#the infinite expanse of ‘what now?’ before you

[mmavverickk]

you know that ADHD feeling where you’ve got something coming up, some big plan or some small thing you’re looking forward to, some event happening in the future, and your whole being seems to put itself in standby mode? it’s just waiting. that’s all life is, until finally your thing happens and then it’s over. it’s over and now you don’t know what to do with yourself.

can you imagine Percy’s experience with that feeling? for four years of his life, he’s been told his existence was outlawed because of a prophecy that could destroy Olympus. so he knows. he knows that either he’ll die before this happens, or he’ll be the one in the prophecy. he’ll be the reason the gods have lived in fear since this prophecy’s creation.

he’s got that hanging over him for years. that death or that destiny.

and then he reads the prophecy. he learns the wording, learns the future, and realizes, “this was only ever going to end with my death.” he’s the half-blood of the eldest gods. the prophecy said hero’s soul cursed blade shall reap. he has ample reason to believe that he’ll die on his sixteenth birthday. that he’ll never get a future.

it looms. all he can do is train and wait. standby mode activate.

he goes to war. he leads his camp against an army, fights to save his city, the world, the campers. kills a titan, makes a hurricane, destroys a bridge. fights, and fights, and fights until the moment comes. until he’s realizing he’s been wrong. he’s not the hero. he doesn’t need to die.

and when it’s all said and done, Percy doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. he’d been prepared to die to save the world. that was his whole plan. how is he supposed to keep going? what is he supposed to do with this future that he’d been certain he wouldn’t have? he has so many options and possibilities and choices open to him now. how overwhelming must that be?

[freshthoughts2020]

[deadsetobsessions]

I just really like the trope of Danny getting summoned, alright?

——

After he shoved Pariah Dark in his coffin shaped locker what what Danny hoped to be for all of eternity, the half unfortunately inherited all of Pariah’s responsibilities.

“What was it again? With great powers comes great responsibilities?” Danny let his head hit the table with an audible thunk. He’s in his “office,” the ghost zone’s approximation of where he might be able to do work seriously. The house- the extension of his haunt- had added the room right next to his bedroom. Danny had to lift all of the paperwork from Pariah’s castle (that’s now also a part of what’s considered Danny’s but he doesn’t think about that) and move it to his main haunt.

He prayed to the universe at large to let him off. Danny hated doing homework- science not withstanding because at least he understood that- let alone an asshole’s centuries worth of work. Danny bemoaned the fact that he was elected the King. He didn’t even defeat Pariah all by himself, so why couldn’t the others do it?!

Like a wave of merciful fate, the beginning tugs of a summoning pulled at his core.

“Thank Ancients!”

Danny scrambled to grab a sticky note, unfortunately glowing green as things tended to in the Ghost Zone, and scribbled down that he’s been summoned and to not look for him until his vacation work was done.

With that note done, Danny decided to bring his A game to the summoning. Allowing his secondary form to wash over him, Danny quickly checked the mirror to make sure he was presentable. A bright glowing ice crown- not the crown of fire, because it was essentially useless without the ring and Danny wasn’t keen on being a king, let alone a near infinitely powerful one- settled across his brow showed his status. A cape, this form’s best feature, made of an expanse of galaxies, nebulae, and frost cling at the end was swept over his shoulders and pinned together with a cloak pin made of clusters of black holes.

A couple of additions to his normal hazmat suit and his trusty thermos at his side, Danny all but dove into the summoning magic with an excited whoop of glee.

As Danny got closer to the magic-made portal, he could hear the whispers of the living presences beyond it.

His summoners! Hopefully it’s not a cult again, even if he thought they were pretty funny trying to summon the king of the dead to kill more people. Not funny “haha,” funny weird.

How should he do this…? Scary? Funny? Oh! Or maybe he should ditch the crown!

Danny grinned, waving his hand to dispel the crown of ice. It was nice, but he was in a dungeon critter mood today.

“Oh, this is going to be gooood.”

Danny cracked his knuckles and put on the most dead-inside-and-outside expression he could manage, modeling it off of the Nasty Burger workers during closing shift. The halfa stepped through the portal.

——

“The ritual is completed! You will all face the might of Pariah Dark, the eternal king of the dead!” The villain of the week cackled as his cult cheered. Wonder Woman, scuffed and injured from the magical bolts these magic users had shot at her earlier, grimaced and raised her sword.

“We will defeat Pariah Dark,” she proclaimed. Her allies rallied at her proclamation and readied themselves for another fight. “This world will not bow to the likes of you!”

“We are all but mere ants before the king of the dead! Pariah Dark will bring forth the reckoning this shitty world deserves!”

“Actually, Pariah Dark’s kind of busy, so you’re gonna have to leave a message.”

Green Arrow’s arrow jerked towards the new voice. Batman paused, hand holding batarangs at the ready. He, out of all of them, knew better than to underestimate a young voice.

A gloved hand shoved through the green portal, using the edges like a door frame to heave itself through. A humanoid shape, with sharp ears all but crawled out of the Lazarus green portal. Batman wondered if this was what Jason saw when he came back to life.

"Lord Pariah Dark is busy?!"

The figure- a boyish not-human- heaved a sigh. "Do you people seriously think that the High King of the Infinite Realms isn't swamped with work?"

"And who are you supposed to be? His secretary?" Hal asked, Ring glowing and at the ready. Wonder Woman tensed and mentally struck Hal away from the list of people to consider for diplomatic missions.

"Me? I'm a glorified paper pusher." The being turned back to the cultists, his cape containing the universe swished behind him. "Did you have a message for Pariah Dark?"

"He was meant to rain down death and destruction!"

"Okay, first of all, I feel like you guys are missing a really important point." The being pointed at the cult leader. “It’s not called the King of the Dead for no reason, you know. Death comes for everyone eventually. Also, I have to do a seriously giant amount of paperwork every time one of you fruitloops gets the bright idea to cause an influx of deaths.”

Danny stomped across the circle, grabbed the collar of the cultist leader’s cloak and yanked him down. He shook him. “Do you people have any idea how annoying it is?! Huh?! Do you know how long the A-354 Form is?! Stop trying to get Pariah to kill people! I’m sick of the paperwork, dammit!”

"How- how did you get out of the circle?!"

The cultists and the heroes squared up, ready to fight the possible common enemy: Danny.

Danny is having the best time of his half life. Screw kingly dignity, Danny’s gotta de-stress somehow! He had a whole bag of complaints!

"You wrote the circle wrong, idiots! Ancients, are you people even literate? What even are those scribbles?" Danny kept shaking the cultist. Wow, what an amazing stress ball!

“Uh- hey, he looks kind of sick…” The Flash said, trying to be a good hero and mediate before escalating. Danny snarled and Flash held up his hands, gulping in fear as Danny’s eyes narrowed at him. “Did I… do something?”

“You,” Danny hissed. “You mother- fruitloop! Stop screwing with the timeline, you giant red-! Do you know how annoying it is to readjust the death count every time one of you little merry red jesters takes a jaunt through time and space?! Do you even know how many complaints I had to field?! Oh, boy you’re all going to regret summoning me today, because I’ve had a long time to think about what I’d do to everyone who made me work overtime!”

Danny bared his teeth, eyes sparkling with mirth as he froze the cultists.

"We're not letting you take over the world," Hawk-Woman said, raising her mace that pulsed with electricity.

Danny snorted to hide his wince. "I'm not interested. Just let me punch him once. Just once." Danny pointed at the Flash.

"Honestly, I can't even blame you," Black Canary muttered, fists raised.

"Wha-! Canary! That's so rude! You traitor!"

"Shouldn't have put skittles in my shoes then. Those hurt, Flash."

"Enough." Everyone shut up at the sound of Batman's command. "What do you mean they wrote the circle wrong."

Danny, who was watching the byplay with interest, shrugged. "They wanted to summon the Ghost King, right? We've had a... change of leaders recently."

"Who is the leader now?"

Danny waggled a finger at Batman. "Nuh-uh. I'm gonna collect my over-time compensation, which is punching the Flash, and then we can negotiate for information."

"Flash."

"I don't want to get punched, Bats!"

"The alternative is that I let the current Ghost King have a go at you."

"Flash."

"Oh my god, just get punched, Barry!" Danny heard Green Lantern Hal Jordan whisper.

"Ugh, fine. No one video this."

Immediately, three phones go up to record the Flash getting decked by a teenage looking ghost. Danny floated closer and wound his fist back, letting loose some of the ghost strength he normally keeps restrained. "This is for my overtime and for Clockwork, you jerk."

The halfa slammed his fist straight into the Flash's face, knocking him clear into the air. Superman catches him but Danny no longer paid attention to the Flash, petty vengeance enacted.

"Honestly, I don't have a problem with you as a person. You're kind of cool. Break the timeline again in the next three months, though, and you're on my shit-list."

"What do you want in exchange for information?"

Danny hummed. "Depending on the level of information, and I reserve the right to not answer any questions. For the name of the current Ghost King..."

He did want that new gaming console. And Jazz could use some help with her rent.

"I want $5,000 and a plate of really good spaghetti."

"I have cash."

Danny nodded at the Dark Knight. "You just carry $5,000 in cash on you? Who does that?"

"I like to be prepared."

"And he's rich," Superman chimed in.

The Flash reappeared with a plate of spaghetti from an Italian place he teleported to. "Here you go. Fresh, and pleasedon'tscrewwithmyafterlife."

Danny shoveled the spaghetti into his mouth, jaw unhinging like a particularly disturbing snake right before he dumped the whole thing- plate and all- down his throat. "Thanks! The food didn't even try to kill me this time! You're good."

"Does your food try to kill you all of the time?!" The Flash- Barry, apparently- asked.

Danny nodded as he took the cash from Batman's gloved hands. "Totally. It sucks."

"Identity." Batman demanded.

"Oh, yeah. The current ghost king is me."

"...What."

"You have been swindled. Bamboozled. Outwitted and outsmarted," Danny snickered, shoving the bundle of cash in his chest. "But seriously, I'm the king. We got rid of Pariah a while ago."

The crown of ice materialized.

"You said you were a glorified paper pusher!" Hawk-Woman chortled.

"I am! I'm pushing so many papers across my desk, it's unending, I swear!"

Batman growled. "You tricked us."

Danny smirked, "You got tricked." Red Robin, in the corner, snorted quietly. "Anyways, if you've got more interesting things around here, I'll considering busying myself with that instead of sentencing you to an afterlife of paperwork."

The adults straightened, grimacing. "Beast Boy is green," Hal offered up.

"Hey!" Beast Boy shouted, offended at the easy way Hal offered him up. He turned to Danny. "But have you ever seen a green chinchilla? Super cute. Watch!"

"Woah!" Danny clapped. Yes, he'll hang out with them before dragging himself back.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Lost In Paradise

Azriel x reader

a/n: I don’t know what the fuck overcame me when writing this—heads up they’re in the Day Court, by the way

Warnings: dear gods Azriel, Azriel in jewellery—diamond piercings to be precise, with kohl lined/smudged eyes, biting, oral (f receiving), smut, overstim, Azzie being a bit mischievous—implied orgasm denial, light wing play, light breeding kink

word count: 3,009

“We have a dinner to go to, Az,” you insist, inclining your chin as he noses along your throat, broad palms running slowly, reverently, up and down the bare skin of your back. Calloused and scarred hands rasping against the smooth, shimmery expanse of your skin, fingers touching along the knuckles of your spine.

“You’re a three course meal all on your own, pretty thing,” he murmurs beside the shell of your ear, gripping your waist lightly, letting his touch span across the sheer silk of your dress, marvelling at your feel, your shape beneath his hands—how finely you fit with him. 

Your pulse spikes at the flattery, heart beating quick in your chest, head tipping back as his lips press firmly to the small notch in your throat, kissing down to your collar bones, keeping you tight to his front, grip firm and unrelenting. “We’re guests,” you try faintly, already lost in his heaven, “it would be bad etiquette to not show up to the first meal—Az…!”

In one smooth motion he’s swept you off your feet, guiding your legs around his waist, thighs squeezing his hips while his palms appreciatively support your ass. “Bad etiquette would be not eating you out before I fuck you,” he drawls atop your mouth, a cocky smirk on his softened lips, staring down at you with his kohl-smudged eyes, diamonds swinging from his ears, the gold fastenings gleaming in the burning yellow sunset, setting the ocean on fire with molten metal as the sun melts atop the glistening waves. 

“Bad etiquette would be wasting a perfectly romantic evening for the sake of one measly dinner that we aren’t even required to attend,” he murmurs, that smug, self-satisfied look in his shining hazel eyes, flecks of amber and jade set alight through the refraction of the setting sun. Gleaming and swirling like they’re precious stones infinitely more valuable than even the tiny, glittering diamonds making up the jewellery adorning his marvellously handsome features. 

“You look good in Day Court attire,” you mumble breathlessly, clinging onto him as he walks you out onto the balcony, laying you down atop the pillowy, padded massage table, creamy fabric turned a perfectly-baked, golden-brown in the evening light, fitted over the cushions.

“You like how much skin it shows,” he drawls, palms settling either side of you, your hair splayed out from where he’s set you, strewn in lustrous glory against the pillow. “You like how easy it is to manoeuvre around.” 

Sure enough, with the soaring temperatures during a sun-filled day, with heat beating down upon the marble-carved pillars, the attire is perfectly suited for the arid climate. Clothing comes in light colours—mostly cream or off-white—and it contrasts the colour of his skin perfectly. The flush on his cheeks despite the cocky look highlights the hunger delightfully. And thanks to the opulent nature of the Court itself, it gives reason for your mate to wear some of the piercings he rarely adorns himself in for the sake of practicality. The ones you love—his ears the main focus, but with wandering hands your fingers clutch the hem of pale, heated linen, raising it from his toned stomach to reveal the incredibly self-indulgent piercing he’d gotten for his belly button, white diamonds set around the narrow golden band. 

“Gods you’re edible,” you pant, the shallow breaths having little to do with the heated evening and more to do with the hot and hungry look he’s pinning you with as he pulls the troublesome shirt off and over his head. His wings flexing and flaring now they’re rid of the fabric brushing the base of the great limbs. Showing off his well-endowed magnificence, as he should.

“Feel better about skipping that dinner now, pretty thing?” Azriel asks roughly, fingers catching the hem of your dress and swiftly pulling it out from under you, pushing it away further along the pale, padded table. “Maybe you had a point about my bad etiquette,” he drawls hotly, open palm coasting up your stomach, fingers grazing between your breasts. He leans over, dark silky hair flopping across your brow, kohl-rimmed eyes making the hazel of his irises simmer with the ravenous intensity of the setting sun, setting you ablaze. “I’ll be eating first.” 

“How brash,” you breathe, fingers dancing up the bare muscle of his upper arms, nails squeezing lightly at his shoulders, raking teasingly over his gloriously powerful back. He begins laying kisses to your collar bones, teeth nipping at your shimmering skin—you’d spent some time refreshing and making use of the scented, swirling lotions available—slowly trailing down between your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipples teasingly. “Weren’t you ever told not to play with your food?” 

“How can I resist when there’s such a beautiful meal before me? Taste is important but it’s more than that, wouldn’t you say?” Fingers hook beneath the golden strings at your hips, guiding them down your thighs as his mouth trails lower, kissing down your stomach. “I need to appreciate all of you. Not just with my mouth, but with my skin, and touch. How can I enjoy you without indulging all my senses?”

“All of them?” You question, back arching as he reaches your abdomen, fingers threading through his hair to encourage him closer. 

Azriel laughs, the sound coming from deep in his chest, splashing over your skin like melted butter and honey, bathing you in arousing sweetness. “All of them,” he whispers. 

“Sight.” Dark rimmed eyes flick upwards, licking over your form as he connects with you, lashes thick and heavy atop his gaze—equally heavy. 

“Smell.” He noses the intimate skin of your inner thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he parts your legs to make room for himself, your ass resting just at the edge of the cushioned table.

“Touch.” Fingers slip between your parted thighs, trailing up and down your centre, slicking himself in your wetness. Circling your clit twice before dipping back down. 

“Sound.” His thick digits slide in, a cocky smirk on his mouth as he curls them causing your back to arch, beckoning you forward, a heady moan spilling from your mouth as he pushes deeper, rubbing against spots he knows you like. 

“Would you like to tell me the fifth one?” Azriel drawls, dangerously low, arousal thickening his tone to something dark and syrupy. 

“Taste…” You breathe desperately. “Taste…Azriel!” 

“Good girl.” His lips curve in a sinful grin, diamonds twinkling their mirth as he lowers himself to your cunt. “You’ve earned it.” 

A rich, heady moan spills from your mouth as his tongue flattens over your clit, fingers working you with heavenly ease while his mouth remains at the apex of your thighs. It’s nothing short of paradise, floating high above in the clouds, nestled in a pillowy cushion as he bathes you in pleasure, rubbing it into you in ways that shouldn’t be permitted—how can something so good exist on this plane of reality?

Your head tips back into the cushioning, moans rising from your chest unabashedly, singing your pleasure with every curl of his fingers, every lovely flick of his tongue. The high approaches far faster than you ever would have expected, spine arching, grinding down on his mouth, hips swirling as he suckles at your clit, able to feel the impending high as your muscles brace for the powerful onslaught. 

You cry out as you come, nails raking through his hair, his wings flaring with male satisfaction as you orgasm, feeling you tighten and flutter around his thick fingers, clit pulsing as pleasure rapidly fires through your body, racing up and throughout your skin, spreading right to your fingertips. Your mouth opens as sound fails you, eyes squeezing shut, Azriel’s rough palms gripping your hips tight as you begin to squirm and writhe, seeking to crawl away from the pleasure—but he likes seeing you like this, and won’t allow it to end anywhere near prematurely. 

His forearm bands across your hips, pinning them down as you try to buck upward, forcing you through the aftershocks that have your body trembling, strength draining, leaving you powerless to resist his dominating touch. Azriel’s relentless in the pursuit of your pleasure, keeping his fingers tucked inside of you, keeping the pace, keeping his tongue swirling around your hardened clit, dragging it between his lips when he feels you coming down and teasingly tugging on it with his teeth.

A lovely whimper graces his ears, mouth parting into a wicked grin as you muster the strength to look down at him, your legs spread with slick gleaming on his lips, threading between your inner thighs where he’s gotten you especially messy. 

“Ready for the main course?” He drawls, your nipples peaking at the rough, rolling timbre of his voice, skin prickling as awareness sweeps through you. “Main course?” You pant, already falling out of it, unable to grasp what he’s referring to with that wicked smile as he stands, wings looming over his shoulders. Shadows pull the band of his loose, pale linen trousers from their already low placement on his hips, allowing his hands to settle either side of your waist as he presses flush to your messy heat. 

“Both of us,” he whispers, leaning down atop your mouth, “together?”

You think your eyes roll slightly at the reminder, nails threading through his inky hair as you pull him into a hot kiss, thighs wrapping snugly around his hips. His cock rests hot and heavy against your cunt, slowly riding back and forth to coat himself thoroughly, before aligning his tip with your entrance. 

“Go slowly,” you beg, clutching onto him with anticipation—you’re far to sensitive for any of his rough treatment. But he smirks over your lips, hips drawing back so his tip drags down over your hardened clit, his leaking cock nudging the entrance of your drooling cunt, messy and sloppy from previous attention—about to be made much messier. 

“Go slowly?” He muses, a low laugh in his voice that makes your skin prickle, hairs standing on end. “You’re perfectly warmed up, aren’t you? All ready and pliable, huh? What could you possibly want me to go slowly for?” You flush deeply, hands twining together over his broad shoulders, trying to push as much sternness into your gaze as you can manage—which isn’t much, judging by the way he chuckles. 

“Is my girl too sensitive?” 

That smirk. That sinful fucking smirk. 

“Whatever you do to me I’ll be delivering right back,” you warn, thighs squeezing his hips. “I’m getting you in my mouth after this, remember…” 

“How could I forget?” He groans, hips pushing forward. “Gonna taste both of us.” 

A pleased moan sighs from your lips as he fills you up, gripping one leg to bring it up his chest—the underside of your thigh pressing to his lower stomach as he pushes tight against you. Azriel’s gaze is nothing short of ravenous as he takes in the arch of your spine as his palm splays across your abdomen, applying a slight pressure to really get you to feel him. 

“Like that?” He asks, short on breath. Mouth curved in that smug grin. So self-satisfied. “Look at you,” he coos, shifting his hips, dragging them back so his head is again at your entrance, before pushing his cock all the way back inside. “So hot and flushed. All of this for me?” His thumb swipes across your clit, and you moan helplessly, tossing your head to the side as your eyes squeeze shut, nails scraping over the cushioning. 

Before you can formulate a reply he’s setting his pace, giving deep, almost punishing thrusts of his hips that roll firmly to your own. Sharp and decisive, just as you like, spine arching with every buck. 

“Can you even count to three right now?” He taunts, shadows swirling over your breasts, teasingly playing with your nipples, curling around them and tugging lightly. You try to shoot him a glare—that side of him has been coming out more frequently as of late, and you really don’t want to deal with his mean streak right now. Not on such a perfectly set up evening for romance and intimacy. 

So you extend your arms toward him, fingers opening and closing as if to grasp onto him. “Azriel…” you moan, reaching. His hips buck sharply of their own accord, swearing you could feel him twitch from pleasure—he might enjoy being mean from time to time, but it’s all for getting you nice and needy. He’s an undeniable soft spot for your desperation. Like putty in your hands once you reach for him, your toes curling from pleasure.  

“Fuck,” he curses low under his breath, driving his cock firmly into you as his palms splay either side of you, letting you touch and feel all over him, practically shivering with the greed in your fingers as they explore and grope. “Such a sweet little thing to everyone else, aren’t you? Such a wicked little devil when you’re with me.” 

Teeth tug on your lower lip as you try to keep your smile to yourself, but you fail miserably, smiling wide as your head tips back into the pillow, relishing the pleasure. “Wicked devil?” You moan out, forcing yourself to meet simmering hazel, heat sizzling just beneath your skin, clit itching for release as his abdomen grazes the apex of your thighs. 

“Like this?” 

A startled noise slips from his lips as you reach further over his shoulders, stroking his wings slowly. Teasing out his pleasure to have him playing nice with yours. His forehead drops to your own, brows pressing together, close enough to share panting breaths, your breasts grazing his chest with each heaving inhale. 

His lips part on an unabashed groan that licks up your spine, pooling between your legs at his deep confessions to pleasure, repeating the slow strokes to his wings. 

“Like that,” he confirms, jaw wound tight as he tries to cope with the overwhelming onslaught of stimulation. Hazel eyes warily open, a sharp glint in them as his instincts snarl and grapple with reasoning, but you want him to yield to them, not fight them. 

It seems he gets the message. 

Azriel’s palms snatch at your wrists, slamming them down on the cushioned table to keep you pinned, forcing you to take every brutal buck of his hips and you can feel as both of you swoop for that high that’s rising. His wings flare wide, their total span easily twice his height, casting a dark, dominating shadow that you know is an instinctive show of possession. 

Shadows wrap beneath the arch of your spine, clutching your hips to raise them from the table, and the angle has you going dizzy. Moans spill and babble as he pounds into you, grip remaining tight on your wrists to keep them trapped, driving in and out relentlessly until you think you might have screamed from overstimulation, panting and out of breath when you return to reality beneath him. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growls against your skin, teeth scraping the tender length of your throat, searching for a spot to choose, to bite down on. He picks a section, pushing his teeth in, licking and sucking to push a feverish kiss into your skin, only pulling away once he’s satisfied. 

“Az,” you whine, cupping his cheeks in your hands, squeezing lightly as you arch into him. “It’s my turn.” 

“Your turn?” His hand wraps around your wrist, nosing the centre of your palm, pressing a kiss to its heel, delivering a small lick that zaps straight to your clit. His hips pull away, then push back in, able to feel as his cum begins seeping out of you. “You’ve hardly taken any of it, pretty thing. You need to be full up before moving onto me. Can’t have you going on empty, hm?” 

“Azriel!” You yelp as he rolls his hips to yours more firmly, bucking against you with enough force to nudge you further up the table. “That isn’t fair,” you squawk indignantly.

“My sweet little devil’s going to tell me what’s fair now, is she?” 

His lips curve into that smirk, and your willpower crumbles, legs wrapping themselves tighter around his waist to press him deeper. Azriel’s subsequent laugh reignites arousal in the pit of your stomach, tightening around his cock, urging him to follow through with his taunts. “Do it,” you whisper, “hurry up.” 

“You wanted me to go slowly earlier. I said you needed to be filled up, not that you needed to come.” 

“Azriel!” You gasp when he pulls out entirely, flipping you onto your front so you’re bent over for him, arms forcefully dragged behind your back to give him full control. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to me,” he muses, lining himself up. “But the evening’s too good to waste, don’t you agree? It would be a shame to have it over and done with so quickly.” 

“And you called me the devil,” you mumble into the cushioning, squirming lightly beneath him to feel the unrelenting strength of his grip. “You’re going to cry when I get my mouth on you.” 

He chuckles again, shackling your forearms to the base of your spine with his shadows, rough palms easily gripping your hips. “It’s adorable you think you’re going to make it through that far. We both know you’ve never managed.” 

Azriel leans over you, cock slowly sliding in as he settles at your back. You can feel his lips against your ear, breath fanning the sensitive expanse of your neck. “I’d tell you to hold on tight, princess, but you can’t even manage that most nights. So tonight all you need to do is lie still, and take it.” 

His palm slides beneath your jaw, raising you from the cushioning, a mocking note to his deep and honeyed voice. “How does that sound?” 

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff @feerique @ratgirl2020

[runariya]

🥸🪄🤫

Merman JK who placed a courting offer on a rock for a potential mate and human reader takes it. She also goes willingly to the mating cove not knowing JK prepared it for their mating. JK's yandere show at the end when the reader tries to leave him after 🤫

Note: JK wasn't really yandere for reader unti the end. He really just want a mate but because reader took his courting offer, she's it for him.

Thank u soo much for accepting reqs! And u write so fast how do u do that? Your writing is also marvelous!

(yandere+fantasy+smut) part of the prompt game pairing: merman!Jungkook x human!female reader genre: fantasy!AU, S2"L", yandere, merman!AU, dark romance warnings: oblivious reader, fluff, language barrier (merman-language is italic and blue), smut, a little bit of fingering, big cock JK similar to the shape of a whale idk man..., unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, panic, realisation, yandere, lmk if I forgot smth (still hate writing warnings) word count: 3.375

a/n: aaaah thanks a lot for your lovely words anony! I hope it turned out just as you imagined it 💕

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The ocean is beautiful. 

You remember a film once, where the male lead whispered that the moon is beautiful as a stand-in for "I love you," but for you, it's always been the ocean. The sea is your love. The scent of briny air, the soothing rhythm of waves unfurling endlessly against the shore, the gentle nibbling of curious fish as they dart around you in the cool, embracing water—all of it anchors you, providing solace in moments of sadness or joy alike. It's what love feels like, or at least what love should feel like, wrapping itself around your soul, calming yet oh so profound.

You always marvel at the depths of the sea that stretch out before you, boundless and mysterious, and yet infinitely captivating. Sometimes, in those quiet moments when the world recedes and you find yourself alone, you long not just to stand as an admirer of its splendour, but to be one with this vast and enigmatic force of nature. 

And so, as you walk along the shoreline, as you do almost every day, your bare feet sinking into the warmth of the sand, you're taken aback when you stumble upon a bracelet resting on the stone where you so often sit to gaze at the waves. It appears pristine, otherworldly, with pearls and shells glistening in violet hues beneath the afternoon sun, a beauty far too rare to be discarded by chance on a lonely shore like this.

Your fingers trace its entchanting form, marvelling at the craftsmanship—the smoothness, the intricacy, though curiously lacking any engraving. You glance around, noting the empty expanse of the beach, and let your eyes wander across the vast waters; there is no one else here. The bracelet appears to be yours now by some strange serendipity, still, you hesitate for a moment, torn between leaving it behind and taking it with you, a part of you reluctant at the thought of it being swept away by the tide or snatched by a passing gull. In the end, you slip it over your wrist. But it doesn’t fit—too loose, and as you allow your hand to tilt, it falls away.

You frown, perhaps the universe is nudging you to let it go. But then, as you glance at the bracelet, now nestled near your foot, it occurs to you that perhaps it's meant to be worn as an anklet instead. That makes sense, and so, convinced by this thought, you sit down upon your stone and fasten the jewellery around your ankle. It fits perfectly now, shimmering with a quiet elegance in the sunlight. And as you lean back, stretching your arms behind you, allowing the coolness of the water to caress the tips of your toes, you know that it is, without a doubt, a beautiful day, and this small discovery seems to elevate it to something extraordinary.

It’s not long after when, suddenly, something stirs the stillness of the moment. You sit up straight, eyes wide, as not far from you, without so much as a splash or ripple, a human head breaks the surface of the water. Instinctively, you pull your feet close, nerves bristling slightly from the scare. “C-can I help you?”

But the man remains silent, drifting in the water, and as you squint against the sunlight to study him more closely, you spot what seem to be scales glistening on the back of his neck. Your mouth falls open in an instant—this can't be real. Yet here he is, a creature from tales of mermaids and mermen you once dismissed as fanciful myths. And here you are, unable to tear your gaze from his face, dark wet hair framing features both familiar and otherworldly, his violet-tinted eyes locking onto yours that sends a strange thrill through your veins. His smile, too, is not quite human but not wholly alien either, a delicate balance of sharpness and charm you think. 

“Wow,” you breathe, unable to conceal your awe, the astonishment spreading across your face in a grin of its own. He moves then, slowly, swimming a little farther away, and you feel a pang of disappointment, a pout forming unbidden on your lips. But just as quickly, he beckons you to follow, his gesture smooth and inviting as he stays near the shore.

Without a second thought, excitement bubbles up within you and you spring to your feet, hastily dusting the sand from your dress as you jog alongside him, eyes transfixed by the way his body moves through the water with such fluid grace. His tail—large, powerful—propels him effortlessly, and you're left torn between admiring his handsome face and the hypnotic sway of his tail. He makes it look so easy, this gliding through water, while you're struggling to keep pace, panting and stumbling to catch up with him. 

Soon, you find yourself before the entrance of a vast cave, its shadowy maw framed by a path of few smooth, small stones that allows you to cross where he has already vanished beneath the surface. Nothing would have prepared you of what you’re met inside. The cave is nothing short of paradise—sunbeams slanting through narrow crevices, casting a thousand reflections on the water’s surface, turning the space into a living kaleidoscope, while droplets of condensation plop gently from the stone ceiling, adding their own melody to the serene ambiance.

The merman is there, resting near a platform, still smiling that beguiling smile, making you approach slowly, leaving a respectful distance between you as you settle yourself against the cool stone wall. “It’s so beautiful,” you whisper, your voice hushed in the face of such breathtaking beauty.

He regards you warmly, then speaks in a language that dances on your ears like music, though you can’t understand it. Still, there’s an unmistakable sense of warmth in his tone. “I hoped you would accept my courting offer.”

You smile, pointing to yourself. “I’m ___,” you say simply, hoping the meaning translates through gesture. 

He nods, understanding the basics of this exchange, replying, “Mate.”

Thinking he’s simply stating that you’re human, you enthusiastically reply, “Yes! ___ mate. And you?” You point towards him right after.

His expression brightens once more. “Jungkook mate,” he responds, nodding firmly. 

It takes you a moment, puzzling over his words, and then the realisation dawns on you—he doesn’t mean ‘human’. He means ‘friend’. Of course! A wave of happiness washes over you at this revelation, more than happy to be friends with him. “Yes! ___ mate, Jungkook mate,” you repeat, beaming.

His eyes glisten even more at your response, and you can’t help but smile back, the sheer magnetism of his presence holding you in its thrall. It’s as if he’s cast a spell over you, drawing you into his world, his realm. But the moment is soon broken by the buzz of your phone, vibrating in the pocket of your dress, reminding you of your upcoming dentist appointment. Regretfully, you rise to your feet, an apologetic smile on your lips as you back towards the cave’s entrance.

Jungkook looks visibly disappointed, or so you think, as his brows are furrowing ever so slightly, though his expression is still one you're learning to decipher. 

“I have to go,” you say softly, “but I promise I’ll be back tomorrow.” You gesture as you speak, hoping he might understand. “___ mate, Jungkook mate. Tomorrow, sun down, sun up, I here.” You gesture dramatically to emphasise your words, and to your relief, his features soften, his nod of understanding clear.

With one last glance at him, you turn and make your way back out into the light, already counting down the hours until you return.

🌊

And so, seven days drift by, each one seeing you return to the cave, where Jungkook awaits with that silent patience of his, the two of you growing ever closer, your understanding of him deepening with each shared glance, each exchange of words. With every moment together, the awkwardness ebbs away, replaced by a gentle ease, as if you’re learning to interpret the language of his quiet gestures, his lilting voice that carries meanings beyond the reach of words.

It’s on the eighth day, after you’ve spent enough time together to almost convince yourself that you can read the currents of his mind, that something shifts between you. The anklet around your ankle, the one you now realise must have been crafted by Jungkook’s own hands, seems to have inspired you to gift him something as well.

“Kook?” you call softly as you step into the cool shade of the cave once more, a bracelet for Jungkook clutched in your palm, something you’ve carefully chosen, a small token of gratitude for all he has given you. You shouldn’t have called out, though, for there he is, as always, waiting by the platform, his strong arms draped languidly over the stone, his face splitting into a wide smile the moment he sees you.

“Mate!” he calls in return, the word making your heart twist in a way you shouldn’t feel. He means friend—but the taste of it is bittersweet now, the small seed of longing inside you growing with each encounter, but you push it aside.

“I’ve got something for you,” you announce quietly, lowering yourself to sit before him, close enough to feel the cool mist of water from his skin as his hand instinctively reaches out, resting lightly on your legs, as if needing to sate his curiosity for your strange, warm softness. You take his hand in yours—his skin wet, cold beneath your touch—and fasten the bracelet around his wrist. It’s titanium, chosen for its strength, its resilience against the sea, knowing it will last, just as you hope this tenuous connection between you will endure. “A courtship gift,” you murmur, the words familiar now—he used them himself every time he pointed at your anklet.

Jungkook stares at the bracelet, turning his arm this way and that, admiring it from every angle, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He whispers the word that has become his tether to you: “Mate.” His voice is soft, reverent, as if the gift means far more to him than you had imagined, and his gaze, filled with such raw affection, causes a flush to rise to your cheeks, a smile tugging at your lips at his sentimental reaction. 

But then, before you can make sense of it, his hands cup your face with a suddenness that takes your breath away, and his lips press forcefully against yours. The kiss is so unexpected, his pull so swift and sure that you lose your balance, your arms flailing before they instinctively loop around his neck as you tumble into the water.

He holds you effortlessly, keeping you afloat as his lips claim yours again and again, his cold mouth moving over yours with an intensity that blinds you to the cold water. You had wondered, more times than you’d care to admit, what he might taste like—whether the salt of the sea would be a part of him—but reality is sweeter than fantasy. There is a hint of salt, yes, but beneath it lies something sweet, something intoxicating, that makes you crave more as his tongue slides against yours.

His hands roam your body, sliding over the wet fabric of your dress, exploring with a curiosity that borders on obsession. His fingers press into your skin, kneading the softness of your breasts as his breath grows heavier, more laboured. You can’t help but let your hands wander in turn, feeling the smoothness of his scales beneath your fingertips, the hard muscles that ripple beneath his skin, as solid as the stone walls of the cave.

When you finally pull away, gasping for much needed air, your eyes meet his, and up close, they are even more mesmerising—violet speckled with flecks of black and blue, like galaxies swirling in the depths of his irises, and you reach up to touch his face, tracing the lines of his cheekbones, his lips slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss, and you imagine your own must look much the same.

Your peaceful moment is shattered when something thick and solid brushes against your thigh beneath the water, and with a startled shriek, you push away from Jungkook, not sure if your heart starts racing or stops altogether. But his arms tighten around you, keeping you from sinking beneath the surface, his expression shifting to one of sadness as he realises he’s frightened you. The panic ebbs as quickly as it came, replaced by a curious calm as you peer down into the water, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever had startled you.

“Oh,” you exclaim softly, your surprise evident as you realise it wasn’t some sea creature that had brushed against you, but rather, something that extends from Jungkook’s tail. And again, you’re not sure if your heart starts racing or stops, when you realise what it is. “Oh!”

His arousal is unmistakable—large, thick, and utterly unlike anything you’ve ever seen, more like that of a whale than a man, and you swallow dryly as you force your gaze back to Jungkook’s face. He watches you intently, waiting for your reaction, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with an intensity that sets your skin aflame despite the chill of the water and his skin.

A deep heat begins to pool within you, your body responding to the sight of him, the proof of his desire for you undeniable. It would be a lie to say you aren’t tempted—to say he doesn’t stir something similar within you, something that makes your skin prickle and lungs work overtime. The wetness gathering between your thighs is evidence enough of that.

“Are you sure?” you murmur, your voice still echoing in the cave, your gaze searching his as if hoping he’ll understand the question without needing words. And perhaps he does, for his eyes darken with something unmistakable—an answer, a promise—before he nods, pulling you closer once more.

His lips find yours again, kissing you with a hunger that speaks of deep, aching need, his teeth grazing your skin, his rough tongue lapping at your lips, your neck, as though he can never get enough of your taste. You lose yourself to it, the world melting to nothing but the feel of his mouth on yours, his hands on your body, the heat of his desire coursing through you like a you imagined devotion would feel like.

You help him rid yourself of the soaked fabric of your underwear, Jungkook’s hands exploring your thighs with barely concealed curiosity before his fingers find the sensitive skin of your cunt, teasing your clit until soft moans escape your lips, your grip on his shoulders tightening without much thought.

But you pull his hand away, knowing the water will only wash away your arousal, leaving you wanting. Instead, you reach for him, your small hand wrapping around the thickness of his cock, marvelling at its size, the way it seems to pulse beneath your touch. Jungkook groans silently, his eyes never leaving yours as you guide him towards your entrance, the size of him daunting but the ache of desire overpowering any trepidation.

You take him slowly, gasping as he stretches you wide, the burn too much at first but quickly giving way to a deep, overwhelming pleasure as he begins to move inside you with the little bit of his cock that fits, each thrust sending sparks flying behind your pupils. He holds your legs tight, forcing your thighs together around the remaining part, the friction equally becoming almost unbearable for you, his cock filling you to the brim, and before you even realise it, you’re crying out his name, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

Jungkook doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, his movements relentless as he fucks you with abandon, whispering words in his strange tongue, words you don’t understand but that seem to echo with a raw, untamed passion that makes your heart race all the faster, imagining he’s praising you, thinking that you’re such a good girl for him. 

You lose track of time, of the number of times he makes you cum on his cock, your mind a haze of bliss, his name the only thing you can remember to say. Each time you think you’ve reached your limit, he pulls another climax from you, his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside you with devastating accuracy, his low groans and moans clouding your mind even more.

Finally, you feel him tense, his body shuddering against yours as he buries himself as deep inside you as your physique allows, his release coming in thick, powerful pulses that fill you to the point of bursting. The sensation sends you spiralling into yet another orgasm, your body trembling uncontrollably, your mouth parting without a sound, as pleasure consumes you yet again.

When at last Jungkook pulls back, placing you gently on the platform, you collapse against the cool stone, utterly spent. It takes all your effort for the world to slowly come back into focus—the soft hues of the cave ceiling, the gentle lapping of the waves, the quiet drip of water from the ceiling above. 

You lie there, breathless, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts, like the restless waves outside the cave, wondering what you’ve just done, what it means, and whether you’ll ever be able to return to the life you knew before.

But your mind can’t settle.

The realisation of your stupidity and naivety crashes over you in waves—the impossible reality of sharing yourself with a creature of myth, the deep-seated regret that gnaws at you like a tide pulling at the shore, whispering that this was a mistake, that you should have known better, should have resisted. 

You find yourself wondering absurdities—whether a morning-after pill could possibly work against the seed of a merman, or if his essence would simply fade away inside you like mist, dissolving with the salt water, leaving no trace behind. Your body feels foreign, strange now, as if you've been altered by his touch, by the unearthly pleasure that coursed through you, and an instinctive panic rises, setting your nerves alight, urging you to flee. 

Your limbs still tremble from all the orgasms as you push yourself upright, hands unsteady as you try to find your balance, desperate to extricate yourself from the surreal haze that envelops you. Jungkook is still there, watching you with those mesmerising eyes, his fingers gently tracing aimless patterns along your exposed thigh, as if nothing in the world could be more captivating than the feel of your skin beneath his touch. His gaze is so tender, so filled with awe, that it only deepens the ache of guilt growing in your chest, highlighting the dangerous ground you’ve ventured onto. 

You attempt to pull away, to create some distance between yourself and the fantasy you’ve allowed to take root, knowing full well that this is a world you cannot inhabit, a dream too fragile to hold in the blinding light of reality. But Jungkook’s hand is faster, catching your ankle in an instant, right above the anklet he gifted you—an innocent token that now feels like a binding chain, keeping you bound to something far beyond your understanding. 

You struggle, trying to shake him off, beginning to feel more panicked than you ever been in your life, but his strength is undeniable, your efforts feeble against the power of his hold, of the very being he is. 

And then, he speaks—softly, with that strange lilt of his voice, but this time, not in his tongue. The word that falls from his lips is yours. The sound of it stops your breath, chills not only the air around you but you too. And in that moment, you realise what you should have known from the beginning, what you should have seen the moment you clasped that anklet around your leg—you’ve crossed a threshold that cannot be uncrossed, a line that cannot be erased. 

“Mate.” 

[dezertvideogames]

The Subnautica of other fears

Subnautica is a game infamous for it's almost all ocean planet, underwater worldbuilding, and deep sea gameplay. It's also the bane of all thalassaphobia peeps.

So here's the subnautica of other phobias

Claustrophobia Fear of Tight/Cramped Spaces - The Forest Series : After a plane crash leaves you stranded in a strange forests, something increasingly becomes... wrong. The caves around don't help.

Scopophobia Fear of being watched or the center of attention - Brighter Day : A weirdcore horror game where something is definitely watching you and definitely following you.

Entomophobia/Arachnophobia - Grounded : You play a group of kids who are stuck in a "honey I shrunk the kids" incident. They are forced to venture across their yard, and survive the various common insects around.

Megalophobia Fear of very very very big things - The Utility Room : An experience. More of an experience then a game and fever dreamish, worth it, and mysterious all the way. It's almost as if the universe accidentally left one strange dev room behind.

Nyctophobia Fear of darkness - Amnesia: The Bunker (from the Amnesia series) : It's a first-person survival horror. You play a French man trapped in a bunker during WW1, while being hunted by something inside its darkness.

Autophobia Fear of being/feeling alone - Firewatch : You work in a national park in order to watch out for fires. Traveling across the Wyoming wilderness takes a complicated turn.

Hemophobia Fear of blood or bleeding - Iron Lung : What awaits you in the deep of a strange moon. Trapped in a submarine you have no choice but to find out.

Amaxophobia Fear of car accidents or being run over - Decimate Drive : After freeing yourself from a kidnapping, the world you wake up to is full of hostile cars.

Final Boss Games:

Lethal Company

Fun with friends :D

Genre: Indie Comedy Horror

Takes place on alien planets in outerspace

It's multiplayer, and very fun, but as soon as it hits the fan the sound design works hard to immerse you in the sudden loneliness. The games sound design is one the major players of Lethal Company's fear. As soon as a friend walks away the proximity chat teaches you just how separated you now are.

Before you know it you have had something unfriendly following behind you, and finally finding the silhouette of a friend in the dark you are betrayed by the creatures of the Lethal Company universe.

Fear of Darkness

Fear of Loneliness

Fear of Being Watched

Fear of Outerspace

The Metro Series

Genre: Survival Horror Shooter

You play the beautiful and amazing Artyom Chynornyj in the post-apocalyptic world of Metro. Developed by Ukrainians and based off the Russian book series + Polish fanon writing community.

The world of Metro is unfair and unforgiving, full of mutated creatures, and the leftover souls that the destruction of humanity left in it's wake. Crawl across the underground of Russian cities, or panic across the even more dangerous world of the destroyed above.

Fear of Darkness

Fear of Wild Animals

Fear of Deep Water

Fear of Ghost/The Supernatural

Fear of Insects/Spider

Fear of Heights

Fear of Dead Bodies

Fear of the Cold

No Man's Sky

The scariest game I've ever played. I don't know why, but this game freaks me out. I know the picture I chose was harmless, but I did that on purpose.

This game is beautiful, but don't let that fool ya. This world will leave you no hesitation lost in the unpredictable randomly generated horrors of space. From planet that are all water, to colossus creatures you see for only a split second, to the infinite colorless expanse of space.

Megalphobes and astrophobes, this is your subnautica

Fear of Outerspace

Fear of Darkness

Fear of Cramped Spaces

Fear of the Unknown

Fear of Very Very Very Big Things

Fear of Deep Water

Fear of Loneliness

Fear of Caves

Fear of the Supernatural

[monsterloverxxx]

Minotaur x fem!reader

Plus sized Minotaur

MDNI

POV you have been sent into the minotaur’s labyrinth as a sacrifice, but your offering isn’t one of blood.

Monster-fucking/teratophilia, breeding kink/pregnancy kink, size kink/macrophilia/CNC

Groping, fingering, repeated PiV sex, pushing cum back in, some dom/sub dynamic.

Horror, gore

Dub-con (some non-con groping and grinding, wanted sex and consent but you’ve been put in that situation)

2080 words

----------------------------------

Offering to the Minotaur:

Nobody knows how long the beast has cursed them, some say he has been there since the beginning of civilisation, others the dawn of time; either way he has always hunted these lands.

Mostly he hibernates; but every time the fire-star lights up the inky sky he awakens for 12 moons. An insatiable hunger to consume controls him, a bloodlust only slaughter can satisfy.

To contain his devastation the leaders of these lands long ago decided to gift him sacrifices, offerings to an old brutal god. Innocent souls sent to death to appeal to the mercy of the monster; a barter for their people to be spared.

_

You look up at the crimson glow in the night, an omen for the blood that would soon spill from your veins. Praying to your deities will do no good, you will soon join them in the heavens and drink moonbeams from golden chalices.

It is dark and cold inside the labyrinth; you can feel the chill in your bones; or perhaps what you feel is fear, terror that curdles your insides.

Tall walls once white marble are now green with slime, moss and mushrooms growing on water that has degraded stone for thousands of years.

It is a maze, and you are already lost. You feel trapped, claustrophobic yet overwhelmed by the infinite expanse. Each step cannot be distinguished from the last, you are roaming in endless circles.

Your legs ache from running, the breath inside your chest burns, your heart pounding. There is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. You turn every corner aimlessly, hoping it will not be your last.

You could hear the others, their echoed footsteps like ghosts, screams of terror and cracks of bones as they were butchered one by one. But now you hear only deafening silence, you know you're the last one standing, it’s your turn to die.

You slip and land on jagged rocks, broken off ruins. Smearing mud on the bottom of your white dress and scraping your tired knees. As you pull yourself up you see him looming over you. Eight foot tall, the head of a strawberry bull, torso of a burly fat man and solid cloven hooves.

You’re frozen in fear, your brain screaming for you to retreat but your body unable to follow. He grabs you and picks you up like a ragdoll, throwing you over his shoulder. The ground is so far below you if he dropped you, you would crack.

“Please don’t kill me” you beg over and over, tears flowing down your cheeks onto his hairy naked back.

“Your offering is flesh” he responded in a deep leather voice as he carries you to his lair

You try so much to wriggle your way out of his arms, even though you know the fall will maim you.

He grabs you around your ass to keep hold of you, his big hands up your dress gripping your underwear. You still try to escape his grasp; but how his hand rubs up against you when you move, you don’t want to admit how that feels.

You believe he’s going to feast upon you. Cook you in a stew with the others, suck sweet meat off your bones, drink your brains out of your severed skull. You pray he would kill you first.

He throws you down onto a pile of straw and furs: his nest. Your head rings from the impact, your bones jolting.

Before you can crawl away, he hops in beside you. He snuggles up next to you pulling you into him, enveloping your body completely with his, his fur and fat keeping you heated. Your face is nestled into his sweaty chest, he smells like rot, the scent of the slain is suffocating.

You wonder if he did this to the others? Gifted them comfort before pulling them limb from limb and devouring their bodies?

He falls asleep cuddling you, snoring loudly. You try to worm out multiple times to no avail. Eventually you give into his soft warmth and fall asleep. How can a creature so brutal feel so plush and tender?

Even though you have no sense of time your body wakes up naturally to the dawn. So had he, you glance around the room, he is nowhere to be seen. Part of you misses his embrace but this was your chance to delay your inevitable end.

You get up and flee his throne room, bolting as fast as your bruised legs can take you. But you do not get far before you need to stop and catch your breath.

As you lean against bloodstained bricks, you can hear him charging you, a great thunderous sound of hooves. He snatches you up, swooping you into the air and over his shoulder once more.

You know it is over now, this was the conclusion of your life, you give up. There’s no point fighting anymore, ‘just kill me quick’ you think, at least grant you that.

He places you back onto the nest gently this time “Stay” he orders

You will.

“Eat” he demands hurling you a bone; you didn’t want to know what it came from or who.

“I’m not hungry” you lie, you are famished but not desperate enough

“Eat” he repeats again “You’ll need the energy”

“For what? So you can hunt me like a hound?” you ask

“No” he responds.

He locks a metal collar around your neck attached to a short chain “Stay, I will return, then you eat, you need energy”

As soon as he leaves you pull at the metal, it is taut and chaffing, rust from many hundreds of years crumbles off in red chunks. You don’t try to get it off, you don’t have the strength.

You wait for him patiently. It is probably close to dusk when the beast returns dragging a deer carcass behind him. The stag's mighty antlers scraped along dirt.

He tears its body apart like it is a simple piece of bread, guts spilling everywhere. He cooks it over flame and feeds it to you. You are ravenous gorging yourself on its flesh like he had done to your fellow sacrifices.

When you are done, he climbs back into his furs again and wraps you up once more. But this time is different, he isn’t there to rest, he craves another thing.

You can feel something pressed up against you, you recognise it. You realise what your purpose is, what he wants from you: something warm and tight for him.

He grinds into the outline of your ass, his face is nowhere near you, but you could hear huffed breaths from his bull ringed nostrils. The way it drags into you sends shivers through your body.

“What is my offering?” you ask

“You are a priestess” he responded petting your messy hair “Your body a vessel for the gods. I am your god.”

“Vessel for what?”

“My pleasure and my offspring” he answered

Your flesh wasn’t to consume, it was to use and abuse, to play with like a toy.

He pushes his hand up your dress, it brushes slowly against your skin, up your body until he roughly grabs one of your breasts, fondling it callously, you can’t help but sigh at his touch.

The white dress that hugs your curves so well, you now see is a wedding gown. You had been gifted as his wife, a slave to him, for his arcane desires.

Your fate is not to dance in the clouds to songs of starlight harps, it is to be split open night after night by a monster's cock, to birth his demonic calves.

He shoves you onto your back and hangs over you, he is massive compared to you, a giant. He grabs the top of your dress and rips it in half, stripping you down, naked and exposed for him.

You are scared yes, but part of you tingles, the wet between your thighs could not lie. He is a beast, he was going to tear your body apart from the inside out, but you have not felt the touch of a man since you had committed to the temple, and oh gods was he a man.

He removes his loincloth; you can’t help but stare at his magnificence. You feel a feral hunger for that huge thick rod hung between muscular legs, hard as the stone around you, dripping with tears of yearning.

“I want to mate with you my little priestess” he strokes your face; his hand is the size of your head.

You don’t know if that is a question or a statement, either way you aren’t going to try and stop him. Maybe it would kill you, but maybe it is worth the risk just to feel him inside you.

“Yes” you responded

“Beg” he ordered “Beg for your god to take you, beg for him to fill you with his seed”

“Please” you plead, pathetic “Please breed me, I am your toy, I am your slave, please use me, please ruin me, I want it so bad, I need you so bad, please”

“Good girl” he grabs you by the hips and flips you over pushing your face into his animal skins. He spreads your legs open as wide as they could go revealing the sweetness between them. He runs a large finger through your folds, gathering slick as lubrication, forcing it inside. You gasp at the penetration followed by soft mewls as he pushes it in and out, going down to his knuckles, checking how much you can take. If this is how good his hand felt, you salivate at the idea of what would come next.

You are so hungry for it by the time he pushes the head to your entrance. He struggles to fit, but he is not gentle, ramming it inside of you with great force skewering your tight cunt. He did not take time to get you used to his size slamming straight into your cervix. White hot pain clouds your head but is soon replaced with carnal ecstasy as he pulls most of the way out and rhythmically thrusts into you.

You take him so well, your walls stretching around him. It’s like your cunt is designed for his cock, the god’s constructing your body specifically for your beast husband, perhaps he had created you for this use. You do not care; you are happy with this fate.

He continues to rail into you, holding your body firm so he doesn’t break your small frame. You are full of him but only half of his shaft is inside. He wishes he could fully stuff you, that he could bottom out inside and his balls could feel your heat as well. But he has stretched you fully out, you cannot physically take any more of him, but he can still try.

He fucks you for what feels like eternity, your body and mind in the heavens. Both of your loud moans are a symphony, a song of lust for only the spirits to hear. Your eyes roll back as your walls squeeze so hard around him, he can’t stop himself from filling you up. His seed drools down your thighs as he pulls out of your spent hole. He catches it with his fingers and pushes it back inside to save it.

His digits in your bruised entrance stings, but when you whine, he starts fingering you again. You rock into his hand, 2, 3, 5 fingers work you open. His own cum escapes down his arm onto the straw.

He trades his hand with his meat again swollen from your arousal, pounding it into you until he has replaced his wasted sperm.

He takes you over and over, again and again, so many times you lose count. Your body is jelly, your mind mush, your pussy is throbbing. He stops only when you pass out from exhaustion, and you fall asleep nuzzled in him.

And then when you wake, he starts again, he’ll keep going until he knows you are with child, carrying his young. And he will use you for his pleasure until he hibernates once more. Maybe he will gift you immortality so you can be his wife for eternity, or maybe he’ll dispose of you when he grows sick of your pussy and your womb, you do not know...

[spacedace]

“Hey, I need to get married for bullshit Infinite Realms reasons, you two in?”

“Tt, of course.”

“Sure thing! Do we need to get going for that like, right now? Or later?”

“Eh, like in a couple of hours? The Observants are demanding some Royal Ball or something and they pulled out some stupid old laws out of their collective asses that if I’m not married by the time it starts they can assign me spouses of their choosing, can you fucking believe that shit?”

“Woah, what the hell? Can they even do that?”

“I was under the impression they were only permitted to observe.”

“Right? It’s total crap, but apparently there’s like this super old law on the books and they didn’t bring it up until now when there’s like no time left to try and force me to marry someone they pick.”

“They are training to gain influence over you?”

“Eh, more like they’re trying to get control of my Dad by way of me. But still fucked as hell.”

“So why do you need to marry both of us? Or do you just need to marry one of us and we should play rock paper scissor for it?”

“Technically I only need to marry one of you, but I don’t want them pulling out any loopholes or something. So, it’d be great if one of you could be my consort for my role as Queen of Mirrors, and one could be my consort for my role as Crown Princess. You two can figure who’s who on that all that, I’m good with whatever.”

“Oooh, can I be consort for the Mirror Court? I can annoy Kon more that way.”

“I am amenable to that. Grandfather will have a fit when he learns that I can cut his access to the Pits off at my discretion and there’s nothing he can do about it.”

“Awesome, okay are you two good for meeting up at like, three? We can pop over to my Lair and get everything sorted out there.”

“Works for me, my only class til this afternoon is at one and the professor already said we’re cutting out early because she has to go out of town this weekend.”

“Four would be more agreeable if possible, I have to take Titus to the vet for his checkup.”

“Okay let’s aim for four then. It’s just signing some paperwork, making some quick blood-slash-ectoplasm pacts and swearing a couple binding oaths… Should only take like five or ten minutes?”

“They’re not gonna make you have a huge royal wedding or anything?”

“Nah. Dad keeps things pretty chill so as long as the paperwork is all in order we’ll be good. Though once Auntie Dorathea finds out she’s absolutely gonna make us have one. She loves planning weddings. Swear its what she makes her hoard out of somehow.”

“So long as we have a say in some of the proceedings I have no issue with that eventuality.”

“Same, it sounds like it’d be a fun way to annoy the Observants even more.”

“Don’t for get all the weirdos trying to be my suitors and all that bullshit.”

“We have an accord then. We can reconvene at the usual place.”

“Awesome, you two are the best! I gotta jet and let everyone know and get the ball rolling on the paperwork stuff. See you guys at four!”

With that, Nomad - Stella Phantom, Crown Princess of the Infinite Realms, Queen of Mirrors, Core of the Speedforce and ghostly hero of the Titans and the Justice League - tore a rip in the fabric of space and time and darted out of the room the same way she came. Through the mind-bending tear in reality the eerie, eye-searing green of the Infinite Realms glowed in all its unsettling glory, Phantom Keep a glittering expanse of night sky made solid in the distance.

Jon waved at her cheerfully as Damian gave a nod of farewell before both silently turned their attention back to their respective tablets as the portal closed behind their friend and teammate and the glimpse of the Ghost Zone disappeared again. Completely unbothered by the conversation just held or the life changing implications that came with them.

Jon was humming as he tapped away at something on the screen before him, Damian propping his head up on his fist in vague boredom as he frowned down at the information he was reading.

The rest of the room Nomad had left behind was caught in a frozen, stunned silence in the wake of the baffling conversation they’d all just been witness to. All eyes in the room darted between Flamebird and Pheonix seated calmly at the end of the table, then to the space where Nomad had disappeared to, back to the young men, and then towards the head of the table where Superman and Batman sat looking bewildered and a bit on the verge of heart attacks.

The short status update meeting was about to become much, much longer it seemed.

Though a lot more entertaining.

[hwaightme]

Safe and San

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR MOUNT'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🟡 pairing: san x afab!reader 🟡 genre: smut, pwp, fluff, established relationship 🟡 summary: in the coolness of an early morning, choi san reveals to you what it means to love in a quiet timelessness, where all that exists is you, him, and the sunrise. 🟡 wordcount: 5.3k 🟡 warnings/tags: fiance san, falling asleep in the living room reading together, sharing hoodies, just loving each other, summer season - yes it is spring but now it is summer because san said so, hoodie san, cuddles, hugs and kisses, sort of edited sort of not (lmk if there is intense chaos anywhere) 🟡 taglist: @doom-fics @legohwa @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven 🟡 a/n: seriously idk where this came from, all I know is that I have been occasionally mindblanking and... here we are. Much love and all reblogs, comments, notes welcome <3

🟡 nsfw taglist: the petname content is intense in this one (sun, moon, stars, summer, honey, darling, love... nicknames...), all the praise, lazy sex, no protection (wrap before tap c'mon), cum inside, cockwarming, sex while in a state of semi-dress, fingering, the softest dom san, basically a service dom

The early morning haze entranced you. An ever-changing palette, the walls of your living room appeared to take on a different hue every time you languidly blinked, still fighting the heavy remnants of sleep. After having forgotten to completely draw the curtains, the luminescence of the cheerful, expectant sun crept across the cold wooden floor in a shy line, barely caressing the cream wall on the other side of the room, centimetres away from producing a kaleidoscopic scene by hitting the glass inserts of the shelving unit. The soft cushions that lined the l-shaped couch, and the woollen throw that hid you from the chill, were a cloud suspended in a tranquil bliss. You studied the familiar, adored surroundings as they metamorphosed from a lilac wonder to a glowing mandarin masterpiece, the brushstrokes of a pastel pink, coating the awakening sky, peeking from the other side of the window, capturing your bleary attention.

Not a sound, except for the level breathing of the man beside you. The man who had your love so fully, so deeply that you were not sure if the slow thudding in your chest was real, or was simply an echo, a comfortable illusion that you had agreed to settle for just so that you could give the heart away for him to keep. He would most definitely keep it safe. Find a neat little box for it, and, if you were lucky, find a place for it somewhere between the books and the video game DVDs, and admire it whenever he would walk past. Or perhaps he would be crafty enough to find a way of putting it in his pocket and carrying it around with him wherever he went – that way, you could miss him less than you normally did when you were apart. Shame you only had one heart, because you would give Choi San the universe if you could.

Your fiancé was like the grand starry expanse in the night, paving the way for explorers, lovers, and mystical creatures alike, and the radiant manifestation of Apollo in the day, bestowing upon the earth a hope, a heavenly brilliance, a magic the secret to which only he knew. With each moment that passed, you had come to understand that there was always more to San. Be it hidden in a sigh, in an enchanting glimmer in his eyes or in a simple gesture, he was an ethereal enigma that you were shocked, and infinitely grateful, existed.

Careful to not disturb him, which was a challenge in its own right considering that you had used his broad chest as your pillow, you lifted the throw ever so slightly and rose into a seated position. You gingerly adjusted the material back, and twisted yourself to be seated on the edge, and facing the literal sleeping beauty before you. You let your eyes travel across his resting face. From his forehead that was obscured by adorably ruffled onyx locks that poured out from underneath his grey hoodie. To his eyelids and lashes that showed the tiniest movement, making the soft light occupying the room land onto the little hairs and turn them to white gold. Down to the perfect line of his nose, the tip of which you liked to plant a quick peck on when you wanted to see your fiancé get flustered. And to his alluring lips which were parted ever so slightly. In the somnolent daze there was an angelic quality to him, a peace that you wanted to sink into and never depart from.

This was one of the first mornings in a while, that you had all the time in the world to keep on staring. For the most part, it was either you or San, or both of you having to get up and rush out of the door for work after having snoozed the alarm a ‘healthy’ number of times. Which is why it was surprising that you were even awake – five o’clock was not exactly your usual territory, and if not for the summer season blessing you with longer hours of sunshine, it was likely that you would not have distinguished between dream and reality, and dozed off lulled by the rise and fall that came with San’s every breath. But your wakefulness had its beauty: there was no stress spurring you on, and the sight of your love beside you, serenity written across his features, made you grateful for the surprising perkiness. For this short while, your personal heaven could be committed to memory, and serve as a transformation for every future when you would need to ‘rise and shine’.

You spotted San’s reading glasses lying, discarded, between his body and the back of the couch, inches from being squashed, while the books you and him had been reading were lying in awkward positions on the floor, much to your amusement. Careful not to damage the pages any more than they had been, you reached to pick the novels up, momentarily studying the covers before marking the pages with what turned out to be a folded receipt and a post-it with the glue segment torn off, and placing them on the coffee table. You settled back into a seated position, tucking one of your legs under you and pulling down the base of your oversized tee. A shiver passed down your back, reminding you of the fact that the air conditioner, your saving grace after the summer heat kicked in, rendering natural ventilation impossible if you wanted fresh air not laden with pollution and unbearable humidity, had been running at full power all night. Only now that you have removed yourself from the human radiator that was your fiancé did you realise this, and began to construct an escape plan that, hopefully, would not break San's peaceful slumber. If you were lucky, perhaps you could snatch and save his glasses.

These small troubles, trivialities of daily life were what brought a smile to your face. Endearing dilemmas that left you confident that what you were experiencing was a continuous blessing. Tongue between your teeth, poking ever so slightly out of your mouth, you concentrated on stalking towards the spectacles. Having stood up from the sofa, you were in a half crouch, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet, with only the rumble of the air conditioner to accompany you. When you were already hovering above San's chest, arm out reached to fish out your target, your breath hitched as he shifted and smacked his lips, following the adorable gesture by placing his arm, which previously was your only line of defence against falling off the sofa, over his abdomen, which in turn made the glasses fall a little deeper, just out of your reach. You mouthed a 'now what', contemplating your next course of action - you were getting cold, but too stubborn to accept a so-called defeat in this miniature game of capture the metaphorical flag.

The only way out was to summon the powers of feline agility and hope that San decided to be a deep sleeper today. Knee sinking into the edge of the pillow, the stitching digging into your skin as you inched forward while trying to keep a toe still on the ground, a peculiar source of security for the case that a quick retreat might be needed. Fingers flittering across the material, reminiscent of the pitter patter of rain - every effort to blend into the dormant landscape, an accidental echo of a season recently culminated. Closer and closer, your leg was a mere few centimetres away from San's torso, and you were arched over him, checking for any sudden changes in his position. But he was still. Almost too still. You narrowed your eyes and scanned his face, but could not detect any difference, aside from his mouth now being pressed together, however he did that in his sleep on occasion, so you paid it no mind. Suppressing a shiver, what used to be careful manoeuvring turned into risk as you took one final look at what you determined to be the sleeping form beneath you, and made a reach for the glasses, quietly hissing out a congratulations to yourself as soon as you felt your fingers touch the frame. Just a little more and you would be able to go get a sweater. Or turn the air conditioning off. Perhaps, since you were still occasionally blinking away the remnants of dreamland, you would get a cup of morning brew ready, and properly greet the sunrise by lounging on the tiny, but nevertheless welcoming terrace encased in shimmering glass. Or so you had hoped, until, as you were making your so-called journey back, a strong pair of arms snaked around your waist, and sharply pulled you in, so you now found yourself pressed flush against your sleepyhead love.

“Hmm… where are you going?” San mumbled, voice deep and groggy, resonating right above you as you wiggled to nuzzle into his neck, triumphantly holding onto his specs with one hand, pleased with yourself for having accomplished your initial task.

“‘s cold, so I need something warm.” It always took some time for him to register what you would say to him as he was waking up – on a number of occasions, he had not been able to recollect a single thing. So you kept your words simple, but even that made him give an exasperated whine as he hugged you tighter and rubbed the side of his face against your head, resulting in his hood being pushed back to reveal more of the heavily ruffled locks of jet black hair.

“But you have me… Y/N…” while answering you, San had managed to kick away the blanket fully, so that it now formed a dark grey heap at the other end of the sofa.

“I didn’t want to wake you, love,” you whispered back, shutting your eyes and relishing in the sensation, “you looked so cute and so peaceful.”

“What?” the sudden question made you raise your head momentarily, only to find San squinting right at you, “Nah… no.”

“No? My Sannie isn’t cute?” you asked, voice tinged with playful disappointment as you let your head fall back down, and took a deep breath.

Much like the early morning light, the mixture of cotton and San’s cologne was unequivocally captivating. It was the scent of the lazy days, the moments when you would allow yourselves to fall asleep, much like today, on the living room couch, legs intertwined after having spent the entire evening reading. An aroma of an embrace, a slow dance and a humming of a tune that only you knew, the notes that carried with themselves the melody of sweetest memories. The interplay of hemlock and bergamot, accompanied by heliotrope and mimosa – when you had pestered San enough times, he had read the profile out for you, the brief paragraph now forever imprinted in your mind in his timeless timbre.

A hand travelled underneath your t-shirt, trailing up and down your spine a couple of times before settling on tracing random patterns on the small of your back. You stifled a gasp as your fiancé took to toying with the waistband of your tracksuit bottoms, and, still laden with sleep, grunted and uttered his short, gruff retort.

“Not when I’ve read what I’ve read… ‘m surprised I even fell asleep.”

“Oh? And what was it you read?” a soft grin settled on your face as you sank into the feeling of San’s hands moulding you to his heart’s content. Unable to settle for one place, they roamed your body, worshipping every curve.

“Mm… too sleepy to explain…” he leaned into you, and upon nudging you to lie down a little bit higher, trailed a series of kisses down from your jawline to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, “…but I could show you.”

“Is that so? Well, I’m more than interested.”

“Wake me up a little bit more and I’ll give you a spoiler.” One of his hands travelled to meet your chin, and tilt it forwards so that his dark, glowing pools of adoration could meet yours, pupils trained on every micro expression despite being cradled in a blur, contained by relaxed lids and wispy eyelashes.

“Such a tease, Sannie.” You whispered, and gave into San’s guidance towards his soft lips, closing the space between you.

The infinite gradient of the sky’s spectacular hues exploded in your vision, as love’s intimate caress ignited a radiance within. With every passing moment, just as the cherry blossoms twirled to the ground in a muted waltz, giving way to flamboyant hydrangeas and mystical lilies, you too, fell deeper and deeper only to bloom once again with a new evolved adoration. A love that grew day in, day out. A love that motivated you to go on until tomorrow, for you knew that you would love even more then, and come to understand the naïve emptiness that you had trusted to be infatuation in the past. Fuller and fuller the soul became. The fuelled up inner fire that contained and protected your safe haven and your eternal paradise. While lilac skies and lavender fields blended into a heavenly unity only for a season, gifting natural beauty for a fleeting appreciation of its temporary existence, the reality that you and San had crafted was evergreen. It was, of course, expected to waver, much like any flowers that were meant to bloom, but together, you would sway and intertwine, two lifetimes turned to one harmonious duet in an everchanging landscape.

New leaves and blossoms replacing those that wilted, but to inexperienced eyes, devoid of recognising the impeccable, intricate details of time, it meant continuity. It meant immortality and a youthfulness that did not know time. This was how life with San had been and will continue to be forevermore. Each tender gaze and caress, the sweetest sigh into your ear was a rekindling of something greater, and left you in an ecstatic daze. The invisible paths of his strong hands exploring every inch of skin left behind a budding desire as you thought back to the transforming garden of hues outside the apartment, now turned to a colourful prologue for the beginning of your hazy summer day.

“Tease… I’m very polite, I’ll have you know.” You giggled as San broke away from the kiss, revealing his lovable pout. Unable to resist, you pushed your free arm up and cupped one side of his face, running your thumb over the cheek, poking his nose with your own as you broke into a wide grin. The action had an effect on San as he moved and tightened his grip to your hips, not once breaking his gaze, while the expression changed entirely.

Like a traveller who had finally found their oasis after an eternity of roaming the scalding hot sands, persevering through madness, he revered you. An unfiltered, unabashed, quiet love that could only be felt amidst total tranquility emanated from him as he resisted the urge to never let go, instead relishing in the beautiful, fleeting instances that you could spend together. Timeliness had taught him to treat each moment with special attention, but with you, he need not try. You were the moment. You were the one who shared his rhythm. You were the meandering river that he would forever prefer and worship over a roaring, cacophonic ocean. Elegance, grace – an identity that could never be replicated. In the rolling tides of strangers, he would always search for where the river met the sea, and would marvel at just how quickly he gravitated towards you. His priceless love and life, the one with whom he wanted to see every sunrise and sunset.

“Well then, gentleman, care to warm me up? Since I have been so politely intercepted.” The attempt at a joke flew over San’s head, but nonetheless, your wish was rapidly granted as he propped up his left leg so it was bent at the knee and his foot was steadily positioned on the couch. Arms still wrapped around you, he gave you another peck and inquired, voice low:

“Y/N, may I… roll you over?”

“Yes, you may. See? Such a sweetheart.” Words of praise always found their way into your responses when it came to your fiancé. Sometimes to obtain his shyness – a breath of spring, or relief – to last the autumn and the biting winter, or, like now, to lie down, impressed at the evoking of the blazing, sultry summer.

He encouraged you to give up any balance you had, and with impressive care switched you places, so that you were now the one resting on a fabric pillow, enveloped between the echoes of San’s body heat on the material, and the man himself, who had one arm on either side of you, and a goofy, proud smile adorning his features. Unable to contain yourself under his intense scrutiny, you raised the glasses you had been securely keeping, and unfolded them to try place a barrier between San and you. But to no avail. Reading your intentions, what used to be a pure cheekiness suddenly gained a darker colour, that of an intimate dusk, and lifting a hand, he hooked the spectacles right out of your outstretched hands, and raised an eyebrow.

“I can see you pretty well, darling. I am more than awake and focused now.”

He tossed the glasses onto the coffee table, sighing in relief as he saw them stop their sliding journey right before the far edge, which earned him a rolling of the eyes from you.

“All these efforts to get them, and you are ready to throw them into oblivion, yeah?”

“No idea what you mean, all I see is that everything is how it’s meant to be.”

The strength of his glances as he brushed your hair out of your face was reminiscent of the sun at its zenith, while the kisses he peppered on your forehead, flushed cheeks and longing lips were the rays of sunshine that would trickle down from the skies through cloudy barriers. The contrast in his light touches and their intentions as he slid a hand under your t-shirt and found your bare breast was immersing you in your personal summer. Your head fell further back, and you let out a satisfied sigh as San took the opportunity immediately, searching for the sensitive spot on your neck.

Taking his time, San nipped at it, while sending your mind into a disarray once his hand pinched your nipple and began to rub languid circles over its very tip, sending an electrifying shock to your core. One kiss after another, he was soon sucking on the sweet flesh, proudly giving life to a garden of unbridled lust spurred by a desire to show closeness. San wanted to melt into you. Melt with you. No embrace was close enough when souls could be together, and so through intimacy and the approach of ‘a small death’ did he strive to express his adamantine devotion to you. Any evidence of your harmony was nothing but heavenly music for him, and it was with pride that he claimed you, and was elated when you claimed him, be it in gratitude, in bliss or in frustration for your yet to be released high.

Your hands snaked themselves around San's perfectly sculpted torso, pulling the hoodie and the black tee underneath, higher and higher, until you could slip beneath, and your cooler skin touched his. The action made San stop his teasing and chuckle against your neck, while his body reacted automatically to roll his hips against yours, member concealed by layers of clothing growing more prominent and pressing against the material of his bottoms.

"Cold." The comment, uttered hoarsely though holding nothing but excitement for what is to come encouraged you to tilt your head and kiss San’s jaw, preparing to return his little, colourful favour.

"Told you."

"Mm, I know a way to fix that." Alas, you were not fast enough, and he lifted himself off you, the loss of contact making you whine. To remind you of his proximity, one of his legs remained between your thighs, knee too close to your core for you to interpret his steps as unintentional, innocent, serene.

With one final smirk in your direction as he caught you eyeing his body voraciously, San took off his hoodie, and motioned for you to sit up – only for him to grab your hand, and cautiously pull you towards him, grinning once you understood his mission and raised your arms above your head. It did not matter – the design, the colour, the cut… any item of clothing that belonged to him, in his opinion, looked better on you for the simple reason that it could hug your form, be an extension of him if he was away and could not wrap you up in his arms. At times, when you were showering, he would purposefully replace your clothes with an item of his just so the scent of your favourite shampoo could linger, and your image would be even more easily imprinted in his mind. Not that it was much of a challenge in the first place, but having all of his senses being preoccupied only with perceiving you was a state he wished could turn into permanence.

“Ah, but there’s a catch, my love.”

“Come on…” you whined and fluttered your eyelashes.

“These,” he grabbed onto the waistband of your tracksuit pants, “off.”

“Yes sir.” As soon as you uttered the phrase you noticed a lustful darkness flash in your fiancé’s gaze, one which he, much to your surprise, suppressed and shook his head.

“Y/N don’t do this to me, or you will not get up ‘til sunset.”

“If that’s your plan, would I even be able to get up?”

“And that’s why I want to make love, Y/N. I want to love you quietly… lie down for me, darling?” he requested, interlacing his urge with the words of one of your favourite poets. A tenderness in his directing you, how he reduced the bottoms and panties he had hooked along with them to a mere accessory on the floor, and how he caressed your thighs, revering every detail, was leaving you breathless. But, just as he was approaching your exposed, aroused sex, you called out to him, reaching for the hand that was resting on your leg.

“Then look at me.”

“Hm?”

“I want to see your pretty face, love.”

The dimples that fell into his cheeks as he beamed at you, crawling up to be right by your side much like a cat would, and letting you roll over so that you were nose to nose, sharing hot breath, made you fall in love again. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say ‘rise’ in love, for when you were like this, vulnerable, and yet so totally safe, you felt like you were soaring.

San took no time in finding your lips, relishing in the stifled moan that escaped you as his fingers teased your moistened labia. A leg resting over his, you were enamoured with the gentleness of his worship of you. The tip of his tongue begged for entrance and elicited a muted sigh as it entered to explore you. With an approving hum, San curled his digits and let your walls clench around him, as he proceeded to set an unhurried pace, knowing you, knowing how to coax out every feeble mewl and build you up to an unforgettable ruin. You had the luxury of time, every worry replaced with the opportunity to connect and combine into one.

There was an added pleasure that came with the surpassing of the excitement of your relationship’s novelty. The intricate mapping of your fantasies had now taken on a new level of complexity, and the sequences transformed into a language only you and San shared. Delighted in the lewdness of sound that was produced by the relaxed pumping of his fingers into you, the gorgeous man further deepened your kiss by taking the strings of his hoodie, now adorning your frame, and drawing you in. Whatever illusion of space between was now entirely gone, and all that existed for you was San’s touch, San’s fragrance, San’s body heat, and the knot in your stomach that was getting tighter his thumb ran circles over your aroused clit.

There was no urgency in his movement as he unravelled you, even though, as you adjusted your positioning, you became aware his stiff erection. The sudden friction caused San to gasp, and, when you brushed your leg against his again, to test the waters, he pleaded, voice ragged and airy:

“Let me take care of you, honey.”

“But San-” you protested, hand palming his length, but denied as he kissed the response away from you.

“You’ll help me out with that later.”

“But I can get an early start.” A final attempt, only spurring San on to push his fingers deeper into you, massaging your pussy until he hit your most sensitive spot, earning a yelp and an approaching tender pulsation.

“Needy for this cock, huh?”

“Ah…What happened to… mfph… sentimental lover boy?” you joked through shallow breaths, choking out every word as you clung onto San’s t-shirt for support in your approaching high.

“I’m still here. Still here… You look beautiful, Y/N… taking my fingers so well, dressed up in my hoodie…” he praised, emphasising his role in your unwinding. Gazing at the love bites he had left on your soft skin through hooded, lust-filled fog, he was motivated to give you any satisfaction you could possibly desire.

“Sannie, please… ah that feels so good…”

“Please what, darling? Hm, tell me.”

Continuing to relentlessly abuse your g-spot, San sweetly took in your writhing form, enjoying the power that he had in this moment, while a ray of the morning sun crept across the floor towards you, traversing the territory of the living room like a foolishly courageous voyeur.

“Faster, please…”

“But it’s so early sweetheart, don’t you want to take it easy?” he inquired, knowing full well that you would not give him a well-structured response, intoxicated by the intensifying arousal, climbing closer and closer to a climax.

“Ah… please… Mm… I need…”

“Elaborate, or I cannot heed to your caprices.”

“I need you inside me.”

“Is that so? Well, I can’t deny you anything, my love.”

Reduced to a whimpering mess, you waited with bated breath as San shuffled to finally push down his trousers and reveal his throbbing member, now adorned with rivulets of pre-cum after having been left abandoned while his digits satisfied you. In a matter of seconds, you could feel its tip against your folds, gliding up and down the slick until you inadvertently bucked your hips towards him, unable to hold on for any longer without a stronger stimulation. Luckily, San was in a loving mood, and submitted to your silent begging. Soon enough, he began to drive into you, so agonisingly slow so as to not force how perfectly your pussy accepted him, and once his pelvis was flush against yours, embraced you. He strived to have you entirely, as if, even when you were with him, he missed you.

Overwhelmed by the fullness your head tilted forward, your forehead meeting San’s as he barely withdrew his cock, and re-entered you, mumbling fuzzy words of praise at how well you were taking him, and just how heavenly your soaked cunt was as he went deeper, rocking his hips upwards to drown himself in your heat.

The world on fire, skin lapping against skin like waves of a mountainous current, painting the landscape in the hues of a blazing sunrise, much like how hedonistic desire washed over you. It grew at an alarming speed until it was threatening to bloom, a crimson rose of undying attraction and adoration for the man who was offering himself to you as your cunt clamped around him. San was entranced by you, and wanted more than what ‘more’ could signify, lifting your leg and throwing it over his to bring you to your sensual demise. Your grasp of his tee tightened as the pounding became hungrier, and you dropped the act of being able to contain a portion of your moans, letting the salacious melodies go right by San’s ears, interlaced with expletives and your beloved’s name.

With every affirmation to roll off your tongue that he had only recently confronted with his own, he would grind harder into you with ease, now that you were propped up just how he wanted you. San could never get enough of your flushed cheeks as the ripples of pleasure ran through you, with his cock rendering you speechless, muscles tightening in anticipation of a crashing orgasm. Only feeble, high-pitched gasps bounced around the walls of the living room, blending into the warm ambiance as your climax hit you – a monsoon, the season controlled by none other than your fiancé, who kept up his flow, mumbling barely coherent phrases:

“So gorgeous, my love, that’s right. Come for me, come over my cock-”

It was not long after your orgasm that his thrusts lost their steadiness, San’s grip on your thigh grew unbelievably tight and he dived to find stability in the dip between your shoulder and neck, leaving feathery kisses and biting the area to suppress his low grunts, now turned to helpless moans that served to prolong your own high.

The erratic motions of his hips culminated in a series of deeper thrusts as he buried his dick as deep as he could inside you, groaning as ropes of cum painted your still-pulsating walls, that seemed to be pleading for more, greedily taking every drop. You rolled your lower half a couple of times, ecstatic from the dizzying fullness that his cock and thick release provided, causing some of the cum to ooze out, threatening to coat your inner thighs. San had no plans on moving, at least not until mist lifted from his consciousness, and he could conjure up at least one thought that did not relate to having you again.

While his dick twitched inside you, you attempted to remain as still as possible, regaining San’s attention by whispering his name. Through half-lidded eyes he gazed back, sending you a shy smile so endearing, and so much brighter than every star, contrasting the remnants of earlier intimacy in the form of a bead of sweat that concealed itself under the hair that fell over his face, and the reddened, plump lips.

“San?”

“Hmm?”

“I’d say I’m very warm now.” He chuckled, making you bashfully glance off to the side, catching the reflection of the sky in the coffee table. The simple ability to hear San’s husky voice as he drifted with you in post-coital bliss, an arm lazily resting on your waist, was a blessing.

“Anytime, my love.” He matched your lightheartedness and squeezed your side.

Your precious sun and moon. The one with whom your heart beat in unison, the one who had read you like a novel, front to back, back to front until he could recount every detail better than you ever could. Time stood still as you lied there, on the couch, sharing addictive nectar and basking in the afterglow. The day only beginning, the room decorated in a light gold hue. Unwilling to part just yet, you shared another kiss with San, in adoration for how the early morning haze entranced you.

[calehenituse-brainrot]

Mors

Cale Henituse | Kim Rok Soo x Transported!Reader

A meeting with a transcendental being.

content warning: blood, cannibalism

Sitting on your haunches, you look at the withered flower inside the ripped heart in your palms. You recalled how your chest was a gaping hole, devoid of a heart as well. Your hands trembled as you cradled the heart, wrenched straight from the chest of a god.

It was still in your hands, bathed in blood and eerily similar to a human’s. Similar to yours. If he was a god, why was he so identical to you? Why does he retain the human traits of his previous life after reaching godhood? Was it his way to be tied still to his roots? Was it his way to honor his previous life? Or was he doing this to be like the god you knew, wanting to be closer in image to the people that worshipped him, so they would feel closer to him?

You let out a small laugh at your questions. ‘God works in mysterious ways, I suppose.’

The flower within, a dianthus, was withering. You remember how that god had opened his mouth and swallowed your heart full. Was there something in your heart that he needed? Could his replace yours…?

You stilled for a moment, realizing that you couldn’t even hear your breathing. The withered flower inside his heart seemed to whisper to you, and you felt the temptation to open your mouth. Murmurs began to fill your senses, overwhelming you. The withering flower seemed to speak to you, promising a forgotten power, its decay a testament to the once-mighty deity's fall from grace. 

You opened your mouth, your mind flashing to the memories of your struggles; the raw, visceral moment when you forcibly tore the heart out of the god’s chest. You felt pure rage then and now it lingered as a hollow echo. You felt… empty. That man had once been your father -- a bad one, and you had the satisfaction of beating him to the ground and killing his image. 

What now?

With a deep breath, you lifted the heart to your mouth, the withered petals coated in blood touching your lips. 

“Will you be able to carry that power?”

You snapped, looking up in shock. The space had turned dark and when you looked up, your eyes glimmered with the sight of the universe before you, surrounding you. You felt a pull, the silent summons that drew you towards it all. Where is all?

A force pulled you to look up, and you seem to be looking into the edge of the universe. There was something that bears no form and defied mortal comprehension, an unyielding force that transcended all understanding. Whatever it was, it was an ungraspable enigma, woven into the fabric of the universe. You felt a presence, its weight palpable and its depth seemed to be pressing against your soul. You feel heavy.

Overwhelmed, your breath catches in your throat and your eyes teared up. It was as if the universe had stilled and you held your breath at the weight of it all in a moment of profound reverence.

The God of Death was neither seen nor heard, but felt—an all-encompassing awareness that filled the space around a person, a shadow that danced at the edge of perception. 

He was the very essence of the end, the silence that followed the final breath each dying person takes. 

You realize how small you are, and how your erratic breathing compares to the calmness He embodied. You were a mere spark in His infinite expanse of time. You smiled through your tears. “You’re here.”

His vastness tilted, and though He had no eyes, you felt its attention fixed on you. His voice was not a voice but a cacophony of sensations: waves crashing, a fire roaring, the soft crackle of ice breaking apart.

“I am,” He said to you. His voice seemed to ring in your ears, vibrating through your very bones, carrying with it the faint echoes of all the lives He had claimed as his.

“You’re not like how I expected you to appear,” you murmured, gently lowering your hands as you looked up at the cosmos. He was everything and everywhere all around you at once. 

“Do you expect me to appear like in your little books?” He asked, His tone amused and it disturbs you to know such a great being was capable of understanding you so intimately. 

You nodded. “Yes.”

The galaxies glimmered as He laughed and you watched it all, mesmerized. “You’re… beautiful.”

This god was not like the one you knew. You knew what Death would look like through the novels, but your idea of an ethereal being that greets you in the afterlife never had a face. You imagined Him to have a figure of kindness cloaked in the despair of the end, a ferryman to guide your soul or a looming, austere angel wrapped in glowing robes. But He was none of that. He was not the gentle shepherd you knew nor was he an angel. There was no humanoid form for you to grasp, to hold for comfort at the end of your life.

He has no voice. He needed none. His presence filled the endless expanse of this space, towering like a mountain, shifting like stormy clouds of a night, the edges fraying into a blinding mix of light and shadows. His body -- can you even call it one? -- was composed of dark clouds, flashing as if a storm was brewing deep within. It swirled in front of you, like the beginning of a hurricane. 

You recalled the cold waters, the tilting ship, and the piercing ache in your chest. The stinging pain of slamming and breaking the water surface before you lost your consciousness. “Is it my time? Is that why you’re here?”

He did not reply for a moment, and you felt the universe vibrate. The heart was lifted from your palms and floated in front of you.

“A God is dying,” He said. “These petals were once radiant with celestial light. Because of you, now they are brittle and dark. His divinity is dying.”

“Is it a sin?” You asked him. “Have I sinned?”

“I am not one of your wrathful gods,” He said. “There is no sin for a child who simply wants to live.”

“Take this heart,” He said. “Eat it whole and consume the flower within. You’ll be able to come back to your family. They wait for you.”

You cupped your palms, and the heart slowly fell back to your hold. You look into the withered flower and then back to the universe. You felt the essence of Death, the profound stillness He was able to provide that calmed the storm in your head. You closed your eyes. “You feel so… peaceful. Heavy, but peaceful.”

“Because this is the edge of your existence,” He told you. However it sounded, it sounded so gentle. Forgiving. The universe warped again and an hourglass appeared, the sand being stardust. It was running out of it. This was your lifespan. “There is no judgment that awaits you here. Nothing awaits you here.”

“Will I stay here if I choose not to consume this heart?” You asked. 

The God of Death let out a sound similar to a surprised hum. “No. This is not death. It will be painful and a glorious sight to see your death. You will feel the pain. At this moment, I am being merciful to you.”

You gulped. “I… I don’t want that. Can’t I die peacefully?

“No,” He answered, quiet and still.

“Why not?” You asked, feeling a lump form on your throat. Deep down, you crave for His approval, for His attention. You wanted comfort from the being that will take your soul, and you’d never admit it, but you were devastated. “If I stay… You will be the one to take me. You take everything… At the very least, make it painless--”

The air stilled as He seemed to focus on you. “Do you think of me as a cruel god?”

“So much,” you whispered. “You take everything away and we all suffered from it.”

The dark clouds surround you and you feel the way they wrap around you close, forcing your chin up to face Death. “You mistake necessity for cruelty. My followers think I must love or hate, guide or punish. But I am neither shepherd nor tyrant. I am the ending of things, as natural as the fall of night. I owe you nothing.”

The sheer indifference in His tone—or His essence—shattered something inside you. You had hoped for solace, for answers, for meaning. Instead, you found yourself face to face with the vast, uncaring truth of mortality. You were a speck of dust in the presence of a cosmic storm. You must understand that you are nothing in front of these Gods.

“All things must end. The cycle cannot hold without me. Your grief is yours to bear. It has never been mine.”

You sat in silence, the heavy truth within His words pressing down on you like the weight of the world. For a moment, you felt like screaming your heart out. This is unfair! I did my best to be a good person and I will die a painful death at the end! 

This was callous -- the final moments of your life would be raw, scathing pain that you’ll feel until you die. Death was easy to face, but dying was not something you wanted, much less in pain. Staring at the mass of dark clouds, the fire in your chest flickered and then immediately dimmed.

Whatever you do, it will be futile. Your rage will be futile, your pleas unheard. You are mortal.

You rose to your feet slowly, panting. The God of Death said nothing, watching—or perhaps not—as you grasped for the heart.

The hourglass slowed.

“Consume the divinity,” He said. “Consume it and let it take you.”

You opened your mouth and lifted the heart to your lips. Your teeth sank onto the bloodied, lifeless flesh and a surge of a cold and ancient energy coursed through you. The taste was something you could never have tasted in your living days. It tasted of iron and stardust, horribly bitter with the remnants of a dying divinity. You gripped at the flesh with your teeth and ripped it away, swallowing the chunks whole and each swallow was a step further into the abyss, your soul intertwining with the fading essence of a dying god.

The withered dianthus crumbled in your mouth, its divine energy dissolving on your tongue and it left you with sorrow and tears.

You swallowed the final piece and your gaping chest began to close itself. Your chest burns with the dying embers of divinity that now reside in your soul. You sat there, looking up at the universe with your bloodied mouth, the weight of your action settling into your bones. 

It was slow at first. A burn on your tongue, and then around your throat that had dared to consume such a sacred thing. You gasped, grasping at your throat and then your chest. You let out a pained wail as your chest seemed to have something slithering inside it, moving inside your flesh and skin and causing you to scream in pain.

“I-I can’t--!” You stammered out through pained gasps. “I-I can’t t-take it! Please!”

“Be calm,” Death whispered to you. “Accept your end. I’m here to take you.”

You slumped to the ground, panting as you began to feel faint, the universe warping around you. 

The inevitability of His embrace filled you with a strange, bittersweet peace, a release from the burdens of mortal toil. In the overwhelming quiet, you found a deep acceptance, a surrender to the inevitable cycle of existence. The God of Death, unseen and formless, held you in a silent embrace, a guardian of the boundary between life and the infinite unknown.

And in that sacred moment, where time and space dissolved into the eternal twilight, you understood the profound peace of surrender, the quiet grace of the end, as you were gently carried into the vastness beyond.

Ron sat in the ship, looking up at the starry skies as Archie swam back to the continent. The ship’s gentle motion cradled the two people who lay unconscious on its wooden floorboards, the soft creaking of its timbers mingling with the sounds of the whales swimming. His eyes, weathered by years of witnessing death, gazed upward. Ron could never think he would seek solace within stars, but here he was.

They always felt so cold to him. They were an ancient, eternal beauty, so indifferent to the troubles that Earth and its inhabitants faced. To think something like that was a small part of a vast existence and Ron felt conflicted about whether or not he should feel glad that his sorrows were so small within that existence. He came to the conclusion that he didn’t care.

The night breeze, cool and salt-tinged, whispered through his silver hair, carrying with it the scent of the open sea. He inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the air, his weathered hand resting gently on your hand. Ohn was tucked under your chin, herself paranoid that in the middle of their way home, your pulse would stop beating and she’d lose you again.

Rosalyn was sitting on her haunches, your head placed on her lap as she was nodding off.

Your skin was cool beneath their touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of their love, a love that burned with the fierce intensity of a dying star.

The ship moved steadily, its course unwavering, slicing through the dark waters toward their home. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the minutes stretching out as if time itself were reluctant to move forward. The stars above shimmered with a light that seemed to pulse with ancient wisdom. 

He turned his gaze from the stars to you, his heart aching with a deep, primal fear. One that he had not felt in a long time.

“Stay with me,” he implored quietly as if he was praying to himself. The night seemed to hold its breath, the stars flickering in silent sympathy.

Ron paused when he saw something move under the coat he had laid on your front as a blanket. Ohn’s ears twitched and she looked up groggily, only to be met with the grotesque sight of your flesh seemingly moving and writhing underneath the coat.

As if possessed, your back arched violently and dozens of thorns burst off your gaping chest, sprouting like tendrils as it moved wildly around.

Choi Han immediately stood behind Cale’s unconscious body, his sword already out as he stared at your body with a guarded gaze. “W-what the--?”

Rosalyn immediately woke up, stepping away from you and watching as your body convulsed even though you were still unconscious. “[N-name]?!”

Your body convulsed wildly, the thorns growing longer as it seemed to be reaching for the skies. Choi Han looked at them all cautiously and turned to Rosalyn. “Should we cut it down?”

“We don’t know what it will do to her if we do,” Rosalyn said. “We should try to contain her--”

Before Rosalyn could finish her sentence, the thorns slowly began to slow their convulsions and retract back to your gaping chest. Its thorns retracted and grew softer, taking the form of ordinary vines as it draped along your body similar to a tapestry, the prettiest hyacinths growing around you like the most beautiful blanket.

Rosalyn hesitantly touched the flowers, checking for any abnormalities to see if they posed any danger. Once she had confirmed that the flowers were safe, she went ahead to check your chest, trying to see if you were bleeding out from what had just happened. She separated the blankets of flowers to see your once gaping chest was now plugged with dozens of vines knotted together. They started from your flesh as if they were your veins, becoming more prominent as they reached your chest and became all knotted together to plug your wound.

“How fascinating,” Rosalyn murmured, her eyes glimmering. She leaned forward, gently running her fingertips along the green vines, seeing how they faded from red as they came from your veins to green like a typical plant.

You were peaceful within your slumber, unaware of the chaos that you had created in the world of the conscious. 

The world was hazy when Cale slowly opened his eyes, the soft glow of sunlight spilling into the room like liquid gold. The rays struck his pale face, painting him in ethereal light as the weight of sleep still clung to his limbs. The sound of the curtains being drawn filled the air, the faint rustle of fabric accompanying the light's advance. Cale winced, raising a trembling hand to shield his eyes from the brightness.

A low groan escaped his lips, barely audible, but enough to make Ron turn. The ever-composed butler approached swiftly, his steps as quiet as a shadow. 

“Young Master-nim,” Ron’s voice was calm, a steady anchor in the waking haze. “You’re awake…”

Cale sat up slowly, every movement deliberate as though he was piecing himself back together. He barely had a moment to breathe before warmth crashed into him.  

“Huummannnnn! Stupid, stupid human!”  

Raon’s tear-filled cries filled the room as the dragon clung to him, his small body trembling with relief. Ohn and Hong quickly joined, their soft, furred forms pressing close to Cale, their cries mingling with Raon’s as they buried themselves against him. Their tears soaked into his clothes, their overwhelming relief a storm that engulfed him.  

Cale blinked, disoriented, his hands instinctively reaching out to comfort them. He clumsily patted Raon’s head, his fingers trembling as they ruffled the dragon’s dark mane.  

“Hey now,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and weak. “I’m fine. I’m here.”  

His words did little to stem their tears, but they clung to him as though they feared he might vanish again. Raon sniffled loudly, his round eyes peering up at Cale with a mix of relief and scolding.  

Ron stood nearby, watching the scene with quiet detachment, though a faint glimmer of something softer lingered in his eyes. “Five days,” he said at last, his voice cutting through the cacophony. 

Cale glanced up at him, his own exhaustion still clinging to his features. “How long…?”  

“It’s been five days since we rescued Miss [Name],” Ron replied.  

Cale’s brow furrowed, his voice dipping into concern. “Is she—?”  

Ron’s frown was subtle but heavy. He shook his head. “She’s still unconscious. We’ve done all we can, called every advanced healer there is, but nothing seems to work.”  

Hong pressed his small head to Cale’s stomach, his voice a whisper tinged with worry. “She wouldn’t wake up at all… We’ve tried so hard…”  

Cale’s hand moved to Ohn, gently stroking her soft fur. Her wide eyes shimmered with tears as she rested her head on his lap, her quiet sniffles breaking his heart.  

“I missed you…” she murmured, her voice fragile.  

“I never left,” Cale muttered in reply, his hand lingering on her head as a frown tugged at his lips.  

Ron, ever the vigilant butler, stepped forward, his sharp gaze raking over Cale’s form. “How are you feeling, Young Master-nim? Any pain?”  

“I’m fine,” Cale replied, though his voice lacked conviction.  

Ron’s hands were quick, professional as they checked his injuries, his touch brushing lightly against the faint scar over Cale’s chest—the spot where nature itself had torn into him. The wound was sealed now, but it carried the weight of the battle etched into his very being.  

“I would call that impossible,” Ron muttered, his tone flat yet pointed. “But considering it’s you, Young Master-nim, I will simply choose to believe you… and forbid you from overexerting yourself.”  

Cale arched a brow, his lips quirking faintly. “So you don’t believe me.”  

Ron’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smirk. “Oh, I would never distrust your words,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with faint sarcasm as he finished inspecting the scar. ��

“Everything looks good,” Ron concluded, stepping back.  

Cale sighed, leaning back against the headboard. He glanced at Raon, Ohn, and Hong, their tear-streaked faces now calmer but still clinging to him like shadows. A faint smile played on his lips, though weariness hung heavy in his eyes.  

“Looks like you all didn’t miss me at all,” he murmured softly, his words betraying the comfort he found in their presence.  

Raon’s tail flicked, his voice firm despite the lingering tremor. “Stupid human. Of course we missed you! Don’t say stupid things!”  

Cale chuckled faintly, the sound low and hoarse, but genuine. “Alright, alright. I get it. I’m not going anywhere.”  

And though the room was still tinged with the weight of worry, for a brief moment, there was peace. It wasn’t long before he had to wash up and get ready for breakfast, so he reluctantly got out of bed -- the first time he was voluntarily getting up early -- and walked to the en-suite bathroom attached to his bed chambers.

The warmth of the morning lingered as Cale stood at the washbasin, splashing water onto his face. The coolness jolted his senses awake, washing away the haze of sleep and the remnants of the days spent unconscious. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him—pale, with dark shadows beneath his eyes, a silent testament to his overuse of powers.  

Behind him, the soft patter of paws and the faint swish of a tail broke the quiet. Raon, Ohn, and Hong hovered near the doorway, watching his every move as though afraid he might collapse again.  

“Are you just going to stand there?” Cale asked, his tone light but teasing as he toweled off his face.  

Raon puffed out his chest. “I’m supervising! A mighty dragon never leaves his human unattended after such a reckless stunt.”  

Cale chuckled softly, his breath fogging the mirror for a moment. “And what about you two?” He glanced at Ohn and Hong, who stood quietly behind Raon.  

Ohn shuffled her paws, her ears flicking nervously. “We’re just… making sure you’re okay.”  

Hong nodded, his tail swaying faintly. “You scared us, you know.”  

Cale sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to face them. “I’m fine, see? Now, let’s go eat before Ron starts lecturing me about skipping meals.”  

Raon trotted ahead, his wings fluttering slightly as he led the way to the dining area, while Ohn and Hong stayed close to Cale’s sides, their small forms a comforting presence.  

The dining room was bathed in soft light, the table already set with a simple but hearty breakfast. Ron stood by, his ever-present smile as calm as the morning air. He stepped forward as soon as Cale sat down, pouring a cup of tea and placing it within arm’s reach.  

“Young Master-nim, the tea will help replenish your energy. Please, enjoy the meal.”  

Cale eyed the tea warily. “If this is one of your concoctions, I’ll pass.”  

Ron’s smile didn’t falter. “It is merely a blend to aid recovery. Nothing more.”  

“Hmm.” Cale picked up the cup but didn’t drink just yet, focusing instead on the plate of food in front of him.  

Raon was already settled beside him, his tail thumping against the chair as he reached for a piece of bread. “Human, eat lots! You need to get your strength back.”  

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” Cale muttered as he took a bite, the warm flavors spreading across his tongue.  

Ohn and Hong sat across from him, quietly nibbling on their own portions. Every so often, Ohn would glance up at Cale, her large eyes shimmering with a mixture of relief and lingering concern. Hong, meanwhile, focused on his food but kept sneaking looks at his brother and sister, as though ensuring they were also eating properly.  

Ron moved silently around the room, refilling tea and occasionally adjusting a plate, his movements so seamless they barely registered.  

“So,” Cale began after a few bites, breaking the gentle rhythm of the meal. “What’s the plan for today?”  

Ron paused briefly, his gaze meeting Cale’s. “Today, you rest, Young Master-nim.”  

Cale raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ve rested enough.”  

“Your body would disagree,” Ron replied smoothly. “And so would those who were left worrying over you.” His gaze flicked meaningfully toward the children.  

Raon, mid-chew, nodded emphatically. “You are resting, human. Don’t even think about using that scary power again. I won’t let you!”  

Hong chimed in, “We’ll make sure you don’t.”  

Cale let out a small sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Fine, fine. I’ll rest. But I need to go see [Name] first.”

“Of course, Young Master-nim,” Ron replied immediately, nodding his head.

“Who’s with her right now?” Cale asked, watching Raon happily stuff his mouth with another roll and Ohn and Hong share a quiet exchange.

“Choi Han,” Raon answered with a cheer, smiling widely. “He said there was someone else like him now.”

Cale blinked. Right. Him, Rosalyn, and Cale himself practically walked down your memory lane after being connected by the powers within that island. Choi Han must be happy and even curious about you now that he knew you were someone from another world like he and Cale was. 

He must be eager to talk with you.

“I see,” Cale murmured between bites. “I’ll see her after breakfast.”

“I’ll go too,” Hong said with a smile. “I want to see her too.”

“We all do,” Cale replied softly, caressing Hong’s head.

For now, things were calm. And Cale would take that small mercy, even if he knew it wouldn’t last. Your room constantly haunted his mind throughout the breakfast, but he didn’t rush himself to it. He let himself rest for a moment with he children after breakfast before they all headed there together.

He figured that Choi Han must have left for breakfast when he got there, because the moment he entered your room, he saw Cage standing by your bed. He approached the woman slowly, seeing the anxious expression on her face. “Miss Cage. How are you?”

“Cale-nim!” Cage greeted, her eyes widening. “How are you? Is everything okay? I heard you woke up today but didn’t think I’d see you.”

“I’m fine,” Cale said, unconsciously placing his hand on top of his chest where his heart resides, feeling the bumps of the ugly scar there through his clothing. He looked down to where you were, seeing you lay on the bed, hair spread out on the crisp, white pillows. Your face was sunken and pale, your body hidden away by the neat sheets which proved that you hadn’t moved at all ever since you were laid down there. 

There was a dip on the foot of the bed, similar to the one he had on his where the kids would sleep. He silently wondered how many times the kids had stayed here with you instead of with him. He looked up, back to Cage. “I suppose you’re here to visit [Name]?”

Cage stared at him, her expression grim. “Y-yes… I had a vision, of some sort.”

She glanced back at you. “I saw Miss [Name] and the God of Death. He took her.”

Cale’s heart felt like it missed a beat, his stomach suddenly aching from the anxiety. “What?”

“He took her,” Cage repeated. “H-he gave her something and she took it and then she just… disappeared. She ended up with him.”

“I’m afraid you’re not being very clear,” Cale said with a frown. “Ended up with him?”

“She’s with the God of Death now, Cale-nim,” Cage said. “She’s dying.”

The dim light of the room cast long shadows, the steady rhythm of your breathing the only sound breaking the silence. Cale sat motionless, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his chin propped on his hand. Raon was curled up on his lap, his small body radiating warmth against Cale’s exhaustion. The dragon’s tail flicked occasionally, a restless movement betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.  

Cale’s gaze remained fixed on your face, pale and serene, like a marble statue. The delicate rise and fall of your chest was both a comfort and a torment—proof you were still here, yet unmoving, locked in some place Cale couldn’t reach.  

Cage’s words echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain: “She’s with the God of Death now. She’s dying.”  

It has been a full week since then. They tried to gather priests and even the Saint, but nothing seemed to help.

His hand absently moved to Raon’s head, stroking between the dragon’s small horns. Raon let out a soft hum, pressing closer to him.

“Human,” the dragon murmured, his voice barely audible. “She will wake up. I believe it.”  

Cale didn’t respond, his fingers halting for a moment before resuming their gentle rhythm. Raon’s faith was unshakable, but Cage’s vision gnawed at him, a dark weight pressing against his chest.  

Ohn stirred slightly near your shoulder, her soft fur brushing against your skin as she stretched her small legs and resettled herself, her tiny breaths mingling with yours. On your stomach, Hong kneaded gently, his rhythmic purring a soothing backdrop to the heavy silence.  

‘Cage said the God of Death took her,’ Cale thought, his frown deepening. ‘What does that even mean?’

The God of Death was no stranger to him—a force that lingered on the edges of mortal comprehension, powerful and merciless. If you were truly in His hands, what could he possibly do? The thought of someone so close to him caught in the grasp of that enigmatic being churned his stomach.  

“I can’t just sit here,” he muttered, breaking the silence.  

Raon lifted his head, blinking up at him. “Then what will you do, human? You’re supposed to rest.”  

Cale didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on your face, searching for any sign of life, any flicker of movement, but you remained still. His hand moved from Raon’s head to his chest, pressing against the scar there, as though willing himself to focus.  

“I’ll find a way,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “There’s always a way.”  

Raon’s round eyes studied him, filled with worry but also trust. “Then I’ll help. We’ll all help. Ohn, Hong, and I—we’ll do whatever you need.”  

Cale’s lips quirked into a faint, fleeting smile. “Of course you will.”  

But even as he spoke, his mind raced. If the God of Death truly had you, he needed answers—and fast. Few beings in the world could meddle with something as enigmatic as the God of Death, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him. He never did.

“Human.” Raon’s voice was stronger this time, pulling Cale from his thoughts. “She will wake up. We’ll make sure of it.”  

Cale didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, his hand returning to Raon’s head. “You’re right, Raon. She will.”  

“Will you wait for her?”

Cale snapped his head up, heart lurching in his chest. The voice was cold, unyielding, and familiar—one he’d never thought he would hear so close again. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto the figure standing by the foot of your bed.

There He was, the God of Death.

His presence filled the room like a thick, oppressive fog. The air grew colder, and even Raon stirred on Cale’s lap, his small body suddenly rigid with unease. Cale didn’t even notice, too consumed by the figure before him. 

The God of Death stood as He always did—humanoid in form, His features barely human, his tall, shadowed silhouette more an embodiment of the unknown than a mortal being. His face, though not quite like a person’s, was lined with a calm, otherworldly beauty, a mask of serene inevitability. His eyes were voids, endless and fathomless, where time and space seemed to converge, swirling like an endless abyss. Yet His gaze was not unkind—merely detached. He was beyond any emotion Cale could comprehend. 

Cale’s chest tightened, but he refused to flinch. He had met the God of Death before, had bargained with Him, but now? Now, with you lying so still and silent on the bed, now with the knowledge that He was planning to take something precious from him? The chill of His presence felt like it was crawling under Cale’s skin, settling into his bones.

"She is not dead," Cale said, his voice low, more a statement than a question. His fingers tightened around the arm of the chair, his pulse quickening despite himself. "So why are you here?"

The God of Death tilted His head slightly, the faintest movement, but it spoke volumes. His voice came again, like the wind itself—a whisper that reverberated in the back of Cale’s mind. 

"She is dying. Whether you accept it or not, the moment I took her, it was sealed." 

Cale’s heart twisted painfully. He swallowed hard, trying to steady the tremor in his voice. "She’s not dying. I won’t let her. You can’t take her from me."

The God of Death’s gaze shifted from Cale to you, still and pale beneath the sheets. There was no pity in His expression—just an infinite calm, a certainty that made Cale feel small in comparison. 

"She has already given herself to me. She will join me and others," He said, His words floating in the air like an inevitable conclusion. "There is no changing this. She will not wake on her own."

Cale’s chest constricted, and for a moment, the silence felt unbearable, but Cale’s focus never wavered from the God of Death.

"Is that it, then?" Cale’s voice cracked but he held His gaze. "You’re here to tell me there’s nothing I can do? That she’s already gone?"

The God of Death did not respond right away. He simply regarded Cale with an almost imperceptible tilt of His head, as if studying him, contemplating the answer.

"Nothing you can do," He repeated slowly, each word wrapped in finality. 

"But..." The God of Death paused, and for the first time, Cale felt an uneasy shift in the air, as if something far darker was behind those words. "Will you wait for her? Will you stand by her side as she fades from this world and into my domain?"

Cale’s hand clenched into a fist. He could feel the warmth of Raon’s scales against his skin, the steady thrum of his heart, and the weight of the room pressing in on him. 

"I’ll wait," Cale said firmly, his voice quieter now but steady. "But I will not stop looking for a way. I’ll find a way to bring her back."

The God of Death was silent for a long moment, as though considering Cale’s defiance. His eyes, though hollow, seemed to glimmer for just an instant—an unreadable emotion flickering in the depths. 

"Your persistence will not change what is inevitable. But..." His voice trailed off, the weight of His words hanging heavy in the air. "You may stand beside her if you so wish. But know this—she will never belong to you in the way you desire." 

Cale’s eyes hardened. “She belongs to no one but herself. And if she wakes... I’ll make sure of that."

The God of Death gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, His presence pulling back just a fraction, but never quite leaving. He tilted His head again, the faintest trace of something almost like curiosity in His eyes.

“Then I will leave you to your vigil. But remember, Cale Henituse—she cannot escape this.”

And with that, the God of Death faded, His figure dissolving like smoke, leaving Cale alone with the weight of the room and the heavy stillness of your slumber. 

The cold remained, lingering in the air, but something inside Cale hardened. He would wait. He would stand beside you, and even if the God of Death’s words held some truth, Cale would make sure you never felt alone. 

He would not let you fade into the void without a fight.

Suddenly, Ohn and Hong sat up, their fur bristling and tails standing stiff in shock, their wide eyes fixated on you. 

Cale’s heart skipped a beat as he watched the slight movement, the slow twitch of your fingers beneath the sheets, a faint flutter of your eyelids. For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined it, the hope stirring within him like a flicker of light in the darkness. But then you shifted again, your breath hitching as your chest rose just a little more sharply.

Raon leaped off Cale’s lap in an instant, his wings flaring as he shot toward your bedside. 

"H-human?" Raon’s voice was a mixture of disbelief and hope, his small body quivering with excitement. "Is she...?"  

Cale’s breath caught, and without thinking, he moved closer, his eyes never leaving your form as he knelt at the side of the bed. His hand hovered over your own, as if unsure whether to touch you or let you come back to him on your terms. The room seemed to hold its breath as the seconds stretched into eternity.

Then, a soft gasp—your body stirred again, and for the first time, your eyes fluttered open. Not fully, but enough for a sliver of light to break through the veil that had enveloped you. The warmth in Cale’s chest was overwhelming, and he felt his hand tremble as he finally reached for yours, gently cupping it with his own. 

“[Name]?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from the weight of his anxiety. "Can you hear me?"

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breath, shallow but steady. Then, you blinked, slowly focusing on him, your eyes still clouded with confusion, but they were alive. 

"…Cale?" Your voice was weak, barely a whisper, but it was enough to make his heart soar.  

Cale’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t know if he should smile or cry. Instead, he simply squeezed your hand, his voice a soft murmur of relief. "I’m here." 

Ohn, who had been watching from the side of the bed, let out a relieved whine, nuzzling into your side. Hong, still curled on your stomach, tilted his head and purred softly, rubbing his face against yours in a quiet greeting. The children were no longer anxious, their soft breaths matching the rhythm of yours as they instinctively sought comfort in your revival.

Raon hovered just above the bed, wings flapping lightly in a tiny victory. "Told you, human! She will wake up!"

You blinked again, more clearly this time, and your gaze drifted over to the three of them—Ohn, Hong, and Raon—before finally focusing on Cale. The confusion in your eyes slowly morphed into recognition, but there was something more in them too—a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something even Cale couldn’t quite read.

"What… happened?" Your voice was still weak, barely more than a breath. "Why am I…? I thought…" 

Cale’s heart twinged at the memory of Cage’s words. He fought to steady his voice, to keep his composure as he gently stroked your hand. “You’ve been unconscious for a while, but you’re awake now. That’s all that matters.” 

He hesitated for a moment, casting a glance toward the door as if expecting the God of Death to reappear. But there was nothing—only the quiet hum of life in the room.  

"You’re safe now," Cale continued softly, bending down slightly to be closer to you. "You don’t need to worry."  

The air was thick with unsaid things, but right now, there was no need for explanations. No need to dwell on what had been—only on the fact that you were awake, breathing, here with him.  

The children settled beside you, their presence a comforting weight on the bed, and Raon perched on the edge, eyes full of determination. "I’ll protect you, little [Name]! I won’t let anyone take you again!"  

Cale couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. He turned his attention back to you, watching you slowly blink in and out of focus as you tried to make sense of the world around you. He was patient, as patient as he could be in that moment, his hand never leaving yours.  

"Rest," he whispered, his voice softer now. "You’re safe. You’re here."  

And for the first time in days, Cale let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. You had come back, against all odds. And as long as you were here, he would find a way to keep you from ever slipping away again.

You looked up at him, gaze tender and apologetic as tears well up in the corner of your eyes. “I’m sorry… For leaving.”

“It’s okay,” Cale murmured. “You were… blindsided.”

“I was an idiot,” you murmured with a soft sigh, closing your eyes as the tears slowly fell.

“Sleep,” Cale murmured, hesitantly pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ll be here. We’re all here.”

[invinciblerodent]

These days I kind of can't stop thinking about how much I enjoyed the possibility of being from Orzammar in Origins, specifically because just being who you are put so much of the early game in a wholly different context.

Like, a dwarf from Orzammar has, by definition, lived literally under a rock their whole lives!! They've never left the underground, and yes, while that also makes their ignorance of surface squabbles (the mage issue, the Ferelden/Orlais conflict, everything with the city elves and the Dalish, etc.) make a lot of sense, it also comes with so many interesting new angles that I'm honestly so surprised still that I've never really seen it mentioned very often, if at all. (Even though we even get an explicit moment to reflect on it, when leaving with Oghren.)

In Origins, the moment a dwarf first steps out through the gates of Orzammar and begins the game, is a profoundly life-altering experience. Dare I say, even more so than it is for an elf or a human. Because stepping out, for the first time, they are entering an entirely new world, and for the first time, in front of them is a vast expanse of nothing but air.

The end of the prologue, it's not just a fundamental personal change that awaits you, it's also a displacement so complete, that it's absolutely dizzying to even think about.

That first time a dwarf feels the sun on their skin, they are made sun-touched, a surfacer: stripped not only from caste and kin, of identity, but also faith and memory, any favor their ancestors may have still held for them, and any possibility of ever returning, as far as they know. (Aeducan may even have a bitter little chuckle over the irony of how they could very well have just one day before shrugged off the concerns of their surface brethren completely, only to be made one of them now.)

Their whole lives, they had always been able to see the opposite wall of the cave, or at least to know for sure that it's there, along with the miles and miles of unchanging, crystal-littered rock stretching protectively over their heads-- now all of that is gone. There's nothing between them, and the infinite and ever-changing blue, grey, orange, black of the open sky they've never seen, and in the distance, there's no wall-- just glorious, humongous mounds and spires of rock jutting up into the belly of the sky, the likes of which they've only ever seen from the inside.

Orzammar, despite no sunlight ever penetrating that far, is always lit bright, and it's heated by the lava streams and pools below. A dwarf has never known anything colder or warmer, brighter or darker, never seen seasons change... the biting winds and the frequent rains in Ferelden are completely new to them, not to mention the terrifying cracks of thunder that sound like the very Stone over them cracking in two, the bright flashes of lightning illuminating the night for but a moment, or waking in the middle of the night to what sounds like countless fingers pat-pat-patting the tarp of their tent, or the fact that animals -which are varied and plentiful and wholly alien- sometimes just randomly fall into the sky, like the rumors say! They might know academically that with birds, that just sort of tends to happen, but they've never seen one take off!!

Hell, all of surface flora and fauna are completely new to them-- it's likely they've only ever seen a tree or a dog in a picture book. Flowers, they've likely only ever seen as an expensive and frivolous luxury few can afford to have for a while, and even then, they are by necessity brought in removed from their roots, dead, wilting, taken from their natural place... while here, blooms just spring up underfoot willy-nilly, not entirely unlike mushrooms at the home which is not theirs anymore.

And... there must be something organic, something comfortingly animal to the scent of hundreds of warm bodies crammed into a sealed hole in the ground-- which is just gone now. The air is fresh, clean... empty, cold, lonely. No smell of spilled ale, piss, and vomit, no thick scent of the combined breaths and bodies of all their people... no scent of belonging, the air that moves their lungs now is no longer that which has moved those of all they've ever known, and every breath washes more, and more, and more of who they once were from inside their very body.

Being on the surface, it's like being thrust into an alien world, with which all just expects you to be intimately familiar. What do you mean the grass, the bugs, the birds, the leaves are strange? What do you mean you've never eaten leaves from this plant, fruit from this tree, the flesh of this creature you've only ever heard about? They laugh when you avert your eyes from the sky and try not to think about falling into it, or when you startle at the feeling of falling water suddenly hitting your skin, as if that was somehow funny, charming.

The night, which you've never before seen fall, is a comfort from all that endless, boundless seeing- but after the Joining, not even that is a relief.

Because if you're a dwarven Warden, all the dreams you've had in your life have been nightmares.

So you cope. You learn, and adapt, and endure.

Strong and immutable, like the Stone from which you were rent.

[starmapz]

shame on me || chapter eight || understanding

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 8.1k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

“I think if they keep ordering him to kill the people he cares about, he’s gonna snap.”

“Domain Expansion. Infinite Void.”

Gojo’s voice is eerily devoid of its usual nonchalance, even devoid of the warmth you’ve come to know from him. The words carry a weight familiar to any sorcerer. His grip on your shoulder tightens and although you know you’re safe from his sure-hit domain, the realization brings no comfort.

His chest is rising and falling as quickly as his heart is pounding in his chest as his warm breath fans the top of your head. His breathing grows quicker, deeper, and you feel his lips brush the top of your head, before he’s gone from your side entirely.

It all happens so fast, you don’t have time to register exactly what happens. You hear a gasp, a cry, a growl. Each one followed by the slumping sound of a body hitting the floor. With wide eyes, you turn to face the sorcerer when the sixth sound rings in the air of the still room.

Standing only a couple of feet away is Satoru, but there’s no warmth, no cunning smirk, not even a cold and calculated glare across his features. He’s panting heavily through his parted lips, blood spattered across his face. The crimson liquid drips from stained white locks, coming to land on his shoes beneath him.

Before you have a chance to take a look around at the damage, the lives fading from the room, Gojo lifts his head, an eerily unfamiliar look in those blue eyes of his. He doesn’t look like himself, wide eyes filled with a seething anger like fire raging through a forest. Like nothing can quell the flames that had ignited.

Still, he teleports to your side, wrapping an arm around you as he guides you out of the room. He makes a point of using his body to block you from the sight of the room, guiding you away from the carnage as he closes the door behind him.

Now out of the room, you turn to observe him. You aren’t sure if the move he made was the right or wrong one. You don’t have enough information to truly judge the higher-ups, although you disagreed with their methods. But still, they were people. People who sentenced you to death without ever considering giving you a chance. The moment the sentence was given, you knew your fate had been decided for you the moment you had entered the room. 

As you realize that, you know Gojo knew that too. That’s why he had insisted on remaining in the room, this was the plan he had always had in mind all along. Whether he knew he would snap or not, he always knew this would be the outcome.

Whether it was the right call or not, you weren’t sure.

You just knew that the lack of mercy he’d displayed towards them scared you.

But looking up at those crystalline blue eyes now, glinting with an anger you’d never before witnessed in him or anyone, you recognize something.

The way the pads of his fingers grip your shoulder like he was holding onto you for dear life, the way he positions his body to prevent you from seeing the carnage behind him, the way the anger behind his eyes glints with something else, something more. He’s scared, too.

“Gojo?”

Chest still heaving, his furious eyes flicker to you, but they seem to look through you, like he isn’t all there.

“Are you… okay?”

He doesn’t answer. It’s a foolish question, but it’s all you can think to say. You inhale sharply, turning to face him as you pull out of his grasp. Examining his expression, you tug your lip between your teeth.

Thoughts race through your mind as you try to think of something, anything, that might help, but you don’t know the man standing before you. Despite being at the school for several months now, he never let you get to know him. You never bothered. You were both always at odds with one another.

“Gojo, I-” you hesitate when he reaches out to grip your forearm. “They’re…” Dead. You don’t dare voice your concerns. “What if that was the wrong move, what if-”

“There was no other option,” he practically snarls, pulling you closer still to him as you flinch. His anger isn’t directed at you, rather he seems to be protecting you, even from himself.

Staring down at his hand on your arm, you realize he’s shaking. The vicious fury blazing within him is enough to strike fear into anyone who would witness him, but as he grips your arm for dear life, you know your fear pales in comparison to what he was going through.

Fiddling uncomfortably with the hem of your shirt with your spare hand, you recall the one thing Gojo had thought to do when you needed comfort and he didn’t know what to do. Maybe he’d done it because he needed it too.

Closing the small distance between you, you wrap your arms around his tall form, his pounding heart beating hard in your ear. His heart rate seems to increase for a moment as he stiffens, before slowly wrapping his arms around your core. Gradually, his breathing slows and returns to normal, his chin dropping to rest on your head.

Woodsy and sweet scents mingle with the stark smell of iron stained into his clothes as you inhale shakily. You don’t dare move, working through your own emotions as you let him do the same.

You couldn’t deny that you were scared, but as he finally pulls back and those familiar blue eyes are no longer looking through you but at you, you knew he needed someone in that moment as much as you had needed someone moments ago on death’s door.

In a strange twist of fate, it seemed you needed one another. Your fates entwined.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers breathlessly, terror ripping through the flames of anger. “It was the only option- I- I- I’ve thought of everything, I-” He heaves a breath in, running a hand through his hair and pulling at it as he leans his head back in thought. “I just-” his voice is low, a burly growl. “I can’t let them keep sentencing people to death every time they’re scared-”

Lips pressed into a thin line, you watch his frantic movements as he continues to ramble.

“-as soon as something inconveniences them-”

“Gojo.”

“-make it my problem to do their dirty work-”

“Gojo,” you try again to get his attention, uncertainly reaching up to set a hand on his arm as it falls back to his side after he flings it into the air while rambling. He doesn’t seem to notice your touch as he flails his arm in the air again.

“-I’m nothing more than a- a-”

“Satoru!” You call his name again, firmly placing your hand on his chest to get his attention. He seems shocked, blinking down at you. “It’s okay.”

He purses his lips at the sympathetic smile you offer as you realize what’s going through his head. Yuta had been right all along. He did care. He wasn’t afraid of the repercussions of his actions against the higher-ups, there was something else he was afraid of, and though you weren’t sure you believed it yourself, it was undeniable.

“We’ll figure things out, okay?” You wait for his nod before continuing. “Let’s get out of here,” you move your hand from his chest to tug on his sleeve and urge him to follow you. The walls of the narrow hallway feel as though they’re about to cave in on you and you can’t bear to stand so close to the room now barren of life.

He stays a short distance behind you, letting you lead the way down winding halls out to Ijichi, waiting outside the car. Ijichi turns to face the two of you, eyes wide as he sees the crimson stains in Gojo’s hair.

“Jujutsu Tech, please, Ijichi,” you tell him with a smile. He nods solemnly as he gets in the car.

The ride back is silent save for the sounds of the road and the consistent chirping of the summer cicadas. Your gaze remains out the window for the duration of the trip, thoughts racing through your mind.

Despite the silence, it’s strangely comfortable beside Satoru, and you realize for the first time since your first meeting, you know where you both stand with one another.

He seems to be on edge sitting beside you, leg bouncing while his hands fiddle with anything in reach in an attempt to ease his overactive thoughts.

As Ijichi pulls into the school, you slide out of the car and the silence follows you to the cabin, broken only by the excited barks of Taro at your return. He comes up to you both, body wagging from side to side with his tail at the sight of not just you, but also Gojo.

He cracks an uncertain smile at the pup before grumbling something about taking a shower and disappearing into the washroom before you have a chance to talk to him. You want to reach out and talk to him, but he’d practically bolted out of reach.

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you bring your hands up to rub your face, the emotions you’d been holding back for the sake of staying strong pouring out. Making your way to the guest room, you shed yourself of the day’s clothes, throwing on an oversized T-shirt and shorts, throwing your hair up into a bun and collapsing on the bed.

You aren’t sure how long you stare at the ceiling when the washroom door across the hall clicks and Gojo exits, pulling a white T-shirt over his head. Gray sweats hang low on his lips, his toned abs visible for a brief moment as Gojo pulls the shirt on. He doesn’t seem to notice you as he rakes a hand through his snowy locks and throws on his sunglasses, looking out at the living room and kitchen.

Realizing you aren’t there, the dove-haired man swivels to face your room. Too tall to fit through the doorway, he ducks as he pokes his head into the room. His eyes bore into you from behind his glasses, a more put-together expression on his face than earlier.

“Hey, uh-”

“Thanks for not killing me,” you blurt out, accidentally interrupting him.

He chuckles dryly, shooting you a half-hearted smirk. “You didn’t think I would, did you?”

“Do you want the answer to that?”

His brow raises, though he catches the teasing lilt to your voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, slowly making his way to the edge of the bed to sit a small distance from you. The bed dips under his weight and he pushes his hand through his hair once more to keep it out of his face.

You let out a shaky laugh. “When?”

He catches your meaning and purses his lips. “When you thought I was gonna kill you,” he pauses, “and when I-” killed them. It doesn’t need to be said. He eyes your reaction, chewing on his lip. “I didn’t have a choice.”

You always have a choice, you want to insist, but you stay quiet. Of course it scares you that he was so willing to kill, but you also had him to thank for still being alive.

As if he can read your mind, he continues. “I know that’s a bullshit excuse, but someone wasn’t leaving that room and I-” he clears his throat to prevent himself from choking on his words. “I’ll be damned if it was you.”

You blink in surprise at the honest admission, whether fueled by genuine care or guilt.

“‘Sides, Miriko’d have my head if they got you.” He shoots you a lopsided smile.

“Your head would be the least of your concerns, Six Eyes,” Miriko chimes in from the back of your hand before disappearing.

Gojo huffs, entertained.

“It’s… okay.” You struggle to find words, still a bit scared at the other side of him you’d seen.

“There would never be an end,” he begins, “to the killing, if I didn’t end it myself.” You aren’t sure if he’s trying to convince him or you. “Yuta, Itadori, you…” he sighs.

“I understand,” you whisper, knowing the unsaid name of Geto hung on the tip of his tongue.

Gojo’s eyes close for a moment as he lets out a breath, relieved to find you hadn’t run off.

“What’s gonna happen now, with the higher-ups gone?” You ask quietly, looking up at his tired blue eyes.

“Dunno,” he admits. “The Shibuya incident left us pretty dry of sorcerers. The old asshole in charge of Kyoto will probably take over.”

“Is that… good?” You tilt your head.

“Not sure,” he sighs in exasperation. “Zen’in, Kamo, the old man,” he lists, “at the end of the day they’re the lesser evil, I guess.”

“Will you be in trouble?” You ask, gasping with realization. “Will they send someone after you?”

“They mighta been foolish enough to go after you, but they aren’t foolish enough to go after me.” There’s a small smirk on his lips.

“Awh, does that mean you think I’m strong?” You tease, kicking your feet playfully.

Something shines in Satoru’s eyes as he watches your movements, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiles at you. The moment lasts a second too long and you hum, wondering what’s going through his mind. He coughs, mumbling a ‘sorry’ before responding.

To your surprise, he responds in earnest with a chuckle. “You kidding? You’re terrifying when you wanna be.” He leans back on your bed, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t see your wide-eyed shock from where he lays.

You let the moment hang, your brow knit together in thought.

“Why choose me?”

“Hm?” He props himself up on an elbow. “You or the old hags that told me to kill my students? We went over this.”

“No I know that, but-” you hesitate, the strange feeling of his lips brushing the top of your head replaying in your mind over and over. Maybe it was nothing, but the rational part of you can’t let it go. “You protected me.”

He blanches, eyes flickering to the side. “I was just doing what felt right.”

Your heart sits in the pit of your stomach, nerves chilling your spine. What felt right? That answers less questions than it poses. Your lips part, only to watch Satoru spring to his feet, practically dashing to the door.

“Lessons start back up tomorrow. We need a plan to defeat Sukuna,” he abruptly shuts the door, leaving you further confused than you were before as thoughts race through your mind.

Watching in silence as he closes your door behind him, you furrow your brow. Why did it seem as though he kept running from you?

You swallow hard, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The only question racing through your mind parts your lips as you whisper to yourself.

“What the hell?”

–

Another sleepless night, another early coffee.

Moonlight pours through the living room window, illuminating the tabletop where your phone sits. The exhaustion deep within your bones is undeniable, yet sleep doesn’t seem to come. Even sitting with legs pulled to your chest on the couch and your dog at your feet, the world feels so daunting.

The feeling of facing the world alone had returned when Nanami left, and slowly but surely you had felt as though you were getting somewhere with those emotions, but now you weren’t so sure. Gojo’s words from earlier hung in the air around you like a fly, unable to shake the feeling he meant something deeper. Not to mention the fact that Gojo, one of the most confident and cocky people you knew, had seemed to lose his edge twice now in one day, running from you.

Worse yet, was the undeniable realization that you felt no fear towards him. In spite of his actions earlier and the fact that death was something that seemed to plague and suffocate you, you felt oddly safe around him. Albeit a bit confused.

It was all too much. The questions, the uncertainty, the anxiety following the meeting with the higher-ups. It all loomed over you like a monster threatening your sanity.

Your head snaps to the stairs as Gojo makes his way down to the kitchen, his hair disheveled as though he’d spent the entire night raking his hand through it. His top half is barren, toned chest and abdomen on display and to your surprise, your eyes trail down his built figure. His usual blindfold covers his eyes and you wonder if he can see at all in the darkness, neither of you bothering to flick on a light.

Your question is answered quickly as he notices there’s coffee made and tilts his head, jumping when he notices you in the living room.

“Shit! I didn’t realize you were awake.” He holds a hand up to his chest in shock.

“Isn’t the whole deal with your Six Eyes thing that you can see everything?”

He chuckles, looping a finger under the material and pulling it down. “That’s the point of the blindfold. Can’t use all my cursed energy just lookin’ at you- around. Lookin’ around.” He clears his throat. “I didn’t hear you make coffee.”

“I didn’t,” you tell him, giggling as he wrinkles his nose at the bitter and very cold coffee he’s just sipped.

“The hell are you drinking this for?” He asks, dumping the mug and then the pot of coffee down the sink before beginning a new brew.

“Didn’t want to wake you up,” you shrug, fiddling with the mug of cold coffee in your hand.

Noticing your movements, Satoru strides over to you and pulls your mug from your hands. With a click of his tongue, he’s dumping that down the sink too.

“Hey! I was drinking that,” you complain, though he does have a point.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he scolds, smiling happily when Taro hops down from the couch with a wagging tail, demanding pets with small whines. Gojo kneels down, scratching behind his ears.

“That’s a sight I never thought I’d see,” you gape.

“What can I say? I’m charming,” the sorcerer grins, chuckling as he catches you rolling your eyes. He mumbles some happy words to Taro in a sweet voice, pleased when the pup plants himself down and waits with him as the coffee brews.

“Your charm won’t work on me,” you tease.

“No?” He smirks, and you suddenly feel fluttering in your chest. Swallowing, you watch the way his muscles clench as he pours you a mug of coffee, careful to step around Taro who follows closely behind him.

Setting his own mug on the coffee table, he leans forward to hand you another warm mug, his fingers lingering on yours and setting your skin ablaze as he pulls his hand back and plops himself down on the couch beside you with a sigh.

Composing yourself, you take a sip. “This is better,” you admit with a grateful smile.

Gojo hums, throwing his feet up on the coffee table. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “There’s so much going on, I-” you let out an unsteady breath at the gravity of your stress. “-I’m so tired, Satoru. When I close my eyes though, it’s just… a mess.”

He frowns, tilting his head as though he was eyeing you. “We could do something to get your mind off things,” he suggests, sipping his coffee. “We could watch a movie.”

You debate his suggestion before nodding slowly in agreement. “That sounds nice, honestly.”

“There’re a bunch under the TV if you wanna take a look.”

You hop off the couch with more pep in your step than before, hoping a movie will soothe the endless stream of thoughts. Opening the cabinet, you’re surprised to find Gojo seems to have a massive movie collection ranging in genre from Romantic Comedy to Horror.

“Are you a big movie guy?” You ponder, moving your finger over the spines of a group of horror films.

“They’re fun,” he grins. You shoot him a smile, giggling to yourself as your finger slides over the spine of Digimon: The Movie.

“I didn’t take you for a Digimon guy,” you comment, the familiar case a sudden blast from the past as you remember watching it with your dad when it first came out. Sliding your finger over the case as you reminisce silently, you don’t notice Gojo opening his wallet and flicking a card at you.

Squeaking in surprise as it makes contact with you, you look down at the card that sits on the floor. It’s an old digimon card, frayed corners laminated to keep it from getting any further damaged. Picking up the card, you flip it over, eyes lighting up at the sight. In the classic art style, Metal Greymon is hunched over, mouth parted with claws facing the player.

“This was in your wallet? You’re a nerd!” You tease with a grin, giggling as Satoru shrugs. “I’d be more impressed if it was Gabumon, though. He’s the best.”

“I’m more of a Guilmon guy myself,” he says, sitting up and leaning forward, “but Gabumon’s a good choice.” His blue eyes examine the movie in your hands from where he sits across the coffee table. “You’re into Digimon?” He doesn’t attempt to mask the child-like giddiness at talking about something so simple and mundane with you.

“My dad and I used to watch it all the time. I loved that old Gamecube fighting game.”

“That’s it,” he stands up, slipping the movie case from your hands and popping the disc into the DVD player sitting below the TV. “We’re watching this.”

You hand back his card with a giggle, the both of you sitting down side by side on the couch as Taro settles at the end of the couch beside you. As the opening ads play, Gojo tilts his head at you.

“Did you play a lot of games growing up?”

“Yeah I guess so,” you shrug, “honestly I still play a fair bit.”

“No kidding?”

You nod, thinking back at the consoles sitting at your old cottage. It must look abandoned at this point, coated in a layer of dust. “Yeah I mean… I was always alone, it was nice to unwind with a game.”

“You shoulda told me, I’ve got a Switch upstairs. I could kick your ass at Mario Kart,” he teases with a grin as he points at his chest. He sets his arm down across the back of the couch, his bicep brushing your shoulder in a manner that sends heat rippling across your skin.

“I’d like to see you try,” you rebuttal playfully.

“I’m the reigning champ, Shoko and Sug-” he blanches, quickly clearing his throat and correcting himself. “Shoko and I used to play all the time.”

There’s a sad edge to his voice, and finally the time feels right to ask the question that’s sat at the tip of your tongue since Yuta brought it up. “Suguru?” You ask softly.

He stiffens, forlorn gaze trailing away from you. “Yeah,” he admits, swallowing. You allow him a moment to steady himself, gather his thoughts.

“You two were close, weren’t you?”

“Something like that,” he sighs bittersweetly. He shuffles uncomfortably, the subject still clearly sore. It’s a feeling you know all too well, one you fear not even death will do you part.

You clear your throat, pleased to have made some sort of real connection with your white-haired counterpart, but not wanting to push him. “I’m sorry, when you showed up at my gate with him, I didn’t-”

“You don’t owe me anything, y/n.”

You hesitate at the firmness in his words, surprised to hear such a tone from him. “No, I know but I was-”

“y/n,” he interrupts again, “you don’t owe me anything. Definitely not an apology.” He rolls his shoulder, his forearm brushing your neck in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You did me a huge favor.”

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” It’s all you can think to say.

He chuckles again. “Stop apologizing,” he insists, attempting to mask the sadness in his eyes. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”

“We don’t need to do this,” you insist, shaking your head. This little game of apologies wasn’t necessary in your eyes. Although there were still clearly things left unspoken between you both, you had no doubt in your mind anymore that Satoru was on your side and you were well aware of his regrets.

“No, we do.” His sharp eyes are boring into you now and he takes a deep breath. “I was a fucking grade A asshole. I was so sure Miriko would be like Sukuna that I never gave you a chance,” he pauses, “sorry Miriko.” He bites his lip briefly before continuing. “Then these past few weeks I got to know you and I-”

You lean closer to him, listening intently.

“-I was scared of you,” he chuckles, cheeks visibly reddening. “You reminded me of Suguru. Your wit,” he glances at the Digimon movie title screen that’s been looping for a couple of minutes now, “your interests, your abilities.”

You can feel his warm breath on your cheeks as he finally faces you fully. You hadn’t realized he was so close to you until now, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end at the close proximity.

Running a hand through his long white hair, he moves strands from his eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your lips part in disbelief, not only at receiving such a genuine apology, but more importantly because of the weight of the statement. The weight of the comparison to someone who meant the world to him.

“I-” you stammer, trying to make sense of his admission. “I forgive you,” you tell him, your voice small. You bite your lip, your body set alight once more as you see the way his eyes flicker to follow the movement. Did you imagine that…?

The silence following feels like a moment and an eternity all at once. Your skin blazes, while your muscles are frozen in place, unable to think as you feel the warmth of his breath repeatedly fanning your face. You part your lips, your heart pounding in your chest as your crimson irises take in the way his lidded eyes look at you, pupils blown.

“S-Satoru?” Your voice is barely a whisper.

He clears his throat, leaning back against the couch.

“Sorry,” his cheeks redden as he fumbles for the remote. “Gabumon is waiting for you,” he recovers quickly, his sly smirk returning as if your entire body wasn’t on fire from the interaction just seconds ago.

Blinking a few times, you sit back and try to focus on the movie, your thoughts racing. Taro’s head plops down on your lap and you busy yourself with petting his head, your mind eventually focusing when Gojo playfully nudges you at the sight of Gabumon.

No longer drowning in thoughts, your eyes begin to grow heavy and at some point, your consciousness fades.

–

The unpleasant feeling of a kink in your neck wakes you the following morning. You groan at the feeling, groggily blinking your eyes open. With your vision still blurred, a woodsy scent hits you and you wonder if you left the window open. No, even then it’s not so much a natural scent.

You attempt to roll onto your back, surprised when something pushes back against you.

“Careful, you’ll fall off.”

You freeze, bringing a hand up to wipe the remnants of sleep from your face. As your vision clears, you become very suddenly aware of how you’re sprawled over your roommate’s bare chest, your face barely an inch from his chin.

Jumping immediately to your feet and out of his grasp, you stare at him in bewilderment. His sunglasses sit atop the bridge of his nose, a calm expression staring back at you from where he lays on the couch. For a moment you think you see hurt flash in his eyes, but you’re positive you’re mistaking something else for that.

“Sorry!” You hurriedly apologize, face flushed at the idea of falling asleep on top of Satoru. You glance back at the screen quietly playing the looping menu screen of the Digimon movie, still.

“I wasn’t complaining, Pretty,” he smirks slyly. “You seemed tired.”

Your muscles seize at the sound of the pet name, your heart palpitating in your chest hard enough to make you think you were having a heart attack. A pet name from Satoru of all people. Worse yet, your stomach bubbles and flutters in ways you can’t begin to describe, because surely he wasn’t causing that feeling. Right?

You swallow hard, your nerves getting the better of you as you take a step back, nearly tripping over the coffee table.

Gojo watches with an amused smile as you stumble around, muttering the occasional ‘um’ or ‘uh’, before your words finally find you.

“I should- um- get ready for the lesson,” you blurt out, turning on your heel and bolting to the washroom, ignoring Gojo’s snickering behind you. Shutting the door as you bolt to the washroom, you heave out a quiet groan, rubbing your face in humiliation.

That was embarrassing to watch, even for me.

Don’t say another word, Miriko.

Of course your audience would decide to chime in right now. Throwing your head back against the door, you let out a prolonged sigh and race to get into the shower, praying the warm water would quell the embarrassment seeping through every crack in your composure.

As the hot water wets your skin, you let out a breath of relief as the steady stream drowns your thoughts. Thank god for that, too, because any longer with thoughts of Gojo shirtless and you might start to lose it. 

As the steam fills the air, you close your eyes, allowing the hot water to cascade over your body and ease your tensions. Your eyes flutter open, droplets of water clinging to your lashes as you let your shoulders relax and take a much-needed long shower.

Throwing the tap off after allowing yourself longer in the shower than usual to cleanse yourself of your confused and uncertain thoughts, you reach out for the towel and-

It’s not there.

You reach a bit further down the rack where your towel should be. It has to be.

It’s not there.

You panic, realizing suddenly that you had done laundry and hadn’t replaced the towel.

“Oh my god,” you mutter to yourself, weighing your options. You either had to call for Gojo, or wait until you air dried, which isn’t really an option because the air on your warmed skin is cold.

You groan loudly, raking a hand through your dripping hair.

“Satoru?” You call his name loudly, unsure if he hears you and you call out his name again.

“Need some help in there?” He asks with a suggestive tone that only furthers the blush creeping up your neck.

“Gojo, please,” you beg quietly. “Just put a towel outside the door.”

You hear an amused hum before his footsteps begin to move away from the door, returning a moment later. “Towel’s outside!” He calls before you hear his footsteps walking away.

You let out a breath of relief, poking your arm out the door to grab the towel and dry yourself off. Putting on your clothes from last night again, you hurriedly make your way back into your room, take the time to groan into a pillow, and change into a clean dress. It’s the first time you’ve worn one in a while, given that you’d struggled with your motivation for the past month. For once, you find yourself smiling at your reflection in the mirror.

Once you’ve put your hair up and done your makeup, you make your way back out to the kitchen with just enough time to make a coffee before your lesson.

“What, no cold coffee this morning?”

The abrupt intrusion of Satoru’s voice in the quiet air of the cabin causes you to jump and you send him an irritated glance as you nearly drop your mug. He grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he hops down the stairs and slings an arm casually over your shoulder. The material of his blindfold blocks you from seeing the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Flustered this morning, are we?”

Though you’d always known Gojo to have no concept of personal space, this was something new entirely, even for him. You swallow hard, refusing to look at him as your steady gaze remains on the slow drip of the coffee pot in front of you.

“I’m just tired,” you insist stubbornly, stepping out of his grip.

“Mhmm,” he hums in agreement, his tone betraying the fact that he doesn’t believe you. “You seemed pretty well-rested this morning.”

With his endless prodding now beginning to give you a headache, you rub your temples. “Satoru, we should focus on work,” you insist in an attempt to get him to ease off.

He chuckles, taking the hint to give you a break as he busies himself with other tasks.

Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you prepare one for yourself before absent-mindedly preparing one for him as well, just the way he likes it with a bit of creamer and an absurd amount of sugar. You’re not sure when you learned his coffee order, but it feels like second nature as you pass him the mug.

He smiles gratefully, accepting the mug from your hands and taking a sip. His brow raises, eyeing you with surprise from behind black fabric at the way his coffee is made to perfection. Almost like the action of making his coffee was deeply ingrained into you, you hadn’t thought twice about the amount of sugar needed to make his coffee just to his taste. “Thanks,” he hums, leaning on the counter.

You smile up at him, taking a sip of your much more bitter coffee and letting your thoughts wander to the lesson today. The first one in a month. The thought is an uneasy one, life is considerably different since then and in many ways it feels more urgent than ever to train Yuji as quickly as possible if you were at such a great risk of being attacked again.

“Do you know who it was that attacked us?” You ask Gojo, swallowing at the horribly vivid memories resurfacing.

“Yeah,” he sighs, his shoulders hunching forward as he adjusts his grip on his mug. The pale blue button-up he wears wrinkles at his shoulders, pulling taut on his back. Your eyes trail over the muscles briefly, returning your attention to him as he continues. “I’ll worry about that, though.”

“Don’t you think it would be good for me to know?”

“Focus on Yuji’s training. I’ll handle him.” His nose scrunches as he sees the way you narrow your eyes, obviously growing frustrated with him, but still he doesn’t let up.

“You don’t have to do everything alone.” There’s a hint of irritation in your voice, mingling with hurt.

His face is fixed straight ahead, avoiding your gaze, avoiding the obvious hurt on your features. “Just let me handle this, Pretty.”

Your heart jumps into your throat at the pet name, only given away by your fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress. “We talked about this Satoru, please don’t be stubborn.” You manage to keep your frustration and nerves in check as your tone comes out even.

His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, feigning indifference to your words but you know him now. You can read him. You know he’s growing upset.

“With all due respect Gojo, you’re in no position to be keeping this information from us,” Miriko chimes in, red shining eyes apparent on the back of your hand, a forked tongue slithering out from between her pointed teeth.

“Have I been upgraded from Six Eyes?” He teases, blatantly ignoring the way irritation flashes across your face.

Miriko’s eye narrows. “Don’t test me,” she warns in a hiss.

He hums slyly in acknowledgement, not pushing his limits but visibly pleased.

“Why are you so determined to keep this from me?” You ask as he takes another sip of his coffee.

His jaw clenches and you know you’re both one step away from being at one another’s throats. As usual. “It’s not your-”

“For fuck’s sake Gojo, can you cut that out?” Your exasperation finally grows to a breaking point as you motion in the air in disbelief that yet again he was being uncooperative. As if every moment of progress you thought you were making was for naught. “You don’t get to decide what I do or don’t get to know!

His head snaps towards you, mug set down with a heavy snap on the marble counter. “I’m not-” He takes a step towards you, pausing as he watches your frustration further bloom as he growls back. “It’s not like that.” He strains to keep his voice down, running a hand through his hair before pulling his blindfold down. His blue eyes are troubled when they finally land on you.

Your lips part. “Then what is it?”

“I’m trying not to be the asshole you think I am,” he sighs, taking another step towards you. His voice loses its edge as he gives in.

Setting your coffee down, you press yourself to the counter. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. “I don’t think… you’re an asshole.” You admit, shoulders dropping as the tension begins to ease now that he’s being honest with you. Red eyes meet his blue ones, his internal debate clear as day in the troubled glimmer in his eyes.

“I’m trying not to… extort you anymore. I’m trying-” he hesitates. “-I’m trying not to involve you in this world that I know you don’t want to be a part of.”

You blink once, twice, three times. It’s strange to hear such consideration from the cocky and overconfident sorcerer you’d come to know. Your lips form a circle, a silent ‘oh’.

“I don’t want-” he hesitates again, stepping forward. He’s painfully close, a realization that sends a jolt of electricity racing up your spine. “I don’t want to involve you anymore if I don’t have to, not when I…”

You tilt your head as he trails off, wondering what’s going through his mind. For someone who had been so one note when you met him, he’s one of the most complex people you’ve ever met and the one person you struggle to understand the most. You find yourself leaning forward slightly, his breath fanning your face faster as his breathing rate increases.

“Not when… I…” He trails off again, toned arms resting against the counter on either side of you as he cages you in. His eyes flicker to your lips, pupils dilating. His voice lowers, husky. “When I could treat you like this.”

Whatever internal battle was being fought in his head finds its victor as he leans in and presses his lips to yours, chaste and gentle. Your heart pounds in your chest as you freeze, tense in his arms encircling you.

When he pulls back, there’s desperation painting his features as he examines you. Shocked, you meet his wide-eyed stare pensively. Your thoughts are racing, searching for answers. He doesn’t dare move until you do.

You don’t know how to make sense of the confusion, but the butterflies in your stomach threatening to burst make more sense to you than any rational thought.

Your hands find purchase on his chest, sliding up his pecs as you lean back in. His pulse sprints in tandem with yours beneath your arm, eyes fluttering shut as your lips meet again. He moves his lips against yours fiercely, no longer gentle. He’s desperate, sliding his left hand up from the counter to your waist, his fingers clutching at your skin in a manner that you know will bruise.

His right hand encircles you, pulling you flush against his toned body as he parts by barely an inch from you, just far enough to see your flushed features, the way your chest rises and falls.

He smirks against your lips, his voice a whisper meant for your ears only like a sacred lament. “You’re killing me, Sweetheart.”

Your ears burn as you stare up at him through your lashes. Your body is alight with the flames of attraction, your confusion a distant thought as the haze in your mind sings only of your want. How could something like this with someone like Gojo feel so right?

“I don’t want you involved in any of this anymore. Not because I don’t trust you-” he pauses, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. He hums in satisfaction as your eyes trail the action. “-but because I want to do better by you.”

“That’s not your decision to make, Satoru.” Your voice is small, but steady as you admonish him. A newfound confidence courses through your veins as you fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

“I know,” he says, soft lips pressing against yours with urgency, as though he couldn’t possibly bear to be apart from you even for the length of your conversation. His muscular arms tense against your back as his grip on you tightens.

You barely pull back from him, bunching his shirt beneath your fingers. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m a part of this now.”

“I know,” he sighs again, defeat dripping from his tone. He’s not happy, but he’s willing to respect your decision, and that’s all you can ask for. For once, he’s compromising.

Running his thumb absentmindedly over your abdomen from its place on your waist, he watches the way you chew on your bottom lip, as though either of you is waiting for the other one to make a move.

“Should we…?” You make a movement to take a step back in an attempt to head to your lesson but he shakes his head.

“Just give me one more minute of this,” he whispers, sliding his hand up your body to cup your face. He’s gentle now, as though handling porcelain, as he leans in again. His long white hair tickles your forehead and you smile into the kiss, a reaction matched eagerly by Satoru. His lips are addictive and you find yourself melting into him.

Whether it’s something you’ll learn to regret, you don’t know. This new side of Satoru is fascinating, and as your arms slide over his shoulders and your fingers slide through his undercut, soft strands of white hair tangling in your grip, you want to keep exploring it. You want to keep exploring him. Tugging on the snowy locks, a low wanton groan escapes him, igniting a fire in your lower abdomen.

It scares you. It excites you. 

He pulls back, pupils blown as he chuckles. His voice is an octave deeper than you’re used to. “If we don’t leave now, you’re not getting me out of this cabin,” he warns with a coy smirk.

With flushed cheeks and swollen lips, you nod slowly, untangling your fingers from his hair and falling back onto the ball of your foot. His arm doesn’t leave your waist as though he can’t bear to not feel your touch as he leads the way out the door and towards the meadow tucked within the trees.

He moves his blindfold back over his eyes and slides his hand up your body as the treeline comes into view, resting it on your shoulder in a more characteristic manner.

“y/n!” Yuji calls your name excitedly at the sight of you on your own two feet with no support. You hadn’t seen him since you’d fully recovered so as he bounds over to give you a hug, you smile. 

Gojo’s hand parts from your shoulder, watching from beside you with a warm smile. Yuji bounds back over to the table, excitedly telling you about movies he’d watched with his brother, and things he’d gotten up to with the second-years in the way you would tell a parent. It’s endearing and you wear that fact like a badge of honor.

It’s apparent he misses Fushiguro, but you know if you have any chance at defeating Sukuna and saving Yuji, it’s best that they stay apart.

As you settle down at the table to begin your lesson, Gojo finds his place at your side, his knee brushing yours lightly.

Your plan for the lesson had originally been to work with Yuji to draw out Sukuna’s technique as you’d barely scratched the surface of that lesson when you’d been hospitalized, but Miriko is quick to speak up before you have the chance to begin.

“I have a proposal.” Her toothy frown sits on the back of your hand as usual, eye flickering between the three of you.

“You wanna marry me, Miriko? How cute,” Gojo teases with a grin.

“You test my patience, Six Eyes.”

“Downgraded already…” he mutters, pouting as he rests his chin on the palm of his hand.

You giggle, letting Miriko continue.

“Yuji, please block Sukuna out to the best of your ability,” she pauses as he nods, “I believe I may have a way to kill the King of Curses.”

All of you sit starkly straight, every ounce of attention trained on Miriko now.

“Gojo, when you used your domain with y/n and I, I was unable to move.”

“You used your domain on them?” Yuji inquires, but Miriko moves on, not willing to touch on that subject. It’s an issue for another time, and an issue she wants no part in explaining.

“I am considerably weaker now than I was when we first met. y/n transforming did a number on my technique. I believe if we are able to weaken Sukuna to the point I am at, I would be able to kill him.”

The words hang in the air like static as each of you processes what’s been said. Along with it, a new hope. A solution, maybe.

“How weak are we talkin’?” Gojo tilts his head, leaning closer to you in the process.

Miriko ponders the question for a moment. “My technique relies on souls in my domain and my river is at approximately half of its original capacity.”

“So chip him down to half? That’s do-able,” Yuji looks to Gojo for reassurance, the two nodding at one another.

“As much as I would like to agree with you both, Sukuna outclasses me. I do not believe it will be so easy.”

“I can do it,” Gojo says confidently, setting his large palm over your thigh reassuringly as you cast him a worried glance. His touch still sends electricity through you, a feeling so unfamiliar and yet comforting.

The idea of taking on Sukuna is an uptaking, and it certainly won’t be easy. You know it, Yuji knows it, and Gojo knows it, even in spite of his confidence. But it’s a sliver of hope, and you have time to prepare, to train. To flesh out a plan.

Better yet, you have someone alongside you who's not only on your side, but rooting for you. Someone who cares for you. In fact, as you glance between Miriko’s appearance on your palm, Satoru at your side and Yuji across from you, you realize you have some sort of semblance of a family.

A family you’d give your life to protect, and it warms your heart in ways you hadn’t thought possible anymore. Finally, your life feels fulfilling again and-

Gojo stands suddenly, whipping around to face the treeline on the far side of the meadow behind you.

“Satoru?” You ask quietly, unable to see what had caught his attention as you follow his gaze. You turn your attention back to the sorcerer, confusion turning to concern as his hand reaches out to grip your shoulder steadily. What really strikes fear into you is the way it feels like he’s doing so to hold you back.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You freeze, every blood cell in your body running cold as dread twists in your stomach. Satoru’s grip on your shoulder tightens further as you twist your head to get a view of the newcomer.

Your whimper could stop a force of nature with the gravity of your pain as your lips part to speak.

“Kento?”

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

a/n || thank you for staying with me through all these chapters! this was such a fun chapter to write and went through many iterations but i'm pretty happy with the outcome ♡ god i love gojo

[knightofmidnightsun]

When I go, bury me six feet in snow [1] | HELMUT ZEMO

Summary: You, Bucky, Sam and Helmut had a simple plan and yet… It all went wrong. Now you're in the middle of an unknown land, surrounded by snow and with Zemo as your only company. What could be worse than that?

Warnings: Description of injuries and blood. angst. a lot of angst, be ready. description of and violence, injury/pain, description of burning wounds, description of hypothermia and drowning in cold water, self-blame/guilt

Word count: 9K

Skeletons, skeletons series: [1], [2]

The sudden, searing pain in your back snapped your eyes open. It took a full minute for the blurriness in your vision to fade, allowing you to comprehend your surroundings.

Snow. It blanketed everything around you, a vast, desolate whiteness. The sun glared down, its blinding rays almost too intense to bear. For a moment, you couldn't remember why you were there, in the middle of this unknown land. But as the pain in your back spread to your legs, the memories began to creep back in.

You had been on an aircraft. Chaos had erupted, a blur of violence that left you disoriented, unable to distinguish friend from foe. You recalled familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, all intent on knocking you down, with James, Sam, and…

Then it hit you—the plan.

The fucking stupid plan. You kept repeating the phrase to yourself as you got strength to stand up. For a moment, you almost fell before deciding to continue where you were and embraced your knees, the tiredness filled your bones and nerves. It was impossible to get up without feeling like the bones in your legs would break in any second.

When you finally thought you were ready to try standing again, you choked on a mouthful of icy water. Yeah, maybe it was better to stay put for now.

"Cap," you pressed a trembling finger to the earpiece, trying to contact Sam, but were met with silence. "Sam? Are you there? James?"

Again, nothing, you groaned. Where the fuck they were? Why Sam and James weren't answering you?

"We lost their signal" The voice made your skin crawl. You knew exactly who he was.

A flood of memories from the aircraft surged back: clinging to the edge as the wind howled around you, your fingers gripping the metal as if your life depended on it—because it did. You had seen Zemo, his hand closing around your wrist, pulling you back from the brink, only to be shoved by another attacker, falling with you into the icy sea below.

It wasn’t a dream. It was all too real.

You and Zemo had fallen from the aircraft. Sam and James were still up there, as far as you knew, but now they were outnumbered. Anything could have happened to them… Even…

You swallowed hard, hating yourself for how badly you’d botched the mission.

As you fell, you had prayed for an end, for the sea to swallow you whole and let your body vanish into the abyss. But here you were, still breathing.

Both of you, alive. On a frozen beach, soaked to the bone after nearly drowning.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Zemo approaching, brushing snow off his clothes. His purple mask was gone, likely lost in the water, or perhaps he had discarded it, deeming it unnecessary now that the fight was over.

At least he wasn’t in any better shape than you. That was some consolation.

"Do you know where we are?" You asked him, forcing yourself not to shiver as the cold gnawed at your bones.

"I… No, I do not," His voice carried a note of discontent, a rare admission of uncertainty from someone who usually exuded control, "Perhaps Antarctica, if I recall the aircraft’s route… But I can’t be sure."

Even Zemo, with his fur coat and multiple layers, was shivering. His clothes were as soaked as yours, and it did nothing to help your situation.

“Great,” you muttered, scanning the endless expanse of snow. There was nothing—no buildings, no signs of life, just an infinite white void. “I can’t believe I’m going to die of hypothermia in the middle of nowhere with you. If you hadn’t held me back…”

“Hold on,” Zemo interrupted, crossing his arms, his gaze sharp. “Who was the one who got distracted and was the first to be thrown off the ship? That was you, as I recall.” He took a step closer, scrutinizing you as you struggled to stay upright. “I was trying to help you, and look where it got me, hm? You should be thanking me.”

He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the desolate landscape around you.

You were tempted to ignore the pain in your legs just to wipe that smug look off his face.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you shot back, turning your head away. Your hands cracked as you clenched them into fists, the cold seeping into your bones. “I didn’t want to cause any trouble for you. I was ready to fall and die or get back to the aircraft and plan an escape.”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. He was silent for a moment, as if weighing your words.

“Neither of those things happened,” he said finally, a plume of cold breath escaping his lips. “Our priority now is finding shelter before we freeze to death.”

“But what about Sam? Or James? They’re still up there, as far as we know.” You pressed your hands into the snow, trying to summon the strength to stand. “We need to think of a plan to help them.”

“We can’t help them if we’re dead,” Zemo replied flatly, resting his hands on his hips. “Finding shelter is our only option.”

As much as you hated to admit it, the baron was right. There was no way to survive the journey back to Sam and James if you froze to death first.

Your limbs trembled uncontrollably as the cold invaded every nerve, turning them to ice. It was a pain sharper than any burn.

“Alright,” you conceded, wrapping your arms around your torso. “Just… Give me a second.”

You took a deep breath and pushed against the icy ground, trying to stand. The moment you put pressure on your legs, searing pain shot up from your calves to your thighs, as if your very bones were being torn apart. Your muscles screamed in agony, nearly knocking you back to the ground.

You bit your lip, stifling a cry, but your body betrayed you. Your knees buckled, and your feet slipped on the ice.

For a moment, everything went black. The world narrowed to the sheer, overwhelming pain in your legs, threatening to drag you into unconsciousness. But then, you felt a firm grip on your arms, steadying you, holding you up.

Zemo’s hands were surprisingly gentle yet strong. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, his breath visible in the frigid air as he rushed to your side.

For a brief moment, there was a flash of something in his eyes—panic, perhaps, or worry—before his expression returned to its usual guarded blankness. His brows furrowed as he studied you, trying to assess the situation.

You were too focused on the pain to care what the baron was thinking.

“Oh mein Gott,” he whispered, his voice low but laced with concern. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Well, you could tell the pain wasn’t because of the sea dragging you to the coast. Despite the coldness, if that was the case, your arms and torso would hold the same pain.

The damage had been done long before you hit the water.

Your mind drifted back to the fight on the aircraft. James had been battling Max Fury, Sam had been trading blows with Lightmaster, and Helmut had been deflecting attacks from Doctor Octopus. That left you facing the Tin Man—now known as Crimson Cowl, though he was still Ultron in all but name.

Despite being an android, you had been holding your own against him. You weren’t a super soldier, but your mutation gave you agility and elasticity. You could leap high, dodge quickly, and move with a fluidity that made you hard to pin down.

Your friends used to say you were like sand slipping through their fingers—impossible to catch.

You had been doing well against Ultron… Until you weren’t.

The android had grown impatient with your dodges and the minor annoyances you threw his way. Your goal wasn’t to defeat him—you knew that was impossible—but to buy time until James or Sam could deliver the final blow.

But Ultron was a machine, built by Tony Stark, and smarter than most people. You should have known that eventually, he would memorize your pattern and anticipate your next move.

It happened in an instant. As you prepared to leap to your next position, a blinding blue light seared through the air. The next thing you knew, your legs were on fire. You screamed, the agony tearing through your lungs as the laser burned through flesh and bone.

You faintly heard someone call your name, but it was distant, the words muffled. The last thing you remembered was one of Doctor Octopus’ robotic arms slamming into you, knocking you off the aircraft. The rest was a blur.

“My regeneration won’t work with both the burn and the hypothermia at the same time,” you muttered, daring to look at your legs, still covered by the remnants of your uniform.

The damage was bad. Worse than you had imagined.

“All the more reason to start moving,” Zemo said, raising his brows as if to emphasize his point. “Hold on to my shoulders. I’ll try to do something about your legs to buy us some time.”

“You don’t need to,” you muttered, your jaw trembling from the cold. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, yes,” Zemo replied, guiding your hands to his shoulders. “I can see that.”

Before you could protest, he tore a strip of fabric from his coat and knelt down beside you. At first, you didn’t understand what he was doing, your mind too numb with cold, until he began wrapping the cloth around one of your burns, tying it tightly.

He repeated the process on your other leg, his movements quick.

“Since our clothes are soaked with cold water, it’ll help cool down your wounds,” Zemo explained, rising from where he was and taking your arms so he could help you walk properly. “Before we go, we’ll need to shed some of our clothing as well. Despite the temperature, it’s better to carry as little soaked fabric as possible.”

You shuddered at the thought, your teeth chattering uncontrollably. The idea of removing any layer of warmth, no matter how wet, felt like a death sentence. It got worse when you imagined you had to go through this with Zemo from all the people.

But you knew he was right. The waterlogged clothing clung to your skin like icy shackles, draining what little warmth you had left.

Reluctantly, you nodded, letting Zemo’s hands guide yours to the clasps of your jacket. It took all your concentration just to undo the first one, your fingers clumsy and stiff from the cold. Faintly, you could feel his cold fingers against your skin, bringing a little to almost nothing of warmth, his hands moved with practiced efficiency, his gaze focused on the task at hand.

In a way, his calm demeanor in the face of such dire circumstances was almost comforting. But it was fleeting—a brief, circumstantial comfort in a ride-or-die situation.

The moment your jacket fell to the snow, the cold hit you like a slap. You gasped, hugging yourself instinctively as if your arms could shield you from the elements. The wind cut through your remaining layers, turning your skin to ice.

Zemo didn’t flinch. He shed his coat and outer layers with the same methodical precision, his movements devoid of hesitation, as if the cold tormenting you barely registered with him.

When he finished, he glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your condition. For a second, you thought he would jest.

“We’ll move as quickly as we can,” he said instead, more to himself than to you, “Lean on me. I’ll support your weight.”

You hesitated, your eyes narrowing as you focused on his shoulders. “I can do this on my own. I’ll be fine.”

“As fine as when you first got up?” he asked, and your lips pressed together in silence, refusing to answer. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

Without further hesitation, he took one of your arms and draped it over his shoulder. You noticed that his skin, though chilled, still radiated some warmth. The baron wasn’t exactly the person you wanted to rely on, but as you clung to him, you realized he was the only thing keeping you from collapsing into the snow.

“You will thank me later,” Zemo smirked down at you.

Despite your will to punch him, you prioritize your life.

Each step was a struggle, your legs barely cooperating as you trudged through the drifts. Zemo’s grip on you was firm, almost too tight, as if he feared you might slip away at any moment. Your feet felt numb, each movement sending jolts of pain up your calves, but you forced yourself to keep going. The thought of stopping, of giving in to the cold, terrified you more than anything.

You glanced at the baron, time and time again, remembering what happened in the mission. What went wrong and triggered the fight, Sam and James trying to fight as they planned for a solution that would save all of you from dying, Zemo buying time and you… Well, you were trying to do your best to think about an escape plan as you dealt with the android. In the end, you were trying to help, in some way, to not be a burden.

And that was exactly what brought you in that situation. You and Zemo, your gaze locked at him again. You recalled the feeling of his fingers clasping your wrist, trying with all his might to pull you back to the ground but falling with you instead.

After that, all was a blur, you felt the air lack your lungs as you screamed. You felt arms holding you tight and a breath next to your ear. You really thought you would die after that. Except that, you didn’t.

“Do you think we’ll find anything out here?” you asked Zemo through chattering teeth, desperate to fill the silence with something, anything, to keep your mind off the cold and the pain.

Zemo didn’t answer right away. He was focused on the horizon, scanning the endless white expanse for any sign of shelter or civilization. The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, before he finally spoke.

“There must be something. A research station, perhaps, or a temporary base. This region isn’t entirely uninhabited.”

It was a slim hope, but you clung to it, letting his words push you forward. You had to believe there was something out there—a place where you could rest, recover, and find a way back to the others.

But with each passing minute, that hope began to fade. The snow stretched on endlessly, the landscape unchanging. Your legs ached, muscles screaming with every step, but stopping wasn’t an option. The cold was relentless, like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for you to falter.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened on the airship, about your friends, and what could have become of them. By now, they could be prisoners, tortured, or worse… dead. All because of that stupid plan—it was doomed from the start, but still…

If something had happened to them, you’d never forgive yourself. You’d rather die here and tell Zemo to go on without you.

“Keep moving,” Zemo urged, his voice sharp. He gave you a slight tug, pulling you closer as if to share what little warmth he had. “We can’t afford to stop now.”

“I’m tired, Zemo,” you groaned, your voice trembling as the cold seemed to freeze the tears in the corners of your eyes. “The cold… It’s draining me. Maybe we’ve finally found my real weakness.”

“Don’t say that,” Helmut shook his head, his tone firm. “You’re insufferable, but I won’t let you die here.”

“Maybe you should,” you closed your eyes, your feet dragging through the snow as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is my fault after all. It’d be better if you leave me here and go by yourself, find some shelter, and try to save the rest of our crew.”

Zemo stopped walking, forcing you to halt as well. His grip on your arm tightened, but he didn’t say anything at first. The silence between you was thick, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions that neither of you could afford to acknowledge.

“I’ve lost too many people on my account already,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, though there was a trace of something deeper, something almost vulnerable in his tone. “I won’t lose you as well. Especially not because of your self-pity.”

The words stung, not because they were harsh, but because they were sincere. Zemo’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stern.

“You’re not the only one who’s made mistakes. This mission was flawed from the start, but we’re in this together now,” he said, moving closer, his breath visible in the frigid air. “So, stop blaming yourself. That won’t solve anything.”

“How could it not be my fault?” you asked in a strained whisper, “Do you remember how the plan started to go south? I brought this on us. Who knows what’s happened to Sam and James? What could they be doing to them? By the time we find somewhere safe, they could already be dead. You’ll find shelter faster without having to drag me along as dead weight.”

Zemo’s eyes hardened, his grip on your arm tightening. He took a step closer, his presence imposing and bringing you more shivers than the cold.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice cutting through the cold air with a sharpness that made you flinch, “We all made choices that led to what happened. Blaming yourself won’t change the past, and giving up now certainly won’t help your friends.”

You tried to pull away, but he held firm, forcing you to meet his gaze. There was no trace of mockery in his expression, no condescension—just a raw, unyielding determination.

“Don’t you ever suggest me to do such a thing again.” Zemo whispered, his voice low, almost a growl. “Understand?”

Despite everything, you could see a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes, a glimpse of the man behind the mask.

“We’re not dead yet,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “We still have a chance. But only if we keep moving.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. Zemo’s words were harsh, but they were the slap of reality you needed. He was right—giving up wouldn’t save Sam or James. It wouldn’t change anything.

With a deep breath, you nodded, accepting the painful truth. “Alright,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Zemo’s grip on your arm loosened slightly, and he gave you a small nod of approval. Together, you started walking again, each step a painful reminder of your injuries, but you pushed through, determined not to slow him down.

The cold was relentless, but so was Zemo, his presence beside you reminding you to not stop no matter what. You kept your focus on the horizon, refusing to let your mind wander back to the guilt, carving its way into your chest.

As the two of you trudged through the snow, the silence was broken only by the sound of your labored breathing and the crunch of snow beneath your boots. The world around you was eerily quiet, the storm having passed but leaving behind a desolate, frozen wasteland.

Suddenly, Zemo halted. You almost stumbled, but his arm shot out, steadying you once more. Looking up, you noticed his eyes narrowing as he focused intently ahead.

“What are y—”

Before you could finish, Zemo pulled you down with him, pressing you into the snow behind a small drift. The cold burned against your already frigid skin, and you struggled to suppress the groan of pain that threatened to escape your lips. Your burns flared with agony, the icy ground amplifying the sharp, relentless pain. But you swallowed it, forcing yourself to stay quiet as Zemo leaned closer, his hand firmly covering your mouth.

He nodded towards the snowy expanse ahead, his eyes narrowing as he pointed to a single point in the distance. Your vision was still hazy from the pain, but you squinted, trying to make out what he was seeing.

There, amidst the endless white, was a figure—a person dressed in a suit that was all too familiar. Dark blue, red stripes, a white star… Shit.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and your blood ran cold.

“Of all people,” you muttered, dread coiling in your stomach.

Zemo’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, a silent signal to stay alert. “This complicates things,” he said under his breath.

There was John Walker, the U.S. Agent, his uniform enhanced for the freezing conditions, standing out starkly against the snow. The sight of him sent a jolt of fear through you. If he was out here, that meant they were already searching for you, and they hadn’t found your bodies yet. They knew you were still alive.

He wasn’t too far from you and Zemo. He intently watched his surroundings with narrowed eyes, inching closer in your direction. That wasn’t a good thing.

Your breath caught in your throat, every muscle tensing as Walker’s gaze swept over the area. Zemo’s hand remained on your mouth, a silent reminder to stay quiet, to not make a sound. You could feel the tension radiating from him, a coiled spring ready to snap.

Both of you hid back to the small drift, you’d need to start your prayers.

Walker’s steps were deliberate, each one bringing him closer to where you and Zemo were hidden. The snow crunched under his boots, a sound that seemed deafening in the eerie silence of the frozen wasteland. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound almost drowning out everything else.

Zemo’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression cold and calculating. He slowly moved his hand from your mouth, replacing it with a finger to his lips. The message was clear: stay silent.

You nodded slightly, barely daring to breathe as Walker came dangerously close. The snow drift that hid you wasn’t large, and if Walker got too close, he would easily spot you. The weight of Zemo’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing grounding you, keeping you from bolting out of sheer panic.

The world seemed to narrow to the sound of Walker’s footsteps, the crunch of snow, the biting cold, and the tension between you and Zemo as you both held your breath, praying that he would pass by without noticing you.

You could almost sense his presence looming over the snow drift that hid you and Zemo.

Then, just as it seemed Walker was about to discover your hiding spot, you heard another set of footsteps crunching through the snow, approaching Walker from behind. Your heart raced as you strained to listen.

“Walker,” a gruff voice called out, and you recognized it immediately—Abner Jenkins, better known as the Beetle. The sound of his mechanical suit hummed lowly as he approached.

You heard Walker’s steps pause, followed by a low, annoyed grunt. “What is it, Jenkins?” His voice was tense, betraying his frustration at being interrupted.

“We’ve got orders,” Abner replied, his tone clipped. “Madame Hydra wants them alive. We’re to take them back to her—no exceptions.”

Then, you and Zemo heard the distinct sound of a shield being stowed. It took a moment for you both to realize that Walker had been holding it the entire time. God knew what his intentions were if he had found you before Beetle stopped him.

Zemo’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly at the mention of Madame Hydra. You could feel the unspoken understanding between the two of you: this was far more dangerous than you had anticipated.

“And what about the others?” Walker asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were wary of being overheard by anyone else in the area.

“They’re searching too. We’ve spread out to cover more ground, but the baron and the girl likely headed this way. We need to find them before we are met with a storm.”

For a moment, there was only silence, the tension in the air thickening. You could hear Walker’s heavy breathing, followed by a begrudging sigh. “Fine. Let’s move. We’ll search further ahead.”

The sound of their footsteps crunching through the snow grew more distant, fading away into the howling wind. You and Zemo stayed perfectly still, not daring to move until you were sure they were gone.

After what felt like an eternity, Zemo finally released the breath he’d been holding and carefully removed his hand from your shoulder. “They’re hunting us,” he murmured, his voice low and cold. “And it seems they’re not the only ones.”

You nodded, your thoughts racing. “But that means Sam and James are alive too. They said Madame Hydra needs us all alive, they already have them or they escaped as well.”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed slightly, calculating the situation. “True, but that also means we’re walking into a trap if we continue in that direction. They’re likely covering the area ahead.”

“So we go the other way,” you said, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

Zemo’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded. “It’ll take longer, and it’s more dangerous in this weather, but it’s better than facing Walker and Jenkins head-on.”

With the decision made, the two of you began to carefully backtrack, moving away from where Walker and Abner had gone. The cold bit into your skin, but the sense of urgency kept you moving. You couldn’t afford to be caught, not by them.

Not when you knew there was so much more at stake.

The biting cold gnawed at your exposed skin, a relentless reminder of just how perilous your situation had become. Each step you took away from the place where Walker and Abner had nearly discovered you felt like a small victory, but the fear gnawing at your insides refused to subside. The wind howled around you, a mournful sound that seemed to echo the dread coiling in your gut.

Zemo's presence beside you, his arm supporting you, was the only thing grounding you in the moment. His movements were calculated, deliberate, as if every step was a move in a larger game. He seemed impervious to the cold, his expression calm and focused, in stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you. You knew you couldn’t afford to let your guard down around him. Zemo was as dangerous as the environment itself, maybe even more so.

After all, this was Zemo, Helmut Zemo—the man who had manipulated and deceived some of the most powerful people you once knew. But out here, in this frozen wasteland, what choice did you have left?

The burn wound on your side throbbed with every movement, a constant reminder of the injury you had barely survived. The pain was sharp, radiating from the angry, blistered skin, but it had dulled to a persistent ache, almost as if it had become a part of you. Zemo had helped bandage it, his hands steady and sure as he worked. He had saved you, in his own way, but the trust between you was fragile, a thin layer of ice over treacherous waters.

As the two of you trudged through the snow, the cold seeping deeper into your bones, your mind kept cycling back to Madame Hydra.

Her name alone sent a tremor through your already trembling form. You didn’t know much about her—few did—but what you had heard was enough to fill you with a cold dread that rivaled the harsh weather. The fact that she was involved meant that things were far more complicated than a simple mission gone wrong. You couldn't shake the feeling that this was all part of some larger plan, that you were pieces on a chessboard in a game only she knew how to play.

Zemo had to know more than he was letting on, but now wasn’t the time to press him for answers. Not when every moment of delay could mean Walker, Abner or any other member of the Master of Evil catching up with you. Not when the only thing standing between you and certain death was the man whose arm was currently draped over your shoulders, keeping you upright.

“Keep moving,” Zemo’s voice was low, almost swallowed by the wind, but there was an urgency to it that snapped you back to reality.

You nodded, your breath coming in short, labored gasps, each one stinging your lungs with the frigid air. The pain in your side flared again, but you bit down on a cry of pain. You wouldn’t give in to it. Not now. Not when there was still a chance.

The idea of seeing Sam and James again was the only thing that kept you from collapsing in the snow. You pictured their faces in your mind, the way they had always been there for you when everything else had fallen apart. They were your family, the only thing left in this world that mattered to you. The thought of them out there, possibly alive, was the small flame that kept burning inside you, refusing to be extinguished by the cold or the fear.

Zemo’s grip on your arm tightened slightly as you stumbled, bringing you back to the present. You glanced at him, catching the briefest flicker of something in his eyes—concern, maybe, or calculation. It was hard to tell with him, but whatever it was, it wasn’t cruelty. Not yet.

You were still useful to him, and for now, that was enough. It was what was keeping you alive, right? You were Sam and James’s friend, you were a mutant with good abilities when not injured by burns, you knew a thing or two that he didn’t yet. He needed you as you needed him.

It was the only reason for him to had chose to reach for you when you were hanging by the edge of the airship. His eyes wide open when they met yours, without any hesitation cowering over the edge and reaching his hand to grip your wrist, in an attempt to stop you from falling off the ship. Someone like him wouldn’t do such a thing for her.

If you died, none of your friends would forgive him, that had to be the reason for him to be so kind to you so far. Helping you to get up, taking care of your wounds, sustaining her body as you walked together…

There was any other logical explanation.

The snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, covering the landscape in a white blanket that stretched out as far as you could see. The world had been reduced to shades of white and gray, the horizon barely distinguishable from the sky above. It was easy to lose your sense of direction out here, easy to give in to the overwhelming feeling of isolation.

But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

Then, out of nowhere, something called your attention.

An orange glow appeared on the horizon, faint at first, almost imperceptible through the swirling snow. You squinted, trying to make it out, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of it.

Fire. Light. Shelter.

“Zemo,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out, “there, do you see it?”

He followed your gaze, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the distant glow. “Yes,” he said after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. “It could be a fire. Perhaps someone is there.”

A glimmer of hope ignited within you, though it was intertwined with anxiety. A fire could mean warmth, safety, or a place to rest—yet it could just as easily signal danger, another trap in Madame Hydra's web, waiting to ensnare you... Another peril to complicate your situation.

Zemo seemed to sense your hesitation. “We have to investigate,” he said firmly. “It may be our only chance. But we proceed with caution.”

“Okay,” you agreed, though the word felt heavy, laden with the weight of everything that could go wrong.

The two of you pressed on, your steps slow and cautious as you moved toward the distant glow. The snow continued to fall, thickening the air around you, muffling the world in a cold, suffocating silence. Each step felt like a battle against the elements, your muscles aching from the strain, your body screaming for rest. But you couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until you reached that fire, that glimmer of hope in the endless white.

As you trudged forward, the glow on the horizon grew brighter, more distinct. It wasn’t just a trick of the light—there was something there, something real. The thought sent a surge of adrenaline through you, giving you the strength to push forward despite the pain in your legs and the exhaustion that threatened to drag you down.

But as you drew closer, something else came into view, something that made your heart sink. A large, dark expanse stretched out before you, the snow-covered surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. It was a lake, frozen solid under a thick sheet of ice.

The fire you had seen was on the other side, inside a small wooden house taunting you with its proximity.

Zemo stopped beside you, his gaze fixed on the frozen lake.

“What do we do now?” you asked in a low voice, you glanced at the baron, “If we go through the lake, we might fall into the water but if we try to contour it, we could never find another way there or any other place for the matter”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed as he considered the options, his mind clearly racing through the possibilities. The frozen lake stretched out before you like a vast, treacherous barrier, its surface deceptive in its stillness. The fire’s warmth seemed tantalizingly close, yet the journey across the ice was fraught with danger.

“We can’t afford to lose time,” Zemo finally said, his voice edged with urgency. “The cold will kill us if we stay out here much longer.”

You knew he was right, but the thought of crossing that ice sent a chill down your spine. One misstep, and you could end up submerged in the freezing water below, with no chance of escape. It would be a slow, agonizing death.

“But if the ice breaks…” Your voice trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging heavily in the air.

Zemo glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a hint of resolve in his gaze. “We’ll move slowly, test every step. If the ice shows any sign of giving way, we’ll retreat. But we don’t have the luxury of finding another way. Not in this weather.”

You forced yourself to nod, there was no real alternative, you had no other choice. The idea of backtracking and trying to find a way around the lake seemed impossible, especially with the storm worsening by the minute. The cold was biting, seeping into your bones, and you knew that any delay could be deadly.

Zemo's face was a mask of stern resolve, his features composed into a calm that bordered on the unsettling. His brow was slightly furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration as he assessed the situation. The line of his mouth was tight, giving nothing away, but if you looked closer—if you dared to search beyond the surface—you could see it.

A faint crease at the corner of his eye, a subtle tension in his jaw that hinted at something more. It wasn’t fear, not exactly, but a glimmer of concern that he couldn’t entirely hide. It was the kind of worry that didn’t scream out, but whispered in the quiet spaces between his thoughts. Whatever he was thinking, it was enough to push him forward, enough to make him the first to step onto the uncertain ice, determined to lead the way despite the risks.

You released your grip on Zemo's shoulder, realizing that both of you together would put too much strain on the ice. The weight concentrated in one spot was a risk neither of you could afford.

The separation made each step harder, more uncertain. With each inch of distance that grew between you, the more vulnerable you felt, the bitter cold gnawing at your strength.

Zemo, sensing the need for caution, took a step ahead, then stopped to look back at you, his gaze never wavering until you caught up. Only then did he move forward again, the pattern repeating with each careful step.

The wind howled around you, whipping snow across the frozen lake, and your heart pounded with each delicate movement. You matched Zemo’s rhythm, taking your time to ensure the ice held beneath your feet. But your progress was slower, your body weighed down not only by exhaustion and pain but by the growing fear that the ice might not hold.

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed across the lake, splitting the silence. Your eyes widened with alarm and Zemo froze, as the ice beneath his feet began to fracture. Quickly, he shifted his weight, moving to a more stable section before the crack could spread further.

“Don’t step here!” he warned, his voice cutting through the wind.

It wasn’t like you were planning to do so.

You avoided the spot, carefully navigating around it as your pulse quickened. At first, it looked fine, you both were going well so far. You didn’t take your eyes off Zemo's back, not for one second, just like he didn’t stop looking back at you time and time again. Not at all.

Then, from afar, a distant voice reached your ears. The voice was very far from you both, you couldn’t discern for sure who was and what the person was saying, but it came from where both of you were before. So, it wasn’t difficult to not assume the worst.

“We have to be quick,” you whispered to the baron. Even knowing it would be a difficult task to you, you knew that there was no better alternative.

Zemo nodded, it wasn’t the time to disagree with you.

You picked up your pace, each step a calculated risk on the treacherous ice. The cold air bit at your exposed skin, your breath visible in the frigid air. The ice groaned under the weight of your footsteps, each sound sending a shiver down your spine. The memory of the crack beneath Helmut's feet was a constant reminder of the danger that lurked beneath the surface.

As you moved, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the sense of impending doom hanging heavy over you. The distant voice continued to echo in your mind, urging you to move faster, to escape whatever threat loomed behind you. But the ice was unpredictable, each step requiring your full attention, leaving little room for anything else.

You glanced back at Zemo, his determined expression mirroring your own. He was focused, his eyes scanning the ice for any signs of weakness. You could see the strain in his features, the tension in his body as he led the way.

As you hurried across the ice, the ominous crack beneath Helmut's feet earlier seemed to chase you with relentless determination. The fissure, which had once seemed distant and harmless, now raced towards you with terrifying speed.

Then, it happened. Of course, it would.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the crack reached your feet, and before you could react, the ice gave way entirely, plunging you into the frigid abyss below.

The icy water enveloped you, its cold grip a thousand needles stabbing into your skin, seizing your lungs in a vice of unbearable agony. It was a pain more excruciating than the searing flames that had scarred you, a sensation of burning from within as water replaced the air in your lungs. Panic set in as you thrashed, trying to find the surface, but the water was disorienting, pulling you down into its dark depths.

Your vision blurry, the world above a distorted, unreachable realm.

You could feel the burn in your chest as you struggled to hold your breath, the cold seeping into your very core. It was like being on fire, the water a cruel, icy inferno. You fought harder, desperate for air, for warmth, for life.

In a snap of fingers, you didn’t want to die anymore and were fighting to live.

Just when you thought you couldn't hold on any longer, through the haze of your despair, you felt it—a strong hand gripping your wrist, pulling you back from the brink before the waters guided you away. The touch was firm, reassuring, and it brought you back to the present. You remembered Helmut's concerned eyes, searching for yours when you were suspended in the air, holding the edge of the airship with all your might.

You would never dare admit it, but at first, you had thought he would take your hands off the edge and let you fall. But you were surprised when he started to pull you back before being hit and falling with you out of the ship. The determination to save you was what doomed him to be there with you but the glint in his eyes reassured you that he didn’t regret it.

You clung to that memory as you were dragged from the water. The relief of knowing that perhaps he did care for you. Perhaps.

You broke the surface, gasping for air, coughing up the icy liquid that had filled your lungs. Helmut's voice cut through the haze of your shock, steady and grounding. "Are you alright?" he asked, his grip on your wrist unyielding as you trembled violently.

You nodded, though your body betrayed you, shivering uncontrollably as the cold seeped deeper. You felt as though you might succumb to death at any moment.

Helmut's eyes scanned the area, calculating the distance to the shore and assessing the condition of the ice. His jaw tightened with resolve as he realized the urgency of the situation. He seemed to be weighing the risks, determining if you could make it across before the cold claimed you. Obviously, you’d start to see your nails following in the middle of the way and when you reached the land… God knows what would be of you.

You saw a flash of determination in his eyes, despite the odds, a hint of a plan forming in his mind. It was as if he had already decided what needed to be done, even if it seemed reckless. You could almost see the gears turning in his head, calculating the likelihood of success and the potential for disaster.

Before you could ask what he was thinking, without hesitation, Helmut tightened his hold on your wrist, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Cradling you against his chest, he simply took off across the unstable ice, each step a gamble as the surface threatened to give way beneath you.

“Stop it,” you shouted, your eyes open wide when met by the crack in the ice left by every heavy step that Zemo took, “You will kill us both, stop it.”

Your protests and screams of defiance fell on deaf ears as he ran, the ice cracking ominously but miraculously holding until you reached solid ground on the other side.

What the…?

Once safe, you could only stare at the baron in stunned silence, your mind grappling with the whirlwind of events. It was difficult to process what had just happened with you, what you saw and what could have been of both of you.

Zemo was insane, but he was a smart type of insane.

Helmut's voice broke through your daze, "We need to get you warm.”

He continued to carry you until you reached the hut.

The hut was small and rough, built from weathered timber and stone, tucked away as if nature itself had hidden it. The air inside was thick with the scent of wood smoke and damp earth, mingling with the faint, lingering aroma of recently cooked meat. Animal pelts, a sign of a hunter's presence for sure, were strewn across the floor and draped over the few pieces of rough-hewn furniture. A rack of hunting rifles and a collection of traps hung on one wall, their metal gleaming faintly in the dim light.

The fire in the stone hearth was still smoldering, the embers glowing a dull red, suggesting it hadn't been long since it was tended. A pot of stew, now cold, sat to one side, its contents barely touched. The hunter had likely left in a hurry, not more than ten minutes before your arrival. Helmut's eyes swept the room, taking in the details, his mind working quickly.

He set you down gently on a sturdy wooden chair covered with a thick fur, moving swiftly to restart the fire. The cold had seeped into your bones, and you shivered uncontrollably as you watched him work. He shrugged off his coat and your shirt, hanging them nearby on an iron hook to dry. Each movement was deliberate, efficient, as if he had done this many times before.

You knew he hadn’t. It wasn’t in his record anything about almost dying in a cold environment.

Helmut found a few logs of wood stacked neatly in the corner and added them to the dying embers, coaxing the flames back to life. The fire crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The warmth began to spread slowly through the room, providing a small but welcome relief from the biting cold.

You watched him through a haze of shivers, he found a heavy wool blanket and wrapped it around you, then knelt to remove your boots and wet socks. The initial sting of the cold was sharp, but as the warmth from the fire began to reach you, the agony of hypothermia started to ease. Your body was wracked with shivers, muscles spasming as they fought to generate heat.

Helmut stopped to watch you, gauging your condition. Seeing you still trembling uncontrollably, he didn't think twice before stripping off his own shirt, the last layer on his torso. He settled beside you, pulling the blanket over both of you and wrapping an arm around you to share his body warmth.

You protested, your voice a shaky whisper, "You'll get cold too... Why are you doing this?"

"It's the quickest way to warm you up," he explained, his voice calm and steady. "Skin-to-skin contact will help raise your body temperature and save you from hypothermia faster."

For the first time since the fall, you felt your regeneration slowly starting to act, trying to push the cold away from your nerves. So, you didn’t argue with him about that, letting him hug you and hid beneath the blanket by your side.

You shared a strange but comforting silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire in front of you. Gradually, the cold receded, no longer an unbearable ache in your bones. You still felt the chill, but it was no longer the paralyzing freeze that had gripped you before. You began to feel far better than before, your body responding to the warmth, your movements less restricted by the cold.

The warmth also reminded you of the burn wounds on your legs, the pain a dull throb now instead of the sharp agony it had been. You flinched at the sensation, letting your legs drop completely to the floor instead of hugging them.

Zemo noticed, of course.

"We'll take care of those burns properly," he said, taking a look at them beneath the tears of his coat, "Once I'm sure you're alright, I'll find a medical kit around here."

You knitted your brows, watching his face beneath your eyelashes. He remained with the same eyes full of uncertainty, concern, clearer than before. The ones you had met in the airship and found when he held you close before colliding to the cold sea.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked again, your voice laced with confusion and low.

Helmut looked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he sighed, his eyes softening slightly. "It's important to treat burn wounds properly to prevent infection and promote healing. You need to stay hydrated, keep the—."

"No, I mean…” You interrupted him, pressing your lips in a thin line, “why are you helping me? Why do you care?"

For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire, the crackling of the wood as it burned. Helmut's eyes met yours, and you saw something there—something unspoken but deeply felt.

“What do you mean?” he asked you back, furrowing his brows.

“You could had ignored me when I was at the edge of that airship, instead you chose to ignore that Doctor Octo-something and came to me, tried to help me even if it meant you going down with me as well,” you shook your head, bewildered by your own words, neither you believed they were true, “Then, when I couldn’t even get up because of these burns, you helped me move forward, without questions or hesitation”

“I—” Zemo opened his mouth, but you were quick to stop him from saying anything.

“The same thing in that lake, there could be John or one of the others when we heard that voice, the smarter thing you could had done when I fell, was to go without me and survive alone,” you sighed, meeting his gaze again, “But you didn’t do it, instead you risked your own life to get me back and ran with me on your arms until we arrived here”

Helmut didn’t look away from you, his lips sealed as he processed what you had just said.

“I still don’t understand your point,” finally, he says, taking a tighter hold of the blanket.

“Why?” you asked again, “Why did you do all of those things for me? I thought you hated me.”

Zemo’s eyes held yours, and for a long moment, he didn’t speak. The firelight danced in his gaze, casting shadows across his face that made him look even more unreadable than usual. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, as if he was carefully weighing every word he was about to say.

“I don’t hate you,” he finally responded, his voice quieter than you expected. “If I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

You frowned, yes, you did know that, “It doesn’t explain why you’ve risked so much for me.”

He sighed, a long, weary breath that seemed to carry the weight of more than just this conversation. “You’re part of this mission. And as much as I disagree with your methods, or your allies,” he paused, almost as if choosing his words carefully, “I’ve seen your commitment. Your… Hm, courage. I respect that.”

His words were measured, calculated, but there was something underneath them—something that felt almost... Personal. But before you could dissect it, he continued.

“We’ve all made sacrifices. This mission, these battles—it’s taken something from each of us. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. It wouldn’t make sense to leave you behind when we’re so close to the end.”

The logical reasoning made sense, and you wanted to believe it was as simple as that. But there was an undercurrent in his words that tugged at you, something unspoken that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“You trust me,” you said, more a statement than a question.

It… It couldn’t be it, right?

Zemo’s expression softened just slightly, but it was enough for you to notice.

“I do,” the confession sounded like a sacrifice for Helmut, but he kept going, “You made decisions even when your friends pointed out the risk, how untrusting it would be. Despite that, you did, time and time again.”

“You shouldn’t trust me,” you said, looking away, “I was the first to get exposed by John and the others, he instantly noticed me and that’s why the whole fight started.”

“But he wasn’t going to attack until I fired at him, before he could think about hitting you,” he pointed out in response, “Is that really why you’ve been self-reproaching since I found you? I thought you had changed your mind after I talked to you there. I’m more guilty than you are, as Sam, as James…”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Zemo had a way of cutting through your defenses, making you question the very things you were sure of. You had been blaming yourself, replaying the events in your mind, searching for the moment you could have done something to keep everyone safe. But here he was, taking part of the burden, as if he, too, felt the weight of every choice made.

It was unnerving, this sudden realization that maybe you weren’t alone in this guilt.

“I still don’t understand why you saved me,” you confessed quietly, the words escaping before you could stop it.

Zemo’s eyes flickered with something—something almost vulnerable, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Because leaving you behind wasn’t an option,” he replied, his voice steady, resolute.

The room felt smaller, the fire’s warmth pressing in on the two of you. The tension hung between you, thick and heavy, but neither of you made a move to break it. You studied his face, trying to find the exact moment when the man who had once been your enemy had started caring about you—really caring. But all you saw was that same enigmatic expression, guarding whatever he truly felt.

Maybe he didn’t even know himself.

“You’re not so bad, Helmut,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, “Not at all”.

But he heard you, his lips curving into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

“And you, mein schatz, are far more trouble than you’re worth,” he teased lightly, though there was no real bite to his words.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. The moment passed, and as you both settled into a more comfortable silence, you felt a strange sort of contentment—a realization that somehow, amidst all the chaos.

“I trust you too,” you whispered to the silence, a quiet confession.

As you closed your eyes, exhaustion finally took hold. The thought of Helmut didn’t leave you as you drifted into sleep, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest despite the cold.

Neither you left his mind when he watched you closing your eyes and resting your head on his shoulders. He looked away, not able to hold back a smile.

next chapter: Wasting our chances >>

[nothingleftforme]

imagining javik cosmically entwined within the arcane, two souls caressing each other in the infinite expanse of nothing until one day they are back somewhere and they have bodies again.

they don’t know if it’s been seconds or centuries like that. what are they supposed to do now with bodies after being in one another’s soul? they probably feel as if they’re missing part of them when they’re not close. they embrace and there’s a relief there, that cosmic blanket that provided them warmth in the abyss of time and space. an embrace isn’t even enough, they have to get closer but they can’t. they don’t know what to do with bodies again. bodies feel cold and heat and pain, something they haven’t known in a long time. but oh how they missed touch and didn’t even know it. touching hair and skin and scars. have they even done it very much before it all happened? no, not like this. there’s no question now that they will, if even just to feel a fraction of the comfort they felt in the abyss. they have to.

they don’t know what to call this now, what can you even call this thing between them anymore? it’s never been like this exactly, but it doesn’t really matter now. they’re alive. they didn’t lose each other again.

[original-person]

First post on here let's go!!

SFW the only warning I can think of is argument?

I had a thought that made me want to try and write something with scaramouche

is probably gonna feel ooc? I don't think I know his character that well so most of this is based on what I deduced from YouTube videos and such.

BEWARE I HAVE NEVER WRITTEN ANYTHING OTHER THAT WHAT SCHOOL FORCED ME TO. ESPECIALLY SOMETHING WITH G/T IN IT. (I've used chat gpt to check gramatic mistakes so if anything blame the damn ai)

If you don't know what g/t is just search up giant/tiny

Note:I think this idea fits sagau soooo-

Angst and hurt/a little bit of comfort

Summary: you invite scara to your realm of solace (your room) to rest. Maybe you should have mentioned that you have another form besides your mortal looking one.

Scaramouche was sitting in his chair next to his desk, working on documents. His hand moved with the pen, the scribbling lightly echoing in the almost empty office. It would have been empty if not for you, looking out the window, staring at what used to be the sunset, now a starry sky.

You moved from the window towards the desk and behind the chair. You hugged Scara loosely around the neck and slowly rested your chin against his shoulder. He stopped his movements to not mess up the writing, put the pen down, and slightly turned his head to you.

"Is there any particular reason you're bothering me?" he asked, his tone irritated. Ignoring his tone, you knew he didn't mean it anyway, and you let out a tired sigh. "Didn't you do enough work already? You should rest." He scoffed, turning his attention back to the documents. "I don't require rest as humans do, and you know that. Besides, I'm not done yet."

Looking at the pile of papers, it seemed like it was going to take ages. "Well, I would have less if you knew how to do your own paperwork." Ah, you said that out loud. "But still, can't it wait? I want to be with you." Burying your head deeper into his shoulder and wrapping your arms tighter around him, Scara let out a sigh and put his hand on his forehead. "Great, Archon forbid you aren't with me for some time."

You stood up and sulked next to him. Scara furrowed his eyebrows and let out a big, annoyed sigh on purpose as he leaned back into his chair before getting up and stretching. Cracking his hand, he did feel sore, but he wouldn't tell you that. Jokes on him, you noticed anyway, and you lit up instantly with an idea popping up in your head.

The god glanced at their partner with a gentle, adoring smile. “Scara,” they said softly, reaching out their hand. “I’d like to show you something special.” Scara turned to them, crossing his arms. "What is it?" "That's a secret," you put your finger on his lips, "but it is going to help you rest."

Curiosity piqued, Scaramouche closed the distance between you, grasping your hand gently. "I somehow doubt that." You raised your other hand, and with a simple gesture, the air shimmered, and the room began to change. The familiar surroundings melted away, replaced by a realm—your realm. The realm unfolded like a dreamscape, an infinite expanse of tranquility that seemed to stretch on and on. Soft, ambient light bathed the surroundings in hues, creating an otherworldly pleasant glow.

Scaramouche almost forgot you were a god. Nowadays, it feels okay again, but it reminds him of when he first found out. Oh, how he felt betrayed. He felt worthless, only a mere plaything for you. But you assured him that you didn't see him that way. That you didn't come to Teyvat, to him, just to play god. No, you just wanted to experience it from their view.

“Welcome to the realm of solace,” you said, as he snapped back to reality from his thoughts, your voice resonating with warmth. The ground wasn't surprisingly smooth; rather, it felt like he was standing on a pile of pillows that seemed to shift subtly with each step. “This is a place where reality bends to offer peace and comfort. It’s where I retreat to find solace sometimes from the world.”

Scaramouche’s eyes widened in awe as he took in the sight. The atmosphere itself seemed to slowly wrap around him like a warm blanket. “Not like anything you’ve seen,” you continued with a hearty chuckle. “I also go here to sleep every night, so I guess that makes it my bedroom."

Scaramouche, still absorbing the strange beauty of the realm, nodded slowly. “It’s... incredible,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Guess I don't need to doubt you anymore.”

As you settled onto the bed? Ground? Its softness enveloped you, your presence reassuring. “I hope you find it as comforting as I do,” you said, scooting a little closer to him. Scaramouche took a deep breath and let his body relax, trusting in the promise of solace, staring at the seemingly endless, changing ceiling that looked really far away. The gentle hum of the realm lulled you slowly into a deep sleep. For Scaramouche, the comfort was otherworldly, a stark contrast to when he sometimes tried to rest before, as he was quite sensitive to any sounds. But as he began listening to your light breaths, he found himself falling more into a deeper sleep.

As the night wore on, you, feeling an unprecedented sense of comfort and trust with Scara next to you, unconsciously began changing to your godly form, as you always did when you slept here. The change was seamless and silent, but it had an immediate impact on the bed's dimensions. Scaramouche stirred half-asleep, his eyes fluttered open, pushing down on the ground to sit up. His eyes widened in confusion as he glanced around. The realm's soft glow seemed to dim slightly, reality seeping back in as he noticed the absence of your familiar form beside him. Was he really sleeping so deeply? How?  Looking to where you were supposed to be, what he saw made him spring up in caution. Your comforting presence beside him had been replaced with a colossal figure, one that he did not recognize. Panic surged through him, and he bolted upright, his instincts screaming at him to run.

"Who—where?" His voice was a frantic whisper, his body trembling as he quickly turned his head in every direction for you. You were here with him, right? Where are you? Where did you go? Those thoughts were repeating in his mind that he didn't notice the slight stir the figure made.

You were drowsy, but sensing discomfort from Scara, as this realm allowed you to, you tiredly opened your eyes and saw him turning around, looking everywhere, before he felt eyes on him and locked eyes with you.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Scaramouche couldn't see you anywhere, and to make this considerably worse, the giant figure woke up, looking straight at him, looking almost at his very being. He felt his blood freeze in his body; he didn't think that was possible. Not wasting another second, he turned and sprinted. Can he even outrun it? Where is he running? Where are you? His breath is labored; it's hard to run on this plushy surface, almost falling at every step.

Your senses were flooded with Scaramouche's fear, and you reached out instinctively. He shouldn't be scared. Your hand, as gentle as it was large, moved towards Scaramouche to soothe him, to bring him back closer to you. But to Scaramouche, it was overwhelming.

Scaramouche’s mind raced as he stumbled, desperately trying to escape from the towering figure that had replaced the comforting presence he once knew. His heart pounded, not just from fear, but from a deep-seated sense of helplessness that he had tried so hard to bury. He hated feeling like a mere doll, a puppet whose strings could be pulled with little regard for his autonomy. The sensation of being so utterly powerless, so at the mercy of someone else, triggered memories—memories that he wishes he could forget. Memories of his early days, when he was first created and learned of his true nature. Back then, every interaction had seemed to confirm his worst fears: that he was nothing more than a plaything for a god's amusement.

The plush surface beneath him, which had seemed so inviting before, now felt like a trap, each step a reminder of his vulnerability. As he tripped, he cursed under his breath, the bitterness of past betrayals mixing with his current dread. “No, no, not again...” he muttered, struggling to get back on his feet.

You, now fully awake and aware of the distress you had caused, stopped in your tracks. Your hand hovered as you weren't sure what to do now, though intended to comfort, the hand seemed to loom over him like an ominous shadow. “Please, don't run,” your voice echoed softly, trying to cut through his panic.

But for Scaramouche, the giant form was a stark and terrifying contrast to the familiar person he had come to trust. The overwhelming size of the hand, the massive gesture, only reinforced his feeling of being a puppet caught in a storm of uncontrollable forces. He had always loathed the feeling of helplessness, of being manipulated—that's why he became a Harbinger, after all—but this situation exacerbated those fears.

"Scaramouche," the figure called, their voice resonant and soothing, but it only heightened Scaramouche's panic. Scara's eyes widened in terror as the god’s enormous hand reached towards him. Instinctively, he struggled, wriggling against the closing fingers that covered him. The sensation was overwhelming; the figure’s hand, though surprisingly gentle, felt like an inescapable force.

Your head hurt. Your senses were overwhelmed with fear, the opposite of what Scara should have been feeling. "Scaramouche," your voice was firmer now, hoping to break through his panic.

“Let me go!” Scaramouche shouted, his voice strained as he tried to free himself. His breaths came in short, panicked gasps. His mind raced with so many thoughts, memories, and fears.

Knowing you should listen, to give him at least a little bit of sense of control, you brought your other hand to the one holding him and slowly opened it, fearing he might try and jump off. Scaramouche felt his stomach flip as he was turned around in the hand. As the hand opened, Scaramouche, now on his knees, looked up, feeling forced to. He once again locked eyes with you. His violet eyes, usually sharp and filled with defiance, were now wide and vulnerable. They blinked rapidly, trying to get rid of tears that threatened to spill. Each flutter of his eyelids was a silent struggle to hold onto reality and calm his racing thoughts. The blinking slowed, but his gaze remained intense, flickering with a mix of lingering fear and desperate hope.

You slowly lifted your hands, your eyes softening with guilt almost to the point of tears. "I'm so sorry, Scara." Recognition dawned in Scaramouche's eyes. He froze, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You—what...?" Confusion consumed him.

The confusion quickly morphed into anger. Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed, and he clenched his trembling fists. "Let me down," he snapped, his voice rising. "Now."

You flinched at the sharpness of his tone, setting him down. He took a few cautious steps back, guilt weighing heavily on you. "I didn't mean to scare you," you said softly. "I thought it wouldn't matter—"

"Wouldn't matter?" Scaramouche cut you off. "How could something like this not matter?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the tranquility of the realm. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? That I wouldn't care? You... you lied to me!"

"I didn't lie," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. "I just... I didn't know how to tell you."

"That's a lie by omission," he spat, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Scara, please," you reached out a hand, but he flinched away, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Don't touch me!" he snapped, taking another step back. "How can I trust you now? What else have you been hiding?"

The guilt weighed heavily on you, the pain of his mistrust cutting deeper than any blade. "I never meant to hurt you. I only want to protect you."

"Protect me? From what?" His voice was a mixture of anger and hurt, a rare vulnerability showing through his usual bravado. "I don't need to be protected!"

"I know you don't," you said softly, "I'm sorry. I should have told you." You took a deep breath to calm your growing headache and began focusing to slowly form back into your smaller self.

Scaramouche watched as you shifted back, the process like one big fluid motion. His anger was still simmering but mingling with hurt. "You should have," he said as you took slow steps towards him, giving him some space. His voice was quieter but no less intense.

"Let's go back, Scara," you said as you looked at the ground in shame. Scaramouche looked at you, his expression hard but conflicted. "Fine," he muttered, not meeting your eyes. "Take me back."

You nodded, lifting your hand as the realm dissolved and his office materialized around you, the air thick with tension in the small space. Scaramouche immediately walked over to his desk, his movements tense and agitated.

You stood by the door, watching him with a heavy heart. "I'm going to get some fresh air. I'm truly sorry for all of this." He didn’t respond immediately, his back turned to you as he gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles white. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "Just... leave me alone for now."

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it. "Alright..." With that, you turned and quietly left the room, closing the door softly behind you. Outside, you leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. The pain of his mistrust still weighed heavily on you, but you hoped that, given time, he might find it in his heart to forgive you. You pushed back against the wall as you paced back and forth, your mind equally chaotic. You couldn't help but replay the events over and over, wondering how you could have handled things differently. The weight of your guilt was overwhelming, but you were determined to make things right, no matter how long it took. You started walking towards the exit, ignoring everything around you as you walked.

Inside the office, as the minutes ticked by, the silence was deafening. Scaramouche's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He hated feeling this vulnerable, this betrayed.

Scaramouche sat down heavily in his chair, his mind racing. He was furious, hurt, and confused all at once. The revelation of your true form had shattered the trust he had painstakingly rebuilt with you. He didn't know how to feel, but he knew he needed time to process everything.

BONUS

As you walked down the hall, your mind still reeling from the confrontation with Scaramouche, you barely noticed Tartaglia approaching from the opposite direction. Usually, you would exchange a few words, but today you couldn’t muster the energy.

He lifted an arm in greeting. "Hey, comrade, are you—" You didn’t even glance his way, storming past him without a word. Ajax furrowed his brows in concern. He stood there, watching your retreating figure. Something was definitely off. He had never seen you this upset before. You were one of the few who seemed cheerful every day.

Curiosity and concern gnawed at him, so he decided to head towards Scaramouche’s office. As he approached, he could hear the furious scratching of a pen on paper, punctuated by occasional grunts of frustration. Ajax frowned, pressing his ear to the door, trying to make out more.

Inside, Scaramouche’s anger was palpable. His pen moved with a fury that seemed to match the tempest in his mind. Ajax pieced together the situation, concluding that you and Scaramouche must have had a serious argument.

With a sigh, Ajax stepped back from the door. He knew better than to intrude on Scaramouche when he was in such a mood. As he walked away from the office, he instead decided to find you and see if there was anything he could do.

I  Honestly hope this is okay I've been writting since midnight to 5am

[thefirstknife]

The Infinite Forest

Sighs. This post has been on my mind since we saw the trailer for Echoes, because they showed us the gate to the Infinite Forest and I thought: how many people even recognise that? Let alone have been there? Or know stuff about it? It's not been in the game for over 4 years, outside of a few pvp maps.

The Infinite Forest was a victim of the yoinkening of planets at the end of Arrivals. Unlike Mars and Titan that have since returned, Mercury has not (and neither has Io) so there was really no reason to think about it until they decided to do something with that. And it appears they've decided, something I hoped they might do in Echoes, given that we've speculated from the start that it would be a Vex season.

But now that we did get the proof that we'll be dealing with it somehow, I want to get into it, and mostly because they gave us zero explanation about how is it even possible for us to consider the Forest. I'm going to have a normal time with this one. I know we'll get at least some answers in a few days, but I need to cook in the meantime so I don't descend into madness (too late). Obviously spoilers for this week under the cut, and also a long post:

What is the Infinite Forest?

How does it all work and why?

What happened to it?

Echoes

What is the Infinite Forest?

The best, and arguably only, source for this is unfortunately a vaulted campaign, Curse of Osiris. Here's a link to the campaign from Destiny Lore Vault, but there are also playthroughs around from the time it launched. It's not needed to watch the whole thing, although it is fairly short, but this is where most of the information about it comes from.

There's also the Osiris comics that accompanied the DLC; first two are available on Bungie's site. The third is only in the physical book, helpfully scanned here.

Probably the most concise explanations are from the campaign:

Reflection of Osiris: Behold — the Infinite Forest! A planet sized prediction engine, simulating trillions of realities in parallel, all geared towards a single Vex purpose. Keep going, and you'll see. Sagira: The Vex are simulating reality in here. Brute forcing the future. And before you ask: everything in here IS real enough to kill you.

And this entire lore tab:

Physically, I am beneath the surface of Mercury. That is what Sagira's sensors say. The Vex hollowed out the planet, replaced its molten heart with cold right angles. But that is not what I see. I see infinity. An infinity of possible worlds, so perfectly simulated as to be indistinguishable from the experiences I once called "reality." I can touch them, taste them, pass lifetimes in them! They grow within this machine like fruit upon a tree—no, a forest of trees, its fractal expansion nigh unmeasurable.

Essentially, the Infinite Forest is a simulation engine that the Vex use to make predictions and find possibilities that suit their goals. It's physically located inside of Mercury; the Vex dug into the planet and replaced its insides with the engine. So far it has only been accessible from Mercury, from a single gate. Putting my 7 year old screenshots here like grabbing pictures of loved ones from a photo album:

Ikora noted that Osiris spent a long time studying that gate back in the day, believing it's the entrance. And he was correct.

There is a Vex gateway near your location. Osiris spent years studying it. He was convinced it was the door to the infinite Forest. If it is still possible to find Osiris, we need to open that door.

Osiris, or rather, his reflection, also said:

First, I will show you where it all began. Mercury, untold centuries ago, before the Vex arrived. Here, the Vex planted the seed that became the Infinite Forest, and its Mind, Panoptes. Panoptes has a single purpose — reshape reality for the Vex.

To keep things simple, the campaign revolved around us stopping Panoptes from achieving the Vex' goals by using the Infinite Forest. We ended up killing it, of course. We did so by hopping around through the Forest, going to simulated pasts and futures.

But the Forest largely consists of a really weird constantly shifting space that looks like this:

Thank you past me for this really helpful screenshot. It looks like it's an open sky, but it's not; the ceiling is a solid flat surface. That is the surface of Mercury, seen from the inside of the planet. On the edges of the picture, there's two tall structures; one looks worn down and destroyed, the other looks newly built. These are the gates leading to the actual simulations. The left one leads to a simulated future and the right to a simulated past.

These structures are called "trees" and are the reason why this place is called the Infinite Forest. Each of these "trees" generates a simulation and leads there, but you have to go through this shifting reality with ever-changing platforms to reach them. This is the physical space needed to essentially "run" the Forest.

You can still see this on pvp maps Fragment and Convergence:

A lot of the stuff about how the Vex actually made this was not entirely confirmed at the time; the stuff about Mercury being converted back during the Collapse was something that's been in the lore since literally D1, but not much was known about how true any of that was or how it started and how it was done. This was somewhat cleared up later, in the first page of Trials and Tribulations (from Worthy). I say "somewhat" because like. Reading this page is an exercise for sanity:

Chrome-hooked appendages |breached sky, counted in triplets| stretched for miles through sun-soaked atmosphere. They bored |with deepest intentions| into the marigold sands. From the great temporal chasms |wailing mouths of creation| flowed an ocean |a second conception| of radiolarian fluid. Across the horizon |of definitive sprawl| the scene was |super-imposed design| resonant and |uniquely| multiplicative. Each injection site |form mirrored in the hundreds of thousands| fostered a new lineage in stone and steel and fluid. |They would live| the new age in sub-routine |sleep| and observation. They would foster the |metallic| seeds of a generation in |twilight| time. From the sites bubbled pools |progeny| of |endless possibility| that murmured chaotic, |lullabies of change| and wrung the Traveler's Light from Mercury. The Light coalesced |imbibed| within the pools. The planet transformed |reborn| into a |sleepless dream| machine of prediction.

Yeah. What this whole thing seems to be implying is a confirmation of Mercury being converted by the Vex during the Collapse. The Vex flooded the planet with radiolaria and drilled into it, changing its terraformed environment into a Vex world. Some of this is shown in Curse when we first visit the simulated past. The Vex appeared and started raising the spires and transforming the surface of Mercury into what we know it as. Its core was eventually fully replaced by the Infinite Forest.

After we killed Panoptes, Osiris essentially claimed the Forest for himself and returned there sort of indefinitely. He would leave years later, when he contacted us in Season of Dawn, though we know that he was periodically leaving anyway, since he was building the Sundial. It's not really been used for anything else, outside of various adventures and the quest for saving Saint which I went into in this post.

How does it all work and why?

It's always been kinda weird that the Forest was not a bigger deal, though it makes sense if we consider the out-of-game factors and the fans' general dislike of Mercury as a whole (which I personally think is a skill issue). The Forest was also difficult to work with so it was difficult to make new content for it which is probably why it was never really done, even though realistically, setting-wise, it should've.

It's mentioned in lore here and there, and Osiris spent his time there a lot up until Dawn. The Infinite Forest also alerted him that our actions drastically changed the Vex predictions which was serious and important enough for him to finally leave. So for all intents and purposes, the Forest was always a big deal, just difficult to implement into gameplay. This is quite unfortunate because it should've reasonably been something to use more, including explaining its danger a bit more in-depth over time. While Osiris did have a major influence over it post-Panoptes, the place was still largely Vex-controlled and they still had access to it.

So why is that dangerous in the first place? After all, it's just a simulation engine. That's true, but the danger is in how the Vex were using those simulations. By having access to a place that generates trillions of situations and possibilities, it allowed them to explore options that would normally be almost impossible to explore in-person, physically. Even the Vex, who can exist outside of time, would need to spend... well... time and resources to explore these options by simply time travelling. With the Forest, they could just generate them all at once, instantly, with no time passing outside of the Forest.

They could use this to simulate anything and then explore what would happen if they followed that possibility, which allowed them to predict more accurately. It allowed them to essentially run a certain scenario through every single possible iteration and see the outcome of all of them, then pick the option that suits them best and act accordingly. It could also let them study their enemies; by simulating many situations and observing how the enemies react in those situations, they could learn about the strategies their enemies use.

This is incredibly powerful and dangerous. But are there limitations to their simulations? Sort of... As we know, the Vex can't simulate Light or any other paracausality, but that doesn't necessarily mean that they can't try. This is where things get complicated because we lack a lot of the details about how this all works.

From what we can tell, the Forest can include simulations that feature paracausality and Guardians; it's seen in the intro cutscene for Curse where Osiris casually wanders into the Guardians raiding the Vault of Glass. It was also briefly mentioned in Lightfall's CE (page 28), where Elsie explores different timelines. In one of them, she finds Osiris wielding Stasis who tells her that he saw her wielding it:

"I saw glimpses of you wielding this power during my time in the Infinite Forest."

This is where things get complicated because we don't truly know if there are meaningful differences between normal simulations and simulations produced by a planet-size machine. The Vex, for all intents and purposes, can't really simulate Light and Guardians, but could they create simulations based on what they've personally experienced? After all, the Vex from the Vault of Glass experienced the Guardians raiding them; can they load up their memories and simply replay it? Would that even count as a simulation or is that simply just a recording that you can access within the Forest?

Is it accessible in other Vex spaces or is the Infinite Forest unique in some way? After all, there is also the Vex network as well as corridors of time. There's also some sort of overlap between them, according to Osiris:

...Vex security measures where the network intersects with the corridors of time.

There's even the implication that a simulation from the Forest could potentially escape the engine and enter the real world.

Sagira: Hey, team! Copies of the Cabal invasion are trapped inside the Infinite Forest. On the, uh, off chance one of them escapes, possibly armed with world-breaking Vex tech… Ghost: Wouldn’t be the first time. We’ll handle this.

There is also the whole question about timelines and realities and how that works in the Forest. Can you use the Forest to look into real timelines and realities, those that might be happening somewhere, or are they just projections and simulations of possibilities? Could you interact with them, and affect other timelines? This is an interesting question now that Echoes is going on with all the stuff about the Conductor and what's happening to Saint, but we currently don't know the answers.

What I think is the most likely is that the Infinite Forest is somehow unique and can offer a lot more than the normal Vex network; its simulation options are so well-developed and so powerful that it can genuinely simulate a lot more than the Vex usually would be able to, including showing glimpses of paracausality, especially glimpses that the Vex have themselves recorded in their interactions with Guardians. Then, they can use the Forest to try and build on that, essentially train the engine by feeding it trillions of data points to attempt to make accurate simulations that lead to good predictions.

And these seem to be the key words: accurate and prediction. The point of simulations is not just to look at things, it's to use them to be able to predict things, giving the Vex an advantage. This is directly referenced and discussed in the lore:

There's just one thing: if Osiris used the Infinite Forest to develop his prophecies, and the Infinite Forest cannot accurately simulate Light, how did Osiris predict the Traveler would wake? The Forest's very inability to predict this very thing is what prevented Panoptes from breaking ground with its apocalyptic calculations.

So what exactly is the Forest capable of? It can definitely show the past even if it involves paracausality. It can also show the future, though the accuracy of any future predictions may be in question, depending on the amount of paracausality involved. It's very much implied that it can also show other timelines and/or realities. And of course, it can simulate future possibilities, as well as show simulations of anything from the past; events or places alike. For example, Osiris simulated the Fundament, apparently:

Ghost: The Forest can generate so many Hive - it might as well be their homeworld. Sagira: We've thought about that. Ghost: Have you simulated the Hive homeworld? Sagira: Didn't go well.

If there are specific limitations, we're not sure what they may be. There probably are, but they're most likely deliberately not spelled out to prevent any kind of conflict with stuff they might want to add to the Forest later; like for example now, with Echoes. Because there's a lot of questions right now about the Forest now that Ikora has so casually told us we're going to be going back in there. So...

What happened to it?

As has been established, the Forest is physically located on Mercury. Or rather, in Mercury. Its one and only entrance is on Mercury as well. And Mercury has been eaten by the Witness over 4 years ago. So that's it then? Well no. Not only is the Forest on an inaccessible planet, it has actually been sealed, from the inside, before the planet was taken.

He struggled with his pack as a tempest beat on his eardrums. He withdrew his Infinite Simulacrum, impossibly small in this immense space, and with trembling fingers synchronized it to the frequency of the crack in the Forest. It ticked like a metronome and then… Silence. The Forest was sealed.

Instead of evacuating, Brother Vance decided to stay on Mercury, go into the Forest, and seal it. I go about it for a long time in this post, but basically he believed that it would be really bad if the Pyramids gained access to the Forest. He also believed that the Sundial did something to the timelines and that the Pyramids could exploit that, as well as the Infinite Forest being somehow "the key to all of this."

He also wanted to use the Forest to... spread hope. Through the timelines?

"I will walk into the Infinite Forest and spread hope, Guardian."

He essentially wanted to do something and prove that even Lightless people can still help. He appeared to be willing to die for this, which is quite strange mostly because this whole idea and endeavour wasn't in the name of Osiris. Hell, in a way, it was about doing something to fix the unknown consequences of Osiris' meddling with the timelines.

You notice Vance's hands are balled tightly at his sides. "The Pyramids draw close. Through this system and beyond, the Lightless are filled with fear. I am no Osiris, true, but in my small way, I will bring light to their darkness." There is clarity in his voice. "I will tell them they must believe."

Since I've gone into it in the other post in a lot more details, I won't go into it here again, although I could. But the point that I want to get across is that the sealing of the Infinite Forest was quite a significant part of Arrivals and the whole plot of the evacuation of Mercury (or rather the non-evacuation of Mercury; the sole reason for Vance staying was to seal the Forest).

In another post (you'll have to scroll through the back-and-forth insanity) I also mentioned how much of Vance's story in Arrivals seemed to be connected to him losing his mind about the effects of the Sundial on the timelines. It also directly links to the Perfect Paradox. All of these things have been quite prominently connected to this episode, especially the stuff with the Sundial and what Osiris has done with it and how it may or may not have affected the timelines and, most of all, Saint and the whole ordeal of saving him.

It's fairly unclear how many characters know what happened to the Forest though. The YW knows obviously because Vance told us directly. I do believe that Zavala would also know as we reported back to him, which also most likely extends to Ikora as well. Another issue is that we don't really have any specific proof that the sealing was successful or permanent. It seems like it was, but a lot of stuff could've happened in the past 4 years of Mercury being in an anomaly.

As I've mentioned many times before, Mercury is the last unsolved plot from Arrivals; as in, we genuinely don't know anything about it. Mars has returned in WQ and Ana's side of the story was concluded in Seraph. While Io is still gone, Asher's story was concluded in Defiance through Avalon. Titan returned in Deep, which solved the story of the planet and also Sloane. We know why these planets were taken (with the exception of Io, though it's fair to assume it had something to do with the Pyramidion because of Asher's story being tied to it), and we know what happened to all of the vendors. Except Mercury and Vance; two things inherently connected to the Infinite Forest.

We don't truly know why Mercury was yoinked, though it's once again fair to assume it was most likely for the Forest. But you know. It got sealed so the Witness couldn't do anything with it and we have no idea what it was doing with Mercury all this time. We also don't know what the hell was Vance on about when he talked about the "anchored timelines" and how the Forest is incredibly important to everything. Due to how unreliable he is, it could just be his usual cringefail. After all, Osiris himself did not have any plans for the Forest himself; he was upset that he'd lose it, but he didn't think anything more about it, even if during Dawn he insisted that the Forest cannot be sealed or destroyed yet.

But also I think dismissing it all is an easy mistake to make, and possibly a deliberate one. Everything with Vance is written to be as easy to dismiss as possible, but he did know certain things that were absolutely correct and real. Not to go on about the tones again, but. Yeah. And given the current situation...

Echoes

Failsafe has come up with a plan for which she needs data from the Vex. She specifically needs data that can be compared to the altered Vex on Nessus, so we need large amounts of information that hasn't been changed or messed with. She concluded that the best source of that data would be Saint's dead body. It exists in a specific space (and time) and would have this information; information that has not been altered or influenced by anything else because that Saint is dead and preserved as is.

Failsafe explained this to Ikora and Ikora agreed that this is the best source, she's just worried about how this will affect Osiris and Saint. She doesn't want us to tell them. So next reset, we're going to the Infinite Forest to find Saint's tomb again. Yay!

But like. How?

They presented this so casually, with Ikora even saying that the best "accessible" source of this data is the Forest and Saint's tomb. And I know that they know that we know that Mercury is gone and that the Forest was sealed. But they've already showed us the gate to the Forest on Nessus, twice: in the mini showcase and then in the intro to the season in-game:

The first picture is showing the gate when it's open. And yes, this specific portal effect has only ever been used for the Forest. The second image shows the gate when it's closed with that impenetrable barrier. The structure itself is different from the original; it's worn down, coloured differently and doesn't have the same tip - instead there's the weird orb and the statue. It looks far more Nessus-like, and closer to present-day Vex, or maybe future Vex. But it's guarded by Precursors, so I don't know. It definitely doesn't look like the original however.

We clearly aren't going to Mercury. And even if we were, how would we enter? Neither Failsafe nor Ikora have mentioned this little problem and it seems as if they already know that the gate is on Nessus; I assume they'll discuss the details of this in the Act 2 finale next week. But the problem is that without all of this context, how do they even explain the issue with the Forest? They can always shorten this to some reasonable quick explanation, but they still have to explain how are we entering the Forest. There's a few key problems.

Obviously, number 1 is that the Forest is on Mercury and as of now Mercury is still in the anomaly.

The Forest itself is sealed from the inside.

So far it has not been possible (or at least not known to us) to enter the Forest from any other location. As we've seen, Osiris spent years looking for the entrance and back in Arrivals he was quite upset about losing the Forest. If he simply had the ability to enter it without being physically on Mercury, then why bother or lament Mercury's loss?

It is, to our knowledge, one of a kind. It took quite a tremendous effort to build it and it requires a lot of power to run; a whole planet.

Possible solutions:

Mercury is back and Ikora hasn't told anyone yet because she doesn't want anyone to go there yet; perhaps it's in quarantine. I don't think this is very likely, but it's possible.

Opening a gate to the Forest from another location IS possible and we just didn't know about it.

Opening a gate to the Forest from another location is possible only because of the situation with the Echo; a powerful source of paracausal power can maybe help us do this remotely. So this simply wasn't an option before the Echo's existence.

The Vex and the Conductor have built or are still building a new Forest inside of Nessus this time. The Vex lost access to the original, either simply because of the anomaly or because it was sealed or both, so now with the Echo they're just doing it again, and better. So the Forest we're going into is not the original, but a new one; the assumption being that the data from the old Forest is accessible to the Vex so the new Forest can essentially run the same code as the old one, allowing us access to Saint's tomb.

The Vex and the Conductor only have to build a new gate that can lead us to the old Forest, despite it being in an anomaly and despite it being sealed. It essentially just brute forced another door.

And the possibilities in regards to it being sealed:

As I mentioned before, maybe the sealing wasn't as successful as we (or Vance) thought.

Vance is somehow still alive and he will open it for us from the inside, essentially concluding his role from Arrivals.

Maybe the sealing wasn't permanent; either the Vex could eventually counteract this, or Vance couldn't hold it closed for very long. He's a Lightless man and it's quite dubious how long he could survive inside. Maybe the seal automatically broke when (if?) he died.

If we're going with the option that this is a new gate to the old Forest, then as I said before, this may simply be able to counteract the seal.

If we're dealing with a completely new Forest, the seal may simply not even be in effect. The old Forest is sealed, but we're not going to the old one so it doesn't matter.

What I'm assuming is that Osiris could open the gate if he saw one again, so if the gate is simply now on Nessus (either to a new Forest or connecting to the old one), Osiris can just use his cubes as he did before and open it again, counteracting the seal. Vance's device used to seal it was made from Osiris' notes anyway, so I'm assuming it's something similar to the cubes. In that case it can just be opened with the same thing.

Ikora will just blast it open like she did back in Curse. Seal or no seal, new or old Forest, she doesn't give a shit,

There's an option for all of these that's basically just they don't mention it all. I don't think this is very likely, but hey. It's possible!

I've been running these scenarios in my head for days. Actually, I've been running them ever since the showcase for Echoes showed us the gate to the Forest, but this significantly increased when this week confirmed that we are indeed heading in there. And it was delivered so matter-of-factly as if there aren't any of these problems and scenarios I listed above. This is baffling me. I know there will be some explanations offered, but the setup completely blindsided me with how it was delivered. Ikora with the simple "Oh yeah the best place to grab data from is the Infinite Forest. Pack it up boys." And I'm standing there with a 8 hours long presentation asking her to explain how. She blocks my number on vannet.

Perhaps the situation is far simpler than I'm making it out to be. It would be really easy to just write the old Forest and Mercury away as being permanently lost. That way you don't have to explain or deal with any of the stuff with the anomaly or the yoinkening or Vance's shenanigans. I will obviously remain forever unhinged about it if that's the case because I simply need to know what happened, but it's the easiest way to deal with this. The Echo allowed the Vex to make a new Forest, they're using massive amounts of radiolaria and the core of Nessus to just recreate it all, then they copied all the data from the old one into it, booted it up and that's it.

But what if the seal is in effect? Or what if we're dealing with the old Forest on Mercury that's still in the anomaly? How do they plan to deal with that in a single mission? Well... We have no clue.

Bungie article lore time, but back last year in the State of the Game article, they said this about the pvp map Multiplex:

Although many of us had been thinking about a lo-fi Vex map for the Crucible, the challenge of this palette was the possible lack of player orientation in the play space. We thought bringing the Mars palette into the Vex Network realm would be a great way to mitigate this while adding an evocative look. Narratively, the space is in the middle of compiling the Infinite Forest, so this is what you’ll see in action.

Yes, while everyone was losing their mind about this article, I was looking for lore about the Infinite Forest. But yeah. It seems like they have information about it in the network and they were using it to compile that information; perhaps preparing to make a new one? Or simply using it for data.

So essentially, the Vex could have enough information about the Forest to recreate it, and better now with the Echo, which would allow us to simply bypass the anomaly and the Forest being locked, while allowing us to enter and still find Saint's tomb. This is by far the easiest solution.

But I want a conclusion on Mercury and Vance. I feel like this episode is the only time to really do that and they've been giving us so many Mercury things already, clearly showing that it was a big inspiration for it all. The music, the assets, the enemies. This includes the stuff about Saint and his grave, as well as the whole thing with the Perfect Paradox. There's still Act 3 of course and some still unknown exotic mission, but I feel like the quest that has us literally going into the Infinite Forest to revisit a place not even from Dawn, but from Curse, is the best spot to also deal with this.

I just have no idea how that's going to happen and I wanted to list out the stuff that would have to be somehow addressed and solved, even if the solution ends up being the simplest one. I also wanted to try and list some information about the Forest itself since this thing has not been in the game for years. I hope this was useful and that it explains things well.

Anyway, I've spent the whole week pacing around my room like a wild animal. Help.

In conclusion: