#pulling out of the power-up death spiral

[justatalkingface]

I just... feel like there was a better way 1-A could've done to get Izuku back instead of... what the fuck happened in canon.

Like only the ones closest to him could've come to get him back because everyone coming and saying all these things just doesn't work because we don't see Izuku interact with them enough to get a sense of that.

Or just have Izuku be too weak to move and just have them talk to him.

Or, just prove he's right in them not keeping up (since it was proven later in the form of Jiro getting hurt and Bakugou dying) by besting them in battle and call them out on what they were doing. Followed by someone else (Can be the starhead guy, the lizsrd lady, or even one of the villains watching the fight and listening to what he said) takes him in for some much needed rest.

But I have a feeling you would come up with something better.

I mean, let's be honest, at a fundamental level, the 'Dark Deku' arc needed to figure out what the fuck it actually wanted and gone from there.

It presents itself as Izuku going through a dark phase, falling into being an edgelord and a vigilante, by the fact he left and gets an edgy new look, but.... he's actually supervised by a bunch of top level heroes? So he's not? Moreover, UA is a school he chooses to enroll in *flashback to Mamadori almost pulling him out* so... there's nothing actually wrong in him leaving, either.

It also tries to say, 'Hey, Izuku, don't abandon your friends! They aren't a weakness, they're a strength! You can't do it without them!'

*flashback to Bakugou being bodied by SFO casually*

...Only to promptly show that, no, he actually had a really good point.

SFO, at least, could trashed them using only one of his (many) hands. If SFO wanted to fight him, and he was at the school, and he had just waltzed up there, all that work would have done shit; as is, everything is going as well as it has only been because the heroes planned out everything and ambushed SFO, while also with AFO being nerfed and idiot balled into being a non-realistic threat for most of the fight. If basiclly every high level hero in the country wasn't on hand to throw down, with Eraserhead in position to instantly slap SFO with a no-quirk clause, with time to evacuate the general area and prepare the school, in other words, without every possible thing going right, UA would have been destroyed in a matter of minutes. Most of the heroes would have been killed, UA would have been destroyed, and there would have been mass casualties with all the civilians there, who also had a good point in that maybe, just maybe, putting the villains number one target with the helpless civilians hiding from the villain has obvious downsides?

But, that's a little off focus: how would I do that better? Well, there's a lot of ways to play it, for a lot of potential resolutions, but for starters, the obvious choice is not to attack him.

Like, hell. That shouldn't be that hard of an idea, Hori; Izuku at this point is suffering from mental concerns, he's pushing himself too hard, he's trying to martyr himself for the sake of others. The solution to something like is not, 'punch him better', sweet fuck.

For example, if you want to show them making mistakes, maybe as a lead up to people realizing they've treated Izuku badly, then have Bakugou attack him, maybe with some other people from the class (but definitely not the people Izuku is actually friends with) and have them be bitched slapped because Izuku should be far over powering everyone at this point, and then have it pointed out that, obviously, attacking him isn't helping. Have Izuku get noticeably worse, maybe, in response, and leave, as someone has that (incredibly obvious) realization that they made things worse, and let them wallow in the 'what have we done' vibes that mistake has earned for a bit, with some retrospective on their interactions with Izuku before now.

Then someone like Ochako, Shoto, or Iida could step up and get to the obvious method: talking him down. Communicating with him, like he's a person with his own ideas and agency, instead of trying to change him by force, and then they go, and they talk him down, and to conclude it all later the attackers then apologize for attacking him, and you know, don't do it when Izuku's dead on his feet.

That's basiclly the canon route, for the record, but played out with more realistic consequences instead of it magically working out for them.

The thing is, you can 'force' someone into working with you, but it's... not done like that. A way to 'force' Izuku into teamwork, instead of fighting him, something that Hori nodded at for a second before it became instantly irrelevant, is Izuku simply needing help, and his friends rescuing him from danger. And if he protests? Even better; that brings it back to Iida with Stain, way back when, with a nice sort duality to it about how much he's grown that he's doing it save Izuku. In this scenario, Izuku has no way to stop them from helping other than words because of the situation he's in, and if they just ignore his protests (again, like Izuku did for Iida), then there's nothing he can actually do to stop them. There's a mild problem in him needing help when he's so OP now, but something the manga doesn't seem to acknowledge anymore is that Quirk users.... are still human? Sure, Izuku can probably dead-lift the Titanic or something, but he still needs to breath. And eat. And drink. In general, all that fun stuff biological beings need to do regularly. Admittedly, it wouldn't fit well with how the manga was heading at that point, which is just people throwing around pure power with no real strategy (though I hate that, so... I see no problem here), but Izuku could simply be poisoned by someone. Invisible gas, poison skin, whatever: no matter how strong he is, OFA doesn't make him immune to mundane human concerns.

Boom. Instant distress scenario, but everyone involved doesn't get treated like a piece of shit.

Another idea is All Might, you know, that guy Hori hates. There were some scenes there, with All Might trying to connect with Izuku, and maybe dial him back a bit, that didn't go anywhere. Build off that, work with it, have it come up more. Have Izuku come to the end of his rope, somehow, physically, mentally, fall into despair, and then at that moment where he's about to give up?

"I am here."

There's so much potential on the All Might and Izuku dynamic from the start that never got explored after a while, about how similar they are, how they have the same problems, how that experience could have been used to help Izuku with his problems, and All Might coming to Izuku at his worst, like he could have used at his worst (instead of having an abusive mentor who only talks in pain, and a controlling sidekick who can't take no for an answer), to help him move past it in a way All Might never could? That could have been so great, it really could have, I honestly miss All Might as an active character who does things so much, and the mentor and student dynamic of the two of them together.

And that's not if Izuku just... had this character arc without them, and had new perspective from talking to all the villains that he's fighting, and you know, Lady Nagant, who would certainly have had an interesting perspective on things.... you know. If she was allowed to have it.

But let's backtrack a bit. Beyond the shitty way it happened, with turning 1A into Bakugou's goons, the other problem with this whole clustefuck is it just... didn't know what it wanted to say. I pointed it out awhile ago, but Hori suffers this with Izuku, who simultaneously was a disabled everyboy who wasn't actually special in any way, symbolizing the heroic spirit and how You Don't Need To Be Special, and the fact that Izuku at this point can murder god.

Izuku is symbolizing both of the conflicting messages of the story, that are almost but not quite diametrically opposed to each other: that everyone can be a hero, and that some people are more special than others. And these messages are something Hori can't figure out what he wants to do with them.

There are ways to do both of these at once, but the thing is that's actually super hard to consistently invoke both of these concepts and not have them cancel each other out, and it's why most stories tend to double down on one or the other.

So, let's look at Dv1A from that broader kind of context:

In the grand scheme of things, this is set up as 'everyone is a hero' message, with the (theoretically elite) 1A working together to not only beat someone who is just Built Different from them, but also demonstrate teamwork, friendship, and so on... except it's really tainted by how they're hunting him, but let's ignore that for a sec.

At the same time, the next arc swings in and all of that, all of that, is basically invalidated because they are helpless to stop SFO.

So. How do we do this better? (Beyond just not having god knows how many chapters of everyone failing to meaningfully contribute in the final fight.) Well, for one, we could better acknowledge the situation this is in, and how it's not black and white.

1A comes to rescue Izuku, Ra Ra friendship; from that perspective, we're assuming they have an actual conversation with him, and they open with, 'Come back, we miss you, we can do this together'.

Izuku counters with, 'But you can't', which is semi-objectively right, but it's also against the message the story wants, which is they're ultimately right anyways because friendship.

So have them simply respond with 'We don't care'.

Have someone, Shoto, Iida, Ochako, Momo, whoever, agree with him that they are, even when viewed collectively, weaker than him, but it doesn't matter, they're doing this anyways. Like a hero, who acts without thinking.

This is a shonen story, at the end of the day. Are they objectively correct? Nope. Is this maybe a poor decision? Sure. But you know what? Plus Ultra. Lean into the fact this is a story, acknowledge the flaws, and then have them ignore it, only to ultimately overcome it anyways with skill, determination, and pure luck.

Because, all in all, not every hero needs to be 'Deku', memetically overpowered, except for this one single situation with AFO. MHA is a setting that could easily support a Quirkless hero, who does hero things, and just... you know, doesn't fight the Demon King, or the High End Nomu, or whatever because that's suicide and they realize their limits. Izuku is stronger than them all, yes, but that fact doesn't invalidate them as heroes, or as his friends, or them working together, or anything like that. This was a place for the story to (try and, even if they ultimately fail because it's way too late at this point) to pull out of the power up death spiral that's overtaken it and say that, in fact, power isn't everything.

And finally, what should have happened is that Izuku should have finally, finally, only at the end of the actual story goddamn it but at least he actually got there, started to respect himself, as a person.

The 'set up' of this arc, short as it was, focused on Izuku's completely lack of self-respect and self-care, how he didn't (and still doesn't) value himself as anything more than a tool to help others, like All Might did, and how he was destroying himself because of that toxic mentality. This was built up, but... it never happened. They fought, they mentioned it to some extent, though that lost its value with how much they were actively attacking him, but we've never seen that new mindset actually, properly excuted; we have yet to see Izuku respect himself.

Fundamental to this set up is his friends pounding into Izuku's skull that he matters. Farther than they did in the story, without the taint of them attacking, they need to say that he doesn't need to be strong, to be a hero, to matter. That him doing this to himself not only hurts him, but it hurts them, hurts his friends, his mentor, his mother, all of who value him as more than just a set up of superpowers in a meat suit. That he doesn't have to be Deku, that he doesn't have be a hero, to be valued, and that just being Izuku is OK.

[dbphantom]

drew this on my phone in the gallery app at like 4am i just cleaned it up + colored it in for funsies. their relationship means everything to me. caleb's magical girl transformation involves lots of holographic pixels and he is fucking pissed

bonus image accompanying the story from the tags

also i swear i do actually draw the other Veneer characters i'm just fixating on the scientists rn

in order left to right, top row to bottom row: Thrymr Orvyn, Leonardo James Bingham [Bing for short], Echo Adan, Jack Mako Hyder [former drowned corpse], Ike Olis, Bing (again) and Chase Allen [code name: Orion] with his pet parasite, Echo (again), Bing (again x2), and Jikan Diggory with Rose the cat

i guess jikan also counts under the scientist umbrella, but he's not crestfall...

[nikovraskol]

crack baby ; four

wc ; 2114 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; brief mention of death, cursing, neglect, panic attacks

prologue, one, two, three, four, tbc..

The rain outside casted a shadow of gloom over the morose city, the rhythmic pat-pat-pat on the windows creating an uncomfortable backdrop to your inner thoughts. Your head was resting in your hands, fingers scrunching at the edge of your scalp, tangling your hair with such force it felt like your mind was being split in two.

The pain was nothing compared to the pounding of your heart, ricocheting so loud that you felt it in your shoulders, in your fingertips – in each cell of your body.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? Those three words echoed in your mind like a beat rebounding off a drum, what is going on? This is–..

When you miraculously turned back in time, you naively believed it would be easy – you’d silently leave without fuss, everything would progress as it should and you’d live life away from the looming Manor they called home. 

So why, why does it feel like every time you try to leave, someone’s there holding their hand on your neck. Why? Why can’t you just leave? It was so easy before, you could leave the Manor, disappear for days on end and nobody would notice, now it feels like someone is always hovering around.

Every time you leave your room, every time you try – they’re there! Why? What caused this sudden shift? You didn’t do anything drastic. So why? What changed? You’d spent years of your pathetic life scrambling for any sort of attention. For them. What secret trick have you pulled to put yourself in their spotlight? And why now?!

“Fuck.” You grumble, crumpling into yourself pitifully. There is absolutely no light at the end of this stupid tunnel. One of those stupid circus clowns is always there to stand before the small glimmers of hopes that shine through, much like the sun through a window. They curtain the light, under the pretense of protecting you from the sun’s burns, but how can you live without the sun’s warmth?

The rain outside grew more intense as you spiral, a testimony to the raging shit-show inside you. There is– one option. An option you loathe to think about. Bothering her would be.. It’s not something you’d like. You’d promised yourself – all that time ago, that you would never look her in the eyes, that you’d never speak a word to her. For her sake, not your own.

It’d be selfish, you really, really shouldn’t. But still, as a precaution, you open up your night stand, reaching to the very, very bottom to pick out a letter. A letter with an address and a phone number. Just in case.

The rain doesn’t seem to be stopping, which is a shame – you’ve always hated the rain.

“What is wrong with you?” A voice calls out, and you just narrowly avoid screaming. You tilt your head with much effort, your eyes zeroing in on Damian. Of course, it’s like a fucking roster. You’re not even safe in your own room.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You respond curtly, resting your head in your hands once more. You can’t stand looking at him. You can’t stand him. You can’t stand his stupid expression, always so prideful. Always so above you. You hate him.

“Why are you acting like this? You’re a Wayne, stop being so… pathetic.” You let out a sharp laugh at his words. Again, a few years ago, those words would’ve filled you with immense joy – enough to power yourself through the loneliness that plagued your whole being. But you’re not that pathetic waste of space, ghosting through the Manor. You’re just [Name],

“I don’t know what you mean.” You repeat, not picking up your head as you sigh. The rain is heavy, you really hate rain. “I’ve always been pathetic, right?”

You can’t see Damian, but you feel the air in the room shift. It’s strange, everything feels surreal. You almost have half a nerve to–

“Why are you trying to leave?”

His voice sounds weird, he sounds concerned. That’s impossible, you’re speaking to Damian. The boy who’s refused to acknowledge you as his sibling, the one who made it very clear what he thought of you. You raise your head once more to meet his eyes. 

He looks young. Younger than you’ve ever seen him look. 

“Why does it matter to you, this is what you’ve always wanted right?” Your hands begin to tremble, why are you trembling? You’re not scared. You’re– You’re angry. The fearful knot in your stomach frays, anger burning the rope until it tightens around your organs like a springtrap. “You’ve made it very clear what you think of me, don’t try to take the high road now.” “[Name]--”

“I’ve spent my whole life, chasing like a fucking stray for something – anything. Now you wanna act concerned? I’m fucking sick of this. I’m sick of you– I’m sick of everything!” Words were spilling out before you could catch them, the raindrops on the window fueling your anger. The patting making your head fucking pound, you wanted to rip your filthy mind out – everything was loud, too loud.

“Calm down, you’re acting–” 

“Out of everyone in this house, I hate you the most.”

“Huh?” Damian’s voice was soft, quiet – barely audible over the relentless pounding of the rain.

“However much you might hate me, I hate you a hundred, no, a thousand times more.” 

You pushed past him, your anger exploding inside your very core. Your blood was rushing through your veins, squeezing until it threatened to blow. If you had half the mind to look back, you’d see the expression on his face.

The walls in the Manor had never felt so looming, so large. It felt like each painting was looking at you, mocking you. The eyes of the soulless characters locked on your form as you marched down the halls.

You had no destination, no goal, but you needed to get out. Each wall was closing in, the roof threatening to collapse – to swallow you whole, to crush you under it’s unforgiving weight. Would that be better? Would you be happier under the sweet mercy of death?

Well, you’re not willing to find out. You’re not that gone, yet.

You could barely register anything as you stormed out the Manor, you heard nothing but the ringing in your ears as you walked. 

The moment the cold rain hit your skin, you ran. Your legs moving before your brain could process it. The downpour soaked you. Your hair and clothes sticking to your body. You weren’t wearing a coat, you had some shitty shoes that you had on from earlier, your whole body felt like it was aflame.

And then you stopped. Your frustration wore off leaving only the ache in your body behind. Your lungs were being squeezed against your ribs, air clawing against the sensitive flesh leaving you breathless. Your legs were shaking, your bones too weak to hold you as you slump against a tree.

Your body hit the cold, wet ground below you. Your head falls on your knees as you cradle yourself. Curse Bruce for living in some fancy ass Manor, away from the rest of Gotham like some fancy jackass. Curse him for being a billionaire. From behind the tree you had slumped yourself on, you could hear some lingering paparazzi – eager for some sort of scoop.

It’d be funny if you jumped out and gave them a real scoop. But you’re too caught up in your own shit for any scandals.

“I really hate the rain.” You mumble, a warm raindrop falling from your eyes. Strange, isn’t rain supposed to be wet? Whatever. 

You felt pathetic. So, truly pathetic. You’d ran away like some brat having a tantrum. Whatever, it’s not like anyone would notice. Nobody ever noticed, that was how life was, how it’d always be. You were destined to be sidelined forever, and you’d finally grown fine with that. So why? 

Your ass was muddy, you were wet, cold, sad – this scenario felt oddly reminiscent, reminiscent of a time before all the neglect, before loneliness was your only companion.

“Your name is [Name]?” A deep voice asked, his tone kind, patient as he looked at you.

Rain stuck to your small form as you looked up at him, your supposed father. The man you’d seen on TV everyday, he was looking at you – his eyes full of kindness that felt unfamiliar. But–

“Where is my mom?” Your voice was hoarse, quiet – afraid. The blooming pain in your head seemed to dull under the rain’s touch, blood seeping down your forehead, dripping down your nose – mingling with the heavy precipitation. The lights from the blaring sirens were shadowed by the man before you, the man who was looking down at you with something akin to pity. 

The teddy bear in your hands was unsalvageable. Between the missing eye, limbs, and now the rain that had drenched it. It was a hard thrust away from falling apart, but it rested in your palms nonetheless. Your fingers curling into the flat, synthetic fur as though it were your only tether to reality.

He slowly kneeled down before you, reaching eye-to-eye before extending his hand. “My name is Bruce, I’ll take care of you and your mother, I promise.” He smiled, he looked so much more human now, he was no longer an untouchable figure, no longer would you have to touch the warm screen of your TV, quietly pleading for him to save you. He was looking at you now, and he’d never look away.

You took his hand.

“Fuck this.” You huff, standing up with way too much effort, your joints still aching because of your little escapade. You weren’t going to sit around and wait for him to hold your hand again, you weren’t going to have him sign anything or give you anything – why should you rely on him? He’s given you nothing. You owe him nothing.

Your wet hand instinctively goes to your pocket, taking out the card with the address. The heavy downpour immediately enveloped the laminated card. Your throat felt heavy immediately as you reread the words on it, soaking in each letter. Swallowing back your nausea, you begin running again – this time, with a purpose.

It was rare for Bruce to lose his composure, but as he stared into your empty room – he felt his control fraying. 

“You’re sure they’re not hiding somewhere else?” He managed to keep his voice calm, despite the pounding of his heart. His eyes scanned your room. So small, he really needs to upgrade it.

“No, Master Bruce, they.. can’t be found anywhere else.” Alfred said, his expression uncharacteristically tense as he stared at the black curls at the back of Bruce’s head. 

Bruce was beginning to feel a sense of dread come upon him.

When Damian came into his study, looking strangely panicked – that was strike one, the moment your name left the young boy’s mouth, Bruce was up and practically sprinting to your room. Strike two.

And strike three was the lack of you in your space. The lack of you in the Manor. He had everyone look around, check every nook and cranny, but you were nowhere to be found. He had told you not to go out without telling him. 

But it’s fine, he is the world’s greatest detective. No need to panic.

Taking a tentative step forward, Bruce took a moment to absorb your space, your personality. The posters on the walls, the trinkets littering your shelves, the small imperfections that discerned you.

And then his eyes fell upon it, your teddy bear. “I thought they threw this out.” Bruce mumbled, his eyes flashing to that rainy day when he had met your cold eyes, eyes too haunted to belong to a child. How could he let that child leave when he had promised to take care of you? You and your mother.

Alarm bells rang in his mind, distantly, he could hear Tim and Cass theorise your where-a-bouts. But–

“Alfred, do you remember where we sent her?” Bruce asked slowly, picking up the teddy bear gently – taking in the ruined toy, a testament to the child you were. To the child you are, his thumb running over the messy stitch marks, no doubt done by you. You had the money of Bruce Wayne at your disposal yet you insisted on keeping this trash? The reminder of your impoverished days? He couldn’t understand it, but then again, he’d never be able to understand you.

Not unless he had an actual conversation, as father and child.

“..Yes, I shall send you the details.” Alfred asked after a pause, his eyes strangely distant as he looked at the window, at the rain droplets racing down. “Please, Master Bruce, be swift.”

sorry for neglecting yall i was tryna make the book immersive ;3

dookie chapter because i am simultaniously studying for my health and social exam

tags; (asked to be added thru dms)

@estreiiuh @beyondblissxoxo @jjsmeowthie @vanessa-boo @delias-stuff @d3nnji @wizzerreblogs @lilyalone @strawbrysapphic @regulus-things @iimichie @meepmoopbadabeepboop @buckturd @eloriis @xoxossam @verypersonaldazzel @froggy-voidd @shycreatorreview @wassupbroski55555 @eyeless-kun @anakilusmos @devotedlyshamelessdetective @peehall @bigeyedbaby @chaeugwi

@estreiiuh @beyondblissxoxo @jjsmeowthie @vanessa-boo @delias-stuff @d3nnji @wizzerreblogs @lilyalone @strawbrysapphic @regulus-things @iimichie @buckturd @eloriis @wassupbroski55555 @eyeless-kun @anakilusmos @peehall @bigeyedbaby @chaeugwi

ill get around to adding everyone to the taglist .

[rosenclaws]

obsessed with your ex || Worst!Logan Howlett smut

summary: In his world you were his wife and he loved you and then you died. In this world you're his girlfriend and he loves you. At least you think he does. Still you can't help the voice in the back of your head telling you that you're nothing but a sad replacement.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI!! 18+ ONLY. insecure + jealous!reader, a very very toxic mindset, the reader's mind is very mean to her, reader is a mutant that can make objects disappear, angst, happy ending, rough sex, riding, french kissing, oral (f!receiving), a slight breakdown, soft sex, missionary, Logan is kinda a softie, cockwarming, fingering.

wc: 2.5k

a/n: Okay so it's here!! I need to make this clear that the readers mindset is NOT healthy and that relationships need good communication. That being said here's my fic idea that I've been thinking about for a bit. I love Olivia Rodrigo sm (I even saw her in concert!!) and this song was just begging to be written into a fic. Anyways I really hope you like it and that it's not too insane lmao. Also i made the graphic but i kinda hate it but i dont wanna change it so here we are I know it's ugly but its FINE

How long have you been here? Staring. Observing every little thing about you. Your nose, your eyes, your lips, your hair, your chin. The way your arms fall by your sides. Every. Little. Detail.

Did she have the same colored eyes? Did she talk like you? Was she smart? Was she powerful? Did he look at her the same way? Did he fuck her like he fucks you?

You clench your fists as you stare angrily at the mirror. He loves you. He says he loves you and yet it feels like you can never compare to her. She was the love of his life. She was an X-Men. She died. She was you. You're his dead fucking wife in his universe while you were nothing to the Logan in this one. 

He looked at you like a kicked puppy that first day you met. A lost little pet that had been searching for its owner. Dragged through hell and back just to get to you. It was easy to fall for him. Handsome, a little rough around the edges. You hadn’t even been dating for that long but it didn’t matter right? He worshiped you. He loved you. He promised he loved you.

But sometimes in the back of your head you wonder if when he's kissing you, does he imagine her? Does he close his eyes while he's pounding into you and imagine it's her? How could you ever compete? She was perfect, she was kind, she was everything to him. Spiraling deeper and deeper into a whirlpool of doubt and envy. There's a heavy pounding on the door but you choose to ignore it. Too wrapped up in your twisted mind to care. 

"Sweetheart, let me in." Logan's gruff voice was slightly muffled by the door. 

You clench your jaw as you finally tear your eyes away from the mirror. You slam open the door taking Logan by surprise. His eyes scan yours for injury, a worried look in his face as he steps into the bathroom. 

"I got worried, you were in here a long time." His arms wrap around your waist. 

He's looking at you with pity. At least that's what your brain tells you. Was he worried that you were hurt because he loves you or because he was thinking of her death again? You know he still dreams of her. He can hide it when he's awake but the nightmares don't lie. It hurts so bad. Love me. Love me. You're jealous you know. She's dead, she's gone. So why can't he love you. You push him off and storm out the bathroom. Nothing makes sense anymore in your head. 

"What the fuck?" Logan follows you and you feel yourself tensing up. 

It's a miracle your powers haven't started to go haywire yet. So many different emotions swirl around in your head until it mixes together to form one single feeling.

Need.

You grab Logan's shirt and pull him into you. Smashing your lips onto his with a hunger that you've never felt before. Logan hisses as you bite his bottom lip harshly but you don't give him time to say anything as you slip your tongue into his mouth. He groans as he starts to take some control back. Hands slipping up your shirt and ripping to shreds with ease.

You pull back from his lips, chest heaving for air as you paw at his shirt. Silently demanding he take it off which he happily does. Your lips are back onto his in an instant. He slowly walks you back until you fall onto the bed. You fall onto the bed and lick your lips. The bugle in his pants is evident as you flick your hand and the belt disappears. 

"I liked that belt." You pay no mind to his comment as you unbutton his jeans and pull them down, leaving him in his boxers. 

"Easy there sweetheart," Logan pushes you back gently and crawls on top of you. Logan kisses down your chest, teasing each nipple with his tongue. 

"Let me take my time." He purrs.

His hands touch and squeeze your breasts roughly making you whine. You watch his arms move, god he's so hot. He's close to making you forget. He kisses down, down, all the way down. He sneaks out the tip of his claws to pop open the button of your pants and he yanks them down until they're all the way off.

"There she is, my perfect girl." His girl. That's right your his girl. No one else's.

Logan pulls your panties to the side as he situates himself between your legs. He stuffs his face without shame, licking hungrily and practically moaning at the taste. You arch your back as Logan devours you. Watching his back muscles move are mesmerizing. He's yours. He loves you. He promises he does.

You can't stop the thoughts that begin to invade you. Overwhelmed by pleasure from Logan and pain from the horrible ideas that pop into your head. Did he do this with her too? Did he worship her? Do you taste like her? Is that why he can't get enough? 

"Fuck!" You hiss as you sit up and tell Logan to stop. He does immediately, wondering what the hell is going on. 

"Can't fucking wait." You scratch down his chest with your nails. He groans and tries to crawl on top of you but you shake your head. 

"I'm going to ride you until you can't come anymore." You growl.

You bite his shoulder harshly making him hiss. It heals right up much to your dismay. How badly you wish you could mark him. You make his boxers disappear but before he can make a smart comment you sink down on him all the way. You whimper as you start to bounce on his cock. Loving how much he fills you.

You need to be fucked stupid. You're desperate for Logan to fuck every bad thought out of your head. To promise that he loves you so that you can believe him. You want to believe him. Please, you have to believe him. 

"Sweetheart." Logan's breath is labored as you relentlessly fuck yourself on his cock. You feel so damn good but fuck he can tell something is on your mind. 

"What do you need, let me help you." He sits up on his hands, placing one on your back as he tries to get you to slow down. His words make you want to scream. What do you need? You look at him and the only thing your rotten brain can tell you is that he is thinking of her. 

"I need you to fucking love me!" You yell.

The dam of built up feelings breaks down as tears pour out of your eyes. Ugly, horrible sobs that make your body shake. Logan watches with horror in his eyes as he stills your hips, using his strength to lift you off of him as you continue to cry. 

"I do love you." He says softly but you shake your head. 

"No!" You shout. You pound your fist against Logan's chest over and over again but he barely moves. 

"You love her! I know you do." Logan's heart breaks at the sound of your sobs. 

"I'm not your dead fucking wife Logan!" You should regret the words coming out of your mouth but you can't stop them. 

"You look at me and you see her. Like I'm just some fucking placeholder!" You let out an anguished scream as Logan captures your wrists in his hands. You know the stories. She was a hero, she was perfect in every single way. 

"How can I compete with, with her?" You say completely defeated.

Your head falls against his chest. There's a sense of relief that washes over you. Thoughts that have plagued you for months are finally out in the open. Yet the fear of what comes next overtakes any other feeling.

"Look at me." Logan tilts your head up but you push his hand away. 

"Sweetheart." He sighs and lets go of your face.

Logan's never been good at this. Talking. Being vulnerable. Then he lost everything and he hardened even more and he just. This was a new chance at life and even though it's hard he can't lose it all again. 

"I know you're not her. Of course I do." Logan presses his forehead against yours, trying to get you to look at him. 

"You loved her..." You croak out. 

"I did love her. She was my wife. But I love you too. In a different way." He's a different man. Having gone through tremendous loss. It shaped him into who he is now. 

"You're different people. Your powers act differently, you talk differently, you feel different. You are not a replacement." He says firmly. 

When you finally look at him he feels this horrible pit in his stomach. He wipes away your tears but doesn't make any other move. It's not the right time.

"Would you have even given me a second thought? If I didn't look like her?" You ask, that question has haunted you for a while now but you never asked, too afraid of the answer. Logan is silent, unsure of how to answer. 

"When I first saw you it was like a punch in the face." He starts. "For a moment I was 20 years in the past. Then I snapped out of it. You look like her, yes but you’re not her.” He gently traces a small scar on your jaw that you got when you were a child. 

“I’m not the same as your Logan right? He was a leader, a hero and I was an angry drunk murderer.” 

“I’m not gonna start listing all your fucking differences sweetheart, but I swear on my life that I love you for you.” He pulls you into a tight hug as you start to cry again. You cling onto him as tight as you can. The bad thoughts don’t just stop, even if you want them to but Logans whispering sweet words in your ear. Pushing out every bad thought for now.

“Logan,” You take a deep breath, letting Logan invade all your senses. Tobacco and whiskey. 

“I need you.” He’s hesitant, not sure if it’s the right time.

“Please, I just need you.”

“Okay sweetheart, you have me.” He slowly rolls you over and lays you on your back.

He captures your lips into a kiss. His hips rolling slowly making you moan softly. His lips drift from your lips to the corner of your mouth to your cheek, trailing down. Each one so gentle, so full of love.

“You have this spot, righttt here.” Logan nibbles on your neck and you gasp when bites right at this spot that drives you wild. You melt into the mattress as he kisses over it.

“Always makes you relax.” He crawls lower, kissing down your body. He sits up on his knees and grabs a pillow to place under your back.

“I know you like to be slightly elevated because it means I can go just a little deeper.” He purrs as he takes his cock in his hands and gently rubs the tip of it along your folds. He slides two fingers into your cunt slowly.

“Know that my fingers drive you absolutely wild, that you need me to go slow to start.” You nod absentmindedly.

You never realized he picked up on all these things. His fingers start to slide in smoother, your cunt getting wetter for him. He leans down and takes a deep breath, groaning at the scent. He slips them out and licks them clean.

“Relax sweetheart,” He spreads your thighs and slips in all the way. Going slow but unrelenting, stretching you just how you like.

“So impatient, you never let me take it easy on you right? Just wanna be full all the time.” He leans down on his elbows as he rolls his hips nice and slow.

There will be no rough sex this time, this is about love. To show you that he truly does love you for you.

“Look at me,” He tilts your head so that your eyes meet. He smiles at the desperate look on your face.

“You can pretend it makes you all embarrassed, but I know you like eye contact.” He hums as he angles his hips so that he hits that perfect spot.

You jolt as pleasure rocks through your whole body but he keeps you under him. He’s slowly and methodically tearing you apart. Every touch, every word out of his mouth just makes it better. He knows. Of course he does.

“I love you Logan.” Your hands cup his face as you stare into his hazel eyes.

This time not filled with lust, but with a true deep love. He looks at you like you’re everything.

“I love you too.” He kisses you as he starts to pick up the pace of his thrusts. He smirks as he feels you start to squirm under him. You could never help it when you were close.

“Come on sweetheart, just let go.” He whispers in your ear.

His deep voice paired with the unrelenting feeling of his cock is all it takes. He holds you in his firm arms as a warm and wonderful tingling sensation runs through your whole body. A blissful smile on your face as you tilt your head back.

You feel your whole body relax as your mind calms. Logan tries to hide his growls as he fucks into you a little faster, until he’s coming hard and deep inside of you. He sighs in contentment as he stays inside of you. He taps your cheek lightly and you look up at him.

“I love you. No one else. Just you.” He moves to pull out but you whine. You need to be close to him right now. He chuckles as he slowly moves to your side. Spooning you tightly with his cock still deep inside of you.

“Can we talk?” You ask shyly.

“About what?” Logan grunts as he pulls you as close as he can get you.

“Anything?” He’s not much of a talker so he asks the questions instead.

How did you discover your powers? How did you meet wade? Just anything and everything and you tell him.

You talk for who knows how long. Staying wrapped in each other's arms. It helps, it really does. Logan listens, he really does listen. He wants to get to know you. He loves you. You rest your head on his chest, tracing shapes into his palm as you talk.

For the first time in a while your mind seems to settle. Ignoring any thought that may try and ruin your mood. It’s just you and him right now. There’s no looming figure of your alternate selves, not anymore.

Just you and Logan. Forever.

[peonysgreenhouse]

-`♡´- return.

summary: the obey me datables & luke react to mc coming back to life!

tags: obey me datables (simeon, solomon, diavolo, barbatos) x gn!reader, luke & gn!reader, hurt/comfort, implied character death, mentions of violence in solomon's parts, solomon goes a little crazy teehee

i. simeon

he sees you there, in the celestial realm. he had known your soul was pure from the very beginning, but seeing you among the angels was like a knife to his gut, a reminder of his failures to protect you. 

you weren’t supposed to be here, not now, at least. it was far too early for you to die. simeon can’t help but feel bitterness well up within him as you turn from michael to look for someone in the crowd (he knew it was him. he hoped it was him).

your features light up – simeon feels his heart skip a beat. even now you were just as he last remembered you, he had always taken the time to visit you in the devildom, even after his internship was over. you more beautiful than any angel he had ever seen. 

you embrace him tight, and the tighter you squeeze the more he feels like he can’t breathe, the combating feelings waging a war in his mind. he should’ve been watching over you; what kind of guardian angel was he to let his human die like this?

“i’m sorry,” he doesn’t know why his voice cracks when he says it. simeon? losing his composure? he had garnered many millennia of years of experience working to keep it up. “i’m sorry i didn’t protect you.”

“it’s okay simeon,” he feels your hands squeeze the back of his cloak. a wicked thought crosses his mind; maybe if you dug your nails in harder he would have some penance for his failures. if you cut through the bone and marrow and reached his heart then maybe his father would forgive him – maybe you would forgive him for his short-comings. “i’m here now.”

“right,” he breathes you in as if to convince himself. simeon feels the strength of his bond with you overwhelm him, he can feel how much you care for him and he feels his chest fill with warmth, chasing away his guilt, if for the moment. “you’re here forever. with me. nothing can hurt you here, i promise.”

ii. luke

luke had always told you to be mindful of demons, that they were evil creatures who would take any opportunity to kill you. it had seemed that his warning had proved true in the worst way. if only he hadn’t been a cherub; if uriel had promoted him to be your guardian angel like he had asked, maybe this could’ve been avoided.

but he was overwhelmed with how happy he was at the fact that you would be spending time with him forever in the celestial realm. he had wanted nothing more ever since you had become friends in the devildom. you were the one light for him in the exchange program.

“you’re here!” luke chirps, sprinting down the golden bricks of the road to the archangels’ house. “you’re really–!” you’re suddenly enveloped in a hug as luke wraps himself around your waist. 

“hello luke!” you smile from ear to ear, ruffling up his neat hair. usually, he’d make a comment about you not treating him like a child, but for now it seems he’s too busy nuzzling into you. “it’s good to see you again.”

“yes! i’m happy to see you,” he pulls away, cheeks visibly flushed. “i’m sorry that i wasn’t there to protect you from those mean old demons but… everything will be fine now that you’re here!”

“would you like to give them a tour of the celestial realm?” michael chimes in with a smile, the younger angel’s eyes lighting up like a christmas tree.

luke nods excitedly, taking your hand in his, already tugging you out of the estate: “we have so much to do! we can’t waste any time!”

iii. solomon

solomon spirals hard.

there was a reason solomon pushed everyone away, why most people in his life were kept an arms length apart. he got too attached to things; to power, to magic, to anything that gave him that needed adrenaline rush… why would you be any different? you, the only person he has ever loved had been snatched out of his hands.

and worst of all, he had been powerless to save you. 

all the magic and demon pacts and connections in the world couldn’t stop you from bleeding out in his arms. humans like you were much too fragile for his liking; he had worked tirelessly his whole life to be anything but.

if he couldn’t get what he wanted from the damned, he would have to turn his eyes to the celestial realm. if he had to tear down the heavens and bring you crashing back down to earth, he’s sure he would. 

making bonds with angels was much more difficult than that of demons, but he found after nights of endless research that plucking a few of their feathers would get them to sing. 

he’s covered in golden ichor when he manages to bring you back – a life for a life. he finally was able to do it, not only to bring a human back to life, but to bring you back. solomon rises, shakily, as you feel your body materialize out of the magic sigil etched into the floor. he smiles gently, looking at you as if you were the only thing that mattered.

so why do you look back at him with such horror?

iv. diavolo

he had bargained with the archangels before, but never for a life.

in all accounts, a human choosing to leave the celestial realm and go to the devildom was unheard of. being cast out of heaven was notoriously the worst punishment anyone could receive.

but you do, you would always choose him over all the luxuries and beauty of the heavens every single time. it was true that love made people do stupid things.

michael sends you back to the devildom months after diavolo’s terms were set, a gift with the price of owing the ruler of the celestial realm a favor. michael was known for his kindness, but diavolo knew that there was more to him than that. he was smart enough to know that michael would never jeopardize the devildom, but angels never forgot debts owed. it was a risk, but one diavolo had no choice but to take. 

above all the benevolence and good-will he draped himself in, at his core, he was a selfish demon; perhaps moreso than anyone else in the devildom. 

he holds you against his chest the whole night. in the morning, he’d have duties and meetings to go to. but for now, you were his. 

“little one,” he mumbles into your hair, hands tight around your waist, “make a pact with me. that you may be at my side forevermore.”

v. barbatos

in so many other timelines he sees you, shining, alive. he starts to resent the other versions of himself for being happy with you (or even worse, happy with any of the others). barbatos could pull you out as easily as he could breathe; he had a mastery over his powers that other lower demons could only imagine. 

but it wouldn’t be the same, he reminds himself, it wouldn’t be his version of you. 

he knew the way to get you back, it’d be to break his own rule: do not interact with the past. diavolo had given him permission to bring you back, it would be a stain on the exchange student program if one of the humans came back dead after the second semester. but he wasn’t so sure, what if the you he brought back wasn’t the you he remembered? 

barbatos does it anyways, knowing he can’t refuse an order from his lord. the you in the celestial realm will be erased from existence replaced with the you of the past, the one who doesn’t know what it’s like to die. the two can only hope it doesn’t cause drama in the celestial realm.

“barbatos?” you question as you walk in the gardens with him, completely oblivious to it all. if he hadn’t been so happy that you had returned, he would feel guilty for not telling you of your death. sometimes, ignorance was bliss. “are you okay? you seem more quiet than usual.”

“do i?” he muses, forcing a soft smile for you. “i’m afraid i’m simply just a bit tired. sleep evaded me last night.” the last part wasn’t a lie.

“sorry to hear that,” you pout, “if you want to go nap, you should!

“do you not wish to spend time with me?”

“it’s not that…” you kick at the ground, arms crossed behind your back. “it’s just we have all the time in the world though, right? i want you to be rested when we’re together.”

he feels as if you’ve struck him with an arrow to his chest. barbatos sees your lifeless body in his mind, did you know and were trying to taunt him? or were you simply just this sweet?

“i suppose you’re right.” he nods his head, “but you’re coming with me.”

[pedgito]

𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | A poor damsel in distress, saved by the most unlikely of man.

author's note | this was written for @studioghibelli's beautiful fic challenge. i've never written anything this close to a royal-ish type era, if you could even call it that. but this is just a slight dip into that realm and it was super fun! thank you for hosting this, bell! idk if any of this is accurate i'm just vibing dsjhk

content warning | 18+ smut, princess!reader, mentioned to have hair long enough to be tied back, regency au, age gap, wealth/power dynamic, mentions of past marriage/death, BREEDING KINK, talks of marriage and pregnancy, secret relationship, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v

word count —1.8k

“If he catches us, we’ll both be dead.”

It was a constant mantra Joel spoke to you, even as he unfastened your corset and slipped under the thick fabric of your dress, disappearing as he fit his face between your thighs.

It started out of innocence—a strange man with growing, constant visits to your manor at the edge of town. At first it was only on official business, a supplier of goods to your father. Joel was a jack of all trades: armor, leatherwork, anything you could think of, he’d mastered it. It was just another method of proof on how good he was with his hands.

“You need not worry,” You breath, pressed against the wall of his cobblestone home, often sneaking out in the middle of night with the possible threat of capture prevalent in your mind.

The estate had always been heavily guarded, but living there your entire life had made it easier to learn patterns, behaviors, and sneaking out to see him over time had become effortless. It had been months by now—and even as his friendship with your father grew, there were no signs, not an ounce of suspicion of what he blossomed between you both.

“He offered me a job,” Joel speaks lowly, muffled under the fabric of your dress as your leg hooks over his shoulder, fingers wrapped around the top of your bodice as you squeeze, feeling your breath catch in your throat as he licks through the center of your cunt, “well paying, convenient enough.”

You gasp softly, lifting at your skirt to get your hands on him, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling, earning a soft grunt as he peeks up at you, pulling away for a brief moment.

“What was it?”

“Royal guard—and no princess, not for him.”

“As if I don’t already have enough men guarding me,” You sigh, pushing him away and adjusting your dress—he looks slightly dejected, but stands and fixes your dress, caressing your cheek with his hand, “you cannot say yes, Joel. If you are near—”

“I know,” He murmurs, there’s a shift in his dialect that is so distinctly different from your own—years of being taught to speak up, out, to project with your voice and always act as if you were speaking to the masses, thoughtful contrition to a group much lower than yourself, “bein’ around you that often, don’t know how I could keep my hands off of you.”

If your father knew about this—you and him, a man nearly the age of your own father. He’d be ordered to death and you, while the fate may be different, wouldn’t be left with much freedom either. You were long of age, but bound to your duties as a princess and fearful of the man your father would eventually decide to marry you off to. Joel had saved you, distracted you from all of it. It would be impossible to live without him now.

“I sound ungrateful,” You grumble, looking down and grasping his other hand with yours, intertwining your fingers and bringing it to your chest but not before you press a gentle kiss against the back of his palm, “for what I have—but if I lose you…”

That place was a prison and you knew it. He knew it.

“A golden cage is still a cage,” Joel reminds you, “—that place, your father—”

You already knew—your father was slowly spiraling out of control, the rule of his country slipping from his grasp and he was scrambling and you knew he wouldn’t go down without a fight. But, you were tired. So tired. With the absence of your mother, your other siblings, you felt trapped.

“Take me away,” You beg, eyes watering as the words slipped from your lips, “we can disappear—I do not need this wealth or title, any of it. Only you.”

“He won’t stop,” Joel tells you honestly, “we would always be running.”

You pull your hand free of his grasp and curve them around his face, cradling the softness of his jaw, the scratch of his facial hair under your fingertips and he licks at his bottom lip, a tell-tale sign of the burgeoning lust. He needed you.

“Is that really what you want?”

He means it—it was a tone you’ve never heard before.

And something tells you he’s been feeling the same way for a while.

“Yes,” You answer quickly, nodding jerkily as you pull him close and Joel has to physically restrain himself from taking you there, licking his lips once more as they hover near your own, “please, Joel.”

“Let’s have this night,” Joel tells you softly, “and we can figure everything out come morning.”

—

It was peaceful here, a small cottage out in the middle of nowhere—if you wanted to stay here you could, but you knew that would be the first place your father would look outside of town.

Joel, his confidante, his most trusted man who was now under you, fingers digging into your thigh as you took his cock inside of you, his hand guiding at the base as he breathed out into the quiet room, the low crackle of the fire at his bedside.

“If you could see yourself,” Joel says absently, watching as you pull the tightly woven ribbon from your hair, breasts stretching up with the movement until it fell from its intricately laced cage, bouncing lightly with your playful movement, a smile peeking from your lips, “such a vision, princess.”

“I am no princess,” You argue gently, palms pressing into his chest as you lift your hips, leisurely and slow, enjoying the tight pull of his brow every time your ass meets his hips, “I was not made for that life, Joel.”

“Made for me,” He assures, his warm tone spreading throughout your core and pulling you in, the hands place on your thighs moving up your hips, squeezing into the flesh of your waist as his mouth drops open, silently urging you to change your pace, “perfectly crafted, all I’ve ever needed.”

You snort softly at his words—he was always a poet, whether stumbling through his words or bringing you to your knees with a compliment that would be on your mind for days, echoing in your head as you dipped your fingers inside of you on the days you went without him.

“Would you marry me?” You ask suddenly, though you feel the answer before he says it.

“Without hesitation,” He responds, “I can propose—right now, if you want.”

“Such a romantic,” You chide, the words falling on a gasp as he flips you both suddenly, shoving you into the old mattress as the bed creaks with the weight and intensity of his thrusts, the rest of your words caught in your throat as he pulls your legs up and over his back, hands resting firmly beside your head, a true vision himself.

“If it would make you happy, I would,” He admits, “all I care about is having you, being with you—titles, all of that, it doesn’t mean much to me but if that is something that would make you happy—”

“What do—” Joel switches his position suddenly, an arm tucking under your leg as he pulls it over his shoulder and leans up to meet your cunt with his thrust, watching his cock as you swallowed him up, his hand falling over the base of your pelvis and pressing down, feeding into the pressure of his cock and the all-consuming feeling of him, “christ—what is it—that you want?”

“You,” He answers immediately, “and…”

He pauses, thinking carefully on his words.

You know little of his past other than his wife and daughter who had fallen ill, losing them when he had been away on business, unbeknownst and coming home to the sight of it. He was a broken, brittle man and you were the only thing holding him together.

“I would give you a son,” You tell him, “a daughter—as many kids as you wished, Joel. Is that what you want?”

“A family,” He smiles fondly, “with you?”

“I fear you would—oh—never escape me then,” You joke playfully, eyes squeezing shut as he snaps forward roughly, his thumb dragging over your clit fleetingly as your hands dig and twist in the bedsheets, “what a handful I would have with a small version of you.”

He chuckles softly, snaking his hand under your waist and pulling at your arm until you get the idea to wrap them around his neck, adjusting you up and into his lap, carefully examining his face under the soft glow of the fire, his lip quivering as you drag your thumb over his mouth.

“I want it,” You plead, “don’t—don’t pull away.”

“You’ve given me so much,” He mumbles into your cheek as you pull him closer, hugging him to your chest as he wraps himself around you, grunting as he reached closer and closer to his own end, “and you've been trapped your entire life, I don’t want you to feel that way with me.”

“And I would give you so much more,” You breath into his mouth, “picture it—barefoot, pregnant with your child in a home far away from here, our new life—”

“Baby,” He begs, his fingertips squeezing roughly into your flesh and you gasp, your cunt pulsing around him with the roughness of his movements, pussy throbbing at his fervent intensity at your words, “I love you.”

You nod, tucking his face into your neck as he hands slips between your bodies, dragging over your clit without you needing to ask, knowing he was just that in tune with your bodily cues, the hitch in your voice as you echo the words back to him.

“Come inside of me,” It wasn’t an order, more of a plea, but you mean it, “I want to be yours.”

Forever, you think. But, the words are cut off by a sharp, jerky snap of Joel’s hips as he comes inside of you, his teeth dragging over your shoulder as he groans into your skin, simultaneously working his thumb over your sensitive clit, feeling your clench and spasms around him as you come with a soft sigh, fingers twisting into his hair and your body curling around him like a python, squeezing him so tight it knocks the air out of him.

“Do you have everything you need?” Joel asks after a few minutes, gentle touches over your skin, pulling his face back to look at you. “Before we leave at sunrise?”

“I have you,” You assure him, “that is all I need.”

[satorushousewife]

souls of the forest

or

dragon!satosugu x healer!reader - part 1.

warnings: blood, depiction of wounds, use of magic

you exclaim, “damn it!”

at the moment, you were brewing a new potion. just as you were about to finish it, you realized you’d run out of dandelion leaves. for most potions, this wouldn’t be an issue, but this one required constant stirring and focused intention throughout the entire process.

you sigh, glancing at the clock on the wall. stopping your stirring, you place your hands on your hips, calculating. it would take eight minutes to reach the dandelions and eight to return, plus five minutes to gather the leaves. twenty-one minutes until you could resume stirring. maybe if you hurried...

grabbing your gardening bag—filled with pruning shears, gloves, a small spade, a hatchet, and several pots (some filled with herbs, others empty for collecting)—you step briskly out of your cabin. to save time, you prepare to cast a small spell to clear your path and guide you to the exact spot. but the moment you step beyond the protective boundary of your cabin, something feels deeply wrong.

the forest’s magic is off.

all places have their unique magical essence, shaped by the lives and creatures within them. this forest, usually teeming with calm, vibrant energy, now feels heavy with death. but it isn’t the natural death that feeds the cycle of life—this is something darker, filled with pain and sorrow.

wasting no more time, you pick up a leaf from the ground and conjure a small flame to burn it. as the leaf ignites, you murmur, “nozle-ne we ke tyoi” (show me what hurts), and blow on it. the ashes float upward, spiraling before drifting into the forest, leaving a faintly glowing trail in the air.

gripping your bag tightly, you follow the trail. inside, you have enough supplies to treat severe injuries—assuming the creature is still alive.

the closer you get, the heavier the magic becomes, almost suffocating. whatever lies ahead, it’s not just a disturbance; it’s a convergence of two powerful presences. the magic here is so dense it’s almost tangible.

you slow your steps as low growls and whimpers reach your ears—sounds of frustration and pain. the noises suggest a large creature. the burning leaf halts above a bush further ahead. cautiously, you peer from behind a massive tree trunk, and what you see shocks you.

two dragons. both drenched in blood.

the first, a black dragon with scales that shimmer purple under the light, is nursing a mangled front leg. its violet eyes gleam with desperation as it nudges a limp white dragon. the white one, slender and elongated, bears a deep gash across its abdomen, blood pooling beneath it. the black dragon’s whimpers sound like a lament.

even in their current state, they are unmistakably dragons, though they’ve shrunk into their smaller, draconic forms—a sign of severe injury or depleted magic. dragons, the most powerful and pure magical beings, should have been able to heal themselves. whatever caused this must have been catastrophic.

swallowing hard, you step closer, clutching your bag. focused on the dragons, you accidentally step on a twig, the sharp crack echoing in the tense silence. the black dragon stumbles back, then plants itself protectively in front of the white one, letting out a feral growl. its message is clear: one more step, and it will tear you apart.

instinctively, you raise your hands and crouch slightly, trying to appear smaller. “i won’t hurt you!” you blurt out. the dragon’s stance doesn’t waver. “is he alive? if you let me, i might be able to save him!” you say, taking a cautious step forward. it growls louder.

“you can feel it, can’t you?” you plead. “my magic is part of this forest. i’m the healer of the village.” reaching into your bag, you ignore the warning snarls and pull out jars of herbs, holding them up. “see? these can stop the bleeding. let me help, please.”

the dragon hesitates, its eyes flicking between you and its companion. its growls quiet slightly, and it seems to weigh the risk.

“you can sense my magic,” you continue, your voice steady but urgent. “it’s not strong—just enough for healing and protection. he’s dying. please, let me help him.”

finally, the black dragon glances at the white one, worry shining in its violet eyes. after a moment, it huffs and steps back, though its gaze remains wary.

wasting no time, you kneel by the white dragon and begin pulling out everything you might need. the wound is still bleeding heavily. you’ll need the most potent potion you can manage with what you have.

you declare your intention aloud as you crush herbs in a wooden bowl, chanting, “bese arre asce, eprusce e tus. bese arre gmus, eprusce u renjselandu. bese arre seox, eprusce u lehvuvetu” (for this herb, absorb the pain. for this herb, absorb the bleeding. for this root, absorb the wound)

you repeat the chant over and over, imbuing the mixture with your magic. after two minutes of stirring, you pour the glowing liquid onto the white dragon’s wound, continuing to chant. the dragon twitches and lets out a low whine of pain, causing the black dragon to growl and step closer. but as the bleeding slows and the white dragon’s breathing steadies, the black dragon relaxes slightly.

the wound still looks severe, but at least it’s no longer worsening. when the potion runs out, you hover your hand over the injury, channeling a bit of your energy into the dragon to stabilize it further.

“this will stop the bleeding and ease the pain for now,” you explain. “to fully heal him, i need to bring him back to my cabin.” you look at the black dragon, noting its bulk compared to the white one. “i can stabilize your wound too,” you offer, “but i’ll need your help to carry him. alone, it’ll take too long.”

its violet eyes narrow, but after a tense moment, it nods. you smile faintly, hoping to convey reassurance, and quickly prepare another potion. the black dragon growls softly as the liquid touches its injured leg, but soon its posture relaxes as the pain subsides.

once finished, you tear a strip from your pants, layering it with healing herbs before wrapping it around the white dragon’s torso. fortunately, the white dragon’s slender frame makes it easier to secure the bandage.

“how will you carry him?” you ask, glancing at the black dragon. “he won’t feel pain for now, and neither will you.”

without hesitation, the black dragon maneuvers beneath the white one, lifting it effortlessly onto its back. even in its weakened state, its strength is awe-inspiring.

the black dragon looks at you expectantly. gathering your supplies, you lead the way back to your cabin, the glowing path from your earlier spell guiding you through the darkened forest.

you just hope you could help him, that your magic was enough for healing a powerful dragon. you hope he would survive. part 2

end notes: you ask i shall deliver 🫡 also the language used for spells is some sort of stone language... idk i used an online translator mwehehe

taglist: @moncher-ire , @jinjen , @frozenmallows , @shuzoku , @aqua5ky

♡⃕ xoxo mikki

[54625]

I miss kelp cocaine

I miss everyone congregating at Phil and Missa's, I miss Roier's over exaggerated moan every time he and Cellbit kissed, I miss everyone throwing their balaclavas on and going "passa tudo...", Tubbo's constant grilling of Fit and Pac (especially Fit), Mike's hairdressing, everyone singing the Pac e Mike wow wow song, Gegg, the admins striking people with lightning perfectly on cue, the Foolish cheating allegations, Slime and Mariana traumatising their viewers, Dorime playing randomly, people turning eachother rainbow coloured with the rainbow jelly, Dapper randomly pulling out all kinds of crazy creatures from his backpack, the extremely overwhelming pre-event meet ups, Las Casualonas, the casualonas dance, Sunny's materialism, Etoiles telling everyone how and why their armour and weapons aren't actually optimised, Phil breaking the fourth wall, Baghera and her fish joke, Rubius abusing his creative power, Foolish ruining the tension during serious moments, Cellbit obsessing over every lore lead or clue, Roier and his hilarious PNG builds, Felps "finally being added to the server", Fit always looking after Mariana's builds in his absence, everyone playing hide and seek, Cucurucho spying on and jumpscaring everyone, Quackity constantly being made fun of for his dead kid, Phil and Fit's aggressive "friendly" flirting, Cellbit talking over Richas' shoulder while he's painting, Leonarda's spoiledness, Ramón's obsession with the citric acid cycle, Slime's ability to show up for an event out of nowhere and just completely derail everything, new players always freaking out about Fit's voice, Quackity desperately trying to find a match since day 1 and always failing, Maximus' talk show, people teleporting in and out at just the right second, Jaiden's love for Hatsune Miku infecting the server, Bad and Foolish's encounters, Ramón threatening to blow himself up or digging himself into the ground when he doesn't get his way, Tallulah drowning herself when she doesn't get her way, the hilarious mistranslations, the wonderful screenshots, Vegetta's mines, Jaiden's expanding list of nationalities, Antoine being an enigma, the in-game karaoke place, Bobby starting fights, Juanaflippa dying over and over, Empanada trauma dumping about her first death to Bagi, Cellbit's vivo turbo ad, Bad yelling "language!", Pol and Foolish and Mouse not being able to stop laughing around each other, Pierre and Max's damn furry club, "no mames!", Spreen leaving for cigarettes, Bad stealing furniture, Missa being incomprehensibly cringefail (I will never forget that "bucket clutch"), Felps' hole, Tubbo's bigger hole, Mike going crazy that one time, Chayanne whipping out his cooking utensils, "Fofoca!", Pomme being the French Sniper, Pepito being homeless for a sec? Richarlyson's many personalities and characters, Tilin being "la tres leches", Trump even being called Trump to begin with, Cucuruchito flirting with everyone, dozens of plots to break into various federation buildings, hundreds of rule breaks, DanTDM being theorised to be Bagi's missing brother, Etoiles' love-hate relationship with the codes, Kameto going out for milk, Tina's heavily one sided rivalry with Fit, everyone changing their skins for events and some people being so extra with it, things falling into chaos every time an event needed them to travel a long distance together, the messy group photos, Charlie's grief spirals, people meeting up at Spreen's bar way back when, everyone making an effort to speak languages they don't speak, the sharing of international memes, the teaching of swear words, the joy that was born from the interconnectivity.

Just all of the things, dumb, hilarious, or adorable. The moments, bits and little jokes that made the QSMP so engaging, fun and entertaining to watch. That made you feel like you were participating in one massive celebration. I miss it.

[makingqueerhistory]

Spooky Queer Books

Since spooky season is starting, I thought I would share a list of my favourite queer books that are great for this time of year.

Some of these links are affiliate links.

It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror

Joe Vallese

Horror movies hold a complicated space in the hearts of the queer community: historically misogynist, and often homo- and transphobic, the genre has also been inadvertently feminist and open to subversive readings. Common tropes--such as the circumspect and resilient "final girl," body possession, costumed villains, secret identities, and things that lurk in the closet--spark moments of eerie familiarity and affective connection. Still, viewers often remain tasked with reading themselves into beloved films, seeking out characters and set pieces that speak to, mirror, and parallel the unique ways queerness encounters the world.It Came from the Closet features twenty-five essays by writers speaking to this relationship, through connections both empowering and oppressive. From Carmen Maria Machado on Jennifer's Body, Jude Ellison S. Doyle on In My Skin, Addie Tsai on Dead Ringers, and many more, these conversations convey the rich reciprocity between queerness and horror.

Into the Drowning Deep

Mira Grant

The ocean is home to many myths, But some are deadly... Seven years ago the Atargatis set off on a voyage to the Mariana Trench to film a mockumentary bringing to life ancient sea creatures of legend. It was lost at sea with all hands. Some have called it a hoax; others have called it a tragedy. Now a new crew has been assembled. But this time they're not out to entertain. Some seek to validate their life's work. Some seek the greatest hunt of all. Some seek the truth. But for the ambitious young scientist Victoria Stewart this is a voyage to uncover the fate of the sister she lost. Whatever the truth may be, it will only be found below the waves. But the secrets of the deep come with a price.

The Devouring Gray

C. L. Herman

After her sister's death, seventeen-year-old Violet Saunders finds herself dragged to Four Paths, New York. Violet may be a newcomer, but she soon learns her mother isn't: They belong to one of the revered founding families of the town, where stone bells hang above every doorway and danger lurks in the depths of the woods. Justin Hawthorne's bloodline has protected Four Paths for generations from the Gray--a lifeless dimension that imprisons a brutal monster. After Justin fails to inherit his family's powers, his mother is determined to keep this humiliation a secret. But Justin can't let go of the future he was promised and the town he swore to protect. Ever since Harper Carlisle lost her hand to an accident that left her stranded in the Gray for days, she has vowed revenge on the person who abandoned her: Justin Hawthorne. There are ripples of dissent in Four Paths, and Harper seizes an opportunity to take down the Hawthornes and change her destiny--to what extent, even she doesn't yet know. The Gray is growing stronger every day, and its victims are piling up. When Violet accidentally unleashes the monster, all three must band together with the other Founders to unearth the dark truths behind their families' abilities...before the Gray devours them all.

Tell Me I'm Worthless

Alison Rumfitt

Three years ago, Alice spent one night in an abandoned house with her friends, Ila and Hannah. Since then, Alice's life has spiraled. She lives a haunted existence, selling videos of herself for money, going to parties she hates, drinking herself to sleep. Memories of that night torment Alice, but when Ila asks her to return to the House, to go past the KEEP OUT sign and over the sick earth where teenagers dare each other to venture, Alice knows she must go. Together, Alice and Ila must face the horrors that happened there, must pull themselves apart from the inside out, put their differences aside, and try to rescue Hannah, whom the House has chosen to make its own. Cutting, disruptive, and darkly funny, Tell Me I'm Worthless is a vital work of trans fiction that examines the devastating effects of trauma and how fascism makes us destroy ourselves and each other.

[amimuu]

“Hope”

VTA AU - #1

Word count: 5188 words

Reading time: ~15 mins

[‼️TW!: Implied decapitation, violence, suicidal ideation (?). Discretion is advised‼️]

Fic under the cut

They couldn’t keep their head in place.

And they tried, really hard. To keep it upright. It was stitched to their neck for a reason. But it had never actually depended on those strings to stay there. 

It depended on the crown.

A crown that moments before had gingerly placed itself back on their god’s head, slowly taking away what little sliver of power remained within the Lamb along with it. 

But they couldn’t rest just yet. They had to hold on for just a little longer. They had to listen to what their god had to say. 

But even with how much the Lamb pushed down the ringing, they couldn’t hear a single word. Their god simply stared at them, silently. Clearly, this was what he was expecting would happen.

Clearly, this was what he wanted to happen. What they both knew would happen. What the Lamb so desperately hoped wouldn’t have to happen.

But naturally, they were wrong. Of course.

Slowly, they let their gaze fall back into the ground, pristine white sand now stained crimson, proof of their mortality; slowly slipping away.

Of course, of course.

They squeezed their eyes, slowly taking their hoofs away from their neck. There was nothing left to do. This was the end. 

Of course, of course, of course.

A relief, he had said. They’d be finally fred from the role they were forced into playing. A leader. A prophet. A god-slayer. The last of their kind. The Lamb was no traitor, of course they were willing; how could they be not?

Back then, the Lamb had simply lowered their gaze, deep in thought. 

“Promise?”

“Hmm?”

“That it’ll be the end?” And they looked up to their god, a tiny glimmer in their eyes.

Rest, rest at last.  Their god had simply smiled back at them, a wide grin that exposed his sharp teeth.

“Yes” He replied, “I promise”

Still, the Lamb, unsure of what they truly wanted, had allowed themselves to hope. Entertain their selfish wishes for a while. Some pitiful way of self-comfort, they guessed. Maybe he’d change his mind. Maybe he’d let them stay by his side.

But when had hope ever been of any help to them?.

Hope hadn’t saved their kind. Hope hadn’t avoided their first death. And it certainly would not avoid this one.

Nothing would save them this time. Not hope. Not even their god.

A fool, the Lamb though, a bitter chuckle escaping their lips as they looked up to their god, one last time

 I was a fool.

–

Two thumps on the ground. And then, the sound of chains breaking.

The god of death stared at the little lump in the ground, unmoving, unresponsive. A prophecy fulfilled. Just as he had willed it so. 

His gaze softened, ever so slightly. “Rest now, vessel” He muttered, extending a clawed paw towards the lamb.

“You’ve earned it”

.

.

.

And they had. They truly had.

Still, it seemed like fate had different plans.

A small glimmer, and then another, and another, and another, until everything was filled with light—

And then, nothing.

SLAM!

Almost nothing.

They were supposed to be dead. 

But in the way their body ached, and the way it had definitely slammed into the ground a few moments prior it was clear that was likely not the case. Not anymore at least. Their head spiraled, ears ringing, and they could faintly make out the sound of retching–Oh. It was them. They were quickly pulled out of their thoughts, vision clearing ever so slightly, only to be welcomed by the sight of wood, covered in some dark matter. Ichor. It was ichor. A…resurrection ritual? But who? Why? How? What happened?

A heart offered, a vow made–

No, no that wasn’t right. They weren’t focusing on the most important question. Where were they? The Lamb squinted, struggling to push themselves upright, with trembling arms. Everything felt hazy, yet not like before. No welcoming light, no peaceful silence, no warmth.

Just cold wooden floors. Like in their temple. Their temple…

Their temple?

Their thoughts were interrupted again by yet another wave of ichor up their throat. They coughed, hands curling into fists. They felt a light touch on their shoulder. Great. Now they were choking.

“–to the side, it’ll be easier like that.”

What?

They tried looking in the direction the voice–likely belonging to the one that performed the ritual–came from, yet they were given a soft pat in the back, reminding them they still had something else to worry about. What had the voice said? Side–Turn to the side–? So they tried, yet it only caused them to lose balance, almost falling face first into the ichor-stained floors, if not for the other person holding them upright.

Finally–after roughly 13 seconds–, they were able to compose themselves. The other one present seemed to notice as well, swiftly removing their hands from the Lamb and standing once more. A paw was extended towards them in place, likely to help the lamb on their feet.

Their hoof was halfway towards reaching the paw when their gaze finally cleared enough to make out who was offering it to them.

Four red eyes stared down at the Lamb. Silently. Their god stood before them, the crown–in the form of a snake–curled around his shoulders.

The Lamb froze. No, no, it couldn’t be-

“My–My Lord” They blurted out. Their god tilted his head sideways, as if amused. The Lamb rose to their feet in a quick motion, ignoring the hand held out in front of them.

What. Why. How. Why. How. Why. Why. Why–

Their god was talking. They should listen. They couldn’t listen. Their ears were ringing, their head was spinning. There were too many questions. They felt like they were gonna throw up again. Their breath paced up. They couldn’t think. Their eyes fixed on the ground. On the runes. They were wrong. They–

Oh, that’s it.

Their god seemed to notice their discomfort, taking a step towards them. “Lamb–”

“My Lord, you– you made a mistake”

“Pardon me?”

The Lamb looked up, red eyes meeting their own, already settled on a reasonable explanation to what was going on. “You…tried to do the resurrection ritual, yes?” They continued, ever so calmly

“Not tried, it worked. Now if you–”

“Well surely you must’ve done something wrong- you brought me back, not whatever follower of ou- of yours that you were aiming for”

“Lamb–”

‘This runes here. They are all wrong. But don’t worry, I’ll help you fix it.” Their eyes scanned around the floor, fixing on a little red spot in the corner of the room. Chalk. “There, we just change this a bit and…done! Should work adequately now.” The Lamb made their way to their god, still talking, 

“Now you just turn the crown into a dagger, kill me again, and you should be good to go.” The Lamb smiled, fidgeting with their hoofs. Their god looked down at the now changed runes, and then back at them, unamused.

“So..?”

“I didn’t make a mistake.”

“…I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t make a mistake, vessel. The ritual worked as it was supposed to.” He continued, brows lifting slightly. “It was meant to resurrect you. Not some other follower. You”

…Them. 

He resurrected them. Meaning to resurrect them. Going all the way to change the base structure of the ritual so he could ensure it was them who was brought back. Them. No one else. Them. Them.

The lamb’s hoofs started to shake, eyes widening, an ever so familiar warmth spreading through their chest.  They shook their head, struggling to find the next words. “But…Why?”

Hope. Tiny, foolish hope.

“Because” Their god closed his eyes, sighing. “I still have need of you.”

Hope–

“ Your duty is not over.”

–Gone. 

Of course.

What else had they ever been, but a tool? Merely to be used, like a pawn upon a chess board. Yet the pawn could feel every stab, every kill,  every time they were taken off the board, only to be pulled back again and again until the players decided they were bored, and had had enough.

A tool, simply to be toyed around with. 

The lamb took a step back. Memories flooding into their head. A conversation. A wide grin, showing sharp teeth. A promise. Rest. Rest at last. Cut short. Hope. Cut short as well. Acceptance. Warmth. Calm. Peace. All gone. 

All gone.

Their gaze widened, mouth opening and closing like a fish before they were able to blurt something out. 

“It’s not–But, but you said–” 

He lied.

“And I misspoke, vessel.”

Of course he did.

“At the gate, you said–”

He went back on his words.

“My word is final.”

He broke his promise.

“What more could you possibly want from me?!” The Lamb snapped, causing Narinder and the snake-crown to flinch ever so slightly. Oh, they were getting themselves killed again for this. Good. “What haven’t I done for you?! I gave you my life, I gave you my death, my everything! I killed, I lied, I bribed, I stole–Everything you asked, I did! No questions asked, never!”

The god’s gaze sharpened. “Exactly. You performed your duties masterfully. Almost flawlessly. So that’s why I expect you to help clean up this…mess we caused.”

“What are you talking about?? What “mess”? Your siblings are dead, you are free, you have a faithful following–Has your greed for power truly made you that blind?!” The Lamb groaned in desperation, a little horrified with the satisfaction they felt when a look of annoyance spread through Narinder’s face.

“That is no way to talk to your god.”

“I am aware” The lamb took a step forward. And another. And another. Until they were standing right in front of Narinder. “So what will you do? Surely you won’t accept such blasphemy, will you?”

“Lamb–”

They chuckled, hysteria seeping through their words ”Go on, kill me again. See how I care.”

“Do not speak such–”

“Do it! Kill me!”

“SILENCE!!!” Narinder’s voice rang out through the entire temple, loud, divine; the crown positioning itself on his head, spikes stretched. His tone clearly not meant for mortal ears to hear. Mortal ears such as the lamb’s, who covered them and bent over in pain, wincing.  This seemed to snap Narinder out of his anger, being replaced with worry as he reached an arm out towards the Lamb, only to pull it back just as fast “Listen. I– This isn’t what I was planning either.” He sighed.

The Lamb looked up, hoofs no longer pressing as hard against their ears. “What?”

The crown on his head returned to its usual form. Narinder looked up for a second before talking. “It’s been eight summers since you laid down your life at my feet. Eight summers that the cult has prospered in your absence. Yet last week I was contacted by a nameless merchant whom I hadn’t seen in more than one millennia. They demanded I…free my siblings from the punishment I bestowed upon them.”

The Lamb scoffed, fully lowering their arms and folding them in front of their chest. “So? Why don’t you? Too much for your ego to handle?”

“I can’t”

“You what?” 

Narinder looked up at the Lamb, eyes fixing on theirs. “After I was freed from my chains I…There was a shift in my power. It’s not as strong as it is before. I can no longer access my realm.”

“As if you had been, what, cut off?”

“Precisely. Yet even after I informed them, the merchant pressed forward, saying it was my responsibility to do so. They told me without access to my realm I’d have to traverse their domains and slay them again.”

“Well? They said it themselves. It's your responsibility. How do I fit into this?” The Lamb’s gaze sharpened.

“I’m getting there.” Narinder straightened his posture, clearing his throat. He looked at the Lamb, mirroring the look he gave them when they first met, after the Lamb’s first death. A crowned deity, and a curse-bearing sacrifice. 

 “Lamb, I bestow upon you the honor of serving your god once again. You shall crusade the lands of the Old Faith a second time, slay the Bishops in my name…and, even if they clearly don’t deserve it, free them from the punishment I gave them, for I have given you life anew and you shall pledge it to me. In the meantime, you shall return to your duties as a cult leader and take care of the flock. Naturally, I’ll be here to assist you if it is needed. Are we clear?” The god smiled placidly, looking down at the Lamb–

–Who stared back at him with such intensity he almost felt their gaze was weighing him down, as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Perfect. Narinder thought. Now that his vessel’s initial confusion had been cleared, surely they wouldn’t have a problem moving onwards. They shall crusade together and spread his word far and wide. All shall pledge themselves to the cult. Side by side, just like they wanted.

“Is that it?” The Lamb asked, quietly, unsure.

“Yes.” It is what we want, is it not? “That’s it”

Silence.

The Lamb looked down. Slowly, after what felt like an eternity, they extended a hoof towards Narinder, gently placing it on his cheek, lifting their gaze towards him. Tired eyes looked into his. The god felt goosebumps crawl up his spine, but he let them have their way. 

“...Vessel–”

SLAP!

Next thing he knew, he was on the ground. They were both on the ground. And the Lamb–

“YOU UNGRATEFUL ASSHOLE!!”

–Was punching him, continuously. Narinder tried to grab their fists, yet his paws were held down. The lamb was yelling, but Narinder couldn’t focus on half the words they said. He considered turning the crown–which was nearly knocked off his head–into a weapon, yet as soon as the thought crossed his mind,he decided against it. He didn’t want to hurt the Lamb. 

 “Stop this! Calm down!” He tried instead.

“Calm down? Calm down?!” The Lamb yelled back. Still punching, still speaking nonsense.

Yet with every punch they delivered, it looked as if they were the ones receiving the hit, not Narinder. Ichor stained the ground once anew, as the god and his vessel struggled. Narinder had never seen the Lamb this angry. Not when they were crusading, not when they were facing their siblings, not when dealing with dissenters. They always managed to keep themselves composed, always with a calm expression on their face. Nor happiness, nor sorrow, nor fear, nor anger. 

The god knew his words had caused them to snap. Yet he failed to grasp the why of it. He was giving them what they wanted. Eternity is to be spent in company. Once upon a time the Lamb would’ve been overjoyed hearing this news. Last time he saw them he knew they would’ve been. Last time–

Narinder felt something wet fall into his face. He looked up. Tears were falling from his attacker’s eyes. His own widened slightly. The Lamb’s eyes were filled with pain and desperation. Betrayal. Rage.

Directed at him.

And it clicked.

“You just don’t get it, do you?! What wouldn’t I have done?! How far wouldn’t I have gone?! Where wouldn’t I have followed, had you just said the word?! And yet you threw it away, you– you–!”

And they stopped. 

Narinder wasn’t fighting back anymore. He simply stared up at the Lamb, arms to his sides in defeat. 

“Calm down.” He tried again, softly. It’s alright. He lifted his paw towards the lamb, placing it on their shoulder and giving them a gentle push backwards. The Lamb complied, getting off Narinder and quickly pushing themselves back until they reached a wall, knees against their chest.

Narinder stood up, hesitating before approaching the lamb, slowly, paw outstretched towards them.

“Vessel–”

“Go away.” They interrupted, voice muffled. 

Narinder was not going to argue with that. He stepped away, back towards the entrance of the temple, sparing one final glance at the lamb before he disappeared through the door.

It was cold outside.

The Lamb looked up to the door, confirming that they were alone. Only then did they move away from the wall, opting to sit on the small stairs that led to the platform instead. They recalled the countless times they had given sermons from the lectern, preaching the word of their god, wholeheartedly believing the words they spoke; unaware of the fate which awaited them. 

They sighed, tears pooling at their eyes once anew.

There was no way to avoid it, was there? They could fight it all they wanted, but it wouldn’t change the outcome. No matter what they did they would be shoved back into their role.  A leader. A prophet. A god-slayer. The last of their kind. The devoted vessel of the god of death. Rest was not something possible for them. Maybe it would never be.

 There was a time where they would’ve been happy with it. Where they would’ve gladly taken eternity if it meant to remain by their god’s side. But what was that if not a lie? So they tried something else. Maybe he had skipped some details, but it was okay. They’d see their kin again, they’d know peace. 

But that too, was a lie. 

The silence continued for a while, until the doors of the temple opened once more. The lamb didn’t even bother looking up, they knew who it was. Quiet footsteps approached them, and then stopped. Something warm—a blanket?—was placed on their back.

“...It’s cold” Narinder said, hands lingering on their shoulders for a couple seconds, before he pulled them back.

The lamb looked up at him momentarily, and then back down.

“Get out of my sight” Was all they muttered, waiting for the sound of footsteps exiting once again. But it didn’t come. Instead, the Lamb heard a shuffling noise to their side, black fur visible from the edge of their vision.

“…You don’t want to do it” He acknowledged.

“You won’t let me refuse, will you?”

“...”

“Of course” The lamb scoffed, pulling at the blanket–No, it was a cloak–around their shoulders. They both fell quiet, sitting side by side, only illuminated by the light the crown–and partly, Narinder’s eyes–emitted.

After some minutes, Narinder spoke again. “Listen. There is something else.” 

The Lamb continued to stare at the ground, completely ignoring Narinder. 

The god sighed, and pressed forward. “Before my liberation, I thought you had destroyed the crowns of my siblings after you defeated them, or taken them back to the cult grounds as trophies to mark your victory over—“

“I don’t know how to destroy a crown, my Lord. And taking it back to the cult grounds was too risky. Might’ve gotten some crazy follower that could try to use its powers.” The Lamb interrupted, in a low voice.

“Then what did you do?”

“As far as I’m concerned, the crowns destroyed themselves after I took the hearts of the Bishops. I didn’t see them after the battle.”

Narinder hummed, reaching for the crown in his head and taking it in his hands. “There’s been sightings of miracles and impossible acts outside of the cult grounds. And we both know that couldn’t have been you”

“Who knows, maybe the Red Crown was thrown off balance and now it’s causing all this mess” The Lamb tapped their hoof against the ground, already having a vague idea of where this was going.

“What I’m meaning to say is—“

“You think the crowns fell into the hands of mortals who aren’t worthy of their powers?” The Lamb interrupted.

Narinder frowned slightly “Yes. And I could’ve dealt with that myself hadn’t your following been so stubborn”

“Ha, they don’t like you?”

“Nonsense! They fear and worship me…yet their loyalties remain elsewhere”

“You tried asking my disciples for help, didn’t you.” The Lamb stated, not asking.

“…”

“You knew they’d only listen to me” The Lamb muttered, mostly to themselves. They sighed “You want me to convince them to help you, yes?”

“Lamb, if the crowns were to fall in the wrong hands, hands that do not know how to make use of them, or worse, do know— the results would be catastrophic”

“Hmm…hands like yours?”

“Does the world around you look like destruction and chaos, Lamb?” He was starting to lose his patience. No. He couldn’t. Last time that happened he had accidentally blinded a follower. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t see clearly, but he could’ve sworn the Lamb was smiling.

“I have a proposal.” Narinder said after a few seconds, calmer. “If you do this, I’ll…consider giving you something in return.”

“Consider?”

“I’ll be indebted to you, Lamb”

 Their hoofs twitched. “You’ll let me ask for something in return?”

“One thing. Whatever you wish for. And then, If it’s still what you want, I shall send you back to my realm. Sounds reasonable?” he looked at them, a patient look in his eyes.

The Lamb looked back at him, ready to deny the offer, yet their gaze quickly fell towards the cloak Narinder was wearing. They hadn’t noticed it before. It was white, with accents in red and yellow that complimented his fur. Soft and warm, perfect for the winter. Woven carefully in the hopes it’d be of their god’s liking and comfort. Even with the dim illumination, they’d recognize it anywhere.

Crafted from their own wool, for their one and only god.

I guess what I’m trying to say is—

“...It gets pretty cold during winter.” They muttered instead, voice trembling.

Whatever you need, I’ll be there.

“It does.” Narinder replied softly. 

They fell quiet again, caught up in a moment in the past. The last death before fighting Shamura, the Lamb remembered. They had brought the cloak to their god, if only to show it to him, see how he would react.

“But…It’s too small” Their god had said, a little unsure. The Lamb chuckled, their expression not changing

“I don’t see the problem! You can shrink down at will, can you not?”

 Oh, how filled with hope had they been back then. How badly did they want to show their god the wonders of the realm above. How faithful, how foolish.

The Lamb looked back up at Narinder, hoofs trembling. Maybe, just maybe… “Whatever I wish for…you’ll do it? You’ll really do it?”

“You crusade, you convince your disciples, you have my word.” But that means close to nothing now, doesn’t it?

The Lamb fell quiet, considering their options, which weren’t many, they knew this was a deadend. Might as well take the offer before it’s gone. They stood up, looking down at Narinder. “Alright.” They gave in. “I’ll do it”

Narinder smiled, standing up as well. “Then so be it”

“However–”

“However?”

The Lamb tapped their hoof on the ground. “I won’t last a single crusade without at least a weapon. Got one in mind?”

Narinder looked at them, and then started walking towards the lectern. “Better than that, actually” He said, picking up a fancy–looking cup and walking back towards the lamb, placing it in their hoofs. “Here, hold this.”

The Lamb did, a little wary.

“See, back when I was still a Bishop,” Narinder started, willing the crown into a small dagger. “We had a certain problem, in which our disciples would become almost obsolete after just a couple years of service.” He pressed the blade into his palm, slicing a clean cut, ichor coming out and sliding down his hand. “It was pitiful, really. They might have been fully devoted to us, yet at the end of the day, they were only mortal. How could they ever hope to keep up with gods?”. He positioned his paw directly above the cup, letting the ichor fall into it, slowly filling it up.

 “Yet instead of simply accepting this, we came up with a method, a way for them to grow stronger alongside us, that would also allow us to lend them some of our power. This was a honor reserved only for the most faithful of our following, and a new title was bestowed upon those who received that blessing–”

“The witnesses?” The Lamb asked, eyes locked with the cup.

“Indeed.” Narinder said, pulling his paw back away from the cup, not bothering with the cut; he knew it would heal in less than an hour. 

“So” They started toying around with the cup. “I drink this and become a super creepy-looking giant creature that’ll be devoted to you forever?” 

“The beastly form was something achieved through mass sacrifice, Lamb. I thought you’d know that much” Narinder rolled his eyes. “You’ll simply reach a state similar to that of when you wielded the crown. Your devotion should be high enough to not blow up into bits.”

“Huh” The Lamb said, and lifted up the cup above their head, eyes locking with Narinder’s. They chuckled lightly, clearing their throat before talking. “And so the Lamb, twice betrayed, chooses to put their trust in the god that denies them rest once anew! Shame on them.” They exclaimed, pressing the cup to their smiling lips.

“Cheers”

They drank the entire cup in one gulp, coughing lightly before placing it back into Narinder’s paws. They squeezed their eyes, waiting for the stomach-churning pain that would surely overcome them for drinking the blood of a god. And they waited. And waited. But nothing came.

“Let me guess. Waiting for the gut-wrenching pain?”

“...”

“Don’t worry about that. As I said before, your devotion is high enough to safely consume ichor. Mine, at least” Saying that, Narinder’s gaze wandered upwards, towards the Lamb’s head. “Andd….there it is”

“There is…?” But the Lamb didn’t even need to finish their sentence. They could feel its presence. A light colored halo was now gingerly placed atop their head, emanating a very faint glow. “...So that’s the thing that appeared on the kids’ heads”

“Your disciples?” Narinder inquired, yet only received silence in response.

The Lamb poked their halo, seemingly already disinterested in the god standing in front of them. Some seconds later they heard the doors of the temple open and close, glad the god had understood the memo. The temple was filled with silence.

A voice in the Lamb’s head told them they felt a little lonely now.

 “...I like it better like this” They lied.

They sat back down, this time behind the lectern, and closed their eyes, focusing on the new flow of energy inside them. It was nice. They wondered if it would have the same effects as the crown. Would they need to eat? Sleep? They missed doing that. They missed normal meals, at least. Normal meals that weren’t—

The doors of the temple opened once again, and the cat walked in, this time with a candle in hand. He looked outside for a second and then back at the Lamb.

“What is it now?” The Lamb said, rather annoyed, standing up from the spot they had been meditating in.

Narinder’s eyes shifted between the door and the Lamb. He finally stepped away, opening the doors a little, as if to let someone in “I figured you’d like some company aside from me”

The Lamb was about to ask if he had gone mad when they saw three familiar faces walk in through the door. They froze. Halos that mirrored their own upon their heads, looking at the Lamb with wide eyes, almost as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

“Kids?” They asked softly, taking a small step towards the figures. 

One of them–A deer–stepped forward, almost hesitantly. “Leader…? Is…is it really you?” The other two followed suit, looking at the Lamb expectantly.

“Yes–” The lamb chuckled “Yes, yes–! And–And you guys…you–Oh, come here–!” They opened their arms, the three disciples running towards them and wrapping their arms–and wings–around them, in a bone crushing hug. The Lamb laughed. The disciples laughed too. The god of death looked at them from the distance, a small smile appearing on his lips as well, which he forced down just as quickly.

“Look at you three! I almost didn’t recognize you!” The Lamb stepped back, their gaze moving from one disciple to another. “Pam–Oh, what happened to your beak?” They focused on one of them, a teal bird, worry appearing in their face. 

The bird–Pam, simply laughed “Got it from a dissenter! He smashed a glass bottle hard into my beak! Certainly didn’t know who they were messing with!” She nudged the lemur, who also laughed. “Sylvie here punched him square in the face right afterwards! Knocked the poor bastard out!”

The lemur, Sylvie, blushed lightly upon the comment “Well–It was still Pam who dealt with him..”

“And then I had to come and fix the mess you were causing.” The deer popped in, a look of playful annoyance in his face. “Fancy me almost single-handedly keeping this cult from burning down for the last few years” He continued. Pam rolled her eyes. 

“Oh yes Dipal, what would we do without you?”

“Paperwork. Loads of it.”

“Yuck, you’re right Syl. Seems like we’ll have to be stuck with him forever”

“HEY!”

The Lamb simply continued to laugh at the comments their disciples made. They sighed and patted their shoulders. “Alright, Alright, how about we take this back to my tent and you tell me all about the last couple years, hm?” The disciples looked back at them. “Unless my tent is already occupied?”

“It is not” Narinder popped in, leaning against a pillar. “It’s been left untouched since…since you last used it. Only the occasional offering left outside of it instead of the statue”

“Statue?” The Lamb muttered, a little confused.

“It was built after The One Who Waits was fred” Sylvie explained “A way to honor you. It is also where you were originally buried..”

“Original– What do you–?”

“Alright!! Let’s take it back to the tent! Oh! Surely, we should have some hot camellia tea left.” Pam interrupted, pushing Sylvie and the Lamb towards the entrance of the temple. Dipal followed along. One by one, they exited the temple, until only the Lamb and Narinder remained. The Lamb stopped for a second, hoof on the door.

They looked at him.

Really, really looked at him. 

Red eyes met their own. Just as tired. The Lamb sighed. “Go get some rest. If not for your sake, then my own” Was all they said, exiting the temple and scooting towards where their disciples were.

“You won’t believe half the things that happened after you were gone. It’s crazy!”

“And the paperwork…Oh the paperwork…I haven’t gotten a day of proper sleep in years”

“Dippy, you’ve been complaining about that even before the Leader…uh…left”

“Because it’s true. You two lazy heads don’t even try to help me–”

“Calm down you three, I’m sure you all had loads of stuff to deal with…” 

“...”

Narinder watched them go, exiting the temple, yet heading in a different direction than the one that led to his hut. 

Maybe he’d pray a little tonight.

–

[Comics offer a different perspective of certain events...]

damn i really wonder who is narrating huh.

Anyways OH BOY. WHAT AN UPDATE. What's to happen next? Will they get along? Will the Lamb attempt to murder Narinder? What's up with the disciples? And the crowns?!? Where are they?

With time, we shall know....And so concludes the second installment of the VTA au! Until next time :3

And then they kiss kiss fall in love

[susiekern]

a/n: this one's for my nanami girls out there, nanami is a simp, y/n is a simp, and honestly girl, same, not proofread obv

y/n is a cursed speech user, when she's saying something in cursive, that's her technique, just explaining

Summary: after 14 years of just thinking, it's time for both you and Nanami to do something finally

word count: 2,940

Everyone who was ever associated with the Jujutsu world knew that Gojo Satoru was the strongest.

But Nanami Kento? Nanami was close behind.

This man went through so many things in his life. Fought so many enemies, both human and curses, that he lost count of how many battles he went through. And never once in his life did he look at someone or something and think, “This is how I die.”

Until he met you.

You were going to be the death of him.

When you first met in Jujutsu High as first-year students, he was stunned. You were one of the most stubborn, most driven people he had ever seen, and when some people would say it was your most annoying trait, Nanami was enamored by it. He saw your stubbornness as a virtue, as you were the one to study and train for hours, even when your body wanted to give up, your mind kept going.

Quickly you became friends, three of you keeping close. And back then, he thought it was everything he wanted in life. Becoming stronger with every day, you and Haibara close by, powering each other to keep going. Then you lost Yu. Both going through it, staying sane only thanks to the other one. Sometimes you’d just sit in silence, no words needed to say “I’m here for you.” Nanami knew you were the most important person in his life. He’d look out for you at every mission, endangering his own life, just to keep you safe. He held you close when nightmares of the night you lost Haibara hunted you. He memorized every little thing you told him, even as small as your favorite candy flavor or how you explained that chemical cherry tasted so much better than the actual fruit.

Nanami Kento thought he’d do anything to stay that way, with you close, even if it wasn’t as close as he’d like.

But then you graduated and went your separate ways. He didn’t try to stop you when you told him you wanted to travel and help people around the world. He didn’t ask you to stay in Tokyo with him. He also never told you how grateful he was for every conversation, every hug, every night you spent lying next to each other, not touching but giving that comfort of company. How much he loved you.

He tried getting over you, lord knows he did. Going on dates, putting himself “out there”, and meeting people even when that voice in his head told him he’d never find someone even close to you. And every time he thought he was close to forgetting how good your body felt in his arms, how your voice took away all his worries, how your smile made his entire day better, you’d come back to Tokyo to take a break. And he’d fall back into this spiral again. 

It was one of the reasons for Nanami to leave the Jujutsu world behind. To try normal life. And for four years, it seemed to work. He declined every invitation for a meeting from his old friends, worried somehow you’d be there and his feelings would wake up. Because they never went away. He was certain they’d be there, deep inside his mind and heart till the day he died. 

But the one thing about jujutsu sorcerers: once you become one, you’re always one. Now, he was back. Working missions, helping Gojo with his students, and spending time with people that (although he’d never admit it) he missed in the last few years. And for a couple of months, it was good. He felt like himself again. Until one day he arrived at Jujutsu High and saw both Shoko and Gojo excited. Looking his way with mischief on their faces, giving him flashbacks from school years, when they’d pull a prank on their underclassman. He somehow made it till afternoon, ignoring both of them as well as he could. He was tempted to ask Shoko what the two of them were up to when she suggested going for a drink later, but he told himself it was probably better to stay in the bliss of unawareness and simply nodded. With everything going on about Yuji, unregistered curses, and Sukuna’s fingers, he felt like a drink or two was very much needed.

And boy, he would need more than one or two. More like a whole bottle.

Cause after maybe an hour of sitting with Gojo and Ino at the club, he felt almost a pull to look towards the front door where Ieiri showed up. And behind her was standing a reason for every night he spent awake, lost in memories. You were there.

Looking as beautiful as ever, dangerous almost. A black dress tight around your fit body, toned after years and years of training and battles, heels that made your legs look incredible, hair pulled over one shoulder, and red lipstick on deadly lips. He knew what those lips could do, and he didn’t mean anything inappropriate. 

You came from the Inumaki clan, a cursed speech user. Although not as powerful as your little cousin, Toge, your technique was why you were a successful "freelancer". You could make people do exactly what you wanted with just a whisper. How many times did he imagine your soft whispers in his ear when he stayed awake late at night? It was embarrassing to even try to count.

“Surprise, Nanamin! Our little maneater is in town.” Gojo grins when he notices his friend’s gaze stuck on your figure. You say something to Shoko and leave towards the bar, while the other woman makes her way to the booth they were occupying.

He couldn’t care less right now, eyes still on you as you confidently make your way through the mass of people. Woman on the mission. And he had no idea how right he was.

You were in Tokyo planning to take a break, a breather, after a particularly busy season. But as you landed in Japan, a bid showed up for a curse user, a man who would fish out single women to first use them and then sell them to other psychos. It was a perfect opportunity for you, you’d get the job done quickly and then spend time focusing on your second mission. Nanami Kento is your main target tonight.

You were over the moon when Ieiri told you he was back in the game, stronger than ever. That man was a menace to your existence, stuck in your brain even all these years after you parted. You spent all of high school almost drooling at every sight of him, telling yourself being his friend was enough. But after every hug or innocent touch, you only wanted more. The only thing stopping you from throwing yourself at his tall, and oh so big, body was the thought of losing him if he rejected you. That’s why you never said anything, staying close just as his friend. Then you left Tokyo to work worldwide, only seeing him every couple of months and hoping one day he’d tell you he was dating someone. You were close to screaming at him to reject you, just so you could move on. But he never did, and you never moved on. Yes, you dated a few people, never staying around for long enough to become something serious, but even then, Nanami Kento was stuck in the back of your mind, invading every lasting minute of your life. It was embarrassing how many times you imagined it was his body on yours when you were in bed with someone. How you wished it was his blonde hair between your legs, his hands on your curves, his lips devouring yours.

You couldn’t possibly know how similar his thoughts were. And how you both decided that tonight is the night.

But first, your actual mission.

It was easy to notice a curse user, his cursed energy flowing around his body, somehow as disgusting as his eyes going up and down women’s bodies close to him. It was almost as easy as getting his attention, one pass in front of him and a shy smile his way was enough. A minute later there’s a drink in front of you and his body invading your space. You act all shy, giggling at his awful compliments, pretending to think for a minute when he suggests going somewhere more private. As he takes your hand in his, leading you towards the back rooms, you take a second to look over your arm at your friends, and you almost stumble seeing the way Nanami’s eyes were stuck on you. You could feel the weight of his gaze, even from this distance. Give me a few more minutes. 

“How about we have a little fun, sweetie?” Curse user, who introduced himself as Nao (fake name, but it meant he had more than 5 IQ points), led you into the private room, one of his hands still holding yours, the second making its way to your lower back, and you shivered in disgust. Thankfully, your actual identity and profession didn't even scratch his rotten brain, because he takes it as a sign of your excitement. It leaves you almost impressed how confident he was in his whole being, as he's not even noticing your cursed energy. Incredible. The room you walked in was dark, the only light being a red LED strip under the ceiling. There was a locker in the corner and a big bed that probably had seen better times.

“Oh, that sounds great.” You decide to keep your shy girl mask on for a little longer, finding amusement in toying with him. Your arms make their way on his arms, and the guy smirks, probably thinking he hit the jackpot. Finding a pretty girl who will happily let him bed her? And hell, for a face like yours, he'll get paid what he'd normally get in probably two months. “On your knees.”

“Look at you, playing all shy when—” His smirk is gone in a second when you lean to his ear and whisper, his body doing as you said. You can sense his cursed energy gathering when he wants to use his technique, suddenly aware of your own energy. With one swift move, you pull a small dagger from a sheath hidden on your thigh, just underneath the dress, and put it next to his throat.

“Don't move. Don't use the cursed energy.”

Panic sets in his eyes when he feels paralyzed, power in his body asleep. There's also a glimpse of realization.

“Cursed speech. Fucking bitch, who sent you?!”

“Shush, shush. There's no need to shout.” You giggle and put the dagger back in its place. “You've done some stuff. Some people didn't like it. And here we are.” Next to the dagger, behind a leather strap, is your phone. Getting it out, you text Shoko, who has your bag. There was no way you'd risk this idiot sensing the energy of a special grade handcuff you had in there, so you've asked your friend to bring it when she gets a text.

“You're wasting your talent, pretty face. If you got into my career, you'd be swimming in money. With that mouth of yours.” Nao keeps talking since it's the only thing he can do right now. Of course you could just tell him to shut up. But it was somewhat amusing to hear how they try to talk you into letting them go, bribing you, or, like this idiot, joining them.

“I'm not complaining. And you know, fucking people's lives doesn't really turn me on like it does to your kind.” You giggle and shake your head.

“And what does?” The question comes from your target, but not the one kneeling on the floor. You turn abruptly to see Nanami leaning on the doorframe, your bag in hand. 

A moan almost slips past your lips as you eye his tall body, lit only by faint red light. He has a black shirt on, sleeves rolled up to the veiny forearms, and grey dress pants that hug his strong thighs so, so well, and you find yourself wondering how good they have to look on his back.

“Help! This psycho drugged me!” Nao had no idea who Nanami was, and it shows when he begs for help, seeing it as his chance.

“Yeah, she has that effect on people.” The sorcerer smirks and takes the handcuffs from the bag, making his way to you and the scum, who now realizes he's done for.

“Okay, enough. Be a good boy for once and sleep.” You tell Nao. When Nanami put the metal bracelets on his wrists, you took a photo, sending it to your employer immediately. “Work's done for the day; it's relax time.”

“You'll just leave him here?” Nanami asks when you take your bag from him and move to exit.

“It's a pick-up order.”

Walking out into an empty corridor, also almost fully dark except for the same red LEDs, you look over your shoulder at the blonde man and smirk, catching how he eyes you up and down.

“You didn't answer.” His words stop you mid-step, and when you turn to ask what he means, you find his body only centimeters away from yours.

“W-what?”

“Cat got your precious tongue, darling?” He smirks, and you swear you're about to die. You lean on the wall to take a breath in, trying to calm down your racing heart. Failing miserably, because it's about to jump out of your chest when Nanami takes one more step forward, and suddenly you're trapped between his arms, his chest, and a wall.

“What are you doing, Kento?” Your question is almost shy, and he can't help but smile, seeing how the maneater, as Gojo and Shoko liked to call you, turns into a hunted animal just because he took the control.

“Something I wanted to do for a long time, dear.” His whisper, warm breath, hazel eyes… his whole presence was driving you crazy. The way his eyes scanned your face, like he was memorizing it. “Please don't hate me for that.”

If you thought you were on cloud nine from his proximity, you were wrong. So wrong. 'Cause when he kisses you, it feels like the world doesn't exist anymore. And for all you care about, the world can go to hell.

Your whole world was wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as he could. A satisfied grunt comes out of his mouth when you're eager to respond to his kiss, your arms making their way to his neck and shoulders. You both don't want to pull away, even when you're out of breath, but when you finally do, your surroundings reappear, and only now do you notice the bag that dropped to the floor god knows when, his messy hair and shiny eyes. Kento leans to rest his head on your shoulder, leaving a gentle kiss there, making you shiver.

“For how long?” You ask after a moment, voice still breathless, eyes closed as you rest your cheek on his soft hair.

“For how long what?”

“You said you wanted to do it for a long time.” A little smile is on his face when you cradle his cheeks and move it from your arm. “So, how long?”

“You had me at hi, my name's y/n.” He whispers, leaning into your touch. Confusion takes over you for a moment, and your jaw almost hits the floor as you realize something.

“You're telling me I spent 14 years simping over you, but you did the same?”

“Simping?” One of his brows goes up, and you laugh a bit.

“Remember when I got drunk with Ieiri during our second year? And how she kept laughing at me for a week after that?” Of course he remembered. How could he forget when you came to his room in the middle of the night, drunk and cold, asking if you could sleep with him because you didn't want to be alone tonight. “I told her I'd climb you like a tree if you'd let me.”

Saying this out loud was as embarrassing as rewarding, because there's a blush on his face that you can see even in this shitty light.

Nanami Kento is blushing.

“I'd let you.” He says after a minute or two, and you can't help but roll your eyes.

“God, shut up and kiss me.”

And he does.

In fact, he keeps kissing you until Shoko appears out of nowhere, looking for you since you were gone for so long she started to worry your mission went wrong.

But it went absolutely perfectly. Both of them.

[ilovehugslikealotalot]

This is Her Trying

sum: she sold out every value she holds dear, even a person. That happens to be you. So, one night after Voit’s little game, she speeds to your apartment in hopes you’ll still want her.

(is there a lot of music references? Yes.)

WARNING: BIG ANGSTY, smoking, some fluff?

Emily saw this coming, with the way everything was happening. The BAU hadn’t taken up a case they couldn’t solve, it just seems that now they’ve met their match. Emily didn’t want it to be true, no, she just couldn’t accept that. She was too prideful to give up.

That also meant doing everything in her power to solve this case, even if it meant pushing the boundaries of the law. She hated that she even considered doing it, so why do it at all? That was a question she asked herself often. Sometimes she sat in her chair wondering if Hotch would be disappointed in her. Or if he would tell her that she ‘needn’t worry’ even though she should.

In the midst of all this ‘Gold Star’ business happening, she was also pushing you away. Not noticing the hurt facial expression you made at her clearly not wanting your presence. She pushed you away so much that she had forgotten how much peace you’d bring her. Even Rossi had warned her to go home but she never did listen, she did what she thought was best. But sometimes she couldn’t think for herself.

—

“Shouldn’t you head home to see the Mrs?” Rossi asked, driving them back after Emily had gotten arrested. The truth was, she wanted to go home, she was just too scared that you too would be disappointed in her, and she’d rather not have the person she loved the most think ill of her. “She knows I’m out, it’s fine..” The silver-haired woman grumbled, picking at her thumb nail again. Someday she’d get over the whole thumb thing but now was not the time. All that she was focused on was Brian Garrity being on the top of her list to be killed off if she ever did spiral into madness; which she was already on the brink of.

Dave looked at her with this face, it was his ‘I know you better than you think, please don’t lie to me right now’ face. Emily huffed, groaning as she flopped her head into her hands. “It’s been almost a week and a half, Emily. A hello or hug would suffice” He tutted, even after all these years he still had to teach her fatherly advice.

“She’ll survive, Dave, she’s not going anywhere” Emily seethed, her emotions slightly breaking loose, the Italian took note of her behavior. As he pulled back into the parking lot, he stopped the engine, turning to look at her with a soft expression.

“If I’ve learned anything from my marriages is, never make them wait for you. Because the hardest feeling is choosing whether to wait or give up” He says, exiting the car first to let Emily think.

—

The Unit Chief sat on the rooftop again, the cigarette she was smoking, balanced between her fingers. She only smoked when she was really stressed, that seemed to be almost every day now. You had told her to stop smoking but, old habits die hard.

Ever since that call she had about being on restricted duty she felt like she was completely under the water, she couldn’t breathe. The feeling on being dragged down over and over again was starting to get to her. This definitely wasn’t her first rodeo but it was starting to feel like her last. She kept telling herself to keep pushing and they’d solve this but maybe, for once, they’ve gotten a case they won’t figure out.

The BAU was crumbling around them, the public was already trampling on the name. But if they didn’t figure this out, what was the point of anything? What was the point of all this work if she couldn’t even save herself?

How could she protect her team when her choices were the ones hurting them? She’d been dying inside since Bailey’s death. She couldn’t give up now, she had to figure this out so he didn’t die in vain. But she wanted to give up, it was so much easier to lay down and die.

This isn’t how she imagined she’d end up. A broken marriage, at least she thought so, a broken team, a broken case, everything was tumbling down and she didn’t have the energy to build them back up anymore. She always wondered how some people could die with so much happiness accepting that they didn’t do everything they wanted to. That was one of the qualities that made you fall for her.

She didn’t stop till she got what she wanted. That’s how you agreed to go on one date with her. She was insistent that she was the one for you. At first you didn’t want to, not wanting to be with someone so ambitious since it could end badly, later she showed you that you were the only one she wanted.

Letting out a shaking breath, Emily looked below, the who-ing of the owls seemed to be her only company that night. The stars were shining above her, she was jealous of them. How could they live so peacefully without worry. They were taunting her with their beauty.

Almost like the first time you and her met. She smiled at the memory, her time of youth escaped her but she never seemed to forget it.

~~

You were one of Garcia‘s friends, she met you during one of her baking lessons, and got to know you during one of her cooking lessons. You were skilled in both, your nimble fingers kneading the dough, your hands holding the sharp knife as you made precise cuts on the vegetables.

Emily could’ve never been prepared for the day you’d given Penelope a visit at work. She practically choked on her coffee the moment you walked in. You were stunning, your eyes soft like the morning rain, your face free from blemishes and impurities, even your hands looked extremely agile. Your presence alone cast an ethereal radiance around the room. “Hi, I’m Y/n Y/l/n, it’s nice to meet you…?”

Your brow arched, signaling her to introduce herself, Emily quickly stumbled to her feet with a goofy smile. She was enchanted by your shining grin. Internally, she was panicking so bad she couldn’t even think about what comes out of her mouth next, she was too busy staring at your tits.

“Prentits, Emily” she said a little too confidently, she slapped a hand over her mouth as Morgan barrel rolled on the floor in laughter. Rossi, JJ, and Penelope were snickering in the background. Hotch and Reid stood with shocked expressions, for once, Aaron had cracked a smile.

”I’m sorry! I meant Emily Prentiss, it’s nice to meet you as well” her voice got more silent with each word, the red hue over taking her face. You laughed, “it’s okay, Emily,” you leaned into her ear, “but next time just ask to look at them.”

~~

Emily snorted to herself, still looking into the dark nothingness below her. A soft chuckle escaped her, even the darkness seemed more peaceful than whatever she had going on. In those few minutes that she had stared into the oblivion, she realized, it wasn’t too late to fix things. At least with you anyway, she just hoped that you’d still want her after everything she had put you through.

The guilt of leaving you alone for so long clawed at her. As she now hurried down the halls, she thought of you. That smile that could make her melt, the laugh that could infect anybody, and those arms that held her close when no one understood her.

Even in the car, the first thing that played was your favorite song. She slammed her fist against the console, the pain was agonizing but that was the least of her problems. Her fingers gripped around the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white and cramped. As she speeded home, she realized that she dearly missed your lips. Your soft, delicate, and loving lips. Even the first time the both of you had said you loved each other, she knew that you were gonna kiss her in a way that was gonna screw her up forever.

At the door of your shared house, she felt a sinking feeling in her chest, her hands turned clammy. It was like she was sent back to when she was ask you out on a date again. Except this time she was asking for your forgiveness.

She brought out her house keys, unlocked the door, and stepped in. The inside was still dimly lit so she knew you were awake, probably staying up late again. “Baby? I’m home!” Emily called out, shutting the door behind her, making sure to lock it before venturing deeper into the home. She heard shuffling from upstairs, it stopped for a moment before the sound of your footsteps made their way down. She was nervous, the smell of smoke on her clothes. It stood out from the scent of the rest of the house.

It smelt of you and your soft smelling vanilla perfume. You smiled seeing her, though the emotions in you remained conflicted. “Em, you’re home, I thought you were gonna be working late again” You chuckled lightly, nothing was funny. She messed up and you knew it, she knew it. So, why couldn’t you just go ahead and scream your feelings out. That’s what you wanted to do days ago, but not now that you see her face…you don’t feel so angry anymore.

“No, I needed to come home. I needed to see you, I’m-” Emily abruptly stopped her sentence to swallow the sound of her breaking voice, she never minded being emotional in front of you. Now, she couldn’t bear to cry in front of you. She felt she didn’t deserve to, you’re the victim here, after all. It was selfish to take that away from you. She was selfish. That’s all she had been for weeks now.

“I’m going insane, y/n. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, I’m not alright.” She admitted it, she was scared and confused. She felt like some little kid in the corner after doing something bad and not knowing it was. She didn’t know how to cope with any of this. It was too big to do alone. She couldn’t ask you to help her, not when she’s already taken so much from you.

As Emily’s eyes began to sting, the tears pooling. Yet, she didn’t let them fall. She couldn’t, it wasn’t right. “You smell like smoke again, what happened this time?” You asked, brushing past her and walking into the kitchen. You fixed Emily a glass of cold water, “I messed up some case, I’m on restricted duty. The BAU is Dave’s now. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” She said through a shaky sigh, leaning on the kitchen island, the marble cold to the touch. You were slightly shocked that she would actually tell you, most of the time she wouldn’t tell you anything. You understood that even knowing a little bit could endanger you both so you never pressed. “Have you eaten?”

Emily crossed her arms, sniffling and looking at her with a blank expression. You knew that look, she was trying to profile you. “Emily, if you’re trying to profile me, it’s not gonna work.” You said sternly, getting the ingredients out for beef and broccoli, one of her favorites.

“Okay, I’m sorry…” she replied, biting her lip. “No, I haven’t” she added after a moment of silence. You smiled to yourself, “Good, I haven’t had dinner yet”

The silence was oddly comfortable, it gave Emily a sense of false comfort. She watched you cook as she idly played with her fingers. You could’ve called it a night ages ago and gone to bed not talking to her at all. Instead, you chose to stay and make food. You always stayed silent when you were mad, you came from a home with screaming being the norm. You hated yelling at someone out of anger, you hated it with your heart and soul. Even now if someone yells at you in anger, the tears will pool and won’t stop streaming down your face. Your breathing turns shallow and the tightness in your chest the least of your concerns.

As you finished cooking the food, the steam drifted into the air, eventually filling up the whole kitchen. Both of you quickly ate the food, silently glancing at each ofher when the other ‘wasn’t’ looking. Emily didn’t know what to say, and you didn’t want to say anything.

The older woman went upstairs to change, and hopefully get a shower. It had been a few days since she’s had a good shower. One where she felt relaxed and fresh. You washed the dishes, humming to yourself as you thought about the situiation you were in. You wanted so badly to be angry with her but, there was something that kept you from feeling anything about what was happening. Your face would contort into an expression of anger but you didn’t feel it.

You completed the rest of the cleaning and headed upstairs, maybe you’d be able to get a good sleep tonight. You always slept best with Emily in bed with you, she just gave you a sense of comfort that no one else could give you.

Already in some pjs, you brushed your teeth and washed your face. With a heavy sigh, you pulled your body up to sit on the counter. You had grabbed your phone, scrolling on social media as you flossed with a floss pick. You heard the shower stop but you didn’t look up, too interested in a News article you read. It was an article about ‘Gold Star’. A case Emily was on, he was clearly dangerous and had already killed the spouse of one of his latest victims who was also a cop. That must’ve been why she’s been down at the office, at least, that’s what you heard from Pen.

“Damn it…” Emily muttered, pulling a silk robe over her thin pjs. Her hair was soaking wet, and her face free of makeup, she was looking for something. “Have you seen my towel?” She asked, looking at the rack then back inside the shower. You looked down and saw you were sitting on it, lifting a thigh, you grabbed it and handed it to her.

She smiled at you, drying her silver locks with the towel. Walking over to the sink, she began doing her skincare routine. You stared at her, a blank expression on your face, she looked so focused.

You felt the urge to reach out and touch her face when she finished, she looked like a supermodel in this light. I’m any light actually, she was a timeless beauty you couldn’t get enough of. That was when you felt it, the subtle shake of your hands, the sting of your eyes, the flips of your stomach, the drowning feeling, and the way you bit the inside of your cheek.

Emily looked at herself in the mirror before looking over at you with concern, your eyes filled with hurt. She hummed softly, placing a hand on yours, squeezing it as a way to ground you. “I love you, Emily Prentiss…so much that you piss me off,” You said with a hushed tone, as if you’d be scolded for speaking normally.

“I love you more, my precious girl” Emily kissed each of your knuckles, kissing up your arm as she moved to slip herself in between your legs. She eventually got up to kiss your lips, it was quick, a big dose of comfort, for Emily at least.

“Don’t say things that aren’t true…” You insisted, placing your hands on her shoulders, the robe damp from her wet hair. “You left me, for almost a whole week and a half with minimal to no contact, you didn’t even check in with me so I knew you were alive and breathing.”

Emily looked down in shame, she wished to take it all back. “I had to hold on to the hope that you were okay, and I had to get updates from the team, who you never seem to interact with anyway.” You sniffled, toying with her hair. “I know about this whole ‘Gold Star’ thing. The information went public, most of it anyway. So, please tell me what’s bothering you. Please…” You admitted, holding her face so she would look at you.

“Baby, Gold Star…he’s a dangerous man, after what happened with Don Bertoli” she paused, wiping her tears away, refusing to let them fall. She’s been doing that often now, you noticed since she was always comfortable crying around you. “I couldn’t handle you living in fear, I couldn’t handle us living in fear. A part of it was because I was so focused on this case, I hardly thought about anything else other than the case, and you. I know that sounds weird but, every decision I made was made because I thought I could protect you.” She kissed your palm, looking at you with the same adoration and love she had been for years, “If Don, this big muscular man, can’t stop him from killing his wife. How can I stop him?” She sobbed, hugging you close.

“Ever since this case even started, I changed so much. I hate it. I let a serial killer out of his cage to work among profilers like he meant something. I kept a secret from JJ that I shouldn’t have, I ruled over my team like a tyrant instead of working with them. I’m…turning into my mother, just like I thought I would. But the only question I have is…why haven’t you left me yet?” Emily sniffled, tears stains on your sleep attire. You pulled away from the hug and held her head, wiping away the tears with your thumbs.

She looked so fragile, like could crack of you touched her. You rarely saw her break, Emily was always the strong one even in the relationship. She took pride in opening jars, carrying bags, doing any sort of lifting. She also compartmentalized like her life depended on it because it kind of did.

”You are not going to be like your mother, you are my wonderful, amazing, ambitious, smart, hilarious, stunning, annoying wife. You’re my everything in one and I love you for it. I haven’t left you because I made a very important promise to be yours forever. I intend to keep that promise, no matter what. Also, last time I checked, you have the most awesome team. So, if you fess up and take responsibility, they’ll accept you. Remember that you have to earn that trust back but, I know you care.” Emily let out a choked sob, she loved you more than anything. What did she do to deserve you?

“When you were gone that long, I didn’t mind that much. Until you stopped texting me back, I didn’t hear from you for days. I panicked, thinking you were mad and I spiraled, every possible out come in my head played out beside for this” You said, tucking a piece of damp hair behind her ear.

“What I mean is, I’m not going to tell you that this was okay, what I am gonna tell you is that I love you despite what happened.” You pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead, she was hurting, you could tell from her face and mannerisms. You felt like you had spent a whole lifetime memorizing everything about her. Sometimes, it scared you. You knew things about her that even her team didn’t know, for you knew they’d never know.

With that, Emily burst into tears, hugging you tightly, pulling you as close to her as she could.

You’ve missed her dearly, nothing in existence or nonexistent could keep you from loving her. You feel every emotion at once yet none could rival the pure love you felt for the woman. She’s gone through hell & earth to have you. Now, you were ready to do the same for her.

She’s saved you from a maniac serial killer once, the least you could do was be here when you needed her. You knew she’d return the favor, you preferred to have her be alright before returning anything. After all, you taught middle schoolers for a living, you had your moments but thankfully there was never anything much.

“I’m sorry, so, so sorry” She sobbed, her head buried in between the crevice between your neck and shoulder. Her body slotted so perfectly with yours that you were convinced she was made for you. “I forgive you, always”

You felt her arms tighten around you, she sniffled looking up into your eyes. Pressing a kiss to your lips, she played with your hair, twirling it between her fingers.

She didn’t know what was waiting for her in the future, she was unsure of a lot of things. One thing was certain, that you were hers, and she was yours. She’d find a way to cross realities if it meant being with you.

As the night went on, both felt as though they could stay their forever. Intertwined. Sewn together. Forevermore.

—————

UHM. THIS WAS IN MY DRAFTS FOR A WHILE.

This is a nice appetizer for all the fics I’m about to serve to you guysssss. I hope you enjoyed restricted duty Emily :)

[bookwormjust]

Unable to sleep when Rhys is away (established relationship with Rhysand)

The nights without him have been endless. The absence of Rhysand, your mate, has left an unbearable emptiness in the bed you once shared. You’ve tried to sleep, but every time you close your eyes, you feel the cold void where his warmth should be. The bond between you thrums weakly, a faint thread of comfort, but it’s not enough to quell the longing, the ache that only his presence can soothe.

Rhysand had been called away on some sort of meeting/mission with others High Lords that stretched into weeks, leaving you alone in the Night Court’s palace. You had known this would happen—missions for the Court were dangerous and necessary—but nothing had prepared you for how deeply his absence would affect you. 

The first few nights had been the worst, tossing and turning, your heart pounding every time you woke in the middle of the night, reaching for him only to find empty sheets. Eventually, you gave up on sleep altogether, diving headfirst into your work to distract yourself from the gnawing loneliness. You buried yourself in documents, meetings, and Court matters, doing everything in your power to keep your mind from spiraling.

But it wasn’t enough.

Days passed in a blur, and you became a ghost in your own palace, surviving on little more than coffee, fading daylight, and sheer willpower. You avoided mirrors, knowing the reflection staring back would be nothing but dark circles under dull eyes, your skin pale from lack of rest. Even Mor had tried to help, suggesting you take breaks or get some sleep, but you just couldn’t. The bed was too empty, the silence too loud.

---

One night, deep into the hours when the palace was quiet, you sit hunched over your desk in your study, papers scattered everywhere. Your eyes burn from staring at the documents too long, and your hand trembles as you try to focus on the lines of text in front of you. You don’t even know what you’re reading anymore, the words blurring together as exhaustion claws at you.

A small part of you knows you should stop, that you’re pushing yourself too far, but you can’t help it. If you stop, the silence returns. And with it, the weight of missing him crashes down again.

You don’t even realize you’ve drifted off, your head slumping forward against the desk, when a sudden, familiar warmth fills the room. A heartbeat later, the soft thud of boots on the floor makes your heart skip a beat.

“*Y/N darling, you’re going to work yourself to death if you keep this up.*”

Rhysand’s voice. Your heart stutters, disbelief flooding through your veins. You sit up, blinking through your exhaustion, and there he is, standing in the doorway, his dark wings casting shadows against the soft moonlight filtering through the window. His violet eyes are locked onto yours, concern etched into his features.

For a moment, you think you’re dreaming, that exhaustion has finally gotten the best of you and your mind is playing cruel tricks. But then he steps forward, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hand cupping your cheek with such tenderness that it brings tears to your eyes.

“Rhys?” you whisper, your voice hoarse from disuse, your fingers trembling as they reach for him, needing to know he’s real.

“I’m here, love,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch, your hands gripping the front of his jacket as if he might vanish again. “I couldn’t sleep without you,” you admit, your voice cracking under the weight of all the sleepless nights. “I couldn’t...”

Rhysand’s eyes darken with guilt as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, his wings folding around the both of you in a cocoon of warmth. “You should’ve sent for me sooner,” he says softly, his hand running through your hair. “I could feel your exhaustion, but I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

“I didn’t want to distract you,” you say, your words muffled against his chest. “You had enough to deal with.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing tenderly over the dark circles under your eyes. “You are *never* a distraction, my love. You are my priority. Always.”

The emotion in his voice, the depth of his concern, nearly undoes you. Tears prick at your eyes, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck, letting his scent, his presence, fill the empty spaces that had been haunting you for weeks.

“You’re exhausted,” Rhysand whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Let me take care of you.”

You nod, too tired to protest. He lifts you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you toward the bed, his wings brushing against your skin as he moves. The bed feels softer than you remember, and with Rhysand lowering you gently onto the mattress, the weight of your exhaustion finally catches up to you.

He slides in beside you, pulling you close against his chest, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Rest, darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with love. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here.”

With his arms around you, his presence so tangible and real, the tension in your body begins to unravel. The bond between you thrums warmly, a comforting melody that lulls you into a peaceful state. You close your eyes, your body finally relaxing for the first time in weeks. Sleep takes you quickly, but not before you hear him whisper against your hair, “I love you my mate.”

And with him beside you, everything feels right again.

[gojozballs]

Gojo x Reader "Vengeance in Obsession"

Warning: [This story contains themes of Yandere behavior, age gap including possessiveness, stalking, and dark romance.]

Materialist

A once wholesome bond between teacher and student spirals into a dark tale of revenge, obsession, and unyielding desire as Gojo Satoru’s love for his former sensei twists into something dangerously unrelenting.

Author's POV

2006

Y/N, a 23-year-old teacher at Jujutsu High, stood out not for immense cursed energy but for her razor sharp intellect and battlefield precision. Despite lacking overwhelming raw power, her strategic mind and honed reflexes made her one of the most respected instructors. Currently, she was tasked with handling the second years, a group that included none other than the strongest—Gojo Satoru.

After wrapping up a mission with the second years, Y/N decided to treat them to a new sweet shop, much to the giddy insistence of Gojo.

Gojo smirked. "You really are my type, Y/N-sensei. Beautiful, generous, the best teacher… and you definitely know what good stuff you’ve got underneath."

His voice dipped at the end, just enough for Geto to hear. Geto shot him a look that said, Seriously?

Shoko spoke up, "I heard that, you pervert."

Y/N chuckled, rolling her eyes with a practiced nonchalance. She was used to Gojo’s antics by now.

"Aren’t you just adorable, Satoru?" she said, her words dripping with sarcasm. Yet, the way his name rolled off her tongue sent shivers down Gojo’s spine. To him, it wasn’t just a casual remark; it was a melody he couldn’t stop replaying in his mind. Every glance, every word, every interaction Gojo absorbed it all. He had long since stopped wearing his signature glasses around her, wanting to catch every detail, every fleeting expression.

Shoko sighed, "Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless."

"It’s entertaining, though," Geto added.

These moments of lightheartedness and teasing were cherished but they were fleeting.

August 2006

The mission involving Amanai Riko had just been assigned to Gojo and Geto. Y/N’s instincts screamed against it.

"No! This mission shouldn’t be given to them. They’re not ready for this."

Her tone was firm, her body tense as she argued with Yaga.

Y/N continued, "Don’t you see? This will only end badly."

Yaga’s expression softened but remained resolute.

Yaga replied, "It wasn’t our decision, Y/N, nor is it in our hands."

Her words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken fear. Y/N only acted like this when she was absolutely certain of her instincts and she was rarely wrong...

The Fight With Toji

The battlefield was littered with debris, the air thick with the scent of blood. Y/N stood frozen, her heart pounding as she processed the devastation around her. Geto was slumped against a broken pillar, his eyes vacant, unseeing.

"Gojo’s dead?!" Y/N’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper as she turned to Geto. His usual calm was gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of loss.

Geto’s voice was strained, almost inaudible. "We couldn’t stop Toji... I couldn’t protect him."

Tears blurred Y/N’s vision as the words hit her like a physical blow. "How could this happen? He was... invincible."

Geto closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. "I don’t know. We were wrong. We underestimated him."

Y/N’s heart broke as she kneeled beside him, grief suffocating her. There were no words that could make sense of this. The world felt irreparably broken without Gojo.

Five Months Later

The aftermath of Amanai’s death left the second years fractured, slowly drifting apart. Y/N, unaware of the full weight of the strain, gathered them at the entrance of Jujutsu High to deliver news.

"Sensei, what's with the cryptic vibe? Is this some kind of secret mission, or are we finally getting that sweet vacation—"

Before Gojo could finish, Y/N suddenly threw her arms around Geto, pulling him into an unexpected hug.

"Wh-what’s going on here?"

Gojo's protest was immediate, his jaw clenching.

"Don’t tell me you’re confessing to Suguru. You know I have hard evidence that he won’t make you happy—unless you’re into the whole emotional damage thing. I’m much better at the whole 'being happy' part!"

Despite the ridiculousness of his words, there was a fire in his voice, a sharpness that couldn’t be ignored. Underneath, his frustration simmered, tangled with something else he couldn’t quite place.

Y/N, however, had other plans. She pulled Shoko into the hug too, transforming it into a full-blown group embrace.

"My dear students, you’ve all left your marks on my heart. I’ll never forget any of you."

She smiled warmly at them.

"Don’t press yourself too hard, Geto. Take it easy for once."

Geto smirked, eyes glinting with mischief as he glanced at Gojo.

"Take it easy? You're the one leaving, not me. But don’t worry, I’ll try. After all, it’s not every day I get to relax without a walking ego trip around to remind me how much ‘better’ he is at everything."

He shot Gojo a teasing look, as if daring him to respond.

"Now, Shoko, you really need to quit smoking as much. I’m not sure I can handle the cloud of existential despair you create every time you light up."

Shoko, caught off guard, wiped away a few stray tears, but her attempt at nonchalance was as weak as ever.

Finally, Y/N turned to Gojo. The teasing glint in her eyes was unmistakable.

"And you, Satoru, I think it’s time to retire the whole 'god among men' act. Try using that brain of yours to connect with people, not just annoy them. You’re more than just the strongest, you know."

Gojo froze, his usual cocky smile faltering for a fraction of a second. Her words hung in the air, much sharper than he’d expected. But before he could respond, Geto’s voice cut through the tension.

"I knew you were tired of Satoru sensei."

With a light tap to Gojo’s neck, Geto’s grin was playful, but his eyes betrayed a sadness that didn’t match the joke.

"So, you’re off to some tropical paradise, huh? Can I come?"

Gojo’s voice was almost painfully loud, an exaggerated sense of desperation barely masking his hurt.

Shoko, without missing a beat, quipped, "Dumbass, she’s leaving for good."

The words landed like a punch. Gojo’s usual bravado was nowhere to be found, his face momentarily betraying the pain he had been trying to suppress. He quickly masked it with a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Y/N, sensing the shift in the mood, tried to lighten it.

"Is it a terrible time to mention that Shoko is my favorite student? I mean, who else can match her level of 'I don’t care' with such finesse?"

She chuckled, though the humor was tinged with sadness. Her departure was a turning point, and it was clear that everything was about to change whether they were ready for it or not.

Revenge

Gojo couldn’t let it go. In his mind, Y/N’s departure was the catalyst for Geto’s fall into darkness. The blame festered and twisted until it became an excuse a reason to seek her out, to pull her back into his world where she belonged. How could she leave them like that? How could she abandon him after everything they shared?

In the quiet of his mind, he tortured himself with thoughts of her. He imagined getting to her before she could vanish completely taking her back, not just as a teacher or a friend, but as his. He thought of countless ways to make her pay for leaving, to make her regret every step that took her away from him.

He fantasized about her defeat, her submission, and the moment she’d realize that she could never escape him. How foolish she was to think she could get away. The chains of his obsession tightened with every passing thought. She was his. She belonged to him, and soon, she would remember that.

But as much as he dreamed of revenge, another feeling burned just as fiercely: longing. Beneath the rage, beneath the dark fantasies, there was an undeniable ache, a need for her that gnawed at him. He wanted her close needed her to be near, to fill the empty spaces that her absence had carved into him.

The darkness of his thoughts intertwined with that longing, creating a twisted version of love one that burned too brightly to be ignored, one that would consume everything in its path. He would make her understand, one way or another. She couldn’t leave him. Not really.

11 Years Later

Gojo had tracked her to Rome, Italy, the city of eternal beauty, but to him, it was nothing more than the prison where she had foolishly tried to hide. She had taken up a teaching position there, surrounded by new faces, unaware that he was always watching. Officially, his overseas missions were for the higher-ups, to assist with the most delicate of matters. But in truth, they were simply a convenient excuse to remain close to her closer than anyone else could ever be.

From the shadows, he stalked her every move with an obsessive hunger. Her lectures were no longer just words to him they were a performance, a way for her to unknowingly keep him entertained. He memorized the cadence of her voice, the way it fluctuated when she explained things to her students, the tiny smiles she gave when someone praised her. He watched her walks home, the way her hips swayed, the soft flick of her hair in the breeze every detail, every moment, became an indelible mark in his mind.

And those quiet evenings, the ones she spent reading by her window, as though the world outside didn’t matter he watched those too. He watched as she rested her chin in her hand, lost in the pages of books that would never hold the same weight as his thoughts of her. He watched as her fingers danced over the keys of her laptop, the way they moved so gracefully, so effortlessly. It was all part of her—his obsession, his possession.

In his eyes, she belonged to him. No one else would ever know her the way he did.

Soon, little tokens began appearing on her desk cake pops, delicate and sweet. Each one was accompanied by a poem, simple in its words, but laced with an underlying madness that only he understood

“Through the distance, I ache, a hollow without you near. But soon, you’ll see the truth, my dear.”

At first, Y/N smiled, thinking it was a sweet gesture from a student or someone she’d met recently. It wasn’t unusual for people to send gifts. She shrugged it off, enjoying the treat, unaware that it was only the beginning.

The next day, another cake pop arrived, this time with a new poem:

“Love is a curse, but so is hate. And I’ve chosen to embrace our fate.”

Y/N felt a strange twinge in her chest. It was still sweet, but something about the words lingered longer than they should have. Her smile faltered as she read it again. The tone felt a little too intimate, too familiar. She shook it off, thinking it was just her imagination, but there was an odd feeling creeping in.

Then came the third cake pop:

“You left me to shatter, my world torn apart. Yet here I stand, still holding your heart.”

This time, Y/N froze. The words didn’t sit right with her anymore. They were no longer just innocent poems they were possessive, unsettling. She looked around her office, almost expecting someone to be there, but there was no one. The gift, the messages, the way the poems felt like they were written just for her it all started to feel wrong.

The Bridge Encounter

Y/N hadn’t expected to see him there. Standing on the bridge, her heart skipped a beat when she saw him Gojo. Her former student, the man she once knew so well, now standing before her like a shadow from the past. A strange warmth flooded her chest, the kind that made her want to rush toward him, embrace him, and ask all the questions that had built up over time.

But when their eyes met, something shifted.

Gojo’s eyes were as they always were sharp, intense, and unyielding. He didn’t hide them from her, never had. He was always so open with her, always so direct, even when it made her heart race. This time, however, there was something darker lurking behind them. A look that made her want to run, yet drew her in like a moth to a flame.

For a moment, she felt like nothing had changed. But in the next instant, he pushed her.

The force sent her sprawling over the edge of the bridge, her body tumbling through the air, the world spinning as she fell toward the cold, dark water below. Her mind screamed, Why? The only thing she could focus on as she plummeted was the sight of Gojo’s eyes his gaze piercing through her as she fell, watching her descent with a chilling calmness.

She hit the water with a splash, the shock of the coldness stealing her breath. Panic surged in her chest. She struggled to swim upward, her lungs burning, but something sharp slashed through her side. She screamed, trying to understand what was happening. Her thoughts spiraled as she realized: Gojo had followed her.

Then, she felt a hand grab her legs, pulling her downward into the abyss. She looked down, terrified, and there they were his eyes, impossibly dark in the depths of the ocean. Gojo wasn’t just following her; he was making sure she didn’t escape.

Fear clawed at her, but there was a strange calmness too she knew what she had to do. She knew his weakness. His infinity. Without it, she could fight back. She would fight back. But as she reached for something in her coat, something unexpected happened.

She pulled out a cake pop.

Gojo’s expression faltered, confusion flickering in his eyes. He had expected a weapon, something to fight him off. But this? A cake pop? He frowned, watching as Y/N’s breath grew more shallow, her body growing weaker with every passing second. It was almost like a game now he could feel her playing him, calculating every move. But he couldn’t look away. Her calmness, the way she held that ridiculous cake pop everything about her made his chest tighten.

Y/N reached for his hand, her touch delicate, pulling him closer. Gojo complied, his instincts telling him to be cautious, but he couldn’t resist. This had to be part of her plan. He was sure of it. She wouldn’t be this calm if she wasn’t planning something.

But as she held his face, staring into his eyes, Gojo’s world unraveled.

He hadn’t expected this he hadn’t expected the wave of longing to hit him so hard. The way her fingers brushed against his skin, the warmth of her touch it made his heart ache, a hollow space inside him opening up like a wound.

All those days he spent stalking her in Rome watching her from the shadows, studying her every move he hadn’t just been planning revenge. He had been longing for her. Her voice, her presence, the way she used to challenge him. Everything about her had been a need, a hunger he couldn’t ignore.

In that moment, as their eyes locked, Gojo realized something that terrified him: He wasn’t just obsessed with her anymore. He needed her. She was the only one who could fill that void, that endless ache inside him. Without her, he was nothing. Without her, there was no purpose.

His breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, he kissed her. Desperate, hungry, needing to give her air but also to claim her in a way only he could. The kiss was frantic, full of an emotion he couldn’t understand, but one he couldn’t suppress any longer. He was drowning, and only she could save him.

As he pulled away, Gojo realized the truth: the revenge he had planned didn’t matter anymore. His obsession, his need for her, had consumed him entirely. He wouldn’t let her go. Not now. Not ever.

In that moment, the water around them seemed to still. Everything outside of them faded away, leaving only the two of them—Gojo, holding onto her with all the desperation of someone who had nothing left but this one, unyielding desire to make her his.

Gojo Estate

Y/N had no idea how she ended up in Japan, let alone in Gojo’s estate. More specifically, she had no idea how she ended up in his room. The soft linens of the bed, the cold, pristine walls, and Gojo's presence looming just a few steps away it was all so surreal.

“Satoru, why did you take me here?” Y/N’s voice was filled with confusion, but surprisingly, no anger. She should have been mad, but in some twisted way, she couldn't bring herself to feel it. She always had a soft spot for her students. That was her flaw, wasn’t it?

Gojo stared at her, drinking in the sight of her. It had been so long since they last stood face to face like this, but something had changed. The way she called him by his first name the way she always used to made his heart skip. He hadn’t heard it in ages, and it was like a floodgate had opened inside him. No more masks, no more pretending. She was here, right in front of him, and he wasn’t going to let her slip away again.

“Y/N…” He muttered her name softly, as if savoring it, before walking toward the bed where she sat. With each step, he was closer, closer to his goal. He knelt beside her, his eyes locked on hers, intense, unwavering.

“You’ll stay here now… for good,” he said, his voice low, with a possessive edge that made Y/N’s skin prickle.

Her confusion melted into annoyance. “I get to decide where I go, and certainly not here!” She snapped, clearly aggravated by the whirlwind of new information. But beneath the irritation, there was something else something she couldn’t quite identify. She felt her heart race, but for all the wrong reasons.

Gojo's POV

The way she rejected him, the fire in her eyes, only made him want her more. She’s still the same, he thought to himself. Always so defiant, always so herself.

When she called him by his first name, something twisted inside him, an insatiable hunger he had tried to suppress for so long. How had he ever let her slip through his fingers? She was his, and no one could take that away from him not even her.

The cake pops... he thought, a hint of surprise flickering in his mind. She figured it out, but not because of any clever tricks no, she was too sharp for that. She’d pieced it together on her own, but never bothered to confront him about it. I knew she was too smart not to notice, especially with those lingering stares I couldn’t hide back when we were younger. Even then, I’d always thought about her, obsessed with her. The way she never acknowledged it, though, the way she chose to ignore what was staring her in the face it made something burn inside me. She knew, but chose to pretend she didn’t. She never really cared to expose his obsession.

Y/N’s gaze flickered with realization, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. But she couldn’t possibly understand just how far I’d gone. All these years, I’d been waiting for this moment the moment when she’d finally come back to me.

She looked at me, confused, but there was that spark in her eyes—the same one I’d cherished since we first met. She still belonged to me, no matter what.

As her hand brushed past mine, I seized the opportunity, pulling her hand into mine, my gaze unreadable. She was confused, but she smiled. She always smiled at me because she knew I was the only one who could protect her, the only one who could keep her safe from the chaos of the world.

That was why I had her here. Why I needed her by my side. She belonged to me, and deep down, I knew she always had.

Her voice broke through my thoughts, soft and almost tentative. “Did you listen to my last words to you?” She brushed the hair from my face her touch. It sent a surge of warmth through me, but beneath it, something darker stirred.

Gojo smirked, leaning in with a teasing grin. “Oh, sure, I’ll retire the ‘god among men’ act. I’ll just start using my brain like you suggested. Who knew all it took was a little Y/N wisdom to fix me, right?” He shrugged, his tone light but his eyes locking onto hers. “But don’t worry. I’ll always be the strongest for you, whether you like it or not.”

The sound of her laughter filled the room, and for a brief moment, it was like everything fell back into place. That familiar, carefree sound—the one that used to drive him crazy, but now made something tighten in his chest.

There she was, he thought, watching her smile. That old Y/N was still there, despite everything. The one who could always make him feel both invincible and human at the same time. And no matter what, he wasn’t about to let her go.

“You laugh just the same,” I murmured, my grin softening as I leaned closer to her. “That’s one of the reasons I want you for myself. No one else makes me feel this way.”

I brushed my lips against her ear, my voice a whisper, “And I’m sure you know what I mean.”

She stiffened, startled by the sudden intimacy, but I saw the fire in her eyes. She was always such a fighter. But she didn’t understand how badly I wanted her. She had no idea how long I’d waited for this, for her.

Every moment she was away, every time she left me, it only fueled the madness inside me. The obsession. The need.

I stood up slowly, pacing the room as I considered my next move. “We should get everything in order,” I said, my voice light, casual, but my eyes never left hers. She looked at me, still confused.

“How sweet of her to ask,” I thought, a small chuckle escaping my lips. “You’ll see, Y/N,” I said, my voice growing darker, more certain. Keeping you with me won’t be easy. One mistake, one slip, and you’ll figure it all out. But that thought only made me crave you more. I would be careful. I couldn’t lose you again.

I took a step closer, my eyes locked onto hers. She stiffened, just slightly, but I knew she wasn’t really afraid. Not of me. At least not yet.

Without another word, I closed the distance between us and captured her lips in a kiss. The moment our lips met, I felt her body tense, her shock evident in the way she stiffened against me. But I deepened the kiss, claiming her, marking her as mine. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claim. My claim on her, the only chance I had to make sure she stayed with me.

The outside world didn’t matter anymore.

She would never leave me again.

[wwaheoh]

“Growing Old Without Them…”, HSR x gnReader, Angst/Comfort

Dan Heng x gnReader, Jing Yuan (+Yanqing, familial) x gnReader

c/w: mentions of death, losing a partner, mentions of canon characters being dead

a/n: had this in my brain for a bit but never wrote it down. intend to do Svarog (+Clara, familial) and Huo Huo (+Hanya and Xueyi, all familial) another time.

Across the cosmos, on all those worlds that seemed so inadequate from the outside, were billions of different forms of life. Organic, mechanical, animalistic, sentient, artificial, plants. A majority of these were non-sentient, acting majorly on instinct rather than linear thoughts that more complex lifeforms held.

You found companionship in this infinite expanse of cosmos, things you’d hold deep within until your dying breath. Yet, your last moments among the living would be ages before theirs. Differences in species would pull you apart before either of you wished, unable to stop the ride to the end, no matter if you even wished to stall for longer. Not without compromising what made you human.

Dan Heng ///

You had joined the Astral Express early in your life, followed the tracks along March 7th, Himeko, Welt, the Trailblazer, and Dan Heng. It had been fun- if hectic and at times life-threatening. Run-ins with law enforcement, hijinks with people you’d met, defeating Aeons that sought to bring destruction to existence.

During these travels, you’d gotten plenty close with your fellow Trailblazers, but none as close as Dan Heng. Closed off and reserved at first, you slowly chipped at his walls with March 7th, and later the Trailblazer, learning of his past on the Xianzhou Luofu and making sure he knew he was always accepted by the family he protected. Once those thoughts of being turned on by his past had finally been cleared, things spiraled into another and the two of you ended up with each other. Spending time in the Data Banks, getting him out of said Data Banks to go on dates and spend time going outside. Basking in each other's presence and spending each minute with each other.

It was all so long ago…

Welt was the first of the crew to go. With the power from Nanook’s fall, the Astral Express had been able to open a rift into his World, dropping him off for him to finally return to his family. It was heartfelt, tears shed, and while they only got to briefly meet those he called family- while also seeing some familiar faces on unfamiliar people, the Astral Express had to return.

March 7th decided to settle down on a planet as she grew older, wanting stability after years of traveling. Of course she still sometimes went off on journeys with and without the Astral Express, meeting up every once in a while to catch up.

Himeko was the first to pass. Having traveled on the Astral Express since she was a teenager, she’d lived the Trailblazing life to the fullest. She passed her experience maintaining the Express to the Trailblazer, with their odd knack for upkeeping and fixing mechanical issues. It was a sad day for everyone, with many attendees from various factions all paying respects to the late Navigator.

The Trailblazer, being born through artificial means and being powered by the Stellaron buried beneath them, would live longer than the average human.

You however, were just an average human. Aging so much faster than your longer lived boyfriend. That day became apparent when you found gray hair among the many strands of hair.

A sense of dread loomed in Dan Heng’s heart, dampening each day he had. It made him ache, desperate to spend as much time as he could. He picked up a hobby similar to March’s, vlogging. Each day he’d record, you spending time with him, you making food, your outings together, anything, as much as he could. It was a bit iffy at times with how much he tried, having to pry the camera off his hands so he could continue living in the moment instead of the future.

It took an intervention between March, the Trailblazer, Jing Yuan, and you to get him to ease up a little.

One day, you realized that you felt as though your time was near. Himeko had the same thing, something along the lines of one of the Trailblaze’s blessings. Pom-Pom fretted over you more than usual, when you stumbled to get off the seat after chatting with him. They’d recommended you to take the day off tomorrow and spend time with Dan Heng.

They say animals can detect death coming for humans before humans even know what is going on.

-

Sitting on the grass, the two of you watched as the stars above twinkled, soft clouds overhead with a light breeze pushing them forward.

You loved Dan Heng, everything about him. And he, the same. Staying with you even as age came to you. As your skin sagged and hair grayed. Sometimes he’d even get mistaken as a grandson- funny but it did put a small damper on the mood when it was during one of your dates.

He laid beside you as you relaxed, reminiscing on the past and your experiences. All the fun, all the bad, the awkward, and the eccentric.

Slowly, you fell into a deep slumber…

Dan Heng weeped, for decades he’d stay up thinking about you, going through old video logs and recordings. Stelle and Jing Yuan helped him when he was at his lowest, when all he could do was cry and beg for you to return.

After decades of grief, he’d finally begin to move on. Keeping memories of you, through his clothing, oftentimes wearing accessories you’d bought for him, even if they were goofy and broke his stoic image. He’d tell stories to newcomers of the Astral Express, telling them all about his adventures and those he shared them with. One day, the two of you would be reunited. When it was his time to go, his next reincarnation would have their chance to experience life and all the wonders that came with it, like he did.

Jing Yuan + Yanqing (Parental) ///

Natives of the Xianzhou Luofu weren’t strangers to the passing of short-lived beings. Being a fleet with connections to many other planets and factions, natives would see the passings of those they’d befriended many a time. It was never easier, the pain of losing someone was difficult, but it could never prepare them for someone close dying so quickly.

You weren’t a Native to the Xianzhou, being born offworld before somehow making your way to the ships. It was a miracle you had gotten so close to the General, with some even ringing alarm bells at how someone so detached from the Xianzhou got so close to the very top of political power. It was, in truth, all lucky coincidence and fateful timing.

Over the time of knowing Jing Yuan, you’d gotten close, going from a stranger, to a confidant, to lovers. Time at your shared home, reading and resting. Sometimes sparring for fun- though he’d be heavily holding back. You still lost without landing a single hit. His laughs during were as anger-inducing as they were pleasing to listen to.

Sure it was a bit annoying having to deal with the political business that came with being the General’s wife. Dealing with news reporters, IPC trying to get to him through you, and overall mistrust due to you being a non-native. But it came with the territory, and as you laid with him, braiding his fluffy hair as he hummed a soft tune, you knew you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

During your time, you’d also come to know Jing Yuan’s retainer, and adopted son, Yanqing. A young man seemingly born to take the role of Lieutenant, training with passion and upholding his duties to the Luofu with all he had. He was one of the people who was suspicious of you at first, being as close to the General as he was, it wasn’t due to your status as a non-Native, but protectiveness of his father.

Slowly you built up a rapport with him, speaking to him of his sword collection, his duties, spending time with him not as a soldier but as Yanqing, the kid who aspired to live up to his father’s legacy, the kid who worked so hard, that he sometimes forgot that he was a kid. Someone that wasn’t expected to be the next General right out the womb.

Over the years, you became integral to their little family. Upkeeping the house, tending to the garden, having food ready for them- especially learning that Yanqing would skip meals sometimes just to continue practice. The three of you would go on outings around town, not too often, he was still the General after all, but enough that it didn’t feel like you were being held hostage by the population outside. When you both turned in for the night, Jing Yuan was basically a giant warm pillow for you to snuggle soft and warm, with strong arms that made you feel protected.

One day, you had been getting ready for the day with him, going through your normal morning routine. While fixing your hair, you noticed something, a small silver strand. It made you stop for a second, alerting Jing Yuan that something was up. He looked over, freezing as he saw it as well.

After that day, he came incredibly protective of you, not to say he wasn’t beforehand already- but now he treated you as though you could break by anything other than gentle handling. Hell, he even admonished Yanqing when a sparring session had come a bit too close to where you sat watching. It was a bit mortifying for the both of you, surrounded by your men, watching their higher-up be reprimanded by their father.

Over time you decided to take matters into your hands and sit down with Jing Yuan to discuss this, letting him know that you weren’t some piece of glass. It took a lot of convincing but he finally let up, if still keeping an eye out for you.

One day, you had a realization as your legs seemingly gave out and you fell to the ground. That which came for every mortal, was coming for you. With a heavy heart, you contacted Fu Xuan, who you knew would already know what was happening. She cleared Yanqing and Jing Yuan’s schedule for the following days.

-

The three of you sat in a restaurant, the one where Jing Yuan loved to take you whenever the two of you could go on dates. The three of you spoke of the future, of the time spent with each other. The fun, the joyous, the sad, the embarrassing. The three of you left, heading home.

You gave Yanqing a warm hug, telling him that you loved him, and that he would do great things, but to remember to live, instead of working all the time. He cried in your arms.

Jing Yuan was already preparing the bed, a soft smile as you made your way in and settled down. The two of you reminisced, settling into the night with his strong arms holding you. As always you felt protected, secure, and happy.

The three of you turned in for the night. The three of you fell into a deep slumber. Two of them woke up as the artificial star of theirs rose.

-

Was this how Dan Feng felt for Yingxing? How the High Elder of the Vidyahadra felt as the one they loved died in their arms- pried away from eachother by the coldness of genetics.

Jing Yuan and Yanqing grieved for a long time, spending time with their loved ones, and remembering your time with them. They’d always remember to keep the garden going, cook those meals you’d cook for them. Yanqing remembered what you wanted for him and strived to improve himself while not overworking himself.

They’d remember, always. If you could not live for as long as they could, then they’d have to live long and happy lives, so the you in their hearts could live as well.

[the-winter-spider]

The Last Countdown | Drabble

Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Angst, death

A/N: Posted the happy new years fic now heres the sad one

----

The call came in late that afternoon, the kind of mission no one wanted on New Year’s Eve but couldn’t afford to ignore. A rogue Hydra cell had surfaced, armed with a weapon too dangerous to leave unchecked. The four of you scrambled into gear—there was no time to waste.

“Quick in, quick out,” Steve had assured everyone during the briefing. “Minimal risk.”

Bucky glanced at you as the Quinjet roared to life. You’d squeezed his hand, giving him a confident smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “We’ll be back in time to watch the ball drop.”

He’d nodded, even though the unease twisting in his gut hadn’t let up since the mission briefing. Something felt off, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice it. Instead, he leaned closer, brushing his lips against your temple. “Be careful, doll.”

The mission started smoothly enough. The Hydra base was tucked away in a dense forest, its defenses formidable but not insurmountable for the team. Steve led the charge, while you and Bucky partnered up to dismantle a line of armed guards patrolling the perimeter.

“Watch my six,” you called over your shoulder as you sprinted toward a control panel near the base’s entrance.

“Always,” Bucky replied, firing off a clean shot that dropped an approaching guard before they could get close to you.

The four of you moved like a well-oiled machine, systematically clearing the base room by room. But as you entered the heart of the facility—a vast, dimly lit chamber housing the weapon you were there to neutralize—the operation spiraled out of control.

“Trap!” Natasha’s voice crackled over the comms as the doors slammed shut behind you and Bucky. The chamber lit up with blinding red lights, and the sound of machinery powering up filled the air.

“Y/N, get down!” Bucky shouted, grabbing your arm and pulling you behind a stack of crates just as the first explosion rocked the room.

The Hydra weapon—some kind of energy-based bomb—was unstable, and its protective casing had been compromised in the crossfire. Every shot fired, every explosion, seemed to hasten its countdown.

“We need to disable it now!” you yelled, scanning the room for any sign of the device’s control panel.

“On it!” Bucky moved to cover you as you dashed toward a console near the weapon.

But then you saw it—a Hydra operative in the shadows, raising a grenade launcher aimed directly at Bucky.

“Bucky, move!”

You didn’t think. You just acted. Sprinting toward him, you pushed him out of the way as the grenade hit its mark, detonating with deafening force.

The blast threw you both across the room. Pain lanced through your side as you hit the ground hard, gasping for air. You looked down to see blood pooling beneath you, a jagged piece of shrapnel embedded deep in your abdomen.

“Y/N!” Bucky scrambled to your side, his metal arm trembling as he pressed his hand against the wound. “No, no, no. You’re gonna be okay. Just hang on, alright?!”

Your vision blurred as the weapon’s countdown ticked closer to zero. “Bucky… you have to… disable it…”

“Forget the weapon!” he shouted, his voice breaking. “I’m not leaving you!”

Steve’s voice came through the comms, frantic. “Buck, we need that device deactivated now, or it’s taking out the whole forest—and us with it!”

You grabbed Bucky’s hand, your grip weak but insistent. “Go, Bucky. Please… save them, Ill wait okay? Il wait.”

“No!” He shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “I’m not leaving you, baby. Don’t ask me to do that, please, I cant, I cant..."

But your strength was fading fast, and you knew there was no other way. “You’re stronger than this, Buck… you can, please, for me?"

For a moment, he hesitated, torn between saving you and stopping the weapon. Then Steve’s voice came through again, yelling about the countdown—seconds left now. "For you.." He breathed out

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the chaos.

Bucky pressed a kiss to your forehead, his tears mingling with the blood staining your skin. “I love you too, doll. Always.”

And then he was gone, running toward the device. You watched him through dimming eyes, your chest aching not from the pain of the wound but from the knowledge that this would most likely be the last time you’d see him and that hurt more than any wound.

You reached up tearing your comms out of your ear, you couldn't handle 2 more goodbyes, all you had in you was one. You could feel it, death, looming in the corners of your vision, pulling you in but you fought it with everything you had left because you wanted those blue eyes to be the last thing you saw, not some dingy hydra roof. You sighed when you heard the machine powering down. You could feel him, "I waited” You mumbled.

The clock on the wall read 11:52 PM. Only 8 minutes until the New Year. But time was the furthest thing from Bucky's mind as he cradled you in his arms amidst the rubble.

“Stay with me, baby, please,” he pleaded, voice cracking under the weight of his desperation. His gloved hand pressed against the wound in your abdomen, but it was too late. You knew it.

Your trembling hand reached up to touch his cheek, brushing away the tears streaking his face. “I’m sorry… I thought we had more time…”

“No, don’t—don’t talk like that,” he choked, shaking his head as if sheer force of will could keep you alive. “We’re gonna go home. I’ll take care of you, I promise I’ll take care of you, You’re gonna be okay sweetheart, you gotta be.”

“Your eyes….” A weak smile tugged at your lips, the kind that had once lit up his entire world but now only broke his heart. “I love you, Bucky. Always.”

The words were barely a whisper, and then you were gone.

Bucky froze, his entire body going cold. The sounds of the battle around him faded to nothing, drowned out by the unbearable silence of your absence.

--

Hours later, back at the compound, Steve found him in your shared room, still clutching the small velvet box he had intended to give you the next morning. The ring inside, simple and elegant, was supposed to be a promise of the future you’d never have.

“I was going to ask her tomorrow,” Bucky murmured, his voice hollow. “New Year’s Day. A fresh start. It was supposed to be my year Stevie, finally.”

Steve placed a hand on his shoulder "Buck.." He started, but Bucky shrugged it off, stepping away. “Why, Steve?” he asked, turning to face his oldest friend with tears streaming down his face. “What did I do to deserve this? Huh? What kind of life is this—watching everyone I love get ripped away from me? I—” He broke off, his hands curling into fists. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t.”

Steve tried to respond, but Bucky didn’t wait to hear it. He walked out into the freezing night, leaving behind the remnants of his broken heart and the dream of a life he’d never have.

The New Year arrived, but for him, it felt like the end of everything.