#they hold hands everywhere its so wonderful

[potatobugz]

hii :3c (doodle dump again, again)

[dolicekiss]

Apple Of Their Eye

part two here

PAIRING: Dark! Aegon Targaryen X sister!reader X Dark!Aemond Targaryen

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni) incestuous relationship, dark!targaryen brothers, innocent virgin!reader, dubcon, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, handjob, riding, breeding, threesome, kissing, possessive behaviour, nipple play, throat fucking, drunk reader, praise, pretty much the targaryen brothers giving their sister sex lessons and claiming her as theirs.

SYNOPSIS: Being close to both your Targaryen brothers had its own perks. Drinking wine together, going horse riding and reading books. It was all a dream but when Aegon heard the talk of your betrothal, he decided it was finally time to taint you. What you didn’t expect was Aemond walking in on you indulging in your older brother’s sickly pleasures.

Giggles erupted from your lips when your sweet brother, Aegon made a weird face to encourage sweet giggles out of you. His favorite sound in the world, as he liked to address it. Your bond with both your brothers was something never seen before among house Targaryen. Fiercely loyal to each other, defensive and protective. You were the perfect trio of destruction — well, with a honeyed touch of peace.

That was your vital role.

To calm down the blood of the dragons.

You had grown so attached to one another that both your brothers denied the responsibilities of the throne, wishing to spend time with you.

You had to convince Aegon to sit upon the throne and he agreed in one go when his little sister asked for it. How could he not? You were looking up at him with such hopeful, glimmering eyes, those long lashes of yours coating the apple of your cheeks.

He often wondered if his bridled desires would break out of control one moon and find way to you?

Aemond entered the room, hand resting atop his sword as he analyzed the room, which was in shambles. You and Aegon again had enjoyed a pillow fight — pieces of feathers and cotton everywhere in the room. Pale sheets on the floor and wine spilled everywhere.

He was the youngest, yet he felt as though he was the oldest amongst you three. You and Aegon behaved like little children, even when you were younglings. Aegon and you would disturb the council members and pull hilarious pranks on them meanwhile Aemond paid them no mind.

“You two.” His voice put a hold to your giggles, your attention diverting to your brother. Your silky strands — similar to Aemond’s — were a mess. They reached your hips, only at such a young age and Aemond couldn't keep his one eye off the loose strap of your dress over your creamy shoulder.

Aegon smirked to himself, knowing well him and his brother shared their feelings about you.

You smiled at Aemond, a big grin of excitement adorning your soft, delicate features. “Aemond! Come here, have wine with us.”

He shook his head. “I have duties to tend to, sister. You carry on.”

Your lips formed a frown. “But Aemond, I miss you. You rarely ever spend time with Aegon and I. Do we bore you now, do you seek fun in planning war and those boring councils?”

Aegon nodded in agreement and Aemond shook his head, walking closer and taking a seat on the bed with you. Aegon had his head on your lap, staring at you with love sick eyes of a puppy. Your flushed state and rosette cheeks were a vision for Aemond — his callous hands aching to touch you.

“Aemond how can you neglect our beautiful sister here?” Aegon taunted, reaching out to wrap a finger around a strand of your silver hair and curl it. You smiled at him, cheeks round and Aemond swallowed. “I am not neglecting her, I am merely occupied with tending to my duties since no one else will.”

He diverted his one eye to Aegon and the older brother groaned, tugging on the single strand of your hair. You whimpered at the pain, lips puckering into a pout. “Aegon, stop it.”

“You shouldn't trust Aegon so much, sweet sister. He is all but a twat,” Aemond’s words made you turn to him and he looked away from you, not wanting his gaze to linger somewhere below where he was allowed. His own reluctance at being around you proved that he too struggled with the same demons his older brother did.

Aegon sat up now, eyes boring into Aemond’s. “And why shouldn't she? I pay her more mind, more attention than you ever would.”

“I trust him, brother. You should too, he's our king and he cares for me.” You softly spoke.

Your soft soothing voice was like the sun against their cold words. Aemond pondered late at night how their monstrous house got blessed with such a sweet little thing? Repentance was not something that came to house Targaryen — so why were they bestowed with you?

Your kindness, to the maids — the highborn ladies and even the members of the small council made you quite the perfect candidate for queen, especially when the realm loved and adored you. The sweet daughter of Viserys Targaryen, left behind to bring prosperity and love.

“Yeah, she trusts me.” Aegon said, scooting behind you. His chin nestled over the small cup of your shoulder, staring straight ahead with mischief in his gaze. “Don't you, sweet sister?”

You nodded, coyly.

He was almost taunting Aemond, being able to stay this close to you while he was busy with preparing for war. It was not fair, definitely to Aemond it was not. He inhaled a sharp breath as Aegon buried his face in the crook of your neck, accidentally pressing a kiss to your exposed skin. Your body shuddered and you quickly pulled away from him, staring at him in confusion.

Aemond felt a lump form in his throat.

Fuck, you were so innocent. Oblivious to the sick desires of both your brothers.

“Be careful, sister.” Aemond said to you, gesturing towards the other Targaryen brother. “You're too innocent for your own good.”

Then he got up, parting from your chambers, hoping that the next time he enters, he finds you all alone and not with that foolish brother of his. He did not harbor resentment towards Aegon necessarily, but ever since they were children, they fought. For a dragon, for toys and for your attention. It had been a constant battle of who'd bring you the prettiest flower first, who would be first to dance with you at feasts, who's horse you'd sit on and ride.

For everyone else it was draining but you relished the attention you got from your brothers. Enjoying each and every bit of the fight going on for you — only you didn't knew it went beyond the walls of brotherly love and they were horrifyingly obsessed with you.

Aemond had turned down every marriage alliance, not interested in securing the future of the realm if it came at the expense of being far from you. A woman would only act as a wall between the two of you and Aemond did not want any walls. He would gladly crush them, with or without the help of Vhagar.

You prepared another cup of wine to drink but Aegon was called to the council — arranged by the dowager Queen. Crestfallen, you let your brother go as he fixed his attire and departed from your chambers, after leaving a sweet kiss on your forehead.

As soon as Aegon entered the council room, he's greeted with everyone there. Each member and with a scowl on his face, he takes his seat. Evidently upset by having to leave his sister, even though he could go back to her at anytime.

“Your Grace.” Everyone greeted him, standing up and heads low. Aegon gestured them to sit and they obliged, following into their comfortable seats.

Alicent looked at the council members, knowing that the discussion they had come to would eventually upset the King. Everyone was hesitant and Aegon noticed that. He raised a brow, confused. “Are we here to stare at one another? If we are, do excuse me. I have pressing matters to attend to.”

Everyone knew pressing matters meant giving his undivided attention to his little sister.

“In order to secure house frey and gain access and control to the passage in riverrun, we think it would be best to form a marriage alliance with them.” Alicent’s words didn't actually hit Aegon how they were supposed to, as he grinned. “We cannot offer a dragon, we can offer a dragon.”

Assuming the marriage alliance was for Aemond, his younger brother not his little sister. “Great, it is about time Aemond finds himself a pretty bird too.”

He was cheerful. If Aemond was married, he would have your attention all to himself and he became overjoyed with that, a little too fast. Alicent swallowed, exchanging glances with the master of coin and the maester. Her hesitance was in existence because she did not know how maturely her son would handle to the news of sending his only sister away from him.

“Your Grace, the marriage alliance is for your sister, the Princess. House frey has suitors available and the Princess gets to choose with whom she wishes to ma—”

Aegon’s palms slammed down against the wooden table, rising up from the table. His gaze searing and his lips quivering from the sheer courage of Tyland Lannister’s, to marry his sister off without even inquiring him about it. The fact that they even thought of doing that filled him with a rage so overwhelming, he felt like burning the whole small council to the ground.

“That is my sister you're speaking of.” He reminded them. “I will have your fucking tongue for even suggesting to get her married off in the first place.”

The whole council flinched at the King’s outburst. Alicent had expected it to be a tantrum but this was more than a childish tantrum. The room was elevated with tension as Aegon panted, his body quivering from the rage coursing through his veins.

Alicent took a deep breath. “It is for the best, my King. You need to win this war and the Freys are demanding a dragon which we cannot provide.”

“So you give them my sister, like some fucking piece of coin?” He snapped, turning to her. “She is the princess of house Targaryen, my sister. I will not have you subject her to the same fate as all the other women.”

Aegon dismissed the council, walking out of there. Alicent sighed, holding onto tethered pieces of hope that maybe talking to Aemond about it would be better, since Aegon did consider him his closest blood and best sword. Little did she know she would be riling up another dragon and awakening it.

The next few hours were unbearable for Aegon. He had visited your chambers but you were nowhere to be found and when he asked your maids, he was told you'd gone out to collect flowers for the vase in your room. Countless times both your brothers had told you to either tell them or command the servants to bring you flowers — still you did what you felt.

Upon your return, you found your chambers not deserted. Aegon was there, situated on your bed. Hair a mess, tunic unbuttoned revealing his pale chest. Your brother was disheveled and you couldn't recall the time you two spent together being the cause of this.

So what had happened?

Worried and upset, you dropped the basket filled with flowers by the side of your door and walked over to him. Your purple dress, a match to your purple eyes, flowing behind like the waves of the sea. You sat next to your brother, small hands reaching out to cup his face in them.

“Brother, is everything alright? You seem upset.” You inquired and when Aegon raised his head, you saw just how devasted he appeared.

Devasted and drunk.

Your eyes noticed the cup in his hand, as well as the pitcher on the floor. Something happened at the small council, that much you figured out. But what had happened, now that was for Aegon to tell you.

Though your brother only stared at you, bringing the cup to your lips. “Drink, for me.”

You were in no mood for wine but you still obliged him, parting your lips and consuming the wine. The crimson tainting your lips red as you swallowed it, gulp after gulp. Even for you that was a lot and when you were finished, Aegon refilled the empty cup.

“Drink more.” It was a command.

You frowned. “Did I do something wrong, brother? Is this your way of reprimanding me?”

He stared at you, eyes droopy and full of glimmering lust for you — unbeknownst to you. “I want us to be drunk together, like old times. Please.”

You heard the plea in his voice and nodded, softening at the disheveled state your brother was in. You parted your lips to take sips as Aegon held the cup for you. He pushed it, more and more until the wine had overwhelmed you and drops spilled over your dress, trailing down your chin.

The red had absorbed into the purple but you finished your glass, staring at Aegon after the glass had been tore from your lips.

Aegon moved further into your soft bed, veiled by pellucid pale curtain and you followed, laying next to him. His head found comfort on your chest, a frown so evidently ceasing his features. Confusion had clouded your senses — hoping that your brother might tell you the cause of his distress.

But all he did was lay silently on your chest, feeling the soft plush of your breasts against his cheek.

Aegon swallowed the urge to press his mouth over your pebbles and suck them, burying his face deeper into your breasts. He was a mess and he knew that his mother would go against him, to secure more power and alliances with the other lords.

He could not let it happen.

He mouthed lazily at the chiffon, attempting to take a nipple of yours into his mouth. The purple fabric absorbed the saturation of his saliva, as your brother crossed all the limits between the two of you.

As if there were any to begin with.

“A-Aegon, what are you doing?” You whispered in a breathy gasp when he sucked on your peaked nipple through the cotton, his other hand moving to provide your other breast with attention.

Your back arched slightly and your breath quickened as your brother’s hands moved down to the laces which held your dress together. As drunk as you were, you still knew this was wrong yet had no control whatsoever of the situation. Once your laces were loosened enough, Aegon tugged at the sleeve of your dress and unveiled your breast.

“Brother, this is inappropriate. You're under the influence of wine, we should not—”

Aegon looked up at you with the softest look on his face, akin to a puppy. He switched his attention to the unattended breast of yours which he had uncovered, suckling on the nipple, fingers rolling the soaked one in between them. Your soft lips were parted and made the prettiest little sounds of pleasure foreign to you.

“I'm your brother, sister. If I don't deserve to have you like this when who does? Those fucking house frey suitors?” He snapped, voice fallen to a few octaves. Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, not being able to understand what he was insinuating with his words.

Your brows scrunched and your crinkles formed on your nose. “H-House frey, Aegon?”

He chose silence.

Aegon moved to lean up against the bed, his unbuttoned tunic revealing his bare chest beneath his small clothes. You watched him, your silver hair a mess — cascading beautifully down your shoulders and narrow back. Aegon patted his lap, a silent order for you to sit on it but you could only blink innocently.

Having no regards of such matters.

“Crawl to me, sister.”

You nodded, as puzzled as you were, slithering to settle yourself over your brother's lap. Both hands on his chest as your thighs sat over each side of his waist, looking down at him. This was all new to you but you were not complaining.

His hand extended to grasp your chin, pulling your face closer to him. He could see everything, all the subtle features which made you all the more beautiful. The mole neath your left eye, the way your pupils enlarged whenever you locked eyes with him, how your pretty lips quivered. “Today I will teach you how to make your brothers the happiest. You wish to learn, don't you sister?”

You eagerly nodded.

Aegon grinned. “Kiss me, my little dove.”

You obliged, pressing a kiss to his cheek and Aegon released a chuckle. In complete awe of the naivety you possessed. “Here, sister. This will make me and Aemond the happiest.”

You were hesitant with it but still leaned your head, pressing a subtle, feather light kiss to Aegon’s lips. His hunger was far from satiated as he stared at you with a hooded gaze, his blood heating up at the feel of your lips against his. He was over the moon with only a peck, he could only imagine the power of a proper liplock.

“Did I do good? Was that okay, brother?”

Aegon shook his head. “No, little dove. You have to do more, kiss more of my lips. Try to suck on them, yeah?”

You puffed out your cheeks, irritated at your own incompetence at making your brother happy. Still, you kissed him once more but this time like a baby bird trying to eat it's food with untrained beaks, you tried to suck on Aegon’s lips. Closing them around his upper lip, your saliva glossing his lips. Aegon’s cock stirred awake in his breeches at how inexperienced you truly were. An innocent girl getting ruined by her brother.

You closed your eyes, focusing at the task at hand. Aegon reached for your nape, locking it in place as he finally kissed you back. Soft kiss of yours evolved into something harsher, something more passionate and you whimpered, your endeavor to retreat declined by your brother. Your small hands nestled over his chest — trying to push him but it only strengthened the kiss, Aegon trying to drown in the sweet nectar.

“Open your mouth, little dove.” Your endeavor to speak was mistaken as consent by your brother, his tongue running over the edge of your perfect teeth — making way to your tongue. He wrapped around the wet muscle and began to suck on it, the saliva dripping from your mouth and slipping into his. Light headed you had become due to the vigorous kiss and how your brother dominated your mouth with his tongue.

Aegon soon broke the kiss and allowed you a few moments of air, staring at how swollen your lips had become. He had tasted you and it only fuelled his desire more for you. To claim you and never let anyone else's sight fall upon you. Heart fluttering at being the first man ever to put his cock inside you.

“This is what good sisters do for their brothers.” He said to you, his hands rested on your thighs and thumbs swiping across the pale skin. “You're such a good girl, my Princess. You'd do anything for your King, won't you?”

You nodded your head impatiently, doe eyes looking into your brother's purple ones. Chest falling and rising, sharp intakes of breath breaking through the silence. Aegon smiled and that was the biggest achievement for you, ever. He lifted one hand from your thigh, taking your small hand into his. Aegon loved how your petite hand disappeared into his — a perfect size you were for him.

He wondered in that very moment how you'd look taking Aemond’s cock into your small mouth, considering he was bigger than the both of you. Taller, toned from the constant training of wielding a sword. The thought of both of them taking you at once riled him up like nothing else.

Aegon brought your hand to his crotch, laying it over it. Your coy eyes widened. “B-Brother.”

“Unlace my trousers, sister.” Albeit it was an order, his tone was soft. You had never seen such a dark look in your sweet brother's eyes, violets always glimmering with excitement and happiness.

You were hesitant at first, reluctance dripping from the way your shivering fingers pulled at the soft laces which tightened his trousers. Aegon watched with a curious gaze, knowing very well he was about to defile his little sister and ruin the innocence she so wholeheartedly showcased. It almost made him sad but this was necessary, to wed you to him. Or even Aemond.

He couldn't care less who you married as long as it was one of them.

With bated breath, you loosened his trousers and then looked at him for further instructions.

“Pull out my cock, sister. You should feel something hard, that is my cock.” Your silver lashes fluttered, fingers getting to work. The second you felt something hard, skin but rigid — you grasped it to free it. Aegon hissed upon your cold touch and you retreated, feeling bad.

He was quick to reach for you. “No, no. Do not worry, for I am fine. You shall continue.”

So you did, given the reassurance, your gaze focusing on the unclothed cock of your sweet brother. Aegon reached for your hand and wrapped it around his own cock with your neath it. “I need you to move your hand, sister. Pursue my actions, this will truly please me.”

Aegon began to move his hand in slow, sensual strokes and you followed. The more you touched him, the more he lost his composure. Little sounds falling from his parted lips and his hand fell to the side over his thigh — letting you take the lead. You picked up your pace, hand undulating over his throbbing length.

Palm stained with his precum, you used it to slick his twitching cock and then moved your fingers up. A shuddered gasp of fulfillment slipping from Aegon’s mouth upon that accident. You smiled, in victory and pressed the pad of your thumb deeper into his little hole. Watching as more of the pale liquid spurted out.

The more you stared at it, the prettier you found it — shade darker than the rest of him and cock head the same pink as his agape lips. Varicose veins, a deeper hue of purple than the ones of your irises embedded in neath the flesh.

Eyes sparkling at the thought of touching Aemond in the same way, getting to see such an intimate part of him. You wished he was here, to be able to do this for him would be a great blessing.

Your mouth watered the more you gazed at your brother's glistening cock head. Without paying much mind to it, you leaned lower and closed your lips around it. Aegon’s eyes immediately snapped open when he felt the warmth your mouth provided and stared down at you.

“Oh, Gods.” He groaned, almost a whine. “Who taught you this, my sister? Have you engaged in such acts before?”

You quickly backed away, shaking your head with a guilt ridden face. “No, Aegon. I am so very sorry if this was something I was not supposed to do. I promise I have never done this before, I promise. I swea—”

“Hey,” Aegon whispered, caressing your face with his large hand. “I believe you. You see I do not wish for you to get involved like this with someone else. It is only right if you do it with me, and Aemond.”

You nodded your head understandingly. “I would love for you to continue, my little dove but right now I need something more. Could you give it to me, my sweet girl?”

“Yes, brother. Anything my King wants.” You smiled, lips shimmering with his residual and Aegon’s cock twitched.

He pulled you on his lap once more, hands on your waist. Then the pair dropped lower to your bare thighs and Aegon bunched up your dress, revealing your unclothed, bare pink cunt. You were never too fond of wearing small clothes under your dresses — summer of Westeros unbearable for a delicate thing like you.

He licked his lips deliciously.

“Just as you touched me, I have the full right to touch you too. You understand?” You nodded like an obedient student, stomach churning in anticipation for your brother's next move.

Aegon pulled you closer rather harshly by your thighs and your shoulders went slumped, feeling his head brush against your pearl. Your eyes widening at the electrifying contact. “I need to do this in order to make my cock fit inside you, so be a good girl and let me, okay?”

“Yes, brother.” You whispered, stomach fluttering in anticipation.

Aegon’s fingers moved to your cunt, running in the center of your soaked folds. He found it amusing how you had no idea of the pleasures taken between a man and a woman yet your body had reacted like this, cunt drenched and wet. He knew your maidenhead was still intact, after all he rarely ever let you be in the presence of someone else.

If Aegon was occupied, it would be Aemond who would linger around you like a new born shadow.

They knew how innocent you were, how fucking naive and monsters lurked in the red keep. You needed their protection more than the people of the realm. Careless they were about the iron throne, Aegon wished to fuck you on it before properly ascending it.

“Oh.” Your eyes slightly rolled back at the way your brother caressed your folds, pinching your pink pearl. “You've got such a beautiful cunt, my sister. I am sure you will put it to good use to make your brothers happy, won't you, little dove?”

Eager you were to please them.

They had brought you everything, anything your heart had ever desired. Allowed you to ride their dragons with them, brought you the most beautiful gifts from the north and drowned you in lannister gold. Both brothers even went as far as getting you jewelry from Dorne since Aemond caught you complimenting a dornish necklace.

Aemon’s thumb prodded at your bud, swirling it around, watching how your face contorted in pleasure. Lids fluttering shut and head thrown back, fingernails digging into your brother's chest. You were a fucking sight, all disheveled. With his other hand, he entered a finger into you and your pleasure-clad face evolved into one of pain.

“Ow,” you complained at the sting of being stretched out. “Aegon, that hurts.”

“I know, my Princess but you mustn't rush. I will bring you pleasure soon, it is a promise.”

You believed him, waiting out the sting as Aegon fully sunk his finger into you. Driving it in and out of you, all the while rubbing your swollen attention seeking bud. Your expressions were the prettiest, the most breathtaking and he questioned himself why did he not do this earlier?

Just what was stopping him back?

He was the fucking King, goddamnit. He could have you whenever he wanted and you would give yourself up to him, everytime. Just like right now how you were serving yourself up to him on a silver platter like those animals during feasts.

“Brother, oh my god. This feels weird, I feel weird.” You whimpered, hips moving on their own accord over your brother's fingers and Aegon licked his lips, furthermore sinking his canines into his lower lip.

Aegon added another without warning and you whined out, a loud one which made him reach over and press his palm over your lips, sealing them shut. “As much as I absolutely adore your sounds, we should not let anyone find out.”

You nodded, and Aegon removed his hand, letting you breathe. You decided to keep it blow but everytime Aegon would move his finger inside you and you would feel it run at your gummy unclaimed walls, little whimpers would escape you. Feeling his fingers curve up and rotate, hitting into a spongy spot of which’s existence you too were unaware of, you cried out.

Aegon smiled.

That was enough preparing.

Aegon pulled out and you gasped when he brought his lips to his mouth, sucking on your sweet arousal.

He wanted to take you on your back but that was how he took his whores. He would never let them sit on top of his thighs and look at him like this — all dolled up yet disheveled. You were his sister, the apple of his fucking eye and Aegon was not going to take you like some whores.

They existed to keep his sick desires for you at bay, but he knew after this, he would not be needing them anymore.

“This is going to hurt, sister but worry not, I assure you I am right here. It shall feel better soon, just like with my fingers.” His comforting words and soft tone helped with your trepidation — allowing your brother to raise your hips and align his cock with your drenched hole.

Aegon allowed you to sink down on him and when his head breached your entrance, a sting worse than before spread like a virus, consuming your whole being. Your eyes welled up with tears and your lips quivered, a brusque tremor awakening in your petite hands. He was quick to come to your rescue, holding both your hands and leading the pair to his nape, making you latch onto him for support.

“Here, hold me. As tight as you can, my little dove and carefully slide down. Be careful and gentle, alright? No rush here.” He continuously comforted, guiding you and you nodded, inhaling a deep and brief breath.

Then you sunk more, his girth expanding your hole. Little movement and reassuring words from your brother helped you take the entirety of his cock and when your ass finally met his thighs, Aegon groaned. You felt his cock twitch inside you and your hold around his nape tightened. The pain was throbbing and hot — consuming your whole being but the fact you were so full with your brother's cock, contempt, you let out a drunk giggle.

Short on breath but still, you smiled at Aegon.

While you two descended deeper into forbidden pleasures, Aemond had gotten free time to come see you.

After intense sword training and back and forth of sharing strategies of the war with Ser Criston Cole, Aemond had found his feet switching route — bringing you to the hallway where your chambers were located. As he walked, with each step, he felt extreme excitement build up in his stomach. Finally having enough time to spare you a visit and get drunk, bask in your presence.

He hoped that Aegon would not be there as he wanted you all to himself, especially for tonight.

Upon opening the door to your chambers, the view before him left him astonished and there were rarely many things that left Aemond Targaryen astonished. He was quick to close the doors, not wishing for anyone to come across the Princess’ bed chambers and witness such sin.

His hands formed into fists — how you sat on top of Aegon, hips oscillating in a sensual manner. Too sensual for someone as innocent as you and he knew Aegon had managed to ruin and defile the only pure thing about house Targaryen. Yet fucking again. You two were so indulged and far gone in your pleasures that Aemond’s presence was barely noticed.

But then Aegon caught his brother's tall figure by the door.

“Oh brother, welcome.” He called out, although it was more of a moan and you turned to look at Aemond.

Your cunt tightened at Aegon when gaze laid over your brother, the one you missed the most since he barely had time to spare. Aegon let out a hoarse chuckle, shaking his head at his brother. “You will not fucking believe it but our sister's cunt became more tight upon seeing you.”

Aemond’s teeth gritted. “Mittys, that is our sister.” (Fool)

“Do not pretend as if you have not wished to do this more than I have.” He voiced it out, hand pressing into your waist. You whimpered as Aegon made you move on his cock and by now the pain had subsided, pleasure coming in to take control. You began to roll your hips over his thighs, eyes locked with Aemond.

You needed him too, your eyes screamed for him to come closer and as if you had telepathically communicated, Aemond sauntered towards the bed.

You whined when Aegon pushed his hips up, breaching furthermore of your cunt. “Aemond.”

Aegon was inside you but you were moaning for Aemond and the older brother did not even find it upsetting. Rather his cock hardened even more — if possible, hearing you whine and ache for your younger brother with such need. He did not mind sharing you with Aemond, as long as he could have his fill of you too.

“A-Aegon said I could make you both happier like this. I want to, I love you. You're my brothers.” You expressed your profound love for them, nodding your head as Aemond slipped of his leather gloves. He tossed them aside and reached for your hair, taking a strand and curling it around his finger. His nose catching a whiff of the perfumes and oils you were basking in, yet the natural scent of roses was enough to drive him fucking crazy.

He leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your bare shoulder. Eye following the stretch mark trailing down to your breasts and the stretched flesh made him realize that you had grown. You were not a little girl anymore but you were still their little sister. Your rosy nipples were peaked — demanding attention and Aemond hissed.

His own cock bulging against his leather slacks and Aegon saw it.

Aegon moved inside you, thrusting up and you lost composure. Lips breaking apart to let out the most feminine sounds, silver strands glued on a perspired forehead as Aemond watched you bounce on his brother's cock with vigor. Your fingernails had dug into Aegon’s nape and tears sat beautifully like pearls in your waterline.

It was evident that you were sensitive, nothing like the common whores.

“Does she not look fucking beautiful, bouncing on her big brother's cock like that?”

Aemond wanted to punch Aegon but he was not wrong. You did look celestial, out of this world with how you bounced up and down on his cock, trying to desperately please him.

Aegon rolled his eyes at Aemond. “Are you only going to just watch? I have taught her things, with her hand and mouth. Be a dear and show him, sister.”

Like a trained puppy, you were quick to oblige, hands extended to work gracefully over Aemond’s leather slacks. You undid them, pulling at the leather and he watched how eager and desperate you were. Hands moving with a significant tremor.

“Aemond,” he raised his eye from your hands to your face. “may I please have you in my mouth?”

If the offer had crawled to him on its fucking fours with the most precious doe eyes, who was he to deny? He, too was a man at the end and had perpetually craved you the same as Aegon. Only he was subtle with his desires.

“Yes, my sweet sister.” Aemond whispered, staring at you. His consent made you flourish like the moonlight, bright and glowing right in his face.

Aegon decided it would be better to switch positions and he pulled out, bringing you on all your fours and giving space to Aemond against the bed headboard. He shifted, sprawled out before you, leather slacks and small clothes long gone. In the process, Aegon had stripped himself bare too but the brothers wanted you to not remove the dress.

Just how easily they had access to you despite the dress, it enticed them.

With Aemond’s cock in your hand, you came to a conclusion that his was the prettiest. It was longer than Aegon’s but had almost the same girth. Protruding veins embedded inside the pale skin, his balls hot and throbbing with an ache. You looked up at him and smiled and all Aemond could do was return it and fucking melt.

“Aemond, remove your eye patch. I want to see you whole.” You voiced out your desires and he reached for the eye patch, sliding it off and tossing it aside. The sapphire sparkled like crazy in his eye and you had always found it to be the most coolest and breathtaking thing about Aemond.

Having less of a part than the others did not make him less human too.

Though he appeared more like a god. The fire from the fireplace casting a soft golden glow over both brothers, leaving them heated with pent up desires.

Aegon had already pummeled his cock back into you, not after witnessing the blood staining his length. Testament of your chasity staining him fully and his wanton for you only grew more. You pressed a little kiss to Aemond’s tip — watching him with your deer like purple eyes and he hissed, hand moving to interview with your silver strands.

Eventually you wrapped your lips around his head, slowly taking him deeper and deeper into your mouth while using your hand to stroke the rest which failed to fit. All while Aegon drove himself deeper inside your sweet, innocent cunt, drawing pathetic little whines out of you.

Aemond groaned, fingers tightening around your roots when the vibrations from your moans sent waves of electricity straight into his loins. You choked when he breached your throat, sputtering around him. Drool and cum glistening around your mouth. Your younger brother sighed pleasure, primary focus of his one eye.

“Messy little girl,” he taunted, the fluids dripping from your chin.

Aegon nestled his cock over and over into your sweet spot, urging you to reach your peak and unravel. “L-Look at her. So fucking obedient and pliant. I want to watch her stomach swell up with my babe. That way mother won't try to marry her off to someone else, some fucking riverrun lord.”

Aemond’s attention snapped to his brother's words, and Aegon only nodded. Letting him know that they were close to losing their sister but not anymore. The sweet dove was tainted, used and claimed. Even if their mother tried to marry her off, she was already tainted by her brothers and no lord would want her. That pleased both Aemond and Aegon.

“Gods, what a blessing you are.” Aemond praised you, highly, palm pressing deeper on your head, encouraging you to take him deeper and you did. His head sliding into the confines of your tight, wet throat. “Perfect little girl, a cocksleeve.”

With each thrust from Aegon, your body moved forward against Aemond’s. A sweaty mess of pleasure and bodied you three were but that did not matter. Aegon felt his peak near, tethering onto it and soon he finished inside you after delivering harsh, potent stutters of hips into you. Your cunt tightened, sucking him in, like a vice.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned. “Like that, little dove, take me in, all of me. Milk me fucking dry, let me breed you so you carry my silver haired children.”

Aemond didn't mind his brother having you first and defiling you, since he pretty sure had your throat first. You were theirs and that's all that mattered. Gagging sounds reverberated in the room along with strong sounds of skin slapping against skin. Your peak danced around too, and when Aemond fucked his cock harshly into your throat, you squeezed around Aegon’s cock and came all over. Tears splurging out, making a mess on your face.

Your whole body twitching from the intense climax. Thighs shaking and sensitivity heightened. Followed by your release, Aemond pursued. Release spurts of white into your mouth, spending fully inside you. Yet he did not unhand you, holding your head in place to fuck his hot load into your mouth.

Once he was done, he pulled out and grasped your chin, peeking inside. “Swallow it whole, Princess.”

And you did. Gulping down the remnants of his spend.

Your head, tired from being in one position, laid right on Aemond’s bare thigh. Aegon was still inside you and when he pulled out, he saw your gaping hole spurt out his white residual. Parts that failed to reach your womb but it did not matter. He would breed you over and over again until you were to end up with his child.

Or Aemond’s.

As long as it was a silver haired babe.

“A-Are you happy now?” You asked, a question for both of your brothers and Aemond nodded his head, running his slim fingers in your hair.

Aegon crawled upto you, laying next to Aemond. A subtle smile playing at his lips, eyes hooded and body weary from all the hard work. “Very happy, little dove. We could not have asked for a better sister.”

Your pale flushed skin reddened as Aemond moved you, bringing you closer to his chest and wrapping his arms around you. Aegon admired the two of you, pleased with the fucked up dynamics of his family. This was a pleasure he could not have found or ever would find in the bed of a whore. You were the apple of their eye and they could not let you go, even if it meant restoring to such methods.

Your hands cupped your younger brother's face, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

Aemond had expected it to be a gentle peck but it grew needy and hasty, exactly how Aegon had taught you. Your lips suckling on his like a babe, trying to pry his mouth open and meet your tongue with his. You seemed addicted, desperate to kiss your younger brother the same way you had kissed your older. The kiss grew heated as Aemond opened his lips, finally taking control and dominating your mouth.

You whimpered, and Aemond could taste the residual of his orgasm. It did not phase him as he continued relishing in the sweet kiss, feeling your cunt beginning to rut against his already hardening cock.

When you broke the kiss, Aemond admired you before shifting his attention to Aegon who had a nasty grin on his face. “You're responsible for this.”

“Proudly. Only had to teach her once and look at how she's already sucking on your lips like it's a fucking cock.” He cheered, reaching over to pinch your cheeks. You giggled and hugged your younger brother, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

The three of you did not leave your chambers that night while the whole of red keep searched endlessly for the sword, the King and the maiden.

[blueboybot]

A Lantern's Light

This time it isn't Batman, Superman or even Wonder Woman that has a secret child. Rather, it is none other than our resident Green Lantern, Hal Jordan.

Memory holds knowledge and within that knowledge holds power.

Maybe Star Sapphire and Green Lantern did manage to live a happy life before everything went to ruins.

When Danny unexpectedly gets saved by Hal they both stop, just looking at each other...

_____________

Danny should've been faster. He saw the fight, he knew how close they were and yet he didn't think to use one of his many ghost powers to get far away. Now he was about to be crushed by a giant piece of apartment building. It won't kill him but it was sure going to be a mess on the streets and that will bring more attention to him than he wants.

Before the giant piece of stone could do its job a green light encased it, not exactly like the ecto-green he saw with other ghost, and stopped it from making him the human pancake he was destined to be, green slightly poisonous syrup included. When the stone was put aside Danny was able to see the hero Green Lantern.

Now Danny has only ever seen the man on tv or far away while the other fights and even then he didn't pay him much interest. But now that he was here, now that he was so close to him Danny felt something. His core, his soul...it knew this man, it new Green Lantern.

"Hey kid you need to go this place isn't safe...for...you..."

__________

Hal is a lot of things.

A test pilot who worked for Ferris Aircraft.

A member of the Green Lantern Corps working with other Green lanterns and venturing out into parts of space that he thought was never possible for him.

A member of the Justice League where he fights alongside other heroes, taking down any evil that threatens the earth and making sure it is a safer place for its inhabitants.

But.

There was a time when he was blessed with a miracle and became a father to the cutest baby in the world. His baby boy that he took almost everywhere with him, playing with him and watching as those blue eyes lit up with enough joy to power a house.

Hal doesn't like to think about those memories now, they always came accompanied with the sound of thunder, rain, screaming and crying. He lost everything that day and he was sure he'd never see those eyes again.

So why...why were they looking back at him?

__________

Danny did not know what was happening to him right now and he was a bit scared. Him and Green Lantern have just been there staring at each other, not saying anything, just staring.

Green Lantern touched the down on the ground and very slowly started walking towards him. Danny couldn't find it in himself to move, he was paralysed and it wasn't completely with fear.

When he was close enough enough Green Lantern looked down at him, not in the arrogant way, as if he didn't realize how short Danny would be. Danny was in a bit of awe of how much bigger and more muscled the man looked up close, the way his masked eyes looked as if they almost glowed. Despite all of this Danny didn't feel any of the fear one should when a man this big corners you, rather, he felt safe.

Green Lantern reached out his hand to hold the side of Danny's face softly and he melted into the touch. This feeling of safe and comfort was almost too much, he hadn't this way in a long time, not since he had to run and leave everyone and everything he loved behind. He didn't even realize he was crying.

A loud boom shook the ground they were standing on and Green lantern turned around, it was all that was need to break whatever weird spell was on Danny. Using his invisiblity to stay out of sight he took off, using flight to fly far away from Green Lantern.

[etfrin]

⤷❝Dimwits and Stupid Dolls | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, dom sub undertones, pussy slapping, degradation, ownership kink, dubcon if you squint (not really coz reader loves it), overstimulation, masterbation (f. receiving), voyeurism if you squint, pinv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), mentions of torture and killing | lmk if I forgot anything!

⇢☾Pairing: young president! Coriolanus x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: He's tired of stupid people and then he sees you fucking yourself stupid on your fingers instead of waiting for your husband to fuck you as you deserve, of course he has to punish you

⇢☾A/N: this was inspired by that one ask of what happens when Coryo sees reader touching herself and by the fact I want to be absolutely railed by Snow when he's angry

< m. list > < arranged marriage m.list > < bc: @cafekitsune > < tag list >

Coriolanus Snow prided himself on his perfection, his wit, the power he had, and the utter self-control he had established with time. But, the lord often gives his hardest battles to his toughest soldiers, and Coryo was no exception to that matter. His toughest battles came in the form of dimwits he had to deal with during work.

He wanted to shoot them all, melt their brains, perhaps even throw them into the games. He was seething by the time he had entered the manor. He hastily goes to his study, wondering if finishing the paperwork would make him feel better. It didn't. Of course, it fucking didn't.

He wanted to go to you, hear your laugh, have your arms around him, feel your lips against his. But a gentleman wouldn't show himself like this. His mind buzzed with hot red, his eyes in a glare he couldn't control.

It didn't even take him a second to change his mind when he saw you through the monitor of one of the cameras he had placed everywhere in the mansion. ‘Fuck it,’ he thinks as he sees you fucking your pussy with your fingers. Three fingers in, your hips bucking up to ride your digits. Your wrist was on your mouth, it was clear you were biting the flesh to stop whatever sound that was coming out, your eyes closed shut as your fingers continued to breach the entrance of your (his) pussy.

So not only he had to deal with dimwits all day, his slut of a wife couldn't even wait for him to fuck her into the mattress, you had to resort to your fingers instead of having patience. Coriolanus felt his pants tighten and his jaw clenched. He may not be able to kill those men, but a whore like you could certainly be punished for playing with what's his.

He went to the master bedroom, everyone averting his presence, knowing that they would be prey if they didn't. When he enters, you don't even realize his presence, too fucked with your fingers abusing your swollen clit. Your mess was all over the sheets. How many times have you cum like this? And yet you weren't satisfied. He's married to a slut indeed.

He walks up to the bed, in quiet steps so you don't become aware of his presence. Quickly enough, he got rid of his pants and boxers, not bothering with his shirt and vest. A gentleman would have taken everything, but you proved wrong to be worthy of that treatment right now.

Soon enough, he made aware of his presence by holding the wrist of the hand you were fucking yourself onto. You open your eyes, surprised by the touch. A whimper slips out of your mouth, the sound muffled as your lips are covered by your opposite hand. Your pussy squeezed your fingers, as you notice Coriolanus. His blue eyes were mad, feral even, his face a bit red but his lips had a smirk which indicated that he was going to enjoy this.

“Dolls should be played with,” he whispered, “but they shouldn't play with themselves, isn't that right, Dove? A good doll should wait for its owner to play.” You hastily remove the hand that was covering your sounds. “Coryo,” you whispered, your words broken with need.

“Wanted you so bad,” you said, “You were busy and… I missed you.” He felt guilt sprout in his mind, indeed with the games coming up, he hadn't spent much time with you. But both of you knew if you demanded it, he would have given his attention to you, even if it was only a minute he could spare.

“That doesn't excuse your action, pet,” he said, his hand pulling at your wrist making your fingers pop out of your slick cunt. “You were playing with what's mine. Fucking mine. Deal with the consequences.” He cups your pussy with his palm like it's the most precious thing, covering his hand in your juices. You closed your eyes, preparing for what was to come, your nerves at its most peak with sensitivity and anticipation. Smack, smack, smack.

You cried out of pain but mostly pleasure, a dizzying pleasure that filled your veins from the slaps Coryo was delivering onto your soaking wet cunt. Each slap was done with precision, the pleasure just high enough to gloss over the pain. The stings of the slaps make tears fall on your face. All the while he watches, he watches the way his hand hits your core, and the sheets get soaked with your essence. He watches as your body heats up more and more, your jaw slacked as you moan and whine, your eyes glazed but filled with love for him anyway.

Who knows how long after was he satisfied? Was it when you ended up sobbing into his chest, begging him to stop, that your pussy can't take it anymore, that it aches and you want to cum, cum, cum? You're so close and it's not enough, each slap hitting your clit perfectly, making your slit clench around nothing and gush more of your juices out. But he was satisfied as you sobbed and pleaded for him, his cock, and his forgiveness of your sins, that he had stopped his punishment for touching what's his. He tilts your head up and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“That's my girl. How many times did you cum before I caught you, dove?” You hesitate to answer but whisper, “Fo-four, Coryo. But it wasn't enough. I need you. I need you, goddamn it. My love, my Coryo.”

A filthy rough kiss was all you received in answer, his fingers sliding inside your gummy walls. “Eight times should it then,” he smirks against your lips. You can't even begin to fathom what would happen later. Not when his fingers curve up just right against your g-spot, making you spasm around his fingers.

The first orgasm by him for the night.

“Fucking take it,” he whispered against your ear, his teeth biting your ear lobe, his hot breath against your sweaty skin. He grunts, “You do it, my doll,” as he fucks into you. Your legs hooked over his shoulders as his balls slapped your ass with every thrust. Skin meeting skin and the sound of it much louder than your moans. You were by your seventh orgasm by now, the bed sheets soaked below his cum and yours.

Every time you begged that you can't, he fucked into you harder and faster. “I can't- not anymore- I swear Coryo-” you whimper. His response is shutting you by biting your lower lip hard enough that you bleed and he sucks it all up. He groans into your mouth as he tastes it on his tongue. Everything else is ignored, and no encouragement is given. This was your punishment.

Fucking take it.

Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @dollfacedalls @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy @littlebiwitchsworld @eir964 @skywalker1dream @darkangelkathiecookiesmith @ben-has-arrived @bucksdonkey @xyzstar @ellie-luvsfics @sunny-deary @daughter1of2anita3dearly @eir964 @nowsyhozey @ayaya-aa @serving-targaryen-realness

[buckyalpine]

Sensitive, leaky Bucky

Certified perv speaking. Bucky who is so sensitive, his cock is so leaky and he has 0 control over how much of a mess he makes each time he cums. The serum dials everything to 100. The first time he saw you, he could feel spurts of precum dampening his boxers and he knew he was done for.

The first time he makes out with you, he runs off without a word after, making you wonder if you crossed a boundary but no. He can’t look you in a face and tell you he came in his pants like a teenager when you hadn’t even touched him. It took everything in him not to whine and whimper while feeling your soft lips on his, squeezing your waist a little tighter than usual when his cock started to throb painfully agains this jeans. As soon as your tongue is laced with his, he has to resist the urge to moan, his balls tightening, with cum pumping through his cock and wetting the front of his pants. His chest was heaving, body feeling hot, he couldn’t even dignify himself with a short orgasm. He presses his hand to his throbbing cock in the elevator, biting back a moan, hitting his head back against the wall when it throbs again. It takes everything for him to not unzip his pants right then and there so he can pull his cock out and stroke every drop out.

Bucky whose cock is sooo wet and leaky, he’s embarrassed the first time you have him naked, legs spread apart, a clear, sticky mess decorating the head of his cock, dripping down into his tummy. He wished he had some semblance of control instead of constantly nearly ejaculating but he has no idea how much you love on him like this.

You love the way his cock jumps and twitches each time take off a piece of clothing. The second you place your hands on his bare skin, he moans, his cock swelling more, balls growing heavier.

“What is it baby boy” you coo, kissing his inner thigh, his delicious natural scent and musk soaking your cunt.

“Sen-sensitive” he looks at you with pleading eyes, his cock throbbing, torn between needing you to touch him and staying far away because he has no control around you. He’s not a virgin but he’s never gotten head before either and he’s sure he’ll fill your mouth within seconds.

“Do you want me to suck your cock Jamie?” A pearly white drop drips from the tip and you smirk at how gone he is.

“I-I’ll cum” he whispers with pink cheeks, gasping when you take his heavy balls in your mouth, suckling and nursing. “Doll-please-I can’t”

He needs to be inside you, man handling you till you find yourself on top of him, your chest pressing against his. He doesn’t give you a second to think, pushing his cock in and planting his feet, thrusting up into you.

“B-bucky!!“ you squeal at the feeling of his balls hitting your ass, his fat cock stretching you open wide. He clings onto you tight, panting and moaning, the feeling of your tight cunt too much within a few strokes.

“Fuck, M’gonna cum!!” his back arches off the bed, head thrown back against the pillow, “OH FUCK YES” He can’t stop thrusting, holding into your overstimulated form while he empties himself, his orgasm unending.

“Jamiee” you whine, your greedy cunt pulling him back in, his cum spilling everywhere because he’s still throbbing. “You’re making a mess baby”

His eyes roll back at the thought of the warm white cream that’s covering your folds, all of his cum decorating your pussy and it just makes his cock throb more.

“I know-I know doll-Hngg-mph-fuck I can’t stop” his he whines, hiding his face into your neck, his arms nearly limp but his hips don’t stop moving, still rutting up, obscene squelching sounds growing louder. “It’s-its the serum-fucked my cock up, so sensitive, so much cum”

“You’re cumming so much baby”

“Yeah, s’too much, c‘ mom please doll, feels so good, you make me so hard it hurts” he babbles, rolling over so he’s on top, keeping his cock warm, his load soaking the sheets. He rolls his hips slowly, grinding his greedy length in as far as it would go, cuddling his face into your neck again, “m’sorry”

“It’s okay baby, it’s your pussy” you coo and realize what a grave mistake that was because he groans, his cock swelling again, slamming back into you fucjing you with a new purpose.

“S’mine? Fuck, all mine baby?” His eyes are feral now and you feel every ripple and divot is muscle tensed as he fucks harder, “gonna make a mess in my pussy doll, gonna keep busting in my pussy till you have to change the sheets. Gonna empty my cock in my pussy all fuckin’ night”

And he does just that. It takes him minutes for him to finish each time, panting and grunting, feral over how good his orgasms feel and how long they last when he’s thrusting into you till your crying. His mouth gets filthier each time and there’s no stopping it.

“Is your belly all full of cum baby? Did you drink UO every drop your Sargent gave you?”

“Such a pretty milky pussy baby, lookit you, covered in so much cream, get ready for more doll, m’not done”

“Better keep your night free doll, m’fuckin hard and I wanna empty my cock so bad”

His favourite and most unhinged things to do when he’s jealous and possessive is to have you naked on your knees while he jerks himself off, leaning agains t the wall, painting your face and body with ropes of his spend. His eyes squeeze shut as he fucks his fist, thrusting his hips forward when another wave of pleasure consumes him, nearly trembling and buckling over. He cums and cums till your face drips with cum, dribbling down your neck and nipples, and of course he’s going to get you to lie down so he can jerk himself onto your pussy, marking his territory and all you can do is take it while he soaks your-

Idk what’s wrong with me

[hannieehaee]

GOSH im in love with your writing like YOU HAVE NO IDEA SWEETHEART

And I'm desperate for some friends to lovers with seokmin who begs to taste you, his bff, after you joked about how your friends are saying he would be the best in eating a girl out bc of his nose🫦

18+ / mdi

content: simp!seokmin, bffs2lovers, smut, afab reader, eating out, seokmin's nose, etc.

wc: 682

a/n: HEHE THANK U SO MUCH<33 had to choose these pics bc his nose looked soo good in these i cry T-T

masterlist

"o-oh"

"seokmin, fuck, just forget i said anything," you groaned, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

why did you think it was a good idea to bring up your drunken ramblings to seokmin completely unprovoked?

"n-no! don't be embarrassed. you just surprised me, that's all," he sat next to you on the couch, encouraging you to remove your hands from your face.

"it is embarrassing. i dont want you to think of me as some horny loser lusting after her best friend. i swear, i didnt even bring it up! they were just talking about guys with big noses and you were the first guy that i thought of and-"

"my nose? you thought about how my nose would feel?"

"n-no, i-"

"i, i mean, it's okay if you did," he said, scooting closer to you despite his eyes looking everywhere but into yours.

you decided to take a plunge, turning your body to face his as you looked to him in wonderment.

"what do you mean?"

"i mean, uh, i mean that it wouldn't bother me if ... if you thought about me in that way," seokmin winced at himself as the words left him, still unable to look at you.

gulping, you got closer to him, nudging him to turn to you also.

"do you mean that, seokmin? i ... do you-"

"yes," he was firm in his answer, finally looking at you.

"oh ... do you wanna ..."

"yes," he practically whined.

~

"o-oh, fuck! m-minnie, just like that ... yes!"

"'sso good, shit. so warm ..."

it hadn't taken much encouragement for you to jump seokmin after he'd given you confirmation that he did, in fact, want you in the same way you did him. after aggressively making out for a good ten minutes or so, seokmin had pleaded for you to please open your legs for him and let him have a taste of you. you, being you, needed no convincing to open your legs and guide him where you wanted him most.

by now he had spent the past ten minutes alternating between licking at you and suckling on your clit, but he was yet to show you what his nose would feel like as it slid against your folds.

before you could beg for it, seokmin's strong arms grabbed a hold of your hips and tilted you a bit in order to position his nose in a way that would grace your bundle of nerves just right all the while his tongue continued to explore you.

you screamed the moment you felt his sharp nose drag up and down your cunt, falling in love with its straight shape and the slight slope of it. the sharpness and rough exterior of his nose made you cry out in pleasure. it wasnt long until you began grinding against his face like a maniac, completely ignoring his attempts at guiding you against his face.

grabbing his head, you rubbed him against you while you canted your cunt against his face, tears flowing down your face at the pleasure.

"y-your nose, minnie! o-oh ... so good, fuck. so fucking good ..." you breathed out, followed by many other praised and curses at the pretty boy below you.

he was unable to speak due to the way you had taken over the entirety of his mouth, but his groans of pleasure were enough to get you crying even harder for him.

seokmin continued savagely eating you out while you ground against his nose all the way until your high, somehow managing to speed up his movements the closer you got to your orgasm.

with a silent scream, your fists closed in on seokmin's hair one last time before you dropped limp against your bed.

the room was silent for a few moments while both you and seokmin caught your breaths. but the moment the two of you were apt to speak, seokmin climbed on the bed and began kissing his way up to your lips, giggling at your fucked out state.

"so my nose, huh?" he teased, face scrunched up due to his pretty smile.

"shut up."

[sytoran]

home is where the heart is ★ n.r

— 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ;; 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 & 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

in which your married life with natasha romanoff is depicted through this comedy-drama series. with your dream job, three kids, and a plethora of friends, each day is blissful but all the more chaotic and unpredictable. (and ultimately, very horny.)

pairing ★ sub!wife!natasha x beefy!butch!reader

chapter summary ★ twitter's sole purpose is for you to thirst over your wife, the beach is a good place to spend time with your kids, and ogle at your wife in a bathing suit, but not a great a place to have sex. (lesson learnt).

warnings ★ (MINORS DNI) - explicit content, hard stuff: beach sex, doggy style, cunnilingus, daddy kink, SO MUCH thirsting

word count ★ 4.0k (get fed gremlins)

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

*****

In tandem with Tony Stark’s spontaneity, Steve Rogers’ unending enthusiasm, and the fact that you privately owned close to twenty beach resorts in New York alone, the lot of you and your other friends had a beach outing planned for that Sunday.

After the astronomically long time it took to get your kids dressed, beach toys packed, picnic dinner prepared, and everything loaded into the car, five happy L/N-Romanoffs finally kickstart their journey to the Westview Surfers’ Beach.

“SAND!” Emilia roars maniacally, once the five of you step foot onto the sandy shore. She’s gone like the ocean breeze, sprinting into the distance, grains of sand flying everywhere.

“Sea! Sea! Sea!” Emilio is equally as excited, already by the tide of the brilliantly blue ocean, following its ebb and flow with scampering feet and delighted cries. 

“Careful, Emilio!” Marina says, holding his hand, preventing her over excited brother from falling over. You can see the way she laughs along, kicking up water with her slippers.

Behind your eager children, you swing you and Natasha’s interlocked hands as you casually stroll along the beach, giving her a sweet smile. 

The sand that crunched beneath your feet was earthen and dry, such a gentle hue of gold, almost as grounding as the bright smile your wife returned.

“You look heavenly,” you murmur, bringing up the underside of your wife’s palm to press a gentle kiss to it. She flushes prettily, the sundress she’s adorning doing wonders to her skin tone and curves.

Natasha returns the softness, pressing into your side as you wrap a firm arm around her waist, hand cupping the curve of her motherly hips.

“Oy, lovebirds!”

At the sound of a distinctly familiar voice, you and Natasha spin around with bemused looks. From a distance, you can see Tony with a flamingo floatie around his hips, waving comically.

Next to him, the regular gang is sprawled across three separate picnic mats, conveniently hidden from the sun under several large beach umbrellas. 

Pepper is fixing up Tony’s floatie, to which Carol and Valkyrie snicker at from afar. Thor is asleep on the mats, taking up more than half the area. Laura is busy reading, with Clint probably gone to find seashells for the sandcastle Bucky and Steve are constructing. The kids make a long human chain from the shore to the sandcastle, scooping up buckets of water to make a trench.

“Aunty Y/N! Aunty Nat!” Nathaniel squeals, dropping his bucket, running over and leaping into your arms.

“What’s up, you little rascal?” you ask, laughing as the youngest Barton giggles. Natasha ruffles his head, waving at Lila. 

Morgan, being the same age as Emilia and Emilio, is already chatting excitedly with them and kicking up a loud racket. Marina joins Cooper in attaining bucketfuls of seawater.

“What’s up, my favourite lesbians?” Tony calls out to you and Natasha with outstretched arms, comically ignorant to the death-glare Valkyrie shoots him. 

Natasha rolls her eyes in faux annoyance, strolling past him and brightening up animatedly to chat with the ladies. You pat Tony’s back sympathetically. 

Your attention flits to an impressively large sandcastle with a sculpture of a mermaid on top, hand-crafted by Steve and Bucky. Leaning closer to Tony, you whisper, “Why does the mermaid kinda look like you?”

Leaving him to splutter at his intentionally uncanny resemblance to the mermaid, with a seashell bra and an elegant tail, you look up to see Clint coming back with his arms full of seashells. 

“Hi, Y/N!” He greets distractedly. In the midst of his frantic haste, Clint’s foot gets caught on a stray rock —

And the rest is a scene out of a comedy movie. 

The seashells go flying out of his arms, scattering onto the picnic mat and spraying sand everywhere, Clint loses his balance and flies forward, outstretched arms knock into the sandcastle, and everyone watches in horror as Steve and Bucky’s great unfinished symphony comes crumbling down, leaving only the head of Tony’s mermaid untouched.

A quiet hush falls. 

Bucky and Steve’s faces are morphed into disbelief and heartbreak, and Clint trembles in fear with sand in his mouth. Tony shudders at his beheaded mermaid, the ladies have their hands over their mouths, and Natasha fights battles in order not to burst out laughing. Thor sleeps unperturbed, and even the kids' racket has died down.

“Well,” you announce, breaking the stunned silence. “Who wants to go surfing?”

*****

As Natasha lazes in a beach chair, away from the gory scene of Steve and Bucky dunking Clint in the seawater, she watches you with a budding fire in her belly. 

Standing on the sand so casually, you have your hefty surfboard tucked under one arm, and Emilio in your other. You’re speaking to him with a roguish grin, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind, tinted sunglasses pushed up to muss up your perfectly tousled hair. 

“You ready to ride the waves, bub?” 

“Yeah! I’m ready!”

Your wife swallows, thinking she was ready to ride something else.

Natasha crosses her legs unsubtly. It was honestly unfair, how indifferently attractive you were, like it was a state of being instead of a practised art. 

Perhaps it was her love for you and the longevity of your marriage that warped her perception of sexiness, but when you were casually strolling on the beach with that chiselled abdomen on display, who was she to be blamed?

“Y/N!” Natasha calls, sitting up slightly. There’s a devious little idea blooming in the back of her mind, and she feels like taking the bait, just for today.

You look up at your wife’s beckoning, and smile widely at her. Setting Emilio down gingerly and calling him a “little rascal”, you jog over to Natasha easily. 

When you flick your hair back, it glints in the sunlight, and so does the sheen of sweat under your sports bra, defining the cutting edges of your abdomen. Natasha has the criminal urge to rip off your swimming trunks there and then.

Despite your obliviousness, Natasha is more than well-aware of the stares you’re getting from young women and married women alike, momentarily disregarding their boyfriends and husbands to gawk at you.

“Damn, look at that fine specimen!”

“Ryan, why don’t you work out more?”

“There goes my heterosexuality.”

You get feasted upon hungry eyes like a slab of beef, likened to your beefiness, but it only makes Natasha’s possessiveness skyrocket.

“Hey, honey,” you say, settling on a low and inviting tone that has your wife blushing. You crouch down next to her beach chair, holding her hand in a sweet gesture. “What’s up?” 

You’re close to her, so close, and she can feel the heat radiating off you, and your distinct scent, and the overwhelming senses of want and need are washing over Natasha like those tidal waves in the ocean.

But well, Natasha knew more than a few ways to rile you up too.

“I think I want to go surfing too,” she lies through her teeth, having no inclination to partake in the sport. Natasha fakes a pout all too well, knowing it’s one of your many weaknesses. “But the sun’s really hot out there, so I need some help with the sunscreen.” 

It wasn’t like she’d have needed it, anyway. Just like that and you’re sold, ever the gentleman and the golden retriever, digging for the sunscreen in the duffel bag.

“Of course, honey,” you reply readily. “Is it the Banana Boat sunscreen, or is that the kids’ one? Oh wait, we have the SPF 50 one, I think that’s—”

Words trail off comically when you look back up at Natasha, gradually dying down completely.

Your wife has conveniently slid off her outer layer of a sheer white blouse, leaving her in just a matching two-piece set of an azure bathing suit. The top piece is held together with thin pieces of string, accentuating her chest in a tight cradle. The lack of coverage shows off the dip of her hips and her soft curves.

Coherent thoughts in your mindwires get severed as Natasha plays with the string on her bottom piece, nearly flashing you as the material slides down ever so slightly. Your throat dries up as her fingers trail a path over her tummy and cleavage. She plays with another bundle of string that keeps her chest barely covered, and the irresistible urge rises within you to undo it.

“My eyes are up here, y’know,” Natasha murmurs, laying on her side and looking at you through lowered lashes.

“I know where they are,” you answer hoarsely, gaze still fixated on your wife’s enticing cleavage.

The sheer amount of bare skin that Natasha is showing off has your remaining fragments of sanity falling to pieces. There’s no point even trying to hide the tent in your pants, poking uncomfortably against the fabric.

“Gonna help me lather sunscreen?” Natasha asks with a silky lilt to her voice, turning over on the beach chair. 

You groan out loud when you see the curve of your wife’s ass on display, her rounded bottom barely covered by a few measly pieces of material, all held together by flimsy strings and nothing else.

“Mhm,” you respond brainlessly, uncapping the bottle and rubbing your hands with a bountiful amount of the moisture, clearly in excess.

You begin applying your wife’s sunscreen with overzealous eagerness and desire. Large hands spread unnecessarily widely as you gain coverage over the soft skin of her back, trailing up and down and smearing the white moisture over her soft skin.

“Oh, that feels nice,” Natasha says airily, a dainty little sound that causes your cock to twitch in your shorts. 

The line down the middle of Natasha’s back is emphasised as she tenses and relaxes it. Like clockwork, you begin massaging your wife’s back to release the tension in her muscles.

“Y/N…” The breathy moan she lets out is pure heaven, dragged out from the depths of her throat, then lifting to a higher tone that washes over you in a sea of goosebumps.

Of course, your faux masseuse skillset is just a simple ploy to grope and knead at Natasha. Fat spills through your fingers as you spread your hands across her torso, as Natasha whines softly.

It wouldn’t take a genius to realise that the heat building between the two of you was not just due to the heatwaves under the beating, unforgiving sun.

Your frighteningly quickly-growing arousal only heightens when Natasha feels that her back is done and flips over. Face-to-face with her hefty mounds, a round belly, and the blown pupils of viridescent eyes — you lose the plot completely. 

Deft hands fly to your wife’s ample assets, squeezing her hips in sinful amounts and staking your claim. “You’re so pretty, baby,” you mumble, face buried into the crook of her neck, subtly mouthing at her neck.

“Mhm,” Natasha whines in agreement, but it turns into a gasp as your fingers slip underneath the material of her bra, plucking at hardened nipples in merciless haste.

You press down onto her, flat tongue and sharp teeth, licking a broad stripe up your wife’s exposed collarbone to the tender column of her neck.

Before you can taint clear skin with raging-purple bruises, you’re pulled away with a firm grip on the back of your neck. You look back up to see Natasha gazing at you sternly. 

“Let’s try not to perpetuate public sex while you are the owner of this place, with all our friends present, and the kids building sandcastles no less than ten feet away.”

Much to your disgruntlement, these factors weigh in heavily and overpower your body’s built-in “pretty-wife-need-to-worship” mechanic. Now, your shorts fill up a lot more space than need be, your shaft pressing hot and tight against your left leg, clearly visible.

You grumble, hands still clammy with sunblock, the ghost of Natasha’s warmth still interlaced between each of your fingers. “You’re a meanie,” you sulk, lust-driven adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Natasha looks at you with a wicked smile. “And you’re too susceptible, darling. Now, where’s my flask? I plan on staying plenty hydrated before watching you rough it out against the waves.”

Clearly put-off by not being able to fuck your wife in your public beach resort, you flip off a little kid who openly ogles at Natasha’s ass, much to your wife’s horror.

*****

“I’M NOT BUILT FOR THIS!” Tony screams, arms flailing, as he rides a shallow wave. His firmly implanted foot adds too much weight on the front of his neon yellow surfboard, and the over-eager man overturns comically as the current rushes.

You laugh out loud, Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind, surfing past Tony in a smooth motion. “Stick to the flamingo floatie, little guy!”

Valkyrie barely dodges the splash Tony creates, nearly falling off her own board. “Fuck off, you cunt!” she yells, full-chested and deadly focused on the tide. From a distance in the shallower part of the ocean, a reprimanding “Language!” can be heard.

Natasha’s wading in the shallower waters with Laura, while Thor had opted to sun tan on the beach while watching the kids.

As a large wave approaches, Natasha watches with intent. Upon your wife’s new found attention, you mentally prepare yourself, determined to impress her, and perhaps get revenge for her prior ploy.

You manoeuvre deftly, putting weight on your back foot to stabilise as you approach the wave head-on. Three… two… one. You add even more weight on your back foot as you go around the back turn while gaining speed, garnering energy like a coiled spring.

As the wave reaches its full height, broad and steep, your calves release with impact, propelling up the barrel of the wave like a spring. The surfboard moves in effortless motion, anchored by your back foot, navigated by your right.  

The second you reach the lip of the wave, you find the sweet spot to execute the backside tail slide. You rotate your wide-set shoulders, swiftly switching the pressure to your front foot. 

Your surfboard glides off the surface for a split-second, turning mid-air — there’s a camera-worthy frame of damp hair, stray droplets, and focused eyes.

You slide back down at an oblique angle with purpose and precision, like a scene out of a movie, locking eyes with Natasha as the wave crashes behind you.

“Damn, Y/N!” Carol hoots, looking amazed as you surf back to the rest of the gang.

“That was crazy,” Steve adds, resting belly-down onto the surfboard, strikingly adorable for a hulking man.

“Gotta admit, that was pretty cool,” Tony comments, his head bobbing above the surface of the water and his surfboard nowhere to be found.

You laugh along with them, attempting to explain the technical jargon of how you did it. But as much as you appreciated your friends’ enthusiasm, there was ultimately only one person you sought validation from. 

“Hi,” you say to Natasha with a stupid smile, sitting on your surfboard, having escaped the rest. 

“That was very sexy of you,” your wife wastes no time in stating, as if she wasn’t five millimetres away from flashing you and killing you with her sexiness. 

Natasha is stuck on the image of your damp hair flying into place like a scene out of a superhero movie, unbuttoned shirt flailing up to expose your defined back and abdomen, concentration flashing in your eyes.

“Mhm,” you hum lowly. Fire burns low in your belly as you ogle your wife in her bathing suit, pulling her closer by the underside of her thighs.

In a moment of indiscretion, your left hand slips upwards and undoes the knot on Natasha’s bathing suit, letting the material slip from your fingers.

“Y/N!” Though blocked from view of the others as it was underwater, Natasha lets out a breathy gasp and presses into you. Her cunt, already soaked before, gets even wetter at the intrusion of seawater.

“Can I claim my prize?” you ask heavily, hot pants against your wife’s ear, driving her wild with the way your fingers slip through her folds to encroach on her entrance.

In no time at all, two of your fingers are at Natasha’s cunt, feeling slick even underwater, and you push in—

“Group picture!” Steve yells from a distance, as you and your wife effectively leap apart in the water, the heated moment dissipated into thin air. 

But it lingers, the arousal, swimming in the back of your consciousness as you smile for a group selfie. Bucky’s arm is around you but you thank the heavens for hiding your erection under the water.

You can tell Natasha feels the same, eyes locking on you even after Steve successfully takes the group picture. (After many attempts.)

“I’m gonna go check on the kids,” Natasha finally says, gesturing back as if she was going to walk back to shore. She’s expectant, waiting.

“And I think I’m gonna go check with her!” you add, chuckling awkwardly, beckoning backwards with your thumbs.

“Okay,” Steve says disbelievingly, eyes glimmering with knowing and just a little amusement. Tony is much less subtle in his sniggering, and Clint looks horrified at the prospect of doing it at the beach.

Tony claps you on the back as you walk past. “Use protection,” he whispers, and you fumble out a haphazard response. 

*****

Turns out, you and Natasha don’t even make it to a completely secluded area before you’re half-undressed and panting. 

And maybe that’s half the thrill, hidden in a secluded beach cave, with regular people roaming around just outside. You’re pressed skin-to-skin with each other and tuning out everything else.

You groan as you snap the strings of Natasha’s bathing suit off, finally, finally. Teardrop tits bounce in place, shaking with the impact of how hard you jerk against your wife, unbearably uncomfortable in the constraints of your boxers.

Natasha takes mercy on you, helping you to tug down your Calvin Clein briefs, watching with heady arousal as your shaft slaps against your six-pack, red and raw and leaking.

“Hurry up,” Natasha whines, bending over and clutching at a stray rock, ass in the air as she exposes her leaking cunt to you. 

“Fuck, baby,” you groan, grabbing onto her ass and slapping it just because you can. You sink deep into your wife, warmth and relief enveloping you as you bury yourself inside her.

The first thrust is like heaven, feeling the pulse and push of Natasha’s walls as she accommodates to take your size, stretching to a familiar extent because you’d made a nest in there for yourself. 

The second thrust takes you there, an insurgent amount of slick coating your cock, flooding the path you proceed to pummel into. “Natty,” you whine, groping at her ass and pulling it closer to you, hilt-deep with no signs of stopping.

“Mhm, daddy,” Natasha moans, walls fluttering around you as you pull out, trying to stop your escape. But then you thrust forward, again, warm and full and deep, and your wife wails beneath you.

Natasha lets this velvet sound from her throat, silky and coated in honey as she breathes reinvigorated life into your arousal.

“Fuck,” you growl, rutting your hips with more rigour. Natasha whines, wrists suspended behind her back with one of your hands as you have your way with her.

“Baby I’m gonna come,” you gasp, virility cloaking the way your abdomen presses up against Natasha, left hand encircling her neck to bring your hot mouth up to hers.

You’re hardly embarrassed for how fast you’re barrelling towards climax, as Natasha is in much more of the same position. She’s panting your name, clutching at the rocks with hard sand digging into her feet. Your cock nudges and prods into her sweet spots effortlessly, the result of countless sex experiences.

“M-me too,” she responds breathily, breaking off into a whine as you press heated, open-mouthed kisses along the line of her back, tasting the salt and sweat on your tongue.

Pleasure blossoms in your lower torso, creeping up the base of your shaft and working its way upwards. Hot arousal overflows from its constraints, and your teeth sinks into your bottom lip as you come, quick and hot and messy.

“Oh!” Natasha moans, high-pitched and sensitive, as you pluck at her ruby-hard nipples. It only takes a few more thrusts for her to reach release, dripping down your cock and her thighs.

“Mhm, nhn—” As your wife raises in pitch and volume, you stuff three fingers into her open mouth, giving her something to suck on and remain quiet. You continue with gentle thrusts, feeling thick white liquid flow out the side of Natasha’s ruined cunt.

“Needa taste you,” you suddenly grunt, hips bumping into Natasha’s ass. She babbles her agreement, despite being half-conscious in a state of post-orgasmic pleasure. 

Easily, you lift Natasha and set her down onto the sandy shore of the beach cave, where the tide is low and washes over your feet gently.

It’s a change of pace, a gradual end to your savage ravaging, slow and sensual, where the water meets the sand. You lower yourself between Natasha’s spread thighs, lips slightly parted and dripping with need.

Natasha swallows audibly, right hand twisting into your tousled hair, looking at you through hooded eyes and lowered lashes. 

Words are left unspoken between the two of you, the tension speaking for itself, as you retain eye contact while lowering your mouth onto Natasha’s pulsing cunt.

You take your last breath of the fresh sea salt air and summer breeze before drowning in unbridled desire. As if making out passionately, you eat your wife out, switching between licking and sucking.

Poetry is written between the lines — the lilt of Natasha’s hitched breath, the crease of her thighs where your fingertips drag across, the shallow water that wades over your feet in a cool decrescendo.

Your head dips down once more, warm and wet, and the sun melts into the horizon, glazing golden and liquid orange. 

With your tongue lodged fully inside your wife’s pussy, marking your inability to breathe, and wide hands spread firmly over Natasha’s thighs, the two of you converge in saintly devotion, hushed worship falling from her lips.

“Please, just like that, please, daddy, please.”

Just like that, and the ocean swallows you whole, taking you under Natasha’s hold inescapably. Your name is said in a breathless cry, lilting and pronounced, and you shudder between her clenched thighs.

“Nat?”

“Yeah?”

“I think there’s ocean water up my asshole.”

“Yeah, I got some sand up my vagina too.”

*****

and that's chapter two of 'hiwthi'! how did yall feel about the introduction of the rest of the cast? i personally enjoyed writing the build-up scenes the most. (sunscreen and surfing!) and for those keen on expanding the family dynamic, i'll be building on that in the next chapter!

reblog or i will take 292857192 years to post the next part

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

[callsigns-haze]

i love your writing so much !!!! it’s kinda similar to another story you have but i was wondering if i could request your take on the twisters scene towards the end when tyler’s leg gets stuck under the debris in the town square ?? like reader is the one running over to him completely worried & stressed because her man is hurt 🥺

Not leaving

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Y/N races to save Tyler, trapped under debris after a tornado, refusing to leave his side until he's safely rescued.

Chapter Warnings: Intense storm danger, injury, descriptions of pain, and emotional distress.

The town square was a scene of devastation, the aftermath of the tornado leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Buildings were reduced to rubble, cars overturned, and debris scattered everywhere. The air was thick with dust, the scent of rain and earth mingling with the acrid smell of smoke from a nearby fire.

Y/N’s heart pounded as she navigated through the wreckage, her eyes scanning the chaotic scene for any sign of Tyler. The last time she’d seen him, he had been trying to help a group of people take cover in a nearby building. But when the tornado hit, everything turned to chaos, and she’d lost sight of him.

“Tyler!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she called out, desperation lacing her tone. She clambered over a fallen tree, ignoring the sting of a cut on her leg, her only thought to find him, to make sure he was okay.

Suddenly, she spotted him—pinned under a massive piece of debris in the middle of the square. His face was pale, and he was struggling to move, pain etched across his features.

“Tyler!” Y/N screamed, rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees next to him, her hands shaking as she reached out to touch his face, to reassure herself that he was still there.

“Y/N…” Tyler’s voice was strained, his breath coming in short gasps. “I’m… I’m stuck.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she took in the sight of his leg trapped under the heavy debris. She could see the pain he was in, the way his hands clenched into fists as he tried to fight it.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” she promised, her voice trembling but determined. “Just hold on, okay? I’ll get help.”

She looked around frantically, but everyone else was either injured or already helping others. There was no time to wait for someone else. She had to do this herself.

“Stay with me, Tyler,” Y/N said, her voice tight with emotion as she crouched down and tried to lift the debris off his leg. It was heavy, far too heavy for her to move on her own, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let him suffer, not for one more second.

Tyler groaned in pain as she strained against the weight, tears slipping down her cheeks as she gave it everything she had. But the debris barely budged, and she could see the anguish in his eyes.

“Y/N, stop…” Tyler managed to say, his voice hoarse. “You’ll hurt yourself. I… I’ll be okay. Just go get help.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Y/N choked out, shaking her head. “I’m not leaving you here, Tyler. I can’t.”

She tried again, her muscles burning with the effort, but the debris still wouldn’t move. Frustration and fear clawed at her, and she let out a sob, her hands trembling as she gripped his.

“Please, Tyler… just hold on a little longer,” she whispered, her tears falling onto his skin. “Help is coming, I promise.”

Tyler’s hand squeezed hers weakly, his eyes softening despite the pain. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I promise.”

Finally, she heard the shouts of other rescuers approaching. Y/N turned to see a group of first responders rushing toward them, their faces grim as they took in the scene.

“Please, help him!” Y/N cried out, stepping back to let them work.

The rescuers quickly assessed the situation, then moved in with tools to lift the debris. It felt like an eternity as they carefully freed Tyler’s leg, Y/N watching with bated breath, her hands clenched tightly together.

When they finally managed to lift the debris, Tyler let out a pained groan, but Y/N was there in an instant, holding his hand and whispering reassurances. They quickly stabilized his leg and prepared to move him to safety.

“You did it, Y/N,” Tyler murmured as they lifted him onto a stretcher. His voice was weak, but there was a faint smile on his lips. “You saved me.”

Y/N leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, her tears of relief mingling with the dirt and sweat on his skin. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t lose you, Tyler. Not now, not ever.”

As they loaded him into the ambulance, Y/N climbed in beside him, never letting go of his hand. The storm had passed, but the fear of losing him still lingered, a shadow over the relief she felt at having him alive and safe.

“Just rest now,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over his knuckles gently. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Tyler’s eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion overtaking him, but his grip on her hand remained firm. And as they sped away from the wreckage of the town square, Y/N knew that no matter what storms they faced, they would face them together.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

@katiemcrae

[bloatedandalone04]

Second Nature

➪the one where hayden is not only protective over you, but the tiny person he helped make with you.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, hayden being the cutest ever, pregnancy topics, dt to the person who requested some family action a few decades ago, i finally somewhat did it

Word Count: 1.6k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | Happy 43rd to the man himself

“Hayden, it’s almost twelve in the afternoon,” you gasp as you round the corner and enter the kitchen, where you find your boyfriend standing by the stove with his phone in one hand and a mug in the other. “Why did you let me sleep in that late?”

Hayden looked up from the device and quickly set the mug that read World’s Okayest Dad down. He pocketed his phone before he made it over to you in three strides. “Why didn’t you call me so I could help you down the stairs?” He ignored your question and asked his own as he guided you towards the breakfast bar. 

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand when he held it out to you and sat down on the stool, his arm wrapped securely around your middle until you were stable. “Because I’m pregnant, not ninety years old and needing an escort everywhere,” you replied and he just shook his head, pushing your hand away from the plate of bacon that was on the counter and instead giving you a piece that was overly crispy. “Gee, thanks.”

“You know that stuffs better for you,” he pointed out and ate the less cooked bacon you were reaching for a second ago. “Undercooked foods can be dangerous for the baby.”

You huff and bite down on the burnt piece of meat. “Who let you be a dad,” you muttered under your breath, unable to hold back a smile when you heard him laugh in response.

“I think we both know that was a joint effort,” he says and sets a plate of toast down in front of you. “Plus, I’m not a dad yet.”

“Yeah?” You ask, biting into it and nodding at the mug as he brought it up to his mouth. “That says otherwise, daddy.”

“And who bought it for me?”

You fail to hold back yet another smile and shake your head, leaning onto the counter. “I thought it was funny,” you defended yourself but Hayden only laughed again and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head, reaching a hand out and gently rubbing your belly.  

“You think everything is funny,” he says and sets his plate and mug down in the sink. 

“You’re not wrong,”

“I know I’m not,” came his instant reply and you wonder for what felt like the millionth time how you managed to find a guy who you got along with so well, enough to the point of actually being able to settle down and start a family with. “I’m going to go get dressed while you eat your breakfast, then I’ll come back and help you up the stairs so you can get ready, too.”

You glare at him but nod nonetheless, and that was enough for him as he left the kitchen after turning off the stove. 

Ten minutes later Hayden was helping you back up the stairs by taking most of your body weight on his. You got dressed in black leggings and a white tank top that showed off the curve of your belly, matching his casual outfit of dark jeans and a graphic tee. “Do you have the list?” He asked when you sat down on the bed so he could tie your shoes for you. 

“Yeah,” you answered and grabbed your phone from its place on your nightstand. After opening your notes app you show him the list once he is finished knotting your laces and standing in front of you. “Do you need to add anything?”

He looks over the list before taking your phone and typing something into it. He grinned down at you when he handed it back to you, the new item he added making you smile.

“Bacon?” You asked with a laugh. “We’re out already?” 

“Yes,” he answered and pulled you to your feet. “You should know that, you ate the last piece about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Haha,” you say and push him away from you, not surprised as you watched him come right back so he could escort you down the stairs and out to his car. He, of course, buckled you in and made sure the seat belt wasn’t pressing too tightly against your stomach before he moved to the driver’s side. “You’re too much.”

He grinned over at you as he backed out of the driveway. “I gotta make sure my babies are safe,” he winked and took your left hand in his right one as he began driving into town.

It was nearing one in the afternoon when you and Hayden entered the store. Your eyes were glued to your phone as you read the list, and he guided you around various shopping carts and shelves with his hands firmly on your hips. “Where to first?” He asked as he pulled you away from an elderly woman who nearly ran into you with her cart. 

Hayden gave her an apologetic smile as she scowled at you, muttering something along the lines of ‘Kids these days with their damn phones’. It was funny, because you are very clearly pregnant and very clearly not a kid, but he supposed old people think everyone under the age of forty are kids compared to them. 

“Produce,” you answered as you finally looked up, seeming to have missed that whole interaction with the lady. “We need to get you more bacon.”

“Right,” he agreed and took your hand as he led you towards the back of the store where the chilled food is. “Look, a sale. Two packs for fifteen.”

You snorted a laugh at him as he looked over all the options. “You’re such an old man,” you commented when he gave you a pointed look. “‘Look, a sale.’”

Hayden raised a brow as he placed the two packs into the basket he grabbed at the front of the store. “I’m thirty one, first of all,” he stated as if you didn’t know that, before leading you towards the bread section. “And excuse me for not wanting to pay more when I can pay less.” 

His words did not help his case and you just rolled your eyes as you grabbed a loaf of bread and tossed it his way. “Whatever you say, grandpa,” 

He caught the bag easily and dropped it in the basket as he furrowed his brows. “I thought I was daddy,” he pointed out and was continuing before you could even call him out on his choice of nickname. “Why are you getting whole wheat bread?”

“Because it’s better for you,” you answer and give his stomach a gentle slap as you walk around him. “And it’s daddy when we’re at home.”

Hayden just smirked at you and took your hand in his again as you scrolled through the list with your free one. “Barely,” he muttered and stopped in his tracks when the grocery section of the store ended and the home area started. “Baby, look.”

You glance up from your phone and find him staring at a baby onesie that says ‘Daddy’s Little Princess’. Giving him a soft smile when he turns to you, you step closer and settle against his side as he pulls his hand away from yours in order to wrap his arm around your shoulders. “Awh,”

“Can you imagine a mini us wearing that?” He asked and you shook your head. 

“No, because they’ll be wearing that one,” you say and point at one that said ‘Dad’s Little Dude’. 

Hayden scoffed as he looked down at you. “How are you so sure it’ll be a boy?” 

Shrugging, you wrap your arm around his middle and guide him away from the baby clothes. “I’m not, but there’s nothing wrong with hoping. Teenage girls are nightmares,” you murmur. “Eitherway, I’m just happy we’re starting a family.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head as you led him back towards the freezers. “Me too,” 

-

“What are you doing?” You hear Hayden ask from behind you. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you squeal quietly when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you off the chair. “What are you doing?” You ask and give him a pointed look once he sets you back down on the floor. 

“Saving your life,”

“Really? Because I was doing just fine before you scared me half to death just now,” you mutter and cross your arms.

Hayden shook his head and looked up at the cupboard you were searching in. “What were you doing? Seriously,”

You pointed to the top shelf. “It’s almost October. That means I can get out my Halloween mugs,”

He raises a brow at you. “Are you kidding me? Why would you risk falling off a chair for your Halloween mugs?”

“Hayden,” you say sternly and turn him to face you when he moves to look back in the cupboard. “If you keep treating me like glass, I might actually break.” 

He sighed and moved the chair out of the way. “You’re right, but I worry about you. You have to be more careful now that you’re pregnant. Next time just ask me to get them for you so I don’t have to walk in on you balancing on the edge of the barstool again,”

You hold back a laugh and watch as he moves your spooky mugs from the top shelf to the bottom one. He had to move the regular ones to the top to do so, and you appreciated his help despite your previous words. When he gives you a look after, you grin up at him. “Thank you,”

“You’re welcome,” he matched your grin and leaned down to press a kiss to your lips before pulling you towards the living room. “Now come lay with me.”

[st4rrth0ughts]

Hey!! I really lhcde all of your posts especially bodyguard reader x sub aven series, it made me go feral and scream like a monkey. Makes me think to stuffed him full until he carry our child

May I request a hc of pregnant aventurine if you don't mind, he will be the type of people that 24/7 needy

Let’s get into this FUCKKK

tw,cw: mpreg!!, afab! Aven, amab! gn! bodyguard! reader, self indulgent, FLUFFY domestic and married life, reader is described as muscular, NOT PROOFREAD, Aven's real name mentions! may not be accurate lol, lmk if i missed anything!

He's shocked. Staring at the test, he doesn't know how to feel, should he be upset? Happy? Oh Aeons, what's he going to say to you?

Of course, he loved you, he really, really did, but you were his bodyguard, surely you didn't want the burden of raising a child... right?

haha, wrong, he's stunned as he watches you as you practically, squealed, squealed, in pure joy as you dash over, picking him up and spinning him like a princess

Watching someone that was so muscular, cuddling him so tenderly and rubbing his belly, kissing his nape and soft skin, he was on the verge of tears.

For the next months, he didn't think he could, but damn it, he fell in love with you all over again. You did everything around the house for him, and treated him so gently.

Every morning, when he had his morning nausea, it was horrible, but you were always by his side, rubbing his back with your warm hands, and then cuddling and kissing him all over the place.

Whenever he had weird cravings, somehow, you'd be able to make it at home, and playfully feed it to him because he was too tired and drained. Not that he couldn't, of course, but still.

You did all the household chores, cleaning the dishes, cooking for both of you, making sure the house was in its best state, hell, you even dedicated the spare guest bedroom and converted it into a beautiful nursery.

You dealt with him even when he had horrid mood swings, from sobbing, to getting irritated with the smallest of things, you were there, taking his insults and comforting him when he was crying in your arms.

He finds himself much more needy and wanting your attention, more so than the first few years of your relationship, constantly burying his head in your back, chest, neck, anytime of the day, when your cooking, doing chores or filling in boring paperwork.

Every night, you would always hug him, kiss him, and take care of him, and rub his belly, whispering how you two would be such wonderful parents he thinks he won't be, and how your new child would be such a beautiful addition to your lives.

In the last few months during his pregnancy, you took extra care of him, getting a few more part time jobs so that you two would have enough savings to take care of the new life you would be taking care of in about a few month's time. (he insists that his money can handle everything and more, but you simply shushed him)

You always accompanied him everywhere, (not that you didn't before he got pregnant lol) to his doctor's appointments, when he had to attend urgent IPC meetings, and he swears that you were probably more emotional than him, you would get in a full blown fight with anyone who looked at him the wrong way.

Outside, you would hold his hand constantly, intertwining your ringed fingers, proudly showing everyone that he was your darling husband, and you always made it a point to kiss him when he least expected it, always getting a laugh when he squeaked and blushed.

His water broke suddenly, which sent both of you into a massive panic, luckily, the two of you were nearby a hospital, so you ended by driving him there yourself.

The delivery was difficult and painful, as it ended up with him having to give birth to twins, you were holding his hand as he squeezed it so hard it was almost painful, and he was sobbing throughout the process.

But seeing the two newborn babies, one girl and one boy, in his arms, Aeons, he couldn't help but cry as well. You were crying, and even the doctors were tearing up from how absolutely overjoyed you two were to have two children.

Now that he thought about it, he's pretty sure you cried more than him even though he's the one that gave birth

Anyways

You kissed them, held them, and gently cooed at the twins adorable expression, and held their tiny fingers with such love that he swears he'll fall in love with you again for the third time.

The girl had his dirty blond hair, but had your eye's beautiful shade, and the boy was vice versa. They looked like adorable angels.

Speaking of which, his heart melted while his next few hours were spent in the hospital, recovering in the soft pillows of the hospital bed.

You'd been fussing hard over him, being the one to feed him, take care of him, and being the one to rock your babies to sleep, while he himself fell asleep as well.

He wasn't expecting it, but he was shocked and touched that Ratio, Topaz and even the Trailblazer decided to visit, all of them congratulating you and him, and it was certainly one of the best times Kakavasha ever had in his life.

Topaz absolutely adored the twins, she was giggling and playing peekaboo with them, while ratio spent his session reading a children's book to their sleeping forms, and you had to refuse Trailblazer's thoughtful but rather unsanitary gift of trashcan salvaged items.

For the next months, it was bliss. Of course, it was tiring, having to take care of two new children, but honestly? Having a happy family with you and his beloved children, always by his side, he was sure the world seemed brighter than before.

A/n: Not my usual stuff as i rarely want to post actual writing of headcannons, but lmk how i did :))

[stellamancer]

beyond the unending night (reader + satoru gojo)

notes: it's finally here. the long awaited halloween fic. yes, i know it's march, but i did start working on it in september. haha. there's so much i could say, but i will leave it at that this fic is, in every sense, a fic that i would not normally write. and yet here we are.

contains: f!reader (no physical description or gendered language is used), no explicit romantic pairing (though you don't have to look hard to find the reader x gojo implications), major character death (played with), semi-graphic depictions of death, blood and violence, minor suicide ideation, canon retelling (lines of dialogue are pulled from the jjk english dub because i'm a dirty dub watcher). opening poem is from higurashi no naku koro ni (minagoroshi-hen). fic title is from giga's beyond the way.

please note that this is a time loop fic and, by nature contains repeating scenes (particularly from canon). please do not read this fic if you do not like that sort of thing.

wc: 21,883 read on ao3 (account required) || playlist

Please tell me what happened in this night. It's like the cat inside the box.

Please tell me what happened in this night. You don't know if the cat in the box is dead or alive. Please tell me what happened in this night. The cat in the box was dead.

The first time, it is instant— you don’t even know what’s happening.

The second, it is by flame, but you barely realize it, barely feel it— a second of mind numbing heat before nothing.

The third time, it is something slicing across your throat; you see the blood spilling everywhere, then the pain follows— a moment of pure agony before nothing.

The fourth time you realize what’s going on; what’s really going on.

You realize you’ve been dying.

You think your head is going to explode.

At first, you think it’s because the subway platform is crowded, insanely so— there are hundreds of people shoved into this space alongside you, packed like sardines in a can. You’ve never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you live in Tokyo. For the most part, you’ve learned to accept it, but even this crowd is a little much and you wish you hadn’t listened to your friends when they said you should go party in Shibuya for Halloween; you don’t even like partying.

There’s a sharp pain in your temple followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone is screaming it at you through a megaphone positioned right next to your ear.

It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

For the eighth time.

Before you can even question the thought, images flash in your mind’s eye, blurry at first before they come into focus. The platform gates open. Chaos ensues. People dropping onto the subway tracks— spontaneously bursting into flame— their heads, necks sliced off, stomachs cut open—

Bile rapidly builds up in your throat, and you clamp your jaw shut, trying to force it down. Not here. Not now. You try to focus on something else, anything else happening outside of your brain. There’s a pair next to you musing about the people standing on the subway tracks, wondering what the two (the four?) of them are talking about. You blink back tears as you look. You can only see two: a freakishly tall man with white hair dressed in all black, and another man, dressed in strange, yet more traditional looking garb. Are those costumes too? You don’t have a lot of time to think about it as another image forces its way into your brain.

Your corpse— lifeless on the ground.

Your corpse— burning to ash.

Your corpse— bleeding out.

You can’t hold it in any more. Every fiber in your being screams at you to get away from the subway tracks, but instead you rush toward them, shoving people left and right as your hands desperately reach the stability of the gate. You grip it like a lifeline as you retch over the side of it, the contents of your stomach spilling all over the subway tracks.

There’s a quiet murmur of disgust behind you but you can’t be bothered to respond. You need to get out of here. You need to leave. You need to do it before—

The gates open and the crowd starts to move like a tidal wave, pushing and shoving their way through the gate. You’re swept away, vomit long forgotten as you and a few dozen others tumble onto the railway.

Alarm bells go off in your brain, loud and deafening. A voice in the back of your head screams for you to get off the track! Get off the track now before—

The platform erupts into a cacophony of screams, drenched in horror, saturated in fear. You are surrounded by people, by corpses— beheaded, sliced open, bursting into flames.

Your terror roots you to the ground as the carnage ensues around you. It’s only when another person, another corpse, dressed in a magical girl costume collides with your body that you can finally move. But it’s too late, you realize, despaired and helpless, as your bodies fall to the ground.

It’s too late.

You die an eighth time.

You think your chest is going to explode.

At first, you think it’s because it’s so hard to breathe, frustratingly so— there are hundreds of people squeezed into this space alongside you, packed like cattle for slaughter. You've never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you’re in Shibuya. For the most part, you’ve come to accept it, but this crowd is way too much and you wish you had just stayed home and ordered a pizza; though honestly, the thought of pizza kind of makes you sick.

There’s a dull throbbing in your forehead, followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone’s hollering at you from a loudspeaker that’s been installed in your brain.

It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

You think it's the ninth time now.

Behind you, you hear a woman screaming, her voice crazed and terrified. You turn your head automatically to look at her and when you see her you realize you recognize her yellow and white magical girl costume. You can say with certainty that you’ve never seen her before and yet—

Before you can ruminate more on it, images— memories assault your mind’s eye with a clarity that is absolutely sickening. That woman colliding into you, your bodies slamming into the subway tracks before you both— Your stomach churns violently,

and you feel like you’re going to puke, but you force it down— can't afford to right now. Instead, you make your way over to the woman.

Her head is in her hands as she mutters over and over again about how everyone is going to die. People around her figure that being stuck in here with the crowd has probably gotten to her. You, however, know better.

“...hey,” you say softly.

Her muttering comes to an abrupt halt and slowly she raises her head to look at you. There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes and she grabs you violently by the shoulders. “You! You know, don’t you? That we’re going to die?”

If it weren’t for the fact that you have indeed experienced death here eight times already, then you would have thought she’s lost her mind. Slowly, you nod and she seems relieved by it, her grip on you loosening.

You can’t help but feel a little relieved too— glad to know that you’re not the only one experiencing this nightmare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that’s confused though. Why is she only remembering now? But then again, it took you a few times before you realized yourself.

Around you people start to gasp, and you glance back toward the railway to see an abnormally tall man with white hair and dressed in all black jump down from the atrium onto the railway. He lands rather gracefully for someone who jumped at least one floor and starts to converse with the other three people (you think they're people— two of them are in some pretty wild costumes) on the track.

Wait. Isn’t it supposed to be just two people: the tall man and the one in the traditional clothes? Where did the other two come from?

“We have to get out of here,” the woman says. “Before they kill us.”

Her grip shifts from your shoulders to your arms and she starts to shove at everyone around you, trying to force her way through. She seems to know, just as well as you do, that any second now the gates will open and the crowd will start spilling onto the railway, littering the tracks with bodies and ash. Neither of you can let yourselves get swept up with the rest. If you do and you end up on those tracks, you’re as good as dead.

People move aside at a snail's pace, many of them too focused on trying to see what is going on on the subway tracks. This isn't good. You need to move faster or else—

The collective sound of the gates opening echoes in your head, a metallic hiss that makes your stomach fold into itself. Before either of you can stop yourselves, you both whip your heads back to look, to confirm, but it’s a mistake.

The briefest lapse in attention is enough to pull you both into the current of people, and try as you might to fight against it, the crowd splits you and the woman apart as it swallows you both whole. You’re both spat onto the tracks at the edge of the platform and your head collides with the metal rails of the track. It feels like your skull is about to crack in two, and it takes every fiber in your being to scramble to your feet. You're close enough to the platform that if you can just climb up it, then you'll be—

“Help! Help!”

It’s the woman’s voice. You turn to see that she ended up a couple meters away from you. She’s staring at you, eyes brimming with fear filled tears as she extends her hand in your direction. You take a step toward her, reaching out.

And then, her entire body is engulfed in flames, the skirt of her magical girl costume a ring of fiery death around her.

Her blood curdling scream is the only thing you can hear, her burning flesh, the only thing you can see. You don’t know what to do.

You can’t save her.

There's something touching your back. You can barely feel the pressure, but it's hot, scorching hot, mind numbingly hot, painfully hothothot.

You know this sensation. You have felt it before. The scent of burning cloth, burning hair, burning flesh clogs your nostrils. It's too late, you realize, helpless, despaired as the flames eat at your body— your soon to be corpse.

It's too late.

You die a ninth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the tenth time.

Your head hurts, but you ignore it. There’s something more important that you need to attend to. You immediately make your way to the woman you met during your last round, the one you watched burn to death. Her costume is still pristine, unmarred by fire and death.

For now.

She’s not screaming this time and while there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that’s concerned by this, you try to ignore it.

“Um, excuse me?” you say when she doesn’t acknowledge you as you approach.

The woman turns to look at you. You’re taken aback by the distinct lack of recognition and it feels almost as if the woman you encountered previously and the one before you now are two separate people. In a way, they technically are.

“Do I… know you?” she finally asks when you don’t say anything.

Your mouth is dry. How do you even answer that? You don’t know her. You just watched her die twice. You know her. She begged you for help. You couldn’t save her.

If you explain all of this you know she’s just going to think you’ve lost your mind. Maybe you already have— you’ve died nine times after all.

You give her a weak smile. “I… just wanted to tell you that you think your costume looks great.”

She blinks, taken aback by your words. There’s no doubt that she wasn’t expecting you to say that. It’s the truth though, her costume is nice; she’s dressed up as a character from a magical girl anime that was popular a couple years ago.

“Thank you! I made it myself!” The woman breaks out into a genuine smile and your heart hurts. In a few moments she’ll die and the costume she worked so hard to make will be nothing but ash on the subway tracks.

“Sorry,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“For?”

For watching her die. For not being able to save her.“...I just kind of came up to you all of a sudden…”

She laughs. “It’s okay.”

It’s not.

You consider telling her that she should try to move. That if she stays here she will die. You don’t want her to die. Again. You can still hear her screaming in your ears as she burned to death. You want to tell her.

You don’t.

“Stay safe, okay?” you say. It almost sounds like you’re begging.

She gives you another smile, kind and gentle and you think you’re far too undeserving of it for not telling her what fate will soon befall her. “You too.”

“I’ll try,” you say and move away from the woman just as the gates open and the crowd surges toward the railway. You do not fight it as you are swept up into the crowd and despite what you said, you do not try, this time, to stay safe.

You die for the tenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the fourteenth time.

There’s a slight ache in your head, but it’s subtle enough that you can ignore it. The pain you feel lessens with each round and you think it’s a sign that your body no longer feels the need to remind you of the precarious situation that you’re in.

Or maybe you are just becoming numb to everything: your death, the death of the people around you, the death of the woman in the magical girl costume—

You try not to think about it too much as you reach into your bag to check the time on your phone: 8:37PM. There’s not a lot of time: you need to move.

At the very end of your last attempt to escape this nightmare you realized something. You need to know exactly what is going on around you so you can plan accordingly: where to not stand, where to not go. Up until now, you’ve relied almost solely on the knowledge gained from your previous failures to try and survive, but obviously it’s not enough to keep you alive. You’re not sure why you didn’t realize this earlier. The panic, maybe? The fear?

Maybe you really are becoming numb to all this.

Unlike previous iterations, this time you elect to move closer to the gate, positioning yourself somewhere against it where you’re unlikely to be pushed off the platform in a couple minutes when they open. You take great care to place yourself where you can see the ones responsible for the slaughter very clearly. At the beginning, you could only see one, the one who looks the most human, but with each repetition, the other two have become more and more clear. You wonder why. You don’t have time to think about it.

Murmurs nearby alert you to the arrival of the fourth major player involved in the night’s events. You look up and see the white haired man dressed in all black descending upon the platform like an angel from the heavens. This is your first time really looking at him and you realize there’s something almost inhumanly attractive about him. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it occurs to you that you shouldn’t even try; you don’t have the time to be drooling over some handsome stranger.

You’ve naturally never taken the time to try and listen to whatever the conversation the man and his opponents have before all hell breaks loose on the platform, but you try and lean closer to listen. It’s hard to hear over the dozens of conversations going on behind you, but you try anyway. There might be a clue to what’s actually going on— or better yet, a clue on how to get out of it.

It’s obvious that you’re missing context from what bits of the conversation you do manage to hear, but honestly it all sounds like stuff out of a shounen battle manga. There is one part of the exchange that you manage to hear with a startling sort of clarity. It feels almost as if your heart stops beating as your blood turns ice cold in your veins.

“If I run away, you’re just gonna kill everyone here, right?” the man in black asks.

There’s a pause, and if your heart was still beating it’d be long enough for just four heartbeats.

“If you run away?” The monster with cane repeats, the sadistic grin spreading wide across its features, displaying its charcoal black teeth. The gravelly sound of its voice sets fire to the blood in your veins, your stilled heart thumping wildly, in fear, in anticipation. Soon. It’s happening soon. You brace yourself. “We’re going to do that even if you don’t!”

You die a fourteenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the seventeenth time now.

Things are going surprisingly well, even as the people around you tumble onto the tracks. You manage to hold on, desperation keeping you from falling into the abyss. This is good, you tell yourself, despite the fact that it’s not the first time you’ve achieved this. Every little victory is worth celebrating, but you have to remain vigilant. This is yet another information gathering loop, and while you know that maybe this time you’ll be lucky and live, there’s still a chance, a big one, at that, that you will die again.

You have to make the most of each and every death.

It’s such a morbid thought, but the ends justify the means, or so you tell yourself. If you have to die a few times to make it out of this unending nightmare, then so be it.

The spot you’re in is a good vantage point; it’s easier to see everything happening below you. It’s so good that it’s actually sickening. You watch as the monster with the cane and one with what looks like branches for eyes slaughter the people on the track, mowing them down, setting them aflame. In another life, in another many lives, that was you down there, and for what feels like the first time in forever, you feel like you’re going to be sick. You feel like, at some point, you likened the scene before you to some kind of shounen battle manga, but you think that was wrong.

This is borderline horror.

Everything plays out before you like a scene out of an action horror flick. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were just an extra on set, but you know the reality is that you’re just an extra to whatever phantasmal battle is taking place in front of you. The monsters and the strangely dressed man all try to attack the man in black, but he manages to block every hit effortlessly, as if he is protected by some sort of invisible barrier. When it seems the two monsters are about to hit him, he merely jumps out of the way and the two monsters seem to collide, the force of their combined strength sending a gust of air throughout the crowd. The man in black neatly lands on a nearby platform half wall and says something about curse users, whatever those are, to the monsters, before he starts to mock them, pulling down his strange blindfold in the process.

And this, you’ve found, is where you start to get in trouble.

You clearly remember thinking, at some point, previously, that there was something attractive about this man. You still don’t know what it is. You haven’t had the time to try and figure it out, but there is one thing that you do know: you can’t keep your eyes off of him.

He drops back down onto the tracks, antagonizing his opponents in an arrogant tone as he approaches. When he comes to a stop between the two monsters, the second round of their fight begins. They try to hit him, but he dodges still, gracefully, fluidly, like the three of them are embroiled in some sort of passionate, yet violent dance.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he cruelly rips off one of the arms of the one-eyed monster.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he brutally kicks the branch-eyed monster in the abdomen, sending them flying to the other side of the platform.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he effortlessly hurls the one-eyed, now one-armed monster in the same direction, sending them smashing into the wall.

Only when the man in black seems to fly to the other side is the spell over you seemingly broken. Still, your eyes give chase, and your body too, rushing from one side of the platform to the other. You can’t lose sight of this fight, you tell yourself, settling in a spot you recall being safe during your last round. Doing so could mean another death, another loop, another October 31.

You watch as the man in black acrobatically dodges what looks to be vines or roots that the monster with branches for eyes seems to have summoned from the depths of the Tokyo metro. He lands on the monster’s shoulders, balancing on them as he uses its branch-eyes for leverage. The look in the man’s eyes is so crazed that you can see it from where you’re standing. He says something to it and then—

With a feral and sadistic smile, he rips their eyes straight out of their skull.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest as you watch the fight unfold. It is horrifyingly, disgustingly violent, yet still you watch as people on the track are killed by the human-like person, blood raining down as their freshly beheaded skulls go flying into the air. He and the one-eyed monster launch their counter attacks against the man in black and the blowback is so intense the power goes out causing everyone to scream.

There’s a faint glow where the man in black is standing that starts to grow brighter and brighter. You can make out his form turning to face the wall, and it seems almost like he’s slammed the monster that had branches for eyes against it with some sort of telekinetic power. Despite the panic from the people around you, you manage to hear him, chuckling like a mad man as he draws closer and closer to the monster.

The one-eyed monster yells out a name, a name you think must belong to the man, but he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as he extends his hands out toward the eyeless monster, exerting some kind of force that you can’t really see. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as the eyeless monster’s entire body is vaporized in a flash of blue light. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster, as the lights flicker back on revealing a smoking crater stained with purple blood where the eyeless monster once stood.

But you do.

Satoru Gojo.

You make sure to remember that.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And this is the eighteenth time.

You watch as the man called Satoru Gojo stalks through the crowd of people on the subway tracks, chasing after the one-eyed fire monster. It throws people at him, in a clear attempt to slow him down.

It does not work.

Satoru Gojo climbs back onto the platform in a way that you can only describe as inhuman, and the people nearby shriek and move away from him, out of terror, out of fear. You, on the other hand, draw closer, refusing to lose sight of him.

He is relentless in his pursuit of the one-eyed monster. It continues to throw person after person at him, but he does not stop and the people float there, suspended in midair before they are gently lowered to the ground by some unseen force and scramble away.

No one dares get close to Satoru Gojo, everyone on the platform seems to know that doing so means certain death, yourself included. But you still feel the need to keep an eye on him. The monster and the strangely dressed man are focusing more on him than the crowd— anyone in between is just collateral damage.

But not you.

Especially since you’ve made it this far— you’ve never made it this far before.

A voice echoes throughout the platform; you realize it’s the automated announcement.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

You can hear everyone’s relief coming from all sides. The train is coming! The train is coming! A ripple of hope makes its way throughout the crowd. With the train comes the chance to get off the platform and the senseless violence that’s been happening here. Some of the people around you are talking excitedly and others are running toward the gates, toeing the yellow line they’ve been instructed to wait behind. And you, you should be excited, you should be hopeful.

All you feel is dread.

It eats at your stomach, at your chest, at your mind. Clawing and gnawing at you in a way that leaves you paralyzed on the platform. There’s something wrong here. You can’t be sure because you’ve never made it this far, never survived long enough for the train to come, but something is just not right.

No.

You must be paranoid. The train coming is a good thing. It has to be a good thing. You are just paranoid. It’s normal. It’s natural. Dying seventeen times would do that to anyone— rob them of hope, condemn them to an existence full of fear.

It is not lost on you that the thought of dying more than once, much less, dying seventeen times is not normal or natural in the very slightest.

But you need hope, you crave it, wildly, desperately. The hope of freedom, of escape is the only thing getting you through this unending nightmare. Every time you die, every time you wake, it is with the hope that maybe, just maybe this iteration will be different, maybe this one will be the one where you make it out, make it back to your friends who must be waiting for you, make it back home where you can be safe and sound. You need the hope to keep going. Because without hope, what will you have left?

The train screeches as it pulls into the station and the people around you laugh in both disbelief and relief. They start to push and shove toward it, fighting to be able to board because there’s no way everyone here will be able to get on an eight car train and being left behind at this point is practically synonymous with death. Unable to decide if you believe in the train as a symbol of hope or a new layer of fear, you are pushed along with the crowd toward it.

The doors of the train cars slide open and the current passengers all rush off as they disembark. You as well as everyone else on the platform can see with a horrifying clarity that the train is filled to the brim with monsters. Monsters that reach out and grab anyone their hands can reach. The woman to your left. The person to your right.

You.

Hope is gone.

What do you have left?

You die for the eighteenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is probably the twenty-sixth time now.

If there is anything this entire ordeal has taught you, it is that you are resilient. Whether it is some innate trait that you never had any reason to uncover before or just a byproduct of being trapped in an unending cycle of being dead and not dead, you don't know. What you do know, though, is that even if you no longer have hope, you at least have your resilience.

Whether you want it or not.

You check the time. It’s 8:35PM. Something flickers in your chest, like a faint light in a sea of darkness, but you ignore it. You don’t have time right now.

With a nimbleness born from your previous failures, you weave your way through the crowd. You’ve done this enough times to know where the gaps are— who will yield and who won’t. Your destination is the escalator that leads off the platform and up to a higher part of the station. You’d noticed previously that the escalator along with every other entrance onto the platform will eventually be blocked by vines or roots of some sort (the work of the branch-eyed monster probably). It’s not a perfect plan because you don’t know what happens on the other side, but whatever it is has to be better than whatever is happening on the side that you’ve been on.

You’d tried to get to the stairs during your last two rounds, but you’d just missed it. You hadn’t been fast enough and had gotten caged and slaughtered along with the rest. But this time, this time you have more time. It’s just one minute, but it’s enough. You know it is.

The flickering in your heart grows stronger. Hope. You try not to pay attention to it— you don’t want to be disappointed yet again. But you want to so badly. A voice in the back of your mind tells you to focus on the good, tells you that if there was truly no way out of this endless nightmare, then why would you get more and more time with each round to escape your fate?

With that thought in mind, you break out into a run, recklessly rushing through the crowd, shoving anyone who will not yield to the side. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the stark white of Satoru Gojo’s hair as he descends upon the platform.

You need to get up those stairs.

Now.

If you remember correctly, the roots and vines don’t close off the area the moment he touches down, but a little after they start talking, so you think there is probably some time, but you can’t leave it to chance.

The stairs are packed, and for some reason no one is moving. The escalator right next to it is just as full and the power doesn’t seem to be working. You don’t have time for this. You clamber onto the escalator’s rubber handrail, ignoring the weird feeling that passes through your body as you do so. You don’t have the time to worry about whatever that is. The people around you start exclaiming around you, but you don’t care, you don’t listen. You wobble as you try to balance yourself and when you think you’re steady you try to run.

But you trip.

And you die for the twenty-sixth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This marks the thirtieth time.

And you have, finally, finally made it up the escalator, up the stairs with barely a second to spare. You pause, glancing back as the roots or vines or whatever the hell they are seal off the entrance to the platform. You notice that the area where the plants come down is actually fairly clear, despite the crowd. It seems weird, but you don’t dwell on it.

A strange feeling envelops your entire body and your legs turn into jelly. As you sink to the floor, you realize what you’re feeling is relief as all the tension, maybe thirty iterations of Halloween 2018 worth, seeps from your being. You don't remember the last time you felt anything other than fear and dread; it’s weird, but not unwelcome.

That voice in the back of your mind tells you that you can't relax just yet: October 31st isn’t over. Even though you have repeated this night again and again, burning the events that play out on the platform into your memory, you do not know a single thing that happens over here. It would be smart to scope everything out.

Legs still shaky, you rise to your feet and start walking. You think it’s probably for the best to try and head up to the surface and you make your way up to the next floor.

It’s packed with people here too, but relatively peaceful, especially when you compare it to the pandemonium taking place beneath your feet. Still, you can make out the undeniable hum of displeasure resonating throughout the crowd. People complaining about how uncomfortable their costumes are, people complaining about how much they want to go home, people complaining about how much their nights have been ruined because they couldn’t meet up with their friends and—

A thought hits you like an eight car train.

You were supposed to meet up with your friends.

That’s why you were on the platform in the first place— you were waiting for them to arrive, but then the trains stopped working, and people just started pouring into the station out of seemingly nowhere (you think you heard some people say they’d come from the crossing?). Soon after that is when everything went to shit.

You check your phone, though, for once it’s not to look at the time (8:56PM). Instead, you open LINE to check your friends’ group chat. There’s no signal here, for whatever reason, so if there are any new messages, you haven’t received them. The last one was from Kei, mentioning he was enroute, but as far as you know, you’re the only one who made it to Shibuya before the trains stopped.

Did one of them maybe make it here though? Surely, you would have run into them if—

The image of a woman in a magical girl costume fills your vision, burning to death before your very eyes as her screams echo in your ears. It is the first time in what feels like forever that you’ve thought about her and your stomach churns violently. You couldn’t help her, you can’t even help yourself, so how could you even expect to do the same for your friends if they were here? The mere thought of having to watch them die over and over is almost enough to send you over the edge. You don’t know if you could do it.

Would you even have a choice?

No. You can't think like that. You have choices. You've had choices. If you didn’t then, you would still be down below, among the fire and brimstone. Dying, if not dead already. However, instead, you are up here, where, for the moment, it is quiet and peaceful.

That thought, in of itself, is enough to give you a shred of solace, a glimmer of hope.

You take a deep breath and fiddle with your phone a little more, changing your lock screen to a picture you and your friends took at a photo booth not too long ago. The four of you are huddled together, faces squished as if you're all struggling to fit in the frame, despite there being plenty of room. You're mid-laugh because it's the first time you've been in a photo booth in years, Mio and Shin are grinning mischievously and finally, Kei is smiling, but only just slightly, the embarrassment clear on his face. It's probably only been a few months since you all took this picture, but the fact that it feels like it's been years makes your heart ache.

You press your forehead to the screen, like a prayer, like a promise.

You will make it out of this nightmare.

No matter what.

A shrill scream yanks you from your thoughts and you are instantly on your feet, alert as your eyes flit around frantically to identify the source. It doesn't take long for you to find it and when you do, you think you might have stumbled upon a new layer of horror to this nightmare.

It’s not the corpse, dangling by a noose, that terrifies you— by now you’ve seen dozens upon dozens of dead bodies that the sight of just one more doesn’t faze you in the slightest. The thing that’s the most mortifying, that’s the most disturbing is that right next to where the body is tied are two girls, two teenage girls still dressed in their school uniforms.

You can accept monsters and weirdly dressed men being responsible for the carnage tonight, but children too? Both girls look like they’re barely in high school and try as you might to rationalize things, to chalk it up to coincidence, you cannot ignore the ominous energy radiating from them.

The very notion that these two children could have killed someone here is a hard pill to swallow, but so is the fact that you’ve died.

And you’ve had to swallow that pill thirty times now, so what’s once more?

“Listen up!” one of the girls yells over the crowd, but she is mostly ignored; you don’t think everyone here has noticed her and the corpse dangling from the rafters. She scowls and turns to the other girl and says something quietly to her. The other girl nods and almost instantly she’s stringing up another person, another example. You want to look away so badly, and yet you cannot bring yourself to and you watch the poor soul choke to death.

“I said listen, you dumb monkeys!” the girl shouts, and this time she’s caught most of the crowd’s attention. “If you don’t want to end up like these two, you’ll listen to what we have to say!”

There is clear dissent among the crowd, people dismissive as they utter their disbelief. Some seem to think it’s a prank, but you know better. It takes two more examples before the crowd goes silent before the two high schoolers.

“About damn time!” The girl roars and then points toward the atrium, which is currently covered by roots and branches. “All of you move over there!”

You have a bad feeling about this.

Still, you comply; the girls have made it abundantly clear that failure to do so will result in death, though, at this point, you're almost certain this iteration is a bust and death is all but imminent. You try to keep positive— thinking you can at least gather information or, who knows, maybe there's a chance that this one is the one.

Yet when you step onto the mound of vines and branches that cover the atrium it feels as if you've crossed the threshold into hell. Your footing is stable… but for how long?

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

It's faint, but you can hear the announcement from below. The liquid in your stomach curdles at the sound as you recall the train and, in particular, what is on board. Soon enough, those monsters will be swarming the platform, massacring everyone in reach, guzzling down their blood, feasting on their flesh—

It dawns on you that the people on the platform are the monsters' first course.

And you, and those around you here in the shrubbery, are the second.

As you realize this, the branches and vines disintegrate beneath your very feet and suddenly you are mid air— falling, falling into the abyss below.

You die for the thirtieth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

You've done this nearly sixty times now.

After countless failures, you've decided that you're just not going to go upstairs any more. No matter where you try to go, you still end up herded onto the death trap above the platform where you ultimately fall to your death. You've tried positioning yourself in the same spot, tried bracing yourself for the drop— but nothing seems to work: upon landing, assuming you manage to land without hurting yourself or dying in midair (which has happened a couple times) you get grabbed and killed by one of the monsters from the train. It's probably not impossible, you just don't have the physical prowess or reflexes for it.

If anything, you can try again later, but you sincerely hope you don't have to.

It's 8:32PM, and you have plenty of time to get to your chosen spot for this loop— it's close to the stairs, in the very center of the platform. Here, there's little risk of getting pushed off onto the tracks when the gates open. You'll probably have to move when the train comes, or even before (assuming you survive) to avoid the monsters, but you'll get to that when it's time.

You can't really see the fight once it breaks out after Satoru Gojo arrives, but you still try to keep track of it as best as you can. You see when he hurls both monsters across the platform and you're not sure if it's muscle memory or what but you have to fight the urge to move to the side and watch. It's been a while, yes, but you've seen the fight countless times before— it doesn't change. Satoru Gojo will give chase. He will rip the branches from the branch eyed monster's skull. He will use some kind of power to eviscerate them.

You don't need to watch, but there's something in you that wants to.

It doesn't make sense, you've seen it all before; if you're unlucky you'll see it all again.

The lights go out and people start screaming; Satoru Gojo is ending the life of that one monster. Soon enough he'll be back on the platform, in pursuit of the other. You think at that point it would be good to move, reposition yourself as far from the incoming train as possible.

When he rises from the tracks like a demon straight from hell, you realize it's the first time this loop that you've actually gotten a good look at him. You remind yourself, again, that this isn't the first time you've seen this man, this scene. You can't help but watch, but stare at Satoru Gojo as he stalks through the crowd in pursuit of his prey. His expression is an eerie sort of calm that's at odds with the acts of violence you've seen him commit— his eyes an unnaturally bright blue.

He's a terrifying sort of beauty and you can't help but be captivated by him.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

The sound of the announcement sends your heartbeat into a frenzy, snapping you out of your little trance. The train is coming and you need to get moving. As you dart to the edge of the platform, the thought occurs to you that even if you avoid the initial wave of monsters, it's likely you will inevitably be caught by them and killed. It wouldn't be impossible for Satoru Gojo to turn his attention to them instead of the two he's currently facing, but he's just one man— can he truly defeat all those monsters?

You can see the train pulling in and you brace yourself, praying that it'll work out somehow.

The doors hiss open and the screaming starts again as the monsters come bursting out of the train, biting and mauling anyone they can get their hands on. Those who were lucky enough to not be at the front start to scramble away and the monsters give chase. Your body is taut, ready to try and dodge any that come your way.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice something moving through the air. A person? With blue hair? You take the risk to look— they're attacking Satoru Gojo. He tries to punch them but they fly away from him to dodge— disappearing into the crowd.

You hear a loud cracking sound over the cacophony of the crowd and your stomach twists; you know what that sound is. The roots above the atrium disintegrate and bodies from above start to rain down onto the platform.

And then, you're not sure what happens— it's so quick that you only manage to see what looks like an explosion of blood surrounding Satoru Gojo. Corpses litter the ground around him and even from here you can tell he is shaken by the carnage.

The monsters have finally reached where you're standing, and you duck under one as it lunges at you. Although it's big and scary, you realize it's moving kind of slow. Right after it another one comes at you and you take a side step to avoid it; this monster is kind of slow too.

Maybe you can do this.

As soon as you think that a strange feeling courses through you. Every hair on your body feels like it's standing on edge and the voice in your head is telling you to look at Satoru Gojo. You don't understand why because you think he's the least of your worries right now, but you do it anyway.

He's in some sort of stance, one hand raised to his face, fingers bent in some kind of gesture. There's some sort of aura, oppressive and frightening emanating from his form.

Satoru Gojo is doing something.

You just can't tell what.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you are utterly confused.

Barring your first few loops when you weren't fully aware of what was happening, you have very distinct memories of how each of your previous iterations of this night have gone— of each and every one of your deaths. But for your last round, the last thing you remember was feeling the immense power radiating from Satoru Gojo's body, but that's it.

You do not remember dying.

In fact, you don't think you did.

And yet, here you are again, back at the start: it's 8:32PM and the monsters and strangely dressed man are standing on the subway tracks waiting for the arrival of Satoru Gojo.

You don't understand what's going on; you didn't die but you're still stuck in this damn loop. Up until now, your death has served as the trigger to restart the loop. It's not impossible that maybe you suffered a quick and painless death but you're almost certain that isn't the case.

Something else must have happened.

Something having to do with Satoru Gojo.

You have to find out what. If you don't, you won't know how to avoid it, and if you can't do that, then you really might spend an eternity stuck in this nightmare. And so you take great care to repeat the steps of your last round. You need to make sure to survive to the same point you made it to last time.

Miraculously, you do.

The moment you feel that sensation again, a prickling sort of feeling that envelops your entire body, your eyes are on Satoru Gojo— trying to figure out what the hell he's doing. His eyes are crazed with a desperate kind of focus. You see his mouth move— he's saying something. A spell? A prayer? A curse?

You don't know.

You do know.

Your brain feels like it's going to explode.

Again.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

Again.

You do not know how many times it's been the night of Halloween in Shibuya: you stopped counting around the hundredth loop. It feels like it's been a while since then. Or maybe it hasn't? You don't know any more.

What you do know is that this night ends up going one of two ways before you are forced to repeat it. Either you die, in some way, shape or form or something happens just after nine that forces you to reset. You still don't know what it is exactly; you only know that Satoru Gojo is responsible for it.

You do prefer it to dying— it's far less painful.

But if anything, you wish you could just die permanently and never have to repeat this night ever again.

Unfortunately, you know better.

The only good thing you’ve noticed about all of this is that you really do seem to keep waking up earlier and earlier. The last time you checked, it was at around 8:30. It might take hundreds of thousands of loops, but eventually you’ll certainly wake up early enough to avoid this damn entire mess.

But by the time that happens… will your sanity still be intact? Will you really be able to go back to a normal day to day life after living the equivalent of hundreds of years, repeating the same night over and over again? You don’t even know how you’ve managed to stay sane all this time and as much as you want to believe you could do it…

There has to be a breaking point.

For both your mind and this time loop.

If you’re lucky, you’ll reach the latter first.

There’s a dull ache in your head that feels foreign yet familiar. Your mind is foggy, all your thoughts hazy as you try to recall what the word for this feeling is.

Groggy.

It feels as if you’ve woken up from a nap and you blink the sleepiness away from your eyes. When was the last time you took a nap? It’s been a while… You think you maybe tried once or twice, but you were too nervous, too on edge. Awake or asleep, it didn’t matter because, either way, you were doomed to repeat this nightmare.

As you think this, you realize that something is different.

You’re used to how the start of each loop feels like waking up suddenly and abruptly and it becomes clear to you that you haven’t looped. This is completely uncharted territory.

You need to find out what’s going on.

The first thing you notice is that it’s quiet. Almost eerily so, especially when the last thing you remember was screaming and chaos. You glance around you and find that it looks like all the monsters from the train are dead, the ground littered in their bloodstains and corpses. There were so many of them, you don’t know how someone could have wiped them out so quickly… Could it possibly have been Satoru Gojo’s doing?

More concerning than the complete eradication of the monsters is the fact that nearly everyone else on the platform is standing stock still, their mouths ajar with blank expressions on their faces. It’s almost as if their souls have completely vacated their bodies…

Were you like that too before you woke up?

You hear voices, and your body immediately goes tense as you turn your head in their direction. A little ways ahead of you, you see a man dressed as a monk conversing with the blue haired person from earlier and before them is—

Your heart nearly stops: it’s Satoru Gojo, restrained and on his knees.

Honestly, you can’t make heads or tails of the conversation they’re having; it’s more shounen battle manga nonsense. Satoru Gojo doesn’t seem to be enjoying their conversation either, and he interrupts them, clearly annoyed.

“Are we gonna do this or what?” he asks. “The view sucks and I’m just kinda bored.”

“I wanted to enjoy this sight for a little bit longer, but you are right,” the monk says. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen— gate, close.”

When he says that, Satoru Gojo’s restraints move, the weirdly shaped cubes at the ends of them closing in around him, trapping him in a giant red cube. It starts to shrink until it’s small enough to fit in the monk’s hand.

You gulp and hope they don’t notice that you’re awake. The fact that they haven’t slaughtered the rest of the people standing around you is a good sign, but you don’t want to find out what happens if they know you’re cognizant.

It’s not hard to play the part of a living statue, especially when you compare it to everything else you’ve had to suffer through on this night. You watch as the monk’s allies, the ones who had attacked everyone on the platform, wake up, but before they can do or say anything, the box holding Satoru Gojo slips through the monk’s fingers and makes a dent in the concrete. The look on the monk’s face makes it clear that it’s a problem he wasn’t expecting.

You don’t know a damn thing about Satoru Gojo, but you feel like this kind of thing is the norm for him.

The blue haired person suddenly looks in your direction and you nearly stop breathing. Have they noticed you? It takes everything in you to keep perfectly still, in hopes that maybe they didn't, that maybe they’re looking at something else. They raise their arm and it extends, their hand acting like some kind of projectile. You almost shut your eyes and brace yourself for impact, but their hand flies upwards and hits something on the ceiling, destroying it.

Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief— you’re still safe.

For now.

You listen to their following conversation and while you still don’t fully understand everything, it’s clear they’re talking about what to do next since they’ve taken care of Satoru Gojo. Something having to do with someone named Yuji Itadori? The group seems split on what to do about him but it’s clear he’s their next target.

Eventually, everyone but the monk (you heard the blue haired person, who is apparently named Mahito, call him Geto?) runs off, probably to find this Yuji Itadori person. Once they’re gone, Geto speaks and, at first, you think he’s talking to you, but it becomes clear he’s addressing someone else. “Those cursed spirits are actually smarter than the two of you.”

“Give him back!” a voice hidden among the crowd hisses. Your blood runs cold at the sound. You recognize it; it’s one of the high school girls from the upper floor.

“We cooperated with you fully and kept dropping monkeys for you,” says another voice; it must be the other girl that was with her, the one who hung all those people.

“Now give us back Master Geto’s body like you promised!”

“Don’t toy with Master Geto any further than you have!”

You blink in confusion. Isn’t the monk named Geto? The way the girls are talking it sounds like they’re talking about someone else… Is it possible that the body is ‘Geto’ but the person they’re talking to is someone else possessing it? It sounds kind of crazy, but then again, so is every single thing you’ve experienced tonight.

Your suspicions concerning this ‘Geto’ are confirmed only seconds later as he says, “Now begone, or is it your desire to be killed by this body?”

One of the girls vows her revenge and you hear shuffling somewhere else in the crowd as they scurry away. Now you think it’s just you and whoever it is that’s puppeting Geto’s body. You see him plop down in front of the box (the prison realm, you think he’d called it) that’s holding Satoru Gojo.

“You can come out, you know,” he says after a while.

You freeze. The rest of the platform is completely silent. This time you think he might actually be talking to you.

“I know you’re there,” ‘Geto’ adds, his voice casual. “If you’re insistent on hiding, you should know that I’m not afraid of using whatever means necessary to smoke you out.”

Given everything his allies have done, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s serious. You were hoping to hide out among the crowd until he decided to leave, but it looks like you won’t be able to now.

Looks like this loop is a bust after all.

Your heart starts to race as you weave your way through the crowd. In every single one of your loops, you were always treated like a bit character, never noticed or singled out by any of the major players of the night. Although this is your first time encountering this ‘Geto’ it’s clear to you that he’s involved with everything that’s happened here and honestly, you get the feeling he might actually be the mastermind behind the massacre.

That makes you even more nervous.

You come to a stop in the place where Satoru Gojo was once kneeling before he was put in that box. Now that you’re out in the open, ‘Geto’ looks you over with some sort of nonchalant curiosity.

“You’re…” he starts, sounding thoughtful, "not a sorcerer, are you?”

Sorcerer. You heard that term thrown around by him and his group a few times. It’s what they’ve been referring to their enemies as. It probably wouldn’t be smart to lie and say you are one; you get the feeling he’d see through your lie anyway. “I’m not.”

He hums. “How interesting.”

“...what do you mean?” you ask before you can help yourself.

“It’s just you have an abnormally large amount of cursed energy for a non-sorcerer,” he explains. “Though, I suppose that all just sounds like gibberish to you."

You nod and look down at the box lodged in the floor. It has eyes, big creepy looking eyes. "...are you going to do the same thing to me as you did to that man?"

He laughs, "...fortunately for you, the prison realm only holds one person at a time and I need him sealed away more than you."

"...does that mean you're going to leave him in there forever?"

"If I'm feeling nice, I might unseal him in a hundred years or so."

One hundred years? At this point, you've probably lived roughly that amount of time through your loops alone, but for Satoru Gojo… "Won't he die first?"

"Only if he decides to," 'Geto' says, looking completely and wholly unbothered. "Time doesn't doesn't flow in the box, so when I unseal him, he'll be the same as he was just now. Physically anyway. Who knows how deteriorated his mind will be after all that."

Time doesn't flow in the box.

The words echo in your mind over and over. Time doesn't flow in the box. In other words, that means time has stopped in the box, and if that's the case then—

"Anyway, rather than worry about him, shouldn't you be more worried about yourself?"

You look at 'Geto' and he's smiling at you, it's friendly, but ominous. There's no doubt what is going to happen next, though you had already resigned yourself to this iteration being a bust; it was only a matter of time.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

"I was thinking I might keep you around, even if you aren’t a sorcerer, your wealth of cursed energy would serve my plans well," he muses. "But… it would be too much trouble trying to teach you how to use it in time."

As he talks, you realize this is probably the first time your death is intentional— every other death you've suffered has just been a byproduct of the ongoing slaughter. You were just another casualty, a victim, never a target.

You're scared.

Even though you know that once he kills you, once you die, you'll just loop back to around 8:30 again. You'll be on the platform again. And you'll play out some sequence of events before you eventually die again. And again and again.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

"I'll be nice, though," 'Geto' says, raising a hand and another monster appears out of nowhere. You don’t even bother trying to figure out from where. It doesn’t matter, especially since this monster will surely be the one to end your life. "I'll make it painless."

"...I appreciate it," you say and close your eyes hoping that he's not lying about it.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

He didn't lie.

You die again.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you're trapped.

You don't know how and you don't know why, but you are stuck in a time loop— forced to suffer through the horrific events of the night before you die and begin it all again. It's been a long time since you stopped counting how many loops you've gone through, but if you had to guess, it's probably somewhere in the hundreds now.

You are so very tired.

But it doesn't stop. It won't stop no matter what you seem to do. You are stuck. You are trapped. You are doomed.

“Time doesn't flow in the box.”

Ever since that first loop where you heard whoever is possessing Geto's body say that, the words have been stuck in your head, playing on loop.

You finally realize why.

“Time doesn't flow in the box.”

It's 8:25PM when you wake up; that should be plenty of time.

You need to find Satoru Gojo.

After hundreds of loops you've come to a singular conclusion: you need to prevent him being sealed in the prison realm. You've witnessed it enough to know that you won't be able to do it alone; you'll need his cooperation.

You rush upstairs as fast as you can, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine as you step onto the stairwell. According to your previous loops, Satoru Gojo arrives on the subway tracks at 8:40PM. With how crowded the upper floor is, you don’t know if you’ll have the time to intercept him and talk to him, but if you can at least figure out where to find him, then you can try and talk to him during a subsequent loop.

When you reach the fourth basement floor, however, you don’t know where you should even start. He’s pretty tall so you think you could spot him in the crowd, but… there are still so many people. It occurs to you that maybe it would be better to try and look from a higher vantage point so you head to the stairs that lead up to the third basement floor. You check your phone again. It’s 8:35PM; you need to hurry.

Luckily for you, you find him very easily on the third basement floor.

The only problem is that he’s in a hard to reach spot— squatting above a sign hanging over the crowd.

You check your phone again. It’s 8:38PM and he’s starting to move, presumably to meet with those waiting for him on the subway tracks. It’s good that you found him, but there’s no doubt about it.

You’re going to need more time.

The moment you wake up, you immediately bolt toward the stairs. It's taken many, many more loops, but you've finally brought the time you wake down to around 8:15. You're still not sure if it's enough time, but there's only one way to find out.

You barrel your way up to the next floor and zig zag through the crowd to get to the next flight of stairs. By the time you get to your destination, you're completely out of breath, your chest heaving as your lungs clamor for air. You’ve done this so many times, yet your body acts like it’s always the first. It sucks, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You slow to a brisk pace to catch your breath and check the time. It’s 8:27— a new record. Hopefully it’ll be enough.

The goal is to catch Satoru Gojo before he moves to his lookout point above the crowd. While not impossible, it would be difficult for you to follow him there. You eye the safety barricade that blocks off the area where he’ll be moving in just a few minutes warily.

Yes, getting over there would be extremely difficult.

You don’t want to think about it right now; you’ll deal with it when the time comes.

Especially since Satoru Gojo has now entered your field of vision.

Your heart starts to race at the sight of him and it feels like it’s beating a million times a second. There isn’t a lot of time. You need to talk to him, but your legs only wobble, your feet planted firmly to the ground. This is not good. You need to move. You need to move.

Finally, after what feels like both an instant and an eternity, your feet finally budge, propelling you in Satoru Gojo’s direction. The beating of your heart only grows louder as you make your way toward him, mingling with the single thought that’s echoing throughout your mind right now: will he even hear you out?

You need to make him.

“Excuse me!” The words nearly come out in a stutter as you realize that you are actually talking to Satoru Gojo. You have watched this man at a distance for so long that it almost felt like he wasn’t real, like he was just another fixture in this nightmare that you’ve been living for far too long. And yet, here he is, right in front of you, in the flesh.

And his attention is on you.

All sound stops: the crowd around you, the thoughts in your head, the beat of your heart. Even though you cannot see them through that blindfold of his, you know that Satoru Gojo’s eyes are on you and the thought of that, the knowledge of it is actually a little overwhelming. Your mouth is dry and suddenly you don’t know what to say, but you need to say something. You need to say something before he thinks maybe you bumped into him by accident and just walks away without a word.

“I need to talk to you!” The words just burst out from your mouth and something about it is just absolutely embarrassing. You’re not sure if it's desperation or the fact that you haven’t really talked to anyone other than the existence occupying Suguru Geto’s body in nearly forever.

Satoru Gojo’s lips slowly start to form a smile, “Oh, yeah?”

The sound of his voice makes your mind go blank. There’s something different about it right now; more playful, amused even. Maybe it’s because he’s talking to you, a harmless human being and not a monster trying to kill him. It’s almost kind of jarring, but you know, with certainty, what Satoru Gojo’s voice sounds like. And the fact that he’s actually talking to you right now has you kind of excited. You nod, doing your best to not show how thrilled you are that he’s not ignoring you.

He hums thoughtfully, “Sorry… but unfortunately I kind of have some business to attend to right now.”

“I—” You start to say that you know that he’s headed down to the platform below to fight with…Choso and Jogo, you think their names are— you don’t know the name of the monster with the branches for eyes. “It’s— it’s really important!”

Gojo tilts his head a little, clearly thinking. You should probably say something else, something to try and convince him to stay a little longer and hear you out, but your mind is both full and blank. Where do you start? From the beginning? Or do you start with what is most important? Maybe you should say what you think will get his attention. You’re not sure, and you realize you really should have thought about this earlier because you’re running out of time right now.

“...mind handing me your phone?”

You stare at Gojo, completely and wholly confused, but he just holds out his hand expectantly. When you don’t move, he wiggles his fingers a little, a silent gesture telling you to hurry it up. Without thinking, you reach into your bag and unlock your phone before handing it to him.

“Kind of sucks that cell service isn’t working right now,” he remarks as he types something into your phone before handing it back. “But! Here's my number.”

You look down at your phone and, sure enough, Satoru Gojo has added himself as one of your contacts. He’s even added a little star to the end of his name. That’s… a little unexpected. Why his number though?

“Are you… hitting on me?” you mutter in your confusion.

He laughs, “Well, you said you had something really important to talk to me about, right? So just give me a call when you get home or some time tomorrow and we can talk then!”

You’re not going to make it home, or even to tomorrow, and neither will Satoru Gojo. As you start to tell him this, he steps past you. Desperate, you try to grab him, but somehow, for some reason, you can’t. You remember he did this with Jogo and the other monster, made himself untouchable.

This is not good.

He gives you a little wave, cheery as he says, “I’ll talk to you later!”

You watch, helpless as he hops over the barricade beyond your reach.

Gripping your phone tightly, you take a deep breath. It's fine, it's not like you didn’t expect things to go well anyway.

You'll just have to try again.

Every time you’ve tried to solicit help from Satoru Gojo, it has gone the same way. He just won’t give you the time of day, and in some ways you can’t blame him; he’s clearly here to deal with the monsters down on the platform. You’re fairly certain that he probably thinks that whatever is going on with you is a much lesser issue in comparison.

Plus, it probably doesn’t help that in the times that you’ve approached him, you haven’t been able to articulate yourself particularly well. Once you start talking to him, you just get hit with something akin to stage fright and the connection between your mind and your mouth just stops working. It’s gotten better with each attempt, but…

It’s just so frustrating.

It is interesting that Gojo has given you his number every time, star symbol and all. You’re not sure what kind of person you were expecting him to be, but after witnessing him literally and viciously rip monsters apart, you’d figured he’d be a little more somber. However, in the fragmented conversations you’ve had with him he’s come off as far more friendly and playful than you would have thought. Is he the type of person to get more serious when the situation calls for it? You can’t help but wonder, but ultimately, it doesn’t really matter.

What really matters is that you’re able to convince him to help you.

You have to convince him.

“Excuse me!” you say, stepping in Satoru Gojo’s path. You don’t stutter this time, and your voice is more sure. This is good.

“Yes?”

His head turns in your direction and you gulp. Gojo’s gaze, despite that blindfold of his, still feels just as overwhelming as it did the very first time you approached him. You have no doubt that he’s sizing you up, but there’s just something about it that makes you feel like you’re being picked apart.

You take a deep breath and step closer to him, hoping your voice sounds firm enough as you say, “I need your help. I’m trapped.”

He chuckles a little, “I know, but yours truly is on his way to go beat up the bad guys keeping you all trapped here, so soon enough you’ll be all free to go on your merry little way.”

Right. You were so caught up in your own plight that you nearly forgot that technically you’re not the only one ‘trapped.’ Satoru Gojo obviously knows that everyone else is confined to this station, but you doubt he knows that you’re confined to this night alone.

“That’s not what I mean!” you sputter.

“Then what do you mean?” Gojo asks. Should you tell him that you mean that you’re trapped in a time loop? You’re honestly not sure— in the movies and manga you’ve read about time travel, revealing that sort of thing risks creating a time paradox which seems to be a bad thing. If you have to tell him, you will, but— “Oh, I get it.”

You stare, bewildered. Did you maybe just spew all of that aloud?

Gojo gives you a mischievous smile. “You’re hitting on me, aren’t you?”

“No!” The word comes flying out of your mouth. You can’t deny he’s attractive— you’ve thought it all this time, but that is not what’s happening here.

“No need to be embarrassed,” he continues, ignoring you. “I totally get it, so if you want, I’d be happy to give you my number!”

Again? There’s really something odd about how he keeps giving you his number. Part of you wonders if he’s got some sort of ulterior motive, but you haven’t thought too deeply about it. There are way more important things going on.

“I don’t need your phone number,” you say. “I need to talk.”

Your response seems to give Gojo pause. Did you somehow manage to get through to him? No way. Your suspicions are all but confirmed when he gives you that familiar apologetic smile.

“Like, I said, I’m sort of in the middle of something, but…” Gojo reaches into his pockets and rummages around until one hand fishes out a folded up piece of paper. The other hand keeps digging around in his pocket and when Gojo seems to give up on whatever he’s looking for, he turns his attention back to you. “Got a pen?”

What?

Gojo tilts his head. “Well?”

“I do, but…” You trail off, unsure why he’s asking.

He holds out his hand waiting for you to just hand him the pen. You still don’t get it, but you reach into your bag’s front pocket and pull out the pen and hand it to him. Gojo looks almost like an excited child when he takes it from you, quickly scribbling something onto his paper before shoving it and your pen back into your hand.

You look at the paper; it looks like a receipt. For a disturbing amount of mochi that Gojo bought earlier today. The amount of money he spent is almost sickening; way too much to be paying for mochi. More importantly, you notice something juxtaposed over the receipt’s print.

It’s Satoru Gojo’s name and number.

He even drew a little star next to his name.

“If you change your mind later, just give me a call!” he tells you cheerily. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while!”

You gawk at him. He cannot be serious. You literally just told him that you didn’t need it and yet he still gave it to you. He must want you to contact him later, but you can’t even begin to understand why. It can’t have been something you said or did, right? Unless, he’s actually—

“Later!” Gojo’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you notice him walking off with a wave.

You can’t let him get away.

Again.

You crush the receipt in your hand and rush after him. Despite the crowd, Gojo seems to move through the people with ease and it almost seems like they are yielding to him naturally. It’s good for you. Makes him easier to chase.

“Wait!” you yell, but Gojo doesn’t even look back. Bastard. Your muscles strain as you try to run faster. You know you won’t be able to grab him if you get to him, but there has to still be something you can do to stop him. Circle around him? Cut him off before he—

Satoru Gojo reaches the barricade.

“Wait!” you yell again. “Satoru Gojo, wait!”

He does not even acknowledge you.

You’re almost there though. Almost. If you reach out your hand, then maybe, maybe you can grab him. Something in your head tells you that it’s useless; you’ve never been able to touch him. But, you don’t care, you don’t care because you have to try. You stretch out your hand, desperate and hoping, but just as you do, Gojo effortlessly jumps over the barricade, moving to survey the crowd.

Due to your momentum, you almost collide into the barricade, but you manage to stop yourself. You stare at Satoru Gojo through the glass. He watches the crowd for at most three minutes. Is this just another bust? Is there really nothing you can do? There must be a way you can get his attention. Is it possible to climb over the barricade? No, it’s too high. There’s nothing you can grasp onto or use as footing either.

This fucking sucks.

Another minute or two and Gojo will be on the move again, and there will be no way you can follow, no way you can get his attention. You press your hands against the glass, pushing against it. Naturally, it doesn’t budge. Why would it? If only you could get it out of the way. If only you could break it. This stupid barricade is the only thing between you and Satoru Gojo and there’s no way you can climb it, but if only you could break it.

If only you could fucking break it.

Suddenly, the glass feels warm. Satoru Gojo’s image starts to look a little distorted as the warmth beneath your fingers grows. Something is happening. The glass starts to vibrate and shake. Violently. The tremors grow stronger and stronger. You should stop. You should back away.

You don’t.

The barricade starts to crack and fracture and soon the sound of shattering glass resounds throughout the entire room. Everyone starts screaming. No one knows what’s going on— not even you. But you don’t care. It’s gone. The barricade is gone.

You take a step forward, toward Satoru Gojo. He’s on a beam that’s about a two meter drop from where you’re standing. That’s fine. That’s okay. You can make it. You have to. Without a second thought, you jump—

And you land on the beam. You look up and Satoru Gojo’s attention is back on you. He’s finally, finally turned toward you, face twisted into an expression you can’t decipher or even comprehend, but—

Something’s wrong; your world is turning on its axis, but—

Satoru Gojo is looking at you, and—

Up is very quickly becoming down, and—

Satoru Gojo is coming closer, but—

You’re slipping—

But he’s right there, and—

You’re falling, but—

He’s trying to catch you, but—

It’s too late. It’s too late.

The last thing you think you feel—

—is Satoru Gojo’s arms around you.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you are causing a commotion.

“Shit! Fuck!” you curse loudly. The people near you start to shift away but you barely notice; you don’t really care.

You were so close, so fucking close and yet… yet here you are again. It’s quarter past eight and you are back on the goddamn platform. You don’t know what happened; you remember falling and thinking you were going to die, but you are absolutely certain that, once again, this time, you didn’t die.

Is Satoru Gojo at fault again? Did he do something? Like he did all those other times you looped without dying? When you think about it more, you don’t think so. You don’t know what happened; all you know is that you tried to get to him, but you slipped.

And he caught you, you definitely remember that.

You still don’t understand why you looped, but there’s not much you can do about it now; it’s not like you can go back anymore. It just sucks, because you think he might have actually listened if you’d talked to him.

Or he would have come after you for… whatever happened with the barricade. It could have been taken as an attack on the crowd… But if he thought you were doing that, then why would he catch you?

You don’t know.

All you know is that you have to try again.

The only problem is that you don’t know how you managed to shatter the barricade. You think about it as you make your way up to where you’ll find Satoru Gojo. There is the possibility that it wasn’t you and something else happened to it instead, but that feels way too coincidental. It had to be you. That’s the only thing that makes sense. You just can’t figure out how you did it outside of wanting, wishing, praying for the barricade to break. It’s not like you have supernatural powers like Satoru Gojo and his enemies.

Despite your mind being completely and wholly occupied by trying to figure out how in the world you managed to break through that barricade, you still manage to make it to the second basement floor of Shibuya Hikarie by 8:25PM— a brand new record. Satoru Gojo doesn’t show up until around 8:34PM, so that gives you almost ten minutes to try and figure out what you need to do to try and replicate shattering the glass barricade again.

Except—

Except Satoru Gojo is already here.

The thought that maybe you’re mistaken flashes in your mind before it’s quickly dismissed; there’s no way you’d mistake anyone else for him. There is absolutely no denying it: that is Satoru Gojo. Bewildered, you double check the time on your phone. Maybe you misread it and you’re actually late but sure enough you read it right— Satoru Gojo is here early.

What the hell is going on?

Of the thousands of times you have experienced this night, this hell, this sort of thing has never happened before. Everything happens at a specific time, as if adhering to an unseen schedule. It’s likely that what happened in your last iteration did delay Satoru Gojo’s arrival onto the platform, but other than that there has never been a deviation to the time table.

And yet, here Satoru Gojo is, nine minutes early now.

You realize that that’s not the only thing that’s strange: he’s not moving. In previous rounds, when you encounter Gojo here, he’s walking to the lookout spot beyond the barricade. But, right now, he’s just standing there, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. It almost looks like he's waiting for something.

Or someone.

This unexpected turn of events has you rooted to the spot. You’re not sure what you should do. No. This shouldn’t change anything. You need to talk to him. As concerning as a change like this is, the extra time it gives you should be a good thing. Despite knowing that, your feet are still firmly planted to the ground.

The crowd shifts and you see Satoru Gojo start to move. Toward the barricade? No. He’s not heading in his usual direction, rather he’s—

You stop breathing.

He’s headed toward you.

All sound stops: the crowd around you, the thoughts in your head, the beat of your heart. Even though you cannot see them through that blindfold of his, you know that Satoru Gojo’s eyes are on you and the thought of that, the knowledge of it is absolutely mind numbing.

He comes to a stop before you, lips curled up to form an amused sort of smile as he says, “Soooo, you needed to talk to me?”

You try to answer but no words come out of your mouth. Are you dreaming? You have to be, right? There's no way that this is actually happening. Could it be that, after thousands of loops, you’ve finally lost it? Your mind shattering along with the glass of the barricade at the end of the last one?

Gojo tilts his head, indicating that he's still waiting for an answer. When you open your mouth, at first, nothing comes out, the words stuck in your throat. You force them out, your voice cracking, “...how did you know?”

He smiles, looking almost mischievous as he reaches up and lightly taps the side of his head. “I remembered, of course!”

All you can do is stare at Satoru Gojo. He remembered? How is that possible? From his perspective, this is the first time you’ve met and while it shouldn’t be possible for him to remember there’s something in your mind that’s keeping you from completely dismissing the possibility.

Gojo laughs, “I take it from the look on your face that you’re not used to this sort of thing happening. Is this the first time?”

“No.” The fact that the word is out of your mouth before you can even really think about it surprises you and you really have to think. Your face scrunches together as you try to remember. Is this really not the first time? Then, the memories assault you, overlapping as they replay simultaneously in your head— a woman in a yellow and white magical girl costume— begging you for help as she burns to death— smiling as she tells you she made her costume herself. “...it happened just once a long time ago.”

“‘A long time ago,’ huh. Sounds like you've been at this for a while now.”

“...unfortunately.”

Gojo hums. “So when you said you didn’t need my phone number…”

“You’d already given it to me a few times,” you say, figuring that’s where this conversation is going.

“Really now?”

Does he not believe you? Or is he just being an ass? You’re not sure, but since you had taken the liberty of memorizing Satoru Gojo’s phone number you recite it back to him to prove your point.

Just when you think you may have stunned Gojo into silence he starts to laugh, obviously finding something funny about the fact that you know his cell phone number. “Seems like you've got quite the fascinating technique there.”

Technique? What is he talking about? Your confusion must be plain on your face because he adds, elaborating, “The time travel.”

You continue to stare at him. You don't think you'd consider what you've been going through time travel, because traveling implies moving from point A to point B, but you've been stuck walking in circles at point A for a long time. What really gets you is… “What do you mean by ‘technique?’”

“You mean you don’t— oh. I get it; no wonder you’re trapped.”

That does not answer your question in the slightest. “Can you please explain what you're talking about? What do you mean by ‘technique?’”

“Right, right… So basically, a technique is like a special sort of power,” he finally explains. “Like I said, your technique seems to be a kind of time travel. Whenever you activate it, your mind is sent back in time.”

What he's saying makes sense, but… “How come you were sent back too?”

He laughs again. “Isn't it obvious? Think back to before— do you remember that I caught you as you were falling?”

You nod slowly. The memory of his arms around you is almost embarrassingly vivid. “...is it because we were touching?”

“Ding, ding, ding! That's correct! Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!”

Something about his tone annoys you, but you try to ignore it. He could have just told you rather than make you guess. “How do you know that for sure?”

“Well,” he continues. “You’ve done your little time loop a bunch of times, right? If your technique affected everyone, or even a few people in a select range you would have noticed for sure. And if it affected only just you then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, now would we?”

When you think about it, you do think that the woman in the magical girl costume might have bumped into you before the loop where she remembered.

“That’s honestly just conjecture, but I've got pretty good eyes, so I’m hardly ever wrong.”

Gojo gives you a grin and while you do think that his reasoning is sound enough his confidence is a little grating. More than that, though, you’re glad that this conversation is actually going really well.

“Either way,” he says thoughtfully. “It doesn’t look like you can control your technique. Usually a person’s technique manifests when they’re a kid, but you seem to be a special case… in fact, I bet your technique activated for the very first time tonight— probably under some pretty extreme circumstances, too.”

“...dying counts as an ‘extreme circumstance,’ right?”

“Oh, absolutely. Or legitimately thinking that you’re gonna die, but it seems like your body has been unconsciously activating your technique as a sort of defense mechanism. Which is why you’re trapped.”

“So, if I could control it I’d be able to make it out of this time loop.”

“Yeah, but in this case it probably wouldn’t end very well for you,” he points out with a chuckle. “It’s not like you actually want to die, right? I mean, if you did, then your technique wouldn’t even activate in the first place.”

You don’t; what you want is for this night to finally end. To be free from the endless cycle of dying over and over again and again. You don’t think death is quite the answer; even if you were to learn how to control this supposed technique of yours, there’s no guarantee that you would just unconsciously activate it when the grim reaper comes knocking on your door. No, the answer is…

“Anyway!” Gojo’s cheery voice cuts through your thoughts. “I highly doubt that you’re the type that makes a habit of jumping off ledges for the funsies, so the fact that you’ve been dying tells me that some pretty gruesome stuff is about to go down, so, tell me what happens tonight.”

The sudden drop of his voice sends a shiver running down your spine. If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve seen how serious Gojo can get, the sudden shift in demeanor would probably freak you out a bit, but it doesn’t. This is the Satoru Gojo you’re familiar with.

You do have one concern though. “That… won’t create a time paradox or anything, will it?”

“Nah,” Gojo shrugs. “You wouldn’t cause one with the way your technique works, besides, if you’ve only been going back at most an hour or two in time it’s hard to believe you’d be making a really big impact… unless you really believe in the butterfly effect.”

You’re still not quite sure.

“Trust me, it’ll be fine.”

His voice sounds strange. Gentle. Kind. It's the most soothing thing you've heard in a long time and it makes you want to believe him.

“...okay.”

Anxiety is still gripping at you, but you try to dispel it, taking a deep breath before beginning your explanation. For the sake of brevity, it’s probably best that you’re as concise as possible. There isn’t much need to really get into the nitty gritty of things unless he asks specifically.

Naturally, you begin with his arrival onto the platform and how soon after a fight breaks out and how the crowd is unfortunate enough to be involved. Gojo’s expression is passive for the most part, but he does crack the faintest hint of a smile when you mention how he manages to eviscerate one of the monsters.

It disappears once you tell him about the arrival of the train. Between the dozens upon dozens of people being dropped onto the platform by those two high school girls and the hoard of monsters disembarking from the train, everything devolves into pandemonium.

“Wait,” Gojo holds a hand up and you pause. This is his first interruption since you started recounting the night’s events for him. “Everyone is able to see the monsters?”

You stare at him. What a weird question. “...yeah?”

His mouth twists and it looks like he’s thinking about something. You can’t even begin to imagine what. Finally, he comments, “Makes sense.”

It does not, but you don’t ask him to elaborate. Surely if it was important he would have just done so.

“Anyway, in the middle of all that, you… you do something.” Your brows bunch together as you remember the stance Gojo took, the crazed and desperate look in his eyes, the feeling of your head about to explode. “I don’t know how to describe it. At first, it would just force me to… activate my technique, I guess. But now, it just knocks me out for a few minutes.”

Gojo frowns and he rubs at his chin, obviously thinking about what you’ve said. Eventually, he raises a hand and bends his fingers into a familiar gesture. It’s the one that preludes whatever he does on the platform. “Do I do this?”

“Yeah.”

He hums. “Interesting.”

You wait to see if he’ll explain. He doesn’t. Great. Even if he doesn’t think you need to know, it certainly would be nice to. It’s annoying otherwise, but you ignore the feeling and continue. “I can’t tell you what happens when I’m knocked out, but when I come to everyone is basically a zombie and all the monsters from the train are gone. I think you kill them.”

“I probably do,” he says casually. “But what about Volcano Head?”

“...you don't…get a chance to kill him,” you say slowly. Gojo tilts his head, waiting for you to elaborate, but you hesitate. You have to tell him, you know you do, but…

You have seen the interaction so many times and though you don't know the exact nature of the relationship between them, you can tell that seeing Suguru Geto (or rather seeing his body) shook Satoru Gojo to his very core.

There's no doubt in your mind that he will not take this news well.

“Come on now,” Gojo's tone is light-hearted, unaware. “Don't keep me in suspense here.”

It's as if you're withholding the punchline to a joke. In a way, you suppose you are, but you don't think he's going to find it funny.

You take a deep breath. You need to tell him. The worst thing that could happen is that he doesn't believe you, but if that's the case… you'll probably just end up repeating this all again until you find a loop where he does.

Having made it this far, you'd like to avoid all that.

“Before you can get Volcano Head you get restrained by something called the prison realm,” you say slowly, “by someone calling themselves… Suguru Geto.”

The second the name leaves your mouth, there is a clear and obvious shift in the air. Gone is Gojo’s laid-back and frivolous demeanor, replaced with something more somber and almost frightening. The tension grows more and more palpable to the point that you think it might almost choke you.

You almost wish that it would.

“You can’t be serious,” Gojo finally says, once your words have fully sunk in.

“I—” You start to speak, but come to an abrupt stop when you see him shove his hand into his pocket to yank out his phone of all things.

The both of you know full well that there’s no reception here, but you don’t think that he’s planning on making any calls. Gojo scrolls and scrolls on his phone before he stops and shoves the screen in your face. It shows a picture of three people— a teenage girl with a cigarette in her mouth, a younger, happier version of Gojo sporting a pair of round sunglasses and—

“When you say ‘Geto’ is this who you’re referring to?” Gojo demands, using his other hand to point at the third person in the frame— a handsome young man with long dark hair pulled up into a bun.

“Yes, but—”

“That’s impossible. It can’t be him,” Gojo interrupts, his voice firm, cold even. “He’s dead.”

There’s a note of finality in his words that is definitely meant to leave no room for argument. It doesn’t stop you, though. Instead, you glare at Gojo’s stupid blindfold and say, “...being dead doesn’t mean a damn thing! I’ve died hundreds of times and yet I’m still fucking here, but—”

“Your situation is different,” he interjects, the temperature of his tone hiking up, his words like heated hissing. “I killed him almost a year ago. There's no way—”

“You didn't get rid of the body properly!” You cut him off, raising your voice in hopes that he'll take even just a second to stop and listen. It seems to work and you add something you remember ‘Geto’ saying. “You should have had Shoko Ieiri get rid of it, but you didn’t and now some… some kind of gross brain thing is possessing the corpse!”

The air between you both is silent as the grave. Though you can't see it, you can feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. He’s definitely having second thoughts about everything you’ve said so far. There’s a chance he might even think you’re his enemy now. You stare him down though, refusing to look away. You’ve made it this far, you can’t— you won’t back down.

“...you’re not lying, are you.” Gojo’s words are more of a statement than a question. There’s no doubt in your mind that he knows the answer, and yet he’s still asking. You wonder if maybe he’s clinging onto some vain hope that maybe, just maybe this all a sick, cruel joke that’s gone way too far.

“I’m not.”

Gojo holds your gaze for a second longer before he lets out a curse. “Fuck!”

“...I’m sorry,” you say quietly, mostly because it feels like the most correct thing to say at this moment. You don’t know the whole story, but it seems like they were close. If so, then it must have hurt Gojo a lot to have killed him, and must hurt even more to know that someone is desecrating the body. You hate that you, a complete and utter stranger, happened to be the person to tell him, but…

It had to be done, for the sake of getting past this unending night, it had to be done.

Gojo runs a hand through his hair and lets out a ragged sigh. “Okay. What happens after that?”

You give him a rundown of what follows; he gets sealed, the monsters wake up and all but ‘Geto’ leave in search of their next target. When you mention the high school girls demanding the brain give Geto’s body back, Gojo snorts loudly.

“Fat chance of that,” he says derisively.

You nod in agreement. It was clear to you that the brain parasite has no intent on giving it up any time soon. “After they leave, he… talks to me.”

“Probably couldn't ignore all that cursed energy you have,” Gojo remarks offhandedly.

You stare at him, expression twisted in a way that shows that you have absolutely no clue what that means. It should be fine for you to ask this one question; it actually concerns you after all. “What does that even mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, though… probably doesn't make much sense to you, does it?”

You give him a pointed glare and all Gojo does is laugh.

“Just think of it like having a lot of MP.”

“...Like in a video game?”

“Exactly!” Then, Gojo tilts his head, clearly thinking. You don't bother asking; you don't feel like he'll explain.

“He does ask me if I'm a sorcerer, whatever that is. Is that why?”

“Probably. Ordinary people don't have even a fraction of the energy you're packing.”

‘Ordinary people’ he says as if you’re not an ordinary person who got caught up in all this supernatural sorcery bullshit. Or at least you were, but if the time loops are really a product of your own doing…

“Does he kill you when you answer?” Gojo asks to get the conversation back on track.

“Not right away. What happens next kind of varies,” you answer. “He usually lets me have a question or two before he kills me; I've asked him a couple different things.”

“Really taking advantage, aren’t you?” Gojo says and you're not sure what to make of his tone. Is he mocking you or is he easing back into that laid-back persona of his?

“If I’m doomed to repeat the same situation over and over, I might as well make the most of it,” you respond flatly.

“You know, your technique kind of reminds me of save scumming.”

He’s definitely gone back to acting almost completely unserious— all signs of his earlier agitation are nearly gone.

“So what did you learn?”

“Well, the prison realm only holds one occupant. Once they’re sealed, time stops for them and the only way out is if the bearer unseals them or if they choose to kill themselves.”

“I see… And what about our body jacker?”

“He didn’t go into detail but he said something about… striving toward the evolution of mankind?” You frown a little at the memory. He didn’t explain further because he said that you wouldn’t understand.

“Huh. Interesting. Wonder how he was gonna go about doing that.”

“I don't know, but I can't imagine you'd like it since he goes out of his way to seal you into that box,” you say. “Said you’d get in the way because you’re too strong.”

Gojo shrugs his shoulders and grins a little. Cocky. “Well, I am the strongest sorcerer around, you know.”

You would think him overconfident if you hadn't seen the magnitude of his strength first hand.

“Anyway, that's as far as I ever go. When he's decided he’s done talking to me, he kills me and I loop back.”

“So, in short, what you want help with is getting past that point, right?”

“More or less.”

“And all I have to do is avoid getting caught by the prison realm?”

You nod.

“What’s it look like?” he asks. “A big cage with a bunch of metal bars?”

Now that you think about it, you haven’t woken up early enough to see it before it traps him, but you can’t imagine it looks that much different. “No.. It’s a small box with eyes… It gets big enough to fit you in it, though.”

“Huh.” He stretches his arms out above his head as if he’s trying to emphasize how large he actually is and shoots you a grin. “Should be easy enough then. I bet our body snatcher used the shock of seeing Suguru to trap me but since I'll see it coming, avoiding it'll be a piece of cake.”

Gojo makes it sound so easy, and maybe it really is as simple as that, but you can't help but be worried still.

“Don't tell me you don't think I can do it,” he says, tilting his head.

“It's not that,” you admit. “I'm just concerned I might die before we can get to that point.”

Truthfully, since you know that will just result in another loop you're less concerned with dying itself and more worried about losing the progress you've made in convincing Gojo to help you. Even though it's been clearly proven you can loop him as well, there's no guarantee you'll be able to make the physical contact needed to do it upon death.

“You've made it pretty far on your own, though, right?”

“Yeah, but… I’ve messed up plenty of times.” More than you can even count. “There's also the possibility that taking the time to talk to you might have thrown things out of whack.”

Speaking of time, you check your phone. It's 8:39PM. You curse.

Gojo leans over to check your phone. “Let me guess, I'm supposed to be somewhere right now.”

“Yeah, this is when you’re descending down onto the platform.”

“You know where I am down to the exact minute?” He asks and you tilt your head back and forth a little. It’s not exact per se, but it’s close enough. Gojo chuckles a little. “Man, I didn’t realize that you were actually that into me.”

That earns Gojo a glare from you, but he just laughs it off. “I doubt being a few minutes late is going to make a big difference.”

You certainly hope so.

“Don't worry,” Gojo says and you notice he's using that tone from earlier. “You won't die.”

It’s hard to argue with him when he uses such a reassuring sounding voice and yet, you still open your mouth to try— to voice your doubts, but what he says next silences you before you even can.

“I'll protect you.”

You think your heart stops beating in your chest and your words dissolve in your throat.

He grins at you. “Did you fall in love with me just now?”

That catches you a little off guard. You're willing to admit he's hot, but surely he must be joking. “How could you even think of something like that at a time like this?”

Gojo laughs again. “Well, since someone is so worried about their time table being all messed up, I better head down there; can’t keep Volcano Head and friends waiting, right?”

You blink. Is that it? “Wait, shouldn’t we make a plan or something?”

“Isn’t the plan for me to not get caught in the prison realm?”

Yes, but… “But what about me? Is there anything I can do?”

Gojo stares at you, or at least you think he does. “...I don’t know, is there?”

You’ve seen the encounter between Satoru Gojo and those monsters so many times and you try to picture a version of it where you intervene and… all you can see is yourself getting in his way. You’re no fighter, no… sorcerer, or whatever he is, you’re just some ordinary person that was unfortunate enough to get all caught up in this mess. The most you can probably do is kick the prison realm out of the way when the time comes, but otherwise… “...no, I guess not.”

His expression turns sympathetic. “You’ve done plenty by telling me everything that happens. So just wait up here, and let me handle the monsters.”

You almost nod. Almost. But then you remember what transpires up here above the platform. You know it sounds safer up here where you’re less likely to get involved in the carnage, but… “Wait, no, if I stay up here then I’ll fall to my death when those girls—”

Gojo laughs, interrupting you. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll be fine.”

“How?”

“Just trust me.”

“I…” It’s hard to. After everything you’ve gone through it’s hard to trust in anything, to believe in anything. Even though you’ve made it this far this time, the worry that something will go wrong and that you’ll have to do it all again still lurks in the back of your mind.

Despite all that, you want to believe.

You want to believe that you can make it past this unending night, that one day you’ll wake up and it’ll no longer be October 31, 2018. And the first step towards that is trusting in Satoru Gojo.

“...okay,” you say quietly. “Okay.”

Gojo chuckles then asks, “Anything else before I head off?”

You start to ask if there’s anything you should say, in case things don’t work out, but you stop yourself. You’re choosing to trust him, to believe in him— you can figure out that stuff later if things end up going south after all. So, instead you give him a smile and it feels a little weird because you don’t remember the last time you did. “Good luck!”

For a split second, Gojo looks almost surprised, but then he laughs again, beaming widely at you. He starts to move past you and reaches out to give you what you think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder and then he’s off. You turn to watch him go, the crowd, once again, parting almost naturally for him.

When he reaches the barricade, he pauses, raising his hand as if he’s giving you one last wave. Then he jumps over it onto his little perch and then less than a minute later he’s gone, descending to the platform below.

Now, all you can do is wait.

You check your phone again and it’s 8:44PM. If you remember correctly, the high school girls start threatening everyone right before 9PM. With Gojo’s arrival being shifted back almost five minutes, does that mean that they’ll be shifted back too? It would make sense, but you’re not too sure.

Out of habit, you keep checking your phone and at nearly 9PM, you hear the shrill voice of one of the girls over the crowd, commanding everyone to do what she says, her partner stringing up bodies until everyone listens. Everything plays out just as you remember it, which is mildly comforting, though you know that the events that happen up here are more or less independent from what happens below.

Surely, just as Gojo said, a few minutes aren’t going to change anything, but—

No.

You agreed to trust him. To trust that everything would be fine.

When the girls start to demand that as many people as possible climb onto the roots and vines covering the atrium your heart starts to hammer in your chest. In just a few minutes, all the foliage will disintegrate beneath you, and you and everyone else here will fall into the abyss below.

You are afraid.

There isn’t a single loop where you’ve really survived this fall. If you don’t die in midair, you die right after landing. It’s a death trap, and that’s why you’ve stopped coming up here. There’s a part of you, the part that knows what’s about to happen, that wants to try and run back onto stable footing. But you can’t, because you know if you do then the girls will kill you for sure; you have to stay.

It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, it’ll be okay.

You just have to trust Gojo.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

You hear the announcement faintly below you. It’s almost time. You brace yourself and try to stay calm. Gojo said he would protect you, that you wouldn’t die. You don’t know how he intends to keep that promise, but all you can do is believe in his words.

It’ll be fine. It’ll be okay.

The vines and roots start to crack and the ground beneath you starts to give out. You squeeze your eyes shut as that sickening weightless feeling overtakes you. It occurs to you that this is actually quite literally a trust fall— will Satoru Gojo really be able to catch you?

As you fall, you realize almost instantly that something is different.

You’ve experienced this fall dozens of times and so, even though it has been a while since you’ve gone this route, you are very familiar with what it feels like. Something is different. You’re falling faster. The trajectory is changing. It’s like some force, other than gravity, is pulling at you.

Is this Gojo’s doing?

Just as your body collides with the ground you hear the sounds of mutilating flesh meld with the screams surrounding you. Blood and severed limbs litter the ground, but you try to ignore it. You need to focus on your own survival right now. Quickly, you scramble to your feet scan the area around you; you’re on the platform right now and right in front of you is—

Right in front of you is Satoru Gojo.

His back is turned to you, his focus currently elsewhere. Looking at him you realize you recognize this scene, though it’s much closer and at a different angle. He’s about to do that thing, that thing that knocks you out.

Something in you tells you to move closer to him, after all, he used his mysterious powers to deliberately bring you closer to him, right? You rush toward him and as you do something he said earlier pops up in your mind.

Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!

Whatever he’s about to do… Is that his ‘technique?’ And if it is, would it work the same way as yours? If so, there’s only one way to find out: you need to touch him. You dodge monsters and other people as you run toward Satoru Gojo and—

A monster still manages to grab you, its large hands wrapping around your wrist. You try and yank it free, but it's much stronger than you are.

“Shit!” you hiss as the monster starts to pull you toward it and away from Gojo. What do you do? Your other hand is still free, should you try to punch it in the face? Or—

Before you can do anything, something blasts the monster’s head clean off. Shocked, you stare as the monster’s body slumps onto the ground, its grip loosening on you instantly. You whip your head around to find that while Gojo still has his back to you, his arm is bent back in your direction, his palm open as if he fired some invisible blast from it.

Then you feel it again, something pulling at you, but this time it's more forceful. Your body is yanked toward Gojo and the second you feel his hand press against you, you see him make that gesture with his other hand.

“Domain Expansion,” he whispers in a strained voice. “Infinite Void!”

Something happens and your vision flashes for a fraction of a second. And then—

The room is enveloped in an eerie stillness; all the violence and bloodshed coming to an abrupt stop. Monsters and humans alike stand like the living dead, unconscious with their eyes wide open as if they are staring into an infinite abyss. You recognize this scene, you’re familiar with it because it’s similar to the one you wake up to after being hit by Gojo’s ‘domain expansion.’ The only difference is the presence of the monsters, who are all but gone when you regain consciousness.

The pressure from Gojo’s hand is gone and he says to you, his voice still low. “If you’re squeamish when it comes to blood and gore, it might be best for you to close your eyes.”

And then he’s gone.

You do not take his advice. You do not close your eyes. How many loops were you unable to witness what’s about to unfold? A few hundred? A few thousand? And if all goes to plan, then you will never get another chance again: there’s no way you could possibly look away.

And what you see unfold before you is that Satoru Gojo was right.

He is the one to kill all the monsters.

It’s not as if you really had any doubt, after all, it seemed like the most logical conclusion to come to and yet…

There’s a difference between knowing and seeing.

All the violence resumes and the platform is engulfed in the sounds of carnage and slaughter once more. The lack of terrified screams makes everything more disconcerting— without them, all you can hear is the squelching echo of mangled flesh and blood splattering all over the place. You can’t really see him, but you can tell where Satoru Gojo is in the crowd as he leaves dozens upon dozens of decapitated heads soaring in his wake. Once or twice, he leaps out of the crowd and even from where you stand you can see the crazed glow of his inhumanly blue eyes as he massacres monster after monster.

Even though you don’t think you have anything to be scared of, you are still terrified: Satoru Gojo is no longer a man, but violence incarnate. You want to move closer to where Gojo gets trapped, but you’re afraid to. What if you get in his way? What if he kills you by accident?

Dying again when you’ve made it this far is definitely not ideal, but isn’t being killed by Gojo the best case scenario? Because then the two of you would probably loop together again and—

No.

Gojo said you wouldn’t die.

He said he’d protect you.

It’s hard to believe when he’s in the middle of a massacre, slaughtering monsters left and right, but you remind yourself yet again that you have to believe in him.

You take a deep breath and start moving, taking care to keep an eye on where Gojo is. You don’t know how long this is supposed to take, but you do know where he ends up when he’s just about done. The closer he gets to that spot, the sooner the prison realm will be unleashed upon him.

There’s a small group of zombified people nearby and you settle yourself among them. It’s not super close, but you think it's close enough that you'd be able to run over and kick the box away from Gojo if you have to. You do a quick survey to see if you can spot the body snatcher, but he's nowhere to be found. Hopefully, he hasn't noticed you moving around, or, if he has, he's more concerned with Gojo than he is with you. Given that you always seem to be the last thing he acknowledges, you'd like to think that he doesn't consider you a threat.

Which you're not, not really anyway.

The sounds of slaughter start to die down and you look to see Gojo approaching the spot where he gets caught. He looks beat, his eyes unfocused and his breathing heavy. You do another quick scan around him and notice a small box a few meters away from him, wrapped in what looks like paper charms or seals or whatever they're called. That has to be the prison realm— though it looks different than what you saw before. Gojo seems to notice it right after you do, his gaze honing in on it, examining it with some measure of bewilderment. Then, some invisible force slices through all the paper seals covering the box and it expands, the corners of the box floating up in midair to reveal what looks like a large sheet of dark red flesh with a large bloodshot eye stapled to the middle.

Disgusting.

If Gojo didn’t realize before, he seems to now, because he takes a step back, away from the grotesque thing. Good, good—

“Hey! Satoru!” Your blood runs cold at the sound of the body snatcher’s voice. He emerges from the crowd, smiling widely as he gives Gojo a wave. “Long time no see!”

Satoru Gojo’s entire body goes rigid. Shit. You told him, you warned him about what was going to happen, who he was going to see, but was that not enough? It’s possible that no amount of warning would have been enough to mentally prepare Satoru Gojo for the sight of the man he said he killed a year ago. After all, you know that there’s a stark difference between knowing and seeing. Even then, if Gojo doesn’t gather his wits and move now then he’s going to get caught and you can’t let that happen.

Your body moves before you can even think about it.

You scramble out from your hiding spot in the crowd and throw yourself in between Satoru Gojo and the prison realm. There’s no way you can kick it away from him now, not when it’s in this form, but maybe, if you get between them you can at least keep it from capturing him.

The eye quivers erratically, as it flits from Gojo to you. Every hair on your body stands on end as it watches you, the pupil dilating and contracting uncontrollably. You can’t look away from it, your own gaze fixed to your image reflected in the black abyss of the pupil. Something in the back of your mind tells you to stop, to get away, it’s dangerous, but you keep your feet firmly planted to the ground.

A second, or maybe even a minute passes and the prison realm shifts, its fleshy form morphing to restrain you.

The body jacker looks at you, his frown tinged with disgust. “Don’t you think you’re being rather rude by butting into what could have been a touching reunion?”

You scowl. Is he still trying to play the role of Suguru Geto?

He sighs and looks past you at Gojo. “Satoru, I thought bringing lesser sorcerers to fight alongside you was more trouble than it was worth?”

You hear Gojo snort from behind you, “It is… but this person here isn’t a sorcerer… Just like you aren’t Suguru Geto.”

The faker almost pouts and presses his hand to his chest as if Gojo's words have wounded him. “Satoru, I’m hurt, how could you say such a thing to your best friend?”

“Cut the bullshit,” Gojo snarls. “You can’t fucking fool me. You might be in Suguru’s body but I know with all my heart and soul that you’re not him.”

The corpse snatcher stares at Gojo, expression blank before he sighs once more. Then, his gaze shifts back to you, his eyes narrowed as he looks at you with sheer disdain. It feels as if you’ve been drenched in ice cold water. There's no smile this time but you already know what's going to happen.

He’s going to kill you.

“I intended to deal with you later since you seemed harmless enough,” he says, raising a hand to summon a monster— the same one he always uses to end your life. “But you’re in the way. So, I think it’s for the best if I just get rid of you right now.”

Instinctively, you try to take a step back but the prison realm’s restraints keep you in place. Not that it would have mattered much, even in the loops where you’ve tried to escape the faker’s monster, it still kills you, too fast and too agile for an ordinary human like you to avoid. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the monster to kill you. At least, it’s always painless.

Something touches your back.

Your eyes shoot open.

Before you is the monster, wiggling and writhing only mere centimeters from your face. It gurgles and snarls at you, desperate to fulfill its master’s wishes and kill you but it doesn’t move any closer. You stare at it with wide eyes, unsure of what to do.

Someone behind you clicks their tongue— Gojo. You try to turn your head to look at him, but your movements are too limited, the most you can do is turn your head to the side. The sounds the monster is making start to change, sounding more frenzied, almost as if it’s in pain, and you flit your eyes in its direction just in time to see its entire body explode. The monster's guts and bright purple blood fly off in every direction, getting on the floor, the ceiling, the zombified bodies of the people unfortunate enough to be nearby, but not on you.

This is Satoru Gojo’s doing.

He steps in front of you, half turned towards you as he moves in between you and the body snatcher. His hands are shoved in his pockets as he loudly says, “Did you really forget about me?”

You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the body snatcher.

Past him, the imposter scowls, raising his hand once more, probably to summon even more monsters, but Gojo’s quicker, and it almost looks like his eyes are glowing even brighter, the blue looking almost white as he whips his head in the faker’s direction. The sound of mangling flesh and breaking bones echoes throughout the room as Gojo, using that mysterious power of his, seems to break the faker’s arm.

The body snatcher hisses loudly and despite the fact that his face is twisted in very obvious pain, he tries to shoot Gojo a mocking smile. “Do you really think you can kill your best friend again?”

“I already told you,” Gojo turns to fully face the monster inhabiting Geto’s corpse. He tilts his head a little to the side and some force starts to squeeze at the faker’s neck. “You’re not Suguru.”

You hear a loud crack as Gojo telekinetically snaps his neck.

The head rolls onto the ground and you almost look away, but then you notice his eyes still moving, looking around. Is he still alive? Then you remember: the thing possessing Suguru Geto’s body was some kind of parasite. “Gojo! Wait! The brain!”

He reacts almost instantly, head turning and in an instant the skull is crushed and all that remains is red splotch on the ground.

You almost relax. Almost.

But the body is still standing.

Horrified, you watch as it quivers violently before falling to the ground. Then what looks like dozens of black spirits start to erupt from the corpse and the entire room is engulfed with a shrill howling.

What the hell is going on?

“Those must be all the cursed spirits he consumed,” Gojo explains uselessly, voice barely audible over the screaming. “Guess he was empty before.”

You don’t bother asking what he means. There are bigger problems right now. “What do we do?”

“No choice to exorcise them,” he answers plainly.

For him to exorcise them, he means. You both know that there’s not much that you can do. You still can’t move and honestly, you don’t even know if it’s possible to get out of the prison realm’s restraints. Not without dying. And if you die now…

Everything will have been for naught.

You’ll reset time and have to do this all over again— assuming you can even get to this point again.

There has to be something, you just have to think outside the box.

Or rather—

“Gojo!”

He glances back at you.

“You need to seal me in the prison realm!” you exclaim. He turns to face you fully, looking bewildered and you start to explain as fast as you can. “Those things are going to attack any minute right? I can’t move or try to hide and I can’t expect you to protect me the entire time and if I die then I’ll end up looping time again, but— but, if you seal me in the prison realm then that won’t happen.”

Gojo frowns, looking conflicted. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“Wouldn't it be easier if you didn’t have to?”

He tilts head and you think he’s conceding your point.

“Please,” you beg, staring at him desperately. “We don’t have much time. The other… cursed spirits will wake up soon too!”

You don’t have to explain that you mean Volcano Head and friends.

It takes only a second for Gojo to consider the very few options you have. “...how do you seal it? Do you know?”

“I think so,” you answer. “There’s no guarantee it’ll work but I think that if you say ‘prison realm, gate close’ it should seal me inside.”

If anything, it’s worth a shot.

Gojo nods. “Do you know how to break the seal?”

“I… don’t,” you confess. You never asked, and you don’t think the body snatcher would have told you even if you did. He only told you that it holds one and that…

That time doesn’t flow in the box.

“...you don’t have to break the seal.”

Gojo frowns, “Wait a sec—”

“Even if I make it past tonight… What if this all happens again? What if I inadvertently trap myself in another time loop?” you ask. “I… I don’t want to have to go through all of this again. It’s better for me in a place where time doesn’t pass.”

You don’t know for sure if it’ll be better, but right here, right now, it seems like the best option.

It feels like an eternity passes before Gojo says anything.

“...fine,” he agrees and you don’t quite know how to feel about it. The howling around you all grows louder. You wonder why the cursed spirits haven’t attacked yet. Maybe Gojo’s power is holding them at bay… for now anyway. You both know that he can’t ignore them forever.

“...before I do, though, mind if I ask you just one thing?”

You blink. “Not sure what I can do for you in this state…”

He laughs. “I just want to know your name.”

What an odd request. Though, now that you think about it, you don’t think that during this loop or any other loop really, you’ve ever told him your name. It only seems fair to tell him, since you’ve known his for longer than he’s known of your existence.

You tell him your name.

He nods, looking as if he’s committing to memory. Probably easier to remember than his phone number. “Any last words?”

You try to think of something. Nothing comes to mind and you just shake your head.

Gojo takes a deep breath, “Alrighty then… Prison realm, gate close.”

Just as it did the many times you’ve seen Satoru Gojo sealed away, the boxes and restraints around you vibrate a little before they start to close around you, growing large enough to fit your body as they approach.

You won’t see it, but once you’re inside the box will shrink and become small enough to fit in the palm of someone’s hand.

Will it be quiet inside?

In your final seconds, some words, some last words come to mind, and you say them, hoping that he hears them in time. “Thank you, Satoru Gojo.”

You burn the glittering glow of his brilliant bright blue eyes into your mind.

And then, everything is engulfed in an unending black.

It’s November 30, 2018— morning on the campus of Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School.

Satoru Gojo strides through the school grounds, casually tossing a small silver box with eerie blue eyes known as the prison realm up and down in his grasp. Walking at his side is Shoko Ieiri, a pretty woman who’s been unfortunate enough to have been Satoru’s friend since high school.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Shoko asks, twirling a few strands of her long brown hair.

“What do you mean?” Satoru responds nonchalantly. “All my ideas are good ideas.”

Shoko hums in clear dissent, but doesn’t say anything more. Even she knows better than to try and waste her time trying to argue with Satoru. “I’m just worried about their mental state. Didn’t you say that time doesn’t flow in the box?”

“I’d be worried if it was some normal person,” Satoru says. “But after what they’ve gone through I think they’ll be fine.”

“...well, if you say so.”

The two arrive at their destination: the largest training area on the Jujutsu High grounds. Satoru places the prison realm at the center and takes a few steps back with Shoko standing behind him, in case anything happens.

He doesn’t think it will, but it’s always good to take at least a few precautions.

“Gojo, are you sure we should be doing this?” Shoko asks again. “Didn’t they want to remain in the box?”

“Of course I am,” Satoru says with his usual air of confidence before looking back at the prison realm nestled in the grass. He grins and then—

“Prison realm, gate open.”

if you made it this far. thank you. it's my sincerest hope that you enjoyed the ride.

[jaylaxies]

HARD THOUGHT !

pairing: jay x fem!reader x heeseung

wc: 987 words

cw: smut, threesome, birthday sex, double penetration, usage of nicknames.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

a/n: its super rushed but happy birthday @heesuncore 💗

You wondered what your roommates would be up to this year, granted they did go out of their way to get you a cake, surprising you the exact second as the clock hit twelve, indicating that you were finally a year older. The surprise was sweet considering you hadn’t known each other for more than a month, being new roommates.

However, a lot had changed over the span of a year, which also included your current relationship with the boys. You were close, and the boys were overprotective when it came to you, which was endearing enough as it was, yet you never expected them to genuinely spoil you, getting you your favourite flowers, snacks, and also cooking for you whenever they got the time to do so. They kept you entertained, always, and you would be lying if you say that you didn’t have even the tiniest bit of attraction towards the two boys, Jay and Heeseung.

They looked godly, they carried themselves with the utmost respect too, which only made you fall deeper for both of them. Which brings you back here: Your eyes were covered with a silky black cloth, which blocked your vision perfectly as Hee and Jay stood on either side of you, holding your arm to guide you into your room, a sweet scent of cake lingering in the air, mixed with something vanilla flavoured, which you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Jay opened your blindfold to reveal your decorated room, full of balloons and polaroids everywhere, scented candles lit up and a pretty cake kept on the centre of your bed. The biggest smile graced your face, the boys mirroring your expression soon after. Jay and Heeseung held the cake up together, the candles illuminating your face as you closed your eyes, wishing for the things you wanted so deeply before blowing the candles.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” both the boys whispered, feeding you little bites of the cake before keeping it aside, their attention solely on you, especially when you pulled them into a hug, “ready for your gift?” They asked, making you look up at them in confusion.

“Wasn’t this a gift though?” You asked and they stepped closer, Heeseung’s finger caressing your cheek, “do you trust us?” He asked, and you shivered with how Jay’s warm hand rested on your waist, “tell us, baby,” he mutters, his voice raspier than ever, your knees felt weak just by this.

“I do,” you manage to let out, eyes fluttering close, feeling Heeseung’s lips on your neck, “yeah? Then are you okay with this, baby?” He asks, his hand slipping inside your top, brushing his fingers against your under boob.

“Say it, princess,” Jay urges you, his lips leaving featherlight kisses on your jaw, trailing down to your neck.

“Yes,” you say, letting the boys take over, your heart beating out of your chest as they helped you get on your bed, Heeseung being the first to make you gasp, his lips capturing yours in a fervent kiss, Jay using that time to get rid of your top, your back arching the second he took your tits in his mouth, the other hand fondling and paying attention to your other tit.

It felt like heaven. You would have never thought that any of them would even make such advancements, but having the two of them together was beyond your imagination, your whole body felt as if it was on fire.

“That’s it, baby. Be a good girl for us, let us please you, yeah? Our pretty birthday girl,” Jay says the second Heeseung leans back, his nose buried in your neck.

“So fucking pretty,” he whispers, coming down to slide your pants down, a whimper leaving your mouth at the sight of Jay removing his shirt, his pants coming off next. Your eyes widened for two reasons; one because Heeseung had fully immersed himself in eating you out, his pointy nose brushing against your clit. Second, Jay tapped your cheek, pushing his cock inside the warmth of your mouth, both boys groaning as they drowned in the pleasure of you.

You moaned around Jay’s length, especially when Heeseung’s tongue flicked your clit in the best way possible, “oh god,” you breathed out, lip bitten to conceal your moans. They continued their ministrations for a while, Jay joining Heeseung as he rubbed his thick fingers, pushing them inside your cunt, your walls clenching around them.

“That’s it our prettiest birthday girl, let go,” Heeseung coos, watching you shake as you fall apart on Jay’s fingers.

But they didn’t stop there, pumping their cocks, spreading your juices all over their length before Heeseung looked in your eyes, Jay positioning you on his lap, letting Heeseung enter your pussy first, your eyes watering at the stretch but it felt too good to even speak. Jay caressed your face, kissing the expanse of your skin to soothe out your nervousness.

Jay couldn’t hold back anymore, pushing his cock in your already stuffed cunt, this time Heeseung taking the initiative to kiss your lips as a distraction, letting Jay fill you in along with him. Soon, they both were groaning, praising you alongside for taking their cocks so well, the stimulation of their own cocks brushing against each other making them go crazier than usual, they had you right where they wanted you.

“Happy birthday, princess,” they both said the second you reached your state of euphoria, making sure you felt good through and through, emptying their cum inside you and you felt fuller than ever.

They both knew how overstimulated you felt, and they made sure to clean you up, showering you with kisses all over, you giggles only making them smile at you, the aftercare was everything you had wished for and more. But what made you feel even happier was how they both held you to sleep.

It was the best birthday gift ever indeed.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[xlatiwritesx]

Serious, serious | CL16

A/N: an F1 imagine 🏎️ !!! Yes, yes, I’m into F1 finally, so I of course had to write something and who else would it be than THE Charles Leclerc. Ngl, this isn’t my best work but I just had to get this idea out of my system 😵‍💫. Hope you guys enjoy it !!

Words: 1.6K

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: after your first serious scare being an F1 girlfriend, you’re rewarded with a new found emotion.

…

Time is a funny thing. Humorous, at times. It goes fast or slow as it pleases. Chooses its pace to get on your weakest nerve.

For instance, the past three months flew by. Meeting him, texting for the first time, your first date, your first kiss, attending his first race, getting to know his friends.

It felt as fast as blinking an eye. Or as fast as you were falling for him.

"A Ferrari car is off the track!" The commentator's voice boomed through the TV speakers. You jumped to your feet from the leather couch you were sat on.

"Oh no" the commentator said soon after. Soon after Charles' car crashed into the concrete wall alongside the track.

Your heart fell, your breath quickening at a dangerous rate. You shut your eyes, reminding yourself of what Charles always said to you.

"Crashes happen. All the time. These cars, though, they're meant to protect us. So, crashes aren’t as dangerous as they seem in F1"

"He's okay" you whispered to yourself. However, when you opened your eyes, everyone's face didn't confirm that, though.

"Right?" You asked, looking around the Ferrari unit. Everyone was frozen, eyes glued on the screen that showed smoke coming out of the crashed Ferrari car.

Charles' car.

Your legs moved before you even decided. You ran so fast. Faster than any car still racing out there even though the world seemed to crumble and break into pieces.

You gasped for air, the wind making it colder than usual. You reached a half empty Ferrari station. All those screens deserted. You barely held yourself up. You wondered how bad was it that half the team had to go to the scene.

"Crashes are normal in Formula One. Almost inevitable"

Not when it's the guy that you were realizing meant much more to you than you thought. The thought terrified you. So much terrified you all of a sudden.

"How do I get there?" You didn't realize how panicked you were until you heard yourself speak. The man stared at you in confusion.

"How do I get to the crash?" You urged. You couldn't believe you were saying that.

"Ma'am, you can't just go-“

"No, no! I have to!" You could feel your eyes well with tears.

"It's Charles Leclerc! Hurry!" A group of paramedics ran to their veichle. You ran after them.

"Ma'am this is not allowed-"

"Please!" You begged them.

"I'm sorry, this is for authorized-"

"Y/n!" You turned around, desperate to believe what you were hearing.

"Carlos! Carlos, please tell me he's okay" you ran to the only person that you felt would care enough to tend to your worries.

"They're taking him to the hospital" he sighed, bowing his head, his fingertips barely holding his helmet.

"W-why?" You stuttered. He finally looked at you.

"Let's just go"

You silently followed Carlos to his car after he quickly changed out of his suit. The drive to the hospital drove you insane. So many questions. Wondering about so much, too much at once.

As soon as Carlos parked outside the emergencies, you ran out of the car and through the glass doors, not caring about all the chaos going just outside of them.

"How serious is it?!"

"Do you think Leclerc will be able to go back to racing?!"

"Will he be there for the next race?!"

It was a lot. Too much, even. You wanted to scream them away. Tell them that this wasn't the time to ask all those questions with bright cameras and microphones everywhere. To respect the other patients' and their families' privacy. But you care more about Charles right now. So you kept running until your hands hit the edge of the counter.

"Charles Leclerc just came in" you breathed. The nurse widened her eyes at your state and just pointed to where he was.

You got to his bed in no time, him just lying there, unconscious. You immediately held his hand and the waterworks began. Carlos walked into the curtain closed space and stood in front of the bed, leaning on the edge.

"Hey" he called so quietly. You just kept crying.

"I don't recommend dating a Formula One driver if you'll cry this hard every time he crashes" he said casually. You stopped sobbing and looked up and to your left. You glared. Carlos shrugged.

"Just saying" he said, looking away.

"Carlos!" You whined. He looked at you, but you just went back to looking at Charles.

You noticed some bruises already forming on his hands. You held it tighter. You felt like time was not moving. It just dragged on and on. Carlos stood there. You sat there. Charles laid there. Just like that. For eternity.

"You didn't eat anything. What do you want?" Carlos' voice reminded you of his existence. You slowly turned to look at him, your tears barely dried on your face.

"How can you be so…chill?" You asked. Not in annoyance. Just out of pure curiosity. Carlos frowned at you for a second, before breaking into a fit of laughter. You stared at him blankly, your hand still holding Charles' tightly.

"I'm telling you! This sport is not for the faint of heart!" He waved a warning finger at you and you frowned at him. This time in annoyance.

"We just" he sighed when he stopped laughing, only a smile left behind from it.

"We get used to this. To seeing it. To being victims of it" he said ever so casually that it terrified you. It was terrifying the things passion makes a person do. How far people would go for what they love.

"I'm getting food and you will eat it. Charles would kill me if he woke up to a starving you while I was just hanging here. Deal?" He raised a brow at you. You hesitated, but Carlos kept his gaze. You finally nodded.

"Good. I'll be back in a bit" he said before leaving. You watched him go and something warm filled you. Gratitude.

You were grateful for him staying with you. With Charles. Not all drivers care enough to do that, unfortunately. You didn't notice the smile on your face until a few minutes later. When Charles spoke.

"What's so funny?" He mumbled. Your eyes shot to his and you stood up in an instant.

"Charles?!" You exclaimed, tears filling your eyes for the millionth time today. He just blinked, wincing.

“Who won the race?” He asked, still trying to find his voice.

"Oh my god" you covered your face, walking away from his bed in disbelief.

“Seriously?!” You spun around, crying. You wanted to fight even harder when a smile slowly took form on his tired face.

“Charles do you know how terrified I was?! And all you’re worried about is who won that race?!” You kept scolding. He placed one arm behind his head, still watching you in amusement. You breathed heavily, not bothering to wipe your tears as you crossed your arms over your chest.

You watched him laying there, smiling with his arm under his head, giving him better view of your tear-stained face.

“You know what?” He spoke. You had to walk a step closer so you could hear him clearly.

“I don’t want to know who won the race. I want to know how on earth did I get this lucky” he started.

“Yeah! I’m so glad it just cane down to some bruises. And, and, you’re awake, and you’re talking, and you seem okay!” You rambled, now sitting by his side on the edge of the bed. He chuckled softly at you missing what he meant, raising a hand to wipe your tears, then tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Right when I realized what was happening, there was one thought that kept echoing in my mind” he whispered, suddenly all serious. Your heartbeat quickened, not enjoying the memory of watching him crash and not knowing what he was feeling or if he was going to be okay.

“I just kept thinking ‘fuck. I didn’t get to tell her I love her’” he confessed. You raised your brows slightly, surprised at the sudden confession. You’ve been together for three months now and neither of you had said it, yet.

But there it was. And it felt like the world that crumbled after the race was patched and stitched back to perfect, pristine condition.

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips. Charles smiled as well, his heart monitor exposing how important this moment was to him.

You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his neck carefully, holding him tightly to make up for all the fear of losing him. For all the fear of him not feeling the same way.

“I love you, too, Charles” you whispered.

You held each other for as long as it took for your flushed cheeks and racing hearts to quiet down, giving your new found feelings some sense of privacy.

Once you pulled away, your faces met, less than an inch apart. Charles leaned in. You were grateful there was no heart monitor on you, or that would’ve been the end.

“So, I didn’t know which is your favorite, so I got all flavors-“

Carlos’ voice sent you flying to your feet. Charles sat where he was and pierced his lips shut, staring at nothing in particular.

Carlos’ eyes danced between the two of you and he broke into a grin when he realized.

“I think it finally happened?” Carlos asked, hinting at what you both just confessed to one another. You glanced at Charles just to catch him glancing at you. He cleared his throat and you held back a smile.

“So now it’s serious, serious?” Carlos asked excitedly.

“Serious, serious” you both answered.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Liqueur of You (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer goes down on Reader for the first time.

Request: Spencer gives fem!reader oral sex for the first time and she finishes really quickly 🤭 Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Oral sex (female receiving), fingering Word Count: 1k

Spencer Reid is nothing if not a persistent lover; a scientist hellbent on studying any evidence of the divine written on your skin. His hands would gently caress every inch of your body, carefully detailing how you shivered or squirmed from his touch.

Spencer is an earnest, clever boy who wants nothing less than all of you. Even as he’s kissing you, his hands are finding new ways to worship you. He slips one past the waistband of your underwear and nearly moans at the mess he finds.

Slowly, he drags a single digit through the honeyed wetness that had gathered between your folds. His finger teases at the entrance but doesn’t go any further.

You whimper. You can feel his skin grow rough with goosebumps, but he doesn’t slow down. He runs his tongue along the column of your throat, and he can feel how it trembles as you beg him.

“Spencer, please.”

“You taste so good,” he groans before suckling at your pulse point.

Your body feels like it’s on fire. Everywhere he’s touching you is somehow too much and not enough.

“Please,” you keen again.

He listens this time. You soak in the anticipation of his touch only to feel the ultimate disappointment of its withdrawal.

Spencer’s fingers are practically dripping with your essence as he lifts them to his face. At first, you look at his hand as he inspects the evidence of your desire. But then you look at him. You gaze into brown irises set ablaze and watch how they change the second he places two soaked fingers on his tongue.

He moans as he savors the taste of you. His hips buck forward. He presses his erection hard against your hip. You almost wonder if he could get off just like that.

When he finishes cleaning his fingers, though, he returns to his worship with renewed vigor.

It’s the same as it always is, until it isn’t. The kisses he’s pressing against your breasts begin trailing south. For a moment, you are unsure. But then his tongue swirls at a point just beneath your belly button.

You suck in a sharp breath. He can feel the muscles in your stomach roll as they tense. He doesn’t stop. He keeps going, lower, and lower until he can feel the heat through flimsy cotton.

Spencer is careful as he helps remove your underwear. You wonder if you should tell him the truth—that you’ve never done this part before. That you’re worried and unsure about whether it’ll work the way he wants it to.

“Spencer,” you start with a sobering tone, “I’ve… I’ve never…”

“I know,” he says simply as he lifts one of your legs from the bed. “It’s horribly unfair.”

It’s shaking as he guides it over his shoulder. His lips curl into a cheeky smirk that makes your heart beat even harder.

Despite the twitches and trembling, Spencer senses no resistance; your legs practically fall open for him.

That creeping insecurity begins to resurface, but it is assuaged by Spencer laying tender kisses against your inner thigh.

“This is going to be easy, sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin, “just lie back and look pretty.”

“But…” you whine.

“Good girl,” he answers.

Then, before you can offer any other protest, you feel the heat of his tongue as it slides between your folds. Immediately, you are overwhelmed by his new form of worship. There is no hesitancy as he laps at the liqueur of you.

Your hands thread through his hair and grab hold of him like he is the only thing keeping you tethered. You pull, gently at first.

Spencer’s nails dig into the pliable skin of your thigh. While your legs apply crushing force to try and bring him closer, he remains adamant in holding you exactly where he wants you.

While his tongue toys at your entrance, seemingly savoring each drop from a never-ending pool of desire, you are left dumb and defenseless. Whimpers flow from your lips. Your whole body is trembling, but you try your hardest to heed his orders.

You hold yourself back… until Spencer decides that your shyness, while endearing, just won’t do.

You try to keep track of his hands as they stray from their place. Your legs close against his ears, and you can feel his moans as they reverberate through you.

One of Spencer’s hands joined his tongue before replacing it entirely. You feel the tension building in your stomach at the same time another hand presses hard against the midpoint between your hips.

Just as two lithe fingers press into you, his tongue presses flat against the pearl at your crest.

Immediately, the ever-growing euphoria comes to a breaking point. You choke on a scream, but still manage to sob as every muscle in your body tenses. Your heels dig into his shoulder blades and your thighs quiver as they close around his head.

Spencer seems unfazed. Instead of stopping, like you’d expected him to, he closes his lips around that sensitive nub and continues. Without air, he suckles your clit like it could sustain him all the same.

He pays no mind to the way you are falling apart. His fingers pump into pulsing muscles and he continues to hum sounds of pleasure against you. He doesn’t stop until your body falls limp.

It is then that he pulls away, ever-so-slightly. His touch becomes gentle and less insistent. Eventually, he sighs against heated skin. The contrast makes you shiver.

“That was…” you start, but he stops you.

“I’m not finished yet,” he mumbles against the newly soaked skin between your legs.

He looks up at you with a wicked grin reflected in his eyes. His hair is knotted around your fingers and his face glistens with the mess you’ve made.

It isn’t enough for him. Lazily, he kisses every inch of you that he can reach before he draws his tongue through your folds. He makes a point to circle your most sensitive point once more before he speaks again.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

(Tell me what you thought about this piece here!)

Looking for more to read? Check out my Masterlist here!

Reid Taglist (Everything Reid): @mrs-dr-reid , @dreatine , @hopefulfangirl24 , @laurakirsten0502 , @dontcallmekittens , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @imsuperawkward , @wentz2005 , @lovejules888 , @dashneydanger , @materialisthicc , @violetspoetic   Complete Taglist (All Works): @cynbx , @emsma11 , @mediocre-writer , @fightingdragonswithwho , @andiebeaword , @jayyeahthatsme

[dawndelion-winery]

Just A Taste

Kisses and more (it was not just a taste)

Ft. Alhaitham, Childe, Dottore, Wriothesley, Zhongli

Warnings: 18+, mdni, making out, Dottore being Dottore, teeny bit of Dragonli

Alhaitham:

Alhaitham's kisses, unlike his words, are gentle

Such is the way his lips find yours, soft to the touch, and every bit respectful

So much so that he always manages to catch himself as he leans in, biting his lip as he stares at you

His brow furrows in frustration with himself as he stops just short of kissing you, barely whispering a heavy "May I?"

When you assent, he finally leans in, eyes closed, palm on your cheek

Sweet, brief kisses (always at least three)

Of course, it's different if you initiate it

His hand finds the small of your back and pulls you closer, holding you in place lest you run off

If you're in the mood to kiss him, he'll push his luck for more

This time, he nibbles at your lips instead as his hands slide down from your back to your ass (he squeezes if he's in a particularly teasing mood)

And it's not hard to tell what he wants when he looks at you so hungrily like you're his next meal

Not that he'd ever act on it

Not unless you ask him to

It's almost tormenting, the way he touches you so respectfully despite so obviously wanting more

And for this, he's terribly fond of having you in his lap to enjoy the view, to see you squirm before you relent and beg him to be a little less restrained

"In that case...you don't happen to have any plans at the moment, do you? We'll likely be here for a while."

Childe:

Messy, wet, and full of teeth and nips

He kisses restlessly, like it's never enough to just be kissing you

His hands are everywhere, on your face, your arms, your chest, waist, thighs, you name it

Ajax kisses you with fervour, as though you're his first and he's trying to impress

His mouth never stops moving, be it trailing kisses across your face, or sucking on your neck, or even biting your cheek

He's always grinning too, like he's watching his favourite show

He very well may be too, with every sound leaving your lips composing his favourite soundtracks

Not that much of it can be heard when he swallows it all so eagerly

It always starts with him sitting innocently beside you too

And then his hand finds its way to your thigh as he inches closer, slipping an arm around you under the guise of a quick cuddle

Followed by a peck to your cheek as he scoots closer still

And of course, it's never enough for him, not when he craves you oh so much

So not so subtly, he rests his chin on your shoulder as his lips creep towards your neck

His movements are casual, almost lazy, and it would seem that way if not for the way he caged you in his embrace

Kiss him back and see how quickly his hold gets more playful, his hands start to wander more, grabbing and squeezing at any expanse of flesh he can reach.

More than anything, he loves murmuring praises as kisses you, as though the kisses engrave his affection right into your skin

"Mm, just a little more...I love you..."

Dottore:

He's a biter

He gets so nippy with his kisses that people worry for you

I mean, they're already worried because it's Dottore you're dating, the cuts and grazes that litter your skin only fuels their concern further

He likes it a little too much though, relishing the sight each time he adds new marks to the mix

It's like an art to him, and he wonders how many he should leave, how deep they should be, before he makes them permanent

He's very aware that you're apprehensive to him being so...violently inclined, so he contents himself with this much

Even then, he knows exactly what gets you ticking, the way your eyes flutter shut as he holds the nape of your neck to keep you from pulling away when he kisses you breathless

And while you recover, catching your breath while your mind is numb, he makes quick work at your neck and shoulders (your chest too, if enough of it is exposed)

His teeth, ever sharp, puncturing bruised skin just before he kisses it better

Cry if you will, he'll only stroke your face, his lips dancing gently across your features until the sniffling stops, and then he's right back to marking you

His hands do wonders to coax you into letting him do as he pleases each and every time

Painful as it gets, he's quick to rub soothing circles on your thighs or back, whichever is more convenient for him to hold you in place

"Hush, my dear," he mumbles against your cheek as he kisses your tears away. "You're not done so quickly, are you?"

Wriothesley:

Wriothesley kisses you with all the desperation and longing of someone dying to be in love

More often than not, he's pulling you in as you pull away for air because he's not nearly done

It's taken so much out of him to be this vulnerable with you that he can't imagine not wanting you and it shows. Very much.

You can barely pry him off you once he gets started, which is pretty funny considering how he almost seems averse to touch in public

But in private? When you drape yourself over him and kiss along his jawline so tantalisingly?

You're just begging for trouble

And what luck for you that he excels in dealing with troublemakers

The wall, his desk, they're all convenient surfaces to hold you captive for your sentence

He's quite partial to having you on his desk, though, since it's so easy to rub his hand up and down your thigh no matter how much you squirm

And then he can simply press his forehead to yours, muttering about what an attention seeker you are and sighing that you leave him no choice

He's fooling no one when he's practically grinning ear to ear as he leans in to capture your lips again

"Can't even keep your hands to yourself for a minute? I'll give you something to hold onto then."

Zhongli:

You'd expect him to be patient and gentle with his kisses

And while, yes, they are sensual to an extent, there's a certain amount of desperation to them

He's lost so many people over the years, mortal and immortal alike

The latter being worse on him because he had been so certain he'd have enough time with them

So for you, someone so dear to him, to be mortal...it's frustrating, to say the least

He tries so hard to maintain his human form but he really gets carried away sometimes, the urge to just give you the teeniest of nips with his long canines getting the better of him

His lips find yours hungrily, and when you turn you hear for air, he simply moves to your neck, your jugular

He loves feeling the warm pulse of your blood rushing through your veins, it's like sand trickling through an hourglass, letting him know he still had time with you

His lips never leave you until he's had his fill

His hands are, in fact, gentle, like a skilled potter, caressing you as sweetly as he thinks you are

You're so fragile, a mere human, and oh the things he might do to you if he were just some big bad dragon but you're just too precious to risk

His fingers dance across your skin like he's trying to paint you, fingertips feeling almost talon-like at times, but always lightly

Zhongli who wonders what your worship would feel like, but anxious he might enjoy it a little too much, pulling you up from your cosy kneeling spot so he can hold you properly

"I'm not your deity, now am I? There's no need for that, my precious, let me feel you."

[alotofpockets]

Eyes don't lie | Reneé Rapp

Pairing: Reneé Rapp x Reader

Prompt: "We're just friends." & "Are you joking? She looks at you like you are her whole world."

Masterlist | Reneé Rapp Masterlist | Words: 1k

Reneé carried her songwriting notebook everywhere, so that any time she had a lyrical idea, she could write it down immediately. She was very private with this notebook, she only ever showed the pages she allowed others to see. Alyah was one of the many people that was curious about what the girl was hiding in her notes, and couldn’t help herself when she saw the notebook laying on the piano at Reneé’s house. Reneé herself was on a call in the other room, so there was no one to stop her. 

“So…” Alyah starts. “You and y/n then, huh?” Reneé rolls her eyes, “We’re just friends, Alyah.” At that point Alyah can’t hold her laughter any longer. “My sweet friend, you have a whole page in your notebook praising the things that you love about them, and you’ve written love songs about them. Why are you keeping all of this in your notebook? You should tell them how you feel.” 

She opens the notebook and finds the lyrics to a few released songs, looking over those quickly, because she was looking for things that she hadn’t seen or heard before. The next few pages consist of half written songs with many crossed out sentences. A few pages further she found the reason why Reneé hid the notebook from everyone.

A page with your picture in the middle, surrounded by a bunch of words. Alyah read through some of them, kind, beautiful, smart, funny. She felt on top of the world just finding the proof that her friend indeed had a crush on you, even though she had denied it time and time again. The following pages were filled with sappy love songs, Alyah was reading through some of them when the notebook was snatched out of her hand. Her eyes widened, she was caught. “Alyah Chanelle Scott, you know this is private!” Alyah knows she was supposed to feel guilty but instead she was just trying her hardest not to break out in laughter. 

Reneé knows exactly why she hasn’t shared her feelings with you but she goes with the easy answer. “She doesn’t feel the same way about me, so there is no use.” Alyah looks at her friend, "Are you joking? She looks at you like you are her whole world." The blond shakes her head, “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” While shaking her head Alyah reassures Reneé that that is not the case. “Eyes don’t lie.” 

She plops down on the couch next to Alyah. She knew now, so she might as well confide in her best friend. “She's my whole world too.” Alyah mumbles a “Clearly” which received her a shove to the upper arm. “As I was saying, she's my whole world too but relationships always end badly for me, and I do not want to lose her.” Alyah turns more serious in her response, “But what if this one will be different? What if everything will work out but you never tried?”

After hours of talking, Alyah managed to convince Reneé to confess her feelings to you. She wanted this for her best friend, and of course she really thought that you would reciprocate the feelings, seeing as you’re always walking around with metaphorical heart eyes whenever Reneé was around. Together they brainstormed ways to tell you. 

The next day you came over to hang out, like you had planned for weeks now. Reneé seemed rather quiet but you decided to let the woman be for a bit, knowing that she knew you were there for her and she could always talk to you.

“Hey, so I wrote this new song and I was wondering if I could play it for you.” She started, that nervous look making its way back onto her face. Reneé had asked you to listen to songs she wrote before but never before had you seen her this nervous about sharing a song. You figured that maybe it was a very personal song. “Yeah, I would love to hear it, I always love hearing you sing.” You say with a big smile. Alyah would probably say she could see hearts in your eyes in this moment as well.

“Before I start, I want to say something. But can you please hold any response until I finish the song?” You nod, “Of course.” Reneé sits down and takes a deep breath. “I wrote this song for you.” Your heart starts to race, she wrote a song for you? No comments until the end of the song though, so you just patiently waited for her to start playing the song. 

She started playing the keys, and you already thought the intro was beautiful. You start blushing when she starts singing, the lyrics giving away that it wasn’t just a song, but that it was a love song. She sang about falling for someone, falling for you. Now you understood why she was nervous. After she played the outro she placed her hands down into her lap, taking a deep breath before she would face you. You noticed how nervous she still was, so you walked her way, and sat down next to her on the piano bench. 

The usually so confident Reneé now was a nervous mess, and you found it absolutely adorable. You smile and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes finally meet yours, she’s searching for any kind of reaction in them. Your hand lingers on her cheek, your thumb gently rubbing over her cheek. The longer you looked at each other the more both of your smiles grew. Reneé seemed to find the reaction she was looking for in your eyes as she started slowly leaning in to kiss you. The hand that was resting on her cheek made its way to the back of her neck as you pulled her in the rest of the way, your lips meeting in a long and soft kiss.

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a tip 💗