#like its that bad. and i love her and i don't think any less of her

[salsflore]

[wambsgender]

.

[katsukikitten]

Alpha!Katsuki who is so agitated and aggressive although protective of Omegas even if their scents bother him. Roughly keeping them at arms length and openly snarling or grimacing at their scents as he saves or even just interacts with them.

Then there is you, an Omega who acts like an Alpha. Your scent is as strong as an Alpha, you're just as aggressive and have plenty of scars on your throat to show it. When someone thinks of a "traditional" Omega they think the opposite of you. In fact most people already assume your subgender is Alpha, you never correct them.

But you're not, you're an Omega. One with conflicting feelings of wanting to be soft and cozy but can't bring yourself to be less than combative. One who has several nests around your home in all your most comfy spots piled with blankets and stuffed animals you treat with care. An Omega who's given in and stolen her boss' smokey caramel shirt after a workout despite saying you can't stand his scent. An Omega who can't resist the urge to shove it into the nest on your bed as slick gathers between your thighs, naughty fingers toying with your throbbing clit through the fabric of your underwear until you're cumming so hard and so often you're panting. Borderline throwing yourself into a heat over his stupid sweaty shirt because his scent makes you feel safe, soft.

It's tempting to call out the next day but truly you were his front line, he hired you because of your bad attitude and snapping teeth. Because you could and would stand up to an alpha three times your size that demanded to see Katsuki even when they didn't have an appointment. You could handle yourself and you've proven it. Plus what Katsuki will never admit out loud is that he likes the way you smell, loves it. To him it makes sense he's only ever bedded two people and both were Alphas like he thinks you are.

Yet when you come in reeking of distress, shame, and arousal Katsuki finds his body moving on its own.

Pulling you by your lower back until your pelvis is flush with his before you can protest even as you lean away and accidentally expose your throat to him. His nose goes straight to your scent gland, inhaling to make sure it's you that the distress is coming from. The arousal

"Bakugou." You try to push him away but as the number one pro he's much stronger than you, not to mention his scent gland is right by your nose now. His spiced scent sweetening in an attempt to make you relax, pheromones he doesn't realize he's releasing as you fight your body from going slack in his hold.

On lookers stare and when bromine eyes meet them they flare. Lifting his face so they can see him bare his teeth as he pulls you into his office.

"Ya outta suppressants?" He growls and all his voice and strength do is spur on more and more of that arousal that wafts off of you in waves. Sweet floral spice that makes him dizzy as he tries not to get hard. He should let you go, he should step back, but he can't peel himself from your body. You feel good in his hands. Soft, round.

"I don't take any."

"Ya can't go into a rut in my office." He snarls but his lips are resting against your collar bones, "I've got extra in my desk."

"It won't be a rut." Your skin feels hot, so hot and with Katsuki smothering you it's only worsening the effects, the shame that burns when you admit out loud to your boss that you never corrected on what you are, "It's a heat."

Suddenly his massive body is rigid, you can hear him swallow thickly three times before you feel the hardness of his fat length against your leg

And that's enough to send any Omega nose first into a long overdue heat.

@kweenkatsuki-fics sorry it's so long 😭

[servicpop]

ITTO ⋆⋆⋆ x sub bottom m!reader

NSFW › itto is oblivious to reader's love for him, virgin itto, size difference, biting/marking, public / outside sex, breeding(?)

You and Itto were joint by the hip since little kids. You two did everything together. Exploring places you've never seen before, getting in trouble together, playing beetles together, bathing together. Your parents seemed hesitant at first when you brought little Itto over to your house, he was an oni, they weren't sure if Itto would be too rough when playing or would be a bad influence. But as time progressed, your parents eventually realised that Itto was nothing but a big softie who was a too dumb to actually hurt you.

As you grew older, Itto grew taller. Itto was always the taller one but now as you grew into an adult, he practically towered over you. Itto... didn't become any less of an airhead though, he still remained that same dumb softie from years ago.

When he offered you to join his gang, the Arataki Gang, you somewhat willingly decided to join. At first you thought by 'gang' he meant he'd do crimes and whatnot but then you thought about Itto as a person. There was no way he would be capable to make an elaborate enough plan to steal something or do any crime.

When you actually joined, you realised that it was basically just Itto and his friends hanging out but Kuki — the only one who had a semblance of braincells — that it was originally meant to be for people who were shunned out by society. However, in the process of trying to promote the Arataki Gang, due to the lack of intelligence, mischief and trouble seemed to follow the members like lost puppies. You can't count on your fingers how many times you had to bail them out.

Despite all the chaos in the Arataki Gang, you stuck closest to Itto, it was natural, you've been best friends since diapers. However, this evening when the sun of inazuma set, casting an orange and yellow hue on the land below, you and Kuki were strolling along the streets mindlessly. Itto had gone off somewhere with no contact — like he does sometimes — leaving you and Kuki to talk alone. You liked her, she was calmer than the rest and alot more intelligent.

"You like him don't you?"

Her words rang through your head like an achingly high pitched frequency as you stumbled in your step. Did you like Itto? Sure you sometimes fantasised about his big arms wrapping around you and sometimes your heart would race when he flashed you a toothy grin but—

"I notice the way you act around the boss,"

Kuki crosses her arms and leans her weight onto on leg as she looks at you. The cool evening breeze brushes past your face like a small caress and you find yourself speechless, not knowing how to respond. From your lack of words she continues,

"I was going to tell him but... I think its best if you do it yourself."

You force a small nod and she walks away, muttering something about needing to run an errand but her words fall short from your ears. You've never considered it until now how you always felt warm whenever with Itto and sometimes you even dreamt of Itto in ways that you'd never say outloud. Now looking back at how you felt around Itto... you were in love and Itto was completely oblivious to it.

You and Itto were laying down on a grassy hill, the tuffs of green tickling your back as Itto was settled next to you with his arms crossed behind his head. He was asleep. Itto had fallen asleep after causing whatever sort of mischief and called you over just to lie on a hill with him.

Silence filled the blue sky with the exception of birds chirping and leaves rustling in the wind. It was a secluded spot no one really came to, that's why Itto liked it. Away from all the judge-y eyes and incriminating stares. You watch as his chest rises and falls at a steady pace and you roll over onto your stomach, eyes still glued on Itto.

"I love you, Itto."

The words spill out of your mouth like a running faucet that doesn't shut off. You shuffle almost uncomfortably on the grass and you keep letting your confession roll from your tongue.

"I can't deny that... sometimes I get these dreams where you love me too and—"

It's too embarassing to admit that you've dreamt of Itto holding you and fucking you like there's no end but the implication is there.

"But I'll never say it to your face that I love you... I don't want to ruin our friendship." Your words hang heavy and you stare at Itto as if waiting for him to wake up and catch you but he doesn't. Your gaze falls to the ground, watching the blades of grass move along your arm from the wind. It's a ticklish sensation.

"You love me?"

That familiar hearty chuckle meets your ears and you can feel your whole world pause. Slowly turning your head, you meet Itto's gaze. He's propped up on one arm and he's staring at you with sparkles in his eyes like an oaf. Embarassment colors your cheeks as you quickly turn away; you're not sure how to face him after basically confessing how you've had a crush on him and had lewd dreams about him.

A small yelp is practically forced out of you when Itto wraps his arms around your waist securely, and suddenly he's ontop of you, holding you down. "Dreams? About me? The one and only?" Usually by now you'd groan and roll your eyes but when Itto is pressed against your body, you lose all your will to fight. "Wait wait wait wait, you've got me curious now, is it really that good?" You've always knew that Itto was a virgin, never had romantic partner before, never had a hook-up, nothing. So it was natural for the oni to be curious.

Itto's abnormally large and calloused hands roam and prod at your clothing. He doesn't know what he's doing and its clear from how mindlessly he's tugging at your pants. With a small chuckle, Itto clicks off your belt and pulls down your pants alongside with your boxers. Was he really planning to fuck right in the middle of a grass hill? "Woah, you're really small," you took offense to that and was about to retaliate until you remembered Itto was an oni, he was most likely double your size.

At this point your face was buried in the comfort of your own forearms, protecting yourself from the harsh grass below you. You hear a clink followed by a thud, indicating that Itto took off his belt and was doing the same with his pants. "You're trembling man, are you cold?" It was nice of Itto to ask but, you were mostly trembling in a mix of fear and anticipation. How would his cock actually feel inside of you? Would it be bigger than you expected?

Itto leans in and you feel something big poke at your hole. There was no way that was his cock. You glance back at him and your jaw drops to the floor. He was bigger than you expected, and his red markings trailed all the way to his tip. His hand palms at your ass, spreading it apart as he clumsily lines himself up, sometimes missing. The usually talkative Itto is now relatively quiet, his breathing becoming more exasperated as he slowly pushes inside of you.

It burns. The way he stretches you out and forces you to accommodate for his size burns but also feels addictingly good. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing the soft flesh of your body as he groans quietly. "W–What the hell... you're so tight," His boisterous ego stammers as he becomes a breathy mess, trying to push deeper inside of you. Itto's nails dig into your skin, leaving crescent shapes indents on your hip as his head falls forward. You can feel his dick throbbing inside of you and your body is completely filled with just him.

Without another word, Itto pulls out before slamming back in. He hits right at your prostate, making stars appear in your vision. "Wait Itto slow down! You're too big—" Your whines fail to reach his numb brain; all he can focus on is the way you're sucking him back in every time he pulls out. "A–ah it feels so good," Itto's teeth graze against your shoulder but he tries to resist biting down. What a sweetheart.

You feel him tremble on top of you, like he's resisting the urges to be rough and unforgiving. It was in his nature to breed. His grip tightens on you, and he has his arms firmly wrapped around your body like you're a plushie. Itto's hips piston into you causing a loud slapping sound from your skin making contact with his. He can't help but hold you close, otherwise you'd try to leave him! He's practically drooling all over your shoulder but you're too fucked-dumb to really care.

Itto's teeth finally sink into your shoulder, sucking softly as he marks you as his, "Sorry, can't– help it." His apologies are quiet as he stammers like he's acting against his own will. "Gonna... gonna cum," He whimpers, his fingers digging into your skin. That was sure to leave a mark the next day. You feel a pool of pleasure in your stomach; you're close too. The way he's hitting all the right spots with every thrust made your legs weak. Who would've thought the 'big bad oni' would be whimpering and groaning while fucking you senseless.

This was better than your dreams of him. Instead of having to groggily clean your pants every morning, you're shooting blanks out onto the grass as Itto slams his hips against your ass a few more times. He groans lowly into your ear before orgasming inside of you, filling you up to the brim. You feel his crushing weight suddenly crash down on you as he collapses from the bliss. "Itto! You're too heavy get off," you whine but your protests go unheard by the oni who's dazed out of his mind.

"What's going on with you two...?"

Kuki blinks blankly at you as she glances from your intertwined fingers with Itto and your blushing face. You weren't exactly the one for big public display of affection but Itto didn't seem to care at all. In fact, he's got you glued to his side with a big smile on his face.

"He's my boyfriend!"

a/n : big dumb itto ,, luv him

[jinxthequeergirl]

The Ol Switcharoo (pt2)

Stan pines x reader /ford pines x reader

Summary: Your family vacation lasted longer than expected. When you return home to Stanford, you realize quickly something wrong.

Warning: NONE

Hey! Just some housekeeping before you read on

☆Thanks for all the love ya'll it means bunches

☆this part is shorter do to me wanting to pace this better, but I hope yall enjoy none the less!

☆a few of ya'll asked to be tagged so I'm starting a tag list if you'd like to be included don't hesitate to ask

☆additionally I did have a Playlist for this specific series and if ya'll would like me to post the songs for it also lemme know

Enjoy!

~~~~~☆~~~~~

"STANLEY HELP!"

Stan felt himself freeze up, his heart race and mind go blank, why couldn't he think? Why couldn't he move?

He watched in horror as his brother floated up backwards through the air into the gaping hole in space and time.

"Do something!"

"What...what do i do!?" He asked meekly, looking around for something to help.he watched as parts of his brother slowly disappeared, and as he reached into his coat pocket and tossed something at him. "Hide my research...CALLL Y/N ANYTHING-"

Stan shielded his eyes as a bright white light filled the room and knocked him back onto the floor. The room was suddenly quiet.

"Ford!?...Ford! Come back!" He wasted no time to get back up and bang on the machine, hoping it would start back up like an old appliance. "Please!"

He raced to the lever a few feet away, desperately pulling and yanking at it, but it didn't budge.

"Stanford!?...Ford!? Are you home yet!?" The small coo of an unfamiliar voice snapped Stan from his nightmare.

"Hello!?" The voice echoed out again. He quickly got up, reaching for his only form of security. A baseball bat.

The voice had gone silent, but he could still hear someone moving he took a long pause, then opened the door swinging his bad.

"FORD WAIT! WAIT, IT'S ME! ITS Y/N!!"

Y/n?

He stopped swinging the bat and stared down at you.

"Call y/n! Anything-"

"Y/n?"

"Yes, it's me, Ford! I haven't been gone that long have i?"

He cleared. "No not at all we have some catching up to do."

You could tell there was something ford...well stan (you'd have to get used to the sudden name change) wanted to tell you while you sat across from him. Like he wanted to give you bad news. But he seemed to be thinking of the right way to put it.

"So..stan...what made you want to change from Ford to stan? Did your family have that much of an impact on you?" You tried to joke to lighten the tension that seemed to linger in the air.

"Well...something like that...listen y/n-"

"Are you OK? You seem...different you seem nervous...more nervous then when I left.." You placed your hand over top of his and offered a reasuring smile.

"I..."

stan didn't know you...he had no right to lie to you. But Ford seemed to trust you and judging from the photo on his desk in the basement, how fondly he seemed to write about you in the journal...the scrapped drawings of you in the garbage you meant a whole lot more to him then stan could understand right now, you must have felt the same way about his brother.

He remembered how worried his brother had been in making sure he understood you were absolutely under no circumstances to not touch the journals or anything pertaining to it again.

"My closest friend y/n and I have been working on this project for months now...I should have listened to her but I didn't...I need you to get rid of this journal she can't be near any of this when she returns."

"Did something happen with the portal?...with that...creature? And what happened to your hands!" You said now, pulling both hands into yours to examine them.

Besides, you already seemed so worried. He couldn't be the one to break the news to you. Not now.

Besides, he had a plan.

Sort of.

So he did what he did best.

Lied.

"Well...uh while you were away, I had a little accident. I had to get surgery...yea surgery, and the accident you know was from the portal...so I said, Forget the whole thing! "

He Tried to say it in a way that would convince even himself.

"Stanford, what do you mean? What happened? Are you just going to give up on everything we worked for?"

"I have to, I just need some time."

Neither of you noticed at first that you were holding hands as you spoke. Stan was the first to notice the closeness. It was the first time in what felt like years that anyone had shown him this kind of affection, let alone the kindness you were demonstrating with your concern.

"I don't know what happened while I was away or when you even had time for something to go wrong or why you would even start working again without me!" He noticed the slight annoyance building up and squeezed your hand.

And you took a breath. "But I understand and I won't pretend to know what happened and if you aren't ready to tell me I can respect that...things got a little rocky between us before I left and I'm really just hoping things can go back to the way they used to be with us. If a longer break and time is what you need... then I am 100% behind your decision."

He felt a wave of relief wash over him at your words. Maybe it wasn't your words but the kind-hearted look in your eyes, or maybe it was the way you still held his hands in yours.

You'd be the first two admit two things about your current situation.

One, Nostalgia was a funny thing. You knew when something was off about your bestfriend, the man infront of you was was a changed man, while his story didn't add up he looked shaken and defeated...after all this was the man you trusted with half your life. And you wouldn't lie, you had clung so desperately to the memories of college and spring through winter, it was that glimmer of hope and a mix of Nostalgia for your good times together that made you believe him.

And two, You always knew better then to trust your heart you and Ford would joke about the idea of following your heart and not your brain, how silly a concept it was that the organ that pumped blood through your body had such a pull on your decision making it made your thought process stop.

Yet here you where.

Following your heart.

"How about a few drinks and I can tell you about my trip?" You offered standing and being the first to break the lock between your hands. "And I can tell you about the plans I have for this place!"

"Plans?"

"Sure! I mean, we aren't doing our science junk anymore, so we need to make money somehow, right?"

You set down two glasses.

"Ok?"

You sat down, you listened to him explain how he had already done a few tours displaying whatever you had already had laying around and how people where eating it up.

"Stanford you've never been one for the gimmicky tricks, you've always cared more about the real deal...WE'VE been about the real deal...why lie to people?"

"Trust me y/n do a tour with me tomorrow try to show the people a real life monster and whatchamacallit and put it up against my made up creature."

You laughed. This wasn't what you had expected Stanford pines to spend his break away from work doing. It was out of character for him. But refreshing somehow.

Just like that, the seasons changed, and it was spring again

You learned quickly people didn't like the truth.

Real monsters and ghouls seemed to only upset or bother people so you and stan collaborated a way to make attractions that seemed real enough but also gimmicky enough that tourists would eventually laugh at it.

You learned pretty quickly that you were not only a pretty crafty person but an excellent storyteller.

You and Stanford seemed to almost pick up where you left off bonding and cracking jokes. It was like he was more confident than when you left him, more relaxed and full of life. You two fit right back into place with eachother with out missing a beat.

It's exactly what you'd been missing.

Soon, you were renovating half the house to be a showroom and giftshop, and soon after you were selling and wearing t shirts, you began putting up a sign. By the following summer, you were basically an operational business.

The mystery shack felt more like a brain child of you and Stanford and you cared for it like such.

It was something fun.

Something that didn't seem to be running Stanford down like the science stuff did. You could see a genuine smile on his face as he showed some local kid the corni-corn.

It was silly. You couldn't remember the last time you'd done something silly and adventurous.

It felt good.

"Another day another dollar y/n my dear." Stan said, flipping the open sign to close and placing his little red fez cap on top of your head.

"Soon enough, we'll have people from all over the place coming to get a piece of the mystery shack." He said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, leading you back to the section of the Mystery shack that was still your shared home.

"Yea, we have a real Walt Disney start-up story, don't we stanford." He laughed loudly before suddenly getting serious.

"Listen. I wanted to say thank you for sticking with me through this. It means a lot."

"Of course, stanford." You reached up and planted a small peck on his cheeks. "We've been through everything together. I'm not going to stop now."

You could see stans face flush slightly as you stretched and yawned. "Anyways goodnight stanford."

"Uh yea...goodnight..." You heard him mumble as he touched his cheek where you kissed him.

Things where looking up.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

Tag list!:

@fanficcrow

@slay-thou-pookie

[ravengards-rogue]

i thought of you so often.

arthur morgan x reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.

✧ wc : 2.4k (???)

✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.

✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.

He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.

You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.

On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.

You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.

It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.

It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.

Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.

Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.

Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.

Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.

You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.

(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.

"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)

But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.

You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.

You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.

And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.

A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.

The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.

So you're thinking on it.

The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.

Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.

You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.

"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.

Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.

The first few pages are nothing special.

A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.

You really love this man helplessly.

You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.

It feels like ages ago now.

You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.

There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.

It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.

Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.

You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.

She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.

Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.

You can't tear your eyes away.

Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.

Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.

Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.

You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.

I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.

She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.

One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.

After Arthur had been kidnapped.

I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.

Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.

A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.

The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.

Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.

You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.

You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.

Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.

Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.

My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.

Damn that man.

When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.

Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.

In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.

"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"

You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.

Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.

"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"

You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.

"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"

His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.

"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."

You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.

"Found your journal. The one about me,"

He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.

"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"

You shake your head.

"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"

He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."

You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.

"I love you, Arthur."

"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"

"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"

"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."

"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"

Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[aledmorningstar]

╰┈➤Bad joke

Summary: Sukuna discovers that you don't like jokes.

Relationship: Ryomen Sukuna/Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Note: Slow updates, my editor and I are in a fight with my university administrators.

-‘๑’-: No curses au, uni au, sfw, humor, fluff, slight angst

The terrible hours of class had finally ended, the hard day of university had culminated its torture at 6:00 pm, every day you reconsidered the idea of ​​continuing studying so intensely, did you really need that university degree?

Without a doubt, life sounded more beautiful in an imaginary world, being a pretty housewife who patiently waited for her millionaire husband who loved her madly, your days would be spent helping your children with their homework and wasting an unreasonable amount of money on any whim.

“We've told you to stop daydreaming, it could be dangerous in the wrong places.”

Your daydream was interrupted by one of your best friends, it seemed like your group of friends had already finished putting away their belongings and were just waiting for you to leave the classroom.

"Oh I'm sorry. I was just thinking about the future."

“Is the young lady returning to the fantasy of married life with her impolite boyfriend?”

"Hey! I already told you not to talk about him like that."

You argue while you put your notebooks and computer in your bag, the one that your boyfriend Ryomen had given you on your birthday even though you told him that a gift was not necessary, you knew how difficult it must be for him and how limited which can sometimes be the money in your situation; his mother, playing the role of both parents and trying to provide a bright future for her children; Yuji, his twin who had to complete several courses to be a firefighter and also study a Bachelor's degree in automotive mechanics; and finally Ryomen himself, who had to complete his university career as a lawyer.

It was definitely not easy for him or his family, unlike you, who had lived the life of a princess in an imaginary bubble impenetrable by the dangers and worries of reality. Even though you had insisted on helping that modest family financially, you were not allowed to do so. Both Sukuna and his brother and mother refused to accept a cent of your generous support, saying that they did not want to take advantage of your kindness. That did not stop them from you gave expensive gifts to each one on special dates.

Maybe that was the reason behind that expensive gift from your boyfriend, one day he simply listened to you talk about that beautiful designer bag that was going to become fashionable with its next release on sale, he used all his savings and even did part-time jobs, washing cars, walking dogs, helping model clothes for the fashion design department; just to be able to see a cute and excited smile on your face.

You are a princess, the most beautiful flower he could find and of course he would give you everything you deserve, everything that fine society has given you and he does his best so that you do not have any lack by his side, to be worthy of you.

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you had pre-ordered that bag thanks to your father's contacts and that you had to refund it, angering some merchants for their wasted efforts.

“Hurry up, if we don't get to the cafe on time the tables will be full.”

Like every Friday you and your friends got together to talk about the latest news in your lives, your social circle was mostly made up of girls just as privileged as you, it wasn't difficult for your father to convince you to choose a career in law, much less make you enter one of the most demanding and prestigious schools in the country.

Your friends are good girls, you knew that otherwise you wouldn't have even looked at them; However, like you, they were overprotected and followed the sophisticated rules that society had imposed on them. This was one of the reasons why they didn't quite agree with your relationship with Ryomen Sukuna, a commoner in their eyes.

Like any conversation between friends, the topic of boys and relationships could not be avoided, a topic in which you came to light with your strange relationship of “opposite poles”, the little princess of the city and the delinquent of the campus, it was the funniest and most interesting experiment your friends could witness.

“So… How is our little princess's relationship going? Did he already ruin it?”

Of course there were going to be silly comments that doubted that your relationship was authentic and that waited for the slightest mistake from your boyfriend to shout in your face “I told you so.”

"No and he won't, you don't know my 'kuna"

“We know his history”

Even though all your friends were always supportive and kind to you, there was one in particular who wasn't very nice. Ann, always making sarcastic comments and believing herself to be better than everyone, everyone could see how jealous she was of you; She had been the last to join the group, one day you saw her alone and decided to integrate her into your group, unfortunately you never found the words to tell her that you no longer wanted to be her friend.

“Come on, darling, everyone here remembers how your relationship began.”

“He has changed, he is not the same person he was before, he is a new man”

Sure, your relationship may not have started off in the most convincing way possible, there were lies, misunderstandings and a lot of tears, but everything is different now. Now you have the romance that any girl could dream of, one full of love, affection and trust of those you only find in books, you would have your happily ever after.

“Well, I'll wait for your bad boy to do one of his things and don't say I didn't warn you.”

"When pigs fly, that's not going to happen"

The atmosphere had frozen in an awkward silence as you and Ann exchanged a big forced smile, it was strange to see you angry because of your sweet personality, but it would certainly be even stranger not to see you jump into an argument that included Ryomen Sukuna's name, you are his unofficial lawyer.

“Okay girls, let's talk about something else…”

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

You love Fridays, the best day of the week, since you could sleep over at your loved one's house and enjoy the weekend in his arms watching movies, doing puzzles, taking photos, listening to music, talking, watching videos, going out on dates, ordering takeout or even when he played a video game on the console and you were left coloring the pictures he printed for you (sometimes he needs his space).

That Friday the drawings were finished quickly, so you decided to watch some videos on your tiktok while Sukuna played a video game that you only knew had weapons because of the shots. The videos on your fyp were about pranks between couples (something that amused you), some light and others a little harsh.

Sukuna was someone who was a joker, someone who liked to make jokes but couldn't stand having one played on him; However, you were a couple, a slight joke between you could be kind of funny, it wasn't even a funny joke you just wanted to see how funny his reaction could be.

A message made Sukuna's phone ring, you thought it was the perfect time for your little act as you held back your laughter.

“Who is sending you so many messages? You have another girl, right?”

Your comment surprised Sukuna slightly, you weren't the jealous type, he looked at you for a split second and that was enough for him to know you were joking, he can play too.

"Oh my love. It's not even one girl, they´re five precious ones."

The amused smile that adorned your face disappeared in an instant, being replaced by a strange grimace, your eyes glistening from the tears that formed and that you refused to let go as you bit your trembling lower lip, preventing any sound.

"Really?"

“Of course, pretty. I'm too cool to stay with just one girl."

Memories of your conversation with Ann invaded your mind, Sukuna Ryomen had a past that was difficult to overcome, would he really change overnight for you?

Your boyfriend quickly realized that you had started packing your belongings back into your suitcase, why would you do that? The plan was that you would stay with him like every weekend, what was happening?

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

Well, you had dropped a little bomb that exploded in your face and you didn't like it, but you wouldn't let him notice that it dealt a low blow at least for you.

“I'm just putting my things away. “Can you pass me my colored pencils?”

Sukuna decided to make the difficult decision to abandon his game and pay attention to the seemingly serious situation that was occurring with his beloved.

He did as you asked, you put away your colored pencils next to your other belongings with quick movements and finally wrote something furiously on your phone.

“I asked you a question, what are you doing?”

“Nothing… I'm asking my driver to come pick me up.”

"Now?"

“Yes, now. In fact I'm writing to him 'Please hurry up, I want to leave here right now, come as fast as you can'”

You could barely feel the force and speed with which Ryomen snatched the phone from your hands, he stood up and placed your phone on one of the highest pieces of furniture in the living room.

"Why would you do that?"

"What do you mean why? Did you hear what you said earlier?”

The hardest question you can ask a man, ask him the reason why his girlfriend was angry. The pink-haired man's reasoning quickly went to work.

Connect the dots, you had gotten angry within a period of 5 minutes, you weren't angry with him before that time, all he had done was play video games. Had that bothered you? No, he had given you drawings of your favorite characters to entertain you, the only thing he had done besides playing had been answering your joke... Oh.

“Ah, that's it.”

“Is that all you will say?”

Okay, a mental note for Sukuna: You like making jokes, you don't like having them made or returned to you. You're a crybaby, but he still loves you.

“Sorry, love, it was a joke. You know that I only love you, you are the only girl who occupies my heart, the owner of my soul and my body, I would kill for you, ask me to kill for you."

Ryomen approached to hug you from behind, he placed one of his hands on your abdomen and one on your shoulder, crossing your chest to bring you closer to him, you could feel his breath on your neck and after a few seconds you shivered from the kisses he gave you. he left on your cheek.

“I didn't find your joke funny.”

“In my defense, you started joking that I had another woman. You’re a baby, jokes aren’t your thing, darling.”

The look on your face made him feel like he had just kicked a puppy, his solution was to carry you back to the couch and hold you in his arms.

"I'm sorry baby. You can choose the movie we watch today, deal?”

"Deal"

⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭 master list is here

[noveauskull]

Tysm for feeding us with ur wuwa smut fics bro <33 and btw since requests r open as u said, can u pls write the NSFW reaction of wuwa men when their fem s/o is always half-naked when their both home alone?? Lol, and if they ask why their s/o is so relaxed to just roam and walk around their private home nearly naked, s/o just shrugs her shoulders and says something like: “We’re a couple, now— are we not? I don’t see the problem here.” EHHEEHEEHHEHHEHEH >:333 (Again tysmsmmss amd have a good day/noon! 🫶)

How WUWA Men React When You Walk Around The House Half-Naked (NSFW)

characters: jiyan, mortefi, geshu lin, yuanwu, scar, aalto, calcharo x reader

warnings: suggestive behavior, teasing, not really all the way, just a short post, nsfw

-----

Scar:

He doesn't mind when you walk around half naked, matter of fact he'd go walking around half naked with you

You just know that he's purposely trying to hug you just to feel your skin on his

Somehow the two of you would end up fucking

"Why bother wearing clothes at this point?"

Sometimes he even rubs himself on you while you're half naked, sick pervert

He encourages it a lot

-----

Yuanwu:

He's flustered by your confidence, but glad enough you trust him to see your body

Despite being a gentleman, he is still a man, so he'd often times stare at you while having a nice sip of tea

"Aren't you cold?" You were in fact, not cold at all. The only shivers you get is when you feel a pair of eyes on you

Suddenly he's smiling at you and offering you to help him get his glasses in the bedroom

And now he's pinning your hands to your head and kissing you

You didn't mean to be provocative, but it happened anyways

-----

Mortefi:

"WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?"

He's panicked at first but he gets used to it later, a bit of a drama king but when you pointed out on him revealing his chest he just blushes and sighs in defeat

Definitely ogling at you, he especially loves the way he could see your boobs when you're only in your bra

At one point when he stands too close to you he's already pinning you to the wall and kissing you

"If this is your way of teasing me then it's working" He's say while blushing profusely

-----

Jiyan:

He's shocked but he doesn't say anything, instead he just tries to avoid staring at you and hopes you'd out some clothes on

But you don't, you're still in your underwear and it's getting really bad for his heart to see you walking around so freely

When he feels like he wants to talk to you about it, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and make you stare into his eyes and ask you if you were interested in going to bed together to fuck

And of course you say yes, cause he's already slipping his hand down to grope your ass, leaving you no choice

Jiyan likes it when you wear less in front of him

-----

Aalto:

He starts acting like he saw you for the first time and starts flirting with you

You didn't expect him to wrap his arm around you and slip his hand into your bra though

Now he's trying to have a conversation with you while he's teasing your nipple, just so you would get wet

"Oops, almost forgot about my food in the microwave" He stands up and leaves you alone on the couch, wet and confused

But you're definitely gonna keep walking around half naked, that's for sure

-----

Geshu Lin:

"What do you think you are doing?"

He acts like he has a problem with it but when you remind him that its only the two of you and that he's already seen your body suddenly hes fine with it

But he will still complain about it

Eventually he gets tired of complaining and just carries you to bed, telling you that now that he's hard you have to take responsibility for it

Tsundere Geshu Lin?

-----

Calcharo:

He's like a big dog, staring at his owner and wondering what to do or say

For some reason, he'd start putting blankets or towels on you

"Is this a new way to make me turned on?"

Before you know it he's fucking you with the same clothes you had on half naked

He ends up wanting you to walk around the house half naked anyways

-----

A/N: SORRY FOR MAKING IT SHORT ANON I HAVE A LOT OF THINGS TO DO AND IM PUSHING OUT REQUESTS SO THIS IS PROBABLY NOT SATISFACTORY BUT I HOPE MY OTHER POSTS MAKES IT UP TO YOU 😭😭

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

"Don't You Know It's Bad Luck To See Your Bride Before The Wedding?"

Warning: I write reader as female 

Masterlist

One of the most interesting things about having a girlfriend from another world is learning about the culture and traditions that her world possesses. Normally, he would consider every part of the home of the love of his life nothing less than perfect, since it managed to create such an exceptional individual - the very same individual that he can proudly call his. This was, however, before you mentioned a certain tradition/superstition that you had where the soon-to-be husband and wife spend the night before their wedding apart and forbids said betrothed couple from seeing each other until they meet at the altar.

Here’s how our dear NRC boys would react when told this news:

Is cool with it. At least on the outside. They understand that it’s a silly little tradition from your home world so they let you spend the night with Adeuce (you bet that those two are your bridesmen/men of honour and the three of you and Grim are going to have the greatest bachelorette party of your life)/Papa Crewel 

But of all traditions, why this one? He seems perfectly calm when you say goodbye - you pretend you don’t notice how he holds you much longer and tighter than he usually does when he hugs you - and your text messages to each other are as normal as they can be, but no matter how hard he tries he just can’t shake off the cold feeling of loneliness your absence brings and how his body feels empty without yours to anchor it.

Once the festivities of his bachelor party are over, it takes five minutes of him trying and failing to keep himself occupied and distracted before his desire to at least hear your voice becomes unbearable and he grabs his phone to call you. He wordlessly slips off somewhere where none of his friends would find him and he gives you a ring. The two of you speak to each other until one of you falls asleep.

He would actually go through with it in its entirely and seeing you walking down the aisle in all your glory and beauty, emerging through the door like a celestial being, after hours of not seeing you had him completely awestruck, like a dying man seeing an oasis after spending hours crawling through the desert. It nearly almost made the wait worth it. 

Just never make him go through that again. Please.

Trey, Jamil, Silver, Jack, Sebek

Instantly shoots it down. 

Listen, Y/N, he loves you so much it hurts. He’ll move mountains for you, pluck the stars and moon out of the sky for you. He’d make the sun rise from the west if that’s what you desired. If there’s an option to carve out his heart and present it to you on a silver platter he would. Every breath he takes, every time his heart beats, and every hour of every day, he’s dedicated to making you the happiest person in the world - the ring on your finger is an attest to that.

But he won’t, absolutely will not nor ever, deprive himself of a single minute of your presence. He’s trying to make up for the years he’s spent without even knowing you and now that he has you in his life, do you think he goes a day without thanking every force in the multiverse that you found him and filled his life with light and colour and laughter. Do you truly believe that he would ever even attempt to get any amount of rest when you’re not in his arms? It’s absolutely unfathomable and he will stand for it. Now come over here and spend the next hour cuddling him for speaking such nonsense.

It does not matter how long your respective bachelor and bachelorette parties last, you two are spending the night together and that’s that. Full stop.

And don’t worry about the consequences. Whatever supposed ‘bad luck’ that befalls you as a result of his actions, he’ll shoulder it all. In sickness and in health until the end of time, after all.

Riddle, Vil, Jamil, Azul, Leona, Malleus, Idia

Haha, no ♡

Leona, Lilia, Jade, Floyd

WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM???? 🥺😭

Ever since you brought it up, he’s been nothing but clingy. It’s hard to tell where you start and he ends from the way he’s hugging you so close it’s like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together. 

He wants to do it for you since you’re already sacrificing so much by being away from your home but-but that means that he has to spend a whole entire night without you! Don’t you know he can’t live without your goodnight kisses? And your good morning kisses? And your breakfast kisses and lunch kisses? And you’re just going to desert him like that? Abandon him and then deprive him of hours of kisses and cuddles that legally are his right to have? Starve him of his well-deserved affection and leave him when he needs you the most? Just tell him that you hate him, it would hurt less.

This boy is going to be facetiming you throughout his entire bachelor party - the rules of your world be damned. He’s going to be marrying you in less than 24 hours and he wants to spend every second of his excitement and pure elation with you. 

These boys are also the reason as to why you have to have people stationed outside your changing room like guards to make sure that the surprise of your wedding dress isn’t ruined because ‘they just had to see you’.

Needless to say, you are going to be spending the night together

But seriously he’s tried to follow you into the bathroom. Just tell him that it’s an old custom that no one abides by anymore before he breaks the door down.

Ace, Deuce, Cater (100% snapchats/live tweets his feelings of betrayal), Ruggie, Epel, Kalim, Azul, Floyd, Rook

You used your impeccable negotiation skills (puppy eyes) to reach a compromise. You’ll spend the night in Ortho’s room and the two of you will spend the entire night before your wedding playing video games using your matching couple headphones. Ortho will run interference until you leave the next day to get ready to make sure that you don’t end up seeing each other.

Or at least that was the plan until Idia woke up in the middle of the night to find his room devoid of the only lights in his life. Without even thinking, he leaves his bedroom and goes over to where you and his brother are and he gets into bed with you and cuddles you.

Listen normie, you’ve wormed your way into his heart so take some responsibility. If your world is right, then he’ll take the L. He’s used to doom and gloom so whatever bad luck happens can’t be worse than the life he had without you and it certainly isn’t worth even an hour without you by his side.

Idia

Are you kidding him, Herbivore?

First he has to go to some stupid bachelor party that his brother, Ruggie and Jack are throwing because no one would shut up about it when he could be sleeping with you and now you’re telling him that you want him to spend the night alone when he could be sleeping with you?

No. Absolutely not.

He doesn’t care if you think it’ll bring him bad luck or whatever. He’s not spending the night without you. In fact, he’s not even going to go to that blasted party. You and him can just spend the entire time napping in bed.

What? He has to go. Fine. They get one hour. Then, you're his. And if anything tries to get in the way of yours and his happiness, he’ll turn it to ash with his very claws.

Leona

Child of Man, he does not understand. You mean to tell him that in your world, a betrothed couple must spend the eve and morning of their nuptials apart lest a curse of bad luck shall befall them? He’s never heard of such a thing. Humans have such strange customs from where you’re from. You needn’t worry, however, as the future king and powerful mage, he is more than capable of handling whatever calamity that comes your way. A measly little curse is no match for a fae such as he. Therefore, there is no reason for you to deprive him of the warmth of your body for he shall always be there to soothe your fears. He has sworn to protect you and made an oath to you that no harm shall ever befall you.

For if anyone dares to prove him otherwise, he shall deal with them. 

Personally.

Malleus (it takes him a while to realise it’s not an actual curse since your world doesn’t even have magic to begin with but he still makes you wear enchanted jewellery on your person just in case - even though every piece of jewellery he had gifted you prior to that is chock full with protection charms and that’s not even counting the heaps of blessings he gave you) (It’s like that time you told him about the curse of ‘The Scottish Play’ all over again)

[luveline]

Hey Jade! I was wondering if you could do some Derek Morgan comfort?! Maybe reader who deals with headaches/migraines?

Hope you're having a nice day/night!!💛

thanks lovely, you too!

You're pinching the bridge of your nose pointlessly when Derek and Spencer arrive that morning. 

“D'you guys do a coffee run?” you ask, surprised to see them come in at the same time. 

“We did!” Spencer says, putting a paper cup down in front of you. “I got you a donut, too.” 

“Thanks, honey,” you say, rubbing the hot spot between your brows to no results. Spencer smiles, pleased, and sits at his desk with the bag of donuts to start a napkin dissemination. 

You wrap your hand around the coffee and let it warm your fingers. 

“You okay?” Derek asks. His brows are pinched upwards at the starts but otherwise furrowed. “You don't look happy.” 

“I have a headache,” you admit. Talking is twice as hard with the pain pulsing behind your eyes; you slur. 

“What?” 

What does he mean, what? You look up from the desk in confusion, but he isn't confused like you, he's borderline upset. “It's not that bad,” you say. 

“It looks pretty bad where I'm standing.” 

Derek grabs the back of your chair and turns you toward him, his expression a mirror of your own discontent. He's wearing a short-sleeved shirt that in any other circumstance would draw your attention, and the badge clipped to his shirt is wonky. 

You're in pain, but you like him. You care about him in the weird way that makes you want to make him breakfast and tie his shoelaces. He is not a man that needs coddling, but you can't restrain yourself, reaching for his pocket to right his badge. 

He laughs quietly. “You're squinting.” 

“Pain's in my eyes.” 

“Sweetheart.” He takes your face in one hand and turns it down, away from the harsh office lights. “You're impossible to understand.” 

You laugh but wince when a flame of pain sparks anew. “I think it's travelling. It's in my brain.” 

“That's your second best feature.” 

“Don't make me laugh,” you plead. 

Morgan gives your cheek a rub with his thumb before pulling away. He takes the few steps to his desk and opens the drawer, pulling out a familiar pair of sleek black Ray-ban shades. “Here. Try these on for size,” he says, opening the arms wide. 

You close your eyes, but there's no need. Derek's extremely careful pushing them over your ears and up your nose. 

“Too sunny in here?” Blake asks, bemused as she skirts past with her mug of tea, her baby bump nudging the back of your chair. 

“Poor girl's not feeling good,” Derek answers for you. 

“Poor girl thought you felt sorry for her,” you say, staring at him through the grey lense of his shades. They're immediately helpful. You won't tell him that, though. 

“I pity anybody stupid enough to feel sorry for you, sweetheart.” He hesitates for no more than a second, dropping his hand onto the stretch of your shoulder blade gently. “You take anything for it? Aspirin?” 

“I did,” —your voice wobbles of its own accord, the instability that comes with a pain that has no clear end in sight— “but it hasn't kicked in yet.” 

He rubs your back, pressing his cheek briefly to your forehead in a side-armed hug. “Let me get you a glass of water.” 

“Morgan?” you ask, catching his arm. He waits. “Kiss it better?” 

You say it because you know he'll crack a smile. It's not nice seeing him so worried, and your headache genuinely feels a little better when he laughs. “Don't start with me. I'll do it. You know I will, beautiful.” 

You sink back into your seat and push his sunglasses up. “I'll be here.” 

He leaves to get you a glass of water. While you're waiting, Spencer passes you your donut, which you pick apart and chew on feebly. Distracted, a warm, chaste kiss is pressed to your cheek as a familiar hand places a glass of water in front of you. 

Derek wiggles his eyebrows at you, asking, “Better?” 

“I'm telling Penelope.” You wince as you turn on your monitor. “In a bit. Just as soon as this screen gets less bright.” 

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 11

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

ღ wc 13.5 k (enjoy your meal lol)

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note hey loves!! thank you so much for your patience, i know it's been a while. buckle up, because we're taking another trip inside satoru's mind, so yeahhh. it's gonna be wild, oh and we're continuing right were we left off in the last chapter. this chapter is again in satoru's pov!! i've also updated the trigger warnings, so please take a look before reading (might be spoiling tho). and lastly, credit to the fanart in the cover, if you know the artist, pls let me know!! can't wait to hear what you all think & thanks for sticking with me!! ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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They say before you can love someone else, you have to love yourself first.

And there lies the damn problem. 

I don't know how. 

Never have.

Why am I thinking this now? 

I knew this was right. 

Right for her. 

But then why does my heart feel like it's being ripped out by the fucking roots?

Suguru will take care of her. He always does. That's the only thing that keeps me from screaming, keeps me from chasing after her.

I trust him, damn it, but it shouldn't be him.

It should be me holding her. Me, who knows how she likes to be held when the panic claws its way up. Me, holding her until the world feels less sharp, less cruel.  

Me, who knows that she doesn't want to talk about it. Me, who knows to give her space. She needs space. My strong girl needs space first. 

I hope he gives her space.

But he wouldn't know any of this. He couldn't comfort her in the ways I instinctively knew how. 

Me, who knows how to soothe the invisible wounds, the ones even she denies exist. Me, who knows the soft words she needs to hear after it passes.

It shouldn't be him. 

Sorry. 

It shouldn't have been him.

Past tense. 

It all might be past tense now.

And the thought is more than I could bear.

Shattered. 

Was that the word?

Was there even a word for what I felt in that moment?

How could I ever convey this suffocating agony that's tearing me apart with mere words?

Words are meaningless in the end.

Meaningless when they couldn't be spoken to her, couldn't reach her, couldn't make her understand, couldn't heal the wound I'd carved into her heart.

So, yeah, maybe shattered is the right word. 

The wrong word.

The sterile air was acid in my lungs. Each ragged breath felt like sandpaper against my throat. I held my breath, a desperate plea for the world to stop spinning, for the clock to rewind, for a chance to undo everything.

But time doesn't care. 

It marched on, relentless, while I stayed trapped in this hell, drowning in the mess I made. 

My lungs burned. My vision blurred. I waited until she disappeared. The world seemed to tilt sideways, losing all color and shape, leaving only the sharp, agonizing realization that I'd made her walk away.

I didn't want to breathe anymore.

Not in a world where every breath ached without her.

"Dr. Gojo?" A voice, distant, muffled. 

Irrelevant.

My gaze flickered to Sukuna. He watched, a predator savoring the kill. 

His twisted smile fueled rage within me. But there would be no fighting this. No grand defense. Not when her life was the bargaining chip.

So, I lied. 

Each word a nail in the coffin of the connection I craved more than life itself.

Each word a drop of poison forced down my throat. A self-inflicted wound, a desperate mutilation of the only thing that had ever felt real.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes I loved so fiercely, wide with confusion and horror. The strangled gasp, the way her body went limp in Geto's arms — a haunting image that would forever be etched on my heart.

Muscles screamed, a silent protest against my own pathetic stillness. But I remained frozen. 

This was my punishment. 

I had to watch her leave, had to sear the pain into my very being, an endless penance for the choices I'd made.

The door clicked shut behind them.

That simple sound, final, absolute.

My lungs filled with air, a betrayal. Oxygen I didn't deserve, didn't want. 

My own body, this treacherous thing kept going, kept me alive against my will, kept me tethered to this cruel reality.

The room swam back into focus, the judges' accusing faces nothing but a blurry backdrop. The sounds of their inquest washed over me like meaningless noise.

"Dr. Gojo? Can we continue?"

I nodded.

They pressed on. More questions about the research, her involvement, their accusations of favoritism.

How stupid.

Of course, I favored her. 

How could I not? 

She is everything.

Oh, sorry. Forgot. Past tense.

She was everything.

Did I regret it? 

Did I wish I could go back and treat her with the same damn indifference I afforded everyone else?

Yeah, maybe.

A familiar craving stirred my senses, the desperate need for the numbing escape that would mean failing her even more. My fingers clawed at my forearm, trying to replace the hollowness with physical pain. It wasn't enough.

My responses were rote, mechanical.

Yeah, I favored her. 

Yeah, I let her into the OR because of it.

Yeah, and she outshone every damn surgeon twice her age. 

No, she didn't know I'd set it up. 

No, she never asked for special treatment. She just worked until her eyes were bloodshot, pushing harder than anyone else.

And hell no, she didn't do a single thing wrong.

Except maybe — maybe loving me. 

After what felt like an eternity, the judges seemed satisfied, or perhaps just exhausted by my robotic replies. 

They painted me the arrogant professor with a weakness for a young student, who abused his power, who played favorites.

Whatever they wanted to believe, fine.

Didn't even have the energy to care anymore.

Let them drag my name through the mud, tarnish the reputation I'd worked so hard to build. 

Because the title, the position, the facade of success meant nothing when all I wanted was to rewind time, to undo the damage I'd done to the one person who truly mattered.

I didn't feel anymore.

I was done.

─── ·✧· ───

I burst out of the courtroom.

I needed escape, not just from this sterile prison of a room, but from my own traitorous flesh.

That itch.

It was a wildfire beneath my skin, a thousand insects gnawing their way to the surface. My fingers twitched, claws desperate to tear, to bleed out the poison of this relentless craving.

My legs moved without conscious thought, pushing me towards my office. Somewhere. Anywhere I would be able to breathe again. The guilt was a serrated blade twisting in my gut, each movement slicing me open anew.

Her terror-stricken eyes seared into my very soul.

The walls of my office closed in, the familiar space suddenly too small, too suffocating. 

My fist slammed into the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, a meaningless sea of white against the dark wood.

They didn't matter. None of it mattered.

A half-finished coffee mug followed. Porcelain shattered. Dark liquid splashed against the wall. 

My blood roared in my ears. 

Across the room, my framed diploma. I ripped it off the wall. Glass smashed. Sharp edges bit into my palm, drawing blood. But it wasn't enough. I hurled the frame against the wall.

Blood, hot and slick, coated my hands, the pain nothing.

In the shattered frame, I caught a glimpse of myself — wild eyes in a sweat-slicked face, a man on the verge of collapse.

It was a stranger.

I was across the room before I even registered the decision.

The drawer.

My fingers ripped it open. 

There, like a coiled viper, the amber vial gleamed, a venomous promise of oblivion.

Don't —

Don't come at me now. 

Did you really think I wouldn't keep a backup?

My hand reached, then hesitated.

The world lurched to a sharp halt as a knock pierced the chaos. My breath hitched, the vial a burning brand in my bloodied hand.

The door creaked open.

And there he was. Sukuna. 

He leaned against the doorframe, that sickening smirk plastered on his face. It was like a lit fuse to a powder keg. The rage that had been gnawing at my insides, tearing me apart, finally found its target.

Before a single rational thought could form, I was on him. Fist to jaw, heard the crack, felt it in my knuckles. He stumbled back, the smirk finally wiping off his face.

I pinned him against the door. Forearm across his throat, crushing his windpipe. His eyes widened, but even then, there was that damn flicker of amusement.

"Well, well," he choked out, "this is a nice welcome back."

"Funny to you?"

He coughed, a harsh laugh scraping out of him. "C'mon, Satoru, relax. I did you a favor," he sputtered. "Your precious little student, she's better off now. You know I'm right."

Every muscle in my body tensed.

He was right. 

In his twisted way, he was. 

And that's what made it all so much worse.

My grip on his throat tightened. But there was nothing, no satisfactio, no release in the violence.

Sukuna saw it, the hesitation. His mouth twisted into a smirk again. "See, you get it. Sweet thing doesn't belong in this mess, does she? It's not for her, Satoru. It's for us."

His words scraped like nails on a chalkboard. 

Yes, she was safer now, untouched by the rot that festered within me. Some desperate, logical part of me clung to that. But how could I hold on to that when my heart was screaming for her closeness?

"Or maybe," Sukuna drawled, pushing the knife deeper, "maybe you wanted to see where this goes. Stain her a bit, make her just a little bit more like you."

My breath hitched. For a split second, the floor vanished beneath me.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

"Shut the hell up!" I couldn't face it, couldn't face the ugly truth as it would tear me apart. "You twist everything. Play with lives just for your own sick amusement."

This was his game.

Sukuna thrived on chaos, on exploiting pain. 

He knew my guilt, my fear for her, and wielded it like a scalpel, laying bare the raw nerve of my fragile sanity.

"Perhaps. But ain't I right?  You needed to end it, but you lack the guts for it. Waited a bit longer, it'd be a total disaster."

I hesitated, then my grip on him slackened. I stepped back.

"You know I'm right," Sukuna continued. "You know how this would have ended. Suspension. Scandal. She'll be doomed forever for getting involved with her professor for favors. You wouldn't destroy her like that, would you? You're not that cruel."

"I'm not so sure." I ran a hand through my hair.  It had taken everything in me to push her away. 

But I can't deny that an ugly part of me wanted to keep her close. Drag her down with me. 

See her drown.

"Damn, you hit hard," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Go beat up some students again, not me."

"Stop giving me reasons to punch you."  Exhausted, I slumped into my desk chair, burying my face in my hands. My head pounded, the infuriating itch worsening with each damn moment. "Was this your plan all along?"

"What?" he scoffed.

I lifted a single eyebrow at him.

"You think that low of me? Honestly, Toru, a bit of credit, please. It was your pathetic indecision that made this entertaining. You basically gift-wrapped this mess and handed it to me."

"Besides," he continued, "let's be honest, you were holding her back. Now maybe she'll have a chance to become someone who might surpass you one day. You wouldn't deny her that, would you? No thanks needed."

He was right, and I hated that more than anything.

Sukuna sank into the chair across from me, a picture of smug satisfaction despite the visible bruise. "Damn, that punch still stings."

I opened my desk drawer and wordlessly tossed him the bottle of opioids. His eyes widened in surprise, before he gave the bottle a knowing shake. "Still on the hydromorphone?"

I didn't answer. The sound alone threatened to shatter what fragile control I had left. The itch was unbearable, each nerve ending screaming for relief.

Sukuna observed me, a predator watching its prey struggle. "Withdrawal never suited you," he said, popping a pill. "You always get so—" he paused, savoring the word, "—tense."

"Yeah, real supportive of you."

"Actually, I'm being incredibly supportive. I'm leaving for a little research trip overseas—four months. Ethics committee can't meet without me, so—" He leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "Gives you time to get your shit together. Isn't that nice of me?"

"Shut the hell up."

"C'mon, I put in a good word for you too. No suspension for now. You can keep teaching, just no surgeries. Yaga really hates my guts, doesn't he? But hey, at least you're not totally screwed."

"You expect a thank you?"

"Relax, Toru, the show's over," he said. "Trust me, they don't want a scandal, let alone lose their star surgeon. When I get back, a slap on the wrist, maybe a semester's suspension, then you're back to the boring old grind."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Last I checked, you were the one pushing for a scandal."

He rolled his eyes. "Someone had to do it. Knew you'd drag this out forever, playing the tragic hero. Needed a villain to get things moving." He gave a mocking bow. "At your service, my friend."

"Also," he continued, leaning forward in his chair, "the focus is off you now. The committee's sniffing around those implant engineers. Funny, isn't it?" 

Sukuna paused, savoring the moment. "Honestly, never thought there was anything wrong with your surgeries. You wouldn't make that kind of mistake. Tech malfunction more likely."

Of course. 

The bastard never doubted the damn research. It had all been a game to him — my career, my sanity, her — just pieces on his chessboard.

It should've made me furious, lash out, pound his face in again — but all I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion, a weariness that seeped into my very soul. I was too tired, too hollowed-out to do anything but swallow the bitter truth.

"That supposed to make me feel better?" 

"A little," he said, tossing the opioid bottle back. "This, though? That'll do the trick even better."

I caught it, my fingers clenching around the plastic.

He rose, stretching with a theatrical sigh. "Well, time to go. Remember, you owe me big time. You should take one," he gestured towards the pills, "you look like shit."

My grip on the bottle tightened. I looked up at him. "When all of this is done, I never want to see your damn face again."

He laughed. "We both know that's a lie. You and me? We need each other."

"The only thing you need is some damn therapy."

"Ah, Toru," he dismissed me with a smirk, "you'll come crawling back soon enough. We both know how this works."

With that, he was gone. I was left alone in the echoing silence, the pill bottle a burning weight in my hand. The world seemed to sway around me, my eyelids growing heavy.

The will to fight simply wasn't there anymore.

─── ·✧· ───

Cruel. 

Cruel how one little pill can undo everything. 

Cruel how one little pill can silence everything. 

Cruel how one damn pill can soften the world, make it — bearable, almost.

Unfair. 

It's truly unfair.

The screaming under my skin, that relentless itch — it's still there, but it had dulled to a faint hum, pushed back by the familiar numbness.

Finally.

Oh, finally some fucking silence.

I let out a shaky breath. It wasn't peace, not really. I knew that all too well. Borrowed time, each second ticking closer to the inevitable crash, the return of that relentless screaming in my head.

But for now, it'll have to be enough.

I collapsed on the couch, smoke curling lazily before my eyes.

I knew I shouldn't mix opioids with cannabis. That's something they teach you within the first year of university. What I used to teach students within the first year of university.

What a hypocrite I am really.

Another drag — harsh, burning down my throat. 

The urge to close my eyes, to sink into oblivion, was almost overwhelming. But sleep wouldn't bring respite. Only nightmares. I knew that only too well.

So, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

It really came down to me failing again, huh?

What was it now?

Attempt number five? 

Six?

I started losing count.

Maybe this was my fate.

A broken record, stuck on the same damn track.

Deep down, under the chemical haze, guilt gnawed at me. It was a dull ache now, no longer the searing pain of earlier, but a constant, insidious reminder. 

She were out there, her life forever marked by my choices, while I was — here. Hiding in a haze of pills and smoke.

God, I hoped Suguru was looking after her. Making sure she ate, making sure she was safe — that she didn't hate me too much.

I brought the joint to my lips again, the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. It left an acrid taste in my mouth.

I watched my hand for a second.

Bloodied earlier, the wounds had scabbed over, the blood dried. It was perfectly still now, the trembling smoothed out by the chemicals in my blood. 

I clenched it into a fist, then unclenched, watching the movement like it belonged to someone else.

Traitor.

This body was a traitor — betrayed myself, betrayed her, betrayed everything I held dear.

Weak. 

Broken.

A pathetic mess.

Was that it?

Living as a slave to these chemicals to patch up my crumbling sanity one day at a time? 

Chained to pills, each dawn a ticking clock until the next dose, until I could silence the screaming for a few damn hours?

My eyes locked onto the half-empty vial on the table. 

Took too many, didn't I?

I knew that, even through the haze. But a cold certainty twisted in my gut. There'd be more. Always more. Until there was nothing left.

Before I could think, I threw another down my throat. Bad idea, probably, after a few clean days.

Suddenly, the haze warped, twisting into nausea. Bile rose in my throat.

I lurched to my feet, the world tilting precariously with each step. Surfaces rippled, the bathroom light stabbing into my skull.

I barely made it. My stomach heaved. Each retch wracked my body, leaving me gasping, weak.

Too many. 

Way too many.

How the hell did I forget? Forget my body's limits? Somehow, I felt like some reckless student again, stumbling through experiments, blind to the consequences.

Stupid. So damn stupid.

Darkness swam at the edges of my vision.  Another wave of nausea, and I was back, hunched over the toilet. 

I hauled myself up, hands shaking, clinging to the sink. In the mirror, a stranger stared back. Eyes bloodshot, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

This wasn't me anymore.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the acid burn. Didn't help. Drops of water ran down my face, felt like they were melting the damn skin off.

My knees buckled. I slid down the wall, my head heavy against the tile wall. 

The bathroom light, needles in my brain moments ago, seemed impossibly distant now. Each breath was a ragged gasp, each pulse a dull throb in my temples.

I waited for it to pass, the nausea, the haze. But as minutes crawled by, a new, searing pain gnawed at me.

My fingers trembled against my abdomen, pressing into the tender spot. Liver, of course. 

Wrecked it, just like the rest of me. I'd known the risks, had ignored the warnings, and now my body was demanding payment.

How pathetic.

Darkness gnawed at the edges of my vision, pushing back against the stubborn spots of light. My head felt heavy, detached from my body. Arms and legs useless.

Each breath a battle I wasn't sure I'd win.

Time warped. Stretching, then snapping, leaving me floating in nausea and pain. Then I heard something — muffled, distant. Footsteps, getting closer.

My eyes struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows.

Then, a voice. Soft, achingly familiar. I couldn't make out the words, but the warmth of it—

I knew that voice — would always recognize it.

Cold water hit my skin. Hands, gentle, but firm, on my face. I strained to focus, to see her, to soak in the sight I needed, yet feared more than anything.

Oh, how desperately I needed to see her. Needed her to be real.

But my eyes betrayed me.

She must be so beautiful. She always was.

Then, a touch on my outstretched leg, a flash of metal — was that a scalpel?

Agony ripped through me, shattering the haze. I jerked back, my scream ragged against the tiles. My head slammed back with sickening force.

Before I knew it, a needle pierced my skin.

The room spun as whatever she'd injected battled the comfortable blur of the pills. Nausea churned in my stomach, the numbness receding with terrifying speed.

Groaning, I shifted on the floor.

My vision sharpened, my senses returning with brutal clarity. 

The first thing I noticed was the metallic glint of the discarded syringe beside my leg. 

Then the cut, a ragged gash through the fabric of my dress pants where she'd stabbed the needle in — the unnecessarily deep and brutal cut — but in the chaos, I let it slide. Didn't even register the pain as I watched the blood drain from the cut. 

I reached for the syringe and read the label. 

Adrenaline. 

Smart girl. 

But as I turned it over, a frown creased my brow. Two fucking milliliters? Was she trying to give me a damn heart attack?

I lifted my head, the question burning on my tongue. But the words died unspoken as my gaze locked on hers. 

She stood there, just a few feet away, her breath ragged, her eyes — those pretty eyes.

Terror. 

There was raw, unadulterated terror etched in her eyes. But I was right. She looked as beautiful as ever. Even with those terror-stricken eyes she was breathtaking.

She stumbled back, slumping against the wall opposite of me with a choked gasp, pulling her knees up. I didn't move, couldn't move, my gaze locked with hers.

The terror faded slowly, replaced by a weariness that was far worse. 

For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of that familiar defiance, the spark I both loved and feared. But even that felt strangely muted now, as if even the energy to fight had been drained out of her.

She simply watched me. In silence, in that devastating silence.

How I hated her silence.

Because her silence was far worse than anything she could have screamed, any insult she could have hurled my way. Her stillness, her silence, was the most terrifying weapon she'd ever wielded against me.

And for the first time in a very long time, I was truly afraid.

Time stretched, then I choked out, "You're angry."

Her answer was blunt, devoid of emotion. "Oh really? What makes you think that?"

I glanced down. Blood still seeped from the gash in my leg. With a trembling hand, I fumbled for a towel and pressed it against the wound. "Your cut is kinda deep. Was that on purpose?"

She didn't say anything.

It probably was on purpose.

My gaze fell on the syringe. "Where'd you get that?"

"What happened to your hand?"

"I asked first."

"Don't try to play games now, Satoru. You're walking on thin fucking ice," she snapped.

"Shattered some glass," I said after a pause ", and punched Sukuna."

"Stole it from the hospital."

"What?"

"You think I'd date an addict and not have adrenaline on hand?"

My lips twitched into a weary smile. Oh my beautiful, brilliant girl, always prepared.

"But you know, two milliliters is a bit much." I moved my leg slightly to check if she had cut any tendons, which would complicate the healing a bit. "Or are you trying to kill me?"

Her gaze pierced me, colder than any scalpel. "Looks like you're doing a fine job of that yourself."

My smile faded.

Silence.

Oh, that cruel silence again.

She didn't say anything. Maybe I should be thankful for that, because if she said anything now, I'd probably crumble completely — if I haven't already.

Ironic, wasn't it? 

How much power this woman had over me. 

Yet it was me who destroyed her.

She dropped her head, ran a shaking hand through her hair, then looked at me again. "How much did you take?"

Huh?

Why would she ask that?

Didn't she see that it's over?

That I'm too far gone?

It was unbearable.

It was unbearable, how she could still look at me and see someone worth saving. It was unbearable, knowing she believed in me even when I didn't. 

Almost pissed me off, how stubbornly she clung to that stupid hope. Because seeing that hope in her eyes — it made me hate myself even more.

I wouldn't change, couldn't. Not for her, not for anyone.

"Doesn't matter. It's over."

"Satoru, please," she choked out, pain raw in her voice, the pain I caused, "cut the crap and tell me. Now."

"It doesn't matter," I repeated, my voice cold. I couldn't bear the flicker of hope, couldn't bear to fail her yet again.

Then, the first tear rolled down her cheek and my heart shattered, the fragments piercing me from within. 

I'd never wanted to be the reason those beautiful eyes filled with pain, the reason her sweet lips trembled. Every fiber of my being wanted to pull her close, erase the hurt I'd caused.

I would have given anything, sacrificed anything, if only I could make it stop.

But I couldn't.

Because I was the problem. I was the poison.

She buried her face in her hands. "I'm tired, Satoru."

"I know."

"I'm so fucking tired," she whispered through tears.

"I know, love."

My eyes burned as I watched her fragile body shudder. Each sob of her driving a stake deeper into my already bleeding heart. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. 

I hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself because — because I was the reason for all of this. 

She'd never wanted this, never wanted to fall in love with me to begin with, but I dragged her into it anyway.

Because I was selfish. 

Knew how it would end.

And now, I could only watch — only watch in this unbearable silence as the woman I loved wept over the man I hated. 

"It's for the best, believe me—"

"No," she cut me off.  "You're sacrificing me for this—this reputation of mine you think matters. It doesn't. I don't want any of it without you. I don't want a future where you're not in it."

She looked up then, eyes red and filled with unshed tears. "Because I love you, Satoru."

What?

The words turned my blood to ice.

After everything — the lies, the ways I'd hurt her, the desperate attempts to push her away — there it was, the confession I'd craved and feared in equal measure.

My heart was being ripped apart and stitched back together again in that very moment — vulnerable and yet so unbearably full. 

She loved me, she said it.

She loves me.

She loves me.

And I love her.

God, how I loved her. More than I thought possible.

I've never once loved in my entire life. 

Not until her. 

Not until she changed me completely. 

What is that, anyway? Love?

How can I possible describe the type of feeling I feel when I'm with her? How can I ever convey the words when they are not even clear to me? 

How cruel it is. How utterly cruel the type of feeling is, that she makes me feel.

Because how could I ever live without it.

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

How to live.

How could I ever go back to what I was before her — was there even something before her?

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

With her.

For her. 

Because she is the air that fills my lungs.

The pulse that keeps me alive.

And nothing can ever change that. So how could I ever go back to what I was before? 

Oh, how she tortures me, tortures me with feelings I rather not feel, tortures me with her love that I deserve so little. 

Nothing. 

I deserve nothing and yet she gives me everything.

Why can't I give it back? What chains me, binds this rotten heart? Why does it fail me so cruelly to love her the way she deserves? 

Because she does. 

She deserves everything. 

She is everything. 

Yet there is only my own failure in loving her. I'm failing her again and again. I hurt her again and again. I hate myself, hate myself for the pain I cause her.

Still—

How can I let her go, when she's the only good thing in my life? 

It is selfish, selfish to say the least, to want to keep her close when all I do is fail her.

Her tears were molten iron searing my insides. But I clench my jaw, refusing to let them break me. If she saw weakness, she might hesitate. Might stay and continue to be broken by me. 

Every fiber of my being wanted nothing more than to reach out, to comfort her, to tell her it would all be okay.

More lies for a heart that deserved nothing but the truth. So I swallowed down the love threatening to spill from my lips. 

I would give her anything, my life, the last shreds of my sanity — except the one thing she asked for, the only thing she ever ask for. 

Because loving her, truly loving her, meant letting her go. Even if it destroys me.

"I spare you," I rasped.

"No." She slowly shook her head. "You're killing me. Can't you see?" There was a cold edge in her voice now. "You're killing me."

"I can't change. Love isn't enough. I can't stop."

"You're the only one who thinks that." Her reply held a flicker of her old, beautiful defiance, a defiance I loved so dearly. "I'd follow you anywhere, Satoru. Even if you can't get clean, then so be it. I don't care. I won't leave you."

The sincerity in her voice was a blow, a beautiful, terrible blow. Complete, unwavering acceptance of who I was, in all my brokenness.

And in that moment, I finally realized. 

It wasn't about saving her. It was about saving myself from the terrifying vulnerability her love demanded. From the weakness that threatened to drown me if I let her in.

Perhaps I'm just a coward after all.

My heart was too damn small, too messed up. Of course I had to push her out, deny her the love she offered so freely — because it terrified me.

Her love terrified me.

"I can't do this to you," I choked out, the words scraping my throat raw. "You deserve—" I swallowed, the words catching in my throat. "You deserve better." 

"Better?" She leaned forward slightly. "You are my better."

Oh, love, that's not true.

You are my better. I'm your worst.

I wanted to say that, should've said that.

But I remained silent, unable to say anything. 

"Say something, Satoru." 

I couldn't, simply couldn't. Because mere words were too hollow, too insignificant against the depth of her pain.

"Say something, damn it!" 

"It will get easier someday," I chocked out. Each word felt like a stone I was forcing down my own throat. Each word empty — we both knew it.

"Is that what you hope for?"

"I have to."

She closed her mouth. Her silence more devastating than any scream. She didn't explode, as I half-expected. Instead, she straightened, her movements slow, weary.

I watched her, unable to move, unable to look away, as a horrifying realization bloomed across her face. It wasn't anger, wasn't sadness — it was a terrible understanding.

She knew. She always knew.

Perhaps that's what I hated about her the most.

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it."

She watched me.  Not in anger, but with chilling detachment. Her eyes, usually so filled with warmth, were now as distant as those of a stranger. 

Still, I burned the image into my soul, knowing it might be the last time.

Then, without another word, she turned. And walked away.

When she finally disappeared from sight, a wave of crushing despair washed over me. It wasn't just the loneliness. It was the terrifying certainty that there was no going back from this. 

I had destroyed the best thing in my life — a sacrifice she didn't even ask for.

But then again, my sacrifice is really only an illusion after all, masking a desperate, terrified selfishness.

Because I'm selfish.

I do love her.  Gods, how I love her. 

But my fear was stronger.

And I was too damn weak to fight it.

─── ·✧· ───

Four weeks.

Was it four weeks?

I can't remember.

Time — it didn't tick or flow anymore. 

It was a shapeless thing. Punctuated only by the empty thump of my heart in this wrecked chest.

Those first days — or weeks, who knows? — they melted together in a haze. After she left, I was — raw. One giant exposed nerve.  

Each damn breath without the pills felt like scraping sandpaper across it, a reminder  of what I'd lost — no, what I'd destroyed.

So I was barely sober.

My body didn't even protest. At first, it was almost — nice? The rush, the way it wiped out not just the pain but any thought at all.

But the crash was always brutal. Mornings, if you could even call it that, I'd wake up shaking, sick to my stomach, and terrified of — what was I even terrified of? Somehow of everything and nothing at all. But I knew the fix for that. 

It was a sick, relentless cycle.

The phone rang, vibrated with messages. Suguru mostly. His messages growing more urgent with each unanswered text. Liver issues. Treatment. Something about irreversible damage.   

It was all white noise compared to the screaming in my head.

Her name, though, cut through the haze.

There were nights — or was it days? — when a desperate, clawing need to hear her voice, to see her face, would rise up in me. I'd reach for the phone, fingers hovering above her name. Then the fear would crush that impulse. 

I knew that reaching out to her would be the final act of cruelty.

So I stumbled on, each day collapsing into the next. 

Until the next semester started and I remembered I had an actual job.

─── ·✧· ───

I stood in the corridor outside the auditorium.

My fingers fumbled with the familiar pill bottle. Just enough to numb the edge, get me through the lecture. With a bitter swallow, I tilted the pill into my palm, chasing it down dry.

Four weeks. Four weeks of barely holding it together, four weeks since I almost OD'd, four weeks since she left, and the weight of it all threatened to crush me at any moment. 

Yet, muscle memory took over.

I limped slightly as I walked into the auditorium. My leg still hurt after she basically cut my muscle in half. 

She definitely did that on purpose. She was too smart not to not know what she was doing.

The usual chatter died down when I walked in.  Old routine. Time for the performance. Pretend I'm the professor, pretend like this whole thing isn't ripping me apart, piece by piece. It should have been comforting. 

Once, perhaps, it was.

Wordlessly, I grabbed a marker, scrawled my name on the board. Like they didn't already know who I was, right? 

Everyone on campus knows, especially after this summer's mess.

With a sigh, I turned towards the class.

And there she was. 

My breath hitched, the marker clattering to the floor. My lips parted, but no words came.

Of course.

Of fucking course. 

Second-year lecture. 

How the hell could I forget that?

She was here, after everything, right in front of me. The pain of the past weeks, that suffocating emptiness — it all melted away, replaced by a pounding headache in that one instant.

My eyes clung to her, unable to look away, drinking in the sight of her. That stubborn tilt of her head, the pain in those beautiful eyes — God, how I'd missed her. 

Yet with every beat of my yearning heart came a fresh wave of guilt. I longed to reach out, to apologize, to tell her how much I'd missed her. 

But I knew it was wrong. 

Then, it hit me. Every eye in the room was on her, following my gaze like a spotlight burning into her. Damn it.

Still, she didn't flinch.

Endured it like she has always endured everything.

Clearing my throat, I managed to speak as I adverted my gaze. "So, uh, let's start the lecture."

My voice echoed in the now tense auditorium, words tumbling out in a forced attempt at normalcy. The lecture blurred. My own words were just noise in my head. I pushed through the lecture. Don't even remember what I lectured about.

It was routine, should have been easy, but — not with her there. Never with her. 

Every damn minute, my eyes flicked towards her, drawn like a magnet. I couldn't help it. Because all I could see was her. But she avoided my gaze.

Should've expected that.

Shouldn't make me angry, right?

Still did.

Finally, thank god, the bell rang. 

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

I remained behind my desk and gathered my notes. Students surged towards the exit, a faceless blur of motion. My traitorous gaze remained locked on her as the auditorium slowly emptied.

She and her friends passed by me. Before I could even think, the words tumbled out, "Wait, not—not you, first-year."

Silence. 

Her friend's chatter halted abruptly. I hadn't meant to say it, hadn't thought before the desperate need to speak to her had short-circuited my brain.

Now, it was done.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, met mine. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. 

Her friends exchanged glances. I could feel Zenin glaring daggers at me, didn't even need to look. She'd always been fiercely protective.

"I'll catch up later," she said then to her friends, a strained smile plastered on her face. 

They left, leaving us alone in the vast, suddenly suffocating auditorium.

Silence again.

My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I feared she could hear it.

Finally, she spoke. "You know I'm not a first-year anymore."

I rounded the desk, the wood rough against my fingertips. "Yeah, right. Sorry." Leaning against it, I crossed my arms.

"Didn't you get suspended?"

"They postponed it."

She watched me for a moment, those beautiful eyes drilling into me. Her eyes held a coldness I've never seen before. For a sickening moment, I thought I might throw up.

"How are you?"

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't ask me that. Don't you dare pretend to care after—" 

She stopped herself, the silence louder than any accusation. After everything you did. After you pushed me away. After you nearly killed yourself.

She didn't need to voice it.

My hands clenched into fists against the edge of my desk, nails digging into my palms in a futile attempt to ground myself. Needed to maintain this thin illusion of control.

I do care. Dammit, I care more than you'll ever know. 

I wanted to scream it, to tear open my chest and show her the bleeding wound she'd left behind. But the words stuck in my throat. 

Pointless now, anyway.

Knuckles turned white, nails digging deeper.

She stepped closer. Her hand darted into her bag, then shot out, palm open. Keys glinted in the harsh light — the keys to my apartment. 

I watched them for a second. Should've expected that. Shouldn't hurt me. Still did.

"You don't have to return them. I want you to keep them."

"Why? I won't need them anymore, will I? Or are you planning on overdosing again?"

Each word was acid on an open wound.

I deserved this, the anger, the contempt, it was all on me. But why the hell did it make me so fucking angry?

"Have you ever thought about how I felt when I found you?" she snapped, her voice rising. "How terrified I was when you wouldn't respond? When you couldn't even recognize me? When I thought you'd die on me?" She took a shaky breath. "Fuck Satoru, I held your face in my hands while you were barely breathing!"

I tried to speak, but she cut me off.  "Don't. You. Dare."

"Four weeks," she went on, her voice sharp, laced with a fury that cut to the bone. "Four weeks of silence. Ever think I might be drowning, haunted by what I saw? Or were you too busy numbing yourself with pills? Hell, I didn't even know if you'd overdosed for good this time!"

Her words hit me cold, but they weren't the storm tearing me apart. It was the image of her, terrified, holding my barely-alive body, that ripped my insides out. 

Those eyes — her eyes filled with a terror that was all because of me. The guilt choked me. Seeing my near-death through her haunted eyes is twisted a knife in my gut.

It was the look of someone who'd had a piece of her soul ripped out. 

It was the look of someone who loved me.

"But then again, you never cared about me, did you?" she added, the raw hurt bleeding beneath the anger.

My stomach twisted. "Don't you dare say that," I rasped, the words ripping from my throat. "I care so much it damn near killed me. You were the only thing keeping me alive, the only reason I fought at all! Don't you dare say I don't—" I choked, the pain unbearable.

The room seemed to tilt, my anger threatening to consume me. 

I took a step towards her, closing the distance in one move. We were so close, I could smell her damn shampoo. "Every damn thing I did, every stupid decision—it was all because I care about you too much."

Her eyes widened. But only for a second. Then, that cold defiance was back, and it cut deep. 

"You're really pathetic, you know that?" she spat. "You talk about caring, but in the end you threw everything away. Because you are too terrified to let yourself love me. Because apparently your own damn peace is worth more than me."

Her words were knives, finding their mark with cruel efficiency. 

"Shut up," I whispered. "You know nothing."

"Oh really?" She glared at me, "then let me paint the picture for you—the minute things got difficult, the second you had to face actual consequences for your actions, you used it as an excuse to back away. Shut yourself down."

She moved closer still. "Convenient, wasn't it? Pushing me away, destroying us—it absolved you from having to confront anything real."

Her accusations hit uncomfortably close to home.

And I didn't want to hear it from her lips.

Not from hers.

"Shut up," I growled.

"Don't you dare tell me to shut up," she snapped back, her voice rising. "You don't get to play the victim here. You did this. You ruined everything."

Fury ignited, not at her, but at myself. 

Blindly, I reached out, my fingers gripping her jaw so tight it bordered on violence. I forced her to look at me, my eyes burning into hers. "Shut up, or I swear to god, I'll make you."

Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing. "I dare you."

The words set me on fire. Every rational thought, every vestige of self-preservation was devoured by a sudden, desperate need. My gaze fell to her lips, slightly parted, a vulnerable target I craved to claim.

Without even thinking, my hand went to her waist, fingers digging in as I pulled her impossibly close. My other hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back. Our eyes locked, some kind of messed-up challenge.

I could feel her rapid breaths on my skin, smell that damn perfume of hers that I'd always loved, but now was driving me to the edge of control. Her heart pounding against mine.

Everything in me screamed to close the distance, claim those lips that had haunted me, haunted me for weeks. 

I wanted to claim her, to silence her, to lose myself in her, but my last shred of sanity held me back.

Because pushing her further into my nightmare was the ultimate act of cruelty. 

"Uncomfortable, isn't it? Getting confronted with the ugly truth?" she whispered against my lips.

My grip on her tightened. She really didn't know when to stop, or maybe she simply wanted to watch me burn. Perhaps both.

"Don't push me."

"Why? Scared of what you'll find if you let yourself be honest for once?" Her head tilted. Her gaze was fire, and I was already ash. "You run, Satoru. From everything, but most of all, from yourself."

"And that," she leaned closer, almost brushing my lips, "is what makes you the most pathetic person I know."

Oh, she could be so viciously cruel when she wanted to. So disgustingly cruel. It was one of the things I'd fallen hopelessly in love with. Even now, as it tore me apart, I still loved it. 

But I also wanted nothing more than to fuck that attitude out of her right then and there.

"You're right. You're always right. Maybe that's what's terrifies me about you so much."

"You're not terrified of me," she whispered. "You're terrified of yourself."

The air between us crackled. Every rational thought in my brain begged me to stop. Still, I couldn't resist. I inched closer, helpless against the force that binds and burns us both.

My hands tightened their hold as I took a sharp inhale. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling. 

Our lips hovered, almost touching, two aching souls suspended in that impossible space. So much unspoken words, so much hurt, and the destructive pull between us that had always tethered us together.

Then, the auditorium door creaked open. 

Her head snapped towards the sound. But I couldn't look away, wouldn't miss a second of her. Because this, right here, was all I had left.

Had to be Suguru anyway — anyone else would be screaming their heads off by now.

After a pause, she turned back at me. "You know, I'm still waiting."

"For what, love?"

"For it to get easier."

I looked at her, the woman I loved, and guilt clawed at my insides. That hurt, that anger on her face — I deserved it all. Because it was the consequence of the pain I'd caused.

"You said it would get easier," she added.

It was a lie. Nothing about this was easy. Nothing ever would be again. Suddenly, the room felt too small, the air thick and unbreathable.

"I don't know if it ever will."

Perhaps I was only meant to love her in silence.

In distance.

Because at least then I couldn't hurt her anymore.

Suguru cleared his throat. He stepped into the room, breaking the moment.

Reluctantly, I let go of her. She stepped back, eyes holding mine for a second, something flickering there that I didn't dare try to read. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

I watched her go.

Suguru approached me, stopping close by. He didn't say anything.

I leaned against the desk, running a hand through my hair. The adrenaline from that almost-kiss crashed, leaving behind a hollow ache.

The sound of the door slamming behind her echoed in the empty auditorium, way too loud.

Suguru's hand landed on my shoulder. 

"You really have a thing for bad timing," I muttered.

"Bad timing," he echoed, "or good timing to stop you from doing something stupid?"

I didn't answer. The memory of her, so close, choked every thought out of my mind.

"You know it was the right thing to do. With everything going on, letting her go was the right decision."

"I know," I said, pushing off the desk and rounding it to gather my things. I couldn't meet his gaze. "I'm trying to remember that."

Suguru then started placing pill bottles on the desk with a serious expression. The first clink of plastic on wood cut through the silence. 

"Prednisone for the liver inflammation." Another bottle. "Lactulose for the hepatic encephalopathy." Then another. "Vitamin B and K for the nutritional deficiencies."

"But you know the first step would be to—" he paused for a second then placed another two bottles in from of me. "Methadone, to manage the withdrawal and craving. And Naltrexone, to block the euphoric effects of your opioids."

Hesitantly, another bottle appeared. "Clonidine, in case you feel like you're dying."

"Suguru—" I began, but he cut me off.

"Satoru, you have to get clean. The pills won't do a damn thing if you keep wrecking your liver."

"Yeah, it's a little late for that, don't you think? It's the only thing keeping me sane right now."

He sighed.  "You're the absolute worst patient ever."

"Aw, come on, I thought you liked a bit of challenge. You're the best doctor, you'll figure something out."  I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a folder.

"Even the best doctor on earth can't help if you don't—"

I shoved the folder across the desk, cutting him off. "What's this?"

"It's a patient. An anyeurism. I'm still not allowed to do surgery, not until this thing with the ethics committee is over."

Suguru opened the folder, flipping through the pages.  "You want me to do it?  Is there something special about this patient?"

"I want you to take her with you," I said quietly. "She likes aneurysm clippings."

Suguru looked up, that familiar crease between his brows.  "She'll figure it out. Sooner or later. Latest when you're in the hospital waiting for a liver transplant, not lecturing anymore."

Silence stretched. My eyes fell on the pill bottles lined up on the desk. 

I sighed, then gathered them and crammed them into my bag.  "Let's go. I need fresh fair," I said as I brushed past him, putting the withdrawal meds back into his hands.

Without another word, I left the auditorium.

─── ·✧· ───

My eyes snapped open.

I sat upright, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat threatening to burst right out of my chest. 

For a disorienting second, the world was a blur. Sweat drenched my skin. My lungs screamed for air.

Damn nightmares. 

Another night of that shit. 

I clutched at my chest, trying to quell the frantic pounding. Cold sweat made my shirt cling to my skin. The room spun. My pulse thundered in my ears.

I fumbled for the lamp, the sudden brightness stinging my eyes. But it didn't chase away the image seared into my brain. Her face, cruel, beautiful, cruelly beautiful, twisted in absolute terror. My stomach twisted.

My fault. 

Always my fault.

I couldn't breathe right.

Sleep was a lost cause now. First decent rest in a week, and my brain decided to torment me again. Exhaustion was its own kind of hell, but it was nothing compared to this. That, more than anything, was the real torture.

I slumped forward, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I'd hurt her. 

I'd hurt her, the one person who meant something.

Every day, it felt more like I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Letting her go, pushing her away, I—

I hated myself. 

Hated the way I ruined everything.

Hated the way I ruined every chance at something good. 

It was like a damn curse.

Nothing good ever lasted for me. I should've known that by now.

Damn it, I knew it was wrong. But how the hell could it be wrong when it'd felt so damn right? When she was the only thing, the only person, that cut through the crap, made this whole mess seem like it might have some sort of meaning?

How could that possibly be wrong?

Guilt ate at my insides. Had I been a damn coward? Too scared to fight for something that made me feel, really feel?

Perhaps.

Easier to push her away, sabotage the whole damn thing, than risk actually letting her in. Letting anyone in. Losing control. But it didn't matter now, did it? 

It was over. 

I needed out. Out of my head, out of this apartment, out of my own damn skin. 

The silence was unbearable.

I pushed off the bed, muscles screaming in protest. I slipped into running clothes, the routine automatic. As I laced up my shoes, a sharp sting shot through my leg from the still-healing cut on my leg.

That bitch. 

The more I thought about it, the more sure I was she'd done it on purpose.

Good thing I was addicted to painkillers, huh?

I drowned a pill — no two, for good measure — before stepping outside into the pre-dawn chill. 

Cold autumn air bit at my skin. Each step echoed on the empty street. The pills kicked in, dulling the sharp pain in my leg. Good. Long as the cut didn't split open, I didn't damn care.

I pushed myself, needing the burn in my muscles, the ache in my lungs, to drown out the constant echo of her voice, her name, in my head.

The world blurred. Streetlights, shadows, it all melded together. The only reality was the ache in my body, the cold air forcing its way into my lungs. My mind, for once, was mercifully blank. 

No nightmares, no guilt, no memories of her haunted eyes — just the simple focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I didn't set a goal, didn't choose a destination. 

Just moving, pushing, escaping.

Sweat dripped, but I barely registered. With each mile, the crushing weight eased. Not gone, hell, not even close to forgotten, but  — manageable. 

I ran until the city was a smear of lights, until my legs burned and my lungs screamed. 

Finally, gasping for breath, legs threatening to give out, I stumbled to a halt. The neon lights of a Seven Eleven cut through the pre-dawn darkness. My throat was sandpaper. I pushed through the door.

Inside, the harsh lights stung my eyes. I grabbed a water, my body on autopilot as I shuffled toward the register. The bored-looking teenager behind the counter gave me a sidelong look as I fumbled for my wallet.

"Rough night?"

"Something like that." I glanced down at my leg, the still-healing cut a visible red line. Wincing, I shifted my weight, favoring the uninjured side. 

I pulled out my card to pay, but then a flash of color caught my eye. Beside the cashier's register, stacked in a gaudy pyramid, was a display of energy drinks. I starred at them for a second, the name oddly familiar.

I knew why the name was so familiar.

I reached for a can and placed it on the counter. "And this."

Outside, I downed the water in a matter of seconds. Then, I cracked open the energy drink. The first sip hit my tongue. Surprisingly, it didn't taste half-bad without a shot of stale coffee to ruin it. 

But the taste wasn't the problem, wasn't it? 

Memories flooded back. Her, hunched over a massive anatomy textbook in the dim library, those beautiful eyes ringed with exhaustion. Beside her, half-empty, a mug of coffee — spiked with the sickeningly sweet energy drink I currently held.

Just the thought of that awful mixture made my stomach turn.

Still, a smile tugged at my lips.

Dammit, I didn't want to think about her. But to be fair, thinking, not thinking — it was all the same. The dull, constant ache of her absence throbbed beneath it all.

I chugged the rest of the energy drink, crushing the can in my hand.

Ah, fuck it.

Before my sanity could interfere, my legs were in motion.

I knew this was wrong. Knew every step took me closer to more pain. Knew all along this was stupid, reckless — inevitable. 

I couldn't stop.

The pull towards her was too damn strong. I needed to see her, to confirm her existence, to know she was real, to fix — what? What the hell could I fix? What the hell did I even think I was doing?

Finally, gasping for breath, I stumbled to a halt outside her apartment building.

A glance at my watch confirmed the hour — well past 3 am. Insane. I hadn't expected her to be awake. Just needed the pathetic reassurance of her presence. But as I looked up, my breath hitched. 

In a second-floor window, a flicker of warm light spilled into the darkness. And there, etched against that warmth — her silhouette. Unmistakable.

A heavy exhale escaped my lips. 

She was there.

Here.

On this same cursed world with me.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I knew, I had no right to be here. But god, I needed this, needed to see her.

She sat on the windowsill, book in hand. My future wife. Even in the dead of night, she was studying. How I loved her.

My gaze traced the familiar curve of her shoulders, the way the soft lamplight painted her skin with warmth, highlighting the strands of hair escaping her messy bun. 

In that stolen moment, I could almost convince myself that things were different, that my actions hadn't irrevocably shattered something precious.

But then, she moved. Rising from her seat, she stretched, drawing the fabric of her shirt upwards. Before my mind could catch up, she was at the window, pushing it open. I froze.

She was staring down — right at me. 

Shit.

I held my breath. For what felt like an eternity, we simply stared at each other. A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then her gaze dropped, breaking eye contact.

"You're bleeding."

I glanced down. The edge of my shorts was soaked through, a fresh stain of crimson spreading. Damn it. The cut had reopened.

"Yeah," I said, looking back up at her, "I'm a mess."

I braced myself for whatever was coming. The anger, the disgust, the righteous fury — it would all be justified. I deserved it. But she simply watched me. Her gaze was steady, devoid of emotion. 

"You know where the entrance is," she said finally, then leaned back into the soft glow of her room and closed the window shut.

Before my brain could catch up with how wrong this was, I walked toward the apartment building.

─── ·✧· ───

I sat on the edge of her bed, she on a chair in front of me, her hands already on my leg as she pushed the fabric of my shorts up. "How could you not notice that?"

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off, "Wait, forget it." 

Yeah. Now she remembered.

With practiced efficiency, she began cleaning the wound. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, considering how pissed she must be. 

The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of bandages and my occasional  sharp intake of breath when the antiseptic hit a raw spot.

My eyes wandered. Her space, even small and half-finished, felt warm, lived in. Smelled like her. Books spilling everywhere, papers scattered on a desk, a yoga mat forgotten in the corner — the organized chaos was so perfectly her.

Then my gaze landed on the half-unpacked boxes stacked against the wall. She really still didn't fully move in. Occupied with my mess, huh? 

Guilt flooded me. I didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her gentle hands on me, not after everything. 

Yet, a selfish part of me wanted nothing more than to stay exactly like this, wanted nothing more than to keep her hands on me.

With a sigh, I sank back against her pillows. Exhaustion seeped into my bones. Pain returned as the effects of the pills wore off.

Her fingers brushed the reopened cut. I winced, throwing an arm over my eyes. The relentless pounding in my head threatened to split me open, spilling all the ugly thoughts onto her pristine sheets.

"You've had nightmares again, haven't you?"

Huh? 

I lifted my head a fraction, struggling to meet her eyes. She glanced up briefly, her eyes guarded, then focused back on my leg.

"Yeah, something like that." My head thumped back onto the pillow. "Hard to sleep when your head won't shut up."

"What dose?"

"You really don't want to know."

"I asked because I do," she countered. The sharp tug as she tightened the bandage around my leg was enough to make me speak.

"Ten milligrams," I admitted, wincing. "The usual."

She scoffed, then another, even sharper, tug had me gritting my teeth. "Ngh—fuck," I moaned. 

I really needed a pill now.

She stood, gathering the first-aid supplies. "Heals slowly, doesn't it?"

I knew it.

I popped myself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow at her. 

"Don't give me that look. You know damn well you deserved it."

I let out a dry laugh. "You really are a bitch sometimes." I dropped back onto the bed, my hand reaching for my throbbing head. 

I needed two pills now.

"You've got some damn nerve. You show up here in the middle of the night, injured, high—"

"I'm not high—"

"Save it," she spat. "You know what your fucking problem is? You can't stand being alone. Alone with your thoughts, with yourself. So you run. You run to pills, to whatever distraction you can find, anything to fill the void."

Yeah, how the hell am I supposed to want to be alone after feeling what it's like to be with you, stupid.

"You're too damn scared to face your fears," she continued, her voice laced with a bitter edge, "and when someone threatens your artificial peace, someone who might actually force you to look in the damn mirror, you panic. You sabotage it, push them away before it all gets too real, too close."

She stepped closer. "Because it's easier, isn't it? Safer to stick with the misery you know than risk having to face that void."

Every word stung, but I couldn't deny it, couldn't lie anymore.

"You're right. And I'm sorry—"

"Don't." She rose a hand at me. "Don't pretend you care, Satoru. You've made it clear how little I matter."

How little you matter? 

Oh, love, you couldn't be more wrong.

A harsh laugh escaped me. 

"You find this funny?"

"No, love," I said, pushing myself up. My leg throbbed in protest, but I ignored it. Everything narrowed down to her. I moved closer, a strange recklessness fueling me. "Quite the opposite."

Something flickered in her eyes — surprise? wariness? — but the anger remained.

"Keep going," I insisted, moving closer. "Let it out. Yell at me, tell me how pathetic I am. Make me feel something, anything other than this damn emptiness."

She hesitated. Her eyes searched mine, and for a breathless moment, I hoped that her fury, her anger, would burn away the numbness, making me feel something, anything.

Because even her anger was better than her indifference.

I couldn't stand being indifferent to her.

Might as well make her hate me.

"You want me to yell at you?" Her voice rose, the first hint of the storm I craved. "Fine! You wanna be a pathetic mess? Go ahead! Piss away your career, your life, whatever the hell you care about, I don't give a damn anymore!"

Each word hit me, but there was a desperate relief in it. Finally, she wasn't looking at me with that chilling indifference, that cold pity that twisted a knife in my gut. 

Her rage, it was fire — scorching and brutal, but alive. And I loved it.

Because it was prove she still cared, even if it was just to hate me with every fiber of her being. It was better than the void, that terrible chasm that had opened up between us after I'd pushed her away.

I closed the distance, enjoying the anger in her eyes. She flinched, but didn't back down.

"More." I grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease, and hauled her towards the bed.

"You're weak!" she spat, pushing against my chest, her voice rising with each word.

Yeah, so damn weak for you, love.

"You're selfish! So consumed by your own self-pity you can't see how you hurt everyone around you!"

Her words should have hurt. They probably would have, under different circumstances. But right now, I couldn't care less.

"Keep going," I rasped, my pulse pounding in my ears. I forced her onto the bed and hovered over her, my body trapping her between the mattress and my own. "C'mon, love, let it all out."

"You don't deserve me," she continued. "You don't deserve anyone who gives a damn, because you only know how to destroy things."

Each word was a knife. Yet, with each insult, the suffocating hollowness inside me eased a fraction. I wanted her anger, the full force of it, wanted the burn only she could inflict on me.

"More."

Her breath hitched, eyes narrowing. "You keep breaking my heart over and over, then come crawling back when it suits you, like it doesn't matter!"

"You're right." I leaned in, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. The thin fabric of her shirt did little to hide her shivers. "C'mon, love, give it to me. I know you can do better."

In one swift move, I ripped my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. I leaned down again, my breath ghosting over her lips. "Hate me." My hands went for the flimsy waistband of her shorts. "Tell me how much you despise me."

Her breaths came fast, quick gasps against my skin.  I could see it all over her face — the rage, the fear, and maybe — yeah, maybe that darker edge, the same desperation burning in me.

"I fucking hate you, Satoru. Hate that you made me care, made me fall for you, then crushed it."

"Don't stop," I said, my voice a hoarse rasp. "Say it again." Before she could react, her shorts were down, exposing her to the night air. My own pants followed hasty, desperate. "Say you hate me."

"I fucking hate that you treat me like I'm just another damn plaything to fill whatever void your messed-up mom or whatever left you with!"

Okay, now it gets personal.

"I fucking hate that you act like you can control me," she hissed, but her body betrayed her, shivered running down her skin as my hands gazed her collarbone. "Hate that you make my choices for me, decide what's good for me, like you got to have control over something when you obviously can't control yourself!"

Damn, Freud himself is on to something tonight, huh? She really doesn't know when to stop.

"You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?" I leaned closer, my mouth close to her ear. "You hate who I am, but you crave this, don't you? Giving up control, being at my mercy. Admit it."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She lifted a hand, as if to slap me, but I was faster. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, pressing them hard into the mattress.

"You know it's true," I pressed, relishing the way she struggled against my hold. "It's hard always being the composed one, isn't it? The responsible one. It's draining. Maybe that's why you're drawn to me. You love the thrill as much as I do, don't you?"

She stared at me, silent, her lips a tight line. 

"Prove me wrong, sweetheart. Call me a liar, and I'll show you just how wrong you are," I leaned in closer, my voice a harsh whisper against her lips. "We're the same, you and me. We feed off each other. Even if you hate to admit it, I fill that emptiness inside you same as you do for me."

"You arrogant piece of shit!" she spat, twisting and bucking against my grip. "You think you know everything, control everything!"

"Don't I?" My grip tightened, feeling her pulse throb against my fingers. "Seems I've got you pinned pretty damn well, wouldn't you say?"

"You know it's true. You love this. Makes you feel something your books, your fancy grades never could."

"Screw you, Satoru," she hissed, venom in her voice. "We're nothing alike."

"You really are a fool, for wanting to fix something so broken it'll cut you to shreds the moment you get close and then you cry afterwards—"

Her spit hit my face. I closed my eyes for a second, then a smile twisted across my lips. 

My future wife just spit in my face — what a good anecdote on our wedding day.

"That's my girl," I rasped, shoving her legs wider. "Tell me how much you hate me. Scream it."

"I fucking hate you Satoru, I hate you—"

Her words died on her tongue as I thrust forward, filling her completely. I closed my eyes, letting my head hang heavy for a second. 

My god, the things this woman's body could do to me. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, her heart racing as she arched her back.

How treacherous a body can be, huh?

"Hate you, Satoru," she managed to say before she closed her eyes, biting down her lip as I thrust deeper still. Her thighs spread further apart, inviting me closer, urging me onward. 

She's so damn beautiful.

I grinned, my hands still holding her wrists in place over her head. "I know you do, love. But you know what?" My lips were only a breath away from hers. "I hate you, too. I hate how you make me feel, how you expose every broken piece of me, how I crave you like I crave another fix."

Hell, I might just be addicted to this woman.

I pulled out fully, before thrusting back into her. Her head fell back, pressing into the mattress as a strangled moan escaping her lips.

She felt incredible.

Pulling back slowly, I watched her body react to the absence, her eyes flickering open to meet mine. Those pupils dilated with need, mirroring my own hunger for her. 

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not our fight. Not our problems. Not our insults that had left our lips moments before. Just us — two halves coming together in a perfect whole. 

I pushed back into her, deeper, harder.

With each thrust, I felt myself sinking deeper into her, losing myself in her. Fuck, if there was anything better than this — well, I hadn't found it yet.

This woman owned me — plain and simple.

It was madness, this pull towards her. 

Insane, perhaps.

But it was also undeniably real. So real that even though dawn threatened to break soon, stealing away whatever remnants of darkness remained, I couldn't help but chase after that high only she could provide.

Even knowing full well that when morning arrived, reality would crash down upon us, forcing us back onto opposite sides of the divide.

"Look what you've done to me, love. You're making a fool of me." I whispered against her lips without touching them.

Weren't together anymore after all.

Kissing would be too much.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me. Her nails dug into my skin where my hands gripped her wrists. With each deep thrust, I watched her face contort with pleasure and pain, her features illuminated by fleeting streaks of moonlight seeping through the curtains.

I loved that look on her face.

I wondered if I could make that look even more pathetic.

I pulled out, dragging the tip of my length across her clit before pushing back in. She squirmed underneath me, arching her back. But I denied her, keeping my unhurried pace. I wanted to draw out this sweet torture for as long as possible.

Hours passed — or perhaps mere minutes. I couldn't tell anymore. All that mattered was this woman writhing beneath me.

Groaning in frustration, she attempted to break free from my grip. "Dammit, Satoru. If you won't finish what you started, then get off me!"

I smirked. "Why so eager, love. Can't handle the wait?" I leaned in to kiss down the side of her neck. She shivered beneath me, her breath hitching as my teeth grazed her skin. 

With my free hand I reached down, running my fingers down her quivering stomach, relishing in the shivers that coursed through her body. 

She glared up at me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Stop calling me 'love'. I don't belong to you, not anymore—" 

She gasped into my mouth when I found her clit. Slowly, deliberately, I began to circle it with my thumb, feeling her surrender to me. I plunged deeper, thrusting into her mercilessly.

Let her hate me all she wants. She can't deny the chemistry between us — a spark that refuses to fade, no matter how hard either of us tries.

She must have hated this — hated how she surrendered to me, even with all that anger. Made me wondered if I could rail her up even more.

"You think you're so much better than me?" I rasped. "So strong, so selfless, always putting others first? It's a lie, and you know it. You're just bored."

"You fucker!" Before I knew what was happening, she broke free of my grasp and had flipped us over so that she was now straddling my hips. 

Without warning, she reached forward, gripping my throat with surprising strength as she leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around our faces. I couldn't help but smile.

"Don't project your bullshit on me," she seethed, her face inches from mine. 

Her words sent a chill down my spine, stirring up a fresh wave of desire within me. Damn, this woman was infuriating — and captivating in the worst way possible.

We glared at each other like enemies preparing for battle. 

"Aren't you a little tired? Pulling up that act all the time?" I choked out, feeling her fingers dig in further. "Deep down, you're just as bored as me, you're just too righteous to admit it."

"Shut up," she hissed, pressing harder, choking the words out of me.

This was madness. Destructive madness. But for this one desperate moment, I didn't care. It was exhilarating, addictive. Because love, our twisted, broken love, wasn't supposed to be pretty.

It was messy, chaotic, and borderline abusive. But sometimes all you need is a firm grip around the throat to remind you that you're alive.

"Harder, love," I gasped, a laugh bubbling up in my constricted throat. "Come on, make me feel your rage."

Slowly, deliberately, she began grinding her hips against mine, setting a maddening pace that left me reeling. Fuck, I think I love it even more when she hates me.

"Ahh, shit," I gasped, clutching at her thighs as she rode me mercilessly. "That's it."

Eyes squeezed shut, my head rolled back. Chills prickled my skin, possibly due to the cool breeze drifting in from the window. Or perhaps it was merely her.

She rode me with increased speed, and I could barely contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through my body. Every fiber of my being screamed for release. 

My knuckles on her thighs turned white from the force. "Oh, shit, you're going to kill me," I moaned between choked sounds that escaped my lips. 

My lips twisted into a smile again. "Admit it. You love the chaos as much as I do. The thrill, the way it makes you feel alive."

"You're wrong," she said, increasing her pace making my cock twitch inside her. "We're nothing alike."

"Keep telling yourself that," I replied, struggling to catch my breath, as she made me lose my mind. "But I know the truth—we're two sides of the same coin."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Why else would you be here, like this, with me?" I countered. "Face it, we're addicted to each other—the highs, the lows, the constant push and pull. It's exhilarating, isn't it?"

"You're the only addict here."

"Liar," I rasped.

Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She was close. Each contraction of her pushing me further towards a peak that I knew would soon shatter me.

But I wasn't ready yet. Not quite.

I shifted our positions, sitting upright before spinning us around so she was now beneath me on the mattress. I positioned myself behind her, forcing her down onto the mattress.

I slowly slid my hand along her spine as I pushed her further down, feeling her tremble beneath my touch, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips. 

It was intoxicating to watch her submit to me.

"Fuck, you'll be the death of me."

Leaning down, I pressed my lips against the small of her back, feeling her shiver once more. My hand continued its descent, stopping just short of where she needed me.

"Satoru," my name fell from her lips.

Oh, how I loved it when she breathed my name like that. I couldn't resist her — could never resist her. I was at her mercy. Even now.

She arched her back, silently pleading for me to continue. I slid my hand between her legs. "God, you're so fucking wet," I murmured, slipped a finger inside her, then another. She was so tight, so warm. 

I couldn't wait to be inside her again.

She gasped, pushing back against me. "Don't stop."

Curving my fingers, I searched for that spot that I knew would drive her mad. When I found it, she cried out, her hips bucking against my hand. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, grasping for purchase as I started to move inside her.

"Yes, fuck," she moaned, spreading her legs wider. "Right there."

Oh, love. I know you like that.

I smiled, relishing the fact that I knew her body better than herself. I knew every inch of her, every freckle, every scar, every sensitive spot that made her squirm. 

"More," she begged.

I happily obliged, adding a third finger and thrusting deeper. She was soaking wet, her juices coating my fingers as I fucked her with my hand. Her moans grew louder, more urgent. She was close, so close.

I increased the pace of my fingers, pumping them in and out of her as I used my thumb to apply pressure to her clit. 

However, as her moans reached a fever pitch, I withdrew my fingers, denying her release.

She gasped, glanced over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, but said nothing — probably out of breath. 

I brought my fingers to my mouth, savoring the taste of her. It was so uniquely her. I couldn't get enough.

Leaning in, I pressed my body against hers from behind, my hard length probed at her entrance. 

I leaned down over her, my hand snaking into her hair. I grabbed it tightly, forcing her head up to meet mine. "I love you, first-year," I murmured against her ear.

She trembled, but her defiance remained strong. "I hate you."

I sighed — always so fierce, makes me wonder what it takes to fuck that stubborn attitude out of her. 

"It's alright, I love you enough for both of us."

With that, I pushed her head down into the mattress. Her cry muffled by the sheets beneath her as I thrust into her once more, bottoming out inside her with a groan.

I began to move in and out of her. Faster now, harder until the headboard slammed against the wall. Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her moans muffled by the fabric.

As her cries grew louder, I quickly pushed her face further into the mattress. "Quiet, first year," I murmured as I angled myself to rub against her G-spot, making it harder for her to keep quiet. "Wouldn't want to disturb anyone in the middle of the night, would we?"

Neither of us spoke a word — not that she could but — perhaps because there was nothing left to say. Instead, we communicated solely through our actions, saying everything that needed to be said without opening our mouths.

I increased both the pace and pressure. Nearly causing her to fall forward hadn't I held her in place with one hand on her waist and one sill in her hair. Her breath hitched, her entire body tensed as she approached her breaking point.

Oh, how I loved feeling her tighten around me.

Bringing her closer to the edge was a thrill like no other. Watching her lose control, hearing her cries and moans, feeling her body tremble beneath me — it was intoxicating.

I could feel myself getting closer to the edge, my balls tightening as I approached my own release. 

Her cries grew louder, more urgent, until finally, she shattered around me, her orgasm triggering my own.

With a final thrust, I emptied myself inside her, filling her completely. Her contractions milked every last drop from me, her body still quivering around me. 

I stayed inside her, savoring the feeling. It might be the last time.

I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to catch my breath. My cock was still twitching inside her. Reluctantly, I pulled out with a low moan.

I stayed behind her for a moment longer, admiring the curve of her waist, the sheen of sweat on her skin in the sliver of moonlight. 

Don't know when or if I'll ever see that again.

Time seemed to stand still, suspended indefinitely as we tried to find our breath again.

Then she turned her head. "You're a fucking idiot," she finally said.

"Tell me something I don't know."

She shifted to face me, her expression serious.  "Promise me something."

"Anything you want, love."

"Promise me, you won't kill yourself with your pills."

I swallowed hard. That's not what'll get me, I thought, as I felt a sharp pain lancing through my right side.

I moved closer, cupping her face with my hands that trembled slightly. For an insane moment, I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I couldn't — couldn't ever again. "I promise," I rasped.

The words heavy with a lie we both knew.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: wooooaaa, another insane!gojo chapter lol. this chapter really killed me, was crying, screaming, throwing up while writing.

i'm equally scared and excited to hear what you think about todays chapter, ngl. originally i didn't plan a smut scene in this chapter, but you know, somewhere down that line gojo just happened and here we are. 

also like, i think now both their's darkest secrets are now out — in the worst way possible. also because i keep getting messages regarding how much chapters are left of the story, idk i write form chapter to chapter. we're down somewhere the 60—70 % line with the story i guess, but we'll see. still more to uncover of gojo's past and all that.

also sorry for the people asking of for more fluff and happy moments, ehhh, there will be some in the future?? also i'm still sticking to the plan of a happy ending, so don't worry!! gojo fucked up big time and the next chapters will center about him trying to fight his fears and get shit together — let's see if he can do that. curious myself.

so thank you so so much for sicking by with the story. sending kisses to all of you lovely people seeing me messages, leaving likes, comments and reblog stuff. it really makes my heart happy everything i see a notification. love you all sm!! ♡

okay my last note, just so you know, i'm going on vocation soon, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed again, sorraaaayyy!! wishing you a great day or night and an awesome weekend ahead! ♡

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 @kendall0111 @bloopsstuff @therealestpussyeater @louoi7 @whereflowerswenttodie @billiondollarworth @deluluforcarlos55 @starrynight-777 @vina21 @michelleeveline @boba-is-a-soup @cre8inghavoc @love-jelly @daimiyu @d0nk3y-k0ng @mo0nforme @smolbeanzzz @oneiricals @ynishalee @gojolvrr34 @nanasukii28 @ariiiii0938 @kelppsstuff @tojisdollx @drakenswifeyy @bakarinnie @vina21 @phoenix-eclipses @nanamis-baker @neptnszn (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)

[thewhizzyhead]

how genderbending the warriors (2024) is done not for the sole sake of "bad-assery"

okay here we go feminist ramble time for our newest chick on the block: warriors. now i'll be honest, prior to listening to the album, when i first heard that the warriors main girls were originally dudes in the movie and the novel, i thought that the decision for the genderbending, in lmm's perspective, were from the following: 1.) girl power move in like a very basic meaning of the word "bad-ass" 2.) simply a twist on a cult movie about big gang bros loved by the film bros, and 3.) a way to have the schuyler sisters back together gjfkdfldf

but when i read more about warriors and its development and how lmm took inspiration from the gamergate controversies of 2014-2015 aka among the peak of gamerbro misogyny campaigns, that's when i realized that Oh Shit Is Serious - because adapting a story about a group being framed and targeted and harassed for something they are accused of doing without any substantial proof other than a man screaming "THE WARRIORS SHOT CYYYYRUUS" with 21st century misogyny campaigns in mind makes the theme of fighting back a lot more complicated and a lot more resonant, going beyond just marketing a cast you can call "badass"

take the hurricanes' quiet girls, for example. the hurricanes (concept album version) is the only gang that lets the warriors off the hook and with a stern warning: quiet girls don't make it home. here, the hurricanes berate the warriors for not saying shit or attempting to defend themselves from accusations they know well aren't true. THIS MESSAGE IN PARTICULAR is what stays and influences ajax, fox, and swan til the very end of their stories.

literally one song after this does ajax show how easily she resonated with the hurricanes' lesson by finally sticking with her gut and actually choosing to fight back against both the baseball furies AND against the sleazy undercover cop. the latter encounter is one of the instances that really solidifies the recontextualization of the story because in the OG movie, ajax (a dude) WAS the sleazy fuck up harassing a woman in a park - and now with the literal character switch, ajax goes from being just a rebellious gangbro dude bro into someone whose want to fight is warranted. such a want to fight is seen in fox seeing as fox is the first to comment on the quiet girls scene and that, in the concept album, she is the one that instigates the rumble against the police in union square - saying that she is sick of being afraid of them and their 'fuckin powder blue' colors (also notice how she is the only warrior that really does say fuck the cops i think that's cool BUT I'LL TALK ABOUT FOX MORE NEXT TIME)

to a less obvious extent, swan also gets the receiving end of this recurring theme - by the album's finale, the usually violence-averse caution-first interim leader becomes a lot fiercer in protecting her crew. but perhaps among what i consider to be the biggest recontextualized change in the feminist sense is MERCY and her motivations to join the warriors in the first place. according to the wiki, her attraction to swan and the warriors and um seeing the orphans as wimps is what led her to switch sides BUT IN THE CONCEPT ALBUM, mercy's motivation to become a warrior is deepened, rooted in admiration rather than attraction - wanting to be like those women who hold their head up high. and again, we see this in Sick of Runnin' when she takes part in the rumble, finding her bravery within their ranks as they fight back. here, mercy becomes less of a swan tagalong and more of someone that wants what the warriors have: pride.

of course now that i type this out i realize that warriors is not based solely on the feminist rhetoric as with their theme of hope amidst adversity, the story is more intersectional and rooted in community struggle and wanting for more than that. but nonetheless, i genuinely believe that the twt filmbros arguments on why the genders should not have been changed in the first place just for "woke" points is kinda like,,,very shortsighted because not only does the narrative of women narrowly escaping unwarranted accusations actually fucking fit, but the act of learning to fight back amidst all odds - be it that of disbelieving, predatory men or the power of oppressive pigs - stays resonant for women yesterday, today, and the days to come.

ultimately, warriors (2024) is not solely a tale of female badassery - rather, it is a tale of the need for such "female badassery" in the face of past and present realities, which is why it somehow fucking worked.

[motimatcha]

"nostromo"

PART 5. Survivor for the Nostromo.

parts: one | two | three | four | five

dbd Xenomorph (alien) x fem!reader. smute: unprotected sex; vaginal sex; tongue fucking (cunnilingus); sperm inside; tongue in mouth; size difference; a large amount of sperm; bloating; sex with a monster.

The familiar crackle of the fire filled the space, but for the first time, you bet you could feel its phantom warmth. Perhaps you were warmed by the thought that you would still be able to meet the xenomorph. But asking yourself the question “why do I need this?”, you did not dare to give a clear answer. Because this could be the beginning of the end for you and for you to accept those brewing feelings for a humanoid creature.

Is it possible to joke that his courtship has borne fruit? Or is it the time spent together? The answer to this question could only be given by you yourself, and since you decided to go into the forest to search for an offering that could lead you to the xenomorph, the answer was more than obvious.

The moon was your only companion on this thorny path . Decorated with millions of stars in the dark sky, she looked blankly at your futile attempts and searches in the forest. During all this time, you happened to find several abandoned lanterns of good quality, collect herbs for good luck, a first aid kit, even a high-quality key to the hatch was in your pocket. On any other day, you would have been happy about such a large number of valuable and rare items, as well as improvements to them, but the situation was different and you were looking for offerings for certain territories.

One got the feeling that they exchanged rarity with the items or that the Entity, in mockery, took them away altogether. What did you do with the xenomorph? This couldn’t help but anger you, but gritting your teeth and wrapping yourself in a jacket so that the biting branches of bushes and low trees wouldn’t hit your hands so hard, you continued your search.

He who seeks will find, as your grandmother said, and therefore you did not stop at the achieved result.

The first location found for your offerings was the Loray Memorial Institute, followed by Springwood, Gideon Meat Processing Plant. Apparently the Entity decided to take pity on you, but not too much, and give out offerings in the reverse order of your stay in its world and during the trials. If everything goes on like this, then you won’t be able to get the offering you need in a century.

Exhausted, you sit down on the grass, damp due to fog and dew, and then lie down. In silence, far from the fire and the hubbub of people, you feel calmer than ever. So what if you are a black crow among black crows? You should be proud of yourself, no less; survive the hunt, aka courtship, of a xenomorph , and then be under the protection of the same creature from David, on top of everything else, a successful conversation with GhostFace... it’s time for you to become a living legend of this small world, so as not to go completely crazy. But the idea is not so bad. It will be possible to tell other survivors about this while you are all... while you are imprisoned here for all eternity.

Deep in thought, you don't notice Ellen's silent approach. The woman, concerned about your disappearance, even though she believed in your strength, and the forest shrouded in white fog itself was safe for survivors, but she still decided to check on you. What if you had a nervous breakdown and need the support of a loved one? Ripley , in any case, tried to think that you were close people to each other.

There may be a family not related by blood.

“Are you okay?” a calm and quiet voice pulls you out of your slumber. Louise sits down on the ground next to you, you can feel her familiar warmth and smell, this time mixed with swamp mud. Apparently she was lucky enough to be tested in a rotten swamp, although it also took place at the AutoHaven landfill. “You look inspired, albeit tired.”

“Um, I was looking for an offering,” you answer vaguely before turning from your back to your side towards the woman. So you looked even more like a family, strange, but a family: a mother and daughter, wise in life, in love with a monster. The plot is suitable for a film adaptation of one of the versions of “Beauty and the Beast,” except that the rating will be much higher than that of a regular cartoon, filled with blood and corpses. “So far the search has been unsuccessful.”

The brunette was silent for about a minute. Either she couldn’t find anything to say, or she knew, but had no idea how to do it. Finally, with a sigh, she continued the conversation:

“Do you want to meet him?” and you both didn’t need to clarify with whom exactly. Your nightmare, at the same time an object of interest, haunted you in your sleep and in reality, and with the departure of the xenomorph from the usual tests, this need only became stronger. And thoughts, dark and vicious, visited your dreams much more often than they should have.

And it was time to give answers to my own questions. Is it possible to joke that his courtship has borne fruit? Or is it the time spent together?

“Yes. Really want to.”

The ex-officer does not grin amusedly, but does not express any negativity or disgust towards your choice . You may still regret your choice, but the choice is entirely yours. Everyone must develop their own skills in order to make new decisions based on their experience. Ellen, as a caring person, can only support your aspirations and give advice, but not insist.

“As you said, “after courtship, you must prove your strength by resisting the xenomorph’s attacks , and then you yourself will find your way to him. If you want,” Ripley laughs with you and nibbles grass from the clearing. She pulls out one particularly long spikelet and presses it between her lips, thereby reminding you of a cowboy from the wild west. “It seems your words were prophetic.”

“Yes, I can see it myself,” the woman grumbles demonstratively and waves her hands in the air, and then rummages in her pockets. “Take it. Found it on the way.”

What was in your hands made you sit up abruptly and look in disbelief at the hand holding the offering. The "sluice doors" leading to the xenomorph's territory are in your hands.

“You can take all the things I found while scouring the forest if you give me this offering.”

“I was going to give it to you anyway, I still don’t understand how they work.”

“Thank you thank you thank you…”

You stood up from your seat and, as if under hypnosis, headed towards the general fire, before the voice of the former Nostromo officer brought you out of a kind of trance.

“To the edge of the fog,” was all the woman said before disappearing behind the trees.

You nodded gratefully.

As you moved towards the edge of the safe zone reserved for the survivors and separating those from the killers, the white fog began to rapidly thicken. Was this another test from the Entity? Maybe a test of your determination to see things through? Will you retreat at risk or will you still meet with the one you have been afraid of for so long? Shaking your head, dismissing the thoughts imposed on you that nothing would work out, you moved on.

Soon, a white fog enveloped every part of the space, making it impossible to go further. Somehow subconsciously you realized that this place is the line, the transition between the recreation area and the test, and it is here that you need to use the offering, otherwise the insidious entity will return you back to the fire.

You picked up a green polygon with doors drawn there and threw it into the fog. It, inexplicably fluttering and gurgling, began to become denser, and you were drawn to sleep.

Before you fall into oblivion, you think. How could you talk to Ripley if she was on trial and how did she know where to go?

A brutal industrial interstellar cargo ship where human life takes a back seat to brutal efficiency. Death lurks around every corner of its labyrinthine decks. From Ripley's well of memories, a dark and hopeless realm turns into a terrifying nightmare.

That's what you once thought, but finding yourself at the crash site of the Nostromo, with no generators or grappling hooks, surrounded by control points without turrets, you felt safer than ever.

You hesitantly step forward, hoping to meet the xenomorph, but as you search and spend time walking around the entire map, you realize that it is not here. But this is not so. Otherwise, why would the Entity fulfill your whim and allow you to step into the territory of the fallen spaceship? One can, of course, assume that your the captor just likes to watch how your face is distorted in despair that the stranger has been excluded from the kingdom of essence, and maybe everything is not as simple as it seems at first glance.

You approach the nearest control point. The strange thought “can a person go down there?” takes on new colors when the underground tunnels of the alien remain the only place that you have not yet explored. Exhaling, you turn your back to the entrance and slowly crawl through the narrow hole in the ground. The familiar mucus covers your body from head to toe, and now it becomes clear to you why the alien himself is constantly shiny and so sticky.

The dungeon, made of a material unknown to you, flavored with mucus, greeted you with gloomy silence and rare rays of light penetrating through the tunnels from the control points. You could almost stand up completely, the passages themselves were so wide, but it is worth noting that you still had to bend your head a little so as not to crash into something incomprehensible. And then you had to get down on all fours, because otherwise walking on two legs on the sticky floor threatened you with collapsing on it, and then suffocating in the mucus. Shameful death. Following your plan, you decided to go around the tunnels first along the edge and only then inspect the center, believing that this way you will increase your chances of meeting a xenomorph.

But here you are inspecting every passage at the border, then slowly crawling towards the center because of all the mucus stuck to your body, and the one you are looking for is still not there. There were no tears when you leaned against one of the walls and sat down with your legs bent towards you. The heavy realization that the xenomorph has been removed from the realm of essence falls on your shoulders. A heavy lump rises in your throat when the first plaintive sob escapes your lips. This was, at least, unfair, but the natural outcome for violating the rules of the world of the Entity and the corresponding punishment - for the life of one survivor, the killer pays with his own.

“Apparently, it’s time to leave,” you thought and directed your gaze to the exit to the control center ahead of you. You had just managed to lift your butt off the floor when suddenly there was a sound of a passage opening and a xenomorph descended, gracefully and naturally . “Is he really...”

The stranger you were looking for underground was himself looking for a violator of his peace on earth, sensibly believing that none of the survivors would think of descending into his kingdom. To see you here - covered in the mucus of an underground tunnel, tearful, but seemingly happy - was beyond all his expectations. His precious couple, who reciprocated his advances in marriage, themselves came and descended on him, honoring him with great honor.

The creature from distant space froze in place before taking a step towards you, then another, and now he was already at your feet. Seeing a xenomorph so close, knowing that it would not harm you, was surprising and amazing. Adrenaline hit the blood, and the heart began to beat so fast, attracting the attention of the predator. The alien made a sound similar to a purr, at least you could interpret it that way, before burying his smooth head into your chest. The strangers' hearing was a little weaker than that of a human, but even so, leaning close to your body, practically pressing you into the soft surface of the walls, the creature could hear the beating of your heart.

You knew that once you came and descended here, the xenomorph would not let you go. Remember Ripley said that the humanoid wants to create a new colony with you and you, being a vicious child of the Internet who knows about rule thirty-four, hoped that creating a colony implied a method common among people. Just the thought of what a monster’s penis might be like and how it penetrates inside you already excites your nature: there is a pleasant tug in the lower abdomen, it becomes wet from the approaching vaginal lubrication, and you want to see with your own eyes, feel for yourself everything that can give you xenomorph.

The latter seemed to sense the excitement hanging in the air . He hissed, but not threateningly, as it had always been before, but low and gutturally, so that his knees began to tremble. The alien took two steps back, allowing you to take a more comfortable sitting position, and just when you thought that everything would happen right here, the xenomorph suddenly shook his head negatively and waved into one of the corridors. You had no choice but to follow him.

He led you to one of the far corridors of the tunnel, where you had already been, but you did not properly examine the seemingly identical walls at first glance. And apparently in vain, because they lost sight of one of the secret passages leading somewhere deep down, where the temperature only rose, but not so much that it became unbearable for you. Clothes soaked in mucus clung to your body, outlining the curves of your body, giving the xenomorph an excellent view not only of your juicy ass covered in the fabric of your pants , but also of your breasts with hard nipples, and your long neck, so thin and inviting to leave its mark there. The stranger does not need imagination at all, his instincts and the growing desire to possess your body, heart and soul - all of you - did their dark work. The humanoid creature paused before smoothly descending, standing on its hind legs and extending its large palms towards you, lowering your half-size body down.

Based on generally accepted human standards, you could describe this place as a bedroom, making allowances for the non-human appearance of your future or current lover. The floor under your feet, which was a kind of flesh, was warm, soft and slimy, making it impossible for you to walk on your feet with shoes on. Perhaps, if you had the same sharp claws as a xenomorph, allowing it to cling to any surface, it would be much easier for you, but for now, overcoming the fear of the unknown, you take off your shoes. Your feet touch the soft floor, slightly springy and sagging under your weight, but overall the feeling was not disgusting.

You, drenched from head to toe in the secretions of a strange cave, feel more relaxed than ever.

The xenomorph hisses, attracting your attention and pulls the sleeve of your sweater towards him, pushing you to sit in a small recess in the bedroom. Can this thing be described as a bed? Maybe yes.

Surprisingly neat and gentle movements contrast so much with the wild nature of the stranger that it becomes almost funny. A light half-smile adorns your lips when the creature, picking up the hem of your T-shirt under your jacket, tries to pull it off of you over your head. As soon as you do this, it seems as if it becomes easier to breathe, but inside everything is tugging and burning with impatience. The mucus, which no longer seems so disgusting to you, envelops and warms the body, allows you to relax as much as possible, and now you forget about any pain in the body that tormented you due to both the uncomfortable posture while moving and the for a long walk on the surface. All fear has receded, relaxing and preparing your mind.

The stranger’s attempt to take off your pants was unsuccessful, just like yours, because the fingers covered with a layer of mucus simply could not grab the slippery button. For the first time, the sharp tail of a xenomorph was so close to your body, not in an attempt to kill, piercing through your body, but to get rid of a wardrobe item.

“However,” you think, looking at the sharp tip of the alien’s tail, “I wouldn’t mind trying games with a knife.”

You decide this for later, when the degree of your mutual trust moves to a new level. The xenomorph , kneeling in front of you, hisses and purrs contentedly. You slowly, a little fearfully, spread your legs to the sides, giving him a view of your womb, the pink folds of which are covered with your own juices and mucus. The xenomorph is dripping with saliva from his mouth when your hand reaches down along his stomach, covers his pubis with your palm, and thin fingers spread the natural barrier to your entrance to the sides - another narrow hole shrinks around the void, calling on the alien to fill it with himself. You thought that this creature had no mouth, that it was replaced by that extending thing with fangs, and for a second you even doubted the correctness of your decision when the alien opened its mouth, but instead of seeing the usual second mouth moving forward, it touched your womb something cold, thin and just as slimy.

The xenomorph has a tongue. Long, with a green tip that turns black the closer it gets to the throat. The xenomorph's tongue became thicker somewhere in the middle, you could compare its thickness to your three fingers, and there were also ribbed protrusions along the entire body.

It was hard to believe that it would be inside you, and you were counting only on light caresses, but the alien was determined to prove you wrong. Even if he himself had no idea about the course of your thoughts.

The actions of this snake tongue can be described as “chaotic” rather than “planned” or “purposeful,” but it is worth giving credit for its efforts. The sharp contrast of the coldness of the tongue and the warmth of the room excited your nerves brought to the peak, causing his every movement to tremble in your body. Here the xenomorph caresses your clitoris, tense with excitement, and you are ready to burst into ecstasy at any second, and a second later it teases your entrance to the vagina, penetrating inside with just the tip, and a disappointed groan already escapes your lips. All you can do is rush around the floor in the hope that the absolute weapon will stop playing with you, or mocking you, to be honest, and will fill your needy body, if not with its penis, then at least with its tongue.

Perhaps your prayers have been answered.

As soon as you open your mouth to tell the creature exactly how to move in order to bring you the maximum amount of pleasure, it puts its tail across your stomach, and its paws with razor-sharp claws touch your thighs, spreading them even further to the side. It knocks the air out of your lungs, but as soon as his cold tongue slides inside, stars flash before your eyes. It’s so unusual, strange, but pleasant to feel inside, from this feeling of gradual fullness as the xenomorph slowly and carefully pushes its tongue inside your womb. His movements are rhythmic and slow, first a little forward, then almost completely withdrawing from you, touching the sensitive clitoris with his growths along the tongue. Oh, that wonderful feeling of friction and pressure, pulling moans from your lips. Your hands are rushing around, not knowing where to place yourself . Maybe grab a stranger’s tail, counting the vertebrae with your fingers, or play with nipples swollen from excitement? Well, you have two hands to do both.

As soon as you touch the tail, slightly touch a sensitive point of the alien body, the xenomorph begins to squeal, pushes its tongue into you a little sharper and deeper than originally planned, as you arch your back, but most importantly, your lover’s tongue arches after you, touching and pressing on the very point that brings you a lot of pleasure . Your loud moan, the echo of which reaches your ears, in which you can hear the frantic beating of your heart, marks the arrival of your first orgasm.

The alien had to do so little to get you to your peak that it's almost astounding. Will you then be able to normally perceive caresses from a person or will you become addicted to the feeling of buzz and euphoria from the alien language, and then the penis?

With one hand you cover your tightly closed eyelids. You try to catch your breath, but it’s all in vain, because the overexcited and full of energy xenomorph is ready to continue giving you affection and pleasure. After all, you are his couple, who reciprocated. The tongue inside you rubs and curves, getting thicker and thinner and always touching your swollen clitoris so that you don't have to worry about having a second orgasm. The movements become faster and more chaotic, as if the alien is trying different methods and approaches on you to find what gives you the most pleasure. And when you are ready to reach the peak of orgasm for the second time, the xenomorph allows you to do this too, smearing the wide part of his tongue along your scarlet bundle of nerves.

This time it just rings in horror, and black dots flash before your eyes in place of the stars.

The xenomorph steps back. His slippery tongue comes out of your womb. And such a sound is heard, vulgar as in porn, but damn exciting. It’s as if a plug was pulled out of you and all that mucus that came inside along with your tongue began to flow out of your body.

Having barely caught your breath and found the strength to open your eyes, you look down to where the xenomorph is located. But he soon reached forward, placing his huge paws on either side of your chest. You were wondering if someone else has a penis, right?

There, pushing the groin shields to the sides, it appeared. Something that will divide your world into before and after.

Big, long. The tip of the xenomorph's penis was slightly elongated and thin, becoming thicker just below, and tapered again at the creature's hips. Its color was identical to the tongue - green at first, gradually turning black - and had growths, two of which ran along the upper part of the penis and one below. You could assume that the maximum length of these protrusions does not exceed half a centimeter, but this will be enough to give you an unforgettable experience.

A clear viscous liquid dripped from the tip of the penis, not the same as the mucus that envelops your bodies and you remembered the word pre-cum . Apparently this is typical even for xenomorphs .

“I want to touch,” became your first thought, and you listened to your desire. The stranger, showing you the highest degree of trust, allowed you to touch his most sensitive part of the body without any obstacles. And he hissed in surprise as soon as your hot hand touched the alluring flesh. "Marvelous".

The penis in my hand felt pleasantly heavy. It was slightly warmer than the alien creature's tongue; either the humanoid was simply excited until the body overheated, or its organ itself should be warm. In addition, it itself was soft to the touch, but hard, no matter how paradoxical it may sound. Mucus began to accumulate between your fingers as you ran up and down the ribbed shaft. Soft, pleasant, slippery. And it will end up inside your body.

Being under the influence of hypnosis due to the fascination with the xenomorph’s penis, you yourself, without knowing it, bring him to his first orgasm in his life. The alien life form does not know what it means to hold back, applying a similar concept to you for the first time, so as not to simply break the bones in your body, but otherwise gives its all. White streaks of sperm spread across your chest and stomach, slowly flowing down. You pick up one track with the tips of two fingers, spread them to the side, noting how thick and viscous the sperm of the creature from outer space is, that between the fingers spread in different directions, a string of sperm remains hanging between them.

It tastes... strange. It’s as if there is no taste at all.

The xenomorph groans . His nervous, twitching movements of his pelvis back and forth lead you to the idea that he himself wants to fill you with himself as soon as possible, and not only with his penis. You yourself have to raise your body to align yourself with the length of the penis and place the tip at the entrance to your body . My mouth was dry from anticipation. The creature's strong tail grabs you at the waist, sharply lifts you a little more, which is why you have to grab onto the powerful shoulders of your lover, in particular, reach for the tubes protruding from the back, in order to keep yourself in place. The legs can barely be locked behind the xenomorph's back, so you rest against the area above its tail.

Unusual pressure and stretching constrains your body . Despite the preliminary preparation, a copious amount of lubricant such as saliva, mucus and your own secretions, this is not enough to fully prepare yourself for the meeting with this monstrous penis . Only the head has penetrated, and it already seems to you that there is nowhere else to go . But at the same time, you want it to enter you completely, to divide you into two parts, to destroy your pussy, declaring its sole rights to your body and pleasure. Therefore, the xenomorph slowly moved further, penetrating you deeper and deeper with its monstrously large penis, exerting pleasant pressure with its size. The lumpy growths only complemented this wonderful sensation, pressing on the most sensitive points inside your body, and rubbing against your clitoris along with the thick penis. From pleasure, your mouth opened by itself, and pleasant moans, along with unintelligible babble, caressed the stranger’s ears. He was happy to feel that his partner was getting as much pleasure as he did from the feeling of how tightly the vaginal walls fit around his penis . How they tremble every time he plunges deeper into the supple body. He might think that he is intoxicated by this sensation and now he will certainly not let you go from his grip, he will fill you with his sperm, even if you cannot get pregnant in the realm of the Essence. He didn't care at all as long as it meant he could have you in every sense of the word.

The xenomorph stopped moving as his cock entered you fully, tearing through your sensitive walls, overloading your nervous system with the signals it sent. It was hot, cold, hot, everything throbbed and burned, but the vicious desire to become a victim of an alien creature, to be completely fucked and filled with his seed, overpowered any feeling of fear. But you were afraid to move, reasonably fearing that the feeling of pleasure would disappear. The alien decided to act first; slowly, his pelvis began to move away from you, creating many trails of mucus connecting your bodies. You wanted to tell him to stop, not to deprive you of this wonderful feeling of fullness, when he succumbed back forward, a jerk of the entrance turned around, crashing into your fragile human body with all his bestial power.

For long seconds you lost touch with reality, and when you returned, the feeling of lust, pleasant bliss and excitement that spread throughout your body, capturing every part of your body and soul, dispelled all doubts. You loved the xenomorph, his monstrous cock in particular adored you just like he did. The thrusts became smoother each time as your body and womb got used to the size of the alien creature, adjusting and stretching to suit its needs. And when there was no resistance left between you, when the xenomorph could freely penetrate you, desecrating your flesh with his nature, the angle of entry of his penis into you changed, as did the speed. The creature from another world had strength and endurance incomprehensible to the human mind, so it was not difficult for him to rise with your body on his hind legs and sharply lower him onto his penis, touching with the tip of his penis such places that you could not even think about.

It was nice. It's terribly pleasant. The vulgar sounds - your moans, his animal hands, as well as the slapping of your bodies against each other and the squelching sounds coming from the entry of his penis into your womb - only spurred the arousal of the two of you. The xenomorph opened his mouth, releasing his tongue, which immediately entered your mouth. The feeling of movement, both in your mouth and inside, completely severed your connection with reality and there was nothing left except the pleasure you received.

The pace of the thrusts gradually changed, becoming faster and sharper with each passing second. At the edge of your consciousness, you understood that the xenomorph was about to cum and his sperm would paint the walls of your vagina white. I wonder if there will be enough of it for your tummy to become bulging, if even now, by touching the designated part of the body, you could feel its ribbed penis under your fingers? Most likely, yes, but the excitement to check was as strong as your excitement.

After a few thrusts, the xenomorph released his cum into your body. You felt his cock throb as load after load of cum shot into your body. And there was really, really a lot of it. So much so that, despite still having his cock inside you, acting as a plug, white streaks of his seed were already running down the inside of your thighs and large white drops fell onto the slimy surface of the floor. The alien's long tongue licked the tip of your nose before being hidden in the creature's mouth. It, carefully supporting you in the air, sank back onto the warm floor and laid you under it.

It was clear as day that the xenomorph had no intention of leaving your body just yet. At least until he satisfies his hidden desire to impregnate you.

a little about this work.

Initially I planned to write only one part, the fifth, but I thought that without a pre-story it would not be so interesting.

It took me a day to write. in total there were 32 pages in Word, font Times New Roman, size 14.

I was thinking about attaching files with the Russian and English versions, but Tumler does not have this option. In any case, I don’t know about this.

At the moment, I finished making the last changes at 4:33 am on May 1st, whereas I started at 11 am on April 30th.

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (18/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: semi-public sex, sex content, unprotected sex, oral sex, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

I love you too.

She hadn't expected him to say it, and she knew that the bad thing had happened.

It wasn't because his words didn't please her – on the contrary, they surprised her so much that she burst into sobs in his arms, overwhelmed by how strong her fulfilment was, by the warmth of his body, by his tender embrace, by his familiar scent.

She said it because Helaena's words frightened her – she wanted him to know that he was not indifferent to her, that her affection for him blossomed like a flower.

She was learning to love him, each day finding out what that feeling meant to her.

However, as soon as the last wave of pleasure flowed through her loins, as she calmed down in his arms, she realised that he was not ready to hear it, much less to say what he said.

She knew he would regret it, because he never spoke of any of his feelings – he found it humiliating and pathetic.

He would never think to say: I long to press my face between your soft breasts.

No.

He would untie her nightgown, exposing her chest, and just do it, while she would snuggle him into her body, stroking his hair with a smile of contentment.

He never named what he was doing because it was safer – putting his thoughts into words was a threat to him, or at least to his ego, one that despised weakness.

He despised weakness while at the same time being weak – he was no fool and he knew it, however, he had never shown it to her so bluntly before.

The worst thing about it was that she knew what would happen next – she knew he would be furious with himself, she knew he would regret it, she knew he would try to distance himself from her, to regain the balance she had taken from him that night.

And she wasn't wrong.

"What's it?" She heard his sleepy voice, stroking his hair.

She froze, horrified that he felt, holding his cheek pressed between her breasts, that her heart was pounding like mad.

"Forgive me. I'll never do it again." She muttered, horrified, knowing that he understood perfectly well what she meant.

I will never do it again.

I will not put you in a situation where you are ashamed of your words.

Don't leave me.

She waited with a clenched throat for his words, but he remained silent.

His silence was worse than his rage.

His silence meant he had locked himself in the fortress of his mind again.

"Please, do not reject me. Forgive me for my weakness." She mumbled, terrified and distraught, thinking that if she could, she would take back everything she had said.

But it was too late.

"Say it again." She heard his cold voice filled with superiority.

"What?" She mumbled.

"Say it again. And then again and again."

This was punishment, she realised with horror.

He wanted to humiliate her – to force her back into the role of his victim, his subject, his prisoner, just as when he had forced her to kneel before Vhagar, pressing her face to the very ground.

She couldn't afford it.

Her body rose from his bed on its own, her heart pounding like mad as she threw on her nightgown and simply walked out, not bestowing a single glance on him again.

She didn't resent him – she just didn't know how to behave.

As soon as the door of her chamber closed behind her, she burst out sobbing, cursing herself and her foolishness.

Why had she said that?

Her husband had summoned her that afternoon, demanding her presence at a meeting of his military council.

They were to set off for Harrehnal the next day.

When she walked into the chamber, her husband, Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne were already waiting for her.

Her lēkia threw her a lingering, piercing look from which she lowered her gaze – she heard him grunt loudly as he looked around at all those gathered.

"My wife and I will travel evenly with the army, protecting it from the sky. We won't be able to get a surprise effect here anyway – Rhaenyra, deprived of Rook's Rest, won't have time to join their forces." He said in the cold, matter-of-fact tone he only used when he closed himself behind the gates of his mind, creating, in his opinion, an image of his own power in other people's eyes.

"What if the new dragons and their riders join the fight?" Gwayne asked – she lifted her gaze to him, her lips involuntarily leaving the question.

"What?"

She saw out of the corner of her eye that her husband and Ser Criston shifted uneasily, as if terrified that he had broached the subject.

"Princess Rhaenyra has three new riders, my Lady. Their dragons pose a huge threat." Ser Criston said.

"The word that your father took a girl younger than you to his bed and made her a dragon rider has not reached you?" Gwayne continued, and she felt that if she moved even a little she would vomit on the table top right in front of her.

The word that your father took a girl younger than you to his bed and made her a dragon rider has not reached you?

She felt time stop for her – her breath was heavy as she lifted her eyes to her husband, the pain must have been written all over her face because she saw something like compassion in his gaze.

How could he conceal this from her?

How could he allow Gwayne to humiliate her like this in his and Cole's presence?

"The whole of Westeros is gossiping about the fact that this is why Rhaenyra sent him away to Harrehnal. Apparently he enjoyed taking hot baths with her –" Sneered Gwayne – her husband threw him a quick, annoyed look.

"– enough. Do you also wish to have a conversation about my mother, or can we move on to planning this fucking war?" He growled and an uncomfortable silence fell.

Although a moment later Criston Cole moved on to the subject of where and how their troops were to organise rest stops, how they were to travel and what their role in the battle was to be, she wasn't listening.

She wondered, what was this girl like?

What did she have that she lacked?

What did her father see in her?

She pressed her lips into a thin line and swallowed hard, feeling the tears of grief burning under her eyelids, refusing to let them flow.

As soon as her cousin had finished the meeting, she left without a word and headed to her chamber, only to burst into loud sobs there.

She lay down on her bed, whooping with tears, and snuggled into the soft furs, trying to calm her ragged breathing.

She felt humiliated and alone – she needed him now, and he had rejected her, in addition to her own fault.

As much as she longed to fall asleep in his embrace more than ever, she dared not go to his chamber that evening – she knew that she would have then shown the weakness of her character and she feared that he would have accepted her only out of pity.

She did not want his sympathy.

She simply wanted him to be there for her, just as she had been there for him when he found out what his mother had done.

She knew he wouldn't come, and she kept telling herself that she just had to get through it, fall asleep and wake up in the morn, and then everything would somehow resolve itself.

Nevertheless, lying alone in a dark room in a cold bed, she was unable to stop crying.

Apparently he enjoyed taking hot baths with her.

She felt an unpleasant twinge in her stomach, a cold shudder of disgust at the thought that her father could really do such things.

She closed her eyes and wept loudly, feeling her whole body tremble – she shuddered and froze when she heard the quiet creak of a door, and then someone's footsteps.

Her mouth opened in disbelief when she saw his tall figure heading towards her – his sapphire shone ominously in the moonlight as he lay down beside her on the bed, his snow-white hair loose, falling gently down his shoulders.

She swallowed loudly, breathing heavily as his large hand rose to her head – his fingers stroked her hair tenderly, as if trying to soothe a small child.

Her body threw itself into his arms – they both sighed when their hands clenched tightly on their flesh, as if this forced separation caused them pain.

"– lēkia –" She mumbled, feeling relieved when his familiar scent filled her nostrils, when his warmth enveloped her skin again.

He had come.

He had not left her alone.

He sacrificed his pride to comfort her.

Although her heart was torn by the thought of her father holding another girl in a tender embrace, she found herself relieved in her husband's arms.

That night, both of them could not sleep for a long time – that's why they simply lay with their foreheads pressed together, looking at each other, letting their fingers stroke their warm cheeks.

There was something beautiful about just lingering by each other's side, offering each other their presence and closeness, the warmth of their bodies at a time when they were both lost in their emotions and needs.

She fell asleep feeling his hand on her head, surrounded by his warm breath, snuggled into the hollow of his neck.

She dreamt that she lay in complete darkness, alone – all she could hear around her was the sound of drops falling on the stone floor. She shuddered when she felt a cold, wet hand touch her cheek and opened her eyes, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

She swallowed hard, looking around, recognising her chamber in the room she was in – his arm was embracing her around the waist, and he was lying behind her back, snuggled into her with his body, breathing quietly, sunk into a deep sleep.

She sighed in relief and put her arm around his, trying to take at least a short nap, recognising that she had been tormented by nightmares because of what Helaena had told her.

The next day was complete chaos – both she and her husband were half-conscious when they left the Red Keep at the head of his army. They were both tense and terrified – she could see this looking at him out of the corner of her eye, in his upright, grim, cold posture, indicative of the fact that he had closed his mind to her and anyone else.

She was only relieved when she found herself in the skies – being close to the Sheepstealer gave her a sense of safety and strength – together with him, she was more than human, more than the Prince Regent's wife.

She was a dragon rider.

The long hours of flight on a dragon's back allowed her to sink into contemplation about what she should do once she faced her father.

She dreaded that her husband, eager to prove his worth to the Kingdom and to himself, would seek a one-on-one battle, believing that Vhagar's greatness would give him the upper hand.

She, however, feared that her father would use his wits to kill him – he must have known him as a child, watched what happened to him, known his weaknesses.

She was determined to protect him at all costs.

When they finally landed on the ground to set up camp and get a bit of rest, she felt like she was going to die of pain – her back and buttocks ached so much that she could hardly walk, her legs all numb, soft as cotton wool.

She and her husband did not even exchange a word between themselves when they reached his tent, too tired to do anything other than throw themselves onto his bedding and fall asleep.

Although she immediately fell into a deep slumber, she felt his presence beside her, his broad hand resting on her back.

The next morning, she decided to inform the cooks of her decision – namely that she intended to prepare meals for herself and her husband.

Her cousin, though amused by her words, finally agreed to let her do as she saw fit.

How could she be sure that her father's spies were not among them?

How could she risk her husband eating or drinking something prepared by people she didn't know?

The fact that Otto trusted them did not matter to her.

The lonely expedition to the woods was a pleasant diversion for her, one that reminded her of the most beautiful moments of her life in Runestone – the rustle of the leaves and the singing of the birds around her filled her soul with a pleasant peace.

It appeared that although she hadn't hunted for many weeks, she hadn't lost her talent for it – it took her an hour to shoot a few quails with her bow.

When she returned to their camp, she felt the curious stares of the soldiers and servants on her – she knew they considered what she was doing to be an exaggeration.

The prince's wife could not be a cook.

However, what was more important?

What others thought of her, or the safety of her and her husband?

She decided that the answer was simple.

Under her guidance, the cooks separated the skin from the meat, and she began to prepare a stock of vegetables and spices beside them, which she cooked in a cauldron over the hearth.

"I did not recognise you, my Lady. I thought you were a servant wench. It's easy to mistake you for one." Gwayne Hightower sneered, approaching her lazily with a look of amusement on his face.

The corner of her mouth lifted up, but she did not answer him.

Gwayne stood over her, looking intently at what she was doing, at once intrigued and full of pity, with an expression that could only be painted on the face of a high-born lord who had never done anything with his own hands.

"The cooks were chosen by my father. Don't you trust his judgement?" He asked with a hint of challenge, and she sighed heavily, slicing the meat on a wooden board, dropping it into the cauldron piece by piece.

"I trust myself more. I understand he told you to watch me." She said lightly.

Gwayne laughed and crouched down beside her, watching what she was doing.

"Perhaps. My father is precautionary, and women can be two-faced." He replied softly, with an air of sympathy, as if he liked the fact that he was unable to discourage or annoy her.

"Of course. They learn it from their fathers, brothers and husbands." She replied calmly and looked up at him – his bright blue eyes were fixed on her face.

He was smiling, watching her in a way from which she felt a strange tension – his light hair was pulled back nonchalantly, his figure relaxed and slightly hunched.

What was he doing?

Was he trying to see if he would be able to seduce her?

Was Otto telling him to make sure she would be faithful not only to the Kingdom, but also to his grandson?

"My husband is very possessive –" she finally confessed, looking him straight in the face, "– and it's not in his nature to share his toys with other boys."

Gwayne grinned even wider at her words.

"Instead, it's in the nature of boys to put the toys they're bored with back on the shelf to play with new, better ones – younger and prettier. You are his favourite toy, I admit – but you are not irreplaceable. Quite the contrary –"

"You say that from your own experience?" She interrupted him in mid-sentence, feeling a cold discomfort in her stomach.

Gwayne smiled broadly and leaned over her ear.

"Men who know their worth do not seek assurance of their greatness in the arms of a whore. My nephew ran to his own for many years." He huffed.

"Perhaps if his mother had given him enough attention and warmth, he would not have sought understanding and solace in a brothel. But surely neither the Dowager Queen nor her brother devote their time to similar musings – then it would appear that in his behaviour and what he has become may have been their fault." She said coldly, throwing him a fierce, warning look of weariness indicating that she was losing patience.

His lips pressed together in a thin line and his nostrils twitched in a nervous breath – she knew she had frustrated him, and her words had stuck into his heart like a needle.

Good, she thought.

Perhaps he'll think twice next time before saying something.

Gwayne Hightower stood up and left her alone with her words, not giving her another glance.

She lifted her gaze higher, towards the sky – she saw above her the silhouette of Vhagar gliding across the heavens.

Her husband was ensuring that they were in no danger.

She went out to meet him, knowing that, like her, he had not eaten anything – she smiled at him as she saw him walking towards her, but he did not reciprocate her expression.

"You need to eat, lēkia. I have prepared a quail stew. I think it came out exceptionally good." She said softly, and he merely hummed, passing her by without a word.

What had happened?

What had she done to deserve this?

You're not irreplaceable, she reminded herself with a pained expression, and followed him into the camp.

Despite her sadness and grim thoughts, she put food for him and handed it to him in a wooden bowl – his face was completely indifferent, but she could see the tension and embarrassment in his expression, feeling the gaze of the other men on her.

I did not recognise you, my Lady.

I thought you were a servant wench.

It's easy to mistake you for one.

Was really her behaviour, the fact that she had prepared her husband a meal out of good, sincere intentions, something that deserved mockery?

She looked at her cousin in surprise as he ate everything in a startlingly fast pace, wiped his face with the top of his hand, put the bowl down and got up without a word, walking to his tent.

She lowered her gaze to her fingers, hearing conversations around her and chuckles.

She felt like a fool.

She got up and moved behind him, wanting to apologise to him and confess that she wouldn't do it again, leaving the cooking to his grandfather's servants, according to his wishes.

She stepped inside and noticed his silhouette standing with his back to her – he glanced at her over his shoulder when he heard her footsteps.

"– lēkia –" She mumbled and swallowed hard as he extended his hand to her.

She placed her fingers on his and approached him slowly, looking into his eyes – the expression on his face was impassive, his gaze dark and distant.

"– forgive me – I will simply supervise our cooks from now on and let them do their job – I didn't want to expose you to ridicule –" She said with shame, looking at his torso clad in a black leather coat.

She swallowed quietly as he took her chin in his fingers and lifted it so that she looked at him – his gaze was softer but still stern, his head cocked slightly to the side. He hummed under his breath, as if he had made some decision in his head, and then leaned in, letting his lips brush hers in a sticky, gentle kiss.

She sighed feeling it, shyly responding to his caress, feeling her heart thump harder in her chest – she dared to touch her palms to his neck, running her fingertips over his jaw as his arms embraced her waist, pressing her close.

A pleasant, warm sensation spread across her lower abdomen, a sweet shiver ran down her spine as she felt his slick tongue slip between her puffy lips – they licked slowly and sighed at the same moment, their hands clenching tighter on their bodies.

"– my wife –" He exhaled between one loud, wet kiss and another, sinking his lips into hers with loud gasps escaping from their throats.

"– mine –" He said more harshly, clamping his hand in her hair, tilting her head back, forcing her to look into his eyes – his gaze, his lips parted in desire, his heavy breath, his determination made her feel a pleasant pulsing between her thighs. "– do you understand what it means? –"

She nodded, not knowing why he asked about it, figuring he just wanted to make sure she still desired him.

"– are you certain? –" He asked coldly – his thumb traveled along her nape, digging warningly into the soft skin her neck, while his other hand held her close, pressing her against his body.

"– yes, big brother –" She mumbled, feeling only lust pulsing through her veins, wanting to please him, to soothe him, to comfort him.

She moaned, startled when his lips pressed against hers in an aggressive, sticky kiss – his tongue forced its way deep into her throat as their fingers began to undo the clasps of their garments in a rush.

What her husband was doing to her was not slow, tender love-making – only grunts and cries came out of her mouth as he pounded into her without mercy, holding her hips in his hands, taking her with loud smacks of bare skin against skin as if she were his whore in a brothel.

She didn't mind – she wanted to be the fulfilment of his deepest, darkest desires, including those unworthy of a lady or a wife.

"– my soldiers like to look at you – ah – they follow you with their eyes – they lust for you –" He breathed out, opening her again and again on the thickest part of his erection, droplets of sweat on his chest from exertion, his lips swollen, parted wide with pleasure.

She swallowed hard, surprised, clasping her fingers on his arms, having no idea what he was referring to.

His soldiers were mocking her, not desiring her, she thought between one helpless moan and another, feeling shivers of pleasure flow through her lower abdomen with each of his sharp thrusts.

"– would you like it? – to feel one of them inside you? – or maybe my uncle? – you laugh so sweetly beside him –" He cooed, cocking his head to the side, pressing his fingers harder into the delicate structure of her buttocks – she shook her head quickly, feeling her cunt squeeze his manhood at the thought that she had finally realised where his frustration was coming from.

Gods, he was jealous.

Of his uncle, of other men, seeing each of them as a threat just because she paid them attention.

How possessive he was, the fact that he wanted her exclusively made her walls begin to throb hard, bringing her wonderfully close to fulfilment.

"– n-no – no – no – no, please –" She cried pleadingly, looking up at him with eyes full of tears – she saw a grimace that was both a smile and an expression full of satisfaction.

It was exactly what he wanted to hear.

She whimpered as he sped up, pumping into her with loud grunts of pleasure, panting along with her.

"– no? – are you sure? – this little cunt doesn't want anyone else? – hm? –" He sneered, leaning over her, strands of his white hair teasing her face – she threw her legs over his back, embracing his neck, pressing his body against hers, wanting to feel all of him, to ensure that they were one.

"– no – you – p-please – I want you –" She mumbled, feeling that she had lost touch with reality – tears one after the other flowed down her face after he hit her little sweet spot again, making her come hard with a loud, girlish moan of delight.

She sobbed, feeling that he was chasing his own peak, a few pushes away from his fulfilment, when suddenly someone walked into their tent – warm waves of pleasure were still surging through her body when she saw Gwayne Hightower's face looking at her in disbelief, something in his gaze that frightened her.

He was looking at her.

Only at her.

"– get the FUCK out –" Her husband hissed, furious, not even looking in that direction – he pressed his body against hers, covering her breasts and womb, and sighed loudly, coming inside her at last.

His uncle swallowed hard, turned and left, making her breathe a sigh of relief, concentrating only on feeling his cousin's warm seed spilling deep inside her.

They both purred contentedly as their hands began to roam over their naked, sweaty bodies, giving them the sense of fulfilment, closeness and tenderness that they both craved so much.

It was so peaceful.

Gwayne Hightower's face staring at her in a way one shouldn't look at someone's wife.

She closed her eyes, thinking that these were his worries, his burden, his heart.

She smiled involuntarily as her husband's hands began to stroke her buttock and hair, focusing only on his closeness, on his familiar, beloved scent.

He smelled of dragon, she thought with amusement.

"– I'd like to stay like this –" She whispered tenderly – she heard him hum with contentment, his lips placing a warm, lingering kiss on the top of her head.

"– me too –" He confessed softly, his voice like the purr of a cat.

She smiled broadly, sinking into his embrace, feeling that along with the tension, their anger, frustration and worry had also left them.

Her husband had been reassured that she had been faithful to him and still wanted him, so he had regained his peace of mind.

She lifted her gaze to him, wanting to see his eyes – a pleasant warmth spread over her heart as the tip of his nose ran over hers in a gesture so tender that she smiled even wider.

His mask cracked again, revealing his true nature.

"– that's it – that's my girl –" He cooed, making her hands involuntarily sink into his hair and her lips melt with his in a deep, wet kiss full of affection.

She heard his loud murmur of approval that flowed in vibration through her throat, his fingers ran lazily over her cheek – his other arm hugged her waist as she threw her leg over his hip, a shy sigh left her lips as she felt his erection throb hard inside her.

More, she thought.

More, more, more.

"Your Grace. We need to set off." She heard Gwayne Hightower's impatient voice coming from behind the tent.

He was still standing there, she thought and sighed heavily, reminding herself that there had been a war ahead of them.

She saw her husband lick his lower lip in impatience, hard and ready to take her again – she placed a soft, gentle kiss on his warm cheek and he breathed a sigh of contentment, as if this tender gesture of hers had brought him relief.

She pressed her lips together, feeling a spiritual discomfort as he slid out of her – she was empty again, though she had been full just moments ago.

It seemed to her that he also felt some kind of pain because of this, for his lips placed a warm, comforting kiss on her forehead before he rose from the bed.

She watched his standing figure intently as he tied his breeches around his hips – she thought with admiration that he had maintained a slender, muscular physique through his daily sparring and exercise.

She thought he was beautiful.

When he left, she rose with a loud sigh and began to dress herself, deciding that it would be better if he and his uncle explained the matter concerning her themselves.

At first she had thought that her husband's words about her drawing Gwayne's attention were due to his jealous, distrustful demeanour, but now she wasn't sure herself that her husband hadn't been right.

"– you are not worthy to kiss the ground she steps on – you have neither her humility nor her devotion – you are just a plain, vain, insolent lord who will be soon a fat old man sitting in his fortress, dining from morn till dusk –" She heard her husband's enraged voice as she fastened the buckles of her leather tunic and stepped outside, terrified, wanting to see what was happening.

Ser Gwayne was red with embarrassment and her cousin with anger – when he heard her footsteps he looked at her and then around at everyone gathered, as if challenging them.

"– does anyone else want to insult my lady-wife? – does anyone else want to call her a slave? – a servant? – a cook? – hm? –" He called out towards the men who surrounded them, those who dared to mock and laugh at her.

She swallowed hard, feeling her throat tighten with emotion.

All she wanted was for him to defend her.

And he did.

Her husband grinned broadly in a way that she knew perfectly well and which did not indicate at all that he was pleased – he exposed his teeth for a moment as he chuckled sinisterly.

"– this woman is a dragon rider – she is my blood – she is my wife – and our chance to win – to change the fate of the war – and you repay her like this? – mocking the fact that she ensures that I am not poisoned? – by looking at her as if you had never seen a beautiful woman before? –" He continued, and she felt a wonderful warmth in her heart at his words, so sincere and direct.

She is my wife.

She is my blood.

He acknowledged her in front of everyone, what they had in common, the fact that she was no longer his prisoner.

He had officially recognised her as a member of his family, and although she knew he had already done so during their nuptials, now he had done so truly.

"– what difference will she make when Rhaenyra has as many as three new dragon riders? –" Someone in the crowd asked.

She shook her head, wondering if these men were really so naïve to believe that loyalty could be bought or coerced.

It had to come from the bottom of the heart, otherwise it was worthless.

"– they will not remain faithful to her – the title is not worth the price of a life – at the sight of Vhagar and Sheepstealer they would panic, knowing that Meleys stood no chance with Vhagar herself, let alone two dragons – Sheepstealer serves me, and our bond gives me confidence that he will obey me in a moment of trial –" She said with a certainty that surprised her herself.

"– were you not an heiress of Runestone yourself? – did your mother not enjoy the same rights as Rhaenyra? –" Someone else called out.

She swallowed hard, realizing she was not a little girl to be shouted at, but the wife of the Prince Regent.

"– yes, it is true – however, my mother is dead, and I relinquished my rights to Runestone to my cousin – I did not want to share her fate and be married to some old lord like a mare – I married our Prince of my own free will, believing in his cause and his person – my husband is the rider of the mightiest dragon living in this world, who has already led you to victory once – why do you doubt him now? – did he not protect you then? – now I will protect you too, by his side – do not be afraid – have courage –"

The men around her looked at her with a kind of curiosity and hope – she understood that, like her husband, they were, deep down, little boys who were afraid of death and needed to have a mother beside them to hold their hand when they fall.

She thought that since they were going to die for their cause, she would be for them what they needed her to be.

Her husband showed her what he thought of her words and behaviour even before they flew away, almost taking her under the sky, unable to tear himself away from her moist, full lips.

I'll reward you for this, he assured her.

You'll beg me to stop.

She smiled under her breath, gliding at his side on the Sheepstealer, thinking that it had been a long time since she had waited so impatiently for the night.

Her father's figure, Helaena's words and everything else ceased to matter to her for a moment.

And then she caught a glimpse of Harrehnal on the horizon and the great lake spreading out in the distance.

The Gods Eye.

All I hear is the sound of water.

A cold, unpleasant shiver ran through her body when she noticed that there was no army around the fortress.

Her father mocked them.

"How could this have happened? How did our spies not find out that he had left Harrehnal? Now that fucking traitor is sitting in Dragonstone and is LAUGHING at us!" Shouted her husband as soon as they had taken the fortress by storm, summoning her, Ser Criston and his uncle into a circular stone hall with nothing but a table inside.

The fortress was grand, but it was also a complete ruin – when she lifted her head, she could see the sky shining through the destroyed roof.

"They had to set out under cover of darkness. They stripped the fortress of food." Criston Cole muttered.

Her husband's jaw clenched in rage.

"Bring out all the traitors and hang them one by one. Let them remain on the walls for a few weeks as a warning." He continued speaking, both she and Criston Cole spoke up at the same moment.

"No."

Her husband stopped in half step and looked at them, panting heavily.

Ser Criston remained silent, evidently hoping that she would take a risk and try to reason with him.

"We are here to win the support of the Lords of the Vale and Riverlands. We can't begin with killing them – that's what my father wants. To provoke you into making a rash decision. Lock them in their chambers and imprison them as traitors, but show mercy, show what kind of ruler you intend to be." She said pleadingly, his gaze fixed on her and her alone.

"I am not merciful." He hissed.

"Then pretend you are until you prevail. You said yourself that war is won by intrigue and trickery. My father has set a trap for us, and we must respond carefully. First of all, you and some of the troops should return to King's Landing, while I would stay in Harrenhal and hold this fortress for you."

She couldn't let him stay here.

Not when the shadow of the Gods Eye fell over his silhouette from afar.

Her cousin's gaze shifted, as if something in her words surprised and frightened him at the same time – Criston Cole nodded at her words.

"Your lady-wife speaks wisely, Your Grace. Daemon and Rhaenyra, knowing that the Red Keep is defenceless, will attack it immediately. We must return to defend the Throne and the Crown, while your uncle and your wife make sure that the army from the North does not cross the Riverlands." He said quickly – Gwayne lowered his head when her husband looked at him, obviously enraged by this vision.

"No." He said coldly. "That's out of the question."

"Let Ser Criston stay with me. He is more experienced and will be a greater support to me. You should take your uncle and return to defend King's Landing." She said calmly, knowing what he meant.

Her lord-husband looked at her with a gaze from which she felt a squeeze in her heart – his eye was large and filled with fear of what she was suggesting and what it would mean for them.

"Leave us alone." He ordered – Ser Gwayne and Ser Criston nodded, disappearing after a moment behind closed doors.

Her cousin looked at her for a long moment, his lips parted in a heavy breath, as if he did not know what to say.

"We must separate, lēkia. I don't want this, but it's the only way." She said softly, as if speaking to a small child.

"A wife's place is with her husband. Helaena told me to keep you close. Her words mean more than you may think." He said, making her lips part in horror, an unpleasant, cold shiver running down her spine.

Her husband's eyebrows furrowed, as if he realised something by looking at her face – he placed his hands on the table top and leaned over it, looking her straight in the eye.

"She told you something more. Something I don't know about." He stated, and she lowered her gaze, feeling a burning shame, caught off guard.

"Tell me." He demanded.

She swallowed hard, feeling her lower lip tremble as she opened her mouth.

"She said our son would have my eyes. That she saw me holding him in my arms. I don't want our child, like I once did, to be raised without a father." She mumbled out, breathing hard, finally lifting her gaze to him.

Her husband looked at her in disbelief, his healthy eye open wide, his lips parted in a heavy breath.

"Are you with child?"

She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders.

"I don't know. It's been too little time since my last bleeding to tell. Maybe." She said wearily, feeling tears burning under her eyelids for some reason.

She couldn't tell him the whole truth.

She was afraid that if he found out that his sister had not seen him by her side, in an act of anger and despair he would do something that would lead him to the tragedy she so badly wanted to avoid.

Her husband sighed heavily and nodded as if he accepted her words.

"Is that why you've been behaving so…strangely in recent days?" He asked uncertainly, lifting his gaze to her, and she swallowed loudly.

Was that why she'd told him she loved him?

Was that why she wanted to make sure no one poisoned him?

Was that why she wanted him to leave Harrenhal?

"Yes."

Her husband nodded again, extending his hand to her.

"– come here –" He said softly – she moved towards him slowly, circling the table, placing her fingers on his rough skin.

He drew her to himself and grasped her face in his hands, his thumbs running over her jawline in a gesture filled with soft affection.

"Helaena once told me that to gain a dragon, I would have to close my eye. I didn't understand then what that meant. She sees things." He said calmly, and she swallowed hard at the thought that his words were no comfort to her.

"I want you to see our child." She choked out with difficulty, looking at him in pain.

Her husband smiled, his knuckles trailing along her cheek.

"I will. And you will not leave my side."

She shook her head, gripping his hand in hers, feeling her heart pounding like mad in her chest.

"You cannot leave King's Landing unprotected, and if we leave Harrehnal, Daemon will immediately send here someone from Dragonstone. Don't you want us to prevail?" She asked in a breaking voice, and he swallowed hard, putting an unruly lock of her hair behind her ear.

"I want to make love to you." He whispered, as if he hadn't heard her words, leaning over her, his lips placing a sticky, hot kiss on her neck, his fingers clenching on her back.

"– please – please, Aemond, please –" She begged, trying to push him away as he pressed his body against hers, his erection in his breeches swollen and hard, pulsing against her lower abdomen.

She moaned quietly as he lifted her up, seating her on the table, his fingers nimbly undoing the buckles of her tunic, slipping her boots and her breeches off her legs a moment later.

She saw only devotion, only tenderness, only love in his eyes as he knelt before her, as his face sank into her wet womanhood, dripping with desire and lust.

She cried out, feeling pleasure bordering on pain as his lips caught her little bud, sucking and teasing it only to let it go a moment later, trailing the tip of his long nose over it.

Her fingers clenched helplessly in his hair as she felt his hot breath on her swollen entrance – his tongue thrust aggressively between her fleshy walls, hitting the sweet spot deep inside her again and again.

"– u-uh – oh gods, Aemond, oh gods, oh gods, oh gods –" She squirmed, feeling the warm tension begin to build in her lower abdomen – her cunt began to clench around nothing while his tongue pounded without mercy into her sweet spot, making a tickling, wonderful sensation melt across her lips, her nipples and deep, deep inside her.

"– lēkia – l-lēkia, 'm close, stop, stop, please, ah! –" She mewled and threw her head back, feeling the aggressive, stupefying fulfilment shake her body – his tongue was eating up everything that leaked out of her with the loud clicks of his saliva, his nose trailing over the soft folds of her spasming cunt, his purrs full of satisfaction ran in vibration through her body.

She sighed as he wiped his face and stood up, turning her onto her stomach – his broad hand sunk into her hair and forced her to bend over, her cheek hot with exertion pressed against the table top.

"– now it's your husband's turn –" He breathed out in a voice hoarse with desire – she groaned as his hard, swollen manhood slapped against her naked buttocks as his free hand directed the thick head of it against her throbbing, tight hole.

She clamped her eyelids shut and whimpered loudly as he opened her wide – she heard his sigh of delight, his hips forcing her to fit everything deep inside her with one sure thrust.

"– good girl – now stay still and take it –" He gasped with satisfaction, imposing a fierce, aggressive pace on her – she clenched her hands into fists, feeling tears under her eyelids, a shiver of almost painful pleasure surging through her body every time the tip of his cock hit her hidden spot.

"– I can't – too much, g-gods, too much –" She babbled, feeling her oversensitive womanhood pulsing all over in panic around his hard manhood, his hips pounding into her with sticky smacks of bare skin with his loud grunts of delight.

"– shhh – just a little more – just a little more, hāedar, just – ah – f-fuck, yes – there you go – mmm –" He gasped out, finally coming inside her with a low groan of fulfilment, filling her with his warm spend after a few more sloppy thrusts.

They were both panting hard, feeling their bodies pulsing against each other, his hand clenched on her hot, soft buttock.

"Daemon wants me to leave you alone. He will come for you then and challenge you, knowing you are inexperienced. Rhaenyra won't poke her head out of Dragonstone for fear of meeting Aegon's fate, and the bastards she made into dragon riders won't lead an attack on King's Landing without a leader. Trust me. I am now greatly relaxed and think very soberly." He murmured, and she, for some reason, giggled.

Gods, he was teasing her.

"If my lord-husband says so, I will obey him like the docile, loyal wife I am." She whispered and heard him sigh contentedly, his broad hand stroking her smooth hair.

"That's my girl."

[angelique-isawineglass]

𝐇𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲

(Lady Alcina Dimitrescu x F!Reader) [Lady Dimitrescu comforts Headmaiden!Reader during a stressful breakdown] ~Anxiety attacks/Hurt/Sad themes/Dissociating/If you are sensitive to or gain anxiety/mental breakdowns when connecting with online bad scenarios, please leave, I know they can be upsetting as hell and annoying to deal with. Please don't be afraid to cry if you need to, just promise you won't do it alone <3, love you all :3 ~ ~Little use of Y/N, grammar may be poor, misspellings probably frequant, Reader is over 30 (roughly 36-38), Reader overworks when stressed~ ~SFW~ ~ ~

Keeping more then 50 maids in line was hard. Not impossible, especially when you're as stern and strong as yourself. ... At least that's what you try to tell yourself. You love working for The Countess of Castle Dimitrescu after serving for years and years, but occasionally, some days just become a little bit too much. Today just happened to be one of those days.

Currently, you were cleaning windows in The Lady's private chambers, thoughts dancing about in your mind. This week had been full to the brim with bloody messes, incompetent maids and idiot moroaică managing to bust down the diningroom door, however the hell they manage to do it without being sliced to ribbons by The Mistress was anyones guess.

You had somehow managed to slip out of focus for a moment as the screams of what sounded like a male from the dungeon rung through the castle. Considering how long you had worked in Castle Dimitrescu for, the screams of maids and occasional hunters always managed to make you shudder. You didn't think you'd ever get used to it.

Unfortunately, thinking about what the daughters of The Lady were doing to whatever daft minded gentlemen attempting a break in at this time of year was being put through, did nothing for the bubbling anxiety creeping its way up your chest. You knew several of the people who had endured the wrath of Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters, however, you never really had too much of a relationship with any of them. You preferred to keep to yourself whenever you weren't handing out tasks and intructing newer maids of what to do. Still, the screams that echo through the kitchen everyday were less then appealing.

The more your mind wandered the more distracted you became. You went from wiping down windows to staring over the terrace. The longer you stood there thinking about your week, the more frustrated and upset you became. A million questions running wild in your head, What on earth had Ingrid been thinking? Sneaking into Miss Bela's chambers after forgetting to wash the girl's sheets. Why were the moroaică being so disruptive and- and loud?? The moroaică is one thing, the maids another, but also the thought of this repeating process; waking up, more dead maids, more new maids, more girls to train, repeat. It was stressful, and you were getting tired of not taking the breaks you were being offered every so often. But what were you meant to do? Maids don't train themselves, unless The Lady would control her daughters before they kill every last maid in one day.

Of course, you had nothing against The Lady or her daughters, you adored the 3 girls as if they were your own children, but seeing as you had been taking care of all of them for over 15 years, that was probably expected. You read to Daniela often, helped Cassandra keep things organised in the armory, and spoke with Bela whenever she was hovering around the kitchen. You really just loved to spend time with the girls whenever you could. The Lady had taken a liking to you over the years as well. You would normally sit down for tea or wine after a days work to talk with her whenever she was free, and even paused your work whenever you crossed paths in the hallways. However, as of late, you had been distancing yourself, and The Lady definitely noticed.

By now, your hands were trembling, but you snapped out of your thoughts and kept doing your chores anyways, trying to ignore the fact that you were close to spilling frustrated waterfalls. You didn't know what you were specifically upset about so why were you panicking? You can't be the person who helps take care of the entire Castle if you can't place what you're even upset about. Too busy drowning in your thoughts, you hadn't heard the chamber door swinging open, or the clicking of heels that followed.

The groan you let out was muffled as you lifted your apron up to wipe your face of the few tears that had managed to pass the dam currently built behind your eyelids. Your hands covered your face, shielding whatever was outside the window from seeing your annoyance. , , My dear, is something the matter?" The all too familiar voice snapped you out of the current state you were in.

You immediately whipped around, drying your face in the process before mumbling out an apology, not bringing yourself to meet The Countess's gaze.

, , I apololgize M'Lady, I didn't know you'd be done working so early." , , Look at me when you speak, draga." Alcina's voice was stern, but not to the point that it made her sound upset. More, concerned?

Reluctantly, your eyes trailed up her dress until you met Alcina's eyes. Upon noticing your tear streaked cheeks, The Countess's eyebrows furrowed. She took only a step foward before bending down to meet your height, her hand raising to your face as she took your chin in her hold.

, , Now. Tell me what bothers you, darling, your face is red."

Her eyes definitely showed concern, as this had been the first time in a while that she had seen you in such a weak and vulnerable state. At this moment, you would give anything to just spill out all your problems, but you passed that thought off, still wanting to avoid Lady Dimitrescu in any way.

, , It's nothing that should concern you, M'Lady. I don't want to put anything else on your plate." Just as you were about to ask to leave, you were pulled by your wrist towards The Countess.

Your breath hitched in your throat as she led you to the couch next to the window, sitting down before she lifts you up onto her lap. From the angle you were sitting at, you could see yourself in the vanity mirror. Of course, Alcina was right, your face was red.

, , M'Lady—"

, , Draga mea, how long until you stop avoiding me and my daughters?" She too, was looking at your reflection in the vanity mirror.

You opened your mouth to speak, but truthfully, you didn't really know what to say.

, , What's going on in that pretty little head of yours that's made you so distant, hm? Don't think I hadn't noticed it all when I saw you trying to evade Daniela the other day. I hope you don't think that just because your one of my most trusted maids, you have the right to keep things from me. You live in my home, therefore anything that happens with you—" She points to your chest, of which was rising up and down a lot quicker then before. , , -Is my concern whether you think it is or not." The Mistress looked deeply into the reflection of your eyes, as if trying to search for an answer. This woman always had a way with words that confused you just as much as it comforted you. Alcina had been so caring and sweet to you in the past, (thanks to the little amount of mess ups you made compared to the women who had been brought to The Castle along side yourself all those years ago) on your journey here in Castle Dimitrescu, she had managed to break down a lot of your mental shields, the shields that kept prying eyes at bay.

Your foot started to bounce nervously up and down and with a hesitant sigh, you started to rant about all the problems on your mind. How you thought that maybe you weren't working enough, and that you didn't deserve all the time you get to spend with the Dimitrescu's. Tears eventually broke out as you continued to lay all your troubles out in front of you. Alcina just sat and listened to you, rubbing your arm with her thumb and nodding understandably every now and then, not that you could see yourself or her anymore, Alcina had pulled you into her chest when you started to cry. By the time you had stopped rambling, your eyelashes were wet with tears, and your eyes were puffy and red.

, , Sweetheart, if a maid isn't doing their job correctly then you should be telling me, so that I can deal with it." She brings her hand up to your face, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. , , As for how much you work, I think the fact that you have been serving this Castle much longer then any other maid could survive here for is proof enough of your worth for me and my daughters. Besides, we don't care what you're worth. Do you enjoy my daughters company?" You nod slowly, leaning into The Countess's hand. , , I enjoy every second of my time with the girls. They're angels, if you wipe off the blood on their faces. I just- I just think that perhaps I dont do enough to earn their—." You're silenced when a leather gloved finger is pressed softly to your lips.

, , You're overthinking. Darling, my girls could very well see you as a second mother, they adore you just as much as I do, and I don't think I see them as happy as they are when you're around them. When you're stuck in a Castle for as long as you can remember, you start to get bored, draga. And don't you dare go forgetting that. You treat my girls as if their human beings, not some psycho witches that hunt and kill for a living. I've seen the way you look at them, you love them, you know you do. And they love you too. Now what makes it so hard to see that?"

A second mother? Well yes you treat them as your own sometimes, but you never wanted to say outloud that you loved them in that way, in case of what The Mistress might think. But now that you're hearing her say it, it all feels like a dream. You would do anything to protect Alcina's daughters. You never had interest in having children, but you always had a maternal instict when you came to know the Dimitrescu daughters.

, , You're stressed, draga mea. I hate seeing you that way." , , I'm- I'm sorry, I just— This week has been so rough, I thought maybe working more would get my mind off of everything—" Alcina grabs your chin, turning you to look at her in the eye.

, , My dear, the last thing you should be doing when you're stressed is working. You should be resting, instead- Not- Cleaning windows, sweeping, cooking- I hate to see you do that to yourself. I've known you too long to treat you as just another maid, just take care of yourself more. Can you please do that for me?"

You begin to cry again, burying your face into her chest once more. You start to mumble out apologies over and over again. Alcina comforts you through your tears, wrapping her arms around your body and drawing shapes on your back as you let out choked sobs and soft whimpers. Eventually, your tears stop flowing and they turn into quiet yawns. Finding amusement in your tired state, she begins to run her fingers through your hair.

, , Very tired now, aren't you..." Her voice was soft and quiet. She began leaning to the right, slowly lowering herself further onto the couch, with you laying on top of her. At this rate, you were too tired to deny her warmth, so you just lay curled up on top of The Mistress, welcoming the sleep that finally stole you away.

, , Someday, draga mea, you'll open your eyes and realize just how much you mean to me."

thAt is the first time i have written smth like this :^

lemme know if you want more, bc i already hate this :D

[bitchimasnake-sss]

sfw alphabet ft. roronoa zoro! (because im down bad for him)

enough horniness, now we shall weep and cry cause of how much we love this moss head 🤭🤭

yes ur honor this is the man im in love with :/

💗affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?):

affection (in it's traditional sense) comes hard to zoro. he doesn't really know how to go about it to be very honest. to him affection is sarcasm and acts of services ("acts of service" include calling you mid in 5 languages (joke), making fun of your exercise form and the way you sometimes drool in your sleep, offering you sake etc.). but as time passes by and you both start getting more comfortable with each other, he gets on board with it. every time you both are spending time alone, he holds onto you one way or the other. don't expect him to call you sugarcakes or something because he won't but he will let you know before drifting off to sleep that you mean the world to him. i dont think hes a huge pda guy but if he's super drunk then he cannot possibly keep his hands off of you, its quite weird for the crew to see him so openly affectionate (cue sanji gagging).

💗best friend:

what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start? he's lowkey the bestest of best friends. he has the energy of "idk what you're doing but ig do it anyways cause i know how to fight" an opinion on everything but he doesn't have the time or energy to say anything (between his sleeping and training). doesn't mean he's any less nonchalant, no, he's just super opinionated for some reason. so, when you're sitting next to him on the deck on those late nights, asking him absurd questions, best believe he will deliver peak (nonchalant) commentary. especially after the two years when he's back from living with perona!!! HE IS A CERTIFIED FASHION KING. "zoro," you nudge him and he hums in response, "i was thinking of getting nami that silver bracelet for her birthday, should i?" "i mean i wouldn't give that debt collecting witch anything but-" he winces lightly when you punch him in the arm, "-but. i think silver will look look washed out against his complexion. gold seems better" "you think?"

💗cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?):

at the start, he thinks cuddles are lowkey dumb (and like he probably has gone years without them), so, he puts up this weird drama like "uh no i dont wanna do it" ofc he's lying. cause you're so soft and you smell so good and his hands are literally shaking trying not to hold you against him. after a while, he will unironically announce to you that he is the little spoon tonight and you need to suck it up. (lowkey gives the best cuddles because he literally envelopes you whole till you have to physically push him away) he wants to cuddle but you're DYING. YOU JUST KNOW YOU ARE. because this man is a heat radiating hot heating device heater. he is like a portable sauna. he needs to give you some space but he wont.

💗domestic (how are they at cooking and cleaning?):

cooking? cleaning? you should be grateful that he's showering everyday ever since you started dating him. he knows some basic cooking and cleaning skills (cause he did survive on his own for a good few years) but he doesn't know them in a socially acceptable manner. he just caught a fish, burnt it and ate it cause ✨proteins✨ okay? it's not like he does it on purpose, it's just that he's too focused on training and getting better and you have a chef so, he doesn't have to bother too much about it. but if you both were living together, then i think he will obviously learn them cause he doesn't want you to be the only responsible one cleaning after his messes. and he actually has kinda started liking cooking cause it's relaxing (he's also good at chopping up veggies and stuff so you both can cook together). the only part of cooking he hates is when sanji starts giving him tips cause like genuinely, sanji mind your own fucking business okay he'd learn pasta himself. tldr; the first time you teach him these things, he makes a mess and almost burns down your house but afterwards, you can rely on him to get the things done semi-nicely.

💗ending:

if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it? i think if zoro had to breakup with someone it will probably be over focusing on his dreams of being the best swordsman or if you cheated on him or broke his trust. i don't think he will pursue a relationship with someone if he didn't see it lasting, so, he won't break-up for petty reasons (nor do i think he will ever cheat). i also think he's a practical man. he won't try to sugarcoat or make you false promises. he sure as fuck won't tell you that you both can "still be friends" or some shit (i mean unless you're in the same crew then it kinda goes without saying). he'll probably ask you to come have a chat with him. sit you down and tell you directly and exactly why he is doing it. and he absolutely won't let you have any residual doubts if you "weren't enough" for him or so. just because he has to make this decision doesn't mean he doesn't love or respect you. so, even tho he won't ask you to be friends, if you ever need someone to rely on, he will be there for you. bottom line, he will still be a friend to you (though prepare to ignore each other for a long time after the breakup cause obviously it hurts and you might punch him)

💗fiance(e):

how do they feel about commitment? seeing as his character is super ride or die, he definitely doesn't have a problem recognizing how much you mean to him. but he is pretty emotionally constipated, so, he will take an eternity to actually accept how much you mean to him in a non-friendly manner. how quick would they want to get married? settling down??? no. he's not settling down. not until he's the best swordsman atleast. marriage is lowkey scary to him cause he didn't grow up with healthily functioning relationships to look upto but once he started dating you, he could see it potentially being a "forever" sort of a thing. he's probably not gonna say that out loud tho, thats a topic reserved only for wayward day-dreams or super drunken nights. so, as for the marriage thing he'd want to take his time. he would probably choose to achieve his own goals (and support you to reach yours) and then, think about settling down.

💗gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?):

physically: zoro is acutely aware of his super-human strength but it still comes as a shocker to him to see how fragile, almost dainty you are in compare to him. simple things like comparing hand sizes or how large his t-shirt looks on you when you wear it to sleep genuinely leave him awestruck (and slightly lovesick). so, he makes it his number one priority to always be gentle to you, as if he's scared that you're on the cusp of breaking. and he treats you as such always. (unless you ask with tear-lidden eyes and trembling lips how badly you want him to demolish you because then, maybe he is ready to comply) emotionally: like almost everything else, gentle words come hard to him at the start. all he has known is tough love. so, understanding that making fun of you when you're having your weekly breakdown was the wrong choice took him a while. he's not like emotionally stunted but he still doesn't trust his choice of words to comfort you. rather, he lets the way he holds you against him and pets your head when you sob against his chest do the talking. but if you go out of your way to teach him what he should probably say when you're sad then he might have some luck with it. until then, enjoy the cuddles.

💗hugs:

do they like hugs? after starting to date you, this man realized he loves hugs. and he loves giving hugs. but he's incredibly selective and thus far the only two (2) candidates have been allowed to pass through his tedious selection process. that being you and chopper (both of you are in a binding contract so you cant tell anyone about it either). well, luffy too if you count how clingy he can get 👍🏼 how often do they do it? he does hug you atleast once a day even if it as subtle as holding you from the back, resting his head on your shoulder. what are their hugs like? his hugs are genuinely bear hugs. okay. like he will engulf you and you will stand back and allow it to happen. he doesn't really hold on too long tho, so usually you gotta pull him back towards yourself and hug him tighter when you want it to last longer. pulling him towards yourself usually ends with him smiling and pressing a chaste kiss on your temple as his hands snake around you yet again.

💗"I love you" (how fast do they say the L-word?):

i think he says it fairly sooner than you anticipate. like however long you think he will take, it takes significantly lesser time. this is because (as i said), he probably spent a long time in denial and then in pining, so, naturally by the time you got together, he was sure of his feelings for you. anyways, one of my first fics on this blog was of how zoro probably said "i love you" to you when he was drunk and forgot about it when he woke up the next day. i still stand by that. i think it was a genuine, drunken confession but when you shyly confronted him about it, he just replied, "yeah, i meant that. i love you." his words were nonchalant but you could notice the dusted pink of his cheeks when he admits it and then his unsure gaze as he looks over your face and then the ground. (truth is, he only acted nonchalant. internally he is ready to jump off the ship incase you didn't say it back. thank god you said it back.)

💗jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?):

omg this man is simultaneously the most secure and the most jealous whore in this world. does he know you're not gonna cheat on him and ignore practically any man throwing himself on you? yeah, he knows that. but does he also want to cut off all those guys' heads if they even look at you? kinda, yes. i think he gets really shy to admit he's jealous. like he'd blame his irritable temper on the weather or the fact that he got less sleep last night. but you did notice how he clenched his jaw when a random guy in the market had been ogling you. and so, you tease him relentlessly. "zoro," you laugh, poking him in the chest accusingly, "are you sure? i think there might be something else going on" "like what?" he huffs, "i just got less sleep last night." "babe are you like jealous?" "no-" "you totally are" "stop saying that" "jealoussss" as to how does he deal with it? he fucks you. quick 'n easy. (im so sorry if youre a minor and reading this, in that case he pillow fights you to death.)

💗kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?):

what are their kisses like: after a long day, he always unwinds with you. so, his kisses are usually slow. he relishes in the way your lips feels against his, the way your cheeks feel like under his palm and the way you smile at him when you pull away. there's no haste because he has you right there and you both know you're not going anywhere. but on those nights he's pent up, anger and frustration strewn across his veins, he chooses to kiss you till he forgets just what he was angry about. his kiss-bitten lips are hot against yours, his hand roughly kneading your waist as he pours his anger into your desperate kisses. where does he like to kiss you: in public, his favourite spots are definitely your cheek or your temple as they are relatively tame pda tactics but still gets the point across. he gets to show his affection towards you without making a huge show for it. he also loves kissing on your shoulder as he rests his head on your shoulder and holds onto you. he can feel your pulse under his dull, soft kisses and heard your breathy hums and moans.

💗ittle ones (how are they around children?):

well, i hate kids. so, im gonna be biased. okay i don't hate kids but i hate toddlers. fucking devil spawns. i truly believe they will sacrifice us all for the beginning of the dark ages. anyways, zoro's not great with kids in theory. but somehow, when he interacts with kids he does end up somehow being a good (annoyed) dad figure (remember when he fathered three kids? cause i do)

💗mornings (how are mornings spent with them?):

morning with this green-haired ass start with you pushing his heavy arm off of you. you mumble that you're hot, trying to turn away from him and into the cool sheet. but it's no use because he just traps you against him yet again. zoro definitely doesn't give morning person vibes so i believe you are up before he is. you run you fingers softly against his scalp, bringing down your drumming fingers to his bare shoulders. you press an innocent kiss to his forehead and smile when he leans into your faint touches. when he finally wakes up, he looks up at you through sleepy eyes. he greets you with a tired "morning" before closing his eyes and draping himself you again. "zoro" you whisper half-heartedly, "everyone else is up, come on, we should get up too" he mumbles into your skin, "they weren't the ones keeping a watch last night, were they? come on, 10 more mins." "zo-" "please" he looks up at you, flashing you a soft smile, "10 mins." "10 mins only, okay? then we get up" (well, 10? more like 2 mins. luffy started yelling about breakfast and tried to eat before the food was served. and so, sanji (naturally) kicked him to near-death, so, you both had to wake up)

💗night (how are nights spent with them?):

walking out of the shower, you dry yourself off before cladding yourself in your pajamas. your limbs feel tired, body devoid of any and all energy as you climb into your bed to relax. sometimes you read, other times you just stare at the ceilings and think about stuff (we've all been there). zoro usually slips into the room silently, closing the door behind him. he plops down next to you and you curl up against him. sometimes, you both exchange small talk, if something fun happened while the other person wasn't around or gossip you heard from nami and ussop. but most days, you both simply enjoy the silence in each other's company till you're ready to fall asleep. every once in a while, he slips into the shower with you. (keeping this kids friendly) he gently washes your scalp and you rest your bare back against his chest as you ease yourself into the warm water. you return the favor by giving him a back massage. after this youre both so tired that you immediately pass the fuck out.

💗open:

when would they start revealing things about themselves: i feel like he'd know a lot about you before you find out anything important about him. he wears his loyalty and his dreams on his arms, but you don't find out why his dreams are so important or why he is so fidgety around tashigi until you're a good few days into dating. other small things about him are revealed to you thru his actions as he never mentions them, so, be prepared to be a persistent observer. do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly: he always reveals himself in little ways, never revealing too much. not because he doesn't trust you but because he's never had to talk about anything like this out loud. but anytime he does end up telling you something, it ends up being a heart to heart conversation. also, since he does get very drunk very often canonically, i don't think he's the type to slip up and tell things only cause he's not in the right headspace. so i imagine he only tells you things sober and in solitude, further cementing his trust in you.

💗patience (how easily angered are they?):

in moments of actual anger, as a swordsman, zoro is pretty good while handling his emotions. he knows how to differentiate between irrational feelings and actual solutions needed to get to the bottom of something. so, even when he gets mad he wouldn't necessarily act on it unless and until it is truly something that makes him tick. and things that make him tick includes people talking/doing something wrong to you or anyone in the crew, in that case he's going god mode. that being said, he will get easily irritated if someone is just joking around in the crew (especially sanji). he's incredibly patient with you tho, so, don't even worry about it and just accept him dumb antics for what they are.

💗quizzes:

 how much would they remember about you? i see yall sleeping on my man and i hate it. yes, hes kind of an idiot and not the best with memory but if it's anything about you or your relationship?? best believe he knows everything like the back of his hand. but he only claims that kind of power when it comes to you cause he will not really bother to remember other stuff if its not important. do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything? even though he wouldn't outright keep saying he remembers, he will often mention it in passing. like if you bring up someone while recounting a story to him, he will probably remember the last time you mentioned that guy. that being said, his memory is still kinda ass. so, he sometimes mixes things up if they aren't that relevant to the plot. so forgive him okay? hes trying

💗remember:

 what is their favorite moment in your relationship? i def feel like zoro prefers the mundane moments with you over any extravagant things. living on sea is insane, it's one thing after the other so knowing he has you to himself even for a few hours and in those hours, he gets to do nothing but love you truly means a lot to him. he isn't a cook by any means but this one time, when the rest of the crew had gotten off at a new island to restock and had only left you and him to keep guard, you had suggested you wanted to bake a cake. "i don't know how to cook" he mumbled softly, trying to convince you otherwise, "i can only do some cutting, slashing yk" "you dont even have to do anything!! just sit there and look pretty, i can do the baking." he eventually caved in. but now the memory of you making batter while he sat on the counter, talking to you is etched onto his every nerve. there had been a little bit of flour on your eyebrow and he used his thumb to clean it away before pulling you towards him and kissing you hard. you looked up at him, "i love you" "i love you too"

💗security:

how protective are they? i feel like zoro isn't as territorially protective as one would assume. like i said in the best friend section, he is more a laid-back "i know how to kill and get rid of the body, do whatever you want" kind of a vibe. that doesn't mean that he isn't gonna be on the verge of pulling out his swords the second someone even utters a word against you (but usually his dirty looks get the job done before he even pulls out the swords) how would they protect you? slash slash, stab stab and cocky remarks at the opponent (sometimes pure, unfiltered rage) how would they like to be protected? he's the roronoa zoro, he doesn't need physical protection. that being said, he wouldn't admit it out loud but just because he doesn't need you to pull out a gun to save him doesn't mean it doesn't give him pesky, little butterflies in his stomach whenever you defend him with your words. even if its something as small as calling out someone else's jokes that were targeted at him (and were just straight up offensive). or getting into actual verbal altercations (it happened once when you were drunk)

💗try: 

how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks? not a lot, tbh. look hes tired, you're tired, just cuddle and sleep okay? that being said he does put decent amount of efforts to surprise you every once in a while. he doesn't put on an extravagant show, so, mostly his surprises are just kinda lowkey and sweet. so on your anniversary, maybe he'd finally get the stick out of his ass and accept nami's idea of booking you a table somewhere expensive. but the memorable part isn't that, the memorable part is him asking (almost) shyly if you just wanna walk around town after dinner while he holds your hand and you bitch about your crew (in a loving manner).

💗ugly:

what would be some bad habits of theirs? omg obviously the drinking!!! i know he has high tolerance and shit but bro your liver's practically CRYING RN. please introduce yourself to some healthier coping mechanisms other than drinking and going stabby-stab. i also do think he's egoistic (it lessens with time) but its still a pain in the start

💗vanity:

 how concerned are they with their looks? this man does not give two fucks about his looks, like legit couldn't care less. he does know he looks decent tho (i mean casting mackenyu was a choice, i see you oda sensei). but ever since dating you, he has been putting in little efforts. i think partially cause you bully him into having a skincare routine and showering daily and partially cause he just wants to be a pretty boyfriend to his favourite girl.

💗whole: 

would they feel incomplete without you? yes and no. this is conflicting cause on one hand, ofcourse your absence will be equivalent to having daggers through his heart. but also, he seems like the guy who hyper-focuses on themselves after a breakup. i don't think he'd feel "incomplete" without you if you both ever broke up cause however dumb he is, he knows sometimes things don't work out and that's that. besides, even if you have to go, he still have people (the crew) to love and care for. but he would feel that glaring absence and it'll take a way heavier toll than anyone anticipated (cue him blasting heavy metal in his room and face-timing perona drunk and (almost) crying. perona suggested she takes care of you which made him actually cry cause perona dont be fucking mean)

💗xtra (a random headcanon for them):

zoro is so good at doing eye makeup specifically. i mean like because of all the sword-training and all, he has really good hand-eye coordination and very precise movements. so, like if you asked him to do your liner and give him specific-ish directions for how you want him to do it, he will 100% ace it. he doesn't really do well in other departments but he can learn (if you can make him learn thru that attitude of his) also, i theorize that he's ticklish but in the randomest fucking places. one time you lovingly ran your hand through his hair, bringing it playfully down to his nape and he fuckING GIGGLED?? another time you offered him a leg-massage cause he seemed to have pulled a muscle and you were working on his calf, trying to help him out and he yelped cause it tickled???? hello what do we do with this info now?

💗yuck:

what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner? he wouldn't like judgmental people or people who are very uptight (cause although his jokes could be hit/miss, he doesn't wanna hear a fucking lecture). also dont be disrespectful to him/his friends. and also, i think he would have a thing against people who are too nosy (pre-dating mostly), like if he wanted to tell you something he would other than those basic things, he's chill.

💗zzz:

he's asleep before you can say "good night" because he's a simple man who needs to sleep 10 hours a day (minimum) see he isn't going off ruining lives, he's not fucking things up for someone else, he's just taking a nap. its like the least horrible thing he can do, let him nap. i do think he should get checked for some vitamin deficiency tho caue uh, just in case. that being said, you go to sleep now. i would too. goodnight!

a/n: loved making this so much that i might make one for literally every character ever once i get the time lol