#the deer should fear us!

[realtapiocafan]

YEAHHH, CELTICS WIN!!!!

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

I mean, it's not even megafauna and look at how big this deer is compared to my mom's old mini cooper. For reference I'm 5'1 and I'm about as tall as that car and the tractor tire in the background. That deer is solidly at least 4 feet tall and could look me in the eye and could wreck a car if it got hit do you really think you wanna mess with a MOOSE

If there was one animal literacy thing I could change with a wave of a wand, it would be increasing people's understanding of how dangerous megafauna are. I think that in the US (and probably other Western countries too), we're so removed from wildlife and even large domesticated animals that people really have no perspective on how much a big animal can fuck you up. Even if they're "gentle."

This is a discussion going on on Twitter, too, the last few days: there was a thing where an Iditarod musher shot a moose to protect their team, and a lot of people are confused as to why that needed to happen. Apparently this moose had been hanging around the course for quite a while and was becoming quite dangerous to the sled dog teams. Moose are territorial and not to be fucked with. Everyone from Alaska or areas with moose are like "yup, that's just reality."

Same thing with the bison birth I watched last year. Folk really thought the staff should be in the habitat on the ground with the bison herd, helping with the birth. Sure, that's what we do with cows if we have to, but... bison are definitely not cows and, again, will squish you.

People tend to get it more with the predators. Few people will argue that a cougar or an alligator or a bear isn't dangerous. I think people kinda go both ways on wild pigs / boars depending on their experience. But herbivores or things that don't look traditionally pointy... it just kinda doesn't click.

Any large animal is probably stronger than you think and more likely to hurt you than you realize. Be it a dolphin, an elk, a sea lion, or even an emperor penguin... just don't go near them, buds.

[tim-official]

the current trend of "tumblr users embarrassing themselves by proudly announcing why they don't listen to any music made by black people" is really astounding.

i cannot help but think this is a direct result of liberal White Guilt and how people have interpreted "anti-racism" as form of cultural self-segregation - the kind of person who thinks trying to cook chicken curry is cultural appropriation, or sends white people anon hate for wearing a kimono (yes, this kind of discourse happened). like, "oh, no, i could never participate in this culture, i'd get my evil white hands all over it! it would be more Progressive if I only did White things."

if you're a poc you've seen this, i'm sure - this deer-in-the-headlights stare you can get from white people when you play music / show art / share a story / anything that is Racially Coded, this total refusal to actually engage with it out of fear that it is in some way Wrong for them to have any opinion on it. because they read somewhere that it's bad to use AAVE but the only lesson they actually learned from that is "gotcha, white people are not allowed to interact with other cultures as punishment for my White Crimes. this helps to fill up the gaping pit of my white guilt and makes me one of the Good People." this transforms their discomfort around non-white cultures (black culture, especially, i should add) into a kind of virtue

anyway if you are white and reading this. go listen to some fucking haliu mergia. ethiopian jazz. will knock your dick right off. go listen to rap or reggae or bollywood and have a genuine reaction to it - like, an actual, from-the-heart reaction. you are allowed to not like some of it. but you will definitely like at least a little. yes, you can compare it to lemon demon (or whatever) if that helps you get into it and that's your only point of reference. maybe don't say that part out loud. but don't, like, separate yourself from it, like you are seeing it in a museum and the only polite thing to do is go "ahh, huh, very interesting, so much culture here."

[deadsetobsessions]

Some night, he flew above the twinkling lights of Blüdhaven’s buildings, wind rushing through his hair and the feeling of weightlessness pushing at the curve of his back.

There were a multitude of things that Dick Grayson appreciated, loved, Bruce for. One of those things would always be that his adopted dad allowed him to fly once more, even after his parents’ wings were cut.

In the air, he was home.

In the air, Dick Grayson felt like he was living up to, flying alongside, the Flying Graysons. Every flip, every trick he used to go faster, to fight better, felt like his parents were there guiding his every move.

Time healed his hurt, but still, the hole in his heart remained.

So when one of his best friends, a ghost vigilante by the name Phantom, asked him if he wanted to see his parents, he froze like a deer in bright white headlights.

“What…?”

Phantom did a flip in midair. “Wanna see your parents? They’ve been asking if they could talk to you.”

“My parents… are ghosts?” That was the least pressing question he had right now, but it was all his mouth could speak.

“Kind of. It’s complicated,” Phantom side-eyed him. “It would require going into the zone.”

And just like that, Dick understood. After the Amity Park came onto the map and the Justice League fixed the human and alien and meta rights violations that were happening right under their nose, Phantom had permanently closed all access to the Zone. Save, of course, for himself and a few magic users, who all refused to anger the King of the Dead.

“The only way you’re getting to my people now, is through me. Should anyone try to get into the zone, without my permission… I will make sure that you and your family’s afterlives will pay the appropriate price.”

No-one wanted to test his threat. The afterlife is something few fucked with and came back whole.

The Phantom they’d seen on the news then was incredibly different than the one in front of him now. Dick knows, understands now, that it was because Phantom trusted him. After years of being denied help, years of struggling all by himself to keep reality from collapsing while avoiding getting experimented on by humans understandably closed his heart.

“You’d take me into the Zone?” Dick didn’t know what he was feeling. Hope, fear, trust, touched, happiness, something.

A lot of things.

Danny shrugged. “Yeah. I trust you,” he said as he glanced back at Dick-at Nightwing. “Only you, though. No one else.”

The question that remained was whether Dick trusted Phantom too. And considering the fact that the ghost king ironically saved his ass from being killed a couple of times meant, “Yeah. I- I’d love to.”

Danny smiled, all pointed teeth and solemn trust. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Now?!” Dick stood up anyways, his heart in his throat. Danny held out a gloved hand.

“Yeah, now. Haven’t you heard that death waits for no one?” At Dick’s concerned look, Danny added, “Don’t worry. You won’t actually die. You’ll come back whole and alive, I promise.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s go, then!”

——

Clark Kent threw himself out of the window, Superman suit already on.

Seonds later, he was hovering in front of Bruce’s shadowy form on top of a gargoyle.

“Clark,” Batman greeted in his gravelly voice, irritated. “What.”

“Batman, Nightwing’s heartbeat- it disappeared!”

Bruce’s heartbeat stuttered.

[theinnerunderrain]

Bound by Moonlight [Yan!Long-distance boyfriend x Fem!Reader]

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulative behaviors, the yapping goes crazy, slightly suggestive themes towards the end, victimization, gaslighting, etc.

+

"I think we should break up."

Yujin's eyes flickered open, awakening at the sound of your words. Slowly, his orbs focused on your face, and in a swift motion, he sat up from your lap. The warmth of your embrace briefly withdrew, leaving him staring into your eyes. He resembled a deer caught in the gaze of headlights—frozen, with a palpable sense of confusion enveloping him.

"What....?"

His lips could only muster that simple word, as though the syllables you had uttered before were alien, like an unexpected symphony he never fathomed hearing.

"I think...I think we should break up."

You summoned your courage and spoke once more, aiming for bluntness to conceal the cracks of fear hinting at your vulnerabilities. Inhaling deeply, you braced yourself, allowing your gaze to momentarily dance away from his hazel eyes, as if an invisible force compelled you to divert your attention, perhaps to shield yourself from the intensity within them.

"I just think...this long distance relationship isn't working out...."

"But, why?"

Yunjin's voice, a gentle inquiry, reached out to you, his fingers delicately intertwining with yours. The warmth of his palm brushed against your cold skin, creating a subtle contrast that sent shivers down your spine. His eyes flickered, teetering on the brink of tears, evoking a momentary pang of sympathy within you.

"I... I've done everything you told me to...I don't understand, [First Name]".

He spoke once more, drawing near until his face hovered just inches from yours, his breath gently caressing your cheeks. In that intimate proximity, the subtle fragrance of his cologne and the hint of peppermint gum enveloped you, creating an alluring blend that lingered in the air like a captivating spell.

"It's not you, Yujin. You're a great person and a wonderful boyfriend.. It's just that...."

In a brief pause, you step away, a fleeting attempt to distance yourself and reclaim mental clarity from Yujin's unsettling presence. However, he remains oblivious to the subtle cues of your discomfort, persistently closing the gap until your shoulder meets the unyielding warmth of his chest.

"It's just... it's just what?"

"I don't think I can live like this. I can't live to see my significant other only once a year, I can't live to talk to you through a phone."

In a rare display of vulnerability, your confession spilled forth, your voice delicately meek, a stark contrast to the depth of your emotions. A suspended hush enveloped the bedroom, the sole symphony being the distant echo of passing trains and the gentle hum of cars traversing the street. In the hush that followed, several minutes wrapped themselves around the scene before Yunjin's voice pierced the stillness. Astonishingly clear, his words resonated despite the recent brink of tears that had gripped him just moments before.

"Yes, you can."

His words shocked you for a moment, for its bluntness and coldness, contrasting the usual warm-hearted and kind Yujin.

"I've worked so hard for you. Worked so hard for us. Yet, you still want to walk away? After everything I've done for you?"

Your gaze remains locked on the wall opposite, your heart quickening its pace. It's a dance between fear and anxiety, the rhythmic thud resonating within you. You sense his gaze, a piercing intensity, as if it could solidify into a tangible force on the side of your face.

"[First Name]."

His words cut through the air, and you couldn't help but flinch visibly. Your name, once a melody on his lips, now escaped in a cold manner, a cadence foreign to your ears. It was a stark departure from the usual warmth that usually accompanied the utterance of your name, a departure from the loving tones and heartfelt renditions.

"Please look at me while I am talking to you."

With a momentary hesitation, you succumb to curiosity, your gaze slowly finding its way to him. Eyes meet in an unspoken exchange beneath the enchanting moonlight. Its gentle dance against his skin paints a paradox – a cold expression softened by the lunar glow, rendering him unexpectedly youthful and almost innocent in appearance.

"I did everything for you. I make sure we have enough money to meet up, I take such good care of you. I cooked for you, I showered and washed you, I take care of you."

With every uttered sentence, his words sharpened, each syllable a dagger cutting through the air. Simultaneously, his grasp on your wrist tightened, the pressure escalating with the cadence of his spoken disdain.

"So I don't understand why you're being so cruel to me? Why you're breaking up with me over such a petty matter? You haven't lost anything, [First Name]. You never did anything to contribute to this relationship, it was all me. But now you're leaving me?"

Continuing with relentless determination, his other hand pressed firmly against your chest, orchestrating a forceful retreat onto the plush expanse of the bed. Your back met the yielding mattress, and despite your instinct to squirm away, he skillfully straddled you, asserting dominance.

In a calculated move, he corralled both your wrists to the sides of your head with his own, rendering any resistance futile. Despite your valiant effort to defy his control, the palpable strength gap between you two became an insurmountable force, leaving you entangled in a struggle where every ounce of resistance seemed to dissipate against his unwavering authority.

"Yujin...!"

Words escaped your trembling lips as you contorted beneath him, his weight bearing down, leaving scant room for escape.

Fear clung to you.

Yujin, known to you for over two years as a soft-spoken and cheerful soul, now morphed into an unsettling entity. His transformation invoked a visceral sense of terror, as though a stranger had replaced the person you thought you knew.

"You don't get a say in this relationship, [First Name]. You don't have the right to decide if we break up or not."

As your wrist gracefully ascended to the crown of your head, delicately supporting itself with a single hand, his deft touch traced a daring path beneath your shirt. A momentary stillness gripped you, an electric pause as his other hand stealthily ventured into the realm beneath fabric, enticing an involuntary pause in the cadence of time.

"Yujin....What are you doing?"

His hands ventured, exploring the contours of your form, causing a shiver to cascade through you as his touch ignited a delicate dance on your most sensitive terrain. In that fleeting moment, his gaze locked onto yours, revealing a hesitant flicker within his eyes, akin to a wavering candle casting uncertain shadows in the cold embrace of the night. Amidst this charged atmosphere, his hand remained suspended, a tantalizing pause in the symphony of sensations.

"Making you stay. Don't worry about catching the flight home tomorrow, I'll contact your family and tell them that you're going to be staying with me for a while."

Without a chance to voice your protest, he leaned in, planting a tender kiss on your lips. Your defenses crumbled, and your lips parted almost on autopilot, surrendering to the rhythmic dance of his tongue against yours. He momentarily withdraws, his eyes glazed and cheeks ablaze with a rosy hue. In the next heartbeat, he leans back in, not for a kiss, but to gently press his forehead against yours, as if sharing an intimate moment. Once more, he spoke, and this time, his voice cradled a returning tenderness, resurrecting the familiar cadence of Yujin that you both knew and held close to your heart.

"So please," he breathed the words, his nose gently brushing against yours in an affectionate caress. Despite the tenderness in his voice, the firmness of his grip on your wrist created a striking contrast. His fingers clamped down with such intensity that his nails seemed to embed themselves into your skin, as though afraid you might take flight like a liberated bird should he dare to release his hold.

"Be good, and stay with me. Forever."

[lunartulips]

𝐴𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑅 𝐴𝑆 𝐴 𝐵𝑂𝑌𝐹𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑁𝐷 { 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐶𝐴𝑁𝑂𝑁𝑆 }

⇣

Very loving lover. To say the least. Probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him since he’s been in hell

Alastor would greet you in the morning with a big smile

“Good morning! It’s absolutely deadly in hell isn’t it?” Or if you walk in and see him eating then he’ll offer you a plate. Even if it’s a dead deer.

“You look well-rested, care for some deer?”

Since he’s the radio demon and feared by many he’ll make sure that you’re protected at all cost. Even bribing Husker to watch over you when he can’t, with booze of course

“Do take care of them I’ll be stepping out for a moment”

“Yeah yeah, got it now go”

Compliments I feel are a must. He’ll say compliments during the day or randomly. Smiling and looking straight at you when he does.

“My, don’t you look breathtaking today-!”

Flirting, probably would or won’t. When he does he’ll be a gentleman when he speaks. Holding your hand and adding a gentle kiss when he’s done, very like him. In a low tone voice to feel flirtatious

“My my, what a darling demon we have here~”

“Acting shy now? How adorable”

Alastor would be very protective and wouldn’t hesitate to tear a few limps off to protect you. Since he’s so gruesome with handling ‘enemies’ he’ll probably distract you from seeing such things with your own eyes. Or hold you close to his chest as he unleashed his wrath on another

“Hm? Oh don’t worry at all-! I’m simply ℒℰᎯᏉℐℕᎶ Ꭿ ℳℰЅЅᎯᎶℰ….”

“Don’t worry, how about some dinner hm? I’ll let you wait inside-!”

Very cute nicknames for you. Like darling, dearest, and honey. Alastor will call out to you using those names to find you, even in front of everyone, had no shame or embarrassment about it

Even outside of the hotel when he takes walks

“Ah-! There you are darling-!”

Oh boy….when this demon is jealous it’s every sinner for themselves. With you he’ll do his best to hold back so he wouldn’t scare or hurt you. Of course everyone else from the hotel will be staring and just watch. Charlie would probably try to calm him down before more heads roll. But Angel Dust would probably edge him on.

“Uh, Alastor? Please calm yourself please?”

“No! Keep going! So them who Y/N’s lover!”

There’ll be lots of blood and destruction when he’s jealous but of course he’ll won’t immediately go to violence when he’s jealous. Alastor can also stay close to you and place a protective hand either on your shoulder or around your waist. And would just give them eyes of death to the demon or person who dares talk to you in front of him

Dates would be very causal. Either meat dinners or hanging out with him listening to the radio

Love Language would be Quality time <3

Walks around the city in the wrath ring or joining him in his recoding studio when he’s on the air. When you work in the Hazbin Hotel he’ll pop in to checkup on you. And, when needed, he’ll help you in any way he can. He’ll make sure that you to have lots of time together both during work hours and when you clock out.

“You look like your struggling with this, allow me my dear-!”

Holding hands will be included with this relationship, along with him smiling a lot both at you and in general. Like the gentlemen he is he’ll make sure that your smiling with him.

“You’re never fully dressed without a smile~”

Alastor would be a very interesting demon to date with. Protective and old fashioned. Always smiling and would hum songs to you when you’re stress

Not only that. He’ll make sure you will avoid the three V’s/Vees. Especially Vox. If that does happen or you accidentally cross paths make sure you have a pair of sunglasses and stay behind a strong building before things get very ugly well quick unless you want to see such horrific scenes

But if that doesn’t happen then all things should be float

𝐴𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑅 𝐴𝑆 𝐴 𝐵𝑂𝑌𝐹𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑁𝐷 { 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐶𝐴𝑁𝑂𝑁𝑆 }

written by Lunartulips ☾ & ✿

[sorcerersseestars]

love sweet, taste bitter

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

To you, Gojo Satoru is your silly, loving boyfriend. But Gojo Satoru is also the strongest sorcerer in the world, and that comes with its risks—for both you and him. When his Infinity fails to activate, your mission takes a turn for the worse.

Aka one of you gets hurt, and the other has to bear it.

Warnings: injuries and violence, a gun is used, blood loss, hidden inventory arc spoilers, fight btwn Gojo and reader, reader implied to be shorter/smaller than Gojo, slightly suggestive (not rlly), lowkey a lot of kissing tho??, bad communication skills, emotional whiplash bc gojo doesn't know what to do w his feelings

Word count: 9.2k

*Gojo and reader are in their early 20s

"Cursed technique reversal: red,” Gojo calls out casually, lazily flicking his right index finger at his target.

The curse—hardly an intelligent one, far from being special-grade—stares at the brilliant light with bulging eyes. It's a deer in the headlights, transfixed by Gojo’s power and paralyzed with fear. You can only imagine how that would feel.

You tear your eyes away from the sight of the curse disintegrating into nothing. It's not as gruesome as most curse exorcisms, considering the potency of Gojo’s attacks, but the curse’s expression fading into nothingness still makes your skin crawl. You almost pity the horrible creature.

In comparison to the macabre scene you just witnessed, Gojo's enthusiastic noise of approval nearly gives you whiplash.

"Another job well done by yours truly!" Gojo grins, giving you two thumbs up. "Now let's hurry before that new boba place closes. You said you really wanted to try it, right?"

It takes you a moment to respond, your mind still processing how insanely fast your boyfriend was able to eradicate a threat that would have taken you both a good strategy and a fair bit of time to exorcise. It took practically no effort for Gojo to eliminate, and you know that he fears no curse. For you, fear grips you each time you face off with a curse, no matter how big or small. It doesn't feel fair.

Your fingers curl into a fist as you struggle with your emotions, frustrated with yourself. When you look to him, beyond his shades and into his powerful eyes, something akin to envy pulls at your gut. It makes you feel sick—you're viewing him in the way everybody else sees him. But when he walks toward you, smiling so wide that he looks goofy, your thoughts of his abilities melt away and are replaced by an affection so strong that your chest hurts.

His eyes are so beautiful, their perpetual sparkle even visible from under the dark film of his shades. His cheeks are tinged pink from your constant gaze on him, and it still amazes you that you have the ability to make him fluster at all. His lips are stretched into a toothy grin, his eyes crinkling along in genuine happiness. Your stunning boyfriend that you still can't believe ever gained an interest in plain old you.

That's right. To you, he's not the Honored One, he's not Gojo Satoru. He's just your boyfriend, just your Satoru. Just your boyfriend who is obsessed with anything sweet.

You roll your eyes lightly, a small chuckle bubbling up in your throat, “You mean, the place you've been begging to go to all week?"

He walks to your side, sighing loudly as he approaches. His deft fingers subtly adjust his sunglasses, pulling them down in an attempt to garner your sympathy. The expression on his face is priceless—the strongest sorcerer in the world is pouting because you insinuated you might not want milk tea.

"Don't be so mean, sweets!” He whines. "You said you wanted to try it out, too.”

“Hm, did I now?” You say with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I don’t recall.”

He steps closer, towering over your smaller form. When you dwell on that thought, you suppose you should be scared. You see him brutally destroy curses, leaving no trace of their existence behind. He could do that to you, if you wanted to.

Even knowing that, you aren’t scared.

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest. You can feel his strength through the solid grip he has on you—his arms lovingly cage you in.

Even though he’s done this many times before, your breath still catches in your throat, and your heart races at the proximity.

“C'mon, l know you've been craving brown sugar boba all week... And they even have that tiramisu flavor you go crazy for…”

He nuzzles in close to your neck, warm breath fanning down your nape. When he's this close, you can't resist anything—and he knows it, too.

You sigh as if he's ruffled your feathers, but you can't help but let the chuckle you’ve been holding in escape past your upturned lips.

“Do they have cheese foam?" You hum.

You yelp as his fingers dig into your side—and then your entire body is wracked with heaving, boisterous laughter.

"What a silly question. Of course they do! Only the amateurs lack the essential toppings,” He shakes his head playfully. “Any more funny business out of you, and you'll get punished again."

You twist around in his grasp to face him. Your hand reaches up to ease his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, putting his vibrant blue eyes and pale lashes on display.

“You're so pretty it's unfair,” You pout. "Leave some for the rest of us."

"And yet everyone's always trying to steal you away from me," He counters.

"Says the head-turner," You say with a smile full of your adoration for him. “Haven't you noticed that the rest of the population—myself included—never has all eyes on them when entering a room?"

He shrugs, “How would I know? You think my eyes are on anyone else once I see you?"

The insinuation has heat and electricity coursing through your entire body. He wears a smirk as if he can feel the flames licking your skin. You lower your gaze, suddenly shy.

A warm hand cups your check, gently nudging your face close to his. Your eyes instinctively flit up to his, drinking him in.

His eyes are bright behind his shades. You laugh softly when his shades fully slide down to the edge of his nose as he lowers his head to yours.

“Makin’ fun of me, babycakes?” He pretends to pout, but his tone is playful and warm.

“Maybe,” You tease. “I mean, you are freakishly tall and have glow in the dark eyes. And you call me all sorts of weird names.”

“You–!” He gasps. “You are such a rascal, y’know that? A fiend, even!”

“Mmm,” You hum, humoring him. “Well, would such a fiend as myself do…this?”

You lean in, savoring the warmth of his hands on you. His skin, smooth from its lack of wear due to his Infinity, skates across your skin effortlessly. Your lips are about to touch his, only inches away from bliss, when you both are caught off guard.

There’s a loud bang. So loud, in fact, that your ears ring as soon as the sound waves hit your eardrums. You stagger back from Gojo, crouching down and immediately covering your ears with your hands. You look up at your boyfriend, expecting to exchange confused glances, and are not prepared in the slightest for the scene in front of you.

His eyes are blown wide, shades now missing. Beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead and all color has drained from his face. His expression quickly crumples, lips parting and yet no sound escapes him.

A shudder runs through you—something is very wrong.

Then his shaky hands begin to move, and he quickly clutches his side. Right under his ribs, a stream of blood begins to run down his body, escaping between his fingers. You watch in horror as it pours down at an alarming rate, and you begin to put the pieces together.

Satoru has been shot.

His name leaves your mouth in a panicked howl and then you can't speak anymore, as if all the air has escaped from your lungs. Your mind is ripped back to when Toji Fushiguro sliced Gojo to shreds in front of you. His blood splattering everywhere while you watched on in horror, immobilized and completely useless, not able to do anything but watch the terrors unfold. Not again, not again, it can’t happen again, is what replays through your mind.

You have no more time to linger on that chilling memory. More pops sound through the air, deafening you and spiking fear in the blood that rushes through your veins. It can't happen again. You can't see him like that again.

You immediately throw yourself at your boyfriend, desperately trying to shield him with your body, even though it’s nearly impossible with how tall he is. You shove him down, attempting to cut down his frame to meet yours so that you can cover him, and notice something odd. You can still feel his warmth—your skin brushes against his, when it shouldn’t. Not right now, it shouldn’t.

You move to the side with quick steps and try to pull him along with you, but are unable to. Your heart sinks. He’s completely dead weight. You’re strong in your own regard, but there’s no way you can pick him up and take off with him.

"Satoru, please! C'mon, we have to go, we need to. Please," You plead with him, gripping him so tightly that your hands ache. When he doesn't respond, you start to shake him, trying to get any reaction out of him, but to no avail.

He’s in shock. It’s obvious with his lack of reaction, with how he lets himself be man handled under your body. He prides himself in his ability to protect those around him—he wouldn’t just let you put yourself in the line of fire if he was in his right mind. You know fully well that Gojo could eliminate the shooter in mere moments if he assumed his normal calm and nonchalance—but, unfortunately, his mind is in a freeze state. The bare skin under your fingertips is evidence of this, which only exacerbates your rising panic.

“Your Infinity!” You shout, your voice raw from panic. “Satoru, your Infinity! You need to turn it on! Now!”

Still grasping Satoru tightly, you endure the next round that is emptied into the space next to you—a bullet whistles by your ear, too close for comfort. Gojo’s breathing is ragged, his eyes staring into nothing and appearing so far away at the same time.

You duck down to his eye level and grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Satoru, please! Snap out of it! Please!”

For a few seconds, his gaze locks with yours. His eyes, usually such a vivid blue, are darkened by how large his pupils are. You plead with him, unable to keep your terrified tears at bay.

Then you’re slightly bumped back, now pressing against what feels like a wall, and your body becomes weak with relief. He finally activated his Infinity.

But you're not out of danger yet. Your brain scrambles as you try to figure out how to get out of this while your boyfriend is evidently in shock.

You dare a glance back, eyes scouring the landscape, and immediately curse. As you suspected, you are most definitely being sniped. The enemy has the advantage of higher ground and generous foliage for coverage, while you and Satoru are exposed out in the open clearing below. If you had more time and brain power, you could triangulate their location, but that's just not possible right now.

Even if you were able to surmise their location, you don't even think you can fight back right now, not with how exposed your position is and with how vulnerable Gojo is in this state. And if you can't fight, then you have to flee.

Projectile weapons are ineffective against a moving target—this simple knowledge is what sways your decision. Even though it didn’t work before, you grab Satoru, still trying to keep him low, and begin to run. You breathe a little easier when he moves along with you.

More shots whizz past you, but you keep going, pumping your legs as fast as you can while making sure to be the rear guard. It’s obvious that they’re targeting Gojo—if they hit you, it would merely be collateral damage. The bullseye is on Gojo’s back, not yours.

You don’t stop running until you hit the tree line, and even then you hurriedly usher Gojo behind a stocky trunk many meters back. Before you can catch your breath, you're ripping off your jacket with haste. Quickly realizing that the material is not ideal for the job you intend it for, you quickly tear your shirt from your body. It’s sweaty from all your activity, but it’ll have to do.

You brush away Gojo’s hands, firmly pressing the cloth to his wound. You practically collapse onto your boyfriend as you apply firm pressure, your forehead dipping down to rest on his shoulder. You're wracking your brain for what to do next when Gojo gently pushes you back, places his hands on yours, and shakes his head.

You can't help but think the worst. What does that mean? Is it like that time? Am I too late again?

“I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but y-you're bleeding so much that I have to. Fuck, I’m really sorry for making you run, I’m sure that made it worse, but we just had to get away from whoever was shooting, oh god, how badly did they get you, fuck, this is my fault–”

You don’t realize you’re rambling until he cuts you off. You don't realize you're crying until he brushes the tears away.

“Hey. Stop, sweets. I’m fine, it already stopped bleeding.”

“What? But that can’t be, you were literally shot–”

He raises his shirt, revealing a pink layer of new skin.

He offers you a weak smile, but something is off about it. “Reverse cursed technique, remember? Nobody’s gonna take me down that easily.”

You release a big breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The weight on your shoulders finally eases as you look over his new layer of skin.

“Oh fuck, I’m so glad you’re okay,” You sniffle, leaning in quickly for a hug. “I–mmph!”

You stumble back a step, blinking in surprise. This has never happened before—you hit his invisible barrier.

His eyes widen. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to–“

“No, no, it’s okay!” You wave your hands, trying to dispel his apology. You feel flustered and stiff, awkwardness seeping into your mannerisms. “It’s good that it’s on now.”

It’s then that the disturbing thought hits you. Maybe he should always have his Infinity on. Maybe you’re endangering him.

Gojo holds out his arms for you, now inviting you in. You pause, your thoughts echoing through your head. You take a beat too long—you know he senses your momentary hesitation, and how slowly and gingerly you come into his arms doesn't feel right.

“You okay? Did you get hit?” He asks, squeezing you tightly in his arms. “Fuck, please tell me you didn’t.”

With your head pressed to his chest, you can hear how rapidly his heart beats. He’s scared. He’s scared for you, even though he was the one who got hurt.

His hands run over you, checking for any injuries. You pull yourself out of his embrace gently to still his hands.

You shake your head, “No, I’m fine. But you…you got hurt, Satoru. They shot you.”

And it’s absolutely your fault. If you hadn’t been touching him, this never would have happened. He let his guard down because of you.

“I’m alright now, sweets,” He reassures you, but his tone is again tinged with a strange emotion you can’t put your finger on. “Promise.”

“But–!” You exclaim, about to spill out all of your guilty feelings. The words don’t come, though, stopped by another fear. Will he also realize it’s your fault and get rid of you? Will he realize he doesn’t need you?

“Here,” He says, unballing your shirt and placing it in your hands. “This is proof that I’m fine. Your shirt’s..."

He inspects it funnily, scrunching up his eyebrows and staring at it intently, making a show of it to make you laugh. "...pretty clean and ready to be worn again. Well, unless you don’t want to…can’t say I wouldn’t mind you not putting it back on…there is a little speck of blood on it, after all...”

He smiles at you, a true grin that manages to lift up your weary heart. You burst out laughing, and swat his arm before you hurriedly take it from his hands.

“Satoru! We almost just died and you—” You still can’t contain your laughter, but it stops abruptly once you feel a large wet patch on your shirt. When you pull your hand back, your fingers are stained red with a surprising amount of blood.

“I swear it closed up before you…” He frowns, trailing off. His face turns serious for a moment, but then you touch his cheek with your clean hand and give him a quick peck.

You shrug, “It’s okay. No biggie.”

Face still close to yours, he chases your lips as you pull away from the peck. He kisses you deeply, catching you by surprise and forcing you to hold onto him for support.

"Satoru! I'm gonna get you all bloody with this hand..." You softly protest.

"Don't care," He murmurs quickly, leaning in again and kissing like you don't need to breathe. "It's mine anyway. Just like you."

"Mmph—Satoru—but you need to get looked at properly," You manage to say. "We have to go."

He reluctantly lets you slip out of his arms, sighing as he straightens to his full height.

He groans loudly, frowning at you, "Party pooper!"

"Yeah, yeah, get yourself ready," You fold your arms, acting like you didn't just immensely enjoy that.

He raises an eyebrow at you and smirks as his eyes scan your body.

"What?" You ask petulantly.

He sounds more excited than you’d like, “So…no more shirt?”

You sigh, exasperated, and quickly smooth the shirt back over your body. He laughs and wraps himself around your smaller form, squishing you back against his chest. You relax against him, digging your nose into him, taking in his comforting scent. You both are silent for a few moments, soaking up each other's presence.

“That was scary,” You whisper.

Gojo sighs, “It was pathetic, that’s what it was.”

You snap your head up to look at him. “Hey. What are you saying?”

He shakes his head, looking frustrated. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just…let’s just head back.”

“Satoru…” You start with a warning tone.

“Don’t wanna talk about it right now,” He says flatly. “Besides, we should go back and see Shoko just in case. I want you to get looked over, too."

You want to question him further, but hold your tongue. You know better than to press him when he’s like this.

“Huh? Why’s that?” You simply ask instead, genuinely confused.

He frowns as he looks at your head, scrutinizing it as if something was wrong. Before you can question him, he forms a fist and–

Knock, knock.

“You think it’s in there?” He asks seriously. “Sounds pretty hollow.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief at the absolute disrespect. There’s no way he just knocked on your skull to check if your brain is still in your head.

“GOJO SATORU! Are you- are you implying I don’t have a BRAIN?!” You screech, taking hold of his sorcerer jacket to jostle him around. “Do you have a death wish?!”

He laughs, then uses the same fist to roughly rub your scalp. He even gave you a fucking noogie!!

“That’s it! Take me to Shoko.” You pout, crossing your arms and turning around so your back faces Gojo.

“Aww, sweets, you want a second opinion?” He coos, moving forward to wrap his arms around you from behind. “I’m sure she’ll be able to confirm it…”

“Ugh!”

"...with how willingly you throw yourself into danger."

You stop smiling. "What?"

He's not smiling either, and its absence looks strange on his face. His gaze is almost cold. "Don't do that again."

There are no words that come to your mind, but you wish you could protest and justify your actions and convince him that it was necessary. Instead, you stand there dumbly, transfixed by his cold aura.

Then he smiles sweetly again, as if that hadn't just happened. "Let's go, shall we?"

Shoko sighs loudly at your arrival. "What was it this time?"

"Actually, we're not sure," You admit, looking to Gojo to see if he has any possible answers. When he says nothing, you continue, "We didn't see what—or rather who–it was. 'Must have been a cursed user."

"Even Mr. Six Eyes didn't see them?" Shoko asks, raising an eyebrow. "That's hard to believe. And here I was always thinking he should leave some eyes for the rest of us."

She looks to Gojo teasingly, but he doesn't take the bait. Shoko looks to you with a questioning gaze that says something like—what's up with him?

"It's complicated..." You supply vaguely.

"Well, whoever it was must be bad news," She says. "How did they get Gojo if you couldn't see them?"

"They had guns," You explain. "It was a sniper...or a few snipers, I'm not sure if it was just one or if there was another one too. Their aim wasn't the best, but they got Satoru one time...they shot a few rounds at us, but I guess they got lucky with that shot."

You can't look at him. If you look at him, you'll see his skin pale and washed out from the blood dripping down his abdomen. You'll see his body lacerated and unrecognizable from Toji's ruthless assault. You are always useless, hopelessly useless.

You look at your feet instead and ignore the sour taste of bile in your mouth.

Gojo's cocky snicker brings you back to attention, "They were pretty terrible. They only got one hit, but they should have known better. As if that loser shit would work against me."

Shoko's eyes are on you again, and you know why. Gojo doesn't normally get injured. And by someone with nothing more than a gun? How could he even get hit with Infinity?

Even if you were speaking, you're not sure you would have the strength to tell her. It's my fault he didn't have his Infinity on, is the answer that resonates painfully in your chest. The guilt threatens to consume you whole, but you push it down.

"Everything is 'loser shit' to you with RCT," Shoko decides on. "But I have to say I'm just a little surprised you got hit."

"Yeah, yeah, but I'm all good now," Gojo says dismissively.

"Let me see at least," Shoko rolls her eyes. "Aren't you here to see me for my medical expertise or what?"

"What, we can't see our dear friend otherwise?" You tease with a pout. "You wound me, Shoko."

"That wouldn't be ethical of me,” Shoko plays along, then turns back to doctor mode once she starts getting her supplies ready. "Did you get hurt too?"

“No, just Satoru,” You say with a shake of your head. “You don’t have to check me over.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “I’ll come back to you.”

“Huh? But Shoko…” You trail off, seeing she has already begun inspecting Gojo.

“I’m all good,” Gojo rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t have quite the usual touch of playfulness it usually does. “C’mon, Shoko, don’t waste your time on this. We both know I can’t really get hurt.”

He winks at you, and you smile in return. That almost makes you feel better—he’s being more like himself.

“Uh-huh, but they certainly won’t let me rest until I do a proper check-up,” Shoko says. “You’ve got a persistent one, did ya know?”

He only chuckles at that, giving her some peace to look him over and prod him here or there.

“Well, you’re all good, as expected. It doesn’t seem like there’s any soreness, which is a good sign.”

“My RCT isn’t just for show!” Gojo says proudly. “Works just as good as yours, Shoko.”

She rolls her eyes, “Uh huh. Now, let’s get on to your ‘sweets’.”

You stick your tongue out at her, blushing, “Shoko, I have a name!”

“Not in these parts,” She teases easily, waggling her eyebrows at you. “Alright, just sit up straight for me now. Just gonna prod you a bit, okay?”

You nod, unworried as you let her hands inspect you. You relax and are about to crack a joke about getting a free massage from bestie Shoko, but you find yourself writhing in pain instead. You definitely didn’t expect yourself to wince—and yet you find yourself doing so, hissing out in pain as a stinging suddenly surfaces on your back.

Gojo sits up in alarm at your reaction and quickly jumps up from his cot, making his way over to you and Shoko. “What’s wrong?”

He’s practically hovering over you before Shoko shoos him away with a wave of her hand, motioning for him to let her do her job. He keeps away, but his gaze is trained on the spot her hand is touching.

She lifts your shirt fully, carefully inspecting the wound. It’s bleeding steadily, yet neither of you even noticed it before this moment.

“You got hit?” Gojo practically mewls. He’s never sounded this small and weak before. “But you were—I thought you were fine..."

Now it makes sense why your hand was tinged red when you pulled your hand back from the shirt earlier. It wasn't from Satoru's wound at all—it's your blood.

When you turn to Satoru, you look into a mirror. You know that's how you must have looked earlier when you looked at his bullet wound in horror.

“You probably didn’t feel it because of the adrenaline," You hear Shoko telling you. "It appears to be a graze, but it got you pretty good. There’s no bullet or shrapnel, which might be why you didn’t feel it in the moment.”

You feel embarrassed for some reason. “I seriously didn’t feel anything…it’s fine, then, right?”

Satoru is pale again. Emotions swirl in his agitated eyes—you can’t quite decipher them, since they cycle so fast, but he looks…haunted.

But he shouldn't, not when everything boils down to being your fault.

You immediately turn your attention to Satoru, becoming apprehensive about the look in his eyes. You smile at him softly, eyes crinkling along with your lips, trying to signal that you’re really okay, that there’s nothing to worry about.

But you don’t see the pool of blood steadily growing behind you, Satoru does.

“I’m okay, Satoru,” You smile, but it falters when Shoko presses gauze against your wound.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Shoko sighs. “Lay on your stomach and try not to move too much. I'm going to wrap you, okay? I need to grab some things, but I’ll be right back.”

"Okay..." You accept softly, still surprised by this turn of events.

You obey Shoko's orders and begin to lower yourself onto the hospital bed. You grit your teeth when the skin on your back stretches, irritating your newly discovered wound. You blink once and suddenly he's by your side, holding you steady and angling you so your back doesn't have movement while he gently lays you down.

"Thanks," You say. "I'm fine though, Satoru, really..."

“You don’t see yourself,” He speaks lowly, quietly. “Worry about yourself some.”

You’re left reeling at his words—more so by how he says them. His voice is so weak, uncharacteristically soft and completely candid.

“I’m fine,” You insist, shaking your head. “I didn’t even feel it. It can’t be so bad then, can it?”

You don’t miss the way Gojo’s jaw sets. He didn’t like that response. You see something you don't understand in his eyes, a flash of a strong emotion you didn’t anticipate. You avert your gaze, but it’s burned into the back of your eyes.

The click of Shoko’s heels alerts you of her return. Gojo watches his old friend carefully, taking in her furrowed brow and the way her eyes jump between your wound and her supplies, analyzing. She seems confused, as if she underestimated the severity of your wound. His hands curls into fists, watching your blood drip over the edge of the bed and dropping messily onto the ground below.

Shoko pulls her gloves on swiftly, grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and preparing it for application.

“Sit tight, my friend,” Shoko tells you with a deep exhale. “I gotta get started on this. First I’m going to sterilize it, then you’re going to need stitches. I’m sorry to say we won’t have the luxury of time to sedate you for that.”

You gulp. Your pain tolerance is okay, but you really hate the feeling of anticipating pain. Knowing something will hurt is infinitely more scary to you than getting injured in battle, when your adrenaline is high and it just happens without warning.

You reach your hand out hesitantly, feeling silly for needing comfort just for a few stitches, and are surprised by the immediate grasp on your hand. It’s tight but not uncomfortable; it’s warm and it grounds you.

You grit your teeth and try to limit your whimpers of pain as she treats your wound. You can’t stop yourself from squirming when the needles pulls at your skin again and again, even when she places a heavy hand on your back to hold you in place. All throughout, Gojo’s hand squeezes yours, carrying you through this uncomfortable ordeal.

When it’s finally over, you feel exhausted.

“You did great,” Shoko praises you. “Your wound should be all good for now.”

You let out a small chuckle of relief, almost giddy to be done with the dreaded stitches. You sit up and slide off the bed, wanting to get back on your feet to feel some normalcy, to convince yourself you’re fine.

You truly felt nothing before, but it must be catching up to you now. Your knees threaten to buckle under you as dizziness overtakes you—you wobble on your two feet.

Both Shoko and Gojo rush to you, each taking a side to support you.

“You lost a considerable amount of blood,” Shoko warns in her doctorly tone. “Slow down and take it easy from now on.”

You laugh sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head, “I’m good! Just stood up a bit too fast.”

Shoko releases your arm, but Gojo doesn’t let go. He holds you steady, even pulling you toward him, supporting the majority of your weight.

“I can stand, y’know…” You laugh softly, finding his overprotective actions a bit amusing. But all the humor drains from the situation when you meet his gaze.

You see it in his eyes again, a dark flicker that almost makes you nervous. Before you can muster the courage to question him about it, Shoko interrupts your silent musings.

“Listen closely. I know you like to be up and about, as you just demonstrated, but I want you to limit your movement as to not disturb your stitches. A little walking should be fine, but do not exert yourself. No exercising or training for the next few days. Come see me in three days so I can clear you—if it’s looking good—for activity.”

You resist a sigh, settling on a playful roll of your eyes. “Yes, mom.”

She smirks, “Good. Now get out of here, you two, before I get your couples cooties.”

“Har, har, har,” You pretend to laugh, before sticking your tongue out at her. “Very funny, Shoko.”

It strikes you that Gojo has been unusually quiet, not joining in on your mutual jokes. When you spare a glance, you observe that his facial expression is neutral, if a bit strained. No smile, no cocky smirk. That’s uncommon.

You look at Shoko, exchanging more unspoken words with a few blinks. That confirms it—he’s acting strange.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, but he know he won’t tell you here.

“Ready to go?” You ask instead.

“Ready as ever,” He tries a half smile. It’s not very convincing.

You nod and lean into him, angling your head to smile up at him. Your smile is innocent and sweet. His chest squeezes at the sight, full of a jumble of emotions. He doesn’t reveal any of them; he absently plays with a strand of your hair instead.

As you look up at him, closely examining his soulful eyes for any traces of the emotion from earlier, to see if it still lingered. But the intense emotion is gone, replaced by an even and controlled gaze, leaving you to only wonder at the clear flash of anger you saw earlier in his bright eyes.

When you come back home, Gojo is unusually quiet. He mumbles something about taking a shower when you get back, leaving your side as soon as he gets the chance. You really wouldn't mind, but he seems rather... avoidant, especially with his ensuing actions.

You plop yourself down on your couch, trying to get comfy while keeping your back straight, a nearly impossible feat. Feeling restless, you tap your foot while you watch condensation from a glass on the coffee table in front of you drip down the sides. With each drop that falls, your heart beats a little faster.

You prepared a cool glass of water and a bowl of Satoru’s favorite sweets for when he's done, anticipating a binge of a show you both recently discovered. But, instead of an evening full of your usual snuggles on the couch, him getting handsy while you ‘protest’ about missing the show, you are woken up to a different reality.

When you hear the click of the bathroom door, you straighten in your seat, excited to be close to him again. But before you can even call him over to the couch, Gojo heads straight to your bedroom. You wait a few minutes, assuming he's just changing, but you grow uneasy as the time ticks by.

Maybe he just wants space. Well, how long should you give him? Should you ask him if he wants space? But what if he's waiting for you? Does he just want to be in bed instead?

You wait and wait, tapping your foot anxiously on the floor and checking your phone every few minutes. When the supposed appropriate amount of time has passed, you hesitantly approach the bedroom.

You find yourself knocking on the door before you enter, even though you've never done that to your shared door before.

"Hey, Satoru?" You call out tentatively.

You stand in the doorway, scared to cross an invisible boundary. A sheepish smile is on your face, even though you try to get your lips to stretch normally.

He's on his phone, just scrolling. Oh, maybe he just got distracted by TikTok or something.

"Hm?" He barely responds, not even looking up.

“Is something bothering you?” You ask, worried. “Is it your side?”

“Why would it be my side?” Gojo asks flatly.

Your brow creases in confusion, but you try to keep a light tone. “Oh. Uh, what’s wrong, then?”

"Nothing, why would anything be wrong?" He gives you a tight-lipped smile. His tone is so strange—bordering on sarcastic—and you don’t know what to make of it. As he stands up and passes you, slipping out of the room hastily like you are what’s bothering him. The thought turns your stomach.

You pause for a beat, frozen in the doorway as you process what just happened. Then you turn around, eyes following his form as he enters the living room and unceremoniously sprawls across the couch. He crunches on some candy you brought in the bowl.

Okay. Maybe you should be more direct.

You walk over to him, cautious but trying not to appear nervous, “Satoru, can we talk?”

“We are talking,” He smiles oddly.

“You know what I mean…” You say with a note of annoyance coming through in your tone, then it turns softer. “Is something wrong? Did I do something?”

“Yes.”

You blink rapidly, surprised by his blunt answer. You take a seat next to him.

“Okay…could you tell me what I did?”

“…”

He’s not faking a smile anymore, which is a start. His lips are set in a firm, flat line, instead. His jaw is clenched and his neck muscles are emphasized due to how taut they are; you have rarely seen him tense like this. Your chest aches—what did you do?

“Please, Satoru, what’s wrong?” You ask again, each word filled with care and concern. And somehow, it seems to kill him.

“What’s wrong?” He echoes back loudly. “What’s wrong is that you stood in front of me while there was incoming fire! You can’t just do that.”

That’s not what you expected.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

“I just– fuck, why would you think to do that?” He stresses, pulling at his hair. “You took too much risk—you can’t use RCT!”

“Yeah, me and like ninety-nine percent of all sorcerers. Like it matters. You think I thought of that?” You huff.

“‘Like it matters?’ Are you hearing yourself right now?” He scoffs. “It matters a lot, and you know it does. It’s reckless.”

“When it comes to you, it doesn’t.” You say hotly, unwavering.

“It does matter. You got hurt when you shouldn’t have. When you didn’t need to!”

You’re surprised by his outburst. “I–I was only thinking about protecting you, okay? I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking about that! Caring about getting hurt? That was the last thing on my mind.”

“Yeah, it’s obvious you weren’t thinking,” He sneers. “There’s no need to risk your life like that. Absolutely no need.”

Your jaw drops in shock, and you try not to feel hurt. “You can’t be serious right now, Gojo. You were in no state to protect yourself. I was…doing my best, I just wanted to keep you safe.”

“I still got shot,” He argues back immediately, painfully reminding you.

A small, pained gasp escapes you. You spin around as fast as you can—tears are freely falling without your permission.

You want to tell him that’s not fair, but you don’t trust your vocal cords right now. Not with how tight your throat is from trying to hold back sobs that would surely wrack your body if you let them.

The guilt that has been trailing you all day now collects at the pit of your stomach, practically eating you alive. You feel physically sick. He’s right. He did get shot. He was vulnerable, his Infinity lowered because of you. If…if the bullet had gone through his head, what could you have done then?

You stand up as steadily as you can. You don’t spare him a single glance; you can’t, not with your face crumpling as you try your hardest not to cry. You exit the living room swiftly, holding it all in, all of your emotional pain but also your physical pain. Your wound is throbbing and it even feels hard to stay standing right now.

You finally round the corner into the hallway. Now out of view, you let yourself stagger down the hallway, succumbing to your dizziness. It’s your fault, your fault, only your fault. You can’t handle this right now.

You walk aimlessly down the hall, just wanting to get away from him right now. You wind up in the bathroom and lock the door behind you. You stand in front of the mirror, looking for something redeeming within yourself, but all you can see are your pathetic tears and guilt swimming in your eyes.

You grip the edge of the counter, so tightly that it begins to hurt and your fingers tremble at the effort. You feel unsteady, like the brain Gojo teased you don’t have is lacking oxygen. Maybe you really lack one if you think you could possibly be the right match for the strongest.

You sink to the ground, finally releasing heaving sobs that have been trying to claw themselves out of you. They’re muffled by your hands, which you press firmly against your mouth in an effort to contain your noises, but some of the sound leaks between your fingers. You stuff some of your shirt into your mouth to bite down on, trying to hold it all in, trying to hold yourself together.

Your breath hitches at a throb of pain from deep within your back. It hurts so much, even with the pain reliever Shoko gave you to take. It hurts more than when she was threading the needle between your folds of skin; it’s deeper than that, sharp and intense and robbing you of a normal breathing pattern.

Despite your efforts to keep quiet, pained whimpers start to leave you. And worse—panic floods you, taking advantage of your poor state of mind. All you can focus on is the stabbing pain that refuses to dull.

You rip off the gauze with shaking hands, terrified to see its state. But confusion fills you when there's only dried smears on it—that must be from earlier. If your wound is still closed, then why does it hurt so much?

You shift on the floor, limbs giving out. You contort in pain, which only makes things worse, pulling the stitches to their limits. They stay intact, but the tension brings waves of pain to your back. A yelp is ripped from your throat at a particularly painful pulse.

The thunder of incoming footsteps gives you both fear and a sense of relief. On one hand, you didn’t want him to hear; on another hand, right now all you crave is your boyfriend’s comfort.

“Hey, what was that?” He asks from behind the door, sounding on edge.

“Satoru…” You mewl out in pain.

He calls out your name, voice now urgent. You cringe at the resistance of the lock against his attempt at opening the door.

“M’sorry, I locked it,” You sniffle. “Stupid of me.”

But he still appears in front of you, a locked door holding nothing to his defiance of space and time. He takes one glance at your crumpled form on the floor and curses. All of the tension from earlier melts away, replaced by genuine worry and need.

“What happened? You okay? Did you fall?” He asks as he hurriedly crouches next to you. His hands reach out to you, gently pulling you into his lap. You wince as your back bends, aggravating your wound.

You shake your head. “No, it’s just—agh, fuck—just my back, it suddenly hurts so bad.”

He grimaces. “Can…can I take a look?”

You give your consent and he quickly peels your shirt up. His fingers shake as he does so, even though he doesn’t mind the sight of injuries or blood. Or, at least, when it’s not yours.

He slowly pulls your shirt up just enough to reveal your wound, fearing the worst. You shiver when the fabric chafes against your graze, and he murmurs an apology upon seeing your discomfort. One of his hands rubs soothing circles on your waist.

When he inspects your injury, he’s met with red, puffy skin—the area around your stitches is clearly inflamed, but not unsually so. He breathes a low sigh of relief.

“It looks a bit swollen,” He determines before pulling your shirt back down, careful not to let it touch your wound this time. “But not too bad.”

“It feels bad,” You whine.

"I know," He says gently. “I’ll call Shoko in a second to make sure it's alright. Do you want to head to the bed first?"

“Yes, please,” You request softly.

He hooks an arm under your knees, the other cradling your back. “Alright, sweets. Up we go."

He handles your weight like it’s nothing, and easily unlocks the door you stupidly locked on the way out.

Unshed tears prick your eyes. You couldn’t carry him earlier, even after he had been shot and couldn’t move. You are incapable, unable to handle what he can on a daily basis. Can your relationship really be mutual if he always has to act as the strongest? You could barely protect him earlier.

"It hurts that badly?" He references your teary eyes without mockery, only softness.

If only your tears were from that pain.

"It could be worse, I guess," is what you settle on, neither a lie nor the full truth.

"Could I make it better, maybe?" He asks with a suspicious smile. Before you can answer, he swings you around a few times like he normally would when he carries you, which draws a genuine laugh out of you.

"You're gonna make me dizzy!" You complain, but your smile is so pure and wide, something Gojo doesn't miss.

"You're so beautiful, sweets," He says, affectionately rubbing his nose against yours. You feel warm from the closeness.

You look away shyly, "Yeah, right."

"You don't believe me?" He asks huskily, placing a kiss on your cheek.

"Ugh! Put me down and call Shoko already! It stills hurts," You pout.

"If you say so," He says, but his little smirk is still planted on his face. He lays you down carefully, gently releasing you onto the pile of blankets.

He then turns around and dials the doctor in question, "Yo, Shoko."

You close your eyes, trying to ward off the radiating pain with deep breaths. Gojo's phone call turns to background noise, the words indecipherable.

You tune back into the world at the end of his conversation.

"Okay, thank you so much Ieiri."

You faintly hear Shoko's disgust on the other end of the line, "What's going on with you?? Please never thank me like that again, yuck!"

You can't hold back the giggle that bubbles up at Shoko's reaction. Gojo blows a raspberry into the speaker and promptly hangs up on her.

"What's the verdict?" You ask.

"Well, sweets," Gojo sing-songs. "Did you forget to do something?"

You look up in thought, your brows furrowing, "I don't think so..."

"Really?" He says, then produces a familiar orange pill container. You're forced to stare at it as he shakes it in front of your face. "What about this, hm?"

"What? I already took one," You say, a little indignantly. "When we first got home. It was so horrible tasting and was a giant horse pill, too...Ugh, get that bottle away from me, might as well throw it out. I don't want to take anymore later."

He cracks the bottle open, pouring one into his palm. You narrow your eyes at him. Before you can ask what he intends to do with it, that same pill is shoved into your mouth followed by an amount of water so large that you almost begin to choke.

You cough on the water, and he pats your back accordingly, as if he expected this.

"What-?! Are you trying to waterboard me? I said I already took one, and-" You cough again. "God, where did you even get that water from anyway?"

"Mm. But you didn't notice the pill this time, right?" He looks satisfied with himself.

You deadpan. "No, but-"

"Besides, you were spacing out before we left the infirmary. Shoko specifically said to take two pills when you came home, or else the pain might get bad."

Your face feels hot, "Oh, did she now? Hah hah...I must have misheard her..."

He sighs, and it's only now you notice how tired he looks. There's a lull in your conversation, and you use this time to truly observe him. Dark circles are prominent under his eyes—how come you never noticed that?—and his eyes hold a look of defeat.

He breaks the silence, speaking softly, "You worry me, y'know? When I came in and you were convulsing on the floor...I don't want to see you like that again."

You stay silent, not willing to risk jeopardizing this rare moment of complete and utter vulnerability from Gojo.

"And when Shoko lifted your shirt and there was so much blood pouring out of your back..." He closes his eyes, screwing them shut. "I didn't know what would happen. That really scared me. Even when Shoko said you'd be fine, I didn't believe her until it stopped. And even then, you looked so weak...you still do, and it kills me."

He looks down at the ground, between his hands that are interlocked so tightly that it looks like it would hurt.

"It fucking kills me inside that you got hurt protecting me, and you didn't even notice. If that bullet had come any closer, you-"

He stops abruptly, voice breaking. You reach forward, taking his large hands in yours.

"But it didn't. Look at me, Satoru. I'm fine, I really am. I promise."

He shakes his head vehemently, and you're shocked to see liquid trickle down his face. You almost startle when he embraces you so tightly that you can barely breathe, as if you could disappear at any moment. His head rests on your shoulder, effectively hiding his expression from view.

He whispers by your ear, "What's the use in being the strongest when I freeze up like that? I put you in so much fucking danger."

"Satoru, look at me," You ask again, but his head stays tucked in the crevice between your shoulder and collarbone. "Please."

He slowly raises his head, revealing the expression he tried to conceal. His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are tinged pink; it makes your heart hurt.

"You're not the strongest to me," You say. "You're not even Gojo Satoru. To me, you're Satoru. Just Satoru. You're human and have emotions and memories and trauma, just like everyone else."

You steel yourself for your next words, the ones that have been haunting your thoughts since he got shot.

"I know that what happened reminded you of that...that time with Toji. I-it felt the same for me, and this time...this time I couldn't stand to watch idly. I would rather die than watch that happen to you again. Especially since, this time, it was definitely my fault."

"Your fault?" He laughs dryly.

"Yes!" You instantly cry out, causing his eyes to widen.

"Haven't you realized by now?" You practically sob. "None of this would have happened if I hadn't been touching you. Because your Infinity lowered for me—fuck, it makes me sick saying this out loud—they were able to really hurt you. I'm the one endangering you, and i-if this keeps up then..."

He says nothing. Now that you admitted it, there's no taking it back. And there's no way that he can or should accept this. There's no way he should accept you, you who are so useless and weak and stubborn. And yet...

"That's all?" He says seriously. You're struck with a flash of frustration and anger at his dismissal, but the hard look in his eyes tells you he is just as frustrated and will not budge on this point.

"We'll be more careful. It's a lesson learned for sure, but I'm not giving you up anytime soon. That's what you wanted me to say, isn't it? That I was going to let you go."

You look down shamefully, "W-well..."

He barks out a sharp laugh, "That's not happening. Do you know why?"

You avoid his gaze, and your voice comes out small. "You pity me?"

"I love you." His voice is firm and so sure; it leaves no room for doubt.

Your eyes snap back to his. There’s no bandages or glasses in the way to obscure the emotion shimmering in them—an endless sea of affection and intensity and something else that you couldn’t capture in words even if you tried. Love.

He loves you.

“I love you, so you can’t be reckless. You just can’t, okay? I’ve been going crazy knowing you got hurt, but I couldn’t handle it if…” He takes a sharp breath. “It’s selfish of me, but I don’t fucking care. Nothing can happen to you. I’ll take all of your hits and all of your missions if it means you’ll be safe. You’re the one person I can’t handle losing.”

“Then you’ll understand I feel the same way,” You say with a determined look on your face. “It’s not like I planned to do what I did. It was all instinct. I didn’t care what would happen to me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” He admits, voice raw and so unlike his usual self-assured tone. “You don’t value yourself enough. You matter so much, sweets, more than I could ever say in words. I’d do anything for you, to keep you safe.”

You counter, “And I would die for you, Satoru, because I love you. And I wouldn’t ever regret it.”

Your determined admission renders him silent.

Then he chuckles, “You’re stubborn, aren’t you, sweets? Of course you sound all cute and mad the first time you tell me you love me.”

Your eye twitches, but you exhale into a smile. “Maybe. But so are you!”

“How about this?” He proposes. “How about we both stay alive, live happily ever after, and drink boba and eat kikufuku for the rest of our days?”

“I think I know where this is going,” You say, suspicion clear in your voice. But you can’t stop the way your heart jumps at his words, the insinuation of spending the rest of your days with Satoru making you weak inside.

“Well, sweets, I have an idea,” He says softly, but his words are filled with excitement.

“Hmm?” You muse, playing along. “What is it?”

“I think we need a sweet treat to make us feel better. Don’t you think so? Maybe we could…check out that boba place I talked about earlier?”

“The one ‘I’ said I wanted to go to?” You ask, using air quotes and shaking your head in amusement.

“That’s the one!” He grins, throwing himself around your form. He squeezes you tightly, nuzzling into your neck. “I love you so much that I’ll treat you, seeing as you want to go so badly. Not that I really wanted to go or anything…”

“You’re such a bad liar!” You laugh, pinching his cheek. “But, Satoru…I meant what I said.”

You look at him seriously, not willing to let this slide. You don’t expect him to match your intense energy, but he does.

“So did I. You don’t have to worry about that anymore, because I’ll never let that happen again. I’ll always be here for you, sweets. I’ll always protect you. You can try, but I’ll never make that mistake again. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me, so I won’t let it. I love you too much to let it happen.”

Your heart feels like it could burst. You sniffle, not able to hold the tears back.

“Aw, is my baby crying?” He teases, gently thumbing the tears away from your cheeks. “You okay?”

“Mhm, just happy,” You nod and let out a watery laugh. “Hey, Satoru.”

“Yeah?” He hums.

“Do you love me enough to give me the last kikufuku later?”

You expect him to joke along with you, but he’s perfectly serious in his words back. Only you seem to have that effect on him.

“Even that,” He chuckles along with you, unbridled warmth and affection swimming in his baby blues as he gazes at you, eyes never leaving your form. “Even that, sweets.”

gojo masterlist <3

A/N: I don’t feel like this is the highest quality writing, but I felt really compelled to write this for some reason, so…oh well! <3 I hope it still turned out okay.

Also Satoru definitely should have apologized but I feel like he’s stubborn and hates apologizing so I left that out <3

I think this is the first time I've managed to not use (Y/N) HAHA, sometimes I see comments on other posts about how much it disturbs their immersive experience, so I'm going to try to limit my usage of it from now on...personally, I've seen and used it for so long that it's just part of my x reader vocabulary, but I understand why people don't like it lol.

Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you had a great day today !! <333

[circeyoru]

Collection of Overlords _ Part 6 = Requested

[Alastor x Soul Owner of All Overlords!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 1.5 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 (here) — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9  — Part 10 — Part 11 — Part 12 — Part 13

Alastor nearly dropped the tray containing your food when he felt your darkening aura. He immediately got over and set the tray of food in front of you while explaining what was cooked for you. Ignoring the obvious death glare you were sending across the table at Lucifer who was still proudly introducing you

It was amazing for Alastor to see you silently seething with annoyance yet do nothing. Perhaps it was because Lucifer has yet to step out of line? Or because you had your dose of terror because of the Vees?

You were introduced as the mentor of Lucifer when he came to Hell all those years ago, meaning you were older than ancient. A hellborn, so you were able to travel throughout all of Hell, basically to other Rings that’s why you weren’t around for so long

Now the ‘Collector’ title was an interesting one. They didn’t know you hold the souls of the Overlords, they only know you hold a number of souls at your command. How you can do so while being a hellborn was beyond them. But they were aware that there were hellborn nobles, and that’s what they chalked it up to

Still though, it doesn’t help the fact that your cover was blown

“Dear student of mine.” You spoke softly with a smile. Alastor got a chill at the gentleness and eerie feeling of an incoming scolding.

“Yes, Teach?” That got Lucifer’s attention as he stopped with his flattery and turned to you with a brighter smile.

“Do shut up now.”

Your disguise dropped, revealing your true form to the others. Your eyes now closed, and an aura of authority and power radiated from you that commanded control and pressure

You politely asked Lucifer to leave the seat and continue with the hotel tour with his daughter. You had Alastor sit down while you two enjoyed a meal together. Alastor took the liberty of casting a barrier around the two of you to ensure privacy and uninterrupted moments

Peacefully, you listened to Alastor as he told you tales of what happened during his 7 years absence. The poor deer was gone looking for you after he realized your absence was a bit uncalled for, even going as far as to submit to demonic summoning in the human world to see if you would call him back to your services

It was amusing and you chuckled at the silly stuff humans had your deer do, Alastor’s cute ears pinned back at your mocking laugh, but returned to their position with joy when you said you meant to offense

So Alastor continued to share his stories to entertain you, all while you listened and enjoyed his cooking with a content smile gracing your lips

Never has he asked question about you, for you’ll never tell. You have your secrets and sacred knowledge and information that is only for your knowing. He knew, everyone else in your elite  collection knew. All they ask for was your presence and support in their time in this Hell realm

It was obvious how while you have all this power to squash them like mere insects, you never did so and instead supported them and given them a title that would be feared. You established a system for them that will be recognized by all of Hell

“I was afraid you’d be gone forever, My Liege.” Alastor’s ears drooped down.

You smiled, “Forever’s a long time. I should know. I’ll never be gone, no need to fret.”

Alastor remembers that day well, when he was approached by you. The shadows he controlled ran rampened, out of his control. He was suddenly brought to a forest, he saw the city buildings over the treelines, but he couldn’t leave this forest no matter what. Even when he tried to use his powers and his more demonic form, nothing worked. Something kept him there by force

For the first time since his descent to Hell, he felt powerless and caged. There was no one in that forest to exploit or ask questions. It was truly just him

It felt like he was held prisoner yet not since he was free to do as he pleased. He could conjure things, so his daily necessities were met. Then there were the deers that were nothing like the hell creatures, it was one he was familiar to back when he was alive. So he enjoyed the game of hunting

It felt like he was well-provided. All but his freedom to leave

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but there were whispers here and there. Creatures that were a blend of ravens and crows were in the trees watching him, Cages as they introduced themselves

The Cages whispered ideas into him, he ignored them. Then they continued to repeating the same thing to him. He had enough and tried what was suggested to him. For some odd reason, it worked. It was like a power upgrade from what he was capable of, a boost if you will. The Cages spoke words of praise that felt oddly pleasant

From then on, he looked forward to the Cages’ suggestions. Everytime he accomplished what they proposed, compliments came to him with a wash of comfort, then another tip came. He found himself growing more and more reliant on the connection he had with the Cages and anticipated their presence every time his eyes opened from a nap or long rest

Yet the time came when all the Cages seemingly disappeared from the forest. He searched high and low, turning desperate for their presence again. He long forgotten his goal of escape since this place made his entertainment worthwhile and his power was growing

At the sight of that one Cage, he followed it. He knew then, it was on purpose, everything that happened had a purpose. The Cage led him to you. You who sat in the clearing tending to a number of Cages that were around you

When he materialized out of the shadows and saw your form, he felt like he was in a trance. That presence he was feeling through the Cages, it was all so strong around you, passing by those winged creatures, he confirmed it was all you. Everything that happened here was all your doing

Instead of rage and bloodlust like he had in the beginning of his time here, there was a longing of passion and an urge to stay by your side so he wouldn’t be separated from you. He didn’t understand it, but he knew you were the key to his pillar. No, you are his pillar

“Radio Demon, Alastor. Overlords before you has met me one way or another.” Your voice was so angelic that it felt like a crime that you’d be in Hell. Wait. He was in Hell? It felt like paradise. “I have a collection of souls at my disposal and I control the Overlords I have picked to be in my collection.”

“I wish to join.” He spoke so urgently as he fell to a kneeling position with his eyes staring at your form, he felt like if he delayed, it was life or death. 

A melodiously chuckle came from your curved lips that was a small smile. Your hand that had a Cage perched on it flicked and the Cage was airborn. You offered your hand to him, “If you do, you’ll be giving me your soul. I’m sure you know what that means.”

“I don’t care.” Alastor spoke with confidence firmly. “As long as I am by your side.”

Alastor held his heart stop when your eyes opened, it was captivating that his eyes focused on that the moment your eyelids revealed them to him. It felt it it was his birthday present and Christmas gift all wrapped in one. He saw his reflection from your eyes, the softness of your hand broke him from his trance, and the joyous tone from your voice got him melting into you, “As you wish. My Dear Alastor.”

Over the next few days, you have been observing the hotel residence after you little reveal

Lucifer was acting like a kicked puppy but soon recovered after you joined him in making breakfast for the others. He happily started singing and skipping around to make your smile last. Of course, he apologized for not realizing you were trying to hide your identity

You brushed it off since what’s done is done. Better now than later since no bonds were formed just yet. It was similar to how you gave Alastor a taste of what was to happen after he gave you his soul that day. The entire situation in the forest was to show him that he was free yet caged in your hold, he knew what he was getting into

Well, Alastor did seem to be the type of soul that wanted dominance so you did that to test and see if he can obey commands before offering him your contract. You expected him to fight for control longer and more fiercely, yet that wasn’t the case since he committing to you and proving himself the moment he saw you

Charlie was an interesting case. There was some time where she was more careful with her words around you, perhaps scared that you’d snap at her like you did with her father. And the fact that you were his father’s teacher that he respects and prides himself with associating with you. But then when Alastor gave her a word of caution that you weren’t as scary as you seem, then she took her chance

You got it through to her that she could act the same with you as before. She did not hesitate after that, of course, still keeping in mind some boundaries. She was back to her cheerful and fun self around you. Even enjoying feeling like a grandparent was taking care of her and spoiling her. Though that didn’t mean you were lenient with her that you’ll overlook things

You offer advice from time to time when Charlie was busy planning activities. You advised her on how to use her authority and power when necessary, her kindness is her strength and weakness. More on the latter since this was Hell, a number of demons will take advantage of her and push her down. Sure she can fight back, but it wouldn’t be enough when they are perfectly aware of what buttons to push

Vaggie showed obvious suspicion and caution around you. She went as far as to avoid you and not stand in your path. When it was obvious Alastor listens to you without another word, it raised even more red flags in her mind because you were that powerful. Lucifer speaking highly of you was even worse

She heard of ‘The Collector’, some demons she killed when she was still an exterminator screamed that The Collector will reign supreme or that a terrible death will be passed down as judgement to them. Hellborns move to other circles when it’s extermination day, some might be unlucky to escaped but exterminators weren’t taught to tell the difference between hellborn and sinners

When she was abandoned in Hell, she learned that The Collector holds a vast ocean of souls at your command. It was a terrifying thought to know that if you wanted, war can beginning at the drop of your command

Hell has 7 Rings, each represents a sin and only the Pride Ring has sinners of human souls. But Heaven was just that one. A paradise on top of the clouds. Now that angels can be killed, if you so wished, can’t you take over Heaven as well?

You were aware of all Vaggie’s little fears. You didn’t mind it at first, but her paranoia was getting out of head when she tried to deter the others to stay clear of you. Namely Charlie since you have been caring for her since you was too young to even remember. Though being the sweet princess she is, tried to have Vaggie under you weren’t a threat

A duel, you offered Vaggie. If she won, you’d leave the hotel and never step near any of them under any circumstances. Alastor nearly snapped when Vaggie pushed you to offer since an absurd wager, you own all of Hell, why would such a rule even apply to you? But you raised your hand to Alastor so he’d calm down. If you win, well, Vaggie will stop with all this ‘you’re the bad guy’ talk

Everyone came to watch. Charlie tried to persuade Vaggie to call it off but failed. Meanwhile, Lucifer urged you to hold back since this was his daughter’s beloved girlfriend. You planned to do so anyways and everyone stayed on the sidelines

Vaggie readied her spear and summoned her wings. You smiled, your form changing to a familiar one. Carmilla. You skillfully dodged all the attacks Vaggie launched at you as though you were dancing. While the duel was still ongoing, you pointed out Vaggie’s flaws and weak points before you attacked once and the winner of the fight was decided

Afterwards, Vaggie was persistant in asking for your fighting lessons and techniques. It got to the point where Alastor would try to move you to another spot so that his time with you wouldn’t get continuously interrupted. To his dismay, you found amusement in the entirety of the situation

“How dare you try to steal what precious time I have from me!” Alastor glared at Vaggie.

“This is a connection between warriors! You butt out of this edge lord!” Vaggie remarked back.

You merely chuckled at the exchange and never said anything to side with either. 

Angel hid his discomfortable of you from the others and acted as his usual self, as much as he can. The only ones that noticed his awkwardness was probably Husk and you. You had a hunch it was due to the fact that you own too many souls to count, he was under contract with Valentino. The poor soul

Pity as though it may be, it was his choice to be under that sorry excuse of an Overlord in the first place. He’s merely living the life he signed himself for. The same for Husk

Now Husk had the best reaction. He was the latest Overlord to be rejected from your collection, but not the fastest. He didn’t get anything guidance like how your current Elites (excluding the Vees) had, certainly never having Alastor’s treatment as well. For you saw gambling as a dangerous bet to support in. Where there’s a win, there’s always an even bigger lost

This was something you warned Husk after accepting him as an Overlord among your ranks. It certainly didn’t help when he was hosting more and more gambling parties and inviting other Overlords to join in. They participated but were quick to give him their input and warn to change a domain since you’ll be more supportive of it

Husk didn’t listen. He was winning and was blinded by that. So the other Overlords counted down till Husk was removed from the collection. It didn’t take long for your Overlords to realize they had a chance to pin down the former Overlord Husk to their command and show you their ability. Alastor took the job and the role of relying that he was abandoned

He didn’t know, he never knew. He reflected on that and found times when his fellow Overlords tried to help him and teach him the ropes, since these things aren’t something you’ll tell them. You like it when your Overlords are independent when they need to

So he shifted his focus like you advised so long ago. He gained the ability to read demons like a book as time gone by, so much so that he’d love to show it to you, but Alastor would never let that happen

When he saw you near, he tried offering you a drink or two. He wanted to talk, to say that he was sorry and that he was wrong. It’s always when he got to a suitable time to tell you that you were pulled away by one thing or another

He thought he lost his chance again until you met him in the hallway when he was retreating to his room to get some shuteye

“Husk, my former soul.” Your words made him freeze and turn to you, there was that small smile on your face that made you look so serene and neutral to everything. “I hope you continue your time here in service to the dear Princess and the hotel as Alastor has assigned you.”

“But I…”

“Until I call for you.” You cut him off as your smile widened, “Don’t worry about anything and try to build your power back, I see that you have learned your lesson.” You snapped your fingers and a card with an eye design on it appeared, you passed it to him, “Alastor knows my thoughts on the matter, so I hope you won’t disappoint me again.”

Husk bowed deeply, his wings relaxed that they touched the floor almost entirely, “Yes, I will, Master.”

You chuckled and showed him a hologram of him protecting and caring for Angel. “Do you know?” Husk looked up, unsure of why you showed him something like this. “That an Overlord can challenge another to gain the soul contract that’s signed?”

Husk’s eyes widened at the message you conveyed.

You made a hush motion over your lips as your eyes peeked open, “Let’s keep this between us. If you manage to prove yourself, there’s more to come and more to receive. Though that all depends on your willingness. Husk.”

Note: I'm so curious on your thoughts for this one~ There's Alastor's little backstory to how he became the way he is and then the little ending here~ Hehe

Well~ Like I said before, the next uploads are for {Unwanted Soul}

Circe Y. 

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: (those that don't specify to being in all the works' taglist will automatically be assumed to be in whichever series they comment on)

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @fluffy-koalala @plutobots @ray-rook @thealienartist @serenity-songbird @galaxydreamer468 @raynerrold @wen01203@hikari-michiko @colecreo @myromanempiree @xsamkuro @yourdoorisunlocked @clavelina @jono723 @cursedcattalastor @an-idyllic-novelist @flamiohotman2024 @rea-grace @myromanempiree @veroneverleft @lousypotatoes @crazysuityouth @jellyedkazoo @wat4r @kiraisastay @thealienartist @chefysawesomeideas @wtvbabes

[dilemmaontwolegs]

For the Love of God(dess) || CL16 {2}

Summary: Greek God/dess AU. You show Charles a part of your world and he shows you a part of his. Warnings: angst, fluff WC: 2.6k Part One || Two

The old stone path should have been worn for all the centuries that it had been used as the entrance to Olympus but it was still as perfect as it was the first time you walked it. Nothing ever changed, not since the war ended and a new hierarchy settled among the gods. For two thousand years nothing had changed in the Eternal City.

“Love, what have you done?” The imposing form of Ares filled the road to your temple, his arms the size of your waist. His molten red eyes barely glanced at the man at your side before snapping back with a double take. “Kàrolos?”

“Uh, so everyone keeps saying,” he answered quietly, his eyes sizing up the God of War as he spoke for the first time since arriving through the portal. “And you are?”

“Intrigued,” Ares said with a smirk. “Good luck.”

The god vanished and Charles rubbed at his head, murmuring, “Fucking weird dream.”

“You’ll wake up soon,” you sighed. It might not be the wake up he expected, but it was coming - you just had to find Athena. “I know someone who can help make sense of this, we just need to get you back to my place first. It’s right over h-” your words froze as turned towards your temple. 

Where grey stone walls had stood, great white pillars of marble rose. Where empty garden beds lay, hundreds of white roses bloomed. 

Your temple had been restored.

“This is your home?” Charles asked, a little awestruck by the sounds of it. It was quite amusing that he walked among the gods but he found beauty in a building of all things.

“Our home.”

“I have a home - in Monaco.”

You opened your mouth to argue but saw the quiet desperation in his features. He was clinging to his humanity and it forced you to remember that this wasn’t the Kàrolos you knew, this was a stranger. The only resemblance they held were their eyes, but they were the window to the soul and they still had the same soul. 

“Let’s just go inside.”

The doors beyond the marble arch swung open on your approach and the interior had changed just as much. The vast room was open to the sunlight and a fountain filled the centre, the sound of bubbling water a calming feature. Open arches led to more rooms but you made your way to the furthest one. 

Charles followed sedately into the bedroom and out onto the balcony that overlooked the city. Above rose the peak which Zeus had claimed, his golden palace glittering beneath Apollo’s sunshine. Below, the forests of Artemis spread far and wide with lush green canopies and the Orlias river winding through it. 

Your palms warmed on the stone railing as you watched a herd of deer pick their way to the river for a drink. “I know you have a million questions and I’m sorry for…everything.”

Charles’ shoulder leaned into yours as he drank in the scenery but he jumped back when an owl swooped in, the spotted wings brushing his cheek. A flash of light burst from the owl and bare feet touched down on the balcony. 

“Hmmm, you have had quite the night, Love,” she said with an appreciative look over Charles. She reached out to his face with a smile and wiggled her fingers. “May I?”

“Why? What are you going to do? Who are you?”

“So many questions,” she laughed. “I am Athena, I am knowledge, and if you want the answers then you will let me touch you.”

He looked to you for help and gods damned if it didn’t make something in your chest hurt before you nodded. He swallowed the fear of the unknown and trusted you as he stepped into her waiting hands. Lightning shattered his brain, blinding him with flashes of images that moved too fast to see. But he knew. Knowledge expanded and exploded in his mind at an exponential rate until he knew everything. Thousands of years of history burned into his retina in less than a second. The history of the gods and goddesses that called this place home. The history of the wars and the destruction it brought. The history of you and everything you lost.

He knew it all. And it hurt more than the pain that splintered his head.

He didn’t even realise he collapsed until he felt the softest mattress dip beneath his weight as you laid him down. Your concerned face appeared above him, the sun catching your hair and weaving a golden halo around the strands. A thought crossed his mind and he laughed, shaking his head.

“What?” you asked curiously as his fingers twitched like he had to fight the urge to reach out to you.

“When we met I thought you looked like a goddess, but of course you do. You are.” He looked to the balcony but the owl had already taken flight back to her palace on the hill. “I’m not him, you know.”

“I know.” The man you loved had died a long time ago. You had your time together, no matter how short, and you had mourned for him. It was time to move on. “I don’t want you to be Kàrolos. I want to learn who you are, Charles.”

“And what if you don’t like who I am?”

“I am the Goddess of Love,” you teased, climbing onto the bed to sit beside him. “My arrows don’t work unless there is compatibility between the souls. Psyche is probably better off explaining that but my power only amplifies what attraction is already there. Can’t say I have been on the receiving end of it before. This will take some getting used to.”

“What will?”

“The want, the need to touch you,” you confessed as you looked down at your hands that gripped the bedspread tightly. “It is difficult to be this close and not reach out.”

Charles frowned. “You loved Kàrolos but you didn’t use an arrow?”

“Not everyone needs an arrow to fall in love. Like I said, it only amplifies. People find love on their own everyday, only some need a little poke in the right direction. Those friends who have been dancing around each other for years, the abused who don’t think they are worthy of being loved, the colleagues who only flirt at work. The fates weave their tapestry with a trillion threads of life and when there is a snag, like two lovers who failed to meet, then I repair it so the loom can continue its creation.”

Charles blinked as he began to understand how complex the roles of the gods were. “Fuck.” 

You laughed and his lips tugged up at the sound. 

“I don’t mind, if you want to touch me,” he admitted quietly, reaching for your hand and unfurling it from the bedding. His hand was larger than yours but your fingers settled between his comfortably and your body sagged with relief. “So what do we do now?”

You shrugged, not exactly knowing the answer yourself. Time was plentiful so there was no rush, but you were eager to find out who it was your heart had been given to. “What do you enjoy?”

Charles’ smile dropped as he suddenly remembered the world he had left behind. “Shit, we need to go back. I have a race this week.”

–

“Breaking News: Peace had been brokered between nations all over the globe in a dramatic turn of events. For more information we will be heading to our correspondent at the United Nations HQ…”

Charles turned off the TV in the hotel but he didn’t miss the way your eyes remained fixed on the screen, or the way your lip wobbled. Crossing the room, he grabbed your hands and bent his knees so you were eye to eye. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my fault,” you whispered through the lump in your throat. “I failed my duties.”

He looked back at the TV where you could still see the breaking news. Peace had come after two thousand years of skirmishes and wars on the mortal plane. There should have never been wars to begin with. 

“That isn’t your fault,” he argued, but he had the knowledge of the gods, he understood how your power worked. The gods were a fragile ecosystem that required balance. You were the balance to Ares’ power and his effect on the world.

“I was weakened when Kàrolos died, I lost half of myself, half of my strength. It left Ares unchecked - of course it is my fault.”

Charles wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head into the crook of his neck so you couldn’t stare at the TV. “You’re making things right now, that’s what matters.”

“It’s not even me,” you laughed bitterly. “It’s you. I couldn’t do this on my own.”

“Come on,” he said as he started to drag you towards the door.

“Where are we going?”

“You need a distraction, and I know just the thing.” 

Charles drove to the circuit he would be practising on in the morning and it was relatively quiet as he led you through the paddock. A few teenagers excitedly asked for photos with him and you smiled as he stopped to talk with each one. He was so different to Kàrolos. Kàrolos was a warrior, proud and unmoving. Most children gave him a wide berth when they saw the scars that littered his body. It wasn’t in him to idly chatter or placate others, the only soft spot he had was for you. 

“You’re very patient,” you commented as he waved goodbye and continued to the edge of the track. 

He smiled shyly and looked at his shoes as he shrugged. “I try my best to talk to fans, especially when I have the time. Take a few laps with me?”

You followed his gaze to a Ferrari that was parked in the pit lane. “I’ve never been in a car.”

“No, really?” His eyes were wide with disbelief and you laughed at the innocence in those eyes. 

“I go where I want, I’ve never needed to drive.”

He grabbed your hand and excitement flowed through you as he set a quick pace to the car. “Trust me?” he asked as he opened the passenger door.

You were immortal so it didn’t matter if he crashed. Sure, it would hurt but you would eventually heal. But the question felt heavier than just asking if you trusted him not to crash, more that you could trust him to keep you safe. “Yes, I trust you, Charles.”

You slipped into the seat that was moulded to cradle you before he bent down and buckled the clips in for you. His cologne reached your nose at the close proximity and you inhaled deeper as you committed the rich scent to your memory. 

“Is this comfortable?” he asked as he tugged the harness.

“It is…managable.” Restrictive, confined, and claustrophobic came to mind but you didn’t want to worry him as he went around to his side. There was energy in his step that had been missing in Olympus, an ambience that brightened the moment he arrived at the racing track, and you wanted to keep that light in his aura. 

“We’ll take the first one slow,” he promised as he started the engine and gripped the wheel. 

You had flown into battle on the back of a pegasus, you had held onto the fins of charybdis as they raced through Posiden’s domain. Nothing came close to the thrill and the speed of Charles’ car. 

Your heart jumped up your throat as you were thrown back into the seat and then the world around you blurred. Everything faded away except for the window ahead and you didn’t dare blink in case you missed a moment. There were no thoughts on the what ifs of the future, or the regrets of your past. There was only the car, and Charles grinning at you.

“Are you sure this is slow?” you asked with a giddy laugh as the adrenaline reached your head and the initial surprise was erased.

“Hold on, cherie.” The engine roared louder and like a beast it leapt forward. A scream of exhilaration filled the car as Charles lassoed the metal beast and wrangled it through each corner until he finally slowed to return to the pit lane. 

“I finally understand the obsession,” you admitted as he parked back where he had left. Your fingers were almost stiff where they had gripped the harness over your chest and you flexed the feeling back into them before unbuckling it. “I can’t even describe it, but I feel alive - if that makes sense? I can’t think quite clearly now.”

“I understand.” Charles smiled softly and wiped away the stray tear that ran down your cheek from having your eyes wide open for so long. “It’s getting late.”

You climbed out of the car and looked up to see stars dotting the desert night sky. It felt like time stopped while you were in the car but nothing could stop time and it all came rushing back. “Can we do this again?” you asked, a little sheepish at how needy you sounded.

“Of course,” Charles promised, taking your hand as naturally as breathing. “After this race it’s winter break and I am all yours.” He stumbled and caught himself. “I mean, if you want to hang out and, uh, stuff. I don’t have any plans, but if you do we can figure something ou-”

You rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek that was turning pink in the moonlight and he fell silent. “I don’t have any plans either.”

Charles stared at your lips, still feeling the warmth on his cheek and he touched the skin as a smile tugged at his lips and he nodded to himself. “Okay. Okay.” 

“You’re cute,” you said as you felt the urge to kiss his lips next.

His nose wrinkled at the compliment. “Cute?”

“Amongst other things,” you added, biting your lip to keep your other thoughts to yourself. 

He grew confident and curled his finger under your chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip and pulling it free from your teeth. “You’re beautiful.”

Your lungs refused to work as his head dipped down slowly, giving you time to change your mind. You could still feel the remnants of that thrill in your veins and the charge was electric as you gave into your desire and threw your arms around his neck. The kiss started slowly, hesitation holding you both back as you tasted the chemistry, but it grew deeper as his arms curled around your waist, pulling your bodies flush. 

The track faded away as you spared one last critical thought to teleport back to the hotel room. Charles blinked as he looked around the bedroom, but the surprise turned to a smirk. “That is handy.”

“You can do it too,” you said as your fingers traced the hem of his shirt. “You can just have to picture the image in your mind.”

Cold kissed your skin and you looked down to see your own shirt had disappeared. 

“Holy shit, it worked,” he gasped. “Oh, shit, sorry.”

Your shirt returned in an instant but it was now the same shade of red as his team colours. 

“I wasn’t complaining,” you smirked but the humour dimmed as his hands came to rest on your waist that was still wrapped in red cotton. “We can take it slow, Charles.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you, not your regrets. I want you to be ready.” Ready for an eternity together.

Charles sat at the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap. “The first thing you should know about me is I have never been good at going slow,” he admitted as he cupped your cheek and crushed his lips to yours.

[ninelivesastrology]

Venus/Saturn aspects

Little Deer (1946) | Frida Kahlo | Venus in Gemini square Saturn in Pisces

“I suffered two grave accidents in my life. One in which a streetcar knocked me down… the other accident is Diego.” | Frida Kahlo

In this painting, Frida depicts herself as a deer frozen in vulnerability, powerless and hunted. I am no Vedic astrologer, but one of the things I love about this painting is Frida having a Mrigashira Venus and depicting herself as a deer, the symbol of that Nakshatra.

Venus/Saturn people (as in people with a Venus/Saturn aspect) can waste years of their lives in relationships and friendships where they are not being appreciated and truly loved. Often, Venus/Saturn people can wait in isolation for platonic or romance relationships in attempts to avoid being hurt. Stretches of time between relationships, waiting for some mosaic of perfection within themselves or another person. Any type of rejection is a scar tissue, a phantom pain.

Because boundaries are something we create to control ourselves, not others, building these boundaries is a lengthy process. Self-governing feels too much like self-policing and taking yourself too seriously, but it is the only way.

Peer pressure and the fear of missing out is a Venus/Saturn staple. Venus is a signifier of sociality, value measured in money and worthiness. One of Venus’ most well-known significations transcending astrology is love. Saturn signifies fear, restriction, pressure and power.

Together, Venus/Saturn aspects bring forth peer pressure, fear of missing out, power dynamics and settling in platonic and romantic relationships.

Love in itself is invaluable, but commonly used to control others.

It’s almost laughable how people are nurtured by a Venus/Saturn person and they bloom because the Venus/Saturn person knows dedication, patience and discipline. They learn to see the beauty in others when they need to learn to see it in themselves.

But Venus/Saturn people must learn to be careful with what they nuture. Sometimes you get a bad seed and even if you water them every day, wait for their season, they will not grow. While trying to force someone to grow, they will restrict your growth because they take up all of your time and energy, time and energy better spent on yourself. It corrupts the way you see yourself, making you see yourself as unworthy.

Eartha Kitt, Venus in Aquarius besieged (or trapped by Malefics) between Saturn in Sagittarius and Mars in Taurus.

Venus/Saturn people must realize that they don’t have to shrink themselves to receive the love they want. There should be nothing they have to suppress, nothing they should have to give up. Venus/Saturn people should never stay out of fear, obligation or guilt.

Someone rejecting you or breaking your heart is not a measure of how valuable you are.

The lived experience of Venus/Saturn is realizing the love you seek is realistic, even if it comes from yourself.

The question is not, “Am I deserving of love?”

It is, “Do I believe I am deserving of love?”

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Angst with Villain finding out their lover is hero pleasepleaepleaspleadepl—

The villain put the bloody suit onto the table and sat down next to the hero.

In an instant, their lover put down the coffee mug with a shaking hand and stared. First at the torn clothing dipped in blood, then at the villain. Their eyes were wide and they looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"Take your time," the villain said. They were curious if the hero was going to come up with any excuses, other lies that fit into their web of a smartly constructed fairytale. A fairytale of being a civilian — a poor, innocent person who happened to fall in love with the big bad villain.

"What is there to say?" the hero whispered. "I fell in love with someone I shouldn't have."

"I told you who I am when we hooked up for the first time," the villain said. They took in a deep breath. A part of them feared the hero had left the suit in the bedroom on purpose, another suspected this entire relationship to be a way of obtaining information.

Both options hurt equally. God, the villain would have probably not cared if the hero had told them in the very beginning. But the lying? The hiding? While the hero knew about them?

"I never meant to hurt you." The villain looked at their, well, lover and tilted their head, not quite understanding how the hero could say something like that. Something that wasn’t mirroring their actions in any way.

"I was honest with you from the very start." The villain brushed the hero's throat with their fingertips, feeling the heated skin burn the ends of their fingers. Gently, they pushed against the hero's windpipe with just the right amount of pressure they knew the hero liked. "But you lied to me."

The hero grabbed the villain's wrist and squeezed hard, just like the villain liked it. They couldn’t help it.

Despite the pain, they wanted the intimacy, they wanted everything to be fine again and the hero seemed to be wanting the same thing.

"I'm sorry," the hero said. "Truly, I should have said something."

The villain increased the pressure on the hero's throat for only a second. Killing the hero now would have solved 90% of their current problems but neither their heart nor their soul agreed on doing so.

Instead, they grabbed the hero's jaw and followed their jawline with their thumb.

They weren't sure if they hated the hero.

The hero with their crooked smile, with their obsessive fascination for video games, their hero with their strange knowledge about random history facts, their lover who didn't like tomatoes, who went to bed late at night, who overworked themselves constantly.

How was it that the villain hesitated now? How was it that they couldn't get rid of someone who caused most of their problems?

"So, you were going to tell me? When exactly?"

"Honey..."

"Don't."

"I didn't know, I thought I could quit eventually. Or you'd quit and we could start a new life. I fell in love and I couldn't help it. I wanted to be selfish just this once, I wanted a normal civilian life, I wanted not to be the hero for once. I wanted someone to take care of me. Someone strong." The hero looked away, their gaze full of pain. "When I'm with you, I don't have to be the hero. I'm not being treated like a hero. I liked that."

"You knew about me, though." The villain clenched their free hand, trying to make sense of the things the hero was saying. "You lied to me."

"Please, I didn't want to hurt you. I never meant to...for me it's just work. It's not personal. It had nothing to do with you."

"Did you use me this entire time? Every time I talked about my plans, did you just use that to your advantage?" The villain could hear their own voice shake. How was this even real? How was this happening? Yesterday they had thought about ways to propose and now, they were going to throw the hero out of the apartment.

How was the villain always the fool? Always the person who couldn't possibly be happy permanently?

"You know me better than that," the hero said. "If you want to kill me now, go ahead. You have every right to be angry at me."

The villain stared at them. They could feel the hero's heartbeat pulsating against their palm.

But they couldn't. They couldn't.

And instead, they leaned forward, loosened their grip and kissed the hero. One last time. It was quick and left the villain - surprisingly - not strangely empty but rather achingly sore inside. They pulled away, blinked the tears out of their own eyes.

"Be gone by tomorrow, will you?"

The hero took in a quivering breath and nodded.

"Whatever you want."

And so it was.

[whxtedreams]

The Hunter and His Witch

A Witch Hunter!Din Djarin x witch!reader oneshot

Summary: The task assigned to him by the lords was a simple one, whether her body was brought in warm or cold mattered little to them, as long as her life had been extinguished. In their eyes, she was an abomination, a stain on this holy land that needed to be purged. And the more he watched her, the less he understood why.

Word Count: 7.1k

Tags: Witch hunter AU, witch!reader, third person POV, reader has she/her pronouns, probably inaccurate witchy things – just using my imagination, injury, threats, din reconsidering his life choices.   

Main masterlist - Series Master list

There were precious few of us remaining, scattered across the land in hiding like hunted game. Fear gripped our hearts as we were hunted like deers, too dangerous to scavenge in groups or pairs, lest we be mistaken for the witches we were. Yet traveling alone was even more lethal, for the target on our backs grew a vivid red in the eyes of those who hunted us. The threat was too great, and the risk too real. Our very lives were at stake, every moment we remained on guard and alone.

For generations upon generations, witchcraft had been referred to as a gift, a mystical force that some bloodlines were lucky enough to wield. But now, it was seen as a curse, to be punished with a brutal and painful death simply because we were born with something that someone else did not have. The injustice was unbearable, as the gift became a burden, the once celebrated power a thing to be feared. The fear of witchcraft permeated the land, and any who bared the power must hide it for fear of being discovered and punished.

The men that hunted us were no better than ourselves, their fear of us blinding them to the reality. We meant no harm unless we were first threatened, our existence being no danger by itself. We were not naturally dangerous, unless unjust violence was thrust upon us.

And now, as she sprinted through the woods in the black of night, the unjust violence chased her. Fear gripped her heart and made her legs move even faster; the adrenaline rushed through her veins as she tried to escape the threat that hunted her down. Her body trembled, knowing that should she slow down for even a moment, her death would be swiftly and cruelly delivered. Every twig that snapped or leaf that rustled fueled the adrenaline running through her blood, every glance at the shadows or movements in the corners of her eye raised her heart rate all over again.

She had never hurt a soul, and yet here she was, being hunted for what she could potentially do. The unfair treatment made her heart weep, and her resolve wavered. The injustice of being hunted like an animal, like a dangerous beast with the potential for harm, was a crushing blow. But she persisted, through the pain and despair, to run. To run through the night with unjust violence in her wake, her life on the line.

He was faster than her though, and she could hear his footsteps gain traction as she attempted to flee. The hunter said nothing, never did. For two days, they have played a twisted game of cat and mouse, evading his deathly grip with the magic that threatened her very life. Every second spent evading the hunter, the threat of being caught grew exponentially, as the magic that has served as her shield and defense gradually chipped away at her health. The pressure was overwhelming, but she dared not stop.

She dared not harm him, to truly become what he feared her to be. To prove them all right. No, she would not harm him even when he eventually has her by the throat and she stares up into his hateful eyes, she will do no harm. 

There was a series of events that had brought her to this point, the hunter trailing after her like a wildfire ripping through the forest. A glance that lingered too long in a village she was passing through, catching the attention of the masked figure who lingered in the shadows, stalking anything he considered a potential threat. Perhaps the smell of power he believed to be dangerous emanated from her person as she smiled and thanked the merchant for the bread she bought.

The man, the hunter, was surrounded by darkness, as if the very essence of the shadows were drawn to him and drowned him in a sea of inky black. She could feel him from where she stood across the bustling street, the dark alley that he stood in created an ominous presence. The very light of her power roared in agony, the burning brilliance and warmth drained away and suffocated by the all consuming darkness this man was. He was the very personification of darkness, a void that swallowed everything it touched, a living abyss of emptiness.

And yet, she felt sorrow for him. Though he was the one hunting her, she could not help but feel sympathy and pity for the man. She mourned the light that had been snuffed out from within him, extinguished by the darkness that had surrounded him like a shroud. Perhaps he had once been light as well, once held warmth and brightness, once given off the rays of hope. But that light had been taken away, replaced with shadows and nothingness.

He sat across from her that fateful night in the tavern, the corner she sought as a refuge now shared with the reaper. His face was shrouded in darkness, the hood of his cloak hung low, obscuring and hiding his identity. His lower face was covered by thick material, the features underneath hidden from view. His presence was ominous and unsettling, the air charged with tension and dread, as if he were more than just a regular hunter.

He wore black and grey, his clothes fitted like they were a second skin, every contour and line defined and displayed. Weapons littered his body, worn freely, as if he were advertising his level of threat. Though he did not need the weapons on display to make his threat known, his entire presence broadcast his danger to all who looked upon him. His whole being was one of immense threat, every part of him declared with boldness and certainty that he was a dangerous entity, a being to be feared and respected.

And yet, she was feared and hunted. 

"A hunter," she declared, the weight of the words heavy upon her tongue.

Her meal, once a pleasure to consume, no longer held a taste for her. Her appetite lost as her mind raced. She set down her spoon, the presence across from her was the source of her anxiety and dread. A threat she could barely see, but felt, nonetheless.

“A witch," his voice was as dark as his presence, the words dripped with contempt and hatred in equal measure. He tilted his head, eyes hidden behind the thick material that covered his face as he studied her intently. His gloved hands rested on the table, clasped together, his stare sharp and unyielding.

“There’s no such thing,” she shook her head, the weight of his stare threatened to crush her. She kept her hands in her lap, avoiding any movement that might have painted her as a threatening or dangerous force.

Heaven forbid she appeared a threat to the darkness that he is.

He remained still, the silence hanging heavily between them, thick and dense, almost suffocating. It made her believe that he did not believe the words that spilled from her mouth. He could have said anything at that moment, but the silence spoke louder than any words. He had found his target, and nothing she said could convince him otherwise. He saw her, a witch by his definition, a creature to be exterminated and eradicated with ruthless brutality. The silence spoke for itself, speaking of an unspoken truth that filled the air with the scent of danger. 

She stole a glance around the tavern, catching the gazes of the other occupants of the establishment as they exchange whispers and passing glances. Their bodies were still, and their whispers were soft, but their eyes betrayed their intentions, staring at her and the obvious witch hunter seated across. They all wondered if he would kill her right here, in front of them, in a display of his hunting prowess and skill. She knew that they awaited with bated breath, wanting to see the slaughter of another witch. Their praise of the hunter is inevitable should he deliver the show they all desire. 

"You are going to kill me," she said, speaking up into the silence, addressing the masked hunter directly. Her words cut through the tense, charged air like a dagger, the truth of them sharp and piercing. He was a hunter after all, a hunter after her, and there could be no other reason behind this encounter but to see her death.

"This is the way." He stated coldly, a death sentence from his lips. The phrase was one she assumed he had uttered on countless occasions, as this was a familiar ritual for him. One of countless witches that had been captured, executed, and forgotten. For him, it was just another routine, another day on the job, another name to add to a list that would never end.

"It doesn't have to be." Her words fell upon deaf ears, dismissed and ignored by the hunter as his hand moved towards the dagger strapped to his chest. The simple gesture spoke volumes, the cold, emotionless demeanor that did not falter, the resolve that filled his visage as his hand closed around the dagger, all conveying his intentions.

“This is the way,” This was not a negotiation, nor a threat. This was a statement of fact. No witch had ever escaped this final encounter, none ever would. It was their moment of reckoning.

She had come to accept her fate, to make her peace with the inevitability of death at the hands of the hunter. She knew with certainty that her death would come with no just cause, in the name of someone else's beliefs. To die here, with an audience, was not the way she had intended. When she passed on from this world, she wanted to do so in the loving eyes of the earth, in the caring and nurturing embrace of her beautiful mother nature, to bleed and die into her, becoming one with her.

A smoke bomb was thrown, and screams of panic echoed through the tavern as chaos ensued. It was thrown not to save her life, but rather to give her just a moment more, a precious few seconds, to flee the hands of death, and the hunter who was hot on her trail. She raced towards the woods, ran with everything she had left, the hunter's footsteps grew louder and closer with each passing second.

If she managed to escape death, that was just a bonus.

But the woods were her home, a safe refuge, a sanctuary of solace and peace. It was the source of her strength, her power, her magic. The plants and earth itself were her lifeline, fueling and nourishing her gifts, a comforting and welcoming embrace. The woods were where she would run for safety, and where the hunter now sought to follow.

On the second day of relentless pursuit, her muscles grew weary and tired, her body had begun to feel the strain and fatigue of her nonstop use of magic. Her reserves were being drained for all they were worth, her strength and willpower waning as she continued to evade the hunter, who had followed her deep into the woods. It was becoming a game of who would tire from the hunt first, and it appeared as if she would be the one to succumb to exhaustion first.

She fell to her knees, digging her hands into the dirt as she struggled to muster the power within the earth, but the exhaustion was all-consuming and the reserve of her magic was running dangerously low. She felt as if her life force was being drained from her body, and she was unable to access the potent essence that normally flowed freely through the earth. The power was there, she could feel it, but she was unable to harness and channel it into herself. Her mind and body was reaching the point of utter fatigue and exhaustion.

He's behind her, the never ending darkness that he exuded and that engulfed him as he breathed, made his presence known to her in an almost otherworldly and menacing way. She could feel him creeping up on her, the shadow and the darkness grew in intensity and threatened to envelop her whole, to extinguish her light that was barely there anymore.

She knew that if she used more magic, it would surely cause irreparable damage and even kill her due to the strain it would place upon her. She had reached her limit, and to go further would push her weak and exhausted body over the brink, to be devoured by the all-consuming void that awaited.

His darkness had a thirst, and its hunger was for her life and existence. It was a race against time, against fatigue and exhaustion.

As she crawled towards the nearest tree, she slumped her back against its rough and splintering wood. She closed her eyes. She felt the world around her slip from her grasp and control, the life force steadily being drained out of her against her will. If this was how she were to die, then maybe dying here was not such a bad fate. Maybe death would be preferable to exhaustion and powerlessness, the feeling of being unable to control the world around her, having her magic drained without having the time to regain the strength she once had before.

The soft whirl of a stream nearby, the howling of a wolf, and the sound of frogs that hopped around her brought some sense of life back to her. The forest screamed of life around her, despite the exhaustion and emptiness that she felt within herself, the absence of the power and strength that she once had. Just because she cannot feel it, it does not mean that it is not there. The forest was alive, and it's calling to her, urging her to stay and to hold on.

The hunter was before her as she opened her eyes, his breathing heavy.  His eyes were hidden in the shadows that enveloped his face, his features almost invisible in the darkness of night. She could not make out his features or his expression, only the faint shimmer of the moonlight reflecting on his sword as he took it from his back. 

“You stopped running, witch?”

In one last final attempt to save her life, she summoned every last remaining shred of magic that she had left. She screamed out in agony, using all the energy that she could muster to conjure the vines from the ground, wrapping them around the hunter's body as he struggled against the will of nature. Her screams of pain echoed off the forest walls around her, rising above his grunts as he swung his sword in a desperate attempt to break the shackles of her enchantment.

All too soon, the vines were twisted around the hunter, her own body becoming a conduit for the potent and lethal magic that she had conjured, and the vines began breaking the hunters' bones and caused serious harm. Her cries blended in with the night, mixing together in a haunted melody, the sound of pain and anguish rose from her throat as the forest around her stilled and became silent like a tomb.

She had not meant to injure him, she just wanted him to stop.

She would have killed him that night, the magic she had summoned suffocating the air from his lungs, if she had not passed out from the sheer force of the exertion and effort that was required to conjure it in the first place. Her exhausted body was depleted of all the magic and energy that she had built up, and her weakened state led to her passing out before she was able to finish off her hunter and send him to his death.

When she woke with the rising of the sun, she felt like death itself had already seized a hold on her. Just the simple act of breathing felt like a struggle in her weakened state, and as she opened her eyes, she perceived how close she was to death. When she looked around, she saw that the hunter was still lying on the ground, the decaying vines still wrapped around him like an armored shell, his body unmoving.

Her chest constricted, and she let out a painful cough that brought up blood, leaking from her mouth. This was the price she had to pay for pushing herself beyond her limits. 

The man stirred, groaning in pain, the soft murmurs of agony pulling at her heart. Knowing that she had caused this, almost having killed him in her struggle for life. It tore into her heart, an aching, bitter feeling that lingered even as the man began to come around, the thought and the knowledge that she had played a part in his suffering.

She had become what he feared her to be, only brought from the fear in her own heart.

She stood on shaky legs, wiped the blood from her mouth, the pain of exertion still present throughout her entire body. She stumbled over to the man, desperately trying to hold herself up as the exhaustion set in. She managed to make it to her knees beside him, examining the wounds that she had inflicted and observed the extent of the damage that she had caused. She saw the broken bones and the deep cuts through his clothes.

"I'm sorry..." She managed to whimper; her voice hoarse. her hands reached out for him, her fingers fumbling helplessly as she tried to stop the bleeding. Tears trickled down her face as the feeling of guilt and shame washed over her, the realization of what she had done weighed heavily upon her mind and conscience.

His hand moved like lightning as he grabbed onto her wrist, a sharp and sudden action that caught her completely off guard. His grip was tight, the muscles taut and the fingers gripping hard on her wrist. "Don't touch me." He groaned, the words filled with disdain and fury.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," she tried to explain, her voice caught in her throat as she tried to offer a rational explanation. Her gaze traveled to the void that lay behind his hood, unable to make out any features.

Her explanation was met only with silence, the echo of her own voice filled the void between her words, and the only sound around her other than the rustle of the forest leaves in the wind.

“Liar.”

He tried to move his other arm, but gasped in pain as he did so, the movement sent a jolt of pain through his body that rippled with the force of lightning. He closed his eyes tightly, the strain and the pain evident in the grimace on his face, the effort caused him to struggle to even breathe.

She shook off his grip on her wrist, his hold loosened as she reached across to his other arm. Raising the shredded sleeve of his shirt, she saw the broken bone lying beneath. The wound that she had caused. His unbroken arm reached back for her, gripping her cloak in a futile attempt to pull her away.

His sudden tug pulled her forward, pulling her close and caused her to press against the solidity of his chest. She was forced to stare at the shadow and the darkness that laid beneath the hood of his cloak, and her eyes traveled up to the edge of his hood, where the smallest hint of the hunter's face remained hidden in anonymity.

“Please, let me help you.” She pleaded.

"You will do no such thing." His voice was sharp and cold, the anger and disdain evident in each syllable. He lashed out at her, pushing her away and sent her tumbling onto the ground. She landed on her back, the force of his shove sent a jolt of pain through her body, the exhaustion further compounding with the effects of the fall. She laid there on the ground, the cold hardness of the forest floor pressing against her back as she felt the blood trickle from her nose.

He tried to move, but the sudden jolt of pain and the weakness that had come over his body forced him to fall back to the ground beside her. He groaned, a sharp gasp of air as he hit the ground, the impact sent a wave of pain up his spine. His body was still, the only movement came from his labored breaths as he tried to regain his composure and his strength.

She knelt beside him once more, her fingers wiping the blood from her face as she moved closer to him. He looked up at her through the pain that was etched across his face, his eyes burned into hers as she took his hand in hers. This time, he did not shake her touch; he allowed her to hold his hand, his fingers wrapping around hers as he let her touch him, holding on despite the pain and the anger that was still present within him.

"Just kill me." He sighed, the words spoken bitterly and quietly as he closed his eyes, his body tensing as he waited for her to deal the killing blow. However, the soft touch of her hand gently caressed his face. Her hand was warm against his skin, and her touch was tentative and tender, a stark contrast to the harshness of his words.

“I told you, I will do no such thing.” She repeated herself.

If she had the power to do so, she would heal every wound on his body and soul, to mend and to repair the damage that had been done. Even though he had tried to snuff out the light from her soul, she would ignite his, her own strength and resilience shining bright as she refused to waver in the face of his anger and his pain. The gentleness of her touch was a reminder of the empathy that still lived within her.

Despite the weakening of her own body, death's grip strong upon her as the remnants of her power slipped away, she gathered her remaining strength and dragged the hunter through the woods. Her destination was a cabin that she had taken refuge in days prior, a place where she would be able to tend to his wounds properly and give him the care and attention he needed. Her own body was struggling, the toll of her own fatigue and weakness starting to take its toll, but she pushed on, determined to reach the cabin before it was too late.

Blood flowed freely from her nose and ears, her body weak and close to collapse. In a desperate plea, she begged the very foundation of the world to give her just one final ounce of strength, to help her lift the hunter onto the bed. And with a sickening laugh, her prayer was answered. The price of said power snatched her consciousness away like a fleeting dream, and her body collapsed onto the floor beside the hunter, the last remnants of her strength used up in the act of bringing him comfort

The hunter groaned as he was placed onto the bed, the impact causing a sharp jolt of pain to run through his body. However, it was the sound of her body hitting the floor that caught his attention, the sound of her collapse echoing off the walls of the cabin. He sat up in the bed, and he peeked over the side, peering down at the girl who lay unconscious on the floor, lost to the world around them.

If his leg and arm were not broken, he would have walked right out of the cabin and left her there, abandoning her without a second thought. However, his injuries prevented him from doing so. He knew that he would not make it out the door without collapsing, the pain and the weakness too much to bear. The frustration and anger in him flared up, the helplessness and the fact that he was reliant on her for his own survival eating away at him.

The thought crossed his mind, the idea that he could end it all right then and there, taking advantage of her unconscious state and prevent her from ever waking up agin. But something about the fact that she didn't end his life in the woods and instead saved him nagged at his curiosity. Despite his anger and his pain, her act of mercy had bewildered him.

Witches were supposed to be heartless creatures.

She stirred once more, her body shifted as the moonlight streamed through the torn curtains. She managed to pull herself to her feet, the effort costing her as she trembled with weakness. The hunter watched her keenly, his jaw clenched tightly as he waited for her to notice him, to realize he was there. He braced himself for her to strike, expecting the worst.

The softly curled smile that formed on her lips as her eyes met the cloaked face of the hunter was not what he expected at all. It was an expression of peace and a calmness that went against the anger and the pain that lay within him. Her smile was gentle and sweet, and even through the shadows of his hood, he could feel the warmth that emanated from her gaze.

Her eyes shifted from his hood, moving down to his broken bones as the smile faded from her face. She sighed softly as she took a seat at the edge of the bed, positioning herself with her back facing him, her body mere inches from him and the bed, all too close to the danger that he posed. Her head fell as she looked away.

“It will take a few days until I’m strong enough to heal the wounds I caused you.”

The hunter grunted as he tried to shift himself further away from her, the effort caused him pain but he was determined not to let her touch him with her magic. He did not trust her, nor did he want to be vulnerable and weak in her presence, the remnants of anger and caution still lingering within him.

She paid no attention to the hunter's movement, as she stood up from the bed, her attention focused on the task at hand.

“I may not have magic at my disposal, but I can do what I can with simple medicine.”

Her mind was set on tending to his wounds and helping him recover, despite his protests and his unwillingness to accept her help. She moved around the cabin, gathering the necessary supplies she would need to treat his injuries.

The hunter watched her with intent, his gaze sharp and filled with suspicion. He tensed up as she sat before him once more, the labored sound of his breathing filling the air between them.

She had no intention of causing him any further pain, and yet he looked at her as if he expected her to draw nothing but screams of agony from him. 

In the folktales, witches are often portrayed as beings who spread terror and destruction, burning villages to the ground with their magic. But in truth, it was often the hands of men, driven by fear and ignorance, who brought about the downfall of those villages. Their paranoia and superstition led to the persecution of those who were different, casting blame and suspicion upon anyone who did not fit into their narrow view.

In that moment, she turned to act not in violence and destruction, but in healing and care. She set his broken bones, mended his cuts, and soothed his bruises, tending to his wounds with a gentleness and a care that contradicted what he had come to expect from her. She acted not as his downfall, but as his savior.

The hunter had finally given into exhaustion, his body stilled as he drifted into a deep sleep. The pain and the fatigue that had plagued him had settled deep within his bones, and she was grateful for the silence that followed. She no longer had to fight him, to fend off his hands as he tried to push her away while she worked on him. A small part of her wondered if he would even offer her a word of thanks for her efforts.

She took advantage of the hunter's sleep to gather food and replenish her own strength. Drawing from the very earth itself, she felt her magic begin to flow back into her blood, replenishing the energy that had been drained from her. She was still too weak to wield any significant magic, but she no longer felt the icy grip of death upon her, a small but significant victory.

On the second day, the hunter woke with a sudden gasp, the sound loud and sharp in the quiet cabin. She held his arm in her hands, her eyes closed in concentration as she focused on her healing abilities. He yelled for her to release him, his voice filled with anger and pain, but her grip was unyielding, her hands like iron shackles holding him fast. Despite his protests, warm energy filtered through his blood, causing his body to jerk and writhe in agony as he felt the bones in his arm shift.

And then bliss.

He felt himself slowly sink into the bed; the once hard mattress now transformed into a cloud of blissful softness. His body grew heavy, as if he was sinking into the warm embrace of a river on a summer's day. A profound sense of contentment washed over him, a smile crept onto his face, and a strange and unfamiliar high took over his body.

The girl stumbled and fell to the floor, her fragile body succumbing to the strain and the toil of her magic. The cost of healing the hunter was too great, and the stain upon her magic was all too painful to bear.

The hunter opened his eyes and sat up on the bed as the blissful haze began to recede. His gaze fell upon the witch, her body lying motionless on the hard wooden floor. He studied her for a moment, the rise and fall of her chest the only indication that she still lived.

The thought flickered through his mind, the possibility of ending her there and then while she lay defenseless within his reach. He balled his hand into a fist, the arm that had been broken mere moments ago now completely healed, and he hesitated.

The frown that crossed his face was a reflection of the unfamiliar feeling within him. He had never hesitated before, for hesitation lead to death. But now, he was filled with doubt, a feeling foreign to him.

She had once again healed him, healing his wounds even though it drew her own death closer. She had tended to his injuries, only to cause greater harm to her own self. The act struck him as selfless and strangely altruistic, a strange and unexpected act from the very creature he had sought to kill.

When she woke once more, he asked for her name.

She managed a small smile where she lay on the floor, even as blood trickled from her mouth, staining her lips and chin. In a soft whisper, she spoke her name aloud into the darkening cabin, the sound echoing off the thick, wooden walls.

“Din,” The hunter replied.

She remained on the cold floor throughout the night, lying there unmoving and silent. He tried to convince himself that he didn't care, that her wellbeing didn't matter to him. Yet, as the morning light began to filter through the cracks in the cabin walls, he found himself looking towards her, his gaze lingering as she rose slowly to her feet.

She was so weak; he took pity on her.

She would make such an easy kill.

“So, Din,” she spoke, her voice a soft sigh that broke the silence of the cabin on the fifth day. She was seated, her legs curled up against her chest as she placed a small, worn book on the table beside her. Her gaze darted up to meet his, the light from the fire casting a warm glow across her face.

Din gave a soft hum in response, his attention still focused on stirring the contents of his bowl, the sound of the spoon clinking against the sides of the ceramic filling the air. He remained engrossed in his task, occasionally pushing the carrots around in the liquid, making no effort to look up at her as she spoke.

“Will you still kill me?”

The question hung in the air, the sound of his stirring spoon suddenly falling silent as he froze, the room seemingly holding its breath in anticipation. She waited, her heart pounding in her chest, yet she already knew his answer deep within her heart.

"This is the way," he repeated, his voice firm and steady. The words were more than just a mantra, they were the philosophy by which he lived his life. He continued stirring his soup, the movement of the spoon punctuating the finality of his statement.

There was a pause, a moment of quiet, before he spoke once more. "Will you still heal me," he asked, his voice steady, "knowing my intentions?" His eyes did not meet hers, yet he could feel the weight of her gaze upon him, her eyes piercing into the very depths of his soul.

"This is the way," she repeated his own words back to him, the words carrying the same stubborn resolve with which he had spoken them.

On the seventh day, she finally managed to coax Din from the bed to a chair on the porch. She could sense the brooding aura that clung to him like a dark cloud and felt that a change of scenery might help lighten the shadows that seemed to burden him.

The task assigned to him by the lords was a simple one, whether her body was brought in warm or cold mattered little to them, as long as her life had been extinguished. In their eyes, she was an abomination, a stain on this holy land that needed to be purged.

And the more he watched her, the less he understood why.

She sat among the flowers; a radiant figure surrounded by the very essence of life. Rabbits darted playfully beneath her feet, their tiny paws rustling through the grass. Birds perched on her shoulders, singing her name like a melodious chorus. As she moved, flora sprung from the earth in her wake, a beautiful trail of color and growth behind her.

It made no sense to him how he was tasked to end the life of someone who so effortlessly brought life into the world. Everywhere he looked, he saw the evidence of her power, in the flowers that bloomed, the creatures that surrounded her, and the beauty that spread like a canvas at her feet. How could he snuff the life from someone who had the power to create it?

And yet, he knew he had to follow the path laid out for him, for this was the way of his people. His creed was his identity, his purpose. If he did not abide by their teachings, then what would remain of him?

For whom would Din be without his creed?

That evening, her fingers danced through the air with grace and elegance, weaving intricate shapes and figures out of the wild vines that grew outside by the window. With a smile, she conjured a doll-like figurine of him, the resemblance striking even though she had never seen his face behind his cloak. And to his own surprise, he laughed.

The truth was, she had regained the strength to heal his injury days ago, yet, she had found herself reluctant to do so. She hadn't even realized how she had grown to enjoy his company, how he had filled the loneliness that had settled in her soul after all those years on the run from people like him. The time they had spent in the cabin, the moments they shared, had become something she had begun to cling to.

She knew this would not last, for he would kill her.

But, oh, how she was tired of running.

In the quiet, still darkness, she stood over him, her form bathed in shadows as she loomed over his sleeping figure. He lay vulnerable, defenseless against her presence, yet her actions were not sinister. She knelt beside the bed, her hands hovering over his wounded and broken leg. Then, she closed her eyes, her hands lowering gently onto his flesh, her touch soft and gentle.

He awakened with a strangled cry; his body drenched in torment as he bolted upright in the bed. The pain was all consuming, coursing through his core like a wildfire. His arms flailed, his hands seeking to grab the source of his suffering — her hands, which were still firmly pressed against his leg.

He gasped for breath, his vision hazy and unfocused as the pain overwhelmed his senses. He looked at her then, and saw the vitality slowly draining away from her as her own life force was transferred into him. He tried desperately to push her off, to break free from her grasp, but her hold was ironclad, her determination to heal him unyielding.

The pain, that all-consuming torment, finally yielded, giving way to a wave of bliss that washed over him. It was then, and only then, that her hands left his body, their touch gone as her body collapsed onto the floor beside the bed, the effort having robbed her of her strength once again.

She had braced herself for the inevitable, fully accepting that the moment Din stood on his own two feet, he would fulfill his objective and snuff the life from her. She lay there, weak and spent, knowing that she would not rise again, knowing that she had saved him at the cost of her own existence. And in her last moment of conscious thought, she found peace.

He rose from the bed, his leg no longer crippled and broken as he placed weight on it. There was no hint of discomfort or pain, as if the injury had never existed. He moved towards his belongings by the door and at the last moment, he paused, casting a brief glance in her direction, lying motionless on the floor. He grabbed the sword that leaned against the wall, the weight of the weapon familiar in his palm.

He moved closer, towering above her prone form on the floor. He hovered over her, his gaze fixed on her face. He raised his sword, the edge catching the light from the fire, the steel gleaming. He froze, his hand trembled slightly, the sword hovering above her vulnerable body, the silence stretching between them.

With a grunt, he raised the sword high above his head, muscles coiled tight. In one swift movement, he brought the blade down, the steel cutting through the air with a whistling sound. The sword met its target, driving deep into the wood of the floor, mere inches away from her head.

He let out a yell into the silence of the night, the sound a raw and primal thing, as he crumpled to his knees before the witch. The weight of his emotions was overpowering, the feeling of his heart being torn from his chest overwhelming him. He felt as if he was being unmade, as if everything that he was, everything that he believed, was being ripped away from him.

He was filled with a mixture of anger and frustration, his heart torn in two as the conflict raged within him. He loathed her for what she had done, for saving him, for making him question everything he knew.

Yet, despite his anger, he gently scooped her frail body off the floor and placed her within the bed she had healed him in, his hands tender and careful, everything he was not.

As she slowly stirred back to consciousness, the first thing she saw was him, sitting at her bedside. He was holding the book she had been reading, the one that had held her attention for days, his eyes focused on the words on the pages. She blinked a few times, her eyesight still adjusting as she watched him for a moment, confused and disoriented.

“You did not kill me?” she muttered.

The silence in the room hung heavy, broken only by the soft flutter of the pages as he continued to read. He did not look at her, his gaze fixed on the book in his hands, until her eyes started to flutter shut once more. Then, he spoke, his voice a soft rumble in the stillness of the room. "You are hard to kill, I'm afraid," his words spoken as a mere observation, his attention never left the pages in front of him.

As the days passed, he would carefully lift her from the bed and carry her outside, laying her gently in the soft grass. He would sit beside her, watching quietly as the earth healed her in ways he never could.

It was beautiful.

At first, the animals were hesitant to approach, wary of the man in their midst. But as the days went by, they began to join him in his vigil, taking their place beside him, silently keeping watch over their witch.

As he sat there, watching her sleep, a new creed formed in his heart. He vowed to himself that he would not allow any harm to befall her, for he would be there to protect her, to shield her from the harshness of the world. He would be her guardian, her defender, her champion, for as long as the world turned, and the stars continued to shine upon her.

For the first time in years, he felt the warm caress of sunlight on his face as he lowered the hood of his cloak. He sat there beside her, soaking up the rays of the sun as if it was the most natural thing in the universe. It was as if he was awakening from a long, dark sleep, the light chasing away the shadows that had clung to his soul for so long.

Din Djarin was a Witch Hunter no more, for how could he hurt something as beautiful and pure as her?

Notes

MY FIRST DIN FIC!!???? I have been so nervous to write anything to do with my beloved din because I just want to do him justice and star wars is so scary to write so, au it is.    When I say this has been in my WIP for three months now – I mean it. You can all thank the writing class I’m taking because it brought this back to life. Also I have been deathly ill with influenza A and my mum has been in the hospital with viral pneumonia, I have not had time to write until today, the first day in nine days that I have been able to get out of bed.

[emberwhite]

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[lavendermin]

collar of thorns | blade

blade x reader, fem reader, bodyguard au

wc | 5.1k

genre | hurt and (a tiny bit of) comfort, nsfw, minors do not interact

warnings | implied toxic family dynamics, unhealthy dependency, brief previous torture mention, panic attacks, trauma, blood and brief violence, nudity, blade uses a shower head to get you off (if there’s a term for this lmk I’m drawing a blank rn)

note | mwah thank you to the bestest @nashusglasses for beta reading this 💗 this was supposed to be at most 2k but well… here we are ^^; love blade’s quiet but gentle girldad vibe with the stellaron hunters so this is a loose interpretation of that in a bodyguard au. very self indulgent with a sprinkle of comfort and mostly exploring their dynamics of an evolving relationship

His calculated actions are a conversation—one you have learned to follow, though not without a learning curve. Even in silence there’s more he tells you with a glance alone than words ever could.

It’s experience that Blade has accumulated as your bodyguard for quite a few years. No stranger to your mannerisms and higher quality of life coming from a family with powerful connections and flaunted status.

He knows you well, in his opinion. Head held high but a frail little thing weak in the knees from utter fear and paranoia. Pitiful, he thinks. Like a field mouse braving the jaws of a beast.

Despite being the black sheep of a renowned family, you’re no less a target as a vessel of valuable knowledge— information that some would go to great lengths to gain. No cost is too great, risk and reward leading many astray. Ultimately, it pulls you closer to unraveling. Time and time again.

—

There is protest— displeasure from attendants that arrive on behalf of the main family estate. You aren’t meant to be seen like this— bedridden and flawed and vulnerable.

The instruction was to wait. Wait until you have healed and could properly make yourself presentable. To save your family face, above all else.

But it’s your house, your rules.

The attendant continues to talk your ear off about why this is egregious and why the meeting should be postponed until months later when you’ve healed. It’s what the family ordered.

They might as well have ordered you dead, too. In your current state you’re no different than a deer in an open meadow, a thousand triggers waiting to be pulled.

“No.” Your gaze is blank as you side-eye the attendant by your bedside. “I want him to see— see exactly what my father signed him up for. If he is to be my guard, then he has to be able to handle all aspects of my life. What good is he to me if the unsightly is just that and nothing more?”

The attendant opens their mouth to oppose, but is interrupted by a knock on your room’s door as another attendant exchanges a hushed message. Upon their departure a tall figure is allowed inside— dark, silent.

Heavy is the atmosphere as he stands before you with an air that you can’t quite read. Blade, his name that was briefly provided by your father’s informant days prior.

“The family extends its gratitude for your gracious courtesy to meet with me on such short notice. Things haven’t been going as smoothly as my father would like. And that man does not trust me whatsoever to keep my mouth shut if the worst should happen.” You mutter something bitterly that Blade chooses not to dwell on. Sleepless paranoia has taken quite the toll on you. The dark circles under your eyes are quite unbecoming, though he doesn’t comment on it.

It’s none of his business— not until you tell him it is. Your word now commands him from the second he stepped into the room.

Blade sits across from you in a leather chair, unreadable with a rather guarded posture. His employer’s daughter— his task— is both what he expects and doesn’t expect.

There is a fear that keeps you alive and a defeat that splits your soul. A cacophony of unrest, a cocktail for an isolated soul.

“As you can see, he’s sorely mistaken,” you snort, dry and humorless. The days worth of agony are neatly dressed in gauze and fresh bandages, well on their way to become a blur of many such incidents to come. A recent incident— torture for information, he can only assume. “Regardless, my life is in your hands now.”

Blade nods, a simple acknowledgement. How easily he accepts to be by your side until your final breath.

“More than your duty,” you continue, “you are my trusted companion. My only companion.”

___

There’s little intel Blade could gather on attempts at your life, but that matters less to him from the second he’s hired. Those attempts would not prove successful, at whatever cost. They would only diminish further the longer he was your guard.

Duty-bound and distanced, he does not bother asking further about your past, and neither do you. You know he wouldn’t answer, and you’ve tried.

As a victim of circumstance, you are hard to blame.

Casual conversation is one-sided—a condition you’ve grown accustomed to. The microscopic changes of expression he allows are often response enough for you to carry conversation. You’ve long since stopped thinking too hard about it. No use breaking your heart over minor inconveniences like a petulant, rich brat.

In fact, not once have you heard him speak in your presence. Doesn’t need to, you think.

It’s easier to think that perhaps he holds resentment or dislikes his duty of protecting you. The lack of verbal conversation is often key to that. But Blade is very good at what he does—skilled in the art of reading people with a glance. His gentle gestures despite a blank, forlorn expression speak to the heart. Your heart.

It’s easy— liking him.

“There’s a restaurant that was highly recommended to me. Word of mouth from one of the Iris Family members during last month’s meeting,” you start casually. Sleep is just freshly rubbed from your eyes that morning.

Blade doesn’t respond, as expected, his hands steadily occupied with brushing your hair. Always gentle. More patient than you who yanks at any knots that form. You prefer it when he does it, liking the feeling of little jolts of electricity down your spine at the intimate action. It calms your nerves, he’s noted.

So, he indulges you.

There’s hesitance in your fidgeting hands as you peek at him through the vanity mirror from under your lashes. It easily betrays the stern facade you try to enact. You try your luck anyway. “It looked promising and would be a nice change of pace. I would like to try it out.”

Silence. His hand stills and his gaze is rather cold as he meets your eye. The air in the room shifts, a thick tension that’s palpable. You don’t even flinch.

“Bad idea, I take it. Well, I have an errand in the area regardless— the Oak Family contacted us not long ago and I’m being issued as the initial contact for a new business discussion. It would be an ideal use of our time if we can still pick up some food to bring back afterward.”

His hands resume their brushing, burning-red gaze now a dulled crimson as he focuses on not pulling your hair. A better idea, you take it, as he seems to relent to your veiled suggestion with a quiet sigh. The only clear sign you’ve learned means you won him over.

Blade knows well that you look for little ways to get some wiggle room of normalcy. You’ve never gotten used to this caged-bird life, bound to fear what lies beyond the golden enclosure of silk and honey. Perhaps he pities your cries, like birdsong that longs for a life that doesn’t suffocate you— a life that doesn’t hinge on every day and every interaction being a gamble.

If there is even a fraction of an illusion of that for you, he will turn a blind eye and let you lie to yourself. A moment is enough to soothe your aching heart.

Later in the day you depart for the city. A distraught feeling sits in the pit of your belly. An omen brought by a spike in anxiety that you force out of mind as Blade opens the passenger door for you.

It’s a silent ride across several towns to the location indicated. There’s doubt that gnaws at the back of your mind. Something didn’t seem right with the person that contacted you with the location details for this conference between families. You’ve become much too aware that you’re viewed as an expendable pawn of the family.

But, you’re sure Robin will be there. And a familiar face is just what you need for this to be less of a drag.

Blade seems to sense your hesitance. Wordlessly, he turns on the radio. You worry too much, he seems to criticize with the action. It helps all the same.

But… your spirits seem lighter, more optimistic. A moment of normalcy as you tune out and look out the window at passing city lights and a sun slowly tucking away behind never ending buildings. You’re a person, then.

Even if only briefly.

____

They say a common phenomenon occurs that allows you to register one small, redundant detail when in a state of sudden shock. And you remember it then, clear as day.

7:59 PM.

The time on your cracked phone screen just inches away from you.

The smell of iron and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. None of it registered quick enough before Blade yanked you harshly out of the way.

And yelling. Muffled and harsh.

Your body is cold with fear, frozen stiff in place. It’s a feeling you haven’t felt since you were a child.

You struggle to get back onto your feet, cowering back toward the alley wall. It gets harder to breathe as panic sets in when your eyes spot Blade clutching his side.

The situation deteriorates further, every passing second a blur of struggle and dark figures. It feels like every emotion is going to burst out of you in a scream. It’s an out-of-body experience, as if you’re watching your own body act on its own trying to put itself between Blade and the attackers.

“Don’t,” he commands—harsher still with urgency. “Stop.”

You freeze at the foreign sound of his voice. There’s no time to process it as crimson seeps through the fresh wound on his side.

You keep hearing his muffled voice tell you to run, run away. Through the pounding in your ears of adrenaline and fear you realize that’s your voice. Hoarse and frantically yelling, pleading for him to run away— you’re hurt, don’t fight anymore.

The rest is a blur as Blade drags you out of the alley, through crowds of nightlife and shoves you into the car. There’s no way of knowing if the pursuit was hot on your tails. It’s a risk Blade could not afford in his current state.

Your mind is numb with fear during the entire process. Every jolt from the roads he speeds through shoots pain through his body— a bloody manifestation of his inadequacy. He hisses and clutches his side, forced to drive with one hand. The sound tears you from your daze for a moment but forces you to experience the present.

There’s red on your hands, your clothes. The smell of iron is putrid as you desperately try to control your breathing. Bile is at your throat and you choke back a sob, like a pitiful kicked dog. You can’t afford to freak out right now and make things worse.

It’s disjointed how your body reacts compared to your mind. You’ve been through worse. You know that. This comfortable life laying low with your bodyguard has spoiled you. He has spoiled you. Your heart is merely a soft pearl now, layers of disjointed affections received and perceived through his tenderness. The base instinct overwrites everything else— all logic, all experience.

This is not normal, it reasons. This shouldn’t be normal.

You want desperately to silence the mind.

The car comes to a slow stop after miles of non-stop driving, and you’re painfully aware of the trembling in your hands. Though you try to hide them by folding them onto your lap, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Blade’s hand, calloused and marred with drying red, is steady as it closes over your fist. It commands your attention and the lump at your throat threatens to rip a sob from you.

It’s alright now, his piercing red eyes tell you. There’s a tenderness that comes through while his thumb rubs your knuckles to ease your anxiety. He lets his head fall back onto the headrest, a bitter chuckle filling the rigid silence.

Your voice trembles, breathy as it breaks with the urge to cry. “They could have killed you.”

Blade exhales through his nose, eyes still closed as he processes your distress.

“I’m expendable. You must live.” His tone is even, detached. It lacks the usual twinge of warmth and care. It’s as if he’s reading something scripted instead— attempting to avoid overstepping.

“You’re being dishonest with me. That’s not what you want to say. I–”

Your mouth presses into a thin line, his hand squeezing yours.

“I know my father sent them.” There isn’t even hurt in your voice, but a steady bitterness begins to burn at the hearth of your soul. It was high time they deemed you more of a liability than an actual member of the family. You shake your head, and with a deep breath you steady your nerves as best as you can. “That matters less right now. Let's get you cleaned up.”

Staying the night at a hotel much too far from home is less than ideal, but you’re aware Blade won’t risk walking right into another ambush that may be waiting at your doorstep. Best not to compromise the situation further.

Despite the tremble of your lip, your hands are steady and efficient as they work to help clean his wounds. You jolt as your phone vibrates with an incoming call, apologizing as you excuse yourself to the balcony. Blade quietly finishes dressing the cleaned wound on his side. He listens intently as you speak with an Oak Family member on the phone, quickly and quietly.

“No, no. We are safe now. Please keep alert. My contact sent you all available surveillance footage of the area shortly after we departed. We can discuss this further once I look into it. On behalf of,” you pause, a strain on your voice before you compose yourself, “on behalf of the family I apologize for the inconvenience. Thank you, Robin.”

Blade watches you intently from the side. There’s a facade of calm you’re trying desperately to keep up. Perhaps it’s the ‘fight or flight’ that’s still keeping you whole right now. For now, he keeps a close watch over you, every microexpression, every fidget.

There’s hesitance as his left palm rests on the bed. It doesn’t escape your detection as you close the sliding door.

“Give me your hand.” A beat and he relents, red gaze as intense as ever as he watches you kneel before him in silence. “You’re hurt here, too.”

He grunts as if inconvenienced, but lets you do as you please. Indulges you— always does.

With a patient crimson gaze, he observes you. Your heart has never felt so vulnerable than right now.

“It’s not perfect, and I’m no doctor, but…” You pause to look over your work.

Despite trembling hands and less-than-elegant bandaging, you gently bring his knuckles to your lips and press a kiss to each one. A childish gesture he didn’t see you as the type to do. That surely in your naive heart you believe a kiss will make it better— despite the blood and bruises.

And Blade— doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop you.

How selfishly he lets your heart devour him.

He gives a silent thanks and moves to sit away from you, making home on the couch with a wince as he adjusts to lay down. The lights are off now, save for your bedside lamp.

Even in the warmth of the lamplight, the feeling of being cold and isolated persists. Alone at the edge of the bed. You want to be selfish and order him to sleep on a proper bed— near you for your peace of mind.

Sleep, he tells you wordlessly with a glance. It’s been a long day.

You worry your lip all the same, seated at the edge of your bedside. Unmoving, tense— your mind reels, replaying the same thing over and over.

7:59 PM.

When the weapon just grazed over his heart and instead hit his side. When the smell of iron, cursed with beautiful crimson, nauseated you.

In the dark, your eyes adjust and watch as Blade’s breathing slows with sleep. It’s not normal— his breathing. The wrappings will only do so much while the pain persists. But by morning, the scar will be there, as if it had always been there. You don’t dare ask the details of why.

He’s spoiled you, surely. A comfortable life in his hands has made you soft. And you know this to be true, otherwise this attempt at your life would be nothing but another occurrence you hardly bat an eye to.

The gentleness he grants you unravels you faster.

No matter how close Blade is, you’re always alone. Even so, you choose to stay within his shadow. It’s warm— always warm.

And you crave him. Crave him in ways you should not entertain.

You don’t sleep much that night. The attempts on your life are few in recent years, but even more rare is successful bloodshed. The more dire incidents leave your nerves fried, a heavy pounding in your chest as adrenaline leaves your body tense and sleepless. Even with Blade’s watchful gaze keeping you safe, knowing he’s been injured by your carelessness only leaves you waking with a strangled gasp from guilt-ridden nightmares every hour.

The room is foreign as you try to adjust your sight to the dark bathed in a sliver of moonlight from a crack in the hotel room’s curtains.

This bed is not yours, this room is not yours. It’s not home, and this isn’t normal. The target is hot on your back— always under someone’s watchful eye. Never able to take a full breath without gasping and clawing at the anxiety closing its hands around your throat.

Your throat feels tight the more you think. In the dark, faces seem to morph into the details on the ceiling— mocking and shifting. All you can do is think in circles, worry your lips raw.

When you look over, you can just barely make out Blade’s dark figure laid on the sofa across from you. The bandages wrapped on his torso are salt in the wound as the guilt claws at your throat once more. Tears sting your eyes as the stress of it all finally reaches a breaking point.

The clock reads midnight as you tiptoe to the bathroom.

The bathwater is just short of scalding when you step in. The feeling doesn’t even phase you, a welcome sensation as the steam surrounds you. Its temperature is a welcoming hug melting your stresses away little by little as you work your fingers into your tense shoulders. A sniffle here and there, shaky breaths accompanied by the sweet melodies of tears breaking the water’s surface.

For a while, you sit idly, watching water from the leaky faucet drip. With each drop, the echoing sound clears your mind and centers you.

Deep breath, hold it. Exhale. Repeat.

The door to the bathroom clicks open, heavy footsteps trailing in.

“I already knew you were awake, but I wish you would rest,” you mutter into your knees as you shrink into yourself.

He sits at the edge of the tub. Formality is left at the door, for your sake. You have nothing to hide from him, anyway. The flesh is nothing to hide, and you’re more ashamed to let his eyes gaze upon the want in your soul. Ugly and wretched.

“You care for me,” is all Blade says in the quiet echo of the bathroom. “Don’t.”

The silence that follows seeps into the water that is no longer warm. Your body sinks lower into the tub until your nose is just above the water. Heat sears the tips of your ears.

The pounding of your heart is deafening, louder still as his presence engulfs your senses.

You feel foolish and naive and your bones are tired of being within your flesh. Bound to carry a fool like you through every mistake.

The sound of water draining doesn’t faze you. He’s decided this is less healing than you wallowing in self-pity. It won’t do you any good. Believing him is easier when you’d rather not think.

You sit up and keep your gaze glued to the surface of the water. Not unable to meet his gaze— refusing to— as his words weigh heavy on your heart.

You would rather he squeeze your heart— drink it dry of the lifeblood that keeps it pumping. Maybe this isn’t love. Or isn’t what you need.

But you will yourself to not care. Have to.

Blade taps your shoulder, urging you to stand before you catch a cold the longer you stay in the lukewarm water. He sighs quietly when you shake your head petulantly.

You finally speak— a quiet, frail thing as your voice trembles ever so slightly. “You’re wrong. It’s more.”

The water sloshes and spills over the sides as you turn your body around. Your eyes meet full, crimson moons, and your heart remains strangely steady. Uncertainty claws at your nerves until they fray like ribbons.

The draining water weighs in the forefront of your mind like an hourglass waiting for your next move. And with each second his eyes crumble your resolve, seeing through you— peering into the soul of a frail little thing like you. He waits patiently for your next gamble.

You lean up, lips pressing against his. A forlorn warmth.

Not pushed away, not stopped. Blade indulges you. Always does.

A wordless answer.

“You don’t like it, but I love you,” you mutter against his lips when you pull away. “That won’t change easily.”

“I never said I don’t like it.”

You can’t meet his eyes when your fingers silently trace the bandage wrappings around his bare torso.

“It eats me alive to see you get hurt. I know it’s your job, but… I can still be a fool in love. Can’t I?”

When you chase his lips again, your body shivers. It’s difficult to tell if that comes as a result from the harsh, cold porcelain of the empty tub or his teeth sinking into your lip.

The water is running again when Blade pushes you away, your eyes unfocused and glassy. He makes your heart ache. You have yet to decide if it’s in a good way or a bad way.

“Is it pity?” you ask quietly. “The reason you kissed back?” There’s distress and hurt in your voice as Blade falls into routine, moving you about like a doll to finish what you inevitably will not.

No response. For once, you can’t read him.

Blade works silently as he runs hot water over your body with that delicate gentleness that has your heart yearning and longing for him to be forced into what you need. You swallow the greed— the selfishness— and tear out the vitals of that ugly beast before you go mad if he leaves.

Your back is to him as he uses the shower head to get the last remaining suds out of your hair. It pulls your focus for a moment, the feeling pleasant and distracting. Methods he already knows to soothe your tumultuous mind.

The water runs and he turns you around. The bandages around his torso are damp by now, your lingering gaze focusing on them as he finishes rinsing you in silence. The myriad of scars adorning his arms and torso bring a heavy feeling to your chest. You will the vile feeling away and focus on his fingers gently lathering up your hair. Keeping you sat makes the task more difficult— you know this. But the attention makes your heart lighter all the same.

Selfish. The thought brands itself on your back like a hot iron.

The water runs and runs along your thigh with a light pressure as he abandons the shower head and tilts your face up to finally look at him. His gaze is intense— worried in the way he searches your crestfallen expression. You’re sure you look pathetic like this, disappointment on your face.

But he kisses you.

Blade leans down and kisses you. Of his own volition, now, and it's soft and warm. So warm it singes the edges of the isolation that consumes you. And for a moment, salvation is what you feel.

“You’re stubborn,” he says, his breath warm as it fans your face. “I enjoy it. That’s my answer.”

You can’t help the pout on your lips. It pulls a hum of amusement from him.

“Enjoying the demise of my heart. You’re cruel.”

Your words have no bite. A ghost of a smile graces his lips and it brings a rush of emotion to your already starving heart.

Because you don’t know it, but he craves you. Fondly but desperately.

Where your family has thrown you to the side, he will hold you close. A greed of his own he has to battle— keep focused so it won’t consume him. So he won’t devour you whole.

A shiver runs through your body as he coaxes you back into the tub, and you think for a moment he’s back to keeping you at an arm’s length again. The cold of the porcelain is harsh on your back. You retain some shame, at least, and you go to cover your chest. It’s the feeling of being a lamb before the slaughter, pristine and loved.

“Sit still,” Blade commands, voice smooth and an octave lower as his arm pushes one of your legs apart to prop on the edge of the tub.

It's a welcome initiative that makes your face warm with a sudden meekness. You’re exposed and surely getting slick by the second with arousal dripping down your inner thigh. Spread and completely bare.

Your chest rises and falls at a quickening pace and you whimper in anticipation. Blade watches you almost curiously, as if he’s never heard these pathetic little sounds from your lips. There’s little that hasn’t been shared between you two with his intimate work as your bodyguard. His presence has been by your side nearly twenty four hours a day every day for the past few years. Still, this is a new low he is taking on with you.

Indulging you. Like he always does.

This is an inevitable shift in your relationship— one that has long since strayed from a purely professional stance. It never suited you both, at least that’s what you like to think.

His gaze like blood is trained onto your expression— every shift, every change, every wince. He wants to see them all, sear them into his memory like tomorrow isn’t promised.

Your body jolts and an obscene moan you can't manage to hold back bubbles up your throat as he holds the shower head just over your slick cunt. The water runs with a constant pressure that feels odd and overwhelmingly good. But your moans are much too loud, much too desperate. With a click, the flow changes and he rips a sharp gasp out of you as he aims the water at your throbbing clit.

Your body is thrashing, squirming against the porcelain but you don’t have it in you to tell him to stop. You don’t want him to stop. But this feeling is not him, and you want to be selfish and have him take all that remains. To have him take and take and fill and put you back together after he breaks you into irreplaceable pieces.

The squeeze of his hand on the tender flesh of your plush thigh is enough to have you panting and writhing. The feeling is isolated, the mere touch hot on your skin— scalding, even. His large hand sinks easily into the soft skin there, and you wish his touch alone would leave marks in his wake. To remind you that he’s still here, and you’ll both be alright.

The coiling feeling builds and builds, your walls clenching around nothing as your clit is assaulted by the constant stream of pressure. A whimper of frustration escapes your lips as your hips try to buck up to chase the feeling— begging for relief. He doesn’t spare you from cruelty, not when your expressions are a wonder to behold. You can’t even scream as an orgasm rips through you so suddenly, mouth agape as you twist and arch under his watchful gaze.

An expression twisted and contorted by bliss— Blade drinks up all your sounds and the sight of you undone. You squirm against his hold on your thigh as the feeling starts to toe into overstimulation. It’s too much of a good thing and you don’t know whether to beg him to stop or keep chasing the feeling of the coil tightly winding again.

The tears that adorn your lashes blur your peripheral, but you’re sure you see a wolfish grin on Blade’s expression.

Just short of coming undone again, he denies you a second completion. The stream of water slowly drips to a stop and you lay there catching your breath. Frustration sits in the pit of your belly as exhaustion finally settles on your limbs, eyelids heavy. For a moment you feel his lips on your temple— a brief, chaste gesture.

It’s silent as you get ready to sleep once more. By now it’s almost two in the morning, your tired body protesting the hour. But the air is no longer suffocating, and a lightness remains in your heart once more. The maw of the beast still looms over you but for now, the beating of two hearts quells your worries until morning.

His steps halt as you pull him along toward the bed.

“Sleep here,” you beg quietly. “It’ll be better for your wounds.”

Blade closes his eyes, forcing himself to disregard the want in your eyes. When you tug gently again he gives in, allowing you to do as you please. Just like always.

He cannot pleasure you how he wants, not tonight. You wouldn’t allow it with his wounds. All the same he relents when you urge him to sleep in a proper bed— to lay with you.

In the stillness of the dark, his hand searches for yours. You wonder for a moment if his fear of losing you rivals your own. For the sake of your heart, you’ll have to assume that much.

He fits easily into the crook of your neck and allows his lips to press tenderly where your shoulder meets your neck. The flesh dissolves under his tongue. You are left bare, a soul so desperately longing to be unsealed and seen and filled.

And he sees you. Blade fills you— with yearning and a wretched possessiveness unbecoming of you. But he fills you, nonetheless.

[rinnstars]

boxed up!

spring cleaning season calls for him to remember you

itoshi rin x reader: bllk + post canon, angst, short drabble bc of exams, not proofread + likes n reblogs r appreciated

he feels like a bird trapped in a cage - surrounded by ropes and chains that keep him sitting her for the past hours. what was supposed to just be spring cleaning for the holidays as dictated by his parents turned into a time travel to a time he much rather not remember. he should be outside right now, enjoying dinner that was his favourite as a treat for winning the match, he should be playing games or watching horror shows right now, he should maybe even be practicing his football but all he can do is to sit in silence without any movement as though a deer caught in headlights.

polaroids scattered around him - your radiant smile instead now fills with him with bitterness and anguish that he can feel deep in his ribs, as though eh had lost a part of himself the day he lost you. he picks at each polaroid, looking at every single detail of it - from the background of the classroom you both shared that was decorated with sprinklers and balloons, the last birthday you’ve spent with him. and he looks at the others, plain and simple photographs of just you - wearing his shirt, caught unaware, lip swollen from kisses and all. and broken pieces from you and his shared bracelet, scattered over the photos when he first opened the long-forgotten box he’s kept ever since you left. and even the lipstick you left with him the last time you were here in his room, he still remembers the way you slept on his bed, leaving a dent that he still doesnt dare sleep on in fear of ruining the last physical reminder he has of you, the way you hugged him so tightly as if you knew you were going to leave soon, so hard he swears you left an imprint on his ribs that he can feel a ghost touch on. he still has a small vial of your favourite perfume that you gave to him as a joke, yet he remembers the exact smell, the exact fragrance, the exact sensation it ignited in him whenever he catches a whiff of that scent that he can only associate now with you.

and maybe he kept everything in this box under the guise of passing it back and maybe fate is kind enough to let you leave without any fuss, without coming back to see him one last time, without ever taking back these physical reminders of. yet, he wonders if its worse that you’ve never came back, not once, and he’s never seen you again since that night. he wonders if you disappeared completely from the world without so much as a trace, your phone number is no longer yours he finds out weeks after, and your house now empty of you and of any furniture that he can recognise. he wonders if you hate him so much that you’ve simply ran away - ran away from the collapsed house of cards that he must have destroyed with his roughness, ran away from the same bird cage he’s now keeping himself in alone suffocating and drowning in the same familiar pain he used to be in, ran away from him.

its been years at this point, but every spring cleaning, its still the same. he’ll pour every single memory left of the both of you and each time, he locks the bird cage containing himself and the ghost of you tighter than before - just for a tinge of hope that one day you’ll remember and come back to just maybe free him, or at least look at him through the silver gates that would just maybe satisfy your anger and bitterness and resentment left towards him.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

X-men brainrot is also fantastic <3 :)

Kurt found you in the garden, sitting on the ground and coaxing deer to eat from your hands. They came with no fear, as if tamed. But Kurt knew better. You'd used your gift to call them and now you were feeding them.

It made you feel better. He'd seen you feed bears, boars, and, he reflected with a smirk, Wolverine- though he wasn't an animal. The image of the grumpy old man accepting snacks from you still tickled him.

"Sweetheart?"

"I'm okay," you answer, stroking the deer and letting them go. "Just- I wasn't expecting to see them."

He nodded and took a seat behind you and wrapped himself around you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, "Is that why you've been avoiding me, bunny?"

"I just didn't feel like I should subject people to me right now," you sigh leaning back into him. Not able to resist the familiarity of being caged in by his long slender limbs. Or the slight ticklish feeling of his fur against your skin.

He tutted, scolding you wordlessly and tilted your chin up with his tail so he didn't need to let you go. Lips finding yours tenderly. He couldn't find the words he wanted in any language to tell you what he wanted to say. He KNEW how deep the wounds went. He'd seen them laid bare and kissed every scar until he knew them as well as he knew his own.

The words they called you. The names. They'd torn so many of those wounds open anew. And the guilt was eating at you. Guilt you didn't have to feel. That you shouldn't feel. Not with him or anyone. Your love was given and received freely. And so far as Kurt was concerned, no vows had been said in a church but the promises were made. From the moment he asked you if you were sure and taking his hand,, looking up at him with eyes so trusting he thought his heart would break, you said "Yes, I love you."

Salt hits his tongue but he doesn't pull away. Because you don't. You only wiggle enough to get loose and stroke his hair. And It's all the encouragement Kurt needs. If his Bunny needs him this way for now, then so be it. As long as she comes home.