Rina's world

warnings: 18+ nsfw content, blowjob, swallowing There is nothing better than returning home after a long and exhausting day. It is like coming back to a quiet harbor after a storm: finding long-awaited peace and silence. Aizawa likes this feeling a lot when you finally close the front door and sink onto the chair in the hallway, exhaling and leaving all the fuss behind the threshold. He never thought this feeling could become even more pleasant, but that was right up until he met his wife. When you started living together, Shouta couldn't get used to the fact for a long time that upon opening the door, he was met not by the dim gloom of the apartment, but by a faint yellow light, the smell of cooked dinner and your perfume. He wasn't sure, but in his opinion, that was exactly what a real home smells like.

Every evening he looked forward to this moment with impatience – he opens the door and you are standing in the hallway in home clothes, your hair pulled up in a messy style, looking at him with endless tenderness and love. In the way you threw yourself around his neck, how you covered his face with kisses, how you laughed with delight at meeting after the day's separation, in all of this there was something magical, weightless, sacred. His strong hands would catch you by the waist, pulling you closer, and then he would cover your lips with a kiss that was greedy and soft at the same time.

This evening was no exception. As soon as the key clicked in the lock, you came out of the living room to meet your husband. Today you want to make his return home even more pleasant than usual. Stepping inside, the man scanned you with his eyes, and a barely perceptible smile touched his lips:

«Is my baby girl meeting me after work again? I’ll never get used to this»

He hanged his coat on the hook for outerwear. Then he turned around and gave a slightly puzzled look upon you. You didn't even throw yourself into his arms as you usually did. Shouta tensed up.

«Is everything alright, sweetheart?»

Notes of tension sounded in his voice. The man rapidly began to go through in his mind everything that had happened during the day, trying to remember at least something that could make his wife act differently than usual. Did he not wash his coffee cup this morning? Or did he forget to kiss her before leaving? Maybe he didn't buy something important at the store? All of this took only a few seconds, but it was enough for a frown to settle between Aizawa's eyebrows. He decisively found no reasons for your behavior. At the same time, you stood completely composed, leaning your shoulder against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest. Your facial expression remained completely neutral and uncharacteristically emotionless. You didn't answer. To be honest, you are enjoying the mixture of confusion and irritation on your husband's face. However, you didn't want to torment him, so you slowly pushed off the wall, taking a few steps toward him.

«Nothing special, honey. Don't worry about it»

You smile slyly, hang around his neck, and then press your lips against his mouth. He immediately pulls you closer to himself, possessively placing his large palms on your thighs. The trouble has passed; his beautiful wife is not angry. He responds to the kiss, which clearly lasts longer than a usual greeting kiss. You smirk right into his lips and pulling away, kneel in front of him, instantly catching your husband's surprised look. Right now, the best view of the entire day opens up before you: Shouta towers over you, so strong and manly, but on his face there is absolute confusion, which soon gives way to understanding, and now he is smirking.

«Is my kitten up to something sneaky?»

He ruffles your hair, gently tucking a loose strand behind your ear. You lick your lips from this gesture. How can he be so dominant and gentle at the same time? Unconsciously, it leads to certain thoughts, very dirty thoughts. After all, it's not a crime to want your husband. To want him like hell, to the point of trembling knees and short breath. In moments like these, he is the hottest man in the world, and no one could convince you otherwise.

Without looking away from his dark eyes, you neatly place your palm right on his groin. You gently stroke him directly through his clothes, applying light pressure for better stimulation. He lets out a reluctant groan and closes his eyes for a second; the hardness beneath your fingers grows so fast. He needs very little. Biting your lower lip, you unbuckle the belt on his trousers and pull down the zipper of his fly. You don't even bother to let him take them off, merely pulling down the fabric of his boxers, freeing his almost completely hard cock. Aizawa groans quite restrainedly as your fingers wrap around the hot flesh at the base, guiding the wet tip closer to your mouth. Your tongue weightlessly touches the head as if tasting it, licking off a drop of pre-cum. Your gaze is fixed on the man's face. He loves this more than he can admit.

Wasting no time, your lips tightly encircle the hard, throbbing cock, slowly advancing from the tip to the base. He is too big to fit completely, but you always try to push it deeper than last time. Keeping pace with your lips, your fingers begin to caress his sensitive testicles. Shouta groans in his husky voice: one of his palms rests against the wall to keep his balance, while the second clutches your hair at the back of your head – a pitiful attempt to control the situation. But the day was long, and he was tired, so, so be it, he will allow you to take the initiative into your skillful hands.

Your mouth worked extremely skillfully, you clearly knew what you were doing. Your tongue traced every protruding vein, and the weight of his arousal felt so pleasant that you squeezed your eyes shut and groaned contentedly. The vibration from the groan forced the man to grip your hair tighter.

«Damn it, kitten, you clearly know how to use that sweet little mouth of yours»

He pulled your head back, forcing you to release him for just a second. The reddened head slapped indecently against your protruded tongue, and a thin strand of saliva stretched between you. It lasted for only a moment before he pushed back into the welcoming warmth of your mouth with a smirk. The brief moment of your control vanished as he set a pace comfortable for him, thrusting into your mouth with a rhythm restrained, but intense. Each such thrust ended with his sensitive tip bumping right against the back of your throat, eliciting whines and quiet groans. This only fueled his fervor even more. How could he possibly last long when his wife so exquisitely squeezed his length with her beautiful lips, looking straight into his eyes without breaking eye contact?

A few minutes later, Aizawa quickened the pace, intending to mess up that cute little face as soon as possible. The hand resting against the wall tensed up. Expressive veins stood out on his pale skin. He was damn close. The palm clutching your hair moved your head back and forth, matching his now somewhat chaotic thrusts. Saliva mixed with pre-cum bubbled at the corners of your mouth, running down your chin and dripping straight onto your top.

Groaning hoarsely, Shouta squeezed your hair to the point of pain and spurted the viscous, salty substance deep into your contracting throat, as if it were eagerly waiting to receive this perverted delicacy. He thrust inside a few more times, releasing the rest of the fluid and then pulled back, breathing heavily. A sticky string of semen hung for a second between your swollen lower lip and the head of his cock, breaking immediately. He threw his head back, trying to regain his composure, his dark hair sticking to his sweat-beaded temples. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, not daring to say anything so as not to interrupt this special moment. The man spoke first. Looking down at you with his dark eyes, he smirked:

«My good girl was absolutely wonderful»

warnings: 18+ nsfw content, creampie, dirty talk, a bit rought «Please, honey, I can't take any more»

This sounds little like moaning. You whimper and whine as your body shudders from his fierce, rough thrusts. Your hands are tightly bound above your head with his scarf. Aizawa's strong, commanding palms squeeze your thighs until they bruise, spreading them wider. You can't say for certain how long this has been going on. How long his thick cock has been practically tearing apart your poor, already sopping wet pussy. A damp spot of your arousal has pooled on the sheet beneath your hips. What started as an innocent joke ended in your grand failure. And all you wanted was to punish your husband a little for his indifference and inattention to you.

Over the past week, Aizawa had been staying late at work more and more often. He constantly complained that his students were going to drive him completely insane and be the reason he had a stroke in his early thirties. Every time he came home, he would gently kiss your forehead, take a shower, have dinner, and immediately go to bed. And it had been like that for several days. By the end of the week, you were literally aching with desire for your man. You missed his large body covering yours. His kisses and bites that left faint, yet still noticeable, marks on your neck. In the end, you missed his cock that pleased you so perfectly. But it was as if your husband had forgotten you even existed, and you decided to teach him a lesson.

When Shota came home today, it was around ten in the evening. The tired, lifeless look in his eyes, his slumped shoulders, and the mournful expression on his face almost made you throw yourself into his arms and kiss the face so dear to your heart, but you couldn't give in to weakness. Your husband had neglected his duties for far too long. You greeted him wearing nothing but your underwear. At his surprised look, you simply waved it off:

«All my clothes are in the wash and I had nothing to wear»

He didn't ask any unnecessary questions and merely shrugged indifferently, although you noticed a spark of interest flicker in his eyes. For the rest of the evening, you tormented him relentlessly, as if laying siege to a fortress. You deliberately dropped your towel and slowly bent down to pick it up. You walked back and forth through the kitchen, swaying your hips slowly. You "accidentally" brushed against his shoulder while placing his dinner in front of him. You felt victorious when Shota finally couldn't take it anymore and, grabbing you, bent you over the table, roughly pulling down your already damp underwear. But your triumph turned into defeat.

This had been going on for several hours. First the kitchen table, then the living room couch, and now your bed. He had come at least 4 times already, and still had no intention of stopping. He knew he had turned you into a pathetic, begging mess, and that thought made him grin. Now it was his turn to control the situation. He wrapped his palm around your throat, drawing a pleased whimper from your lips.

«My beautiful little wife wanted to tease her husband? Such a big mistake. I'll have to teach you some good manners after that, darling. Open your mouth and look me in the eyes»

With difficulty, you opened your tear-streaked eyes and focused your gaze on Shouta's face. His dark, almost black eyes were looking straight into your soul, a predatory grin curving his lips. He clearly knew that tonight he would get everything he wanted. You slowly opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue. His palm was still gripping your throat, firmly but not tightly. You knew what he was about to do and feared that once it happened, nothing would hold back your next orgasm. The man grinned.

«My good girl»

Immediately after those words, he spat into your mouth. His hand released your throat and now pushed the saliva deeper down your throat. Wrapping your lips around his fingers, you whimpered. Too much. This was practically sensory overload. His thrusts became more chaotic and rougher. One palm continued to grip your thigh, while the other moved his fingers back and forth between your lips. You could no longer handle it. Your eyes rolled back as the orgasm washed over you completely. His hip bone rubbed against your clit so unbearably pleasurably with each thrust that it had, in fact, become an inevitable outcome. Your pulsing, overstimulated pussy clenched tightly around his arousal, pushing the man toward orgasm. A few moments later, he followed his wife over the edge. His fingers, which had just been teasing your mouth, moved to the back of your head, gripping your hair tightly. He pressed his mouth to yours, kissing furiously, biting and pushing his tongue deeper. It lasted only a few moments that felt like an eternity to you.

«My love, you did just beautifully. I'm sorry I ignored your needs for so long. I'll make it up to you»

One month was all it took for you. Just one month. Possibly even one attempt. The thought of it gives Aizawa a very strange feeling, one he wouldn't dare to describe. He'd heard that for many couples it takes months, even years. And so, when you finally decided to try, it worked out perfectly. When, during the evening homework check, you placed a small, oblong box tied with a ribbon on the desk in front of him, the man understood immediately. His wife was pregnant. His wife… It still felt somewhat foreign, even after two years of marriage. Every time he called you that, it was as if he were tasting the nickname, trying to believe it was real. Before he met you, Aizawa was convinced that a cozy nest, marriage, and children – none of that was for him. People like him don't get a happy ending. And here you are, standing beside him, looking down at him so touchingly and tenderly, fidgeting with the hem of your home top, waiting for the man to finally open the precious box. How can he believe this is real?

Only two months have passed. Your belly hasn't even begun to round, and if one didn't know, it would be impossible to guess that inside you grows a tiny miracle, the fruit of your love. But that doesn't stop your husband. He surrounds you with such suffocating care that sometimes it feels like you might soon choke. He won't let you lift anything heavier than your cat, makes you nutritious breakfasts, sends you links to instructional videos on infant care, and signs you both up for joint parenting classes. Your husband has simply gone mad. Once, he admitted that he hadn't been entirely sure he wanted to become a father. After all, he gets plenty of hassle from kids at the academy. Besides, it's a colossal responsibility. But in that moment when he saw that mixture of joy, shock, delight, and love in your eyes, he knew he already loved that tiny piece of you that you carry beneath your heart.

And with each day, that feeling only grew stronger. There were still more than 6 months until the birth, but he already wanted to do it again. To fill your fertile womb once more. To whisper pleas into your neck for one more baby. Perhaps you had made him addicted to this feeling. During intimacy, he covers your belly with his palm and whispers:

«My love, I will do it again. And again. And again.  I'll fill your beautiful pussy so often you'll forget what it's feels like not to be carrying our babies. God, darling, what have you done to me…»

He squeezes your thighs with his fingers, firmly yet gently, quickening his pace. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. You whimper and whine at the mere thought that he is most likely not joking. Shouta has indeed become addicted to his pregnant wife. He is almost on the edge, his thrusts growing more chaotic as your ravaged pussy helplessly clenches around his thickness.

Pregnancy has made you wet. Damn wet. Just the scent of your husband makes drops of arousal run down your thighs so intensely that you didn't know it was possible. And he knows it. And he uses every opportunity to drag you into bed (or any other suitable place that happens to be available). One palm pins your wrists above your head while the other stimulates your clit with excessive intensity. He wants to come together with you, to flood you so thoroughly that semen streams out of your pussy when he pulls out. And he gets his way. A few moments later, you cry out desperately, clenching around him so tightly that he can't hold on, coming into your welcoming womb. You bite your lips, trying to stifle your cries and moans, to which Aizawa whispers in your ear in his deep, penetrating voice:

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷 You absolutely hate winter. All that cold, the sharp snow after long freezes, the lack of sun and greenery. Right now, lips puffed out and brows furrowed, you’re sitting wrapped in a quilted blanket, reading. The sagging couch isn’t very comfortable, but it doesn’t matter. The book is far too interesting to pay attention to little things like a spring digging into your thigh. The reason for your gloomy mood is something else. There’s been so much snow this year it feels like it’s time to declare a state of emergency. And Eddie loves snow so much that he keeps trying to convince you, over and over again, to have a snowball fight.

«Come on, baby… It’ll be fun, I promise. You’ll definitely like it!»

How could you say no to him? Those puppy-dog pleading eyes and those pouty lips. He’s so whiny. Why do you always give in to him? God, falling in love with a guy like Eddie is a real trap. And in the end, you agreed. It was fun for the first ten minutes, and then your fingers, inside gloves damp from melting snow, froze and stiffened so badly you stopped feeling them. But the white, icy mass that slid down the back of your collar was the final straw. And now you’re sitting on the couch in his trailer, wrapped up in a blanket, trying to warm up. Eddie sits beside you with a guilty expression, throwing apologetic glances your way again and again.

«Princess… are you still mad at me?»

His voice is quiet and obedient, almost meek. You don’t answer, not entirely sure yourself what exactly you’re punishing him for. You agreed to this idea in the first place — so why sulk now? But you stubbornly stay silent, continuing to turn the pages as you read. He starts to get nervous; the air thickens with unspoken words and tangible tension.

«You didn’t drink the cocoa I made for you. Don’t you want it?»

He nods toward the coffee table, where a silly mug sits with a picture almost worn away from frequent use. The drink has long gone cold, and the marshmallows, carefully added as an apology, have soaked through and sunk to the bottom. You don’t want cocoa. You want to finish your book in silence and finally get warm. Eddie can’t stand the demonstrative silence any longer and, with a sharp movement, pulls you, still tightly wrapped in the blanket, onto his lap. He buries his nose in the curve of your neck, right where a snowball hit you just half an hour ago. He rubs his nose against your warm skin, breathing you in.

«I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I love you so much, don’t ignore me.»

His voice sounds even more pitiful than before, and you finally give in. You turn toward him, cup his face in your palms, and kiss his full, soft, so-loved lips. It lasts only a few seconds, but when you pull away, a satisfied smile spreads across Eddie’s face, and his eyes shine with happiness. You’ve forgiven him — and that’s all he needs.

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Your first Christmas together. You still can’t quite believe he agreed to all those silly traditions you love so much: baking gingerbread cookies, wearing a ridiculous sweater with reindeer, roasting a turkey. Now you’re both just lying on the couch, wrapped around each other, his arms pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you might vanish any second  like a dream or an illusion. Eddie leans forward, burying his face in your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo and perfume — your unique mix of strawberry, cherry, and vanilla. He closes his eyes in contentment, almost groaning with pleasure. You giggle at the sound, so sweet and endearing.

«Damn it, baby… You smell so sweet. I think I’d go crazy if this scent didn’t fill my lungs even for a single day»

You smile despite yourself and roll your eyes. It feels like he’s teasing you, clearly exaggerating, but every word is the truth. He’d give up anything in the world, even his precious guitar, just to freeze this moment, to stay like this forever — tangled together on the couch while the cold December evening rages outside the window. The trailer is wrapped in half-light. Only a few lit candles, the ones you brought to set the mood, illuminate the space. His strong arms turn you around; he leans back against the couch, settling you onto his lap.

«There’s one tradition left, princess. My favorite»

As if by magic, a small sprig of mistletoe appears in his hand, tied with a red satin ribbon. You can’t even imagine where he pulled it from. But Eddie doesn’t give you time to think, he lifts the mistletoe above your head and smirks, clearly pleased with your flustered, curious expression. He winks playfully, and you can’t tear your eyes away from his darkened, doe-like eyes. He looks up at you, licking his lips.

«Come on, baby. Gonna kiss your boyfriend?»

His voice is raspy, a tone lower than usual. You lean in slowly, wrap your arms around his neck, and press a gentle kiss to his lips. He smiles into it and deepens the kiss, tossing the mistletoe somewhere aside, pulling you closer by the waist, pressing you more firmly against his thighs. His tongue moves skillfully, sending waves of impossible pleasure through you as you whimper into the kiss, savoring the heat of his body pressed against yours. After a few moments, he pulls away. His cheeks are faintly flushed, his gaze hazy as he whispers:

«Merry Christmas, baby!»

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A cool October evening. Lovers’ Lake. Twilight has already settled over the ground, creating a gloomy yet terribly alluring atmosphere. The two of you are sitting on a blanket spread out on the shore, not far from the water’s edge. He’s holding you from behind, his ribs gently pressed against your spine, his warm breath brushing over your neck, making you shiver and burrow deeper into his jacket. So sweet and caring — he gave you his jacket so his girl wouldn’t get cold. You smile at the thought, when suddenly his lips touch the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and you flinch.

«Eddie, that tickles!»

Your annoyed, pouty voice makes him laugh quietly — that deep, soft laughter you love so much. You blush involuntarily when he whispers:

«Don’t pout, baby. I just missed my princess so much.»

At his voice — so calm and confident — you tremble, tilt your head back onto his shoulder, looking into his eyes. In the dim light, they look almost black, and for a second you forget how to breathe because of how cute he looks. So cute it makes you want to scream, grab his face in your hands and kiss him until his whole face is smeared with your lipstick. He notices your stare and smirks, quickly shaking his head to toss his bangs away from his face. A forbidden move.

«What are you thinking about, baby?»

You stay silent, not planning to confess your slightly obsessive, clingy thoughts. You only sigh heavily and close your eyes. It physically hurts to look at his beautiful face. Long dark eyelashes, that puppy-like gaze, the little smile lines at his mouth from always grinning — and his lips… Those lips must’ve been made by angels, because there’s no other explanation for your constant desire to kiss them. He seems to read your thoughts and leans forward slowly, giving you an almost weightless kiss. A light touch, barely felt. And it’s not enough for you — far from enough. You cradle his face in your palms, deepening the kiss, caressing his mouth as if your life depends on it. Before him, you thought kissing was gross, and maybe it is — just with everyone else. But with him, it’s like eating the sweetest, most delicious piece of birthday cake. And, to his luck, you’ll never get enough.

Eddie Munson x female reader Warnings: fluff

He presses against you from behind, his hot breath tickling your neck. You’ve stopped on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Outside, there’s only an endless stretch of road and the blurry, fog-hidden trunks of trees on both sides of the straight asphalt. It’s raining — cold and heavy, as if a pipe had burst and now the stream of water can’t be stopped by any possible means. The windows have fogged up, and the only source of light in this darkness is the small bulb above the dashboard, somehow still working. You shiver from the cold that keeps trying to sneak inside through the gaps. But then he kisses your neck, hot and deep, gently biting the skin, sliding his tongue along it, tasting you — and the cold retreats. In its place comes a special heat that only he can give you.

You’re sitting on his lap, your fingers tangled in Eddie’s hair. Those unruly strands are everywhere; you push his bangs away from his face, look into his eyes — dark, almost black, the iris barely visible. Hunger and attachment ripple in them. He looks at you as if you’re a deity, as if you’re an angel who came down from the heavens to bless him, or the only one who can share water after many years of wandering through the desert. He looks that way only at you. Always has, and always will. His long, thin fingers, rough from countless hours of playing guitar, slide under your T-shirt; his rings chill your skin. Carefully and almost weightlessly, he traces the edge of your bra, not moving further. Eddie looks into your eyes pleadingly, as if he’s about to cry. The look of a beaten puppy. You moan, biting your lips. That look drives you crazy. He knows.

«Please, baby… I want to feel you.»

You shift on his thighs, feeling how badly he wants what he’s talking about. Hard — unbelievably hard. Even through the thick denim, you feel that heat. He needs to be inside you so much, but he doesn’t rush. You nod, and his fingers slide higher, squeezing your breast through the fabric of your underwear. You pull your T-shirt over your head, toss it aside, and look him straight in the eyes with a challenge. He makes a strange sound, as if he’s about to choke, his hands sliding down your back to unhook your bra. When he frees you, you could swear he’s about to burst into tears. So needy, so sweet. He admires you for almost a full minute, enjoying how smooth your skin looks in this languid half-darkness. Then he cups your soft breast with his hand, squeezing lightly, teasing.

«You’re perfect…»

You moan and close your eyes from the pleasure. Everything you need is here, in this cramped van. And it’s enough.

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Despite his impulsive, hyperactive nature, Eddie is a real gentleman. Next to him, you feel like a princess. If you’re going anywhere together, he always comes to pick you up — no matter how many times you’ve begged him not to waste his time on it. But he just stubbornly waves you off.

«What kind of guy would I be if I made my girl get there on her own?»

He parks his beat-up van in your driveway. Your parents don’t mind; in some miraculous way, he managed to charm them, and now Eddie is a regular guest at Sunday family dinners. Killing the engine and turning down the rock music spilling from the speakers, he steps out, leans back against the hood, arms folded over his chest. A loyal knight waiting for his princess. You walk out, and he goes still. Your hair shines in the light, your lips curve into a warm, tender smile. He smiles back.

«You look stunning, baby. My girl…»

He pulls you in by the waist, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, looking up at you from below — and finally kisses you. His lips brush yours in a soft, weightless kiss, almost innocent. You taste like cherry pie. He can be different, can get greedy, drunk on you. But not now — not when your parents might see. The Saturday morning is warm and bright. October is spoiling you with its last gentle rays of sun. Yellow and orange leaves are already falling from the drowsy trees preparing for winter. He opens the passenger door, helps you climb inside, and buckles your seat belt himself. His fingers glide over your thigh as the buckle clicks. He wants to shield you from everything, wants you safe. His girl. His princess.

«I love you, baby. More than anything in the world.»

A final kiss to your forehead, and he circles around the van, sliding into the driver’s seat. Today he’s going to give you not just a quiet Saturday morning — but the whole world.

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It feels like a fireworks show, like an endless kaleidoscope of emotions. As if you’re on LSD or drunk on something stronger. It’s never boring, you can never predict what comes next. You cradle his face in your palms, look into those darkened, lake-deep eyes — and freeze. You can’t inhale, can’t exhale. Can’t live without him. He knows it, smirks, smug and playful, like a satisfied cat. Presses his forehead to yours. Whispers:

«Baby, you’re so cute…»

His raspy voice, the unruly curls, the tiny smile-lines by his mouth. And you’re drowning, choking on him. You don’t need anyone else, or anything else. Maybe not even life itself — because what would it be without him? Just an endless wander through the valley of shadows. Never again. He feels your need, your dependence. Wants to dissolve into you, merge into a single being, breathe the same air.

«Please, princess… May I kiss you?»

He knows the answer. He doesn’t need to hear it. It’s written all over your face, in your pupils blown wide, almost swallowing the iris, in your uneven breath. He’s your dose — that last pill that makes you feel everywhere and nowhere, between heaven and earth, hell and paradise. His fingers slide into your hair, tighten at the base of your skull. Hot breath on your lips and… the thread snaps. Like a bulb bursting from overheating. His mouth crashes onto yours, biting, licking, teasing. Not gently — wildly, hungrily. It lasts only a few seconds before he pulls back.

«You taste like sin.»

And then he’s close again, so close there’s no space left. Tilts your head just right, as if he wants to get inside you through your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut, whimper into the kiss, unable to steal even a sip of air. He is your whole world. Your entire universe. And for that, you could die.

Forever yours Before the wars Before the birth of universe I was in past And will be next I'm your future And your ex I'm goddess 'Bless you' I'm your fear I know you want me Everywhere I'm your dream And your nightmare Be quieter I'm a storyteller It's not platonic That's like passion You understand? That's our session We've always been We don't have scores You always mine