#until all his tears and feelings spill out

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐫𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ENTJ

Gryffindor

Neutral Good

Capricorn Sun, Virgo Moon, Aquarius Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Your main concern, out of this situation, was how Vermithor would react to not only the colder weather but having to stay there.

・It is known that dragons do not like to travel far (without a rider) and love heat. So how would he stay with you?

・Your second concern was being away from your family... you had never been apart from them. Ever since being born, you were close to your siblings - but your mother cherished you in a different way...

・As her only girl, she hated having to send you away. But she knew House Stark would keep you safe. And you had Vermithor... Surely you would be okay?

・The first time you met Cregan was when you were both infants. Viserys had thrown you the largest nameday and the Lord of Winterfell came, along with his son.

・Being a few years older than you, Cregan can recount the memory. Especially the time you had grabbed his nose so tight that he thought you were going to tear it right off.

・The second time was only a few weeks ago, when you had flown with Daemon after Luke's funeral. (Rhaenyra wanted to go herself, but Daemon had become a father figure when Harwin died and she remarried.)

・You were used to Daemon. House Stark was not.

・And it was the Stark's maester who had interrupted a few times to keep both Cregan and Daemon in check.

・But Daemon was only testing the Stark - he wanted to know you would be protected.

・When the day came to leave, everyone came to see you off.

・Your brothers were teary-eyed, especially Joffrey who had clutched onto Jace. Your eyes matched his own - full of tears, puffy and red. You had been crying all night.

"I'm going to miss you all so much," you said to your brothers who had hugged you tightly. The white haired ones didn't understand what was going on, but they babbled to you anyway.

・Jace put on a brave face; he knew Cregan would keep you safe.

"I wish I could stay," you mumbled into Jace's chest, but he just kissed the top of your head and held your cheek.

"You are doing more than you know," damn him for being so wise, you had thought.

・You hugged Baela and Rhaena, all three of you had become so close that it physically hurt to know you wouldn't see them everyday.

"We'll see each other again," Rhaena cooed, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"And when we do, you have to tell us all about marriage..." Baela said, a twinkle in her eye.

You bumped her shoulder, "Baela! Of course you know I will!" All three of you laughed and hugged once more.

・Your mother was the last to give you farewell.

・She leaned her forehead against your own, tears spilling down her cheeks. Rhaenyra was full of inner-conflict. A large part of her didn't want to send you away to get married. But that's what royals had to do - especially in times of war. She wanted you safe; but wasn't safe with her?

・No. Rhaenyra had decided that being at home, at Dragonstone wasn't safe for you.

・But she knew Vermithor would stay with you - you were his first rider since Jahaerys, and that bond would protect you like no other.

・However, Vermithor's brute personality made this change in scenary difficult.

・It wasn't the first time in his life that he'd been to Winterfell. But having to relocate there was a challenge.

・Until Cregan had shown you the new cave/dragon pit they had made for him. It was incredibly warm, and large enough for him to stalk off into.

・Saying thank you to Cregan didn't feel enough. So you kissed him on the cheek and ran after Vermithor to see it for yourself

・The first time Vermithor and Cregan met, it nearly had you in stitches.

・Cregan didn't think it was funny for a long time. But after a few weeks, whenever you told the story - he let a smile appear on his face

・You had settled into Winterfell easier than you thought you would. You asked Cregan why that was - how Winterfell was just as warm of a castle as any other.

"Centuries ago, Bran the Builder had built Winterfell around an ancient godswood and over natural hot springs. The water is piped through walls and chambers to heat them. This is why Winterfell is far superior than any castle," he winked as he said it and you snorted in response, for it would be an insult to any other royal.

・But Cregan did have a great point - the system that Bran used when making Winterfell made it far more comfortable than other castles during the harsh northern winters.

・Every room had a fireplace that was kept lit all day, everyday. It was absolutely brilliant!

・One of your favourite places to go is the Godswood; the Weirwood tree seemed to hum; or so you thought.

・If Cregan cannot find you, he knows that's the one place in the castle to look first.

・Your relationship with Cregan became infinitely easier when you let your walls down.

・Opening up bit by bit, made him realise just how much you worry.

・And in turn, he too would tell you things no other were to hear.

・It strengthened your marriage.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Strong Feelings (Thinking It's Hate - WRONG It's Love)

The Gomez & Morticia Adams (absolutely obsessed with his wife)

"Think they'll try us?" x "Fuck I hope so."

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Bickering and Banter

Mutual Growth and Empowerment

Soulmates/Bonded Pair

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Wolves by Bruno Coulais

The Lone Wolf by Sagason

For the Dancing and the Dreaming by Erutan

[fastandcarlos]

Drunken Kisses : ̗̀➛ Lewis Hamilton

summary: there are all kinds of drunks, but you're definitely the type to pour your heart out, as lewis quickly realises

Lewis’ eyes rolled the moment he heard you groaning through the house, swinging his legs round and standing up from the sofa. Despite your promises not to get yourself drunk on your night out with your colleagues, he knew straight away that you hadn’t kept to that promise. 

His smile turned up though when he saw how giggly you were walking through the house, heading straight in Lewis’ direction on your unsteady feet. His arm came around your frame to support you, carefully guiding you to the sofa and safely sitting you down. 

“I missed you,” you whispered, resting your body against Lewis’, pressing several kisses against his cheek. “You should’ve come out with us tonight, we had such a great time.” 

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Lewis mused, barely able to get his words out between the feeling of your lips pressing against him. 

Lewis didn’t quite know what to do as you scattered several kisses over him, your hands cupping his head to keep him still. The smell of liquor lingered on your breath as you smothered Lewis with as much love as you possibly could. 

When you moved for a moment, Lewis spoke up. “Do you think you might want to let me breathe?” 

“You’re already breathing,” you sighed, tapping against his arm. “You wouldn’t be talking to me right now if you weren’t breathing silly,” you scoffed, hearing a chuckle come from Lewis. 

“Do you think it’s time for bed?” Lewis suggested, but your head immediately shook in reply to him. 

You finally moved back from Lewis, but your eyes remained firmly on him, studying him closely. Lewis didn’t quite know how to react until he watched a tear roll down your cheek, reaching out and wiping it away for you before asking you what was wrong. 

“Are they happy tears?” He nervously asked, bringing his hands to hold either side of your face instead. “Did something happen whilst you were out that you’re not telling me?” 

Your head shook quickly, not wanting Lewis to worry with his eyes still on you. As you continued to remain quiet, Lewis couldn’t help but fret though. Your heart was racing as you toyed with the idea of opening up to Lewis what the reason for your tears was. 

“You have to promise that you’re not going to laugh at me.” 

Lewis hummed as his hand brushed gently through your hair, tucking you into his side. He held onto you tightly, biting down on his lip to make sure that his laughter was stifled as he waited for you to tell him what was going on. 

It was one of the things you hated about when you got drunk, how you suddenly found yourself overcome with emotion. As you arrived home to Lewis, that emotion hit you in a wave, feeling your heart swell with happiness when you were greeted by his figure walking through the front door. 

“It scares me sometimes how much I love you,” you whispered, brushing your hand against Lewis’ cheek. “Have I ever told you how much I’m actually in love with you?” 

“Love,” Lewis whispered, fighting back his urge to chuckle in surprise as to the reason for your tears. “You don’t need to do this.” 

“But I do, because you make me so unbelievably happy Lewis.” 

Before Lewis could speak, you leaned forwards and trailed several sloppy kisses along Lewis’ jaw, feeling the stubble on his face tickle against your slightly chapped lips. 

Your conversation went on for quite some time as Lewis sat back and let you get everything off of your chest. Although he always knew how you felt about him, he hadn’t heard you be quite so honest before. But that was what they always said about drunk people, the truth finds a way to spill. 

You had no recollection of heading to bed that night, confident however that Lewis would’ve taken good care of you and made sure that you got to bed in one piece. 

When you woke up the following morning, you found yourself with Lewis’ frame wrapped around you to keep you warm. He was already awake behind you, smiling away as he heard you groan and quickly shut your eyes again. 

“I’ve got so many regrets about last night.” 

“Good morning to you too,” Lewis teased, leaning forwards to press a kiss against your cheek. “I would ask how you’re feeling, but after the state you were in last night, I bet that I could have a pretty good guess about how you are.” 

Your eyes slowly peeled open again, this time a lot more prepared for the light in your bedroom, shuffling slightly in Lewis’ grip. “I don’t even want to know about anything that happened last night, just keep me safe from how embarrassing I was.” 

“You weren’t embarrassing, just a little lovesick.” 

“Oh no,” you whispered, hearing Lewis giggle jokingly, full of satisfaction knowing that he remembered exactly what you had to say to him last night. 

Lewis let you have your huff for a second before twirling you around in his hold so that you were facing him, clearing his throat to allow himself to fill you in. 

“At least I certainly know that you’re happy in this relationship, you made that quite clear.” 

“I don’t think I want to know.” 

“It was cute,” Lewis tried his best to assure you, “you certainly wanted to make sure that I was listening as well.” 

“Shut up,” you murmured, “can we just pretend that it didn’t happen?” 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Lewis whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I actually quite liked it, aside from the part when you didn’t let me move for your urge to kiss me repeatedly again and again.” 

Your head tilted back in disbelief, “I swear I don’t recognise the person that I become when I’m drunk, did I really do that to you? What must I have been thinking?” 

“Clearly you must’ve been thinking about just how much you love your amazing boyfriend.” 

“You’re enjoying this far too much for my liking,” you scolded. 

Lewis couldn’t help himself; it wasn’t that day to day you didn’t tell him how much you loved him, but when you were drunk that little extra came out that Lewis adored. 

As you fell silent, Lewis captured your attention again. “You know, for all you said last night, I want you to know that everything you said I feel the exact same way about you too.” 

“You don’t have to say that to make me feel better,” you assured him. 

“I’m not saying it for that, I’m saying it because I mean it.” 

“Thank you,” you chuckled, “and sorry that I was such a mess last night, I don’t even know what happened to me.” 

“Don’t worry love, I could get used to receiving all those kisses anyway.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[jasmines-library]

Hey Jasmine, sry idk if ur taking requests of not but I was wondering if I could do a supernatural fic where the boys take their sister out to hunt some werewolves but their sister gets scratched and has a bad cut and has a panic attack, it’s up to the boys to calm her down and get her stitched up…

Caught Off guard.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•

hey hey hi! thanks for the request anon! I actually have something fairly (?) similar here! but i wanted to write this for you too. sorry its a little short.

Word Count: 733

Warnings: Blood. stitches. panic attack.

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The wound was deep. And it hurt like a bitch. That was for certain. Three, ragged gashes splashed across your torso from just below your ribs to your belly button. Your blood seeped from it like paint, staining the fabric of your shirt and beading across the smooth expanse of your skin. 

The werewolf had caught you off guard. You and your two brothers Sam and Dean had been hunting the pack for just short of a week now and you had managed to take them down without much of a problem once you found them. However, werewolves were clever. And this one had decided to play smart.  It had caught you just as you were about to leave, it had jumped out from its hiding spot at the last second, slashing at you in the process. You screamed, the sound ripping from your lips as your flesh tore open. Your brothers were on the creature quickly. But not quick enough to stop the damage from happening. 

Your wound burnt. Skin searing with an immeasurable pain as you looked down at it, fingers moving to touch it only to come away tainted with blood. And then Sam was in front of you. His slender fingers resting on your cheek, tilting it to look up at him. 

“Hey. hey. Look at me.” Sam said. His voice broke through the haze you hadn’t even realised you were in as he tried to coax you into following his instructions. Despite the panic he was feeling internally, his face betrayed nothing. His eyes were soft and calming as he tried to soothe you. “Breathe,” he told you. 

You hadn’t even noticed until now, too hyper fixated on the wound, that you were hyperventilating. Your chest was heaving, a rasp sounding in the back of your throat as you struggled to suck in air with tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The all too familiar feelings of a panic attack hit you full force.

“Calm down.” Sam told you gently. “You’re okay. You’re alright. Breathe.”

You sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady your breathing. 

“That's it, Sweetheart. Good.” Dean’s hand was on your shoulder. The other one reached to pull your hand away from your wound, placing it on his chest to urge you to follow his breathing. The feeling of his heart beat beneath his shirt was grounding. Slow as steady. 

Another breath. Another second trying to slow your breathing and the rapid rise and fall of your chest which caused a disturbance in your wound, only adding to your pain. 

“Good girl.” Sam said softly as your breathing slowed. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.”

Dean gave your shoulder a squeeze, trying to hide the grimace as he looked at your wounds. Red raw and still oozing blood. “....she’s going to need stitches.”

Your breath hitched, but Sam squeezed your hand. “It’ll be over quickly, princess. Okay?”

You bit your lip, swallowing thickly before nodding hesitantly. Dean moved quickly, grabbing the first aid kit from Baby before sanitising the needle and threading it before handing it to Sam, who has a steadier hand. Dean’s hand replaced Sam’s gripping yours tightly as Sam reddied the needle, positioning it over your skin.

“I’ll be gentle as I can, ok kiddo?”

You nodded, trying to look anywhere but Sam and the needle in his hand.

“It’ll be a quick pinch, okay sweetheart?” Dean reassured me. “You can squeeze my hand as much as you need. Okay?”

“.....okay.”

After taking a breath, Sam pushed the needle into your skin to make the first stitch. His fingers moved with swift precision, determined to get this over as quick as possible and keep it as painless for you as he could. You couldn't help the small whimper that slipped out of your lips as you gripped Dean’s hand tightly.

He squeezed your hand back reassuringly. “That’s it kid. Just a little more.”

Sam worked nimbly, closing the wounds with a  few stitches before covering them with a gauze pad and bandages just in case. When he was done, he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, allowing you to take a breath.

“All done sweetheart. It’s all done. It’s over.”

You shuddered a sigh, relaxing back into Dean a little bit who gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze. 

“You did good kid. So good.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury

[novaursa]

The Last Fire

- Summary: You survived the fall in the desert, and now it's up to you again to decide where your story leads or ends.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Note: This part contains two new possible endings that were requested. Pick your poison. These events happen after The Last Flight, and these two short stories are part of The Broken Crown series. For all parts in one place, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

Ending where Y/N survives the fall, but still dies.

The last thing you remember is the unbearable pain, the world spinning out of control as you and Tesaerix plummeted toward the unforgiving sands below. Her agonized roar still echoes in your mind, a terrible sound of agony and desperation. The impact had been a blur of fire, darkness, and then nothing at all.

When you wake, it is to the sensation of a dull, throbbing pain that pulses through every inch of your body. The air is thick with the scent of herbs and smoke, and your mouth is dry, lips cracked. Your eyes flutter open, struggling to adjust to the dim, unfamiliar light. Stone walls loom around you, cold and unwelcoming. A Dornish castle. Your heart sinks.

Your first instinct is to move, to fight, to escape, but your body betrays you. Sharp pain lances through your side as you shift, and a low, involuntary groan escapes your lips. Everything hurts. Every breath is a struggle, every thought fogged with the weight of what has happened. You reach for your belly, your hand trembling as it finds the emptiness where there should be life. The child is gone. A sob rips through your throat, raw and jagged. The loss is a hollow ache, a void that you cannot fill, no matter how hard you try to pull the shattered pieces of yourself together.

A guard standing at the door turns at the sound, his expression a mix of surprise and something darker—satisfaction, perhaps. His armor gleams in the dim light, the crest of House Martell emblazoned on his chest. He watches you struggle with an impassive gaze, offering no words of comfort or aid.

“How long?” you manage to rasp, your voice barely more than a whisper, rough from disuse.

“Eight days,” the guard replies, his voice flat. “You’ve been unconscious for eight days.”

Eight days. The weight of it settles over you like a shroud. Aegon must think you are dead. The thought of him mourning you, believing you lost, brings a fresh wave of pain. You try to imagine what he must be feeling—the grief, the rage. It’s almost too much to bear.

You attempt to sit up, but your body refuses to cooperate. Every movement sends sharp stabs of agony radiating through your limbs. The guard takes a step forward, a warning in his eyes.

“Stay down,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re under orders not to leave this chamber.”

“Orders?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. “From whom?”

“Princess Meria Martell,” he replies. “You are to be held here until he decides your fate.”

Your fate. The words chill you to the core. You are a prisoner, a trophy to the Dornish princess, held captive in the land that has stolen so much from you. Your dragon, your child. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the hopelessness is overwhelming. You close your eyes, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.

But you cannot afford to break. Not now. You have to survive. You have to find a way out, a way to let Aegon know that you are alive, that you are still fighting.

The days pass in a haze of pain and frustration. You are too weak to move, too broken to plan an escape. The guards change shifts, faceless men who bring you food and water, who watch you with the wary eyes of those who know they are in the presence of something dangerous, something they do not fully understand.

One evening, as the sun sets below the horizon, you hear it—a low, distant rumble. Your heart skips a beat. It is a sound you know well, a sound that has haunted your dreams since the day you fell. Dragonfire.

You push yourself up, the pain almost unbearable, but you force yourself to ignore it. You stumble to the small, barred window, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The sky is a dark canvas painted with flames, the unmistakable black silhouette of Balerion the Black Dread soaring above, his jaws spewing torrents of fire that rain down upon the castle below.

“Aegon,” you whisper, your voice breaking. He has come. He has come to avenge you, to burn this place to the ground in his wrath. But he does not know—you are still here. Panic surges through you, cold and sharp. You pound on the door, shouting with what little strength you have left.

“Help! Someone, please!” But no one comes. No one hears. The guards have fled, the castle descending into chaos as Balerion’s fury turns stone to ash and sand to glass.

The flames grow closer, the heat becoming unbearable. The walls of your chamber begin to crack, smoke seeping in through the seams. You cough, your lungs burning as you struggle to breathe, to think.

You have to escape. You have to find a way out. But there is no time. The fire is everywhere now, the heat scorching, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh and wood. You stagger back, your legs giving out beneath you as the ceiling above begins to splinter, molten rock falling like rain.

In your mind, you see Aegon’s face—his eyes dark with grief, his jaw set in that way that you know means he is barely holding himself together. You want to reach out to him, to tell him that you are still here, still alive. But the words stick in your throat, lost in the choking smoke and searing pain.

The door to your chamber bursts open, flames licking at the edges, and you know this is the end. There is no escape, no hope. You close your eyes, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you surrender to the inevitable.

“I’m sorry, Aegon,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the roar of the fire. “I’m so sorry.”

The flames engulf you then, and the world fades to black.

The great hall of Aegonfort was cloaked in an uneasy silence. Servants moved quietly, casting nervous glances at the somber figure of the King. Aegon Targaryen sat on his throne, a shadow of the man he had been. His face was pale, eyes haunted, the lines of grief etched deeply into his features. Each breath felt like a burden, each moment a struggle to maintain the stoic facade he had been forced to wear since that day.

He had returned from Dorne victorious, or so it seemed to others. But victory felt like ash in his mouth. The fury that had driven him to lay waste to Sunspear had given way to a hollow emptiness. The cries of the dying, the smell of burning flesh—all of it haunted him, because none of it could bring you back.

It was then that a servant approached, holding out a small, sealed scroll with trembling hands. “A message from Princess Meria of Dorne, Your Grace.”

Aegon took the letter, his fingers almost numb as he broke the seal. His eyes scanned the parchment, and as he read, his blood turned to ice. The words blurred, but their meaning was unmistakable. You had been alive. Captured, held prisoner. And he had—without knowing—burned you alive in his wrath.

He staggered back, the letter slipping from his grasp and fluttering to the ground like a dying leaf. The world spun around him, his knees buckling as the weight of the revelation crashed over him. His vision dimmed, and he would have collapsed, had Visenya not been there, her strong arms wrapping around him, steadying him.

“Aegon!” Her voice was sharp, full of concern, cutting through the fog that clouded his mind. Rhaenys was there too, her face stricken, rushing to his side.

“Aegon, what’s happened?” Rhaenys asked, her voice trembling. She reached for him, her hands gentle but insistent, trying to draw his gaze to hers. “Please, tell us.”

He could barely speak. The words lodged in his throat, a jagged knot of guilt and horror. His body trembled uncontrollably, a tremor that started in his hands and spread through him like a plague. His eyes, wide and filled with unspeakable anguish, locked onto the faces of his sisters, searching for something he could not name.

“I—I killed her,” he choked out, his voice breaking on the last word. “I burned her alive.”

The silence that followed was absolute, the kind of silence that is born from disbelief, from horror too deep to comprehend. Visenya’s grip on him tightened, her face ashen, her eyes reflecting a grief that mirrored his own.

“No, Aegon,” Rhaenys whispered, shaking her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “That can’t be true. You wouldn’t—”

“She was there,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “In the castle. Alive. And I... I didn’t know.” His words faltered, breaking under the weight of his confession. “I thought she was gone, and I...” He buried his face in his hands, a raw, strangled sob tearing from his throat. “Gods, I killed her. I killed them both.”

Rhaenys’ hands flew to her mouth, a sob escaping her lips as she stumbled back, her legs giving way as she sank to the floor. Visenya’s face hardened, though her eyes shone with unshed tears. Her grip on him remained firm, as if trying to hold him together when everything else had shattered.

“Aegon,” she said, her voice breaking through the haze of his despair. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known.”

But her words felt meaningless, empty. There was no solace to be found in them, no absolution for what he had done. He had let his rage blind him, had let his need for vengeance consume him, and now the price was beyond bearing. The child—your child—gone forever, as he believes it was taken by his own hand. And you... you, whom he had loved more fiercely than life itself, gone because he had failed you in the worst way imaginable.

His body shook with the force of his grief, tears he could no longer hold back streaming down his face. “I killed her, Visenya,” he whispered, his voice a broken thing. “I killed her and our child. I... I’ve destroyed everything.”

Rhaenys reached for him then, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him close as though she could somehow hold the pieces of him together. “Aegon, no,” she wept, her voice a soft, desperate plea. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

But the truth of it was a knife twisting in his gut. He had believed you dead, and in his fury, his pain, he had become the very thing he had sworn to destroy. He had let his grief turn him into a monster, and in doing so, he had taken everything that mattered.

Visenya knelt beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder, her touch a steadying force amidst the chaos. “We will get through this,” she murmured, though her voice shook. “Somehow, we will.”

But Aegon knew there was no coming back from this. No battle to fight, no enemy to conquer. The enemy was within him, a darkness he could never escape. The flames of Balerion’s wrath had claimed more than just stone and flesh—they had taken the very heart of him, leaving nothing but ashes and ruin.

And so he wept, there on the cold stone floor of Aegonfort, his sisters by his side, but no comfort to be found. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, broken by his own hand, mourning the woman he had loved—and lost—twice over.

Ending where Y/N survives the fall with her dragon near Sunspear.

The air was filled with the acrid scent of smoke and blood, the heat of battle suffocating even in the high sky. Tesaerix’s wings beat heavily, each movement strained, her breaths coming in labored, ragged bursts. You could feel her pain through the bond you shared, a deep, searing ache that tore through your side as if it were your own. She had been struck, the harpoon lodged deep in her flank, just beneath her wing. Her roar of agony still echoed in your ears, a sound that would haunt you forever.

“Hold on, girl,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you leaned forward, your hand pressing against the warm, slick scales near the wound. Blood, dark and thick, oozed from the gash, and your heart clenched with fear. “Just a little longer.”

Tesaerix let out a low, rumbling growl, her muscles tensing beneath you as she angled downward. The ground rushed up to meet you both, but her descent was controlled, her movements careful despite the pain wracking her body. You clung to her neck, every jolt sending fresh waves of agony through you both, but you held on, murmuring soft words of encouragement.

The landing was rough, her massive form crashing down onto the rocky terrain outside of Sunspear with a jarring thud. The impact jarred you from the saddle, sending you sprawling onto the ground. Pain flared through your side, and you gasped, your hands instinctively moving to your swollen belly. The baby. The fear that gripped your heart was cold and sharp. You forced yourself to take a breath, wincing as you struggled to your feet, pain lancing through your body.

“Tesaerix…” You turned to her, your heart breaking at the sight. She lay on her side, the harpoon still embedded in her scales, her eyes half-closed, her breaths shallow. You stumbled toward her, your hands trembling as you reached out to touch her snout, your fingers brushing over her warm, familiar scales.

“We made it,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision. “We’re safe now.”

But even as you said the words, you knew they were a lie. The sound of approaching footsteps and the clatter of weapons made your heart sink. You turned, your body tense, as a group of Dornish soldiers surrounded you, their spears raised, their faces hard and unyielding. Behind them, riding in a litter shaded by silks, was Princess Meria Martell, her gaze sharp and calculating as it swept over the scene.

“You are far from home, Targaryen,” she said, her voice carrying over the tense silence. “And in no position to bargain.”

You straightened, ignoring the pain that shot through your side, your hand still resting protectively over your belly. “I am Queen Y/N Targaryen, wife of King Aegon. I demand safe passage for myself and my dragon.”

Meria’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Demands, is it? You are in no position to demand anything, child. You and your dragon are prisoners of Dorne.”

You glanced at Tesaerix, her body still and trembling with pain, her deep red eyes flickering weakly. Chains were already being brought forward, heavy iron links that were meant to bind her, to keep her grounded and helpless. The thought of her, proud and fierce, being chained once more like a common beast made your blood boil.

“Please,” you said, your voice breaking despite yourself. “She’s wounded. Let her be treated, and I will come with you peacefully.”

Meria studied you for a long moment, her eyes narrowing. Then she gave a curt nod. “The dragon will be tended to, but she will remain under guard. And you will come with us, now.”

The soldiers stepped forward, and you forced yourself to stand tall, even as fear and pain threatened to overwhelm you. Tesaerix let out a low, pained growl, her eyes locked on you as the soldiers approached, her body tensing as if she would rise and fight, despite her injuries.

“No,” you whispered, your voice firm as you placed a hand on her snout. “Stay, Tesaerix. Stay.” She let out a soft rumble, her massive head lowering to the ground, her eyes closing as if to conserve her strength. You turned back to the soldiers, your heart aching, but you forced yourself to move forward.

They escorted you into Sunspear, through winding streets that echoed with the murmurs of the people, curious and wary as they watched the procession pass. You kept your head high, your gaze fixed forward, refusing to show any sign of weakness or fear.

They led you to a chamber in the castle, its stone walls cool and unyielding. The door closed behind you with a heavy thud, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoing through the room. You were alone now, a prisoner in an enemy’s stronghold.

The days blurred together, each one filled with a growing dread. Your thoughts were consumed with worry for Tesaerix, chained and wounded outside the city. You paced the confines of your chamber, your mind racing with thoughts of Aegon, of what he must be feeling, believing you lost. You could only hope he would find out the truth before it was too late.

On the fifth day, Meria visited you. She stood in the doorway, her expression inscrutable, her eyes lingering on your belly before meeting your gaze. “Your dragon will survive, though her wing may never fully heal,” she said, as if discussing the weather.

Relief washed over you, though it was quickly followed by a fresh wave of anger. “And what of me? What do you intend to do with me?”

Meria tilted her head, considering. “You are valuable, Targaryen. As long as you remain with child, your life is safe. But know this—I will use you to ensure Aegon’s compliance. The war has cost too much already.”

You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your voice steady. “And if I lose the child?”

“Then your fate will depend on my whim,” she said simply, her eyes hard. “Do not try to escape, Y/N. Your dragon may be chained, but even a wounded beast is dangerous. And if she dies trying to save you…” She let the implication hang in the air, the threat clear.

Rage and fear battled within you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. “I will not try to escape,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue. “But if you harm her, there will be no place in this world you can hide from my husband’s wrath.”

Meria’s smile was thin, humorless. “We shall see, my lady.”

As she left, you sank onto the hard bed, your body trembling with exhaustion and despair. The days that followed were a blur of pain and uncertainty, your thoughts constantly turning to Aegon, to Tesaerix, to the fragile life within you. You had to survive, for their sake. You had to find a way to endure.

Outside, you knew the chains that bound Tesaerix were a constant reminder of your captivity, her pain mirroring your own. But you were both still alive, still fighting, even if only by clinging to the hope that Aegon would come, that he would find you before it was too late.

And when he did, you swore to yourself, you would make them all pay for what they had done. For every wound, every chain, every day of fear and suffering. You would see Dorne burn for this. You would see them all kneel before the fury of the Targaryen fire.

Princess Meria Martell sat in her chambers, the heavy stone walls of Sunspear pressing in around her like the weight of a great, immovable burden. She drummed her fingers on the polished wood of her desk, her eyes scanning the letter she had penned days ago. She had offered the King a simple exchange: your life and freedom in return for Dorne’s autonomy. It was a calculated risk, a gamble meant to end the bloodshed that had ravaged her lands and threatened her people.

But the answer she received was not what she had expected.

The messenger had barely finished delivering the news when a sudden, deafening roar echoed across Sunspear, shaking the very foundations of the castle. Meria’s heart froze. She shot to her feet, her blood turning to ice as a servant burst into the room, his face ashen with terror.

“Dragons, Your Grace! They’re here!”

Panic seized her. She swept past the servant, her silks rustling as she hurried down the corridors, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The stone walls seemed to close in around her, her mind racing with fear and confusion. Aegon wasn’t supposed to come, not yet. Not like this.

Reaching the balcony that overlooked the city, she pushed open the doors and stepped out into the blazing sunlight. The sight that greeted her was one she would never forget. Balerion the Black Dread hovered above the city, his massive wings blotting out the sun, casting a dark shadow over Sunspear. Below him, Vhagar and Meraxes circled, their screeching cries filling the air as if announcing the coming storm.

And there, on the edge of the city, near the main gates, was Tesaerix. Her golden scales glinted in the harsh light, her massive form still and tense, the iron chains that held her stretched taut. But Balerion was descending toward her, the great beast’s eyes glowing with a dark, dangerous intent. With a mighty roar, he landed beside her, his immense claws tearing through the chains as if they were no more than threads.

Tesaerix let out a guttural snarl, her wings unfolding cautiously as the last of her bindings fell away. The sight of the great dragon, wounded yet still fierce, stretching her wings and shaking off the restraints, sent a shiver down Meria’s spine. She knew then, with a clarity that burned like ice, that she had underestimated Aegon Targaryen. This was not a king who would bargain or yield. This was a man who would see the world burn before he let anything be taken from him.

Meria turned, heart pounding, as she saw the three figures approaching the castle. Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys dismounted just outside the gates, the air around them shimmering with the heat of their dragons’ breath. The ground trembled beneath their feet, the power of their presence undeniable, terrifying.

She forced herself to move, to descend the stairs and meet them at the entrance. Her guards flanked her, their faces pale, their hands gripping their spears as if holding on to the last shred of their courage. She stepped forward, lifting her chin, though her heart raced like a caged bird.

Aegon’s eyes met hers, and the fury she saw there was like a living, breathing thing, coiled tight and ready to strike. His face was a mask of barely contained rage, the lines of his jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might shatter.

“Princess Meria,” he said, his voice low and cold, as if he were spitting the words through gritted teeth. “You dare to hold my wife captive and then try to negotiate with me?”

Meria swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “I offered you peace, Your Grace. An end to this war. Dorne in exchange for—”

“For my queen? For my child?” he snarled, stepping forward, the raw power radiating from him like heat from a forge. “You think you can trade lives with me, like some merchant haggling over goods? I am no man to be bargained with.”

Visenya’s eyes were like chips of ice, her hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister, the sword gleaming wickedly in the sun. “You will release her, and our unborn nephew or niece, now,” she said, her voice a quiet, deadly promise. “Or Sunspear will burn until it is nothing but a memory.”

Rhaenys’ usually warm, vibrant presence was overshadowed by a seething anger. “Do not mistake our patience for weakness, Princess,” she said, her voice taut with restrained fury. “You have made a grievous error.”

Meria raised her hands, trying to project calm. “I do not wish for more bloodshed. I swear to you, Y/N is unharmed. She and the child are safe.”

“Safe?” Aegon’s voice was a roar, his eyes blazing. “Chained like a beast, held in your dungeons, with her dragon bound outside like a common animal—that is your idea of safety?”

Meria took a breath, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “I needed to ensure that Dorne would not be crushed under your might. I needed leverage.”

“And now you have none,” Visenya cut in, her tone sharp as a blade. “Release her. Or I swear by the gods, your city will burn until there is nothing left.”

Meria hesitated, her mind racing. She had known this moment was dangerous, but she had thought she would have time, that she could control the situation. Now, looking at the three Targaryens before her, their dragons looming like harbingers of death, she realized just how badly she had miscalculated.

She nodded, slowly, her voice quiet. “She will be brought to you. Unharmed.”

Aegon stepped forward, his face inches from hers, and she could feel the barely restrained fury radiating off him like a physical force. “If I find one scratch on her, one sign that she or my child has been harmed…” He let the threat hang, his eyes burning into hers with a promise of utter destruction. “I will reduce this city to ash and bone.”

Meria shuddered but nodded again, turning to give the order. As she did, she glanced back at the dragons, at Balerion, who stood protectively near Tesaerix, the massive beast’s eyes glowing with a deadly intelligence.

She knew then that there would be no mercy, no second chances. If she failed to deliver, if she tried to deceive them even slightly, Sunspear—and all of Dorne—would be lost to the wrath of the dragons.

And so she prayed, silently, that her people would not suffer for her misjudgment, and that you would be returned to your king unscathed. Because if not, there would be no place in this world that could hide her from Aegon’s vengeance.

[crushmeeren]

› › › we’ll find a way.

⋆ ⌒ inspired by Red Swan from AOT season 3.

̽ ⋆ main warnings › › angst/comfort, pregnant reader in Katsuki’s part, dealing with the grief of losing a sibling in Shouto’s part. ̽ ⋆

⋆ ft. katsuki & shoto ⋆

master list link

Katsuki works himself down to the bone. Then he whittles away at said bone until he’s nothing more than a pile of dust waiting to be swept off by the wind. Not surprising, seeing as how he’s had this iron clad determination since way before you met him.

And yet…. the past few weeks you’ve watched helplessly as your husband slips through your fingers like sand. Honestly, you knew what you signed up for. So you shouldn’t be so hurt when Katsuki starts missing more dinners than usual. You shouldn’t be so hurt when his patrols run even longer through the night. You shouldn’t be so hurt when he starts working on the weekends.

But you are. You’re so so hurt, and it aches in the hollow of your chest in a way no medication could ever hope to relieve. Recreational or otherwise.

Even so, you’re a goddamn sucker for Katsuki. No matter how much the bitterness swells inside you, no matter how hard you have to bite the inside of your lip so it doesn’t spill out as distasteful vitriol.

That’s why you give him the benefit of the doubt when he tells you for, what seems like the hundredth time, that he’ll be home for the day on Saturday. After all, you promised long ago you’d keep at least one day the of the week for each other, even if he hasn’t been keeping up his side of the deal.

That afternoon comes and you find yourself on the couch waiting for the blonde, clutching eagerly at the gift you’re going to give him. It’s something you’d both wanted for some time and finally, finally it seems luck is on your side. It’ll be worth all the pain you’ve dealt with recently.

An hour passes and you try to call him, fidgeting in your seat. He assures you he’ll be home in thirty minutes. Another hour and a half goes by and this time he doesn’t answer your call.

The evening is rapidly approaching and cicadas sing outside your window when a fury so powerful you can fucking taste it wells up on the back of your tongue and rushes through your veins. Blood flushes your face so hotly it burns your eyes and your heart pulses in your ears.

Looking down at the fabric in your shaky hands, tears bite your waterline and suddenly the rage flips on its head and melts into sorrow. Shoulders drooping, you sigh in defeat and carefully lay out the piece of clothing on your coffee table in plain view. You smooth out any wrinkles carefully.

You move like a tornado throughout the living room, gathering your phone, your purse, slipping on your shoes. Glancing back at the orange and black onesie on the table that reads “daddy’s number one hero,” turns your stomach to knots and you make haste to Kirishima’s house.

You were going to tell Katsuki that you were pregnant tonight, but now you’re sobbing into Kirishima’s shoulder at his house and ignoring your husband’s frantic calls and messages.

Not even a few hours later Katsuki’s calling his agency and telling them shove their extra work up their goddamn asses because you’re his entire fucking world and it makes him sick to see what he’s been doing to you.

He’ll be damned if he didn’t find a way to make it all work. It takes time to return normal, but now you’ll get to spend the weekends waking up to the sound of tiny feet belonging to the miniature spitfire version of Katsuki.

Maybe you will find a way.

Shouto doesn’t think. At least, not very often. To give him some credit, as he’s aged, he’s gotten better at determining the consequences of his actions before he makes important decisions, but that went out the window this time.

It’s why you choke on your sip of water, head jerking in surprise when Shouto chimes in next to you that he’ll take the underground mission his agency is offering to him without consulting you at all. You had a nasty gut feeling when they mentioned something about the remnants of the league of villains but you trusted Shouto to be smart about it.

It’s been years since the war, Touya is gone, but Shouto still is unable to shake off hunting down even a hint of evidence related to the league. It haunts him, and you’re certain it’s because he can’t bear to lose the last piece of something tangible related to his brother, and your agency knows that. Manipulative motherfuckers.

You decidedly keep your mouth shut until you’re alone before turning to your husband with one singular arched eyebrow.

Shouto sighs, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I know what you’re going to say.”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “Just promise me you’ll be back in time.” You cross your arms over your chest, staring at him with a pinched expression. He tilts his head to study your apprehensive features, the corners of his mouth tilting slightly downwards.

“Of course. I wouldn’t leave you alone, you know that.”

You stare at him for a beat longer before averting your gaze. You very much want to believe him, but these kinds of missions are chaotic on their best days.

Turns out you were right to be on edge about it. Shouto does in fact, not, make it home in time to be there with you on the anniversary of your brother’s death. You’re aware it’s not, technically, it’s not his fault. But he is partially to blame. It was cutting it close with the timeline of the anniversary and the mission. Shouto knew that, and still went.

If anyone would understand the grief and sorrow of losing a brother, it’s Shouto. It’s one of the things that brought you together in the first place.

When you wake up alone the morning of the anniversary there’s a tidal wave of heartache so violent sitting on your chest that you can’t stomach leaving your bed. Watching a movie doesn’t help, reading doesn’t help, taking a shower doesn’t. fucking. help. Your mind wonders a one track pathway to memories of your beloved brother. You can’t get him out of your head. Always, always, always his ghost haunts you.

Usually it’s not so hard to shoulder the grief when Shouto is there. He helps you reminisce and shed a warm light onto the otherwise cloudy day. Now you’re alone. It gets to a point that you have to lay any photo involving your brother face down because you may go crazy if you keep staring at them.

When you check your phone it’s empty. No messages, not even a phone call from your husband. Shouto really did abandon you, and you try desperately not to be upset but your heart cracks in half anyways.

You spend the remainder of the day curled up under your blanket, knees tucked to your chest. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes and soak your pillow until you’re sure you’ve cried out the entirety of the water in your body.

You must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next time you peel open your swollen eyes it’s to a significantly warm arm snaking around your waist and pulling you in so tightly to a solid chest that you struggle to breathe.

“Forgive me, I’m so fucking sorry. I love you.” Shouto’s voice is soft and cracks slightly when he speaks, the sensation of his warm breath tickles the back of your neck. You’re too drained to care about being angry with him right now, flipping over to bury your face in his chest and squeeze him back as the lump in your throat becomes too large to swallow around.

The throbbing ache in your chest dulls considerably now that Shouto is home. You stay like that for what seems like hours, and when something like Shouto’s silent tears trickle onto your head, you say nothing and hug him once more.

He may have missed part of the day, but he’ll be there for you in the end. He’ll always find a way.

[solspina]

Hello! I saw that your request box is open if this doesn’t suit your taste you can ignore this.

Could you write a hurt to comfort fic that involves a workaholic Guilliman and his politically married wife?

They knew they had being married to a primark would be rough but they didn’t think it would be so emotionally draining/lonely. Guilliman finally decides to do something and acknowledges his wife when one day she’s considering divorce and there are TOO many suitors waiting to have her hand.

Could you add how Robute pines for her but doesn’t know how to show how he loves her because he’s trying to manage a dying imperium and he doesn’t think he’s worth loving?

Never Again Will I be Gone

roboute guilliman ⋆˙⟡

i deeply apologize if this is rushed, i couldn’t figure out how to end it and it may be a little all over the place, but i hope it is enjoyed nonetheless!

why spill blood if things can be handled peacefully? guilliman is far too afraid of becoming attached or falling in love with his wife, and eventually she places the most dreaded option on the table for him. when tragedy befalls her, guilliman can hold his act of withdrawal no longer

warnings: blood, distant ass guilliman

how she had gone from being an incredibly privileged noblewoman to the wife of the last remaining primarch, she did not know.

there was a point in time she had believed she was a beacon of hope for her people. once her father’s reign was over, she would finally be able to restore peace to her planet, heal the sick and the dying, uplift the thousands that resided there from poverty. It was only when she stood on the altar and was encapsulated within the piercing blue gaze of roboute guilliman that she realized her people could not be saved.

the planet she resided on, the one she was supposed to rule, had an astonishing militia. the imperium did not wish extinction upon an innocent colony, nor did they want to challenge a planet that would undeniably put up a fight. teaching her father the ways of the emperor was far easier than trying to convince him that a woman could lead or be of any importance.

that ideal had been drilled in her head her entire life. she was to be married off from the day she was born. not a single suitor met her father’s standards, for none of them held enough power, until guilliman.

but it was fulgrim who convinced guilliman to take a wife in the first place. her planet was dangerous. if a peaceful negotiation was on the table, why sacrifice any lives?

fulgrim relaxed in his chair, pulling his wine glass away from his lips with a sly but genuine smile on his face. “you don’t have to love her guilliman. ive wed dozens of women. we do this out of necessity for peace, not out of love.” he said, his tone aloof and dismissive. guilliman hated to admit that his brother was right, thousands of his sons and innocent humans did not need to lose their lives when peace was on the table. “besides,” fulgrim added, his eyes gleaming with mischief and something akin to lust. “she is quite beautiful. i’d watch your back, i’ve heard others deeply desire an opportunity with her” guilliman’s expression remained stale and unmoving from the papers on his desk, though an unfamiliar feeling flickered through his eyes at the thought of someone else coveting his soon to be wife. was this possession?

“sure thing, brother.” guilliman replied, cold, unfeeling, and professional as usual.

he did not get to meet her until their wedding day, and quite beautiful she was. gorgeous fragile, and timid. her cowardice in his presence was something he was not anticipating of a noble, let alone the daughter of an incredibly cruel king. yet her eyes, glassy with tears, looked upon her people with great sympathy and sadness. they looked back at her the same way. she was not cruel, she was kind. these people were being ripped away of the only kindness they had been shown from their rulers.

when her father approached the two of them, she seemed to shrink into guilliman, clinging to his arm as if her father would rip her away the moment he got close enough. the king’s gaze shifted back and forth between guilliman and the girl, before her wrist was grabbed with such force guilliman swore he heard a crack. “i’d like to say goodbye to my dearest daughter” the man said, cooing as she whimpered at the pressure on her wrist, her hand turning blue.

guilliman’s eyes narrowed as he wrapped an arm around her. “release her, and say your goodbyes here, then.” he stood sternly, eyeing the girl’s hand. her father let go, not expecting such a protective tone from the primarch. “i will not depart from my wife.”

he protected her from her father, sure. but his words were a lie. for he did not have to love her.

throughout 6 months of marriage, he had only allowed himself to see her a dozen or so times, each meeting brief and rushed. his sons took great care of her in his absence, always sure to carefully to reply to every “where’s lord guilliman?” with a flat and prompt “he’s busy”.

the only time she remembered physical contact with him was the kiss they shared their wedding day, and the occasional brushing of hands when she handed him his paperwork. being allowed to sit in his office and watch him do his work was a rare and very awkward occurrence. she had her own room. her own space. she should spend time there instead. neither her or her belongings were allowed in guilliman’s personal quarters, anything to stop her sweet and intoxicating scent from getting on his sheets. anything to stop him from falling in love. he does this out of necessity, he has no time for love. he did not have to love her.

he’d admire her from a distance instead, or he’d submerge himself in papers and documents to avoid catching a glimpse of her. she’d sit in her room, contemplating the blank tear stained divorce papers that sat upon her dresser as she traced her fingers over the contours in her wedding ring. all the paper needed was guilliman’s signature.

her quarters were still close to his despite being separated. he heard her cries at night, incredibly often. comfort, she needs comfort. she needs warmth. he’s been in that room before, it’s so… so cold. he knew, and yet never once did he act on it. instead, he sat alone in his room doing paperwork by the warmth of his fireplace, the cracking flames helping drown out her sobs. he did his best to ignore them. he did not have to love her.

sometimes he couldn’t help but stop and listen, pressing his ear against the cold wall, knowing just how freezing and lonely it must be past the walls of his massive and elaborate quarters. his bed was more than big enough for the both of them, and he mulled over the thought many times. it didn’t matter, a little cold wouldn’t kill her, he did not have to love her.

one particular night, though, guilliman did not hear her crying as usual. her sobs and the sounds of the fire were replaced by heavy footsteps approaching his door. the heavy metal boots of cato sicarius were unmistakable as he made his way toward the primarch, a stern but panicked look across his features. Something about the look on cato’s face caused guilliman’s heart to quicken.

“my lord” cato’s voice was close to trembling, sweat pooling on his forehead “it’s lady guilliman… she’s hurt” cato’s voice echoed despite his panting. guilliman rose to his feet with an urgency he had never before felt toward his wife, his heart filled with a mix of panic, confusion, and anger.

“how badly?” he asked with a hint of controlled fury behind the question, every millisecond that passed causing him to dread every possible answer more and more until his heart felt as if it would beat out of his chest.

“she is in critical condition, my lord” the worst possible outcome rang through cato’s lips, but fell on deaf ears as the primarch plowed past him, walking directly to the medical unit and ignoring anything attempting to grab his attention along the way.

guilliman cursed to himself. to hear her cry was one thing, to long for her was one thing, but to be absent and allow her to become fatally injured?

when he arrived in the medical bay, multiple medicae surrounded the bloody and trembling body of lady guilliman. tears poured from her eyes despite her state of near-unconsciousness, the clear wound left by none other than the claws of the night haunter was swollen and crimson, it’s bright redness mixed with black screamed at guilliman. he should’ve been there. there was not an excuse in the universe that would satisfy the fact he was blind enough to let konrad curze get his filthy hands on his wife.

“where’s… guilliman…” she choked out, past her exhaustion and teary eyes.

one of the nurses seemed to tense up at her sad and confused expression. despite his constant absence, despite the papers for divorce he had found on his desk, she still cried out for him. “i apologize my lady, he’s busy” the nurse responded, watching her face twist into a look of defeat. he’d already signed the papers, had them prepared for her, and placed them on her nightstand in her quarters.

his heart could hold its true feelings no longer as he felt it begin to crumble. “i’m here.” his voice announced his presence as he approached her bedside, the nurse who cared for her widened her eyes in shock, swiftly stepping to the side to allow guilliman to see his wife. she reached up weakly with a single one of her tiny hands. her eyes were half lidded, confused and full of sorrow.

he stepped forward, reaching out his own hand to grab onto hers. “you’re really here…” she whispered, a small smile upon her features. “you found my papers, guilliman?”

his smile, once mirroring hers, faded into the slightest frown. “yes.” he responded. his voice cold and yet sorrowful. “they are signed but,” he paused, wanting a moment to consider the weight of the words on his tongue. “I cannot let you return home until you have recovered.”

she frowned. “i don’t want to go back home, roboute.” he tensed at her use of his first name, the only piece of his identity that was truly his own. “but there i had my people, and here i have nothing at all…” her voice broke as she cried, the pain of her wound overwhelming her as the machines stitching her wound together brought healing alongside pain. Exhausted and in something akin to agony, tears began to stream down her face.

“then i will give you everything” he replied with a solemn vow, turning to face the nurse as she nodded toward the primarch, the machine finishing its work and signaling to him that she was free to go as long as she did not walk or strain her body for a few days. he, for the first time, lifted his wife into his arms with more gentleness than that of which a primarch was capable.

he carried her into his room, past her own freezing cold quarters. he’d have her personal belongings moved within the next few days. Gently, he lay her on the soft rug next to his fireplace, not wanting to stain his bedsheets with her blood or hurt her as his period of scheduled rest passed. he removed his own armor, placing it to the side with ease before moving over to his bed. He did not lie down, instead grabbing a soft blanket and draping it over her body, ensuring she stayed warm. He sat next to her, placing her head on his thigh as she nestled into him for both comfort and warmth.

perhaps his scheduled rest meant nothing at all. damn the schedule. he had more important things to attend to now, and those marines of his were more than competent enough to handle it. his focus now was on nothing more than his wife, the girl who lay with her head in his lap as he stroked her head, memorizing every hair on her scalp like he should’ve long ago.

she shifted in her sleep, her body instinctively cuddling closer to her husband, thankful for the warmth she had always longed for. she did not cry on this night. he placed his hand over her shoulder and leaned back against the wall, his heart finally willing to admit the truth. he did not have to love her, but he did. by the emperor, he did.

[monstersinthecosmos]

Day 12 - Beautiful Boy

{tool - parabol}

Being caged in Marius’s arms makes Daniel think of the portico at the Villa of Mysteries. Arms like the steadfast ancient columns, his bones like stone. 

Feels nice, though.

Daniel shifts in Marius’s lap, his legs stretched out, ankles crossed on the arm of the couch. Marius cradles in him there, teeth hard in Daniel’s neck, thumb stroking the opposite artery as he takes swallow after swallow.

It’s so very like him, really, sort of gentlemanly, and yet fear needles through all the same. Perfunctory, until he rips the almost-healed wounds open again. Clinical, until Daniel hears the small grunt, or he gently tugs at Daniel’s earlobe, or he squeezes the inside of Daniel’s thigh. He thinks Marius must be full of shit, every time he lectures about how vampires lack carnality.

But he thinks of the Villa of Mysteries, for some reason. Caged in. If Marius decided not to let him go, Daniel wouldn’t be strong enough to fight him.

Doesn’t want to go anywhere, though. He sighs happily into the pain, shivering as Marius’s nails drag across the back of his neck. He’s as carnal as everyone else, at the end of the day, once there’s blood in his mouth. And Daniel knows he’s gotten ruthless when he hunts, even though he tries to hide it.

His eyes close and he thinks about that night. Marius must be able to see it, and Daniel doesn’t mind. He hopes, as he sinks into the memory, that the pictures might become even richer.

Armand, walking quietly, in and out of the moonlight as they pass through the portico, through the stripes of the shadows. Warm and lifelike in his stolen denim jacket, that still smelled like the human he stole it from. Cigarettes and sweat and cologne, like a normal mortal boy.

The house had been so hollow at night, and Daniel hadn’t been able to see the frescos very well in the dark. Armand had stared and stared, though, trying to read meaning in them, so very quiet. 

“I think he wondered about you,” Daniel mumbles, without meaning to. He closes his eyes and reaches to touch the back of Marius’s head, as if to hold him there. He doesn’t have the power to, of course, but Marius is pliant. Allows Daniel to stroke his hair. He remembers being on his knees, for the sacrament, like giving head. Remembers all the times he held the back of Armand’s head, just like this, while spilling into his mouth.

Marius bites hard, and tears at his skin, opening a larger gash. Large enough for the tip of his tongue, and the sensation of it, being touched on the inside where he shouldn’t, zings down to his elbows. 

Armand’s face had been so ruddy and human, his cheeks a little pink. Full cheeks, like he never quite grew out of his baby fat. It was easy not to see it sometimes, when he could be so cold and alien. And maybe that night in Pompeii was the first time Daniel really noticed. Something vulnerable about him, when he could go soft with curiosity. Looked like a child.

He’s seen Armand in Marius’s visions. Messy little thing. Always glowing warm in the firelight—Marius doesn’t have any memories of Armand in the sun, either. 

“That was the night he told me he loved me,” Daniel sighs. Dreamy sigh, because he doesn’t hate the memory. Because Marius’s tongue is in him, and the dizziness of blood loss is getting cozy. He sinks into the pain, the heat, his toes curling as he hears Marius swallow again. “He must have been thinking about you.”

Marius shudders. He grunts, and shifts Daniel in his lap. The ancient blood tingles in Daniel’s throat as Marius bites his tongue and heals the wound, and lingers there while it closes up. Licks over the healed skin in reverence.

“I didn’t know at the time,” Daniel mumbles. Sleepy now, as the pleasure rushes through. Coming down from the high, and the sun is coming. He cuddles against Marius’s body, rubs his face into Marius’s hair. “Didn’t know about you. It was just the next place I went. But he must have been thinking about you. Chased us both there.”

Daniel remembers Armand’s face, his eyes, as he stepped into the moonlight, as he searched the walls for clues. When he leans in to kiss Marius on the mouth, he tastes his own blood. 

He was looking for you. 

[fleurrreads]

pretty little rich girl

pairings: benny cross x fem!reader

warnings: some unwanted comments, bit of angst, happy ending(?)

author's note: based on this request! honestly don't know how i feel about this one, i might write more for them in the future.

Benny has seen many girls in his lifetime, but none of them have downright turned his world upside down. Until he met you. It was supposed to be just another night at the bar, until you walked in. All pretty in a little dress, pearls around your neck. You look expensive. Benny's eyes follow you until you sit down, probably with a friend. He steps closer to eavesdrop on the conversation.

You sit down with a huff, "Where did ya bring me, Kathy? Ya hang out 'round here?" You look around wildly at the bikers crowding the little bar. Kathy laughs. "Don't worry, darlin'. They won't do anythin to make you uncomfortable or somethin'. They're good people." Kathy finishes, looking over your shoulder, spotting Benny standing a few metres away. She smirks, "Okay listen, I'm gonna go get us some drinks, you want a pop? I'll get ya a pop." Kathy rambles, before walking off to the bar, leaving you alone. You look around warily, the bikers closest to you looking at each other, then at you, and then laughing among themselves. You look down, fiddling with your fingers. 'Hurry up Kathy' you thought to yourself, and a split second later someone sits down in Kathy's chair. But it's not Kathy.

You look up, seeing the prettiest blue eyes and you nearly gulp. Holy shit you think as you let your eyes travel the stranger up and down. He's gorgeous. The stranger looks in a daze, as he crosses his arms over his chest, muscles on full display. Before you say anything, he speaks and you think you could melt right there.

"I'm Benny." he says, his face nearly in a pout. You nearly laugh, the situation being so unorthodox. "I'm y/n. And you're sittin' on my friend's seat." you say, making him throw his hands up in feigned innocence. "Really? I didn't know. My bad, darlin'." He says in a husky voice, his eyes never leaving you.

You smile, "Yeah, but listen I gotta get home, so it was nice meetin' ya, but i gotta get goin'." You stand up, not bothering to look for Kathy, you'd call her later. Unbeknownst to you Benny gets up and follows you outside. As you make your way to the door you hear whistles and calls, making your stomach turn. One comment made you stop in your tracks. "Look at this pretty little rich girl, playin' where she doesn't belong." one of the bikers said, and you frowned.

Yes, you were from a wealthy family, but that doesn't make you just a rich girl. You have ambitions, you have dreams. You can be something other than a rich girl too.

You shake your head, pushing past people as fast as you can, trying to calm the tears that are threatening to spill. As soon as you get outside you take a cigarette from your bag, and sigh. "For fuck sakes. Where's my damn lighter." you grumble, emotions on high. Benny walks up to you, lighter in hand. Without saying anything he brings the light to your face, to your cigarette. "Thanks" you mumble, taking a drag.

You just want to go home. The past hour you've been here has probably taken three years off your lifespan. You sigh, kicking around a rock with your polished shoes. You would be able to enjoy this life, the freedom that comes along with it, if it weren't for people and their stupid comments. You'd finally find a place where you belong. Because it certainly wasn't with the rich kids. They always thought you were weird for having dreams like moving to a farm and building a life for yourself. Or moving to California to surf and working at a surf shop. That's why that guy in the bar's comment frustrated you. If you didn't belong at home, and you didn't belong here, then where do you belong? Benny clears his throat, you jump, forgetting that was there.

"Y'know, they didn't mean it like that. What they said back there. They 'just never seen a girl like you in our bar." he says, as if reading your mind. You scoff, taking another drag from your cigarette. "Yeah whatever, I don't really care. Probably won't see 'em again anyway. But you have a good evenin', Benny. It was delightful meetin' ya." You stomp out your cigarette, walking to the bus stop.

Benny offers you a ride home, because of course the busses don't run at 2am anymore. So you give him your address. As Benny takes a turn into your street you think of how vastly you differ from him. Him in his dirty leather jacket, his hair unwashed for probably a while, and his grease stained shirt underneath with his leather boots. To you, a girl polished by her parents to embody elegance, even though you were far from it. A white dress, pearls probably worth more than his bike, shoes polished and your hair neatly in a bow. A doll. A doll standing on a dangerous cliff, ready to jump down to whatever world Benny was involved in.

Benny pulls up to your house, and he takes a moment to study your house. A double story house, white picket fence, gorgeous porch running around the house. You were rich. He hears you sigh as you get off the bike, and he blurts out a question. "You wanna go to a meetin' with me tomorrow?" He looks at you, pretty dress now stained from sitting so close to him on the bike. He quite likes it. Him tainting your pretty little life. He can sense that you might like it too. You smile, "Yeah, why not. I don't have anythin' goin' on anyway." you nod, making your way to the white picket fence surrounding your house. You look back at him, his eyes sparkling with something you've never seen before.

"Well goodnight, Benny." you wave, making your way to your door.

"Goodnight, princess." Benny hums, leaning against his bike. Yeah he likes you, a lot. He's not going to let you slip out of his fingers. He's already obsessed with you. His princess.

Six weeks later, you married him.

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! ★

[hoshifighting]

hi! i absolutely love your work ❤️ i binged all of your reaction scenarios in a day- your writting is absolutely amazing.

anyway- i wanted to put in a request if that's ok 🥹

how do you think hoshi would be as a dom/hard dom hehe 🫠

how hoshi would be as a hard dom WARNINGS: smut, penetrative sex, kneeling, humiliation, chocking, biting, hard dom dynamics, sub/brat dynamics.

when hoshi’s in charge, i think there’s no softness in him. no hesitation. you see it in his eyes the second the switch flips—how they darken, how he looks at you like you’re a toy, something to play with, break, and put back together. it always starts with a challenge. a look, maybe a smirk you give him because you think it’ll be fun to rile him up. but hoshi isn’t someone you can push around, not when he’s like this, you know his rage problemsss. when you test him, all you do is set yourself up for what’s coming next.

“you think you can handle me?” he’ll say, amused. it’s a warning, one you always ignore, and before you know it, he’s got you pinned up against a wall, his hand around your throat. he doesn’t squeeze right away, just enough pressure to make you aware of how easily he could. his lips ghost over your ear as he whispers, “you wanted this. now you’re gonna take it.”

hoshi doesn’t waste time. there’s nothing slow or gentle about the way he pulls your clothes off, ripping them if you’re too slow, making you stand there naked in front of him while he stays fully dressed. the control he has is intoxicating, and it makes you feel small, weak, in the best way. he’ll make you kneel, his hand still gripping the back of your neck, pushing you down. “look at you,” he’ll say, “on your knees already. tsk!! pathetic.” and then, without warning, he’ll slap your ass, hard enough to make you yelp. “you like being treated like this, yea?” he growls, and the sting of his palm still lingers as he pulls you up by your hair, forcing you to look into his eyes. “answer me.”

“yes,” you whisper, and that’s all he needs to hear before he’s got you bent over whatever surface is closest—a table, the bed, the floor, the sink, the kitchen counter, the balcony, doesn’t matter to him. hoshi’s rough. there’s no easing into it, no slow teasing. he’ll push your legs apart, fingers digging into your thighs, and when he fucks you, it’s hard, fast, relentless.

he’ll keep a hand around your throat or pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, making sure you can’t move. and he talks, too—filthy, degrading, words spilling from his mouth like he’s been holding them in alllll day. “fuck, you’re so tight. you gonna come already? after all that attitude?”he’ll slap your ass again, leaving red handprints, then spread you open wider, making sure you feel every inch of him. and when you start to moan, when you can’t hold back anymore, he laughs, low and dark. “so fucking loud,” he’ll say, “you want everyone to hear how much of a slut you are, huh?”

he doesn’t stop until you’re begging, tears in your eyes, body trembling. and even then, he’ll pull out just to make you beg harder, make you tell him how much you need it. “say it,” he commands, fingers digging into your skin. “tell me how bad you want me to fuck you.”

and when you do—when you give him exactly what he wants—he’ll pull you close, biting down on your shoulder, leaving marks that’ll last for days. he’ll take you harder than before, until you can’t even form words, only sobbing into the sheets, legs shaking, body spent.and when he’s finished, when he’s finally had his fill, he’ll collapse next to you, chest heaving, a satisfied smirk on his face. he won’t say anything at first, just watch you catch your breath, maybe brush the hair out of your face.

[thiniceofeternalyouth]

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BETELGEUSE

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Words count: ~15.7k

⊲ previous

[May 11, 2022, 06:54pm, Tokyo, Tokyo Prefecture, Restaurant X]

Rei couldn't feel the cold granite beneath his hands, only your heated skin. You were malleable for your age, and he could mold you into anything he wanted. Besides, you absorbed everything he told you like a sponge. As he washed his face with cool water, he tried to regain his senses so as not to lose face before his guest, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the drawings he had made on your body.

"Eyes can fail you," he told every time he blindfolded you, and afterward all you felt was a blade cutting into your flesh. "You must learn to perceive the world through your other senses."

Before you could squeak, he liked to inject you with new doses of black orchid - he enjoyed watching you squirm and squeal in pain, and then go limp and docile, listening to his every word. At the very least, Rei expected you to thank him for the opportunity to be his favorite canvas, but you were so immobile and paralyzed that you wouldn't even look at him.

"You should rely on your surroundings," he instructed softly, cutting the skin on your back. "It will tell you exactly where the enemy is at all times."

The demon didn't care if you trusted him, if you followed his teachings - what mattered was that you were getting stronger every day, and more importantly, you were already struggling to keep your essence under control. He scrubbed his hands in the sink with irritation like he was washing away the sins your terrified gaze had left on him. There were no vices in the demon that required confession - he just wanted to show you who you really were even if you resisted it.

"Oh, does it hurt?" asked Rei affectionately, deliberately overdoing the dose of orchid. You shook, nearly throbbing from the flames that flowed through your veins instead of blood - like tiny shards of glass, the flower's extract cut you from the inside out. "If you want, I can take your pain away," he whispered, taking you by the chin. The closer his face got, the more your aching body tensed, and before he could kiss you, you sank your teeth into his lip with force, nearly tearing it off.

Rei was almost resigned to the way he looked now, his frail body a constant reminder of his lack of strength. He couldn't drag you down or strangle you with those hands, but seeing you in agony was the most beautiful picture. He had to do something.

"Oh, really?" the demon hissed, spitting saliva and blood. "Not into fucking with me anymore?" he laughed hysterically, grabbing you by the hair and dragging you across the dirty floor. The realization that you couldn't resist him, but only whimpered pitifully, spilled over him with a warm, sticky honey that he didn't want to wash off. When he opened the doors and saw his hungry parts, he tossed you to them. "Do what you want with her. Just bring her back at least half alive," he paused in the doorway, almost walking out - the demons didn't dare move until he was completely out of sight. "Oh, yeah, and don't touch her face. It's a pretty one," he grinned, watching you shake with panic, unable to do anything. "Have fun," Rei knew what would happen as soon as he left the room - where there were no windows and the doors were forever closed, tears would start to drown the paper airplane. And he stepped out.  

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so cruel to you, and you would have stayed by his side forever. Or at least on his side. There would have been no need to play catch-up, plotting and scheming to get your head off his shoulders - Rei really didn't want that, but you were poisoning his life and his parts a lot. "You're surprisingly calm," the voice in his head said.

"Is there any reason to be angry?" wondered Rei sincerely, looking at himself in the mirror - he was annoyed by the human tendency to blush due to emotion, physical exertion or stuffiness.

"Four, at least."

"Oh, you mean the cores?" he chuckled nonchalantly, tearing off the paper towels and rubbing his hands together maniacally. "Come on, what's to worry about?" the demon shrugged, dumping the papers into the bucket one by one. "You think I don't realize this little fool is just provoking me? Anyway, she doesn't have long left, how many more can she destroy? Three more?"

"Anyway, it's our land. Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

"Oh," he clicked his tongue in satisfaction and smoothed his black, disheveled hair. "That's what I'm doing right now. I thought it might be a good idea to return the favor," he smiled, frantically adjusting his tie - Rei couldn't leave his already faultless appearance alone. "God, she should be here by now!" the demon exclaimed worriedly, glancing at his watch.

As he stepped out of the men's room and into the restaurant's lounge, Rei saw the silver-haired girl at his reserved table. Straightening his back, he smoothed his suit with his hands one last time, and walked over and sat down across from the woman. "I hope you didn't get me out from overseas for nothing," Mei-Mei purred, giving him a hand.

Leaning down, he took her palm and kissed it. "Certainly not, my lady. I hope we work well together."

Grinning languidly, she pulled back her hand. "Don't misunderstand. I'm only here because Gojo told me about you. And also about the fee you promised him."

"Believe me, I'll offer you many times more," the girl's interested look excited him, interested him - the demon liked a compliant person with passion who was capable of going to over the heads for the sake of their desires. "You won't even have to move your dainty fingers, much less get them dirty," Rei assured her, and the more he told her, the more the girl counted the money in her head. "All I'll need is your powers of observation."

Mei-Mei gently tapped her fingernails on the table and decided to test the man sitting across from her. Rei had lived here for a very long time and he had no trouble reading her emotions - he uncorked a bottle of wine without hesitation. Smirking, she muffled her laughter embarrassedly against the palm of her hand. "To meeting," she cooed seductively, raising the glass filled to the brim.    

[May 11, 2022, 09:09pm, Hopetown]

The smell of late spring mingled with the scents of peach and nectarine - the immersion blender whirred quietly in the kitchen, the refrigerator door opened every now and then, and the glasses clinked quietly, unhappily, when they were touched. You watched Ieiri with curiosity, and as you saw how she handled the fruits, berries and alcohol, you thought for some reason that many doctors were probably alchemists in past lives. If those existed, of course. Shoko looked like she was in the operating room, the honed and deft movements of her hands making it impossible for you to see how she was getting the strawberries into the bowl.

You shivered as the wind blew into the room and disturbed you, shamelessly grabbing your wet body and tugging at your wet strands. You couldn't even get up to close the window, and from under your half-closed eyelids you could only watch the insolent raven that perched on your eaves and pecked at something. 

A quiet exultation crept into your head as you felt the soft couch beneath your body instead of the hard, cold ground covered with black sand. Having completed another raid and destroyed the core, you tried to enjoy the delights of this world - the warm spring air, the cool but endless water, the allure of all the various colors of this world that reminded you of itself by knocking on the window with the hands of the sunset, and Shoko, eternally impenetrable and cold. She hadn't looked in your direction before, and you felt an unfamiliar alienation every time you passed her, but now Ieiri had not only come to Hopetown with you, she had silently volunteered to spend time with you and Rachel.

Your happiness was only hindered by the fact that Rei didn't show up even when you destroyed the fourth core.

"I'm so tired," your sister sighed wearily, coming down from the second floor and rubbing her wet hair with a towel. There were dark circles under her green eyes, so heavy was the blow of the disembodied hand of exhaustion. "Next time, I'm going to the bathroom first," she huffed, sticking her tongue out at you and flopping down on the couch next to you. You, before you could wrap yourself more tightly in your terrycloth robe, were taken captive as Rachel unceremoniously sprawled on the couch, resting her head on your lap. "And how did doc let ya go?" wondered Rach, glancing at Ieiri. "We've got a lot of people out, and the infirmary's a busy place right now."

"I didn't bother asking," Shoko said nonchalantly, pouring the potion into two glasses. "It's simple."

You and your sister tightened your lips and looked at each other warily. Shoko seemed so unperturbed that she wasn't afraid of any consequences. Approaching you, the girl handed you a glass filled to the brim with ice and red-orange liquid and garnished with an orange slice - in her hands was the exact same one and another dark bottle. Rachel, snorting resentfully, crossed her arms over her chest. You took the glass and looked at your sister sympathetically - it looked like you all had to stick to a non-alcoholic diet, so as not to stir her soul. "And this is for you," Ieiri said to your sister, setting the non-alcoholic beer on the table.

The offended snort was immediately replaced by a pitiful whimper. "Thank ya," you chirped, comfortingly stroking your sister's head and sipping from the glass - what a relief it was to know that Rachel would never try it or else this temptation would have turned into another binge. The sweet pulp of the peach that coated your tongue, the warmth of the tequila that warmed your heart, and the aftertaste of the orange zest that completely obscured the flavor of the alcohol, making it unapparent - Shoko really was either a sorcerer or a witch.

Kicking the chair closer to you, Shoko sat down, relaxed, sipping her cocktail slowly under your sister's desperate gaze - she seemed to enjoy torturing people. No matter how much the girl had not praised Gojo, she seemed to have unconsciously adopted some of his habits. "What are your plans next?" she asked, throwing her legs straight over Rachel. 

"No raids yet!" exclaimed Rach exhaustedly but quickly, trying not to let you get a word in edgewise. "We'll wait until Mike's birthday at least, and then we'll see."

"It's still a month away," you objected, frowning unhappily.

"And?" Rachel didn't even have the energy to argue with the enthusiasm, she spoke sluggishly and quietly. "How much can we accomplish in a month? Start without me if ya want, and I've run away from my parenting duties for too long as it is."

Earlier in her soul, conscience had played the role of a small, almost invisible mentor - Rachel easily brushed it off and quickly extinguished the outbursts that it caused, but now, with a sober memory, shame took the dominant position and did as it pleased. She was angry at her father for not being around most of the time, and if the reflection in the mirror told Rachel that she looked nothing like him, her conscience told her otherwise. Mike's room was littered with expensive gifts and toys, but there was no hint of Rach's presence - no scent of perfume, no red hair on the floor, no her son's smile.

Rachel wondered - how could children love their parents despite all their faults? The girl thought that she was unworthy of such gratuitous love of a little person, and instead of wallowing in self-defeat and alcohol, she decided to do something else - brave, courageous, maybe even a little boorish because that was what she had always done. To leave behind the regrets, the thoughts that it might be too late. It wasn't as bad to be late as it was to not show up at all.

With a sigh, she pulled out her phone. Seeing her face softly contorted with longing, you rubbed the top of her head. "What's up?"

"Oh, man," she whined, staring at the screen. "Mike kept wanting that expensive model of the Boeing, and it's not on sale. See?" she turned the phone toward you, and you just caught a glimpse of 'sold out.' "I've been following this stuff for a month."

"Is this model only fish in the sea?" Ieiri wondered, skeptical. She didn't understand Rachel's whining or the despair on her face. Couldn't she just replace what was missing with what was there?

"Anyone can tell ya're childless," Rachel muttered, taking the phone from you and continuing her search. "Better get me a beer."

"Take it yourself," Ieiri grinned.

Rachel gave her a threatening look, but then smiled wryly. Her fingers deftly began dialing a number, and she gave one last warning glance at Shoko, who was sitting there, nonchalantly sipping her cocktail. "Hey, Doc?" Shoko's eyes immediately flew open, "Do ya know where your coworker is right now-" Ieiri, unable to remember herself, grabbed the nearest pillow and pressed it into your sister's face - her loud voice was replaced by a muffled scolding, and the phone fell out of her hands. Ieiri immediately picked it up and frantically punched the disconnect icon several times.

The pressure point was found unhindered - no matter how unperturbed Shoko seemed, she was still afraid of something. Or rather, someone. The big man in the white coat who was in the infirmary and demanded the same of Ieiri, but as much as she loved money, she wasn't a robot. Fear was literally read on her face and in the way she pressed the icy glass to her flushed cheek. With a relieved exhale, Shoko tossed the phone to Rachel and tiredly plopped into a chair. "Ya forgot something," Rach extended slyly.

Rolling her eyes, Shoko stood up and handed her the bottle. Perhaps if you weren't here, Ieiri would have just smashed it over your sister's head. "That's better," Rachel sent the girl an air kiss and uncorked the cap, but as soon as your sister took a sip, she wrinkled her nose squeamishly. "God, what a shit."

"Get used to it," Shoko hissed, pleased with Rachel's ordeal.

"That's it, get off me," you whimpered, lifting your sister's head. "My leg fall asleep," you stood up from the couch and picked up Shoko's empty glass from the table and went to get a refill.

Rachel, pressing her lips together, stood up and lay down on the other side of the couch, her whole face showing her resentment at your neglect. Only now the girl remembered how much love she really had in her, which couldn't be showered on Mike alone - an immature boy could just be blown away by this wave, and you, as it happened, remained an impregnable fortress. You shied away from long hugs and kisses and avoided tactility as much as possible, but Rachel couldn't be angry with you; she was angry with the situation as a whole.

At such moments the girl remembered her husband. Rob may have been a slovenly lazy man who couldn't even put cotton swabs on place, but he'd always gladly accepted her obsessiveness and loveliness - for lack of an opportunity to give them to him again, she'd begun to choke them down with wine, and her son served only as a reliable reminder that she'd never fall into her husband's arms again. "Ya know," she chuckled wistfully, putting the phone aside. "Ya can't imagine how many times in the void I've thought about running across my husband's corpse right now," shy tears glistened in her eyes, and all she could see was Rob's face. "And even more I thought about how he could have come out of the void and just left me and Mike," his features began to drown in with dark sand - she couldn't see the wrinkles or the color of his eyes anymore. "I didn't know whether to cry or be angry, and now... When we finished this roundup, I suddenly felt relieved. I don't know if he's still walking this land or if he's been buried under strange one for a long time, but I accept it. May God be with him," she sobbed, taking a sip of non-alcoholic beer, hoping to soften the lump lodged in her throat.

Your hand nearly trembled as you filled your glass. As your tongue became more and more tied in a knot, in your sister's imagination, the sand increasingly covered her husband. Would you ever find the courage to admit it? "But I have a tiny bit of him left," Rachel wept, smiling bitterly. Walking over to the girls, you handed Shoko her glass - she nodded gratefully, blurring the estrangement between you all the more. Sitting down on the couch, you threw your sister's legs over your lap and began stroking her ankles, though you realized it wouldn't atone for your sin. "And now I'll do anything for Mike. Buy him every model airplane in the world, take him wherever he pokes on the globe, kill for him or die myself. "As long as he's happy."

There was silence in the living room, with only a modest, brief sniffle of the nose. Shoko wondered, and she was frightened at the thought that there might be someone in her life who would make her think that way. Self-sacrifice and bravery were not qualities that Ieiri praised; she was content to be practical and sensible, but as she heard Rachel's ragged breathing, she shamefully brushed away a tear.

Rachel, hastily wiping her wet cheeks with her terrycloth sleeve, sipped some more from the bottle - she could only justify her dizziness as a placebo effect. "Geez, did I ask for much?" she laughed, trying to lighten the dreary atmosphere. "I just wanted a bunch of men praying on me."

You glanced meaningfully at Shoko and decided to play along. "We could buy you a lifetime prayer for health in a friary," Ieiri offered seriously, but she betrayed her playfulness by waggling her foot coquettishly, either on purpose or involuntarily.

"That'll do too," Rachel sighed dreamily. "Also, we should talk about a place to celebrate... What do ya think about an amusement park?"

"Is it safe?" you asked hesitantly.

"Mike has to live in this town for the rest of his life or what?" snorted Rachel. "He's almost an adult and he hasn't seen the light of day yet!"

"Whatever ya say," you said, rolling your eyes.

Shoko had never understood how people felt when they looked at pictures of babies, kittens, puppies or the tiniest of snakes - she felt a little less than nothing when she looked at it. But looking at your sister's instantaneous mood swings and the way you supported her unconditionally, Shoko felt emotion for the first time. Now it was her turn to dream. Could she really have someone close to her who wouldn't pester her, trying to get on her nerves by saying she was too cold and unemotional? Wouldn't look down on her, letting her know that she is far from their level? Wouldn't they leave just because their view of the world had changed? She glanced furtively out the window, confused, trying to find answers, but all she could see was a raven still perched on the ledge, pecking at something.

[May 12, 2022, 01:29am, Hopetown]

The open window had been a constant for you ever since you'd started sleeping together. If nightmares and Rei had taken away your sleep before, now it was the heat from the sorcerer's snow-white skin that did it. In your half-sleep, you kept trying to pull away from Gojo, but at those moments his grip grew from just tight to unusually insolent - even in his dreamless slumber he couldn't leave you alone. You couldn't complain, though, because instead of the bloody images before your eyes and the sharp pain of long-healed scars, you felt only a single drop of sweat trickling down your neck. 

Gojo's deep, measured breathing was a metronome for you - each time you breathed in unison with him, you calmed down more, and when you exhaled together, you fell further into a half-sleep. The feeling of a protected back made you cling to him more despite the abnormal temperature of his body. It was like the sorcerer wasn't asleep at those moments, just holding you tighter and burrowing into your neck, letting you know he wasn't going anywhere.

On the other side of your closed eyes, absurd scenarios were beginning to emerge. There was Doc putting someone's severed arm back in place with duct tape, there was Frank trying to grow hair in the beds, and just as you stepped aboard the pink icebreaker, you felt someone bite your arm. The bite was faint, almost insensible, and you, wanting to check who it was, turned around. There was no one in front of you. "Y/N-ie," came a quiet, thin voice from somewhere below. Lowering your head, you rounded your eyes. Standing in front of you was Tris, who was cradling a stuffed cat. "Y/N!"

"Huh?" you jumped up, not quite realizing where you were now or what year it was. There was a muffled grunt behind you, and the grip around your waist was so strong that it was hard to breathe.

When you blinked, you distinguished reality from your dream - Tris was standing in front of you along with the toy - the girl was pocking at the floor with her toe, her lips pursed guiltily. "Bun," you sighed sleepily, wiping your eyes with your hand. "What is it?"

"I need a craft for class tomorrow," she muttered modestly, not looking up. You were speechless at that statement, only able to reach for your phone to look at the time. It was past one in the morning.

You plopped your face into the pillow tiredly. "Whose problem is that?" you muttered muffled, for which you received a hard pinch on your side. "Ouch!"

"Come on, get up," Gojo said sleepily, rising up. "Can't you see the kid needs help?" he asked reproachfully, trying to make you feel guilty. "And you, little one, come here," his cocky threat made Tris backpedal, but he quickly crawled over you and grabbed the little girl. "So what kinda craft do we need?" 

"A fox in the woods," Tris giggled playfully, swinging her legs.

"How original," he clucked his tongue. "What were the orders to make it out of?"

"Said to impro… improvise," Tris mewed, beginning to chew on a nail on her thumb.

A sudden desire played in him to cut off her bad habit immediately. "Aren't you scared?" he asked slyly, lifting the girl even higher.

"No!" she snorted haughtily. "Frank carries me in his arms every day. And he's actually taller than you."

Gojo raised his eyebrows in exasperation and threw Tris over his shoulder - she shrieked. "Your upbringing," he shook his head censoriously, looking at you - you only shrugged guiltily. "Alright, I'm gonna go put her to sleep, and you, young lady, get dressed. Let's go improvise in the woods," the sorcerer mentored before dragging a giggling Tris out the door. 

"Maniac," you plopped back on the bed exhaustedly, spreading your arms. When had Tris been assigned this craft? Why hadn't she mentioned it the day before, or at least a few hours ago? And her whole innocent and guilty look - was it sincere or had she just learned how to manipulate people from someone? If so, she was pretty good at it - your injured side was still tingling from the way Gojo had pinched it, jumping up and ready to help Tris.

You pulled yourself off the bed, dragging tiredly with legs, and walked over to the closet, swinging the door open angrily. With your arms at your sides, you sighed and grabbed the first thing you saw without looking. You took off your pajamas and realized that even the clothes made a mockery of you - it took a lot of effort to zipper up your jeans, and your head was stuck halfway up the collar of your sweatshirt.  

You sat down on the bed and sighed indignantly into your collar. When the door swung open, you met Gojo's confused stare. It took him a second to realize what was happening. At first, he tried not to move, then he bit his lip, but when you whimpered, the sorcerer broke. "Wait a minute," he wheezed, grabbing his phone. Gojo knew he should have helped you, but he couldn't even help himself.  "It's for the record," you were blinded for a moment by several flashes, and you squirmed and tried to hide - just then his heart stirred. "God, honey, I'm sorry," he cooed through a smile, stepping closer and helping you out of bed. You'd already resigned to your fate, obediently letting him help you.

The sorcerer gently pulled the collar down and released you from the soft captivity of the fabric. "I don't wanna go anywhere!" you whimpered, throwing your head back. "I'm tired!"

"Honey, I know, I know," he tried to reassure you, stroking your cheeks and kissing your forehead. "But Tris is a much bigger baby than you are today," Gojo could have sworn he saw the way you were pouting your lips. "At least we'll walk around for a while, freshen up," he encouraged you. "You couldn't sleep well tonight anyway," you squinted at him, and the sorcerer faltered. It was hard for him not to hear you panting and sighing, but it was harder not to feel your body squirming against his. "You sleep longer tomorrow morning, and I'll make breakfast, 'kay?"  

"Mark my word," you sighed exhaustedly. "She'll sit on your neck like that."

"I have broad shoulders," he grinned, grasping at the lifeline of your words to swim out of the maelstrom of embarrassment. "I can handle you, too, by the way."

"Oh, man," you brushed off his joke. "Better get changed, Apollo. I'll wait for ya downstairs."

"I have nothing to be shy about!" shouted Gojo after you.  

As you carefully made your way to the first floor, you were surprised not to see Tris there. You'd expected to see her right at the door, already dressed upside down, complaining and yelling that she'd come with you despite the dull night outside the window - It was her dubious temper. But she was not here. You scratched your forehead thoughtfully and began to pull on your shoes. How had Gojo bribed her? Reading a fairy tale was out of the question - too little time had passed. Sleeping pills? You made a puzzled grimace - your thoughts were too unobvious and strange when you woke up. You had to get the sorcerer's secret of calm because you couldn't keep that girl still for more than a minute.  

As Gojo quietly snuck up on you and just as silently dressed, you walked out the door, leaving the house in peace and quiet. Wrapped in the night spring air, you moved towards the path of life that ironically came to life only once a year. Sleep dispelled to the chirping of crickets and rare cicadas that sang in defiance in the middle of the night oblivious to the sunny day. As you stepped off the road and into the dark sleeping forest, you searched with your eyes for the best leaves that would be suitable for crafts, occasionally sighing for the fall - this beauty would provide you with a variety that was beautiful in its colors. The forest whispered and trembled, its shy movements reflected in the moonlight on the grass in shadow. The branches, seeing familiar faces, hid their threats and saw you off with a smooth sway. "What are we gonna make the fox out of?" you asked, stepping over the roots.

"Hmmm," Gojo drawled thoughtfully, looking around. The forest, as it was, was monotonous and green. "How about we cut a few strands off Rachel's hair?" you glanced at him skeptically, dumbfounded by such a suggestion. You simultaneously pursed your lips and shook your heads together, imagining the horrors that would happen to you. "Nah, bad idea."

"I'll have to look for plasticine," you yawned, stretching.

You picked up randomly fallen leaves, sometimes the sorcerer would pick you up so you could reach the one you liked. Your pockets were filling up more and more with resources for crafting - pinecones, small twigs, pine needles that sometimes pricked your fingers. You walked forward, deep into the forest, completely oblivious to the fact that you would have to return someday. "Mochi?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you find her?" asked Gojo, remembering his first encounter with Megumi.

"Just like everyone else here," you shrugged. "A little over seven years ago, we decided to check all the barracks again for some reason before we roundup. I remember going into one, starting to look around, and... I noticed a woman lying right under wood boards. She was already dead, but I remember her stiffened hands were clutching some lump of rags. I don't even know why I looked," the sorcerer's soul whispered admiringly and sympathetically for him to embrace you, and it was right - feeling a hand on your shoulder, you took your eyes off the ground. "I thought the baby was dead, too, but no. She moved as soon as I looked at her. We took her away and wanted to do what we do with all children - put her in the hands of the church for foster care. But for some reason I couldn't. That's how she stayed with us."

Gojo laughed quietly, encouragingly. "She was born a fighter. And she remains that way," he added more quietly.  

You, remembering Tris' temper, chuckled as well. "Kinda." 

Nearby you could hear the sound of water crashing restlessly against the rocks. You knew these places practically by heart, and you realized that you were getting closer and closer, but your consciousness did not shudder in fear at the thought that Gojo might see it. On the contrary, your soul sang with dauntless bravado, and you realized with embarrassment that you just wanted to show off. Just a little bit. You deliberately stepped forward, regardless of the fact that all the materials had long since been gathered. 

On the horizon, something dark - much darker than the forest beneath the moon - peered out from behind the trees. All the water was silent, and the whispering leaves were quiet before the permanent guest you were restlessly approaching. The closer you came, the more majestic the huge, deaf, black box towered above your heads. It had no transparent windows or welcoming doors - it just stood there, hidden among the trees, making no sound and not allowing the rest to disturb the peace. Not the animals, nor nature itself. "Whoa," Gojo marveled quietly, barely stopping a few feet away from the box. He had never felt like a little boy before, nor could he be called short, but next to this dark gap he felt like an ant. "And this...?"

"The heart of the town," you sighed mesmerized, nodding your head. "It can't be seen from above, and even if someone were lucky enough to sneak into the town, they wouldn't find their way to it. It's only accessible to its keepers," no matter how much you looked at the repository, no matter how many times you stomped around it, you never went inside - that burden fell on Frank's shoulders. "There now lies the artifact that supplies us with electricity and empowers the hunters' relics to protect the town. So... Without the artifact, they'd just be useless trinkets," contrary to your enthusiastic narrative, you're wary. How long will the amulet you got in Cambodia last? Wouldn't you soon have to start bouncing around the land again in search of curiosities? If it had thrilled and delighted you before, you couldn't find the same enthusiasm now. After all, it only meant that you would be apart again. 

"How many keepers are there?" Gojo asked softly, taking your hand and squeezing it gently. He already knew the answer to his question - at least part of it - but he couldn't stop his insolence and greed under the guise of interest. It wasn't enough for him that you'd first bared your neck, then your shoulders, and then told him the secrets you'd never told yourself. He wanted to drown in your trust, which was embarrassingly lapping at his shore in brief waves - Gojo wanted to catch every single one, to save a single salty drop of it. The sorcerer had become too obsessed with your vulnerability, which was revealed only to him alone. 

"Three now," you said weakly. "Frank, Rach, and me."

Gojo could almost hear your thoughts and the way they screamed, interrupting each other. Surprise clashed with indignation, worry caught up with confidence, uncertainty clawed at the throat of exhilaration. Every step you took towards him was difficult, but now the sorcerer stood here with you, right in front of the heart of the town, not on the other side of your workroom door. You couldn't even look Gojo in the eye - was the doubt so great and dangerous that you did whatever it told you to do? The sorcerer winced in pain - your thoughts screamed loudly, but he couldn't make out the words. "Hey, guide," he grinned, bringing you to your senses and wanting to get you away from this place - it was affecting you too badly. And, it seemed to Gojo, on your relationship with him, too. "Let's go home. We have a fox to make." 

In Hopetown, unlike at headquarters, the evenings were slow and lazy - there was no desire to get out of bed at all. Danielle, nestled comfortably on Megumi's chest and covered with a blanket, watched a movie - they'd chosen it for about an hour only to struggle to keep their eyes open. Every touch, every hug was imbued with a serenity that was sorely lacking in the girl - she almost stopped shaking as she closed her eyes and mentally found herself back in that horrible day.

Dany was grateful that you hadn't said anything to Megumi - which was probably why the boy was lying next to her now, ordinarily calm, watching the movie. But still, in the back of the girl's mind or maybe on the very surface of it, lay the desire to tell her boyfriend about what she had done for him. Danielle stopped every time, asking herself why she needed it and where it would lead, and all the scripted and fictionalized scenarios boiled down to the fact that she needed to see his concern. Attacks of such selfishness came more and more often, but contrary to breaking Danielle, they made her stronger - the girl looking at her favorite face full of peace already brushed them off with ease. He didn't need to know about it. She didn't want to think about the consequences of her silence, but what could happen if she opened her mouth frightened her even more. Megumi's anxiety could spiral into paranoia, and what if he started blaming himself for what had happened to her? What if his regrets became so enormous that he could no longer look her in the eye? The pesky, unpleasant questions swirled in her head until she finally decided to stay in that boat, to stop rocking it.

Still, every touch of Megumi's fingers reminded Dany that she was no longer worthy of it - false, fake, nasty beliefs trampled their way into the girl's head, making her cringe every time Megumi smoothed her hair. "Dany?" he turned to her softly, stroking her shoulder. She flinched and looked at him questioningly. "Remember when we made the butterfly?"

"Ah...," she drawled carefully. "Yeah, I remember."

"Why don't we try again?"

She frowned. It was an odd request because they hadn't tried it again since that time, which was why it took her by surprise. Danielle lifted up, and the heated blanket rustled and fell from her shoulders onto the bed. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"What do you mean why?" laughed Megumi, causing the girl to blush embarrassedly. "Don't you wanna... Well, perfect it?" the boy's every word intended to ratchet up his excitement, his voice nearly breaking from the overabundance of feelings and adrenaline. His knees didn't shake like this before curses, but one glance at the watch on his hand and he would definitely fall down if he wasn't sitting on the bed right now.

"Okay," she said hesitantly, still squinting suspiciously.

The way they sat across from each other hit Dany with nostalgia right on the back of the head, a blow so strong it made her head spin. She had only yesterday ceased to be a teenager, and it would seem that she should have experienced all the unknown emotions long ago and stopped being afraid of them and trembling in front of them, but the excitement that swept over her was much stronger than her childhood feelings.

Megumi knew that cheating would be necessary here and he hoped Dany would never figure him out. He wanted the butterfly to come out perfect this time, and since both cursed and dark energy were now flowing through him, why wouldn't he help his girl? After all, he was going to forever be her shoulder and the bastion of all her hopes and dreams, so why not start with something small?

He covered her small hands with his and nodded, glancing up at her with glittering eyes, but Dany squeezed her eyes shut, either out of fear or excitement. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the sight - she looked exactly like a child waiting for a miracle. As he began to infuse energy, all he could feel was the warmth of Dany's hands. Something tickled her palms, and she opened one eye with a giggle - a faint blue glow was seeping through their fingers. "Well," he began embarrassedly, smiling. "Do you wanna see it?"

"Yes," she giggled.

They opened their hands at the same time, slowly - a small butterfly sat inside. There was no flaw in it, the patterns on its fluttering, cursed wings ran and shimmered in the same way. Its predecessor was less than perfect, and most people would probably call it ugly upon barely seeing its different wings and crooked antennae, but the pair of lovers knew that it was only their imperfect beginning. One could vilify and berate even the one that now sat in their hands - the blue color wasn't blue enough, the wings were too small, but that didn't make the butterfly any less beautiful. The butterfly had been created by and for the love that had been born between two people.

Dany gasped in surprise when a butterfly fluttered up and flew toward the window. "We have to open it," she worried, jumping up from her seat. The butterfly was beating its wings fiercely against the glass like it had spent its whole life dreaming of freedom. Dany, carefully opening the shutters so as not to disturb their shared creation, could only watch as the tiny blue light flew away from her, merging with the horizon - at that moment Megumi realized he was ready. To hold her on cold nights, to swipe the custard of brownies off her lips, to watch the most boring movies with her, to return to her from the void again and again. Alive. "Danielle," the girl tensed when Megumi called her by her full name. Taking the frozen girl by the waist, he turned her around to face her. "I really don't know how to do this right," he admitted honestly in a breaking voice. Her knees grew weak when she heard the clattering and clinking, and Dany tried to keep her head straight, afraid to look at her boyfriend's hand, suspecting that right now he was taking the watch off of them. "I'm not familiar with your traditions, and I don't know about whether I should get down on one knee," Dany, realizing she was about to pass out, began breathing hard and often, practically gulping for air with her mouth. "But please, answer me," a sob full of pain and happiness escaped the girl's scarlet lips, and the cold metal that coiled around her wrist burned her skin with yet untold promises. "Will you marry me?"

"How can ya do this...," the crying made her voice shake harder, the tears that rolled down her cheeks choking her, and the barely buried memories breaking through all the fresh ground slapped her in the face, reminding her of what she was like. Dany had feared that their happiness wouldn't last forever, that sooner or later it would come to Megumi that he deserved better, but there was no way she had expected such a sharp turn in the exact opposite direction - completely knocked off her feet and confused, she could only mumble unintelligibly through her tears. "How can ya say that, how can ya look at me like ya used to, when I'm so... dirty?

The girl's pain became his - he couldn't stand the agonizing tension that was crushing both of them, and he pressed his lips to hers, muffling her sobs. Dany didn't give in, but she didn't resist either, only placed her palms on his chest, not so much to push him away as to feel his warmth. Megumi was too insistent and firm in his decision - pulling Dany by the waist and pressing her against him, he deepened the kiss with a gentle movement of his tongue, making the girl dissolve into him, and she had nowhere to retreat - the love of her life was ahead of the girl, and behind her was the windowsill and the pain left by bitter memories.

With difficulty he pulled away from her, panting straight to her lips, he cupped her flushed wet cheeks. "Don't ever say that again," he commanded quietly. "The truest filth is the one who did this to you, and you... You're everything to me. And I want you to be even more, just say 'yes', please," he begged, pulling her frail body against him and burrowing into her neck.

The laughter that filled the room was full of weeping, longing, and relief. Danielle nodded frantically and wrapped her arms around his neck, the watch on her arm rattling - a reminder of the delayed happiness that was rushing toward her.

They stood huddled together, reminding each other of their bleeding wounds. The path was far and winding, each branch leading either to the abyss or straight into the arms of death. There was only one way that led to freedom, and they had learned by experience that they could never reach that faraway light alone. Megumi, having gained another power, was sure that now he could protect his bride from all the troubles, and the short name of that power was not in the dark lines, not in the energy that sometimes spilled over the edge - putting all the meaning of life into it and asking for its protection, people called it love. "Want to finish the movie?" smiled Megumi softly, rocking Dany from side to side.

"Actually," she began, mumbling shyly into his shoulder. "I'd like to tell Y/N," the excitement and awe still hadn't receded, but anxiety came along with it - Dany didn't know at all what she was supposed to do tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, a month from now. She needed help, and having learned from the past, she was ready to open the door to her worries and secrets. "If ya don't mind, of course."

"Okay," Megumi agreed, not saying a word about the fact that you were already aware of his intentions - the boy didn't want to ruin her sense of hidden celebration and take away the opportunity to tell her everything herself. "I need to let someone know too," he snorted irritably, making Dany giggle.

They, happy and clutching each other and their hands, went into your room first, but it was empty. Megumi, frowning his eyebrows, wondered. You all just finished the raid yesterday, where could you have gone? You should have been resting, where else could you relax if not in your room? Did you slip away on another scouting mission? If you did, why didn't you bring him with you?

Worried and almost insulted, he tried not to show it in front of Danielle. The girl was glowing for the first time in a long time, and a beaming, embarrassed smile never left her face. Megumi hummed, shaking his head. He shouldn't have gotten himself worked up ahead of time. Deciding to go downstairs, all of his doubts were dispelled, and he almost felt ashamed that he had time to get mad at you for making up his own problems because he and Dany were greeted by two half-asleep faces on the couch in the living room.

You and Gojo did Tris's craft until morning, and when it was time to go back to bed, you were blinded by the rising sun and the sound of a child's voice asking for food. You decided not to go to bed to get back into a routine that you'd regretted a thousand times before - the battle with sleep was unequal and unfair, especially in each other's warm embrace. You offered him more than once to unwind or at least to get off the couch, but the sorcerer, sighing lazily, stopped all your tries at rebellion, pressing you to him with a heavy hand, cutting off all attempts to retreat. 

"What is it?" you drawled tiredly, blinking hard, trying to fix the floating silhouettes in front of your eyes.

"We, um...," the boy's tone was like he was apologizing for the thousands of crimes he'd committed, and you tensed up from the couch, and Gojo lost sleep as well - he squinted his eyes, staring at the pair expectantly. He knew Megumi too well, and that tone boded either good things or nothing good at all. "I proposed to Dany," he stated firmly, shifting a determined gaze from you to Gojo, and Danielle was the direct opposite of him - the girl picking at the floor with her toe, shyly lowering her. 

Caught off guard, you're numb. You only just noticed the watch on Dany's hand. Megumi told you that he intended to do it, but he didn't say when he would do it. Did he tell Dany that you knew everything? If not, you didn't want to take away her opportunity to be first in everything, but you didn't have time to think about your actions. "Oh my gosh," you marveled deliberately loudly, gasping and clutching at your heart.

Gojo was immediately alarmed, jumping up from the couch and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "Why are you driving your mother crazy?" he spat out angrily, and all Megumi wanted to do was fall to the ground in shame. "Honey, where's the sedative?" 

"There, in the medicine cabinet ...," you waved at the top kitchen drawer without getting out of character. "It's a transparent bottle..."

It took the sorcerer exactly seven seconds to find the sedative, open it, take out a glass, pour water into it, and be at your side. Gojo seemed to be the only one who believed in your performance - so naive and gullible Megumi had never seen him before. "What's the act?" the boy grimaced, watching as he held out water and pills to you. "You're the first to know about everything." 

You stared at Megumi with wide-open eyes, stung by the betrayal, and then glanced furtively at Gojo - he too was staring at the boy with glassy eyes, still not giving you the pill and the glass. "Satoru, I can explain," you grumbled guiltily, but it was too late - he popped the sedative into his mouth and drank water all in one. 

"You sleeping on the couch tonight. Alone," the sorcerer said blankly, handing you the pills - you took the bottle with the empty glass, confused. It would take him about five minutes alone to recover from the betrayal you'd made with your silence.

"Where are ya going?" you shouted back at him, but Gojo waved you off and walked outside, slamming the door behind him.

"You do realize he's just kidding, right?" feeling guilty for the rift in your relationship, Megumi tried to smooth things over, but you, already pursing your lips, stared at him grimly.

"Couldn't ya play along?" you snorted, but contrary to what you said, you found yourself standing beside the kids, clasping them in your arms - they barely fit in your arms, and the boy was almost a head taller than you. "Congratulations!" you whispered into their ears, kissing Dany on the cheek, who winced a little at the prickling sensation of your mask biting her.

Danielle was still confused - too much had happened in the last few minutes - from the touching to the punning - and her heart could barely keep up. Thinking she could use a sedative too, she sat down on the couch, trying to calm down a bit. The fact that you knew Megumi's intentions didn't upset her because it only meant that his move wasn't just a simple impulse - it was a warmed-over, time-honored desire that he'd discussed with you. 

"So... what your plans?" you asked, plopping down next to Danielle. Megumi sat straight down on the floor, across from you, and tucked his legs up.

"I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I proposed literally just now, so we haven't had time to think it over," he sarcastically quipped.

You didn't realize that such an advantage would fall right into your hands, your main goal became to grab onto it as tightly as you could. "Megumi, ya're a hunter now," you remarked. "And Dany was born into those circles. And it's customary for us to hold all our weddings in Hopetown," you didn't care about tradition, and to your shame, you hardly gave safety a second thought, but the wedding was the perfect opportunity to check out the town. "I hope ya don't mind."

"Not at all!" exclaimed Danielle enthusiastically, and a lump rose in your throat - how long had it been since you'd seen her like this? Her eyes were still drowned in the blue circles beneath them, she was thin as a reed, you were sometimes afraid to let her outside - one strong gust of wind and she'd just break. But happiness filled her from the inside and spread like a virus, infecting everyone around her. Megumi, mesmerized by her jubilant glow, hummed quietly. Truth be told, remembering how the town looked on the fifth of December, he didn't mind having the wedding here.

You had a lot more to discuss, but without the man's ears. The date, what dress to choose, hairstyle, flowers. What part of town to hold the event, what decorations to choose, what time of day. Arrange with the holy father, decorate the place where the two hearts will be joined and inform the residents. You'll have to calculate food supplies, and, most importantly, wine.

You and Dany seemed to be thinking the same thing, for when you looked at each other, you giggled softly, not noticing that the raven sitting on the window sill had its head tilted to the side and was peering at you with beady black eyes.

"Mike!" shouted Rachel, trying to catch up with her angry son. The boy literally flew forward, driven by injustice and frustration, not noticing the crowd of people chattering and cheering around him. The sweet smell of popcorn and ice cream no longer brought him excitement and delight, on the contrary - the boy felt nauseous at any reminder of food. Being still a child, he couldn't quiet his tears, and sobs of resentment escaped his lips now and then. "Baby, wait!" Mike abruptly threw his mother's arm off his shoulder, not listening to her at all, and tried to run forward, but his running was equal to his mother's quick footstep. "Ya realize I'm bigger and faster, don't ya?" she slyly sneered, scooping him up in her arms. Mike, because of his age, was confident in his supposed independence - he began to kick and struggle, looking around in embarrassment at passersby who he thought were looking at him reproachfully. "And stronger still," she reminded him. "Mike, calm down. If ya think ya're an adult, then act like one. Ya know what they usually do?" she asked playfully, looking at her angry son. "They talk."

Somewhere close by, a coaster with people squealing with fear and merriment raced down tracks. Rachel tried to keep her composure in front of her son, but her motherly heart bled at the thought that her son's birthday had been ruined. And it was all the fault of some little thing that had been a complete disaster for the boy. "What's got ya so upset?"

Mike ripped the toy medal off his chest and threw it to the ground. "That's for losers!" he howled, unwilling to bear the stigma of mediocrity he'd made up for himself.

Sighing, Rachel walked over to the nearest bench and sat her still mad son down - the resentment was so strong that the boy quickly weakened, losing all will to resist. He looked down at his wobbling legs which didn't reach the ground - another reminder that he was still a child.

The impressions from dozens of attractions were completely overridden by one loss in some godforsaken shooting gallery. When Mike saw a radio-controlled car as a prize for the first place, he thought that he would easily take it, but his expectations and dreams were shattered by the very first shot - the bullet flew a few inches away from the target. So it happened with the second and the third, and no matter how much the boy tried, he never got the required number of points. At the end he was given only a consolation medal. "Baby," Rachel turned to him gently, stroking his head. "What makes ya think it's for losers?"

"Stop calling me that!" snapped Mike, yanking her hand away.

Her son was sitting in front of her - she should have put out her temper immediately. "If I want to, I'll call ya that for the rest of my life," she laughed, looking at his pouting face - he looked like a red balloon about to burst. "And there's nothing ya can do about that," rubbing the top of his red head and meeting no resistance, Rachel got serious. "Ya know, Mike. Believe me, I know what it's like to lose. Ya can fuss all you want right now, but it's not gonna make ya better," the boy, feeling more tears of bitterness coming on, bit his lip and turned away from his mother. "Nothing comes easy to anyone. And ya really will be a classic underdog, but only if ya let it go that easily," the girl sat down on her knees in front of her son right on the pavement, forcing the boy to look into her eyes - he gasped in amazement when Rachel pulled out of her pocket the medal he had recently thrown away. Sometimes Mike completely forgot that his mother was a magician. "This one," she shook the consolation prize quietly. "It doesn't say ya screwed up. It only says ya tried. Even though the attempt was a failure, even though the second one will be exactly the same, but ya mustn't give up. Ya know, baby, ya're very brave," she cupped his cheeks, making the boy cry harder, and nearly burst into tears herself. "Your ambition is quite something, but ya have to work very hard to achieve it. Look at me!" she laughed in a shaky voice and with tears in her eyes. "Do ya think I would have hit that target even once? Not a chance in hell!"

"Liar," he whimpered, burrowing into her shoulder. She stroked his shuddering back, happy that Mike had stopped pushing her away.

'I know I wasn't the best mother to ya, but,' she thought, squeezing her eyes shut and cradling the little body, red hair just like hers tickled her nostrils, and she didn't know if she was crying from the tickling or the thrill. "I never lied to ya."

"Mom!" he howled, clinging to her more tightly - seeing her as a protector and ally, he tried to hide in her, to block out his own complexes with her maturity and confidence, hoping that he would someday be like her. The boy didn't care about the people hanging around and having fun, he didn't care what they thought of him because his mother's embrace reminded him that he wasn't alone in the world.

"I know, baby," Rachel soothed the boy in a quiet voice. "Ya're gonna make it," she pulled away from him only to place the medal back on his chest. "Now this medal will be a sign that ya will never, ever give up. So wear it with pride."

Mike sniffled and nodded fervently, snot and tears almost flying to the sides. Sensing her son's embarrassment as her own, Rachel took him to the men's room, nearly breaking the nose of the man who whistled at her at the entrance. She waited obediently while her son washed his face with cold water and cleaned himself up, and took any indignant or perplexed look from anyone else as a challenge. Even though his mother could fend for herself, Mike's protective instincts kicked in, so he glared at anyone who got too close to Rachel.

Mike took his mother's hand and led her away from the place, straightening up and lifting his chin - he thought he looked bigger and more imposing that way. Rachel giggled stupidly all the way to the sidewalk cafeteria. When she met your gaze, she nodded cheerfully, letting you know everything was fine. "Hey, kids!" she yelled to Itadori and Yuta, who were standing at the caramelized fruit counter. "Are ya going on the coaster now?"

"Yes!"

"Take these little ones with you!" she, picking up a bouncing Tris from Frank's lap that refused to sit on her butt because of the hard chairs, nudged her and Mike toward the boys.

Yuji immediately grabbed the girl's hand, afraid of losing her in the crowd, while Yuta kept his eyes on the redhead. After buying juicy, glistening glazed strawberries, they happily chatted about something and headed to the line for the ride. "Jesus," Rachel sighed tiredly, plopping down on the chair next to you. Her strength had left her body, all the energy she had left for calming her own son.

"Look at those happy buns," you said dreamily, watching Tris get cranky and try to take the strawberry from Yuta. "When I was their age, I learned how to smoke and steal blings," you were immediately got a smack from Frank for your words.

"Oh, like ya are a righteous man," you muttered resentfully, rubbing the back of your head and glaring at the man who had opened another bottle of beer.

"I can afford it couple times a year," he replied nonchalantly, sipping the cool drink.

"Ya wouldn't have potbelly like that because of couple times a year," you said cheerfully, slapping him on the stomach. You dodged another smack and laughed wryly.

It didn't take long for the man to get angry as a worried Itadori appeared on the horizon with Tris in his arms. Frank jumped up - the chair had fallen to the ground with a loud thud, nearly breaking in half - and ran quickly to them. "What's the matter, sunshine?" he said anxiously, taking the little girl from the bewildered Yuji 

"As soon as we were at the entrance, Tris immediately cried," the boy rambled apologetically, afraid that suspicion of her sadness might fall on him.

"Scared, honey?" cooed Frank, rocking Tris - her cries turned to quiet sobs, and she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. You and Rachel glanced over and sighed jealously in unison - now that you were grown, almost all the tender creature comforts went to the younger ones. "I'm taking her home," Frank stated in a stern tone, giving you a serious look. "And ya," he pointed a finger at you and Rachel then tapped it on the table. "Keep an eye on everyone."

"Okay," you agreed, heeding his words while your sister rolled her eyes.

Itadori, feeling guilty for being at the center of all the trouble, looked penitently at Frank as he left, and as soon as he was gone, Rachel sprang from her seat, running up to the boy. "I'll go with ya!" she said cheerfully, putting her arm around Yuji's shoulder, and the boy stared at her in surprise.

"Where are ya going?" you shouted. "Frank said to keep an eye on everyone!"

"What do ya think I'm gonna do?" barked Rachel back. "Where am I supposed to keep an eye on them if not in close proximity?"

Either her insolence has shackled your vocal cords, or common sense. With a snort, you grabbed your milkshake angrily, and sipped sullenly as you watched Rachel lead Itadori farther and farther away, shoving the queue - they were in no time at all near Yuta and Mike, who were standing at the beginning of it, waiting for the coaster to arrive.

People looked hot, excited, and instead of their endless chatter, you could hear only their blood boiling in them - you were tempted even by a drop of sweat running down the back of a girl you didn't know. Your usually dormant and slumbering hunger liked to wake up in a crowd - your body became cotton-like, barely obedient, and you struggled to keep yourself on the chair. You sipped the milkshake hard, trying to satiate yourself, but the creature inside couldn't stand the deception.  

Breathing hard, you wished you were in a vat of ice-cold water - it wouldn't satisfy your hunger, but it might bring you back to your senses. The air, warmed by other people's laughter and breath, tantalized you, made you dizzy, and you had to grab the table to keep your balance. Before your eyes blurred, you saw the coaster pull up, the thrill-seekers stepping off the wagon on shaky legs, some laughing merrily, some feeling only a surge of energy.

Gojo laughed and wrapped his arms around the necks of a pale Megumi and a dazed Danielle, and as soon as you met his gaze, your heart calmed a little, though your human heart was still racing. The sorcerer smiled smugly at you, leading the barely alive kids to your table. "Here we are!" he chirped, plopping down next to you. 

You watched in horror as a forcibly recovered Danielle sat Fushiguro down - the boy pressed his lips tightly together like holding back a gagging. "Is this really how it's supposed to be?" you asked uncertainly.

"Oh, come on," he waved it off. "He just feels a little queasy, that happens."

Either Megumi had no energy left or he didn't hear Gojo at all, for there was no frown on his part. Danielle anxiously stroked his shoulders, squeezing them a little - Gojo put his hands behind his head and watched contentedly as Dany tried to put some color on Megumi's pale face. The sorcerer's extremely happy smile made you suspicious - you got the impression that the celebration on his face wasn't caused by the amusement ride at all. "Ya're so petty," you grinned, realizing that Gojo was just enjoying some peddling revenge for the boy's failure to make him aware of his serious intentions first.  

"So?" he fluttered his eyelids innocently and snatched the milkshake away from you.

Megumi, who had regained consciousness, took a sip of water from the glass, but immediately put his hand to his mouth, making a gurgling sound - a sight you were glad to see was an appetite suppressant. You were no longer burning up inside, your hunger had briefly receded, your stomach was no longer eating itself, and though you were still breathing heavily, you were no longer sweating.

Your lack of reaction made Gojo uneasy, and the fact that you didn't fight for your unceremoniously snatched food made him panic. It was only now that he noticed your foggy eyes and the way your head barely was holding steady, and without realizing it, the sorcerer was breathing heavily along with you. It reminded him just now why you'd been denying yourself the pleasure of even short bursts of adrenaline. There were too many people here - it was like leaving a person who'd been starving for months in the midst of a feast under an all-seeing eye that commanded them not to touch anything. "Let's go get some strawberries," without giving you time to answer, Gojo grabbed your arm and dragged you towards the counter, leaving Dany and Megumi alone.  

There was almost no queue, only two people before you. You gazed with interest and appetite at the fruit in the display case, which glistened in the warm light of the lantern - the glaze seemed like liquid gold. "Mochi," Gojo said quietly, and you looked at him questioningly, hardly able to tear yourself away from the delicious splendor. The gleeful slyness on his face didn't last long - the more he worked up the courage to say those words, the more embarrassed he became. "You want to get out of here?" 

"What?" you blurted out confusedly, but it was the sparkle in your eyes that gave you away - the thought of escaping made them twinkle like a million stars. "But I... Frank said to keep an eye on everyone, so I don't think I can," you rambled shyly, not knowing where to put yourself. Temptation was on one side of the scale, responsibility on the other, and the scales swayed immeasurably, tipping sideways.

Frightened that he had only exacerbated your precarious state with his suggestion, he put on a serene smile and tried to reassure you. "Dany has Megumi, and everyone else has Rachel. Your sister is crazy," you snorted sarcastically at that remark. "And having her son here makes her triple the danger."

You glanced toward the entrance to the coaster - it was nothing but an excited, waiting crowd. People were hooting and hollering, jostling and trying to get ahead of the line, but there were no Rachel or Gojo's students among them - they were probably yelling at the top of their lungs right now. You'd never doubted your sister, and now you grinned stupidly and thought about the fact that Rachel was probably calming or coaxing the excited and frightened boys. Whether she was rocking their safety bindings or reassuring them that everything would be okay while laughing at their contorted faces, you knew she would protect them no matter what happened. Right now, they'd be safer without you than with you.    

Strawberries you took from Gojo spilled bitterness into your mouth as soon as you took a bite. You shouldn't have been so protective of your words and kept the warm embrace to yourself. Deciding that tonight and for the rest of your life, you would let Rachel lie on top of you, hugging and nibbling you as much as she wanted, you ventured.

Turning to Gojo, you took his hand and nodded. As soon as he took you to a place out of sight, the sound of people's merriment was cut off by a wafting breeze. As you found yourself lying on the grass, the smell of water hit your nose - rising up on your elbows, you saw the familiar horizon where the ocean kissed the star every night. "Well," you began slyly. "Will the star give its answer tonight?" 

"I'm afraid not," the sorcerer sighed lamentably, plopping down on the grass beside you - the waves were almost reaching your feet, splashing desperately. "It's too dark already."

You tried to put the puzzle together in your head, but you couldn't find any reason why the star could only speak in its own light. You didn't even try to ask Gojo about it, just glanced at him frustrated that he still hadn't told you where the place was. 

The sorcerer heard you mutter something sullenly to yourself - he enjoyed the fact that he could influence your mood. And your condition. Here, in the forested wilderness by the dark waters, you were noticeably lighter, and instead of your ragged, hungry breathing, he could only hear the sound of small waves. "My offer still stands," he reminded you embarrassedly, turning on his side and propping his head on his palm.

"Eh?..." you wondered, wrinkling your nose in confusion.

"I mean blood," Gojo said, peering into your eyes - they no longer screamed of unquenchable thirst. "Reverse technique will make up for the lack of blood, so you can drink as much as you want. When else are you gonna be offered an unlimited and free feeding tube?" 

"Do ya even know about a word like diet?" you laughed, taken aback by his suggestion. "If I don't stick to it, I might become greedy."

He'd truly forgotten that sweets didn't go along with blood - any addiction had consequences. No matter how many sweets the sorcerer ate, he still couldn't get enough, and if his whole dilemma was just going to the store, what about you?

Perhaps it was because Gojo had never seen you in a distraught state - the danger hadn't shown itself yet, and he was relaxed, thinking of you as a human despite some of the strange things that happened to you in crowds. The other side that existed was either too humble or repressed by you, but looking at you, he couldn't wonder if it was it that made you look up at the night sky like that. Your eyes, full of longing and tenderness - he didn't need to turn around to realize what you were looking at so lovingly. It was more likely that the tiny shimmering dots peeking out from behind the leaves were staring back at you just the same.   

Gojo suddenly felt empty - the unattainable, clutching his heart in a vise, asked him a leading question. Will he ever be enough for your adventurous soul? Or would you travel to unknown but native lands at the first opportunity? He was lying right in front of you, very close, but even now you were looking up high, searching for something. No matter how powerful the sorcerer was, he could not put himself on a par with the face of the universe. The feeling of being deprived was left on his conscience - he wanted to feel the same way you felt at the sight of those tiny, shiny dots. "If you had the chance," he blurted out, embarrassed, lowering his gaze to the ground, but there was nowhere to retreat. "Would you go there?" 

The sorcerer almost drowned in bitterness when you sighed dreamily. "No," you said plaintively, giving him your hand. He stared at you in surprise, but couldn't even open his mouth - joy intermingled with confusion stole all the words. "If I'd wanted to, I would have taken off my mask long ago and surrendered to the judges," you shuddered, even though you were the one who remembered them.

Gojo rolled over onto his stomach and felt the annoyance recede. "You look over there more often than you look at me anyway," he muttered resentfully, pinching the grass. Seeking reassurance from you, he started acting like a child again.  

"Now I'm just thinking about how many of those stars are already dead," you chuckled. The sorcerer squinted at you suspiciously, and you felt yourself under mute interrogation. "I'm telling the truth," you sighed, waving away the grass flying at you. "I'm just wondering which ones are real, and which ones disappeared, leaving behind a light that only reached us now," you rounded your eyes at the idea that had come to you, and clapped him enthusiastically on the shoulder. "Look, how about a bet?" 

"Bet?" he blustered, perking up. He was clearly interested in the scheme or rather in his reward for your imminent loss.

You were looking for something in the night sky. "Well, there's our sister, Betelgeuse," you turned your head from side to side, and not finding the constellation Orion, you waved it away, but decided to stick to your suggestion and not back down. "Right now it's in its last stage of life for us, but what if I bet it exploded... I dunno," you laughed at the absurdity of your suggestion. "Let's say about five years ago?"

"Too shallow," Gojo declared proudly. "I'll bet ten."

"That's the deal." 

"Uh.,, What did we bet?" he mused, trying to recall the terms of the deal.

"It's up to the winner to decide," the magnitude of the controversy allowed you to say this phrase. "If I'm right, we won't see the explosion until 495 years from now, and if you're right, we won't see it until 490 years. Oh yeah, there is some margin of error because the exact distance to Betelgeuse is unknown. Give or take 100 years."

"I think I just miscalculated," the sorcerer drawled uncertainly. "But where?"

Maybe it was a good thing the explosion wouldn't come soon enough - Gojo wouldn't have had ten years to make up his mind about his desire, every branch of which was invariably connected to you. You were naive to think you could get rid of him by time, for Gojo would be ready to get you in a thousand years. 

As you looked up into the silent sky, you heard again the last words the sorcerer had said to you once. You'd lived in his world, but he'd never known or felt a part of yours - an unfair and unjust selfishness that had strayed from your thoughts. Of course, you could never show Gojo the places by the stars themselves - those beautiful killers would leave you no chance of survival. But you could take him to places where the light from events would close in on you, making you see things you would never see here, lying on the grass. "I wanna show ya something," your voice cracked with excitement, and you jumped to your feet, thereby startling him as well. Panicked, Gojo rose to his feet with you, looking you cautiously.

"Show me what?" he hesitantly asked, keeping his distance - there were only two steps separating you.

"Look, I really don't know how to put this into words," you said out of breath like a long jog. "You'd better give me your hand," you held out your palm and held yourself back - his uncertainty was urging you to run to him, to grab his hand and do as you wished, but something inside demanded that you wait for his willing consent. "We'll only have about ten seconds, but I promise there's nothing to worry about," you kept rambling, trying to reassure the sorcerer, but you only made him more anxious. 

Gojo didn't know why he hesitated - he didn't remember you as excited and aroused as you were. Besides, he thought he was the only one who'd ever seen you like this, and that was what made him stiffen - the weight of your trust made him stop feeling his own body. You were about to show him something you hadn't shown the others, and despite his happiness, Gojo felt responsible.

As soon as Gojo dared to raise his hand, you grabbed him - he couldn't even understand how you could pull him, tall and big, towards you and change your places. It took his breath away, his legs and arms were numb, he felt like a feather that floated without falling - realizing that he couldn't take a breath, Gojo noticed your glittering eyes that blended with the rest of the wild and distant stars. 

One.

Gojo didn't immediately realize where he was - what he saw seemed so implausible and ridiculous that it drove him mad. Delirium retreated penitently as he looked behind your shoulder, barely breaking away from your gaze. There were no planets or other celestial bodies around you - you were, like two swimmers, dissecting with your bodies the universe in its original form. Finding himself at the beginning of all humans, he thought of yours as well - here his throat clenched just as it had clenched from the dagger once held to his neck. 

Two.

Enraged by his own consternation, Gojo placed the blame for his initial feelings on your shoulders. Foes may have mocked him, others may have underestimated him, looking down on the sorcerer, but they all met the same end, but he had never witnessed such cold eyes that he had seen on your first day - you could have killed him without hesitation, and it was left on Gojo's conscience to think of you as someone superior to him.

Three.

An upstart, a psychopath, a murderer, a thief, a subhuman - Gojo kept repeating those words like a mantra, and as he agreed to the deal with your superiors, he thought of the balance - the world wouldn't be worse off if his best friend showed up here instead of you. All his life destroying the vermin, Gojo mistook you for one of them, and pathetic excuses could not cover the regrets that followed - in fact, you turned out to be an amazing creature embodied by invisible hands that supported you right here and now, preventing you from drowning in the dark slurry, in which flickering, distant lights had long ago boiled. 

Four.

Not the desire to kill, but to protect yourself - that's what made you tick. Gojo had read it in your tired, red eyes back then, on the cliff outside the house. 'How strange,' he thought, squeezing your hand harder - if all around you were your home lands, the sorcerer still couldn't feel it under his feet, and he was afraid not to get lost in space, but to let you go. 'Even here it's not as cold as it was then,' there was no warmth in your hand or in your voice, just a mess of vacuum and thoughts, but he saw you brightly and clearly, and he couldn't find the words to thank the light that reflected off you.

Five.

Tears blurred all the stars making them flash – they became bright, almost red, which reminded Gojo of torches. You were the one who had unceremoniously interfered in his life and pointed out the consequences of his deeds. Every clueless person saved could continue to burn fires, illuminating the hearts of those they loved and their own. The sprawling expanses were not known for their friendliness, they loved only lifeless symmetry - having overlooked one tiny corner, they failed to notice the ugliness that stood out against the background of an endless similar pattern, thus giving this filth a chance to exist. And Gojo, never thinking about it, continued to draw this abomination called humanity on the beautiful and empty picture of the world with his own hands. 

Six.

Was the void like this place? Was saving people just one of the reasons why you returned to that cold land again and again? Or was it the purple-lit sand that reminded you of a home that had no bottom, no walls, no roof? It was in such a place that all the secrets of origin and birth, which were usually hidden under the dark cloak of matter of the known world, were exposed. They squirmed and pushed each other out, thus inadvertently showing their particles to the person who painted the formulas.

Seven.

You were probably being guided by goodness when you lied to the sorcerer - now he didn't believe a bit of what you said about not wanting to go there. In all his life Gojo had never seen so much confused delight in someone's gaze, he had never met someone whose eyes so easily merged with the stars, reflecting them. It was so strange, holding your hand, realizing that at any moment you could let it go and merge with the darkness, no longer allowing the light to reflect off of you - at this moment his grip seemed so fragile and unreliable that he was afraid.

Eight.

You looked at Gojo with a thrill at your heart. The awe on his face, unwilling to tell you its origins, made you anxious. Certainly, you had not walked the rings of Jupiter or viewed Venus from the distance of two moons, and all you could show him was the crushing insensitivity and colorlessness of nothingness. His thoughts eluded you, and you couldn't demand reassurance - finding yourself at the very pier where invisible ships were sailing to your lands, you hoped it resonated genuinely in his soul as it did in yours.

Nine.

How much foolishness and naivety can awaken in later years - Gojo would have laughed if he could. Going with heavy thinking, he missed the very point - being so close to home, you weren't looking around, searching the stars for a native being, you were looking straight at him. It wasn't the cosmos that fascinated the sorcerer, but Gojo was completely lost when he met the creature it spawned. To follow you through life, to go with you after death, resuming your endless circle of a beginning and never letting go of your hand even in the coldest of places.

Ten.

You were entwined where there was no life and no end to it. No earth, no water, no fire, no air - no threads that connected Gojo to a familiar world. He knew that sooner or later the universe would kill him, if not by lack of oxygen, then by cold - the world had a thousand and one weapons to get rid of unwanted guests. The universe was well aware that it was the worst place for the origin of life, but no matter how hard it tried to crush human existence, it could not prevent your meeting. From the very beginning of life on Earth, there were too many accidents for mere coincidence - it was necessarily either a gift of destiny or an evil fate, and one never excluded the other. Seeing through the prism of human's eyes, savoring all your colors, Gojo dropped for the last second all the responsibilities that awaited him upon his return - for one more moment the sorcerer relished the newfound home he never had.  

Two astronauts, unburdened by reinforced spacesuits, floated in weightlessness, content with the good spirits of their surroundings, which unobtrusively tried to kill them. Once smaller than a dot, the creation, having emitted light in all directions, had grown to the size that its underling could reach in 14 billion years, and it continued to grow relentlessly, illuminating its once invisible boundaries. Billions of stars, which became millions of eyes, forced the Universe to witness a miracle over which it had no control - in the vastness of its endless dead zone two loving hearts were beating. 

Gojo had been gulping for air as soon as he was on Earth, the abrupt change in his surroundings making his mind melt. The sound of water, the overflow of waves and even a green leaf falling from a branch seemed to him no more than decoration. His back didn't feel the ground, his hands didn't feel the wind - he was brought back to reality by you, real and alive, who hovered over him and gazed at him restlessly. "I won't pay for such an excursion," said the sorcerer, out of breath. Laughing quietly, you slid off Gojo and plopped down next to him. Trying to shake off the anxiety and the sticky thoughts that Gojo was disgusted by this walk, you listened, seeking reassurance in his every agitated breath. 

Gojo was afraid to admit that it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Or rather, this moment was right after your first meeting on his personal list. A lifetime of striving for more, of cutting and dissecting the boundaries of human possibility, he was still here on Earth. The greater the power, the more majesty the sorcerer felt, but where light years walked, the omnipotence appeared to be nothing more than ordinary dust that the stellar winds had scattered. "You know, it's...," he mewled shyly, trying to find a word that at least slightly described his heartstrings. As Gojo frantically went over the unspoken emotion on his tongue, he was interrupted by a rumbling sound. Clutching at your stomach like trying to shut it up, you rounded your eyes in shock, and your heart felt heavy. To ruin a moment like this, even unwillingly, seemed like the end of the world until you heard a gushing laugh. "I'm a lousy friend if I keep forgetting to feed you," you wanted to object, reminding the sorcerer about the strawberries, but he stood up and picked you up in his arms, each time you sighed in amazement as you looked down at the world from his height. "Well, what does our soul desire?"  

"Bacon-wrapped shrimp," you replied without hesitation like you'd been practicing that line for years. "Exactly the kind ya make."

"You could have chained me to the stove for all evening, wanting, let's say, ramen or curry rice, but do you really want just shrimps?" he wondered, and you nodded emphatically. "I don't deserve you," Gojo grinned, remembering not the recipe he needed at all, but the world you'd shown him. 

The moment you were on the doorstep of the house on the hill, you felt a little dizzy, either from the fact that the sorcerer had never warned you before moving abruptly or from worrying about the consequences of your escape. Your gut didn't let you down - as soon as you opened the door and crossed the threshold, you were greeted by a disheveled and flushed Frank, who was looking for something in the medicine cabinet. A surprised Mike was sitting on the couch, and your sister was kneeling in front of him, gently blotting his temple. Several bloody cotton balls were already lying on the floor beside her, and you crouched down next to Rachel, concerned, while Gojo tried to quiet your old man. "What happened?" 

"He fell out of a tree," Rach mumbled, soaking another cotton ball in alcohol. There was no attack from her about your disappearance, and surprisingly, you felt out of sorts. "Does it hurt, baby?" she asked her son affectionately, and he shook his head cheerfully. "I guess I was even more scared than he was," she sighed in relief. "Will ya come back for the others?" she turned to you. "I couldn't even warn the kids when I saw the blood on his face that we had to leave."

"Yeah, sure," you assured her absently, stroking your sister's shoulder. It looked like it would take you a long time to get used to the changes in her personality. Her yelling, shouting and accusations were much better tolerated than her uncharacteristic emotions, and you were unaware of the confusion and fright on her face. "We'll be back soon, don't worry, 'kay?" you said, standing up and patting Mike lightly on the top of his head - he didn't even squeak.

"Okay," she replied, and you, not noticing the cold stare she was giving you, tugged Gojo's sleeve, nodding your way out.

[August 23, 2022, 01:50pm., Hopetown]

The greenhouse offered no protection from the sudden late August heat, and you ran your wet palms through the vegetation, searching for stems. The wicker basket on the floor was slowly filling with soft pink flowers, and you looked at each sunlighted petal before you put one in. The monotonous work and humidity made you drowsy, and you struggled to keep your eyes open, yawning all the while. "Hey," Gojo called out angrily as he entered the greenhouse. He appeared before you covered in earth and dirt with a shovel in hand. "Am I to understand t correctly hat I was forced to dig potatoes and you're out here picking flowers?" snorted the sorcerer. "Where is justice?" he asked indignantly, stepping closer and nearly hitting the basket with his foot. Standing up beside you and resting his chin on the shovel's handle, he examined the flowers in the basket. "What's this ugly thing?" Gojo wrinkled his nose squeamishly, looking at the incongruity - the peony was on top of a lily, the lily on top of a rose, the rose on top of a chrysanthemum, and there was not a single repeating flower, which was repulsive in its chaos.  

Sometimes, Gojo rarely let you get a word in edgewise - either torrents of information or piles of questions usually rained down on you. "It's for Shaya. It's her anniversary tomorrow, and Frank asked me to help," you took advantage of the silence and answered patiently, still nonchalantly picking and clipping the stems of the flowers that weren't already in the basket.

"Then it's even weirder," Gojo grumbled. "If I were him, I'd bring a prettier bouquet to your grave," your outrage was beyond words, but the sorcerer realized what he'd said when you looked at him dumbfounded. "Why can't you shut me up in time?" he got angry, unintentionally putting the blame on you.

"That's because ya have a big mouth. Watch your tongue," the way the shears clanged together suggested to the sorcerer that you'd imagined the plant to be something else. "Shaya didn't care about flowers at all. She loved them all," you muttered quietly, changing the subject. "As long as they were white," you gently swiped at the petals and placed the jonquil in the basket. Your words confused Gojo - either you were overheating or you were playing him for a fool. 

"They're pink," the sorcerer said hesitantly, blinking hard a few times - perhaps he'd gotten sunstroke? But you didn't raise an eyebrow at his remark, just kept looking for the prettiest flowers, but your quiet chuckle didn't escape his hearing. "I can't believe it!" he gasp insulted, knocking the shovel to the floor. "You were testing me!"

"Call it professional hazard," you laughed, trying to soften his anger.

The prepared tirade remained unspoken - someone's large hand tugged Gojo by the collar, almost throwing him out of the greenhouse. "What, son, are ya done already?" asked Frank coldly, squinting suspiciously. The sorcerer, shaking his head fearfully and clutching the shovel to his chest, backed away - the gray-haired man stepped exactly until he had swept him out of the room. "That's better!" he yelled. "I don't need a lazy son-in-law!" he muttered, waving his fist threateningly in his wake. 

"Frank," you hissed embarrassedly, drawing attention.

"What?" he bellowed, proudly adjusting his shirt and walking over to you - inspecting the basket of flowers, he hummed in satisfaction. "Am I not telling the truth?"

"Better tell me how the orchid thing is going," you waved it away.

"Already started making the extract, that's gonna take quite a while too," he nodded meaningfully. "And what do we do with it next?"

"We're gonna do experiments on me," he frowned sternly, realizing what you were getting at. "We need to find out what ratios of wine and extract cause pain in demons."

"I don't like this scheme," the man muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are ya up to?"

At this rate, you really weren't going to make it in time for town day, which is exactly what insurance was for. "There's a reason I asked Megumi and Dany to have the wedding here in Hopetown," you exhaled convulsively. "Call me paranoid, but I think there's someone here. Someone reporting on... us," you replied evasively, not naming specific names. "It's unlikely they used Danielle alone, they could easily have slipped us one of them in the void, passing them off as just another poor soul," Frank glanced warily through the transparent wall of the greenhouse at the town - it was as quiet and peaceful as it had been a day ago, or a month, or even a year. "I may end up being wrong, but wouldn't it be calmer that way?" you gibbered, panting, trying to convince the man. "We'll organize a feast, everyone will drink from wine barrels, and if no one reacts - that's great, but if one critter does choke, then...," you laughed nervously, wiping your wet face with your hands. "Oh my God… Looks like I'm gonna ruin the wedding."

next ⊳

[evelynpr]

bakugou for the character ask game?

Truly the teenage boy, shonen deuteragonist, love interest coded, gay asshole, of all time.

My first impression - Woah I did not understand why people were so into this guy. Like I get it, he's a flawed and loud pretty boy, he gets character development, and probably gay, but seriously him??? His mouth is so fucking foul and he is so up his ass. - I was meh with this character, enjoyed him in fan content, but just did not get why people were sooo into this guy.

My impression now - I cried in "Light Fades To Rain". Twice. - My god his growth...his will, his persistence, and by god his love for Izuku is so ridiculous and powerful I just cannot help but admire the little shithead. - He is also a lot more to me than I expected, with the whole "foul mouth shit", "high expectations bullshit", "violent urges", and "dedicating your whole life and love to someone you love and admire" and that...that makes me feel quite conflicted.

Favorite thing about that character - The thing about Bakugou is that...you just cannot help but wish you had the same kind of persistence, strength, will, and power that he does. I love how all this is initially so shallow and selfish, then grows to wanting to be a better and truer hero. He really learns and changes and is just an unstoppable force of nature, it's genuinely incredible and beautiful to watch.

Least favorite thing - I wished that the overall writing did go harder in making him stop bad-mouthing people and...everything so much. You can tell he did grow to respect and care for people around him more, but by gods he is sooo bad at communicating his feelings right now. (tbf, he is so fucking young and traumatized) - Also, really please stop hitting people. I get a knee-jerk reaction to that kind of physical violence sometimes ngl.

Favorite line/scene - There are so many. I already mentioned his death in "Light Fades to Rain" so I'll mention a different one - Team Bakugou in Class A vs B was so goddamn good, for being a monumental milestone of his character. How much he trusted his teammates and put himself in danger to save others, winning in the end. No injuries, no failures, truly a perfect beautiful victory. How he also pushes Deku to keep getting better afterwards in his usual constipated-ass language too. Man I just love that battle to death.

Favorite interaction that character has with another - (me pulling out scenes that aren't bkdk centered here hahaha) - I fucking LOVED the Bakugou vs Ochako fight. It made me love Ochako so so much as a kid. I really wished we had a follow-up to that battle, and it genuinely changed my life. - I love how it really shows just how focused and rational he is in battle. How he truly respects his opponents, Ochako in this case, and the sports festival really establishes so much about him.

A character that I wish that character would interact with more - Speaking of which...OCHAKO VS BAKUGO 2 COME ONNNN - There is SO MUCH these two need to talk about. How to save people, who they want to save, who saved them, never underestimating each other, how they changed and grew. I just love these two characters to bits, that's why I need them to FIGHT AND TALK SO BADDDD - Additional: Also Toga (see my post on Toga right before this one lmao), Shoto (because I still don't really get their friendship but its hilarious, and I love Shoto)

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character - I legit cannot think of anything here...like for Toga...I am so sorry my brain is blanking T__T - It's hard to be a massive anger-issue filled, victory-focused, die for their lover (twice), amazing chef, all at once, kinda guy...you know?

A headcanon about that character - I am a believer in trans!fem Bakugo in the future. He's so ridiculously angry for some reason, voice always cracking, and just on-edge for some reason. Idk I just think its hilarious and satisfying if he transed his gender in the future and became happier and more comfortable.

A song that reminds of that character - I also have a Bkdk playlist in the making! Here's some bkg focused songs in character development order: - Boys will be Bugs, President Perfect, Top of my School, Oh No!, I'm Gonna Win, The Last of the Real Ones, Skyfall, Die For You, Set Fire to the Rain

An unpopular opinion about that character - Like Toga, he actually isn't possessive. I think he quite well understands and accepts that Izuku is a very loving person that many people are easily drawn to (I mean, he'd be a hypocrite if he didn't understand that). - He is protective instead of possessive. He keeps an eye out for anything and anyone who could possibly actually hurt Izuku, but he doesn't hold him back at all in hanging around with others, and when other people fall for Izuku either. - He is actually quite skinny, and doesn't have the big thick buff guy build. Those go to Izuku and Iida more imo.

Favorite picture - I never really thought of this much??? I love art of him being softer, more solemn, quiet and contemplative even. I guess I'll go pick out some favs right now...

Here they are! Hope you enjoy the post lmao

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

toji is okay with you not making eye-contact with him during sex because he knows that you're just overwhelmed, right? it's because he simply loves to feel your lips against his skin when you hide your face in the crook of his neck because that's how he knows he's taking good care of you, right?

fuck no.

those are not the only reasons.

if you look toji in the eyes while he's fucking you, he will cream his pants like a fucking teenager who's just seen a pair of tits for the first time.

when he has you on your back with your heels digging into his lower back and with your hands clawing at your back, his own arms barely supporting his body as he sinks into you; you look beautiful like this – a layer of sweat covers your body and he thinks about licking it all up, your bitten lips are parted and the sounds that spill from you cloud toji's mind like a drug. you're writhing and you're squirming, squeezing around his cock so tight that he feels like he's about to pass out.

and then... your eyes.

eyebrows scrunched together, you stare up at him and toji thinks he's going to die instead. tears brim in the corners while your pupils are blown wide, a mix of pleasure and adoration swimming in the dark orbs as he brings you closer and closer to another high. oh, he thinks you look like a fucking painting. like you belong in a museum.

the way you're looking at him is making his cock twitch inside you and that in turn makes you blink at him. you flutter your eyelashes while pressing your heels deeper into his back, silently begging for more.

"f-fuck..."

toji's head falls as he squeezes his own eyes shut. he feels like he's on fire. he feels like he's about to fucking explode. he's going to cum just because you're looking at him with nothing else but love in your eyes. he feels stupid for it – a little embarrassed that such a simple thing is getting to him so easily, but when he feels your hand on his jaw, cradling him like he's something that could break – the shame fades.

the combination of meeting your gaze once again, the care in them, and the love you offer him, makes the knot in his belly snap.

you caress his cheek as you hold your eyes on him, eager to watch him unfold in front of you. a fucked out smile makes its way to your lips and toji's heart skips a beat at the sight. he's never felt weaker, he's never felt more loved. oh, you're something alright.

he also can't handle your eyes whenever you're giving him head. he simply cannot do it. he does love watching you, he really fucking loves it – how you screw your eyes shut, your eyebrows furrowing as you concentrate on your breathing. how the drool pools in the corners of your mouth and how it dribbles down your chin. how your whole body twitches when you gag around him. how small your hand looks on him, how you massage his heavy balls. how pretty you look while doing it all – he's obsessed.

but the second you open your eyes and look back up at him... he's throwing his head back and hiding behind his arm. and while the view of his neck does get you to rub your own thighs together in want – it's not enough.

you want more.

taking your lips off his cock and ignoring the line of spit that connects you to it, you patiently wait for him to look at you. you even stop jerking him off, just resting your hand around his base. his dick twitches and another glob of pre-cum trickles from his tip.

"toji?"

your voice is as sweet as ever and he knows it's a trap. he grumbles back at you in hopes of convincing you to continue, but he's wrong. merely giving his base a squeeze, you watch how the older man buck his hips into your fist.

"look at me."

he won't, he won't, he won't. you're evil, you're awful, you wish to torture him until he dies. this is how it all ends for him. he won't.

"please..."

his balls twitch and his his body burns. he needs to cum so fucking bad but he hates looking like an actual old man, who can't keep his shit together.

"look at me, baby."

it's more of a demand now and he can't resist you. he never has and he never will. whatever you say goes – if you tell him to jump off a damn cliff, he will do so. if you want to break him just like you're doing right this moment, then so be it. he's all yours.

his arm falls from in front of his face and his green eyes crack open to the most glorious sight in the world. you look completely fucked out and your hair is a mess, your lips and your chin are all covered in spit and he thinks of you as an angel of some sort.

you give him a smile and his hips buck into your fist again, but you don't tease him for it – you want him to feel good. so you press a kiss to his sticky tip as you hold his lust-filled gaze and it's enough for him to blow his load all over your gorgeous face.

you lap at his tip like a kitten, collecting the few drops that threaten to escape while still pumping him with your one hand and massaging his balls with the other. toji grips the sheets below with both his hands – his fingers tug at the material so hard that they almost rip but neither of you care.

you worshipping his cock, or better yet worshipping him, is baffling to him. but he's not complaining. you take him into your mouth again, eyes still on his, you wrap your lips wrap around his tip and push him into overstimulation.

curses tumble from his scarred lips like they're the only words he knows and you can't help but smile while still having him him in your mouth. you're covered in his cum and now you're fucking grinning up at him – he really does think he's about to pass away. there's no way this is real, that you're not something his mind conjured up to plague him with. your hands feel godly and your mouth feels so fucking warm. no, this is it – he's officially dying.

taking your lips off of him with a pop, your smile widens even more as you give him an 'ahhh!' as if you've just had the best meal of your life and toji doesn't waste a second before pushing off the bed.

"fuck, come here."

his knees hit the floor with a thud as he lunges at you like a starved beast. he grabs your cheeks and pulls you toward him, smashing his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. he needs to feel you, he needs to taste you. he needs to love you.

he needs to give you his all.

[fairy-angel222]

𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The latter opening his phone to a video of Gojo fucking you, one of his close friends and roommate, from behind. The camera capturing your tear filled eyes as you cried. “S-Satoruu— nnh, please.. please don’t show Suguru.” He couldn’t see you like this, especially when it was for his best friend. The one whose charms you promised him you wouldn’t fall for.

Gojo ignored you completely, and you let out a broken whimper when you took that as your answer. The camera now panning down to the recoil of your ass as Gojo hammered into you, using his hand to spread your cheeks before zooming in on the way your pussy stretched to take his thick cock.

“That’sss it. Look at that filthy fuckin’ cunt. So wet n noisy f’me. Pussy’s creamin’ all over my cock, shitt.” He groaned, palm landing meanly onto your ass as his pace sped. “Suguru’s gonna love this. He’s a lil pervert f’you baby.”

You mewled loudly, head fuzzy as you babbled out words of embarrassment. Attempting to hide your face in his sheets.

Geto was furious, his jaw clenching along with his fist as he watched Gojo taint his precious girl. That was supposed to be his job. Watching as Gojo’s hand twisted roughly in your hair to pull you up to his chest. Your eyes rolling back with the arch of your back as you let dumbed down cries consume your shaking frame.

Geto hated it. But he couldn’t stop watching. Beginning to stroke roughly at his cock to the sight of Gojo molding you around his cock. A loud groan vibrating in his chest when you started begging the white haired man to cum in you.

Gojo angled the phone to show your whiny face while forcing you to keep contact with your reflection. Teary eyes and drool filled lips staring back at you with a choked cry. A smirk on his face when he tilted it down to the lewd bouncing of your tits. "Bet Sugu’s gonna jerk off to this when he sees it baby.”

“Wonder if he likes hearing you beg for me to breed your cunt full. You think he likes it baby?” He faux cooed, lips ghosting over your ear with heavy breaths. The man putting himself in the frame to chuckle darkly before grinning. A shiver raking down your spine at the feeling of his teeth on your skin.

You could only whine with a hiccup as you blinked up at the camera. Your head spinning as you tried to looked away with a moan. You didn’t want Suguru to see you like this.

Gojo grip on your hair tightened, tugging harshly as you whimpered. “I’m fucking talking to you ya know, you were doing so well baby. Just had to screw it up, didn’t you?” Gojo scoffed, shoving your head into the bed below with his hand behind your neck. The mean snapping of his hips rocking you back and forth each time his cock kissed your cervix.

Gojo sighed, the camera now picking up his tensed abs as they glistened with sweat. His pelvis meeting your flesh faster than Geto could keep up with. “Your little slut needs a lesson or two on obedience Suguru.” He smiled lazily, “Guess someone’s gotta teach her huh.”

The video ended. And Geto was quick to press replay.

He groaned, still fisting his cock to the image of your face contorting into one of pure pleasure as you looked at the camera through your lashes.

Cursing himself as he reached into your bedside drawer to grab his favorite out of your panties. Pretty pink one with part lace and a bow in the middle. Using it to imagine that it was you bouncing on his cock, your tight cunt gripping him snug as you made a sticky mess on his thighs.

His pace quickened, breathing getting heavy as he panted. Ragged breaths falling past parted lips until he felt his cock twitch. Spilling thick spurts onto his clothed lap like the pervert Gojo said he was.

[kyletogaz]

simon wanting you to cum on his cock one more time

cw: penis in vagina sex

“where do you think you’re going?” simon snaps out as he grips your hips to bring you back down on his cock, as you try to run away from the sensation of becoming overstimulated. he’s holding you so damn tight, you’re sure you’ll have bruises later on.

you whine and claw at his chest as you roll your hips. “simon, baby, please!” the delicious drag of his cock in your wet cunt is starting to become too much. you don’t stop though, you’re just as bad as simon is. you just keep rocking your hips as he fucks up into you.

“just give me one more, lovie, please,” simon begs as he flips you onto your back, before pressing his cock back into your dripping hole.

you let out out a soft cry of pleasure with every snap of simon’s hips. nothing pleases your man more than having you cum on his cock as many times as you can.

“i already gave you two, simon,” you whine, sounding a little breathless as you tighten your legs around him. you watch as his blissed out expression morphs into a look that says i really don’t give a fuck.

“don’t care, darling,” simon hisses as he continues to drill into you. he smirks at the wail you let out when he pulls out then slams back in.

“f–fuck!” you choke out, with tears in your eyes, as you hold on for dear life. he’s pounding you into the mattress, pulling sweet noises from that pretty mouth of yours. “you’re such a greedy bastard!”

simon just laughs, sounding mean as hell. he’s fucking you so good, you can’t even be mad at him. the thoughts are slowly leaving your brain anyway. he’s already fucked you stupid twice and he’s aiming for a third time. he doesn’t want to hear anything but your cries as he fucks you into oblivion.

simon coos at you when your tears spill, telling you how beautiful you look with his cock in you. “you gonna be a good girl and cum on my cock again?”

of course you’ll be a good girl. you’re always good for simon when he’s got his cock dragging against your spongy walls.

“yes, i’ll be good. i promise,��� you manage to gasp out as simon continues to hit that little bundle of nerves inside your cunt.

“my good fuckin’ girl,” simon croons as he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and rocks into you.

this new angle and pace that simon’s set has you singing as you dig your nails into his back. he brings his lips to yours and kisses you sloppily, his tongue slipping in your mouth as you gasp. you reach up and grip the back of simon’s head when he nips at your jaw then drags his tongue across your skin to soothe the bite. your grip on his hair tightens when a thrust knocks the air from your lungs. when you finally catch your breath you beg him to do it again and again until you’re a crying and shaking mess. simon’s honey brown eyes are watching you as you fall apart under him. he smiles smugly when you start moaning his name. he’s so fucking proud of himself.

“c’mon, c’mon, give it to me,” you hear him say through gritted teeth as he ruts into you. he’s close and he can tell you’re not far behind by the way you clench and flutter around his cock. “c’mon lovie, you promised to be a good girl.”

and then simon’s fingers find your clit and all you can do is wail as he strokes at your sensitive bud. the feeling of his cock slamming in and out of your cunt and him toying with your clit sends you tumbling over the edge. simon fucks you right through your orgasm, and all you can do is whimper, until he’s moaning and his hips are stuttering as he paints the walls of your cunt white with his cum.

-

a/n: this is my first time writing smut y’all 🫠

[cntloup]

Gojo Satoru x pregnant!reader

protective!Satoru, fluff, a lil angst, mention of feeling guilty, implied heavy symptoms experienced by the reader

"it's ok, baby. i've got it." Satoru says as he approaches your slouched form over the sink, washing the dishes as you try to get something done and make yourself useful.

you've been feeling guilty during the past month or so, feeling like you were a burden to him, thinking that you would never live up to his expectations. now he has to take care of you. and as time goes by, it will get even worse as your pregnancy progresses. but he's a busy man with heavy responsibilities. you'd be only holding him back. you torture yourself with these thoughts every day.

"oh, thanks. i'll go clean up the living room and do the laundry then." you respond with a forced smile, trying to mask the guilt that's been gnawing at you for a while as you try to keep yourself from falling over out of dizziness.

"what? no, wait! i'll do it after i wash the dishes. you go get some rest. you've done enough." he retorts while gently grabbing your arm, voice slightly raised to stop you immediately.

he is in utter disbelief at your behavior. you should be resting right now, tucked in beneath the soft sheets peacefully. you shouldn't worry your pretty little head about anything, he thinks.

"i haven't done anything all day." you utter in a faintly frustrated tone, mostly at yourself.

"and that's exactly how it should be." he replies with a nod, "now go to bed before i drag you there myself." he adds, maintaining a playful tone, a soft smile adorning his features as he drinks in your beauty. you're already glowing. but considering how observant he is, he senses your discomfort immediately like he can actually feel the gloom and sorrow you're feeling right now like a mother hen.

"what is it, baby? tell me." he murmurs as he walks up to you and pulls you into him by your hips, shining blue eyes staring at you as he awaits a response.

his hand rests on your side as the other cups your jaw, his thumb swiping over your cheek that could be dampened any moment now as you feel tears threatening to spill.

"i'm so sorry." you whisper breathily, voice slightly quivering with the lump in your throat as you look up into his glowing eyes.

"for what?" he asks, confusion evident on his features.

"for being weak. i'm so sorry to disappoint you." you finally spill out the words that have been weighing heavily on your chest as the tears cascade down your glossy eyes.

"disappoint me? i don't understand... why are you crying, love?" he mutters with a shake of his head, his confusion growing even more by your words as his fingers swipe over your cheeks to wipe away the stray tears.

"you're literally the strongest and you're stuck with me. i'm barely even showing yet and i'm feeling extreme fatigue. i've been sleeping all day for the past month cause i can't do anything. and because of the symptoms, i'll probably have to quit my job." you ramble about the thoughts that have been pulling you down all this time.

"wait, wait, wait! how long have you been feeling like this?" he questions with widened eyes baring into your soul.

"eversince we found out i was pregnant. i can't stop feeling guilty about disappointing you." you reply quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it. of course you know you're being irrational. it's all natural to be tired during this time and need help, but you just can't help it.

"you've been feeling like this all this time and you didn't tell me anything?" he blurts out almost too aggressively to his liking, "sorry. didn't mean it to come out that way." he quickly apologizes after witnessing the slight flinch on your part.

how could he not see it? you've been trying to do the chores like regular, pushing yourself to your limit both in the house and on your job until he swoops in and takes the weight off your shoulders. now he starts to blame himself for not finding out sooner and letting you wallow in your own sadness and guilt all alone.

"you're not weak, baby. you're doing the one thing that i can't possibly ever do. the one thing that the strongest can't do. and what does that make you? huh? you're literally the strongest of all, babe. i can't even fathom what you're going through and you're doing amazing-", "i'm barely functioning." you cut him off.

"i'm not done yet, babe." he says playfully before continuing, "you're doing amazing, honey. you sleep not because you can't do anything else but because you need it. you're carrying our child for fuck's sake. a literal human's life is growing inside you and of course it takes its toll on you. and i'm right here beside you every step of the way." he finishes his loving speech with a tender kiss on your forehead as his strong arms wrap around your now slightly shaking form as you sob, utterly moved by his words and also the hormones.

"thank you, Satoru. i really appreciate it. you always know what to say when i'm feeling down." your words are cut off by loud sobs but he patiently waits for you to finish as he rubs your back soothingly while nuzzling his face in your neck.

"any time, baby. i love you." he whispers in your ear, "i love you too, toru." you say back, continuing to sob in his arms for a while before you eventually calm down and he guides you to bed, encouraging you to take some much-needed rest.

"and don't worry about your job. you can take some time off or quit altogether. i have more than enough to pay for our family and the next generations to come-", "ok, stop bragging!" you chuckle, "i'm just saying, baby. i've been dying to spoil you. now's my chance. let me take care of you. you don't have to go through this alone. in fact, i won't even let you." he chuckles lightly and crashes his lips onto yours, pulling away with a loud smack as you both lay in bed, limbs tangled together, "you already spoil me." you mention with a slight pout, "and i'm gonna do it even more. you deserve it, baby. don't worry about anything. i've got it." he says while softly caressing your cheek, admiring your glowing beauty illuminated by the faint bedside light.

you slowly start to feel the sleep creeping in and drift away into a slumber as you mumble a quiet 'thank you', curling into Satoru's side as he holds you so lovingly while you think to yourself how you've been blessed with the best, most loving and supportive partner anyone could ever ask for.

[choslut]

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ BABY MOMMA. featuring k. nanami.

↻ there’s nothing nanami wants more in the world than to make you a mommy, and give you his beautiful kids.

tags : breeding kink, creampie, mommy kink (if you squint), messy sex, pet names, feral nanami, marathon sex, lactation + pregnancy (fantasized), ovulation cycle // wc. 0.9k

author’s note : sorry this one’s a lil late, i’ve been busy with theme changes and real life is throwing a million and one hurdles at me and i just can’t keep up 😞 you can't tell me that nanami wouldn't be a massive family man, so here i have him completely desperate to start a family with you and give you his babies. notes and reblogs are always appreciated, and check out my masterlist for non-event based works <3 !!

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

it’s been hours. hours since nanami even proposed the idea of trying for kids, and now, it’s all he can fucking think about. 

it’s all you can think about too, given the fact that he’s fucked you out of your mind, legs numb from being in missionary for as long as you remember with nanami plunging in and out of you, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix with every single thrust. 

it’s repetitive. it’s addicting. 

“hah- kento, can’t take no more…” your voice is a sheepish babble, nails digging into his back as tears stream down your face. “ ‘s too much, ken, please–“

nanami grunts in your ear, hips never ceasing movement as he ruts into you. “g’na have to, sweetheart. this one’s gotta take.”

he said that about the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that… and fuck, you can’t keep up with how many times he’s said it because he’s been going at it for so long with only one goal in mind. 

he’s gonna give you kids. he’s gonna make you a mommy, and you’re gonna raise his kids with him as his wife. 

it’s all he’s ever wanted. it’s all he’s ever dreamed of, and when he watches you lounge around the house wearing nothing but a bra and his oversized dress shirt and a wedding ring fit snugly on your finger, he really can’t stop himself from imagining what you would look like with a swollen tummy, breasts spilling out of that same bra. 

“g’na give you my kids baby…” he’s rambling half out of his ass, his brain scrambled by pure need. “gonna make my girl a mommy. you’re gonna be a great mommy, aren't you?”

he’s brought up the topic before. it was never anything serious, just asking you what you would prefer and never really thinking of his own volition. you had always agreed with him wholeheartedly, and it would somehow lead to the two of you cooing over baby clothes and strollers but never anything more. 

nanami is fucking sick of it. he’s sick of fawning over the idea and not doing anything about it. sure, you’ve made love a couple of times, but it never held any true intent, focusing on the pure need to give each other pleasure. 

well, now, nanami needs more than pleasure. he needs to see you with that swollen tummy and those massive leaky tits, and there’s only one way to do that; fucking you within an inch of your life and cumming in your cunt until it finally takes. 

“kento–“ you seemingly haven’t gotten bored of it yet, despite having been at it for over two hours. your back still arches with every bump to your cervix, nails still raking down his back as his sweaty chest squashes your own. “this one’s gonna take, promise.”

“i can’t be sure of that,” he states matter-of-factly. “although your tracker says you’re ovulating, we can’t just trust that once or twice will be enough.” is he sure of this fact? no, but he is sure that you feel too damn good to stop, even though he’s already finished inside of you enough times to guarantee your pregnancy ten times over. 

you just look so beautiful beneath him. you wear the radiance of sex extremely well, eyes fogged over and mouth hanging open as your steamy pants echo in his ear. you’re borderline intoxicating, and that’s why nanami can’t stop, even though he knows you need him to before you pass out. 

“look at me, angel. i wanna see you.” you weakly turn your cheek away from the pillow and look up at him, lips stained a gorgeous red and swollen from his kisses. “you’re gonna be such a pretty momma.”

your eyelids flutter and your back arches weakly as you cum again for the final time, garbled moans of nanami’s name flooding from your throat. despite the longevity of your session, your cunt still manages to squeeze around him impossibly, and nanami groans deeply, arms sliding around your hips as you pulls you forward to meet his thrusts. 

“kentooo…”

“i know, baby, i know.” the sheets are soiled with your sweat and his, and the tight clampdown of your walls propels him to cum one final time, hips flush against your twitching clit as he pumps you full. 

you both stay like that for a beat, nanami folded over your twitching body before he finally pulls out slowly, and when he does, the sight he’s met with is so incredibly dirty that he can barely believe he was the one to reduce you to such a mess. “oh, angel…”

copious amounts of his release flood from your cunt, leaving a translucent pool on your sheets. whilst he absolutely loves the sight and wishes to brand it on the forefront of his brain, nanami’s goal is still clear as day. 

he leans down and kisses your overstimulated clit, fingers dancing around your twitchy hole and gathering up his release before pushing it back inside with a curl of his fingers that makes you want to scream. 

“can’t waste any, my dear, or it might not take, remember?” when he looks up at you from in between your trembling thighs, the look on his face is nothing short of depraved, blonde strands of hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks stained red with excitement. 

“can’t wait to see my girl become a mommy.”

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