him on. He will be the best at this, he has to be.

Much to his displeasure, the allotted time for sparring is shared with his nephews. Though they learn under the watchful eye of Ser Harwin Strong, there is still a competitive element, and an underlying sense of animosity between Criston and Harwin that he does not quite understand.

Aegon later tells him it is because Ser Harwin is the true father of Rhaenyra’s children. He feels a smug sense of satisfaction at being privy to this information, and it brings him and his older brother closer together. The two of them share rare moments of comradery each time they don their armour and pick up their practice blades. It’s the only time that Aemond ever genuinely laughs or smiles.

There is an obvious divide from that point onwards, Targaryens uniting against Strongs, and as the tension grows between the boys, it does between their mentors too, until one day it reaches a boiling point.

At first Aemond titters along with his brother as they watch Criston scuffle with Harwin, but his smile quickly fades upon seeing how valiantly their father fights for them, knowing his own would never do the same for him. As he looks up into the solemn features of Aegon, he knows the sentiment is shared. It is yet another privilege that Rhaenyra’s children possess that he does not have; the love of their father.

They journey to Driftmark when they receive the news that Laena Velaryon has passed away in childbirth. The icy, coastal winds that whip Aemond’s hair around his face as the stone coffin is committed to the sea are as bleak as the mood that envelopes them all. He seeks warmth near the brazier, attempting to catch the eye of Jace, who stands on the opposite side. Despite the tension between them, he hopes to offer condolences, knowing the loss of both Ser Harwin and his aunt play heavily upon his nephew’s mind.

He realises it is a futile gesture the moment that Jace turns away in disgust, and once more Aemond is reminded of how alone he truly is, that he has nothing. Luke will inherit Driftmark, and their mother has betrothed Helaena to Aegon. Luke snivels at what he is offered, claiming that when Driftmark passes to him it means everyone will have died. Aegon scoffs at the notion of being married to Helaena, claiming they have nothing in common.

It angers Aemond, to be overlooked in favour of those who are so ungrateful for all they have. If he were set to inherit anything, he would do everything in his power to prove he is worthy of it and bear the title with honour. If his mother had betrothed his sister to him, he would do his duty and ensure the match produces heirs that would make House Targaryen proud.

His attention is drawn to the clifftop when he sees the spread of enormous wings and hears the mighty rumble of the creature atop it. Vhagar. Laena Velaryon’s dragon is now riderless, and the pull he feels towards her is one he simply cannot ignore. At last, he has found his purpose and his desire to claim a dragon is reinvigorated with new strength.

Aemond waits until nightfall. Sea spray has made the rocks slippery beneath his feet, and he ascends carefully, though determined, towards the top of the cliff where Vhagar roosts. Windswept and breathless by the time he reaches the top, he stands awestruck at the sleeping dragon. Even partially submerged in sand, she is a magnificent sight to behold. She had appeared massive when looking at her from above, but it does nothing to prepare him for the sheer scale of her up close. She is gargantuan.

For a moment, icy fingers of fear grip Aemond’s heart, and he considers simply turning back, he has made a dangerous mistake. He shakes the thought from his mind the moment it presents itself.

I am no craven.

His approach is tentative, palms outstretched to communicate that he does not present a threat, as the elderly beast grumbles and shakes sand from her back. He stares transfixed as she opens her jaws, the white hot inferno that swirls within their depths makes that of Dreamfyre’s seem like a mere campfire. He feels as though he is looking into the very mouth of the Seven Hells themselves, but instead of fear Aemond feels kinship. Vhagar is without purpose, as is he, until now.

“Lykirī,” he calls out, the wind carrying half the sound away with it. Yet she hears, and she stills, eyeing the child before her with keen curiosity. Be calm.

Emboldened by her calmness at his command, Aemond steps closer, fingertips ghosting against the heat that radiates from her scales.

“Dohaerās, Vhagar,” he tells her, voice trembling. This is the same dragon ridden by the great warrior, Visenya, the conqueror’s wife. She is battle hardened, and with the smallest of movements could snuff out his short life. Serve.

The faintest sound of displeasure reverberates through Vhagar’s body, yet she remains still. Aemond’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he grips the ropes attached to her saddle and begins to pull himself up. If he had thought the climb to the top of the cliff difficult, it proves nothing compared to this. His arms ache with exertion, the expanse of the great beast he is attempting to summit is vaster than anything he has ever climbed before.

By the time he pulls himself into the saddle, Aemond’s palms are red raw with rope burn and his skin is damp with perspiration. There is barely time for him to catch his breath though, as the moment Vhagar feels him settle on her back, she rises to her feet, vast quantities of sand slipping from her back and wings in drifts.

The movement startles Aemond, and he fears he will fall. His sore hands cling tightly to her reins as he shouts his final command to her. 

“Sōvēs.” Fly.

As she rises into the air with an effortless flap of her wings, he feels as though he has left his stomach on the ground below. The rush upwards is dizzying, frightening and exhilarating all at once. Aemond begins to laugh as he grows used to the weightless sensation of every ebb and flow through the air as it whistles past his ears, and chills his skin to the bone. He is finally complete, he has his dragon, and for the first time in his life he is genuinely happy.

That happiness is short-lived.

The moment he reaches solid ground, his cousins, Baela and Rhaena, are waiting for him, alongside Jace and Luke. He had anticipated this, and is well prepared.

“It’s him!” Rhaena shouts as soon as she sees him.

“It’s me,” he responds calmly, confident there is nothing to be done now that Vhagar is his.

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!”

“Your mother is dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now.”

“She was mine to claim!”

“Then you should have claimed her. Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride? It would suit you.”

He is startled when Rhaena angrily charges towards him, though he is bigger than her and pushes her to the ground with ease. A punch from her sister, Baela, catches him off guard, the pain in his face enraging him and causing him to hit back so hard she falls over.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” He snarls angrily.

Jace and Luke rush at him, and in a moment of confidence Aemond thinks he has bested the both of them, until all four children knock him down and begin to rain their fists down upon him.

He is the rider of the world’s largest dragon, and his new found confidence coupled with the surge of adrenaline allows him to fight them all back. He grasps a rock, holding it above Luke’s head as he grasps him tightly by the collar.

“You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did. Bastards!” He hisses.

“My father is still alive!” Luke wails.

Aemond smirks, rock still held above his sobbing nephew, and he glances to Jace. “He does not know, does he, Lord Strong?”

Jace unsheathes a dagger, to the protestations of both Rhaena and Baela, and the distraction is enough for Aemond to knock it from his hand. His dedication in the training yard has paid off and he quickly gets the better of Jace, snatching up the rock once more, prepared to bring it down upon his skull should he try to attack him again.

In Aemond’s mind, the matter is settled, they should accept what has happened and retire to bed.

Unfortunately, his nephews do not share the sentiment. He winces, staggering backwards as Jace throws sand in his face, and before he has had time to fully recover, Luke is racing towards him, Jace’s dagger in hand.

The pain is excruciating as his nephew slashes upwards, and suddenly his vision shows blackness on one side, instead of his surroundings. He falls to his knees, a shriek of agony leaving him as blood seeps through the fingers of the hand he clasps to one side of his face.

His only focus is the searing, torturous pain he feels, waves of nausea rippling through his prone body, until a clamour of armour alerts him to the presence of the Kingsguard. As a knight kneels beside him, coaxing his hand away, his pale, horrified expression and exclamation of “Gods be good” are all Aemond needs to know that his face is ruined forever.

The fire in the hall of Driftmark is warm against his skin, and he does his best to focus on that sensation instead of that of the Maester extracting his eye from his skull. Though he has been dosed with milk of the poppy, he still feels every cut, every tug, and the pierce of the needle as it’s pulled through his skin repeatedly to stitch up the wound.

Aemond is unsure if it is the milk of the poppy that dulls his senses, or the satisfaction he feels at having claimed the world’s largest dragon, but he does not feel anger or sadness as he expects he would have when he is told his eye is lost forever.

When his mother snatches a knife and charges towards Rhaenyra, he is certain she has more blood of the dragon coursing through her veins than his coward of a father does. She is willing to risk everything to avenge his disfigurement, while Viserys makes excuses and appears more affronted at his eldest daughter’s children being called bastards. The loss of Aemond’s eye seems of little importance to him.

It is in that moment that Aemond feels the tiny semblance of respect he had for his father wither and die. As he takes in the harrowed expressions of Alicent, Aegon and Helaena, he knows they are all he has left.

“Do not mourn me, mother,” he says softly, rising to comfort her, though unsteady on his feet as he adjusts to his partial sightedness. “I may have lost an eye, but I have gained a dragon.”

A scar mars the flesh of Aemond’s face, but also ravages its way through the Targaryen family. Rhaenyra and her children leave King’s Landing, settling upon Dragonstone with Daemon and his daughters. Meanwhile, the health of Viserys continues to decline and the instances he is not bedridden grow fewer. Aemond does not miss his presence.

Worry hangs over his mother, a permanent shroud of anxiety, while Aegon becomes more debaucherous, sinking further into his cups with each passing day. Helaena retreats deeper into herself, rarely speaking unless spoken to, and bristles at any initiation of physical touch.

Slowly, Aemond heals, though it is not without struggle. He must learn to do everything anew. His favourite books become a chore to read, no longer able to pore over their pages for as long without suffering a terrible ache in his head.

Criston has to begin his training with the sword all over again. There is a newfound blind spot to account for when he fights. Not only does he have to learn how to balance, pivot and wield his weapon with accuracy, he also has to develop hyper vigilance and an acute awareness of where his opponent is at all times, to prevent them from drifting to the side from which he cannot see, and besting him.

Even flying on dragonback is difficult, though he only has one flight to compare it to. He learns fast, and is grateful that Vhagar’s advanced age makes her placid and more forgiving than a younger mount might be. When Aemond is airborne he can almost forget his disfigurement entirely, until he returns to the ground and the world is half blackness once more.

It is enough to make Aemond want to scream in frustration and give up at times. However, he is accustomed to a life of feeling out of place, of having to work harder than everyone else to prove his worth. There is nothing to be gained from a defeatist attitude, so he hardens himself to the challenges he faces, determined to be better with one eye than he was with two.

If his vision of the world is now limited, then he will simply expand his mind beyond that. He loses himself in tomes of history and philosophy, ignoring the dull pain that plagues his skull as he reads into the small hours.

In the training yard, he is quick to learn to keep Criston within his line of sight at all times, and wields his sword viciously, relentlessly, always striving to be faster, stronger, more precise. The proud look upon the Knight’s face means little to him now. The only person he means to prove anything to is himself. 

He reasons that a warrior must appear as fearsome as they fight, and takes to wearing a sapphire in the empty socket of his eye, when it is not covered by a patch.

The single matter that Aemond is never able to quite grasp is that of the fairer sex. Aegon has always seemed to have an overly indulgent interest in women, moreso what lies between their legs, but he has never understood his brother’s obsession with fornication. He has read about the mechanics of it in books, and the idea makes his lip curl in disgust. However, he reasons that Aegon is older, and perhaps his own appetite will develop in much the same way as he ages.

Aegon reasons that women’s skin is soft, they smell nice, and when you find one that has the perfect pair of tits and legs then there is little else that matters. While it is agreeable to Aemond that women are indeed more pleasant to look upon than men, he questions why he should not take an interest in their education or how they like to pass the time. His brother argues that once you are sheathed inside a woman, it is not what is in their mind that matters in the slightest.

Upon Aemond’s thirteenth name day, Aegon slaps him on the back and informs him that it is “time to get it wet”. The very idea makes his guts churn with unease, yet he dons the clothes of common folk just the same, pulling a hood over his head, and allows his brother to guide him to the Street of Silk.

The walk through Flea Bottom reeks of urine, with men staggering half drunk through the narrow cobbled streets, while women in varying states of undress beckon them forward into darkened hovels. Aemond keeps his head bowed, dreading what is to come, and is thankful when the establishment that his older brother guides him to looks slightly more respectable than the half a dozen they have passed by already.

The pleasure house is dimly lit and the heady scent of cheap perfume burns his nostrils, though it barely covers the smell of another undesirable stench that he assumes is the byproduct of what goes on here. He half wonders if it will stick to his clothing, much like the smell of sulphur and ash does when he returns from dragonback. He sincerely hopes not. 

His throat runs dry when Aegon staggers away with a busty woman, full of giggles, leaving him alone. The brothel’s madame has a kind smile, though it does not meet her eyes, and when she places her hand upon his shoulder it makes him shudder. He feels her touch there like a brand long after she has taken it away.

“Choose any of my girls that you like,” she tells him.

Timidly he eyes all of them. He wants none of them, but how can he say that?

When he hesitates, she chooses for him, pushing him towards a room with a girl that cannot be much older than he is. Her hair is the colour of straw, her skin reeks of the same perfume that lingers thick within the air, and there is wine upon her breath.

The fireplace burns low in the room as he lays upon the bed, and he keeps his eye fixed upon it until it is over. He has enjoyed none of it, the finish feeling little more to him than the satisfaction he experiences when scratching an itch. He cannot understand why Aegon makes such a fuss about it, if that is all there is to it then he never wants to partake in such an act of vulgarity ever again.

He leaves without saying a word, and walks as quickly as his legs will carry him back to the Red Keep. In the bathtub that evening, he scrubs until his skin is red raw, wanting nothing more than to erase every trace of what he has endured that day.

When he is served his favourite meal for his name day feast, roasted haunch of venison, he finds he has no appetite. Sickly perfume fills his nose and turns his stomach, and he leaves his plate untouched.

From that day forth, Aemond decides that he has no taste for depravity, and dedicates his time to reading, training with the sword and taking flight on Vhagar. Despite the nagging ache at the back of his mind that Aegon is set to succeed their father when he passes away, despite neither wanting nor deserving it, he feels a sense of fulfillment in knowing that he is making both their mother and House Targaryen proud.

There are few books in the Keep’s library he has not read at least twice, and he trains daily in the yard with Criston, now at a point where he is the victor in almost every sparring match.

The years pass, and Aemond is content with solitude, assuming that is his lot in life. Fire and blood course hotly in his veins, and in spite of his disfigurement he feels every inch a true Targaryen.

Viserys deteriorates to the point that Aemond’s grandsire and Hand of the King, Otto, now oversees most of the royal duties, and he has begun in earnest to plan with Alicent for Aegon’s eventual coronation. It comes as no shock to Aemond the day that he is beckoned to the Small Council Chamber, though he is surprised to find it is just his grandsire that sits at the table, there is not even a cup bearer present.

“I trust you are aware of the plans to crown Aegon once your father passes?” Otto asks, once Aemond is seated in the chair nearest to him.

Aemond sits up straight against the backrest, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, as he regards Otto impassively. “I am.”

“Good,” Otto nods, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. “Then I am sure you must know of your own duty to the realm.”

Aemond purses his lips, eyeing the older man carefully. “I will do what I must to ensure Aegon’s claim to the throne goes unchallenged.”

Otto sighs, leaning back and regarding Aemond with a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Rhaenyra is sure to challenge your brother’s birthright, as your father foolishly named her heir, but there are means to remedy that.”

Aemond says nothing, waiting for Otto to say what he means. He watches as he fills both their wine cups, before setting the jug down. He takes a deep drink from his own, but Aemond leaves his untouched, wishing his grandsire would just get to the point.

Otto clicks his tongue before continuing. “To strengthen Aegon’s claim, we must curry favour with the other Great Houses of the realm.”

Aemond lowers his gaze, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the armrests of his chair. “You wish for me to marry.”

“Yes, Aemond, you are to be betrothed.”

The tone of voice in which Otto says this has such finality, it sounds as though a match has already been decided. His eye flickers upwards to meet the unyielding gaze of his grandsire.

“To who?”

“Your mother and I thought it best not to present you with suitors, we know you would not enjoy such a spectacle.”

You know all of them would take one look at me and be horrified by the very notion of being married to me.

Otto continues, “So we have chosen for you. The daughter of Lord Rickon Stark, Lorra. She is a pretty girl, and having the allegiance of a Great House of the North will weaken Rhaenyra’s claim.”

Aemond stays silent as his mind races.

House Stark. Their sigil is a dire wolf, their words are Winter is Coming.

Beyond that, he knows nothing of Northerners, what could he possibly learn about his betrothed from a book anyway?

He wets his lips, resigned to his fate. “When?”

“She will arrive in King’s Landing in two weeks, so that you can begin your courtship of her.”

“I will do my duty.”

“I trust that you will.”

Aemond retires to his chambers for the remainder of the day. He had anticipated that he would have to marry to form a political alliance at some point, however, the thought rattles him all the same. 

He is a solitary creature by nature, what on earth will he do with a wife? He supposes life will stay much the same, if his mother and father and Aegon and Helaena are to be used as examples - both couples married, yet living entirely separate lives. It is a mere formality. He will not be expected to spend time with her.

They will be expected to produce heirs, however. Nervousness swirls in his gut at the thought. He does not want to endure what happened to him at the brothel each time he couples with his wife, yet he cannot leave her childless either.

Lorra is a highborn lady, however, not a common whore, so perhaps he will be able to find pleasure in the act. Doubt niggles in his mind as he ponders his inexperience. A Prince must know what he is doing if he is to produce children, and Aemond possesses neither experience nor interest in the act of procreation. He will need to prepare if he is to perform his marital duties as anticipated without embarrassing himself or his wife.

The thought of returning to Flea Bottom makes him shiver in revulsion. He has no desire to part with coin for an act that sickens him. He will need to find an alternative.

There are plenty of maidservants around the Keep who are pretty enough, and of a similar age to him. He does not wish to be like his brother, however, and will not take what is not freely given. He has observed the way that Aegon expresses interest in the women that attend to them during mealtimes and decides to deploy some of the same tactics, though in a much more subtle manner.

At supper the following evening, he spots a young woman who is pleasing to him. She has a slender neck and pretty face, her large eyes framed by thick lashes. He watches her carefully as she rounds the table, filling each cup with wine, and when finally she approaches him, he deliberately reaches forward, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her wrist as she pours from the jug she holds. She glances down at him and he looks up, holding her gaze, the faintest of smirks on his face. A slight blush creeps up her neck, dusting its way across her cheekbones and he knows she is interested.

He spends the rest of the meal catching her eye whenever he can, and when the evening draws to a close, he lingers in the doorway, beckoning her with the slightest tip of his head when she looks at him, before walking back to his bedchamber. Aemond does not have to wait long for the knock at his door.

“Your grace, will you be needing anything else this evening?” She asks with a polite smile.

He closes the door behind them, steeling himself before turning to face her. “You understand why you are here?”

She nods, reaching up to cup his face as she leans in. He turns away, pulling back slightly.

“I have no need for you to kiss me.”

She nods in understanding and moves towards the bed, slipping out of her clothes. Aemond stands in silence as he watches her disrobe. She is attractive to look at, much more desirable than the girl he had coupled with in Flea Bottom. Smooth skinned, with subtle curves and firm breasts. He wonders how many others have looked upon her in the same manner that he has.

“Lay down,” he instructs her, once she is fully bare before him.

She moves to position herself face down, but Aemond steps forward, halting her actions.

“Let me look at you.”

“As you wish, your grace,” she whispers, blushing again, and repositions onto her back.

Aemond stands over her, his eye raking over her form as he takes in the way her chest rises and falls with every breath, the way the narrowness of her waist expands outwards towards her hips.

Tentatively, he reaches forward, fingers trailing lightly over the plush flesh of her inner thigh, tugging gently.

Obediently, she spreads her legs and he sucks in a breath at what glistens between them, curiosity guiding his actions as he spreads his fingers through the slick folds. She sighs in pleasure, and he looks back up at her face. Her lips are parted, eyes hooded with desire. Admittedly, though this is a much better experience than what he’d endured when he was thirteen, he still feels little in the way of excitement. Aemond appreciates that she lays there quietly, however, allowing him to take things at his own pace, and he feels his body respond to her regardless of his lack of emotion.

When his cock strains almost painfully against the lacings of his breeches, he unfastens them, crawling over the maidservant to cage her body in with his. She feels better against him than the whore had, her skin is more supple and her scent not quite so overpowering. He grunts as he pushes himself inside of her, her tight, wet heat gripping every inch of him as he slides forward.

The inside of her is different from the grasp of his own hand. Aemond is no stranger to the act of self pleasure, using it as a means to clear his mind or lull himself to sleep on nights when rest evades him. It is not a carnal act for him though, he simply focuses on the sensation, guiding himself to release. Despite the pleasant warmth of her body, he does not feel driven to desperate passion as he had anticipated, as he has so often heard Aegon describe.

As he rocks his hips into hers, back and forth, the growing ache he experiences is nice enough, but it does not light a fire within him. He is simply rutting against another person. The dulcet sounds that fall from her lips as he pistons into her sound too performative, and he feels resentment as he looks upon her face, just wanting to put an end to it.

He speeds up, and her sounds grow louder. Annoyance prickles at his skin.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses.

She falls silent and the room fills with the sound of the slap of his skin against hers, until finally he spills inside of her with a quiet gasp. He is quick to withdraw from her, standing and tucking himself away.

“You can go now,” he tells her, turning away.

He doesn’t watch as she dresses and quietly leaves his chamber. Aemond feels disappointment that he is unable to derive pleasure from such a carnal act. He has read that it is supposed to evoke excitement within a person, and from the way Aegon behaves he knows it is certainly true. So why does such a feeling evade him?

It matters not, he supposes. He will treat his wife in the same way he has the maidservant this evening. He will not take her by force, and he will be gentle with her. The act will be for the sole purpose of producing heirs, besides that they will live their lives as they please. He did not choose her, and she did not choose him, so he is confident that this will be an arrangement she finds satisfactory.

The next two weeks pass by without incident. Aemond reads, he trains and he flies, and thoughts of his betrothal scarcely enter his mind.

Upon the day of Lorra’s arrival to the Red Keep, he gathers in the Great Hall, with Alicent, Otto, Aegon and Helaena to greet her upon her arrival. He stands straight, hands clasped firmly behind his back, eye scanning the room impatiently. He hates the formality of it all, and wonders what could possibly be taking such a long time.

He will, of course, be dutiful and stand here for as long as necessary, but irritability simmers within him as he exhales heavily through his nose, wishing to be anywhere else right now, the library, the training yard, on dragonback. Such a display seems wholly unnecessary for an arrangement that is a mere formality.

When finally the doors open to the steps that ascend into the Hall, he faces forward, eye fixed upon the Kingsguard that file in. Until he sees her.

Draped in a cerulean cloak, trimmed with grey fur, she seems as though she is floating, rather than walking as she approaches. Her ivory skin is tinged with the faintest of pink against her cheeks and the curls of her ebony hair are braided down her back.

Aemond’s throat runs dry, his heart pounding quickly against his ribcage, and he realises he is holding his breath. The last time he felt such a powerful combination of fear, awe and longing had been the night he had first laid eyes upon Vhagar. It unsettles him, and he is grateful that his hands remain behind his back, otherwise he is certain that she would be able to see how they tremble.

“Lady Lorra of House Stark,” comes the announcement to the Hall, but it sounds distant and far away to Aemond as he stands, transfixed by her.

His blood pumps like liquid fire through his veins. Her eyes, so blue they could almost be sapphires, meet his and he feels a shiver run through him. After a lifetime of resonating in the warmth of flames, he is chilled by the ice that is reflected back at him.

Chapter two || Series masterlist

[vagabond-umlaut]

la douleur exquise

(noun) the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable

———————

gojo satoru x fem!reader; 18+ content so mdni; former teacher gojo x former student reader; angst & smut; heavily-implied satosugu angst; semi-public sex [car sex] with WAY TOO MANY feelings; unrequited love; hurt/no comfort; age gap [characters are adults older than the age of consent]; no one's rly happy or lucky in love in the story...

header is from pinterest. jjk isn't mine. pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this. hope y'all enjoy reading this ❤️❤️

———————

"Grant that one request of mine and I promise to be fine with whatever you say, Gojo-san."

You're lying. Gojo can see you're lying. Yet he says nothing of that.

He lets his eyes roam over your earnest face from beside. So young. So sweet. So caring.

A shudder racks through Gojo, betraying the toasty temperature in the car. He steers his gaze away from you to focus on the snow-covered highway before. These terrains are awfully known for the lives they have devoured, after all.

Although… the sorcerer wonders if it might be better to be consumed by the precipice to his right, than by the chasm of your coy words.

He manages to eke out a chuckle.

"You're tired after the mission," Gojo says, mouth twisting into a well-practised smile of ease, "Once I drop you home, go straight to sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."

"And what if there's no tomorrow?"

The steering wheel goes slack for a beat in his grasp, before his firm hold returns. If not worried, he chances a definitely curious glance at you. A serene smile greets him. His smile fights to fray. "Too desperate," he teases, voice airy and free of the weight thrashing against his ribs, "Yet that wasn't the worst way I've been forced to give an answer… I'll give you an eight out of ten, I think."

"Aw no." His grading receives a pout. "Is there no way I can increase it to ten?"

You've no knowledge of lip care, is the first thing Gojo realises.

The second thing, he doesn't know how to deal with you without hurting you.

It would have been infinitely better if Nanami was here, he thinks to himself. A foot presses a tad too hard on the accelerator. Shoko too would have known how to navigate this. Hell, Utahime too would have evaded this situation just fine.

But no. It has to be him. Trapped here. With no escape route in sight. Just two eyes, bright with innocence, dull with gravity, gazing at him. Perhaps even into the depths of his soul. An invisible sharp knife twisting in the back of his skull, Gojo sighs—but finds himself an instant too late.

You answer the question you meant for him.

"You'll never give me a ten," you state simply. No frown. No tears. Nothing.

The man nods, an eye trained on the road. An eye on you. "No, I won't."

"Is it because I'm not him?"

Gojo hits the brakes, the car skidding a foot or two before reaching a stop. Teetering too, too close to the edge of the road- the sorcerer finds himself uncaring of the fact, however. You simply look out the window before redirecting your attention to him. A wry smile clashes with the grim line on his mouth. With the maelstrom of emotions ravaging his insides to shreds. For the first time the evening, he lets go of his faux cheer.

"Stop this little game you're playing," he breathes out, knuckles growing white on the wheel. Memories searing the landscape of his mind. Black eyes. Black hair. Red blood. Oh god, so fucking much of that damned red blood. On the walls. On the road. On his clothes-

He nearly chokes on a gasp, struggling to form syllables. "You don't know what… it's better… you better not speak on this ever again."

"Just so I can watch you slowly fade away?"

A yell, a scream, a roar- anything, everything, something swells within him. Whetted by your soft query. Fuelled by his white-hot fury. Incensed by his overwhelming guilt. Growing, growing, growing-

Until nothing remains.

Having withered away in the wake of the gleam in your irises. A wretched gleam he has seen himself wear far too many times for his liking. A wretched gleam, he is seeing, kept for him but not by the person he fervently wished it to be from once.

Gojo slowly removes his hands from the wheel. And twists towards you. Feeling terrified-out of the blue, for no particular reason. His words come out as no more than a few faint puffs of air, stern yet pleading. "You can never make me forget him. He is a part of me, always has been-you can never separate us. You…"

Sorrow swallows the rest of his sentence. He offers you one last look. Warning. Entreating. Hoping.

Only for you to disregard it with a giggle of yours. It sounds worse than the worst noise in the world to him. Blissfully ignorant, you watch him, he watches. Your timid smile, unruffled.

"I know I can never do that, Gojo-san," you say, "First loves are the most difficult to move on from… Trust me, I know. However, it'll never do you good to dwell in the past forever. Let yourself be stolen away to the present for a while- please?"

No. No. Never.

Gojo feels a new wave of old emotions crash on the sands of his conscience. Knowing he should reject you. The same way he has rejected every person who approached him before. After him. For there's only one person who may steal him away. No one else, he can allow to.

Yet he finds himself unable to tell you so.

Chest heavy, mind heavy, tongue heavy. The sorcerer finds himself rendered utterly useless in front of your request. Sitting with you in the stifling silence of the car. Staring at the specks of dried blood on your cheeks, glowing in the moonlight. Zeroing in on that gleam in your gaze.

Something horridly bitter like pity, horridly salty like fatigue bombards his senses.

The strongest sorcerer concedes defeat.

"Your place or mine?" he asks.

****

Gojo makes it to neither.

Not that you're too surprised.

Self-control is nothing to a deity, mortal or not. Nothing to his devout follower too, pining or not.

Though now you wish you knew some of that damned quality.

Maybe then you would have been lying on your bed. And not on the backseat of his car. Maybe then your gaze would have been dancing across the familiar old walls of your room. And not drowning in the sky above the open moon-roof. Maybe then you would have bitten your lip and drawn blood. And not asked your ex-mentor to fuck you.

Like the shameless slut you know you aren't, but your request says otherwise.

But the moans you're stifling beg to say otherwise.

A particularly harsh snap of hips against yours makes you yelp. In a blinding burst of pain. Plus pleasure. Perhaps. You don't really know. After your third climax, everything's become pretty hazy. Much like the secluded forest outside the fogged windows. Much like the blur of lust and irritation in those beautiful, eerie, bewitching blue eyes atop.

The grip on your two wrists over your head tightens. You hold back a hiss. Three rules are all the man asked you to follow- no kissing, no noises and no more such 'requests'- you think you would much rather be damned than break any of them. Or pop this bubble you two have slipped into.

A bubble, too desired by you. Too precious for you. Though you wish heard something other than sultry squelches and subdued groans. Smelt something other than expensive cologne and sweat. Tasted something other than tears. And copper.

Did you bite your cheek too hard? Or is it just an injury from the mission?

You don't really know. Like said before: everything's become pretty hazy.

A long finger taps the side of your face. Tap, tap, tap. You see a bright smile flit over the face in those ocean mirrors. Wow, you're a natural at acting, eh? Gojo huffs. His movements stutter once, then again. A jolt of electricity runs through you.

"You still here or not, girl?"

"'m still here, Gojo-san," you murmur, spent and shy. Another sloppy thrust. As toe-curling as ever. Your voice quivers. "I- ah, fuck- I'm s-still here."

"Good, good," he says. It's absent and strained. Very, very strained, in fact. Your brows pucker for two seconds before lifting in realisation. And you gasp. Tears rush down your face in steady rivulets. The tightness ascends a steep curve in your lower belly. Neither seems important to you, however.

Nothing does, except the man with whom this night of yours is ending a bit too soon. Way too soon.

You wish you knew how to freeze this moment. You wish this moment never began in the first place.

A calloused thumb messes the wet stains on your cheek. Paired by a frown for you. Concerned, yes. But conflicted, all the same. Gojo looks as beautiful as the day you first saw him, six years ago on the grounds of Tokyo Jujutsu High. He thumbs your lower lip, inquiring, "Wanna do this again?"

No.

No.

Please, no.

His heart is not in it. His heart will never be in it.

You should refuse. You're strong enough. You can, you will live with the pain. You should refuse.

You Should Refuse-

"Yes, please." The words escape you, mixed with a mewl and a moan. Something flickers in Gojo's expression. Before it's disappeared, replaced by a pretty flood of pink. He cracks a smile, neither crinkling his eyes nor dimpling his cheeks. It hurts. But you don't let your attention waver from his lips as he croons, "You make the cutest noises, y'know?"

"Really?" you want to ask. But you don't.

Rather, you can't.

Your beloved deity is already, finally kissing his adoring believer.

———————

masterlist

———————

[kaeyas-beloved]

a shot in the dark

Character: Wanderer

— his fourth and final betrayal…

CWs: gn!reader (no pronouns), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, death/murder, guns, Apocalypse AU, Wanderer is referred to as such and as Kunikuzushi

val’s no sympathy november masterlist

Started laughing like Light Yagami at work just thinking about the pain I’m about to inflict :)

“You promised me!”

Eyes the colour of a midnight sky - the same eyes you've spent the past few years memorizing, learning and getting lost in their depths during sleepless nights - bubble with tears.

At first glance his expression portrays anger, but you’ve known him long enough to know that there’s more to it. He’s angry, yes, but he’s not angry at you, not really. No, if anything he’s cursing out the world more, for doing him wrong once again, for torturing him by ripping you away from him. Everything he’s ever known feels as if it’s crumbling around him, the barely concealed tremble in his irises telling of the turmoil he’s fighting and losing to.

Denial quickly takes over, your body getting shaken by the shoulders. He starts pleading with you to cut the act, that the joke isn’t funny and never was. Ideas and theories cloud his mind; they say if you cut off the infected part of the body in time you can stop the transformation from human to zombie.

Yet, as he grasps your arm in a firm but not bruising grip, all it takes is one look at the bite on your forearm to know there is no saving you, not with how bloody and discolored the skin around it is. This is the end.

A soft sniffle echoes in the quiet night, his voice softer than before, the note of defeat unmistakable, "You… you promised…"

You did, and faced with the reality that you can't keep that promise, you wrap your arms around him. Whispers of hushes and apologies fill his ear; you're sorry for not being more careful, for acting before thinking, for leaving him alone in this shithole of a world. There will never be enough words or sentences in all the languages to convey the agony you feel at what you're putting him through.

Even though you pull away from him you keep a firm hand on his cheek; you have to make sure he's looking at you when you say what has to be said.

A broken smile appears on your face, your eyes darting all over him, committing each detail to memory, "You're not going to like what I have to say next…"

His reaction is immediate, tone all bark and no bite, "then don't say it at all! Fuck, why didn't you ask me to come along!? Then you could've saved that little girl, I would've dealt with the monsters and you'd be fine right now!"

For a moment you remain quiet; there's truth in his outburst, but you were the one in charge of scavaging today. Your group had scouted a particular place for a few days; no one had taken anything and the volume of zombies was near to none, all that was needed was one person to go raid the place, and you were the lucky sucker.

A tear slips down your face; it’s not like you want to say what comes next, it’s more of a need. As much as you hate to think it, everything from that moment on was business.

Pulling back fully, you reach for his limp hand while stretching to unclamp a gun from the holster on your waist. Anyone with a brain knew what you were about to say, and he didn't like it one bit, eyes sharpening into a glare. Retching his hand from you, Wanderer steps back, shaking his head vehemently.

“No.” He’s firm on his stance one the matter, voice deadly serious as he looks at the weapon you hold out to him. He won’t; he can’t. It takes you parroting the words he said to you before for him to even hear you out. all it takes is a second to stand in front of him again, setting the cool, heavy object in his shaking palm.

"You promised me that if this ever happened, you'd end my life before I turned." In one big step you’re in front of him again, setting the cold object in his shaking palm. Suddenly it feels like he’s holding the weight of tons.

“God I wish I could kiss you right now… I want to so, so bad,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his, your noses brushing. You push the silencer attachment into his other hand, "but I don't want to infect you, so this little contact we have will have to do."

"I love you. I love you so much and I never want you to forget that. My dear Kunikuzushi..." Tears roll down your cheeks freely now as you gently rub under his eyes, “please, do this for me. I don’t want to hurt anyone…”

You’re hurting me, he thinks, but deep down he knows this must be done. It’s what you want.

He doesn’t say much as he nods, grabbing into your wrist again. This time it’s not with the urgency or hope that things could still be salvaged; this time it’s with the deep rooted need to comfort you, “I know you love the stars… I think it’s only right that you get to see them for all they are one last time.”

You’re silent as he drags you to a wide open clearing, the grass reaching just below your knees. The tiny gasp you let out was involuntary, as every time you see the night sky it steals your breath away. Even when you’ve seen them a thousand times in this very spot, they never fail to let you escape from your current reality. How fitting… the perfect place to forget the impending end.

Wanderer is deadly silent beside you as he screws on the silencer, refusing to look at you. He knows if he does he’ll fall in love with your wonder filled gaze all over again and back out in a heartbeat.

While looking around and taking in each twinkle of light, you hear a murmur from beside you, barely intelligible. You hum, asking him to repeat himself.

“I love you too.” He says clearly that time, “I’m sorry for not saying it enough.”

Smiling softly at him, you cup his cheek again, “I know. It’s alright, you didn’t have to say it for me to know you love me.”

In an instant you’re pulled into another hug - your last, you bitterly realize - and you wrap your arms around him without a second thought. God how he wants to kiss you too, he wants to say a proper goodbye.

“Go enjoy that stars…” he whispers to you instead, reluctantly letting you slip away from him.

Kunikuzushi was a sharp shooter, known for always hitting his target. It was a trait he took pride in, but as he aims for the back of your head now… he doesn’t know exactly how to feel, knowing what will happen, able to picture the next few minutes in his mind.

Eyes the colour of a stormy night follow you as you walk into the middle of the field. Silently he counts to thirty, then continues to count. By time he reaches fifty he sees your shoulders ease up, your head tilting this way and that, no doubt looking for constellations.

He chose then to pull the trigger, feeling sick to his stomach as he watches your silhouette fall, knowing that you won’t be rising next to him in bed come tomorrow morning.

Tag list (both regular and event exclusive): @spoopy-fish-writes // @that-enby-alien // @xenuuu // @kaeyaloml // @mariposa666haruka // @quackquackmfs // @kunikuzushiii // @genshin-impact-writings // @ventisweetheart // @lordbugs // @leena-shi // @ari-the-wr1ter // @xiaos-wife // @milkwithspiceyicecubes // @stygianoir // @francisnyx

+

@kaiserkisser // @multipleshadesofblue // @moloteco-real // @kithewanderingme // @scaramood // @kochothehoe // @ii-lily2 // @esuz

[minnaci]

MONSTER HOUSE

contents: geto suguru x gn!reader, consensual dubcon, dom/sub dynamics (feat. sub!bottom!reader), reader is called "little thing", predator/prey roleplay, fingering (reader receiving in unspecified hole), reader experiences orgasm from penetration, heavy fear play, dumbification, light mindbreak, a bit of silly!geto in the omake

NOTE: while not explicitly depicted, geto and reader practice risk-aware consensual kink. scene negotiation took place offscreen, and dialogue was loosely scripted with equal input from both reader and geto. reader's initial hesitance and fear is a planned part of their scene, but tagged dubcon since the planning is not shown on-screen. their safeword is "safeword".

there's something tantalizing about being a little scared. just a little, just for play. you know suguru would never hurt you. but god, he's hunting you, haunting you, and your body thrums with delicious anticipation at every stray thump or bump.

the floorboards creak as you approach a long, darkened hallway, burdened by the weight of gazes unseen. your breath quickens, but the shadows continue to lurk— watching, waiting. just the wind, it seems. something scatters across the floor. your heart jumps into your throat. you're stuck there in limbo, on the edge of some tall, tall cliff, and you're not ready to fall. perhaps you should make a tactical retreat.

you take one step back, then two, then—

you collide with something warm and solid, and every nerve in your body screams run! run! run! but you're frozen— a deer in headlights, feet glued to the floor. by the time you convince your feet to take a step, it’s too late— strong arms cage you against a firm chest. cold dread drips down your spine. had he really been so close to you, watching you, and you hadn't even noticed?

warm breath ghosts against the shell of your ear. "found you."

"please don't hurt me," you whimper, playing into your role for the night. arousal hits you like a truck, and a sudden gush of slick wets your thighs. despite yourself, you go pliant in their grasp. you can't help it— not when it's your hunter, your lover, your suguru. he chuffs a soft chuckle at your immediate submission, rewarding you with a soft kiss before slipping back into his persona.

"hurt you?" his hands roam over your body, pausing at the dampness between your legs. "oh, dear, is that what they've told you about me?"

"they say a monster lives here. and— and people have heard strange sounds coming from this place after dark.“

geto laughs out loud— a real one. it’s a break from character, but you guess you deserve it. the past three noise complaints you've received from the neighbors have all been your fault.

"mmm, is that so? yet, you still chose to come in. what a brave little thing i’ve found." he laves a hot, messy kiss over your throbbing pulse point. your knees turn to jelly. "surely you're not so naive to think that all ‘strange sounds‘ are only caused by pain?“

"what are you talking about—? wait, no, you don’t mean—"

"oh, but i do. i do hunt down pretty things who enter my domain, but i don't hurt them. that's too barbaric for my tastes." his hand sneaks beneath your waistband, teasing. his voice lowers, caressing your ears like crushed velvet. "no, what i like to do is play with my toys. overload them with pleasure. make them feel so good that they break."

geto flips you around, and you see his face for the first time tonight. something dark edges his expression— blood on a knife, poison in a cup— and it sets you ablaze. your poor, dripping hole clenches around nothing. "doesn't that sound... fun, little thing?"

"you’re scaring me," you whimper. a small part of you really means it. you always forget how good geto is at playing monster. his gaze is so dark, so predatory, that it nearly makes you forget that he’s only playing. a much larger part of you preens at the intensity of his attention. you spread your legs, giving him more access to your weakest, sweetest spots. fuck, you feel pathetic. you feel good. "i— i’m scared, i’m so scared—"

geto takes full advantage of your new position, immediately zoning in on the sensitive places that he knows will make your brain shut down. every move he makes is so perfectly terrifying, all sharp teeth waiting to devour you and thick fingers working to milk pleasure from your greedy body. he leans in close, watching with satisfaction as your eyes cross and your lips part. he plays with you, exploiting your weak spots and riling you up until you're practically convulsing with the need to cum before he finally, finally brushes his lips against yours.

"your fear tastes so good," he moans into your mouth, rich and smooth as chocolate. "you won't be scared for long, though. i've got you all figured out. in fact... yeah, there it is. you'll never have to be scared again. just relax, little thing. let me turn that brain right off…"

geto crooks his fingers, nudging against a rough, exquisitely sensitive spot, and sure enough, your mind turns to mush, leaving you soft and vulnerable. you melt against him, focus narrowing to the slick, filthy drag of his fingers inside of you. he’s got that smile slashed across his face— the vicious one he puts on when he knows he’s won.

he always wins, with you. and you love it. your body was made to lose to him.

“suguru, suguru, cumming—” the heat inside of you snaps all at once, and you’re flung headfirst into a sea of sensation. its waves batter your consciousness, tearing you apart and molding you to geto’s clever, unyielding fingers. your pleasure-addled mind scrambles at lucidity, but it slips through grasp like sand. all you can do is feel, and you drown in the addictive high.

“there we go,” he purrs, eyes glued to the way you cream around his fingers. he sends you soaring with pain and pleasure, makes you brainless with delicious overstimulation. he might be playing a monster, but the power he holds over you is nothing short of godly. but they’re the same, aren’t they? gods and monsters, two sides of the same coin. “let it all out. you’re going to give me more, aren’t you? you’ll give me everything.”

you nod, eyes wide and worshipful. he raises his slick-covered fingers to his lips, tasting your pleasure for himself. any lingering resistance dissolves into wretched, mindless desire, and you let yourself be devoured.

—

OMAKE

"baby, you know i love you, but your motive doesn't make any sense. why would you choose to explore this allegedly monster-infested house?" geto is a comforting weight at your back as you lounge in your bed, poring over the first draft of your scene's script.

"because you're sexy," you say without missing a beat.

"yeah, i am, but you wouldn't know that. not when you're in character."

you crane your neck to stare at him. he's being dead serious. suddenly, you feel a surge of affection for him so strong it makes you want to squeeze him until his head pops off. "i love you so much."

"i love you more," he says, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. "but seriously. we need to figure out your character's motivation before we play. otherwise, i won't be able to make sense of the plot."

"the plot? why are we talking about plot all of a sudden? didn't we agree to make this like a scene from that hentai you like— wait a minute. does this mean— do you watch hentai for the plot?"

"..."

"suguru."

"no comment."

networks: @enchantedforest-network @angelshub

[masterjedilenawrites]

Cyare

The silence continued, save for the gentle lapping of water against the dock below. You felt your stomach twisting and tears brimming along your eyes...

Din Djarin x fem!virgin!reader | 2.9k words

Content: spice [18+ only], virginity, awkwardness, kissing, groping, riding, sensual, PIV, darkness, cursing, friends to probably lovers

From this request about reader asking their best friend to be their first. Start there for context or check out other character options.

[18+ only below the cut, please and thank you]

"It's okay," you whispered, unable to stand the silence that so clearly indicated you'd ruined everything. "Just thought I'd give it a shot. Let's forget all about this. Please."

You tried to discreetly wipe away the dampness in your eyes as you made to stand up, but a firm hand grasped your arm, keeping you in place. You turned in surprise to look at Din.

"No, wait," he said hurriedly. "That's not... I don't... um..."

It would've been impossible to know what he felt with his helmet hiding everything, had you not come to know him so well. You knew how to look for other signs to show his true feelings, like how he held his shoulders or the cadence of his breathing or even the pitch of his voice. From your quick, desperate scan of him now, you determined he wasn't actually offended or put off by your proposition. No, he was simply... nervous.

He cleared his throat and tried to get his words out better than before. "I don't have a lot of experience," he said slowly. "But if you trust me, then I'll do this for you."

You tried not to let his words excite you too much yet, first wanting to make sure he wasn't feeling coerced.

"Din," you said, turning so one of your legs curled up onto the dock and your shoulders faced him squarely. "I don't want you to say yes because you feel you have to. This sort of thing means different things to different people, and I'd never want you to put aside your boundaries--"

"It's okay, Cyare," he said, using the endearing nickname he only broke out for you every so often, usually when he was reprimanding you, but right now it sounded much more out of affection. "I know. And no boundaries are being crossed here, I promise. I care about you. Let me do this for you."

You forced down an anxious swallow and nodded in assurance. Another silence fell between you.

"Um..." you cleared your throat, scooting just a tad closer. You'd been hoping he would've taken the lead from here. You didn't have the first clue how to initiate something like this, especially given the circumstance. It wasn't like you were in some steamy holo-film throwing yourself at a lover.

"Oh," Din reacted, seemingly surprised. "Were... you were wanting to... right now?"

You tried not to let your chest deflate. "Um, well, kinda. Yeah. I mean, if it's alright with you, I'd rather not have to go through any awkward days waiting for a specific time."

Din's helmet turned as he surveyed the surrounding area. "You want to lose your virginity outside on a hard wooden deck?"

You could hear the faintest of teasing in his voice and knew that whatever previous awkwardness had been felt during your conversation was done with. You were back to being friends, two people who cared for and trusted each other, and who knew how to have a bit of fun.

You feigned a scoff. "Okay, Mr. Judgey. Where do you propose we go then?"

"The ship," he shrugged.

"That's not exactly a softer alternative," you laughed.

He twisted back to look at his ship, tucked away behind some trees just a short distance away. After a beat, he stood up. "Give me a few minutes," he said, holding his hand out to you to stay put. "Then you can come and we'll... yeah."

He hastened off, leaving you blinking in response before you settled back on your elbows to wait. You weren't sure what he was up to, but knowing Din, he'd be working hard at it. Your emotions swirled as you waited, shifting from giddiness to nervousness to impatience. You weren't sure how many minutes he needed, but after counting down a few of them, you finally hoisted yourself up and marched off toward Razor Crest.

You didn't know what you had been expecting, but it sure was incredible what your Mandalorian friend could accomplish in such a short amount of time. Every blanket, cloak, and mat he owned had been laid out across the floor, making the otherwise sharp and dungy interior of Razor Crest look just a bit more comfortable. Both of your bedrolls had been taken out of their bunks and were placed in the center of it all. Where the main action would happen, you assumed.

The lights were also dimmed, so it wasn't too jarring to come in from the darkness of the outdoors. Din had his back turned as you entered, carefully placing your pillow on the floor next to his. He had his boots and most of his armor off, save for his helmet of course. You still couldn't see any of his skin; he left his gloves and socks on, and the cowl of his cloak was tucked neatly up into his helmet. You wondered if he would bare anything.

"Wow," you whispered, not wanting to scare him. He turned and offered you his hand, guiding you further in. "This is... really nice, Din."

You gave him a sweet smile as you both sat down next to each other on the bedrolls. This was it. The moment you'd been wanting. You were a mixture of nerves and excitement.

"Do you... know what you like?" he asked you.

You shook your head. "Not really. I've only ever... well, you know... on my own... a few times."

"And? What got you going those times?" His voice was low, soft, almost.

"Um. I don't know. I didn't really know what I was doing. I just... kinda... rubbed a lot?" You let out a shaky laugh, looking down at the blanketed floor between you. "I'm sorry, this is kinda weird, talking about these things with you."

His thigh moved into your view as he scooted closer, mere inches away from you now. You made yourself look back up at him. You could see your reflection in his helmet.

"It's okay. That's a good starting point."

His hands were at your waist, guiding you to move toward him. Instinctually, your legs spread and within a few moments, you were straddled over his lap. Your face instantly heat up as you realized only a few thin bits of fabric were now between your sex and his.

His hands gently tugged at your hips until you got the hint to start moving them. Back and forth, slowly but firmly, creating a pleasant rhythm of friction between your bodies. His knees came up behind you, creating a support for your back, and you grasped onto the tops of his shoulders to steady yourself.

"How does that feel?" he asked. If you didn't have your heartbeat hammering so loudly in your ears, you would've picked up on the strain in his voice. Though, you didn't necessarily need that clue to know how your movements were affecting him. There was an obvious erection that was growing between your legs the longer you went on.

"Good," you breathed. But that's all it was; just good. "Maybe you could... touch me?"

"Where?" he didn't hesitate to ask, causing you to flush all over again. His deference was kind of hot, you realized. It was starting to embolden you. That, or the impatient pull you were starting to feel down below.

You took hold of his hands, intending to place them where you wanted them, but decided another step needed to be taken first. Still moving your hips, you pulled off Din's gloves. One finger at a time. When one hand was freed, you moved it to snake under your shirt and rest on your breast. He squeezed it gently as you removed the glove from the other hand and brought that one in to join.

He continued to squeeze in time with the movement of your hips. For a short while, that added to your pleasure, causing you to close your eyes and focus on the sensations of his skin against yours, his body beneath yours.

But eventually, you needed more than that too. And your legs were starting to grow sore in this position. Din seemed to sense you slowing down and moved his hands to splay against your back, bringing you closer until your forehead rested against his helmet. You silently cursed the dimness of the lights; you were sure you could have seen his eyes through the helmet if they had been brighter.

"Lay down, Cyare," he instructed softly, helping you dismount and settle onto your side, away from him. "Do you mind if I turn off the lights?"

"Sure," you whispered. It was already so dim, but with the lights completely out, you felt your other senses become more heightened. Din's body saddled up behind yours, pressing into you sensuously while the skin of his fingers rubbed up and down on your arm. He was so warm against you, a part of you wanted to just curl up into him and drift off to sleep. You could smell his cologne; you had never noticed him wearing a scent before, and wondered if you hadn't been paying attention or if he'd put some on just for tonight.

And then the strangest sensation of all: breath fanning across the back of your neck. You gasped in surprise, before wet lips planted themselves on your skin.

"Is this okay?" Din asked, his voice clear and unfiltered in your ear. He punctuated his sentence with another kiss, this one on the side of your neck, just behind your slack jaw, sending a jolt of tingles down your body and straight into your core.

You couldn't answer, and Din didn't wait for one. His hand slid back up under your shirt and clasped at your breast, while his mouth kept assaulting your neck. It was a mixture of pecks and suckling. Teasing breaths across the goosebumps of your skin, scratchy stubble as he buried further into your neck. Hand massaging at your chest and knee prodding its way in between your legs. You were quickly overwhelmed, panting and whining at each new sensation that took you by surprise in the darkness. Awkwardness and anxiety were long gone between the two of you now.

"Din," you gasped, reaching your own hand around to grasp at the back of his head and keep him in place in your neck. He moaned as your fingers clawed blindly into his locks.

"Cyare," he mumbled against your skin. He tugged his hand out from your shirt and rested it along the edge of your pants. "Are you ready for me?"

You could only let you a keening whine in response.

"Please don't look."

He forced himself off of you with a grunt, and you lifted your hips as he quickly pulled your pants and underwear down your legs. You kept your eyes shut despite the darkness, knowing you at least owed him his privacy, all that he was giving you in return. Once your bottom half was bared, you lay for a moment without any touch, any warmth, while he got himself ready. You could hear his movements, the zipper of his pants, the wrapper of a condom. You tried to get your breathing under control while you waited, but it only picked right back up the moment he touched you again.

He assumed the same position as before, spooning you from behind with one arm draped over your frame and his mouth against your neck. This time you could feel that shape again from earlier, harder and more insistent as it rested against your rear. You could also now feel how eager you yourself were; there was a slickness pooling out onto your bare thighs, more than you'd ever felt from yourself before.

"Din," you sighed into his embrace.

He returned a "Cyare."

And then you both started moving.

You pushed your ass back against him and starting rubbing. He grasped your hips and started kneading. His mouth sucked sharply against your neck, and yours moved in breathless, silent prayers of ecstasy. You'd been uncertain of the mechanics of this moment before, and now were enraptured. You never wanted it to end.

The dance you two shared quickened in pace until you both were too desperate to prolong any further. Din's leg shoved between yours and he removed his hand to help line himself up. There was a bit of prodding into your folds, not being able to see for a more accurate aim, though you were far from complaining about it. Each poke sent thrilling jolts of fire through your belly, into your hammering heart, and out of your panting mouth.

"Ready?" Din asked once he got the tip of his cock lined up properly. His voice had lost all of its usual smoothness and it occurred to you, even in the haze of your excitement, he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

"Yes, please," you all but begged.

His tip pushed in and stilled there for a moment while you both clung on to reality. Your hand was now at your mouth, holding in every lewd sound it threatened to make. He pushed himself in another inch, paused, pushed, paused. His hand at your hip squeezed along with each nudge.

"Are you... okay?" he asked. "Do you... want... me to stop... here?"

You were unsure how much he had left to put in you. You already felt so full. But you wanted this. You wanted him. Everything. So you shook you head and begged for more.

He kept pushing. Tears prickled into the corners of your eyes. Finally he bottomed out.

"Is this..."

"Yes, yes, yes." That would be your answer to every question of his from now on, you were certain.

You rocked against him and he pulled himself out before thrusting back in. The pace he set was a heavenly mix of careful but needy, chasing the thing you were both interested in reaching without any further ado. He was no longer kissing you, instead, resting his face against yours, your breaths intertwining as you grew closer and closer.

"Tell me... when..." he tried panting out. You thought you understood, but still weren't able to follow the instruction. No sooner had he said it than did your walls clench and you went spilling over into total euphoria.

"Kriff," he cursed in response. He couldn't hold out after that.

Your orgasm was jarring. The force of it took you by surprise, knocked the wind out of you so that you ended up gasping deeply for air once the brunt of it subsided. You rode out the remnants by seeing stars, and you imagined you were still out on that dock, looking up at the sky with your best friend.

It took several more moments for your breathing to come back under control, for your vision to return to you despite it being so dark inside the ship. You rolled onto your back and kept a hand over your heart to make sure it didn't give out on you. It took you a while to notice Din had pulled himself off of you at some point.

"Din?" you whispered into the darkness.

There was a second of silence, but thankfully he answered before you could panic about it.

"I'm here."

His voice was filtered again, though you could hear the exhaustion in it. You turned your head to follow the sound and squinted through the darkness until you found the outline of his body. He wasn't too far.

"Just... cleaning up," he said. "Here."

His outline got closer and a rag was placed into your hand. You took it hesitantly.

"I can help," he offered.

"No, that's okay." You quickly sat up and wiped at yourself, wincing at the surprising amount of soreness you felt.

"Are you okay?" Din asked, hovering nearby. You hummed in response and tossed the rag aside. For a moment, you wondered if that was it. If you'd have to somehow find a way to go back to being friends who only ever touched each other when helping each other up after a fall in battle. That was exactly what you had asked for, anyway. Just a romp and nothing more.

But then you felt his arms encircling you again, and your body was pulled onto his as he reclined backwards on the pillows with your head against his chest. You smiled to yourself and wrapped your own arms around him, holding him as close as possible.

"Din?" you ventured after a while, once you could no longer feel the aftershocks of tingles and breathlessness.

"Yes, Cyare?"

"You keep calling me that," you laughed lightly. "I always thought it was derogatory."

"What? No, not at all," he said. "It means... beloved."

You couldn't help but sit up at that, needing to look at him, even if it was only at a helmet in the dark. "But you say it when you're upset with me."

He huffed and pulled at you to return to his chest. "Yes, because I'm trying to remind myself that I care about you, no matter how frustrating you are."

You decided to let the comment about you being frustrating slide. "Beloved, huh?"

He hummed.

"Is that why you agreed to do this with me?"

He hummed again. You could tell he was growing tired, and truthfully, you were too.

"We should probably talk about this more. What this means for us. Tomorrow. Right now... this is nice. Thank you."

For a while you didn't think he was going to respond, but just as you teetered on the edge of sleep you heard his words. Faint but full of heart.

"No Cyare, thank you."

NSFW Every Character Tag: @dangerousstrawberrypie, @justanothersadperson93, @arctrooper69, @sleepycreativewriter, @techie-bear, @theroguesully, @cw80831

NSFW Goodies Tag: @kaijusplotch, @marvel-starwars-nerd, @lackofhonor, @flowered-bicycles, @mishakoon

✨Join A Tag List Here!✨

🔥 Spice Time Master List | 🌙 Master List of Master Lists

[demonslayerunhinged]

Your blog is amazing! Sanemi caught my eye all those years ago when he appeared the first time in season 1, he intrigued me from the get go.

Possible spoilers below for season one**

It shocked me how he quick he was to stab Nezuko. I had a long talk with my friend about that scene and he instantly hated him, rightfully so I suppose, but I argued that while we have context on Nezuko Sanemi, and the other hashira besides Giyu, do not so of course it was only natural for him to react like that(although maybe a bit extreme but that’s who Sanemi IS). No one there had any idea besides Tanjiro and Giyu.

Anyway, I love your character analysis posts, I’ve especially learned a lot about Obanai who I haven’t had a firm grasp on until now since I haven’t read the manga yet. You’re doing great work!

Hiiii! Thanks so much for your question! Yes you're absolutely right. We feel enraged for Nezuko because we've been following she and Tanjiro's pov but if you switch the the Hashira's you'll realize just how messed up the situation actually is.

Like imagine hearing the news that a slayer is harboring a demon and carrying her along on his journeys. Here's a list of implications from the Hashira's pov:

For those who know about them, the Demon Slayer Corps and the slayers are beacons of hope and most of all safety. This image is shattered when the people would find out that a Slayer has been harboring a demon. It doesn't matter if Nezuko wouldn't eat them, they don't know that.

Everyone knows that demons need to eat people to survive. A slayer carrying a demon has the horrifying implication that he's been feeding people to her. He's probably been using his identity as a slayer to gain people's trust before allowing Nezuko to devour them.

Tanjiro could be a spy. We know that there are humans who work for Muzan whether knowingly or unknowingly, we don't know but they're there. Tanjiro could be one of them, his job was probably to infiltrate the Corps, find out their location and ask Nezuko to kill the Master.

Muzan could have learned about the Corps secrets and locations through Nezuko. I'm sure both the Master and the Hashira know this so Tanjiro carrying around a demon already compromises the safety of the Corps and it's members. Because remember it's not just the slayers, it's the Kakushi, the butterfly girls, the people who host slayers in their homes, the swordsmiths, the crows and the Master himself.

So yea while Sanemi's stabbing of Nezuko was excessive it wasn't exactly unwarranted and I thought I was in the minority about not hating Sanemi when he was first introduced. I was more like 'who's this crackhead?' and 'damnnnnn bro chill!' when he stabbed Nezuko 😂, it's nice to know that you get his actions too.

Thank you so much for your kind words!

[weirdsht]

Catalyst - JJK & Reader

notes: this is purely self-indulgent so its messy asf. I don't usually write for jjk because I feel like I can't grasp their characters in writing, but I had to write for jjk after the manga ending.

tags: no gender specified for reader, yuuji & reader, platonic relationship, implied satoru/reader, self-indulgent, manga spoilers (obvi)

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

Buy Me Dessert

Navigation Masterlist

Silence lingered in the air, it was the dead of the night after all. Everyone is getting a well-deserved rest after being constantly battered, bruised, and stressed. However, one presence stands out in the communal area of the Jujutsu High Dorms. Pink hair illuminated by the soft glow of the almost muted television can be seen as you enter the living room.

“Shouldn’t the Yuji Itadori be sleeping peacefully now that no Ryomen Sukuna is pestering him and saying nonsense in his ears?”

You jokingly asked the teen as you slid beside him, seeing what movie had his eyes glued on the television at this ungodly hour. Unsurprisingly, it’s one of the instalments of the Human Earthworm movies.

“Can’t sleep.”

The pink-haired teen simply states, his eyes still glued on the television. Despite that, it doesn’t look like he's paying attention to the movie. There are simultaneously no thoughts behind those eyes, yet millions of concerns wracking his brain.

Of course, you noticed all of this. What kind of adult would you be if you don’t see the kid’s suffering especially after he just went through so much?

Not a reliable one, that’s for sure.

“You haven’t slept well since Shibuya. It’s been a week since everything started settling down yet you seem stagnant. What’s been bothering our precious Yuji? Hm?”

The student went visibly rigid at your words. He knows he wasn’t hiding his turmoil well, but at the same time, he hadn’t expected you to confront him straight on like this.

“I’m sorry… I’ll be fine soon, I promise.”

His response made you shake your head. Not necessarily disappointed in the young man, but rather disappointed at how the circumstances and some people made him believe that he should not seek help from other people.

“That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant Yuji. Now tell me what’s been plaguing your mind.”

Your voice had its usual softness in it that was reserved for talking to Satoru’s students. At the same time, it held firmness, telling Yuji that he couldn’t skirt his way out of this one. Unlike what he had been doing for the past week.

Yuji has had the time to mull over his problems by himself. Now it’ll be the time for him to mull over them with you.

“I was just thinking of the what-ifs… Like what if I chose the immediate execution instead… Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

To some extent, you get where the kid is coming from. Yuji had always felt like he was at fault for everything Sukuna had done during these past months because he was the one who ate that finger. Because it was his choice to continue being the vessel for the king of curses.

Yuji Itadori felt as if it was his burden to atone for Sukuna’s sins as he was the one who essentially revived him.

However, you beg to disagree.

But before you can say something, Yuji speaks up once more.

“I was so selfish… If I hadn’t been selfish then it the casualties wouldn’t be this severe… Nanamin would still be here… Choso too, as well as Gojo-sensei… Gojo-sensei… I’m so sorry [Name] because of me you lost Gojo-sensei… If only I hadn’t been so selfish…”

Ah, so that’s why he couldn’t look at you.

The poor guy is full-on sobbing now. His back is hunched over as he loudly sobbed in his knees. It’s so bad that his blabbering nonsense, or at least it’s nonsense for you. Why would he be sorry for something he couldn’t control? Why is having the desire to live considered a selfish choice now? 

Why can’t Yuuji Itadori look at you anymore? The same lively kid who used to join you whenever you pulled pranks on Satoru. The same kid you have grown to see as your own alongside Megumi, Tsumiki, and Nobara? Why is that very same kid being eaten alive by survivor’s guilt every night despite appearing to be okay daily?

“Hey, hey, that’s not it Yuji. It’s not your fault. It couldn’t possibly be your fault.”

You held onto the student’s trembling hands, making it known that he still has an adult figure in his life.

“But Gojo-sensei, you loved him so much and yet because of me—”

“It wasn’t you who did it okay? There’s also nothing wrong with wanting to live. That’s normal because you are human. As Nanami said, you're the kid and we’re the adults. We’re the ones responsible for you, not the other way around.”

Your hand gently stroke his as he slowly calms down from his breakdown. The movie in the background is now getting to the climax, but neither of you cares.

“You’re not mad at me [Name]?”

“How could I ever be?”

“There’s a lot of things to be mad at honestly…”

“And yet I can’t think of a single thing.”

Yuuji finally looks at you. His eyes are bewildered as if he can’t believe what his hearing. When his gaze finally met yours, you offered him a gentle smile. One that tells him that you won’t be leaving or getting mad at him anytime soon.

Perhaps that’s the kind of support he needed from a parental figure right now.

“Gojo-sensei said he wants everyone to surpass him. That people will one day grow up and leave him behind. But how could I? His Gojo-sensei, the sensei that was there for me. The one who shielded me from the higher-ups? How could I forget him after leading him to his doom?”

The mention of Satoru tugs a certain painful string in your heart, but you swallow it down. It isn’t about you, it’s about Yuji right now.

“Your sensei is just goofy like that. He thinks that his always being left behind despite some of us patiently waiting for him. But besides that, all he wanted was for there to be a future where the youth doesn’t have to worry. And that’s what we are working on right now aren’t we?”

Itadori nodded slowly as your words sank in on him.

“And maybe this was his happy ending too. You kids have a brighter future and he gets to rest in his own way. He's probably tired from dealing with those stuckups all these years.”

You said it jokingly, yet your lips contorted in a bittersweet smile that Yuji didn’t miss. 

Despite that, he said nothing in retaliation, for you don’t seem to be aware of what you look like right now.

Itadori knows you’re suffering too, despite taking on the role of being the strong one for all the students. He knows that you have not been sleeping well, same as him. The young man has seen you enter Satoru’s room every night. Has heard your quiet sobs whenever you do so. Your red, swollen eyes that you try to hide every morning has not gone past him.

And that’s why he feels so guilty. He felt that in his selfish pursuit, he had cost you your everything.

Yet it had also cost him nearly everything too.

So how can that be a selfish pursuit?

That’s the point you want Yuji Itadori to see and realize. The reason why you insist on moving forward despite only wanting to wallow in sadness.

If not for Yuji who is innocent in all of this, then for Satoru who wants to see the youth thrive even at the cost of his own life.

As the one who knows Yuji’s innocence and Satoru’s aspirations, you have made it your job to continue the six eyes user’s legacy.

“But [Name] have you really never thought of the what-ifs?”

Yuuji asks you once more after a few minutes of silence. This time his tone was lighter, none of those heavy, self-deprecating implications.

Okay maybe a little, but it’s better now.

“I have. But the what-ifs I’m thinking are a little different from yours. I think of things like, what if Satoru never got sealed?”

What if the whole Amanai thing went better? What if Suguru had listened to your pleas before leaving everything behind?

The student listened to you, his eyes closing ever so slightly. Probably tired from his crying session.

“I can see in your face that you’re curious as to why I never think of what if Satoru didn’t spare you. And that’s because there is no what-if. Satoru would have saved you no matter what, it’s his whole thing. Well aside from being the strongest that is.“

Your eyes also grew heavy. Both you and Yuji unknowingly fall asleep, for probably the first time in a while, as you talk.

In front of you, the movie’s credits had started rolling. However, by the time it happened both of you are already in sleep’s embrace.

[aloesarchives]

In your Toji lives au would you ever consider making Tsumiki a sorcerer, if so what would her technique be? If not, how does she feel about being the only one in the family without “powers”?

Warnings: Lore dumping for "Toji lives AU", profanity, being too long than it should be

Well, I did thought about it, anon.

In my "Toji Lives AU", Tsumiki doesn't have a curse technique. There are some reasons why I didn't give her a curse technique.

1.) My lack of understanding of the basic understanding of curse technique. I've been reading JJK for almost four years now but I have yet to understand the power system of the series. I know! I'm a fake fan but my smooth brain hasn't been able to grasp the basics/fundamentals of the series. That's why I didn't give Tsumiki a curse technique because my ideas for curse techniques won't make sense in the realm of Jujutsu Kaisen.

2.) I literally have no clue on what curse technique would suit her. Personally, I can't make/give Tsumiki one because I don't know enough about her. Generally, if there is a character that's powerless in a series I'm writing, I would writing a power/technique/ability based on how much I know them. However, since there's very little on Tsumiki in the canon story, I think it would be easier for me to not make her a sorcerer. All we know, at least to my knowledge, is she's the step-sister and step-daughter of Megumi and Toji, she's a kind-hearted and caring person but isn't afraid to call out someone(like what she did with Megumi in Middle School), she took care of Megumi every since their respective parents went MIA, and she got stuck in a coma after accompanying some classmates to the cursed bridge. That's the only information on her personality and life I have on her. But it's very limiting for me to give her a technique for the AU.

But if I had to give her one, it would most likely be a healing curse technique. Again, I don't know the fundamentals for her technique. All I know is she uses her ability to heal other sorcerers wounds but not have regenerative properties. Tsumiki, while a firm person, doesn't hit me as a fighter or someone who's needed on the battlefield. She's more of a support/healer based on her personality and nature. But yeah, a healing curse technique is something I would give her if I made her a sorcerer.

But since I didn't make her a sorcerer nor have any curse technique, she's the most normal out of everyone in the family. In my "Toji lives AU", both her and Megumi don't know about the Jujutsu world or anything curse related because I had Reader and Toji never bringing it up/mentioning it. It was not until Satoru and Suguru went to retrieve the two of them at Reader's request is when they learn about the Jujutsu world and curse technique.

She knew she didn't have powers when Satoru, Suguru and eventually Reader explained it to her and Megumi. She was aware because before Megumi's manifestation of his Ten Shadow Technique, he kept telling Reader he was seeing monsters everywhere. Reader would ask Megumi to describe the monsters and his description of them are now curses. Tsumiki knows Megumi doesn't like to lie or never really lies to Reader, he doesn't make stuff up for attention. She could tell on Mother's face that there was something else going on that Tsumiki wasn't experiencing herself.

By the time she's 6-7 years old, she knew she didn't have a curse technique or powers because she couldn't see curses, had any sort of manifestation, and she was passed the age where a kid would receive one. After meeting Satoru and Suguru, she knew Reader was a sorcerer because Satoru explained how her and Megumi's mom was just like them. But she didn't know how powerful until Satoru tells her and Megumi that Reader is a powerful sorcerer, unlike any other, to the point Satoru admits Reader can rival him herself.

While Megumi starts to look up to Reader, Tsumiki feels like a odd one out because she never got supernatural powers. Most are quick to point out that Toji doesn't have powers but that doesn't apply to her father at all. Toji doesn't have a curse technique or any curse energy. However, he can still see curses, have extremely heighten human sense and abilities, and wield the most broken weapons in the Jujutsu world because his celestial restrictions allows him. He doesn't have any powers but his celestial restriction gives him extraordinary physical abilities that beyond the supernatural in exchange. She doesn't have celestial restriction like her father nor does she have a technique like her Mother and Brother, overhearing how both of them possess techniques that have unfathomable potential and strength. Tsumiki is just...normal.

However, Reader explains to her that she and Toji still love her no matter what. Saying that she doesn't need a curse technique in ordered to be accepted and seen in their family. Reader tries to reassure her that it's not uncommon for individuals to be born without a curse technique in her clan. So it's normal for Tsumiki to not have one herself. This also means Reader reminds Tsumiki she has no need to jump hurdles to prove herself. Reader tells Tsumiki what matters is she builds up and grows herself.

Oddly enough, it's actually Toji who gave her a more earnest and honest commentary and explanation to her. This happened when she and Megumi were teenagers. She was having one of those close talks with Toji at home because Reader and Megumi were out doing Sorcery stuff. He explained to her that her being born without a curse technique can be seen as a blessing because she doesn't have to be involved in the world of Jujutsu. Explaining how the Jujutsu world isn't special compared to the real world. If not, it's a lot more grim and unforgiving to those who live in it. He openly admits to Tsumiki that even Reader and Megumi, who are born with legendary and sought after abilities/techniques, shoulder a burden not everyone experiences.

Megumi has to burden the expectations of having a technique that has the potential to rival and defeat Satoru Gojo. The strongest sorcerer in Modern Sorcery. His technique is a prized and beloved by the Zen'in clan, Toji's biological family. A clan that would do anything in order to keep their status as one of the main Jujutsu families. Toji spills a little bit to Tsumiki about the ruthless and unkind nature of how the Zen'in treats both non-sorcerers and sorcerers. Speaking about being born with a curse technique doesn't guarantee your acceptance. They will see you as sub-human if the technique is weak and useless. Even if you have a powerful technique, the clan doesn't give a shit about you. They only care for the technique, not the person. So it's a constant struggle for power and placement against your own family and clan/ fight for a place at the table.

Then there's Reader, who's curse technique can match and be on par with Gojo. However, the burdens she shoulders is a lot more different and heavier than Megumi's. She bears the burden of being one of the strongest around, meaning she constantly is needed and busy like Gojo is. Toji also speaks of the burden of guilt you carry for doing enough, if it was enough. To call the shots and make observations no one else can see. The insight and guidance you offer would be sufficient in growing the younger sorcerer. Your care and concern would be enough to help others not fall down a dark path. That what you were doing was enough to protect your family, to keep your beloved husband and children safe. Toji told Tsumiki that Reader was glad Tsumiki didn't have curse energy because it meant to didn't have to face the horrors of the Jujutsu world. Something her mother, and unfortunately her younger brother, have to face and be apart of.

Now, Toji said all of this not to be like "well you aren't missing out much" or "you're better off doing this instead of that". But rather, to make a point that having a curse technique isn't always everything and what matters the most is someone's will and personal strength. Toji confesses that a person's drive and will is what keeps them going in the Jujutsu world and the real world. Tsumiki may be powerless but her kind-heart and caring nature is something not many have the ability to do nature. Toji even says Tsumiki is stronger than most sorcerers because the conviction she has overpowers many others.

"Kindness isn't a weakness. Rather, it's a strength others don't have the capacity to understand its true nature, Tsumiki. So don't be so hard on yourself because you lack an ability. Not many are strong like you to keep doing what you're doing. The closest person I can think of that's just as kind as you is your mother(Reader). And we already know she's insanely strong as it is. So don't feel down about what you don't have, what you already have is powerful that not even that Gojo kid could understand."

"You're already strong, Tsumiki. You're just not seeing it like your mom and I do."

With that, Tsumiki feels less excluded and more empowered. When she was younger, she never voiced her shame and her alienation from her family. But after her talk with Toji, she isn't ashamed of being powerless and keeps up her kind personality. All because of the conversation she had with Toji and her being honest with her.

Tsumiki may not know this, but her kindness and caring nature is one of the reasons why Reader hasn't given up on herself and what she does/fights for in the Jujutsu World. Because to Reader, Tsumiki's kindness grounds and brings her down to Earth. Tsumiki reminds Reader that kindness exists anywhere and is needed for the world to no collapse on itself. That it takes a different kind of strength to still show kindness when there's a lot of resistance. Reader keeps fighting so people like her daughter can live and exist in this unforgiving world. That's how strong Tsumiki's kindness is and she doesn't have a curse technique to make such an effect.

Tsumiki in this AU knows and understands the world of Jujutsu. But she isn't involved in it as a sorcerer because her only connection is through her parents and brother, not herself. But she knows the basics of curse and curse energy. She's not ashamed of being a non-sorcerer and has a different yet positive outlook on life. She doesn't mind not having powers because she's already secure about herself thanks to her Mother and Father.

Leave it to Papa Toji to make things better lol

[muffylya]

❝my knight in shining armour, rescue me!❞

fem reader x blue lock boys ♡♡

including the blue lock character(s) ;; rin itoshi, yukimiya kenyu, michael kaiser (maybe a bit ooc for some, sorry !!)

synopsis ;; you are a princess who has been forced into an arranged marriage for power, but your knight is here to save you in the midst of it all!

no reposts, translation without permission please!

rin itoshi

your knight that would shine amongst the others. his personality is aloof, and so remote. you like him since he's not too much of a hassle, but he doesn't like the fact you're getting married tonight.

"halt 'tis wedding on forth!" the knight announced audibly across the lit-up, peaceful banquet hall.

you were caught up in your own despair–you didn't realize your knight breaking in! your face was one of shock and bewilderment. you didn't expect the knight to crash your wedding so unexpectedly.

rin's gaze landed on yours,and he appeared to be furious..furious over what? you squinted your eyes to see rin more distinctly, only to find him marching towards you with firm steps.

your mouth was agape, brain racking for words which came out as a stammer as you saw him approach you briskly. and in one swift move, rin held your back and lifted your legs; resulting in a bridal carry.

"rin!" you gasped lightly as your breath hitched of anticipation. your eyes caught a glimpse of your groom's face, then comparing it to rin's.

the groom's face was filled with undeniable anger, and with such unavoidable rage that was in contrast to rin's facial expression which was unusual; a smug,faint smirk plastered as if rin just stole someone's girl (which he did).

yukimiya kenyu

you were saying your beloved, dearly vows to the groom which you loathed to be with–not like you genuinely loved him! all pretend!

but,the microphone was snatched from your hand by someone standing beside you. you whip your head to face him, startled.

it was..yukimiya! the pacifist, charming knight you've found yourself swooning over!

"i won't accept nor give away my lady like that!" the pacifist knight states through the mic so confidently. as if he had a plan in mind, yet he seemed adorable whilst announcing it.

"i yearn for my beloved lady to have the genuine, sparkling love in this marriage. not arranged, nor forced..no." yukimiya firmly protested infront of the shocks of the crowd.

yukimiya pulls you closer by his free arm, protecting you in his grasp which made you feel safe and protected.

he places a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose, "no matter, 'tis wedding shalln't be furthered on. i know how the princess worries." he smiled at you lovingly.

michael kaiser

your wedding was ongoing so well, you became worried as you were stuttering your vows.

even the gazes of noble members nerved you, which didn't help with your lingering fear and anxiety of forcing yourself to be married to another man you don't know.

you were almost at the end of your vows, but before that—an uproaring, blasting sound came from the windows of the hall.

it was..a hooded figure,creeping upon the moonlight and just sitting there. knights rush to catch up with the hooded figure to protect you and the groom.

but his agility was too fast for them to even reach out for the hooded figure. assuming he was a threat to remove,he immediately sweeped you off your feet and carried you like a princess. except you are.

when you inquired him for his name–the shadowy, dark figure laughed.

"meine prinzessin, you shalln't worry much. i'm your knight, michael kaiser." he introduced himself to you in a proud, arrogant tone.

[mrsrookhunt]

Hear me out can I please ask for a yandere chuuya and atsushi with a Yui komori darling ( she's from diabolik lovers)

That's still traumatized even after they escaped the sakamaki/makami brothers

But there's still a kind and caring person

But one day he comes home and he can't find them anywhere just to find them hiding in a closet crying and shaking because of a nightmare of the sakamaki/makami brothers finding them and using them as a bloodbag again

And when he manages to calm them down they explain what happened to them before they met him and even though he kidnapped them they feel safe that's why they never fought back

Sorry if this is too detailed and if you're unfamiliar with the character feel free to ignore this request

You do not know how excited I was to get a request that included DL, it was my first ever anime 😁 It was also the first series I wrote for! So, this is 100% up my alley. Though I hope I do her justice, it's been a few years.

That being said, I don't actually write for Atsushi. I love him, but I don't feel like I could embody his character properly, especially as a yandere. So I did some brief headcannons about the scenario, but it's nothing too in-depth, in hopes of keeping as true to his character as possible. Hope that's alright!

Atsushi Nakajima | Headcannons

Atsushi is a kind man, yandere or not. When he comes home to silence and dead air when he calls for you, he panics. He tries not to assume the worst, but how can he not where you're clearly not here?

He races through the house, heart pumping, when he finally hears you-- sniffling and crying in the back of the master bedroom closet.

In his relief, he nearly throws himself at your feet. "Yui?" He asks quietly, taking your hand in his.

When you tell him about your nightmare, the normally calm and sweet demeanor he uses in front of you shifts to defensive and nearly feral.

He swears to you that they'll never hurt you, he'll never let them. He's lost too much, and he assures you that he won't lose you too. You have nothing to worry about, he'll take care of it.

He hasn't taken violent action until now, but he wishes you'd told him just how much you were affected by those damn bloodsuckers.

Don't worry about anything.. Soon, you'll be able to sleep safe, without even a possibility of harm coming to you.

Chuuya Nakahara | Scenario

"Yui?" He calls into the empty house.

Damn, he should've known better than to leave you alone while he was working.

"Fuck, this isn't a game!" He shouts, kicking the post on the staircase. You were always to be downstairs by 6:30 every day, dressed and ready to go out to dinner or an event with him. But you weren't here, and he knew you knew better than that.

So what possibility does that leave?

Kidnapping? The house was safety proofed, he would've known if anyone was trying to get in, and if you were trying to go out. Amd yet, none of his alarms went off, nothing looked touched, no sign of a struggle.

Hearing Chuuya stomp up the stairs made fear drop into your stomach. Shit. It was 6:30 already?

How long had you been crying?

You curled into a ball on the floor of the closet. It didn't matter now, you were going to be in trouble anyway.

You were already hyperventilating from your dream; the combined terror of your impending punishment didn't help much.

Chuuya stormed into the room, and then into the closet when he heard you.

"Yui! You scared me, what the hell were you doing?" He dropped down to balance on his heels in front of you.

"Hey... are you crying?" He folded into a position lying down next to you, hand on your waist.

"S-sorry, I'm so sorry, Chuuya, I--"

"I ain't mad, just tell me what happened." He was trying to be patient with you, at least.

Your breathing slowed a little, and you stretched out a bit, rolling into his grasp. He was here. It's Chuuya, for God's sake. If anyone could protect you, it was him. You were being stupid, why were you even cryi--

"Hey." His voice was firm, blue eyes boring into yours, searching for any hint to your distress, just how he was trained. "I want answers, Yui."

The words came tumbling out of you. "N-nightmare, I had a nightmare when I was trying to take a nap a-nd it just all came flooding back to me and I was scared and--"

"What came back to you?" His grip tightened and he scowled.

"T-there's something.. I haven't told you, Chuuie."

You looked away from him.

"You know... about all the awful things in this world.. ability users.. are part of the world.. but then there's things even darker, that even you wouldn't know about."

You glance up to him, and he nods for you to continue.

"Mm... There's... well, I'll be blunt, there's things in this world that fall under the name of 'supernatural', like.. vampires, and-- And! They're real! I swear!!"

"I believe you. Go on." You aren't sure if he really believes you or if he's just humoring you, but you might as well go on. It's been so long of you bottling this up, so you didn't scare anyone. But Chuuya? Chuuya loves you unconditionally. He wouldn't reject you just for this, there's no way.

"I.. was.. used, by some of these people. As.. food."

"People?" He spits, pulling you into his shoulder. "They sound more like monsters."

You offer a weak laugh in relief, relief that he isn't mad, that he believes you.

"Yeah.. maybe. But they were nice at times. I just... I'm still glad I got out. And I dreamt.. that I was back, and I was theirs, again, and I-I---"

"Shh..." Chuuya breathes out against the top of your head, hearing your whimpering begin anew as the dream comes back to you tenfold. "Haah... as if I'd ever let them get to you. I'd rather be dead. Tell me more about the bastards. I'll take care of them for you."

"It's ok.. they'll leave me alone now, I think. You.. you saved me, Chuuya. Thank you."

You know you probably sound stupid to him, but you can't help but wish for their wellbeings too. They didn't ask to be vampires, and some of them were nice sometimes.

He sighed. "You tell me.. when you're ready for me to do something about those assholes, just say the word. Say the word, and I'll make sure you don't have a single reason to worry. You're always gonna be safe with me, Yui. I ain't gonna let a single one of those creatures touch you, or anyone who hurt you. You're safe, Yui."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

-June 26th, 2023

-Kaori

[slippinmickeys]

Twenty questions for fanfic writers

I was tagged by @agent-troi and @randomfoggytiger Thanks for the tag, guys!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

53

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

712,000 exactly, which is sort of creepy?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The X-Files mainly, though a million years ago I wrote two fics for JAG, and technically, I have a His Dark Materials fic (but it's an XF crossover)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Mesas of Deuteronilus Mensae

Prompt Drabble Collection

The Annapolis Grant

Three Part Harmony

A Companion Unobtrusive

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! Comments are the only payment fanfic writers get, and it's an incredibly valuable and underrated currency. Fanfiction as a community is one of the most generous you'll find, and I'm incredibly proud to be a part of this particular one.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh man, probably La Comtesse de Saint-Germain.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

In this day and age I feel like we deal with enough shit, so I try to end most of my fics happily. I think A Gem-Like Flame probably has the most uplifting happy ending, but then, I'm a sports nerd.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't yet.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Um, probably pretty vanilla het MSR. No shame.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I've only written one, but it turned out really well, I thought. It's an X-Files/His Dark Materials novella-length crossover that takes place in Lyra's world, pre-Lyra, called Out of the Little Grove.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Anyone who steals my fic is going to catch these hands.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, a couple of years ago someone asked if they could translate one of my fics to Russian. It's out there somewhere.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I jumped in and helped @monikafilefan get Five Years and a Lifetime over the line for a fic exchange a couple of years ago. A fun, collaborative experience, that was like 85% Monika. It's a great fic, check it out if you haven't!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Mulder & Scully are my OTP. Always and forever.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I'd love to finish Madam Scully's Spiritual Services, Inc., it's an AU where Scully works for her sister's Psychic Boutique while prepping for med school. Scully ends up being actually psychic and she helps newly minted FBI agent Fox Mulder solve a series of murders. I have it almost completely plotted (except for the nitty-gritty hard stuff), but I don't think I'll ever get it done, sadly. It's just too big a story to tackle with where I am in my life. Though I never say never.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm decent at dialogue, have a pretty firm grasp on plotting, and, I hope characterization.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My character work is probably my weak spot, which is why I have so much fun writing fanfic--the character work is already done, I just get to play around a world where everybody already knows the characters.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

When I do it, I hope like hell that I'm doing it right. I think it's necessary for some stories and you just hope you're properly respecting a language you don't speak.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The X-Files, in the year of our lord nineteen hundred and ninety eight.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

It's a toss up between Proof of Life, an AU where CNN conflict reporter Dana Scully is kidnapped and imprisoned with fellow kidnap victim and photojournalist Fox Mulder, and they, you know, fall in love. And North of Zero, a post-col novel where Mulder and Scully get William back and have to save the world. The one I totally pantsed (made up as I went along), and it came together like alchemy. I love that story. If you don't like AU, you'd like Proof of Life. If you don't like post-colonization stories, you'd like North of Zero. I don't always like everything I've written after I'm done writing it (a writer's life), but I'm incredibly proud of both of those fics.

Tagging @monikafilefan because she's already tagged, and anyone else who wants to do this!

[starrysilvalley]

🌟Spectrum Book 1: Onward🌟

✨Chapter 1 | Familiar (Full Text Below Line)✨

Word Count: 2,553

As said previously, I’ll try and post the chapters on both Tumblr and Ao3. On Ao3 the story is restricted to members only as of right now, but I may open it to all as time goes on. I try to update on Ao3 on Wednesdays, and I will post on Tumblr sometime afterwards (I currently have no specified date for Tumblr releases, so times may vary).

Series Note: This series was planned and written in the summer of 2024 based on the context of the Pokémon In-Game Universe at the time. This series includes spoilers for Pokémon games including Black & White, Black & White II, Legends Arceus, and Scarlet & Violet. Any changes to the overarching storyline or characters that occur within any following Pokémon game releases (i.e. Pokémon Legends ZA and beyond) are considered non-canon within the context of this series.

This series was written out of my love for Generation V and as if it is its game plot, but with a few small twists. I wanted to simply try and write my own alternative storyline for a hypothetical Unova Legends game. My attempt at a Legends plotline became a passion project I wanted to share with those who may be interested in such a story. While it is written to have a darker tone due to its inspirations, I try to keep the series at a PG13 rating for fantasy violence. There is no sexual or NSFW content. Pokémon was ultimately made for young viewers, and I wish to carry on a similar openness in my writing.

After around seven years of being dragged along by Fajra, Emmet learned two big don’ts— don’t let Fajra drive and don’t let Fajra handle negotiations solo as people. It wasn't like he did much better when it came to socializing. Most often a discussion would— unintentionally — end with a passive-aggressive remark. His blunt remarks weren’t good for business. Yet it was one thing for Emmet to provoke their clients, it was another for the clients to provoke Fajra. 

“You know the drill, just let me do the talkin’ here,” Fajra reminded her partner while her hand rested on the old battered door handle. “No weird greetings, don't point out whatever weird lil’ tattoo or mark you see on the guys’ face, or the ugly picture that's probably his mam or someon’— better yet, how about say nothin’ at all?”

She had shot him a look as if inviting him to protest, but instead he simply replied with a sly smile, “As you wish.”

“Nuh-uh, don’t smile like that. I’m serious, Em. We have an agreement, but you…”

Fajra held up her hand to Emmet’s face as if trying to grasp something with all her might before spitting out, “Keep your inside thoughts inside, that’s all I’m saying.”

That was all well and good— if only Fajra could do the same. Fajra excelled at misdirecting from her motives, but misdirecting her feelings was another. Now as the two stood before the grizzled manager of the dimly lit antique store, Emmet could already see Fajra’s facade slipping away as she tapped her fingers with great annoyance on the countertop. The manager glanced at her every so often as he inspected the items presented, but didn’t break under her pressure.    

“I’ll give ya… about a thousand for this one.”

The store manager tapped one of the TMs, only for Fajra to scoff and push Emmet aside from the counter. She slammed both hands on the table as she leered at the manager, “A thousand? Don’ get smart with me, I know you sold this for five thousand last week! At least pretend to play fair. Suppose you’ll say these ones are worth even less now?”

Fajra gestured to the other TMs they managed to collect. They weren’t exactly mint condition. Dusty and scratched, he suspected they hadn’t been touched in many decades. 

“We tested these ourselves,” Emmet offered, placing a firm hand on Fajra’s shoulder as if to pull her back. “They still work, if that’s your concern. They may not have the aesthetic appeal, but ultimately it's about their function.” 

The manager still had a frown on his face. His eyes seemed to linger around the old store filled with second-hand items. It was a dark and dreary store, as if all the memories that the items once left held haunted the place with a gloomy presence. Emmet noted that his gaze steadied on an only television set placed toward the door. 

“Look, I’ll shoot straight with ya,” the manager began at last with a heavy sigh, “One of my other suppliers brought me TMs and it turned out they were stolen from private League property. The authorities came knocking and I'm fortunate they didn't shut my whole business down. Haven’t seen the guy since then. I can give you a little money for the trouble, but unless you can prove these were legally acquired, I’m just going to treat them as damaged goods.” 

Before Fajra opened her mouth, Emmet quickly intervened, “Understandable— we’ll need a minute to discuss. Apologies for the delay.”

“It’s a load of Bouffalant crap!” Fajra spat immediately once Emmet pulled her away from the counter. “He’s trying to cheat us out of our items! I’ve seen it before, you can’t possibly think—“

“I can’t take that track with you, Fajra. What if he’s telling the truth? You and I both knowwhere those TMs came from. You know full well if we get caught, we will be in serious trouble. Una and I would be in serious trouble. Take the hush money.” 

He knew he screwed up when Fajra’s face became about as red as her flame colored hair. “I am not leaving with a measly thousand. Those blasted discs took too long to get to have such little reward! We need the money to fix that stupid handcar we busted just getting the loot here!”

“You busted the handcar. I’m a lot of things, but I’m at least a good driver.”

The front door jingled as someone entered the store, and both Emmet and Fajra immediately fell quiet. A young man and woman strided inside and their own eyes landed on the two other customers before heading to the counter. Their clothes were relatively ordinary of the scrawny Pokémon trainers in the area, although he noted that each wore a gold band around one of their ankles. Emmet tipped his head a little farther down over his face while Fajra shot a nasty glare back at the newcomers before whispering underneath her breath, “Great, just what we needed, an audience.” 

The store manager pushed aside the TMs and other trinkets Fajra provided while greeting the couple with a weary smile. “Ah, come to collect your purchase, I see? I’ve been holding it for some time—“

“Yes, yes,” the man began with a wave of his hand. “We appreciate you holding onto it. Mr. Stotle would’ve come to take it himself, but he couldn’t find the time.”

Something bumped against Emmet’s leg, and upon peering down he found Liepard brushing up beside him. Liepard often wandered around the establishment while Emmet and Fajra conducted business, watching for any signs of a threat. Her glowing eyes were now fixed on the woman, who immediately turned her stare away upon Liepard’s appearance. A light growl began to vibrate from the Pokémon’s throat.

“Fajra, I don't think you can win this,” Emmet whispered while placing a hand on Liepard’s head. “We’ll find another buyer, please—”

His voice was drowned as the store manager pulled out a small box and opened it for the couple while saying skeptically, “Here you are! Hopefully this will be sufficient for Mr. Sto—“

“It’s perfectly fine, sir,” the man interrupted as the manager hurriedly closed the box and pushed it under the counter. He was not fast enough, for Emmet caught a glimpse of a polished, spherical stone the color of obsidian. He managed to see the three indents pressed in the shape of a triangle before the box clamped shut. 

He couldn’t quite explain what happened next. His heart began to hammer against his chest at the sight of it. His surroundings became blurred, but his eyes could only focus on the stone. A numbing sensation of white noise engulfed his ears, leaving a ringing echoing to his very soul. Something stirred within him, dislodging images that had long since passed and buried. One stood out among the rest— a man adorning a black coat so similar to his own, his back facing Emmet. It wasn’t until the man turned that Emmet felt an ice pick stick through his heart. 

The man had his face. 

Before he could even begin to comprehend the sight, it was as if the world zoomed in beyond the man in black, revealing nothing but void— lonely and abyssal. Yet from the darkness shone two red lights, slowly dimming before a flash of electric blue light burst like a dying star.

“Em!”

A punch to the arm swiftly broke through his thoughts, causing him to recoil and jerk his hand to the spot Fajra hit. While Fajra still had her eyes narrowed in frustration, her lips formed a frown he had not seen in awhile. 

“You… you alrigh?” Fajra asked, the usual sharp edge in her voice dulled. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you sick or… somethin’?”

His heart beat rapidly against his chest before turning swiftly to Fajra and whispering, “What I’m about to ask you is a one time occurrence. No questions asked— not until afterwards.”

Fajra’s eyes widened, but her disapproving frown churned upward into a sly smile. “Consider my interest piqued.”

“I want to initiate Protocol Thirty-Eight.”

Any frustration Fajra had with her partner seemed to vanish, replaced with an unnatural grittiness. Her smile broadened as told Emmet with a slight flick of his shoulder, “Protocol thirty-eight? The Protocol Thirty-Eight? Does this, perhaps, mean that you’ve changed your mind about… unlawful acquisition?”

“No, but—“

“Never mind— you can spill the deets later. Let’s get the wheels moving.”

Fajra didn't miss a beat as she strolled back to the counter, a disapproving scowl reappearing on her face as she laid eyes on the manager. The pair with the stone had opened up a case to hold the box securely when Fajra spoke loudly, “You know what? Fine. We won't be doing business with you today. We’ll take our goods elsewhere. It's about time, really— you hike up your prices just so you can get rid of the crappy rip-offs for some sort of profit.”

She then turned to the woman and remarked snidely, “Might want to rethink shopping here. The guy will do anything to make a quick buck.”

The manager’s face grew red at Fajra’s words, giving the other customers a quick glance before remarking hurriedly, “Ma’am, I know you're frustrated and I hear ya, but—”

Fajra had already done her part. The seeds of doubt sank into their targets as the woman glanced down at the box within the case. Her partner didn’t seem as convinced by Fajra’s claims, but merely stopped to watch the spectacle. 

Emmet made a quick gesture to Liepard with his hands, signing to her in motions that only she would understand. Liepard gave a curt nod before brushing past her trainer and dipping behind the counter while the owner was distracted. 

Seizing his chance, Emmet moved to the side of the other customers and remarked in a cheery air, “She is right— best be careful what you get from the Thievul’s hole.”

He leaned in a little closer to the man and continued in a low voice, “Ever think where he gets these items? Just last week one of his sellers was arrested for selling League property. I would be verrrry cautious with your purchase.”

His eyes met with the man’s, and he seemed to falter under Emmet’s knowing smile. He could almost see the gears in his head turning while his gaze narrowed suspiciously. It didn't last as the manager slammed his hands on the counter and retorted with frustration. “That’s enough! Get out of my shop before I call security! And don't bother coming back here, you scavengers!”

Neither of them needed to be told a second time. Fajra exchanged a dirty look with the manager as she threw her arms around their items before storming to the door with an obnoxious whip of her fiery orange hair. Emmet waited for Liepard to slink back into view, brushing against his side with a low purr. 

The manager’s apologies were cut off as the door swung shut behind the two. Neither looked back as they were greeted by the streets of New Straiton City. There was no dark corner as the streets were ambushed with light from every screen, window, and billboard. It was late in the afternoon, and now the streets were swarming with men and women returning from work. 

“Sooo, don’ hold out on me,” Fajra began as Emmet withdrew the small withered box from his coat pocket. “What is it that made you throw away seven years worth of integrity?”

Emmet glanced around to make sure none of the passer-by or the kiosks’s Minccino mascot was within listening range, he opened it enough for Fajra to peer inside. The obsidian sphere that lay within proved true to Liepard’s skills at thievery. His heart began to pound faster at the sight of it and his hand shook as he took a hand and pressed his finger to one of the indents. He didn't have the same visions as before, but his body trembled now that he was so close.

“This better be some rock because if we just lost revenue for a cheap— Em?”

Fajra’s criticism faltered as she noticed his shaking hand. She snatched his hand away from the rock, and without warning, jerked his glove off. Her eyes widened at the touch.

“You really are sick, aren't you?” She questioned, but her voice turned soft and concerned. “How long have you felt off? My gosh, what if this is radioactive—”

“Get back!” Emmet snapped as Fajra reached out to take the box away. She immediately recoiled, but a new expression replaced her concern. He had never seen her look at him with such fear. Even Liepard backed up, pushing against Fajra as if trying to shield her from him. Even now, the trembling ceased as soon as she clamped the box shut. All his symptoms, even his rage, had snapped away like the stone from his sight.

Emmet stepped back, still gripping the box in his hand as if it were his lifeline. 

“I… am sorry,” he spoke earnestly. “I don't… I don't know why I did that. I don't know how to explain it…”

Fajra didn't speak. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as she took a step closer to Emmet. “Em, did you remember something?”

The question hadn’t been asked in years. Life had simply gone on, but now that his friend watched him with worry, he realized he had returned to the horrible darkness he had found himself in years before. Only this time, he had something to lose. 

“This may sound silly,” he admitted truthfully. “But… I know this stone. When I'm around it, I realize there has been something missing. A part of me that's gone… and with this stone, it’s in reach, but I can't…”

His words faltered as Fajra reached to take his hand again. She kept him in between hers and told him with a small, but truly genuine smile, “You, my friend, are silly… but just because you're silly doesn't mean your feelings are too. Your situation is odd, and I understand that.”

He looked back at Fajra. “Thank you… I just can’t let him be separated from me again.”

Him. Even Emmet couldn't quite understand why he chose to include that one simple word. Fajra’s eyebrow raised skeptically at the inclusion of the pronoun. It didn't seem to matter though as she pried her gaze from his to glance around at their surroundings. It was getting busier, and based on the overhead announcements flooding the street, a celebration was about to take place. 

“We can talk more later,” Fajra insisted, now pushing his hand back to his side. “Better to talk this out in a place that lacks a lotta ears. If you won't let me take the box, at least don’t open it again… for now. Whatever the rock is, your body is reacting to it, and I'm not ruling out radiation.”

She paused. “Do you need to go back to the handcar right away or—”

“No,” he replied promptly as he stuffed the box back in his pocket. “I’ll be fine. But I… I can acquire Una while you go on ahead. Where did you leave her again?”