#and i mean he DID vanish off the face of the earth

[ozzgin]

Yandere!Priest x Reader x Yandere!"Angel" content: gender neutral reader, based on Midnight Mass

You didn't think you'd return to that crumbling shell of a church after so many years. Hell, you weren't even religious. What dragged your feet all the way to God's holy ground was nothing but sheer curiosity: who in their right mind would've willingly moved to a bumfuck town in the middle of nowhere?

The newly appointed priest was young and handsome, with a pious smile and a welcoming gaze. His voice was soft as he introduced himself and gave the good ol' speech of an open-door policy. Everyone was welcomed, believers and nonbelievers alike. God loved all equally. As the liturgy ended and people shuffled out of their seats, you felt his hand resting over your shoulder. He asked you to stay behind. Nothing outlandish by any means; he could tell you weren't all that interested in theological talk, yet he appreciated your honest nature. He asked if you'd mind passing by every now and then, and you unconsciously nodded in agreement.

Yet, there was something off about this Monsignor. For once, he spoke about others as if he'd known them for a lifetime. The way he greeted the elders and laughed with them almost made you forget you were no longer facing the previous man in charge, who'd left on a pilgrimage and never returned. Whatever happened to the poor bastard, you wondered?

With the recent arrival came other peculiar happenings. The town drunkard vanished abruptly one evening, only to be found completely pale and drained of blood a couple of days later. Night didn't feel as peaceful anymore, and you'd been plagued by the feeling of being watched. You once expressed your suspicions to the priest, who was quick to comfort you - perhaps too kindly for your own liking. He stroked your hair with foreign affection, urging you to gather your courage.

"Do you believe in Angels?"

You've been toying with his words quite often lately. Why would he suddenly bring it up? He knows you don't care for spiritual nonsense. His stare was sincere, almost anxious. Your heart clamps tightly in your chest, restless and eager. Monsignor certainly knows more than he lets on - there was no abstractness to his question.

At last, you have your answers. Shuffling through some old book you found in the clergy house, one photo catches your attention. It is a dated photograph of your town's previous priest, back in his youth. It is the very man currently holding a sermon across the road. What on Earth did he find during his pilgrimage? More importantly, what curse did he bring over to your small town?

Your throat constricts, suddenly aware of a looming presence behind you. The creature standing in front of your eyes is anything but human. Tattered, fleshy wings, grotesque fangs splitting its snout open, and long, sharp claws dragging across the floor. It approaches with predatory interest, huffing in amusement upon noticing your trembling knees.

"No! You cannot feed on this one," the Monsignor demands with authority. He's catching his breath, holding onto the doorframe for support. He must've sensed his beloved Angel awakened from its slumber and hurried back to his humble home. "We had an agreement, I recall," he scolds, becoming more unsure. "This one is mine."

The tall Beast considers your shivering form, lowering its head closer to your level.

"Is that so," it challenges in a hoarse voice. "I thought you're not supposed to lust after other humans, Father. I'm saving you from sin, you see, by keeping...(Y/N), is it?"

It extends a gargantuan hand towards you.

"Come, which will it be? A perverted priest, or an Angel to look after you?"

"You're no Angel," you want to shout, yet the words crumble out in a petrified whisper.

[comatosebunny09]

misunderstanding | sylus

summary: it was all because the shopkeep got a little handsy. a little too comfortable, purring his name like that. he shrugged her off; did you not see that part? genre(s): romance, angst warning(s): alcohol, drunk reader, self-esteem issues, insecurities, language, short and sweet notes: inspired by that one scene from fifty shades of grey.

Imagine calling Sylus while you’re drunk off your ass.

When you’ve thrown back one too many long islands, and while your friends are all inside, shacked up with their significant others and happy. You toddle outside for some fresh air and a break from your own head.

His voice breaks through the static, all heavy with sleep. But he answers so quickly because you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. Been brief with your texts, ignoring his phone calls, and going out of your way to avoid running into him. He’s given you your space—minus Mephisto perched outside your window each night, watching you like a hawk.

“Hello?” Sylus husks, bed sheets rustling in the background as he maneuvers himself to sit up.

Somewhere far off, you feel bad for waking him. He already sleeps like shit. But you have liquid encouragement on your side, so you shove that guilt down, down, down in favor of poking the proverbial bear.

Your words are all blurred together, and you can barely keep your eyes open as you prop yourself up on a safety bollard, holding your phone to your ear with two hands.

“Why don’t you like me?”

“I—What?”

You swallow thick. Feel the world swirling and your body teetering, but you press on.

“Why don’t you like me, Sylus? Am I not your type? Is it ‘cause I’m not rich? Not skinny?”

He laughs, all incredulous on the other end. You imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose in the stillness of his bedroom, disbelieving of the shit spilling from your mouth. And so early in the evening, too.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Me. I mean, am I annoying?  I kinda am. I talk a lot. But that lady—the one from before. That shopkeeper chick. She was really hot. Like, supermodel hot.”

Your name comes out in an exasperated sigh. “That’s what this is about?”

You confirmed his suspicions. Why you’ve been playing keep-away. Ever since you accompanied him a few weeks back to gather some intel from a verified source, you’ve been acting distant. All because the shopkeep got a little handsy. A little too comfortable, purring his name like that. He shrugged her off. Wordlessly put her in her place. Did you not see that part?

Sylus doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“No, no, wait. Lemme finish. She seemed more your type. Like the kinda chick you’d be into, ya know? You two’d be like Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

He groans, and this time, you picture him hanging his head low. His long fingers splayed over his face in exhaustion.

“Where are you? Have you been drinking?”

“Mind your business,” you say around a hiccup.

And you’re catching yourself on the bollard, giggling stupidly at how pathetic you must look. Trying to catch your footing like a baby fawn.

“Only had one or two. Maybe three or six. I’m a big girl. A big, un-pretty girl, according to Mr. Sylus.”

A car honks in the distance. You barely stir from it, eyes shuttering as your head falls onto your arm roosted on the bollard.

“Where are you?” Sylus prods again.

There’s a little more urgency this time. A little more concern lurking beneath the tenor of his voice, and the sleep’s almost completely vanished from it.

“Out.”

You burn hot. Sway as the alcohol thickens in your veins. Something of a smile twitches your lips. For a second, you’re convinced he actually gives a shit about you.

“Sweetie, please. I don’t have the patience to entertain your mind games today. And stop putting words into my mouth. Not once have I ever referred to you as ‘un-pretty.’”

You snort. Stumble away from the bollard to lean against a brick wall. It’s cold and raw against your bare back. The world’s a pretty bokeh of light around. Maybe you did have a little too much to drink.

His voice drops an octave. Skates between sincerity and something dulcet; doting.

“You’re anything but. You’re gorgeous. Breathtaking. Incredibly resourceful and infuriatingly kind. You’re tough. And you don’t talk too much. In fact, I wish you would spend more time talking about yourself.”

Your lips crook with a smile. Your eyes begin to water. Your cheeks are warmer now, and you’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the words spuming so effortlessly from the other end of your phone.

You hear fabric rustling. Hear his mattress creaking and things being jostled about in the background. Drawers. Clothes. Shoes clicking against marbled tiles.

“Tell me where you are,” he asserts. “I’m coming to get you.”

“No, no, no!”

You wave your hand dismissively like he can see. You feel bad enough having dragged him down with you. Having dredged up your insecurities and projected them onto him like that. No reason to make him leave the sanctity of his bed to entertain your foolishness.

“It’s cool, Syl. I’ll catch a cab.”

“I’m not asking,” he clips in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

You swallow, suddenly feeling cold sobriety creep in. Metal jangles through the static. Keys. Car keys. A door shuts, followed by an engine stuttering and drawing a breath in. He taps a few buttons on his console. Releases a sigh.

“I’m on my way. Stay where you are. Don’t go running off with any strangers, alright, sweetheart?”

Something warm spills into your tummy. You slide down the wall onto your ass, holding your head in your hands with your phone propped to your ear using your shoulder.

“Sylus, really. You don’t have to do that. I’ll be good—”

“I want to,” he insists. Already peeling out of his driveway and zooming through the streets of the N109 Zone. “Stay on the line. Don’t hang up. I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

You sigh at your own stupidity. At your own pitifulness. Making him come play knight in shining armor like that. All because you couldn’t hold your liquor. Your tongue. Though, you can’t stifle the tiny ping of hope resounding in your head.

“Okay. I’ll wait. But can we get ice cream when you get here?”

He chuckles, the sound of it brassy yet comforting through the drunken slurry of your brain.

“Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

masterlist

[angelbby555]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ stone cold

Summary: The daggers watch an expressionless girl light up when Bradley comes up up behind her.

Word count: 700

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

All the daggers tried to guess what was wrong with the girl sitting quietly at the bar. Dog got run over by a car, fired at work, boyfriend cheated on her. Your face was naturally pulled into a sad expression leaving the group wondering what was wrong with you.

Bob had gone to the bar to order a drink and couldn't help and ask if you were okay. You flashed him a tight lip smile and nodded. For some odd reason they were expecting you to trauma dump all over him. The moment Bob left, your eye feel back into that cold distant gaze. Your lips falling into a frown and your eyebrows falling back down into place.

"Yeah she looks like she's had rough life." Jake remarked while they all obviously stared at you from across the bar.

"Probably walks through hell and back, and consider it a regular day." Coyote add stealing the pool stick away from Jake's hands.

"Hey where's Bradshaw?" Natasha asked turning to look back at the pool table. He always seemed to be somewhere, that everybody else wasn't. Bradley was always the last the join the group parties and turns up late to work.

"Doing whatever adventurous things little birds do" Jake said with a scoff not really caring if Bradley was here or not.

After a round of pool and drinks the daggers were looking for entertainment again. They all avert their gaze back at you, still sitting at the bar with your stone cold resting face. Analyzing you like you were a piece of art up for interpretation. Everything about your sad features were beautiful like the cold snow. You looked intimidating to talk to, since you didn't smile at all, but that made you more alluring.

"Oh my god rooster going up to her." Mickey announced to the daggers even though all of them had noticed.

"Give it up you got no chance." Payback mutter what all the group was thinking. Bradley looked like a ray of sunshine while you looked like a rain storm.

The group did not blink as they all observed Bradley walking up to you with a smile on his face. He came up behind you and covered your gloomy eyes with his hands.

"No shot." Jake shook his head.

They watched Bradley whisper something in your ear before kissing you there. Their jaws were on the floor, no way was Bradley acquaintances with the depressed looking girl.

Your hands cover over Bradley large ones. Your whole face lit up. The sorrowful look had completely vanished off you. Your smile was contagious and bright. You didn't look like a mean girl, but the sweetest one to drop the earth.

You turn to look back and gently pry his hands off your eyes. The moment his hands uncovered your eyes, your full attention was to the 6 ft tall pilot behind you.

The only way they could describe the look in your eyes was in love. Like Bradley was the only man to ever exist. They watched Bradley nod his head at you, before you leaned back to kiss him.

"You got to be kidding me." Reuben said in disbelief.

It was absolutely nuts for them to witness true love in action especially with none other than expressionless girl and Rooster. They watched you transform before their eyes all because you held so much love for Bradley.

After that you were introduced to his friends. Obviously Jake was the first to speak up.

"Wait so you're not sad?" He asked the question everybody was wondering about.

A shy laugh escaped your lips as you looked up at Bradley with nothing but admiration in your eyes.

"No, no this is just my resting face." You shook your head. Now that you weren't looking Bradley was gazing down at you with a love sick expression like he could hang the moon and the stars for you. "But I get that a lot."

After a few weeks you started to grow comfortable around the group and didn't look intimidatingly stern like you used to. A small grin was on your face now, but not a smile that reached your eyes like when Bradley was around.

It was clear that you to held a special connection.

couldn't find any lonely girls at the bar pinterest pics so we resorted to the blonde girl,

[bokunoheros]

ཐིཋྀ KINKTOBER DAY 11 - uniforms : neito monoma

warnings : afab reader, monoma is a little panty stealing perv, voyeurism, masturbation, recording/taping sexual acts

word count : 940

🐙 note : the way we locked tf in to write this was crazy like we did this on the 10th at 10:30 bruh

🦊 note : hi guys! this was our first real collab and we wrote it literally the night before it was due please pray for us 

monoma was many things; arrogant, egotistical, a little batshit, and, unknown to most, a giant fucking pervert. monoma’s favorite thing about you was how good you looked in your school uniform, and how utterly oblivious you were. he was constantly stealing glances at you, down your shirt, up your skirt, and even blatantly at your chest. the best part of it all was that you were in his class AND you were class president so he saw you and you talked to him quite often. 

yes, there were other girls in your class, and even in your school, but he couldn’t change how good the uniform looked on you specifically. your perfectly proportioned body, from your waist:hip ratio, to your perfectly sized tits, and an ass that just wouldn’t stop, you were just so delicious that monoma couldn’t help staring at any given opportunity. not to mention your beautiful face that complimented your body perfectly; oh, how your soft eyes and kind smile made him absolutely swoon. not only was he a sucker for you sexually, he also had an enormous crush on you. i mean, really, how could he not with the way you lead the class and got along with everyone (even the pesky class 1-A students). monoma was in way over his head when it came to you. 

so, it was only natural that once everyone at U.A. had settled into the dorms, that he begun stealing your panties from the dirty laundry piles when he thought there was no one else around to witness his perverted schemes; sneaking off to his room to beat the shit out of his dick, your pretty pink panties wrapped around it as he ruts into his hand, biting his bottom lip trying hard not to moan your name as he pretends its your hand wrapped around his leaky cock. being the ever bold person he is, he even managed to start stealing your bras. finding them so adorable and envisioning your perfect tits filling them out.

it didn’t take you very long to notice certain pairs of panties and bras going missing, however; of course you’d recognize when your nicer, pricier, matching sets suddenly vanish! but who on earth could possibly be the thief..? (maybe the guy whose name is literally phantom thief?? just a thought.)

you had a sneaking suspicion on who the thief was, so one night, you decided to sneak into monoma’s room while he was out, it was minorly disheveled, but overall put together and kind of bland. you found his closet to be positioned on the wall to the right of his bed and figured it to be the perfect spot to spy on him to confirm your suspicions. shimmying your way in, you sat and waited for your prey.

after sitting there for about 15 minutes on your phone (and trust the twitter timeline was crazy), your ears perked up as you heard the bedroom door open and close, followed by soft footsteps, as if someone were intentionally trying not to be heard. peeping out the crack in the closet doors you see monoma walking towards his bed with your panties peeking out from his pocket. 

you almost catch yourself gasping at the sight, you knew it! of course it was monoma who took your underwear, he was always staring at you to the point you felt he was burning holes into you. slowly he took the panties out of his pocket and held them up, firstly just giving them a good look over. your eyes widened when he opened them up and put them on his face, an exacerbated sigh leaving his mouth. carefully pulling down his pants you sit there stunned that this was actually happening, before you can even think you pull out your phone and hold it up to the crack, pressing record. 

you watch intently as monoma wraps your panties around the upper half of his thick cock, closer to the tip, and slowly start to jerk it up and down, progressively picking up speed. his head tilts back and you feel your face flush when you hear him moan your name, and the hand that isn’t holding your phone comes up to cover your mouth in shock. oh, he was down bad.

it isn’t long before he’s cumming with a loud cry of your name and jizzing all over his hand and your panties, you abruptly end your video, having all the evidence you needed.

jumping out of his closet, you point an accusing finger at him and whisper-shout you! you’re the thief!

neito blushes a deep red in shame over being caught red (or white??) handed, and he gasps out your name again, like he was addicted to saying it, before going completely silent. what on god’s green earth could he possibly say!??!? shit. think, monoma, think! 

“i— uhm, fuck—”

“neito, i— i don’t— why?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know the answer; you weren’t oblivious to the way he looked at you, or snuck glances down your shirt all the time.

“well— because, uhm… because—” he takes a deep breath and steels his nerves. “because i’m in love with you….?”

“so—you steal my panties!? and bras?!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up, gripping your phone firmly. 

“i—” you slap him in the face and snatch your panties out of his hand before storming off to your dorm room….. just to lock the door and strip out of your current pajamas to put the nasty underwear on and jerk it in your own bed as you watched the video you had recorded.

[thestarrynightslover]

The Trials of Dating in Secrecy

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Word count: 2,374

Warnings: Discussion, yelling, some angst, workplace romance, nudity, and verbal sexual harassment (all very light).

Summary: Okay, so this one features a bit of work issues (workplace romance), and a bit of jealous!Harvey + Harvey taking care of his girl, as requested by Anon.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the show Suits, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way, or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: Well this is the first request I took and I’ll admit that it was a bit challenging, not cause it was particularly hard but because I wasn’t super inspired at first, nor did I have the time. Though, now, I think it worked? Idk, don’t feel like this was my best work either but feel free to leave some feedback, and thanks for reading!

(y/n) = (your name) (y/l/n) = (your last name) (y/n/n) = (your nickname)

| masterlist |

“Seriously, Harvey!” You let out annoyed. “I think I should probably go home now,” you said, thinking that if you did go home you could keep yourself from saying something you might regret later. 

“Oh, really? So now you're mad at me because I’m simply asking a bit more of this relationship?” He asked, looking ready to have a full-on fight.

“No, Harvey! What I’m actually upset about is how you’re making today all about yourself and your needs, when I’m the one going through it all!” You really didn’t wanna shout but the little bit of patience you had left vanished when his questions reminded you of the little stunt he’d pulled today.

Earlier that day, at the firm, you had been giving a consult to a prospective client on an intellectual property lawsuit he may be looking at and the guy seemed a bit disinterested in his own situation, giving you — and by you, you mean your body — most of his attention. But that was fineish, it was a regular occurrence, being a young woman in that field, so you didn’t really mind it anymore, at this point — after all, ignoring the occasional sexual harassment was usually the easiest route to advancing in your career. The problem was that the man started interrupting your professional analysis to hit on you, and eventually, he reached for your forearm, caressing it as he spoke. And that was exactly when Harvey, the man you’d secretly been dating for about 7 months now, decided to walk into your office. As he entered your office, you yanked your arm out of the man’s grasp but you couldn’t shut him up just as quickly, so your boyfriend got there just in time to hear a “So, if you really like yourself a sturdy stallion,” he pointed at a framed picture of you riding a horse on the wall behind you, “you should ride mine, someday. If you know what I mean,” he finalized with a wink, and how on Earth could you — or anyone hearing that — not know what he meant when he had said it so suggestively? 

“What did you just say to her?” Harvey’s voice came sharply, indicating he was about to get into a fistfight with the man who was probably not going to be your client now.

“Oh, we’re just chatting about- uh, who are you, again?” The shorter guy had the nerve to ask.

After that, Harvey was so quick to hoist the man up from the chair in front of you, by the collar of his dress shirt, that you didn’t even have time to react before he started punching the guy right in the face.

“I’m her boyfriend, that’s who I am! And you will be out of here before I take you out myself.” The man didn’t fall backward solely because Harvey had a hold on him, still, so he just stared at the other attorney in shock. “What are you looking at? Get out!” Harvey shouted once again, tossing the man towards your office door.

After that, you tried calming Harvey down but you barely had any time for it before Jessica and Louis barged into your office, revolted by their partner’s behavior and asking what had gotten into him to attack a prospective client like that.

“The prick was propositioning my-” But you cut him off before he could complete his sentence.

“He was harassing me during the meeting, and Harvey walked in and heard it, and, as a good colleague, he wanted to defend my honor, I guess,” you said with a short, humorless laugh while making air quotes with your fingers.

“A good colleague?” The tall senior partner asked quietly, hurt pooling in his eyes.

“Well… That’s terrible but you know better than to do this, Harvey,” Jessica told him.

“You know, I’d never thought I’d see the day you would act like such a caring gentleman for anyone, Specter,” Louis added, as always, eager to make things worse. “And, (y/n), at the very least you need to reach out to that man and take him out to an apology dinner. Because you are well aware of how important it is for you to get more clients.”

“Yes, I-” You stopped what you were saying mid-sentence because the man you loved was storming out of your office and all you wanted to do was chase after him.

“And now you’re gonna let him get off with that shit he pulled this easy?” Louis shouted, obviously trying to be heard by Harvey too. “I mean, this firm is turning into a complete mess, Jessica! It’s like you can’t control your office anymore! A junior partner who barely has her own clients and a senior partner battering prospective clients? We’re gonna go bankrupt like this, if not sued for malpractice altogether! And-”

“Louis, will you shut up, for God’s sake? I’m the managing partner and I’ll deal with both of them. Now go and let me talk to (y/n) alone!” Your boss responded, making you apprehensive about the conversation you were about to have with her.

As he left the room, Jessica motioned for you to sit on the couch with her. “(y/n), first of all, are you okay? Because if that man did something to you, then…”

“No, no! The harassment was just verbal,” not that that made it any better, you thought to yourself. “Harvey intervened before it could get to that.”

“Right. Well, that’s a relief.” She paused for an instant, giving one of those smiles she used when she was going to convince you of something unpleasant. “Now, as much as it pains me to admit it, Louis is right. You need more clients. I didn’t think it’d be good to tell you this after our conversation but the board has been pressuring me about making personnel cuts. Directed mostly to the partners who aren’t producing much. And you know that I like your work, and see your value to the company but those old men in suits only care about numbers, so if you don’t manage to bring in a new client by the end of the week… I am going to push for you to go after that man’s account again. Using whatever means necessary.” She declared, still sporting that smile. “Are we clear?”

At that, a defeated “Yes, Jessica” was all you could mutter. And then she left. And all you could think about was how you’d somehow managed to screw up both your professional and personal life, all at once.

Leaving work that day, after setting up four meetings with potential clients for the following days, all you could think about was making up with Harvey, so you went to his place to talk. And that’s how you got to the argument you were having now. He was upset about the whole ‘good colleague’ thing and you were upset because you could have handled the situation without burning that bridge with the guy, which was multiplied by ten when you remembered that you were on deadline to get more clients — something you hadn’t told Harvey.

“Making it all about-” He’d started saying angrily but stopped himself and his voice instantly took on a soft, caring tone, “wait, what do you mean you’re going through it all?”

Now you realized what you’d said.

“Uh, I meant nothing. I was just being dramatic, is all,” you stated unconvincingly.

“No, that doesn’t make any sense. If anyone is dramatic in this relationship, it’s me and we both know it,” he said, making you crack a small smile, thinking of how right he was. “So tell me, honey, what’s going on?”

“I, um, I’m being encouraged, or, better said, ordered to expand my client list.” There, you’d said it.

“What? Why?”

“You know why, Harvey. You just can’t be a partner at the firm if you don’t bring enough money in.” You told him, defeated.

“But… but you’re so good! You bring such good attention to the company’s name, your clients might actually be more satisfied with your work than mine, and they are very satisfied with my work,” he said matter-of-factly with a grin on his face.

“Yeah, maybe. But you might not know this because you've always been a man and Jessica’s protégé but for the rest of us, women trying to be successful at Pearson, the bar is just much higher, babe. And they're threatening to take away my partnership, maybe even my job altogether, if I don't get it done,” you finally finished your confession with teary eyes, even though you didn’t want to cry about it.

“That’s… that’s just unacceptable!” He let out, running his hands through his hair, “Did- does Jessica know about that? Because I can-” He tried to go on with his speech but you cut him off.

“She knows, Harvey. She says she likes my work but her hands are tied.” You let him know, sighing a little.

“But… that’s not… that doesn’t make any sense! It’s just not like Jessica to give in like that…” Harvey commented, starting to look defeated as well.

“Maybe when it’s about someone like you. But with me? She might not even be trying all that hard.” To which he responded with a mischievous glint in his eyes, perking up.

“Then, I’ll talk to her! I’ll tell her that, if she doesn’t secure your place in the company, I’m going to start listening to those offers I get all the time!” He said smiling widely this time.

“Harvey! You can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’d be incredibly stupid, and unprofessional, and-” You didn’t wanna finish your sentence but you had to. “And, that way, she’ll know.”

“Know?”

“About us. That we’re dating,” you finished sighing again.

“She’ll kn-” he stopped mid-sentence, full of disbelief. “And what’s so wrong with that?”

“Harvey…”

“No, don’t ‘Harvey’ me, (y/n)! If you don’t want me to help because it’d be unprofessional, then that’s okay. I can understand that. But what exactly are you trying to tell me, huh? That our relationship’s never gonna see the light of day? Or are you trying to break up with me?” That last question came out of him in such a low tone you could barely believe had come from him.

“No! Of course I don’t wanna break up-”

“Then tell me what do you want? Because I don’t understand why I can’t tell the world that I’m your boyfriend. I don’t get what’s so wrong about your boyfriend telling off a prick who can’t keep his hands to himself around another man’s woman-”

“Do you seriously think now is a good time to be possessive?”

“Oh, honey, I am possessive by nature. Especially around you,” he stated coming closer to where you were standing. And you could do nothing but welcome his warmth, after all, it’d been a long day.

As you stepped fully into his embrace and rested your head on his chest, you told him “I love you, Harvey. I don’t wanna break up with you. And I want you to tell the world that I’m your girlfriend, even Jessica,” hearing that, his eyes lit up. “But, as much of a prick as that man was, you need to understand that I can handle myself and that you need to give me space to make my own way at work, just like you made yours.”

“You’re right.”

“I know,” you joked, trying to shrug your shoulders at him.

“And I won’t try to interfere at work anymore. But don’t think that I’m just gonna stand around doing nothing if I see someone trying to mess with my girl again.”

“Well, that-”

“I’m not done yet,” he said, silencing you in an instant, “you should also know that, when you’re home with me, you’re mine to take care of.”

“Yeah? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” You asked him with a smug smile.

His only response was swiftly picking you up and taking you to his suite’s bathroom, where he gently sat you down on the edge of the tub, just to start running the hot water into the bath he’d already filled with delicious-smelling bathing salts. “Wait here, baby.”

A bit later he came back carrying some candles he started lighting with one of the matches from a box he had in his other hand.

“What are you doing, Harv?”

“Just come over here,” he said after having spread the candles all throughout his spacious bathroom. They were scented too, you noticed. The second you reached him, though, instead of holding you close, he started taking off your clothes, slow and gentle, piece by piece. Which he followed up with little kisses all over your now bare skin. After being satisfied with his work of making you forget everything, he picked you up again and, this time, carefully dipped you into the bathtub. “Now, you just lay back and relax, darling.”

“You’re not joining me?” You asked him hopefully.

“No, I’m taking care of your dinner,” right after he left, though, one of your favorite songs started playing softly on a speaker he’d set somewhere.

You probably dozed off in that tub, because before you knew it you were being held by your boyfriend in his bed, still completely naked. “Hey.”

“Good morning beautiful,” he greeted you with a grin, “you know, you were taking so long to wake up, that I was starting to think that the breakfast I made you was gonna get cold.”

“Wait a second, last night you were making me dinner and this morning you made me breakfast… two for two! What’s happening to you?” You asked, giggling like a child.

“Nothing, nothing! It’s just… I told you, at home, I take care of you, that’s all.” He told you while he guided you out of the bed, handing you one of his shirts altogether. 

“You know, you keep saying ‘at home’ but this isn’t really our home…” As you put on his dress shirt, you followed him towards his living room. 

“It could be…” And that’s when you saw a set of keys at the dinner table by the cutlery.

[lovesickchoi]

34+35 PROMPTS

“i have sex with you a lot in my head.”

“don’t go on that date”

PAIRING: soobin x reader

GENRE: smut

WARNINGS: friends to lovers, riding, lowkey switch!reader and switch!soobin

WC: 2.1k

The passive aggression in Soobin’s voice when you told him you had a date tonight was unmistakable.

“Maybe this one won’t be a total failure,” he spoke, not giving you so much as a glance up from his phone.

Your head craned to look at him next to you on the couch, his own eyes still trained on whatever he was doing on his phone. He wouldn’t dare look up at you, for he knew your ears must’ve been red with anger. But Soobin didn’t care—at least he didn’t want you to think he did.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” No answer. “Hello earth to Soobin?”

Throwing his phone onto the coffee table, he slowly turns his body to face you like it was the most difficult task in the world. “What do you want me to say?” he says, shrugging with his hands.

“You act like this every time i tell you I’m going on a date. Can’t you maybe, I don’t know, be a supportive roommate for once?”

Soobin rolled his eyes at your words. It certainly wasn’t the first time you two have had this conversation. “Don’t even start. I’m always supportive of you. All i’m trying to say is that you keep going on dates with shitty guys and they never turn out successful. Why can’t you just focus on yourself for a while instead of always having to see someone?”

“You say that as if you don’t hook up with strangers every chance you get,” you spit back at him, furious with what he was saying.

“I know that! but at least I’m self aware.” Soobin hated the way your eyes noticeably filled with tears as his words hung in the air.

The truth was soobin did care. In fact, he cared so much that his feelings for you would often times blur the lines between best friends and something more. You were right about his abundant hookups—which you had to endure as Soobin’s roommate—but what you didn’t know was that they were a mere distraction from the fact that you were always dating people who weren’t him. He longed for the day he could finally be the one taking you out.

Soobin knew he must’ve struck a chord the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes anymore, choosing not to fight back. He hated himself for it. He hated the way he took his frustration out on you. it wasn’t your fault, he knew that, and yet he let you start walking away from him.

Wiping a tear aggressively from your eye before it could drip down your cheek. You stood up and brushed your pants off, doing your best to keep your cool. “Well if you’re done telling me how to live my life since you’re such a saint,” silence ensued. not a word from Soobin. “I have to go get ready.”

You eventually vanished into your room, hesitating at the door frame momentarily. Maybe a part of you had hoped Soobin would have more to say deep down. But your shoulders dropped in disappointment seeing he hadn’t left his position from the living room.

This wasn’t even the first time you and Soobin had it out like this. Different dates and hookups coming in and out of you and Soobin’s rather small shared space made it hard to keep your personal lives private. You’d begun to think it had become a competition of some sorts.

The two of you had always too busy playing roommate with one another, both ignoring the obvious sentiment beneath your frustrations. It was truly agonizing for you both, yet somehow you’d convinced yourselves it was easier this way.

So, with every last ounce of hope drained from you, you finished throwing yourself together for your date. Perfect mini skirt and blouse, perfect makeup, perfect hair. everything perfect except the frown that stared back at you in the mirror.

You were praying that Soobin had been hiding away in his room as you made your way through the apartment. Grabbing your coat, your purse, and your keys, you believed you were in the clear opening the front door.

That was until an out of breath Soobin, seemingly out of nowhere, slammed the door shut. His hand rested against the door above your head as he towered over you, chest heaving from his sudden movement. “Don’t go on that date.”

You look up at him in disarray. “Soobin i’m not having this conversation with you again.”

“No, you don’t understand. I dont want you to go on that date.” He looked more serious than he’d been before.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “And why shouldn’t I?”

Soobin opted not to give you a verbal answer. Instead, he hooked an arm around your waist, spinning you so your back was now flush against the door. His other hand protecting your head as his bent down to kiss you.

And he really kissed you. Like this would be his one and only opportunity to do so. Soobin’s eyebrows scrunched with emotion, savoring the feeling of your soft lips on his despite you not having kissed him back.

You didn’t believe this was actually happening. it felt like something out of a movie. And after so many terrible dates and relationships, you were starting to believe something so good wasn’t meant for you.

But feeling soobin beginning to second guess himself and pull away brought you too your senses. Hell—this was everything you wanted and more.

Feverishly, you dropped your purse and coat off your shoulders. Reaching up to grab soobin’s face in both your hands, your forced his lips to stay on yours.

You could feel Soobin relax against you, smiling into the kiss. In one quick movement his hands were underneath your thighs and lifting your legs around his waist. You finally allowed your lips to part, tongue meshing so needily with his. You wanted this just as bad as he did.

You wanted nothing more than to continue kissing his perfect lips, but something in you needed to hear his voice to ensure once again that this was real. Gripping his hair, you pull his face away from yours. He groaned at the feeling which left you all too excited.

“And what the fuck is this exactly?” you mutter quietly, only half joking.

Soobin chuckles, his boyish dimples making an appearance. “This… this is the reason you cant go on that date. I’m done playing pretend with you. I’m done acting like I’m not in love with you. I’m done watching you go on dates with these guys who won’t treat you half as good as I would.” He pauses, releasing his hold and letting you stand on your own now. “I’m done fucking random people and pretending that they’re you.”

You’re not exactly sure how you both got there, but before you know it soobin had you stripped down to nothing but your undergarments. You straddled him on the living room couch, only his boxers and your underwear separating you at this point.

Soobin’s hands feverishly ran across your body. not an inch of your skin would go untouched by him. He sat back in disbelief watching you take total control. It was better than anything he’d imagined.

You hiss at every roll of your hips, feeling his length pressing hard against the soaked spot of your underwear. You pressed sloppy kisses across his neck, taking in his sweet scent. Soobin didn’t think he could be anymore addicted to you as he traced his fingers across your skin.

“You know,” Soobin speaks up. His words slurred as he could barely focus on anything other than the way your cleavage spilled out of your lacey bra, grazing against his bare chest with every roll of your hips. “I have sex with you alot in my head.” He smirked up at you, eyes so fucked out behind his tousled hair.

You could literally feel your ovaries twitching at his words. If only you or him had been bolder to make a move sooner. “Well it’s about time you got it out of your head,” you whisper, pressing a last kiss to the base of his throat.

You stood up momentarily, urging Soobin to lift his hips so you could pull his boxers down with his help. Finally coming back down to straddle him again, you shiver feeling him pulling your underwear to the side. His fingers were slender and cold to the touch, and you wanted nothing more than to ride him right then.

Soobin falters for a moment, hearing a slight buzzing coming from your purse. It was your phone ringing persistently. he couldn’t ignore it. Soobin tried to catch your gaze, but you were too fixated on where your hips were about to meet his.

“I’m pretty sure that’s your date calling wondering where you’re-“ You didn’t let Soobin finish his words as you sat yourself all the way down on his dick without warning. “Fuck!” he yelled, gripping your hips for support.

You wrapped your arms around his neck wasting no time to ride soobin at an even pace. “Oh my god,” you whined out. “you’re so fucking big Soobin.”

Soobin let out a throaty groan hearing your words. he watched you bounce so effortlessly in both pleasure and disbelief. Your lewd moans mixed with his filled the room—your shared apartment. The place where you’d both been dancing around what you truly desired. Eachother.

Some time went on with you both like this, and Soobin enjoyed watching you get yourself off at his expense. But all the times he’d imagined finally getting to have you how he liked, this was not it.

He suddenly gripped your ass, halting your movement completely. “Binnie please,” you whined out, trying desperately to fuck yourself against him some more. soobin twitched inside of you at the nickname and your neediness.

“Fuck, princess.” he spoke lowly, wiping some of your sweat-matted hair from your forehead. It was a sweet gesture that made your heart race even more, if that were possible. “I’m sorry, but this is not what my first time fucking you looked like in my head.”

Soobin left you no time to respond before lifting you and placing your back gently on the couch where you could lay down. He eagerly laid on top of you, pressing your knees into your chest so your legs were now resting over his shoulders.

Soobin glanced over your body in absolute awe. “Been dying to see you all spread open like this for me,” Soobin basically moaned his words. seeing your leaking folds so up close and how easily bendable you were for him. It was enough to make him lose it.

“Finish the job, Binnie,” you tease him, running your own fingers over your clit. That was all it took for soobin to begin slamming into you repeatedly. this position allowed him to have total control over you, unlike before. He trapped your body beneath his weight, hitting the right spot just perfectly with each thrust.

He rested his lips against yours as he fucked you into the couch. Profanities spilling from him the closer his was, naturally pulling you nearer to the edge yourself. “I’m gonna cum so fucking hard,” you moan, almost as a warning. Soobin could tell by the moans escaping your lips and the way you clawed at his biceps, begging to come undone.

He went in and out of you at an electric pace. Soobin was persistent, and wouldn’t let up until he knew you were satisfied. eventually, all at once, a white hot orgasm overtook every ounce of your being. You body shook against soobin’s, calling out his name in a string of whiney moans. this was enough for Soobin to arrive shortly after you—the tears prodding at the corners of your eyes, the tinted pink of your cheeks, the way your mouth remained slighly open even after you came. Slow, high pitched breaths leaving your lips from the overstimulation. How could he not cum after that sight?

Pulling out, begrudgingly so, soobing finished on your stomach. He groaned feeling your hand reaching down to finish him off, helping him ride out his orgasm. Soobin couldn’t help but think how perfect you were for eachother. He released your legs slowly, massaging your sore hips from being held up for so long.

“That was long overdue,” Soobin is the first one to break the silence. He felt butterflies erupting in his stomach at the way you laughed at his joke.

“I couldn’t agree more.” you smiled, reaching up to kiss his lips softly this time. Your stomach begins to growl at your sudden movement, and you realize how hungry you’d been this entire time. “You know,” you chuckle, playing with soobin’s hair. “I was technically supposed to be eating dinner like an hour ago.”

A huge smile makes its way across soobin’s face. “Let’s get cleaned up. And go put something nice on. I’m taking you on a real first date.” he pecks your lips once more and pauses before saying, “Also your last first date.”

[sunandflame]

The Coat Thief - Soft Scene with Mihawk

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word Count: 559

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x Reader

"Soft Scene with Mihawk" Series

crossposted on AO3

The late sun hovered low on the horizon, painting the vineyard in amber and rose gold. Mihawk stood at the edge of the sloping hill, his gaze cast over the neat rows of vines that rustled softly in the breeze. Then, he saw you—curled between two sun-warmed rows, your body still and peaceful beneath the folds of his long black coat.

You must have wandered out here again, he thought, his lips twitching at the sight. His coat, always so carefully hung in the foyer, must have been stolen by you just before slipping outside. The absurdity of that—his cloak draped haphazardly around your shoulders like you were claiming him in absentia—amused him far more than he let show.

He approached without a sound, boots soft on the dry earth. For a moment, he just stood over you, arms crossed, letting the quiet settle around him. Your hand was curled near your cheek, your breathing slow and even. A lock of your hair had fallen across your face.

Gently, he crouched beside you and brushed it away. You stirred a little but didn’t wake.

“Did you mean to vanish out here?” His voice was low, barely louder than the breeze.

You hummed sleepily, eyes cracking open just enough to register the warm amber glow around his silhouette.

“Mmm... I didn’t vanish,” you murmured. “I just... borrowed your coat.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Without asking.”

“I would’ve, but you weren’t in the kitchen.” You blinked up at him, smiling lazily. “And I thought... the vines might miss me.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose, not quite a scoff, but close. “Did they?”

“Mmhm,” you said, nuzzling deeper into the coat’s collar. “They whispered about how terrible you are at napping.”

Mihawk sat beside you then, the earth warm beneath him. He reached to tug the edge of the coat more securely over your legs. “They can keep their opinions. You’ll catch a chill if you fall asleep out here again.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you said softly. “I was thinking about the harvest. And you. Then everything got... very quiet.”

He glanced sideways at you. “And that put you to sleep.”

“Comforted me.” You turned your face slightly, meeting his gaze. “I think I sleep better knowing you’re nearby.”

There was a pause. The kind he never rushed to fill.

He looked back to the horizon, then finally murmured, “You’re the only one who’d steal my coat and call it comfort.”

You grinned, eyes half-lidded again. “It smells like you. That’s comfort enough.”

Another silence. Then—almost inaudibly—he said, “I don’t mind.”

You blinked. “Hmm?”

“If you want to take my coat again,” he said, barely glancing at you, “ask or don’t. Just... don’t stay out here so long next time.”

You reached out blindly, found his hand, and curled your fingers around it.

“...I’ll come back inside with you now, if you help me up.”

He gave a faint, amused sigh and stood, pulling you up with one easy motion. The coat slipped slightly off your shoulders, and he steadied it before letting go.

“You look ridiculous in that.”

“You mean majestic.”

“No. Ridiculous.” But his fingers lingered a little longer at your sleeve.

As the two of you walked slowly back toward the house, your hand slipped into his again.

He let it stay there.

[whateveriwant]

Ok ok ok hear me out for a second. What if Simon has dimples?

I know that in reality, even if he did have dimples, the chances of you knowing is probably slim to none. I mean, it’s not like that man is exactly forthcoming when it comes to sharing his identity with others, right? For Christ’s sake, his own teammates have likely seen his bare face only a handful of times. I doubt the number of times they’ve seen him visibly express any kind of emotion is much better.

But just imagine that you do get a chance to see his dimples; that you’re one of the lucky few that can say you’ve had a glimpse of the real man beneath the mask. Imagine you’re sitting in a dingy pub one night, shooting the shit with your mates, trying to slyly admire the rare peep you have of your Lieutenant’s unmasked face. Maybe Johnny or Kyle or whomever tells some dumb joke that gets the whole group laughing, and as you instinctively look over to catch Simon’s reaction, imagine the awe that would overtake you upon spotting his lopsided grin.

In all the time you’ve worked with Simon, you must’ve imagined what his smile looks like a thousand times. In your mind’s eye, you’ve conjured up a hundred different variations – how his lips would part, his nose would crinkle, his cheeks would round with gentle amusement. But in all those fantasies, all those hours spent daydreaming, you never, not once in your life, imagined he could have dimples. And now that you’re quite literally face to face with the evidence, you wonder how you could have ever been so daft to exclude them.

And it’s amazing, really, how much those two little indentations seem to instantly transform Simon’s face. They shave about 10, even 15 years off his age, imbuing him with this sort of boyishness that offsets his otherwise grisly appearance. To most people, the sight before you would be nothing remarkable – a smile no different than any other. But to you, this cheek-splitting grin reveals so much more. It shows you that beneath the scars and the marks and the brutal reminders of his past lies a handsome, benign man just begging to be noticed.

Of course, with the way you’re admiring him like he’s a block of marble carved by Michelangelo himself, sooner or later Simon is bound to feel the weight of your gaze pressing into him. So when he turns to look at you with that quizzical notch to his brow, you’re quick to swivel your head in the opposite direction, but not before meeting his eye for a second or two.

Shame heats the back of your neck for having been caught staring at your Lieutenant, burning a hole in the side of your head from where he now peers at you. And yet, despite your sense of embarrassment, there’s another feeling boiling away in your belly. It’s a curious sensation, tingly almost, like how you imagine a child feels the first time they witness a magnificent fireworks display.

In all honesty, you feel like you could float out of your seat right now, not stopping until you reach the Earth’s upper atmosphere. It’s like one look at Simon’s infectious smile has fundamentally rewired your brain. Though by the time you risk another glance at him his dimples have totally vanished, that doesn’t stop that giddy feeling from churning inside you, nor does it stop your mind from racing.

And so for the rest of the night, as you sit in that dark pub only half listening to conversations going on around you, you make a silent vow to yourself. You swear to do everything in your power to make Simon smile again and to keep him smiling for as long as physically possible, because, in your eyes, there’s not a prettier sight in this world to behold.

[haeryna]

the sadness we shared is my clarity ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ↪ fushiguro megumi x reader

summary: it's spring when fushiguro megumi finds you. it's summer when he realizes he loves you. but as the days shorten, and time runs out, megumi realizes you're slipping away.

tw: angst, as per usual. mentions of gore, and sexual tension but nothing explicit or nsfw. you and megumi are both idiots. half of this was churned out in a day so please give the author grace. not proofread. arrangedmarriage!au and friends to enemies to lovers. megumi is Mean. mutual pining, so much that i want to throw up. mmm yummy clan politics

notes: banner by the lovely @/cafekitsune! title taken from txt's deja vu. had this fic rotting in my head and in my drive. dedicated to riko, for being one of the first mooties i ever had. love you @riaki !!

also i'm sorry everyone for vanishing off the face of the earth pls accept this fic as an apology :'))

part one/??

It’s summer, and the air in Kawasaki is miserably hot and oppressive. Tacky skin clings to thick cloth, and Megumi grimaces at the feeling. Gojo had finally decided to send all the first years together on a mission to deal with a group of Grade 3 spirits, deeming his pupils “worthy to finally make their debut!” To celebrate, Nobara had corralled everyone to a small cafe, located near the train station. “Cmon, this place has air conditioning, and Ijichi won’t be here for at least another hour,” she insists, fingers wrapped around the curve of your wrist. Begrudgingly, Megumi follows along, heavy with the knowledge that where you go, he'll follow.

He can’t help but sneak glances over, as you and Nobara fawn over the icy desserts and drinks the cafe has to offer. The soft swoop of your neck is revealed as you lean in closer to peer at the deserts hidden behind the glass. A bead of sweat trickles down into the hollow of your collarbone, and Megumi swallows hard, forcing himself to look away. The flush on his cheeks is from the summer heat, he tells himself. He can’t quite bring himself to believe it. 

“Fushiguro!” you call out, and he forces himself to look at you. “What is it?” 

“Aren’t you going to get a drink?”

Megumi hesitates, before grumbling an affirmative. As the other three move to secure a table, he turns to face the cashier. She seems younger than him by a few years, makeup done even in the hot weather with mascaraed eyelashes batting at him innocently. She misses the proffered bills, running her hand along his, before apologizing a bit breathily. “It’s fine,” Megumi sighs. His thoughts wander as the cashier chatters away mindlessly. You were favoring your right side. Were you injured? Had one of the curses somehow reached you before he could stop them? Your technique had seemed to wane towards the end of the fight. Were you overexerted? Did he have to speak to Gojo about how hard he’d been training you? 

He pulls himself from his thoughts just in time to notice the cashier leaning over the counter, watching him curiously. “Would you like a receipt, sir?” 

“No,” is his curt reply, shoving all of his traitorous thoughts of you deep down inside of himself. The cashier pouts. “If you fill out a survey, you can get five dollars off on your purchase!” 

Megumi can feel himself grimacing. Nobara would kick his ass if he didn’t at least take it and offer it to her. “Fine then.” As he turns back to the table, he scowls at the too-bright smile on Yuuji’s face. “What’s that look for?” 

“Fushiguro, she was totally hitting on you!” 

He swats away the eager high five. “Did the curses fuck with your brain or something?” 

“No, seriously, look at the receipt she gave you!” 

Megumi can feel the heat of your gaze as he unravels the receipt. Under the printed text of “FIVE DOLLARS OFF AFTER SURVEY COMPLETION!” was a line of neatly printed numbers. Scowling, he shoves the offending piece of paper in your direction. “Here. Take it.” 

“I don’t want your leftovers,” you shoot back, eyes blazing, and his traitorous heart wrenches. “It’s not for the number, idiot. Weren’t you and Kugisaki just complaining about spending that much money on drinks? Take the survey and stop whining.” 

He lets himself fall back in the familiar rhythm of bickering with Nobara as she swats at him. He’ll do anything to avoid the way your offended gaze turns thoughtful, how you seem to study his face as he forces himself to continue the lie he’s let himself live. You cannot be his, Megumi thinks desperately, even after the four of you depart the cafe, and after you toss the crumpled up wad of paper into the trash can. Even as you fall asleep in the backseat of the car, head perched onto his shoulder, he fights down the growing panic and nausea. He would rather break his own heart in the process than let you suffer from his affections. 

Cursed, he thinks. There’s a reason his mother passed, his father killed, and his sister stolen away. He’s as cursed as the shadows that seep from his domain with their tendrils that wrap and curl over every inch of light. Megumi has already accepted that the feelings that grow by the day can never be revealed. You, with your sunshine laugh, whose tender hands would always reach for him after a mission. Fushiguro, you’d say, kindly. You’re hurt again. Let me grab the first aid kit. You, with your hands that are soft and gentle, as much as Megumi’s hands are calloused and stained. 

I love you, he finally admits, as he carries you from the car back to your room. Yuuji had an ankle injury, and Nobara couldn’t handle hauling your weight up the stairs leading back to Jujutsu Tech. At least, that’s what he tells himself, as he shifts your weight in his arms, feeling the way you subconsciously pressed yourself closer to him. I love you. Your eyelashes flutter in your sleep, brow crinkling ever so slightly. Gently, Megumi smoothes it over with his thumb. I love you. 

Fushiguro Megumi was by no means a religious man. He’d known that there was no god in the battlefields of a sorcerer, no mercy in the torturous death that only curses could offer. And yet, as he lowers you down to the comfort of your mattress, he finds himself praying. I’ll do anything, he thinks, as he watches you in the depths of your slumber. I’ll give up my body, my soul, my life. Just please let her live. Please let her be happy. 

Please give her someone that could take better care of her than I ever could. 

Fushiguro Megumi found you in the first rainfall of spring. 

You hadn't noticed him, quietly watching the droplets fall on the sakura trees planted near the perimeter of Jujutsu Tech. The edges of your kimono were stained with mud, with a chunk of your haori ripped out on the left side. Megumi frowned. Silk, he noted, and gold. You’re dressed too well to be here, but too oblivious to be a threat. Just to be sure, he let his fingers curl around the handle of one of his tonfas before he spoke. 

“Who are you?” 

Startled, you turned to face him, and his scowl deepened. You were pretty, even with your eyes rounded in shock, and the undignified noise that had escaped you when you realized you weren’t alone. When you told him your name, voice hesitant, Megumi couldn't help but hate the way his heart reacted as you spoke. 

“I’m looking for Gojo Satoru,” you finished, teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip as you waited for his response. Megumi swallowed hard.

“A lot of people do.” He kept his tone steady, forced himself not to let the heat in his chest rise to his face. “What’s a Kamo doing here, looking for him?” 

Megumi had heard of you, of course. Gojo had raised him with at least a basic understanding of the three Big Families, and their prominent figures from both the past and present. The half-sister to Noritoshi Kamo, you had been held behind while your elders sent him away to the sister school in Kyoto. Women, Gojo had said, tone playful but eyes cold, are seen as nothing more than breeding stock and political pawns. They’ll probably keep her there until she’s married off. 

Something seems to settle inside you, and Megumi can’t help but watch, ensnared in the web you weave. Your hands smooth over the creases in your kimono as you exhaled, shoulders rounding back. Even covered in grime you radiated elegance, though you were betrayed by the still-skittish look in your eyes. “I’m here to make a deal with him.” 

A few days after the four of you had returned from your assignment in Kawasaki, you realized that Megumi was behaving rather oddly. 

At first, he seemed moody. Tired, you assumed. With promotions coming up, Gojo-sensei had been training the four of you even more rigorously than usual. Your mornings were filled with research, analyzing the few texts that Jujutsu Tech had recovered on cursed techniques that were even remotely similar to your own. The evenings were spent sparring, with thick dust kicked up under the lukewarm breeze, and the faint howls of Megumi’s shikigami in the distance. 

Sighing, you squat down, calling softly into the woods until one of his Divine Dogs trot out, tongue lolling out happily. You can’t help the wistful smile that tugs at your lips as you run your fingers through soft, black fur. They’d taken a liking to you, after you started carrying a few dog treats in your gear to give to them. Megumi had always complained that you spoiled them, babied them too much. You couldn’t help it. You loved his shikigami dearly. 

What did that say about you? The thought makes you lightheaded for a moment. The heat, you think, a bit desperate. It was all the heat. 

“You’re late.” 

You tilt your head backwards, startling at how close he’d gotten to you. He’s dressed for the summer heat, ditching his uniform for something more practical. Linen pants brush by you as he reaches your side, and your heart seems to convulse when you realize you can see the slight ripple of muscle under the fabric of his shirt.  Heat flares in your cheeks and you look away. Stormy eyes study you, a flicker of something predatory passing through them before he turns to his shikigami. 

“And you. Stop running off like that.” 

The Divine Dog whines, and you crinkle your nose, turning back to meet his gaze. “I was calling for it because I couldn’t find you. You weren’t where we normally spar.” 

“Gojo wanted us to use the other fields.” 

“Fine, fine.” Petulant, you reach for his wrist, hoisting yourself up off the ground. Before you can even speak, he’s tearing it from your grasp as though you’ve burnt him. “Hurry up. We’re losing light.” 

You follow after him quietly, ignoring the sting in your hand from the phantom contact. He’s probably overwhelmed with the work we’ve been doing, you remind yourself, yet you can’t help the slight feeling of dread that runs up your spine. His dog noses at your palm, whining softly, as thought it can sense your distress. Its owner however seems none the wiser. 

“Why did you want to spar today? Didn’t Gojo-sensei say we could take today off?”  

“The next mission is the one that the higher-ups are sending us on to see if we should be recommended for a higher grade. That means it’s going to be more dangerous than usual.” 

The trees clear to reveal a clearing, grass matted down from hours of sparring. “I hate when you’re right.” 

Megumi spares you a sharp glance but says nothing else. “Warm up quickly. I want to be back before it gets dark.” 

You stretch out under the waning light, letting your technique run through your body for a few moments. Cheating, Yuuji would insist, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t eager for a fight. The upcoming mission loomed over you, anxiety building as you thought about the uncertainties of it all. You hadn’t trusted the higher-ups from the beginning, and you especially didn’t trust them in any circumstance where Itadori Yuuji’s life was at risk. You exhale, feeling the familiar buzz of your cursed energy flow as you move. “Okay. I’m ready.” 

Sparring with Megumi feels like a dance, more than anything else. He was your partner long before Yuuji and Nobara had even transferred to Tokyo, and your body has been trained to move as seamlessly with him as possible. Every step forward he takes you step back, and with each swing of the staff, your katana rises up to meet up. You lose yourself in it for a moment, watching the way his jaw clenches in concentration, eyebrows furrowed as you narrowly avoid a pointed elbow. A sharp jab of your blade, and Megumi is suddenly right in front of you. The air leaves your lungs in his presence taking in the scent of his laundry detergent and the slightest tinge of the soap he uses. He takes advantage of your distraction to disarm you, flipping you neatly into a hold. 

“Yield,” he says, pressing his knee down into your stomach a little more firmly. You try your best to ignore the sight of him kneeled between your legs as you try to kick out from under him. His eyes darken at the sight of you, pinned and struggling to free yourself. 

“Yield,” he says, once more, and you do, letting your body rest against the ground as you stare up at him. There’s a bead of sweat trickling down his temple, the veins of his slender hands raised as he holds his staff. You let your hand curl against the wood of it, feeling the pressure of it resting on your throat. 

“I yield,” you say, and in that moment you know that you have. Fushiguro Megumi has stolen your heart from the day you met him. I’d give you everything, you realize, as Megumi helps you to your feet. There are 35 trillion blood cells in the human body, and every single one of them runs for you. You let your fingers intertwine with his for the briefest moment before forcing yourself to pull away. I would do anything to have you. My greatest sin and my holiest salvation wrapped into a single body. 

“That was a good fight,” he tells you, taking your silence for sulking. Maybe I wanted to lose. Maybe I did want to fall for you. Would that be such a sin? 

“Thanks,” is your stilted answer, the setting sun sealing your fate. You’re in love with Fushiguro Megumi. And you don’t quite know what to do about it. 

The mission is simple enough, until it isn’t. An abandoned hospital, Ijitchi had said in the car ride over. Residual curses had been spotted clinging to the interior, feeding off of an unknown source within. Intel had suggested that it was a Grade 2 spirit at most. You watch as Nobara takes a bit too much pleasure in nailing the swarms of weak curses that had greeted you at the entrance, Yuuji laughing at how easily his fists send them to a rather unpleasant demise. Yet, you can’t shake the feeling of unease that settles over you. This is too easy for a promotion mission. What were they hiding? 

Then Megumi opens the doors to what would’ve been the emergency room, and all hell breaks loose. 

Bloodstains, bright red, catch your eye first. They’re splattered all over the room, on the floor, curtains, and on the hospital sheets yellowed with age. You see the bones next. Human; skulls, ribcages, femurs, all picked clean and white enough to shine under the fluorescent lighting. The light flickers. A tumorous mass sits in the center of the room, a conglomeration of hair, teeth, and eyes that blink slowly at you. Your spine stiffens, and immediately, you pull Megumi towards you as a ropelike strand of hair tightens around the spot where he was standing. 

Those fuckers. A Semi-Grade 1? 

“Megumi,” is all you can make out. In the hallway, you can hear something more menacing, something equally as terrible as what sits in the room inside with you. You can hear Nobara’s cry of pain as a nauseating crack rips through the air. They won’t survive without him. “I’m sorry.” 

His eyes widen in understanding a fraction too late as you gather all your energy and shove him back out into the corridor as the curse flings a file cabinet at you. It crashes into the door, and you can hear Megumi calling your name with something that sounds like desperation. The hinges rattle as he throws his weight against it, but the cabinet holds firm. When you turn to face the curse in front of you, the look in its eyes is amused as you draw your blade. A cavernous maw opens, splitting it down the center as misshapen lumps of flesh spill out. Smaller curses, remnants of the innocents it had lured and devoured. A sudden chill goes through your body. 

This isn’t a Semi-Grade. This is a full-fledged Grade 1. 

There’s something vicious in the way you move, tearing through cursed spirits as though they’re paper. Ichor stains the ground around you, as red as the blood you channel through your veins. Dimly, you think you’re screaming. It was a set up, you think desperately. Of course the higher-ups would try to kill Itadori Yuuji at any cost. They didn’t give a fuck about you, or Nobara, or Megumi. Fury fills the cavern of your chest as you lunge for the hulking Grade 1, as it grotesquely pushes out the corpse of one of its victims into something far more sinister. You rip it to shreds without a second thought. 

The sound of steel on flesh makes the hair of your arms rise as you finally manage to cut a nasty gash into the misshapen curse in front of you. It howls in pain, tendrils reaching for your body as you leap away. Instead, the tendrils open the serrated wound a bit further, opening a new pocket for its children to crawl out of. That was the first blow you’d been able to land; ten minutes have passed since you trapped yourself inside a room with it. Will you make it out alive? You shake the thought away angrily.

Gritting your teeth, you increase your blood flow, shooting it down to your legs and the fibers of your muscles. Your blade shines as it cuts down curses, the Grade 1 merely watching with a demeanor that you can only describe as bored. It’s toying with you, you realize, but what pricks your heart isn’t fear, but resignation. Your foot catches on the rubble for only a moment, and the Grade 1 moves, slamming you into the wall with enough force for you to feel your ribs shatter. Blood fills your mouth and you choke, lungs heaving. Punctured, your technique tells you, a liter gone. The air tastes like iron and salt, and you realize with a start that you’re dying. 

You feel oddly calm as the world spins, watching as the ropes of hair approach your prone body. The last thing you see is the door shattering open, and the look in Megumi’s eyes as he sees you. There’s terror in his normally stoic expression, his arm outstretched towards you as Nue dives for you. Nobara and Yuuji are moving, but all you can see is him. His hands are bloodied at the fingertips, as though he’d been clawing at the door with his own hands to pry it open, his lips moving soundlessly. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the toll of death that signals your end. His hand cups your face, and you allow yourself to lean into it for a moment, reveling in the touch. I could die like this, is your final thought as you succumb to your injuries. I’m happy that you’re holding me, Megumi.

The world around you feels muted, when you finally awaken. Your vision is blurred as you peel your eyelids back, and you wince at the sensation. How long have you been out for? Slowly, the blurred tinges of light start to focus. A lamp, dimly lit to your right on the nightstand next to a pitcher of water and an empty cup. A punctured lung, a liter gone. Your hand drifts to the bandages that wrap your chest, carefully letting your cursed technique scan your body. A few lacerations, but for the most part you were fine. Crisp sheets rustle as you sit up, examining your surroundings. The hospital in the infirmary. Somehow, they managed to bring you back. 

Megumi’s eyes, so desperate and lost as his hand reached for you. 

You try not to think about it, as you carefully test your body. Your limbs ache, but that’s to be expected. Your hair has been neatly pulled away from your face; Nobara’s work, no doubt. Her screams from behind the door, the dread in your chest when you realized they might not survive without Megumi. You watch your fingers shake as you reach for the water, letting it soothe away the pain in your throat. Did she even make it? Did they live? 

The door opens, startling you from your thoughts. Megumi stands in the doorway, hand pushing through his hair. You take a moment to examine him, noting the dark circles under his pale skin, and how his long hair seemed mussed. His eyes scan the room, passing over you before focusing on you with startling clarity. 

“You’re awake.” 

Hesitantly, you nod, as he drops into the seat beside you. “Did…did they…”

He cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence. “Kugisaki and Itadori are fine.” 

You stare down at your hands, letting the silence wash over you. Yet, you’re dimly aware of how suffocating it feels, how your shoulders were unable to relax even with the knowledge that your friends were alive and safe. Megumi continues to watch you, but before you can say something, anything,  his voice fills the air, terse and clipped. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” 

Startled, your eyes meet his. “What?” 

“Did you think I was too weak? That I couldn’t handle it just because you’ve been a Grade 2 longer than I have?” The eyes that normally watched you with a hint of affectionate exasperation were cold, and hard. “You behaved recklessly. Did you even think about how it impacted the rest of us? Because of you, Kugisaki broke her leg, and Itadori almost had his arm cleaved off. You did all of that just for the rest of us to find you half dead in a puddle of your own bones and blood.” 

“Stop it,” you whisper, but Megumi’s voice only twists into something far more cruel. “You thought you were being so brave, sacrificing yourself, only to realize that you weren’t that special. You couldn’t even take down that Grade 1 alone. Kugisaki had to save you, even as she was practically screaming from the pain.” 

“Megumi,” you whisper, and he pauses, clearly unused to his name falling from your lips. “Why are you so angry at me?” Your voice breaks ever so slightly and you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, ashamed at the wetness in your eyes. “Where is this coming from? I don’t understa-” 

He slams his palm against the wooden surface of your bedside table, rattling the drawers. “Are you really that stupid to ask what you did wrong? You fucked up. I thought you were different, but in reality, you’re no better than the rest of your clan, are you? You’re just another filthy Kamo.” 

Your hands shake as you twist them into the off-white infirmary sheets. “What are you talking about?” 

Megumi laughs, but it’s jaded, sharp. “Congratulations. You’re being promoted to a Semi-Grade 1, all because of your little stunt that landed the rest of us into hospital beds. Even though we all had to help you finish it off, they’re only choosing you. I wonder why.” 

“Megumi.” Your voice rises, as your heart finally shatters. “I did it because I thought you would die, you know that. I don’t give a fuck about the politics of the higher ups, or my clan, or even my grade. I just wanted to protect you all. You know that.” 

He rises from the chair next to your side, expression indifferent to the tears that are rolling down your cheeks. “As if I’d believe you.” 

“Megumi,” you call out, desperately, as he walks away. “Megumi!” 

He doesn’t look back, and you’re left alone in the dark with only the moon to bear company as you sob. I don’t understand, you think, deliriously. Can’t you see that I love you? Can’t you see I’d rather die than watch you break in front of me? 

Megumi barely makes it to the lawn before he retches into the bushes. Bile rises in his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut as he replays the moment over and over and over again. For five days, he’d held vigil at your bed. For five days, he realized that your love for him would get you killed. For five days, he’d wrapped his heart in iron, knowing that what he was about to do would break the both of you. I would’ve only gotten you killed, he thinks, numbly. It’s what landed you here in the first place. 

Yet, Megumi can’t stop recalling the exact moment the relief in your eyes had turned into betrayal, how your lips had trembled and your hands shook. Your voice, desperate and pleading, calling his name as he forced his legs to walk away from you. How he can hear your sobs faintly trailing from the windows above, matching the tears that are trailing down his cheeks. 

You’ll hate him forever, he thinks, dazed, as he forces himself onto his feet. You’ll hate him forever, and by god it’ll be the most painful thing he’s ever experienced, but as long as you’re alive he can bear it. As long as he never has to see you there again, laying in a heap of your own blood, eyes dazed and unseeing, he will carry the sins that it takes to keep you alive and away from him. 

I love you. I love you, and I’m sorry that someone like me ever fell for someone like you. I love you so much that the thought of being without me tears me to shreds. I love how you take care of my shikigami like they're your own. I love how every touch you give me heals something that I didn't know I was missing. I love you, and I need you to live more than I need air to breathe.

I love you, and even though I don't think you'll ever forgive me, I'll always follow wherever you go.

[witchezandwonderz]

Even the Quiet Burn

Pairing: Sihtric x Reader Word count: 3.5k Sihtric meets a beautifully shy girl Really enjoyed writing this one <3 Master list Prompt List (Requests are open) Tagged list: (If you want to be added or removed, please let me know.) @leftoverp1zza @somebody6468 @cheesesandwichsanto @diorpar @tessakate @miksmom-blog @whitedarkmoonflower @imagines-halfpai

The first time Sihtric saw her, she didn’t speak.

She stood at the edge of the village green, hands wrapped around a bundle of dried herbs, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the horizon. The wind moved her dark hair across her face like drifting smoke, but she didn’t brush it away. She didn’t move at all, she just stood, watching nothing, like someone who had learned long ago to vanish in plain sight.

Sihtric had been sent on a simple mission, one so simple that Uhtred had felt it appropriate to send Sihtric alone. All he had to do was collect taxes from the nearby villagers, however, very quickly into the journey, Sihtric had been stopped and outnumbered by a group of men. He was unsure as to whether they were Saxon, Dane, or either. He didn't care.

Although outnumbered, Sihtric was skilled enough to fight off all men- perhaps six or seven. He was not too badly hurt, but had been stabbed by a blade in his left arm- nothing too harmful, but enough to sting like a bitch.

Hence why he found this village, or settlement, whatever it was. He had never been here before, despite it being not a great distance from where he had been staying.

He dismounted slowly, his hand pressed firm against the wound, his blood warm and sticky beneath his tunic. He sighed, not due to the pain, but due to the inconvenience that lied in how much blood there was. The village didn’t greet him. No one ran to help, no one shouted in alarm. They watched him like prey watches a predator-cautious and still, hoping that he might pass through without trouble.

Only she moved.

Not towards him, no. She moved in the opposite direction, fading back between narrow stone houses, into shadow. She did not see him, for she was so wrapped in her own dark thoughts that she guided her way through life in a most peculiar way.

Sihtric frowned. Something about her-something in the way she moved; elegance clouded her whole being as she walked through the greenery. Her presence lingered even after she’d gone-stuck in his chest like the blade had. She hadn’t looked at him. Hadn’t flinched or stared or crossed herself like the others. Or perhaps she had not seen him, he pondered. If that was the case then she needed to be more aware of her surroundings, especially in this circumstance.

He asked a nearby man where the healer was. He simply shrugged. A woman pointed- without words- toward the woods behind the village.

Toward her.

Of course.

Sihtric rolled his eyes, mumbling a slight thanks to the woman. He could not help but feel like this place was strange.

Shaking away his thoughts, he followed the mysterious woman's trail through the huge trees. He could not help but feel the beauty within the forest that surrounded him; although he spent his days in forests, and surrounded by greenery, it was truly beautiful here- almost magical.

As he walked further, a small hut came into his visions. It was placed right in the centre of an opening in the forest, and quite a significant distance from the village itself. The earth beneath him crunched with each step.

"Boy." He heard a deep voice call. He stopped in his tracks and swung his head up to look at who it belonged to. Across the green, to his left, he saw a man. Not old, but not young, the man stood with his hand in the air in the hopes of getting Sihtric's attention. Sihtric tightened his hand on the held of his sword, always ready to protect himself if necessary.

The man stepped closer, and Sihtric mimicked his actions cautiously.

"I do not mean to bother you." The man began, Sihtric nodded to signal him to continue, which he obliged, "The healer, the girl, she is quiet, and painfully shy." He explained. Sihtric just kept nodding.

"She is painfully shy," he repeated, "I do not know you, and I do not know your kindness, if any, but please just be patient and gentle with her."

Sihtric was slightly taken aback, not because he had never met a shy girl, no. But because it was extremely rare to find kindness in this world. In fact, he found it quite touching that the girl had someone looking out for her.

"Do you know her well?" Sihtric asked. The man shook his head.

"No, no one does, but we do know that she has led a hard life and came here to escape. We just do not know what she escaped." He gave Sihtric a final nod, and then spun on his heel and disappeared into the trees.

Sihtric still thought that the village was strange.

Still, strange or not, he needed someone to look at his wound before the bleeding got worse. He took one last glance at the spot where the man had disappeared, then turned his attention back to the hut.

It wasn’t much. Weathered wood, moss growing between the stones at its base, a thin column of smoke twisting out from the crooked chimney. A single window, shuttered, and a door that looked like it hadn’t been opened with urgency in years. It looked more like a place forgotten by the world than one someone chose to live in.

He knocked once. No answer. He knocked twice. No answer.

He hesitated, then pushed the door open slowly. It creaked like it resented him. Inside, the air smelled of dried lavender, damp earth, and something sharp- like crushed nettle. The roaring fire meant that the small room was warm, and he liked how it made him feel.

She stood near the far wall, half-turned, one hand resting on a bowl, the other frozen in mid-reach. She had gone still the moment he entered- like a deer caught in the open. Her eyes, wide and dark, locked onto his sword before drifting upward, slowly, to meet his face.

“I—” she began, her voice little more than a whisper.

Sihtric raised one hand slowly, palm open, a peace offering. “I was told you’re the healer.”

Her eyes flicked to the blood soaking his sleeve. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, then nodded.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I-I can help. Sit, please.”

He moved carefully, so as not to spook her, and lowered himself into the chair that she had gestured towards. She didn’t come closer to begin with. She hovered near her shelves, hands trembling slightly as she gathered bandages and salves. In all honesty, she was very much used to only healing the old men within the peaceful village. She had absolutely no dealings with handsome, muscly men trapsing into her home.

Sihtric watched her. Not in a threatening way-just curious. She didn’t speak like the others. No flattery, no fear disguised as respect. Just… caution. Real caution. And soft eyes, kind eyes.

“What’s your name?” he asked gently.

She hesitated. Looked down. Then, without meeting his gaze, replied, “Y/N”

A pause.

“That’s a pretty name. It suits you.” He said, voice softer now. “I’m Sihtric.”

Her face burned a deep shade of crimson, but luckily, they were so close to the fire that she hoped the flames would disguise the blush. She did not realise, however, that he had in fact noticed. She nodded again. Then, finally, she approached him-barely a breath away. Kneeling beside him, she reached for his arm, her fingers cold as they brushed the soaked fabric. She flinched when his breath hitched from the pain, then glanced up, guilt in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He frowned, watching her.

“Don’t be,” he said. “It’s only pain. I’ve felt worse.”

She breathed an awkward little laugh, which made him smile more than he had anticipated.

Her laugh faded as quickly as it came, as if she hadn’t meant to let it slip. She kept her eyes lowered, lashes casting shadows across her cheeks as she carefully peeled back the fabric of his tunic. The blood had dried and clung to the wound like second skin.

“This will sting,” she murmured, barely louder than the crackling fire.

Sihtric nodded. “Go on.”

She worked in silence, save for the soft rustle of linen and the clink of a glass jar being opened. Her hands were quick, efficient-but still shaking, just slightly. Not from lack of skill, but from being near him.

“Are you always this nervous,” he asked, tilting his head a little, “or just around men with swords?”

She blinked, startled, and he almost regretted teasing her-until he saw her lips curve upwards, and then part slightly as she replied, “only the ones that bleed on my floor.”

His brow rose.

A shy smile ghosted across her face. It wasn’t confidence-but it was something. He held still, not wanting to chase it away.

“You should lie down soon,” she said softly. “The salve will make you tired.” She finally looked up at him properly- into his eyes. He used the opportunity wisely, locking his gaze into hers.

“And you?” he asked.

She looked away.

“Will you rest too?” he clarified.

Her brows knit together, like she didn’t quite understand the question. Or perhaps wasn’t used to being asked anything at all.

“I- I don’t sleep well,” she said after a moment. “It’s quiet here, but… quiet doesn’t mean safe.”

That struck something deep in him.

“I know,” he said, voice low. “I’ve slept with a blade under my head for most of my life.”

She looked into his eyes again. A long, uncertain pause passed between them, but something shifted in the silence. Not trust, not yet- something softer.

Sihtric leaned back in the chair, wincing a little.

“Still hurts?” she asked.

“Not as much,” he said. Then smiled faintly. “Not with you here.”

Her eyes widened, and she turned away quickly, pretending to busy herself with putting away the bandages. But he could see her smile, just barely, beneath the curtain of her hair.

Despite the smile, he sighed and cursed himself. He couldn't help but flirt with her. She was beautiful, quiet, delicate and sweet. The women that normally surrounded him were the absolute polar opposite to being quiet, delicate and sweet.

"I don't have anywhere to rest." He said, in the hopes that she would offer her home as a place for recovery.

She did not respond right away, and he watched her as she pondered her thoughts, fiddling with jars and herbs as a distraction. After a few moments, she put a jar down and said, "I do not have much, but you are welcome to stay."

He nodded slowly, but didn’t thank her. Not out of rudeness, but because gratitude would only make it heavier for her. Instead, he said, “I’ll sleep by the fire. No trouble.”

She nodded again, and her hands went back to her jars, though she wasn’t doing anything with them now-just moving them from one place to another. Her mind clearly elsewhere.

That night, she didn’t sleep.

She lay curled on the thin bed in the corner of the hut, facing the wall, but her eyes stayed open long after the fire had burned low. She listened to every shift of his weight, every sigh, every small, unconscious sound. He didn’t snore-thank the gods-but the mere fact of another presence, a man in her home, made sleep merely impossible.

But he never moved toward her. Never touched her things. Never crossed the invisible line she'd drawn with her silence. In fact, sometime deep into the night, when the wind howled outside and the trees groaned, she heard him whisper softly-perhaps not even to her, just into the dark:

“You’re safe.”

And maybe, for the first time in months, she almost believed it.

Two days passed.

He healed quickly-too quickly for her liking, and his.

“You’re well now,” she said, her voice quiet, but firm. “You can go home.”

Sihtric didn’t answer at first. He looked at her from where he sat, legs stretched out before the fire, arm flexing slightly as he tested the bandaged wound again.

She waited. Patiently, politely. The kind of patience you build when you’ve spent too much time hoping people will leave you be.

He sighed through his nose, then slowly rose to his feet.

“Well,” he said, brushing his hands on his tunic, “I suppose it’s time then.”

The words caused a sudden pang in her heart; if he left now, she would never see him again. He took one slow step towards the table, where her bundle of sharp tools and a heavy pestle lay, and then, without a hint of hesitation, grabbed the blade’s edge with his bare hand and pulled down as harshly as he could. He cursed as the blade ripped through his skin.

“Sihtric!” she gasped, leaping forward as blood welled instantly across his palm.

He grinned.

Grinned.

It was boyish and smug and so unbelievably intentional that she just stood there, staring, speechless.

"I’m not quite healed after all,” he said casually, holding his hand up for inspection like he hadn’t just sliced it wide open. “That was clumsy, wasn't it?" He smirked.

She blinked at him. Then her lips twitched.

“You absolute idiot.” She said, a rare flash of warmth in her voice, half-scolding, half-laughing, shaking her head.

He liked the sound of it far too much.

She, not so carefully, took his wrist and examined the damage with a small shake of her head. “Why would you do that?”

“I like it here.” He said, with no shame at all

She raised a brow, trying very hard not to smile. “You like bleeding all over my floor?”

“I like you.” His voice softened, dropping just a little lower.

Her hands froze for just a moment.

He felt it-the shift in the air. Her breath hitched in her throat, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, after a pause, she reached for a clean cloth, wrapping his hand again with care.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, her eyes flickering up at him, and then quickly fixating back on his hand.

“Mm,” he hummed. “And yet, here I am. Bleeding, again. In your hut. By choice.”

This time, she didn’t hide her smile. It was small, and reluctant, but real.

“You’ll run out of limbs to injure at this rate,” she warned him.

He leaned a little closer, just enough to brush his shoulder near hers. “Then I’ll just have to start inventing reasons.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head again. A piece of hair had fallen from her loose braid, and was in front of her eyes. Sihtric used this opportunity to test the waters with her. Carefully, he used his index finger of his uninjured hand, and gently moved the hair- staring at her face as he did so.

Her face instantly turned red, and he smiled as it did so. He liked the affect that he had on her. He liked her. A lot. The mere two days that they had spent together meant everything to him. He told her things from his past that he had never told anyone, or simply did not speak of. Equally, hearing his trauma and heartache led her to share the demons of her past.

She didn’t move.

Her eyes flicked up to his, wide, bright and uncertain, but there was something else beneath it. Something curious. Something... unspoken.

Sihtric’s smile softened, no longer teasing. “There you are,” he said quietly.

She blinked. “I don't understand? I have been here the entire time.”

“You. That smile. That blush.” His voice dropped just slightly. “I’ve been chasing it since I walked through that door.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. No one had ever spoken to her like that-not without expectation, not without edge or threat beneath the words. Just simple truth. Disarming truth.

And so, she did the only thing she could think to do-she scowled at him. Or at least, she tried to, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re very full of yourself,” she mumbled, battling with the broad grin that was threatening to give away her true emotions.

Sihtric grinned, leaning back with dramatic ease. “Only because I’ve finally gotten you to speak in full sentences.”

That earned him an elbow to the ribs-gentle, but not undeserved.

“I speak,” she defended.

“Mm, shy little things don’t count,” he teased. “I mean real talking. Like this. With fire in it.”

She looked down again, fiddling with the cloth around his hand, but she didn’t deny it. Not this time.

“I’m not used to this,” she admitted, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it.

“To what?”

Her lips pressed together. Her voice came out in a near-whisper. “To someone being... like you.”

He furrowed his brows, curious, "Like me?"

She blushed again, this time only slightly, sweetly. "Kind, and warm."

Sihtric’s expression shifted, the humour dimming just a little-but the warmth didn’t leave. He tilted his head, voice softer now. “Then let me be the first. And if I’m not the last, I’ll find whoever comes after and make sure they deserve you.”

That startled her. She looked up sharply-but there was no mockery in his face. Just sincerity.

He suddenly shook his head, "I did not mean what I just said."

His words surprised her, and she felt that pang in her heart again. That was, until he continued,

"I want to be the only, I do not want another to come after me."

Her breath caught.

She stared at him, still as stone, his words settling over her like snowfall-soft, but heavy. A weight she didn’t know what to do with.

Sihtric’s gaze didn’t waver. There was nothing teasing in it now, no playful smirk. Just truth. Raw and open and terrifyingly real.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he added, voice lower now, steadier. “But that-what I just said… I meant that more than anything.”

She looked away, almost instinctively, because no one had ever said something like that to her. Not with that kind of certainty. Not with that kind of gentleness. Part of her wished that she could just turn herself invisible- she had wished for this gift her entire life.

Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, but her voice came, quiet but clear. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he said without hesitation. “I know your hands are careful, even when they shake. I know you speak like someone who’s had to hide their voice. I know you sleep lightly, and don’t trust easily. And I know you’ve made me want to stay longer than I should. I know that you are beautiful, and sweet, and kind and delicate.”

That made her look at him again.

“You don’t belong here,” she whispered. “Not in this place. Not with… someone like me.”

Sihtric leaned forward, slow, measured- so she could pull away if she wanted to. But she didn’t.

“I belong wherever you are,” he said.

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes shimmering in the firelight. Then, without thinking, she reached out-just a small touch, fingertips to his uninjured hand. A moment, a gesture, but for her, it was everything.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t push. Just turned his hand so that her fingers rested against his palm.

Her fingers stayed resting lightly in his palm, neither of them moving, both quietly stunned by the weight of what wasn’t being said.

The fire cast flickering shadows across the room. Her face was calm now, but her eyes still held that guarded storm beneath the surface-years of silence, of learning to shrink herself into corners. Her thoughts were battling- allow herself to be happy, or say no due to her fear. She wasn't sure what to do next.

Sihtric watched her. Not just her face, but the way her breath rose and fell. The way she tilted slightly toward him, even if she didn’t realise it.

He thought of saying something else. Something soft again. Something slow.

But he didn’t.

Instead-without warning, without a word-he leaned forward and kissed her.

It wasn’t a hesitant kiss. It wasn’t gentle in the way she might have expected.

It was sudden. Sure. Like he’d been holding it back for far too long and finally let go. Like it was a last minute, intrusive thought. Which, in all honesty, it was.

Her breath caught. Her fingers twitched in his.

And then, just as Sihtric was about to pull away and apologise, she kissed him back.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t speak. He only looked at her, breathing a little heavier than before. Waiting for her to retreat. But she didn’t.

Instead, she stood. Quietly. Walked around behind him.

Then, carefully, and extremely shyly, she knelt beside him again, not to tend his wound, but to slip her arms around his side. To rest her head on his shoulder.

Sihtric exhaled softly, the tension in his chest easing. He smiled to himself, excited to finally feel the comforting warmth of her.

He leaned into her, their bodies curling together like puzzle pieces finally falling into place. No more words were needed.

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

Likes, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated :)

Again, my requests are open so feel free to ask. Prompt list is linked at the top if you wish to use that<3

[nariism]

*ੈ✩ LAST WORDS OF A SHOOTING STAR

pair. itadori yuji x reader

synopsis. in the 3 days following the shibuya incident, itadori yuji emerges as a husk of his former self. with his immediate execution resumed, you both grapple with the feelings you have for each other and come to terms with his impending death.

content. hurt/comfort (lots of comfort, thank art because i was gonna be mean about this and they convinced me not to), slightly canon divergent (taking place between shibuya and the culling games), fluff and minor angst, yuta is the best wingman

wc. ~4.4k

NOVEMBER 1 2018

You imagine that your face was rather ghastly when you received the news.

"Execution?" You repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. No, that was the wrong description. It tasted of death—like iron and the depths of Hell filling your mouth until you were gurgling on it.

Unlike the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers from Tokyo, you had been ordered to stay back with Shoko in case of an emergency. You remember your exile from battle had left a similar rotten flavour in your mouth.

You vanished off the face of the earth after the incident was over. Most probably presumed you died in the aftermath. Devoured by a curse, they would say and shake their heads. You were always troublesome. And then they would move on with the rest of the world, all the same.

Lives were only temporary in the world of curses. Focus on who you can save, not who is already gone. They'll only end up a curse in your sleep. What a horrible notion to have.

The truth is that you'd been whisked away with Yuta, who seemed to be scheming a plan of his own. Perhaps as a middle finger to the higher ups he hated so much, or perhaps just for his own selfish reasons. You wouldn't know until he was finished carrying it through—he's too good at keeping secrets.

He wanted your reverse cursed technique, you knew that much for sure, even though he could do it himself. You were useful by his side, fitting into his plot in a way you could not in Shibuya. Feeling some sort of obligation and satisfaction, you followed him like a lost puppy.

And now here you are, seated by a dimming fire in the abandoned part of the city. Yuta was too clever for his own good. You suppose Gojo taught him some things well. This was their plan after all.

Yuji was safe, if only for this moment in time.

"Now with Gojo gone, it would have been easy for the higher ups to send assassins your way."

Ruthless and truthful, you flinch, but Yuji does not. He remains perfectly still in your hold, with your hands rotating his face around to get a better look at his wounds. You pour your cursed energy into him, hoping to breathe life back into his eyes, but they stay dull and empty.

"We'll find a way to stop this," you assure, reaching over to take a sanitizing wipe to clean an open cut. Yuta was too rough on him, but it was at least believable that Yuji was dead. He doesn't even recoil from the alcohol stinging his flesh, too engrossed in his own thoughts.

"Why?" He asks weakly. You gawk at him, but then it melts away into a softness that finally makes him blink up at you. "I'm evil."

"You're not evil, Yuji."

"I am. I killed those people. I did." His voice comes flat and defeated, nothing like the one you used to listen to over dinner while he reenacted shitty western films.

You never realize what you'll miss until it's gone. It's hollow, the ache in your heart.

"You don't understand. How could you? All this blood on my hands—"

"It was Sukuna," you quickly refute.

"And Sukuna only lives because I do!"

His voice raises at you, causing the flames behind you to flicker and crack. It's enough for Yuta to step in, acting as a barrier between your tense bodies. Yuji seems to shrink at this, realizing his emotions have run amok and that he has yelled at you.

You only stare back at him in bewilderment, like a frightened animal. Your upperclassman shakes his head.

"Enough of this. We need to start making plans."

You lay awake that night, alone and anxious. Yuta has taken the first shift of watching and patrolling while the two of you rest, though hesitant to leave you alone. He told you it’s another reason he dragged you along: having three people to rotate shifts instead of just two would be easier on your bodies and minds. The city is not what it used to be, now overrun with curses of all grades.

You reassured him it would be fine, that you would fall asleep quickly and so would Yuji—his body has to run out of steam eventually, right? Oh, what a fool you were.

The tension is so heavy that it's awkward, even though you're sleeping on opposite ends of the tunnel.

"Sleep," you demand as if you were Inumaki, like you have the power to curse him.

His eyes flutter open. Even in the firelight, you don't see any shine in them, seeming as if they had been extinguished of life. "Why don't you?"

"I can't until you do."

"That's stupid," he tells you.

It's not the first time you've argued like this. Back when the world felt right, you would sneak in through his dorm window well into the hours of the night. Platonic, you had convinced yourself. You snuck into his bed seeking companionship as a friend. That's the lie you gorged on.

A piece of you knew, and you're sure he did too, that the way your hands explored his arms was unnatural for two friends, and that friends wouldn't sneak into each other's rooms like this with such severe punishment on the line.

It was safe in his arms, with the dull hum of his television running an old horror film in the background. You didn't have to think about much other than his warmth when you sat between his legs with your back to his chest. Or when his arm was draped over your shoulder and you were pressed into his side—actually, you think you preferred this one though you felt sorry for his sore arm.

You would bicker about dumb, pointless things. Which movie is better, or which character deserved to be mutilated more. It would go on for so long that Megumi would bang his fist on their shared wall to get the two of you to shut up.

There was no curse strong enough to change time itself, so you keep your thoughts and memories to yourself when you respond.

"You'll be too tired to function on your shift," you reason.

"You both will be fine without me." Better off without me, you know he means. You've gotten good at reading between his lines.

You slowly sit up in your sleeping bag, eyes never leaving Yuji. He seems so frail right now, even though he looks more adult than he ever has before.

"Human Earthworm 4 was better than 2," you suddenly say. His eyes peer open again in confusion.

"Huh? 2 was way better."

"I liked the love story in 4," you argue, slowly getting out of your bag to shuffle to his side of the concrete tunnel. He looks at you as if you've said something outlandish, too preoccupied with his thoughts to wonder why you've come so close.

"2 had the best special effects though."

Your body shifts under his blanket.

"But 4 had a happier ending." (As far as 'happy' goes in the Human Earthworm series, at least.)

His arm falls around your waist as it has a hundred times, pulling you into his chest.

"Whatever," he huffs. The next topic comes fast and you're thrown into a full blown conversation with him. If you concentrate enough, you can imagine your bodies being tangled together in his bed, safe and sound.

Concrete and fire and the stench of curses melt away until he's all you can focus on.

"You have weird taste in movies," he concludes with his eyes drifting shut.

NOVEMBER 2 2018

You think you know how to fix broken people until you find that they are more than skin and bones. 

You learn one thing after the Shibuya Incident: there are wounds residing within Yuji just as much as there are marking his flesh.

Yuta, you realize, had left the two of you alone to sleep and has protected you all night. You'll make it up to him, you reason. Yuji deserved to sleep.

When you wake up to his sleeping face, you think his cuts are healing nicely. But then his expression twists up in terror—a nightmare, if he even had enough energy left in him to conjure up dreams. He murmurs in his sleep, shakes his head a few times and thrashes around so much you're surprised you slept through the night by his side.

"Sukuna," he's whispering. Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. King of Curses. The second voice tormenting him that lives in his own brain like a parasite. You bury yourself into his chest and hold him as tight as you can. He relaxes, body releasing its rigid form, but the murmurs continue.

He is shattered beyond repair. No amount of cursed energy could fix that, even if you tried.

You had once watched Yuji electrocute himself trying to set up the janky old television in his dorm room.

He fell back onto the floor with a loud crash, head hitting the wood so hard you thought he might have a concussion. It caused such a racket that Megumi came running into the room asking what happened, demon dog ready behind him in case of an ambush.

You rushed to the floor, discarding all the food you had settled in your lap and crumbled beside him to scoop him into your arms.

"Yuji!" You called him. People rarely used his first name. You felt special, like you knew him better than others did and for some reason that was a privilege. "Are you okay?"

He laughed in your arms, seeming unfazed by the fact that electricity had run through every vein in his body. "I'm fine, see? My finger just slipped."

You and Megumi both sighed in relief, though you always thought it was strange when you reflected on it. Yuji was a funny guy, yes. He was equal parts humour and destruction but not a klutz. Mistakes happen, so you let it slide until now, but some part of you was nagging to ask.

"That day," you start while rolling up your sleeping bag. "You electrocuted yourself. Remember?"

He looks at you funny over his shoulder. Yuta has already started cracking open cans of food for breakfast, embers of your dead fire cracking.

"Hmm, yeah. I remember. Why?"

"I just thought..." you trail off. "Well, Sukuna makes you tough to a lot of things. I'm surprised small electric shocks aren't one of them."

Sukuna. A name you'd been avoiding since this morning. Sickening silence settles between you. It's so heavy that you pause in your cleaning to look at him, brow raised.

"Yeah," he coughs. "Well, maybe I exaggerated."

"Huh?" You sound annoyed now. "You scared us half to death!"

Yuji only falters in his own chores. When he looks at you again, there's a longing in his gaze that you don't know how you could have missed. Or perhaps it was never there until now.

"It was nice to have you fawning over me," he admits.

The day goes on and all you feel is a terrible grief.

You become painfully aware of each millimeter the sun glides across the sky, from one horizon to the other. Time slips through your fingers fast as sand.

Horrifically, you can't find anything to talk about to fill the emptiness—Nobara and Megumi feel off the table considering the extent of their injuries. You don't even dare to breathe Gojo's name, let alone speak of him so boldly as Yuta is.

You're afraid that Yuji will spiral again, confused and unwilling to cooperate with his judgement clouded by loss. It's not your fault, you would say. It is, he would argue. It would do neither of you good, so you idle around while he and Yuta devise plans to tiptoe around the higher ups.

A part of you knows that if either of you told him to submit and die, he would. He's already teetering on the edge of self-destruction.

On the outside, he seems perfectly indifferent. Gaze steady, face stone and unchanging as he speaks. He's doomed, ill-fated, someone full of misfortune. He looks so lonely that the air itself parts for him where he stands.

To shoulder so much responsibility, so much death, maybe he truly is alone. Some fraction of him, at least—a piece of himself only he would ever understand.

Your hand snakes into his without a second thought. You don't know why you did it, nor do you have any reasoning that he doesn't yank away from you. His hand trembles, and it's then that you realize his whole body is wracked with tremors that don't match his distant disposition.

The second thing you learn is this: when Yuji self-destructs, he does it from the inside-out.

Itadori Yuji loves chocolate cake.

He loves all food, really, acting like your friend group's personal food dumpster whenever any of you were full. But chocolate cake you knew he had a sweet tooth for.

You used to bring it with you to his dorm, stopping by the convenience stores on the way home to grab a pre-packaged slice from the fridge for him to eat.

"You're making a mess," you would tell him with a frown, using your thumb to wipe up frosting from the corner of his mouth. You would lick the pad of your finger clean after that, and he would watch almost in a trance.

It's the reason why you stop on one of your patrols, poking through the fridge section of a convenience store. The power has been out for a long time in this part of the city, all the food is already room temperature, but you figure this is fine as long as it smells okay.

The way Yuji's face lights up when he sees you is all it takes for the worry to go away.

It briefly feels as though nothing has ever gone wrong—that after this slice of cake the two of you will tumble back onto his mattress and turn on another showing of Titanic. (He groaned about it once, saying he got KO'd too many times during this film. You only laughed in confusion.)

At the end of the day, you know those days will never come back to you, lost forever in the wind.

Fire dances before you and you watch, enchanted by the flames. You remember last night, how not even the firelight could make Yuji look the same as he did before. You turn your head to look at him, to see if it's any different tonight, just for your cheek to be caught in his palm.

His thumb traces your lip, the way you used to do to him. You recognize the pull of his finger against your flesh, the swipe of it to get frosting off, but he still seems dissatisfied.

"What?" You ask.

"It didn't come off," he mutters, leaning in dangerously close to observe. Heat rises all the way to your cheeks and makes your hairs stand on end. His touch is like molten lava. You wonder if it has something to do with the monster living inside of him.

"I can't see it," you whine without a mirror.

He draws a little closer, until he's inches from your face. "Let me..."

You've suddenly been dropped into cold, unknown waters. This is all unfamiliar. He's rushing this, as if making up for all the time the two of you lost pretending you were only friends. As if he can cram all the things he's wanted to tell you into one night.

Recoiling away, you find yourself hesitating. If he kisses you, this all becomes too real. It's an acknowledgment of his impending death. That the thread of his life is finer and further stretched than yours is.

An unpleasant thought rings through your mind. What if I become a curse on him?

"This only ends badly for us," you whisper, but the conviction is missing from your voice.

He doesn't care. At least, it doesn't look like he does. Who knows what he's thinking right now?

"Who cares?" He says. "We're Jujutsu Sorcerers. Everything bad happens to us no matter what."

You don't have any rebuttal to that, no argument that forms in your mind that could challenge his words. He was right. Only disaster befalls Sorcerers. Disaster and grief.

For a while you had forgotten, living these idyllic months watching the days pass by. You feel like you wasted that precious time worrying about stupid things, like what to have for breakfast or what kind of snacks you should pick up for movie night.

(It ended up being popcorn every time. He liked to piss off Sukuna with it, saying the King of Curses would never get to experience the pleasure of picking out kernels from his teeth. You scoffed but bought it anyway.)

Another thought crosses your mind: Yuji is more fit to be in a rom-com, or a television series where the good guys always win. Not this tragedy. Not this massacre.

You wonder if he's ever felt the same way. If he ever wished he could reach into the sky and turn the sun back to a time before he even knew what a curse was.

If you’d met each other under different circumstances, would this have been a different story? The thought makes your heart ache, a part of you so deep that even if you reached into your chest and plucked it, you'd still wail.

"Can I?" He asks you, eager but quiet. Had this been a few months ago, you imagine that he would have had this spark in his eye. That his lips would be crashing into yours with no inhibition.

But Yuji has always been selfless, you think he always will be. He doesn't want to drag you down if you don't want to—an out, they call it. An escape route just before he careens into a ditch.

Hope has drained from every inch of his expression. This is his loneliness talking.

Despite the dread that licks up your spine, you cup his face. You swear he jolts slightly beneath your touch, as if you've reached out to strike him down. A retribution he believes he deserves.

He kisses you like it's his last day on earth. 

You learn one last thing: Itadori Yuji tastes familiarly of death.

Yuta decides to leave you alone for a second night in a row. His presence is so crushing that you know he's alive, but he stalks off somewhere else, leaving just you and Yuji huddled by the pitiful fire you've built.

He once claimed himself jokingly to be a love expert, and then ran off to Kenya for so long that you lost track of how much time passed. You wish you'd asked him before he left what he meant, but at the time it seemed irrelevant. Insignificant. The name Itadori Yuji had not yet been impressed into your heart like a seal.

You're busy setting up the sleeping bags, this time pushing them flush together. They're so close you can barely see the seam between them. Yuji stands on the other side of the fire, watching.

It reminds him of all the times you'd ever scolded him for not making his bed in the morning. I'm gonna crawl back in tonight anyway, he said. Who cares if it's messy?

Idiot, you would call him. But there was no malice behind it. He treated it like a pet name, a badge of honour to be your idiot.

Life felt so simple back then. He was full of determination and life and stuck to his morals as best he could. When he wavered he would text you to come over so you could fall asleep on his chest and suffocate any other thoughts out of his head.

"I've never felt so powerful before," he admits quietly.  You turn to look at him, curious. "Like I could do anything in the world."

There's a negative connotation to that, you know. He could do anything. The world would crumble at his feet and there he would stand, laughing at it all. It isn't his will, not even slightly, but the demon taking refuge in his body would love to see the blood pool.

"Like I could just... reach out and—"

"Yuji!" You hiss, lurching forward to take his hand into yours and retreat from the flame. The skin is already pink and blistering, scorched by the embers. You twist his wrist around, observing where the fire licked the deepest, and pour your energy into him.

When you look up to see if he's crying, or at least grimacing in pain, you find only his smiling face—warm and adoring. For a second it feels like the world isn't burning around you.

It was nice to have you fawning over me.

You wipe that stupid smirk off his face, leaning in to smear a kiss along the scar on his lip.

"Idiot," you say, and he laughs for the first time in so long that it sounds foreign in your ears.

(He doesn't fall asleep that night. He would rather savour the sound of your soft snores, memorize the form of your body in his hold, and try his hardest to burn this into his brain.

So be it if you come to curse him one day. He would welcome you with open arms.)

NOVEMBER 3 2018

The day comes when Megumi sneaks into your hideout, asking for help.

His sister, he explains. He needs help saving Tsumiki. For some reason, resentment boils in your stomach, but then it's snuffed just as fast.

Two days and two nights you've spent pretending Japan isn't collapsing, content with sitting idly by as curses overran Tokyo. You're sure Megumi thought you to be cowards, that you were all hiding under this bridge to wait out the hellstorm that was raining down on your homes.

It was true to some extent. Once Yuji stepped out into battle again, that was that. You're not sure things would ever be the same again, though you suppose you lost the privilege of routine days ago.

"Let me come too," you urge. Three pairs of eyes land on you.

"No," Yuji pushes. "It's dangerous."

"I can fight!"

"You can't," he pauses, then corrects himself, "You won't."

Awkward silence settles over your encampment. Yuta stirs, standing to hold you steady by the shoulders.

"If we need help... if one of us is hurt, we'll need you unharmed. Do you understand?"

Ah, ever so wise, your upperclassman. So easy to persuade you. There's a reason why he's the chosen one only second to Gojo.

You swallow the bile that fights up your throat. "What if you don't come back?"

Yuji steps in this time, knocking away Yuta to hold you by the face. Get a grip, this means. Pull yourself together, don't you dare fall apart in front of me.

"We will."

You once considered telling him how you felt, letting it eat away at you until Nobara groaned in disgust.

“If Itadori starts dating before I do, I’ll puke.”

You remember that you laughed, thinking she was so dramatic. You loved that about her. “I think you would do worse.”

She glared at you, foot lightly kicking at your shin under the table. Still, she made sure to push equal amounts of rice to your side of the plate. “I might burn a village down,” she huffed, placing her chin on her palm.

“You’re fine. Even if I told him how I feel, I don’t think he’d accept.”

“Huh?” Nobara sounded genuinely confused, raising a brow at you. “What makes you think that?”

You didn't know how to answer that. Maybe you were just afraid that you had misinterpreted everything, that the way he held you was protective in a familial manner and that he would slam his door in your face when you tried.

Looking back on it, you can imagine him in the next room ranting about the same things to Megumi.

“He still has posters of Jennifer Lawrence on his wall,” you argued weakly while shoveling rice into your spoon. She watched you take your bite with her lips parted in disbelief.

You wish you had told him, then. Not that it would have changed where you both ended up.

You watch as they pack up their things.

Megumi's demon dog keeps you quiet company, tail thrashing against the ground as you slick back its fur. They talk around the dying flames, devising plan after plan. None seem safe. None would be.

Yuta and Megumi leave first, taking the lead in front of the pack. His dog melts into the shadows and disappears, leaving you sitting alone.

"I want to take you back, but..." Yuji glances over his shoulder toward his death sentence. "Will you make it okay on your own?"

You get up slowly, as if to draw out the time he stands before you. A thousand questions run through your head: what if you never see him again? What if this kills him, not by body, but by his already damaged soul?

He must sense the racing of your mind, so he leans in to engulf you in his arms. In an instant, memories of those days spent lounging in his bed, shoveling your food onto his plate, and purposefully talking louder to tease Megumi come flooding.

A year you would never forget. You're sure it'll become a curse if you dwell, so you tell him: "I'll make it. You go on, they need you."

I need you, too. Stay. If only it were so simple.

He smiles at you, warm like the sun that's hidden behind the barrier. Itadori Yuji looks like a ghost of his former self, battle-worn and covered in scars where his skin used to be smooth. He kisses you again for good measure, making sure he remembers the way you sigh into his mouth.

When he pulls away, there's life gleaming in his eyes.

"Let's watch Human Earthworm 5 when I come back."

Your thumb brushes the corner of his lip. You open your mouth to speak, to finally tell him the truth after all this time. You'd rather not die regretting you never said it, after all.

But you stop.

"I prefer Titanic," you confess. He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. Then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him.

You'll make up for lost time one day. It won’t be today. You can tell him all about your feelings when he comes back to you.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[wlntrsldler]

THE PROPHECY | LUKE CASTELLAN

synopsis: series of events between zeus!reader and luke that started the prophecy. not canon-compliant; inspired by the prophecy by taylor swift.

series masterlist | previous | next

I guess a lesser woman would've lost hope. A greater woman wouldn't beg but I looked to the sky and said "Please."

The first time you burned offerings, you had hope that your father would acknowledge you. It was the day after you got to Camp Half-Blood. You burned your entire plate of food, choosing to starve for the night, in hopes that your father would offer his condolences. Perhaps, he'd empathize with you. You both lost someone, after all, you a sister and he a child.

But nothing happened. You thought you did it wrong, that your father just didn’t hear your prayers– he wasn’t ignoring you, of course not, what parent would ignore their grieving child? You stayed up the entire night reading ancient texts, knocking on the doors of cabins to speak to head counselors for guidance. You were too naive about this life to notice the pity in their eyes then. None of them had the heart to tell you that your father wouldn't show mercy, at least not in the way you wanted him to. They never did.

You tried again the next day, only to be met with the same fate. But Luke, who had heard of your attempts, saved half of the food he was given and knocked on the door of the lonely Zeus cabin to share it with you. He'd gotten in trouble for not burning an offering that day, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to let you go to bed hungry two nights in a row. 

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, then years, your offerings began to get smaller and smaller, until finally, prayers became more of a chore, a thing to check off on your to-do list. It stopped meaning something. It was three years of unanswered, half-hearted, prayers. 

Luke stumbled into Camp Half-Blood midday. A large gash was across his face, blood staining his skin. He was clutching his side, shirt nearly ripped to shreds, similar to how his skin was raw and frayed under his clothes. He'd used all his strength to carry himself into camp before falling to his knees when his eyes finally found you in the chaos of it all. 

He said your name once, voice hoarse and scratchy like Ladon clawed his way inside Luke, ripping out his vocal cords, not sparing a part of him from destruction. When he finally collapsed, you ran to him, smearing the red of his blood all over your own clothes, as the Apollo kids pried you away from him.

For the first time in three years, you were going to bed hungry again. The charred remnants of what would've been your dinner created a foul scent in the air. Luke’s blood was still lodged beneath your fingertips, staining your hands even after you’ve rubbed them raw. It made you sick. 

"Dad," You pleaded, watching the smoke fade into the night sky. Your tears were flowing down your face, chest heaving as you ignored the distant sounds of the campers you were meant to be looking after. "I haven't asked you for anything in years, but now I'm asking you this. They can't take him. Please, not Luke." 

For a moment the world seemed to still. The clouds in the sky disappeared, specks of white faded into the midnight blue. You turned around, looking for a sign of life somewhere, anywhere. There was nothing but silence, no sounds of owls hooting in conversation, no whistles of the air, no chatter of the few kids who stayed at camp. 

When the flame in front of you extinguished with a whoosh, the darkness engulfed you, leaving nothing but the thin light illuminated by the moon. Black smoke rose from the pit as you looked up to the sky, "Please." 

A flash of light vanished as quickly as it came. There appeared a ragged line perfectly between the peaks of the mountains, bright white, leaving a haze of silver in your vision. Then a rumble of the earth, shaking the ground your knees were glued to. Lighting and thunder. A sign that Zeus had heard you. 

A high-pitched noise rang across the world, different frequencies like it was caused by more than just one thing. The noise made you cover your ears with your open palms, groaning as you fell over by the sheer power of it. Then the world resumed, like what you just witnessed, what you just experienced, was a glitch in the fabric of time. 

Your offerings were nothing but ashes now and the clouds returned to the sky, this time carrying the weight of water as droplets fell on your bare skin. You stood up, rushing to the infirmary, barely beating the relentless storm that was brewing. 

Lee Fletcher turned around at the sudden intrusion, eyes wide in shock for the second time that night. You stood at the door, trying to catch your breath. He smiled at you, as he took two steps to the left, then disappeared in the other room. Luke was propped on his bed, shoulders hunched over as he touched the bandages on his face. As if he felt your presence, he turned his head, wincing at the pain that shot up his spine when he overextended. Even with one eye taped shut, you saw his gaze soften. 

His voice came out as a whisper, barely audible, but you still heard it. "Hey, you." 

Your body seemed to have a mind of its own. If it wasn't for the sounds of your footsteps pounding against the wooden floors, if it wasn't for your hands reaching over to touch Luke's face, warmth spreading against your skin to anchor you, to show you that he's really there in front of you, you wouldn't have believed that this was real. 

The gods were cruel sometimes. They messed with your head until you were questioning your own sanity. At first, you thought this was one of their games, one of the things they did to toy with mortals for their own entertainment. Perhaps, Luke wasn’t really here; But then you felt it– his heart. Thump. Thump. Thump. Home. This was real.

"You're okay," You cried, hands grazing over every part of his body. You tried to ignore the raised flesh under the bandages, running across large expanses of his skin. The scars were still fresh, blotches of red marking the white cloth. "You're okay." 

"I'm okay," He repeated, a side smile appearing on his face. His hands gripped your waist, needing to feel you just as much as you needed to feel him. Luke wanted to tell you that all he thought of was you the whole time. Even when the sides of his vision darkened, and all he could do was drag himself through the familiar neck of the Montauk woods, it was the image of you that he kept chasing. 

You, waiting for him under the shade of Thalia’s tree. You, shaking him awake in the Hermes cabin to start your rounds around camp. You, smiling at him like there was something worth living for in this life. You. 

Luke wanted to tell you that it was the promise of spending life with you, even if he was nothing more than your best friend to you, that kept him hanging onto the thread of life. If he survived this, he swore to himself that he'd tell you how he truly felt about you. He couldn't die without you knowing.

"I shouldn't have lied to you," You said, "I should've told you to stay like I wanted to." 

Luke shook his head, "This isn't on you. I wasn't fit to go on this quest. I failed." 

"You're the strongest person I know, Luke." 

"This wasn't a test of strength," He snarled. Luke always got like this when he talked about things related to his father and the gods. Resentment dripped from his voice like honey. It wasn't a tone you were too familiar with because he never spoke to you like this. "I was right. This was a test of something else. He sent me on this quest to fail... and I fell for it." 

Luke did things with conviction. He was born to be a leader and it showed. He never cowered from a challenge. He held his head high, even when things didn't go his way. He learned from his mistakes and he made sure it would never happen again. 

But sometimes, in the rare moments where the pain of failure pierces his heart, he turns into the little boy you once met. The same one who did things for the approval of his father. The same one who defied the odds and fell into the traps of the insincerity of the gods. The same one who blamed himself for not being good enough– not good enough to save his mother from the Oracle, not good enough to save his friend, not good enough to warrant more than two sentences from his father. 

You always said that you and Luke were two sides of the same coin, both burdened by the feeling of knowing you should’ve done more, but differed in the way you went about life. Luke welcomed his responsibilities, fueled by his search for glory, while you shied away from this life as much as you could. 

Your mouth felt dry as the heavy raindrops trickled against the window pane, "I'm glad you're still here." 

"I couldn't leave you here on your own," He replied, voice dropping to a whisper. His hands tugged you closer to him. You let him wrap his arms around you, feeling his heart against your chest. "Can I tell you something?" 

"Always." 

"I–" This was it. He couldn't wait anymore, not when he faced death and all he could think of was how his heart would ache, longing for you, until your time came to join him in the afterlife. Even on the brink of his demise, all he could think of was you. He wasn’t afraid of dying, he was afraid of being in Elysium without you. Would it even be a paradise if you weren’t there?

Luke's words got caught in his throat. His confidence was at an all-time low. If you rejected him now, he doesn't think he'd be able to bear it. He didn't think he could handle the thought of facing the repercussions of this failed quest without you by his side. He cleared his throat, "I-I'm tired. Will you stay here tonight?" 

You nodded, running your hands through his hair as you gently laid him down on the bed, careful not to put pressure on his wounds. You kept your distance, afraid to cause more harm than good, but Luke was not having any of it. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his weak body. He couldn’t move much in fear that he’d tear his skin even more with any slight movement, but that was the least of his worries. In fact, he had no worries now.

He made it to Camp Half-Blood, alive, albeit a failure, but he was with you. There were no worries in the world anymore. 

“Luke?” You whispered. You turned to face him, recognizing the face you’ve grown to love even in the darkness of the cabin. The flashes of lightning illuminated his face every so often. Despite all of this, he still looked beautiful. Your Luke always did. 

“Hm?” He hummed, eye fluttering open at the sound of your voice. The noise of the storm was drowned out by your soft breaths against his cheek, warm and comforting. “What is it?” 

“You know I love you, right?” You professed, reaching up to touch the uncovered side of his face. He melted into your touch, feeling safe and seen in such a small action. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t make it.” 

“You should know by now that I’ll never leave you,” He chuckled, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll be kicking and screaming if they ever try to keep me away from you. They’ll have to send more than one dragon to keep me from you.” 

You laughed, “You’re insane, you know that?.” 

“I know,” He looked down at your lips. You’d both been in situations like this before, caught in the magnetic pull of each other, but had enough strength to pull away before either of you could do anything that would lead to regret. “For the record, I love you, too.” 

“Do you?” You breathed out, wondering if he understood your question. You said it to each other often. You both let it linger in the air, subtext and unsaid words on the tips of your tongues. “Do you love me?” 

The way you were looking at him made his heart race. Is it the right time to tell you everything? Is it too soon? Will you think that he was just saying these things because of what happened? Would you trust him if he told you that he loved you in every way that a person could ever love another? 

If he asked you if you trusted him with your life, you’d say yes with no hesitation. You’d trusted him with your life since you first met him. All his life, Luke had been taught to be wary of the people he met, but not when he met you. It was like you saw right through him. You understood him like nobody he’d ever met. 

“I love you,” He said, hoping that it was enough to show you. If he had his way, he would let you peek into his mind, his soul, and his heart, just so you’d see that all of him yearned for you. 

“Do you–” You paused, tilting your head to brush your lips against his. The storm began to calm outside. “Do you love me like this?” 

Luke’s grip on your waist tightened, hands burning against the exposed flesh on your lower back, “Yes. Always.” 

You sighed, placing your lips on his. You felt Luke shiver at the feeling. His lips moved against your own in a gentle kiss, innocent and kind. The rain ceased. You pulled away from him, continuing to trace patterns on his skin. Luke’s face relaxed as he held you in his arms, letting the tiredness in his bones win. 

When the both of you woke the next morning, the sun was shining brightly through the curtains, with no traces of last night’s storm to be seen.

[xoxo-author]

My Salesman

Pairing: Salesman x reader

Warnings: my shitty writing, language, mentions of violence, probably so many errors

Side note: Does anyone know the salesman name in the show or do we really only know him as the salesman? Doesn’t bother me one bit either way 😉

Don’t be nasty! Please don’t copy my work!

Does the story make sense? No. Has it been living in my head since season 2 came out? Yes. Have I thought about the salesman at least 7 days a week since season 2 came out? Also yes.

Enjoy!

Credit to gif owner

I let out a long sigh, "Can you please watch where you're going?"

"Holy shit, I found you!"

My head snaps up, confusion written all over my face. Jin, who I haven't seen in almost two years and who was a family friend, stands in front of me with wide eyes. My confusion only grows deeper as he wraps his arms around me tightly, brings me to his chest, and lifts me off the ground causing me to tense. 

He sets me back on the ground before pushing me to arms length with his hands on my shoulders, "Do you know how long I've been looking for you?"

"Looking for me?"

"You've been missing for three years!" 

"Missing?"

He nods, "You fell off the face of the earth and no one has heard from you since. Do you know how worried we all were?"

I shake my head, trying to shrug off his hands, "I'm not missing Jin."

Jin looks at me as if I was crazy, "You're not missing? Do you think we're all going to believe that you went away on your own? No, your dad was right to report you missing."

My dad? What the hell did he do now? "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Three years ago you vanished without a trace, no one hears from you or knows where you are. Your dad comes into the station and reports you missing."

"You're telling me, my father reported me missing to the cops?"

Jin nods, letting his hands fall from my shoulders down to my forearms, "He was so distraught, he was talking about how you guys were in the train station when a man in a grey suit with a briefcase who was tall approached him and asked him to play a game for money and when your dad refused, the man took you instead."

It doesn't necessarily shock me that my father would lie to the police, he was nothing more than a crook but to know that he reported me missing when it was his fault that I've been gone for three years is mind-blowing. 

"We sent out search parties, hung fliers, posted reward money for your return or any information on you or the man in the grey suit, we sent bolos to other cities and nearby countries, we checked surveillance tapes and everything came back with nothing."

I tilt my head to the side, "What do you mean surveillance tapes came back with nothing?"

I know for a fact that there were so many cameras in the station that one of them was bound to have caught my dad just hand me over to the grey suit guy. Granted I went willingly but still.

"The cameras were down the day you went missing."

I shake my head, of course they were. While my father is a complete sleazeball, he's a smart sleazeball who would cover all his bases. 

"Your case went cold until about two and a half years ago. We had a guy come in claiming he was taken to this island where there were four hundred and fifty-five other people there who owed money to someone or something. These people could play a couple of games and win money but if you lost a game you would be killed so there could only be one winner and this man claimed to be the winner. We thought he was complete batshit until he mentioned that he was approached by a tall man who wore a grey suit that had a briefcase who asked him if he wanted to play a game."

My father came home roaring drunk one night talking about how he was approached by someone in the station asking if he wanted to play a game for money and how he wanted the entire briefcase but the man wouldn't give it up so my father offered him something for the money in the case. That something was me. My father traded his own daughter for money.

When I found out, I was livid but then I realized it would be my only way out and away from him. 

We went to the station that same night and the man in the suit still stood there, seemingly waiting for my father to return. I suppose I should've beenfrightened at the fact that my father sold me to a stranger but I felt the complete opposite. Maybe it was the fact that he was dressed as an everyday salesman. I was calm as I stood by the man's side and watched my father walk away with the money. 

There was a small part of me that expected the man to let me go but he did not. I've been with him the past three years and I can say they've been the best three years. Yeah, he was completely batshit crazy. I mean he sent people to games where they were more than likely not coming back and he may have killed people (not quite positive on that one but he did come home with blood on his clothes and face so using context clues) but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I don't see the entire crazy side, I mostly only see the "normal" side. 

That's probably the daddy issues talking but that's a problem for another day. 

Letting out a sigh, I manage to tug one of my arms free, "Jin, as you can see, I am completely fine. I am unharmed and not missing. You can tell people I am fine but please don't tell them where I am."

His eyes go even wider, "You're coming home with me. I just told you that your father has been worried sick about you for the past three years and yet you don't want to come home or let me tell him where you are?"

If only he knew the truth about my father, although that might not matter as Jin has always tried, for some reason, to get on my father's good side. I knew of his crush on me since forever so I am sure that is his driving factor for wanting to be on my father's good side. 

Jin looks down as I try to tug my other hand free, his grip only getting tighter, "What's on your finger? Did you marry your kidnapper?"

It was about a year and a half when we got married. I fell for the "normal" side. Again, thank you daddy issues. 

Jin begins to tug on my arm, "You're coming home and that's the end of it. You and I will get married, your father will be happy, and you'll be home. Everything will go back to normal."

As I use my free hand to tug at his iron-like fist around my forearm, I manage to look at the time on his watch. My head shoots up, eyes frantically glancing over the different faces in the park in search of a certain man who doesn't like when his things are touched. 

Giving my forearm another tug, Jin starts trying to pull me in the opposite direction of where I was headed. 

"Jin, you need to let go of me right now."

A throat clearing behind me made Jin stop in his tracks, his head turning back to look at me. Or rather who was behind me.

I knew who it was without even having to look. 

"Who's this?"

My body tilts to the side a little while my head turns up, "A friend from home."

Returning my attention to Jin, I tug my arm again, "Jin, let go and go back home."

Jin's eyes seemingly trace every inch of the infamous man in the grey suit (although he had on black pants and a white button-up today), "Is this your kidnapper?"

Jins grip on my forearm tightens causing me to suck in a breath and as soon as the words, "Jin you're hurting me" came out of my mouth, my view was obstructed by a stretched-out (rather stretched due to broad shoulders) white button-up. 

"I believe my wife has told you that you are hurting her so it's in your best interest if you let go."

Jin's grip falters for a moment before going back to gripping my forearm, "I'm taking her back to where she belongs."

The man in front of me chuckles and I knew it was game over. 

"I don't like it when people touch what belongs to me."

I couldn't see anything but I could hear and what I heard was a fist connecting to face, more specifically a fist breaking a bone. 

Jin immediately let go of my arm, letting me move out from behind my shield who had his head tilted and his signature smirk. I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was in crazy mode. 

My salesman looks down at me, eyes quickly giving me a once over only to narrow when he sees my now see-through sundress. His eyes snaps back to Jin, who looked like he was about to shit his pants, "Not only was it enough to hurt my wife but you wanted to see what I get to have every night? Did you purposefully make her spill the drinks on herself?"

I quickly place myself in front of him, one of my hands going to his chest while the other goes to the side of his neck. Over the past three years, I've learned that skin-to-skin contact seems to help pull him out of the I'm a killer phase. "Look at me... Look at me, please...I want to go home."

His gaze snaps to mine and I give him a little smile, "Take me home?"

I could feel him relax a little before he reached up and takes hold of my hand that was on his chest. He shoots Jin a look that would for sure kill him if looks could kill and turn on his heels, pulling me in the direction of our home. 

I don't bother turning around to look at Jin.

"What was his favorite game to play as a child?"

My salesman was already looking at me when I looked up at him. 

"If you don't tell me, I'll have to pick my favorite and we both know which one that’ll be”

🔫🔫

[omegalomania]

ok listen obviously like everyone else i am Fucking Devastated but the fucking sHRIMPLICATIONS here are KILLING me.

the two last "new" songs we got before the hiatus were alpha dog and from now on we are enemies (equally fucked up song btw) and pete namedrops alpha dog as the last song they wrote before the hiatus and it's such a. it's SUCH a fucking. augh.

like it's so painfully and clearly a farewell. the lyrics all telegraph it. your time has passed. never means forever. walk off into the sunset. the discussion of how much effort is required to maintain this life and how they already feel burned out, past their prime when they were all in their mid-twenties and early thirties. and the sheer fucking POETRY of the way it was the last song they recorded - tell rock and roll i'm alone again - until they announced their triumphant return with save rock and roll in 2013. welcome to the new déjà vu.

and oh yeah the last word issued in the song's studio version is the word "abracadabra," which pete cites as the word that christian bales character in the film “the prestige” says he will utter before he disappears from prison. "abracadabra" was a key word in the viral ARG-esque marketing campaign leading up to the release of believers never die...right before fall out boy seemingly vanished off the very face of the earth.

and, OH YEAH, the first shows they played after reuniting involved a multi-song medley spanning all the stages of their career, with one of those songs being the first time they ever played alpha dog, albeit partially.

the notion of the wizard through the curtain speaking to a sense of bitterness (at least if pete's ten year old genius annotation is anything to go by) which is the exact same phrasing to the way joe would later talk about the band's fraught, strained feelings leading up to the hiatus in a podcast with kerrang while promoting his book.

many people have pointed out the parallels between flu game and alpha dog - the way they both discuss the exhaustion of being so visible and constantly putting yourself out there and how taxing that is, especially when you're simultaneously trying to cover up how hard it is. how isolating it is, when the whole world is squinting against the starlight feathering off you. it's worth noting that these parallels are not merely implicit, either. "flu game" is in and of itself an explicit reference to a famous game michael jordan played while sick in which he claimed that he didn't want to give up, no matter how sick and tired he was. and how did pete annotate a specific couplet, ten years ago?

we must make it hard to look so easy doing something so hard

another explicit reference to michael jordan, years and years prior.

and this is the first time they've ever played alpha dog in full. nearly 15 full years after the hiatus started. by now, fall out boy have been together for far longer than they've ever been apart. by now, fall out boy has been in their "posthiatus" era for longer than they have their "prehiatus" one.

i dont really have a conclusion to this. just, i dunno man. something about the repeated lyric "never means forever" on a greatest hits compilation titled "believers never die." something about i'm a star vs. so much for stardust vs. no more stardust. something about motifs that span decades, that span years of hurt and cracked-open wounds that have now been poured over with liquid gold, mending them anew. something about reclaiming old scars and ugly histories and reforging them into something filled with streaming starlight and sun-drenched smiles.

abracadabra.

[mssorceressupreme]

Encounters

Pairing: Minho x Reader

Note: hii guys so after reading A LOT of amazing fics, I decided to finally start writing my own again (I used to write and publish books on wattpad but stopped for a while) 😭 also I kept sending requests and felt kinda annoying for constantly spamming authors lmaoo but I love all their work sm ❤️ so here’s my first Minho fic heheh hope you enjoy :))

Summary: to escape from the pressures of being a greenie, you run and hide in the deadheads, accidentally stumbling upon the runners hut, where you encounter someone alluring.

Warnings: none really, peer pressure?, y/n has slight anxiety

——

The revelation that I was the only girl in the glade made me want to pull all my hair out and vanish off the face of this earth. It had already been a few hours since I arrived but my mind still struggled to grasp the fact that I was the only girl here, in a glade full of boys, or men. So far, Newt and Alby have been accomodating which I was immensely grateful for, they have already set the bar so high that I’m now worried about having to meet the other gladers.

Apparently, it was tradition to throw a bonfire evening for the “greenie” each month, and fortunately for me, I was the greenie this month.

The moment I arrived, the boys seemed determined to throw me into some strange tradition involving a concoction Gally made “Come on greenie, it’s tradition!” One of the boys, Jack, jeered, holding out a cup filled with the suspicious drink.

Newt, who was seated beside me, shook his head, “I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.” He chuckled.

“I’ll pass Jack, thanks.” I brought my knees to my chest.

“Now that’s no fun! Just a sip!” George, another glader, insisted, pushing the drink closer to my face.

The tiniest whiff of whatever that beverage comprised of made me gag. “Oh- eugh! Please I don’t want that!” I shove his hand away.

“It’s tradition! Come on don’t break the streak! Even I downed three cups!” Tyler remarked.

I glanced around, the pressure was getting heavier and their voices were starting to echo in my head. “You might have to outrun them greenie!” Frypan teased.

Panic surged through me, and I bolted. I could hear their laugher and shouts behind me, urging me to stop and that Fry was only joking, but I didn’t dare look back. My heart raced as I ran blindly through the glade, towards the deadheads, searching for a place to hide.

I spotted a hut up ahead and, without thinking, dashed inside, slamming the door shut behind me. I leaned against it, panting and gasping for breath, my heart thudding in my chest.

Were they chasing after me? Should I stay here until the next morning? Where am I going to sleep? Hundreds of thoughts raced my mind at once and I needed to get away from everyone.

A throat cleared behind me, and I jumped, spinning around to see a tall, imposing figure watching me with amused curiosity. Alright, clearly I didn’t get away from everyone.

“Oh, uh, sorry! I didn’t see you there!” I stammered, feeling my face heat up.

Minho stood there, arms crossed over his chest, an eyebrow raised. “You know only runners are allowed in here,” he said, his voice firm yet not unkind.

“I’m sorry! I’ll leave right away! I didn’t mean to intrude—” I began to gush, stepping toward the door. But before I could reach the handle, Minho moved, his long stride bringing him directly in front of me.

He towered over me, one hand pressing against the door, keeping it shut.

I looked up at him, my confusion and nerves likely written all over my face. Why wasn’t he letting me leave? What did he want?

Minho’s silence was heavy, his dark eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a strange, electric tension crackling between us. Those eyes were not predatory unlike some of the other gladers.

My pulse quickened for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. The sound of the boys searching for me grew louder, their footsteps echoing just outside.

“She couldn’t have gone far!” one of them shouted.

Minho’s gaze never wavered from mine as he spoke, “If you’d like, I can accompany you for the rest of the evening.” It was as though he knew I was trying to hide from them and seek refuge.

“You’re not going to make me drink Gally’s drink, are you?” I blurted out, my voice shaky.

Minho chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Guess we’ll see,” he said, his tone teasing.

He extended his hand to me, his expression softening just a touch. I hesitated for a moment before placing my hand in his. His grip was firm, and reassuring. The simple contact sent a thrill through me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too.

For a moment, we stood there, our hands clasped, the air between us charged with an unspoken connection. His presence was both intimidating and oddly comforting, a contradiction that made my head spin. I couldn’t help but glance at his lips, then back to his warm brown eyes.

Minho finally broke the silence, “Let’s get out of here before they come back,” he said, his voice gentle.

He led me out of the hut, and as we walked together, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the start of something significant. The glade suddenly seemed less daunting with him by my side, and I found myself hoping that maybe, just maybe, this new world held more than just danger and fear.

[chaussetteblanche]

I had this idea in my head for a while; With Kit Connor x gf reader, where she comforts him when he was pressured to come out

thank you <3

pairing : kit connor x reader summary : you are by kit's side as he deals with being forced to come out word count : 900 words warnings : swearing

note : the fact that some so-called "fans" watched the show and had the nerve of accusing him of queer-baiting and pressured into coming out when he was only eighteen is just disgusting to me, check yourselves y'all

You'd been dating Connor for a while. Being an actor, you'd met at some party he had attended with the Heartstopper cast. You'd met Yasmin first, and had immediately hit it off. She was unbelievably funny and down-to-earth. She had introduced you to the rest of the cast, and, naturally, you'd been drawn to Kit. You had exchanged numbers through shy smiles and shaky hands, the rest was history.

Dating someone in the acting world was both a blessing and a curse. As an actor, Kit understood and could relate to your struggles with roles, management, fame, social media... just the industry in general. You bonded over similar experiences as bisexuals who could pass as straight and who didn't always bother with labels or clarifying their sexualities. But as an actor, he was also often on the move, filming thousands of kilometres away from you or in a different time zone altogether.

But even with all this, being with Kit was easy. You both clicked, you just worked. You communicated your feelings and needs and even though you'd had your fair share of arguments, you loved him more than anything. He made you and your life so much better.

So you can imagine that when people he started being accused of queer-baiting and being pressured by people who missed the meaning of the show entirely to come out, you didn't take it well. You loved Kit with all your heart and would tear the world to pieces just for him.

"I just can't believe these people! How dare they? How can they just- sit there and demand this of you!" you'd ranted one night. "You're eighteen for Pete's sake! You don't owe them or anyone anything! Fucking cunts, it's just ridiculous that they think so!" Kit watched you from where he was sitting on the couch, running a hand over his face. You sigh, licking your lips as you trudged over to him. "I'm sorry," you speak softly, standing in between his legs. He looks up at you, shaking his head. "You've got nothin' for apologize for, luv," "But I shouldn't go off like this, it's not fair to you, this negative energy..."

He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. Your hand immediately goes to his hair, gently scratching his scalp as the other wounds itself around his shoulders. "I would make them vanish off the face of the Earth if I could, I swear, I-" "You did all you could, my love, it's already more than enough." He meant the countless posts you'd made concerning his situation as well as other actors', speaking up on the issue in many interviews... He was right, you'd done everything in your power. But it still wasn't enough. And it was killing you.

"But it's not, though. They just won't stop! Where is their bloody decency? And you don't deserve this, any of this. It's so unfair." "I know," He lifted his head up to look at you. Your hand cupped his jaw before you kissed him deeply. "I can take it," he assured against your lips. You pulled away, frowning. "But you shouldn't have to. It's so unfair. I wish we could just shut them all up, tell them to fuck off." "But you've done that already, haven't you?" he chuckled. "Yes, but clearly the message didn't get through." He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. "Stop worrying about me. I'll take care of it." "What will you do?" "I don't know yet, but I'll figure it out."You'd seen the tweet before you'd seen him. He was supposed to come over to your place for Halloween, you were planning on attending a party together, dressed as Shaggy and Velma. You were halfway through getting ready. You had your outfit on and were just getting started on your makeup when your phone started blowing up. Confused, you picked it up, seeing Kit's tweet everywhere. You slapped a hand over your mouth, scrolling down Twitter. Even though you were furious at the people who had brought him to this, you couldn't help but feel proud of him for taking control of the situation and coming out on "his own terms", if they could be qualified as such.

Your doorbell rings and you all but run to open the door. Outside stands Kit, looking absolutely beaten. You bite your lip, eyebrows furrowing. "I just saw," you breathe. He walks in and pulls you into a big hug, sighing shakily into your hair. You rub his back. "Oh, baby," you coo, "I'm so sorry, you don't deserve any of this,"

You usher him to your couch, closing the door and start making some tea. You set both your cups down on the coffee table, sitting down next to him. You take his hands in yours, caressing his knuckles. "How do you feel?" "I- I'm just disappointed, I guess. I thought people, especially after watching the show, would be more understanding, empathetic... just- more human, I guess." "Yeah, people are disappointing." "But I wanted to be the one to say you, you know? I didn't want that taken away from me, I didn't want to be outed." "And you were totally right, you took control of the situation and I'm so proud of you. You changed the narrative." He gave you a small smile.

Kit laid his face in your lap, hugging your thighs. "It still sucks, though," he spoke, voice muffled. You nodded, running a comforting hand up and down his back. "Yeah, it sucks. Do you wanna stay here tonight and watch some scary movies?" "Yes, please."