#this is what happened when they first met canon

[batsycline69]

Night & Day

Summary: Jason's night doesn't go as planned. As a result, neither does yours.

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Words: 4,365

Content/warnings: profanity, canon-typical violence, mentions of blood

PREV

Jason wakes in a sweat.

He’s had this dream before; his body throbs, slick and sticky with blood. Each hit of the crowbar jerks his body.

He pushes himself up from the bed, his feet meeting the cold wood floors beneath him. He huffs, his head falling in his hands as he slumps towards his knees.

There’s no blood. Hell, there aren’t even the scars to prove what he went through anymore. It’s just Jason trapped in his own mind. The laughter echoes in his ears long after he wakes up, but the pain eventually fades into the back of his mind, a lingering nagging as he tries to grip onto reality and find something to distract himself.

Lines of light fall across the floor from the streetlamps pouring in through the venetian blinds. He’s been meaning to get curtains. He feels too exposed, even if the blinds are always shut.

When he was first resurrected, there were only so many memories he had to comfort himself with. Anything from his life with Bruce was immediately off limits, so he usually sought out Talia. The comfort she’d managed to offer him after all of that just by showing a little kindness.

A few days ago, he met you. You’d been kind to him too.

He told you to just call a ride instead of taking the train. He knew what happened in this neighborhood at that time of night. But you didn’t listen.

Jason knew you weren’t going to get onto that train without a hitch. He chose following you over the stupid drug bust. He figured there’d be time to take care of them later. He’d been right, of course, but after that, he froze.

You hadn’t been intimidated by him at the shop. But you’d seen him—the real him—and flinched. Not that he can blame you. It was a hell of an introduction on his part, barrel of his gun up against some guy’s head. In a city like Gotham? God, he could have been any creep.

But he’s him. He’s the same he’d been at the shop, but you don’t know that. And you can’t.

That doesn’t stop him from thinking of you. As he wakes from his nightmare, you’re there, and he’s not entirely sure why. Maybe because your kindness is so straightforward. It’s not shrouded by trauma and odd gestures meant to translate to kindness. You talked with him, laughed with him. You got him food that you insisted he eat.

You’re better off without him. There’s a natural path for the two of you to never see each other again. It’s more work to not lose contact with you. Even with every part of him saying no, Jason makes the effort.

How’s your tattoo healing?

It’s still dark out, but it’s nearing 6 am now. As he sends the email, he hopes you get the idea he’s some sort of early riser. Maybe you think he’s less of a mess than he is. He’d let you think that, if you wanted to.

Part of him also worries about you. Not in some wild way, but after your close call with the guys at the train station, he doesn’t want you to be scarred for life. That may be overdramatic, but the point remains. That’s normal shit for him, but that’s not something you signed up for. That’s just the bi-product of living in Gotham.

His body collapses back into bed in a heap, his breath finally evening out. He’ll try to fall back asleep for at least an hour before he realizes it’s probably hopeless and gets up.

Mornings like this, he cooks. It passes the time. Dealers aren’t making deals this early. The shop doesn’t open until ten, but he sure as shit doesn’t want to be sitting around dwelling in his thoughts for longer than necessary.

So when Jason finally rises out of bed, he goes to the kitchen. He pulls out eggs and bread. Bacon, tomatoes, and cheese. Good salt, the salt that costs extra. He doesn’t have a lot of good these days, so he takes it where he can.

The Gotham underworld is lucrative, no surprise there. Jason has access to things he never would have as a kid. The sort of stuff he was introduced to at Wayne Manor. Except now Jason has them on his own terms. He didn’t need Bruce for it.

Bacon is on the stove sizzling as Jason’s old coffee machine gurgles. He’ll drink most of the pot by the time the sun rises. By now, there’s enough for him to focus on that he can push the dream to the back of his mind. He doesn’t need to think about the past. That’s why he has his plans. He has a future to look forward to. And if he has to be alive again, he’s going to make something of it.

Just the light above the stove is on. Jason likes the dark. Old habits and all that.

He fries up an egg until the ends get crispy. Toast, egg, sharp cheddar, bacon, and hot sauce. He takes a mug of coffee and his sandwich over to the small table up against the window and watches as the city wakes up.

It’s the most normal his day is going to look. These moments where his brain isn’t completely fixed on the job. He’s not trying to parse through whatever lying scumbag is coming into the shop. There’s no blood. It’s quiet.

The quiet is nice until it isn’t. Until it’s too quiet, and there’s nothing besides the quiet.

When he woke up, buried six feet under, it had been quiet. Except for his breathing. The claustrophobic weight. The crushing weight of the dirt as it pressed against him, as he fought to the surface.

You reply while he’s out taking his smoke break.

The tattoo itches, but it looks good, you say. I’ll send a picture once it’s healed.

His second appointment of the day, the one he goes to after he sees your email, is the type he usually sees. Some asshole that wants a skull on his arm to prove he’s tough. Someone who definitely isn’t you. But it’s not his place to wish it was. He feels ridiculous being so attached to you like a lost little puppy.

He wants to think of an excuse to see you again, but his mind is blank. Can’t just lure you to a dark alley for a chat like the people he’s normally trying to get in touch with. Yet again, just trying to be a regular person, he falls short. He doesn’t know how to navigate this. He spent the years he was supposed to figure this shit out in a box beneath the earth. As much as Talia taught him when he came back, he didn’t get flirting lessons.

There’s so much he doesn’t know about you. Sure, he could dig around and fight out a thing or two. That’s what Bruce would do, but he’s not Bruce. He doesn’t want to do that with you. He wants to just be Jason in your eyes, so that means keeping Red Hood as far away from you as possible.

Are you taking care of it?

It’s not flirting. It’s not smooth, either, but it does keep the conversation going.

During his next appointment, he has to push you to the back of his mind. The guy ends up being a small-time dealer. A guy who works for a guy who works for a guy sort of dealer. His license was scanned when he came in for the tattoo, and that means Jason has his address. There’s a lot he can learn from a license, assuming it’s real. Lucky for Jason, the dealer wasn’t smart enough to use a fake. Now he’s got a new lead, more heads to bust.

After the shop closes, he goes home. As he’s researching, he gets another response.

Yeah, I’ve been going swimming every day and using dish soap to keep it clean just like you said.

He smirks. You’re a smart-ass. That’s part of what he likes about you.

As he eats the leftover fried rice he heated up to the light of his laptop, he thinks about your appointment. The way you’d laughed over your dinner. The mischievous look in your eye as you teased him. He wished he had paid closer attention to that look because when he thought of you now, he saw that look of fear. That look directed at him. Guilt sat heavy in his chest because of it. You couldn’t trust him when he said he wasn’t going to hurt you. It was a good instinct. As much as it hurt, he wasn’t going to blame you for it.

Tonight, he’s going to kill. Becoming a crime lord isn’t pretty work, but he’s not about to shy away from it. If he has to spill blood, that’s what he’ll do. But he isn’t willing to risk that colliding into his memories of you either.

You’re separate from all of this.

Jason doesn’t regret being there for you at the train station. How could he? But at the same time, now you know, and that’s a liability. He doesn’t think you’d go around asking everyone, but he also doesn’t know you, and that fact remains even when his mind runs away from him to focus on your skin. Sure, Jason’s got the training to be able to read someone, but he’s not one to get too comfortable about such things.

This whole thing is still new. It’s precarious. Jason’s been back in Gotham weeks. There’s still plenty to be done, and he doesn’t need to be distracted.

Jason’s night doesn’t go as planned.

The dealers he’d been meeting with had gotten sloppy. A crew that got way too comfortable talking about sales in public. Batman got wind of it, but Jason was one step ahead. He got out minutes before Bruce arrived, and he didn’t leave anyone left alive to talk to. It’s messier than he’d like, but he doesn’t leave evidence. Whatever trail Bruce has picked up through them will run cold.

Just when he thinks he gets away without a hitch, he runs into the boss of the men unlucky enough to cross his path. He gets a shot in, but not before the boss grazed his thigh with a bullet. It bleeds, but it doesn’t go deep. Still, he can’t ignore it. He takes shelter in a residential area. He can keep a lower profile here if Batman is in the neighborhood, so he finds a dark alley to lick his wounds. He steams over how much carelessness has set him back, when a door slamming breaks his concentration.

And there you are.

You don’t see him in the darkness. You’ve got a bag of garbage in your hand heading towards the dumpster just a few feet away from where his back is pressed against the wall. It’s only a matter of time you see the faint glow from his mask, and he’ll see that same startled look on your face. He doesn’t want you to look at him in fear again.

The bag of trash clamors into the dumpster as you toss it in. You turn over your shoulder and freeze at the sight of someone standing just out of sight. And there’s that look. That same startled, caught in headlights look that’s been haunting him since he left you at the train station. He can’t stand it. So he raises his free hand and gives a small wave.

“Just me,” he says.

Recognition crosses your eyes as you fully find him in the shadows. “Oh,” you say, the sound getting drowned out by the light rain falling. Unconsciously—at least, he hopes—you take a half step away from him.

Yeah, maybe Jason should have thought this through a little more. So careful when he’s making his big plans, but all of the sudden, with you, he’s got his foot in his mouth and his brain where it shouldn’t be. Last you ran into him, he had been hidden out of sight, appearing suddenly to come to your rescue. And maybe doing the same thing outside where you presumably live isn’t a good look.

He should have gone on a rooftop somewhere.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he says.

It’s not a lie, but it’s not like the full version of the truth would offer you any comfort. I don’t think you’d like to hear that he’s on the run from Batman for killing a few guys. But is you potentially thinking he’s stalking you any better?

Your body is still rigid, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of your coat. “What are you doing down there?”

He wonders if you’ve got your pepper spray on him. You’d know better than to use it against him from your first run-in, but maybe you’re holding it now as a comfort. He’s not going to humor himself by believing you trust him. Even if he knows you’re safe with him, you don’t.

“Seemed like a good spot for a rest,” he replies.

The shadows across your face make it hard for him to really see where you’re looking, but he sees your back stiffen.

“Is that blood?” you ask, and now he’s sure your eyes are on his leg, fixed to the spot he was grazed. The concern is evident in your voice. Your eyes grow wide, and Jason all but sees the internal spiral happening on your face.

“Don’t worry, it’s mine,” he replies.

You stand, open-mouthed for a moment, the features of your face twisting further into confusion and worry. “Don’t worry?” you ask in disbelief. Your voice pitches slightly.

“Relax, it’s just a bullet graze. I’m fine.”

A moment of silence passes. Jason waits for the bleeding to slow a little. But once time passes without any sort of response from you, he looks up to catch your eyes wide in disbelief. Which is probably fair. At best, he sounds like an asshole being so casual about something like that. Sure, it’s Gotham, but even that’s a little much. Your obviously freaked out, and here he is acting cavalier.

Jason nods once. “Sorry. The people I’m usually around don’t get bothered about that sort of thing.”

You nod once, your arms crossing over your chest. “I bet.”

God, this is such a mess.

Your eyes flicker up from his wounded leg to the glowing white space where his eyes are beneath his helmet. Jason wishes so desperately to know what’s going on in your head. Do you see him as some sort of monster? Is there any bit of Jason you see beneath the helmet, even if you can’t actually know it’s him? Or has he blown all of this?

“Are you...okay?” you ask.

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “You don’t have to worry about me.” He thinks it’s silly you would in the first place. People have never worried about Jason; he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself. You shouldn’t be the first one to take on the hopeless task of worrying for him, especially not over some graze. Especially not some graze relative to all of the other things that’s happened to him.

If this is what happens when he a bullet grazes his leg, he can’t imagine what you’d think of everything else.

“So...what’s your deal?” you ask cautiously.

“My deal?” Jason replies, even though he knows exactly what you’re asking.

“Yeah. I mean...what kind of guy in a mask are you?”

There’s a rough, modulated laugh from behind the helmet. “Well, I scared off those guys the other night, didn’t I? What kind of guy does that make me?”

“You scared them off with a gun.”

“And? They didn’t hurt you either way, right?” Maybe there was no room for you to see anything in Red Hood, and maybe he was foolish to think otherwise. He wonders if that still leaves any hope for you and Jason.

“And you conveniently are in the same place as me at the same time. I’m not sure what to make of that.”

“So you think I’m stalking you, huh?” he asks with a light laugh.

“I don’t see how that’s funny,” you reply.

You don’t trust him. There’s no hesitancy to voice your skepticism. He has to admire you just a little bit, even if it is a stupid idea to be arguing with the guy you know is carrying a gun. Now he’s the one who’s going to start worrying about you, as if that wasn’t already the case.

“You live in a shitty neighborhood. You’re gonna see guys in masks around here.”

“It’s Gotham. Most of the neighborhoods are shitty. Are you always this evasive?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

There’s a pause as you look him over carefully. Even if you don’t trust him, Jason doesn’t want that to be the case. He wants you to believe that he’s not a threat to you. Not on purpose, at least. He showed up at the train station because the thought of those guys laying a single hand on you made his stomach roll.

He wants you to trust him now like you had trusted him with your skin.

“Listen, I was working in the area. Swear to god, it was a coincidence. I needed someplace quiet to patch up. I didn’t know you were here.”

You don’t seem totally pleased with the answer, but he can tell you could maybe eventually buy it. Again, you watch him carefully for a minute. Gotham is singing her usual song around you, sirens and rain hitting the rooftops. Somewhere a few blocks away, Jason swears he can make out a fight.

“Are you blinking under there?” you ask, sounding a little unnerved by the constant glowing where he can see what’s going on.

He laughs lightly. “Yeah, I’m blinking under here.”

“I tried to thank you the other day, but you were gone already,” you finally say. “So, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jason replies, even though he had heard it. When you were focused on the train rolling in, he’d slipped back into the shadows, waiting until the sounds of the train had long died down just to be sure there wasn’t anything else that was going to interrupt your trip home.

There’s another beat before he speaks again. “So are you okay?”

You look at him, slightly surprised. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say. “Just glad you were there when you were.”

Jason nods. “Yeah, me too.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, your eye darting nervously back to his leg.

“I already told you, I’m fine.”

Your weight shifts. You’re hesitating, still not ready to accept his answer. “Do you...need anything?”

He wants to tell you not to offer help to guys like him. You’re being too nice, and not every guy is going to be like him. Maybe he’s just flattering himself, but he gets the idea this isn’t a universal openness. You’re testing the waters, weighing everything he says and does. He thinks about how you must be putting together one hell of a pros and cons list in your head right now.

Jason imagines what would happen if he said yes; maybe you would scurry up to your apartment. You would come back with three towels even if you thought he only needed one. You’d get him water or some food to keep his energy up. What would you bring out to share with the stranger who has a gun?

But Jason shakes his head. “I’m all set,” he replies. “Jacket’s got a lot of pockets.”

Thunder cracks overhead. You startle from the sound, gaze turning towards the sky as rain starts falling down harder around you both. With Jason’s helmet on, he’s not much bothered beyond the drops blurring his vision slightly, but you’re exposed.

“You should get inside,” Jason says, nudging his head back towards the door you came out of.

And, of course, you pause. He sees the way your eyes flicker nervously to his wound.

Jason shakes his head. “Don’t do it,” he says.

“Don’t do what?” you ask indigently.

“Invite me in to be polite and all that.”

You scoff. “Invite you in? Are you kidding me? You’ve given me next to no information about yourself. You’ve openly admitted you hang out with people who aren’t phased by getting shot--”

“’Hang out’ is an overstatement--”

“I am not inviting you up to my apartment. I’m sure you have dangerous friends you can stay with.”

With the helmet, you can’t see, but Jason smirks. You are warming up to him. The you from the shop is getting pulled out little by little. He’s glad to see you again.

When he doesn’t respond, you turn towards the door a little. “Well...good luck with your leg,” you say, fishing through your coat pockets. The movement picks up a little more, followed by a soft curse under your breath.

“Locked out?” Jason asks. He doesn’t bother to hide the pleased tone in his voice.

“I left my keys inside,” you grumble.

Jason rises to his feet, careful to stay off his wounded leg as much as possible. “Bummer,” he says. “Want me to pick the lock?”

You turn back over your shoulder, looking like you’re trying to suss out whether he’s joking or not. With the helmet on, he’s sure it’s hard to tell.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he reminds you. “Just gonna get the door open for you, and then I’m out of here. Promise.”

A bright flash of lightning illuminates your face, and you nod. “Okay.”

You take a step back from the door, letting him at the lock, gnawing on your lips nervously. “What if someone catches you?”

“I’m not worried about it,” he replies.

“And if someone catches me with you and I get evicted? I’m a little worried about that.”

“I get I’m not exactly at the top of the list of trustworthy individuals, but I’m going to need a little more confidence from you.”

There’s a crash of thunder. The rain gets even just a little bit heavier as Jason fiddles with the lock until it opens. It only takes him a few seconds, but you don’t comment on it. He’s not sure if it’s because you’re not surprised he can do it that quickly or because you’re exhausted with everything you’ve learned about him in the past few minutes.

You look at the open door, then back at him. “Thank you,” you say. It’s a little reserved, but he sees the echoes of you sitting in his station at the shop. A hint that maybe his chances aren’t so doomed as he worried.

“You’re welcome. Stay out of trouble.”

One last time, your gaze drops down to his thigh before looking back up. “You too,” you reply, letting the door slam shut behind you.

He should take this as his sign to leave, but he lingers a minute. It’s long enough for him to just barely hear a window slide open overhead.

Above him, he sees your head peek out over the ledge of your fire escape. Your building has the old kind, the wooden ones that are without a doubt a safety hazard. When you see him looking up at you, you quickly disappear out of sight again. The shyness is a little endearing, he has to admit. Not that he’s been doing a great job fighting it to begin with.

He can’t tell what you’re doing, but he knows you’re still out there. The top level is about as tall as the tracks above him. You live close to the station. That makes him feel a little bit better about your trip home after your tattoo. At least the time you were exposed to more trouble was cut down because of that.

There’s a little movement up on the fire escape. You hang something off the edge, but he can’t quite make out what. He sees the top of your head as you climb back through your window, and then the faint glow coming from your window goes dark.

Jason waits one second longer, trying to decide whether he’s meant to see what you’ve left him or not. He decides he is, and makes the trek up the rickety ladder. Some steps give a little from rot. Even if his leg isn’t wounded too badly, he does feel it each of the steps up. He wonders if you left everything up on the fourth floor where you live to spite him for being so nonchalant about getting hit.

When he finally makes it up to where you’ve left him a surprise, he sees your curtains are drawn shut. There’s no sliver of light peeking through. He wonders if you turned the lights off so he couldn’t see you trying to stay hidden while getting a look at him.

Hung over the railing is an umbrella. One he knows you didn’t have with you when you were out with him. You put it out here for him, even with his helmet on. Maybe as a thank you for helping you inside. Maybe as a way of toeing the line of you saying you won’t invite him in.

He could be anyone, but you gave away where you lived. He’d done enough for you to trust he wasn’t going to take advantage of this knowledge. But as the rain starts to get a little harder, he leans up against the brick of your building and opens up the umbrella. He can keep his leg dry until the rain lets up, at least.

Sitting out of the rain in the safety of your rickety fire escape, Jason makes the decision he’s going to ask you out for a drink tomorrow morning. Not him, Red Hood, but the tattoo artist. He knows for certain he’s not going to be able to keep you off his mind now.

He hopes tonight, he dreams of you.

PREV

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider giving this a reblog 💛

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason #x reader

[fang-and-feather]

🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉 congratulations on 100 followers, darling!!!!! You deserve the love and even more :3

I do have a prompt suggestion hehe. Of course it's my darling Theo, and I was rather fond of the prompt "I can't stop thinking about you". I read it and had such a dreamy sigh hehe.

Thank you!! 🥰❣ I am glad to celebrate with you!

Ikemen Vampire - Theo x Reader

Words: 2,216

Summary: When you and Theo finally thought things would settle between you, a brief illness had him trying to protect you again and a series of overreactions from both of you led to your first fight. Now it was Theo's birthday, and he really feared he had driven you away right when he had the solution to keep you safe and keep you close

Tags: Canon ending divergence, Making up after a fight, Romantic Fluff

Request from my 100 Followers Celebration. Prompts for it were from @anyfandomfluffbingo

this was actually the fic I planned to post for Theo's birthday, but I'm really late to it.

I wrote and discarded so much for this and had difficulty with deciding which scenes and POVs to keep. In the end I kept only one scene and it was from Theo's POV. But I can post another scene at the beginning, and the version of this one from Reader's OV later if you want.

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

Theo knew Vincent had been planning something, but with how often he left the house, the party was not what he was expecting.

Besides, Theo was already happy enough with the rest of his day he’d spent with his brother. There was only anything he wanted for his birthday, and he doubted you would be there.

He’d been such an idiot, trying to push you away when the solution to all your problems was quite obvious. But when he finally realized it, he thought you had made a drastic decision to solve it instead.

The fact it was a joke was relieving now but, when it happened, it annoyed him that you would play with something so serious.

That didn’t excuse his following behavior. And if you had made that joke, maybe it meant you were thinking about it. But that didn’t mean you had to run away like that.

Had he scared you that badly? Theo didn’t think he’d gotten that angry. But he wasn’t that good at expressing himself and understanding other people. He might have said something wrong.

That was the only reason he could think why you had left without a word, but nobody else was acting as if there was something wrong with it.

You wouldn’t have returned to your time because of such a fight, right?

Theo scanned the room as he walked in, but he was right. There was no sight of you anywhere.

The other guys, though, soon surrounded him, offering their well wishes. It was hard to say who did so out of a feeling of obligation, because on his past birthdays he barely saw some of them, others only casually greeted him through the day, and the only ‘parties’ were usually a dinner Comte organized, and some of them looked like they were forced to attend.

Not that they hated each other, but the only person Theo had gotten somewhat close to, even of the guys he’d lived with for longer, was Arthur. And maybe Leonardo, but Theo’s attempts to connect with him were through art, but Leonardo seemed to have mostly given up using his talents.

Part of it was his fault, of course. He’d been too focused on his job and his revenge to even consider connecting with anyone. Another part was some of their own social abilities.

Arthur was the only one who didn’t approach him during the exchange, stopping Isaac instead, as soon as the physician awkwardly walked away.

So when the crowd finally broke apart, Theo cast another glance around the room, looking for Vincent this time, but did not find his brother, either.

Theo turned to the door, intent on leaving to look for him, when the door slowly opened, and instead of Vincent, his gaze met your nervous but quite shining one.

But before Theo could rush to you, Arthur finally decided to pop up right before him.

“Sorry for not coming around earlier, old boy. I wanted some space to greet my best friend properly.”

Theo wanted to believe Arthur chose the timing on purpose, but that would imply some form of conspiracy he didn’t want to believe Vincent would be a part of.

“I thought Isaac was your new best friend, and I was finally free of your headaches.”

Theo looked past Arthur to see you talking happily with Comte on the other side of the room.

It was his first chance to take in the full sight of you, and the pretty dress that made you look even more stunning. A little too much for the public with how it highlighted your best features.

“Aren’t you funny, Theo?” Arthur tried to get his attention back. “We should go out for drinks again soon.”

“Haven’t we gone out enough this week? Although that was just you tagging along in my free time.”

“I mean a normal guys’ night, like we used to have. You have been sulking this whole week.”

Had he really been that bad? Theo noticed he’d been going out for drinks more often, independently of Arthur going along or not, but he wasn’t drinking more than usual on these trips, and had been working as usual. Theo knew he hadn’t been feeling all that great, rethinking your fight, what he could have done and where could you have gone, but he thought he’d been hiding it well.

“Anyway, happy birthday!” Arthur patted his back.

“I would offer you a drink, but it seems like you have something else in mind.”

Arthur winked before walking away, only to be replaced by Comte, who had left your side already. And while Arthur let him pass on the drink, Comte brought him one, pulling him around to call a toast to him.

In the meantime, Theo watched Arthur discretely approach you, and strike a conversation right after the toast and immediately made his way over.

“Would you give me the honor of one dance, to celebrate our reunion?” Theo heard Arthur ask as he approached.

By the awkward smile you gave him, you had no intention of accepting, but was too polite to tell him to fuck off. So Theo crossed the rest of the way and wrapped an arm around your waist, making you jump. But as you realized it was him, you relaxed.

“Go play with your dog and get your hands off mine, Arthur.”

“Yours, Old Chap? I thought she was up for adoption after you were so intent on kicking her out?”

“Do you really think I will take a lecture from someone who can’t be serious about a relationship to save his life? Or at least what little is left of his dignity?” Theo turned away from Arthur, unable to stand the way his friend smiled at him and the way he looked at you. “Hier, Hondje.” He called for you as he walked towards the door.

Although Arthur was right. He shouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t listen.

He walked into the hallway outside, and didn’t go far before you rushed out after him.

As the door closed behind you, he could still hear Arthur on the other side.

“Don’t mind us. Go ahead and have fun.”

Of course he knew what he was doing, and Theo felt even worse that he had fallen for it. There was no doubt Arthur approached each of you when he did on purpose.

Theo didn’t dare look back at you after that, as he made his way to a nearby balcony, only conscious of your footsteps following him.

“You didn’t need to talk like that in front of everyone.” You complained as soon as the two of you found yourselves alone.

Theo dared a side glance at you, to find you quite flustered, but it looked more like it was of embarrassment than anger, despite how you sounded.

Of course the fact you actually listened to him, to complain only in private, didn’t help your case either.

“You came, didn’t you? Like the good puppy you are.” Theo reached out to pat your head, but stopped halfway.

He couldn’t just pretend everything would be back to normal before he at least apologized.

“But,” and he couldn’t believe he was ever considering it, “Arthur is right. I have no right to claim you when I was the one who pushed you away. Again. You deserve someone who will take proper care of you.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have made such a careless joke. Neither refused to tell you when the reason I went away had nothing to do with our fight.”

Theo sighed.

“Yes. You shouldn’t have made such a stupid joke. But I shouldn’t have yelled either.” This time he did touch your face. “I messed up.” He moved his hand to the back of your head, nudging you closer. “I thought about everything we had, and everything we could have. Everything I would be giving up if I let you go. And I realized losing you would be a bigger sacrifice than any other decision I could take.”

“That’s how I feel too. I know you want to protect me, but don’t push me away to do so.” You rested a hand over his chest. “You’re not going to lose me because I decided to stay.”

Stay. You were so prepared to, not only sacrifice everything but also risk your life to stay with him. But that only strengthened his resolve to follow up with what he decided while you were away.

“I still can’t protect you from getting sick, but I realized I could go back with you, instead. Keep you safe, and keep you close.”

“Would you really leave Vincent, to live with me in the future?”

That was the hard part, but the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that was the best decision. Unless there was a way he didn’t have to choose.

It was funny how you stared at him with such disbelief, but he had to admit it was surprising even for him when he first thought of it. But that disbelief from you quickly gave way to radiant smile as tears pooled at the corner of your eyes, and you tightened your hold on his clothes.

“If that is his decision.” Theo explained, whipping away your tears. “I have been chasing him for so long, but I realized it is time we live our own lives, and if we have to do so far away from each other… But I would like to ask him to come with us. All you told me about art in your time, it would be easier to share his work and with many more people. He could live somewhere nearby, and we would still have our privacy. But I haven’t asked him yet. And this party today… I had such a bad feeling he didn’t plan it just for my birthday, but also as a farewell party.”

“Really? Because I thought he planned the party as a means to distract the others and get us time to talk.” You laughed, then shook your head, lowering your gaze for a moment, before looking up at him again. “But as happy as you making such decisions on my behalf makes me, I think we shouldn’t make it final yet. You bring such good to this world, Theo. Your work is harder here, but it’s also more necessary. The artists of this time are lucky to have you helping them, and I can tell this makes you happy. I don’t want to stop doing that because of me. Can’t we think a little more about it before we really decide?”

You were thinking of other people, even now. Although it was true, it made him happy to help talented artists thrive, and it was harder for them to do so in this period. But he didn’t intend to let you sacrifice everything you built for him. Now just wasn’t the best time to convince you, not with how he felt.

“Fine. We can discuss this later."

Pulling you closer, Theo finally kissed you. He had missed being able to do so. Your warmth, your taste… It felt like years since he last had any of it.

“Happy birthday, Theo.” You whispered when he let you go, your face quite flushed. “Shouldn’t we save this for later and get back to the party?”

“No. I don’t plan to let you go back there tonight. Everyone is so eager for your attention.”

“They’re just glad I’m back. And Arthur also teasing you a little. But they’re all there to celebrate your birthday. I will stay close, if you want to return.”

“By now they should know all I want for my birthday is to enjoy my best gift ever. You.” He kissed you again. “I don’t know how you did it, but I can’t live without you. I can’t stop thinking about you.” Not when you weren't there and his thoughts were filled with longing, neither when you were by his side, and he was now filed with love and sometimes this burning desire for more than just your presence.

Before you could protest, he captured your lips again, in a deeper kiss, happy that you didn’t even try to resist. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, as his other hand encircled your waist, mostly supporting you as you had to stand on your tiptoes to be at a proper height for him to kiss.

Theo nipped at your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth, letting him in. He tried to pull you even closer and deepen the kiss mire, even when you were practically pressed to him already. Desire burned within him, from his throat as the bloodlust intensified, to… lower regions. Everything in him clamored for more of you. Every kiss was almost immediately followed by another, barely giving either of you time to breathe.

He only released you when your body nearly collapsed in his arms, both of you panting, his own head dizzy, but Theo picking you up.

“Was it too much already, Hondje?” You shook your head weakly, and he smirked. “Good. Because I’m just starting with you. It’s my birthday and I will enjoy my gift. Thoroughly.”

Tag List: @yarnnerdally, @tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles, @bicayaya, @2-lines-and-a-circle, @vampiricpancake, @eventinelysplayground, @specters0rd

If you want to be tagged/untagged on future writings, even if it's in specific contents, you can reply to this post or send me a message

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

#Fang's 100 Followers Celebration #anyfandomfluffbingo #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo #ikevamp #fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic

[myteavsricochet]

Latest fanfics read, part 6

(Part. 1) (Part. 2) (Part. 3) (Part. 4) (Part 5)

I Keep My Mouth Shut Tight (Cause I Don't Want To Lose What's Not Even Mine)

"Being affectionate, he has always used certain pet names with me. He’s called me sweetheart since we met, and I have used several in turn. That night he used a new one... I realised that he had woken me, saying it was time to take another dose of medicine. It was the way he said it, though: “Baby, I need you to wake up for me...” I am only slightly ashamed to admit that I whined pathetically at him calling me that, but he seemed to take it as protest that I didn’t want to wake, and not for what it really was—me absolutely losing my mind over that word coming out of his mouth and being directed at me. The cherry on top of it all was when he kissed me on the forehead and my brain promptly stopped working completely."

OR: At hit wits end, Henry decides to turn to reddit to ask the internet if his roommate likes him back, or if he's going insane. Then Nora intervenes.

Additional tags: Social Media, Ask reddit, Cute, Short & Sweet, Silly, Sharing a bad, Didn't know they were dating, Cuddling & Snuggling

It's Not a Secret

Henry is a boring person.

This is an objective fact. It’s been such a constant in his life that it hardly bothers him. He prefers the mundane. Thrives under routine. Tolerates many things poorly: surprise parties, capsaicin, loud noises.

Another objective fact: Henry loves Alex. Alex is not boring at all.

Unfortunately, everyone else in Henry’s life seems to think that a bore like him is incapable of a relationship like theirs— and, more distressingly, that this must mean that Alex simply doesn’t exist.

Or: Five times that no one believed that Henry and Alex were an item, and one time that they all did.

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Director of Finance Henry Fox, tattoo artist alex claremont-diaz, Opposites Attract, Not actually a secret relationship, Misunderstandings, Developing Relationship, Sexual Content

in sickness and in health

Henry has a rather nasty cold, but June had her appendix removed, which means she wins. Because of her victory in the unwell olympics, Henry will stay in Texas while Alex flies to New York to visit his sister and the rest of their chosen family, something Henry desperately tries not to resent.

Additional tags: Slice of life, Sickfic, Married life

The Room Where It Happens

caged, Alex who he had never thought would be his, making himself at home, in a place Henry hasn’t thought of as home since his father died. It was simply a place he lived. His home was now sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his socks.

----

Or, a trio of firsts.

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, First Time Bottoming, Angst, But not like Alex/Henry angst, Lonely Henry angst, Praise Kink

the way it is suddenly there, total and complete

As Alex falls in love with David, Henry falls even more impossibly in love with him, and their little family.

Or: Over the first year of their new life together, Alex fully commits to being a dog dad. Henry is his captive audience.

When I Get Going

“On a scale of one to ten,” Henry says softly, stepping closer to him and lowering his voice in a way that has Alex’s pulse jumping in his throat, his entire body aching to respond, “how far gone are you right now? One being ‘I could easily hold a conversation with the Queen’ and ten being ‘I’m genuinely surprised nobody’s noticed yet’.” Alex grits his teeth, but even the reminder of Henry’s nefarious grandmother can’t quell the arousal burning hotly in his stomach.

“Six,” he hisses, embarrassed and turned on, every molecule of him straining to reach out and pull Henry into something that will start off as a kiss, and end as anything but.

“Let me know when you get to eight,” Henry says firmly, then he just-

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, PWP, Underwear, Coming In Pants, Orgasm Delay/Denial, delayed gratification, Control, Light Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Begging, Praise Kink, Henry is a fucking tease

crushed velvet

"In this brief moment of reprieve, Henry pants for breath, digging his fingers into the red material of the sofa to remind himself that this is, in fact, somehow real."

Or, movieverse couch blowjob missing scene.

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ficlet, Missing Scene, Blow Jobs, Skull Fucking, Simultaneous Orgasm, Coming In Pants

Comfort in the Backlight

For the prompt: "rainy day in the brownstone, fluff?"

Maybe sneakers weren’t the best choice of shoe for the day, Alex realizes as he shuts the front door behind him and grimaces at the quick puddle forming beneath him.

you are my medicine (when you're close to me)

After one last peck, Henry finally pulls away, leaving a sore spot of hollowness where his touch had filled it before. Alex forces his face to stay even– he doesn’t want his boyfriend to feel guilty for doing what he needs to do, doesn’t want to feed into the assumption that Alex is helpless without him.

Doesn’t want to be another obligation in Henry’s life that will one day grow to be too much to shoulder.

When the door falls shut, leaving Alex alone with a house that is much too empty and silent without his family there, there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t quite swallow. He thinks of Nora, making jokes that Henry is a saint for putting up with him during exam season; he thinks of June who uprooted her entire life to take care of him during college– and finally, he thinks of Henry, gentle and perfect Henry, that has had to worry about others way too much in his life– and a stinging sense of dread settles over him.

-

Or, Alex's no good horrible very bad two weeks without Henry.

Additional Tags: Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has Abandonment Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Long-Distance Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Established Relationship

Smile, You're on Camera

"Baby," Alex manages, and Henry groans in response, grazing his earlobe with his teeth. Alex bites his lip his stifle his own whimper. "H, hang on."

Henry pulls away from his assault on his neck, face flushed, chest heaving. "What's — what's wrong?"

"Nothing, sweetheart, nothing," Alex soothes, placing both hands on Henry's shoulders. "I just — do you wanna do it? Now?"

Henry blinks owlishly. Alex watches as the realization slowly dawns on him, and he turns his head to look at the camera. He stares for a moment, then looks back at Alex and says, "Can you bring it closer?"

Or, Alex and Henry film a sex tape.

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Tapes, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crying During Sex, in a sexy way not a sad way, Switching, Sub Top Alex

no bunny compares to you

Henry is a lot of things as a person and while much of his personality transfers over to his bunny form, his physical attributes do not. Most notably, his size.

Where Alex’s boyfriend stands tall and regal, his furry counterpart is small and fluffy, unable to summit even the most minor of obstacles.

Take their sofa, for one. Alex is watching TV and minding his own business, when he hears a steady thump from just below him. Peering over the edge of the dark cushion, he spots his boyfriend angrily pounding his back foot against the carpet.

“Ha! Is my little bun too tiny to get up here on his own?” Alex teases. He’s promptly rewarded with a whisker twitch followed by a nose scrunch. Henry is pouting and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever witnessed.

--

or, five times Henry shapeshifts for himself and one time he does it for Alex

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Magical Realism, 5+1 Things, Bunny Henry, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Shapeshifting, Idiots in Love, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Needs a Hug, Protective Alex Claremont-Diaz, Soft Boys, Henry Has Bad Days

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox #rwrb fic #firstprince fic

[koko-heads]

yakou, turning to yuma: i sure showed those peacekeepers, huh?

yakou: did you see how uncomfortable they got when i started crying

#yakou furio #yuma kokohead #this is what happened when they first met canon #mdarc #rain code #master detective archives: rain code #incorrect quotes #source: the marvelous misadventures of flapjack

[dr3amofagame]

NO BUT YOU'RE RIGHT ABOUT THE SBI/DTEAM VILLAIN/HEO THING. literally if ANYTHING c!dteam would be the misunderstood villain team, or like, probably more accurately just kind of morally complex. like. they dont even have to be secretly good or whatever you just have to take one look at c!dream who is like the poster boy of "has good intentions probably, makes lots of fucked up decisions" and i wish that fic took the angle they normally take with c!sbi (introduced as villains but then shown a softer/sympathetic side) with c!dteam. please. it'd be so interesting i'm BEGGING for it to be written

like. you know people can write whatever they want, but it's specifically amusing to me because "group of people get painted as the villains to justify + validate the actions of some other entity that involves a level of corruption" ...happens in canon. like literally explicitly happens in canon. like that was the platform Pog2020 was more or less running on? Pog2020 which had planned on you know, the whole one-party election thing?? that happened???

like there's a very real, in-universe "heroes and villains" narrative that quite honestly permeated just about everything post-lmanburg's conception...and people writing fic based on the dsmp. completely flipped it? genuinely fascinating to me every time

#my asks !! #tw discourse #disk horse #LIKE THIS HAPPENS IN CANON #no matter what you consider in terms of c!dteam morality #(bc like. c!dream and c!sapnap specifically r absolutely evil. lmao) #when it came to when the narrative was first /written/ in the lmanburg revolution #they were ... nawt. the villains. like brother c!dream wasnt even on the server when they started this #they hadnt even met him yet #they literally wanted to recruit george until george fought on the dsmp side and then they hated him during swag2020 #like . this idea of propping other people up as the bad guys to serve our agenda is CANONICAL #and overwhelmingly used by the lmanburgians #cause the dsmp side literally just thought they were morons #during the revolution anyway #ANYWAY

[br1ghtestlight]

this is so funny to me actually bcuz this is 100% how i talk abt my characters ages. i know what YEAR they were born and i know what rheir ages are supposed to be at the start of the story but i dont actually know when it takes place?? im really bad at math. There was a moment where rainbow was supposed to be 23 and i somehow accidentally made her 17 lmfao

#theoretically it would take place in 2021 bcuz thats when i created my object ocs but the more time passes #the weirder it feels to have it take place years in the past #i considered moving up their birthdays by a few years but like. idk i like their birthdays theyre cute :3 #bubblegum is SUPPOSED TO BE 15 and she was born july 2007 #watermelon is supposed to be 7 and he was born june 2014 #etc etc #starr is 27 and she was born september uhhh 1995 or 1997 i actually dont remember. whichever one makes sense #also that would mean building block was born in 2020 and since she's always gonna be a baby the furhter away we get #it means that she wouldnt have even been born when the story is actually supposed to take place. Like #i know their birthdays and their ages and what year they were born everybody else has to do the math #to figure out wtf is going on because I DONT KNOW #also that means that building block would be a pandemic baby lmao 😭 #what was rhe vibe in nigeria in august 2020 during the pandemic. well i say that like it even happened in their universe #which there really isnt any reason for that to be true #it isnt historically important to mention like..... world war two or slavery or whatever. fucking obviously. in the context of objects #it gets messy so its better to just Not #also the months the characters were born really fuck me up bcuz jayden was born in late december #so for most of the first year that they met he would be.... younger than he actually is being born in 2003 #but since building's block birthday and exact age is the most important timeline-wise #and she was born august 14th 2020 and she's seven months old when they first meet #then it canonically would take place in march 2021 which was my original intention #bcuz that is the actual date that i first created my object ocs #ANYWAY. boring character age ramblings #but its hard to keep track of so i dont even blame the author!!!! birthdays are weird and hard to keep up w/ #when you dont know exactly when your story is supposed to take place #assuming its in a normal-ish world im sure fantasy ocs dont have this problem #txt #object ocs

[dnangelic]

if dark is visiting sekais, when will he come to visit the Wonderland sekai huh. : / when will he get to see the noisy colorful hell of an amusement park with catgirl miku and sentient plushies? they have so many shows to give him!!!!

IT WAS AN ACCIDENT. NONE OF IT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

#*･ﾟ⊰ ANSWERED. ⊱ #starwonderz #HLEPG AOBALKAKJKGK #THERE'S A- SIMILAR CIRCUMSTANCE IN CANON WHERE DARK GETS THROWN INTO A FAKE CIRCUS WORLD #AND HIS FIRST REACTION IS 'WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? IT'S SO GAUDY. IT SUCKS. I'M GONNA BE SICK' #HE'S SUCH A HATER JAWBALKJDJKKJ BUT DAISUKE WOULD THINK THE WONDERLAND SEKAI IS SO MUCH FUN!!! #dai's none the wiser wit ur tsukasa though actually he didn't even know tsukasa was like. #famous. tsukasa didn't introduce himself like i'm tsukasa THE rising star' #he and daisuke met like 'miku is real no matter what' that's how daisuke knows ur tsukasa. 'guy i talked to about miku with' #LJGHKHKJHLKGKKJKKJ #SO THE REAL QUESTION IS WHEN IS TSUKASA-KUN GOING TO INVITE HIM #AND THE SAME BULLSHIT HAPPENS AND HE TURNS INTO DARK!!!!! #SCREAMING AS YOU TURN INTO A TOKYO MEW MEW VILLAIN WHILE CATGIRL MIKU PROWLS THE CIRCUS GROUNDS

[imaginarianisms]

1 day i will make a meta of sansa's dynamic with her metaphorical champions/suitors & how that correlates to the ashford theory (i.e sansa being betrothed to joffrey baratheon, then promised to willas tyrell, then being married to tyrion lannister, then being married to harry hardying then married to aegon vi targaryen & aurane velaryon but it is not this day. lmao. when i make that meta it'll be so over for y'all.

#out of the galaxy. || ooc. #just know that. she never marries after aurane. btw lmao #like if he like g-d forbid ever died before she did she'd like. literally never marry or love again like. thats it lmfao #but anyway like. she has a complicated relationship w/ all of them tbh & reflects on them sometimes. #she obviously hates joffrey for him abusing her but like. she can't help but feel sad for him at times bc like. he was so young. #if he had the right people around him maybe he would've turned out okay eventually. but it didnt happen. she never met willas but sometimes #she wondered what it would've been like to be lady of highgarden but she hopes he's doing alright. her dynamic w/ tyrion is. complicated #like. he was never like openly cruel to her or anything & she's grateful to him for saving her life & standing up for her but like. #there's always that grief surrounding their families & i think she resented & mostly afraid of him at the time but in hindsight she's+ #grateful that he never hurt her or forced himself on her. harry she hardly knew unfortunately but like she disliked him at first #but then he actually seemed to warm up to her & she had him tied around her lil finger but she knows that she wouldn't like to be married+ #to a guy who actually has children w/ sb else. like. she's seen how that played out & while she wouldn't be mean it makes her uncomfortable #but especially surrounding aegon bc like. she's not naive enough to say she loved him but like. she actually LIKED him #like. while she was wary of him at first she warmed up to him & genuinely respected him as a person & most importantly aegon was her FRIEND #they got along rly well due to their similar upbringings & what they had to do to survive & like. he's actually a decent guy in canon. lmao #he's handsome & was chivalrous & honorable & sweet w/ her but also like batshit insane in a good way. like. #he was the golden prince she always wanted since she was a little girl; the prince that joffrey was supposed to be but never was. #he gave her a future as queen of westeros that was originally HERS. so when daenerys eventually executes him she has mixed feelings about i #aegon was good to her & she'd vowed not to betray him & she actually intended to keep that vow. to her she was forever in his debt+ #he gave her a future from her isolation & suffering @ winterfell bc of how much everything changed & he waited for her to love him back. #he actually showed her respect & gave her a solid future when she felt alone & abandoned & led her gently into a world of his own making+ #& gave her back her honor & a future. esp when the north was divided between jon rickon & herself. most preferred jon or rickon over her. #without aegon's intervention she probably would've had to marry some northern lord below her station. the winterfell succession crisis wild #but aurane velaryon? that's the love of her life. her bold captain. he taught her how to love & coaxed her in the sun to bloom & freed her. #freed her from the chains of her family obligations. he taught her to break the rules of tradition & follow her heart & trust her instincts #he was there with her in her darkest hour. he quite literally saved her life & defended her honor when no one else had the balls to do that #no one looks @ or touches her the way aurane does she loved him madly truly & deeply he took her girlhood in his stride but when autumn cam #she escaped & had to push him into the deepest recesses of her mind in the name of survival & pragmatism but she never stopped loving him. #& his sweet memory brought too much heartache & bittersweetness for her. she lowkey waited for him for years. & they EVENTUALLY reunited ! #he fought & got legitimized for HER. she's. so genuinely happy w/ that man. he's one of her best friends & the father to her children.

[sysig]

I know this flavour, it’s on the tip of my tongue... (Patreon)

#Doodles #Villainsona #Just Desserts #Vent #True Villainy AU #Okay now see this one's Definitely an AU haha #I feel like whenever I draw canon/close-to-canon Charm with her hair down I Have to draw TVAU Charm as well! It's her actual design! #Not that her actual design doesn't still need work - that outfit I swear it devolves every time I draw her lol #But it's more The Vibes y'know #Any guesses on what flavour it might be? It's not sweetness I can tell you that! Haha #A lot of TVAU!Charm comes down to control - I mean Charm Classic does too but Kaiein's influence does Some Stuff to her psyche #Then again so does it for the Early Powers AU lol - Control being one of EPAU!Charm's themes! It's a theme all the way around haha #I guess in this case she's just a lot less subtle about it lol #Less coercive and more blantant haha #The first set reminds me a lot of one of Kaiein's quotes: ''Please never ask for anything ever again'' #Punishing asking permission! Punishing checking in! Punishing needing anything and expressing that! #And we all know what happens when the first warning is punished - the default becomes to attack from the onset #If it's no longer safe to Ask but the need still isn't met then - according to what has been learned - Demands are the only remaining option #She's not doing great haha #Also ft. the Extremely rare instance of TVAU!Charm snapped out of it for a second - not Evil Time is basically unheard of and if Kaiein saw- #She's starting to question things #That one is also a reference! To his ''Special'' set except its inverse haha - he feeds her a lot of contradictory ideas #Mostly to keep her off balance and more reliant on him but also just in general to whatever suits his purposes #In this case he was playing up her Exceptionalism (neutral (derogatory (manipulative)) and it was enough to have her step back #Do not take him at his word Charm he's a fraud down to his non-existent bones!

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Every time I see the tag “x ship invented love” I do a little mental thing where I go through all the ships I’ve seen it on and try to determine the oldest, giving them the title. Problems arise when one story has a different timeline of history (like the world being less old than it is irl) I’m like, in this case there is no easy way to determine which wins, considering that one ship could start super early in that earth’s history, but is still younger than the one set in a timeline as old as ours.

I don’t include ships from a fantasy setting with no or little connection to earth because they would be harder to date in comparison and wouldn’t have invented love in our world

#emma posts #I overthink things a lot #so far I think hualian is winning #it is however in a weird place when compared to Crowley/aziraphel #because that technically would have started close to the beginning of their alternate earth #but is younger than hualian in terms of years if I’m remembering the dates correctly #not me making a mental timeline for fun when I’m bored 👀 #if I’m forgetting any older ship of mine. oops #but hualian became canon and had been around each other off and on around each other for fewer centuries than the other one #I don’t remember if we have a solid date for exactly how long ago that story happened #even though it’s fantasy it is still set on an earth and has an earth timeline #you can have characters older than the earth but I won’t count it until their first canon meeting for the in my mind competition #and if they are canon and have a canon date then they could be counted by when they got together or when they met #which is older though? if hualain is more recent in just years then it wouldn’t really matter which earth #but if they are older then that is where the mess begins #i feel like I’m forgetting someone though #you could argue that the first love story to be recorded invented love #but that is not what I’m thinking about #someone else is going to come in and be like ‘I have a ship from the ice age’ or something but I don’t #and for the sake of simplicity I’m only counting humans and humans look alikes #gets too complicated if I include early hominids and or other animals from prehistory #of which I can’t think of a ship I ship but eh 🤷‍♀️ #no or little connection to earth includes Star Wars to me. sorry but that is very vague and if it’s a long enough time ago it would #outcompete earth ships too easily #this is about ships with connections to earth and humans #even just a little connections to humans #I’m not going to get into timeline messes like madoka magica. though I’m not super intense about any of those ships #I am also not going to count time-travel unless the ship started earlier than the others without time travel

[sluttywonwoo]

fuck the neighbors

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f reader

summary: curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back- at least, that's what they say.

warnings: swearing, blood, asshole!wonwoo, mingyu is canonically a whore, light blasphemy, smut (18+ ; mdni)

smut warnings: hard dom!wonwoo, allusions to voyeurism, degradation, oral (f receiving), blood play?!?!? (just a little bit!!!), wap!reader, massive cock!wonwoo, choking, protected sex

word count: 3.3k

reader notes: reader is significantly shorter than ww + described to have long-ish hair

You’ve never felt as small as you do right now. Wonwoo looms over you, smirking. He isn’t even that much taller than you, you just seem to shrink into yourself when you’re around him, which seems to be happening more and more often lately. 

“Found you,” he whispers. 

“I... wasn’t hiding,” you say, your voice coming out in a squeak. 

“You know it isn’t nice to lie,” he chides, taking a step closer to you. You take a step backward in kind, only to be met with the cool concrete wall against your back. “It also isn’t nice to eavesdrop.”

“I didn’t- I wasn’t trying to,” you insist. 

Wonwoo tsks. “I don’t believe you. What did I just say about lying?”

“Well, it isn’t nice to be super loud all the time either!” you scoff. “You have neighbors, you know.”

The overhead light flickers. You and Wonwoo both stare at it, the inconsistent hum of electricity filling the silence before the light eventually decides to stay lit. You breathe a sigh of relief. You really needed to stop overlooking sketchy apartments for the sake of the rent, especially if you were going to have to deal with people like... him. 

Wonwoo cocks his head to the side. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean what am I talking about? Listen, I don’t care who you fuck but if you could be just a little quieter-”

Wonwoo cuts you off with a laugh. “That’s what this is about? That’s why you were snooping outside my apartment? What, were you hoping to catch a glimpse of her leaving or something?”

So you had been right... you’re not sure whether or not you’re happy about that. What you are sure of, though, is that you’re offended that you’re being accused of snooping. You open your mouth to defend yourself but stop short. 

“You’re bleeding,” is what you say instead. 

Wonwoo touches his lip, thumb brushing across the cut he must not have noticed until you mentioned it. He looks down at his fingers briefly then back up at you. 

“Come with me.”

“Wha- huh?”

“You want to know what’s so loud, right? So come on.”

You follow him blindly back down the hall to his apartment, the one right next to yours. You’re doing everything a final girl in a horror movie shouldn’t do, but you’re dying to know what’s been keeping you up at night. 

Wonwoo unlocks the door and stands aside to let you in first. With a gulp, you cross the threshold and slip off your shoes.  He does the same. 

The apartment is quiet, for once. It looks a lot like yours but mirrored. The kitchen is off to the right instead of the left. The half bathroom is on the wall opposite to yours, likely connected via plumbing.

The place is a lot cleaner than you expected too. It’s sparse, typical for a single guy, but still relatively well decorated. 

Wonwoo heads straight to the kitchen and turns on the sink. He wets a paper towel and dabs at his bottom lip, wincing as he cleans the wound.

“Why am I here?” you ask when he doesn’t offer an explanation. 

He doesn’t answer right away. Granted, the man was still bleeding but he’d dragged you here for a reason and now you were just standing in his kitchen. 

Eventually, he disposes of the paper towel, washes his hands, and walks across the living room without saying a word. You know he expects you to follow him but you almost don’t want to. You do follow him, you want to leave as fast as possible, but you consider it. 

He opens the door to what you know is a bedroom and points inside. You stare at him blankly. 

“What am I looking at?” 

“This isn’t my room,” he says. 

“What?”

“It’s my roommate’s.”

“You have a roommate?”

“I do. I have a roommate. He’s the one you share a wall with. He’s the one banging a different girl every night. Your issues are with him, not me.”

Now that you were thinking about it, you have seen a slightly taller, beefier man around the building. That must be who Wonwoo’s roommate is. He definitely had the face to pull all the girls Wonwoo was referring to. Not that Wonwoo didn’t-

“So take it up with him.”

You shake your head and purse your lips. “No, that doesn’t explain everything. I’ve heard your voice too. Unless you’re the one he’s banging...” you trail off, letting the implication hang in the air. 

“He’s not my type,” Wonwoo says flatly. 

“Okay, then what is it?”

“C’mere,” he says, moving along the wall to what you use as a breakfast nook in your apartment. 

In his, the space is empty save for a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. 

“You box?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“Is that why you were bleeding?”

“Yeah, I just got back from the gym.”

“And that’s what I’ve been hearing?”

“That’s what you’ve been hearing.”

You nod but don’t say anything else, half waiting for an apology that he doesn’t offer. He just leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Well, do you think you could practice your hobby before midnight? Or at least try to keep it down when you do?” you huff in annoyance.

He sighs like what you’re asking is the biggest inconvenience he’s ever been posed with but concedes.

 “I guess.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll have to talk to Mingyu about his... hobby, though. Or get noise canceling headphones. That’s what I did.”

“Oh, okay.”

Silence stretches between you again, heightening the tension in the room. You don’t know what to do. Were you supposed to show yourself out now that you had your answers? Wonwoo isn’t giving you any indication that he wants you to leave but he isn't giving any indication that he wants you to stay either. 

You don’t have the time or energy to deal with this. You can’t read the man’s mind. No matter how hard he stares at you from across a room. With a definitive breath, you turn on your heel to head for the door just to be stopped by Wonwoo’s voice echoing behind you. 

“Are you disappointed?” 

You stop but don’t turn around. “What?”

“Are you disappointed that it isn’t me you’ve been hearing?” he clarifies. 

Heat rises to your cheeks. “Wh-what do you mean? Why would I be?”

You feel him approach from behind, his shadow closing in on you before he does. 

“Because it isn’t my voice you’ve been touching yourself to.”

“What?!” You do turn around this time, whipping around so fast your ponytail almost whacks Wonwoo in the face. 

“You don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me when I pass you in the hallway?”

You scoff, breathing a subtle sigh of relief. All he had to go off of was a look but if he had heard you through the wall, if he had that irrefutable evidence, it would definitely be over for you. “If that’s what you think lust looks like, I feel bad for all the girls you have slept with.”

“Resentment and lust have a very long history together,” he whispers. 

“You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

You feign ignorance. “About what?”

“About you.” He measures you up with his gaze, something triumphant flashing behind his eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he presses. “Tell me you’ve never gotten off to the thought of me and I’ll drop it.”

You weigh your options. You could lie. You could save yourself the embarrassment and lie right to his face, although given your track record thus far he’d see right through it. Or, you could tell him the truth. You could admit to wishing you were the one in what you thought had been his bed all this time. 

You settle on silence and let him draw his own conclusion. A smirk tugs at one side of Wonwoo’s mouth. So he did think highly of himself. 

“I fucking knew it,” he murmurs. 

Before you can deny it, he straightens back up and starts walking toward the back of the apartment. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” he announces. 

You don’t move from where you’re standing, unsure of what he wants you to do. Was he hinting at you to leave? Was it an invitation? 

Wonwoo looks back over his shoulder at you. “Are you coming?” 

“Hopefully,” you mutter.

“Hm?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

-

The water is already running by the time you slip into the bathroom after Wonwoo. You watch quietly as he undresses, letting the door click shut gently behind you. It occurs to you that you should be taking your clothes off too but you can’t look away. 

Wonwoo’s kind enough to snap you out of it. “I didn’t ask you in here just to watch me.”

“You didn’t ask me in here at all,” you point out, “you just expected me to follow you.”

“And you did.”

Damn, he had you there. 

With a noise of indignation, you pop the button on your jeans and start to wiggle out of them, unable to bring yourself to look at him again now that you’re also exposed. You can feel his eyes on you, though. It has the same effect his presence always has on you, and you attempt to cover yourself with your hands.

“Shy?” he muses. “Cute.”

“Shut up,” you sputter.

You don’t think you’ve felt this self conscious since college and then he laughs at your response which does nothing to help.

“I can’t call you cute?”

“Not if you’re patronizing me.”

“How do you want me to say it, then?” he asks, sinking down to his knees on the floor in front of you. You stare at him in disbelief. “You want me to say it like this? Want me to tell you how cute, how pretty, I think you are, from down here? How pretty I think this pussy is?” Wonwoo leans forward as he talks, further and further until his hair is tickling your tummy and his lips are moving against your skin. “Spread your legs for me, baby,” he murmurs. 

You do, taking hold of the countertop so that you won’t fall as Wonwoo slots himself between your thighs. You take a deep breath to brace yourself for the feeling of his mouth but absolutely nothing could have prepared you for the way he presses a gentle kiss to your pussy before diving in. The softness of the action compared to everything that led up to this moment, compared to the way he was now drowning himself in you, is enough to make your knees threaten to give. Your grip on the counter tightens and you bite down hard on your bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, though you’re sure he already knows he’s got you right where he wants you.  

Wonwoo hitches one of your knees over his shoulder so that he can get even deeper inside of you with his tongue. He drinks you in, breathes you in, douses himself in you like he’s trying to baptize himself in order to atone for his sins.  

If this was his apology for all the noise, he’s forgiven ten times over. 

You can feel callouses on the palms of his hands as he traces them up your legs and over your ass, pulling you even further into him. The force of his grip causes you to stumble but he catches you before you can fall and helps you to regain your balance. 

“I’ve got you,” he assures you, backing you up into the sink. “Here, hop up on the counter.”

“What about the shower?” you ask, suddenly remembering that the water had been running this whole time. 

“Oh shit-”

Wonwoo turns around and reaches to turn it off, drying both his hand and his face with a towel that had been hanging on the wall. 

“Now, hop up on the counter.” 

“Are you sure?” you ask, glancing at all of the skin and hair care products scattered across it. 

Wonwoo pushes them out of the way then nods. 

“I’m sure. Mingyu won’t care, trust me. He’d be a hypocrite to.” 

You sigh but hoist yourself onto the counter anyway, too horny to worry about it any longer. Wonwoo steps in between your legs and lets you wrap them around his waist. He leans down, you think he’s going to kiss you, but he goes for your neck and kisses you there instead. 

“Why are you pouting?” he asks, voice muffled and vibrating against your throat. 

“Want you to fuck me,” you lie. 

It’s not a complete lie, you do want him to fuck you, but it certainly isn’t the full truth either. You’re afraid that if you’re honest with Wonwoo about wanting him to kiss you it’ll turn him off. He’s not about to make love to you, that much is clear, so was kissing off the table? Was that too intimate for a hookup like this? Would he think you wanted something more if you asked?

“I was getting to that,” he insists lowly. “So impatient.”

“You’re the one who ate me out as soon as you got me alone. You haven’t even kissed me yet.” 

There. Maybe if you challenged him he’d give you what you wanted. 

“Oh, you want me to kiss you, huh?”

He wraps a hand around your neck and pulls you in, finally pressing his lips to yours. Men were so easy. 

He tastes like you imbued with unfamiliarity. Blood, you realize when you pull back and see the cut on his lip had reopened. It isn’t much, just enough to make him look vaguely vampiric. You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip and push it into his mouth for him to suck on. 

He does, but he has the audacity to pretend not to like it.  

“You’re sick,” Wonwoo scoffs. 

“And you’re still hard.”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

He kisses you again before you can get another word in, dropping his free hand between your legs to ensure you're truly unable to talk back. 

He uses his fingers to tease you for a moment or two and then he teases you with the head of his cock, pressing it right up against you and making you whimper into his mouth. 

“Tell me, what have you been thinking about all these months,” he murmurs, “when you’re in your bed all alone listening through the wall?”

“I- it’s embarrassing...” you protest. 

Wonwoo draws back, tonguing his cheek as he gazes down at you. “Tell me or we’re done here.” 

You’re not sure whether or not he’ll make good on his threat but you don’t want to call his bluff and risk blowing your chance to actually live out the fantasies you were too embarrassed to share. 

“I thought about... this,” you say hesitantly. 

“This? You thought about me fucking you here?”

“No...”

“You’re going to have to be more specific then, angel.”

“It was, um, in your bed.”

“You mean Mingyu’s bed.”

“I didn’t know that at the time,” you whine.

He smiles. “I know. You know, if you had just paid a little closer attention you would have realized he sounds nothing like me.”

“I was a little distracted at the time,” you whisper.

“Yeah? Distracted pretending it was you in those girls’ positions?”

You nod reluctantly. 

“Poor baby,” he pouts, “must’ve been so jealous but so wet you just had to touch yourself, huh?”

You hate that he’s right. You hate that the condescension turns you on even more. 

While he’s talking, Wonwoo snakes an arm behind you and grabs a condom from a jar on the counter. Did he and Mingyu just keep them out for guests like they were cotton swabs or something? Did they get laid that often? 

He tears the foil packet open with his teeth and rolls the condom on as you watch and unconsciously spread your legs even wider for him. 

“Ready?” he asks, holding your face with both hands. 

It’s probably the first earnest interaction you’ve had with him. His eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation and even when he finds none, he waits for you to answer.

“Go ahead.”

You keep your eyes trained on his face as he guides himself inside of you, watching the way his eyelashes flutter and his breath hitches when he feels the heat of you around him. He pushes himself in slowly but the stretch still knocks the wind out of you, leaving you gasping for air.   

“Breathe, baby, breathe. You’re okay.”

You can hardly hear him over the roaring in your ears but you do your best to listen, chest heaving as you desperately try to anchor yourself to him. 

Wonwoo doesn’t move until you urge him to by wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing his hips with your thighs. It isn’t easy at first, despite how wet you are for him. He’s that huge. 

You almost wish he wasn’t just because you don’t think it’s fair for any man’s ego to be warranted, especially one as big as his. Though you suppose it’s fitting. 

 After a few rough strokes, he starts to play with your clit again to get you to relax a little. It works, your eyes roll and your head falls back against the mirror as the tension eases from your muscles. 

“Does it feel as good as you thought it would?” he presses. 

“B-better,” you admit.

“That’s because it wasn’t me you were hearing.”

You groan, annoyed that he still hasn’t let it go. You doubt he ever will. 

“It’s okay. I’ve thought about this too,” he confesses.

“You have?”

“Have you seen yourself?” he scoffs, “Don’t sound so surprised. I’d s-see you in the hallways, see the way you’d glare at me- fuck... who knew all this time you were right next door fantasizing about me while I fantasized about you. We could’ve been doing this so much sooner.”

You want to tell him that you have all the time in the world to make up for it now but you can’t find the words. They’ve dissolved on your tongue and left you with only his name to repeat over and over like you’re in a trance.

“Louder,” he pleads as fucks you even faster.

“But our neighbors-”

“Fuck them,” he spits. “They already hate us because of Mingyu, let them know my name too.”

Apparently you aren’t the only jealous one between the two of you. You want to laugh but you physically can’t, too caught up in the incandescent feeling in your stomach that threatens to engulf you entirely. 

“Fuck, are you about to cum?” Wonwoo gasps, lips parting in concentration. 

You nod. “Just a little more,” you beg, “yeah, exactly like that... oh fuck-”  

“I’ve got you,” he assures you. “Let go, I’m right there with you.”

It’s surprisingly sweet of him and you think he might realize it too because he grabs your jaw and pulls you in to kiss you as you fall apart together so that he can’t say anything else. 

Once you come down, he’s the first to start putting you both back together. 

“Wanna actually take a shower now?” he asks, holding out a hand to help you down from the counter. 

Your knees wobble on your landing but Wonwoo’s quick to wrap an arm around your shoulders wounded-soldier style and sit you on the closed lid of the toilet.  

“Take your time,” he tells you, kneeling on the tile in front of you. 

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to stay the night? I mean you can hardly walk. There’s no way you’ll make it all the way home.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “All the way next door?” 

“Exactly! It’s better not to risk it, right?”

You chuckle. “I guess.”

Wonwoo grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you home myself in the morning. I’m a gentleman, after all. And then we can piss off your neighbors.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

#fuck the neighbors #seventeen smut #svt smut #wonwoo smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen x female reader #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x female reader #jeon wonwoo smut #svt x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #flashing tw

[yyokkki]

The Prefect's Laugh

Dropping this monstrosity i wrote in September 2023 because I feel like I'm never going to leave this fandom.

First Years x gn! Prefect

Warning: I haven't played chapter 7, Prefect has a distinct personality so it doesn't really count as x reader but some people could find them relatable, a jumble of canon and non-canon events, mild cursing?

Divider by @saradika

It wasn’t that the Prefect never smiled. In fact, they may have smiled a little too often. It could be as simple as a wordless greeting or as complex as a way to cope with fear, but there was one particular expression the first years saw only once in a blue moon. The smile that comes alongside a fit of laughter.

The first time Ace saw the infamous Ramshackle Prefect smile like that was not too long after they had first met. It was a day or two after Heartslabyul’s housewarden overblotted and they’d finally gotten the rose garden in order.

While chatting about that day’s happenings, a rather embarrassing detail was brought up (embarrassing to Ace at least).

“Can we, like, NOT talk about this anymore??”

“I mean, the housewarden was really going in on you and you just stood there and took it but as soon as he said those things about the Prefect’s parents you didn’t even hold back. It’s weirdly sweet of him, right?”

Deuce looked towards the Prefect for their input to which they replied by fervently nodding their head.

“Wow, who could’ve guessed that maybe THE Ace Trappola cares about his friends??”

“…Honestly would’ve believed you more if you said you did it just to prove you could.”

“Pfft-“

Ace’s head whipped to the side, and he stared at the blooming smile on the Prefect’s face. Crinkled eyes, a hand in front of their mouth and slightly flushed cheeks as they tried to hold in their chuckles.

He wanted to make a snarky comment, something like, ‘I’ve been trying to make you laugh for the past two weeks and THIS Is what makes you break?’

Instead, what came out of his mouth was… Silence.

Maybe the new expression was too shocking as he just stared, five parts confusion, three parts embarrassment, two parts bashfulness. The most he could get out of them even with the most well-crafted jokes were slight smirks and yet something Deuce said without even intending to be funny made them crack.

He felt wronged.

And flustered.

…Shit, why are they kinda cute.

Going back to before the overblot, a day that Deuce personally considers more traumatising than his own housewarden’s mental breakdown.

Sorrowfully gazing upon the carnage of eggshells, whites and yolks jumbled up in the plastic bag branded with the words, Mr. S’ Mystery Shop, Deuce gave out another wistful sigh.

“I just hope those chicks can rest in peace.”

“…You know those eggs don't hatch into chickens, right?”

Shocked, flabbergasted, gobsmacked, stunned, stupefied, bowled-over; all words that could be used to describe Deuce Spade’s current state of mind.

“Wh- WHAT??? YOU’RE KIDDING.”

While Deuce was having an epiphany about the eggshell-shocking revelation, he noticed the Prefect’s slightly hunched over back and trembling frame. He was about to go comfort them when he saw their face…

And heard their laughter, ringing out like the sound of wind chimes swaying with the summer breeze, despite it being mid-September.

“YOU’RE LAUGHING???”

He looked at them with five parts feelings of betrayal, three parts despair and two parts anger. He was so offended that he immediately stormed off with the grocery bags in hand, huffing and puffing as he went on his unmerry way.

It wasn’t until later that the Prefect started feeling guilty about their reaction to the incident. It kind of felt like telling a little kid Santa wasn’t real…

They apologised, got him a book about the evolution of egg production, hugged it out and all was forgiven.

It wasn’t until much much later that Deuce Spade realised, he had only seen the Prefect laugh a handful of times, that incident taking up one of the spaces.

It had grown to become one of his favourite sounds in the world.

Jack Howl was never one for bad jokes or witty banter. Whenever he and the Prefect stood together, besides looking like a sturdy tree next to a swaying flower, they didn’t look friendly- much less like friends.

Only the two of them understood the solidarity that came with the silence. They were each others go-to when the other first years got too rowdy.

Truly the mom and dad of the group.

They would occasionally engage in conversation. Somehow when they were together, asking about each other’s day would lead to which parts of home they missed most now that they were away or embarrassing childhood memories, they hadn’t told anyone else about.

It was on a day like any other, a long while after the deep sea overblot.

Jack and the Prefect had finally started speaking to each other comfortably, yet most of their time together was spent just existing in the same room, doing their own thing.

It wasn’t awkward, at least not to the Prefect. But they had to ask just in case.

“Hey, do you ever feel like we don’t really talk when we hang out?”

“…Well, we are at the library.”

“I mean at other places too.”

Jack looked up from his notes, glancing at the Prefect with a little apprehension tracing his features.

“Why? You find it weird?”

“No, I like it a lot, just- I’m not used to it you know? Whether it’s the friends I’ve made here or my friends from back home they’ve never been the type to let the room stay quiet for over five seconds.”

They shifted slightly to cast an inquisitive glance over at him, “I can’t tell if you mind or not.”

Against his very own will, Jack’s tail started flowing slightly. So, they like being around him?

“I feel the same as you. I like our time together.”

Realising he sounded a little too soft, he immediately started backpedalling.

“Not that that means anything. I enjoy spending time with many people, doesn’t make you special.”

After finishing his piece, Jack looked back down at his notes, playing it cool. His tail, however, betrayed his feelings.

"Pfhaha, so cute, it’s like a helicopter-“

“…”

Not knowing how to defend himself, Jack got up to sit across the Ramshackle Prefect, blocking their view of his tail but giving him the perfect angle to catch all their expressions.

…It may be a little too late for him.

It all started with a godforsaken game of PG rated chicken.

Epel Felmier didn’t know whose dumb idea it was to hold a competition like this among all the first years but damn was he killin’ it.

It was almost too easy. It made him feel conflicted. Should he be happy that he’d somehow reached the finals? Or mad that it’s all cause of his face and build?? Either way, the prize was too good to pass up so he was gonna win.

So far he’d been flyin’ through with direct eye contact and a smile or two if his opponents were tougher but the final round had been filling him with a weird sense of dread, so he decided to prepare a little somethin’ special this time.

He doubted he’d have to use it though; he didn’t think very highly of the kids at NRC in this specific department…

That being until he got a text from the organiser telling him who his opponent was, that being: the Ramshackle Prefect.

Well shit.

He knew they never judged anybody, including him, for their appearance, and he’d always appreciated them for that. But in this context, it would make ‘em a tough nut to crack.

Not even mentioning, they knew his weakness when he didn’t have theirs.

He immediately pulled down their chat and started typing ferociously.

‘you. me. ramshackle lounge. after school. please?’ And send.

Might as well get a practise round in to scope the waters.

Luckily, the Prefect considered him a friend and wasn’t overly cautious, so not long after the text was sent an ‘ok’ was promptly sent back.

As soon as school let out, Epel ran into the Prefect in the mirror chamber, and they embarked towards Ramshackle dorm together.

He’d informed them of his intentions while on the way, so they got started after arriving.

First, he tried his usual techniques despite knowing they wouldn’t work. As expected, the Prefect didn’t so much as flinch.

Then they smiled warmly at him.

“Your training has been working out really well, I can see a little more definition on your arms. How do you even do it? What you lack in a natural constitution is already being made up for by your will and perseverence! It's really rare to find people like you out there.”

Shit, a genuine compliment about his mental and physical growth! That’s critical damage, how could they be so dirty, using his weakness against him?

Well, if that’s how they’re gonna play it.

Epel held up his two hands in front of him, forming a heart with his fingers.

The Prefect looked unfazed. They just smiled at him, mockingly (Epel’s perception).

Fine. He’s been left with no choice but to pull out his secret weapon.

“I-If you were a fruit, you’d be a FINEAPPLE!” Absolutely humiliating.

But also absolutely effective.

The Prefect’s mask started cracking at its seams.

“F-fineapple? I never thought I'd ever hear you say anything like that- Pfft hehe-“

He'd won, but his face was as red as his namesake as the visage of his Prefect’s tinted cheeks and choked back giggles entered his heart.

On the day of the competition, he lost miserably. The Prefect ended up passing the prize onto him, claiming they were only participating for fun, but he wasn’t really upset.

It’s for the best that no one else sees that face anyways.

Sebek Zigvolt’s sole purpose for living is to serve his young master as a reliable retainer.

In order to be reliable, he must excel in both academics and athletics. Athletics weren’t worth mentioning and he found all academic subjects easy enough.

All except for art, that is.

Making use of a medium to place your creative vision onto a surface sounded simple, yet the product had never lived up to his expectations, creating a habit of casting fire spells to burn the causes of his shame.

After yet another round of sweeping up the ashes of a canvas, he’d decided enough was enough. As unbecoming as it was, a good retainer would ask for help when he really needed it.

And he really really needed it.

His next course of action was to head over to the staff room and inquire with the Art professor for private lessons, only to be told that she had no empty slots in her schedule.

“If you don’t mind learning from another student, I recommend asking the Ramshackle Prefect to tutor you. They’re one of the best among their peers and I’ve seen them offering help to other students during my classes so I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

That magicless human? He’d only ever spoken two or three sentences to them, and he couldn’t stand the uncouth beast following them around every hour of the day, but if they truly were one of the best…

Thus started a deal he would come to regret in the future.

The Prefect wasn’t a bad teacher. They’d gotten him to start on the basics before even thinking of the elaborate portraits he’d always been hellbent on doing.

Once he’d finally grasped the techniques needed, he immediately jumped onto the opportunity to paint his young master, using one of his sacred wallet sized photos as reference. The Prefect stood beside him the whole time, pointing out mistakes and fixing any parts he deemed unsatisfactory.

The only qualm he had was that they’d protested to his idea to paint a wall sized mural, stating that it was too advanced.

With a beautiful portrait in tow, he returned and hung it up near his shrine. It couldn’t compare to his young master’s radiance but it had been the best thing he’d ever painted and he was felling pleased with himself.

An idea came over him. He wouldn’t have been able to do this without their help after all…

And that was what led to him showing up at Ramshackle outside of lesson hours with a small canvas nervously clenched in his hands.

“Human. It didn’t turn out as well without your guidance, but this is a little token of appreciation for your help these past few weeks.” He pushed the portrait into the Prefects hands, ready to accept criticism.

“…”

“Human..?”

“…Pffhehe-, I never expected you to do something so heartfelt for a ‘dumb human’. Heh, I guess I really grew on you!”

“Why are you laughing?! ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF ME??”

If he had his sword on him he would be unsheathing it right now.

“No, no, thanks man, I love it.”

The brightest and most genuine smile he’d ever seen from them blossomed.

He felt his face burn and his heartbeat rise to an abnormal degree as the Prefect’s warm gaze felt as though it were boring into him.

…I must inquire with Master Lilia what hex this human has placed upon me. Right this instant!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #jack howl #disney twst #ace trappola #deuce spade #epel felmier #sebek zigvolt #twst ace #twst jack #twst epel #twst sebek #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #jack howl x reader #epel felmier x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #twisted wonderland writing

[satoruxx]

PARACOSM OF THE GODS.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru x f!reader | 11.5k words

SUMMARY: ok here we go, canon au, angst, fluff, best friends being in love, stsg being whipped but unable to express it, reader is clueless as usual, timeskips, canon compliant deaths, bittersweet, longing, mutual pining, emotionally stunted teens, dad!gojo makes an appearance, hopefully that’s it i'm tired of typing

RHEYA'S NOTE: highkey lowkey stressed posting bc this has been sitting in my wips for 4 years now. i honestly didn't have to add much to it i basically just proofread. but yeah when you maladaptive daydream and create a plot where you're a character in jjk and you're also in love with gojo and geto this is what happens. a little sad to let this go but it's time !! plus i can add more parts later. but anyways pls lmk what you think, i'm super curious to know <33

i. the unknown

satoru's first impression of you is anything but kind.  

his words come casually, free into the wind without care, and they aren't meant for you to hear. instead, they fall only to suguru's ears, evoking a deep chuckle and a slight shake of his head. his bangs swish a little with the movement, but satoru is too busy eyeing you over the frame of his shades to notice. 

you're lucky to have not heard it, because the intent with which it was said would have probably made your brow tick with frustration. he says it without a thought, as if he hasn't the slightest bit of interest in you as hints of arrogance fill his tone. 

"who's the rookie?" 

satoru and suguru sit outside against the patio railings of the classroom they had chosen for the day. it overlooks the grounds of the school, where they have a clear view of who approaches the main entrance. suguru absentmindedly clicks his lighter—shoko had gone to get another pack of cigarettes. 

it is from this higher point that they have a clear view of you. you're so obviously new to this, satoru thinks as he watches how you awkwardly stand in front of yaga sensei. 

he already wants to label you as a side character. it's mean, he realizes—cruel even, but he can barely bring himself to care. 

"yaga sensei mentioned that there'd be a new student joining us this week," suguru says, fingering the bangs hanging in front of his eyes. they roam over you with only slight interest before uttering your full name, just as his teacher had said it.

satoru repeats it with a hum. "not a big name or anything. a small-sized family of sorcerers i think." he shrugs carelessly. "but honestly i never really paid attention to all those stupid clan and jujutsu family lessons." 

suguru only responds with a good-natured chuckle, tearing his eyes away from the scene to look at his friend. "no shit." 

the two sit in quiet silence, watching yaga's lips move in structured, emotionless greetings as he shakes your hand. satoru is especially focused on the hunching of your shoulders and the way your eyes nervously dart around. 

suguru is the first to interrupt the peace. 

"maybe she's strong?" 

"are you kidding?" satoru scoffs as he stands up straight, shoving his fists into his pockets. he turns his nose up slightly. "that's not the attitude of someone who's confident in their abilities." 

ii. routine 

"can i ask you guys a question?" 

a cool breeze tickles your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, and you suppress a shiver. the smell of the air tells you winter is fast approaching. 

"you just did," satoru hums, his snowy hair splayed out against stems of green grass. suguru's chuckle reverberates deep in his chest, and you have to push back an exasperated smile. 

"another one then," you press, leaning over satoru's face to force yourself into his view. his blue eyes pierce through yours over the dark-rimmed frames of his glasses, and even after seeing them so many times, they still feel as dominating as the first. he hums again, and you take that as your cue. 

"what did you first think of me when we met all those months ago?" 

satoru sits up quickly, and you can already feel your shoulders dropping when you catch a glimpse of the teasing smirk on his lips. he shifts so that he's directly facing you, leaning close so that the two of you are barely a palm's distance from one another. 

"thought you were an annoying little rookie~" he sings and you immediately shove at his shoulder.

"'m not a rookie anymore," you huff, and satoru laughs joyously. suguru only grins, his eyes darting between the two of you happily. satoru moves himself into a proper sitting position, digging his long fingers into your bag of chips and popping one into his mouth. you swat at his hand, even though you don't mean it, because though you complain about gojo satoru all the time, you would give him the whole world if you could. 

you and satoru take turns reaching into the bag. you wonder if the sound of crunching disturbs suguru. he's not asleep—he's just doing that thing where he keeps his eyes closed and escapes to his own land of tranquility. you'd like to give him as much peace as you can, so you stay quiet. satoru does too, but you think that's just because you aren't talking to him. 

the quiet is nice when you're with them. sometimes silence makes you feel alone—paranoid. it feels like there is some impending doom hovering over your shoulder, and all you can do is wait for it to come. but with them it is different. you know that any danger in the quiet will be caught by the two of them. maybe that's why it's so easy to let your guard down around them. you trust that they won't let you die.  

"i thought you were weak," satoru pipes up after a few minutes of silence. "you didn't seem like you were confident in your abilities, and that's a sign of weakness." 

after spending so much time with satoru and suguru, the word weak has permeated almost every one of your conversations. later you learned how much more significant it was for them to label someone as strong. you chase after the word—crave it.

"and turns out that wasn't true." suguru adds with a smile, his head leaning back against the trunk of the tree. his eyes are still closed serenely and you wonder if he can feel the way you're gazing at him. 

"yeah and now you act like some big hotshot," satoru grumbles, as though he doesn't want to admit to his old mistake, but you can hear his smile. it annoys you, the way his once degrading little nickname has now somewhat turned into a term of endearment. you would rather die than admit that you like hearing him say it. 

"well, I'm glad that i was able to prove you both wrong."

the conversation ends there. 

shoko returns a few minutes later, tossing you a can of soda and suguru a pack of cigarettes. as soon as she sits down in her spot under the tree you're forcing your head into her lap and kicking your feet onto satoru's legs. you ignore his complaints, because you know that in just a little bit he'll quiet down and his hand will rest over your ankle, fingers soft but firm. they'll occasionally drum some rhythmic tune, or draw nonsensical patterns against your skin.

shoko's fingers thread through your hair, just like they always do, and you know that in a few minutes you'll doze off in her lap, just like you always do. it's clockwork, this thing that you have with them. they make the days keep going—time doesn't stop for you. 

a part of you wishes you could freeze time at that moment. 

but you can't. 

iii. halcyon

"hey suguru?"

"hm?"

"how come you always do your hair the same way?"

suguru glances up from his book. he's seated at your desk, and for a minute, the breeze pushes your curtains so that they block your view of him. satoru groans lightly from your left, turning on his side to snuggle deeper into your pillow, and slumber overtakes him once more. him and shoko remain quiet, faces free of worry as they dream in a land that is so unlike the real world you live in.

"what do you mean?" suguru asks in response to your question. he has an amused smile on his face as he places his book on your desk, though his thumb and pointer finger keep his page.

"well…" you suddenly feel stupid for asking, but he's looking at you so intently now. "you have such nice hair. you could style it in so many different ways."

"are you saying you don't like my hair the way it is?" he frowns.

"no no!" you scramble, shaking your head emphatically. quite the opposite actually you think he's so so attractive—how on earth did you screw this up so badly? "that's not it i just—"

he laughs, tilting his head fondly. "i'm just messing with you, hotshot."

you blanch, before crossing your arms with a huff. "asshole…"

he chuckles, before lifting a calloused hand up to finger the tie that holds his hair in a bun. he glances back at you, before a michevious smile settles on his face. he gives the tie one sharp tug, and the bun falls away. black hair drops, resting on his shoulders, and you stare at him—oddly parched. wind brushes through the open window, tickling your curtains, tickling his now open hair. you had seen his hair down before, of course. in the few seconds after a sparring session when the bun had gotten loose, or when too many strands escaped the tie and fell in front of his face (he always pushed them away with an agitated huff). but now he looks different—good, you realize. he looks good.

"how should i style it then, hotshot?"

his question shakes you out of your daze. you hum in contemplation. "i don't know."

he laughs quietly, as to not wake the other two. "didn't you just say there were so many ways to style it? enlighten me then," he teases, reaching over to grab a small scrap of paper from your desk. he slots it where his fingers are holding place, and then closes the book. he swivels in the chair to face you completely, rolling over so that he's right in front of you.

"well…" you start, biting your lip in thought. "a ponytail maybe?"

suguru bunches his hair into his fist, holding it up against his head. "and? how do i look?"

you grin, eyeing the new style with a stifled laugh. "fantastic."

he laughs again, louder this time, before dropping his hand.

"it looked good though!" you laugh and he rolls his eyes fondly.

"yeah yeah," he dismisses with a wave of his hand. he looks back at you, eyes tracing over your hair before he grins wide.

"i like yours."

you blink. "mine?"

"the way you did your hair today," he points to the half up-half down style you've thrown together. a dark blue ribbon holds the hair in place—satoru had said it matched nicely with your uniform. suguru's eyes gleam as he appraises it. "it's nice. it looks really pretty on you."

something in your chest feels like it fell off a cliff.

"oh—" you stumble, before smiling at him because that's all you can do when he makes you feel like this. "thanks suguru."

"do mine like that," he says quickly.

once again, you blink owlishly and all you can manage is a stupid "huh?"

"do my hair like that," he repeats, getting up from the chair to sit at your feet, back towards you. he crosses his legs and puts his hands in his lap, patiently waiting.

"you can't do it yourself?" you tease, scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

"i can," he replies and you can hear the easy smile in his voice. "but i want you to do it for me."

"okay then!" you laugh before gently parting sections of his hair out. and then you work in silence, putting more effort into his hair than you've ever done with your own.

iv. fragility

"lady riko does not have any relations. when she was young, her family was involved in an accident…since then, i've been her caretaker. so please let her at least spend time with her fr—" 

"—so that makes you her family then." 

suguru's words seem to stun kuroi, the weight of riko's situation finally making itself clear as her face crumbles. 

"…yes." 

you listen to the way her voice wobbles, and try to suppress the poisonous lump forming in your throat. 

"then we do everything we can to make her happy," you say solemnly, leaving no room for argument. suguru seems to agree and says nothing—some deeper part of you feels something more than thankful towards him. 

"you're awfully sensitive for a jujustu sorcerer, you know that?" satoru comments offhandedly. you turn to look at him, meeting his piercing gaze over dark rims. 

"maybe," you concur. "is that considered weak?" 

satoru seems to ponder his answer, before shrugging, a light smile on his face. "to some people, maybe." 

you manage to smile back, and he takes in the expression with an odd look on his face. "say what you want, satoru. but you agree with me, don't you?" 

he looks away, eyes gazing out to the distance where you know riko is currently in class with her friends, trying to live the life she wants, and something in them softens considerably. 

"we'll do things the way she wants us to." 

it's one sentence, said without a smile or laugh, but hearing it fall from satoru's lips makes you beam at him. 

that's just your kindness, isn't it, satoru?

your heart leaps when you notice the tips of his ears tinge with rouge. 

v. longing

riko's hand is warm against the coolness of your fingers. your body feels hyperaware of your surroundings, toes deep in hot sand and salty air sticking to your skin. for some odd reason, you can't seem to relax. unconsciously, you tighten your grip around the young girl's palm. she glances up at you, but when you look down at her, she's wearing the biggest smile you've ever seen. 

satoru's presence makes itself known behind you—his shadow looms over yours in the sand. "it'll be fine," he says.

you can't see his face, nor can you see suguru who stands at his side, but your shoulders drop slightly, and you find yourself smiling back at riko. 

"i'm getting in the water!" she squeals eagerly, before dragging a helpless kuroi with her. satoru laughs—a clear, pristine sound—and follows after her. you watch the three of them with a fond smile, something akin to content settling deep within you.  

"and what are you planning on doing?" suguru asks. you turn to look at him, watching the way his heavy eyes stay focused on you. 

"hmm," you quirk a brow mischievously. "build sandcastles with me?" 

suguru blinks owlishly before he breaks out into a good-natured laugh. 

"deal." he walks closer to the water's edge, where the sand is damper, and crouches down. he turns to look at you over his shoulder. "don't make me do all the work, hotshot." 

you stand there, taking him in—really taking him in. he's just as clear as the sky behind him, and the sun shining on his face makes his smile glow. you want him to continue smiling at you like that well into the future. the waves crash onto the shore, as though the ocean is chasing his radiance, and an overwhelming feeling of unfiltered affection swells in your chest. 

your feet carry you forward, and you think that they might always lead you back to him. 

the sun rises as time passes, and occasionally you spare a glance at satoru and riko, who are screaming as they splash water at one another. and then you catch a glimpse of kuroi, who stands with her feet in the water, a soft smile on her face. 

and in that moment, nothing can be ruined. 

"what's wrong?" suguru's voice calls out, and you tear your gaze away from the others to look back at him. he stands behind you with two strawberry ice cream cones in his hands. 

"nothing," you hum, a serene smile on your face. "everything's perfect."

his eyes trace your face, stopping to linger on your smile, and they soften. "it is, isn't it?" 

he turns to the ocean, watching satoru and riko, and his eyes sparkle. "i hope it stays like this always." 

"me too." 

he bends down to take his place at your side before he hands you a cone. you take it from him. suguru's eyes drift away from you to look down at his castle. 

"i think it looks great," he expresses, before taking a lick of his ice cream. 

you roll your eyes with a huff. "yeah, because you made it look so nice. you're unnecessarily good at this, suguru." 

he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. "no no, we did it together! and yours is nice too!" 

"maybe," you grin, looking at his castle. "but yours is extra pretty." 

he smiles back, before pointing at a small hole in his sand tower. "see this room? it's yours." 

"mine?" you chuckle.

"yeah, all yours," he hums softly. "this is my castle and you get your own room." 

"oh? and why's that?" 

suguru's gaze lingers on you, and his dark eyes soften considerably. "because you'll always have a place in my home." 

you stare at him, speechless—something hammers away at the inner crevices of your chest. 

"and this one—" he points to another hole a few inches away from the first. "—is my room." 

"well in that case, that room is mine too!" you declare.

"what?" he barks out a laugh. "how does that work?" 

"well…" you grin at him, the sun burning into your cheeks. "because my home is wherever you are!" 

suguru's cheeky smile fades and his eyes widen. he looks at you, mouth agape, and you're about to say something else before sticky coolness trickles down your wrist. 

"ack!" you hurry to wipe away the strawberry ice cream dripping down your skin and you completely miss the red that creeps up his neck and seeps into his ears. 

vi. ice bath

shoko's fingers are unbelievably soft. you're grateful that you were unconscious through most of her procedures on your battered body—you don't think you would've handled the pain too well. she's quiet as she works over the large wound that now covers almost half of your torso. the man with the scar on his lip had done quite the number on you, and you don't think you'll ever forget the searing ache of his blade slicing through your flesh. he had left you in a bloodied pile, isolated, and you hadn't seen what had happened to suguru after the man shot riko. you could only lay there, vision swimming as a bitter taste filled your mouth—a reminder of the life you failed to protect.

the pain had been the only thing you could focus on, until satoru was on his knees at your side and tightly gripping your shoulders. your hazy focus was drawn to his lips as he spewed curses and insults at you. 

"why didn't you run away, you little shit," he had shouted, a feral look in his eyes. there was something different about him—a change in his very being that you could see even in the throes of death. "shoko's coming, do you hear me? for fuck's sake, keep your eyes open, hotshot!" 

you swore you saw his eyes shine behind that look of uncontrolled anger. he had been talking a mile a minute and your focus had waned until you could only see his lips move, no sound reaching your ears.

you've never thought satoru looked more godly than he did at that moment.

suguru eventually found his way into your field of vision—knelt at satoru's side. his large hand had squeezed your limp fingers in a death grip. he was sweating, and his eyes were darting back and forth between your pale face and bloodied torso, something akin to guilt swimming in them. you wished that you had the strength in you to squeeze his hand in return. the last thing you remember seeing is his dark hair falling in front of his face as he turned to shout at whoever was approaching.

now you're awake. disoriented and bleary, but awake, and all you can look at is the way shoko's bangs fall over her furrowed brows. she's taken care of the bleeding, and now all that's left is a dull throbbing, reminding you of how close you had toed the line with death. you don't know this yet, but the scar will remain for the rest of your life, and that dull throbbing will be a permanent reminder of your narrow escape. 

shoko hasn't said a word since she noticed your eyelids flutter open. you want to ask her so many things. important things that cannot wait: 

where's satoru? how about suguru? i saw them both. satoru's alive, right? and suguru, too? the man—with the scar. where did he go? he said that satoru—riko….where is riko? and—and kuroi…i—i..couldn't save riko. when did you get here, shoko? and why am i the only one who's being taken care of by you? 

you want to ask her. but she's making a very odd expression as her hands ghost over your body. you've never seen it before, this odd quirking of her lips. her teeth sink into the bottom one, and she chews and bites and nibbles like it's some kind of nervous tell. 

"shoko?" 

it's all you can manage to say—all you dare. your voice is dry, shaky, and sounds almost foreign to your ears. you're going to ask more, at least one of those thousand questions you had asked in your head earlier, but you don't get to because she speaks before you. 

"shut up," she spits, and the wobble in her voice has you pinching your lips shut and feeling closer to death than you did before. 

vii. acid rain

the sound of clapping is deafening. you don't think you've ever heard a sound so horrid in your life before, and you feel as though your ears are bleeding heavily. you can faintly make out the conversation between satoru and suguru, your ears struggling to pick out the tones of their voices. 

"no…" you hear suguru say quietly. "it doesn't matter if I'm fine…"

you can feel satoru's eyes roam over your motionless body, watching the way you gaze out into the crowd impassively. 

"let's get out of here, guys."

your feet carry you numbly, and you aren't aware of anything except the way riko's arm is swinging in front of you lifelessly. there are no mirrors around—no way of catching the track of tears cutting over your cheeks. the places where the salt touches burn like acid. you say nothing. 

satoru's gaze feels intrusive. he doesn't need to ask you anything—he just knows. it's like your body is radiating the emotions tumbling around in your gut. 

you're awfully sensitive for a jujutsu sorcerer, you know that?

"do you want to…kill them all?" 

the question stuns you, and for the first time, you can shake yourself out of your daze to look at satoru directly. blood is smeared over the left side of his face, cerulean eyes dimmed, as though something had pulled the shine out of them. red seeps into the fine hairs of his restless eyebrows. 

"right now, i probably wouldn't even feel anything," he continues, staring at you listlessly.

you think satoru might be feeling just as numb as you are. you don't know what happened to him yet. the last you had heard, gojo satoru had been killed by the man with the scar. he had boasted about it to you before he attempted to kill you too. but then satoru was at your side again, completely alive as he ran your battered body to shoko like a crazed man. 

you'll find out later who the man with the scar on his lip was, and what kind of legacy he had left behind. but for right now, all you see is a teenager with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you know your answer.

satoru could help the pain go away; he'd be able to make the clapping stop—maybe then your ears wouldn't bleed anymore. but you couldn't ask that of him. 

"forget it. it's pointless," suguru mutters, and you're glad he's on the same page as you. not because any of these people deserve pity, but because satoru deserves a break—one less burden for him to carry. 

you hear suguru say more, but you can't focus. you continue to listen to the sound of the clapping, and once again lose yourself as you stare at riko's bloodied fingertips. 

"pointless, huh?" satoru mumbles in response to suguru's answer. "does there need to be a reason?" 

"of course. it's important," suguru's voice doesn't carry the same pleasant tone it always does. instead, it sounds strained, and tired beyond belief. unsure. "especially as jujutsu sorcerers." 

satoru doesn't respond, but you know that he's measuring the weight of his friend's words. that's how it was with the two of them. they both balance each other out—their moral compasses influenced by one another. but then you feel satoru look up from riko's body and turn to you. suguru follows suit, and before you can wonder why, it hits you: satoru had asked you both. 

you suck a deep breath in, feeling unusually breathless. the flesh of your stomach tingles with a painful reminder of what might've been, and you make up your mind. 

"killing them won't change anything," you say, breaking your silence. the tears on your cheeks have dried, but they leave a rigid trail in their wake—a trail that still stings. "let's just leave it at that." 

viii. fever dreams

satoru lies next to you. 

a few nights have passed since riko's death, and you've chosen to stay holed up in your room. you're not sure why—death has always played a big role in your life. you don't understand why it's different this time. 

tonight is different as well. while you've maintained a distance from everyone since that day, save for classes and passing by people on school grounds, today you've decided to let someone in. satoru's the lucky one, mostly because he would've pestered you until you opened your door for him anyway. 

it's strange though. he had knocked over and over, and when you finally opened up with a snappy jab at his annoying personality, he had brushed straight past you and laid across your bed. he hadn't said a word since then, and you've found yourself lying next to him in silence for quite a while. 

his hand stretches out in the darkness and you can feel his fingertips brush over the skin of your arm. it's delicate, like he's testing his limits, but you understand. it's just to ground himself—to know that you're still here, with him. to be sure that you're still alive.

you think the scar that goes down your body bothers him a lot more than it bothers you. 

"'m here," you mumble sleepily. your fingers reach up to bump against his knuckles, and you hear him inhale deeply. his voice is throaty when he replies. 

"i know." 

ix. doubt

satoru learns that you've never been kissed before and he teases you for it.

not in a mean way, but in a way that has your cheeks heating and your eyes avoiding his. suddenly it feels like the gap between ages 16 and 17 is huge. he's barely even a year older than you and you're in the same year, but it feels as though he knows so much more about the world than you do. you want to ask suguru if it's bad that you've never had a kiss, but you don't. suguru rarely talks these days. sometimes he'll have conversations with you but won't look in your eyes when he speaks. 

"hey listen, hotshot. if you don't get a kiss by…" satoru hums, an eager smile on his face as he swings an arm around your shoulders and contemplates his words. "…let's say 27, then i'll give one to you!" 

there's an odd note of glee in his voice. 

"shut up, toru," you groan, heat flooding your cheeks. "quit joking around." 

he laughs loudly, pulling your cheek teasingly. "aw, i'm just playing. it's not a bad thing i promise!" 

your shoulders relax slightly as the snowy-haired sorcerer continues to speak. 

"i just thought that you would've kissed someone by now," he shrugs. "wasn't there that one guy you went on a few dates with? the one you met when we went to yokohama?" 

there's an almost sour expression on his face as he speaks, but you're too frustrated to care. "just because i went on a couple of dates with him doesn't mean i kissed him!"

a broad teasing smile appears on satoru's face. "is that so?" 

"ugh, i'm only 16!" you hiss, shoving him away from you. "besides i'm saving it for someone special!"

"good," you hear suguru speak up, and you turn to look at him. his fingers are interlocked, elbows resting on his knees, and he's staring down at his hands like they hold the answers to some deep questions he has. "it is something irreplaceable after all." 

x. shadow

satoru's grin is proud as he stands before the three of you, his loose shirt billowing in the summer breeze.

you stare at him, heart thumping as shoko lets out a confused gasp. "huh? what the hell was that?"

"did it automatically choose the target for your technique?" suguru asks.

"yep!" satoru stresses the word, spinning the pencil suguru had thrown as he explains. "though i am the target. i've pretty much automated what i used to have to do manually."

your head is spinning.

"now i can tell an object's danger levels based the strength of its cursed energy, its speed, mass, velocity, shape—whatever. i want to be able to discern poisons too but that's pretty hard right now." satoru's voice is even when he explains, though you can make out the hints of pride that permeate his tones. you think his voice has gotten a little deeper too. "basically this is gonna allow me to keep my limitless technique active all the time!"

"that's gonna fry your brain!" shoko interjects, shaking her hair out of her eyes.

"yeah but i can do it while i continuously generate energy on my own. that way my brain stays fresh."

you can't help but let out an amused scoff. "what brain?"

satoru chucks the eraser at you, and you laugh as it bounces off your shoulder harmlessly.

"i've been working on shortening my hand signals so i can activate red and blue simultaneously." he continues, lips twitching upward as he gives you an exaggerated glare. "after this the only things i need to work on are domain expansion and long-distance teleportation. which i should be able to do if we set up some training courses here at school."

you think if someone examined you closely, they would see the stars in your eyes when you look at satoru.

"shoko~" he calls out, grinning eagerly. "think you could get me some lab rats?"

shoko groans as satoru bounds over to pester her more emphatically. you watch him, thinking you've never seen a person quite so magnificent.

god personified into a 17-year-old body. and yet it is a body that stays so close to you—well within your reach. maybe there's nothing so godly about that at all.

"don't you get tired of getting stronger and stronger, jeez?" you complain, crossing your arms as you raise a brow at him. satoru wets his lips as he throws you a smug smile.

"don't worry hotshot, you'll catch up to me someday!" he gives you an exaggerated wink over the frames of his glasses, and you shake your head somewhat fondly.

"no way! i never want to be at your level," you huff. "i'm very comfortable living in your shadow, thank you very much!"

a strange look passes over his face, almost puzzled, but the dip in his brows melts away as he approaches you. "well—" he slings an arm over your shoulder. "if my shadow makes you happy then you're more than welcome to stay there."

you don't have time to reply. pale lashes flutter at you—a backdrop of cerulean. you think white and blue may be the prettiest combination of colors in the world.

"suguru?" satoru's voice is casual, yet the amusement has dropped from it. his arm is heavy around your shoulders. "have you lost weight? are you okay?"

you look up, seeing tired eyes behind dark stands of hair. suguru's cheekbones are prominent, and you have the sudden urge to reach out and trace your fingers over them.

his lips twitch upward weakly. "it's just the summer heat…"

his lavender eyes drift to your face as he says it, and he tilts his head as he scrutinizes your worried expression. "…i'll be fine."

xi. hellfire

you hear suguru before you see him.

his breaths come loud as he pushes the door to the morgue open, the metal clanging heavily. his eyes bore into your back, taking in your clenched fists and raised shoulders that seem to tremble.

you wonder who told suguru you'd be here. maybe nanami, who was here not long ago, and had sent you a text that merely said: the mission went badly.

or maybe it was satoru, who had been chatting with you near the entrance of campus when he saw the myriad of emotions pass over your face as you read the text. he had probably called suguru as soon as you left.

it doesn't matter—you can't bring yourself to care.

you can only think about the way haibara had smiled at you before he left that morning.

now that smile is covered by a dirty white sheet, and you can't tear your eyes away from it. the taste of blood and vomit is heavy on your tongue.

suguru says your name quietly. you can't even look at him—you're scared that you'll cry if you do.

you don't ever want to cry in front of him. or satoru—so weak in front of those who are so strong.

"he asked if i wanted to go with them and i said no because i was lazy," you hiss, teeth clenched as you spit out the words with venom. "if i had just stopped thinking about myself for a second—"

your fingers dig into the flesh of your palms—deep, deep, deeper.

you hear suguru click his tongue, and his hands wrap around yours. he yanks your fingers apart fiercely, thumbs smoothing over the bloodied indents you've made in your own skin. you tear your eyes away from the body to finally look at him.

"don't—" his breath catches as his thumbs still over your flesh, eyes going hard as he takes in the blood.

he blurs in and out of focus. his head whips up when he hears you sniffle, and his lips slant ruefully. "you—"

"i'm fine," you interrupt, blinking pointedly and taking a deep breath. "it's fine—i mean it's not fine—but i c—"

"stop." suguru grabs your shoulders, giving you an even stare. you don't know how you didn't notice it before, but he looks thinner, older. there are dark circles under his eyes—poison seeping into his skin. "you need to rest."

you stare back at him silently, but you don't feel like you agree. something about this is making you feel restless, like there is so much you need to make up for. his grip tightens, before he's wordlessly leading you to take a seat—he finds his place next to you.

"satoru took over the mission." he stares at the lifeless body on the table as he speaks. you lower your gaze.

"and nanami?" your throat feels like it's closing. suguru inhales deeply.

"he went back to the dorms."

"okay."

you try to figure out if there is any meaning in having this conversation. despite everything, weren't you expected to wake up tomorrow morning and head out on a mission once more? and when you return, you're sure that there'll be another faceless body taking haibara's place.

the cycle continues—clockwork. it scares you, just how replaceable you are.

haibara, nanami, you, another, nameless—interchangeable.

not like satoru. not like suguru. not like the strong.

you lean your head against suguru's shoulder, fingering the hem of your uniform skirt. the fabric is cool to the touch—it seems darker, heavier. heat radiates from the body next to you, and there's something about him that's making your stomach churn with nerves. "suguru?"

his voice sounds far away. "hm?"

"are you okay?"

he stiffens and you suddenly fear you've said too much—nosy, intruding, out of place. you stumble. "it's just, we haven't talked much lately."

"i'm fine," he answers, and you can hear a smile in his voice—whether it's real or fake you can't tell. "just a little tired."

you know there is truth to this. but it scares you, how this tiredness of his has lingered for months. you don't know how to tell him that.

"okay…" your voice is barely a whisper, heavy with unspoken words that you don't know how to formulate. somehow you find that silence has always been your only option.

but like usual, silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable.

haibara's smile burns behind your eyelids.

"it should be a relatively simple mission. if you're not doing anything today senpai, would you like to come with us?"

his voice tickles your ears.

"that's alright! i'll get going then! oh right, today's mission is a little farther than usual, so we'll probably be back late! what would you like me to bring back for you?" 

hypoxia crushes your lungs, your blood burns. selfish selfish selfish. you've only ever cared about yourself.

suguru's arm curls around your shoulder before you even realize you're crying. his palm is warm as it smooths over your hair, and all you can worry about tainting him with your ridiculous tears.

you don't ever want to burden him—just want to quietly live in his shadow.

"i don't—" you internally cringe at the throaty rasp of your voice, swiping a hand at your nose. "i shouldn't be so sensitive about—"

"it's not your fault." he quietly hushes you, grip tightening imperceptibly. through your tears you can see him adam's apple bob, and for some reason that makes you feel worse. you're too scared to look at his expression, even though his voice is resolute. "none of this is our fault."

something has changed in the way he speaks now. something has settled, a confirmation of some idea that has been brewing for a long time now.

you don't say another word, but somehow he manages to sear himself into your very being. he's warm, and fuzzy, and he smells like sandalwood and incense. 

you don't know how long suguru let's you pathetically sob into his shoulder.

but you think you're embarrassed that he has taken pity on a wounded animal's cries.

xii. split

he looks different, but also the same. you've seen him wear that sweater before. it's plain black, no patterns, and you know that there's a loose string on the inside of the left sleeve that he was always too lazy to cut. you've always liked that sweater—always liked the way he looked in it. 

you liked it so much that you've even stolen it a few times yourself. 

but now it looks different. older and dirtier—as though soiled by some unknown curse. 

that's what everything came down to, right? curses. 

suguru stands in front of you, almost no trace of emotion on his handsome face, and his expression makes you want to turn and run. you miss the calm serenity that normally graced his features, wishing that you had some kind of cursed technique that could turn back time. but you aren't blessed like that—you wonder what sin you might've committed in a past life that made you so unlucky in this one. 

"you look confused," he comments. you reel at how casually he speaks to you, like it's just another afternoon sitting under that stupid tree. like he's leaning his head back against the trunk and watching you and satoru bicker with that fond look in his eye. 

"suguru," you speak, an odd strain in your voice. you struggle to comprehend this odd turn of events. you've had time to understand that he's now a different person than the one you once knew. you know that he's responsible for killing 112 innocents, including his own parents. you know that he's now an enemy to jujutsu society and you know that you should kill him right at this moment.

but he looks so much like suguru, like your suguru, that you can only manage to stand there, frozen in place. his eyes drift over your body, taking in your pajamas, the bath towel in your hands, and the small drops that trickle from your hair, and you can see the familiarity settle in his expression. 

"why are you here?" you choke out. you feel an overwhelming sense of danger in your gut, knowing that your family is just a few rooms over from where he stands now. 

"at your family home, you mean?" he asks casually. a small, almost amused smirk appears on his face. "you said i was always welcome." 

you did say that. sometime last year or the year before, when you had invited satoru, suguru, and shoko over to visit during one of your quick holidays. suguru had sat across from you at your dinner table. he complimented the food and your father smiled one of his rare smiles. you had chewed quietly to hide your grin.

you don't know what to say to him now. 

"everything they said about you," you whisper, taking a step toward him. he remains rooted in place, but his eyes follow your movements. they shift when he catches your fingers gripping your towel tighter. "is it true?" 

"do you think it is?" he asks, and you gulp. it feels like he's baiting you into some kind of trap. 

"i don't want to believe that it is," you answer, voice shaking. "that you would ever do something so…"

the sentence hangs in the air, and he tilts his head imperceptibly. something in his eyes changes as he focuses on the drops falling over your shoulders. 

"well i'm sorry to squash your hope," he raises his arms in a shrug. "but everything you heard is completely true." 

your head aches, but you're not surprised by his confirmation. "why would you…?"

suguru hums, a dark look falling over his face. "do you remember the conversation we had after haibara's funeral? do you remember what i told you when he died?" 

anger flares in your gut at the mention of haibara, and the bath towel crumples in your hold. "don't say his name," you hiss through gritted teeth. "don't act like he's the reason—just…don't bring him into this. please." 

suguru licks his lips, eyes going soft before he tries again. 

"everything used to make sense back then," he sighs. "back when the strong existed to protect the weak. but it's not true." 

"suguru—" 

"the reason why we suffer is because of them," he interjects evenly, though frustration is clearly evident in the curve of his brows and the volume of his voice. "we clean up their messes. they create problems and we die for it." 

you're stunned into silence, at the way he's raising his voice at you, at the way he's speaking so firmly about this horrible topic, at everything. he seems to realize the effect of his speech, and he quells his anger to speak quieter. "that's why i'm doing this. i'm going to create a world without non-sorcerers, so that sorcerers like you and i can live peacefully." 

a lump forms in your throat because god, he's right. he's so right. your life would be a thousand times better without curses. non-sorcerers were the reason curses existed. but the way he's going about this…

"suguru," your voice shakes, but you press on. "i get it. i really do—" 

"i know you do," he interrupts. "you always have. even back then…" 

he takes a step closer to you, reaching out to finger the towel in your hands. "but you don't agree with the way i'm doing it, right?" 

you bite your lip, and he smiles at the sadness in your expression. "you're so easy to read, hotshot." 

you ignore the way the nickname stings. "i just—how could you kill innocent people like that? your own parents, suguru."

he looks away from you, steely resolve in his eyes. "if i made exceptions for my parents, that would kinda make me a hypocrite, wouldn't it?"  

you don't know what to say to that. he doesn't seem to have anything else to add either. 

he looks around your old bedroom, eyes sparkling as they catch a picture of the four of you from your first year. satoru's arm is slung around shoko. the dark-haired female has her elbow resting on your shoulder, her tongue sticking out playfully. you're clinging to suguru's arm, and satoru's free hand is squishing your cheeks together. the four of you are laughing. 

nobody has laughed in a while now. 

you tear your gaze away from the picture frame to look at him. he's so unbelievably close, and he's gazing down at you with this foreign look in his eyes, the picture forgotten behind him. 

he slips his fingers into your hair. his palm is large enough that it can brush the side of your face, and you wonder why your body doesn't flinch away from those bloodstained hands.

"it's okay," he mumbles, a faraway look in his eyes. they remain trained on your hair, but it feels like he's looking straight through you. like you're nothing more than a ghost he wants to erase. he's so close—you can count his dark lashes as they brush against his cheeks. "it's difficult. i don't expect you to understand." 

his words incite a sudden flare of anger in your gut. it burns something fierce, and in that moment you hate him. 

"no, i don't," you reply indignantly. he pauses, now really looking at you, and his brows quirk upward in what seems to be surprise, because—well, he's never seen you make such an expression at him before. "you never tried to help me understand. you just left." 

a strained silence follows. his fingers twitch against your cheek.

"this doesn't concern you," he says finally. "i don't need you to understand my actions." 

you recoil, as though he's physically hurt you, and your expression falls so hard that it almost makes him regret saying it. almost. 

"if it doesn't concern me, then why are you here?" you ask again, and you see suguru's shoulders drop. "you know that i have orders to kill you. i might not be able to because you've always been stronger than me. but you know that i'll…" 

go down fighting you, is what you want to say, but the words leave a nasty taste in your mouth. but suguru seems to know what you're implying because a wry smile appears on his lips. his fingers twirl a strand of your wet hair. 

"i'm here to say goodbye," he says finally. another tense silence fills the space between you both, and suguru can see the way your fingers shake between the folds of your towel. 

"you're a little bit late for that, aren't you?" you choke out, a strange tilt to your voice as you break eye contact with him. "you left school weeks ago, and you didn't say a word to me then." 

"better late than never, right?" 

the softness in his tone makes you turn to look at him again, and you desperately want to ingrain the features of his face into your head. the gentle slope of his eyes and sweetness of his smile. he almost looks like the suguru you once knew, and you suddenly have the urge to mourn his death. 

his face becomes blurry, the edges becoming less pronounced, and you can see the way his expression falls. 

"i didn't come all the way here to make you cry." his hand drops from your face and he takes a step back. your fingers hurry to wipe at your waterline, and you shake your head. 

"'m not crying." 

suguru smiles ruefully, and his eyes suddenly look devoid of life. he takes another step back—your heart plummets.

he says your name once, quietly, and it hangs in the air as you wait for him to say more. 

he doesn't. 

"you know that I'm not supposed to let you leave alive, right?" you mumble, fingers toying with the towel in your hand. "but i can't—i mean—"

"hm," he chuckles. "still as sensitive as ever, huh? s'okay…" 

he moves toward you again and his hand gently cups the back of your neck. "i think it's your best quality. makes you better than most people in our world."

he presses his lips to your forehead tenderly, and you feel your eyes widen behind your tears. 

you probably could've stopped him, because you're aware that he's now suddenly behind you, and that he's raising his hand. you can stop him, but a part of you thinks that if it's death at suguru's hands, maybe it's not such a bad way to go. 

you accept your fate then and there. 

you'll find out later that suguru never had the intention to kill you then. perhaps he was waiting for a more opportune time, waiting for there to be a meaning behind it. you're not sure. but when you wake up tucked in your bed cozily, you'll feel the remnants of him lingering around you.

he was warm, and fuzzy, and he smelled like sandalwood and incense.

xiii. sanctify

satoru's at your door again. 

you've memorized his knock patterns. he always knocks three times, then leaves a pause, then twice more. for someone so erratic, he can be quite predictable. 

"what's up, satoru?" you call out, not looking up from your busy hands. there are a couple of empty cardboard boxes open on your bed, and you've been placing things into them all morning. things that should've been put away a long time ago. you pause on one of your old test papers, and in suguru's dark, blocky handwriting you read: 

YOU GOTTA STUDY MORE DUMBASS.

underneath it, satoru had scrawled: 

hotshot failing class now huh? :P

and shoko had added: 

both of you stfu you're failing too 

you had drawn a heart next to her name. 

"whatcha doin'?" a familiar voice chirps. "spring cleaning?"

satoru stands directly behind you, peering over your shoulder. you can practically feel his aura shift when he notices the items you're putting away. 

"cleaning of some sort," you sigh, before turning to look over your shoulder. "i've been…putting it off." 

he doesn't move—just continues to stare down at the paper in your hands. you think maybe you shouldn't have let him in. sometimes you forget that satoru might have his own sensitivities—you've always viewed him as the strongest.

a few strands of his hair tickle your cheek, and you scrunch your nose in response. he then turns to you, eyes blinding as he studies you over the frames of his shades. 

"want help?" 

"please." you don't intend to sound so needy, but the way you whisper the word has him immediately grabbing your wrist and sitting you down next to him on the bed. 

"how are we sorting this stuff?" he asks, his voice oddly calm. he hasn't let go of your arm yet, and some quiet part of you is grateful. 

"i was putting our old school stuff in that box. books, papers…" you answer softly, and satoru nods in understanding. "and in the other box…" 

you inhale deeply through your nose. satoru waits, strangely patient. you're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think he squeezes your wrist. 

"…are all of suguru's things." 

there's a moment of silence—a quick mourning for what is no longer there. 

"it's stupid stuff that he left behind, you know?" you chuckle, even though nothing is funny. "some old shirts from when you two would sleep over, his old textbooks, a few pictures from our holidays—shit like that." 

satoru hums. he's not looking at you—instead he's staring at the box, a frown on his face. 

"i guess he didn't really need those things for where he was going. or for wherever he is now," you mumble. 

"guess not." 

you're not sure what's going through his head. satoru's reaction to suguru leaving had been chaotic at best. it was so hard to tell how he felt about it. you knew he was angry, confused, betrayed. but he never showed things like that. you think it might have to do with being the strongest. you're not sure though—you never were strong like him.

you wish there was a way to tell him that he could share his feelings with you, but you can't think of a way that won't be awkward. 

a ticklish sensation crawls up your wrist and you look down to watch satoru's first two fingers tap against the inside of your palm. his thumb brushes against yours as he lets out a heavy exhale. 

"let's get started then, hotshot." 

he looks down at you as he says the words, and you think you might cry. but you want to be strong, like him, so you offer him a smile. he gives you one in return. you realize there isn't that much warmth in it, not like it used to have—you're sure that yours isn't that warm either. 

but it's enough for the two of you. 

"you look tired, toru," you chuckle wryly, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from his face. his eyes flutter at the touch, and you honestly think this might be the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. 

"so do you." 

"i am," you admit honestly. 

"'s okay," he mumbles. his fingers tap against your palm once more. "'m here." 

"i know," you answer. you always are.

nothing more is said as satoru stands up. he makes his way over to your desk and pulls one of suguru's old sweaters from your chair. you watch him fold it neatly, smoothing out the creases with care, before placing it into the box—you smile once more. 

you think the scent of sandalwood tickles your nose, but it's gone in an instant.  

both of you work in relative silence, sorting through the things in your room quickly. you're surprised at how bare it looks as you're nearing the end, as though there's nothing more to your life than old high school recollections. 

you finish putting the last few polaroids into the box when satoru speaks up. 

"hey." 

you look up and find him staring at you, so you turn to face him completely, giving him your full attention. 

"zenin toji—" the name sends a painful tingle up your body. "—left something behind." 

you frown. "what are you talking about?" 

"a kid. he's got a kid. and i was gonna go meet him today," satoru shrugs. you try to read his emotions, but as usual, he's giving you nothing. "the old man said something about the zenin clan buying up his kid before i killed him. i was gonna go see if there's something i could do about that." 

you sigh before raising a brow, an amused lilt to your voice. "and why have you kept this a secret?" 

satoru's trademark smirk appears, and he walks over to sling an arm around your shoulders. "who knows?" he quips nonchalantly. "guess i was waiting until we were bored. we need something to do now, don't we?" 

you glance at the packed boxes on your bed, and then look around your empty room. everything is always changing, but satoru is constant. 

"i guess so," you grin. his eyes shine, and for a second you see a familiar teenager at the beach, and then a familiar teenager under an old tree. you think you hear waves, and the crinkling of a bag of chips. 

"good," he chirps, walking you to the door, the arm around your shoulder secure. "his name's megumi, and we're gonna make sure he gets strong."

xiv. idyll

it takes you a little over four months to get used to megumi's eyes. they aren't unsettling or invading, like a certain snowy haired sorcerer, but they do give you chills when you first notice them. chills and a fleeting feeling of metal slicing up and down through your flesh. you just have to steady your breathing and remind yourself that the son is not the father.

tsumiki is an angel. you didn't think that kids that age could be so emotionally competent, but she's a pleasant surprise. she had been awfully protective over megumi, fidgeting with a firm hand on his shoulder as you and satoru invaded their space and upturned their lives. even after they had settled into the humble apartment satoru had purchased, tsumiki was still so overly cautious. it was obvious she still didn't trust either of you, but you thought it was admirable of her, and you relay this thought to satoru one day.

"think they hate us?" he asks, squishing his cheeks between his lithe fingers as he eyes the different milk cartons over the rims of his glasses.

"i'm pretty sure they just don't trust us that much," you reply, placing a few packs of instant ramen into the cart. "can you blame them? we're just random strangers who came up and basically kidnapped them."

"i'd like to say adopted!" he points out with a grin, before he sighs. "but we've already proved we're just doing this to help them. but they still barely talk at all."

"they're just being careful. megumi's still a little young and he looks like he doesn't give a shit about most stuff anyway," you chuckle as you remember the expression on the first grader's face as he spoke to your cocky friend. "and tsumiki's being cautious for both of them."

"she doesn't need to be cautious of us!" satoru dramatically whines, pulling out a carton of whole milk and placing it into the cart. you shiver as the cold air hits your skin, eyeing the sorcerer with an exasperated smile. he shuts the door with a huff. "i've been such a good dad!"

you roll your eyes, shoving his arm as he starts pushing the cart down the aisle. "she definitely should be cautious of you, you creep."

satoru looks down over his shoulder, appalled, though his eyes sparkle with mirth. "and why do you say that?"

"have you seen yourself? crazy 19 year old man that kidnaps kids," you mutter somewhat sarcastically, falling into step with him like it's normal. satoru grins at that—amused.

"i think it's pretty cool of her to be that responsible though," you continue, voice going softer as you think about them, and satoru hums in what you think might be agreement. you suddenly grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks and he turns to look at you.

"you think we should get another carton of milk?" you question, tilting your head at him. "megumi's been drinking it every day after he comes back from school and tsumiki said she wanted to try making milkshakes."

satoru blinks at you, eyes widening before an amused chuckle escapes his lips. you're about to ask what is so funny but he gestures back down the aisle. "go get some."

he waits for you as you go grab another carton, leaning against the cart easily. when you make it back and place the extra milk in the cart, satoru slings an arm around your shoulders. you raise a brow, but he just continues to push the cart with his free hand and says nothing.

so you don't say anything either.

the two of you continue shopping, trying to remember the things you've noticed the kids enjoying because you know they'll be too uncomfortable to outrightly request them. for every sweet snack satoru puts into the cart, you add something that can pass as somewhat healthy, and he hides a teasing grin behind his fist each time.

when you're almost done, satoru motions to the shelves of snacks, raising a brow at you. "what do you need, hotshot?"

you look up from where you're analyzing the contents of the cart. "hm? oh i don't wanna buy anything for myself. i'm good with the stuff i have back at the dorm."

"great," he shrugs with a subtle shake of his head. "except you're not buying anything this time, i am. so pick something."

"what?" you frown, walking over to him. "we're supposed to split groceries for the kids."

"we can split next time." satoru rolls his eyes at you, as though annoyed by your insistence. "i just got paid yesterday and i wanna waste money. pick something."

you groan. "but there really isn't anything i want. if you're gonna pay yourself then let's just go. i think this is good enough."

satoru looks unamused, his eyes boring into yours—bright, dominating, mesmerizing. "oh really? nothing you want?"

you stare at him in confusion as he walks over to the frozen section and opens the door. after a few seconds of rummaging, he pulls out a box. "not even this?"

your shoulders drop. he's holding a tub of strawberry ice cream.

he casually places it into the cart, eyes trained on your expression as he bends down. "it's your favorite, isn't it?"

your voice comes out throaty, and you wet your lips nervously—his eyes follow the movement at lightning speed. "how'd you know?"

satoru scoffs out a haughty chuckle, reaching up to knock a knuckle at your forehead—it's cold. "i know everything about you, hotshot."

he moves to grip at the cart's handle, standing close enough that you can feel the energy radiating off of him. the side of his hand touches yours, still cold. "now we can go."

he sticks by your side, pushing the cart towards the counters as he casually looks around the store. you briefly realize that his shadow doesn't cover you when you're at his side like this. the thought both scares you and pleases you in a way you didn't think was possible.

"thanks toru," you mumble before you can stop yourself. his gives you a sidelong glance—assessing.

his lips twitch. "it's just ice cream."

"no, it's a lot more than that." you're not really sure why you say it so tragically, and satoru inhales sharply. you notice that his knuckles have turned white as he grips the cart's handles. once again, his eyes dart rapidly over your face—between your eyes and then further down.

then he lets out a hushed laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. "as long as you share with me, hotshot."

everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.

you can't help but smile. "always."

you two don't say much as you head to the counter, taking turns placing all the items on the belt. you quietly watch satoru dig into his wallet, feeling oddly content doing so. you think the stars in your eyes will never disappear.

the clerk eyes you both, and suppresses a fond grin. with your close proximity, shared cart, and satoru's easy going smile, you realize that she's probably misunderstanding, but you don't really know how to correct her. satoru says nothing—he just continues smiling, oddly pleased.

he smiles all the way to the car. you catch yourself doing the same in the rear view mirror.

xv. retribution

the first thing you notice when you kneel in front of suguru is that he's bleeding all over the place. you have the strongest urge to scramble and grip his fingers tightly, just as he had done for you so many years ago—but you don't dare. you're too scared that touching him will ruin you completely.

he says your name quietly, and yet it's the loudest thing in the universe to you—crashing over your ears until you've lost all sense of self.

and then he leans forward, his gaze heavy, and his hand comes up to tangle in your hair. his palm rests on the side of your face just like it did when he visited you at your family home. the last time you saw your geto suguru.

except this time he moves further—crosses a line. presses his lips to yours.

he tastes like blood. you don't pull away.

the feeling of his lips shocks you though, and you stay permanently frozen in place as you feel your eyes glaze over with something you can't put into words.

suguru kisses you slowly, deeply, like he's been waiting but wants to savor it. maybe you've been waiting too. you're not sure. you're so confused.

you don't even process the way his tongue slips past your lips, tasting almost eagerly like your mouth is some kind of conquest he's trying to claim.

it's intrusive, but not unwelcome. slow, but not gentle.

you whimper quietly, feeling acid sting down your cheek as he pulls away and his eyes flutter open. he takes in your expression, and a million emotions pass over his face.

a quiet chuckle. "that bad, huh?"

you shake yourself out of it and try to push away the flush creeping up your neck. "w-what?"

"you're crying," he announces, his furrowed eyebrows paired with a sweet smile that makes him look so unbelievably tragic. "the kiss was that bad?"

your face burns, and you raise a shaking hand up to your cheek—it's wet.

"it wasn't—i didn't—" you struggle. "i mean—"

he smiles ruefully. "i'm sorry. you were saving it for someone special, right?"

there's a charged silence that follows as you scour your brain for the conversation he's referencing. when you find it, your heart sinks.

"you've always been special to me, suguru." your voice comes out quiet, but he hears it all the same. his eyes widen fractionally and you can see a light pink dust his cheeks before he laughs. it's soft, hushed, and looks like it's painful, but he lets it run its course.

it reminds you of a laugh from so long ago, at a beach, with childish screams echoing against the sound of waves. you think you can feel strawberry ice cream dripping down your wrist.

his laughs die down and he's left smiling softly at you. his lavender eyes sparkle with mirth as he tilts his head. "i'm glad. that you were the one i gave a room to."

you can hear waves in your ears, crashing crashing drowning. sand is in your hands, in between your toes, in your eyes.

he coughs, and his palm shakes against your cheek. you wonder why he doesn't just let go already dammit suguru.

you inhale sharply, trying so hard to breathe because what is that stupid thing that's clogging your throat and preventing you from speaking? there's so much you have to say to him. so many questions. so many things left unsaid. your words are failing you.

but silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable, right?

you raise a shaky hand to press against his where it lays against your neck. "do you regret it?"

he licks his lips, smiling faintly, as though he's enjoying the new taste of you on them. "no."

"why not?" you whisper. your body unconsciously shuffles closer to him, chasing his warmth because gods is he warm. he's always been so warm, even now, in the throes of death.

"my feelings are still the same. i still hate the monkeys for everything they've done, all the crap they cause." he shuts his eyes, smiling that serene smile. you wish he was leaning against a tree trunk. "i still have no resentment to those at jujutsu tech. and you, i still…"

he doesn't continue. you don't think you want him to. there's a flush crawling up his neck, the faint pink a stark contrast to the red of blood. it makes you nauseous.

another deep inhale, and his thumb slides over your jawbone, before brushing under your bottom lip. he stares at the flesh heavily, letting his finger press into it. his tongue swipes over his own lips, eyes darkening further.

and then something shifts in his face, and he smiles mirthlessly. his hand drops from your face—broken contact.

he doesn't tear his gaze away from you, committing your face to memory. it's almost like he wants to say something, but decides against it at the last minute as he slumps further into the wall behind him and shuts his eyes.

when he speaks again, you know that it is all over.

"you're late, satoru."

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader x geto #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk x reader #jjk angst #gojo x reader #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #satoru gojo x reader #geto suguru x you #stsg x reader #satosugu x you #gojo x you #geto x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojou satoru x reader #getou suguru x reader #jjk #jjk x you #geto fluff #gojo fluff #geto angst #gojo angst #suguru x reader

[breadbrobin]

fate

clarisse la rue x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[fem!daughter of apollo reader]

[part 2 to the trees]

summary: clarisse is being weirdly standoffish, and you’re not one to cave to that, no matter how much you like her. and no matter how things go, you still have to get your weapons from the forest.

warnings: swearing, arguing, fighting, monsters, PINING BUT THEYRE IDIOTS, everyone’s so mad at each other rn, kissing (AHHHH), canon typical violence, again probably slightly ooc clarisse but hey i love her anyway

word count: 3.2k

(uhhh so this is probably not what anyone was expecting for part two but this is how i alway a planned it, so here it is!! tag list in reblogs and also thank you for the love on the trees! i love you all so much <3 and i’d die for you just like clarisse and this dumb bitch here would die for each other)

(this is much more enemies to lovers than the first one btw so have fun)

———————————————

the day after capture the flag was always a little tense. of course it was. half the camp had just lost, and not many people at camp were good losers, especially not those who got their butts kicked.

this time, though, there was a new level of tension in the air.

ares kids didn’t often run the flag over the line themselves, and those who did were crowing about it at breakfast, then all morning too.

curiously, clarisse wasn’t. she was eating in silence, picking through her eggs like she was searching for something.

you’d never seen her like that before. no one had. but, it seemed you were the only person to notice. you always were, and you were okay with that.

your brother nudged your arm and shot you a questioning look, but you brushed him off with a smile.

why was clarisse so down? she’d won. what did she have to be upset about? was she mad at you? did you do something to piss her off in the tree? she hadn’t seemed exactly happy when she left.

stuck in your thoughts, you didn’t realise she’d met your eyes until your brother elbowed you.

“ow! what do you want?” you snapped, rubbing your rib cage tenderly.

“clarisse is staring at you,” he said with wide eyes. “dude… what did you do?”

“nothing,” you scoffed and stood up, taking your empty plate to the stack of dirty dishes, trying—and failing—to not look at clarisse as you left.

“y/n, wait up!”

you slowed down for sam as he jogged to catch up to you. there was a newfound bitterness in your mouth when you saw him. you’d never liked him, not like he’d liked you, but you’d never felt like you wanted to be away from him. not like you did in that moment then. but where would you go? to clarisse? yeah, right, she’d laugh in your face, regardless of whatever happened—or might have happened—in that tree.

“what’s up?” you asked. you couldn’t help your voice being drier than usual.

“just wanted to see how those arrows did you? were they good? i can make some more, if you want.” he looked almost eager to do so.

you smiled kindly. he really was sweet. “they were great, thanks, sam. best arrows i’ve ever used, even if i didn’t get too much of a chance to use them.” your steps faltered. “i did leave one in the forest though. i’ll have to get that later.”

your eyes locked on clarisse as she walked towards you down the path. two of her siblings were behind her, laughing, but she wasn’t. in fact, her jaw was set tight and she was glaring. at sam.

“i could come with you?” he suggested. “watch your back. keep you safe, you know?”

clarisse scoffed as she passed. “she doesn’t need you to keep her safe, tool-box.”

that was a little mean. sure, sam carried his tool-box everywhere, but you never know what might need to be fixed! despite yourself, you had to hold in a laugh. your eyes were alight with amusement as you locked gaze with clarisse.

she looked proud of herself, a jaunty grin on her lips. you couldn’t help your gaze dropping to them briefly. she smiled wider. it was infuriating. she now knew what her effect on you was, and she was using it.

“if she needed someone to protect her, she’d come to me, right, angel?” she tilted her head.

your mouth was infuriatingly dry. you nodded. “uh—“

“whatever,” sam snapped. “come on, y/n. let’s go.”

you kind of wanted to stay, but his grip on your arm didn’t leave any room for an argument. you trailed after him as he left, glancing over your shoulder just in time to see clarisse’s face darken with anger.

“angel?” sam scoffed. “who does she think she is?”

“uh…”

“whatever. gods, she’s just so—“ he turned and faced you, almost causing you to bump into his chest. you’d never seen him so intense before. “stay away from her, y/n. seriously. she’s bad news.”

“she’s nice to me,” you protested.

“she’s not nice to anyone. don’t be naive.” he turned on his heel and started to walk away, then turned back, his face softer. “come on. do you want to learn how to weld? you said you did last week.”

did you? you didn’t remember that. but you did vaguely remember a conversation with sam that you spent zoned out and staring at clarisse as she trained, so that was probably it. “oh, no… i have to… train…”

he looked disappointed, but nodded. “okay, that’s cool. maybe another day. or maybe, we can… go for a walk together? or even have lunch on the beach?”

you nodded absently. “maybe.”

“great, it’s a date!”

you frowned. “it’s a what?”

he looked happier than you’d ever seen him. he even kissed your cheek before walking off, a new spring in his step. you stood there for a moment, eyes wide, wondering what the hell just happened. then you heard a scoff from behind you.

when you turned around, clarisse was walking away.

“clarisse,” you said softly, jogging after her. “clarisse, wait!”

“go hang out with your boyfriend, l/n.” she snapped, her arms crossed as she walked. “he’s probably waiting for you so you two can make out in that sweaty little sex dungeon they call a workshop.”

your eyebrows shot up. “okay, first of all, i’m pretty sure it is actually a workshop, and second of all, he’s still not my boyfriend!”

she scoffed again but didn’t answer, stomping up the steps to the ares cabin and stopping at the top, looking down at you.

you felt small under her gaze, but you didn’t back down.

“what are you doing here?” she asked after a moment.

“you said i could come get a new dagger,”you said.

she rolled her eyes and leaned on the porch railing. “and?”

you frowned, looking up at her. “and… i’m here to get one?”

she regarded you for a few seconds in silence, then, just as she was about to speak, a new voice called out.

“clarisse, are you giving out girlfriend privileges already?” one of her brothers, marcus, you thought, stepped into the doorway of the cabin and peered around her to look at you. he looked like a stereotypical son of ares: buff, tall and mean. “that’s cute.” he continued, looking at you like you were an animal in a zoo.

“she’s not my girlfriend,” she scoffed like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

well, that hurt.

“yeah, we’re just—“

“we’re not even friends,” she added hurriedly, not even looking at you. “she just thinks she’s special.”

your jaw clenched. that really hurt. “i don’t think i’m special,” you snapped. “i think i want you to honour your word from yesterday or go and get my dagger out of the forest for me.”

“not my fault you forgot your dagger,” she studied her nails nonchalantly.

“but if you hadn’t thrown my dagger out of a tree and tossed my new arrow aside like it was trash then i wouldn’t have forgotten. and maybe if you hadn’t leaned in like you were about to kiss me, maybe i wouldn’t have forgotten either.” your gaze was as sharp as hers was, meeting in the middle with fire and lightning crackling between you.

she stepped forward, face to face with you. for a second, you thought she’d punch you, but you didn’t back down.

then she laughed. it wasn’t at all like her laugh in the tree the day before. this was her cold, cruel laugh that she usually saved for her victims. with a start, you realised that’s what you were: another victim of clarisse la rue. your heart broke for a split second before you pulled yourself together and straightened your back, meeting her eyes.

“kiss you?” she snickered. “get your head out of your ass, angel, you’re not all that because you can shoot a bow and climb a tree.”

you stepped closer to her, so you were right up in her face. “and you’re not all that because you scare away everyone who cares about you, just because your daddy’s a little mean. you don’t need to be a bitch about everything.”

you regretted it instantly. you’d gone too far. you knew that.

her face dropped and a hurt look flashed through her eyes, but it died as soon as it came to life.

you stepped back and turned, marching away.

“where are you going?” she called after you. “we’re not finished here!”

“you have something else to say to me, clarisse, you come find me!” you shot back, your voice hard. you didn’t start arguments often, but goddamn did you finish them.

you stomped into the forest, determined to find your dagger and arrow so you could prove to both clarisse and sam that you were capable of more than just shooting arrows from trees and running away from fights.

it was darker today. the clouds that covered camp half-blood permeated through the forest, leaving a heavy weight suspended among the trees. the air felt thicker, even, and the birdsong seemed quieter than usual. was there something around? something hanging in the air, waiting to attack you? drag your body back to camp and leave it on clarisse’s doorstep like a cat bringing in a dead bird?

or was your fear just because you were alone instead of with the rest of camp.

whatever it was, it put you on edge.

there was a clicking sound behind you, like someone was cracking a joint, but when you turned, no one was there. you weren’t foolish enough to call out.

you could feel a chill going down your spine, and that’s when you knew: the first shoe had dropped.

your eyelids fluttered and you nearly dropped to the ground, but you leaned heavily against a tree to catch yourself. typical. go out on your own, thinking you can take care of yourself and you get hit with a premonition. how’s that for fate?

you let the feeling wash over you; the pure panic of the near future and the warm grip of a hand on your wrist, like someone was pulling you along.

the future was not looking promising.

there was another clicking sound behind you as you finally managed to straighten up, much closer this time.

you turned around.

the bushes were rustling.

you suddenly realised what that clicking sound was.

mandibles.

two ants the size of german shepherds burst through the foliage. myrmeke.

there was the other shoe, dropping real hard.

“shit!” you stumbled backward, reaching for a weapon. you had no weapon. “double shit!”

you turned and ran.

the ants were fucking fast. they could have caught up to you if you weren’t so agile, turning and springing off in different directions every few steps, sending them careening into trees and rocks. that was the only thing keeping you alive.

where even were you? you didn’t recognise this area. hopefully you weren’t running directly for their anthill. that would be a real twist of fate.

then you burst into a new area, this one with a large tree—a large tree that you recognised.

“yes!” you exclaimed, dashing for the trunk. you found your dagger easily, then your discarded arrow too. you didn’t know what good they’d do against the myrmeke, considering that their shells were as hard as armour and, while force was good in some cases, you had to admit that sharpness may have helped you against them.

you couldn’t run anymore. your screaming lungs told you that. you couldn’t climb either. the ants could climb better than you and you’d be a sitting duck up there, no matter how high you went. but maybe, just maybe, you could hold them off until they got bored or someone realised you were missing.

it wasn’t easy, but you managed to deflect and dodge the myrmeke’s attacks. they were fast, but you were faster. you even managed a swipe at one of their legs as you rolled past, but all it did was leave a tiny chink in its armour.

you were beginning to lose hope.

honestly, what you wouldn’t give for a spear right now. your blunt dagger and slim arrow were about as good as a toothpick against these monsters.

just as you were backed against the tree that you’d once found a safe haven, you heard a battle cry. you could have sobbed from relief, but instead, as the spear-wielding figure landed on top of one of the ants, driving her weapon into the gap between its armoured plates, you took your opportunity to stab your arrow with as much force as you could into the other ant’s gaping mouth, slipping it precisely between its mandibles and, hopefully, into its brain.

it jerked back in pain and screeched, the sound making your ears ring, but it didn’t die. instead, it looked rightfully pissed off, and now it had an arrow sticking from its mouth.

as your saviour pulled her spear from the ants back, a warm, brown liquid sprayed on you. it smelled like ants always did after you crushed them, just a million times worse. you wondered if this was revenge for all the ants you’d murdered in your life.

“gross!” you exclaimed, wiping it off your face.

“grow up, bows, we gotta go!” clarisse. your saviour was clarisse. of course.

just as you were about to protest, two more myrmeke crept out of the forest towards you.

she gripped your wrist, right where that warmth was in your premonition, and dragged you away, making you drop your dagger in the rush.

“i dropped my—“

“save it!” she snapped, pulling you along.

the desperation in her voice kicked you into gear and you started running faster, alongside her now.

you didn’t use the same tactics as before. instead of dodging, you just ran as fast as you could and prayed that the myrmeke would be slower. clarisse seemed to know where she was going, at least.

“you’re such an idiot!” clarisse yelled as they ran.

“we’re doing this now?” you panted incredulously.

“you could have died!”

“we’ll both die if you don’t stop yelling at me!”

finally, gloriously, you breached the edge of the forest and stepped into camp. the myrmeke wouldn’t follow you there.

you dropped to you knees, panting and staring into the forest. clarisse was standing in front of you, her spear ready, just in case.

you’d stepped into a quiet part of camp up behind the amphitheatre, so there was no one around to see you, and no one around to help you. you had a feeling that if the myrmeke didn’t kill you, clarisse wouldn’t hesitate.

once it was clear that they weren’t following, she rounded on you.

you were still on your knees, your legs too tired and shaky with adrenaline to stand, but she didn’t seem to care.

“what were you thinking, going in on your own?” she snapped.

“well i wasn’t expecting to get attacked by killer ants within the camp’s borders!” you protested.

“everyone knows they’re there.”

“i forgot, okay? i’m not perfect.”

“oh, i know.” she rolled her eyes.

“gods, would you just fuck off?” you finally stood up, face to face with her. “you’re horrible sometimes, you know that? i can’t believe i’ve defended you.”

“i don’t need your defending.”

“and i don’t need your help!”

“you would have died!” she yelled, emphasising every word.

“but i didn’t!” you shouted back.

she rolled her eyes and stepped closer, anger practically radiating off her. “yeah, thanks to me. you’d be dead if i hadn’t followed you in there—“

“why did you follow me?” you asked suddenly, voice harsh.

“what?”

“why did you follow me?” you asked again, slower. “i didn’t ask you to look after me, clarisse.”

there it was again. that slightly relaxation of her shoulders when you said her name. it drove you nuts. you didn’t know if you wanted to kiss her for hours or throw her to the myrmeke.

she tensed up again and turned to leave. “whatever. i’m done here.”

“i’m not!” you gripped her shoulder and pulled her back around. to your surprise, she didn’t pull a weapon on you. “why did you follow me, clarisse? was it the same reason that you were flirting with me yesterday? and why you’re so protective of me? and why you hate sam?”

“i wasn’t flirting with you,” she grumbled. “and i hate sam for… personal reasons. and i’m not protective of you! why would you even think that?”

“that’s all bullshit and you know it,” you sneered.

“gods, you aggravate me!” she exclaimed.

“you didn’t have to come help me,” you scoffed, stepping back. “i didn’t ask for your help.”

“and i didn’t want to help you!”

“then why did you? huh? you could handle not winning a fight? you wanted to finish the argument on your terms?” your eyebrows were raised and your face was cold. “or were you gonna beat me up but the giant killer ants got to me first?”

she looked like she was about to explode with anger. “because i love you!”

the air escaped from your lungs in one sharp moment, and it looked like hers did the same thing.

“what?” you asked, your voice softer.

it was silent. she looked like she was trying to find something to say, but couldn’t. her mouth opened and closed weakly, and she shook her head, lips pressed together. you wanted to kiss her.

so you did.

she tensed up as your hands came to her waist, pulling her body and lips against yours hard. then, finally, she relaxed. she dropped her spear at your feet and raised her hands to your hair, threading her fingers through the strands. she was a softer kisser than you’d expected, but it was definitely her. it was all her. the tug on your hair, the underlying, undeniable harshness of the kiss, the spear that rested against your foot. it was perfectly clarisse. you could have kissed her until the sun went down and the ants came and carried you both to their anthill, and if you stayed kissing her like this, you wouldn’t even mind.

when, finally, you pulled away, you were both breathing heavily. all of the tension from the fight hid dissipated, leaving only a warm sparkling in the air, like a mirage around her face in the sunlight. maybe that was a sign? or a vision? whatever it was, it was heaven-sent.

she was smiling. she looked softer like this. gods, you loved it. it felt like fate, and you knew a lot about fate. fate was fickle. fate was cruel. fate brought you the arguments, the myrmeke, the terror. but fate also brought you this. this girl who was glowing in the sun like she was made of pure rays of light. the girl with a spear that she laid down at your feet and would save you barehanded if you asked. the girl who had sunk into your arms like she was made to be there.

“do you think i can get that new dagger now?” you asked cheekily, playing with the hem of her camp shirt. “i mean, i have girlfriend privileges now, right, babe?”

clarisse rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. “shut up, devil.”

“ooh, devil. that’s new,” you teased. “i like it. it’s apt.”

“it sure is.” she looked down. “i’m… sorry, by the way.”

“me too,” you nodded. “i didn’t really mean any of that, you know?”

“‘cause you like me,” she said in a teasing voice.

“yeah, ‘cause i like you, or whatever.” you kissed her again, smiling against her lips. “and i know you like me too, because you so did nearly kiss me in that tree yesterday.”

she shrugged. “maybe. maybe not. guess we’ll never know.”

you found out at the next capture the flag game. and the next. and the next. she would go out of her way to find you, defeat you, then kiss you before running off to win the games. and honestly, you didn’t really mind.

fate was a fickle thing, but with clarisse by your side, no one could touch you. sam left you alone, people started treating you better, and you had everything you could ask for. her.

and whenever you two argued, you’d go into the woods together and kill some ants. after all, what says ‘couple’s bonding’ quite like murder?

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo #pjo tv show #pjo x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #dior goodjohn

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is. 

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter–  to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day. 

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week. 

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.  

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together. 

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’ 

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door. 

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger. 

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder. 

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit. 

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip. 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing. 

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.  

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink. 

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it. 

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time. 

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell. 

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear. 

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below. 

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape. 

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully. 

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

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The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium. 

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form. 

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.” 

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan. 

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear. 

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours. 

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.” 

You wanted to take his finger and break it.  

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.” 

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion. 

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance. 

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles. 

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously. 

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side. 

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?” 

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward. 

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard. 

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body. 

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!” 

“No! Fuck– Get off me!” 

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.” 

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone. 

“Is that all, Sergeant?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.” 

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged. 

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you. 

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.” 

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why. 

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door. 

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy. 

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however. 

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?” 

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release. 

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core. 

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs. 

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass. 

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.” 

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him. 

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure. 

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you. 

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!” 

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you. 

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode. 

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

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[a-hazbin-reader]

love the chaotic-ness of platonic alastor and reader of your posts!! the way you write him is more canon compliant but that makes it even more GREAT. can i req platonic alastor (+maybe rosie as a trio?) with overlord!reader. they just talk shit about the Vees and stuff lmao and do it openly on his radio show. hang out at rosie’s. maybe alastor gets reader to support the hotel too and everyone’s to alastor is like THEM?? You know THEM??? alastor’s like yeah lol we blow stuff up every tuesday and broadcast it where you at

OVERLORD PODCAST OVERLORD PODCAST OVERLORD PODCAST-

Alastor X Reader X Rosie Headcanons

❌️Romantic

✅️Platonic

TW: Alastor and Rosie cannibalism

Description: 👆⬆️

The three of you are very busy demons who have demanding jobs so getting together doesn't happen as often as you'd like

But when you get together??? It's almost like you're all a bunch of gossiping old women instead of powerful deadly overlords

Rosie brings the snacks(bring your own if you don't want people meat), Alastor provides the venue, and you pick the topic of discussion

The first podcast was entirely an accident, Alastor forgetting he was on air when you and Rosie suddenly burst in

ALASTOR YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED

He gets so sucked into what you're saying that he forgets about his radio show and everything the three of you are saying is being broadcast live

But a lot of people are tuning into it??? Like everyone is so entertained by the three of you and your conversation

Once you three realize what happened then you all agree that this must become a weekly occurrence

Even the other overlords listen in on it every once in a while, finding it hilarious

Vox is absolutely livid because he's being IGNORED, why is nobody watching tv anymore???

He tries to get you and Rosie on his show instead but the two of you don't even take the offer seriously

The chemistry would be all off without Alastor's sparkling humor anyways

Which makes him throw a huge tantrum that becomes the next topic between the three of you

Y'all are just trashing this man at this point

It's his own fault for providing you three with so much ammo

But nobody is safe

It's just a fun little gossip podcast that somehow blows up and turns into this gigantic thing

But it gives you three an excuse to hang out

Whenever the conversation starts to drift towards the hotel you try to stay out of it for your own reasons

And it does always go back to the hotel, Alastor is running a business afterall

Alastor slowly starts to warm you up to the idea of his hotel, whatever your motivations are or if you believe in it

Rosie also encourages you to at least humor him and go see it

Easy for you say, he's not pressuring YOU

So you give in one day, accompanying Alastor to the hotel

Huh, Alastor wasn't joking when he said that Lucifer's daughter was his partner 🤔

You're not entirely surprised when you see the shocked looks everyone gives Alastor when they see you

WTF ALASTOR WHEN YOU SAID Y/N WAS COMING I DIDN'T THINK YOU MEANT Y/N THE OVERLORD

Who else would it have been, Vaggie???

Everyone nervously watches you and Alastor interact, it's two extremely powerful beings in one hotel

Except for Niffty, she greats you like an old friend, climbing all over you and making maniacal noises

Husk and Niffty are the only ones not surprised by your friendship, knowing that you and Alastor are good friends

They fill the others in on your relationship when they think you two aren't listening

It's almost funny hearing it come from someone else, you had nearly forgotten how you two met

"That's right..! I DID try to kill you! That's so funny!"

"Isn't it? And I do believe I nearly bit your hand clean off!"

You two are fucking deranged

You have a better understanding of why Alastor wants so much support for this hotel now

And you're a little surprised that Charlie seems to believe so genuinely in the idea of redeeming a soul

Regardless of if you're sold in the idea or not, you agree to support the hotel for Alastor

But now you're going to rope Rosie in with you too, if you're gonna go down then the three of you are going down together

But that's unlikely to happen, Alastor wouldn't lead you guys into a death trap

He's never steered you wrong before

This was so fun to write!!

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #rosie hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #rosie x reader #rosie hazbin x reader