#i try but she's 16 what do you expect
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texting my younger sister like i'm texting my crush. hi how are you please respond. wait we're talking i need to say stuff to prolong the conversation. oh we're talking about smth i couldn't care less about but i care about you so i'll care then. i love you and i can't tell you that but i'm here and i'm cherishing every moment i spend talking to you. even if you don't think twice of this.
#d.tag#d.life#i love my sister i'd take a bullet for her#but we never talk#i try but she's 16 what do you expect#i've been away for half of her life#i'm closer to a cousin than a sister and it breaks my heart#so yes bby we'll talk about makeup palettes#i'll spend hours looking at them for you if you give me the slightest inclination you want me to#please notice how hard i'm trying and love me back#please don't let me become estranged#didn't think i'd be getting emotional over my sister at 3pm on a random thursday#leaving her to grow up without me is my only regret in life
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MADOKA - “I’m thinking I’ll order a beef udon bowl, since Sayaka-chan told me that they make those really good here. What about you, Homura-chan?”
CONSERVATION OF ENERGY - Food needs can be met with an expenditure of 1.23% of total magic. Proceed?
GRIEF SYNDROME [Trivial: Success] - MAGICAL GIRLS THAT IGNORE FOOD ARE OFTEN MORE PRONE TO GRIEF ACCUMULATION. MY ARMS WILL ALWAYS BE WAITING FOR YOU, HOMURA, BUT IT’S IMPORTANT TO BE HAPPY UNTIL THAT DAY. BESIDES, MADOKA WANTS TO EAT WITH YOU. DISAPPOINTING HER WILL FILL YOUR SOUL GEM WITH A HALF A GRIEF SEED WORTH OF DESPAIR.
TEA WITH MAMI-SAN [Legendary: Success] - Sayaka says the beef bowl is good? Maybe go for that. She knows Madoka’s tastes better than anyone — and if Madoka likes something, you will certainly like it too.
“I will have the same as you, Madoka.”
“I’m not feeling very hungry.”
[CALL AND RESPONSE - Medium 10] Come up with an order on your own
CALL AND RESPONSE - [Medium: Failure] - You’ve eaten here before, you’re pretty sure. Was it Loop 32… no, Loop 12..? No, wait, it was on the first Friday of Loop 68. No… that’s not right. You’ve never eaten here before. In a stunning display of incompetence, you have taken Madoka on a date to a restaurant that you have never experienced before.
THE ANGEL - It’s okay, Homura-chan! I don’t mind if you haven’t eaten here before. Remember what real me said, Sayaka thinks this place is good! And even if it’s not perfect, that’s okay, just spending time with you makes me happy.
THE CRAVEN MASSES - Sayaka has raised her blade against Madoka 16 times before. You should leave this restaurant and kill her. It would only take-
FALLING SAND [Trivial: Success] - 1528 seconds on average.
CONSERVATION OF ENERGY - It can be cut down to 1243 seconds with an expenditure of 2.7% of total magic pool.
THE CRAVEN MASSES - Exactly. Do it in front of her family and make it bloody. Kyoko would likely try and stop you, but even she isn’t immune to bullets. And if Mami comes for revenge, well, you know the exact words you could say that would destroy her, don’t you?
THE ANGEL - A-Ah, I think that’s a bit of an extreme reaction, Homura-chan!
HUMAN SHELL - Your heart rate is increasing. Stop that. You have absolute control over your flesh. Act like it.
MOE INSTINCT - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHAT ARE WE GOING TO ORDER MADOKA IS GOING TO LAUGH AT US
WITCH’S NIGHT - Is… is this a trap? Walpurgis may be defeated, but you know that the stage witch never truly ceases its show. Perhaps this restaurant is a part of the stage?
MADOKA - “Um, are you okay, Homura-chan?”
MOE INSTINCT - OH GOD SHE HATES US
“I’m going to kill myself.”
“I’m so sorry. Would killing myself make you feel more comfortable?”
Isn’t there anything else you can say?
YOU - Isn’t there anything else you can say?
THE DEVIL - Come on, Homura. It’s high time you do it. Really, this is just another in the long, long chain of failures that make up your life. The only way to fix it is to kill yourself.
CLOCKWORK PRECISION - Target: Located on right ring finger. Target is not moving. Chance to hit: High. Plan: Retrieve pistol. Aim pistol at ring. Pull trigger.
THE ANGEL - Oh my god, please do not do that!
"I am going to kill myself."
"I'm so sorry, I'll kill myself if it makes you feel better."
"I'm so sorry. Should I kill myself?"
There. There has to be better options than this.
YOU - There. There has to be better options than this.
MOE INSTINCT - I CAN’T TAKE IT ANY MORE. THE ONLY RECOURSE IS IMMEDIATE SUICIDE. THAT’S THE ONLY WAY MADOKA WILL LOVE YOU AGAIN.
"I am going to kill myself."
"I'm so sorry, I'll kill myself if it makes you feel better."
"I'm so sorry. Should I kill myself?"
YOU - “I’m going to kill myself.”
MADOKA - Madoka’s face twists, her eyebrows raising slightly in shock. Whatever response she was expecting, it was clearly not this.
GRIEF SYNDROME [Challenging: Success] - IF MADOKA WAS A MAGICAL GIRL, HER SOUL GEM WOULD FILL BY A QUARTER HEARING YOU SPEAK THOSE WORDS. THAT WAS CRUEL, HOMURA.
MOE INSTINCT - WHY DID YOU SAY THAT?
MADOKA - “I’m so sorry, Homura-chan. Please don’t do that. I… I really care about you and so does everyone else.” Madoka’s eyes fill with tears as she speaks. She hugs you.
DAMAGED MORALE -4
CALL AND RESPONSE [Trivial: Success] - Quick, tell her you were making an edgy joke that didn’t land. You’ve gotten away with that before, you’re pretty sure.
SPACE-TIME MASSACRE - Twelve quarter shifts left and two up from your current space-time position, and there’s a Japan that it’s actually illegal to not commit suicide in.
FALLING SAND - You’ve been seated for 5 minutes and 32.5 seconds already and still have not ordered. Mami has requested your presence at her apartment in 3.4 hours from now.
TEA WITH MAMI-SAN - She wants to help you find a hobby. She’s really worried about you, you know.
STRINGS OF FATE - You can feel Madoka’s heart beat in sync with yours as she holds you. Everything will be alright, as long as you follow the beat.
THE ANGEL - Yeah! It’s okay Homura-chan. Just explain what’s been going on and Madoka will understand. And then order something, it’s important to eat a full meal!
YOU - “Ah, sorry Madoka. I was… overwhelmed with choice, and my… brain spit out the first thing it thought. I am not planning on killing myself.”
MADOKA - “Um, I think we should probably talk about this more, Homura-chan….”
CALL AND RESPONSE - Ask her a question to change the topic. It’s worked in three different loops, it should work here.
RATIONALITY COMPLEX [Trival: Success] - Ask her if she wants to try anything else and then order that for yourself. This will accomplish your goal of deciding on what to order, as well as showing Madoka that her desires are important to you.
YOU - “Is there anything else you’d like to try, Madoka? We can share our dishes.”
MADOKA - “Uh, okay Homura-chan. Maybe get some tempura?”
Order 10000 yen worth of tempura
Order 1000 yen worth of tempura
Order 100 yen worth of tempura
YOU - “Excuse me waiter, give me 10000 yen worth of tempura.”
HUMAN SHELL - Calories and magic are just two different types of fuel. Feed me and control me.
THE ANGEL - T-that’s probably too much, Homura-chan. Maybe you can sneak some into your cool shield, though!
MADOKA - Madoka doesn’t say anything, but her eyes do bulge out slightly. She gives you a gentle pat on the shoulder and smiles at you.
HEALED MORALE +1
RATIONALITY COMPLEX - Displays of wealth like this can broadcast value to potential mates. This will increase your value in Madoka’s eyes, furthering along one of your goals.
THE ANGEL - I think you should just focus on enjoying the food, Homura-chan. Take a break, everything is okay.
Thank you.
Why don’t you hate me?
YOU - Why don’t you hate me?
THE ANGEL - Because I care about you, Homura-chan! And besides, you hate yourself far too much already.
Thank you.
THE ANGEL - You’re welcome! Now, please, enjoy your meal with real Madoka. She loves you a lot too, you know.
#disco elysium#pmmm#madoka magica#yellowed pages#this took an unfortunate amount of my day dhdhdh wrote most of this in between running to do pointless chores
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Infinite Rewind
Gojo Satoru x reader
Synopsis: Instead of dying, you are sent 13 years in the past, but this isn't your face. "Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"
Part two: Rewound Infinitely
Word Count: 18.1k
(Warnings: slight yandere, death, murder, inaccurate Tokyo geography, blood, violence, mild gore, obsession, unhealthy relationships, child abuse/neglect, time looping(?), fem!reader) Ageless blogs that try to follow me will be blocked
First, you saw a monster.
It was big and horrible—nasty teeth. You heard screaming. People. Running as fast as they could away from the creatures. Pain.
And then, you saw a bright, clear sky.
The sun was blaring down at you. It was so hot. Wasn't it December? How was the sun out at night?
"Hey, you good?"
A girl is looking at you. Short brown hair. A high schooler, judging by the uniform. How is she wearing all black when the weather is so hot?
When you don't respond, her eyes squint.
"Suguru, are you okay?"
That's not your name; your mouth moves faster than your brain.
"I-I'm fine." That wasn't your voice. It was deeper. More masculine. What the fuck happened to your voice?
The girl gives you another strange look but you're too busy freaking out over your new voice. Your hands are different too. A completely different skin tone, larger.
And then you're fumbling with your pockets, clothes you know you didn't buy. The girl is calling for you again but you're too busy pulling out a fucking flip-phone and looking into the black screen, the only thing you have for a mirror.
Purple eyes stare back. These aren't your eyes. This isn't your nose. This isn't your hair. This isn't your face. You blink. He does too. You open your mouth. So does he. You pinch your cheek. In the reflection, he winces.
Oh, you just fucking bodysnatched someone.
ⴵ
Ten minutes later, you conclude that your name is Geto Suguru, you are a 16-year-old boy, the year is 2006, and you attend a religious academy.
"You're finally acting normally again." The girl-newly discovered as Ieiri- says. "No more weirdness."
You don't blame her, considering you grabbed her by the shoulders, asking ridiculous questions like: what year is it, who am I, why am I here, who are you, am I dead, is this Hell, etc. For a teenage girl, she took your outburst well.
"Sorry," you say and by now you've gotten used to your voice, "it must have been the stress from studying."
She just hums, continuing to walk beside you. Though, Ieiri had a point. You were definitely calmer, and it was mostly because you figured it out.
You were dreaming.
You were lucid dreaming, to be more precise. Your brain was conjuring up a weird setting and you just happened to be placed in another person's body. You heard about this happening before. You were just so freaked out because this was the first time anything like this had happened to you.
An impulsive part of you wants to tell Ieiri that this is just a dream, but you've heard weird things happen after a lucid dreamer tries to break the illusion. It's best if you just let it just play out and see where this goes.
“Excited?”
“Hm?” You ask. And Shoko rolls her eyes.
“For the mission you have this evening. Special grade. Sounds scary.” She says, her sarcasm evident.
Mission? Special grade? You don’t know what those words mean but it sounds like a school field trip. Shoko takes your hesitance as something else.
“Ah,” she says, “so you forgot.”
“I didn’t.” You reply on instinct.
“I expected this from Satoru, not you. You should stop hanging out with him, he’s starting to rub off on you.”
You give a sheepish laugh, and it’s enough to quell her questions.
She leads you into the school, all through the winding halls and through an office door. You couldn’t be more grateful, it’s not like you would have known where to go. It’s a teachers room. Two people are already inside.
“Wait, for once, I’m early?” The boy with sunglasses asks, voice dripping with amusement. He’s leaning dangerously on a chair. You stare at him. You’ve never seen someone with white hair before. It can’t be real.
“He forgot.” Shoko pipes up and the boy cackles.
“That’s hilarious. I’m starting to rub off on you.” Ah, this must be Satoru.
You give a nervous smile. “Haha, yeah.”
The boy stops rocking in the chair. Three pairs of eyes look at you. Your uniform feels itchy.
“Gojo, stop making such a ruckus.” The man, presumably his teacher, gruffs. "You two got the briefing yesterday. Do your job and for the last time do not leave your assistant manager behind again."
Gojo groans, and you delve into more confusion. Before you can say anything, the kid is hopping out of his seat before lazily striding out the door. Shoko and the teacher look at you expectantly.
Oh, you were supposed to follow him.
Not wanting to make a scene, you catch up to Gojo. He's tall, his footsteps are long and wide. But you're tall now too, so it's easy to keep up with him. This new body of yours has a lot of pros.
"Yaga's so annoying," Gojo suddenly says, "constantly nagging us like that. It's not our fault the assistants can't keep up."
What should you say? You clear your throat.
"He just wants what's best for us."
Wrong answer.
"Where'd that come from?" He snorts. How charming. "I know you agree with me. You're just tryna' act like the nicer one, again. It's starting to get a little old."
Is that how 16 year-olds talk? Rude, but also strangely off-putting, like he can see straight through you. Or more accurately, he can see straight through Suguru. How close are these two, anyway?
Why did any of these questions even matter? This is a dream! You need to wake up already.
On the campus grounds, a sleek black car waits outside for you two. Along with a miffed man in a black suit. This must be a very rich school for a field trip to have a chauffeur. Where were you two going again?
Gojo hops in the back, taking one of the window seats. You take the other. In your own body, you would've fit nicely. But Suguru's legs are long, and the spacious car feels cramped. You should've taken the passenger seat. How do tall people live like this?
The ride is quiet. Out the corner of your eye, you catch Satoru type away on his flip phone. A moment later, yours beeps. You still have no idea how to use Suguru's phone or his password, so you ignore his message. Satoru groans.
Quickly, you learn that Satoru has a very low attention span. When looking out the window gets boring, he bugs the chauffeur. When the chauffeur ignores him, he starts bugging you.
"Hey heyyyy," Satoru says, "when this is all over, we should go to that new ice cream place. Like you said, we should."
You look at him. "Uh, sure." You say.
"And you should pay for it, 'cuz you said you owed me last time."
Fine, whatever. "Sure thing."
He grins. You can't see his glasses, and it makes his smile even more unnerving. This kid.
This doesn't feel like a normal field trip at all. Why did you stop in front of some rackety house that looked as though it were about to collapse? You turn back to the only adult in the vicinity, but he's out too. He takes out a lighter and a cigarette. In front of impressionable children, too. Wonderful.
"I'll wait out here." He says, though his tone is uncaring. "Since we're out in the country, there's no need for a veil. Do your best."
Veil? What? Gojo's already going off again and you've already decided to be his chaperone, so you follow. You reluctantly trail behind him. Feet crunch the leaves. The house grows bleaker and bleaker.
"Okay, I have a plan!" Gojo exclaims when he gets through the squeaky door. He's so loud, can't he be quieter? "I check upstairs and you check the ground floor and the basement. Got it?"
Check the house? Were he and Suguru electricians in training or something? That still wouldn't explain why a grown man decided to drop off two teenagers in front of a creepy mansion. And why in God's name did Gojo want to split up?
"I-I don't think that's a good idea," you say, "shouldn't we try to stick together?" Or, better yet, leave.
He clicks his tongue. "Ugh, you're so lame. Not like Suguru at all."
Wait, what did he say? You're about to call out to him when he climbs up the stairs, disappearing from view. Unbelievable.
This kid was starting to get on your nerves. Enough, you were leaving. You could have a nice dream where you met and fell in love with Zendaya, not babysitting some teenager, whilst possessing another person's body. You were going to wait outside with the man and hope your dream finally came to an end.
Except, you couldn't go outside. The door was gone.
It-it was right behind you, right? The entrance was right behind you. You couldn't have gotten turned around so quickly? What the hell happened? Or maybe you had gotten turned around? Considering how distracting that Gojo kid was, you might not have realized it.
You look around the house. Looks like it'd been abandoned for a while. There's dirt on the shelves. Chairs were toppled over and left to rot. The wooden floorboards dangerously creaked beneath you. Just what had happened here?
There's no patio door. No door leading to the outside. At the same time, you hadn't explored everything yet. Each door led to a room. The only door that didn't, led to a basement. And no, you weren't going down there.
When you got back to where you started, you noticed something had changed.
There was a person. Seated right at the base of the stairs?
Gojo? Was he done with urban exploring? Maybe he knew the way out. He stands up, reaching to his full height, then higher, then higher.
Gojo was tall, but this thing was taller. Gojo was human. This thing wasn't.
What the fuck you can only mouth because your voice is stuck in your throat when it takes a shaky step towards you. It's a black husk of a figure, too skinny but too tall and twitching fingers. You don't know how you could've mistaken this for the kid.
Another step. You're running, back into the house, leaping over the fallen shelves and creaky floorboards. It gives chase, and you can hear it groan behind you. It's deep and rumbly and terrifying. It just motivates you to go faster.
It's slower than you. That's good, but it seems to realize this. You can barely celebrate your advantage before something heavy is smashed into your back, sending you toppling to the floor. You and wooden chair crash on the ground.
It hurts.
Everything hurts.
Dreams aren't supposed to hurt. Because this wasn't a dream.
This was real. You were stuck in the year 2006, stuck in another person's body, about to get mauled by a monster.
You were going to die.
You aren't even fighting anymore. How pathetic is that? The shock numbs your body as the thing grows closer and closer, all you can do is reach your hands up, protecting your face.
And then the creature explodes.
An implosion. It's skin and bones twist in a way no one should. There's a shriek, something wrong and high and inhuman before it's gone. Like it never existed in the first place.
After all that, he's still smiling. Like the cat that just caught the mouse.
"I guess we're not pretending anymore, are we?" Gojo asks, stretching his arms. "That's good. That game was starting to get a little boring, anyways. Now, then."
He folds his glasses, tucking it on his uniform. Blue, his eyes are. As blue as a clear sky.
"Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you, and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"
ⴵ
Contrary to your belief, Gojo Satoru is a good listener.
There's never an interruption. Not even once. Every once in a while, he nods, a hand on his chin. It's probably because he can't interrupt. You just keep going on and on. Word vomit.
He only speaks when you pause to catch your breath. "So you are from the year 2017, and you went back in time to body-snatch someone. I had a feeling your technique had something to do with possession."
You look at him warily. "Wait, you knew this entire time?"
You two hadn't moved from your earlier spot. You were still sprawled on the floor, still feeling the adrenaline surge through you. Gojo had transitioned to squatting on the floor. He scratches his neck, still so casual.
"I have good eyes. Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "Anyway, you seem pretty harmless, and as annoying as it is not having Suguru around, I doubt killing you would do any good." Why is he being so nonchalant about murder? Is this kid really sixteen?
"I think we gotta' just wait around until your technique reactivates." Gojo whistles. "2017. That's like a decade away. I wonder what happened for your technique to show up."
You blink, trying to remember the date.
"It was Christmas Eve..." You glance at him. "And then I was here."
He thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I got nothing." Of course.
He sighs, before sprawling on the dirty floor, belly up. You grimace at his antics but choose to keep your mouth shut.
He doesn't seem very worried. At the most, he looks mildly inconvenienced. Why isn't he worried about his friend?
When you ask him, he just snorts.
"Sorry, but you're not that scary. Besides, I don't have to worry about Suguru. He's strong."
Well, that's nice to know, but one other thing still bothers you.
"You speak so casually to me," you mutter, "You know I'm older than you, right? I'm 22."
He laughs. "22? Damn. You're old, man."
"That isn't old!" You argue. "You have no concept of age since you're just a teenager." And why did he assume you were a man? Oh right, you were trapped in a teenage boy’s body. Of course.
"I mean, technically, I'm older than you, right?" Gojo ponders with a grin. "If you're 22 in 2017, that makes you what—11 in 2006?"
You say nothing because you have a feeling that if you continue to argue with him, he'll just drag you down to his insanity.
"Technique, you've said that a couple of times." You look at him. "That's what you call your 'powers', right? Does Geto have one too?"
"Yeah," Gojo says, "but you can't use it. You have zero cursed energy. Honestly, it's at the same level as a plant. A bit lower than regular humans. It's a little impressive, actually." For one second, could he stop being so condescending?
"What's his technique?" You ignore his comments. "Could it be related to how I got here?"
He gives you a look over. "I doubt that, but Suguru's technique is curse manipulation. Uh, you remember that thing you saw earlier." You nod. "Yeah, he can control and absorb them."
He sounds pretty awesome. You look at your hands. Not your hands. Geto's hands. They're paler than yours, and a lot longer. This isn't your body. Your soul can feel it. You can feel the guilt too.
'I'd give it back if I could,' you think, 'I just don't know how.'
Gojo's getting up. He stretches. He was lying on the ground but you can't see a speck of dirt on his uniform.
"Okay, then. No use mopping around." He grins down at you. "Maybe Yaga can do something about you. Let's get you back to jujutsu tech."
You blink up at him. His hand is outstretched, reaching out to you. He's still grinning that insufferable grin but his eyes have slightly melted.
"Okay." You say, barely touching his fingertips. "Let's-"
And then Gojo's gone. And then, you're standing. And then it's cold.
You're wearing a coat; weren't you wearing a uniform before? There's no clear sky. It's nearly dusk.
You were standing on the sidewalk, where people bustled all around you. You fumble through your jackets, putting out a phone. An actual iphone. You flick on the screen.
December 24th, 2017, 7:06.
Holy shit, you were back.
Was it because you touched Gojo? That makes no sense, but how could you explain anything else that happened so far? God. You rake a hand through your hair. Your hand. Your hair. You can't believe how much you missed yourself. It felt so good to be back.
Your mind is spinning, you had no idea what the fuck just happened.
For now, you just wanted to turn your mind off and grab a drink.
You know there was a bar not too far from your location. Along the way, you pass by the bustling town. There's a couple walking side by side, giggling over something you couldn't hear. Right, it's the 24th. You remember your empty bed with no one to share it with, and you cement your desire to drown yourself in alcohol today.
Your self-pitying session is almost how you nearly miss him. His shoulder brushes past you. You're about to apologize when you hear his voice. It's familiar.
It used to be your voice.
It's all there. Black hair, but it's longer this time around. Of course it is, he's had years to grow it out. He's tall, he must've grown since highschool. His broad back is the only thing you see, you're almost afraid to reach out to him.
"Suguru...?"
He halts in his tracks. When he turns around, it's like looking into a fractured past. He looks older, no longer a youthful teenager. You should have paid more attention to his eyes, how scrutinizing they were, how condescending his fake smile was. All that you could think of was that it was actually him.
"Do I know you?" He tilts his head. "Apologies, but my girls and I are quite busy."
You don't notice the two young ladies beside him until Geto points them out. Teenagers, maybe just around the age when you first met him. He was a father now.
You're so swept up by the emotions that you barely notice they've continued walking. You stumble behind, ducking behind the alleyway they went into.
"Wait! Geto!" You call. "Please! We need to talk!" You still needed your answers. You didn't know care how desperate you came off as.
In hindsight, you should have noticed that they looked more annoyed than worried about a stranger chasing them across the street.
The one with the ponytail scoffs. "This one talks an awful lot. How annoying."
Geto sighs. He leaves his daughters, finally standing in front of you. This is what you wanted, right? A chance to talk to him.
Still, you can't help but feel wrongness within you. His smile is off.
"Most monkeys are just that, unfortunately." You don't move. You can't. Not when he places a hand on your skull. "I suppose it'd be humane to put this one out of its misery."
Geto Suguru crushes your skull. And then you die.
ⴵ
Again. You died again.
This is the second time Geto has killed you. Fuck, you should've realized.
"Back again, Greeny?" Gojo asks.
He and Suguru were sitting outside in the grass. Satoru's holding up a few playing cards. You look at Suguru's hands and find yourself doing the same.
Not again.
"What year is it?" You ask warily. "And what did you just call me?"
Gojo grins with teeth. You remember he compared you to a plant before, didn't he? He's so clever with nicknames; someone should give him an award.
"Welcome back to 2006!" Gojo beams. "It's only been a couple of days since you left. And why are you so grumpy? I'm the one who just lost a player."
You weren't grumpy, you were pissed. You figured out what's been going on with you, and it's all because of the asshole you're possessing right now.
The look on his face when he killed you. Like you were nothing more than an animal. A monkey. Now, you feel a lot less guilty about possessing his body.
At least you figured out two things. You know how your technique works. Whenever someone kills you, you are sent back in time to take over their body. But you can go back whenever you touch Gojo, or perhaps just another sorcerer.
Secondly, you have access to Geto's memories.
It didn't happen the first time you died. It must have been because the kill wasn't direct (from Getos curse, rather than himself), but milliseconds after Geto split your skull in two, your brain was overwhelmed by his past, his present, as well as his future.
Geto was set to die on December 24th, 2017. At the hands of his best friend, Gojo Satoru.
Fuck him. Let the bastard die. You didn't give a shit.
You reach over to touch Gojo's arm, ready to leave. He pulls back with a snicker. Ugh, the brat must've figured out your technique, too.
"Stop messing around." You tell him. "I need to go back to my timeline."
"Sure, sure," he says as though speaking to a time traveler is just another Tuesday. "But first, finish the game with me."
"No." You tell him before leaning out even further. He isn't moving away anymore, but you still can't reach him. Fuck, he must've activated his technique.
Despite your annoyance, you decide to keep the future away from Gojo's ears. He doesn't need to know that he'll be the one to kill Suguru. He shouldn't. Not at his age. He's just a kid.
"Just one game! I promise!" He pleads. "Then I'll let you go. Suguru never lets me beat him, I want an easy opponent to boost my ego."
You roll your eyes, but you settle down, picking up the cards. You already know the rules; you have Geto's memories, after all.
It's silent, save for Gojo's humming. When you place down your King of hearts, you ask:
"Hey, is my cursed energy different at all?" You ask.
"Not really." He squints. "Wait, it has grown a little. Aw, Greeny sprouted!"
So, every time you die, your cursed energy increases. That, or your cursed energy, increases every time you time travel. It doesn't matter either way. Does this mean you can use Geto's technique now? It couldn't hurt to try, right?
There's a demon-no, they're called curses you know that now- floating beside you, just a little ways away. Small. Barely fourth grade. You stick your hand out, calling out Geto's power. There's a pull, a rush of energy.
A blue ball drops into your hand.
"Holy shit." Gojo leans forward. "So you can use his techniques." Surprisingly, there's no wariness in his voice. Just awe.
"Yeah." You breathe before glancing up at him. "Shouldn't you be focused on your cards?"
He shrugs, tossing the cards away. "What cards?"
You sigh before staring at the ball. Well, you captured the curse. All that's left to do is swallow it, right? You can do that. You open your mouth. Gojo is still staring. You scowl.
"Look away."
He rolls his eyes. "It's not like I haven't seen you do this before. Well, not you, the guy that you bodysnatched."
Ass, you keep that in your head as you hold your breath. You swallow the ball down.
Instantly, you choke.
It's horrible. Like a rotten carcass on the highway, oozing blood and oil and pus. You start dry-heaving, suffocating, spit dribbles down your chin. Nothing comes out. You've already absorbed it. The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. Like swallowing a rag that was used to wipe up vomit and shit. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested.
"Is it really that bad?" Gojo observes you. "That guy swallows them down, no problem."
Because Suguru was used to this taste. He was used to the responsibility. The hoarding mass of distraught absorbing a curse comes with. It was a disgusting art. Something he'd perfected to mask for years. Until he couldn't take it anymore.
Fuck, you might have lost your mind, too, if you kept having to eat this. To protect people who were happy you failed.
You snapped out of it. Suguru's memories were affecting your own. That's probably a sign that you need to get out of here. No way would you be sympathizing with someone so monstrous.
"Hopefully, I never do that again." You slowly recover, wiping your spit away with your hand. You lean back on your hands, exhausted.
"Something I've always wondered." You call out to Gojo. "What did Suguru ever think about someone possessing his body."
Gojo laughed. "Funny thing. He never knew."
"What?" You look at him. "No gaps in his memory? Nothing?"
"Nope," Gojo said, "he remembered what happened in the house, but he thinks he did everything. And then he said something weird."
You perk up at that. "What did he say?"
Gojo tilts his head. Then, he shrugs.
"I forgot." Typical.
You pinch your nose bridge. "So, did you tell anyone else about...this?" You gesture to yourself.
"Wait, you're supposed to be a secret?" You look at him in alarm. "In my defense, I didn't know, but I haven't gotten the chance to tell anyone. After the mission, Suguru and I went to the arcade, and then I kinda' forgot about it."
Well, at least Gojo's arrogance works in your favor sometimes. You can't let anyone know, especially anyone connected to the higher-ups. From Geto's memories, you know they don't like anything new. It's best to stay under their radar.
"Good, well, from now on, we're keeping it a secret. Got it?"
"What are you two keeping a secret?" A new voice pops up. You jump.
You know him—at least from Geto's memories. Haibara beams at you. He looks so alive in the sunlight, smiling and with bright eyes.
He'll be dead within a year or so.
Gojo takes advantage of your shock. "The bodysnatcher wants me to promise that I won't tell anyone that a curse-user is possessing Suguru's body."
"What the hell? You just promised that you wouldn't tell anyone!"
"Uh, technically, I didn't promise anything yet." Gojo retaliates. "But okay, fiiiiine. I won't tell anyone....except for Haibara." You groan.
"What's going on?" Haibara's smile fades. "Wait, Gojo, is this not Geto? Is this person actually a curse-user!?"
"I'm not a curse-user." You correct. "I'm not a sorcerer either, for the record."
"You just used a curse technique to travel back in time to take over someone's body." Gojo enunciates. "Sounds like a sorcerer to me."
"Wait, you're a time-traveler, Mr. Not-Geto?" Haibara asks and you are genuinely impressed he's able to keep up.
"The name’s Greeny, Haibara." Gojo supplements. Haibara nods, still a bit unsure.
"So...do we fight Greeny?"
"It's not my name." You get ignored.
"Nah, it's all good. Greeny's harmless. Just a weakling, don’t worry about it." Rude, but you don’t think you’d want Gojo to take you as much of a threat, not after knowing what he can do.
"Oh, okay!" Haibara instantly relaxes. The kid's really trusting, huh?
"Okay, fine, but no one else can know, got it, Gojo?" This promise doesn't matter. It's not like you're planning on returning to the past anytime soon. As soon as you return to the present, you are leaving Tokyo and escaping the night parade of 100 demons. Fuck that. You don't want to die again.
He waves you off. "Yeah, yeah."
He's so insufferable. You don't know who's worse: the genocidal maniac or this brat.
"Give me your hand. I want to go home."
Haibara looks confused. "Wait, why does Greeny need your hand?"
"It's how the curse technique works," Gojo explains. "Greeny gets sent back in time, and then my true-love's touch sends him careening forward into the future." You frown at his comment, but he turns to you before you can say anything.
"Which reminds me, Greeny: ever figure out how your technique works?"
No way are you telling a kid that their best friend killed you....twice. Instead, you just shrug.
"Haven't figured it out yet."
Gojo stares at you. "Huh." He responds. "Well, if you ever figure it out, lemme' know."
Sure you will. You hold up your hand. Gojo, finally holds his own up. Out of the corner of your eye, Haibara waves. And then you're back in your own body, on December 24th, 2017, 7:06 pm.
You waste no time. You push at the crowd, squeezing through the hoards of people. You need to get out. You need to leave before the death parade starts, before you're trapped in that terrifying cycle of death again.
You need to leave.
Exorcised. Ingested.
No no no. Shut up. This wasn't you. This was Geto's memories.
Exorcised. Ingested.
You need to leave.
Exorcised. Ingested.
You need to survive.
The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows.
You stop, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. People glare, cursing as they move around you. They don't know this place will be a bloodbath in a matter of minutes. They'd all die. But you could stop it.
If only if you hadn't accessed Geto's memories. If only if you hadn't eaten that damn curse. If only if you hadn't sympathized with a murderer. Maybe you'd have the courage to escape your future.
But you'd felt that taste. Horrible. If you eat enough, you could go insane. If you were lonely enough, that would do it too.
The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. No one except for you.
At 8:06 the screams start. The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more.
ⴵ
For once, when you open your eyes, Gojo isn’t there with you.
You’re still on the campus of Jujutsu tech. Suguru was just about to grab his soda from the vending machine. You finish his job. The can feels cold. It feels refreshing on your tongue. It’s a momentary distraction to the fact that you have no clue what you’re doing.
You understand your cursed technique, but you still struggle with the application. Fuck, what did you do? You were utterly fucked. You’re playing a dangerous game. If you died- if Geto died- here, what would even happen?
The worst part is that you can’t even think of the hypothetical because there’s no other choice. You needed to do this. To not only save the people in Tokyo from the Night Parade, but to also save Geto Suguru. The man who has killed you three times now.
Geto’s dissent starts to worsen at Riko Amanai’s death. If you could prevent that from happening, you could probably change history. But Geto’s true fracture begins with the curses themselves. They were rotting him from the inside.
You grimace, but you have to do it. You have to eat every single curse that Geto couldn’t swallow down himself.
One was coming up. In less than an hour, Yaga will call you and Gojo for a mission. It’ll be a special-grade grave-type curse. Dispatching it will be simple, but Geto would be the one to exorcise it, ingesting the screams of all that the curse devoured. You needed to prepare yourself for that.
Maybe you should save some of this soda to wash the taste off later.
“Geto!” Someone cheers, you jump, but Haibara’s already poking his head around the wall. He grins.
“Hey! Oh, you’re not Geto, aren’t you?” He tilts his head. “Greeny?”
“Keep your voice down,” you whisper, “wait, you can recognize me?”
He nods, after checking to make sure no one’s around, he says, “yeah, your eyes are different? It’s hard to explain.” He tells you.
Huh. Interesting.
“You’ve been gone a while.” Haibara beams. “It’s been a few weeks. I’m glad you’re back, Gojo was starting to get cranky.”
It’s probably because he had no one to mess with. Poor him. He has all your sympathies. Ass.
“I’m glad to return as his punching back.” You mutter.
Haibara shyly shuffles his feet.
“So, are you really from the future?” He asks. “Was Gojo telling the truth?”
You nod. “Haibara, you haven’t told anyone, right?”
“Of course not!” He instantly says. “Not a soul. Not even Nanami, and I tell him everything! Your secret’s safe with me.”
“And Gojo, too! I know he doesn’t look very trustworthy, but me and him have kept it under wraps.”
Reluctantly, you can’t help but agree with the kid. Gojo is annoying, but so far, he hasn’t done anything super harmful.
“So anyway, Greeny.” He clears his throat. “Considering you’re from the future and all. Would you mind telling me what my future will be like?”
You blink at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “Nothing much! I just wanna know what I’ll be doing in 2017. Will I finally be a grade 1 sorcerer?”
You think of Geto’s final memories of Haibara. A child burying another child.
“Sorry,” you lie through your teeth, “but I didn’t know you in my future. Again, I’m not really a sorcerer.”
Haibara nods, disappointed but still very excitable. He asks you about other things about the future, and you try to answer to the best of your ability, but you can’t shake off his dead glass eyes, staring at you from the morgue.
“Another thing, we should have a code word.” Haibara exclaims.
You blink. “A code word?”
“If we ever meet in the future,” he explains, “y’know, in 'Groundhog’s day', he has to keep explaining what’s happening repeatedly? In order to prevent that, we should have a secret word between eachother so I instantly know who you are.”
Not the same exact situation, but it sounds like exactly something a child would come up with. You indulge him anyway.
“Okay, what did you have in mind?”
“Well, it can’t be anything too crazy, or we might attract unwanted attention.” Haibara puts a hand on his chin in serious thought. You smile.
“Got it! If you ever see me, just yell ‘brocolli head’ really really loudly. Then I’ll know.” Haibara chirps.
“Wait, why broccoli head?”
“Because broccoli heads are green!” Haibara chirps happily.
You’re starting to learn it’s best not to question his logic.
You nod, very amused. “Sure thing, Haibara.”
Someone calls out his name. He jumps before he waves to you. You watch as he joins with Nanami. They talk about something you can’t hear. Haibara laughs and you decide it would be a shame if his laugh was lost to death.
Gojo finds you eventually. You can’t hide from him forever. You were walking into the school when he caught up with you. He’d ran there. His breath was slightly ragged.
“Greeny, couldn’t get enough last time, huh?” You shoot him a look.
“What are you talking about? Doesn’t matter, we need to go, the missions coming up.”
Gojo’s smile dips ever so slightly. “How’d you know about that?”
It’s probably not a good idea to tell the guy's best friend that you’re possessing that you’ve unlocked his memories.
“Haibara told me.”
“Ah,” He replies, “let’s go then.”
The car ride is different this time around. Less tension. You aren’t as confused. Gojo is seated quietly beside you, watching the scenery go by. The assistant is too preoccupied with belting the radio to notice Gojo's words.
“Figured it out yet?” He asks. “Your technique.”
He's persistent about that answer, isn't he? You're sure the only reason Gojo cooperates with you is because he thinks you're inhabiting Suguru's on accident. How would he react if he knew you were doing it intentionally? It's best not to get on the strongests’ bad side.
“Oh, not really, but I think it’s random. I can’t seem to find a set pattern. Maybe Suguru calls out to me, somehow?”
“Maybe.” Gojo replies. His time is flat. Anxiety flips through your stomach.
“You’re different this time around,” Gojo says.
“Am I?” You ask. “I guess I’m just more determined today.”
He gives you a look over. "Oh yeah? What for?"
"The curse. I'll exorcise it, today."
You don't know how you wanted Gojo to react to that, but you're still disappointed when he turns back to the window.
"Do whatever, Greeny."
In the end, you do swallow the curse. You manage to hold your gags in this time.
It's worse than before. It makes sense. This curse was first-grade. Stronger. In terms of taste, it was like curdled blood and mold. You were so grateful for that soda.
Gojo only watches with a tilted head.
"You're getting better at that."
You give a weak grin.
"Practice makes perfect," you reply, "do you think I'll get strong enough to absorb a special grade soon?"
He doesn't like your question. You can see it in his stiff expression.
"Maybe. Why do you want to swallow up curses, anyway? Last time you were here, you were practically begging to go back."
His response wasn't exactly hostile but far from his usual playful attitude. You knew you'd have to confront this eventually. Despite how nonchalant he acted, it's clear Satrou doesn't enjoy watching someone prance around in his friend's body like this. If he starts to dislike you, it could rupture your entire plan. You need his cooperation, more than anything, to save Suguru.
A little bit of the truth. Just a bit. It can't hurt, can it?
"Curses taste horrible," you say, looking at the ground. You can still taste the remnants of it, "it's the worst thing in the world. I can't even explain how wrong it feels to eat one. I thought...while I'm in his body...I could maybe help Suguru a little. I could ingest the curses in his stead, so that way, he still gets to absorb it." But it'll lessen the trauma it has on his mental state.
You can't see how Gojo feels about that. Those glasses of his cover everything. But you know he's staring at you. The six eyes are taking you apart, observing you whole.
"Did you know Suguru in the future?" He asks.
"I didn't." The man that killed you. The man that will keep killing you. And you'd forgive him each time.
Another beat of silence.
Finally, he just sighs. "You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?"
You give a sheepish laugh.
"That isn't a compliment, by the way. You're just really reckless. And maybe stupid, Greeny." His tone isn't mean.
"My name still isn't Greeny." You tell him.
"Oh yeah, what's your name, then?" He's reverted back to that teasing lilt, and it almost makes you relax if you don't note the curiosity underneath.
So far, you've been lax giving away information regarding the future, but you don't think you should continue that. What if you're too careless and the future changes in a way you didn't intend? A name, personal information, that could be way too dangerous.
"Actually, just call me Greeny. I like that name a lot better."
"You complained about it all the time, though?" Gojo argues.
"It's starting to grow on me." You grin. "Grow? Get it, because you compared me to a plant and-"
"Stop stop, you really are an old man." Gojo groans. You just grin wider. Then, you grimace.
“I can still taste it.” You complain. “I’d kill for a cigarette right now.”
“I caught our assistant manager smoking a while back,” Satoru suggests. “Maybe you could go and beg him for one.”
You toss him a look. “Suguru doesn’t smoke, and I’m not giving a teenager a nicotine addiction.” You have found lighters inside Suguru’s pockets, but you have a feeling it isn’t for his own cravings.
"Hey, could you do me a favor?"
He gives a wordless hum.
"Maybe after this, could you take Suguru out to a cafe'? I can taste the aftertaste of the curse." You shudder. "Just get him something to wash it down."
Also, Suguru couldn't go back to his dorm after this. Suguru dissented because of his fractured relationship with everyone, not just with Satoru. You'd try to bridge the gap between him and his peers as much as you can. You go through Suguru's flip phone, asking Shoko if she wants to join the two.
When you're done with that, you snap the phone closed.
"Okay, I'm done here. You two have fun, okay?" You raise your hand.
Gojo just huffs, amused. "Sure sure. By the way, someone wanted to thank you."
You blink at that. "What?"
He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it."
He gives you a high-five, and then you're back in 2017 in your own body.
Temporarily. So far you figured out that you get sent back an hour before the night parade happens. 8:06. Considering you have a couple more minutes to kill before you’re killed, you reach into your pocket for that cigarette you’ve been craving. You pick the first out of the box, cherry burns just out of corner of your eye.
You notice things now. The children giggled to their parents. Old couples gingerly held hands with sweet smiles. You'd save them, but first, you need to save Suguru.
And do really do that, you'd have to save Riko.
Easier said than done. You could go back in time, but you can't really control when to go back in time. It's been random, but your trips are typically two days away from each other. You can work with that.
But in order to get to Riko's death, you'd have to die...a lot. Absorbing curses made Suguru lose his mind, but how well would you fare with dying over and over again?
"Hungry?"
Someone looms over you. A woman. She's pretty, with short hair and bangs. In her hand, she holds a bag of chips.
"The vending machine gave me an extra." She gives a laugh. She kind of sounds like you. "Would you like one?"
"Oh." You take it. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it." She trots off into the crowd. You watch her.
A stranger's act of kindness. She didn't even know what would happen to her soon. You grip the bag, it crinkles in your grasp.
It didn't matter how well you'd fare with dying over and over again. You'd get over it. So many innocent people depended on you. You can't just abandon them like this.
You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right? It's aggravating how accurate he is, honestly.
The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru.
ⴵ
It takes a few cycles to finally reach the day Amanai Riko is assassinated. Whenever you deem yourself too early, you often accompany Gojo on a mission and exorcise a special-grade curse. Your overall plan is working, bit by bit. Each time you return, Suguru's memories swarm you. Each curse he remembers as less painful.
It's why you get worried when you get there a little too late.
"Something wrong?" Riko asks.
You've stopped in the middle of the hallway, and of course, they're looking at you strangely. You know this place. Tengen's barrier is just an elevator ride away. Suguru, Riko, and Miss Kuroi were all almost there.
Fushiguro Toji has already arrived.
In the first timeline, Geto leads the girls all the way down to Tengen's barrier. He puts his trust in Gojo. Of course, he would. They're the strongest. And in the end, Gojo does kill Toji.
But the kill comes too late. Riko still dies, and the fracturing happens.
You thought you'd have more time. If you had arrived a bit earlier, you could have fought with Gojo, and the chances of defeating Toji would have significantly increased.
What do you do?
"What's the matter?" Miss Kuroi asks. She's supposed to die today, too.
"Sorry, ladies." You smile. "But I need to go back for him."
You don't answer their calls, running back up the hallway. The sun's bright, shimmering beautifully in the sky.
It contradicts the blood dripping all over the stone floor.
Gojo's lifeless body is draped across the rubble. It's a horrifying sight. Eyes that were once like the sky are just this empty blue. A dead sea. He isn't breathing. You know, if you touched his wrist, you wouldn't feel a heartbeat.
"Hate to break it to ya', but the Gojo kid's dead." Toji's right behind you. You can feel him grinning.
You know Gojo isn't dead. At least, he won't be dead for a while, but seeing the boy who used to tease you, annoy the shit out of you, laugh at you, be so....it made you freeze. Falter.
You were wasting time.
"Sorceror killer." You say after a minute. You almost can't bring yourself to turn, to look at him. The man who kills Gojo. The man who could've killed Suguru, but chose not to. "You certainly live up to your name."
Toji's grin widens. The only man in the world with zero cursed energy. It'd be awe-inspiring if it weren't so terrifying.
It's funny. You weren't afraid of dying, not anymore. You were afraid of failing. Failing when you were so close, when victory was just a blink away.
"The flyheads." You mention to the swarms of curses all around you. "That's really smart." It gives you an idea or two.
You have Suguru's memories, but they aren't always concrete. You just have snippets. A general idea of what happened within a certain event. It makes sense. Humans can't remember everything.
But regarding the memories of Suguru and Fushiguro, everything is crystal clear. It's almost like you were there when it happened.
It also means that you know Suguru, at this current level, won't be able to defeat Fushiguro.
But Suguru doesn't need to beat the sorcerer killer; he just needs to hold him off.
Currently, Suguru's body contains 368 curses: 3 special grades, 24 grade ones, 33 grade twos, 103 grade threes, and 205 fourth grades.
You release all 368 of them.
In another timeline, these curses would look to you as something to devour. Today, these curses have a new target.
It won't stop Fushiguro. You're not dumb enough to think that. But it should give you time. Hopefully, it'll be enough time.
Your knees hurt when you collapse next to the corpse. Gojo's so beautiful, even when he's dead.
"Gojo." You shake him. Nothing happens. "You need to wake up. Gojo."
Nothing happens. You don't know what caused Gojo to become the strongest, Suguru wasn't there. For once, you are blind to the past.
"Riko needs you. Wake up. You-you need to go and save her and Miss Kuroi."
His body's so cold, and you know he's dead because when you touch his skin, you don't wake up in the present. You push against his body, and he falls limply right back to place. You're sure this sight will haunt you for the rest of your life.
"Satoru." You beg. "It's Greeny. Please, please, please wake up."
Nothing happens.
Everything happens.
The brightest blue you've ever seen. It's heavenly. A glow that warms and chills your skin. It takes a while for you to see again. When you do, Satoru is standing.
Somehow, his eyes are even brighter. You don't think you're looking at a teenage boy anymore.
You're sitting in front of God.
"Greeny." he states, voice flat. "You're late."
You manage to smile.
"Sorry."
You’ve seen Satoru fight before. He’s always calm, body relaxed as he practically floats in the air. Those fights differed from Suguru’s memories—post Satoru’s awakening. There’s always this twinge of desperation. An aftertaste of bloodlust.
But seeing it for yourself is something else entirely. Even with Suguru’s heightened senses, you still can’t follow him. He’s barely a mirage. One milisecond you can see a blue flash, the next you see nothing.
It's barely a fight. Not this time around. Fushiguro is completely unmatched. There's a flash of purple. And then, it's over.
Fushiguro is in shambles. You didn't realize he was human until he started to bleed and shatter. Parentage over labor. It's sobering, in a way.
Satoru's mouth moves. You're too far away to hear anything. They stand there for a few more seconds until Fushiguro slumps. Then, he falls.
You wonder when you got so desensitized to death.
Gojo stands there. You should let him compress, but the clock is ticking. You need to do one more thing before you can let Suguru go.
"You need to go." You say when you're close to him. He doesn't acknowledge you. "Riko's about to enter Tengen's barrier."
He looks at you right then. His eyes. They're so bright, but they're strangely lifeless. Like he can't process you, your words.
"I can see you now," he says, "it was so foggy before, but now, you're crystal clear."
Six eyes look at you. You don't think you're hiding behind Suguru's face anymore.
You clear your throat.
"Gojo." You remind him. "Riko. You need to stop her."
He blinks back into focus, rising from his high.
"Oh," he says after a moment, "right."
You stop him before he can walk any further. You hold out your hand.
"You and Suguru."
For the first time in a while, Gojo hesitates to send you back. You wait a couple seconds longer.
"Yeah," he finally says.
His skin still feels cold.
ⴵ
This death is a lot more painful than the others.
The curse that's holding you is more intelligent than its predecessors. It keeps you alive, tearing at your skin, feasting on your flesh. Blood is everywhere. You scream until it rips out your vocal cords. It's almost a mercy to just die.
You forgive Suguru.
ⴵ
Time skips a lot faster now.
You stand in 2006, four months after the death of Fushiguro Toji. It takes a second for Geto's memories to kick in. What you see makes you nearly cry in relief.
Gojo and Geto made it in time. You can still remember the tears spilling down Riko's cheeks, the smile on her face when Geto asked her if she wanted to go back. They were safe. They were home, with each other.
You did it. You actually managed to pull it off.
But you can't celebrate, not yet. From what you can gather from Suguru's memories, Geto defects after four years. You've just held off the eventual.
It's nearly the middle of December. The air feels a bit chillier. You stay on that bench where Suguru once occupied. He was finishing his lunch. Usually, he'd eat with Satoru, but Satoru wasn't on campus these days.
Right, you weren't finished with your work, yet. There was still one other issue. Suguru went on missions alone these days. Swallowing curses, letting them fester and rot in his body. It's isolating and grueling work. You might have been able to help him with the absorption, but your aide won't be enough to prevent his eventual downfall.
You'll have to deal with his natural isolation. To do that, Suguru will have to make friends with people who aren't Satoru.
Suguru does have friends, but he's the closest to Satoru. Considering Satoru is getting busier each passing day, Suguru needs to broaden his horizons a bit.
It's a good thing this school is filled with such colorful characters.
Haibara and Nanami were sitting in the back of the school. From Geto's memories, their dynamic was interesting. Haibara was definitely more outgoing than the two, but Nanami seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. They looked out for each other, in that way.
Ah, Shoko was there, too. You haven't seen her since your first day. Her hair's grown longer. It lightly brushes her shoulders now. The cigarette in her hand burns a cherry red.
Your reaction is rooted in Suguru's instinct than anything on your part. You reach out, taking the cigarette and stomping on the embers.
"You shouldn't smoke in front of kids." You tell her, hoping she didn't read too much into your action.
Shoko scoffs, but to your satisfaction, she doesn't take out another one.
"We're just one year below you." Nanami retaliates, but he looks more at ease now that the cigarette's out.
"Did you finish lunch already, Geto?" Haibara asks kindly, then he takes a closer look. "Greeny?"
You suck air through your teeth, giving Haibara a scathing look. Instead of looking exasperated, Nanami looks confused.
"What's Greeny?" Nanami asks, and Haibara weakly laughs.
"It's-uh-my new nickname for the tree that's growing over there!" He wildly points to something just behind you. "'Cuz it's so...green!"
"Of course." You note the hint of affection laced within his tone.
"When'd you get back?" Haibara recovers with eagerness.
"Recently." You grin. "Nice to see you again."
"You saw him this morning," Nanami interjects, and you shrug. When he frowns, you know you pulled off a perfect Suguru impression.
Suguru melds into the conversation perfectly. Haibara says something funny, Shoko and Suguru agree, Nanami disagrees. It's a lovely little cycle that ends when Nanami grumbles and picks himself up to go. Shoko starts to follow suit when you stop her.
"Your hair's nice." You tell her.
She hums, grabbing a strand to study it. You can see hints of dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. She looked livelier when you first met her. Curses have been popping up left and right since Fushiguro's death. Everyone is overworked, but Shoko looks like she's getting the brunt of it. She's one of the only people who can use RCT on others, and there aren't many healers on her level. All of the strongests share one thing in common it seems.
"Pretty soon, it'll be longer than yours," Shoko replies. You smile in response.
"Where are you going?" You ask.
"Dorm," she replies, "I'm behind on paperwork."
You had a feeling she always was. You gave a look of sympathy, but misery loves company.
"I have some work too," You 'remember' the piles of papers lodged on Suguru's desk, "Maybe we can do it together later. The cafe right next to campus? It'll be my treat."
She looks at Suguru. Her eyes are a pretty color.
"Sure." She shrugs. "see you then."
You feel your heart thump twice in your chest and decide that your work here is done.
Haibara stares at Shoko's disappearing back. The forehead flick comes from both you and Suguru.
"That hurt." Haibara whines.
Good, you inwardly think.
"Sorry." You tell him. He rubs his head, and you wonder if this is how kicking a puppy feels like.
Luckily for you, Haibara recovers quickly.
"You've been gone for a while." Haibara tilts his head. "What happened?"
You can't exactly control your technique, it's more like it has a mind of its own, placing you exactly where you need to be placed. Instead of answering, you sigh, leaning against the wall.
"Timeline gimmicks." You tell him tiredly. "It's hard to explain." He frowns, but he takes it as an answer.
"Do you know when Gojo's coming back?" You ask. "I think it's time for me to go back again."
In previous time travels, you and Haibara tried to see if any physical contact would be enough to send you back. No matter how many times you two high-fived, shook hands, or even held hands. Nothing worked. Only Gojo Satoru could activate your technique. It must have something to do with the amount of cursed energy another person has.
“He should be getting back later this evening.” Haibara muses. “But I’ll be happy to keep you company!”
It's nice to hear him chatter. If you'd let him, he'd go one and one. But you like hearing him talk about his sister. Apparently, she’s also a sorcerer, and his affection for her makes you smile.
"You remind me a lot of her, actually." He tells you. "Even though, y'know, you're a man." It's enough to get a laugh out of you.
“Do you have anyone in your family who can see curses?” Haibaracasks.
“No,” you answer honestly, “at least, not that I can tell. My dad never spoke of curses or strange powers when I was growing up.”
You think he would have said something; after all, you two were too close to have secrets from each other. Your father was a single man, who took to raising you himself after your mother passed away. He often said you had her laugh.
“Maybe you’re one of a kind,” Haibara suggests.
You agree with him.
Gojo finds you before you can find him. He comes up to you with a grin and a wave.
“Hey, long time.”
His sunglasses are tilted down. You can see his eyes. They’ve lost the mania he had in his fight with Fushiguro. You’re relieved at that. You still can’t shake off that strange thing he said to you.
Wordlessly, you raise your hand. Satoru frowned.
“You wanna leave so soon? You just got here.”
“I’ve been here for hours,” you tell him, “also, you aren’t very concerned that someone is using your best friend’s body as a puppet.”
“He’s been through worse,” Satoru tells you off with a wave. Some friend.
“Let’s go to the arcade,” he suggests.
“Do that with Suguru.” You tell him. “I’m not hanging out with a high schooler.”
“Right right, my bad. I keep forgetting you’re an old man, Greeny.”
“22 is not old,” you say with exasperation, “didn’t your birthday just pass? You’re just five years away. I’ll see your attitude change, then.”
He grows quiet. You feel like you messed up somewhere.
“How did you know about my birthday?”
Fuck, you keep forgetting about keeping Suguru’s memories a secret. It takes everything within you to just relax.
“Haibara told me,” you say, “blabbermouth. You know him.”
“Oh.” Gojo replies. “Huh.”
You shuffle your feet. Distantly, you wonder what shoe size Suguru wears.
“How did your mission go?”
“Horrible,” he’s instantly back to his usual self, whiny and complaint, “and the curse was so ugly too. It was oozing goo everywhere.”
You frown. “Sounds gross. But you won, right?”
He doesn’t even answer. You secretly admire his sheer confidence. You certainly weren’t that when you were at his age.
“How’s Amanai and Miss Kuroi?” You ask.
“Safe.” He tells you. “The higher-ups weren’t really happy with us after that; pretty sure all these sudden missions are punishments.” He frowns. “But they’re fine. Miss Kuroi officially adopted her, so she’s a Kuroi now, too.”
You smiled. You already knew all that, but it’s nice to hear it.
“You saved them,” he says.
You laugh, “I didn’t do a thing.” You tell him. “You and Suguru did all the heavy lifting. I just caused some property damage.”
“You did.” He replies. “I don’t know how, but things always manage to work out whenever you’re around.”
You don’t like how he phrases that, but you don’t react.
“You think so? Maybe I’m lucky.” It’s supposed to be a joke of some kind. Neither of you laugh.
“You really don’t know us in the future?” He asks.
Maybe you should’ve asked Shoko if you could have a cigarette.
“I really didn't,” you say, “Honest, I—I have no idea what’s happening. I’m just as lost as you. Hopefully, I can figure out how to control my technique, and you won’t have to see me again.”
You never stopped feeling guilty for doing this to Suguru. Controlling him. Forcing him to laugh with his friends, make decisions based on your feelings rather than his. But you’re so close. You promise yourself that once you fix everything, you’ll never cause someone this much pain again. No matter how many times they kill you.
Satoru’s fists tighten. He looks even more upset at your response.
“That’s not what I—” He cuts himself off. You wait. Satoru says nothing more.
“You’re annoying.” He tells you in the end. It’s clean and cut, but it sounds like him. More confident, less wavery. “And stupid too.”
You can’t help but smile.
“Thank you. Am I done entertaining you now? Can I go?” He grumbles, holding up his hand.
“Yeah, sure, Greeny.”
ⴵ
You forgive Suguru.
ⴵ
Something’s wrong.
You can feel it. Something’s wrong.
You look through Geto’s memories. There’s nothing. Everything’s going as it should be. Everything looks perfect. Then, why do you feel so wrong?
Currently, Suguru was finishing excorcising a curse. You absorb it, swallowing down the remnant like it’s a pile of rusted nails but even the disgusting taste isn’t enough to wash away the feeling of dread.
The walls of the hospital was empty. The auxillary managers had already cleared everyone out by the time Suguru had walked in. Maybe it was the silence that added to your stress?
You walk out. Nothing changes. One of the managers comes up to you with a clipboard.
“The curse was exorcised.” Suguru tells them. “It wasn’t first grade, it was special grade. It was still disposed of.”
He curses, scribbling something down on his clipboard.
“The wrong information again.” He hisses to himself. “If we keep doing this, someone will die. We need more people, we’re way too stretched out.”
Those words are familiar. Hold on.
“Wait, what day is it?” You ask the frazzled-looking manager.
Offhandedly, he responds. He says the date so casually, and yet his mere words feel like a bear trap, tightening on your leg.
No. You should have had more time. Why weren’t you given more time?
Nanami and Haibara have probably already been dispatched. You go through Suguru’s phone, finding Haibara’s contact. It doesn’t go through. Nanami doesn’t pick up either.
You won’t make it in time. Even using Suguru’s curses, you won’t be able to reach them until it’s too late. Suguru’s memory of that day is muddled and dark, but Haibara’s dead corpse laying on the examination table. The pieces of him that Nanami could bring back.
You wouldn’t be fast enough.
He picks up on the second ring.
“...What’s up?”
“It’s Haibara.” You spit the words out as fast as you can. “Satoru, you need to go and get him right now, he isn’t going to make it—”
“—Greeny?” The exhaustion in Gojo’s voice is gone. You can hear something rustle behind him.
“Satoru, listen to me.” You beg. “Haibara and Nanami were just dispatched on a mission, but Yu isn’t going to survive it. It wasn’t a second-grade curse; it was a first grade. Please, you have to go and save him before it kills him.”
It’s silent. It feels like hours have passed when you know it’s just three seconds.
“We’ll talk later, Greeny.” The line clicks.
You’ve lost the trust of the strongest.
ⴵ
The future has changed when you get to campus. Haibara’s status is still alive. Barely. But he’s still there. Shoko’s currently taking care of him.
Nanami remains quiet the entire time since he returned with Haibara’s battered body. The only thing you can think of to offer comfort is to pat his shoulder. He barely even registers it. It’s more for you than for him. You’re self-soothing, taking care of something else, so you don’t have to recognize your own panic.
If Haibara dies, right here, on this day, everything can change. Everything can go back to the way it was in your original timeline. Haibara, with his sunshine, smiles, and bright eyes. His death is so important, and you can’t even think of him right now.
Gojo Satoru knows you’ve been deceiving him.
This is bad. So very bad. If he starts to suspect that you know more than you let on, he might deem you enough of a threat to kill, regardless of whether or not you’re in Suguru’s body. It’s not like that hasn’t stopped him before.
Gojo Satoru is selfless. He’s selfless enough to kill his best friend, if he thinks it will save everyone.
But if Gojo kills Geto here and now, would that really be bad?
You’d lose your path to the past, but the threat to your life would be over. Even if you did die in Suguru’s body, at least the people of Tokyo will be spared the Death Parade. You’ll still get what you want. And it will be much easier than your current plan.
Nanami shuffles behind you and you instantly snap out of it. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. That same lack of apathy when Fushiguro died in front of you.
It seems like dying over and over again caused you to lose bits of your humanity.
Shoko comes out. Nanami stands up, a tall ball of nervous energy. Shoko removes her mask. Her dark circles have grown even more prominent. She’s only 17.
“He’s still alive.” Nanami sags. “But he isn’t responsive. I’ve done all that I can.”
She looks at Nanami, and then she can’t anymore.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” Nanami rasps, the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, “don’t apologize. It was my fault. I should’ve taken better care of him.”
You swallow. It wasn’t his fault, you wish you could tell him that it was yours.
You wonder what Haibara’s younger sister looked like. A spitting image of him, perhaps. Shorter. Darker hair, bigger eyes. Their smiles would look identical. What would she look like when she’s told her brother died doing the profession he forbade her from doing?
You can’t do that to her. You can’t be the reason she loses her brother the second time.
You’re not sure if a God is even out there. How could there be? What kind of entity would do something like this to you? Still, you sit on that bench, right outside the room where Haibara’s body lay, and you pray for a God.
Gojo’s footsteps stop right in front of you.
It’s hard to get the words out. For a minute, he just stands there.
“Did you exorcise it?” You finally ask.
“Yeah.”
You lift your head up to look at him. Even in his school uniform, he’s regal to look at. Like a warrior of the sun, blessed by the moon, sent to vanquish beasts and monsters.
Now, his blood-soaked sword is pointed at you.
Make it quick. You can only think. Just make it quick.
“Not here.” You say.
Nanami was still shaking. Shoko was right beside him. So you stand, you drag yourself away from Haibara’s fading presence, and Gojo follows behind.
It shouldn’t be this pretty outside. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. There should be rain. Enough rain to drown the Earth.
“I figured out your technique a while ago, y’know.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. “Dying. Death activates your technique. Each time you die, you’re sent back 12 years in the past.”
You grip the fabric of your uniform until your knuckles turn white. Satoru’s cruel enough to continue.
“But I never got why your soul kept possessing Suguru’s body. It always felt kinda’ random. Unless he was the one who was killing you. Over and over again.”
“Gojo. Stop.” You beg.
“That’s how your CT works. Every time you’re murdered, you go back in time so you can kill them when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable moment. It’s a pretty powerful technique, all things considered. I might not even stand a chance against it. Assisted suicide, never expected that from you of all people.
But you never do. Each time Suguru kills you, you just come back and try to save him and everyone else your hands can reach. I can’t get why you did that.”
He steps in front of you so you can see him. The God that he is.
“Let’s cut the shit, Greeny. Tell me what future is so bad you’re willing to die over and over again to prevent it.”
The worst outcome you could have ever thought of was standing right in front of you.
Satoru was demanding to know his future.
And...you couldn’t.
You’re taking in a shaky breath. It’s not enough oxygen. The sky was close to crumbling, and you still couldn’t breathe.
“There’s nothing to know.” You try. “There’s nothing, I’m fixing it—”
“—by Suguru killing you, or is this considering killing yourself, now?”
“You don’t understand.” Your voice is cracking, so high-pitched that even Suguru’s vocal cords can’t keep up. “You don’t get it. You can’t.”
“Then help me understand.” His voice is as ragged as yours, he steps closer, you step back. “Tell me why my friend would do something like this to someone.”
It clicks right then. Satoru’s anger isn’t directed at you.
No, it’s directed at Suguru.
It’s even worse than you thought.
“He—he was better than me. He was supposed to be the best out of all of us. I wanna deny it all that I can but—but I can see the proof right here in front of me. And—And I don’t—” His voice breaks too much to continue.
You’re breaking, too. How many times have you been doing this, over and over again? All alone, with no one to support you. To comfort you.
The words are right there, threatening to bubble out. It’d be so easy to tell Satoru everything.
And maybe you would’ve, but then you looked at him.
Despite how disingenuous Satoru acted, you knew he was kind. The kindest person you’ve ever met. He’d sit there and listen, and he’d break every bone in his body to help. That’s just how he was.
Satoru was selfless, he was selfless enough to kill his best friend here and now if it meant he’d save the millions in Tokyo.
You can’t put another burden on the strongest.
You can’t do that to a kid.
“It—it isn’t him.” You manage to spit out. “He isn’t doing it on purpose. It’s not his fault.
It’s the curses. They were too much for him; they overtook his body. Suguru couldn’t control them anymore.”
He says nothing. It’s like you’ve put a spell on Gojo somehow, freezing him in place. Satoru can’t do anything but stare at the talking puppet that’s his best friend.
“He lost so many people.” You continue. “Riko, Miss Kuroi, Haibara. He couldn’t take it. It was too much. His body succumbed to the curses, and they took over Shinjuku. That’s how I keep...”
It’s okay to lie like this, you justify to yourself. Because the Suguru, you know—the one with fake smiles, beady eyes, and a broken expression—isn’t the one that Satoru knows. They’re two completely different people. Years—timelines—apart from each other. They aren’t the same.
Even then, you forgave both Sugurus a lifetime ago.
You’d get on your knees if you know that would make a difference. You’d plead and beg and cry if it would get Satoru to drop it. In the end, you can only stare at him.
“All I’m asking is that you trust me.” You whisper. “Believe that I’m making this right. Please, Satoru?”
His eyes. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s gone quiet and dull. The same look he had when he fully awakened his technique. The day he became God.
But he’s not a God. God’s don’t cry.
He leans ever so closely until his head rests on your shoulder. His body shakes.
“You’ll save him, right?” He asks. Gone, is his aura of confidence and resilience. He’s nothing more than a shell. If you feel something stain Suguru’s uniform, you say nothing about it.
You smile anyway.
“I will.” You tell the truth. “I will save him.”
You think of something morbidly funny.
“I’ll die trying.”
His shoulders shake with quiet, genuine laughter, the kind that’s wet and sticks to the top of your mouth.
“That’s fucked up, Greeny.” He whispers.
You hum, reaching up to pat him on the back. It takes another minute before he gathers himself up. His eyes are shiny. Satoru blinks it away.
“Haibara will be okay.” He says with such conviction. “I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of Suguru, too.”
He doesn’t get it, not yet. He doesn’t understand that Shoko and Satoru and Haibara and Nanami need him. He’ll get it soon, though. You managed to put Suguru on the right path.
For now, it’s all you can do.
“I know you will.”
He scoffs, right then.
“You’re really annoying, you know that? Next time, don’t piss me off like that. Just tell it to me straight.”
Rely on me. Lean on me.
“I’m sorry,” you say and you truly are, “I won’t leave you in the dark from now on. I guess I just forgot that I had a friend in 2006.”
His eyes get a little brighter. “It’s actually 2007—”
“Shut up.” He laughs and it sounds like him again.
You reach out your hand and his grin fades, the tiniest bit. He mirrors you, regardless.
This time, you hesitate.
“You should learn how to be selfish every once in a while.” You tell him. “I won’t fault you if you’re selfish. I don’t think anyone will.
He doesn’t answer that, but his touch is finally warm.
ⴵ
It hurts. It hurts so much. Blood seeps into the pavement. You can hear the curse laughing. It sounds like him.
You forgive Suguru.
ⴵ
It’s today.
You can feel it. You don’t even have to look at the date to know.
The catalyst for December 24th, 2017.
Suguru’s already dressed. You’re currently standing in front of a shotty mirror, watching your reflection.
He looks tired. His smile’s a bit muted. You notice a scar you hadn’t seen before. An unregistered special grade curse, Suguru’s memory gives.
He’s different from when you saw him a year ago, but there’s still a spark in his eye. You cling to that hope, as hard as you can.
You step out of the room. It isn’t Suguru’s. He’d rented accommodations with an older woman and her son for the mission. Their place smelled like home. It made your stomach turn.
She smiles when she sees you coming down stairs. She looks kind; she has the eyes of a mother. You’ll never understand how a person who raised children could do something like this to another.
“Mr. Geto.” She chirps. “I’m so glad you’re awake! Would you like anything to eat?”
“No, I’m fine.” Better get this done sooner than later. “I should be heading back now, anyways.”
Suguru had already absorbed the curse tormenting the village last night. You can feel the sticky aftertaste in your mouth. He should have left the village yesterday, but the people were insistent he stayed one last day as thanks, feeding him all they could.
Now, it’s obvious that it was a way to butter him up for today.
Her smile grows a bit nervous. She shuffles her feet a bit.
“If it isn't too much.” She starts. “The head of our village asked if you could look at something.” Her eyes darken into disgust.
You fight to keep your smile.
“Of course. Please, lead the way.”
It’s worse than you ever could have imagined.
You’ve seen this play out so many times in Suguru’s memories. He reminisces about this moment a lot. Because of that, you knew this scene too, like the back of your hand.
And yet, seeing two children huddled together on the floor. Nothing could prepare you for that.
The village head is saying something. The woman who Suguru roomed with is yelling at the scared kids, but you can’t hear any of that.
Their clothes were dirty and ripped. Their cheeks were hollow, and they looked like they hadn’t eaten for days. Himiko’s eye looks swollen.
The twins.
The first time you saw them, they stepped aside and let Geto kill you. There’s something oddly poetic about you being on the other side.
They tremble as they continue to look at you, flinch whenever that woman raises her voice. They must think Suguru’s here to kill them.
They’re too young to think like that. They’re too young to see the horrors of this world so soon.
It’s a mistake to look towards the end of their cell. Dirty water and dog food.
How could a human do this to them? How could a mother do this to them?
You feel red. It coarses through your blood, your veins, your soul. It feels like there’s lava right underneath your skin. Shuddering, tittering anger.
There’s more than enough fire to burn down an entire village.
‘Suguru,’ you think to your companion, your tormentor, ‘I think I’m starting to get it now.’
You reach for the bars of the cell. The twins shrink away.
“Ah! Mr. Geto, you musn’t get too close to them—”
“I’ll take them.”
“What?” The head of the village asks.
“The children.” You straighten yourself up. “I’ll take them off your hands.”
It’s pointless to do anything to these people. They’re delusional enough to think that they’re in the right. By torturing these children, they’re protecting their own. It’s fear. That’s all it ever was. Even without a curse, it’ll fester on and on until this village is nothing but abandoned homes. There’s no point to punish these people any further.
If you look at the adults a bit too long, you’re afraid of what you’d do, even without Suguru’s interference. Instead, you focus on Himiko and Nanako, looking into their wary gazes. Their hands are so tiny. You could protect them with your own.
When you got out of this backward village, you’d find them something to eat.
ⴵ
You go to Shoko first.
She looks surprised to see the twins. You can’t imagine why. Still, her voice is calm when she speaks to them, setting both of them up in the clinic room. Since you got them into the car, Nanako and Himiko seemed to calm down. Himiko even told you the name of her doll.
A little while later, Yaga comes for a visit. He’s the principal now. Usually, his voice is filled with gruff, but he’s oddly gentle when he speaks to them. Nanako cracks a shy smile.
You can’t escape the ‘we’ll talk later’ look he gives you. Inwardly, you sympathize with Suguru. But a harsh lecture is better than being branded a murderer.
He hasn’t come by, yet. With the twins aided for, you decide to go find him yourself.
Walking through campus feels a little nostalgic. The grounds of the infamous jujutsu technical college are a bright green. It’s summer again. You’ve met so many colorful characters since your time here. You’ve only seen snippets, mere seconds of their lives, and yet it feels like an entire lifetime.
He’s sitting on a bench when you finally see him, nursing a drink. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You have to roll your eyes at his childish behavior, plopping down beside him.
“Hey.” You say first.
“Heard you adopted two kids,” Satoru says, “Never thought Suguru would be a teen mom, but here we are.”
You laugh, light and breathless. The sky is so pretty today.
“I don’t think he’d have it any other way, personally.” You respond.
He reminisces on your words.
“This happened before too?” He asked.
It did. It was a lot less of a happy ending, however.
“Yeah,” you say regardless, “he took good care of them last time. He’ll do the same in this timeline too. I’m sure of it.”
And this time, he’d have help. Shoko, Satoru, his teachers. They’d all be there for him. Suguru’s memories haven’t changed yet, but you know the future you step into will be a different one.
“In any case, I’m glad I got to see jujutsu tech one last time. It’s a beautiful campus.”
“You act like you’re leaving,” Satoru says, uncaring. “You’ll just come back again next month. Or next year.”
You play with your fingers.
“I...won’t be doing that from now on.”
He pauses. Then, he looks at you.
“What?”
You can’t gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t look happy. You find this a bit hard to swallow.
“I fixed the future.” You smile at him. “I finally did it. Suguru won’t break. Himiko and Nanako won’t lose their father. You won’t lose a friend, anymore. There’s no reason for me to keep coming back. You’re all free.”
You phrased the last part as a joke, but Satoru isn’t laughing.
“Wait, you’re leaving? You’re...leaving leaving.”
You nod. “I can’t believe it either.” You still can’t believe you accomplished everything you set out to do. A task that seemed so impossible, now you’re standing on the other side of it.
It wasn’t truly over. Not really, but you were able to get Suguru through the worst of it. Now, you were sure Satoru and Shoko would take up your mantel, pushing Suguru through the finish line. Just like he’ll do to them.
Satoru’s quiet.
“You seem happy.” He notes.
“Well, I did just save everyone, I think I deserve to feel a little good about myself.”
For a moment, you want to ask if it’ll be okay to visit everyone in the future. To see how Shoko and Suguru and Satoru are doing as adults. You stop yourself. Of course, they wouldn’t want to see you. You needed to stop being so greedy.
This, was more than enough.
“Will you at least tell me your name?” Satoru asks.
“You know I can’t do that.” You tell him with a smile.
“Right right.” He laughs, it sounds hollow. “Time travel, bullshit. Makes sense.”
“I’ll miss you.” You tell him.
He straightens himself up.
“I’ll miss you too, old man.” He responds. “You were a lotta’ fun to mess with.”
For once, you aren’t offended by the old man’, comment. If anything, it feels somber.
“Can I ask for some advice?” He suddenly asks. “Y’know what they say, ask the old and wise or whatever.” Okay, now he was starting to push it.
“What is it?”
It’s his turn to shuffle with his fingers.
“What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it?”
You glance at him. He looks earnest. Did something like that even exist for Satoru?
“Something I can’t catch up to?” You ponder out loud. “I guess I’d have to make a big enough ruckus to where it has no choice but to look back.”
He frowns. “That makes no sense. You’re growing senile.”
You laugh. You’ll miss this brat.
You wish you could stay more. You wish you could ask about Haibara, and Shoko, and Nanami, but the clock is ticking.
Suguru’s getting impatient.
“Bye, Satoru.” You reach out your hand.
He scrutinizes it, before clasping it within his own.
“Yeah, Greeny.”
Within a blink, you’re back again in the middle of Shinjuku. December 24th, 7:06 pm.
It’s the same as always. People bustle around you. Children’s laughter. Everything always repeats itself, but you don’t think you can ever get sick of it. You’ll savor this peace for as long as you can.
You reach into your pocket, flicking out a lighter and the first cigarette of the box. You don’t know why you always chose this one. Despite outmaneuvering time itself, perhaps it’s within human nature to follow what’s written stone.
You’ve relived this hour so many times that you can list everything that happens. Down to the exact minute. 7:08- a little girl wearing a red dress walks by. 7:09- a lady with short hair catches your eyes and smiles. 7:14-an old man and woman bicker with each other as they pass you by. 7:21- A little dog sniffs the bench you sit on. 7:34- Two schoolchildren run past you, babbling. 7:45- five construction workers grumble out their grievances. 7:58- a businessman talks loudly on the phone.
You wait. You sit on a bench and wait until 8:06.
Five seconds after 8:06. Twenty seconds after 8:06.
The clock clicks to 8:07.
You were expecting to feel something else. Celebration. Elation. You half-expected to cause a scene and jump for joy right there in the streets of Shinjuku.
None of that comes. There’s just a feeling of relief. A weight presses you down, and you slump in your seat.
It was over.
It was finally over.
How long do you stay like that? Hours? Days? When you feel like you can finally breathe again, it’s only 8:12. Time travel warped your sense of time.
You stand up, stretch, feel your bones crack and pop. In the second timeline, you wanted to get a drink to drown your misery of nearly getting killed by a curse and being alone on December 24th. It felt like a lifetime ago when being single was the worst of your problems.
Honestly, you’d stay celibate for the rest of your life if it meant you wouldn’t have to go through that ever again.
Tomorrow, you’ll decompress and devolve into hysteria over what happened.
Next week, you’ll check yourself into therapy.
Today, you decide to go home and sleep for a couple hundred years.
You must look like a zombie with the way you wobble down the street. Physically, your body is perfectly fine. You’ve suffered no bruises or cuts. Even the numerous times you’ve been killed leaves nothing on your skin.
Mentally, you’re in shambles. The indomitable human spirit within you is snuffed out.
The stairs to your flat is your last enemy that you must vanquish before you can reunite with your adoring bed. You cling onto the railing with dazed eyes. You don’t see the curse until you’re right before it.
Distantly, you wonder how often you’ve passed a curse and didn’t even realize it. It’s almost instinct to reach out with your hand, intent on absorbing it.
Nothing happens. You remember you aren’t Suguru anymore.
It’s a grotesque-looking thing. No eyes, too many hands, a gaping mouth. It turns and looks at you.
Strange. Its’ smile mirrors the one in the abandoned house.
Adrenaline. You feel it coarse through your veins, meld into your bones, explode in your skin. You’re stumbling back, nearly tripping down the steps in your haste to get away.
It screeches. Loud and clear and angry and you can almost feel its teeth chomp on your leg, ripping your muscles and skin to mere tatters.
You’ve died before. You’ve been skinned alive before. You’ve been eaten before. Yet, it all amounts to nothing compared to the fear you feel at the thought of the curse catching you.
It can’t have been nothing more than a third grade. If you were taller, larger, special-grade, you could have killed it immediately. But you weren’t, not anymore, you were at the same level as a plant. Useless. Helpless.
A dead man stumbling, tripping, running.
The streets were quiet. You supposed that meant there’d be fewer casualties. But it didn’t make you feel any better. And even if there were people around, no one would have been able to help you.
Your brain isn’t working as clearly. Fear is the only thing that guides you. You’re reduced to a rat scampering through a maze. Sooner or later, that rodent reaches a dead end.
The alleyway was blocked off. You felt the rough brick wall scrape your hands and even the feeling of your raw skin couldn’t assuage your heart pumping in your throat. When you whirled your head back, it was right there, and you knew you were dead.
Again.
It might kill you, if it’s feeling generous. It might cut your legs off and watch you bleed, if its feeling kind. It might eat you, if it’s a decent curse.
It shouldn’t be happening. You fixed it. You were supposed to have fixed everything. But clearly you didn't. There must have been some piece of the puzzle that you forgot. You need to go back. You need to fix things, but why do you need to why can't he just leave you alone—
You don’t see what happens. One moment, the curse is there. The next it isn’t.
“Those things are so annoying.” The newcomer complains.
No, not new. You know him.
You blink. He grins. It’s kind. A toothy smile that warms.
“You alright?” He asks in sympathy. “Curses are pretty scary, aren’t they? Are you hurt?”
It’s him. You weren’t in 2006. You were in the present, here and now, and he was here with you.
He actually made it.
“Ma’am?” He asks.
It wasn’t intentional. You just blurted it out, the promise you made to him. It was a decade for him. Mere hours for you.
“Um, broccoli head...?” And then you instantly regret it.
Haibara Yu takes a minute, eyes squinting like you just grew a new head.
Then, he gasps.
“Greeny?”
ⴵ
A few minutes later, you’re seated at a restaurant. Haibara has not shut up.
“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again ‘cuz Gojo said you weren’t gonna be around anymore, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”
“—Haibara.” You interrupt. “Please, slow down.”
He stops himself, right when the server comes with drinks. He shoots the waiter a smile, and then he’s back on you.
“Sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I got a little excited. And nervous. It’s just...well, I didn’t expect you to be a girl.”
That might have been your fault. Both Haibara and Gojo kept referring to you as a man, so you decided to roll with it. Earlier, you would have justified it by insisting the less they know about you, the better. Now, you just think you were being petty.
“So, how you’ve been? A whole decade...” You murmur to yourself.
“Fine! But what about you?” Haibara asks, concern etched into his eyes. “Where’d you go?”
Wow, he was actually worried for you. Despite being in Suguru’s body, you didn’t really feel like part of the group Shoko, Gojo, Nanami, and Haibara were part of. You felt like an outsider, being somewhere you didn’t belong. It's because you were an outsider. Nevertheless, it’s nice to know one person missed you.
“This might be a little hard to believe, but I just came back to 2017 two hours ago.”
Haibara gapes.
“Wait, so to you, that whole thing happened, today?” You nod. He leans back in his chair.
“Holy fuck.” You laugh at his awe.
“Thanks for saving me, by the way.” You change the topic. “From the curse.”
He waves it off. “I was just paying my debt. From what you did for me all those years ago.”
Ah, Gojo must have told him. Oddly enough, Haibara doesn't seem all that perturbed that he shouldn’t exist currently. At the same time, it feels just like Haibara.
He’s different from when he was younger. Taller. The baby fat is gone. His face is more built, just like the rest of his body. His eyes are less round, but they haven’t lost the spark. A few scars here and there, but he’s all in one piece.
You weren’t able to see what he looked like as an adult from Suguru’s memories, he’d never grown up. But now, you can see it for yourself. You can see the active change you made in his life, to his life.
“Haibara—”
“Yu—” He says seriously. “My friends call me Yu.”
A smile twitches on your lips.
“Tell me about everyone.” You scoot your chair closer. “You, Suguru. How is everyone doing?”
He perks up at that, clearly delighted to be talking.
“Great! Everyone’s doing great! You should totally come visit the school, sometime. They’d love to see you. Uh, even if they don’t technically know you, but I’m sure they’ll love to meet you!” He rambles, and it’s nice to know he hasn’t changed from his younger self.
“Let’s see, Kento’s teaching the first years. I teach the second years—”
“—You’re a teacher?”
He nods. “We all are! Except for Shoko, but she has her own thing going on. Anyway, Mimiko and Nanako have become second-grade semi-sorcerors. Isn’t that incredible? I’m just a first grade semi-sorceror, and at their young ages too! But Suguru wasn’t surprised, he kept saying his girls were prodigies. Oh! You probably want to know about Suguru too, right?”
You nod. Even if you hadn’t done anything, you don’t think that would have stopped his enthusiasm.
“He’s a teacher too! At least, for right now. Yaga’s been wanting to retire, and there have been talks of Suguru becoming the next principal. Principal Geto has a ring to it, right? Oh, and Shoko is currently planning the wedding. You’ll definitely be invited, of course! She said I could bring a plus-one. Oh, and—”
It goes on like that for hours, you think. Not that you mind. You listen to Yu babble on and on about his friends, his students. He talks about Nanami’s recent baking addiction, Shoko’s new office cat, Suguru’s favorite tea pot. It’s a never-ending surge of information.
Eventually, you catch on to the fact that he’s deliberately leaving someone out.
"Yu?" You interrupt him while he's talking about the prank the fourth year pulled on Nanami. "What about Satoru? What's he up to?"
Maybe you were overthinking things. Haibara likes to talk; perhaps he forgot to exclude someone else's story in his rants. But then, he grimaces. For the first time in this entire conversation, Haibara is reluctant to talk.
"Satoru is..." He winces, and your hands turn into fists.
No. No. You were supposed to save everyone. Why hadn't you saved everyone?
A warm hand grips your own. You'd been shaking.
Yu gives a soft smile, and you remember he's no longer younger than you.
"He's not dead." He assures you, but his smile fades. He straightens himself up, and his hand pulls away.
"Satoru defected from Jujutsu tech. We don't know where he is."
What? You must have misheard him wrong. Satoru wouldn't do that. That's not like him. This is some sick joke.
But there's no teasing grin on Haibara. His face is grave. You hate it more than anything.
"It happened when he was a fourth year. No one really knows what happened. Suguru refuses to say anything about it, but I think he's just as confused as the rest of us. It came outta nowhere."
Yeah, it definitely came out of nowhere. It's so random. Why would Satoru do that? The last time you saw him, he was so happy. He was smiling; he teased you. What happened? It made no sense.
"So, you haven't seen him for nine years?" You ask. "Not even a glimpse?"
Yu shakes his head. "Nothing but his residuals. That's how we know he's still alive."
Nothing computes in your brain. None of it made any sense. You saved Suguru. That was supposed to make everyone happy, including Satoru. Why would he turn around and do this? Defecting made no sense.
"We've actually been tasked to execute him. Since he’s been branded a curse user, all four of us. " Yu laughs with no humor. "Isn't that insane? I don't think any one of us could even fathom doing that, even if it were possible."
It wasn't possible. Gojo was the strongest. Nothing could go toe to toe with him. Once he put his mind to something, no one could stop him.
But maybe you could.
You're shutting that idea down immediately. You were done. You were done with dying and time-travel and strange powers. You wanted it all to be over. It'd be so easy to thank Haibara for the nice meal, to go home and sleep this entire day off. Satoru dug his own grave, he can go lay in it. You weren't responsible for someone else's actions. You wouldn’t. You can’t do that another time.
You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?
You hate that brat so much.
You close your eyes. Take in a breath. Then, you open them.
"Haibara?" You ask. "Did Gojo tell you how my technique worked?"
He shakes his head. You grimace because convincing him might take a while.
"Okay, well, I'll need you to do a tiny favor for me."
ⴵ
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Oh, you're back already?" Satoru says casually, turning back to gaze at you. "I just left today. How did you convince Haibara to snap your neck? That guy cries after killing a mosquito.”
You’d caught him just as he was leaving campus. Yu’s body was less athletic than Suguru’s. Your breath was slightly ragged, pulled down by minor exhaustion.
It doesn’t weigh down your frustration for Gojo Satoru. The biggest pain in your ass you’ve ever met.
“Shut up.” You snap. “Just answer the question.”
“We haven’t seen each other for a year and that’s how you react?” Satoru ignores you. “That’s mean, Greeny. How ‘bout we discuss my treason over steak. Haibara can pay.”
“Satoru.” You beg, “Why are you doing this? What’s the point? Why is everyone happy with their life except for you?”
That seems to get him. His posture stiffens ever so slightly. You can see him work his jaw. He finally drops his act.
“You didn’t have to come back, y’know.” He murmurs quietly. “You could’ve just stayed in the future. Like you said, Greeny, everyone’s happy with their life. 4 outta’ five. That’s a passing grade.”
For once, you wish you could possess him. You wished you could open his brain and peer into his memories until he finally made sense.
“I could never leave you behind like that.” You say the truth just as quietly. “I’ll die a thousand more deaths than do that.”
He smiles. It looks genuine as it looks painful.
“Yeah, I know. I know you, Greeny. Always gotta’ play hero.” He gives a bitter laugh. “That’s why I defected.”
You stare at him. He’s a fourth-year now, even taller than before. You aren’t equal to him anymore in this body, now you’re starting to think you never were.
“Satoru.” You start because what he’s saying can’t be the truth. Your heart broke and broke. “Did—did you leave—did you leave everyone for a decade just so I’d come back? Why would you do that to yourself?”
He doesn’t say anything. Then, he steps forward, just a bit.
“It’s your fault,” Satoru says like it’s instinct to blame you for his actions, “this was your idea.”
What’s he talking about? And then memories of the two of you sitting on that bench just outside of campus.
What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it? So that’s what he meant. You were an idiot.
“That’s not fair, Satoru,” you say regardless, “I—I never—I couldn’t expect you’d do this.”
“What choice did I fucking have, Greeny?” There’s rapid steps and he’s in front of you, desperate and wild. “You—you just left me here. You left me alone and I couldn’t even look for you because I know nothing about you. Your face, your eyes, your hair, not even your fucking name! How’s that fair?”
It’s true. It’s all true. As much as you tried to claim you tried to make everyone happy, you only focused on Suguru. And Suguru’s happiness enlisted space from the strongest. In a different timeline, things would be different between them. A button he never left behind. Words Satoru never said. That timeline held too much pain and suffering, so you scrubbed it from history. In this rendition, everything was changed. Suguru had Shoko. Yu had Kento. Who did Satoru have?
You saved Suguru in this timeline. But to save him, you neglected Satoru.
Satoru must have known. He must have known you intentionally distanced Suguru from him, but he allowed it anyway. Satoru’s selfless like that. Too giving. Too Godlike.
But he’s selfish too. Purposefully demeaning himself so he could get one more glimpse of you, uncaring if you went through hell for his sake. Too taking. Too human.
Once, you told him that if he was selfish, just once, you wouldn’t fault him. What a liar you are.
You forgive Satoru.
“I’m sorry.” Haibara’s voice is like your own. You step closer. His infinity lets you in. “I’m sorry Satoru. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”
It’s hard to wrap him in a hug. The brat’s too big. He sinks into your touch like a tiger, filled with dangerous claws, retracted just for your sake. He shakes the tiniest bit; even now, he’s keeping himself as a pinnacle. If you hear a sniffle or two, you don’t comment on it.
It’s why your heart breaks to tell him the truth.
“I can’t give you my name.” You whisper in his ear. He pulls back. He doesn’t look at you.
“Yeah, I know. I know. time-travel bullshit—”
“For now.” You add. “I can’t do that for now.”
Three pairs of eyes look at you. You’re not hiding behind Haibara anymore. You’re not trying to.
“December 24th, 2017. 8:06. Tokyo Skytree.” You look at him. “Can you wait until then?”
For you, it’d only be an hour. For Satoru, it’d be a decade.
You expect him to reject it, to yell at you. You decide if he wants to be selfish; you’d let him.
“If you don’t show up, I’ll turn evil.” You laugh. His grin widens and he’s back again. “I’m serious. I’ll take over the world. I’ll throw the biggest temper tantrum ever.”
“You’re such a brat.” There’s no hostility in your tone. “I will. I promise.”
‘I’ll save you,’ You promise in your head because he’s too prideful to hear it.
“Is it still possible for you to go back?” You ask, the wariness present again. “The higher ups haven’t taken any action against you, right?”
He shakes his head.
“I think Yaga might yell at me, but other than that.” He shrugs. “They’ll decide it’s teen rebellion and sweep it under the rug.”
You laugh again. Satoru shoots you a toothy grin.
When you reach out a hand, Satoru mirrors you. He clasps your hand in his. For once, you wonder how they’ll feel on your own.
“See ya’ later, Greeny.”
A blink. Satoru’s gone. Your hand is empty, and you’re standing in the streets of Shinjuku once again.
ⴵ
December 24th, 2017. 8:06, at the top of the Tokyo Skytree.
Why did you decide on that date and time for all the places? You were so fucking stupid. You needed to stop being so poetic.
It’s already 7:12 when you’re desperately waving down a taxi. The driver looks disinterested when you blubber out the location. When he tells you it’ll cost extra because Sumida City isn’t part of his route, you’re more than happy to fork over the money.
It’s already 7:35 when you stumble through the interiors of Tokyo Skytree town. It’s crowded. Fuck, it’s December 24th, of course people would be out and about.
At 7:44, you finally reach the observational building. And then you hit upon a snag.
It’s closed.
Renovations, the sign reads, accompanied by an irritatingly cute drawing of a cat, please come visit us next week.
Would this excuse be enough to satisfy Satoru? You’re only human. Surely he’d understand if you couldn’t make it because the entire building was shut down.
Or wait. Was this Satoru’s doing?
You look up at the tower. Lights were still on and flickering. No crowds. No people. No prying eyes.
Let it be known that you’ve never trespassed before, until you met Gojo Satoru.
With a guilty conscious, you step over the line. You justify it by convincing yourself you were saving the world because you know Satoru wasn’t joking a decade ago.
The elevators still worked. Thank God. Yet another hint he’s paving the way for you. You made the location, but it feels like you’re a mouse stuck in a human-designed maze. Even though you set up the game, he’s still managed to rig it.
You land on the first deck at 7:52. At 7:56, you reach the second observational deck.
It’s empty. You’ve never seen the skytree so empty before. Not a single soul is here except for you. Your footsteps echo across the floor. Were you early?
Out the corner of your eye, there’s a post-it note stuck on the window. A hand-drawn arrow. Up ahead, there’s another one.
You follow the next, and then the next. All the time you don’t know how to feel about him doing all of this just for an encounter. Something bubbles in your stomach. You’re pushing it down.
You follow the post-its until there’s one placed right on top of a door.
Authorized personnel only. Why does this brat continue to test you?
But it’s already 8:03; you’re far too deep to complain.
A service elevator greets you. If you press the button, it’ll take you all the way up to the broadcast equipment, the top of the Tokyo Skytree.
It’s different from the past two elevator rides. The service elevator isn’t all that polished. The wheels squeak a little too dangerously at times. It’s slower, too.
That’s bad, because now you’re starting to think.
That familiar feeling boils within your stomach, again. You’re anxious. It’s strange to say, but meeting Satoru through Suguru, meeting Satoru through Yu, it felt like you had a protective shell around yourself. You were free from his judgement, only invoking curiosity.
If you show yourself to him, how would he react? What would he say? Would he get angry that you made him wait a decade for such a blunder? Even worse, what if he doesn’t get angry?
What if—what if he’s disappointed by you?
Cold feet. It freezes your toes. You want to go back. You want the elevator to go back down, you want to go home and hide away.
But you promised Satoru. He deserves answers.
Pathetic answers are better than no answers at all.
Instead of your soul being protected by a sorcerer's body, it’s protected by your own. You’d steel yourself for whatever comes next. You could melt after.
It’s windy up here. That’s the first thing you notice. Icy wind cuts at your face and your eyes squint so they don’t dry out so quickly. It’s colder, too; your jacket is nice protection, but nothing helps your vulnerable hands.
But the view. Oh, what a view.
The sea of twinkling lights shines from the city. The sun has set, leaving Tokyo to do nothing but shine. She’s gorgeous like she’s picked the stars from the sky, burying them within her own soul. You could stay there forever, if she let you.
It’s 8:09. Satoru was late.
Or maybe he just wasn’t planning to show up.
You lean away from the railing. It’s just like him to make huge gestures and at the last moment, ditch everything. The balloon in your lungs deflates ever so slightly.
And then, you can feel hands.
Around your shoulders, caging you in. Large and warm despite the icy air. You know these hands. They’re familiar, even a decade later. His chest presses up against your back. His face settles in the crook of your neck.
His laugh tickles your ear, and you aren’t so cold anymore.
“Caught ya, Greeny.”
(“Did something happen to you, back there in the house?”
"Hm?" Suguru asked.
They were wading through long grass and overgrown weeds. Satoru glances at his friend. Suguru looks fine. His cursed energy has gone back to normal. That's probably good.
"You were just acting weird," Satoru said, "I mean you fell on your ass in front of a curse. Embarrassing."
Suguru huffed, a red hue across his cheeks. "Shut up, don't remind me."
'So he remembered,' Satoru thinks, 'didn't expect that.'
They're almost to the car when Suguru speaks again.
"Actually, I did feel a little strange," he says, "I felt like I wasn't really all there. There was this voice, guiding me along."
"Really?" Satoru shivers. "That sounds creepy."
So the entity within Suguru was a bad thing after all. He should try to get rid of it if it ever comes back. It might take a complex spell or something-
"Not really." Suguru said. "It's hard to explain, but it felt....nice."
"Nice?" Satoru echoes.
"Yeah."
And then it's quiet again.)
Part two: Rewound Infinitely
#yandere#yandere jjk#yandere gojo satoru#x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#time travel fix it#a crumbling storyline#platonic haibara x reader#dark content#f!reader#implied romance#tw:blood/violence#tw: child abuse#unrequited feelings#ambiguous ending#BUT its a positive one
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So Demon twins but Danny was never raised in the League. He was brok sickly so Ra’s chucked him in the Lazarus pit and he never came out.
He emerged on the other side of the world in a pool of ectoplasm and got adopted by the Fentons.
14, he died.
15, he had a clone, Danielle, and she went to travel the world, starting in Venice
He knows he was adopted, Vlad spilled the beans during a fight, and when he was 16, he decided to tell his parents he was Phantom. (for the first time in my prompts) It went well.
When he was 17 and about to graduate high school, he decided to do a DNA test and find out who his bio parents are.
Bruce Wayne and an Unknown
Sends a letter to Bruce and doesn’t really expect a response.
He gets one.
Bruce Wayne knocks on his door 5 days after he sent the letter and offers to let Danny stay in Gotham with him while he takes a gap year. Danny agrees.
He meets Damian (doesn’t really matter is Damian knew of Danny existence or not) and everyone else and has a great time.
Eventually, Danny brings up things that alludes to his vigilante past
“Ya know, back when I was dead-”
“Metaphorical, right?”
“… sure. Anyway!-”
-
“Killed 17 people?! Tsk tsk, my rouges would never! Not even the clown! So, do you want Thai or Indian takeout?”
“… what was that?”
“Thai or Indian?”
“What- no, that not what I- *sigh* Thai, please.”
Eventually, he brings up his Dani.
“Oh yeah, my clone loves to travel!”
“Your what?”
“My clone! She’s more like a sister though.”
“Okay… where is she??”
“Shes traveling. Last I heard she was running with a group called the League of Assassins. Or was it assailants?”
“👁️👄👁️”
“Do you want to meet her..?”
“YES.”
-
So Dani joined the LOA. Not the worst thing she could’ve done.
Talia took one look at this girl she found in Venice that looked exactly like her beloved and thought ‘why not?’ And offered her a place to stay.
Dani took one look at this women she met in Venice that offered her a place to stay and though ‘bet’ and accepted.
So she’s been running with assassins. It’s not that bad and she learned how to fight. Talia mothers her and protects her from Ra’s good mom Talia, she will not raise Danielle like she raised Damian Eventually Dani gets a message from Danny saying that his biological family wants to meet her.
She goes with Talia’s okay and heads to Gotham.
Unlike her template, she knows that the Waynes are the Bats and loves teasing them about it.
“You’re billionaires, right? Wow, I really hope you don’t have a secret lair under this mansion!”
“… right, right. That would be weird.”
Damian doesn’t know what to make of Danielle. On one hand, he’s always wanted a sister, and she’s biologically related to him. On the other hand, she willingly works with the people that took away Damian’s childhood.
Danielle doesn’t have the blind devotion to the LOA that he had, and he thinks that she’s been manipulated by Ra’s and spends his time trying to convince her to stay in Gotham with them.
So now Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul get into a custody battle. (Talia wants also Danny and Bruce wants Dani)
Wind of it reaches the press and now the whole world is invested.
#danny phantom#dpxdc#dc x dp#dc x dp crossover#danielle phantom#dc x dp prompt#dani fenton#dp x dc crossover#batman#bruce wayne#demon twins#damian wayne#ra’s al ghul#talia al ghul#maddie fenton#jack fenton#leauge of assassins#cvw fic summaries
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pretty in pink - CARLOS SAINZ
pairing : carlos sainz x girlfriend!reader kinktober day 16 - lingerie
summary : spending 23 grand on a shopping spree? that's something only y/n can do, but of course the money spent will always be worth it, especially when she gets something that can benefit her and carlos
warnings/notes : swearing, a bit of plot, smut, spit, nipple play, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!), hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fingering, anal sex, mention and use of sex toys, gagging, praise kink, explicit photography (with consent of course)
word count : 5.7k
a/n : sorry if this took so long, i was so busy these past few days
main masterlist | kinktober masterlist | taglist form
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Y/n walked through the front door, arms laden with shopping bags. "I'm home!" she called out cheerfully, expecting Carlos to greet her. When there was no response, she assumed he must still be asleep after his training session this morning.
Humming to herself, Y/n made her way to the kitchen, setting her purchases down on the counter. She opened the refrigerator door, bending over to grab a bottle of water.
Suddenly, strong arms encircled her waist from behind, pulling her back against a firm chest. Y/n let out a startled yelp, heart leaping into her throat as she spun around.
Carlos grinned down at her, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well hello there, beautiful," he purred, voice low and husky. "Welcome home."
Y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling back. "You scared me half to death, you jerk," she laughed, playfully swatting his chest. "I thought you were asleep."
Carlos chuckled, his hands sliding down to rest on Y/n's hips. "Oh, I was sleeping like a baby...until the bank called to ask if my credit card had been stolen. Apparently, someone went on quite the shopping spree today."
Y/n bit her lip, trying to look innocent. "I may have gone a little overboard," she admitted sheepishly. "But you know how it is when the girls drag you out shopping. One minute you're just browsing, and the next you've maxed out three credit cards."
Carlos raised an eyebrow, amused. "Eight thousand dollars at Sephora? What exactly did you buy, love? The entire store?"
Y/n giggled, leaning into him. "Maybe. But you should see the new eyeshadow palettes I got! They're to die for."
"And don't even get me started on Victoria's Secret," Carlos teased, his hands dipping lower. "Fifteen grand? I think that's more than the GDP of some small countries."
Y/n giggled, playfully swatting Carlos' chest. "C'mon, don't be such a killjoy! I got it for you!"
Realizing how that sounded, her eyes widened and she backpedaled quickly. "Wait, no, that came out wrong! I didn't buy you lingerie to wear, I swear!"
Carlos raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Really? Because I have to say, I'm a bit interested in this... development."
"No, no, nothing like that!" Y/n laughed, shaking her head. "I just figured you'd like seeing me in some of the new sets I got. You know, for your viewing pleasure and all that."
She bit her lip, a coy smile playing on her lips. "I'll model them for you after dinner, if you'd like. Give you a little private fashion show."
Carlos' eyes darkened, his gaze raking over her appreciatively. "Mmm, I think I'd like that very much, amor."
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After dinner, Y/n led Carlos to their bedroom, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I have three sets to show you tonight," she purred, her hands sliding up his chest. "And I think you're going to like them very much."
She disappeared into the walk-in closet for a moment before emerging in a stunning white lingerie set. The bra was all lace and delicate straps, barely containing her ample breasts. The matching thong was equally skimpy, hugging her hips and leaving little to the imagination.
"What do you think?" Y/n asked, doing a slow spin. The white lace contrasted beautifully against her golden skin, making her look like a naughty angel.
Carlos' eyes darkened with lust, his hands flexing at his sides. "Fuck, Y/n," he growled, his voice low and rough. "You look gorgeous."
Y/n smiled, pleased by Carlos' reaction. "Thank you, baby," she purred, giving him a quick smile before sauntering back into the closet to change into the next set.
A moment later, she emerged in a stunning blue satin ensemble. The bra was a plunging push-up style, making her breasts look even more voluptuous than usual. The high-waisted panties hugged her curves, the satin smooth and cool against her skin.
"What do you think of this one?" Y/n asked, striking a pose. She ran her hands down her sides, tracing the curves of her waist and hips. "I thought the color would bring out my eyes."
Carlos' mouth went dry at the sight of her, his cock already starting to harden in his shorts. "It does," he managed, his voice strained. "It brings out how fucking sexy you are."
Y/n chuckled, her eyes flickering down to the growing bulge in Carlos' shorts. "Whoa there, big boy," she teased, sauntering closer to him. "We've got one more set to go. You need to calm down before you explode."
She reached out, trailing a finger along the waistband of his shorts, feeling the heat of his skin. "Although," she purred, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, "I can't blame you. I'd be pretty excited too if I had a sexy girlfriend parading around in lingerie."
Carlos groaned, his hips bucking into her touch. "Fuck, Y/n," he growled, his hands settling on her hips. "You're killing me here."
Y/n grinned, giving his bulge a little squeeze before stepping back. "Patience, Carlos," she said, placing a peck on the corner of his lips. "The best is yet to come."
With that, she turned and headed back to the closet to change into the final set, leaving Carlos aching and wanting.
Y/n emerged from the closet for the final time, and Carlos' breath caught in his throat. She was wearing a soft baby pink set, the color he loved most on her. The bra was a delicate lace bralette, barely containing her full breasts. The matching thong was equally sweet, a tiny bow adorning the front.
"This one's my favorite," Carlos said hoarsely, his eyes devouring her. "You look absolutely stunning, Y/n."
Y/n smiled, pleased by his reaction. She did a little twirl, the fabric riding up to reveal the curve of her ass. "I'm glad you like it," she purred, walking towards him. "I picked it just for you."
She stopped in front of him, looping her arms around his neck. "So, what do you think of the whole collection?" she asked, pressing her body against his. "Did I do a good job?"
Carlos nodded, his lips brushing against Y/n's skin as he spoke. "Mhm," he murmured between kisses, his hands sliding down to grip her hips.
He pressed his mouth to her abdomen, trailing kisses across her soft skin. "Turn around for me, hermosa?" he asked, his voice low and rough with desire. "I want to see the back again."
Y/n shivered at the command in his tone, and the way he took charge. She obeyed without hesitation, slowly turning in a circle so he could admire the view.
The thong rode up as she moved, revealing the curve of her ass and the tiny pink thong nestled between her cheeks. Carlos groaned, his hands flexing with the urge to grab and squeeze.
Carlos' eyes darkened with lust as Y/n turned, revealing the tantalizing view of her ass barely covered by the thin pink thong. "Dios mio," he breathed, his hands flexing with the urge to grab and squeeze. "Can I rip it off?"
"Carlos, no," Y/n protested weakly, even as a thrill raced through her at his intensity. "I just bought this a few hours ago."
But he was already moving, his large hands gripping her hips and spinning her back around. In one swift motion, he hooked his fingers in the delicate fabric of the thong and ripped, the sound of tearing lace filling the room.
Y/n gasped as the flimsy garment gave way, Carlos tossing it aside carelessly. He pushed her back onto the bed, crawling over her with a predatory gleam in his eye.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he growled, his hands roaming over her bare skin. "I can't wait to ruin you."
Y/n whined as Carlos manhandled her, his rough treatment sending a thrill through her body despite her protests. "Carlos, c'mon," she pleaded, even as her hips bucked up against him. "I really liked that set."
Carlos just grinned, a wicked glint in his eye. "Sorry, baby," he purred, nipping at her earlobe. "But you look even better out of it."
He kissed down her neck, his hands sliding under her to unhook the delicate bra. With a flick of his fingers, the clasp came undone, and he tossed the lacy garment aside.
Y/n's breasts spilled free, and Carlos groaned at the sight. "Fuck, you're perfect," he growled, cupping the soft mounds in his hands. He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out to tease a pebbled nipple.
She arched into the touch, a moan escaping her lips. "Carlos," she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Please..."
Carlos paused, looking up at Y/n with a raised eyebrow. "Please what?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. "Are you asking me to stop ruining your pretty lingerie?"
Y/n bit her lip, shaking her head. "No," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not asking you to stop."
A slow, wicked grin spread across Carlos' face. "That's what I thought," he purred, his lips curving into a smirk.
He continued his journey down her body, his kisses growing more heated as he went. He nuzzled the soft skin of her belly, his stubble rasping against her sensitive flesh.
Lower and lower he went, until his face was level with her pelvis. He inhaled deeply, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils. "I'll buy you another pair of this set tomorrow," he promised, his voice muffled against her skin. "But for now..."
Carlos dipped his head between Y/n's thighs, his tongue delving into her folds with sensual, deliberate strokes. He took his time, savoring the taste of her, the way she writhed and moaned beneath him.
"Carlos, baby," Y/n gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair. "So good, god you're so good."
She ground against his face, her hips bucking as she chased her pleasure. But Carlos wasn't having it. He pushed her hips back down, holding her in place.
"Calm down, mi amor," he murmured against her skin, his voice vibrating through her. "I've got you. Just relax and let me take care of you."
Y/n whimpered, her body trembling with need. But she forced herself to still, trusting Carlos to bring her to the heights of ecstasy.
Carlos rewarded her obedience with a long, slow lick, his tongue swirling around her clit. He alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, building her pleasure steadily.
Carlos continued his assault on Y/n's pussy, his tongue delving deep, savoring every inch of her. He wasn't rushing, wasn't devouring her like a starved man. No, he was taking his time, committing every taste, every texture to memory.
The way she dripped onto his tongue, coating his taste buds with her essence. The little gasps and moans she made, music to his ears. The way her thighs trembled on either side of his head, her body surrendering to his touch.
He was messy, spit dripping down his chin, smearing across his cheeks. But he didn't care. All that mattered was Y/n, her pleasure, her satisfaction.
Carlos kept his mouth firmly planted between Y/n's thighs, his tongue delving deep into her soaked folds. God, she was so wet, her arousal coating his chin and dripping down onto the sheets below.
He moaned against her, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. His nose bumped against her clit with each thrust of his tongue, the sensitive bundle of nerves throbbing with need.
Y/n's legs slowly wrapped around his head, her heels digging into his back as she pulled him closer. "Fuck, baby," she panted, her fingers tightening in his hair. "Keep going, it feels so good. Like that, just like that."
Y/n's moans grew louder, her hips rocking against Carlos' face as he devoured her. She gasped as she felt his fingers teasing her entrance, circling the sensitive flesh but not quite penetrating.
"I want more, Carlos," she whimpered, her voice high and needy. "I want your fingers inside."
Carlos obliged, slowly pushing one finger into her tight heat. He groaned at the feel of her, hot and wet and perfect around him. He pumped his finger in and out, curling it to hit that special spot inside her.
Y/n keened, her back arching off the bed as he fingered her. "Yes, yes, just like that," she chanted, her walls clenching around his digits. "Don't stop, please don't stop."
Carlos thrust his middle finger deep into Y/n's pussy, the longest digit providing the perfect stretch. She moaned loudly, her legs shaking as he pumped in and out, curling his finger to hit her G-spot with each stroke.
Her body seemed to be at war with itself, her legs trembling and threatening to close, but her pussy clenching greedily around his finger, silently begging for more.
Carlos could feel her getting closer, her walls fluttering around him, her moans growing higher and more desperate. He doubled his efforts, adding a second finger and rubbing her clit with his thumb.
"That's it, baby," he growled against her skin. "Cum for me. Let me feel you."
Y/n's body tensed, her orgasm building slowly but surely. It took a few moments, but when it finally hit, it crashed over her like a pile of falling bricks.
Her back arched off the bed, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. It was as if they were in a soundproof room, her moans echoing off the walls, filling the space with the symphony of her ecstasy.
Carlos worked her through it, his fingers never ceasing their relentless assault on her sensitive flesh. He lapped at her clit, drawing out her climax until she was a writhing, trembling mess beneath him.
Finally, she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Carlos gently withdrew his fingers, pressing a tender kiss to her inner thigh.
Carlos continued his worship of Y/n's body, his lips trailing kisses up and down her trembling thighs. He took his time, savoring the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her soft skin beneath his lips.
Then, unable to resist any longer, he dipped his head back between her legs, his tongue delving into her soaked folds once more. Y/n gasped, her hips bucking up to meet his mouth.
He ate her out with fervor, his tongue swirling around her clit, dipping into her entrance, lapping up her essence. Y/n shook beneath him, her hands fisting in the sheets as she tried to anchor herself against the onslaught of sensation.
Carlos could feel her getting close again, her walls fluttering around his tongue, her moans growing higher and more desperate. He doubled his efforts, determined to bring her to the edge once more.
Y/n's hands fisted in Carlos' hair, tugging him closer as he devoured her. "Baby, you feel so good," she panted, her hips rocking against his face. "Keep going, don't stop."
Carlos growled in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue delving deep, lapping at her walls, flicking rapidly over her clit.
Y/n's thighs began to tremble, her body tensing as her second orgasm approached. "Carlos, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." she gasped, her words dissolving into a high, keening moan as she came undone.
Carlos worked her through it, his mouth never leaving her pussy, prolonging her pleasure until she was a boneless, satisfied mess beneath him.
Y/n came again and again, her body shaking with the force of her orgasms. Carlos gentled his touch, his tongue lapping softly at her sensitive flesh as she rode out the waves of pleasure.
He pulled back, pressing tender kisses to her trembling thighs. "You're so pretty when you cum," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "The way you shake, the sounds you make... it's the hottest thing I've ever seen."
Y/n whimpered, her body still twitching with aftershocks. Carlos' words, combined with the feeling of his lips on her skin, sent a fresh surge of arousal through her.
"More," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need more, Carlos. Please..."
Carlos trailed kisses up Y/n's body, leaving a trail of hickies in his wake. He nipped at her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point. "Can you take more, mi amor?" he growled, his voice low and husky. "You're already shaking so much..."
Y/n whimpered, her body trembling with need. "Yes," she gasped, her nails raking down his back. "I need more, Carlos. Please, I can take it. I want it all."
Carlos grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye. "As you wish," he purred, his hand sliding down to palm her ass. "But first..."
He captured her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep, claiming her, tasting himself on her lips. Y/n moaned into the kiss, her tongue tangling with his, her body arching into his touch.
Carlos' hand slid from Y/n's ass to her lower back, his fingers tracing teasing patterns on her skin. "The panties would look pretty with that buttplug I got you," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "You know, the one with the pink heart gem?"
Y/n nodded, a shiver running through her at the mention of the toy. "I was planning to use it soon," she admitted, her voice breathy with anticipation.
Carlos smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. "It's such a shame though," he purred, his fingers dipping lower, teasing the cleft of her ass. "I already ripped the panties."
Y/n gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily at the touch. "Carlos," she whimpered, her voice a mix of need and frustration. "You're such a tease."
"All part of the fun, mi amor," he chuckled, his fingers continuing their maddening dance. "Now, where did I put that thing?"
Y/n pointed to the nightstand beside the bed. "I think it's in there," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Your side."
Carlos released her, rolling over to rummage through the drawer. He pulled out the pink heart-shaped buttplug, holding it up triumphantly. "Found it," he grinned, crawling back over to Y/n.
He ran the smooth metal over her lips, letting her taste the cold surface. "Open up, baby," he instructed, pressing the tip to her mouth. "Get it nice and wet for me."
Y/n parted her lips, taking the buttplug into her mouth. She sucked on it, her tongue swirling around the base, coating it liberally with saliva.
Y/n looked up at Carlos through her lashes, her eyes wide and innocent, the buttplug still nestled between her lips. She sucked on it slowly, sensually, her cheeks hollowing as she applied suction.
"Fuck, you're so cute," Carlos groaned, his cock twitching in his pants at the sight. "Such a good girl, getting your toy all wet for me."
He reached out, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing over her plump bottom lip. "That's enough, mi amor," he murmured, gently withdrawing the buttplug from her mouth. "Time to put it to better use."
Y/n whimpered softly, her eyes following the movement of the toy as Carlos positioned it at her entrance. He pressed the tip against her, applying gentle pressure, watching her face intently for any sign of discomfort.
Y/n moaned as she felt the cool metal of the buttplug pressing against her sensitive skin. Carlos watched her face intently, gauging her reaction as he slowly pushed the toy inside her.
"That's it, baby," he crooned, his voice low and encouraging. "Just relax and let it in. You're doing so well."
She continued to whimper, her hands fisting in the sheets as the buttplug stretched her, filling her in a way she hadn't experienced before. It was a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one, and as Carlos twisted the base, the pink heart-shaped jewel nestled snugly between her cheeks.
"There," he said, satisfaction evident in his tone. "Don't you look pretty with your new toy."
Carlos helped Y/n onto her hands and knees, admiring the way her ass jutted out, the buttplug nestled snugly between her cheeks. He ran his hands over her curves, spreading her open, exposing her most intimate parts.
"Can I take a picture, mi amor?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. "I want to remember this moment forever."
Y/n hesitated, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "Mhm," she murmured, nodding shyly. "But... but don't show anyone, okay?"
Carlos chuckled, pressing a tender kiss to the small of her back. "Of course not, baby," he assured her. "These pictures are for me and me only to enjoy."
He grabbed his phone, snapping a few shots from various angles, capturing Y/n in all her vulnerable, exposed glory. Each click of the shutter sent a thrill through him, the knowledge that he was the only one who would ever see these images, that he had her complete trust.
Carlos groaned, his eyes roaming over Y/n's exposed body. "Fuck, you're so pretty baby," he growled, his voice thick with desire.
He quickly shed his shorts and boxers, his hard cock springing free, bobbing between his legs. He moved behind Y/n, gripping her hips, holding her in place as he teased the tip of his cock against her entrance.
He rubbed it back and forth, catching on her clit with each pass, making her gasp and shudder. "Look at you," he purred, his fingers digging into her hips. "So wet and ready for me. I can't wait to be inside you."
Y/n whimpered, pushing back against him, desperate for more. Carlos chuckled darkly, continuing his maddening tease, keeping her on edge, making her ache for his touch.
She panted, her hips wiggling back against Carlos. "Carlos, I want more," she pleaded, her voice high and needy.
Carlos smiled, pushing just the tip of his cock inside her. Y/n moaned, her walls fluttering around him, trying to draw him deeper.
"That's it, baby," Carlos purred, reaching around to wiggle the buttplug. Y/n cried out, her body shaking as the toy shifted inside her, sending sparks of pleasure racing up her spine.
Even with just the tip inside her, Y/n was moaning like she was in a porno, her body responding to every touch, every tease. Carlos grinned, loving the effect he had on her, the way he could reduce her to a writhing, desperate mess with just a few well-placed touches.
Carlos grabbed a fistful of Y/n's hair, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail. "This pretty mouth of yours needs to shut up this time around, okay?" he growled, his voice low and commanding. "You were so loud earlier, we already had noise complaints last week because of you."
He reached for her ripped panties, balling them up and pressing them into her mouth. Y/n's eyes widened, a muffled whimper escaping her as he tied the fabric around her head, effectively gagging her.
"There," Carlos purred, admiring his handiwork. "Now you can scream all you want, and no one will hear you."
He lined himself up, the head of his cock nudging against her entrance. With one hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, stretching her, filling her completely.
Y/n's muffled moan was music to his ears, her body clenching around him, welcoming him home.
Y/n's back arched as Carlos filled her, her fingers digging into the pillow in front of her. Despite the gag, her moans were still loud, her pleasure evident in the way her body moved, the way she rocked back against him.
"Shh, baby," Carlos chided, his hand coming down on her ass in a gentle spank. "Be quiet now."
He repeated the action, alternating cheeks, the sting of his palm mixing with the pleasure of his cock inside her. Y/n whimpered, her hips jerking with each impact, her moans muffled but no less intense.
Carlos grinned, loving the way she responded to him, the way she surrendered to his touch, his control. He continued his steady rhythm, pounding into her, his balls slapping against her clit with each thrust.
Carlos looked down, groaning at the sight of Y/n's pussy, so wet and stretched around him. "Fuck, you're taking me so well, baby," he grunted, his hips snapping forward, driving into her harder.
His hand found the buttplug, wiggling it, teasing her. He pushed it halfway out, then twisted it, pushing it back in, making Y/n's body jerk and shudder.
"That's it, take it all," he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take my cock, take the plug, let me fill you up."
Y/n whimpered, her body trembling, torn between the pleasure and the slight discomfort of being so full. But Carlos didn't let up, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate, as he chased his own release.
Carlos cooed softly, his voice a stark contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. "So cute, baby," he murmured, reaching around to pinch Y/n's nipples, rolling them between his fingers. "You always look so pretty in pink."
He punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust, burying himself deep inside her. Y/n's body jerked, a muffled moan escaping her as the buttplug shifted, pressing against her walls.
Carlos grinned, loving the way she looked, the way she felt, the way she responded to him. He could feel his own release approaching, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing inside her.
"Gonna cum," he grunted, his hips slapping against her ass as he chased his pleasure. "Gonna fill you up, baby. Fuck, you feel so good."
Y/n's body was weak, her muscles trembling with the effort of holding herself up, of taking Carlos' relentless thrusts. But fuck, it felt so good, the pleasure consuming her, overwhelming her senses.
She moaned around the panties in her mouth, the sound muffled but no less desperate, no less needy. Her pussy clenched around Carlos' cock, her walls fluttering, trying to draw him deeper, hold him closer.
Carlos could feel her tightening around him, could hear the desperation in her moans. He knew she was close, could feel her body tensing, preparing for release.
"That's it, baby," he growled, his hand snaking around to rub her clit. "Cum for me. Let go, let me feel you."
Y/n's body seized, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She shook and trembled, her moans rising in pitch, her pussy clamping down on Carlos' cock like a vice.
Carlos groaned, his hips stuttering as he found his own release. "Fuck, baby," he grunted, his cock pulsing inside her as he filled her with his cum. "You're taking it so well."
He collapsed over her, his chest pressing against her back, his arms wrapping around her waist. They stayed like that for a moment, both panting, both trying to catch their breath.
Slowly, carefully, Carlos pulled out, watching as his cum dripped from Y/n's pussy. He reached for the buttplug, gently removing it, tossing it aside.
"You did so good, mi amor," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder. "I'm so proud of you."
Y/n turned in Carlos' arms, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I want more," she whispered, her eyes dark with desire.
Carlos grinned, his hand sliding down to cup her ass. "Anal?" he asked, his voice hopeful.
Y/n bit her lip, nodding shyly. "Yes," she breathed, her body already trembling with anticipation. "I want to try it, with you."
Carlos' grin widened, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Are you sure, baby?" he asked, his tone gentle despite his eagerness. "We can take it slow, go at your pace."
Y/n nodded, her resolve strengthening. "I'm sure," she said, her voice steady. "I trust you, Carlos. I know you'll take care of me."
Carlos guided Y/n to sit on his lap, her back pressed against his chest, her legs spread wide. "I'll take the plug out," he murmured, his fingers trailing over her skin. "And I'll help you, every step of the way."
Y/n nodded, leaning back into him, trusting him completely. Carlos reached between her legs, his fingers finding the base of the buttplug. Slowly, gently, he pulled it out, the metal sliding free with a soft pop.
She moaned, her body clenching at the sudden emptiness. Carlos soothed her with soft kisses to her neck, his hands rubbing her thighs. "Shh, I've got you," he whispered, his voice low and reassuring. "We'll go slow, just relax."
He reached for the lube, slicking his fingers generously. "Tell me if anything hurts, okay?" he said, his tone serious. "Your comfort is the most important thing."
Carlos circled Y/n's entrance with a slick finger, gently pressing in, breaching her slowly. Y/n whimpered, her body tensing at the unfamiliar intrusion.
"Breathe, baby," Carlos coached, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on her stomach. "Relax for me."
He worked his finger deeper, curling it slightly, searching for that special spot. When he found it, Y/n cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily.
"There," Carlos purred, rubbing the spot firmly. "Does that feel good?"
Y/n nodded frantically, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "Yes," she gasped, her voice strained. "It's so intense, but so good- Fuck..."
Carlos added a second finger, stretching her slowly, preparing her for his cock. He scissored them, gently, carefully, watching her face for any signs of pain or discomfort.
Carlos continued his gentle ministrations, his fingers moving in and out of Y/n's tight heat, curling and stroking, finding all the sensitive spots that made her gasp and moan. He kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips, murmuring words of praise and encouragement.
"You're doing so well, baby," he whispered, his thumb brushing over her clit. "Taking me so perfectly. I'm so proud of you."
Y/n whimpered, her body trembling under his touch, under his words. She felt so full, so stretched, but it was a good ache, a pleasure she'd never known before.
Carlos could tell she was getting close, her walls fluttering around his fingers, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He doubled his efforts, his fingers pumping faster, harder, his thumb rubbing tight circles on her clit.
"Cum for me, mi amor," he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire. "Let go, let me see you cum"
Y/n's body seized, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She whimpered and moaned, her hips bucking wildly, her inner walls clamping down on Carlos' fingers.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted, her voice high and breathy. "Oh god, Carlos, it's so much, it's too much-"
Her words dissolved into incoherent babble as the pleasure consumed her, her body shaking and trembling in Carlos' arms. He held her tight, his fingers still moving inside her, drawing out her climax, making it last as long as possible.
"That's it, baby," he crooned, his lips brushing her ear. "Ride it out, let it take you. You're doing so fucking well."
Carlos gently turned Y/n's face towards him, his eyes locked on hers. "Look down, baby," he instructed softly. "See? It's all the way in."
Y/n's gaze followed his, her eyes widening as she saw the slight bulge of Carlos' cock inside her, stretching her, filling her completely. "I feel so full," she whispered, her voice awestruck. "I can feel you everywhere."
Carlos grinned, his hands sliding up her sides, cupping her breasts. "That's because you're taking me so perfectly," he praised, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. "Every inch of you is wrapped around me, squeezing me, hugging me tight."
Y/n moaned, her hips shifting slightly, the movement sending sparks of pleasure racing through her. "It's so big," she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed. "But it feels so good, Carlos. So right."
Carlos couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Y/n riding him, her body moving with a wild abandon, her eyes filled with nothing but pure, unadulterated lust. Her hair was a mess, falling gracefully over one shoulder, her tits bouncing with each thrust, her mouth open, drool leaking from the corner.
She was a vision, a goddess, and she was all his.
Carlos gripped her hips tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh, guiding her movements, helping her chase her pleasure. He watched as her body tensed, her walls clamping down around him, her moans rising in pitch.
"That's it, baby," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Ride me, take what you need. Fuck, you look so beautiful like this, so perfect, so mine."
Y/n's body shook, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. She was close, so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion.
Her body tensed, her movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," she gasped, her voice strained, her eyes wild with pleasure.
Carlos could feel her tightening around him, her walls fluttering, clenching, trying to draw him deeper. "Keep going, baby," he urged, his hips snapping up to meet her downward thrusts. "Let go, cum for me. I've got you, I'm right here."
Y/n threw her head back, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her. Her body shook, her pussy clamping down on Carlos' cock like a vice, milking him, trying to pull him over the edge with her.
Carlos groaned, his own release building, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing inside her. "Fuck, baby," he grunted, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fill you up, fuck-"
As their orgasms crashed over them, Y/n's body spasmed, her movements becoming jerky, uncoordinated. She fell forward, her chest pressing against Carlos', her face nestling into the crook of his neck.
Carlos' arms wrapped around her, holding her close, his cock still buried deep inside her, throbbing with the aftershocks of his release. "I've got you, baby," he murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "I'm here, I'm right here."
They stayed like that for a long moment, their bodies joined, their hearts beating in sync. Carlos pressed soft kisses to Y/n's hair, her forehead, her cheek, murmuring words of love and praise.
"You did so well, mi amor," he whispered, his voice low and tender. "You took me so perfectly, gave me everything. I love you so much, Y/n. So fucking much."
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#sera write's#kinktober#formula 1#f1#formula one#f1 x you#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 smut#f1 imagine#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 fluff#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fic#formula 1 smut#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 x y/n#formula 1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 x female reader#carlos sainz#carlos sainz fic#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz smut#carlos sainz fluff#carlos sainzfanfic#carlos sainz x fem!reader
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PR Nightmare Two || F1/F2
type :: crack
tw/cw :: pee (carlos), sexual jokes (charles, oscar), watersports (lando), small smut (lando), mpreg (lando, oscar), bear fucking (ollie), necrophilia (ollie),
contains :: carlos, charles, lando, oscar, max, ollie, paul
summary :: driver!reader is the driver's teammate which is awesome! except the fact that you're a fucking pr disater who can't shut your mouth. platonic or romantic !
xmas celly here! || f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist
Carlos Sainz | 55
After moving to Williams, Carlos was terrified that you and him wouldn't click. But was quickly proven wrong as you were extremely open despite just meeting him. He knew everything about you... Too much...
Yet again, you were trapped in an interview that was seemingly never-ending. This interview was live on Sky Sports, meaning you both had to be extra careful and stay on for much longer than usual. Although Carlos was tired, you weren't. Yapping would have been your full time job if it wasn't for your skills in Formula.
"What is a secret you haven't told each other?" The interviewer asks, expecting something along the lines of 'I ate your ice-cream once' or 'I hate when you wear crocs'. Carlos was going to reply with something similar to that but you quickly jumped in.
"I wanna pee in the ice bath so bad" You said with a desperate tone, as if you were grieving the pain of not being able to bathe in your own piss. Carlos looked at you in shock.
"What?!" He asked, his shock turning to laughter to help cope. "But you never did right...?"
"Of course not holy shit." You say, disgusted he would think so lowly of you. "But I wanna see how my pee would react the muscle-relaxants and ice and shit. Like what if I become the Hulk but yellow-"
Quickly the camera were cut and the live stream ended before you could say more. You ruined an entire live stream with over 20,000 live viewers. From that moment, Carlos knew you two would be perfect together on this team.
Charles Leclerc | 16
Doing small interviews didn't bother Charles that much. He didn't mind talking and his fanbase was lovely. But once you became his new teammate at Ferrari, interviews were now 10 times more fun.
"Did you guys have any embarrassing childhood crushes?" The interviewer asked, finally giving you both non-racing related questions.
"Oh yes!" Charles said, excited to talk about himself. "Definitely Kristen Stewart haha! Not very embarrassing, but I did watch Twilight just for her."
"That's so valid" You said relaxed, "I think mine was probably 9."
Both Charles and the interviewer looked extremely confused. "From what show...?" The interviewer asked, assuming it was something like the Umbrella Academy or Stranger Things.
Now you were confused as well, "Huh? There's no show." You repeated yourself. "9, as in the number... Like the circle and line."
"Oh..." The interviewer said, trying their best to find a way to segway this into the next question but they were cut off by Charles.
"No way," Charles said, "Maybe! MAYBE I could understand the number 8 but 9???" Now the interviewer was completely lost. "At least 8 has curves and a body, what does 9 have?"
"I know he's packin" You said with a grin "That little curved tail, curved UPWARDS? And the-"
Cameras off. Interviewers cutting you off. And Charles was deeply interested... This clip launches your duo name: Eight Eat Nine
Lando Norris | 04
"How are you helping (Y/N) adjust to being a new Papaya!" The interviewer asked innocently. Little did she know how much Lando has been enduring with you. Thankfully he recored it all and there would be a video posted to Youtube soon.
"Awful." Lando says before chuckling, almost more like a nervous break down chuckle. "Every day is hell with em' here."
"What???" The interviewer asked, thinking she got first-hand access to the newest gossip on the grid. "Did something happen?"
"YEAH." Lando said, simply nodding, not having the guts to say what you did. Thankfully, but not very thankfully to Lando, you walked into the interview after overhearing it.
"Yeah, what DID I do?" You ask, almost sounding threatening. "Don't make me show you again."
After weeks passed and rumors were rampant online. Rumors about you blackmailing him, overthrowing his family's business, kicking him out of Mclaren, and so so many more extreme rumors that you both were laughing at. Lando finally edited and posted his newest Youtube video: "Reading Fanfiction with (Y/N)!?"
Despite the thumbnail seeming like you two would be reading fan-fiction shipping you both together, instead, you found the most vile, borderline dark content, gay fics of Lando with a variety of drivers.
Thus, explaining the odd dynamic between you two. In reality, you both were perfectly fine and closer than ever. But you just wanted to play up the drama in order to rack up some views and tweets. It was awful for the PR team, but to you guys: it was funny.
Oscar Piastri | 81
oscarpiastri: got a tan and a new helmet: ready to destroy the next half of the 25' season! @.mclaren
→ yourusername: finish taking that shirt off. now.
→ yourusername: take off your pants too while your at it.
⎯→ user 01: OH MY GOD (Y/N)?????? UNDER A MCLAREN TAGGED POST TOO????
→ user 02: they're never ever going to beat the dating accusations
⎯→ yourusername: we're about to be dating once he comes home
→ user 03: thought i was a freak but (y/n)... u can have him
→ yourusername: my lovely wonder-bread, bend over for me.
⎯→ user 04: i thought this was a joke about his name sounding like pastry but she's just calling him white, isnt she
⎯→ user 05: that's her precious white chocolate delight
→ yourusername: gonna get ur fine ass pregnant
→ yourusername: raw. next question.
⎯→ user 06: i can't tell if she's tiktok typa horny or tumblr typa horny
⎯→ user 07: definitely tumblr...
No image. I'm not searching this shit up again.
Max Verstappen | 01
Tiktok is something Max tries to stay away from. Not that he hates the app, he'd just rather do something else with his time. But you, the newest and youngest driver on the grid, loved Tiktok. You were basically the marketing for Redbull despite your out of pocket videos at times.
And that included you coming up with the idea to have Max react to fans posts. An innocent idea that Max didn't mind filming content for, after all, he loved his fans. But you quickly were going to make him doubt that.
You were smart, showing him innocent tiktoks first. Fan art, cool edits, and even analysis on his best drives. As the video was coming to an end, you brought up the trend where drivers were compared to a food and a quote.
Often times Max was compared to a key lime pie, bell pepper, or an energy drink. But you then showed him THE strawberry slideshow. You knew what the ending was.
"Oh strawberry!" Max said, excited to finally get a sweet themed item. But as he swiped and saw the strawberries then coated with white chocolate, obviously implying something, he jumped back and gasped. "OH!!! Well, I didn't... I didn't expect that."
While you were dying, already posting it - he was traumatized.
Oliver Bearman | 87
Interviews were fun between you both, fans always loved it. Mainly because both of you can't keep your mouth shut. The only way to make your interviews even worse is to get Franco to join in with you guys.
But unlike Ollie's sassy comments, you asked stupid questions. Butt fuck stupid questions. Which Ollie always took serious. Think of Tom Holland answering the question about him "faking" being British or Theo Von's podcast vibes. It was the dumb American x understanding Brit duo.
So when you both were forced to create a "podcast" for Prema, aka a race preview, you both took full advantage of this time. You were supposed to be just folding laundry, but almost nothing got folded. It was just yapping and yapping.
"I got a question," You say, attempting to fold a shirt but doing awful at it.
"Hmm?" Ollie replied, picking up the shirt you just folded and undoing it. Only to fold it properly himself.
"Why is your name Bearman?" You ask. "Cause like, I know British people got like, My Little Pony names. Like how people named Smith's were blacksmiths and stuff."
"Oh well," Ollie paused to think, "I dunno actually. It's from my great grandpa so."
"Did he fuck a bear or something?" You ask, nonchalantly while Ollie instantly is confused. "Cause lowkey, back in the day I bet Bearman was a slur."
"No..." Ollie hesitated, "I highly doubt my grandpa fucked a bear. I think we probably just hunted bears-"
"So you're a family of necrophiles?" You shake your head, "That's just wrong man."
"I never said that-"
Paul Aron | 17
paularon_: Went for a run, in Italy, with a film camera🇮🇹🎥
→ yourusername: is it say yes to the dress or say yes to the SLUT???
→ yourusername: is this your soft launch for your only fans?
⎯→ user 01: i'd so buy it tbh
→ yourusername: pepemartiofficial kimi.antonelli olliebearman jakcrawford_ zane.maloney isackhadjar dennis_hauger
⎯→ paularon_: why are you @ ing the whole grid
⎯→ yourusername: to slut shame you
→ pepemartiofficial: did you lose your shirt over the summer?
→ olliebearman: go eat a burger (save somes baddies for the rest of us)
→ jakcrawford_: we get it, ur buff with a huge dick
⎯→ user 02:: how do u know that…
⎯→ yourusername: I can vouch for
→ isackhadjar: put a bra on slut
⎯→ yourusername: I don’t even think mines will fit him
#f1#f2#formula 1#formula 2#f1 x reader#f2 x reader#carlos sainz x reader#charles leclerc x reader#lando norris x reader#oscar piastri#max verstappen x reader#ollie bearman x reader#oliver bearman x reader#paul aron x reader#xmas celly!#formula 1 smau#formula 2 smau
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The swan Princess; Westeros Version.
Okay so, I can’t this out of my brain so just imagine this with me:
The reader-insert Targaryen Princess, the younger sister of Rhaenyra by about 16-17 years, and the second daughter of King Viserys and the late Queen Aemma x Lord Cregan Stark in a dynamic inspired by The Swan Princess.
Viserys and Rickon Stark arrange for the princess and Cregan to be wed once she comes of age. To build familiarity, they reunite them every few years (a rare moment of decency among men in House of the Dragon, but let's roll with it).
However, from a young age, they absolutely despise each other, setting the stage for a classic love-hate relationship.
Young fem Targ reader x young Cregan Stark.
Warnings: kids being kids.
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The towering walls of Harrenhal surround you like sentinels, their dark history hidden beneath the banners of red and black for your name day celebration. It's your sixth name day, and the great hall is alive with music, laughter, and the scent of roasted meats. Nobles mill about in their finest, offering you warm smiles, expensive gifts and endless congratulations. You curtsy, thank them, and do all the things a proper princess should.
You’ve been told countless times how loved you are—how your bright smile and kind words can soften even the grumpiest lord. But the truth is, your feet ache from standing, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and you missed you sister Nyra, she couldn’t attend because she was about to give birth to her babe. You’re already planning your escape.
Your father’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.
“Come, sweetling,” King Viserys beckoned warmly, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. “There is someone I would have you meet.”
With his guiding presence, he led you across the hall to a man of imposing stature, his broad shoulders and solemn expression marking him unmistakably as a lord of the North—Lord Rickon Stark. Beside him stood a boy, perhaps a few years your elder, with a mane of dark curls and piercing grey eyes that seemed to observe the world with unnerving precision.
“Lord Stark, I trust your journey was swift and uneventful?” your father inquired with the easy grace of a king accustomed to courtesies.
Lord Rickon inclined his head in a deep bow, he straightened from his bow, his voice deep and steady, carrying the weight of northern formality.
“Your Grace, the journey was as kind as one could hope this time of year. The North sends its regards, and I am honored to stand in your presence once more. Thank you for the honor of hosting us.” He glanced at you and also bow, “May the princess’s name day bring joy to all who celebrate it.”
You smile politely, dipping into a curtsy. “Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to meet you and your family.”
Rickon gestures to the boy at his side. “This is my son and heir, Cregan.”
Cregan steps forward, bowing stiffly. It’s obvious he’s not used to it. He’s taller than you expected, and there’s something about the way he holds himself that reminds you of the knights in your father’s court—serious, reserved, and trying far too hard to look older than he is.
“Princess,” he says in a deep, measured voice, “happy name day. I hope it has been a joyful celebration.”
You smile at him, tilting your head.
“Thank you, my lord. It has been lively.” Your tone is polite, but you can’t help teasing him a little. He seems so serious, like he’s never laughed a day in his life.
Your father turned to speak with Lord Rickin about something you honestly had no interest in. Instead you turn to the boy, the young Lord, Cregan Stark.
“Do you always speak like that?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
Cregan blinks, clearly taken aback. “Like what?”
“So formal,” you say with a grin. “Do you practice in front of a mirror?”
His ears turn red, but he doesn’t lose his composure. “It’s important to speak with respect,”
You’re about to tease him further when your father nudges you gently. You remember your manners and curtsy again, leaving Cregan to stare after you as you’re whisked away to greet the next guest.
Later that evening, after what feels like hours of endless conversation and feasting, you finally find your chance to slip away. The gardens outside Harrenhal are quiet and cool, a welcome escape from the noise of the hall. The moonlight dances on the fountains, and the scent of night-blooming flowers fills the air.
You’re wandering down a stone path when you spot him—Cregan Stark. He’s crouched under a tree, poking at the dirt with a stick.
“You’re not supposed to leave the hall,” you say, your sudden voice startling him.
He shoots to his feet, hastily brushing dirt off his tunic as though it might erase his guilt.
“Neither are you,” he counters, his tone careful yet edged with a hint of accusation.
You arch a brow, crossing your arms. “I’m the princess. I can do as I please.”
“That’s not true,” he retorts, his grey eyes narrowing as he mirrors your posture. “The king said the garden is off-limits.”
A sly smirk curls your lips, your lilac eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well, my father isn’t here, is he?”
Cregan’s frown deepens, his expression growing more serious. “If something happens to you, it’ll be my fault.”
Ignoring him, you take a step closer, letting your gaze drop to the stick he clutches. “What are you doing out here, anyway? Were you digging for treasure?”
His shoulders stiffen as he quickly moves the stick behind his back. “That’s none of your concern.”
Your grin widens, delighted at his discomfort. “So you were digging for something!”
“I wasn’t!” he insists, his ears tinged with a flush of embarrassment.
“Let me see,” you say, darting forward with a burst of energy and snatching the stick from his hand before he can react. You hold it aloft like a trophy, inspecting it with exaggerated curiosity. “What is this supposed to be?”
“It’s just a stick,” Cregan replies, his tone laced with exasperation, as if he couldn’t believe you were making such a fuss.
You tilt your head, pretending to examine it like it’s some ancient artifact. “Were you digging for dragon eggs? Gold, perhaps?”
His cheeks flush, and he glares at you. “Stop teasing me!”
But teasing him is far too entertaining to stop now. You smirk, twirling the stick.
“Or maybe you’re looking for a duel,” you say, taking a step back and mimicking a defensive stance you’d seen knights adopt in the courtyard during their sparring sessions.
Cregan raises an eyebrow at you, incredulous. “I’m not fighting a girl. And a princess, no less.”
You narrow your eyes at him, your grin growing wider. “Why not? Afraid, Stark?”
He bristles immediately, straightening his posture. “I am not afraid,”
“Really? Then prove it,” you challenge, tapping the stick against the ground like a knight preparing to strike.
Before he can respond, you jab the stick lightly at his side, making him jump. “Ow!”
You laugh as he lunges for the stick, easily sidestepping him.
“You're slow," you taunt, spinning the stick like you've seen the knights do.
It's far too big for your small hands, but you make it work, grinning all the while.
Cregan narrows his grey eyes, his jaw tightening.
"I'm not slow," he says, his voice low and deliberate.
"Prove it, then," you say with a smirk, backing away a step. "Show me what the great Stark of the north can do."
He hesitates, glancing down at the mud smudging his boots, as if weighing the consequences.
“It wouldn't be honorable," he says stiffly, his tone full of the self-importance you've come to expect from boys who think they're men.
You roll your eyes. "You're no fun, Stark. What's the point of being a lord if you can't even defend your honor from a girl with a stick?"
His cheeks flush redder. "It's not proper to fight a princess!"
"Then you'd better run," you say, raising the stick and charging at him.
Caught off guard, Cregan stumbles back, his hands flying up in defense.
“Stop that!" he growls, but you've already jabbed him lightly in the side.
"First blood!" you declare triumphantly, poking him again before he can react.
"That's enough!" he snaps, grabbing for the stick, but you dance out of reach, laughing all the while.
"Not until you admit l've bested you," you tease, circling him with the mock seriousness of a seasoned warrior.
"Never," he mutters, his brows drawing into a stormy line.
But you don’t stop. You jab him again, then again, each time with just enough force to make him flinch. His face turns red—not from pain, but from anger—and you can’t help but laugh at how easy it is to rile him up.
“That’s enough!” he snaps, lunging forward and grabbing for the stick. His sudden movement catches you off guard, and you stumble, the stick slipping from your grasp.
The two of you freeze for a moment, glaring at each other, breathing hard. Then, as if on cue, the tension explodes again, and the scuffle resumes, this time with both of you trying to wrestle control of the stick.
The tugging begins. You yank the stick one way, he pulls it back with equal force. The push and pull grows more intense with every second, the dirt beneath your feet slipping as you both struggle for control.
“Let go!” he growls through gritted teeth, his stance wide and firm.
“You let go!” you fire back, gripping the stick with all the determination of a dragon refusing to yield its hoard.
You yank the stick back with all the determination your small hands can muster, and Cregan pulls harder in retaliation. The scuffle becomes a tug-of-war, and with one final, unsteady pull, you both lose your footing.
You fall first, landing ungracefully on the grass. Thankfully, you’re spared the mud, but the same cannot be said for Cregan. He topples beside you, landing with a loud squelch in the wet muck.
For a moment, the garden is silent save for your uneven breaths. You push yourself up, brushing grass off your skirt, and glance at him. His tunic is streaked with mud, his hair tousled from the fall, and a dark streak smudges his cheek like a careless smear of war paint.
You press your lips together, trying to stifle it—but it’s no use. Laughter bursts out of you, uncontrollable and bright.
Cregan turns his head sharply, his grey eyes narrowing as he sits up stiffly.
“Why are you laughing?” His tone is formal, but there’s a sharp edge to it, his annoyance barely restrained.
You hold your sides, laughing harder at his expression.
“Because—” you manage between giggles, pointing at his face, “—because you look ridiculous! Like a pig in a mud pit!”
Cregan stiffens, his jaw tightening. “You are hardly in a position to jest, Princess. You’re the one sitting in the dirt!”
His words make you laugh even harder, and for a moment, it seems like he might let it go. But then his temper flares, and with deliberate precision, he scoops up a handful of mud.
Before you can react, the cold, wet clump splatters across the front of your gown. You gasp, your laughter replaced with sheer outrage gasp.
“You big brute!” you exclaim, rising to your knees. You scoop up your own handful of mud and hurl it back at him with all the righteous indignation of a wronged queen.
The mud hits his shoulder, leaving a dark smear on the fine fabric of his tunic. His eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks genuinely shocked. Then his lips press into a thin line, and he glares at you with all the gravity an eight-year-old can muster.
He grabs another handful of mud, flinging it with far more force this time. You shriek as it lands on your sleeve, and without hesitation, you retaliate.
The garden becomes your battleground. Mud flies through the air as you dodge and lunge, your giggles ringing out as Cregan growls in frustration. He tries to maintain his formality even as he hurls clumps of dirt at you.
“Your behavior is unbefitting of a princess!” he calls, though the mud streaking his face makes him look anything but dignified.
“And yours is no better for a lord!” you reply gleefully, tossing another clump that narrowly misses him.
By the time your attendants arrive, the scene they stumble upon is one of complete chaos. You’re both caked in mud from head to toe, your gown a ruined mess, and his tunic utterly unrecognizable.
“Your highness!” one of your handmaidens exclaims, rushing forward. “What in the name of the Seven happened here?”
“She attacked me!” Cregan says immediately, straightening his posture despite the mud dripping from his hair.
“You threw the first mud!” you counter, pointing at him with a haughty tilt of your chin.
The attendants exchange exasperated looks as they pull you both to your feet, fussing over the state of your clothes and muttering about what your fathers will say when they see this.
The second encounter.
#house of the dragon x you#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon#house of the dragon x reader#viserys targaryen#deamon targaryen#cregan x reader#cregan stark#hotd cregan#cregan fanfiction#cregan x you#rhaenyra x reader#rhaenyra targaryen#alicent hightower x reader#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen x reader#helena targaryen
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woAH I heard people are hating on Neve which is super cringe! Neve positivity time!!
I am in love with her because
1. She has an impeccable sense of fashion, she never misses, could make a paper bag look good
2. Docktown sucks so bad, like major Kirkwall vibes, and she loves it SO MUCH
3. If you give money to the people asking for it on the streets in Docktown, sometimes Neve will check in with them and make sure they have a place to stay it’s so sweet !!!
4. She cannot cook at all. Only eats fried fish. Boils her coffee. Zero domestic skills, completely perfect
5. She loves Bellara so much, she’s such a good friend ;-; She finds all her serials and helps her try to work out the mysteries! She gets her goat cheese! She comes to Cyrian’s funeral ;-;
6. If you wander around Docktown with her in your party you can stop and talk to her regular contacts and she will check in with them <3
7. She works alone because she’s scared that the people who try to help her will get hurt =(
8. She’s not afraid of Spite and she refuses to see Lucanis as a monster or treat him differently, even after he almost kills Illario.
9. She helps Taash figure out their gender stuff and she is so supportive and helpful <3
10. The WAY she talks to people who are hurting… like even though she’s so cynical, personally, she never tells people to give up on others, she’s never sarcastic or scathing when people are in pain. I took her on Taash’s final mission last time, and her voice ;-; She wanted to help so badly, but she couldn’t do anything. She reminded them that everyone was there for them. She loves SO much, so intensely.
11. She does not expect anyone to help her, and especially if you don’t save Minrathous she’s skeptical, but she’s so thankful for Rook’s help when they give it. She’s so fucking lonely, man! She thinks she has to do it all herself, because everyone else in the world and especially in Minrathous has shown her over and over that they don’t care about the people she loves, the people like HER. She’s not rich, she’s not famous or powerful or well-connected, she’s just using what she has to try and help people!
12. Manfred canonically doesn’t like nicknames, but he lets Neve call him ‘Fred
Neve Gallus, the woman you are <3
Edit: When I posted this someone immediately made some rude comment so here’s some more stuff to love about Neve Gallus!
13. She investigated the mystery of the candlehops and she was so serious about it! Just like the wisps in the Lighthouse!
14. When she was a kid she didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up and she HATED it lol
15. She got her best coat as a gift from a grateful client!
16. She keeps her tiny little apartment because they gave her a good deal on the rent and she doesn’t want to lose it
17. Halos keeps trying to give her fish for free but she insists on paying him <3
18. That joke she made to Lucanis about having an extra leg if he needed one lol
19. She misses the sound of the ocean, and sometimes when she wakes up in the Lighthouse she hears it for a moment
20. The way she explains everything so patiently to Taash about Tevinter and Docktown and the way status symbols work; the way she is always trying to use her skills to help the other members of the team!!
21. How she makes sure to check up on that kid whose father was doing demon summoning stuff and make sure that he’s alright ;-;
#datv spoilers#dragon age: the veilguard spoilers#veilguard spoilers#dragon age#veilguard#dragon age: the veilguard#dragon age the veilguard#neve gallus
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I've been toying with a "third transmigrator" AU for SVSSS in which the third transmigrator is a teenage girl who ends up in Luo Binghe. This teenage girl tried to read PIDW because someone else liked it, but didn't get far because she didn't like it.
Disinclined to follow the plot, the teenage girl decides to transition, because fuck it (crying breakdown), she doesn't want to be a guy. Ning Yingying is initially the only one in on it (and then some Qian Cao Peak people). This new Luo Binghe knows JUST enough about the plot of PIDW to avoid Shen Qingqiu's attention as much as possible and so swears Ning Yingying to secrecy regarding the transition. She intends to hide it until the Transmigration System lets up on the missions and restrictions a little.
Meanwhile, Shen Yuan is like, "How am I supposed to improve my relationship with the protagonist if i never see him? Did he just jump out a window to avoid me?! Also, hmph, the bullies are all calling him 'Luo-Shimei' now? Just because he's pretty??? I had better go tell them off for it!"
(Shen Qingqiu, please, your students are getting the impression that you're transphobic!!!)
If Luo Binghe's transition comes out before the Immortal Alliance Conference, Shen Yuan is going to 1) think it's his own fault somehow and 2) be more than a little weird (and a little transphobic) about it.
Shen Yuan (internally): "Oh, shit, NOT abusing the protagonist turned him into a girl??? How does that work???"
The endgame relationship here is a messy love triangle between Luo Binghe, Ning Yingying, and Ming Fan. Ming Fan is like, "What do you do when the shidi you hate falls down the stairs and nearly dies, and then apparently can't remember you used to bully him and expects you to be a good shixiong, and becomes best friends with the girl you like but also starts turning into a cute girl too??? But you can't tell Shizun any of this otherwise the girl you like will kill you???" Ning Yingying is like, "I was so caught up in the thrill of makeovers and having a new sister that I forgot to examine why, when she's approached by guys, I want to tear their throats out with my teeth. Ming-Shixiong is not good enough for A-Luo!!!" And Luo Binghe is like, "Wow, Ning Yingying is such a good friend. And so pretty. I could stare into her eyes for hours. Ming Fan is kind of a jerk sometimes, but he's cute, I guess. He needs to shape up if he wants to win Ning Yingying's heart someday! She married a guy, so she's definitely into guys."
This third transmigrator isn't paying too much attention to their own love life partially because they're too busy 1) trying to survive, 2) trying to do right by their friends, and 3) trying to figure out if Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge are in a "toxic yaoi relationship" and, if so, which one of them tops more frequently and where Yue Qingyuan fits into things.
If you haven't guessed yet, this third transmigrator is actually Shen Yuan's younger sister, who transmigrated at like 16 years old at the oldest. This identity reveal comes out at the Immortal Alliance Conference, seconds before disaster (the push into the Endless Abyss), and no earlier. It does not go well. The Transmigration System is mostly to blame.
Live Shang Qinghua Reaction: "Oh, fucking yikes, bro."
This Luo Binghe hands a lot of control over to Meng Mo to get out of the Endless Abyss. An inadvisable amount of control, really, even if Meng Mo is soft on the girl. Afterwards, they sort of stumble into the arms of Huan Hua Palace. Shen Yuan's sister did not read far enough to know pretty much anything about this sect, especially not that it's a terrible idea to be here while being both a Heavenly Demon and (post-transition) looking like even MORE of an identical clone of Su Xiyan.
(Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-Lang ARE both going to be kind of awful and weird about it, yes, at least initially.)
Gongyi Xiao, after showing basic kindness to this poor young woman: "Hey, why are those two Qing Jing Peak disciples glaring at me like they want me dead?"
#tossawary svsss#fic ideas#luo binghe#ning yingying#ming fan#shen yuan's sister#third transmigrator au#shen yuan#shen qingqiu#bingyingfan#spoilers
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sweet [part one]
paige bueckers x azzi fudd
summary: a very sweet story of paige and azzi from best friends to lovers 🥰
a/n: lowkey came up with this on a whim bc yall know how much i love angsty pazzi…probably gonna make this into a short series so lmk if you all want another part :)
word count: 1.4k
masterlist
“Ella said she’s worried about you.”
As Paige hovers over her, propped up by a pillow on one side, Azzi thinks that Ella might not have been as dumb as she’d thought. Here she is, with her best friend, in only a sports bra and sweats so low that they’re barely clinging onto her hips. The best friend in question is leaning on her elbow, one hand splayed across Azzi’s bare abdomen, a smirk on her face as soft strands of blonde hair tickle the younger girl’s face.
Azzi slots her leg in between Paige’s, drawing her impossibly closer. “Why would she ever say that?” She asks teasingly, the corner of her lips tugging up.
Paige’s smirk grows dangerous. Her eyes drag down Azzi’s body, doing a slow perusal of Azzi’s chest. “This doesn’t look close to you?”
Azzi tilts her head, batting her big brown eyes under her full eyelashes. “Who cares? I mean, it’s not like you two are dating or anything.” But knowing Paige’s tendency to hide sensitive topics from her until the last moment, her tone drops. “Are you?”
“No.” Paige laughs. “Just fucking around.” Her hands slide lower down Azzi’s stomach, until her thumb is caressing the dip of her V-line.
Azzi holds her breath, trying to ignore the fire uncurling in her stomach. “Does it mean anything to you?”
“I don’t know.” Paige withdraws her hand, replacing it with her head as she settles on Azzi’s chest with a sigh. The action is so casual, so familiar that it makes Azzi’s heart hurt. Sex with Paige is one thing. Intimacy like this, where she can feel her bare skin against Paige’s, feel Paige’s heartbeat, as they lie together, legs intertwined and breaths in sync? That’s a whole other ballpark.
“I don’t even know what we’re doing,” Paige admits, her voice slightly muffled as she speaks into Azzi’s chest. “She confuses me.”
Azzi almost scoffs out loud at the irony. Paige hs always been hot and cold, flirting with Azzi one moment and giving her a look that Azzi swears is only reserved for her, but chatting it up with another girl at the bar the next. It feels like a constant back and forth with her best friend. Sometimes it feels like Paige has her heart on a pendulum, has been since she was 16, yet lately it’s felt like it’s been ricocheting out of control, the string slowly turning into a thread.
“I think she thinks I’m in love with you or some shit.” Paige has been yapping for the last few minutes as Azzi’s lost herself in her thoughts, but it’s this sentence, thrown out so callously, that freezes her blood. “Which is, like ridiculous, you know?”
Azzi struggles to catch her next breath. But Paige has turned her head and is looking at her now, expecting her to say something, so she forces out a dry laugh. “Yeah,” she mutters. Clearing her throat, she forces herself to steady her voice. “No yeah, that’s crazy.” Azzi is confident - she knows she’s drop dead gorgeous, knows she could mess around with as many guys or girls as she’d want. And she knows full well the effect she has on Paige, how the older girl always goes speechless whenever she’s in that pink lingerie set, unable to keep her hands off her ass even when she’s covered head to toe in an unflattering sweat suit. Yet something about her has never been good enough for Paige, for her to want to call Azzi hers.
Seemingly pleased with her answer, Paige plops back down. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” she says decisively.
Azzi lies there for a second before checking her phone. The only notification she has is from PT. She needs to come earlier than usual tomorrow for another progress test. Azzi swallows. “It’s getting pretty late,” she says.
“What?” Paige checks her own phone. “It’s only ten.”
“I know, but it’s been a long day. My knee hurts.”
Paige’s bright blue eyes round in concern as she quickly gets off her best friend, scrambling to sit criss cross on the bed. “Was I hurting it? Lying on you? Shit, Az, you should’ve told me.”
“No,” Azzi waves her best friend off. “It’s just throbbing. I think I just need to take some meds and sleep.”
Paige frowns. “Okay.” She pads out of the room, returning a few moments later with a bag of frozen peas and Azzi’s pink Stanley. “Here. And I moved the Advil to the top drawer of your bedside table right there.”
“Thank you.”
Paige falters. Usually Azzi asks her to stay, to scratch her back until she falls asleep or just hold her as she grits through the pain. “Do you need anything else?”
Azzi doesn’t even look at her. Sliding on her headphones, she shakes her head.
“Okay.” Azzi ignores the hurt and confusion in Paige’s voice. The blonde wears her heart on her sleeve. “Night.”
“See you.”
Paige turns off the lights and shuts the door, and Azzi feels the darkness like never before.
••
8:15 pm, January 8 2024
P: yooo
P: we talked for like hours and i think we’re going somewhere
P: i think im gonna ask her to be my gf
A: oh shit Paige
A: that’s great
A: happy for you 💗
P: i’ll be over in 20 min
P: have you eaten? i had dinner w ella but i can pick up some food for you if you’re hungry?
A: can’t do movie night tonight P
A: knee’s hurting
A: next week?
P: oh okay
P: i hope it feels better
P: don’t forget to use your compression sleeve
P: i doordashed you some food from chikfila, lmk if you want anything else
A: thanks paige
5:27 am, January 14 2024
A: hey where are you?
5:32 am
A: we gotta leave soon or i’ll be late
5:40 am
A: Paige???
Missed call from Azzi💗
Missed call from Azzi💗
A: nvm i’ll just take an uber
8:15 am
P: shit Azzi
P: i’m so sorry
P: i told aubrey to tell you that i couldn’t take you to rehab but she must’ve forgotten
P: i should’ve just texted you
A: it’s good
A: where you at?
P: impromptu trip to nyc
P: ella wanted to go to the knicks game
A: nice
A: hope you had fun
P: how was rehab?
P: any updates?
1 pm
P: dude look
Attachment: 1 Image
P: reminds me of belarus
P: i remember you were so fucking wasted lmfaoo
5:45 pm
P: are you ghosting me now
P: jk
P: but fr
P: you good??
6:45 pm
A: sorry still at pt
A: there’s an issue with the healing in my tissue or something they said
P: i’ll be there to take you to your next appointment i swear
A: actually i was thinking
A: it’s probably better if i just take an uber from now on
A: it’s a four hour round trip and you’re stuck waiting for me during the appointment too
P: it’s not an inconvenience
P: i like talking to your doctors
P: janelle was just getting to the part where she broke up with her bf
A: paige
A: i overheard ella complaining about it the other day
A: you’re getting up at 5 am every saturday to spend 7 hrs with your ex fwb
A: it’s not fair to either of you guys to take up your time like that
P: well when you word it like that ..
P: but you’re still my best friend
P. and ubers are expensive as hell
P: you’re seriously not gonna let me take you?
A: you’re gonna be thanking me once you realize how nice it is to sleep in on saturdays
P: i like spending time with you more than sleeping
Read 6:58 pm
9:40 pm, January 23 2024
P: hey sorry i meant to stop by yours before ted’s but ella needed to change
P: we’re in the back near the pool tables
9:55 pm
P: you’re coming right?
10:40 pm
A: don’t feel too good
A: i’ll just stay in and watch a movie or smthn
A: go have fun
P: bro
P: don’t be boring
P: u haven’t gone out with us in so long
P: i never even see u anymore
A: you can’t be serious rn
A: drinking with everyone after another win i couldn’t even contribute to is the last fucking thing i wanna do tonight
A: i thought you of all people would understand
A: but apparently not
P: I’m sorry
P: I didn’t mean to say that
5 minutes later
P: I miss you
P: Can I come over right now?
A: it’s fine
A: didn’t mean to snap im just tired
A: you’re with your gf and the team you deserve to celebrate
A: you did great tonight i’m proud of you
A: don’t worry ab me
P: i always worry about you
Read 11 pm
12:40 am
P: dude idk what the fuck happened but you’re so weird all the time now
P: do you hate me
P: am i stupid
P: jk
P: think i took too many shots
P: was tryna keep up with nika
P: i miss youuuuuuu
P: so much
P: i wish you’d let me come over
P: don’t tell ella but i kinda miss how things used to be
P: when we were just fucking around
P: now she’s so uptight ab me and you
P: but it’s whatever
P: shit i’m sorry az
P: i was hella drunk last night lmfao
P: ignore everything i said
Read 11 am
#paige bueckers#azzi fudd#uconnwbb#pazzi#wcbb#uconn wbb#paige x azzi#paige bueckers x azzi fudd#angst#fic
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A Much Needed Interview (OP81)
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(Part 2 of Teen Dad) Summary: After the shock of Oscar revealing himself to be a former teen dad, he joins an interview in the hopes of clearing everything up and limiting the overwhelming amount of questions he has been getting.
“Oscar, it is nice of you to sit down with us. I know it has been an interesting few weeks for you and your family. How are you guys all doing?” The interviewer asks.
‘Yeah, y’know, I had expected to one day have to open up about it all, but I never thought I’d have to do it the way I did. It has been fine, obviously my kids are young enough to not be impacted because they aren’t on social media, but it has been strange for my fiancée who is now getting hundreds of requests on her private account. I have sort of decided to take a break from social media because the response has been overwhelming and like none before. Mostly positive but I think a few people have gotten the wrong idea so I was hoping to clear everything up.” Oscar rambled. He was more nervous about this interview than any he had done before.
“Of course. Why don’t we start at the beginning, how did you and your fiancée meet?”
“We actually met at one of my races. She went to support one of her close friend’s brothers. After the race that I sadly didn’t do too well in, I saw her with her friend and I was kinda frozen in my spot, immediately head over heels. Sadly, it seems like everyone but her noticed. I was too scared to do anything so I just watched her leave. I think I sulked for days, totally regretting my decision to do nothing. A totally heartbroken 16 year old. I looked for her every single race until she finally came back a few months later.”
“Oh please tell me you finally got the confidence to shoot your shot.”
“Nope! I just stared at her and stuttered when she caught me looking then ran off. I then had an amazing race, I think part of me was just trying to make up for the embarrassment and luckily it seems my car got the memo. After the race she came up to me and asked for my number.” God, he was blushing profusely at the memory. He knew he would be getting slack for this for a very long time.
“Such a story! The young Oscar Piastri was no ladies’ man.”
“He was absolutely not. Soon after we started dating.” Oscar awkwardly laughed, sensing what was about to come up.
“And then kids came shortly after?” The interviewer asked with care in his voice, certainly able to sense Oscar’s change in attitude.
“Yeah. Uh, obviously not planned. I don’t think many people plan to become parent’s at 18. It was a shock… I didn’t handle it the best at first, something I think I will always regret. She was scared and while so was I, I should have been more supportive. I was embarrassed for a while. Felt like a total idiot. I didn’t tell anyone outside of my family and made them swear to secrecy. I also began to isolate myself from friends because I couldn’t bring myself to tell them but also felt terrible lying. A few months in I finally snapped myself out of it and began to focus on all the wonderfulness that was to come. I loved her more than anything and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t already imagined a life together in great detail. By the time we found out it was twins, a boy and a girl, I was ecstatic.”
“Well mate, I don’t blame you for your feelings. I definitely would have been a terrible father at 18 so I salute you.” The interviewer joked.
“Honestly, I had the same thought for a while, even when I was excited to have kids. I had so many doubts about it, I mean how could I not? But when it came down to it, I couldn’t afford to be anything less than a great father. Of course I had my moments, and still do years later, but I wouldn’t be able to let myself be anything less than I am. If you love your kids enough, you find a way.”
“How did having kids so young impact your career? Obviously it didn’t hurt it too much considering you are in your second year driving in Formula 1.”
“Well, I decided I wouldn’t advertise my situation unless a team was very serious about me. Prema knew, Alpine did too and of course McLaren does. All were welcoming and accommodating, as much as they could be. I don’t think I would have gone with any of them if they weren’t cool with it though. I realized the minute my kids were born I would give it all up for them, which scared the hell out of me.”
“That is admirable. All these years later you are still with their mother, correct?”
“Yes! I asked her to marry me over break. Everyone close to us had been confused as to why it took so long but we had discussed marriage together many times and made the decision that because our relationship moved so fast with having kids so young, we would wait a bit. I mean, we are still young but I honestly couldn’t wait any longer. She is everything to me and the most wonderful mother my kids could have.”
“Have your kids been around the paddock yet? I assume they are old enough to understand what you do.”
“They have been to the factory and come with me to meetings when we haven’t had a sitter for them. Luckily, they are both very well behaved in public, they also really like watching the races on tv and have somewhat of an understanding of what I do. They don’t believe I actually drive the car though.” Oscar rumbled. Trying to convince his twins that yes, their father actually does drive the cars they see going super fast, has been an ongoing issue. They seem to believe he is tricking them but have no problem believing Uncle Logan and Uncle Lando drive the cars. It has definitely humbled him immensely.
“Well you will have to fix that soon huh? Will they be attending races in the future?”
“I am trying to work that out with my fiancée actually. They are almost four so we don’t want them traveling too far, I also don’t believe they will be able to be entertained solely by the race the entire time so we have a lot to deal with. But I think seeing them on the paddock supporting me will be one of the best moments of my life. I selfishly can’t wait for them to come.”
The interview wrapped up shortly after that. Getting to reminisce on the start of his relationship and how far they have come and how many wonderful things are in the future put Oscar in a deliriously happy mood. He couldn’t wait to get home to his family.
Walking through the door, he was immediately welcomed to the sound of toddler meltdowns. Fully entering the house, he saw his very tired fiancée rubbing her face as she tried to calm her babies down. Clearly this had been going on for a while.
Despite how upset she looked, she immediately perked up at seeing Oscar had returned. But that immediately went away as she remembered the screaming kids and how messy the house and herself were.
“Sorry honey, I know you are probably so tired after the interview and meetings earlier and these two missed their nap so they are so cranky and I just-” He cut her off with a kiss. Once he pulled away she looked at him, perplexed. A kiss from Oscar was never unwelcome but it was the last thing she expected at that moment.
“Hey, look at me.” He said as he put a hand on her cheek. “I love you and our little family so much and you never, ever have to apologize for something as trivial as this. Why don’t you go get in the bath and relax a little and I will try to wrangle these two, okay?”
In her eyes, Oscar had never been hotter than he was now. Now it was her turn to surprise him with a kiss, even more passionate than the first. They would have continued if it hadn’t been for more screaming from their two kids.
Still, Oscar wouldn’t change a thing.
#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri#op81 fluff#op81 imagine#op81 x reader
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secret rhymes
pham hanni x fem!reader ; angst, fluff
synopsis: you get dumped and decide to post a video on youtube of you singing an original song to cope. the last thing you expected was for it to blow up, waking up to 99+ notifications on every social media account. luckily for you, this changes your life drastically—including your love life.
warnings: musician/artist!reader ; SOME homophobia but it’s not like severe idk ; PINING!!! ; reader is 04 ; many idols mentioned in this but most of them i don’t even stan or know like that so don't comment... ; IMESSAGE LIGHT MODE IM SORRRYYY ; rly dirty jokes here and there ; literally anything else i didn’t mention ; all jokes pls do NOTTT take anything serious ; more to add probably ; not proofread LOL
a/n: got this idea after listening to hanni’s original song :-P first smau!! i finally figured things out guys … embarassing!!! i really wanted to write this one out but i spent so much time trying to and realized a smau would fit best lol
!!! secret rhymes playlist !!!
profiles: baconeggandcheese, denim bottoms, and others that’ll pop up (maybe)🤫
00 : prologue(s): one, two
01 : no foreplay??
02 : no more mr nice guy
03: we are SO back
04: girl wake up
05. THERES MORE?
06: greedy
07: sneaking out
08: girls supporting girls
09: grad!
10: military wife
11: roomie (half-written)
12: hashtag devastated
13: micro celebrity
14: beating the schizophrenic allegations
15: trauma bonded
16: evergreen
17: debut hard launch
18. is this a prank (half-written)
19: storytime
20: who is this diva!!
21: what’s good korea (half written)
22: bumping into... you? (half-written)
23: hanni IS wattpad main character
24: reciprocated fangirling
25: yn idol core
26: hyein count your days
27: soft launch (platonic)
28: two pretty best friends
29: sweet dreams (half-written)
30: night market (written)
31. resigning
32. she’s signed!
33: HOMO ALERT 🚨
34. the haters will sabotage me
35. concert (half-written)
36. mayor of idgaf town
37. dunda square shorty
38. hanni in her deathbed
39. victorian child (half-written)
40. hey girl
41: two man
42. no need for allat (half written)
43. no war in ba sing se
44. ??? (half written)
45. lore drop
46. yearnmaxxing
47. there’s no way
more to come!
taglist ! @namojoon @ly-gushka @layonaiguess @artrizzler19 @yerimbrit @sixflame438 @nwjnsloona @saysirhc @nimnia @somedaydream @trovao-penguins @modanisgf @c-yerim @starstruckgoateepuppy @tzuyusdoughnut @kaypanaq @peranoo @haerinkisser @electronicluminarycoffee @yoohtonyy @secretcessy @keiji-jin @awkwardtoafault @syronns @linnnsworld @inybits @ynwrites @wonyoungssi
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Babysitter y/n slipping into rafes bed during the night when his wife is away on a work trip
She convinces him ,because she normally already drove home at 8 pm that he is just having a lucid dream
So shes not real and there are not consequences to his actions
So rafe makes all his dream about her come true
Fing her tight virgin p Doggy style as hard as he can
Of course raw
Grabing her as he wishes
And it really is a dream come true
Until the next mornign when he wakes up d still inside of y/n and he hears "honey I am home"
And he realizes he just actually f d his babysitter
Summary: You've spent years trying to get Rafe Cameron to pop your cherry. He's eight years older than you, but that's never stopped you. Ever since you were 16, you've been obsessed with him. Now, you've finally landed a job as his babysitter, and you're determined to get exactly what you want.
Warnings: SMUT, age-gap
Notes: thank you for the request. I added my own little back story to it ❤️
Your heart pounded in your chest, the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins leaving you trembling. “Y/N? What the hell are you doing?”
“Shh, it’s not real. Just a dream, baby.”
He placed his palms firmly on your hips, his grip possessive as he steadied you over him. A sly smirk tugged at his lips. “Is it now? Funny, ‘cause it feels pretty damn real to me, baby.”
Your heart raced, but you forced yourself to stay composed as you leaned in and kissed him deeply, your lips lingering against his. Pulling back just slightly, you whispered, "If this were real, would I be doing this?"
The atmosphere shifted in an instant, heavy and electric. Rafe moved with predatory precision, flipping you over with ease until you were ass-up beneath him. His palm came down hard on your skin, the sharp sting leaving a mark and pulling a startled whine from your lips.
Rafe chuckled darkly, his hand lingering on the sting he left behind. “You like that, huh? Thought you could tease me and get away with it? Nah, baby, I don’t play nice.”
“Rafe—” your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper as you glanced back at him. Your skin burned under his touch, a mix of nerves and anticipation twisting in your stomach. “You can’t just… do that and expect me to keep it together.”
Rafe’s grin was wicked as he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. “Baby, if this is a dream, I’m making the most of it. Who knows when I’ll get to ruin you like this in real life?”
Your voice was barely a whisper, soft and inviting, as you tilted your head slightly, exposing the curve of your neck. Your eyes met his, a mixture of daring and vulnerability. “Do anything you want to me, Rafey,” you murmured, your words hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge, full of promise and surrender.
“Fuck,” Rafe muttered under his breath, his voice rough and low, like he was trying to convince himself this was real. The way you looked at him, eyes wide and filled with something between trust and temptation, made his chest tighten. You looked untouchable, like some kind of angel sent to test him, and yet here you were, all his for the taking. His lips curled into that signature smirk, dark and dangerous.“You’re too fucking perfect for me,” he murmured, his hand brushing your jaw as his thumb traced over your bottom lip. His blue eyes burned into yours, a storm of desire and control swirling inside them. “But you keep looking at me like that, and I’ll ruin you, angel. Consider it a challenge… and I never lose, baby.”
"Please," you whispered, your voice trembling with desperation as you felt the tip of him pressing against your entrance. Your hips instinctively rolled back, seeking him, your movements deliberate, enticing, and impossible for him to resist.
"Ready, baby?" Rafe's voice was low and rough, a warning laced with dark intent. He didn't wait for your answer, pressing forward until his cock filled you completely, stretching you to the hilt. A guttural groan escaped his lips, his head falling back for a moment before his piercing blue eyes locked onto you again. "Fucking perfect," he hissed through gritted teeth, his palms gripping your hips with a bruising intensity. Without hesitation, he pulled back, then thrust forward with a force that made your breath hitch, his control slipping as he chased the pleasure only you could give him.
"Yes! Oh, fuck," you moaned, your voice breaking as your nails clawed desperately at the sheets beneath you. Your knees dug into the mattress, your back arching instinctively, presenting yourself to him in a way that made his breath hitch. From behind, Rafe groaned, his grip tightening on your hips as he watched himself disappear into you, the sight driving him wild. "God, you're fucking perfect," he growled, his pace faltering for a moment as he took in the view, utterly consumed by you.
"Fucking perfect, baby," Rafe groaned, his voice rough as he pulled you closer. "So tight and warm... I fucking love it." Without warning, he smacked the curve of your ass, the sound sharp and satisfying. His hand lingered there, gripping and kneading the flesh, soothing the sting with a possessive caress.
Your release built rapidly, the pressure becoming unbearable. "Rafe, l'm gonna cum!" you moaned, your voice trembling with need. His palms gripped your hips tightly as his cock pulsed inside you, his own release dangerously close.
"Come on, baby, give it to me. Let me feel you soak my cock," Rafe growled, thrusting harder, his tip relentlessly hitting your g-spot.
"Fuck, Rafe," you gasped, the words barely escaping as the floodgates opened. Your legs trembled uncontrollably as you came, his release following in sync, his body collapsing beside yours. His cock still nestled inside you, the two of you drifted into an exhausted slumber. But morning arrived with an ominous chill, the sound of creaking steps jolting you awake. A voice, clear and sharp, echoed through the house-his wife's voice, calling out for her husband. Your heart froze as Rafe stirred beside you, still buried within you, completely unaware of the storm about to erupt.
Taglist
@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover @mema10 @writingroom21 @wtfdudesblog
#rafe cameron#drew starkey#outer banks#smut#dark rafe cameron#drewstarkey smut#outerbanks#rafecameron#drewstarkey#fanfic#dark rafe#rafe sad#sad rafe#rafe#rafe fluff#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#rafe outer banks#outerbanks rafe#rafe fic#rafe cameron smut#rafe obx#dark drew starkey#smut drew starkey#drew x reader#drew starkey fanfiction#smut drew
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Spider and Bats Snippets 2
[0.] [1.]
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I headcanon Spider!(Y/N) meets Clark/Superman on accident before Batman does.
Just, imagine. Your heading to a part time job, super excited about it! Get on the bus, and wait... Then fall asleep..
The bus driver kicks you out at the Mertropolis bus station. Not good! You don't have enough for a ticket back to Gotham so you managed to get a part-time job at The Daily Planet, as the coffee runner! Simple enough?
Bumping into a meek Clark Kent, who is shyly thanking you for his cup of joe'. Then you, eagerly wanting a new friend in a strange enviorment, (again), asking about what he's writing.
"Wow Kent, didn't expect you to snag the new girl."
Lois teased light-heartedly. "Oh, ha-ha it's nothing like that. They're a good friend."
He shrugs it off as Lois shakes her head. "Sheesh, a lot of fella's make a LOT of trouble with that word. Good luck Smallsville."
Blinking in confusion, you were suprised she didn't notice you as you walk up beside him. "Huh... Wait, you think were good friends!?" You beam in awe at Clark, happily spinning around his desk chair. "Clark! You should of said something sooner!"
You let go, now thoughtful. "Hmmm, we should do friendship bracelets then.. I mean, I did make one with another friend of mine.. OH! I got an' idea-" "-Guh.. I-I think I.. Need to rain check.."
"Hm? What's wrong? You look dizy... Vomit-y."
I know there's different versions of how Batman met Superman. Personally, I perfer The Animated Series Ver!
I would like to think, Robin and Nightwing asked her to get Superman's autograph as a casual comment if Spider(Y/N) went to Mertropolis.
So during her "stay" at the other city, she'd often patrol and help a bit when she could.
Would totally meet Supes' on acident.
"Wow! Hello! Why is your city so much cleaner? I like your cape! Reminds me of Miguel-!" You try to descalate the situation.
You happily greet him, babbling as your buddy glared at you. You shrug at Batman's gaze, giving him a slight push. Herding him close to your side incase of any... Bad, course of action, between you and the supposed "Man of Steel".
Superman paused at the greeting, after thrown into a wall. He expected more hostily from you as well, since he read most crime-fighters were, due to the Gotham Gazette. Yet you seemed more occupied with keeping the Batman away from HIM.
Using his x-ray vision, he peaked underneath your masks.
"Bruce Wayne..." He mumbled under his breath as Batman shoved you to the side. Glaring at the super-powered male, "You peeked.."
"Hm? He did what?" You weren't paying attention, more focused on the destruction and damage. Frowning worriedly, knowung your "unexpected vaction" would meet it's end.
Superman The Animated Series: Season 1 Ep 16 - World's Finest Part 1
I can see Spider!(Y/N) being pen-pals with lot's of heros and vigilantes. Possibly even anti-heros and villians?
Carefully web-shooting the civillians away, you keep squint as you watch them dance in sync. Slightly envious, before shooting a glance at Batman.
He collapsed as groups of Music Meisters pawns held him down. Grunting as he tried to move away. You used your web to toss them away quickly. Huffing as you glanced down at your comrade.
Even with the ear-plugs, you couldn't help it!
As if spotlight shone on your cue, you sang encouragingly. Smiling underneath your mask, you hold out a hand to him. He grasps it as you slowly pull him up.
♫⋆。♪ ₊˚♬ ゚."And you can rise above...!" ♫⋆。♪ ₊˚♬ ゚.
The Brave and the Bold Season 1 Episode 25 Mayhem of the Music Meister!
We all know that THEE Batman has a certain type.
But this is for fun, so, (。ゝ(ェ)・)-☆
Overall, I stated perviously, it's more a comedic pairing that has many set-ups to be serious.
Watching Catwoman flee once more, you walk to Bat's side. Standing beside him politely, before.. Slowly... Reaching out your hand to his. Holding it firmly with no caution.
The vigilante glares at the action, yet you don't let up as he tries to shake your hand away.
You giggle as you watch your arm swing with his, your laughter becoming louder as he finally gave in.
Batfam relationship depends on if Spider!(Y/N) came before or after the Batfam was formed.
Personally, I perfer it before. I feel like it would show growth in Bat's and Spiders dynamic.
I sorta wanna explore it, but if ya'll got ideas Im open to it.
-
{Yay! Another self-indulg work! Lol. I was inspired once again, I really just love that more people are intrested in the idea than just myself! Horray! Comments, art, reblogs are always wanted! This is purely for fun! If anyone gets the easter egg I put, let me know!}
#batman x reader#yandere bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne x you#batmom x bruce wayne#bruce wayne#bruce wayne x reader#brucie wayne#bruce wayne x y/n#yandere dc x reader#dc x you#dc x y/n#dc x reader#spider!reader#(y/n)#batman x batmom#batman x you#batman x y/n#clark kent#lois lane#if you reblog you gotta put a silly thing#dc batman#yandere batman#batman the animated series#batman#batman x spider!reader#spiderman#au#spider!(y/n)#batfamily#batfam x reader
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The Dragon’s Treasure has my WHOLE heart 🥹
thank you, babe. i've really enjoyed writing her and aemond
The Dragon's Treasure (3)
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pairing | young aemond targaryen x niece!reader
word count | 11k words
summary | “...and for the first time in what felt like ages, you felt a glimmer of happiness for the future.”
tags | as we all know ANGST, ANGST, ANGSTTTT, and eventually rainbow after the storm, SA! (aemonds brothel scene), things do get better y'all, targaryen incest, reader is described to have silver hair and lilac eyes, reader being a sensitive queen, and FLUFF and young love, aemond being a SIMP, TOOTHROTTING FLUFF
a/n | I cried so much, while writing this. I loved writing young aemond, I loved writing young helaena but especially loved writing young reader. I promise you guys this, when I have the time I'll write a one shot of them when they're older and more post-episode 7. When they're older (16&18). Also I really went overboard ngl
likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 1 — 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 2 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
You weren’t eating again.
Aemond had overheard his mother’s worried whispers as she discussed your condition with the maesters. He was still angry with you—hurt by the thought that you would try to leave them all behind, leave him behind, without a second thought. But no matter how deep his anger ran, his concern for you ran deeper.
After a long and contemplative ride on Vhagar, the weight of the sky above him and the sea below doing little to settle his thoughts, Aemond sought out his mother.
“Aemond,” Alicent began, her voice weary as she looked down at him, her exhaustion evident in the fine lines around her eyes. Between preparing for Aegon and Helaena's wedding and your worsening state, the strain was taking its toll. “I don’t think she’s in the mood for any visitors.”
She still didn’t know the full truth of what had happened—the attempt to run away with Helaena, the plan you had kept hidden from them all. All Alicent knew was that you had retreated into yourself once more, refusing to speak to anyone, even to Helaena, the one who had once pulled you from your darkness.
“It’s her nameday tomorrow,” Aemond murmured, his voice quiet but steady.
Alicent’s face tightened, pain flashing in her eyes as she thought of how you had been before all this—brighter, more spirited. Aemond continued, his tone soft but resolute. “She likes strawberry cakes. Let me bring her one, Mother. Please.”
Alicent’s gaze softened as she looked at her son. Her sharp, determined boy, scarred both in body and soul, yet still showing more kindness than anyone would expect after all he had endured. He had lost an eye, but his heart—his heart still carried a tenderness that surprised her.
She sighed, her shoulders drooping with the weight of her worries. “Very well,” she said softly. “You have my leave to visit her tomorrow.”
Aemond didn’t smile, didn’t show any hint of relief, though inside, the resolve in his chest tightened. He simply nodded in acknowledgment. His mind had already begun to turn over what he would say to you when he saw you—how he might reach you through the walls you had built around yourself.
Tomorrow was your nameday, and whether you liked it or not, Aemond would be there for you.
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Aemond’s heart raced as he approached your chambers, his hands gripping the tray carrying strawberry cakes. He had spent much of the morning thinking of what else he could bring—perhaps a necklace, something to match the sapphire that lay hidden beneath his eyepatch. You loved jewelry, and he knew how your eyes lit up at the sight of anything that sparkled. But in the end, he settled on simplicity—just the cakes you loved, hoping they would be enough.
As he neared your door, he was greeted by Ser Rowan, your loyal guard, who stood as firm as ever, his expression stern.
“My prince,” Ser Rowan acknowledged with a nod, his voice gruff. “The princess is in no condition to receive visitors today.”
Aemond stiffened, his chest rising as he squared his shoulders. He would not be turned away so easily. “It is her nameday,” he said firmly, his voice laced with authority. He took a step closer, meeting Ser Rowan’s unyielding gaze with his own, violet eye sharp. “The queen has granted me permission to visit her.”
Ser Rowan remained still, but Aemond didn’t back down. He tilted his head slightly, his tone low and challenging. “Will you disobey the Queen’s word?”
There was a moment of silence as the guard’s eyes flicked down to the tray Aemond carried. His stern expression softened just slightly when he saw the strawberry cakes. Ser Rowan let out a heavy sigh, his duty to you outweighing his hesitation. He too wished for your recovery, and perhaps, he thought, a visit from Aemond might bring some light back into your eyes.
“Very well, my prince,” he said at last, stepping aside. He opened the door with a creak, allowing Aemond to enter.
Aemond took a deep breath, holding the tray steady as he stepped into your chambers. The door closed softly behind him, but the room was dim, heavy with silence. His heart clenched at the sight of you curled up on the bed, facing the wall, your small form barely stirring.
"Niece," Aemond’s voice echoed softly through the room, breaking the heavy silence of your chambers.
There was a pause, and then your voice, quiet and tired, reached him. "Go away."
He pursed his lips, setting the tray down gently on the bedside table. The room was dim, shrouded in a pink hue from your curtains, and he made his way over to the window, pulling the drapes wide open. Sunlight poured in, casting the room in a golden glow.
From behind him, you hissed, "Close them." He heard the rustle of your blankets as you pulled them over your head, shielding yourself from the brightness.
Aemond couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he turned back to face you. "Happy Nameday," he said, his tone lighter than before. "I brought you something."
"I don’t want it," you muttered from beneath the covers, your voice muffled and distant.
He sat beside you, his movements careful, placing the tray of strawberry cakes within arm’s reach. "I’m sure you will," he replied softly, hoping to coax you out from your cocoon of blankets.
For a few moments, there was nothing—just the faint sounds of the breeze outside and the distant chatter from the courtyard. Aemond sighed, the weight of the silence between you heavier than he could bear. He reached out, his hand hovering just above your arm, but then hesitated. His fingers twitched before he pulled his hand back, unsure of how to communicate with you.
"You know," he began quietly, his voice careful, "I wouldn’t force that on you. To bear children you don’t want. One would be enough."
There was a sharp scoff from beneath the blankets. "How generous of you," you replied, the bitterness in your tone unmistakable.
Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he kept his gaze steady on the blankets that covered you. His mind drifted to the records he had been reading, the histories you both loved to discuss. He knew how much you valued stories of the past, of old kings and queens, of the lives they led. Swallowing, he decided to share what had been on his mind, hoping it might reach you.
"I’ve been reading more since our last talk," he murmured. "About King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. Even after many children, he made her bear more when she didn’t wish to." His voice was soft but steady, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. He had been thinking of you, trying to understand your fears.
The sunlight streamed across your bed, casting shadows as Aemond spoke. He knew that love was rare among their kind, especially in Targaryen unions, but he hoped. Hoped that maybe, in time, you would not just be duty and title to him.
"I would never do that to you," he added, his tone sincere, almost vulnerable. "I want our marriage to be different."
The room was still. The only sound was the faint rustling of the breeze outside, and the quiet breathing of Dreamfyre from somewhere far beyond your window. Aemond’s words lingered, waiting for you to respond, to show him something—anything—that might bridge the gap between you.
Slowly, you lowered the blankets just enough for your eyes to peek out, meeting Aemond's gaze. "He was a bad man," you mumbled, referring to King Jaehaerys.
Aemond, ever the scholar, couldn’t resist. "He was a good king," he pointed out, his tone firm but calm.
You rolled your eyes, a small defiance shining through your sadness. "Still a bad man." For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, and then you added thoughtfully, "Aenys Targaryen was a good man."
Aemond let out a scoff. "He was weak."
You narrowed your eyes at him, but there was a flicker of something behind your lilac gaze, something like amusement. "A weak king, yes. Only because he tried to make everyone happy."
Your eyes shifted towards the tray on the bedside table, where the strawberry cakes sat. After a moment of hesitation, your voice, still tinged with sadness, broke the silence. "Is today really my nameday?"
Aemond nodded, his own expression softening. "Yes."
"Oh." Your response was quiet, almost absent-minded, as if you were still processing.
Aemond reached for the tray and held it out to you, offering a tentative smile. "Would you like one?"
You eyed the cakes, and though your sadness still lingered, something softened in your expression. "Those do look nice," you murmured. Finally, you pulled the blanket away from your face and sat up slowly, your movements careful and deliberate. Though your face remained neutral, devoid of the joy that used to light it up, you gave a small nod. "Alright."
Aemond couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face as he handed you a cake. It wasn’t much, but seeing you like this—out of bed, talking to him—felt like a small victory.
As you took a bite, your eyes flickered to his once more, and Aemond stayed beside you, content with the simple moment of shared silence, hopeful that things might get better.
Aemond felt as though he were trapped in a cage of unbearable heat, the air around him thick, suffocating. The wine—a dark, bitter liquid that Aegon had forced upon him—now churned wildly in his stomach, its taste sour and unpleasant. He longed to rid himself of it, to escape the strange and unfamiliar sensations overtaking him.
It was after the grand feast in honor of his thirteenth nameday that Aegon, with a sly grin and a glint in his eye, had promised him a "surprise." Aemond, still naive to the darker aspects of his brother’s humor, had followed without protest, his curiosity outweighing his caution. They had ventured deep into King’s Landing, to a shadowed place Aemond had never seen before—a pleasure house filled with laughter and the soft rustling of silks.
Before Aemond could voice his hesitation, Aegon had disappeared into the throng of bodies, swallowed by the merry voices and whispers of the women within. And Aemond was left alone, standing awkwardly, unsure of what was to happen next.
He was led into a small chamber, dimly lit by flickering candles, their soft glow casting strange and unsettling shadows on the walls. The tapestries that adorned the room depicted scenes he barely understood—men and women entwined in ways that seemed more confusing than enticing. He felt a knot tightening in his chest, and a cold wave of dread settled over him.
Then she entered—a woman far older than his mother, her presence overwhelming in the confined space. She smiled at him, her voice soft and syrupy, laced with sweet lies that made his skin crawl. She cooed over him, her hands reaching for him before he had the chance to say anything, her touch gentle yet intrusive as she began to undress him.
Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest, and every fiber of his being screamed for her to stop, to leave him be. But his voice—his strength—had abandoned him. He remained frozen, his limbs stiff and unresponsive as she whispered things into his ear, words he wished he hadn’t heard, promises he didn’t understand.
When it was over, Aemond was left numb. He sat there, silent, as if his body no longer belonged to him, as though he had become something entirely separate from himself. Trembling, he fumbled with his clothes, his fingers shaking as he struggled to dress. His mind was a whirl of confusion, shame, and anger, but above all, he felt the desperate need to flee.
He didn’t care where Aegon had gone, didn’t want to face him or anyone else. The only thought that filled his mind was reaching you, his niece, his betrothed, his future wife, the one person who might make him feel whole again.
His feet carried him through the secret passageways of Maegor’s Holdfast, each step heavy with fear and sorrow. His breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps, his chest aching as he pushed himself to move faster. His tears—hot and unbidden—ran down his cheeks, blurring his vision, but he did not stop.
He passed his own chambers, the rooms of his mother, and everyone else, not wanting to explain the mess of emotions swirling inside him. He only wanted you.
It felt as though the gods had granted Aemond a moment of mercy when he reached your chambers, finding Ser Rowan absent from his post. Without hesitation, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, his heart still racing, tears brimming in his eye as he struggled to hold them back.
You were fast asleep, your back turned toward him. Aemond let out a quiet breath of relief. He hadn’t come to disturb you, only to be near you—just your presence, your warmth, was enough to calm the storm inside him.
Quietly, he made his way to your bed and carefully, as if afraid to wake you, slid in beside you. He kept a respectful distance, not wanting to intrude, but just close enough to feel your presence. The motion stirred you from your sleep, and you sat up, blinking in confusion.
Your eyes widened when they fell on Aemond, and for a brief, horrible moment, he realised it was because of his face. He had forgotten—he had left his eye patch behind at the brothel. The clear ragged sapphire was bare for you to see.
Panic surged through him. You would be disgusted, he thought, repelled by the sight of his disfigurement. He moved to leave, heart pounding, but your voice reached him before he could retreat.
“Aemond, breathe,” you whispered, your strained voice soft and steady.
He froze, his chest tight with the effort to suppress his panic. He needed to leave—he couldn’t bear for you to see him like this. Not you, his dearest niece, who always knew him as strong, as whole. He couldn’t let you witness the broken, ruined side of him.
But then, you reached out, grabbing his trembling hands in your own small ones, your touch warm and gentle. "Please, stay," you whispered, your voice filled with concern. Slowly, you began rubbing his cold hands, trying to bring warmth back to him, both in body and spirit.
His breathing was still uneven, but your soft words and the warmth of your touch soothed him. He looked up, meeting your eyes for the first time. There was no disgust there, no fear—only worry and care. Just like before. Slowly, the tension began to leave his body, and for the first time since he had fled that terrible place, Aemond felt a glimmer of relief.
He swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
You shook your head, squeezing his hands a little tighter. "I don’t care about your face, Aemond," you murmured softly, your tired lilac eyes meeting his. "I care about you."
As you gently laid back onto your pillow, you looked at Aemond with concern, urging him to lie beside you. He hesitated for a moment, but slowly, he did as you asked, his awkward frame seeming out of place in your small bed. You turned to face him, your wide lilac eyes full of care, while Aemond’s own single violet eye struggled to meet yours.
With quiet care, you reached out, placing your small hand on his scarred cheek. He flinched at first, his breath catching in his throat, but you didn’t pull away. Your fingers traced the jagged line of the scar that ran down his face, the skin rough beneath your touch. It was as if you weren’t looking at the scar at all, just him—Aemond, your beloved uncle, the boy who protected you, who read to you, who you always knew to be brave.
He shivered under your touch, his emotions twisting inside him. But you said nothing more, just a quiet, simple comfort.
“Sleep, Aemond,” you whispered softly, your voice gentle and soothing. “I’ll be here when you wake.”
The words wrapped around him like a balm, a promise in the soft glow of the dim candlelight. For so long, Aemond had carried his burdens alone, but in this moment, with your hand on his face and your soft breath mingling with the night air, he felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since Driftmark—peace.
His eye fluttered shut, and with the rhythm of your breathing beside him, he let himself drift away, finally surrendering to sleep.
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Aemond entered your chambers quietly, the weight of the box in his hands almost insignificant compared to the heaviness that lingered in the air. He had been allowed to visit freely now, thanks to Ser Rowan's softening stance, but each visit felt like walking on a thread, delicate and uncertain.
He paused when he saw you on the chaise, struggling with your embroidery. The soft light from the window highlighted the paleness of your features—still recovering, still distant, but better than before. You were eating now, and though your mood hadn't brightened, that small improvement brought Aemond some comfort. He cherished these moments, even if they were shrouded in silence.
"I've brought something for you," he said, his voice steady yet quiet as he approached.
You glanced up from your work but said nothing. The tangled mess of threads on the pillow caught his eye, and he bent slightly to inspect it, attempting to mask the awkwardness he always felt in the wake of that night. He hadn’t been ready to speak of it, and thankfully, neither had you.
"That’s a nice lion," Aemond offered, pointing to the uneven form stitched into the fabric.
Your lips parted slightly, a faint glimmer of amusement mixing with frustration as you murmured, "It was supposed to be the Queen."
Aemond’s lips twitched in response, nodding solemnly as if in deep thought. "Now that you say it," he replied, his voice light, "I do recognize her hair."
With a small sigh, you tossed the pillow aside like it was something offensive, watching as it tumbled to the floor, forgotten. Your eyes flickered towards the box in Aemond’s hands, suspicion mingling with curiosity.
"What have you brought me?" you asked, your voice quiet, but holding a hint of anticipation.
Aemond didn’t reply at first, simply stepping forward and offering the box to you, his expression unreadable. You hesitated for a moment, then carefully took it from him.
Your fingers trembled slightly as you lifted the lid, pulling back the fine paper that covered the gift inside. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you uncovered a stunning gown—lilac silk adorned with delicate embroidery, tiny jewels catching the light like stars. Your hands traced the fabric, feeling the softness beneath your fingertips, the craftsmanship clear in every stitch.
Aemond watched you intently, his eyes never leaving your face. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was a shift in your expression—a glimmer of something that almost resembled joy.
"Do you like it?" he asked, his voice low, holding his breath as he awaited your response.
You glanced up at him, and for the first time in many moons, you smiled. It was small, barely there, but it warmed Aemond's heart like the sun after a long winter.
"Yes, I do," you replied softly, still admiring the gown. "What's it for?"
"Helaena's wedding."
At once, the warmth in the room seemed to drain away. The smile you had given Aemond, fleeting as it was, vanished, leaving a hollow silence in its wake. His heart sank, watching as you carefully folded the gown, tucking it back into the box with deliberate gentleness. The delicate fabric crinkled under your hands as though it were something too precious to be touched, something that no longer belonged to you.
"I'm afraid you've wasted your efforts," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, your gaze fixed on the gown. "I'm not going."
Aemond's brow furrowed, frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. He stepped closer, his voice steady yet urgent. "You have to go."
But you refused to meet his eye. You knew how intense his gaze could be, how easily it could pierce through your defenses. Staring at the box instead, you shook your head, your words coming out firm, resolute. "I won't."
Aemond's lips pressed into a thin line, the familiar weight of your stubbornness settling between you both. "Helaena needs you," he urged, his tone softening, as if pleading might sway you.
You let out a bitter sigh, your fingers tracing the edge of the box, a dull ache settling in your chest. "Well, perhaps I can hurt her the same way she hurt me," you muttered, your words tinged with petulance, though the pain beneath them was clear.
Aemond stood in silence for a long moment, weighing your words, the tension in the air thick between you. His voice, quieter this time, broke the silence like a whisper carried on the wind. "Will you really not go?"
"No," you replied, though your voice softened now, the sharp edge of defiance fading. You hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing your face. You raised your chin, trying to hold onto the last bit of resolve. "Now, is that all you've come to visit me for?"
Aemond's heart ached at the sight of you—so distant, so caught in your own sorrow. He stood there, unsure of how to reach you, the distance between you feeling far more than just the space in the room.
The day of Helaena’s wedding arrived, and just as you had promised, you didn’t go. Aemond had come to your chambers in the morning, his expression pleading as he urged you one last time to change your mind. His words were careful, filled with the weight of his disappointment, but still, you remained firm.
You had refused.
As the sun set, casting a warm golden hue across the castle walls, you lay alone in your chambers, curled beneath the thick blankets on your bed. The echoes of the celebrations reached your ears in faint murmurs, muffled by the heavy stone of the keep. The joyous sounds of laughter and music only seemed to deepen the ache in your heart.
It was when night fell fully that the tears came, slow at first, then faster, spilling onto your pillow as regret took hold of you. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, but it did little to stop the sadness that had finally caught up to you. You could see it so clearly in your mind—Helaena standing alone in the grand Sept, a pale and fragile figure, her face drawn with sorrow. You imagined her forced to marry Aegon, the brother you both knew was unfit for her, and the weight of your absence pressed hard on your chest.
How could you not have been there for her?
The thought made you feel smaller, childish even. You had let your anger and hurt guide you, and in doing so, you had abandoned Helaena on one of the worst days of her life. She was likely miserable, her heart heavy with sadness, and you, spiteful and stubborn, had stayed away. You bit your lip, choking back a sob.
Your gaze drifted to the gown Aemond had gifted you, still lying folded neatly in the box by your bedside, untouched, its lilac fabric gleaming faintly in the moonlight. You reached for it now, pulling the soft material through your fingers as though it could offer you some comfort.
But it didn’t.
It only reminded you of the mistake you had made.
You missed your mother.
For all the hurt she caused, all the ways she had abandoned you, there was still a deep ache for her, like a wound that wouldn’t heal. You wanted to hate her, truly despise her for leaving you behind. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t. The love for her still clung to you like a shadow you couldn’t lose.
As the days passed in the quiet isolation of your chambers, you began to understand things you hadn’t before. With each lonely hour, the weight of your thoughts pressed harder on your heart. Your mother had been selfish, more than you had ever allowed yourself to admit. She had promised you the world, and yet, in the end, she had given you nothing.
You were her firstborn, the eldest of her children, and yet the title that should have been yours had been passed to Jace. He was her heir to the Iron Throne, the future king, while you were left to the shadows. Even Driftmark, the seat of your grandsire, should have been yours by birthright, but it had been given to Luke instead.
The bitterness inside you grew with every thought. You hated them now—your brothers. You knew it was childish, petulant even, but the feelings were there, and they wouldn’t leave. They had taken everything from you. Titles that were rightfully yours, the pride of riding dragons, and worst of all, they still had your mother. They were together as one big happy family on Dragonstone, while you had been left here in King's Landing, a forgotten daughter in the midst of their enemies.
“It’s fine,” you whispered to yourself in the dark, trying to believe it. You had never liked Dragonstone anyway, with its cold winds and sharp rocks. But even as you said it, your heart tightened with the lie. You missed the place, the warmth of the hearth, the sight of the sea from your window, and the feeling of belonging—something you hadn’t felt in so long.
And in the quiet moments, when the anger settled and the room was still, you knew the truth. It wasn’t your brothers’ fault. They hadn’t asked for this, to be born as they were, with all the whispers and shadows cast over their lineage. No, it was your mother’s choices that had led to this. Her indiscretions. But even as that truth formed in your mind, you found that you couldn’t hate her.
It was easier to be angry with them—with Jace and Luke—because hating her, the one you loved most, was something you just couldn’t bear.
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"I hated you, you know."
Aemond's head jerked up, eyes widening at the unexpected words. He had been sitting quietly in your chambers, absorbed in a thick tome about the horrors of Essos. You stood across the room, brush in hand, painting the pink walls of your chamber as if it were any other day. But there was a tension in the air, a weight to your voice that made his heart quicken.
You didn’t look at him, your gaze fixed on the canvas as you murmured, "When you claimed Vhagar, I hated you."
The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy. Aemond’s mouth parted slightly, but no words came out. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched you. The stillness of the room was broken only by the soft strokes of your brush against the canvas.
"I feel as if I hate everyone," you continued, voice tight and strained. "I hate Luke and Jace for stealing my titles." Your brush moved faster, more aggressively. "I hate Daemon for stealing my mother. I even hate Baela and Rhaena, if only because they get to have her now, as if she’s theirs instead of mine."
A scoff escaped your lips, but the sound was bitter. Aemond noticed the way your hand trembled slightly, how your breath caught as tears glistened in your lilac eyes.
"I hated Helaena for not running away with me," you whispered, the words coming out choked. "And I hate myself for not having a dragon, for not being someone important, someone worthy of a title."
Tears began streaming down your face, and yet you kept painting, as if the act itself could somehow keep the flood of emotions at bay. Finally, your gaze lifted from the canvas and met Aemond’s. His heart clenched at the sight of your tear-streaked face.
"And I hated you," you said, voice breaking, "for claiming Vhagar and leaving me alone in this world."
The sob that followed was wrenching, and Aemond couldn’t stay still any longer. He moved toward you, closing the distance between you both with careful, deliberate steps. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, your head resting on his shoulder as you wept.
"I don’t want to feel this way," you cried into his tunic, voice muffled and raw. "So pathetic, so angry at everyone. But I can’t help it. And yet, no matter how hard I try, I can never hate her."
Aemond’s chest tightened at your words, his own emotions swirling in a storm he didn’t know how to express. He rested his chin gently on your head, holding you as tightly as he dared, feeling the weight of your pain as if it were his own.
"I know," he whispered softly, his voice rough with emotion. "I know."
And so he held you, offering no more words, just the quiet comfort of his presence as your tears slowly soaked into his shoulder. He wished he could consume your pain and take it away, wished he could make things right. But all he could do was stand there, arms around you, as the world outside seemed so far away.
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“How is Helaena?”
It was the first time in what felt like forever that you had left your chambers. Aemond had been persistent, urging you to take some air, to leave the four walls that had become your prison. Reluctantly, you agreed, and now the two of you sat beneath the heart tree in the Godswood, surrounded by the stillness of nature. Aemond had brought a stack of books, ones he knew you both enjoyed, hoping they might distract you.
“The same as ever,” Aemond answered absently, his attention flickering between the pages of the book in his lap and the rustling leaves above.
He paused, glancing up at you. "She’s set to give birth in three moons' time," he added, his voice soft, as if the thought still surprised him.
You looked down, your heart aching at how quickly time had passed. It had been almost two years since you had returned to King’s Landing, and though you tried to avoid thinking about it, you knew things would never be the same. “Is her pregnancy going well?” you asked quietly, your voice small against the whisper of the wind.
Aemond pursed his lips, his brow furrowing in thought. “She has strange cravings," he said, his voice low. "And her belly is… large, perhaps too large for just six moons.” He hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you. “I’m sure a visit from you would lift her spirits,” he suggested, his tone careful, as though he didn’t want to push too hard.
You shook your head almost immediately, your silver curls spilling over your shoulders. “I’m not sure it would,” you murmured, your voice full of doubt.
Aemond studied you for a long moment, his sharp violet eye watching the way your expression shifted, the way your gaze seemed to turn inward. "She speaks of you sometimes," he said quietly, trying to find the right words to reach you. "She misses you."
You sighed, pulling your knees to your chest as you looked away from him, your fingers tracing idle patterns in the grass. You missed her too.
Aemond, noticing the sadness clouding your face, cleared his throat, quickly steering the conversation elsewhere. “Perhaps when you feel better,” he began, his voice lighter, “you could join me on a ride with Vhagar.”
Your head snapped up in surprise. “Me? Ride Vhagar?” You shook your head. “I’m not sure Vhagar would like me. A loud, annoying girl.”
Aemond raised a brow, his face dead serious. “If that were true, Vhagar would’ve eaten Baela and Rhaena years ago.”
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you laughed. A real laugh, bubbling up from deep within, spilling out in a way that felt foreign yet so relieving. Two years of being shut away in your chambers, and now here you were, laughing at Aemond’s dry humor. The sound filled the Godswood, bright and full of life.
Aemond, momentarily stunned, blinked at you in astonishment. He hadn’t expected it, not after everything, but when his mind caught up, a broad smile tugged at his lips. The kind of smile that was rare for him, genuine and unguarded.
“Vhagar will love you,” he said, his voice quiet but sure. He hesitated for just a moment, his thoughts turning to words he longed to say but didn’t. Just as I do, he thought. But instead, he insisted with a warmth in his tone, “I’m sure of that.”
You gave a small shrug, murmuring, "Maybe," without truly committing to the idea.
Aemond studied your face for a moment, his heart lighter at the sound of your earlier laughter, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. "I claimed Vhagar for the both of us."
Your expression shifted in an instant, the color draining from your face as you stared at him. "What?" you mumbled, barely above a whisper.
Aemond averted his gaze, trying to appear casual, though his heart raced. "I remembered what you said—about sharing a dragon. And when your dragon egg didn’t hatch, I decided... Vhagar should be for both of us." He looked up, meeting your startled lilac eyes with his steady violet one. "For you and me to share."
Tears welled in your eyes without warning, and Aemond’s calm composure crumbled. He immediately scrambled to your side, kneeling in the grass and reaching out to comfort you. "No, no, I didn’t mean to make you cry," he said, his hands hovering nervously, unsure of what to do.
You waved his hands away, though a small smile began to form through your tears. "I feel a bit foolish now," you admitted, as tears continued to fall down your cheeks.
Aemond took your hands gently in his, bringing them to his lips in a tender kiss. "And so?" He whispered, his gaze filled with sincerity.
As the tears dried on your cheeks, you let out a shaky breath, though your nose remained a bit red. "But... I think Vhagar is much more suited for you," you finally said, your voice still soft but calmer.
Aemond nodded, willing to agree if it brought you comfort. "Will you still consider joining me?" he asked, his tone hopeful.
You looked at him, your smile returning, this time more playful. "I shall," you said with a teasing glint in your eyes, your hands still resting in his.
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"Princess, are you almost done?"
Ser Rowan’s voice was tinged with exasperation as he stood with arms raised, holding the pose you had instructed. You had begged him to model for your painting when he arrived to greet you at dawn, and now the sun was climbing high in the sky, casting warm rays through the window. Despite the time, he remained your patient subject.
"Almost, Ser Rowan," you replied cheerfully, your brush gliding across the canvas as you focused on capturing the details of his expression.
The knight let out a weary sigh, feeling his muscles beginning to stiffen. Yet he would endure anything to keep the smile on your face; he was your willing captive, devoted to your whims.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and Ser Rowan instinctively straightened, positioning himself protectively in front of you. He relaxed his stance when he saw Prince Aemond enter, though a worried look darkened the prince's features.
"Aemond, what’s wrong?" you asked, your brow furrowing in concern as you set down your brush.
The prince was out of breath, urgency threading through his voice. "Helaena went into labor last night. It’s been long and difficult. She’s calling for you."
Your eyes widened, and you opened your mouth in shock, struggling to find your voice amidst the sudden rush of fear and worry.
Before you could respond, Ser Rowan spoke softly but firmly. "Princess, we must go."
You nodded, the news settling in your stomach like a stone, heavy and cold. You hurriedly followed Aemond and Ser Rowan out of your chamber, your heart pounding with a mix of concern and guilt.
Thoughts raced through your mind—what would you say to Helaena? Would she forgive you for not being there these past months? You hadn’t seen her in nearly ten moons, too consumed by your own sadness to leave your room.
As the three of you made your way to the birthing chambers, the air felt thick with anticipation. Upon reaching the door, you encountered another guard who bowed respectfully at your approach.
"The princess has successfully given birth, your Highnesses," he announced, his voice steady.
You and Aemond exchanged a glance, relief washing over you, and he offered you an encouraging nod. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to enter and see Helaena, the weight of your past decisions lingering in the back of your mind, but hope beginning to spark within your heart.
As you stepped into the chamber, your eyes immediately found Queen Alicent standing in the center, cradling a tiny bundle in her arms. A soft glow of love radiated from her as she looked down at Helaena's babe, a precious life nestled against her.
Your gaze shifted, and you gasped softly when you finally spotted Helaena on the birthing bed. To your astonishment, she was holding another baby as well.
"Twins," you murmured, the words slipping out louder than intended, catching the attention of both the Queen and Helaena.
Alicent's eyes widened in surprise, and a warm smile spread across her face at the sight of you. "Princess, it brings me joy to see you out of your chambers," she said, her voice gentle.
You nodded, feeling a rush of embarrassment as you shifted your gaze back to Helaena. She was already looking at you, her expression filled with a mix of fatigue and joy. Slowly, you approached the bed, holding your breath as you took in the sight before you.
The babe in Helaena's arms had the unmistakable silver hair of House Targaryen, a stark contrast to the dark-haired children of your brothers. You couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl, but the sight of the tiny face, so fragile and perfect, made your heart swell.
"What are their names?" you asked softly, careful not to disturb the babe's slumber. Your voice barely rose above a whisper, filled with wonder.
A tiny smile bloomed on Helaena's weary face, her eyes lighting up with pride. She gestured to the babe nestled in her arms. "This is Jaehaera," she said, her voice tender. Then she nodded toward the child cradled by Queen Alicent. "And that is Jaehaerys."
You nodded slowly, feeling a swell of warmth at the names, though a shadow lingered in your mind. You didn’t dare ask where Aegon was; the thought of him missing the birth of his children felt too heavy to voice. Carefully, you settled beside Helaena on the birthing bed, the air filled with soft silence and the smell of newborns.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, unable to meet her gaze as your eyes traced the delicate features of Jaehaera. The babe's tiny fingers curled and unfurled, and your heart ached with a mix of joy and regret.
Helaena's hand found yours, giving a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry too," she replied, her voice thick with emotion.
Looking up at her, a relieved smile broke through your sadness, tears glistening in your eyes. In that moment, the past felt a little lighter, the bond between you strengthening. But then Helaena's expression turned hopeful. "Would you like to hold her?"
You immediately shook your head, anxiety creeping in. "I don't know how."
"I didn’t know how either before this," Helaena said, her voice soft and encouraging. She carefully passed Jaehaera into your arms. You cradled the babe as if she were made of glass, your heart racing with both fear and delight. "It’s very easy."
A small laugh escaped you, bubbling with nervousness. "She’s very small."
"Yes," Helaena murmured, a hint of nostalgia in her tone. "Just as we were once."
You gazed down at the sleeping babe, feeling the weight of her tiny form in your arms. You glanced up at Helaena, her eyes shining with love and hope, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you felt a glimmer of happiness for the future.
You let out a huge yawn as you finally walked back to your chambers, the weight of the day settling on your shoulders. You had spent most of your time in Helaena's chambers, cradling Jaehaerys and Jaehaera in your arms. Queen Alicent had eagerly encouraged your visits, saying it was good practice for when you would have your own children with Aemond.
The thought felt strange yet comforting. After so many hours spent with the tiny babes, you found yourself warming to the idea of one day having a child with Aemond. Of course, that was a distant thought; you were only twelve now, and marriage was still years away. Yet, the notion no longer filled you with dread.
As your health improved and your mood lightened, Queen Alicent insisted you return to your princess lessons with Septa Agertha. The strict septa had been happy to resume your lessons, and to your surprise, she seemed kinder and softer than before, guiding you patiently through your studies.
Despite your busy days, you always tried to carve out time for Aemond. You cherished those moments, whether you were reading together in the library, basking in the sunlight of the gardens, or watching him train with his sword. Today, you couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly he took down Aegon during practice, his movements fluid and precise.
As you entered your chambers, your eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of Aemond standing amidst the soft pinks of your room, a striking contrast in his dark green leather. He looked entirely out of place, and the nervous smile tugging at his lips only deepened your suspicion.
"It is highly improper for you to visit my chambers so late, Aemond," you teased, crossing your arms as you arched an eyebrow. "Does Ser Rowan know about this?"
Aemond’s smile grew as he replied with a hint of mystery, "Ser Rowan does not know all the entrances to your room."
You rolled your eyes, amused but unconvinced. However, something behind Aemond caught your attention—a small object sitting on your table. You moved closer, but Aemond swiftly stepped in front of you, his hands gently resting on your waist to stop you.
"Wait," he said quickly, clearing his throat. "Before you get angry… don’t. Just trust me."
You eyed him suspiciously but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.
"Happy Nameday," Aemond said quietly, almost as if he were embarrassed by the gesture.
You blinked, raising an eyebrow. "Aemond, my nameday was a week ago."
"Still," he muttered, avoiding your gaze for a moment.
With curiosity getting the better of you, you gently pushed past him, approaching the table where the mysterious item sat. There, on the table, was a small brazier pot, the kind used for hatching dragon eggs. Your heart quickened as you slowly lifted the lid.
A heavy sigh escaped your lips when you saw the sparkly navy blue egg resting inside, hot as ever. "Aemond," you whispered, feeling a mix of exasperation and affection.
Aemond stepped up behind you, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder as he whispered in your ear, "I know. But you know what they say—fourth time’s the charm."
You let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes as you turned to face him. Your noses were practically touching as you corrected him, "It’s third time’s the charm, you stubborn idiot."
"I also brought strawberry cakes," Aemond said, seeing that the sight of the dragon egg had done little to lift your spirits.
You tilted your head with a small smile, "You know the way to my heart, Aemond Targaryen."
The two of you found yourselves lounging on your grand pink canopy bed, nestled among the cushions, feasting on strawberry cakes that Aemond had brought for you. The scent of the sweet berries filled the air, and for a moment, all seemed simple and light in your world.
“Aemond, I’ve been thinking,” you began thoughtfully, wiping a bit of cream from your lips.
Aemond raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a mischievous smirk. “My, my, that is worrisome,” he teased, his voice playful.
You shot him a sharp glare before rolling your eyes. With a lift of your chin, you said firmly, “I’ve decided our first child must be a girl.”
Aemond blinked at you, stunned by the declaration. “You understand we do not get to choose, yes?”
You waved his words away dismissively, as if the very idea of leaving such an important matter to chance was absurd. “I believe if I am firm in my belief, then I shall have the choice,” you replied with the confidence only a twelve-year-old could muster.
Aemond gave you a long, bemused look, as if weighing your words for any sense. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head. “Why?” he asked, indulging your fanciful notion.
“Do not mistake me,” you began, leaning back into the pillows with a thoughtful expression. “I love both Jaehaera and Jaehaerys equally. And if we were to have a son, I would love him just as much.”
A big, silly grin spread across your face as you continued, “But I want a daughter. I want to dress her up, match with her, and have her follow me around in little gowns.”
Aemond gave you a knowing look. “You have Jaehaera for that.”
You pouted dramatically, the cake in your hand momentarily forgotten. “It’s not the same. Jaehaera is Helaena’s, not mine.”
Aemond chuckled softly at your logic. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, raising his hands as if surrendering. “I shall pray to the Seven for us to be blessed with a daughter first.”
Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Perhaps a daughter and a son at the same time?”
You glared at him, flicking a cake crumb in his direction. “Why would you wish something like that upon me? Twins?” You shook your head vehemently.
Aemond’s amused smile only widened as he met your deathly serious gaze. “You’re right, my bad,” he said with a chuckle, brushing the crumb off his tunic.
You huffed, but your irritation quickly melted away as you stuffed another bite of cake into your mouth, a small smile tugging at your lips. Despite his teasing, you knew that Aemond would pray to the Seven for whatever you wished—even if that meant asking for something as impossible as choosing your firstborn's gender.
You glanced down at the strawberry cake in your hand, scrunching your nose. "With all this cake you keep bringing me, Aemond, I’m going to grow fat."
Aemond gave you a thoughtful look, his expression serious yet teasing at the same time. "And? Do they not say that more is always better?"
You tried to hold back your amusement, but despite your best effort, a smile tugged at your lips. You sighed, shaking your head as you chuckled softly. "You’re incorrigible."
Aemond tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. "Perhaps. But I speak the truth." His eye glimmered as they held yours for a moment longer. "A bit of extra weight would not lessen your beauty."
You blushed, looking away from him as you fiddled with the edge of your dress. "You say that now," you muttered, trying to sound annoyed, but your heart felt light.
"I shall always say that," Aemond countered smoothly, his voice unwavering, as if he truly meant every word. "No matter what the years bring, you will always be perfect to me."
A warmth spread through you, making your cheeks burn even more. You tried to dismiss it, waving a hand at him. "You just want me to keep eating cake so I’ll be too heavy to run away when you’re being impossible."
Aemond smiled at that, his violet eye gleaming with mirth. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just enjoy seeing you happy. And if it takes cake to do that, so be it."
You laughed then, shaking your head at him. "You’ve won this time, but I’ll have my revenge when I’m too fat to walk."
Aemond smirked, leaning closer to you with a satisfied look. "I’ll carry you, then."
You tilted your head, rolling your eyes at Aemond, wondering why he was looking at you like that, as if the world had shifted between the two of you. Somehow, without realizing it, you had drifted closer, your faces mere inches apart. You could feel his breath, soft and warm, as he leaned in further. His eye fluttered shut, and your heart skipped a beat as you sensed what was coming.
Before anything could happen, your hand instinctively shot up, covering his mouth. Aemond froze, opening his eye wide to see you staring at him with confusion. "What are you doing?" you asked, your voice full of suspicion.
He mumbled something beneath your hand, and you lowered it, giving him a curious look as you tried to catch his words.
Clearing his throat, clearly embarrassed, he murmured, "I was trying to kiss you."
You squinted at him, still doubtful. "Aemond," you began cautiously, "Septa Agertha says if a maiden and a man kiss, she’ll become with child. And I think we should at least wait until the twins’ first nameday before we bring another baby into the castle."
Aemond’s lips pressed together tightly, trying to suppress a laugh. His ears turned red as he responded, "Maidens do not become pregnant because of kisses."
"Then how do they become with child?" you asked, raising a challenging brow, your tone daring him to contradict what you’d been taught.
Aemond’s face flushed deeply, and his gaze flickered away in sheer embarrassment. He seemed to search for a way to avoid the topic. "Your Septa will tell you... in time," he muttered, clearly hoping to escape further questioning.
You were about to protest, about to accuse your Septa of lying again—how could you trust her after she said that about kissing? But the sight of Aemond’s bright red cheeks and the way he squirmed told you it was better to drop it. So, with a sigh, you decided to change the subject. "So then," you asked, "why do people kiss if it’s not to make babies?"
Aemond shifted awkwardly before murmuring, "To show affection. It’s what people do when they love each other. Married couples especially."
You raised a skeptical eyebrow, folding your arms. "I’ve never seen my mother and father kiss. And I’ve never seen Grandsire and the Queen kiss either."
Aemond made an exasperated sound, running a hand through his hair. "Well... they’re different," he said, sounding both frustrated and amused.
You tilted your head again, considering his words. "Different how?"
"Just different," Aemond replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he looked at you. "Not everyone is... affectionate like that."
"So, you want to kiss me because you’re affectionate?" you teased, a small smirk growing on your face.
Aemond’s ears burned again, and he glanced away, muttering under his breath. "Something like that..."
You tilted your head, watching him with amusement before shrugging nonchalantly. "Alright," you said, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. "You may kiss me."
Aemond's head snapped back toward you, his eye wide in disbelief. "Really?" he asked, unsure if you were being serious.
You nodded, offering him a small smile before puckering your lips in a way you thought was appropriate for a kiss. "Go on, then," you said, your lips pursed in a dramatic display.
Aemond stared at you for a moment, utterly bewildered. "You can't stare at me like that," he finally managed, his voice a little strangled as he glanced away again, clearly nervous.
Rolling your eyes, you sighed, "Alright, Aemond," and then did as he requested, squeezing your eyes shut. You sat there, waiting for him to make the first move, your heart thumping in your chest even though you tried to act as though it didn’t matter at all.
The room felt strangely quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. You could hear Aemond shift slightly, feel the warmth of him as he leaned in closer. The air between you felt charged, as if something important was about to happen.
His breath ghosted across your lips, soft and hesitant, and your heart skipped a beat. But just as you thought the kiss was going to happen, Aemond hesitated again.
"Are you certain?" he whispered, his voice soft and uncertain, as if he didn’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable.
Without opening your eyes, you replied with a huff, "Yes, Aemond. Just do it."
Aemond finally leaned in, pressing his lips gently to yours in the briefest of kisses. It was awkward and tentative, like neither of you really knew what you were doing, but it was soft and sweet in its own way.
When he pulled back, you opened your eyes, blinking at him. The two of you sat there for a moment, staring at each other in silence, unsure of what to say or do next.
"Well?" Aemond asked, his voice low, his cheeks still a little flushed. "How was that?"
You pursed your lips, considering. "It wasn’t so bad," you admitted, then smiled, a hint of mischief in your eyes. "But I don't think that’ll make me with child, so Septa Agertha must be wrong after all."
Aemond let out a small, relieved chuckle, the tension easing from his shoulders. "No," he agreed quietly, "that won't make you with child."
You both shared a soft laugh, the awkwardness melting away as you realized it wasn’t as strange or nerve-wracking as you thought it would be.
Still, after a moment, you tilted your head and added thoughtfully, "Mayhaps we can try again another time... just to make sure."
Aemond’s face broke into a wide grin at your words, and he shook his head, still amused. "Whenever you like," he promised softly, his voice full of warmth.
Aemond’s smile remained as you shared a quiet moment, a comfortable warmth settling between the two of you. His words, soft and full of promise, made your heart flutter a little, though you tried to ignore it. Just as you were about to speak, a strange sound filled the room.
You paused, frowning in confusion as the sound persisted. Aemond’s brow furrowed, and he gave you the same puzzled look. "What is that?" you asked, your voice low and uncertain.
Before Aemond could answer, the sound came again, louder this time—a soft, irregular rattling, like something gently tapping against metal. Both of you turned your heads toward the source of the noise, your eyes settling on the small brazier pot resting on the table beside your chaise.
The pot was trembling slightly, the lid shifting ever so subtly as if something within was stirring to life.
You exchanged a wary glance with Aemond, both of you too stunned to speak. Hope flickered in your chest, a fragile, cautious feeling that you tried desperately to suppress, even though it grew with each passing second. You didn’t want to feel it—not again. Not after so many failed attempts, so many disappointments.
But as the rattling continued, you couldn’t help but let that hope bloom, filling your chest with an almost painful intensity. You could feel Aemond's steady gaze on you, as if he too shared your mixture of anticipation and disbelief. His hand lightly touched your arm, offering silent reassurance as you both stood frozen in place.
Finally, the rattling grew louder, more insistent. Aemond moved first, stepping cautiously toward the brazier pot, his movements careful, as if approaching something fragile and dangerous all at once.
Your heart pounded in your ears as Aemond gently reached out and lifted the lid.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. You held your breath, waiting, expecting the worst, but then—
A small, sharp crack echoed through the air, and your breath hitched in your throat. Aemond’s eye widened in astonishment as he stepped back slightly, motioning for you to come closer.
With shaky steps, you moved forward, peering into the brazier pot. Inside, nestled among the glowing embers, was the dragon egg—your dragon egg. And it was moving.
Tiny cracks began to spread across the surface, like delicate lines etched into stone. A tiny chirp escaped from within, soft yet insistent, and your heart leapt in your chest.
Aemond’s voice was barely a whisper, full of wonder. "It’s hatching."
You didn’t dare speak, afraid that if you did, the fragile moment would shatter. Instead, you watched in awe as the cracks grew wider, the shell breaking apart bit by bit.
Slowly, a tiny snout poked through the shell, followed by a pair of gleaming, sapphire-blue eyes that blinked up at you curiously.
Aemond’s hand slipped into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to smile.
"It’s really happening," you whispered, barely able to contain the joy welling up inside you.
Aemond stood beside you, his gaze never leaving the hatchling, and he nodded, his voice low but filled with a kind of quiet awe. "Yes, it is."
The tiny dragon stretched its delicate wings, the membrane translucent in the firelight, revealing the rich, dark blue that shimmered against the glow. It was so small, fragile even, yet there was a certain strength in its movements, as though it knew its place in the world. Its scales appeared nearly black in the dim light, but with each flicker of the brazier’s flame, a glint of deep sapphire blue reflected back at you, shimmering like the ocean at night.
You couldn't hold back the soft laugh that bubbled from your lips, a sound of pure, unrestrained joy. Your laughter caught the attention of the little dragon, whose head turned sharply towards you. It blinked, tilting its head, studying you with wide, curious eyes before letting out a sharp screech in response. The sound, though high-pitched, was surprisingly strong for such a tiny creature.
Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over, as you knelt closer, your hand trembling slightly as you reached out, but you stopped just short of touching it. It felt too precious, too delicate to handle without care.
"Hello," you murmured, your voice soft and gentle, as though speaking to an infant. "Aren't you absolutely beautiful."
The little dragon blinked again, watching you intently. Its tiny nostrils flared as it took in the scent of the air, its wings fluttering slightly as it made a sound that almost resembled a purr. You couldn't help but smile wider, your heart swelling with affection.
Aemond crouched down beside you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder as he watched the dragon with a look of pride and admiration. "You were meant for each other," he said, his voice filled with certainty.
You looked up at him, tears still brimming in your eyes, and nodded. "I think so," you whispered.
For a long moment, the two of you sat there in quiet awe, watching as the dragon stretched its limbs, adjusting to the world it had just entered. It was strange how something so small could carry such weight, as if this tiny creature already held within it the potential for something great, something magnificent.
As the little dragon shifted closer to you, its warmth radiated through the air, and you felt a bond forming, something deeper than words could express. This was more than just a pet, more than a companion. This was a piece of your soul, reflected in scales and wings, fire and strength.
Aemond’s smile softened as he watched you with the newborn dragon, his gaze flicking between the two of you with a quiet fondness. "What will you name it?" he asked, his voice barely above a murmur, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the moment.
You beamed at the little creature before you, a warmth blooming in your chest as you finally dared to reach out. Gently, you brushed your knuckle against her soft, dark scales. She—yes, she was definitely a girl, you were certain of it—immediately leaned into your touch, her tiny body pressing closer, as if seeking comfort from your warmth.
"Treasure," you whispered, the name slipping from your lips without hesitation. A wide, contented smile grew on your face. "Her name is Treasure."
Aemond blinked, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected name, but then a grin spread across his face, lighting up his features. Of course, you would name your dragon something soft, something sweet and endearing. It was just like you to choose a name that carried such a feeling of warmth, rather than something fierce and grand.
He chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. "Treasure?" he repeated, his eye twinkling with affection as he looked at you.
You looked up at him, still stroking the dragon’s scales, and nodded firmly. "Yes. Because she’s my treasure," you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Aemond’s grin only widened as he crouched down beside you again, watching as Treasure nestled closer to your hand, clearly content with the name and her newfound bond with you. "A fitting name," he said quietly, and in that moment, as he watched you and your dragon together, he could see how the two of you were meant for each other.
Treasure let out a soft, sleepy sound, curling closer to the warmth of your hand, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of peace. The bond between you and your dragon was only beginning, but it was already something special—something that would only grow stronger with time.
this is anything but the end
guyssss help, im literally crying thinking about young rhaenyra (milly) and reader as a baby. how reader probably became rhaenyra's new best friend and was the only thing keeping her going in court. And how rhaenyra would talk to her as a full-grown person, while reader, being a baby, would just babble back. And how rhaenyra would probably walk around taking her baby everywhere and riding on Syrax with her. BYE lol that just makes it all sadder
(side note in my head ive decided to give reader/y/n the most basic hotd name and name her aemma. because when she has her own daughter with aemond, she'll name her laenora after her father)
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Treasure The dragon
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I can just imagine reader doing that Sweeney Todd trend with Treasure:
ohh mr.todd 💋 i'm so happy 💋 I could - 💋 eat you up I really could. you know what I like to do mr. todd 💋 what I dream 💋
Ser Rowan
(it's rick grimes because I say so) (note I've only watched two episodes of the walking dead)
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Reader's Mind in a nutshell
(I feel if I made this into a full time fic, reader could lowkey have saved the family and avoided the dance of the dragons entirely)
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Hope you enjoyed!
Names that are in bold are ones that couldn't be added :(
@evernores @jouryuu @dbd-mommy @g-cf2020 @sl-ut @radiantdanvers @sillysillygyalsmh @callsignwidow @missyviolet123 @thelastemzy @lechat-rouge @sonichkkaaascreams @djarinsstuff @yovrnewromantic @waiting-fortheupdate @strawberymilktea @ninihrtss @kenqki @winter-solstice24 @darlingcharling-blog @feyresqueen @momoewn @literishdegree99 @xxxkat3xxx @6000-fandoms
#aemond targaryen x reader#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#hotd aemond#hotd fanfic#hotd#aemond one eye#aemond x you#hotd x reader
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welcome home
barcelona femeni x alexia putellas x youngadult!reader
summary: you find healing after switching clubs
warnings: swearing, bodyshaming, one mention of bodily fluids, I made up names of imaginary players who don't play for the nwsl club mentioned in this fic!!!, bullying, angst, yes there is a happy ending.
you grew up with your eyes on the stars, and your feet on the ball.
at 15, you felt like the world belonged to you—a place where dreams became your reality. you’d trained hard your whole life to make it to the world stage, and by 16, you were living your dream as one of the youngest members of the 2019 world cup roster for the united states.
the national anthem playing, crowds screaming your name as you made the assist to rose lavelle’s goal—it was everything you’d ever wanted.
all of the happiness and thrill faded away when you joined the kansas city current. when you first stepped into the locker room, you were excited. new teammates, new opportunities—it was everything you’d hoped for.
you wanted to make friends, to be part of a family when it came to being with your first professional club outside of your childhood one.
the moment you walked through those doors, you could feel something off. the eyes on you were sharp, intense, cold.
“what’s up, big foot?” macy had said, the team captain, with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"don't trip over those feet, yeah?" she had laughed, and a few others joined in, but the laughter felt harsh, mocking.
“yeah, we don’t need a kid coming in thinking she’s hot shit,” added jessica, one of the veteran players, her words dripping with sarcasm.
“try not to embarrass us out there.”
you laughed nervously, trying to brush it off as rookie hazing, but the tone was sharper than you expected. you told yourself that it was normal, that it was just their way of breaking the ice.
you couldn't have been more wrong.
practices started to become a war zone. it wasn’t just intense training; it was like they were out to get you. elbows to your back when the coach wasn’t looking, hair pulling, shoes clipped behind your heels to send you stumbling.
once, in a scrimmage, you remember trying to dribble past jessica. the curly-red headed girl came in late with a slide tackle, her studs connecting straight with your shin. you hit the ground hard, gasping for breath, and she stood over you, smirking.
“whoops,” she said, her voice flat and unapologetic. “you should be quicker, portland has fast forwards and you can’t defend them with those legs.”
the coaches didn’t do anything. you’d get up, limp back into position, and hear them say, “come on y/n, toughen up. you’ve got to be ready for contact against portland on thursday.”
they acted like it was all normal, like you were the problem.
in the locker room, it wasn’t any better. they whispered behind your back, cruel comments about your skills, your looks, even your voice.
once, after a tough practice where arianna had practically shoved you into the goalpost, you were struggling to keep your emotions in check as you unlaced your cleats. you heard them in the back of the room, their voices loud and taunting.
“seriously, what does the national team see in her? she’s not even that great,” jessica said, snickering.
“guess they needed a token teenager to fill the roster,” another voice added, followed by laughter.
“she needs to go back to playing with the u18s, kylie you’d do much better than her in the left-back position!”
you bit your lip so hard it bled, staring down at the floor, pretending you didn’t hear them. you never knew what to say. it felt like you couldn’t breathe.
everything you did felt wrong, like you were walking on eggshells every day.
and then came the night that broke you.
it was after that world cup loss to sweden, a moment that already weighed on you like a thousand bricks.
you returned to kansas hoping to throw yourself into training, to prove you could bounce back. but when you entered the locker room, your world came crashing down. your locker was trashed—like a hurricane had blown through.
your training kit was shredded, your cleats filled with some kind of foul-smelling gunk– obviously period blood due to a used tampon found inside of the locker. and scrawled in black marker across the inside door of your locker were the words,
spoiled, selfish, fat bitch!
you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, hands shaking so violently you couldn’t steady them.
“what... what the fuck is this?” your voice came out a choked whisper.
kamryn, another girl on the team, walked by, a smug grin on her face.
“looks like someone had a bad month,” she said, fake sympathy dripping from her words.
“i hope you can still play tomorrow, stargirl.”
the nickname fans around the world called you, now being used to belittle you.
you couldn’t hold it in anymore. you yelled at them, your voice cracking with rage and desperation, “the fuck? what did i do to any of you? this is fucking insane and you think i am the problem?”
“you walked in here thinking you were better than us. you got handed everything, y/n. you don’t deserve to be here. you’re a little girl playing a big girl’s game.” jessica walked in, scoffing while smirking at the sight of your locker in the dressing room.
you left that night and didn’t stop crying until your eyes were red and swollen. but even then, the coaches did nothing.
they told you to toughen up, to show “mental strength,” as if their approval could patch over what you were going through. and that’s when you realized you had to get out—before this place destroyed you and any love you had for football.
barcelona was the escape you desperately needed. a chance to rebuild, to breathe.
when you landed in spain, everything felt fragile. it didn’t matter that you were now with one of the best clubs in the world.
the trauma from kansas stuck to you like a shadow. you walked into your new locker room, keeping your head down, afraid to say the wrong thing, terrified of the laughter you thought you’d hear.
but it never came.
instead, alexia, the captain, was the first to welcome you. “y/n! niña!!! so nice to finally meet you,” she beamed, pulling you into a hug that felt warm and real.
“i can’t wait to see you play. you’re from the states? we need to introduce you to keira and lucy– they’ve been wanting to meet you but don’t take their banter seriously.”
every day, they chipped away at your fear. little by little.
when you struggled on penalty kicks one time during training, patri stayed back with you after practice.
“okay you got this!!! by the end of this evening, you will never miss a penalty kick again. trust me! yeah? it’ll be fun.” she speaks with a thick catalan accent.
you were hesitant, scared to mess up, but patri never pushed. she was patient, kind. she’d pass the ball back to you and made you do penalty kicks over and over again until you felt comfortable, until your footwork was smooth, and every small achievement she celebrated like it was a goal in the final.
“see? you’ve got this,” she’d say, and you’d feel the corners of your mouth tug into a smile for the first time in what felt like forever.
it was a few weeks into your time with barcelona, but you still felt like an outsider.
even with the kind gestures, the smiles, the support from the team, you were carrying the weight of kansas like a ghost.
you stayed quiet during team meetings, laughed politely but never loudly, and when the others shared jokes or talked about life outside of soccer, you sat on the edges, half-invisible.
alexia had been watching you. she noticed how you shrunk into yourself, how you seemed to fade into the background during conversations.
during drills, your focus was laser-sharp—too sharp, like you were overthinking every touch, every pass. when you were off the ball, your eyes darted around, like you were searching for threats.
you reminded alexia of esmee when she first arrived last season—new, uncertain. but this was different.
there was fear and sadness in your eyes.
one afternoon after training, alexia pulled you aside. the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the pitch, and most of the team had already started heading back to the locker room.
you felt her hand on your shoulder, and you turned, trying to hide the nervousness in your eyes.
“niña,” she said gently, a small smile on her lips. “can we talk?”
you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. “sure, alexia. what’s up?”
“it’s about you,” she said, her voice steady but soft. “you’ve been… quiet. more quiet than normal. and i get it, you know, being the new girl and all. esmee and kika were shy when they first came, but…” alexia paused, searching your face.
“this feels different. it feels like you’re afraid of us.”
you could feel your chest tighten, the words getting stuck in your throat. you didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to burden anyone.
“i’m not... i mean, it’s just—" you stumbled over your words, trying to find the right thing to say, something that wouldn’t make you sound like a mess. “it’s nothing. really.”
alexia didn’t buy it. she shook her head slightly, taking a step closer to you. “i don’t think it’s nothing, y/n. you barely look anyone in the eye, and when someone even brushes by you during training, you flinch like you’re waiting to get hurt. it’s not normal.”
she kept her voice calm, steady, like she was trying to reassure a frightened animal. “listen... if something happened before you got here, you can talk to me. it’s just me right now. no one else.”
you wanted to brush it off, to laugh and say she was overthinking, but the truth clawed its way up, burning your throat. you clenched your fists, staring down at your cleats, trying to focus on anything but alexia's eyes, which felt like they could see right through you.
“it’s… it’s hard to talk about,” you finally admitted, voice cracking on the last word.
“back in kansas, things were... bad. really bad.”
“what do you mean?” alexia’s voice was a whisper, gentle but urging you to continue. she stepped closer, her hand on your shoulder now, warm and steady.
you bit your lip, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill.
“my teammates—they hated me. from the minute i got there, they acted like i was the opponent that happened to sneak into their dressing room. i thought maybe it was just... i don't know, maybe i did something wrong. but no matter what i did, they just got worse. they... they bullied me. on the field, off the field... they’d make comments, call me fat, trash my stuff, physically go after me during practice.” you took a shaky breath, your shoulders trembling.
“they hated me for being good– for being called up to the world cup before some of their veterans did. they said i didn’t deserve the call ups at all, that i was useless. every single day felt like... like a war that i was going to lose.”
alexia’s face hardened, and for a second, you thought you saw anger glistening in her eyes.
“and your coaches?” she asked, voice tight with anger. “they did nothing?”
“they... didn’t care,” you said, shaking your head.
“if anything, they made it worse. told me to toughen up, to get used to it, that it was part of being a pro. so i did. i tried to act like it didn’t bother me. but it did. every day, it did.”
there was a heavy silence. alexia didn’t speak for a moment, letting your words hang in the air. and then, she pulled you into a hug—tight, secure, like she was trying to shield you from all the pain you had gone through.
you stiffened for a second, unaccustomed to the softness, the genuine care, but then melted into it, burying your face in her shoulder.
“you don’t have to go through that alone anymore,” she whispered.
“this is your home now, y/n. we’re your family. i promise you—no one will ever treat you like that again. not while i’m here, and i am going to be here for a very long time.”
you felt the tears slide down your face, but they weren’t tears of pain anymore.
they were relief, a feeling you hadn’t let yourself feel for a long time. when she finally let go, alexia cupped your face, making sure you were looking right into her eyes.
“you are so much more than what they made you feel,” she said firmly, her voice laced with emotion. “and if anyone even tries to make you feel like that again, they’ll have to go through me. through all of us. okay?”
you nodded, a small, shaky smile breaking through. “okay.”
“did you go to anyone on your national team about this?” alexia asked, hoping you did.
“i did. alex was the one who encourage me to move clubs. trinity even promised to smash kansas when they go to washington dc to play against spirit.” you laughed, wiping a stray tear from your face.
she laughed back, squeezing your hands. “we’ve got your back, y/n. always.”
and she meant it. over the coming weeks, you felt the shift.
after that talk, alexia made it a point to check in on you.
the small gestures from the team slowly healed the wounds you didn't think would ever close.
when ingrid left you notes in your locker before every match with scribbled encouragements, kika making it a routine to kiss you on the head when you scored a goal past aitana in training, or when mapi pulled you into a bear hug after a tough game reminding you that she is proud of you– you felt at home.
masterlist
#barcelona femeni#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso community#fc barcelona#alexia putellas#mapi leon#ingrid engen#kika nazareth#trinity rodman
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