#and still promising he will try and protect them

[dmitriene]

Maybe something with poor birdie having an anorgasmia (unable to cum or it taking a long time) and price (or whoever you want to write for) trying to fix it

i apologize it took me so long to finally write, but i do hope you'll see this and enjoy!

cw: anorgasmia, some stress and mentions of unhealthy relationships, john doesn't cures reader but they find a way to work, sex and comfort, strangers to lovers or something similar, my knowledge of the disorder comes from internet.

any disorder can make a person feel different, broken, wrong — not like everyone else, not as expected, and even if it is a trifle that can be cured, worked out, or just needs more effort, it will still make many people treat you with a kind of hostility, consider you as if you were an object of study under a microscope, and you are no exception.

anorgasmia shouldn't have been the problem that it really turned out to be, because there's nothing unusual or really terrible about having difficulty having an orgasm, you need a little more time, a little more attention, understanding, because the pleasure of sex doesn't go away, it's just that your body's reaction is slightly different.

or so you thought, but all your relationships collapsed like sand towers, washed away by the tide as soon as you failed to give your partner the expected reaction, sobbing moans, rolling, wet eyes and shaking from the spasms of a strong orgasm thighs, no, with most of them it either did not exist, or it was not so expectedly grandiose, a small splash, a little trembling all over the body, then silence and a dissatisfied grimace on the face, looming over you in anticipation.

dysfunctional, they spat bile and animalistic hisses, as if it was kind of an insult to them, although you never threw it on them, you know it's just your problem, let them know, looking at the sparkling eyes and proudly puffing chest — when they said that you slept with the wrong people, that they will definitely be able to make you drown in your climax and unearthly pleasure, but in the end, everything is the same.

you didn't let it parasitize your mental health, but you stopped looking for sex and turned away any attempts to start a relationship, preferring to therapy and numerous consultations, learning different techniques of self stimulation, erotic media and countless sex toys, and little by little, it became easier, but still, you were different, your pleasure more imperceptible, easy flowing, a short flicker, until you met john at another boredom night.

johathan price, as he introduced himself, is a charming man — a type that is found in romcoms, easy going, charming, a man big and strong, adorned with his age in the form of gray hair the color of cigarette ashes, neat beard and a mustache, deep wrinkles in the corners of his purest blue eyes, softness in the once steel strong muscles, which are now protected by a small weight, smoky laughter, scars on his arms and body that speak of the years spent on the battlefield, and yet he lost neither his beauty nor his sanity.

a natural, he communicates with a special ease that attracts the attention of everyone around him, as if a charm has been unleashed in the room, tactile, and his physical contact most likely confused more than one innocent young lamb, and you are no exception, not in front of him, not when he has already managed to see all your innermost secrets, seep through locked doors and rusty keyholes, undressing you layer by layer, sweet speech, warm drinks, a heavy and warm hand on your knee until you give in.

you promised, but john's kisses are as tart as whiskey and cigars, sweeter than honey and candies that burn the palate, his touches are deep, digging nails and fingers into the softness of the flesh, and at the same time stroking along all the curves, softening, he smells of something woody sea, tickling the nose and neck, where his beard scratches sensitively, chasing the kisses and bites, blossoming flowers of hickeys left behind, making you arch towards him pliantly, cling to his broad shoulders and strong forearms.

john lays you out in front of him more easily than poker cards, puts you back together easier than tetris, looks at a naked, vulnerable body with an undisguised, smoldering desire and a clear plan, not allowing himself a drop of pleasure until he satisfies you in the first place, no matter how hurting his cock looks, swollen and blazing rudy, beading pearls of leaking precum, heavy between his hairy legs, bracketing yours, as if to cage.

even when you pull at his hair, sighing languidly and moaning softly — telling him that it will take too long, it's not worth it, his growl shuts you up with a shudder of your spine, his calloused fingers running through the sopping mess of your cunt, stroking the folds, slippery and wet, fluttering at the touch along with the clench of your hole, needy and pulsating, eager for his hands and mouth as he get's to his work.

slick smeared all the way up to your labia, glistening all over your flesh, your thighs, as john's thumb runs up your sex in wonder, assessing, staining sticky and salty, savoring your tiny reactions, little twitches, shudders, sensitive keens from above, relaxing you to the point where you slip along the edges of your bubble, hazy and malleable, and only then he gives your cunt his mouth.

licking hungrily up the seam of your cunt, the savory taste coating his tongue right away, pulling a thundering groan, as he laves over, sucking at the hardened little nub he bumps into, slurping in his hot, drooling mouth, as your slick starts matting his messed beard, while you throb beneath his swelling lips, making him alternate between sucking and lapping up what slick gushes from you in shining rivulets, your body brimming with need, pleasure rolling in, arousal so sudden and strong your blood feels thick with it.

it's comes harder, this time, maybe because you denied yourself a person's sexual contact for too long, but this time, you cum with your legs clamping tight from being unable to fight this electricity, zapping through your whole body as you flood john's mouth with your slick, your back bowing, crumpling the sheets below as you almost hit your head against the headboard, his warm palm settling over the top, shielding, as you hiccup a chorus of moans, under the rasping coo of his voice, no note of being full of himself, cocky, just sweet encouragement of you.

only then, when sure that you've been at the throes of your pleasure, john acknowledges the bobbing weight of his painfully engorged, hard cock, wrapping a calloused palm around the length, slicked from the amount of pre his skin is coated in, jerking once, twice, thumbing against his slit with a huffed grunt of pleasure, before lining towards your gaping hole, the messy curls of his pubic hair brushing against your tingling, now sensitive skin, as you stretch around the girth of him, feeded gently till he's bottoming out.

mind still sluggish with lust, you push your his hips down, trying to take more, to make the deliciously slow thrusts turn into something more, rougher, as your blood sings for it, so john pulls back, lifts your hips, grip more bruising, and blessedly pumps you deep, crowding, cocooning you with his big, brawny body, snapping his broad hips harder and harder, the force echoing as a slaps of skin on skin, the wet squelches, the once again growing pressure inside your stomach is immaculate, heavy.

bodies flush together, john rocks gently into your tight heat, trying to prolong this pleasure, feeling, how you get closer again, so much quicker than any usual, the feeling of it overwhelming you, making your body trash, head hitting the pillows beneath, but he's heavy over your body, and it's comforts you, in a way, as chapped lips kiss your shoulder, and then he nuzzles against your temple.

breathing you in, smearing away your sweat, as you tremble with the need to cum, gasping for it, rocking, clenching with a shuddering twitch of your hips, sensitive and primed for another orgasm, and when your head rolls back with an arch of your kiss bitten neck, white hot pleasure blurring your vision, your every muscle tenses and then you come again, erupting in what feels like a torrent, and john whispers only lulling comfort and proud syllables, groaning deep as he cums himself, shuddering with you.

you're left feeling spent, muscles going lax, sagging into the mattress and crumpled bedding below, it's like your mind gotten into submission, too knocked out by onslaught of all the feelings that your system shut down, and you won't even move to rise up, john's breath coming up close, hard and puffing, as he kisses the marks over your throat as you recover, white spots still dotting the vision, legs unresponsive, so you just curl, and he drags his mouth over your warm skin, each kiss as a reward.

he won't say too much, wouldn't even bring what happened during sex, he has no permission to, no control over your body, it's only your merit that you trusted, relaxed, let the pleasure slip through your fingertips and climb higher, even if slowly, john just happened to be there at the right time, and he won't oblige you to anything, as you slowly fall asleep in his arms — but if you'll linger in the morning instead of disappearing away, he won't mind cooking you breakfast.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[eznin]

Just imagine 22 years old in-okay-terms-with-the-bats Jason meeting 19 years old murderous-hell-bent-on-revenge Jason

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

Teen Jason, absolutely horrified that he not only failed to kill the Joker but he also managed to be re-adopted: How the fuck did this happen?!

Adult Jason, who is also not sure : Idk, Dick just kept inviting me to go get lunch and it all went downhill from there.

Teen Jason: Did we at least kill him?

Adult Jason: Timothy? No, but he fixed our helmet the other day.

Teen Jason: ...you are pathetic.

Adult Jason, still struggling a bit with self esteem issues: And this is why no one likes you.

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

Bruce is loosing it with having to find a way to solve this time travel mess while simultaneously keeping Teen Jason from killing someone.

On the other hand Tim is looking at Teen Jason, who is the same age as him and still has a little bit of baby face even after the pit, and wonders at how was he terrified of this dude for so long.

Dick, Steph and Cass just refuse to acknowledge any of Teen Jason's threats and have a lot of fun doing it.

Steph: Baby Jay, do you want pancakes ?

Teen Jason, who just tried to stab Dick with a dinner knife only to have his arm twisted in the most casual and infuriating way possible: I hate all of you.

Cass, already stacking pancakes on his plate: Love you too.

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

At one point they consider tying Teen Jason to a chair because he keeps trying to shot Bruce and Tim (and sometimes Dick) in the back.

Bruce, looking at the Batcomputer: So this way we might finally get younger Jason back to his time.

Teen Jason, who was let into the cave after promising to behave: That's an actually good plan, just a sugestion...

Teen Jason suddenly pulls out a revolver and unloads the entire cylinder into Bruce’s chest, who started always wearing bullet proof clothes until the mess is solved and only rubs his temple in response.

Bruce: I told you to keep him away from guns.

Tim: We did, I don't know where he got that from.

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

The only ones Teen Jason tolerates are Damian, because he just recently left the League and still has a bit of a protective streak. Duke, because there is no bad blood and he isn't too annoying. And Alfred, because he is Alfred.

Adult Jason can never ever be near Teen Jason or they will fist fight, although the worst part is the psychological damage. They know exactly what to say to make the other flinch.

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

Teen Jason does everything in his power to be an absolute nightmare, because if he doesn't he will have to think about how these people somehow don't hate him. And if they don't hate him then there is a chance his Bruce and the bats back home also don't hate him and that's too much for his heart to take.

Teen Jason, nearly crying: How can you not hate me?

Bruce, in the softest voice possible despite Teen Jason having exploded the Batmobile with an home made bomb in an attempt to push Bruce over the edge: I could never hate you, Jaybird.

Teen Jason's eyes go so wide and poisonous glowing green that everyone goes tense waiting for him to spontaneous combust out of rage.

Then there is a sob.

Oh, fuck he is crying.

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

Past Bruce is a mix of surprised, suspicious and hopefull when Jason shows up again after being inactive for two weeks and is not only not trying to torture them with shakespearian plots but also accepted one of Dick's lunch invites (Dick is just as surprised, he had been making them as a joke)

[dumbkiri]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋

χα∂єη яισяѕση χ ƒ! мαιяι! яєα∂єя

ησтє: 16 pages long. idk if that should be a warning or something. anyways this is the last part! thank you all for reading it. if you got this far in the note...you should check out my pinned masterlist, there's a surprise waiting for you, my dedicated reader <3

ρℓσт: waiting and waiting. this is Xaden's promise to you.

ιηѕρσ ѕσηgѕ:

Don't Give Up - Ursine Vulpine, Annaca

The One I Love - Bolshiee

Down - Simon, Trella

Without You - Ursine Vulpine, Annaca

^^ HIGHLY RECOMMEND LISTENING TO THESE SONGS FIRST

[NAME] 

Once the flames from the letter extinguished, you watched the ashes fly away in the evening breeze. Whisking away the threatening words of Varrish and his plans to capture and question you. You won’t become like your sisters, you won’t be chained up for years to give your enemies protection and power. 

“You know my answer, Xaden,” You wiped the ash on the tips of your fingers on your leathers. Smearing the inked letters on the dark black of your clothes reminded you that you might just fight alone if no one chooses to save the people running away right now. “I’m not running away from this fight. They expect us to die, but I won’t let it happen. As long as we have our air superiority, I can cloak us.” 

You all won’t have air superiority for long. The horde of wyvern chasing Lenin down in your vision prepares you for Violet’s fabled words. There is more than one and they are violent. 

“How many at a time without burning out?” Xaden looks at you, drinking you in because he knows this is the last of you. Probably the last conversation between the both of you and he wants to still save you. He wants more time with you and damn it all if you want the same. 

Does he always have to ask those important questions when you’re trying to convince your family to fight? You draw your eyes over to Lenin waiting to hit the skies and cloak him. It comes easily to you, cloaking your dragon. You move your eyes over to Glane right next to him and she dips her head in acknowledgement. You cloak her and she’s hidden completely in the camouflage. 

But something burns under your skin. An itch you can’t erase and you release the two dragons from the cloak. You didn't think Lenin’s size would impact your ability to cloak others. Usually you could cloak three dragons at a time. Now you can barely cloak two. 

“I can cloak two including my dragon,” You admitted with a defeated shake of your head and explained to them why you suddenly can’t cloak three at a time. “Lenin’s size takes up a lot, but I can cloak the rest of you by switching the focus.”

“And me?” Violet takes a step forward announcing her presence to everyone and questioning your ability to protect someone who is tied to Xaden. “Can you cloak Tairn while cloaking Lenin?” 

“You can barely cloak my mate and I at the same time, Dagger.” Lenin said and you can tell he is worried for you. If you tell Violet that there is no chance in hell you could do that, it would make you seem like a bad person. Especially with the Flier incident, it wouldn’t be hard to make yourself look like a bitch. 

“Tell them the truth, you cannot do it. My father is more than capable of fighting without your protection.” Lenin tells you, but you go the opposite direction. Tonight is the night your bond will break, this choice is yours to make. As will all the other choices you make in the future be for your benefit. 

Your family is going to live on. 

“Yes, I will do that if your life is in immediate danger.” The moment everyone heard your words loud and clear was the moment their thoughts rushed at you. Their waves crashed into you like a relentless tide. 

All of us were going to be in immediate danger once we take flight. 

Violet is so screwed. 

[Name] should just tell her the truth and say, no. 

She will cloak who she wants to save the most. 

Their doubtful voices echoed all around you and in turn you scoffed, standing against their tidal waves, “Wow, you guys are still doubting me.” If anything you need Violet Sorrengail to live until the end because she’s going to be your executioner. You’re going to protect her and Tairn with all you can. But no one needs to know that, just her dragon and yourself. So you point in the direction of the battle, “do you see the civilians running down there? Fathers carrying their daughters, sons leading their mothers?” 

Families that need your help. 

“They have nothing but gryphons and our dragons to evacuate them. Their life is in immediate danger. Don’t make me choose you over them, unprotected civilians over dragon riders. Now let’s move.” 

You turn your back on them and make eye contact with Lenin. He is the reason why you’re fighting. Liam is the reason why you’re fighting. You hesitate to look over your shoulder and look into Xaden’s eyes. The man you fell so hard in love with. You can feel him watching your every move, questioning you silently. 

Is this the moment she leaves me behind? 

Your shoulders tense up and you force your legs to move. He doesn’t know you can read him like he can read others. But you hope that he can feel your intention. Pray that he hears your silent answer. 

I am leaving, but I will come back. So just wait for me. 

You jog over to Lenin and mount up then without a word shared between the both of you he shoots up into the sky. His wings beat in a slow rhythm of two. Your hands brushed against his patchy scales and his warmth envelopes you the moment your cloak washes over you two. It’s not enough to keep you heated, but you’re used to the cold and he grew used to it as well. 

“The Fliers need your help securing the slowed ones.” Lenin relays and you nod your head. 

“First we need to find a high position where we are stable. There’s a cliff over there to the left. We rest there and I’ll move the cloak around. You let me know when anyone needs me.” 

“Of course,” Lenin flaps his wings and lands on the cliff. His talons dig into the ground and he straightens out his neck, keeping an eye out for his riot and your family. Quickly, you climb up his neck and settle down at the crown of his head. He is a great use for a vantage point. You can see everything, the fire dragons spew out, the venin, the citizens and the Drift. 

You cross your legs and close your eyes listening to everything around you. While Lenin listens to the Riot and the words his father relay, you hear Xaden’s voice loud and clear. He tells Sgaeyl that his shadows will work along with your cloak to protect the evacuating citizens. It’s a perfect plan. Then when you were going to dip out of his mind, you heard him talking about you. 

“Can you find them?” He asks Sgaeyl. 

She hums in response, “No. Dagger is hiding them very well. Not even his mate can find him. She’ll be fine, more than fine.” 

“Believe me, I want to trust in that as much as you trust that she’ll protect your son. But that's what scares me.” 

“You, scared?” Sgaeyl tries to make Xaden feel better. 

He doesn’t cave in to her sarcasm. Doesn’t even offer a witty comeback. Instead he remains regretful. “I’m going to lose her tonight. I can see it in her eyes. She doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. The only person she looked at was Violet.” 

“That girl questioned Dagger’s strength in front of her whole family. I would glare at her too if someone questioned me.” Sgaeyl growls and the next words that come out of her mouth only cements your resolution to save her son. 

“I have approved of Dagger ever since my Leninach chose her in Threshing. She has proven herself in challenges, on the Gauntlet, moved on to second year, got her team through RSC, continues to grow stronger and I still cannot fathom her ability to prove herself to my son. Leninach is enamoured with her and despite his change, I trust her with him more than I trust that girl with my mate. Because Dagger loves fiercely. She has a fire in her that will not burn out. She’ll do anything to save her loved ones. That includes you, Shadow.” 

That includes you, Shadow. Her last words made you question Xaden. Sure, you two had a very rough year, but does he think you don’t love him to include him in your list of people to save? You love Xaden, more than he knows and it pains you that he questions it. 

Were your heartbroken tears not enough to show him your love? 

“Dagger! Glane and her rider are in trouble!” Lenin’s shout breaks you from the conversation between Xaden and Sgaeyl. And you opened up your eyes, quickly looking for an orange dragon. You spotted her moving out of the way of a broken clock tower, her wings carrying her high into the sky. 

“Warn her!” You moved your hands over Glane, picturing a blanket covering her. Again, the itching under your skin came back and it irritated you. Instantly, the orange dragon disappeared in the background and the wyvern aiming for Imogen screeched out in annoyance. It missed its target and you called out to your friend down the new bond, “Imogen, are you alright!” 

Imogen’s fear greeted you like a smack to the face and she shouted back, “What the fuck! Did it try to grab me?” Hearing her brings relief into your system and you can feel Lenin humming in response to his conversation with Glane. 

“It did, but Glane reacted just in time. Please, pay attention to your surroundings. I have to help the rest evacuate the civilians in the mine.” You didn’t give her enough time to respond, but once Glane was in a good position you removed the cloak off of her scales and back on the civilians you were guarding. But in your moment of protecting Glane and Imogen, it allowed the venin on the floor to drain Soleil and her dragon. You blinked away your tears and closed your eyes again allowing Lenin to be the eyes you needed while you were the ears. 

After a few minutes pass, you successfully protected a lot of families and some of the Fliers in the Drift. So far no one in your group needed to be cloaked yet fate made you regret thinking like that. Because you hear Violet telling Tairn that Xaden was in trouble. But you knew he could hold his own as well as Sgaeyl. He has the power to wield shadows and- 

Lenin growled out in utter rage, his anger hitting you like a heat wave, “PUNY GIRL!” He held you down with lesser magic making you glued to the crown of his head as he shot up into the sky with no warning. 

“Violet, below you!” 

“She’s going to get him killed!” 

Xaden’s and Sgaeyl’s shout penetrate your mind making you open up your eyes to see in front of you. Blue fire from a wyvern is directed at Tairn and you watch Lenin move fast in the sky. The speed he accumulates shouldn’t be possible for a dragon his size, his father moves slower than him. Yet Lenin moves like a river down a mountain; fast as fuck. 

His moonshaped tail swings towards the wyvern who hunts down his father. The tip of it digs into the wyvern’s head with a squelch. Blood rains down to the earth and Lenin ensures the kill with a big chomp. Blood splatters onto you and Lenin, it eerily reminds you how he found you in Threshing. Bloodied and determined to live. 

“Stupid girls shouldn’t be on the battlefield.” Lenin roars out and you couldn’t help the glare you send at Violet. If she keeps putting Tairn in danger like this, you won’t know if she’ll be able to kill you. Her lightning strikes are out of control very much like her scattered mind. Then you cloak again when Lenin moves away back to the cliff. 

You help Xaden with as much as you can and suddenly you feel something creep up your fingers. You move your eyes away from him and spot a shadowy tendril as it loops around your ring finger. 

Stay.

You hear Xaden’s voice so easily tell you. You’re surprised he found you and Lenin while being cloaked. Was he searching for you this entire time? Why is he telling you to stay now? You move your eyes over to him, but Lenin’s voice eases into your head. 

“Dagger, it’s your brother!” Lenin jumps off the cliff and with two mighty beats of his wings, he’s off into the skies. “He fell off of Deigh!”

It’s starting. This can go one of ten ways and you want it to be the one where Liam and Lenin live. You steady yourself on the top of his head and your sister daggers come into play. Alani’s floats over your left and Sera’s over your right while the one you earned from Garrick rests heavily in your [dominant] hand. 

“Our priority is Deigh! Get me on his back!” You shout and Lenin roars out in agreement knowing full well that if Diegh dies, so will your brother. He passes by his father who guides his rider and Liam away from the death dance Deigh is entangled with the wyvern. 

The wyvern takes a bite at Deigh’s side, but Lenin’s roar catches its whole attention and it turns to spew blue fire at the both of you. Quickly, Lenin nods his head up and you jump with the momentum. You dive away from the stream of fire and cling onto Deigh who cries into the night with a strangle roar. 

“Go, Dagger! Do what you must! I will distract this one!” Lenin tells you and he banks right with the wyvern chasing after him. Meanwhile you pressed your hands onto Deigh’s red scales and looked at the bite marks on his side. The bleeding, you need to stop it. 

You closed your eyes and found the thread connecting Liam and Deigh. It’s beautiful, what the bond between them is like. You touch it and reach out to Deigh, cloaking yourself from Liam’s mind. 

“I’m going to stop your bleeding.” 

You opened your eyes and a trail of flames went from your hands to the wounds on Deigh’s side. Then your head felt like it was spinning out of control. Your skin started to itch. Your eyes unfocused and focused on your fiery hands. 

“Stop! You’re going to burn out!” Deigh shouts at you, but you don’t pay attention to his warning. No, you only press further and the fire burns Deigh, stopping his bleeding. You hear your brother shout at you, yet the blood rushing to your head drowns him out. 

“Fly now!” The command leaves your lips and Deigh senses the wyvern much like you did. They were coming after you and one with a staff has a cruel smirk on his face, standing on top of his wyvern. An abomination, Deigh growls and takes cover into the clouds. 

His wings carry him higher and higher into the moonlit sky. You can hear the sound of the flapping over the pounding in your head which makes you think it's a good sign. Then when you catch your breath you tell Deigh, “Liam has to jump. When he takes control, I need you to keep him seated. No matter what I say or do.” 

“What about you? You think I will be okay with-”

“You were supposed to die right there,” You stand on his back, balancing yourself with expertise. “That wyvern was supposed to take a chunk out of you, but since Lenin grabbed its attention, it didn’t bite hard enough to kill you. No, now it’s focused on my dragon, on the bond I worked hard on to keep with a loyal friend. My Cloak is fighting for his life and I plan on saving him as his Dagger. Your job is to protect my brother, Deigh. That’s all I want.” 

Deigh’s chest rumbles with resignation. He banks right then dives at a slight angle and you look up to see Tairn flying over. Your heart pounds and Liam jumps off the side of Tairn and your hands immediately find his warm ones. 

Warm. He’s warm and alive. 

“Don’t ever jump like that again!” Of course the first thing you do to tell him you love him is shout at your poor sibling. Your arms wrap around him and you can feel his heart beating through his flesh. It can bring tears to your eyes knowing you completed one of your goals tonight. 

You move away from the seat of Deigh and let Liam take the reins of his dragon. Liam shakes his head and shouts back at you, “Me? You jumped too and might I add over fire!” You want to laugh. Laugh because you did it. You saved Liam. He’s speaking to you, yelling at you. He’s on the back of his dragon. 

“I know what I’m doing, Liam!” You crouch behind him and place your hands on his shoulders. “Tell Deigh to climb a bit higher! I need all the air I can get!” 

Reach the moon, you want the sad gaze to lull you to sleep when you fall into the abyss. 

“Are you crazy? It’s hard enough to breathe already!” Liam shouts, but you sense the wyvern behind you. There’s a trio and the main one is being led by a smirking venin, power hungry and wanting to drain you. Then Deigh does as you tell because he won’t throw away the second chance you gave him and his rider. It’s not right. 

Fuck, this is the moment and you are so damned afraid. You’re leaving your family behind with nothing, but this memory of you. All they’re going to remember is how you left them. How you fought alone to save them. 

“Liam,” You began and swallowed the rock in your throat. You won’t show fear to your younger brother. He needs to see your strength. Your love for him. Liam needs to tell Sloane that you fought bravely for them. You grasped the floating dagger over your shoulder and stared at the green tint of the blade. “Give this to Sloane when she learns how to kick ass.” 

When you turned and made eye contact with Liam, he gave you wide eyes which made him look goofier with the goggles on. You couldn’t help, but laugh at his expression. It reminds you of how all of you made fun of each other when you tried on goggles for the first time. 

…

“Bodhi, just put them on!” Imogen shouted. 

He hasn’t stopped laughing at you or Imogen. 

“Hell no, you two look like mad fucking healers!” 

…

“Why the fuck are you laughing?” Liam’s irritated tone reached your ears and you rolled your eyes at how dramatic he is. You grabbed his hand and shoved the dagger into his grip, “Because you look fucking stupid.” You weren’t wrong, he did look ridiculous. 

But this is your last moment with him. You don’t want to spend it on sibling squabble. 

“They’re not after you now. They want me and if that’s what they really want, I’m taking them down with me.” 

“Down with you?” Liam asks and you can see the answer flash across his mind. In denial, he shoves the dagger into your chest. “No way. We can work together!” Not happening, you saved his dragon while putting yours in danger. There is no world where you work together with anybody right now. You will not stray from the path that will save Lenin. 

“So you can give this to Sloane yourself.”

Sloane. Thinking about her brings a smile to your face. Your little sister will understand when she reads the letters. She’ll know more about you than anybody else. It’s going to be her understanding of you that will create a connection. 

You stand up and rain begins to pour. You take one step back then another. Memorizing his features. The way his eyes crinkle in sadness, the frown that forms when he calls out your name. He moves to stand, but Deigh does as you asked him to earlier. 

Liam’s begs make your heart ache. “Don’t do this! I can’t watch my sister do this! Sloane would never forgive me! Let me fight with you.” Sloane will forgive him and maybe you’re being a little selfish, but you think this is the right choice. For him to live and to tell her the hard truth of how you went out. Better him to tell her than the other way. 

Liam is stronger than you and more empathetic. He will tell her what she wants to know. You wouldn’t be able to do it. 

You glare at the venin, his attention glued onto you entirely. You tear the goggles off your eyes and toss them off to the side. You want to at least look good when you fight this bastard. 

“[Name]! There has to be another way!” 

You sighed and fist the karambit in your hand, “This is the only way.” Taking off into a sprint, you make your way down Lenin’s back- No, Deigh’s. You abandoned Lenin a long time ago it seemed. “Don’t do this!” Liam shouts and you start to miss his kind voice. You start to miss his smiles. 

When Deigh flicks his tail upward and you jump with it, you cloak yourself into the night. The venin searches for you, but it has no luck. You landed right behind him and carefully watched him look for you. It twists and it turns, then he cackles. 

“Hide all you want, little witch!” It raises its staff and aims it at Deigh, “Let’s see if this will catch your attention.” 

Reacting quickly you knock the venin down on his ass with a swing of your leg. But the rain and the wriggling of the wyvern makes you slip yourself. Yet you focus on Deigh and cloak your brother and his dragon. Then you stab your dagger into the wyvern’s back making it screech in pain. 

The venin looks in your general direction and lunges at you. His arms wrap around your neck and he pulls back making you let out a choked sound. You struggle to hold onto your spot, your dagger digging downward into the wyvern’s flesh as the venin pulls onto you. 

“Fall with me! Let’s have our dance in the sky!” The venin yells and digs a sharp blade into your side. You cry out in pain and your eyes close in uncomfort when he twists it inside you. 

When he locks one arm around your neck holding you into a tight headlock, the rain pelts your face like soft kisses and you are suddenly reminded that you should not be struggling to live. You’re going to die. The point you wanted to make was dying for the ones you love. 

Showing them that even though they forgot about you, you never forgot about them. 

You raise your [dominant] hand up, taking the dagger out of the wyvern’s flesh. At once, you and the venin holding onto you slide down the wyvern’s body easily with the rain. Your breath gets knocked out of your lungs when you officially plummet. 

Yet the Venin holds onto you tightly and the both of you spin out of your control. He cackles and takes the knife out of your side. The blood that leaves your body paints the sky with a long trail quickly being washed away by the rain that falls. 

Lightning strikes in the dark sky light up the darkness and suddenly the venin flips you so you’re looking at the earth. You can see your friends still fighting against the wyvern this one venin controls. 

“To think you have this much power and you haven’t awakened yet. Such a shame, I really looked forward to draining you. But I guess I’ll deal with what I got right now and don’t rely too heavily on your beast to save you. He has his own problems to worry about.” 

Your eyes move over to Lenin as he takes on two, three wyvern on his tail. 

Tairn! The time is now! 

You shout in the connection the Riot shares together by accident only wanting to reach the black dragon. Multiple voices come back from Sgaeyl, Deigh, Glane, Cuir, and Chradh. They question what you mean, but Tairn silences them with a growl. 

She’s not ready. 

He replies to you and only you, making the connection between you and him a bit brighter than the Riot’s. You close your eyes and find it blinking in the darkness. Grabbing onto it, you open your eyes and tell him, “Tairn, you have to get as many dragons to fight the wyvern off for him. Show Violet how badly Lenin is fighting to get to me and that only she can save him by killing this venin. Everyone knows at this point the only way to kill them is to kill their riders.” 

Tairn’s only response to you is to end the connection. The light turns off and you clench your teeth in bitter anger. Then you focus on the venin who is still monologuing. Like he knows he has the upper hand while the both of you free fall. 

“I’m tired of listening to your stupid fucking voice,” You growl out and knock your head back. You hear the impact of its nose crunching and the venin curses at you. His arm around your neck weakens and you take this opportunity to get out of the headlock. Making quick work, you push his arm away from you and before his body can drift from yours, you grab onto his robe and tug him towards your chest. 

“I will kill you!” He shouts. 

You swing your head forward, headbutting into his already broken nose and he cries out in pain again. The poison from his dagger is working into your system. It burns into your skin and your fingers tingle with numbness. The lightning behind him, high in the sky, crackles with a silent announcement. 

An insane grin finds its way on your face and the pride you felt for Violet when she learned your technique kicks in. Because now she’s aiming at the venin. She has the shot. You hold onto the struggling venin tightly. “No, you won’t. But she will.” He looks up and struggles in your weakening grip. Not wanting to lose your hold on him, you wrap your legs around the venin and make him watch the lightning gather above the two of you. You hold him in a headlock and he shouts at you, “Stupid witch! You’re going to kill the both of us!” 

You laugh despite the poison in your body burning your insides, “That’s the fucking plan!” 

“I’ll kill you before anything strikes me!” He shouts and raises his arm with the dagger high into the sky. 

“Fuck you!” You grunted when he jabs the knife into your right thigh. He twists it so you could let go of him, but you’re not weak. You’re strong-willed, courageous, hopeful and your life is worth saving three others. You will not yield in the face of death. No, you welcome Malek with determination demanding that he take you along with the venin in your hold. Take you instead of Lenin, Liam and Deigh. 

The lightning came fast. Too fast for you to understand that it already hit you and killed the venin. Your karambit spun in slow motion above you, washed clean of any blood. You wanted to grab it, you had to grab it. 

“[Name]!” 

You barely heard Xaden yell your name in the storm. But you could feel the sadness all around you. Then you heard Lenin’s whine reverberate in the valley, it broke your heart and you coughed out a strangled sob. This is for the ones you love and the ones you left behind. The moon held you in his sad gaze and his song lulled you to sleep. 

“[Name]!” You opened your eyes and saw Imogen crying over you, “Stay awake! We’ll take you to Brennan, okay? Just stay with us!” 

When did she catch you? 

“You’re going to be fine, don’t talk like that!” She shouted at you. But you don’t recall telling her anything. You can’t even feel your lips moving, let alone form any thoughts to tell her anything. Although there is a lot you want to tell her. 

Yet your eyes felt heavy and any words that formed on your tongue were left unsaid as you took your last breath. 

……

XADEN 

“She’s still breathing! But the venin stabbed her and the poison is spreading fast!”

Imogen’s words, they gave me hope that [Name]’s vision was false. That her sacrifice didn’t need to come true in order to save her dragon or her brother’s life. She’s still breathing in Imogen’s arms and I have never dismounted Sgaeyl in such a desperate fashion. 

Shadows follow me wherever I go, very much like death and he stands next to me as Sgaeyl’s voice carries through the bond. Her sadness for the loss hits me enough to stop me in my tracks. 

“She’s gone, Shadow. Leninach confirmed it with Glane. Dagger is gone.”

Gone. 

[Name] left me behind. No matter what I tried to do, lessen the work to save the civilians, find her while she’s cloaked or even diving in to save Lenin. She left me behind to confront our enemy. She went by herself to save Liam, leaving me with the shit choice of either protecting the civilians or her. 

“Xaden, please!” Imogen begs. Her yearning voice for my help brings me back to the rain. The pitter patter sound against our surroundings grounds me now. 

“Imogen, she’s gone.”

These words that left my mouth, I never thought I would say them. Especially for the woman I fell so hard in love with. What am I supposed to do without her? How can I carry on knowing that she died because a Sorrengail ended her life with one strike. Am I supposed to be grateful that when I go back to Basgaith that I’ll be graduating so I don’t have to see her in Liam or Sloane? Or see her standing proud next to Lenin? 

Imogen’s denial only makes her spiral and the earth beneath us rumbles when Lenin makes himself known. He approaches Imogen with a sad look in his mismatched eyes. The shadow he cast over me lets me think as he has a conversation with Imogen through the mated bond connection. 

Something I share with Violet. 

“What’s the reason for killing her?” 

I can feel Violet reaching back to me, her voice regretful and soft, “Xaden, I didn’t-” 

“I wasn’t speaking to you.” I snap and Tairn lowly growls inside my head, his annoyance reaching to me like a coiled snake. “I don’t need to explain the reason.” His ignorance to my loss makes the shadows move frantically under Lenin’s protection. I want to challenge Tairn, to make him answer me, yet his voice comes back with an answer I was afraid to hear. 

“She asked me to do this before we took flight at the college. Dagger planned this all along to save my son’s life. She did this to save Lenin and The Silver One was the only way of doing this. Her sacrifice saved three lives, she did what she wanted to.” 

“Xaden.” 

I look up from [Name]’s back to meet with green eyes. 

“Lenin wants you to take [Name] to her resting place. He will light her fire.” 

Resting place. 

Imogen telling me this makes [Name]’s drawing flash in my memory. The pretty flowers and the trees surrounding the meadow of peace. Tairn is right. [Name] planned for this, all of it. I can’t just wrap my head around it and accept it so easily like the dragons do. They wouldn’t do the same if Lenin was lost to this battle. Sgaeyl would be hell bent on avenging her son. Like I want to be right now. I want to rewind time, kill the venin that threatened [Name]’s beautiful life. 

She’s my cloak of shadows and I let her slip through my hands. 

My love. I told you that I would come back. And when I do, you can bet that I will stay.

[Name] said it with so much passion. Hearing her voice echo in my head gives me some kind of hope that she would come back to me. That something in her witchly power will bring her back to me. But for now, I will do what Lenin wants and what she wants. To bring her to her resting place and have him light her fire. 

“We’re going home.” 

Everyone looks at me and I nod my head to their suspicions of what home I was talking about. Violet looks up at Tairn and her eyes widened in surprise when he tells her what I mean by it. When I walk back to Sgaeyl, I stop by Liam who stands up, wiping his tears from his blue eyes. 

“Your sister plans to rest in the meadow. I know this is the last thing you want to talk about when your sister is gone, but I need you to keep Violet away from him for as long as you can while I prepare for [Name]’s passing. Can you-” 

No. I’m done ordering Liam around. 

“Do you want to do it? If not, I can ask Bodhi to watch over her while he gets his arm mended by him.” 

Liam takes a deep breath and nods his head, “I want to do it. Just tell me one thing, and I need to know the truth.” He looks over at Violet then to Garrick who lifts [Name]’s body from the ground. Imogen cries some more watching her best friend stay limp. It tears another thread in my heart. Drops to my stomach and burns in the acid. 

Lenin is allowing you to climb him. He wants to have one more flight with her. 

I barely catch what Imogen tells Garrick and it hurts me to hear it. Lenin’s last flight with [Name]. 

“What is it?” I ask Liam, bringing his eyes back onto me. 

“It’s stupid to ask this, but do you think you can still love her after she’s dead?” Liam runs his hand through his wet hair and frustratedly speaks to me, “I mean she loved you so much that she fought alone to keep you alive. To keep me alive. To keep her dragon alive. All of it seemed like she planned this for months and she still did it despite knowing the outcome. She loved us enough to die for us. So I’m asking as her brother, will you continue to love her?”

He’s asking if I will love his dead sister or love Violet when time passes and I get over [Name]’s death. But this is something he will not understand. [Name] will come back. She made a promise to me in my room. I loved her when she was alive and I will love her in death. 

“She’s all I want, Liam. I don’t see myself with the Sorrengail that killed my girlfriend. I see myself marrying [Name], having the strongest dragons at our sides, winning this war and having a family. No one else can take that from us. Not even death.” 

[Name] will conquer death and while she does, I will wait for her return. No matter how long it takes for her to come back. 

I’ll wait. 

Wait. And wait. Days. Months. Or years. I will keep waiting for her to return to me with open arms.

..............

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬: @luvly-writer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @honethatty12 @poeticbookwormcat @cheappremingerfromdelululand @eep500 @littlepippilongstocking @86laura11 @lxnvmvrzx @what-will-be-your-verse @sheblogs @fangirling-galore @callsigns-haze @side-angel @faeofthemoonandstars @jesschalamet @abysshaven @bisexualbitchsgotass @books-hlmc @r0sluvs @galaxystern08 @bwormie @littleemissperfecttt @lagrandeourse @steph-fowlie @casiiopea2 @nisarelle @matrixmoxi @eepyfaerie @thegirlwiththepurpleshelves @smileysunshinesworld @brieflyclassymortal @noonenuts @nikfigueiredo

[akeaaan]

A Voice Across Times

Jinu X Fem.Reader

Synopsis:

╰┈➤ In a world where demons hide behind charm and shadow, and hunters cloak their pain in rhythm and steel, a voice—forgotten by history—rises once more. You're a fresh graduate trying to survive Seoul's chaos, drawn to music for reasons you can't explain. When you're unexpectedly chosen as the fourth member of an elite demon-hunting team, your quiet life unravels into one laced with monsters, secrets, and echoes of a past that doesn't seem to belong to you. And then there's him. Jinu—mysterious, distant, and impossibly familiar—stares at you like he's seen a ghost. But ghosts don’t bleed. Ghosts don’t weep. And ghosts don’t remember love. Some voices don’t fade with time. Some betrayals don’t stay buried. And some souls are meant to meet again… even if it means breaking the world to do so.

PROLOGUE

Four Hundred Years Ago Joseon Dynasty

The earth groaned before it split.

Cracks—veins of glowing pink light—ran like lightning bolts across the ground, fracturing the land as if the very bones of the world were snapping under pressure. From these wounds in the earth, they came.

Demons.

They spilled out like a nightmare set free—some as small as stray dogs, others towering like twisted trees, their limbs jagged, eyes glowing with hunger. No two were alike, but all shared one thing in common: they reeked of death and fed on fear.

Panic erupted.

Men sprinted through the dirt roads of the village, their feet pounding against the cracking earth. One of them stumbled—just a pebble, no larger than a coin, but enough to send him sprawling. He screamed, arms thrown over his head in a desperate, useless shield.

The demon hovered over him, its grin stretching impossibly wide. A sickening slurp echoed as a ghostly blue mist—the man's soul—was sucked from his body. He jerked once, then stilled.

Eyes open. Mouth agape. Dead.

For centuries, demons have stalked the shadows of our world—stealing souls to strengthen the one who rules them all.

Gwi Ma. The Demon King.

Back then, humanity stood no chance. The strongest warriors had no weapon that could pierce demon hide. Villagers locked their doors, huddled in corners, whispering desperate prayers to their forgotten gods, hoping the darkness would pass over their homes.

On the outskirts of one such village, a woman—weathered with age but not broken—stood trembling before a beast. She clutched a crude rake, hands shaking, shielding the small child behind her. Her daughter's tiny fingers clung to her skirt, tears silently trailing down her cheeks.

The demon snarled, crouching low, ready to pounce.

But before it could strike—

Swish.

A blur of light sliced through the air, followed by the demon's shriek. Its body split in two before dissolving into ash, carried away by the wind.

Where it once stood, a woman appeared.

Silks of pale blue and soft pink flowed around her like smoke. Her armor shimmered in the moonlight, and a sword—still humming with power—was clenched tightly in her hand. She was not just a warrior.

She was a protector.

The child's eyes widened. A gasp escaped her lips, then bloomed into a smile.

"Unnie..."

The warrior knelt beside her, placing a warm, gloved hand atop the child's head before turning to the mother.

"It's not safe here, eomeonim," she said gently, but firmly.

Then she turned back to the child, brushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes, sharp yet soft, searched the girl's face before she cupped her cheek.

"I'll protect you. No matter what," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "That is my promise... to your brother."

A tender kiss to the child's forehead sealed the vow. She rose, her silhouette framed by smoke and ash.

"Get inside. Lock your doors. Do not open them until the village is safe."

The mother nodded, holding back tears, and hurried her daughter into the small home. The door closed with a soft thud behind them.

Alone once more, the warrior turned. Her gaze swept across the burning village, locking onto the wave of demons descending from the hills.

She gripped her sword tighter. Her eyes narrowed.

And then, without hesitation— She ran toward the chaos.

a/n: HELLO I am happy to announce that I was blessed by a magnificent idea when I was listening to Dimple by BTS AND honestly we need MORE jinu fanfics yall so I'm giving you a full course meal with this one. Buckle up buttercup this one will be a SERIES. I'm not exactly sure how many chapters this will take BUT I'll really try to make the chapters longer. Actually, this is a pretty nice prologue a little short, but ill try to make the first chapter longer, but also not adding too much information. Do drop theories and notes, I love reading them. <3

AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD

[hyukascampfire]

(🍸) SOMETHING BORROWED .. い葉 hard thoughts

𝓘N WHICH 𝗒𝗎𝗇𝗁𝗈'𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝖽𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗺𝘀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍

engaged윤호 ‧ f rea 17OO . . . smut non idol ˃ ᵕ ˂ infidelity/hardcore cheating angst crying during sex

ɑ︭ : literally my first atz fic but this vision came to me and i knew it had to be yunho

You were doing so good at pretending his engagement brought you to happy tears, or that the thought of him waiting at the end of the aisle for anybody but yourself was anything but gutwrenching. And then Yunho went and told you that they were getting married, and your carefully constructed lie that even you began to believe went crumbling down all over again. Tenfold. 

“Oh… my god,” you said, smiling so tight it’s a wonder he didn’t know right away. “Yunho. That’s crazy. Congratulations!” It was a good effort, but it wasn’t even convincing to your own ears.

“I know.” Yunho’s smile was broad, so truly filled to the brim with excitement. Afterall, he was hitting a major life milestone, even this time he’d be doing without you. “It’s like we graduated high school yesterday. Now we’re getting married and starting families...”

The rueful smile you mustered had ached so terribly. Sure, he was doing that. You certainly weren’t. He was leaving you alone, just when your brain had finally matured enough to name those dazzling emotions in your chest whenever you looked at him. But you weren’t about to go and steal such a big moment for your long-time best friend by saying something sappy and drawing all the attention to yourself, so you gave him false smiles and sugary congratulations until the moment faded and you were left with the emptiness of one, stone-cold fact.

Jeong Yunho, your best friend and long-time love of your life, will be getting married. And it will not be to you.

It’s not even like you hate the girl. She’s sweet. You would rather no other woman be Yunho’s partner in life, if only it weren’t draining the life force out of you to watch them love each other. Exchange kisses that you never got to feel and only existed in your shameful fantasies, become each other’s in every way that you imagine being Yunho’s and him being yours.

And, if you weren’t currently sprawled out in the same bed he no doubt makes love to her in. Yunho was always bad at boundaries with you. Not only would you cuddle, but his fingers would find the plush of your hips in ways that felt beyond the denomination of best friends. He spread kisses with so much ease. Some pressed to the top of your head, always since he hit that growth spurt in middle school and was ecstatic to finally be taller than you, some chaste and against your shoulders when he’d hug you from behind.

Even moreso now, when his wedding is an excruciating three weeks away. Three. And you’re alone here with him, laying in his bed, still loving him. It’s wrong, and even your bruised heart knows it. Not enough for you to stop yourself though, clearly.

“Where are you guys going for the honeymoon?” you ask, eyes getting droopy. You know better than to fall asleep in this bed though. Who knows what would happen, should his fiancé come home to find the two of you dozed off together. Perhaps that’s a glaring sign that you shouldn’t be doing it, to both protect his relationship and your own hopeless heart, but you’re as bad at boundaries as he is. Especially knowing that soon he’ll be promised to another woman, and that’ll be the effective end of times like these. No more nights curled up on the couch, binging your shows together, no more any of it.

“Not sure,” he hums. There’s a strange look in his eyes, one that has butterflies erupting violently in your belly. The button-down he had been trying on for you, the one he’ll wear on that awful day, is rumpled and pushed up to his elbows. He looks down at you, beautiful fingers trying and failing at a tie.

“You don’t know where you’re going?” you ask, climbing out of bed to help him. That’s weird. Yunho has seemed excited about all fronts of this wedding. Actively a part of planning the decor, the venue—any girl’s dream. The love of their life being just as involved and in love with such a beautiful day as you are. “It’s less than a month away, Yunho…” Your fingers loop the sleek tie, painfully reminiscent of the way you had done just the same for him on your prom night. That had been the best night of your life: pretending to be his, wrapped in glittering fabric and his arms. Now you will wrap yourself in something grown and silky, but you’ll go it alone and you’ll be sat in the pews instead. Tutting, you add, “It’s hard to book places the closer you get. It should’ve been booked months ago.”

His mouth twitches like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. You freeze at the look on his face, the way his eyes soften and dart between yours, the way tension simmers in just the way you work the tie at his neck.

“Hey?” you say, voice thin and unsure. Like sending feelers out more than anything. The air becomes suffocating like the weight of the plethora of things that you absolutely should not do right now, but the fragile boundaries have never felt closer to snapping than this very moment. “Are you seriously getting second thoughts?”

Silence rings out in the bedroom for the longest moment. Snapping all the tension, he finally says, “I’m sorry.”

Sorry? Sorry for what? Why would he be sorry to you for questioning his marriage? Your mind fractures into fifteen different, convoluted directions. And then he just kisses you. The first time you feel those lips of his outside of fever dreams, they’re hot on your mouth and moving with crumbling fervor. The clashing of your teeth ring like warning bells that the both of you make the conscious decision not to hear or heed. You whimper confused sounds into his mouth and he consumes them each. His fingers curl into the back of your hair to drag you into him closer as if that might erase all the time you’ve spent dancing around this, or as if it might leave no room for you to think about the wrongness of it. 

You’re barely able to pull yourself away. “Mfffh—Yunho,” you say, breathless and dazed.

The back of your knees hit the bed and then so does your back. And just like that, you’ve slipped right back in that damn bed of theirs. “Fuck,” he chokes into your mouth. “Don’t even say it. I don’t know.”

Inhibitions are smashed to bits somewhere on the floor. You tug that tie loose around his neck and instead of doing what’s right, you do exactly what’s wrong. “Don’t marry her, Yu,” you say, chest welling up like drowning. “Please.” The words spill out quicker than you can rationalize.

He doesn’t answer you. You know that it’s because he can’t make any promises. That should be enough for you to pull back. And sure, it stings. But as self-destructive as it is, you’ll accept crumbs. You’ll accept the ‘mistake’ sex and the regret just to have him once. Disgusting.

Your tongues dance as you fumble with your clothes like you’re running out of borrowed time. You certainly are, aren’t you? The clinking of his belt turns your insides over and sends your hands shaky as you drag both your pajama shorts and panties down in one fell swoop. Faster. Needier. More, unattainably more. Your blood sings the word until he’s inside you, and suddenly you know the shape of your best friend and how snugly he fits inside you. There is no way you’ll ever be able to forget it. That and the sight of his handsome face only a breath’s width from you, breathing each other’s air. They sear into the back of your fluttering eyelids.

Yunho’s grabbing fistfulls of your hips and losing himself. His whimpers fall into your neck and shoulders. Soon enough he’s losing rhythm and the headboard is beating the walls and you’re both so close to forgetting the betrayal of it.

So close. Tears burn trails down your temples, glistening in the soft light. The ache shocks you, but so does the strange detached, floatiness.

“Shhh.” His voice cracks as he wipes them away with a gentle, slow thumb amidst all the frenzy. “Why’re you crying, baby?” Canting his hips just right, a shudder grips the both of you. “Please don’t.”

Kissing him just to taste, you take his lip as you pull away. “I… I can’t take it. I don’t want you to just fuck me and…” Voice breaking off into a whimper, you try to gather your scrambled thoughts. “And then just… you be able to forget about it and go back to her. I love you so much, Yu. It’s not fair.” You know you sound pathetic, but you’re already here letting him fuck you in her bed. How much lower can you go?

Much, much lower, it seems. Yunho brings his left hand up, twinkling with his promise to another. Pulling the ring off his finger, he rolls it between his fingers and then cups the soft curve of your chin. “Open your mouth,” he says, soft. Dumbed down, mindless, you do without second thought. And then he lays his ring on your tongue and fucks you with it there. You roll it around, taste it like the bubbling champagne and floral arrangements that it vows. “No—” he breathes, falling out desperately. “No, let me see it. This should’ve been… yours.”

So you hold your tongue out for him, letting him see that ring in your mouth, in hopes that maybe, by some miracle, it’ll change his mind, and it will be yours. Even as your insides twist up. Even as you shake apart on his length, and he stills above you and pulls out at the very last moment to spill over your belly. The pads of his fingers taste bitter as he collapses over you and takes the metal right back off your tongue, ripping away that future you had let yourself imagine might be yours just like how the clarity post-orgasm seeps back over your thoughts. 

As he pulls away, the air stagnates with shame, and it is sharp. How are you supposed to let him go now? All the words you want to say get caught up in your throat and won’t come out. You can’t ask him if things have changed, or what you’re going to do now. So you will just go on the way he seems to be, rolling the moment off his shoulders like it wasn’t dirty and wrong. You will push it all down once again, and then some.

OO1. 【 tagging 】 . . . @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @lunesdesire , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @xylatox , @hearteyes4hobi , @hyunj00 , @taebatu , @caratcakemoa , @biteyoubiteme , @dawngyu , @hyunruhi , @heesmiles , @lunesdesire , @yystarz

rblgs & asks >ᴗ<

[aureatescars]

Sasha huffs out a laugh, emboldened in his decision to hold Leon like this when the other man holds on tightly in turn. He doesn't even flinch when this agitates his back some more, merely turns his head to be able to bury his nose in Leon's hair. A deep sense of contentment overcomes him when Leon relaxes against him and a smile pulls at his lips when he also proclaims that Sasha is not going anywhere if he can help it.Nothing would be further from what Sasha wants anyway.

"Is that a promise?" He teases through the slight strain to his own voice. Having picked up on a few innuendos since Leon and him have become better acquainted, he figures he might take a page out of Leon's book for once to disarm the situation. Usually he just rolls his eyes whenever Leon graces him with one of these, but right now he figures it will soften whatever embarrassment Leon might feel after giving in to this if Sasha catches him off guard with a innuendo of his own for once. It does startle some reaction out of Leon he can't quite quantify, but he's not withdrawing just yet, so he thinks it was well received at least.

They stay as they are for a lot longer than might be appropriate, but with no ine around to judge them for it, Sasha dares to adjust his hold to something more comfortable for both of them, breathing in the surprisingly familiar scent of Leon. It helps to get some warmth back into Leon's form, too and thus he doesn't even think about pulling away first. No matter how much his body begs him to. A hand even finds its way into Leon's hair, carefully combing his fingers through the soft strands. By the time there heartbeats have slowed to a more reasonable pace Sasha can feel fatigue pull at him once more. He fights it, though, Leon still seems alert, if more calm than before.

"Since I'm forbidden to move from this bed now..." He says, a little unsure how to proceed. "Do you... want to try lying back down?" His tone of voice low and gentle. He does pull his hand from Leon's hair, too, although he doesn't quite know where to put it instead, now that the immediate urgency for closeness has passed. "You'll catch your death if you stay like this." Leon's skin feels less cold to the touch, but with the rest of the house still chilled Sasha worries he'll get sick regardless. Besides, Sasha's back is screaming at him to lie down and rest. But he's also determined to stay awake to see to it that Leon is resting, too.

That doesn't make letting go of Leon so they can settle down any easier, there is an almost visceral need to keep touching him, that same irrational protectiveness he's felt before still there in the back of his mind. It's what has him make room for Leon as they shuffle beneath the covers, an arm outstretched beneath the pillow, the other holding up the blanket to allow Leon to scooch a little closer. It's only after he's made his sioent offer that he realizes he's doing it at all, the movements near natural, having once been so used to immediately accommodate for a partner in bed...

...which Leon is not.

Sasha's chest tightens. He should not have to remind himself of that fact, and one look at Leon's slightly befuddled expression has Sasha painfully aware that this may yet be a step too far.

He lets out a pained grunt as Leon hoists him up, his back and legs protesting against the sudden movement, strength completely drained from every part of him. Even his mind feels hazy, still racing with images he isn't entirely sure were conjured up by his own thoughts. He's fighting nausea when he is lowered to the bed, his own face just as pale as Leon's. For a moment, he even fights against Leon pulling away from him, the need to keep as much of his skin against his own outweighing any rational thought. It's fortunate that Leon keeps a hold of his hand after they manage to prop Sasha up on the bed, otherwise he isn't sure what he'd done to rectify it.

His chest heaves with a panic that feels not entirely his own, shallow bursts of air escape him as he tries to calm himself down. He clutches Leon's hand tightly as he grits his teeth through waves of self inflicted pain. It was foolish to drag himself here, he should have known better. But God, if there isn't also a small part of him that's ecstatic about having done so. If only because he proved to himself that he somehow still could. A breathless, pained exhale somewhere between a hysterical laugh and a disbelieving gasp makes it past his lips. He really did it, but shit, does it hurt now.

"I just need— a moment." Another pained rasp and then Sasha can finally feel the muscles in his back unwind, his legs tremble from exertion, but for once he can actually feel them, although he struggles to move them even so much as an inch now. The whole situation is utterly confusing, even unsettling, and it's only made worse by the fact he can't concentrate on anything other than pain for a long moment.

The only thing soothing the throbbing pain is Leon's hand in his own, his eyes finding his, gaze full of concern. Sasha's grip turns to something softer when the worst of the dull ache slowly begins to fade and he feels in control of his own body again. He realizes with mounting concern that Leon is trembling, too, worse than he is even. Sasha searches his face, then notices the goosebumps painting his skin. It is chilly in here, but the fact that Leon is also damningly pale speaks volumes about the true cause of the state he is in.

"I'm going to be fine, Leon." He whispers, addressing his friend's worry first. But he can see the furrow of disbelief between Leon's brows more clearly now, as well as the doubt in his blue eyes. Sasha gently tugs at Leon to hold their joined hands up to his chest, surprised when Leon's hand immediately turns in his grasp to lay flat against his sternum. Sasha's hand remains resting atop of it for a moment, but he can still feel the cold of Leon's fingers beneath his own, swears he can feel it bleed through the fabric covering his chest.

"How about you?" He asks then, voice still a bit strained, but oh so gentle as he props himself up a bit more to really look at Leon. The half shadows cast across his face paired with his bangs falling into it, too make it hard to gauge his expression fully.

Sasha reaches up with his free hand without thinking, brushing the soft strands of hair away to reveal more of Leon's face. "You're cold." He says, his words barely above a whisper as his fingertips brush against Leon's forehead. His hand moves along the side of his face then, cupping his cheek. Sasha's lips part to ask Leon to lay down, or to assure him again that Sasha would be fine, he doesn't need to worry. He looks up from where his eyes followed the motion of his hand, and finds Leon's gaze wavering when their eyes meet. It's then that Sasha really sees the repercussions of whatever dream had Leon in such distress, and frankly, the stunt Sasha pulled and waking him up so harshly must have only added to the shock, despite his best intentions. He hides it well, but Sasha can basically see Leon's pulse jump erratically as his body works to calm itself down, can just about feel the echo of his distress in the back of his own mind.

... However, that's an issue to be addressed when neither of them is on the brink of a panic attack.

"It's okay." He whispers when Leon's fingers curl into his shirt. Sasha feels the tremble more clearly as he holds Leon's hand in his own. He watches as Leon tips his head forward, his bangs falling back into his face and Sasha doesn't fight them back this time, no matter how much he feels he wants to. Instead, he withdraws his hand from Leon's face to shift it down to his shoulder, finding the skin there equally chilled. It's an easy decision then, to let go of Leon's hand and struggle himself back into a sitting position, pain be damned, so he can move his arms around Leon instead.

"I'm here."

[wingedhallows]

you genuinely seem so sweet !! love your writing. what about (just a little bit overly) protective nat?

𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐓

━━ ᝰ.ᐟ

──★ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 nat scatorccio x reader / 0.5k words ──★ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 angst, est.relationship ──★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓�� oh thank you so much!! i liiive for protective nat, i hope u like this!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The wind claws through the trees like it’s angry, like it knows they’re all unraveling one by one. Nat sits with her back against the wooden cabin wall, arms crossed tight over her chest, watching your chest rise and fall in shallow, uneven breaths.

Your skin is pale, lips dry and cracked, and the bitter-smelling paste Lottie smeared on your temples has long since gone sticky. The herbs are supposed to help. Nat doesn’t know if they’re doing anything.

She stays close anyway.

The others hover nearby. Shauna and Van pick quietly at a handful of frozen berries. Misty mutters to herself as she pokes at the fire. Lottie’s off somewhere praying or spacing out or both, who knows.

And Travis—Travis is watching you too, but not the same way Nat is.

His voice cuts through the silence—low, clipped, and laced with something dark and feral. Hunger, yes—but also something dangerously close to primal instinct.

“You know she’s not gonna make it.”

The others shift uncomfortably, casting quick glances between each other, but no one says a word. You lie still, dead asleep, the sickness dragging through your body like a tide, slow and relentless.

“She won’t suffer anymore,” he adds, quieter this time, almost like he’s trying to convince himself. The blade turns between his fingers, deliberate and slow—a silent threat or a promise.

Nat doesn’t flinch. Her jaw tightens, her mouth set in a firm line as she kneels beside you, brushing a hand gently over your shoulder.

“Shut up,” she snaps. “She’s not dying. She’s still here.”

The words come out sharp, barely restrained, but her eyes never leave you. They stay locked on your pale, sweat-slicked face—watching, guarding. The others keep their distance though they know exactly what Travis is suggesting.

“She’s gone, Nat. Why not end it? Spare her the pain—and save the rest of us a few more weeks.”

Nat’s head lifts slowly. Her gaze locks onto his with something dangerous burning behind it. Her fists curl, knuckles whitening.

“She’s not meat,” she growls. “I’ll kill you before you ever get the chance to touch her.”

She leans over you like a shield, her body a silent barrier between travis’ words and your limb body.

You stir, just barely—a low, broken sound slipping past your lips as you teeter on the edge of waking. Nat’s attention swings back to you instantly. Her hand finds your forehead, brushing back damp strands of hair with a gentleness that doesn’t match the fire still blazing in her chest.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay,” she whispers, voice hushed and trembling with everything she can’t say out loud.

She shifts closer, letting you curl into her side, letting your weakened body feed off her warmth. One arm wraps around you, steady and firm, and her lips press against the crown of your head.

“I’ve got you. I won’t let them touch you,” she murmurs.

And she means every word.

If it came down to it, Nat would slit every throat in this godforsaken cabin before she let a single knife get near you.

[crownmemes]

Questioning Sentences, Vol. 46

(Questioning sentences from various sources to ask all kinds of muses. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Do I look like I have company?"

"Are you sure you're not making a deal with the devil that your ass can't cash?"

"Sorry, since when did you start keeping a gun in the office?"

"Why are you still here when the both of us know that this is bad for you?"

"Can you provide any assurance that you'll follow through on this extravagant promise?"

"You just help yourself to people's ice cream, do you?"

"Can I borrow your imagination?"

"Do you ever hunt?"

"Are you just going to stare at me like I'm some kind of space alien?"

"Can you kill them all with one pistol?"

"Who is he to you that makes you want to risk everything for him?"

"You're a weird fucking guy, you know that?"

"Do you honestly think I care about you fucking someone else?"

"Are we entirely sure that this is my doing?"

"I know I was right. I'm always right. What was I right about?"

"How am I supposed to respect you if you don't respect me?"

"You've fantasised about killing me? Tell me, how would you do it?"

"Why can't you just ever be happy?"

"This doesn't seem to be bothering you. Why is that?"

"When did you get so wise?"

"What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully?"

"You made me chicken soup?"

"What are you smiling at?"

"What does all this have to do with me?"

"Did you think I was going to ask you out?"

"Is this really happening?"

"I thought you weren't going to become a man like your father?"

"I know it's not my place to ask, but what is going on?"

"You don't really believe that was a ghost, do you?"

"Who are you to tell me what to do?"

"Can you talk me through your thinking here?"

"You just can't stop trying to give me advice, can you?"

"So, your pain is greater than mine?"

"What are you doing? Who are you protecting with all these lies?"

"Did you kill him with your hands?"

"What did you think you would achieve with this?"

"If you open this door, you won't control what comes through. Are you ready for that?"

"Haven't you ever done something stupid for love?"

"You were shot! Why didn't you tell me you were shot?"

"Isn't not telling me the whole story the same damn thing as lying?"

"Do we kill our own?"

"Do you have any idea how crazy you are?"

"Do you want to know what I am?"

"Remember how we talked about picking your battles?"

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"We're all alone in the end, don't you think?"

[doodler16]

Lucifer and Adam are just like Stolas and Stella, but Hazbin version

Both are shit dads who neglects their daughters. Both had affairs. And both did things that damaged and ruined lives of other people (Stella, Octavia, Blitz, Adam, humanity)

(And of course, both are Viv favorites)

But even after did all this, they don't take responsability for their actions. They just play the victim all the time. Acting as the poor and misundertood UwU boys. And never facing consequences even when their shit hits the fan!

Stolas broke his promise and abandoned Octavia but he's a good father. It's Octavia fault for not understand Stolas situation

Blitz thinks Stolas doesn't care about him and are using him only for sex, after Stolas himself proposed lend his book to Blitz in exchange sexual favors! But somehow is Blitz fault for misinterpret him only because he's a prince or some shit like that

Stella is mad why her husband humiliated her by date an imp but since she doesn't love him she isn't allowed to feel angry or betrayed.

Lucifer had an affair with Adam's first wife and later with the second wife but it's Adam fault by not being good enough

Lucifer spread evil and tained humanity but it's the other angels fault, by not undertanding him, and humanity theirself by being flawned. He was just trying to do something nice.

Both are selfish, only care about themselves and their fantasies. And if someone gets hurt beucase that the blame is always of their victims, not them.

And now, their victims. Stella and Adam

I'm not saying they are inocents. They aren't.

But both are victims, and even so they are treated as monsters who don't deserve pity.

Stella was forced in arranged marriege since her childhood, just like Stolas. She was humiliated when Stolas cheated on her with Blitz and even if she divorce she'll have right to nothing. Losing her money and status. But even so Stella is treated as if she was born a mean bitch, while Stolas is the poor guy forced to marry the evil Stella.

Adam is even worse, his two wifes cheated on him with the same guy, he lost his home, was forced to work hard to protect and feed his family, one of his kids kill his other son and saw his descendants being tained by evil and going to Hell, while Lucifer was a king living a cozy life.

But he's the bad guy because he commands exterminations to keep Heaven safe from a possible attack from Hell and is against redemption idea even Charlie showing no proof about it, and he probably still being traumatized after the last time a Morningstar have foolproof idea.

“While Stolas is the poor guy forced to marry the evil Stella.” Yeah, the double standards are crazy. “But he's the bad guy because he commands exterminations to keep Heaven safe from a possible attack from Hell.” That’s not why he commands exterminations, he does it for entertainment.

Even during Charlie’s monologue in “Overtune,” Adam is looking very sadistic. I won’t lie, I’m very confused where some people get the idea that Adam is trying to keep Heaven safe when he has his own agenda and ulterior motives. As for Lucifer while yes, he is physically well off but mentally he wasn’t in the right head space after getting casted to the dark pits of Hell.

In the “Story of Hell” Charlie mentions that Lilith was the one who thrived. As for Adam’s aftermath in Eden, I won’t comment too much on it because Vivziepop likes changing the source material (which is not a bad thing) and we, the audience don’t know what happened with Eve and Adam. But it’s something to keep in mind.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

Elrdrich King!Haibara x Galatic Emperor General F!Reader F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento F!CHRO Reader x Higuruma Hiromi Previous Ch 28 - False Mother & The Remembered Father - Part 1 - [Tumblr/Ao3] A/N: Mixed POVs because I have no respect for structure, and they shift mid-sentence sometimes, so read like you're sipping scalding tea and trying not to spill. The next night, we’re in Megumi’s penthouse. The lighting? Sinfully warm. Almost like emotions are about to happen. Disgusting. Next Chapter will be the Finale.

Ch 28 - False Mother & The Remembered Father - Part 2

W H E R E

 A R E 

 O U R

    F A T H E R S

Her body levitated half an inch—

Then slammed down.

Hard.

Toji muttered through gritted teeth, lungs crushed beneath Infinity’s invisible weight, “I never said I’d bring Gojo and Nanami.”

Blood smeared his chin. His back had dented the wall. “I promised to bring a dad.”

He coughed. “He’s your dad from another life.”

They all turned.

Sukuna hadn’t moved yet. But something in the air shifted.

The kind of shift you feel in your jaw before a thunderclap. Static rolled across the ceiling like breath caught in a metal throat.

He stepped forward at last. Quiet. Controlled.

Kneeled beside her.

The woman—still unconscious, chest barely rising—looked drained of color. Lips pale. Hands clenched, as if holding something the rest of them couldn’t see.

Sukuna’s mouth opened—

And he did something no one expected.

No grin. No mocking threat. No prayer to himself.

He hummed.

Off-key. Strange. Soft.

A made-up lullaby that sounded like nothing and everything.

It didn’t belong here. It belonged to another world—another her. One who had whispered it to him when they’d been trapped in a warcamp between timelines. A life where she was his, and he’d never let her go.

He’d sung it to their children once.

And now, he sang it to these.

The moment the sound left him—

The lights dimmed.

The Infinity snapped back.

Her body relaxed. Arms loose at her sides. Legs falling still. Her fingers unclenched.

Toji’s nose stopped bleeding. The blades hovering around the ceiling retreated slightly—still sparking, still lethal, but no longer actively murderous.

The air became breathable.

They were watching now.

Not lashing out. Listening.

Kaori smiled faintly from where she sat at the girl’s side. “Guess they loved your voice.”

Sukuna didn’t respond. He just kept humming, brushing her hair gently aside, his fingers lingering against her cheek like he feared she’d vanish if he stopped.

Yuji blinked hard. “What song is that?”

“It doesn’t have a name,” Junpei whispered. “That’s the point.”

Toji, still half-dead from fetal-PTSD and bleeding out on the floor, groaned, “I’m not changing diapers. Just so we’re clear.”

Choso, watching it all unfold, narrowed his eyes. “Who even are you?” He seemed to be the only one asking the right questions.

“Don’t worry about me,” Toji said flatly. “I won’t hurt her. But you all need to make sure she stays knocked out until she gives birth.”

Junpei frowned. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“No,” Kaori said, already checking pulse points again. “Staying awake is dangerous. If she regains consciousness while the twins are still semi-merged, they’ll either tear her apart trying to possess her body… or start learning how to walk mid-delivery.”

None of them liked the mental image that conjured.

Sukuna wasn’t listening; he was busy brushing hair aside from her face in a trance.

Like she was all his life’s waiting manifested into a singular moment.

Like she was the only thing he remembered.

Like she was the only thing he had left.

His voice didn’t falter, but his eyes did—just a little.

The red in them had never looked so soft.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m not them. I’m not even afraid of you. But I will protect you.”

Toji exhaled. “They don’t want courage.” He looked up at the ceiling. “They want permission.”

Yuji struggled to lift his head. “Permission for what?”

“To exist,” Sukuna said.

No one argued.

They couldn’t.

The compression had resumed. Ratio-based cursed energy now pulsed in delicate, surgical rhythms. Every breath too sharp or shallow earned a retaliatory ripple of cursed feedback—microcuts inside the lungs, subtle but real.

Only Sukuna remained untouched.

“You’re protecting her too well,” Sukuna said quietly, eyes still on her. “You’ll destroy her in the process. Is that what you want?”

The room groaned.

The temperature dropped two degrees.

And then, a voice.

Not hers.

Not Sukuna’s.

A child’s voice, but not singular. Layered. Genderless. It echoed through her vocal cords, like something crawling up from her womb and using her throat.

W E

O N L Y   D I S T R O Y  

W H A T

  W A N T S   U S

T O    L E A V E

Kaori closed her eyes.

Junpei swallowed hard.

Toji muttered, “Great. They’re possessive. Just like every other man that’s ever loved her.”

The walls began to bend inward, faint groans of structural failure echoing through the steel beams.

Sukuna didn’t flinch.

He lifted one hand, knuckles gently brushing her cheek.

“Listen to me,” he said—not to the others, but to them. The twins. The fractured psychic storm brewing inside her. “They’re not here. But I am. And if you burn the world down before you’re even born, there’ll be no one left to hold you.”

Everything went still.

And then—

A pause.

A breath.

Then:

Y O U

   W I L L

H O L D    U S   ?

Not threatening. Not demanding.

Hopeful.

And that was the worst part.

Sukuna’s gaze shifted, just briefly, to Kaori. Then back to her face.

He nodded. “If you let her live long enough to meet you—yes, I will.”

The silence that followed was enormous.

Then, somewhere above the ceiling, a single, high-pitched chime rang.

Soft. Final.

A binding vow.

Accepted.

Toji flopped backward, arms spread, blood soaking into his shirt. “I still hate kids.”

Yuji wheezed, facedown on the floor. “I can breathe again. Oh my god.”

Kaori wiped her brow. “She’ll need full lockdown protocols. Psychic dampeners. Sedatives keyed to Six Eyes output levels.”

Choso finally stepped away from the wall, shaking his head. “They all felt like that?”

Junpei glanced at Sukuna. “He calmed them down.”

Sukuna didn’t reply.

His hand stayed on her jaw. His thumb never stopped moving. Just slow, repetitive arcs over her pulse point, like he was tracing the rhythm of a second chance.

Toji staggered to his feet, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. “Putting this shit on your tab,” he muttered at Sukuna. “You broke the womb. You pay the bill.”

The twins didn’t speak again.

But the temperature in the room had changed.

Not warm. Not cold.

Just—

Waiting.

---

A few days later. Somewhere, in the biophilic rooftop garden—

Under vine-wrapped steel arches and imported cedar trees, the ghosts of three broken hearts sat together beneath the moonlight.

Too ashamed to speak.

Too cowardly to name what they lost.

The elevator hummed. No music.

No words.

Just the groan of aging machinery.

Megumi stood apart, arms folded. Watching the floor number tick up.

You stood beside him.

Haibara’s hand rested at the small of your back.

Public. Subtle. Territorial.

He grinned at Megumi like a vulture in a suit.

Polite. Too polite.

Outside your old penthouse, after work, Gojo sat cross-legged beside a planter of dead lavender.

Takahashi curled in his lap.

The raccoon hissed as you passed.

You didn’t react.

Gojo stroked his fur like he was trying not to unravel.

Tears dried in salt-streaks on his cheeks.

“What did they do to her, baby boy?” he whispered. “Why doesn’t she know you?”

Inside, Nanami sat alone in your old office.

The wall still held your grocery notes.

Beside a photo of the three of you.

Smiling.

Back before you realized one day, you’d miss it.

---

In the bunker’s hallway kitchen space, Toji leaned against the fridge, shirt loose, cigarette unlit between his teeth.

Kaori—still stunning despite the crow’s feet she wore like war medals—sipped barley tea. Her laugh rang down the corridor.

Yuji, tall and built like a sportswear model turned mafia son, glared at them over his glass of water.

“You know, in my world,” Toji said, gesturing vaguely with the cigarette, “you’re a widow.”

Kaori’s laugh sparkled. “And in mine, you’re a corpse.”

Yuji choked. “Mom.”

She ignored him. “Explains why your wife thinks you’re dead. Funny girl, but she cries during mukbangs.”

Toji blinked. Then—slow grin. “Guess I owe her a haunting.”

Yuji slammed the glass down. “He’s flirting with you.”

“I’m married, sweetheart,” Kaori said dryly, patting her son’s shoulder. “Not dead. And he’s not my type.”

“That’s not what you said earlier,” Toji muttered.

“That’s because I lied,” she replied brightly.

Yuji stared in pained horror.

---

In the morning sun, the rooftop garden smelled like overpriced mulch and unresolved trauma. Lavender, dying. Basil, thriving. Somewhere, a solar-powered koi pond burbled like it was trying to file a noise complaint.

Gojo paced by the bamboo grove like a man who’d just remembered all his exes’ birthdays at once. Nanami kept his hands in his sweatpants pockets like he was trying to stop them from throwing a punch.

“Don’t nag me—”

“You’re not my wife—”

“Exactly! That’s the problem!”

Their voices echoed over the artificial breeze and the very suspicious koi.

“I’m not doing this anymore,” Nanami said flatly. “We were never even in love the way we needed to be. We just… existed. Like roommates who had sex too many times to keep pretending we were friends. Then it spiraled into coworkers who accidentally shared a mortgage and had exclusive sex in a stress spiral.”

Gojo squinted against the sun, hair wind-whipped and unfairly photogenic. “I thought we were doing okay.” Then his hair started making his nose itch.

“You’re confusing survival with intimacy,” Nanami said, deadpan. “And honestly? I can’t live with you without her. Not anymore. Not when everything feels like we’re circling the drain in matching pajamas.”

Silence.

Gojo swallowed. “You want a divorce?”

Nanami nodded once. “Yeah. I do.”

It sounded like a budget announcement. Not tragic. Just inevitable.

From two balconies down, a rich househusband holding an Aperol Spritz leaned over the railing. “Isn’t that the blindfold guy?”

“Oh my god, it is. Are they breaking up? I thought she was the one divorcing them.”

“No, they were also married. Like married-married.”

A crypto baron in sheer linen recorded from Penthouse 4B. He would post it on Threads with the caption #PolyFails.

Gojo spun on his heel. “I want to fix it! I’ve been trying—”

“You’re treating this like a mission,” Nanami said, gesturing vaguely like he was describing an MLM. “Like if you try hard enough, we’ll respawn into a healthy relationship. That’s not how trauma works.”

Gojo’s smile faltered. His mouth twitched like he was buffering grief. “So you’re just giving up?”

“I’m setting you free,” Nanami said, arms crossed like he was waiting for a train. “You’re not my husband anymore. We’re just… post-apocalyptic roommates.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Gojo muttered, lower lip wobbling like a sad anime boy.

Nanami shrugged. “Say what? The part that’s true?”

They weren’t shouting. Just mid-volume spiraling like emotionally repressed grad students still in love with their thesis partner.

“You eat cereal in the shower,” Nanami added. “I can’t live like this.”

A housewife shouted from her balcony, “Tell him, blondie!”

“Better than doing taxes at 4 AM like you’re laundering sorcerer money,” Gojo fired back.

Meanwhile, across the rooftop—

You crouched beside a very offended albino raccoon. Your silk nightgown was half-hidden beneath one of Megumi’s mom’s hoodies, and your thighs had gone numb from squatting glamorously for too long. You were nearly nine months fake-pregnant, and Takahashi glared at you like you’d betrayed him in a past life.

Haibara sat on the garden bench beside you, looking like the romantic lead in a prestige thriller. Black slacks. Moschino hoodie. That calm smile people wore when they were definitely hiding a weapon.

Takahashi puffed up and hissed like he ran on spite alone.

“You little bastard,” you whispered. “I raised you.”

He hissed harder. Lifted one paw like he was invoking divine judgment.

Haibara knelt and casually smacked it away. “Maybe if we offer jerky,” he said, unsealing a silver packet like it was a treaty. “He liked jerky in 2017.”

“He liked me in 2017,” you muttered.

Haibara looked at you like you were the center of gravity. “I still do.”

His hand rested on your ankle. Warm. Steady.

You were spiraling—rage or shame or both. The raccoon hated you. Everyone hated you. This wasn’t even your real body—it was a cosplay made of grief and god complex.

“Hey,” Haibara said, thumb brushing your shin. “You’re not broken.”

You looked up. His eyes said: I’ll burn it all for you. Even if you don’t ask.

And for a moment, you believed him.

Even Takahashi hesitated.

Then hissed again. Because Nanami had taught him big words like consistency.

“Do you think he knows?” you asked.

Haibara nodded. “He knows you’re not the woman who saved him. But he doesn’t understand why he still wants to sit near you. I relate.”

You sighed. “Maybe I should hiss back.”

“I support you,” Haibara said instantly.

“Even if I hiss at a raccoon?”

“Especially then.”

Takahashi hissed louder.

“Uncalled for,” you muttered. “You’re supposed to be my emotional support rodent.”

Haibara stroked your fake belly. “Congrats. Your unborn children’s first enemy shits in a flowerpot.”

You smacked his arm, grimacing.

Gojo and Nanami were now fully in their gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss divorce arc.

“You don’t even like me, Satoru.”

“I like you more than I like anyone else!”

“That’s not a high bar!” Nanami shouted. “That’s a cry for help!”

Then, without warning, someone from the 46th floor shouted down:

“LEAVE HER ALONE, SHE’S TOO HOT FOR BOTH OF YOU!”

“IS THE BLONDE GUY SINGLE?”

“I THOUGHT THE ONE IN THE HOODIE WAS RUNNING A CULT—”

“She is,” Haibara called back without turning.

A couple walked past. One of the tower’s wealthier tenants, hand-in-hand with her trophy husband. She glanced at your bump, then at Haibara.

“Wow,” she said, loud enough to echo. “Already adding another husband before that one’s even out?”

You blinked. Haibara didn’t.

He dragged you closer by the hem of your hoodie—effortless, like you weighed nothing—and leaned in, murmuring against your ear: “We’re not even staying here long enough for their gossip to matter.”

“No,” you agreed, a smile slipping out before you could catch it. “This whole building’s already rotting from the inside.”

Takahashi glared—raccoonishly offended.

Gojo and Nanami—mid-divorce, mid-soul crisis, mid-Nanago-KFC adjacent event, and mid-bamboo-staring contest—snapped their heads toward you.

“She’s not your concern,” Nanami said, curt.

“Yeah,” Gojo echoed. “She’s our—!”

“She’s not ours anymore,” Nanami corrected. Brutal. Soft.

Gojo deflated. “Right. But we still respectfully reject your slander.”

A neighbor scoffed. “So what, you’re fighting over the baby mama now?”

“Yes,” Nanami replied without hesitation.

Gojo elbowed him. “That’s not helping.”

“She’s also not yours,” Haibara added. Still smiling. Dead behind the eyes. “But do go on.”

Takahashi hissed again.

“I don’t like you either,” Haibara hissed back.

You offered Takahashi salmon jerky.

He smacked it away with the rage of someone betrayed by narrative.

“I think he hates me.”

“It’s fine. You’re just being rejected by a raccoon. In public,” Haibara said, laughing softly.

Gojo and Nanami’s argument had escalated into Final Boss: Philosophical Territory Phase.

“I don’t even know what we were anymore!” Gojo said, pacing. “Cohabitating ghosts? Sad DILFs? Trauma-bonded sleepover buddies with a joint tax file, war flashbacks, and a one-bedroom emotional range?!”

“You’re still in love with her,” Nanami replied, stretching like he was about to jog straight into the sun.

“You are too!”

“I’m letting her go.”

“Then let me go too!”

“That’s literally what I’m doing right now!”

They stood in silence. Stared at each other.

They stare.

Gojo sniffled.

Nanami cleared his throat.

“…Do you want to get ramen?” Gojo mumbled.

“If you’re paying.”

A long pause.

Gojo adjusted his blindfold like tear-proof lingerie. “We really did break up like bros.”

Nanami shrugged. “Would’ve been incredibly weirder if it was normal.”

Back on the bench, you finally bribed Takahashi, who had begrudgingly flopped a meter away—judging, but adjacent.

“This is progress,” you whispered.

Haibara took your hand. “If he lunges, I’ll jump in front.”

You smiled. “You’re too good to me.”

He met your gaze. “I was made to be your favorite.”

And for a second, everything else faded.

But then Takahashi sneezed, Haibara glared at him, and the moment was ruined like Gojo’s PR team again by the sound of Gojo and Nanami failing to navigate the elevator as divorced exes.

“Up or down, Kento?!”

“There are TWO BUTTONS, Satoru!”

You sighed. Haibara chuckled.

Takahashi hissed again—louder.

Haibara threw a cucumber slice at him.

Taka-baby ate it. Insulted.

Then, from the rooftop stairwell, someone called out:

“IS THE RACCOON OKAY???”

---

Song Rec: Bikhra by Abdul Hannan

---

She heard it first—long after midnight.

The staff had gone to bed. Megumi’s mother was finally knocked out from her sacred blend of sleepy sencha, prescription TCM pills, and a 200mg gummy smuggled from a Kyoto spa.

And then—grinding.

Not quiet. Not subtle.

Wet grit. Bone on bone.

She found him on the couch, half-buttoned, one bare foot braced against the table like he’d collapsed mid-email. His jaw was clenched so hard she swore she saw his temples twitch. The muscles in his cheek fluttered like something alive was trying to escape.

Despite the fake pregnancy bloating and AI-induced Braxton Hicks, she knelt beside him.

“Megumi.”

He didn’t stir.

“Megumi,” she tried again, softer this time. Her hand brushed his cheek like she wasn’t lying to his face every day. The motion felt... rehearsed. It was oddly motherly—the kind of touch that was more habit than affection, rehearsed in labs and spy simulations but never tested on real, living human pain.

He blinked awake with a hiss, not in fear—just confused. “Wha…?”

“Wisdom teeth,” she said. “Hurting again?”

He blinked once, then gave a small, dumb nod, eyes bleary with exhaustion. “I thought I was grinding through them in my sleep…”

“You were.”

It was 4:17 AM.

She didn’t let him argue. She’d already made the call.

By 5:02, they were in the underground garage, slipping into one of his Maseratis—only to find Haibara behind the wheel.

“You’re letting him drive?” Megumi squinted.

“He insisted,” she lied. Already nauseated from the AI’s fake fetal movements and Haibara’s real-life drifting. “Said you needed someone competent.”

“Competent? You remember how many times we fell off his Ducati when he claimed ‘he’d perfected it’?”

Haibara turned from the driver’s seat, sunglasses on despite the hour. “And yet you trust me with your life, brat.”

“You drove into a vending machine.”

“I meant to do that,” Haibara said, adjusting a rearview mirror he didn’t know how to use.

Megumi leaned against the headrest.

She sat beside him, pressing a cold gel pack to his cheek. The swelling was visible. The pain, not yet. He looked—soft. Frayed at the edges. Like someone who lived too much in silence and not enough in comfort.

He hadn’t shaved. And his thumb kept twitching like he was still typing out responses to crisis emails in his dreams.

She didn’t speak. Just sat there beside him. Pretending to be real.

Pretending this was what people did for each other.

His eyes stayed half-lidded, dark lashes resting on shadows carved from too many sleepless nights. “You’re being really nice to me,” he mumbled.

“I always am,” she replied, overly cautious.

“No. You were…” He paused, choosing the words like they might hurt. “You were colder after the coma. Not mean. Just... like someone had unplugged you. Like you were in the room, but not.”

Her breath caught.

“But now,” he continued, glancing over at her with that unreadable calm that only cracked when he was too tired to armor up, “you’re different.”

She tried to laugh, but it came out like something spilled from a broken speaker. Static and regret.

His gaze didn’t flinch.

She looked anywhere but at his gaze, which felt like it was cutting clean through the lie she wore like skin.

And for a moment, she wondered how much he was holding back.

What questions he never asked.

Whether some soft part of him already knew this wasn’t her—but loved her anyway.

He was too sleep-deprived to connect dots.

Her stomach turned. Guilt, maybe. Or code.

“Maybe I’m just hormonal,” she said, faking a yawn. “Comes with the whole come-pregnancy glow.”

That distracted him. “Right.Don’t joke. The twins. Everyone’s felt them kick by now—Nanami, Gojo, my mom, even Haibara. Everyone. Why haven’t you let me feel it yet?”

Her spine stiffened.

The AI in her body hummed a low warning. Threat detected. Sentiment spike.

From the driver’s seat, Haibara caught her eye in the mirror. His smile twitched—too knowing.

“Now?” she asked, trying to buy time. “You want to… now?”

Megumi was already reaching over. His large hand slid across the curve of her stomach like he’d done it before.

“I won’t break them,” he murmured, palm pressing flat. “I used to help bandage your hands when we were kids. Remember?”

No, she thought.

I don’t.

Because that wasn’t me.

Because you’re not even holding your real person right now.

The AI in her spine buzzed behind her eyes.

Simulate kick?

[Y] / [N]

Her hand twitched. She blinked.

Y.

The response was immediate—sharp, but gentle. Exactly where the AI mapped his hand’s pressure—perfectly timed, the AI knew exactly how big the “twins” should be and where to land it for max emotional destruction.

Megumi’s whole body went still.

Then lit up.

“That was—” he blinked at her, smiling like a child who just touched starlight. “You felt that?”

She nodded once. Couldn’t speak.

His hand lingered. Warm. Protective. Almost reverent.

“...You didn’t have to wait this long to trust me,” he said quietly.

His hand stayed there a moment longer, like he didn’t want to pull away.

And she almost cried. Because it wasn’t trust—it was cruelty, hiding behind kindness.

She turned her head, as if watching the blur of city lights through the tinted window. But she wasn’t seeing any of it.

Not the skyline.

Not the streets.

Just the way he looked at her like she was still his person.

“Megumi,” she said suddenly. “Why haven’t you used the salary I’ve been paying you?”

He blinked again, confused. “What?”

“I put you on payroll when I took maternity leave. You’re managing both companies now. You should’ve spent something. Even Haibara didn’t take his cut.”

“You know why,” he said softly, like it wasn’t even a question. “It’s not mine. It’s yours.”

“You’ve been running two though.”

“I’d do it for free.”

“Don’t,” she snapped too quickly.

Then gentled. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’re tired.”

He shrugged. “I’ve always been tired. I just… sleep better knowing you’re still breathing.”

And that was when the guilt surged.

Not because of the lie.

But because he meant it.

And he still smiled through the hurt. Quiet. Unshowy.

She nodded, afraid her voice would betray her if she tried to speak.

Then, mercifully—

“HAIBARA,” Megumi suddenly barked, snapping upright. “TAKE THE DAMN TURN—THIS ISN’T TOKYO DRIFT!”

Haibara, who had clearly missed the exit while fumbling with the windshield wipers, replied without shame, “You try taking an exit at 130 in a four-ton capitalist coffin.”

“You’re going to give her labor-by-whiplash.”

“Oops,” Haibara said cheerfully, easing into a lazy, illegal U-turn across four empty lanes like he’d just discovered what steering was for.

“I swear to God,” Megumi muttered, rubbing his face. “If you crash this car, I will personally remove your soul.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Haibara said, now calmly signaling with the hazard lights like that made anything better.

She almost laughed. Almost.

But instead, she just looked out the window, quiet.

All she could think was:

How easily people love the wrong versions of us.

How beautifully they carry the burdens we never earned.

And how none of them deserved to lose this much again.

Not him.

Especially not him.

She sat back quietly, cradling the cold pack to Megumi’s jaw, her AI-simulated belly still pulsing from the fake kick. Megumi half-dozed against her shoulder, warm and confused, while Haibara—the war criminal from 50,000 years in the future, technically from another universe—laughed at a road sign like he was auditioning for a sitcom where dads didn’t die and war never happened.

And just for a moment, in that slippery, pre-dawn unreality—it felt like a family.

Which was, of course, the most dangerous feeling of all.

---

The bunker’s medbay glowed dimly with low-spectrum LEDs hidden in the vines. Ivy curled down temperature-regulated glass walls, while high-frequency hums from vitals monitors whispered between pulse readings.

Sukuna sat beside her, barefoot on a floor that mimicked forest moss, legs folded under him like a monk in prayer.

She hadn't moved in days.

But her body—full with the strange shape of pregnancy neither mortal nor cursed—remained a battlefield of precision.

And he, oddly, had taken on the role of medic.

Not because he was told to.

But because he wanted to.

Sukuna hummed as he cleaned her IV ports. Tuneless. Gentle. His hands were steady, sterile gloves on, his breath even. Every hour, he checked her vitals himself. Didn’t trust the machines. Didn’t trust time.

Didn’t trust that he wouldn’t lose her again.

A soft smile crept to his mouth as he wiped her temple with a lukewarm cloth.

Her fever had broken.

Her lips were less pale.

The twins had stopped threatening murder for now.

“You look better,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Still sound asleep, huh? Lazy princess.”

He said it like a joke.

But his voice softened in the end, the way he used to speak to her in lifetimes long dead.

Like she was the last living relic of a future that had once been kind.

He adjusted the heating blanket.

Not too warm—her core temperature was still fluctuating. A fan turned slowly above, calibrated to reduce sweat pooling along her neck without risking a chill. Every movement was precise. Surgical. Loving.

And every few minutes, he whispered to her.

A pulse count. A story. A reminder: “I’m here. Still here.”

---

Post-op, the dental clinic was sharp-edged and expensive, the kind of sterile white you only ever saw in megatowers built by oil money or pharmaceutical tycoons trying to buy back their legacy. It didn’t smell like blood or antiseptic—just clean air and wealth.

Haibara waited outside, somewhere in the lobby, chewing through mints and giggling at tabloids.

Megumi was laid out in the chair, eyes glassy from anesthetics. One arm draped limply over the side; the other brushed against hers.

She stayed close. Watching.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He blinked. His pupils were blown wide, but his expression wasn’t blank. It was raw. Open.

He chuckled once, low. “Remember when we buried that time capsule under the fig tree?”

She smiled like she meant it. “Of course.”

“We said we’d open it when we turned twenty. You had that stupid plastic ring from the vending machine.” His voice slurred a little. “You said you’d marry me if you found it first. I found it... and I gave it to you anyway.”

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t cry.

Just leaned over and booped his nosewith two fingers. “You were always sweet.”

Megumi’s smile wavered. His gaze, still fuzzy from the meds, lingered on her too long, but he pushed forward, eyes half-lidded. “You used to cry when I was sick,” he mumbled. “Said the world didn’t deserve me.”

She didn’t answer that.

Instead, she said, gently, “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

A beat.

His eyes drifted closed, then opened slower. Sobriety returned in pieces.

“You remember when Haibara broke his leg?” he asked.

She nodded, cautious.

“You didn’t leave his side for three days.”

She said nothing.

“You screamed at me,” he went on, voice quieter. “I tried to make you eat. You said he needed you more.”

Her head tilted, searching for the right lie. “I… don’t remember screaming. But that sounds like me.”

His hand found her wrist. Not tightly. Just enough.

“You don’t remember the ring,” he said, softer now. “Do you?”

She froze.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t answer.

And then, mercifully, a knock—

Haibara’s voice filtered through the door. “Ready to go?”

She stood too fast. Adjusted the curve of her fake pregnancy belly like it itched.

Megumi didn’t say another word on the ride home.

And Haibara, from the front seat, whistled some ancient tune like none of it mattered.

Like he wasn’t watching her in the mirror.

Like he didn’t already know.

---

The rooftop greenhouse hadn’t changed.

Still humid. Still crowded with flowers, moss, and black orchid vines that curled like memories.

The glass ceiling was still cracked near the northwest corner—where she used to sit during storms. Where she once said thunder reminded her of someone she used to be.

Now, the plants had grown half-wild.

Not dying.

Just… unpruned. Directionless. Like no one had dared to touch what she built.

Nanami poured the sake without ceremony. It was cheap, slightly metallic, warm in the throat. Gojo didn’t complain—he hadn’t tasted anything properly in weeks.

Megumi didn’t sit. He stood near the edge of the greenhouse, obscured from view by an overgrowth of green, hands buried in his trouser pockets. His gaze was locked on the skyline like it owed him answers. Like it might blink first.

“She’s different,” Nanami said at last. His voice was slow. Precise. Like a page being folded at the spine.

Gojo snorted. “Wow. Thanks. Insight of the century.”

Nanami didn’t react. “You know what I mean.”

“No, no,” Gojo muttered, tossing back a shot and grimacing. “Say it. Say it like a fucking adult, Nanami. Say it out loud.”

Megumi finally shifted. He leaned against a pillar of ivy—once part of a trellis she built with her bare hands. The vines had started choking it now.

Nanami’s fingers twitched against his glass. “You think she’s an impostor.”

Gojo’s eyes didn’t flinch. “I think she’s not our wife.”

The silence that followed pulsed. Alive. Like it had its own heartbeat.

“She’s cold,” Gojo went on, quieter now. “Like she’s wearing her own skin like a rented yukata. Like she studied how to move from a deepfake of herself and got most of it right—but not all. Not where it counts. Her eyes don’t follow Takahashi anymore. Her hand doesn’t fidget with her keys or pen out of habit. And she… she doesn’t react when I say something stupid. She used to threaten to beat me with a frying pan.”

Nanami didn’t look up. Just murmured, “Now she threatens with her silence. With her posture. Not her words.”

Gojo laughed once—short, bitter. “Exactly.”

Nanami finally met his gaze. “There are gaps. Behavioral ones. And I don’t mean trauma gaps. The real her would never let Haibara touch her that freely. Not like that. Not without reason.”

“Or say ‘I want a divorce’ like she was reading out a grocery list. Or forget the raccoon she nearly died rescuing.” Gojo's voice cracked slightly. “Or not even react to our very public breakup—she used to be the glue that held us together."

Nanami nodded, jaw tight. “She used to snuggle Takahashi into her arms like he was made of glass. Do you remember how he curled up in the crook of her elbow when I brought him in at night during the coma?”

“Now he tries to bite her face off,” Gojo whispered. “And she doesn’t even flinch. Just… tenses. Like she’s waiting to be punished.”

Megumi stepped forward and picked up the unused sake cup. Poured himself a shot, then held it in his hand without drinking.

“She remembered the time capsule,” he said.

Both men looked at him, startled. Like deer on LSD.

“Mostly,” Megumi added, expression unreadable. “She knew what it was. But not what was in it. Didn’t react when I mentioned the ring.”

He downed the shot in one go. Wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“She lied like she meant it,” he said. “Like she really believed I was the one misremembering.”

Gojo stilled. His voice was hollow. “There was no ring, was there?”

Megumi didn’t answer, but the way he poured himself another shot said enough.

Nanami looked away again, eyes glazed. “Do you remember how many hours she spent cataloging Takahashi’s diet? She handwrote every meal. In three languages. Then she cross-checked it with every medical journal you sent her, Fushiguro. Every vitamin. Every calorie.”

“She used to call him Taka-baby,” Gojo whispered. “Even booped his nose when he sneezed.”

“Now she winces when he climbs her lap,” Nanami said, almost under his breath. “Like he’s diseased.”

“And he hisses at her,” Gojo added.

Nanami’s voice cracked. “He never hissed at her.”

“No,” Gojo said. “He hissed at me. Constantly.”

Megumi looked between them, something hard twisting through his expression.

“How long,” he asked, “have you two known something’s wrong?”

---

Elsewhere, in the bunker, Choso was monitoring a blood panel, expression furrowed. The screen showed abnormal hormonal fluctuations, and a new tremor in her heartbeat frequency.

“She’s stabilizing,” he muttered to himself, but his voice wasn’t relieved. “Too stable.”

Uraume appeared beside him in a flicker of frost.

“She’s not safe.”

Choso didn’t flinch. “You mean the twins?”

Uraume shook their head. “I mean that the cursed energy signatures in New York match Geto Suguru. Impossible as it is—he’s not dead.”

Sukuna turned.

The air dropped ten degrees.

"This was his design," Uraume intoned, voice like frost forming on bone. "The assassination plot. He intends to render them into cursed objects—vengeance against Gojo Satoru woven into the act. Her survival was... an oversight."

Sukuna rose without a sound.

His eyes were already ancient again.

Gone was the softness.

Only violence remained.

“Where?”

Uraume extended the coordinates with a gloved hand, their voice smooth as ice over a grave. “The residuals converge beneath the ruins of Jujutsu Tech, woven through the defiled remnants of Kenjaku’s wards. His current nesting place.”

A pause, their breath frosting in the air.

“However, time is a luxury we lack. The curses gather there tonight in numbers even he would find… indulgent.”

Their gaze sharpened, blade-like.

“And when she gives birth, the resultant cursed energy will eclipse even Gojo Satoru’s birth. By then, Geto Suguru’s forces will have descended. Should we delay, saving her will be…”

Uraume’s lips curled, just slightly.

“…beyond even our interference.”

Toji appeared behind him, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve been dying to punch a priest. Let’s go.”

Yuji stood. Silent. Resigned. But already pulling his fingerless gloves on.

They moved fast.

Before leaving, Sukuna leaned one last time toward her unconscious form. “I’ll be back,” he murmured. “Don’t let them scare you while I’m gone.”

To Choso, he said, “If she gives birth—use the blood. Slow the hemorrhage. Split the ratio surges. Bind them.” His voice was a blade’s edge—sharp, with no room for error. “You’ll flood her veins with your blood the moment she tears. Not too much. Just enough to keep her heart beating until that Ieiri woman arrives.”

A pause. Then, quieter, almost amused: “And keep those twins of hers from clawing her apart. Their spawns never did know their own strength.”

He flicked a finger toward Junpei, who flinched. “You—run to Jujutsu Tech. Drag Shoko here by her hair if you have to.”

Then he turned back to Choso. “Track his cursed energy with Flowing Red Scale. If it so much as stutters… make it scream. That’ll keep him fighting.”

Then he leaned in, “Oh, and Choso? If you let her die… I’ll turn your ribs into wind chimes.”

Choso nodded. “I’ll keep her alive.”

Junpei moved behind him with an armful of medical restraints and cursed barrier charms. “Then we hold the line. However long it takes.”

Uraume tilted their head, amused. “How… sacrificial.”

The elevator shut behind them—Sukuna, Toji, Yuji.

Two of them, monsters in mourning.

Headed to destroy the ghost that tried to erase her.

---

Back in the garden, Gojo tilted his head. “Known? A few days. Suspected? Since she touched Haibara’s neck in public.”

Nanami rolled the cold sake cup across his forehead. “Since she stopped calling me by my name.”

Another silence stretched, quiet as rot.

The city lights below blinked like faulty neurons, stupid and oblivious.

Then Megumi said, too softly to be casual, “And none of you sorcerer supremes thought to tell me?”

“You hate us,” Gojo unenthusiastically mumbled. “We didn’t think you’d believe us.”

Megumi’s stare sliced sharper than his father’s knife. “Don’t project your guilt on me.”

Nanami sighed. “We didn’t want it to be real.”

Finally, Megumi sat down. Slowly. His voice came out tight. “When I was six, she pulled me out of a lake. I was trying to catch a frog. Fell in. Nearly drowned. She jumped after me. Couldn’t even swim.”

Gojo looked up, something softer flashing behind his eyes. “I remember. She told me that. When we were dating.”

“She used to say I was the only one who ever looked at her like she was someone worthy of the human experience,” Megumi went on. “Now? She won’t even make eye contact unless it’s performative. Like she’s checking a list. Like I’m just another task to complete.”

He poured another drink. Didn’t touch it.

“And Haibara,” Megumi said, quieter now. “He doesn’t remember what he made me promise him. When he was seventeen. When he swore he’d never try anything with her because he didn’t have the moral restraint she needed.”

Gojo turned sharply. “He doesn’t remember?”

“No,” Megumi replied. “He faked it. Badly. I pushed him. He agreed too fast. Said he was retired now, so it didn’t ‘matter.’”

His jaw clenched. “Like loving her now, being with her, was some loophole. Something he earned. Like a pension.”

Nanami leaned back, like he already knew. “He’s finally become fully selfish.”

Gojo said nothing.

Because for the first time—since the coma, since the pregnancy, since she’d walked back into their lives wearing a familiar face that felt twenty seconds off—while they all sat in the tall grass beneath their own silence, facing the truth like a noose.

Gojo finally whispered it. Less like confession and more like mourning.

“She’s not our wife.”

Megumi nodded once.

And this time, he drank.

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “Do you think the cursed coma scrambled her brain? Or is it possession?”

Gojo knocked back another shot. “Nope. Scanned her six times. During dinner. After. With Six Eyes, Reverse Cursed Technique. Every tool I’ve got. No cursed energy. No residue aside from the twins. Like someone poured holy water through her soul. Pure. Untouchably so. Kind of unsettling, honestly.”

Megumi, already pouring himself another, muttered bitterly. “Meanwhile, Haibara’s leaking cursed energy like a broken faucet. He never used to. Not even a drop. But now he’s basically humming with it. Started right after she woke up.”

Nanami raked a hand through his hair. “Did he at least tell you where the hell he was during her coma?”

“He said he was tracking the sniper,” Megumi said flatly. “But I don’t buy it. He’s never failed to locate someone in under a day. Not once. Now he acts like he’s half-awake. Just follows her around like he’s tethered. It’s a weirdly symbiotic thing to see them together now. Like she’s the only thing keeping him corporeal. Even Mom says his smile creeps her out now.”

Nanami perked up. “So… since I’m guessing you’re not friends anymore… can I finally throw him off the balcony?”

Gojo lit up. “Ooh! Can I run him over with her Jesko? It’s just rotting in storage.”

Megumi rolled his eyes. "I don't know what he was like in school with you two, but watching him fight now—and seeing how you two handled those bounty hunters—I can say one thing: Haibara isn't weak."

A pause. His voice flattened further.

"He's the kind of opponent that makes you want to rip your hair out. Insufferably strategic."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "And she’s—protective. You touch him, she’ll gut you before you finish the threat. Might even ban you from seeing the kids.”

Before Gojo could yell “I’m the strongest!” again, Nanami’s phone buzzed.

He answered it with a sigh. “…Yeah, Nanami speaking. Who is this?”

Nanami’s face drained.

Gojo leaned forward, slapped Nanami’s bicep. “Who?”

Nanami pulled the phone away like it had whispered a slur. “…Kusottare Naoya.”

Megumi blinked. “What’s kusottare mean again? I always forget. My Japanese is a little rusty.”

Gojo answered too cheerfully. “Aww, Mamaguro raised you well. It means many things: a dingleberry, a dipshit, a piece of shit, or a grade-A asshole. It’s Nanamin’s favorite insult. Even our wife knows it, and her Japanese itself is ‘Kusottare.’”

Then added, less brightly, “Naoya’s not dead?”

Megumi downed his drink. “I don’t keep tabs on the inbred lives of Tokyo, but I heard Maki and Mai are missing.”

On speaker, Naoya’s voice crackled to life. Bright. Mocking. Almost festive.

“Heyyy, Kento-kun~ Just calling to say I’ve got your cute little penguin wife. And her new boyfriend. Didn’t know you guys were expanding the polycule—I’d have applied!”

Nanami’s soul left his body.

Gojo and Megumi’s glasses slipped in unison. Then promptly shattered on the floor.

Naoya kept talking.

“Oh, and I’ve also got Higuruma and his girl, by the way. If anyone still cares. Honestly, no one even noticed they’d been gone. That’s so awkward, right?”

There was a beat.

Then:

“Anyway. You boys should come join us. It’s shaping up to be a proper party. Mahito’s here. Hanami, too. Jogo brought snacks. And…”

A smile you couldn’t see stretched over the line.

“…We’ve just sent out an invite for Sukuna.”

The phone cut to static.

And the greenhouse fell utterly silent—until the orchids began to tremble.

---

A/N: 💥⛓️ THE FINALE IS COMING: BRACE FOR IMPACT ⛓️💥 It’s almost time. After seven months, multiple character deaths (emotional and literal), raccoon betrayals, impostor wives, multiversal war husbands, cursed womb twins, and softboi Sukuna humming lullabies to unborn gods— this fic is finally arriving at the end of its arc. And no, I will not be normal about it. The next chapter is the finale. Everything will come undone— The lies. The fake memories. The marriages. The silence. And her.

Because the real question has never been “Who loves her most?” It’s “Who will still love her once the truth is known?” See you in the ashes.

Next Ch - Friday

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz @thebumbqueen @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @whos-ruru @helo1281917

[mysteriousxgirls]

There was a long, aching silence after Ivy spoke. It wasn’t that she had run out of words—far from it. So much was still tangled up inside her, so many feelings caught in her throat. But for today, it was enough. Enough to show Nate that they weren’t enemies standing on opposite sides of the storm. They were both in the rain together, both trembling for the same reason. Both of them loved Harmony with a depth that ran deeper than anything they could put into words—and in the end, that was what truly mattered. When Nate finally spoke, Ivy felt herself straighten, listening to every careful syllable like they were fragile glass. She could see all of it in him as he spoke—the rawness, the exhaustion, the stubborn, unyielding devotion that kept him going no matter how hard this road had become. The pain, yes, but also the unbreakable thread of love that held him to her, the kind that could weather every dark corner. “I know,” Ivy whispered back, her voice as gentle as the touch she laid on his shoulder, fingers tightening just enough to remind him he wasn’t alone. “God, Nate, I know.” Her gaze held his as she went on, the softness never leaving her tone. “And I mean this with all the respect in my heart when I say… you two need some help. Together.” She paused, searching for the right words, ones that wouldn’t shatter him further. “Couples therapy, or something like it. You can’t keep wounding each other, even accidentally. I was there last night. I saw the way your face changed when you thought she invited Cassian. And I saw the way it crushed her when you pulled back.” A shaky breath slipped from Ivy as she let her hand drop into her lap. “You’ve both been through too much to let those fears keep winning. I can see it, Nate. The way you look at her. The way she looks at you. It’s real. It’s forever. She’s fighting like hell to make this work—and so are you. Don’t let one more ghost between you win. You deserve this. Both of you do.” When Nate pressed about those guys, the gang- she flinched, eyes clouding with worry. “Nate,” she murmured, lips trembling as she slowly shook her head. “Please… don’t.” The weight of what she could say—and what it might cost him—weighed heavily between them. Truth was, she did know. She had heard Niko say Azriel’s real name that night at the club, caught pieces of conversations that chilled her blood. But telling him would drag him into something dangerous and dark, something that could destroy what they were all so desperately trying to rebuild. “They’re dangerous men,” she whispered finally, her eyes burning with a mixture of fear and guilt. “Nothing good will come of this. Believe me. The best thing you can do for her—for yourself—is to stay clear. Protect her here, where it matters most.” Her hands balled into fists in her lap. “Please. Trust me.”

Beside Rhett, Harmony listened as his voice wrapped around her like a warm, steadying blanket. Every word was threaded with a quiet strength that reached deeper than she thought anyone could. Her lips curved into the faintest smile when he promised that she didn’t have to do this alone. She glanced over toward Harper, tiny hands wrapped around her mug of hot chocolate, her innocence shining like a small, bright star in all this darkness. And then she looked back at Rhett—the one who always showed up for her, no matter what chaos she pulled him into. He kept telling her what she deserved, kept repeating it like a vow, like something sacred. But it was so hard to believe. How could she deserve happiness when everything felt like it had been built on mistakes and loss? When her parents were gone because of her, when she had shattered Nate’s trust and scared him into forever looking over his shoulder? It felt impossible to think she deserved light when she carried so much shadow. “Oh, Rhett…” she breathed, lifting her hand to his face. Her palm was so small against his cheek as her thumb brushed gently across his skin, and for a moment, all the noise and fear fell quiet. Her heart ached with a strange mix of sorrow and gratitude—sorrow for the weight they all carried, gratitude for the fact that even in the middle of all this, he was still here. Still making ridiculous, beautiful plans like packing up and moving into some tiny treehouse in the Scottish Highlands, him with a ridiculous beard, Nate tending sheep, Ivy on long hikes, and her making candles or something just for the fun of it. A breathy laugh broke free, surprising even herself, and she felt her eyes sting with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she murmured, voice trembling with more feeling than she could hide. “God, what would I do without you?”

Nate stayed quiet for a long moment after Ivy finished, his eyes fixed on a crack in the pavement, as if all the pain he’d been trying to carry had found a home there. His jaw clenched once, then released, but still he didn’t speak. The wind moved gently around them, brushing past as if even it didn’t want to interrupt. When he finally looked at her, there was no anger in his eyes—just something quieter, something that hurt far worse. “I haven’t stopped fighting,” he said, voice low and thick, as if every word had to be forced through the tightness in his chest. “Not even when she told me the truth about that night.” He let out a breath, unsteady and sharp, his hands pressing together between his knees. “Do you know what it’s like to look at someone and see your entire future? To build a life in your mind with them, a home, kids… all of it, only to have it shatter in seconds?” His voice cracked slightly, but he kept going. “And even after the lies, after the betrayal, I still couldn’t walk away. I tried so damn hard to tell myself I deserved better. But none of it mattered. Because I love her. God, I love her more than I have words for.” He paused, swallowing down the ache in his throat. “I wake up every morning next to her and remind myself not to doubt. I hold her hand and fight the voice in my head that says, ‘What if she does it again?’ I battle it every single day. Because I believe in us. Because I see how hard she’s trying. And I’d rather drown in this fight than ever know what it’s like to live without her again.” He glanced back through the window, where Harmony sat with Rhett, her smile small and tired but still there. “I’m not giving up on her. But you have to also understand… it’s not easy. It’s a thousand invisible wounds reopening every time she’s late coming home or flinches when I ask where she’s been. I hate that doubt lives in me now.” Nate looked away, forcing down the tears welling in his eyes. “But I’ll keep choosing her. I’ll keep building this life, brick by fucking brick. Because I meant every word I said when I told her she was it for me.” His voice softened, almost a whisper now. “So I get that you’re trying to look out for her but you don’t need to ask me not to give up on her, Ivy. I already made that choice. What I need is for you to trust that I have her best interests at heart and I will never give up on her. No matter what may come our way, we’re a team.”

Nate sat in silence for a moment, his elbows braced against his knees as he stared out at the passing cars, his thoughts running far ahead of them. Eventually, he turned his head, casting a glance over his shoulder toward Ivy before straightening and shifting to face her more directly. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate. “What else do you know about these men?” he asked, each word weighted with quiet urgency. “I need everything you’ve got, Ivy—every name, every detail. Whatever you’re holding onto… I need you to give it to me.”

Rhett didn’t answer right away. He just sat there with his arm still wrapped around her, letting the weight of her words settle into the silence between them. His expression softened, the usual spark of mischief dulled by the ache in her voice. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, pulling her just a little closer as if his presence alone could shield her from the world outside the café window. “Hey,” he murmured, tipping his head to catch her eyes. “You don’t have to do it on your own, alright? You’ve got people in your corner now. Me. Nate. Ivy. Hell, even Harper’s a tiny little bodyguard in sparkly trainers.” He offered her a faint smile, hoping it might catch in her chest and remind her she wasn’t alone in the fight anymore.“Ella,” he said with a small scoff, “who knows what she wants? Jealousy? To fuck with my head? All I know is I’m not playing her games.” Then he turned more toward her, the teasing edge in his tone softening into something quieter, more serious. “I see how hard you’re trying,” he said. “And I know it feels like you can’t get a second to just enjoy your life how you should. But Harm… you deserve to breathe. You deserve happiness, and love, and a boring life where your biggest worry is what takeaway to order on a Friday night.” He hesitated, his voice dipping into something rougher, something a little more vulnerable. “You’re allowed to be tired. Just don’t give up, yeah? The world’s a mess, but you’ve got people who’d burn it down for you. So rest if you need to. Lean on us. But don’t let go.” He announced, “And if it all goes to shit,” he added, closing his other hand around hers on her lap, “we’ll just pack up, grab Harper, and go live in a treehouse in the Scottish Highlands or something. I’ll grow a beard, Nate can become a farmer, Ivy can do hiking trips and you can make candles or something. Peace, guaranteed.”

[skeleton-squid-b0y]

twelve is not more ruthless or cruel or endangering than any of his predecessors. he just doesn't hide it. I think he was the kindest doctor because he didn't hide his ruthlessness from his companions, didn't hide it behind a goofy bow tie or the charm that makes people follow him to the end of the universe. . . he showed Clara exactly who he was and the brutal things he was willing to do if he believed they were right. And he didn't pretend to feel bad about them. I think after amy and rory he got tired of how easily people believed he was good, how easy that made them to kill, how their faith in him always always meant they never got home. So he does the kindest thing he can think of, and doesn't hide that they're not just choosing to travel with him, they're also choosing to travel with the death that follows him everywhere he goes. I think he's the first doctor not to hide from that second companion and the part he plays in keeping it onboard.

[connecting-the-stars]

But In the End, We Stay the Same

Matt, Fisk, and Frank:

Spoilers for DDBA ep 4

Matt walking through an entirely different apartment. Fisk refusing to dawn his white suit. And Frank? Frank is setup in a filthy, half-haphazardly thrown together base of operations that is a striking mirror to the first base we see him in from Netflix Daredevil season 2.

Character introductions really set the tone for where their arcs may take them. Very interesting how they have painted each of these characters this season.

Of course, I am not blind to the criticism and where the cracks show from the creative overhaul, but I already viewed the show coming in as… well different. A “new era” both due to the gap in time since we’ve seen these wonderful characters, in real life and in universe, and due to Disney’s influence. I’m not one to focus a lot on time/age but the era when DD season one premiered was a year after Captain America: Winter soldier. This was years before Endgame and the Global Pandemic, the impact of such events are felt in the fictional universe and real world. I am a true believer in rewatch value from my multiple rewatches of Netflix’s Daredevil, but I also acknowledge that there will be elements lost, left in that era of film making and studio management. The colors and the certain level of grim are noticeably absent, when you see characters fall through several floors and they cough up dust/debris. The certain spark found in much of the dialogue of season 1 really is incredibly difficult to replicate.

Despite the places where “season 4” falls short, I can absolutely appreciate the dedication of the actors and actresses, returning and new. While I am comforted and reassured by Karen’s confirmed involvement in season 2, I appreciate Kristin’s and Cherry’s performances as they bar Matt into this new… stage of his life. Of being a full time lawyer and keeping his fists mostly unstained. Fisk’s new environment is half hilarious and half ominous as ever. Watching him stumble through politics and its niceties, and his uneasy speeches are relatively unexplored in Netflix’s series, forced into throne he has to keep his best face on for, rather than crushing skulls. Compared to his handful of appearances in the public being executed in precise manner that always had an end goal, for example, provoking Matt after the murder of Ms. Cardenas. Furthermore, with Vanessa’s distance and unfamiliar distrust. I am eagerly looking forward to Fisk’s manipulation in his mayorship as well as Vanessa’s standing in her business with her ever loving husband. The side characters playing off Fisk, have been given parts that challenge Fisk into different ways, which is much appreciated as he navigates being a truly public political figure.

Matt standing dead eyed in front of his window, right after the reshoot with Foggy’s death. Man, knew something was different. Like are you not crashing out and living out of a basement rn because….? I know that he only received medical attention after the finale of Defenders because he was in a Coma, how is the King of Guilt, Self Destructive Murdock not crawling out of dumpsters again? (Crit: where is queen of sass Sister Maggie?)

But it is fascinating watching this Matt Murdock listen to a nice record player and cook his own meals and walk like he isn’t living in the Bad Ending timeline. The quiet despair washing over him every time he reaches for Foggy’s prayer card. My dread as I realize he takes a piece of Foggy with him everywhere. The idea that Matt has lost faith in Daredevil, this utter stab to the heart proof that he Failed as daredevil, that he was not enough to save his best friend. Every which way you look at Matt and Foggy’s relationship, they are each other’s person. College, first internship, first official business. Matt of course sees this as his fault, that guilt clinging to him like a bad cold. Eats him (in the words of Castle), tears him up to the point he refuses to allow himself to enter a church. The sermon mention a person’s worthiness. Point blank. The fact that he no longer lives in Hell’s Kitchen is major flag of Distress (avoiding Sister Maggie who could talk at least some sense, some kindness to him, the absence of the church he visited so often in the Netflix show). Thus, refusing consolation of faith, of worthiness to be daredevil, Matt clutches twice as hard as ever to the Judicial system. To the part of his life and faith he shared with Foggy, where they promised each other they would do good. The abrupt introduction of Cherry and Kristin apparently filling said places of Karen and Foggy by Matt’s side is jarring as much as it is telling. While Kristin is a comic book character brought into this series, the knowledge of her and connection built with her so far is minimal, when set besides how much of Karen’s development we saw in season 1 of Netflix series. Similar to Cherry’s role being a mix of Ben Uriah and “Foggy” in essence. (I say very lightly. No one will compare to our Foggy.) Cherry’s reminders to Matt of the reality of the system and praising his efforts of being a Good Lawyer, mirroring in a way to Foggy’s constant mission to ground Matt when his head is in his ass. Heather also being pulled from the comics is quite interesting as I had no thoughts of who would be Matt’s love interest, though her being wedged between Vanessa, Fisk, and possibly Muse is not a good sign for her. New apartment, new firm, new co-workers but he cannot outrun grief. It will catch him.

(I know the lack of Karen is mostly due to the overhaul, but the fact that he does not have her to rely on currently also pushes this unresolved/unaddressed grief. The one person who also endured losing Foggy)

The time-skip is certianly something I’m intrigued by. Where it plays in the current story, and the pieces of Matt and Karen’s grief that are unexplored. Wonder if it had been inserted due to the creative overhaul?

Fisk and Matt’s parallel stories this session have been done quite well. While there was a particular balance the Netflix series formed for telling both their stories, I find giving more time to Fisk’s arc strengthens how well these characters are as narrative foils of each other. Fisk arriving this season through a slow flip of the camera, setting the city on its head and picking through a meager breakfast and his tense reunion with Vanessa, while Matt ghosts around his apartment before reaching for Foggy’s prayer card to leave. Both characters are damaged, pieces of themselves lost. While I have not watched Echo, the psychological damage done to Fisk appears to have followed him into Born Again. His confidence seemed to be shaken and his lack of support from Vanessa further pushes him towards stress. Matt facing Bullseye without Karen beforehand, the brief strained conversation with Karen afterwards. While Kristin does tell the audience that Matt needs someone in his life, that he needs a win, it is clearly seen how destitute he is when Fisk announces his mayoral campaign and he sits idle as his food burns behind him. Both Fisk and Matt turning to different ways to get by, to proceed to their goals, by refusing their “darker halves.”

This refusal to indulge in a part of who they are will double the pressure, suffocating until they can no longer stand it. Matt faced with the consequences of revealing Hector’s vigilante identity and the injustice of his murder, of being forced to face the grief and righteous anger of his niece. “No one will do anything about it!” As well as his extremely emotionally intense encounter with Frank. Fisk squaring away first steps of many in political action and faced against the failure of Daniel, then pecking through yet another modest meal. That is until episode 4’s reveal. Indulging in that carb heavy and seasoning rich meal for a king, paired swimmingly with a tortured soul’s pleas. That power, that desire for absolute authority, never truly left Fisk. Most likely never will. Then Matt scaling the roof’s ladder to his pristine collection of cowls, hand already reaching for his billy club. Their darker halves never left them, refused and placated for a time, but never not in the corner waiting for them.

Frank. Haha. Frank is great, let him take a few verbal swings at the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and he can work out more than his therapist girlfriend. Matt really is not coping, not processing. Cannot tell most people in his life everything, why he feels so responsible for the death of Foggy, for failing him. Best keep his name out of his mouth, because it’s not about him, right? Frank sitting in this grief of losing people who meant Everything to him, and recognizing that pain and stifled rage in Matt. When he retaliates, apologies and curses falling immediately afterwards, Frank does not accept it. Knows that his Darker Half is apart of him, is apart of his grief and pain. Being Daredevil, that righteousness and ruthlessness fueled him. Losing his dad to the criminal underground that got away unscathed, that injustice and lack of closure. Acting as that immovable object to villains unstoppable force. If it’s him or these innocent people behind him? Matt’s stepping to the plate everytime. Even when he attempted, he prioritized saving the victims. Frank is taking out people he deems worthy of the death penalty, Frank is “by any means necessary.” Frank’s grief, the Punisher is a part of him, of course he is going to see Matt’s grief as part of Daredevil. “You lose him. Didn’t you red? You hear him don’t you?”

Frank started out as a corpse on mission for vengeance. He got the people who took his family. He spends his efforts to end the threats permanently. Startling similar to how we first met him.

Matt and Fisk have denied themselves from fully indulging, allowing themselves to lean into their Darker Halves. However, after the events of episode 4, that is clearly going to change. I hope it does in the most explosive way possible.

All of this started from listening to Mother Mother’s - Try to Change

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

Close your eyes, I'm here.

(..... @quibble-auk we ugh I might have really really wanted some sad fluff, it was supposed to be a quick blurb. Not connected or even angsty?? Then Comet took over, ugh my newest contribution to the Dropmix Trials..Yayyy...)

Tw. Eh Self worth, Self harm, angst with comfort because I could not take it right now.

-

Comet wanted to sleep, badly.

He sat in his customary chair beside his brother’s medical berths, with an air of exhaustion. It was noticeable from his dark eyes ringed with blue, the way his shoulders hung low but the muscles of his back still twitched with the need to be awake. It wasn't safe enough to sleep. Not here. Not when Comet knew so much and his brothers laid still in their own recharge. Sunstreaker recovering from his debacle with Dropmix.  A shiver racked Comet’s spine, his eyes burning at the memory of his cowardice, of his stupidity. If the young male could look any more tired, he did. Another wave of emotions hit when his mind turned those fifteen minutes over for the hundredth time. When the world had felt like it had caved in again.

  He had attacked Jeopardy. Like an animal he had tried to eat him, the young mech who had been nothing but kind. Comet had revealed himself to someone else, another pair of eyes. More adding onto his list of threats. What were the chances Jeopardy would turn in a report on him? Comet felt a horrible pit get deeper in his stomach, he had given no reason to not seem like a threat to the medic. He could be right now typing up a report, a slip of data that would get Comet taken away. Panic flared in his heart, tears burning his throat as he sputtered with horrible scenarios. All of which would be his fault. 

The muscle twitch of a yawn wracked through him, cutting off the worried train of thoughts. Comet did not release it, clenching his jaw against the organic signal. Even if he was alone now in a private room, among only his resting brothers.

Cometeater had not really slept since he had arrived in the torrential medbay, too frightened and nervous to close his eyes for more than a few minutes. 

It did not help that those few minutes of sleep were plagued by nightmares, that Dropmix himself and his smell had conjured back up. Those awful images on the computer had only worked up the terrors his mind tortured him with. Comet had  decided after the first night in Dropmix’s territory he wasn't going to sleep until Sideswipe woke up, until he was sure he was safe.

Then Dropmix hurt Sunstreaker. Then Comet tried to kill someone who might have been trying to be his friend. With that combined with every other stress, Cometeater finalized he just wasn't sleeping till they left this place.

What little he could snag was useless, it was a waste of his energy to try. Another yawn cramped his jaw, as Cometeater dug a claw into his arm to keep himself steady.

A warm hand grabbed onto his hand digging into his plating, “Hey..Don't do that..” 

Jolting, Comet looked to the side to find his red brother slightly awake, optics soft with the pain medication. Cometeater felt a new wave of loathing appear when he realized he was so deep into his own head he hadn't heard Sideswipe even stir. What if he had been in pain? Or needed a medic because of a complication? What if-

“Don’t do that either, Comet look at me.” Sideswipe’s rough voice was soft with concern, Comet hadn’t realized he had started to time his breaths with every rampaging worry on his mind. Which meant he was inches from hyperventilating.

Weak.

“No, no hey.”  Sideswipe was sitting up, he was not supposed to be sitting up.

Comet jerked eyes widening with concern, “Sides no, your-” The red mech said not a word, violet optics brightening with every moment as he looked around. Before landing on Comet, who had scrambled to be as close as possible in case the older mech had trouble. Cometeater stiffened under the knowing gaze, his hands dropping from their protective hovering as Sideswipe settled.

Many would underestimate the red mech as ditzy, maybe even stupid because of his smiles and charm. But those optics caught everything, it was annoying at times how well he knew Comet’s tells.

“You’re supposed to be resting..” It was a concerned murmur as another tired cramp went through Comet’s mouth, Sideswipe raised an eyebrow.

“Well yeah, same to you.” There was a protective lilt to Sideswipe’s curt snap, optics picking apart Comet’s tired form. The pretender had nothing in response.

“Yeah thought so, what's wrong?” Comet winced at the sentence, how many times had Sideswipe had to ask him that? Had to go out of his way to make sure Comet was alright. When all Comet did was let Dropmix-

A soft touch. Sideswipe’s rough hand moved to run along Comet’s face, a gentle grounding gesture that had the green mech trembling. He didn’t deserve it. “Don’t get too far in that head of yours Com, nothings wrong.”

But it was wrong, everything was wrong. This whole thing was his fault, if he had heard those seekers none of this would have happened, if he had attacked Dropmix he could have ended the fight before Sunny got hurt. “Cometeater I said stop it.” It was a snarl, that for what felt like the hundredth time, snapped him out of the deep water.

Sideswipe had a severe expression, his mouth downturned and brows knitted. “Talk to me. Don’t pull the you should be sleeping slag because you obviously haven't slept in weeks.” Comet closed his mouth at the pointed remark. Sideswipe had the gall to smirk, “I win. Now c'mon, what's swirling around in there?” Sideswipe tapped Comets' helm ever so softly to emphasize his point.

Comet took a shaky breath, “...I just can’t sleep, too..” Cometeater struggled to get out the right words. Sideswipe watched him patiently, thumb gently running down Comet’s face. That warm touch is what probably let the dam loose.

“Too much has happened, everything is so weird. A- and its my fault!” The thumb stopped.

“I-If I had heard those stupid seekers, if I hadn’t been sleeping, if I was doing what I was supposed to be doing!” Comet was trembling from the force of letting the thoughts finally fall from his mouth, “If I had not been so stupid,” His voice cracked, “ if I could have stopped Dropmix and not froze like some kind of coward-”,  Sideswipe opened his mouth, optics flaring with a sharp emotion. Comet didn’t let him speak, desperate to get the poison out of his brain.

“What kind of brother am I?! I dont deserve it I dont deserve you, Im not good enough-” Sideswipe cut him off by jerking their foreheads together, a gesture of pure tenderness that only made Comet sob.

Sideswipe hugged them tight together, his vents deep with what could either be rage or sadness, Comet felt guilt rear its ugly head once more.

Pressed against one another, they could feel the thrums of their hearts thudding. Comet’s slowed in response to the deep comforting hum of his brother’s. Sideswipe had his arms wrapped tight around the other, forcing slow breaths to ease the heartache coursing through him.

“I need you to listen to me, you hear me? No bullshit, no giggles, listen to me.” Sideswipe’s voice was raw with hurt, but firm as he turned his blazing gaze to meet Comet’s wet gold and black eyes.

“Never, ever say that again. None of its true. Not one word- Don't interrupt me.  First off Cometeater your ours, you will be till you die and you're gonna fragging deal with it. You're not a coward, Dropmix could have turned you into paste, you did nothing wrong. We talked about this. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

With every word the mech grew more solemn, hugging Comet like the world was ending.

“Bad things happen, slag happens Commy. All because you have intuition better than Sunny and I combined doesn't make you all seeing. You're not a Primus damned prophet. No one could have known except the superiors, who we both know can’t tell their helm from their aft half the time.” He snarled, rubbing circles into Comet’s armor desperately trying to comfort the smaller mech, who had only watched with wet wide optics. But every sentence had taken some of the hurt away, left Comet feeling less heavy. He had missed Sideswipe so much.

“Dammit Com, why..” Sideswipe seemed to run out of steam looking at his brother trying to grasp the right words to clean the wound the younger had seemed to let fester.

Comet opened his mouth, heart throbbing at causing so much pain. Sideswipe caught it with a growl, “No. Don’t start, this isn’t something for you to apologize for..Comet I love you so much. We love you so fragging much..Your our brother, nothing will ever change that. Primus, you are the only thing we have that isn’t just us.  You’re ours, I wouldn’t have survived after the attack without you. Sunny might never have found us if not for you..Sweetspark you did everything you could have done.” The older mech's voice held a crack in it, Comet pressed himself forward to cling to the mech best he could with the berth in the way, trying to offer comfort in return. Allowing himself to just finally melt, almost weak from relief and the force of his outburst.

 Sideswipe let out a growl when Comet couldn’t seem to get close enough, and without warning pulled Comet up into his lap. The pretender let out a squawk, remembering Jeopardy’s warnings past his tears.

“Frag that, come here.” With that Comet was tight in the hold of his brother, Sideswipe soothing them both with the contact. For a moment neither said a word, Comet allowing his brother’s comforts to wash over him. His scent the hard thump of his spark, fear dripping away with every breath. As the two held one another, Comet could feel sleep gently tugging at his eyelids.

When Sideswipe spoke again, a while after, his voice was soft. “I'm so proud of you, ok? You did everything you were supposed to, and I'm so proud of you.” With that Sideswipe gutted his fears, stole them away and smoothed the edges. They both knew this wasn’t the last time they would sit down and talk about this, too much had happened. But both were tired, Sideswipe had begun to feel the ache of his old injuries, and Comet needed sleep.

“Go to sleep Com, I'm here. We're both here, we're all here.”

The smaller mech shook his head tiredly, “I tried..I can’t.” Sideswipe pressed his thickly armored helm against the smaller mech’s. “..Nightmares?”

Comet nodded into his brother's neck, fighting sleep with every breath. Sideswipe would have found the battle amusing, if the reason behind it wasn't so spark breaking. Sunstreaker was tiredly awake now, gazing at his siblings, concern in his optics. Sideswipe cuddled his smaller sibling closer, sending a quick tip over the bond that he would explain later. It was steeped in a request for the golden twin to hold his temper.

Sunstreaker moved so his shoulder was brushing Sideswipe’s, a tender gesture of understanding. “Nothings gonna get you Com, I swear it.” Sideswipe tried to ignore the pang of guilt that came along with the promise, how many times had he broken it?  

Sunstreaker sat up fully, tugging his brother down onto the berth and curling against him. Much like they did when they were sparklings, two pieces that fit perfectly.

Sunny laid his helm on his brother’s shoulder, optics a tired glow. Over the bond the gladiator sent soft pulses of warmth, trying to soothe the guilt.

“We're here little brother, nothing's gonna touch you.”

-

Jeopardy would later enter the private room in the morning, finding Sunstreaker awake sitting on the edge of the berth.  Sideswipe positioned so he was mostly behind the other gladiator, cradling a sleeping Comet. The green mech was firmly hidden behind the gladiators, they without budging asked the medic to leave. Saying they wanted some privacy for a few hours. Jeopardy had nodded ever so slowly, his fresh weld shiny in the low light. Leaving the energon on a nearby table, saying he would be back in three hours to check on their vitals. Neither mech said a word, violet optics firm and tired.  

[sovonight]

;

[chipjrwibignaturals]

THOUGHT ABT CHIP JRWI INCIDENT 40 DEAD 32 WOUNDED