#simply because it had happened so many times before

[theesterianempire]

Can't Sleep - Spencer Reid x Y/N

When no one's heard from Y/N in over a week the team begin to get worried so Spencer pays you a visit to find out what's going on.

Trigger Warnings: Depression, Taking Anti-Depressants

Word Count: 2124

Tick… tick… tick…

You sigh, rolling onto your back to stare at the ceiling.

Tick… tick… tick…

You grab your phone from the night stand and stare at the blank screen wondering when the battery died.

Tick… tick… tick…

You drop the phone next to you and sigh, yet again.

Tick… tick… tick…

You stare at the ceiling.

It was a repetitive pattern you’d fallen into most nights.  Staring at the ceiling, staring at your dead phone, sighing heavily as sleep eluded you.  The ticking of the clock becoming the sound track to your sleepless nights.

You felt your stomach gurgle… when was the last time you’d eaten? Had it been today… yesterday… half an hour a go..? Time meant nothing to you now.

You should go and eat something, or at least drink some water because who knows when you last did that either.

But you couldn’t.  You couldn’t get up, you couldn’t leave, hell, you couldn’t even bring yourself to move that god forsaken ticking time bomb of a clock.  So instead, you just lay there, staring hopelessly at the ceiling.

You were so lost in your sleep deprived mind that you missed the knocking on the door, the sound of keys in the lock, the sound of footsteps getting ever closer to your room.

“Y/N?” A voice called, a voice you knew all to well, “Y/N..?”

You willed yourself to move, to acknowledge his presence but the energy was not there and simply begging your body to move was not enough.

The shadowy figure made its way into your eye line, looking down at you, right in front of you, yet you couldn’t make out any features.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” The figure loomed closer, “Y/N, I need you to respond, just a blink… Y/N?”

You could hear the worry mixed with a sense of calm composure due to needing to address the issue at hand.

You felt your eyelids flutter closed and open again.  It was an automatic response, really, but still the movement seemed to drain you further.

“Okay, Y/N, I’m going to sit you up.” The voice explained.

The next thing you knew you were being hauled into an up right position, propped up against a pillow you didn’t even know had been moved.

“I… I’m sorry…” You rasped through dry lips as the shadowy figure filled out to reveal Spencer sitting before you.

Spencer sighed, running a hand down his face. “…Y/N…”

Spencer stood up, disappearing from your sight for a moment, you wanted to watch him walk away but you couldn’t move, even if you wanted to… which you really did.  It didn’t matter though as not a minute later Spencer reappeared in your line of sight, a bottle of water in hand.

“You need to drink something,” He spoke softly as he unscrewed the cap and slowly brought it to your lips.

As the liquid passed your lips it felt so cold and so soothing on your tongue.  

Spencer made sure not to tip the bottle too much, just creating a steady enough stream of water to satisfy you but not too much that you’d choke.  You swallowed just a few mouthfuls when Spencer slowly moved the bottle away from you, replacing the cap and putting it on the night stand next to you.

“Y/N…” His eyes looked at you with concern and pity, “What happened to you?”

You wanted to talk, to explain the state he’d just found you in but you couldn’t.  The words just wouldn’t form.

“You’ took a leave of absence from work.  No ones heard from you in over a week. We’re all worried about you,” Spencer paused, taking a shallow breath, “I’m worried about you.”

“I…” You started as tears began to pool in your eyes.

“Hey… hey…” Spencer soothed, quickly moving closer to you.

He raised his hand to rest it on your cheek, wiping away the tears that began to fall with his thumb.  It was fruitless, there were too many, yet he tried anyway.  Nevertheless, it was comforting, so comforting that you found yourself leaning slightly into his hand.

“I can’t… I can’t do this anymore…” You spoke, voice cracking as tears fell faster.

Spencer removed his hand from your face, shifting on your bed so that he was next to you, pulling you into his arms.

“It’s okay…” He soothed quietly.  Holding you firmly but not too tight as if he was afraid you might break under the pressure.

The pressure helped and soon enough your tears dried up, leaving you more exhausted than you were previously, if that was even possible.

“Oh, Y/N,” Spencer sighed.

“It was the last case,” You whispered, “All I can see if her, if I close my eyes… she’s there, every time, it’s like she’s following me.” “It wasn’t your fault.” Spencer said confidently, adjusting so he could look at you as he spoke. “It was her choice to go with her husband, to warn him he was caught.”

“But I was the one that got their first, that spoke to her.” You spoke carefully, “If I had done something differently, said something different then maybe she wouldn’t have…”. You trailed off.

“Y/N, her husband was a master manipulator, you couldn’t have undone what he did to her.  It didn’t matter what you said.  What does matter is all of the lives you saved, the people you got out of the way as you ran in there.” Spencer took a breath, “When was the last time you ate?”

You paused at the unexpected question.

“I… I’m not sure.” You say slowly, “I…”

“It’s okay.” Spencer soothed, “I went to the shop on my way over.”

Spencer slowly got up, making sure you were properly seated after you’d been leaning on him.  Then he left the room returning what felt like minutes later with a bowl.

He carefully sat down next to you placing the bowl, full of soup, in front of you. Before you could move for the spoon Spencer picked it up, bringing the spoon up to your lips.  You hesitated for a moment, feeling silly about how he was spoon feeding you.  Even so you opened your mouth, letting him place the spoon on your tongue.

You slowly swallowed the warm liquid as he pulled the spoon away, swiftly bringing another spoon full up to your lips.  He repeated this action a few more times before you gently turned your head away.

“No… I… thank you,” You muttered quietly and embarrassed.

“Y/N, you need to eat.  Please, just a little more?” He asked gently,

“No… I uh…” You mutter, “I don’t feel well.”

As if all of your energy returned in one swift second you shot up, running into the bathroom and collapsing by the toilet, retching painfully.

Spencer didn’t miss a beat and was right next to you sweeping your matted hair away from your face, gathering it all in one hand and placing his other hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles.

“It’s okay…” He muttered, “You’re okay…”

The retching continued for a few more heaves before you collapsed back into Spencer, all of your energy leaving you once again.  He moved his arms and wrapped them around you, holding you softly.

Your chest rose and fell heavily as you caught your breath.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” You whispered between breaths.

“It’s okay.” Spencer replied gently.

As Spencer sat there holding you, letting you catch your breath, he glanced around your bathroom.  It was quite small and simple but there were pieces of you all over it through your forest green towels, jasmine scented shower gel, a little framed picture of flowers hanging on the wall next to the mirror.  There was something else that caught his eye, just next to your toothbrush on the sink.

“Okay, we should get you back into bed.” He said softly, “Do you think you can stand?”

You nodded slowly.

Spencer removed his arms from around you and stood up, before reaching down and helping you up.  As you reached an upright position a wave of dizziness washed over you.  You would have hit the floor, hard, had Spencer not been there to catch you.  Without missing a beat he swept you up into his arms and carried you into the bedroom, gently placing you on the bed.

He pulled the covers back over you from where you’d thrown them off to run into the bathroom.

“Are you okay?” He asked after a moment of silence.

“Yeah…” You spoke quietly, uncertainty in your voice.

You and Spencer fell silent again before he sucked in a deep breath.

“Y/N, I uh…” He began, “I saw the bottle by your sink. You uh… I didn’t know you took anti-depressants.”

You raise your eyes to meet his.  His eyes were gentle but full of concern.

“I haven’t been.” You admitted quietly, “I got the prescription refilled when we got back to Virgina but I… I’ve not been taking them.”

“How long, Y/N?” He asked,

You look away from him, not willing to look him in the eye, you couldn’t bare his worried gaze on you when you did this to yourself.

“About a month…” You whispered, “I… one day I went to take them and I realised it was the last one.  The we got called away and I couldn’t refill the prescription.  Then we got back and I forgot all about it until…” You meet his gaze again, “Until we got back from LA and I needed them, I knew I did.  But then I was home, all alone and I just… I couldn’t bring myself to take them, to do anything really.”

Spencer gently laid a hand on top of yours.

“Y/N, you know you can’t just come off them like that.  Especially when you’re not ready to.” He explained gently,

“I know… I know… I just…” You felt tears well up in your eyes again,

“Hey, it’s okay.  I’m not mad at you.” He quickly spoke, “But you need them, okay?”

You nod.

“They’ll make you feel better.” 

Spencer then pulled out the orange tube and opened it, tipping out two white pills.  You didn’t even see him take them from the bathroom but there they were, in his hand.

“Will you take these for me?” He asked, you knew it wasn’t really something you could say no to so you held out your hand, taking them from him.

You placed them both in your mouth as he grabbed the water bottle he’d placed on your night stand earlier.  He swiftly opened it before bringing it up to your lips, letting you get a mouthful before he pulled it away.

You swallowed, allowing the pills to pass down your throat.

“Thank you,” Spencer said with a small smile.

“Why are you thanking me?” You asked, confusion lacing your voice.

Spencer just gave you another small smile, placing the bottle back on the side.

“When was the last time you got proper sleep?” He asked, ignoring your question.

“I’m not sure…” 

Spencer stood up slowly and walked over to your window, pulling the curtains shut before turning back to you.

“Why don’t you lie down?” He suggested.

As you began to move lower on the bed he moved the pillow that was propping you up so you could lie down properly.  

After you’d settled on your side, Spencer watched you for a moment before speaking up again, “I’ll just be in the living room if you need anything…”

He began to walk to the door but you spoke up.

“Spencer?” You called quietly,

“Yeah?” He turned back to you.

“Will you lie with me?” You asked.

Without another word he walked around to the side of your bed, slipping off his blazer as he did.  He gently laid it over the chair in the corner of your room before removing his tie and placing it with the blazer.  Next he rolled up his shirt sleeves before softly laying down behind you.  He gently pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you.

“Thank you…” You whispered.

“Any time.” Spencer said gently through a small smile, “Now try and get some sleep.”

For the first time in who knows how long you felt somewhat comfortable in your bed.  The incessant ticking of the clock wasn’t bothering you, instead the sound of it was covered by the soft thumping of Spencer’s heart and the gentle sound of his breath behind you.

You let out a long sigh of content before letting your eyes flutter closed as his warmth enveloped you, allowing you to settle into a deep slumber.

[sweetshuga]

𝑩𝒓𝒂𝒕 𝑻𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✰ 𝑴.𝑺 [+𝟏𝟖]

ⓘ 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⋆ cursing ⋆ pet names ⋆ colleague!matt ⋆ mean!matt ⋆ punishment ⋆ degradation kink ⋆ bathroom sex ⋆ keeping quiet ⋆ dirty talk + more.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕... Matt is your good looking colleague—your workplace enemy. After interrupting his important presentation countless times, he decided to finally put you in your place.

You watched as your colleague rushed in late, quickly making his way towards his desk right next to yours before plopping down on his seat, letting out a slow breath. His eyes nervously scanned the crowded office to see if your boss was in sight before letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

"So damn close." He mumbled under his breath before opening his briefcase, taking out the necessary documents and papers. Your gaze raked over his suit-clad body as he worked, careful not to be too blatant but unable to help yourself.

Matt just looked too good in his suit.

It would be a lie if you said you didn’t feel that flutter in your abdomen whenever he was near, because quite frankly, your panties were always somewhat dampened after an interaction with him. Hell, just simply seeing him in his suit made you feel all kinds of ways.

You and him weren’t buddy-buddy though, which made it more complicated to feel this way. Sure, you may have had hate-sex once or twice by accident, but it never went beyond that. You both chalked it up to "in the heat of the moment" or "due to workplace stress" which you knew weren’t good enough excuses.

He’s your enemy for crying out loud.

As childish as it may sound, you two couldn’t stand each other. From little pranks to bigger sabotages—you did everything to see his jaw clenched, vice versa. Today was no different, you had a presentation to do, and unfortunately for you, so did Matt.

۶ৎ

You had already interrupted his presentation twice since he started and you’ve chalked it up to accidents, but you both knew that it was completely on purpose.

Your smirk widened the more frustrated he became, but he couldn’t do anything about it since your boss sat in front, looking and listening intently.

Matt suddenly excused himself to quickly 'bring' a document he forgot, mouthing a silent "Out. Now." to you before he walked out and you decided to comply with his demand just this once, finding his frustration absolutely amusing.

Excusing yourself with a quick ramble about needing the bathroom, you walked out of the meeting room and almost immediately a hand reached out and pulled you to the side.

You looked up and saw Matt fuming, his jaw clenched tightly and his chest heaving with barely controlled anger.

"Sweetheart," Matt tutted, his tongue clicking in annoyance before he continued in a lower voice, "Keep fucking distracting me like that and see what happens." He warned, his tone harsh despite his dilated pupils and increasingly ragged breaths—from anger or something else, you couldn’t quite tell.

You both entered the meeting room again, Matt a little while after you to not make it seem so suspicious. Ignoring your presence completely, he started to present again, his hands moving in expressive gestures to emphasize his words.

Despite his warning, you managed to interrupt his presentation mid-sentence, yet again, by coughing—which caused him to stop everything and stare at you for a few, too many, seconds before continuing his presentation. His expression gave nothing away, but his body language screamed enraged.

Your chest and the side of your head pressed against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall as Matt rutted into you from behind, his fingers digging into your hips and no doubt leaving bruises behind.

Your eyes rolled back with each deep slam of his cock into your squelching wet cunt, and your free hand scrambled to cover your mouth in an awful attempt to muffle the loud noises spilling out of your mouth.

"Yeah, keep fucking quiet, you don’t want any of our coworkers to hear what a fucking whore you are, do you?" Matt taunted, his hips slapping against your ass with enough strength to make your legs tremble and lose balance, your heels clicking softly on the floor as you tried to keep yourself upright.

"M-Matt, too deep-" "Too deep?" Matt mocked your cry of pleasure, deliberately slamming into you roughly before grinding his hips against your ass, stirring himself deep inside.

The pressure against your cervix left you seeing stars.

"Aw, is this too deep? Can’t take it anymore?" He cooed in a mocking manner, pulling out almost fully before slamming back into your cervix, making sparks dance behind your eyes as they rolled back into your skull.

"This is what you get for being a fucking brat — a fucking brat that tries to get under my skin any chance she gets." He gritted his teeth, his own pleasure doubling at the way your insides clenched around him as if you enjoyed his harsh words.

"Oh? Aren’t you getting tighter? You enjoy being degraded huh? What a fucking slut." He chuckled breathlessly, relishing in your increasingly loud moans as your orgasm approached—your hand unable to muffle your noises of pleasure.

His fingers snaked around and started to rub your clit furiously, his other hand leaving your hip and wrapping around your waist instead to keep you from squirming away from his brutal pounding and skillful fingers.

"M-Matt, I’m gonna cum- I’m gonna cum!" He redoubled his efforts, grunting and groaning as he jackhammered into your pussy, barely holding back his own release. His belt clanked and jingled around his ankles where his pants and boxer briefs rested.

"Y-yes, right–right there! I’m gonna—" Your words dissolved into a drawn out moan, body tensing and shuddering as you finally reached your peak.

The feeling of your tightness fluttering around his already swollen cock sent him over the edge with a deep moan. His hips jerked against your ass as he filled up the condom. He finally allowed himself to slump forward, his chest covering your back as he rested his forehead against your shoulder blade, trying to catch his breath.

After a few minutes, Matt pulled out with a satisfied sigh, discarding the used condom and tucking himself back in his underwear before zipping up his slacks, fixing his clothes as a smirk played on his lips.

After he was done, he gave your ass a sharp smack, making you jolt and stand upright, shaking your head to clear the pleasure-drunk daze out of yourself.

"Don’t make it so obvious that you’ve been railed hard and fix yourself before you go out." He grinned, enjoying your frustrated glare before he sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving you to quickly fix your clothes and make up.

Matt hummed a quiet tune under his breath as he walked back into the office and plopped down on his seat, a ghost of a smirk still on his lips as he started to type away on his laptop.

He couldn’t wait to put you in your place, again.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ���𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆.ᐟ | 𝒘𝒄 – 𝟏.𝟏 𝒌 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

[jessjad]

Please? I have a Dean Winchester x reader request. The idea I had was the reader coming back from trying to have a normal life after 2 years but being saved by Dean from her abusive ex-boyfriend, who was possessed by a demon. She calls him from a motel after escaping from the attack and almost getting killed.

Feel free to message me if you want to ask questions. I can't wait to read it.

A/N: So, this request from @ravenrose18 immediately sparked some ideas. And I was changing things over and over again. This could've gone so many ways and I think I got the best compromise out of it all. I hope, you like it, lovely! Thanks so much for sharing your request with me! 💜

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2948

Warnings: 18+ only!!! (Only for the violence), tension, abuse, cuts, wounds, angst, feelings.

My Masterlist

Voice from the past

Dean was nervous. Really nervous. He was driving toward Arkansas City. As Baby purred gently across the streets, AC/DC played softly on the radio. The almost four-hour journey from Lebanon seemed to never end, even though there was so much distance behind him. He was only about thirty minutes away to be exact, but it still felt like a long way away. But even if he had had to drive another four hours, he would have done it.

He kept thinking back to last week. The day he got a message that he hadn't really expected. It came from Y/N. Sam would now say 'the Y/N' and somehow he was right. Even though Dean wouldn't admit it, of course.

But Y/N had been a part of his life for a long time. She grew up with Bobby after he was the only one who saved her from the clutches of a werewolf. Unfortunately, her family wasn't so lucky. And since Dean and Sam were often at Bobby's and somehow grew up there themselves, they had become friends over the years.

Y/N had also grown up as a hunter and Dean had taught her to shoot at some point. She got better and better as time went on, becoming more fearless and brave. And Dean had to admit then and there that he had fallen in love. Feelings that still persist to this day.

That's exactly why he didn't like thinking back to his last conversation with her. It was almost two years ago when Y/N explained to him that she wanted to give up the hunter life. Dean hadn't really known how to react. Over the years they had solved cases together and traveled together, even if their paths had always diverged. But the fact that she wanted to quit because of a guy surprised the older Winchester.

Todd. His name was Todd. Urgh...was there a name that sounded even more wimpy? He wouldn't be surprised if he drank warm milk. Dean cleared his throat briefly at that thought. Okay, maybe the jealousy came out of him for a moment. And maybe also the disappointment that he simply couldn't find the heart to tell her that he wanted to keep her by his side. That she was important to him.

But well, maybe now he had a new opportunity to do so. Because according to her own statement, Todd was now a thing of the past and she wanted to go back to the hunter life. A second chance. And Dean was determined to use it too.

A moment later his cell phone rang and when he saw Y/N calling him, his heart beat a little faster. This was the first time Y/N actually called since she contacted him. He answered the call with a small grin.

"Hey, sweatheart. I'm not even twenty minutes away. I could stop and bring us some greasy burgers. What do you think?"

But he didn't get an immediate answer.

"Hello? Y/N?" he asked again and then he heard it.

Heavy breathing and a slight wince. He furrowed his brows and worry spread through him. But again it took a few seconds before he got an answer.

"Dean?" came faintly and with a pained undertone from the other side.

This was definitely not what he expected and he automatically stepped on the gas a little more.

"What happened?"

It stinked. This motel smelled. The worn out carpet, the musty bed linen, the tattered curtains. Even the wallpaper seemed to give off a foul smell. And yet Y/N was happy that she had somehow made it here. The hotel was abandoned, no longer in use, and she was lucky that the door to this room at the back of the building wasn't locked. Even if it had taken a lot of effort for her to even get in.

Now Y/N was crouched behind the bed in the corner and the adrenaline that had given her the strength and stamina to make it this far was slowly wearing off. And the more she calmed down, the more her body began to ache. The cuts on her arms and legs were the least of her problems. Her ankle was now throbbing quite badly and she knew she had several bruises.

Her heart was racing and she tried to calm down, but it wasn't that easy. Every time she tried to take a deep breath, her chest would rebel and her left shoulder would experience stabbing pain. She didn't have to question the fact that this was probably the worst injury.

Y/N carefully tried to pull the jacket off her shoulder when she noticed that she was losing more and more feeling in her left arm. She huffed and moaned slightly. The makeshift bandage that Y/N had pressed over the gaping wound was now soaked with blood and small red rivulets were making their way down her arm.

She was in pretty bad shape.

This was not how Y/N had imagined her return to hunter life. She slowly tried to sit up a little, but failed. With a dejected laugh, she briefly closed her eyes and tried to suppress the tears that wanted to make their way down her cheeks. When did everything go so wrong? She had just wanted to meet Dean to get up to speed. And now here she was, lying on the dirty floor of a disused motel, probably bleeding to death.

But then her memory got a little jolt. Dean! She had to call Dean. And so, with a blood-stained hand, she strained to fish her cell phone out of her back pocket. It still took three more attempts to dial his number.

As she listened to the beep, she realized that she was slowly losing consciousness. Y/N is finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate and stay awake. But as soon as she heard Dean's deep voice greeting her happily, it gave her another push.

But she still found it difficult to speak and her body seemed to ring like an alarm with every movement.

"I'm... not in Arkansas City... anymore." she replied almost breathlessly.

"Where are you?" came the question in a firm and determined voice.

"I'm... in an abandoned... motel outside... of Winfield." Y/N suppressed a painful groan. "Dean... I'm... hurt pretty bad."

There was a brief, almost unsettling silence before Dean spoke again.

"Okay, listen. Don't move and try to stay calm. I'll be right there. The only thing you have to do is stay awake. Alright? Don't fall asleep."

She agreed to this as best she could and after giving Dean the name and room number, they hung up.

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Y/N heard her pulse racing and the blood rushing in her ears. Still, she tried to stay awake. With her right hand she lightly pressed the wound on her left shoulder. The small pulses of pain that the pressure sent through her body helped her. That, and the thought of Dean. His green eyes, the mischievous smile, his dark voice.

Y/N had been in love with him for such a long time now. She couldn't even remember when it happened. But she had known that she had to free herself from him at some point. Because it was clear that he would never feel the same for her. All the women he spent the nights with, at one point it had been to much. And when Todd showed up in her life two years ago, it was almost like a sign.

But she didn't think that the exit and the distance from Dean would draw her back to him. She loved him and she wanted to at least try to win him over.

So she had talked to Todd. He had been nice from the start. He had been charming and always seemed as if there were no problems in the world that couldn't be solved somehow. He had embodied freedom and somehow Y/N had wanted that too. The hunter's life was hard and you had to renounce many things.

She had really liked him, but nothing more had come of it over time. And then over a year in, he started to change. He got more and more aggressiv, until he had hit her the first time. That was three monts ago. At first she had not known how to react to that, but the more the abuse happened, the more she knew she had to get away.

So she explained to him that she wanted to go back to her old life. She hadn't mentioned that that also meant Dean. Todd didn't take the decision too well. He was furious and she had feared that he would attack her. So she bolted to Arkansas City. But of course he found her there and his black eyes stared into hers as he stabbed the knife into her shoulder.

"How could... I be so stupid?" Y/N said to herself. “Why didn’t I... notice anything?”

Her head started to spin and every second felt like an hour. She slipped in and out of consciousness. She had to try harder and harder to stay awake. And just when she thought she could not do it anymore, the door busted open and she heared Dean calling her.

When Dean spotted Y/N behind the bed and knelt down in front of her, he had to swallow. She looked pale, weak and fragile. Not at all like the young, cheeky woman he remembered. But he just couldn't let that show. He carefully touched her lower leg and Y/N opened her eyes.

As soon as she saw Dean, her tears flowed and relief was written all over her face. It almost broke his heart because it had taken him a little longer to find the motel and the more time passed, the more she probably lost hope that he would find her in time.

"What happened? Can you move?" He immediately saw the blood trickling down her left arm and looked around for something he could use as a bandage.

"It was Todd. He followed me down to... Arkansas City. He... was possessed by a demon. I... I didn't notice." As she spoke, she tried to stand up, but she lacked the strength.

"Okay, slow down." Dean was immediately at her side, stabilizing her so she didn't collapse.

"It must have... happened when... he was out and about. The... demon wanted revenge. I killed... a friend... probably three years ago."

"Huh." Dean responded, but that wasn't rare at all. "Is he on your heels?"

Dean had taken off his shirt and balled it up and was pushing it onto her shoulder. They couldn't stay here long. Y/N had to go to a hospital.

"No. I... shot him with a devil's trap bullet." now Dean looked at her in surprise. "The weapon... you gave me."

Relief flooded his heart now. The gun had been his parting gift. You could never be sure. Still, he would send out a hunter bat signal so someone would check on Todd and make sure he was no longer a threat.

"Okay, Y/N, I'm going to pick you up now. Or do I have to do a once over?"

The young woman next to him laughed dryly. "No. My shoulder is messed up. My ankle is most likely busted. But other than that I'm fine."

Dean had to grin. There was a little glimpse of the Y/N he knew. But they didn't have much time left. He could see that she was losing her strength. So he carefully took her into his arms. Something she couldn't endure without a pained groan.

Soon she was safely seated in the front seat of the Impala. By now Dean had changed his fully drenched shirt with a spare towel he had in his trunk. He gritted his theeth, because it seemed that Y/N was pressing the towel down on her shoulder like she was holding on for dear life.

Dean slid behind the steering wheel and immediately drove off. It was oddly quiet in the car and his knuckles turned white. He glanzed over to Y/N every now and then to make sure that she was still awake. The hospital in Winfield was still a ways away, but he was determined to get there as quickly as possible.

Dean heared Y/N whimper everytime he drove over a bump on the street. He apologized everytime, too. But otherwise he did not know what to say. The silence almost killed him but time was not flying by fast enough. And then, Y/N decided to talk.

"Dean?" her weak voice bled over the engine of the Impala while she kept pressing the towel on her shoulder. "I have to tell you... something..."

"Don't speak now. You need all your energy that's left in you, sweetheart. Just stay awake, will you?"

Dean's knuckles once again became white while he was holding the steering wheel. He also increased the speed he was driving at. The hospital was not far away anymore, but she had lost a lot of blood by now and that was what really worried him.

"But I... have to tell... you." She said again, but her mind became foggy and she started to feel sleepy.

"Nothing can be that important right now. And when you're thinking of sayin' goodbye to me, quit it. Not gonna happen. So, hold on. We're almost there."

For a second he thought he'd won, buit then Y/N crushed his heart.

"I love you." her words rang in his ears, although he could not really believe it. But she then made sure her message came through. "I've been in love with you... for such as long time... now and... I just wanted you... to know that."

And with her last breath she closed her eyes, not being able to stay awake anymore. Dean's voice accompanied her into the darkness, calling out to her.

An annoying beep woke Y/N from her sleep, but waking up wasn't that easy. Her head was pounding a bit and a bright white light made it difficult for her to open her eyes. When she finally made it, she realized she was lying in a bed and was hooked up to monitors. They had made it to the hospital.

She looked around further and spotted Dean sleeping in a chair next to her bed. His head hung back a bit and his mouth was slightly open. It almost looked like he was drooling a little. How could such a strong man be so adorkably cute?

Suddenly he jumped up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. When he saw that Y/N had woken up, he got up and came over to her.

"Y/N! You're awake. How are you? Do you need anything?" Inwardly he wanted to take her hand in his, but he held back.

"No, no, I..." she tried to sit up a little, but it didn't really work.

Dean helped her position the headboard high enough to jer liking. He also gave her a glass of water that she didn't actually asked for. Nevertheless, she accepted it gratefully.

"So? How about me?" Y/N asked and Dean scratched the back of his neck lightly.

"Perhaps a doctor should explain this to you." he replied, already making his way to the door.

"Wait!" she stopped Dean. "Explain it to me. Please."

How could he say 'no' to that? So he came back to her and looked at her with a crooked smile.

"You have several cuts and bruises on your body. A bruised rib and your ankle is sprained. But that will probably sort itself out over time. Your shoulder did need surgery though. Something with the spina specu... spina... spinach something."

Y/N giggled, but put her hand over her mouth so Dean wouldn't see it as he continued. "But that too could be repaired and in a few months... you should be back to your old self."

"Well, that's what I call an exciting reunion." She joked, but Dean didn't seem too keen on it.

"I could have thought of better things than taking you to the hospital covered in blood and seriously injured."

And he was serious. It would be a lie if he said that seeing her like that didn't bother him. The thoughts he'd had about her when they'd left him sitting in the waiting room. When no doctor or nurse wanted to talk to him, update him. When his heart had been gripped by an iron hand that had almost stopped him from breathing.

Hopefully he would never have to go through this again.

"I'm sorry." said Y/N with a small voice and lowered her head.

Dean balled his hand to fists and turned fully to her. "I was really afraid for you. Especially when you suddenly stopped talking in the car."

And suddenly Y/N remembered the last thing she said to Dean. Her eyes widened and she didn't have to look up to know that the elephant in the room was now literally there. Nevertheless, she suddenly felt a little nervous and couldn't say anything.

"The doc said that you need to stay a couple more days in the hospital and after that... I'll take you with me to Lebanon." Now Y/N looked up again. "We need to talk."

"Dean, I..." she started, but when she saw that Dean walked up to her to take her hand in his, she felt silent again.

"I love you, too." He then finally said and Y/N looked up at him in surprise. "And if you let me, I'll never let you out of my sight again."

A/N: That’s it. It was really fun and I hope you liked it. 😊 Let me know what you think. Feedback is very much appreciated! 💜

Everything Taglist:

@lyarr24 @k-slla @nk1023 @iloveeveryoneyouramazing

[holyguardian]

Perhaps it was a fault of hers. Aerith didn't feel any particular way about Somnus unlacing her dress, because it was as simple as the task at hand... she was desensitised to the act. How many times had a ladies maid assisted her with clothing before? A ladies maid he was not... but he could be trust, and he was.

It was simply a normal task in her realm. Oh, how differently they had been raised.

Leander.

It was a name she repeated in her mind a few times, committing it to memory, turning it over and over. Had she heard it..? No, she did not think so. Which also meant he had not been in the tent getting healed, a good sign.

Her head turned a little as she listened. Somnus freely spoke of his friend, colouring her imagination with quite an amusing scene. She turned a little more to glance him proper. "He demanded that in front of your father?" she asked, amused to no end already.

Aerith calmed a little with a hum of commitment. She would very much like to meet him too.

Nightfall gently fell around her feet and she stepped free. Though as she leaned to gather the material, her head lifted again, glancing him as he asked such innocent questions. The kind that struck suddenly.

That happy little smile of hers saddened, if only a touch. Aerith merely shook her head. "I do not." she admitted freely, a little embarrassed. Someone at her big age should have had a close friend, it was something she often thought to herself.

"Though maybe that will soon change. There is a great shift about to happen, so... I can only hope a coming victory will afford new freedoms." She always wanted to travel more. She didn't look or act it, but the feeling was there.

Her head bowed and she stepped away, having enough respect for her dress to gently drape the jewelled fabric where it would be safe, where it could be collected for airing out.

"For now, I will claim my husband is my close friend. That stings less than naming my decade-younger brother." She really was a Princess trapped in a tower.

A mess of things? Big words for the Princess that had to be freed from her dress and also laid around in it as if she was an exhausted Chocobo after a race. Somnus was wise enough not to comment that, though. Instead, just giving her an amused glance before he positioned himself behind her and began to slowly untie the lacing on her back once more. He used the same care and meticulous movements he had used when helping her into the dress. Though this way around… it felt almost like a forbidden thing to do. He was simply helping her, his mind had a few tugs at watching this, though.

Luckily, she found a subject to talk about quickly.

“His name is Leander.”, Somnus answered, and the calm smile on his lips turned into a grin for that moment.  

“We grew up together. At least ever since we were children, and his father took him along to a talk with the King. Leander was not at all shy to demand a game of hide and seek from the prince. He is a good man. Great, in fact. I would not be who I am without him. I am sure you will like him, I hope to introduce you two soon.”

She had not asked for all this, but Somnus could not help it. Leander was his ‘chosen brother’. And he really hoped Aerith would like him and vice versa. But why would they not? They both had a certain kindness and treated him well. They did not care for the opinions of others. Even though Aerith was… feral, where Leander was more careful.

Glancing to the outline of her face, as Somnus undid the last band and gently started tugging the blue cloth from her shoulders and waist, he considered his own curiosity. She had already revealed that it had been hard to make friends as a child. She had been seen as ‘strange’ and ‘weird’ with her powers. But if he had managed to make a friend like Leander, surely, she had too? Though there was the golden cage as obstacle, too.

“… what about you? Do you have any closer friends that I should get to know?”

[gamblersdoll]

┗━━━━━━⊱ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏

CHAPTER 1a

you tend to forget you hated hospitals.. but its not like you were there all the time. its actually been several years since you felt a actual bed, smelled the hospital’s deeply cleansed and medicinal remedies that reeks of latex gloves.

you hadnt even awaken yet, but you smelled it.. hence why you were starting to wake up. with a flutter of your eyelashes and a groggy mind, you looked around briefly before—

“oh my god, shes awake!” some girl with brown tresses and big, doe eyes started to shout. but you had to remember her name, because she looked awfully familiar.. was it like.. ochacko or something? if her fingers were visible, then yeah. “how do you feel? are you okay?” all the hurried questions started to aggravate you, but then others started to pile in.

they were all a mix of shock, fear, sorrow, but relief and happiness.

you remember a little bit more, the red hearts had abandoned you. the only ‘family’ that they claimed to be about to abandon their own.. for a bunch of people to abandon you as a highschool student.

“why am i even here..” you softly asked, looking down at what used to be red, bloodied hands.. but now they were clean, back to your color and movable.

“dont you.. remember us?” a yellow haired man piped up, with what seemed to be a zig zag of black across his hair.. denki was his name? he wanted to cry, but he just leaped over to hug you as tight as he could. “oh god, what happened to you?! we’re so sorry, tell us what happened—“

“get the fuck off me.” you snapped, eyes piercing and frantic. it was too.. early? late? you didnt know what time it was, but you know it was too soon to be touching anyone.

oh.

they all seem to be in a sour mood, but some of them were only happy they found you now than later. ironic isnt it? they took seven years to find you, and they think you were ‘saved,’ when in reality— they found you during a raid. no thanks to them, right?

the door opened, what seemed to be detectives and some heroes flooding in— you jumped out the bed to the nearest corner, but the heroes tried to calm you. “hey, its okay! youre not in trouble!”

“the hell are they doing here?” you growled to the chargebolt hero, and he short circuited out of frightened laughter. “fucking idiot—“

“chill out, its fine.” detective yamo— along with what used to be your teacher, aizawa , sigh and aizawa looks to you.. “are you okay?”

“do i look okay?” you snarled, seeing katsuki in the corner of your eye. “does this, look okay to you, hero?” your body seethed with venom.. because what kind of question was that? how could you okay after many years of suffering in the hands of villains, simply because of pure negligence.

“… i understand.” eraserhead says, but you didn’t believe that. “we just wanna make things right with you, and ask a few questions about the red hea—“

“you leave me to die at the hands of the league, and fail to come save me— and im supposed to do you fucks a favor?”

the room falls quiet, the tension becoming heavy and yamo sighs. “what do you prefer us to do?”

“leave me the fuck alone, is what i want—“

“thats off’a the table.” katsuki finally speaks up, eyes meeting yours in an awkward attempt to comfort. “we couldnt save you then, let us save you now.” he finally could get closer to you, trying to put his hand on your shoulder; for you to swat it away and scoff.

you rolled your eyes, biting your lip. “at least let me rest first.. then ill talk.”

“why couldnt we have gone back for her.” katsuki pressed, the hero society having no answer for the previous students of the class. “you all made an effort to get me, but not her?—“

“you also had a choice, dude.” kirishima replied, because he was right. they all had a choice.

“we were fuckin’ children, you doughnut.” he snarked back, and aizawa had enough.

“the timeline of when the kidnapping of you both and the war was too close, and unfortunately— it no longer became a priority. thats all there was to it.” he said, how pitiful. for a teacher, youd expect him to protect his students from all hurt, harm, and danger, right? maybe it were for the students worthy, or for the students who had good quirks…

“what’s gonna happen to her? we just got her back!” ashido— poor girl, she was the only real person who you befriended long ago.

“well,” he started, shifting his prosthetic leg, “it’s going to be a long while before she can finally trust you, or any of us,” he started off strong, considering how it was when he and present mic had to try and get shimo to speak.. “but, either things can happen: she gets charged with murder, and theft, and be locked up—“

“we dont even know if she killed—“ izuku started, but aizawa stopped him.

“or, she may have to go through the rehabilitation process and get the help, thats the favored option.” he finished, rubbing his beard. “especially with her vampiric quirk; though, they suspect that she had some sort of secret relationship with the murders.”

class a falls silent, and katsuki sighs. “il take her in,”

“are you sure? i could help! its my fault that she got left, and i know that youre busy and—“ izuku wanted to intervene, but katsuki thwacked him upside the head.

“no, you idiot!” he shouted, watching as he rubbed his scalp. “i promised her id protect her, and i failed at that, so this is on me.. got it?”

interrogation rooms were something else, you felt like you had been here before.

no lawyer, no pot to piss in, and eyes all over you to see if youd break.

“okay,” yamo started, pulling the chair our and having the back of the chair pressed against his chest. “whos all apart of the red hearts?” he asked, offering you water— of course, you drank.

it had been months since you drank water.. how were you even here?

“they all go by aliases, i dont know their legals.” you deadpanned, and he nodded.

“okay,” he inhaled. “what were the main objectives for the theft?”

“undefined.” you reply monotone, folding your arms and chewing the inside of your cheek. this shit was boring, “they all had their own .. motives i guess?”

“this isnt helping our case, yamo—“ the interning detective spoke up, slamming his hands on the desk and leaning down to your level. “either you tell us what we need and you know, or you can rot—“

“i suggest you back the fuck up off me.” you growled, raising an eyebrow. “im telling you all i know.”

“sit down, yakka.” yamo ordered, pushing the intern down. “sorry, ahem—“ he coughed, his lungs damaged from the heavy smoker he was. “what about the murder portions? were you.. involved?”

“do you think i was?” you press, because they can think what they want.

“well, to be frank—“ he starts, crossing beefy thighs crossed over each other. “it all points back to you—“

“because of my quirk?” you guess, and he had to nod to that. “your coroner must not get paid enough.” you chuckled, the joke flying over their heads. “i only have two fangs.”

“so, you werent eating people?” yakka asked, and yamo had to smack him upside the head, too. “its an honest question!”

“i havent had blood in many years, my old teacher taught me to have discipline.. until i need it.” you remember, aizawa pulling you to his office and reminding you a very important lesson:

people will see your quirk, and assume the worst, only if you respond to it.

“any idea where the red hearts could be?” yamo asked, making sure to note everything. “where are they relocating to?”

“no clue, you saw how they dumped me there?”

yamo nods, sighing through his nose. “okay.. when did you join the red hearts, vampire?” he asked, already making a new nick name.. you hated it, you were more than that—

wait.. were you an equal to him? or was he toying with you?

“when they broke into the league of villains.”

behind the glass, your class was only mortified about your past.. and it only made katsuki more angry at himself, and obligated.

yakka and yamo come from the room, closing the door and signaling katsuki to go in— a swift motion for him.

your eyes meet, and you felt disgusted, disappointed, and confused. it didnt matter, you survived! or.. at least you convince yourself to think.

“hey,” he started, looking down at you and sitting on the table. “so far, yer’ looking at either you get thrown in’a cellar or i rehabilitate you.” he gives you your options, folding his arms. “i want to be able to—“

“you leave me there in the middle of a room alone with villains, and you cant even apologize for it?” you start, eyes piercing at him. “rehabilitation, my ass. thats just a code for you guys cutting me open to see what my insides look like.”

the room falls silent, katsuki turning to look at you with a blank face. and yet, behind the glass, were shocked faces. “no, id take you in, and get you into therapy to become a civilized woman.” he sighs, scratching at his stubble. “im trying to help you, i dont have to do this.”

you scoff and turn your head. “are you trying to be genuine?”

“i wouldnt waste my time, you know that.” katsuki said , but you cut him off.

“i thought youd be some number one hero to save me when we were teenagers, but i was wrong, so i dunno.” you say under your breath, and katsuki has to bite his tongue.

“so what say you.” he asked, leaning down to you, waiting for your answer. “ill take you in, we’ll get you food and you can get help, and you wont go to prison.”

you stare at him, seeing the small wrinkle lines on his forehead, the slight bags under his eyes— you wanted to take his help, but the pain was like no before. you huff, looking away from his face. “no funny shit, dynamight.” you grumble, and he frowned.

he hated you called him by his hero name and not his name.

taglist: @zennypiee @charlotterosea13

[weneeya]

worried m.list | rules

pairing. jason todd x reader

note. omg i love jason sm of course i'd do that ; worried jason is adorable, my boy is doing his best <3

You were supposed to be here. He left you alone in your apartment before he left for his night patrol. So why weren’t you here anymore? Where were you? Jason thought he was about to go crazy. He was searching everywhere, calling your phone, but you weren’t answering at all.

Yes, he came back earlier than usual, but it was a reason to disappear, was it? What if something bad had happened while he was gone? Jason was making the worst scenarios in his head. Until he heard the sound of the door opening. He turned around and you arrived in the living room, a bit surprised. 

You didn’t have the time to say anything that Jason was standing in front of you, a visible frown across his eyebrows. “Where the hell were you?!” His voice was too loud, too angry ; you didn’t like that at all. You slowly raised an eyebrow at his tone, feeling the slight irritation growing inside of you. 

“My friend needed me, so I left to see her.” You explained but it didn’t calm Jason at all. “You know Gotham’s not safe at night. What if you got attacked, or worse?” He was clearly angry, but it simply made you angry too. You weren’t a child, you didn’t need him to act like he was your own father. 

“Quit yelling at me, would ya?” Your tone was harsh, and it caught him off guard. He wasn’t so used to any reaction like this from you, so he was taken aback. He was about to answer when you pointed at his chest, looking into his eyes. “I don’t need you to protect myself, Jason. I’m a grown adult!” And in those words, you left the living room to get locked up in the bathroom. You really needed a shower. 

Jason stayed alone in here, standing up and a bit lost about what just happened. Did he get too far? He knew you were strong enough to defend yourself ; he loved you for that. But he couldn’t help it ; he was always worried when he knew you were alone in the streets at night. He meant what he said: Gotham wasn’t safe at all, and he knew what he was talking about. 

He saw so many people get hurt without any reason, and he was just so scared to lose you. Anger was his only way to express those feelings, but making you mad was the last thing he ever wanted. So he sat on the couch and waited for you to get out of the bathroom. It took you long minutes, and he was almost falling asleep. Or at least, he would have if he wasn’t thinking so much about what he wanted to tell you. 

When you joined the living room again, your gaze met his figure and you rolled your eyes. You sat next to him in silence, hating this stupid sad look on his face. You hated to see it, but he needed to understand what was wrong. Jason took your hand softly in his. “Look at me, please… I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to react like this.” You turned around, meeting his eyes ; and he knew he wasn’t lying. There was too much sincerity in it for that ; you knew him by heart. 

You stayed silent, waiting for him to keep going for a moment. He breathed out softly, leaving a gentle kiss against your knuckles. “I was just… worried. I’m always so scared when you’re alone out there. I know you’re strong ; but those guys can be crazy.” And how could you blame him? You knew Jason got through hell because of one of them. You finally completely turned to face him, grabbing both his hands between yours. 

“I’m not angry because you’re worried. I am because you yelled at me like I was completely dumb and not careful.” He slowly nodded at your words, understanding that he didn’t react the way he should have. Your hand gently moved to his cheek so you could stroke it with your thumb so slightly. Jason leaned onto your touch, eyes now closed at the feeling. 

You felt like home for him, and he’d rather die than having to lose this feeling once more. He left a soft kiss against the palm of your hand, making you smile lightly. “I’d be careful with my reactions,” he told you, looking back at your eyes. You leaned forward a little, leaving a small peck against his lips. “And I won’t leave without telling you where I am.” 

A silent agreement, so things could work. Jason was making so many efforts for you, all the time ; the less you could do was to do some efforts too. Moreover, Jason was clearly worth it. The boy needed a comfort and safe place to calm his home ; and you were ready to be this for him.

thank you for reading!

[amxrany]

!! CHAPTER 7 / DIASOMNIA ARC SPOILERS !!

I finally have time off and I'm really excited to this segment (Trey's Dream):

Now we're back at Heartslabyul and Ace is having fun with the dream hopping so far! Ortho notices that the Heartslabyul members haven't been feeling sick, but Cater explains that their dorm's nonsensical interior design choices certainly helped in getting to used to stuff such as dreamhopping.

Ace wonders as to how many dreams we've been to, and Silver replies that we have been to around 20+ dreams by now, which causes him to go to salty as to why Yuu didn't go to his dream first. But we had to explain to him that at first Silver had no control as to whose dream they were going to land in but managed to gain control after acquiring the help of the Shroud bros. The Shroud Bros also mention a systems of IDs assigned to people's dream, probably a way to gather everyone once it's time to fight Malleus. Idia was scared that the system might still be buggy, even bringing up that it's possible to get lost in the Dream Realm.

Anyways, Grim boasts to Ace that they've overcomed so much, but Sebek puts him down by saying that they got where they are with the the help of other people. But Silver actually defends Grim here, bringing up the time before they went dream hopping. Grim was standing in fron of Yuu and fighting the darkness on his own. We have the option to thank Grim, and he it's his job as the boss of Ramshackle but you can tell that he got flustered.

Leona just wants to get things over with and tells the others to hurry up. We get a clue that it's Trey's dream because Ace notes the smell of sweets in the air. While the group makes their way to the kitchen, Ace and Deuce could easily distinguish what Trey was making based on scent alone (now that's a talent I want /j).

But before we step foot into the kitchen, Cater stops us; pointing out that if we just walk in, then the darkness would immediately detect us anomalies. He proposes a plan where he uses his UM to trade places with his dream self to avoid suspiscion, he also gets the help of Leona and Idia. But Leona protests that it should be the first years doing it, because what if his dream self wanted to have tea 😭😭😭 and Idia's just whining about not wanting to they enter the kitchen and it's definitely something (in a good way) and Cater notices that it seems bigger than usual.

Alright so we get more Cater lore here, we learn that his family prefers to buy sweets because they found it difficult to make them. He brings that up to Trey but he just simply replies that they're not that hard to make and back then Cater just thought was just enduring it but looking at it now...you can say he must be having a lot of fun.

We finally get the man of the hour with CHENYA??? AS THE HOUSEWARDEN 😭???

Deuce is so real because he doesn't remember Chenya's name, even with Ortho pulling out his government name from the RSA records he still couldn't pronounce it 😔. Ace makes fun of him for it, but Sebek unintentionally defends Deuce, saying that his name is just like a tongue twister.

Leona and Idia are just throwing shade towards Cater and Trey for replacing their Housewarden in their dreams, Leona feeling sorry for Riddle while Idia comments that smiling guys who hide their intentions are scary. Ortho puts a stop to it, explaning that the dreams aren't the real representation of one's desires (using Kalim and Vil as examples). Malleus didn't make these dreams himself, he only makes the dreamer think of happy situations and resets it when something bad happens, and it goes on in a never ending cycle. The dreams the dreamer has are similar to those that they would actually have irl, having no control of the situation whatsoever.

Meanwhile, the others are just outside peeking into the kitchen with Grim climbing on Ace's back to get a better view (with Ace complaining that he's heavy😂). Sebek tells them to stfu cuz he can't hear but Ortho tells HIM to stfu cuz he's loud 😭.

Trey immediately notices that Cater isn't the actual one (if you get it, you get it), he freaks out as to how Trey caught him so fast and he replies that he's known him for 3 years so he would have known by now. We learn more about what happened to Riddle in this dream, who's currently just a card soldier. Just like in real life, Riddle tried to battle Chenya for the position of Housewarden but was defeated because of Chenya's UM. His UM is called "Not All Head", making his body (except his head) invisible.

So we get more Alice in Wonderland references coming up. Because Chenya's UM also affects his neck, Riddle's collar literally just flies past. Riddle who's just confused, doesn't realize that Chenya unbuckles his belt and flips him over causing him to flash everyone; it's similar to the scene with the Chesire Cat and Queen of Hearts. Trey tells him to knock it off because Riddle would get mad if he goes telling everyone but Chenya isn't scared of him lmao. We also find out that Riddle went easy on Chenya, because if that was anyone else he would have burned them alive already 💀.

Trey leaves for a moment to take the cake out of the oven, which leaves some time for the third years to discuss and they noticed that there isn't much of a difference compared to real life. But because of the few discrepancies, it would be a lot harder to wake Trey up.

Trey comes back and asks them if they're hungry and offers them some food, while also making sure that isn't too sweet so that Cater could eat it. At first, Cater was worried about the rule where the Housewarden has to be the first to take a bite, but Trey tells them not to worry cuz glass desserts are an exception (Chenya's really chill for a dorm leader). While giving them snacks, Leona asks Trey to join them (he really is having a tea party at Heartslabyul 😭), and he guesses that he wants them to taste test the dishes. Leona mentions that his palata is quite refined so he'll be tasting the food from the chef of Heartslabyul, which makes Trey nervous. Let's just say while they were taste testing Trey kept offering more and more food 😅.

Meanwhile, the others are getting jealous because they get to eat while they just watch, but they also came to the conclusion that Trye's dream doesn't seem too different from reality. Suddenly, Ortho tells the group to keep quiet because he and Silver hear something "enormous" approaching. That's when Ace and Deuce tell the others to follow them as they both lead the group into a hidden compartment behind the clock which changes locations depending on its mood.

Back to the third years, Trey's just bouncing back and forth between giving them more food and baking. Cater starts to feel bad about taking away Trey's happiness away, realizing that Silver and the others were in a really tough spot for doing so. He wonders what would have happened if Trey never had that encounter with Riddle's mother, if he could've been a pastry chef by now.

Once Trey comes back, he and Idia start talking about their interests that was influenced by their parents while growing up. Where Idia brings up that he's been into magical engineering since he was a kid. Trey just starts talking about how much he love science and baking is similar to that because of the need to be precise and the satisfaction one gets when an experiment/dish turns out well, and he also sees it as a way to make other people happy (aw that's nice). Leona's out here being like "nah happiness is simply a byproduct" but Trey disagrees. He likes it when people compliments his food as it gives him confidence.

Holy fuck Trey's dream has so much exposition that I can't just cut it out or else it won't make sense 😭. But what I won't cut out is the part where Trey talks about the event with Riddle back in his childhood. It all began when Trey and Chenya decided to sneak into the nicest in the neighborhood, which just so happened to be the Rosehearts. They meet Riddle who helps them when their ball gets stuck in a tree and was really smart for his age as he could name every insect and plant. They sneak him out of the house so that Riddle can taste a tart, but once his mom found out...oh boy. Apparently she bitched on his family for FIVE HOURS that's fucking crazy like she really went insane over Riddle's diet. Cater said that they also had this conversation at some point after Riddle's overblot, but Trey just brushed it off as he really didn't mind it anymore (but really that shit changed the trajectory of his life forever).

Now we have more dorm lore regarding the Vice Housewarden, in terms of how they are chosen. There are three ways for someone to be the Vice Housewarden which are through: being chosen by the Housewarden, volunteering, or vote from the other members. How Trey became the Vice Housewarden was because of the third method, where everyone voted for him because they found out about his history with Riddle (even though the latter treated him like a stranger once he got to NRC and took the Housewarden position later on). He even broke the rules at one point and got collared for it, which yeahhhh wasn't really pretty.

Cater reminisces about the past, knowing that Trey serving as Riddle's support must have been hard; he even thinks that Trey secretly wishes that Chenya was there to help him (this is making me sad) and he wishes he has done more to help him. But Leona asks Cater the real question, if he were to help Trey, would that still change the outcome?

Leona who's just tired of all this talk (same here bro) gets the group back to their main goal, starting with Chenya. But then they start hearing the footsteps again, in which Ctaer assumes that it's a hedgehog that ate a size changing mushroom but it was much worse (and funnier). We get to my favorite part of the update: really round Heartslabyul

Everyone's freaking out (obviously) which makes Trey check out all the commotion, but his he suddenly sports a happy mood when sees everyone and assumes they came for tea time. But he soon notices that there's two copies of Ace and Deuce (who start complaining that they aren't built like that irl) which causes the dream to start to distort.

Idia sees Round!Riddle and just goes "Is this what Trey meant when he said that Riddle was eating well 😭" and the round guy just taunts Idia cuz he's the tall one now (but at what cost).

They all come to the conclusion that sure Trey's dream seems normal, except all rationality/reasoning doesn't seem to exist anymore 😅. Even Silver comments that Riddle's bigger than a horse 💀 and Sebek just makes it worse by wondering how would Vorpal survive with Round!Riddle as its rider.

The Heartslabyul Gang tells Trey that he wouldn't let something like this happen in real life, because of spoiling ones appetite and possibly getting gum disease from overeating. This starts triggering the darkness to attack the others and bruh they turn into bowling balls, managing to knock down Silver 😭.

Meanwhile, Trey is starting to wake up, the darkness asks him about the food in the kitchen, with Chenya getting the first piece because he's the Housewarden. This causes Trey to realize that Riddle's the real Housewarden, not Chenya. The darkness starts eating again, which Trey puts a stop to. When asked why, Trey responded that yeah eating his food does making happy, but going overboard isn't something they'd actually do.

Trey starts to wake up by himself! I think that it is around here that his groovy in his SSR takes place.

But all of a sudden, the area is filled with sand. Leona used his UM to get rid of the darkness even though the area is quite small, which caused everyone to cough up sand. Now that Trey's awake, he gets a bit embarassed that the others saw his pathetic side, Cater's like "more of weird side but alright" 😭. But he promises to be careful when getting hands on a new cookbook, Grim adds that he can bring the extras to Ramshackle.

Trey asks why they got to him before Riddle, and they explain to him the rules of the dream world, where darkness always follows the dreamer. So they needed an ally that can get close to Riddle without setting the darkness off, and that is none other than Trey. Ace speculates that Riddle's dream would involve everyone remembering all the Queen of Hearts rules and they all just laugh 🤣.

Ortho asks for Trey's help and he agrees, everyone thanks him but Ace is being salty because Sebek thanked Trey and not him. Sebek not having his shit either was like "who tf wants to be saved by you?" 💀 (nahhh). Trey and Silver had to apologize on their behalf and Idia comments that it's like watching parents apologizing for their kid's actions.

Trey gets the invitation, and a new ally is added to the group. Once Ortho creates the model for the dream, Trey comments that his outfit seems flashy. But Cater thinks that red and black look cool on him. In typical Cater fashion, he takes a pic to save for later.

Before the group gets going, Trey brings a strawberry tart for Riddle. Sebek asks Silver if it's fine even though it will most likely look a bit funky cuz of the dream hopping, but the latter responds that it's okay because it will still taste the same; it's mostly the thought that counts.

Now that ends Trey's Dream, I know I promised this segment last week but it was my major exam week so I focused on my studies. I won't be making any promises but I'll find a way to release Riddle's segment as soon as possible!

Thank you for being patient!

Previous: Ace's Dream Next: Riddle's Dream

(Note: This post is a summarized version of the update, info and pics comes from @/MostroLoungeVIP, @/WitchDrug, and @/acesuuu on x/twt, give them some support if you can)

[lovemyromance]

I LOVE whenever EL/GAs try to act like "omg Lucien would've rescued Elain!! He would've destroyed hybern and set the world ablaze if he was there!!"

Do they not understand they are literally making our point 😭😭

Like ... babes... the point is he was. not. there.

The author... actively chose to NOT write a scene about a pair of fated mates going crazy to protect each other.

do yall think... the same SJM... who somehow wrote Rhys to be out in Spring Court on Calanmai just to "rescue" Feyre .... simply forgot about Lucien or couldn't find a way to write him into an entire war where every character from Jurian to Helion to the Weaver and BRYAXIS is present?

Like you're telling me SJM was able to write the BONE CARVER into the war but LUCIEN (who was already with Elain in the NC at first) was too hard to fit into the story at that time????

"Oh but he was out getting Vassa!"

You really think... Lucien being dead last to volunteer to go on some off page mission to rescue a different woman is making him MORE significant to Elain and her story than if Lucien had been the one to actually rescue Elain in the first place??? 🤨🤨

You really think ... Lucien believing in Elain's vision (just like everyone else) and going off to find Vassa was... more significant than if HE had been the one to realize Elain was a Seer? 🤨🤨

Like be so for real. Who are you trynna convince?? Yourself ??

Lucien being MIA was not some ~lil oopsie plot hole~ by SJM. She's written so many fated mates tropes before, she KNOWS how to write a good "you came for me" moment.

Can you imagine how the session w her editor would've gone?

"Oh - Elain's kidnapped... but Lucien isn't at the war? Shouldn't he come back and rescue her from across the world -that's so romantic!"

And you think SJM just went "no what's romantic is he wasn't there and someone else rescued his mate and then Elain kisses that man's cheek and he gives her his prized weapon!"

Do you think SJM wrote the scene with Elain being kidnapped and didn't think "hm - this would be a great time to show us how batshit crazy feral protective Lucien would go over his mate?"

I want you to REALLY think here.

They're getting SO desperate with their headcanons saying Lucien would blast hybern off the map if his mate was taken and he was present .... and they are literally proving our point 😭

There is no good reason for writing Lucien as MIA during Elain's rescue. There's no good reason for choosing to send him on a mission offpage instead of being there - in that scene - with his mate.

That's what they wanted to happen - that's why they are making such claims and writing fanfic about "What if". Proving they also recognize it was significant just WHO Elain was rescued by.

Instead of being hypercritical of Azriel's rescue of Elain and trying to make it seem insignificant ... maybe they should focus on the fact that Elucien has zero romantic scenes together 🤷🏻‍♀️

Maybe the reason SJM wrote Azriel in place of Lucien for every big moment with Elain is because she wants to write about rejected mates. It's almost like... she literally said she wants to explore that on a very recent, very big talk show.

Sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one.

[crazycat010]

My soulmate is Gojo Satoru?!

PART 2 OF THE Gojo Satoru x reader (soulmates AU)

part 1 ; part 2

Thank you very much @hel1nn for the request!

IN WHICH: After finding your soulmate, you make what many would call bonding experiences.(no spoilers)

fluff, sad content. Y/n was insecure and bullied for being a sorcerer. Y/n ends up in a hospital though not for long.

Reader is written about as a female and there are references to her clothing. Happy ending.

word count=5.383 words

“Where is she?!” A familiar voice shrieked in the distance.

Your eyes visibly widened in terror, recognizing who it was.

“I’ll kill her!”

A stomping and fuming Utahime appeared in your view.

You were supported by none other than Gojo Satoru himself, unable to walk on your own because of your blood loss and wounded limbs.

She stopped her march once at arm distance.

Smack! With firm hand, she slapped you hard, making you turn your head in the blow’s direction as your ears start ringing like your doorbell when your mom forgot the house’s keys.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, massaging your reddened cheek.

“That was uncalled for! But I guess I kinda deserved it…” You toned your volume down for the last sentence, not wanting to admit your friend was right.

“Deserved it?! You went against my orders and risked your life in the stupidest way possible!” You knew your behavior would’ve gotten a reaction out of her, but Jesus, the woman looked like she wanted to bite your head off! (Which she probably did)

“Scare me like that again and I will ACTUALLY murder you.” She seethed, embracing you in a warm hug as Gojo let go of you temporarily.

You crouched in pain. I mean, you should’ve expected it, having known Utahime for years now. But you had thought a slap would be enough for her. 

No, of corse it wouldn’t. Obviously Miss. Perfect had to knee you in your abdomen, the most sensitive and fragile part of your body, full of cuts and bruises now more than ever.

You fell on your knees, gasping and throwing your middle finger at her, still recovering from the strong hit.

In the meanwhile, Gojo simply stood there, laughing his butt off like nothing was more entertaining than watching his already beaten up soulmate get punched and hit by her so-called best friend.

“Goodness gracious, is it possible to switch soulmates! I already hate his guts!” You said, once you’d regained breath.

Utahime looked at you both confused, hugging Gojo tightly once she’d gotten ahold of what had happened while she was away.

The other teachers and most of the students had arrived by then, as you saw poor Miwa handing a 10 dollar bill to Mai, who was grinning from ear to ear like a madwoman. Freaking students! You’ were always so good with them and for what? Them betting on you and who your soulmate was? Oh for God’s sake, you’d had enough of it.

What started out as a light-hearted laugh, soon became a hard coughing fit that racked your body and made you spit unimaginable amounts of blood, ending up shaking like those dolls that moved their heads left and right every time everyday like they were being paid for it.

Black holes started popping in and out of your sight while Gojo grabbed you carefully yet worriedly by the waist and tried to hoist you back up on your feet.

“I’m fine, I can stand…” Those were your last words before the dizziness got the best of you, making you tumble towards the ground pathetically.

Expecting a strong impact with the ground beneath you, you were both shocked and relieved at the feeling of Satoru’s strong arms around your trembling figure, grabbing you from under your legs and carrying you in bridal style.

You couldn’t even think anymore, your mind using the confines between consciousness and unconsciousness like a blimey jump rope.

“Hey hey hey, stay with me now. You’ve got it. You’re strong, you can do this. Stay with me please.” Muttered Gojo, trying to reassure you the best he could.

He teleported you both to the hospital room, where he found Shoko already assisting Maki with a worried Yuta wandering the room.

“Shoko help!” Gojo yelled at the shocked sorcerer, his voice cracking up painfully.

“Put her on the bed.” Ordered sternly the woman, masking the concern she held for her bloody colleague.

All voices started to fade out as you felt one of those hospital masks being put on your scarred face, yet you couldn’t not recognize his. “Please, stay with me. I promise this won’t ever happen again, I promise I’ll protect you from now on. Please I just found you, you can’t leave me!” Satoru broke into a sobbing mess, holding your cold hand in his warm ones, begging whatever gods there were to help you survive this.

The same feeling was there at your reawakening, yet it was different.

You may have known him for only a couple of days, but you were more than capable of recognizing your soulmate's soft touch: his hands were smooth and delicate, with neither too much nor too little hydrating cream.

Those who held yours right now were instead rough and calloused, wet from sweat and full of spiky hairs that made yours itch in a funny way. Heck, you knew who this was!

“Dad.” You were surprised to have gotten a sound out of you, opening your eyes one at a time. You blinked at the blinding sensation the bright hospital-like lamp shone over you, taking a couple of seconds for your father’s figure to stabilize in your sight.

“Hello sweetie.” He said softly, caressing your face. “How are you feeling? Heard you brought down a pretty strong curse back there. I’m proud of you.”

He always knew the best words to soothe you and comfort you, ever since you were a kid and even though he couldn’t possibly understand your situation (thankfully, you were happy you didn’t have to worry about his life being endangered by some random monsters).

“We all are.” Your mother said, coming into your view as she kneeled to press a kiss on the crown of your head.

“Thank you, mom and dad. I’m actually better now. Hey, since you’re here, I wanted you to meet…”

“We already know sweetie. Utahime told us everything.” Your mother reassured you, sitting on one of the plastic stools beside the bed.

As if on cue, a loud and cheerful voice boomed: “Guess who brought cookies! I knew you were all hungry so…Ihhh! You’re awake!”

A certain blind-folded man ran up to hug you, shoving without fear or restraint your parents out of the way to hug you.

Your dad spared him an unimpressed look, while your mother chuckled under her breath.

“You don’t know how much I’ve missed you, baby! It’s been three looong days without you. I just wanted to talk to you again.” He said, not intent on letting go of you anytime soon.

You almost chocked on your own saliva, panicking not-so-internally: “T-three days! That’s how much I’ve been out for?!”

“I’m kinda surprised the kid didn’t wake you up with his loudness.” Your father scoffed, annoyed. Gojo didn’t react, still not getting the hint as he kept hugging you and peppering your face with kisses, though you did like being pampered by your soulmate like that.

Instead, it earned a reaction from your mother, who elbowed your father in the ribs, getting a surprised yelp out of him: “Hey! What was that for?”. Though she only glared in response.

“We’ll leave you two to catch up a bit and go rest for a while.” Your mother grabbed your father by the wrist, like a mother dragging a huffing and puffing hard-headed son (description which fit perfectly your dad, for the only exception he was slightly bigger than a 5 year old).

Once the door was shut, you felt Gojo’s embrace tighten, your t-shirt becoming wet in the back.

Slowly, you took off his blindfold. “Hey, don’t cry. I’m okay see! I’m perfectly fine, thanks to your help.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go. It was reckless of you to leave me like that. Don’t ever do that again!” He wept, nuzzling deeper into your shoulder, hiding in the crook of your neck.

“No promises. But I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t want to scare you like that. I just, wanted to help, you know? I kinda feel useless whenever I’m not on missions or actually doing anything.”

“Don’t. You’re not useless. Even if I’ve just met you, you mean the world to me.”

“Thanks.” You felt yourself tear up too, letting into his comforting and warm embrace.

“Can you forgive me?” You were reluctant to ask, but you felt like you had to.

He paused, thinking it over a bit.

“Only if you let me take you out on a date.”

You giggles: “You could’ve done that anyways. You just lost an opportunity to ask me whatever favor you wanted, you overgrown child."

“Y’know if I’m a child what that would make you? A pedo. And I’ll be damned if my soulmate is a psychotic weirdo.”

You laughed, finally feeling at peace and never wanting this moment to end.

(No need to say, the cookie box was cleaned up in a very short timespan, with the big backed male only willing to share the delights with his bedridden soulmate)

The next morning, with Shoko’s approval, you were cleared to leave the hospital, and you soon found yourself being carried a second time by your blue-eyed other half(man was he spoiling you), as your parents loaded Kyoto Jujutsu High School’s bus with their bags.

It had taken you a lot of pleading, but you had ultimately been able to convince your parents on joining the College’s group for the return trip to Kyoto.

Much to your student’s dismay, you were given the seats in the back, in order to be able to sleep in case tiredness took over you. You sat next to Gojo, while your parents were in the first seats because of your father being prone to carsickness.

You shared the fresh pastries Gojo had bought for you two and the rest of the company, as you started to realize you were bound to a rather obnoxious sugar-addict.

Being your father’s daughter, you were quickly hit by a devastating nausea wave, not even two hours into the roadtrip.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay sweetie?”

“Hmm…” You hugged your knees to your chest, slumping bonelessly against Satoru.

“Are you feeling carsick too?”

You nodded grimly, shutting your lips tight, worried that, if you tried to speak, you would’ve vomited all over the seat and your soulmate (that’d surely be a memorable bonding experience!).

He nudged you to get more comfortable and encircled you with his arms, getting you cozy as you were lulled to sleep by his steady heartbeat.

You woke up after a couple of hours, the sun beginning to set and painting the blue sky with mixed hues of different vibrant colors. You felt something pressing gently atop of your head, small breath-like blows tickling your scalp as you chuckled to yourself. Making you both comfortable, you moved Gojo to rest his head on your lap, running your fingers in between his white hair and adding a scratch or two here or there, earning a quiet hum from the sleeping beauty.

He was kinda cute, with a tiny bit of drool on his pale cheeks you quickly wiped with your sweater, though not before taking a small picture of him.

The days later flew by in a daze: you spent most of the time wandering around the halls or watching your students practice, making the best out of your few theoretical lessons, not feeling good enough to actually train. Everyday, Gojo teleported to your room, either after you’d woken up or just before going to bed, offering you breakfast or tucking you in depending on the time of the day. He always made sure to talk to you, and you eventually opened up about your past, telling him that where you’d grown up, you were the only sorcerer and your parents, even though they didn’t understand the problems your powers came with, had moved to Kyoto to help you adjust in the new college. It’d taken time to get used to the new environment, but it had in time become natural. You told him how you had been bullied as a kid, being called a witch and your family being distanced from the other village’s, since you were thought of as a bad omen or a devil’s related. You told him how it had been hard but also rewarding to become a sorcerer, finally having the time to strengthen your relationship with your parents and your new friends.

You told him about your hopes and fears, how you had always longed to find your soulmate, fearing to end up alone and forgotten otherwise. How you dreamt of saving people and proving the same kids that picked on you back at the old village wrong, that you or your powers weren’t a bad thing to avoid but something good to treasure and use to help others, rather than hurting people.

The best part of it all, was that he’d listened throughout your whole rant, never once interrupting you or going away before you’d finished: he was clearly interested in getting to know you, so you decided the best you could do was repay him, hearing out all his story and yap about his life or whatever.

Before you’d realized, two entire weeks had passed by, and you started to notice how he spent more and more time with you, always opening up more about himself and getting comfortable in your presence, so much you were basically used to his visits.

That’s why you were quite saddened when, the day after, he didn’t surprise you with any gift, though his presence was probably the best present of all.

You shrugged it off: there must’ve been a problem at work…right?

When he didn’t show up the day after or the day after that, you became worried: was he okay? Had something happened to him? Was he ignoring you or your calls on purpose? Had he had enough about you and your problems, getting bored of his own soulmate.

Unanswered, you were left with your own thoughts, in an unending loop of irritation and anxiety, not even a call with your parents or an evening spent cooking, one of the many hobbies you’d tried to keep yourself entertained with, could break.

The day after, seeing how stressed you were about this whole situation, Utahime decided to go out (forced you to come with) on a shopping spree, in order to get your mind off of Gojo.

You found yourself enjoying the free time, laughing with your best friend and trying out so much new stuff, from clothing articles to food and movies, shaking away the little devil on your shoulder that constantly tried to trick you into worrying too much and not savoring the moment.

You came back home quite drained, though not as much as you’d expected: it was only 7 p.m. and she’d managed to make you happy again, Utahime’s plan had officially worked, not that you’d ever tell her that. By then, you were starving, three bags of clothes and shoes hanging from your sore shoulders.

Since it was Friday, you went back to your humble apartment, where you usually spent the weekends. It was the habitation your parents had bought when you’d all come to Kyoto for the first time, which you had taken property of, since your parents had gone back to the country life in a small cottage only a few hours from your current residence.

Before you could take your keys out, you heard noises coming from the inside of the apartment.

You panicked: was somebody in your house? Why? Were they a thief or burglar, or worse another sorcerer with the intent of killing you?

Utahime was still downstairs, waiting for you to send her an “I’m inside” message, being the overprotective friend she was. You could’ve called her if something went south, but you decided to enter on your own, reassuring yourself it was just the wind. Still, you never left the windows open, so how could it come through?

Gulping down, beads of cold sweat trickling down your face, you unlocked the door with cautiousness.

A loud “Surprise!” Came from in front of you, the lights turning on simultaneously as a broad figure jumped right at you, scaring the life out of you.

Out of natural instinct, you punched the intruder and then proceeded to roundhouse kick him in the head, making him fall on the ground rather ungraciously.

Before you could hit him furthermore, the now scared intruder exclaimed: “Stop! It’s me! Satoru, Your soulmate!”

“Satoru?”

“Yeah, it’s m-…” he was cut off by another punch, aimed for the guts.

“What the hell Satoru? Everything was going great and then you suddenly start avoiding me and ignoring all of my calls? What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m sorry, okay? Will you just let me explain?” He swiftly got up, frantically searching for something that had fallen down with him.

“All this time, I spent it preparing a surprise for you. See!”

He took out a flat white velvety box, as big as the palm of his hand, offering it to you.

Confused, you slowly opened it, revealing a beautiful silver necklace, with a drop shaped pendant that contained a bright topaz and studded with small diamonds.

“I-It’s beautiful…” You said, still recovering from the shock of seeing him.

“You think? Nanamin helped me chose it, ‘cause he knows more about me about this stuff and I hoped you would’ve liked it because-“

“I-I’m sorry but I can’t take it.” You interrupted his rambling, closing the box and handing it back to him, you could only imagine how expensive it was and you knew you weren’t going to be able of repaying the gift with something as valuable.

“What? Why?”

You looked around, hoping he’d get the hint and drop the topic, getting to what he’d actually come here for. But you should have known, from your previous experiences, Satoru was never one to drop topics, at least not with you.

He scoffed: “C’mon, it’s a gift. I don’t want no payback. I just wanted to make you happy!”

“But I’m already happy you’re here! Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh no, I will worry about it. I mean, stopping me from spoiling my own soulmate? You must be nuts.”

“Please, Satoru.” It had basically become a pleading at that moment, but boy was he stubborn.

“No. You deserve the world and I intend on giving it to you. You can’t back away from it. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

You didn’t know if it was his pleading tone or his puppy eyes, but you finally gave in, letting Satoru put the jewelry around your exposed neck.

“See? Everything’s okay. Besides, you look astonishing with it. Not that you usually don’t, I mean you always look amazing, but…”

You hugged him tightly, closing your eyes so you could register his scent and warm feeling so you’d never forget it.

“I missed you so much.”

“I know baby, I’m sorry. I can make it up to you.”

You let go of him as he got out of your view, showing you the richly decorated room he’d organized behind your back.

That’s when you noticed his clothing: a formal navy blue suit was covered by a dirty apron, his hair tousled and messy and his sunglasses resting atop his white head. He was so sexy you could kiss him.

“Wow…” You were stunned, brain going fuzzy and short-circuiting at the excess of love.

“I promised you I’d take you out on a date, but both you and Utahime had told me you would’ve preferred something indoors, just the two of us.”

Tears started to well in your eyes, mind hazy at the new feelings.

“Hey, are you okay?” He wiped your tears with his thumb, frowning. “Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I did sweetie, just know I’d never hurt you.”

You were unable to form coherent sentences: apart from your parents, and later in your life Utahime and some of your students, nobody had ever liked you. Even though you dreamt daily of romantic love, your attempts at socializing with others were always shut down quickly. People did’t like weird girls, different from them and potentially dangerous; they didn’t care if you were just an innocent little girl, yearning for a place in this big world, all they saw you as was a witch, a threat to their lives, something they’d rather eliminate than encounter.

Overwhelmed by the affection, you melt in his arms, your eyes tearing up rivers as he soothed you with a sweet voice, reassuring you he’d never leave you and other lovey-dovey stuff you’d only ever imagined being told.

As you’d calmed down, he asked you: “You went shopping with Utahime right? Why don’t you change in one of your new dresses, only if you’d like to of course, so I can officially take you on our first date?”

You nodded, a small smile finding its way onto your lips as you went to grab the bags.

Before you went to change, you skipped rapidly to a confused Gojo, giving him a peck on the cheek in thanks and making him blush like a teenage girl.

You skidded happily to your room, displaying all your dresses, both old and new, on your mattress along with your two heels.

Shortly after, you remembered about your friend waiting outside for news from you, calling her to let her know the evening’s new provisions, to which she humbly told you she’d been the one to help Gojo plan it, even though it had been his idea.

With her on the phone helping you choose the outfit, you decided to match the jewelry by wearing the high heel sandals with rhinestones.

Excluding all the dresses with vibrant or dark colors, you were now left with three options: a short glittery sheath dress you quickly put aside, a baby pink dress with a corset and a fluffy gown and a light arctic blue fitted sleeveless satin dress with straps, ring neckline and slit.

You opted for the latter, going for a more simple and elegant look. You’d bought it a few years ago but it was the first time you’d put it on.

Your fears about it not fitting were immediately shut down once you saw your reflection in the mirror. You were never one to bestow compliments to yourself or be vain, but this dress really brought out the best out of your features, harmonizing all your curves without becoming indecent.

You added a pair of diamond earrings your mother had gifted you a long time ago and opted to keep your straight hair down, fixing your silver bangs. After the incident had happened, you’d decided to not hide yourself anymore, cutting the side bang and getting a complete new haircut that adorned your features instead of hiding them.

For the makeup, you went for a light glittery eyeshadow and grey mascara, giving volume to your short eyelashes, applied a bit of lipgloss and topped everything off with an enchanting perfume you’d just bought with Utahime.

Thanking your best friend for her help, you closed the call, taking in a big breath before reaching for the door handle.

As you stepped out of your room, you scanned the kitchen, finding Satoru plating the final dishes and bringing them to the small dining table.

He had brought a few red heart-shaped balloons and decorated the room with fresh rose petals, while the dining table presented an old matching tablecloth of yours he’d somehow made look decent, the usual silverware and wineglasses that were probably more expensive than your whole cutlery.

“I made some pasta with clams, mussels and other seafood. You’d told me fish was one of your favorite foods so I hope you lik-“

As he turned around, facing you, you could see his mind go blank.

Eyeing you in utter shock, he stuttered: “Y-you look g-great.”

“You think so?” You twirled around to let him see the back of the dress, as he nodded and smiled brightly like a kid who’s been given candy.

Taking off his apron and glasses, he quickly regained control over his body, imposing himself to not be caught off guard again. “You’re beautiful, if I may. Though it’d be best if we ate right now as not to let the food get cold.”

“Well thank you! Didn’t expect you to be such a gentleman.” You said as he took out your chair for you.

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises.” He smirked back.

You spent the rest of the evening chatting, both unable to keep your eyes off each other.

“Well, would you like some dessert now, miss?”

“Satoru, my parents will get mad at us if you spoil me this much.”

“I must say, that seems kinda terrible. Your father is scary and I’m more than frightened by him, so I wouldn’t dare to even think of making him mad.”

You giggled, your father may look scary at first, but he was actually one of the most sweet souls ever. It was your mother he had to be afraid about, though you didn’t want to alarm him further.

“Don’t worry, he’s not that bad.”

“I still think he doesn’t like me."

“You’ll be okay, you guys will get along just fine”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. Besides, he’ll have to face me if he terrorizes his daughter’s own soulmate.”

He laughed warmly, getting two plates of a chocolate ice cream cake from the freezer.

No need to say, that dish was just as delicious as it looked; your taste buds were starting to develop their own crush on the infamous Gojo Satoru.

After you’d finished, Gojo helped you clean up.

Nonetheless, it was obvious how none of you wanted to say goodbye, searching for any excuse to spend more time with each other, not wanting the evening to end.

It was already dark outside and the moon shone brightly over the silent city.

“So…”

“Soooo…”

He was the first one to break the ice: “Do you want me to leave?”

“No. Please no. I-I mean, it’s already late, you shouldn’t travel at night, we’ve already had way too many glasses of wine, each.”

“You know I can teleport right?”

“Yeahhh…”

He looked at you curiously, so you took the initiative: “Ok, fine. I’m only going to ask you this once: would you like, maybe, if it’s not a problem, to stay over? Only if you’d like to, obviously. But I’d really appreciate it if you spent the night. Not for any weird business. We could watch a movie, o-or do some karaoke, play just dance or whatever you want, just, please.” You sighed in defeat.

“I’d love to stay here! I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Oh shut up!” You shoved him, rolling your eyes dramatically.

“Though, I’m gonna have to pass on the karaoke and games. I’m way too tired to even consider taking a walk right now.”

“Thank god. You don’t know how sore my limbs are!” You said with an exaggerated sigh, leading him to the couch.

“You don’t seriously intend on watching a movie in that dress?” He made you realize.

“Right, sorry. I mean, not sorry. But…” He managed to hold his laugh “Y’know what? I’m going to change into my pajamas and find something cozy that fits you.”

“How do you have something that fits me?”

“One of my one night-stands…” You made up, trying to be as convincing as possible.

“One of your-What?” He exclaimed, frowning.

“Aww, is my Satoru jealous?”

“You called me yours”

“You didn’t deny it”

And with that you left to grab some spare clothing for your handsome soulmate to change into, leaving him mouth agape and eyes widened.

You came back dressed in an oversized fluffy teddy-bear themed pajama, face washed and your hair in a ponytail. In your hands were a pair of gray sweatpants and matching hoodie.

You handed the load to a doubtful Satoru, who eyed suspiciously the clothes and sniffed them, only to be found with the refreshing smell of laundry.

“Are they really from one of your one night-stands?”

“Of course not, dummy. I don’t do one night-stands.”

“That’s…good.”

He paused for a bit.

“Then whose clothes are they?”

“I’d bought them for my dad, but they didn’t fit him. They’ve been sitting in my drawer for months, unused and forgotten.”

“Poor clothes.”

“Yeah…” You imitated a sniffle, wiping non-existent tears from your eyes.

You both broke into a laughing fit, unable to breath properly, tearing up and falling onto the ground because of your lack of stability.

Once you’d broken out of the unending laughter, you got to your feet and offered him a hand to get him up.

“C’mon, go get changed so I can grab a few snacks in the meantime.”

“Don’t choose a movie without me!”

“I won’t, now move it!”

“Yes m’am!” With that, he closed himself in the bathroom to get ready.

In the meanwhile, you adjusted the sofa so that you could stretch your legs like in a bed, you arranged the blankets and pillows and finally grabbed a bowl with chips and popcorns and another one with mixed candies from halloween.

“Look who finally decided to come out!” You exclaimed as Satoru got out of the bathroom with the clothes highlighting his lean but muscular build.

“It’s not like you were quick either, before.”

“Okay, we’re even now. What do you want to watch?”

“Cinderella.”

“Sincerely, eww. Like hell I’m watching that! It’s a kids movie.”

“Well, what do you propose?”

“Human Earthworm, of course.”

“Okay, first why not cinderella? It’s a classic, and everybody loves classics!. Second, no, Worm-guy or whatever it’s called, sucks. Third, you should meet my student Yuji, he’s a huge fan of that, so perhaps you could go watch it with him!”

“Oh, well, he seems like a nice and smart guy. Unlike someone I know, ehm-Gojo Satoru-.”

“Ouch. Anyways, what do you want to watch?”

“How about…Lord of the Rings?”

“You think I’m gonna turn down an opportunity to watch the Lord of the Rings?”

“Y’know, you’re starting to get better!”

“I knew you loved me from the beginning.” He replied smugly, smirking again.

You elbowed him lightly in the ribs, to which he dramatically fell to the floor, making up a tragic death scene all by himself.

With only the movie in your mind, you rolled your eyes at his poor acting, heading to the couch.

With a jump, he had already settled in the couch and snuggled up in the kitty blanket you’d brought out, stretching his arms out for you to settle into.

Scoffing at his childishness, you pressed play and gave in those sweet eyes of his, letting yourself fall in his warm embrace.

You yawned cutely, pressing your head on his chest. His heartbeat had become the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard: it put you at ease and made you happy.

A content sigh leaving your lips, you reached out for the bowl of snacks, yet he’d preceded you, taking out a handful of popcorns and handing the rest to you.

It felt quite nice. Nobody and nothing bothering you, the best movie ever (I’m sorry but it’s not up for discussion) playing in the back, while you shared blankets, snacks and body warmth with your soulmate. If this was a dream, you didn’t want to be waken up.

Your daze was interrupted by a loud thunder that made you shiver.

Noticing your change in mood, Satoru hugged you tighter, pressing a light kiss to your forehead and helping you relax. He set the almost empty bowls aside as you nuzzled further into him, inhaling deeply his scent.

You may have not known this man for long, but you could say you were utterly in love with him, just as he was with you. You imagined your future with him. Would you buy a big new house? Would you have any pets? How many kids would you have?

That could wait though, because right now, you had him, and that was more than enough.

Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it. You're welcome to come check out my account and my other posts and/or make requests :) (MASTERLIST) Do NOT plagiarize this or any of my content.

Do you think I should make it a series?

Love you guys! See you soon!😘

Written by crazycat010 © 2025 crazycat010

[quitealotofsodapop]

shadowpeach Valentine’s Day headcannons!!….please.

(It can be for any AU or cannon)

Better late than never!

Wukong has been aware of modern romantic holidays & traditions like Valentine's Day, White Day, and even the lovey side of Xmas ever since they reached China. He doesn't have much of an emotional conection to them as the traditional holidays like Qixi (Magpie-Crossing Festival) or the Mid-Autumn Festival - but he finds it sweet! Humans finding new occassions to openly show affection for eachother!!

Macaque had no idea about the modern festivals until he wandered past a shop selling love hearts and roses. He got very confused. He doesn't really celebrate the traditional festivals, other than spending Mid-Autumn with his sister Chang'e, so it was interesting for him to discover new holidays.

Wukong LOVES big gaudy shows of affection - give this man all the flowers, fruits, and goofy cards he could ever want!

Macaque's tastes in gifts are more refined; wine, expensive toiletries, rose petals leading to the nest... he still goes red like a schoolgirl if Wukong gives him a card with a silly joke in it though.

They are no strangers to date nights. Wukong dislikes being the centre of attention, but can enjoy himself at public events where he can blend in with the crowd. Cinema and sporting events are always great choice for him! Macaque on the otherhand, is perfectly happy to keep his Peaches all for himself; whether at home watching tv, at the island's hot springs, or walking through the garden.

Once romance is established/re-established; these monkeys about to get arrested for excess PDA. They can't keep their hands off of eachother most days! Not even for naughty reasons, Wukong is just a cuddly guy, and Macaque likes combing through his fur.

If they got kids, don't expect them to tone it down. Perhaps it even gets worse! Catch them whispering praises into eachother's ears and nuzzling eachother's necks as their cubs cover their eyes with mortification.

Macaque leaves bite marks. Wukong leaves claw marks. Both bruise up the other's neck like heck. They do spend some after time tending to these wounds. You know why. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Wukong becomes mortified whenever Macaque tries serenading him in public, mainly because of all the attention gets shifted to him. So as a adaptation, Macaque has thrown his love a glance/wink during a ballad-filled moment in his plays, ensuring that even in the crowd Wukong knows Mac's words of love are only for him.

Despite being the one dispensing the grand guestures, Macaque is always shocked to recieve one back! ("Peaches, what do you mean you've prepared a romantic picnic for us!? Who told you to do that?")

Sometimes romance is kissing and words of affection. Sometimes its picking dirt and bugs out if eachother's fur. Sometimes it's a regularlly scheduled couple's brawl to keep your strength up.

Both are physically and emotiomally unable to romance another person. One of them may have tried to move on, but they just can't shake their feelings for the other. The other is their true other half. No attraction to anyone else. Wukong swore off romance when he thought he lost Macaque for good. Macaque attempted romance with fellow actors before, but simply couldn't stop thinking about his then-ex-mate. Both are very touched that the other stayed loyal.

They do require some couple's therapy to work out stuff that happened in the past. In Aus where they've been married many years, they still have rough patches that they have help getting through but not as bad as when they first got back together.

Hope you liked these! Reply with your ideas too!

[hrizantemy]

The priestess hesitated.

Nesta could see it—the slight flicker of uncertainty in her expression, the way her fingers twitched at her sides, as if debating whether to keep her hands folded neatly or to wring them together like she was battling a decision that had already been made. There was a long pause, a silence so thick Nesta could feel it settling into her ribs, a quiet that stretched between them, curling around them like a tension neither of them could escape.

And then, finally, the priestess let out a slow, steadying breath and said, “You must understand, Lady Nesta, that normal priestesses and High Priestesses are very different.”

Nesta’s brows furrowed, a flicker of something unreadable moving behind her gaze, but she said nothing—let the priestess continue, let her explain the weight of whatever knowledge she had been withholding.

“High Priestesses are not merely selected by their temples, nor are they appointed by those who govern our faith,” the priestess went on, her voice lower, carefully measured, as if she were unraveling a sacred truth, as if the words she spoke had been etched into time itself. “They are chosen by the Mother herself—not just for their faith, but for something far greater, something even we cannot always understand.”

Nesta’s heartbeat quickened, her breath catching in her throat, because there was a finality to those words, something deeper, something bigger than she had anticipated.

“Taryn herself was chosen when she was no more than a child,” the priestess said, and that—that was the moment Nesta felt her world shift beneath her feet.

She hadn’t expected that.

Had never imagined that Taryn had been there since childhood, had never considered what that meant—that she hadn’t just been a priestess who had taken her vows later in life, that she hadn’t simply chosen the path of faith, but that she had been placed there, shaped by it, formed by it from the very beginning.

Nesta had always assumed Taryn had lived a life before the temple, had come to it as an adult, seeking refuge or purpose in the way so many did. But no—she had been a child, had been called to it, had been claimed by it before she had ever had a chance to be anything else.

Nesta’s hands tightened at her sides, her thoughts racing, because this—this was something she had never even considered before.

And if that was only the beginning, if that was the foundation of who Taryn had been, then—

What in hell had happened to make her run?

The priestess sighed, her expression shifting into something more serious, something that made the weight in Nesta’s chest sink lower, heavier, like she had only been given the edges of something far greater, something that had been left unspoken for too long. There was a finality in the way she exhaled, in the way she seemed to brace herself before speaking again, and Nesta knew—whatever she was about to say next would change everything.

“You must also understand,” the priestess said, softly, but with an edge of certainty, of history, of undeniable truth, “that High Priestesses do not get a choice in whether they leave or stay in the temple.”

Nesta’s breath hitched, her mind slamming into a halt, the words reverberating inside her like a chime struck at the exact moment of disaster.

“What?” she breathed, but the priestess only shook her head.

“It is where they are meant to be,” she continued, as if she hadn’t just shattered another piece of what Nesta thought she knew, as if she hadn’t just confirmed something so fundamental, so twisted, that Nesta’s own instincts recoiled at the very idea of it. “The Mother chooses them for a reason. Once they take their place among the temple, they do not simply leave. They are not allowed to.”

A chill slithered down Nesta’s spine, something cold and dark twisting in her gut, because—because this wasn’t faith.

This wasn’t a calling.

This was something else entirely.

“So she was a prisoner,” Nesta murmured, more to herself than to the priestess, but the words left her lips before she could stop them, the realization hitting her hard.

Because Taryn had not chosen this life.

She had not walked into the temple one day, had not decided to dedicate herself to the Mother out of pure, unshaken belief. She had been taken, placed within walls she was never meant to leave, given a role she had never had the freedom to deny.

And then—she had run.

She had escaped something Nesta hadn’t even known she needed to escape from.

And suddenly, suddenly, everything made sense.

Why Thesan had assumed her dead.

Why she had never told Nesta the truth.

Why she had hidden herself for so long.

Because Taryn had not just walked away from her place at the temple—she had fled it.

And Nesta—Nesta had never known.

The priestess shook her head, her golden robes shifting with the movement, her expression turning somber, as if she had long since come to terms with what she was telling Nesta—but still, there was something hesitant there, something that suggested she wasn’t sure Nesta was ready to hear it.

“No,” she said softly, but the word held weight, finality. “Not a prisoner. Not in the way you are thinking. But you must understand, Lady Nesta—with the power High Priestesses possess, with their connection to the Mother herself, they are not merely allowed to go where they please. They are not just vessels of faith, not just guides for those who seek wisdom. They are something more. Something…” She exhaled, as if searching for the right word, before settling on, “Chosen.”

The word slithered through Nesta like a blade, cold and foreign, something she did not like, something that did not sit right in her chest.

“Chosen?” she repeated, because that word was a lie. A lie wrapped in something holy, in something meant to sound reverent, something meant to make servitude sound like a gift.

The priestess met her gaze, unwavering. “Yes. Chosen. The power they are gifted with, the wisdom they hold, the way they can touch magic in a way no others can—it is not something that can be allowed to roam freely, Nesta. It is not something that can be wielded without care. They are bound to the temple because that is where they are meant to be. It is where they are meant to serve, where they are meant to stay.”

Nesta’s fingers curled into fists, her stomach twisting, because the priestess was speaking as though it was right, as though it was natural, as though it was the only way things could be.

But she had spent too long being caged, too long being pushed and pulled, shaped into something she didn’t want to be. And now, now she knew Taryn had lived that life too.

Except Taryn had lived it since she was a child.

Since before she had even known what freedom was.

Nesta’s jaw tightened, her breath slow and controlled, but her pulse thundered beneath her skin, her entire body coiled with something that felt too much like rage, like understanding, like the sharp edge of something she wasn’t sure she could accept.

“And yet,” Nesta said, her voice low, steady, but laced with something deadly, “she still ran.”

The priestess hesitated again.

And then, very softly, she murmured, “Yes.”

Nesta’s lips parted, the sharp edge of her breath barely audible over the silence stretching between them. The pieces were there, laid out before her like an unfinished puzzle, but the shape—the truth—was still just out of reach, still shrouded in something she did not yet understand. Her fingers twitched at her sides, her body coiled with tension, as she took a step closer, her voice low, unforgiving.

“Then what was she running from?”

The priestess stilled, her shoulders tightening, and then—slowly—she looked around.

Not in the way someone might when searching for an answer. Not like she was merely gathering her thoughts. No. She looked around as though there were eyes on them, as though even here, even now, with Nesta alone in the halls of the Dawn Court, there were things that were not meant to be spoken aloud.

The way her gaze scanned the empty corridor, the way her fingers twitched against her robes, as though fighting the impulse to make a warding sign, made something deep in Nesta’s chest tighten.

“It is not only the duty of the High Lords to protect the High Priestesses,” the priestess finally murmured, her voice quiet, but not soft. No, there was something else in it. Something carefully weighed. Something dangerous.

Nesta’s stomach twisted, something cold rippling through her at the weight of those words, at the way the priestess spoke them like they were truth, like they were law, like they were something she should already know.

“Dawn itself looks to the High Priestess,” the priestess continued, and though she did not say the rest—though she did not need to—Nesta understood.

Taryn had not simply been a priestess.

She had not simply held power.

She had been something more.

A symbol. A pillar. A figure to be protected, to be revered, to be preserved at any cost.

And she had run from it.

Nesta’s breath shook, her hands tightening into fists, because she did not yet have the full picture, did not yet know what had happened, what had made Taryn flee from a temple that was meant to shelter her, a court that was meant to rely on her.

The priestess sighed, her golden robes shifting with the movement, her fingers twisting slightly, as if she were weighing something heavily, as if she were about to speak words she had long kept buried, words that were not meant to be shared lightly. Nesta watched her, feeling the tension in the air coil tighter, an invisible string pulling taut, as though they were standing on the precipice of something dark, something that had remained unspoken for far too long.

“When Amarantha ordered the slaughter of the High Priestesses,” the priestess finally murmured, her voice low, as if the very act of saying it was dangerous, as if it still carried the weight of a memory too terrible to be spoken above a whisper, “many of them stayed in the temples. They did not run. They could not. The temples were warded by the High Lords’ magic themselves, ancient protections woven so deeply into their foundations that even Amarantha’s forces could not breach them.”

Nesta’s breath hitched, her body stilling, because she could already tell—already feel—that whatever came next would be worse than she had anticipated.

“When Amarantha’s armies couldn’t get in,” the priestess continued, her eyes flickering toward the empty hall once more, as if ensuring they were truly alone, “they resorted to… extreme methods to make the High Priestesses come out.”

The air in Nesta’s lungs turned cold, and yet she couldn’t force herself to move, couldn’t force herself to interrupt, because she knew—knew—that stopping now would mean never knowing.

The priestess inhaled shakily, her hands pressing together in a way that almost seemed prayer-like, as though this was a story she had uttered to the Mother herself, as though it was something that had haunted her, haunted them all, for years.

“They would take citizens,” she finally said, “and they would bring them before the temple.”

Nesta’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t dare interrupt.

“They would slaughter them in front of the temple gates, so the High Priestesses could hear,” the priestess went on, her voice distant, as if she were detached from the horror of it, as if she had told herself this story so many times that she had learned how to remove herself from it. “They would scream for mercy. They would beg for help. And the High Priestesses had to listen. Had to stand behind those walls and do nothing.”

Nesta’s entire body tensed, her breath coming sharp, because—because that was worse than anything she could have imagined.

Not just knowing that the world outside was burning.

Not just knowing that Amarantha’s armies were tearing through Prythian, that people were dying in the streets.

But knowing that the people they had sworn to protect were being murdered right in front of them.

And that they could not save them.

That they had been forced to listen, night after night, day after day, to the wails of the innocent, to the pleas for salvation, to the sound of their own people dying, knowing it was meant to break them, meant to force them to walk out of those doors, to surrender themselves in the hope that it might end.

Nesta swallowed hard, a sick, twisting weight in her chest, because she understood now—truly understood.

The priestess’s hands tightened, her fingers clenching together, her breath shaking ever so slightly, but still, she spoke, still, she continued, as if she owed it to those who had been lost, as if she owed it to Taryn to say what had long been left unsaid.

“Taryn wanted to come out,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, but still carrying the weight of something unshakable, something that had never been fully forgiven, something that had been etched into the history of those who had survived. “When they began with men and women—when they forced them to their knees outside the gates, when they begged for mercy and were given none—she was ready to walk through those doors. Ready to surrender herself if it meant saving them.”

Nesta’s heart clenched, her nails digging into her palms, her breathing shallow, because she could see it—could picture Taryn, standing behind those unbreachable walls, listening, listening, as people died begging for her to save them, as she pressed her hands to the stone, as she screamed that they had to do something, that they had to let her go.

But they had not.

They had stopped her.

“And when that did not work,” the priestess whispered, her gaze flicking away, her voice barely more than a breath of remorse, “they moved onto the children.”

Nesta swayed, just slightly, her vision blurring at the edges, because—because that was a horror beyond imagining, that was something worse than anything she had ever heard before, something worse than what had happened to Velaris, worse than the battlefields she had stood upon, worse than the nightmares that sometimes still clawed at her when she closed her eyes.

“Babies.”

The word was soft, but it cut through the silence like a blade, reverberated through the hollowed-out part of Nesta’s chest like an echo of something broken, something that could never be repaired.

“And since we could not go out there, since we could not stop them, we had to stop her.” The priestess exhaled sharply, her hands wringing together, but she did not try to justify it, did not try to make it sound less than it was. “By force.”

Nesta’s throat closed, her body tight with something too terrible to name, because she knew what that meant.

They had restrained her.

Had held her back as she fought against them, as she screamed to be let go, as she begged them to let her save them, to let her do something, anything to stop what was happening outside those walls.

And when she had still struggled, when she had still fought, they had used force.

Had done what was necessary to keep her inside, had done what was necessary to ensure that the High Priestess of Dawn did not surrender herself to slaughter.

She had never come back.

Had never spoken of it.

Had never told anyone what had been done to her.

Nesta stared at the priestess, her entire body numb, her mind spinning, and she knew—

The priestess’s voice was a whisper, but the words carried the weight of years—of history, of grief, of something that had never truly been spoken aloud.

“And then… when Amarantha’s forces finally broke the wards, when they pushed through the protections we had relied on for so long, when they came in—” she paused, inhaling deeply, but it did nothing to steady the tremble that ran through her. “They slaughtered everyone.”

Nesta didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.

“The High Priestesses fought,” the priestess continued, her voice tighter now, her golden robes shifting with the way her hands clenched into fists. “With all their power, with everything the Mother had given them, they made a dent in the army, they burned through them, they tore them apart—but it wasn’t enough.”

The words sank into Nesta’s chest, heavy and crushing, the image of it searing itself into her mind—the temple in flames, blood splattered against the sacred stones, the cries of warriors, of priestesses, of the dying and the dead.

“So many sacrificed their lives to ensure that Taryn survived.”

The way the priestess said it—so final, so certain, so full of something painfully reverent—made Nesta’s stomach turn.

“She was the only one left.”

Nesta’s pulse pounded, her hands trembling slightly at her sides, because this—this was not the story she had known.

She had believed Taryn had escaped. Had believed she had run when things became dire, had left because she had no choice. But the truth—the real truth—was that people had died for her to live.

They had pushed her forward, had fought to the last breath, had ensured that when the temple fell, when the walls collapsed, when the sky burned red with slaughter, she made it out alive.

“And when Amarantha was gone,” the priestess continued, “when she was dead, and we were finally free, we thought—” she hesitated, exhaling shakily, before pressing forward. “We thought she’d return.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

“But she didn’t.”

Nesta’s vision blurred, her chest tightening, because this changed everything.

Taryn had not merely disappeared—she had been expected to come back. She had been meant to return to Dawn, to reclaim her place as High Priestess, to be the last survivor of the temple, the last of the sacred line.

But she had chosen to stay gone.

Had left them to believe she had perished, had walked away from the court that had fought for her, died for her, sacrificed everything to make sure she lived.

She could understand—of course, she could. Who wouldn’t run after something like that? Who wouldn’t flee after surviving something so unspeakable, something that had torn through the very foundation of who they were and left them standing in the ruins, bloodied and alone? Nesta had spent months feeling like she was drowning, like she was lost in the aftermath of the war, like she had been carved out and left with nothing but emptiness.

So yes—she understood why Taryn had not returned.

Because going back meant facing it.

Going back meant stepping into a place where ghosts walked, where every hallway whispered of those who had fought and died for her, where every breath she took was a reminder that she had survived when they had not. It was easier—simpler—to disappear. To become something new. To rewrite herself into someone who had never been a High Priestess at all.

Nesta knew what it was like to look at the past and feel nothing but rage and grief and exhaustion.

She knew what it was like to run.

Nesta’s breath hitched, the tension coiling so tightly in her chest she thought it might snap. Her mind was still spinning, still reeling from everything she had just learned, from the weight of Taryn’s past, from the way it mirrored her own in ways she did not want to acknowledge. But one thought cut through the storm, one question lodged itself in her ribs, demanding to be asked.

“What will happen to her?” she said, her voice low, controlled only by sheer force of will.

The priestess let out a slow, measured sigh, her eyes flicking to the grand windows overlooking the vast golden sprawl of the Dawn Court, as if she were looking beyond it, as if the answer was already written in the light itself. “There will be a trial,” she murmured.

Nesta’s entire body froze.

“What?” The word was sharp, too sharp, her voice cutting through the air like a blade unsheathed, but she didn’t care.

“Of course,” the priestess continued, as if she hadn’t just said something that made Nesta’s blood turn cold, as if she weren’t speaking about something that could change everything, “Taryn will come back. She will reclaim her position as High Priestess—she is still chosen, still bound to the Mother’s will. But before that—” she inhaled, steady, as if bracing herself for the impact of her own words, “there must be justice.”

“Justice?” Nesta’s breath staggered, her hands clenching at her sides, fisting into her skirts, because she did not like the way the priestess said that word, did not like the finality in it, the certainty, the way it rang like something that had already been decided. “What kind of justice?”

The priestess turned to her then, her gaze calm, but there was something unmovable about it, something that told Nesta she would not like the answer.

“She abandoned her people, Lady Nesta,” the priestess said, softly, but it might as well have been a sentence passed. “She left when they needed her most. She let them believe she was dead while they grieved her, while they rebuilt without her, while the ones who survived lived under the weight of what they had lost. This court has spent years trying to heal from what was done to us. And now she has returned.”

Nesta’s heart pounded, something thick and hot curling in her chest, something that felt a lot like fear.

“What will happen to her?” she asked again, her voice quieter this time, but no less demanding.

The priestess hesitated.

And that—that made Nesta’s blood run cold.

Because it meant whatever came next would not be good.

The priestess hesitated, her fingers twisting slightly in the fabric of her robes, her gaze flickering to the golden floors, as if the answer might be etched there, as if looking at Nesta would only make this worse. That hesitation was enough—enough for Nesta’s stomach to twist into a tight, unrelenting knot, because if she didn’t know, that meant it could be anything.

“I don’t know for certain,” the priestess admitted, her voice softer, though not gentler, because there was no way to make this truth easier. “The decision will fall to the ruling council, to Thesan, and to the elders of the temple. But…” she trailed off, as if the words were too heavy, as if saying them aloud would make them real.

“But what?” Nesta pressed, her breath tight, her pulse pounding.

The priestess sighed, her fingers loosening, and then—slowly, carefully—she spoke. “There are traditions for when a High Priestess abandons her post.”

Abandons. The word cut like a blade.

“One of the possibilities,” the priestess continued, her gaze level, unreadable, “is exile. True exile—stripped of her title, of her power, of any right to the Mother’s blessings.”

Nesta stiffened, her body coiling with something sharp, something furious, because she could imagine it too clearly—Taryn, cast out, left adrift, left with nothing, left without the very faith that had defined her since she had been a child.

“And the others?” Nesta forced herself to ask, her throat tight, her breath too shallow.

The priestess’s lips pressed together, as if she truly didn’t want to say it, but she did.

“Public atonement.”

Nesta’s stomach turned.

“What does that mean?” she demanded, her hands curling into fists, though she already had an idea, though her mind was already putting together the worst possibilities.

“It means she would have to pay penance for what she did,” the priestess explained, though her tone had a careful edge, as if she knew exactly how Nesta would react to this, “through labor, through service, through a public display of remorse, decided by the elders. It could be anything, depending on what they deem appropriate. Days, weeks, months of servitude to the temple, to the people she abandoned.”

Nesta’s jaw clenched, because none of this sounded like justice. It sounded like humiliation. Like they wanted to make her kneel before them and prove herself again, as if she hadn’t already lost everything.

“And the last?” she asked, because she had a terrible feeling that there was more.

The priestess hesitated again, and that was answer enough.

“The worst punishment is imprisonment,” she finally said, the words clipped, tight, as if she did not wish to speak them aloud. “Not in a cell, not in chains, but in the temple itself. Confined within its walls, forbidden from stepping beyond its sacred grounds, never to leave again.”

Nesta’s breath hitched, because that—that was worse than exile. Worse than penance.

That was a life sentence.

That was caging her inside the place she had once fled from, forcing her to remain there forever, to serve until she died, to pay for her crime by never being free again.

Nesta’s heart pounded, the weight of it slamming against her ribs, because she knew—she knew—that no matter what they chose, no matter what form this justice took, Taryn would never be the same again.

Guilt settled into Nesta’s bones like a cold, relentless weight, pressing into her chest, her ribs, her throat, making it hard to breathe, hard to think around the sheer crushing reality of it.

This was her fault.

For her.

Taryn had returned for her. Had written to Thesan for her. Had bargained, pleaded, risked everything—not for herself, not for her own sake—but for Nesta.

Nesta, who had spent her life running, who had spent months clawing her way out of one cage, only for Taryn to walk willingly into another.

She had thought she was protecting Taryn. That the two of them had been hiding together, that they had been equal in their defiance, two women who had seen what the world wanted to make of them and had said no, we will be something else.

Nesta’s fingers tightened, her nails biting into her palms, but she barely felt it—barely felt anything beyond the sharp, twisting weight of realization, the knowledge that no matter what happened, no matter what decision was made, Taryn would suffer for it.

Because she had asked for Nesta to be taken away.

Because she had told Thesan the truth—that Nesta could not remain in the Night Court, that she would never be safe there, that they would never let her be anything other than a tool to be wielded.

And Nesta—Nesta had let her.

Had let herself be brought here, had let herself believe that this was freedom, that Taryn would be safe too, that it was a choice they had both made.

But it hadn’t been a choice at all, had it?

Taryn had made sure Nesta was saved, even if it meant damning herself.

The thought made something inside her twist and snap, a deep, hollow ache she didn’t know how to fill. Because Taryn had been the only one who had fought for her, truly fought for her, and now Nesta had let her walk into this alone.

Had let her free Nesta from one cage, just to lock herself inside another.

Nesta’s hands shook, her breathing ragged, her heart hammering so violently she thought it might burst free from her ribs.

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, and the words were firm, unyielding, but there was something else in them, too—something pleading, something desperate. “Surely there are other ways. Surely—surely this doesn’t have to be the answer.”

The priestess simply watched her, something solemn and knowing in her gaze, something that made Nesta’s stomach tighten.

“She was a child when she first entered the temple,” Nesta pressed, stepping forward, her hands fisting at her sides, her fury barely contained beneath the rising tide of emotion she couldn’t name. “Did they even ask her what she wanted? Did anyone ask her if this was the life she chose, or was she simply told it was her duty and expected to obey?”

For the first time, the priestess hesitated.

But when she finally spoke, her voice was calm, steady, as if she were merely stating a fact, as if there was no room for argument, no space for questioning what had already been decided long before Taryn was even born.

“Those blessed by the Mother,” the priestess murmured, her hands folding neatly in front of her, “already have a destined path. It is not for them to choose, nor for us to alter. It is a path that is never meant to be strayed from, no matter how difficult, no matter how sorrowful.”

Nesta stilled, her entire body tensing, because—

Because that was it, wasn’t it?

That was the root of it all.

They didn’t see Taryn as a person.

They saw her as a vessel.

As something sacred, something meant to serve the will of a higher power, something that had no right to desire or choice or freedom.

Nesta’s breath came harsh and uneven, her fingers twitching with the need to lash out, to tear this entire court apart, because how could they not see it? How could they speak of faith and duty without recognizing the cage they had built for her?

And worst of all—

How could Taryn have spent her entire life knowing this and still come back?

The priestess said nothing else. Perhaps she could sense the storm raging inside Nesta, the way her fingers twitched, the way her breath was still too uneven, the way she stood so rigidly, as if she might snap in two if she let herself feel any more of this. Instead, she merely turned, her golden robes whispering against the marble floors as she led Nesta through the quiet, opulent halls of the Dawn Court palace.

The air felt lighter here, the walls glowing warm and golden, bathed in the soft afternoon light spilling through the carved archways, but Nesta barely noticed. The beauty of it, the softness, the sheer contrast to the cold stone of the House of Wind, meant nothing to her now. She followed in silence, her thoughts a tangled mess, her stomach a knot of rage, grief, and guilt that would not untangle, no matter how many steady breaths she took.

When they reached the door, the priestess turned to her, her expression unchanged, still carrying that same quiet reverence, that same unshaken belief in the way things were meant to be. She bowed her head—a sign of respect, a formality, but Nesta didn’t want it. Didn’t deserve it. And then, without another word, she turned and walked away, disappearing down the golden-lit halls, leaving Nesta alone.

She stepped inside, her boots clicking softly against the floor, and immediately, she was surrounded by finery. Everything was immaculate, from the intricately woven rugs to the smooth, hand-carved furniture, to the wide, arched window that stretched almost from floor to ceiling, offering an uninterrupted view of the endless sky, the golden rooftops of the palace, the warm, rolling hills beyond. It was a room made for comfort, for luxury, meant for someone who was welcome here, who belonged here, who had earned a place in the High Lord’s court.

But Nesta felt none of that.

Instead, as she stood there, surrounded by all this wealth, this warmth, this carefully curated beauty, all she could think about was Taryn.

Taryn, who was still asleep, who was still unconscious, who had thrown herself back into the very fate she had escaped for Nesta’s sake. Taryn, who had spent years running, hiding, and now, just like that—she had stopped.

Nesta moved toward the window, pressing a hand against the cool glass, staring out at the sky without really seeing it.

She hoped Taryn stayed asleep.

Hoped that, for a little while longer, she didn’t have to wake up and face what was coming.

Because once she did—once the trial began, once justice was handed down—there would be no escaping it this time.

Tag list: @litnerdwrites @viajandopelomar @wolfinsocks

[lyricalt]

fic_promptly - theme: trips

sniperspy - rated G - prompt: traveling mishaps

----

“Ah, yeah. She’s blown,” Sniper reports from the passenger side of the car. He ducks his head back in, no doubt smudging the bottom window line with his fingerprints. There’s a slight greasy feel to the exterior, meaning Spy has recently waxed his beloved Bizzarrini Strada to a high shine before the trip. Nearly blinded Sniper when he took off his sunnies. He wipes his fingers on his shirt.

Three hours into a long drive ain’t bad for the first mishap to happen. All things considering, Sniper had thought maybe they’d last thirty minutes.

Spy is in the process of getting out from the car and rolling up his sleeves. Sniper’s eyes inadvertently go to the folded cuffs sitting above Spy’s elbows. Spy’s a slim fellow, always fitted perfectly in his suit, so the chance to see the fabric of his shirt strain at his shoulders and forearms is always a treat, doubly so with the top two buttons undone. 

Spy shuts the door, putting an abrupt stop to Sniper’s ogling, and Sniper belatedly climbs out of the car himself. He stretches, rolls his shoulders some, and saunters over to join Spy at the back of the car. 

It’s midday, the sun at its peak. Nothing but them and the long stretch of highway in the desert. Sniper flips his sunnies back down from his forehead.

Spy has a slight look of annoyance by the whole ordeal. He throws Sniper a sidelong glance. “It must have been the weight distribution. I don’t often have a passenger riding.”

“Or,” Sniper says, leaning against the car just to further aggravate Spy. “Maybe you don’t have to go speedin’ two hundo kilometers an hour over a patchy road.”

Spy pops open the trunk, which nearly smacks Sniper in the face. Sniper takes the hint, pushing himself off the gleaming polished surface, and peers inside.

The Bizzarrini’s trunk is as deceptively roomy as Spy’s pockets. Spy pulls out a spare tire, wrench, and jack. Before Sniper can get a better look, Spy shuts the trunk, almost taking out Sniper’s fingers. A red glare reflects straight into his eyeballs in admonishment and leaves Sniper temporarily blinded despite the sunnies.

Forget the driver. The car itself is a menace. Sniper blinks away the flashes of light and turns just in time to see Spy on the dusty ground setting up the jack with practiced ease. 

Sniper hadn’t been surprised that Spy would have a car to match his expensive tastes, but he has always wondered if Spy was simply a collector of fancy things or if he was a true car enthusiast—maybe even a greasemonkey not afraid to get under the hood. Judging from the way Spy starts clamping on the hydraulic jack and inspecting the wheel, Sniper thinks Spy might actually be a real rev-head. No wonder Spy seems to go into conniptions any time he has to ride in the van for an extended amount of time.The land rover is a good ol’ reliable gal that Sniper keeps trim, but she ain’t no pretty roadster.

“Do you plan on only watching?” Spy asks pointedly from the ground. He’s taken the wrench to the lugnuts with all the expertise of someone who may or may have not had a decent career as a mechanic in another life. Any bloke can change a tire in a pinch. Not many can measure out the balance or think to check under the chassis and suspension. 

“Watching’s the only thing I’m good for, mate,” Sniper says, moving slightly. “Told me yourself. Many times.”

His shadow falls over Spy, saving him a little from the sun’s heat. A damp patch of sweat has built up at the back of Spy’s collar, making his shirt cling to his back. Sniper stares while he wrestles with the silly urge to pluck the shirt loose and wave a bit of air through. 

“Watching,” Spy repeats without looking back at him. He sounds both skeptical and amused as he rolls the bum tire off. “But not because you’re curious about how to properly install a custom tire on a custom car, I assume.”

Correct assumptions aside, Sniper pulls his weight by stopping it from rolling off into the desert and pushing the spare towards Spy’s waiting hands. “I’m surprised you’re letting something so mediocre as a spare touch your Bizza. Shouldn’t you have another tire that’s made from a nigh extinct rubber tree only grown on some remote island off the coast of India with hostile natives?”

Spy grunts. “That tire is on the drivers’ side.”

It’s still hard to tell if Spy is lying or being truthful. Sniper’s going to let this one slide in favor of letting Spy concentrate. Man’s even got his hands dirty with grit and grease and nails looking as bad as Sniper’s after a day’s work.

“Good grief. Engie know you’re this slick with a wrench?”

“Do not tell him. The last thing I want is for him to know who is stealing his torque wrenches.”

“Piss. That’d be me borrowing his impact wrenches,” Sniper says with a sigh. “No wonder he’s been feeling tetchy ‘bout his stuff lately.”

“Two more secrets we will both take to the grave,” Spy mutters, sitting back with a gentle thump. He considers the newly placed wheel, not looking very satisfied but there is little else he can do until the next pitstop or town or however he’s going to obtain another custom tire. 

Sniper is about to haul him back to his feet, but Spy tips his head to look up at him. There’s sweat at his collarbones, skin flushed from the heat and working over the burning highway pavement, and now Sniper really can’t resist reaching down to pluck at the back of Spy’s shirt to fan in some air. 

“Merci,” Spy says, like Sniper’s been some big bloody help the entire time.

They spend some moments cooling off in the car before Spy starts to argue that the best way to dry the sweat from his back is to roll down the windows and go two hundred kilometers an hour, and not with Sniper's hands under his shirt.

Hard to win against that logic, but Spy doesn't complain when Sniper's hand makes its way under his shirt anyway.

[aventurineswife]

-Hoo-shit- My brain is cooking up something fierce...

(SAHSRAU Idea Incoming)

So, remember the Painter!Creator? What if when they were young they had a lot of creative visions, of the idea of Honkai Star Rail, not specifically who characters were or what they would be like or do, but the idea of an intergalactic universe with different planets, cultures, and people in it, with travel being by train.

(Absolutely overjoyed with HSR releasing as a game, its like a dream come true!)

Now, pair this with the idea, that before they had eventually gotten sucked into the game, they didn't gain their technical ~Immortality~ till they turned like 15 or something and all the physically negative things that happened to them- be it, they got sick, they got a small injury, like a scrape or something, they had to go to the ER for an accident-

Several different planets- like over a thousand, with their terrain, wild life, and inhabitants all faced a crisis of some kind.

When they got a cut, scrape, or small injury, when they were like- under 5 years old, over 100 planets would experience a continental drift, forever physically shaping the Geography of them. When they got sick, when they were 10, over 1000 planets experienced heavy dormancy and withering with crops and animals, not to mention the people coming down with plagues and horrible diseases. When just before they had turned 15, they had gotten into a car accident- putting them in critical condition, the result commenced several different wars of many kinds- The Swarm Disaster being an example of that, and planet invasions/destruction- Boothill's planet being an example.

And as they grew up, coming over the age of 15, the Painter!Creator gains their technical ~Immortality~ which stopped any and all crisis under their physical inconvenience to a heavy pause, however leaving impacts on the history of everything in Honkai Star Rail, so when another crisis happens, its not under their influence of any kind, just life itself taking a few unfortunate pointers on how it should react under a certain time and place.

So, imagine how any and all characters/relevant characters (Of your choosing, but please include Boothill in this) would react to this information.

Also just to clarify, if your confused on how the timeline of this all would intercept concerning the physical negative inconveniences I just listed off, let's just say they turned 15 in April of 2020 since the game came out in 2023 on April 26, so they'd be 18 at that time, and 20 now.

Oh, this is insane in the best way possible.

The idea that Painter!Creator had these visions of a universe long before it even "existed"—and that their own physical state shaped its very history—is such a wild take on the concept of divinity. It makes them unknowingly responsible for so much of the universe's suffering, but also for its very existence.

And then they became immortal.

Not by choice. Not through power-hungry ambition. But simply because the universe stopped reacting to them. As if it had already been set in motion, as if it had finally learned how to run on its own, leaving them behind as a witness rather than a participant.

And then they got sucked into the game.

Suddenly, they are standing in the world they once glimpsed in their childhood dreams.

And the people? The ones who suffered, the ones who thrived, the ones whose lives were quietly molded by their injuries, their sickness, their pain?

How would they react?

This is where it gets really painful.

Boothill’s entire planet was annihilated.

He lost everything. His home, his people, his past.

And now he finds out why.

Not because of some grand cosmic war.

Not because of some malicious, calculated scheme.

Not even because of a mistake.

But because, somewhere, sometime, a young Creator was in a car accident.

He’d hate Them at first.

He’d despise the idea that everything he suffered was so meaningless.

But over time, he’d realize… it was never personal.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s even worse.

Because what do you do with anger when there’s no one to blame?

Dan Heng would take this… very quietly.

His mind would race, calculating the implications, the sheer weight of this knowledge.

He wouldn’t accuse or lash out. Instead, he’d just… study Them.

He’d want to know how They feel about it.

Do They feel guilt? Do They accept it? Have They even come to terms with what They are?

And if They haven’t? Dan Heng would be one of the few to actually ask:

“Then what do you want to do, knowing this?”

Oh, Kafka would love this.

Not in a cruel way. Not in a way that dismisses the tragedy of it.

But in the way that someone who sees the threads of fate would.

She’d see the narrative in it, the grand, cosmic poetry.

She’d wonder if They are still creating—if They still paint, dream, envision.

Because what They dream becomes reality.

And maybe, just maybe…

Kafka would whisper in Their ear, encouraging Them to dream again.

Because who knows? Maybe the universe is still listening.

Screwllum would have the most complex reaction.

On one hand, this is not logical.

The mere cause-and-effect relationship between the Creator’s experiences and the universe’s history should not exist.

And yet, it does.

For the first time in a long time, Screwllum cannot calculate the "why."

And that? That would fascinate him.

He would study Them, not out of worship, but out of a pure, unrelenting need to comprehend.

March would be the first to ask if They’re okay.

Because, Creator or not, that’s a lot to bear.

She’d wonder if They ever wanted this.

If They ever had a choice.

And if They ever just… want to be normal.

Welt, of course, would approach this with caution.

He has seen impossible things.

But the idea that this whole universe is the reflection of one person’s pain? That’s something even he struggles to accept.

And yet, he does.

Because the truth doesn’t need to be believable. It just needs to be.

What Does the Creator Feel?

This is the big question.

They didn’t choose this.

They were just a kid with a wild imagination and a body that got hurt, got sick, got broken.

And the universe listened.

Now They are here, standing among the people who unknowingly suffered under the weight of Their existence.

Do They try to fix things?

Do They simply live among Them, unseen and unrecognized?

Or do They let the universe continue on its own—just as it learned to do after They turned 15?

Because at the end of the day…

They’re still just one person.

But the universe will always be watching.

Okay guys, no more SAHSRAU/Creator!Reader AU 🙏

[barbiegirldream]

Jujutsu Kaisen is a series that feels rushed, incomplete, and hollow in a lot of places. SO many plot points were opened and never closed. Entire arc had next to no conclusion flowing directly into the next. And it reads more like a bizarre book than a manga.

HOWEVER I think a lot of questions about the series can be answered when you reframe the story in your mind. Think back to the start. What does the story begin with? Yuji and Megumi saving each other. The choice Yuji made to swallow the finger to protect Megumi and Megumi asking Gojo to intercede for Yuji is the entire tone of Jujutsu Kaisen.

Let me give some examples:

Q: Why did the merger never happen?

A: Because it had nothing to do with Yuji and Megumi's love story. Yuji set out to teach Sukuna about love and in reuniting with Megumi defeated his dominion of hate. The merger, the culling games, these grand plans for world domination, all these fights... who cares when Yuji is smiling with tears in his eyes and Megumi is reaching back. That was the point. Nothing mattered more than them.

Q: Why did Yuji never speak with Kenjaku?

A: Because Kenjaku had nothing to do with Megumi. If you're confused re-read the cave scene. Yuji dreams of Kenjaku as his mother and dismisses it out of hand because Megumi is in front of him. Because Megumi needs him. If Kenjaku would have been useful to getting Megumi then they would have spoke.

Q: What was wrong with Kenjaku?

A: Kenjaku's motherhood was based in tainted blood. Even their understanding of Yuji was lacking. Thanking a highschool friend who Yuji would later describe to Megumi as essentially a fake friendship. Yuji never had real connection before Megumi. The 'family' Kenjaku could have provided with the 10 wombs is nothing to Yuji when he'd eat all their corpses for Megumi

Q: Why did that scene with Ozawa exist?

A: To establish that Yuji and Megumi have held onto their childhoods and aren't ready to grow up yet. Successfully beating out the cycle of forced adulthood in sorcery that their teachers and classmates were put on. Which was always Gojo's dream.

More of these under the cut. Seriously I'm not joking. It truly was our ItafushiKaisen

Q: Why have flashbacks about Gojo's childhood?

A: To show where Megumi comes from and explain what happens to friends who are not devoted to each other over their principles and ideals. Hidden Inventory comes right before we see Megumi and Yuji sacrifice their morals for each other in Shibuya onwards. And when Toji is brought back to confront Megumi

Q: Why develop Yuta so much then?

A: Yuta is the embodiment of love. He carries the curse of love. His role when he enters JJK proper is to reunite Megumi and Yuji again and again. In that cave, fighting through the culling games with them, make as many back up plans as possible to get Yuji to Megumi

Q: Did Sukuna really need to take Megumi to kill Gojo

A: Who knows. He took Megumi to hurt Yuji and try and destroy Yuji's concept of love. He knew from the moment he was in Yuji's body that Megumi was a weak spot and watching his misery was the goal

Q: Why did Yuta possess Gojo? And why didn't Yuji care?

A: To show again love being the most twisted curse of all one last time. Yuta was completely devoted to his teacher and cousin. Gojo trusted Yuta to protect the student's in his absence. Both of them stuck in the ideal of the strongest. But not Yuji he never cared who was the strongest. He simply cared to get Megumi back. Standing on the ashes of Choso watching Yutajo walk around screaming still for Fushiguro to come back

Q: Why did Nobara come back?

A: Fuck if I know

Q: Why all the glaze and power scaling of other characters

A: To prove it never mattered who could fight and kill who or who belonged in the ranks of best. All that mattered was Yuji getting to save Megumi.

Q: Why did Yuji never learn he was related to Sukuna?

A: Gege barely even knew how he was related to Sukuna

[xeversayfishxace]

Xever doubted this would allow the pair to connect anymore than this at present. Still, they had broken through many walls at this point. Perhaps what needed to happen next was something else but Xever wasn't sure what that was at present. For now trying to end this fight was all that mattered. The pair were most just wildly swinging at one another by this point. No thoughts, only feelings and nothing more.

(You aren't happy right? All these pressures being upon you. I guess in a way I was lucky to not have to deal with that. I want to say more to you Rahzar and yes I prefer calling you that because we can't go back anymore. We're too changed from the men we used to be. Why did I decide to do this? Was I trying to reach out? Was I being kind? No...my desire is selfish as it always tends to be. I wanted to see if we're truly the same, so I threw all that crap your way. All the things I thought would hurt you simply because I was testing you.)

Xever clear had to do it, because now he was seeing Raz's real self. All that self-loathing, all that repressed emotion. Xever never understood the whole holding back your emotions thing. A person should always feel what they want to feel. Pushing it down only made it worse. And boy could Xever see how bottling up so many emotions for years upon years messed Bradford up. Xever might hide things too, but he let a lot of himself hangout sometimes. So he was more adjusted.

Didn't help that he felt the same things, Bradford just hadn't been willing that he felt the same save for this very moment they were in.

Xever weaved and dodged blows, time seemed to slow down as the two mutants just kept on trading blows with one another. No more words were spoken aloud only flying fists and kicks were all they shared. And it was fun, in this moment Xever was having fun.

(Raz, I don't want to be alone anymore. Despite all we've done to one another you've been with me through thick and thin. I hate you, I hate you so much...but I can't imagine life without you. So, from here on out I want to...become friends? Brothers? Something unique only to us? Is that even possible? Are we allowed to be like that? I want to be like that! I want to feel something good for once! We're gonna be bad at this, it will be awkward but somewhere down the line I'll try somehow. I will try to make things different between us somehow? God I don't know! But, the point is I will try.)

Xever aimed and uppercut to Raz's jaw before then cartwheeling backwards to a distance away. Xever almost fell over then but got up one final time.

"I think...one attack is all I can muster...let's put all we have into this. Come on Raz! You and me to the end!"

Bradford narrows his eyes, it was quite frustrating that he lost control of himself like that. Blaming him for the mutation was one thing, he can accept that, talking about how he almost died because of him was another. It was surprising even to him that he just spilled all of that - he is not the kind to walk into a too personal territory.

And yet  … why does it feel like a whole weight got lifted from his chest? Why, despite his frustrations was it that Bradford didn’t entirely mind it was Xever of all people he opened up to?

Because he did it before.

Xever was the one who had seen him at his worst before. He couldn’t live with the shame of failing their master - that was the only time he showed a shred of vulnerability in front of him. Including trying to take them all down because of the shameful feeling eating away on him. When their master considered them dead weight, it was him who put him aside to tell him that Master Shredder is right considering of their high status before.

“Let’s end this.“

He doesn’t have much to say anymore - most of what he had was already out anyway. Besides - he doesn’t make promises he was not intending on keeping.

The ‘real him‘, whoever that is, Rahzar was not even sure himself anymore, Xever might enjoy. But the self loathing? The self doubt? The crushing weight of high expectations that was eating away on his soul from those around him? The hatred he feels for those turtles? His failures always lingering on the back of his mind, the pressure of being 100 % for everybody and more? The all or nothing that everyone expects?

He hates it. He needs to be at his best. Because that’s the only reason why people are with him. He worked so hard to maintain that image - it is not about him and his issues. It never was. It's about what he can provide for the clan.

He is exhausted. But he keeps fighting - taking some of the kicks and punches. His stomache certainly took another blow and he cringes, feeling slightly dizzy too, enough time to receive other hits. When he finally gathered himself together, some  attacks he tried to block or counter, fighting a bit more wildly around. But it’s also clear he has become weary. Won't be a long fight anymore, but he is not giving up.