#i have to continue this even if i die its my duty

[eldritch-spouse]

Belo my lovely silkie chicken I just wanna collect his fur and make a nice cozy sweater with it 💕

also I was going through your world building post and one thing I noticed is that Saiders are very heavy with punishments: humans who practiced magic without their say so, angels who had big disagreements, etc would all get severe punishments what would that look like?

[Belo sweater would be the most comfortable thing you've ever worn in a while and probably help when you're going through health/mood lows.]

Siadar are extremely heavy with punishment, regardless of who or what that punishment is targeted towards. They're harsh with angels, they're harsh with humanity, they're harsh with their own kind and they continue to be harsh elsewhere, to their newer projects.

The top of their hierarchy will find a million and one ways to justify the intensity of their punitive force, so it's not as if the siadar themselves see their actions as cruel. Neither do angels, as beings with very defined purposes instilled into them since birth (and no real biological or psychological reason to break them). In fact, humanity itself, devoid of any moral compass created by its own species, absorbed the moral compass of siadars for practically the entire duration there was interlevel contact. So many humans understood and accepted the punishments they saw happen or were subjected to as normal.

Now, humanity isn't very magically inclined by default. The species was designed to have less "magnetism" to that type or energy, to reject it, so the humans that are out there practicing it in that period of time are already deviants in some form or another. This means we're probably talking about a collection of "infractions" already committed by the humans in question. Death is a very likely outcome here. Or, at the very least, the removal of reproductive abilities, so that this particular human -If they happen to biologically be more attuned to magic than they should be- Cannot spread that ability to any descendants.

The sight of a particularly magically talented human is reason enough for siadar authorities to investigate other highers in charge of monitoring human populations, in the effort of judging whether or not a human was directly tampered with in forbidden ways.

Angels are a very organized species, to say the least. Out of most non-humans out there, these would be the individuals that are least likely to ever question their place in life, to ponder on concepts bigger than their routines and duties, or even seriously entertain intrusive thoughts. They're a lot more likely to report their own perceived defective symptoms to assigned siadars than they are to attempt to act on them. It's worth noting that angels also monitor each other, especially the ones of Worshipper rank, and will easily report suspicious behavior. They aren't malicious in this evaluation, but they're unwilling to cover up serious situations.

Big disagreements between angels, although rare (until the time Betrayer seeded doubt into the minds of some celestials), aren't very likely to escalate into angel-on-angel physical violence. In spite of any bubbling emotion, they're still practically hardwired to respect rank differences and have internalized that harming another angel is harming their kind altogether. These disagreements can entirely halt the productivity of many tasks if the celestials involved have equal standing in terms of authority. In these instances, both will eventually request the opinion of the nearest unoccupied siadar.

Angels are a self-punitive species as well. They'll perceive their failures -Even if not directly their fault- as punishment worthy and will inflict wounds on themselves or deprive themselves of participation on anything until they are "forgiven" by their highers. Celestials can and will die simply from feeling that they are consistently failing, becoming lethargic and weak until they simply perish.

[fideidefenswhore]

teenage dream (2023), olivia rodrigo / the spanish princess (2020) / the private lives of the tudors, tracy borman (2016) / the six queens of henry viii (2016) / the vaux passional / the six wives of henry viii (2001) / the lovers who changed history (2014) / blood, sex & royalty (2022) / blood, sex & royalty (2022), gif @fabledenigma / the cross (2014) 

[ur-humble-overlord]

every time i feel like im ready to explode i am granted a new horror to my shit sandwich

[if-loves]

once upon a dream

// Yandere Capitano

sum: you haunt his existence. now, he wishes to repent.

wc: 1473

warnings: 5.1 story quest spoilers (mostly capitano lore spoilers), probably OOC capitano

a/n: i need capitano in a way that concerns my sanity / sorry for not posting in a hot second lmao have capitano as compensation

likes & reblogs are appreciated :)

Capitano would know you blind, deaf, and devoid of sense. He would know you by the way you breathe, the way you walk, and most of all, your soul.

He first met you five hundred years ago, upon the fall of Khaenri’ah, when he and his platoon fled to Natlan. You, a Master of the Night-Wind, who joined your chief in aiding what most could only assume were the enemies, with nothing but kindness and understanding in all your actions and words. Never once had you treated him or his men as lesser than, as burdens, but instead as one of your own.

He had never been the kind of person that sought for love, for he knew of the foolishness it brought far too often. He prioritised his duty to the kingdom, for its continued survival and prosperity, all until it fell to the hands of Celestia and its gods. Grief and regret often grappled his heart, but even so, he trudged forwards, for if not forwards, where else could he go?

When you touched his wounds for the first time, a gentle smile on your face, reassuring him that all will be alright, he felt as though he had transcended beyond the mortal realm and met an angel. You bandaged his wounds carefully and always offered a warm smile no matter the situation, always chastising him to have a little more regard for his own body, to which he would merely chuckle in reply.

When Ayizu had passed, grief once again racked his being, but he still felt grounded knowing you lived. He had yet to come to terms with his ever-growing feelings let alone your imminent death, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do if you were to die.

He quickly found out that he’d be wracked with grief and sorrow like never before, mourning the loss of you and what could have been, on his knees in the pouring rain cradling your lifeless body. You, who had died long before he even had the sliver of a chance to come to your aid, like you had to him.

Upon watching your tribesmen bury you, Capitano was left to ponder a question. What is the use of his strength, if he cannot even use it to protect those dear to him?

He swears that the first few nights after your passing were the worst he’s ever had in his entire life. He dreams of you, in all of your smiles and gentleness, crying for help as you’re ripped to shreds by abyssal monsters, staring at him with betrayal in your beautiful eyes, as he is unable to do anything except watch, an unwilling witness to your death. He then awakens, breathing heavily yet somehow barely breathing at the same time, drenched in sweat and regret.

He often wonders what your last thoughts were. Were they regretful, or were they full of fear? Or were they hopeful, believing he’d come just in time to save you? He hopes they weren’t. He hopes you didn’t die hopeful, waiting on a hero that could never exist.

Capitano remembers wandering for a long while before being recruited by Pierro, before being given his new identity. He swore many things by the Tsaritsa’s name, but the one he remembers most clearly is the one where he promises to make Natlan, make Teyvat, a safe place for you to exist freely without fear of war or death.

~~

Capitano thinks he’s going insane. He has started seeing, hallucinating, you in his subordinates. The glimpses are brief, and had he been a second too late, he would’ve completely missed you - but he’d know you just by your existence, and he’s certain that even if you were thousands of miles away from him, he’d feel you in the depths of his soul.

He’s desperate to see you again, in front of him. He desires nothing more than to feel the warmth of your skin against his own once more, to hear your heartbeat and confirm to himself that you’re alive again, so that he may right his wrongs and ensure your safety and your happiness in a way he couldn’t before. He is a powerful man now, not like when he first met you; he can give you the world.

His search is to no avail, and it is once again as though you had never existed. He’s almost on the verge of flipping through recruit profiles, until he hears of a group sent away to Liyue, and your name is mentioned. But of course, he is too late. You died, saving your comrades.

He is left to mourn you once again.

~~

The third time he sees you, he wonders if it’s a form of divine punishment. Is it because he’s Khaenrian that he must suffer this cruel fate? The destruction of his homeland, the curse of immortality, the deterioration of the nation that once protected him, the death of those he holds dear… He wonders when will be enough, how much repentance it will take for Celestia to finally cleanse him of his sin. But he has long stopped asking, because he knows the answer better than most.

He sees you many more times, both in reality and in his dreams. Each and every time, he is a second too late, one step away from saving you, from getting you back. And each and every time, he can see you, staring at him with betrayal in the eyes he so dearly adores.

Even so, he doubts he truly wants to see you anymore. His strength is a husk of its former glory, his flesh long rotted. He is perhaps the furthest thing from a human, more akin to an abyssal monster, and he fears that should you meet once more, you’d only stare at him in disgust or, worse yet, fear. He doesn’t think he can handle it.

~~

Capitano had long lost count of how many times he’s encountered you, but for this particular kind, he knows for a fact that it’s the first of its kind.

You stare up at him, confusion in the eyes he so adores, and he wishes for nothing more than to embrace you and listen to the steady beating of your heart. Unfortunately, he is surrounded by his subordinates, and he has a reputation to uphold. Instead, he takes your hand as gently as he can, trying to recall how you treated him before.

“You must come with me.” Is all he offers, before he drags you all the way to Snezhnaya, forsaking his own duties all for you.

He keeps you close to him the entire journey, never allowing you out of his sight for even a second. He wouldn’t allow it, not when that was all it took to lose you. You’re offered no explanation even as you demand for one, violently thrashing in his hold. It pains him to see you like this, and so he forces you to sleep.

At the end of the journey lies an old but sturdy mansion, gifted to him by the Tsaritsa upon his oath to her and the Fatui. It is kept in pristine condition with servants at every corner, busying themselves with tidying the already tidy home. The only sound is the wind beating at the windows harshly.

He brings you to a room, void of any sort of decoration, and chains you to the bed. It is then you realise that the windows have grills, separate from the glass, and the door has a lock on the outside. He, although his actions so cruel, treats you as gently as a monster can afford, and it makes you confused.

“What am I to you?” You question, staring into the darkness of his mask. In the dim room, you can faintly see the glow of blue.

“Everything.” He replies without hesitation, not even a second later than your question. He sounds as though he’s been waiting a very, very long time for this question.

“I do not know you.”

“But I know you.”

He walks closer and closer, until he stands in front of you. Silently, he kneels, head lowered as if in reverence.

“I’d know you blind, deaf, on the verge of death. I’d know you by the way you breathe, walk, smile. I’d know you no matter your appearance, because I know your soul.” He takes one of your chained hands in his gloved ones, bringing the back of it into the abyss of his helmet. You feel a faint kiss by lips chapped and skin rotting.

“It’s okay if you hate me, resent me.” He murmurs, unwilling to let go of your hand. “It’s okay if you wish me dead. As long as you’re alive, I could want for nothing more.”

If only beings like him died so easily.

like my work? consider donating a ko-fi!

[bitter-me]

Golden Hour

Jing Yuan | M. Reader

----------

Reincarnation AU

----------

There's a particular painting inside the Luofu Museum. It's a painting of the former General, they say that the General never smiles and always has a blank expression. That painting is the most precious and one of a kind in the whole world...

Why?

Because it's the only time...

Where the General finally smiles...

----------

"Huh... "Wise and Brave; Jing Yuan." Hey, wouldn't it be funny if he's actually you from the past?"

"Nonsense, we just have the same name."

[Name] turn his head towards the white haired man with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah.. Sure.. But you do have the same smile as him." He said as he look back at the painting in front of them.

The General in the painting looks almost identical to the man standing beside him  down to the same smile. Then again, [Name] couldn't imagine Jing Yuan being all stoic like, a smile fits him better. "You know... They say that the General had fallen in love with the Strategist in the Xianzhou, some even say that the Strategist was the reason why he started smiling."

"Really?"

"It's just a myth though, don't know if it's true."

Jing Yuan chuckles at that statement, after all myths are just myths, there's no telling if it's real or not. It's probably fake, people usually make up things just to satisfy their own fantasies, but something in him tells him otherwise.

That maybe, just maybe... It's the truth.

.

.

.

.

.

"ARE YOU INSANE?!"

"It's the most optimal solution, General."

"BY SACRIFICING MY MEN!?"

"Losing a handful of soldiers are better than losing civilians, plus—isn't it their duty to give their live for the people and die in battle?"

"HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT WITH SUCH A CALM VOICE?!" The General huffs as he glared daggers at the man in front of him, the man who proposed the very strategy that practically sacrifices his men "for the greater good." Jing Yuan always wonder how this man is able to be the Strategist of the Xianzhou...

A man who stood to benefit from betraying others... It's not proven or anything and yet...

Jing Yuan is certain that he'd turn against the Reignbow Arbiter in a heartbeat...

There's isn't a sane bone in his body.

The other man sigh at Jing Yuan's response as he crosses his arms and spoke up with his usual calm yet firm voice. "And here I thought you'd be more reasonable, given that you're the General."

"The leader of an organization is at the pinnacle of it and, at the same time, he is its slave. The leader must be more than willing to commit any atrocity in order to ensure the organisation's survival."

He hates it.... He hates this man so much...

How could he talk about that so casually? As if these men... Were just mere pawns to him... After all sacrificing a few pawns means relatively little if it means your King's safety.

'He's not thinking about the people.. He's thinking about the Xianzhou Loufu's survival instead...'

"They were right about you... You're a wolf in sheep's clothing..." He started as he continues to glare daggers at the man. The man only gave him an unamused look as he asked in a calm voice. "And why would you think that?" Jing Yuan scoffed at the question as he crosses his arms. "Talking to you is impossible."

"But in all honesty, give my strategy some thought, General."

"There's nothing left to think regarding that. I want you to change it this instant."

The man sigh at the order he was given, he uncrossed his arms and took back the papers from the General's desk. "As you wish."

And with that... The man left his office.

Jing Yuan sigh as he put a hand on his forehead and look down at his wooden desk. "I can't believe that man... [Name] was it..?" He mumbled under his breath.

'It's as if a life meant relatively little to him.'

.

.

.

.

.

"I never knew you could be a skilled doctor.."

"I was the Head Physician before becoming your strategist, General."

"..."

The two fall silent as [Name] bandaged the general's wounds. It seems even the "Mighty General of the Loufu" can get hurt. How fascinating. Once he's done, [Name] lets out a sigh and puts back the supplies he had used. "I suggest you shouldn't go to any missions at the moment. Let your wounds heal."

Jing Yuan remains silent as he inspects his carefully treated wounds. The bandages aren't too tight, and his body isn't as sore anymore. [Name] might be a sociopath with the types of strategies he comes up with. But he's a wonderful physician. Maybe he should stay as one.

"Can't have you start bleeding out in the middle of a fight after all. Unless you wanted me to operate on you then go ahead."

Jing Yuan can't help but sigh at those words. Of course the doctor has to open his mouth and end it on that note... even if he's good, [Name]'s still a sociopath though..

"...Understood."

"Good."

.

.

.

.

.

The crowd was silent as they watched the starskiff flies to through the sky. Reaching greater heights. "Another sent of.." The doctor mumbled under his breath.

"Sad, isn't it?"

"Not really."

Oh you sociopath! Jing Yuan snapped his head towards him. He was about to argue until he saw a soft smile on the doctor's face. A soft. Melancholy. Smile.

"It's not sad. It's poetic." [Name] says softly as he watches the starskiff. "In a way, if you're at a loss, you could look up at the sky and.... remember that they're watching over you.. and there's nothing to be afraid of.." Turning his head towards the general, [Name] gave him a closed eye smile as his hair got caught in the wind. "It's almost romantic, is it not?"

Jing Yuan felt a strange and warm feeling on his chest. Without thinking, he returns the smile with his own. "If you put it that way.. it is kinda poetic.."

----------

"Well... I heard that the Strategist is far more worse than the General." Jing Yuan spoke up, making [Name] turn his head to look at him with a raised eyebrow. "Really?" He asked as he crosses his arms, waiting for am explanation. "Yup, they say that the Strategist is a sociopath. I've also heard that the General was the reason the Strategist began to have a "heart". " Jing Yuan concluded with a smirk on his face.

[Name] can't help but chuckle at those words. For some reason.. he had a feeling it was true..

[crushribbons]

ʜʏᴘᴏᴄʀɪᴛᴇ

summary: Alicent Hightower, queen of the realm, cannot sin alone.

cw: 1.3k words, SMUT (18+ ONLY), takes place late s1ish, alicent x chambermaid!reader, fingering, oral (both f!receiving), kind of toxic power abuse, religious undertones (for the vibes), fem!reader/oc. based off a prompt from my love @wedonthaveawhile whose brain is magic. requests open.

a/n: no research we die like lesbian servants!! xx laney

Rhaenyra and Alicent are nose to nose.

“The supposed parentage of my children is nothing but a rumor designed to discredit me,” Rhaenyra says, her teeth gritted together. “Designed, I believe, with intention, by Your Grace.”

The snort slips out of you before you have time to consider that it could be your last. King Viserys’ chosen heir whips around, a streak of lighting running through her stormy eyes.

“Beg pardon, Princess, I was merely coughing.” You curtsy low, with your eyes fixed hard on the stone floor. In your periphery, Rhaenyra turns back to face her stepmother.

Alicent’s gaze never falters, never falls from Rhaenyra’s. Her regal chin is raised in defiance and the fire backlights her auburn hair, making her personage glow in a way not of this earth. Your breathing falters as you watch hers remain even, measured.

She takes in a breath through her nose. “I will not see my children passed over for the throne for the false offspring of a woman who flouts duty and honor as if they mean nothing.” You busy yourself with turning down the queen’s duvet and placing warming pans at the foot of it, all the while straining your ear to hear the low anger seeping out of Alicent. “You have needlessly tainted a bloodline ten thousand years strong, one that I was expected to uphold without question or complaint. I have never faltered in my duty to your father,” she continues, and you notice Rhaenyra’s nostrils flaring, her lips pressing into a bloodless line.

And you have been a good queen, a noble queen, to us all! Beloved forever by the people of Westeros, to be sure! you want to cry. You do not, however, bound by your station to stay ever silent and unnoticed by the occupants of the Red Keep. You shrink yourself smaller into the shadows beside Alicent’s bed, watching. Alicent’s hands are clasped together, and something stirs inside you as you watch her knuckles whiten. She is so lithe, so elegant, her posture impeccable. The green dressing gown she wears shows off her narrow shoulders and you can’t help but feel the heft of fabric, ghostly, in your hands as you imagine pulling it off her. Shame shoots through your chest at the thought, while arousal hits lower.

Rhaenyra is speaking again, but her voice has lost some of its glass-sharp edge. “I will not speak of this anymore, Alicent—” You bite your tongue to stop yourself from speaking out of turn and instructing the ingrate princess to address her lady queen as “Your Grace” “—certainly not in the presence of such attentive ears.” The attentive ears turn red. Rhaenyra turns to you once more and calls, “Leave us.”

“Stay.”

You freeze. Alicent’s hand is raised, her soft palm pointing at you, but her eyes stay fixed on Rhaenyra. For a moment, all three women are suspended in indignation, anger, fear, and the only sound is the crackle of the fire. It sounds like Syrax, opening her maw wide to summon a pillar of destruction.

“Perhaps sleep…” The queen’s voice is softer than the pillow you don’t realize until that instant that you’ve been clutching. “Would be the most productive course, for now. You have traveled long, Princess.”

Rhaenyra looks as though she wants to say something, anything, to have spoken the last words between the two of them. She does not, however. With a final, searching look into Alicent’s eyes, the Targaryen sweeps out of the room, the heavy door slamming behind her. The candelabra flickers. Its wicks have burned too low.

Alicent does not move for several seconds, staring after the departed princess. It seems she can smell something in Rhaenyra’s wake, and it is not altogether unpleasant to her. Blood is rushing in your ears, and your fingertips are strangely numb. You open your mouth to speak, but your tongue weighs too much.

“You forget yourself too often.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace.”

“We must be more careful. Do not be so quick to defend me.”

“I cannot help it, Your Grace. She tells lies and besmirches the name of House Targaryen.”

“How can you dare to make such indictments against your future queen?”

Your knees are made of water. It feels like a trap. “You are my queen. My only.” Alicent, at last, looks at you, and it makes you sag onto the bed.  

Her head tips to one side. She regards you. “Mm. Very good.” 

She murmurs it again, but the second time, it’s said into your neck, her breath hot against your skin while her fingers work their way inside you and her naked frame presses you to the mattress. The bed is heavenly soft, softer than anything you’ve ever been allowed to sleep on in your life, but it’s nothing compared to her lips on yours. Her tongue laves across your bottom lip, sweet as honey. 

It’s so rare that she takes you in her bed; you almost feel elated. You never mind being with her elsewhere, though. She makes it hard to care about anything other than the sheer her that fills the room every time she enters. While Alicent takes both of your wrists in her left hand and moves over you to pin them to her headboard, her other hand never stopping its pumping in, out, in, her tits brush against your face and you feel no remorse for the wail she lets fly as you bite down on the curve of one. Your teeth dig in, a ragged moan tears out of her, and her bare cunt grinds down on the thigh she is straddling. She’s unbearably wet, and you can feel her clench against your leg as she breathes, “Once again.”

In, out, in. Long, elegant fingers, soft from a lifetime of gentility. Endless locks of hair flow down over her shoulders and down to her waist. She’s an angel, you’re sure now. “The princess is a liar. She flaunts her indiscretions, her lack of care for this noble house. She is shameless.”

Allicent releases your hands so she can move down and suck your clit between her lips, pushing her tongue inside you alongside her fingers. You’re so full of her, so put on display and arousal dripping down onto the royal sheets, that it makes you cover your eyes and groan. “Your Grace,” you weep, grabbing a handful of her loose curls. “Please, keep going, please.”

“Tell me what you think of her bastards,” she murmurs, pulling her lips away from your heat. Her free hand moves to your clit and rubs it, alternating between circles and light pushes that have you keening your hips desperately. You realize that forming words has become near impossible. 

You huff as the coil of pleasure inside you compresses itself. “She fucks anything that looks at her. Any commoner, any pathetic servant in her employ,” you whine. Your head covering is tossed over Allicent’s vanity, your apron on the ground. “Who knows if her children are even Ser Harwin’s? What is to stop her from lying about that, as well?” The queen is as pleased as you’ve ever seen her.

She uses her hand like a sword, sinking into you, the very picture of a conqueror. “You do wonderfully, my sweet, sweet girl. Come for me.” The command is said so mildly, so disinterested, you almost miss it over the roar of ecstasy in your ears. That coil implodes, and you arch your back off the bed with a hollow scream that you should pray can’t be heard throughout the castle. The only thing you have room to pray for, though, is that Alicent never stops moving inside you. That she never stops bedding you. That she never stops needing you to be her mirror. 

Hypocrisy is a sin, a septa who you knew when you were no more than eight years old whispers in your ear. Those who do in the darkness what they rail against in daylight.

You know she will start to feel the wash of shame soon, so you fight through the haze that your orgasm leaves behind. “Please, let me fuck you, my queen.”

masterlist

[mononijikayu]

marutsuke — gojo satoru.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know." Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?" "I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

WARNING/S: post-hidden inventory (2006-onwards), domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 5.3k words.

NOTE: i wrote this a long long while ago and to celebrate jjk ending, i would like to give this as a humble offering. i've been a fan of jjk since 2019, when my friend introduced it to me. jjk means the world to me. it was there for me as much as bts was in my harsh and painful years. i am most grateful to share and continue to share the joy of it here in my little corner of the world. thank you guys for sharing the love of jjk with me. you guys are amazing. i love you guys so much. let's continue to be fans together for a long time!!! also the song is from given. its a lovely song <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU HATED THIS FEELING, YOU HATED REPETITION LIKE THIS. You stood in the dimly lit hallway, fists clenched, your eyes burning with fury as you learned what had happened to the first years. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and Haibara—kind, hopeful Haibara—was dead. Nanami barely made it back. You trembled with rage, unable to process the incompetence that had led to this.

It was just like this when it was Namie.

Your mind flashed back to the past, to the same helplessness, the same sickening weight that had crushed your chest when Namie, your dear friend, had been sent out on a mission with faulty intelligence. They hadn’t even gotten her body back. You remembered the emptiness, the cold fury that took root inside you ever since.

And then there was Amanai Riko. Another loss, another innocent life extinguished because of their arrogance, their reckless disregard for the lives they swore to protect. Your nails bit into your palms as you fought back the wave of grief and anger.

And now... now Haibara.

Another young life, snuffed out before it could even truly begin. Your breath came in short, ragged bursts as the memories collided with the present, your fury building to a boiling point. You had warned them. You had fought, had demanded better, and yet nothing had changed.

"How many more?" you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling with fury. "How many more have to die before they open their eyes?"

"They had faulty intelligence," you spat, your voice laced with venom. "Faulty intelligence, and they sent them in blind. Blind!"

Your words echoed down the empty corridor, but it wasn’t enough to release the fury simmering inside you. You stormed forward, your footsteps heavy with the weight of your anger, the hallway dim and suffocating as you advanced. The rage that coursed through your veins was more than just anger—it was righteous fury, the kind that demanded answers, demanded justice for those who had fallen.

You didn’t care about decorum or procedure. Not now. Not when another life had been so carelessly thrown away.

The sight of the mission manager at the end of the hall, sitting casually at his desk, only fueled the fire inside you. He looked up, his expression one of mild surprise as you approached—indifferent, as if the death of a student was nothing more than an inconvenience, a casualty of duty.

Indifference. That look—the one that dismissed Haibara as just another statistic, another name on a growing list of losses. It ignited something in you that was barely contained.

"You!" you hissed, your voice trembling with the intensity of your rage. The air around you seemed to crackle with tension as you marched up to the manager’s desk, eyes blazing. "You sent them in blind! Faulty intelligence, and you signed off on it like it didn’t matter! Haibara is dead because of you!"

The manager blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but his calm exterior didn’t waver. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded calmly in his lap, as if he was used to this—used to the accusations, used to the aftermath. He probably expected you to eventually calm down, to accept that this was just the way things were.

But you weren’t going to calm down. Not this time.

“You think this is acceptable?" you seethed, leaning over his desk. "You think sending kids in with faulty information is just part of the job? You didn’t care about what would happen to them—you cared about following protocol, making sure you checked off the boxes so you could wipe your hands clean when it went wrong."

The manager gave a slight sigh, adjusting his glasses as if the whole situation was an inconvenience. "These missions come with risks, you know that. It’s unfortunate, but we—"

"Unfortunate?" your voice rose, fury spilling over. "You think this is just 'unfortunate'? Haibara’s dead because of your incompetence, and all you can say is that it’s unfortunate?"

The manager’s lips thinned, his calm demeanor wavering for just a moment. "We did the best we could with the information we had. It’s not always perfect—"

You slammed your hands down on the desk, silencing him immediately. Your face was inches from his now, your voice low and lethal. "No. You didn’t do the best you could. You cut corners, and you sent them in knowing it wasn’t safe. You sat behind this desk while they went out there, while they—" Your voice caught for a moment, thinking of Haibara, of Namie, of Riko. "You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone because of your arrogance."

The manager didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His silence was answer enough.

Your fists clenched again, your whole body trembling with the effort to contain your rage. You wanted to scream, to tear this entire building apart, but all you could do was stare at the man who had signed Haibara’s death warrant with his negligence. The worst part was you knew it would happen again. As long as people like him kept making decisions, more lives would be lost.

“That’s enough.” That familiar voice. You stopped.

“You piece of shit!” you snarled, your energy crackling dangerously. You lunged, but before you could strike, Yaga intervened, gripping your arms to hold you back.

You whipped around, your rage now directed at Yaga. “You! I warned you. I fucking warned you! But you listened to those old farts, didn’t you? You think it’s okay to send them in, even blindly.” Your voice cracked with fury, your eyes burning into Yaga’s. “And now, you’re stuck having to explain to Haibara’s parents why their son isn’t alive! That blood is on your hands!”

Yaga’s grip remained firm, but his expression darkened as you pressed on.

“My father would be ashamed of you,” you said, your voice low, bitter. “You’ve become exactly what he stood against.”

Yaga’s eyes hardened at your words, but he didn’t let go. He knew your anger wasn’t just at him—it was at the system, at the higher-ups, at the entire broken system that cost Haibara his life. But your words cut deep. Mentioning your father, a man Yaga once respected, felt like a blade twisted into his gut.

"Genmei," Yaga said, his voice steady but tense, "I didn't want this. You think I don’t care? You think I don’t feel the weight of it? I never wanted to send them in like that."

"Then why did you?" you snapped, stepping closer, your face inches from his, rage seething in every word. "You could’ve stopped it. You had the authority! Instead, you caved to those senile cowards who sit behind desks, making decisions they’ll never face the consequences of."

Yaga's jaw clenched, his voice growing colder. "You think I had a choice? You think I didn’t fight back? The orders came from the top, Genmei! From people I can’t defy."

You shook your head, trembling with disbelief. "So that’s it? You just roll over and let it happen? You tell them it’s fine to send kids like Haibara to their deaths? You and those spineless managers let them go out there—for nothing."

Yaga's grip on your arms tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "I know you’re angry. I know this isn’t fair. But it wasn’t blind. They were prepared."

“Prepared?!” Your laughter was bitter and sharp. “You call this prepared? Haibara is dead! Nanami is broken. And now you have to look those parents in the eye and tell them their son is never coming home."

Yaga’s silence spoke louder than anything. The weight of what you said settled in, his posture stiffening with the responsibility he bore. He hadn’t spoken to Haibara’s parents yet, but he would have to. And the thought of it, the unbearable weight of it, gnawed at him.

"Every single student is my responsibility, you know that." Yaga finally said, his voice quieter now, though no less strained. "I carry that burden every day. You think I don’t feel it? That it doesn’t tear me apart? But I don’t have the luxury of rage. I have to keep moving, keep fighting—for the ones who are still here."

Your hands fell to your sides, anger simmering down to a bitter ache. You looked at Yaga, your voice softer but no less furious. "They trusted you. We trusted you. And now we’re left with nothing but grief. Don’t you dare try to justify this."

Yaga looked away, his jaw clenched. "I’m not trying to justify it. There’s no justification for it. But you think I haven’t warned them, too? We both know how they operate. But my hands—"

"Don’t tell me about your hands being tied." you interrupted, your voice sharp. "You had more than just orders. You had a choice. And Haibara Yu’s blood is on all of us for not stopping it. And I'm sure....too sure. That there will be many more. All because you can't fight against those old farts."

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. Yaga’s grip on your arms loosened, his expression still hardened by guilt and responsibility. He knew it too well, he knew that it was also his fault. And perhaps, in truth, you didn't blame him that much. You knew there was nothing a teacher can do against the whole of Jujutsu society. But you can't help but be angry. Just like at your father's funeral. And that too, Yaga blames himself.

“I’m going to make them pay for this.” you said in a low, deadly voice, your anger no longer explosive but cold and resolute. “The ones responsible, the ones who allowed this to happen—they’ll know exactly what they’ve one.”

Yaga met your eyes, his voice quiet but firm. "Don’t let your anger consume you. Your father would say the same thing. This world is already full of enough darkness."

Your expression didn’t change, unfazed. "Maybe it needs a little more darkness before it can see the light. My father also knew about that."

YOU WANTED TO HAVE A SMOKE. But you were sure that the sprinklers would alert people. So you went against it. You stormed out of the manager’s office, your fury barely contained as you made your way down the empty corridor.

The cold, sterile walls felt suffocating, your mind clouded with the weight of it all—Haibara’s death, Nanami’s devastation, the recklessness of the higher-ups. You needed to see him, to confront the harsh reality of what their negligence had wrought.

The morgue was dimly lit, its stillness heavy with the presence of death. You moved quietly, but your footsteps faltered as you approached. Standing just outside, you heard voices—low, tense. You stopped.

"Why not let Gojo take care of everything?" a bitter voice sneered. It was Nanami Kento.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized that tone. Nanami’s words were sharp, laced with exhaustion and frustration, and just as the retort began to form on your lips, another voice cut through—calm, but strained.

"Nanami, that’s enough," Geto Suguru’s voice was tired, a weariness that weighed down each syllable. "This isn’t about Satoru. Don’t take your anger out on him just because you feel helpless. We all do."

Helpless.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Your body froze as Nanami’s bitter words echoed in your ears, triggering a flood of memories you had buried deep. You could still see the way Kaiko had looked at you after Namie’s death, the sharp, accusatory words that came spilling out, venomous and cruel.

"Why not let Genmei take care of everything, huh? She’s always so sure of herself, isn’t she?" Kamo Kaiko had sneered, the pain of loss warping into something uglier, something that wanted to hurt others. The same helplessness Nanami was drowning in now.

You had seen the look in Kaiko’s eyes—the same bitterness, the same exhaustion, the same desperation to place the blame somewhere, anywhere, other than the black void of grief you were all struggling to survive. And you had tried to calm Kaiko down, tried to reason with her, but the pain had been too raw, too fresh. It had escalated. Words had become fists, and by the time it was over, you were both broken in different ways. You never spoke again after that fight.

Now, hearing Nanami’s voice, the echoes of Kaiko’s bitterness in every word, your heart clenched. You couldn’t let this spiral the same way.

You stepped forward, your presence quiet but commanding. The shadows shifted as you moved, your eyes falling on Nanami, who stood rigid, his face a mask of exhaustion and grief. Geto Suguru leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his own weariness mirrored in his posture. He looked over Haibara’s body, as though he was in a trance. He was shell–shocked, you think.

"That’s enough." you said, your voice calm but firm, the weight of your past mixing with the present. You couldn’t watch this play out the same way it had before. "This isn’t about blame. None of this is about whose responsibility it is to fix things."

Nanami flinched slightly at the sound of your voice, his jaw tightening as he avoided your gaze. But you knew what he was feeling because you had been there. You had stood in his shoes, grappling with the same rage, the same helplessness, when you lost Namie.

"It’s not Gojo–kun’s fault, you know that." you continued, stepping closer, your voice softer now. "And it’s not yours. Haibara’s death wasn’t something you could have prevented. Not under these circumstances."

Nanami's fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body radiating outwards. "I could have, senpai." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should have."

"No." you said firmly, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This wasn’t on you. Don’t let the guilt consume you, Nanami. I’ve seen it before, and I know where it leads."

The memories of Kaiko haunted you, the way grief had hollowed her out, leaving her with nothing but resentment and bitterness. You couldn’t let that happen to Nanami. Not again. This doesn’t have to continue. No one else has to suffer.

"Listen to Geto–kun, okay?" you added, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "We all feel helpless. But turning against each other won’t bring Haibara back."

Nanami’s shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his body giving way to something closer to defeat. He didn’t respond, but you knew your words had reached him. Turning away from them, you took a breath and steel yourself. You still had one last thing to do, no matter how much it hurt.

You had to say goodbye to Haibara.

You walked out of the room, the heaviness of the conversation weighing on your shoulders. You pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, your emotions a turbulent storm beneath the surface. Your eyes immediately caught sight of Satoru, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed.

You knew, just by the way he stood, that he had heard everything. There was no need for words. His expression wasn’t the usual carefree mask he wore—it was more serious, though his eyes were still bright behind his dark shades, silently watching you.

You sighed, your frustration and exhaustion bubbling up. Without a word, you stepped closer to him and gently placed your hands over his ears, your palms lightly cupping the sides of his head. The sudden movement caught him off guard, and his eyes widened, blinking in surprise. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to understand what you were doing.

Don’t listen, you mouthed, your lips forming the words slowly and deliberately, knowing he would understand.

For a moment, Satoru just stared at you, his gaze flickering between confusion and something softer, almost curious. His lips pressed into a flat line, and after a heartbeat of silence, he nodded, an unspoken agreement passing between you.

He wasn’t going to argue. Not this time.

You let your hands fall from his ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead of you, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

You let your hands fall from Satoru's ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

The two of you wandered outside in silence, the weight of recent events hanging heavily between you. The cold night air bit at your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the emotions you both carried. You led the way toward the vending machines just outside the building, the quiet hum of them the only sound in the stillness.

You didn’t need to look at Satoru to know he was thinking about everything that had happened. It was rare for him to be this quiet, this subdued. You pressed the buttons on the machine without a word, watching the drinks tumble down with a soft thud. You handed one to him, the cold condensation clinging to your fingers as you took your own.

Satoru cracked open the can, the fizz breaking the silence between you. You took a slow sip of your drink before finally speaking.

“It’s not your fault, you know.” you said quietly, your voice steady but carrying the weight of someone who had seen this all before. "You can’t blame yourself for what happened."

Satoru didn’t respond right away. He took a long drink, his gaze fixed on the horizon, the usual brightness in his eyes dimmed by something heavier, more complex. He leaned against the vending machine, one hand loosely holding the can, the other shoved in his pocket. His shades were off now, dangling from his collar.

“I think it is, Genmei–senpai.” he finally said, his voice low, almost resigned. His gaze drifted down to the ground. “If I were just a little stronger, a little faster... if I had trained them better, maybe… maybe they wouldn’t be dead.”

Your chest tightened. You had heard these words before, a thousand times in different voices. From yourself, from others who had lost people they cared about. It was the familiar cycle of grief and guilt. Gojo Satoru doesn’t easily fuss over his feelings. This was the first time truly, you think, that he’d willingly told you what he felt. Without you having to ask. In a way, you think that has reminded you of yourself, even for a little bit.

"You can't control everything, Gojo–kun." you replied softly, stepping beside him. "Not even you. It wasn’t your decision to send them on that mission. You weren’t the one who messed up the intel. And you’re not the one who could have stopped it from going wrong."

He clenched his jaw, clearly wrestling with the weight of his own thoughts. Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer alive, the one who always acted like nothing could touch him—was grappling with the very human feeling of failure. It was a rare sight, one that he kept hidden behind his usual bravado. But here, in the quiet, there was no mask to hide behind.

"Being strong doesn’t mean being able to protect everyone. That’s impossible." you added, your voice quiet but firm. "Trust me, I know. We all do."

Satoru stared at his drink, the carbonation slowly rising to the surface. He let out a long breath, his fingers tightening around the can as if holding on to something he couldn’t quite grasp.

"I don’t know if I can ever believe that, you know?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I’m not strong enough to protect them, then what’s the point of being the strongest?"

You didn’t answer right away. You let his words hang in the air, knowing that there was no simple reply that could ease his burden. The truth was, you understood. You had felt the same way when your precious Namie died, when Amanai Riko  was killed. The strength to protect felt meaningless when it failed you.

But you also knew that blaming yourself for every loss would only eat away at you, piece by piece. And you knew better than to wallow in it all. You wouldn’t be able to get up from your bed if it's all that consumes you. You didn’t want your dreams. You wanted to be awake. In your dreams, it was regret. In your reality, it was moving forward. And you’d choose a thousand cigarettes then see Namie’s eyes look at you like that again. You’d choose days awake rather than seeing Kaiko take her last breaths right in front of you again.

"The point, Gojo–kun," you finally said, your voice softer now, "is that you’re human. No matter how strong you are, no matter what kind of power you have, you’re still human, Gojo–kun. And that means sometimes... you’ll fail. It doesn’t make you any less strong. It just makes you... you."

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his bright cerulean eyes—an acknowledgment, maybe. He didn’t argue, didn’t dismiss your words like he normally would. Instead, he just took another sip of his drink and nodded slightly.

“Maybe……” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You stood there in the quiet, the weight of your conversation lingering in the cold night air. For once, there were no easy answers, no quick fixes. Just two people, sharing a drink, carrying the same burden of loss.

You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at the night sky. The stars were faint tonight, dimmed by the city lights, much like how everything felt dulled in the aftermath of grief. You took another sip from your drink, letting the cool liquid ground you in the present, away from the spiraling thoughts of what could have been.

After a long silence, you spoke again, your tone quieter, almost contemplative. "You know, you don’t always have to carry everything by yourself, Gojo–kun."

He glanced at you, but didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still clouded with that familiar weight.

"I know you feel like it’s all on you, Gojo–kun." you continued, turning your gaze to him. "Like you're responsible for every life, every outcome. But you're not. And it’s okay to feel... this way. To feel like you’ve failed. But that doesn’t mean you have."

Satoru stared at the ground, the quiet stretching on for a few heartbeats. Then, without looking at you, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You say that like you don’t carry it, too.”

Your grip on the can tightened slightly. You felt the truth of his words settle uncomfortably in your chest. You did carry it—always had. The weight of those you couldn’t save, the memories of missions gone wrong, the faces of the dead. You carried them all, and sometimes it felt like too much. But that wasn’t something you would admit to easily.

"You’re right. Your senpai’s a hypocrite." you said after a pause, your voice barely above a whisper. A weary smile on your lips. "I do, don’t I? But I’m learning how to let some of it go. To not let it destroy me…..I have to learn, as you do.”

Satoru finally looked at you, his gaze searching, as if he was trying to understand something he couldn’t quite grasp. There was a vulnerability in his expression, one that he rarely let show. You know that you knew the answer. And so does he. But it was easy to ignore, when you’re given the world to carry.

"How?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

You looked away, your eyes drifting back up to the sky. "By realizing that it’s not all on me. That I’m not the only one who’s hurting. And by letting people in, even when I don’t want to. It’s not easy, and I’m still figuring it out... but I’m trying."

Satoru was silent, processing your words. You knew how hard it was for him to let people in, to show any weakness. He had built walls so high that even those closest to him struggled to see through them. But here, in this quiet moment, you could feel those walls cracking, if only just a little.

“I guess I’ll have to try that sometime.” he muttered, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know."

Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?"

"I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before. It was the kind of quiet that settled between people who understood each other, who didn’t need to fill the space with empty words.

After a while, Gojo Satoru straightened up, his usual mask of nonchalance slipping back into place. But something had changed, even if just a little. He glanced at you, a glimmer of his old self returning to his eyes.

"Alright." he said, pushing off from the vending machine. "I’ll try not to carry everything on my back... but don’t expect me to go soft, okay? Can’t have everyone thinking I’m losing my touch."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at your lips. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Gojo–kun."

He chuckled, tossing his empty can into the recycling bin with a casual flick of his wrist. “Good. Now, how about we get out of here? There’s only so much doom and gloom a guy can take. I wanna go and eat some burgers! Oh, oh and have a milkshake. Come on Gen-senpai! Don't be such a slow poke!”

You watched as he started walking away, his usual swagger returning to his step. Despite everything, despite the grief and the guilt, he was still Satoru Gojo. And that, in its own way, was comforting. You lingered for a moment, finishing off your drink before following him. The weight of the night hadn’t disappeared, but somehow, it felt a little easier to bear now.

epilogue

The afternoon sun bathed the park in a warm, golden glow, casting everything in a soft light that made the moment feel almost timeless. It was a day without expectations or duties—a rare occasion for you and Satoru, a time when neither of you needed to be the strongest sorcerers alive. Instead, you were just yourselves, surrounded by the warmth of your little family.

You sat on a bench under the shade of a sprawling tree, the leaves swaying gently in the breeze. From your seat, you watched Tsumiki and Megumi, their carefree laughter ringing out as they chased each other across the grass.

Fushiguro Megumi’s small smile hinted at how much he enjoyed these quiet moments with his sister, even though he pretended to let her win. His protectiveness over Tsumiki was subtle but undeniable, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched their innocent game unfold.

Beside you, Satoru was sprawled out lazily on the bench, his sunglasses resting atop his head, soaking in the warmth of the sun. Satoshi, your energetic bundle of joy, was clinging to his father’s arm, trying to climb him like he was a human jungle gym. The sight of Satoru—so relaxed and utterly at ease—was a rare one, a moment where he let down his guard completely.

“Baby!” Satoru said, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin. “I think our son’s trying to take me down. Think he’s got the makings of a future jujutsu sorcerer?”

You chuckled, brushing a few strands of Satoshi’s hair out of his eyes. “Maybe he’s just training to be strong like you, don’t you think?” you teased, giving Satoru a playful look. “You’ll have to watch out—he might surpass you one day.”

Satoru sat up dramatically, hoisting Satoshi into his lap. “Surpass me? Oh no, not on my watch!” He declared, tickling your son until Satoshi was giggling uncontrollably. “Satoshi, my little dawn, promise me you won’t steal my title as the strongest!”

Gojo Satoshi, between fits of laughter, batted at his father’s chest. “Papa! No tickle!”

The sound of your son’s pure joy, Satoru’s playful antics, and the peace of this moment filled your heart. For once, there was no looming threat, no mission pulling you away. It was just the simple beauty of a family enjoying a sunny day.

Megumi, a little winded from chasing his sister, wandered over with his usual stoic expression, though you could see the faintest trace of a smile. You couldn’t resist teasing him. “Are you done showing off?”

Megumi shrugged, his tone as nonchalant as ever. “I wasn’t showing off. Tsumiki just needed to win.”

Satoru reached out and ruffled Megumi’s hair affectionately. “Such a gentleman. You’re really going soft on your sister, huh?”

Though Megumi swatted Satoru’s hand away, his eyes softened. “......She deserves it” he mumbled, trying to keep his fondness for Tsumiki hidden.

Tsumiki, noticing the conversation, ran over, her cheeks flushed from the chase. She flopped down onto the grass beside Megumi, leaning against him with a contented sigh. The two siblings sat close together, exchanging quiet smiles. You could see how much they meant to each other—the bond that had formed between them was one of the most precious things in your life.

Satoru stretched out his legs, balancing Satoshi on his knee. “You know, I think this is nice.” he said, his tone suddenly thoughtful. “We should do this more often.”

You turned to look at him, curious. “Do what? Actually relax?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. I like this better—just us. Just our little family, you know? No titles, no missions. Just being.”

There was something so genuine in the way he said it. You leaned into him slightly, reaching for his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours. “I like this too, you know?” you said softly, squeezing his hand.

He smiles back at you with the most beautiful, warm gaze. He squeezes your hand back. “I know.”

Megumi and Tsumiki sat quietly, watching your interaction with curiosity but not interrupting. You could tell they were starting to understand the unspoken bond you and Satoru shared—the love that transcended the roles you played in the world.

Satoru let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the bench, tugging you closer. Satoshi, who had grown tired from all the excitement, settled comfortably in his father’s lap, his small hands gripping Satoru’s shirt. The park, bathed in the soft afternoon light, seemed to wrap you all in a blanket of calm.

“If you weren’t around to keep me sane…..” Satoru mused, glancing over at you. “I might’ve forgotten what a day off even feels like.”

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure you’d figure it out. You’ve always been good at pretending the world’s problems don’t exist.”

Satoru grinned, though there was a softness to his voice. “Maybe. But this…” He looked down at Satoshi, then over at Megumi and Tsumiki, who were now engrossed in their own conversation. “This is real. This is what matters.”

His words struck a chord in you. For so long, your lives had revolved around the constant threat of danger, the weight of responsibility. But here, at this moment, it was just the four of you—your makeshift family—enjoying a quiet afternoon in the park.

Leaning into Satoru’s warmth, you whispered, “Yeah, this is what it’s all about.”

The park’s hum continued around you: the distant laughter of children, the rustling leaves, and the occasional chirp of birds. But in your little bubble, time seemed to slow down. For a moment, there was no past, no future—just the present, where everything felt exactly as it should.

You rested your head on Satoru’s shoulder, Satoshi nestled between you both, and Megumi and Tsumiki chatting softly beside you. In this quiet, peaceful moment, you realized that despite the chaos of your lives, these simple, precious moments made all the struggles worth it.

And for now, that was more than enough.

[xxventiswindblumexx]

Hi there love! If you have time, could you write a Scaramouche x fem reader, where they hate each other so much, and then he fucks her till she can't speak anymore. W Dom Scara. Have a good day!

Of course! Trying to get back into writing after a long hiatus due to family and home issues!

Here's a hate fucking scara x fem reader NSFW!

Can't forget to tag my local scara simp @hitomisuzuya ❤

⚠WARNING:Hate fucking, harsh/rough love, scara being scara, breeding kink, pet kink⚠

It was late at night as the storm in Inazuma rolls, thunder strikes as the wrath of the Electro Archon could be felt in the air, even more so in the delusion factory where a certain harbinger resided. Scaramouche was appointed to watch over the factory, one of the very last things he wanted to be stuck with, maybe he should've been more.. friendly during the harbinger banquet, maybe then he couldn't gotten out of it, regardless he had a duty to uphold and another idea on his mind.

As the puppet thought he could hear the distant sound of fighting, great, the traveller Y/N arrived, how annoying. just what he needed, another annoyance, already had enough he had to work with the Doctor and Childe, now he must be rid of the traveller.

He waited for her to arrive to his domain, it was only a matter of time before she arrived and of course he would relish seeing her fall, but that's not what fate had in store for the two.

Y/N entered the room alone, she decided this was a fight even Paimon couldn't go with, a fight between her.. and the Balladeer.

"How dare you use people's lives for your profit!" she started, hand gripping her sword with nothing but vengeance for her dear friend. Scaramouche couldn't help but eat up the look, the anger, he loved it. wait.. loved it? no he can't get distracted.

"oh? did your pathetic friend die from it? must've been to weak.. like you" he laughed, only antagonizing the hero more, what he didn't expect was for her to attack already, coming at him with her sword he was able to grab her arm and deflect it, shoving her to the floor, he's much faster then her, with the power of electro he can move faster then she can blink. Once on the ground he stomped on her wrist making her drop the sword, hissing she clawed at his ankle but it was no use, he had her pinned.

His electric gaze sent shivers and strangely arousal through her as she gave him a scowl

"give up yet pest?" he hissed, arousal and anger was filling the air, "I can see you're ready to fight back and prove your worth" He continued his actions of stomping on her wrist again, "that means you have some backbone" he growled as Y/N struggled to get back into her feet

"What I have is not something I care to brag about" she said in return angerly, however when the two got close, scaramouche slamming her into the floor once more but this time holding her down with his hands, her legs on either side putting them in a situation, she could feel his hard on, something he tried to ignore, pathetic human emotions, he would say, but now its gotten him in a bind. "I wouldn't have guessed the Balladeer would get hard from this" she scowls causing his face to flush with both embarrassment and anger, but he couldn't deny the feeling, "or maybe I do know who you are, your true form" She snarls in disgust at him.

"And what might that be" he says with venom. Y/N smirks and sits herself straight up, she's getting more cocky now, and honestly it wasn't helping his already poor self control

"you're just a touch starved, horny angry man aren't you?" she remarks, snapping the last bit of restraint he had, growling he was determined to put this scum in her place

"I'll teach you to respect me, even if I have to break you over and over" he hissed beside her ear, biting harshly on her neck, his hips pushed forward causing her to gasp, a sharp moan leaving her throat as she squirmed in pleasure, she hated him and he hated her yet.. for that reason, they made each other stronger, the balladeers strength, their passion, they complemented and created each other.

Once started they knew they couldn't stop, his hands selfishly grabbing and pulling at her clothing, growls and groans filled the air as they moved around each other's bodies in a way they never thought possible. Her body was soft beneath his rough touches and gentle kisses, her breath coming in gasps and his lips on hers felt like heaven yet hell at the same time.

Once he pulled her clothing off he shoved her onto her stomach, taking control as the god he is, his cock throbbing against her wet pussy as he laughs at her submission, even if she was still struggling, he was the dominate one here, his tip flushed and leaking with precum as he pushed it against her entrance "fucking beg for me like the whore you are" he hissed, she resisted but she couldn't deny the throbbing need, weakly begging "please.. f-fuck! please just fuck me!" shamelessly begging before his thick cock slammed into her pussy, growling as his hands gripped her hips hard enough to cause his nails to scratch the skin, he thrusted hard and fast hitting her sweet spot, moaning loudly as her walls clenched around him, the feeling driving him insane. He pulled himself off from her slowly and threw away his discarded clothes, now fully naked he held her wrists above her head, assuming a new position before pressing his body onto hers, he thrusting hard and deep causing her to whimper, her pussy clenching around him as he mercilessly fucked into her, claiming her as his own.

"F-fuck! you're so damn tight, i-its like you want me to breed you don't you? " he hissed in a teasing tone, she groans as his hand tighten it's grip on her already sore wrists, his cock throbbed with need to release as she felt a knot began to tighten, causing her to cry out his name. He thrust harder until she cries with her orgasm, causing him to release his cum deep inside of her, she writhed under him, crying out in pain and pleasure as his cum filled her womb, his dick still buried within her pussy and balls.

"You're mine now little one, you belong to me and only me, " he murmured softly as she felt weak, he had almost forgotten his plan, nevertheless he had to make changes anyways, he can't just let her get in his way again.. maybe he can keep her as his pet.

[yandere-romanticaa]

A month has passed since a strange cult took you within its ranks. It wasn't necessarily by choice but it was something you needed to do in order to survive. Your entire village had been destroyed in a sudden onslaught of ferocious demons, massacring all of your friends and family.

You were left with nothing.

For days you had roamed the mountains and with a heavy heart had accepted the fact that you were going to die, be it from starvation, dehydration or some stray demon devouring you from head to toe.

Lord Douma had other things in store for you.

He was a strange one, the man who rescued you. He was oddly easy to amuse and absolutely everything you did was incredibly entertaining to him. One of his favorite past times were when he would simply stare at you as you talk about your life and perform everyday, mundane duties. At first you thought nothing of it - he saved your life, the least you could do was indulge him just a little bit.

Red flags started to show up soon though - the way he would move and carry himself, it simply was not natural. Whenever there was a meal, Douma would not even look at the food or even have a sip of water. You chalked it up to him having his own private meals and decided to think nothing of it.

You had managed to settle within a comfortable routine which just so happened to often cross paths with the great Lord himself. He seemed to greatly enjoy your presence and would have you with him from the moment the sun had risen until wee hours in the morning.

How was he never tired?

Suspicion slowly turned to fear as you noticed that some members of the cult were missing. No one knew what came of them or where they were last seen, as if some foul creature had spirited them away.

You brought up your concerns with Lord Douma but he just called you silly and told you not to worry about it. "Nothing bad will happen to you!" he'd say reassuringly but his words gave you shallow comfort.

Douma, for whatever reason, was also quite fond of physical touch and you were his favorite when it came to that. He was absolutely shameless and would explore your body however he saw fit. Amongst those odd trysts, you noticed that a powerful metallic smell would cling onto him and would never go away no matter how hard you washed his clothing.

No amount of praying could prepare you for the horror you'd encounter on one moonless evening.

You had woken up due to a strange noise and, against your better judgment, decided to investigate. With nothing but a single candle in your hand and a long but thin nightshirt covering your body, you ventured downwards the dark and creepy hallways. It felt as though the shadows themselves were out to get you because you'd flinch at every single sound no matter how miniscule. The closer you got to Lord Douma's chambers the stranger the noises got - giggling, slurping and crunching could be heard as a horrible stench filled the air, a smell so vile that it made you want to throw up your dinner. You'd often ask him what he liked to eat but naturally, Douma would just dodge your question or say something really silly. "It's easier if I eat alone!" he'd say as he caressed your hair. With each step you took the stench became stronger and stronger and Douma's words continued to ring inside your head like bells.

"You see, I'm a bit of a night owl! It's also not smart to come to my chambers without knocking first!~"

You should have listened to him and his thinly disguised warning.

Through the tiniest of cracks you saw Douma on the floor, covered in fresh blood. A wicked grin danced across his lips as he toyed with the severed limbs with the mauled corpse of a young woman, her eyes stricken with fear even in death.

It took you every ounce and willpower to not scream bloody murder.

With the way he was treating the corpse you'd think that Lord Douma was but a child with a precious toy. His light tone and playful gestures sent chills down your spine as you covered your mouth with your hand, a desperate attempt to conceal any potential noises that may escape you. You watched him for a few moments as you let it all sink in, not even realizing just how much your entire being trembled with fear. Just before you could make a break for it you heard Douma speak.

"I know you're there, watching me. I don't know who you are but I can smell you!"

Crap.

Dropping the candle to the floor you could do nothing but freeze as Douma continued to speak, total indifference lacing his voice.

"I would leave, if I were you. I am in a good mood tonight and shall play stupid so I won't turn around to see your face! Now, be a good little disciple and go back to bed!"

Squeaking like a helpless puppy, you ran away with your tail behind your legs, not realizing that Douma knew damn well that it was you. The demon could sense your presence across a giant mountain if need be and your sweet smell would invade his senses every time he would think about you. It was a shame that you saw him in such a state but he really did not want to kill you. He was content with playing dumb and hoped that it would be the same case for you as well.

As long as you kept your lips sealed, everything was going to be alright.

Part 2 here!

[katz-chow]

deranged!reader & her task force (katz's version)

me & ur mother @moongreenlight are genuinely insane. this is basically us if it even care 😞

a/n: fem!reader all military names fake, processes fake; mostly it'd be classified, not just not done...well we wouldn't know for sure. medical shit also real. i’m in both of those fields irl. no i am not a swifty

clinically insane reader doesn’t rampage kill. art has many mediums; regular people choose acrylics, watercolor, culinary, pottery…reader chooses murder. it’s a meticulous process that depends on the person, it’s slow, drawn out. which makes her a great torturer. thing is, she was part of SEAL team tango-8 but focused more on SARC stuff (search and rescue). she knows her way around a suture kit—and, fortunately, surgical instruments.

laswell knew reader for two reasons: odd separation orders and her confirmed kill count. there was barely anything documented about her medical discharge which was weird because 98% of the military is just paperwork (a fucking pain btw). only thing noted was “medically discharged” and “0% disability”. her confirmed kill count? 43. happy to be back in uniform, she skips around the hallways to price, giving him a giant hug and a kiss on the cheek, whispering threats in his ear. “if you ever discharge me, i’ll dip you in concrete to be my custom statue.” a sickeningly sweet smile follows. as he furrows his brows in confusion and bit of horror.

soap tries really hard to like her and he really does. she's so sweet and always tries to include him in things and bakes him cakes and always somehow includes almonds, joking how it's actually just cyanide. soap laughs until he sees her have actual cyanide in the kitchen, carefully dropping it into the batter with an eyedropper. then a tsp of almond extract. it wasn't enough to hurt or kill anyone, but it scared him

he told ghost and ghost goes and investigates. then he sees reader one night, cleaning her instruments, different mallets, scissors, blades and knife handles etc. and they are pristine...not surgically pristine but definitely floor grade. he continues to watch her at 2100, without fail, and cleans her surgical instruments. until he sees her missing from her barracks from her open curtains. he goes and finds her carefully dressing a man like a buck. she sees him and smiles at him beckoning him closer. after he puts an end to that, with cuts and bruises, he goes and tattles to price. reader crying in the prison about how much she'll "miss her uniform" price and laswell speak about it and they finally know what the fuck us going on. they send her out on the field.

its just gaz, a few recruits, and reader in a safehouse. they've captured one prisoner, a soldier of the pmc against them. he's tied to a chair and after gaz runs over his psychological warfare in him. gaz fails and tiredly beckons for reader to come in. he finds her staring dead straight ahead, looking like she was falling asleep with her eyes wide open. he slowly calls out her name, no response. he calls again, same outcome. he taps her on her shoulder and her eyes fall into a "normal" state and smiles brightly at him, "my turns?!" gaz films it, the blood, the slow agony-per laswell and price's request reader starts to skin the soldier. starting with just a silly little joke about cuticles and then it goes higher and higher, the piece of skin never tearing. it's superficial, it barely draws blood. "does that hurt? don't worry, i'll help!" she blows cold air onto the exposed skin, drying out his flesh slowly while the blood keeps it from fully drying. gaz gulps, the camcorder on a tripod next to him. "it's okay, you're not going to die. and if you do...i'll make use of you, no waste! promise! gaz, can you pass me the kerrison rongeur, please?" gaz scrambles around in her kit, metal and metal clinking together in the heavy duty box. "the fucking hole puncher, gaz." she screams at him, causing him to jump. he finds the long, gun-like instrument, its blade pokes and punches together. he hands it to her, the work end first. she yanks it from him, nails scratching his hand in frustration, but that same smile on her face. she takes small chunks of flesh from the man, blood gushing and pools. she digs dipper until she hits an artery, blood splattering over them all. "the mosquito! give the fucking mosquito." she screams as the man in front of them bleeds out. she launches for it in her box and clamps down. the man half awake. gaz's chest heaves up and down, his face in shock and fearful freeze. reader storms out, face falls flat, no more smile, no brows furrowed, just a dead stare in front of her. "pieces of shit, human bodies are."

laswell pulls out any psych eval documents she can find. she finds exactly one set of documents: your medical discharge. price shows ghost and they stare at the replaying video on his monitor. the image of a wide, blank-eyed reader, hair and face dripping with crimson blood, a small clamp clicked to close an artery. they keep her. soap is the one who finds your bloody kit left in your barracks. chunks of flesh, blood, bone... and other bioburden seemingly never there at all. the shiny chromium finish looking as if they were never used at all. reader who failed out of medical school because of the lack of moral and ethics her professors and physcians saw in her. they banned her from residency.

"can i...have him..? please?" "why would you want an execution order? aren't you an interrogator?" "i want to see the peristalsis!" "the fucking what?" "how his intestines move in his body and squirm around like snakes!!!" she dissects the man in a way only a careful surgeon could. doyen clamps closed off certain sections as she sits and animates the movement on her ipad. the man inhales and exhales evenly, a bandage over his throat, eyes wide and dry from the lack of tears.

soap, as empathetic as he is, sees reader in chow, sitting by herself as she stares dead ahead, mind clouded in thoughts. her arms moves a bit, twiddling her thumbs under the table. he sits down across from her, her gaze staring pass him, face unreadable and almost bored looking. "you alright bonnie?" reader's face smiles, her eyes still dead and still as they lag behind the smile she puts on. her eyes squint. "yeah! why?" "twiddling your thumbs there, anxious about your second mission?" she puts her cupped together hands onto the tabletop. her hands unclasp. she twirls the severed thumbs around. "just a lot on my mind, yeah..."

"can i have it?" reader asks when she sees gaz's shiny teeth.

reader takes interrogations very seriously, taking souvenirs for herself. a finger carefully dried out, teeth, an ear, hair, vital organs in formaldehyde, eyes into earrings, tendons as rings and bracelets.

she gave price a birthday present which included a human heart, dried and shrunk in a glass displayed case. "made it myself", she says. "...on your own time, my love?" "yes, never company time!" his birthday is not public imformation.

ghost was missing a pow. he asks reader. "where is he?" "who?" "the prisoner..." "i let him go." "why the fuck would you do that?" "i'm going hunting, do you want to join? we can dress him in the field!"

"i got you flowers, ghost, for your mother's grave." "how the fuck do you know about that?" "you told me!" "i fucking didn't! now tell me who the fuck told you that shit?!" "you did, don't be silly. you told me over a glass of scotch...or many glasses actually!" she giggles as he slams her against the wall.

price wakes up one night, the spine-chilling feeling of a pair of eyes stalking him. he picks up the gun from his nightstand, clicking off the safety. he blinks a bit, vision clearing and seeing a figure in the shadowy corner. "go back to sle-" her body is slammed against the wall, gun to her head. "go to bed, price." "what...are you doing here?" price breathes out, trying to steady his racing heart, popping the gun back to safety. "wanted a piece of your hair."

gaz finds reader in his room after work one day, reader sweeping his house. he changed the locks within a week, locking all external doors and windows. reader leaves him breakfast every morning still. he trashes it after the cyanide incident. he wakes up to reader with a plate of eggs and toast over his bed. "please eat it and don't waste food :("

the task force lives their day to day lives with the feeling of impending doom, paranoia, and a feeling of dread washing over them all at once whenever they catch a glimpse of you. they beg price to remove you, but price would rather not be covered in cement while still alive.

[novaursa]

Hello, thank you, I had a very bad day but your stories are spectacular. I felt a lot of emotion for Fever Dreams, it is a great masterpiece. but all your works are magnificent, a delicacy for the palate I have a couple of doubts 1. Jacaerys actually has very intense feelings for her, maybe Dareon knows it? 2. Jacaerys repeats to Daeron, you don't belong here, she is no longer yours. ,m,,m,m,m. I think there's something else there, I'm not sure. 3.Dareon save something that Jacaerya may not recognize 4. Is there a possibility that you can create a sequence of chapters based on this story, please? thank you very much you are fantastic

Fevered Desires (Continuation)

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Daeron stays with you a while longer.

- Paring: niece!reader/Daeron Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The door slams shut behind Jacaerys, leaving only the muffled sounds of the storm beyond the stone walls. The echo of his footsteps fades, and silence descends over your chamber once more, thick and suffocating. The fire in the hearth crackles softly, its light casting flickering shadows across the room, but even its warmth pales in comparison to the heat radiating from your fevered body.

Daeron stays by your side, his gaze never leaving you. His hand, still clasping yours, is a tether to reality, grounding you in the midst of the haze that grips your mind. He leans closer, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles over your knuckles.

“You should not have come,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the fever, but there is no real reprimand in your words. You had always known he would come, sooner or later. He could never stay away—not when the pull between you was stronger than the iron grip of your family, stronger than duty or law.

“Would you have me stay away while you lay here, burning from the inside out?” Daeron’s voice is low, almost a murmur, as though he’s afraid to shatter the fragile quiet that surrounds you. “I would have come sooner if I’d known.”

You swallow, your throat dry and raw, but his presence, his touch, is a balm against the fever’s heat. “Jacaerys will kill you,” you say, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as exhaustion drags at you. “If he finds you here again...”

“He won’t,” Daeron interrupts softly, his thumb still caressing your hand. “Not tonight. And if he does, let him try. It won’t stop me.” His words are fierce, but there’s a tenderness in his tone, a protectiveness that wraps around you like a cloak. His gaze flickers over your face, taking in every detail—the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks, the way your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

You want to protest, to tell him that this is dangerous, reckless, that your lives are already teetering on the edge of a blade. But the words die on your lips as your eyes meet his, and in his gaze, you see the fire that has always burned between you. It is a flame that no amount of distance, no amount of secrecy or shame, could ever extinguish. It is a flame that burns brighter than the fever ravaging your body, brighter than the storm raging outside.

“I dreamed of you,” you admit softly, your voice barely a whisper. “Even in this fever... you were with me.”

Daeron’s expression softens, his thumb brushing against your temple where sweat clings to your skin. “I am always with you,” he murmurs. “Even when I’m not by your side. You know that.”

Your breath hitches, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, though whether it is from the fever or from the weight of his words, you cannot tell. You turn your head slightly, leaning into his touch as if it’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

“How long can we keep doing this?” The question escapes you before you can stop it, and the weight of it hangs in the air between you. “How long before...?” You trail off, unable to finish the thought, because the answer is one you have both avoided for so long.

Daeron is silent for a moment, his jaw tightening as he struggles with the same question. Then, with a deep breath, he leans closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. His breath is warm against your skin, and for a moment, the fever’s fire is forgotten.

“As long as it takes,” he says quietly. “Until the world burns, if need be.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, despite the fever, and you find yourself clinging to his hand with what little strength you have left. There is a recklessness in his declaration, a defiance that mirrors your own, and yet there is also something more—a vow, a promise made in the quiet of your fevered chamber, where no one but the two of you could hear it.

The storm outside grows louder, the wind howling against the windows as if the world itself is trying to break into your sanctuary. For a brief moment, the fire in the hearth sputters as a gust of wind snakes its way through the cracks in the stone. But Daeron’s presence remains steady, his hand never leaving yours.

You close your eyes again, letting the sound of his breathing lull you into a state of calm, even as the fever still simmers beneath your skin. “What will happen when he finds out?” you ask, your voice a fragile thread in the quiet.

“He already knows,” Daeron replies, his tone gentle but edged with a truth neither of you can escape. “He’s known for some time, even if he pretends not to. But knowing and doing something about it are two different things. For now, he’ll watch. He’ll wait.”

The thought sends a wave of unease through you, but you cannot deny the truth of it. Jacaerys has always been perceptive, and while he may not have confronted you directly until tonight, there is no doubt he has been aware of the bond between you and Daeron for far longer than he’s let on.

Still, you cannot bring yourself to regret it. Even now, with the fever pulling you under, with the storm raging around you and the threat of discovery looming ever closer, you do not regret the choices you made that led to this moment. The letters, the stolen glances, the nights where you met Daeron in secret—each one was a spark that ignited something far greater than either of you could have anticipated.

“Sleep now,” Daeron says, his voice soft, soothing. His hand cups your cheek, and for the briefest of moments, he presses a kiss to your fevered forehead. “I’ll stay with you until the fever breaks.”

You want to protest, to tell him that he’s risking too much by staying here, but your body is too weak, your mind too clouded by the fever. Instead, you let out a quiet breath, your hand still tangled with his, and you allow yourself to drift back into the darkness.

As you slip into unconsciousness, the last thing you hear is his voice, a soft murmur that lingers like a ghost in the room.

“I’ll always come back for you, Y/N. Always.”

[wildbluesorbit]

London || JTK

18+MDNI

Paring: asshole!Jakexreader(f)

A/N: ITS FINALLY HERE! I can’t even tell y’all how nervous I am; this is my first fic AND the first smut I’ve ever written. I’m a Third Eye Blind freak and just generally think this song is one of the sexiest songs in existence so naturally I knew I wanted to write this fic. Big big love and thank you’s for my editor @tommie-gvf. I loved writing this so much and didn’t think it could get any better until I saw everyone’s reactions.❤️‍🩹

I ask for your patience as I’m a beginner and am very open to criticism. Pretty please tell me what you think!

Summary || Jake has a lover that lives in London. He visits her every time he’s in town, but recently the simmering situationship has taken a toxic turn.

Content Warnings || swearing, alcohol consumption, party setting, toxic relationship, jealousy, over possession, verbal aggression, slight physical aggression, big angst, graphic sexual depictions

Kink Content || dom(m) and sub(f) shift, [semi] public sex, dirty talk; praise & [public] degradation, sadism, zelophilia, katoptronophilia, daddy kink, slight impact play, nipple play, dry humping, hand job, ejaculation(f), oral sex(f receiving), penetrational sex

Word Count || 8.3k+

*disclaimer - I have no idea how to write any European, reader’s origin is up for interpretation*

You continue to refresh your phone screen in hopes that it will load a new message or maybe even reveal a glitch.

“You know,” your best friend, Claire, aspires to tempt you back to reality, “that guy hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since we got here, right?”

A hum in acknowledgment of her bait is the only thing your split attention will allow as you proceed in refreshing your messages. Even going as far to restart your phone.

“He's kind of cute,” you return another hum as she sings further, “like really cute.”

“Go on then, have a go,” you try to push her self-assigned matchmaking duties back on her.

You have no choice but to be shoved back into the rumbustious surroundings of the overpopulated flat party as your phone is suddenly ripped from your hands. Claire raises it above her head not even bothering to investigate what might be holding you hostage. She is well aware of your antics.

“Please don’t tell me you're texting him again,” she lifts the device higher as you futilely lunge for it.

“He said he was coming,” you begin to gather a defense, “but I haven’t gotten a response since I sent the address… maybe hold my phone a bit higher?”

Claire lets out a monstrous groan of frustration and rolls her eyes, “You really are helpless!”

“I know,” you repine and give her your best pleading puppy dog eyes and hold two starving hands out in front of you.

Begrudgingly she gives in, slamming your phone against your awaiting palms. As soon as your phone is back in your possession you return to refreshing your messages, all in vain of course.

Whenever Jake was in London he always visited you, sometimes even flying you out to whatever part of Europe his show was in or just because he wanted to see you. A trail of one night stands that became ritual.

The nights always started out modest, the two of you innocently traipsing about parties and bars accompanied by his brothers. You would all share drinks and stories for hours, belly laughing until you were ceased by sore ribs, as if you had all been friends for decades.

Nevertheless without fail, as the drinks poured further so did Jake’s appetite for you. He'd always shadow you with some kind of seemingly harmless touch; a hand on the small of your back progressed into squeezing your knee and then thigh, to tugging you into him by the waist when he was made uncomfortable or wanted to share a secret amongst chaotic surroundings.

One by one, his brothers would slowly fade out; Sam first, then Danny, and Josh was always the last to let the party die, taking it with him when he went. From that point, the evenings between you and Jake would morph into a primitive and sensual burn. Teasing and tearing at each other until the two of you eventually spent the rest of your night curled around the other. Once again, darting back to your guarded bubble of shy soft intimacy; neither of you willing to accept it was different from anything else anyone made you feel. Time spent together was something the both of you always rushed through days for, memories neatly placed in a treasure chest of beloved keepsakes when it was over.

But lately, it was different. Something brittle and bitter had blossomed. Jake had gotten only bigger and busier. Sometimes, he’d pule about missing you so naturally you’d beg to see him. He’d send beautiful trinkets and fine clothing from whatever part of the world he was in that next week to ineffectively make up for his absence no token would ever emulate.

Though you are elated for him, you are also acutely aware of your need to move on in order to outrun the pining tidal wave that threatens to swallow you whole. You’d tried before, but no man was Jake. And seeing you with other men only spelled him into a envious fit. A sight that tormented you both, the other too afraid to cry out as nothing was ever set in stone.

So instead you’d go to war over some irrelative thing and he’d ultimately swear on his beloved he didn’t give a shit about you and when or if he’d see you again; only to gift you some pretty peace offering in amends to offset the vigorous cycle once again.

Like a vinyl record against the needle, the two of you are going round and round the same circle; different songs, same sonic. You know if the pattern continues, you are slowly headed towards the dead wax. You hope tonight will mend the broken pieces between you as he vowed he’d come to spoil you a few weeks ago.

“You need to cut him off,” Claire has stated her stance on the situationship brazenly before, “all he does is treat you like shit. He entertains you from a distance and keeps you waiting until he wants to get his dick wet.”

Having been through this debate with her many times, you only frown and exhale, “It's not like that and you know it.”

She mirrors your disapproval, “Isn’t it?”

Just as you are forming your rebuttal your phone buzzes in your hands; confiscating your ability to exist anywhere other than your screen. It might as well have looked like you were going to dial 9-9-9 the way you dementedly scramble to open your phone.

JAKE:

Hey, angel. Sorry, I got stuck at this dive with my brothers and now they don’t want to leave. I think we’re just going to spend the rest of the night here. Maybe I’ll catch you next time?

You had not been enjoying your time at this party. You had been ignoring your best friend. You had been ignoring cute flirty strangers. You had been exuberantly anticipating Jake’s company tonight for months. All to be left on read, pathetically pining for hours now; all so you could be stood up by the man.

Your chest bursts with flames of mortified resentment, fueled by his impudence. Irate does not even scratch the surface of how your heart pounds. Your blood is scalding, skin scorching.

Jake made you feel stupid yet again.

Your face must give you away before you can even get out a word of impertinence as you look up from the insolent text to see Claire smugly sipping her drink.

A knowing smirk spreads viral across her face, “He's not coming, is he?”

The last thing you want to do is tell her bitch ass she is right in your state of red. Instead, you offer her a question you know will sate her pride without feeding on your wounds.

A vengeful grin takes hold of you “Cute stranger checking me out, you mentioned?”

You have never seen her look so pleased with herself as she nods in the direction of a man at the end of the bar whose gaze you hold.

There is no way you are going to let this night go to waste. Not after Jake made such a desperate-looking fool out of you.

You decide if he is going to ignore you it's going to be his loss, not yours. You are not going to let him waste your time and you are definitely not going to let him take your fun.

You throw your most alluring eyes and innocent smile at the stranger and wave him over. He returns the greeting and calls some indiscernible phrases out to the bartender before receiving three drinks and walking over to your table.

He is tall, dark, and handsome. The complete opposite of Jake. A promise of great distraction.

He sets the three drinks down at your table pushing two glasses of what he claims to be screwdrivers towards Claire and yourself. He then proceeds to introduce himself as Hunter through an almost seemingly painful giant smile.

You can’t help but compare it to your favorite pretty and childlike grin Jake always wore, a sight you ache for.

You cordially engage in small talk with him, asking and answering the procedural “Where are you from?”, “What do you do?”, and “What do you like to do?”; fitting in the occasional desirous glances and seemingly innocent yet lingering touches when appropriate.

He is definitely funny, but not witty and satirical like Jake’s humor; undeniably intelligent, but not in the philosophical and existential sense like Jake.

You mentally berate yourself for still thinking about a guy who is obviously not thinking about you when Hunter clutches your hand, ripping you from your dissociation.

He points towards the middle of the flat where you see multiple people frolicking about, “Do you want to dance?”

Why the hell not? You throw back the rest of your drink and smirk wide in response. This seems to oddly appease Hunter but you think nothing of it as you feel yourself being towed to the make-shift dance floor.

At first, the movements are modest, just an adventurous activity between acquaintances. But after a few songs, you feel the alcohol rid you of your inhibitions, most likely against your better judgment, but at this moment you can’t seem to wrap your fingers around any care if you tried.

You grind and tangle yourself up with this man you hardly know. He seems into it and you are blissfully swept away from your afflictions, a win-win. So what is the harm?

As soon as the thought has come and gone, you feel it; an overwhelming perilous sensation of being surveilled. You turn your attention over to where you had left Claire at your table to see her deeply engaged in conversation with Josh.

Fuck. Where there is a Josh there is most certainly a Jake.

You whirl towards the flat’s bar to lock eyes with the source of the sinister stare; an infuriated Jake leaning against the countertop, arms crossed. He holds your gaping stare with a blistering nostril-flared one of his own, licking over his salient bottom lip into that bewitching pout and clenching his jaw.

A small part of you threatens to collapse under guilt as if you have been caught doing something wrong. But you find the majority of you seethes under a new tantalizing flame, devouring any clemency present.

Almost drunk off of this new power dynamic, finally, you have the upper hand and Jake is the one squirming. Of course, you want Jake over this clown any day of the week but he had made you wait almost all night, he can definitely handle a few more minutes.

You spin, now facing towards Jake’s beaming acrimony from the bar, allowing him a full access view to you commandeering one of Hunter's hands connected to the small of your back and slowly guiding him down to your ass, the other to your waist. You press your backside against his pelvis and his hips follow, grinding in the motions of your own.

You stretch upward as high behind you as you can, sinking your fingers into Hunter’s thick black curls. Just to sell it, you showmanly lean your head back against Hunter’s shoulder and whisper sweet nothings in his ear when he leans down into you.

You glance up at your petulant victim to see Jake roll his eyes and throw his head back in a deriding chuckle before he slams down the rest of his pint. Jake is most certainly under your spell.

You tell yourself that each song with Hunter is the last dance until you’re unsure how many have passed. Any concept of time you own is completely suspended in the delicious way Jake looks when he is hungry to devour what he can’t have, and in this moment it happens to be you.

Abruptly, you feel yourself being swept towards the nearest wall and your face being tilted up towards Hunter’s as he cranes his mouth down to meet yours.

It is nice. Pleasurable for sure. He is definitely a good kisser, but again all you can bring yourself to think of is Jake’s perfectly pink pouty lips pressed against yours.

There is no point in tormenting Jake if you are just as miserable.

As you are about to break away from the stale kiss, Hunter’s weight that is pinning you up against the wall unexpectedly falters, sending you fumbling to the floor. You attempt to regain your balance but the room is slightly spinning, a likely side effect from the alcohol in your bloodstream. You might have questioned it having only had a drink or two if your focus wasn’t currently employed by figuring your way back to vertical.

A hand makes its way into your line of sight, offering to help you up. You swat away the aid, recognizing it as Jake’s. He huffs and shakes his head vexed. Jake brings himself closer to the whirling stack of bones that you are on the floor and tenaciously claps his rangy hands around your waist; making a show to assign his fingers in the exact arrangement where Hunter’s had just been. He devoutly springs you to your feet as if you'd rehearsed the move. As soon as you gain your footing you step back from Jake and dust yourself off, despite landing on a clean floor.

You inspect your crumbs of clues; the boys glaring at each other and at the brink of verbal warfare. You arrive at the conclusion that a fuming Jake had let all restraint dissipate as he shoved Hunter off of you in his impulsive fit.

“Why don’t you go find some other victim to slam into a wall,” Jake snarls, “she’s had enough for tonight.”

“She didn’t seem to have a problem when she was dancing all over me,” Hunter shoots back genuinely confused, “are you supposed to be her boyfriend or something?”

You race to interject, “He is not,” addressing Hunter but then throw your finger in Jake’s face, “and you have no right-”

Hunter takes one big territorial step to cleat himself between you and your oppressor. An exasperated Jake scowls at your fictitious defender and back to you, his features melting into a sickened sight as if to ask if you are really going to allow him to be vilified as the threat.

Of course protection from Jake is the last thing you will ever need. He could say whatever he’d like but Jake will never lay a harmful finger to you.

However, the hunt makes the game. You subtly shrug at Jake and let the mens’ egos carry out your dirty work.

Hunter sets his fist on Jake’s sternum in an attempt to get him to step back, “Mate, she doesn’t seem to be into it so why don’t you give us some space.”

This is the trigger that detonates the antagonized man just in front of your human shield.

“Oh trust me, mate,” he mimics Hunter in an explosion, the shrapnel riding your blood to your cheeks, “when I say I happen to know what the little slut is into and it is definitely not-” Jake is cut off by a panicky Josh now stepping in between the two before Jake can say anything he can’t take back.

Josh seems to instruct his detesting brother through glances. You always find it hard to properly digest a situation with the appropriate amount of severity when the twins begin conversing with mere facial expressions.

It only lasts for a second or two before Jake refixes his glare towards Hunter. Mirroring Jake, Josh returns to Hunter with an antsy smile and places a friendly hand on his barely-reachable shoulder, as if he is about to deliver bad news.

“Sorry about him,” he starts to mediate, motioning towards his fuming twin he shrugs and chuckles nervously, “tequila makes him aggressive.”

You almost giggle at Josh’s flamboyant rescue. He is a detail oriented man who is verbally quick on his feet. He usually paints pictures you can not poke holes in. So you know he must be distraught or drunk as you hadn't even seen Jake drink an ounce of liquor since he arrived.

However, Hunter doesn’t seem quite as amused as he slaps Josh's hand off and grunts, “Whatever, I don’t do crazy exes anyway.”

He insincerely waves you off and facetiously blows Jake a kiss in one last satirical jab before sauntering off, dematerializing amongst the crowd.

Jake now recoils from Josh’s touch and waits for him to vanish as well. However, Josh’s sight seeks you and bears a disapproving nod, warning you to behave in a glower. For a split second, you forget he is a twin as his protective demeanor is all that of a vigilant elder sibling.

Nevertheless, Josh makes his way back to where he had been so unnecessarily interrupted and dragged away from Claire.

Your attention gravitates to Jake in daggers. Before you can form any thoughts or strategy, venom goes flying past your lips, “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!”

Jake swivels his head around, slightly panicking at all the partygoers that had stopped party going to sightsee this freak show. He never likes to be the center of attention unless he has six strings and a fretboard under his fingers.

Nimbly, he leads you by the arm into the nearby bathroom and slams the door shut.

You throw your arms out in confusion, “Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

He fires back, “No, just my patience with you!”

The room is small enough now that his scent circulates and the offensive smell of beer and bourbon attacks your senses; which explains his uncharacteristic boldness.

“Shit, Jake, you smell like a fucking brewery,” you spit out.

He seems to grasp how sloppy he let himself get. Your words siphon a hint of sobriety as he takes a deep breath and now speaks to you with a much more repealed approach.

You can tell he is still upset but is focusing on his convictions for the moment, “Are you okay? I didn’t mean for you to fall like that.” He hesitates, “And I’m sorry- I have no idea why I called you slut- I didn’t mean-”

You are nearly swept away by the sweet breeze of your angelic Jake; the one that trips over his words when he gets excited and loves to take on whimsical personas of his own invention. Jake that is present and kind, even at the end of the night. But just like a fleeting breeze, you easily withstand his charms.

He may have found his composure but you certainly did not, not that you want to, “I’m fine, Jacob! Want to explain whatever the shit that was?!”

Any remorse present in his tone abandons him, “Oh please, you wanted that! I could see it all over your face while you were messing with that prick. I don’t even know why I'm surprised. You’re like a child who throws a fucking fit. The moment I don't do or tell you exactly what you want you go throw yourself into the arms of some random no-good fuck. I knew you were with him as soon as you went radio silent.”

You narrow your eyes at him. You’re almost suspicious of the blank canvas he’s left for you to fill in with logic; he’s usually ten points ahead when debating, never speaking a vulnerable statement for someone to collapse before him. You are almost hesitant to ask the question.

Your hand finds your hip as a means to reinforce your interrogation, “That’s just it, isn’t it? You don’t own me, Jake! So what if I was dancing with Hunter?”

He rolls his eyes and growls at the mention of his name. If Jake were an ounce more theatrical you swear he would have gagged too.

You cross your arms and lean into the balls of your feet as you sharpen your questions, knowing you have him trapped, “If you knew, why did you even show up then? Why do you even care? It’s not like I’m your girlfriend or anything?”

He blurts out way too quickly to disguise any aloofness, “I don’t care!”

Jake immediately throws his head back in defeat and groans, crumbling under further rumination of your questions, as if they frustrate him as much as they do you, “I don’t know! You just- It kills me to see you- sometimes- you make me so-”

He is struggling to articulate his thoughts without making himself look like the blatant asshole, but you see right through it.

You, however, have no problem spitting the word out. In fact, it progresses the igneous tension between the two of you into a delicious sweltering burn.

You dangle the word right in front of him just to watch him squirm, “Jealous?”

The accusation furrows his brow and tightens his shoulders.

If you didn’t know any better, his sudden dark tone would have you red with shame for such an accusation, “You think I’m jealous? Trust me, kitten, you haven’t even seen jealousy. Go fuck that guy for all I care.”

You giggle and raise a slanderous eyebrow, soundlessly challenging his overtly bogus defense. Your defiance vacillates Jake back to his munition.

He charges towards you, his footsteps following the alignment of his pointer finger swinging in your direction, “What the fuck are you smiling at- You know what?! Fuck this and fuck you! You always do this. Always getting me into more trouble than I bargain for.”

Jake is growling in fragments now, growing taller with every step he takes drawing in towards you, surrendering to your gravity.

“This isn’t me! I’m not this person who gets jealous and fights with strangers at a party,” he gestures his clenched fists towards you, arms length away now, “And I don’t like being angry with you!”

Jake corners you between the wall and a stall, yet his rushing commute ceases to falter, “And what’s worse is I actually think you enjoy this! You must get off on this! I think you want to see me lose my mind!”

Jake is close enough that you are now confronted by the moles that cradle his right jaw, the charming silver starting to streak from his temples, the sculpt in the cartilage of his prominent nose, the slight uneven curl of his upper lip and the barely there freckles that line the ample lower. Details no camera could capture and no screaming fan could ever have knowledge of; intimate details one would ever amass without his admission.

If he moves any closer he would have to kiss you. He scolded you for getting worked up off his anger when he was doing the exact same thing. The worst part being you aren’t even sure if he has caught on to this rage-driven gravitation between the two of you. His face reads “Caution, stay away,” but his body is imploring you to take care of him. He is right where you want him, giving you all the power once again.

He resumes waving his finger at you and stiffly pokes your collarbone. He opens his mouth to make another point but his words never deliver themselves. You see his very thoughts dematerialize as he touches your buzzing skin.

He doesn’t even lift his finger from you, just lets it fall to the start of your breasts, making your chest heave. He subconsciously presses his body to yours; so close you catch his erratic breaths on your lips.

You hastily retort while he is distracted, “That’s pretty amusing considering you're the asshole that ruined my night, not the other way around, slut.”

He rakes the pad of his finger still connected to you, up your clavicle till it rests at the top of your outermost prominent neck muscle, delicately wrapping the rest of his digits around your throat once he runs out of room. He sinks further into your orbit so that he is now hovering just above your features.

“Look at you, just begging for someone to put you in your place,” he rasps out, ever so slightly applying a teasing pressure to reduce your air flow.

Collecting yourself enough to stream your words out in a lazy river, you dare taunt the feral man that holds your next breath between his fingers, “Look at you, Jacob, absolutely rabid with jealousy.”

“I’ve had it with your little attitude,” his hand delectably contorts further around your throat in a fit of conniption as he roars through clenched teeth, “Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t fucking drag me here to make me jealous.”

“Bite me, Jake,” you roll your eyes at his arrogance.

You expect him to snap at you, to reprimand you for your insubordination. However, to your surprise he laps one long stripe from the corner of your pout to the start of your cheekbone. The action expels your nerves into shock; a shudder slithers its way up your spine.

Jake sighs against the shell of your ear, “Is that why you’re being such a little fucking brat? You just want me to bite you, sweetheart? Is that it?”

Your only response is a whimper as a crackling heat awakes between your thighs and your hips grind into Jake on their own accord; giving him the only answer he needs.

Satiated by your feedback, Jake nearly moans at regaining the upper hand, “I swear- and why should I even care, kitten?”

You urgently squeal, struggling against your constricting airway, “Because it’s your fault! I’ve never craved attention until you did this to me!”

Cocking his head to the side to purport the appearance of a disapproving analysis, he mocks your need, “How did we end up like this, beautiful? We are absolutely no good for each other.”

You don’t bother devising a clever response, knowing he’s already decided to give you what you want.

He clenches his jaw and runs his tongue along the ridges of his teeth, twisting the pink muscle into the crevices of his molars, “It’s rude to stare, kitten. Do I need to teach you how to use that pretty smart mouth of yours?”

You only bat your eyes at him, your expressionless face waiting for what you know comes next.

He raises an eyebrow at you, impatient for some response and mutters, “Say something.”

A shit-eating grin sneaks its way onto your face, “Don’t forget to lock the door, babyboy.”

Jake’s once kind eyes grow dark to an absolutely immoral shade of lust. Heedlessly, his lips crash against yours, the sensation you’ve fantasized about since the last time his mouth deserted yours. He tastes of bourbon and peaches.

He slips his hands around your ass and hauls you up to straddle his waist. You wrap your legs around him as he staggers towards the door lock as you instructed, as if he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you long enough to complete the task first.

Jake places you on the sink and protestingly pries himself back from you, as if starving for more but looking at you was a vital duty he must perform.

His eyes plot you up and down, infatuated with this strand of you, reserved only for him. You don’t have to say a word for Jake to know what happens when he’s away; the way you move for him confesses everything he is already aware of. He is the only one capable of having you completely and utterly vulnerable and unguarded and unadulterated; animalistically yourself.

For the first time tonight, Jake’s pretty pout draws back in a genuine smile for you; a giddy fool and his favorite fix.

He gracefully reaches to untie your wrap blouse and it falls to your sides, uncurtaining your heaving breasts. He hums in satisfaction of your physique.

Jake lightly places his hands on your knees and observes as his fingers featherly dance upon your thighs, only to stop and squeeze into the thick of them until he leaves white imprints. He curls into you, Jake’s perpetually exposed chest rubbing against your newly bare nipples, extracting a hiss from you.

Your core already weeps with need.

The hungry man burrows his face into your neck but stops right before his lips meet your skin, knowing you desperately need his mouth.

He teases you with a tickling whisper, “Fuck- I missed you. They don’t make girls like you in Nashville.”

The ribbing huff of his breath makes you shudder.

You press your hand against his hip, slide it down the curve of his thigh and inward till you map out his hard length through his pants, “I can see, you poor thing.”

Your movement draws a low growl from him in your ear, “Fuck- You see what you do to me, kitten? You see all the problems you cause me?”

You begin to palm him through his clothes and feign out a bratty whine, “Yes, but we always have such a good time, don’t we Jakey?”

Jake begins to eat at your neck while you continue to caress him until he moves down and out of your reach.

He plots out your clavicle, licking down your sternum through the valley of your peaking breasts; delaying his journey to lap one of your nipples into his warm salacious mouth as he gropes the other in his lanky hand. A few mumbled swears fall from you as Jake begins to venture in biting and sucking marks into the supple flesh of your breasts, soothing each spot with candied kisses afterwards.

“Shit- just when I thought these perfect tits couldn’t get any prettier. An absolutely breathtaking sight with my bitemarks,” he pants.

Jake’s mouth resumes its migration south to your goosebump ridden thighs. He sinks his fingers into the flesh of your ass, resting his elbows against the corners of the sink for balance as he lowers the rest of his body to accommodate the angle of your glistening center.

His mouth now takes purchase of where his fingertips had just deserted your thighs, kissing away the residual sting; closer and closer to your entrance till his head vanishes, canopied in between your skirt and legs. You feel the heat of his huffing through the lace of your panties. The sensation alone is enough to make you whine with need. Jake then bites into the material of your damp thong, sampling your arousal as he tugs your underwear to the side using his teeth. Jake plants his lips to yours in a row of delicate kisses, making you quiver with anticipation.

“Wider,” he growls out the demand.

You lean back to let your bare shoulder blades rest against the ice cold mirror behind you in order to grant him better access to your wetness. Jake is entranced as he gapes at how the chill glass spells you to hiss and clench around nothing.

He takes a deep inhale of you and slots the tip of his nose against your entrance. In one agonizingly slow movement he reclines his head so that his nose flits over your aching clit as he sticks out the flat of his tongue to follow the lewd trail.

You open your mouth to sing his praises but all that comes out is his name in a hiccuping squeak.

He then wraps his ample lips around your throbbing clit and nimbly sucks it into the warm plush of his mouth, swirling his velvety tongue around your bud.

The deed elicits a piteous wail to escape you and the confiscation of any remaining control over your restless limbs. Your hips involuntarily swing forward, seeking more of his mouth.

He rewards you with a swift smack against your thigh, “Easy,” he begins to plant light kisses on your entrance, “needy little thing today, aren’t you?”

Having not fully removed his mouth from you, the vibrations of his teasing words sends unexpected ripples of titillation humming through you, instigating your reeling squirms further, “Relax, kitten. I know how to take care of you. I know what you need.”

He finally unlatches his other hand from your ass. You hadn’t even registered the delicious sting of his fingers over the imperious pleasure of his mouth; a pain promising to blossom into pretty hues of purples, blues, and greens.

He delineates the curve of your thigh with his fingertips, finally fluttering over your entrance. Impatiently, he hikes your skirt up to bunch at your waist. He savagely yanks your lace underwear down and over your ankles, not even bothering to wait for you to adjust to help slip the material off. He looks to you with a seemingly innocent goofy grin as he pockets his newly pillaged treasure.

You roll your eyes and press your lips together to stifle your obvious giggle. In a feigned offense, Jake snatches your ankles in his grasp to reestablish his authority and your attention. Slowly, he lifts your legs to settle your thighs around his shoulders, careful not to throw off your balance on the porcelain counter.

You lock your ankles around him as his hands pet up your legs and wrap around your thighs to bore into your flesh. Jake reintroduces his mouth to your soaking entrance, sloppily devouring your nectar.

Though pleasing, you know he is holding out on you. Jake loves to hear you beg; for you to pray for what you know he can’t help but give you.

“Jake, more,” you demand despite knowing it will land void.

He immediately ceases his feed and arrogantly reminds you of your place, “Oh, I don’t think you’re in any position to give orders now, are you kitten?”

Mourning the loss of his mouth, you choke on a sob, “No, Jake!”

He tenderly begins to brush his digits along your skin, “That’s right, but I happen to know that pretty mouth sings a lot lovelier than she barks.”

He moves one of his thumbs to circle over your swollen clit as incentive, making his compulsion undeniable.

You desperately pant out your pleas, “Please- Shit- Please, Jake. I need- Jake- Fuck- fingers?”

“Sorry, baby, you’re not making any sense,” he terrorizes you now, stretching a free digit from your bud to tease your entrance.

You manage to piece together your needs enough to satisfy him, “Jake- please, I need your fingers- need them inside me- I need to soak them- please, baby?”

Your scandalous words draw a sweet moan from him. The vivacious grant of your request tells you he can’t stand to make you wait any longer.

He begins pumping his middle and ring finger inside you, making you mewl his name.

He once again envelopes your clit in his lips and begins to suck and lap you towards ecstasy. You feel the euphoric tension strain your abdomen as Jake curls his fingers around the spot he always seems to effortlessly discover.

“Fuck- Jake don’t stop- please- please don’t stop,” your voice reaches the high pitch only he brings it to.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, you sound too pretty with my fingers inside you to deny,” he coos against your sensitive clit.

Jake’s lustful praises send you into an orgasmic haze as your walls squeeze around his fingers and back arches away from the mirror.

As he feels you getting close, Jake begins to coach you, “Relax for me, beautiful. Can you relax that pretty pussy for me?”

You inventory only enough coherency to wantonly moan, indicating your process of his demand.

“Good girl, that's it. Just breathe and take it,” his praises coerce you into obedience.

Even though every endorphin in your body is imploring you to writhe at Jake’s touch, you do your best to relax and breathe as he ordered. You relent to Jake’s fingers, allowing him to caress into a new spot, a fresh wave of sensitivity finding you.

He knows he’s found the place as soon as you squeal his name in response. He begins to violently fuck deep into you with his hand, pumping in and out of you, his fingertips catching his new target every time, catapulting you into your orgasm. You're consumed by white heat as you soar through your ecstasy.

You’ve cleared through your orgasm yet oddly the tension in your abdomen is not alleviated but is now twice as constricting.

Jake never ceases to send his fingers in and out of you at a furious pace and the pressure that builds is of a different class, requiring your whole body to participate in your release. Where he was once babying his mark, he is now assaulting it; his digits curling into you with every pump. The sloppy sounds of Jake finger fucking you grows louder with every stroke.

His lips swallow your clit, slurping you into his mouth for safekeeping, sending you into overdrive as you approach this new release. Your pussy begins to convulse and contract around Jake but he drives into you faster still.

“That’s it, babygirl, cum for me. I’ve missed having you on my tongue,” his words barely make their way into your consciousness.

Your vision begins to black out as your eyes roll back and your slick sprays his face and coats his hands.

Yet, Jake refuses to cease his assault. Your climax builds within you so tight, it rips its way out of you. Your cunt expels a deluge of liquids and continues to pour into Jake’s hand with every dizzying clench of your cunt. Again. Again. And again. Until you are downpour, trickling past his wrist and onto the tile floor.

“Fucking shit- Jacob- don’t stop- I can’t- I’m still cumming- Ja- Baby- Jacob,” your voice melodically crashes and breaks against waves of rasping screams and swearing whimpers louder still, floating off somewhere in oblivion.

Jake thinks it's the most beautiful you’ve ever sounded. Your body finally gives, and you collapse back against the mirror behind the sink. After a few seconds you peek your eyes open to see the mess you made.

He pulls away from you to stand once again and observes his glistening hand in a gaping awe, unphased by your cum dripping down his chin.

“I love when you do that,” he mutters more to himself than you as he slurps your elixir from his own limb.

He isn’t even touching you but the pornagraphic sight reels a moan from you.

“Does my beautiful girl want a taste of her own orgasm?”

He places his fingers along your lips, waiting for your consent. You stick your tongue out and he slides his digits up along the textured muscle until you stifle a slight gag; the veins that decorate his knuckles pressing into your top lip.

He pulls your mouth closer to his with his fingers, slipping them out just before he slides his tongue between your lips; you further taste your glaze as he licks into your mouth.

He impatiently pulls away from you with a hungry groan and scatters to undo his belt. His pants fall to his ankles, his normally hidden curves now visible; a delectable sight you will never grow tired of. His physique is appetizingly curvier than most men and the very view made your dripping pussy flutter without remedy.

Jake catches your ravenous stare and arrogantly quips, “See something you like, kitten?”

Rather than respond, you greedily grab at him and slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers. You tug him closer along with the material and shimmy it down to liberate his hard painfully pink penis.

“I missed you too,” you run a finger over his leaking tip, causing his head to roll back in a hiss, “and this pretty cock.”

In one swift movement, you quickly gather your remaining arousal on his face in your free hand and reach down to slather his throbbing dick. You lay messy open mouth kisses along his jaw and neck as you now lightly pump him in your hand.

“Fuck- you’re so hot,” Jake rasps out at the loss of composure; his mouth slacks agape as you continue to jerk him off.

You move your hand to flick at his head and his features further melt in bliss.

“Slow down,” he whimpers, ”I want to be dripping down your thighs, not your hand,” his statement demands your submission.

You can tell Jake is unraveling fast as he starts twitching in your fingers. He is close until he obstinately pulls you away from him by the wrist.

You pout out an apology and he relocates your hands around his shoulders, and grabs your waist as he paints your cheek with open mouth kisses. His tongue works a long stripe behind your ear and sucks your lobe into his mouth.

He speaks through teeth clenched around your cartilage, “You always misbehave like such a brat, but underneath it all my girl is just a sweet thing, aren’t you?”

His intimate words alone render you to a din of pitiful mutters and swears.

You feel him begin to press his hard cock into the thick of your thigh, involuntarily pursuing relief, “You just need someone who knows what you are, hmm? Knows what you need?”

You praise and beg as your center is reintroduced to that familiar ache, “Jake, please. You know what I need.”

The sensation of Jake grinding himself against your leg dissolves all restraint. You try to buck your hips towards him in search of what you want most, but he doesn’t let you succeed. Jake arrests your waist to push you further back onto the sink.

He snickers at your cupidity, “What a greedy little slut. Just came a fucking mess and you already want more.”

You stroke his ego with hopes flattery will seduce him, “Yes- I’m a glutton for you, please, Jake?”

You scoot back up to the edge of the sink and grab at him; mad for his touch. Instead, your ambition is requited with a stinging smack to your cunt as he bellows the command, “Sit still! I’m not going to tell you again.”

You can’t help the fearless groan that echoes throughout the small room.

He bitterly miffs, “Yea? Should have thought about that before you were fucking around with that shit for brains?”

“Jake, I’m sorry,” you gravel, growing more impatient by the second that you can’t feel him.

Your insincere words purchase you no spoils as he taunts you further, “Good- You have no idea. I wanted to break his fucking nose wide open! What was his name again, sweet thing?”

Before you can fashion any remark, he yanks you to teeter on the end of the countertop once again. Jake, shaft in hand, drives his throbbing tip just past your lips, and flicks himself against your sensitive clit.

Your knuckles grip white against the corners of the porcelain struggling to remain in place as you whimper gibberish, “Fuck- Jake- I- MMM- fuck-”

“Look at my good sweet girl, so cock drunk she can’t even remember the pawn she was using to make me jealous a few minutes ago,” he smugly croons.

He featherly runs his fingers through the tresses of your hair. As he smooths down your mane you cave into his touch.

“I fucking hated seeing you with him,” his words drip with scorn, “It killed me. You deserve better because you’re my good girl.”

Lining himself up to press into your labia, he docks his forehead against your clavicle to look down at his toying with you. Slightly arching forward, his pink head only just glides past your entrance.

You are teetering over the line of ditzy, Jake’s tantalizing quips being the only tether before you are too far gone, “What a filthy slut? Playing dirty to get Daddy’s attention?”

Any remaining composure flees from you as the name is growled against your skin and you immediately call it back to him, “Shit- I’m- fuck- I’m sorry, Daddy. Please, fuck me?!”

One hand still residing in your hair, he tugs by the root to guide your ear to his open mouth, “Well you’ve got my attention now, my sweet little fucked out thing.”

Without warning, Jake mercilessly thrusts himself inside you to the hilt. You slap your hand over your mouth to silence the obscene wails tearing through you.

Jake promptly rips your hand away, “Don’t you fucking dare. I want everyone to hear my little cock drunk slut sing.”

Without granting you an opportunity to adjust to his girth, he pulls himself nearly all the way out just to plunge himself all the way back in, driving into that magical spot.

Just as that illustrious need grows in your stomach, Jake pulls out completely. You don’t have the opportunity to protest before he gathers you from off the countertop and twists you around towards your reflection. He gingerly presses his touch into the protruding shape of your shoulder blade, lightly ushering you to lean over the slab of the counter. You surrender to Jake’s decree, not willing to risk your orgasm.

Jake finds your fucked out gaze through the mirror and faintly adjures, “I want you to watch as I fuck you.”

You know better than to mistake his lowly tone for submission. You lean your weight on your elbows as you settle against the sink and raise your head to take in every detail as Jake begins fuck into you from behind.

His pace starts off moderate, but every stroke pierces deep. Your eyes are spellbound by the vision of his pelvic bone slamming into your ass with every harsh swing of his hips.

You do your best to keep your eyes visible as his rhythm picks up, but inevitably your head hangs limp, dizzy from your approaching high. You resign from your efforts once he begins to rock into you faster, burying himself further in your cunt.

You are compensated by a half-lidded Jake forcing your head back up by your chin, “Nah-uh. Look at me, baby.”

You manage to anchor your head where Jake repositioned it, but you are helpless to the way your eyes roll back as he swivels his hips rutting into that sweet spot. Jake grants you exoneration as your walls tighten around his twitching cock, indicating you are close.

Your every muscle trembles as you are abraded by your final orgasm. You're too far gone in your trance. You babble a gibbered language of swears and crying moans as you give into the chemical release.

“Just one more for me, babygirl, you can take it,” he hushes you.

You are strung back from your trip by the stutter of Jake’s hips and hiccuping moans. He is close. You see him tire as he curls around you, his panting grunts tickling your skin.

“Come on, baby,” you root for him despite your own overstimulation, “fuck me full. Want it so bad.”

You are captivated by the reflection of his features contorting under bliss as he fights to keep his hips in motion. You roll your hips to follow Jake’s strokes as his high suspends his stamina.

His eyes roll back as he begins to convulse, his dick jerking inside you. He releases, his lewd moan of absolute venery graces your ears as he empties himself inside you, coating your pulsing walls.

Jake goes limp, briefly taking refuge against your backside as he catches his breath and you come down from your highs together. He lazily litters your skin with kisses wherever his lips can reach.

He sighs against your spine, “Fuck- you’re magnificent. Absolutely electric.”

He wills himself to stand vertical, tugging his pants back in place over his hips before he eases you upright. Assisting you with his steady grip on your pelvis, the steamy skin of his lithe chest sticks to your backside. He wraps an arm around your waist to hold you steady as your knees buckle upon landing, pulling you into him once more. He bows his head to warrant his lips to lathe your neck, savoring the salt of your skin.

Far too consumed to break away from his sloppy kisses, he tilts his head as his eyes hunt for the reflection of yours, “But I meant what I said earlier, we’re no good for each other.”

He nibbles his way up and sucks at the muscle of your jaw, “I like you way more than I planned to but there’s no way we can continue like this, babygirl.”

You go numb; the only sensation present being pins and needles pricking your chest. His words spell you dumb, abolishing any sense to speak or move.

He delicately spins you to face him once again and tenderly kisses the tip of your nose.

Jakes slightly pulls back to skillfully tie your blouse back up for you, “Whatever this is, it's got to settle here.”

“Jake- you-,” you breathlessly chase for the tail of your thought that doesn’t seem to exist.

He squeezes your hands in his, “I mean it, kitten, don’t call me anymore. I won’t pick up for you.”

The tender manner in which his lips love on you does not mesh with his condemning words.

He draws back to see tears you aren’t aware are now rolling down your flushed cheeks.

He lets go of one of your hands to cup your jaw and kisses the salty sadness from your features, “Don’t cry, baby, you’re perfect.”

He envelopes your lips between his one last time before he brings your hand still in his grasp to place his pucker against your knuckles and whisper, “Please take care of yourself for me, babygirl.”

You are prisoner to paralyzation as those enticing amber eyes abandon you; rendering you to nothing but shattered forsaken ruins strewn across an empty bathroom, grasping and grappling to purchase any sort of rationale beyond the carnage.

You’re forced to silently choke on consternation at the sight of his chestnut waves bouncing against his shoulders as Jake weightlessly vanishes through the swinging door.

pretty please let me know what you think🫶🏼

taglist - @alwaysonthemend @becinabubblegvf @carbondancingthroughtime @edgingthedarkness @fleet-of-fiction @gretasfallingsky @gretasmokerising @gvf23 @heckingfrick @hsfallingsky @imleavingyoufornewyork @kiszkazz @klarxtr @itsafullmoon @jakesguitarsolo @jakesmustache @livkiszka @sacredjake @sparrowofthedawnsworld @takenbythemadness @thewritingbeforesunrise @tripthelightfatality @vanfleeter @wetkleenex-gvf @zoe-tally06

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list and know y’all have already made this so rewarding❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

[ssplague]

Benighted Beloved

Prologue

Dragon King Bakugou x Reader

Haven’t decided on the title yet, didn’t want to take even more time to get this out.

Warnings ⚠️ BRIEF Mentions of attempted assault, sex trafficking, & murder.

As the last of the moon’s ethereal, silver light disappears from the skies, a harsh wind begins to blow. This kingdom’s inhabitants are hidden away within the confines of their homes. The silence is daunting as the wind begins to howl through the previously bustling capital streets.

Within the dimly lit castle a woman stares through the her window before shutting the drapes tight.

The atmosphere within the fortress is riddled with tension; Murmurings of prayers can be heard from various servants pausing their duties as they move about. Her bosom heaves rapidly from panting breaths, she fights in vain. Stubborn to prevent the vision attempting to shine through, ignoring the now blurry edges of her eye sight. Ebony hair is sticking to her sweaty face, she’s only standing on shaky legs from leaning against the edge of her vanity table.The door of her bedroom swings open and immediately slams shut. A man has come to see her, he’s briskly crossing the room, before coming to a stop at her side.

“What ails you?” The tired man asks, helping the woman stand upright by allowing her to hold his arm. Continuing to assist, despite her uncoordinated shuffling to sit on her bed. “If you are to be given a prophetic message, why fight it? Her majesty wishes to know what you have seen”. The woman wraps her arms around her middle, sharp nails nicking at her flesh as she draws in a shaking breath, “This night is tainted by darkness, the goddess is unable to grant us her full protection while her light is repressed…if my body will hold out until the darkness recedes, perhaps tragedy will be prevented from falling upon our kingdom once again”. Light from the single lit candle casted half of her face in shadow. The oracle was ashen faced, her black bangs plastered against her forehead, droplets of sweat leaked down her face onto the floor as she rested her elbows on her knees, shaking hands massage her temples.

“You cannot alter fate Midnight, you are destroying yourself all for the sake of delaying a message you were chosen to deliver” Aizawa says with a heavy sigh, rubbing at his eyes “I know you continue to blame yourself for the death of King Masaru but even the queen herself told you that you were not at fault, you relayed the message, and it was something that simply couldnt be remedied..”.

A shuddering breath racks the oracle’s body and she begins falling forward, only for the exhausted man to catch her,

“Stop this! You are going to die!”.

Midnight knew she was on deaths door, her body would give out soon, unless she relents…

Once again the bedroom door opens silently, the snap of it shutting alerts the two occupants of a new comer entering the room.

“Do it for the sake of the child, if you wish to atone for the death of its father then guide it as it grows, inform the future leader on how to avoid whatever negativity may come beforehand, so that it can be properly dealt with” the stern but soft voice of Jeanist seems to have been able to break through the oracle’s stubbornness.

“Normally only one of you would need to be the scribe for this session…but I would prefer it if there were two perspectives on whatever I report, considering the situation…” requests Midnight as Aizawa allows Jeanist to help the frail woman sit up. Making one more request as the blonde man fluffs and rearranges the pillows behind her:

“Please light the ceremonial pouperie and hand me both selenite and tourmaline towers”.

At the beginning of her life Midnight had been gifted with the ability to predict small things such as who would win a foot race or what she would receive for her birthday. As a teen her visions changed into predicting who would find love and eventually how relationships would end. Life was not always kind to her, and once she reached her late teens she had been enslaved and forced into prostitution.

Luck had been on her side as an adult; One night as the ebony haired beauty made her way through town. She had come across a drunken man attempting to asssault a young woman. Her amethyst eyes catch the glint of an intact bottle neck laying discarded on the alleyway’s grime crusted cobblestones. Those muffled cries of the female being violated brought her back to when she herself had first been enslaved. Slinking up through the shadows in silence, the angry woman would later on be compared to a panther as she came flying out of the darkness. The brute didnt have a chance to fight back as loose shards of glass were shoved into his eyes, the jagged spikes of the bottle were repeatedly slashed and thrusted into his neck, face, and chest until the pig was unrecognizable.

The woman she had saved turned out to be the daughter of a duke, visiting from a completely different kingdom. “Please accompany me for my journey home, your bravery will bring you great favor with my family, im offering you a new life, a fresh start”. Once the dutches and duke had learned about the gift of sight their daughter’s savior possessed, it was only a matter of time before Midnight was called to advise the current king and queen of her new home.

The darker haired man uses the candle to light to light the bundle of herbs, the scents of sage, lavender, and jasmine fill the room quickly.

Both polished stone towers are pressed into her shaking hands, Each man stood at the oracle’s bed side with quills poised and ready. Only then does the ritual begin;

She always hated lowering the walls of protection that had been built around her psyche. It made her feel as though she were stripped naked, vunerable, about to have her dignity snatched away, and soul crushed. Of course those feeling were always what prelude a tainted and unfortunate vision. Her eyes buldge in their sockets as they widen, her plump lips fall open and an amplified emotionless version of her voice spews out the sacred information from her gaping maw.

In this realm,

a blessing descends,

a child of fate,

Whose power immense,

destined to determine

earth’s fate

Born beneath the moon's shadow,

a tale quite bizarre,

A beast hides within,

a spirit touched by mar.

Not at the outset,

but time's relentless flow,

Unveils a name in

history's annals to grow.

Victories numerous,

A heart encased in sin

With a chance encounter,

love's dance shall begin.

Strings of fate weave

a love, pure and oh so divine,

The dragon king seeking

a mate with whom his

Soul shall intertwine.

This love is true,

by impurity shunned,

Great Darkness out shone

by Celestial radiance

Who’s light could

Outshine the sun

Blessings abound

if the moon's grace prevails,

However her failure

unveils hate

as darkness assails.

The Earth shall quake in fright

silence descends in despair,

The dragon king ruthless,

his mate to ensnare.

Land soaked in blood,

tainted with gore

at that moment

T’will be decided

peace within this kingdom

will become a distant lore

Decay befalls living souls,

cursed evermore.

Oh how can one’s feelings

spin a tale so profound?

For only true love shall

Determine whether darkness

Or light shall abound?

In a wing located on the complete opposite side of the castle, a feminine shriek is permeated by the sharp wails of an infant.

“It’s a boy your majesty!” Exclaims a mid-wife who held the freshly delivered baby.

She is quick to clean off the continuously shrieking child, immediately swaddling him in a soft blanket. Queen Mitsuki held out her trembling hands to receive the bundle of joy. “He’s beautiful my lady, I’m sure the king is looking down from heaven with pride” stated one of the other servants as she took away the soiled linens. “Yes he is…my beautiful little boy…my precious Katsuki” the queen whispered, kissing the boy’s head. His tiny whisps of blonde hair tickled her face as she holds him close. A little fist slips out from the blankets, waving about as his wails grow louder. Another servant enters the room, her arms laden with fresh blankets and sheets, “The moonlight has returned!” She happily reports, setting down the bedding and drawing back the curtains some.

Soon as those first rays of the shining silver light landed on the baby, his shrieks cease instantly. Finally opening his small crimson eyes to stare up at his mother, a goofy smile appearing and soft cooing replaced his cries. Everyone in the castle seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as the dreaded eclipse had come to an end.

“My Katsuki, you’re going to grow into a strong, dependable man, eventually you’ll become the greatest king the world has ever seen…isn’t that right Masaru?” Mitsuki snuggled the baby, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wasn’t able to see the man standing beside the two of them, but Katsuki could. The spirit of his father placed its hand on his little head, and the baby began to giggle happily. “I cant do much in this form, but I’ll do whatever I can to help you make the right choice when the time comes…take care of your mother for me…I love you both so much”.

A/N: We’re starting a NEW series!

What did you think? Pay attention to that prophecy, any ideas on what it’s talking about?

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday, Shana! 🎉🎉🌻🌻

Untamed or Naruto?

When Naruto is born, the nine tailed fox is pulled from Kushina along with her and it's only because of Minato's quick application of a seal that keeps disaster from becoming even worse.

Dozens of buildings and hundreds of lives are lost in the devestation. Still, it could have been a far worse attack, if Naruto had not been a suitable host for the demon.

It's a risk, one that Kushina screams at him for taking. The seal might not hold. Babies are not meant to be containers. It could kill their daughter, and sure, the nine tail might die along with her, but at what cost?

The seal holds. Naruto's strength holds.

The ordeal nearly kills Kushina and weakens her enough that she'll never again be an active duty ninja.

Minato sleeps at his office after that. Kushina doesn't even let him hold her until she's six months old and it's not until Naruto is almost two that she lets him move back into their home.

Still. Things aren't quite the same between them after that, when Kushina saw how he quick he was to sacrifice his daughter for the village.

Practically, she understands.

But no one has ever accused Kushina of being practical.

~

A container forced to spend their whole life fighting the fox will be weak. There's nothing for it - all their energy and chakra and time is spent subduing the fox, consciously or subconsciously.

Her daughter has been sabotaged from her first breath, made a target and given no way to defend herself.

"You want me to marry your daughter?" Kakashi squeaks, wondering if this is some new cruel prank she's playing on him. "She's a baby!"

But Kushina is serious. She's serious a lot these days, but at his question she almost smiles. "Not now. In about twenty years."

"Why," he starts, and then doesn't know how to continue.

"You're selfish," she says and his shoulders hunch. "Naruto won't be able to protect herself when people discover what she is and start coming after her. Minato has seen to that. My identity as the container was a well kept secret. Thanks to the attack, half of Konoha knows what Naruto is, and the other nations will hear of it, and they will come for her."

"I can protect her without marrying her," he insists, looking down at the baby in Kushina's arms. The idea that anyone, never mind him, will marry her someday is ridiculous.

"You're selfish," she repeats. "You'll choose her if she belongs to you."

Kakashi doesn't know what to say to that. He knows why Minato hasn't come home.

He goes to him, and his teacher just shrugs and says, "Don't you want to be my son-in-law, Kakashi?" Then, "Don't worry about it for the next twenty years. A lot can happen between now and then."

Gai hears he's been betrothed - uhg - to the hokage's daughter and congratulates him on an excellent political match and then takes pity on him and takes him to a bar.

It's his first time drinking and he probably shouldn't have let Gai goad him into a drinking contest.

~

Naruto is wary of people.

Some people love her, coo over her being the hokage's daughter and a brave little girl, patting her head and shoving sweets into her hands.

Some people glare at her, hiss about her being a demon who's killed the hokage's real daughter, and slam doors in her face and throw rocks at her back.

"Is it weird having a husband?" Ino asks while they make flower crowns from the days discarded flowers. It's the end to their first week at the academy and her parents are fighting - again - so Naruto had gone home with Ino instead. The Yamanakas are always nice to her.

Her mother doesn't want her to attend the academy, says its a waste of time and dangerous anyway. Her father says that the child of the hokage can't not attend the academy.

Neither of them had asked her what she wanted.

She pauses, thinking. Kakashi greets her and bows to her but he's ANBU, something she's not supposed to know but seems very obvious, so she doesn't really see him outside of when he comes by to talk to her parents sometimes. "No? He's not my husband yet anyway."

She's overheard him a couple times asking her father to find her a different husband, saying that he'll be bodyguard forever if only he doesn't have to marry her.

It hurts that Kakashi thinks she's a demon too. She'd always thought he was really cool and had thought it was nice that she'd have a nice, cool husband when she was older.

But she doesn't think she wants to marry someone who hates her.

~

The Uchihas aren't always nice to her, but Mikoto always is, coming over to her house to talk to her mother and dragging her sons with her, or keeping her door open to Naruto whenever she comes knocking.

Itachi stops coming early on, promoted quickly and no time to tag along to his mother's house visits. Sasuke is there and he scows and pouts but can be efficiently bullied into helping her get into whatever trouble she's decided is most worth her attention that day, so he's pretty all right, for a boy.

Naruto has to pay a lot of really close attention to people, because she never knows if they're going to be nice and mean, and the Uchihas aren't like the Yamanakas. Their reactions differ, so she has to pay attention.

Something is wrong.

Her mother doesn't believe her.

Her father doesn't listen.

She goes to Kakashi out of desperation. She tries to avoid him as much as she can, but he's the one person who might be able to convince her father that something is wrong.

"Ah, Naruto-hime, what can I do for you?" he asks, tone respectful. When she was younger, she liked that nickname. Now she knows that he's mocking her.

"Something is wrong with the Uchiha and you need to get my father to do something about it," she says.

His face is hidden by his stupid mask but she can tell he's frowning. "Why would you-"

She cuts him off, wanting this conversation to be as short as possible. He doesn't believe her either - shocker - but he agrees to look into because it's the quickest way to end the conversation.

Danzo is quietly, secretly, executed for treason. Madara Uchiha is listed as an active S class missing Konoha nin.

There are lots of talks about what, exactly, to do about the Uchihas, on how to handle their almost betrayal. Considering the outside manipulation, her father is inclined to ignore it, but something has to be done. Symbolically, if nothing else.

"If they feel excluded, then do something to make them feel included," Naruto says, nine years old and exhausted from the years of tension between the Uchihas and - well, everyone. Sasuke is so worried about his reputation that it takes ages to get him to do anything fun. It's almost quicker to get Shikamaru involved, which is saying something. "Do something no one else can question."

"Itachi or Sasuke?" her father asks, head bent over his paperwork.

She doesn't know what he's talking about. "For what?"

"Which do you prefer?" he asks.

"Sasuke?" she says, because Itachi is always very nice to her, especially after she helped prevent him from becoming a mass murderer, but he's never once helped her prank Iruka-sensei.

He nods and says nothing more and she rolls her eyes and goes to find something to do. Kiba has started training with Akamaru and she bets she can totally derail that without getting yelled at by Tsume.

A week later Sasuke climbs into her window and hisses furiously, "We're getting married?"

Huh.

Well, it looks like Kakashi got what he wanted.

She decided a long time ago she didn't want to marry him, and Sasuke is her friend, so this is fine. It's better.

Sasuke pats her shoulder and doesn't even yell at her when she ruins his shirt with tears.

He's already a better husband than Kakashi could ever be.

~

Minato is dreading today. Enrolling Naruto into the Academy had seemed like the right thing to do seven years ago, because what would people say about a hokage who didn't, but now that it's Graduation Day and he's going to have to deal with the gossip around the Hokage's daughter failing to even become a genin.

Iruka comes to drop off the team assignments and he does a double take when looking through them. "She passed?"

The chunin blinks and then asks, "Who, Hokage-sama? Haruno Sakura? It's rare for a civilian child, but her academic scores are quite high, even if her physical is lacking. She has a lot of potential."

He waves a dismissive hand. "No. My daughter."

The silence turns frigid and when he looks up it's too Iruka outright glaring at him. He's so taken aback that he can't even reprimand him for it. Iruka swallows, visibly forcing his face into less mutinous expression, and says, "Naruto is Top Kunoichi. That's why she's on the same team as Sasuke, who's Rookie of the Year, even though I was hesitant on putting them together when they already work so well together. They could use variety. Sakura is Dead Last, but only because of her physical skills. With the right teacher, she'll shape up quickly."

"Top Kunoichi," he repeats dubiously. "I've seen her test scores."

"Not since I took over her class, apparently," he says, and that tone should get him in trouble, but Minato doesn't care about that now. "Her previous instructor was ... biased. Under fair instruction, she excels."

She can't excel. She's handicapped, and it's his fault, not hers, but that doesn't change what she's capable of. "That's not possible."

Iruka's eyes narrow. "She's passed my tests. Now it's up to her jounin sensei."

Assigning someone with no biases is impossible, but he can at least assign someone who's never matched the shinobi art of lying about things they don't care about.

~

Naruto hopes this is a nightmare. Sasuke is pinching the bridge of his nose and not looking at any of them.

"Um," Sakura says hesitantly, "nice to meet you, Tsume-sensei."

She scowls at all of them. "I hope you fail. I have a clan to run! I don't have time to deal with untrained, undisciplined puppies!"

They probably shouldn't have broken into the Inuzuka compound so many times. Tsume has plenty of reasons to make their lives miserable. Or, well, hers and Sasuke's. Sakura's never done anything to her.

At least it's not Kakashi.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

hi! so i started reading when christ and his saints slept (your recommendation, it's great btw) and wow george really dropped the ball on the dance cause what is this going on. like older sister against brother?? why would that work George??

i've seen tb make arguments that the usurpation set women's rights back for centuries, and that seems kind of silly cause the rule of (bloody) mary i still led to the rule of elizabeth i. personally, i think the issue of women's rights has more to do with the lack of queen dowagers and regents which are more common in real history but less in asoiaf who use their power of being mothers of the king to advocate for women, and lay the groundwork (e.g. margaret beaufort, nurbanu sultan, anne of austria, etc)

but, also what are the greens meant to do because if viserys did not settle inheritance for his sons (through heiresses) whilst he lived there's no reason why rhaenyra would do it when she's queen.

for me the greens have three options : take the throne through conquest, ask for a great council (they have vhagar they can make demands), or three literally die.

like as much as i am green supporter if i was rhaenyra and i peacefully ascended to the throne and my half-siblings who are brothers with sons of their own well, they just have to die ottoman style, because allowing them cadet branches undermines her own and in the end you get a house bourbon supplanting house valois situation (something catherine de medici committed war crimes to prevent); you can't let them leave because well 6 dragons outside of targaryen control — you might as well be asking for trouble ; send them to the citadel —well two are married to each other, one has vhagar with clear anger issues, the other has tessarion and can just leave when he wants and, not even talking about the kids with their own dragons.

the truth is the greens can't just sit and do nothing. if viserys doesn't want the trouble of his sons ,and wants rhaenyra has queen then simply don't remarry or do you your duty to the sons that you have sired.

reading christ and when his saints slepts its actually comical how house targaryen don't have mistresses and they began to have them when the dragons are dead

this was a long rant but the greens don't have much options especailly cause their living in an environment where sons inherit before daughters. i would ask how would you make the story more compelling and logical causing reading penman the dance is not.

also, big can of your writing ofcir and akab are holding me down since hotd has been feeding us crap.

Anon I've had this reply sitting in my drafts and should have answered ages ago, so my apologies for the late reply!

I'm so glad you're reading When Christ and His Saints Slept. It's my go-to recommendation for historical fiction about the Anarchy, and Penman in general is just my absolute favorite historical fiction writer. I hope you continue the series that follows Matilda's son, Henry II, his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine, and their brood of children.

You're right that the greens didn't have many options if they wanted to stay alive. The show has downplayed that aspect this season but Alicent's sons and grandsons would always be a challenge to Rhaenyra and Jace's rule. You only need a basic understanding of the world to see that they were in an impossible position. Ultimately, Viserys is the one who destabilized his succession and deserves a lot more blame than the show is willing to give him.

As for the matter of powerful women, queens regnant, and women's rights, irl history is full of powerful queen consorts like Eleanor who exercised power, defended garrisons, negotiated peace, and sometimes, as in Eleanor's case, even rebelled against their own husbands. In the Anarchy, Stephen's wife, Matilda of Boulogne, was a force to be reckoned with, besieging Dover castle and making a treaty for Stephen with the king of Scotland. When he was captured in battle, Matilda raised an army, and when her army captured Empress Matilda's half-brother, Robert of Gloucester, who was one of her biggest supporters, Matilda of Boulogne negotiated a hostage exchange and secured Stephen's release. And this isn't even a Westeros problem because we see politically powerful women who are not queens regnant in-world-- Cersei as regent for her children, Catelyn, who was basically running the war effort before Robb set her aside, and even book!Alicent, who exercised a good deal of power. In fact, somewhat ironically, show!Alicent was well set up to exercise even more power than her book counterpart. It's clear Aegon actually listened to her and valued her counsel, even seeking out her advice and guidance. Having the ear of the king is no small thing, and if she'd done anything other than belittle him she could have ended up as his most trusted advisor. Look how easily Larys moved in! But the show instead had Alicent alienate Aegon and then treated her disempowerment as if it were a function of her gender rather than a result of her inability to provide useful counsel.

So no, a lack of queens regnant is not keeping Westerosi women out of powerful positions, and you're right anon, in that HotD seems to have decided that powerful women didn't exist as consorts, dowagers, and regents even though that's not true irl or in Westeros. As for women's rights, unfortunately having a queen regnant historically has done very little for women as a whole. Royal women tended to align their interests with other royals or nobles rather than with women as a whole, that is, solidarity is formed along class lines more often than it is formed along gendered lines. We see this even in our world today, where companies with women as CEOs in fact tend to hire fewer women in lower management positions. Rhaenyra being denied the throne doesn't mean much for the average Westerosi woman, but civil wars caused by an unstable succession can make everyone's lives demonstrably worse.

[bleedingichorhearts]

“𝐈 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮.”

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Just a small thing I briefly made up.

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: The loss was great. (That’s all I’m spoiling.)

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

“Forth of July(Slowed)” by Krush

TW // Angst, Mention of Death, No Comfort.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐝}

“I will die here.” You suddenly spoke out loud. The wind whistling through the pipes and tall grass as you stand tall; gazing at the setting sun of this world. Your hair flowing gracefully behind your back.

The marine standing behind you shifts in his armor, looking down at you. His eyes behind his helmet searching the back of your smaller frame for any lie in your words. His gauntlet tightly gripping the hilt of his sword in its sheath before releasing as his hearts suddenly constrict at your words.

He doesn’t like how… admitted you say those words. How controlled you say them. He doesn’t like how the words echos through his ears and through his mind the longer he looks at you.

“I will die here.” Your voice repeats, making his fingers twitch. Inching to just pull you closer to him, but he doesn’t. He wants you to continue. He wants to know what makes you think these silent thoughts. He wants to know why you think he wouldn’t protect you before any harm could befall you.

Yet, you don’t continue. You leave it at that. You leave yourself and him behind the more you stare across the rippling plains of the horizon. Something that you have been doing more and more often the more you have time to look at the shivering waves of tall grass decorating this planet hills.

He quietly sighs beneath his helmet. He knows he should have done something more. To be more attentive, but he doesn’t quite know what he should do. He was a son, a man; a warrior of war. He was never taught how to court a human being. How to… love them rather than conquering their homes, to split their bodies into two or even aknowledging them.

All he knows is they are irrelevant; insignificant to what their true duty is. They do not hold anything of worth, but to be serfs and bait underneath the higher command. They make nothing but a meal for nutritious paste.

Though, you? You were no serf. You were no daemon nor Tyranid. You were no bait to be held up above a pit of ravenous daemons. You were something more, something he can’t describe to himself yet.

“How do you know?” He suddenly asks you, his charge this time. His voice rumbling through his chest to push his words out of his mouth. Curious on how you seemingly know where your death may be at as you were no Psyker with the ability to look into the future.

“I can feel it.” You simply respond, leaning slightly when the breeze pushed at you a bit harder. Your hair picking up with the wind when it does. Your hands slightly, almost unnoticeably twitch in front of you. “I can feel how I’m losing myself. Thread by thread.”

Were you… were you being tempted by daemons mentality? Throne, he can’t have that. He doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want to have to murder you with his own hands. To have your limp corpse in his hands; bleeding down his armor. He doesn’t like the thought of it, he loathes it. Another hatred to have against the chaos gods for.

He sighs again, he’s just… he’s just scared of losing you. Something he would never admit to you or anyone for that matter, but he recognizes the feeling. He recognizes what the people call “fear” was. He understands it as he doesn’t want to lose you, but why? Why does he fear losing you? He doesn’t really know himself, and perhaps he’ll never know, but what he does know is that he’ll not let you fall just because of these…feelings.

“You shall not fall under my eyes.” He speaks what he has said the first time he had met you. His body shifting forward as his armor makes a soft hum. “I will not allow it.”

“You cannot prevent death, son of the Emperor.” You immediately state to him, prepared for his words. Your fingers tightening around your own hands.

“And you nor death cannot prevent me from doing my duty.” He counters you, standing right next to the side of you. His body towering over you as he looks down at you.

“And what exactly is your duty?” You growl, finally looking up with him with a glare. “It’s certainly isn’t about protecting me or the people.”

Oh, he knows what you are doing. You want him to admit that he is to serve the Emperors will, that he will fight and die for his will and let death be his duty. Yet he doesn’t care for it right now. He wants to care for something, someone else. He wants to care for you.

Releasing his hand from the hilt of his sword. The Space Marine suddenly announces you by your full name, the finger of his gauntlet gently lifting up your chin to him as he tilts his head down at you.

“Death is my duty.” He admits, watching how you scoff up at him. “But so are you. If I haven’t been summoned here I wouldn’t have found you.”

Now, it’s was your turn to scramble your brain for any sense of his words. Your eyebrows pinching together in confusion as you try and search for his eyes beneath his helmet. A clear scent of confusion washing over you.

“I wouldn’t have protected you. I wouldn’t have grown to love a simple human like you.” He continues, lightly thumbing your jawline as you still look up at him in confusion before it clicks. Your eyes going wide at his admission.

“You don’t.” You try and deny him, shaking your head, but you still lean into his gauntlet. Your hands wrapping around it. Looking up at him with the hope he has returned to you.

“Truly, I do.” He answers honestly, and if he’ll have to say it again? He will without hesitation. He’ll say it again and again until you’ll have to do something to shut him up.

You don’t say anything back to him as you nuzzle into his gauntlet some more, inhaling his comforting scent from underneath. Trusting him not to just push you away like you would expect him to, like what you expect yourself to do, but you don’t. You relish in the fact that he didn’t put you down just because you were inferior to him and his brethren.

“I love you, my love.” He says those precious words to you and you can’t help but start to cry at them. His gauntlet starting to fade on you along with the rest of his body. Little “No, no, no” leaving your lips the more he starts to fade into the background. Your own warm tears staining your cheeks.

“My love, no, wait, please.” You cry and beg out to your once lover. Trying to keep him from fading from you once more. To hear and embrace him once more, but atlas. He eventually walks with the breeze. The wind stilling blowing through the tall grass and pipes as he leaves you with just his empty helmet once again.

“I will always love you.”