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spacedace · 9 months

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Had a dc x dp brain worm, feel free to use as a prompt <3

Sidenote, I decided to get fancy with the Ancients titles because of course I did lol

Shifting Where = Space (Danny)

Eternal When = Time (Clockwork)

Ever Onward = Speedforce (Ellie)

---

Bruce watched the footage again.

And again.

Again.

It didn’t make sense.

A week ago every television, radio, computer, phone - even the LED billboards - had been taken over to deliver a message. Across the United States. In every territory it held. Every military base. Down in the depths of the oceans where American submarines tried to creep past Atlantian patrols. In the endless cold white of Antarctica. Even far above in the International Space Station. Any place the United States Government had control over, any place one of its citizens found themselves. There was the message.

The face of an entity, human in shape but not in form. Hair as gleaming white as starlight, eyes bright as the twisting dance of the Aurora Borealis, skin as cold and blue as the tail of a comet. The entity wore armor as black as the depths of space with a crown to match, the later glinting and shifting with the twisting birth and death of galaxies. A cloak of nebulae danced down his shoulders, eclipsing the world beyond the entity entirely.

He named himself, jaw tight, expression serious.

High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms.

The Shifting Where. Son of the Eternal When. Father of the Ever Onward. His Epitaphs many and ever growing. The True Balance. The Bridge Between. The Devourer of Dark. The Last Child of Between. The Great One.

King of the Dead. King of the Infinite Worlds. King of so much more than Bruce had ever even known was possible.

King who had declared war. Who marshaled his endless armies. Who spoke of warnings, of efforts to reach a peace, of trying again and again and again to find a way to not plunge into violence and bloodshed. All things living come to call him King in time, he had no want or need to go out and hurry that along. But there were no options left to him now. He had tried for peace. He had been denied.

He would not see his people suffer any longer. Would not see those he’d sworn to lead and protect imprisoned by fools who had sworn themselves enemies to all the afterlives. Would no longer permit the vicious cruelty to continue.

The message was a final warning.

A final offer.

Three days, Phantom said. The United States government would have three days to release their prisoners, to begin the process of dismantling the laws that made death itself an illegal act.

If they refused, he would lead his endless armies personally in the war to come.

It had not been an idle threat.

Three days after the message, after Bruce and the rest of the Justice League scrambled to try and figure out just what it was it was all about, after Justice League Dark’s members shakily took turns explaining just how powerful the being that had gave that message was and how much danger the world was in should he and his armies march upon their world, war came.

Of all places, it began in a town in Illinois.

The sky shattered like broken glass above, Lazarus Green beyond, and the Dead poured out.

It started in Illinois.

It did not end there.

Bruce watched the footage of it all, eyes burning as he watched every second of CCTV footage, every shaky phone camera video, every news broadcast.

Most of them looked human enough. Changed in death, but recognizably human once. A pair of glowing teenagers on a motorcycle, a writhing shadow twisting about at their command sweeping chaos upon the battlefield. A young woman dressed to perform with hair a literal flame, burning bright blue and snapping furiously as she played devastation upon her enemies with her guitar. A child with corpse gray skin and luminescent green hair, flickering in and out of Bruce’s ability to see as if fighting against a law of existence to be visible, screaming orders to a skeleton crew from his place on deck of a 1700s ship that sailed through the sky, disappearing into clouds before raining down attacks from above.

There was more. Glowing skeletons dressed in the fashions of war spanning every culture going back millennia. Robots with weapons far beyond the technology they had even in the League. Creatures of myth and legend. Things of nightmares.

Leading them all, as he had promised, was Phantom.

He looked younger, smaller. Just a boy, really, a gangly teenager that hadn’t quite finished growing into himself. One holding power beyond anything Bruce could ever imagine, but still just a child as far as he could see, no older than Tim who’d just graduated high school. Frantic research found Phantom appearing as far back as human history, but those sightings had to have been after his death. Bruce can’t help but wonder how young the boy had been when he died, how much of that youth still clung to him through all these eons.

It wasn’t something he’d let him self consider normally, not with something like this.

A dangerous unknown appearing without warning and attacking with unimaginable power and seemingly endless forces. It was something that would normally eclipse everything else. Something that would make Bruce put aside the ache at seeing a face so young twisted in rage.

But.

He watched all the footage.

Civilians were put in the crossfire. Were shot at and endangered. Were left terrified and scrambling for safety in buildings that were rapidly being torn away by stray artillery.

But never by Phantom or his armies.

The dead, in fact, went very far out of their way to ensure civilians weren’t harmed. Sweeping people up out of the way of falling debris. Shielding them from attacks that would have most certainly killed a normal human. Some dead even helped evacuate, ushering a frightened and panicked populous to safety as gently as they were capable of. Some of the less human creatures - giant bear-like beings with horns and fangs and ice edging their burly frames - even rushed forward to offer medical aid.

When the sky shattered open and the armies of the dead swept in, they ignored the town below. They focused instead on what was discovered later to be the base of a secretive government agency. The dead’s fight focused on those individuals in sharp white suits, bearing weapons capable of actually injuring King Phantom’s people.

It was these agents that brought the fight to the streets to Amity Park. That fired recklessly and without thought or care to the casualties they could inflict. That didn’t seem to care if they killed a hundred civilians if it meant hurting just one of Phantom’s soldiers.

Bruce watched all the footage.

And again.

Again.

Phantom had declared war.

Phantom spoke in his message of being out of options, of attempting peace. Phantom gave three days time for the release of captives. Phantom lead armies who fought viciously but never once willingly harmed civilians.

Phantom declared war, but he didn’t want it.

“Amanda Waller has reached out.”

Bruce didn’t turn his attention from the screens before him, eyes burning as he followed Phantom as the King dove away from the middle of locked combat to shield a child from a pulse of green energy from something like a grenade another agent in white had carelessly thrown. The child was crying but unharmed. The left pauldron of Phantom’s armor cracked and shattered from a direct shot from the enemy he’d just been fighting that he’d turned his back on, a glowing green liquid uncomfortably like Lazarus Water dripped down from a smoldering wound.

Clark stepped up to stand beside him as he watched, face worn and tired. The League had missed the first battle, but they’d been quick to appear at the rest. Phantom and his army ignored them unless they put themselves purposefully in the way of the fight. They were, as Justice League Dark had warned, vastly out powered by the entities fighting. A hulking giant knight made of shadow riding a nightmarish steed had driven Clark six feet down into the dirt when he’d attempted to make his way to Phantom directly to try and talk to the king.

The depth Clark had ended up felt like a warning of what would happen if he tried to get close to the king again.

It probably was.

“She said they have intel for us.” A faint twitch of fingers, jaw clenching, voice flat in that way that told Bruce his old friend was fighting back anger with everything he had. “That she has options for how to deal with the insurgence.”

Bruce shut off the monitors.

He’d seen enough.

Now was time to get answers to just what, exactly, Amanda Waller and the US government had done to cause the Dead to rise and rage.

---

Part Two Part Three Part Four

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #bruce wayne #clark kent #danny fenton #amanda waller #ghost king danny #ghost zone goes to war #space core danny #ancient of space danny #i'm gonna make ancient of the speedforce Elle a thing if it kills me lol #it just fits so well #Bruce's dad senses are tingling #Fright Knight might have been able to bat Clark away but if Bruce gets within a 100ft of Danny it's game over #Bat-Adoption Papers deployed #BatFam up a new member (or three or six)#Amanda Waller is not going to be as persuasive as she thinks she's going to be when it comes to getting the JL onboard with her plans

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bangaveragewhitewine · 5 months

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all is calm, all is bright

dad!Eddie Munson x mom!Reader

Your baby’s first Christmas, a silent moment in the festive glow.

Word count: 1.2k

Content/Warnings: Pure fluff. Short and sweet. Eddie and Reader are parents. Childbirth mention. Reader referred to as 'Mama'. No physical description of Reader - insert yourself, my loves!

Author’s note: Something small and seasonal as I try to get back into some sort of creative flow again. Much grá to you all, my lovelies ❤️

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Cherry Lane glowed in the dusky winter light that fell over Hawkins. The entire town dazzled with a warm holiday glow from Christmas lights and the bright excitement of the littlest townsfolk all riled up for a visit from the Big Man later that night.

Your little home was no different - in fact, it might have been the cosiest home in the whole county. Coloured lights twinkled around the window frames, a handmade wreath hung on the door, and plastic candy canes diligently lined the snow-dusted path to guide Santa’s sleigh. It was a picture-perfect holiday card, inside and out.

Maeve Munson was too young to comprehend the very concept of Christmas, or Santa Claus for that matter. Too shiny and new to recognise the stocking with her name on it hanging above the small fireplace, or the presents wrapped in glossy printed paper beneath the tree.

Just a few weeks old, she arrived as an early gift for you and Eddie. The best one you had ever received. In true Munson fashion, her entrance to the world had been a little dramatic, but Eddie had held your hand and let you squeeze as hard as you needed until Maeve made her debut with a head of dark hair and a loud set of lungs.

From your cosy nesting place on the sofa, you watch her big brown eyes gazing at the twinkling coloured lights and baubles on the tree. With her cheek resting against her father’s shoulder, Maeve blinks, slow and sleepy, as she listens to his voice.

“I know you’re really into the boob right now, kid, but you’re going to love Christmas dinner once you’re big enough.” Eddie’s voice is a low murmur as he rocks slowly from side to side, chest to chest with his daughter.

His hand looks huge on her back, patting a slow and gentle rhythm that just exists for the two of them.

You can’t take your eyes off of them, despite how tired you feel. It would be so easy to just close them, a quick few minutes rest, but you would miss them too much.

You wish that your camera was closer so you could snap and savour this moment as one you can hold in your hands.

It is peaceful bliss bathed in colourful light; you soak it in, savour it.

There have been no tears for an hour, though you feel like you are right on the precipice of breaking that streak with how much love and joy you feel, swelling like pride in your chest.

The house is warm, the old window frames are fixed with double-glazed glass that keeps the chilly winter air out. It’s rough around the edges, but there is food in the fridge and the cupboards are full. There’s a tree and lights, a few presents beneath it.

It’s not much but it’s enough. All you need is right in front of you.

Eddie catches you watching them, smiles as he nuzzles against chestnut brown hair that will curl and coil like his own in time.

He pauses his murmured monologue, his waxing lyrical about everything he will pile on his plate tomorrow. Everyone’s bringing something to family Christmas at Harrington’s - you managed to make two desserts while Eddie introduced Maeve to A Charlie Brown Christmas, one eye on you the whole time to make sure you weren’t doing too much. Bringing the Littlest Party Member is the real treat for your friends and family, who will take turns holding her and squabble when one of them hogs the baby for too long.

“Hi Mama,” he says, his voice so soft as he crosses the room slowly on socked feet.

“Hi,” you whisper back, the thick feeling in your throat stalling you from speaking any louder. Part of it is fear, fear that you will undo Eddie’s magic touch at lulling Maeve to sleep. Her eyes are almost closed, almost.

Slowly, so slowly, he lowers down to sit by you. His gentle sway keeps up, like a lazy metronome, as he takes a load off. His sigh is carried from the tips of his toes, feeling like an almost burnt-out bulb.

“You’re really good at that,” you murmur, smiling through the tiredness.

“Hmm? Don’t count on it, she’s going to be wide awake again in a sec when she realises we’re not standing up.”

“Mm, maybe. This whole Dad thing suits you, Munson.”

When he smiles, you can still see the shadows beneath his eyes - you have a set to match, his and hers. There’s spit-up on his sleeve and his hair needs a wash. But he is beautiful.

Being parents wasn’t easy, you didn’t think it would be but some days you didn’t think it would be so hard either. You think that maybe if Eddie let his eyes slip closed, he would fall asleep too from his own gentle rocking rhythm.

“I can take a turn,” you say, bringing your hand to rub his back in wide smooth circles, mirroring him and Maeve.

You know his scowl is coming, and still, it makes you smile.

“Mm-mm, my turn,” he said, brows pulled in as his mouth pouts prettily. Much like your friends, it was easy to fall into a parental squabble of taking turns for the shitty nappies and the baby cuddles.

“Baby hogger,” you whisper without malice, pushing yourself closer to kiss his stubbly cheek.

“Yep, my baby now. You get to cuddle her all day when m’workin’.”

Eddie turns his head, lets his nose bump yours. His chin juts forward just a little to beg a kiss. You don’t even need to think about it, loving him is as easy as breathing.

There’s a pause, like bracing for impact, when Maeve makes a noise against his shoulder. The pause in his swaying did not go unnoticed.

“Can’t get anything past her, huh?” you murmur, leaving one last smiley kiss to his full lower lip.

“Nah, m’done for with you two.” His face cracks into a smile, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

You watch as he sits back a little, resting his head against the back of the second-hand sofa. You peel yourself up just enough to drag the coffee table close enough so he can put his feet up.

“Only ‘coz it’s Christmas,” you murmur, seeing his grin.

“You spoil me, baby.”

You spoil him more by dragging your blanket over his lap, sharing its fleecy warmth as Maeve slowly, so slowly, drifts off.

There are still gifts to wrap for Wayne and for your friends, laundry to be tossed in the dryer, but for now, you sit together as your baby sleeps, basking in the glow of Christmas.

Maeve’s breath is deep and steady; she makes these tiny noises that have brought tears to your eyes and Eddie’s on more than one occasion. Partly because she is finally asleep, but mostly because they are the sweetest thing you have ever heard.

Scooting closer, you press another kiss to Eddie’s cheek and close your eyes for just a moment, breathing in his warm spice, a hint of tobacco from his one cigarette - he wants to be around for Maeve, for you.

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

Your voice is just above a whisper, just loud enough for Eddie to hear. Your words warm him, settle deep in his bones and set his heart aglow.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

His lips press yours in a single kiss, sweeter than any hot cocoa, any candy cane.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

#dad!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #dad!eddie munson x mom!reader #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #bangaveragefics

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yanderestarangel · 5 months

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♡ 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐯𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐚 ♡

a/n: version with kuai liang here ♡

TW: angst, smut, ftm reader, aggressive sex, crying, overstimulation, v!sex, ride, unprotected sex, tomas begs for your forgiveness, afab anatomy, not reviewed.

He was always a kind, sweet and helpful man, you and Tomas lived a peaceful marriage - practically a dream marriage - however, after Tomas learned about his brother's betrayal with the lin kuei, with his father and all the rude treatment from older brother, he just lost control.

But with the wrong person.

You didn't even have a reaction as you watched Vrbada come home and freak out, breaking some things and yelling at you in the process - generating an argument between the two of you, you were both obviously hurt, so Tomas only realized the mess he had made at the wedding when he went sleeping outside the house that night, covering his ears as he heard your cry in his head.

He came back in the late afternoon of that day, with a tired face, eyes swollen from crying and above all, a look of redemption for having hurt you. He saw you sitting on the couch, also hurt and bruised - but it was his fault - and he needed to fix that.

He sighed deeply, not wanting to argue with you, but needing to talk this out "-My love, please. Let's sit down and talk about what happened. I know I lost my temper and said things I shouldn't have. I didn't mean any of it."

Tomas sat down on the couch next to you, his hand reaching out to touch yours gently. "-You know how much you mean to me, right? You are the light of my life, my beautiful boy. Please, don't push me away like this. I want to make it up to you. I promise I won't lose control again. I need your forgiveness sweetheart... " His voice trailed off as he looked at you desperately, hoping for some sign of understanding or mercy from you.

You just let the tears come out in anger, as you left Tomas, going to take a shower and try to relax, but you knew that your husband wasn't going to give up. His heart sank as he saw you that way. He knew he had hurt you deeply and was sorry for it, he follows you to the bathroom, giving you space to get comfortable.

"-I'm so sorry. Please, don't be angry with me anymore." He entered the bathroom carefully, trying to give you some space while still wanting to comfort you. "-You will always be my husband, no matter what happens between us."

He slowly took off his clothes as he got close to you, placing his hands on your body, massaging your wet skin, while whispering in your ear. "-Forgive me, please. I need you. You are my entire world."

He leaned in and kissed you softly, his lips gentle against yours, trying to convey his feelings through his actions. Tomas slowly pushed into your wet pussy, feeling your body respond to him despite your anger. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. "-You feel so good my boy." Tomas growled against your neck, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he drove deeper into you, enjoying the feeling of your wet pussy surround his throbbing cock.

You moaned against him, while he held you in his arms, resting one of his thighs on the side of your body, stopping you from falling - you said you hated him, but he didn't stop, pushing his shaft more and more into your pussy, the head of his cock hit your cervix several times, directly in your sweet spot.

"-That's it baby. Let it all out. I deserve your hate." He said between gritted teeth, his dick sliding in and out of your tight cunt. "-You can fucking hate me as much as you want. Just let me make you feel good, let out all your anger (Y/N) Release it on my dick Aaah- Fuuck, I love you-"

"-Say my name little angel. Say 'Tomas.' " His voice was hoarse with desire "-Tell me you love me too..." But you denied it, still conflicted with the feelings you felt for him - his heart fell when he realized that, every time you made love, you screamed his name, but that time you didn't - He continued to pump into you, his dick swelling even more as he felt his climax approaching.

"-I love you so much my baby boy. Please don't hate me anymore." He cried and growled through his tears, his cock swelling inside you as he reached the edge of orgasm.

"-Say it! Tell me you still love me!"He brought one of his hands to your face, as he looked you in the eyes, his blue eyes were full of tears, which ran down his face. His grip on your face tightened as he continued to fuck you, his hips moving faster and harder, driven by a combination of desire and desperation. "-Say it. I Beg my pretty boy..." Vrbada breathed heavily into your ear, his tears falling onto your neck as he fucked you with all his might. You couldn't help it, moaning his name like a mantra as the sounds of his thick shaft echoed through the bathroom in your pussy - "Tomas, Tomas, Tomas..." - you moaned loudly as your hips brushed against his crotch, searching still more contact with him.

He moaned loudly, his lips open, as he sped up, his balls slapping your ass. He collapsed onto your breasts, his cock still pulsing inside you, spilling thick jets as he spoke "-Yes Yes Yes! C-cuming Mmm-" desperately from the overstimulation of his member.

Tomas gave a few thrusts to prolong the pleasure, while still whimpering against your soft skin, he took a deep breath, trying to catch his breath. "-I'm sorry for everything I did... I'll do anything to make things right between us." He refused to leave you, afraid of losing you again, like sand in the desert. Tomas held you close, his arms around you as he finally found peace amidst the chaos of his emotions. "-Please stay with me, you are my husband. I need you more than ever." His voice was soft and gentle, the tears drying on his chest as he held you close.

"-Let's start again. Together..."

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

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imaginesandsmut · 10 months

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You Sweet Dumb Thing

Ethan Landry is a family orientated guy.

He fucking loves his family, he would do anything for them, he would kill for them. Correction, Ethan was going to kill for them.

Him, his sister and father had it all figured out, their plan to kill Sam and Tara for the death of Richie was something they had planned for the past year. They had all the cogs in the right place and everything was moving smoothly.

That was until he met Y/N.

At first, the new girl in the group who managed to be loved by everyone didn’t change his mind at all. He still went about sharpening his knives and training secretly in the gym to make sure he was powerful enough to take someone down like Chad.

But then she started to weasel her way into a friendship with him, and in turn, his mind.

He hated it. The way she would smile at every single fucking person on the street, how she would offer to help anyone in the group with whatever they needed, how she would smile so widely when she laughed that her eyes squeezed close. He hated it and he hated her.

But that didn’t stop him from fantasising about her during class, at work, with Chad, at night, in the shower, in his bed, in his dreams. Every time he watched a romantic movie, he thought of her. Every time he read a book, he couldn’t process the words because she was covering his thoughts. Even when he had the apartment to himself and got the opportunity to touch himself in peace, she was still there, whispering his name and moaning as he stroked himself.

She consumed his mind that he started to forget about his plans with his family.

Slowly, Chad started to catch on and even began teasing Ethan about his crush on her. Poking his ribs with his elbow whenever she joined the group at their study table, raising his eyebrows whenever she directed a question at Ethan. Chad even went so far to try and wingman him at the halloween party.

~~~~~~~~~

“Look at you man! You’re a snack!” Chad yells over the music, alcohol affecting his system. “Practically an entire meal!”

He was being genuine and kind, but Ethan felt a little ridiculous in his handmade cardboard robot costume that he didn’t feel like anything but a child.

“Now look over there, see Y/N?” He’s pointing to the makeshift dance floor, the girl is question swaying her hips to the music. “How do you think she looks?”

“She’s gorgeous.”

Ethan used to hide his feelings for Y/N from Chad, scrunching his nose and shaking his head whenever Chad questioned him about why he would stare at her for so long. But now, he can’t hide it. Even Tara and Sam knew about his crush.

“Perfect!” Chad shouted, handing another shot to Ethan. “Go ask her out.”

“No, I can’t do that.”

“And why not?” Chad’s tipsy demeanour was making Ethan annoyed, the frat-jock stereotype didn’t even realise how far above them Y/N was.

She was dancing with some random girls she just met 20 minutes prior, laughing at what they were saying whilst trying to keep up with the beat of the song. Her short Princess Peach dress left little to the imagination, her hips moving seductively as she danced to the song.

“We’re friends, I can’t ruin that with her!” Ethan wishes they would stop talking about this, the music pounding on his ears that he has resorted to shouting so Chad could hear him. “And she’d say no.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

~~~~~~~~~

Ethan’s father killed Jason and Greg that night, those Ghostface killer wannabes had it coming and Ethan was annoyed they didn’t get to the boys earlier. Then Ethan’s father attacked Sam and Tara in the bodega, with a shotgun of all weapons.

Ethan, his sister and father were together in his father’s apartment, going over the next part of their plan. Quinn was frantic about who to kill next and that she wants to be the one to do it, Ethan stayed quiet.

“Ethan?” His father spoke up, softly punching his son's knee in an effort to gain some attention back to the conversation.

“Hmm?” Ethan looked up from his position hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped and eyes trained on the floor.

“What do you think?” His father questions, confused as to why his son, who was once obsessed with their plan, now was silent and mentally absent.

“Think of what?” Ethan tried to shake himself back to reality, sitting back on the sofa and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Quinn killing Y/N?”

It was like ice water was dumped over him, his heart stopped beating and his hands grew sweaty. He forced his face to stay neutral, trying his hardest to not give away any emotion.

“Why are we killing Y/N? She’s not an official member of the group.” Ethan’s voice wavered slightly, he hoped that his family didn’t notice. “And why as a solo kill?”

“We can’t have too many people in the apartment tomorrow night when you attack them.” Quinn spoke slowly, twirling her hair around her pointer finger. “Plus I think it’s best to get her out of the way before you try killing the group, you know, in case you freeze up when you see her.”

“Why would I freeze up?”

“Cause you’ve had a hard-on for her for months,” Quinn laughed, “it’s better if I do it tonight and get her out of the way for you.”

“No.” Ethan’s voice was harsh, fueled by anger and fear. His father and sister looked at him, their faces as confused as ever.

“No?” His father wanted desperately to try and understand his son in this moment.

“Quinn can’t kill her.” He knew that he would need to give a good explanation, a reason as to why he was messing up their plan. “I should kill her.”

“You don’t have the balls to do it.” Quinn scoffed, brushing off her brother’s attempt at being tough.

“I’ll fucking do it,” Ethan was looking at his father in the eye, “I need to have this.”

Somehow it worked, a mere hour later Ethan was turning the key Y/N gave him in its slot and pushed her apartment door open, creeping through the living room and towards her bedroom, and towards the sound of running water.

His Ghostface mask obscured his vision slightly but he could still take in the scene around him. Printed posters of her favourite movies covered the walls, colourful decor scattered the hallway. He entered her bedroom, knife in hand as he took in the scene.

Her bed was messy, some soft teddies thrown over the purple floral sheets. Ethan took off his mask to see the room better since this is the first time he’s ever been in it, he felt like he was walking on holy ground.

The brown haired boy pushed his curls from his eyes to look at the pictures she had on her walls - lots of her, Tara and Mindy, some of her and Chad, even some of her and his sister, Quinn.

The ones he stared at were the many pictures of himself and Y/N, a lot of them candids but some of them posed. He felt a surge of pride as he outranked Chad when it came to how many times he was featured on her wall.

The Ghostface mask and knife in his hands grew heavy, as if they were trying to actively fall out of his hands.

He can’t do this.

His thoughts here growing wild and anxious, overloaded with fear as to what he was preparing himself to do. Ethan can’t kill her, he would rather slit his own throat than do it to her. He even realised that he would rather kill someone for her.

The sound of the shower had stopped and Ethan began freaking out, it was now or never. But in that moment, he backed out. He was happy that he took this job from Quinn, but now he needed to find a way to get out and keep his family away from her.

The bathroom door began to open and Ethan knew it was too late for him to run, either she would catch him or someone else would. Instead, he stuffed the mask and knife under her bed haphazardly. The boy struggled with the black robe that covered his body, pulling it roughly over his head and also shoving it under her bed.

Then, quickly trying to find a way to explain why he was in her room, he walked over to her desk and started looking for her Econ notes, his cheeks were hot in anxiety and fear.

“Ethan?”

Her voice was soft and nervous, as if it wasn’t going to be him. Ethan’s shoulders tensed as he slowly turned around, an embarrassed smile on his face.

“Hey?”

“What are you doing?” She was dressed in a small top and even smaller underwear, the flimsy fabric of her top showed her nipples through the fabric whilst her underwear were dainty little lacy things that made Ethan feel hot.

“Why are you in my room?”

He realised he was ogling her, just staring at her body and she used her arms to cover her chest, not moving from her spot on the other side of the room.

“I’m so sorry.” Ethan pushed himself to say, darting his eyes down as he played with the paper containing her Econ notes in his hands. “I just needed to run in and grab your notes for Econ, I didn’t think you would be here.”

She didn’t say anything, just stared at him whilst trying to cover herself with her arms. He gulped in the silence, just staring down at his hands. She was probably doubting his excuse, wondering why he didn't send a text or ask for them the next day. Ethan’s mind was swirling with his stupidity, he should've just ran.

Ethan has imagined so many times being in Y/N’s room whilst she was wearing that exact outfit, but also in those dreams, he’s much more confident and makes a fucking move.

Now, he can’t even look at her. Too scared that if he takes in her body once more, he’ll get a boner and embarrass himself even further. Even thinking about the fact that she’s standing only 5 steps from him in a see-through top and lace underwear was making him hot and flustered.

He looked at his feet and saw his Ghostface mask poking out from underneath her bed, the knife next to it gleaming in the soft warm light of her bedside table lamp. Y/N was so stupid to be so defenceless, if only she knew how he had protected her from being stabbed to death by his sister, if only she knew of all the things he does for her. If Ethan wasn’t around, Y/N would be so lost, like a little kitten begging for shelter, and Ethan was the only person who could be that for her.

Y/N should be thankful for him.

A new feeling came over Ethan like a cloud rolling over the hills, powerful and daunting as the new darkness showed in his eyes. Confidence began to pump through the blood in his veins, giving him a new aura that even Y/N noticed.

Y/N’s demeanour changed from confused to scared, she had never seen Ethan like this. Her feet started to shuffle back, but the more distance she made between them, Ethan matched her steps and kept the distance.

“Ethan?” She sounded lost, it was like his name was the only word she knew. “Are you feeling good?”

The boy started to grin, closing the distance between them whilst Y/N tried to move further away. He could see it in her eyes, the soft glow of not just fear, but of heat that was spreading all over her body, Although she was stepping away from him, her chest was rising and falling rapidly in anticipation, her eyes were heavy and lidded, and her cheeks were blooming with splotches of red.

She wanted him.

“Do you have any idea how badly I've wanted to be alone with you? To see you like this?” Her back hit the wall and her hands broke apart from her chest to feel the wall behind her. “I’ve been so stressed out lately, please help me?”

“Help you how?” Y/N’s voice was deathly quiet, Ethan had almost missed it due to the blood pounding in his ears almost making him deaf. His brown eyes were pouring into hers, causing her to melt inwardly and her knees were starting to buckle.

“Be a good girl and let me touch you, yeah?”

He could see the range of emotions cross over her face, most of them were confusion and intrigue. Ethan will admit, the nerdy virgin facade he puts on isn't completely false, that definitely was him a year or so ago. But after Richie died, something snapped in the Kirsch family and Ethan grew out of the geek he used to be and became someone completely new, someone sure of themself and hollow.

But the nerd is who Y/N knew, who she was comfortable with. This new person in front of her wasn't the Ethan she was friends with, but he could tell she was turned on nonetheless. Ethan’s body was now pressed up against her, his hands on either side of her head whilst he lowered his lips to ghost over her skin. Her breath hitches as he knows she can feel how hard he is against her, her hips involuntarily bucking.

“You need to tell me you want this.” Even though Ethan was putting on a cool demeanour, he couldn’t help the anxious pumping of his heart at the idea that she’ll say no and push him away.

He waited with baited breath until she nodded her head, it was slight and nervous but it was all he needed before his teeth sunk into her neck, pulling at the skin and hoping to leave a mark.

Y/N moaned loudly into the still silence of the room, her hands flying to pull on his hair, either to pull him away or urge him on, Ethan didn’t know. His brain was foggy from the lust, acting on his primal instincts with the need to own her. Y/N’s panting filled his ears, her hips moving softly against his own.

“Keep going.” Ethan was boarding on being domineering and demanding, to being whiny and pathetic. “Please let me feel you.”

The girl took his words and began grinding herself onto him, heavy and lusty pants. The friction was making Ethan needy and it was making Y/N beg for more. Ethan’s lips were biting the skin on her shoulder and neck, hands reaching underneath the top to tug at her boobs.

“Please,” her head was thrown back as she was desperate for air, “please, Ethan.”

She could feel his smile against her skin, “what do you want, baby?”

“Please.” Her lips were brushing against his temple, the curls tickling her. “Kiss me, touch me, do something.”

“Anything for you.”

Ethan’s mouth crashed onto hers, his tongue already slipping past her lips. It was breathy and hot, teeth clashing as the kiss was too fast for them to even understand. God, Y/N was such a pretty thing but Ethan knew she was trying hard to keep up.

“Take your time,” his right hand left the wall beside her head and started playing with the lace at the border of her underwear, the little bow sewn into the pink fabric gaining some attention from his middle finger. “Let me show you what I can do for you.”

His middle finger moved from the bow and down, touching her through the fabric of her underwear. His fingers reached her pussy through the soft and thin fabric, her wetness already soaking the fabric. It made Ethan laugh; how easily she could get wet for him and he hadn’t even done anything.

“Do you need me here?” Ethan already knew the answer, he just wanted the ego boost of her saying it aloud.

“Mhm.” Her voice was soft and her eyes were screwed shut, but he wanted more.

“Say it.” Ethan’s tone was darker, almost like a yell with how quiet they had both been previously.

“I need you to touch me, Ethan.” Y/N pulled his hair and dragged his face closer, sealing their lips together in a heated his once more before panting out, “please touch me, baby.”

Ethan felt like he could have made her cum through her underwear with how desperate she was for him, but he wasn't that cruel. The boy dipped his fingers past the waistband and dragged them through the wetness between her folds, earning a short and stifling gasp of air from Y/N. She felt so soft, like nothing he’s ever touched before. He moved his two fingers through her slick, his thumb coming down to circle her clit and being awarded with a moan from her, still pressed to his lips.

Ethan pulled away from her lips with a groan, realising how lightheaded his baby was becoming from the kiss, only clumsily moving her lips against his. A soft smile graced his features, spit covering his lips as little heart eyes replaced his pupils.

Y/N panted as she waited for him to say something, but then his index finger pushed into her. He curled it slowly, pumping it in and out before filling her with another one. Y/N’s hands moved from his hair and held onto his shoulders, pulling him closer as her legs were starting to give out. He groans, revelling in the way she reacts to him.

“You’re so pretty, baby.” Ethan whispers, more for his own ears than Y/N’s as she wasn’t even paying attention to him. Instead she was pressing open mouthed kisses to his neck, a physical plea for him to continue.

Her breathing was heavy, whining in pain as his fingers picked up the pace as he stretched her out. Her brain was foggy and numb from the feeling, Ethan can tell from the way she only moans as a reply. She’s clawing at Ethan’s neck as she kisses him, begging him for more than what he is giving her.

“You’re doing so good, pretty girl.” The words of affirmation stirred a need inside her, pushing her to buck her hips and match the movement of his fingers. “Taking me so well.”

Ethan curls his fingers and quickens his pace, fucking her harder with just his fingers. He looked at her face and began ingraining this moment in his memory of how she looks - the way her eyes were glazing over and her jaw went slack with each thrust, his lips so pillowy and wet that he could imagine them taking his dick.

Just when Y/N began tightening around Ethan’s fingers, he pulled them out and caught her with his other arm as she practically fell to the floor. Her body hot and sweaty but not satisfied. She looked up at Ethan just to witness him put his fingers in his mouth to taste her, holding eye contact sharp and steady.

“Want you to finish around me.”

It was all the explanation Ethan gave her before walking backwards so his legs hit the edge of the bed, sitting down and pulling her underwear down before placing her on top of him. She moaned at the friction of her being bare against his rough jeans, mindlessly rubbing herself over his crotch that was now growing and straining against the fabric.

“You like this, don’t you?” Ethan asks her, using his hands to guide her desperate and sloppy movements. “Bet none of the words I’m saying right now are getting through your pretty little head, huh?”

Ethan’s eyes darkened as the image of Y/N getting herself off on his lap was not only something he constantly daydreamed about, but was now a reality. His dick, now frantic to be touched itself, pushed Ethan to turn them around and lay her on the bed.

He took his time taking off his clothes, watching as she squirms on the bed in anticipation. His awkwardly tall body cages her in as he hovers above her, she’s so delicate and pliable, something that he needs to protect.

Ethan holds himself at Y/N’s entrance, rubbing his head through her folds and gathering enough of her slick that he could’ve came right then and there. He held eye contact as he pushed himself in, both groaning at the sensation and whimpering from how good they both felt.

Y/N was like a dream, so easy and manipulatable, she would let Ethan do anything to her right in this moment. His trusting, darling girl.

Ethan started moving with fervent need, her boobs rubbing against his chest with every motion, causing him to become whiny. She tightened around him so good, her small gasps of air and kisses to his neck were so loving. All he wanted to do was pound into her so fast, to hear her screaming of pleasure and ruin her for any other man.

But she deserved sweet, sticky and hot sex to keep her in a daze whilst he killed her friends in a few hours. Then he can come back and ruin her for good, fucking her whilst she cried - about her friends or because of what he was doing to her, Ethan didn’t care. He controlled himself by gripping the sheets, squeezing the flower patterned fabric until in threatened to tear.

“So good.” She moaned, one hand tugging on his hair and the other scraping down his back. “Please, Ethan.”

It was obvious Y/N wanted something, her mind just too cockdrunk and dumb that she couldn’t form words properly.

“You sweet, dumb thing.” He groaned into her neck, one hand in her hair whilst the other dipped down to circle her clit. “Nothing is going through your head but me, yeah?”

She just nodded, mumbling incoherent words and crying to some higher deity. Ethan’s hips started snapping with a newfound speed, pulling in and out of her so quickly that even he was starting to grow stupid from how good she felt, how well she was taking him. His groans turned into whimpers as he buried his head in her neck and continued his previous assault, biting her and marking her up.

Y/N’s hips were bucking to the same rhythm of his, matching his speed whilst squeezing around him in anticipation for her release.

“That’s a good girl.” Although Ethan’s words were confident, his delivery was breathy and submissive. “Taking me so good.”

Y/N started to tear up, the feeling of Ethan touching all over her body was almost too much. His mouth came to her face to kiss her tears away, pressing his lips to hers so she could taste the salty liquid as they kissed, soaking up her moans and whimpers with his mouth.

Ethan broke apart from the kiss and let his head fall back into the crook of her neck, catching a glimpse of the Ghostface mask and knife under her bed. The mask looked back at Ethan, a symbol of the rules he was breaking in this very moment. His father and sister would be livid if they found out what Ethan decided to do when he promised he was going to slit Y/N’s neck.

But the way she was squeezing around him, tugging at his hair and clawing at his back, legs wrapped around him and pinning his body close to her, the small sounds of pleasure that forced its way past her pretty plush lips. More importantly, the feeling of himself inside her, he could even see it, the bulge in her belly showing itself every time he pushed in, then disappearing when he pulled back out.

It all felt better than any kill has.

“Ethan,” Y/N huffed, “I’m gonn- I’m close.”

The lovesick girl had her eyes screwed shut so she couldn’t see Ethan push the Ghostface mask further underneath the bed so he could continue his assault on her, quickening his pace and bending down to take one of her nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and biting on it.

Tears rolled down her face harder, pouring out of her eyes and she could barely get any words out. Almost as if he found a button within her, Y/N gasped and tightened around him, walls convulsing as she came around his cock. Her face in a state of bliss with her contractions around him have Ethan following not so far from behind, his moans and whimpers of pleasure hot in her ear.

And in this moment Ethan had realised that if it came to it, he would kill everyone, including his own family, to keep her.

#ethan landry #ethan landry smut #scream #scream 6 #scream smut #scream 6 smut

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thelov3lybookworm · 8 months

Text

I Didn't Ask For This (part 11)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought

.All her dreams would be shattered.

But maybe she can salvage them?

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: forced marriage, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

•○🌑○•

Azriel's pov.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the glare of the morning sun streaming in through the window.

He always had his windows and blinds shut so no light would disturb his rare slumber. Why weren't the blinds closed?

He turned his head away, trying to turn away, but he froze when he realised there was something heavy on his chest. He blinked his eyes open cautiously. He knew it wouldn't be anything dangerous, because if it was, his shadows would have woken him up a long time ago.

When he realised what– who– it was, his heart skipped a beat.

There, on his chest lay his wife's head, her features incredibly softened. Her hand was gently draped over his abdomen.

He stared at the female. He always knew she was beautiful, but now he could actually see every small detail on her face. He hadn't noticed them till now because he had never been so close to her before, and if he stared for too long, he was afraid he'd offend her in some way or creep her out. And he didn't want that.

He lifted his hand to push back that strand of hair on her face that seemed to have a problem staying in place. He didn't pull his hand back though. He caressed her hair, staring at her closed eyes and her lips. Her nose and cheeks. Azriel was fascinated to say the least.

Y/n's brow furrowed, and Azriel pulled his hand back, holding still as she shifted. She pulled away from him, only to rest her head on his bicep, giving him space to turn onto his side. So he did, still studying her features.

He tried to not touch her, but his hand and mind were not on speaking terms, it seemed. His fingers ghosted over the arch of her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, the dip on her chin.

Now he knew why he had slept so peacefully and deeply for the first time in such a long time.

As he did all that again, his mind wandered.

•○🌑○•

He had reached the camp that he and Y/n had been born in within moments of leaving the House of Wind at dusk, having winnowed there. He had stopped to get some of the supplies he would need before flying the rest of the way.

When he reached the camp, he stashed the supplies he'd bought in his shadows and began the long work of sneaking narrow eyed females and their children out of the camp. He had planned to return before dinner, but convincing the females had been harder than he thought and took longer than anticipated.

But once he was done, he had wrapped his shadows around himself and started the work of drenching the whole place in the flammable material the male from the shop had given him. He flew quietly and swiftly with the huge can in his hands, making sure he wasn't making any sounds.

When he did that too, he started the fire and watched the camp burn down.

He knew the pain. How it burned. How it felt as if death would be a more peaceful option. How skin practically melts of the bones.

So when the screams started, he smiled.

He smiled as the wails and ear splitting shrieks filled the night air.

And then he went in search of the males he hated above all.

He walked through the heat of the fire, cautious of the flames and searched for his childhood home, if it could even be called that.

There they were, trying to get away from the flames that encircled them so that they could spread their wings to fly away.

He stared at the three men, his father and stepbrothers, trying frantically to search for a way out. He stared as one of his brother's hands caught fire and he screeched, the other's wings burning, his father's clothes turning to ash with the flames. Azriel smiled all the while.

And maybe that made him a sadistic bastard, but he was the Spymaster of Night Court. Being sadistic came with the position.

And then, his father looked up and froze, recognition lighting his eyes after a moment.

"Azriel." He whispered, but Azriel heard it clearly, as clearly as if he had spoken in his ear.

"Hello. Father." He added as a second thought. His brothers looked up, stopping mid scream.

"Shit." One of them continued screaming.

"How does it feel?" Azriel asked. He was enjoying this too much.

"You are our brother. Please save us. We were so worried about you when you left." The older one pleaded.

Azriel raised his brows. "Why would I save you and let all my efforts go to waste?"

They blanched even more. "You–you started the fire?"

"Who else would do that?"

"Azriel, son. Please, give us one more chance. I promise we will show you how much we care about you–"

"You can show the Mother that. When–if she blesses you with her presence in the afterlife. I highly doubt that, though." With that, Azriel turned on his heel, going to hunt down Y/n's father.

"Please, stop! Come back! We'll do anything you ask!"

Azriel paused. "Anything?"

"Yes! Anything!"

"Hmm. Tell me where Y/n's father lives."

"Y/n? Who is that?"

"The girl you promised me to."

"Oh that man lives in that house." His father pointed towards a house nearby.

"Alright. Thank you for the assistance." Azriel continued on towards the house his father had indicated.

"Wait! Where are you going?! Help us!"

"Again, why would I do that?"

"You said..."

"I never promised anything, father. You assumed."

He chuckled to himself as he heard profanities and curses being spewed at him.

He kicked open the door to the burning house he had been pointed to, and found Y/n's father lying down, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, his face and clothes damp with sweat. "Father in law. How are you doing."

Azriel didn't necessarily want the answer to that. He couldn't care less about it.

"S–son. Save me..."

Azriel smiled. "What do you think I am here for?"

•○🌑○•

He surprised himself with the satisfaction he got by doing that. He never thought that inflicting the same pain he had endured that made him hate his hands on others would be something he could be proud of.

Nonetheless, he was satisfied. Which was very concerning, but as long as it made his wife happy, he would burn down the whole of Prythian.

He ran his fingers through her hair, then realised she was staring at him. He froze.

"How long have you been staring at me?" He asked.

She huffed. "Don't you think I should be the one asking that?"

"Well, I asked first. You must answer."

"Hmm. Since you turned this way. May I ask what you were fantasising about that you didn't notice I was awake?"

He smirked, moving to sit up. "Trust me darling, you'd rather I show it to you." He whispered in her ear before standing. She gaped at him, looking furious. He knew it was all fake.

As soon as he turned away from her, a pillow smacked the back of his head and he chuckled. He picked the clothes he'd worn before his night clothes and waved at her as he walk out the door.

But he paused before closing the door behind him. He poked his head in, opening his mouth. But then he just stared.

There on the bed, she was sitting. Smiling widely at her hands and shaking her head. She looked to the balcony and bit her lip, lost in thought before moving to stand up. He smiled too, before finally interrupting the daydream she was having.

"Hey professional pillow thrower?" She whipped towards him with a gasp. "Lunch today?"

She blinked, thinking for a moment before nodding. "Sure."

"See you soon then. I mean, take your time smiling at the walls. I won't mind." He ducked away and closed the door before the pillow she threw at him again could land its mark.

Grinning, he turned to walk to his room. Then he stopped in his tracks when he found Cassian leaning against a wall nearby, his arms wrapped over his chest, wiggling his brows.

Azriel continued walking, trying to ignore the knowing look on his brother's face. "Shut up." He muttered when he passed by Cass.

"But I said nothing!" Unfortunately, Cassian followed Azriel to his room. "Though I can't help but wonder, are you skills gone or something? I heard nothing last night. No moans and groans and your name being screamed–"

Azriel shoved the bundle of clothes he had in his hands in Cassian's face before slamming the door in his face. He could hear Cassian's boisterous laugh through the door, and honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if the whole of Velaris heard it.

"Take her to a good place brother! For lunch I mean!" Cassian said through the door before his steps retreated.

Azriel huffed, but couldn't stop the smile that made its way onto his face. He leaned his head against the door, grinning before smacking his forehead and making his way to the bathing room.

•○🌑○•

Part 12

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cutielando · 4 months

Text

safe haven ~ rafe cameron

my masterlist

Rafe needed to feel loved.

All of his life, he tried to fight for his father's love and always ended up on the losing side. His father would always put Sarah above him and there was nothing he could do that would change that.

Being deprived of love for such a long time made falling in love with you feel so foreign and strange, but it ultimately saved his life.

Since the moment he had laid his eyes on you, he knew he was done for.

When you agreed to be his girlfriend, he swore he could feel his lungs receiving a new lease on life.

The love you provided him with was nothing he had ever felt before. He had never before felt so cared for, so safe and loved with someone before. He didn't know who he had to thank for sending such an angel his way, but he would do it for the rest of his life.

Loving Rafe was the best decision you had ever made. Teaching him how to love and showing him what being loved felt like has been your biggest accomplishment to date. Seeing the broken boy who had spent years and years fighting for someone to love him, to make him feel seen, suddenly loving with all he had in him brought you happiness like never before.

After every bad argument with his father, he would come to you. After every single bad day, after anything, his first and only stop would be you.

You reveled in the fact that you were the only person he trusted enough to go to in time of need. The only person he would even think about going to, no matter the problem.

It most commonly happened when he would get into yet another fight with Ward, it had become something of a custom in the last couple of months.

Tonight was no different.

You had been doing some homework, wanting to get it out of the way so you could enjoy some free days in the upcoming period when you heard a loud knock downstairs.

"Y/N? Rafe's here" you heard your father call from downstairs, which had you worriedly climbing down the stairs.

It wasn't uncommon for Rafe to always be at your house, but he usually always told you he would be coming over. It was never like this.

You thanked your father who just smiled at you and retreated back to the living room, leaving you in the entrance hall with your boyfriend.

"Baby? Why didn't you tell me you were coming over?" you asked once you stopped in front of him, wrapping your arms around his tall and muscular body.

"I wasn't planning on coming here tonight, but I just had to see you" his words were muffled by his face pressed in your neck, and by the way his muscles were tense and rigid under your touch, you knew what had happened.

Ward, once again.

"Let's go upstairs and we can talk about it, okay?" your voice was soft, making Rafe's insides turn to mush.

He nodded as he pulled away from the embrace, taking your hand instead and letting you pull him upstairs to your bedroom.

He knew he wasn't being fair to you, coming to you for comfort every single time his dad would lash out at him. He knew he needed to man up and get a grip, but how could he when you provided so much warmth and safety and love to his soul?

How could he not need you when you were his breath of fresh air? The only thing he needed to survive and keep going? No, it was impossible.

When you had finally reached your room, you closed the door behind you and sat with Rafe on your bed, laying down and cuddling him to your chest.

You slowly started running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and twirling some of the longer strands of his dirty blonde hair around your fingers.

Rafe hummed slowly and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of being in your arms after having had such a long and awful day.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" you whispered, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere that had settled in the room.

Rafe didn't answer straight away, which you figured was a sign that he didn't want to discuss what had happened with his father, but he soon started talking in a tired, worn out voice.

"He thinks I'm turning soft because of you. Not taking care of business the way I usually did before we got together, shit like that. He doesn't see how good you're for me and how much better I'm doing since we've been dating, how calmer I am and the fact that I'm clean. It's a change he doesn't seem to think of as productive so he automatically hates it. Told me to either break up with you or pack my things and get out of the house" he explained, your heart breaking slowly with each word that came out of his mouth.

You knew from the very beginning that Ward thought you were a 'bad influence' over Rafe just because he started getting his life together after you became a couple. He stopped drinking, he's been clean for 2 years, his violent outbursts were almost non-existent and he was seriously preparing to take over the company from your father. Your father had decided that his retirement age was coming up and talked to Rafe about him taking over the company, which meant even more distancing from Ward.

Unfortunately for Ward, that also meant that he could no longer count on Rafe to do illegal things for him, 'take care' of the opposition or scare people shitless, Rafe refused to be involved with that.

Hence, this.

"Oh, baby. I am so sorry" you squeezed him tighter, planting kisses on the top of his head.

He shrugged, only squeezing you tighter and burying his head deeper into the place between your neck and your shoulder.

"I'm gonna need to find a place to stay, was thinking about going to see some places these days before I go and pick up my things" he explained further, making you confused.

Did he really think he would be staying anywhere else other than your house?

"Don't be ridiculous, love. You're gonna stay here with me. We have plenty of rooms where you can keep your things and plenty of space. My parents adore you, they love having you around and they hate your father. Imagine all the time we're going to be able to spend together from now on" you finished on an excited note, making Rafe chuckle.

He loved your ability to turn every single bad thing into a positive one, shine light in the darkest of places.

"I don't want to feel like a burden, especially not to your parents" he commented, even though he wanted nothing more than to stay there with you and your family.

"Don't be silly, you and I both know just how much my parents love you. They're going to enjoy having you around all the time, especially my dad"

Rafe and your dad had a very special relationship. Ever since you started dating, your dad had been the father Ward never was to Rafe. He took him under his wing, showed him the ropes and prepared him for when he would hold the ropes. They would take your family's boat and go fishing for a day or two to bond, they would prepare BBQs together, hang out, watch football games. They sometimes spent more time together than either of them did with you.

Your mother had the same adoration for Rafe as your father. From the moment she had realized how serious your relationship was, she did everything in hew power to show him how much she appreciated him for taking care of you, for being by your side and loving you as much as he did. She too was the mother Rafe had once lost and she provided him with the motherly love and touch he desperately needed.

He was part of your family, whether he knew it or not.

"I can't thank you enough, baby. I love you and your parents so fucking much" he raised his head and took your face in his hand, bending your face just enough to pull you into a deep kiss, pouring every single emotion he felt towards you into the kiss.

You kissed him back just as passionately, determined to never allow Rafe to feel like this anymore.

You would make sure he knew how important and loved he was even if it was the last thing you would do.

After all, you were his safe haven.

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muiitoloko · 2 months

Text

Love?

Summary: Is there love in your marriage? You would say no, not when your husband is the cruel Judge Turpin. But in some moments, no matter how brief, you think there is love.

Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, motion sickness, pregnant sex, possessive.

Author's Notes: In this particular scene, I decided to give Judge Turpin a break from his usual villainy and lighten him up a bit. After all, even evil characters deserve a day off for being too cruel, right? Let's sprinkle some love into the mix! But not so much of course, he is Judge Turpin after all.

First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth and Seventh part here.

The dim light of the bedroom cast shadows across the opulent furnishings as you shifted uncomfortably in bed, your swollen belly aching with the weight of your unborn child. Turpin lay beside you, his breathing steady and deep, oblivious to the discomfort plaguing you. You knew better than to disturb his rest unless absolutely necessary; the consequences of such an action would be severe.

It was late, far past the hour when you should have been sleeping, but your little one seemed determined to make their presence known. You couldn't help but marvel at their strength, even as their movements landed painful blows to your ribs.

But you couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for the little one growing inside you. Despite the hardships and uncertainties that lay ahead, you were determined to protect them, to shield them from the darkness that surrounded you both.

You stroked your belly gently, whispering soothing words to your unborn baby, urging them to calm down so you could get some much-needed rest, but despite your efforts, the kicks continued as if the little one was determined to make their presence known.

"Shh, my little one," you murmured, your voice a gentle murmur in the quiet of the room. "It's time to sleep now. Mommy needs her rest."

But still, the baby persisted, their movements causing you discomfort as you tried in vain to settle them. Frustration welled up within you, mingled with a sense of helplessness as you struggled to ease their restlessness.

Suddenly, you hesitated, glancing at your husband's hand resting on the pillow beside you. Turpin lay there, his breathing steady and deep, seemingly unaware of the turmoil raging within you and the unborn child. But something in his expression, the slight twitch of his lips, betrayed the facade of sleep.

With a hesitant breath, you reached out, gently taking his hand in yours and placing it on your swollen belly. "This is daddy's hand, little one," you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur. "Can you feel it? Daddy's here with us."

Turpin's eyes fluttered open, one eye half-closed as he feigned sleep, but a small smile played at the corners of his lips. He watched you, his gaze softened by the tenderness of the moment, a flicker of something resembling warmth in his otherwise stern countenance.

"Be quiet now," he murmured, his voice hoarse with sleep, yet filled with a surprising tenderness. "It's time to rest, both of you."

To your surprise, the unborn baby seemed to respond to Turpin's voice, their movements gradually subsiding until all was calm once more. Turpin kept his hand on your belly, his touch gentle yet possessive, as if silently claiming his place as father to the child growing within you.

You smiled, a sense of peace washing over you as you nestled closer to Turpin, his presence a comforting anchor in the darkness of the night. And as sleep finally claimed you, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope for the future, a future where perhaps, just perhaps, there was room for love and redemption amidst the shadows of the past.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, you awoke with a start, the remnants of your troubled dreams fading into the recesses of your mind. But as you attempted to push yourself up from the bed, a wave of nausea washed over you, forcing you back down with a groan.

Turpin, still clad in his judicial robes, glanced over at you briefly before turning his attention back to the task at hand. "I trust you'll be able to manage on your own this morning," he remarked, his tone devoid of any warmth or concern.

You nodded weakly, the bitter taste of disappointment lingering on your tongue. "Of course, Richard," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be fine."

With a dismissive nod, Turpin made his way towards the door, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. You watched him go, a sense of resentment bubbling up within you as he left you alone to contend with your illness.

But just as he reached the threshold, Turpin paused, his hand lingering on the doorknob as he turned to face you once more. "The maids have been instructed to take care of you," he stated matter-of-factly, his expression unreadable. "They will bring you some herbs to ease your nausea."

For a moment, hope flickered within you, the prospect of relief from your discomfort a welcome respite amidst the turmoil of your thoughts. "Thank you, Richard," you murmured, your voice tinged with gratitude.

But as Turpin met your gaze, his eyes cold and calculating, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. "Don't mistake this for kindness, my dear," he replied, his tone laced with thinly veiled contempt. "It's simply a matter of practicality. We can't have you falling ill at such a crucial time."

With that, he swept out of the room, leaving you alone once more with your thoughts and the ever-present ache in your heart. As the maids bustled about, attending to your needs, you couldn't help but wonder why fate had chosen to bind you to such a ruthless and cruel man.

"Why did you have to marry such a man?" you whispered to yourself, your voice barely a breath in the silence of the room. "What did you do to deserve this?"

But as the maids offered you a comforting smile and a steaming cup of herbal tea, you pushed aside your doubts and fears, determined to endure whatever hardships lay ahead. For the sake of your family, you would weather this storm, clinging to the faint hope that someday, somehow, things would be different.

And as you sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through you like a comforting embrace, you allowed yourself to believe, if only for a moment, that perhaps there was still some goodness left in the world. Even if it resided in the smallest of gestures, like a cup of tea offered in a time of need.

As you finished your morning preparations and descended the grand staircase, the maids scurried about, attending to their tasks with practiced efficiency. You greeted them with a polite nod, acknowledging their presence with a small smile before turning your attention to your duties.

But just as you were about to make your way towards the kitchen, one of the maids approached you, her expression hesitant yet determined. "Excuse me, madam," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "The Professor has arrived. He's waiting for you in the study."

You blinked in surprise at the mention of the Professor, a faint glimmer of hope shining within you at the prospect of your classes resuming. Despite Turpin's initial reluctance, he eventually relented, agreeing to allow his classes to resume with the teacher he had hired to teach him how to read and write.

You were a humble peasant, plucked from obscurity by Judge Turpin himself, who had promised to help your family financially in exchange for your hand in marriage. Desperate to provide for your loved ones, you had accepted his offer without hesitation, willing to do whatever it took to secure a better future for them.

But as time passed, you began to realize the true nature of the man you had married—a cruel and insensitive tyrant who saw you as nothing more than a pawn in his quest for power and dominance. You couldn't understand why he had chosen you in the first place; you were not from high society, you had no dowry for marriage, and you lacked the education and refinement expected of a judge's wife.

Yet, despite your shortcomings, Turpin had seen fit to provide for you, hiring a Professor to teach you the skills you so desperately lacked. At first, you had viewed his gesture as a loving and kind one, a sign of his devotion to you.

But when Turpin had grunted in disdain at the thought of having a "stupid, illiterate wife" to educate his offspring, the illusion had shattered, leaving you feeling even more isolated and alone in your own home.

Pushing aside your thoughts, you nodded to the maid, a sense of determination rising within you. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice tinged with gratitude. "Please inform the Professor that I'll be with him shortly."

With that, you made your way towards the study, your heart pounding with anticipation as you prepared to resume your lessons. As you entered the room, the young professor rose from his seat, a warm smile lighting up his face at the sight of you.

"Good morning, madam," he greeted, his voice gentle and kind. "I trust you're ready to continue our studies?"

You returned his smile, taking a seat at the table as he began to unpack his materials. "Yes, Professor," you replied, your voice filled with determination. "I'm eager to learn."

And so, as the young professor began to teach you the ins and outs of reading and writing, you dove into the classes, determined to make the most of this opportunity. With every minute that passed, you made steady progress, and your confidence grew as you learned to decipher the letters and words in front of you.

As the Professor paused in his lesson, noticing the subtle movements of your belly, he couldn't help but inquire about your pregnancy. His curiosity was evident in his eyes as he glanced at your swollen belly, a mixture of awe and intrigue coloring his expression.

"Forgive me for asking, madam," he began hesitantly, "but I couldn't help but notice... Are you expecting?"

You nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of your lips as you placed a hand on your belly. "Well, that's a little obvious, but yes," you replied softly, your voice filled with a mixture of pride and anticipation. "I'm carrying Judge Turpin's child."

The Professor's eyes widened in surprise, his gaze shifting between you and your belly as if trying to comprehend the reality of the situation. "Congratulations," he murmured, his tone filled with genuine warmth. "That's truly wonderful news."

As he spoke, the young professor hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but... May I... touch your belly? Feel the baby?"

You hesitated for a moment, taken aback by his request, but ultimately, you saw no harm in it. With a nod, you allowed the Professor to place his hand on your belly, guiding his touch to where you felt the baby's kicks most strongly.

At first, the Professor's touch was tentative, his fingers grazing lightly over your swollen belly as if afraid to disturb the delicate balance within. But as he felt the gentle movements of the baby beneath his hand, a sense of wonder filled his expression, his eyes widening with awe.

"It's... incredible," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've never felt anything like it before."

You smiled, a sense of warmth spreading through you at the Professor's genuine awe and wonder. "It truly is," you agreed softly, your hand resting atop his as you felt the baby squirming beneath your skin.

But just as the moment stretched on, the door to the study swung open with a loud creak, and Judge Turpin entered, his expression darkening as he took in the scene before him. His eyes narrowed as he glared at the Professor, his voice dripping with thinly veiled anger.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his baritone voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Why is this man touching what belongs to me?"

The Professor recoiled, his hand pulling away from your belly as if burned by Turpin's words. He stumbled to his feet, his eyes wide with fear as he backed away from the imposing figure of the judge.

"I-I-I'm sorry, Your Honor," he stammered, his voice trembling with fear. "I-I didn't mean any harm, I swear."

Turpin's gaze remained fixed on the younger man, his expression unreadable as he assessed the situation before him. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he gestured towards the door, his tone cold and commanding.

"Leave," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "The lesson is over for today."

The Professor wasted no time in obeying, practically fleeing from the room as if afraid that Turpin's wrath might fall upon him at any moment. As the door swung shut behind him, Turpin turned his attention back to you, his eyes dark with anger.

"How dare you allow another man to touch you in such a familiar manner?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

You swallowed hard, the weight of Turpin's anger pressing down on you like a leaden weight. "I-I'm sorry, Richard," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Your husband approached you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. His fury is palpable, his eyes blazing with an unsettling mix of anger and suspicion.

"Cheating on me, are you?" He's voice is low and menacing, his baritone rumbling with barely contained rage as he grabs the arms of the chair you're still seated in, keeping you trapped there.

You shake your head frantically, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggle to find the right words to appease him. "N-no, Richard," you stammer, your voice trembling with fear. "I would never... I swear, I would never betray you."

But Turpin pays no heed to your protestations, his grip on the chair tightening as he leans in closer, his hooked nose almost touching yours. "Don't lie to me," he hisses, his breath hot against your skin. "I know what I saw."

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak as Turpin's anger consumes him. "Please, Richard," you plead, tears welling up in your eyes. "I would never do anything to hurt you."

But Turpin's fury only seems to escalate, his grip on the chair tightening painfully as he pulls you out of it with a rough tug, causing you to cry out in pain. Ignoring your protests, he orders you to keep your hands on the wall and open your legs, his voice commanding and authoritative.

Trembling with fear, you obey his instructions, your hands shaking as you press them against the cold surface of the wall. Turpin steps closer, his gaze dark and predatory as he looms over you, his expression unreadable.

"Open your legs," he commands, his voice low and commanding. "Let me see if you've been sullied by that wretch."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you comply, your heart hammering in your chest as Turpin pulls up your dress, exposing your trembling form to his scrutiny. His hand snakes inside your panties, his touch rough and invasive as he feels your skin, searching for any sign of betrayal.

But as his fingers probe your most intimate places, he finds nothing but dryness, a fact that seems to please him immensely. "So, the Professor didn't do anything for you," he murmurs, a twisted smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Good."

You bite back a cry of pain as Turpin lets go of your dress and grips your hair tightly, his fingers digging into your scalp with blunt force. “Remember who you belong to,” he growls, his voice full of possessiveness. "You are mine, and mine alone."

He lets go of your hair, ordering you to keep your dress up and you obediently do so, feeling a mix of fear and anticipation running through you. His body shakes with apprehension as Turpin unbuttons his own pants, his movements deliberate and controlled. He moves your panties to the side, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he slowly penetrates you.

You gasp as he enters you, the sensation familiar but painful. Despite being accustomed to his size, Turpin's girth still stretches you to the limit, causing you to wince as he pushes himself completely inside you. His hand rests on your belly, feeling the kicks of his unborn child beneath his palm.

"Quiet now," Turpin grunts, his voice low and commanding as he addresses the baby. "Daddy is teaching mommy a lesson."

His words send a thrill of fear and excitement through you, your body responding to his authoritative tone. Turpin's voice works wonders in your ear, its low, almost husky quality sending shivers of pleasure down your spine.

"You belong to me," he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Remember that."

You nod frantically, your mind clouded with desire as Turpin's words wash over you. Despite the pain and discomfort, there's a part of you that revels in the intensity of the moment, the forbidden thrill of submitting to Turpin's desires.

As he moves inside you, with deliberate movements, you cling to him desperately, your nails digging into his arm on your stomach as you seek release. Turpin’s grip tightens on your hips, his thrusts getting harder and harder as he brings you both to the edge of pleasure.

"Say my name," he commands, his voice a low growl in your ear. "Say it."

"Richard," you gasp, the word falling from your lips like a prayer as ecstasy washes over you, consuming you completely.

Turpin smiles contentedly against your ear, his grip on your hips never faltering as he continues to move within you. "That's it, my dear," he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction. "You're mine."

And as you surrender yourself to him completely, lost in the throes of passion, you can't help but wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, there's a twisted kind of love hidden amidst the darkness of your shared desires

You reach your climax, a wave of pleasure washing over you, sending you spiraling into ecstasy. You moan Turpin’s name, your body shaking with the intensity of your release. Your Husband follows soon after, your own climax echoing his as he holds your belly, the weight of your child a constant reminder of the life growing inside you.

As you both catch your breath, Turpin carefully guides you to the chair, his touch surprisingly gentle as he helps you settle into a comfortable position. You hesitate before questioning why he came home early, sensing a strange shift in his demeanor.

"Richard, why are you home so early?" you ask, your voice tentative as you search his face for any sign of explanation.

Turpin seems to hesitate for a moment, his gaze flickering away from yours as if avoiding your scrutiny. "It doesn't matter," he replies curtly, his tone clipped and dismissive.

The silence stretches between you, fraught with unspoken tension as you struggle to make sense of Turpin's sudden change in behavior. He seems different somehow, his usually stern countenance softened by a hint of shyness you've never seen before.

But you dare not speak such thoughts aloud, fearing Turpin's wrath if you were to question him further. Instead, you nod meekly, apologizing once again for allowing the Professor to touch your belly.

And Turpin's expression turns stoic again as he settles behind his desk, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "What was the professor teaching you today?" he questions, his voice rough and demanding.

You push the book that was on the table towards him, explaining that you were practicing reading. Your husband nods once, telling you to go ahead and read it out loud, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But you hesitate, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over you as you try to focus on the words in front of you. And when you stumble across a particularly difficult passage, Turpin's patience runs out and he growls in frustration, urging you to read faster.

You obey, stumbling over the words as you struggle to make sense of them. And he watches you intently, his gaze unwavering as he admires your beauty and obedience.

Lost in thought, Turpin's gaze lingers on you, his mind drifting back to the first time he saw you, a mere peasant girl from a humble village. It was a chance encounter, the carriage wheel of his lavish carriage breaking down as he passed through your village.

And as he waited impatiently for his servants to fix the wheel, he caught sight of you, surrounded by your sisters, laughing and chatting as you made your way to the nearby lake to wash clothes. Even in your simple attire, you exuded a natural beauty and grace that captivated Turpin from the moment he laid eyes on you.

He watched you from afar, his heart stirring with emotions he couldn't quite comprehend. In that moment, amidst the chaos of the broken carriage and the bustling village, Turpin felt something he hadn't experienced in years—a spark of genuine affection and longing.

And now, as he watches you struggle with your reading lesson, the memory of that fateful day comes rushing back to him, filling him with a sense of nostalgia and longing. He scratches his beard absentmindedly, lost in thought as he considers the depth of his feelings for you.

"Richard?" your voice interrupts his reverie, pulling him back to the present moment. "Is everything all right?"

Turpin blinks, his gaze refocusing on you as he offers a tight-lipped smile. "Yes, everything is fine," he assures you, though his tone lacks its usual conviction. "I was merely lost in thought."

You nod, though a flicker of concern crosses your features. "If there's anything on your mind, Richard, you can always talk to me," you offer softly, your eyes searching his for any sign of vulnerability.

For a moment, he hesitates, his usual stoicism faltering as he considers confiding in you. But then, with a shake of his head, he pushes aside his doubts and fears, burying them beneath a mask of composure.

"There's nothing to discuss," he replies, his tone firm and authoritative. "Now, let us continue with your lesson. We have much ground to cover."

As you continue reading, the words flowing effortlessly from your lips, Turpin's eyes drift shut, enveloped in the soothing cadence of your voice. He listens intently, every word resonating within him like a melody, stirring emotions he's long tried to suppress.

Despite his best efforts to maintain his composure, Turpin can't shake the feeling of longing that grips him whenever he's near you. It's a sensation he can't quite understand—a mixture of desire, obsession, and perhaps, dare he admit it, love.

But love is a dangerous territory for a man like Judge Turpin, a man hardened by years of cruelty and betrayal. He knows the pain of vulnerability all too well, having been burned by it in the past. And so, he guards his heart fiercely, unwilling to let anyone get too close.

Yet, despite his resolve, he can't deny the pull you have on him, the way you seem to effortlessly chip away at the walls he's built around himself. Your kindness, your innocence—it's both infuriating and intoxicating, a potent combination that leaves he feeling more conflicted than ever.

As you stumble over a word, Turpin's eyes snap open, his keen gaze fixing on you with intensity. "That's not quite right," he interjects. "It's pronounced 'effervescent,' not 'efferversent.'"

You smile up at him, that same bright smile that captured his heart from the moment he first laid eyes on you, and something within Turpin stirs.

"Thank you, Richard," you say, your voice soft and earnest. "I couldn't do this without you."

Turpin's chest tightens at your words, a pang of guilt gnawing at him from within. He knows he should push you away, keep you at arm's length to protect himself from the vulnerability he so fears. But in that moment, all he wants is to pull you close, to hold you in his arms and never let you go.

Yet, he knows he can't. Not after what happened with Johanna—not after she ran away with that wretched sailor, leaving Turpin alone and betrayed. The memory of her betrayal still haunts him, a constant reminder of the dangers of trusting others.

So, he tightens his grip on the chair, steeling himself against the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He forces himself to focus on the task at hand, to bury his feelings beneath a mask of indifference.

But as you continue reading, your voice a soothing balm to his troubled soul, Turpin can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there's a chance for redemption. If perhaps, in the warmth of your presence, he can find the courage to let go of the past and embrace the possibility of a brighter future.

But for now, he pushes those thoughts aside, choosing instead to lose himself in the comfort of your company, if only for a fleeting moment. And as you smile up at him, your eyes filled with trust and affection, Turpin allows himself to believe, if only for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, there's hope for him yet.

#judge turpin x reader #judge turpin #alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #sweeney todd

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shanieveh · 10 months

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♪ ♡ ♫ — salut d'amour, op. 12 — ♫ ♡ ♪

— genshin men choosing you above everything and anything

KAEYA who always wanted to see where he came from, what he was, truly was. Choosing between mondstadt and his birth place conflicted his days, but you changed a lot of things. You made him believe in the future, not the past. You made him alive, like the past two decades were just him breathing. He no longer cared of some survivor, spies, or what he was, but what he is—what he will be. All he knew is that you were in his life and he can fight anything, even his lies.

SCARAMOUCHE's biggest longing in his life is a purpose for his existence, and in doing so he became a harbinger, a criminal and now a God. But when he first heard the way the akademiya treated you, he almost turned beserk— he left everything, his godhood, his dreams, his desires, because of you. No one will treat you like some mad scholar, a dog, and as he destroyed the entire building he knew who he did it for. Godhood is for fools, the feeling of passion and love that mortality was in his chest, and he accepted the feeling as it fueled his actions, as he destroyed Azar himself.

ZHONGLI wanted a peaceful life. And when he Osial came back to haunt Liyue he chose not to strike. But he was not planning to losing you. He lost everyone but not you. And as you struggle in ocean's grasp Morax once again came to be, once again saved Liyue, Zhongli once again saved the day. Returned to the same boring routine that tire his days. As the corrosion start wearing him out, atleast he can make you safe. Even if, this wasn't what he wanted, the rest he longed for, you were the person he needed.

DILUC would do anything for family. For his father's legacy. And when he went to snezhnaya to uncover the truth, he was so close, but news of your illness soon reached his ears. He gave up all he knew, all the plans and petty revenge. He went home. The fatui called him a coward, he really was. Diluc can't help but be with you through thick and thin. You recovered, you assured him. And in that he found peace, no longer to chase for the truth, but appreciate what he has now, and keep it in his heart. For that didn't require a delusion, it required only to love you.

ALHAITHAM proudly called him a feeble scholar who only cares about having a peaceful unnoticed life. But when you were deemed a failure by the akademiya and punished severly he was quick to make a revolution towards it. For the first time he showed no mercy. How dare they?! Alhaitham now a hero, now noticed, did not like a single compliment. But when you clapped for him, he smiled. For all that hardwork was for your happiness.

CHILDE likes to fight. He loves to win. And every argument he does so with you. He relishes in being right, and you being wrong. And then you crumble. You gave up. In that very moment he wished he lost, he was wrong, he wished he admitted it. He lost that smirk, that winning smile. He begged, he surrendered. Fighting with you was a tragedy he'll gladly lose over and over again. Even if he was right, even if you were wrong, he longs to lose when its with you.

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violettduchess · 10 months

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A/N: Better late than never! Not a request, just my imagining what these lovely suitors would be like with an infant that wakes up crying 💜

CW: babies, breastfeeding

Suitors x female reader

WC: 2045

A cry rings out through a peaceful summer night at the palace.

It is small, but powerful.

And very, very insistent.

Leon

A light sleeper by nature, he gets up, murmuring for you to try and keep sleeping when he notices you stirring too. "I'll see what I can do for the little peanut." He crosses the room to the white bassinet with its pale pink ruffles, a gift from Uncle Yves. Inside his infant daughter is fussing. Tiny fists are clenching and unclenching as her small head turns fitfully left and right.

“Ah, c’mere sweetheart,” he says, voice still rough with sleep as he lifts her gently, laying her against his bare shoulder. One large hand rubs her back as he walks the length of the room, her tiny cheek warm as a spot of sunshine against his shoulder.

“I can take her–” you start to say as you push yourself upright in the bed, but he shakes his head, holding up a finger.

“I think we’ve got this handled, love. Take a look.” He walks over to your side of the bed, his hand still gently stroking the baby’s back. Her tiny head with its halo of black hair rests against him and is still. Not able to see her face, he turns sideways, giving you the sweetest view of your handsome, bare-chested husband holding your daughter close, her small face now relaxed again in sleep. Her father’s warmth was enough to solve whatever problem had woken her and she's drifted back off to the soft, hazy world of baby dreams.

You smile, feeling the way your heart expands, a paradox: never has it been so full of love and yet so very, very light.

Clavis

He wakes up immediately at his son’s first cry and is out of bed before the sound can even penetrate your deep sleep. He knows how often you get up, how often you are the only one who can satisfy your son’s voracious demands for food but Clavis has told himself that the little tyrant's demands that don't require milk, he will take care of himself. You, his dearest of dears, need as much sleep as you can get.

He bends down over the baby’s cradle, brushing back the boy’s angel-soft hair, the same twilight shade as his. “So noisy at such a late hour. My my. This won’t do.” Carefully he scoops up his son, adjusting his pajamas and then his hand freezes.

“Oh dear. I think I see why you’re so upset, little Lelouch.” The baby continues to whimper, little cries that, although Clavis knows they are harmless, still feel like they are stabbing right into the center of his tender heart. He never wants to hear his child in distress.

Reaching up, he turns the small knob on the lamp above the dresser where you have all of the baby’s changing things neatly laid out. His son squeaks out little sounds of agitation. “I’ve got you, don't worry. Papa's got you, always and--my goodness, how does such a tiny body produce this much liquid?” He talks, his words soft and almost sing-song as he changes his son’s pajamas and diaper with practiced hands. The baby, now removed of his damp clothing, stops whimpering, instead blinking up at his father with wide golden eyes.

“There has got to be a better solution to this than soaking all those linen diapers,” he mutters as he carefully slides chubby legs into fresh little stockings. “I bet I could invent something that might absorb all your perfectly healthy but still oh so stinky messes much better.” The baby kicks his legs and waves his arms, as if cheering in agreement and Clavis laughs softly, lifting his son back into his arms. “You agree with Papa? You think I can do that? Of course you do.”

He walks back to the cradle, turning his head to place a gentle kiss to the apple of his son’s plump cheek. He could hold him in his arms forever, never tiring of that infant smell, that the feel of his warm little body so trusting and sweet against him.

He pauses in front of the cradle. “Hmm….I know. Let’s go on a little nocturnal journey down the hall while talking through some chemicals and their rates of absorption. I bet you’ll be a perfectly delightful assistant.”

Jin

Both you and Jin yawn, sleepily rubbing at your eyes as your daughter’s cries fill the bedroom. One glance at the time and he sighs, reaching over to tenderly touch your cheek with the back of his hand. “She’s on time, our little one,” he murmurs in his deep voice even as you are pushing yourself up with one hand and already unbuttoning your nightgown with the other.

He gets up, walking over to the crib where the infant is crying, her shock of brownish hair standing up in every direction. “Mommy’s already getting ready for you, princess,” he says as he reaches down and lifts her. She’s so small in his large hands. He walks back to bed, murmuring soft little shushing noises, and then carefully hands her over to you. You help her find the right position and then sigh when she begins to nurse, her cries immediately quieted. Glancing up, you find Jin sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you both with a curiously thoughtful expression.

“What is it?”

He watches you a moment, then shakes his head, a sheepish grin on his handsome face. “It’s just….I’ve always liked that particular body part.” You snort, running your fingers over your baby’s fine chestnut hair. “That’s an understatement.” He chuckles, shrugging before continuing his thought. “Yeah well…it’s just…I think….now that I see ‘em being used to feed our little girl….I think….I think I actually like them MORE now.”

You can’t help it. You start giggling, a burst of yellow happiness that colors the gray exhaustion of new parenthood. “God, I love you.” You crook a finger at him and he matches your smile as he climbs back into bed and leans close to you. You place a kiss on his chiseled cheekbone, warm and affectionate. A sigh born of tender happiness is his answer, along with the words, “I love you too.”

Silvio

“Stay in bed. I’ll go.” He’s up, striding across the bedroom to the bassinet before you can even finish rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Aye, piccolino, sono qui.” He reaches down, running a hand over the restless infant's back. But no soothing words or pets seem to be enough. He lifts the baby carefully, still in that new stage of fatherhood where a baby feels like the most fragile thing in the world.

You watch your two pale-haired men, frowning slightly as the littlest one continues to fuss. "He can't be hungry again, can he?" You have just finished feeding him until he fell into a milk-drunk state of blissful sleep, his body heavy and warm, not thirty minutes ago. He had been sleeping so soundly that hope for more than an hour of sleep at one time had risen in your heart.

Silvio lays the baby against his shoulder. His hands are bare, with only his simple gold wedding band left on his elegant fingers. Every other piece of jewelry has been removed for the sake of his child. Necklaces would get in the way of his son sleeping on his bare chest. Earrings might hinder his ability to press his cheek against his fine, moonlight-spun hair.

"Ain't no baby in the world that could eat again after all that milk." He inclines his head towards his son. "Listen to you, cucciolo. All that growling." He rubs his small back in soothing circles. And then the most extraordinary thing happens: the tiny prince lets out the most raucous of burps. The kind that sends a quake through his little body.

"Dio mio," his father mutters, blue eyes wide as he looks down at his son. You grin through your sleepiness. "Here I thought only his grumbling was like his father."

Gilbert

His daughter's cry shatters the night's peace in an instant. Both you and Gilbert wake up immediately, but he's quicker than you, throwing back the covers and crossing the room to the cradle carved from darkest walnut.

He spots the problem immediately. At some point during the night she had kicked her blanket to the end of her cradle where it lies bunched up and useless. Her socks are nowhere to be seen, a display of her magician-like talent for making them disappear. He reaches down and sure enough, her tiny feet are like ice blocks.

"Always the same thing with you, oder Mäuschen? What have socks ever done to you?” He lifts her from her cradle, tucking her securely into the crook of his arm as he makes his way over to the dresser that has been designated hers. You reach across the bed, turning on the lamp that sits on his nightstand and he glances at you over his shoulder, eyes bright with appreciation. “Thank you, Häschen.” Now he can see better, his fingers trailing over the tiny rolled up socks and tights. When the baby makes a small cooing sound, he stops. “These?” He pulls out a pair of soft black tights embroidered with mini red roses. “Ahh a good choice.”

He hums as he walks over to the changing table, the sound soft and soothing, the gentle rush of a river through the night. As he carefully changes her diaper and then works her plump little legs into the tights, humming gives way to him singing. "Der Mond ist aufgegangen…"

She is curious, all thoughts of crying gone, watchful crimson eyes blinking as she keeps her gaze on the source of the calming sound. “Fertig,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the soles of her now covered feet. "All done." Then he lifts her, carrying her not to her cradle but back to the bed. He slides in, leaning back against the support of the many bed pillows, settling in. Her eyes are already closing as she snuggles in close against his chest.

You watch them both with a smile as tender as the moon’s joy in the stars.

Chevalier

The man who took an army to wake up is on his feet in an instant. He is silent as he crosses the room, leaning down to check on his crying daughter, her pale head of blond hair gleaming silver in the moonlight. He carefully lifts her from the bassinet, marveling in the back of his mind at how very small she is.

He glances back to the bed where you are still deeply asleep. “Your mother is exhausted from all your demands.” He wouldn’t usually condone speaking to a baby as they are incapable of understanding but he’s found that she calms down when she hears his voice. Even now her whimpering stops, her tiny cheek resting on the soft linen of his shirt. She’s gone very still, as if truly listening to his words. “You’ve eaten twenty minutes ago. We can eliminate hunger. Your bottom is….” He pats it gently, checking. “...perfectly dry. The room is neither too hot nor too cold.” He wraps his hands around her feet. She’s still wearing her white socks trimmed with yellow lace. “Your feet are adequately covered.” He tips his head back to look down at her. Her perfect, tiny fingers are curled into his shirt and her body feels heavy, drowsy with sleep.

She attempts to turn her head, burying her face in his shoulder and he reaches up, helping her, running his strong fingers over her downy hair when she has found a position that is comfortable. Chevalier walks over to the white wooden rocking chair you have positioned by the window and lowers himself into it.

“You simply wanted to be held, didn’t you?” A heavy, stuttering sigh leaves her small body, almost as if in answer to her father’s line of questioning. He cups her head with his hand, tilting his face down to place a soft kiss on her hair. “I’ll comply, little one.” He settles into the chair and begins rocking gently back and forth, father and daughter, bathed in loving, silvery moonlight.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart

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rolling-storm-writing · 1 year

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A Night Alone: John Price x Top!Mreader

A/N: When the rest of the 141 is out goofing off it gives you and Price a much-needed night alone.

(I literally wrote this in an hour and I’ve never written for this man so all comments and critiques are welcome!!)

>>> 18+ MINORS DNI!!!

Alone time was a hard thing to come by one base, something was always happening and there was never any true peace to be found. Sure you could get some nearby apartment or a home out somewhere but it wouldn’t come close to living with your boys. You joined the 141 on a temporary assignment four years ago, and now you were practically stuck with this cluster fuck of a group.

In that time you managed to spark a romance with a certain captain and now neither of you could get enough of the other. Price wasn’t a man to keep secrets but somehow no one managed to notice the relationship between you and him. For a long time he thought he’d never find that special someone until you came to swoop him off his feet, he wasn’t really into other men but was certainly into you.

Your tall stature, beautiful smile, and funny personality made you hard to ignore. And he fell for you harder than he’d care to admit and he certainly was happy for it. All of that left you becoming the second father of the 141 and all of the craziness that came with it.

So when the power went out and all the food in the fridge spoiled it was you and Price that went out to buy some more food. Everyone else elected to go spend a day or two in town leaving you and your sweet captain more than enough time alone together. “Pulp or no pulp?” he asked, holding up the two cartons of orange juice. You were much too focused on him to hear what he said, your eyes preferring to linger on his biceps that looked phenomenal in your gray tank top. Your id tags hanging right between those beautiful pecs and he was even wearing your favorite sweats that left little to the imagination…

You were quickly knocked out of your trance went he pressed the cold carton on your arm, “you eye fucking me in the middle of the store-” he grumbled as you swatted the cold juice away. “You look good, what can I say,” the humor in your voice soon enough brought a smile to his face as he shook away the blush across his cheeks. You were quick to follow after him as the two of you continued shopping, his lustful glances obvious as he watched you reach the loaf of bread on the high shelf just above him.

The ride back to base wasn’t any better as your passenger prince rubbed his palm along your thigh the whole car ride back to base. Even as you carried the groceries in he made it a point to watch you with a cigar in hand and his tea in the other. “How hot do I look right now?” you asked him as Price looked at you over his cup, “real good, you look real good baby…”

Maybe it was the way he looked at you from the couch or how you took a drag from his cigar that set everything off. Price was in your arms, legs wrapped around your waist as you hoisted him up into the air, hands tangled in your hair, and his lips hungrily capturing yours. Eventually, you both stumble into your room and he’s quick to push you onto the bed, fingers eagerly working the buttons of your trousers open.

He looks absolutely beautiful on his knees, those beautiful eyes staring right back at you “so beautiful” you whisper to him. No matter how many times Price would never grow tired of watching your now hard cock spring up. You shuttered at the cold hair hitting it but Price just chuckled, “I gotcha hun” he moaned, licking his lips as he eyed the feast in front of him.

He leaned forward, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out taking the whole length down his throat. He was good at this, you couldn’t deny that. A satisfied moan escaped you as Price’s mouth bottomed out. Your hand immediately found his head, tugging on the short strands of hair as he swallowed you whole. His pink lips stretched beautifully around your fat cock as you watched him through hooded lids.

His hands were firmly on your thighs pushing himself up and down on your cock, the sounds of his wet mouth and your cock filled the room. Your low moans and his ever-pleased ones traveled through your ears as his tongue traveled around your shaft and came back up to the tip. Price continued this agonizing pace for well over five minutes, your hips bucking up into his mouth again and again causing that sweet pleasure.

“Fuck, princess. Look at you,” you moaned as you felt that growing coil in your abdomen. He pulled off for a moment as you pulled him in for a quick kiss, you could taste yourself on his tongue before you two parted. The pre-cum in his bear and the spit that dribbled down his chin weren't missed by you either. “All for you sweetheart” his voice was a bit hoarse and his jaw ached a bit but he was gonna milk this for all you were worth.

He took your cock into his hand and smiled gently, taking the head into his mouth, his tongue out as your pre-cum decorated it. Oh, how he loved the taste of you as he encouraged more of that sweet taste to fill his mouth, to him there was nothing sweeter.

Just the thought of that fat cock inside him had Price in a tight knot. “You prep yourself…?” you asked as he gave a slow nod to you. Standing up he took his time shedding his clothes, his cock heavy and hard between his legs as you watched him hungrily. You couldn’t help the way this man made you feel, the way his back arched, and how good that silver plug looked buried inside him.

The round globes of his ass were perfect under your large hands as you pulled the silver jewelry from inside him. Your hot breath ghosted against his ear and your hips thrust harshly against his ass. His moans were loud as he felt your hard cock pressing against his puckered rim. “Please!” Price finally begged as your hands gripped his hips ever so tightly and your lips kissed and nipped at his neck and shoulders. That’s another thing he loved about you, just how big you were and how you practically engulfed him.

“I’m gonna fill you nice and good, princess” you assured him. A loud groan left his lips as your cock pushed his rim, the head slowly pushing inside. He buried his face in the sheets and tried to quiet his moans as you slowly pushed inside. No matter how many times you both fucked, Price was always surprised by just how big your dick was. You’d ruined him for anyone else and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Soon enough you bottomed out, balls resting on his ass as Price took a few moments to catch his breath. Your soft kisses and gentle caressing always made him feel better as he craned his neck to kiss you. He could care less how he looked, bent over with a cock drilled into him, face a flustered mess, and his dick spilling pre-cum all over your freshly washed sheets. “Baby…” he whined, his hips moving against yours as you kissed him, “ready?” you mumbled as he nodded against you.

Your lovemaking wasn’t always gentle by any means and today wasn't any different, you held his hips almost tight enough to bruise just like he loved. You slowly pulled out so only the head of your cock was left inside, his rim catching beautifully on the head as you memorized the pretty sight. You thrust back inside with all your strength setting a brutal pace. Price’s body was pushed into the mattress as you fucked into him, back arched and ass up as he saw stars. Most importantly he knew he was going to be sore for a few days after all this.

He loved the way you just let him let go and take what you gave him. He couldn’t care less about how he sounded as his whimpers and cries filled the room. Your thrust forced him further and further into the bedding, his legs spreading further and further, hands digging into the sheets as you pounded into him. Each thrust seemed to knock the breath out of him, he couldn’t moan the way he wanted to, his voice already hoarse and heavy.

All Price could do was hold onto the sheets and hope he could walk straight after all this.

He couldn’t move an inch as he took every single powerful thrust, face buried in the sheet with tears running down his face. The pleasure grew and grew as this brutal pace kept up. Every hard thrust landed on his prostate just abusing the poor bundles of nerves. Price wasn’t gonna last much longer as his cock throbbed painfully. Even as your thrusts grew more and more erratic you didn’t let up for a moment.

Your name was on his lips as he came, the blissful release was earth-shattering as you fucked him through it. Your release was moments away and with a few more thrusts you shoved your cock as deep as you could inside. Hot cum painted his insides filling his abused hole, your tiny thrusts only enhancing things as you fucked it deeper into him. Price swore you had enough cum to fill a bucket, your cum filling his ass. Even as it leaked out of his hole and down his thighs you were still cumming.

“You okay baby?” you asked after a moment pulling out of him and watching as Price rolled over onto his back. His chest was heaving as he lay there in a blissful daze. “Yeah… I’m okay” he said after a moment as you laid down next to him, pulling him closer. Price cuddled up and got comfortable. The two of you could clean up later after all.

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Ending Note: I haven't wrote anything like this in so long- I just need some bottom Price for the life of me. Hope yall enjoy and if you have any suggestion for future works feel free to let me know! <3

#cod x male reader #cod x reader #cod mw22 #john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #Bottom John Price #smut #captian price #141 #141 x reader #male reader #top male reader #gender nuetral reader

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aqours · 1 year

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"Aqua has an Oedipus complex-" first of all beyond the fact the only way you could possibly think this is you never read or watched OnK at all and just read a synopsis and didn't bother to verify if it was accurate or not- this is actually the weakest way you could possibly interpret the nature of the feelings Goro/Aqua had regarding Ai. like, even ignoring the fact that Aqua has such an extreme lack of an Oedipus complex to the point he actively refused to breastfeed from Ai because it would have been creepy and inappropriate to him, everything about Aqua's feelings regarding Ai if anything read as parental quite frankly

Gorou Amamiya became Ai's fan because of Sarina. Because Sarina was somebody important to Gorou that he comforted in her last days, he became a huge fan of Ai in order to carry on Sarina's wishes and to keep supporting her and became a genuine diehard idol fan in the process. Then, he met Ai while pregnant: and had a heart-to-heart conversation with her. And came to the conclusion that Ai was somebody he wanted to support in any capacity. He could have been like Ryousuke and actually become possessive of her and feel like she betrayed him: he did not. He was a medical professional that put aside his own feelings as "a fan" to support her both as a doctor and as a fan in his own way by wishing for her sincere happiness as opposed to an image sold to fans.

He wanted to see her grow up happy and healthy. If Ryousuke had not killed him and there was no murder plot at all? The plot of this story probably would have been about him moving to Tokyo after talking to Ai's manager saying that someone needs to be their family doctor while keeping their secret and him taking the roll. The series would have been about Gorou as the Hoshino family doctor and how he supports them as a member of the sidelines who gives support in his own way.

Aqua never really refers to Ai as his mother much outside of situations when it'd be weirder if he didn't. It's very explicit he does not have a romantic or sexual attraction to Ai in this new life: he already didn't, but now it's like, Negatively So Actually. No longer able to support her as a doctor he even took an acting gig JUST to help further and bolster Ai's career. It's beaten into your face with the subtlety of a dozen hammers to your face his only desire is to watch Ai grow up safe and happily and succesful.

Aqua's/Gorou's relationship with Ai was someone who wanted to see her grow up to be happy. And after some waste of life incel murdered her? To want to make sure that was avenged. Because he was someone older than Ai who valued her and wanted her happiness above everything else in the world, and views the person who is responsible for that as someone who's life is forfeit. Because Ai was a good person who didn't deserve her fate and as someone who only ever wanted to support her, wants to make sure that her memory can rest in peace completely.

If anything, the feelings Aqua/Gorou had towards Ai are parental in nature. So much about his motivations read like a father who wants to avenge his daughter's murder, to kill the man that denied her the happiness the child deserved.

"OnK is soooooooo gross the mc has an Oedipus complex and is a p*do-" not only is this a reading you can only get from a five second sypnosis read and being determined to hate OnK for brownie points, it's not even the right fucked up dead dove way that you could describe their relationship.

EDIT: I feel the need to address this, as it's talked in reblogs and some notes! I never expected this to get notes, and I mostly wrote this in one go. Please understand I wrote this post from the perspective of purely writing Aqua's feelings for Ai purely from a familial perspective. The reality is that Aqua's feelings are complicated and can be read in many different ways: from familial, to that of a lover, to someone who puts Ai on a pedestal as the ultimate Idol and the ideal of what a "true" fan would be: someone who loves their Idol for who she is as opposed to a toxic image. I don't fully 100% agree with this post anymore, but if I had to chose only one familial way for Aqua to view Ai I would probably still default to "vengeful father who wants to avenge his daughter's death." BUT Aqua's feelings are ultra complicated and are on an entire spectrum ranging from "wholesome" to "outright disturbing," so please don't take my words as like a single sure-fire way to interpret him! ty all <3

#oshi no ko #onk #my star #ai hoshino #hoshino ai #aquamarine hoshino #hoshino aquamarine #aqua hoshino #starposts #gorou amemiya

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system-to-the-madness · 7 months

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Blessed (2/2) - Fushiguro Megumi x fem!Reader

SPOILERs for up to ch. 235 - canon complient until then Pairing: Fushiguro Megumi x fem!Reader Genre: angst (Part 1), fluff (Part 2), hurt/comfort Word Count: 7 946 Warnings: death, injury, stitches, blood, pain Summary: Megumi woke up after having been saved by you, but will you recover, too?

Part One

The air smelled of wood and tatami. Megumi groaned slightly as he tried to stretch, feeling the soft blanket and the warm futon engulf him. His limbs felt stiff, like they had done when he had been bedridden for weeks with the flue when he had been thirteen. He grabbed his hands and intertwined the fingers, stretching them above his head, before eventually blinking his eyes open. The room he was in was lit up only by the orange light of a small lamp at the headend of his futon. Beyond the traditional room separations made of washi and wood the darkness of night lingered quietly. The tatami floor filled him with the comforting sense of familiarity. He was back at Jujutsu High, strangely enough the one place he had always felt safe at. Maybe because you had always been there.

A sudden noise at his feet drew his attention to it, and sitting up a little he was met with a sight that let his heart almost stop in his chest. Curled up at the end of his bed, hair dishevelled and one hand resting on Megumi’s ankle as if to make sure he wouldn’t get up unnoticed, lay Gojō.

His snow-white hair seemed to glimmer in the low light of the room. His eyes were closed, white lashes resting on his cheeks, even breaths moving his torso in a slow and steady rhythm. Megumi wondered when Gojō had lost so much weight. His cheeks seemed fallen in, exhaustion was written into his features, even while asleep.

The last time Megumi had seen his teacher and guardian had been before Halloween, before Gojō had been sealed away. And now it was… what day was it? How much time had passed since…

Megumi stopped, memories suddenly flooding back to him. Sukuna taking over his body and killing Tsumiki, the fight in Shinjuku on Christmas Eve against Gojō. And then? What had happened since then? How much time had passed since Christmas? Why was Gojō here, but you weren’t? Had something happened to you? Where were Yūji, Inumaki, Panda and Maki? Had something happened to them?

Slowly, not sure how strong his body was, he propped himself up on his elbow. Gojō looked peaceful, sleeping like this, and Megumi realised that in all the years he had been under the powerful sorcerer’s protection, he had never seen him sleep. Considering how exhausted he looked, Megumi was reluctant to wake him, but he needed answers. Badly. Especially concerning the question of where you were.

But before Megumi could reach out to shake Gojō awake, he stirred, blinking his eyes open. Over the years Megumi had gotten used to the stunning blue of Gojō’s eyes, but now, after all that had happened, after he had thought he had lost the only father figure he had ever had, he felt like all breath was knocked out of him, looking at Gojō with his dishevelled, white hair and those huge blue eyes.

Gojō seemed to take a moment to realise what he saw, as he slowly lifted his head, disbelieve written into his features.

“Megumi-“

No sound left Gojō’s lips, that formed the name of his protégé, and Megumi felt himself shrink under his teacher’s intense gaze, before the white haired man lurched forward and wrapped his arms around his student.

Megumi gasped in surprise as Gojō squeezed him in a hug, hesitantly returning it. Gojō was not the kind of man to hand out hugs just like that. Over the years, Megumi could probably count the times Gojō had hugged him, really hugged him, on one hand.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up,” Gojō breathed, pulling Megumi tighter against himself. “I thought I had lost you.”

Megumi nodded, trying to swallow down all the questions that were burning on his tongue and instead focus on what Gojō had said.

“You got locked away-,” he recalled. “I thought you’d be imprisoned forever.”

A beat of silence passed and all it took was an inhale by Gojō for Megumi to know the emotional reunion was over.

“Aww, did you miss me,” Gojō asked teasingly, pulling away, and causing Megumi to roll his eyes at him.

But then he stopped, looked at his teacher for a moment before he nodded.

“I did,” he admitted, knocking the wind out of Gojō’s sails, whose eyes widened in surprise at the honesty.

He swallowed thickly and nodded, pulling away far enough to sit up normally again.

“How are you feeling,” he asked instead of continuing his intended teasing, his eyes now scanning Megumi carefully.

“Pretty okay, I think,” Megumi answered, “A little stiff, maybe... wait- what happened to Sukuna?”

Gojō took a deep breath, making Megumi fear the worst for a moment. What was the worst? That Sukuna had possessed Yūji again? No, it would be worse if he were to possess you.

“Sukuna’s dead,” Gojō answered, and Megumi was glad that this time his usually annoying and always teasing teacher hadn’t made a big deal out of revealing the answer. “Yūji killed him through (y/n)’s technique.”

Megumi nodded, even though he was not sure what exactly Gojō had tried to say beyond that Sukuna was a problem of the past.

“So, he’s gone?”

“Dead, gone, never gonna possess or kill anybody again,” Gojō confirmed, a soft and relieved smile on his lips.

Megumi could feel the weight off the world fall off his shoulders, and he dropped back into his pillow, looking up at the wood panelled ceiling. Another question rose to his mind, and just as quickly the weight on his chest had disappeared, it increased again. What had happened to you? He was not sure he’d be able to ever get up from this futon if the answer was anything other than that you were fine.

“(Y/n)-“

The silence that followed his single word question made his heart plummet to unknown depths, and he screwed his eyes shut, but the tears welled up regardless. Why had he gone through all of this, all of it, if he could not even protect those he loved? Not only had this war demanded Nobara’s life, but he would have to spend the rest of his days living with the knowledge that his own hands, guided by an ancient evil, had killed his sister. And now the girl he loved, the girl he had thought was the one, the girl he had scolded himself over because you were basically still kids, how could he know you were the one, the girl he had secretly imagined he would marry one day… now you were gone, too?

Had it been summer, the silence would not have been as loud. Cicadas would have sung, and frogs would have quacked in the ponds outside. But in winter the school ground were quiet.

Gojō’s voice broke interrupted the quiet.

“She’s- well, her hear is beating, but she’s unconscious.”

Megumi’s eyes flew open again.

“What happened. Didn’t you say she helped Yūji kill Sukuna?”

Gojō deflated, shuffled his long legs around to sit more comfortably before he continued.

“We don’t know what exactly happened. One moment she allowed Yūji to reach through her to finish of Sukuna, the next she collapsed. Yūji and I are both certain we felt a… a wave of power at the moment of Sukuna’s death, so our best guess is that something happened on a level of their souls the moment Sukuna perished. He released so much energy that it would have torn all of us apart and she used her soul to protect us, you, me and Yuuij. Her soul couldn’t process all of it at once, but she tried absorbing it anyway…”

Gojō’s voice died down at the expression on Megumi’s face. Megumi looked exactly how Gojō imagined he had to feel. Grief, pain, self-reproach, hatred towards Sukuna, despair- all was written in his eyes, as he exhaled and let his head rest heavily into his pillow. Gojō almost expected him to send him away, to demand privacy, but the request did not come.

“Where is she now,” Megumi asked, closing his eyes in an attempt to shut the world with its cruelty out of his mind.

“She was in the hospital wing, but Shoko suggested she should better be in her own room. There isn’t really much she can do at the moment; anyone can do at the moment. If her soul wasn’t destroyed completely, she might recover in time, but there’s no way of knowing if it will work. A normal sorcerer would have died immediately, the only reason she’s still alive is her cursed technique. If she can manage to patch her soul back up-“

“Please-” Megumi’s voice was strained as he interrupted his teacher. “Please stop talking.”

Gojō immediately shut his mouth, his eyes flickering over the boy’s features.

“Do you want to be alone?”

Megumi hesitated for a moment, before he shook his head, keeping his eyes still closed. “No,” he answered truthfully. “I’m scared of where my mind will go when I’m alone.”

“Do you want me to talk to you?”

This time Megumi nodded. “Just not about her,” he asked, and Gojō complied happily.

He told Megumi about how he had been released from the prison realm, about the fight between him and Sukuna. He tried to make it sound funny, but he felt the pain radiate of Megumi, so he went on about his friends. Gojō told Megumi about Yūji, who had spent the whole first day glued to Megumi’s bedside, until Shoko had sent him to bed. It had only been less than 36 hours since the battle had ended. And Gojō told him about Inumaki and Panda, who had kept wake with Gojō since then. He told him about Maki, who had tried reading to them all, and then he told him about anything and everything that came to his mind, about all the things Gojō was looking forward to doing and eating again, now, that the threat of Sukuna was over. And he kept talking long after Megumi had fallen asleep again.

When Megumi woke for a second time, Gojō had resumed his position at Megumi’s foot end, curled into a tight ball, but this time with his back to Megumi. There was no clock around, but Megumi had the distinct feeling, dawn was closing in. Nightmares had plagued his sleep, and he was overcome with the sudden urge, like every time he had a nightmare, to seek the comfort of your presence.

How many times had he gotten up at night and walked over to your room just to stand in front of your closed door for half an hour, not having the courage to knock? How fast had his heart beaten when you had eventually caught him one time, and made him swear he would knock in the future? How many times since then had he rapped his knuckles against the thin wood of your dorm door, only to be called in by your sleepy voice and how many times had you beckoned him into bed beside you where he had spent the rest of the night sleeping peacefully?

Throwing another glance at Gojō, Megumi carefully peeled back his blanket, and rolled off the futon. He was dressed in a pair of loose grey sweatpants and an oversized, dark blue sweatshirt. With naked feet, he tapped over to the door, taking a last look at his fast asleep mentor and slipped out of the sliding door. The air in the corridor was cool and smelled of snow. Even though it had been months since he had last walked around the school and there was no light source to guide him, he easily found his way towards your room in the dark building. Halting in his steps, he found himself once again in front of your door, hesitating to knock or even enter. How many hours had he stood like this, shifting his weight from the left to the right and back? Bouncing on his heels, walking a few steps back towards his room, only to turn around and stare at your door again? But this time you would not randomly return from a midnight-snack trip to the kitchen and scold him for hesitating in asking for help. No, you were unconscious, laying in your bed on the other side of the door that separated him from you, and there was no one who knew if you would ever wake up again.

Even though he knew there would be no answer, he lifted his hand to the thin, wooden door and knocked. Silence followed, silence he had expected and still hoped would be interrupted by your voice. He pressed down the handle nonetheless, letting himself into your room, and closed the door behind his back.

Your room was warmer than the corridor, but smelled fresh, as if someone had aired it out just a few minutes ago. Through the glass of the window beside your bed, he could see that outside the sky began growing slightly brighter. White dust – no, snow – covered the small garden in front of your window and the yard beyond. It seemed to have snowed a little since the battle in Shinjuku, and Megumi desperately tried not to think about how today a year ago, on the 26th, you had dragged him around Tokyo to go looking at all the Christmas decorations together. Back then, too, snowflakes had fallen from stormy dark clouds, and had caught in your hat and scarf, had splayed over the dark fabric of your coat like stars in the night sky as you had tucked on Megumi’s sleeve to get him to follow you to the next attraction. You had known each other for just two weeks back then, but Megumi’s mind still had played with the idea what it would be like if this trip had been a date, had even toyed with the idea of asking if this was a date. Now, when his eyes flickered over to the sleeping form in your bed, his heart reacted so differently than it had last year to the touch of your gloved hand on his. Instead of excitedly skipping a beat, it felt like it sunk into the ground.

Your hair was spread over the pillow, the blanket neatly pulled up to the middle of your chest, with your hands resting on it at your sides. You were wearing a long-armed sweatshirt, one that Megumi had gifted to you for Christmas last year. On the first glance it looked like a plain sweatshirt, but on the lower hem and on the arms, small, stitched-on flowers ranked around the seams, reaching a few centimetres up into the fabric. Megumi had seen the sweatshirt on a trip to Shibuya the day before Christmas Eve, and it had made him think of you, so he had bought it spontaneously, even though he had not planned on getting anything for you. You had smiled so brightly and admired the details when you had unwrapped it, that Megumi completely forgot how embarrassed he had been about it at first. The embarrassment returned tenfold though, when you ended up wearing the sweatshirt to the movie nights with all the other students, telling them how Megumi had gifted it to you. And now someone had dressed you in it, as you lay in bed lifelessly, the only sign that you were not dead being the shallow movement of your chest with each breath you took.

Carefully Megumi stepped further into the room. Usually when he had come to your room at such late hour, you had sleepily waved him over to join you in bed. You had always attempted to pull your blanket over him as well, but he had refused. It seemed inappropriate to join you under your blanket when he could not even confess his feelings for you, and he was certain, feeling you sleeping this close beside him would drive him mad. The temptation of wrapping you in his arms, tangling his long legs with your shorter ones, burring his nose against your hair, and inhaling your familiar and calming scent would have been too big. So instead he had always preferred the protective barrier of the blanket between your bodies. Now he wished for nothing more than you to attempt to tuck him in next to you, to feel your arms wrap around him securely and hold yourself close to him.

Feeling like it was not appropriate to join you in bed as he had done so many nights before, he instead grabbed the chair from your desk, and pulled it over next to your bed, sitting down in the dark. He didn’t dare turning on the lights, the little bit of morning grey that fell through the window illuminating enough of your features for him to know that the state you were in was worse than he had seen in his dream. Your cheeks were hollowed out from when you had poured all your energy into healing Megumi through Sukuna. There were cuts and not yet healed bruises all over your face and doubtlessly other parts of your body too. Megumi wondered where those had originated, but the thought that they were a result of Sukuna’s death were not too farfetched. Your skin had a grey hue to it, sickly and dead, and your hair was matt and void of any of the vibrancy Megumi knew. It looked like at one point it had been drenched in sweat but had dried since, single strands of hair sticking together.

Megumi’s eyes wandered to your hand laying on the blanket next to you. Small cuts and lacerations littered your beautiful skin, and even though it had only been less than two days, they already seemed to have started healing. He wondered if you’d be in pain if he were to take your hand in his. If so, would the pain be enough to wake you up? Was it even a good idea to wake you up? Wasn’t it better to wait until you woke up by yourself, when your soul was completely restored, assuming Gojō’s theory was correct? Megumi bit down on his own teeth, and quickly pushed his hands underneath his thighs, sitting on them to resist the urge to take your hand in his.

Beyond the window, in the grey light of the slowly approaching morning, sparrows tweeted in the yard, already up and making a fuzz as they always did. Megumi tore his attention away from your unconscious form, and directed it into the fading night beyond the glass instead. In front of your window was a small garden, conifers cut into bizarre shapes, ferns and different kinds of moss covering the rocks that lined a tiny brook that lead past the students’ dorms into a bigger garden behind the house. Beyond the small strip of carefully curated nature, a plastered yard opened up. Many afternoons he had spent training with you or Maki there.

A smile threatened to tuck at his lips at the memory of both of you facing off, afternoon sun beating down on you, sweat running down the side of his face and catching in the collar of his uniform. Even though you were smaller than him, you were almost equally matched. Unlike in his sparing sessions with Yūji, where Megumi almost always won, the chance to come out on top in a match with you were pretty much 50/50.

Well, not entirely. There was a third option, in which both of you were really equally matched, going on for sometimes hours without neither of you resigning or getting defeated. Those were his favourite sparing sessions with you. When in the end you both would all but collapse on the cobble stones, breathing heavily, and staring at each other for a moment before breaking out in tired laughter and laying on your backs on the hard ground, staring up at the sky with its clouds changing colour from white to yellow and orange to deep red and pink, before they turned blue in the sunset.

Oh, how much Megumi would give to get these times back. Sure, it had not always been easy, it had not always been fun. But you had been there with him, safe and uninjured, and Megumi had bathed in the illusion of having at least a little bit control over his life: when to study, when to eat and sleep, when to train. When to seek you out to hear your beautiful laughter.

Megumi turned back to you. Somehow you looked cold, he thought. As if the air in the room was too cool, giving you a chill.

Quickly he got up and fetched the woolly blanket from your wardrobe, which you had bought so Megumi could have a blanket too, when he was staying over in your room more than twice a week most times, since he always had refused to join you under yours. Working as quietly as possible, Megumi unfolded the blanket and threw it over your sleeping form before he settled down on the chair next to you again.

You still looked cold, but at least now your arms were covered as well, and there was an additional layer keeping you warmer. Megumi looked over your body, noticing that there was still the tip of your pinkie finger poking out from underneath the blanket. The same thoughts as before shot through his mind. Would you be in pain if he took your hand? Would you wake up? But this time he did not have the strength to deny himself the feeling of your hand in his, and very slowly, very carefully, he pulled the blanket away from your hand, pushing his own underneath your fingers. They were cold, as they rested in his palm, and quickly he brought his other hand down over it, covering it in hopes of offering a little warmth.

His fingers ghosted over the healing cuts and bruises on the delicate skin of the back of your hand. He wished he could do something to make them heal faster, something to warm your fingers up quicker, something to help you heal and wake up with the memories of what had happened no stronger than the memories of a distant nightmare.

He exhaled shakily. How long could he stay here with you? His heart screamed As long as it takes her to wake up!, but his head was more rational than that. He’d need to eat soon. Or use the bathroom. He needed to wash up and dress into something fresh, something he had not slept in. And if you stayed unconscious for longer, he’d need to get back to training, to studying. Sure, Sukuna was defeated, but there were still curses out there that needed to be dealt with.

Then there was the matter of the Zenin clan, the Zenin clan, which’s head he now was. By the gods, he really didn’t want that position, but he held it now, and even with how Maki had decimated the ranks, and the decision of the other clans to cast the Zenin clan out of the Big Three, there was still a lot of responsibility to bear, a lot of politics to learn. At least he did not have to worry so much about the Gojō clan, with Gojō Satoru, his guardian, being the head of it. But then again, he already dreaded the meetings. There was no way Gojō would behave maturely during those, was there?

What came after? After studying and training and fighting curses and handling clan politics? His fingers tightened around yours, not squeezing, but just enough for him to feel your hand rest heavily in his. After all that, he’d come back here, hold your hand, pray for you to wake up. He didn’t really believe in the gods, but he’d also daily go to a shrine, and make an offering to them, asking them to bring you back to him.

Megumi slumped deeper into the chain. He felt sleep already tuck at his eyelids again, his thoughts growing fuzzy, dizziness taking over his vision, even when he tried to fight it. It made sense, he guessed, that he was still easily exhausted after everything that had happened. And he had a feeling Sukuna had not really cared to take good care of Megumi’s body while he had possessed him, so that he was weakened from months of physical neglect. Still he tried to refuse his body the need for rest, and instead turned to watch your face once more. The sky outside had brightened enough to give him a clearer image of what state you were in, and Megumi’s heart tucked painfully as he was able to make out the cuts across your face more clearly now. A deeper one, that had been stitched up, ran from the corner of your mouth to the side of your nose, another one right underneath your left eye and countless shallow ones were littered all over you face.

Megumi blinked slowly, exhaling shakily. He wished he could help you somehow, could do more than stare at you and hold your cold hand. He wove the fingers of his left hand through your right, continuing to brush over the tiny cuts on the back of your hand with the other one.

Was it just a figment of his imagination, wishful thinking, or had your hand become a bit warmer between his, your skin regained a little bit of its colour? No, he told himself, he was just exhausted, beginning to confuse reality with what he wanted to see. Looking back at your face, he inhaled with a shudder before he closed his eyes. He needed to sleep. He was of little help as it was, but completely exhausted he’d be even less useful. If you stayed asleep for a longer time, he wanted to be in shape and back in the game before you woke up. Maybe even have figured out all the clan business by then. And if you woke sooner, which he hoped for, he at least wouldn’t look quite as battered as he felt at the moment if he napped a little now.

His mind began drifting off eventually, the dizziness of exhaustion pulling him under, back into memories of spring afternoons sparing with you under the fall of Sakura petals. He wished he could summon those memories at will anytime he wanted, the feeling of the soft spring breeze on his skin, the touch of petals brushing over his face, the sound of your breathless laughter, the strain in his muscles and the shock in his bones whenever your staff hit his with unbroken ferocity. He was on the strange border between waking and sleeping, just wondering if he could manipulate the memory enough to stir his time with you away from the sparing exercise and instead convince dream-you to take a break sitting on the stairs, when suddenly there was something moving against his hand.

Half asleep, Megumi tried shooing the sensation away, wanting to stay in the beautiful memory of this afternoon in spring he had spent with you, but the motion in his hand returned and he jolted out of the dream.

The third time around, Megumi was certain that he was not just imagining it: Your fingers were weakly flexing against his, and before he had time to sit up or even direct his attention to your face, your raspy voice broke the silence that otherwise was only interrupted by the chirping of the birds outside in the snow.

“Megumi?”

It felt like Megumi’s whole world began collapsing in on itself, his heart first stopping and then beating with twice the speed at the sound of your familiar voice whispering his name.

“Megumi, is that you?”

Along with your question you tucked at his hand, and he finally looked up at your face.

Your eyes were still heavy, but open and fixed on him, flitting over his features as if you were searching for any indication that the boy in front of you was someone else, someone who just looked like him.

Megumi wanted to answer, but his throat closed up painfully. So he just nodded, grabbed your hand tighter into his, and nodded. At the gesture a smile began tucking at your lips, a sad smile that he desperately wanted to turn into a happy one, and panic began gripping his heart, when he suddenly noticed tears springing into your eyes. Quickly he shifted from the chair to sit beside you on the mattress of your bed, the softness of it familiar under him, your body pressing heavily against him through the blankets.

“It’s really you,” you answered your own question, a tear running down you’re the side of your face and into your hairline. Megumi wanted to brush it away, but he still held your hand with both of his and refused to let go. Instead, he just held your hand tighter, bringing it up to his chest. He was not sure if it was a gesture to comfort you by letting you feel his heartbeat, or a gesture to comfort himself.

Leaning a little closer to you he finally managed to press out a few words, his voice raspy and thick with unshed tears of relief. “’s me.”

You moved, pulling your other hand from underneath the blanket, and reached up towards Megumi’s face. Leaning in further, he met it halfway, letting you brush your fingers over his face. Cold fingertips traced the skin along his chin, over his forehead and over the bridge of his nose. It was only when your featherlight touch ran along the thin skin under his eyes that Megumi understood that you were tracing the parts of his skin where Sukuna’s marks had once been. A shiver went through him at the thought, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how much his body had been violated by the ancient sorcerer.

“He’s gone,” Megumi whispered into the narrow space between you, scared that if he spoke any louder, you might draw your hand away. He wanted to avoid that desperately. After all, your fingers left a sweet, tingling sensation in their wake.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” you replied, drawing back from the subtle touch, and instead cupping the side of Megumi’s face. Instinctively he nuzzled into your palm, not minding that your cold fingers set the little hairs on his neck standing up.

“I was scared you wouldn’t wake up,” Megumi voiced his own confession.

Now that he was so close to you, close enough to smell the faint fragrance of the laundry detergent you used, and the dullness of the scent that only engulfed you when you were sleepy, he could no longer hold the thoughts at bay that had scratched at the surface to his consciousness since his conversation with Gojō. He had leant in close enough to feel your warm breath ghost over his cheek, and all of a sudden he was not sure why he had ever been scared of being anything but honest with you. Honest about his feelings for you, honest about how scared he was at the prospect of you getting hurt, or even worse, dying.

“Gojō said, you took the blow of Sukuna’s soul, when he died,” Megumi pressed out, his voice hoarse and scratching in his throat. “That you shielded our souls with yours. To protect us…”

You nodded at his words, your eyes carefully watching the emotions on Megumi’s face, as he furrowed his brows slightly.

“You could have died,” he accused. “Your soul could have gotten blown to bits and you could have died-“ Megumi was not sure if he was sad, angry or despaired at the thought. “Why did you do that, put yourself on the line like that?”

“What would have been the alternative, hm? Let Sukuna blow all of us up? Sure, my chances certainly would have been better if I hadn’t tried to absorb the blast, but then you’d be dead now. Yūji and Gojō-sensei too.”

Your breathing had gotten heavy over the few sentences you had spoken, as if it took great physical effort to talk. Worriedly Megumi shook his head at you.

“But did you think for one moment about how I’d feel if something had happened to you?”

You laughed, but it was one of the humourless laughs you paid Megumi whenever he had missed the point in something you had told him.

“Did you think for one moment how I felt? Watching you being possessed by Sukuna?” You took a deep breath, trying to counteract the strain the conversation put on you, and had Megumi not been as desperate to hear your voice as he was, he would have asked you to continue the conversation another time. “How I felt watching him use your body to fight against the strongest sorcerer of our time, letting Gojō blow you to bits?”

Your fingers tightened around his left hand, the faint memory of searing pain tucking in his mind somewhere.

“And just for the record, I did think about how you might feel. And I came to the conclusion that I’d be lucky if you’d feel anything close to the despair I felt, watching you go through all that.”

Megumi stared at you, your argument only half registering in his mind, as his eyes stayed fixed on your chapped lips moving around the words you spoke.

“You’re an idiot Fushiguro Megumi,” you continued, slightly out of breath, and pulling your hand away from his face to softly flick his forehead, “if you think I’d risk your life if I might as well safe it.”

The flick against his forehead pulled Megumi back into the moment, your cold fingers smoothing over the spot where your nail had gently snapped against his skin, and then cupping his face again.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt,” Megumi mumbled, his eyes wandering to your lips before he hung his head.

He was tired, physically and emotionally. It felt like his body had been drained of all its energy over the past months, and now even the shortest conversations tired him out immediately. And he was sick of fearing getting rejected by you. He finally wanted to tell you how he felt, wanted you to know that in him you would always have someone who would look out for you, even if you turned him down. But was now really the right moment to spring this on you? Hardly.

“Me neither, Megumi,” you replied, “me neither.”

He felt you gently tuck at his chin, making him look up at you again. You were carefully observing his face, the way your eyes skipped to his lips again and again not escaping his notice, while he watched their flickering in a mixture of hope and anticipation as well as amusement. He wasn’t sure for how long you sat and simply observed each other, but when the first beams of winter sunlight began blinding him, he finally gave into the question that had been on the tip of his tongue since you had reached up to cup his face.

“May I kiss you?”

The question was but a breath in the little space between your faces, and he could feel your breath hitch once you had processed the meaning of his words.

For a terrible second Megumi thought you would deny him, would turn him down with the way your eyes widened and stared at him in surprise. But then they softened, and you nodded.

“Please,” you whispered back, your breath fanning over his skin like a gentle caress.

Megumi watched your face for a moment longer, wanting to see if you really meant your answer or if you had just agreed in order to please him. But the expectant nervousness, the anticipation and slight giddiness written into your features was proof enough for Megumi to slowly lean down to where you were still resting on the pillow. His eyes fluttered closed as his lips were but a hair width away from yours, hesitating to close the last bit of distance. His heart was doing summersaults in his chest, your hand he was still holding clutched to his chest, the only lifeline he had to hold onto to stay in control of the spinning in his head. For a second he waited, let the tension between your lips and his sizzle and burn him, felt the heat your skin radiated, the shaky up and down of your chest as you patiently anticipated him kissing you.

And when it all got too much, when his senses got so overwhelmed with your presence, when his ears were ringing with his own heartbeat, he eventually gave in, closing the last bit of distance and pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss.

Neither you nor Megumi had much, if any, experience with kissing, which an outsider would have been painfully aware to, watching the way Megumi was leaning over you, almost like frozen as his brain tried to process the sensation of your soft, sweet lips against his. But when he lifted one of his hands away from yours, and cupped your face instead, pushing his fingertips past your hairline, pulling you closer to him, the tension seemed to fall away, and he melted into the touch. Carefully he moved his lips against yours, his heart stuttering at the way your hand at his chest closed more tightly around his fingers, while the other moved from the side of his face to his neck, beckoning him closer and closer. His senses narrowed in on you, his world consisting of nothing but the sound of your hitching breath, the taste of your lips, the smell of your skin, the warmth of your body.

Megumi had often imagined what it might be like to kiss you, but never in his life had he imagined that your kisses might be so sweet, so soft and warm and gentle. The way our lips moved against his was heaven, and Megumi found himself wishing he could stay in that moment forever. Thin morning sunlight brushed over the two of you, warming his skin beyond the blush that hard started to burn on his cheeks, and his heart felt like it was beating in rhythm with yours as a soft gasp slipped over your lips when he ran his tongue experimentally against it.

That little sound was what made Megumi decide that he had to pull away from the kiss, lest his heart might give out, and with a shaky exhale he turned his head just enough to break away. Only then he noticed how out of breath he was, how shaky his hand on the side of your face had become. He rested his forehead against yours, playfully brushing his nose against yours, eliciting a small giggle, that made his heart swell.

“I’m in love with you,” he confessed, not caring anymore about whether it was a good or a bad time to talk about matters this serious. From where he was standing – or rather sitting – the two of you had barely escaped death, had won a battle against the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer of all time, and now had kissed in a morning-sun flooded room while outside snow crystals glimmered in the light. When would he ever have the courage to tell the truth if not now? “I know it sounds stupid, like a cliché or something, but I think I’ve been in love with you since we first me. It feels like that day in Shinjuku, when Gojō sent me to pick you up… I knew who I was looking for, as if my heart knew something my head didn’t.”

He expected you to say something, but instead you stayed quiet, only breathing heavily from the kiss you had just shared, and Megumi almost wondered if you had fallen asleep again, when you suddenly tucked on his sweatshirt.

It took him a moment to understand that you were wordlessly asking him to lay down with you, so he hastily swung his legs onto the mattress, and when you tried pulling the blankets over him this time, he did not protest, but settled under the soft and warm fabric like he had secretly wanted to do since the first time you had invited him to stay the night. Next to him you shifted, and before Megumi knew what you were doing, you had rested your head on his shoulder, just where his arm connected to his torso. Your ear was pressed to his body, as if you were listening to his heartbeat and you brought your arm over his chest in a comfortable hug.

Ignoring the way his heartrate was spiking, Megumi wrapped the arm you were resting in, around your back, pulling you closer to him, settling you more securely against his chest, and linked his ankle with yours. In response you shifted again, shifted more of your weight unto Megumi until you were both laying comfortably in each other’s arms. It felt like a puzzle made of two pieces with very difficult patterns had clicked into place, and it took everything in Megumi not to start crying at how happy it made him to have you rest by his side like this. Even though you had not answered to his confession.

As if you had read his mind, you suddenly spoke up.

“It wasn’t your heart,” you whispered against his shirt, tilting your head up a little to be able to look at him. “It wasn’t your heart that knew something your head didn’t. It was your soul. That’s how I found you that day. There was this call… not for the new student at Jujutsu High, but the call for me. As if your soul had been looking for me. And when I saw you, it felt like something had fallen into place and I knew that our lives had been meant to be intertwined even long before we first met.”

Megumi blinked into the by now sun flooded room.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I don’t know if something like soulmates exist, but if they do, you’re mine.” Megumi felt your lashes against his jaw as you leant up to press a kiss to his chin, and then the side of his neck, sending a warm shiver down his spine. You settled back against his chest, before you asked: “Is that stupid?”

Megumi shook his head. “No,” he answered, “No, it’s not.”

He remembered how he had just followed an instinct that day, trying to find you, how he had been magnetically pulled towards you. He was certain soulmates were nothing but a fairytale made up by media trying to sell love to young girls, but the idea that there was someone out there destined for him was addicting. Especially if this someone were you. Scrap that. If that someone weren’t you, he wouldn’t want them either way. With you in his arms, he had everything he had ever dreamt of.

Megumi knew, that when he woke up again, there would be work he had to do. He’d have to deal with Yūji’s doubtlessly overly enthusiastic response to see him alive and well, and with Panda and Inumaki too. Yuuta and Maki probably would have the decency to greet him without violating his personal space. And then there’d be Gojō, who, now that his biggest possible enemy was gone, would turn into an unsufferable source of stupid ideas and childish behaviours. Megumi was almost looking forward to seeing the man he considered perhaps not his father but at least an older brother, back to his old, happy self. Then he’d have to deal with the Zenin clan, and the other clans. Maybe Gojō could help with that. But in between, whenever he wasn’t busy, he would come and find you, and maybe you’d allow him to steal a kiss or two.

“Hey, Megumi?”

Your voice was already thick with sleep as you pulled him out of his thoughts again. He hummed in response, too tired to form a coherent answer.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Seemed like the chances that you’d allow him to steal a kiss or two were pretty good then. He hummed again, this time with a smile on his face, burying his nose in your hair, and you pressed yourself closer to him in response.

It was around noon, when Gojō made his way towards your room. When he had woken up, Megumi was gone, and there was only one place really the raven-haired boy would run off to. Not bothering to knock, Gojō pushed the door to your room open, fully prepared to find his protégé slumped in a chair beside your bed, holding your cold hand or staring at your lifeless features.

Indeed, there was a chair pushed to your bedside, but Gojō had not been prepared to find Megumi laying in bed with you, your arm dragged over his middle, head resting on his chest. It was obvious that both of you were exhausted, but the colour had returned to your skin, nothing like the last time Gojō had seen you, all grey and void of life. Even your hair seemed to have regained some of its old glow. It seemed like you had woken up at some point and dragged Megumi into bed with you. The way the boy had his arm wrapped around your shoulder and his face buried in your hair, not to mention the way Gojō remembered him looking at you for the past year, indicated that Megumi had been only all too happy to join you.

For a while Gojō watched his two students quietly. A part of him already wanted to tease Megumi, and he knew eventually he could, but he would also make it abundantly clear to both of you, how happy he was for you. After all you had been through, you deserved happiness.

Steps in the corridor approaching the room made Gojō pull out of his thoughts, and a moment later Yūji pocked his head in. Just like Gojō he took in the scene, and his mouth formed a little o before a grin split his face.

“About time,” he whispered with a grin, and Gojō couldn’t help but join in with one of his own.

“Finally, huh,” he agreed before he turned towards the door. “Come on, let’s let them sleep a while longer.”

Yūji nodded and bounced back into the corridor, the happiness for his friends unmistakable in the way he skipped away. Gojō turned to look at Megumi and you one last time.

There was a lot of work to be done when you woke up, but for now you deserved to rest. You had almost been killed and Megumi had been possessed by the mightiest sorcerer there had ever been. At least until Gojō had been born, the white-haired man thought smugly to himself. Megumi had lost so much, his father and mother, his sister, and almost the girl he loved. It was time that the wish that resonated in his name finally came true, that Megumi finally could live a blessed life.

Gojō quietly closed the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway. If there was one thing Gojō was certain of, it was that Megumi already considered himself blessed for getting to hold you in his arms, for getting loved by you and being allowed to love you back.

Tags: @natriae

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