prettybubblesintheair
prettybubblesintheair
na-Baroness ♡⋆˚ ༘
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♛ Marie ☾ ➳ 1990 ❁ doll/she/her ☻︎ libra ★ Mx ♥︎ breathing dreams like air…
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prettybubblesintheair · 3 days ago
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PENELOPE GARCIA & AARON HOTCHNER CRIMINAL MINDS | 4.09 '52 PICKUP'
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prettybubblesintheair · 13 days ago
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PARACOSM OF THE GODS.
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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
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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."
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prettybubblesintheair · 2 months ago
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Hank Thompson…so much to take in
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prettybubblesintheair · 2 months ago
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HENRY CAVILL as GERALT OF RIVIA Netflix’s The Witcher ‧ Rare Species
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prettybubblesintheair · 2 months ago
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Henry Cavill as Geralt of Rivia in The Witcher 3x01: "Shaerrawedd"
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prettybubblesintheair · 2 months ago
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prettybubblesintheair · 3 months ago
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The Farmer's Daughter 17
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Walter Marshall
Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
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You do your best to make yourself look normal. You think it might help you feel normal. If you ever can again. You haven't since your dad got sick. Now, you're certain that the change can't be undone.
You look at yourself in the mirror. The simple blue dress is one of your favourites. You've tidied your hair enough, washed your face, brushed your teeth, done everything you typically do. You slip into a pair of flats and go to the door.
Walter isn't bad. He's nice. He's only ever been nice. But how this all unfolded, doesn't feel nice.
You open the door and go downstairs. He's waiting by the window, looking out at the farm. A farm he says belongs to you and your family but is signed with his initials.
"Ready?" He asks without looking back.
Your stomach is all wobbly. Walt. The grizzly man who silently tossed around bales and climbed up onto the tractor with that bristled expression. How long had he wanted this? When did it all shift?
"Sure," you answer and grab your purse.
"Glad the storm cleared up," he turns and crosses to the doorframe. He offers his hand. You take it. "Nice day to find a ring."
"Yeah, uh, well, you know... you don't have to buy me a ring."
"I do," he insists as he opens the door and guides you through first, following close. "If we're gonna be married, I'll need to give you everything a husband's supposed to."
You hum and let him bring you down the steps. His hand tightens around yours. You stare off at the horizon.
"That's a nice dress," he says. "You look good."
"Thank you," you make yourself smile. This isn't about you; it's about your family. What's left of it.
"That'll be another thing. The dress. We can have the wedding here. Flowers, food..."
"One thing at a time," you say calmly.
"Mm, good sense," he praises as he opens the truck door for you.
He keeps his hands on yours until you're firmly in the seat. You keep your lips curved. You're practicing for a lifetime of this.
He shuts the door and goes around the hood. He's not that bad, you tell yourself again. What were your options? What did you ever expect? You never went off to school, never troubled with leaving the farm. This is what was promised. Marriage. Your family.
Your blink away the heat in your eyes. You make yourself sit straight. He climbs in the drivers side, the truck shifting. He's such a big man. You watch him clutch the shifter and crank into gear. Thick fingers, thicker arms, big chest...
You think of the night before. That warmth that radiated from him. The way he clung to you. Will there come a day when he doesn't want you? Is this all just novelty to him?
You can't tell. You don't have enough experience to. None, really. Boys, men, you flirted, you kissed a few, but you were always more interested in other things.
You let the farmland blur in your vision and the motion of the truck calms you. You know you can't back out, you can't choose what you really want, especially when you don't even know what that is.
You arrive, happy to break from your spiraling thoughts. The world seems so small, time so short, everything is stunted by the certainty in his movement. He comes around to help you down. You thank him again.
His hand goes to your lower back, fingers curling around your side, a declaration of who you belong to. You feel the gaze of an older pair of women as they pass. The jeweler is the only in the city, sharing their space with Karen, the seamstress. Junior, the man behind the counter of gems and bands, greets Walter by name, then you.
"How's your pa?" He asks.
"He's... still recovering," you answer as you hug yourself.
"His old watch actin' up again?"
"No..." you trail off and stare at the wall.
Walter clears his throat. He moves you closer to the counter. Your body sears as you're certain both the jeweler and the seamstress notice.
"We're here to find a ring."
"A ring?" Junior scoffs. "Walter, you're serious?"
"My, my," Karen whispers.
"Afraid I jumped before I looked," Walt chuckles. "But she'll need one."
"A band too. One for each of ya," Junior goes into selling mode.
"Sure," Walt agrees and finally unsnakes his arm from around you. "What're you thinking, sweetheart? Diamond?"
"That's classic. Got all sorts of cuts and I can always work on them," Junior explains as he reaches under and brings out a board of rings. "We also got some amethyst, sapphire, all sorts of gems. You know, people are heading away from diamonds." He explains.
"Mhmm," Walt nods as he gives a thoughtful look to the collection. "Well..." He nudges you softly.
"I like them all, I can hardly choose," you say.
"What shape you like?" Junior asks, "teardrop?" He points to one, "princess?" He goes through several and you shrug again. You don't know. It all looks so expensive.
"Do you have anything... smaller?" You ask.
"Small?" Junior frowns.
"Well, yeah, I mean..." you glance at Walt, "living on the farm..."
"Ah, right, well, I got this antique the other day. Got a fresh band on it but it wasn't really meant to be an engagement ring," he puts the board back and shuffles around behind him.
He turns back to you with a slender band and a small sparkling stone. The diamond is set into the crook of the subtle crisscross. It's pretty but not too much. 
"Come on, try it," Junior waves you closer.
You put your hand out and let him slip it on your finger. You look at it. It's light as a feather but feels as heavy as a boulder. You gulp and nearly sway. Walt leans in to see it.
"I like it," he growls. "Suits you nice."
"Yeah, it's... it's... beautiful," you eke out.
It's the perfect seal for your fate.
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prettybubblesintheair · 4 months ago
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compos mentis 9
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No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.
Characters: Andy Barber
Note: hiya
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
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You walk with Andy towards the boutique. It feels strange. He doesn’t walk ahead of you like your mom always does, and you don’t have anything to drag with you. You still feel lost without the tank. You keep meaning to fix the tube only to find nothing more than your nose. 
He opens the door. You peek through the windows before you go through. It’s a nice place with curly lettering on the sign and colourful clothes on sleek black mannequins. You cling to your elbow as you look around at all the displays. 
“Hi, how are you doing today?” A young woman approaches you, all in black. She’s taller and slender and has wavy blond hair. “I’m Marlie. I can help you find anything you’re looking for.” 
“Oh, I don’t... I don’t know...” you murmur. 
Andy clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck with a chuckle. “Gotta be honest, I don’t either,” he says. “We’re a bit lost, I think. Clothes shopping.” 
“Right, well, you’re in the right place,” she smiles prettily. “We have all sorts here. Everything on trend. Any ideas? Inspo?” 
You look at Andy and his brows rise. He looks just as confused. “Um, how about, well, she likes Sabrina Carpenter.” 
“Ooo, me too,” she grins, “come with me, I’ll show you all the best pieces.” 
You can’t stop her before she has you by the hand. You glance back at Andy as he wears a sheepish expression. You remember what he said. Try to enjoy this. 
You look at Marlie. She’s probably around your age. You know she’s just doing her job but her demeanour makes her feel like a friend. 
She lets go of you and steps forward. She seizes a shirt from the table and unfolds it. “Hm, about your size.” She shows you the shirt; off the shoulder with a ruffle along the top. “That’s so cute.” 
“Oh, uh,” you touch your shoulders, “my bra...” 
“We sell strapless ones,” she offers. “But you don’t always need to wear one.” She pauses and peers toward Andy. You follow her gaze. He keeps his hands behind him as he leans in to check out the rack of sunglasses. He looks even more clueless than you. “If you think it’s okay with him.” 
“Oh, him?” You turn back to her. “I guess. He said... he said I could choose.” 
“Nice,” she shimmies excitedly, “I have so many ideas. 
She rushes around in a flurry as you trail her. She knows exactly where everything is. When she has an armful, she leads you into the back where the change rooms are. 
“I’ll let you try it all on.” She declares. “I’ve hung it in there for you, if you need help, there’s a bell inside.” 
“Oh, sure, I... thanks.” 
You’re not used to this. You were usually the one waiting outside the booth as your mom tried on her haul. You would sit on the bench and watch all the young girls like you; or not like you. They had friends. They were happy. 
You step in and close the door. You try on the first shirt and do your best to match it with a skirt. Neither cover you very much. The red checker halter matches the leather skirt with the zipper up the front. It’s nice but you’re not sure it’s for you. 
“Sweetie?” Andy’s voice makes you twitch. 
You spin and near the door. You put your hand on the clasp and hesitate. “Yeah? 
“You okay?” 
“Mhmm, I... I’m not sure about this.” 
“No? Well, why don’t you let me see? I’ll be honest,” he offers. 
Your eyes round. You don’t know if he should see you like this. It will be embarrassing if it looks bad. 
“Well, er, I don’t know if it fits. And I don’t... I don’t wear this stuff,” you say. 
“I’m sure you look great. How can I know if I don’t see?” 
You stare at your reflection in the door. He brought you here, he’s helping cover the cost for now, and he’s being so patient. Your mother would be screeching at you. 
You slide back the lock. Slowly, you pull the door inward and shuffle out. You keep your head down. He’s quiet. 
You feel his gaze crawling over you. The air turns stagnant. You squirm. 
“It looks bad,” you sniff. 
“Honey, it looks... wow. You look so nice. I mean, the clothes fit you really well.” 
You dare to peek up at him and lift your brows, “really?” 
“Oh, yeah. Really good,” his cheeks tinge pink above his beard. Is he lying? 
“I don’t... I never... this isn’t what I usually get.” 
“Right, but... did you pick your clothes or did you just take what she gave you?” 
You shrug, “I guess... what she gave me.” 
“It’s not what I like. How does it make you feel?” He asks. 
You sway and turn around. You look in the mirror. You blink at your reflection. Your eyes stray and find his. The clothes make you feel strange but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel better. Maybe you can be normal. You might even be pretty. 
Well... 
You reach up and touch your hair and frown. 
“What’s wrong?” He asks. 
You flick your lashes at the threat of tears. You shake it off. 
“Nothing, it’s just...” 
“We can go to a salon? If you need a trim. Oh, and I don’t know, I was going to ask. I don’t really know about these things. Stupid man and all. But makeup? There’s a store—not that I think you need it but... I don’t know. Whatever you want or need.” 
“Makeup? I don’t know...how.” 
“They have videos, if you want to learn. Or we can ask at the store. Only if you want to,” he says. 
You look at him and try to smile. “Andy, you’re not stupid. You’re too nice.” You lower your eyes. “I’ll do whatever. Maybe... just look around? See if it’s... if maybe...” you face him. “just look. Is that okay?” 
“Sweetie, all I want is for you to be happy.” He insists. “So, you tell me what to do.” 
💗
The makeup store is even more intimidating. Foolishly, you thought the boutique was the hard part. This is so much worse. It’s so busy and everyone there is so pretty and perfect. Girls with glossy lips look at tubes of colour and the associates in their all-black attire float like swans as they move between customers and discuss their products. 
You can’t breathe as you skirt along the front aisle, turning to peer through the windows and contemplate escape. Andy says your name and gently touches your sleeve, “you okay?” 
“Ummmmm,” you look at him then all around. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.” You bring your fingers up to drag down your cheeks, your anxiety mounting. “And I—I—I don’t look like them.” 
“Like who?” He asks. 
“Those girls—women. They... they know what they’re doing. Oh, Andy, I don’t know,” you flutter your fingers then tug on your hair nervously. “I need my oxygen.” 
“Sweetie, just... breathe, okay? In... out...” He coaxes as he rubs your shoulder. 
You take a breath in then let it out. You gulp. He did come all the way here. You wring your hands and nod. 
“I’m sorry, I... I’m not used to everything. I’m sorry. I’m... a loser.” 
“Sweetie, what did I tell you about talking like that?” He girds. “You’re not any of those things you keep saying. You’re a special girl and you deserve special things. Just because you don’t know something, doesn’t mean you can’t figure it out, right?” 
“I... I guess,” you tuck your hands into your sleeves and make fists. Your press your knuckles to your chin. 
“You okay to wait here? I’ll go look for help.” He squeezes your shoulder. 
“Um, um, um,” you blink at him. “Sure, I can... wait.” 
He rubs with his thumb and reluctantly pulls away. He turns and strides away. He’s so tall, he can see over the shelves so easy, and he’s undeterred by the crowds or the noise. He’s normal. He’s strong. You’re not. 
You spin and nearly knock into another customer. You back up and sidle along to the corner, staring at the bottles of floral perfume. It’s not just that you don’t belong here, you don’t belong anywhere. That’s all too clear. 
“Oh, hello, hon,” a trill voice chirps at you, “you need some help?” 
You turn at the tall brunette as she approaches. Andy is behind her. He keeps a distance and nods at you. He’s there if you need him. 
“I’m Tilly,” she introduces herself, “I hear you’re looking to start fresh.”  
You stare at her and scrunch your lips. You drop your hands to your sides, “yes. Thank you. I... I don’t know anything about... about make up.” 
“Oh, my, that’s alright! Figuring it all out is the fun part,” she beams as she claps her hands together. “But oh my gosh, look at your skin. You’ve got the perfect complexion. What do you use?” 
“Well, I... I... use vaseline on my lips, they chap because of... erm, I used to have an oxygen tube, so... I got all dry around my nose...” you babble and cringe. “I just use shea butter on my skin.” 
“Shea is wonderful,” she praises. “We have some products with it if you want to add to your regimen but whatever you’re doing is working.” 
Your chest tickles and you smile, cheeks bulbing tightly, “really?” 
“Oh, you have this glow. You are radiant,” she hums and taps her chin. “Makes me think you don’t need much.” 
“Right, er, well. I wouldn’t know how to... use any of it.” 
“I can show you. How about we try it out and see? I’ll grab a few products and put them on for you, then you can make up your mind.” She suggests. 
“That’s.... that’s not too much?” You sway. 
“No, hon, come on. Oh, I love this. I just adore getting to show people new things.” She points you along the next aisle, “now, I’m thinking you probably don’t need a foundation, but we’ll do a tinted moisturiser as a base, to give you a bit more highlight. A tine dash of blush. I think just a stick, no powder...” 
She leads you around the store, weaving up and down as she plucks up products. You’re lost even as she explains each one. She takes you to a chair near a mirror and has you sit down with your back to it. You climb up as she lays out the samples. 
“First, we’ll start with the moisturizer,” she instructs. She dabs it around your face and spreads it with a tear drop sponge. “So, you said you used to have oxygen. Were you sick?” 
“Oh... yeah. But I’m better now,” you frown. 
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. It’s never fun, is it? I’ve got diabetes, my monitors right here,” she points to her belt as she grabs the next product. 
“Really?” 
“Oh, yes. But we live. We survive,” she smiles. “I grabbed this liner, it’s very creamy, you see, it goes on very easy and you just need a quick swipe.” 
“Okay,” you say. You follow her direction to close your eye. 
“That man you’re with,” she gently touches yours face to stretch your eyelid. “He’s very nice.” 
“Yeah,” you agree dully. 
“He seems very concerned. Says he want you to be happy so you tell me if you don’t like it, okay?” She switches eyes. 
“I will,” you promise. 
She continues as you try not to wince. You’re not used to being touched by anyone but the doctors; they’re always so clinical. Or your mother; she’s always rough. She’s not. She’s tender as the plies her expertise. 
“Now, you ready to see yourself?” She asks as she caps the lip gloss. 
You bat your lashes, getting used to the coating on your lashes, “sure.” 
She turns you to the mirror. You stare at yourself. You look... like you but like someone else too. You lean in as you take in the subtle but noticeable difference. You sit back slowly, silently, and your eyes stray around the mirror. 
Your gaze meets Andy’s as he stands across the store. He perks up and smiles. He crosses the main aisle as he gives a wave. 
“Well, what do you think?” Tilly asks. 
“I... I like it. It’s... not too much.” 
“Oh, like I said, you’re so naturally pretty,” she says. “I’ll get you full-sized products and meet you at the till. That good?” 
“Yes, thank you.” 
“Oh, I loved it,” she assures you. 
She gathers up the samples and leaves you. Andy approaches and clears his throat. You look at him as his eyes scour you. You wilt beneath his gaze. 
“I... it’s too much?” You gesture to your face. 
He shakes his head then hits his chest with his fist, “ahem. I... sorry, sweetie. You look... you look so good you took my breath away.” 
You make a face then laugh. That’s such a silly joke. You shake your head. 
“It’s the truth,” he chuckles. 
“Andy, you don’t have to lie,” you insist as you slide forward on the chair. He steps past the mirror and offers his hand. You take it as you get down. “Thanks.” 
“I’m not lying. Sweetie,” he squeezes your hand before he lets go. “You look amazing. Once you get into some of your new clothes, I’m sure you’ll feel it.” 
“Oh, uh, maybe,” you curl your shoulders. “She said she was bringing everything to the counter.” 
“Right,” he reaches for his back pocket. 
“But if it’s too much--” you show your palms. 
“Nothing’s too much for you,” he grins and waves you toward the front of the store. “Come on.” 
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prettybubblesintheair · 4 months ago
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Study Buddy 5
Warnings:this series will include dark elements which may include bullying, noncon or dubcon, or violent behaviour. Mind the warnings.
Summary: a group project leads to a tense partnership.
Character: Walter Marshall
Big thanks to those who read! Feedback always helps inspire and you know I’m always happy to chat about possibilities! Please reblog and comment ❤️
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Despite feeling entirely out of place, you can’t resist the draw of sleep. Nestled on the couch beneath a blanket, a soft pillow under your head, you drift away from the tension rippling off your study buddy. Even in the next room, you sense the density in the air. 
You’re so tired, you hear yourself snoring from the depths of your unconscious. Your brain is sludge and your dreams are murky. You only wake up as you sense the murmur of voices. 
You open your eyes to the glare of the TV in the pale light of day. You rub your cheek as your vision clears. You blink at the screen as the teen drama plays out. 
“You snore louder than my dad,” Faye snorts. “Morning, sunshine.” 
You lurch up, almost top-turning from the suddenness of it all. You remember where you are in an instant. You knead your temple as you try to sort yourself out. 
“Um, good morning,” you croak through your dry throat. “How are you feeling?” 
“Better,” she grins, still in her pajamas as she drapes her legs over the armrest of the chair. “How about you?” 
“Urgh, tired,” you drop your hand as the blanket falls to your lap. “Sorry, I should go--” 
“Daaaad,” Faye hollers over you. 
You flinch and turn as you hear footsteps. As you glance over, Walter emerges in a bathroom. You can tell by the glimpse of his furry chest and the glisten in his curls that he just got out of the shower. 
“Your friend’s awake.” She chirps. 
He looks at you and his shoulders square. He really doesn’t like you. You can’t help but wonder why he insisted you stay. 
“It’s alright, I’m just about to head out,” you stand and fold the blanket and set it neatly on the cushion. “Thanks, again.” 
“You should at least have breakfast. Dad made waffles.” 
“Waffles? Oh,” you glance at him. “I wouldn’t want to... impose.” 
“No big deal, I saved some batter. Iron heats up in a snap,�� he shrugs. 
You face him as you cross the room. You stop by the doorway into the entry, “it’s very nice of you but I’m okay. I really should try to catch a bus.” 
“Gimme a few and I’ll drive you.” He offers. 
“Really, it’s...” 
He’s already stalking away before you can finish your protest. You sigh and grimace at his back. He really doesn’t give you a chance to argue. With anything. Would it be easier to just have him look at the paper before you go and tell you everything that’s wrong? 
“My dad likes you,” Faye giggles. “He doesn’t like anyone.” 
“Um, I don’t think so,” you lean on the doorframe and stare at the TV, trying to make sense of the snarky conversation. 
“He does,” she insists. “I know, I’m the only other person he likes.” 
“Sure,” you tut. “Does it matter? I just need to get this project done.” 
“Don’t you think it’s funny? My dad taking a writing course? He doesn’t really seem like the creative type. More the bashing skulls type,” she cackles. 
“I don’t really know... him.” 
“What did you think when he showed up? I’d be pissing my pants,” she doesn’t look away from the TV as she speaks. 
“I don’t know, I thought someone named Walter would be skinnier... maybe have glasses and a pension?” 
She laughs even louder, “oof, don’t say that too loud.” 
You let yourself smile. She’s not a bad kid. If you were her age, you might be friends. 
“I’m just going to get my stuff together,” you say, “uh, Faye, it was nice to meet you.” 
“You too. Nice to have someone around to keep the wolf from coming out in the full moon,” she snipes. 
You snicker softly and leave her. The analogy isn’t far off. Walter does fit the type. He’s a bit furry after all. 
You check that everything’s in your bag and ben to put on your shoes. You pull on your jacket and Walter appears; he wears a black hoodie and dark jeans. He pulls on a jacket and leaves it undone before he grabs his boots. 
You zip up your coat and hook your bag on your shoulder, “thanks, again. You know, I have a bus pass.” 
He grumbles and you quiet. Don’t push your luck. Hopefully he only needs to revise a little and you can be done with all this. 
You flinch as he suddenly moves toward you. Your eyes round and you hit the door with your back. He tilts his head as he reaches past you for the handle. You look down and cringe. 
“Sorry, I wasn’t... paying attention.” 
He hums and you shift out of his way. He opens the door and lets you out first. You step into the sunshine, a deceptive beacon as your breath puffs out visibly. You cross your arms as he locks the door. 
He gestures you ahead of him to his truck. You go down the walk and to the driveway. You wait on the passenger side until the locks click. You open the door and climb in. He has a much easier time stepping into the high vehicle. 
He pulls his seatbelt down as you do the same. He turns the engine and lets it rumble as he turns the dials for the vent. He checks the mirrors and grips the wheel in one hand. He leans his elbow on the arm rest as he backs out. 
“You know,” he says as he rights the tires. “I got eye surgery so I don’t need the glasses anymore.” 
You squint at his remark. What? It takes a moment before you realise. Shoot. 
“It was a joke,” you say. “Obviously...” 
“No pension for another fifteen years at least and, well, helps to have a bit of bulk in my line of work.” 
Your cheeks burn in embarrassment. You really didn’t mean anything. 
“I’m sorry, I... yeah, I say stupid things.” 
He’s quiet as he steers. He sucks his teeth as he stops at a sign, “it was a good joke. Better than Faye’s werewolf schtick.” 
“Oh, uh, right,” you flick your thumb nervously. 
“You seem like the werewolf type. Know any good books?” He asks. 
“Werewolf type? Um, didn’t think I put out that vibe but... maybe Mongrels? I don’t read a lot about that stuff actually.” 
“Mongrels,” he nods. “I’ll check it out.” 
You’re almost flattered that he’d take your recommendation, less so that he thinks you’re a Twilight girlie. You stare through the windshield and take the victory for what it is. You don’t think you’ll be getting any more than that. 
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prettybubblesintheair · 4 months ago
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You Make Me Wanna 6
Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, best friend’s dad trope other dark elements. Proceed with caution.
Note:Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.
Part of The Club AU
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As unsurprised as you were when Faye shunned you, you’re even less put off by her sudden reappearance. She does this. There was a whole month in high school when suddenly she was too busy trying to fit in with the local Regina George and her minions. You know she only came back then because she had to work to impress them. 
You’re not insulted. You know who and what you are, even without her father reminding you. You reread the text, tempted to hit those three dots and tap gleefully press ‘block’. You’re still friends, even if she can be a shitty one. You care about her.  
‘Can we meet?’ 
You already have your response typed in; ‘where?’ You’ve been trying to send it for the last hour. Something keeps you from push your thumb against that arrow. Is it worth it this time? 
Before you can think too much, your phone vibrates again. Almost as if she can sense your doubt. ‘Please. It’s serious.’ 
Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck. As if you don’t have enough to deal with. 
You send the text and grab your bag. The kids are already asleep, your mom’s here, probably sleeping too. You hurry to the door without a response. This is it. The last time. You’re going to tell Faye exactly that. Next time she can call her dad. You don’t need the trouble. Besides, she’s doing all this to piss him off, it has nothing to do with you. 
You put your shoes on and leave as quietly as you can, double checking the locks behind you. You stomp down the front walk as the streetlights shine down and head down towards the bus stop. Your phone shakes. What the hell? 
At least it’s close. You read the address again. You know it. Two blocks away on Wilmington; dealer district. This isn’t good. 
You put your chin down and set your eyes ahead of you. Don’t look at anyone, just keep going. You sling your purse around your body, keeping your hand on it. You have your phone firmly in the other. 
Wilmington. Even your mother has enough sense to warn you against going around there. You head down and count the numbers from the corner of your eye. You slow as you near the house in question. What do you do? Knock on the door? You don’t know if that’s a great idea. Looks like a flop house. 
You hear your name and a shadow ripples on the crooked porch. You look up as a dark figure staggers to  the top of the steps. Faye looks willowy and drawn out as the moonlight hits her skin. The skin around her eyes baggy and discolored and she’s wearing the same outfit she wore to the club. 
“What the hell?” You hiss as you march forward. She stumbles down the stairs and you barely catch her, “Faye?” 
“I’m sorry. I was scared,” she murmurs as she latches onto you, “you gotta help me.” 
She reeks, she’s shaking, and she’s slurring her words. 
“Are you high?” You whisper at you hold her at arm’s length. 
“Not anymore,” she sniffles, “please, my head is killing me.” 
“What the fuck?!” You barely keep from shrieking, “how-- why the fuck would you do that?” 
“That guy... we were just snorting a little and then... I don’t know. I can’t remember.” 
“Faye,” you whine, “are you out of your mind?” 
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t...” she shakes her head and her voice drifts off, her frazzled eyes dimming, “I don’t know...” 
She scratches her arm and you notice the scabbing there. You sigh and shake your head. You’re so tired of this. As if you don’t have enough to deal with at home with three siblings. Faye isn’t your problem, she won’t be after this. 
“Fine. I’ll take you home. Your dad can deal with you--” 
“No, please. You can’t,” she pleads and grabs you again, “I can’t-- He’ll kill me.” 
“Faye, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I don’t have anywhere else to take you.” 
“I’ll stay in your room--” 
“No,” you say bluntly, “I have work and my siblings can’t be around you like this.” 
“Why are you being so mean?” She whines. 
You grit your teeth and look around as you hear voices from unseen mouths. You exhale and grab her wrist, dragging her hand from your arm. 
“Let’s get out of here first,” you turn and tug her after you. “Fucking Wilmington? Wilmington?” 
“Please, don’t be mad,” she snivels, “my dad’s gonna lose it if he knows. I need you. I need you to be nice--” 
“I need you to stop fucking me around,” you snarl, “don’t you understand? Every dumb shit decision you make her brings down on me?” 
“Huh?” She staggers heavily in her dirty wedges. 
“Your fucking dad. Thinks he rules the whole damn world. And who is he gonna blame for this? You’re in my neighbourhood. You think I want to deal with him?” 
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers. 
“You’re not,” you insist, “this is the last fucking time.” 
“Please--” 
“No, Faye,” you spin on her as you turn off of Wilmington. You have to keep yourself from shoving her, instead letting her go and throwing up your hands. “You have everything. You get to go back to school, you get to go home to your nice little suburban castle, you get to have your dad pay for it all. I have to go work at the goddamn grocery store and watch my life spin down the fucking sewer. I get to lay awake at night and worry if my siblings are gonna end up over here or if my mom’s going to come home at all when I haven’t seen her in two weeks!” 
You ball your hands to fists, overwhelmed by the eruption of repressed emotions, “you get to smile and cry and get out of it all.” 
“I...” she breathes, “I... didn’t know--” 
“You never cared. Never listened,” you drops your arms and slump. “Go and live your life. Live it up in college, move somewhere nice, get married, do all that fun shit. I’ll stay. I don’t get that choice.” 
The roll of tires near as you stand in tense silence. Faye mopes and hangs her head, swaying and scratching, “can I just stay one night?” She whispers. 
You sigh again. 
You sense a car draw up to the curb. Great, some jackass thinks you’re a street walker. You’re ready to tell him to fuck off but swallow the sneer. You could still say so. 
Walter steps out on the other side of the car, “Faye,” he snarls. 
“See,” you turn to her again, “don’t you realise who he’s going to blame now?” You face the man’s broad shadow, “don’t worry, Mr. Marshall, I was just telling her to go home and never come back. You win. I quit.” 
“Both of you, get in,” he growls. 
You scoff and Faye cowers behind you, “daddy--” 
“Faye, just go,” you try to nudge her ahead of you, “I have to go home.” 
“I said both,” Walter stomps around and rips open the back door. “In.” 
“Here, she can go--” you urge Faye towards the backseat as she fights weakly.  
As you push her head down and she surrenders, curling onto the seat, you’re shoved from behind. You barely keep from hitting your brow on the metal and throw your arm back at Walter. He catches your wrist and twists your arm behind you. 
“It’s late. I’m on duty. I can’t leave you here,” he insists. 
“What do you care?” You hiss and fight him. 
“Don’t make me get the cuffs.” 
You recoil at his threat and fall inside the car. You turn back to sneer at him but his face in covered in black shadow. Your nostrils flare and you shake your head. You bite down on a million insults and pull your legs inside. 
Once he has Faye safe, you’ll figure a way out. 
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prettybubblesintheair · 4 months ago
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The Farmer's Daughter Masterlist
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ONGOING
Part 1 🌲 Part 2 🌲 Part 3 🌲 Part 4 🌲 Part 5 🌲 Part 6 🌲 Part 7 🌲 Part 8 🌲 Part 9 🌲 Part 10 🌲 Part 11 🌲 Part 12 🌲 Part 13 🌲Part 14 🌲 Part 15 🌲 Part 16
AU MASTERLIST
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prettybubblesintheair · 4 months ago
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Follow You Anywhere Masterlist
Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life. (Captain Syverson)
Status: In Progress
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
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prettybubblesintheair · 4 months ago
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Sweet Like Candy 3
Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Thor, Bucky Barnes (Professor AU)
Summary: the new school year proves to be hectic. (short!chubby! reader)
Part of the Bad Professors AU
Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 
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You knock on the door of Professor Odinson’s door then check your smartwatch. You’ve been anxious all day about the meeting. After the quiz, he sent you a quick email saying he’d like to talk about it with you. You were the first done and you’re pretty sure you aced it! 
You wait and bounce on your feet. You tap the door again. You’re not that early. You hear the floor groan and stand straight the rippled glass darkens with a silhouette on the other side. 
The door opens and you beam a smile, “good afternoon, Professor--” you nearly choke on your tongue. “Oh, Professor Barnes.” 
He blinks at you, his face sharp with agitation, “Odinson isn’t here.” 
“Uh, oh, but I have an appointment,” you show your phone, “I can show you the email.” 
“I’m sure you do,” he grumbles. He backs up and drags his feet back to his desk, muttering, “...always late...” He sits heavily and sighs. “You can wait over there.” 
He waves towards Odinson’s empty desk and you peer between him and that. He grabs his coffee cup and growls as he looks inside. He sighs again and stands. 
You enter, eager to be out of his way, and he strides out the door with another grunt. You sway and look around. You feel like an intruder. Still, you can’t just leave. Odinson will be here soon. 
You sit in the velvet chair across from his desk and swing your feet. You wiggle impatiently and admire the ornaments on his desk. There’s some runes and a little hammer. 
The smell of coffee wafts in with the other professor. Barnes sits down and takes a long draw from his mug. He sets it down with a clink. The tension coils like a boa constrictor, tightening your throat and spine. 
You turn your phone up and bow your head. You unlock it. Won’t be much longer, you know it. 
You flick through with your thumb and glaze over as you watch the short videos. You swipe up and up and up. You giggle mindlessly as a kitten attacks a stuffed rabbit. Barnes exhales heavily. 
“Rots your brain...” he remarks dryly. 
“Hm?” You look at him over your shoulder. 
“All those dumb apps. You’re like a robot, sitting there, laughing at those stupid things,” he sneers. 
“I... It’s not dumb,” you argue and turn away from him. “Sorry, I’ll be quiet.” 
“And sit still. You’re distracting.” 
You frown and watch the kitten again. Why is he so grumpy? You didn’t do anything. His fingers hit his keys hard and you grow irritated at his unspoken anger. Odinson is the one that’s late. 
“Here,” you stand and march over to his desk, “maybe the stupid video will cheer you up.” 
You shove your phone next to his monitor and he ignores it. You roll your eyes. “Come on, it’s a kitty! Everyone loves kitties.” 
He shakes his head, focusing on his screen. You push the phone closer. He catches your hand and squeezes. His gaze flits over to your phone. He watches it without reaction. 
“Kittens grow up to be cats. A responsibility,” he lets you go. “Something I’m sure you don’t understand.” 
You furrow your nose, “I’m being nice. You don’t have to be... not nice.” 
“I’m working.” He insists. 
You have no argument for that. You shrug and go back to the chair. You stare at the wall behind Odinson’s desk and the degree mounted there. 
“Ah, apologies,” a storm blusters through the door in the form of Professor Odinson. “There is some event on campus and I was caught up.” 
“Professor,” you stand politely. 
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” he hurries to his desk and drops his bag. “Apologies, again. Oof, it smells like coffee. I could use a cup.” He smiles and stills himself, “and how are you?” 
“Good, Professor.” 
“A poor look to be late,” he chides himself and sits. He puts his bag in his lap and flips it open. “I do hope Professor Barnes was adequate company during your wait.” 
Barnes grumbles. You don’t say a word. Odinson sifts through his bag. 
“If you would prefer privacy, we might find an empty room,” he suggests as he pulls out a cluster of stapled papers. You recognise the sparkly gel pen on it. 
“No, I’m okay,” you insist. 
“Mm, right,” he sets his bag on the floor and rolls his chair closer to the desk. “Well, with your consent, I shall proceed.” He smooths the paper. That’s when you see the red pen all over it. You show your teeth. Maybe it would have been a better idea to be alone. 
“It is only the first quiz, so early on,” he begins. “Yet, I would hate for the rest to go... worse.” He clears his throat and hands you the pages. “I have posted it on the course page but there will be extra review sessions for those who feel they need them. Learning a new language can be difficult.” 
You cringe at the 20% at the top of the page. You’ve never done so poorly in your life. You’re a straight C type of girl. 
“Oh,” you deflate. Once more, you were over confident. You really felt good about that and oh gosh, you’re so embarrassed. “Thanks, I’ll go...” you agree as you stare at the paper. “I’m sorry, I really studied.” 
“Like I said, new language,” he comforts. “I just wanted to offer you any extra support you feel you might need. I have an open door policy--” 
Barnes snorts behind you. You wince. 
“Thank you, Professor, that’s really nice,” you gulp and clutch your fuzzy purse. “I should... go. I... I have to do a few things before my next class.” 
“Right, yes, as you will. Again, I apologise for keeping you waiting,” he says. 
“Yeah,” your voice cracks even as you fight back the tears in your eyes. “It’s no problem.” 
You make yourself smile and stand. You turn and your eyes meet Barnes. He’s watching you. He doesn’t shy away as your cheek twitches. He looks almost amused. 
“Maybe some more kitten videos might help with studying,” he comments. 
“Eh?” Odinson utters. 
“Maybe,” you agree glumly and your lips tug down. “Sorry to bother. Both of you.” 
You turn and quickly flee the office. For as kind as Odinson was about your unabashed failure, Barnes was entirely cruel. You tried so hard and he could just grin mockingly. You don’t know what you did to make him so mean. 
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prettybubblesintheair · 4 months ago
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Sweet Like Candy 1
Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Thor, Bucky Barnes (Professor AU)
Summary: the new school year proves to be hectic. (short!chubby! reader)
Part of the Bad Professors AU
Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 
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“Hey, Oli, hold my seat,” you say into the phone speaker, “I gotta run! The professor’s office hours close in... ten minutes and I desperately need to be signed into this course. I swear, if I’m stuck taking philosophy again I’m gonna cry.” 
“No problem, we can wait,” Olive assures you. She’s always a comfort. She wouldn’t dare mention how you always cry or that you did this to yourself by waiting until the last minute to sort your schedule. 
“Alright, gotta go! You don’t wanna hear me huffing and puffing,” you chuff, “buh-bye!” 
You hang up and clutch your phone, your bag bouncing, your bum too! You hurtle forward between the bodies of students who refuse to part for your passing. You veer towards the history building and nearly trip up the steps. 
You heave as you get to the stop and grunt as you drag open the heavy wooden door. Ugh! Why are you weak? Not just in body, but mind too. If you had a degree of discipline, this wouldn’t be happening. Again. 
You slow as you climb the next set of stairs. Yeah, you can’t do that. You’re dizzied by the endless halls set out like a twisted maze meant to house beasts with human heads and bulls’ bodies. It doesn’t help that those signs are fuzzy. You can make out the letters if you get real close. 
You finally get to the door you need, dragging your feet as your legs burn. You raise your hand to knock on the door but it opens as if it can sense you. That’s silly. Doors don’t open themselves. 
It’s too late to stop yourself from knocking on the man’s upper stomach. You cringe and pull your hand back against your chest. You force your lips into a smile. 
“Sorry, I—are office hours over? I ran here,” you gasp. “I’m sorry.” 
The man looks down at you and you sway nervously. He’s taller than you. Well, most people are. His blue eyes bore into you as his cheek dimples in agitation. 
“Please--” 
“I don’t know,” he grips the mug in his hand tighter. “Odinson, another one.” 
The man doesn’t bother with an excuse me or pardon. He steps forward and you stumble back. You sidle out of his way and he marches down the hall. You peer through the door again. An even bigger man rises from behind a desk and smiles. The blond is a lot more welcoming than the brunette. 
“Ah hello, I suppose you’ve come to be let into my Norse course?” He intones as he crosses the office and extends his large hand. “Professor Odinson.” 
“Cerise,” you accept his hand. It’s like a paw. Maybe there are mythical beasts in here. Though he is more what you imagine a god to be. Large, golden, and those eyes. “Yes, I’m so sorry! I meant to enroll before the deadline but I had it down wrong and then I realised it was two days late and--” 
“Not to worry. It’s an intensive language course. We are bound to have a few withdrawals so I’d be happy to take on a few extra,” he assures you. “Do you have your form?” 
“Oh, yes!” You let the straps of your bright pink purse part on your arm and you dig inside. You take out the paper and a scatter rains over the floor. “Oops!” You bend to collect the wrapped candies and the heart lollipop. “I kinda... hurried here.” 
“Not to worry,” he grins down at you as you hold out the form again.  
His eyes skim to your other hand and you open your fist. “Er, you want some?” 
“If you don’t mind? But don’t mention it. I wouldn’t like anyone to think I can be bribed with sweets. Though it may be true,” he winks and takes one of the strawberry candies and the form. “Cerise, an interesting name.” 
He turns and goes back to his desk. You follow behind him, nervous to enter the office completely. There’s another desk. The office is bigger than you expect. You stand across form him as he sits. He lays out the paper and unwraps the candy.  
He pops the sweet into his mouth and hums, “delicious.” 
You teeter on your toes and clasp and unclasp your purse as he searches for a pen. He sucks loudly on the confection. As you try not to fidget, there’s a clink that makes you jump. You peek over at the other man as he returns with a full cup. He drops into his chair with as little caution. 
His eyes meet yours. The line of his brows of them make you flinch. He looks angry but why? Or you think so. You narrow your eyes as you try to see him clearer. 
You turn back to Odinson and shake off the tension. He scribbles with a pen across the bottom of the form. He makes a wet noise with his mouth and the other man grunts. 
“Do you have to?” The dark-haired man snarls. 
“Forgive my office mate,” Odinson tuts as he hands over the paper. “Barnes is rather crotchety since his own office was flooded. You think he’d be a bit more grateful for my generosity, elsewise he’d be languishing in some basement.” 
“I said ‘thank you’,” the other professor mutters. 
“Mm, yes, but not loud enough to hear,” Odinson chides and gives a laugh. “Don’t fret about him. I tease. We are merely adjusting to each other. You must live in residence? You know how it can be to have to adapt to others.” 
“Oh, yes, my roommate is a night owl. I already know I’m not going to get any sleep,” you take the form, “thank you, sir.” 
“Not at all, but I must warn you. This is a language course, not mythology. We use the stories to learn the language so you will need to be attentive to your studies,” he girds, “I’d hate for this all to be for not.” 
“I understand,” you look down at the form. You can kind of make out his signature.  
It’s fine. They have all sorts of assistive technology these days. First year, you go through one text-to-speech. Everything is only so you’re really not worried. And you would love to be able to speak like a viking. 
“I’ll see you in class, professor,” you give a triumphant smile and bounce on your heel as you turn. 
Barnes huffs heavily as you cross the office. You stop as a crinkle comes from your hand. You only realise then you’re still clutching onto the candies. You glance over and slowly near his desk. 
“Do you want one?” You open your hand and offer the candies.  
He doesn’t even look up, “no.” 
Odinson sucks loudly, “don’t be such a bore. Leave him a chocolate. He does like them. He keeps truffles in his drawer.” 
Barnes inhales sharply but doesn’t say a word. You take one of the chocolate balls and put it on his desk. You dump the rest in your bag then spin away. 
“Have a great day,” you chirp as you get to the door. 
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prettybubblesintheair · 4 months ago
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Know Your Place 2
Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Walter Marshall, destroyer!Chris [for the purposes of this AU, I will give him the last name Jackson] (Professor AU)
Summary: after a life time of home schooling, you finally get to experience the real world in college. (petite reader)
Part of the Bad Professors AU
Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 
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You’re lost! It’s an inevitability, really, but your lost and that pulsing swell is making its way from your stomach to your chest. Soon, your throat will constrict and you won’t be able to breathe. Lost, lost, lost. 
You turn back down the hallway and retrace your steps. No, you didn’t go this way! You peer over your shoulder. Empty. While everyone else was so quick to flee after the lecture, you lingered to take the call from your mom and wandered a bit too far off track. 
You spin again and sway on your feet. You stumble as if you’re on a rocking ship. You go to the wall and put your bag down. You search for your phone and put in the building name to the directory. ‘No floor plan available.’ Oh jeez. 
The panic builds as you pick up your bag and blink back tears. You’re an adult! You’re not going to cry. You'll get out of here. Calm down.  
You look down at your phone as your thumb hovers over your mom’s contact. No. You won’t call her. She’s already worried enough. You accidentally mentioned having a dessert bar from the cafe and she almost lost her mind. Those things are packed with sugar and filler! 
It was just one. You grip your phone tight and black the screen. You’ll follow the room numbers and go from there. How helpless are you to get so backwards in here. It’s not like some magical maze. You’re fine. 
You shuffle back down the hall, past the same open door, and stop at the crossways of the next. You hesitate. Straight or right? 
“Everything alright?” The deep voice rumbles through the hall and rolls up your spine. 
You turn to the vaguely familiar timbre. Oh, you know him! It’s that man with the spirally hair and fuzzy beard. From the Student Centre... 
“Walter,” you say. 
“Mauve,” he returns as he steps fully out into the hall. 
“What... what are the odds?” You bounce on your feet and hug your bag, pushing your fingers over the fluffy teddy bear face. Often times you do that just for a bit of comfort. 
“I saw you going back and forth,” he puts his hand on his hip. Oh no, you disturbed him. 
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you,” you clutch your phone against your stomach. 
“You’re not,” he insists. “My class let out twenty minutes ago.” 
“Oh, sure, sorry, er, psychology?” You wiggle your phone in recollection. 
He gives a short nod, “that’s it. You have a class around here?” He asks as his blue eyes bore into you, “you lost?” 
You frown and look away guiltily. You’re embarrassed. You sniff and make yourself look at him, “yes. But I’m just trying to get out of her. My class already ended.” 
“Right,” he says, “you got a minute? Just gotta grab my things and I’ll lead the way. That’s if I’m not bothering you?” 
You flinch, “me? Oh no, it’s not—thank you so much.” 
“No problem,” he turns and taps the door frame as he goes back into the room. 
You slowly tiptoe forward and peer inside. He folds up his laptop and shoves it into a worn grey passenger bag. He slides a folder in with it and grabs his phone. He squints at the screen before he tucks it into his back pocket. 
He hooks the bag over his shoulder and scoops up his jacket. You watch him approach, taking in the full effect of his size. He’s a big man. Burly, even through the thick wool of his sweater. You can’t help but think it looks cozy. 
You back up and fold your hands, resisting the urge to compare yourself. Your thrifted maxi skirts and straight-cut button-ups and handmade cardigans are out-of-place on campus. The other girls wear cute shirts and short skirts, even on the cooler days.  
It doesn’t matter. He’s only a professor after all. You pull closed the front of your picky wool coat as he emerges. 
“Thanks, sir,” you say as he steps up next to you and points you ahead. “I... I kinda... was panicking.” 
“Mm, well, it’s a big building,” he hooks a thumb into his jean pocket, “big campus.” 
“Oh, yes. Very big.” You agree as you slide your phone into the big pocket of your coat. You trade it for the folded map you keep handy. You open it up as you keep pace with him. You feel him glance down. “I have to get to the...” 
Your voice drifts off. You have to go to the student grocery. Your mother sent a list of ingredients and instructions. She said it all needs to be organic but you don’t think you’ll find much of that. 
“Hm, you’re a lot more organized than most of my students,” he remarks. 
You close the map and look up at him with a sheepish smile, “just nervous. Momma says you should always be ready for anything.” You shrug and shake your head as you set your head right, “mm, sorry, my mom... she says a lot of things.” 
He hums and directs you around a corner with a short point. “You’re close?” 
“Yep. Just me and her for twenty years,” you chime. “I... miss her.” You feel the drop in your chest as the words force their way out before you could even think them. “Sorry, I just... it’s still the first week.” 
“No, it’s expected. Big adjustment coming to school,” he assures you. “But you like it?” 
“Oh, sure. It’s exciting. They were having a record sale outside the Rec Centre but I left my player at home,” you say. “But I got a poster of some kittens--” You laugh nervously and shake your head. “You can tell me if I’m rambling, Walter.” 
“No, I don’t think so,” he steps ahead of you as you approach the front doors. Yay, he found them. “I’m sure it’s a cute poster.” 
“It is,” you agree as he opens the door and lets you out first. “Thank you.” 
He follows you out and you begin down the stairs. He measures his stride with yours. As you come to the bottom, you stop and fidget with the map in your hands. 
“Thank you so so much.” You flick the corner of the paper. “I’ll let you be now. I’m sure you have lots of work to do but it was nice seeing a familiar face.” 
“Yeah, it was,” he agrees and peers around.  
“Good luck, Walter,” you chime. “Maybe we’ll run into each other next week.” 
“Yeah, maybe,” he mutters and twitches, bringing his hand up. “Wait, where are you off to? I could... I could help you find it.” 
“Oh, no, I can’t ask that,” you crinkle the map loudly. “I just gotta get to the grocery and I think it’s near the Student Centre...” you trail off and open the paper to check. 
“Well, can I give you a hint?” He asks. 
You look up at him again, “what?” 
“Everything’s marked up two dollars on campus. There’s a store just off,” he points to the far corner on the map, “right across from this entrance. They bake their bread fresh too.” 
You stare down at his fingertip. Your mother wired you some money and it’s not much, and more than she should have. It might be a good idea to go the extra distance and save some dimes. You chew the inside of your lip. 
“Oh, that’s-- thanks.” 
“I gotta grab some coffee beans. I could come along. So you don’t get lost again,” he offers. 
“Really?” You chirp. “That’s... too nice.” 
“I don’t mind,” he insists. “I even know a shortcut.” 
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prettybubblesintheair · 4 months ago
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My absolute favorite Geralt story in the world, absolutely delicious, with amazing characters, you love, you hate, you absolutely despise others, ugh and King Geralt is EVERYTHING ❤️‍🔥
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Winter's King Masterlist
Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)
Status: In Progress
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17
Part 18
Part 19
Part 20
Part 21
Part 22
Part 23
Part 24
Part 25
Part 26
Part 27
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prettybubblesintheair · 4 months ago
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Ooooohhhh I’m obsessed like Sher is already with her 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗
I love love loveeeee a good profesor x reader story. Mr Holmes in this is just delish
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Great Expectations 2
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No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Professor Holmes’ class is your most difficult, but he’s about to make it even more challenging.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)
Note: monday
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
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Friday arrives too quickly for your likely. Amid the usual cluster of readings, lectures, and assignments, you have Professor’s Holmes’ additional task to add to the pile. It feels unfair that he would point out your own efforts only to force more upon you. His praise hardly seems like that in retrospect. 
That you did the readings likely made your experience simpler, though the vague instructions leave you uncertain. No rubric, no objectives, no outline. Your format in the usual style and triple-check the word count before you resign yourself to fate or fortune, whichever favours you. 
As usual, Professor Holmes prefers a physical copy, neglecting the digital workspace designed by the campus for ease of access. He doesn’t seem to be the type for the easy way out, does he? You try not to malinger on your gripes and head off, promising to reward yourself with a double whip frap for your work. It’s certainly more than you’ll receive from your professor, even if you do manage to gleam your first A+ from the man. 
The softness of autumn mingles with the crispness of early winter. You mourn the orange and yellow leaves as they start to curl at the edges and brown, blowing across the pavement and catching on pantlegs and tree roots. Midterm season is almost over but it won’t be long before finals rise to haunt you. 
You come up the Herringbone building and look up at the romanticist arches and columns. The esteemed architecture has you feeling even smaller. Surely, the professor will only add to that. 
Inside, the air is dry from the heat blowing from the high vents and curved staircases crest the foyer. You follow the left one up and continue along to the small set of steps that lead up to a hallway with only three office doors. Holmes is at the very end. You went there once before when you needed to be signed into the course; he was certain to make you wait then threatened not to sign the form at all. 
You stop and stare at the frosted glass with his pedigree emblazoned on it. You contemplate just shoving the paper through his slot but the light is on. You raise your fist and gently tap on the wood. You bounce on your feet as you wait, tugging at the itchy collar of the blue sweater dotted with little clouds. In the warmth of the stuffy building and under your wool jacket, it’s stifling. 
You hear movement from within and ready yourself for the encounter. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to Professor Holmes without some degree of awkwardness. On your end, of course. He can’t be bothered to care what others think of him. 
The door opens and you try to smile but it feels like chewing rocks. He looks back at you without an ounce of emotion. You gulp. 
“Um, Professor, I have my paper--” 
He’s already walking away as you stand dumbly in the doorway. You blanch as he circles back to his desk and sits heavily in his seat. He leans forward and dips his head, bending over an open leather folio with a lined pad within. A curl falls onto his forehead and he reaches without looking for the pipe propped up on a mahogany tray. 
“Come in,” he says before he puts the pipe to his lips and bites down. He teethes on it as he snatches up a pen with his other hand. You warily obey and cross the threshold. 
“So, um, here you go,” you near the desk and lay down the stapled paper. He doesn’t look up. “Erm, thanks, professor. I hate to disturb, so I’ll just leave it here--” 
He sighs and sits up, flicking back the curl as he replaces the pipe on the tray, “they won’t let me light that, even with the window open.” 
You glance over at the drawn curtains and nod, “oh.” 
“You’re the first,” he interjects before you can summon any sort of response. 
“Ah, oh--” 
“You are rather quick, aren’t you?” He challenges as he rolls the pen between his fingers, his shoulders spreading wide against the puckered leather chair, “fleet of foot, as some Victorian ponce might say. Quiet.” 
You blink and purse your lips, giving a shrug. 
“You didn’t say hello,” he intones, “it is courteous when you see an acquaintance to greet them, though I suppose etiquette does continue to change.” 
“Um, I didn’t want to... impose?” You murmur. 
His expression remains cryptic. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else. 
“So you didn’t,” he shrugs, his vest bracing on his chest. 
“Sorry, er, sir. But um, there’s my paper, I’ll... let you be. I’m sure you’re busy enough--” 
“Terribly busy,” he confirms dryly. “Since I’ll have a new batch of papers to mark, I’ll be kept well in hand.” 
You clasp your hands together and sway, “right, uh--” 
“And you’ll be off like the rest of those dull girls, paying no mind to the real purpose of study, but rather the wordly pleasures of the modern campus. All that pumpkin spice and such.” He reprimands. 
“Oh, uh, professor...” you know better than to argue. He is set in his ideas of his students and what should make you any different than the rest. 
“Right then,” he reaches for your paper and barely glances at the title page. He flips to the short essay and his eyes skim. He reaches for the antique pen and marks up the page as he goes. He hums as he scratches with the nib. “Good point but clunky prose. No, redudant.” He scribbles his comments in the margins. He turns to the second page and sighs. He closes it and holds it out. “You show comprehension but you need refinement.” 
“Um, thanks, er...” you take it hesitantly and back up again. He watches you with his bold blue eyes, not showing a single crack in his veneer. 
“Go off and enjoy your weekend, don’t fret over the fault of others. Certainly, you show more promise than most who haunt my lectures,” he says. His tone is flat but his words are praising. The contradiction has you off-foot. 
“Thank you, Professor, have a good weekend too.” 
He doesn’t respond as he puts his attention back to another stack of papers. You turn on your heel slowly and scurry to the door. He clears his throat and you stop. 
“Perhaps I mightn’t have such a tedious weekend.” 
You glance back but he still has his head down. You nod and leave him be with a sharp inhale. You hold your breath in until you close the door from the other side. 
Only a few more weeks and you’ll be through this class. Hopefully, you won’t ever have to face the heart palpitations that come with each encounter after that. For now, you will focus on the last paper and the eventual exam. Those are hurdles that look higher the closer you get. 
📕
There’s a cafe off campus you prefer. The library kiosk and the franchised booth in the Student Rec Centre are always overcrowded. This place isn’t so bad. A local mom and pop with a single barista. Maude, the retiree turned businesswoman, works slowly but efficiently. Traffic matches her pace but is enough to keep her thriving. 
“I’ll bring it to you, dearie,” she smiles as she hands you a plate with a crumbly scone on it. You thank her and go to find a seat. 
The place is homey. The seating is mismatched. There are armchairs around a low coffee table, some long tables with thrift store dining chairs, and square table in the corner with two benches and some stools. The rug that stands center to the sitting space is faded but its patterns still visible. 
You claim one of the armchairs near the bookcases and sit. Despite the tense submission, you’re glad not be stressing over another mark. Another A- to add to the rota in Holmes’ class. You could do a lot worse given what you’ve overheard from your classmates. 
The door opens and closes, letting in a chilly. You keep your coat on as you balance the scone on the coffee table. You’ll wait until you have your mocha and savour them together. It’s a rare treat but the dropping temperature coaxed you into it. 
A familiar baritone pricks your ears. You glance over before you can bury your nose in your phone and flinch. What luck. You almost doubt it’s a coincidence. Twice in a row you’ve managed to stumble upon the Professor outside of class. 
Your shoulders sink as you turn back and plant your elbow on the armrest, shielding your face behind your hand. What do you do? Your mind races. Despite what he said in his office he does not radiate welcoming energy. You can’t just flee and leave your order behind; it isn’t fair to Maude and you wouldn’t want to waste the money. 
Professor Holmes’ voice carries. He orders a black coffee and two shortbread biscuits; the Saturday special. The elder barista takes his order and as usual, bids him to sit down so she can bring it to him. You chew your lip as time ticks on. Make up your mind. 
Too late.  
“Pardon, oh,” Holmes approaches and gives pause as you look up at him. “You aren’t reserving these for your friends?” 
He gestures to the other arm chairs. You shake your head and clasp your phone tight in your hands. He dips his chin and sidles around the coffee chair. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the rack between the bookshelves. He lingers there as he browses the titles on the spines. 
Maude appears with your mocha in a large mug on a matching saucer. You thank her as she sets it by your scone. She calls over to Holmes, “I’ll have your coffee and biscuits in just a moment, dearie.” 
He turns his head and nods but says nothing else. She shuffles off and you lean forward to take your mug. Somehow your chocolatey treat doesn’t seem so sweet any more. He backs up and lowers himself across from you. You shyly return his gaze over the brim of your cup. 
“You come here often?” He asks. 
The question has you off-guard as much as his presence. You slurp noisily before you pull the cup away and put it down. You take the napkin by your scone and wipe your lips. 
“Sometimes. Once in a while. Er, I... I make my coffee at home. Tea, more often.” You clamp your lip shut before you can ramble on. 
“Mm, yes, I prefer tea as well. I was suggested the dark roast here by a colleague however.” 
You don’t know what to say. You’re entirely unprepared for the conversation. You’ve never thought much of what he might speak of outside his lectures. His interests, you assume, would align with his expertise. 
“You are enjoying your time? You haven’t any schoolwork?” He asks. 
You slant your lips one way then the other. You look down at the bag by your feet and back at him. He wears a wool sweater with elbow patches; not quite casual but casual for him. 
“I was going to do my readings...” you say. 
“Ah,” he sits back in the chair as Maude brings his coffee and biscuits. He thanks her tersely. 
You bend over and reach for your bag. You slide out your notebook and open it to the printed articles stashed between the pages. You hope it’s enough of an excuse not to talk as much. 
“My class?” He asks. 
“Yes, sir, er, Professor,” you answer. 
“Those are available digitally, as I understand.” 
“I know, but I, er, prefer print.” 
“Mm, yes, it does permeate more effectively, doesn’t it?” He intones. 
You agree with a silent nod and try to focus. You’re too shy to check if he’s watching you but it feels like he is. He sighs and sips from his cup. 
“What were you on the hunt for then?” He asks abruptly before you can read the introduction for the fifth time. You look up, perplexed. “At the craft store?” 
You open your mouth then pause. Finally, you summon the answer, “thread.” 
“Thread?” 
“Yes, I... make little things. Sometimes. It wasn’t urgent. I don’t have my sewing machine in my dorm and... no time.” You shrug and let the papers lay flat on your notebook. 
He considers you as his cheek dimples and he leans his chin on his knuckles. He looks down at the cup he holds over one leg. He sucks his teeth. 
“Rather flat,” he dislodges his elbow and leans forward. “And what did you get? It smells intriguing.” 
“Mocha with peppermint,” you answer. 
“Mm, with whip?” He peeks at your cup and the melting glut of cream. 
“Yes, Professor,” you reply. 
“I think I might trade mine for the same,” he stands with his cup in hand. 
You watch him, confused and uneasy. So much for getting some studying done. You doubt you’ll be able to concentrate with him looming on the other side of the table. 
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