#I'm so down bad for him that its pitiful
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ahhh the Penacony leaks are really coming in now.
*chuckles* I'm in danger.
#i keep going back and forth about if i'm skipping Ratio. I was 100% going for him but now. looking at whats coming#I like Sunday and Robin and Boothill and Gallagher and Misha and Aventurine and DUKE INFERNO?!?#okay. i just saw that Aventurine might be sustain unit. i NEED one of those so bad.#my accounts gonna be completely fucked if i don't get a good support sometime soon. so like. that moves him WAY up my priorities list#and moves Ratio down :( still dunno exactly what he does waiting for official release to make final decisions#but. if he's really an imaginary dps. i might... *dies a little bit* skip him#i just!!! i have DH!!! i WANT to use DH! he's my favourite character in the damn game!#and >_> is Ratio going to have story relevance? i thought Argenti would get more then just a companion quest but he hasn't#and that kinda... bums me out? i like the meet a character THEN roll for them not the other way around. i like character who matter plotwis#A!NY!WAY! putting that aside. i might just go for the 50/50 and take what i get. just to smooth out my pity if nothing else#i don't have most of the standard pool so chances are *knocks on wood* i'll have something new to work with#and like we are getting an absolute BARRAGE of hard skip banners coming up after him.#i do not care for these women at all. extremely mid designs i SLEEP#(except for the judge she fucks but. jades are tight right now honey im sorry!!)#so. i've got a little but of time to save afterwards#post: misc#game: honkai sr#these tags are long and disjointed but its *checks clock* almost 2:30 am so. i'm a bit. you know.#i could save this draft for tomorrow and edit into something resembling a human's train of thought instead of word vomit but#i kinda wanna capture the moment. this is how i saw the leaks. the essence of desperation of a f2p. aahhh gacha my beloved.
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"Suguru?"
Your little whisper echoes through the dark halls of your shared home."Honey, is that you?" Silence responds to your call before–thump! "ughh..." well, there it is.
You let out a breath you didn't know you were at all holding before making your way toward what you are sure to be your poor, tired, pitiful boyfriend.
And lo and behold, it is your Suguru, in all of his sleepy drowsy glory. Poor thing bumped into the wall on his way to the kitchen for a glass of water probably. Whatever the case may be, you step closer before placing a hand over his flaming-hot forehead, you can feel him shudder and flinch at the contact.
"What are you doing here?" You scold gently while mentally noting the urgent need for a wet rag "we've gone through this already love. No sneaking out, you're sick, you should stay in bed" you slide your hand down, brushing your fingers against his sweaty neck and moving his hair back. An affectionate gesture, to assure him that you could never truly be upset with him.
Suguru is silent except for the occasional sniffles and grunts to moisturize his itchy dry throat. His gaze is glued to the floor like a guilty misbehaving child caught elbows deep in the cookie jar.
A weak raspy sigh barely makes its way out of his heavy chest and Oh does it tug at your heart strings "I'm sorry to worry you it's just..." he swallows a lump "you haven't eaten anything today".
...Sigh.
You don't know if you're feeling fond or disappointed really. Suguru is barely standing at all. A high fever, wobbly legs, a dry throat, a runny nose, and yet he still has the nerve to leave his soft warm bed, escape the room of his confinement, bump into the wall on his way to the kitchen, to make you, his dearest darling, a meal. It would be adorable if his health wasn't on the line, seriously suguru forgets that he is your baby just as much as you are his.
Suguru needs some tough loving to keep him in line sometime– is not a ridiculous statement honestly, but God is it hard to be mean to him.
"Oh, Sweetheart " you try again, a little softer this time, no scolding, he's your boy after all. "This is the last thing you should worry about" he turns his head away like he knows the lecture is coming.
Enough.
He's not running away. Two soft hands rest on either side of his face before moving his head back down to face you. Direct, raw eye contact.
You're not sure if it's the troubled breathing due to his stuffed nose, or your sudden solidified tone. But his breath visibly hitches and he jolts back a bit.
"Listen to me." You begin with sudden authority "You're going to sleep, right away" and it feels like a gavel striking the sound block. "Now come on" You take his hand in yours and start marching back in the direction of your shared bedroom. Suguru stumbles right behind you like a little wobbly puppy, desperately trying to match your hurried steps, he hasn't earned your consideration just yet.
The act is dropped once you enter the safety of your bedroom, and watch your boyfriend get cozy under the soft covers and a swarm of plushies you placed there for his protection.
"There you go, honey" you're looming over him in the blink of an eye "I'm sorry for being harsh, but you needed the lesson" your hands smooth over his sides, ensuring he's safe and shielded from the pesky cold of the night, before running your fingers through his gorgeous hair.
Suguru is seemingly not yet over your earlier exchange. He tries to blame the redness of his face on being sick but you know better.
He's visibly hanging by a thread.
"Come on, let's just take it easy tonight. Okay?" There's a second of unresponsiveness followed shortly after by a hesitant little nod. So so so adorable, seeing him this shy really isn't an everyday occurrence, the big and bad Dobermann reduced to a little black kitten at the palm of your hand.
"My poor baby" you absentmindedly coo "I know...it must feel terrible" You look up to meet his half lidded brown gaze "but you're tough, I know you'll be back on your feet in no time" you kneel down to peck his warm forehead, feeling his hot breath against your collarbone. Suguru shudders in response. And with your lips still tenderly placed on his skin– "My big strong man".
The final nail in the coffin. Suguru turns over and hides his face in one of his plushie warriors, hugging the toy tightly enough to cut its circulation if it were alive. Poor baby would usually just chuckle at your teasing, the fever must really be messing with his brain, he seems to think the stuffie is there to keep him safe from you.
Safe to say you're pretty taken aback at the sudden reaction. You sit there unblinking looking at his well built back, wow..this has really never happened before Still, you choose to spare him for now.
Okay maybe one last jab wouldn't kill him.
You place one hand over his strong shoulder before rubbing slowly and coming closer. Suguru's eyes are blown wide open once his overheated brain registers the soft weight of your chest pressed against his back.
"O-okay..please that's e-eno"–"Get well soon for me, okay?" The hand on his shoulder travels down to rub his back again, this time making its way to his thighs. "I have a treat for you but I need to be sure.."Suguru is as quiet as a mouse. A little bunny playing dead "That you can handle it~" and with a long lingering kiss on the back of his ear, the deal is sealed.
"I'll be right back with a wet rag for you!" You skip away to the bathroom victorious, leaving a poor breathless man behind. Suguru swears he felt your tongue make an appearance during the kiss. You won't get away with this. He'll get you back for sure!
#get loved soggy kimty get absolutely loved and cherished#stupid baby...you're going to sleep NOW#jjk#geto suguru#jjk x reader#geto suguru x reader#geto x reader#geto suguru x you#suguru geto x reader#jjk suguru#jujutsu kaisen suguru#geto suguru x y/n#jjk x gn!reader#geto x gn!reader#jjk geto#jujutsu kaisen#geto suguru fluff#jjk fluff#suguru geto fluff#geto x you#geto x y/n#jujutsu kaisen fluff#sickfic#suguru getou x reader#getou suguru x reader#getou x reader#getou suguru x y/n#getou suguru x you#suguru fluff
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Pity Party.
Synopsis - Carmy just wants to see you treated the way he thinks you deserve. He decides to take matters into his own hands.
Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Roommate Reader
Word Count - 3k
Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention. carmys filthy mouth.
Age Rating - 18+
Author's Note - hello hello hello!! i am back!! i had a wonderful vacation soaking up the sun, and i am feeling refreshed and ready to go. i have had so many ideas over the past few weeks, so i'm excited to get some of them written asap!! this was a fic that came to me randomly, as i was thinking about roommate!carmen and how much of a menace he'd be if you ever talked about other guys. this was written as a part of my carmen roommates collection. it doesn't follow on from Finders, Keepers or Sweet Dreams, but it does exist in the same universe - so you can decide if this takes place before or after!! as always, feel free to send me any ideas or thoughts or burning desires you have. so much love <3
as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3
Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.
"You're back early."
Carmy had swung the door open, expecting to come home to an empty apartment. Instead, he's met with the sight of you, sitting on the couch, undoing the straps of your shoes.
"Fuckin' disaster," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.
He breathes out a chuckle at the stormy look on your face. Carmy thinks you're cutest when you're angry. He aches to smooth the crease between your brows with his thumb.
"That bad?" he asks, taking a seat next you and kicking off his sneakers.
"You wouldn't even believe."
He rises and makes his way to the kitchen, filling the tea kettle and placing it on the stove top. Grabbing two mugs, he casts a glance over his shoulder at you, frowning at your body language. You look defeated.
Carmy steeps two cups of tea, placing one of them carefully into your waiting hands. He resumes his seat on the sofa, pressing his thigh against yours and turning to face you.
"You wanna talk about it?"
You think for a moment before replying.
"You're gonna laugh at me."
His face instantly crumples, confusion written all over it.
"I'll never laugh at you. I'll laugh with you, sure. But never at you."
He nudges your shoulder with his, urging you to go on.
"Okay, fine. The actual date was pretty good. He took me to that Italian place downtown-"
"Dolce Vita? Did you get the truffle pasta I told you about?" Carmy interrupts you before you can continue.
"Yes, oh my God. It was incredible. Do you think you can recreate it sometime?"
"Fuck yeah. They're pretty secretive with their recipes, but I think I can figure it out. You can help me if you want - I'm gonna need a sous chef."
He pulls a reluctant laugh from you, the sound echoing off the ceramic of your mugs. You both know that being the sous chef involves you sitting on the counter drinking wine while Carmy does all the work.
"Of course. I'll always be your sous chef."
"I'll hold you to that."
You smile at him gently, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.
"Anyway. The dinner went great. He seemed super interested in me, asked me questions, told me about his job, his hobbies, his dog. He was hot, and good to talk to. I thought I'd hit the jackpot."
"And then?"
"And then we went back to his apartment. And it all went to shit."
He chuckles, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.
"Tell me more."
"You really want to hear about all of this?"
It's not like you and Carmy aren't close. You absolutely are. It's just that there's always been this unspoken connection between the two of you. A bubbling, fiery attraction that you both shut down repeatedly, screwing the lid on tight whenever it rears its head. So, you tend to avoid talking to Carmy about dating. You're scared you'll accidentally blurt out the truth - you compare every single date to him.
"Of course I do."
His answer is so genuine it makes you ache. You continue, hesitantly.
"Well... things got a little... heavy. He wasn't a bad kisser, I guess... he just wasn't... a good one? He kept biting my lip super hard and it kinda hurt. Then he pulled my clothes off like a high schooler, and he's on top of me, and I'm waiting for him to sort of... do... anything? And then he's finished. Like, completely done. And then he has the nerve to ask me if I finished."
Carmy's mouth has fallen open, shock etched across his face. After a long, heavy pause, he speaks.
"What the fuck?"
You look at him for moment, before bursting into contagious laughter. He joins you, both of you with your heads thrown back, giggles reverberating around the lowlit room.
"I mean, seriously," he pants, still laughing. "What the fuck?"
"I didn't even answer him. I just put my clothes on, grabbed my bag and left without saying a word."
Every time you try to stifle your laughter, a giggle escapes. The situation wasn't funny at the time, but looking back, it's hilarious.
All of a sudden, you both go silent. You're deep in thought, reflecting on the seemingly never ending stream of bad dates that you've endured. Carmy is watching you intently, ocean blue eyes glued to your face.
"Fuck," you breathe. "This is kinda pathetic."
Carmy inhales deeply, and turns his body so it's facing yours on the couch.
"The way I see it," he begins, "you have two options."
You quirk a brow in confusion and stay quiet, waiting for him to explain.
"You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or, you can let me fuck you the way you deserve."
Your mouth falls open in shock at the exact same moment your brain seems to shut down. You can't think. You can't process his words. All you can focus on is the way he's staring at you. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. A shiver runs down your spine, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.
"Wh-... what?" you choke out.
"You heard me, honey. You can wallow in your little pity party, or you can let me show you what it's like to be with someone who can actually make you come. Your choice."
His voice has dropped an octave lower than usual, the tone warm and honeyed. He's still staring at you, blue gaze unrelenting.
"Is this gonna fuck everything up between us?" you whisper hesitantly.
Carmy reaches out and places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking careful circles into your skin.
"I don't think anything can fuck up what we have," he murmurs. "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense."
His confession seems to sober you up, the honesty in his words snapping you back to your senses.
"Okay."
He almost does a double take at the sureness in your voice.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Put your money where your mouth is, Carmen."
"There she is," he chuckles. "You scared me when you went quiet for a second there."
"Well, if what you say is true, you're not gonna be able to shut me up for the night."
He laughs darkly, and slides closer to you slightly.
"Oh, honey. You're gonna wish you hadn't said that."
He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the journey of your neck with his fingertips. He rests his hand lightly at the base of your throat, the heavy weight of it making you pant.
"If there's any point where you don't like something, or you want me to slow down, just say so. Okay?"
You nod your head, entranced by the sudden dominance he's displaying. You've never seen this side of him before. You can't believe he's been hiding it this whole time.
"Words, pretty. Need to hear you say it."
"Yes. I understand. I'll tell you, I promise."
He doesn't say anything in reply, just smirks. He lets you sit in the silence for a moment too long, the anticipation slowly killing you.
"Please, Carmen," you breathe. "Please."
"Fuck," he groans, shuffling closer to you. "You sound so pretty when you beg."
Carmy leans in and kisses your cheek gently, testing the waters. He presses a kiss to your other cheek, and pulls back to watch for your reaction. When he's happy, he tilts forward and leaves a careful kiss on your chin, then your forehead, then both of your closed eyes, before kissing you on the side of your mouth. His closeness makes you whine, desperate for him to give you what you want.
Finally, he connects his lips to yours, starting off slow and tender. When you tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and try to pull him even closer, his resolve snaps. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You clamber over him and climb into his lap, straddling his hips and pressing yourself into his body.
Carmy can't decide where to put his hands. He's grabbing at your waist, running his fingers up your back, pulling you into him by your ass. You're both groaning into each others mouths, enraptured by the other person and the all consuming way they kiss.
"Can I take this off?" he asks lowly, pulling at the hem of your dress.
Instead of answering, you pull it over your head, throwing it onto the floor in front of you.
"Fuck," he murmurs. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen."
His hands are roaming all of your exposed skin, as if he can't get enough. He's terrified he won't ever get to see you like this again, so he's not going to waste a second.
You grind your hips down into his, eliciting a groan from the both of you. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, as he leans up to press open mouthed kisses to your jaw. Your fingers fly to the hem of his t shirt, pulling it off swiftly. You manage to shove his jeans down and off, before attempting to pull off his underwear. Carmy stops you in your tracks.
"Nuh uh," he tuts. "This is about you. Not me."
He pulls you off his lap gently and shuffles so his back is resting against the couch cushions. He spreads his legs wide, and gestures for you to sit between them. When you don't move, he looks at you carefully.
"Give me a color, pretty girl."
You take a deep breath, and smile at him softly.
"Green, Carmen. Promise."
You manoeuvre sideways, so you can place yourself with your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around you for a moment and holds you tightly, as if he's scared you'll disappear any second. You relax into his embrace, all the tension leaving your body. You have nothing to worry about. It's just you and Carmen, in the place you call home.
You drop your head back into Carmy's shoulder, and allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of his hands on your skin. He's begun tracing patterns down your arms, your sides, your stomach, until he reaches your underwear. He plays with the band, dipping his finger underneath in a feather light touch. Goose bumps rise across your body and you shiver, practically vibrating with need.
"Carmen," you whisper. "Don't tease."
"But that's half the fun," he murmurs into your ear, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
You can picture it perfectly, too. The way his eyes crinkle, the way his mouth curves, the way he bites his lip to stifle it. The image in your mind makes you melt into him further. You want to be as close to him as you physically can be. You'd completely disappear into him if you could.
He brings you back to reality by cupping you over your underwear, groaning when he feels the saturated material.
"Oh, pretty girl. Is this all for me? Fuck."
Suddenly, his game of teasing has lost all its fun. Carmy twists his fingers into your underwear and pulls them off in one swift movement, throwing them in the general direction of your dress on the floor. He places a hand on each of your thighs and spreads them apart, hooking them over his legs.
Carmy starts off slow, careful. He caresses over your skin, gentle and almost apprehensive. When he gets to your core, he swipes a finger through, testing the waters. When you buck your hips into his hand, he knows you're both on the same page.
"Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good."
His deep, smooth, whiskey like voice is doing nothing to help the heat bubbling in your stomach. You only whine in response, wiggling your hips to urge him to keep going.
Carmy throws one arm around your stomach, keeping you plastered to his body. You can feel him hot and hard against your back, and you so desperately want to feel him that your mouth is watering. You grind back into him, and he reads your mind.
"Not yet," he whispers. "This is about you, remember? Need to show you what you've been missing."
With that, he circles your clit with two fingers, slowly but surely. He revels in the noises you elicit. They're making him dizzy, disorientated. He never thought he'd be the one to pull a sound like that from you. He's quite convinced he's dreaming.
"Let me hear you. Don't hold back on me, okay?"
You nod your head frantically, willing to give him whatever he asks if you get what you want.
Carmy slips a finger into you slowly, moaning under his breath at your warmth. When he thinks you're ready, he adds a second finger, and sets a steady rhythm, trying to figure out what you like.
After he's set his pace, he starts to curl his fingers on the up stroke, grinning to himself when he finds the spot.
"Yeah? Right there? That's it, isn't it?"
You're nodding and shaking and pawing at his forearms, trying to tether yourself to reality in any way you can. You think you might be floating, on cloud 9, in some sort of euphoric trance. You can't believe no one's ever made you feel like this before. You're convinced no one ever will again.
Carmy quickens his pace and basks in the glory of your moans. He thinks this might be the most beautiful you've ever looked, spread out completely for him. Every inch of your skin is touching his, and it makes his heart skip a beat for a second.
He presses a kiss into your hair and keeps his mouth there, murmuring honeyed praises into your ear.
"Doin' so good for me."
"You got it, honey, that's it."
"Atta girl. Keep going. Almost there."
"You look so fuckin' pretty like this. Fuck. Gonna be thinking about this forever."
"I'll ruin you, baby. Nothing's ever gonna compare to this, to what we have."
All you can do is moan in response, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You're almost there, but something is stopping you. You whine in frustration, tears welling in your eyes. Carmy feels the tension suddenly grasp your muscles, and leans down to mutter to you softly.
"What is it, sweet girl? What do you need? Just tell me. Anything, and I'll give it to you."
You're not sure how much you trust your voice right now, so you decide to show him instead. You take the hand that he's using to hold you to him and move it up your body until it's resting against your throat. You tighten your fingers around his, and moan in response to the pressure.
"Oh, baby," he coos. "Filthy fuckin' girl. Here I thought you were so innocent, and this whole time you wanted to be choked like a whore?"
The way he degrades you so lovingly makes you mewl. You'd never ever trust anyone else to speak to you this way in such an intimate moment - but with Carmen, there's no hesitation. You know he's just telling you what you need to hear in the heat of the moment. And you love him for it.
"Fuck, Carmen," you manage to choke out. "Keep going. Don't stop, please."
"I'll do anything you want if you keep saying my name like that," he whispers.
"Carmen," you moan in response. "Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy."
You're chanting his name like a prayer. He's rutting into your back, hips grinding and circling in time with his fingers that are maintaining their steady rhythm. His fingers tighten around your throat as he crooks his digits just right, and the result is a devastating moan from you that Carmy wishes to have on repeat for the rest of his life.
"So close," you whisper hoarsely. "Harder."
Carmy uses his thumb to circle your clit with one hand, other hand pulling you by your neck back into him tightly. He grinds his hips dirtily into you, and the feeling of him so silky and warm against you is what sends you over the edge. The corners of your vision go white as you arch into him, head thrown backwards into his chest. The sounds you're making are so melodic, so borderline angelic that Carmy almost cries. Heaven, he thinks. This is salvation.
Carmy finishes with you, climaxing onto the soft skin of your back. You both relax simultaneously, chests heaving and panting. He removes his fingers gently and wraps both arms around you, pulling you into him tightly despite the mess. He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and the gesture is so tender it makes your lip quiver.
"Thank you," you whisper after what feels like hours of comfortable silence.
"Sorry I called you a whore," he murmurs back.
You let out a surprised laugh, vibrating with amusement in his arms.
"I know you didn't mean it."
"I mean I did give you the best orgasm of your life, so... call it even?"
"You're forgiven," you chuckle. "Completely forgiven."
You trace gentle patterns over his forearms with your fingertips, following the black ink of his tattoos. He sighs in contentment and places a kiss into your hair, relaxing further into the couch.
You sit together like that for a while, neither of you too concerned with the time. It's not often you see Carmy so relaxed, so serene. You're enjoying it for as long as you can.
"We should clean up," he says quietly, eventually. "Sorry about the mess."
"It's okay. Worth it," you tease, pinching his thigh. He pinches your side in retaliation, which makes you jump.
"Come on, trouble."
He stands from the couch, never letting go of the grip he has on you. You have no choice but to stand with him, yelping as he half carries you through the apartment towards the shower.
The sounds of both of your laughter bounce off of the abandoned mugs of tea still sat on the coffee table, melodic and joyous. The moonlight seeps through the windows, illuminating the beginning of something special in the living room of your shared apartment.
#carmen berzatto smut#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto x you#carmen berzatto x reader smut#carmen berzatto fluff#carmen berzatto imagine#carmy berzatto#carmy x reader#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto smut#roommate!carmen berzatto#carmy berzatto imagine#carmy berzatto fluff#carmy berzatto x reader smut#the bear x reader#roommate!carmen berzatto x reader#the bear fanfic#jeremy allen white#the bear smut#the bear imagine#roommate!carmy berzatto#roommate!carmen berzatto smut#roommate carmen berzatto#the bear fanfiction#the bear#and they were roommates
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wind finding
buck/tommy
8x14/8x15 spec fic
I wrote this right before my first morning meeting, so if it's rushed and makes no sense, I'm well aware. Enjoy!
+
The very second Tommy went with helicopters, people came crawling out of the woodwork to offer their two cents on everything from industry politics (all dangled carrots and empty promises) to what constitutes a good operator (whoever's actually signing your paycheck at the time) to which jobs would bring in the most money (ditching helicopters entirely in favor of planes) to the best ways to manage stress (avoiding utility altogether).
But the one piece of advice Tommy has never forgotten came from one of his first operators in Afghanistan, who had a face like a mountain crag and every word that came out of his mouth had to first find its way around the wad of dip permanently attached to his bottom gums.
"Being able to find the wind is the only skill you need to nail down, or else you're gonna frag out faster'n you can say 'high as bat pussy'. The odds of being able to see the leaves on a fuckin' tree are less'n nothin' out here, never mind spottin' a fuckin' windsock, Kinard. The second you get in the air, you just listen to your bird; she'll tell you point blank where the wind is, so long as you've got your ears on."
Then Warrant Officer Harold hocked a loogie the size of a crow at the ground and stormed away, shouting, "PRIVATE KEATON, IF YOU DON'T STOP FONDLIN' THAT REFUEL PROBE I'M GONNA SHOVE IT IN YOUR DICK HOLE!"
Twenty years later, Tommy's in the cockpit of his favorite AW139 with the mouth of a glock pressed right above his brain stem, and the second he achieves optimal altitude, he finds the wind.
"You make it look so effortless, like it's just something your body does. Like breathing," Evan had said during their one and only legal flight together, like he wasn't furious that Tommy had woken him up at 3:30 in the morning on his day off to go for a joyride. Even as the sun peeked over the horizon to see if the coast was clear, it couldn't hope to match the sheer brightness of Evan's smile.
If being able to find the wind wasn't practically part of his autonomic nervous system at this point in his career, Tommy'd have no business being in the air at all.
"Remember," the guy with the gun, Remo, murmurs into the headset he'd forced Tommy to give him. "Top of the Aon. We're making the switch there."
"Nakatomi Tower would be better for this sort of thing," Tommy mutters.
Instead of being whipped with the gun, the speaker in his ear crackles with Remo's laughter. "I was more partial to the second film."
Tommy grips the cyclic a little tighter. "That's the worst thing you've admitted to so far."
It's not. Bombing multiple police stations was bad enough, but one of them was right next to a school. The last thing that came through the comms before Remo's buddies hacked it was the 118 being called to 309 Lucas Ave in Westlake North for fire containment and emergency medical assistance.
He glances at the dashboard. Tucked right above the radar is a little photo he'd printed out at his local CVS on a whim while he was getting a 'Happy 80th birthday, grandma!" card for Sal. It's barely anything: a portrait forced to inhabit a 4x4 square, so the quality is extra shitty. But the man in it is smiling brighter than a sunrise over the ocean, and Tommy's heart gives a pitiful thud just looking at it.
Melton would've shit a brick if he'd known about it. Despite what Hollywood would have the general populace believe, having pictures of loved ones on a pilot's dashboard can be a hell of a distraction. It goes against LAFD regs.
But having spent the last month reacquainting himself with Evan's smile and the wild hope that they could have a future together, it felt right to tack the photo up. He was professional enough that he wouldn't let it get in the way of the job.
He thinks of Evan watching him from the bed this morning, tangled up in sheets that smelled like the both of them. He thinks of the blurred, sleep-damp smile on Evan's face as Tommy hid the evidence of what they got up to the previous night.
"You're covering up a masterpiece," Evan had said, voice a little blurred with sleep. "That's some of my best work."
"Let me guess: if I connect all the hickeys, it's gonna turn into a dolphin or something?"
Evan had thrown back his head on the pillow and cackled, and Tommy had thought, We could build a life on this.
Except Evan is pulling tiny bodies out of the ruins of Gratts Elementary, Tommy's got a gun to his head, and Remo's little cell of opportunistic assholes are using the bombings across the city to distract from the 51% blockchain hack they pulled off two hours ago. Tommy doesn't understand crypto for the life of him, but what he got from Harbor's newest probie was something something a blockchain’s distributed ledger was changed and double spending was enabled. At the time, it seemed like a lot of bullshit that boiled down to "they now control the invisible internet money conveyor belt," but at least 200 people are dead, and according to Remo, there are still 70 bombs wired and ready to explode on his say-so.
Unless Tommy flies him and his weird, silent friend to the Aon, where someone's going to be waiting to whisk them away to all points nowhere. Tommy knows exactly how this is going to shake out: the second he lands the bird, Remo's going to bury a bullet in Tommy's brain before disappearing into the wind, leaving the world in shambles. But it won't be enough. Remo will get bored before long—the smart, psychotic ones always do—and then pop back up at some point to do even worse if he has the opportunity.
Ten years from now, they'll make a documentary series about all this. Evan will watch it, because he's contractually obligated to seek out things that will hurt him for some reason, and it'll probably be like cutting open a just-healed wound. He'll spiral until Maddie or one of the others forces him to stop. The series will be called something stupid, like Finding Remo.
That is, of course, if Remo has the opportunity.
Swallowing, throat clicking, Tommy glances at the photo on the dashboard. Evan beams at him from where he's posing like the dorkiest Greek god in the pantheon on top of a boulder somewhere on the Temescal Canyon Trail. That had been a good day. It seemed like the start of a lifetime of them.
He looks away and out the windshield where, up ahead, the Aon stands tall against the sky. But standing taller, and closer, is Library Tower.
Exhaling, Tommy keeps his eyes straight. "Listen, you can put the gun away. It's not the threat you think it is."
"No?" Remo presses the glock harder against the back of Tommy's head, and Tommy stifles a wince. "You think I won't shoot you?"
"Oh, I know you're gonna shoot me," Tommy says, almost cheerfully. He refuses to look any closer at that. "I just don't think you're gonna do it while we're hanging 900 feet above the city."
The pause that follows is probably only a second or two, but it feels like a decade. Finally, the press of metal disappears, and Tommy hears the safety clicking back on.
"You seem pretty calm about all this," Remo says, curiosity making his already light voice positively airy.
Tommy shrugs. "Last year I stole one of these to fly some friends into a category 5 hurricane, then landed it on a capsized cruise ship. This? Doesn't even break a 6.5 on my Crazy Shit-o-meter."
Remo laughs, and Tommy hears the tell tale rustling of the gun being holstered. Thankfully the rotors completely drown out the sound of his heart pounding, which would otherwise be audible from space.
"Let me just say that of all the pilots I could've kidnapped, you're by far the most entertaining."
"Thank you," Tommy says seriously.
Below them, the Walt Disney Concert Hall is lit up for the night's show. They'll be passing the BoA Financial Center, and from there it's only a couple of minutes until their destination.
"Hey, uh, since this does end with me getting shot," Tommy ventures, trying to keep a lid on the massive amounts of adrenaline that are being dumped into his bloodstream. He must be visibly vibrating. "Could I... could I make a call?"
Remo snorts. "Let me guess: 9-1-1?"
Okay, that's kind of funny. Tommy cracks a grin. "Not quite. I have someone... I have someone, and there's something important I need to say."
One of the drawbacks of a helicopter's cockpit is there's no rearview mirror, which would really come in handy right now. He has no idea what Remo's face is doing. He has no idea if he's looking at his silent companion and having some kind of wordless conversation, if Remo is the kind of guy who would grant the last wish of someone he's using.
Finally, after what feels like years, Remo says, "You get ten seconds. You'd better make them count."
He's done more with less. "That's fair. But I'm either going to need you to call it for me or let me hook into an open line."
The air inside the helicopter seems to squeeze inward. "An open line?"
"My... my boyfriend's LAFD." He bites down on the inside of his cheek as they pass the BoA Center on the left, and hopes against all hope that Remo isn't too much of a homophobe to deny the request.
But surprise, surprise. Remo only laughs and says, "How romantic. Urs, get him on an open line to his firefighter boyfriend. It's the least we can do after everything he's done to help us."
Tommy can't see what Urs is doing, but his headset crackles with the familiar static of a live comms line.
"Ten seconds," Remo reminds him. Below them, the roof of Library Tower seems both miles away and impossibly close.
It's all he needs.
"This is LAFD pilot Tom Kinard. Evan Buckley, if you're listening, look in the drawer to the right of the microwave. There's something in there for you." He quietly undoes his harness and kills the engine. "It's yours. It's always been yours."
Just as the AW139 is about to clear the roof of the tower, Tommy shoulders open the door and kicks off into the sky.
The wind is blowing southeast.
+
"N-No, no, no, hey, it's okay, don't fight it, you're okay—hey, I need some help in here! He's waking up! Tommy, they're going to take it out, just wait."
There's a tree trunk growing out of his throat, but trying to move it is impossible, and the effort takes everything out of him. So he gives up, gagging and drifting in and out, then decides to just climb the entire length of the tree to get a look at the view. From there, it's just a matter of finding the wind and floating away with it.
The next time he surfaces, there's something hard over his face, warm and humid, and when the clouds clear from his vision he's able to see two things: Evan's wide-eyed expression of relief, and a giant orange poster board in Lucy's familiar, blocky handwriting that says 2 DAYS SINCE KINARD LAST TAUNTED GOD.
There's a 1 in front of the 2, but it's crossed out.
"Hey!" Evan breathes, and the mattress at Tommy's hip dips a little under his weight. "H-Hey, there you are. Morning! Well, not, uh, morning exactly—it's like 8 o'clock at night—but you're awake!"
"I am." It's muffled by the oxygen mask.
"How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?" Evan leans in, blocking Tommy's view of anything else. He hasn't shaved in a bit, and the hair at his temples looks a little greasy. He's the most gorgeous thing Tommy's ever laid eyes on.
"No pain," Tommy rasps. "M'body's full'f cotton."
Evan smiles a little. "Yeah, they've got you on the good stuff. I can't tell you how many bones you've broken, because it seems like they're still finding them. The doctor did say he'd never seen a pneumothorax quite like yours before, though. He keeps bringing other doctors in to look at your scans. I think a couple of them cancelled their surgeries so they could watch yours yesterday. You're like a celebrity. You've got, like, four tubes in you sucking the excess air out."
For a second, Tommy has no idea what he's talking about. Pneumothorax? How'd he manage that? Lucy's gonna give him shit for the next year.
Then, like a breeze kicking up from the west, it all comes sweeping in. Something starts beeping a little erratically. "Did—did he... he didn't... did... R-Remo...?"
The words are slow and thick, like they have to climb over the broken branches the tree had left behind, but understanding lights up Evan's face almost immediately. He thinks Evan must be holding his hand, because there's pressure on his fingers that feels like it's coming from another room.
"He didn't," Evan says softly, but there's a sparkle of brutal satisfaction in his eyes that Tommy can't look away from. "The helicopter went down like a sack of bricks after you ditched it. It took out the coffee shop in the library. Before you ask: they close at 2:30, so no one had been in there for hours. No one was hurt. Except, well, what's his name."
Tommy closes his eyes and breathes in the canned, almost metallic stuff they're feeding him through the mask. It's so pure, it makes him a little dizzy.
"Good." His sinuses prickle hotly. "Good. That's..."
"Hey, hey, shhh," Evan coos, and Tommy opens his eyes just in time to see Evan press his mouth lushly to the curve of the oxygen mask. Despite whatever they're giving him, Tommy's lips ache with the need to feel that kiss.
"Evan," he whispers.
When he pulls back, Evan's got a wide, almost gleeful grin tugging the corners of his mouth to his ears. He looks like he's about to blow up a Gotham City school bus to try and draw out Batman. Instead, he lifts his left hand.
The lights in the room are low, so the ring on Evan's finger doesn't really glint as brightly as it should, but the light in Evan's eyes is almost blinding.
"Drawer to the right of the microwave, huh?" He laughs a little, like it's bubbling out of him, like he can't stop it. "How long had that been in there?"
It takes a moment for Tommy to pick through the cobwebs in his brain. "Mm... got it... after we did that flight over... hm... Channel Islands."
Evan stares at him, then his bubbly laughter morphs into maniacal cackling.
Tommy glances down at his hands to see if they gave him a button for the pain meds he's on. He's going to dilaudid himself into oblivion.
"That was four months into..." Evan uses their joined hands to wipe away the tears beading on his lashes. "When I asked you to move in, you ran away so fast you left a trail of dust behind you. But you bought an engagement ring four months into dating me?"
"In my defense," Tommy says, suddenly very jealous of Remo for dying a fiery death in the LA Library coffee shop. "I knew... you were it for me. You, on the other hand, had no idea... hm... what you wanted. Asking me... to move in wasn't—it wasn't about me."
Pursing his lips, Evan ducks his head and doesn't deny it, but when he tilts his chin up, the only thing on his face is bare, earnest truth. "I knew I wanted you, Tommy, any way I could have you. I didn't know what that looked like, and not knowing made me... I don't know if you've noticed, but I tend to cling when I panic."
Tommy thinks back over the last month—how every time he showed up on Eddie's doorstep, Evan practically threw himself at Tommy, clutching at him like he was afraid Tommy might go back down the walkway and leave; how getting up to take a piss or grab a Gatorade meant leaving the bed, and the look on Evan's face every time was like watching a car crash—and squeezes Evan's hand. He thinks he does, at least.
"Do you... know what it looks like now?" It takes almost all his strength to get the words out. A wave of exhaustion rolls over him, and he pinwheels a little with it. Kicking his way back to the surface takes concentration.
Evan lifts his hand again. The ring fits his finger perfectly. "It looks like you, about to fall asleep."
Another wave bowls him over, and he fights to keep his eyes open. Lucy's stupid poster blurs like someone's upturned a can of Sprite over it.
"I'll be here when you wake up, and so will half the LAPD and a bunch of people from the FBI. You're the hero of the day," Evan murmurs, and Tommy grumbles a little. "But, hey, Tommy. Before you—how did you know? How'd you know I was it for you?"
Even as he's being pulled down into the dark, he looks up, and he sees the surface roiling, dancing with the light of an old sunrise that couldn't hold a candle to the phenomenon of Evan Buckley's smile.
"Found th' wind," Tommy mumbles, drifting down, down, down. "'s easy. Like breathing."
#i wrote this directly into the tumblr text box like i had nothing to lose and it shows#bucktommy#bucktommy fic#tevan fic#911 spec fic#rc's 911 fics
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Darlin' I'm Right Here
Sylus x gn!Reader
I wrote this at like 3am last night and because I wrote this at 3am last night and then went down a rabbit hole of rereading fanfics, I did not get enough sleep to do any work
Anyway I just think it would be neat if Sylus could carry me around please and thank you
Title from "Butterfly's Repose" by Zabawa
Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, domestic fluff, caretaking, kissing, cuddling, undressing (and redressing), casual intimacy, established relationship, crying
Word Count: 1,659
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First - Second - Third Love and Deepspace Masterlists
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Sylus looks over as the door opens and quietly shuts again. He watches you, a silent observer, as you drop your stuff to the floor and push it aside with your foot. Your movements are sluggish as you pull off your winter coat and the sweatshirt underneath. A low sigh passes your lips as you work at undoing the knots in your boot laces - and that's when he comes over.
You see his shadow, feel his presence, and stand up straight once more. He tilts his head, brow furrowed slightly; you look so tired, so worn out, and moisture is collecting on your lower eyelids. Your pitiful sniff only confirms his suspicions.
He doesn't say anything as he kneels down by your feet. He unties the knots you struggled with moments ago, undoes the laces enough for your feet to slip out easily. You use his shoulder as support when he lifts one foot and slips your boot off, then the other. Both are set aside in a tray where they can continue drying off without dripping melted snow on the wood floors.
You watch him as though in a daze. He stands and your eyes follow, lacking their usual vibrancy and life. They only shine now because of the tears you hold back.
He bends down, gently guiding your arms around his neck. "Hold on, kitten," he orders softly. Your hands lock together behind his head. Your face finds its place tucked in his shoulder, tightly so as to block out the rest of the world around you. His hands hold the back of your thighs as he lifts you, wrapping your legs around his hips.
He feels your breaths just as you feel his. Hears each shuddering inhale and shaky exhale beside his ear. He tilts his head to the side to rest upon yours, rubbing his cheek against your head affectionately. He hopes it really was just a bad day that is upsetting you so much. If he hears even a hint of a whisper that someone said or did something to his darling lover, he won't hesitate to deal with it, permanently.
Each step is a gentle sway, a soothing rocking. You feel like a child clinging to their parent, pretending to be asleep as they carry you to bed. You feel small, but not in a bad way. Small, yet protected. Secure. You cling a little tighter to him and he adjusts your hips higher against him to keep you there.
The villa you've practically claimed as a home is smaller than his usual estates, though still quite large considering only two people live here at any one time. It's much larger than your old apartment. At least here he can actually move around the kitchen comfortably and shower without needing to duck under the spray of the shower head.
He carries you through the familiar floor plan to your bedroom, and then further into the ensuite bathroom. He's immensely careful when he sets you down at last on the countertop beside the sink. Though, he doesn't pull away. Doesn't force you to, either. Instead, he holds your hip and massages at your lower back, giving you the time you need. There's no rush. There's never a rush with him.
With a small inhale to give you strength, you finally pull away. Tears make tracks down your cheeks. A wet spot stains his shirt. He brushes away the tears on one cheek, and kisses them away on the other.
"Do you want to take a shower, sweetie?" he asks. You shake your head. He kisses your cheek again warmly.
Instead of a shower, he reaches into a cabinet and pulls down a washcloth. One handed, he turns on the warm water and holds his fingers under the tap as he waits for it to get to the perfect temperature. The cloth's fabric turns dark once he holds it under the water, soaked through. He squeezes out the excess and turns off the tap, before brushing it gently over your cheeks.
You close your eyes and give in to his tender care. With no sound aside from a sniffle here and there, Sylus wipes away the sticky tear tracks. He soothes the cloth under your eyes, easing out the tension and tiredness with its warmth. You shiver involuntarily when the cloth touches your neck, lightly wetting your throat with enough pressure to avoid tickling you.
Once he's satisfied with his work, he sets the cloth on the side of the sink. His hands, warm and lightly damp, find your hips, then your thighs, wordlessly warning you just before he lifts you up once more.
He doesn't carry you far, just into the bedroom. He rests you at the end of the bed, your legs hanging off to the floor while the rest of your body is laid back against the plush bedding. He kisses your forehead as he gently coaxes your arms from around his neck. "Wait here."
You crack your eyes open to watch as he goes to your dresser. With familiarity, he pulls out a few things, chief among them two types of pants and two types of shirts. He carries them over and sets them on either side of you on the bed. He holds up the pants first.
"Which one?" In one hand is a pair of long pajama pants. In the other, a pair of shorts. You point lazily at one, and he sets them down.
Kneeling down by your feet once more, he removes your socks and your pants. Normally, on any other day, there would be a heat in his gaze. A dripping, dark lust in his eyes as they roam your legs up to your underwear. Now, there's not even a hint of such a thing. He looks at your legs in the same way he looks at his guns as he maintains them, with an undeniable presence of care and dedication, and the warmth of wanting to take care of you in the best ways he knows how. He always claims to be bad at comforting people, yet he finds the perfect ways to tend to you every time.
He slips the pants you chose on you, pulling them up along your legs. You don't even have to lift your hips up - he does so for you with a large hand under your lower back.
"Do you want your fuzzy socks?" He smiles when you nod. You're always so endearing to him. You've perfectly curled within his heart, laying claim to it as your own. Its beats change with your emotions and actions. Right now, it beats softly, but steadily, as your eyes follow him back to the dresser to retrieve a pair of your fuzzy socks and then watch as he slips them onto your feet. It will beat louder tomorrow, he’ll make sure of it.
He stands and lifts up the shirts. One is a baggy t-shirt you "stole" from him a while ago. ("Stole" because Sylus is not a man who often wears t-shirts. This particular shirt is one you bought for him and commanded him to wear for a couple of days leading up to your visit, whereupon you claimed it for yourself.) The other is a tank top. You choose which one you'd rather wear tonight and he sets them aside.
He playfully pulls you into a sit, tangling his fingers with yours and tugging you up to him. He leans down to kiss your head. Warm fingers brush your skin as he removes your shirt from today. It winds up in a pile with your pants and socks.
The shirt you chose is soon pulled over your head. Your arms are guided through just the same. He leans down to make sure it settles comfortably around your body, and you use the opportunity to draw your fingers lightly under his chin. All his focus is on you immediately.
He is completely pliant under your touch. You could do anything - have him do anything. He is at your whim.
With the barest pressure, you draw him in, meeting his lips in a slow, sweet kiss. His lips are always so soft and plush. They don't seek for more than you give, only taking what you decide to offer, without a hint of a complaint. When your fingers fall from his skin, he lightly pulls away, heavy-lidded eyes peeking open to search your face for answers, to know what you want. One more kiss, and one more, before you're satisfied. He pulls away.
Your dirty clothes are dropped into the hamper. The clothes you didn't choose are left on top of your dresser to be put away later. He goes to place you in bed properly, but is stopped by your slight frown and the flicker of your eyes over his clothes. He grins. He can feel your eyes on him as he changes his own clothes, trading them in for some sweatpants that rest low on his hips and a tank top that shows off his arms. You're smiling contentedly when he approaches this time.
He lifts you up, but does not set you down again. Instead, he slips into bed with you in his arms, holding you close as he ensures you're comfortable. Not that you complain; you keep him trapped there with the way your legs hug him and with your head tucked under his chin. He rubs up and down your back with one hand. The other holds your hand over his heart.
The day that upset you feels lightyears away as your body relaxes against Sylus's. The cold and snow outside don't exist as he kisses your head and stops rubbing your back in favor of massaging the back of your neck. No concerns for tomorrow. No worries about what will come next. Just the gentle coaxing of his breaths, luring you into a much needed nap.
---
Tag List:
@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one
#fanfic#fanfiction#sylus#sylus x reader#love and deepspace sylus#lads sylus#lnds sylus#love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader#lads#lads x reader#lnds#lnds x reader#gn reader#x gn reader#gender neutral reader#x gender neutral reader#hurt/comfort
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"STAY THE F*CK AWAY FROM ME"... CLIENT!CHRIS.
You're drunk. You'll admit that, but it's the good type of a drunk—Not the wallowing in pity type of drunk.
You're at a party with all your girlfriends and you look good, like really good. And you feel good. You're finally standing on business.
Actually. You blocked Matt and Chris on everything, and even though you wanna unblock Chris, just a teensy a bit, you refuse to let yourself be used like that ever again.
It's the reason you don't date in the first place.
Men fucking suck.
The one that his arm wrapped around you right now is okay, though. His name is.... Luca? No, not Luca... maybe Luke? Lucas? Something with an L. You and him went shot for shot for earlier, which probably wasn't a good idea, but he's fun, you're having fun.
He's nice, like super nice. You could see yourself self liking him, you see him waking up in your bed and not immediately trying to leave. Plus, you can tell that's he's actually into you and not just talking to you in hopes in getting into your pants.
Plus, plus he has friends for your friends. That's even better.
He's the complete opposite of Chris. Blonde, tall, actually interested in you... dating him wouldn't be bad.
You giggle at the story he's telling you, biting your lip when you notice how red he's turned just from you smiling at him. "You really broke your arm like that?" He playfully rolls his eyes, "You try getting getting a ball out of a tree that high!"
You laugh so hard you shed a few tears. You even throw your head back. "It's not funny!"
When you finally stop laughing, you just grin at him, "It's a little funny," You take a gulp of your white claw, frowning when you realize that you finished it. "M' going to get another one of these? Do you want a drink?"
"I'm good." You nod, giggling again when you hear the squeak he lets out before you get up from the couch you guys are sitting on and wander off to the kitchen. You're chilling, searching around the kitchen for a cooler or at least a cup to pour some vodka in.
And you can feel the shift in the air, the hair on the back of your neck standing up. You turn slightly, and you don't need to see his face to know he's here. You're able to recognize him just by his beanie.
He's spots you almost immediately. You're fucked.
You swallow hard. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath because you know that he's walking to you and that even if you were to sprint, you wouldn't be able to get back to your friends.
You don't have another moment to prepare, as soon as you open your eyes he's there, in front of you. "What?"
He scoffs. The fucking audacity— "Are you fuckin' serious?" You just cock a brow, tilting your head at him with the most unamused look on your face. "Blocking me on everythin', posting on your story grinding on some random dude—"
Oh, that's how he found you. You tune the rest out because you don't care how he saw, but—Him acting like he doesn't do the same thing?
"Are you fuckin' serious?" You accuse, "You do the same shit to me but when I do it back I'm the bad guy?" He crosses his arms, brows lowering. "You knew exactly how I was when you let me fuck you—"
"So you get to go out and fuck every girl on campus but when I go to a party and dance with a guy, its a fuckin' problem?" His jaw clenches, eyes searching yours as he slickly tries to look away.
"Answer me, Chris." You know you're about to cry, that feeling in chest getting stronger by the second. "Chris, I swear—" You say, voice still as strong as ever. "You didn' even—" He murmurs, "Shut the fuck up." He flinches, his eyes widening as you raise yell at him.
You can feel everyone at the party staring, even your friends. But, you don't care. You need to get this out.
"We're not together—we were never together, but you think you get to control me? Use me for a quick fuck and some weed? You're crazy." Hot tears run down your face, ruining your makeup.
"You're a terrible person, Chris— the shittiest, most terrible person I've ever met— And I hope everyone that's in your life realizes that and leaves you—" You shove him, voice starting to get wobbly, "Y-you treat girls like they're toys— you treated me like I was nothing—" You take a deep breath, refusing to let the sob in your throat come out.
"I never wanna see you again." You finally get out, words that have been on your mind since this entire argument started. You wipe your face, attempting to walk off, "Dea—" He grabs your wrist, "I'm serious." You yank yourself out of his grip.
"Stay the fuck away from me."
tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizmez @sosasturns @drewswife @strnilolover @t0riiiis @sturniolosrtewsexy @courta13 @badgallrora @mattslilies @sturns-mermaid @bluetalia @pair-of-pantaloons @y2kstarr @mattswifeyy @sweeethrt @bee-43 @ambi-squirrelly @wastelandzella @applecidersturniolo @riasturns
a/n: ummmm who missed their most toxic situation ship!
#theyluviviₓₒ#dealer!reader#client!chris#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo x reader#chris x you#chris x reader#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#sub christopher sturniolo#sub matt sturniolo#sub!matt#sub!chris#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo angst#chris sturniolo au#matt sturniolo smut#matt x you#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo blurb#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo blurb#matt sturniolo angst#matt sturniolo au
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Webs of a Wing
Chapter 4
Uuugghh, so late... I'm so sorry!
I cut this chapter down so many times, and despite its normal length, all the cutting down makes it feel incomplete. I just hope it's not bad ⁽͑ʺˊ˙̫ˋʺ⁾̉
The thing that really messed me up is that there's only a few months before Tim comes in?? This is not enough time for grief or my plotline.
15 - ... That's it.. so much is happening to this poor child in such a short amount of time..
───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────
The sun cuts through Gotham's smoggy morning skies. An almost ever-present fog settled softly over the city, pierced only by the dark skyscrapers it lays over. Bruce is doing the one thing he's feared since bringing in the first Robin.
Burying his child.
Yet, he's stopped at the door, the old butler standing firm in his way, "Alfred what are you doing? We've got-"
He's cut off with a tut, "I won't allow it, I will not let you hurry off this time. Master Bruce, you must spare a moment of your time. Just this once." Arms crossed and face set in that fatherly disapproval Bruce always faltered under. He would usually have at least an idea of what he was being scolded over.
Now? He's not feeling like a great detective; he's just lost and hurting. "What's this about? You know what today is—Jason's funeral." Again, he's cut off by an increasingly frustrated Alfred.
"Exactly, sir. You ought to know how much they meant to one another." Besides them, Barbra and Gordon had planned to meet at the cemetery. The grimace over his face only grows as Bruce wracks his brain for a clue.
Giving in, he asks exasperated, "Who?"
Alfred's glare deepens, but before he can open his mouth, there's a commotion. Hurried feet, half covered, race down the hall until you slam to a stop at the banister. "I'm here! I'm so sorry!" Hobbling down the stairs, you huff, pulling on your other shoe fully.
"Oh, you're coming?" He blinks down at you, brows knitting together.
You turn your face so fast it feels like you're on the verge of whiplash. Lips nearly falling agape as you look incredulity at him. "What are you even saying? Of course?!" How could he even ask you something like that? Hot anger grips at your ears, raking down the back of your neck to dig its fingers into you deeply.
"No, you're right." He clears his throat, shame flitting across his face. You've never raised your voice at him. "Of course you're coming."
"Shall we get going then, Master Bruce?" Alfred seems mostly satisfied, finally opening the door.
The press couldn't wait to dig their fingers into this tragedy. Chomping at the bits over a false date. All to be the first to shove a camera in the face of someone grieving. Bruce has been working to keep his affairs private.
There is only a handful of people at the actual service. You arrive first with Alfred and Bruce. Gordon comes next, bickering with Barbra as he insists on pushing her wheelchair for her. You hate that you don't know what happened to her. Just like you'll never know what really happened to Jason.
Your father stands between you and the commissioner as they speak in hushed tones. Maybe it's a moment of clarity, maybe it's just pity, but he pulls you into his half embrace. The press of his solidly built side warmed you against the bite from a sudden gust of wind.
Your ears can't take in the pastor's words, lost to your own thoughts. Only days ago, you had him in your grasp, bemoaning his safety. A painful irony that hurts when you can't hold the laugh that turns into a sob. Knees giving out under you, hands wiping fruitlessly at your face.
Alfred grunts softly as he lowers himself to the ground beside you. He rubs soothing circles into your back, "Take your time, young master. I'll be here with you as long as you need."
"Where-?" Looking up, your head wipes around.
With a heavy sigh, he pats your shoulder again, "Your father left with Commissioner Gordan and his daughter." You hadn't even noticed him leave.
Releasing a similarly deep breath, you lean into his comfort. "Right, of course."
Because, of course, Batman has better things to do than grieve. How? How can it be fair? How can he fight on? How can the city buzz around you? How can day turn to night? How can the earth keep spinning? How can it all just leave you behind?
When your world has come to a stop at the foot of a perfect square of fresh soil.
You went back the next day, and the next, and the next. After a week, you stopped asking Alfred to take you. He was busy as it was, and it was starting to feel embarrassing despite his understanding and reassurance. MJ and Gwen have gone with you, both together and separately. Jason had grown close to each of you in the precious few years you all knew him. Pushing on, once a day, after grinding through school and extracurriculars, you bid your friends a good night and head to the graveyard. Coming to sit at the same spot that's worn to a small dirt patch in your regular use.
Just as when he was here with you, you told him about your day, grades, drama, worries, hopes, the things he would have liked to see, to hear, to eat, to do... But he couldn't, and after a few weeks, you weren't sure if this was helping anymore. Thinking of him in everything just to repeat it all back to an empty sky.
Even your usual late-night ornithology had dived. Well, more like a stumble, but... It's different now. The whole thing just felt so unfair. Seeing him suited up perfectly, like your brother's not in a grave. Robin is gone, and Batman moves along.
It's one of those nights when you are more hate-watching than admiring. Still taking your camera with you. What's the point in going out if you don't get at least one pic'? You're on the bus headed downtown when a familiar buzzing in your pocket jostles you from the passing sights of the city. Reading the contact your stomach drops seeing the name Dick Grayson display across the screen. You squeeze the phone in your hand, taking a deep breath before putting on your 'I totally want to be talking to you' voice, "Hey, Dickie, what is it?" God forbid he thinks something is wrong. You'll be tracked down and shipped back to the manor 'for your own good.'
"Wanted to make sure you got home alright." He says flippantly, it sounds like he's out and about somewhere, likely trying to look good for someone.
"I'm almost there. Call you when I get in." Of course, you couldn't escape a call with your Big Brother without a safety lecture. You know he's only doing it because he feels obligated. It's his thing, to be annoying, to nag really, clucking on and on like he's some mother hen. "Yep.. Yeah.. Okay..." But you've lived in the city long enough to know when to cross the street and places with names like 'Crime Alley' are bad.
Funnily enough, it makes you think he's doing too much, for once, but you know.. he just doesn't want to lose anyone else... "Of course, Dick." But it's all fake, purely for show, tricking just himself. You won't be home tonight, and he won't notice when you don't call.
It's obvious how ready he is to dismiss and forget this, you, by the end of his monologue. Then, he says, "Okay, well, I'll talk to you later." liar, "Buh-bye, little bird, love you!" How it must make him feel so good to think you two are so close, whenever he decides you are.
You're almost out of this call, and he's hanging on the other side expectantly for it. So, un-gritting your teeth as best you can, you responded, "Love you, too, bye."
Stepping off the bus, you pull your hood lower. Making your way through the downtown streets unseen. Just as the heart of many American cities, the heart of Gotham City smells like a filthy urinal. If only you could run back to wherever the fuck you came from. Though, for all you know, that could still leave you stuck in the city of crime.
It's not all bad; Alfred and your friends are here with you. Though the latter two are becoming increasingly concerned about your mourning patterns. While the first looks you over in a sad, knowing gaze, he's seen how Waynes deal with grief. He's simply thankful you haven't gone that far.. Yet...
You make your way cautiously through the outskirts of the old ACE chemicals. The gunfire has settled, and you feel more confident in the silence to push through the broken doors. You aren't sure where in the facility Bats ended this fight, but you're itching for one more shot.
The last one, him stalking along a rooftop just before he made his descent, could suffice. Coiled like a spring, ready to pounce. He's had an edge to his movements since the incident. A volatile air that translated into hard hits and meaner take downs. You shouldn't be here, you've seen enough, gotten too close. Yet, you just couldn't help yourself.
I'm the corner of your eye; you catch his figure. He hops from a rail and slips through a broken skylight. Trying to get back out the door again, you trip. A rusty pipe catches your foot, sending you skidding across concrete. Patting across the roof tells you he's made his escape. Confirmed concretely by the rumbling of the Batmobile coming to life.
Huffing at your own inability, you pull yourself up slowly before realization hits. Your camera. Scrambling to your feet, you search for the device that had been flung from your neck. Plucking it from its spot across the floor, you inspect the damage.
Which is brutal, to say the least. Bits of lens fall from place as you turn it over. Retching the SD card from the scuffed device, you settle on a half-set of stairs. Sighing heavily as you rest your aching body carefully against the rusted metal.
Well, looks like you really won't be getting that final picture after all.
Stewing in your loss, you don't notice the small spider descending on you until it nips the side of your neck. With a yelp, you swat it off you, peering down in ire as it lands in the dirt of the factory floor. A body of vibrant red and blue that almost glowed, ferried along by spindly legs that moved like Claymation. You swipe your case, chomping it up in the camera carrier. Snapping it shut and zipping it up quickly. It'll stay, right? If this weird thing just bit you, surely Alfred would want to see it. It could be poisonous.. or venomous? Whichever, you just hope you don't die from this freaky spider.
At home, you drop the little thing in a jar you had fished out of the cupboards. Poking holes in the lid with one of your stray sewing pins. In the bathroom, you yank your shirt aside. Two little puncture wounds are surrounded by aggravated skin. Stippled and angry in color, you try not to touch it but, fuck, does it itch like crazy. You had returned home that night only to discover that Alfred was not home. Leaving you a meal to reheat and note of his return. That's fine! You'll simply run all this by him when he's back. Surely this won't kill you, right?
But, as you lay in bed, writhing around in pain, you reconsider. You're almost certain, as you begged to the empty room for Alfred's merciful aid, this may be your end. Hot pedipalps of agony claw over every inch of your body.
Despite the night when morning came you woke up feeling much better, different even. Certainly not emotionally, but physically. Your body feels different, changing. Not in a puberty way either, well, yes but, no. Your hand immediately reaches to find the mark on your neck. The memory of its irritation trickles through your rousing subconscious only to be met with nothing. Skin only slightly raised and the shade of a long held scare in the shape of the smallest circles are your only proof. Like something that happened long ago and not just last night.
Something stops you from telling Alfred. Maybe it's the teenage audacity to think that if you're not visibly hurt, everything must be okay. Right? Yeah, you totally got this. So, you head to school. What was there to be done about it now?
"This thing bites you, nasty bad, you're dying, but you miraculously recovered and now everything is okay." Gwen rehashes your story suspiciously, "Yeah, I wouldn't believe you either."
Knocking your shoulder with hers, you huff your defense, "Okay, but it did happen, though."
MJ gives you a funny face, hung up on one detail in particular, "Why would you bring it home though? Are you gonna keep it?" She leans into your side, doing your cheek, "Weird lil' pet for the lil' weirdo?"
Deadpanning at her teasing, you muse, "Actually, I was thinking of putting it in your locker."
She gasps a melodramatic, "YOU WOULDN'T." Before ripping herself away like you've physically wounded her.
Unfortunately, she stumbles into the arms of Flash-fucking-Thompson, "Aww, what's wrong, baby?" He wraps his arms around her waist, caging her against him, and he leers over her. "Need me to save you?"
MJ throws wild kicks and elbows until she's released from his grasp, "Haven't I made it clear? I'm not interested. Leave me the hell alone already flash." Huffing, she quickly backs away from him behind you and Gwen.
Flash steps up to your small group, "Don't be so stuck up!"
Gwen meets his step in turn, "She said no, being an ass isn't going to change that." She glared up at him, blocking his way.
Rolling his eyes, Flash moves to pass her. "Come on, I'm just having a little fun." There's a tingling sensation at the back of your neck as he brushes past Gwen. Time feels like it stops when Flash lifts his hand towards Mj.
Reaching out with a swiftness that you've never known, you catch his wrist, "Can't you get it through that thick skull of yours?" You're not sure where it comes from but you can practically hear his teeth grit as he scoffs hot breath in your face. "Maybe there's just nothing in there for it to hold onto."
He grips the front of your shirt in his free hand, "Do you wanna get put in the ground?" You would normally be fucking terrified. Sure, you've got training, but Flash is a lot bigger and could definitely lay you the fuck out. Yet, you don't back down, especially when he tries to pull his wrist from your grasp, and it doesn't budge. Even when he tries again. and again.
As confusion spreads across his face, a grin crosses yours, "I'd like to see you try."
Yanking his arm, you surprise even yourself as Flash's back dents the lockers behind you. Staring wide-eyed and mouth agape you watch him groan as he raises back to his feet.
"Glaring up at you, he grunts out a low, "You're so fucking dead."
The blur of his hand balling into a fist swing towards you and it felt second nature to stepping around each throw. Ducking away with grace that left even you shocked, dodging each move he made was almost too simple.
Mj leans over Gwen's shoulder. "Should we help?"
Panic floods over Flash as he huffs and puffs, trying near desperately now to land a single blow. Until you finally reach out, snatching up his wrist in your iron-clad grasp. His eyes toggle between your hand and your face as if he can't believe it actually belongs to you.
Arms crossed, Gwen watched wide-eyed as Flash struggled in vain to free himself, "Which one...?"
The moment your hand connects with his chest, the force sends him flinging backwards. Past the crowds that gathered to watch, and skidding to a stop across the half way down the hall. While you think he deserved it, you're still standing in this middle of the hall. The flames of shame lick up your spine, climbing higher as an authoritative voice calls out from through your audience, "What's going on out here?!" Standing there as aghast as the people around you, the reality of oh fuck, you just did that, engulfs you entirely.
So, what do you do? Well, you run, of course. Your friends go after you, try to at least. While you commend their efforts, you've never run this fast in your life. Any major obstacle suddenly feels like a minor inconvenience at best. Skidding around corners, you bound over cars like trash cans and swivel past ruffled people in an apologetic blur as you tear down the bustling city streets.
Finally coming to a stop, partway through your recovery from tearing through Gotham on foot, halfway through your school day, after... Alfread is going to be pissed. Beyond pissed. You just know it; you've never been in a fight before. Not like this; you weren't one to cause trouble at school. God, he's going to be so disappointed. Fuck, why did you do that? How did you do that?
Finding yourself bent over and heaving heavily at the doors of Wayne manor but, after hardly a moment of recuperation, you tear the door open. Only to remember too late that they're locked. It doesn't stop the doors from busting open at your commands as bits of metal and wood fly from place at the destructive entrance. Leaving with a broken door, dropped jaw and wondering...
What the fuck is happening to you?!
Tossing aside the useless barrier, your mind is a tangled web of fear and confusion. Simply trying to hide away in your room seems to be a challenge. Nothing can stand a chance against your touch, door handles, faucets, that poor little stool you tripped over... Obliterated under your misplaced foot.
Then, to make it better, while snatching up your blanket to hide under, a silky string shoots out of your wrist. Thin strings of silk connect the fabric back to you, sticking from a small mark on your inner wrist, ripping your hand away another comes from you to stick to the wall. You're already fuzzy, panic-stricken brain raddles uselessly in your head until you've finally wrapped snuggly in your blanket. In that, you couldn't help laughing, while you got what you wanted, you hadn't planned to do so while strung up in silken webs of your own peculiar making.
Stewing in your frustrating and accidental cocoons, you jolt at the sound of a sudden gasp from the main entrance, "Uhh.. Alfred?!" Nervously you cry out from help to the only person who could do so.
Hurried footsteps deliver you the alarmed sight of Alfread. "Young Master-!" Catching sight of you at the end of a line of destruction was one thing, but this. "Oh, my word..."
Squirming in your cage of web and blanket, your muffled voice admits sheepishly, "I think I might... Need some help."
With a deep sigh, the old butler gets to work doing what he can. It takes a while, but you're soon cut loose. Shaking his head, he quietly assesses the damage. He steps away to give you the time to pull yourself and your room together. Tearing the web down and straightening fallen doors with a sulk. It took enormous effort to not cause more damage as you helped clean up your mess.
A hand lays on your shoulder as you trudge back to your room. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?" He offers in a gentle tone.
Everything that's happened in such a short period of time, for some reason, the first thing that comes to your mind is, "I got in a fight at school..." Your head's hung, but the snort he tries to hide in a cough is still pretty audible.
His hand moves to pat your head. "While that's quite disappointing to hear, I believe there to be a more pressing matter at hand, young master." He lifts the other to present a distinctly batman-branded knife. "This is the only thing that could cut through that... web."
"Right! Yeah..."
Praying to anything that will listen you list off to Alfred how you when somewhere you should have been, hurt yourself, broke your camera, got bitten by an obviously suspicious spider.. took down someone who you were no match for typically.. broke a few more things and... wow, you are so fucked.
Yet, Alfred, your gracious Saviour, waves the fight off as an accident under rather peculiar circumstances. Putting yourself in the situation that led to said circumstances, on the other hand, well... You're lucky your only punishment is to repair the damage you've caused. Which were quite surmountable, made somehow both easier and harder with these new abilities you've come into.
Though you still must deal with the consequences at school, Alfred defended you the best he could. It was surprisingly easy for him to pay them for repairs; what they really appreciated was more donations for school maintenance if everything was swept away. You would both receive a punishment, a week of suspension, for simply causing a minor disturbance on school grounds. Not a word of anything beyond that was said to your father. For once, this was something he was the last person you want to have in attention.
You're advancing in every physical activity you put yourself through far faster than ever before. Gymnastics is a breeze, and material arts- actually, this new strength has begot the need to learn to... Reel it in. You're not trying to actually hurt your training partner, but it was all becoming increasingly difficult to handle. Alfred sneaks you a set of papers titled Super Strength Balance Training filled with helpful tips for your very specific problem and rather cute example pictures. You wonder where he got them...
It doesn't take long for you to try out making those webs again. It hasn't happened again since. So, you're worried that maybe it ran out? Does that excuse you preces on the roof of a scarily tall building? No, but your incredible new ability to jump to mind blowing heights and skipping along building tops is actual as fun as they make it look but still real fucking scary.
As fun as it is to hop around and lift the biggest thing you can find around the mansion, to Alfred's dismay. Glancing over those strange marks, you look up to an intimidating crane and flick your wrist out. Just for nothing to happen, so, you try again, "Up up and away web!" and again and, again, "Go web go!" and finally after contorting your hand in all kinds of ridiculous ways, you give up.
Pulling at your sleeve, you inspect your wrist, poking at it in frustration. It's not until you press your middle and ring finger to your palm that a string of web fly from you. You watch in wide-eyed and dropped-jaw astonishment as it soars over the crane you were aiming for and out of sight. Now, with more purpose, you aim at the metal, breathe deeply, press your fingers to your palm, and shoot.
Embarrassingly, you gasp pretty loud when the web actually latches into place. Grabbing the silk strand, you step up to the ledge. There was so much you still had to do, say, fix, but right now... You just want to know what it was like to fly. Just like they do. "Tallyho!" Kicking off the wall, you swing over the city street. Your landing was.. Less than graceful, slamming into a billboard, but you still made it! Laying breathless, night creeps in to chase away the lingering rays of light over the vacant rooftop, and you stay long after you've caught your breath. For the first time in months, everything else melted away, and you were happy.
───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────
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#batfam#batfam x neglected reader#batfamily#batfamily x neglected reader#batman fanfiction#dc fanfiction#dc x reader#famfiction#gender neutral reader#neglected reader#yandere batfam#yandere batfamily#yandere dc#dcu#mcu#spiderman
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get it over with
sukuna x reader
you break down, and he holds you together, no questions asked.
masterlist
wc: 1.6k
love letter to the emotionally stunted girlies <3
content: established relationship (sort of), hurt/comfort, nothing explicit, reader breaking down, he loves you so bad, soft sukuna
i'm wondering why it keeps thundering
it’s late.
sukuna expects to find you in his bed, buried in his clothes, curled up like you always are. his apartment doesn’t feel right when you’re not here—when he doesn’t see the shape of you sprawled across his mattress, dreaming in the space that somehow became yours without either of you saying it out loud.
if you are awake, you’re waiting for him. lights dim, a movie playing, stretched out on the couch like you own the place. you always greet him the same way—some lazy remark about how long he took, how you almost fell asleep waiting, how he should be grateful you stayed.
(he never says it, but he is.)
but the apartment feels wrong tonight, like it’s holding its breath.
he almost trips over your bag, your shoes, abandoned in the entryway. the lights are off, the city casting long shadows through the windows.
he pauses in the doorway, gaze sweeping over the space, something tugging at his chest. at first, he doesn’t see you.
then he finds you. on the living room floor.
small, curled in on yourself, arms around your knees, head bowed low. your jacket is still on, halfway down your shoulders, like you meant to take it off but didn’t get that far.
he watches.
you’re never like this. you hold things together better than anyone he knows. you walk through hell without flinching, without showing anything but that sharp, steady ease you wear like armor. he’s seen you pissed, triumphant, reckless. he’s seen you exhausted, on the edge of something dangerous, close to breaking but never quite there.
but this is different.
he stands there, his arms loose at his sides, breath even. it’s not hesitation, just unfamiliar ground. he doesn’t know what to do with the way your shoulders shake, the way your whole body folds into itself like something’s crushing you from the inside.
(you look like you’re trying to erase yourself. he hates it.)
something heavy settles in his chest. it’s not pity. not discomfort. some other nameless thing.
without a word, he moves. he crosses the space, lowers himself to the ground beside you, and pulls you in. his arms slip around you, steady and certain, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
won't you just rain, and get it over with?
you don’t move.
your weight against him is hesitant at first, like you’re not sure if this is allowed. like you’re deciding if you can take this from him. he notices it in the way you hover, how your body stays tense, how you brace for something that never comes.
(you’ve never really asked sukuna for anything that matters. would you, if you knew he’d give you whatever you wanted?)
his arms stay firm around you, one hand resting at the back of your head, the other wrapped around your waist. it’s not cautious, not careful, just solid. like this is normal, even though it’s never happened before.
you smell like yourself, but also like the cold. like wind on skin, like you’ve been outside too long and the night air is still clinging to you. he knows you do that sometimes—wear yourself out on purpose, walking for hours, chasing exhaustion, outrunning whatever’s clawing at you.
it didn’t work.
because now you’re shaking, breath coming too fast, whole body trembling against him.
he feels it hit all at once. the sharp, shaky inhale you take before your body caves inward, the sudden weight of you collapsing against his chest, the way your fingers twist into his shirt, searching, clinging. like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.
you’re sobbing. hard.
sukuna doesn’t know if you even realize it. he doesn’t know if you care. you never let yourself break like this, not in front of him, not in front of anyone.
he waits for it to pass. hoping it does.
when you exhale—shaky, uneven, tired—he presses you closer, fingers curling into the fabric of your jacket like you might slip through his grip if he doesn’t.
something in his chest loosens when you don’t pull away.
he exhales too, slow and steady, trying to regulate you, trying to get you to follow. breathe with me. he doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. you always match each other this way.
you do now, too.
without thinking, he nudges his chin against your temple. a small touch. nothing, really.
but you feel it. he knows because you react—just barely, a fraction of a shift, but enough that he notices. enough that it does something to him.
he leans back against the couch, pulling you with him, guiding you down until your weight is fully against him, your head burrowed in his chest, his arms holding you steady, no space left between the two of you.
(anyone else seeing this would think they were hallucinating. you, breaking. sukuna, holding you together. sukuna doesn’t care.)
you need him. he knows, even if you never admit it.
i see you rolling it, let's get it over with
your breathing slows first.
it’s not steady, not even—just less broken. the sharp, gasping sobs soften, unraveling into something quieter, tired, worn down by their own force. your tears still soak through his shirt, warm and damp, but they come slower now.
your body follows.
slowly, gradually, exhaustion dragging at your limbs, pulling you under like a tide. it’s like your bones have gone heavy, like you fought it as long as you could. you’re sinking further into him without even realizing it.
(you’ve been holding your breath for years. he remembers when you started. he should’ve seen this coming.)
sukuna stays still, patient in a way no one would expect from him. he doesn’t move, doesn’t risk disturbing the way you’ve practically melted into him. just lets you stay, lets you breathe. lets himself hold you like this.
the room is silent except for your breathing, the occasional hiccup from your chest.
your body loses its tension, but his mind won’t stop running. it won’t stop cataloging everything—how small you feel, how he should’ve known, how he should’ve done something before it got this bad.
this is the first time you’ve ever let him see you like this. the first time you’ve let anyone see you like this. he wonders if you’ve ever been like this at all.
eventually, you sag against him fully, exhausted, the last of your resistance slipping away.
sukuna exhales too, low and steady.
something about it feels like a truce.
he doesn’t let you go.
even though your sobs have quieted and your breathing has evened out, even though the room has settled into silence. he keeps his arms around you. not tight, not restraining. just there.
he’s not good at this kind of thing.
he doesn’t know what people are supposed to say in moments like this. doesn’t know how to string together the right words to make any of it better. doesn’t know what you need.
so he leans down, murmuring against your hair, lips brushing your temple.
“’m here.” it’s not meant to comfort you, not exactly. just to ground you. to remind you.
you shift slightly, your face still against his chest, your breath warm through the fabric of his shirt. when you finally move enough for him to see you, your face is flushed, eyes red and swollen, lips parted like you’re still catching your breath. his heart squeezes hard.
(he can see the wheels turning in your head. you’re already trying to stitch yourself back together. he wants to tell you not to bother.)
he doesn’t comment. doesn’t smirk, doesn’t mock. he just looks at you.
for once, he doesn’t have anything to say. for once, you don’t either.
it’s rare, this silence between you. he’s not sure if he likes it.
then, after a long moment, voice quiet—
”you done?”
a beat. room to say no.
it's alright, we can roll in the clouds
you pull back first.
slowly, carefully, like you’re testing the movement. you sniff, avoiding his gaze, wiping your face with your sleeves.
sukuna lets you go, but not completely. his hands slide down your arms, slow and deliberate, settling at your wrists. his fingers don’t press, don’t hold. they just linger.
you clear your throat, shifting like you’re trying to find a normal that doesn’t exist here. “we can get up now.”
he doesn’t budge.
he just gives you this soft smile, looking way too comfortable, leaning back against the couch, watching you like he has all the time in the world.
“you first.”
silence.
neither of you move. you stare each other down for a moment.
you sigh, rolling your eyes, but you don’t pull away. instead, you settle back into him, easy, instinctive, like it’s nothing.
he feels it—the weight of you against him, the way your body relaxes back into place, the quiet trust in the way you let yourself stay.
it does something to him, the lack of hesitation.
you wouldn’t do this with anyone else. he knows that much.
(you let him hold you like this once. a lifetime ago. laughing against his throat, warm and careless and half-asleep, burrowing into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. he almost forgot what it felt like.)
he tilts his head down, presses a kiss to the top of yours and lingers there, breathing you in. he stays there longer than he means to. when he speaks, his voice is quiet, soft in a way he’d never admit.
“crybaby.”
“asshole.”
but you’re smiling now.
#⎯ writing#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanfic#jjk x you#jjk au#jjk hurt/comfort#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna#sukuna ryomen#jjk sukuna#jujutsu kaisen sukuna#sukuna hurt/comfort#jujutsu sukuna#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x y/n#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#jjk drabbles#jjk fluff#hurt/comfort#Spotify#jjk ryomen#ryomen x reader#jujutsu kaisen ryomen#ryomen x you#jujutsu ryomen
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j! its been so long but omg hi
i was super obsessed with ur frat!peter hows he doing?
i just saw a tiktok that was about a frat boy yelling at a party “if youre not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!” has this been brought up in the frat!peter circle?
i have so many scenarios in my mind like at the different stages! when they first started and trouble isnt super stable in the relationship and she goes to head out but peter (or ethan omg) grabs her arm and hes like ur part of that demographic trouble. im melting 🫠
or when theyre like broken up/taking a break and she goes to leave and peter goes all sad puppy dog eyes :((
omg yes queen::
*a little something ya'll can wake up to. <3
---
'if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!'
you hold in a sigh, the party's over. ally won't make it home with you tonight, she ditched you thirty minutes ago to 'go with matty,' aka, you won't see her again until tomorrow.
you glance down at your drink and debate chugging it, if you do you know you'll leave with a woozy stomach. you take two sips and dump the cup in the kitchen trash, it sends two empty beer cans falling, you shrug at the mess and keep walking.
a girl stumbles into your shoulder and profusely apologizes with tears in her eyes, you keep telling her it's okay but she doesn't let it go until her boyfriend nudges her out of the house.
the house music cuts, any stragglers were just seriously kicked out. you follow the crowd and prepare for the cold walk home, a hand loops around your upper arm before you can get through the threshold.
'where do you think you're going?' you turn around and grin at your friend. 'home? where are you going?'
'also home. i'm just waiting for everyone to clear out first.' ethan pulls you away from the dwindling party. 'you know, brother duties.' he sends a wink your way, you nod along like you understand.
'yeah, but i'm not a brother so i don't think i should help with that.'
ethan stops you again. 'parker is a brother, yes?' he is. he's also not there tonight. something about going to queens being more important than the typical friday night party. 'he is.'
'and you're fucking him, right?' you love when ethan has a little liquor in him. 'i am.'
'okay, so then you fit the requirements. hang back with me and we can go to my place together.' it's not a hard sell but you'll act like it is. 'are you sure? peter's not even here, do those rules still apply?'
'i'm a god damn chapter officer, i get to make the rules and it's everyone else's job to follow them. how about that?' you pat ethan's shoulder, you're not arguing one bit.
'can't fight you on that, can i? you twisted my arm good enough, lorax. i'm yours until peter gets home.' ethan holds out his hand, you shake it like it's a business deal.
'good. he told me to make sure you stayed.' he says it with a wink, a gentle suggestion he wasn't supposed to tell you that but you're glad he did. it makes you warm thinking peter didn't want you to feel excluded, especially because he was missing in action tonight.
'well... i am fucking a brother, right?'
'you are. and you know what that means? you have to stay here after every party.' he says it like it's a bad thing but you can get used to being on an exclusive guest list.
it feels nice. so, ‘hell yeah.’
-- vs. after the breakup--
'if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!'
hearing it makes you sad. no one's going to make you stay or tell you that those exceptions still apply to you. ally gets to stay here and you have to tuck your tail between your legs and scoot out the door.
'i can leave with you.' your best friend is kind for offering, you're an even better friend for saying no. 'that's okay, stay with matt.'
'are you sure? you shouldn't have to walk out of here alone, that kinda blows.' it does and you don't like the reminder. you'd prefer if ally stays, actually. you don't want her pity.
'it's fine. beats the alternative, right?' she looks at you to say what the alternative is, you do it with a sigh. 'fucking peter. that's my other option.'
'who said it had to be peter? there's like forty guys in the frat and you're buddies with at least five, take your pick.' you've thought about it but frat boys, especially the ones from sig nu, make you queasy.
'it's fine, ally-cat. i'll walk back with one of the other girls in our dorm.' the same faces you see in the hallway at your dorm are gathering their stuff to leave, they'll have no issue with you tagging along. 'boo. i miss when we would have frat house sleepovers.'
'good. blame peter.'
'and i do. he hates to see me coming his way, he really does.'
another brother screams out the same line, you frown and decide to leave while you still have friends in eye-distance. when you reach the door you look behind one last time to send a wave to your best friend. ally sends one back and blows a kiss with it. you catch it and slam it to your cheek, she giggles, you grin. your eyes flit up to the stairs, someone's already watching you.
peter sends you a sorry smile, he hates that you don't get to stick around anymore either. you match his melancholy and give him a shrug, more like a 'whatcha gonna do?' vibe. rules are rules and you're no longer a fitting member for the requirements they need.
'you can stay.' peter mouths it, you pretend not to know what he just said. 'wait.' you're still pretending, you turn around and walk a little faster down the steps- peter catches you on the bottom step.
'i said you can stay.' you have no reason to stay behind. you're not a brother and you're no longer involved with one. you point to an imaginary watch on your wrist, 'i'm about to turn into a pumpkin.'
'yeah, you almost left a shoe running out of here so fast, cinderella.'
you grin, 'i'm just following the rules.'
peter wavers his stance, he doesn't care who said what- he wants you to hang around a little bit more. he likes seeing you around. 'you're still included. i mean, we're involved, aren't we?'
you look at him like he's crazy, you swear you see him blush before he starts fumbling over his words. 'i just meant that i'm not moving on and you're not moving on and i'm trying to get things back to how they were- no, wait, i'm trying to get things better than they were before. not that they were bad! well, i mean they were bad but not... trouble, help me out here, you know what i mean.'
you do. you just like ignoring it. 'you're cute when you grovel for me.'
'i'll get on my knees right fucking now.' he's not even drunk and he's willing to beg for you in front of his party goers. you have to hold in a smirk of pride. 'to ask me to stay or to convince me with your mouth?'
peter's eyebrows raise, 'if you're asking me to go down on you the answer is yes. it's very much a yes, my place or yours? fuck it, let's go to the bathroom.' you're halfway back inside before you realize what you started.
you rip your hand away from peter, you refuse to go back to what it was. you need more than a few apologies to make you crawl back into his bed, you need a real confession. 'nuh uh, not happening. not in a damn bathroom.'
'okay, that's fine, my place is closer.'
you have to stop yourself from following him a second time. 'no, wait! i meant no, it's not happening. period.'
'i don't care if you're on your period, i'll still do it. that's how committed i am to you.' you manage to keep from gagging at the visual, instead you shove peter's shoulder. 'ew! you're so gross! i'm not on my period, you dolt. i'm just not having sex with you.'
'cool, don't have sex with me, let me just show you i can still make you come in under five minutes.' he has no idea how tempting it is. you're being braver saying no than he is for asking, post-breakup included.
'go find another girl, i'm sure there's a whole line-up waiting to get picked on.' peter's nose wrinkles, he doesn't even think of it as a cheap shot. 'gross, other girls are icky.'
you shut it down. 'peter, i'm not a brother and i haven't touched you in two months. there's no reason for me to still be here, goodnight.' you try to leave, a whine follows behind you.
'but you're still-'
but you're not, no matter how much he says it.
'if you changed the rule to 'if you're not a brother, fucking a brother, or used to fuck a brother, then get the fuck out!' how many girls would stand around and wait on you?' peter looks at you, he doesn't say anything and silence always screams that you're right.
'mhm. rules are rules, goodnight.'
there's a sense of succeeding when all you get is a wistful goodbye behind you. it lasts until the next week when the routine friday night party comes to an end with the normal call.
'if you're not a brother, fucking a brother, or go by trouble, then get the fuck out!'
ally squeals and tells you 'that's you!' but you're too busy glaring at peter's smug face to celebrate. it's his turn to shrug, his mouth forms four words that fuck you over.
'rules are rules, trouble.'
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YAYAYAYA ITS MAY !!! HAPPY MAY POOKIE
I'm obsessed with blue lock and your post. need dad!husband!nagi and Bachira ! you can add any other characters too 😝
Thank you!
“𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬”

a/n: HIII HAPPY MAY (i'm 5 days late help 💔)
had to include my man in there too (the biased favoritism ik i’m so sorry)
ft. nagi seishiro, bachira meguru, isagi yoichi
𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨 – “𝐩𝐚𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐬”
your son’s wailing echoes down the hallway.
nagi doesn’t move.
you elbow him. “sei, it’s your turn.”
“ehh…” he grumbles, burying his face into your neck like he thinks that’ll protect him from reality. “rock paper scissors?”
“you’re literally a professional athlete. go get your child.”
with a pitiful sigh, he rolls out of bed like a man going to war. it’s 2:38 AM. he trudges into the nursery half-asleep, white hair a fluffy mess, dragging his feet like a cartoon ghost. you hear the creak of the door, then the silence that follows when your son is scooped up into his dad's arms.
five minutes pass. then ten.
you get up to check, only to find both of them passed out on the nursery floor. nagi’s legs are splayed across the alphabet rug, your baby boy fast asleep on his chest, one of nagi’s large hands resting protectively on the tiny back. he’s whispering nonsense, dream-talking again.
“donuts… jelly-filled…”
you stifle a laugh and grab your phone to take a picture.
the next morning, you wake up to find the boys still asleep on the floor, powdered donut crumbs in your son’s hair, and nagi holding an empty snack wrapper like he’s claiming it in his will.
“what happened?” you blink.
he rubs his eyes groggily. “… he wanted one. couldn’t let him eat alone. that’s bad parenting.”
“sei, he’s six months old. he doesn’t even have teeth yet.”
“exactly. can’t even hold the donut. i had to help.”
𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 – “𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫”
you don’t know who’s more nervous, you or your daughter.
her little legs swing under her chair backstage, ballet slippers tapping a restless rhythm as she keeps whispering “what if i mess up?” over and over like it’s a spell.
“you won’t,” you tell her, squeezing her hand. “you’ve practiced so hard, sweetie. remember what papa said?”
she looks up at you with wide eyes. “to bite the nerves and spit them out?”
“okay well, maybe not that one. the other thing he said.”
“to dance like i’m a jelly bean that came to life!”
“that one.”
bachira, your ever-eccentric husband, shows up fifteen minutes late with glitter on his face and a camera around his neck, already doing pirouettes in the lobby. “i made it! i got the confetti! and the snack bag! and also, uh oh, i think i glued my finger to the camera button–”
your daughter lights up the second she sees him.
“papa!!”
“that’s my little jelly bean!” he cheers, crouching to hug her. “you ready to dance their eyeballs off?”
“i think so…”
“listen.” he cups her face with both hands. “if you fall, just pretend you did it on purpose. throw in a somersault. finish with jazz hands.”
“like this?” she flails dramatically.
“exactly like that.”
and she does fall. five seconds into her solo, she trips.
but your daughter remembers. she somersaults. she jazz-hands. the audience claps. and bachira? he’s crying and standing on his chair like she just won a world cup.
“that’s my kid!!” he yells. “we’re getting ice cream after this!!”
𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢 – “𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐬”
“love,” you whisper, poking your head into the living room, “it’s your turn.”
isagi looks up from his laptop with that same wide-eyed panic he gets when someone passes him the ball in reverse. “for what?”
“bedtime.”
you both go silent, listening to the ominous sound of giggles and things crashing upstairs.
“… i already did bedtime yesterday,” he tries.
“you brushed her teeth and then helped her do a backflip off the bed.”
“which was… part of her routine.”
you give him the look.
with the dramatics of a man being asked to perform surgery with a spoon, isagi sets down his laptop, cracks his neck, and marches up the stairs like he's heading into battle.
“alright, little monster,” he calls as he enters your daughter’s room, “bedtime means sleep. not turning into a jungle gym.”
she’s hanging upside down from the headboard like a tiny spider. “but daddy, i’m not sleepy.”
“you literally just did three cartwheels and then sang the national anthem for no reason.”
“i needed to warm up.”
“for what?”
she grins. “bedtime olympics.”
you watch from the doorway as isagi sighs, peels her off the furniture, and tucks her in like he’s folding laundry – gently, but with the exhausted speed of someone on a timer.
he reads her a bedtime story. or at least, he tries. because she keeps interrupting every five seconds.
“what’s a dragon?”
“do dragons have moms?”
“what if the dragon was a girl but wanted to be a boy?”
“do you think i can be a dragon?”
“do you think mommy could beat a dragon in a fight?”
“… yes?” isagi says, halfway through losing his mind. “but she’d try to make friends with it first.”
you stifle a laugh from the hallway. he shoots you a desperate look.
finally, finally, your daughter yawns. her tiny hand finds his, and she mumbles, “you’re my favorite person, daddy.”
his expression melts. “you’re mine too, baby girl.”
you head back downstairs thinking that’s the end of it, but ten minutes later isagi comes down with marker on his face, a princess tiara tangled in his hair, and a plushie stuck in his hoodie.
“she told me i had to dress like bedtime royalty,” he mutters, collapsing on the couch next to you.
“well, you are king of the jungle gym.”
“... do kings get ibuprofen?”
you kiss his cheek. “only the cutest ones.”
© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢
#blue lock#blue lock x reader#bllk#bllk x reader#isagi yoichi x reader#yoichi isagi x reader#nagi seishiro x reader#seishiro nagi x reader#bachira meguru x reader#meguru bachira x reader#dad duties
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Cuddles
Original request from AO3: I love these snippets omg its so cute! Your writing is so so good. I'm not usually one to request a prompt but maybe you could write one about just cuddling? Im obsessed with the size difference between Jason and the readers (and i always assume there's a difference because I know this man is tall and big 😂) and i think just laying with him would be the best experience. Maybe its after a hard day for him or the reader? Or maybe it could have a focus on a specific body part about the reader that Jason loves lol (like the thighs or the stomach)? Whatever you come up with im sure will be fantastic. I look forward to the next chapter of Do I Know You? as well! 💕
I loved writing this one and I think I might write a second cuddling snippet just cause I want to cuddle this man desperately.
_____
It was the middle of the night and, despite your achy exhaustion from the terrible day, you could not fall asleep. From the moment you left work, you knew that you were going to lie in bed and just sleep but your body had other plans, plans that frustrated you with how tired you felt.
So you sat on your couch, self swaddled in a fuzzy blanket, staring at nothing in the darkness of your apartment. Through the quiet, you hear the rattling of your window. You ease yourself from your seat, blanket wrapped over you to stand in front of it.
You watch Red Hood mess with the lock a moment more before he pauses, clearly having spotted you watching. His hands leave the window and you shuffle your blanket around so you can get your hand out and open it.
“You keep breaking into my apartment, I might start to think you like me.” You try to joke but it comes out weak so you step away from the window to let him in.
“What're you doing awake, huh?” He asks quietly as he climbs in, closing and locking the window back up.
“Can't sle-” your words are interrupted by a yawn and you bury your face into the blanket to hide.
“Yeah?” He pulls his helmet off and sets it on the ground, followed by his boots slipping off his feet, “sure sounds like it”
His boyish grin makes you smile but your heart jumps when he closes into your space. Even without his boots, Jason is much taller than you. You have to tip your head to look at him.
You don't know when he took his gloves off but his bare fingers on your cheek make you sigh. They work between your jaw and the blanket to hold at the back of your neck.
“Were you missing me, poor thing?” He murmurs. He leans down and gives you a gentle slow kiss. There's no urgency behind it but it makes your mind fuzzy nonetheless. His hand works further under the blanket to massage your shoulder.
“Or did you have a bad day?” He asks when he pulls away. You hum in discontent at his distance, leaning forward but he stops you.
“It wasn't a great day,” you admit. The openness of it makes you a little weepy, that or sleepiness does. He kisses at your temple and then your forehead.
“Let me get cleaned up and we can go to bed, alright?” His words thrum through you. Bed with Jason sounds perfect.
“You're not hurt, are you?” You ask suddenly feeling guilty for not checking first though it wasn't often Jason appeared injured other than minor stuff.
“No, babe, I'm all good. Go to bed and I'll meet you there.” He quietly orders you with hands on your shoulders to guide you in the direction of the bedroom.
Jason doesn't take long to wash the grime of the night away. You looked pitiful all wrapped up in your blanket and he's not ashamed to say he missed you all day and night even though you had had breakfast together.
He wishes you would've called him, given him a reason to not go out on what was a very boring patrol night. He knows exactly what you would say if he complained though, I didn't want to bother you. He understood that. He was like that, he just wishes you weren't like that.
He finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in your blanket, staring at the floor. Your feet dangling in a way that makes him want to laugh.
You had gotten bed risers so you could have more storage but it made the bed too tall for you. It was the perfect height for him though. Part of him wonders if you had it for him since you've had the bed like that for months and have yet to fill the space underneath.
You blink up at him when edges back into your space, knees bumping together. Your hands slip out from their hiding place in your blanket to grab his hips, hands sliding along the edge of his sleep shorts to settle on his tailbone. You press your face into his stomach and Jason threads his fingers through your hair, gently combing it.
You start to giggle and Jason knows you're up to something before your hand even moves to slip down to playfully squeeze at his bum. Your giggle turns into a snort and he can't help but roll his eyes.
“Alright, sleepy head,” he pulls away from you and you make grabby hands at his distance.
“Nooo,” you plead is slightly chopped from the way you're still laughing. He easily avoids your groping attempts to scoop you up and move you across the bed. Your laughter eases as he settles into the bed beside you.
“You cold, honey?” he murmurs, fiddling with your blanket.
“No, why?” You ask confused. You yelp when you suddenly roll onto your face. Your blanket, the only companion you previously had for the night, slips from under and around you. You huff into the pillow before turning to peer at Jason through strands of hair covering your face.
“Rude,” you tell him, unmoved from your position. He grins at you and you don't have it in you to even act mad about it.
His arm slips under your waist and he gently manhandles you onto your side, back facing him. He fixes your hair for you, collecting it away from your face to tuck under your neck then he fixes the blanket, tugging it to cover both of you.
He snuggles up then, the mass of him pressing against you, and you deflate like a balloon. He kisses your cheek and his hand squeezes your bum in delayed retaliation before slipping under your sleep shirt to press at the skin of your stomach, thumb swiping and fingers massaging occasionally.
“I missed you,” he murmurs against the back of your neck, nose nudging skin. You shift, pressing more against him. His knees press up into the back of yours as you settle into a semi fetal position. He shifts his other arm to tuck under your head.
You close your eyes and realize it wasn't that you weren't tired enough, you just need Jason to sleep. You didn't need a bed or even a blanket. Just him pressed up against you, holding you like his own personal teddy bear.
“I missed you more” you manage out before sleep takes over.
“Lies, I missed you much more,” he mutters. It's a cheesy line but it makes you happy. You tip your nose against the crook of his arm under your head and kiss at the skin.
“No…” you pause in your sentence, sleepiness finally taking over your mind, “missed you most.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you feel the breath of Jason's words more than you hear them but it doesn't matter.
Jason kisses where can reach again and pulls closer if it were possible and despite knowing you are completely asleep he whispers, “I missed you most and loved you most.” Before he lets the call of sleep take him over too.
_____
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When you say the love interest might be worse, does that mean "being mean to reader" wise or "being possessive over the reader" wise?
ERMMM...both I'd say. The love interest for the Werewolf AU is Jon Kent. He's about the same age as the reader and older than Damian by one year (From the time-skip space mission that he went on that aged him). But bro, this boy is fucking nuts.
Yes, Kryptonians aren't werewolves in this universe, but Lois Lane is. And a strong one at that, coming from a military family and all that jazz. So Jon Lane Kent is literally one of the strongest beings on earth, being half-kryptonian and half-werewolf.
Now i know what youre thinking.
But wouldn't Jon also be outcasted from werewolf society/wouldn't the bats not like him cause he's a half-blood?
WRONG!!! Yes, Jon is a half-blooded werewolf, but the other half is Kryptonian, one of the strongest species in the universe. If anything, his breeding makes him a very respected figure and the Bats definitely find him worthy. He and Damian are still the best of friends.
Now Jon's relationship with (Y/n). Yikes. Funnily enough, it was (Y/n) who started crushing on Jon first. She'd see him around the manor often, and she'd watch as he interacted with the Waynes or messed around with Damian. From what she could see, he seemed nicer than her family, so maybe she could be friends with him right? Plus, he's super cute!
And of course, this doesn't end well. I mean, this is a dark au. First off, Superman doesn't quite see humans as equals. Werewolves, they have his respect, and all the other races too. Yes, Clark Kent's adoptive parents were humans, and yes he loved them, but they were weak. Fragile even. And he made sure to instill that teaching in Jon as well.
Did Jon love his grandparents? Absolutely, but that meant that Ma and Pa stayed confined to Smallville and their house. They were too weak, they needed to be protected.
Lois also helped push Werewolf culture onto him as well. Weaker werewolves and humans were subservient to the stronger, and if necessary, could be killed and eaten. Jon didn't quite get the eating part, finding it quite gross actually, until he had his first taste of flesh. And, yikes, the boy was hooked.
In his mind, humans were either things to be taken care of (like pets) or food.
What's even more scary is that he's sweet around his family and friends, but those he deems as lesser? Well, let's just hope you don't catch him in a bad mood or piss him off. Which is why when weak, pitiful, abandoned (Y/n) Wayne comes up to him, he's insulted.
Why on earth did you even think you were worthy of talking to him?
Yes, he's seen you watching them, lurking around the manor, keeping your distance. It was quite annoying actually, he could practically hear your heart leaping out of its chest every time you saw him. He knew your intentions, trying to make friends with him.
He just looked down at you, eyes pooling with something nobody could explain, whilst you smiled at him and made small talk. Or tried to make small talk.
"Damian, should I snap her neck? Or is your family still insistent on the old laws?" Jon says.
You freeze, eyes widening in fear. Ah...you've made a severe lapse in judgment.
So much for a new friend.
"You know what? How 'bout I just go?" You quip nervously before trying to run off.
It's too bad Damian grabs you by the back of your shirt, basically choking you in the process. You let out a strangled noise as your body loses balance and lurches backward. When Damian lets go, your having a mad coughing fit, trying to get as much air as you could into your lungs.
Damian only makes an annoyed sound while Jon watches, a sick type of glee in his eyes. "When the time comes friend, you may feast with us. Now (Y/n), apologize to Jon."
You do not even have to think twice about that. "I'm sorry-I'm sorry! I shouldn't have approached you, I'm sorry." And at this point, you're crying. (reader is 14 when this happens)
And god doesn't that make Jon smile. He wouldn't deny, that you were pretty (I mean, you do have half of Bruce Wayne's DNA). But as much as he'd consider coveting you, you weren't worth that honor, no, he'd much rather taste your sweet, sweet flesh. (He could practically smell it wafting off you).
But alas, he'd have to wait.
But of course, in normal yandere fashion, he goes from wanting to eat you to wanting to eat you. The obsession starts to change around (Y/n)'s 16th birthday party that the Waynes throw. It's customary that all children do some public ball or whatever, so this was yours. Jon and his family are there obviously, and you're there as well, looking as miserable and tired as usual (and still somehow being the most beautiful thing in the building). However, he sees you light up in a way he's never seen you do before when your (what he's guessing) friends show up. They're human. They're weak, like you.
Seeing you interact with them, hearing you talk normally(super-hearing, duh) without fear, watching the way you laughed...He realizes he wants. And he wants bad.
Looks like you've got a new problem now.
Anyways, this is all I got!! I don't want to spoil the story more than I already have, but yeah, say hello to "absolutely bonkers Jon Kent". Hope you enjoyed!!!
#platonic yandere#batfamily#neglected reader#yandere batfam#yandere bruce wayne#yandere jason todd#yandere cassandra cain#yandere damian wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere tim drake#werewolf au#werewolf#werewolves#canibalism#tw cannibalism#tw violence#tw violent thoughts#yandere jon kent#yandere jon kent x reader#jon kent x reader#jon kent superboy#jonathan kent#jonathan samuel kent#superfam
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The Brontosaurus Of Pittsburgh
Jack Abbot x resident reader
Life is tough and you've been a ghost of yourself. Your attending notices. And you notice him back.
Word count: 1,576. No warnings. Lots of commas and run-on sentences to terrify my grammar teacher. Sorry, I just needed to get this out of my chest bc i feel like i've been floating this week at work, I'm so glad its over. Please enjoy. Comments and reblogs are appreciated <3 I hope someone out there sees you too. You're not suffering alone.
You were the kind of resident who would shove the curtain aside, look at the sobbing child with an injured leg knee, and say, "You're not dying. Please sit still."
All while Doctor Jack Abbot strolls in behind you with a half-drunk coffee, nods to the parent and says, "What she means is: you're gonna be fine, buddy."
You roll your eyes. "That is what I said."
You're not cold. Just cool, and calibrated for crisis. A little lower on the John Shen chill scale. When a patient crashes, you're the first to move, and you never panic. But with that detachment comes blunt delivery, which terrifies families and patients alike.
Kids cry harder when you walk in. Grown-ups would have a higher pulse when they see you approach.
Jack picks up on this. At first, he assumes you're just rude. But the more shifts you do together, the more he sees the cracks, how you'd avoid the waiting room after bad news, how you'd stiffen at the mention of incoming vehicular incident patients, how you'd rarely, if ever, celebrate when you save someone… you just walk away.
Jack, in his quiet, world-weary way, starts translating you for others.
One night, a kid cries when you tell them they need stitches. You walk out, feeling confused because this kid's parent still hasn't come in.
“You could try not sounding like a Bond villain.” Jack sighs, patting the boy's back.
“I said exactly what was needed. No sugarcoating.” You state plainly.
“Right. But maybe, next time, don’t start with ‘this’ll hurt like hell.’”
Every so often, a child comes into the ED with a serious injury. This one's a deep gash on the forehead, hitting it while climbing the kitchen counter, trying to watch his mom make dessert. You take the lead, fast, efficient, no sugarcoating. The kid is crying, the wound looks worse than it is. He doesn't stop squirming even after you gave him something for the pain.
"If you stop squirming, this’ll take five minutes. If not, I’ll need to stitch around the movement, and it’ll scar more.” You try to sound reassuring, but his mom picks up on it. She's quite young, sleep-deprived, panicked, and already on edge. She snaps.
“You think threatening my kid is medicine? What kind of monster are you?”
The shouting escalates, fast, getting in your face. And then Jack steps in. Not loud. Not violent. Just firm.
“Step back, or we're gonna need security here.” His firm voice cuts through the tension. The kind that’s been used in warzones, not classrooms. He steps between you and the parent, calm but unshakable.
“She’s the one who’s going to stitch your child up. You want the best, you let her do her job. You want a punching bag, I’ll call security and let them handle you.”
The parent, rattled by Jack’s presence, backs off. The kid’s still crying, but the room quiets.
Jack turns to you once it’s over.
“You okay?” He asks, gently touching your arm.
“Yeah. Thanks. I... I don’t need saving, by the way.” You keep your head down, peeling the gloves off your hands.
“Didn’t say you did.”
You kept replaying the moment throughout the night. Jack stepped in not because you needed help, but because it felt like someone chose to step in for you, not out of pity but out of respect. He, above all people know this.
The kid comes back for a follow-up, waddling in with their teddy bear bandaged too. He sees you and runs up to you to show his bandaged teddy bear.
“Doctor y/n! I told my class you’re the coolest doctor ever!"
Hmm. That's new. You look down at this tiny, wide-eyed, sticky-handed creature, looking at you like you're a magic rainbow glitter fairy, and you have no idea what to do. Your hands hover awkwardly, unsure if you should pat the kid on the head or on the back. Maybe pat his teddy. Okay. Pat pat. The boy giggles.
"Doctor y/n, I wanna be like you!" He blurts out after you check on his stitches, handing you a sticker. His mom smiles. "He insisted on buying it, said he'd give it to you today."
Jack chuckles, observing from the hub.
"You alright?" He asks the next time he catches you.
"A child said they want to be like me. That's... a design flaw in the universe."
"Nah. That's hope." He says. "That's admiration. You earned it."
You don't say anything. Just a nod like you're accepting court summons. The sticker is lime green and sparkly. You clutch it awkwardly for the next hour, trying to figure out what to do with it. You pocket it. Take it out. Stare at it. Frown at it like it's a medical chart you can't read.
Eventually, during a lull in the chaos, you peel it and stick it right on your badge, next to your name. You don't make a fuss. You don't mention it. But Jack catches it.
"Hey! That a new credential?" He chuckles, mentioning it after handling an allergy case.
"Oh. Yeah. Certified Pediatric Scarecrow." You shrug.
John Shen chuckles. "Title suits you."
A couple of days later, Another pediatric patient came in. You and Jack take turns looking after her. You observe how gentle he is with children. He whispers: “Now, you’re gonna be just fine. But when you come back for your follow-up, I’m gonna need you to bring a sticker for Dr. Y/n. It’s part of the healing process.”
The little girl gasps. “What kind of sticker?”
“Dealer’s choice. But make it a good one. She’s a real collector.” He winks.
"She collects stickers too?!"
“Oh yeah. You’ll make her whole day.”
A month later, you figure someone's been telling patients about stickers because suddenly every kid who comes back is clutching some sparkly piece of nonsense and whispering to the nurse, “Is Dr. Y/N here? I brought her something.”
By the sixth one, you manage to corner Jack near the coffee machine.
“Doctor Abbot, What did you do?” You show him the pink My Little Pony sticker.
He barely looks up. “Built you a fanbase. You're welcome.”
Eventually, your ID badge is cluttered with rainbow frogs, stars, pokemon, and one aggressively patriotic bald eagle. Jack knows you act like it's a nuisance, but you never peel them off.
Jack stood near the edge of the rooftop one morning after a difficult shift. Not close enough to be reckless, but near enough that the wind tousled his scrubs and whistled past his ears like a breath too big for the world to hold. His hands were in his pockets. His stance was casual, his right side bearing more of his weight. His eyes were heavy, somewhere far away.
He didn’t hear the door creak open. Didn’t notice the click of your trainers on concrete until you were already beside him, just behind the railings, arms folded, eyes scanning the skyline as if you too had questions for it.
They stood in silence.
Minutes passed like hours.
“It’s not a cry for help,” Jack said eventually, his voice quiet, gruff around the edges.
“I know,” You replied, not looking at him.
He breathed through his nose. The air was colder than he expected. "I just...sometimes I need to see that the city is still there. That life didn’t just... stop."
You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers dug into your own sleeves. “Nah, it didn’t stop. It just got louder.”
He let out a short, humorless breath, sensing a similar suffering under your own sleeve. “You’re something else, you know that?”
You reached into your pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled sticker. A brontosaurus. Big-eyed, blue,and smiling like it had never known loss.
"Here. A brontosaurus. The brontosaurus doesn’t need the rooftop because it’s already tall enough to see above the wreckage."
You shrugged. “My badge is full of stickers, Figured maybe you would know what to do with it.”
His smile was slow, reluctant, real. He was also shaking his head in disbelief. There's going to be a sticker in his badge. Finally, he's earned one.
And then you sat, side by side, on the right side of the ledge. The sky was beginning to brighten up, The city stretched before them, all its pain and promise laid bare.
You gave head pats now. Light ones. Just a tap or two to a kid's hair when they'd been brave through a procedure. It made them giggle. Sometimes it made them cry. One kid hugged you once and refused to let go until his mom pried him off. You gave thumbs-ups to adults who looked like they'd been through something. "Good job not dying," You'd say, deadpan. Then smile, just a little, as they blinked at you in surprise
Jack noticed the way you spoke slower when explaining things. The way you asked the hard questions, but waited for the answers. He noticed the way you caught his eye across the trauma bay, the tiniest nod between you when something went well. Or when it didn't, and you both just have to carry on anyway.
Sometimes he'd find you on the rooftop, hands in your coat pockets, eves forward. You never stood near the edge. You didn't need to. The city was still there. So was the suffering. But so was the sky, and sometimes, that was enough.
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warnings: nsfw (18+ mdni), scummy mean bad boyfriend gojo, dubcon (kinda), dacryphylia, p in v, unprotected sex, finishing inside without permission, really nasty stuff, female reader.

"aww, don't look so sad," gojo coos, a cocky grin plastered on his face that you wanted to slap off oh-so-badly. but with the current position you were in, the strength you needed for that had been wiped away hours ago.
gojo had been harshly fucking into you for what felt like days, gyrations of his hips not missing a beat, all the while barely breaking a sweat.
your clothes were discarded in front of his door, now laid fully naked in front of him, legs unable to close from the swift motion of his pelvis banging into you at full speed. wrists pinned down next to your sides, unable to fight the light-haired man on anything he did, all you could do was lay there and take it.
fat tears roll dramatically down your cheeks, begging him to stop the relentless pounding, because at this point, your mind is too fuzzy and far gone to formulate words. you loathed the way he confidently stood over you, sunglasses barely making their way down his nose, shirt only halfway unbuttoned and slacks pulled down enough to get what he wanted.
"how does it feel, baby?" gojo taunts, "now, don't cry." your boyfriend fakes pity as he lets go of one of your wrists to bring a thumb up to your face. he sweetly wipes a tear away as you turn your arm to hold onto the sheets for dear life, because you were sure it'd be taken out of you by the end of the night.
"hurts, 'toru," you quaver, earning a sharp thrust that pierces your cervix. gojo only smiles wider when you clench around him tighter, holding your face, continuing to dry your constant tears that rolled out your left eye.
he's so mean.
and to get even meaner, he releases your other wrist, and quickly hooks both of his arms behind your knees to press them into your chest, folding you in half. he releases a guttural moan at the new angle, your walls tensing up again, this time permanently. he fastens his pace, the sound of skin slapping becoming even louder.
"god, i'm so close," he groans, "let me fill you up, c'mon," gojo eggs you on. your eyes widen and you immediately begin to push on his chest, to no avail. he doesn't let up. he won't let up.
"no- please!" you frailly shout, attempts to knock him away useless. "don't!" you cry, words landing into deaf ears.
"aww, c'mon!" he pleads, "just this once, baby, please?" he sounds so confident and desperate all in the same, rutting into you deeper and deeper.
"you said you wouldn't 'toru!" you wail, hands pushing against the fabric of his button down, fingers practically tearing into the cloth. another thrust sends a wave of pain through your body, "it hurts!"
gojo's length continues the assault on your insides, barely giving time between pulling out and bullying its way back inside, hitting you so nastily. your boyfriend simply doesn't care how much you cry.
"sorry, baby," gojo purrs, "you know i can't help myself."
#im sorry about this!!!#satoru gojo#gojo#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk gojo#jjk smut#satoru gojo x reader smut#gojo x reader smut#gojo smut#jujustsu kaisen x reader#my hero academia#jjk x reader#satoru gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader
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simon having beef with your dog.
the thing hates him, he's sure. he's been aware of the fact ever since the first time it jumped up at him, indulging itself with a nice helping of his brand new jeans.
"oh my god!" you gaped at his jeans with horror, immediately scooping the offending animal into your arms. even within its confines, the creature still manages a growl that simon swears is nothing less than evil.
between the sweet apologizes falling from your lips and the way your eyes widened in embarrassment, simon unsurprisingly found it difficult to stay mad. after fixing him a change of clothes and apologizing profusely for your pet's behavior, you urged your pet into its play pen to prevent her from ruining the rest of the night. she stared up at you with wide eyes, letting out a pitiful whine as she was obviously not used to being locked up.
though the inner dog-lover in him should be feeling a twinge of guilt at the sight, simon couldn't deny a sense of victory.
at least now, they were even.
they used to be even. used to. his score was ultimately decimated after countless incidents of your dog peeing all over his boots, stealing his food, and gnawing it's way through the souvenirs he brought for you from missions.
why the thing hates him so much is beyond him. ever since the first incident, he's tried every bribery method under the sun. from endless treats to long walks in her favorite park, all his attempts ended the same way: with his hand being damn near ripped off his arm.
after weeks of no progress, you had brought up the idea of meeting at his place instead. simon refused. he couldn't handle the thought of you traveling the hour it takes to get to his apartment, just to see him. after all, if he could handle countless hordes of enemies and disarm bombs, he sure as hell could handle some dog.
which of course, brings him to his current predicament.
after a particularly long deployment, you've taken the liberty of planning a special welcome home dinner for him and his task force. nothing big, just a small gathering to celebrate a reunion between friends as well as a job well done.
you insisted on doing all the work of preparing the food and letting him relax on the couch. it was a dinner in celebration of him as well, after all. the very last thing simon wanted was to leave you to do all the work, but if he was going to do anything about your dog, he had to do it now.
because even though he'd call his task force some of the closest friends he has, he pales at the idea of them finding out that a dog has him beat. he can already imagine how they'll react: a (horribly) stifled laugh from price, a smart jab from gaz, and an unashamed guffaw from johnny. and of course, the endless amounts of taunting that'll be flowing throughout the base. yeah, that's not going to happen. least of all, in front of his girl.
he approaches the play pen which houses your dog slowly, attempting to seem as unintimidating as he can for someone of his stature. your pet immediately takes notice--has had an eye laser pointed on him since the moment he arrived--and starts up a low growl.
"hey..girl..." he greets awkwardly, crouching down in a manner that allows his every action to be observed. it's evident that your dog couldn't be less happy with his presence, with the way she moves to the opposite end of the enclosure. he sighs, dropping onto the floor next to the pen and wincing at the slight pain shooting up his tailbone.
"why d'ya hate me so much, huh?" your dog huffed, closing her eyes and assuming a sleeping position. simon didn't even know dogs were capable of the silent treatment. unfazed, he pushes on, speaking to the dog as if it miraculously developed the ability to understand him.
"all i wanna do is spend time with my girl, and all you do is try to make me look like the bad guy." he shoots her an unimpressed look. "it's not like i'm gonna take her away, y'know."
to simon's surprise, the dog rises and begins to slowly approach him and for once, without utter disdain in her eyes. simon really didn't expect that to work, but he supposes he doesn't have any room to complain. he gulps -- he's never made it this far before. carefully, he raises a big hand up to stroke over the dog's soft fur.
in a flash, the canine snaps her teeth onto the surface of his skin. hard.
"fuck--!" he snarls, snatching his hand away. at that moment, the doorbell rings and he cradles his aching hand to his chest. he stands up, glaring hard at the animal as he goes to answer the door.
"hey, there's my favorite girl!" johnny pushes past him and beelines for the play pen, where your dog is excitedly standing on its hind legs to greet him. simon's never seen her tail wag so fast. she eagerly yips for him to come closer, bowing to allow him to scratch behind her ears.
"oh, and hey to you too, i guess." johnny briefly nods in acknowledgement in your direction. you playfully roll your eyes, giggling at his display.
"simon. 's good to see you." price offers a brief nod, and kyle pats him on the shoulder before they both walk around him to join johnny at the play pen. the dog takes to the rest of his team just as easily, greeting them all with tail wags and licks to the hand.
simon riley is at a loss.
#ughhh i HATE this old man#bats eyelashes#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#call of duty x reader#141 x reader#cod x reader#ghost cod
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Fate Won’t Take You From Me

chifuyu matsuno x fem! reader x mitsuya takashi
what if your boyfriend chifuyu knows the future will never be nice to the two of you and he doesn't know how to change it.
a/n: I wrote this when I still had to finish the anime so I hope it's not too bad o(TヘTo)
words count: 4.6k
tags: angst, drama, love triangle(?)
masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi
Chifuyu leans against the wall of the abandoned warehouse, arms crossed, watching as Takemichi rubs his temples like he’s battling the worst headache of his life.
He just got back from another dive into the future, another desperate attempt to fix things before everything spirals out of control. Chifuyu is used to this by now. The frustration, the exhaustion in Takemichi’s eyes.
Takemichi looks uneasy, avoiding his gaze, shifting uncomfortably like he’s keeping a secret.
Chifuyu doesn’t like that.
“So?” he presses, forcing his voice to stay casual “I guess we didn't win yet.”
Takemichi hesitates “It’s… complicated.”
It always is. Chifuyu sighs, running a hand through his hair “Yeah, yeah, it always is. But you know what? I wanna know something else. You know I always try to not ask much but I'm too curious.”
Takemichi finally looks at him “What?”
Chifuyu smirks, trying to lighten the mood, though there’s a weight in his chest that he can’t explain “I never asked before but… What about me and y/n?” he asks, referring to you “Do we… you know… last?”
Takemichi blinks “Last?”
“Yeah. Do we stay together? Are we finally married?”
It’s supposed to be a stupid question. A joke, even. Because of course you do. You and Chifuyu have been through everything together. There’s can't be no version of the future where you aren’t by his side.
Right?
Takemichi’s silence is the first thing that unsettles him. The second is the way his friend suddenly refuses to meet his eyes.
Chifuyu feels something in his stomach twist.
“…Oi,” his voice drops “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Chifuyu, I—”
“Just tell me. The worst that can happen is that we gonna change the future.”
Takemichi takes a slow breath, and when he finally speaks, his words shatter Chifuyu’s world.
“In every timeline I’ve seen 'til now… you never marry her.”
The air in Chifuyu’s lungs disappears. It’s like the room is suddenly suffocating, like the walls are caving in around him.
He swallows hard “Then… is she… alive?”
“Yeah, she keeps doing good actually.”
“Then… is she still around? does she marry someone else?”
Takemichi hesitates. But he can’t lie, not about this.
“…Mitsuya.”
For a moment, Chifuyu doesn’t move. He can’t.
His brain refuses to accept the words, refuses to process them.
Mitsuya? Mitsuya?
It has to be a mistake. Takemichi has to be messing with him... but his face tells him everything.
It’s true.
His fingers curl into fists. His heart pounds, a chaotic mix of emotions, shock, denial, fear. But the worst one is the burning, consuming jealousy that claws its way into his chest.
Mitsuya. His friend. The guy he trusts with his life.
And the guy who, in every future that exists, steals you away from him?
Chifuyu forces a laugh, but it comes out weird “Nah… nah, that’s bullshit.”
Takemichi doesn’t say anything.
Chifuyu’s jaw tightens “She loves me.” His voice is sharp now, more desperate than he wants it to be “She’s with me.”
Takemichi finally speaks, and his voice is gentle. Pitying.
“…She’s with you... now.”
Now.
The word slices through Chifuyu like a blade.
Because that means one day, you won’t be.
One day, you’ll wake up and love someone else.
One day, you’ll leave him behind.
His chest tightens painfully, like his heart is being crushed in a vice. He wants to scream, to fight, to tell Takemichi he’s wrong. But he can’t, because deep down, a part of him knows… you’ve always been close to Mitsuya after all.
A part of him knows, if he looks too closely, he’ll start noticing things he never wanted to see.
But he refuses to let that happen. He won’t let fate take you from him. He can’t.
Chifuyu doesn’t sleep that night.
He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, Takemichi’s words replaying in his head like a curse.
“In every timeline I’ve seen… you never marry her.”
“She ends up with Mitsuya.”
He hates it. Hates how it latches onto his brain, poisoning every thought, twisting everything he knows about you. About him.
It’s stupid. You love him. He knows you do. But now, he can’t shake the feeling that one day, that won’t be enough.
The next day, he finds you outside Mitsuya’s sewing room, your back against the wall as you wait for him.
You look up when you see him, eyes bright. His girl. His heart aches just looking at you.
“Chifuyu” you call out, pushing off the wall to meet him “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze flickers to the door behind you. Mitsuya’s door.
Something in him snaps.
“What about you?” his voice comes out sharper than he means it to “What are you doing here?”
You blink at him, confused “I told Mitsuya I’d stop by today. He’s fixing up my jacket.”
Of course. Mitsuya.
Chifuyu clenches his jaw, ignoring the way his stomach twists.
“So you just waited out here for him?” he asks, trying to keep his voice casual.
“Yeah?” you frown, tilting your head “Why?”
He knows it’s stupid. He knows he’s being irrational. But now, every second you spend with Mitsuya feels like a countdown.
Like every moment between you two is another step toward the day you wake up and realize you love him instead.
And the worst part? You don’t even know it’s coming. And he doesn't even know when does that exactly happen.
Chifuyu swallows down the jealousy burning in his throat and forces a grin, his usual grin, the one you love.
“I just didn’t know you guys were that close” he says.
You roll your eyes, laughing “Of course we are. He’s my friend.”
Yeah. Friend. Until he’s not.
The door behind you suddenly opens, and Mitsuya steps out, wiping his hands on a rag. He looks up, notices Chifuyu, and nods.
“Yo” Mitsuya greets.
Chifuyu nods back, but there’s something in his chest, something ugly, clawing at him as he watches you smile at him.
Is this what fate looks like?
Mitsuya turns to you, handing you your jacket “Should be good as new now.”
You take it with a grateful smile “Thanks, Mitsuya. You’re the best.”
Chifuyu watches as Mitsuya reaches out to fix the collar of your shirt, a simple, meaningless gesture.
Something inside him breaks, and efore he even thinks, he grabs your wrist.
“Come on” he says, voice tight “We’re leaving.”
You blink at him in surprise “Chifuyu?”
He doesn’t let go. Doesn’t want to let go.
Mitsuya watches him, silent. Calm, as always. But Chifuyu swears he sees something in his eyes, a question.
Chifuyu forces a grin, pulling you closer to him.
“She’s mine, Mitsuya” he says lightly, but there’s an edge to his voice.
Mitsuya doesn’t react, just watches. Like he’s studying him. Like he already knows something’s wrong.
You pull your wrist free, frowning up at him “What’s with you today? That was rude.”
He hates how guilty you sound, like you’ve done something wrong. Like you’re the one hurting him, when it’s fate itself that’s betraying him.
“Nothing” he lies, forcing himself to relax “Let’s just go.”
You hesitate, glancing back at Mitsuya, but eventually sigh and nod “Okay. See you later, Mitsuya.”
“Yeah” Mitsuya says slowly, watching the way Chifuyu keeps you close “See you.”
Chifuyu doesn’t look back as he leads you away, but he knows Mitsuya is still watching, and for the first time, Chifuyu realizes something.
He’s not just fighting fate anymore.
He’s fighting Mitsuya too.
Chifuyu doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re far from Mitsuya’s place. Even then, his grip lingers, fingers still curled around yours like he’s afraid to lose you.
You glance at him, brows furrowed “Okay, seriously. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing” he says too quickly “Just wanted to spend time with you.”
You give him a look “You could’ve just asked instead of dragging me away like that.”
His stomach twists. You’re not mad, not really, but there’s something in your tone. Something off. Like you’re confused. Like you don’t understand why he’s acting this way.
Because you actually don’t. Because you don’t know what he knows.
He forces a smirk, bumping his shoulder against yours “I just missed my girl, that’s all.”
Your expression softens, but only a little “Still… you were kinda rude to Mitsuya back there.”
His jaw clenches before he can stop it “You always have to defend him like that?”
The moment the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back.
You blink, surprised “What? Chifuyu, it’s not about defending him, it’s just—”
“Forget it” he cuts you off, shaking his head “Let’s go do something fun.”
You hesitate for a second, then sigh “Fine. But if you keep acting weird, I’m making you tell me what’s up.”
He just smiles, pulling you along, ignoring the tightness in his chest.
He won’t let fate take you from him. No matter what.
Later that night, Chifuyu watches you from across the room as you scroll through your phone. You’re probably texting Hina or some of the other girls, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.
His mind replays Takemichi’s words over and over again like a nightmare.
“She ends up with Mitsuya.”
His fingers curl into fists. He can’t let that happen. He won’t.
But would Mitsuya even fight for you?
Would he ever try to take you from him?
No. He knows Mitsuya. He knows he’d never do something like that. Mitsuya’s too good. Too loyal.
And that scares him even more. Because if Mitsuya isn’t the one stealing you away…
Then maybe it’s you. Maybe one day, without even realizing it, you’ll start choosing him instead. Maybe it’s already happening.
Chifuyu swallows hard.
He needs to do something. Now.
Mitsuya, on the other hand, notices the change almost immediately.
At first, it’s subtle. Chifuyu standing closer to you, always making sure to keep a hand on your waist or your wrist. The way he interrupts conversations just to pull you away.
It’s small things. Easy to brush off.
Until he realizes Chifuyu never lets you be alone with him anymore.
Until he catches the sharp glances Chifuyu throws his way when you aren’t looking.
Until Chifuyu starts watching, like he’s waiting for something to happen.
Mitsuya doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches back.
Because he’s starting to understand.
Mitsuya leans against his worktable, arms crossed, watching Chifuyu from across the room.
It’s been like this for days now. Chifuyu hovering close to you, keeping you just out of reach. Always watching. Always waiting.
At first, Mitsuya thought he was imagining it. That maybe Chifuyu was just being overprotective, like he always was. But now it’s obvious.
Chifuyu isn’t just protecting you. He’s guarding you from him.
Mitsuya exhales through his nose, standing up straight “Chifuyu”
Chifuyu stiffens but doesn’t look at him “What?”
“You got a problem with me?”
Chifuyu finally meets his gaze. His eyes are sharp, guarded “No.”
Mitsuya tilts his head slightly, studying him “Then why are you acting like you do?”
Chifuyu exhales a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” Mitsuya doesn’t let up “Because it seems like you’ve been keeping her away from me.”
Chifuyu’s jaw clenches, but he forces a grin “She’s my girlfriend, Mitsuya. Maybe I just want to spend more time with her.”
Mitsuya doesn’t react “And maybe you’re scared.”
Chifuyu’s whole body tenses.
That’s all the confirmation Mitsuya needs.
Mitsuya takes a slow step forward, his voice calm but firm “You’re not stupid, Chifuyu. You know I’d never do anything to mess with your relationship.”
Chifuyu says nothing.
“But you’re still looking at me like I’m the enemy” Mitsuya continues “Like you’re waiting for me to take her from you.”
Chifuyu exhales sharply, turning away “Drop it, Mitsuya.”
“No” Mitsuya’s voice is steady, unwavering “Because this isn’t about me, is it? It’s about you.”
Chifuyu’s hands curl into fists.
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Mitsuya doesn’t let up “You really think she’s gonna leave you”
Chifuyu’s eyes snap to his, burning with frustration “Shut up, Mitsuya.”
Mitsuya holds his gaze “Or maybe...” He pauses, voice softer now, like he’s starting to understand.
“Maybe you really do think I would try steal her from you...”
Something flickers in Chifuyu’s eyes.
A crack.
Mitsuya inhales slowly “…You know something, don’t you?”
Chifuyu doesn’t answer.
Mitsuya watches him for a moment longer, then sighs “If you keep this up, you’ll lose her anyway.”
Chifuyu’s breath catches in his throat.
“Not because of me, or because of fate itself” Mitsuya says simply “But because you won’t let her breathe.”
Chifuyu doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stands there. And for the first time, he wonders if Mitsuya is right.
If in his desperate attempt to fight fate… He’s becoming the reason you leave.
Chifuyu’s mood shifts over the next few days. You notice it immediately. His usual smiles are forced, and the protective gestures feel more suffocating than caring. He pulls you closer when you don’t need it, watches you with eyes that don’t just look. They study.
And the worst part? He barely acknowledges it. Like he’s pretending everything’s fine.
You can’t pretend anymore.
This isn’t the Chifuyu you know. The Chifuyu you know was always open with you. Always honest. Always real. But now…
You can feel the distance growing.
It hurts more than you thought it would.
So tonight, you decide to confront him.
You wait until the two of you are alone, until it’s just you and him in the living room, the silence thick and suffocating.
He’s on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, a manga in hand, but his mind clearly elsewhere.
You stand in the doorway, arms crossed, your gaze focused on him “Chifuyu.”
He doesn’t look up “Hm?”
You step forward, your heart pounding “Stop acting like this.”
He freezes, the manga slipping from his hand, but he doesn’t look up “What are you talking about?”
You take a deep breath, walking closer to him, every step heavy with the weight of your frustration “You’re being distant. You’re overbearing. You’ve been acting like… like I’m some fragile thing that needs to be kept away from everyone. And you know I don't like it.”
Chifuyu finally looks up, but there’s no understanding in his gaze. Just confusion “I’m just looking out for you.”
You shake your head “That’s not it. It’s more than that.”
He looks down at his hands, then back up at you, the walls around him thickening “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t lie to me, Chifuyu” you step closer, your voice firm but shaking from the emotion rising in your chest “You keep acting jealous... You think I would leave you for someone else?”
His eyes widen, and you can tell you’ve hit a nerve, but he still doesn’t speak.
“You’ve been pushing me away, and I don’t know why. I thought you trusted me, but now…” you take a breath, steadying yourself “Now, I feel like you don’t even know who I am anymore.”
He stands up suddenly, his face a mix of frustration and guilt “I trust you, Y/N! I do! But…”
He trails off, his voice faltering as if he’s trying to find the words to explain the chaos inside his head.
“But what?” you ask quietly.
Chifuyu rubs his forehead, as if trying to calm the storm in his mind “Every time I look at you, I think about what happens next. What if one day, you wake up and you’re not with me anymore?”
You blink, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. His eyes are dark, haunted, like he’s seen something he can’t shake.
“Chifuyu…” you whisper, stepping closer to him, your voice softening “I’m not going anywhere. I'm here...”
He looks up at you, his eyes wide with uncertainty, and for a moment, you see the fear, raw and unfiltered, that he’s been hiding.
“You don’t get it” he mutters, voice breaking slightly “I saw it, Y/N. In the future. In every timeline… you end up with Mitsuya. Not me. You marry him.”
You freeze. The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you can see the pain in his eyes, the torment he’s been holding in.
“You saw it?” you repeat, your voice shaking now.
“Not me, actually. But it’s the same…” he admits, his voice almost a whisper “No matter what… you end up with him. And it kills me, Y/N. I can’t… I can’t just stand by and watch it happen.”
You take a step back, his confession crashing over you in waves. The room feels like it’s spinning, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say.
But then, you find your voice “Chifuyu…”
You take his hands in yours, forcing him to look at you “Listen to me. I don’t know what you saw or not. But this…” you shake your head, feeling a mix of confusion and compassion “This isn’t about fate. It’s about us. I choose you. Every day, I choose you.”
Chifuyu’s eyes well with unshed tears, his hands trembling slightly as he holds onto you “But what if it’s already decided?”
You gently cup his face, forcing him to meet your eyes “Then we fight it. Together.”
His breath catches, and for the first time in days, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.
“Chifuyu…” you say softly “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. But you need to trust me.”
He nods, his voice breaking as he whispers “I’m sorry, Y/N. I was so scared…”
You smile gently, brushing a strand of hair from his face “I know you were. But you can’t keep pushing me away like this. We’re in this together. Always.”
Chifuyu finally lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing as he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly like he’s afraid he might lose you all over again.
“I won’t let you go,” he says, his voice thick with emotion “I promise.”
And for the first time in what feels like forever, Chifuyu feels like maybe he can stop fighting fate and trust that you are his, and no one will take you from him.
It’s a quiet evening when Takemichi arrives back from another dive into the future. He’s been gone for days, and you’ve been trying to distract Chifuyu from the anxiety that’s been weighing on him ever since the last conversation.
When Takemichi walks in, his face is grim.
Chifuyu notices him first. He’s standing in the doorway, his eyes tired and heavy with the burden of knowing too much.
You look up from where you’re sitting on the couch and smile, happy to see Takemichi, but Chifuyu doesn’t share your enthusiasm.
“Back already?” Chifuyu says casually, his tone sharp and protective.
Takemichi hesitates. The last time he revealed something, it only made things worse.
“You… you want to know what happens this time?” Takemichi asks, his eyes shifting nervously between the two of you.
Chifuyu stands up, walking over to where you’re sitting. His hand finds yours, squeezing it gently, but there’s a firmness in his voice as he answers Takemichi.
“No,” Chifuyu says, his voice steady “I don’t need to know. Whatever happens in the future… we’ll handle it.”
Takemichi blinks, surprised by Chifuyu’s refusal. Normally, Chifuyu is the one pushing for answers, the one desperate to fix things, but today… it’s different.
“Chifuyu…” Takemichi starts, but Chifuyu cuts him off, his voice unwavering.
“No, Takemichi,” Chifuyu says, shaking his head “I don’t need to know what happens with me and Y/N. I trust her. I trust us.”
You feel your heart swell, the love and reassurance in Chifuyu’s words more than enough to put you at ease. But then, a part of you know what Takemichi has seen, his face tells everything.
Takemichi swallows hard, looking between you both. He knows the truth. He knows what he’s seen. He knows what’s coming. And yet, he doesn’t want to say it.
Chifuyu’s grip on your hand tightens, but he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t look at Takemichi. He stares straight ahead, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing slightly.
“I already know what you saw” Chifuyu replies, his voice calm and controlled, but there’s an edge to it “But I don’t care. This is our timeline. Our future.”
Takemichi’s eyes widen in confusion, not understanding what Chifuyu means. He expected a fight, maybe even an argument, but Chifuyu… Chifuyu’s eyes are clear. His gaze unwavering.
“You’re… you’re not angry?” Takemichi asks, his voice uncertain.
Chifuyu shakes his head slowly. He finally looks at you, his expression softening.
“No” he says simply “I’m not angry. I’m just…”
His voice falters for a moment, but he continues, his words filled with conviction “I’m choosing to believe in you, y/n. In us. And no matter what happens, I’m going to fight for that. For us. If that’s the future, it means that something might have happened and all I want is you to be happy, even if it's not with me.”
You feel a rush of emotions flood over you as you squeeze his hand tighter, the words meaning more to you than anything else. You don’t need the future to define what you have now.
Takemichi watches the exchange between the two of you, his chest tightening. He understands now. Chifuyu is choosing to trust you. He’s not going to let the future dictate his present.
“You really believe that?” Takemichi asks, his voice quiet.
Chifuyu nods firmly “Yeah. I do.”
There’s a long pause, and for a moment, the world feels still. Takemichi is silent, eyes searching Chifuyu’s face, and then, finally, he lets out a breath.
“…Alright.” Takemichi says, his shoulders slumping slightly “Then, I guess that’s all I need to hear.”
You can see the relief in Takemichi’s expression, the weight he’s been carrying lifting slightly as he looks at both of you.
“I’ll make sure this timeline works out for you guys” Takemichi adds with a small smile, stepping toward the door.
Chifuyu watches him go, then turns to face you, his eyes softer than they’ve been in days. He pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid to ever let go.
“I’m not going anywhere either” you whisper, holding him close.
“I know” Chifuyu replies, his voice steady but filled with warmth “And I’m not letting you go either.”
You smile against his chest, feeling the love and trust between the two of you stronger than anything fate could ever throw your way.
And for the first time in a long time, Chifuyu feels like the future doesn’t matter. Because as long as he has you, nothing else will ever break them apart.
The days after are peaceful. Chifuyu’s trust in you grows stronger with each passing day. He never mentions the future again, never brings up Mitsuya, and his affection for you deepens, he’s focused, determined to make the present his truth.
But something inside you feels weird.
You don’t want to think about it. You don’t want to admit that the future still lingers like a shadow over your relationship. But after everything you’ve heard, after everything Chifuyu has sacrificed to believe in you, you can’t ignore the question that keeps pressing at the back of your mind:
Why do you never end up with Chifuyu in the future?
You’ve tried to push it away. You’ve tried to focus on the present. But the truth is, you can’t stop thinking about it. And deep down, you know you need to get the answer for yourself.
One night, when Chifuyu is busy with work and you find yourself alone, the weight of your curiosity becomes too heavy to ignore.
You slip out quietly, your heart racing as you make your way to Takemichi’s place. The chill of the night air doesn’t even register, all that matters is the unanswered question that’s been haunting you.
When Takemichi opens the door, his face softens at the sight of you.
“Y/N?” he asks, surprised “What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you,” you say quietly, stepping inside. You don’t waste any time “I need to know. Why… Why don’t I end up with Chifuyu in the future?”
Takemichi blinks, clearly taken aback. He hesitates, looking at you with a mix of sympathy and something heavier. Something he doesn’t want to say.
“Y/N…” he begins, his voice soft and hesitant “Are you sure you want to know this?”
You nod, the resolve in your voice stronger than it feels “I need to know, Takemichi. Please. I have to know the truth.”
There’s a long silence as Takemichi looks at you, weighing the decision. He knows how much this will hurt. How much it could change everything. But he can’t keep it from you.
“Alright,” he says finally, his voice low “The reason… the reason you never end up with Chifuyu in the future… it’s always the same.”
You hold your breath.
“It’s because of Chifuyu,” Takemichi continues, his voice thick with regret “He never feels like he’s enough. He loves you so much that he convinces himself you’ll be better off with someone else. He pushes you away… he doesn’t want to be the one holding you back.”
Your heart sinks as you absorb his words. It’s not about Mitsuya. It’s not about you choosing someone else. It’s about Chifuyu, about his own insecurity, his fear of not being good enough for you, of loving you so much that he believes he’s destined to lose you.
“And no matter what happens,” Takemichi continues, voice trembling with empathy “Chifuyu doesn’t fight for you. Not because he doesn’t love you... he loves you more than anything. But because he thinks that’s what’s best for you. He believes you deserve someone who can give you the world, someone who won’t drag you down.”
The words crash over you like a wave, and you feel dizzy, your mind racing.
Chifuyu’s fear of being unworthy is the reason you’re torn apart. He believes his love for you is not enough to keep you.
You take a deep breath, forcing the tears back. You’ve spent so much time trying to make sense of everything, trying to figure out why fate always separates you and Chifuyu.
And now you know.
But knowing doesn’t make it any easier.
You stand there, numb for a long moment before you finally speak, your voice thick with emotion “So… it’s always his choice? He chooses to walk away from me?”
Takemichi nods, his eyes filled with sadness “Yeah. He never thinks he’s good enough for you. That’s the reason, no matter how much he loves you, no matter how hard you try, it always ends the same.”
Your heart aches as you let that sink in. The realization that Chifuyu, the person who loves you more than anything, could be the very reason you can’t stay with him.
You turn to leave, Takemichi’s voice stopping you just before you reach the door.
“Y/N,” he says softly “I’m sorry.”
You nod silently, wiping away a tear that threatens to fall. You need to go back to Chifuyu. To hold him. To remind him that he’s more than enough. You need him to believe in you, in both of you.
But deep inside, you know it won’t be easy. Because it’s never been about love. It’s been about belief.
And for now, you can only hope that, somehow, Chifuyu will find the strength to fight against the very thing that’s pulling him away from you: his own fear.
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