#but COME ON. even for them this is just… we’ve lost the plot

[wantbytaemin]

imagine putting so much thought and effort into an outfit that you also custom make a giant version of it to fit the mascot versions of the group’s members and you decide to dress them in THAT

[hoshigray]

𝐂𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 | s. gojō + s. ryōmen

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Three powerful empires, two childhood companions, and one you. What is supposed to be a peaceful alliance is slowly turning into a rocky relationship between royal friends...Is there any way you can save it?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo + true form! Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - royal-like + fantasy AU! - porn with plot - Gojo + reader is age 28 + Sukuna is older; mid-30s - mutual pining + confessions - size differences - threesome - double penetration; anal & vaginal - virginity loss - fingering (f! receiving) - back-to-chest + cowgirl dp positions - clitoral play - cerfix-fucking - overstimulation - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, dove, human, little one, pet, sweetie) - marriage proposals - cameos: Utahime and Miwa - Gojo and Sukuna can't stand each other, obvi - humor + drama - mention of drool, blood, spit and tears - will be proofread later.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 15.4k words (BRUH, i hate it here.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: aight, after 10 whole months, it's FINALLY dropped! this took foreverrrr, ughhhh. anyways, sorry for the long wait, hope you enjoy this one, and thanks again for 11.2k starlings, ilysmmm!! ☆☆

“…”

“—y Lady…My Lady!”

“Huh?” You blink and face the door where the voice is coming from. “Oh, I’m sorry, Utahime. You can come in.”

“Jeez, I was knocking for a whole minute.” Your lady-in-waiting, Utahime, closes the door behind her when entering your chambers, walking up to where you were sitting by the mirror. “And I thought I told you to refer to me by my last name, my Lady.”

You smile at the reflection of the other coming behind you, kneeling and readying the iron basin filled with warm water and rose petals. Her hand and the washcloth swish the surface for the floral scents to enter your nostrils. “Well, we’ve been friends for how long? I’ve referred to you by your first name for all my life, even before you became my handmaiden.”

“Hmph, even then,” Utahime scoffs before taking your feet and dipping them in the warm water. “You don’t see me dare call the sole, precious child of this empire’s greatest warrior by their given name.”

“No, but I always tell you I don’t mind. Besides, you usually do it when we’re alone, and that’s enough for me.”

“If that’s what makes my Lady hap—“

“It does.” You look at her with a pleasant aura, and the dark-haired one snickers before straining the washcloth. 

“As you wish…Y/n.” You puff your chest with satisfaction; however, your handmaiden isn’t done talking, “But I know the matter of my name isn’t something that’s having you lost in your thoughts.” Her observation takes you slightly aback, and her brown orbs peer up to capture your attention. “Would you like to tell me what’s corrupting your mind?”

With a heavy sigh, your back touches the chair as you slouch. Your eyes glance to the open window as the blinds drift gently with the calm wind. The swaying motions of the curtains almost convince your stress to wither away along with the quietness. Almost.

“Utahime,” you begin with her name, still facing the window. “…What do you think about Lord Satoru Gojo?”

“Tch,” you didn’t have to turn to know that the woman had the most disgusted expression, the click of her teeth was telling. “What is there to think?”

“Hehe, well, we’ve known each other since we could walk—“

“Yeah, and — pardon me, my Lady — but that bastard is such a nuisance, even if he just became the crowned heir of the Gojo bloodline and the holder of the Six Eyes.” The dark-haired woman scrubs your feet with vigor, but you don’t say anything, containing your laughter. “That man–ugh! Every time he visits the palace, he will never stop teasing me for deciding to leave my family and become your lady-in-waiting. Who does he think he is!”

The laugh you try to hinder seeps out in hushed giggles. “Well—ahem—what about Lord Ryomen?”

Utagime stops her hand and washcloth between your toes, her face in your direction. Both brows trenched with a thin line of her mouth. “……As of recent…Scary–no, intimidating would be an understatement...my Lady, perhaps the visit and stay of the two lords is what have you down?”

Another heavy sigh, “I guess that would be the case…”

You reside in the founding empire of the great continent. In the ancient past, it is said that the Great Saint Tengen came from the heavens and blessed this world with miracles, living in the country that you’re standing in right now. It was said that Tengen was the benevolent child of Gods and the Parent of Beings who graced everyone – both human and non – with compassion, kindness, and love through their sorcery. When they disappeared, the world fell into a divide, their people sticking amongst themselves while following the teachings and words of Saint Tengen.

As the centuries came following this tale, the countries of this world have maintained a relatively peaceful union. However, the main continent – your continent – is home to three major empires: the North, the East, and the West. As mentioned before, you live in the founding Western nation, also known as the homeland of Tengen. 

You are a royal of this land and the sole heir to the throne right after your father, a mighty war soldier and sorcerer respected by his people and allies. As the crowned king of the Western capital, your father has done his job in using his strong leadership to maintain a functional structure for the people, using his wisdom to tread on matters with a tranquil mind, and making decisions that would not only benefit his own people but also his allies. Sometimes, you forget that such a great man could be your father. Yet his undying love for you, his sole child and princess, proves how lucky you are.

In the Northern Lands above are known as the land of Sorcery. Your father may be a powerful sorcerer, but the empire he rules does not harbor the majority of the population who practice sorcery (or lack thereof). That would go to the snowy Northern Empire, a land where many of Tengen’s scholars and practitioners have come from and implemented their teachings. The current head of this nation is bestowed to the affluent House Gojo, who recently crowned their heir after the death of its late king. Satoru Gojo, the first royal after a century gifted with two of the most intense abilities made by Saint Tengen – the Six Eyes and Limitless – sits on the Northern throne. And is also a dear family friend.

To the East lies a country mostly comprised of harsh deserts and dangerous forests, filled with creatures that aren’t of the human imagination. Once referred to as the land of “Tengen’s True Children,” the eastern empire is known worldwide as the Demon Country. Creatures reside in this part, beings that can easily overpower the average human – or worse, kill. They are ruled by the King of Demons, Sukuna Ryomen. As the scariest, cold-hearted, and violent beast of the empire, Sukuna is regarded as Tengen’s “Fallen Star,” a soul that embodies the precise opposite nature of the saint. And yet, this brutal master is also a cherished companion in the company of you and your father.

“What about their visits seems to make you upset?” Utahime lifts the bottom of your nightgown to scrub further up, the warm, damp towel scraping the skin of your left femur. 

“I don’t know…I suppose it’s because things are different than a decade and a half ago.” It was one way of speaking the truth.

“Why, of course, things would be different now. You expect I’d be looking after a tiny heir all my life?” She giggles. “Although, that would be quite nice.”

“Oh, to be young forever would be a treat, wouldn’t it?” You add on to her humor. “Yet, that’s not what I meant. It’s been so long since the three of us been in this palace together – let alone in any space together. The War of the Blood and Magic has been ongoing for years now. Whenever my father wishes to speak with them about an issue, one must be here while the other is in their respective territory.“ 

“Mmm, I have observed that…But still, even with this war going on, it shouldn’t negate the fact that you three have been friends for so long. I still remember the day young Gojo came to the garden where you and I were making flower crowns.“

You smile at the memory. “I remember how upset you were when he grabbed my hand one day and took us to his guest room to show his Limitless.”

You try your hardest to keep in your laughter when she glares up at you – not at you, but at the recollection instead. “That fool, even as a child, knows nothing of boundaries. He was a bright boy — still is, I’ll give him that. But my Gods, the way he would do everything in his power to impress you was so cocky of a young lord, especially in the presence of the next heir to the continent. The nerve of him…And then! The time he had the nerve to question me when I told you I wanted to be your handmaiden. That little blue-eyed weasel said, ‘You? The daughter of a mediocre house, as the princess’ personal maid? You should try and aim lower or marry someone who’d tolerate your un-ladylike attitude.’ I was too stunned to speak…I should’ve choked his ass out!” 

“—Pfffthahaha, stop, you’re scrubbing too hard!” You halt your lady-in-waiting with stiffened giggles, the poor woman sighing for displaying such aggression unbefitting for her title. “You could never stand him, and to think I thought you had a crush on him.” 

“Please, my Lady, never say that aloud, or else my father would try to make my worst nightmare become reality.” She shakes her head, putting your left leg into the basin and switching to the right. 

“And the day I introduced you as my maid to him, you had the smugest smirk that couldn’t be wiped off that night.”

“You’re goddamn right, my Lady!” That coarse remark had the both of you in a fit of cackles, water damn near splashing out as you wiggle your legs. “Ahhhh, but those were the days. I believe Lord Ryomen came into the picture after that. I remember the first day your father accepted the young demon king’s wish to seek an audience; he was a bit shorter than his current eight-foot-tall stature. Four arms were tiny like a teenager, and his,” she waves a hand up and down over the left side of her face. “This was distinguishable.”

You hum along with the description of the once young teenage demon king. “His human mother died during childbirth, and his father a demon who was exorcised for impregnating the poor woman. He was the first hybrid sorcerer of his time to utilize sorcery with the dark techniques of demon arts, becoming the most powerful and making a name for himself in the Eastern empire. He was alongside my father during the Great Demon War, using his powers to take down opposing cursed forces from outside nations. The two earned each other’s respect – more on my father’s part.”

“That, he was…truly a hard one to read, outside of always looking like he’d cut something out of boredom. I worried for the day he’d catch sight of me looking at him the wrong way and slice my throat,” the mere thought of the deadly being’s scowl was enough to send goosebumps up Utahime’s way. “Even the spars he had with your father and Gojo, I’m amazed to see this palace still standing in one piece.”

“Hehe, imagine how I felt when he’d catch me watching and then pull me aside to train with him — not asking, demanding that he teaches me how to wield a weapon.”

“Ohhh, my Lady, my nerves were never calm whenever he instructed you. Fearing for your life was my biggest sport. He couldn’t stand the fact that the sole heir of the greatest warrior didn’t have the drive to wield and charge.” She places your other leg down, rinsing the washcloth with more water before asking for your right arm. “It’s not like your father ever dared to entertain the thought of you entering battle anyway! That man, truly a scary thing…”

You throw your head back, resting it on the rail of the chair. “For my eighteenth year, he gifted me my own sword — handmade and light for my hands.”

“Men.” Utahime shakes her head once again. “Yet, despite how odd he and Gojo are, they seemed at ease whenever you were around. Whether it be visits from them to discuss with the King or attending events here at the palace, those two acted a lot more…calm.” 

Her observations stuck with you, closing your eyes to think more. “I only wonder if we could revert to those days when we were close. Unfortunately, with this current war between the two, this vision is impossible to imagine….”

You and the two lords have been friends for years – decades, even. And you were no fool; it was apparent that this relationship would dwell into something less familiar once the two become distant. And the war between the two empires proves this statement true…

It was your twenty-fourth year when you heard the news of the War of Blood and Magic. A year prior, an incident in the northern empire occurred where a sorcerer and his company were butchered by invading demons. Enraged, many men would go down to the demon continent to pillage and exorcise demon villages and towns as a form of justice. However, it only sparked the increasing tension between the factions into a conflict past the phase of talk and civilized words. 

Taking matters into his own hands, Sukuna found the men responsible for the rampage and had their bodies sliced within seconds, sending their bloody, severed heads back to the North as his declaration of war. In the coming years after that, there was nothing but ongoing bloodshed between the two; every battle and atrocity shared with your father made you squeamish – not just because of the brutality, but also the loss of Sukuna and Gojo’s relationship with every passing day.  

It made you feel sick — powerless in wanting the two to remember their merciful ways and talk like men. But you knew that was child's play — the time for miracles and fairy tales vanished with Tengen. And now, as the fourth year of this constant battle between humans and demons of this continent shows no signs of stopping, your worrying nature is on edge more than ever. 

“It may seem impossible to imagine, but it doesn’t mean it’s not worth the execution,” Utahime’s voice rings you back to the present, alternating to your left arm to wipe before dismissing herself from the night. “I’m sure your father believes that as well; otherwise, he wouldn’t have invited the two here for the first time in four years. I think he and all the people of this empire grow worrisome for the fate of this continent if all that’ll be left is a clash between two factions.”

“That may be true,” yet your tone was somber. “But if he can’t convince his two trusted allies to cease this fight, then I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do but see who comes out victorious. And I’d hate to see one stand and the other down in a pool of their blood…”

Utahime hums and lets the silence take over for a few seconds. And then she speaks again, “….Maybe, if not your father, then you should be the one to bring the two together.”  

Me? “Me?”

“Yes, my Lady. You may be the princess of the greatest warrior, but you are also the dear friend of his allies. Your word means law to them — they trust your input when asked and see you as a perfect successor in line.”  

“But that’s just based on titles and old conversations that don’t hold up to the now…Out of the three of us, I was the one who stayed put in this castle while the others played dirty, severing limbs and creating craters on this sacred continent. We are not children anymore, yet I feel like the one who’s still a naive babe with hands clean.” 

“Now that is not true, my Lady!” Fierce brown eyes bore to you. “Just because you don’t have blood on your hands doesn’t make you unfit as a leader. You are the sole child of the King of the Western Empire, the land that Tengen once slept and walked on. That makes you the one next in line after your father.”

“That is my stated birthright—“

“And so!” You held your tongue; she was not done yet. “You have proven that birthright true from what you’ve done so far. I can count on my hands and toes all the times your father came to you for advice on a matter that didn’t sit right with him, knowing that your wisdom and compassion aid your judgment. And let’s not forget how you’ve kept a neutral stance on this issue thus far, knowing it’s the best and safest option for your father and his people. You are his child, after all…What I’m saying is that people change. And that goes the same for you; you’ve become a face I can trust and depend on, and I’m glad to have the right to watch over you until you see fit.” 

You knew she meant every word, so you kept silent for her to finish.

“So, I say this with all the genuineness in my heart. I believe you can smack some sense up those two’s minds. You are the princess, but you are a friend above all else. Lord Gojo had just arrived today, leaving Lord Ryomen on his way in three days' time. Express to them how you feel, that you wish for nothing but an end to this bloodshed and to restore whatever’s left to rebuild their past alliance.”

There was nothing wrong with her words; everything was well-spoken with a perspicuous style and valid points. She was your closest friend – no one knew you better than she did. So, there’s no reason to try and find whatever flawed construct that was in her argument. 

Finally, after she was done dapping your arm with the washcloth and drying your feet after taking them out of the metal basin, you smiled. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Of course, I’m right; I’m your best friend!” Utahime stands with a puffed chest filled with pride, picking up the basin by the handles. “And as the right one, I reckon you should turn in for the night. Leave this matter for tomorrow so the solution you’re looking for will be easier to find.”

“Mmm, your advice is well-received like always.” You stand from the chair, stretching your limbs. When she approaches your door, you bid your handmaiden farewell for the night, “See you in the morning, Utahime.” 

With a wink, she parts before shutting the door, “Sleep well and tight, my Lady.”

The warm presence of your friend is missed now that you’re alone in your room. The candles around your chambers exhibit a warm glow that should make you feel safe, but that wasn’t the case today. Even after your night routine, the cold still resided in your skin. You sigh again through your nostrils; the invisible weight on your shoulders makes it impossible to lift them.

You turn back to your mirror – your reflection brings up the conversation with your best friend minutes ago. Examining your features, placing your hand on your cheek to sense your skin, alone with your thoughts. Did I really change that much? Your face tilts to the side, but the different angle doesn’t seem to help give a proper answer. Hmm…Perhaps it’s something I’m not supposed to see. 

With a yawn, you stand straight again, deciding to take up Utahime’s advice and retire for the night. You face your queen-sized bed, anticipating your figure sinking into the soft, comfortable mattress. 

What you didn’t anticipate was releasing a big gasp when turning to your bedding, your body going rigid, and your blood stopping circulation. 

“Hey.”

Something was sitting on your bed. No, someone was on your bed. And judging by the deep, guttural timbre of their voice, you are familiar with this person. 

You turned to your left once you heard a word. A figure was coming into the lighted room from the dark of the balcony – a giant, no, ginormous figure. Based on the height, he was inches from touching the entrance frame, way taller than any royal you’ve ever met — or, at least, any human royal you’ve ever seen.  

The body was broad and could engulf you even from ten steps away. Four burly arms protrude from the torso, and black nails that resemble claws match the black tattoos painted on his shoulders, biceps and triceps, wrists, back, and chest. The markings also reside on the right of his face that’s morphed with another, which holds four red eyes instead of two, along with earrings that stretch his big earlobes. Aside from his bloody orbs, one thing that contrasts his appearance is the rusty salmon color of his hair. And that was the first thing you saw — the first thing that had your mind recollect him.

“Lord Ryomen.” His name didn’t feel proper to say. It’s been almost a year since you last saw him, but he was still the same brutal man you’ve heard about all this time…yet a companion of yours nonetheless. “Father told me you would be here in two days. How did you—“

“You know I’m not one to wait.” He crossed his lower arms, the upper ones covered by a black robe that matched the black hakama pants he wore. “Especially when it comes to visiting this place.”

“And of Uraume?” The mention of the demon king’s trusted adviser quirks his brow. “Is it okay to leave them alone without you to watch over?”

“You think I’m weak on my own?”

“N–No, of course not!” You were quick to refute — you had to be when it came to him. “It’s just that I would feel bad; they’d worry about where you are.”

“And here you are worrying about them worrying about me. Hmph, humans,” he scoffs, and the mouth on his stomach grins. “Uraume knows to look after the ship when I’m gone or be my eyes when I’m not around. I’m not a child that needs protecting.”

You bow to him. “Of course you aren’t, my Lord. Forgive me for having you think as such.”

He hums, tilting his head while examining you. “Good. Lift your head.” You do as you’re told, watching him take a few steps closer to you. “It’s cold; why is your fire not set?”

You look at what he’s referring to, seeing that your fireplace harbored no flame. “I told my maids that I would be fine tonight without it, the heavy blankets will do—“

Your eyes travel back to Sukuna, only to see he isn’t where he stood. He vanished, nowhere in your room to be found. You turned behind, but he wasn’t there either. But once you heard heavy feet thunder on your floor again, you spun around to see the beast carrying four logs, one in each hand. You were marveled; you only heard talk of his speed, now it was a little scary seeing the real deal.

Sukuna bends down in front of your fireplace, setting the logs down perfectly. “Ignoring the cold’s existence is an ignorant game. A princess should be warm during this time of night.” Once the logs are set, he makes a sign with his upper right hand, bringing his thumb and forefinger together to his mouth. He blows, and a string of fire spits out to the logs. The sound of crackling bark from the flames confirms his work. “You are not me; you should fear the cold.”

You nod to his lesson. “Thank you, Lord Ryomen.” 

“There’s no one here. You have the right to refer to me by my first name.” Sukuna straightens himself up. The light from the fire has his face aglow, and the crimson in his eyes flicker while they hook onto you.

You don’t know why — maybe it was because of the instant heat touching your neck instead of the sudden allurement you’ve noted from the demon king. Regardless, you avert your gaze downward. “Yes, Lord Sukuna.”

“Hmm.” He croons, walking towards you to prompt your chin up with a hand. Your eyes widen at his action; this is the first time in forever since he’s laid a hand on you. Talks of those he touches die shortly after spark in your mind. “You still have the sword.”

It wasn’t a question – an observation. He noticed the weapon lodged above the fireplace, like a memento meant to be honored rather than used. You smile, “Yes, I make sure it’s nice and clean from dust.” 

Sukuna scoffs. “I give you a present, and you treat it like a trophy.” 

“It would be wise to treat a gift from the demon king like a treasure. It wouldn’t sit right with me knowing I used or damaged a present given to me by someone I care about.” 

He tilted his head again. “And when I give a weapon to someone I wish to protect,” The word caught you off guard. Protect? “I expect them to use it as it’s intended. I will allow it this time, but I won’t be too forgiving the second. Understood?”

You heard him, but your mind was still wrapped around the word. Protect? Lord Sukuna wants to protect me? What for?? You didn’t mean to say it aloud; it just slipped. “Protect?”

His mood shifts into neutral. A subtle softness is displayed in that inhuman structure of a face — or maybe you imagined it because of the late hour. Your breath hitches when you feel his lower hands pull and wrap around your right hand; the way your palm dwarfs in his hold is appalling. And then he kneels. Sukuna, the eight-foot-tall demon king, kneeling before you. This was a bizarre night, candidly. 

“Princess,” he starts with your name. It was the perfect method as he fully has your undivided attention. “You know why the King has wished to see me despite what’s occurring outside these chambers. He believes there is still room to talk, and I believe he's wasting his time because I'm close to setting the entire Northern front ablaze and nailing this score for good.” 

You knew he meant that, and it scared you because if he really could, he would. He actually possesses the mentality and the drive to do it. And yet, all three parts of the continent continue to stand. Why?

“But that would result in more problems for me. I’d have the entire world after my head for terrorism. All the leaders will not rest until I’m gone — your father would have to come put me down. And I would kill him, all of them.” His eyes were on you, dead serious. “…But that would make you upset, and it pisses me off that you'd hate me for my drive for survival.” 

“My Lord,” it was your turn to speak. “I wouldn’t hate you. Being upset would be justified. But when it comes to war, survival is the paramount destination. I only wish to avoid such significant losses – both for the people of our nations and the people I hold dear.” 

“Mmm.” He took your words. There’s no need to say anything, knowing Sukuna heard your piece is good enough. “I can see where you stand in this, stubborn and naive like your father. So, I come to you with a proposition. Something I need for you to listen before I consider seizing this battle.”

The way he spoke had you on edge, truthfully. Yet, if he’s coming to you in the middle of the night to hear your piece, who are you as a friend to push him aside? You give him a nod, “Yes, my Lord?” 

“Princess, I want to—“ he stops mid-sentence, his pink-slitted brow suddenly drew up before it furrowed at the next second. He lets go of your hand in a hurry, standing up in a flash. It had you squeak. “He’s here.”

The sudden change in tone had you blink up at the giant, startled. “Wh–Who?”

“….No, they will not be seeing you. The hour is late; they are heading for bed!”

“Oh, c’mon Utahime — an hour, give me one hour!”

“Don’t you DARE open that door—HEY!” 

You and Sukuna’s eyes dart to your chamber door, which opens with an abrupt vigor as if it was kicked open — it was kicked. The foot that was prominent at the front goes down and swings in a figure that brightens the area. Baggy white paints contrast with a black dress shirt mixed with white, intricate, and alluring designs. Subtle blue patterns map around the black collar and cuffs, dancing down the white material behind gold buttons. It’s covered by an ocean-blue shawl that drapes the figure’s left side. But the most significant detail that gave away who the person was – outside of their voice alone – was the snow-shite hair that decorated the top of his head. 

Your wide eyes take in the person before you, and a dainty smile comes to your lips when you say his name. Unlike Sukuna, who sucks his teeth with a deep scowl. “Lord Gojo, it’s—“

“PRINCESS~~!” Chipper as ever, Gojo greets you with a happy tune that is so familiar to the ears. His sky-blue eyes gleam and narrow whenever he’s in your presence, just like he’d do during your childhood years. “Glad to see that I’ll be able to see your beautiful face tonight, after all. And I thought I told you to call me by my first name, like when we were kids!”

His jest has you giggle, “And I thought I’d told you from the last visit to knock on my door before entering. You have my poor handmaiden chasing after you at this hour.” 

“I second that notion wholeheartedly, my Lady.” Utahime comes into view, approaching from Gojo’s shadow. If looks could kill, she’d stab Gojo’s throat with dual-wielding daggers. Not that the white-haired man was paying her glare any mind. She sighs heavily before bowing to you, “My apologies, my Lady. Lord Gojo caught me leaving the stairs towards your hall, figuring he’d come to speak a word with—Holy Tengen!” Your lady-in-waiting gasps when she lifts her head to see that you aren’t alone in the first place. “L-Lord Ryomen!? F-F-Forgive me for not noticing your grace before.” She quickly returns her head for a bow, hoping the trusty, short right-hand retainer and advisor, Uraume, wasn’t here to lecture her. 

But thankfully to her anxious stars, the demon king grunts, “You’ve been forgiven, human. I came here not too long ago to discuss matters with the heir.” His red eyes leave the bowing woman to look at Gojo, whose lighthearted cadence is stilled. “Alone.” The final word was all for the white-haired lord’s watch to switch to a silent, menacing tone, shaded by his bangs but perfectly seen by Sukuna. 

“Yes, my Lord, I shall leave you two to yourselves then,” Utahime replies to the salmon-haired creature, lifting her upper body ready for dismissal. But she then grabs for Gojo’s arm and tugs. “That includes you as well, Lord Gojo.” 

“Ehhhh, me? What about the giant freak across from me?” Gojo questions the woman who pulls him to the doorway. “I also have things to discuss with the princess I’ve expressed earlier for when I have the time, which is now. At least I made my appointment known. Unlike him, who came into their quarters unannounced.” 

“And here you are, barging into their room!” she almost popped a vein; you worry for the poor woman dragging the tall figure out of your room. “Kicking their door and making yourself known doesn’t modify the definition of being unannounced. Come back tomorrow – I’m sure my Lady will be available to listen to your quarrels then.” 

It was now that you finally decided to interject. “It’s all right, Utahime. Sleep still evades me for me to rest.” You look to Sukuna, his gaze already on your figure, and then to Gojo, who awaits your assertion. “…I will listen to both Lords and have them dismissed before I retire for the night. You may let Lord Gojo go now and get sleep yourself.” 

Utahime gives you a concerned look, yet she silently lets go of the man when you give her a tiny nod. “As you wish. Have a good night, my princess. Lord Sukuna. Gojo.” She slams the door at the last name she says, her stomping footsteps and grumbling curses fading into the night. 

And now here you were, alone in your room, with the two lords of two superpower empires – two childhood friends. Nevertheless, it’s back. The suffocating tension you’ve mentioned before returns and drapes over the three of you that the word “friend” feels teeny within it. You can’t lie to yourself; you’re weary to have either of them in your chambers, let alone be in the same space as you. You knew there would be a day when the two would come together; however, you were far from being prepared for said event. 

Then again, it’s better now than never, right? You three used to be the best of friends – close companions that you could depend on and trust. Close companions that you desperately wish to continue trusting and having an unbreakable bond with. If not for you, then for your father’s and respective empires’ sake. So, with a deep breath, you exhale and think of how to go about this predicament. Be the heir that your father raised you to be.

“So,” You turn to Gojo to start with. “Lord Gojo—“

“Oh, c’mooon, what did I say about using my last name?” Gojo flashes a quick smile at you. “We’re friends, no? It’s not fair you refer to Maiden Iori by her first name; you should know mine like the back of your hand!”

His little pester does help swade a bit of stress off your shoulders. “My apologies, Satoru. It’s just that I must be respectful to my royals, even if we are long-time friends.”

The white-haired man chuckles, taking steps to be closer to you. “Even so, I want my princess to call me by my name, for you are the one I trust and hold dear the most. And I don’t want our familiarity to be tarnished by titles.” 

“…If that’s what will make you happy, Satoru.” The address to the northern prince made you avert your gaze to the ground, and your cheeks dial in warmth. Who knew that he thought so deeply about a little gesture? And then there’s what he referred to you as—

“Your princess?” Sukuna’s voice snaps you back to the present situation: you and Gojo are not the only ones in your room.  

Gojo takes his eyes off you and places them on the giant behind your shape. He taunts, “Yes, my princess, as they are the fair heir of this great empire who will rule after their great father. I’d say they are as much my princess to me as the other Lords and Maidens. But I’d be lying since I see them as more than that.”

Sukuna’s quadruple eyes darken as they narrow at the man before him. “Every time I see your scrawny self, you prove you’re the biggest fool than all the other senile jokes of Lords I’ve ever dealt with.” Two steps is all he takes to be right behind you. You can practically feel his shadow on you. “The person before us is indeed a royal above many – above you. So, I find it amusing that you would be dumb enough to emphasize such a ludicrous claim. You fail to know your place when in their presence. And in mine.”

Oh, that ticked something inside Gojo. Because the prince was no longer smiling, his attention was wholly on Sukuna. Many wouldn’t dare to glower at the giant creature the way Gojo was — let alone look at him. “Hah, you sure know how to make unfunny jokes, Sukuna. Because I’d rather eat demon shit than have you think for a moment that you are above me.”

“Hmph, I’m surprised your childish behavior has gotten you this far,” you can see from the shadow on the floor that Sukuna folds his lower arms. “Don’t think that you’ll be lucky with me.”

“Oh, believe me, my childish manner has gotten its fair share of tongue lashings and trouble, but I’ve been able to talk my ass out of shit ever since I was a kid. But I guess talk is too cheap for an oversized brute like you, huh?”

“Very. I’m a being of action—“

“Action? Or destruction?” The light blue of Gojo’s eyes shifts to that of a deep, cold shade under his bangs, with no sign of backing down. “Because from all I’ve heard about you, everything can crumble beneath you with just a swipe of the fingers. Outside of your lands, who’s to say you’re worthy of ruling when your methods and policy are more forbidding than mine? Or better yet, who gave you the gall to think that such a monster like you has a right to even be amongst civil people like me and the princess? Hell, the fact that you snuck in their room as you please sickens me to the core.”

“I can say the same for you, Satoru Gojo. Your entire occupancy does worse than bore me. Standing here with the man governing the family who’s killed many of my kin and demons fills me with inextinguishable anger. You have no idea how much excitement I’ll have for the day I cut that head of yours clean off, but because of my business with the princess, your death will be pending.” 

“Not if my business is taken care of first.”

The demon growls. “Like hell, it will.” 

“My Lords, please!”

The tense atmosphere is relieved by the abruption of your voice, bringing the lords’ quarrel to a standstill to face you. You squeak when their eyes land on you, forcing yourself to turn to the fireplace and deal with the growing storm of anxiousness inside you. 

Gods, I should’ve had Utahime here with me! You curse yourself for being in this situation. Why tonight of all nights must you deal with this? It was as if your lady-in-waiting had this all planned — or worse, your father, having you treat the matter of your allies. You groan internally to your hands, letting your frustration be released.

You twirl back to face the two men before you, a deep inhale before saying, “Lord Satoru, what would you like to discuss with me at this hour?”

“Hah?” The disapproving mood of the demon king had your heart sink to the floor. “I was here first.”

“Yes, you came to my room first tonight. But Gojo was here first at the palace. He told me earlier that he wanted to speak, so I should hear him.” You could only hope your reasoning satisfied the tall being, who puffs his tattooed chest. And Gojo quickly flashed the other a vexatious look at Sukuna before you pivoted to him. “Now, Lord Go—“

“Aht aht!”

“…Lord Satoru,” He beams a big grin. “What do you wish to speak with me?”

“Well, although this is something meant for the two of us,” meant to be a stab to the other person in the room, who couldn’t care less about his presence being unwanted. “But this’ll suffice; it doesn’t hurt to have an audience.” You watch the silver-haired man take your left hand, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing on your knuckles. 

“My Lady,” he looks at you with delicate azure eyes, his gaze so captivating that it locks you in position. “I’ve known you for quite a long time. Before I met you, my life as a royal was barren. Nothing sparked joy in me. The mundane tasks to uphold as the next heir, being pampered and sheltered as the gifted member of the Gojo House. I felt trapped in a mold — a mold that I resented having as my birthright, so much so that I wished to claw my eyes out at the age of five.” 

You could tell he was speaking from the heart, his hands gripping yours tighter.

“But then, three years later, my father took me to meet the King of the western lands; at the time, it sounded like such a chore having to meet all these old, disgusting guys that I had to ‘maintain a good relationship’ with. And then, like the sun peeking through dark clouds, I saw you. I’ve met many royal kids before me, most snobby or kissing up to me for my good graces. Yet, none of them have been as alluring and breathtaking as you have been.” He pauses for a light chuckle. “I can still remember how your sweet voice addressed me when our fathers introduced us together. You stood tight to his leg, but your grace was ever present.”

“Mhmm, and I recall how angry your father was when you didn’t take a knee and instead greeted me with a handshake.” The two of you share a laugh, unaware of the disdained aura of Sukuna right next to you for a moment. “There are many things I hold close to my heart — you and our friendship being part of them.”

“I agree. I mean it when I regard you as one of my greatest treasures. This friendship we’ve had these years – decades, even – has been a blessing that I do not want to take for granted. Even with this war on my shoulders, I wish for it to be put to rest so I can finally have you by my side again. And that’s why…” 

Gojo lifts your hand to his face; the soft feeling of his pillowy lips on your fingers has you holding your breath. Just like Sukuna…

“Princess, merciful child of Tengen’s Blessed Ground, I ask for your hand in marriage.” 

It all took one second — one mere second. 

One second for your world to come to a complete standstill, the cracking of the firewood no longer poking your eardrums and the breeze from the outside no longer grazing your skin. Your body instinctively refuses to move so much as a toe to disrupt your processing.

One second for your thoughts to absolutely vanish. No words of your own occupying your brain, no guesses on where this conversation was going. There was nothing. Nothing except the last seven words Gojo said that replay in your head. Over and over and over again.

One second for you to be in a perfect state of perplexity. Right before Sukuna grabs your free hand and yanks you to his side the next. Three giant hands wrap around you while one grips your wrist tightly. 

He snarls, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Gojo sucks his teeth before straightening yourself. “Ehhhh, is your demon brain screwed on right? You don’t know what a marriage proposal is?” His question struck you more than it did the beast. Huh? A marriage proposal? Marriage!?

The fingers of Sukuna’s upper left-hand grips your shoulder, claw-like nails poking your skin as if to draw blood. “Hmph, the nerve of you humans never fails to disappoint me. Especially you, Satoru Gojo, who remains a thorn in my foot. Must I kill more of your men to keep you at your place as you did to my demonfolk?”

“Khh, don’t act like you ever cared about the lives sacrificed on your behalf. It’s gross.” Gojo takes one step, and Sukuna swiftly lifts his upper right hand at him, his fingers positioned at the same sign when he made flames for your fireplace. Your eyes widen, please, not in my room! Gojo takes a stance for battle. “Acting human doesn’t suit you at all, fuckface.” 

The roar of laughter that the demon bellows out was chilling to hear. The vibrations coursing from his body to yours rocked you to your core. “Hah! Me, human!? There’s a reason I let go of that part of myself a long time ago. It made me weak – held me back from my full potential. You are right, though; it’s beneath me to care for those below me. However, I don’t tolerate those that mess with what’s mine.” 

The word had Gojo’s eyes taper. “Let them go.”

“No. If anything, I should skin you here and now for even laying a finger on them in front of me.” You peered up at Sukuna, your anxiousness refusing to settle down during this high-stakes scenario. “Because any man that dares touch my wedded deserves to be torn and shredded by my hands alone.” 

You couldn’t hide your gasp. It snuck past you – the perfect reaction to what you heard. H–His wedded? Me? Lord Sukuna’s wedded-to-be!? No wonder he was acting like that…!

“Your wedded?” Gojo was just as taken aback as you were. “You’ve got some huge balls to declare that right after bearing witness to me proclaiming my request for their hand.” 

“Tch, bastard, why do you think I was here before you?” Sukuna flashes his big teeth, pride exuding from his form. “Did you honestly think I’d allow the princess to end up with the likes of you? Now, aren’t you too old for fairy tales?” You’re still in shock of this madness. Two marriage proposals within the same hour? Both from your childhood friends who unequivocally despise each other’s existence? Any regular person would feel as if they’re experiencing a whirlwind right now. 

Wait a minute…

“Oh, we’re talking fairy tales, you repugnant jackass.” It’s Gojo’s turn to get a kick out of this. “From what I can tell, the princess is meant to spend the rest of their life in comfort with a handsome human prince who swears to protect them and those they care for. Not a creature whose source of joy comes from killing and mayhem. You? Capable of love? Heh, be real. Not even your own dead mother was able to show you real love for her abomination of a—“

He stopped talking when he felt something warm roll down his cheek, a red fluid streaking to drop from his chin. You see a cut and blood, and a wave of dread hits you like a wall. It was Sukuna’s doing, no doubt. Your best friends were fighting in front of you, in your safe space. Your nerves have long forgotten what it meant to be in a state of calm. 

Please, wait, stop—

“I already told you your death has been postponed, you northern shit,” red eyes darken, Sukuna's tone and aura unveiling a sense of brutality that shadowed your very being. It had you trembling. “But I don’t mind severing your tongue to make a point.”

The skin around the cut on Gojo’s skin begins to morph to find each other, seaming itself back to mint condition with a blue glow. Healing magic fixed his cut and cleared his blood, but the anger boiling inside him was prevalent in those striking eyes. Wanting nothing more than a bleeding head between his hands. “I’d like to see you try, you ugly prune.” 

NO, STOP IT!!

This was all too much for a single night. This whole ordeal was far from your expectations. It was already stressful enough thinking about what would happen when the two lords were in this palace together. Now, in your quarters, you’ve never experienced a more life-and-death crisis having your friends — companions you used to laugh and engage with together — wanting to rip each other’s throats, especially for your hand in marriage. And, Tengen forbid, if you were to accept one’s proposal over the other…that would ignite a war above all wars. The bodies that fall on this mainland would all be in your undoing. The thought enough was too much to bear! 

“I accept both!!”

The hostile complexion of the room vanished into the air in the blink of an eye. The sound of burning logs and dancing flames filled the space like before; the crashing ocean waves could be heard from your balcony. Nature was speaking without noises to interrupt it. It was quiet, too quiet. 

You didn’t know what you just said until the last morphemes left your tongue. You silently remove your figure from Sukuna, covering your mouth in disbelief. And without having to see for yourself, you could tell that the two lords were just as flummoxed from your sudden sentence. What…What did I say just now?

“What did you just say?” As if he could read your mind, Sukuna relays your inner turmoil to be addressed. 

Your heart was beating at an unbearable rate, your ears ringing like they’d soon set off and bleed. The trembles get worse with every second, and wiping your face off this Earth at this exact moment is all you wish for. You were so nervous that you were mere seconds away from the brink of tears. Oh, Tengen, why did I say that? What was I thinking?!? What am I to do? What do I—

“…Express to them how you feel, that you wish for nothing but an end to this bloodshed and to restore whatever’s left to rebuild their past alliance…” 

And then, like a strange flash of an angelic tune, the words of your lady-in-waiting come back to you, instantly calming you down and reminding you who you are. You are the princess of the Western Front, the next heir after your father. This matter was bound to fall onto your lap one way or another — preferably less drastically and excitingly like this.

I am the princess, but their friend above all else…You remove your hands from your face, exhaling a shaky breath before standing tall. “….I accept both marriage proposals of my Lords.”

The men’s bewildered expressions were expected, just like the dismay in their voices. “Both of our—…! Surely you don’t mean that—” Gojo was the first to speak, silver brows screwed with confusion. 

“I do.” A deep breath before you answered him. “I will only accept the proposals of both you and Lord Sukuna.”

The demon took one thunderous step, the vibrations crawling up your bones. “And just why is that?”

You exhale through your nostrils, chewing on your bottom lip. “Understand that I am humbly flattered by your perspectives — it fills me with gladness to know I can be hospitable to my dear friends again…As you both mentioned, I, too, cherish the two of you profoundly, and my trust for you two will never be extinguished. To be asked for my hand by either of you is an honor I’ll forever appreciate….But I cannot choose one over the other.”

“Bullshit,” Sukuna folds his upper arms, the lower resting on his hips. “You can; you just choose not to.”

“No, I care for you both, and choosing one alone would have people hurt. Both between us three and the people of this continent…” You maintain eye contact with both lords while your hands fidget with your nightgown to ease yourself. “A rivalry is happening between the Eastern and Northern fronts; blood’s already been spilled and soaking Tengen’s soil. If I were to choose one proposal, I can’t be guaranteed that this onslaught of violence will cease. Or, would either of you guarantee that you wouldn’t take the life of the other?”

That question had the two royals look at each other briefly, followed by their scowls and groans. Gojo is the next to speak, “What happens between us shouldn’t concern you, my princess.”

“You’re wrong; it concerns me tremendously. It is a concern that’s been eating me alive, watching my allies – my friends – fight each other on the sidelines, refusing to pick a side with my father. Now, you two come here, bend your knees, hold my hands, and ask for my hand, silently requesting my involvement for more bodies to drop like flies under my reign?… No, I would not find rest from this night forward, knowing that more innocent lives plummet from my answer.”

“It wouldn’t be blood on your hands.”

“…But it would be blood that I paint with my very shadow.”

The response sounded foreign to him, yet you stood tall, making sure your heart didn’t falter with your stance. Silence welcomes the three figures again, an old friend that goes well with the tense atmosphere. Two pairs of red observe you, like cerulean orbs that stay on your appearance.

A few seconds go by, and Gojo screws his eyes shut. “So, that’s it, you accept both proposals.”

A curt nod. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Your final decision?”

“Correct.”

The snow-haired man nodded aimlessly, slouched with a large sigh, turned, and headed for your bed to flop face down — like it was his bed. “Haaaaaah, you are your father’s kid, all right,” you could make out his words even with his face in your sheets. “A pacifist heart.”

“Hmph, such a dumbass reason,” Sukuna huffs with absolute annoyance, and you’re amazed he hasn’t already skinned you and Gojo. “You are not a child anymore. You can’t possibly be serious about taking up two husbands for the sake of peace.”

“You’re right: I am no child, for I’ve never been as serious as I am now.” Look at you, sticking up for yourself in the presence of the demon king. Although, you know he can hear the quiver in your voice trying to crawl out. You swallow, “It’s either both of you or nothing at all.”

His left eyes squint as they examine your features, the mouth on his belly gritting its teeth. “Tsk, both or nothing…Meanwhile, you know I can’t be in the same room with him. Not even Tengen could command me to share you with this brat.”

Gojo swifts on the covers to lie on his back. “Finally, something I can agree with the devil himself. He’s right, though; there are many things in my life I would rather not share with anyone — you being the top of my list.”

You take their concerns with patience and a lifted chin. “I understand you both, but if you two can’t let the fog clear and talk with each other, how can I see myself—“

“Let the fog clear?” Sukuna repeats with furrowed eyebrows. “Sorcerers came into my land and ransacked my villages — sorcerers from this bastard’s empire!” 

“An action that validates your anger and course of action,” you remind yourself to take tiny breaths. “…However, Satoru didn’t order the attack himself; they went against procedure and stormed your country with poor judgment.”

The tall demon rolls all of his eyes and clicks his teeth. “Ridiculous.”

“No, what’s ‘ridiculous’ is how you fail to acknowledge why those sorcerers went to your zone.” Gojo’s turn to interpolate. “One of the noble sorcerers and his company died because of your demon folk invading my country without permitted passage. That noble had a family, students that followed his footsteps—“

“Are you saying my people didn’t have kin of their own to return to, Gojo Satoru?”

“Your people sure kill like they don’t—“ Another swipe of Sukuna’s fingers glid the air; this time, Gojo’s Infinity was on guard, ricocheting the cleave to mark a scratch on one of the curtains. “Hah, just like their leader.”

Sukuna flexes his knuckles to crack, black fingernails appearing sharper. “The demons who killed that sorcerer acted on their own accord. Just like the many men of your land who came to mine, whom I corrected for your lack of oversight.”

“Then allow me to fulfill my mistake,” the silver-haired man’s eyes glow. “And let me kill the demons responsible — just like you did to my men, fucking cretin.”

“Over my dead body, human trash.”

“My Lords!” The men concurrently exchange their gazes back to you. “This is why I will not be accepting either proposal solely. You come to my home to ask for my hand because you see me as of value, correct? Well, you both are people I care deeply for, and the thought of walking beside either of you for eternity is something I’d accept unmistakably under different circumstances…But, please acknowledge my position in all of this: I am the princess of an extraordinary continent and heir to the throne after my father, a man who has maintained peace and harmony all these years. Now, that peace is hanging on the brink of death and will soon be a matter I should issue alone, and the men who’ve grown with me and cherish me combating each other until one stands tall….or none stand at all.”

Word spilled after another as if a dam had broken down — fingers jitter even when clasped together. Your throat dries up after every sentence, yet your unwavering resilience pushes you to keep going.

“I’m sorry if what I’m saying or doing is selfish, and…you may be right that I’m going at it with the whims of a child. But, please,” Do not cry, do NOT cry. “Standing idly every passing day watching the men I’ve grown to—“ Love? Isn’t that too intimate of a word to assume? “…treasure kill themselves and others without doing anything wounds me enough. And if you think I can sit here in this palace and watch my intended go far and yonder to kill another person whom I cherish with no guarantee that they will return to me wholly, think twice.”

Your shoulders threaten to tremble; of course, you’re frightened beyond belief by what you’re saying. But you’re sure if she was here, Utahime would pull you in for a hug and acclaim how well you’re following her counsel.

“Please, I just…can’t bear it.”

Uncomfortable muteness gnaws you alive within the muteness of your room. You’re bound to draw blood on your bottom lip with how much you’re chewing it. If only your father were awake in this hour, his guidance at a moment like this would be beneficial, or merely observing from afar how you’re managing would give you some hope. Alas, you know he’s in deep sleep halls away. It’s just the three of you in this space — or just you versus the huge opposing auras thick enough to be slit by Sukuna’s cleaves. 

Speaking of whom, the demon king watches you the entire speech. Same with Gojo, whose blue eyes dwindle back to their typical hue. The two men don’t dare break the silence as you stand before them, mentally swimming in thoughts alone to yourself….Well, at least the northern prince wouldn’t dare to do so first because Sukuna initially ripped the stillness to shreds. He says, “And how would your father respond to this feckless plan of accepting two marriage proposals?”

A worthy question to ponder. “…I’m sure he’d come to an understanding once I explain my reasoning,” the belly of the eastern king grumbles. “I’m sure he’d be contended at the fact that his two trusted allies would want to join houses.”

Gojo sits up straight atop your bed. “Well, that sounds all nice and dandy on that front. But, the problem still lies in us acting like…a ‘real couple.’ Face it, princess; you may seem okay with being with us both, but that doesn’t mean we’d be on the same page.”

Sukuna nods curtly. “I’d rather eat every human alive than entertain the thought of someone other than me touching you.” 

The other shrugs. “Even if the world’s fate depends on it.”

The men’s grievances are valid arguments for why your plan can backfire, particularly when suggesting a relationship where two people can’t stand each other. What you’re posing is an action that has been practiced before yet isn’t entirely favored in the public eye. Nevertheless, your stance doesn’t change; you refuse to go back on your word, believing that it’s a better alternative to condone than the others. The only tricky part is convincing your childhood friends…

…Which is why what you’re about to do is indubitably unlike you. 

“…What are you doing?"

But despite that, it’s a course of action that highlights your determination.

“—Woah!! Princess?! Why are you undressing??!”

Even if it’ll go down as the most downright humiliating thing you’ve done to yourself.

Your nightgown meets the ground of your feet, the cool air wrapping your nude frame with the heat of the fireplace hovering on one side. Arms free of sleeves, nipples easily spotted now with the dismissal of clothing, the region between your lower thighs bare, and delicate skin exposed for only the men in the room to see. And even then, your face doesn’t decline the miserable hotness. Embarrassed? No doubt about it.

“My Lords,” you croak, balled fists muster to contain whatever left of dignity you can. “This form…isn’t meant for any regular eyes to see — an offering only a slim few I’d trust to witness. Tonight, I want you two to see me like this.” You slowly step forward, gradually getting closer to Sukuna’s giant size. “As your princess, I offer my whole to you both, as you are mine…and I am yours.”

Sukuna blinks at your small figure close to his; the intensity of his stare is enough to have your heart sink into a pool of regret. Until he bends to scoop you with his lower arms, you yelp at the sudden action with hands finding his sturdy shoulders to grab. Now, he is way closer than you anticipated, his very chin inches away from brushing your naked chest. Holy shit.

“You are mine, and I am yours?” he lifts his eyebrow. “Was that not true already?” You gulp thickly before answering, daring to cup his cheek with a hesitant hand. Again, you’re surprised to see it still attached, let alone see him lean to your palm. 

“You’d have to prove it true — here and now, make this ceaseless battle end by claiming me as yours…You too, Gojo.” You and the demon holding you turn to the man sitting on your bed. The pale skin of his face now harbors shades of pink that cascade across his cheeks and the dip of his ears, expression dumbfounded to what he witnessed. “Demonstrate how serious you are for my hand, or you and Sukuna can leave my room.”

Sky-blue eyes blink absentmindedly, words hard to pick and choose for the human prince in this bizarre minute. Sukuna then speaks with a huff.

“Well, are you going to start moving or what? Because whether you stay or not, your princess will become mine tonight.” He grins before leaning in to lick your skin, and you hold a whine when the mouth of his navel lightly chews on your tummy. “And on the many nights coming after.”

The beast’s words flip a switch, causing Gojo to chuckle and shake his head while unbuttoning his shirt. “Not if I have something to do about it, four-eyes…”

You drew in breath while watching Gojo undress, more of his milky skin stripped out of his clothing, revealing parts of the prince that you could only imagine in your fantasies. Heat flourishes to your ears, and another gasp is pulled out when Sukuna sneaks his free lower hand to cusp your buttcheek. He then brings an upper hand to your chin to face him and his sneer. 

“You’ve made this night a whole lot more interesting.”

And that was the last time the sound of the fire cracking caught your attention.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Mmmm…Ahh—Ahhh!!”

“Keh, sure are tight as hell; definitely a virgin.”

“Fuck, I can hear the sounds from here…Oh, fuuck…!”

The sea breeze climbs up to your terrace, crawling into your room to swing the curtains of your canopy. The candles around your room continue to flame and provide light for the room to glow. The scent of lavender and rose from your bath and lotion an hour earlier remains in the air and sticks to your skin. The midnight hour isn’t yet, but the sky is dark enough past the twilight hues. 

Expected as the former home of the Great Saint Tengen, the palace is as enormous. Harboring many rooms, halls, and floors for the company of the royal family and their subjects, the castle is unchallenging for a newcomer to get lost inside without a proper guide. Every room is catered to a specific event, person, meeting, or occasion in this place. On top of that, multiple guest chambers are meant for the guests invited under the King’s audience to rest.

…But it seems that Gojo and Sukuna are not retiring for the night anytime soon.

How could they sleep when you’re being a courteous host, letting your childhood friends spend the late hours in your room? Just like when you were young and playmates or learning to master a weapon. The only thing is that these two aren’t the same as two decades ago; they are men, branded with titles and responsibilities, blood already stained their knuckles, and duties hold them to a high expectation that you know all too well. 

And, like all men, they have a salacious curiosity only appropriate for the bedroom. An interest you knew would one day be prevalent in your life if you agreed to take either as a husband…Yet, you’re not as prepared on the chance you’d face both realities simultaneously. 

All three of you are stationed in your bed, clothes decorating your floor to leave you all bare for each other to see and marvel at — more so on your part. You lie on your back to a giant broad chest and stomach, Sukuna right behind you with his lower arms holding your feet by the back of your knees. Knees spread apart, your naked lower half is out, free for the monster to insert a single thick digit of his left upper hand into your wet chasm while the right fondles your left tit.

Never in your life did you think you were capable of producing such indecent noises. Low whimpers are embarrassing to recollect as the demon king plays with your most tender parts. His big fingers tweak your nipple, and the digit – way thicker than yours – inside your cunt is enough to stretch your opening, wiggling and scratching the inside. Fingering yourself never felt like this, your body experiencing a refreshing sensation you hadn’t known of. And to have the eastern king of all people to bestow this feeling on you brings just as much awe as humiliation.

Nonetheless, that indignity doesn’t cease. Gojo stands on his knees before you, propped between your sunder legs, while his hand strokes an erect limb. Yes, as a virgin maiden, tonight would be the very first time you ever see a living, breathing member, and the northern lord takes that honor with a lustful smile. His solid cock gets stiffer with every jerk, a left curve protruding the more your appearance excites him. To be observed and used as material as your slit is fingered? How lewd!

“Nnnn, ahaahn…” Sukuna’s finger rubs on your velvety surface, your legs wanting to squirm despite the monster’s hold. “Oh Gods…Ohhh!!”

“Damn, you look so good,” Gojo mutters under his breath, precum drizzling his fingertips. “Looks like it feels good, huh, princess?”

“Sure feels like it,” every word that Sukuna utters causes tremors to pass down his abdomen to your back, the very vibrations crawling on your skin like the tongue that licks your back to make you arch. “Hm? Tell us how you really feel, little one.”

The usage of that name causes your vaginal walls to twitch; he has never called you as such, and picking such an intimate time to do so makes your frame feel awkward and warm. “…I-I—fffmm!—don’t know…”

“Hmph, you dare lie to me,” he bends to your ear, and his deep chuckle ignites your stomach to knot itself. “Like your body doesn’t speak for itself, clenching on my finger like you want to snap it off.”

“Th-that’s not—“The graze of your upper wall cuts you off, and your hands struggle to find places to grab, gripping the skin of Sukuna’s thigh and grabbing tuffs of his apricot hair. 

The demon king snickers more when his middle finger teases your taint, pressing a kiss on your cheek before a quick bite. “Only one finger in, and you’re already wailing like a common whore; be lucky that I haven’t added another, then you’d really be prepared for me…” You feel something brush up against your back, the tips of Sukuna’s cocks reminding you of his eventual promise.

“Wooow, calling the future heir a whore; must’ve forgotten whose room we’re in.” The white-headed man had something to say about that, satisfyingly ruining the mood for the demonic being. 

“They don’t seem to mind, at least their cunt doesn’t,” uncouth cords that speak truth, your vulva squeezing his finger constantly. “Who would’ve thought the beautiful, refined, and compassionate princess,” each enunciated word has consequences that are a lick and bite to your helix. “Was, in fact, a dirty, nasty girl?”

“Holy shit,” Gojo’s hand goes faster, his dick ready with stiffness. The image of you melting under the Fallen Star’s hold is too hot for the young man to witness. “God, I wanna fuck you so bad, baby…”

Sukuna clicks his teeth. “Well, hurry the hell up and do it before I change my mind and fuck them myself.”

“And have them bleeding to death because of your giant dicks on their first time? Fuck that,” He ignores the four rolled eyes as he maneuvers closer to you, Sukuna pulling his finger out of your wet slit and slithering further down to your anus. He coaxes you to relax your tense muscles, pushing his digit into your puckered hole second by second. The gasp you release once it’s added sends shivers up Gojo’s shoulders. “A princess should be treated like a pearl – tended to with the utmost care.”

“Go–jooo…” You whine as the human heir cups your cheeks to squeeze.

“What did I say about using my family name?” He scolds with a cheeky tune, gauging your reaction as he disposes his cockhead to the folds of your vagina. 

“…S-Sa—Mmmph!” The push of his pink tip is a new sensation.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” He coos, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Relax, just focus on me.” Your eyes lock with his, distracted by the twinkle and swirl of his azure irises, like a whirlpool sinking into the darkness of his dilated pupil. “What’s my name, cutie?”

“Saaa…Sato—Ohhh!!” And just like that, the tip of his limb enters inside, bypassing your knowledge until the wince of pain snaps you out of your distraction. “…to’ruu…”

His teeth glisten under her grin. “That’s my good girl.”

Gojo keeps propelling himself inside you, gradually shoving every inch of his lengthy girth. You bite your quivering lip at the stretch of your opening, accommodating the foreign body part burrowing inside your inner channel. The left curve of his has his penis rubbing on parts of yourself you hadn’t thought possible; a graze of your G-spot causes your legs to quirk and toes to curl. 

But then, once his silverish pubes meet your outer labia, he reaches the depth of your cervix and gives it a chaste kiss. And your frame suddenly shuts down briefly, your senses running cold before you cry aloud without knowing. Your hands rush to cover your mouth, but the damage is too late.

Sukuna raises a brow. “What a shout.” He then uses your reaction to add another digit into your ass.

“Ahhhh, there it is,” Gojo swallows thickly, hips speaking for themselves as they sway. “That was cute as hell–the way you twitch feels so good…” Another poke to your cervix, and your legs can’t help but wrap around Gojo’s waist.

“Satoru, please…!” You plead with knitted eyebrows. “Pleasee, be gentle with me…”

Blue eyes narrow. “God, who told you to be so adorable?” Gojo angles down to your face, his nose mere centimeters to yours. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll treat you right tonight…Hmmm.”

The man leans in to place his lips on your forehead before his own, and the pace of his thrusts quickens to mediocrity. The rubs on your silky texture become frequent, lightly pounding his shaft into your to till his testes knock your chasm, the whimpers you try to repress boost to a louder volume. His left curve spikes up your nerves with every push and pull, easing the itching heat that permeates around your lower half. 

Hands writhe around to calm around Gojo’s cold back; you say his name in prayers. You can feel something coming, and if he keeps rutting to you like this, it’s bound to come earlier than expected. “—Nnaaa, Sat’ruuu, w-wait!! I can’t—Ahaann!!”

“—Mmmm! Yeah, just like that, princess, keep gripping on me like that…” He doesn’t listen, too lost in your warmth and wetness that he can’t stop. The flex of his abs increases, plunging into your pussylips desperately as if he can sense the eventual you fear. 

“T-Toruu, wait, go slooww!!” Words mean nothing, hips not declining in their needing cadence. Oh Gods, I can feel it; it’s coming! Nerves climb to a peak way too fast for your comprehension, nails digging into Gojo’s skin before your orgasm hits you, choked squeaks leaving puffy lips as your cunt contracts around the prince’s girth and your asshole clamping around Sukuna’s fingers.

And Gojo is right there experiencing your climax with you, moaning under his breath and pressing his forehead to yours before he completely melts under the fluttering motions of your genitalia. “—Mmfff, ffffshit, so tight…!” He can’t stop thrusting into you, moving his pelvis slowly to draw out the sensation before he sinks into a crescendo of his own. “Fuuck! Yeah, cutie, that’s right; ride it out,” he snaps an abrupt drill to your aching entrance. “Ride it out…”

Sukuna scoffs lightly before whispering in your ear. “Done already, human?” Patronizing attitude to make you fidget. “Better be ready for me still.”

“Ehhh, but I’m not done here.” The snow-haired man retorts, massaging your waist out of the quakes. 

A thread snaps in the wake of the other’s words, and Sukuna’s lack of patience drives him to push you and Gojo off of him. The two of you roughly position to where you are essentially straddling Gojo, his erection still inside your slick-coated cavern. The devilish man swiftly ends up on his knees before contorting his massive figure to dwarf both humans beneath him.

“Gahhh!! Sukuna, what the fuck w—Mmmph?!?” With the spawn of a mouth, the eastern king shuts the northern man up by slamming his upper left hand onto his mouth for an unexpected kiss. Gojo muffles under the other’s palm, the tongue shoving itself inside.

“Shut up,” Sukuna orders with annoyance. “So damn chatty…And you,” he uses his lower hands to steady your ass, and you stifle a yelp at the contact of something pressing up against the opening of your butt. “Stay still, or I can make it hurt real bad.”

His warning is enough to keep you immobile, following his instructions and stationing your breathing to a steady rhythm. Your hands-on Gojo’s chest ball to fists once Sukuna pushes his tip to your asshole, your mouth forming a permanent ‘o’ shape once he eventually gets the cockhead inside. Just when you thought this night couldn’t get any more extreme, you had forgotten about the taller individual’s well-endowed self: two hefty, girthy limbs that you NEVER, in your wildest dreams, imagine would put inside your body — not even one!

However, tonight was the night that would be put to the test, and at the very least, Sukuna compromised, using one of his members to ravage your interior while the other skims the crevice of your asscheecks. He goes excruciatingly slow; rather than just ramming the entire thing in one go, it’s better. Gods, no, you’d be shedding more tears than you already are. Every inch that’s plunged inside you pushes out shaky breaths, sobbing from the intrusion and bits of drool slowly escaping you.

“Daahhnn, ohmyG—Nnnm!!” It’s finally all in, all swallowed up by the ridge of your bottom. You call to him, “S-Sukunaa…fuull, so fuulll…”

“I bet you are.” He adds more weight, scrunching down, making it worse by caging you under his bow. Sukuna grinds his hips, which evoke sharp cries, “Hmmm, fuck, so tight…”

The salmon-haired behemoth rocks his enormous hips, the propulsion strong enough to rock you and Gojo concurrently. This time, unlike the northern man under you, Sukuna’s movements exude dominance; from his firm grip on your waist to the confident pull of his hips, everything he does is marked with a purpose. You can tell by how his big, weighty balls smack on your sexed union with Gojo.

Speaking of whom, the polar royal subsists in the kiss with Sukuna’s hand. Yet as the seconds turn to a minute, his expression morphs into a less perturbed display. Instead of fighting it, he kisses back with the palm and bucks his hips into you. The action of his cock rubbing on the sweet spots of your vagina while the one carves and churns your butthole and the other glides on your crack grinds your brain to turn into mush. Your nerves have yet to calm down from the prior orgasm, senses overloaded with constant commotion going on in your private parts.

Sukuna’s pushes become quicker and mightier, and the more he ruts, the more your clit grinds onto Gojo’s pelvis, sending shocks straight to your head. There’s no room for rest…! “—Ohhh, hooooh’Kunaaa, Kunaa, pleaseee…!”

“‘Please, please,’ please what?” He mocks you, knowing you’re powerless to reprimand him in this predicament. “Just whining and whining like a bitch in heat; have you no shame, princess?”

“Ohhh, I’m gonna—shtoooop!!” He licks your ear as you moan aloud, steamy tears striking down your hot cheeks. The pace increases, and so does the swipe of your clit and the bump of your womb. “Ohhhfuck, fuck, fuckfuuuuck…!!”

“Kehaha, look at you; the poor princess finally breaks their poised picture,” dark, pleased chuckles seep out of the demon king’s lips, biting onto your shoulder harshly to make you scream. And judging by him licking your added wound, you’re sure he drew blood. 

“Ahhsshh—ohmyGod, ohmyGod!! S’kuna, don’t!!” Desperate pleads slur out. “I’m gonna break; y’re gonna break meee…!!!”

“Good, I want you to be broken,” he sneers as his upper right arm pushes you to face him. “Break for me; think of nothing else other than being mine. Right now, your mind, body, and soul are mine to torment and tear apart. You are my little dove, small and easy to break from now till your dying breath. Am I clear, pet?”

Scared? Of course. The way his scarlet orbs bore holes into your very being had you petrified; he doesn’t need his hellish aura and brawny hands that can snap a tree in half to assimilate fear into your heart. Witnessing the true power of the King of Demons with just his stare, nothing scarier than that…And yet, your anus and chasm can’t stop squeezing like crazy.

“…Yess, my Lord,” you croak, his finger wiping the saliva on his fingertip. “I am your pet from this—nnmm!!—this moment until the…very last.”

Anxiety doesn’t diminish when he broadens a devilish smile, but it transforms into perplexity once he slams his lips onto yours—your first kiss, taken by the eastern King, along with the chastity of your rear hole. And there’s Gojo, who is the very man who has taken claim of your virginity. Two men, your childhood companions, taking your firsts! Tonight, indeed, is marked down as an eventful occasion for you. 

You sink into the passionate kiss, your tiny tongue swirling around with Sukuna’s, his fangs grazing the muscle teasingly before he nibbles on it to hear you shrill for him. All the while, his hips go erratic, motivating Gojo to increase his tempo. The feverish rhythm leaves you breathless, crying in the company of lust and rapture to the point that you’ve become numb. Your vision becomes blurry, your head foggy, and the air between you three misty. Noises of skin smacking onto each is all you hear, drowning you further into another spazz you couldn’t adequately foretell.

Gojo and Sukuna chase their climaxes together after your walls quirk and spasm uncontrollably, letting their fluids burst inside to fill your holes to the very brim. You howl in Sukuna’s mouth, who chews on your bottom lip roughly, same with Gojo’s with the palm before snatching his hand away. The snowy-headed man huffs and pants, nearly choking on spit as his midsection flexes with every jerk of his ejaculation. And the giant above you groans while rutting into your ass, not stopping until his high passes through, the free girth ejecting semen to paint across your sweaty back.

For a few seconds, it’s utterly hot and cold at the same time, your figure trembling with the acute shocks coursing through your bones. Eyes roll to the roof of your canopy, and limbs wobble and give way for you to slump after Sukuna releases you from his breathtaking kiss. Luckily, Gojo is there to catch you, the comely noble attending to you with kisses to your temple.

“Look what you did,” he spits to his left, wanting to rid his mouth of whatever remnants Sukuna left with that disgusting kiss. “You weren’t kiddin’ when you said you wanted to break them.”

“Hmph, don’t ever take me for a liar,” the demonic man stretches after withdrawing his length out of your butt, chortling at the sight of his essence sticking to you. “Oi, dove, you hear me?”

“Princess, you all right…?”

Whatever words the two were saying to you had begun to fade away despite their proximity. Your eyelids refuse to fight the urge to close, and your skin allows the cold breeze to blanket you. Everything goes black, your breathing returns to balance, and the sound of the fire cracking comes back to sing you to sleep.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“My Lady, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“Huh?” You snap out of being zoned out for the sixth time today. Your vision is now present with the gazebo view, the ocean glistening from the morning sun in the distance, contrasting with the beautiful greenery of your garden. Many flowers of different shapes and sizes, various colors painted on top of the veins and roots separated from the yellow brick road coursing around it.  

You sit at the gazebo for your morning tea; it’s part of your morning routine after a nice bath and Utahime helping you pick what to wear for the day. Usually, when you sit here, you admire the tranquil sounds of the outside space and the sweet taste of your hot beverage.

“—Mmmm! Yeah, just like that, princess, keep gripping on me like that…”

“Stay still, or I can make it hurt real bad…Hmmm, fuck, so tight…”

Memories from last night flash one after the other, ringing your ears with nothing but the erotic noises and voices from the night before. Your cheeks dial in warmth, recollecting the senses of having both men — your childhood friends — so intimately close to you. The hotness of their breath touching your skin, the wet, teasing licks of the tongue from Sukuna’s stomach, Gojo’s slender fingers swiping and pinching your clitoris as he sucks on your nipple, and Sukuna using one of his arms to restrain your hands behind your back as he uses two others to keep your hips still to hammer your holes with his girth. 

“Princess…” the way Gojo says your name, your stomach flips to the smooth tone of his voice. His striking blue eyes survey your expression like you’re his lost treasure. His hard body meshing together with your sweaty, soft figure is a sensation you’ll probably never forget…

“Princess…” Sukuna, with his red eyes and demonic face structure, put you in a paralysis spell, and his intimidating aura suffocates you to submit to his gaze and hold. Under his bow, you felt as though you were nothing but his and his alone. And you can’t tell if that is scary or intriguing…

“…—dy Lady….MY LADY!!”

“Y–Yes!?” Your attention swerves to reality, Utahime’s face mere inches from yours. Her brown eyes filled with worrisome confusion, scanning your expression. 

“What on Tengen’s Earth is going on with you?” She says with a sigh, “Are you sick? Did you not get enough rest last night? Tsk, it must’ve been Lord Sukuna and that blue-eyed jerk. My apologies, my Lady. I hope their intrusion didn’t keep you awake for too long.” 

You shake your head to your best friend. “No need to apologize, Utahime. And it’s all right; the Lords didn’t give me too much trouble.”

She gives a nod to your response, observing you picking up your teacup and taking a sip before setting it back down gently. “Still, I find it odd that both lords wished to see you so late at night. At the same time, too…If you don’t mind me asking, my Lady, what did they wish to speak with you?”

Again, she is your best friend, so you can trust her with the information you’re about to give. “…Apparently, both Lord Sukuna and Lord Gojo wish to have my hand in marriage—“

“MARRIAGE!!??”

“Shhhh!!” With haste, you stand from the table to cover your lady-in-waiting’s mouth from uttering another word. You swiftly survey the entire garden to see if anyone from the castle heard the shout. Luckily, it was just the two of you. “Please, Utahime, not so loud.”

The woman with her mouth covered blinks once, twice, before giving an assured mod for you to release her lips. She now speaks in whispers with you, “My apologies. But…marriage??”

“I know, it surprised me, too. It seems my father gave them his blessings to ask for my hand. It could be for the sake of our families and  relations or to strengthen the bond of our empires to maintain the powerhouse that is our continent.” 

“Mmm, those are valid reasons to consider, especially after the Great War, and that the bond of the three empires would give a good message…Or perhaps, did the Lords wish to wed you for more personal reasons?”

They did. That’s what you wanted to say. But instead, all you could do was think about their proposals from last night. The way they both stood on one knee and took two hands. Gojo’s eyes never looked so sincere and soft when looking at you, placing his soft lips on your left ring finger to gently kiss it. He looked like his princely self. But that night, he showed the caring and soothing cadence you had fallen in love with all these years. And Sukuna, oh Lord. Never did you think you’d live to witness the day this giant being before you took a knee for anyone – especially for you. Your right hand easily dwarfed in his grasp, brought to his lips that you’d only ever dream to have touch you. And those piercing eyes of his, red like blood, examining every single feature of yours as if you were the thing that made him strong yet weak. It was subtle, something only meant for your eyes to see. But most of all, it was genuine. 

“…That might be it, as well.” You mutter under your breath, your cheeks becoming warm while reminiscing the scenes to yourself. 

However, your chambermaiden was no fool at all. She could tell from your wandering gaze that something, in fact, did happen between the three royals that night. She lifted a brow at your response, “I think that is the case, seeing as though you’re trying to hide the smile from me.”

You squeak, immediately facing in her direction, seeing the foxy grin on her beautiful, scarred face. “I’m smiling?”

“Aha!” Oh no, I fell for it. “Gotcha! Oh my, it seems my Lady is having troubles with the heart. Could it be you are considering the marriage proposals?”

“W–Well…I don’t know myself,” it was an honest answer; you didn’t know the answer yourself. “The matter caught me off guard; I wasn’t expecting either of them to come to my quarters, let alone propose to me on the night of their arrival—“

“That’s not my question, my princess.” You gulp when she cuts you off, Utahime narrowing her feline eyes as she speaks. “It made you incredibly nervous that the three of you would be here at the same place, thinking those two would go at each other’s throats. Now, two Lords still stand, asking for you to be by their side, and you can barely keep a straight face. If you ask for my piece, I’m relieved they came here with the thoughts of marriage rather than spark up talk of another war in this continent.” 

You hum along to your maiden's words, taking in her reasoning. Yet she continues, “And judging by how fidgety you appear to be on this fine morning, something tells me you’re on the fence of accepting. Who will take my Lady’s hand? Lord Ryomen? Gojo? Ugh. If it’s the latter, I’ll only deal with him for your happiness. And Lord Ryomen, oh my. Being the spouse to the most powerful beast of Holy Tengen's continent , it’s something out of a fairy—“

“Utahime, calm down!” You stop the lady from her excitement bubbling into something substantial. You can tell she’s itching to plan your wedding – whenever that be – once your tea time is finished. “I…I didn’t accept their proposals, not yet.”

The dark-haired woman drops her jaw; how unfortunate it is for you to lie to your best friend. “What do you mean!? You didn’t? Then how come you three were discussing for such a long time? I saw Lord Gojo return to his quarters in the middle of the night, and I figured it was because you all had an in-depth discussion.” You open your mouth, but your words are caught on the back of your tongue. You couldn’t formulate a proper excuse or lie in time. Because of that hesitation, Utahime’s brows draw upward with wide eyes, her mouth changing into a small “o” shape. It was at that moment that you realized you dug yourself a grave.

“Princess,” her voice was still hushed, speaking slowly as if not to jump so hard to her assumptions. “…What exactly were you doing with Lord Satoru and Ryomen?”

“PRINCESS! PRINCESS!!”

Saved by another voice entering the fray, you and your lady-in-waiting turn around to see another person coming to the garden, running down the brick road to your destination. As they came closer, you could tell from the bright blue hair and uneven bangs that it was Utahime’s apprentice, the lower-status handmaiden Kasumi Miwa. Your lady-in-waiting was the first to correct her before getting closer, “Maiden Miwa! I’ve told you about running so freely around the castle. What if you were to bump into someone?” When Miwa is in the presence of the two of you, she’s huffing and puffing. “And stand up straight!”

“Eek! Sorry, Lady Iori, but I come bearing news for the princess!” Miwa fixes her posture and messy blue hair while trying to situate her breaths steadily. “Princess, I’m here to tell you that Lords Sukuna Ryomen and Satoru Gojo wish to speak with you!”

Huh??!! “Pardon??”

“Yes, they wish to discuss their proposals with you from last night. At least, that’s what they told me…Oh, there they are!” 

“Miwa, shhhh, don’t point!” 

You pay no mind to your chambermaid lecturing her young student because your eyes follow the brick pathway up to the castle steps where two figures stand. Sukuna and Gojo stand at the entranceway to the garden, both wearing their respective clothing. Not that it matters, though, because the memories from last night with your nude bodies being connected still haunt your senses. And now they’re here, big grins on their faces that share the same reason. They know, and they know that you know. Who knew that such a night full of unexpected passion and heat would happen to you and with your closest friends since your little years, who have grown to become such strong, handsome, and powerful men. 

Perhaps this was the union you’ve wished for — the union that could finally bring you three back together…Perhaps.

“…Tell them that I’m available to speak.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by rororogi mogera + dividers by @cafekitsune.

[enwoso]

little secrets | alessia russo

-> based on this request🍼

masterlist

the final whistle blew in lisbon, and the red flood of arsenal celebration poured out across the pitch like champagne. alessia had tears in her eyes, a medal around her neck, and katie's voice was already echoing in the background, somewhere between a battle cry and karaoke.

fireworks snapped over the estádio da luz, glittering against the portuguese sky, but to alessia, nothing sparkled more than the faces of her teammates — and you waiting near the bench with that quiet smile you had worn all game.

you didn't manage to get onto the pitch, instead spent the entire ninety with a substitute bib around your kit — ‘precautionary injury,' the official word went.

a small 'knock' in training, nothing serious. but alessia knew you'd been distant this past week. not cold, just... more careful than usual. softer in your touches, hesitant with your words. still, in the chaos of champions league preparations, alessia hadn't pushed.

but now they'd done it. arsenal were european champions, again.

alessia's eyes found yours within the chaos and in that moment you lost the battle with your emotions completely.

tears spilled freely — big, hot ones that had nothing to do with the match and everything to do with hormones and love and pride and the little secret you were been carrying with every cell in your body.

you scrubbed at your face quickly, trying to pass it off with a wide, watery grin as alessia jogged toward you.

"jesus," you laughed when alessia reached you, voice already cracking. "i’m so proud of you. of all of you."

alessia saw the tears and tilted her head, still panting from the pitch. "baby... are you okay?"

"course i am," you said too quickly. "just proud. and a bit of a mess, apparently.”

alessia pulled you into a hug, laughing gently against your hair. "you’ve never cried after a match before."

"well," you sniffed. "first time for everything."

—

later, at the afterparty — music thumping, champagne flowing, arms thrown over shoulders — you had been quieter than usual.

still celebrating, but subdued. alessia was already a few drinks in, cheeks flushed, head spinning from joy and alcohol alike. she spotted you by the bar, turning down yet another drink from lia, politely smiling as you sipped a can of diet coke.

"baby," alessia grinned, weaving through teammates and bottles. "you've been dodging shots like you dodged barcelona's midfield!"

you laughed, touching your girlfriends arm gently. "i'm just... not drinking tonight."

"oh come on, we’ve just won the fucking champions league! even chloe kelly is drinking — and she's doesn't drink!"

"i know, less." your smile faltered, just for a second. then you reached for alessia's hand. "can we talk?"

alessia blinked, blinking a little slower than usual. "we are talking," she said with a grin. "this is me, talking. and you, dodging, shots—"

"babe." you bit your lip, glancing around. everyone was too busy celebrating to notice. "i’m not drinking cause i'm pregnant."

there was a beat. then alessia burst out laughing.

"oh my god, you're—ha! love, you joker," alessia said, nearly doubling over. "wait— is this, like, some prank thing? you, vic, and kyra plotting to mess with me?"

but you didn't laugh. instead, with your eyes shining — maybe from tears, maybe from the strobe lights — you gently tugged up your champions 25 arsenal tee, revealing a soft swell. barely noticeable, but still there.

"i'm serious," you whispered. "less... we're having a baby."

silence hit alessia like a wave. the roar of the party dimmed, sound shrinking to a single heartbeat — hers.

"you're... wait. what? the ivf worked?”

"yeah, i wanted to tell you earlier, but... i only found out a couple weeks ago, and it didn't feel like the right time, then we made the final, and i- i didn't want to distract you, but... yeah. i'm nearly two months. the physios know. renee knows. i just asked them to keep it quiet hence the 'small knock'."

alessia face broke. tears. not the elegant, glistening kind. full-on, post-match, nose-sniffling sobs. alessia wrapped you in her arms, holding you like you was something sacred — which, to alessia, you absolutely were.

"oh my god, babe," alessia whispered. "you.. we, i can't believe — i love you so much, and this little one."

of course, katie chose that exact moment to grab the mic. "oi, can we get some silence in here? russo's sobbing, and not because of the trophy for once!"

laughter rang out around the small function room "she's just found out she's gonna be a mammie!" katie yelled, grinning as heads turned. "y/n's up the duff!"

the room exploded. cheers, gasps, clapping. steph and beth ran over with their mouths open in shock. kim looked like she'd just witnessed a royal wedding. renee blinked twice and muttered, "well, i suppose that's a squad announcement..."

alessia was still holding you, her lips pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead, your cheeks, your belly.

"you're incredible," alessia whispered. "and i'm going to be here every step. i'm not letting you out of my sight."

you laughed, watery-eyed. "you say that now. wait until i'm crying at tesco cause they've run out of pickles."

"i'll buy the whole shelf. i'll fly anywhere in the world for you some more pickles. i'll grow pickles."

and under the lisbon lights, with medals gleaming and music rising, alessia kissed the mother of her future child as if nothing else in the world mattered — because, in that moment, nothing else did.

[tellingtell5]

Midnight Mass 《Remmick, sinners x reader 》

Remmick x v femreader

Summary: The church welcomed a new preacher. Poor souls—they let in a monster. But even monsters fall, and he’s already on his knees for a novice.

A/N: I can't stop with this man. I stumbled upon an idea recently and it just wouldn't leave my head—so I wrote something. I don’t even know what it’s supposed to be, just a story full of sinners, churches, and a Remmick who's starving… for touch.

This story was born from a simple idea that goes like this: "I need a fic where Remmick just straight-up plots on a nun reader and her innocence taunts him. Like he'd weep to see her do the littlest things. When she prays he feels just a little bit of salvation when she speaks it makes his knees go weak. He sees her as his angel." This story wouldn’t exist without @jaythewriter

The irony of it all might have struck him as amusing—had it not been one of the finest ideas he'd conceived in the last few centuries.

That preacher had the misfortune of crossing Remmick’s path, and he, in turn, had seized the chance to rob the Almighty of yet another servant. By his own tally, he was winning.

In the pathetic man’s final memories—memories he had not the sense to lift in prayer as his jugular was torn—Remmick saw what he had long been searching for. A flock. A community who listened devoutly as their shepherd preached from the pulpit, vowing undying loyalty.

The sensation bloomed within him like fire, and a thought took root deep in his mind. He would crawl to the gates of that temple glimpsed in the dying man’s memory—and make it his own. He would become the new shepherd, the one who saved these poor souls from their fate. He would raise a congregation of the devoted, shaping them little by little, through the Word and through blood.

It had not been difficult. One of the sisters had opened the door without question the moment she saw the collar.

“Come in, Father. We’ve been expecting you.”

He hadn’t even needed to request permission to enter—she had simply stepped aside and held the door wide.

The women received him with open arms.

“We weren’t sure how long it would take for them to send another pastor.”

He had smiled and praised their hospitality, drawing blushes from those who had been cloistered longest within those walls.

He could already hear the whispers circulating about him.

“The new Father is so young… and that smile of his… It won’t take long before we adore him.”

Convincing them to change the hour of the liturgies had proven more arduous. He claimed his training had taught him that the veil of night brought one closer to the Almighty.

Dusk, he said, was a sacred time—more contemplative, more intimate.

Though skeptical at first, the sisters soon adopted the change. And they were right to trust him.

At first, only the sisters and a few vagrants—seeking a full belly and warm bed—attended the masses.

But then a rumor began to spread:

The new pastor promised eternal life.

Here. On Earth.

No more waiting for the solace of a cold grave to be reunited with one’s kin.

He claimed to have brought true immortality.

“You are not dust, nor shall you return to it.”

The pews filled with bowed heads, all paying homage to the new Word of God, which now took flesh in the hungry smile of that shepherd.

As they drank of the blood of their savior, he drank of theirs, those faithful who sought redemption at his altar.

He took his time, amassing followers. Drunk on power. He spoke—and countless voices answered with gratitude.

They offered themselves freely.

“Father, help me—I have lost the path.”

“I shall help you find it,” he replied, before reshaping them into creatures of the night.

But among the sea of souls, one figure stood apart.

You.

The girl newly arrived to the parish.

Sent to take your vows.

A novice.

A woman just beginning to kneel at the altar, offering your life to the Almighty.

Had he still breath in his body, it would have caught in his throat when he saw you kneel. It was visceral—the way you did it, as if your very soul depended on it.

His mouth watered at the sight of your bowed head, so deep in prayer.

He lost the thread of thought each time your voice reached him—those whispered fragments of breath, gasping with devotion.

And then you would rise, and your eyes would meet his. Eyes brimming with such innocence it could only be blasphemy.

A weak smile played on your lips, and though no sound escaped, your mouth would shape a single word: “Father.”

He would have to bite his own lip, stifling the sound that threatened to betray what stirred within him.

In those moments, all other prayers faded to ash. None of it satisfied him—because he had not yet claimed your devotion. There was something strange blooming in his chest.

He wanted to be the vessel of your prayers.

The reason you knelt.

The one to whom you begged for mercy

He nearly let the mask slip. That mask of the gentle shepherd promising redemption—he nearly let the wolf beneath show.

The first time it happened was after mass. The congregation stood, lining up for communion. And when his favored lamb stepped forward, he almost surrendered.

You looked up at him from beneath your lashes.

An innocent smile curved your lips.

Your mouth opened slowly; the tip of your tongue peeked out, waiting.

He forgot what he was meant to do—that he should place the host on your tongue and send you in peace.

Another thought crept in: that he could offer you his body in truth—that his could be granted real salvation.

He came back to himself as he reached out with the wafer. The wet heat of your mouth brushed against his fingers.

A broken sound escaped his throat.

And you—

You answered it with a gasping moan so soft, so trembling, it nearly made the sacred offering fall from your lips.

He had no need for the devotion of all those people. What he truly craved was the touch of that novice. The barest graze of your hand would have sufficed. He pictured those fingers—now clasped in sacred supplication—threading through his hair, gliding just above the skin of his shoulders. His knees quivered, and he feared he might fall to them and beg you for mercy, beg you to touch him.

It lasted only a moment—a fleeting breath for you, an eternity for him. You closed your lips and, just before taking your leave, offered him the first words you'd spoken since arriving:

"Father?"

He responded with a guttural hum, void of words.

"You're drooling."

He blinked several times, struggling to comprehend your meaning. When he failed to react, you stepped closer, raised a hesitant hand, and brushed the tip of your fingers along his chin, collecting the trail of saliva. He remained unmoved, lost in thought, lost in the warmth of your living skin against the pallor of his own. A strangled moan escaped him, and he fought the urge to beg you to take it away with your tongue. When you were done, you did not wipe your hand. You left him in silence.

His bones ached. His skin itched—desperate to be touched like that once more. He was fascinated by you, by everything about you. He could watch you for hours, kneeling in silent devotion before a god who never answered. But he would answer. He would reward every one of your prayers.

Something stirred in his dead chest when he thought: if you could give yourself so wholly to a god cruel and thankless, what might you offer a monster who spoke back? A flicker of hope burned within him. A glimmer of salvation. But he still did not know what it was he truly wanted from you—whether to corrupt you and make you his, or surrender to your innocence and your aching desire to save others.

He always chose the first.

The last time his mask slipped was in the confessional, listening to the woes of his flock. He found it dull—time dragged unbearably, which was saying much for a creature such as he.

He was about to leave the cramped chamber when he heard the wood creak beneath someone's weight. The cloying scent of incense that had surrounded him was swept away by something else—something that made his fists clench and his composure waver. Every sense lit up, overwhelmed by your presence. He could not help but wet his lips, seeking the taste of you in the heavy air of the confessional.

He needed to flee that space, now a prison thumping with the echo of your heartbeat. A slow rhythm, one that had lulled him to sleep through the stone walls that separated your quarters from his.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sound of your voice struck him like a blow, and he grasped the wooden bench beneath him to stay upright. No words came—he was too dazed by your nearness.

You remained still. From the moment you entered that narrow chamber, the blood beneath your skin had begun to stir, crackling and restless. Just as it always did in the preacher’s presence. You felt like a moth, spellbound by the colour and scent of a newly bloomed flower. Suspended in a kind of limbo, you waited for his reply, uncertain whether you'd spoken your words rightly. You breathed deeply, unaware that each breath drew you ever closer to the Devil himself.

"Speak, child. What burdens your soul?"

Your tongue felt thick, clumsy. His voice had rendered you motionless. It had emerged rough, reverberating through the wooden walls as though he were everywhere—like the Almighty Himself.

"I have had doubts, Father."

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from correcting you, from begging—no, pleading—for you to call him by name. For you to form the true syllables of his being with those lips, those lips that tempted him with every prayer they uttered to God. But he did not. He waited in silence for you to continue.

"Since I came to this congregation, troubling thoughts have come upon me."

You shifted, seeking to relieve your sore knees. The movement brought your thighs together, and an unfamiliar tension began to stir low in your belly. And all the while, you knew—knew with perfect certainty—that the very cause of your unrest was seated just on the other side of the wooden screen. You could see his silhouette leaning in, as if trying to draw nearer to you through the lattice.

The sound you let slip filled his ears. The sweet scent of your desire clouded his mind completely. He let it invade his hollow chest, and in that moment, he swore he could feel his dead heart beat again. He could almost swear he had glimpsed the face of God just by breathing you in.

He summoned your face in his mind and, for the first time in his existence, believed in the divine. If angels walked the earth, surely they would wear your countenance. He wanted to leave that chamber, to kiss you. No—that wasn’t enough. He wanted to drink you. To beg you to touch his body with those hands that had only ever known the flesh of the Lord. To run your lips across his skin—the same lips that had spoken a thousand prayers, now offered to him.

And then he would repay you. He would fall to his knees and press his mouth to every place where your pulse thundered, where your body cried out for pleasure, where—

"Father?"

He had collapsed to his knees within the confessional. The pressure in his trousers had become unbearable. He was utterly lost in the rapture of his own imaginings. You had kept speaking while he spiraled ever deeper into his thoughts.

"Forgive me, I was…" What would he say? That he had been dreaming of destroying a soul like yours? "…I was distracted."

"It’s alright. Please, don’t worry. It’s only natural to have one's thoughts elsewhere. It happens to me often."

There it was—that goodness in you that tore the words from his throat. That left him hollow, aching to be something better than what he was.

"Continue."

He just wanted to hear your voice. Any excuse would do. To listen to the way your heart sped or slowed with every emotion that crossed your face.

"Father, as I was saying… I have been troubled with doubt. I am told I must give my devotion entirely to the Lord. But… another man appears in my prayers. How can I vow eternal devotion, when my thoughts already belong to someone else?"

Desire gave way to jealousy—an emotion he had never known. Bile rose in his throat, and he had to swallow hard to push down the knot of fury rising there. He searched the memories of his converted faithful, those whose minds he now shared. Demanded an answer. But none had seen another man near you. Only images of you, watching him when he wasn’t looking. Only him.

"But it is not only my thoughts, Father. He appears in my dreams as well."

"What kind of dreams?"

He startled himself—he hadn't thought he had strength enough left to summon his voice.

"I’m ashamed to admit it."

Another sound, the whisper of movement. The wood creaked once more beneath your weight as you shifted, trying to ease a pressure that clung to you all day, dull and persistent.

"In those dreams… someone touches me. It’s that man. Not roughly, not in sin. It’s... gentle. Tender. As if I were the one being worshipped."

Silence fell—thick, suffocating. A silence you could slice through like meat.

"...And I like it. When I wake, I find myself wishing it were true."

He couldn’t speak. Not a single word. He tried to root himself to the floor, to keep from leaping upon you like a beast. Because what you were offering—what you had just confessed—was what he had longed for more than anything.

"How am I to give myself wholly to the Lord," you whispered, "if my soul and body no longer belong to Him?"

He opened his mouth, but another voice came out—not his own.

"And to whom do they belong, child?"

Again, that terrible stillness. Another shifting of cloth and knees on old wood. And then the words that shattered him.

"To you, Father."

There was no shame in your voice. Not a flicker of repentance. That’s when he understood: you hadn’t come seeking absolution. You had come to offer yourself.

Like a lamb stepping willingly into the wolf’s mouth—and rejoicing in the devouring.

A gasp rose to your lips but never left them as the confessional door burst open. He stood there, wild-eyed, breathless, as if trying to drink in your very presence. You were still on your knees, looking up at him.

You feared divine punishment. Retribution. But it never came. Instead, he fell to his knees before you.

The desperation in his eyes was raw. He looked up at you the way saints must look up at their holy relics, with terror and awe. He trembled—perhaps from restraint, perhaps from hunger.

"Please."

It was not a command but a plea. You didn't need to ask what he meant—you already knew. You raised a hand, and without hesitation, you buried it in his hair. That shadowed thing, that spiritless wretch, melted under your touch like frost beneath the sun. He crumbled in your palm, begging silently for more.

A sound escaped him—was it a sob? A groan? It broke something in you. You wanted to give more. With your other hand, you reached across his chest, still clothed. He never wore the cassock, and you preferred it that way—it let you see him better.

He leaned into you until his forehead rested against your shoulder, as though that contact alone kept him alive. His breath was a trembling wind in your ear, his chest heaving with a storm he dared not unleash.

He clung to you like a penitent to a relic, a damned soul clinging to the last scrap of mercy.

"Touch me," he whispered—and it was as though the stone walls of the chapel shuddered.

The word was a prayer. A surrender.

He, who had always held the final word. He, who had heard confessions and passed judgments.

Now he begged.

"Please..."

His voice broke under the weight of need. He raised his eyes to you—dark, shining with the sting of frustrated longing.

"I need your hands upon me. Do it. Let you be the one to bless me. With that touch. With that skin."

His fingers fumbled at the hem of his shirt, trembling, unsure. He could not bring himself to remove it—not without your permission. Because in that moment, you were his deity.

Your warmth bled through the linen between you, a slow-burning fire that consumed him from the inside out.

And then, you moved.

Your fingers slid up along his jaw, guiding his gaze to yours. At the touch, he let out a low, aching sound—half sob, half plea. Like a wounded creature unsure if comfort would come.

"Give me one reason to believe," he whispered. "Make me believe I still have a soul."

And you touched him—not with pity, but with dominion.

One by one, you undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing skin marked by sleepless nights and some long-forgotten struggle for virtue. He trembled with each new inch of flesh uncovered. His lips parted with the anticipation, the unbearable sweetness of it.

"Look at me, Father," you commanded, drawing out the title like a dare.

And he obeyed.

Because he was no longer priest, nor man, nor monster.

He was devoted. A thing made of longing, of need—kneeling before the only divinity that might still offer him salvation: you.

When your lips touched his bare chest, he released a sound caught between a sob and a laugh. As if, for the first time, he understood what it meant to believe.

You watch the way his lashes flutter, how his mouth parts as if readying a prayer or a moan.

Your fingers trace the line of his collarbone, slowly, deliberately. His skin is hot — fevered almost — as though your presence alone has set him alight. When your thumb brushes the hollow of his throat, his head falls back just slightly, exposing more of himself. Offering it. Offering everything.

You lean closer. Your lips barely graze his skin — a whisper of contact — and he gasps like it hurts. Or like it heals.

“You’re shaking,” you murmur.

“I’m trying,” he chokes out, “so hard not to fall apart.”

But he’s already unraveling for you. Each second is a thread undone. And you like watching him come undone.

You lower your mouth to his chest. He cries out — softly, beautifully — and fists his hands into the fabric of your habit like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this world. You can feel his need pressing against you, insistent and utterly helpless, but he doesn’t dare move. Doesn’t dare guide your hand.

He’s waiting. Needing. Yours.

You let your hand drift down. Slowly. Testing.

When your palm rests just above his waistband, he inhales sharply, his whole body tightening beneath you. His hips rise, involuntary, and his eyes flutter open in a haze of worship and hunger.

“Please,” he whispers, voice rough, almost broken. “I beg you. Don’t stop.”

And so you don’t.

You undo the button. You pull down the zipper. You feel him shudder — a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through both of you — and you push the fabric down just enough to free him.

The sight of him, hard and flushed and trembling, sends a rush of heat to your core. He is beautiful in his vulnerability. Glorious in his surrender.

You wrap your hand around him, and he whimpers.

No. He weeps.

Not from pain. Not from guilt. But from relief.

He presses his forehead to your shoulder, lips brushing your neck, and you feel the wetness there — hot, desperate tears as he mutters thank-yous and praises under his breath, not to any god, but to you.

Only you.

Because in this moment, you are not a nun. You are a miracle.

And he is your worshipper.

You feel him twitch in your hand, a pulse like thunder just under your palm. His hips strain forward, breath catching again and again against your neck. His lips linger too long there now — not in reverence.

In hunger.

You sense the shift instantly. The way his tongue flicks the hollow behind your ear, how his breath suddenly comes cooler, shivering over your skin like a prelude. It’s no longer just need — it’s instinct. Ancient. Ravenous.

Then you feel them: the tips of his fangs grazing your skin. It’s subtle, gentle. A test. A question.

But you answer it before it becomes a plea.

“No.”

Your voice is firm. You don’t raise it, but the word cuts through him like a lash. He pulls back with a strangled groan, his whole body wracked with restraint.

“I—” he tries, his voice hoarse, desperate, full of shame. “I didn’t mean to, I just—”

You hush him with your touch. You never stop moving your hand. If anything, you tighten just slightly. He gasps, eyes rolling back, head falling against your chest again.

His hands are gripping your thighs now, not to take, but to anchor himself — shaking like he might fall apart if you let go. He’s trying so hard to hold back. But he wants. You can feel it rising in him — this deep, writhing hunger not just for your body but your blood.

And you make him wait. Let him ache. Let him tremble.

He moans something — unintelligible, fervent — and just as his climax builds, as his breath shortens and his whole being coils beneath your touch like a creature about to break — you raise your free hand to your mouth.

Your teeth sink into your own wrist. The pain is sharp, but clean. Righteous.

A thin line of blood blossoms instantly, warm and deep red, and his eyes snap to it like a beast scenting prey.

He stares at it. Then at you.

A heartbeat. Two.

And then you press your wrist to his mouth.

He freezes — utterly still — even as your other hand continues to work him toward release.

He’s panting, eyes flicking between your face and your bleeding wrist. You feel his lips twitch against your skin, and you whisper:

“Now.”

He opens his mouth — wide, reverent — and draws you in. The first pull is soft. Careful. Almost prayerful.

Then the second comes, deeper, more desperate, and you feel him groan against your skin. Feel the growl ripple through his chest as your blood hits his tongue. His hips jerk forward and he spills into your hand with a cry torn between rapture and agony.

He drinks like a starving man.

Your blood slides down his throat, and you watch his body convulse under the weight of it — of you. He clutches you as though you’re the last holy thing left in this godless world. You feel the thank-you he can’t speak thrumming through his veins. You gave him everything — not just your touch, but your life, your essence.

And he gives himself to you.

Completely.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 ||𝙾𝚍𝚢𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚜 ||

A/n: here it is, our dear Odysseus fucking you while he is covered in the blood of the suitors.

A/n: Listened to Like A Prayer (the Glee version) and it helped 🤣

Warnings: Fucking, just pure smut, Ody being possessive, biting, dirty talk, p in v, oral ( female receiving) blood, blood shed ( start of fic with Ody killing the suitors) cream pie, Odysseus having a breeding kink. Mention of the Suitors wanting to S/A the Reader.

These men

No...not men

Filth

The great halls of Ithaca had become a den of jackals.

They drank Odysseus’s wine, gorged themselves on his feast, and laughed in the face of the gods.

But tonight—their laughter turned to whispers.

Odysseus, cloaked in rags, his face hidden by age and filth, stood in the shadows, hunched like a beggar, his hands curling around the wooden staff he used to mask his strength.

He listened.

His heart thundered.

His blood boiled.

And when he heard their plan—their wretched, vile, unforgivable plan—

He nearly lost himself to rage.

Antinous, the boldest and cruelest of the suitors, stood at the center of the gathered men, his voice rising over the murmurs.

“Enough.”

The room fell silent.

“Screw this competition,” he sneered, throwing his goblet onto the floor, his arrogance dripping from every word. “We’ve been here for hours. None of us can string this cursed bow—because we were never meant to.”

The men grumbled, shifting uneasily.

“Can’t you see?” Antinous continued, his voice laced with fury, his lip curled in disgust. “We are being played.”*

He turned, pacing before them like a lion preparing to strike.

“The queen weaves her shroud, unweaving it at night.The boy plots in shadows, whispering of his father’s might.And we— we sit here like fools, waiting for a king who is never coming home."

Odysseus’s grip tightened on the wooden staff, his knuckles white.

The suitors nodded, murmuring, some pounding their fists against the table.

“So, what do we do?” one of them asked.

Antinous smirked. “We take what is ours.”*

The room stilled.

“Telemachus returns tomorrow,” Antinous said sharply, his eyes glinting with malice. “Alone. No army. No father to save him.”*

A pause.

Then, with a voice as cold as the steel of a dagger, he declared:

“We kill him.”*

A shiver ran through the men.

Even among cowards, killing the prince was a bold move.

“We wait at the docks,” Antinous continued, stepping closer, weaving poison into his words. “The moment he steps onto the sand—we strike.”

His lips twisted into a cruel grin.

“We hold him down, until the boy stops shaking.We hold him down, while we break his bones.Cut the boy into tiny piece's until the Sea is the only one who knows and the gods forget his name.”

The suitors stirred, some grinning, others nodding in agreement.

Odysseus’s heart pounded in his chest, his body thrumming with barely restrained fury.

But Antinous wasn’t finished.No—he had worse to say.

The Unspeakable Sin

“And when the boy is dead…” Antinous mused, pacing once more, his eyes dark with hunger, greed, cruelty.

“The queen will have no one to stop us.”*

Odysseus stilled.His breath caught.His blood ran cold.

“We break down her door,” Antinous sneered. “We take her, claim her, strip her of her pride. If she does not bow, we make her bow. If she resists, we...well she will find out."

Odysseus moved.

There was no thought, no hesitation, no mercy.

The suitors barely had time to react.The twang of a bowstring snapped through the hall.The whistle of an arrow cut the air.And then—Antinous stopped speaking.

A single choked gasp escaped his lips.

He staggered, his hands clutching at his throat, where the arrow had pierced clean through.Blood gushed, staining his tunic, spilling onto the floor.

The goblet he had dropped lay beside him, shattered—just as he would be.For a heartbeat, the suitors froze, their eyes wide, their faces pale.

And then—they turned.

Turned to see where the arrow had come from.

Turned to see the beggar standing at the edge of the hall.But he was no beggar now.

He stood tall, his back straight, his grip steady on the great bow of Ithaca.

His disguise—torn away.His eyes burned with divine fury.

And in a voice that thundered through the hall, Odysseus spoke.

“You dare speak of defiling my wife?”

The suitors took a step back.

“You dare plot the murder of my son?”

Another step.

“You feasted on my food, drank my wine, defiled my home—and now, you will pay for it in blood.”

And Odysseus showed no mercy.For twenty years, they had taken.

For twenty years, they had tormented his wife, his son, his home.

Tonight—he would take everything from them.

And when it was over, when the last of them had fallen—Odysseus would finally return to the arms of the woman he had bled the world for.

His Y/n.

His queen.

His home.

When the men were slaughtered, bodies littering the floor nothing mattered but you.

You should have turned him away, looked at him with disgust but instead you took him in your arms, her fingers gliding across his cheek not caring that he was covered in blood. "My love you have returned to me."

Odysseus pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair, the softness of your body pressing into his. His strong arms encircled your frame as if afraid you might disappear like a mirage. "My little dove," he murmured, his deep voice thick with emotion. "After twenty long years, I've finally found my way back to you."

He cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing away the tears clinging to your lashes. His piercing gaze drank in every beloved feature - those luminous eyes, the delicate curve of your cheeks, the glossy pink of your parted lips. "You're even more beautiful than I remembered, if such a thing were possible," Odysseus said fervently. "Tell me, my heart, have you waited for me all this time?"

You choked back a sob as tears continued to fall as your fingers clutched his tunic. "Yes." You whispered as your fingers tightened its hold. "And I need for you to take me, My King. It has been far too long."

You needed him, desperately, hopelessly. You did not care he was coveted it blood. Nothing mattered because he was home.

Odysseus' breath caught at your impassioned plea. In one swift motion, he swept you up into his strong arms, cradling you against his broad chest. "As my Queen commands," he rumbled, his voice low and husky with desire.

He carried you swiftly to the bed, kicking the door shut behind them. Gently, reverently, he laid you upon the sheets, his hands roaming over your curves as if memorizing every dip and swell. "Let me worship you as you deserve, my goddess," Odysseus breathed, pressing hot kisses along the column of your throat.

His calloused fingers made quick work of the fastenings of your gown, parting the fabric to reveal the soft skin beneath.

Your lips parted feeling his hands push the fabric of your dress away, the blood from his palm cupping your breast. Thumb rubbing your nipple as the man bent down to kiss your stomach.

Odysseus paused, drinking in the sight of his wife splayed out before him like an offering. The moonlight filtering through the windows bathed your skin in an ethereal glow, making you look almost otherworldly. "Y/n," he groaned, his large hands then skimming reverently over your sides and hips. "My love, my life, my everything."

He then captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring twenty years of pent-up longing and devotion into the press of his mouth against yours. One hand tangled in your tresses while the other mapped the curves he'd dreamed of for so long. Odysseus trailed his lips down the column of your throat, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "I want to taste every inch of you," he growled against your flesh. "

You let out whimper, a gasp as you pressed yourself into him. It's been to long, you craved his touch to much as you let out a shaky laugh your fingers ranking through his hair tugging at the strands.

"Nothing is stopping you from doing so my King."

A wicked grin spread across Odysseus' face at your breathy invitation. "As my queen wishes," he purred, his voice a low, seductive rumble. He began his sensual assault, trailing open-mouthed kisses and teasing licks down the elegant line of your throat. His hands roamed your body with bold possessiveness, caressing every dip and curve he'd yearned for during his long absence. The blood of the suitors coating your body.

Reaching the swell of your breasts, Odysseus lavished attention on the sensitive mounds, suckling and laving each peak until they pebbled under his ministrations. He took his time exploring you, determined to rekindle the passion between you both to make up for lost time. "You taste even sweeter than I remember, my love," he murmured against your skin, his beard scratching deliciously.

"I have waited so long for this moment and you are finally mine." You whispered as you placed a hand on his cheek until you shifted your body, your tongue trailing across his neck licking the blood away.

Your night gown rising as your legs parted for him, your heart pounding in your ears. You wanted to feel his tongue on you again.

Odysseus shuddered as your tongue traced his neck, your intimate gesture igniting a fire in his veins. He could feel the heat of your core as your thighs parted invitingly beneath him. With a low groan, he settled between your legs, his broad shoulders nudging them further apart.

"Patience, my eager little dove," he chuckled darkly, his breath ghosting over your most sensitive area. "I intend to savor every moment of our reunion."

Slowly, torturously, Odysseus dragged his tongue along your slit, relishing your unique flavor. He lapped at your folds with long, deliberate strokes, circling your aching pearl with the tip of his tongue. Two thick fingers slid inside your slick channel, pumping steadily as he suckled your clit.

"Mmmm, still so tight for me,"

"Odysseus!" You whined, your fingers grabbing a fistful of his curls, another whine escaped your lips as your hips bucking. Your body shuddering with pleasure, your could the blood of the men he killed coating your body but you didn't care.

Not when you had your husband back.

Odysseus growled in approval as your fingers tightened in his hair, your desperate movements spurring him on. He redoubled his efforts, alternating between deep, curling thrusts of his fingers and firm suction on your throbbing bud. The obscene wet sounds of his ministrations filled the room, mingling with your increasingly high-pitched moans.

"That's it, my love," he praised huskily, his voice muffled against your sex. "Let me hear how good I make you feel. You've been so brave, waiting for me all these years. Now let go and take your pleasure."

He added a third finger, stretching you deliciously as he crooked them just right to rub that special spot inside you.

Your body was writhing on the bed and soon you were seeing stars as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave.

Odysseus felt your walls clamp down around his fingers as your climax crashed over you. He worked you through it relentlessly, prolonging your pleasure until you were boneless and panting beneath him. As the last aftershocks subsided, he slowly withdrew his digits, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean with a satisfied hum.

"You taste divine, my queen," he rumbled, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss, letting you sample yourself on his tongue. Odysseus settled between her thighs, the thick head of his arousal nudging insistently at your entrance.

"Are you ready for me, My Queen?" he asked, his voice strained with barely restrained desire. "I need to feel you surrounding me, to know that this is real and not just another fever dream."

Chest heaving, you nodded your head as you did your best to return the bruising kiss your husband with your body still trembling.

"Yes my love...and I need you to fill me." You whispered. "Let me give you another child."

Odysseus' heart swelled with love and desire at your impassioned words. With a powerful thrust of his hips, he sheathed himself fully inside your welcoming heat. "Ahhh, Y/n!" he groaned, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder as he savored the exquisite feeling of being one with his wife once more.

Slowly, he began to move, setting a deep, sensual rhythm as he rocked into you. Each thrust was a declaration of his love, a promise of a future together. Odysseus peppered your face and neck with tender kisses, murmuring sweet nothings against your skin. "My heart, my soul, my everything," he panted, his pace gradually increasing. "I'm going to fill you up so thoroughly, plant my seed deep within you and watch your belly swell with our child."

Your body shuddered, leg resting against his hip as you did your best to match the man's thrusts.

"Odysseus!"

Your walls clenched around him, the blood that clung to your husband's skin making your bodies slick.

Odysseus felt your inner muscles flutter and clench around his cock, drawing him deeper with each powerful thrust. The slick glide of your sweat-slicked bodies, combined with the coppery tang of his dried blood, created an intoxicating friction. "Yes, my love! Take me, all of me!" he growled, his hips snapping forward relentlessly.

One large hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he pounded into you, chasing the shared release. The other tangled in your hair, tugging lightly as he claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss. Odysseus could feel the telltale tightening in his loins, signaling his impending climax. "I'm close, my love," he panted against your lips. "Come with me, my queen."

Your buddy shuddered at his words, nails digging into his back as your fingers clutched and tugged at his hair. "Odysseuss...I." Your breath hitched and soon you were seeing stars, as you hit your climax."

Odysseus felt your velvety walls clamping down around him like a vice as your second climax overtook you. The rhythmic squeezing of your sheath proved too much, and with a guttural roar of completion, he buried himself to the hilt inside your welcoming heat. His cock pulsed and twitched as he emptied himself deep within your fertile womb, painting your insides with his potent seed.

"Y/n!" he cried out, your name a prayer on his lips as waves of ecstasy crashed over him. Odysseus collapsed atop of you, careful not to crush your smaller form beneath his larger frame. He peppered your face with tender kisses as they both struggled to catch your breath, basking in the afterglow of your passionate reunion.

"My love, my life,"

You let out a weak laugh, you could only imagine what you both might have looked like but you could careless because Odysseus was home.

"My King, My heart. You are home."

[senseandaccountability]

the narrative that could have been

Having mulled over the game for a couple of days I have realised that the main problem for me is that Veilguard is good based on the premises they ultimately choose, but not based on the set up and promise of what was there before. I know this isn’t a unique take by any means and yes it’s all about the Evanuris and the Veil and Solas. 

Replaying really emphasises how incredibly little the game convinces me of its original main quest - to prevent Solas from doing his ritual. This is a problem as a long-term player because for three games we’ve had build up for a great crescendo tackling the overarching themes of the (restrictions and oppression of) magic, of tears in the Veil, of religious tyranny and oppression based on myths about the Black City and the temptations of flawed humans, we’ve seen and deconstructed the elves quite a bit, we got started on the dwarves and in DAI your Inquisitor can openly ask Solas if it wouldn’t be better if the Veil came down because then spirits wouldn’t be separated from the living and risk becoming demons. Cole, whose function is to reflect the plot, talks endlessly about the old songs wanting to be sung again, about how it hurts to be cut off from part of yourself, how the templars feel it, how the mages feel it, how the elves and the dwarves feel it. The Veil as a prerequisite for life has been deconstructed, the Fade demystified, the gods have mostly fallen. The Veil as an actual wound inflicted on this earth has been presented as a theory and not been convincingly rejected by the narrative. 

The game actually gives no explanation whatsoever as to why the Veil coming down would be worse than what Rook causes in the beginning and what the escaped gods then do to the entire Thedas. The entire south falls to the Blight because Elgar’nan and Ghilan'nain are let loose. The Wardens are more or less wiped out. There’s enormous political turmoil. The game gives us Solas saying “thousands” would die when he brought the Veil down, but that he had a host of spirits there to help. (Yes, I know, his sole function in this game is to Trick and Deceive so who is to say if he’s lying, HUH, but even so, THE ENTIRE SOUTH FALLS TO THE BLIGHT IN ROOK’S VERSION OF THINGS.)

The game puts emphasis on Solas's questionable methods and past horrors but it doesn't ever explain why his goals are despicable here and now. It doesn't convince us that tearing down the Veil with lots of safety measures in place and after considerations is a bad result, all things considered - save for Varric’s initial yelling about demons. (We even learned in DAI that the Veil itself creates demons because it restricts the passage of spirits, come on.) Because three games have suggested it's not, not ultimately. Trespasser especially nuances this, just as it nuances Solas’s view of this current world state. Right after his long nap he would have nuked it all, I’m sure, but the whole point of character arcs is that things happen in them and what happened to him is that he was shown layers and angles he had not considered and adjusted his mindset and ultimately his plan accordingly. That is where DAV should have picked it up. That's where the build up was headed. But, now he must serve the narrative solely as the God of Treachery and Lies which means that previous build up is washed away for the most part. (In no way do I think he is OOC in DAV, I just want to point that out so nobody thinks I’m a sappy fangirl or whatever. I think he is perfectly in tune with his inner Dread Wolf, but that is also all he gets to be, because of the narrative, and I’m always much more interested in when roles and personas clash.) Again. The main problem is that the narrative cannot explain why bringing down the Veil would be the worse option than the shit we see unfold on screen. Instead it gets a bit lost in the past.  And I have Issues with that, as well.  Like, the dumbing down of the war against the Evanuris. The war that started because the leaders of the rebellion - who previously had to carry out terrible orders so the Evanuris, the upper crust of the Elvhenan, could play gods - decided that the Evanuris was a threat to them all. And the game gives us what, a depiction of how the rebellion ended up crossing lines, too? No shit.

Like, I am fully on board with the individual theme of regret on Solas’s part and he ought to be wrecked with guilt but I wish the game could be less all over the place with what sort of things he ought to be wrecked with guilt over. Saying fuck you to the Evanuris is the best and brightest of his character, I suppose I just don't want it dragged down to the same level as him breaking the Titans. I suppose I would have wished for a narrative that also worked on a systemic level when depicting things like, you know, war and revolutions and subjugation. But we don't have that, because DAV is only about personal choices. The Lighthouse crew flippantly writing the hierarchical and violent power struggle off as being about love and betrayal is on my shitlist forever. 

No, Taash et al, it was not about pussy, it was about feeling compelled by superiors to commit heinous war crimes and being lied to about the actual purposes of your damn war in the first place. The elves shouting at Elgar’nan and Mythal in this painting aren’t driven by love and sex they have been lied to by their ruling class. It was never about freedom or ending the wars, it was always about Elgar’nan jerking off to ultimate godhood. The writing even suggests betrayal here is to be understood as Netflix drama betrayal, maybe some juicy porny plot but it’s ABOUT THE BETRAYAL OF THE ELVES BY THEIR OWN KIN.  ((ETA: I would have wanted my Dalish mage to be allowed to be furious, NOT WITH SOLAS, but with the fucking Evanuris for betraying her people and being so fucking vile that the only option that remained was to create a world where she's a second-class citizen. I would have wanted the game to recognize that not all causes are equal and that Elgar'nan's cause for godhood was objectively more vile than Solas's cause for freedom because as it stands now, there are some really iffy vibes of "both sides are equally bad" and other things authorities tend to say when comparing destructive regimes with uprisings.)) I’m sorry, this shit hits me on a personal and political rage level. 

I also can’t help but mourn a game where the Trickster God fulfilled his trope’s duty and shook the stagnation apart with his actions - for good or ill, the way trickster gods are wont to do - and where Rook was tricked into helping and then, a more complex game about its consequences could have unfolded. The Evanuris could still have been the bad guys, if they wanted big villains frothing at the mouth. There could still have been numerous unplanned consequences, like all of Solas's plans have. Maybe other ancients awake as well. Maybe ancient evils who aren’t elves, who knows. Point is - the Veil should have come down, at least in some form, at least in some outcome. THAT is what they've been building up to. In this game that never was, Rook could be an actual interesting character where we could mold her as either accepting of this trickster role (which fits perfectly for a blank slate with no ties) or set to overturn it and enforce status quo, with some vanilla option in the middle. Maybe the Veil doesn’t come down until the very end of the game, ancient magic takes time after all, maybe a lot has happened by then. But ultimately, Rook’s choice in the end should not have been about siding against Solas because he’s lying to you or because he did horrible things in the past or siding with him because you want him redeemed. The narrative should have provided those options either way. The narrative should have been brave enough to suggest that hey, maybe Solas isn't wrong at all - his methods maybe, but his goal, no. If they truly wanted mirrors between Rook and Solas, Rook should have tackled the issue of actively bringing down the Veil herself, not because it's a roses and sunshine-outcome but because it might very well be the lesser of two evils. Gods, that would have been interesting. It should have been a choice about what sort of world Rook and the Veilguard wants to see in the future. It should have been about the people, the world, not how angry Rook is that an ancient elf has tricked her. 

That would have been the game I wanted to play.  This story doesn't really give anything new to the world of Thedas, which a world without the Veil would have. It accomplishes closure for our favourite trickster god and bless them for that, but as for the plot and the world-building it ends on a meh because the narrative isn't about the people unless they're brought up as being endangered. This is why I can feel satisfaction regarding the thematic conclusion to certain character arcs, the trickster becomes the healer with the bloodiest hands, the wolf submits willingly to his trap and so on and so forth, and I can have fun with the characters and their arcs but also really mourn the game that was there, in subtext and build up over three previous games and in several tie-ins.

[revelboo]

Am I going insane or has no one asked for D-16??? If not them I am going to humbly bEG YOU PLEASE LET ME SMOOCH HIM HE DESERVES IT

Sure! Took me a bit to figure out a plot convenience to get a reader to him, Megatronus Prime, and Silverbolt. 18+ 🌶️

Fight For You

D-16 x Reader

• Hefting his drill, D-16 sidesteps out of the way of a much bigger, cogged bot. The other not even sparing him a glance. Not even seeing him, because miners are barely above drones in their optics. But what he’s doing matters even if they don’t see him. There’s energon because of him and the others, risking their lives to make sure there are no shortages. That no one goes wanting. And if they cut his rations again? It’s because it was needed elsewhere. Cogless bots are smaller, need less even if there’s a vague dissatisfaction he has to keep pushing down.

• Listening to the chatter around you and sipping at the one glass of champagne they’d allowed you, there’s a nervous tension threading through you that’s part anticipation and part, mostly, anxiety. You pick at the steak they’d put in front of you, surrounded by other dishes, caviar, lobster, things so far out of your budget they’re a treat. If you had any appetite. You keep thinking this is likely a last meal and of the six other team members for the first jaunt, only one is tearing into the food. Everyone else as jittery as you are. But most of the drones have come back just fine. They’d captured staticky, conflicting images of a green world, a glittering city, and more. The gate unstable and shifting, but the scientists think they’ve figured out the intervals it swaps to a new location. That your team will be able to step through, take samples and step back out.

• Waiting for Orion and the others to fall into recharge, he heads to the roof of the dorm assigned to miners and tips his face up to the glittering, dizzying beauty of Iacon. Watches a flight capable Cybertronian streak by and wonders what that’s like. To be so free. Orion is the dreamer, though. Always has been. While he’s the realist. Knows that’s not meant for them. “I matter,” he whispers, voice lost in the noise of the city humming around him. Because he needs to believe that. To be satisfied.

• Heart rabbiting in your chest, you shuffle to an awkward halt, lined up shoulder to shoulder with the other explorers. Over the comms, someone’s humming the Jeopardy theme as you face that churning miasma of light and shadow. The government had dug up the gate decades ago, secreted it away to figure out. And it’s definitely not human tech. Already sweating in what’s essentially a space suit, you can hear yourself breathing as you flex your fingers in the thick gloves. They’d kitted you out with your own oxygen and water, the suit dragging you down and you want to look back to make sure the carbon fiber tether is still secured to the winch. Just in case, they said. In case they couldn’t walk back through on their own.

• “Hold,” calls a voice, almost painfully loud inside the helmet as feedback squeals in your ear. “We’ve got a power fluctuation.” And you feel it when the gate shifts, like a hook sank into your gut, tugging at you. Stumbling back a step as power arcs off the gate. Is this normal? There’s a klaxon screaming and your heart drops. Barely hear someone yelling ‘abort’ when the first person breaks and tries to run. The concrete floor under your feet buckling and cracking and you fall, sliding toward that miasma. Someone’s screaming and it might be you. Grabbing at your tether as you slide and someone else falls on you and you both hit that churning surface.

• Venting tiredly, he turns to go back down and get some recharge and feels a soft thump against his ped. And- what is that? A mini-con? A tiny, little bot with a domed, silvery head trailing a severed cable behind it. And it’s soft when he bends to nudge it with a servo. “You okay, buddy?” Head lifting to look for a transport, for any sign of where you’d come from. Knows the wealthy sometimes keep mini-cons as companions, but that tether? Had you run away? Being kept against your will? Denta gritting, he scoops you up and carries you down with him into the dorms. If you are a runaway, it’s none of his business, but mini-cons aren’t pets. No bot should be chained. But hiding you is only going to cause him problems if your keeper comes looking for you. Still, he can’t just ignore you. Can’t pretend he doesn’t see you, because he knows too well what that’s like.

Next

[ionlylikemycat]

okay hear me out: Tortall animated series that starts with daine and doesn’t get to alanna until season five

season one: daine 1&2

season two: daine 3&4

season three: kel 1&2

season four: kel 3&4

season five: alanna 1&2

season six: alanna 3&4

season seven: aly 1&2

this is the hearing me out part

if you start with daine, the whisperman plot gets way. more. fun. with chronological order, you know george is the spymaster and it’s funny thinking of everyone being so afraid of our sweet murder babe george

if you do it with daine first, you can draw that out. you could even have the whisperman and george cooper as separate identities, like whisperman is Known and Scary, but george cooper? nah he’s just alanna’s goofy husband. it could come out at the end of daine’s seasons, or kel could find out some info she doesn’t know what it means but the Clues are right there and you could pull it all the way to the kel’s second season with the smuggler reveal when they’re crossing the river to rescue the kids

and the difference between young george and old george and getting to see this guy we know to be pretty cool and friendly being Super Dark and legit murdering people and the whole king of thieves arc, getting all this background on alanna and george once we already love them

and just think about how wild the jon and alanna theories would be after four seasons

and then like the absolute tragedy of their romance is heightened even more bc we’ve met their lovely spouses and sweet children and know they’re both happy

seeing everyone young would be really fun too, like how they did in queen charlotte or this is us, where you know the character and where they end up but not how they got there and the fun is finding out. in the books we know raoul and gary and jon are dorks and it’s cute watching them be grownups, it would be equally cute seeing these Vast Impressive men as little boys laughing at fart jokes

like imagine when you figure out the cat laying at the goddess’s feet in season two is the same kitten she gives to alanna in season five i would start Bawling and then at the end knowing how faithful dies??? Dead. Gone.

daine’s books get going quicker, which i think is important for tv. the suspense of it all, not knowing what’s happening to daine, why she has these powers. learning her secret, that she almost lost herself, would be a ‘the storm’ moment like in atla with aang and zuko’s backstories. and then the immortals war is just visually very appealing especially in a animation format, i mean stormwings? so. cool.

thoughts?

[theealbatross]

Sebastian x Reader: come one, come all (One Shot)

Plot | Five years after graduating, two kindred spirits are finally getting married and their friends reminisce on their brilliant histories.

or, Lucas Brattleby interviews their friends on their memories and opinions of the future Mr. and Mrs. Sallow as a little gift for the couple.

Tags | None, fluff, overuse of the name Merlin, mentions of slight torture (hexes), lowkey bullying, lowkey codependency if you squint, obsessive behavior (but it's okay cause theyre in love), cursing, Lucas lowkey has a crush on Sebastian lol

[A/N: A line from this story is not made by me, "I would follow him to hell but I wish he wouldn't go there" so to whoever wrote that first just know your quote is the inspiration for this story!!]

“What is this again?”

The brat, Lucas Brattleby, had grown obscenely taller the last time Imelda had seen him, which was about 3 years ago when he was a rookie reporter covering her latest game. She heard he is now a publisher in his own right but didn’t seem to brush off that annoying lint in his voice back when he was still a Gryffindor matching illegal unsanctioned duels in the Clock Tower.

“A small gift of mine for the couple,” he grinned (still as irritating, she’s seen that grin enough times before she got her ass handed to her so forgive her for not being enamored), pushing the pen (recorder?) to her that she reflexively pushed him by his face. “Sorry.”

“And why should I do this?”

“Oh come on, Imelda. It’s just harmless questions to take us back down memory lane. It’ll be played at the reception and I promise I’ll send you everything before I finalize it just so you can make sure –”

“Alright!” She stopped walking, rolling her eyes when Lucas quickly assembled his camera, even quickly conjuring a chair and putting it at the center of the frame. Clearly, he knew she could change her mind at any moment.

“My lady,” he bowed dramatically, pointing a palm to the seat.

“Don’t call me that. You have 10 minutes before warm-ups start.” Lucas raised both of his hands in the air before quickly running behind the camera and clicking the button to start recording.

“I’ll be out of here in 5.” Lucas flipped a paper in front of him. “Let’s start with your name, a little something about yourself and where did you meet them.”

She took a deep breath, putting on the poker face she usually plasters on her face when talking to the media before her many games instinctively. “Imelda Reyes, Vice-Captain of Puddlemere United, and I had the misfortune of being in the same boat as Sebastian Sallow during our first year. She, however, was a little late to the party and wreaked havoc on my life when I was a fifth year.”

Lucas was meticulously writing notes in his fancy notebook.

“What’s the fondest memory you have of the couple?”

She scoffed, not even needing to think about it. “Sebastian? Definitely when he caught a bludger … with his face.” The memory of the cry he emitted pulled a real smile on Imelda’s face. “We almost lost and I would’ve killed him for it but oh was it glorious.”

He remembers this game.

“Didn’t he fall off his broom midair?”

Imelda waved a nonchalant hand in front of her face. “That girlfriend of his caught him with an Arresto Momentum so no harm done – well, except the crooked nose he sported for a week.”

Lucas chuckled with her, “And for the future Mrs. Sallow?”

“Nothing much, most conversation we’ve had was her beating me – beating me in a race, beating me in a duel, Merlin, she even beat me with the class ranking on her first year in Hogwarts. I had a five-year head start how was that possible?!”

Lucas smiled, reading that as bitter her words were she truly held no grudge over it. He was caught off guard, however, when Imelda suddenly had a small, serene smile on her face, her voice when she spoke softer. “She was … it was like I was always chasing after her. We all were, Sebastian always first in the race but … it was fun. I had fun. She made Hogwarts fun. A true competition, yknow? Didn’t have much at that point in my life.”

“Competition?”

“A friend.”

Lucas couldn’t help but be surprised – not everyone can be considered as Imelda Reyes’ friend as picky as she is, though he quickly fixed his face when she shot him a look that told him not to probe. “Did you ever think they would both get married?”

Imelda scoffed out a laugh, crossing her arms. “I knew the only way they wouldn’t get married is if Sallow got assassinated by one of her many admirers and even then I wouldn’t put it past him to somehow turn into an Inferi just so he can still be the one to marry her. I’m honestly surprised he held on for this long, pretty sure he would’ve popped the question the moment we graduated.”

“Technically, he did. They just decided to get married this year.”

That one made her laugh out loud, shaking her head at her old friend’s antics. Of course, she knew those two would get married, basically tied to the hip, always getting in and out of trouble with each other and for each other. Bloody hell, they’d been married since fifth-year and just didn’t know it.

“Typical Sallow,” she caught herself. “Well, Sallows now, Merlin help us all.”

Lucas rechecked everything on his notes, making sure to mark any and all important details of the words his enchanted pen has written for him as he spoke with his former Senior, Garreth Weasley, who was once a thorn on the side of Professor Sharp but was now a renowned Potions Master actively getting scouted by Hogwarts, his blends sought upon by the most respectable wizards and witches all over the world.

“Did I think they would get married? Mate, Sebastian almost bit my head off when I tried to ask her if she would like to be partners for one potion class. One! And we were sitting next to each other! I’m sorry if I thought I was being friendly?!”

Lucas has heard and has unfortunately been a victim of Sebastian’s … tendencies. You, despite being the top duelist in Hogwarts was always, more often than not, partnered with Sebastian in every duel. The one time Lucas had agreed in a quiet solo duel without letting Sebastian know his senior had caught him on his way to his potion's class and nailed him to the wall by his cloak while threatening him to never let it happen again or he will turn him into a pretty outline in the walls of Hogwarts with Bombarda.

He thinks that was the closest thing he had been to peeing his pants.

“Yeah, Sebastian doesn’t have the best track record with friendly males around his girlfriend.”

“They weren’t even courting by then how would I bloody know that –”

“Ready, Poppy?”

Surprisingly, the sweet woman in front of him has been the most difficult to track down. Amongst their mutual friends she was the one he had no idea where to start, especially after his only lead, her grandmother, had no other information to give him aside that the last she heard Sweet Poppy was down South Clagmar Coast ‘doing Merlin knows what’.

Thankfully, the citizens of Cragcroft were a bit more helpful and he was able to send her an owl about his little project.

“Where should we start?”

Lucas made sure she was framed perfectly in the shot before nodding to himself. “Nothing complicated Poppy, just first impressions or any memory you have of the young couple.”

She pursed her lips in thought, nodding to herself, “The two of them have always been terrifyingly intimidating, especially for someone like me. Seemed to just attract attention and trouble on their own – I mean, killing a troll in Hogsmeade on the first day – just a bunch of troublemakers they were. Brilliant troublemakers – which only made them scarier in my eyes.”

Lucas nodded in total agreement but he couldn’t help but squint at her.

“You aren’t exactly innocent, Ms. Hid-a-Hippogriff.”

Her eyes widened, blushing at the accusation. “In my defense, future Mrs. Sallow helped me take care of Highwing.”

Poppy recounted the memories with a smile on her face.  Her dainty smile grew bigger as she recapped happy memories she had with her classmates.

“But they’ve always been lovely. Lovely people and an even lovelier couple. Sebastian has always been bright and charming and surprisingly kind for a Slytherin and she … she’s always been unapologetic of who she was. It also meant she never judged anybody for who they are either.”

The woman paused, the smile on her face remained frozen as if she was in deep reflection.

“A true friend – one of the truest I had.”

Lucas was never in their circle, hell, aside from each other and maybe Ominis nobody was truly ever in their innermost circle despite their popularity. At every explosive trouble the two were always caught in he couldn’t help but wonder just what they get up to when they weren’t caught. Even back then he knew he would’ve risked his life and followed them no question asked if it meant his young self got to go to one of their death-defying adventures with them.

But being two years younger was a barrier he could never overcome.

It is refreshing to hear of stories from their friend’s perspective and not in passing in the Central Hall in Hogwarts where it’s all half-true, fabricated, or painfully hyperbolic. Maybe that’s why he had thought to do this, a reporter’s disease of needing to know the truth, the dark side of the coin they hid with their secrets and anonymities passed only in hushed whispers and clandestine meetings with each other.

“Are you excited about the wedding?”

Poppy nodded eagerly. “Oh, I’m extremely happy for my friends! It’s not every day two souls find each other and just not let go. I’m glad they didn’t. After all they’ve been through, they deserve to have each other.”

He couldn’t have agreed more.

“That they do.”

Mr. Lucas Brattleby,

I have received your owl, unfortunately, I will not be able to go back there till the night before the wedding as I still have a business to wrap up here in America. For the questions you sent, I shall send this Howler and you may record it.

I have nothing good to say about Mr. Sebastian Sallow, that boy had done nothing but torment me in my youth. It’s a bloody miracle he had managed to snag the Hero of Hogwarts as his girlfriend – terrible lack of judgment on her part I must say, we all have our flaws – much less agree to be his wife. If there’s one good thing he did do, it was willingly become a lowly servant to such a lovely witch. Least he could do, really.

However, despite their blatant differences and unfortunate similarities I, for one, knew immediately that not even Death could sever such a connection – not if Sebastian Sallow had anything to say about it, and trust me I speak from experience. They’ve fought through detentions, goblins, dark wizards, and a damned troll – I’m sure marriage will be a breeze in a park.

Well, if I’m wrong, then let the future Mrs. Sallow know I would be more than willing to offer a comforting shoulder.

Leander Prewitt Department of International Magical Cooperation

PS. To my darling wife Leonora, light of my life, the last part was a joke and If I somehow disappear it was Sebastian Sallow who did it.

“They give Sebastian too much credit when my dear friend was equally as obsessed about him. Do you remember Allia?”

Lucas snapped his fingers when he finally put a face to the name he hadn’t heard in a while but made sure to look around lest one of the younger students managed to hear such … delicate matters in the DADA classroom. “Didn’t she transfer during your 6th year? Something about personal … complications?”

Natty laughed out loud, doubling over with tears in her eyes. “Oh, that excuse was all thanks to Ominis swinging around his name. Our dear witch hexed poor Allia while she was asleep for trying to poison Sebastian with Amortentia! Sneaked straight into the Ravenclaw tower and cursed her to grow the features of a rat every time she even thought about Sebastian! The only way Ominis could convince our friend to take back the curse and avoid expulsion was at the condition of her transferring and never letting the couple see even her shadow again.”

He never even noticed that his jaw was hanging off his face.

“Oh, if everyone only knew that fights I had prevented if a Junior so much as fluttered their lashes at Sebastian,” she shook her head, still laughing to herself.

Now all the pieces he hadn’t realized were part of the same puzzle clicked on his head. The flat smile on her face that never quite reached her eyes every time they were surrounded by strangers, the grip she always held on Sebastian’s arms no matter where they were going, the ‘promise ring’ Sebastian also wore when traditionally it was just the girl who had it, and the absolute absence of Sebastian’s name when girls talked about boys they fancied in the common room when he was undoubtedly better looking than most students in Hogwarts.

“A jealous witch she was, thinks she’s good at hiding it,” Natty chuckled.

Lucas realized in horror that she had scared off the entire female student body.

“But by the gods was she better at hexes.”

When Lucas had heard that Ominis Gaunt had been working closely with the Minister for Magic and was undoubtedly being groomed to be his successor, he wasn’t exactly surprised. Everyone knew he would be someone important someday so Lucas had damn near lost all hope as he sent an owl to the man.

When he received a reply in a fortnight brought by a regal-looking owl, Lucas thought he must have some soft spot for his fellow alumni. But it would seem the man just had a lot to let out of his chest.

“Oh, the stories I could tell! If I had a knut for every time I had to rescue one of those idiots out of a horrific situation they found themselves in I would be richer than the Blacks!”

He’d never seen his hair this undone in the 7 years they had been on the same campus. Maybe Lucas was just that good of a journalist or maybe it was the half-empty bottle of expensive whiskey that was the reason for his loose lips.

“I mean, Sebastian was bad enough, but once he found someone who would willingly dive with him to whatever dangerous expeditions he found interest in and I was outnumbered it was a bloody nightmare.”

For the first time in his life, he felt pity for the man. It was never really a secret why Sebastian didn’t serve half the detention he deserved nor why neither of them had ever been expelled when a trail of evidence led to the both of them red-handed and always at the scene of the crime. But he has to give it to Ominis … a lesser man would’ve cracked at their mischiefs.

“And Sebastian … everybody knows he would’ve willing let himself be target practice for all sorts of curses if she had asked.”

Lucas can’t even defend his childhood hero. Especially, of the things he had learned from his previous subjects. It would seem even the mightiest of men would always buckle in the face of their true love.

“I-I’m sure they’ve done the same for you,” Lucas winced.

“Oh, they better, with the flaming hoops I had to jump through to make sure we graduated alive,” Ominis waved him off indifferently. “They are my best friends. I would follow them to hell but I just wish they would stop going there for one damn semester.”

Lucas snickered, unfortunately unable to hold it in with just how stressed the memory of the mischiefs his favorite couple got up to has brought Ominis. He was sure the older man would choke him but he just sighed out a laugh until the two of them were laughing to each other.

“I guess they have always been the perfect person for each other.”

Ominis nodded, leaning his head on his fist. “Yeah …”

He threw Lucas a look.

“Do you think they won’t make me their children’s godfather if I begged?”

Lucas bit his lips. “My money is on the eldest getting named after you so …”

Ominis groaned.

Lucas refilled his glass.

[sarawritestories]

You're My Forever

High Lord Eris Vanserra xFem Reader

Summary: Eris Vanserra sits on his throne, allowing himself to be lost in his thoughts when his mate comes looking for him.

Content warning: A little bit of self doubt. A whole lot of love

A/N: This is dedicated to @milswrites who helped me have a major breakthrough in a plot of my Novel and this was the best way I knew how to thank her!

Word Count: 1.3k

ACOTAR MasterList

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court.

A title the eldest Vanserra child never thought he would receive. Running his hands along the gold arm rests of the throne, as if the cold bite of the metal could keep him rooted in reality a reminder that he wasn’t dreaming. Beron was dead. His reign of terror came to an end. This throne, this manor, the entire Court of Autumn was Eris’. Eris sat on the extravagant piece of furniture crossing his leg over the other and allowed himself this one moment to be lost in his thoughts. A moment where he let his doubts rise to the surface.

Would he be a fair ruler?

Could he make a difference within his court?

Was he a good mate? A good husband?

Would he make a good father?  Make sure his kids experienced no harm by his hand as he had with Beron?

Was this just a dream? Would he wake up tomorrow back in the clutches of

“Eris?” Eris blinked at the sound of his name looking up he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of your voice. You had stepped into the throne room a pink silk robe wrapped around yourself, your hand supporting your swollen belly. Your hair fell in soft curls right above your chest, face as radiant as ever.

The newly appointed High Lord met your eyes once more, his mate, his beautiful mate, wife soon-to-be mother, the most beautiful female in all of Prythian in his eyes. Your soft smile still made his chest tighten. “My Little Doe, what are you doing out of bed?”

You approached the dais, you were halfway through your pregnancy and walking was becoming more challenging, “I’m looking for my husband, who should have met me in bed hours ago.” She stopped right in front of him and looked around the room, “I can’t seem to find him, High Lord, you wouldn’t happen to know where he is?”

Eris rubbed his chin as his eyes dipped slightly, your robe slipped down revealing your shoulders just enough, that Eris saw the light pink lace bra and the swell of your breast. and he adjusted in his seat. “My fair maiden, what does this male look like?”

“Handsome, has adorable freckles across his nose, eyes that resemble fiery embers.” Your eyes glanced down to his mouth, “A very kissable mouth,” You smiled, “His hair is red and long and smooth enough that I find myself always running my fingers through it.” You grip his knee clad in his riding clothes from going out to the villages earlier.

“Well, he sounds very beautiful,” Eris puffed out his chest causing you to giggle, and he loved that melodic sound. “He must be if he was lucky enough to have you, as his mate.” His throat tightened; he was a lucky male indeed.

“I believe I am the lucky one. The mother blessed me with a mate, who is brilliant, kindhearted and passionate as he is pretty.” Your smile fell slightly. “Are you okay?”

Eris smiled, and adjusted his legs and patted his lap, “Come here, My Love.”

The High Lord tilted his head as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth. “I’m too big, I’ll hurt you.”

Eris growled, as his brows furrowed, “We’ve talked about this.” He leaned down and gripped your chin, “What did I say?”

You sighed, “I am growing a person, and with that is going to be changes I’m simply not used to.” He quirked a brow, waiting for you to continue. “And if you heard anyone talking down about me, you would be the one to teach them a lesson. Even if said person was me.”

The male kissed your forehead, “Good Girl, now come here and sit on your High Lord’s lap.” He released you from his grasp and leaned back. You stepped toward him, and Eris helped turn you and placed you on his lap, picking your legs up so that they dangled over the arm rest. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you placed your hand on the base of his neck. With a flick of his hand all the doors that led to the room locked causing you to jump briefly. “Now, where is that sweet little babe of ours?” You smiled as he tugged at the tie of your robe and the strings fell to the side and the silk slid off your round stomach. Revealing lace panties that matched your top, garter belts holding your sheer stockings in place. With his free hand he grazed your calf and worked his way up your body.

 As he began his slow ascent up your body, he could smell your arousal, “Waiting for me in bed? I am a fool.” He reached your stomach, admiring the stretchmarks that have appeared in the last few months. His russet eyes, met yours, “You are the most beautiful creature, and how hope our child is just as beautiful as their mother.” You could feel heat rise to your cheeks, as you leaned your head back as Eris warmed his hands just a bit to ease the discomfort.

“Eris Vanserra, I know what you’re doing.”  You lifted your head quirking your brow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His lips pressed to your stomach his fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties.

Your hand found his wrist. And he lifted his head, “Eris, what’s wrong?”

Eris sighed and moved his hand, wrapping you back in your robe. “Nothing is wrong. I have everything I want. I have my court, my throne,” He pressed his forehead to yours, “My beautiful mate, carrying my child.” He closed his eyes. “I’m terrified that I will wake up, and I will find that this will all be a dream.”

“Darling, how long have you been feeling this way?” You whispered pressing your hand to his cheek swiping your thumb a crossed his freckled cheek idly.

“Since I became High Lord.” Before you could scold him, he continued, “I didn’t want to worry you. Or worse, I was afraid that you would think I would turn into my father and leave.”

“You’re my mate, my equal,” You pulled away and lifted his chin, so he met your gaze, “When I accepted the bond, I did it because I love you. Because I knew then what I know now.”

Eris tilted his head, “What is it that you know?”

You leaned in and kissed his nose, “You’re my Forever. I will always choose you.”

Eris smiled and pressed his lips on yours and you granted him access to deepen the kiss. His tongue met yours as he devoured your taste. You moaned in his mouth and felt his cock rise to attention against your ass. You began to move your hips to give the high lord the friction he craved, and he grunted in your mouth. His fingers threading through your hair as he dominated the kiss, his hand idly rubbing your stomach.

He pulled away from you needing air, “You’re mine and I love you.”

You laughed, “I figured, the child in my womb would have been a strong argument for both of those statements.”

Mischief danced in his eyes, “You know I am keeping track of all of your rule breaking for when I can properly punish you.”

You smiled and pecked his lips, sliding off his lap facing the door. Turning your head you winked, “I’m well aware, High Lord.” You untied the robe and let the pink silk fall to the floor turning back to face the High Lord. He admired your full body, and his heart rate began to quicken. “Now, may I show you how much I love you?" You got down on your knee’s hands braced on his thighs.

Eris began unlacing his pants a smirk on his face, “As you wish, High Lady.”

[hibiscus-whore]

Make Ups and Make Outs

Request by @sweetdreampruneplaid :Hi, can you do 08/09 rko story. So him and the reader are separated after she discovered that he been unfaithful to her while on the road but since then he wanting to work things out with her 🍋

A/N: school was ending, I had finals, some medical shit happened to my family so I’ve had a busy few weeks but I am here. I hope this makes up for my WWE babies. Also, I think I lost the plot but idk

WARNINGS: I got carried away so plot w/ smut. I’ll mark the beginning of the smut with a color for those who only skip to that (heartbreakers😔). Semi-established relationship. Rekindling old feelings. Apologies. Lovey dovey blah blah blah fluff n smut.

CONTAINS: Hate EVERYTHING that has love (more so lust) in it, fem!reader, marking/claiming, PIV, protection, happy happy joy joy!

Word Count: (we’ll figure it out in due time)

Fuck Vince, truly. He knows damn well that we broke up for obvious reasons. I explained to him why we broke up, the bastard was cheating on me with a groupie. But I guess our duo was so over with the fans that he made us stay together and he said,

“I will figure something out for you in the storyline.”

When will he figure it out? Because I’m by ring side as Randy is fighting with Jeff Hardy. Pretending like I loved him while interacting with the fans. Acting as though I was showing him off until the match was about to end. That’s when I faked a panic, attempting to get into the ring but the 3 count already happened. I heard Hardy’s music and acted my ass off. Holding Orton as Jeff was dancing around happily.

After the match, I went to the locker room to grab my things. I didn’t have a match tonight so I went back to the hotel with a few others. The Hardyz, Alicia Fox, and Natalya were all in the car. Matt was driving, Jeff was in the passenger, and I was sandwiched in between the divas. We were talking to each other as the radio music played, passing through the city lights, it was quite relaxing until Fox said something.

“Girl, what’s up with you and Mr. RKO?”

“Foxy,” Natalya scolded her as the guys just awkwardly shifted their conversation towards each other. Still listening in of course.

“They used to be glued at the fuckin’ tongue and now they don’t even look at each other unless it’s for their gimmick. I mean, COME ON! Everyone wants to know. We’re close, right? I hope we are. So you can talk to me. Or at least talk to Nattie so I can listen in like the guys are doing right now.”

‘Woah’s and ‘hey’s filled the car as the Hardyz were about to defend themselves then immediately gave up. I looked between the four of them before sighing. Leaning back into the seat.

“We broke up, that’s it.”

There was an awkward silence then Natalya asked, “…can I ask why?”

“He fucking cheated on me while we were doing the like half ‘n half tour thing. Like we were separated into groups and shit. I found out when I was gonna surprise him, but I guess he forgot the dates ‘cause he was…never mind. I’m having a good night and I don’t wanna cry—“

Before I could finish my sentence, the girls hugged me simultaneously. Jeff looked back with an empathetic smile. Giving me his hand to hold, which I did.

“I mean, he is known for being a damn harlot and serial-cheater. So you could’ve dodged a bullet.”

“We’ve been together for so long, Jeffrey,” I slid down in my seat, girls still somewhat hugging me, “I just…I thought he changed but I guess he didn’t.”

“How ‘bout we put our stuff down, change, and go out in the city for a little bit?”

I shook my head, “I just wanna sleep.”

Foxy quickly let me go, “uhnt, uhht! We are going out and you’re gonna shake your ass on me!”

“What?” Everyone in the car said in confusion before laughing. Foxy joined in. Matt parked the car in the underground garage of the hotel. Then we exited the car, grabbing our things to head up to our rooms.

“We’ll meet y’all in 5,” Matt told us as we began to part ways.

“5 men’s time or women’s time,” Nattie asked with a mocked confused expression.

The guys groaned, “fine, 15. We’ll invite some others.”

“Who’s some others,” I asked but Matt just shrugged as Jeff laughed. We all headed to our rooms. I completely forgot that Foxy and I shared a room because she skipped up to me to tackle me. Nattie was already in hers, which was across from ours. Alicia helped me pick out my outfit which suited my body well, and fit the theme of me being single and searching. Which felt weird but that’s okay. I needed to free myself of the binds of that idiot.

We got into the main foyer, Edge and Christian joined our group now. Giving them hugs and greeting before the Hardyz finally came down.

“ ‘n look who tried to rush us,” Alicia yelled out.

Matt hands shot up in surrender as he walked up to us, “somebody needed to find the right earrings—“

“This outfit doesn’t not need my silver hoops, I needed my black ones,” Jeff interrupted Matt then walked out. Putting a hand in his brother’s face with such sass. Matt, Nattie, and Fox followed him. Edge and Christian waited for me. While I began to walk out, I felt someone grab my arm. Turning back to see it was Randy with Ted and Cody. He looked furious but his eyes seemed sad. I attempted to pull away, but I couldn’t. E&C quickly noticed me not following them then came behind me.

“Where the hell are you going with them?”

“It’s not of your business, Randy.”

“It IS my business. I need to—“

I cut him off, finally prying away from him, “you don’t need shit from me.”

“Back off, they don’t want to speak to you,” Edge spoke up, glaring at him as Christian stepped up to them.”

Before he could say another word, Edge and Christian ushered me away. Continuing to glare back at Legacy. I could sense how defeated Randy was but ignored it.

~~

We got back a few hours later. Foxy told me she had something to do so she left me the room for the night. I stripped myself of my night outfit and switched into my pajamas. Before I could even lay down, a knock landed on my door.

“Fox, if you forgot your key again, I’ll kill you,” swinging the door open to see Randy. His body language was definitely less than confident.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

“I should, what do you want from me?”

“To talk to you, can I come in?”

“Nope,” trying to close the door on him but he stopped it. Looking down at me.

“You’re not even gonna hear me out?”

I kissed my teeth, tilting my head, “absolutely not. I’m not some bootycall cause I’m your ex. Goodnight.”

“I’m trying to apologize to you.”

“I don’t need your fuckass apology.”

He nodded as he pushed past me, “you wouldn’t be out tonight like that if you weren’t healing properly.”

“I was out with my friends. Not out being some harlot like you are,” I said as I reluctantly closed the door. Watching him sit down on the hotel room’s couch, patting the seat next to him. I’ll humor him for a moment. Foxy won’t be here for a good while.

“I shouldn’t have done what I did—“

“Oh, say it how it is Randal.”

“Can you let me be mature for one fucking second, quit being the natural bitch you are.”

“Okay, no,” quickly getting up, grabbing his shirt, “out. Get out!”

Randy held my wrist, “don’t. Wait— shit. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for cheating on you. I am a living piece of shit for trying to put myself in a different position when I truly belong with you.”

I slowly let go of his shirt and he did the same for my hand. Slowly sitting back down. Staring at his blue eyes then looking down at my hands, “why’d you do that in the first fucking place if you belong with me so damn much.”

“Because I’m a cocky bastard, babe, that is why. I didn’t realize how good I had it ‘til I lost it. Honestly, I don’t even know why I went for that girl specifically. Maybe I was horny. Maybe I missed you—,” he noticed the expression on my face. I don’t even know what look was on me but I probably gave him the worst look alive. “Or maybe I thought that I wasn’t good enough so I wanted you to leave me and resent me forever.”

“That’s why you cheated?”

He nodded.

“…I feel bad for saying this but you truly stuck your dick in her? She probably carries something.”

Randy chuckled, “yea, I know. I know— HEY! I didn’t stick my dick in her fully.”

I scoffed, “looked like you did.”

“You walked in on us at a horrendous angle. I dipped out of her immediately after you slammed the door shut. She tried to pull me back in but I kicked her out.”

“What’d you do next? Or do you just have blue balls,” sitting closer to him.

Randy leaned into me, “why should I tell you?”

“Curious,” we were now centimeters away.

“Y’know it killed the cat, right?” Then our lips connected. I easily sat in his lap whilst my arms wrapped around his neck. He held my head so he could push me forward. Hands scaling down until he grabbed my ass with soft pressure. Before we could even move to remove our clothing, a door creaked. We ignored it until…

“OH MY FUCKING GOD?”

Our heads snapped towards the door, I pushed off Randy and wiped my mouth. He smugly looked away. Why the fuck was Foxy back so early?

“I thought you were with a guy or some shit, Fox!”

“Bitch, I went to the damn corner store to get some snacks— DO NOT TURN THIS ON ME! You said you hated him.”

Randy’s eyebrows furrowed, “you said you hated me?”

“GO AWAY, RANDY,” Fox and I yelled in unison. He only laughed and shrugged as he got up and walked out the hotel room. Fox bucked at him, Randy fake flinched.

“Goodnight ladies.”

“Shut up,” Fox cow kicked the door shut, locking it, and went up to me. Throwing the bag onto her bed., “you lied. I’m not mad because angry sex with your ex is hot but HAVE SOME DECORUM!”

I crossed my arms, “Fox, leave it—“

“Did he at LEAST apologize to you?”

“Yea, he did.”

“Oh,” Alicia shrugged, “then it’s fine. I got you your favorites by the way. But next time we room together, don’t fuck when you’re not 100% that I’ll be gone.”

I scoffed, again, “ALICIA, WE DID NOT FUCK!”

~

Catering was more than awkward. Nattie, Tyson, Hardyz, Alicia, and I were at a table just talking. But they noticed the tension between us. Not tension but more so Alicia being mischievous obvious that something was going on. And Randy wasn’t subtle either, he kept lingering around us but he was with his friends. That’s when Jeff randomly said,

“you and Randy fuck or some?”

Matt immediately hit him, causing Jeff to choke, “JEFFREY!”

“AH! It is a…oof, genuinely question. I mean, look at ‘em. Fox ain’t subtle either.”

“You guys— oh my goodness,” Nattie was beyond appalled. Trying to clutch onto Tyson but he just laughed it off.

“Oh, I’m gonna get my 20 from Cody—“

I interrupted, “YOU GUYS BETTED AGAINST ME? Over something y’all don’t even know is true or not.”

Fox just laughed, grabbing her empty plate to throw away before walking off. Slouching down in my chair, covering my face up.

Jeff finally stopped choking and just leaned into the table, “yes or no question.”

“No.”

“…but something did happen. Mhhh.”

“Why are you so nosy?”

“And why can’t you keep a secret?” Jeff questioned me, getting up to throw his plate away too. Natalya, poor thing, she might fall over and have a heart attack. Tyson isn’t even helping— why is he going over to Randy’s table? And since when was Fox there?

Randy kept his eyes on me when talking to Fox while Cody and Ted had the same expression as Natalya on their faces. Matt completely gave up and just followed his brother. Leaving me alone. At the table. I stormed out of catering, entering the locker rooms because it felt safer there rather than whatever the fuck Tyson and Fox were doing to me.

A few minutes went by, I got dressed and was in the middle of doing my makeup when Nattie walked in. Waving at her, but she sat down next to me.

“Nattie, I know what you’re about to say,” I spoke as I fixed myself.

“No, I don’t— I just won’t believe it. And I know you, you wouldn’t stoop so low for him.”

Sighing, putting my brush down and handheld mirror, looking her dead in the eye, “you’re right. I wouldn’t…”

“I feel like there’s mor—“

“We did, however, make out.”

“WHAT!”

I muffled a laugh, hiding my face before sitting up to look at her. Smiling at her. She was horrendously mortified then she just got up and walked off. I tried to redeem myself, “no, Nat, come back! I love you! I’m sorry.”

“I can’t right now, you have disappointed me and went against everything you before yesterday has said.” She didn’t mean harm in her words, it was with sarcasm but goodness. Nattie might be right.

Once I finished my makeup and hair, I left the locker room. Steph came up to me hurriedly, “hey, so, we just changed the script. You’ll need to be with Randy in the next 4 matches because y’all have a promo to cut in the ring with Legacy. You don’t have any lines— well, not a lot, but go find the rest of them. Can you do that?”

“…Steph.”

“I know, y’all broke up but Vince doesn’t want y’all to be done so soon since you’re like the IT couple of WWE. And I know you don’t like it but that’s what brings in the money.”

I groaned incredibly loud before nodding, “fine. I’ll find him.”

“This is why you’re my favorite diva!”

“Buy me food,” I shouted out as I walked away from her. Going to Randy’s locker room and just staring at the door before begrudgingly knocking on it.

“Come in,” Randy called out. That’s when I stepped into the room. Cody made a face at me, before looking back at Randy who just had his eyes on me. “What’re you doing here.”

“Checking the script because Steph forced me too. Pass it over.”

He did, I snatched it away from him as I leaned against the wall. Flipping through the script before handing it back to him with a head nod, “that was all. Bye.”

“Could you not be so awkward for one second and talk to me?”

I looked at him, then Ted, and lastly Cody before rushing out of the locker room. Something crashed in that room once I left. Randy probably threw his chair across the room or something. It sounded like the it broke as well. Waiting in Gorilla until I felt I saw his friends who seemed more like goons.

"He'll be here in a few seconds," Cody dapped me up. Not completely because he was oiled up and looking like a damn glazed donut. I gave Ted a firm hand shake because he's...an odd one but I had some form of respect for him.

"Why do you think I'll give a shit about him?"

"Because Tyson took a 20 from me is why," then their theme played. Randy came up behind us, "lady's first."

We all walked out together, seductively strutting down the ramp with the guys following behind me. Primarily doing this with whenever I was with them. They all helped me instead the ring before Legacy got inside. Randy, front and center, had me near him as always. Lingering next to him just to look sexy as hell and tease the weirdos in the crowd behind Randy’s back. Then he grabbed me…this wasn’t part of the script. I checked our lines, why is he grabbing my arm?

“My beautiful girlfriend, soon to be YOUR Champion just like everyone in Legacy, is going to kick whoever’s ass she needs to. She’s isn’t just a manager or valet, she will kick Maryse and Beth Phoenix’s asses just like we’ll beat Cena, the Hardyz, and Degeneration X— EVERYONE on the roster,” he tossed his mic to the mat just for his hand to be replaced with my ass. Forcing me into a kiss. Somehow melting into it, arms wrapping around him as my eyes closed. His eyes closed too, I knew how he was with me. The only thing that broke us up was someone’s theme music, I didn’t care who it was. My mind was in a daze. The cameras panned over to the wrestlers coming out but my eyes were kept on Randy who was still in his cocky ass character. I managed to somehow keep my composure as I kept in character, glancing at Ted and Cody. Cody slightly nodded at me, not too much to be noticeable to the audience but enough for me. Well shit.

~~

When the night ended, I just grabbed my things out the ladies locker room and left. Not speaking to anyone during the ride to the hotel. It was the last night in that city anyways so I needed to pack my things ‘cause we were leaving the next morning.

Fox left the room again, not saying a word about Randy or the kiss or anything to me. So I just sat there, by my suitcase until I get a call. Pulling out my phone and flipping it open,

“Hello?”

“Are ya’ busy?”

Fuck, it’s Randy.

“Incredibly, bye—,” he cut me off.

“Come to my room, no one’s here. I would go to yours but I don’t think I want your little friend to bother us again. I mean, now everyone knows that we’re together so.”

My brows furrowed as I looked at my phone before I put it back to my ear, “boy, we aren’t together. And I’m not going to your room.”

“I just wanna talk to you. We can sit on opposite sides of the room if you want us to be.”

I looked at my phone before hanging up on him. Slipping some shoes on, grabbing a random hoodie, my keycard, and leaving my room. Down the hall, to the right. Fuck, why am I here? To see him. I loved him but I didn’t want to admit it. Not to myself let alone Randy himself. I knocked on the door. No response. Knocked again, still no response. I began to bang on the door until he swung it open.

“WHAT— oh. You.”

I looked up at him, “you wanted to talk, I’m here…is that lamp supposed to be on the ground like that or—?”

“Don’t worry about that, come on in,” moving out the way. Feeling his eyes look me up and down. I sat at one of the seat then he sat across from me after closing and locking the door. We stared at each other for a moment then he spoke up, “got my hoodie on? Thought you would burn it by now.”

“Haven’t had a day off so I couldn’t.”

“Don’t go back to hating me, okay? I’m trying my best out here, I’ll do even more if you need me to.”

I checked my nails.

“I kissed you for a reason, y’know. I love you. More than anything. I’ll apologize ten times over if you need me to. I just can’t fathom the idea that you hate me.”

“Mhh…”

“But you didn’t come here for that, did you?”

I quickly looked up at him.

“We can continue what we started last night. No interruptions, made sure of it.”

Now, I moved towards him. Hovering over his lap as he looked up at me this time but I began to lean down so our lips could touch, “I’m lucky someone cut our kiss off, aren’t I?”

“Lucky we’re mainly PG now because it would’ve been like January 9th in 06,” Randy said before connecting our lips. Moving together in sync as he began to pull something out his pocket plus his cock. A condom…nice. I pulled down my panties. When I was about to take off his hoodie that I accidentally wore, he stopped me, “keep it. I’ll fix it when I need to.”

We continued to kiss until the both of us managed to get on the bed. Missionary. Fingers divulging inside of me as my nails dig into his biceps. Opening me up wide enough so he could slip the condom on and ravage inside of me. I let go of his arm to bite my wrist. Randy immediately went to grab my arm.

“C’mon, lemme hear your pretty voice. This wouldn’t— fuck…be as fun if I can’t hear you. It’ll be like a silent film.”

Biting my lip to conceal my moans before I shakily spoke up, “w-walls…they’re thin. I don’t want anyone t-to hear.”

He went down to place loving hickeys on my neck, “embarrassed to let them know you’re mine?”

“I’m n-not yours— mmm, right there!”

“Oh, really?” Randy stopped mid-thrust, looking down at me, “me making love to you and marking you up doesn’t mean we’re together?”

“Not until you say we’re together ‘n p-prove yourself,” shaking my head at him before my back arching. Forcing it back, making me scream out, “h-haaah!”

Randy began to fuck into me now. Helping silence my moans with kisses of longing as he abused my cervix. Continuing to cover me with bit mores and hickeys, I could barely do the same to him. I can’t remember when but he started to play with my clit. Leaning back just to look at it…or my pussy, I couldn’t tell. Randy was also watching me, like his in ring state of being a viper. Menacingly watching how my breasts bounced, face contorted, and body quivered. Trembled, even, as he then started to press into me more. Feeling the warmth of Randy coming undone, he didn’t show it but he did groan. A lot. Soon after, I came. We panted, Randy took himself out of me and laid next to me.

“Can I be your boyfriend, again? I’ll be better this time…more faithful.”

“It would’ve been hotter if you asked me like mid thrust or something,” smiling at him as I shakily attempted to take off his hoodie, “you didn’t even move this.”

Randy helped me out while responding, “claiming you, I guess. You look gorgeous like this. Cuter in my shit too.” I smiled at him, letting him help me before we kissed once more. Then we separate just for him to say, “you still gotta pack, don’t you.” I nodded. “Okay. I’ll wash you up, bring you to your room so you can finish, and get somethin to eat.”

I sat up, nodded again. Noticing my reflection in the TV. Quickly turning to Randy, punching his arm repeatedly, “MY NECK NAND CHEST! Randal, what the fuck.”

“Hey— HEY! Just wear a turtle neck thing like Maryse or Chyna, I’ve seen you wear gear like it before,” Randy only laughed as he grabbed my arms.

“Oh, I cannot stand up!”

“You can’t even stand at all right now—“ I cut Randy off. Slipping my arm out so I can punch him again, “OW!”

[writeriguess]

reader and bakugo become villains together when they get rejected from ua (idk i think itd be a good plot twist) and they basically become like bonnie and clyde in a way, so midoriya runs into them at night by a broken down store in a back alley while reader and bakugo are smoking and midoriya tries to coax them to come with him to ua but they js dont listen and walk away, then midoriya goes to school the next and swears he and the others can convince reader and bakugo to come back but the others deny it

the others see bakugo and reader together when the two are terrorizing the city during their internships and they all try to convince them to stop being villains but they js shrug them off and continue to be villains

i think readers quirk should be poison/acid sweat like they it eats away at peoples skin except theirs and they can control the toxicity of their sweat making it harmless or extremely deadly

Crimson Outlaws

The alley reeked of stale beer and cigarette smoke, the neon flicker of a broken sign barely illuminating the cracked pavement beneath Bakugo’s boots. He leaned against the rusted shell of a vending machine, exhaling a slow drag of his cigarette, red eyes half-lidded as he watched the tendrils of smoke curl upward into the night.

You sat on the edge of an overturned crate, tapping ash from your own cigarette, the acrid scent of burning tobacco mixing with the faint chemical tang of your quirk. The poison in your sweat made your skin feel slightly tingly, a reminder of the danger you carried beneath your fingertips. You weren’t worried. It wouldn’t hurt you. Only others.

The distant sound of footsteps made Bakugo’s eyes narrow, his body instantly tensing.

Then, a voice—soft, hesitant.

“…Bakugo? (Y/N)?”

You sighed, already knowing who it was before even looking. Midoriya stood at the edge of the alley, silhouetted against the glow of a streetlamp, his face twisted with something like disbelief and heartbreak. His UA uniform was pristine, his tie slightly loosened, green curls a little unruly. The hero-in-training looked so out of place here, in the filth and the quiet rot of the city’s underbelly.

“The hell do you want, Deku?” Bakugo grumbled, flicking ash to the ground. “You lost?”

Midoriya took a step forward, then hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if getting closer would be a mistake. His eyes flicked between the two of you, taking in the matching dark hoodies, the scuffed boots, the way you both seemed so… indifferent.

“Are you really— Are you really doing this?” he asked, voice strained. “Villains?”

You scoffed, taking another drag. “What, you think we’d still be trying to be heroes after all that bullshit?” Your voice was dry, unimpressed.

“We didn’t get in,” Bakugo spat, “so why the fuck should we play by their rules?”

Midoriya’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “You didn’t get in, so you’re just—turning against everything you wanted?” He stepped closer, desperate now. “Bakugo, you— You always said you were going to be the best hero. And (Y/N), your quirk— You could help people. You both could.” His voice cracked slightly. “You don’t have to do this.”

You snorted, tilting your head back to look at the sky. The stars were barely visible through the city smog. “We don’t have to, no,” you murmured. “But we want to.”

Bakugo pushed himself off the vending machine, stepping toward Midoriya with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ve been having the time of our lives, Deku,” he said, his voice taunting. “No dumbass rules, no teachers tellin’ us what we can’t do. No waiting around for permission to use our quirks.” He exhaled another cloud of smoke, leaning in just slightly. “We do what we want.”

Midoriya shook his head, eyes shining in the dim light. “This isn’t you,” he whispered, looking at Bakugo first, then at you. “It’s not.”

You gave him a sad little smile, flicking your cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with the heel of your boot. “Maybe it is.”

Bakugo chuckled, turning away. “Later, nerd.”

You followed him without another word, leaving Midoriya standing alone in the alley, his heart pounding as he watched you both disappear into the night.

The next day, Midoriya slammed his hands down on the desk in the common room of UA’s dorms, his eyes blazing with determination.

“We have to get them back.”

Iida frowned. “Midoriya, if they’ve made the decision to become villains, there’s nothing we can do.”

“There is,” Midoriya insisted. “They’re not gone. I know it. I saw them last night. They— They didn’t attack me. They didn’t even threaten me.”

Uraraka crossed her arms, looking concerned. “Maybe they just didn’t see you as a threat.”

Midoriya shook his head. “That’s not it. They’re still— They can still be saved.”

Todoroki, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke. “Even if we wanted to, how would we convince them?” His voice was steady, but there was something cautious in his gaze.

“We just have to talk to them,” Midoriya said. “Show them that they don’t have to do this.”

Kirishima, sitting on the couch, let out a heavy sigh. “I get that you care, bro, but… some people make their choices.” His expression was unusually serious. “And sometimes, you can’t change their minds.”

Midoriya clenched his fists. “I won’t accept that.”

Weeks passed. Midoriya never stopped talking about it. And then, one day, during their internships, everything fell apart.

The city was burning.

Smoke coiled into the sky, red and black, buildings crumbling under the force of well-placed explosions. Civilians screamed as they ran, sirens wailing in the distance. And there, standing in the midst of the chaos, were two familiar figures.

Bakugo stood with his hands in his pockets, looking utterly unimpressed as pro heroes scrambled to contain the destruction. And you—

You ran a hand through your hair, eyes gleaming as you licked a drop of your own poison from your fingertips, grinning at the way a hero flinched when they saw you.

Midoriya and the others arrived just as you and Bakugo were getting bored.

“Stop!” Midoriya’s voice rang out over the chaos.

You turned first, blinking at the sight of your old classmates, decked out in their hero gear, their faces twisted with shock, sadness—determination.

Bakugo glanced over his shoulder, scoffing. “Took you long enough.”

Midoriya stepped forward, pleading. “It doesn’t have to be this way. You can still—”

“Still what?” you interrupted, tilting your head. “Be heroes? Save people?” You smiled, slow and sharp. “We like it better this way.”

Uraraka swallowed hard. “(Y/N)… you don’t mean that.”

You gave her a pitying look. “You don’t know me.”

Kirishima looked at Bakugo, his voice almost breaking. “Dude—”

Bakugo exhaled heavily. “Don’t.”

Todoroki narrowed his eyes. “If you don’t stop this, we’ll have to fight you.”

Bakugo smirked. “Go ahead and try.”

For a moment, no one moved.

Then, with a flick of your wrist, a droplet of acid flew through the air, sizzling against the pavement in front of them.

“Bye-bye, heroes,” you said, before turning and disappearing into the smoke with Bakugo by your side.

And Midoriya could only watch, horror twisting in his gut, as the people he once called his friends walked away—again.

[byoldervine]

The Trick To Writing Filler

(TL;DR at the bottom)

Filler is when you spend a chapter padding the length of your story between plot-related events. Filler chapters have little to no impact on the overarching plot and can be self-contained, and thus in TV shows filler episodes are often reran the most as people unfamiliar with the show can casually watch without being confused without the knowledge of prior plot beats

So with the chapter being largely self-contained and acting outside of the plot, what do you use to make the filler chapter engaging? I’m going to use filler episodes from Avatar: The Last Airbender to provide examples

1. Worldbuilding. Zuko Alone depicts Zuko’s travels taking him through an Earth Kingdom village and becoming acquainted to the family that allows him to stay with them, especially their young son. He learns about what the Fire Nation’s impact on this village has been; destroyed houses, families torn apart, constant robbery and other abuses of power and injustices. And even after Zuko defends the villagers and his new friend, he’s venomously cast out from the village by even the little boy because he outed himself as a firebender. This episode explored the impact of the war on the people of the Earth Kingdom, the victims of war that have no involvement in it and no way of defending themselves from it

2. Character exploration. In The Beach, we learn more about Mai, Ty Lee, Azula and Zuko and how their own traumas and personal upbringings have impacted their personalities. For Zuko this is part of a turning point for him, but for the girls it’s more to understand why they are the people we’ve gotten to know over the seasons, especially Ty Lee and Mai. The episode also serves to showcase how Azula and Zuko are so out of place being just normal teenagers; Azula has no idea how to talk to her peers and no identity outside being Princess Azula of the Fire Nation, while Zuko’s hotheadedness and jealousy issues lead him to lash out and be far too confrontational and controlling for his own good. This episode isn’t really used to develop these characters, or at least not the girls, but instead explains and showcases their behaviours and the reasons behind them

3. Character development. Going back to The Beach, Zuko does indeed receive development rather than just character exploration like the girls do; he comes to understand that he’s not just angry at the world or angry in general, but angry with himself. This is a notable turning point for Zuko’s redemption arc, because he now understands fully that he truly regrets betraying Iroh and sacrificing his new start in life in favour of returning to the Fire Nation. He might not yet be fully decided on turning his back on Ozai, but without this moment I don’t know if he’d have gotten there, or at least not as quickly as he did

4. Relationship development. Sokka’s Master has a C plot of Aang, Katara and Toph all being rather bored and lost without Sokka’s presence. The A plot exploring Sokka’s feelings of inadequacy and uselessness in comparison to such powerful and formidable bending masters being contrasted with the Gaang unable to function without him already speaks volumes about their dynamics, but looking deeper into the C plot also shows how much value Sokka really does bring to the team; structure, planning, humour, a quick wit, strategic moves. The Gaang always supported Sokka and never seemed to view him as expendable outside of the occasional teasing, but having it acknowledged so clearly and plainly that they can feel a little aimless and flat without Sokka and being so delighted when he returns really shows us the kind of value Sokka brings to this team and brings us and the characters to further appreciate it

5. Downtime. The Ember Island Players depicts the characters taking a break to watch a comedic play based on their wacky adventures, only to be largely underwhelmed and displeased by how they’re portrayed. There are no stakes to this episode and barely any plot, just the Gaang taking a breather as they react to a bad play. This chance to relax and watch something inconsequential is just as important to the viewers as we’ve got the show’s finale in the next four episodes, which will be very plot-driven and intense. The Ember Island Players also has the additional viewer bonus of recapping the events of the show right before it all ends, giving the viewers time to reflect on the journey they’ve gone on with these characters. In order for the stakes to feel high and the tension to rise, there has to be downtime where there are low stakes and low tension; if things are intense all the time, the moments that are supposed to feel super intense will just feel average in comparison. Resetting that intensity right before such a big event while still acknowledging the looming threat coming soon will feel like the calm before the storm and allow your audience to soak it all up like the characters are

Wow, did I just go through all that without talking about Tales of Ba Sing Se? I’ll save that for another post if people are interested in more

TL;DR - filler provides a moment to breathe, reset the intensity levels the audience are experiencing and take a chance to step away from the external conflict (the overarching plot) in favour of worldbuilding and the characters within your setting. Small moments can amount to something big, and can help make large scale decisions or plot twists feel more build-up and in-character

[pixiesfz]

safe and sound j.r x reader

part seven of ends with us series

plot: you and Jill find eachother

warnings: mentions of abuse

your hands were shaking as they laid on the steering wheel, Olivia next to you as she assembled the checked the album you had both shown the police.

The meeting with them was almost the scariest moments of your life.

What if they didn’t believe you.

What if they didn’t care.

But the women police officer did. She took care of you, collected your information and evidence.

What happens next you didn’t know.

“Are you sure you want to go there?” Olivia asked, putting her phone down “I have no idea where she lives” you responded with a sigh.

“Can’t send her a message?”

“It will go through as a dm we don’t follow eachother”

“But you stalk eachother” Olivia snorted and you smiled, cheeks blushing “that’s not the point”

“Sure”.

You pressed your foot against the gas as you drove off towards the dog park, Olivia’s dog in the back, barking in excitement when he recognised the route.

When you arrived you let Stanley off his leash and hoped.

Hoped she would drop by.

“Kerstin let’s go” Jill ordered her friend who had taken her time to say goodbye to her girlfriend “I’m coming!” She yelled, getting into her car.

“Jill we’ve been here three days in a row and she hasn’t been there” Kerstin said before turning quiet “what if she’s-“

“No” Jill cut her off “she’ll be there…she needs to be”

“What are you going to say if she is?”

“I don’t know”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know”

“What are you-“

“I don’t know!”

The car drove in silence, not even the radio was on until Jill parked at the dog park.

You were there, groaning at the fact that you had lost the rock paper scissors game and now had to throw away Stanley’s poo.

“Gross Stan” you muttered but the dog just wagged his tail with a smile as you picked it up with a bag and walked away, out of eyesite as Jill and Kerstin walked up.

“I don’t see her” Jill huffed, looking around she expected for Kerstin to agree and suggest to go back home but she didn’t.

“I know her” Kerstin muttered, pointing to a girl in front of them.

Olivia.

“Who?” Jill asked and Kerstin furrowed her brows “she’s the one I talked to at y/n’s work”

Jill shot up her brows up as she saw the dog sitting next to her. “Stanley?”

“How did you know the dogs-“ Kerstin asked but stopped mid sentence

gorgeous hair flew in the wind as you came into view, a smile on your face as the dog ran up to you, wagging his tail.

“Well” Kerstin started “she’s here”

Jill felt like she was back in ninth grade, blushing cheeks at the sight of you and her nerves taking over her.

Kerstin was about to yell over herself until someone else did.

The dog ran over to Jill with a loud bark and you and Olivia followed the sight.

“Oh my god” you muttered at the sight as Olivia gasped “she’s actually here”

You smiled, the feeling of relation coming over you as you did.

“Well… go over!”

And you did.

Jill walked over similarly until you met in the middle of the”hey” you smiled up to the Dutch girl and she laughed nervously “fancy seeing you here”

You smiled brightly, hurting yourself slightly from the still healing bruise under your eye.

Jill remembered why she was so set on finding you from seeing your face “can we talk somewhere more private?”

Your face faltered but nodded.

Making your way to a bench you sat down closely next to eachother.

“Are you safe?” Jill asked and you shot your head quickly towards her

You paused, looking down before answering “I wasn’t but now I am” Jill took a sharp breath in “that’s good to hear” she smiled but you could tell there was sadness behind her eyes.

You reached your hand out and grabbed hers “Jill I’m fine now”

“But you weren’t and I didn’t figure it out quick enough”

“I didn’t expect you to”

Jill squeezed your hand “I went to your house to try and find you and Ellie was there, she’s staying there”

You widened your eyes “she didn’t hurt you?”

“No” Jill shook her head “but I may have threatened her in Dutch”

You laughed “she never bothered to learn the language so you’re fine” you laughed “I know she looked at me like I had two heads” Jill joined you.

“thankyou for trying to find me” you smiled, looking up to Jill as she raised her hand and laid it softly against your cheek.

“I’d do anything for you Liefde”

And for the first time in a long time you felt completely safe.

[mydearesthrry]

sweet nothing - h.s.

a/n: TOTALLY LOST THE PLOT WHILE WRITING THIS. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE BASED OFF OF THE PICTURE BELOW BUT I GOT DISTRACTED. pls listen to sweet nothing by taylor swift for the full experience!!!

🎀 warnings/cw: none, most tooth rotting fluff ever.

🐇 pairing: fem!reader x harry styles

💐 wc: 1.6k

summary: taking care of a very sleepy harry in an ice bath, and in the car.

“H, the bath is ready, bub.” Harry heard his girlfriend call quietly to him. He was slumped on the couch, this show particularly draining. He was quieter than usual, and instead of being glued to Y/N’s side like he usually was, he let one kiss to her full lips suffice before he decided to rest. 

“Mm, thank you, lovie. I’ll… I’ll be there in a second, jus’ don’t have the energy to go there right now.” His limbs were sore, almost every part of his body completely lost of energy, and he found it hard to even entertain the thought of getting up. 

“Okay… y’know what, just let me help you, H. The faster we get you into this bath, the faster we can go back to the hotel so you can sleep.” He knew she was right, and because he knew she was right, he allowed her to help (though not really at all since he already had felt bad that she ran the ice bath for him) him get to the bathroom. They walked slowly to the connected bathroom, Harry walking zombie-like in her arms. 

“Ready, sweet boy?” She tried to be as quiet as possible, the fact that Harry probably had a headache in the front of her mind. He nodded softly, stripping down to his boxers before letting her help him balance as he stepped into the bath. 

A wince immediately left him, Y/N whispering out ‘I’m sorry’s, knowing how shocking the bath was at first. She lowered herself with him, and sat on the floor next to the bucket when he sat down, submersing himself fully. 

“Okay bubs, y’know we’ve gotta do this so you don’t fall asleep on me. You ready?” Y/N says, pulling out her phone to pull up the trivia questions she’d pre written for the late night ice bath trivia that had become a tradition for them. Harry hums, and she flips to her notes to start. 

“Pick the category, my love. We’ve got pop culture, or the Marvel Cinematic Universe.” She asked, looking up at him, heart breaking a little at the exhausted expression that was obvious on his face. 

“Marvel.” He mumbles, sinking himself lower until his neck up was the only part of his body above water. 

“Okay… Timer officially starts now. Who played the character Pietro Maximoff, also known as Quicksilver?” Her tone was soft, almost at a whisper. 

“Umm… Aaron Taylor Johnson?” Harry questioned, racking his brain to try his hardest to stay awake. His body had now gotten used to the stark cold that he’d slowly started to get used to over the times he’s done this on tour. 

“Good job, baby. What was the name of Peter Parker’s love interest in Spider-Man: Homecoming? This one should be easy, it’s one of my favorite movies.” She giggled, a serene sense of peace overcoming her at the domesticity of it all. 

“It is easy, she’s called Liz, right? Liz Allan, or something.” His eyes were now closed, feeling the tension in his body slowly disintegrate from the cold of the water. 

“Perfect! Though the both of us know that Peter and MJ were the better couple, they were entirely more in love and cuter.” She smiled. 

“Oh, really? Like us then, hm?” Harry hummed. 

“Yes, H, exactly like us.” A few more questions had passed, and Lloyd had now come to join them in the bathroom, his camera hung around his neck. They’d anticipated him coming anyway, knowing that he would come to snap some behind the scenes pictures. Before they’d even left to go to his dressing room, they’d told Lloyd when to come in so that he could come talk to them. 

“Hey guys, sorry for intruding, but I need one of you to pick a few pictures for tonight so I can get them edited by tomorrow.” Lloyd tried to keep his voice quiet too, knowing the kind of atmosphere he was entering before he even came to meet the two in the bathroom. 

“Oh yeah, of course, did you want some pictures too?” Harry smiled, a tired but polite look on his face. Harry had built a great relationship with Lloyd over the months that they’ve been on tour, and they’d gotten more comfortable with each other than they’d anticipated. 

“Only if you’re comfortable, H.” Lloyd smiled. Y/N and Lloyd talked for a second, scrolling through pictures and picking out a few for him to edit. The time they took allowed Harry to rest in the cold for a little, before pushing himself up and folding over, dipping his head into the ice cold water. He could faintly hear Lloyd’s footsteps move to the front of the tub, along with the flicking of the camera shutter going off as he lifted his head out of the tub, ringing out his hair from the nape of his neck to the front of his scalp. 

A couple more flutters from the camera shutters were heard when Harry was rubbing his eyes with the pruny tips of his fingers, and he failed to see the smile on Lloyd’s face. 

Lloyd pulled the camera from his eyes, looking at the digital screen that held a preview of the picture. In the corner, slightly blurred because of the harsh focus that was set on Harry in the center, say Y/N with a soft smile playing on her lips, a moony gaze in her eyes. He made a mental note to send it to them later, and to also crop her out in the final edit in an attempt to salvage their private relationship. 

“Perfect. I’ll let you two rest now, think I’m gonna head to the hotel now myself. Sleep well, you guys, I’ll send you the pictures in the morning.” Lloyd smiles at them, sharing goodnights before closing the door behind him as he walked out. 

Harry’s now damp hair was combed back by his fingers and rested on the top of his head, save for the rogue curl that shriveled in a tiny curl on his forehead. Y/N rested her arms on the side of the tub, a gleam in her eyes as she watched Harry’s relaxed expression. Her timer, however, had different plans for the relaxed couple, and went off with shrill screams, notifying them that it was now time for Harry to leave the bath. 

“Alright sweet boy, time to go.” She tapped on her screen to stop the ringing, standing up to grab his black and white striped towel. She met him in the middle, her boyfriend already standing on the towel that laid outside of the tub, water droplets falling from his body in a soft cascade, small shivers shaking his shoulders slightly. Wrapping the towel around his shoulders, she pushes herself up onto her tiptoes to meet the level of his face, pecking soft kisses onto his cold lips. They stayed in that position for a bit, waiting for Harry’s skin to absorb the rest of the small water droplets. 

She led him with a soft tug to the main space in the dressing room, taking the outfit she’d gotten ready for him while he was on stage from the makeup chair and placed it onto the couch. Leaning down a bit, she took the towel to let him remove his now soaked briefs, before passing him a pair of boxers, tossing his towel onto the back of the couch. She passed him his clothes as he dressed himself slowly, humming at the words of love and admiration he sleepily spewed out. Once he got his last article of clothing on, she took his hoodie strings into her hands and tugged it down softly, making him lean down a bit to meet her lips. 

Their lips connected in a soft caress, his bottom lip wedges in between her two lips, a sweet hum emitting from his throat from the taste of her coconut flavored chapstick, one that was his favorite. Something that could only be described as love seemed to fill the room whenever they had these kinds of moments. Moments that was completely and purely their own. 

They broke away from the kiss, and when Harry went to say something, a yawn cut him off, mouth opening wide making him resemble something of a lion, making a giggle fall from her slightly swollen lips. “Let’s get you into a bed, sleepy boy.” 

“M’kay.” Harry didn’t put up a fight, wanting to get into bed with her to snuggle more than anything. 

They walked through the halls of the venue, pushing through the back door where their driver was already waiting for them, engine started and purring softly. Y/N opens the back car door, stepping in and moving to the side since she knew Harry would follow her. The driver muttered that it would take them about 5 to 10 minutes to get to the hotel before taking off without another word. 

Y/N snapped her seatbelt on, a confused twinge on her face when she didn’t see Harry do the same. Instead, he scooted over to the middle seat, laying into her sleepily. “H, you gotta put on your seatbelt.” 

“Noooo, s’not even that far, and I jus’ wan’ y’to hold me right now.” He mumbled, slightly muffled from the way he burrowed his face into her neck. She sighed in slight exasperation, saying nothing and just letting him completely collapse and rest into her. He was almost laying completely in her lap, her hand in his hair, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looked out the window and into the city. 

She let out a tiny giggle when she felt the slight tickle of stubble on her neck, followed by sweet kisses on the expanse of it. “I love you, love y’so much, it hurts.” 

“I love you, H.” She intertwined their fingers together, bringing up his hand to her mouth and pressing featherlight kisses onto his knuckles. 

“I love you,” Harry whined, making the smallest of smiles cover her face since knew how clingy and lovey Harry got when he was tired. She tried to relish in these moments as much as possible. 

“I love you, sweet boy, the Peter Parker to my Michelle Jones.” A sweet giggle sounded from Harry as he remembered the conversation from earlier. 

“Entirely in love and cute. I agree.” 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I have a theory regarding about overblot boys' groovy art. Like it is not just their Chapter 7 outfits but it could be seen as their happy ever after. Seeing Malleus' groovy art is like a fairytale ending, it makes me think of the rest or maybe the ending that fits their movies.

[Referencing this post!]

I remember seeing a post on Twitter comparing the similarities between Malleus’s Ruler of the Abyss groovy and Silver’s Dawn Knight Armor groovy. I guess in the same way Silver’s looks like a happily ever after for him, Malleus’s is his own happy ending?

Since they’re in OB and in those alternate outfits, I think the idea supposed to be that these cards depict the characters in their dreams. Previous story-limited cards (excluding Ortho) have been similar! In that case, it makes sense to see them at their “happiest” (alternate outfit from their dreams) and as their “truest selves” (OB).

O-Or-kun was forgotten again… 😭 Y’all keep leaving out Or-kun!!/j

Since we’ve basically got an OB line confirmed, that would leave only Ace, Deuce, Jack, and Epel (and Grim, if you wanna count him) as students without new story limited SSRs. If we’re already going the extra mile for the OB cards, I’d say there’s a good chance the full cast will get the same limited story SSR treatment. I just don’t exactly know if they’d be relevant to book 8’s plot (even if they’re all first years and therefore closer to Yuu + Grim in general), since all the limited story cards seem to be based on the events of book 7’e dreams.

I can see maybe like… wolf form Jack and delinquent Deuce as cards?? And I guess we could have a cursed af Epel against our wills 😭 but I’m not sure what Ace would get since his dream outfit was a repeat of his Beachwear from Lost in the Book with Stitch. Maybe his groovy would be something having to do with unlocking his UM, but in terms of new fit I can’t really come up with much.