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altruisticalastor · 4 months

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↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Wife!Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: Lucifer gets a little too brazen with Alastor's darling wife. Guess the Ruler of Hell would just have to learn a lesson about who you belong to.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, jealous!alastor, soft comforting shower sex, knotting, alastor has a tail, consent, making out, soft kisses, biting, marking kink, alstor laps up the readers blood because he bites a liiiitle too hard, creampie, banter between alastor and lucifer, as well as banter between the reader and angel

☒ Word Count: 1,972

Alastor was quite the jealous type.

You were his wife in life and death. To say he was protective of you was an understatement. So, it only made sense that Alastor would lose his composure when the ruler of hell himself arrived at the Hazbin Hotel.

Lucifer was a rather charming man, but you were spoken for. So when he grasped your hand and placed a chaste kiss on the back of your palm, your hand yanked away in the blink of an eye. You could have sworn you heard a crackling growl escape your husband's lips as he watched Lucifer offer you a lustful gaze- and that was simply unacceptable.

"I see you've met my wife!" Alastor let out a forced chuckle as he looped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. You let out a sigh of relief. All thanks to your husband's rescue. Lucifer gave Alastor a pointed look before he blurted out, "You're joking... right?" He scoffed.

Your face scrunched up in anger at Lucifer's rude remark. "Oh, he's as serious as a heart attack." You spat, snaking your own arm around Alastor's back. You squeezed his waist, a habit of yours that let your dear husband know when you were livid.

"But- look at you! You're gorgeous, sweetheart, and he's just... freaky." You were about to snap back before your husband's maniacal laughter tore through the room. "Ha Ha! That's rich coming from the short stack!" Alastor quipped, grip tensing around your waist. Lucifer's chest puffed up in defense before he let out an airy laugh.

"Aha! The height I lack up here, I surely make up for below the belt! Maybe I can show your wife sometime." Lucifer shot you a playful wink, causing your face to scrunch up in disgust. Alastor tensed beside you before he let out another forced laugh, ducking low to get in Lucifer's face. "Ha Ha! Fuck you." Your husband spat, voice missing its usual radio static tone.

Before the situation could escalate further, Charlie intervened. Pushing her father away from the tense atmosphere while mouthing a sympathetic "Sorry!" your way. The aura in the room was stiff. You could certainly cut the tension with a butter knife. "Damn, smiles! Looks like lil' Luci himself has got eyes for your girl!" Angel stated before taking a swig of his cocktail.

You turned your head in Angel's direction. Shooting him a warning glare. The last thing you wanted was for Angel to get caught in the crossfire of your husband's anger. Alastor remained quiet before he slowly began walking toward the staircase. You could tell he was seething with how his ears twitched atop his head. Your husband flickered up the steps without a word, making you worry.

"Damn it, Angel! You knew he was pissed enough as is, no need to poke the bear!" You sighed, rubbing your temples as you made your way over to the bar. Husk poured you a drink, shaking his head in agreement. "Dont'cha mean poke the deer?" Angel chuckled, patting your back in a lighthearted manner. Husk cursed under his breath at Angel's remark.

"Cut that shit out, or he'll put you on his next fuckin' broadcast," Husk grumbled, cleaning a glass with a worn-down rag. You sipped your drink before rubbing your temples once more, shaking your head in annoyance. "I should probably go check in on him..." You spoke to yourself before turning on your heel, waving a small goodbye to your two good buddies.

"She's in for a loooong night!" Angel giggled, causing Husk to flick his forehead as a warning to "Shut the fuck up."

You took a breath before carefully opening your shared bedroom door. "Darling?" You called out, descending further into the space as you scanned the room for your husband. You peacefully made steps toward your private bathroom, having heard the shower running from beyond the door. To your luck, the door was left unlocked, making it easy for you to slip inside.

The bathroom was full of steam as your eyes trailed to the red tufts of hair reflecting through the clear glass shower door. Alastor heard you come in, but he still remained silent. Trying his best to cool off. He hated losing his composure more than anything. Carefully, you began ridding yourself of your garments, leaving your clothes in a pile beside Alastor's. You slid the glass door open, stepping into the shower with your husband.

Alastor's ears were pinned against his head as he stood underneath the shower head, allowing the water to cascade down his face. His back was toward you. Your husband's hands were placed in front of him on the cold tiles. Keeping him stabilized. "Al, my love? Is it alright if I touch you?" You whispered softly from where you stood behind him. A moment passed before he nodded in agreement, still remaining silent.

Slowly, you wrapped your arms around him. Allowing your hands to caress his midsection all the way up his chest. You rested your head in between his shoulder blades, pressing your chest flush against his back. Alastor let out a deep sigh, your touch bringing him much-needed comfort. "That impudent man.." Your husband muttered, ears twitching in annoyance as he did so. You rubbed circles into his chest, placing gentle kisses against his back.

"He's a jerk, Al. I'm all yours, forever and always," Your lips curled into a smile toward the end of your sentence as you felt his tail wagging, brushing against your lower tummy. Your husband's shoulders eased up from your words. He let out a breath before turning on his heel. Alastor's hands immediately cupped your face, doubling over to capture your lips with his. Your eyes fluttered shut, hands rubbing your husband's sides lovingly as your mouths molded perfectly against one another.

Your shared embrace lasted a few beats longer before your husband pulled back, half-lidded crimson eyes gazing down at you. "Indeedy, my doe. You're all mine! I suppose I'll have to make it evident to the short stack... and anyone else who dares to court you." His voice dipped low; as did his wandering hands. Alastor's pointed nails dug into the back of your thighs as he hoisted you up. On instinct, your legs wrapped around his slender waist.

A pleasant gasp escaped you as you felt your husband's hard length brush against your core. Alastor let out a deep growl against the nape of your neck as he nipped at the sensitive flesh there. "Alastor..." You whined. Tipping your head back so your husband could have better access. A shiver ran down your spine when your back collided with the cool tile walls. Alastor bit a little too harshly between the juncture of your throat and shoulder.

A bit of blood trickled down your collarbone, but your husband was quick to lap it up. A deep groan from him sent a rush of heat down to your core. "Divine, my little doe. Absolutely delectable," Alastor mumbled against your sternum before one of his hands slipped between your bodies. He rubbed the flushed tip of his cock between your folds, groaning at the feeling of your slick. "May I, my darling?" Alastor whispered, lips ghosting over yours as he waited patiently for your approval.

"Yes, please..." You sighed, burying your hands into his soaked two-toned locks. Your husband slowly pushed himself past the tight ring of your pussy. Capturing your lips at the same time, drinking up all of your moans as he stretched you open. Your eyes rolled back into your head when Alastor bottomed out inside you. Slowly, you caressed his sensitive ears. Pride pooled in your chest when your husband twitched wildly inside you from the gesture.

Your lips pulled back from his when Alastor began thrusting into you. His movements were sharp but shallow, not wanting to pull back more than he had to from the warmth of your pussy. Your husband's head fell forward, forehead resting flush against your shoulder. Alastor groaned against your damp skin as your walls clenched tightly around his throbbing cock. All you could do was moan in pleasure as your husband fucked into you perfectly.

"Mine, all mine..." Alastor huffed out before suckling at the base of your neck. You could feel your husband's knot begin to swell inside you as your own release approached rapidly. Apsentmindly, Alastor's thumb dipped between your bodies. He rubbed at your clit expertly as he jackhammered up into you. Your legs tightened around his waist as the coil within your tummy was only moments from snapping. "I'm yours, all yours..."

Your words sent Alastor over the edge. He moaned loudly into your neck as his hips stilled, emptying his load deep inside you. The feeling of your husband cumming inside you was enough to trigger your own orgasm. Alastor hissed as he felt your pussy gush around his cock, squeezing him like a vise. After a few moments, you felt Alastor's knot begin to deflate. Allowing his now softening cock to slip out of your inviting heat. "You truly are just darling. How did I get so lucky?" Alastor chuckled as he lifted his head to gaze into your eyes.

A bashful smile crossed your features as Alastor slowly lowered your thighs from off his waist. Being sure to hold your hips, stabilizing your trembling legs. "Oh, hush! I'm the lucky one." You giggled, untangling your hands from his hair. Allowing your palms to cup his face, pulling him down for a chaste kiss. Alastor kept his eyes open as you kissed, admiring your lovely visage. After a moment, you pulled back, nuzzling your nose into his. "Now, let's get washed up before heading back out there, yeah?"

Alastor and you emerged from the room a little while later. Meeting up with the group from where they gathered in the foyer. Charlie cheerfully waved you and your husband over, and you didn't miss the way Lucifer scowled at Alastor. "We were wondering where you lovebirds wandered off to," Vaggie stated, scooting over on the couch to allow you both to sit. Swiftly, Alastor sat on the sofa before pulling you into his lap. A smile etched into your face as your husband's arms looped around your frame, large palms caressing the tops of your thighs.

You heard Lucifer grumble under his breath from the public display of affection. Your friends, on the other hand, had their jaws on the floor. Alastor rarely showed his physical admiration toward you in front of them. So, to say they were shocked was an understatement. "Told ya they snuck away to fuck! Look at her neck, haha- Husk! You owe me that hundred bucks," Angel blurted out. Laughing his ass off. Heat rushed to your face from your friend's crass words. Alastor, on the other hand, glared at Lucifer. His smile stretched from ear to ear as the ruler of hell fumed.

"Angel-! Husk-?! You made a bet on whether or not Alastor and I would... ah, you fuckers!" Embarrassment flooded your entire being, hands darting up to cover your face. Alastor let out a loud chuckle from your adorable reaction. "No, toots. We're not the fuckers! You're the one who got fucked, aha!" You quickly got up from your spot atop Alastor's lap, storming over to Angel. "Husk, you're next!" You shouted, chasing Angel around the lobby. "Leave me out of this! That dumbass wouldn't shut up until I accepted the bet." Husk grumbled, not entertaining the bullshit.

All the while, Alastor was giving Lucifer a sharp look with that shit-eating grin still illuminating his features. "As you can see, there's no need for you to show my wife your little chum below the belt. My darling is more than satisfied in my care!"

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seiwas · 9 months

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₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love.

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity.

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s.

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory.

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t.

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

It starts with the little things.

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23.

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying.

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly.

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy.

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze.

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry.

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji.

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away.

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them.

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in.

A chuckle escapes you.

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone.

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue.

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly).

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing.

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order).

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly.

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly.

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you.

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times.

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick.

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you.

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning.

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage.

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice.

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming.

Is this what it means to be in love with you?

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you.

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing.

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there.

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will.

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen.

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin.

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own.

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old.

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek.

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this.

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit.

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him?

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score.

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems.

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely.

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing.

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes.

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room.

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette.

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into.

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it.

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach.

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’.

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age.

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined.

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines.

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students.

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew.

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly.

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy.

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time.

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced.

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen?

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially.

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully.

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared.

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too.

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing.

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile.

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy).

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since.

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly.

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too.

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you.

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked.

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue.

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows.

But it isn’t, and your smile widens.

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does.

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.”

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel.

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you.

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow.

“What made him ask?”

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity.

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.”

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever.

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his.

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t.

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders.

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together.

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks.

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed.

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours.

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17.

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology.

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you.

He says it as if it is the simplest truth.

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll.

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think.

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.

“Something like it.”

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?”

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you?

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’.

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering.

Can he see? You’re meant for him only.

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away.

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other.

You cup his cheeks.

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now.

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief.

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile.

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips.

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you.

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together.

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips.

You laugh—sprinkled in love.

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!”

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully.

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.”

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks.

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now.

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage.

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should.

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you?

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give.

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing.

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too.

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface.

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry.

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up?

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging.

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through.

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking.

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving.

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you.

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you.

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with.

He knows it.

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with?

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same.

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak.

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him.

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?)

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today.

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet.

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold.

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you.

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go.

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him.

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it.

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright.

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask.

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more.

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it.

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society.

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much.

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him.

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you.

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips.

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly.

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks.

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching.

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry.

Your grip on him tightens.

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck.

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.”

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder.

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum.

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it.

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even.

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately.

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.”

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune.

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled.

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.”

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding.

You always do.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today.

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane.

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making.

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything.

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over.

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy.

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky.

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life.

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.”

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you.

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way).

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now.

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

He’s shocked too.

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely.

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.”

The little laugh you make has him, completely.

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too.

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’.

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you.

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him.

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently.

The best part about being in love?

He gets to be in it with you.

Gojo can’t sleep.

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will.

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching.

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck.

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m.

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that.

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it.

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island.

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating.

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever.

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling.

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting.

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him.

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain.

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it.

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray.

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too.

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like.

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you.

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek.

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret.

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after.

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already.

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep.

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing.

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin.

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging.

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one.

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone.

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good.

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing).

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs.

(And he loves that about you).

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder.

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill.

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice.

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them.

He knows.

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you.

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only.

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you.

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy.

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides.

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.”

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love.

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night.

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong.

Are you happy with me?

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!! of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #shotorus.writes #col #algorithm pls love me

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sainns · 6 days

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pining ㅤ ⊹ ㅤ all of enha

gnreader ㅤ୨୧ㅤ 𝓒ontent . . .ㅤ friend!enhypen, pre relationship, this is a revamped post from when i first started my account, sunoo's the craziest one here for sure, a singular death joke, not proofread so pls ignore typosㅤ──ㅤ 817 ( 🗒 )

lee heeseung refuses to let you carry anything. he’s made it a habit of grabbing anything that you’re holding and carrying it himself. whether it be shopping bags, your purse, a stuffed animal that he won for you, or groceries, he will be carrying it all. sure, it may be a little hard carrying 15 different bags of groceries up to your apartment but he doesn't mind. even as you complain, saying that you feel bad that he has to carry everything when you can help, he'll just laugh you off, asking you to let him do this for you. you do a lot for him (unbeknownst to you) and this is the least he can do.

park jongseong asks for your opinion on almost everything he does. he'll ask you if he should buy this shirt or that one, watch looks better, what he should eat. it’s like he lost all ability make choices for himself after he gained feelings for you, only trusting your opinion. maybe it's because he wants to have things that you like, who knows. what everyone does know is that the contanst buzzing coming from your phone? jay. he's most definitely texting you about whatever it is he feigns needing help choosing, but he can't help it if your opinion is the only one that matters to him.

sim jaeyun loves to go shopping with you; he literally begs to be able go even if you tell him that you're just going to window shop. not to mention the fact that he is so serious about shopping; he’ll put his phone on do not disturb, giving you his full attention. when you ask him was store he wants to go to he'll shake his head, claming that this trip is for you and if he reall needs something then he can go on his own time. he always ends up buying your stuff for you, waving you off as he gives the cashier his money.

park sunghoon calls you every single night just so that he can fall asleep to your voice. in the beginning he asks you about your day, listening intently and asking follow up questions. he wants to hear your voice for as long as possible, especially when he went the whole day without talking to you. when you ask about his day, though, he gives you the most basic answer possible and moves the conversation back to you. and every morning, without fail, he claims that he didn't mean to fall asleep but your voice is way too soothing for your own good. you figure that he's not telling the full truth after you hear him say goodnight and he doesn't hang up the phone.

kim seonwoo takes more pictures of you than he does of himself. you swear when you caught a glipse of his gallery you saw an album named 'yn' that featured over seven thousand photos of you. which yes, you saw correctly, he has a very full folder full of pictutes of you. most of them aren't even good but he would rather die than delete the ten, nearly identical, photos of you laughing or the blurry video he got while you were ugly crying because of some movie. he also uses them to tease you—laughing when you tell him to delete it. yeah.. he's almost all out of storage, at this point he's going to buy a burner phone just for photos of you.

yang jungwon loves to texts you updates about his day. if you think jay texts you a lot, oh man, jungwon beats him by twenty miles. he'll tell you his plans who they're with, what he's planning on eating, the cute cat family he saw on the street (pictures included). this man tells you everything, every thought he has it feels like. honestly, he only bothers going out so that he has an excuse to text you, it makes him smile brightly at his phone when he sees your responses. when you start sending him updates about your day? he gets so happy, it's his favorite part of the day to hear from you now, nothing else could ever compare.

nishimura riki does not know what personal space is. he's always touching you in some way, even if it's subtle, like your shoulders pressing together when you're sitting on the couch, watching a movie. when you walk somewhere together, you have to push him away multiple times because he's practically on top of you with how close he is. when you're hanging out with friends, he tends to wrao an arm around your shoulder or lean his head against yours. your friends tease him for it, saying that he's practically apart of you now. he glares at them playfully, gripping your hand in his as he pulls you away (he just really wants to be alone with you).

#ㅤ⠀ ૮꒰ ˊᗜˋ ꒱ა ♡ ㅤ⠀#enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen x y/n #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanons #enha headcanons #enha x reader #enha x you #enha fluff #enhypen imagines #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #niki x reader #riki x reader

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keyotos · 8 months

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"you know, if being cute was a crime, you'd be guilty as charged!"

you have been at this for hours (it has only been a few minutes) now. wriothesley, who has been idly sipping his tea with a straight face, has not yet wavered at your terrible pick-up lines.

"that one was bad," he sips. you roll your eyes.

you clear your throat, "if fine was a felony, you'd be on death row," you give wriothesley an exaggerated wink.

he gives you a disconcerted look.

you pout, "okay, c'mon! that one was good!"

wriothesley puts his teacup on the table and moves his chair closer to yours, "i don't think death row should be associated with romance," he shakes his head, "that may have been the worse one today."

"i think that was, 'are you a crime? because i'll do you anyday!'" you laugh and grab wriothesley's teacup, taking a drink out of it so ordinarily.

wriothesley basks in this. tonight is a quiet night: the inmates aren't awake, sigewinne has clocked out for the day, and you are here. it's strange how you are one of the loudest people wriothesley knows of, yet you make the world sound so quiet when you're around. whatever your magic is, wriothesley isn't opposed to it.

everything about this scene reads domesticity, even though the two of you have been together for a couple of months. spending late nights together, sleeping in the same bed, drinking out of the same teacup? if someone had told wriothesley a few months ago that he would be doing these things (nevertheless with you), he would have called them mad. but here he is, sitting in his office doing nothing but drinking tea, while hearing you recite horrible pick-up lines.

"wouldn't it be the perfect crime if i stole your heart and you stole mine?" you push the teacup towards you boyfriend.

wriothesley winces, "maybe that was the worse one today."

"what?! i thought that one wasn't bad."

your boyfriend looks to the side, "it was really cheesy."

"clearly, you missed the point of pick-up lines," you lay your head down on the desk, "i'd like to see you come up with one."

wriothesley chuckles. you relish in the fact that you are one of the only people that have ever heard him laugh. it's an unexpected sound, and it always comes out more lighter than most people would think. but it's endearing, just like him; you always think that a light chortle from him would paint your dark skies to a clear blue.

"i'm saving myself from the embarrassment," wriothesley sips out of the teacup, on the same side you drank of, you might add.

"boring," you draw out the syllables of the word.

"what? did you run out of lines?" wriothesley teased you, taking another drink out of the teacup to hide his smile. he watched as your face morphed into a light grimace.

"i did not, actually," you raise your head off the desk, "in fact, i'm thinking of one right now."

"oh no..." wriothesley shivers. you shoot him a petulant look. he backs down.

when you think, you have this habit of sticking your tongue out of your lips, just ever-so slightly. your eyebrows crease just a little bit, not enough to be furrowed, but enough to not be at resting position. your eyes don't narrow, they widen. wriothesley thinks that if someone caught you like this on a kamara, your photos would go down in history.

finally, after what felt like years (it was one minute), you look back up at him. this time, however, your eyes are laced with uncertainty rather than flirtatiousness.

"if being in love is illegal, would you be my partner in crime?"

love. you guys haven't talked about it yet.

was that why your eyes were so full of nervousness? did you think he didn't love you back? if that was the case, then it'd be preposterous, for how can anyone look at you and not fall in love? although, wriothesley supposes that it's a good thing, because that means you're his to have.

one side of his brain is in doubt. it's just a joke, it says, they're not being truthful, it's just a pick-up line. but his heart says otherwise. if they were joking, then why do their eyes look like that? why are they fidgeting with their fingers? why are they gently tapping their foot on the ground?

love has never been a consideration for wriothesley. throughout his life, it has been abandonment and independence. there's only been room for one, not two. but you: you reconstructed his entire mind. so now, when he thinks about drinking tea, he doesn't drink alone anymore. when he's staying late to do paperwork, he doesn't have to be alone while doing so. when there was one, there is now two.

oh.

oh shit. your confession of love came from a pick-up line. and it actually worked on him, because he loves you back. he loves you back so much. wriothesley loves you back with his heart, his mind, his body, and possibly his soul. and he realized the extent of his love through a pick-up line. from you out of all people.

though, even though he's in love with you, he's not letting you get the satisfaction of your line working.

"i don't know. according to the my close friend, the duke of meropide, he says it's illegal to participate in criminal activities." wriothesley's tone is soft. his eyes are full of endearment. your eyebrows stop crinkling, and your eyes revert back to normal. you know. you know.

you give into an easy smile, "don't you think your friend, the duke, is a little too compliant to the law?"

"sorry, he's not changing his ways. but," wriothesley gets out of his chair and strides towards you. his hand meet your jawline, and his thumb traces the corner of your lip that's turned downwards due to your pout. with his thumb, he guides it upward, making it so you were smiling. he laughs slightly⎯twice tonight, which is something he did not expect to do⎯and moves his thumb to lightly caress your bottom lip.

he uses his hand to tilt your head up towards him. you know what's coming, and you excitedly lean in closer. wriothesley tilts his head down to meet your lips, carefully tracing every angle of your jaw as he does so. you meet him halfway, closing the gap between you two almost immediately. wriothesley can feel you happily grin into the kiss. you grab his shirt collar and pull him closer into you, and he obliges with no hesitation.

you are the first one to pull away, and it takes all of wriothesley's willpower to stop himself from pulling you back in.

"but?" you ask, chest heaving up and down. wriothesley, the bastard, is still breathing normally. "does the duke of meropide have any contentions?"

wriothesley shakes his head, "i think he could make some exceptions," he whispers, grinning while doing so.

he doesn't miss the beaming glow of your smile as leans in once more. and then, he knows that he'll be your partner in crime for a long time.

#tana writes (∗´ ᨔ `∗)#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #they r so sweet nothing by tswift coded #THIS WAS THE CUTEST THING I EVER WROTE

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bunji-enthusiast · 4 months

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One Whole, Became Two

Note || this took me so long to write, but I love this stupid idiot platonically. Chapter three my sleep-deprived folks 👍🏻

WC || 3,312

<(part 1)><(previous part)><(you are here)>

Sypnosis || you bring back a dear old dead heart to a wounded dog.

If someone ever told you that you would’ve come back to a desolate factory full of death and damnation you would tell them that in what world in which would that happen? You never would’ve heeded their words.

Oh, how wrong you were.

You hated being wrong.

Yet, many things may have happened, some of which allowed you to get in some exercise… you also gained some new friends. They are very near and dear to you, despite the small numbers you retain in your ragtag group of allies. You preferred the terminology friends, you’ve gotten close with Kissy Missy and Poppy, even DogDay too!

Speaking of which, this accursed Playcare was still a little too dark for your liking. You needed more power, more light to go the right way necessary. A light chuckle breaks you out of your thoughts, “A-angel, do you need some help?” DogDay inquired, watching as you had tried to remember which way he had pointed to the medical station.

You shook your head egregiously, trying to affirm your belief as you spoke, “I got it… I swear I know which way it is!” Your shoulders slumped as you let out a defeated sigh, having to hate asking him for help.

Asking for help wasn’t necessarily your most favorite thing in the world, in for the most of miniscule of things. You thought it was ridiculous, insipid to do, in no way would you ever ask for said help unless you really were struggling.

Apparently as of right now, these were one of those moments that you were truly struggling, and it was with directions as well. You couldn’t be any more ashamed, “Could you m-maybe tell me where it was again?”

DogDay let out an amused bark, not merely in making fun of you. He thought you were just cute, the way you were embarrassed, though DogDay will never actually admit this feeling to you. “Okay, Angel, you see that sign over there? It points to the direction of the medical station.” Your large companion points to the sign in question, you sorely cannot miss it no way, his paw was big. Actually, it’s nearly the size of your head.

“Ah, focus!”

The pathway was riddled with broken cobblestone and dirt, but do-able to make your way through. You just hated broken paths, no trouble still.

You nod to let him know you saw it, walking over to the sign that was now a few pacings away from you. The silence had now settled in place for the lack of conversation, it was seemingly getting awkward enough as is. Suddenly, a new voice interjects on the radio of your walkie-talkie.

“Oh there you are! I wasn’t able to connect to you on that side of the dome!” His light voice carried an undercurrent of worry. “No ouchies or lost body parts?”

DogDay raised a brow as you two had continued making your way to the medical station. You nodded your head curtly, as if angling your head to signify you’d explain the kid on the radio at a later time. You spoke out in reply, knowing full well you weren’t in any real danger at the moment, “I’m uh, I’m fine Ollie. Just taking care of a friend, they got hurt… real bad.” A wince left your throat at the tone you carried within your words, you didn’t expect that.

A thought rushed into your head, “Why’d I word it like that? I guess I’m just worried about revealing DogDay to Ollie just yet.” DogDay patted your leg as to reassure you, eyes gleaming as if they were smiling down upon you.

“Alright, you can introduce me later,” Ollie paused, as if he were hesitating to get the words out of his mouth. As if something was holding him back from doing so, “Take care of them first then I’ll tell you what to do next. See you!”

Then, the radio was now silent. You let out a breath you held in your lungs, sometimes forgetting to breathe reminds you to even breathe manually. An odd habit but nobody will nitpick that for the life of all there is to know and exist.

An abrupt cough shocked you out of your thoughts, you immediately became concerned for DogDay who had been patiently waiting for your dilemma and conversation to end. You knelt down and checked over his body, “No need to worry.” You lodged his resistance in the back of your head, looking for any external wounds beside the most obvious ones.

“I shouldn’t have stopped.” You murmur, gently picking him up. There was no way you’d let him drag himself along the floor, not until he was in a better state.

“We’re alright Angel,” DogDay sputtered, you were unimpressed, not phased by his words. “Really… but who was that if I may ask?”

Steadily, you continued walking–the stupid medical station finally in reach. “Ollie, apparently sometime after I dropped down here he told me he was an ally of Poppy.” You then trailed off, not sure if you wanted to mansplain the entirety of the story down right to when you came across DogDay. Sighing, you begrudgingly open the door to the station.

The room was messy, akin to the state of many other locations in Playcare. But in your modest opinion, you truly did not care about that. You just really needed to fix up DogDay, and he was the focal point of your attention right now. “Angel, you seemed to be incredibly bothered.”

DogDay shifted on the weight of his body as you began setting him down, if you were being truthful, you couldn’t refute that very fact. Yet you felt too angry to get the words across, “I know, I.. I guess this stupid factory just has me all on edge.”

Then a silence settled into place, as neither of you were unsure of what to say next. Everything and nothing was happening all at the same time. You walked over the ruined carpet, it looked as if it was made in the 1980’s. Some doors seemed to be torn off of it’s hinges, but at least the supplies were barely stolen. There was enough to treat DogDay properly, as much as you can manage within your knowledge anyway.

The hard part would be treating DogDay, (as you unfortunately didn’t have enough knowledge medically) and getting him his legs back so he could walk on his own as well.

Gently, you opened a door to a closet, full of bandages and gauze.

“Perfect timing, guess I didn’t need to look that hard.” You thought to yourself, your hands already grabbing the bandages and gauze. A small smile graced your cracked lips, carrying a genuine air with you, “Hey, DogDay I found some supplies. Looks like they left this place pretty untouched.” You waved at him, holding the aforementioned supplies in hand.

DogDay perked up from where he had been looking at some stray medical papers, most likely files of every patient to come in and out of the station. “Oh!.. Thank you greatly. You really are an angel my friend.” You become bashful at his words, an embarrassed chuckle leaving you as you scratched the back of your head. Standing up you walk back over to the large dog, motioning for DogDay to position himself to where you can get to all the spots correctly.

You sighed, having to take a moment in order to set yourself into focus, this was important. You didn’t want to screw up something so crucial to DogDay’s health, “Ok, This might hurt a little so bear with me.” You warn, crouching down as you laid out the supplies.

“I have no doubt you will do fine!” DogDay encouraged you, settling down to be calmer for you. Fine, yes you can do fine. Okay well enough maybe, you just need to be careful!

Why was this so difficult?

“Stupid brain, Stop giving me all these thoughts!” You groan lowly, setting into place to mend his more major wounds with a contemporary suture. First off, you needed to clean the suture, to which you had quickly done.

You gently pressed a wet rag to the most prominent area, cleaning it out of any debris that might be left behind in the wound. DogDay was simply listening and quiet upon your actions, clearly a little too impressed for your liking. You swabbed the wound with water then threw away the rag a few meters from you, you internally winced at that.

Injuries are a major case for you ever since you stepped foot into this factory, you just never expected to be having to treat another person (or toy for that matter).

“Angel?” You let out a hum in reply, suturing the wound as he spoke. “You seem… incredibly bothered, maybe you should try to talk about it.” DogDay shifted slightly, wincing a little as he had done so. Concern washes over your expression as you went to hold him, he held out a hand to reassure you he was fine.

“Well.”

You sat back on the heel of your foot as you thought about it for a moment, your brows knitted together. It was practically hurting your head, giving you a headache to be thinkin about every little thing that was running through your head.

Your lips pressed together in a thin line, unsure of whether or not to air your concerns. But it seems you weren’t gonna have any other chance to talk about it then right now, you just didn’t wanna dump everything on DogDay all at once.

Practically would seem like a lot. Far too much to say and too little to be sure of.

“I guess I’m just concerned over whether or not I really can trust Poppy,” You signal, having a habit of talking with your hands. “And this, Prototype guy… didn’t you say CatNap worships this thing like a god?”

He nods, “Yes, I didn’t join the Prototype. Which is why he had deemed me a heretic.” You frown at his words, nobody deserves that type of treatment. Making it even worse, you would assume the two used to be very good friends.

“Oh dear,” You echo, recoiling suddenly in embarrassment for voicing something you didn’t realize slipped out of your mouth. DogDay laughs at this, waving his hand as he sits himself upright so as to not slip onto his back, “You are very much correct Angel.” He nods, “If anything, he’s no longer the old CatNap I’ve come to know him as.”

You shrug, a little unsure of the situation right now. Then a thought you finally needed ran across your mind, “Hey, would you happen to remember where your legs are or if… any spare ones laying around anywhere?” You motion around the room as you spoke, voice trailing off as you sat back, and awaiting DogDay’s response. He appeared to be deep in thought, clearly thinking about your question.

“I believe they have some spares in a storage room at this station,” DogDay gestures at the specific door he thought of in mind. “But Angel, I might be wrong. Don’t trouble yourself for my sake beyond this.” His voice strains, as if pleading.

You chewed your lips, nodding your head once more as you headed to the door of origin. You quietly crept into the room, seeing how dark and dank it was. Slowly but surely your eyes had adjusted to the light.

“Now, where are you… stupid legs.” You mutter, taking notice of some poppy gas that laid in wait in the corner, not to mention how badly scratched this room was in particular. Probably the work of CatNap or some other toy. On instinct, your legs drove you forward as you stepped into the gas with a gas mask inset upon your face. You certainly didn’t feel like dying from the gas, or passing out for that matter.

You had a debt to pay.

Your eyes wandered aimlessly as you palmed around for the supposed legs, feeling around for each and every inch possible that you might miss.

Suddenly you felt a fuzzy feeling run up across your arm, you jostled in surprise, a happy squeak leaving your throat when you pick up the legs. “Thank you, sweet baby jesus.” You huff in reprise, feeling accomplished at the place of convenience.

If you could laugh right now, it would be possible, heaven sure as hell wasn’t a place for angels anymore. Not even you, but you still had to follow through, you came here in the first place anyway.

A small sigh left your esophagus as you turned, walking back through as you made careful note not to trip walking back too.

Something had your mind occupied, demons infested this place. Elliot Ludwig had created this place, and if he so proclaims to want to bring joy to thousands upon thousands of children around the world then why would he permit the experiments. All those children and the elderly… your heart couldn’t help but ache at the mere thought.

You shake your head to get your mind out of the unilluminated gutter, DogDay lit up upon seeing you in his sights once more. “Angel, you are alright.” He mentions, paw held to his chest as if he were breathing a sigh of relief.

Your nose was scrunched as you gutted a snort, “You say that like it’s so surprising DogDay.” DogDay shrugs, as if he was now expressing the vulnerability of being embarrassed at the prospect of his own words.

“Ah I’m just joking with you,” You wave him off, DogDay remains silent at this, not having any thought at what to say back to you. You were right though, he shouldn’t be doubting you for what even anyone in particular is worth. Being freed for what feels like the first time in forever had been leaving him with brand new thoughts, even though he had been thinking and left well alone for nearly over a decade now.

One door closes, infinite more are open. One must beware the foreign class, otherwise you may as well see yourself dead.

“I truly do apologize for Poppy’s actions… we all mean well.” DogDay begins, trailing off into nearly an inconceivable silence. You set down the legs, to which DogDay is delighted at this brand new aspect, yet still left without room to be uncouth. You didn’t speak at all, pressing between the fine line of the truth and his own words.

“We must, break the circle.”

What?

“Angel?”

“You all are chained, if whatever happened all those years ago were true…” You sigh, rubbing the nape of your neck as you find yourself in an air of awkwardness. “Then I am also at fault for the way you guys are right now.”

DogDay’s brows drew together, upset that you feel guilty for the entirety of this fortnight. At least it had felt that way for you, you sincerely had lost track of time since your watch had gotten destroyed. You tried keeping up with the time on the clocks you pass by, but you just generally had lost the energy and motion in doing so.

“Hmn.” He muttered to himself, then got up to hug you, which had clearly surprised you as you felt yourself being enveloped and wrapped in a very fluffy hug. You sigh and decompress after a few moments, the shock finally leaving your body.

“Thanks… DogDay,” You motion, patting the fluff resting upon his chest. “I actually really needed that, hugs are a rarity.” You admit, blush burning on your cheeks as you look away from him in a manner of speaking. You hear a chuckle interrupted by a cough, “Don’t thank me, you seemed to really need it Angel. Being exhausted is one thing, but no hugs?”

DogDay drew a paw to his chest as he spoke dramatically, “That is absolutely unacceptable!” Your hand crossed over your mouth, trying to stifle a laugh at what a drama king DogDay was posing as at this very moment.

“You kinda remind me of someone I know.” You motion, then sat on the heels of your feet as you immediately went back to work in fixing up DogDay.

“How so?”

“You're pretty bright, act like a drama king sometimes and you even can be a little mean…” You wag a finger as you see him begin to protest at the mean comment, “I don’t mean like in a rude manner, just like in a brotherly way. You kind of act like a big brother sometimes.” You shrug with a hint of finality, fixing up his other injuries and repairing them with a gentle hand, even if the suture seemed to betray the tremble displayed.

After silence had continuously settled in once again, you sigh, angling at the fact on what to do in order to mend DogDay’s very obvious injury with his lack of legs attached at the bottom of his torso. For a moment, you meander with the decision.

“Right, I’m gonna try my best to reattach them to you.” You spoke with a benign tone, more so displaying your own distrust of yourself. You hated that, you practically hated everything so why is this any different.

You just have to do it scared.

Familiarity reigns over your heart as you see his large paw lay over your own hand, you sigh, sensations shuddering your body as you keep yourself calm. You silently thank DogDay as you gesture that you were okay now, you can be fine on your own.

You push the legs to his upper half, just barely enough that it would appear as if the legs were there and back again already. Your hand wanders over to the middle line, your eyes glaze over with forlorn worry taking your very worried brain. You sigh as you begin stitching, taking careful caution as you notice him flinching quite a few times throughout the process. At a leisurely pace, you notice by the influence you had made by taking care of him how much better he looks physically.

Soon enough, you manage to completely stitch his legs back to right where they belong. “Well done, I knew you could do it Angel!.” DogDay shook with excitement, reassuringly glad at the prospect of being able to actually walk again. You swear you could collapse at the relief, you hold out a finger before you let him get excited any further, “I still need to bandage it all together, extra precaution if you catch my drift.”

Your large dog companion nods in understanding, shifting about so his body parts don't get sore from sitting in one place for too long.

From before, grace was high in patriarchy, now then you were sure it was something high to fall from. You could climb to the top (bottom to be literal) and rip the Prototype off of his high horse, and free all the surviving toys.

You shook your head, trying to calm yourself at the buzzing excitement that had resonated deep-seated into your heart. You quickly went to work on bandaging the middle line of his torso, carefully curating it enough so the bandages would cover the stitches completely.

“There, now we are done and good to go!” You look up at DogDay, offering him a soft smile. “Angel really… thank you so much.” He gestures for you to come closer, so you oblige and go in, suddenly you feel yourself being hugged by unabashed warmth. You yelped as air bloomed across your skin, seeing as you are now in the air quite a few feet off the ground.

DogDay really was hugging you with the whole of his heart, so you melt into his touch, relenting as you found defeat–yet also peace with your furry friend.

#dogday poppy playtime #poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime dogday #DogDay #x reader

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scribblesofagoonerr · 4 months

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All that I ask is that you stay with me | Inner Demons

⟫ Alphabet Challenge, A - All that I ask is that you stay with me

Pairings: leah williamson x teen reader, arsenal wfc x teen reader

This is some angst that I thought to write because, well, life's been hard recently and I need a creative outlet to get my emotions out on paper and well, this is the result.

It might not be great and it's not been proof-read at all, so uh, yeah... Let me know what you all think but please be kind :)

And if any of you have any ideas of things to write, I'm open to write anything, within reason of course. My asks are open so feel free to drop anything in there :)

The battle with your inner demons are hard. You sometimes wonder if it's better to leave the world, making the decision without the realisation of how loved you are by the team of girls around you.

TW: heavy angst, SH, MH and talks of suicide and death.

"Y/N are you in there? Hurry up, we're about to start the film" The loud voice of Katie shouts aloud from the other side of the closed bathroom door to alert you of your attention.

You were joined by the girls in a classic team bonding night, a good ol' fashioned film to watch with some sugary treats, curtousy of it being a cheat day.

You are always so excited to spend time with the older girls, you all looked up with some much respect, being a part of the team for a while, you'd grown to love the girls like your own family.

Despite how well you fitted in at the club and how amazing you played football, there would always be people to put you down.

And in this case, it was in the forms of social media.

The internet could be a cruel place sometimes.

"Ye... Yeah, alright. J... Just a minute, I'll be right out" You shakily reply as you held the blade out in front of you while it stared back at you, almost like it was almost taunting you to use it.

Old habits are easy to break, you should have knew that.

It wasn't long before you were slumped on the bathroom floor as you watched the crimson liquid trickle down your arms. It felt like a rush of instant relief to the pain that you currently indured.

One small cut to take away the pain, you thought it would be okay.

Two cuts, you just wanted to chase the rush of the first.

Three, four and five, you realise you may have messed up.

You were doing so well, you had been on the right path to get help. that was needed. You had been clean for a numerous amount of days and just in that instant, the snap of a finger and all of that progress, had just been so easy to unwravle again.

You found it so easy to take a hold of the blade in your hand, press it against your wrist and pierce the skin.

It was a feeling of euphoria that you hadn't felt in a while, it was something that was needed.

The cuts were deep, too deep that even with added pressure, they wouldn't stop bleeding.

"Is this the end now?" You had to question yourself as your eyelids felt heavy, you were so tired and you didn't have it in you to fight anymore.

Was it really that easy to leave a world full of heartache and pain?

Maybe so,

At least you had thought that as you hear the sudden loud bang of the bathroom flying open and clashing against the wall.

"Y/N!" It was Leah's shrill voice that screams out in a panic, her eyes widened in fear as she stares at you. "Y/N, can you hear me?!" she questions with a a quiver in her tone.

"L... Le" You slur her name as you look at the blonde as you can feel yourself slipping into a state of unconciousness.

"Stay awake, Y/N. You have too-- Girls, help!" Leah continues to shout aloud for any of the girls to hear. " You hear me, Y/N? You have to stay awake" she pleads as her tears threaten to spill.

"S' okay, Le. L... Let me go. It's time" You tell her quietly as your eyes flutter between being open and shut.

"No, Y/N. You can't give up... You can't" Leah cries openly, the tears at bay have now escaped. "Stay with me, Y/N. Stay with me, please" she adds, her voice becomes louder as hot tears roll down her cheeks.

The rest of the girls all heard Leah's panicked voice and dart in the direction of the bathroom, each of them gasping in shock to find you slumped on the floor.

"Shit-- Y/N" Beths' eyes widen in fear and panic as she takes in the scene in front of her.

"What happened?" Viv questions, alarmed by the sight.

"S... She's hurt herself" Leahs' panicked voice speaks aloud while she's crouched down on the floor and pressing a towel against your wrists to try and soak up the blood. "I... I can't get the bleeding to stop" she tells them.

"Somebody call an ambulance, quick" Katie states as she joins Leah's side to kneel down and try to help in way that she can.

Her usual joking manner has suddenly turned into fearful and that's when the girls all knew this was serious.

"I'm on it" Jen agrees as fishes her phone out of her pocket, dialing 999 and waiting for an answer on the other side. "I need an ambulance, as soon as possible. It's urgent! My team mates' hurt herself and is in and out of unconciousness" the scots' woman speaks aloud,

"Stay with me, Y/N. Stay with me, keep your eyes open please" Leah pleads as she continues to hold the now blood-soaked towl against your skin, her own tears freely spilling down her cheeks as you daze in and out of sleep.

"W... Why would she do this to herself" Steph questions concerned as she glances at you, heartbroken it had come to this.

"I don't know, she was... she was doing better" Lia spoke out, swallowing the lump in her throat as she tried to keep her own emotions in check.

"At least, we thought she was" Beth mumbles as she struggles to take her eyes off your unconcious body.

"She'll be okay, she has to be" Caitlin adds in with vulnerability in her voice that wasn't usually shown to anyone, other than you.

You were the baby of the team, all of the girls were overprotective of you ever since you joined. It wasn't a secret that you had them all virtually wrapped around your pinky finger.

All the girls knew it was hard for you, you had a lot of expectation to live up to and knew that eventually, the pressure would be too much for you and you would break.

They were all there the last time, they saw the good, the bad and the damn right ugly and vowed to not let it happen again.

But, old habits are easy to break, right?

"Ambulance is on it's way. It won't be long" Jen tells the girls.

"I'm going with her" Leah was quick to say. A tone in her voice which the rest of the girls knew to not object against.

You were close with the girls but compared to them, Leah was pretty much your second-mum, older sister figure all rolled into one and she was the one that you always came to when it got tough.

Why didn't you just speak to her? Then maybe things could be different.

"We'll follow you to the hospital" Kim replies to the blonde and the rest of the girls all nod in agreement, they would always be there for you at a time when you most needed it.

They were your family, and family never turned their back on another.

#arsenal x reader #woso x reader #arsenal women x reader #leah williamson #woso #woso imagine #woso fanfics #heavy angst #leah williamson x reader #arsenal wfc x reader

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vainvenus · 1 year

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⌲;꒰ Favorite boy in the Valley ꒱

Pairing - Eli Moskowitz x Fem!Reader

Synopsis - Eli's doubting your relationship so you have to confirm some things for him.

Includings - S1!Eli no Hawk, insecurities, crying, embarrassed and blushing Eli, lots of kisses, words of affirmation, small bits of angst, a bunch of fluff

An - First post back with a new fixation! All tags used are fandoms I write for so feel free to request anything

And if anybodys interested I'm currently writing a Scream Au!Cobra Kai on quotev under the same name I use on here

Eli had been a bit off lately and it was starting to worry you.

Eli was generally a quiet person, he had been that way since you met him and he still was. But even given his quiet nature if there was a topic he was interested in and the right people were talking about it he would add in an opinion or two.

And he would be more than happy to rant to you of all people about a new series he had started up or to talk about one of the movies you recommended to him so that the two of you could gush about it and share opinions, but recently he had been a lot quieter.

You shut your locker, smiling over at the dirty blonde. "So, have you watched clueless yet? The fashion in that is-"

"Uh..no, sorry. I was...uhm...busy." He interrupted, staring down at his feet at the lie he told, he watched it twice and wanted nothing more than to go on and on about it.

You rose a brow, head tilting slightly as you stared at him with a look that almost made him call his bluff. "Busy?"

He just nodded quietly.

Then about a week ago, when you asked him if he wanted to come over after school to do a Marvel marathon he had quickly declined, saying that he had other plans and before you could ask what those plans were he went to go talk to Demetri.

He would usually walk you to class, everybody saying that wherever you were he had to be somewhere close by but recently as you waited outside your classroom for him he would be nowhere to found and that made your heart sink a little bit.

"Hey, you weren't outside my English class to walk me to culinary today." You frowned, setting your lunch tray next to his and taking your seat. "I wanted to tell you that I aced my essay..."

Eli glanced over at you and moved his nail from between his teeth. A nasty habit you had been trying to get him to stop doing for months and you were real close until he started becoming distant.

"I was just...just rushing to get to Chemistry. I had a really important test and wanted to get some extra study time in." He explained and you slowly nodded, deciding not to bring up the fact that his test was tomorrow.

He also stopped holding your hand, the first thing he could make the first move on, something he could confidently do if he was feeling nervous or just wanted to touch you. Normally he would hold it as he walked you to your classes or even when the two of you were sitting together at lunch but he started to pull his hand away or shove it into his pocket.

And what really got you was when he started denying your kisses. At first you thought it would just be by accident or he didn't want a kiss at the moment since he was still getting comfortable with PDA but you soon realized that he was dodging your kisses, tilting and moving his head when you leaned in.

It was all really confusing. You didn't understand why he was acting like this and it left you wondering if you had did something wrong. Maybe you had done something that made him upset with you?

You sighed, leaning onto Demetri's shoulder. "Its like when we first met all over again, Dem. He's just been so distant and I don't know whats the matter. Has he been acting different with you?"

"No, he hasnt." Demetri bluntly answered, shaking his head while his eyes stayed focused on the homework you let out a long sigh. "Then it's me, I have to be the problem."

The brunette sighed, putting his pencil down and turning his head to look at you, nearly giving you a death glare. "Look, you just need to talk to him, alright? He's probably going through another one of his slumps and needs some reassurance."

You had groaned, rubbing your hand along your face. "Of course, why hadn't you thought of that before? "Thanks, Dem! You're so good at giving advice, can't believe I didn't think that. God I'm dumb sometimes."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know I am and I know you are. Now, can we please finish our homework now that you're done moping?"

"[Y/n], Eli didn't tell me you were coming."

You smiled up at his mother as you held a new copy of the comic book Eli had ranted about a while ago along with a bag of some of his favorite snacks. "Yeah, I wanted to surprise him."

"Well he's upstairs in his room." She hummed, closing the door behind you as you walked up the stairs and down the hall to the boy's room, lifting your knuckles up to knock on the door.

There was a bit of shuffling before the door opened and Eli's eyes were wide with surprise upon seeing you. "[Y/n]? What..What are you doing here?"

"I just really need to talk to you. Can I come in, please?"

He seemed hesitant at first before reluctantly nodded and opened his door all the way. You set the things you brought for him on the table then walked over to sit across from him on his bed.

You looked at him, staring into his eyes as you reached out to grab his hand and rubbed your thumb over the back of it. "Eli, talk to me. What's the matter? What's going on?"

"It's nothing-" He started but you weren't buying it, obviously. "Eli we both know that's a lie. You haven't really been yourself lately and I just need to know why. I'm here for you. Is it something that I've done or anything I can fix?"

"Unless you can fix me being a freak, no, you can't."

Your face softened as you held onto his hand a little tighter. "Eli, you're not-"

He shook his head, pulling his hands away from yours. "No! Don't. Don't say that! I don't wanna hear this whole 'you're not a freak' talk again I'm so sick of it!"

The way his voice started to crack made your heart sink as you saw that his eyes were starting to water, fresh tears threatening to spill.

"Kyler said something that...that just really got me thinking. Saying that he didn't know how a girl like...like you gave a nerd with a weird lip...lip a chance." Eli swallowed the lump starting in his throat because he was going to start crying rethinking of the conversation.

"He started talking about how much better you could've done. Better like somebody like...like him." He sniffled, his fingers brushing against his scar as he looked everywhere but you when he spoke.

"And then I started to think he was...was right. You could do so much better than some nerd with a freaky l..lip." His voice wobbled as he stared down at his bedsheets.

"Eli. Eli, look at me." While the boy shook his head you reached up to grab the sides of his face, wiping away the tears with your thumbs that were starting to fall down his cheeks.

You sighed, frowning softly. "Look, I don't care what anybody else says, okay? Kyler was wrong because there's no better choice. I mean, is there any other boy at school who would listen to my constant complaining about Mrs.Carter?"

Eli had stayed quiet as you continued. "Would any other boy let me ramble about [f/superhero] and not call me a nerd?"

Silence.

You weren't done though. "Would some jerk like Kyler deal with my long shopping trips and help me carry all my bags around?"

Continuing you had smiled softly up at him. "Oh and I'm one hundred percent sure none of those guys would watch silly chick flicks with me and actually like them."

He shrugged his shoulders and you smiled, pressing your lips against the his cheek in a short yet sweet kiss and he winced, feeling the stickiness from your lipgloss. "And no other boy here is as breathtaking as you."

Your smile grew more as you saw the tips of his ears turning pink and he turned his head away slightly, looking up and away at his ceiling. "[Y/n].."

"I'm serious, Eli. You're so very pretty. I love and adore everything about you."

He avoided eye contact with you, trying to pull his face from your hands but you only hummed while pressing kisses all over his face and leaving shiny kiss marks along it.

"Your eyes alone just make me melt, y'know? I'm real jealous of how your lashes look better than mine." You giggled, placing a kiss right above his brow.

"[Y/n], stop..." He mumbled, his cheeks now being a color that would put any blush set to shame and you shook your head.

"You have a beautiful nose. I love staring at your side profile, it's just perfect." You complimented, kissing the bridge of his nose before your eyes trailed down.

You reached up, tracing your finger along the scar. "And like I've said before I love your scar. I could kiss you a million times and never get grossed out by it.

At that you leaned forward, pressing your lips right against his scar and you could feel his hands squeezing at the bottom of your shirt, fists squeezing tightly around the fabric before you moved down and captured his slightly chapped lips with your own. While you leaned into the kiss you could feel Eli's grip slowly lighten as he leaned into the kiss.

Eli was a burning mess in a the face when you kissed his scar, closing his eyes at the feeling while holding tightly onto your shirt as if you would go anywhere. Feeling you place felt your soft lips on his own partially chapped ones he was like putty in your hands, practically liquefying.

When you pulled away you giggled at the residue of gloss that came from your lips and that was now all over Eli's face and his own lips, smiling as the boy rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip, his shoulders rising and falling while he panted softly.

"So no, there's no boy in this valley I'd rather be with." You confirmed, wrapping your arms and he laid back allowing you to lay your head against his chest, finding a sort of comfort listening to his heartbeat.

You hummed softly, reaching a hand up to play with the tuffs of his hair and the two of you laid there in comfortable silence and you peered up to stare at him to see that he was already staring at you.

"You...You really mean it? All that stuff you said earlier?" He questioned, his voice coming off as a whisper and you lifted your head up.

You sat up on his lap, furrowing your brows at him while staring at him with an incredulous expression. "Do I need to repeat myself? Kisses and all?"

"I...I don't know...I don't think I really got it." Eli gave a sheepish smile, messing with the hem of your shirt."

"Maybe...uhm...a couple more kisses and it might click?" He quietly suggested and stared up at you through his eyelashes, his lips parting a bit.

And how could you say no to such a pretty face like that?

#eli moskowitz #eli hawk moskowitz #hawk moskowitz #eli moskowitz x reader #hawk moskowitz x reader #hawk x reader #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai #stranger things #the outsiders #it 2017 #karate kid #the black phone

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talks-with-the-void · 2 months

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Fluid kintypes - identity doesn't need to be static

I used to be a wolf, once. Not in a past-life sense, but in a therian sense - I was a wolf therian and then I wasn't. Sounds weird to you? I'm not surprised!

Something that I have repeatedly been told by other therians and otherkin is "you are what you are and if you find out you are something else - well, then you never were the first thing at all." Especially when I joined the community several years ago, I saw this statement everywhere. But let me tell you: it's not true. I had several different kintypes over the years (side note: we are plural and for the sake of this post I am simplifying some internal structure things. if you want the complicated details, feel free to ask! /gen), started as a wolf therian, then I was a cryptid, a dinosaur, a dragon and some kind of monster. Now I am Khhanivore (from Love, Death and Robots) and Mewtu (from Pokemon, Mewtu is the German spelling) - and a raptor kintype is coming back. (I am also a werewolf, but that's not a kintype, that's just Purely Me And My Whole Essence)

"Okay Istasha, but isn't that just questioning or maybe flickertypes?", you might ask. Fair point, but no.

I honestly never really questioned my kintypes - if I truly question something, it turns out to either be a hearttype or Nothing at All. As for kintypes, I just know - all of us just know what we are, it's like chilling and one day, suddenly, one of us is like "oh, I am a horse. alright, carry on" and that's it. Our kintypes stay with us for several months at least, theoretically they could stay forever but tend to change along the way - which brings me to the next point. They aren't flickertypes either. We only really get fictionflickers and sometimes animalflickers and those are extremely short and always tied to media we are currently consuming - they feel, technically, like kintypes to me. For example, if I watch a lot of Supernatural, I sometimes get an intense feeling of belonging there, of being a non-canon character, of being part of the story, etc. I am this non-canon character in that moment, I might even get pseudo-memories or shifts, but as soon as I don't engage with that show too much again, it instantly fades.

Our kintypes don't work like that. Take my re-emerging dinosaur kintype as an example. I was walking somewhere a few days ago and suddenly had a pahntom sensation in my legs and feet and in the same moment I knew "ah shit, new kintype". I gave it a day because maaayyybe it's nothing? But deep down I already knew what was going on, so I have an Utahraptor kintype now. I am this. I identify as this through and through and it feels like I've always been this way. But it wasn't - a week ago I wasn't a dinosaur and now I am. I did not choose it, I did not engage with any dinosaur media at all, it just happened.

My kintypes have always been changing and trust me when I say I had a complete identity crisis when my wolf kintype first went away. But over the years Ive learned to accepot it - my identy is not static, it never was and it never will be and that's okay!

It doesn't make my kintypes less important or less real and it also doesn't mean I never was a wolf. I was. And then I wasn't.

I honestly think it is so, so damaging to still have this "kintypes are static"-sentient floating around in the community, because that's simply not true for all of us. For me, it honestly even makes more sense this way. Our brain has always been unstable, I lacked a true identity for so long. We grew up with untreated BPD andf although the symptoms are 95% under my control now (read: it's in remission), our brain still has a ton of habits from that time, like clinging onto different things to try and form an identity, to try and fill the void where a person should be. And the fact that the void is filled now, that I finally am enough of a person to fill it, this habit never changed. Our brain still randomly grabs things and makes them one of us, leading to fluid kintypes.

Let me end this with saying: being wrong about a kintype is fine. Figuring out you are X instaed of Y and never were Y is fine. But it is also fine to be X today and Y tomorrow.

I think I've said this before but I'll say it again: we, as a community, need to take our identities less and more serious at the same time. Let's stop the gatekeeping and policing others, let's stop overanalyzing ourselves so much. Let's stop looking for rules and asking "is it possible to be this?" over and over again - because the answer is yes. There are literally no rules as to how, why and what you can be. In order to be otherkin you need to do exactly one thing: identify as The Thing in question. Nothing else. On the other hand, we need to kindly educate those who confuse identify as and identify with, we need to kindly educate young therians who "choose their theriotypes", we need to make sure we are not watered down to being "a fun thing you can do".

I sometimes feel like the focus and effort of this community is in good faith but in the wrong place - static kintypes is one of them.

There are no limits. Be who you are today and if you are something else tomorrow, be that then. <3

#alterhuman #otherkin #alterhumanity #nonhuman #nonhumanity #plurality #psychological otherkin #therian #fluid kintypes

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neighborlystudios · 19 days

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・﹒・ two roads

Summary: After your father racked up a huge bounty on him from being the leader of a crime gang, you finally got the courage to kill him. However, the Ghoul arrives intending to kill him unaware the man was already dead. He gives you two options- let him have the bounty and he'll offer you protection if you come with him, or be alone and at risk for other unsavory people to hunt you down.

Warnings: 18+, suggestive content, death, blood, coercion, flirty Cooper

Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x GN!reader

Notes: H! I am now in the Fallout fandom thanks to the show. My only experience with Fallout was the mobile game Fallout Shelter lmfao played that on and off since 2017. Started a new vault tho! I got some show characters including The Ghoul >:)

Blood dripped down the knife as you stared at his lifeless corpse, your form hunched over, breathing heavy, eyes wide and frenzied, hair sticking up all over the place, staring down at the body as the red liquid stained and soaked into the floor beneath him.

You finally did it.

He wasn't a good father, but your mother helped curb his less savory habits. Well, she was gone now.

You only stayed with him out of obligation, but as the days wore on, so did he. He was born and raised up here, however your mother was a genuine Vault Dweller who left her vault and made a new life up here.

Including dating your father.

He started a small gang purely to find the people that had killed her, and ended up becoming one of the fiercest crime gang leaders in California. There was a high bounty on him and he was always on alert. Not around you though.

It was an easy stab to the heart.

You had never killed anyone before though- but your dad was the one who had raised you to protect yourself.

How ironic.

But you weren't a killer. You weren't used to being able to take someone's life with your own hands.

Things change.

You still could have sworn time stopped as you didn't move, still staring at the corpse. Should you feel bad? Guilty? Regret? Maybe. But you didn't. He wasn't a perfect father, you couldn't care less.

You didn't know how much time had passed before you heard the creaking of the front door open and steps on the floor. Whipping your body to face the source with the still bloody knife at the ready, the thing that walked through the door wasn't what you expected.

"Well now, it seems like I was too slow this time, usually I ain't" You heard of him, who didn't? He was a cowboy, ghoul bounty hunter- and the best in the country. You just didn't think he would ever cross your path despite your parents being involved with people like him. He was more a myth to you.

"Not much of a talker, eh? You his child I assume?" Still in shock over everything, you gave him a small nod as you must still look frenzied. He chuckled as he walked closer, yet you didn't move one inch, even as he gently grabbed your wrist that was holding the knife and tossed it onto the floor, plucking it from your hand with ease. You just watched as he smirked.

"Your first kill is always the roughest, don't worry though- you'll get used to it"

"Don't kill me" You meant to sound louder, firmer, it just came out as a whisper, a plea. Shaky, you watched as he just chuckled at your weakness. You may have just killed someone, but that didn't mean you didn't feel trauma from it.

"I ain't gonna kill ya, but I am claiming that bounty. Runnin' low on caps, I'm sure ya understand" A small part of you felt a bit calmer from his voice, you liked it in a very special way, but the survival part of your brain was stronger than the hormonal part, so you couldn't fully take it. You were still in shock after killing your father, after all.

"But- but I need those caps more" His eyebrow raised as he took you in, looking up and down, and it made you shiver in a way that wasn't out of fear.

"Oh really now? How about this-" He released you, causing you to stumble back a few steps and cradle your thankfully uninjured wrist.

"You let me have the bounty and I'll protect ya, meaning- you come with me" You narrowed your eyes at the last part. Protect you?

"Against what? Against who?" He was silent, telling you that it was something you certainly weren't dumb enough not to realize. After some time, it finally hit you"

"My dad's men..."

"Are not gonna be too happy to see their leader gone, killed by his only child nonetheless" The realization made your blood freeze, chills ran up your spine as you knew exactly who would go after you first and exactly how he would kill you.

"I can survive...I'll find a way" You were lying to yourself as there was no way you could live against your father's gang, but you didn't want to be protected by a stranger- who was a ghoul not to mention.

"Ok then" He stood right in front of you and leaned down- face only inches away- and put his mouth right next to your ear. Yet again, you shivered at his closeness, tingles going down your spine and at the same time, you could sense that something changed within him then.

"Don't come crying for me when you're bleeding out shot up like a shooting range" He whispered before slightly nipping at your ear and slowly pulling away, gauging your reaction. Heat consumed your entire face as you now felt the signs of arousal present in your body. Staring at him, you felt the overwhelming sense of attraction start to fester. Fuck- was he genuinely into you, playing some twisted game just to fuck with you, or trying to further manipulate you?

"I get a cut, seventy percent" Your voice was so shaky, between the arousal and the fact that he knew exactly what buttons to push, you couldn't believe you were going along with this. With him. But his face lit up at your inference of agreeing to let him protect you.

"Fifty" You then got right up to his ear, just like what he did.

"Sixty and final offer"

Hook.

"Or else I'll take my chances"

Line.

You bit his ear, giving it a small lick before pulling away.

Sinker.

His breath hitched as he looked at you with eyes full of nothing but lust and curiosity. He then suddenly grabbed your shoulders and slammed you against the closest wall, his lips ghosting yours. Your heart was hammering out of your chest as you waited in bated breaths, arousal spiking your sex.

"Come. With. Me" He was firm, but not angry. He was more...pent up, growing frustrated with you throwing back what he was giving you. You could tell he was hard without looking down.

"Something tells me there's a specific reason you want to protect me, isn't there, Ghoul?" Despite only knowing each other for less than ten minutes, you already felt comforted in his hold, and you both knew how to get under the other's skin.

The attraction was- self assured- mutual and instant.

Neither of you could or would deny it, just never admit it directly.

Instead, it would linger in the air, charged like lightening.

"And if so?" Now that the earlier tension was gone, you could fully take in all forms of him, including his accent. That accent was old, very old, so old that had to of been from pre-war. Nobody spoke like he did.

Nobody.

"I'll pack my things" Pushing him away, you walk towards your bedroom to gather a bag when you passed by your father's body and stopped.

"By the way- what part of him did they want?"

"The head"

"Go ahead, just please cover it. I...I don't want to see it" Shaking your head to rid you of that thought, you let him do...that as you ignored the sounds of mutilation as you put your best and favorites into a backpack. You were very selective about what you brought, since you know would forever be moving around. Going out into the main room again, you were surprised at what you saw, or rather, lack of. Instead of just covering the head up in some makeshift bag, he draped a curtain he ripped off from one of the rods and laid it over his body.

"Thought you didn't want to see it again at all. Now let's go, we're wasting daylight" The ball of fabric that was now connected to his belt swayed back and forth as he exited through the front door, stopping right before he walked onto the sand after he realized that you haven't moved.

"You comin'?"

#fallout #fallout series #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #fallout x reader

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ceruleancattail · 1 month

Note

I see your requests are open and I haven’t made one in a long time. Feel free to not write about this because I am a sucker for only one or two aus🥹I’m just boring like that. I feel like I’m a regular at a cafe that asks for the same thing- I’m so sorry😭🙏

Firstly, HOW ARE YOU and take your time with these requests💖🫶 may I ask for a Nightfall Leona and Floyd? Maybe diving deep into their relationship with the reader? Or how about reader catching them in the act (of their evil deeds perhaps👀) how would Leona and Floyd react?

Nah you’re good! It’s like having a familiar face drop by and I already have the order ready to go. It’s a comforting thing, like a set routine? Please don’t feel so bad about it! I really took my time with this oops-

Nightfall Au

General Headcanons for Leona and Floyd

Leona x reader, Floyd x reader

Tw: death, gore, kinda yandere because it’s a Ceru fic, of course it is-

Leona Kingscholar

The boss of Savanaclaw.

He’s very practical in the way he runs the gang. Moving men around with a hooked finger, shifting them like pieces on the chessboard. Unfortunately, he does value each and every one of them, which makes him such an interesting person to work with.

He’ll never admit it though. Always muttering about doing things with the least amount of effort needed in his part… although his operations always seem to have the least causalities as well.

Leona knows the names of every single person who’s in Savanaclaw. He’s memorised them, actually. However, if you ever mention it, Leona’s face takes on a more sober shade.

“Ain’t nothin’ much. At least I’ll know what to put on their tombstone.”

How did he discover the Lantern?

Leona has made a habit of wandering about at night. There aren’t too many people out and about then, and those who are, were normally too drunk to care about him. For a while, Leona’s just another person on the street. It suits him just fine, really. He’ll pick a lonely corner shrouded in shadow, watching people stagger by silently. Quietly observing, taking note of each person’s pace, the way they carried themselves.

As tiresome as people were, reading them like a book was something that came naturally to Leona. Although like with every skill, it has to be practised and honed, lest the blade of talent turns dull.

Sometimes, he gets a little peckish. Walking about in the dark does that to a person. By chance, he walks by the Lantern. A 24 hour cafe, lights still twinkling from within glass doors. He pauses in front, watching the person manning the counter. How hardworking, they seemed to be. A little anxious as well, rearranging pastries over and over again. It was a rather adorable sight.

You’d piqued his interest, rather you like it or not.

Relationship with Him

It feels like he exists just to frustrate you, sometimes. Leona takes forever with his orders, dragging a crooked finger across the menu. He often has the most ridiculously convoluted orders ever, with a seemingly endless list of requirements. He likes watching your lips curl in frustration, as you mutter his order quietly under your breath.

How you’re so clearly annoyed with him, but you’re still rushing around the kitchen all the same, determined to fulfil whatever he says. It’s almost as you take it as a personal challenge.

Leona likes to watch you bustle around, pouring out your very heart into the meal. There’s a passion burning behind those eyes as you busy yourself with his order. There’s little he misses, especially if it’s about you. Your little habits in the kitchen, the way you hold your utensils… Leona sees and remembers it all.

He also doesn’t miss the gleam in your eyes and you place his order before him, beaming at a job well done. That pride you take in your work is rather respectable. Your smile then is also pretty cute, honestly.

As much Leona likes to tease, you hardly feel any malice from his actions. It’s almost as if you’re being batted around softly by a cat’s paws, a treasured possession. Something to amuse him, for a while. Yet there was a warmth behind his expression, whenever you met his gaze. An almost tender look.

Ever since Leona started frequenting your cafe, tools haven’t seem to be breaking down as often. Heck, you don’t even remember having this much silverware. It’s almost as if they multiply by themselves every week… how strange.

Probably nothing much… right?

If He’s caught in Red-Handed

Leona doesn’t take drastic measures to appear like a normal citizen. Lying to you would be too much of a bother, so what he does is to mislead you. If you question about his occupation, Leona just says he runs an organisation. He’ll not elaborate much, only keeping things to short sentences and grunts, neither confirming nor denying any of your questions.

Although if he’s finally caught in the act, it would probably in the name of protecting you or the cafe. Calmly shooting someone who dared to attempt a robbery in the Lantern point blank, without even so much as a change in expression. Leona would simply call up some of his men to clean up the mess.

Don’t worry, no crime will be linked back to you, so don’t worry your lil’ head, herbivore.

If you’re shocked, he’s just going to laugh at the way your eyes widen. Did he ever tell you what he did? No? So why are you surprised by this? Whatever expectations you have in your head, dash them.

He’s a murderer, and that’s what he’ll stay as.

Chuckling coldly, he’ll simply tuck his payment under his cup, before walking off into the night. Having people target the cafe means that you’ll be in danger. So Leona will simply take his leave. Let those ruffians chase him instead.

He’ll still keep tabs on you, watching from building rooftops, from within parked cars. Leona’s still staring wistfully into the kitchen you roam within. Even after all his big talk, he’s the one who can’t leave you.

Although if you were the one who was attacked, you’ll get to see the brutality of Leona Kingscholar. A shot to the head was too merciful for scum like them. Leona’s arm snakes around your waist, yanking you closer to him. While he fires round after round into the attacker’s thighs, rendering them immobile. What happens next? Leona wouldn’t let you see.

He’ll yank you into his coat, shielding your eyes from whatever gruesome scene awaits before you. A part of him feels a pang of pain at the way you shiver and tremble within his grasp. You’ve been led to believe the great big cat who frequented your store was docile. Now, you’ve seen his fangs.

For once, you’re afraid of the lion.

You won’t have any say, if this happens. Leona’s dragging you into a car and taking you… somewhere. Somewhere “safe”. Everything you need from your house? He’s sending men over right now to grab everything they can. You were almost murdered on Leona’s watch. You can bet he’s worried to death about your safety now.

You’re just some herbivore, after all. If he wasn’t there… no. He was there. And he’ll always be, from now on.

You’ll never leave his side ever again.

Floyd Leech

The famed loose canon of Octavinelle, Floyd Leech. Dual wielding a pair of destructive guns, he’s famed for the absolute blood baths he leaves behind. He’s who Octavinelle sends whenever they want to make a statement. Whether it’s to threaten rival gangs to return what they’re owe, or to destroy them entirely, Floyd’s the guy for the job.

The only problem is that he’s a little too unpredictable for fine operations. If you make him wait too long, he’s stepping on the gas and leaving you far, far behind in the dust. Not the best trait you’ll want in a getaway driver.

As crazed as people make him out to be, Floyd can be reasoned with. He actively ensures that whatever deals he deals are “fair” in the loosest sense. Both parties have to gain something, in order for it to be called a deal, after all.

If something’s a waste of time, Floyd would tell you that straight up. Was it him being kind, or could he just not be bothered to lie? Nobody really knows.

How did he discover the Lantern?

He was probably hungry. For those who lurk within the shadows, the night is the best time to work. After all, it’s called the “dead of night” for a reason. It’s already dead, so what’s the difference of adding more deaths to that phrase?

The problem is that not a lot of stores are open at these ungodly hours, and Floyd’s pretty sick of eating instant meals. Sure, they’re tasty, but if you eat enough of them, they just feel… dry. Empty, in an odd sort of way. Also, if he eats too much, he’ll feel sick, so no thanks.

So he’ll drag himself from street to street, searching for something to satisfy his grumbling stomach. Until he spots a light in the distance, and the heavenly scent of freshly baked bread waft into his nostrils. His gaze flickers up to a signboard before him.

The Lantern, huh? The worker’s kinda’ cute. Scampering here and there like a lil’ shrimp caught up in the currents. Hey, maybe he’ll call them shrimpy.

Guess he could give this place a try. Anything’s better than eating out of a plastic box again.

Relationship with Him

Floyd pesters you all the time. Leaning over the counter, fiddling with the bell until you come out. Even then, you have to physically pry the bell out of his hands for him to stop ringing it. He’s stubborn, though.

So both of you end up in a wrestle for the bell, fingers slipping and pulling away. Floyd plays dirty, though. He’ll hold it high above your head so you’ll have to jump and try to reach it. He’s laughing all the while. Yet there’s a weakness in that tactic you exploit daily.

His sides. You’ll jab and tickle him until Floyd’s laughing hysterically, and the bell will drop. These little tussles add some colour to your day, at the very least. After a shift of standing idle, a playful fight helps to get some blood pumping. As much as you grumble about it, you have to admit that it’s fun.

Floyd always seems to pop in at odd hours, so most of the time it’s just you and him. While you’re whipping up his massive order (how can one guy eat that much?), Floyd’s doing some redecorating. Pushing all the tables together to form one big table, arranging the chairs so there’s two of them, facing each other.

Sometimes, if you’re shorter than him, he stacks up the chairs as a personal jibe at you. If you’re taller than him, now he’ll stack up his own chairs, so he towers above you.

Floyd always shares half of what he orders with you. Even if you refuse, he’s grabbing you by the wrist and forcing a spoonful of desert into your mouth. How is it? Isn’t it so good? Y’know, Floyd does really like the cooking here. He does appreciate the effort you put into each and every single thing you serve, so what better way to thank you than to encourage force you into taking a break?

Besides, there isn’t anyone else in the store now. Just you and him. Aw, you went all red when he said that. Hopeless romantic, huh?

That’s cute, shrimpy.

If He’s caught Red-Handed

Floyd’s another guy who would simply not care. Ask him no questions, and he’ll tell no lies. He effectively hushes your endless inquires with howling laughter, before his voice drops:

“Do you really want to know?”

He’s not against telling you what he does for a living, but Floyd wouldn’t want to scare you away… too soon, at least. Although, he drops a few hints here and there sometimes, just to see that flicker of panic flitter over your expression. Allowing you to catch a small glimpse of his holsters, rolling up his sleeves to reveal arms filled with tattoos swirling around his arms.

Sometimes, he’ll come to the Lantern all battered up. Nothing too drastic, only a few cuts and scrapes all over his skin. He’ll throw his arms over your shoulders, whining about how much it stings, how much it hurts until you cave in and give him some attention.

Floyd loves it when you tend to his wounds. Every touch gentle, pressing softly into his tender skin. Even your chiding sounds melodious to his ears. Man, you’re really worried about him, aren’t you?

He’s silent during those times, content with watching your hands wash and dress his wounds. Your fingertips brush against his hands sometimes, a warm caress. It’s gone all too soon, warmth vanishing into the air. Floyd’s left craving for more, long after your hands leave his skin.

Your warmth, your touch, your love… Floyd just wants it all. But he’s not rash. He’ll wait patiently for you, until the lil’ shrimp wanders into his clutches themselves… then he’ll engulf them in his embrace then. He’ll wait.

Of course, that is if you’re safe.

For Floyd, no matter whether it’s the Lantern or you that’s attacked, he’s seeing red. The Lantern was your workplace. It could have hurt you, killed you-

There’s no reasoning with Floyd on this. He’s not even going to bother with calling backup. He’s holding up both of his guns, sending bullet after bullet after the attackers with a deathly calmness. Floyd fires again and again, until the click of his guns alert him to the lack of bullets within.

Oh, if they attack you? Floyd’s pulling out all the stops. He wouldn’t even bother with a gun, effectively tackling the attacker with his arms alone, disarming them with a sharp slap to the wrist. A sadistic grin spread across his lips, you’ll have to close your own eyes as he snaps the poor attacker’s arms.

It’s messy, it’s gruesome, it’s cruel.

A pair of wet hands grab at your hands, staining your fingers a bright crimson red. Hey, why are you looking away? There’s no need to be scared now, Floyd took care of it. They were going to do so much worse to you, Y’know?

His arms snake around your torso, pulling you gently towards his torso. Floyd’s doing his best to be all soft and gentle to you, and you know that. But it’s hard not to be afraid of those same soft and tender hands, once you’ve seen them quite literally rip a person apart.

Aw, you’re trembling, Shrimpy! Relax, Floyd’s going to bring you somewhere safe. Somewhere that’s just you and him.

Isn’t that just so nice of him?

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domreader-headcannon-scenarios · 6 months

Note

Hello! I really love your works sm, can i request a sfw or nsfw head cannons of the angels from WHB? Thank you!!

I’m so glad you liked them!! So I’m tryna write the angels as best I can Gabriel is the only one I’ve met outside of a event, I’ve seen the other two in the Halloween event! I like em but ngl they have…unique kinks I needed to google hifth

I hope you enjoy!!

Over all cw: blaspheme (I think?? ((Angels worshiping you)), death (not main characters), abuse of power

Sfw/nsft hcs on Angels!

Gabriel

Cw: inappropriate boners,

He basically a guard dog standing over your shoulder 24/7 to keep you safe, he calls you his ‘Lord/Lady/Highness’ and has an army of angels who think the same of you

He’s not very affectionate but if you just say ‘hold me/my hand’ or ‘kiss me’ he’d do it in a heart beat. As his God he only wants you pleased

He’s a terrible cook and somehow steals food and is terrifying good at getting away with it (it must be an angel thing??) he dosent even lie saying he made it, he’s just vague where it came from (only once have you caught him in the act and you made him apologize, but the person gave him the food regardless)

He dust a lot in your home and you cant help but notice the ‘home made’ duster he ‘found’ has feathers matching his wings…

Nsft

Canon Kink: Hierophilia; deriving sexual pleasure from religion, religious places and objects as well as find the act itself religious

He enjoys watching you participate in religious activities…maybe too much. He also finds pleasure in treating you as his god.

You jokingly thought of making him go to church, only for him to jump at the chance. He lowkey regretted it when you didn’t touch him, and made him stay squirming in his seat instead of helping him get off. He for whatever reason thought you’d let him jerk off or would touch him yourself as you were holy, nothing you did was wrong but…touching himself in this place is

You’ve actually caught him touching himself to you praying before, he got bashful upon getting caught but you swear you’ve heard him doing it after that, you just don’t catch him in the act (though you’ve caught him awkwardly standing by and adjusting himself)

He’s got a adorablely small and sensitive cock and he genuinely doesn’t need it touched to cum, roll it between your fingers for a few minutes and he’s trembling as he spills out all his cum

Michael

Cw: murder, inappropriate boners

He’s strict with everyone around you, but not you, in his eyes you are the law since he serves only you, you cant do wrong

He’s terrible if you have guest, he demands they now to you and though he’ll settle if you tell him to, he watches them like a hawk and makes sure nothing gets out of hand

You see that leash? If you get mad and pull on it, he will calm down and you have his full attention, give it another tug downwards, and he’ll drop to his knees in front of you, and anyone else in the room

He likes brushing and styling your hair, he’ll try to help you bathe, insisting you don’t need to lift a finger, he will take care of everything, just relax

Nsft

Canon Kink: Erotophonophilia; ‘Muder kink’, deriving sexual gratification from killing or watching someone get killed (BOY IS THIS A HARD KINK TO CASUALLY WORK WOTH)

If push comes to shove he has a habit of killing people who harass you too much/threaten you, but he gets…really excited afterwards and is pressing his thighs together to hide his erection, especially if you’re clearly not in the mood

You’ve seen him get in fights while still aroused from the last kill an honestly, when in public you sometimes just force a chastity cage on him to discourage him acting out

Though he believes self pleasure, or just the act in general is…sinful, he will do anything for you with no qualms, he only feels good when you touch him anyway

He suffered from wet dreams whenever you’re around him or he has objects with your scent

When he want to fool around desperately he will walk right up to you, kneel and beg you to touch his neither regions, stroking, slapping, pinching, doesn’t matter as long as you touch him

Raphael

Cw: messy kitchens, messy person, furniture abuse,

He’s messy and kinda gets annoying at times since he discovered how much fun it is to smash condiment packages

He’s good about cleaning, and he even cooks to make up for the mess…but he’s a sloppy cook too but at least it’s not intentional this time

He doesn’t understand that the furniture isn’t trying to hurt you and doesn’t need to be punished. He’s broken threee tables, one bed post and five chairs since he’s moved to being your ‘Guardian Angel’, all for tripping you or you stubbed your toe on them

He’s not affectionate but he’s not distant, he just follows your lead, he stands close by and if you ask him to come over he flops in your lap and looks up at you like a puppy. He likes when you watch tv and let him lay across your lap, he falls asleep easily that way

Nsft

Canon Kink: Automysophilia; getting sexual gratification from defiling oneself, being dirty or defiled

He enjoys getting messy with cum, blood, dirt, just about anything. He will be blissed if you strip him and cover him in…well it’s up to you ;)

He has no qualms with jerking off in front of you if you don’t want to touch him while he’s too messy, but he wants you to be fully clothed while he’s sprawled out naked in front of you

He’s fucked slime before since it feels…weirdly good around his shaft, to the point he gets excited when he sees it around the house. You had to punish him for thinking he could ‘fool around’ with it then hide it away again

He’s got a very sensitive halo, while other angels get off to them being touched like a devils horns, he avoids it since it brings him to his knees in seconds

#what in hell is bad #whb #Gabriel #Raphael #sub Gabriel #Michael #sub michael #sub raphael #dom reader #Gabriel x reader #raphael x reader #michael x reader #headcannons #nsft #sub whb Gabriel #sub whb Michael #sub whb Raphael

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akiira00 · 10 months

Note

hi !! is it possible to ask for jinwoo's shadows ? i just wanted to ask for a gn / male reader who is very affectionate with his shadows-- i'm sorry if you can't write for them ! have a good day ! "⊹ฺ(⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠)

— Shadows

Pairing: Sung Jin-Woo x G/n! Reader, Jin-Woo’s shadows platonically. (Idk how to tag this-)

Genre: Pure fluff.

Synopsis: Just some general headcanons with your boyfriend and his shadows!

A/n: Sure! Sorry if it’s a bit OOC, but I’ll try my best, hope you like it! It’s kind-of short tho-

Length: 0.5k words.

I think the relationship with Jin-Woo would be a bit of a messy thing. Generally getting home late and all things.

But he does love you with all his might, so he’ll probably leave one, two or maybe even three of his trustable shadows to take care of you!

This would lead to many boring days on the couch as you waited for jinwoo, as you probably watched k-dramas with Beru. (I love him sm…)

Jin-Woo would often find you and Beru both bawling your eyes out together at even the death of a puppy in a movie. (I would too tho)

This leads to some scolding to Beru that he “needs to concentrate on his task” but nonetheless it’ll happen again.

“Beru, again…? Gosh…” Jin-Woo would say as he took a step onto your shared apartment, looking at how you and Beru were yet again ignoring his requests of seriousness and watching whatever thing on the TV.

But what did he not expect? Seeing Tank on the garden watching too. That made him facepalm as you laughed at his reaction, as you were leaning on the giant ice bear alongside Beru. “What- TANK, YOU TOO?!”

I imagine him ‘grounding’ the poor giant bear making him sit in the corner of the garden or something, but every time he did that, you were always by the side of the fluffy giant. (Wait- Can a shadow be fluffy…? Idk.)

Aside from the whole TV habits, Jin-Woo would often take you into rides on Kaisel’s back, watching over the city or far away to enjoy some time together.

Every ride of this ones would lead on you hugging the giant dragon as you both flied through Korea’s skies.

“Hang on tight.” Jin-Woo said as you both climbed up Kaisel’s back, and you quickly nodded, but the thing he expected you the least to do, you did. He turned away for just a second and you already were laid down on the dragon’s back without a care.

He’d climb up followed by a sigh, sitting down beside you and looking at you directly in the eyes. “You really want to do that…? I can make him fly vertically and you’d be dead.” He said, obviously not going to do it, so you just staid in place before you heard his voice again. “Kaisel, up.”

You instantly stumbled back onto your knees as the giant dragon flew straight up, with Jin-Woo mantaining you in place with his sort-of telekinesis skill. (He hadn’t tell you about his whole skill set and what it was.)

“Told you. Wasn’t difficult to just sit up, huh?” He teased with a smirk as you just let out a tiny pout, leaning your head on his shoulder as you both flew together, gently patting the dragon’s back every now and then.

He often teases you like that, maybe even when he finds you sleeping against Tank’s back, which is oddly really common.

Overall, being Jin-Woo’s partner not only gives you that wonderful man, but gives you tons of shadows to spend time with, and you certainly used that to the full extent.

You have him, a TV buddy, a three on one couch, bed and pet, and even a dragon. What else could anyone ask for?!

#sung jinwoo x reader #solo leveling x reader

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saetoru · 1 year

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。MORE — HANMA SHUJI.

based on this shit post i made on my side that has not left my brain since i took my final so here is a painfully cheesy scene i took out of a fic i wrote a while ago that i’ll never post bc it’s embarrassingly self indulgent

“these are bad for you, did you know that?” you mutter.

“that so?” hanma hums, leaning closer as your fingers work his lighter. his forehead practically bumps against yours as you light the end of his cigarette—even despite your lecture. he watches you as you do it, glances over the bridge of your nose and the curve of your lips as you frown.

“yeah,” you huff. “if you used that head of yours, you’d know these are death sticks.”

his lips are crooked in that smile of his—one that tells you he won’t stop. it’s a silent truth you’re both aware of, but it doesn’t keep you from scolding him. he needs to know, you think—that someone cares what happens to him. someone will miss him, even if no one else else will.

“good thing i have you to tell me,” he grins.

you think you could paint it from memory, the wide curve of his lips. you could remember exactly where that dimple on his left cheek is, where every crinkle of his eyes are under his glasses, how the slant of his jaw angles as he leans his head up. you’re too busy staring at him to fight it when his hand rubs over the small or your back, curling his arm around you and pulling you flush against his chest.

“it’s not like you ever listen to me,” you grumble against his shirt. it smells like him—like smoke and cologne that must be comically expensive. and it’s bad for you, perhaps—the secondhand smoke that creeps up your lungs and kills you slowly. but it’s blissful, comforting even. “but you should listen to me more.”

“i should,” he agrees.

“you won’t,” you pout.

he chuckles at that, takes a drag from the cigarette in his hand as he holds you tighter, sways you gently as the sun sets and coats your skin, leaving it sweet and honeyed just for him.

hanma shuji is not known for gentleness. he’s a hushed whisper, as if speaking the reapers name welcomes him to your doorstep, the blood dripping from the scythe as a fresh reminder that death is only around the corner. he should be anything but gentle in your eyes—yet when his fingertips find your skin under your shirt, gliding over the dip of your back and the slants of your hips, you think he’s nothing but gentle.

gentle enough to love you. gentle enough to let you love him too. gentle enough to pretend his listens when you scold him. gentle enough to let you know he knows you’ll miss him—even if you’re the only one.

“old habits die hard, baby.”

it’s your turn to huff out a small laugh at that. you want to tell him you know. that old habits do die hard—it’s why you let him walk through your door at ungodly hours, why you clean the caked blood on his fists, why you leave room for him on the other half of the mattress.

old habits die hard. it’s why you love him, even if maybe you shouldn’t.

“if you loved me, you’d quit,” you murmur.

“yeah? you think i don’t fuckin’ love you?” his voice is smooth against your ear, it drowns out the honking cars and the bustling of the city below you. it’s warm and familiar and a tad bit dangerous, but it’s enough to make you relax against his body, arms wrapping around his torso.

it’s silent for a moment. he holds you as you think, and when you make out the beating of his heart under your cheek, you have your answer.

“you know what i think?”

“what, baby?”

“i think you should love me more,” you insist, poking his shoulder accusingly.

“so greedy,” he giggles—and then he pulls you closer, holds you tighter, takes in every part of you like he can’t get enough. it’s him who’s greedy, you think, with the way he wants you enough to make you want him too.

“if you die from lung disease, i’ll have to find a new boyfriend,” you point out.

“you won’t miss me?”

“nope,” you lie. “i’ll be rid of my biggest headache.”

“too bad. guess i won’t die then,” he grins, eyeing down at the top of your head.

somehow, you trust him—he’s never given you a reason not to. you’re sure the fingers on your hips and the warm chest under your cheek and the smell of smoke lingering in the air won’t leave you any time soon. and you hope it won’t, that the sins on his hands aren’t enough to outweigh the prayers on your tongue.

but just to be sure, you look up, propping your chin up on his chest as you whisper, “promise?”

he nods, throwing on that easy grin on his face again. your thumb finds the dimple of his cheek as you cup his face. “of course.”

i am unwell over him and it’s all because of mich 😒

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#hanma x reader #hanma x you #hanma fluff #hanma shuji x reader #hanma shuji x you #hanma shuji fluff #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers fluff #tr x reader #tr x you #tr fluff #tokrev x reader #tokrev x you #tokrev fluff

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ziggyzolch · 2 months

Text

Your Prettiness is Seeping Through II (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Warnings: maybe bungled the medical stuff and process of being admitted, suicidal ideation, aftermath, descriptions of self harm kind of? its not like currently happening. Bulimia and what comes with it. Those r the main things I think.

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

-------the shame is manifest in my resistance------- ❅❅❅

“So they’re admitting you?”

You could feel the snow being crushed beneath your weight as you leaned back on your hands. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon and your best friend was sitting next to you on a random curb, taking the pack of cigarettes from your hand.

It was mid-winter. The city streets bustled with the cheer of festive Christmas decorations and the harmonies of carolers. It almost makes you feel better. You never cared for Christmas, or religion in general, but the joy in the little kids’ faces at the snow blanketing the streets, and the laughing of teenagers having snowball fights was cute.

It helped.

You sigh, turning towards your friend, “No, I don’t think so. Most that’ll happen is I’ll be in therapy, I guess.”

She rubs her hands together in an attempt to warm up, “I think I’d kill myself if I got caught. Kidding, you’ll be fine. Probably.”

You scoff, “Thanks,”

You snatched the pack from her hand, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

You had gotten over the fear of throat cancer a long time ago. It’s more of an expectation than a fear now. Smoking and purging at the same time kind of makes it an inevitability. The thought of death didn’t scare you. Not that you were cripplingly suicidal. You didn’t desperately want to die anymore, you just wouldn’t mind if you did. If you died from all of these habits, it was fine, great even. If not, whatever.

Passively suicidal.

Tomorrow, you’ll have your long awaited psych evaluation. You were shocked that it wasn’t the first thing they’d done. You weren’t that big of a risk anyways. A week has passed since your parents caught you, and you’d been made to take a number of medical tests to determine the severity of your bulimia, or something.

The first one was a general physical assessment, the most simple yet most uncomfortable. You had been made to wear a hospital gown, which you felt was overboard but whatever. They wouldn’t be able to admit you just based off of a BMI measurement, you were sure. You weren’t very underweight, most bulimics you knew weren’t. In fact, most of them were normal, sometimes overweight, but you just assumed it was because they were bad at it. You didn’t feel anything looking at your weight. Numbers mattered, sure, but with every binge and purge, your weight fluctuated like crazy, so you learned to just look for signs of weight loss via mirror.

She read your BMI out loud, you knew it wasn’t low enough to be a concern. You internally celebrated, until you noticed her eyes glancing down to your arm.

Shit.

Burning was your preferred method of self mutilation. Cutting was unsatisfying, messy, and a pain in the ass. Burns look disgusting when they heal though, which was the only downside. The scars are easily passable as cooking accidents and such. When they’re still healing, though, charred, blistered, and disgusting, they’re almost impossible to excuse. Your mom had caught you once, with your worst burn nonetheless. One offer of taking over the chores for the day and she was off your back, already taking her place on the sofa.

The burns weren’t fresh, not at all. Most of them were years old, but you panicked nonetheless. You’ve seen how batshit they get at any sign of self harm. You watched as she glanced towards your arm, then turned back to her clipboard, writing something down. Subtly moving your other arm behind your back, you cover up the bruises on your knuckles.

You also had to go to a dentist appointment. Last time you went, you had just gotten your braces off and permanent retainers in. You still have glue on the back of your teeth from when your top retainer broke, they had never gotten rid of it. With how often it fell off, you were glad the dentist had given up on putting in replacements.

You were more worried about this appointment than the physical assessment. You couldn’t keep food down, smiling with your eroded teeth was uncomfortable, and your breath was horrible. The dentist would definitely notice something, at the very least that you were a smoker. Your mother would hate that more than bulimia.

Honestly, despite all of these effects, you got the benefit of barely having a gag reflex. Which, now that you think about it, doesn’t really matter considering you don’t even like men.

Surprise was clear on your face when your dentist complimented you on the health of your teeth and sent you on your way.

You didn’t really know what the other tests were, something about heart arrhythmias and electrolytes. You didn’t care, you were so over it. It was all bullshit. You weren’t sad. You weren’t suicidal nor were you a danger to yourself or others. You were just bulimic, not on the brink of fucking brain collapse.

All of this was bullshit.

❅❅❅

Wanda’s senses come back one by one. Her ears pick up the soft whirring of machinery and occasional beeping of monitors. The soft footsteps of nurses and patients walking past, the opening and closing of a door as doctors enter, the scratching of their pens against their clipboard. The lingering scent of antiseptic reaches her nose, and the bitter taste in her mouth makes itself known. Her fingers pinch the stiff material of her gown, and she can feel the IV in her arm. Finally, she opens her eyes.

Waking up in the fiery depths of hell would’ve been better than where Wanda was right now. She mumbled curses under her breath as she looked around, taking in the hospital equipment around her.

“Natasha?” She croaked out when she caught sight of her friend sleeping on the hospital chair in the corner of the room. Natasha jumped up, wiping the drool off her chin and rushing towards Wanda. “Oh, thank god.” She sighed, pulling Wanda into an awkward hug.

She pulls back when she realizes Wanda wasn’t hugging her back. “How do you feel?” Wanda cringes at the pity on Natasha’s face. “Peachy.” She turns away, not stopping Natasha when she reaches to grab her hand.

The widow sighs, rubbing circles into Wanda’s hand, making her fingers twitch slightly. They sit in silence, not knowing what to say to each other. Wanda was glad Natasha had found her. She didn’t want to be found at all, but at least it was Natasha.

She was so stupid, so fucking stupid. Of course it wouldn’t have worked. She should’ve just shot herself in the head, like a man. She’d read somewhere that men have higher suicide rates because they carry it out in more extreme ways. Girls usually go for lighter, prettier deaths. Overdoses, slitting their wrists in a rose petal filled bathtub, and such. More survivable, and less of a burden for whoever cleans up after them. Men don't feel the same obligation. So what if it's more work for the cleaners? A shotgun to the head is easier for them, that's what matters. They don't think about how puffy their face would get if they hung themselves, or how awkward they'd be positioned on the ground if they jumped off a building. They don't think about the possibility of surviving afterwards and dealing with the deformity.

Pietro’s lifeless body flashes in her mind.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wanda finally notices the iron grip she had on Natasha’s hand.

She didn’t want to talk about Pietro. Never. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Her friend looks away, “You’re suspended until you get help.”

“What! No!” Wanda sits up, snatching her hand out of Natasha’s grip, “This was the first time! Bruce tried to kill himself, why isn’t he suspended?”

“That was before he even joined.”

Wanda sighs, “So, what like, therapy for a week?”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, “Wanda, you tried to kill yourself. You need to be monitored.”

“I’m not a fucking child. Jesus, Nat!”

“It’s not up to me, Fury’s orders. Either get help or you’re fired, basically.”

“Don’t I need a psychological evaluation or some shit?”

“Wanda, you swallowed a whole bottle of whatever-the-fuck pills. I can evaluate you right now. You’re fucked in the head, babe.” Natasha attempts to joke.

She sighs in relief when Wanda huffs out a laugh, “So, you’re sending me to the loony bin?”

“Yup. It’ll be great though, perks of being an Avenger.” Natasha places a comforting hand on Wanda’s shoulder.

“How long will I be there?”

Natasha grabs Wanda’s hand that’s picking at her gown, “Until you’re better.”

The sound of a girl yelling stops their conversation.

❅❅❅

“Inpatient would be the best option…”

The ringing in your ears blocks out whatever the doctor was saying. What the fuck. You were not crazy. So what if you were bulimic. You didn’t constantly starve yourself and avoid food so you were chill, but you also were not getting fat, so you were hot. It’s like a win-win.

You’re sitting with your parents, a doctor across from you. He must be a therapist, or psychologist…psychiatrist? Potato, Tomato.

A hand on your shoulder brings you back to earth. Tears are pooling in your mothers eyes, your father is sighing into his hand. “What about my classes? My life!”

“Lower your voice. You aren’t being sent away to the fucking Alcatraz.” Your father grits out.

The doctor chimes in, “I’m sure you’ll be able to do your school work, most institutions let you have books and supervised computer time.”

You push your mothers hand off your shoulder. “Why are you doing this to me?”

She scoffs, “Me? Why are you doing this to yourself!”

“You can’t make me!” Passersby can hear your voice through the closed door of the office.

It was true, they couldn’t really. You were a legal adult, they couldn’t make you do shit. Your mother pinches the bridge of her nose before turning to your father expectedly. You look back and forth between them with an eyebrow raised.

“We won’t support you anymore if you don’t do this.” He finally pushes out.

“What? As if you’ve ever supported-”

Oh. Financially. College and such. Housing and such. Food…and such.

You’re not that level of adult, yet.

“What the fuck-”

“Language!”

“No! What the actual fuck! I’m not sick!”

Your father’s face contorts in anger, “Did you not hear a single word the doctor said? Your potassium levels, electrolytes, and heart are all fucked! You could have a heart attack!” He takes a breath,

“You are killing yourself.”

“What?” You don’t know what to say. Why is your heart beating so fast?

You let out a frustrated shriek, getting up to leave. They don’t know what they’re saying. You storm out of the office, narrowly avoiding passing nurses and stretchers, trying to ignore the sense of dread building within you.

Heart attacks were a lame death. You could imagine how stupid you'd look; jaw wide open, leaning back in your desk chair, clutching at your chest. The door to your room is always locked, so your parents wouldn’t care to check for a while. They’d just assume you were isolating yourself.

Stiffening up in that position, rotting and decomposing. So lame, so ugly.

It didn’t scare you.

Your head ricocheting off a wall interrupts your spiral.

Natasha winces, peaking over the door to find you on the floor, rubbing your head. Wanda had asked her to check what was going on, and you happened to be passing by at the same time she opened the door. You push yourself off the floor before Natasha could help you up. Black spots appear in your vision and you start swaying. You must’ve stood up too fast.

Natasha holds you up as you fall into her for a second, before you regain your bearings.

“Get off me!”

She lets go immediately, raising an eyebrow when you double-take at the sight of Wanda.

‘She’s so skinny.’

Wanda looks up at you, confused when she takes you in. You could’ve been the same weight as her, if not a little more. She doesn’t read people's thoughts if she can help it, but yours were so loud. You blush when she makes eye contact with you, turning and stomping away.

Your footsteps fade as Natasha closes the door, making her way back to Wanda. The widow smiles at Wanda, poking her side, “I think she has a crush on you.” Wanda’s eyes widen, “No way; she said I was skinny.” Natasha tilts her head, “Like in a disgusted way?” The witch looks down at her hands.

She assumed it was envy at first, but you didn’t look like you weighed significantly more than her. Nor was it disgust, based off of how you looked at her.

“Not…really. I don’t know.”

Natasha sighs, “Well, it doesn't matter. We’ll fatten you up in no time.”

She winces at Wanda’s obviously forced laugh.

She didn’t like being skinny, but it was an effect of her depression. It wouldn’t be that easy to reverse. The only reason she was open to this treatment was so that she could go back to work. She’ll just pretend to get better, go back, and work until she can’t take it anymore. Next time, she’ll use a gun. Actually, would she subconsciously stop the bullet with her powers? The pills almost killed her, maybe she’d just lock her door next time. She could pick up smoking, maybe that’d be like a backup. A slow, eventual death could be happening in the background while she found short term options. Multitasker.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Wanda is taken out of her reverie as Natasha pokes at her stomach again. She smiles, shaking her head and curling up into the bed. The older redhead pats her shoulder, “The squad’s going to visit before you leave. Just thought I’d give you a heads up.”

Wanda groans, she didn’t need any more people up her ass.

She stiffens at the sound of sniffling, looking up when she feels her shoulder dampen.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Natasha leans over her frame, hair masking her face. The brunette stammers, racking her brain for a reply. She’d never seen Natasha so emotional. It was like hearing Steve use slang.

She sighs, curling further into herself and ignoring Natasha. She wishes she could reassure her. Tell her that even the thought of trying again made her nauseous, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t live the rest of her life seeing her brother's corpse every time she blinks.

Living with the memory of Pietro’s death for the rest of her life was worse than any torture she’d ever endured.

She ignores the flashing images as her eyes drift close, falling asleep to the sound of Natasha’s sniffling.

❅❅❅

A/N: I lowk regret writing in in second person but yolo. reply to this post if u wanna get tagged in the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @mathxa @nikkinss

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