#infinite uncertainty

[epicdogymoment]

honestly im just not bothering w the aro label as a convenience thing but how Convenient can it be when nobody is interesteddddddd <- untrue. there was that one person in primary school. who i realised i only hung out with as a friendship of convenience thing. sorry <- useless apology. she moved overseas. a long time ago. like nods yeah aphobic of me to stick w amatonormativity as the default as long as ive never entered a "Real" romantic or sexual rship. but also like. idk. check back with me in 5 years. 10 years.

[dmitriene]

cw: baby fever, breeding, everything is emotional.

simon riley never discussed a possibility of having a baby with you, and you kept silent either, knowing that the whole family thing is hard to him, both to think about and try to accommodate to, wrap and build it up, and even if he allowed to feel the craving to start a family, take risks and give a new life together, which will rely and depend on both him and you, he'd keep it encased, in his heart, behind a chain mail.

some guy, a former soldier under his lieutenant leadership, a young guy full of future and hope, invited you both to the sip and see party to meet his and his wifey's newborn girl, simon saved him, once, not attaching any importance to it, because for him, it was a matter of his service, but he didn't know that if the boy wasn't been so lucky to have someone who will have time to drag him to the side before the bullet hits him, he would never have known in his life that his wife was pregnant.

that's why you're both here, standing in the spacious, cozy living room, a table with some homemade appetizers and some easy beverages in the corner to your right, the baby crib standing on forgotten, because currently, the little, dovey girl are held in the soothing hands of her momma, rocked side to side, even though she's calm and giggly, looking around the blurry of curious, smiling faces of the people you don't know, but sense that they are a close one to the family, as you continue to watch.

simon is calm, as much as possible, none of the guests look at him as if he's some creep, which helps to create a favorable atmosphere in advance, but he's still out of his skin, a raw nerve, being invited to an event like that, standing beside you with his heavy hand tucking you close, draped around the slope of your waist, and the touch feels like a loose attempt to anchor himself in the moment, as if knowing, that without fail, you would help him, and you do, rubbing a soothing caress over his already paling knuckles.

he felt obliged to come and support the poor guy who was so infinitely grateful to him, so easily decided to invite him into his family, to show him his child, whom he was able to see and will be able to raise only because simon saved him then, smiled understandingly and warmly when he refused to get too close, to try and hold the newborn, although the nervous tremor in his scarred hands was uncontained, as was the slight glint of deep lodged uncertainty in his copper amber eyes.

little by little, the guests begin to talk to each other, mostly with the mother, sitting down on the big sofa in the middle and around, asking easy, curious questions and sharing endless congratulations, leaving the father with the child, he holds her carefully, kisses the top of her head and smiles brightly in response to her deciphered babbles, before he moves, heading towards the kitchen, near you before stopping, almost shifting from foot to foot before looking at simon, stretching out his arms along with the baby.

simon is confused, gazes down to meet the wide, curious eyes of the little girl, her lips pouty as she babbles something giddy and gasps some random sounds, and his eyebrows knit, almost menacingly, with his jaw working along the instinctive clench, yet, the guy doesn't backs away, smiling calmly, murmuring that he has to leave to the kitchen for a couple of minutes, and does not want to interfere with his wife's conversation, so he asks for a small favor, to hold the baby, as she already reaches out with a grabby fists, leaving no other chance.

that's when everything seems to change course, like a jammed hand on a clock, when he takes her in his arms, and she settles in the crook of his elbow, over the twiney muscle that is wound tight from his wrist to his bicep, sinewy, sculpted out of steel and made to break, yet, the little pea lays there as if on feather cushion, curled, glancing up through her long, fluttering lashes, smiling toothlessly up, and you both seem to be blinded out.

meeting each other's eyes, only to see the same kaleidoscope of unnamed emotions reflected upon you in simon's widened eyes, wavering, blinking rapidly over something he can't even comprehend, looking back down, and his scarred hand moves to thumb over the round tummy of the baby girl in his arms, coming up her pinky, full cheeks, marveling at the smoothness of her milk smelling skin, as she giggles to him, pleased and happy, in his arms.

it's overwhelming, out of a sudden, the want, untamed need, to see simon holding a baby that would be yours, to wake up in the morning to her babbles coming out of the crib, with her tiny body curled against his ample chest, sleeping in the protective circle of his scarred, roughened hands, with you leaning over from his side, cradled as close, cooing at her and then seeing the pooling, sun resembling warmth in his crinkled eyes, blanketing over you both.

the drive back home goes hand in hand, grip tight around each other's fingers, as you look out in the window, lost in the unexpected, but somehow welcomed fantasies of the future you didn't knew was that appealing, but you hesitate to voice it out, the images that flash in before your eyes, the clench you feel deep in your gut, something pulling, pooling, reminding of itself with wetness that seeps in through your panties, and even then, you keep silent.

getting back in the house, taking off shoes, outerwear, going further inside, out of the narrow hallway and into the living room, spinning around and letting simon follow you, press up against your back with hands that curl around your waist and sweep over to your stomach, stubble tickling jaw nuzzles in the back of your neck, searing breath stuttering, lips vibrating over a growl that makes you gasp and tumble his name as a needy, shattering, trembling whisper.

you should discuss it better than this, sit and talk, weight it all, but there's a fever, an unbearable pull that makes his fingers rip off your clothes, splay you down and over the cold, rumpled linen beneath your bowing, snapping back, a whisper, plea, coming from his chapped, bitten lips as a rumbled question, to let him get you full, tonight, pump his cum in, with pushing, working thrusts in the gripping, tight clutch of your needy, weeping cunt, and you agree.

between the wide open thighs, supple skin tingling with bruises and muscles cramping, cunt pulsing, gaping around simon's battering movements, rocking back and then ramming in, plunging back the escaping globs of cum your cunt tries to waste out, too full to hold in more of his warm seed, but your hips roll to coerce him deeper, indulging in every inch, pleading, moaning, sobbing, falling in note with his gravelly, wrecked vows to make you pregnant.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP idea: To Be Human Again

Danny had not been human for a long time. His home dimension had long since fallen. He lost his friends and family to old age, watched their descendants rise and fall in the same way, and witnessed his Earth come to an end.

When the cosmos erupted and took the solar system he knew and loved, Danny was oddly at peace with the end. He was no longer a Halfa but a full Spirit of the Stars. Solar flares ran through his veins rather than blood, stardust decorated his skin in gently kissed freckles, and his eyes held the swirling clouds of the cosmos.

Danny had not become a ghost. He had transformed into an Ancient, commanding the prophecies, fates, and endless opportunities that all living beings could experience in their lifetimes.

He flouted through his domain, witnessing battles between Lords of Choas and Order. Planets gain life and break apart. Endless time stretching from the graveities he weaves to flouting stones.

As time passes, his name begins to fade into legends and myths, and even the ghosts that once battled with him forget their time together. They, too, can age at a much slower rate, but change comes for them. He is present for Box Lunch's birth, but when he leaves to create light in the darkness, he misses her growing up. When he returns, Box Lunch does not know him, trembling in place as she bows low like her parents.

He stares at her, wondering what he found wrong with her, until he realizes she is a young adult. Were it not for his once evil timeline, he wouldn't have known her child form. He had missed it.

His gaze falls onto the much older pair of ghosts who call him by his new title. Neither Box Ghost nor Lunch Lady show any signs of remembering his name. They greet him with his title, and act as if though that is his identifier.

How many eons had it been since he last heard someone call him Phantom? Or even Danny?

"Lord Star Weaver?" Box Lunch stammers when the giant being only continues to stare. "Is something the matter?"

"Hmm," he considers her question, wondering if his realizations upset him. It's not that he was lonely or that he missed the sound of his name. But he has spent eons in a haze focusing on his work, and now it's almost as if he was waking from a dream.

Dreams....what did those feel like again?

"Tell me, Box Lunch, are there any portals to any living Earths?" His voice booms over the Realms, echoing as if they were a part of him. Maybe they were.

Danny had not sat on his throne since his elder sister breathed her last, but he still remembered the way the Infinite Realms changed on his whims. It's where he learned to weave stars. The young woman's ghost looked startled before she gestured vaguely to a path behind her.

"Yes, sir. I regularly use the anchored portal to visit the local Earth. It's where my father was born before his death."

Danny looks down at Box Ghost before leaning toward Box Lunch's height. She is no bigger than his pupils, and she seems frozen in terror as his eyes glow with hunger. "Show me," he says.

Her parents make strangling noises, but they wouldn't dare speak against the King and Ancient of creation. They send their daughter worried tight smiles but encourage her to lead the Star Waver to the portal.

She flights for a solid hour, his large form sending every ghost into hiding as he passes. Despite not having a living heart, he knows that it beats a mile a minute within her chest as her glow flickers in uncertainty.

They arrive at the portal, a swirling green pool resting in the open mouth of a mechanical jester. Danny thinks it looks like the building of an amusement park. He remember going to one once with Sam. This had been the Funhouse, filled to the brim with trick mirrors.

The memory causes him to smile.

Lunch Box nervously moves her hands one after another, bowing at the waist and stepping to the side so Danny can consider the portal. He is much larger than the building and doubts his foot would fit inside the portal.

He should change his form.

"Here it is, Lord Star Weaver, the portal to the human-AGHHHH!" Box Lunch's words fade into a scream as two bright rings of light form around the Ancient. Fearing she had offended the being and he was planning on retaliating, she flings herself to the ground before the portal, begging for her existence.

"I will do anything!" She cries, head pressing against the glowing green stone underneath her. "Mercy, please, Lord Star Weaver."

"Anything? Then you shall be my guide in the new Earth, " a human voice says. Shocked, she raises her head only to see that the Ancient has vanished and that a human teenager with soft fluffy hair, big baby blue eyes, and the most innocent demeanor is staring back at her.

Were it not for the soul she could feel carefully folded up inside him, she would have thought him a human who stumbled through the portal.

"My....Lord?" she dares to ask, and she's rewarded with a soft smile. Honestly, the human body the Star Weaver has chosen is an odd one. It looks like a strong gust of wind could knock him over.

"Yes. Where does this portal lead?"

"Gotham," She shutters out, "The city within the United States of Earth. This portal is in te middle of a human outlaw named Joker, but humans there aren't able to see us very well so he never bothers me."

"Gotham" Danny rolls the name on his human tongue, tasting it as the sound vibrates through his bones and his heart. It's been so long since he last felt this alive, and if that was what the name could do, who knows what the city could bring him. "What a wonderful place to get lost in, don't you agree, big sister?"

"Um...I beg your pardon?" Lunch Box blinks, but he shifts her fate with a snap of his fingers. Since she had never been alive, having been a Realms born, Danny has control of her guiding star. He moved it for one that belonged to a version of herself born in the human world.

Lunch Box's body shifts into flesh and blood. Her draw drops as she stares at her human hands. Danny grins. "I'm Danny Fenotn, moving to Gotham with my older sister. Adopted, of course. Who might you be?"

She looks at him with horror and heartbreak, but what leaves her mouth is only three words: "I'm Della Fenton."

"Della." He repeats the name, nodding his head and smiling. "It's lovely."

"It was my mother's Earth name before her death, " she says in a daze, and Danny smiles, striding into the portal without a second glance.

"Come on, Della, I want to see our new home."

He steps into the portal, while she can only look out over the Realms that no longer whisper and speak to her. How could it? She was no longer a ghost. She silently apologizes to her parents, who would likely be waiting at their haunt for her, and turns away from the only home she's ever known.

She can not afford to anger the Star Weaver. If he can breathe life into her with a mere snap of her fingers, she fears what he can do to take it away.

On the other side of the portal Della finds that her King has been caught by humans, who have tied him up to a chair and a snickering clown waved a knife in his face.

His gentle smile did not leave his face even as the Joker sliced two thin lines on his cheek.

"Della" Danny calls never taking his eyes off the clown. "Is this the outlaw you spoke of?"

Human goons swarm her. She is shocked to find that they can touch her as she is thrown on the ground, only to remember she is now human. The dull ache in her chin is her new reality.

"Yes. That's the Joker," She says after getting her wits about her. One of the goons presses the heel of his foot on top of her head, slamming her back to the ground and breaking her nose. A scatter of snickers echoes through the room as Joker loudly cackles.

"That's right, little boy. I'm the Joker, and this is my Fun House. What were you two doing sneaking about here uninvited?"

There are teeth in the Star Weaver's answer, and she shivers in place, wondering how she will survive him. "Oh, I just felt like star gazing. Say, did you know your guiding star is becoming dim?"

[yappacadaver]

god i lvoe them so much... rayumi...

[itelya]

synopsis: you have insecurities and your loving boyfriend comforts you

character [separate]: Nanami Kento x reader, Gojo Satoru x reader, Suguru Geto x reader, Toji Fushiguro x reader, Sukuna Ryomen x reader, Choso Kamo x reader, Megumi Fushiguro x reader, Yuji Itadori x reader. (fem!)

warning: complex about weight, face, stretch marks, pimples, ass, boobs, nose, thighs and too much love! (rare mention of Y/N)

words: 4550.

Kento N.

You stand in front of the mirror in your and Kento’s bedroom, staring at your reflection with a disgusted look. Your eyes linger on the curves of your body, scrutinizing every detail, hoping that something can change. You run a hand over your stomach, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “If only I were thinner…” you think, a feeling of frustration rising in you, tears threatening to fall.

The bedroom door opens slowly. Kento enters, a small smile on his lips, but he stops as soon as he sees your expression. He knows you by heart, and he immediately senses that something is wrong. Slowly, he approaches you, his gaze filled with softness, as if he wants to wrap you in a cocoon of comfort.

“You know that you are beautiful, right?” he says, his voice low, full of tenderness, but also of certainty.

You turn your head slightly, surprised to see him. His eyes stare at you with such sincerity, but your heart remains heavy. “You don’t understand, Kento. I… I feel… so bad. I can’t get rid of this. I hate my body.” Your voice trembles, marked by uncertainty and sadness.

He moves closer, and without a word, he stands behind you. His hands gently rest on your stomach, and he looks at you through the mirror, his gaze filled with love and understanding. He gently caresses your skin, as if to soothe your anxieties.

“I love you just the way you are,” he whispers, his voice soft, but firm. “No matter the curves, no matter the weight. What matters is you, the soul that hides behind this body.”

The tears threatening to fall stop for a moment, your eyes filling with tears of gratitude. His words, his gestures, everything about him surrounds you with infinite tenderness. You lower your eyes, drowning in his words.

Kento turns you around and gently takes your chin to force you to look him in the eyes. His gaze is so intense, so gentle, that you feel instantly soothed. His eyes shine with love, and you could melt in his gaze like butter.

“You are perfect for me,” he says, his voice resonating in your heart. “You don’t need to look like any standard to be beautiful. Beauty lies in what you really are.”

A small shy smile appears on your lips, a slight weight leaving your heart. Even if your complexes were not going to disappear overnight, Kento gave you the strength to face them. He gave you the strength to be yourself, fully, without needing to change anything.

“Thank you, Kento,” you whisper, your eyes shining with gratitude. “You’re right. It’s time I started accepting myself as I am.”

He smiles, a tender smile that melts your heart, and without another word, he gently embraces you. His muscular arms close around you with infinite tenderness, holding you against him, protecting you, offering you all his love. Then he kisses you, a soft kiss, full of promises and sweetness.

“And I will always be there to remind you how incredible you are,” he murmurs against your lips, before holding you even closer to him. His arms give you a feeling of absolute safety, as if nothing could ever harm you.

In his arms, you feel both strong and vulnerable, but above all, you feel loved. And with him, you know that you will eventually learn to accept yourself as you are.

Gojo S.

You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, arms crossed around your chest as if to hide from your own judgment. A sigh escapes your lips, heavy and laden with an old insecurity that refuses to leave you. You put on a tight black dress, bought on impulse, encouraged by your friends. But now, alone under your sad gaze, you wonder if you didn't make a mistake.

A light knock hits the door, making you jump.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" Satoru Gojo's amused voice echoes from the other side. "You left to get ready ages ago. If you wanted to make me impatient, you succeeded. I already miss you, you know."

You bite your lip. Of course, he's joking, as always. But just the idea that he could look at you and... notice, paralyzes you. “I… I’m coming, give me a second,” you answer in a shaky voice that you hoped would be firm.

A moment of silence falls before you hear the creak of the door opening slowly. “Can I come in? I promise, I’ll close my eyes,” he says, although you know full well that he hasn’t. You know him well, too well.

“No, stay outside!” you protest, but it’s too late. He’s already slipped his head into the frame, a mischievous smile lighting up his face. Normally, he would melt you but he makes you uncomfortable at this moment.

“Well, good evening, beautiful…” he says, his blue eyes shining with tenderness behind his glasses. However, his smile fades slightly when he notices your discomfort.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asks, this time without any hint of mockery. He opens the door a little wider and enters, leaning against the wall.

You look away, nervously playing with your fingers. “It’s… that dress. I shouldn’t wear it. It doesn’t fit me.”

He frowns, clearly puzzled. “Why do you say that? It fits you perfectly. You look beautiful, babe.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you whisper. “She.. she.. nothing, forget it. I’m going to change.”

He tilts his head slightly, curious. “No no no. Tell me what’s wrong. You know I don’t like it when you do.” You gesture vaguely to your chest, feeling your cheeks burn. “I.. that. They’re… too small. It looks ridiculous in a dress like that.”

A silence follows your words, but it’s not awkward. It’s more of a suspended moment, where Satoru looks at you with this disarming intensity that makes your heart beat faster. Then, he bursts out laughing.

“Are you serious? Y/N, are you telling me that you’re worried about this?” You glare at him. “Stop laughing, Satoru, I’m serious!”

He raises his hands in surrender, although an amused smile still dances on his lips. “Okay, sorry. But… you have no idea how gorgeous you are, do you?”

You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “Gojo…”

“No, listen to me.” This time, his tone is more serious. “You know what I see when I look at you? I see a confident, funny, intelligent, and yes sexy woman. I think you’re perfect even if you have small breasts like you’re implying.”

Your cheeks heat up under the intensity of his gaze, and you lower your eyes, embarrassed. “You say that to reassure me.” He approaches slowly, placing his hands on your shoulders. “No, I say that because it’s true.”

His fingers slide up to your chin to gently lift your face. His blue eyes, as captivating as a cloudless sky, are fixed on yours. “You’re so beautiful. If anyone thinks otherwise, they’ll have to deal with me. But honestly, who would dare criticize a queen? My queen? Mine.” He smiles softly and laughs lightly.

A laugh escapes you in spite of yourself, and you shake your head. “You’re so.. I don’t know actually.”

“Are you losing your words, baby?” You roll your eyes, but a shy smile lights up your face. “Maybe yes but thank you, Gojo.”

“You’re welcome. Now, stop hiding. This dress is beautiful, and you, even more so. Come on, come on.”

He holds out his hand to you, his smile bright as always, but this time, there seems to be a silent promise in his gestures: that of seeing you as he sees you, today and always.

Geto S.

The soft light of the late afternoon sun gently seeps into your apartment, wrapping every corner in a comforting warmth. You’re sitting down, your phone in your hands. Your gaze lingers on the photos scrolling past, perfect faces, fine noses, so harmonious. With every comparison, your heart tightens a little more.

In the kitchen, Geto is cooking quietly, preparing dinner. But even as he focuses on his task, he can’t ignore your unusual silence or the subtle sadness that seems to hover around you.

He sets down the knife he’s holding and approaches you. In a few steps, he’s in front of you, crouching to catch your gaze.

“Hey, you okay, baby?” he murmurs softly.

You startle slightly, surprised, before placing your phone face down on the coffee table. “Yeah… I’m fine,” you reply, but your voice utterly lacks conviction.

He tilts his head to the side, a small smirk on his lips. “You know I’m not going to believe that, right?” You look away, a sigh escaping your lips. “It’s nothing, Geto. Just… a stupid thing.”

“Nothing that bothers you is stupid,” he replies, sitting down beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, gently pulling you close and smiling at you. “Come on, tell me.”

You hesitate, nervously fidgeting with a crease in your pants. Finally, you murmur, “My nose.”

He blinks, surprised. “Your nose?”

“Yes, my nose,” you repeat, your voice trembling. “It’s too big, too… weird. Sometimes I feel like it’s all people notice. I feel like it ruins my face…”

A silence settles, but it’s not heavy. Geto looks at you with infinite tenderness, his fingers slipping into your hair to comfort you.

“Do you want to know what I think when I look at your nose?” he murmurs at last. You nod slightly, unable to meet his eyes.

“I think he’s perfect. Because it’s yours.” Your eyes timidly rise to meet his, your cheeks burning under the intensity of his gaze.

“Listen to me,” he continues. “I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t feel that way, because it’s normal to have doubts. But I want you to understand something: your nose is part of what makes you unique. It gives character to your face, and it’s that face that I love, more and more every single day.”

He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, so soft that your eyes instinctively close.

“And you know what else?” he adds with a playful smile. “This nose, I find it so adorable that I could spend my whole life kissing it.”

“Stop,” you protest with a quiet laugh, your cheeks now on fire. “No,” he retorts, placing another kiss, then another, until you burst out laughing. “I’m dead serious.”

You snuggle into him, burying your face in his neck to hide your smile. “You’re insufferable, Geto.”

“Maybe. But for you, I’ll happily stay insufferable,” he replies, gently running his fingers through your hair. “Because I love you. All of you. And your nose, my dear, is part of the package.”

A sigh escapes you, but this time it’s one of relief. His words settle in your heart, dispelling your insecurities like clouds under the sun.

“Thank you,” you murmur against his skin, your voice trembling with emotion.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers, his warm breath brushing your ear. “But remember, I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it.”

And in his arms, cradled by the golden evening light and his reassuring words, you feel your insecurity fade away. In that moment, you realize that in his eyes, you are already perfect. In your own way.

Toji F.

The morning light gently bathes the room, making the atmosphere peaceful. You stand in front of the mirror, dressed in your favorite shorts and a loose tank top. You turn slightly, pulling on the fabric to examine your reflection from different angles. But with each glance, the same thought comes back to you: “My ass is not enough.”

You lightly pinch the skin of your hips, hoping to see something change. But nothing satisfies you. For a few days, this complex has been haunting you, and today, it’s even heavier.

The door opens abruptly, revealing Toji, shirtless, in jogging pants, a lazy and amused smile hanging on his lips. He holds a cup of coffee that he places on the dresser before leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe.

“So, what’s this scene? Are you casting for a fashion show or something?” he jokes, his tone mocking but tender.

You roll your eyes, sighing. “Toji, not now.” Intrigued, he enters the room, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. He walks over and stands behind you, his hands naturally coming to rest on your hips.

“Come on, tell me. You have that ‘I’m worrying too much about nothing’ face.”

You hesitate, biting your lip. Finally, reluctantly, you blurt out, “I think… my ass isn’t great.”

He stays silent, as if he needs a moment to digest your words. Then, a deep, low laugh echoes through the room. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his amused smile reflected in the mirror.

“Your ass? Seriously? Is that what you’re complaining about?”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Yeah, my ass. I think it’s too flat.” Not round enough, not… attractive enough.”

Toji arches an eyebrow, letting his large hands slide from your hips to your buttocks, grabbing them without any embarrassment. He pretends to think, lightly pressing the flesh with his thumbs. “Hmm… I would say that you are completely off the mark.”

You turn your head slightly to give him a skeptical look. “Toji, be serious.”

He leans forward a little, and his voice becomes softer, although a smile persists on his lips. “I am serious. Your ass is perfect. Like, really perfect. Not too much, not too little. Just the way I like it. And believe me, I know what I am talking about.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words, even if you can’t help but sigh. He is unbearable, but you know that he is always honest.

He straightens up slightly, pats your behind with a familiar and slightly redneck gesture, but strangely reassuring. “Listen, you don’t need an Insta-model ass to please me. You’re you, and I’m totally fine with that.”

He spins you around so you’re facing him, his big hands still on your hips. “Seriously, if anyone tells you your ass isn’t good enough, tell me who it is. I could do the opposite to him or her.”

You burst out laughing despite yourself, shaking your head. “Toji, you’re really annoying.”

“Maybe. But I’m your annoying boyfriend, and your ass is part of the reason I’m here,” he replies with a proud smile. He places a quick kiss on your forehead before walking away to grab his coffee cup.

As he leaves the room, he calls over his shoulder, “And next time you’re in doubt, remember that this is the ass approved by Toji, your wonderful boyfriend. And that’s the best seal of quality.”

You stand there for a moment, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. Turning back to the mirror, your gaze softens. Maybe he’s right. After all, if Toji, in all his brutal honesty, thinks it’s perfect… maybe you can start to believe him.

Sukuna R.

Sitting in front of your dressing table mirror, a sigh escapes your lips. The dim light in the room seems to amplify everything you hate about your reflection. Your fingers trace a faint scar on your cheek, an indelible reminder of a moment you’d rather forget. You lower your head, biting your bottom lip to hold back the wave of sadness rising within you. The mirror, once again tonight, is your judge, and you feel condemned.

A deep, mocking voice breaks the silence: “Are you going to keep sulking, or do you want me to smash that thing for you?”

Startled, you quickly lift your head. Your eyes meet Sukuna’s piercing gaze as he leans against the doorframe. His arms are crossed, and his teasing smirk makes it clear he’s enjoying your unease.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying to hide your discomfort.

“Me? I was waiting for you, but apparently, this mirror is more interesting than me,” he replies, stepping forward slowly, his imposing presence filling the room.

“It’s not that,” you murmur, averting your gaze. “I… I was just thinking.”

Sukuna stops behind you, leaning slightly to observe your reflection in the mirror. “Sure… You really think I’ll believe that? You look like you’re ready to fight yourself.”

You remain silent, your hands gripping the edge of the mirror. You know he won’t let it go. “I just feel… not good enough,” you finally admit, your voice barely audible.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, his expression hovering between annoyance and curiosity. His large hands settle on your shoulders, their warmth oddly reassuring despite his firm grip.

“Not good enough for what?” he asks, his tone calm but still sharp.

“For everything,” you finally exhale, your breath trembling. “All I see are the imperfections… the scars, the flaws… and I can’t figure out what you see in me.”

A heavy but not uncomfortable silence falls. Sukuna doesn’t respond immediately, letting your words linger in the air. Then, slowly, he leans down until his face is level with yours. Your eyes meet his in the mirror.

“Do you want to know what I see?” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. “I see someone strong enough to catch the attention of a king like me. Someone who didn’t run away from my worst sides. Those scars you hate? They’re proof you survived. Those ‘flaws’? They make you real. Unique.”

His fingers gently brush your cheek, tracing the faint scar you were staring at just moments ago. “You think I care about a perfect face? I could have a thousand perfect faces if I wanted. But you, you’re so much more than what you see in this damn mirror.”

Your throat tightens, your eyes burning with emotion. You’re not used to this kind of honesty from him. You turn slightly to look at him, finally letting your guard down.

“You’re rarely this kind, Sukuna. I could get used to it,” you say with a small smile, your voice a little lighter.

“Enjoy it. It doesn’t happen every day,” he replies with a toothy grin, though a soft glimmer lingers in his crimson eyes. “But listen to me: I won’t let anyone, not even you, put down the woman who shares my life. If you start criticizing yourself again, I swear I’ll smash that mirror.”

A light, genuine laugh escapes you. “I believe you would.”

“Of course I would,” he says, standing up straight, his usual arrogance returning. “Now stop wasting your time here. You’re way too beautiful to be sitting in front of a mirror.”

You nod, a comforting warmth replacing the weight you carried just moments ago. Sukuna, in all his bluntness and intensity, had just given you one of the most precious moments you’d ever experienced.

You take his outstretched hand, rising to follow him. Behind you, the mirror reflects the faint smile on your face, and for the first time in a long time, you find it almost beautiful.

Choso K.

The TV is playing a movie in the background, but you’re not really following the story. Slumped on the couch, in shorts and Choso’s t-shirt, you can’t focus on anything other than your thoughts. Choso, calm and relaxed, sits next to you, his arm casually resting on the back of the couch. His presence is soothing, as always, but tonight, you feel too lost in your own thoughts.

You look down at your thighs, slightly exposed by the shorts you’re wearing. They feel wide, too wide, for your taste. A wave of dissatisfaction rises in you, and you adjust your shorts to cover your thighs a little more.

“You’ve been doing this since earlier.” Choso’s soft voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He has turned his head towards you, his deep eyes fixed on you with a usual tenderness.

“Do what?” you ask, even though you know very well what he’s talking about. “Pull on your shorts.” Hide your thighs.” He tilts his head slightly, as if to study you more closely. “What’s wrong?”

You look away, embarrassed. “Nothing. It’s… It’s stupid.”

He shifts slightly, moving closer to you, and places a gentle hand on your thigh, just enough for you to feel its warmth. “If it bothers you, then it’s not stupid. Tell me.”

You sigh, hesitating for a moment before blurting it out. “My thighs. I find them… too big. They make me self-conscious. I know, it’s ridiculous, but I don’t like them right now...”

Choso looks at you for a moment in silence, and you worry that he’ll find your confession absurd. But instead, he slowly slides his hand over your thigh, in a reassuring gesture, and murmurs softly, “They’re perfect.”

You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Perfect? ​​You’re exaggerating.”

He shakes his head, a genuine smile on his lips. “I’m serious. You know, what I like about you is that everything about you seems… real. They’re not ‘too’ big. They’re exactly how they’re supposed to be.”

You blush, touched by his sincerity. “You’re just saying that to please me.”

He lifts his hand to gently brush your face, his gaze fixed on yours. “No, I say that because it’s true. Every time I see you, everything about you seems beautiful. And your thighs?” He pats one of them gently, his smile widening slightly. “They’re the most comfortable place in the world. Do you realize how many times I rest my head on them when we watch a movie?”

You burst out laughing despite yourself, unable to keep a straight face in the face of his soft but teasing tone. “You’re so cute, you know that?”

He shrugs. “If it makes you smile, then that’s fine with me.” Then he gently pulls you against him, wrapping you in a warm and secure embrace. “Stop hurting yourself with thoughts like that. You’re beautiful, always. You’re my wonderful girlfriend.”

You snuggle against him, a peaceful smile on your lips. With Choso, your complex seems less heavy, as if it fades under his sincere love. You love him so much.

Megumi F.

The morning dawned with an almost surreal softness. You stretched under the covers, then went to the bathroom to start your daily routine. But that morning, a small big detail made you jump.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, and your heart grew heavy when you saw several pimples on your face. You bit your lip, annoyed, knowing full well that it would tarnish your mood during the day.

You gently rubbed the skin on your face, trying not to let frustration take over. This kind of morning, you were tired of seeing them appear without warning. With a sigh, you quickly got dressed and left the bathroom. You didn't really want to face Megumi in this state.

You entered the kitchen, where he was already making coffee, as usual. Megumi looked up at you, a calm but attentive gaze that never failed to make you feel special. But that morning, you didn’t feel like you were up to that gaze.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

Megumi said, without even needing to look at you completely, as if he knew exactly what was going on in your head. He knows you so well that it’s scary. His voice, soft but marked by a sincerity that he knew how to bring out well.

You looked down, embarrassed. “But look… at my pimples. They’re everywhere. It’s really ugly, don’t you think?”

Megumi looked at you and approached you. His hands, large but infinitely soft, delicately lifted your chin to force you to look at him. His face remained implacable, but his eyes were full of kindness.

“Do you really think it bothers me?” he asked, his voice cold but looking genuinely interested. “Imperfections are human. What matters is how you feel about yourself.”

You shrugged, your gaze avoiding Megumi’s. You couldn’t understand why these little imperfections made you feel so vulnerable. “I know,” you murmured, “but sometimes, I can’t accept it. And you deserve better than a girlfriend with pimples on her face.”

Megumi stared at you for a long time, then he gave a small smile, softer than anything you had ever seen from him. He took your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

“I’m with you for you, Y/N. Not for your perfect face, but for your heart and soul. And you know that very well. So, don’t worry about it. These little pimples don’t change anything for me.”

You felt a soft warmth spread through you, and a huge weight lift from your shoulders. Megumi, even with his cold nature, always knew exactly how to comfort you.

“Thank you, Megumi,” you said, a shy smile playing on your lips. He gently pulled you towards him, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Always. I’ll remind you every morning, I’ll make it part of my routine.” You chuckled and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, realizing that no matter the imperfections, you had found someone who accepted you as you were, without judgment. You felt completely at peace with yourself.

“Come on. Let’s have breakfast.”

Megumi said, his voice still soft but firm, and he guided you to the table, ready to share a simple breakfast. And this morning, the pimples were nothing more than an insignificant detail compared to the love you had for each other.

Yuji I.

You take one last look in the mirror before leaving the bathroom, your gaze lost on the small stretch marks that mark your skin. For some time, they have been bothering you, but today, it is as if they are more visible than usual. You hate them, these marks. They remind you of times when you felt less beautiful, less up to par.

Suddenly, you hear a noise behind you. Yuji, in an awkward but kind gesture, enters the room, not really realizing your concentration on your reflection. He approaches, his arms wide open, ready to give you a hug.

“Hey babe, why don’t you come give me a hug instead of staring at this mirror?” he says, his voice warm and playful.

You hesitate for a moment, shame pricking you a little. You turn your body slightly, trying to hide your belly.

Yuji, always so attentive when it comes to you, notices your gesture. He approaches slowly, and with his bright smile, he places his hands on your hips.

“You know that you are perfect as you are, right?” He looks at you tenderly. “You are beautiful, you amaze me every moment. And these stretch marks, they represent you. They make you even more you. You are even more magnificent with them so don’t doubt yourself anymore. Okay?”

He pauses then smiles widely, adds: “Besides, I am convinced that if you leave them, they will end up becoming works of art. A bit like me with my scars after all these battles.”

You can’t help but smile when you hear his contagious laughter. Yuji has this talent of transforming awkward moments into bursts of laughter and sincere affection. He hugs you, and you feel the warmth of his support, this security that he offers you without even thinking.

“I love you as you are, with or without stretch marks. They don’t change the beauty I see in you.”

You let yourself go in his arms, your heart soothed, and for once, you no longer worry about your stretch marks. He has this power to make your doubts disappear and make everything so simple.

any opinion is appreciated! thanks for reading till the end 💗

pls note and reblog!

masterlist

requests: OPEN.

© 2025 itelya. All work belongs to @itelya. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Your Specialty (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer sees his significant other comforting a child and it makes him wonder. A/N: Written for my best friend on her birthday. Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader Category: Comfort Content Warning: Minor self-deprecation, implied difficult childhood, crying Word Count: 1k

MASTERLIST

Spencer loves you every day. There is never a doubt or a hesitation. With each glance, he finds something new to add to the ever-growing list of reasons why he is right to love you.

But there are some moments where even he, in his seemingly infinite wisdom, is unable to put into words the way he feels when it comes to you. In those moments, all he can do is silently soak in the unknowing.

It was a quiet moment, all things considered. There was no more bad guys to be caught, no more bloodshed to be had. Still, there were tears, as there usually were when you were around.

It wasn’t your fault. You just have a way about you that makes people feel… loved. Sometimes for the first time.

Spencer peers through his open office door to find you. You are on your knees, eyes locked with the young boy standing in front of you.

His small body shakes with incoherent sobs. He is held steady only by your gentle hands cupping his face. Despite the sight, you are smiling. A calm, subtle curve that holds him up in another way.

From where he is, Spencer can’t hear your words. But he can still feel the relief. He finds himself mirroring you both, with deep inhales fighting against the knot his throat. The air comes out warm and trembling.

In that moment, as he watches you comfort something small, he is a little boy again. He is the one lifting his arms in a silent request to be loved in a simple way.

And he can feel it. He feels your arms as they wrap around the little boy and lift him gently from the ground.

The feeling is almost too much, but he doesn’t look away. He watches and waits patiently for you to let the little boy go.

He waits for you to notice, to quickly come to him before your own trembling hands are noticed by the boy being carried away to what Spencer still hopes will be a happily ever after.

Spencer watches you the entire time. His own mind races, struggling still to find words to explain the feeling in his chest.

He’d almost gotten it when you interrupt the thought with a laugh.

“What is it?” you ask.

Any eloquence vanishes and is replaced with a stammer.

“You’re uh… you’re good at that,” he says. "Comforting kids."

Somehow, it sounds better than it did in his head.

Unbeknownst to the depths of the compliment, you glance over your shoulder to see the boy still watching you.

You recognize the same expression on your lover’s face.

“Kids are easy to love,” you answer.

He accepts your humility. He meets the modesty with his own typical self-deprecation.

“You should’ve seen me as a kid.”

Beneath the words, you hear the uncertainty. That stubborn, relentless fear that there is something rotten to be found in his heart.

You narrow your eyes as you inspect him. His shoulders square under your scrutiny. You look at him, carefully reviewing each wrinkle and freckle. You tilt your head to look at him in another way.

And you find nothing at all rotten.

“I would’ve liked that,” you tell him in earnest.

Emboldened, but still afraid, Spencer dares to take another step forward.

“What do you think you would’ve said?” he says like it’s a joke.

This time, your pause is a couple beats longer.

You look at the man in front of you and try to imagine him with teeth too big for a tiny frame. You imagine unruly curls and thick, crooked glasses perched over innocent eyes.

You look at the man you love and you see it. A small boy staring up at you in his oversized suit. Always trying to be both smaller and bigger than he was meant to be.

“I’d tell him,” you say, unsure of your own words, “that he’s strong and clever, and he shouldn’t have to try so hard to prove it to everyone.”

Spencer sucks in a breath that betrays his aloof demeanor. The words hit him like a swift blow to the stomach. But even with the pain, he hopes you’re not finished.

You’re not.

“I’d tell him that I know he’s trying his hardest, and sometimes things are bigger than us and…”

You bite your tongue to stop tears from welling. You breathe in sharply, reaching up to place both palms against his reddened cheeks. You laugh as they shift towards a goofy grin despite tears.

“I’d tell him that everything’s going to be okay,” you say confidently.

“Oh,” he chuckles; a sad but necessary sound.

"Yeah."

Gentle thumbs wipe each droplet that manages to spill from big golden brown eyes. The same as you had moments before, you catch what you can of his sadness and turn it to comforting warmth across his cheek.

Spencer bites his lip, looking down at your feet before daring to look at you again. Because when he does, he loses his breath and his sense once more.

“I, uh... I think he would’ve liked that,” he confesses.

“I know,” you whisper with a genuine remorse. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Spencer accepts the apology but refuses to stay in the past any longer.

“But you’re here now,” he says quickly.

“Yeah, I am,” you laugh in return. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”

But letting you go is the furthest thing from his mind. In fact, he pulls you closer until there is nothing but atoms between you. Strong arms embrace you and his clever words muffle against your hair.

“I wouldn’t even dare to try.”

Together, you settle into the silence. You share your warmth without restraint. Just two bodies swaying in a simple and symbiotic embrace. You enjoy the comfort, the company, the lack of need for words to describe it all.

And once you feel he’s had his fill, you sigh against his shirt.

“You know, I’m going to get through to that little boy eventually.”

Spencer halts his step as he starts to laugh.

“Is that a threat?” he asks.

Without moving from your place against him, you smile.

“Watch out, Dr. Reid,” you hum. “I’ve been told I’m good at this.”

Spencer accepts the warning with a smile.

“Yes," he chuckles. "Yes, you are.”

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

[thewertsearch]

KANAYA: Okay Then What Do We Do ROSE: Nothing yet. ROSE: But reasonably soon, within a certain window, it will be time to leave. ROSE: We will then pilot this meteor as fast as we can make it go in that exact direction. SOLLUX: what's that way? ROSE: Nothing whatsoever. ROSE: As of now, that way lies darkness and uncertainty beyond description. KANAYA: I See KANAYA: Then Perhaps We Should Reserve The Infinite Darkness Plan For The Maybe Column For Now

Rose, you're the funniest girl alive. We all know that that's where Jane's session is going to be, by the time you arrive - but you never miss an opportunity to screw with people, do you?

ROSE: […] if we leave exactly within the designated window and are able to travel at nearly the speed of light, the meteor will trace a route through the Furthest Ring which will topologically resolve as a straight line. ROSE: It will lead us directly to the new session. ROSE: For a brief moment, the sun will be visible from that session. ROSE: And we will be riding the chartreuse coattails of its photons. ARADIA: this is why you all needed an advanced seer! ARADIA: i have become familiar with the ways of the fabric out here but even i couldnt chart a journey that long or complex

The most favorable outcome for the party most assuredly involves arriving in Jane's session. Therefore, Rose doesn't need to navigate the Furthest Ring - she just needs to steer the meteor in the direction her powers tell her.

ROSE: If we were to head right now in the session's true physical direction, it wouldn't be long before we found ourselves traveling in just the opposite direction. ROSE: This is not even to speak of the chronological peculiarities. After traveling some distance, we could discover we were suddenly tailgating our own meteor from several days ago.

The sheer ease of time travel in the Homestuck universe never fails to amuse me. You can even do it accidentally!

ROSE: It takes precision and timing to reach your destination out here, and most importantly, the grace of the gods themselves.

And they're most certainly willing to provide that grace. We still don't really understand the motivations of the Horrorterrors, but all signs point to them wanting Lord English's head on a plate. They won't interfere with the mission.

KARKAT: I'M ALMOST AFRAID TO ASK, HOW LONG IS THIS TRIP GOING TO TAKE? KARKAT: PROBABLY SOME ABSOLUTELY PREPOSTEROUS AMOUNT OF TIME, LIKE THREE LONG MADDENING SWEEPS, RIGHT??? […] ROSE: Don't be ridiculous. It won't take nearly that long. KARKAT: OH ROSE: It'll only take about three years.

Funniest. Girl. Alive.

[musings-n-museums]

i don't know which one feels more like home. (the uncertainty or the chaos)

fireworks by jaedha godwin, pinterest // split by niki // post by @haykhighland (infinite thanks for letting me use your post // special by sza // images from pinterest // post-glacial by tori mccandless // "saga (i won't forget you when i'm gone)", andrei voznesensk - translated by @metamorphesque // split by niki // image from pinterest

[edettethegreat]

see there's one specific reading of hamlet that I need and adore, and am always looking for in any production

when hamlet's calling the ghost. by the line "I'll call thee Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane" (usually the "royal dane" part is cut from productions)-- I need each title to be said with increasing uncertainty and desparation

"I'll call thee Hamlet!"

"King!"

"...father?"

and when 'father' is said with infinite softness.

and 'father' is said with yearning and longing and grieving.

and hamlet is reaching out to his father, who is standing right in front of him and won't respond.

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (18/20)

So.... Are you guys ready for it??? Haha 😆

Remember that nothing is black and white! Feelings are complexes and and they don't always need a justification to be felt. okay?

And yes... our series is ending, so please, enjoy it <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: magic torture, attempt energy drain, fighting and angst. Proceed with caution.

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: After finding Wanda's whereabouts, the women fight and Lady Death decides to appear.

Love

The room seemed smaller each day. The walls, once familiar, were now invisible bars keeping you there, isolated, lost in endless, spiraling thoughts.

On the first day, your mind was restless. Wanda’s words hammered in your head, an infinite cycle of uncertainty and confusion. What was true? What was a lie?

You felt anger.

Not just toward them, but toward yourself for not being able to understand, for not knowing what to believe.

The echo of Wanda’s voice still vibrated in your mind. Every word she spoke was an open wound, bleeding doubt into you.

"They made you their little whore."

No, that didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. You knew them. You knew their touch, their heated gazes, the way they said your name.

It couldn’t be false.

But… what if it was?

You got up from the bed, pacing around the room like a caged animal. The cold floor beneath your bare feet was the only point of reality you had in that moment. You tried the doorknob, but it didn’t budge. Your heart pounded with a mix of desperation and irritation.

You knocked on the door, called for Wanda, demanded answers. But your voice echoed emptily in the room, unanswered.

The silence was the worst part.

Over time, your anger began to dissolve into something more dangerous. Something sticky, dense—madness turning into a poison that seeped through your mind.

"What if it’s true?"

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to hate Wanda. For planting those thoughts in your head. Believing that your mommies were the villains of this story was painful, but it seemed… obvious.

And yet, every time you closed your eyes, all you saw was Agatha adjusting the collar of your blouse, Rio patting your bottom to lull you to sleep.

If it was a lie, it was the best lie you’d ever lived.

Night came, and the room was dark, except for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. You curled up in bed, hugging your knees, feeling the cold creep into your skin.

You missed them.

And that hurt more than any doubt.

On the second day, anger turned into doubt.

"What if they’re doing all this to protect me?"

The question repeated itself, over and over, an insistent echo inside your chest. You tried to push it away, to throw it aside, but it always came back, crawling through the corners of your mind, taking up space among your already chaotic thoughts.

You wanted to hate them. Wanted to feel only betrayal. Wanted to cling to the simplest version of the story—the one where none of this happened. Where you were still in their mansion in Pacific Palisades, in their garden, in their kitchen, in their bed.

Disappointment dragged you down into the mattress, your stomach twisting with nervous nausea. You just wanted to forget. Forget them. But you couldn’t. Because even in disappointment, you still thought of them.

Still missed them.

The emptiness was a constant reminder. It was in your empty hands, once always intertwined with theirs. In your lips, which no longer knew who to call for. In your chest, which felt too small to contain the longing.

You forced yourself to eat some of the food Wanda had left in the room, but everything tasted bland. The food sat heavy in your stomach, as if your body rejected it. As if their absence had drained not only your will but even your most basic needs.

So, you tried to distract yourself.

Wandering the room, you touched objects, searching for something—anything—that could bring comfort. Your high school photos were still there.

And you smiled, remembering how horrible it was to wear braces, how weird you looked. Your trophies and first-place certificates from competitions and tournaments.

But none of it was enough. No happy memory could replace their warmth.

It wasn’t until nightfall, when the room was once again swallowed by darkness, that you realized what was really happening.

You weren’t just confused.

You were lost without them.

On the third day, you could no longer think.

Your body ached as if something was breaking inside you. Your breathing was weak, your lips chapped, and your skin, both hot and cold, burned like embers.

Something inside you was shattering.

It wasn’t just longing.

It was a deep desperation, an expanding void sucking everything around it. You trembled, an unbearable cold consuming you as your mind fixated on a single thought, a single obsession.

Them.

Their scent, the sound of their voices, the warmth of their touch.

Them.

You no longer knew where you ended and they began. No longer knew who you were without them. And deep down, you started to wonder if you even wanted to know.

Your cracked lips parted weakly, your voice nothing more than a whisper.

"Mommies..."

The plea escaped before you could stop it, almost unconscious. A hopeless call, floating in the empty air.

Then, the door opened.

Wanda rushed in, her gaze scanning the room urgently, her expression carrying the weight of someone who had anticipated trouble. But she wasn’t prepared for what she found.

The tray of food she had left untouched. The scent of sweat and fever in the air.

And you.

Curled up in bed, your eyes open yet unfocused, your breath shallow. Your body looked fragile, thinner, exhausted. You trembled, even beneath the covers. Wanda quickly approached, sitting beside you, her brows furrowed.

"You need to eat," she said, trying to keep patience in her voice.

But as she leaned in closer, as she really looked at you…

Her heart stopped.

She touched your forehead and felt the burning heat of fever. Your pupils were dilated, your lips trembled, and even in your delirium, your mouth kept moving, murmuring something faintly.

Wanda leaned in, trying to understand.

"Mama... mommy..."

That was all you could say.

A shiver ran down Wanda’s spine.

"Hey, look at me," she tried, pressing your cheek between her fingers, but you didn’t even react to her touch.

Your gaze wandered, lost, as if you were somewhere else.

"Wanda..." your voice came out weak, barely a breath. "Will they come back for me?"

The question hit her like a punch.

Wanda clenched her jaw.

"They’re not good for you," she said firmly, almost irritated.

Your eyes welled up, your chest tightening as if those words had truly hurt you. You curled up deeper into the sheets, your fingers clenching into trembling fists.

"But… I don’t know how to exist without them. I can’t—" The confession was a pained whisper.

Wanda remained silent.

She shut her eyes, analyzing you.

Something in the air, something in the very structure of your existence felt off to her.

She pressed two fingers against your wrist. Your pulse was erratic, weak, as if the very thread of your life was unraveling.

Panic began to creep in.

"It’s not possible…" she murmured to herself, her eyes widening in realization.

Her fingers trailed to your chest, where your heart beat faintly, shakily.

Bound.

They had bound your heart.

This wasn’t just any spell.

It was the Erebus Bond.

Wanda held her breath.

An ancient, forbidden spell. An unbreakable tie that intertwined someone’s essence with another’s.

And then, she saw it.

You, pale, fragile, calling for them.

Like before.

Panic flared inside Wanda.

They had done the impossible.

And now… you were paying the price.

[...]

The night in WestView was cold and silent—the kind of silence that precedes a storm.

And the storm came.

The front door exploded inward with a deafening crash, shards of wood flying through the air. Rio entered first, her presence radiating pure violence, her eyes burning with a predatory glow. Her hand still carried the trail of destructive magic she had used to clear the way.

Behind her, Agatha walked in with eerie calm, her heels striking the floor in a rhythmic cadence over the wreckage.

The house smelled of beer, sweat, and the past. A place that was never a home.

Never for you.

A scream echoed from the kitchen. Rushed footsteps. A figure emerged in the hallway.

Your father.

The years had given him wrinkles, but they had not erased the brutality in his eyes. The same brutality you knew. The same that shaped you.

"Who the hell are you?!" he growled, moving toward the dresser near the TV.

Rio tilted her head, a twisted smile on her lips.

"Oh. He grabbed a gun," she murmured to Agatha, almost amused.

The click of the shotgun echoed through the room, his hands steady on the grip, the barrel aimed directly at the two women.

"I don’t know who you are, but I suggest you get off my property before I—"

Before he could finish, Rio snapped her fingers.

The gun was ripped from his hands by an invisible force and crushed mid-air as if it were made of paper.

Your father barely had time to react before Rio flung him backward with a single gesture. He flew across the room like a ragdoll, colliding against the wall, knocking down frames and shelves as he crashed to the floor.

One of your brothers appeared at the top of the stairs, alarmed by the noise.

"What the fuck is—?!"

Agatha lazily raised a hand, and he was silenced in an instant. His feet lifted off the ground, his body arching into an impossible position, as if invisible hands were twisting him from the inside out.

"Where is she?" Agatha asked, her voice low, almost a whisper. But laced with steel.

Your father coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he tried to crawl away.

Rio kicked him hard in the chest, pinning him to the floor.

He gasped, spitting more blood. "I... I don’t know what—"

Rio crouched, her fingers dripping with green energy as they grazed his skin.

He screamed.

"Lying," she murmured, tilting her head like a predator analyzing its prey.

Another brother appeared at the doorway, wielding a knife. But before he could take a single step, Agatha closed her hand in the air.

He fell to his knees, eyes wide, his skin beginning to darken.

"Let’s try again," Agatha said, crouching beside your father, her eyes glowing with something cold and cruel. "Where is she?"

Your father coughed again, trying to laugh. "I don’t know who you’re talking about. But she sure as hell isn’t here…"

Agatha sighed, standing up slowly.

She looked at Rio.

"What a shame for you."

Rio smiled.

The house was still trembling with the remnants of magic when Rio finally released your father, letting him collapse onto the floor like a broken doll. He was still breathing—barely.

The green witch snapped her fingers, then your father and brothers were send to another place—to hell, maybe, to pay for everything they did to you.

Agatha took a few steps back, her eyes scanning the room, her brow furrowing in confusion. Something was wrong. Something didn’t fit.

"She was supposed to be here," she murmured.

Rio wiped her hands on her coat, still riding the adrenaline of violence, but Agatha’s tone made her pause.

"What is it?"

"I felt it. You did too. She was here. I could hear…" The witch bit her lip, her eyes closing for a moment. "Her heart… was here."

Rio frowned. Now that Agatha mentioned it…

She had felt it too.

A call, an echo of pain and despair. As if your presence was imprinted on the walls, in the shadows, in the heavy air of the house.

"But that makes no sense," Rio growled. "If she’s not here, how can we feel her so strongly?"

And then the answer came.

Sudden.

Cold.

Agatha gasped, her eyes widening as the truth revealed itself.

Wanda.

Wanda was manipulating their emotions.

Creating a false bond.

"That bitch…" Agatha murmured, her voice dripping with hatred. She looked at Rio, and for the first time that night, there was something in her eyes beyond cruelty.

Panic.

They were wasting time.

Your body was falling apart without them.

"We have to go. Now," Rio declared, already spinning on her heels, fists clenched.

The two exchanged a look.

There was no time to lose.

If they took any longer, you wouldn’t be alive for them to find you.

The streets were swallowed in an unsettling silence. The moon cast distorted shadows through the alleys, and every step Agatha and Rio took echoed through the empty city.

They were desperate, frustrated, and every second lost was a knife plunged deeper into their chests.

Then, Agatha saw you.

The world around her stopped.

You walked down the sidewalk with a woman at your side. The same shape of the eyes, the same curve of the smile.

Your mother.

Your eyes shone as you looked at her, and a soft smile adorned your lips. A smile Agatha knew well. A smile that belonged to her.

You looked… complete.

Her blood boiled.

She didn’t think. She didn’t rationalize. She just acted.

"You bitch!" Her voice cut through the night like a blade, filled with fury and something even more dangerous—jealousy.

The hatred was immediate, intense. A feeling that burned through every inch of her skin. Her heart roared in her chest, her steps turned rapid, wild, as she charged toward the woman at your side.

The same woman who abandoned you and forgot you, while all she did was love you.

How dare you?

How dare she be there, at your side, smiling, when you should be begging for her?

Agatha raised her hand, her magic seething at her fingertips, ready to tear that woman apart until nothing remained—

But a strong arm held her back.

"Agatha, stop!" Rio shouted firmly, using all her strength to keep her in place.

Agatha turned her face in fury, but then she realized.

Something was wrong.

The woman’s gaze.

Empty.

Yours too.

The smile on your lips… wasn’t yours.

Wasn’t real.

A shiver ran down Rio’s spine. Her eyes scanned the street, her heart pounding.

And then she saw it.

Other versions of you.

With your mother.

Walking. Smiling.

Spreading through WestView like a damn plague. Repeating like a damn loop.

Rio felt rage boil inside her. Her fists clenched, and she wanted to kill. She wanted to destroy.

"Wanda…" Agatha spat the name like poison.

It was a game.

An illusion.

A cruel provocation.

"That bitch is toying with us," Rio hissed, spitting on the ground, her eyes burning with fury.

Wanda wanted them like this.

Lost.

Consumed by anger.

But what Wanda didn’t know was that there was no emotion Agatha and Rio didn’t know how to use to their advantage.

"So she thinks she can toy with us? With what’s mine?"

Agatha took a deep breath, her eyes blazing violet, her hands warming with the power gathering there.

The woman was ready.

[...]

Your room was shrouded in crimson shadows. The energy pulsed around you, pressing against your body, invading your mind like sharp claws trying to tear something away—something that couldn't be taken.

You screamed.

It felt like your skin was unraveling in invisible flames. Every nerve burned, every thought was crushed beneath a brutal force.

But even as the torment spread like an overwhelming wave, something inside you remained untouched.

Your heart.

Bound to them.

Wanda’s energy intensified, her eyes glowing with desperation and frustration. She stepped closer, teeth clenched, hands hovering over you, trying to find the exact thread to pull—

But there was no thread.

The bond wasn't something that could be undone. It wasn’t a common curse, a crude tether that could be severed with brute force.

It was something deeper.

Older.

Stronger.

And it didn’t belong to her.

Your body arched as a new wave of pain tore through you, your nails digging into the sheets, your vision blurring, your mind fracturing.

You could feel Wanda inside you, searching, trying to rip out any trace of them. But every attempt only made the bond tighten, made your chest ache harder, made your soul rebel against the intrusion.

“Why?” Wanda murmured, her voice trembling. “Why did they do this?”

You couldn’t answer. You could barely breathe.

“Why can’t I?”

The question echoed through the room, laced with something Wanda would never admit—jealousy.

She, the Scarlet Witch, the most powerful sorceress to ever exist, couldn’t touch what Agatha and Rio had done.

And it consumed her.

Her hands trembled as she pulled back her magic, looking at you with something that teetered on the edge of despair.

You were wrecked. Almost lifeless.

But still, you didn’t belong to her.

And Wanda hated that.

She sat on the antique-textured sofa, the spellbook in her lap as she searched desperately for something—anything—that could break the bond between you.

The room was an exact replica of the house you grew up in, but the air inside was thick, charged with magic.

When Agatha and Rio stepped through the door, their instincts were already on high alert, ready to tear apart anything standing between them and you.

Until they saw their younger sister, her eyes red—not just from the glow of her magic, but from something deeper. Something more human.

Pain.

Rio unsheathed a deadly dagger, moving like a predator about to slit its prey’s throat. But before she could strike, Wanda’s voice cut through the air—raw, devastated:

“Why can’t I touch her?”

The words were spoken with anger, yes. But also with desperation. With a sorrow that made Agatha hesitate for just a fraction of a second.

Wanda stood slowly, her breathing unsteady, her eyes locked onto the two women.

“Why can’t I use her?” Her voice cracked, and then, as if her soul was unraveling, tears fell. “Why?”

Rio gripped the dagger so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Because she’s ours, not yours.” The growl left her lips, thick with fury.

Wanda shook her head, a humorless laugh escaping her, her eyes glistening with tears.

“This is all so ridiculous.” She swallowed hard, struggling to keep herself composed. “You cast a spell that even I can’t break. You tied her soul to you. Her heart.”

“You don’t understand.” Agatha folded her arms, her voice cold as steel. “You never could.”

“Then make me understand!” Wanda exploded, stepping forward. Her magic crackled, red and alive, as if every cell in her body was on the verge of implosion. “Tell me, Agatha, Rio. What is this?”

Agatha exhaled sharply, running a hand through her disheveled hair, while Rio still trembled beside her. Whatever was boiling inside her was about to spill over.

“This is belonging,” Agatha said, her voice low, firm, cutting.

For a moment, Rio said nothing. Her fingers loosened around the dagger, her breathing turning uneven. Then, as if every wall inside her collapsed at once, her voice came out in a raw, trembling whisper:

“This is love.”

The confession hung in the air like an irreversible spell.

Rio’s green magic dissipated around her, yielding to the weight of the truth. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her eyes shining with something Wanda had never seen in her before—vulnerability.

Wanda laughed again, but it was a broken sound. She ran a hand over her face, as if trying to peel this reality off her skin.

“Love? You think this is love?” Her tone was a mix of disbelief and agony.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, cold as ice.

“You’ll never understand because you’ve never loved anyone but yourself.” The words struck like a dagger—precise and cruel.

Wanda’s face twisted as if she’d been punched. The air seemed to leave her lungs. Her own name, her own history, weighed on her like invisible chains.

She closed her eyes, her voice coming out in a shattered whisper:

“I love you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“My family,” Wanda murmured, and the pain bled through her voice like an open wound.

Agatha took a deep breath, closing her eyes. And she saw her—

That young redheaded girl, green eyes trembling with tears and fear. That little child who was too young to understand what she was and how to deal with it.

Agatha had always been there. Helping Wanda tame her demons.

Perhaps she could even risk saying she knew Wanda better than anyone.

“This twisted shit isn’t love, Wanda!”

The silence stretched across the room like a thread about to snap.

Wanda stared at the two women in front of her, her breathing unsteady, tears streaming down her face.

And then, something inside her seemed to crack.

“Oh. And do you know what that is? Binding a poor girl’s heart? Keeping her for yourselves. Shutting me out.”

The word lingered in the air like an unspoken curse.

Rio scoffed, but the sound was tense, filled with something even she didn’t want to name.

“Grow up, Wanda! You’re not a fucking child!”

The Scarlet Witch trembled, her power flickering around her. She felt the weight of those words, felt the weight of the truth she refused to accept.

Because deep down, she knew.

She had always been alone.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Wanda trembled, her eyes red and swollen, her power still crackling in the air but aimless. She didn’t know what to do anymore.

“You talk as if you know what loneliness is. But you have each other. You always have. And now, you have her.” Her voice broke when she mentioned you. “And me? What do I have?”

Rio clenched her teeth, feeling her head throb with what she considered nothing more than Wanda’s tantrum.

“Fuck you. This isn’t about you.”

But Wanda stepped forward, her anger flaring once more.

“Isn’t it? Then why do I feel like this? Why does it hurt? I did everything right! I did everything I was supposed to! And yet… I’m still alone!”

Agatha rolled her eyes, crossing her arms impatiently.

“She isn’t a prize to be won, Wanda.”

"No?" The redhead laughed, bitter. "But she can be an object? A toy, ready to be controlled by you, right?"

The words fell between them like a sharp knife. The air in the room grew heavier, as if the world had held its breath.

Agatha remained still, her eyes widening for a brief moment before turning as cold as ice.

Rio, on the other hand, reacted instantly.

"Shut. Up."

But Wanda didn’t stop.

She never did.

She had always had strong opinions, ready to be spoken no matter who they hurt.

"What’s wrong? Don’t want to debate how cruel I am now? Don’t want to talk about how I’m evil, controlling, when that’s all you ever do?!"

Rio stepped forward, grabbing Wanda’s pale throat, fury seeping through her amber eyes.

"You know what? I’m done playing the big sister. Now. You’re going to pay."

Wanda, her eyes glowing scarlet, remained rigid, fists clenched at her sides. On the other side, Agatha and Rio stared her down like predators guarding what was theirs.

"Do you really want to do this?" Wanda broke the silence, her voice laden with exhaustion and something deeper. Something wounded.

Agatha tilted her head, blue eyes glinting with an icy shine.

"Honey… this was never a choice."

A crackle in the air.

Wanda didn’t have time to react before a purple blast struck her chest, hurling her backward. Her body crashed into the wall, cracking the plaster around her.

She groaned but had no time to catch her breath before strands of green energy coiled around her wrists and ankles.

Rio.

The artist—or the green witch—walked toward her, eyes burning like blazing amber stones. Her hands were raised, wrists rotating in elegant circles as the magic tightened around Wanda’s body, pulling her to the floor.

"You never knew what it was like not to be in the spotlight, did you?" Rio whispered, her voice heavy with old resentment. "You always had to be the favorite, the special one, the untouchable Wanda Maximoff. And now... now you finally know what it’s like to be cast aside."

Wanda gritted her teeth, her eyes burning crimson.

With a scream of fury, a surge of energy shattered the green bindings, dissipating Rio’s spell.

Wanda lunged forward, her scarlet aura pulsing like a furious heart. With a flick of her hand, Agatha’s purple magic began to unravel, sucked into the crimson sphere vibrating between the Scarlet Witch’s fingers.

Agatha felt the drain, her bones growing heavy as if her very essence was being torn away. She gritted her teeth, raising her hands to weave ancient symbols in the air, trying to seal the energy Wanda was pulling—but it was like trying to contain an ocean with her hands.

Rio didn’t hesitate. Moving in a blur of green, she wove ethereal chains around the redhead, attempting to trap her inside a circle of runes—a spell designed to contain cosmic forces.

But Wanda already knew this trick.

With a mere blink, she shattered the magical prison in a wave of pure chaos, the symbols dissolving like broken glass.

The force sent the brunette witch crashing into the wall, the concrete cracking from the impact.

Agatha seized the distraction to strike.

Her fingers moved swiftly, shaping violet formulas in the air. A blast of energy shot toward Wanda, but the redhead dodged at the last second, throwing herself to the side and launching a sphere of chaos at her mentor.

Purple and red clashed, creating an unstable dimensional vortex. The air crackled, the ground trembled, as if the very universe hesitated before such a battle of primordial forces.

But Wanda didn’t stop. She was hungry. She was absorbing Agatha, consuming her magic, growing stronger with each passing second.

Rio, still recovering, watched it all with weary eyes. Wanda was stronger. There was no denying it. If things continued like this, Agatha would fall.

She couldn’t lose her.

And they couldn’t lose you.

Closing her eyes, Rio abandoned resistance.

She let the shadow in.

Her body went rigid. An inhuman heat coursed through her veins.

And then, green gave way to absolute black.

The room seemed to darken. The atmosphere grew heavy, suffocating, as if space itself was folding around Rio.

Her eyes opened—but they were no longer hers.

They were endless abysses, black voids that devoured any trace of humanity. Her jaw had turned entirely to bone. Small horns sprouted from the top of her head.

The laughter came low, almost tender. A funeral melody, sharp and cruel.

Wanda hesitated. Something inside her screamed to stop.

"Wanda Maximoff," the voice of death was calm and serene. "We met so soon, didn’t we?"

Terror crawled up Wanda’s spine, something primal inside her screaming to run.

She had faced cosmic entities, manipulated the laws of reality…

But this?

This was different.

The figure before her was not just Rio. Not just a witch.

It was something older, hungrier, more inevitable.

Lady Death raised a hand, and the snap of her fingers echoed like the last breath escaping condemned lips.

"You had so much left to live for… What a pity."

It was a whisper drenched in delight, as if death savored every moment of her dance with the living.

The world around Wanda shrank. The red wavered.

For the first time in a long time, her own power felt small.

She tried to fight back. Scarlet flames flared in her hands, but Lady Death’s darkness coiled around them like venom, draining their heat, their chaos, her very existence.

The pain was cold as a blade.

Wanda gasped, staggering back.

She felt like she was dissolving. Like she was being erased from reality itself.

The air felt nonexistent. She struggled to breathe. To fight for her life.

Agatha, who had been watching with fascination and a latent care, felt her stomach turn.

She knew this version of Rio.

In the past, the woman had wiped out an entire village just because Agatha had discovered her true essence.

Lady Death feared Agatha would abandon her. But how could she? If the woman in front of her was the most beautifully dark.

Agatha knew.

Lady Death didn’t negotiate.

Had no mercy.

Obeyed no one.

She was sovereign over being and non-being.

And now, her gaze was fixed on Wanda.

"Darling," Lady Death murmured, raising a hand in an almost affectionate gesture. "You can’t cheat death."

The smile that followed was a hollow promise of compassion.

"Shh, just let go."

Wanda gasped, her body already beginning to dematerialize.

But then—

A spell cut through the air.

Ancient runes glowed gold, spreading like chains around Lady Death.

Lilia’s presence filled the room.

"Stop."

Lady Death’s eyes narrowed, a mix of irritation and amusement. She turned slowly, as if assessing the intruder.

"How dare you?"

Her voice was pure condemnation—the fury of something that should never be defied.

But Lilia didn’t back down.

She simply took a deep breath and pointed directly at Agatha, as if to say, "handle this."

And Agatha, with a sudden tightness in her chest, knew it was now or never.

Dealing with her wife in this form was like walking on eggshells—as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

Lady Death remained motionless, darkness pulsating around her—a ravenous vortex ready to consume Wanda whole.

But Agatha ignored it all.

She ignored Lilia, ignored Wanda gasping for air, ignored even the crushing weight of death that enveloped the room.

All she saw was Rio.

The woman who had bewitched her long before any magic.

The woman with whom she shared eternity.

The woman who needed her now more than ever.

With delicate care, Agatha stepped forward. Her movements were slow, measured. She could feel the tension thrumming through the entity before her, feel the raw power that made Lady Death something beyond mortal comprehension.

But it didn’t matter.

Because beneath that mask of bone, beneath those abyssal eyes and that suffocating presence—she was still Rio.

Her Rio.

The witch lifted her hands, unhesitant, and touched that inhuman face with a reverence that ached.

Her fingers brushed against the chill of death.

And she did not recoil.

“You need to come back to me, my love.”

Agatha’s voice was a thread of silk, a whisper slipping through the veil between realities.

She felt it when Lady Death tensed, sensed the exact moment the sovereign creature hesitated.

But she did not stop.

Agatha’s fingers glided tenderly over ossified skin, her gaze locked onto the bottomless voids that sought to devour everything around them.

The woman who terrified and fascinated her all at once.

“For me...” she repeated, her voice turning into a hoarse murmur.

And then, the final blow:

“For our little girl.”

The darkness wavered.

The hollow eyes flickered, as if something within them trembled between the present and a distant time.

The chaos around them shuddered.

Death hesitated.

Because there, at the heart of eternal night, on the threshold between destruction and return, there was something stronger than any power Lady Death could wield.

There was love.

There was the memory of sleepless nights whispering magical rites at the bedside.

There was the touch of tiny hands clutching their fingers—trusting, demanding.

There was the sound of her laughter, echoing like music in the depths of Rio’s mind.

And Lady Death, so absolute, so unyielding, faltered before it.

The bony jaw quivered.

The sharp fingers, which held Wanda’s fate in their grasp, trembled.

The shadow of a name formed at the edge of her consciousness.

Your name.

And then, like the tide retreating, the pitch-black abyss began to unravel.

First, the shadows around them.

Then, the eyes.

Brown.

Rio’s deep chocolate eyes shimmered back to life beneath the darkness, like a reborn constellation.

Her body swayed, magic dissipating in silent spirals.

And then, with a trembling gasp, Rio collapsed into Agatha’s arms.

Agatha held her close, heart pounding, her forehead pressed against Rio’s, as if anchoring her there. As if ensuring she would never lose Rio to herself again.

Behind them, Wanda panted, her lungs ablaze as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes still glowed scarlet, but the spark of her usual confidence dimmed with every passing second.

Her hands trembled as they instinctively went to her neck, massaging the skin as if she could erase the sensation of Rio’s fingers—or rather, Lady Death’s—squeezing, crushing, consuming.

She swallowed hard, tasting the metallic tang of her own blood.

Then, a voice shattered the moment.

“Argh. For God’s sake. Go get the girl already.”

Lilia.

Her lazy drawl cut through the air like a whip crack.

Agatha blinked, the abrupt return to reality fogging her thoughts for a moment. She still held Rio against her chest, feeling her breath—warm and shaky—against her collarbone.

The familiar scent of her skin was still there, hidden beneath the aura of death. The weight of her body was still real, still human.

The world settled back into focus.

And there was Lilia, watching it all with a bored expression before rolling her eyes and throwing herself onto the couch with irritating elegance.

“And what are you doing here?” Agatha finally managed to ask, her voice still raspy from the energy drain Wanda had inflicted on her.

“Helping, obviously,” Lilia retorted with a smirk.

“You could’ve arrived a little earlier, don’t you think?” Harkness shot her a cynical smile.

Lilia shrugged, irreverence dripping from every movement. “I like to make an entrance.”

Agatha huffed, too exhausted to argue, but before she could respond, a movement caught her attention.

Wanda, still wrestling with her wounded pride, forced herself to stand. Her body protested the effort, her muscles screaming as if each fiber were being torn from the inside out.

But nothing hurt more than the humiliation.

They had won.

They had shattered her illusion.

The redhead clenched her fists, grasping at the remnants of her conviction.

“You can’t!” she burst out, frustration and desperation lacing her voice. “She must be used as a sacrifice!”

The word hung bitter in the air.

Sacrifice.

As if it were simple. As if it were inevitable.

Rio, still trying to reorient herself after being consumed by Lady Death, lifted her gaze to the youngest.

What she saw made her falter.

Wanda didn’t look like a vengeful goddess, nor even a formidable enemy.

She looked like...

A child.

A lost child, desperate to cling to something that made her feel less alone.

A shadow of a tear shimmered in her green eyes. Wanda shook her head, fiercely, denying it even to herself.

“We’re supposed to stay together. No one can come between us. We are family,” she insisted, but her voice wavered on the last word.

She tried to smile, but it never reached her eyes.

Lilia exhaled slowly, as if trying to dispel the weight of something that had long since settled in her chest. Her eyes—normally filled with irony and indifferent charm—were dull, tired.

“Wanda.” Her voice was firm but not cruel. “You need to understand that we are different people, okay? We disagree with you. We can all be happy, the four of us, and still have separate lives. And you should be happy about that.”

Wanda blinked, as if struggling to process the words. Her gaze darted between them, searching for something—anything—to prove that it wasn’t true.

“But I am!” she cried, urgency spilling from her voice. “I swear! I would never truly hurt any of you. You know that, don’t you?”

There was something painful about the way she sought their validation.

Her face was paler than usual, her green eyes wide, her breathing shallow.

She looked desperate.

Afraid.

Like a little girl who, after letting go of her mother’s hand in a crowd, suddenly realized she might never find her again.

Lilia bit the inside of her cheek, her gaze flickering away for a moment.

She looked thoughtful.

The silence between them grew heavy, thick. The air felt warmer, suffocating, as if something unseen were pressing against their lungs.

Then, at last, Agatha broke the silence.

“Sometimes, you hurt us... indirectly.”

The older witch didn’t raise her voice, but each syllable cut Wanda like a blade.

Wanda blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Agatha hesitated for a brief moment. Her gaze softened, but there was an underlying firmness in her posture.

“Wanda... What you did to Améli—”

“Agatha, don’t you dare!”

Lilia interrupted abruptly, her voice laced with something she rarely let slip: vulnerability.

Agatha looked at her, her own expression weighed down by an old ache.

But Wanda didn’t want silence.

She wanted answers.

Her eyes burned with fury, and a surge of scarlet energy crackled around her fingers.

"No. Speak! Tell me!" Her voice trembled. "I want to know why you think I’m a monster who hurts you when all I’ve done is protect us!"

Silence.

Then, Lilia murmured.

"Amélie."

The name was spoken with a weight that Wanda didn’t immediately understand.

But Lilia did.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if the name itself were a physical blow.

"She was mine," Lilia continued, her voice thick with longing and pain. "And you took her from me."

Wanda’s stomach twisted.

Her heart, which had been pounding until then, gave a strange thud inside her chest.

Suddenly, breathing seemed difficult.

Wanda looked up at the ceiling, trying to connect the name to a person.

Oh.

"The nun?" she asked, a mixture of disgust and confusion in her voice.

She remembered the girl and her robes. She remembered how devoted she was to the place that stood against everything they were. So when she saw Lilia interested, she thought it was for something greater.

For a bigger plan.

But no.

Lilia loved her.

A nun.

A love forbidden in infinite ways.

Lilia blinked slowly, her eyes shining with something Wanda didn’t immediately recognize.

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t fury.

It was pain.

Raw, throbbing, suffocating pain.

The silence that followed was worse than any outburst of screams.

Then, Lilia laughed.

Not a laugh of mockery, nor one of irritation.

It was the sound of something breaking.

Of a heart that had been shattered so many times it no longer knew how to stay whole.

She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

"Is that how you saw her?" Lilia continued, her breath becoming uneven. "As a symbol of something you despised? As an enemy that needed to be eradicated?"

She took a step forward, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Because to me, Wanda," her voice cracked, but Lilia didn’t stop. "To me, she was everything."

Wanda blinked, feeling something bitter rise in her throat.

She wanted to respond.

Wanted to defend herself.

But she couldn’t.

Because, for the first time, she really looked at Lilia.

At the way her body trembled, at the way her lips pressed together as if trying to hold back something on the verge of spilling over.

And then, as if she couldn’t hold it back any longer, Lilia broke down.

Thick tears streamed down her face, and she ignored them completely.

"You killed her," Lilia whispered, her voice heavy with the weight of resentment. "You took her from me without hesitation. Without even wondering what she meant to me."

The air in the room grew dense, oppressive.

Lilia took a deep breath, her trembling fingers running through her graying hair. The tears escaped without permission, hot and thick, tracing a salty path down her skin.

Wanda couldn’t look directly at her.

"I… I didn’t know, Lilia. I—" Her voice faltered, eyes burning. "God. I would never hurt anyone—" She wiped her face with the backs of her hands, desperate, as if she could erase what she had done.

But the truth was, she had hurt.

So deeply.

For a girl.

For a girl who had meant nothing to her.

Wanda didn’t understand.

"Then what was it?" Lilia asked, her voice choked with nearly unbearable pain. She struck her own chest hard, as if trying to tear away the emptiness Amélie had left behind. "Why does it hurt so much?"

Her eyes met Wanda’s, but there was no love in them anymore. Only a chasm of grief and disappointment.

"She was my happiness, Wanda."

Wanda felt her chest tighten, her lungs failing.

"And you ripped her away from me."

The silence that followed was mourning in itself.

She ran her hands through her red hair, trembling. Despair crawled inside her, draining any remnants of control.

"Alright. I can fix this." Her voice sounded rushed, almost childlike. "I can fix this. Tell me anything, Lilia. I’ll do it. Let me make it right."

Lilia laughed.

Low, bitter.

"Make it right?" Her voice rose into a scream that made Wanda flinch. "Do you really think you can make it right, Wanda?"

Wanda faltered, her heart begging for a way out.

"Please, Lilia…"

But Lilia no longer heard pleas.

She exhaled deeply, wiping away the last of her tears with her fingertips. There was an eerie calm now, something resolved, definitive.

"We should stay away from each other for a while." Her voice was firm but not cruel. "I am so angry at you right now… Fuck. Like I’ve never felt before."

Wanda held her breath.

Lilia had loved her.

And precisely because of that, the pain was so overwhelming.

She didn’t know if she would ever be forgiven.

And that was the sentence that broke Wanda.

Panic flooded her red, swollen eyes.

"Please, Lilia." Her voice trembled, thick with despair. "Hurt me. Curse me. Hate me. Give me any punishment you want."

Her shoulders shook.

"But don’t leave me."

It was the end of the world for Wanda.

She had tried to avoid this fate at all costs. Had done everything, everything, to prevent being abandoned.

But in the end, all of her choices had led her to the same place.

Lilia looked at her for a long time.

A time that felt like an eternity. In a hoarse, exhausted voice, she replied:

"I don’t need to punish you, Wanda."

Lilia took a small step back, her gaze soft but unwavering.

"You know, leaving is also a way of loving. You helped me learn that."

She took a deep breath.

"Today, it’s my turn."

And without another word, Lilia turned and walked out the door.

The silence left behind was deafening.

[...]

In the next room, your trembling, almost lifeless body gasped for air, and your eyes slowly fluttered open, blinking against the soft light bathing the space.

Alive.

You were alive.

…or just dreaming?

Your breathing came in small tremors, your body heavy, weak, but your senses picked up something your mind had yet to fully grasp.

The warmth of hands caressing your skin, a gentle, reverent touch, as if afraid you might dissolve between their fingers.

Soft whispers, tender, words barely reaching the world but wrapping around your heart like a warm blanket.

"Finally, my little girl."

The sound of the voice was melodic, filled with a love that made your chest tighten.

Your trembling body finally began to relax under those touches. You blinked slowly, your vision still blurry, and saw their silhouettes. Their forms right there, so close, so real…

You tried to murmur something, but your lips felt too heavy, and all you managed was a shaky sigh.

It didn’t matter. You didn’t need to say anything.

Warm arms wrapped around you, both fierce and tender at the same time, holding you as if trying to protect you from the world itself.

And maybe from themselves.

"Mommies are here now, sweetheart."

The sound of those words made something inside you release.

Everything would be okay.

The answers could wait. The questions didn’t matter anymore at that moment.

Now, you just wanted to enjoy this.

So you melted into their embrace, sinking into this warm feeling.

So… so warm.

It felt like you were delirious — and maybe you were, given your current condition.

But something deep in your mind guessed this is exactly how a person feels when they are loved.

~*~

Ufff, it seems we have a family case over there, huh... (call Cristina Rocha, pls)

Btw, this chapter is the need to you know that you will have a spin-off of Wanda Maximoff in Woven Fates :)

Tag List <3

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[meadowfics]

in safe hands

adoptivefather!namgyu x adoptive!mother!reader

your daughter hiding underneath the table reminds namgyu of 'lights out' back in the games.

warnings: mentions of death. adoption aka 'mi' is not biologically yours or namgyu's.

based off of this request here

namgyu slammed the door a little harder than he meant to. frustration buzzed under his skin like a swarm of hornets. the guy had pissed him off, some asshole who thought he could run his mouth without consequence.

he could still hear the condescending tone, the sneer.

namgyu dropped his keys onto the counter, exhaling through his nose. the apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of a children's show playing from the television.

you stood by the sink, finishing washing dishes, but nam-gyu barely looked at her before rubbing a hand down his face.

“fucking guy,” he muttered under his breath, not even realizing his voice was sharper than usual.

"can't believe i wasted my goddamn time talking to him."

the man's tone, his volume...he didn't think anything of it at first. he was irritated, sure, but it wasn't like he was yelling.

yet, in the silence that followed, something felt off. it was you who noticed first.

"nam-gyu," you said, softly, carefully.

he turned, brow furrowed, and then he saw it. the tiny figure crouched under the dining table, knees hugged tightly to her chest, small hands gripping the fabric of her dress. mi.

namgyu's breath caught.

she was shaking. her dark eyes, wide and wary, peeked out from the shadows beneath the table. the girl's tiny fingers clung to her sleeves, the way a child might cling to something familiar, something safe.

however, she wasn’t feeling safe right now.

nam-gyu felt his chest tighten.

"shit," he whispered.

mi barely made a sound. she just sat there, frozen, looking at him like he was someone to be afraid of, like he was the kind of man who had hurt her before.

he never hurt her before, and never will.

right now namgyu had no one to blame but himself.

the club promoter's stomach twisted, his hands flexing at his sides before he carefully, so carefully, lowered himself onto the floor, his movements slow and deliberate.

he didn’t speak. he knew words wouldn’t do much, not right now. instead, he reached a hand forward, palm up, and placed it on the floor in front of him.

not too close. not too far.

just enough to let her know he wasn’t angry at her.

mi didn’t move right away. she sniffled, her lip wobbling, but she didn’t look away from him. the little girl's small chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, and it hit him like a punch... how familiar this was.

he remembers.

he remembers the cold, damp floors of the dorm. the feeling of curling into himself, heart hammering in his ribs. lights out meant uncertainty. darkness wasn’t the real fear—it was what came after.

yes, namgyu started the chaos during lights out one night. semi being his victim in the process. however, he couldn't grieve thano’s death properly then.

the next nights, when he ran out of those pills that he got from thanos.. namgyu was scared shitless.

hiding under the beds during lights out was the feeling of being small and being powerless.

the little toddler's position under the table reminded him of the way that people used to hide during lights out, even himself.

mi didn’t need words right now.

she needed something solid. something safe.

nam-gyu shifted just a little closer.

the man's fingers twitched, itching to reach for her, but he let her decide. he will let her move first.

after what felt like forever, mi’s tiny hand uncurled from her pajama pants. she hesitated, just for a second, before reaching out, pressing her small palm against his much larger one. the girl's fingers barely wrapped around two of her father's fingers.

that was all it took.

slowly, with infinite care, nam-gyu pulled her toward him. she didn’t resist. she crawled out from under the table, sniffling, her cheeks damp with unshed tears.

she just wanted her father.

namgyu gathered her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly, and cradled her against his chest.

he didn’t say anything.

instead, he let his actions speak for him.

namgyu's hand rubbed soft circles against her back. the grip was firm but gentle, holding her close, securing her against him as if to silently say, i've got you. i'm here.

mi's tiny hands curled into his shirt, gripping the fabric as she buried her face against him. mi's small body was still trembling, but little by little, the tension eased. mi's breaths, though shaky, started to slow.

namgyu rested his chin lightly atop her head, closing his eyes for a moment.

he never wanted her to feel like that.

never.

namgyu's thumb brushed against her back, soothing, steady. mi didn't say a word, but she didn't need to. the hold on him said everything.

nam-gyu held her tighter.

he wasn’t a perfect man. he wasn’t soft, wasn’t always good with words, and most of the time, he didn’t care much for other people’s feelings.

mi... she was different.

she was his daughter and he would never, ever be someone she needed to hide from like those people hid from others back during those games.

masterlist

[eamour]

about negative thoughts.

"it is so hard to remain in my desired state and feel convinced… i keep having negative thoughts that pop out of the blue and just completely throw me off. i feel irritated, confused and i wonder if i'm truly living in the end. what do i do? how do i flip every thought? am even i doing this right?"

let’s talk about it!

thoughts and states.

in my latest post "dominant thoughts and dwelling states" or my "states" post, i have already talked about what states and thoughts are, how they "function" and what the difference between the two is. here is a short summary:

thoughts come from your state.

your dominant thoughts give insight to your state.

your dominant thoughts equal your dwelling state.

intrusive thoughts, as long as not identified with, don’t manifest.

your state manifests, not your single thoughts.

you are not your state, you are your "i am".

there is an infinite number of states.

you enter and exit states all day long.

now, you know that thoughts can only manifest if you assume them to be true, making them your dwelling state. but even if you know all of this, it still may not stop you from having undesirable thoughts here and there. so, how do we deal with them?

about all thoughts.

now, let's take a look at the characteristics of thoughts.

all thoughts are neutral. negative thoughts, just like positive ones, don’t have any meaning pre-assigned to them. they are all neutral until you categorise them to positive or negative. meaning, they are the exact same.

… therefore, thoughts don’t hold any power. thoughts don’t have any truth attached to them. no state has. because you are not your state. you are your i am. you decide what’s truthful to you or not, which state you want to occupy and which thoughts you want to have. your thoughts look at YOU for validation.

all thoughts are equal. because of that, negative thoughts aren’t easier to manifest than positive ones. all thoughts hold the same "value" or no value at all. they are all equally easy to manifest.

all thoughts are temporary. and thus, all states are as well. especially intrusive thought’s come from a place of fear, uncertainty and insecurity. who is feeling all those? who is controlling all those? YOU. you are not as out of control as you may think. just like you can alter a thought, you can alter the very origin of it — your state. you dictate your state and your thoughts.

all thoughts are yours. imagination creates reality, meaning creation comes from you. all thoughts and furthermore all states stem from your own awareness. there is no need to feel intimidated by them!

step by step resolution.

1 · emotion · this is the first thing we will do whenever we have a very mean thought — so mean, it makes it hard for you to change it on the spot or ignore it: we let ourselves feel the way that thought makes us feel. some thoughts, you can choose not to absorb but rather observe. however, if you do absorb them (which can definitely happen), make sure to embrace them. let out all the emotions they make you feel. express them. talk to a friend, scream into the void, bawl out your eyes… whatever helps your nervous system to relieve and regulate. you are not meant to internalise all that negativity.

2 · reflection · reflect on your unfavourable thoughts. ask yourself "is this thought helping me? do i want to continue thinking this? does this do me any good?". if yes, keep thinking it. if not, stop thinking it, forget it and correct it.

⋮ 2 · attention · some thoughts don’t need to be corrected for them to not affect you negatively. some of them can be entirely ignored and disregarded. not every little thought needs to be investigated. you don’t need to monitor every thought of yours. let them pass you by. don’t assign any meaning to them. renounce them. learn to be indifferent to certain thoughts. take your attention away from them. sometimes, that's enough. because some thoughts need to be dealt with a certain level of neglect. otherwise you will only drive yourself insane. ⋮

3 · identification · realise where the thought is coming from. most likely, it’s coming from your limited human self. but you are your unbounded god self. return to it! you have what you want and you are who you want to be. stop contemplating on your unwanted circumstances and focus on your end. continue to live from there. don’t just think of it, embody it. fully claim it. it’s your end. your reality. change the direction of your thoughts and remind yourself of your actual identity — GOD.

in short, feel your emotions, reflect on your thoughts, abandon negative thoughts, declare them as wrong and replace them with positive ones, remember your desired version of self, embody it and persist.

important.

before you go, there is one last thing i want to touch on. changing your thoughts, distancing yourself from unfavourable situations and trying to persist while feeling triggered by something external… can be very challenging. what i mean is, it takes determination, dedication and discipline. you need to be courageous and eager enough to make tough decisions, to choose your ending of the story and side with YOURself, even when you actually want to. but it’s possible. it’s attainable. it’s doable. you know what you want and you are going to continue to live your truth, with conviction and commitment!

you will do it. and you will succeed.

with love, ella.

[earlgreylatte]

Nocturne

(Vampire Hal Jordan x Blue Lantern Reader) You would always be at his side, he’ll make sure of that.

“Hal…”

He was used to hearing you call his name. In shock. In exasperation. In pleasure.

But now you were saying his name in trepidation, the uncertainty clear on your face, as green bindings decorated your body, keeping you immobilized.

Apart of him aches at seeing you look so scared at just the sight of him, another part of him revels the same way a wolf does in sight of its prey.

“It’s going to be okay, you know I only ever want what’s best for you. That what I do is for your own good, even if you don’t see it right now,” he reassures you, hands cradling your face, forcing you to stare into warm, brown eyes, but you can only focus on the glint of his fangs as he talked, breath hitching.

Noticing your distress, he shushes you, bordering on condescending, “I know, I know, but just think about it. Us. Forever. Young and strong. You know there’s no one out there with enough will to take our rings, it’d be a never ending adventure. We’d fly and never land again.”

He still sounded like Hal. He was still Hal, and that was the scariest part. You can only lament at how this could possibly happen to him of all people.

“And at what cost?” You ask, meeting his gaze impassively, swallowing your nerves, “Feeding on others just to survive another day? Being at the heel of some cult leader fuck? You’re better than this, Hal. We can still fix this—“

He only tuts, shaking his head, “You’re still not seeing it. The whole picture. Leave it to you to never act in your own interest, nightlight.”

You exhale shakily at the nickname, and he softens ever so slightly, placing his forehead against yours.

“I need you to trust me. Trust that I’m doing this for you, even if you hate me for it. You promised we’d never part…I’m just making sure you can stick to your word,” he says, nose brushing against yours before he kisses you, gentle and sensual, hands trailing down to caress your neck.

You close your eyes before a blue shockwave pushes him away from you. The green binds don’t waver, but you only turn your attention to his ring, rapidly augmenting the ring’s capacity, until you hear his ring issue a warning as it reaches its limit.

“Stand down, Hal, I won’t let you do whatever you want,” you declare, watching him push himself up from his fallen position. Despite your threat, he looks unbothered, languidly approaching you again.

“You won’t,” he claims, smiling.

“You’re insane,” you glare, unsurprised at his audacity despite the severity of the situation.

“Isn’t that why you fell for me?” He says confidently, “You’re not fooling anyone. You can stop. No one would blame you, least of all me. You don’t want to do this. Just let me take of everything…”

You choke out a broken laugh, eyes burning. Your ring flickers before, dimming as your efforts cease. You were never much good at poker, especially when Hal was around to call your bluffs. Your restraints tighten, forcing your legs to give out as you fall to your knees, head dropping.

Hal would never call you weak of will, not when you could give any Green Lantern a run for their money, but you could never raise a hand to him. You were kind. That’s why he had to keep you, to do what you couldn’t bring yourself to ever do.

He circles behind you, before sinking to his knees, arms wrapping around your hunched form and burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent with a groan of satisfaction.

A sob racks your body, as he nuzzles your neck.

“I love you,” Hal breathes. Too much to even consider letting you go.

Something sharp pricks your neck.

Vampire BL/GL combo creating infinite blood hack, as Barry graciously volunteers to be in the middle of that sandwich…

Masterlist

[talonabraxas]

"When you become comfortable with uncertainty, infinite possibilities open up in your life." --Eckhart Tolle

hope you're still there Blank Embrace @BlankEmbrace

[itsreallynotriri]

I ADORE your potter-black family posts. Could you please write something about reader finding out she’s pregnant OR like reader and regulus talking about having another kid and they’re worried about how harry will feel cuz they don’t want him to feel replaced? ILY MUAH

Harry meets Danny

Harry meets his little sister Danny.

[Regulus Black x fem Potter! reader]

word count: 899 words

warnings: fluff, mentions of pregnancy, harry being a cutie patootie

note: I love this prompt so much.

-

The soft glow of candlelight filled the cozy Black-Potter living room, casting flickering shadows along the walls. Outside, snowflakes drifted down like bits of silver confetti, frosting the windows in delicate lace patterns. Y/N sat curled up on the couch, one hand resting on the small but unmistakable curve of her stomach. Across from her, Regulus paced with the anxiety of a man who once battled dark forces but now faced something infinitely more daunting: telling Harry he was going to have a sibling.

"You're going to wear a hole in the rug," Y/N murmured, a smile tugging at her lips.

"I'm trying to figure out the right words," Regulus said, stopping mid-stride. He ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed. "How do you tell a six-year-old that everything is about to change?"

Y/N patted the cushion beside her. "We tell him with love. And honesty." She tilted her head toward the staircase. "He's probably still awake, you know."

Regulus sighed, resigned, and climbed the stairs. Moments later, he returned, Harry perched sleepily on his hip. The boy's messy black hair stuck out at odd angles, his green eyes blinking in the dim light.

"Mama? Baba?" Harry rubbed his eyes. "Why am I awake?"

Regulus settled Harry between them on the couch. Y/N shifted to face him fully, brushing his hair back fondly.

"We have something important to tell you," she began.

Harry's eyes widened. "Is it bad?"

"No, sweetheart," Y/N said softly. "It's something wonderful." She exchanged a glance with Regulus before taking a breath. "You're going to be a big brother."

Harry froze. He looked from Y/N's belly to Regulus, and then back again. "A brother?"

"Or a sister," Regulus said. "We don't know yet."

Harry's mouth formed a small "o." Silence stretched between them like a fragile thread.

"Are you excited?" Y/N asked, her voice gentle.

Harry's legs swung against the couch. "I dunno. Will you still have time for me?"

Y/N's heart cracked at the uncertainty in his voice. She pulled him into her arms, cradling him tightly. "Oh, my love. There is nothing and no one that could ever replace you. You made us parents. And we will always have time for you. Always."

Harry sniffled into her shoulder. "Promise?"

"I swear it," Y/N said.

Regulus leaned in and kissed the crown of Harry's head. "You'll never be alone, Harry. You'll have us. And you'll have a little brother or sister to protect, to teach...maybe even to prank if you inherit any of your Uncle Sirius's tendencies."

That earned a watery giggle. Harry looked up. "I get to teach them stuff?"

"Absolutely," Y/N said with a smile. "Like how to fly a broom and sneak extra biscuits from the kitchen when Baba isn't looking."

"Oi!" Regulus shot her a look of mock disapproval, but his eyes were warm.

Harry's grin grew. "Okay," he whispered. "I think being a big brother sounds kinda cool."

Y/N pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You're going to be the best big brother ever, sweetheart."

That night, after Harry had fallen asleep between them, one hand resting protectively on Y/N's belly, Regulus whispered into the darkness, "He's going to be okay. We're going to be okay."

Y/N laced her fingers with his. "We already are."

-

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when six-year-old Harry Potter-Black was woken up by the sound of soft footsteps. His wild hair stuck up in every direction as he rubbed his eyes and squinted at the doorway of his bedroom.

His Baba stood there, hair disheveled, an uncharacteristically wide grin on his usually serious face.

"Harry," Regulus whispered, voice thick with emotion. "She's here. Your sister's here."

Harry didn't need any more convincing. He scrambled out of bed, heart racing with excitement. "She's really here?" he asked breathlessly.

Regulus held out his hand, and Harry grabbed it tightly as they padded down the hall toward the master bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and Harry peeked in.

His Mama was propped up against pillows, hair damp and face glowing with a tired but radiant smile. In her arms was a tiny bundle wrapped in a soft, moon-patterned blanket.

"Hi, sweetheart," Y/N whispered as Harry hesitated in the doorway. "Come meet your sister."

Harry crept forward, eyes wide. "She's so small," he breathed, standing on his tiptoes to see better.

"Would you like to hold her?" Y/N asked softly.

Harry's green eyes shot up to hers. "Can I?"

Y/N nodded, shifting slightly as Regulus moved to sit beside her, guiding Harry into the safe space between them. With infinite care, they helped him cradle the tiny baby.

"This is Danica," Y/N said, brushing a gentle finger along the baby's soft cheek. "Danica Potter-Black."

"Danny," Harry whispered, staring at the delicate face. "Hi, Danny. I'm your big brother. I'm gonna take care of you forever."

Danica gave a tiny sigh, her tiny fingers curling into a fist. Harry's heart melted.

"She's like a morning star," he whispered.

Regulus wrapped an arm around his son. "That's exactly what her name means, Harry. Morning star."

Harry beamed. "I love her already."

Y/N felt her heart squeeze with happiness as she met Regulus's gaze over their children's heads. At that moment, their little family felt complete.

-

previous chapter <- -> next chapter

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Day seventeen: Darling being sacrificed to Deity!Chrollo

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: Only thing I have to say is 🥺💕💕💕, I love him

The air was thick with incense and the soft murmurs of the cultists, their chants rising and falling like a tide all around you. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across the chamber walls, and despite the warmth of the room, a chill settled deep into your bones.

You were bound to an altar of cold stone, unable to move, fear coursing through your veins. They had called it a “gift,” this sacrifice they were making, but all you felt was the dread creeping up your spine.

“Great Chrollo,” One of them intoned louder this time, bowing so low that her forehead brushed the ground. “We offer this sacrifice in exchange for your infinite wisdom. Please, hear our plea, benevolent God and if were worthy, grace us with your presence.”

You wanted to scream at them, to swear at their existence but they put a gag over your lips so you couldn't interrumpt their prayers and summoning.

If you died, you wanted to return as a ghost, the most violent one, just so you could haunt them to the point that not even their god could help them.

There was a moment of stillness, and then, the very air seemed to bend, a presence sliding into existence as if it had always been there. Chrollo emerged from the darkness, his form solidifying from the shadows, and you felt a shiver run through you at the sight of him. He was unnaturally beautiful, a figure that radiated both menace and an inexplicable calm. The cultists remained praying and thanking him.

His eyes, dark as ink, met yours as soon as he appeared, and there was something ancient within them, something that spoke of endless years spent peering into the abyss.

“You summon me, as you always do,” Chrollo said, his voice soft, almost contemplative, its tone and syllables made you stop trembling as an unexplainable calm washed over you. “And as always, you ask for answers.”

He took a step forward, gaze drifting over you with a detached curiosity, as if studying a painting in a gallery. “You desire knowledge, yet you fear the cost. Isn’t that the paradox of humanity?”

One of the cultists dared to speak, voice trembling with reverence. “We understand the price, Great Chrollo. For each answer, a life must be given.”

Chrollo chuckled, a sound that was more thoughtful than amused. “Ah, but do you truly understand?” He turned his back on them, walking around you, his steps slow and deliberate. “Knowledge is a burden, not a gift. Every answer begets more questions, and every revelation strips away the comfort of ignorance. You offer a life for what? A fleeting moment of clarity in an endless sea of uncertainty?”

His fingers brushed against your cheek, and you flinched, the touch cold as ice. He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly and then he smiled, but it was a distant, melancholic thing, as if he were reminiscing about something long lost.

“And yet,” Chrollo murmured, “here you are, placed on this altar, offered up as if you were nothing more than a token in a game they scarcely understand. How do you feel?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to find your voice as he took out the gag from your lips. “I didn’t… I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. “I don’t want to die.”

Chrollo’s eyes softened and for a moment, there was something almost kind in his expression. “Few do,” He replied, “but that’s the nature of sacrifice, isn’t it? It’s rarely a choice. It’s something taken, something demanded, without regard for the will of the one who must pay the price.”

He tilted his head, considering you as if you were a riddle he was trying to solve. “Tell me, do you believe in fate? In the idea that some are destined to be pawns, while others move the pieces?”

You stared at him, struggling to understand his words. “I… I don’t know.”

“An honest answer,” Chrollo mused, a faint smile touching his lips. “How rare. Most people spend their lives pretending they have all the answers when, in truth, they’re adrift, terrified of the great unknown.” He looked back at the cultists, who were still kneeling, waiting for their moment of enlightenment.

“You seek knowledge,” He said to them, his tone gentle but laced with an unspoken warning. “But knowledge is not a gift freely given. It is something that devours, something that demands its pound of flesh.”

“Please, Great Chrollo,” one of them pleaded, “grant us the wisdom we seek!”

He sighed, almost as if he were disappointed, and then, with a wave of his hand, the room erupted into darkness. When the shadows receded, the cultists were gone, their bodies erased from existence, leaving only you and Chrollo standing in the silence.

You stared at him, heart pounding in your chest. “What… what did you do?”

“I gave them their answer,” He replied simply, turning his gaze back to you. “And in doing so, I took what was owed. That is the way of all things — equilibrium. For every truth, there must be a consequence.”

“Then… why am I still here?” you asked, voice barely more than a whisper. "Wasn’t I your sacrifice?"

Chrollo’s smile returned, softer this time, tinged with an unspoken sadness. “Because you,” He said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face, “are a question I have yet to answer. You are an enigma, a puzzle placed before me and I am nothing if not curious, as you're so alike my past lover.”

"Whatever do you mean by that?" You asked, your eyes searching for something inside of his. But you were answered only with a simple smile of his, for a god of knowledge, Chrollo was fond of not giving any answer at all.

Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin and you could feel the weight of his presence enveloping you like a mantle. “It means what it means, dear Y/n. Until my curiosity is satisfied, you will remain mine.”

He pulled back, his expression thoughtful, almost serene as he worked to free your limbs from the ropes and caressed your skin softly.

“You see,” Chrollo continued, as if explaining something to his favorite student. Even if you were nothing but uncomfortable with the whole situation, it didn'tmatter in his opinion. “there’s a beauty in the unknown, in the spaces between questions and answers. That’s where the most profound truths lie. And you, in your fear and defiance… you are the embodiment of that mystery.”

You trembled under his gaze and Chrollo chuckled softly, an echo of amusement rippling through the still air as he pulled you closer. “Don’t worry,” He murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I have no intention to hurt you but I also can't let you go, you're rightfully mine, my sweet sacrifice.”

And as the darkness crept closer, swallowing the light, you realized that you had become another question in Chrollo’s infinite search for knowledge — a mystery bound to him, and him alone, until the day he decided that your answer was worth the price.