#trauma memories time! trauma memories time! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

callsigns-haze · 4 hours

Text

His Shadow: Chp 8

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences

For the next few days, Azriel didn’t leave YN’s side. He sat vigil in the quiet room at the River House, his eyes constantly watching over her, his heart heavy with worry. Her chest rose and fell softly, her face pale but peaceful in sleep. Her once-strong frame seemed so fragile now, broken ribs bandaged beneath the blankets, a splint wrapped around her sprained wrist.

Madja had been diligent in her care, informing him of her injuries: a mild concussion that would keep her in a daze even after she woke, fractured ribs that would need time to heal, and a strained wrist from where she had fought off the men. But it was her voice—or the lack of it—that weighed on him the most. The brutal strangulation had damaged her vocal cords, and Madja warned him that when she finally did wake, it would take several days before she could speak again.

Azriel’s heart clenched at the thought of YN not being able to voice her pain or fear. The memory of her being strangled on the floor, fighting for her life while Knox remained hidden, haunted him endlessly. He’d seen so much in his long life, witnessed horrors and fought battles, but the sight of her so close to death shook him like nothing else ever had.

Madja had been kind enough to offer healing spells to speed her recovery, but Azriel insisted on being there for everything. Every time she adjusted the bandages on YN’s ribs, every time she checked her breathing or felt for swelling, Azriel stood close by, offering silent support.

On the third night, Madja stopped by with her usual clinical efficiency, though her expression was more sympathetic than usual. "Her body is recovering well," she told him softly, taking his stoic silence as permission to continue. "The concussion is minor, and the ribs, while painful, will heal with time. But her voice... it may take several days for her to speak again. The trauma to her throat was extensive. She’ll need time."

Azriel nodded, his jaw tight. He’d been expecting it, but hearing it aloud made it all the more real. “I understand,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep and constant worry. He reached out to smooth a hand over YN’s hair, careful not to disturb the splint on her wrist. “I’ll be here when she wakes.”

Madja gave a small nod and left the room quietly, leaving him alone with her again.

Azriel looked down at YN, his chest tightening at the sight of her bruised throat, the faint purple marks still visible beneath the bandages. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to tell her she was safe now, that he would never let anything happen to her again. But for now, all he could do was wait.

Knox, who had been in the care of Feyre and Mor during these long days, was brought to visit often, and each time Azriel held him, it grounded him in a way nothing else could. Knox’s small, innocent presence was a reminder of why they fought so hard, why they endured so much.

In the dim light of the room, Azriel kept vigil, his shadows swirling around him in a protective haze as he watched over his mate and his son, determined to stay until YN opened her eyes again and could feel the safety of his presence once more.

---

Azriel sat in the corner of the room, Knox cradled in his arms, the baby squirming slightly as he rocked him. His expression was tense, jaw clenched, as he waited for Rhys and Cassian to speak. He already knew what was coming—the questions, the confusion. They’d finally figured out what he had kept from them all this time.

Rhys broke the silence first, his voice calm but direct. "We need to talk about YN."

Azriel didn’t look up. He kept his gaze on his son, knowing there was no more avoiding it. “What about her?”

Cassian leaned forward, frowning. “We know she’s got a deal with Kier. A bargain.”

Azriel’s grip tightened slightly on Knox, but he kept his expression neutral. “Yeah.”

Cassian shot him a sharp look. “And you knew? How long?”

Azriel sighed. "A while."

Rhys crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t think to tell us? You’ve been hiding this from us the entire time?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” Azriel said coldly, meeting Rhys’s gaze now. "And it’s more complicated than you think."

Cassian scoffed. "Complicated how? She’s tied to Kier’s pleasure house. Why?"

Azriel shifted Knox in his arms, trying to stay calm. "It started when she was seventeen. Her best friend killed someone in self-defense. The Hewn City is split between the elite and the ones trying to survive. YN was part of the latter. Her family had nothing."

Rhys’s expression tightened. He remained silent, waiting for Azriel to continue.

"Kier stepped in," Azriel said, his voice clipped. "He gave them protection, kept them from being dragged into a trial or worse. But there was a price. He granted YN an education, helped her family. And when she came of age, he bound her to the pleasure house."

Cassian cursed under his breath, disgust clear on his face. “That bastard.”

Azriel nodded, his jaw tight. “She’s stuck. She doesn’t want to be there, but Kier holds the power. If I push too hard, he’ll make her life hell.”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, his expression hard. “And you’ve been dealing with this alone? Not telling us?”

Azriel’s tone was sharp. “I didn’t have a choice. If Kier knew I was involved, he’d use it against her. He’s waiting for an excuse to tighten his grip on her.”

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “We could’ve helped.”

“She didn’t want help,” Azriel said firmly. “She didn’t want to be seen as weak. And if you had known, Kier would’ve caught wind of it. He’s not stupid.”

Rhys crossed his arms, tension rolling off him. “So, what now? You’re just going to keep letting her work there while Kier pulls the strings?”

Azriel’s eyes flashed. “I’m working on it. But if I make a move, it has to be calculated. Otherwise, he’ll ruin everything.”

Rhys sighed, rubbing his temples. “We need a plan. Kier can’t keep his hold on her forever.”

Cassian’s voice was gruff but sympathetic. “We’ll figure this out. But next time, don’t shut us out, Az.”

Azriel didn’t respond, his focus returning to Knox as he rocked the baby slowly, his mind already churning with thoughts of how to protect them both.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look, understanding the gravity of the situation, but knowing they had no choice but to trust Azriel’s instincts—for now.

---

The room was bathed in soft, dim light as YN slowly stirred, her eyelids fluttering. Her body felt heavy, weighed down by the pain radiating from her ribs and the dull ache in her throat. Every breath was labored, shallow, as if the air itself was too thick to pull in. Her eyes finally opened, the world blurry for a moment before the room came into focus.

Azriel was there, sitting in the chair beside the bed, his dark eyes trained on her with an intensity that was almost overwhelming. He had been waiting for this, for her to open her eyes, for the confirmation that she was still with him. The second he saw movement, his breath hitched, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clenched together as if bracing himself.

“YN…” he whispered, voice cracking slightly, the relief in his tone palpable. He looked exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes and tension radiating from every muscle, but his expression softened the moment she focused on him.

She tried to speak, tried to form words, but nothing came out. Her throat felt raw, burning with the effort. Panic flashed in her eyes, her lips parting again, but all she managed was a faint rasp, her voice entirely gone.

Azriel was at her side in an instant, his hand gently cupping her face. “Shh, don’t try to talk. It’s okay,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheek tenderly. His touch was warm, grounding her in the moment, anchoring her as the panic began to subside. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m here.”

Her gaze met his, and in that silent exchange, a thousand emotions passed between them—fear, relief, sorrow, love. She lifted her hand slowly, the movement weak and shaky, and placed it over his. The gesture was small, but it said everything she couldn’t.

Azriel’s jaw clenched as he fought to hold back the flood of emotions. Seeing her like this—so fragile, so hurt—it tore at him in ways he couldn’t describe. He had been terrified, truly terrified that she wouldn’t wake up, that she’d slip away before he could even hold her again. Now, with her fingers weakly gripping his, it took every ounce of control not to break down right there.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, leaning closer, his forehead gently pressing against hers. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever.”

Her eyes welled up with tears, but she couldn’t cry, not fully. The tightness in her throat, the pain in her chest, wouldn’t allow it. But the emotion was there, heavy and unspoken between them. She blinked, the tears slipping down her cheeks, and Azriel wiped them away gently, his thumb moving across her skin with the lightest of touches.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—Azriel’s forehead resting against hers, his fingers brushing her cheek, his other hand gripping hers tightly as if letting go would mean losing her all over again.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were glassy, his voice softer. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?” He tried for a smile, but it faltered. “Don’t ever do that again.”

She managed a faint nod, her chest rising and falling with labored breaths. She wanted to tell him everything—that she was okay, that she didn’t blame him, that she was so damn grateful to have him there. But the words wouldn’t come, and all she could do was squeeze his hand in response.

Azriel’s eyes flickered to the bruises on her neck, and his expression darkened. He wanted to kill the men who had done this to her, wanted to rip them apart piece by piece. But right now, all that mattered was her—keeping her safe, keeping her close.

“Rest,” he whispered, brushing a kiss against her forehead. “I’ll be right here when you wake up again. I’m not going anywhere.”

He settled back into his chair, his hand never leaving hers, watching her as her eyes slowly fluttered shut again. Even in sleep, her face was tight with pain, her body too still, too fragile. Azriel watched her for a long time, every protective instinct roaring within him, and made a silent vow to never let anything like this happen again.

She had fought for her life, and now, it was his turn to fight for hers.

---

Two weeks had passed, and YN had begun to feel like herself again, at least physically. Her voice, once stolen by the brutal attack, had gradually returned—soft and weak at first, but stronger with each passing day. Azriel, however, had been relentless in his overprotectiveness. He had insisted that she remain in Velaris, far away from the dangers of the Hewn City, and had forced Madja to write an official medical letter to her employer, explaining that she was unfit for work for an extended period. He had even gone as far as delivering the letter himself, leaving no room for argument.

Now, YN sat on the balcony of their guest quarters in Velaris, the warmth of the afternoon sun bathing her in golden light. The balcony overlooked a peaceful garden, filled with vibrant flowers swaying gently in the breeze. She cradled Knox in her arms, the baby’s tiny body relaxed against her as she cooed and tickled him lightly under his chin. His sweet giggles filled the air, his small Illyrian wings fluttering ever so slightly in his excitement.

"Shh," she whispered with a soft smile, trying to soothe him back to sleep. “Come on, little one, it’s nap time.” Knox’s bright, curious eyes blinked up at her before slowly starting to droop, his body going limp as he fell into that peaceful baby slumber. YN continued to rock him gently, her fingers brushing through his dark hair, and she let out a contented sigh.

As she focused on the baby in her arms, she didn’t notice Azriel slipping quietly out onto the balcony behind her. His steps were silent, a skill he had perfected over centuries, and he took a moment to simply admire the scene before him. YN, looking healthier now, her hair loose and glowing in the sunlight, holding their son as if the entire world revolved around the tiny bundle in her arms. The sight filled his heart with a warmth he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling.

Without a word, Azriel stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her into a warm, protective embrace. YN let out a small gasp of surprise before her body relaxed into his, the familiar weight and scent of him instantly soothing her. She tilted her head back slightly to look up at him, her lips curving into a soft smile.

“Didn’t hear you coming,” she whispered, her voice now smooth but still carrying a hint of the recovery she’d undergone.

“I didn’t want to disturb such a perfect moment,” he murmured against her ear, his breath warm on her skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. His hands slid down to rest over hers, cradling Knox together.

“He’s finally asleep,” YN said softly, her eyes drifting down to their son’s peaceful face. “You know, you’re going to spoil me with all this protection,” she teased, though there was no real heat in her words.

Azriel chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through her back as he held her closer. “I’ll never stop protecting you. Or him.”

YN leaned her head back against his chest, closing her eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling of being wrapped in his arms. “I know. I feel it every day.”

They stood in silence for a while, the only sound the soft rustling of the trees and the occasional cooing of Knox in his sleep. It was peaceful, something YN had rarely known before Velaris, before Azriel had come into her life.

After a few moments, Azriel gently kissed the top of her head and leaned down to whisper, “Rhys and Cassian are coming down soon. They want to talk to you.”

YN’s body tensed slightly in his arms, and she opened her eyes. “Talk to me?” she asked, her voice carrying a slight edge of concern.

Azriel sighed softly, pressing another kiss to her temple. “They’ve been worried. They know about your... connection to Kier and the pleasure house. They want to make sure you’re okay and figure out how we can... keep you safe.”

She let out a long breath, her grip on Knox tightening a little as she thought about the conversation to come. “I don’t like being a subject of discussion.”

“I know,” Azriel murmured, his hands rubbing soothing circles over her arms. “But they care about you. They just want to help.”

YN nodded slowly, her mind already racing with how much she should tell them. The last few weeks had been difficult enough without having to explain her past and the dangerous web of alliances that had kept her bound to the Hewn City for so long. But if anyone could help her break free, it would be Rhys and Cassian—Azriel’s family. Her family, too, in a way.

“Alright,” she finally said, her voice steady. “I’ll talk to them.”

Azriel kissed her once more, lingering for a moment before stepping back. “Thank you,” he whispered, his gratitude evident in the way his voice softened. He reached down and brushed his thumb gently over Knox’s cheek, the baby stirring slightly but remaining asleep.

“We’ll figure it all out,” he promised, his hazel eyes filled with determination. "Together."

Rhys and Cassian approached YN with a heavy seriousness in their demeanor. The peaceful atmosphere of the balcony shifted as the weight of the conversation settled between them. Azriel stood by YN's side, his gaze locked on her face as he sensed her unease, but this was a necessary conversation. If they were to free her from the clutches of the pleasure house, this was the only way.

Rhys was the first to speak, his voice gentle yet firm. "YN, we’ve been discussing your situation with Kier and his... assistant. We know you’re bound by that bargain, and we’ve been working on a way to break it. But there’s only one option that we can see.”

Cassian leaned forward, his large frame looming slightly as he crossed his arms. “We’ve come up with a plan, but it’s not going to be easy. Kier’s assistant—the man who controls your bargain—is going to be the key. He’s one of your clients, correct?”

YN swallowed hard, already feeling a pit forming in her stomach. She nodded slowly, her fingers tightening around Knox, who slept peacefully in her arms. “Yes,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “He requests private sessions. He’s... powerful.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched beside her, his hands itching to destroy the man who held so much control over YN’s life. Rhys, sensing Azriel’s rising anger, continued in a calm, measured tone.

“We believe that the only way to break this bond is through him. If you can get close enough, distract him when he calls for you again, we can move in. Cassian and I will take care of his guards, and Azriel will handle him. But we need you to keep him occupied—long enough for us to get inside.”

YN felt her heart race, her palms growing sweaty as she tried to process the enormity of what they were asking. The thought of being alone with that man, knowing what was about to happen, made her stomach churn. Worse still, the prospect of murder, something she had been entangled with before, clawed at her mind. The memory of her friend’s desperate act of self-defense still haunted her, and now they were asking her to be part of something similar.

“You want me to distract him while you... kill him?” YN asked, her voice trembling slightly as the reality of the plan sank in.

Rhys nodded solemnly. “It’s the only way, YN. If he’s dead, the bond will be broken. You’ll be free.”

Azriel stepped closer, his hand resting gently on her back. He could feel her flinch at the word "kill," and it sent a pang of guilt through him. He hated that this was the only option they had, hated that YN would have to face this darkness again. But he also knew that they couldn’t keep living like this—constantly looking over their shoulders, bound by a deal that held her captive.

YN stared down at Knox, her mind swirling with a mixture of fear and hope. On one hand, this was her chance—her chance to be free from the pleasure house, from Kier’s cruel control, and to live a life with Azriel and Knox without constantly fearing for their safety. But on the other hand, the thought of being involved in another killing, even indirectly, was enough to make her chest tighten.

Cassian’s voice broke through her thoughts. “We’ll be there the whole time. You won’t be alone in this.”

Rhys knelt down beside her, his gaze soft but unwavering. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I wish there was another way. But we’ll make sure you’re safe, YN. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Azriel knelt beside her, his hand moving to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t even realized had escaped. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “But this is the only way to end it.”

YN swallowed hard, her throat dry as she nodded, more to herself than to them. She had survived so much already—being bound to that awful place, the attack on her apartment, and the struggles of her past. If this was what it took to be free, then she would face it. She would do whatever it took for her son, for the life she wanted to build with Azriel.

But the weight of the decision settled heavily on her shoulders, and she knew this would not be an easy path.

“I’ll do it,” YN finally whispered, her voice cracking slightly as she spoke. “But... I’m scared.”

Azriel’s grip on her tightened, his forehead resting against hers for a moment. “I know,” he murmured. “But you’re strong, YN. You’re stronger than any of us.”

Rhys stood up, exchanging a glance with Cassian before looking back at YN. “We��ll make the arrangements. When he calls for you again, we’ll be ready.”

YN nodded, though her body felt like it was moving through quicksand. The thought of going back to that place, knowing what would happen, made her feel sick. But deep down, she knew there was no other choice. If she wanted freedom, if she wanted to protect Knox and Azriel from this life, she would have to face this head-on.

Azriel stayed beside her as Rhys and Cassian left to make their plans, his hand never leaving hers. He could feel her trembling slightly, and it broke his heart to know what she would have to go through. But they would get through this together—he would make sure of it.

“I love you,” Azriel whispered, his voice filled with all the emotion he could never quite put into words.

“Me too,” YN replied, her voice steady but her heart racing.

And as she sat there, holding her sleeping son close, YN steeled herself for what was to come. This was her chance to be free—to finally break the chains that had bound her for so long. And no matter how much fear and uncertainty filled her, she knew she would face it for her family.

For Knox. For Azriel. For herself.

One more chapter and then MWAHAHAHAHHA YALL ARE GONNA HATE ME!

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel imagine #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #az

116 notes · View notes

eir-trixa · 2 days

Text

WOTTG SPOILERS AFTER THE CUT

Can you believe Rick is validating me in my Percy-is-the-most-empathic-character take? I have legal basis but boi does it feel nice to have canon confirmation.

Second that book was short af I got the gist of it all while reading for like an hour.

Third, we addressed everyone else’s trauma. Percy’s still the group therapist LMAO 😭😭😭

Fourth, my son is such a good kid yall, this is why I lose five years of my life when someone insults or when he insults himself jfc my child.

Im honestly still processing and I have to reread the ending. Did it address Percy’s issues? Im going to go with “a bit” and call it a night. I mean, I guess it did? Percy got to unload and help Gale and Hecuba. We got an insight to how he’s managing to stay up and fighting and good despite all the shit he’s put into. Honestly the fact that he saw the humanity in Gale and Hecuba, that he saw their pain and grief and thats what made them trust him, that is so good. And the way he related to them. Goodness. And it highlights again how good a person he is, how much he feels and cares. I mean, he cried cause he had to send Mrs O Leary away, I cant with this kid-

I supposed what Im left unsatisfied with is how he still perceives himself as dumb? Baby, you survived San Fran for two months as a homeless kid without memories and pursued by different monsters who cant die. Youre the furthest thing from dumb.

He cant see this of course and while it was slightly addressed(?) by Annabeth telling him to his face that she doesnt give him enough credit, that he’s pretty smart, I dont think thats enough for addressing this particular issue. There was a time in the middle that he almost snapped because he thought Annabeth probably thinks him too dumb to know what to do next. Which I understand is frustrating to him. But to be fair this book made him look at Annabeth for a solution a lot. Theres also little comments about how when he cant think of anything - which is every 60 seconds apparently according to him- he looks at Annabeth. This doesnt help the co dependent allegations LMAO. Idk, I will die on the Hill that Percy is one of the smartest people in the series, not just emotionally but also in strategy. And theres, of course, nothing wrong with looking at the genius strategist for answers. Ive mixed feelings because definitely this is more of a Percy-insecurity issue than an Annabeth-being-bossy issue. But okay. One more book, heres to hoping we get more heart to heart on that front because Im 999998% sure she doesnt mean to make him feel stupid, Percy’s just got a lot of demons to fight but this in particular they need to figure out together. Still, its obvious how much they care for each other still. If only Dave and Hana did not piss me off at the start Id probably be a little more lenient about this.

Annabeth’s fatal flaw also makes a comeback, we love to see it.

And Sally Estelle Jackson. Now we have to find out wth is Percy’s middle name cause if Sally has one odds are she gave her son too. Trust me. Im Filipino. Iykyk.

Lastly, while I will forever and ever and ever support the trio from pjotv (theyre perfect and have done nothing wrong ever) I can see Rick’s injecting their personalities into the books. Im not sure if he does this on purpose or just subconsciously LMAO. Some of Grover’s dialogue is definitely inspired by Aryan. Percy being Lanky? Walker through and through, especially with his growth spurt lmao, and Annabeth’s confidence? All Leah. I can see what Rick’s trying to do. Ive no opinion on this, just pointing it out. I do love love love the live action. Just. I can see you Rick. You aint slick.

So there. I probably would need to reread the book properly at some point.

#pjo #spoilers #wrath of the triple goddess #wottg #wrath of the tripple goddess spoilers #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth

78 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 16 hours

Text

marutsuke — gojo satoru.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know." Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?" "I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

WARNING/S: post-hidden inventory (2006-onwards), domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 5.3k words.

NOTE: i wrote this a long long while ago and to celebrate jjk ending, i would like to give this as a humble offering. i've been a fan of jjk since 2019, when my friend introduced it to me. jjk means the world to me. it was there for me as much as bts was in my harsh and painful years. i am most grateful to share and continue to share the joy of it here in my little corner of the world. thank you guys for sharing the love of jjk with me. you guys are amazing. i love you guys so much. let's continue to be fans together for a long time!!! also the song is from given. its a lovely song <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU HATED THIS FEELING, YOU HATED REPETITION LIKE THIS. You stood in the dimly lit hallway, fists clenched, your eyes burning with fury as you learned what had happened to the first years. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and Haibara—kind, hopeful Haibara—was dead. Nanami barely made it back. You trembled with rage, unable to process the incompetence that had led to this.

It was just like this when it was Namie.

Your mind flashed back to the past, to the same helplessness, the same sickening weight that had crushed your chest when Namie, your dear friend, had been sent out on a mission with faulty intelligence. They hadn’t even gotten her body back. You remembered the emptiness, the cold fury that took root inside you ever since.

And then there was Amanai Riko. Another loss, another innocent life extinguished because of their arrogance, their reckless disregard for the lives they swore to protect. Your nails bit into your palms as you fought back the wave of grief and anger.

And now... now Haibara.

Another young life, snuffed out before it could even truly begin. Your breath came in short, ragged bursts as the memories collided with the present, your fury building to a boiling point. You had warned them. You had fought, had demanded better, and yet nothing had changed.

"How many more?" you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling with fury. "How many more have to die before they open their eyes?"

"They had faulty intelligence," you spat, your voice laced with venom. "Faulty intelligence, and they sent them in blind. Blind!"

Your words echoed down the empty corridor, but it wasn’t enough to release the fury simmering inside you. You stormed forward, your footsteps heavy with the weight of your anger, the hallway dim and suffocating as you advanced. The rage that coursed through your veins was more than just anger—it was righteous fury, the kind that demanded answers, demanded justice for those who had fallen.

You didn’t care about decorum or procedure. Not now. Not when another life had been so carelessly thrown away.

The sight of the mission manager at the end of the hall, sitting casually at his desk, only fueled the fire inside you. He looked up, his expression one of mild surprise as you approached—indifferent, as if the death of a student was nothing more than an inconvenience, a casualty of duty.

Indifference. That look—the one that dismissed Haibara as just another statistic, another name on a growing list of losses. It ignited something in you that was barely contained.

"You!" you hissed, your voice trembling with the intensity of your rage. The air around you seemed to crackle with tension as you marched up to the manager’s desk, eyes blazing. "You sent them in blind! Faulty intelligence, and you signed off on it like it didn’t matter! Haibara is dead because of you!"

The manager blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but his calm exterior didn’t waver. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded calmly in his lap, as if he was used to this—used to the accusations, used to the aftermath. He probably expected you to eventually calm down, to accept that this was just the way things were.

But you weren’t going to calm down. Not this time.

“You think this is acceptable?" you seethed, leaning over his desk. "You think sending kids in with faulty information is just part of the job? You didn’t care about what would happen to them—you cared about following protocol, making sure you checked off the boxes so you could wipe your hands clean when it went wrong."

The manager gave a slight sigh, adjusting his glasses as if the whole situation was an inconvenience. "These missions come with risks, you know that. It’s unfortunate, but we—"

"Unfortunate?" your voice rose, fury spilling over. "You think this is just 'unfortunate'? Haibara’s dead because of your incompetence, and all you can say is that it’s unfortunate?"

The manager’s lips thinned, his calm demeanor wavering for just a moment. "We did the best we could with the information we had. It’s not always perfect—"

You slammed your hands down on the desk, silencing him immediately. Your face was inches from his now, your voice low and lethal. "No. You didn’t do the best you could. You cut corners, and you sent them in knowing it wasn’t safe. You sat behind this desk while they went out there, while they—" Your voice caught for a moment, thinking of Haibara, of Namie, of Riko. "You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone because of your arrogance."

The manager didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His silence was answer enough.

Your fists clenched again, your whole body trembling with the effort to contain your rage. You wanted to scream, to tear this entire building apart, but all you could do was stare at the man who had signed Haibara’s death warrant with his negligence. The worst part was you knew it would happen again. As long as people like him kept making decisions, more lives would be lost.

“That’s enough.” That familiar voice. You stopped.

“You piece of shit!” you snarled, your energy crackling dangerously. You lunged, but before you could strike, Yaga intervened, gripping your arms to hold you back.

You whipped around, your rage now directed at Yaga. “You! I warned you. I fucking warned you! But you listened to those old farts, didn’t you? You think it’s okay to send them in, even blindly.” Your voice cracked with fury, your eyes burning into Yaga’s. “And now, you’re stuck having to explain to Haibara’s parents why their son isn’t alive! That blood is on your hands!”

Yaga’s grip remained firm, but his expression darkened as you pressed on.

“My father would be ashamed of you,” you said, your voice low, bitter. “You’ve become exactly what he stood against.”

Yaga’s eyes hardened at your words, but he didn’t let go. He knew your anger wasn’t just at him—it was at the system, at the higher-ups, at the entire broken system that cost Haibara his life. But your words cut deep. Mentioning your father, a man Yaga once respected, felt like a blade twisted into his gut.

"Genmei," Yaga said, his voice steady but tense, "I didn't want this. You think I don’t care? You think I don’t feel the weight of it? I never wanted to send them in like that."

"Then why did you?" you snapped, stepping closer, your face inches from his, rage seething in every word. "You could’ve stopped it. You had the authority! Instead, you caved to those senile cowards who sit behind desks, making decisions they’ll never face the consequences of."

Yaga's jaw clenched, his voice growing colder. "You think I had a choice? You think I didn’t fight back? The orders came from the top, Genmei! From people I can’t defy."

You shook your head, trembling with disbelief. "So that’s it? You just roll over and let it happen? You tell them it’s fine to send kids like Haibara to their deaths? You and those spineless managers let them go out there—for nothing."

Yaga's grip on your arms tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "I know you’re angry. I know this isn’t fair. But it wasn’t blind. They were prepared."

“Prepared?!” Your laughter was bitter and sharp. “You call this prepared? Haibara is dead! Nanami is broken. And now you have to look those parents in the eye and tell them their son is never coming home."

Yaga’s silence spoke louder than anything. The weight of what you said settled in, his posture stiffening with the responsibility he bore. He hadn’t spoken to Haibara’s parents yet, but he would have to. And the thought of it, the unbearable weight of it, gnawed at him.

"Every single student is my responsibility, you know that." Yaga finally said, his voice quieter now, though no less strained. "I carry that burden every day. You think I don’t feel it? That it doesn’t tear me apart? But I don’t have the luxury of rage. I have to keep moving, keep fighting—for the ones who are still here."

Your hands fell to your sides, anger simmering down to a bitter ache. You looked at Yaga, your voice softer but no less furious. "They trusted you. We trusted you. And now we’re left with nothing but grief. Don’t you dare try to justify this."

Yaga looked away, his jaw clenched. "I’m not trying to justify it. There’s no justification for it. But you think I haven’t warned them, too? We both know how they operate. But my hands—"

"Don’t tell me about your hands being tied." you interrupted, your voice sharp. "You had more than just orders. You had a choice. And Haibara Yu’s blood is on all of us for not stopping it. And I'm sure....too sure. That there will be many more. All because you can't fight against those old farts."

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. Yaga’s grip on your arms loosened, his expression still hardened by guilt and responsibility. He knew it too well, he knew that it was also his fault. And perhaps, in truth, you didn't blame him that much. You knew there was nothing a teacher can do against the whole of Jujutsu society. But you can't help but be angry. Just like at your father's funeral. And that too, Yaga blames himself.

“I’m going to make them pay for this.” you said in a low, deadly voice, your anger no longer explosive but cold and resolute. “The ones responsible, the ones who allowed this to happen—they’ll know exactly what they’ve one.”

Yaga met your eyes, his voice quiet but firm. "Don’t let your anger consume you. Your father would say the same thing. This world is already full of enough darkness."

Your expression didn’t change, unfazed. "Maybe it needs a little more darkness before it can see the light. My father also knew about that."

YOU WANTED TO HAVE A SMOKE. But you were sure that the sprinklers would alert people. So you went against it. You stormed out of the manager’s office, your fury barely contained as you made your way down the empty corridor.

The cold, sterile walls felt suffocating, your mind clouded with the weight of it all—Haibara’s death, Nanami’s devastation, the recklessness of the higher-ups. You needed to see him, to confront the harsh reality of what their negligence had wrought.

The morgue was dimly lit, its stillness heavy with the presence of death. You moved quietly, but your footsteps faltered as you approached. Standing just outside, you heard voices—low, tense. You stopped.

"Why not let Gojo take care of everything?" a bitter voice sneered. It was Nanami Kento.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized that tone. Nanami’s words were sharp, laced with exhaustion and frustration, and just as the retort began to form on your lips, another voice cut through—calm, but strained.

"Nanami, that’s enough," Geto Suguru’s voice was tired, a weariness that weighed down each syllable. "This isn’t about Satoru. Don’t take your anger out on him just because you feel helpless. We all do."

Helpless.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Your body froze as Nanami’s bitter words echoed in your ears, triggering a flood of memories you had buried deep. You could still see the way Kaiko had looked at you after Namie’s death, the sharp, accusatory words that came spilling out, venomous and cruel.

"Why not let Genmei take care of everything, huh? She’s always so sure of herself, isn’t she?" Kamo Kaiko had sneered, the pain of loss warping into something uglier, something that wanted to hurt others. The same helplessness Nanami was drowning in now.

You had seen the look in Kaiko’s eyes—the same bitterness, the same exhaustion, the same desperation to place the blame somewhere, anywhere, other than the black void of grief you were all struggling to survive. And you had tried to calm Kaiko down, tried to reason with her, but the pain had been too raw, too fresh. It had escalated. Words had become fists, and by the time it was over, you were both broken in different ways. You never spoke again after that fight.

Now, hearing Nanami’s voice, the echoes of Kaiko’s bitterness in every word, your heart clenched. You couldn’t let this spiral the same way.

You stepped forward, your presence quiet but commanding. The shadows shifted as you moved, your eyes falling on Nanami, who stood rigid, his face a mask of exhaustion and grief. Geto Suguru leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his own weariness mirrored in his posture. He looked over Haibara’s body, as though he was in a trance. He was shell–shocked, you think.

"That’s enough." you said, your voice calm but firm, the weight of your past mixing with the present. You couldn’t watch this play out the same way it had before. "This isn’t about blame. None of this is about whose responsibility it is to fix things."

Nanami flinched slightly at the sound of your voice, his jaw tightening as he avoided your gaze. But you knew what he was feeling because you had been there. You had stood in his shoes, grappling with the same rage, the same helplessness, when you lost Namie.

"It’s not Gojo–kun’s fault, you know that." you continued, stepping closer, your voice softer now. "And it’s not yours. Haibara’s death wasn’t something you could have prevented. Not under these circumstances."

Nanami's fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body radiating outwards. "I could have, senpai." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should have."

"No." you said firmly, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This wasn’t on you. Don’t let the guilt consume you, Nanami. I’ve seen it before, and I know where it leads."

The memories of Kaiko haunted you, the way grief had hollowed her out, leaving her with nothing but resentment and bitterness. You couldn’t let that happen to Nanami. Not again. This doesn’t have to continue. No one else has to suffer.

"Listen to Geto–kun, okay?" you added, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "We all feel helpless. But turning against each other won’t bring Haibara back."

Nanami’s shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his body giving way to something closer to defeat. He didn’t respond, but you knew your words had reached him. Turning away from them, you took a breath and steel yourself. You still had one last thing to do, no matter how much it hurt.

You had to say goodbye to Haibara.

You walked out of the room, the heaviness of the conversation weighing on your shoulders. You pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, your emotions a turbulent storm beneath the surface. Your eyes immediately caught sight of Satoru, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed.

You knew, just by the way he stood, that he had heard everything. There was no need for words. His expression wasn’t the usual carefree mask he wore—it was more serious, though his eyes were still bright behind his dark shades, silently watching you.

You sighed, your frustration and exhaustion bubbling up. Without a word, you stepped closer to him and gently placed your hands over his ears, your palms lightly cupping the sides of his head. The sudden movement caught him off guard, and his eyes widened, blinking in surprise. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to understand what you were doing.

Don’t listen, you mouthed, your lips forming the words slowly and deliberately, knowing he would understand.

For a moment, Satoru just stared at you, his gaze flickering between confusion and something softer, almost curious. His lips pressed into a flat line, and after a heartbeat of silence, he nodded, an unspoken agreement passing between you.

He wasn’t going to argue. Not this time.

You let your hands fall from his ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead of you, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

You let your hands fall from Satoru's ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

The two of you wandered outside in silence, the weight of recent events hanging heavily between you. The cold night air bit at your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the emotions you both carried. You led the way toward the vending machines just outside the building, the quiet hum of them the only sound in the stillness.

You didn’t need to look at Satoru to know he was thinking about everything that had happened. It was rare for him to be this quiet, this subdued. You pressed the buttons on the machine without a word, watching the drinks tumble down with a soft thud. You handed one to him, the cold condensation clinging to your fingers as you took your own.

Satoru cracked open the can, the fizz breaking the silence between you. You took a slow sip of your drink before finally speaking.

“It’s not your fault, you know.” you said quietly, your voice steady but carrying the weight of someone who had seen this all before. "You can’t blame yourself for what happened."

Satoru didn’t respond right away. He took a long drink, his gaze fixed on the horizon, the usual brightness in his eyes dimmed by something heavier, more complex. He leaned against the vending machine, one hand loosely holding the can, the other shoved in his pocket. His shades were off now, dangling from his collar.

“I think it is, Genmei–senpai.” he finally said, his voice low, almost resigned. His gaze drifted down to the ground. “If I were just a little stronger, a little faster... if I had trained them better, maybe… maybe they wouldn’t be dead.”

Your chest tightened. You had heard these words before, a thousand times in different voices. From yourself, from others who had lost people they cared about. It was the familiar cycle of grief and guilt. Gojo Satoru doesn’t easily fuss over his feelings. This was the first time truly, you think, that he’d willingly told you what he felt. Without you having to ask. In a way, you think that has reminded you of yourself, even for a little bit.

"You can't control everything, Gojo–kun." you replied softly, stepping beside him. "Not even you. It wasn’t your decision to send them on that mission. You weren’t the one who messed up the intel. And you’re not the one who could have stopped it from going wrong."

He clenched his jaw, clearly wrestling with the weight of his own thoughts. Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer alive, the one who always acted like nothing could touch him—was grappling with the very human feeling of failure. It was a rare sight, one that he kept hidden behind his usual bravado. But here, in the quiet, there was no mask to hide behind.

"Being strong doesn’t mean being able to protect everyone. That’s impossible." you added, your voice quiet but firm. "Trust me, I know. We all do."

Satoru stared at his drink, the carbonation slowly rising to the surface. He let out a long breath, his fingers tightening around the can as if holding on to something he couldn’t quite grasp.

"I don’t know if I can ever believe that, you know?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I’m not strong enough to protect them, then what’s the point of being the strongest?"

You didn’t answer right away. You let his words hang in the air, knowing that there was no simple reply that could ease his burden. The truth was, you understood. You had felt the same way when your precious Namie died, when Amanai Riko was killed. The strength to protect felt meaningless when it failed you.

But you also knew that blaming yourself for every loss would only eat away at you, piece by piece. And you knew better than to wallow in it all. You wouldn’t be able to get up from your bed if it's all that consumes you. You didn’t want your dreams. You wanted to be awake. In your dreams, it was regret. In your reality, it was moving forward. And you’d choose a thousand cigarettes then see Namie’s eyes look at you like that again. You’d choose days awake rather than seeing Kaiko take her last breaths right in front of you again.

"The point, Gojo–kun," you finally said, your voice softer now, "is that you’re human. No matter how strong you are, no matter what kind of power you have, you’re still human, Gojo–kun. And that means sometimes... you’ll fail. It doesn’t make you any less strong. It just makes you... you."

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his bright cerulean eyes—an acknowledgment, maybe. He didn’t argue, didn’t dismiss your words like he normally would. Instead, he just took another sip of his drink and nodded slightly.

“Maybe……” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You stood there in the quiet, the weight of your conversation lingering in the cold night air. For once, there were no easy answers, no quick fixes. Just two people, sharing a drink, carrying the same burden of loss.

You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at the night sky. The stars were faint tonight, dimmed by the city lights, much like how everything felt dulled in the aftermath of grief. You took another sip from your drink, letting the cool liquid ground you in the present, away from the spiraling thoughts of what could have been.

After a long silence, you spoke again, your tone quieter, almost contemplative. "You know, you don’t always have to carry everything by yourself, Gojo–kun."

He glanced at you, but didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still clouded with that familiar weight.

"I know you feel like it’s all on you, Gojo–kun." you continued, turning your gaze to him. "Like you're responsible for every life, every outcome. But you're not. And it’s okay to feel... this way. To feel like you’ve failed. But that doesn’t mean you have."

Satoru stared at the ground, the quiet stretching on for a few heartbeats. Then, without looking at you, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You say that like you don’t carry it, too.”

Your grip on the can tightened slightly. You felt the truth of his words settle uncomfortably in your chest. You did carry it—always had. The weight of those you couldn’t save, the memories of missions gone wrong, the faces of the dead. You carried them all, and sometimes it felt like too much. But that wasn’t something you would admit to easily.

"You’re right. Your senpai’s a hypocrite." you said after a pause, your voice barely above a whisper. A weary smile on your lips. "I do, don’t I? But I’m learning how to let some of it go. To not let it destroy me…..I have to learn, as you do.”

Satoru finally looked at you, his gaze searching, as if he was trying to understand something he couldn’t quite grasp. There was a vulnerability in his expression, one that he rarely let show. You know that you knew the answer. And so does he. But it was easy to ignore, when you’re given the world to carry.

"How?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

You looked away, your eyes drifting back up to the sky. "By realizing that it’s not all on me. That I’m not the only one who’s hurting. And by letting people in, even when I don’t want to. It’s not easy, and I’m still figuring it out... but I’m trying."

Satoru was silent, processing your words. You knew how hard it was for him to let people in, to show any weakness. He had built walls so high that even those closest to him struggled to see through them. But here, in this quiet moment, you could feel those walls cracking, if only just a little.

“I guess I’ll have to try that sometime.” he muttered, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know."

Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?"

"I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before. It was the kind of quiet that settled between people who understood each other, who didn’t need to fill the space with empty words.

After a while, Gojo Satoru straightened up, his usual mask of nonchalance slipping back into place. But something had changed, even if just a little. He glanced at you, a glimmer of his old self returning to his eyes.

"Alright." he said, pushing off from the vending machine. "I’ll try not to carry everything on my back... but don’t expect me to go soft, okay? Can’t have everyone thinking I’m losing my touch."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at your lips. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Gojo–kun."

He chuckled, tossing his empty can into the recycling bin with a casual flick of his wrist. “Good. Now, how about we get out of here? There’s only so much doom and gloom a guy can take. I wanna go and eat some burgers! Oh, oh and have a milkshake. Come on Gen-senpai! Don't be such a slow poke!”

You watched as he started walking away, his usual swagger returning to his step. Despite everything, despite the grief and the guilt, he was still Satoru Gojo. And that, in its own way, was comforting. You lingered for a moment, finishing off your drink before following him. The weight of the night hadn’t disappeared, but somehow, it felt a little easier to bear now.

epilogue

The afternoon sun bathed the park in a warm, golden glow, casting everything in a soft light that made the moment feel almost timeless. It was a day without expectations or duties—a rare occasion for you and Satoru, a time when neither of you needed to be the strongest sorcerers alive. Instead, you were just yourselves, surrounded by the warmth of your little family.

You sat on a bench under the shade of a sprawling tree, the leaves swaying gently in the breeze. From your seat, you watched Tsumiki and Megumi, their carefree laughter ringing out as they chased each other across the grass.

Fushiguro Megumi’s small smile hinted at how much he enjoyed these quiet moments with his sister, even though he pretended to let her win. His protectiveness over Tsumiki was subtle but undeniable, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched their innocent game unfold.

Beside you, Satoru was sprawled out lazily on the bench, his sunglasses resting atop his head, soaking in the warmth of the sun. Satoshi, your energetic bundle of joy, was clinging to his father’s arm, trying to climb him like he was a human jungle gym. The sight of Satoru—so relaxed and utterly at ease—was a rare one, a moment where he let down his guard completely.

“Baby!” Satoru said, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin. “I think our son’s trying to take me down. Think he’s got the makings of a future jujutsu sorcerer?”

You chuckled, brushing a few strands of Satoshi’s hair out of his eyes. “Maybe he’s just training to be strong like you, don’t you think?” you teased, giving Satoru a playful look. “You’ll have to watch out—he might surpass you one day.”

Satoru sat up dramatically, hoisting Satoshi into his lap. “Surpass me? Oh no, not on my watch!” He declared, tickling your son until Satoshi was giggling uncontrollably. “Satoshi, my little dawn, promise me you won’t steal my title as the strongest!”

Gojo Satoshi, between fits of laughter, batted at his father’s chest. “Papa! No tickle!”

The sound of your son’s pure joy, Satoru’s playful antics, and the peace of this moment filled your heart. For once, there was no looming threat, no mission pulling you away. It was just the simple beauty of a family enjoying a sunny day.

Megumi, a little winded from chasing his sister, wandered over with his usual stoic expression, though you could see the faintest trace of a smile. You couldn’t resist teasing him. “Are you done showing off?”

Megumi shrugged, his tone as nonchalant as ever. “I wasn’t showing off. Tsumiki just needed to win.”

Satoru reached out and ruffled Megumi’s hair affectionately. “Such a gentleman. You’re really going soft on your sister, huh?”

Though Megumi swatted Satoru’s hand away, his eyes softened. “......She deserves it” he mumbled, trying to keep his fondness for Tsumiki hidden.

Tsumiki, noticing the conversation, ran over, her cheeks flushed from the chase. She flopped down onto the grass beside Megumi, leaning against him with a contented sigh. The two siblings sat close together, exchanging quiet smiles. You could see how much they meant to each other—the bond that had formed between them was one of the most precious things in your life.

Satoru stretched out his legs, balancing Satoshi on his knee. “You know, I think this is nice.” he said, his tone suddenly thoughtful. “We should do this more often.”

You turned to look at him, curious. “Do what? Actually relax?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. I like this better—just us. Just our little family, you know? No titles, no missions. Just being.”

There was something so genuine in the way he said it. You leaned into him slightly, reaching for his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours. “I like this too, you know?” you said softly, squeezing his hand.

He smiles back at you with the most beautiful, warm gaze. He squeezes your hand back. “I know.”

Megumi and Tsumiki sat quietly, watching your interaction with curiosity but not interrupting. You could tell they were starting to understand the unspoken bond you and Satoru shared—the love that transcended the roles you played in the world.

Satoru let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the bench, tugging you closer. Satoshi, who had grown tired from all the excitement, settled comfortably in his father’s lap, his small hands gripping Satoru’s shirt. The park, bathed in the soft afternoon light, seemed to wrap you all in a blanket of calm.

“If you weren’t around to keep me sane…..” Satoru mused, glancing over at you. “I might’ve forgotten what a day off even feels like.”

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure you’d figure it out. You’ve always been good at pretending the world’s problems don’t exist.”

Satoru grinned, though there was a softness to his voice. “Maybe. But this…” He looked down at Satoshi, then over at Megumi and Tsumiki, who were now engrossed in their own conversation. “This is real. This is what matters.”

His words struck a chord in you. For so long, your lives had revolved around the constant threat of danger, the weight of responsibility. But here, at this moment, it was just the four of you—your makeshift family—enjoying a quiet afternoon in the park.

Leaning into Satoru’s warmth, you whispered, “Yeah, this is what it’s all about.”

The park’s hum continued around you: the distant laughter of children, the rustling leaves, and the occasional chirp of birds. But in your little bubble, time seemed to slow down. For a moment, there was no past, no future—just the present, where everything felt exactly as it should.

You rested your head on Satoru’s shoulder, Satoshi nestled between you both, and Megumi and Tsumiki chatting softly beside you. In this quiet, peaceful moment, you realized that despite the chaos of your lives, these simple, precious moments made all the struggles worth it.

And for now, that was more than enough.

111 notes · View notes

monimccoythings · 3 days

Text

The Way We Were

Word Count: 791

tags: f!Reader, dark!logan (past), threats, mentions of blood, past abusive behavior, implied alcoholism.

"Stop. it." His voice came out in growls.

His claws are so close to your skin you almost feel a thin line of blood running down your neck.

"One more word. Just one. And I'll show you what these can do."

You couldn't move. You couldn't speak. Too terrified and heartbroken of the man that had once mattered to you the most. The one you'd have willingly sacrificed your entire life for.

"Never look for me again. Don't call me. I don't want to see you." The rage in his eyes, the coldness, was a sharp contrast to the soft hazel orbs you had fallen in love with long ago.

*SNIKT* As fast as his claws had appeared, they were gone. You finally allowed yourself to breathe. It's short lived, because he's soon up in your face again, a disgusted sneer on his features.

"Now. Get out of my life." His breath smelled like tobacco and alcohol, all mixed together. He had been drinking himself to oblivion again. You let the tears fall. You didn't recognise the man in front of you. Your husband.

"GET OUT." He roared in your face, making you wince.

He turned around and left you behind without sparing a single glance, in the empty parking lot of that dive bar in the middle of nowhere.

That was the last time he would see you in many, many years.

Logan woke up sweating and with his heart hammering in his chest. It had been so long since the last time he had dreamed about you. About that fateful night.

He grips the couch so tightly, he's going to tear the cloth. His hands were shaking as he felt the too familiar hole inside his chest reappear. He needed a drink. He had to drink. This never happened when he was drunk.

Stumbling over his own feet, he made his way towards the fridge, opening it with more violence than necessary. With his heart in his throat, his eyes searched manically until they set on a single can of beer.

That would have to do. For now.

He tried to calm his overwhelming thoughts with a single gulp, nearly drinking more than half of the can; focusing on Althea's snores from across the hall. Whatever distracted him long enough to avoid thinking about-

You.

Your soft smile. Your encouraging words. Your endless support through all his mishaps and hardships.

How gorgeous you had looked in that white dress when you walked down the aisle towards him. How great you had made him feel, like he was the luckiest man on the planet.

How he had completely fucked things up.

No matter how hard he tried to keep his memories of you at bay, his treacherous heart kept going back to you.

He wondered how you were doing. If you got that promotion you wanted.

Did you still kept your endless collection of air fresheners that drove him insane? Were you living in a better apartment than the one you had?

Did you remarry? Were you two actually divorced? He didn't remember signing anything at all. His teeth clenched at the thought of anybody else having you.

He shook his head.

What right did he had over you? After everything he had done, all the pain and trauma he pulled you through, what made him think he had any say on who you choose to spend your life with?

He wasn't the man he wished he was for you. The one that you deserved.

Yet...

He was here. He had been given a second chance to pull his head out of his ass and do the right thing. Out of all the better suited Wolverines there were out there, Wade picked him and turned him into a different man.

He was a completely different man from the one he was back then. The one torn with rage and grief. That monster, murderer, he was long gone, locked away, he would make sure of it.

He looked towards Wade's bedroom. He knew the sneaky bastard hid some of those dimension-travelling tablets somewhere in his bedroom. Knowing him, it would be probably the dirtiest and grossest corner where he would be sure Logan would never look.

He titled his head. A dangerous idea forming in his mind.

Could he?

Would he actually dare?

What if he just took a small peek. Just to make sure you were alright. You didn't have to see him. And he could return home with the knowledge that you were alright.

It was a terrible idea. A dangerous idea. But if the Wolverine was known for anything, it was for barreling into danger first and asking questions later.

He just needed to find the right moment.

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #worst wolverine #worst wolverine x reader #logan howlett #wolverine

115 notes · View notes

liahaslosthermind · 21 hours

Text

~ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒔 ~

(Past) Rhysand x OC, (Eventual) Azriel x OC Part 2 of Betrayal

Summary: He was out of his mind with grief. Azriel had been through his fair share of trauma. He had seen and done horrific things, but that was always with Adelaide by his side. Now, he didn't know what to do, and he was losing it. Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and ideology, Death of a loved one, grief, Hurt/No Comfort

His limbs ached as he stood up from his chair. He had been sitting there so long that walking felt much harder than it usually did.

He rubbed the haze from his eyes while walking to the door, the incessant knocking making his headache worse.

"Fuck, Az. You look- how do you- do you want me to..." Cassian stood in front of his brother, a man he'd known for 500 years, and didn't recognize the person he saw.

It had been the first time in almost 2 months that Cassian's knocks were answered. He had come to her room, everyday, multiple times a day, to plead with his brother to talk to him, to eat something, to just let Cassian look at him so he could see he was alive.

Azriel said nothing as he turned around and went back to the chair he had been occupying. Cassian closed the door behind him as he took in the room.

It was the same as it had been the day she left. Even though this had been the place Azriel spent most of his days, the Shadowsinger had kept it all the same, only touching her bed that he would sleep in the nights he could stomach it, or the chair he was currently in now.

A mess of papers on the desk brought tears to Cassian's eyes. Adelaide, sweet and caring Adelaide, had been making a list of Solstice gifts for her family when she was called to join some of the Inner Circle on a meeting all those months ago. A meeting that had been a trap for them. A meeting that ended up taking her life.

Azriel cleared his throat when Cassian went to pick up a piece of paper. He had tried to hard to keep her room clean while also not disturbing things from the spot she had put them in.

"Nesta told me that her and Elaine have been leaving you food but it remains untouched."

"Is there a question, brother?" Azriel asked. His voice had always been rough, and he had always been more on the quiet side, but Cassian could tell that because of lack of use, it hurt him to speak.

"Why aren't you eating? How can we get you to? I would do anything, Az." he pleaded.

The spymaster didn't answer.

"Whats the end goal? Believe me, if you want 1,000 years to mourn her, I will be with you every step of the way. I've tried to give you space, but you are killing yourself! You sit in here all day, only coming out when everyone is asleep or gone. What do you need to care about your life again?"

He was met with a distracted look from Azriel.

His brother was never distracted. He was never careless. He hadn't missed a day of training for no reason in hundreds of years. Cassian knew he still trained every once in a while, but Azriel always found times to do it when no one else was around.

Azriel didn't have an answer for Cassian, at least not one he would like.

How could I care for my life when her's is over? he thought. By the desperate look on Cassian's face, he could tell his brother knew the answer.

"I lost her too. I know it was different with the two of you, you were each others'... person, but she was as much my sister as you are my brother. I didn't... I didn't even get to say goodbye." Cassian finally broke at the confession. He hadn't let himself think about it, he had to keep himself together for Azriel. "The last time I talked to her, we where fighting over food. She stole the slice of cake I had saved for myself, I called her an inconvenience and a burden, she called me a spoiled bat who needs to learn to share." He let out a bittersweet laugh at the memory. They were usually at each others' throats, and when they weren't, they were teamed up to annoy someone else in their family. But they loved each other, always were there for one another, except in the end, when it mattered most.

"24 hours later, I was picking out the sarcophagus my sister was going to be laid in. I would have let her have all of my leftovers, all of my desert, if it meant I just got one last conversation with her." Choking up, Cassian sank to the floor, a wave of familiar grief washing over him.

Azriel joined him, crying as he hugged his brother.

The two illyrians, sat like that for a while. Long after their tears had dried, long after the sun had gone down, Cassian finally spoke up.

"Why don't you go see her? Visiting helps me, talking to her even though I know she can't hear is something I do often."

In truth, Azriel hadn't gone to his best friend's mausoleum since the funeral. He couldn't see her like that, couldn't come to terms with it.

These past 6 months had been dark. Everyone was mourning her, many of the people of Velaris included, but none more than Azriel. Part of him had died, laid in the cold marble box that held her body. For the first few months, he had completely disconnected from reality. He went on with his daily routine, he trained, ate, went on missions, did paperwork, slept. But it was as it he was on autopilot, as if the real Azriel had been asleep that whole time.

Two months ago, he woke up. It was sudden, he had gone to his room for the first time in a while to grab some books that had been long overdo at the library, and the priestesses had kindly told him if they didn't get them back he would be banned for life.

Thats when he saw the blanket on the chair by his desk. She had given it to him over a century ago. It was a birthday present, a wool blanket that was enchanted to smell like her always. She had played it off as a self centered gift, so he doesn't forget about his favorite person while away on missions, in front of their friends, but Azriel knew it wasn't that. Adelaide had always been a master gift giver, and she also knew Azriel had trouble sleeping most nights, but he never had any problems falling asleep on the couch next to her after a long night of conversations, wrapped comfortably in her own wool blanket.

He hadn't slept without it till the night she died.

Then, he picked it up, trying to see if the enchantment still worked. And that was all it took for him to wake up. It was awful, every bad feeling he had been too far disassociated to feel hit him at once. He curled up on the floor with the blanket wrapped around his hands and stayed there for days, silent tears never ceasing to fall.

After getting yelled at by Madja, who Nesta had called to knock some sense into him, he got up and went to her room, where he remained most of his days.

He sat in the chair in the corner of the room, only eating to quiet his stomach, and tried as hard as he could to detach himself from the never ending agony that was his life now.

He told Cas he would see her, the general's face lighting up at the news.

He felt guilty, making Cassian so happy for something he knew would later destroy him.

Hours after Cassian had left the room, as the sun came up, Azriel went to his room to grab the blanket he hadn't touched in 2 months. Then he grabbed Truth Teller, wrote his final request, and went to see Adelaide.

The building was large, and beautifully constructed. He would have been happy that she had a resting place deserving of her, but he knew Rhysand only spent that much money and made it this beautiful to try and lighten the guilt he felt.

The Shadowsinger stopped by the entrance, the sarcophagus without a lid placed up on the platform.

Before the funeral, Helion had come to place a enchantment on her body that would keep it preserved.

It had been a show of good will, Adelaide had been head of the Night Court's scholarly texts, education, and research. The two had met to have academic conversations at least once every few months for decades.

But as Azriel looked down at her, it felt like a cruel punishment from Helion.

6 months later, she was still as beautiful as she was the last time he saw her, and she was still just as dead.

This was where he would remain, his final request was to be laid to rest in the same building. He would be adding unnecessary pain onto his loved ones who had suffered so much already, but for the first time in his life, Azriel had decided to put himself in front of his family.

Looking her over one last time, he realized he was now completely numb.

Azriel held the gifted blanket and went to take off the one she currently had. Based off the fact it seemed to have been picked out with meticulous care to match Adelaide's coloring, and her outfit, there was no doubt it had been placed their by Mor.

On her lap, previously being covered by the blanket, laid a large and very old book.

Had one of the scholars she worked with placed it? One of the educators?

Strange marks littered the cover, but no title. Not till he opened the first page did he see what it was.

The Walking Dead

A cruel pick. Who would ever leave such a book with a corpse?

The second page was blank, so was the third, so was the fourth. Thumbing through the book, Azriel just about gave up looking at the blank pages when he finally found one with writing.

It seemed to be a poem, but it was formatted too strangely.

The title at the top read Eternally Intertwined.

A spell.

He almost dropped the book at the realization.

No one had left this book, it had been fate that had given it to him, kept it here waiting for him to stumble upon it.

He knew what he needed to do.

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #rhysand angst #rhysand x reader #azriel angst #azriel #acotar fic #rhysand x oc #azriel x oc #~ lia's betrayal series ~#rhysand

111 notes · View notes

elysiaheaven · 2 days

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐘-(𝐒𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥)-𝐉𝐢𝐚𝐨𝐪𝐢𝐮 𝐱 𝐅.𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-(The Fox's Wedding Sequel!)

@kianasflowers Banner credit!

Mentions of Gorey descriptions! Beheading descriptions

Dear Mei,

I realized that the village I'm in needs my help, I just remembered everything. Sorry for not replying for.. a couple of years?

I hope everyone is fine and well! It's a long story how I ended like this. But, I hope I will be able to see you again.

I really want to meet all but I can't! I have to save these people so, Maybe I'll die.

My location is the Xianzhou Luofu, If you want to meet me. You can! But I don't know how I'll be by the time you come or this letter.

Maybe dead, a corpse.

Or Alive, Helping people.

I hope that man who calls himself god wouldn't win...

Hey Mei, Will you get me some new kimono and a seed of the sakura tree? If I died. Place it beside my grave.

If I live...

Present day

The days in Yaoqing were quiet but heavy, filled with both healing and the lingering shadows of your shared trauma. You and Jiaoqiu spent much of your time indoors, a small, humble home nestled in a quiet corner of the village. The walls that held you both felt both like a sanctuary and a cage, protecting you from the outside world while reminding you of the isolation brought by your injuries.

You struggled with your mobility, the pain in your neck and feet making every step a reminder of the glass shards and the torment you had endured. Walking was a challenge; sometimes, even the simplest movement felt like an insurmountable task. And Jiaoqiu—his blindness had taken away much of his independence, and though he tried to adjust, it was clear the world felt different to him now, unfamiliar and unforgiving.

Cooking had become a trial for both of you. You would attempt to stand by the stove, wincing as you leaned against the counter, trying to prepare a simple meal. But even that was difficult. Your body protested with every movement, and Jiaoqiu—once so self-sufficient—was now struggling to eat due to the severity of his internal wounds. Spicy food, which he had once enjoyed, now caused him immense discomfort, his body rejecting the heat as it tried to heal.

There were moments of despair, moments where you both felt as though the weight of your past was too much to bear. The nights were particularly hard for Jiaoqiu, plagued by vivid nightmares that left him trembling and drenched in sweat. You would wake to the sound of his ragged breaths, his body tense with the horrors that played out in his mind.

Jiaoqiu stirred in his sleep, his body tense as the nightmare took hold. His breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling unevenly, trapped in the throes of a memory turned twisted and nightmarish.

In his dream, the air was thick with the smell of blood, the sound of clashing metal, and the sight of Hoolay standing before him, blade in hand. Jiaoqiu was bound, unable to move, his limbs frozen as he watched helplessly. You stood on the ground before Hoolay, your body bloodied, your neck exposed—ready for the final blow.

"No…" Jiaoqiu gasped, his voice hoarse, barely able to form the words. His throat tightened, his heart pounding against his ribs, desperate to stop what was about to happen.

But the scene continued, cruel and unrelenting. Hoolay's lips curled into a sneer, eyes dark and unfeeling as he raised the blade high above your head.

"Don't do it!" Jiaoqiu screamed, his voice breaking. But Hoolay only laughed, cold and merciless, the sound echoing in the empty space.

You turned to face Jiaoqiu, your eyes wide, filled with a strange, unsettling calm. Blood dripped from your wounds, your body trembling, but your lips twisted into a smile—a horrifying, broken smile.

"You did this," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of sorrow and accusation. "It's your fault I died, Jiaoqiu."

He shook his head, eyes wide with terror. "No… No, I didn't mean for this to happen!"

But you only laughed, a haunting, echoing sound that filled the air. "Of course, you did. You were too weak to save me. You let this happen."

Tears streamed down his face as he struggled against the invisible bonds, desperate to reach you, to stop what was happening. "I tried! I tried to save you!"

Your smile widened, grotesque and unnatural, your eyes hollow, as if all the life had been drained from them. "Too late," you hissed, your voice turning sharp, venomous. "You always fail, don't you?"

Hoolay’s blade descended swiftly, and you didn’t flinch. You just stood there, still smiling as the sharp edge came down, slicing through your neck with sickening precision. The sound of flesh tearing and bone cracking filled Jiaoqiu’s ears, louder than anything he had ever heard before.

"NOOO!" Jiaoqiu screamed, his voice raw, his throat burning as the world spun around him. He couldn't bear to watch, but he couldn’t look away.

Your head rolled from your shoulders, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Your body crumpled, lifeless, the blood pooling around you, a stark contrast to the eerie smile still lingering on your severed face.

Jiaoqiu sobbed, shaking uncontrollably, as Hoolay’s mocking laughter rang out. "Look at her," Hoolay taunted, kicking your head towards Jiaoqiu's feet. "Look at what you let happen."

Jiaoqiu was paralyzed, his mind broken, the sight of your dismembered form seared into his brain. Your head lay inches from him, eyes still open, still staring at him with that unnerving smile.

"I’ll never leave you," your voice whispered, even though your mouth didn’t move. "I’ll haunt you forever… You deserve this, Jiaoqiu. This is what you made me."

Jiaoqiu screamed again, his heart tearing apart as your words echoed endlessly in his mind. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

But in the nightmare, there was no escape. Hoolay stepped closer, blade dripping with your blood, his grin widening. "You failed her once," he sneered, "and now you’ll keep failing. Over, and over, and over again."

Jiaoqiu's hands clutched at his head, unable to bear the torment. "Please… stop…"

But the nightmare only deepened. Hoolay raised the blade once more, aiming it toward Jiaoqiu this time, his voice cold and final. "It's time for you to join her."

It’s your fault. You let her die.

In the nightmare, your voice echoed, twisted and unnatural, as you stood over him. Headless, your body loomed, holding your severed head in one hand. The blood dripped slowly, pooling beneath you, and your lips—still smiling—moved, whispering something too familiar.

“Jiaoqiu." your voice rasped. “They’ll stuff us both in the secret box… of the goldfish.”

Jiaoqiu’s heart pounded violently in his chest. The words made no sense, but the terror they filled him with was overwhelming. You stepped closer, head dangling from your fingers as if it were nothing more than a toy. The smile on your lips widened, grotesque, and your dead eyes locked onto his.

“They’ll put us together," you continued, "inside that box. You and me… forever.”

Jiaoqiu couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. His body felt frozen, paralyzed by fear. His hands trembled, desperately trying to claw himself out of the nightmare, but it was useless. You bent down, pressing your headless body against his, your cold, bloodstained hands grabbing him, holding him tight.

“We’re going together,” you hissed, your breath cold against his skin. “Inside the box… together.”

He screamed, finally breaking through the silence, but it didn’t stop. Your grip tightened, your bloody fingers digging into his skin, pulling him into the darkness.

Suddenly, the world seemed to collapse. Your body went limp, falling to the floor in a heap of broken limbs. And then, with a chilling whisper, your head rolled toward him, your mouth still moving as it spoke: “It’s a nightmare, Jiaoqiu… Wake up!”

The words jolted him, and Jiaoqiu woke with a gasp, his breath ragged and uneven. His body felt heavy, drenched in cold sweat, his heart still hammering against his ribs. He blinked, expecting to see the comforting glow of light in the room—expecting to see you beside him.

But there was nothing.

Only darkness.

For a moment, Jiaoqiu’s heart stopped. He blinked again, harder this time, trying to adjust his eyes to the blackness that surrounded him. But no matter how many times he tried, no light came. It hit him then, like a punch to the chest: the Tumbledust poison. The nightmare had faded, but the reality remained.

He was blind.

The room felt suffocating, the weight of the darkness pressing in on him, as if the nightmare hadn’t fully let go. Jiaoqiu's breath came quicker, panic rising in his throat. He reached out, his trembling hands searching the bed, the space beside him where you should be. But all he found was emptiness.

“Where… where are you?” he whispered, his voice shaking, as his fingers frantically felt the sheets, the pillow, the empty space. His hands moved faster, desperate to find you, to feel your warmth. But there was nothing.

Jiaoqiu’s mind raced. You were there, he thought. You were right there.

But all he could feel was the cold emptiness of the bed, the sheets crumpled beneath his fingers, his touch finding no trace of you. Fear crept up his spine, his chest tightening with every second that passed.

“Where are you?” he whispered again, louder this time, his voice tinged with desperation. His hands moved in every direction, reaching for the space around him, the nightstand, the floor, anything that could prove you were still here.

Jiaoqiu’s breathing quickened, and panic clawed at his throat as his hands frantically searched the bed. His voice trembled, his desperation rising. "Where are you?" he whispered, louder this time, his heart pounding in the oppressive silence. His mind was spinning, trapped in the darkness, unable to find you, unable to escape the terror gripping him.

Just as he was on the verge of screaming, of losing himself completely to the fear, he felt it—arms wrapping around him from behind, warm and gentle. The familiar scent of you washed over him, grounding him in the present.

“It’s okay,” you whispered softly into his ear, your voice calm and soothing. “I’m right here.”

Jiaoqiu froze, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away as your warmth enveloped him. He exhaled a shaky breath, his heart still racing but slowing, his panic easing.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you continued, your voice a soft murmur. “So I stepped out for a bit. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He was still trembling, still uncertain if this was real or another nightmare. The darkness made everything uncertain. He mumbled, barely able to form words. “Come… kiss me. So I know it’s really you.”

You shifted, moving in front of him, and your lips brushed his—soft, familiar, real. Jiaoqiu exhaled in relief, his body relaxing against you. He clung to you as if you were his lifeline, his grip tight and desperate.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your lips. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to doubt you. I… I was so scared.”

You smiled softly, stroking his cheek. “It’s fine,” you whispered, kissing his forehead gently. “It’s okay. I’m here now. You’re safe.”

You cradled Jiaoqiu, feeling his breathing slow and deepen as sleep finally claimed him, you tried to follow him into that same restful darkness. But something was wrong. Even in the silence of the night, whispers crept into your ears, soft at first, but growing louder with each passing moment. The voices of countless souls, pleading, moaning, begging for peace.

Their cries sent a chill down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding Jiaoqiu tighter, as if his warmth could shield you from the cold weight of their voices.

"Help us… free us… give us peace…"

The words wrapped around your mind, echoing endlessly. You could feel the souls crowding around you, unseen but close, their desperation pressing in on you from all sides. Your heart raced as you gritted your teeth, willing the whispers to stop, but they only grew more insistent.

You buried your face against Jiaoqiu, your grip tightening, as though if you held on tightly enough, they wouldn’t be able to touch you. His steady breathing was the only thing anchoring you to this reality. But the voices wouldn’t stop. They wanted something. They needed something from you.

You tried to block them out, tried to convince yourself that it was all in your head. But the feeling of their presence was too strong, too real. Your hands trembled as you clung to Jiaoqiu, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

"Release us…"

Your eyes shot open, the darkness around you feeling suddenly alive, shifting and moving with the weight of the spirits. You didn’t dare look. You couldn’t. The fear was too overwhelming, too paralyzing. The souls weren’t leaving you alone. They were here—right here.

Your teeth ground together painfully as you forced your eyes shut again, but the whispers slipped into your mind like cold fingers, clawing at your thoughts. You held back a sob, trying to breathe through the terror.

Jiaoqiu stirred slightly in his sleep, but he didn’t wake, his exhaustion keeping him under. You envied him. You wanted to escape into the same peaceful darkness, but the souls wouldn’t let you. Their demands grew louder, their voices overlapping into a cacophony that threatened to drown out everything else.

You gripped Jiaoqiu so tightly now that your arms ached, your body tense and shaking. You could feel the tears welling up behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

But sleep would not come for you. The souls kept you trapped, their whispers pulling you deeper into fear, into the knowledge that you couldn’t help them. You couldn’t even help yourself.

And so you lay there, eyes closed, teeth clenched, shivering in the darkness, too afraid to sleep, too terrified to let go.

#honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #hsr x reader #jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu #jiaoqiu hsr #hsr jiaoqiu #honkai star rail x reader

57 notes · View notes

a-secret-bolton-vampire · 3 days

Text

CW: Rape, incest, CSA

This is actually not a strictly A Song of Ice and Fire post here, but it overlaps in some ways so I figured I'd write this.

Anyone who has not read the web serials Worm or Ward and wishes to avoid spoilers, don't read this post:

Disclaimer out of the way, I've found striking parallels between fandom reaction for both A Song of Ice and Fire and Parahumans regarding how characters who survived sexual abuse view their abusers, in a dangerously disturbing way.

For this I'm going to specifically be using the examples of Aeron and Theon Greyjoy from A Song of Ice and Fire to compare and contrast to Victoria Dallon in Ward. All three were psychologically and sexually tormented by their abusers during the course of the series. Theon is a young adult by the time Ramsay gets his hands on him, but Aeron and Victoria were both children when they were molested by family members so they will be the main two characters to compare.

In the case of Euron and Aeron, there are a (sadly very vocal) minority who are ready to dismiss Euron's danger to others by specifically using Aeron's abuse against him. Sure, Euron is evil and horrifically abused him and Urrigon when they were children, and it is understandable that Aeron would be mortified of Euron. After all, he tries to warn people about Euron repeatedly, only for his attempts to stop him to all fail.

The response by this section of the fandom to claims of Euron being built up as a major threat are essentially that Aeron's trauma is in the way of his ability to perceive Euron objectively. Is Euron actually as dangerous as Aeron claims? You can say the same for Theon and Ramsay. After all, Theon is half-mad warning Stannis about Ramsay, and Stannis is bringing some Rational Realness to the forefront by saying "what do I have to fear him for?"

Since GRRM is never releasing another A Song of Ice and Fire book it's hard to say what he intends but he could definitely intend for this to be the case. That said, there is a story featuring a similar character that is completed. Ward!

Victoria Dallon's sister, Amy, is a cape with healing abilities, though as the series progresses we know that healing is just the tip of the iceberg; she can change the biological makeup of living things. Amy is adopted, and has never felt any love from anyone other than Victoria. Amy develops deep romantic love for her sister, however, and then begins a series of bad decisions that just serve to deepen her already deep mental breakdown.

Amy proceeds to; alter Victoria's brain chemistry to give her compulsive romantic thoughts about her, then following healing Victoria after a battle, she spends several days alone with her, during which she repeatedly rapes her, erases her memories of said rapes, until her mental health deteriorates even further and she is unable to use her power properly and turns Victoria into the Wretch: a mass of flesh and limbs and heads, rather than anything actually human.

Then Victoria spends 2 years in a mental institution, stuck in a body she hates, all the while fighting the compulsions Amy left in place. When she finally returns Victoria to normal at the end of Worm, it is actually against her will and not because she had a change of heart or got more confident.

Then we get to Ward, where Victoria is the main POV. As is very obvious, Victoria is struggling with extremely intense PTSD, mentioning Amy is enough to trigger a dissociative flashback, and she wants absolutely nothing to do with her anymore: and fucking rightfully so.

Victoria also warns people about Amy. She warns her therapist to try to reach out to Amy before she hurts someone else, she warns literally anyone who will listen about Amy and what she might end up doing. We may not know what it is that Ramsay and Euron end up doing, but we do know what Amy does.

She refuses all help and doubles down on bad decisions, enslaves people with her powers, later imprisons and torments and touches Victoria again against her will, and becomes the dictatorial monster in charge of an entire planet. Victoria's warnings prove to be extremely prophetic and extremely real.

Now lets get into some discourse shall we?

Despite Amy being a rapist who rapes her sister, enslaves others via mind control, and literally never once improving as a person or acknowledging that her actions even caused harm, there are still those who think Amy isn't at fault. Some might find this post, but I don't really care. Amy is at fault for things Amy did. Victoria is not at fault for hugging her sister like a normal human being when Amy is upset, Amy didn't do her a favour healing her because then she just raped her and then really couldn't fix her back to a human body, and Amy isn't absolved of these sins because she healed a lot of people.

Essentially, Victoria is sometimes blamed for being raped by her sister, the rapist, despite Amy canonically being a manipulative lying liar rapist.

Okay so that doesn't seem to related to what the fandom says with Euron and Ramsay, right? After all, we don't really blame Aeron for being molested and Theon for also being sexually tortured and abused by Ramsay, do we? There are factors as to why that is (mostly that Aeron and Theon are men and Victoria is a woman; if you don't buy this argument look at people who say Cersei deserved to be sexually assaulted by Robert or try to use "the times" as an excuse to overlook Daenerys also being raped by Drogo) but there is an overlap here.

Amy being able to get away with that she did only to go on and hurt so many other people is a meta-commentary on the way survivors of sexual abuse are disbelieved or blamed for what happened to them. Naturally, those real like abusers end up going to abuse other people too. Fuck, even in the fandom, Victoria is still fucking blamed for things that she had absolutely no choice in the matter.

Which leads back to Theon and Aeron. Yes, trauma impacts the way you remember traumatic events, and that means objectivity can get lost at times. It can for Victoria and Theon and Aeron. But that trauma, the dissociation, memory problems, all of these together, are there for a reason. And that's because someone came along, ruined another persons life for their own pleasure and satisfaction, and then got away with it.

Victoria warned the world about what Amy would do, and she was unfortunately correct. Theon and Aeron warned others about Ramsay and Euron. Survivors should be believed, and not be dismissed. After all, it isn't our fault that we got abused. People may hear things about Euron or Amy or Ramsay, but the people who truly know who they are---what they are capable of, what they are actually like---are the people they abused.

So yeah, it's kinda fucking lame when I hear someone go "Stannis gonna prove Theon wrong with facts and logic" as if he doesn't, I don't know, have insight into Ramsay's psychology in ways Stannis doesn't. Same with Euron. Same with Amy.

Also fucking read Ward it hurts as intensely as it kicks ass.

#asoiaf meta #asoiaf discourse #euron greyjoy #ramsay bolton #theon greyjoy #aeron greyjoy #parahumans #worm web serial #ward web serial #amy dallon #victoria dallon #i swear if i get any amy apologists in my mentions I'm going to become the joker

54 notes · View notes

readerforexiao · 2 days

Text

Ataraxy | 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ

⌗ Wriothesley x Reader | Fluff, Romance, Established Relationship | tw: plot, light mentions of trauma, readers job was previously a healer, briefly implied abuse & dark past & ptsd, mention of a somewhat graphic injury/ies, same au as Sacrifice | wc: 4.5k |

⌗ A/n: i rushed and i hate it, but I'll get nowhere if i second guess everything, so yes this is all "writing practice" for me, especially dialogue bcs that's one of my weaker skills.

⌗ "And how could you not smile upon seeing life pour out from those truly deserving of happiness?”

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, it bathed the sky in a warm, golden light, gradually shifting through hues of orange, pink, and purple. A gentle breeze whispered through the tall grass, swaying the blossoming fields of flowers in a soft, rhythmic dance.

The atmosphere was peaceful, undisturbed, until the soft murmur of their voices blended with the distant birdsong as they walked hand in hand along the winding pathways.

"Where are you taking me?" you asked, curiosity bubbling up as you felt the tickling sensation of what you assumed to be grass brushing against your legs.

"Somewhere," Wriothesley replied vaguely, pausing only for a moment to adjust your blindfold. "You can’t see anything, right?"

"Not a thing!" you answered, chuckling softly as you extended your hand free of his to the side, feeling the tips of grass graze your palm as you crossed the edge of the pathway. "But I can definitely feel long grass, so I’m guessing it’s─"

"Nothing!" he cleared, his voice rising a little higher than he intended before adding in a softer, more composed tone, "Dear"

“Alright, alright. It’s nothing, I shall assume no further” you teased, squeezing his hand as he resumed guiding you into the unknown.

After years of survival and constant fighting, the nightmares that shaped you had begun to fade when you settled into a quieter, more domestic lifestyle. Not to say the healing process happened overnight or that it would ever truly heal completely, but you'd be surprise how much of a difference the right company can make.

One small decision can change everything, but it's never without challenges.

Old habits die hard, as they say. Even now, despite knowing you were the safest with the man holding your hand, a deep instinctual memory of the times when you had been held down and robbed of your vision against your will surfaced, and subconsciously you fell back on those old instincts of paranoia.

Your ears sharpened to the sounds surrounding you, picking up the melodic chirping of birds, the rustle of grass, and the faint whistle of the breeze. The air carried the earthy scent of damp soil, the crisp freshness of dew-covered grass, and the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers. You recognized the outdoors as instinctively as you recognized your lover's eyes in the dark. However, beyond that little knowledge, your awareness stopped there.

Still, with blind trust, you let him guide you, placing your heart in his weathered hands as though he held the gift of life itself.

You drew in a deep breath, silently pleading for your anxiety to settle— a battle you’d often lost. But this one time, against all odds, it listened and quieted itself as though it finally caves and realized it needed not fret when Wriothesley was by your side.

Wriothesley squeezed your entwined fingers in reassurance once again, and you couldn’t help but recall the night his smile first drew you in; the fateful night of your first encounter, when his body convulsed and rough screams tore from his throat as you removed several shards of metal and glass from his torso. As you wiped the sweat from his brow and patted it away from his chest, unable to stop yourself from flinching at the sight of the pain and exhaustion etched onto his beautiful face.

The second when your gaze collided with his and you met the muted shades in his eyes— though lacking vivid color— something about them infused your world with a vibrancy it had never known before. His warm smile, droopy and effortless in their gratitude, lulling a moment of distress into peace like you have never known all those times your hands soaked in blood.

“How much longer?” you asked, but certainly you had no desire to rush because each minute with him was a joy, a treasured experience. Every second adored and loved, and time be damned if ever you wished it to hurry and run away from you.

“Impatient, are we?” his low voice replied, and you could see the grin that was fixed on his face in your memory. “Just a little further.”

A hint of his excitement slipped through.

How could he restrain the childlike spirit that had been stolen from him when your hand was in his and your love within his heart?

And how could you not smile upon seeing life pour out from those truly deserving of happiness?

Thus, the anticipation mounted as you noticed the subtle shift in pace, curious about what could possibly make the Duke so eager to leave his work unfinished.

Soon, the space was filled with an eerie hollowness, and the sound of your shoes echoed as they crossed the rocks and puddles.

You froze, a shiver of subconscious fear running through you. Wriothesley paused to momentarily release your hand, hus absence startling you but not for a moment too long, and his arms were looping around your waist to bring you close.

"We're entering a cave," He informed, and your love for the man sunk deeper into your core.

It was the relief that came from his small act of thoughtfulness— the brief bit of information, the tone in which it was voiced, and the actions that followed it. His ability to compromise and his effort to balance his excitement and the secrecy while simultaneously reassuring you. It is something of such significance that lies beyond anyone's comprehension.

The chirping of birds gradually faded, replaced by a new muffled sound— an almost imperceptible trickling, like water.

As he neared the surprise he had arranged, Wriothesley stopped and untied the blindfold.

"Are we there yet?"

"Not even close, but almost.." He replied while parting the vines to reveal an entrance to the otherworldly beauty that awaited beyond, the scenery that stole your breath and left your heart momentarily still.

Every inch of the landscape was mesmerizing, as if untouched by time, raw and unfiltered.

You turned in slow circles and everywhere you faced yet another stunning detail unfolded— nature at its purest. You were encased within these naturally crafted walls of rock that made you feel safe and protected from the world outside, as if nothing could possibly reach you.

It was a place where the sun filtered in from above in a way that neither overshadowed the elements below nor diminished its own brilliance, and it's beams of light casting golden hues over the vibrant wildflowers that carpeted the patches of dirt.

A sight like this was bound to leave a lasting impression and how wonderful that it was a memory you would always associate with him.

"Wriothesley..." you whispered his name, breathless, and he swelled with pride.

"Too early to be speechless, sweetheart, there's more"

He led you carefully over the slippery rocks as the water roared beside you, and you couldn’t resist the urge to let your fingers dance through the cascading spray.

Wriothesley watched with delight as your face lit up with wonder and awe. He cherished the way simple things brought you joy, that he knew this would brighten your day. Simply put, Wriothesley loved that you loved him and that things like this could be shared with you.

Eventually, the path narrowed, forcing you both to move in single file, and for a brief moment, you were engulfed in the cool darkness of another cave. This time, no worries ladened your shoulders. You walked with an eagerness, anticipating what could possibly be an even better sight than the one you just saw.

You emerged into a small forest where the sunlight, mirroring the waterfalls, seeped through the thick canopy of trees above, shining dappled patches of light across the forest floor. The air now smelled of pine. The soft crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot as the distant hum of the waterfall fell behind you.

"Beautiful,” you muttered in absolute wonder, entranced by the passing trees and their distinctive appearances, the waving of their brances. Each root told a story while the sturdy bark that ascended into the sky provided shelter for countless animals over the years.

“How on earth did you find this place?"

“Believe it or not, I got lost"

You spared him a glance at his reply. "You.. got lost?"

"Is it hard to believe?" He cleared his throat. “Sometimes the best discoveries happen when you’re not exactly where you planned to be.”

You raised an eyebrow, “So, you were just wandering when you stumbled upon this place?”

"I mean-" Wriothesley hesitated, his mouth opening but then falling closed when the words slipped from his grasp before he could fully form them. He knew there was no point in trying to force the little lie, as innocent as it was, without solid ground beneath it— especially not one you’d believe. He was always confident, quick with his words, but when it came to you, the truth weighed heavier and excuses felt all the more shallow.

The idea of him having enough free time to leisurely explore Fontaine was laughable. With the recent surge in criminal activity and the flood of court cases, both he and Neuvillette had been neck-deep in work. The Fortress of Meropide was overrun with new inmates, and managing the prison had become even more of a balancing act.

“What will it cost me to convince you that I simply got distracted on my way to a pickup point?” he joked, though a hint of nervousness underlined his words.

“Being distracted while on the job doesn’t reflect well on you, Your Grace.” You crossed your arms, an amused smile tugging at your lips as you entertained his playful banter.

“I’ll have you know, I was actually on my lunch break.”

"You hardly leave the house even on your days off," you commented. "You expect me to believe you left the prison on your lunch break for a stroll and ended up getting lost? Your sense of direction may be poor, but i doubt it's that poor Wriothesley."

“Okay, maybe I didn’t get lost in the traditional sense,” he admitted.

"I seriously doubt you got lost at all"

"Can I keep it a secret?" He asked.

“Are you trying to hide something from me, Wriothesley?” you teased. “Did you meet a secret lover here or something?”

His brows furrowed as he shot you an incredulous look. “I'm highly offended. A secret lover? Really? Do you think I’d go gallivanting around with someone else when I could be here with you?”

“I’m just saying, it’s not every day you find yourself wandering in the woods during a workday. It raises questions!”

He shook his head, a smile forming on his mouth despite himself. “You’ve got quite the imagination, but I assure you, my only agenda was to see if this place had any potential for a date. Trust me, this is all about you,” he insisted.

“Then why not just tell me?” you challenged, your words laced with the stubbornness that stemmed from the worries you grappled with every day.

Wriothesley hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation, his gaze was drawn to a single wildflower, unique among the others, nestled between the roots of an old tree, its petals swaying wirh the breeze. When he suddenly stopped walking, you were left puzzled and even more so when he released your hand and turned his back to you. You watched as he crouched down silently, his movements hidden from view as his fingers brushed the cool earth, gently picking the flower he had been eyeing.

For a moment, he simply admired it, its soft colors a stark contrast to the ruggedness of his hand and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, thinking of how it paled in comparison to your beauty. Rising to his feet, he tucked the flower behind his back and returned to you.

"I know how much you tend to worry..." He held out a deep sapphire rose adorned with shimmering flecks of frozen ice. You had never seen anything like it despite visiting many places and encountering countless flowers; none compared to this one.

As you accepted the flower he offered, your fingers brushed during the exchange and you felt the coolness of his bare skin, unencumbered by gloves, gear, or gauntlets.

Your attempt at steadying your racing heart all but failed miserably.

"...And I would rather you enjoy our evening without fretting over how I stumbled upon this place.” You were focused on admiring the rose, still, you frowned at his words. "The phrasing of your words worry me, Wriothesley..."

"Do you not trust me, sweetheart?"

"I do," you said, fixing him with a serious gaze that matched your expression. "Just not with your own life"

Archons have mercy. He couldn't tell if they had blessed him or forsaken him for his heart thudded in a way it never had before, as if he were in the throes of a heart attack. It was a rhythm of emotion he had never experienced before you, and it both exhilarated and terrified him. How could you love him so fiercely, caring so deeply for a life he considered worthless and easily expendable?

Standing alone in the heart of the forest where you were surrounded by the curious gaze of a squirrel and its two tiny offspring, and three bunnies frolicking in the underbrush, their fur reminiscent of your favorite ice cream flavors: caramel, vanilla, and chocolate chip, the world came to a standstill. He thought the moment perfect, feeling as if he had all the time in the world and wished to remain as you were, regardless of the unanswered questions or the surprise he stayed late into the night after work to prepare for you. This was all he wanted: to hear your love confessed with his every breathing second.

"You've been reckless lately. I'm not sure if it's exhaustion or frustration, but I'm aware of the injuries you've tried to hide from me. You should know better than to think Sigewinne wouldn't snitch on you, " you chuckled.

"They were minor injuries," his hold on you tightened as he defended himself.

You flicked his nose.

"Minor? You dove off a cliff, got shot in the shoulder, sustained a knife wound in your thigh, and nearly crushed your other shoulder against a boulder! And how many times have you almost wrecked your gauntlets from punching too hard?"

"Correction, the bullet only grazed my shoulder."

"Oh, so that makes it better? Just a little love tap from a bullet, huh?" You snorted.

He rolled his eyes, but a smirk played on his lips.

You were in for a shock— he knew it would give you a heart attack if you learned that he stumbled upon this majestic place while chasing a few criminals near the waterfalls, ultimately, he had only caught the runaways after taking a tumble over the edge himself. The punishment for revealing such reckless behavior was far too great; he couldn’t bear the thought of enduring days of silence from you without a single kiss.

How did we get here? Wriothesley chuckled at the thought. This conversation was taking a turn completely opposite of what this trip was meant for, but of course he should have known better given your stubborn and caring nature.

You could read him like an open book, and impressively, you could do the same even when it was closed, knowing him so well that you didn't need to see the pages. You could recall chapter numbers along with its contents and even quote your favorite lines. You remembered every contour of the lines on his palms, just as you could recall each scar he bore and the stories behind them.

He cupped your face, grinning ear to ear.

"What's so funny?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Just thinking about how much you care," he replied, feigning innocence.

"Care? I’m practically having a heart attack over here!" You exclaimed, your hands clenched into fists, but then you remembered the rose you were holding and eased up.

Wriothesley noticed and gently took it from you, tucking it safely behind your ear. “You’re right, and that’s why I can't tell you, it'll only worry you more. This trip was supposed to be about relaxation, not me giving you gray hairs.”

“Thoughtful and sweet, and I love you for making time to take me on dates, especially considering how busy you are...”

"But?"

"But you're a crazy bastard, and however you stumbled upon this heavenly place is definitely a cause for concern."

'That’s exactly why I won’t tell you that I fell from the waterfalls and tumbled from that tree over there.' His smile quickly vanished, and his eyes widened as he realized he hadn’t kept that thought in his head like he’d meant to.

“Archons save me, my lover is a complete idiot!” you exclaimed, the frustration spilling out of you. He flinched at the sharpness of your voice, his playful demeanor shifting to one of mild concern.

“Okay, okay, I might’ve misjudged that one,” he admitted, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “But I’m here alive, aren't I!”

“Fine?” you echoed incredulously, throwing him a glare.

Wriothesley took a step closer as he tried to soothe you, not realizing he was digging his grave. “I didn't mean to worry you, my love. I needed to catch those criminals when things got a little... chaotic.”

“A little chaotic? You think falling from a waterfall and crashing into a tree is ‘a little chaotic’?"

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to calm down. "If you pull another stunt like that, I will tie you to that same damn tree.”

He raised a brow, “Oh really? You think you can keep me tied up?”

“I’ll find a way,” you shot back, trying to sound more assertive than you felt. “You may be strong, but I’m resourceful. Just imagine the look on your face when you realize you’re not getting away this time.”

Wriothesley chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “I have to admit, the thought of you trying to tie me up is rather amusing."

"Talk more and see where that gets you, Wriothesley"

"I'm a yapper, sweetheart. Talking is my specialty"

Clearly

ᯓ ✴︎˚｡⋆

The path you walked wound gently out of the forest, branches brushing your shoulders as you distanced from its heart until the trees thinned, and the setting sun grew visible, spilling ahead into an open field to reveal a hidden clearing where the butterflies fluttered between the long glass, and a soft brisk of wind carried the scent of pollen through the air.

In the center stood a lone tree, its branches heavy with blossoms that seemed to sway in dance with the breeze.

You drank in the sight, breathing it in like the crisp air that filled your lungs, knowing you would leave this place with its image seared into your soul, never to fade.

Amidst the haven of colors and a great many unique fragrances, a cozy little picnic blanket lay spread out, surrounded by cushions and a spread of food from the basket.

The dainty glow of seelie lights strung between the branches, spilling its orange warmth below, and along the pathway you strolled, an entourage of fireflies escorted you.

Wriothesley grinned so widely his cheeks ached, and his eyes stung from not blinking—he couldn’t bear to miss a single second of your awe-struck expression.

"What do you think? Did I redeem myself? " Wriothesley spoke, his voice blending seamlessly with nature's song—low, honeyed, and rough in all the right ways. It harmonized with the surroundings yet still managed to stand out and draw in your attention.

"Up until a few minutes ago I thought nothing could possibly beat the waterfalls.."

“Worth nearly dying for, wasn’t it?” Wriothesley teased, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But the humor fell flat as your expression shifted, disapproval etched across your face, your brow furrowed, and lips pressed into a tight line.

“Please don’t joke about that,” you said softly but firmly, the seriousness in your voice unmistakable. You hadn’t meant to darken the mood yet again, but after everything that had been said in the forest, one thing was clear— Wriothesley’s reckless disregard for his own life was far more troubling than he realized.

Wriothesley's expression faltered at the weight of your words. His gaze dropped briefly before meeting yours again, this time softer: understanding the concern behind your stern tone.

"I’m sorry, sweetheart," he said, "I didn’t mean to upset you."

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders loosening just a little. “It’s not about upsetting me. It’s about you not seeing the value in your own life. Every time you throw yourself into danger like that, it feels like you're slipping further away.”

His brows knitted together, “I’m not used to people worrying about me, not like you do,” he admitted quietly. “I guess I didn’t realize how much it bothered you.”

“It does only because I care. And I don’t want to lose you.”

Your faith in him was unshakable and you knew his strength, his resilience, and how capable he was of handling himself. But the world wasn’t as kind and it didn’t share your affection for him. If anything, it was the cruelty of that world that fed the fears that kept you up at night.

You had given all you could. And so had he.

Today was meant to rekindle your love and commitment after months of survival, sacrifice, and tireless work. This trip had been planned as a time to reconnect, to bask in the golden afternoon sun and lose yourselves in each other, making up for the moments you’d given away to the world. It was supposed to be just the two of you, wrapped in the peace of the scenery. Yet, as you stood before him, he realized this heartfelt conversation was exactly where all that time apart had led him.

Wriothesley was accustomed to worse, much worse. He had never experienced someone caring for him the way you did, and adjusting to that was knowingly going to be a challenge. In the past, his life felt meaningless. He fought without a clear purpose, indifferent to the thought of death; if it came, it came.

But every day spent with you was filled with stolen glances and lingering smiles, a desperate longing for your touch. You would sneak an hour from work to bring him lunch, slipping letters through a guard to reach him. You even adjusted your grocery shopping routes to pass by the prison, timing your visits for when new inmates were expected to arrive. Each small act was a testament to the connection you shared, a defiance against the constraints that kept you apart. And it made him realize how deeply he craved this kind of connection; how much he wanted to fight not just for himself, but for something greater.

This is what had been missing all along: a reason to fight, a reason to care. He now often found himself pondering the future, imagining a life where he wasn’t just surviving but truly living.

One thing he needed to improve was precisely what you had scolded him about: the value of his own life.

Happiness had the tendency to ebb and flow, and at times all those buried emotions and anxieties would surface, triggered by just a single word. But as you expressed your growing concern for the man before you, you felt an invisible weight lift from your chest, and a deep-seated worry begin to fade. A sudden wave of ease washed over you, as if nature in its ability to calm, had liberated you.

Wriothesley turned you around until the only view was of him framed against the painted sky. With a smile, he leaned in and rested his forehead against yours. His hands gliding down your forearm, chilled fingers elicting goosebumps. He took hold of your hand and guided it to his chest where you felt the steady rhythm of his heart quicken beneath your touch.

"I'm not asking you to change who you are— I know you can’t help but rush in headfirst. But being a bit more cautious wouldn’t hurt. What if next time you fall from a tree, hit your head, and end up with amnesia?"

"You’d take care of me until I remember?"

"Or I could use it as an excuse to finally be done with you for good."

"Yeah, no— don’t joke about that," he scoffed. "Like you'd actually leave me.. weren't you just talking my ear off about how much you love me?"

“You do know that if you die, you won’t see me again, right?”

“Well, damn, you have a point. I’ll just drag you into the afterlife with me.”

“How romantic,” you said, rolling your eyes as he leaned down to place a quick kiss on your cheek, his lips lingering as they moved to your ear.

“So romantic”

You laughed lightly, “Mhm,”

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” he pulled back to look at you, his eyes gleaming with flecks of mischief. “Imagine it— we could haunt all the places we loved.”

“Yeah, right. I can see it now: ‘The haunting couple’ who bicker about everything,” you chortled.

"I guess you wouldn't need to worry about me dying," he joked.

He nodded, his expression turning more serious. “Agreed. I want to make more memories with you— happier ones, not ones where I’m falling out of trees.”

A warmth spreader through you at the sincerity in his eyes. “Let’s just make sure you stay in one piece, alright?” you said, leaning in closer.

“Deal,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now, how about we make the most of this day together instead of talking about my impending doom?”

“That sounds like a plan,” you agreed, barely having a moment to process it before Wriothesley swept you off your feet, laughing at the squeal that escaped you.

Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he looked deep into your eyes, captivated by an irresistible pull that drew him closer. A tender smile blossomed on your lips as his lips finally met yours, your eyes gently closing as you surrendered to his affection. As the kiss deepened, the world around you seemed to fade away, time suspended in a perfect moment of intimacy. You were cocooned in a bubble of warmth, where only the two of you existed. His heartbeat pulsed steadily against your chest, resonating with your own.

With ease, he carried you over to the blanket spread out beneath the expansive sky and protective tree. The sun dipped lower behind the mountain peaks, seelie lights began to glow brighter as did the fireflies blurry beams.

As he set you down on the blanket, you looked up into his eyes and it sent a thrill through you.

“This,” he murmued against your lips, cheeks flushed and a hint of salive tracing his lower lip “is perfect.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the day’s worries lift as you nestled against him, the blanket enveloping you both. “It really is,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the magic of the moment.

"I love you.."

You leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Not as much as I love you"

47 notes · View notes

autumnmist101 · 2 days

Text

Hermit Head-cannons

Hello! I've been wanting to share some of my hermitcraft head-cannons and seen @silly-st4rrr was wanting to see some. So, thank you to them for giving me a reason to share. <3

General Head-cannons:

Hybrid hermits can morph forms on command or intentionally keep certain parts of each form on them at all times. However, they can also morph or go into full form involuntarily from things like nightmares, flashbacks, or just being around similar creatures for too long.

All mammal hybrids must get vaccinations yearly.

Hybrids can form in a number of ways. Some formed from contact with a creature’s DNA, some are born with the form, while others have been. . . magically infused with a form.

Traffic life victors recall all memories and emotions and trauma from the games. Non-victors recall major parts and major emotions, however, forget most of what happened.

When someone perma-dies in the games, they are immediately teleported back to hermitcraft/empires.

All worlds are connected via void, however, can be traversed via rifts, portals, teleporting, and through a main hub with shopping areas. (how do you think hermits get new clothes?) Group/duo head-cannons:

Pearl and Grian were inseparable the first week she was on the server.

Hermit Parent Club (HPC): Doc, Keralis, Joe Hills, Impulse, Skizz, Tango, Bdubs, Stress, and Beef (newest member) meet once every 2 months.

Gem, Pearl, and Mumbo will make up problems for when anyone in the Hermit Parent Club needs to feel parental.

Mumbo still wants a tower building rematch with Gem, who refuses to give him one.

Boatem still has sleepovers together monthly.

Scar and Pearl have an avoidance of chorus fruit and refuse to explain why to Grian.

It is now a rule that the ZITS crew must take a minimum of iron armor to ‘naked whatever raiding’.

Mumbo and Pearl will secretly eat red-stone torches together. Mumbo is the supplier.

Joe will supply Mumbo with redstone when he needs it. (He doesn't ask why he needs it.)

Doc and Ren have been trying to create the perfect dog treat. Problem is neither of them can bake.

Pearl and Bdubs will confide in each other on days where they feel too tall/short.

Afab hermits meet for Ladies Night at least once a month.

Bdubs and Scar still call Cleo 'Mom' from time to time.

Cleo and Pearl will talk about the games and how they wish things could have been different in DL.

That's all for now. I do have individual hermit head-cannons, but this post is long enough. Hope you enjoyed! <3

49 notes · View notes

splatsvilles-fashionista · 19 hours

Text

I'm deliriously sleepy right now so this probably isn't going to be particularly cohesive, but I've got like a pet theory as to why Judd and Mr. Grizz are sapient despite allegedly being (or used to be) regular animals, and it has to do with cryosleep.

The bonus Alterna Log you get from After Alterna states that Mr. Grizz retained consciousness in his cryogenic stasis, dreaming for thousands of years before reawakening after the Ark Polaris crashes back to Earth.

And I think that's the crux here, the dreaming. Try to imagine dreaming for thousands of years, what happens to a mind that dreams for that long? There's stories of people living out full lives in their dreams while unconscious for just a couple of minutes. How would it change you, to exist in such a state, your subconscious endlessly digesting and processing your memories and emotions?

I have to imagine that after a point, you would start to realize you were dreaming, and when you do then you could in theory start shaping the dream. A world all of your own, to change as you see fit.

But how long until that dream gets boring and mundane, even to an animal mind? Beasts need enrichment too, so it is only a matter of time until our dreaming bear starts to prod and poke at the edges of the prison of his mind, until they start to budge, until they start to expand.

There's really nothing that supports this in the text of the game, of course. As said this is a pet theory. It also doesn't explain why Li'l Judd is sapient, but it's not entirely unthinkable that it's a trait the cloning process would retain. There's studies showing that things like trauma can become genetic and hereditary, so it doesn't seem unfeasible to me that such a fundamental change to your consciousness would be genetic, too.

#splatoon 3 #mr grizz #judd splatoon #lil judd

36 notes · View notes

alessiamalfoyzabini · 2 hours

Text

Dark Moon | EXTRA 01 | Monster

Pairing | yandere!gangster!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 3,9k

Warnings | +18, yandere themes, knife wound, memories of past trauma and abuse, references to an attempted murder and escape attempt (present in the main story), Stockholm syndrome, guilt, Hoseok loves to psychologically torture MC, references to MC's traumatic past (hard yandere Jimin) and her love-filled present (soft yandere Jimin) that MC calls before and after, smut (fingering, wet kisses, nipple sucking), non-sexual choking attempt, fear and anxiety, this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | You thought the worst was over, but the dark shadows are denser than you thought.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys!

After receiving many comments asking for an extra chapter for Dark Moon, I decided to write one, I hope you enjoy this glimpse of how things turned out later, thanks for loving Dark Moon 🥹❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie @btsuga-d @dragons-flare @takemeaway5402 @m00njinnie @seokjins-luigi @pjmsneverland @ajkwww @jimincrystal @ungodlyjoon @hecateslittlewitchling @namjoonsbuspass @darkuni63 @xicanacorpse @jiminismine4ever @btssimplove @antisocial-mochi267 @reallygenerouskoala @velvet-stardust2002 @angelicsmileworld @dabishou @ke1k029 @lennieharper @pantara @superrsstaargirrl13

➢ Main Story

➢ Happy Ending Series

➢ Side Note | The first two stories - Happy Ending and Dark Moon - were written in the third person, which had been my style for a long time. However, I’ve recently started writing all my new stories in the second person, as I find it much more immersive and enjoyable. As a result, the new stories in this series will continue in the second person. Thank you for reading this far ❤️

Jimin's return from a mission is announced by many heavy footsteps, some even shuffling, you hear excited whispers and words left unsaid.

You jerk open your eyes, your blurred vision in the dark making you dizzy, but that is not the reason for your nausea.

Jimin.

You jump up with your heart in your throat, it's not unusual for him to come home late from work, it's the other agitated voices that startle you. Something has definitely happened that has alerted the others as well.

You quickly grab your robe and tie it in a tight knot at the waist, you don't even bother to put on shoes, when you lower the handle the click resonates like a gunshot and a shiver runs down your spine, you will never get used to that kind of life, even though Jimin has become your whole world, and as a result his life is yours too.

You move your feet toward the living room, where surely everyone else is gathered, and you bring back an unruly lock of hair, tongues of fire sway sinuously throughout the hallway, someone has lit the fireplace, a sign of a long night they will spend here.

“Squeeze this, man,” you hear someone say, you recognize him as Jungkook and frown, "It's going to hurt, but you know the drill by now," he continues and your heart misses a beat.

When you reach the living room and the heat of the fire invests you, two heads turn in your direction, you simply feel the ground missing from under your feet.

You see Jimin, lying on the couch, pale under the mop of once again black, blood-stained hair; you don't know if it's his, but the one on his uncovered side that Jungkook is taking care to stitch up with needle and thread definitely belongs to him.

“What happened?” you simply manage to ask with a choked edge to your voice, rocking on jelly legs before collapsing at your husband's side, who clutches a leather glove between his teeth to suppress the pain.

The man weakly lifts his eyelids in your direction, two shiny black pools look at you affectionately and with weary hand tries to caress your face, you immediately clasp your fingers to his, they are cold you find yourself noticing and this startles you.

You glance at the wound, it is just below the ribs and Jungkook's quick hands move the needle expertly, there is ice wrapped in a cloth abandoned on the couch, perhaps to try to make the area around the wound less sensitive, you also notice a bottle of disinfectant and some gauze.

Jimin winces all the same, clenching the glove between his teeth so as not to show you his pain, not out of shame, but because he doesn't want to worry you further.

Your mind involuntarily goes to that day.

The day you hurt him trying to escape, those are hard memories to swallow, you don't like to remember the before, but how can you not think back when you have the same scenario before your eyes?

“I'm fine,” hisses Jimin fulminating Jungkook when he presses the tip of the needle a little too hard, ”It's superficial.”

“One more inch and we could have run to the hospital, though,” mutters the third man's voice, you try to ignore his disturbing presence.

It was not difficult to bond with all the members of Jimin's family, all except him.

Hoseok never showed any interest in being your friend, and you always mentally thanked him for that. Since that time at the Dark Moon, you have had no direct contact with him and you are more than okay with that, he is a real monster. You can see it in his eyes, the evil that he harbors and is not ashamed to let it out whenever he can.

That day, you would have died by his hand if Jimin had not gotten in the way, despite the wounds he had. You owe everything to Jimin you think, kissing his sweat-soaked forehead softly. The boy closes his eyes at the pleasant warmth of your lips against his smooth skin.

“You're not well, Jimin,” you whisper in his ear, Jimin's eyelashes flicker a little, you can see the shadow of a smile amid the pain.

“You're always so anxious, my love,” he chuckles with difficulty, in response you inhale into his dark hair his masculine fragrance, mixed with gunpowder and blood, “I'll survive, as always.”

How many more times must you wake up with your heart in your throat, with Jimin wounded and lying on the couch sweating and bleeding. The only thing sweet about that image is the bold smile he gives you every single time.

“And you always try to downplay everything,” you say bitterly, kissing him on the lips.

Jungkook looks at you out of the corner of his eye without saying anything, but he is clearly more relaxed now that you are there to look after Jimin, Hoseok on the other hand snorts.

“You women are so complicated,” there is boredom in his tone, it irritates you but you tighten your lips into a thin line to ignore him, ”Even though you were more like us that time than you want to admit, remember?”

The reference to that day freezes you, you widen your eyes and lift them to his.

His hair is no longer as red as blood, now it is as black as his soul, but his sadism is still there. He loves to hurt physically, but he doesn't disdain psychological hurt. Especially if it is to hit you, after all, resentment is his best friend and he never considered you part of his family.

Jimin's eyes go wide, the black has stopped sparkling, the sweetness has been replaced by anger.

“Shut the fuck up, Hoseok,” he hisses with a latent snarl. He is hurt, but that doesn't mean he will allow Hoseok to disrespect you, ”She is not to blame!”

He always says that, but is that really the case?

“Or what?” the other challenges him, leaning against the back of the sofa.

“Please... stop,” you mutter dejectedly to both of them, agreeing - reluctantly - with Hoseok. True, you were no different from them that day. It is a guilt you will carry with you forever.

Perhaps because of your tone, perhaps because of your look, or perhaps both, Jimin vibrates with anger and disdain. He jerks up ignoring your arms trying to pick him back up, managing to grab Hoseok by the collar of his black leather jacket, landing a punch right on his mouth that he dared to say too much to his wife, this set of movements blowing out a few stitches, making Jungkook growl in frustration.

“That's really enough now!” Jungkook has never been a go-between, he has always reasoned with physical force, and it doesn't even take a moment to force Jimin back to his seat, weak as he is, and push Hoseok away with an irritated shove, “You've both pissed me off.”

Hoseok rubs his split lips, blood smears his black gloves - the same kind of gloves Jimin had on the night he caught you - his teeth have torn flesh as a result of Jimin's punch, but he doesn't seem to show resentment.

He knows he has gone too far. Even if he doesn't regret it.

He also seems at times amused at his friend's reaction, love is a feeling he does not understand, he finds it ridiculous, and he also finds Jimin and Jungkook ridiculous for getting “tamed.”

Hoseok disgusts you.

“You didn't have to react that way, we all know what he's like,” you whisper softly on your husband's lips, Jimin is breathing heavily out of anger and grief, Jungkook seems to have abandoned the path of kindness and is stitching him up carelessly, perhaps even with a hint of malice.

“I don't tolerate-” I don't tolerate anyone disrespecting you, you block that sentence by kissing him again, losing yourself in the soft lips and sugary taste of the boy who brought you to your knees, in every sense of the word.

You block him because you don't feel you deserve all that respect, Hoseok is right.

That evil man is like a virus in your brain, he wanted to hurt you that day and for a just reason, you almost killed a member of his family, you are unforgivable and you willfully ignore the reasons that led you to such an extreme act. You remain a murderer, the man you hold in your arms now, he would not be here now if you had managed to escape without giving him help.

“Christ, I want to go home,” Jungkook whines, envious of your intimate contact, he wants to go home to his wife and spend the rest of the night with her, but he has to stitch Jimin up first and some stitches are blown out, this thought makes him nervous and that hint of malice sneers a little more.

Jimin finds himself screaming in an instant with no more glove to help him, he casts a shocked glance at Jungkook, more blood stains his quick fingers, and yet he looks innocent, as if he has not just voluntarily stuck the needle deeper than was really necessary.

“Be kind, Jungkook,” you smile at the pigtailed boy, who rolls his eyes in response, “Please.”

“At least there's someone who knows politeness in this room,” he mumbles back, Jimin snorts throwing his head back on your soft, cozy chest, you lift your gaze and pin it on Hoseok, he's looking at you with a strange smile. He knows what you're thinking.

You pull the blankets up to Jimin's chin, he is shivering with cold and that worries you. Jungkook instructed you which antibiotic to give him once a day, then closed the door behind you, careful to let Hoseok out first.

Jungkook didn't trust you to be alone with him either.

You swallow a knot that tightens your throat, you feel suffocated. You need to get some air, even though it's probably cold outside that would freeze the soul of even the devil.

“Don't do that,” you hear yourself say, turning to Jimin.

He has pulled himself up from the blankets and looks at you harshly.

“What?” you ask pretending to arrange something in a drawer, your attitude exhausting him.

“Don't think of another man,” the blackness of his eyes is darker, the jealousy is always there, ”I hate that my woman thinks of another.”

This makes you smile incredulously, “I don't think of another man, Jimin, you are my man” you clarify with your hands on your hips, you see him melt a little as a sad smile finally comes to light.

Oh.

He means to say...

“You think about the things this man says,” he points out to you, ”But it's all bullshit, stop this guilt, it's killing me.”

Tears accumulate between your eyelashes, you blink quickly to chase them away.

“But it's true, I did-I almost killed you,” your lips tremble, Jimin instantly notices.

He doesn't like to resume the before, it disturbs him. But he has to if he wants to calm you down somehow.

“And before you tried to kill me, I hurt you willingly,” he emphasizes the last word with a grimace of contempt, to himself, “I pushed you to the limit and at that moment I liked it.”

Jimin never hid his darkness, he promised to love and respect you after, but it was not so before.

It was hell, just thinking about it leaves you paralyzed, the memories of pain are suffocating. Those of the pleasure you did not accept but yearned for are even more so.

Still, you shake your head, whichever way you look at it, you feel guilty.

“You were drunk; you didn't really want to” you try to justify him.

“I was drunk because I was fucking pissed, pissed at you,” the man points out to you, now bleary-eyed.

He would never hurt you now, in the after.

Right?

“You can justify me, but not yourself?” the pain in his voice leaves you stunned and pained, the shadows of your past are dense and heavy, Hoseok wallows among them, you think angrily.

But Jimin doesn't feel the same way, the problem is not Hoseok, he knows that very well.

You two still haven't gotten over the before, that's what reinforces the pain.

“I can't accept what I did, because I was never this” you were never a monster, no need to say that, Jimin already understood, “But I acted like one, you at least do it for a living.”

The man shakes his head, “I did it out of anger, and anger led to making my hate-based reality also a job” for a moment he sees the exhausted little boy collapsing at Seokjin's feet again and accepts his offer.

He will not deny it, it was the best choice ever, even if the circumstances that led him to meet you were terrible.

But he doesn't regret his love; he could let you go, but he won't.

He is too involved with you, you are too involved with him, you are a family now, in the after.

He just wants to take that weight off your shoulders crushing you. Even though it will hurt both of you.

“Come here, babe,” he invites you, moving a hand to draw you to him.

It doesn't have to happen again, you find yourself already sitting on the bed by his side, it was instinctive, the need for him overwhelming.

“I'm sorry,” you whisper in a choked voice, truly sorry for the dark thoughts you are giving him while he is in a pitiful condition.

“Straddle me,” he says bluntly, squinting your eyes.

“But... are you crazy? Jungkook finished with the stitches not even twenty minutes ago, I could hurt you, the wound is fresh!” you protest with your chest heaving up and down rhythmically, you cannot deny that the request tickled you.

But Jimin grabs you by the hips and intimates you to do as he told you, “Ride me, Y/N” his voice sounds sensual and needy, a giddy feeling tightens in your lower belly.

You lick your lips lifting yourself up on Jimin, surround his hips with your thighs, the robe opens over them and let Jimin look at your soft skin with desire. He has stopped shaking, you notice.

Paying attention to his wound, he opens the robe over your chest as well and slowly pulls down the thin straps of your nightgown, the man's eyes darken at the seductive sight of your delicate breasts and already turgid nipples, he would have gladly spent the evening another way if a half-dead bastard hadn't stabbed him out of spite, you'd be under him crying and moaning in pleasure, instead he has to settle for that position.

But he can always make up for it somehow, right now - in your after - he thinks, closing his plump lips around a stiff, rosy tip that asked for nothing more, the sensation of his wet tongue playing with your breasts makes you hold your breath, your clitoris throbbing and your entrance moistening, already ready to receive him in all his tantalizing thickness.

A dusting of pink colors your cheeks, Jimin loves your sensitivity, you could come just like that.

Your husband licks a streak of saliva down the column of your neck, you tremble as he finally reaches your lips before imprisoning them in a fiery and lively kiss, the sensual and soft entwinement of your tongues makes your thighs wiggle against his skin, you clench his legs and Jimin lays one of his hands on your hip and thrusts toward you, you mew meekly feeling the thick tip of his cock pressing against your panty-covered entrance.

Ignoring the glowing twinges in his side, Jimin sensually moves his pelvis against your pussy, playing with the tip of tongue, which grasps and tickles yours. You could really cum exactly that way and it would still be sublime and overwhelming, but Jimin sneaks his other hand inside your panties and puts some pressure with one finger on your swollen, taut clit, circles around it mischievously and then presses again, making it throb repeatedly and to his liking.

You are forced to separate from his wonderful mouth to catch your breath, narrowing your eyes at the bite he leaves on your neck, before gently sucking on the same spot. You don't doubt that there will be a bruise when you wake up, but it's a pain so pleasurable that your juices flows from your slit shamefully, you know it when you lower your eyes and notice the wet spot spreading across his pajama pants, at the height of his cock that continues to rock against you.

He continues to seduce you with his mouth until the first contractions of orgasm leave you breathless.

“Oh God... Jimin... I'm close,” you whisper in a shrill tone, your eyes watery with pleasure.

Jimin stops the movements of his pelvis, and before you can beg him to continue, he clamps his teeth on one of your nipples, flicking it repeatedly with the tip of his tongue, and penetrates you with his middle and ring fingers, leaving his thumb to stimulate your contracted clitoris mercilessly.

The urgency of your pleasure is like an electric shock, your walls sucking his fingers instantly into their silky softness, vibrating softly as they are penetrated and every single sensitive and receptive point stimulated, the orgasm shooting powerful and fast, you haven't even given him time to get to the last thrust, you come with raging shivers all over your body.

Just as you open your mouth to scream out all your pleasure, the hand Jimin was holding on your thigh goes up to your neck, his fingers tightening around it, but there is something strange about it.

It's not just erotic pressure, the fingers clench, so much, too much.

You open your eyes wide, searching for a miserable trickle of air, you try to tell Jimin with your eyes that you can't breathe, that he is hurting you, you even dig your nails into his arm, but nothing. Jimin's gaze is distant, remains intensely focused on you and doesn't seem to want to let go, fear and agitation blind you, you need oxygen as soon as possible, and eventually your brain shuts down and your body's response kicks in.

You strike Jimin in the face several times, heedless of his reddening skin, scratch his chest bloody, almost reopen the wound and fill him with fists. He accepts every single blow you give him in silence, because the feeling of your pulse desperately running under his fingers disgusts him, repulses him, but it must be so or you will never understand. When you try to grab him in your turn by the neck, to do the exact same thing to him, he finally releases you and you both regain air.

But for you the coming of air is painful, terrible, you take in so much that you can't really breathe and you choke, beginning to cough. You rise from him in shock, but you collapse to the ground with your head spinning and your peripheral vision almost completely obscured, your ears ringing and you are unable to think. You feel only shock, but also much, too much anger.

You thought the before was over, that the after was only full of love, you do not understand and when he reaches out to embrace you, your body instinctively rejects his touch.

Your still-dull mind loves him, your all too reactive body rejects him because of the danger, you are confused, you can only rely on instinct, which tells you to run away and get to safety.

Despite everything, Jimin comes back to embrace you and this time he does not accept your rejection, your body trembles in response, and when your mind finally manages to generate a thought, you can only ask…

“Why?” you cry, pressing your forehead to the floor, “Why did you do that?”

You touch your neck, it hurts, just as your lungs hurt. It was just horrible, why did he do such a thing? He said that... he said that...

“Because I love you,” he whispers miserably, "And that was the only way to make you understand," his voice sounds strange, as if trying to hold back sobs.

“I love you,” “The only way,” “To make you understand.”

You let him embrace you without trying to push him away anymore, but the terror is still there. It flows through your skin like a raging river.

“Now tell me, did you hit me because you wanted to or because it was your body reacting to what I was doing to you?” he asks softly in your ear, staring motionless at an undefined spot in the room.

Now you understand, he used sex to distract you and the threat of death to remind you of the danger and fear of that day.

You don't die from violent anal intercourse, but you die little by little inside if it is repeated day after day. Your mind had not held, your body had rebelled against that fate.

It was instinct, survival instinct.

“I didn't mean to do it... hit you I mean,” you sob, his lips brushing one cheek gently, as if to soothe you.

“You are not a monster, my love,” he whispers, remaining silent a few moments before resuming, “I am the monster” there is still self-loathing in his words, with the tip of his nose he brushes the marks of his fingers on your neck.

You know he's sorry, but you also know he won't regret it, not if it helped you understand.

You are not a monster, you just reacted to what was done to you, your mind and body were broken. Your mind more than your body.

You forgave Jimin and you will surely forgive him even now, in the after, because he helped you understand, understanding was the last step to forgiving yourself as well.

The shadows are less dense and Hoseok no longer wallows among them.

It is Jimin's words that matter, not Hoseok's.

Hoseok hates you and would do anything to kill you, whether physically or psychologically, it matters little.

Jimin loves you and would do anything for your welfare, even pass as a villain in an effort to help you understand.

Remember what you thought when Jimin confessed after saving you.

It is a sick love, but one you need to feel safe.

And you don't regrets anything.

“Jimin?” you call out to him, get a murmur in response, “Thank you.”

He kisses the fingers of your hand, some of them stained with his blood, but he regrets nothing.

“You are the most precious thing I have, Y/N,” he confesses, ”Hurting you disgusts me, though in this case it was necessary, forgive me.”

Overflowing with sincerity, you finally relax, “I have already forgiven you,” you reply.

Jimin cannot block the emotion he feels, he kisses you in your soft, fragrant hair, he knows he does not deserve it, but you are his whole world, “Thank you.”

32 notes · View notes