#if you stopped moving they would crawl on you.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Summer (Cregan Stark x Reader)

A/N: I can finally wrap up my romcom! Big romantic gesture ahead. Check the masterlist of this series here, if you are new. And to my lovely, lovely readers, thank you for staying wityh me during this madness.

Warnings: My anxious introverted reader being anxious (Shocker) Cregan has self-doubts. Mature language.

YOU ARE HAVING a terrible day. It surprises you because that doesn’t happen as often any longer. Today, you would rather not talk to anyone, much less Cregan, whose hovering would only serve to make you more anxious. Today, you want to crawl under the covers with your comfort book and pretend to be dead. 

Yet, you cannot. Because you can’t find the damn book anywhere. You are sure the compilation of histories of Old Valyria Daemon had given you has to be in your rooms.

You have pulled open all your desk’s drawers, checked the bedside table twice, checked the bed, even beneath it. Not even your chest with linens was spared. It’s nowhere. 

With little choices left, you have begun searching the nursery too, but haven’t quite mastered the courage to search Cregan’s solar. You remember taking the book alongside you to read as you kept him company sometimes, but do not recall leaving it there. 

You feel torn. Cregan and you are getting along now, but you still hesitate going to him with your troubles. Not only you had leftover guilt even though you have both chosen to move on from your rivalry, you also prided yourself on being independent. 

Asking him or anyone for help always makes you feel uncomfortable. You didn’t want others to perceive you as weak. 

Stop. You are being silly, you tell yourself. It’s not like you are about to ask him to solve your life, you only will inquire if he has seen your book. 

Still. What if he thinks less of you for being careless with your things? Or if he thinks you are being overly sentimental to get this worked up over a book? 

Worse, what if he thinks you are accusing him of stealing? 

You let out a groan. You are overthinking. Your bad days often include a lot of anxiety, and today it is a bad day. A terrible one, that will be worse if you don’t find your beloved book. Determined, you march to Cregan’s solar and knock on his door. 

“Aye?” He calls out, northern accent on full display, and you can’t help that your knees get a little weak.

“Cregan? May I come in?” Suddenly, your bravery and determination have deserted you. Your voice comes out squeaky as a mouse. By the Fourteen Flames, to love is to be humbled, it seems. 

“You always may, wife.” You wince at being addressed as such. You suppose it’s a good thing he isn’t calling you by your full title any longer. 

Pushing open the door, you step inside. Cregan is seated on his desk, a frown on his face. He is squinting at some maps, in the way he sometimes does. His frown softens when he sees you, standing on the door. 

“I enjoy how my colors look on you.” Cregan rumbles, a pleased smile forming on his face. Today, you are wearing one of the warmest dresses you own, in a pale gray. It’s made of velvet, and you enjoy how it feels over your skin. You had commissioned it after you arrived at Winterfell, using the generous pocket money that Cregan allowed you. 

You had to give it to the man. No matter how annoying you had been at first, he had never been tight-fisted with your allowance. 

“Thank you.” You feel your cheeks heating up, and fight the urge to fan your face. What you don’t manage to fight is the urge to preen under his gaze. 

Cregan chuckles. You narrow your eyes at him. Is he mocking you? He lifts his hands in surrender, attuned as he is to your moods. 

“Apologies. It’s cute, that’s all.” 

“The dress?” 

“You.” And it’s said with such disarming honesty, you do not know what to say. You search his face, yet his expression is so open, so fond, no hint of mockery can be found. It’s…  Cregan must be thinking of her, for sure. That expression doesn’t mean anything. “What were you here for?”

You clear your throat. 

“Um. I was… I lost my book.” 

“What book?” Cregan asks, shifting his maps aside. He is clearing his desk, you realize. “The one about the conquest?” 

“No, not that one.” Your voice turns shyer still. Secretly, it pleases you that he remembers what you had been reading last week. “It has a brown leather cover and the title is in gold.” 

“The one in High Valyrian?” And his tone is casual. Far too casual. You begin to worry that your book might have met its end. You look him in the eyes, but find little there. Cregan has an impeccable blank face. He gives nothing away. “Check the selves. Maybe it is there.” 

You turn around and begin doing so. But the more titles you check, the more nervous you become. Cregan is an organized man, his books are carefully separated by subject. The servants know to keep to his order, when he rarely leaves them lying around. 

Your book would stand out. You know it. A tight knot of anxiety begins to settle on your stomach. As you reach the lower shelves, you feel tears gathering in your lash line. You cannot believe you are about to cry over a book. 

Cregan will never love you. He will go right back into thinking you are some soft southron, with no spine. No one cries over books. He will think you are ridiculous. 

Despite your back being to him, he seems to sense something is wrong.

“Love? Is everything alright?” 

“I cannot find it.” You whine, losing your battle with the tears. “My book. It’s really important that I find it.” 

You hear him get up, and walk closer to you. He hugs you from behind, holding you to him. 

“Shh… I know. I have been unkind to you.” You are confused about his words, but not enough that you reject the comfort of his embrace. Cregan is warm against your back, and smells faintly of parchment and leather. There is something herbal clinging to his skin, too. His smell and his size make you feel safe. He is tall enough that his form covers yours completely.“I took your book.” 

You flinch. Your hackles begin to rise. Your sadness leaves, clouded by absolute wrath.  

“What?” 

“I wanted to gift you something. It’s being copied by the Maester as we speak. I wanted it to be a surprise, I know how much you love it.” He nuzzles your neck, and it pacifies you slightly. The prospect of a gift entices you, especially if it is a copy of your favorite book. Perhaps Cregan will have it nicely bound.  “I regret it now. Knowing how much you love it, I should have known it would upset you.”

“I wanted to read it today.” You complain, still sad. It has been an awful day for you. “I do not feel so well.” 

“Of course, sweetling.” Cregan drops a kiss to your crown. “I’ll have it delivered to you. Would you mind lending it to me tomorrow? You can recall it anytime during the day if you need it, like now.” 

“Alright.” You whisper, softly. Cregan gathers you in his arms again, and moves the two of you to the loveseat. There, he settles you in his lap. He takes of his cloak and drapes it over you. This way, you are fully surrounded by his warmth and smell.

He calls a servant. True to his word, the book is back in your hands in less than half an hour. You spend the rest of the afternoon reading in his lap. 

Suddenly, your bad day doesn’t seem so bad. 

WHEN HE FEELS like an inconsiderate brute, Cregan tries to think happier thoughts. While grief and self-doubt do not chase him as much as they chase you, he is still a widower with a wife who despised him at first. 

Often, gazing upon Rickon or you is enough to help him feel more settled. More at peace with himself. His son is well adapted enough, he reasons, as he sees him run around the courtyard. You do not despise him, he thinks, as you curl by his side. 

Today, neither is working. Rickon and you are together, a picture that normally would serve to pull him out from his brooding. Of course, since Rickon is on the floor wailing, it isn’t quite working. 

Cregan has a headache. The pain is spreading from his jaw, towards his cheekbones, and from there turning into sharp icicles that feel like they are being stabbed in his skull. 

The day has been long. He had ridden out at dawn to deal with some wildings near Wintertown, and then had to answer his correspondence. The dammed Greens would not stop pestering him to switch sides and hand you over, alternating between threats and flattery. 

As if the Starks were some miserable turncloaks who betrayed their oaths. As if Cregan would just hand over his wife to some usurping cunts. 

The nerve of those Hightowers knew no bounds. What was next? Demanding a Sept be built in Wintertown for those false gods of theirs? 

And if that wasn’t enough to make his day terrible, during the afternoon Cregan had received an outraged Sara. Apparently, for some unknown reason, she had received an offer to become Lady Cerwin And for another unknown reason, it was the most terrible fate. Ever. 

Rickon keeps screaming. He has been that way for a while. Cregan had been alone with him, watching him play on the rug with his blocks, when he had started crying and wouldn’t stop. 

Cregan had tried picking him up, rocking him, walking him back and forth, but nothing helped. One of the servants must have heard and alerted you because you had appeared looking disgruntled.

You had been in the middle of your quiet time, as Cregan enjoyed calling it. Awkward Princesses who hated socializing needed time to recover from hearing petitions during the day. He had realized so when he started teaching you to pass judgement. 

As the time for Cregan to march south to defend your mother’s claim became more imminent, he was giving you more and more responsibilities in Winterfell. That way, you would be prepared to hold the North when he left. Prepared to protect his Kingdom and his son. 

“Tower! Tower!” Rickon wails, as you pick him. Your face is as tired a Cregan feels. His head is heavy. He cannot stand Rickon screaming any longer. By the gods, Cregan is a terrible father. He cannot even calm his son when he needs him. After his many attempts to calm him down were unsuccessful, he had just set him down. 

“What’s the matter, sweet boy?” You ask, holding Rickon close to your heart. Rickon continues to cry. You meet Cregan’s eyes over his son’s head. 

Cregan shrugs. He is unsure of what triggered the tantrum. 

“Shh, all is well. I get overwhelmed too, sometimes.” You say, and Cregan gets the feeling you are talking to him and not to Rickon. “But we can’t rebuild your tower if you are getting all wiggly.”  

This is about the building blocks, Cregan realizes. He feels like a terrible father. A failure. 

Bennard’s words come to mind once more. How can you govern the North if you can’t govern yourself? You failed.

Your swordsmanship is poor, and you still are a pup crying for your parents. You cannot rule. 

He had heard a variation of those words for years, every time he had tried to push his claim. And look, Cregan knows he is not a poor swordsman, and he has tried his best to rule. Men don’t cry, but he does it occasionally. Rarely. His tears never dry out, no matter how old he grows, but it is the only thing of Bennard’s words that came true. That isn’t so bad, is it? 

You have settled on the floor, Rickon on your lap. He still cries, but he has stopped shrieking. You have started building a tower on your own. 

“I think I will place my princess here. And a dragon here.” You explain, as if you are building some great castle. Rickon stares, transfixed by you. Cregan understands the feeling all too well. He remembers the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your skin against him, your smell. He has been unable to get the memory out of his mind in days. 

It would be pleasant, a session of cuddling with his wife, were it not for the circumstances that lead up to it. All Cregan’s fault. 

“A shame you want to keep crying and won’t help. I suppose I shall have to ask your father to play with me.” Your eyes are coy. You give Cregan a glance, and his lips form a smile despite himself. Of course you would try bribery. 

Of course, it works. Rickon picks up the first block, still sniffling. 

“No! Father isn't a Princess. You are!” 

“You are right, Rickon.” You agree, as if it were the most natural thing. “Silly me. He is a wolf. We should build him a Wolfswood.” 

And so, Rickon forgets his tantrum, settled by your gentle touch and encouraging words. And Cregan’s heart soars. 

“MILADY, LORD STARK wishes for your company.” One of the serving girls says, eyes downcasted. You pause in your perusal of the granary, making a quick note on your ledger. As the Lady of Winterfell, it falls to you to ensure the castle has supplies enough for winter, or so Cregan says. You find the Northern’s obsession with the season a bit much, but considering little grows here, you too would feel better knowing you have enough grain if something happens. 

“Right now?” Considering he had been the one to send you on this errand, it confuses you a little. He must have known taking stock of the granary would take you all day. 

“As soon as you can come. It’s not urgent, but he wishes to see you soon.” 

You feel nerves creep up on you. Cregan never summons you. When he wants your company, he simply appears near you or waits for a meal to invite you to spend time with him. 

You can’t help it. War and grief had frayed your nerves. These days, you feel like everything could be a sign of bad news. 

It’s not urgent, you repeat to yourself. It’s not urgent, it’s not urgent, you chant in your head, but your steps towards the inside of Winterfell are hurried. 

The castle is unusually quiet. The maid guides you to one of the unused wings of the castle, one near Cregan’s rooms. You have never asked, but you know these were the rooms his uncle used to inhabit when trying to usurp him. The man had never dared taking the lord’s rooms from Cregan, lingering near instead, a feeling you understand too well. 

Your husband is a formidable man. You wouldn’t want to cross him, either. 

The serving girl hesitates when the two of you reach a big oaken door. 

“What is it?” You ask her, with a frown. “Why do you linger?”

She doesn’t answer. She simply shoots you a shy smile. Annoyed at her shyness, you push the door open yourself. Your breath catches. 

When you step inside, it is as if you are stepping inside your storybook. The walls are covered with tapestries depicting some of the prettier illustrations, priestesses wearing amethysts, dragons of shining ivory, lovers holding hands. 

The room is decorated in understated creams and golds, the furniture made of the finest woods. Despite the themes of the decoration, it is clearly meant to be a Lady’s solar, even if not attached to your rooms. 

There is a soft, woven carpet that cushions your every step. It is made of pure white fur, to combine tastefully with the rest of the decoration. You can already tell it will feel like heaven on your bare feet, even through your boots. It must have cost a fortune. 

Near two, giant windows, a low table sits. It holds a vase very familiar to you, shaped in the form of a dragon. It is filled with winter roses, though you had seen it before in Dragonstone, full of your mother’s favorite flowers. 

There is a fireplace, as it is customary in almost all the rooms in Winterfell. On its mantle, small toys and mementos from your childhood sit. Near the fireplace, a small sitting area awaits, with comfortable looking armchairs and loveseats, and a low table in which a tea set, painted with Valyrian motives, rests. 

There is a desk in a corner, much bigger than yours, and a small bookshelf, that resembles the layout Cregan has in his own solar. It has sparse books, but all of them are in High Valyrian. Your favorite book has a place of honor, right in the middle of the highest shelf. 

Yet, the true star of the room lies on the back of it. There is a huge round table, like the one from your stories, made of sturdy wood, that resembles the one from the war room from Dragonstone. Not only are the Seven Kingdoms featured, but also Essos, Sothoryos, the Summer Islands and even Great Moraq. Cregan is in the middle of lighting the table, struggling with how one is supposed to do it. 

“How..?” You babble, astonished. To assemble this… You understand now why he had needed your book so many times. The time and care put into building this room, so delightfully whimsical yet honoring your culture at the same time… Your eyes prickle with tears. 

“We can send it back.” Cregan says, alarmed by your tears. “If you…” 

“No!” You say, with an energy that surprises you. You take the candles from his hands and begin lighting the table the proper way. “This is… My home. And my book.”

Cregan’s face is uncharacteristically unsure.

"I hoped it would remind you of where you came from. Of whom you are. A Princess of Dragonstone. My Princess.” 

“You did this… for me?” Your hands tremble as you set the table alight. All the known world, on display for you. In a war table. It is only then that it registers.  

Cregan is willing to go to war for you. Kill in your name. Lay the whole world at your feet.  You have to grip the back of one of the chairs as to not fall down, knees weak. 

“I know you are far from home. And I haven’t… We haven’t always been on the best terms, but you never shied away from your duties. I wanted to give you something that was about you.” 

“I never thought you saw me.” You whisper. “I… I owe you an apology. For everything. For insulting you, when I arrived, for speaking of Lady Arra, for… For not seeing you either, at first.” 

You have been blind, you realize, as you look at your book come to life in this room. The man who had given it to you had shown you that one could form a family with a widow and cherish their sons as if they were your own.

Daemon wasn't a kind man, but he was loyal to family. You were far kinder. If he could do it, and be happy, so could you.

“There is no need to apologize to me.” Cregan gathers you in his arms, and presses a kiss to your lips. His own are chapped from the cold, yet the only thing you feel is his warmth. And for two people as different as winter and summer, you find that your bodies do understand each other. 

It takes Cregan but a week to convince you after that. The first letter you write in your new desk begins as it follows: 

“Dear Jacaerys, I want you to know that I am completely, perfectly, incandescently happy…”

[pearlcigs]

more toxic vi PLZZZ

toxic!vi who will roll over onto her stomach after sex and just rest her hand on your throat. she doesn't squeeze or anything, just likes having the power over you. she wont move it, even if you ask, so you don't protest. her fingers tap against your pulse, almost like a taunt that she could make it stop if she wanted to. she doesn't even look over at you, face pressed into the pillow like she doesn't even want to look at you. you could beg for some sort of aftercare that was actually comforting but she wouldn't listen anyway. probably would call you needy and annoying.

toxic!vi who 'loses' the things you buy her. she'll complain, tell you that you're bad luck. she force you to help her look for it, spending hours searching for whatever it was this time. it was so draining you were always willing to just go buy her a new one. after hours of searching, she would always find it, tucked away in some drawer it shouldn't have been in or hiding in the bottom of her hamper. always somewhere she swear she already checked at least 3 times. then she'll praise you, telling you that you were a good luck charm for helping her find it. she'll kiss your face, and half the time it was so pleasant, you'd forgot you just wasted hours of your life.

toxic!vi who cannot handle criticism. when you call her out for her shitty behavior, she'll probably gaslight you. she'll tell you that you're remembering it wrong, that you just wanted someone to blame. it would go on for hours, just trying to tell her how you feel but she wont listen. she knows your right, she feels guilty, but her pride gets in the way. more times than not, she'll walk out, slamming the apartment door as she strides down the hall with heavy, angry breaths. and like clockwork, you'll chase after her, begging her to just come back inside. the neighbors were probably tired of it at this point. eventually, she would come around, apologizing, half assed but nevertheless still an apology.

toxic!vi who's rough and relentless when she fucks you. she gets lost in the pleasure, not really caring about your own or if she's pushing your boundaries. she'll tell you that you can take it, she knows you can, and will praise you into thinking you can. she won't ask if you're okay, if you're feeling good. however, she can tell when you're into it and when you're not. she knows your body inside out. so occasionally, she'll put you first, pleasuring you in the way you need. gentle and intimate. she'll usually get distant after intimate sex, she'll ghost you for a few days and the whole time you can't help but wonder if she's getting with other girls. but eventually, she'll come crawling back to you, and you'll have to comfort her for hours despite how you'd felt for days prior. but you didn't care, every time you'd laid her head in your lap and pet her head until she fell asleep.

toxic!vi who's confidence borders on arrogance half the time. she knows she owns you, she knows you love it, and she gets off on it. she'll brag, telling everyone who will listen that she practically controls you. and in a way, she's not wrong. you'll never leave, you both know that. despite her tendencies and her toxic behaviors, at the end of the day you know she loves you. you'll convince yourself you can teach her how to love properly, filter out all her bad habits. but you won't, you can't. and part of you knows that. maybe you got off on her owning you too.

[xoluvx]

first fuck; b.eilish ❥₊ ⊹

word count; 2.2K

you'd been waiting for it. wishing on it. pacing your room back and forth every time you got a new message from her. it'd all been unexpected. you hadn't anticipated the outcome of a few casual messages would result in this and it wasn't until you got past the initial shock and started talking to her - really talking to her - that you realized how deeply you'd fallen into this routine.

the days were long when you didn't text. you counted down the hours, the minutes, and the seconds 'til you connected again. when you laid in bed, those text exchanges were your only solace. your nights always felt too short. they were haunted by the impeding 'goodnight' texts. it was inevitable.

you dreamt of her touch. you longed for the taste of her lips. you wondered if she felt as soft as she looked and with wild thoughts came wild actions. soon the playfulness turned into riskiness and confessions and yearning. you yearned for someone you'd never touched, but was so real to you.

you let your imagination get the better of you; it ran wild with scenarios you'd only ever fabricated in your mind. you'd been too shy to admit them at the beginning, but when you finally did you couldn't stop. you shared every little thing with her. every thought that crossed your mind. every time you thought about her. every time you missed her, it all spilled from your fingertips.

you felt her hands on parts of your body that were desperate to be touched and pictured her face when you touched yourself. you replayed her voice messages until you reached your climax and made it equally known she was the only one you thought of during those vulnerable moments.

you were both in too deep to admit that this was all becoming a little too real. especially after she confessed she was starting to like you a little too much.

she was standing there. standing at your door with her hands tucked into the pockets of her sweats. her face was partially hidden by her hood. you gripped the doorknob as your heart beat rapidly. you swallowed at the realization that maybe you shouldn't have called her bluff because now she was here. standing in front of you. stepping into your house. closing the door behind her. delicately wrapping her fingers around the back of your neck until your noses were brushing and your breathing became one.

there was no need for introductions. you'd rehearsed this encounter in your head for weeks now. you'd memorized the sound of her breathing and she'd memorized your moans. you were no strangers to your deepest darkest desires.

she'd let you take the lead before, but now she was making the moves. when her fingers dug into the bottom of your scalp, you moaned quietly into her mouth. your hands gripped her biceps as you thrusted your pelvis against her thigh. her hand crawled down your back palming your ass until you were humming into her mouth, arms wrapping around her shoulders liked you'd been doing this your whole life. they hung so naturally as she pulled your body closer to hers.

your thigh came in contact with a foreign object and you pulled away only enough to meet her gaze. there was a mischievous look on her face. her tongue poked at the side of her cheek as she raised her brows. you felt your body growing flushed at the recognition. she really hadn't come to play. the endless teasing. the talking back. the attitude. the big talk. it was all being put to the test tonight. it'd all come down to this.

it'd all come down to your naked body waiting in anticipation watching her slide her shirt over her head. her small smile turning wicked when you caught your breath at the sight of the pretty strap clinging to the lower half of her body. your fingers spread on the cool bed sheets fisting the fabric as she watched you with those eyes that were so much captivating in person. they held you in a trance, you didn't dared blink.

your arm reached out for her, curling around her neck as her knees sunk into the mattress. you pulled your weight up as your lips connected again and again. they were hungry. desperate to satisfy the hunger that'd been brewing for weeks. you'd dreamt of this. multiple times. your body had been consumed by the same thoughts that were now unfolding right under your fingertips. her lips dragged along your jaw, tongue wet on your neck as you shivered bucking your hips. she hummed on your skin before pulling away and your eyelids fluttered open at the absence of her mouth.

she was pushing you back gently; her hands running down the side of your body until you were laying flat, feet planted on the mattress, legs open. you watched through hooded eyelids as she lowered her body settling between your parted legs. her lips found your inner thigh. they ghosted on your skin, peppering tender kisses until her hair was cascading down her shoulders. it tickled your skin and your hips jolted inadvertently, fingers tangling in her hair, hands guiding her head towards your throbbing pussy.

when the flat of her tongue touched your warm core, you whimpered tossing your head back arching your back into her touch. you wanted more. the motion was you begging for more, but she wouldn't allow it and you should've known.

"words," she teased gently tapping the side of your thigh. you hadn't forgotten how much she loved it when you were vocal. when your words oozed from your lips like sweet gooey honey; sticky and clinging to every surface of her body like the sweetness that coated her tongue as she ran a stripe between your folds.

"please, more-" you breathed closing your eyes when you felt her smile against your pussy. she nodded and hummed approvingly before placing her thumb at your entrance. her tongue moved meticulously on your clit. your sensitive bundle of nerves sent your body into a fit of quivers. you thighs were shaking and you chest was heaving as her thumb broke through your walls and the speed of her tongue increased. she held your thigh securely wanting you to feel every ripple of pleasure coursing through your body as her tongue moved in mysterious, yet satisfying ways.

"sit up," she mumbled looking up from between your thighs with her messy hair and glistening eyes. you looked at her with confusion when her tongue left your clit and her lips peppered kisses that trailed up to your belly button. you sat up watching as moved and settled her back against the bed frame before motioning to her lap. you swallowed recalling the countless texts you'd sent about wanting to sit on it. detailing the placement of her hands and the motion of your hips all while savoring the taste of her lips on yours as you rode her.

the only sound in the room was that of rustling sheets and soft breathing as you planted your knees on either side of her body. you could feel your heart beating in your throat as your eyes met. they spoke a secret language you didn't know was possible after only being acquainted for less than an hour, but your heart knew you'd known her for much longer. your body had longed for her for far too long.

you felt her hand brush the inside of your thigh as she reached for the dildo. you caught your breath looking down as she spread your arousal with the extension of her. you clung to her shoulders, nails softly digging into her warm skin as the tip pushed through your folds. her other hand held your back as you lowered your body slowly biting your lip as she filled you up so marvelously. you relaxed when her hand touched your cheek; her eyes gazing at you tenderly.

"you okay?" she asked and you nodded humming as you settled on her cock. your arms wrapped around her shoulders. your lips touched as you sat with her buried inside you comfortably. you kissed until your hips started swaying. until you were moaning in her mouth feeling the rush of her fingers spreading on your thighs running up your back as she moved under you.

you felt every movement as you ground your hips. the sensation was blinding as you sped up, as she breathed against your chest. her lips stuck to your skin as you tossed your head back, nails digging into her shoulder blades when you started bouncing. you were breathing heavily unable to control the urge to scream her name. it slipped out your lips so naturally just liked you'd done many nights as you touched yourself to this very thought.

billie clung to your back. her words muffled by your chest as she kissed your skin sloppily feeling your body quiver on her lap. you were close, you were calling it, but she wasn't going to give you the satisfaction just yet. she loved listening to the sounds of frustration pouring from your lips. she loved watching the way you bit your lip wanting more, needing more.

"turn around," she whispered lifting your thighs as you sighed with desperation. you were so close. you'd been so close, but you didn't question her. you moved your body turning around as she wrapped her arm around your waist. her lips kissed your shoulder, sprinkling kisses on your skin until you could feel her breathing near your ear. you whimpered, covering your face when she pressed her chest on your back and slithered her hand between your thighs.

"why are you acting shy now?" her voice clung to your skin as it trickled from her lips so teasingly sending shivers down your spine. your mouth hung open and you whimpered feeling her hands spread over your breasts. the stickiness of your arousal clinging to your skin. she squeezed gently as you went to wrap an arm around her neck, but she pushed your body forward before you could get a grip. you gasped feeling the cool sheets under your fingertips. you stretched out your arms as she lifted your hips. knees planted on the mattress. ass in the air. her hands smoothing over your skin jiggling it in her palm as you clenched in anticipation holding your weight up on your elbows.

she groaned and you moaned as she filled you in a swift movement. you pressed your ass on her pelvis, squirming as her hand ran up your back holding onto the back of your neck. with her other hand, she held your waist pulling out before slamming back in until she established a steady pace. ass bouncing on her. fingers digging into you skin. groaning each time your hips falter. moaning louder each time she moved unexpectedly.

when you called out her name, she snarled. the hand on the back of your neck pushed you forward until your face was planted on the mattress. your moans were muffled by the new position. eyes squeezed shut as she thrusted into you. your toes curled as she slammed into you. this new angle was deeper. yummier. you were back on the verge of your orgasm, you could taste it on your tongue.

then you felt her body press on your back and you could feel her jagged breathing in your ear again. you lost it. you were a fit of whimpers and pleas. your hands clawed at the fabric bunching under your body as you breathed heavily.

"i need to-" you swallowed closing your eyes. you could feel your mouth going dry from all the hyperventilating and heaving. you lost your train of thought when she whispered something in your ear you'd nearly forgotten about. how could you forget? how could you forget how much she loved that one little word that'd been teetering on the tip of your tongue. the one word you'd been so shy to mutter in person, but hailed it so confidently through your screen. the one word she was now begging you to speak as she pounded into you mercilessly.

"i need to cum, daddy-" you breathed turning your head so your flushed face was exposed. she bit her lip before smirking grinding your hips against her pelvis. her cock sinking deeper. rubbing against your cervix as you lost the ability to speak.

"ask again. nicely," she demanded. lips sloppy on your warm salty cheek.

"daddy-" you swallowed shutting your eyes, "-please. please let me cum,” you squealed feeling the sharp tingles piercing the bottom of your feet as your bodies became one.

"fuck, i love you-" she confessed pressing her lips on your cheek giving you the permission to release the pent up tension that was wound so tight. she loved you. it fell from her lips so naturally. you heard the words clearly even in your dazed state.

it'd all come down to this. to sweating bodies, long sighs and whimpers. panting bodies, grunts and groans. nails digging into skin. lips marking territory. whispers and confessions of desire and professions of love. you already missed her and she was still here, fucking you like there was no tomorrow and you really hoped there wouldn't be 'cause you loved her. you loved her more than you thought was humanly possible.

[bibibahngg]

【ｇａｍｅ　ｏｖｅｒ？】

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚pairing: felix x reader ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖summary: yongbok tries to stay focused on the game while you distract him under the table. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚warnings/genre: MINORS DNI!! if ur a minor dont read this :) swearing, smut, reader gives felix, um. oral attention? mouth play? physical intimacy? uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh you get it. ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖notes: idk i wrote this in the middle of the night, not proofread, english is not my first language so there might be grammar issues, im not very good at writing stuff like this but i hope u enjoy reading ! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

the room was dim, lit only by the glow of the monitor and the soft neon hues from the rgb keyboard under felix's fingers. the sharp clicks of his keystrokes filled the space, along with the occasional deep hum of concentration as he leaned in slightly, his black hair falling over his eyes.

his voice rumbled through the air as he spoke into the mic. "wait, push mid. yeah. good. we got this." he was completely in his element, eyes locked on the screen, jaw tense with focus. his deep voice was something you'd always loved. it carried this effortless confidence, like he knew exactly how to command attention without even trying.

but tonight, you wanted to hear what it would sound like when he was struggling.

crawling onto the floor beside his chair, you rested your chin on his thigh, fingers grazing over his knee. his legs spread just slightly, absentmindedly letting you settle closer, but his eyes never left the game.

"what's up, baby?" he murmured, voice thick with focus, his deep timbre making something warm stir in your stomach.

you didn’t answer, just moved under the table, letting your hands drift higher, slow and teasing. felix's fingers faltered on the keyboard for half a second. "hold up, what are you-" his words cut off, his breath hitching as realization sank in.

bingo.

he straightened in his chair, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to ground himself. his hand reached down, fingertips brushing your wrist in a weak attempt to stop you. "babe," he muttered, so low it was nearly a growl. "don't start."

but you could hear it already—the shift in his voice, the slight waver beneath all that depth, the way he swallowed hard just to keep himself steady. it was exactly what you wanted.

his headset crackled as one of his friends spoke up. "yo, yongbok, you good?"

he cleared his throat, quickly pressing a few keys, forcing himself to focus. "yeah", he said, his voice dropping even lower than usual in an attempt to mask the strain. "just... had to readjust."

you almost laughed. had to readjust.. oh, if only they knew.

hooking your fingers into the waistband of his sweats, you tugged them down just enough before taking him into your mouth. the effect was immediate.

his whole body tensed, his deep voice catching on a sharp inhale as his fingers clenched around the edge of the desk. you felt his thighs flex beneath your hands, the sheer effort it took for him to hold still.

"fuck", he exhaled, so soft it barely left his lips. his mic was still on. you wondered if his friends caught that.

"what was that?" one of them asked.

yongbok’s head tilted back, his black hair falling away from his face as he fought to stay composed. his free hand slipped into your hair, not pushing, not guiding—just holding, like he needed something to ground himself.

"nothing", he said quickly. "focus up. we got this."

but his team didn't got shit, not when his brain was barely functioning. his breath came unevenly now, each shaky exhale making you press your thighs together in satisfaction.

you took your time, hollowing your cheeks, flicking your tongue just right, and that earned you a full-body shudder from him. his hand in your hair tightened, his knuckles going white against the desk.

"y/n," he murmured. his voice so strained it sent heat straight between your legs. "baby, i swear-"

his friends were still talking, completely oblivious to how wrecked he sounded. “yongbok, bro, call it—where are they?"

he took a second too long to answer.

"yongbok?"

he scrambled, fumbling for the keyboard with his other hand. "uh—uh, just, hold the angle."

but the damage was done. you could hear the slight shake in his voice now, the way his usual deep confidence was fraying at the edges. and god, it was intoxicating.

you decided to push him just a little more, letting your nails drag lightly down his thigh as you quickened your pace. his breath hitched, and this time, he couldn’t hold it in—his deep groan rumbled in his chest before he barely managed to stifle it with a cough.

"dude, you okay?"

yongbok slapped his mic to mute before tilting his head down to glare at you, his pupils blown wide. "you're actually evil." his voice was so low it vibrated through you.

you grinned, licking over the sensitive tip just to watch him shudder again.

his abs tightened under his hoodie, his head falling back against the chair with a deep, strangled exhale. his black hair clung to his forehead slightly, a few strands damp with sweat. his chest rose and fell unevenly, and you could see it—the exact moment he realized he wasn’t going to last much longer.

his grip on your hair tightened just enough to make you shiver, his jaw clenching as his breath turned shallow. "baby, you’re killing me", he whispered, his voice barely there, wrecked and desperate.

you pulled back just slightly after his release, letting your tongue swirl one last time before releasing him with a soft pop. yongbok sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes snapping open, hazy and dark as he looked down at you.

"you're done", he muttered, the promise of revenge thick in his voice.

you only grinned. "you're welcome."

his headset crackled to life again. "bro, what the fuck were you doing? you just sat there and let us all die."

yongbok still hadn't moved. his chest was still rising and falling heavily, his body slack in the chair, completely ruined. he exhaled, unmuting his mic.

"...allergies", he muttered.

this time, you couldn’t hold back your laughter. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ a/n: idk vro it was 2am i dont even remember writing half of this i hope u enjoyed reading bye bye!!

[mourndust]

hi hi hiiiii! this is my first time publishing in tumblr! english is not my first language so i'm sorry for any mistakes, either way i've doubled checked so hope there's not many around! be kind and tell me what you think about it! reblogs and likes are always welcome. minors dni wlw content, good old finger-fuck that never fails, oral sex, spit.

it’s meaningless at first.

you don’t pay much attention to her. she’s in the corner of your eye but you’re too busy flirting, fighting your way to get a free drink since you refuse to pay for one but she’s there. you saw her fighting hours ago, and you know she’s looking.

it’s meaningless. a silent invitation that caught you off-guard cause fuck, you’re drinking a beer in peace and why the hell would anyone bug you? either way you recognize her before she’s even talking to you, a light scent of alcohol mixed up with sweat that has everything to be nasty, yet, somehow, it’s almost nice when she sits in the stool next to you.

it fills the air. surrounds you in a cloud of haze cause hell she’s good at making you pay attention, at noticing she’s there, closer.

“vi,” she says introducing herself, and it makes sense later why you’re locked up in the bathroom, why exactly you folded so fast — always so needy, so eager to please the rest—. “nice to meet you.”

she points out some shit about seeing you around in the pit-hole, how you’re always unfazed by the place, always pretty, always unavailable, and she’s getting you, caught you in her bare hands cause you don’t know why you’re letting her follow you to the bathroom like a lost puppy, but it’s good cause you want it, as soon as her magenta hues touch your bare fingers and she’s laughing, making the most amazing sound you’ve heard in a while, you’re all in.

you crave casual. can someone blame you? world’s crazy out there, and you don’t really do it commonly but man — you just want to have fun with her, commit to the strange magnetism that connects you every night to this girl. so you let her do it, let her rough hands lock the door, roam over your sides as she ends wirh the space left between you and her own body.

it’s nice. tuesdays are slow, not many people gamble around so the place is not really crowded, and it’s even refreshing when she pushes her knee between your legs like she didnt know it was fucking heaven, lifting you up to the counter as she relish on the taste of kissing you, god — her kisses are soft even when there’s a certain sloppiness lingered to them, some roughness she tries to keep in line but slips away for the moment, demanding and demanding as she got lost in the sensation, the smell of your perfume, that shampoo you liked and began using religiously.

can you blame violet too? fuck. caitlyn’s been fucking up her life since she went full weirdo mode and stop talking thanks to the thirst of revenge, and vi’s been having so much in her life lately she just need to pull the switch down in her brain, shut it off at least for twenty minutes and not depend on the amount of booze she’s lately depending on, actual human touch.

so you? you are similar to an oasis in plain dessert.

“there you go, so good for just a few kisses,” vi points out to praise the way your hips move seeking for a bit more friction, driving her insane as the fabric of your jeans rub against the black pants of the fighter—. “help me get you out of this.”

violet’s a force of nature, crawling under your skin as her bandaged hands struggle with the button of your jeans, taking a second or two to actually get you out of the thick fabric that’s only annoying her. the contact of her skin soothes the sting of pure need and she has the audacity of taking time, alluring as she places soft kisses over the crook of your neck like she’s really imprinting the curves of your body in her memories, the soft and smooth flesh that you posses, the moles and that tiny underwear that only fuels her desire to keep taking what she wants.

surely vi thrives on making you a mess, talks a lot a when your brain becomes a pile of erratic thoughts. the music is so loud outside you can hear the bass bouncing on the walls, making them shake as the air is filled by the sound of your moans, the way the fighter’s mouth sucks on your skin only to leave red marks she hopes to see on the next days in the pit.

"fuck's sake," she says looking at the slick mark on her jeans — "you made a mess on my knee-" it's noticiable when she point it out, the fabric is slightly darker on the zone and it was visible when you put some attention to it — "how are you going to fix this huh? it's your mess, your problem."

clearly she’s all bark and bite.

"talk baby, you can do it. i'm not even fucking you yet," she demands when you're too zoned out to say something. "tell me how are you going to fix the mess you made on my knee."

"don't care" you answer soon after. "i'll think of something after- please vi."

your voice is rough, raspy by the delicious sounds you make when she's spreading you open, using a hand to keep you steady over the sink as she raises your shirt from over your chest.

“after? after what?”

she kneads one of your breasts in her hand, squeezing the bare flesh before taking it in her mouth, the warm sensation spreading all over your spine: formalities are now left aside to let over that primal need take over, so you're pulling her poorly-dyed black hair closer, even when she bites and uses her tongue as a method to make the sting hurt less, moving to one breast to another — you just want her as possibly close.

and your jeans are hanging in the air holding by one leg only, black paint smeared on your tummy as her kisses now become more desperate, careless about their repercussions or what they stained as her mouth seems to follow this invisible path back to your cunt.

she's good at teasing, make you work for it, whispering praises all over your skin like she's not even close to have all that she wants with you in that hot bathroom. the fighter kneels only to be more comfortable, using her hands to spread you open, tasting you from over your underwear — only to have a taste and mainly, because the fabric there it's almost non-existent: mental kudos to you.

you've become a teenage boy at that point. driven by words and gentle touches, the flick of her tongue as she moves eagerly travelling from your aching hole to your clit, casually rubbing the tip of her nose as she delves deeper, pulling your underwear to the side when she hears you say some erratic words of praising: she needs validation.

the fighter don't have to spit, but she does it anyway, soaking up her own fingers with saliva like they aren't already soaked with your arousal, hooking up her thumb in your entrance to stretch you out, moving it back and forth in almost a cruel, sweet torture, almost making sure you're going to beg to be filled at some point, all needy and pliable only cause you need her fingers inside.

"can you lift up your leg?" vi knows it's a greedy question, but she says it anyways in hope you'll comply, and you clearly do when you're clinging in the sink, trying to not lose balance when one leg stays in the floor and the other one is holded over the fighter's shoulder, the cold leather of her jacket pressing against your tight as you rest it over her back—. "good girl, you okay there?"

the wet sounds her mouth do left you nothing but stupid, her half lidded eyes following every involuntary movement your body makes as she moves between your soaked folds: how much is going to take for you to cum all over her face? soak her lips with the prettiest lip gloss?

"vi..." she knows what you're whining for, the pleaded tone that stained your words. she's hoping to be the cure of all your aches, comply every little thing you ask for. her fingers fill your core, sucking them in as you clench around the intrusion, and fuck. fuck it's just what you needed, the way they curl all the way in, rubbing on that nice spot she wastes no time in finding.

how can a fucking hand feel this good? makes your brain melt as your hips move in search of release, lost in the lewd sounds of your cunt, the way she find a way to comfortably eat you like a regular meal, how you shake and move against her mouth and that faces. violet’s been looking at all since she decided to put her damn knees on that filthy ass floor.

she gets off by your orgasm pouring in.

fucking soaked in her pants as she helps you ride the tidal waves that pours over you, that shake your body and makes you weak in the knees, struggling to keep on your feet as vi holds you still. and oh how she loves it. loves how she made a mess out of you, how she fucked up your defenses like they were nothing, and fuck it’s so nice.

she kisses your stomach, the marks she made before now red against her teeth, tracing up a path of kisses back to your mouth, cause she simply cannot get enough, she’s ready to keep going, take more if she wasn’t in a dirty bathroom.

your breathing is still heavy as you get off the sink, vi’s hand still on your hips as she pulls you closer, stealing a kiss that in contrast, is nothing but slow and fucking hot — and you wonder, by a whole damn minute, how the fuck is she so good at everything? kissing, teasing, touching, eating pussy-

“get your pants off,” you say, looking back at the stain on her knee with crimson cheeks—. “you cannot go out looking like that.”

violet tilts her head slightly backwards as the sound of her laugh fills the bathroom walls, shaking her head in disapproval — “it’s not really necessary. kinda like having a reminder of you.”

it’s a great tuesday, yeah that’s for sure.

so it’s not weird at all when it becomes usual the rest of the week.

[fridaysmind]

Shifting priorities

The Doctor x reader (platonic)

Okay, I've only written on Transformers, but seeing the new installment of PPT just made me smile and sit down to write. I love the scientist characters too much. Warning: mention of organs and violent experiments, possible spoilers. If you want me to write you something, feel free to request it!

Yes. Yes, he knows no mercy, yes, he's ruthless and cruel. So what? If even half the employees in this company were as logical, goal-oriented, the greatest things were created long ago. If that snot-nosed jerk Ludwig, with his inspirational speeches and penetratingly understanding gaze, would stop acting like a softy, immortality would not be a dream, but a matter of money. Sure, these assholes would be sure to talk about the good for the world, but who gives a damn? They don't understand anything at all, make heroes out of themselves, sympathize, pity, as if they are not the ones watching bloody experiments on cameras, as if they are not the ones keeping living corpses in cages without food

Let any of them call Sawyer an asshole, so be it, but he was honest enough, at least with himself. He knew who he was and didn't try to appear different.

Some of the employees laughed at him when he brought you, a kid, into his cleanest (and relatively) office for notes and paperwork. They threw jokes about his demotion to babysitter or his willingness to leave his job and go into fatherhood. The doctor had no trouble putting them in their place.

They don't understand because of their own feeble-mindedness, Sawyer says to himself, looking down into your big, overly intelligent eyes. He took this kid away, like finding a diamond in a pile of dirt, sand, and debris. He knew those test results, he knew that communication style. It was hard not to recognize himself in your face. A kind of little genius who'd been so lucky to get into the orphanage.

You're definitely different from the other kids, you don't look at him like he's the last hope, like you're a yard dog, you don't act like a nasty snotty brat, none of that. But he sees respect, he sees that one genius recognizes and acknowledges another and it rubs off on his ego. You laboriously write something out of his study guides by the light of a desk lamp, read his notes, speak of him to others with reverence, causing him something resembling a surge of pride.

Kids are always too curious, especially the smart ones, and you were out of the question. Of course you did sneak in during one of his experiments. He can blame himself for not locking the door. He could, yes, but he won't. Another body opened up before him like a flower bud, not moving as he carefully separated the marrow with a scalpel and as your stupid face crawled out from the other side of the bunk, making him shriek in fright.

He was almost on the verge of a breakdown, it had all started out so well, now he'd have to either keep you on a leash or get rid of you altogether, the kids can't live with themselves after a sight like that!

But oh, oh, he remembered why he chose you. Staring emotionlessly at the pale face of the girl you had definitely previously known, you point a finger towards her head asking to see the actual brain. He calms down in an instant, noting to himself again what a genius he is for discerning the right specimen.

As the doctor continues to poke around inside the children, you sketch out cerebral gyrus in your notebook, interjecting now and then about the purpose and name of certain parts of the large hemispheres of the brain. Wonderful child…

As the years of his work go by, you grow up. You enjoy interacting with experiment 1166, stroking his colorful fur, throwing him things to bring back. You're aware of his human nature, as well as many other things, but you remain as he chose you to be–cold and indifferent.

The Doctor notes some signs of savagery in you, very slight, but that's not surprising when a child grows up underground, in the company of adults, experiments, and beast-like unintelligent creatures. You can survive it.

***

His first reaction when he wakes up, immobilized, split into pieces and placed in the damn machine–worrying about himself. Not that it's unexpected. He remembers you pretty quickly, too. Where are you, where is his favorite apprentice? He asks questions, demands answers, threatens, but a short 'run away' is all he gets in response.

Immersed in darkness and silence, abandoned by traitors who only turn when they need his brainpower, he thinks of you. You're still not as bright as he is, but your company was much more pleasant than this one. Did you just run away, leaving him alone? You don't think of him even after all these years together? You grew up around him, he taught you so many things that he knew himself, didn't you get attached?

What a silly thing to say, he doesn't get attached, and you're so much like him that you're hardly different in this. Sawyer can't help but feel something unpleasant at the thought. Abandoned, all traitors and all abandoned him!

***

The ray of light in this prison was your sudden voice. He thought he had lost his mind, he mean even more, but no, you were definitely here, the cameras didn't lie. He couldn't help but scare you a couple times, just for fun, understand the old man, he was so bored here! But he helps you get to him, genuinely happy to be able to socialize again. No, he hasn't become like those soft-spoken idiots in the factory, it's just nice to talk to a decent person, that's all.

You stay by his side survived by nothing short of a miracle when the Prototype himself visits the Doctor after the Hour of Joy. They need his mind, they need his intelligence and knowledge. All that, but not you.

Sawyer almost squeals, screaming that he will not help them under any circumstances if they touch such a marvelous specimen, he is uncompromising, unafraid of the threats of a huge creature that makes even your mouth dry up with a semblance of worry.

You're staying, alive again by a miracle. and under strict surveillance by everyone. No one here trusts you, nor will they. You don't expect them to be kind, though.

The Prototype has warned Sawyer that your feeding is only the Doctor's own responsibility and goes into the shadows. You are left alone with each other, simultaneously tongue clucking and hissing the same curse. Everyone here is such an asshole.

[daemonbrain]

a/n: Shamelessly inspired by the fact I hit a curb, ran a stop sign, and almost hit a mailbox within 5 minutes of each other. So I present to you Graves x reader who can't drive! Feel free to drop a comment 🫶

Phillip Graves who loves exactly three things: His shadows, his truck, and his girl.

The downside? He has to keep the three things as far from each other as possible.

He would be damned if he let his pretty girlfriend know about all the questionable things he did for work. All you needed to know was he handled things, brought home the bread, and came crawling right on back as soon as he could.

But as he sat in the passenger seat of his F-150, he knew damn well he'd tell you every shady dealing or national secret him and his shadows have ever learnt to get you the hell away from the wheel.

He thought it was a joke when you hopped into the drivers seat! You had booked a reservation for some sushi place you liked and he had taken a little too long to get ready, only hurrying down when he heard the yell of his name.

"I'm comin', i'm going!" He mumbled.

You stood ready by the door with a smile. You dangled his keys in front of your face and to be entirely honest Phill didn't pay attention to a word you said.

How could he? Your hair all done up, a nice pair of heels, and a dress he's never seen before but is sure that it's somewhere on his bank statement. Too much time staring at your moving mouth, not enough time on it.

Interrupting you mid-sentance, he pulls you in for a gentle kiss. When your hands went to caress the stubble on his cheek, he responded with a groan and a bite on your lower lip, feeling his heart beat with fondness for the lovely lady in front of him.

Pulling away only a fraction, you look up at him with those eyes he could never resist.

"Is that a yes then?" You said, excitement clear in your tone.

Leaning back in, he presses his mouth to yours again. After a moment he digs his fingers to your waist, causing you to swat at his arm.

"Earth to Phill?! Yes or no?" You repeated. Groaning, he rolled his eyes and reluctantly separated from your body.

"Whatever you want sweetheart."

Which is how he finds himself in this precarious position. It was no ones fault but his own and now he was gonna pay big time. You had hopped right into the drivers seat leaving your dumbfounded partner to connect the dots on his own.

He should have objected thinking back, he really really should have. Commander Phillip Graves who has been around the globe, shot at, and knocked around more times than he can count did not want to deal with the fallback of wrangling you out of there.

When you reached your hand out to switch the gear, instead of holding the break like you should've, the loud sound of the engine revving blasted in his ears as you pressed the accelerator. You jolted in your seat, instinctually grabbing his forearm.

"Baby! You hit the gas."

Upon seeing his widened eyes, you couldn't help but chuckle. Laughing it off, you apologize and start up the truck.

At least that incident was stationary. It got so much worse.

"Shit, that was a trashcan."

"Phill turn up the music. That ambulance siren is distracting me."

"Did I just roll that stop sign?"

He was gonna die in this metal box. The two things he loved most were going to kill him. Phillip Graves death by bomb? No, Phillip Graves death by his wonderful girlfriends horrible driving.

In fact, he'd probably have a better chance if he had been in that tank than with you.

"Hon you're uh- this is a 35 zone and you're goin' 58."

You made a pfft sound and waved him off. Gosh he really wished you kept both of your hands tight on that wheel at this speed (at any speed really).

"Those things are like suggestions. This could totally be like a 45." You said.

"You'd still be- oomph!" Phillip was interrupted by his body being jerked against his seatbelt. Without a moments delay, his arm shot across your chest to keep you firmly pressed to the back of the seat.

Without a second of acknowledgment you slap the steering wheel with a scoff.

"Come on, that was bullshit! Hardly enough time to stop." You complained while staring at the shine of the red traffic light.

"Well maybe if you-"

Nope. Not gonna do that. He didn't even have a chance to raise his voice a note higher before you were glowering his way. No thank you ma'am.

"Nothin'. You're right. Bullshit."

He would hide the keys away from you from now on. He'd dig through your purse when you went to the washroom and snatch them up before you'd even have the chance to ask to drive home.

If Phill was gonna die any other way than old age amongst the horde of kids and grand-babies y'all would have together one day, it was not gonna be because you flung him into a fuckin' electrical pole.

Suddenly, the truck began to move faster...

and faster...

The moment he heard your squeal, his heart dropped to his stomach.

"Phill! Phill my heel is stuck-" The panic in your voice was palpable, the sight of cars in the distance coming closer in view by the second. Tears had begun to gather at your lash line in alarm.

With the reflexes as a man with his own PMC, his unclicks his seatbelt and practically flings himself over the console. Grabbing your foot, he jiggles it from the wedge it trapped itself and pushed on to the break you had made no attempt to use.

Another hard stop, but one made just in time before any collision could take place. Snapping out of your stupor, you allow the truck to slowly roll for a moment while a red faced Phillip looked at you with fury that knew no bounds.

"Pull over."

With a grimace, you attempted to reply. Only to have Phill grab the wheel and fully turn you to the side of the road, signaling and all.

Clicking on the emergency lights as he opens, exits, and closes his door while you still reeled from your miiiiinor incident.

Opening your door, his stern expression warranted no argument as he held a hand out to help you down.

"Out right now. No buts or nothin'."

Hastily complying, you slip your palm into his and scampered to the passenger seat.

After you buckled your seatbelt in and Phill had time to huff and rejoin the road, he uses his free hand to grab on to yours and press a tender kiss to your knuckles while keeping his blue eyes stubbornly fixed forward.

…

Safe to say you let him play his own music this time.

[mintyys-blog]

LOVE AT FIRST SHOT— winter soldier! bucky barnes

WARNINGS: torture

HYDRA found out.

He should have known it was only a matter of time.

His handlers weren’t stupid.

He had been careful—erasing his tracks, disabling his tracker when he was with you, slipping away unnoticed like a shadow.

But HYDRA saw everything.

The way he hesitated on missions. The way his reports were incomplete. The way his eyes weren’t empty anymore.

The Winter Soldier was compromised.

And HYDRA didn’t tolerate weaknesses.

They dragged him into the chair.

Straps around his wrists. His ankles. His throat.

“Where did you go?”

Nothing.

“Who was it?”

Silence.

“We know you were with someone, Soldier.”

He clenched his jaw.

“Give us a name.”

His metal fist flexed against the restraints.

He didn’t even flinch when the first shock hit.

It went on for hours.

Electrical pulses seared through his veins, white-hot and merciless.

They wanted him to break. They wanted him to say your name.

But he didn’t.

Even as his muscles seized. Even as his vision blurred. Even as his head lolled forward, the scent of burnt flesh thick in the air.

Because you were his.

And HYDRA didn’t get to have you.

They changed their approach. They sent him on a mission.

A new target. A simple job.

And at the end of it, they asked him a question.

“Did you hesitate?”

The words crawled under his skin like insects.

Because for the first time in decades—he didn’t know the answer. Not because he failed the mission. Not because he had let the target go.

But because when he pulled the trigger— He had been thinking about you.

Meanwhile, you were waiting. Days passed. Then a week. Then two. But still—no sign of him.

You should have been worried.

Any normal person would have taken it as a rejection. Would have assumed he had moved on.

But you weren’t normal. And Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier—was yours.

“He’ll come back.”

You traced your fingers over the bruises he left behind, a slow smirk curling your lips. “He always does.”

But this time—You were wrong.

This time, HYDRA had other plans.

HYDRA had plans for you.

They found your name. Your apartment. The security footage of you letting their most valuable asset slip between your sheets, marking him with sin, filling his head with thoughts of you instead of his orders.

You had corrupted their weapon. And for that, you had to be erased.

The night they came for you, you were waiting. Something had been off for days.

The Winter Soldier had never gone this long without coming back to you, without leaving behind even the smallest hint of his presence.

So when you spotted the black vans pulling up outside your apartment, you didn’t run.

You didn’t scream.

You smiled. “Took you long enough.”

They weren’t expecting you to fight back.

Most people screamed when HYDRA agents stormed their home in the middle of the night. Most people cried, begged, panicked.

But you?

You laughed.

And then you grabbed the knife from your kitchen counter and lunged.

The first agent dropped instantly, a fresh wound blooming in his throat.

The second wasn’t so lucky—your knee slammed into his gut, knocking the gun from his grip before you slashed his wrist, making him shriek.

For a moment, you thought you could actually win.

But there were too many.

The moment you turned, something sharp jabbed into your neck.

Your vision swam.

Your legs buckled.

The last thing you saw before darkness swallowed you whole— Was a metal fist wrapped around your wrist.

He was watching when you woke up.

Your head was pounding. Your wrists were bound. The cold, sterile scent of metal and chemicals burned your nose.

And then, as your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting—

You saw him.

The Winter Soldier.

Standing across the room, silent.

Dressed in full tactical gear, his face unreadable, his metal arm gleaming under the harsh fluorescents.

But his eyes—his eyes gave him away.

“Soldat.”

The voice came from behind you. A handler. Someone in charge.

“Eliminate the target.”

Your heart stopped.

You turned back to him, your lips parting—because you knew.

You knew what this was. This was a test.

This was HYDRA pulling the leash, forcing him to prove his loyalty.

And they had set you in front of him like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Do it.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Just stared at you.

And you smiled. “You won’t.” A flicker. A hesitation. No one else saw it.

But you did. Because you knew him. Because he was yours.

“Soldat, obey the order.” His hands clenched.

His chest rose and fell, his jaw tight, his body coiled like a predator in a trap.

And then— “You belong to me, don’t you, soldier?” you whispered, voice soft, teasing. His breath hitched.

A second. Then two.

Then—Chaos.

He killed them all.

The moment the first handler reached for a weapon, the Winter Soldier snapped. Gunfire rang through the air. Bodies hit the ground. Blood painted the walls.

By the time it was over, you were staring at the aftermath with something close to admiration. Then, slowly—you grinned.

“I knew it.”

His metal fist flexed. His breath was uneven.

For a moment, he just stood there, his body rigid, his mind clearly waging a war between conditioning and this.

You tilted your head. “What now, my soldier?”

A pause. Then—his voice, low and dark and final.

“We run.”

You ran.

Through underground tunnels. Empty alleys. Hidden backroads.

He knew exactly where to go, which cameras to avoid, how to disappear like a ghost.

And you followed.

Your hands were still sticky with blood. Your heart was still pounding from the high.

You had watched him kill for you.

And God—you had never been more in love.

The safe house was small. Remote.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, far from HYDRA’s reach.

The moment he locked the door behind you, you let out a breathless laugh, chest heaving.

“That was fun.”

He turned to you, blue eyes sharp.

“Fun?”

You grinned. “You should’ve seen yourself, soldier. All that strength—” You stepped closer, voice dropping. “All that rage.”

His jaw clenched.

“They were going to kill you,” he muttered.

Your smile widened. “But they didn’t.”

Because he stopped them.

Because he chose you.

And now—he was free.

But freedom came with a cost.

HYDRA wouldn’t stop hunting him.

He had disobeyed, broken protocol, slaughtered their men.

And worst of all—he had kept you alive.

They would never forgive that.

Which meant there was no going back.

“They’ll come for us.” His voice was quiet, but there was something dangerous underneath.

You shrugged. “Let them.”

His metal fingers twitched.

“You don’t understand.” His voice was tighter now, almost like he was warning you. “They’ll never stop.”

You tilted your head, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Then neither will we.”

Something in his expression shifted.

And just like that—it clicked.

You weren’t afraid. You had never been afraid.

Not when he tried to kill you. Not when he broke into your apartment. Not when HYDRA dragged you from your home, put a gun to your head, and ordered him to pull the trigger.

You weren’t afraid of him.

You were obsessed with him.

And worse?

“You like this.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

You smiled.

“Of course, I do. And my answer will remain the same.”

Because you were just like him.

Twisted. Dark. Broken in ways that no normal person could ever understand.

You had spent your whole life attracting danger. Chasing it. Craving it.

And now?

You had finally caught it.

You ran a finger over the bruises on your wrist—marks from where HYDRA had tied you down.

“You know what’s funny?” you murmured, stepping closer, pressing a hand to his chest.

He didn’t move.

“If you had just done what you were told—” You tilted your head, looking up at him. “If you had killed me that night—”

You traced your fingers up, brushing them along the edge of his jaw. “You wouldn’t be here right now. We wouldn’t be here.”

His breathing was heavy.

“You would still belong to them.”

Silence.

Then—A cold, rough hand curled around your wrist.

You gasped as he pinned you to the wall, metal fingers digging into your skin, his breath warm against your ear.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” he growled.

You shivered.

“No?” you whispered, turning your head slightly, letting your lips brush against his jaw.

He stiffened. You smirked. “Then why are you still here?” His grip tightened. Your pulse thrummed.

And then—his lips crashed against yours.

Rough. Desperate. Like he was trying to consume you.

Like he had finally accepted the truth. He wasn’t HYDRA’s anymore. He wasn’t even his own.

Because now—He belonged to you.

[justastraymoa]

Yet Unnamed

Chapter 6

Masterlist

Warnings for Yet Unnamed: Kidnapping, cuffs, injuries, drugging by injection, mentions of needles, lots of swearing, kissing, fluff, angst, idiots in love all around.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl. Pics off pinterest.

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

You jerk awake when your driver calls out to you. You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep, but it made for a quick ride home. Bonus.

Half asleep you made your way to the apartment. As soon as the door clicked open it jerked from your grip and Bin slammed into you. It was a déjà vu moment.

“Hi, Bin.” You mumble crawling up and wrapping your legs around his waist. You were still tired, and Bin was warm and comfy. Plus, it felt so good to hold him again.

“You forgot to turn on your phone.” He told you as he headed into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

Your phone was still in your hoodie pocket. Forgotten since the plane landed and the desperate need to get out of there took over. “Oops, sorry.” You sneak a hand in between your bodies to grab your phone and turn it on. It vibrated endlessly in your hand as you rested your face in Bins neck.

“Look what I found.” Bin announced.

There was a chorus of cheers and greetings, and someone even smacked your butt making you jump slightly.

“Lee Know, did you just slap my ass?” You asked without lifting your head.

There was a long, telling pause. “No.” He eventually answered unconvincingly.

You snort softly at his obvious lie.

“Where are your bags?” Chan asked.

You groan and lean towards Chans voice, trusting that either he would catch you or Binnie would stop you from falling.

In this instance Chan caught you easily and you transferred into his arms. “Welcome home, beautiful.” He said lowly, supporting you under your thighs.

You tried not to blush at the pet name.

“Mm. I had my stuff shipped. Cheaper. Easier.” You answer his question. Chan was wearing a soft sweater that you could not stop running your hands over and you nestled your cheek on it as well, savoring the moment.

“Smart move. Get everything situated.” Lino asked. You just shrugged, too tired to keep talking.

You felt Chan sit down on the couch and situate you so you were laying down more. A sudden weight along your back made you open your eyes you didn’t even realize you had shut. Ayen rested his chin on your shoulder, softly smiling at you when he saw you looking.

“Missed you guys.” You admitted. It was more than true. This was the best, most complete and pain free you have been since the moment you separated.

“We missed you too.” Ayen replied.

Sandwiched between Ayen and Chan, warm, and weighted down, you drifted off again, beyond happy to be home.

You were only out a few minutes when the front door opened, and Felix called out startling you awake. “We’re home!” He shouted.

“Pabo! She had just fallen asleep!” Seungmin snapped.

“Y/ns here?” Hyunjin asked. He appeared over the back of the couch. “Welcome home, we would have given you a ride.” He kissed your hairline.

“Sorry, bad flight. I just wanted to get out of there.” You explained.

“Did you show her yet?” Felix asked, joining us in the living room.

“No, we were going to let her nap a bit.” Ayen answered.

“Show me what?” My stuff couldn’t have arrived yet.

“We have a surprise for you.” Seungmin announced excitedly.

“Hopefully you like it. It was mainly to kill time until you returned.” Changbin sounded more nervous than excited.

You perk up. “Oh yeah? What is it?

Ayen got off your back and Chan helped you to stand up before they pulled you through the apartment towards the bedroom. Ayen covered your eyes, and you shuffled your feet and held your hands out so you wouldn’t walk into a wall or any furniture.

“We won’t let you run into anything.” Chan promised laughing.

“You are all menaces, I never know.” You respond not trusting his promise at all. There was excited chatter from the others ahead of you, and you heard a door open. Then, your eyes were uncovered.

You blinked a couple of times while your vision adjusted to the sudden light. You were in Chans room – or well your room now, but it was not the same room you left behind.

This one had the far wall painted light purple; a white tree painted in the open space that had white frames scattered along the branches for pictures. The light fixture in the middle of the room now had several fake vines leading from it to the edges of the room, creating a canopy along the ceiling of the room. The bedframe and dresser were now a soft white, the blankets and pillows on the mattress a mixture of purples and white. There was a rug in the middle of the floor of shaggy off-white color. It looked soft and fluffy even from this distance.

Across the bed there was a brand-new desk with the computer, laptop, and tablet set up for you already. There was a flower desk lamp in one corner and a dark flowery gaming pad under the keyboard and mouse.

It was the most amazing, beautiful thing you had ever seen.

“We thought – we thought this may make it feel more like home here.” Chan explained as you looked around the room in awe, running your hands along the furniture.

“We each pitched in. Hyunjin painted the tree, Felix set up the computers, we all helped pick out the colors and furniture.” Han explained.

“What do you think?” Bin asked after a minute of silence where you took in the room and gathered your thoughts.

It took you another second to gather your blank thoughts. They had gone out of their way to make this space distinctly yours instead of Chans old room that you live in now. They had spent their few off hours and little free time looking for items they thought you would like and putting them together for you. Even making sure you had a comfortable working space.

Turning you face your soulmates with watery eyes. Despite the initial excitement they had showing you your surprise they now looked more worried. “This is so amazing! Thank you so much!”

There was an audible breath of relief.

You pull Ayen in for a hug and kiss on the cheek, he was the closest to you since he had covered your eyes previously. Felix was next. One by one you thanked your soulmates with a hug and kiss, feeling a great swell of gratitude and pride. You honestly couldn’t have asked for better soulmates. They are smart, talented, sassy, and so incredibly sweet and thoughtful.

“So, tell me about what you have been up to since I left.” You request as you wandered around your new room again. A vase of flowers on the dresser you failed to see before smelled amazing when you leaned in to sniff them in curiosity. They had to have gotten them yesterday at the earliest. Everyone knew flowers were the most fragrant and beautiful the day after you bought them.

The top blanket was soft to the touch as you sat on it, waiting for their stories to begin. You of course already know a lot from everyone texting 24/7, but you wanted to hear it again. See their faces as they showed you pictures and told stories they hadn’t thought of before.

Everyone ended up sitting around the room as the boys told you what they had been up to.

Felix showed you pictures on his phone from the fashion shows he and Hyunjin had done. “And look, look! Hyunjin looked so cool on this one! You can’t see it in the pictures, but they put this sheen powder on him and in the lights, he glowed!”

Hyune looked over the top of the phone to peek at the pictures. “I liked the one we both did with the fireworks. Can’t wait to see those photos.”

“Oh yeah! This runway had mini fireworks that went off as we passed them. And we got to walk together. It was interesting.”

Chan, Bin, and Han let you listen to the new single set to be released tomorrow. The one they had all been working so hard on to get it finished. It was very hard not to squeal and play the song on repeat. It was amazing and showed off all their strengths plus some new skills they had been working on. It would be an instant hit for absolute sure, you had no doubt in your mind on that.

You would need to invest in better headphones so you could continue to listen to Stray Kids on repeat without them teasing you about it like you were sure they would. Even if they would secretly be very pleased as well.

“What about you?” Lino asked after Bin complained at length about how his preferred gym had closed for waxing for 3 days and he had to use a subpar replacement.

You shrugged, not really having any interesting stories. “I had already been fired from my job, so I didn’t have to worry about that.” You didn’t bother to mention how they had spelled your name wrong even on the pink slip they gave you after your lack of explanation of where you were. You were only there for the paycheck and couldn’t stand most of them. Barely tolerated the rest.

“Any problems selling your place?” Chan asked as you showed them the before and after pics of the apartment you had once lived in.

“I lost my security deposit for breaking the lease early, but I was expecting that. Now the place is the landlords problem.” It had been kind of a pain in the ass. Nice enough, but had its share of problems and wasn’t in the best of neighborhoods. It wasn’t a loss.

To be honest you hadn’t left too much behind that you would miss. Pretty much just your family graves. Everything and everyone else weren’t anything you would lose sleep over. Most you were glad to be rid of.

“No friends you will miss?” Han asked. He was laying in Linos lap, eyes half closed as Lino rubbed his chest.

You shook your head with another shrug.

“You’re not super sociable, are you?” Lino observed. Not judging you, just stating a fact.

You smiled. “Not really. But I’ve also never really felt…at home. I was always out of place growing up and that didn’t change as an adult. I never could quite find where I fit in.” This was something you had had to explain to countless people over the years. They had accepted your explanation, but never really understood it. Not even your parents. You half expect the boys to be the same way.

So you are shocked when several of them nodded immediately in understanding. “We all feel or felt like that. The odd man out. Unable to truly fit in. Though some of us are more sociable than others.” Hyune explained.

“I think it has something to do with our soul group. Something in the bond to pull us together instead of finding other people.” Seungmin put in.

Made sense. If something traumatic had happened to the soul bond in the past it may have affected it even now. Making it hard for your group to truly befriend or trust outsiders past a certain extent.

It was elating and freeing to finally be understood rather than just accepted. Again, you were so grateful for your soulmates.

~

The next day – after sleeping in a bit – you got to work on their upcoming socials. Their song had dropped, and you were taking over monitoring their comment replies and any posts they wanted to make. And they were pouring in.

You were on your new computer with your door open so they knew they could come in. And they did on and off for chats or quick visits. The boys were mostly at home today. Still working, just from home.

Their posts and comments had to be read over and approved by me before they actually poste, and you had just intercepted one from Bin that mentioned how ‘his girl’ had listened to the song last night. Since you were the only girl in the soul group and no one was supposed to know about you yet, that comment could pose a issue.

Han was probably right too. Most would be happy for the boys. I-STAYS for sure. But there would be lots that would be jealous and highly judgmental of me. But they would be happy for them anyways.

You also took some of the sneak peak photos to start ‘leaking’ in a couple days with your carefully worded captions to go with them. Created to tease and incite STAY. Keep them foaming at the mouth and guess what is actually going on. It was scheduled to begin when the new song hype started to die down and all that was left to do was let the fans enjoy the song.

Each member got to decide what they wanted to do in their picture. Ayen laced out fingers together and kissed your hand in his picture. You blushed as you inspected the photo because he looked directly at the camera with a lovesick sultry look. Bedroom eyes. It was just your hand, not the only ‘dainty and small’ among you, but it didn’t have the veins that theirs tended to show in photos. Not the same masculine look.

Chan took his while you cuddled on the couch during a break. You were lying along him, head resting over his heart, giving your eyes a break from screens. He let the very top of your head show in the photo. Messy hair indistinguishable from so many others. Nothing super obvious.

In Hans you had a hoodie on, hood covering your head and face from view. He was placing a pair of headphones over your ears and had a huge laughing smile on his face, bright eyed and cheerful. This was an actual unplanned moment taken by Hyunjin as you tested new headphones. Han was actually laughing at your reason behind getting new headphones.

Bins was of your hands. He had made rings out of two daisies and placed them on your fingers before lacing them together and taking the photo. It was actually adorable, and you couldn’t stand it. You had squealed and pinched his cheeks afterwards to relieve the aggression the cuteness of the moment caused.

Hyunjins was of him tying your shoe. You had taken the photo after he presented you with a pair of shoes that matched his new pair. You immediately put them on and insisted you go for a (highly disguised) walk to show them off. Your laces had come undone, and he kneeled to tie it for you without hesitation. The picture showed the matching shoes, your lower leg, and the top of his head. You had not taken it with the intention of him using it to soft launch you, but he liked it so much he did.

Felixs was when it was raining out. He dragged you outside under a light with an umbrella. It was of the shadow on the puddled ground as you both huddled under the umbrella. You were huddled close enough together that you couldn’t see any distinguishable shape to your shadow, so it was safe to use.

Seungmin took one of your feet as you sat in his lap. Both your feet were on the carpet, his bracing either side of your smaller ones. Of course, to avoid any feet scandals you were both wearing slippers. Cute ones that he got you because you mentioned that your toes were always cold. Yours were Kuromi and his were Pompompurin.

Linos was when you two had found a stray kitten. The kitten was rubbing against your shins, and he was crouched down petting it. You had reached out and petted his head with one hand and took the photo with the other. Another unplanned for this specific thing, but he was enchanted with the photo, even setting it as his wallpaper. Though he claimed it was because of the cute cat, not the fact that you were petting him and being cute.

This was of course all soft launching and teasing. The reveal would come from the photoshoot and mini blurb about me. Then the YouTube video where I would answer questions about myself in an interview and the boys would talk about me in a separate interview. Just like their one kids room videos.

Before that it would be these photos and telling STAY that they were actively looking for their final member again. The prolonging also gave STAY a chance to get used to the idea. To understand what was coming so they weren’t so shocked by it. And hopefully curb some of the hate bound to come your way.

You watched as Ayens picture of your hand made STAY go bat shit crazy. Theories were flying around everywhere. They had already guessed that you had been found, but there were others who insisted that the search was just bringing the boys closer together.

Chans photo was next. And it was more of the same. Fans wrongly guessing whose head was in the photo, and it was always a guess of another member. There was a faction that just didn’t want to believe that the final member had been or would be found. That would dash any hope of it being them, even if they knew it was impossible. Finding the final member would close that final opening, the final opportunity. The Stray Kids soul bond group would be complete. It was both a happy and sad affair for fans.

With it all going on, you were up to your eyeballs in social media. There were days you didn’t spend any time with the boys at all because you couldn’t finish till late into the night, and there was absolutely no time for breaks. Though they understood and made a point to check on you, either in person or by text. Someone always made sure you had food and water, even if you sometimes forgot to eat and drink it. Though they were good about reminding you to. They were caring. Amazingly so. And it made you love them more each time they showed you their love in their small ways. Small ways that said so much.

🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻

💥The inspo pics for the posts that I had. I didn't have one for all of them.💥

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

Yet Unnamed Taglist: @fackeraccount @velvetmoonlght @hyunjinstolemyheart @vampkittenb82 @happy-jj @estella-novella @demigoddreamon-blog @tiana-maxivar @ms-flowergirl @jennibahng @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @mimimiloomeelomi @simpforskz143148 @xxeiraxx @lil-bear08 @brbwritingfanfic @jisungs-iced-americano @zofia515 @missvanjii @malyxsoulpersonal @silentreadersthings

General Taglist @stellasays45 @beebee18 @weird-bookworm @velvetmoonlght

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 1 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 5k

A/N: i made a post some days ago complaining that there weren't enough alucard fics on tumblr. because of that, a demon possessed me to write this story. i hope you'll like it so i can continue writing the next parts lmao ❤️ feedback is always MUCH appreciated! and, as usual, english is not my first language.

⤕  Chapters: soon! ⤕ Also on AO3

Before they gave you a name, they taught you the three simple rules for survival.

Don’t scream. Don’t cry. Don’t fight.

Those rules weren’t taught using words. You learned them as they were engraved on your skin, repeatedly. Night after night. Day after day. Teeth sinking on your neck sending shockwaves of pure pain through your body. Jaws so tight around your jugular that you couldn’t breathe anymore; made you desperately grasp for air in vain. The suction noise. You hated that noise. It was coming from you. The liquid dripping from your wound, warm and sticky, gluing your dress to your skin. The smell of iron. Pain pain pain pain pain. The intense headache that followed. The darkened vision, the dizziness. Your limbs losing all of their strength.

Then - pitch black unconsciousness.

You might’ve fought the first time it happened… or the first times. It is hard to remember. You struggled. You tried to push her away. You tried to punch her, claw her face, pull her hair. And that’s when you learned the don’t fight rule. Every time you put up some sort of resistance, she’d crush you with ten times more strength. You learned, very quickly, that having your blood sucked off wasn’t the worst she or her servants could do. You learned it after broken bones and pierced organs. You learned it after ripped teeth and hair.

You learned that she took pleasure in it.

She liked to see tears streaming down your face. She rejoiced every time you begged her to just let you die.

So, you learned. Don’t scream. Don’t cry.

If you stood still, if you offered no resistance, if you just let her have her way - it would be over quicker. You learned that your blood was valuable to her. You learned that not many things were valuable to her… but your blood, for some reason, was - even though you’d see her feeding from other girls as well.

However, you also learned that all these other victims would simply die after she fed off them. Not only her victims; the members of her entourage’s victims as well. They’d get pale and lifeless very quickly. They’d get thrown away after they stopped moving, their cheeks hollow and eyes rolled back.

You learned that you weren’t like them. For some reason, you always woke up the next day as if nothing happened. Cheeks still full. Skin still colored. Heart still beating.

Perhaps… perhaps that’s what made you valuable.

So you behaved.

They gave you a bed after a while. She realized that your blood tasted better if you were well fed, so the meals got more elaborate over time. She started complimenting you. She’d make you wear the most beautiful gowns. She’d make you sit by her side, silently, as she held her numerous balls. Her guests - her subjects - would bow after her, pledge loyalty, kiss her feet. Sometimes she accepted their words. Sometimes she killed them on the spot.

You’d sit there for hours, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Her abnormally tall figure projected a shadow over you. The sound of her voice made your skin crawl. Her smell made you want to vomit.

Still, you’d behave.

She’d turn to you after she was bored of talking or sick of feeding from other girls. Her hands were bigger than anyone you’ve ever seen; her claws, as sharp as an eagle’s. Her grip on you seemed to weigh tons.

With somewhat delicacy, she touched the necklace they made you wear that night. A huge ruby stone sitting over your collarbones.

“Ruby,” she said almost in a purr. “The same color of your delicious blood.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

“It sounds like a fitting name, My Queen.” The woman that never left her side commented. Her most loyal servant.

She chuckled, passing the tip of her tongue on her fangs.

“Indeed.”

That night, they gave you a name.

Jaw tightened around your jugular. No air. Pain pain pain pain pain. You didn’t fight back. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears falling silently down your cheeks. Headache. Dizziness.

And then - darkness.

***

“My sister, the moon, burns brightly tonight. She’s very excited, of course.”

The full moon, indeed, lightened the entire scenery, painting it in a gorgeous silver color. It reflected on Erszebet’s golden armor with a hauntingly beautiful glow. A soft breeze played with her white skirt as she gesticulated in her speech. She sounded tired, a calculated tone of hatred in her voice, as she explained in detail the revenge she’d take on her “father”, Amun-Ra.

You scanned the new place with your eyes. A vast garden expanded ahead. What did Drolta say…? Oh, yes. France was the name of the country you’ve arrived after weeks of travel. Although the night was chilly, it was still much warmer than Erzsebet’s home, which was always covered in meters of snow. At least thirty cloaked vampires waited in line for their Messiah’s arrival, being leaded by Drolta, of course.

In the moments your brain was working with somewhat lucidity, you heard conversations about some revolution. It was hard to make much sense of what they meant exactly, for anytime they had “important” conversations with you around, you’d be usually with an open wound on your neck trying to fight the overwhelming weakness and pain. They had the care to not let you be near while you were fully conscious. During the day as most of the Messiah’s court (and herself) slept, you were locked in your quarters. You were allowed to walk out only when Erzsebet needed to feed.

You didn’t understand exactly what they meant by that - in fact, you didn’t understand much of anything at all. You didn’t know why these vampires considered Erzsebet their queen; you didn’t understand why she considered herself a queen - no, she considered herself a goddess. You didn’t know what they meant by “crushing the revolution”, and you didn’t understand what you were doing in France.

Most importantly - you didn’t understand exactly what was their interest in you.

The obvious part: you seemed to be Erzsebet’s infinite source of blood and court jester, as the fact that she could break you in every way and you’d still wake up as if nothing happened the next morning entertained her. However… she didn’t need you. The Vampire Messiah had girls being fed to her daily. It’s not as if she was going through a blood shortage anytime soon. And… it seemed that she also had immense pleasure in simply killing - something she could not achieve with you.

So why keep you around? Why keep you locked with guards holding you at all times? Why drag you along anywhere she went?

There weren’t many moments in which your mind was clear - and in those small moments, such questions screamed in your mind relentlessly. Just… just why?

Why is any of this happening?

Your mind snapped back to reality the moment you heard a new strange sound. You lifted your head to see a big golden cage being brought closer to Erzsebet.

A frightened young girl locked inside it.

The sight didn’t shock you. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel a sting of sadness.

“Daughter of a revolutionary deputy. Member of the Jacobin club.” Drolta introduced maliciously as she opened the cage with the help of her clutch. A servant dragged the brown haired girl out of the cage. You watched in solemn silence as Erzsebet floated out of her chariot.

For a moment, the girl made eye contact with you. She immediately recognized your human features. Maybe, for a split second, she might’ve found some comfort in your image, finally seeing someone like her. Her eyes begged for an explanation; begged for help.

But there was nothing you could do.

You looked down again, not wanting to see Erzsebet sinking her fangs in the young girl’s neck. Silently, you apologized for being somewhat relieved that she was there. Erszebet would leave you alone until she got satisfied of her new victim.

As the sound of her strangled whimpers filled the area, Drolta approached you.

You never got used to it - how vampires could move unnervingly fast. You had barely realized she was standing by your side when you felt her hands hold your waist on both sides, taking you off the horse back as if you were a toddler, and putting you on your feet.

She smirked.

Goosebumps crawled your skin.

Erszebet was cruel, irritating, violent and loud. You knew that very well. Yet… perhaps the fact that you knew she was incapable of actually killing you made you somewhat anesthetized of her presence.

Drolta, however, actually scared you.

She wasn’t loud or reckless, she didn’t act on her instincts like her master. No… she was calculated. It seemed that her eyes were always over everything, like she knew what anyone would do before they even moved. There was something truly ominous deep within her pink eyes. Much smarter than Erszebet. In a way, much crueler.

She caressed your cheek with the back of her fingers.

“Rejoice, Ruby. You have a very important task ahead of you.” She said in what sounded like a purr before dragging you towards a carriage.

Oh.

You… actually knew what she meant already. A memory from not long ago - or was it long ago? - came; the last time you were required to do this… task. And once more, you hated the fact that your memory was so weak, how you couldn’t recall things that should be important, should be essential. Deep down, you knew your real name wasn’t “Ruby”. You knew you might’ve had a past… maybe even a family. Yet, any time you tried to tap on these memories, nothing came. Just frustrating emptiness.

There was actually a third reason for Erzsebet to keep you around and close. A valid reason.

And it filled you with unfathomable remorse.

***

The chateau was a magnificent place.

You didn’t have time to explore any of it, of course – you were immediately dragged into a room as soon as the entourage arrived, mere hours before sunrise. Still, you had time to see the exquisite gardens that decorated the entrance, the river that seemed to isolate it from the rest of the world. The interior of the chateau was just as mesmerizing. Opulence radiated from every corner, with golden arabesques and crystal chandeliers.

Your room was no less impressive. The bed, big and comfortable; it was a relief to sleep on a soft surface after weeks of uncomfortable travel. The towering windows faced the back gardens and the reflective pools of the water fountains. It was even equipped with a marble bathtub.

Nothing but a golden cage. You were locked in. Two guards stood outside the doors at all times. The door only opened to deliver food three times a day and to clean the latrine.

It was… tranquil.

It had been two… three…? days since you arrived. You couldn’t be sure. In the meantime, your presence was not requested – which made you question if that same poor girl was still alive or if they’d found someone else to entertain Erzsebet. It was a relief. Truly. You didn’t have many opportunities to stay awake and sane for such a long period.

You heard music and voices coming from downstairs, meaning they had a ball at some point. From the peek of the curtains, you saw that the chateau always very busy at night. Yes, it was tranquil – but all that movement filled you with constant apprehension. A strange heaviness in your gut that didn’t let you have a peaceful sleep. Something was going to happen. Something big.

The awful feeling in your gut only got worse when, in the middle of the night, a handful of maids entered your room without warning.

They washed you without any care. They perfumed your body. They brushed and styled your hair with intricate braids that curled at the top of your head in somewhat of a bun. They applied rouge to your lips. They dressed you in a jaw-dropping, beautiful blue gown; as dark as the night sky, embroidered with silver silk lines that seemed to imitate stars peppering around the skirt. The corset was tight but not uncomfortable. It was actually a much lighter dress than the ones you used to wear back at Erzsebet’s country, given how much more pleasant the temperature in France was.

Erzsebet loved luxury. She loved jewels, diamonds, gold, beautiful dresses; she did not allow anyone to appear anything but perfect anywhere near her, as ugliness displeased her eyes. She loved the theatrics of it. That is why, as you looked at the absolutely gorgeous image of yourself in the mirror, the only thing you felt was disgust. Perfectly well put, devoid of any personality trait. Just the way Her Magnificence liked it.

And that… that fucking ruby necklace sitting over your collarbones. It seemed to burn your skin. She demanded you to always wear it.

Your personal collar.

That night, Drolta herself came to escort you.

The woman wore a black gown made of what looked like leather. You saw her reflection on the mirror and shivered, not having noticed she had entered the room at all.

That same vicious smile adorned her features. She stepped closer, putting her hands over your shoulders, and looked straight to your eyes through the mirror.

“Beautiful as always, Ruby.” You hated that name. You hated the way she said it. Almost a mockery. “You know what you have to do, right?”

You gulped and nodded as your suspicions were confirmed. Drolta rolled her eyes.

“Did you unlearn how to speak? It has been ages since I last heard the sound of your voice.” But she didn’t give you time to answer, dragging you out of the room by the arm instead. The two cloaked guards followed shortly. “You should be proud of yourself, Ruby. Being able to help Her Magnificence is the greatest honor of all. You do know you are the only human she allows in her court, right?”

Oh, what a great honor. You felt your fingers beginning to shake as you approached the ceremonies hall, hearing the sound of multiple voices fast approaching.

It was, indeed, crowded.

The curtains covered all of the windows, since it was early in the morning; the sun reigned in the sky. Some vampires wore the typical black cloaks and some wore aristocratic attires. Quiet conversation filled the great hall. There was an air of expectation and excitement. It only made your guts twist more.

Not many paid attention to your arrival – their queen kept their attention locked on her, standing near the guard rail on the double stairs. You recognized some faces from Erzsebet’s palace; some were completely new. A few sent you the usual looks of thirst upon the realization that you were human. You tried not to make eye contact with anyone.

However, your eyes locked with one of the new faces down there very briefly. A brown-skinned man, wearing a luxurious purple attire. His long black hair fell to right side of his face, adorning his beautiful features. His green eyes didn’t hold any thirst or malice like the others. He just looked… curious. Astute. You quickly averted your eyes somewhere else.

Just to spot another face – and this time, the sting of sadness in your heart came back.

It was… it was that girl from before.

She wore a white gown – but the collar of the corset was tainted with her own blood. She had very visible open wounds on both sides of her neck. Standing by the stairs, she barely had the strength to support her own weight; her once olive skin now looked unhealthily pale.

You gulped.

Watching her in that state was like seeing yourself. Except this girl was going to die. Very soon.

How was she still alive?

The vampire kept dragging you by the arm, seemingly not noticing your apparent shock. When you passed by the girl on your way up the stairs, she recognized you again – and, once more, sent you a gaze that seemed to scream for help.

That was worse than a punch in the gut.

Drolta made you stop some steps away from Erzsebet. The Vampire Messiah did not bother to look back at you; as you already knew, she was preparing herself to what was about to come. Behind you, an obelisk with inscriptions and engravings was placed. Another cloaked servant approached. He carried a heavy, ancient book on his hands; its cover was made of black old leather, and although it was fading away due to the book’s apparent antique, you could see the outline of an image of the moon on it.

Drolta took the book in her arms, opening it on a specific page, and handed it to you.

“It is time.” She said with a voice filled of pride. “Take your part on the rise of Her Magnificence, and you may have our eternal gratitude.”

You didn’t want their eternal gratitude.

But that’s not what made you hesitate.

After looking at the book, your fragile memories came back with more clarity. You… you did this ritual twice before. You couldn’t tell how long ago. After it was over, you were locked back to your cell as usual, you didn’t exactly see what happened next – but you didn’t really need to see anything to understand the gravity of what it caused.

Even inside your room, you remembered feeling the stench of rotten human flesh for days.

Just… how many people must’ve died?

At this point, you were resigned to being hurt. You didn’t really see any point in trying to escape the claws of those two supernaturally powerful vampires – it’d only bring you more pain. But one thing was getting hurt... another was getting others hurt because of you. You didn’t want to be the harbinger of death again. Whatever they were planning, you didn’t want to participate.

So you froze in place. Sweat dripped down your temples. Your heartbeat increased.

“What… what are you going to do?” you asked, mustering the courage to speak in a quiet voice.

Drolta wasn’t smiling anymore.

She stepped closer, towering over your. Her eyes burned with contempt and cruelty. She brought her lips close to your ear, not to draw unwanted attention.

“Horrible timing to decide to be brave, darling.” She hissed. “Do what you’re told or she’ll face the consequences.”

She grabbed your face by the cheeks and forced your head towards the stairs.

The girl in white stood there, watching everything with frightened eyes.

You gasped.

Shehadnoticed.

Drolta chuckled.

“We know we can hurt you as we please, dear Ruby… but her? How much do you think she can handle?” You felt the warm press of her lips on your cheek. “Will you condemn her to a slow, horrid death in the name of your bravery?” She whispered, her voice dripping with mockery.

Your breath came shaky and difficult. The room seemed to blur for a second. You knew she wasn’t bluffing. She never did.

Slowly, you took the book from her hands.

Drolta released you with a satisfied grin. She patted the top of your head.

“Good girl.”

She stepped aside.

Your fingers were shaking. The book was heavy. It smelled of mold.

You sat down on the cool marble floor directly behind Erzsebet, the long skirt cascading around your body. You placed the book in front of you. The paper was yellowed and frail; it might rip off if you touched it. The pages had no images, only text handwritten in red ink.

You didn’t understand the words written. However, for some reason, you could read them clearly, although it sounded like nothing to you. You closed your eyes tightly, silently apologizing again for what you were about to do.

Erzsebet raised her head.

It was your sign.

You started to read the enchantment.

Your voice was nothing but a whisper. As the unknown words left your mouth, an already familiar feeling of disgust grew. You didn’t know what those words meant, but something deep within you – inside that darkened part of your brain where your memories must’ve been hidden – knew you were saying something blasphemous, hideous, something that went against your very nature.

Erzsebet seemed to fall into a trance when she heard those words. She inhaled them – the spell – as if they were smoke. Something as heavy as iron weighed over the hall, making all the spectators apprehensive. The tall, red-haired vampire started to gesticulate with wide, almost dance-like movements.

There was a crack in the air in front of her. Then, as she gesticulated, an orb of pure black and white energy materialized. The spectators gasped in awe.

Her movements became more frantic. The orb grew larger. You kept reading, feeling your throat going dry, your body getting weaker with each word. It’s as if Erzsebet was not only absorbing your words, but also your strength. Your eyes blurred with tears which you blinked rapidly to dissipate.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.

The eclipse started.

Slowly, a shadow made its way to cover the moon.

More gasps of awe.

Forgive me.

“Behold, the Devourer of Light!” Drolta announced with pride and admiration. Erzsebet laughed.

Please, forgive me. I’m sorry.

The curtains were dragged. The windows were opened with a gust of wind. The vampires rejoiced.

You gasped for air.

The enchantment was over. There was no more strength in your body.

You covered your face with your hand, not daring to raise your eyes and see the horde of vampires flying free through the windows. You didn’t pay attention to whomever took you back to your room and locked you there. You didn’t have enough energy to get up from the carpet.

For the first time in days, you closed your eyes and slept - hoping to never wake up again and face the horrors you helped unleash in the world.

***

There was something wrong.

You felt it in the air. A heavy tension. A strange silence.

That was not what you expected after the eclipse. Usually, what followed was a celebration of the conquer, a banquet filled with hundreds of victims upon whom the vampires feasted. Laughter, music, screams of agony, the horrible stench of blood and carcasses.

But now, it was… eerie.

With your body aching from sleeping on the floor, you glued your head to the door in hopes of getting a clue of what might’ve happened. All you heard were fast steps and shushed whispers. You noticed something was definitely wrong as hours went by and no one came to bring you breakfast.

Is it possible that Erzsebet’s plan – whatever it was – went wrong?

These thoughts churned in your mind as you took off the jewelry, undid the tight hairstyle and took off the under layers of skirt that made the dress puffier. Who could possibly go against Erzsebet or Drolta? At this point, your only memories were of being surrounded by vampires. The few humans you met didn’t last that long. You’ve been around them for long enough to understand that most vampires were only slightly stronger and faster than humans. It wasn’t easy or quick to become powerful – and the Vampire Messiah had some fairly powerful servants under her command. In fact, you didn’t think anyone could be more powerful than Drolta. Erzsebet could summon an eclipse, but she didn’t seem to be as experienced in battle as her right hand woman.

As far as your suspicions went, you could be sure that, unfortunately, the insufferable red-haired vampire wasn’t defeated. There were still guards outside your doors. Whatever happened, it wasn’t enough to stop her from accomplishing her… plan.

Sitting in front of the dressing table while you untied one of the braids in your head, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Without the rouge, the jewelry, the neat hairstyle. You were just a shell of a woman, really. Whenever you had enough time to really think about your life – in those brief moments when you weren’t in the brink of unconsciousness or fighting against the pain –, the only thing you could feel was… frustration. It wasn’t even sadness or hatred, only plain frustration. You knew there was something wrong with your head. You knew that immense void in your memory couldn’t be normal. Still, there was nothing you could do about it. They never gave you time to think, to maybe plan an escape strategy. But even if you did – how could you actually run away? You didn’t have the strength to face a vampire head on, even the “weak” ones. And you knew the types of punishment you’d be put through if you were caught.

You always healed, yes. But it didn’t make the pain less painful. Drolta could be very creative in her ways of ensuring your utter submission.

In the end, you were reminded of why you always chose to sleep through most of your sanity. While awake, you were constantly reminded of your current situation and your inability to change it. At least while you slept, you had… peace.

The clock on the wall hit noon. Your stomach was empty, yet you didn’t know if you wanted to eat.

That’s when you caught something with the corner of your eye.

It was quick and silent – barely a flap of wings. You turned your head in time to see a strange mass of black materializing in your room, passing through the breach of the window.

Your eyes widened. Your heart jumped.

That mass took the form of a man.

Your immediate feeling was fear. That was, very clearly, a vampire. His skin was pale as now, just like his long hair, which cascaded over his broad shoulders. His eyes were hazel, almost golden; they seemed to glow faintly under the shadow cast over his face. He was tall. His attire was black from head to toe – boots, gloves, jacket, cape. He had a calm, yet ferocious expression – analytical, even – as his eyes locked onto yours. He held a long silver sword, its tip pointed directly at you.

The obvious threat in his position should frighten you even more. But that was not was you focused on.

Sunlight hit him through the windows, casting a halo on the back of his head. His hair shimmered with the glow of a million silver coins. It made him look… holy. Like the frescoes you had seen of the Christian God painted on the ceiling of a church Erzsebet once destroyed.

How… how could he…?

“You can come with me peacefully.” He said quietly. His voice was deep. Husky. He almost sounded… calm. But you wouldn’t let yourself be fooled by that; it was unyielding as stone. The stranger didn’t blink for a moment, his eyes tracking your every small movement like a tiger stalking its prey.

He was, in fact, not giving you a choice. The sword in his hand, unwavering and pointed at you, made that very clear.

Your breath got caught in your throat.

There were many things you could’ve said. You knew that man could and would hurt you if you moved too abruptly. Barely five seconds in his presence and you understood: like Drolta, he wasn’t one to bluff.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to feel more afraid, because as he spoke, you caught a glimpse of his fangs – and that other feeling grew stronger.

Curiosity.

“Y-You’re a vampire. How are you standing in the sunlight?” was all you could mutter in frightened amazement.

The stranger didn’t drop his threatening position, yet he tightened his eyes in a subtle sign of surprise. It seemed that your sudden question caught him off guard.

“Don’t you know who I am?” he asked, keeping the same tone. It was your turn to frown. You clasped your hands together, resting them over your legs, and shook your head. How and why would you know him?

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes even more. It looked like he was searching for something, inspecting you with a new type of interest.

“I find it hard to believe that one of Erzsebet’s servants wouldn’t know of me by now.”

You gulped, tightening your own clasped hands.

“I… don’t know many things, sir.”

The stranger still watched you, in silence, for a few more seconds. It hit you in that moment the reason for his apparent confusion. He expected you to fight him.

Then, he straightened his position. You eyes widened with apprehension and shock when he let go of his long sword and it floated – the weapon stood with its hilt turned to the ceiling a few centimeters away from the floor, emitting an eerie metallic sound as it moved.

The men approached you. He was silent – so silent that, if you weren’t directly looking at him, you probably wouldn’t know someone was moving in the same room as you. As if he had dropped that ferocity, he sat down on the bed in front of you with a newly serene expression.

“I was rude in my approach. I apologize.” his voice mirrored the serenity of his face. “I am Alucard.”

Your breath got caught in your throat once more.

You didn’t know what was more shocking. His sudden change in behavior, his absolute calm while in enemy territory… or the fact that he was beautiful.

Again – you were more used to vampires than humans at this point. Every vampire had an uncanny beauty to them. They were attractive and scary at the same time. While you could see and sense very well that this man still represented danger… the “uncanny” aspect didn’t apply to him. He looked young (being a vampire, that didn’t mean much), a man of soft yet striking features.

Ethereal was the word you were looking for.

You noticed that he was paying attention if you were going to react to his name, which you didn’t. You also noticed that he was waiting for you to present yourself as well. Slow reactions. You weren’t used to talking.

“My name is…” your words trailed off.

For the first time, you averted your eyes from his, grabbing the blue fabric of your skirt in discomfort.

“They call me Ruby, sir.”

The man – Alucard – quirked one eyebrow slightly. “Is it not your real name?”

You sighed tiredly. “I don’t think so. No.”

Alucard hummed. His voice was so deep that it seemed to reverberate in your bones. He crossed his arms. “And do you have any idea of why I am here, Maybe-Ruby?”

The unexpected humorous way in which he called you caught you by surprise. Still, once more, you gulped, apprehension growing yet again.

“To… get revenge, I suppose?” The vampire looked genuinely confused for the first time. His quirked eyebrow was an unspoken question. It made you avoid his eyes once again, feeling a mix of anxiety and embarrassment. “For the eclipse.”

He went silent for some moments.

“Did you cause the eclipse?” You heard a sting of danger in his question that only made your heartbeat increase.

“I helped. Somehow.”

“Why?” He was growing more inquisitive.

“I didn’t have a choice, sir.” You blurted out nervously.

Alucard hummed yet again.

When he let out a tired sigh, you finally looked back at him again.

“To answer my previous question,” he said as he got up from the bed. “I came here to kidnap you. But it looks like I’m saving you, as Erzsebet seems to be as much of a threat to you.”

You gasped, widened you eyes.

He… he wanted to take you out of here?

The anxiety made your fingers shake. You felt nervous, excited, hopeful… scared. Hell, were you scared. How in the world would this man take you out of here alive? Floating sword or not, did he even stand a chance against Drolta?

“However, I will need your help in return, Ruby,” Alucard continued, now looking back at the windows. “I see you don’t know many things, but I’d appreciate if you made some effort. Now, let’s go. I’m already abusing the opportunity my associate gave me…”

“Wait.”

You grabbed his wrist in a desperate move.

Alucard looked at your hands, then at you – once again, confused and shocked.

You were shaking.

“Thank you for your help, sir. You are very kind.” you managed to blurt out somehow. “B-But I don’t think Erzsebet will ever let me go. She… she has very powerful servants. One of them, Drolta… she will hunt me to the ends of the earth. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me, sir.”

You didn’t dare to look up at him.

Perhaps you were being too emotive. You barely knew this man at all; what proof did you have that he wasn’t as cruel as the vampires that were keeping you imprisoned? But at least – and for the first time you could remember – he was somewhat kind to you. He didn’t offend you, didn’t physically hurt you… and that alone was much more than anyone had offered for as long as you knew.

Maybe he could get out of here safely. He wouldn’t have Erzsebet and her entourage hunting him down. Maybe he still had a chance-

Your train of thought derailed the moment you heard his… chuckle.

Your heart jumped within your chest the moment he, with much delicacy, put his own gloved hand over yours and squeezed it reassuringly.

You finally looked up.

Alucard had a small smile on his lips. It wasn’t one of the mean, mocking smirks you were used to. The suspicion disappeared from his eyes, his eyebrows were not longer tense. He looked… gentle. More than that… there was a glint of humor in his eyes, as if he found the situation funny.

The sun that streamed through the windows seemed to shine even brighter, surrounding his entire figure in golden glow that matched his eyes. Yes, he looked holy. Otherworldly.

“I won’t get hurt,” he assured with tenderness. “And neither will you.”

Time itself seemed to stop at that moment.

He didn’t boast about being all-powerful. And you realized that he didn’t need to. Underneath his gentle eyes, you saw unwavering confidence; quiet, motionless and imposing like a mountain. In a way, it was much more menacing than any of Erzsebet’s scandalous actions or bloodbaths.

And for the first time, such menace wasn’t directed at you. It was on your favor.

That was your chance. The only real chance you ever got as far as your frail memory knew. A chance of living in a world where you didn’t have to follow the three survival rules.

Don’t fight. Don’t scream. Don’t cry.

But you wanted to fight. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry.

You wanted to live.

So when Alucard offered his hand, you took it and got up from the chair.

You didn’t need to say anything. The silver-haired vampire nodded with satisfaction as his sword companion floated closer to him.

“Let’s go.”

Then, you followed Alucard towards the sun – towards the dawn of a new life.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

A/N: Welcome to my descent into brain rot! What started as a simple “What if?” has spiraled into something much deeper. If you love dark romance, eldritch horror, and toxic men struggling with redemption, you’re in the right place. And if you’ve ever thought, “Wow, Haibara would be terrifying if he came back wrong,” get ready to see that idea come to life. This chapter is not soft; it’s filled with horror, angst, and moral ambiguity. Most importantly, it’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of ignoring your wife for months while the world turns against her. While this is a Gojo/Nanami redemption story, be prepared to suffer first. And yes, Megumi and Haibara are moving in—not because you asked, but because they insisted. If you were on the fence about loving Haibara before, congratulations—you now have brain rot. Enjoy the chaos!

Previous Chapter 13(alt ending 2.4) - Burn the Mother of Three (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 14 (alt ending 2.5) - He's Eldritch

The hands came again, grabbing at your arms, your legs, your coat—until suddenly, they stopped.

A deafening crack split the air, sharp and unnatural, like a whip snapping against the fabric of reality itself.

The ground trembled beneath you.

Then came the light.

It wasn’t blinding—it was cold and clinical, casting long, jagged shadows as a faint shimmer rippled outward from where you lay.

The hands recoiled as if burned, the mob stumbling back in confusion.

Blood sprayed into the air, deep cuts appearing on the skin of those closest to you. Cries of pain and fear erupted as they clutched their wounds, their bravado dissolving into confusion.

And then he appeared.

Nanami stood between you and the crowd, ratio blades shimmering aggressively around him like a celestial executioner’s halo. They hovered, impossibly precise, cutting the air around him with a quiet hum that promised suffering. His face was carved from stone, his expression colder than the grave.

He didn’t look human. He looked like death.

The mob froze. Their rage faltered under the weight of his presence.

Someone opened their mouth to speak, but their words withered and died when Gojo’s sharp, cerulean eyes locked onto them.

He stepped through the stunned onlookers like a storm personified, his hoodie sleeves rolled up, his knuckles already bloodied. The air around him crackled with raw power.

“Touch her again,” Gojo said, his voice a challenge. “I dare you.”

The crowd shifted uneasily, their earlier confidence unraveling into fear.

Nanami didn’t speak.

He raised a hand.

Gojo crouched beside you, his presence both terrifying and tender. With careful grace, he slid his arms beneath you, lifting you effortlessly as if you were a precious enigma he couldn’t bear to lose. You clung to his hoodie, seeking refuge in his warmth, your breath still shaky. The raccoon kit nestled in your coat let out a tiny squeak, burrowing deeper into the folds of fabric, but all you could focus on was the way Gojo’s intense gaze locked onto yours, six eyes checking your wounds, his jaw tight.

The air around Nanami crackled violently as he released his technique that was already dying to end the existence of the critines who'd dared to touch you. The ground beneath him began to tremble, a low rumble that quickly escalated into a violent quake.

As the earth shook, cracks spiderwebbed across the pavement, sending debris flying and causing people to stumble back in shock. The once-stable ground transformed into a breaking landscape, a physical manifestation of his rage—to protect you. Dust swirled around him, and the air was thick with the scent of fear and adrenaline.

Then, with a thunderous roar that echoed through the night, the ground split apart, creating a massive crater the size of a building where the mob had once stood. The earth convulsed violently, sending shockwaves rippling outward as dust and debris filled the air, obscuring. Screams pierced the darkness, a cacophony of terror as some were swallowed whole by the gaping chasm, while others scrambled for safety, desperately clinging to pipes and broken pavement like cockroaches scurrying from a light.

Nanami stood resolute above the scattered remnants of the mob. His technique had transformed the ground into a treacherous pit, a potent warning to anyone who dared to threaten what was his. The ratio blades hovered around him, shimmering with a deadly promise like silent sentinels ready to assail.

His gaze swept over the cowering figures with a wave of disgust. They were nothing but a pack of wolves, emboldened by their numbers, but now they were reduced to trembling shadows of rats. The fear in their eyes only fueled his resolve.

Every breath he took was heavy with the weight of his emotions—anger, protectiveness, and an unwavering determination to shield you from harm. He could feel your presence behind him in Gojo’s arms—the love he fought for—and it kept him from snapping amidst the turmoil. In that moment, he was not just a man; he was a guardian willing to hollow the earth to keep you safe.

“Will you go after them?” Gojo asked, his tone light but laced with menace. “Or should we make a hunt out of it?”

“Later,” Nanami said, his voice low and deadly. “Once she’s safe.”

You barely registered their words. The world around you felt distant and surreal. Your mind was a tangle of fear, humiliation, and disbelief. You weren’t crying. You weren’t even breathing properly.

“You’re safe now,” Gojo said softly, his voice grounding.

Nanami walked to you, his hand hovering uncertainly before settling on your shoulder. His touch was firm but gentle, an anchor in the storm. “No one will hurt you again,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

But his words didn’t penetrate the haze.

“I… told… you,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “They won’t… let me live…. They… won’t let… me…the babies… live, Ken.” You kept repeating it like a broken mantra, lost in the haze.

Your body trembled violently, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Breathe,” Gojo said, his tone calm but insistent. “Baby, you need to breathe.”

“I told... you,” you repeated, your voice rising into a choked, hysterical sob, but no tears came. “They’ll… kill us.”

Nanami rubbed your shoulders comfortingly. “You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice a steady hum against your panic. “We’re here. You’re safe.”

But you couldn’t hear him. The fear, the disgrace, the raw disgust—it all came crashing down, suffocating you.

You were shaking so hard it felt like your body might tear itself apart, your mind unraveling under the weight of what had just happened.

The raccoon kit nestled closer against your chest, its tiny warm purring the only thing tethering you to reality. You could feel its heart beating.

The remaining mob had scattered, their courage shattered by the sheer force of the destruction left in Nanami and Gojo’s wake. But their hateful words still echoed in your mind, corrosive and relentless.

The sound of Maserati M20 filled the air, and moments later, Megumi and Haibara rushed onto the area, flanked by armed guards in gear.

Megumi’s lightning eyes swept over the scene—the crater, the bloodied pavement, the faint scorch marks on the ground. His gaze landed on you, cradled in Gojo’s arms.

“What the hell were you thinking? Leaving without security? Do you have any idea—” Megumi snapped, striding toward you. His voice was curt, laced with anger, but his steps faltered as he took in your state—your coat torn and stained, face colorless, tear-streaked, hollow, and a canvas of bruises.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Your defenses crumbled. Without thinking, you got down from Gojo’s arms and reached for him, clinging to his sweater.

“They’ll… wanted kill m..e,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling. “The..y hate… me so… much... Maybe… they’re ri…ght. Maybe I’m unnatural... Maybe…I..  I shoul…dn’t exist.”

Megumi stiffened, his arms tightening around you. “No,” he said firmly.

“I thought… I was doing the…. right thing, b..ut I wasn’t… I froze… I just… wanted KitKats… the twins… are they alive…?” Your voice cracked, and then the dam broke. Tears streamed down your face, each one carrying the weight of fear, humiliation, and self-loathing.

A sudden kick from within your belly startled you.

They were alive.

But it was so strong against your ribs that your knees buckled, though Megumi didn’t let you fall, and neither did Gojo who you just realized was still holding you. The sensation was visceral; it felt wrong—unnatural.

You could almost hear the whispers of something lurking beneath the surface—dark energies that pulsed in time with the kicks. It was as if the very essence of what you carried was fighting to break free, clawing at your insides, demanding to be acknowledged.

You could sense the weight of everyone’s gaze, as if the walls themselves were watching, waiting for the moment when you would no longer be able to contain what was within.

“Are you okay?” Megumi’s voice broke through the haze, but it felt distant, muffled by the pounding in your chest.

You nodded, though uncertainty gnawed at you. The lives inside were a paradox—both a miracle and a horror, a symbol of the fragility of existence. 

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric, as if something was about to unravel.

Gojo’s grip tightened, grounding you, but the unease lingered. You were not just carrying twins; you were harboring something that felt alive in a way that transcended any ordinary pregnancy, something that could change everything.

And as another kick reverberated through you, a chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was growing inside was not just a part of you or their fathers—whichever one it was, though you guessed probably Gojo because of all the sweets you craved. No, this was something entirely else. It was a force of its own, pulsating with a dark energy.

It was hungry.

The sensation was unsettling, a primal instinct clawing at your insides as if it were reaching out, yearning for something beyond mere sustenance. Each kick felt like a warning, not just a blessing but a harbinger of something more sinister. You could almost hear its whispers, echoing in the recesses of your mind, promising power and chaos.

Sensing their cursed energy still strong, although rattled, Megumi spoke. “They’re okay,” his voice more softer now, almost a whisper. “You’re okay.”

Haibara stood nearby, his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t look up at Gojo and Nanami but spoke to them, his expression unreadable. “We’ll handle the fallout,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with steel. “No one’s touching her again.”

“I just… want…ed some… KitK..ats,” you mumbled, your voice cracking.

“And you got them?” Haibara said softly.

You looked at the crater where your bag of chocolates had probably disappeared too, forever lost.

Haibara’s voice was uncharacteristically serious when he spoke, “Next time, tell us. We’ll clear the store for you.”

“I’ll get more delivered at home. As many as you want.” Gojo breathed.

You nodded to them both, too exhausted to keep up pretenses when your ribs felt like they’d tear themselves apart from either the punishing baby kicks or the panic attack that didn’t seem to let you breathe anytime soon.

The raccoon kit stirred, poking its tiny head out from the folds of your coat. Haibara’s eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity mingling with concern. He reached out, brushing a finger over its soft fur. “Who’s this little guy?” he asked lightly, his voice a gentle balm against the rising tension.

Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “I… I found… it. I couldn’t leave it.” The weight of your words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears. The innocent baby could have died with you moments ago.

Haibara’s gaze softened, understanding flickering in his eyes. “Of course you couldn’t.”

Another kick shot up inside you, and you slumped against Gojo’s chest, one hand clutching his arm while the other instinctively rubbed soothing circles over your stomach.

Nanami’s voice cut through the moment, clipped but urgent. “We need to get her to Shoko,” he insisted.

“That generic medic NPC?” Haibara replied, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words. He wasn’t trying to undermine the gravity of the situation; he just wanted to keep you grounded enough to prevent the shock from overwhelming you.

Nanami hesitated, his brow furrowing as he weighed his words. “She’s… specialized. A sorcerer doctor. She’s not a gynecologist, but she’s the closest we have right now who can handle something like this.”

Haibara smirked faintly, though the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course, you have a witch doctor on speed dial. Where is she?”

Nanami gestured toward Gojo, whose expression darkened as he stared at the redness blooming on your cheek. The sting of the slap had grown angrier, a harsh contrast to your normal complexion.

“I’ll teleport us there. Nanami, hold her,” Gojo said—an instruction wrapped in urgency.

Nanami shifted, pulling you against him. His arms, solid and unmoving, encased you like a shield. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed against your back—his rage was a living thing, barely leashed.

“Don’t pick me up.” Your voice barely rose above a whisper as you gripped his arm, your other hand pressing against the dull throb in your stomach. “Just hold me.”

He obeyed, pressing you closer, his warmth seeping into your bones. His thumb traced slow circles against your spine, grounding you.

“I’ll come, too,” Haibara announced, forcing lightness into the thick, oppressive air. “Megumi, you in? In case the doctor needs moral support?”

Megumi didn’t glance up. “Hmm.” His voice held no inflection, but his eyes, flat and cold, followed the guards as they disappeared into the dark. The lynch mob had minutes left of freedom. Maybe less.

Gojo nodded, crouching as he carved sigils into the bloodstained earth, his movements methodical. The air around him buzzed with restrained power.

Haibara leaned next to you, his hands careful as he wiped the sweat from your brow. “So.” His voice was too casual, the humor a flimsy barrier against something rawer. “Tell me about the raccoon.”

You blinked, thrown. “I… I found it. In that alley. It was alone. Scared. Its mom was dead. It had… plastic stuck to its neck, couldn’t breathe… I couldn’t leave it.”

Haibara studied you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly nodded. “Brave little guy. Must’ve been terrifying, not knowing if you’d give it rabies.”

You frowned at Haibara in annoyance, then looked down at the kit, its tiny form curled against your chest.

You felt a flicker of something other than fear.

Care.

“Don’t talk much, just breathe,” Gojo said softly, standing up and glancing back at you. “You’re safe now. We’ll take you to the doctor.”

Nanami’s hands gripped you tighter, his knuckles white. “She’s nice; you’ll like her.”

Well, beggers couldn't be choosers anyway, and your body hurt really bad.

The moment Gojo clapped his hands, you turned into Nanami’s chest, squeezing your eyes shut. You’d either throw up or pass out if you watched. Maybe both.

Then, disorientation.

The world twisted, and when you opened your eyes, you were inside a dimly lit infirmary.

A woman in a lab coat slept in the corner on a chair, slumped against a stretcher.

Next to her—a whole-ass dead body.

You jerked back into Nanami, your breath hitching. Haibara and Megumi clutched their stomachs, nearly buckling—not from the corpse, but from Gojo’s warped teleportation.

Gojo rubbed the back of his neck, offering a sheepish grin. “Nanamin, do your thing.”

Nanami glared. “What?”

“I got us here fast. Now you wake her up.”

“And why won’t you?” Nanami’s arms tightened around you.

Gojo scoffed. “Did you forget she tried to prescribe me cyanide two days ago?”

Nanami exhaled sharply, patience thinning. “Be brave for your wife.”

“Oh, now she’s MY wife?!” Gojo replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I killed people to keep her safe,” Nanami muttered, like this was a contest.

Gojo smirked. “Then why are you scared?”

Nanami didn’t want to wake her up. But for you, he would. Just as he was about to speak, Haibara—who’d recovered by now—loudly cleared his throat.

No reaction.

Megumi, also recovered, poked her with a newspaper.

She merely snorted and adjusted herself in her sleep.

Gojo sidled up beside her, mouthing amateurs at Haibara and Megumi, who looked ready to exterminate him. Then, without hesitation, he bent down and blew a loud raspberry into Shoko’s ear.

She woke up slowly, then turned even slower. Expression flat.

Gojo barely had time to put up Infinity before she lunged, scalpel in hand, aiming straight for his six eyes.

You cleared your throat, trying not to look at the body, before she had the chance to make you half a widow today. “Um. Excuse me?”

She froze and blinked like she was just realizing you were there. Then, rubbing her eyes, she took you in—messy, bruised, barely standing.

“The hell happened?” She asked, already moving toward you.

Nanami answered. “There was a physical altercation with a lynch mob. Could’ve been worse, Shoko.”

Shoko nodded, gesturing for you to follow her into the next room. Disinfecting, she put on gloves. “Take off your coat and sit on that stretcher.”

She had wanted to kick everyone out, but remembering the last time, she didn’t.

You obeyed, and Megumi stepped forward, taking the raccoon kit from your arms. Shoko finally noticed him and Haibara—then stopped cold. 

Haibara wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at your stomach.

Not like a healer. Not like a friend. Like he wasn’t even in the room anymore. Like he was miles away, hands clenched, jaw locked, contemplating something.

Shoko opened her mouth to say something to him—then caught Nanami’s warning look. A slow, deliberate slicing motion against his palm, unseen by Haibara.

She said nothing. For now, you were the priority.

She exhaled as she peeled back the layers of fabric, exposing the deep blue and purple bruises blotting your skin like ink spreading through water. Some were already darkening, blood pooling beneath the surface, tissue crushed by blunt force trauma. Others were fresh—raw red, still swelling, still screaming.

“How long ago?” she asked.

“Ten minutes,” the room echoed, all voices perfectly in sync. Almost rehearsed.

You ignored it.

Your gaze flickered over Shoko, guarded. You didn’t trust her, not fully, but she didn’t flinch at your husbands. That was worth something, and you didn’t have the luxury of choosing who helped you right now.

Shoko ran her fingers near your ribs—not touching, just observing the way your body tensed, the sharp catch in your breath. "I need to run some tests. Can I sedate you?"

You froze. The word made your pulse stutter. You looked between Nanami and Gojo, then Megumi and Haibara. Your throat felt tight.

Nanami moved to pat your shoulder, firm but reassuring. "It's fine. She won't hurt you. Or them." He added the last bit uncomfortably.

Megumi met your eyes, something breaking in his expression. His nod was almost imperceptible. Haibara, standing just behind him, had that same unreadable stare. They won’t let anything happen to you.

You exhaled shakily. “Okay.”

"You'll wake up in about thirty minutes if everything's fine." Shoko's voice was steady, clinical.

"I'm thirsty," you murmured. "Can I have water before?"

"Not before the test," she replied. "Messes with the results. I’ll give you something after."

Her expression didn’t change, but there was something close to amusement in her eyes. You didn’t know why. You didn’t have the energy to care.

She helped you lay down. The cold prick of the anesthetic needle slid into your vein, sharp for only a second before the numbness spread. The world tilted. You barely made it to count three before everything went black.

//

Then, the air snapped.

A pressure crushed the room, oppressive. The walls groaned. Instruments rattled.

Shoko sighed. “Not again.”

Too many massive Ratio blades hovered an inch from Nanami’s face and neck, vibrating in place, waiting to carve. Gojo’s Infinity wasn’t holding—it was folding, pressing in on itself so tightly that his breath came sharp and uneven, like his own technique was suffocating him.

“What?” Megumi barked, stepping forward instinctively as the raccoon kit let out tiny squeels.

Shoko barely glanced at Gojo. “Do you have chocolate? Something sweet?”

Gojo fumbled in his hoodie, smearing more blood from his knuckles over it, his fingers searching through the depths. He finally pulled out a random toffee and handed it to her without hesitation, still trying to not suffocate.

Shoko snatched the candy from his hand and frowned when she read the label. “Chocolate, you idiot.”

She began rummaging through his hoodie pockets herself and found one that was chocolate.

Then unwrapping it, pried your lips apart, and slid it to the side of your mouth, careful not to choke you. The sugar would dissolve on your tongue and hit your bloodstream in minutes.

“The hell is going on?” Megumi yelled again, more demanding.

Shoko popped her neck. “The fetuses. They’re very murderous.”

Haibara finally spoke. “Is she okay?”

Shoko stilled.

The voice that was supposed to be dead. The voice she had stopped expecting to hear years ago.

Then she inhaled. “Look at her wounds.”

The bruises, the abrasions—the places where your skin had been battered and broken—they were healing. Rapidly. Veins shifted beneath the surface, knitting themselves back together.

Gojo breathed, his blued face returning to its normal color as infinity stopped suffocating him. Nanami exhaled slowly, staring down at the blades dissolving near his skin. "They protected her before. Why not today?"

Shoko observed you, thinking aloud. “I think it’s her mind. As long as she’s conscious, they don’t have control. But when she’s passed the fuck out—” She gestured vaguely at the disaster unfolding around them.

Megumi’s fists clenched. His nails dug into his palms, but he barely felt it.

Haibara wasn’t looking at you anymore. His stare was fixed on Nanami and Gojo.

The silence was suffocating.

Shoko broke it first. “I should get a fetal monitor.”

No one stopped her.

“So that means they only hate you two!” Haibara laughed out of nowhere.

Realization dawned, and Megumi smirked.

Nanami sighed, and Gojo scowled.

Shoko prepped the monitor in silence, her movements careful. She worked quickly, careful not to expose too much of your bruised body under the harsh fluorescent light or not to accidentally flash your body. The four men in the room, dangerous and desperate in their own ways, hovered too close. Overbearing. Watchful.

The moment the heartbeat filled the silence—fast, strong, unnatural.

No one spoke.

It was steady. No, they were steady. The rhythm was almost too perfect, like something engineered, something other.

Shoko adjusted the probe, eyes scanning the screen, her lips pressing into a thin line as she made her observations. “They’re doing well. It seems we don’t need to have that abortion we talked about.”

Silence.

Then, realization hit her for what she’d just said out loud.

Shoko’s mouth parted slightly, breath-catching as the weight of her words sank in. She turned too late.

Haibara moved first. He tackled Nanami in a throat lock so fast and vicious it sent them both crashing into the cabinets. Instruments clattered to the ground, glass shattering.

Megumi wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand—his own, or Gojo’s, it didn’t matter—before lunging again. Gojo barely dodged the hit, then Megumi’s fist grazed his jaw. Luckily, he’d placed the raccoon kit on a table nearby before.

“How dare you?” Megumi snarled, circling Gojo.

“This is your last day,” Haibara growled, his eyes alight with something close to murder as Nanami wrenched free and drove a fist into his ribs, loosening his grip.

“We don’t want to hurt you.” Nanami slammed Haibara down, pinning him to the ground with his full weight. “Listen to me.”

Megumi didn’t stop. “Did she know? Did she agree?”

Gojo wiped his chin, spitting blood to the side. “She didn’t know,” he admitted. “We didn’t get a chance because you both kept dragging her away—”

“You didn’t get a chance?” Haibara barked out a laugh, something unhinged. His voice dipped—darker, lethal. “Or you didn’t want her to know?” He shifted his weight, trying to break free. “Because if she knew, she would’ve despised you two more than she already does.”

Gojo’s expression flickered. He knew it was true.

Megumi wasn’t done. “And you wonder why they hate you.”

Shoko had enough.

“Stop fucking fighting,” she snapped.

No one listened.

Until the air shifted.

Five Ratio blades hovered right beside her head, sharp, waiting. They weren’t hers. They weren’t Nanami’s.

Shoko exhaled. “I will personally let the murder spawn handle this if you four don’t get your shit together.”

All four men turned at once, barely suppressing a shudder.

The blades didn’t move. They waited.

Megumi let go first.

Nanami, still straddling Haibara, exhaled sharply before shoving off.

Gojo rolled his shoulders back, wiping his split lip, but he didn’t say a word.

Then Shoko sighed. “They’re fine now. Whatever it was, it fixed itself.” She hesitated. “Only the tentacles remain.”

That got a reaction.

Gojo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Shit.”

Nanami didn’t curse, but the way his fingers pressed into his temples spoke volumes. He was barely holding it together.

Megumi ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowing. “What?” His voice was tight, but he wasn’t looking at Gojo or Nanami—he was looking at the monitor, at them.

Haibara just stared.

Shoko crossed her arms. “Yeah, they’re supernatural anomalies. Nothing in medical science accounts for this kind of regeneration, let alone the... extras.” She exhaled through her nose. “We’ll monitor it. If things stay stable, it should be fine. But she needs to stay completely stress-free in the meantime.”

No one responded.

She rolled her eyes. “That means no media, no public spaces, no unnecessary outside contact. Not after what happened today.”

They nodded in agreement, grim-faced.

“And,” she continued, more pointedly this time, “there is zero reason to tell her about the... other discussion.”

Gojo and Nanami both stiffened, then Gojo responded. “We weren’t going to.”

Haibara scoffed. “Of course you weren’t.”

Shoko ignored them. “I’ll still track down that midwife, just in case.”

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then—behind her—you stirred.

Your breath hitched as consciousness settled back into your bones. Your body should have been aching, bruised, screaming in pain. But when you blinked blearily, everything felt… fine. You looked down.

No bruises. No pain.

You swallowed, voice hoarse. “Is it done?”

Shoko studied you for a beat before tapping your forehead lightly. “Yeah. But we need to talk.”

Before you could respond, the steady thump-thump of the fetal monitor filled the room. Your head turned instinctively toward the screen, heartbeats pounding in sync—too fast, too strong.

You stared, captivated.

Megumi’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen, then slid it away. He exchanged a look with Haibara.

Your gaze flickered between them. “You both can go. I feel a lot better.” You gestured vaguely to yourself, still half-dazed. Maybe this was Shoko’s technique, you thought to yourself.

“No.” Megumi’s voice came, flat.

You frowned. “I’m fine. Go. You can check on me tomorrow.”

Haibara smirked. “I’ll stay.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, you won’t.”

Haibara sighed, exasperated, but before he could argue, Megumi stepped in. “I’ll take the raccoon kit. Get it vaccinated. You need to rest tonight.”

You blinked. That… was actually helpful.

Then, without another word, he grabbed Haibara by the collar and dragged him out.

Shoko barely waited for the door to shut before she turned to the remaining men. “Out.”

Nanami sighed but didn’t argue. Gojo muttered something under his breath but followed him out.

Finally, Shoko turned back to you.

“You’re under a lot of stress.” Shoko handed you a glass of water and helped you sit up.

You gulped it down, sighing as the cool liquid soothed your dry throat.

“I’d have never come back if I were you,” she said bluntly, watching you. “But I get it. You didn’t have a say, did you.”

You sighed again, heavier this time.

“They’ve always been too stubborn,” Shoko continued, stretching her neck like the mere thought of Gojo and Nanami exhausted her. “Gojo? Expected. Man’s got a single brain cell, and it just says bonk first, ask questions later. But Nanami?” She shook her head. “Extreamly weird.”

You blinked. “You work together, I presume?”

“Yeah. We were even students here at Jujutsu High together.”

Realization dawned on you. “Ah.”

You opened your mouth to introduce yourself properly, but Shoko waved you off. “I already know. I was the one who ran your tests before. Also beat their asses a little on your behalf.”

Your lips twitched. “Are you stronger than them?”

“Nah.” She smirked. “I just don’t tolerate their bullshit.”

You didn’t quite understand what she meant, but you smiled anyway.

Shoko tilted her head at you. “But back to the main question—why the hell aren’t you on maternity leave yet?”

“Too much shit has happened,” you admitted. “If I leave now, I might lose my position.”

She hummed in thought. “And those two?” She gestured vaguely. “Your friends. I presume they can’t handle it?”

“Megumi could if I guided him, but he has his own company to look after, and besides, this isn’t his industry. But Haibara?” You exhaled sharply. “He’s never worked for corporate. And he’s also... a menace.”

Shoko snorted. “Then cut back your days. Let Megumi and your fellow C-suites handle things for a few months. The stress is not good for the babies.”

You nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can delegate and what I can fix fast so I can take time off.”

“Glad you understand.” She stretched her arms over her head. “Oh, and before I forget—what happened to Haibara?”

You froze, confused.

Shoko caught it immediately. “He used to go here. He was in Nanami’s class—mine and Gojo’s junior. Nanami only tolerated him out of all of us. Then he left Jujutsu sorcery for a long while when Haibara died.”

Your stomach twisted. “...What?”

Shoko frowned. “He was dead. At least, that’s what we were told.”

Your mouth was dry again, despite the water. “He just... showed up one day. Injured. No memory.” You exhaled, shaking your head. “And as far as we know, he doesn’t care to remember.”

Shoko went quiet, unreadable. Then, finally—

“Alright.” She continued to stretch her arms behind her back, rolling her shoulders. “If he doesn’t want to know, I won’t bring it up. Thanks for the heads up.”

Relief sagged in your posture.

Shoko grabbed her prescription from the table. “I’ll bring a spare hoodie. Your coat’s trashed.”

You smiled genuinely. “Thanks.”

She waved it off. “Don’t get soft on me now.” Then she left.

//

Shoko barely waited for the door to shut before she spun on her heel and gestured sharply for Gojo and Nanami to follow her.

They obeyed, trailing after her.

The moment they were out of earshot, she turned and spoke so fast they almost missed it.

“Listen. I’m doing you both a final favor. Again. I just told her to take maternity leave early because this stress is destroying her.”

Gojo opened his mouth to question—

She raised a single finger.

He shut up.

“How do you idiots not realize it? Those two—her friends—are in love with her. And if you don’t fix this, Haibara will replace you.”

Nanami flinched. Gojo actually stopped breathing for a second.

“No shame,” Shoko added, stone-faced. “He’ll do it happily. He's not the Haibara who roamed around us like a dumb little sunflower. He fits the profile of a sociopath now.”

The color drained from Nanami’s face.

Gojo exhaled slowly. “She wouldn’t—”

Shoko cut him off with a deadpan stare. “She can. She will. And if you don’t get your shit together, she might not even let you see the kids legally.”

Gojo paled. “She can’t do that.”

“System favors the mother, and she wouldn’t even need to try. With her financial resources, getting custody would be a breeze for her. You can’t win this, particularly not after the whole terrorist fiasco,” Shoko pointed out.

Both men looked at each other, the same thought hitting them at the same time.

Shoko grinned. “Oh, now you’re worried?”

Gojo turned to Nanami. “We should—”

“No,” Nanami muttered.

Gojo frowned. “What do you mean, no? We should do something.”

Nanami exhaled sharply. “I mean, no, we should not let her know that we’re panicking.”

Shoko crossed her arms. “Great strategy. Just keep gaslighting yourselves.”

Gojo grabbed Nanami’s shoulders. “I will not be replaced by an MI6 dropout with amnesia.”

Nanami stared at him. “That is your takeaway from this?”

Shoko handed them the new prescription. “I’ll send you the divorce papers template soon. Just in case.” Then she walked off, leaving them to bicker.

//

Shoko returned with a sweatshirt and handed it to you.

You pulled it on, feeling the warmth settle over your skin, then hopped off the infirmary table with her help.

She steadied you, then opened the door and yelled down the hall. “Come pick her up, you lazy bastards.”

Nanami and Gojo appeared within seconds, moving in sync.

Shoko helped you outside, slipping a small note into your hoodie pocket as she did.

“For when they inevitably piss you off again,” she murmured.

Before you could reply, Gojo grabbed your wrist.

The next thing you knew, you were home with your husbands.

You sighed, making your way to your room. You quickly shed your clothes and stepped into the shower.

The water was scalding, but you didn’t turn it down. The steam curled around you as you braced your hands against the tiled wall, your breath coming out in slow, controlled exhales.

Three months. Three months of silence. Three months since you had walked out of this house and never looked back. And now you were here—not because you forgave them, not because you wanted to be, but because they had saved you today from a problem they caused.

Your fingers brushed over your stomach, feeling the reassuring presence of your babies. They were still here. Still breathing. Unlike the people who had tried to kill you. The thought didn’t bring relief or satisfaction; it just sat there, heavy and made you feel nothing.

You shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around yourself. When you emerged, the room was quiet, except for a small box sitting on the nightstand. You recognized the packaging instantly—KitKats. You stared at it for a moment before picking it up.

There was a note tucked underneath, written in Gojo’s familiar, messy scrawl: "Took a while to track down. (The store owner was mean, but I am stronger.)"

You scoffed, tossing the note aside. There was no outright apology, but you knew what it meant. You weren’t stupid.

You left the chocolates unopened, put on some soft clothes, and walked out. The smell of food hit you before you even reached the kitchen. Nanami was there, wearing a clean sweater with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked up the moment he heard your footsteps. “Come sit,” he said, his voice calm and hopeful.

You hesitated, not because you weren’t hungry, but because this was what they should have been doing all along. Now, when it was too late and the damage had already been done, they were finally doing everything right.

Your stomach growled, loud enough for him to hear. Great.

Nanami took that as agreement and set a bowl down in front of you—warm, familiar, and easy to eat.

You sat, ate, and didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Then, Gojo showed up, freshly showered and wearing a clean Digimon hoodie—the one you’d gifted him a long time ago. He began drying your hair, and you let him do it because the sound of the dryer against your damp strands helped distract you from your thoughts.

Once he was finished, he took his time brushing your hair, being more careful than you’d ever seen him. Normally, he would unintentionally tug at it, but this time, his movements were gentle and deliberate.

When you finished eating, you stood without a word and left, the guest bedroom door clicking shut behind you.

You took some pregnancy-safe sleeping medication and got under the covers. It wasn’t what you would have done, but it was necessary to escape the nightmares. And before you knew it, you had fallen asleep.

You found yourself alone in a narrow street that stretched on forever under a sickly, jaundiced light. The pavement was slick with something dark and viscous—blood, you realized with dawning horror—as if the ground itself had absorbed the remnants of violence. Every step you took echoed in your ears like a countdown, and behind you, a ragged chorus of angry voices grew louder, closer.

A man’s distorted call broke through the clamor, his voice dripping with vitriol. You turned, but the faces were shrouded in shadow—only the glint of hatred in their eyes was visible.

Their words slurred, vicious accusations that twisted in your mind: you were tainted, a harbinger of chaos, unworthy of the lives you tried so desperately to protect. They hurled insults that felt like physical blows, each syllable striking your already raw flesh.

Before you could move, a rough hand clamped down on your scarf, wrenching it away. The sudden chill of exposed skin and air sent a jolt of terror through you. In that frozen moment, you saw flashes—snatches of faces contorted in fury, phones raised to capture every moment, and a tide of jeers rising like a dark wave. The sound of cracking glass and the shattering of a phone mingled with the screams, forming a discordant symphony of cruelty.

You tried to retreat, your legs uncoordinated under the weight of panic. But the crowd surged forward with the relentless force of a tide. Their shouting transformed into a cacophony of blame and disgust. One voice, feral and unhinged, ordered you to “burn,” while another mocked you for daring to exist. The swarm’s words merged with the sound of fists colliding with flesh. You felt a searing slap across your cheek, a blow that left your vision swimming with hot, red pain.

In the midst of this terror, you clutched your belly, desperate to shield the two tiny hearts pounding in time with your own erratic rhythm. The sensation was both a comfort and a cruel reminder of what was at stake.

Somewhere in the melee, you heard the sickening crunch of bones and the squelching sound of flesh tearing, as if your body was betraying you in slow motion. You tried to scream, but the sound was lost beneath the roar of the mob.

Shadows twisted at the edges of your vision, morphing into monstrous shapes that seemed to leer at your vulnerability. A jagged piece of broken glass skittered across the pavement, slicing through a stray lock of hair and landing like a shard of reality in your dream. You tried to run, but your limbs felt leaden, paralyzed by an unseen force. Every time you lifted a foot, the ground seemed to pull you back, a magnetic grip of despair.

A chilling whisper echoed in your ear, a voice not entirely human, promising pain and isolation. The surrounding figures, their faces a blur of rage and malice, closed in on you. One rough hand grabbed your arm, its grip burning as if ignited by acid, while another ripped at your coat, exposing your bare skin to the elements—and to their relentless abuse. You felt the sting of every lash as if it were etched into your memory, each blow an indelible mark of their collective hatred.

In the climax of this horrific vision, your world collapsed into a maelstrom of sound and fury: a blend of anguished cries, the heavy thud of falling bodies, and the unsettling, almost ritualistic chant of those who had lost their humanity. As you teetered on the brink of collapse, the final image seared itself into your mind—a monstrous silhouette looming over you, its eyes hollow and seemed to assault you, as if to remind you that in this nightmare, mercy was a forgotten word.

And then, as abruptly as it began, the nightmare receded into a void of darkness, leaving you gasping for breath, heart pounding in your ears. The terror lingered—a visceral reminder of the night.

You woke up to warmth—not the comforting kind, but the kind that meant someone was too close. Your eyes cracked open to find Gojo and Nanami on the bed sleeping near you, not touching you, but there—too close. You exhaled through your nose, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you.

Slowly, carefully, you slipped out of bed, dragging the blanket with you as you padded to the long couch. The second you lay down, exhaustion took over again, and the nightmare came fast—the hate, the shouting, the hands.

You woke up sometime later again, with a deep gasp and realized you weren’t alone. Gojo’s arm was around your stomach, and Nanami’s hand rested against your back, holding you. They had moved to you again. Your body sagged before your mind caught up. For a brief moment, you leaned in, feeling the familiar warmth.

But then you remembered. You stiffened and shoved them off. They woke up startled as you turned your back to them, pulling the blanket over yourself. Silence filled the room, and then Gojo’s voice, still rough with sleep, broke the quiet. “...Yeah. Okay. That’s fair.”

You said nothing. Nanami exhaled quietly, the weight of their presence still heavy in the air. But neither of them tried to touch you again. You closed your eyes, and it took a long time to fall back asleep.

---

On the other side of the city, a dilapidated warehouse loomed over the docks.

Inside, the last of the lynch mob huddled together—along with a handful of online trolls who had thought they were untouchable and a few stubborn business investors who had already been scheduled for execution.

The rusted steel doors creaked open.

Haibara walked in first, flanked by Megumi and their men. “This reminds me of that time,” he mused, stepping over a broken pallet.

Megumi rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck with a slow crack. “The time we wiped out her family?”

Haibara smirked, “Of course, that was the best hunt. How they begged. I still dream of their cries and smile to myself in sleep.”

“It was hard tracking you down back then,” Megumi said, eyes scanning the room. “But I wasn’t about to break our little promise.”

Haibara laughed. “I love how you’re a sentimental murderer.”

Megumi ignored him.

“Although,” Haibara went on, “how’d you get the list? She never used to tell anyone.”

“Dad figured it out long ago.” Megumi’s voice was casual, almost bored. “It was delivered to me when I turned twenty. He had contingencies in case something happened to him. After that, I started my company. And the first thing I did—or more accurately, we did—was eliminate them all.”

Haibara whistled. “Ahh. Ol’ Fushiguro had some sense after all.” He grinned. “Good. Good. I had a lot of fun making that promise with your fourteen-year-old self.”

Megumi tensed.

Haibara mused, unbothered. “You had seen her crying over some bruises to your mom, ran to me, and asked if I’d help you kill them. Not to be mean, but I’m glad Toji was already dead. Otherwise, you would’ve gone to him instead, and that would’ve been boring.” He shrugged off his coat. “You were scary back then, though. Real serial killer child vibes.”

Megumi cracked his knuckles. “Shut up and tell me how we’re doing this.”

“Same as last time.”

Their men nodded and slammed the warehouse doors shut behind them as they walked out, leaving Megumi and Haibara alone with the people. The lock clicked, final. No one was getting out.

Someone whimpered.

"Please... save us,” a man begged, voice raw.

Megumi tilted his head. His smile wasn’t kind. “They want us to save them.” He looked at Haibara. “Should we?”

“PlEAsE sAVe Us!” Haibara mimicked the man’s voice, distorting it with an airy, unnatural lilt. He let out a sharp, delighted laugh, his teeth bared.

A shiver passed through the warehouse.

Megumi sighed, pulling on his gloves. “Keep the exits sealed.”

The emerging shadows obeyed.

The room darkened.

Ink spilled across the concrete floor, creeping up the walls, stretching like living veins. Mahoraga flickered behind Megumi, its eight eyes unblinking. In the distance, something wet and heavy moved. Agito's maw opened with a hollow snap.

Megumi lifted a hand. “Give them a head start.”

Haibara smiled. “How generous.”

Then he twitched.

And the world changed.

It wasn’t an explosion; it wasn’t a shift in gravity. It was subtle—something just slightly… off. A nauseating wrongness slithered under the skin. The air became thick, syrupy, too still. The walls breathed. The shadows didn’t stretch like normal—they lagged, following movement like broken reflections.

Someone gagged, clutching their stomach.

Another let out a choked scream.

Haibara exhaled sharply. His voice echoed even though he hadn't moved closer.

“Run.”

The mob scattered.

A woman sprinted, high heels clacking against the concrete—

She took three steps before her knees folded backward with a sickening crunch. She hit the ground, twitching like a broken marionette.

A man reached for the exit, but the moment his hands touched the door, his fingers spread. Not his palm—his fingers. They stretched too long, bones splitting at unnatural angles, flesh webbing together like something not meant for this world.

He screamed.

Another tried to run—

His skin turned translucent. The veins underneath shifted, moving in a way veins shouldn’t. They didn’t pulse; they writhed. Words formed in the blood beneath his skin. A message not meant to be read by human eyes.

He looked down at his arms and understood.

He tore at his own flesh, screaming.

Haibara’s technique wasn’t like Megumi’s. It wasn’t like Sukuna’s raw brutality.

It was eldritch.

It didn’t just kill. It changed.

The kind of curse that burrowed into the body and made itself home. That twisted people into shapes they weren’t meant to take. That let them see things they were never meant to understand, forced to experience things they weren’t meant to see.

A man fell to his knees, clawing at his throat. His own voice was escaping his mouth, curling into the air like black smoke. The words whispered back to him in reverse, echoing secrets even he hadn’t known he was keeping.

One woman was still standing. She wasn’t screaming. She wasn’t running.

She was staring.

At something.

Her pupils had dilated so wide her irises were gone. Her mouth hung open, jaw slack. Silent. Unblinking.

Whatever she was seeing—

She wasn’t coming back.

Haibara stepped toward her, tilting his head and smirked. “Interesting.”

Megumi’s shadows shifted, impatient. Mahoraga’s tail flicked, and Agito’s massive jaw unhinged.

Megumi glanced at Haibara. “Done playing?”

Haibara grinned, eyes bright. “Yeah.”

The screaming didn’t stop.

Some of them were still alive.

Not for long.

Megumi didn’t waste time. He moved like a specter—silent, meticulous. Shadows coiled around his arms, slithering toward the last few stragglers. They twisted through rib cages, laced around throats, and tightened.

A man gasped, his breath cut off mid-sound. Another gurgled, twitching as something inside him folded wrong.

Haibara, meanwhile, laughed. He wasn’t even touching them.

The ones in front of him convulsed on the ground, writhing. Their bodies contorted like broken marionettes, pulled by strings no one else could see. Their mouths opened, but no screams came out—only wet, rattling exhales, their vocal cords stolen.

The man who had tried to run—one of the investors, judging by his expensive watch—was now on his knees, his shinbone jutting through his skin.

Mahoraga’s massive form loomed behind him, its eight eyes burning with cold patience.

Megumi didn’t react, only flicked his wrist. The shadows obeyed.

A blur of silver and shadow shot forward, its skeletal jaws snapping down—tearing through flesh, through ribs, through the core of a man who didn’t even get to finish gasping.

Agito’s claws burst from the floorboards, wrapping around another man's throat, dragging him under like a fish hooked beneath the surface. The gurgling stopped before he fully vanished.

Mahoraga moved and the ceiling buckled under its presence, the air warping like space itself was rejecting the creature’s existence.

Someone launched a rusty metal rod.

The rod never made it.

Mahoraga’s wheel spun.

The rod froze mid-air, vibrating violently before reversing its trajectory. It buried itself into the shooter’s own forehead, and he dropped, his blood spattering backward.

Megumi sighed, rolling his shoulders. Toji’s raw physicality in a body with his own technique—fully mastered and awakened—made everything so easy.

“Want me to finish them off, or should I let them keep running?” He cracked his knuckles.

Haibara hummed, twirling a knife between his fingers. “Let’s give them hope. It’s funnier that way.”

So they let them run.

For a little while.

Megumi moved first.

One blink, he was in the center of the warehouse. The next, he was in front of a man who had almost reached a window.

If he’d made it out, there were snipers outside. Megumi was always prepared.

The man stopped—no, he was stopped.

Megumi’s fingers were inside his stomach, gripping his liver like it was a plaything.

The man’s eyes were wide and his mouth opening and closing in silent, animal panic.

Megumi yanked his hand back, and blood splattered across the concrete.

The liver landed with a wet thud.

Megumi didn’t even watch him fall. He turned, piercing eyes already locked onto the next one.

Agito, meanwhile, moved with too many teeth, mouth stretching far beyond what anything in nature should allow.

A woman tripped.

But she never hit the ground.

One second, she was there. The next, Agito’s jaw clamped shut, and there was nothing left.

No bones. No blood. Just absence.

Megumi barely paid attention. He flicked his eyes, watching Mahoraga advance.

It stepped through the wreckage, shadows twisting at its feet. Towards a man, sobbing, scrambling backward against the wall. “No—no, please, I’ll give you whatever you want, I can pay, I—”

Mahoraga raised its massive clawed hand—and crushed him.

Bone and blood splattered around.

The rest tried to run faster, but Haibara’s technique didn’t let them.

One by one, they collapsed, their bodies warping, twisting, and breaking in ways the human form wasn’t meant to withstand.

A woman clawed at her own face, nails digging into flesh like she was trying to rip something out.

Her mouth moved. No sound came.

Her lips shaped a word.

Please.

Haibara leaned down, watching her with bright, fascinated eyes. “You’re still thinking?” He clicked his tongue. “That must be exhausting.”

He tapped her forehead.

She stopped.

Not dead. Not unconscious.

Just gone.

Her eyes were still open, still wide, still locked on something none of them could see. Her chest rose and fell mechanically, as if she was only breathing out of habit.

Then the last breath left the warehouse.

The air was still, thick with the scent of iron and rot.

All around them, bodies lay in unnatural shapes—bent backwards, sprawled, hollowed out. Some had collapsed mid-movement, faces frozen in unreadable expressions.

Others were missing things. Voices. Thoughts. Pieces of their minds scooped clean out.

No one was left to beg. No one was left to run.

Megumi exhaled, flicking his hands clean of the mess. His gloves were ruined. He pulled them off, tossing them onto a corpse.

Agito’s eyes gleamed through the darkness.

Mahoraga’s wheel slowed, the eight eyes blinking once before fading.

Haibara knocked on the door. Twice.

Megumi stepped over a mangled hand, heading for the exit.

The warehouse door creaked open.

Outside, the night air was cool. The moon was high. All unbothered.

As Megumi stepped into the dockyard, one of his employees—a specialist in discreetly gathering people—approached him, holding something small and dark in her hands. It wriggled, extending its tiny paws toward him. The raccoon kit, its fur now softer after a recent visit to the vet and groomer, sniffed curiously at his hands.

He gently scratched the creature between its ears, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Then he took it over and put it in his pocket and started walking.

Haibara fell into step beside him.

Neither of them spoke as they got in the backseat of the car.

The streetlights buzzed overhead as they made their way to the only place that mattered.

Home.

Which would be a few floors below in your building from today.

---

“How the hell have you not been able to decrypt a single phone yet, Choso?” Sukuna growled, frustration evident in his voice.

“It’s not a skill issue, you dumbass; it’s encrypted!” Choso shot back, then abruptly cut himself off. “Bingo!”

Sukuna leaped off the couch and strode over to him, curiosity piqued.

Choso opened the gallery on the phone, revealing a series of images.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy from that terrorist attack? Nanami Kento, I think? It’s all over social media from many days,” Yuji muttered as he strolled by, chewing on sour candy.

“And you’re telling me this now?!” Sukuna barked, his irritation boiling over.

“How the hell was I supposed to know you were looking for their wife? We thought you made her up!” Yuji retorted unfazed by Sukuna’s anger.

Choso stepped in to intervene before Sukuna could strangle Yuji, but Yuji simply walked over to the fridge for some soda. “You really should check social media from time to time,” he added nonchalantly.

“Where does she live?” Sukuna asked Choso, giving up on the unwinnable battle against Yuji.

A/N: So, how does it feel to know that Haibara isn’t dead, but he also has the moral alignment of an eldritch horror? Did you have fun? Do you feel unsafe? Good. And how much did we miss Sukuna? Also, I wrote another fic of this version of Haibara since y’all seem to love him so much, except this time, he’s a soft (but still terrifying) yandere with Nanago: 🤓 The Symphony of Spite 🤓 [Tumblr/Ao3] Ryomen Sukuna x GN!Therapist Reader x Nanami Kento Crybaby!Gojo Satoru x ..... (he's after one of your manz) And for no one but my shower thoughts: 🦴 Ooga Booga Battle Royale 🐯 [Tumblr/Ao3] F!Reader x Pre-Historic Neanderthal JJK daddies (Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, Zenin Toji & Ryomen Sukuna) Like. Comment. Give me your first borns or just send me asks about your mental state. I’ll be waiting.

Next chapter will be out on idk :P

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz @thebumbqueen @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni

Taglist Open.

[madhatterbri]

Headbands | J.U.

Summary: Jey shows reader his headbands have other uses. 18+.

Happy Monday Night RAW, babes. ❤️ I have been working on this since Christmas Eve. x.x

Jey Uso Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @miss-kuki-nz @surdelcielo @missbmc94 @eringobragh420 @magicalbuttertarts @hodgepodge-musings

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to/deleted from the taglist.

While on the phone, Y/N told her friend that she'd loved to be tied down by him and blindfolded with Jey's headbands. Pink was his color, and the headband made him even more attractive. She didn't think he was actually listening to her or that he was hatching a plan in his head to use them on her. She was in for a rude awakening one night.

Jey insisted on letting the kids spend the night at their friend's house. She didn't think anything of it. They hadn't had an adult night in a while. Some alone time would be a nice change from the typical pace they grew accustomed to. When Y/N came home from dropping them off, she went to the bedroom.

Her boyfriend was on the bed in nothing but boxers. He played with three headbands in his hands. All pink. "I want to see you with nothing on and on this bed,"

She gulped and nodded. The tone in his voice nearly made her crumble at his feet. He was so demanding, yet she could hear the strain in his voice. Jey had been thinking about this for a while.

Her clothes vanished quickly. They were left a mess on the floor. His dark brown eyes watched as she crawled into bed. She laid on her back in the middle of the bed.

The Main Event wrestler studied her position for a moment. Dissatisfied with her placement, he grabbed her ankles and pulled her down slightly. She gasped yet didn't say anything. This Jey was doing so many things to her.

"Take your head off the bed," he ordered.

Her head lifted slightly off the bed. A headband was draped over her eyes. He tied the fabric around her head. She laid her head back down, unable to see a single thing. The dark room wasn't helping her.

"Arms towards the headboard,"

"Jey?"

"You want to tell your little friends your fantasies but me? Arms. Now,"

Her hands shot up towards the headboard. He tied her wrists together with the second headband. With the loss of vision, her other senses started to kick in. His cologne danced with her nose. The sheets felt different under her. The taste of his kisses as he planted them on her lips almost sent her to a frenzy. Her ears perked up at any sound of the bed creaking under her.

Despite her loss of sight, she tried to figure out where he was on the bed. This did little to help her, especially when his attention was focused on her breasts. His palms planted at her sides to steady himself over her.

Kisses, licks, and soft bites were placed on her bare chest. His bottom lip rubbed against her skin before latching on to her breast. A soft gasp slipped past her lips. Her back arched as she squirmed underneath him. No breast was left alone for long before he put his full attention to it.

"Jey," she whispered. Her body felt hot. A trail of kisses ran down from the valley of her breasts to her below her belly button. One of the hands at her sides moved down. The next thing she knew, his hand cupped her pussy.

"Damn, baby, already?" He asked with a condescending tone. His fingers pushed between her folds and were coated with her juices. Jey's finger rubbed against her clit. She nodded eagerly. "You been thinking about this little fantasy a lot, huh?"

"Yes," she breathed. He stopped to look at her. Her mouth parted as she tried to relax to his touch. The blindfold made things feel elevated. Jey moved his fingers down to her entrance. She bucked her hips to have him enter her.

"Nuh, uh, little mama, be patient," he told her. His finger circled her entrance slowly. "Now, have you been thinking about this little fantasy a lot?"

Her answer came out in a sharp cry the moment he thrust his finger inside of her. She had been thinking about this. There was nothing that consumed her mind more. The love of her life just taking advantage of her while his headbands allowed him complete control over her. And he did.

He added a finger and another inside of her. Her body clamped around his fingers to not let him leave her. Hungry kisses planted on her pussy before he dived his tongue between her folds. His tongue swirled around hitting spots that made her extra noisy. She hissed and whined as she fought against the binds that held her from burying his head deeper inside of her. Jey reveled in her reaction.

"I need you," she pleaded. "Jey please."

"Please? Damn, baby, where are these manners normally? Oh, it's because you can't do anything now huh?" He asked. His tanned hands played with her binds. "Gotta be a good girl and take what Big Jey gives you."

Y/N resisted against the binds some more. Her muscles ached from her resistance. Despite his threat, he had mercy on her. She bit her lip when she felt him at her entrance.

"This is what you do to me. All tied up looking like a sexy present," he confided in her. With little fanfare, he thrust inside of her. She brought her head back and moaned. Her walls accommodated him as he filled her to the brim. Jey stayed still inside of her watching his beautiful girl take him so well.

Dirty talk fell from his lips as he continued to take her. Her hips moved in time with his thrusts. She bit her lip as her mind wandered to imagine what he was doing to her. His brown eyes stared at her body intently. A rough hand gripped her hip. His other fingers rubbed down her stomach. It wasn't long before they would unravel into the other.

Jey removed the headband from her eyes. He kissed her softly. "You gonna tell your little friends about this fantasy? How you were begging me?"

"Let me go, Jey," she ordered. His ego already starting to get on her nerves.

The Royal Rumble winner laughed. He placed his headband over her eyes once again. "Who said we were done?"

[buckysgrace]

Out of My Mind

Gator Tillman x stepsis!reader

Gator finally listens to you, only for you to realize that's not what you want.

CW: Stepcest/pseudocest, blowjobs, unprotected p n v sex, some religious trauma sprinkled in there, degradation, reader gets highly highly pathetic soooooo

Can be read as a standalone or you can check out Good Graces as well :)

You were regretful. Your previous actions pained you, made your stomach knot with guilt and worry as you tiptoed through the ranch with your head down.

You were almost convinced that everyone knew, or at least had to be suspicious. Every time someone watched you for a second too long, or spoke to you in a different tone you were sure the truth was going to come out. You were fearful.

Not that Gator seemed to mind. No. He had no issues strutting around in his normal manner, almost as if nothing had happened.

You were doing everything in your power to avoid him. You didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to touch him or see him. You didn't even want to smell his cologne or hear his irritating music. Everything about him got underneath your skin.

It almost worked on your part, but Gator had apparently decided that he couldn't get enough. He was like a little puppy, following you around so closely that he often stumbled onto the back of your heels. The asshole.

You tried to pray away your sin, just like your mother said you could do. But not even that seemed to work. Today, your mind kept wandering back to Sunday and how he had continued to brush his fingertips against the bottom of your dress, just enough that you could feel his bare skin against your own. You could still feel his touch now, almost as if he had burned you.

"You look good on your knees." Your fingers tightened together at the sound of his voice, your eyes dramatically rolling into the back of your head as his footsteps echoed in the room.

"Leave me alone." You retorted the same sentence, although your curiosity got the best of you as you turned your head to the side.

He was in his usual cargo pants, and a black muscle tee clinging to him like a second skin. You could see everything if you allowed your eyes to wander, which you didn't. You couldn't.

"What crawled up your ass?" He teased as he cocked his eyebrows, bringing his vape up towards his lips. You shifted your arms over your mattress, too tired to tell him not to vape in your room.

His eyes were warm, a mixture of brown and green as he took a step closer to you. You hated to acknowledge the way butterflies erupted in your tummy at the way he towered over you from this position. You craned your head up further, deciding to be a little honest. Maybe he'd get the hint then.

"It shouldn't have happened," you told him seriously, whispering underneath your breath so no one could possibly hear, "it was wrong." You reminded him, feeling like he needed a reminder of what that meant.

He cocked his head to the side as he blew out a large puff of smoke, fruity like bubblegum. You swatted at him, wishing that he’d leave you alone.

"I don't remember you tellin' me to stop." He added as he watched you intensely, like he was trying to understand your next move before you made it.

You felt a wave of guilt and shame crashing over you, clearly remembering how you had acted. You didn’t need him to remind you. It kept you up at night as it was.

"Go away." You said at last, swallowing harshly as you turned your attention back towards the cross on your wall. You wondered how people could so easily resist temptation. And that’s exactly what he was.

"In fact," he grinned from ear to ear as he knelt down next to you, sighing softly as he moved his large hands across his thighs, "I think you begged for more of it."

"Don't flatter yourself." You scoffed even though it was true. You knew that you would do it again given the chance. He just happened to be blessed in an annoyingly manner.

Your stomach flipped into knots as he moved a hand against your lower back, making you stiffen as his fingers slowly ran underneath the hem of your shirt. You hated how easily you caved in, how you wanted to feel more of his touch:

"What's the problem?" he hummed as he dragged his finger across your abdomen, earning goosebumps across your skin, "you're already ruined for anyone else." He spit out, making your body chill from his cold words.

"Fuck you." You retorted as you found your voice once again. He couldn’t talk to you like that, you wouldn’t let him. Especially knowing what he had been up to. He has no right.

"Ooh," he smirked as he continued to drift his fingers across your skin, "I don't think God likes when you talk like that." He whispered, suddenly much closer than you anticipated. You could see his freckles on his nose from his closeness, making you wonder if he could also see the way his words sliced into you.

“Leave me alone.” You spoke firmly, sternly as you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pushed him away. He couldn’t treat you the way he did ever other girl he had been with. You wouldn’t allow it.

“You sure you want that?” He asked, all high and mighty like you would be missing out on something fantastic. Still, you thought about it for a moment. A brief second before you turned away from him.

“I’ve never been more positive about something in my life.” You replied as you linked your fingers together again, bowing your head and pretending to pray. You refused to look at him, only allowed yourself to listen as he stood next to you.

“Then don’t come bitchin’ to me when you’re all lonely again.” He snapped, his anger crashing over you like a thick wave. You ignored him still, only listening to the sound of his footsteps leaving the room.

You prayed that he had gotten the hint.

-

The next few weeks were uneventful, cold even. Gator didn’t bother you, didn’t look in your direction or speak to you other than to occasionally ask you to pass him the salt.

Which was somehow worse. All that effort to push him away and now you were regretting it, but you refused to admit it. You were sure he’d come crawling back first.

In place of his absence, your lust grew. You thought about him in the shower, during early mornings and late nights, when you were in bed alone and only God could judge you for your actions. You were a mess.

And when he remained stubborn you hatched your own plan; wearing shorter skirts and unbuttoning the top of your dresses a little more. Sitting close to him and drifting your fingers across the nape of his neck, making him shiver even when he pretended it didn’t affect him.

“Late night?” You asked as you turned towards him, checking the clock on the wall. He was almost three hours late, making you wonder where he had been. Or whom he had been with him.

“Why do you care?” He snorted as his eyes breezed over you, not paying attention to the little nightgown that you had picked out. You had hoped it would make him break and grovel for you.

“Who said I did?” He scoffed at your reply, shaking his head as he continued to strip his vest off. You watched the way his muscles tensed as he did so, making your mouth water just a bit.

You were already damned. You might as well make the most out of it.

“You don’t talk to me anymore.” You rested your hand against your cheek as you spoke softly, sighing as you crossed your ankles together. Your heart flipped inside of your chest as he turned towards you, eyebrows furrowing together.

“You said to leave you alone.” He stated in disbelief, eyes narrowing as you began to shift again. He wasn't any fun.

“Oh, come on,” you pouted as you rested your arms across the back of the chair, watching as he kicked his boots away, “I was just scared.” You admitted, wishing that he would turn those gloomy eyes towards you.

“Alright.” He stated dryly, like he wasn't interested. Panic swelled inside of you, making you wonder if he had already found someone else.

“Why don’t you come sit with me?” You offered as you patted the spot next to you, wanting him to notice how well you had cleaned up.

“I’m good.” His reply made your heart drop into the floor, beaten and bloody as you straightened your shoulders out. You wouldn't take that as his final answer, no way.

“I’ll rub your feet,” you offered as you slowly crept towards him, well aware of the way his features fell in surprise, “your shoulders and your legs. I’m sure you worked hard today.” You cooed softly, crawling like a beast towards him.

“What’s gotten into you?” He whispered out this time, hazel eyes widening as he gave his head a little shake. Like he honestly had no idea what he had done.

“Just being nice,” you told him as you rested in front of him, fluttering your eyelashes, “You look so tired. Let me help you.” You pleaded softly, hands falling against his ankles.

“You’re pathetic, you know that.” He spit out harshly, like his words could offend you as your hands moved up towards his knees. You didn't care what he thought, what anyone thought. He was probably right, but you knew he wanted you just as badly.

“And I know you’re lonely,” you whispered as you ran your fingers across his thick thighs, “I can fix that.” You told him honestly, leaning your face against his hip bone. You could feel his body stiffening from your touch, like he was fighitng the urge to give in.

“Why should I?” He asked as he breathed in deeply while you dragged your nose across the front of his pants. He smelt nice, really good.

"I'll be good," you promised as you nuzzled your cheek across his thigh, your nose dragging across the obvious bulge in his pants, "Please. I'll be a good girl. A good little sister."

"Yeah?" He tsked as he tilted his head once again, like he was still considering what you had said. You pouted your lips out as you continued to press yourself up against him, desperate to feel anything from him, "You can't be that pathetic for some cock."

"Just yours," you promised, purring as you linked your fingers across his belt, "I wanna feel you so badly. Please." You nodded your head encouragingly, as if it might do something to change his mind.

It felt like a lifetime had passes as he dragged his fingers across your forehead, the corners of his lips curled into the tiniest smirk. His eyes were intense as he watched you, but you refused to look away. You wanted him to realize just how much you needed him.

"S'okay," he said at last, making your heart hammer inside your chest as he began to undo his belt. Everything inside of you pulsed as you observed him greedily, trying to fight the urge to reach out and do it yourself, "We all make mistakes sometimes." He retorted cockily, nearly making you roll your eyes. But you didn't, too fearful that he might stop his actions.

You flicked your tongue out across your lips as he pulled his belt free, then unbuttoned his pants. You could no longer just sit as you reached forward, eagerly helping him pull his slacks down to his ankles.

Your hungrily stared at the large bulge in front of you, straining inside of a pair of boxers. You exhaled as you drifted your fingertips across it, grinning at the way he groaned underneath your touch.

A grin fell to your lips as you gripped a hold of his boxers, tugging them down slowly as his dick popped free from it's restraints. You were in awe of how long he was, how thick and hefty he appeared.

You hated to admit that his cock was pretty. Slightly paler, tip pink and leaking as you felt how heavy it was in your hands. Curved upright and his base surrounded with thick hair.

You wrapped your fingers around his thick girth delicately, biting down on your bottom lip as he inhaled deeply. You dragged your fingers up to the head of his cock, smearing the precum across his tip before gliding it towards his base.

He grunted lowly, jerking his hips forward with your motions as you continued to trace the curve of his cock with your hand. You swore you could feel him pulsing against your skin, warm and soft at the same time.

You relaxed your jaw, momentarily preparing yourself to feel the stretch of his cock in your mouth. You leaned forward, kissing the tip of his cock while stroking his base in your hand.

A whimper broke free from his lips, making your insides twist and turn in bliss as you snapped your eyes up towards him. His eyes had fluttered shut, his eyebrows furrowing together as his lips fell open.

Pretty. The bastard had the nerve to look absolutely beautiful.

"Fuck," he cursed, eyes snapping open to look at you as you spread your lips across his thick tip. You pressed your tongue down further, trying to make more room in your mouth as you lowered your mouth onto the length of his cock, "You're such a little slut."

His words carried like electricity through your veins, warming your skin as your clit throbbed as you savored the feeling of his dick in your mouth.

His hands fell to the back of your head, his grip tightening as he forced your mouth further along the length of his dick. You whined at the feeling, chest aching as your lips stretched further sound him.

“Just like that,” he groaned as his hips snapped forward once again, needy as you continued to bob your head along the curve of his cock, “taking me so good.” He praised as you swallowed a moan, all too aware of how soaked your panties had become.

You gagged as his cock hit the back of your throat, eyes watering as drool slid from the corners of your lips. It was messy, sloppy as he gripped the back of your neck and continued to fuck into your mouth.

You knew it was dangerous to be doing this, even more so than last time. Roy and your mother were just upstairs, hopefully asleep as you continued to drag your mouth along your stepbrothers fat cock. Something about that turned you on, sent a desirable rush through your body.

His fingers dug into your scalp as you gagged harshly around him, drool falling onto your chest and his boots as you struggled to hold him in your throat. His balls were warm against your chin, soaked in your spit as he held you in place.

He held you there for a moment, hazel eyes locked on yours as he breathed in the sight of you. You were sure you looked a mess, but everything written on his features suggested that he enjoyed it.

He released you with a loud groan, his cock sliding from your mouth as you pulled away to fill your lungs with fresh hair. You touched your chest, spit continuing to leak from your mouth as you panted roughly.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he cursed as he grabbed your arms, pulling you onto your feet before you could fully compose yourself. Your body felt like jello as he stripped you from your dress, moving hastily before he pushed you onto the couch, “knew you wanted me badly.” He replied with a little smirk, looking quite proud of himself.

You could barely not your head as you watched him, excitement pooling inside of you as you stretched your legs wide. You pushed your knees up towards your chest, trying to ignore the way your pussy was glistening with want.

“She’s so needy for me,” he cooed as he dragged his fingertips through your soaked folds, earning a little whimper from you, “can’t wait to feel her stretchin’ around me.”

"Need you to fuck me." You whined as he grazed his digits across your slick hole, making your walls flutter with anticipation. Your clit was throbbing, desperate to feel his girth gliding into you.

"You've got a dirty little mouth on ya." He stated as he tilted his head, looking rather cocky as he used his other hand to rub his fat tip across your drenched cunt.

Your body spasmed at the feeling of his heavy cock resting across your pussy, making you feel even more eager as you examined just how much of him would be filling you. You breathed in and out, eyes heavy and mind fuzzy with pleasure. You needed him now.

"Please, Gator," you whined, rolling your hips forward, "Make me feel good." You begged as your clit dragged across the curve of his cock. he groaned at the sensation, his eyes darkening as he reached between your bodies.

You chewed on your bottom lip, heart hammering as you watched the way he wrapped his fingers across his girth. His lips curled into a little smirk as he thrusted forward, his balls pressing against your skin as you squirmed underneath him.

He pulled back hungrily, features full of lust as he bullied the tip of his dick against your soaked hole. Your hands fell to his strong shoulders as he slowly slid inside, his soft groans filling your ears.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the feeling of his cock stretching your walls out, allowing his thick cock inside of your tight walls as little whimpers left his lips. You were just as whiny, needing to feel him buried deep inside of you.

The sound that left his lips was enough to make your toes curl in pleasure, bliss burning deep inside of your veins as you tugged him even closer. His chest was hot against your own, his skin slick as you arched your chest up towards him.

One of his large hands fell to your waist, his fingertips digging into your flesh as he began to slowly grind his cock in and out of your clenched cunt. Your nipples hardened in the chill air, sparking pleasure as they brushed against his strong torso.

You reached your hands above your head, fingertips grazing across the armrest as he continued to drag his cock in and out of your wet walls. His mouth was hot against your skin, licking and sucking on your neck.

"So fuckin' good for me," he cursed as his forehead fell against yours, soft whines and moans continuing to spill from his tongue. You gaped, feeling like you had never been so deeply filled before, "You like my cock, don't you?" He mumbled, words strained as he roughly jerked your hands back across his shoulders.

Your nails dug into his flesh, earning a little yelp from him as he dragged his cock into you deeper. You could feel your eyes rolling back in pleasure, moans leaving your lips freely.

"Love your cock so much," you whined as you rolled your hips up to meet his thrusts, sighing as your cunt cried around his cock; soaking your thighs and his balls, "right there, Gator." You begged, electricity burning deeply inside of you as his warm eyes fell onto yours. Your insides twisted in bliss, taking in how pretty he looked as the pleasure filled him.

The couch creaked from underneath the combined weight of the two of you, your body sinking further into the cushions as his fingertips burned into your skin. You clung to him, your walls gripping him tightly as he pressed into your faster.

"S'fucking good," he spit out, lips coated with spit as his head rolled back lazily. The sound of your bodies meeting filled your ears, bouncing off of the living room walls, "Gonna fill this pretty little tang up, make her all mine." He huffed, throat straining as he gripped you tighter.

You nodded your head lazily, your mind foggy with pleasure as you savored the curve of his cock dragging against your bundle of nerves. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, nails digging into his skin as your stomach muscles clenched tightly.

"Gator, fuck, fuck," you cursed, whimpers breaking free as your body squirmed underneath his heavy body, your orgasm crashing over you in thick waves, "Fuck!" You cried out, leaning forward to muffle your sounds of pleasure against his neck.

Your body shook, trembling as his thrusts became harder and faster. Your pussy squelched around his cock, leaking with your cum as his moans became whinier, needier.

Your lips pressed against his neck gently, leaving sloppy kisses against where you could feel his pulse raising underneath his flushed skin. You licked his sweat away slowly, before giving his skin a little nibble.

"M'fuck," he hissed as he pressed into you deeply, cock twitching as you curled your toes in pleasure once again. He was flush against your bundle of nerves

You bit down harder on his skin as you felt his cum spilling inside of you, coating your walls with a mixture of your sin. You hated how glorious it felt, how you already craved more of it.

His lips were soft against yours, even though his mouth was slightly chapped. You tilted your head up towards his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders so he could kiss you deeper.

Your body was limp underneath him, thighs still trembling as you savored the taste of him on your tongue. This was going to be the last time. It had to be.

Maybe.

“Gonna want more of you.” He mumbled, like he could read your mind as he gripped your chin in his hand. He squeezed softly, eyes searching your own.

“It’s wrong.” You whispered as your heart continued to hammer roughly inside of your chest, making you wish you could hide it away.

“But it feels good,” he responded with a little smirk as he brushed his fingers across your cheek, “why should we deny ourselves that?” He questioned, making you wonder if you could agree with him for once.

[clangenrising]

Month 20 - Leaffall

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In the dark, hidden in a nook of the tunnel that led to Goldenstar’s den, Fogpaw listened. 

Goldenstar had returned to camp alone, sobbing and miserable, and she and Yarrowshade had quickly hidden themselves away in her den. Fogpaw had heard something about Scorchplume and had instantly known that she needed to learn more. Quiet as a mouse, she had slunk inside the den and crept as far as she was certain she wouldn’t be seen to eavesdrop. 

“I just don’t get it,” Goldenstar sniffled pitifully. “It’s like she was trying to hurt me and I don’t know why.” 

Yarrowshade sighed and there was the sound of someone rustling moss as they shifted their weight. “I think she’s probably just… scared.” 

“Of what?” Goldenstar asked, her voice cracking. “That I’ll love her?” 

“I mean, yeah,” said Yarrowshade. “She’s not used to it. It can be kinda scary when someone tells you they care about you no matter what.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Goldenstar whined, echoing Fogpaw’s thoughts. 

“I know,” Yarrowshade sighed again. “It doesn’t make sense to Scorch either. She just knows that she feels cornered by something she doesn’t understand and she has to deflect.”

“How do you know, though?” 

Silence hung in the air for a moment. “‘Cause I’m the same,” he eventually said. “When Nightfrost died and people would try to comfort me, I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. Trying to make me feel better makes me think about how bad I feel and that sucks. I try to make jokes and get out of it and I think Scorch gets mean. I don’t know why, but she does.” 

Goldenstar sniffed wetly. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said. “It must be awful.” 

“It is what it is,” he said. “She’ll come back, Goldie. Just let her have some space so she feels less cornered and then you’ll both work it all out, I just know it.” 

Fogpaw had heard enough. Careful not to make a sound, she backed out of the den and looked around to make sure she hadn’t been seen. The camp was empty except for Pantherhaze who sat on watch with his back to her. Fogpaw lowered herself to the ground and moved silently out of camp in the direction of the city. 

Eventually, she found Scorch’s scent where it split from Goldenstar’s. 

“She’s heading for the desert…” Fogpaw mused aloud. “That’s not good.” Picking up her pace, she bounded after her mentor’s trail, trading stealth for speed. 

In the early days of her apprenticeship, Fogpaw had regularly heard Scorchplume threaten to leave for the desert if anything went wrong. It was her way of trying to convince cats that things were serious, that she really was leaving this time. Eventually Fogpaw had stopped believing her when she said it. If she was upset enough to actually follow through, that meant she was really unwell. Plus, the coyotes and their spellcraft were out there. She had to find Scorch and fast. 

The trail was easy enough to follow, at least. It cut straight through the grass towards the East and there wasn’t evidence that Scorch had been moving that quickly. After nearly half an hour, Fogpaw spotted Scorchplume’s tail lashing through the grass ahead of her. 

“Scorchplume!” she called, sprinting the final stretch towards her mentor, “There you are!” 

“Fogpaw!” Scorchplume bristled as she spun to face her. “What are you doing out here!?” 

“I came to find you,” said Fogpaw. “It sounded like you were upset and I wanted to help.” 

Scorch glared at that, her eyes flashing. “I told Goldenstar I’d come back on my own time.” 

“Well she didn’t tell me that,” Fogpaw said, a little annoyed that Scorch expected her to follow rules she hadn’t been told. “She was too busy crying. You really hurt her.” 

“Good,” snapped Scorch, tossing her head haughtily. “She was getting too comfortable.” 

“Stop that,” Fogpaw glared back at her. “You don’t get to say nasty things to people just because you’re scared.” 

Scorch scoffed and lashed her tail. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. You’re my apprentice.” She bared her teeth as she said it, stretching her claws into the dirt. 

“So?” Fogpaw pressed. “Just ‘cause I’m your apprentice doesn’t make me wrong. There are still rules, Scorchplume. We still have to be kind to each other.” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Scorchplume snapped.

“You’re scared ‘cause Goldenstar loves you,” Fogpaw continued. “It makes you wanna run away so you say mean stuff and hope she’ll run away from you but you don’t actually want her to stop loving you. You want to feel safe.” 

Scorchplume’s entire pelt was standing on end, her eyes prickling with tears that glistened in the moonlight. “Shut up!” she hissed. “You don’t know anything about me!” 

“Yes I do!” Fogpaw took a step forward, blinking slowly. “You’ve been my mentor for moons and I’ve been watching! And you’re just like me, you’re angry and you’re sad and so you want to rip everybody apart! You almost can’t help it, right?” 

Scorch’s chest was trembling. After a delay of a beat too long, she seemed to remember herself and rolled her eyes, looking away. Fogpaw stepped closer. 

“You don’t want them to hurt but you want to hurt something and it takes you over,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’ve been there. It’s really scary! But you don’t have to do it alone, you can talk to somebody about it and it will help.” 

Scorch scoffed again. “You’re wrong. I’m not like you. I’m like Ghost. I hurt people and I like it.” 

“But he doesn’t like it,” Fogpaw said, realizing it was true as she said it, “he just doesn’t know how else to be.” Maybe Scorchplume was like Ghost. Maybe she was too… “But I can help you find another way to be. I want to help you, Scorchplume.” 

“That’s your problem,” Scorchplume snarled, rounding on her, “you and Goldenstar both! You think I’m some project -- some broken thing you can fix! But I’m not fixable!” 

“You’re not broken, Scorch,” Fogpaw said. “You’re just scared. And you’re alone. And I can help you be less scared and alone.” She closed the last of the distance, butting her head firmly into Scorch’s shoulder and purring as loudly as she could. Scorch tried to pull away but she reached up and wrapped her paws around her mentor’s neck, moving to rub her forehead underneath her chin. 

Scorch stiffened as if holding still would get Fogpaw to let go but she persisted. After another long beat, Scorchplume’s chest deflated in a sigh of defeat and she slumped against Fogpaw. Fogpaw squeezed her tighter and she sniffled miserably.

“I am broken,” Scorch said quietly. “I don’t know why but every time I smell something that reminds me of Razor or something touches my scruff, I panic and I can’t do anything right. I can’t even think straight! I let my guard down with Goldenstar and now I can’t put it back up.”

“That sounds really scary,” said Fogpaw in the same quiet tone. “Is that why you got mad at her?”

“Kind of,” Scorch said, trying to pull away again. This time, Fogpaw let her, satisfied that she had been comforted by the hug. Scorch continued, “I did something very reckless in the city. It paid off, but everyone was furious with me, especially Coyotechaser and Orangestar. Goldenstar tried to talk to me about it but I… I don’t know.” She sniffed again and looked away.

“It’s okay,” Fogpaw said, offering her a warm smile. “You don’t have to know.” 

Scorchplume huffed a laugh through her nose. “How dare you be so mature. I’m supposed to be the adult here.” 

Fogpaw snorted. “I’m almost twelve moons old, y’know.” 

“Ugh, really?” Scorch wrinkled her nose in distaste. “No, that’s not allowed.” 

Fogpaw shrieked with laughter. “Not allowed?!”

“You heard me,” Scorchplume puffed herself up in the way Fogpaw knew meant she was joking, “Stop aging immediately or I’ll put you on permanent tick duty.” 

“No way,” Fogpaw snickered. “I just won’t do it. What then?” 

“Ah, you’ve found my secret loophole!” Scorchplume cried in mock despair. “I guess there’s nothing I can do.” Fogpaw giggled and butted up against her, rubbing her body down Scorch’s whole flank until she had turned around so they were side by side. 

“Let’s go home,” she said softly.

Scorch frowned. “I don’t want to. Goldenstar will be furious with me.” 

“No, she won’t,” Fogpaw jostled against her side. “You know she won’t. When has she ever been furious with you?”

Scorch chewed her lip for a moment, then sighed, “You’ve got a point, I guess.” 

“Come on,” said Fogpaw. “We’ll do it together. It won’t be so bad.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Scorch grumbled and Fogpaw couldn’t tell if she was serious. Still she shoved Scorchplume to her feet and started herding her back towards camp. 

“Were you really going to the desert?” she asked. 

“I don’t know,” Scorchplume shook her head. “I was tempted at least.” 

“I wonder what it’s like out there,” Fogpaw hummed, craning her neck to peer over her shoulder. 

“Dry,” Scorchplume shrugged. “Probably cold.” 

Fogpaw wasn’t really listening. She’d slowed to a stop, her eyes glued to the large shape staring back at her with big eyes full of moonlight. 

“Scorchplume,” she whispered, “is that what I think it is?” Scorch turned to look and gasped. 

“A coyote,” she breathed, pelt fluffing. “It must be.” The air prickled with energy. Fogpaw swore she could feel some kind of force connecting her with the beast. 

“We need to go,” Scorchplume hissed. “Now.” As if it could hear them, the coyote started loping in their direction. It didn’t slink or stalk, it didn’t run or chase, it just loped. Its movement struck Fogpaw as intensely open and inviting. 

“I think it’s friendly,” she said, unmoving. 

“What?!” Scorchplume bristled. “It is most certainly not friendly! Come on!” She had begun to back away, staying low to the ground, hidden among the grass. Fogpaw took a step towards the coyote. 

“Fogpaw, this is serious,” Scorchplume snapped. “That thing will kill you! We need to leave right now!” 

“Hello?” Fogpaw called to the coyote and Scorchplume made a strangled noise in her throat. 

A beat later, a voice called back, “Hey-lo.” 

“Did you hear that?” Fogpaw felt a rush of static prickle through her pelt from her toes to her ears. “It can talk!” 

“That’s great,” hissed Scorch, “now it can tell us exactly how good we taste. Come on!” The coyote was close enough now that Fogpaw could smell it. It towered over her, twice her height with big pointed ears trained on her position. 

“Are you friendly?” Fogpaw called back.

“Friendly?” it echoed, cocking its head. “Yes. Friend. Friendly. Good friend.” It stopped about a fox-length from them and cocked its head the other way. 

Fogpaw reared up on her hind legs to get a good look at it. 

It was almost like a cat but leaner and more rigid looking, all stiff angles and pointed edges. Its fur was a ticked kind of grey and white with ginger points, the strangest pattern she’d ever seen on a creature. Its muzzle was long and terrible, the kind of thing that sent instinctive spikes of fear through her belly, yet its expression seemed curious and open. 

She was entranced. 

“My name’s Fogpaw,” she said in a hushed tone. The coyote sniffed at her. 

“Na-ame,” it sing-songed. 

“Fuck me,” groaned Scorchplume. 

“Yeah,” Fogpaw purred. Placing a paw on her chest, she said again, “Fogpaw.” 

“Frog-paw,” it tried and she giggled. 

“Not Frogpaw, Fogpaw! What’s your name?” 

The coyote tried to place a paw on its own chest with its long, stiff looking legs. “Hui-che.” 

“Huiche?” Fogpaw repeated.

The coyote shook its head. “Hui-che,” it said again, its voice lifting melodically. “Hui-che.” 

“Oh,” Fogpaw’s eyes widened in excitement. “You have to sing it?” She tried to mimic the exact cadence and pitch it had used. “Hui-che?” 

The coyote grinned with its mouth full of teeth and sing-songed something she didn’t understand. It seemed like a good something though. 

“Fogpaw, I don’t trust this thing,” Scorchplume growled warily, her fur standing on end in a ginger cloud. 

“Friend,” sang Hui-che. “Hun-ting.” 

“See?!” Scorchplume hopped backward. “It’s hunting us!” 

“You don’t know that,” Fogpaw frowned over her shoulder. When she turned back to the coyote, it had advanced two steps, its toothy maw parted to drink in her scent. Fogpaw’s tail bristled automatically and Scorch swore again. 

“Hun-ting, friend,” it sang again. “The rotting touch-ing.” 

“The what?” Fogpaw asked, swallowing her fear. 

“The rotting touch-ing,” it yipped. “Touch the rotting here.” Fogpaw scrunched her nose in confusion.

“I don’t understand,” she shook her head. 

The coyote frowned and gave a high pitched growl, sniffing at the grass around them. With one paw, it started to scrape at the ground. Fogpaw’s stomach fluttered when she realized it was drawing shapes. 

“Is that magic?” she asked a bit louder than she meant to. 

“Magic!” the coyote’s eyes flashed up at her for a split second grin. “Rotting magic touch-ing here. Good touch-ing. Hunting it.” 

At this point, Scorchplume had started to creep back towards them, her neck craned to carefully observe what it was doing. Fogpaw smiled at her and wrapped her tail around Scorchplume’s leg reassuringly. 

“You’re hunting the magic?” Fogpaw asked.

“Yes!” nodded Hui-che. “Good, rotting magic. Strong touch-ing here.” 

“Rotting magic?” Scorchplume curled her lip in disgust. “Of course a coyote is looking for rot.”

Hui-che’s yellow eyes snapped up and fixed Scorchplume with a predatory stare that unsettled Fogpaw. It sniffed at her with its big, black nose and grinned. Fogpaw instinctively shoved herself between the two of them.

Hui-che stood up to its full height and cocked its head again, sing-songing to itself in its own language. 

“I won’t let you hurt her,” Fogpaw declared, baring her teeth. Hui-che frowned curiously at the display.

“No hurt,” it yipped, bowing down until its chest touched the ground. “No hurt. Friend! Good friend.” 

“Fogpaw, we’re leaving,” Scorchplume said, backing away. 

“Yeah,” Fogpaw said slowly, “okay.” She wanted to stay and ask the coyote more about the rotting magic but it was getting to the point where even she couldn’t deny the warning signs. 

Still, she said, “Goodbye, Hui-che.” 

The coyote frowned but didn’t lunge for them, only went back to scratching runes in the dirt. Fogpaw and Scorchplume backed away until they had a few fox lengths of space in between them and the coyote and then they slank quickly back to camp. 

“That was farther in the territory than last time,” Scorchplume said as they walked. “I don’t like how close it was. Next time you need to listen when I tell you to run, okay?”

“If we’d run, we wouldn’t have learned about the rotting magic, though!” Fogpaw protested. 

“We learned nothing,” Scorchplume hissed, “And besides, if it had decided to attack you there’s nothing we could have done. You need to trust that I know what I’m doing.” 

“Why can’t you trust that I know what I’m doing?” whined Fogpaw. “I’m not stupid, Scorchplume.” 

“Mm,” was all Scorch said. 

Fogpaw frowned but stayed quiet. She had had a very stressful night and, even in the best of times, Scorch wasn’t very trusting. 

“Fine,” Fogpaw sighed. “Let’s just go tell Goldenstar what happened and then you can apologize.” 

“Right,” Scorchplume grumbled. 

“It’ll be okay,” said Fogpaw. “Just tell her how you felt and say you’re sorry. She’ll understand.” Scorch grumbled again, sounding unconvinced. 

Fogpaw didn’t quite understand why Scorch didn’t believe that Goldenstar would be understanding. She understood and she didn’t understand anybody! Surely, Goldenstar would get it right away. Maybe it was something about Scorchplume instead? 

She stewed over the idea as they walked, her thoughts of Scorchplume mingling with her thoughts of Hui-che and this mysterious “rotting magic touching.”

[babsworlds]

MY HERO.

pairing. Dave Lizewski x fem! reader

synopsis. Dave saves you from monster.

warnings. spider, arachnophobia, spider murder, no use of y/n.

YOUR BIGGEST FEAR WERE SPIDERS. You were chronically afraid of them, and just the sight of one would send you into a panic. It was summertime, and these eight-legged monsters seemed to be everywhere, making it even harder for you to relax.

One evening, you and your boyfriend Dave had a sleepover. With your parents away, you could finally enjoy some quality time together in the empty house.

You and Dave attempted to cook your favorite pasta for dinner. Well, you cooked while Dave caused chaos, making you laugh with his antics.

As you stood by the stove, mixing the pasta, Dave stood behind you, giving your bare neck light kisses. You chuckled, feeling the warmth of his affection.

Placing your palm on his cheek, you asked, “Can you get me a hoodie from my room?” Dave smiled, nodding as he headed off to fetch it for you.

He went upstairs, leaving you to enjoy the moment, singing your favorite song as you casually mixed the meal. The evening felt perfect, filled with laughter and love.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a small spider crawling on the floor. To you, it looked enormous. Panic surged through you, and you froze, unable to move. Your heart raced, and without thinking, you jumped onto the kitchen island, tears streaming down your face as you cried hysterically.

The fear was overwhelming, and all you could do was hope that Dave would come back soon to save you from the terrifying creature.

“Baby, why are you—” Dave started to ask, but his voice trailed off as he saw you pointing frantically at the floor.

“S-spider,” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with fear.

“Oh fuck!” Dave screamed, jumping on the couch. Unfortunately, your boyfriend was scared of spiders too.

“Dave, please do something with it!” you cried, your voice trembling with fear.

"What if it bites me!" Dave screamed, reluctantly getting down from the couch.

"You won't become Spider-Man!" you yelled back, trying to inject some humor into the tense situation.

"Just tell me what to do!" Dave looked at you, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination.

"Okay, okay," you said, trying to calm yourself down and think clearly. "Just grab the insect spray and spray it."

Dave nodded, taking a deep breath as he slowly backed away to the cabinet where you kept the insect spray. His hands trembled slightly as he rummaged through the items, finally finding the can. He looked at you for reassurance, and you gave him an encouraging nod.

"Alright, I can do it," Dave muttered to himself. He approached the spider cautiously, holding the spray can at arm's length. With a shaky hand, he aimed the nozzle and pressed down, sending a burst of spray towards the spider.

The spider recoiled, its legs twitching as it was hit by the spray. Dave kept his focus, giving it a few more quick bursts to ensure it was fully covered. He stepped back, watching the spider as it slowly stopped moving.

Then he took the tissue and carefully grabbed the spider with it, tossing it into the trash. He had saved you. Again. You remained on the kitchen island, still shaken from the encounter. Dave offered his hand to help you down. You gratefully took it and jumped into his arms. His embrace was strong, his hands gently resting on your ass as he held you securely.

"Thank you," you smirked, your eyes meeting his. "You're my hero."

Dave smiled, his heart swelling with love and pride. "Always here to save you," he replied, giving you a playful squeeze. His embrace and the strength of his presence made you feel safe and cherished.

“You saved me from the awful creature, Mister Lizewski,” you said with a playful smirk, your breath mingling with his.

Dave chuckled, his eyes sparkling with affection. “I would do everything for you, my lady,” he replied, drawing you closer. The warmth of his breath and his strong, muscular arms made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

"I love you," he said, his eyes locked onto your lips, filled with a hunger for your touch.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice soft and sincere.

Dave leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. His tongue gently explored, intertwining with yours in a dance of desire and affection. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that moment of pure connection.

In the end, Dave was the only hero you needed. His presence, his love, and his unwavering support made everything feel right.

[girlnadian]

i seriously cannot stop thinking about theo and ken just take it. some off screen moments for them

786 words // divider

Theo is a large, solid weight against the line of Ken's back, pressed close with one hand around Ken's bicep and the other holding a netherite sword just above their tail. He's still huffing angrily as they pass through the walls around the base, avoiding Wardens and Elder Guardians as they go. It's really not a great build, Ken thinks—he's not sure why Wemmbu was so surprised it didn't work.

Ken's feet hit the water with a harmless splash. Theo is right behind them as soon as they crawl out of the water, but his shoulders have visibly deflated. He doesn't make any move to round up his "hostage" again. Ken tries not to snicker.

"I didn't mean any of that," Theo says, not-quite apologetic but just a bit guilty. "You can leave."

Ken fails. They snort, leaning forward to look up at Theo under the barrier of his helmet. "Really? I'm not pretty enough to be a hostage anymore?"

Theo places a hand on Ken's forehead and shoves them away. It's with more force than Ken was expecting, but they manage to stay upright even if they stumble and yelp.

"Knock it off," Theo says. "I'm trying to be nice!"

"I was having fun, though," Ken pouts, and then dodges another shove towards their face. "You made me get naked and now you're telling me to leave?"

"Dude."

"Alright, alright," not that Ken's actually worried about Theo's reaction, but he is about to go into a fight—assuming Wemmbu shows up, that is. Ken wouldn't be that surprised if he didn't, threat on Ken's life or not. Either way, it's probably better not to distract Theo too much. Instead, Ken busies themself with strapping on their armor and getting their elytra over their shoulders. Theo watches passively. Ken reaches over again to pinch his cheek.

"Don't die," they say kindly. Theo pulls a face like he's offended, but Ken launches into the air before he can get a word in.

They stick around. Theo is good enough at PvP to not get himself killed, Ken knows that, but that doesn't mean they aren't curious about what will happen. They hunker down in a hastily made shack, far enough away that they're reasonably sure the fight won't carry over here but nearby enough that they should be able to catch Theo leaving, assuming he leaves in the same direction he came from. It must be a long fight, though, because by the time Ken hears that tell-tale sound of rockets, they're dozing off against one of their shulkers.

Feet hit the ground right outside the door. Theo bursts in at the same time that Ken yawns.

"You don't look like you won," they observe. Theo's armor is banged up, but he doesn't look too bad… He's not bleeding profusely, anyway. Theo's proud, though, bordering on egotistical—if he had won, he'd be swaggering around like a mafia don. That's too bad.

Theo doesn't respond, just stumbles over and starts digging through the shulker Ken had previously been draped over. Ken lets him, tail idly swaying in the air behind them; they put it out for Theo, anyway. He digs out golden apples, a few bottles of enchanting, ender pearls—anything he's low on—and then promptly falls back on his ass so they're both sitting on the floor.

"Sorry for taking you hostage," Theo says.

"You apologized for that already."

"No, I didn't."

Once more, Ken reaches over, gently digging his claws into one of Theo's headwings until the avian twists and flutters. "You apologized enough. I could tell. It's fine, Wemmbu also threatened to kill me. Unlike you, he probably would have."

"He did?" Theo sounds a bit miserable. Ken shrugs.

They lapse into silence. Ken settles back into their spot and allows Theo to lick his wounds in peace. They're not good enough with people to know what Theo's thinking, but they could wager a guess, maybe: for people like Theo, it's always about strength. The Farlands are long behind them, and Ken thinks much more highly of Theo now than they ever could have imagined they would a few months ago, but Theo has been, is, and always will be a warrior at heart. Losing was probably a bigger blow than any mace hit.

Ken could never understand it, though. They think about Wemmbu insisting their base stay in the same spot. The pursuit of strength and sentimentality lead people to irrational places so fast.

"Thanks for listening to me," Ken says, "about not dying, I mean."

Theo's body untenses, just a little, wings hitting the floor with a dull thump where they had previously been rigid in the air. "Sure, no problem."

Ken will take it.