#brash x bright

[kismetrose]

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Sir Brash

Part 1: His Barks Are Mostly Love Bites Part 2: He’s a Giver Part 3: There Are No Lies in His Fire Part 4: He Feels For You Part 5: He Protects You Part 6. He’s More Than His Bad Reputation Part 7. He Tries Not to Take Advantage Part 8. He Isn’t a Wanton Killer Part 9. His Back is Up Against the Wall Part 10. He’s Desperately Lonely Part 11. He Takes You As You Are Part 12.He’s Willing to Share Part 13. He Loathes Target Practice - Err, Mark

This is a reminder to myself that I really want to review Demonheart as a whole and not just go on about Sir Brash. (Although damn did I go on a tear about him!) Revisiting it will be fun and I can't wait to dive into more VN stuff over the holidays.

[gamesetart]

sweet 'n easy

Art thought dating you would be enough. He's content to have your heart, wait until marriage to have your body, too. But it's proving really difficult when you look like that.

tags: art donaldson x fem! reader, open relationship, guided masterbation, reader's kind of messy in this one (corruption), religious themes/corruption of religious themes. nsfw. minors DNI.

a/n: this is part of what im referring to as the open relationship au and im more than expecting to write more about this dynamic! im also very open to suggestions about it

Art Donaldson is a Good Christian Boy. He's a good, smart young man. He wears his thin silver purity ring on his left ring finger. He wears a delicate silver cross on a chain around his neck. He used to sing in the church choir, and now he spends his Sundays volunteering with the children's sector and frequenting church picnics. If it wasn't for tennis, he'd probably be a priest.

You're not right for him, and he knows it. Guys like him aren't made to marry girls like you - girls with low-cut tops that show off the top hem of your lacy electric purple bra. Girls who wear low, low-cut jeans with your matching purple thong hanging out the back. Girls with butterfly-shaped tattoos hovering on your lower back. Girls who spend weekends drinking and clubbing and dancing with absolutely no room for Jesus.

But there's just something about you. Maybe it's your attitude, the way your hand flies up in class whenever you know the answer to a question, the way you speak, with such clarity, such conviction. Maybe it's the way you walk with your friends across campus, beautiful and assertive, a pack of wild hounds. You're terrifying to him. A force of nature, a thunderstorm. Art's managed to get caught up in your jet stream, but it doesn't mean he's any less scared of falling out. You and all your hot, brash, party-girl friends. You and the 'bitch pack', as some of his friends have taken to calling you and yours. The sorority girl, frat party, dim clubs, bitch pack. Girls like you don't give guys like him the time of day: you're too pretty, too powerful, far too high up on an entirely different social ladder.

But you're different. You're sweet. He's watched you stop to pet stray kittens. He's seen you volunteering to donate blood at the campus blood drives. He's seen you stop to help a girl pick up her books even though you were already late to class. He's seen your notes in his biology lecture, your cute, bubbled handwriting and your array of gel pens. He's seen you buy an extra coffee at the campus cafe for a friend. People contain multitudes, or whatever, right?

So maybe it's no surprise when you end up paired up on an assignment and you bring him back to your dorm room. Maybe he shouldn't have been so stunned by the boy band posters and the stacks of fantasy novels and the stuffed bear sitting on your bed. Maybe he shouldn't have been thrown off by your framed pictures - family, friends - and your collection of Beatles CDs. Just a girl. A normal, nice girl. Who lays out all her notes for him, glances up with a sweet smile, and asks,

"Where d'you wanna start?"

He didn't mean for it to go any further than that. For the study visits to start happening at night, after dinner. For you to start blowing off club nights to curl up on your plush blue shag carpet next to art, pointing out lines of text and highlighting things with a bright pink marker. For you to start eating with him at lunch, talking about your lecture, laughing over some stupid thing your professor said or did. For him to start seeing you, really seeing you, and liking that you saw him, too. It happened before he even registered it. Somewhere, somehow, Art Donaldson fell in love.

It's different than how he felt with Tashi. This isn't that painful, all-consuming desire to please, to have her notice him, the obsession with the idea of her and her tennis. This feels sweeter, kinder. This feels like what he used to read about: fireworks in his heartbeat, butterflies in his stomach, the giddy thrill of First Love. A slower, ennobling sort of love.

If he had it his way, he'd date you. Flowers. Expensive dinners by candlelight. Picnics. The works. Court you for the four years you were at Stanford together, then propose once you graduated. Spend a few years engaged so he could do his tennis, make a good amount of his own money. Save until he could plan a dream wedding. Honeymoon somewhere pretty and exotic, like Bali or Punta Cana. Then the country house and the kids, the white picket fence. Except, Art doesn't really ever get things his way, does he?

"I... I don't know," you say slowly, digging your heels into your carpet. You can't meet his sad blue eyes. You can't bear to. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. It feels alien, even in your head.

He stares at you, crestfallen. Your heart plummets and you race for an explanation, for some way to explain this without blaming him. Because it's not Art at fault, it's his Faith.

"It's not that I don't like you!" you scramble. "I do, really, Art, I do. I just... a girl has... needs, you know? There are things I'd want that I can't ask you to give me. Things I can't take from you."

You both know what it is. You'd never ask him to give up on or waver in his faith for you. Never. You like Art how he is. But you know you'd be wanting. You know you can't wait until your wedding night.

"I... I'm just not the dating type, Art," you explain mournfully. "And you don't want to date a girl like me, anyway, trust me. You deserve someone nice."

"But... you are nice," Art says, and he really does look like you've just torn his heart out and stomped on it. It's horrible. It's awful. And you feel like a monster for doing it, but what can you do?

He doesn't have a solution until a full week later. He pretends (to you, and himself) that he came up with it all on his own, when in reality it was Patrick's idea. Patrick's suggestion, murmured over the phone in cloying low tones, luring him in like sailor to siren, bee to honey, moth to flame. Art, for all his cleverness, for all his ability to read Patrick like a book, could not see it. He trusted Patrick. He should have, he's sent Patrick some of your pictures, talked about you endlessly. But Patrick was on tour, far, far away, where he could do no harm. And Patrick was taken, as he was so keen to remind Art all the time.

"She doesn't have to fuck you, man," Patrick muses. "Date her. Be her good boy, be her fuckin' sweetheart. She can get dicked down with someone else."

"You're suggesting my girlfriend cheat on me?" Art laughs, and even saying it, my girlfriend, even in hypothetical, makes his heart do a flip.

He can practically picture Patrick's face, screwed up with a mixture of pity and disdain. Poor Art. "Nah, man. I'm suggesting an open relationship, you know? Let her fuck who she wants, she's gonna come home to you."

The conviction in Patrick's voice makes Art's heart somersault. Because there's something about that idea that makes his pulse quicken. Patrick's right. You'll come home to him, your heart - the thing that really matters - will be his. He doesn't like the possessive thing that curls up in his chest and purrs at the idea. But he doesn't fight it.

"What if you didn't have to wait with me?" Art asks.

He's twirling a highlighter over his fingers. Cross-legged on your plush duvet, working at a piece of spearmint chewing gum. Gum you'd offered him, gum that you now kept a small stash of in your desk drawer for evenings just like this. The project you'd been paired up on was long over, the proud 96% sitting in your Stanford grading inbox. Now you're just regular homework buddies. Art sought you out for homework he missed because he was at practice and lecture notes he didn't get. You don't mind. You enjoy it, actually. You just wish you could give him more. Hate that you couldn't be what he deserved. It almost feels like leading him on, when he sits with you until the wee hours, sharing diagrams and passing your textbook back and forth. When he brings you your morning coffee before class, or you bring sandwiches and Gatorade to his practices.

Except now, apparently, he has a solution.

"What?" you ask, blinking at him. "What d'you mean?"

Art flushes. Soft pink. Mostly around the ears, you've noticed, red against the gentle gold of his curls. Evening rose.

"I mean, what if..." he looks away. "You know. You went out with me. Dated me. But you could... 'hook up' with other people when you needed to."

You stare at him. Dumbfounded. Art Donaldson. Is sitting on your bed, asking you for an open relationship? Are you dreaming? Has the world suddenly gone mad? Did you go to bed last night and wake up in an alternate dimesion?

"You... are you suggesting... what I think you're suggesting?" you ask faintly.

He nods, ears burning a truly impressive shade of crimson. You suppose you should be flattered, really, the lengths he's going to date you. Most guys would have given up by now, egos bruised, feelings hurt, hearts shattered. And with most guys, you would have been firmer, clearer, colder. Meaner. But Art isn't most guys. Art is sweet.

"I-- shit, Art, wouldn't you rather just date some other girl like you?" you say helplessly.

"I don't want another girl, I want you," he replies plainly. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like there's no other answer.

And that's all it takes for you to agree. It's impossible to say no to those baby doll eyes. The two of you set ground rules - you don't tell him who or where or how, just that it happened. He doesn't ask you any questions. No one leaves you any marks. Immediate friends, such as Art's tennis circle and his church friends, are off limits. And that's that. He's your boyfriend now.

Art thought it would suffice. He likes being with you. Holding your hand while you walk to class. Seeing you in the stands when he plays a match. Chaste little pecks here and there. But you're like a pit of quicksand, a hurricane. You draw him in quicker than he thought possible, and now he can't breathe, can't think, can't move. The corruption is slow, certain, and inescapable.

He starts to find himself wanting more.

A kiss in his dorm room that deepens instead of stops, one hand cupping your jaw, the other floating to rest on the small of your back, above the waist of your low jeans, on the warm, bare skin there. A glance that feels more than affectionate, his eyes roving over your collarbone, the glint of your skin in the sun, the line of your bra beneath your sheer, tight shirt. He sees you smile at another guy and a hot flash of jealousy surges through him as he wonders if this is one of the guys you're fucking, if that guy, that random piece of shit, gets to touch you, see you, feel you. He tamps it down, and it feels too little, too late.

You'd be a fool not to notice. Stupid, not to feel the press of his hard-on when he hugs you from behind. Not to sense the shift in the way he kisses you, tongue slipping past your lips, hands sliding down further than they usually do. He plays it off, always. An accident. The heat of the moment. But you know. And because you're weak, because you're a terrible person, because ruining Art Donaldson is the most beautiful thing to ever happen to you, you let him.

"Art, do you ever touch yourself?"

He falls off his chair in his hurry to spin around and look at you. From the floor of your dorm, he stares with wide blue eyes and pink cheeks. "Wha--"

You shrug. "You know. Do you ever..." you make a crude gesture with your hand, and he buries his face up to his nose in his collar.

"No," he says, muffled into his tee shirt. "It's sinful."

It takes every fibre of your being not to laugh. He's so precious, so pure, sometimes you wonder why a guy like him could ever be interested in you at all. Your looks are one thing - you know you're hot. But Art likes you. He likes you even when he can't fuck you. He liked you even when you told him you wouldn't date him. He likes you because you're you. Which makes you feel a little shitty about what you do next, but you can't help it.

"So, what, when you're hard, what do you do?" you press casually. "Send up a Hail Mary and wait?"

Art's ears, which peek out over his shirt collar, are so red they could have been on fire. He shakes his head, a little frantically. He flushes easily, you notice, blood flowing quickly whenever he's even mildly embarrassed. It conjures images of his cock, whatever it might look like, red and aching with need. And you feel a lot less bad, the mental image of Art's dick fuelling the way you lean over, sliding off your chair to join him on the floor. You kneel, hands resting on your knees, and you know he's getting an eyeful of your tits. You keep your eyes on his face.

"Show me," you murmur. "I won't touch you. I won't even touch myself. I just wanna see."

He stares at you like you've asked him for his social security number and all his credit card info. Which, honestly, he probably would have given up a little easier. And you're an awful person, because you know the effect you've had on him, especially these days, you know that Art will probably do anything you ask of him, just for the pleasure of pleasing you.

"Please?" you wheedle, cocking your head to one side lightly, staring up at him through your lashes.

And, really, how could he say no to that?

"I-- okay," he says, and he tries to pretend like he's relenting a lot more than he actually is. Pretends like he's doing you a huge favour, as if his cock isn't straining at the mere idea.

Art doesn't jerk off often. He's only ever used his hand once - the single time Patrick showed him. After that, he'd cried in the bathroom and washed his hands so many times he got a contact allergy. But he's figured out an alternative. One that doesn't involve him touching himself at all. So he slides off his sweats, all too aware of your steady eyes on him. You look at him like you've never seen legs before, as if you haven't seen him at a thousand practices. You look at him like you want to eat him.

He tries to tell himself that's not what's making his cock throb in his boxers. He keeps those on, more for his sake than yours.

"You can lie on my bed," you offer innocently.

Art almost moans. Because it's your bed. Because it's yours, and when he lies down it's almost like lying with you. When he buries his face in the pillow, he can smell you, your vanilla and roses body wash, and, beneath it, the gentle smell of you. It's your sheets he starts to cant into, hips rolling in a familiar motion as he starts to work away the desperate pressure in his cock. It's your pillow he bites in a futile attempt to muffle his moans. And when he looks up, eyes half-lidded, he can see you watching him. You're biting your lip, looking flustered, and it's the cutest he's ever seen you, and he moans your name without meaning you.

You keep your promise, hands folded neatly in you lap as you watch Art rut into your bed like a wild animal, like he's in fucking heat, like your sheets are a person and he's fucking it. Like your sheets are you, you realise, as his eyes meet yours and he whines your name. He's pretending he's fucking you. It's hard not to give up and shove one hand into your panties, but for his sake, you try. Art's moans are almost musical, and with a sharp slap of embarrassment, you're reminded of the sounds he makes when he hits the ball at practice. The same whining grunts of exertion, except now they're fuelled by pleasure, spurred on by the desperate grind of his hips into your sheets, not a fucking tennis ball.

"Oh, oh, fuck," Art's voice gets a little higher. "Oh, fuck, it's so good--"

You can feel yourself soaking through your panties, and you shift slightly. His movements grow a little more erratic, hands balling up into white-knuckled fists into the soft fabric of your sheets. You drink it all in while you can - his ears are red, his cheeks are pink. You follow the curve of his ass in his boxers. You stare at the muscles in his thighs. The bones of his hips.

Art gets breathy when he's about to cum. Breathy, very whiny, almost crying if you're being honest. You file that information away for later.

"Please, please, can I?" he gasps, staring up at you with pupils blown wide with lust. "Can I cum, please, fuck, need it, need it-- you-- fuck, please?"

It's surprising he can even string together a full sentence. "Of course, baby," you murmur, already resolved to not changing your sheets until after you've cum in them too.

Another nugget of information: Art favours a deep grind when he cums, like he's looking for a place to put it, to bury it, looking to breed, to mark, to keep. The sight of him pushing his hips as far into your mattress as he can before he cums, a cry of your name and a shuddering breath slipping from his lips, will probably fuel your nighttime ventures for the next few weeks. You'll use it when you find your next hook up, it'll probably send you right over the edge.

You don't know when you started thinking of Art while you fucked other guys. You just know that now, it's tricky to get off without it. It's hard enough biting your tongue so you avoid saying his name. Now, you'll have the image of his face when he cums locked in your brain forever.

"Shit," Art curses, still breathless, sitting up to examine the sticky mess soaking from the front of his gingham boxers, all the way into your sheets. "Sorry."

You just shake your head. "Don't worry about it. That was... really hot. That's actually how you get yourself off?"

He nods, embarrassed. When he shuffles off to shower, borrowing your shower caddy and a towel, you wait until your door click, and then you practically rip open your nightstand. It takes less than ten minutes with a vibrator and the memory of Art's voice moaning your name for you to add your cum to his. You imagine his hips fucking into you, not your sheets. You imagine pulling his stupid fucking purity ring off and wearing it like some fucked-up engagement ring. His hands are so big, you'd probably have to wear it on your thumb. His hands. You imagine them grabbing you, holding you, sliding up your skin. You wonder what it would be like to have him revere you, not his God. Worship you. You want him to, you think. The idea of him shattering every promise he's ever made, just to be inside you? It sends you over the edge with a muffled cry of his name.

It's that feeling, that messy need for him, that drives you to that frat party. You told him, obviously, and while he seemed sort of put-off when you mentioned you were probably going to sleep with someone, he told you it was okay. Told you to be safe.

You wish you could tell him, but you're worried it'll scare him off. Don't worry, Art, every guy I fuck, I pretend he's you. And now I'll have the knowledge of exactly what you look and sound like when you cum to help me out! Not exactly girlfriend material.

Still, you're thinking of Art when your eyes land on a boy playing beer pong. He's tall, all messy black curls and tanned skin. Handsome, too, if you're being honest, in a messy, frat boy-y kind of way. Hook up hot. You're thinking of Art when he waves you over, holding up a beer like it's a peace offering. You're thinking of Art when you give him your name and ask for his.

"Patrick," he tells you easily. "Patrick Zweig."

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Reciprocal.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (+Scaramouche) [Genshin].

Word Count: 4.4k.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

TW: Modern AU, AFAB!Reader, Non/Con, Oral Sex, Slight Corruption Kink, Cucking, Mentions of Blood/Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Implied Stalking, Reader and Scaramouche Are In A Long-Term Relationship, and Nonconsensual Drug Use. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Not a lot of people really understood why you loved your boyfriend as much as he loved you.

Not to say you didn’t get why. You knew he came off – rough, brash, jarring apathetic at best and openly antagonistic at worst. He was jealous, and childish, and you’d chided him more times than you could possibly count for arguing with your friends and picking fights with strangers and generally treating the world like a malicious, erratic entity that’d either take you away from him or turn you against him if given even the slightest chance. He wasn’t possessive, or over-protective, just… worried. In a line of work like his, he had a good reason to be, but that wasn’t exactly something you could explain to other people.

Kuni was aggressive, and loud, and disruptive. But, he was kind, too, and he had a soft spot for kids and animals, and he knew how to be gentle with you, even though you’d never taken the time to teach him. He bristled and pouted when you mentioned doing something without him, sure, but he’d never put his fist through a wall or pretended he could ever spend any amount of time mad at you, even if he didn’t like the things that took you away from him. His job was dangerous, and he had a right to be paranoid, but it didn’t matter how much of a drooling, snapping guard dog he made himself out to be to the rest of the world – not when he came home and fell into your arms, as docile and as loving as a housecat. Most importantly, Kuni loved you, and that was enough for you to love him just as much.

Hence why you panicked when you woke up hours past midnight to an empty apartment, the space next to you cold where your Kuni should’ve warmed it. Hence why you didn’t think twice before getting out of bed when you noticed an unread text sent from Kuni, asking you to meet him at his coworker’s apartment, vaguely hinting at an injury bad enough to keep him from coming straight home to you. Hence why you were now on that coworker’s doorstep, barely dressed and still holding your breath, in the middle of the night. Because you knew that Kunikuzushi loved you.

And, unfortunately, you loved him too.

You’d already knocked – twice, in fact – but you couldn’t hold still. You checked your phone. You tried to call Kunikuzushi, but to no avail – cutting straight to his voicemail after the first ring. You glanced to either side, wary of having to explain yourself to any passing residents before remembering that you were standing in front of the door to a penthouse in a building that seemed to balk at the idea of having more than one tenant per floor. Finally, you raised your hand to knock a third time, but the door swung inward before you had a chance. An ocean’s worth of relief washed over you all at once, and mindlessly, you threw yourself forward, wrapping your arms around Kuni’s ne—

“Woah there.” And then, with an airy laugh, “It’s good to see you too, (Y/n).”

 You jerked back suddenly enough to throw yourself off-balance, but a pair of hands caught you by the shoulders, keeping you on your feet. For the first time, you thought to glance up, to recognize that the man in front of you was very much not your boyfriend and that you’d had very little reason to believe it would be. It took you a long second of staring blankly at his disheveled ginger hair and startlingly bright eyes for you to place him as ‘Childe’ – Kuni’s coworker, probably the one he complained about the most often. You’d known him as long as you’d known Kuni – met them on the same day, in fact – but the two of you weren’t close. He was the extraverted type, friendly to the point of agitation. The type of person that you felt exhausted after so much as thinking about spending time with, for lack of a kinder way to put it.

That didn’t matter, though. You’d spend the rest of your life singing his praises if he told you that Kuni was alright.

“Childe, where’s K—” You cut yourself, trying to remember what Kuni had asked you to call him around his work-friends. “Where’s Scaramouche?”

Another laugh, this one more full-bodied than the last. “Right, right. You’re just like him – all business, no pleasure.” He stepped back, retreating into his apartment and gesturing for you to follow. “Could you lock the door behind you? We’ve already had a pretty rough night.”

You nodded vacantly, only half-listening as you scuttled into his apartment and hastily slid the most accessible four out of a total six deadbolts into place. Childe walked ahead of you, making his way to an open kitchenette and riffling through his cabinets as he went on. “Sorry for dragging you all the way out here. Normally, I try to keep this place reserved for espionage-purposes only, but tonight was kind of an emergency. I’d give you the details, but—” He flashed you a smile, fishing two mismatched mugs from the highest shelf. “Ignorance is bliss, right?”

It took a remarkable amount of self-restraint not to scream. “Did Scaramouche get hurt?”

“Coffee? Tea? I’ve got wine, too, if you need something stronger.” You crossed your arms over your chest, digging your nails into your sleeves. “Oh, actually, maybe I don’t. Like I said, I’ve got a homier place out of the city, but my younger sister really loves the vi—”

“Childe.” Your tone was curt, cutting. Immediately, he shut his mouth, looking towards you. You sighed, taking pains to emphasize each individual word, as if he wouldn’t hear your desperation unless you all-but spelled it out for him. “Is. My. Boyfriend. Alive?”

Immediately, his expression softened. “Of course, angel – didn’t I mention that? He just got a little banged up. I think he’s still sleeping it off in my bedroom.” Instantly, you crumpled into yourself, shutting your eyes and letting out a deep, relieved exhale. Childe didn’t move to comfort you, but his voice took on a softer undertone – like he was trying to be a little more sympathetic. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known you’d want to see him right away, but it’s so late, and you seemed so worried, I figured a pick-me-up might be…” He struggled, his head lulling to the side. “…helpful?”

And people wondered why you preferred Kuni. At least he pretended to respect your time.

But, you were in Childe’s home, and he was right – it was very late and you were very, very tired. “…tea would be nice,” you admitted, collapsing into the nearest seat – the stool at a small, impeccably clean bar attached to his kitchen. “Thank you. And I’m sorry, it’s just— It can just be so much, especially with what happened to Signora. The stress gets to me, sometimes.”

Childe hummed. In less than a minute, a mug of hot, murky tea was set in front of you, and you drank greedily – suddenly aware of how strung-out you felt after rushing half-way across the city in the middle of the night. If he cared about your manners (or lack thereof), you couldn’t tell. Childe only grinned as he sat down next to you, propping his chin on his fist. “Honestly, I’m surprised he even told you about all this. My siblings still think I’m a toy salesman.” It was your turn to stifle a laugh. You were so used to Kuni that it was difficult to imagine him passing himself off as anything less than what he was. To a lesser extent, that went for Childe, too. His ‘innocent big brother’ act couldn’t have been very convincing. “It’s amazing that you’ve stayed with him. There aren’t a lot of people who’d put up with that, and Scaramouche doesn’t seem like the appreciative type.”

You shrugged, draining your mug entirely. “He’s hard to read, but he cares about me,” you replied, when you were finished. “The least I could do is care about him, too. Even if I do kinda wish he’d make it a little easier for me.”

Childe didn’t respond, not immediately. When you looked to him, his smile had softened into something more sincere, more sentimental. “Lucky guy,” he muttered, and you were suddenly aware of how long he’d been staring at you. “When you’re all mine, I promise I won’t stay out a second past midnight.”

It took you a moment to catch his phrasing (‘when’ rather than ‘if’), another to process why such a simple slip-up was enough to make your stomach turn. Rather than address it, you let your eyes fall back into your lap and drummed your fingertips nervously against the side of your mug. “…do you think Scaramouche’s awake, yet?”

“Oh, angel.” He leaned toward you, cocking his head to the side. The gesture didn’t seem as innocent as it had a few minutes ago. “You really believed that? And here I thought you just wanted to spend a little more time with me.”

Alright. Cool. Great. Without thinking, you tried to stand, but your body was suddenly uncooperative, less numb and more woefully disobedient. You tried to get your feet on the ground, to grip the edge of the bar, but as soon as you tried to lift your own weight, you crumpled; buckling onto the countertop as Childe watched on, passive and simpering. You tried to open your mouth, to yell, but your jaw suddenly felt so slack, your tongue heavy and beyond your control. It was all you could do to snap towards Childe, your panic silent but more than apparent. He just shook his head, letting out a low whistle as he pushed himself onto his feet.

“Your little boyfriend mentioned that you were a lightweight. I didn’t think it’d be this bad, though.” You felt his arm wrap around your waist, another looping under the bend of your knees. Effortlessly, he lifted you off of your stool and hauled you against his body, your shoulder knocking clumsily into his chest. You felt something nuzzle into the side of your neck, and choose to believe it wasn’t his face. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he muttered, his voice low and his delight palpable. “Try to keep your eyes open. I promise, I won’t do anything unless I know you’re here to enjoy it, too.”

The sentiment provided less comfort than he seemed to think it would.

Your body might’ve been out of your control, but you were still very much conscious and, even worse, very much aware. Your eyes flitted over the blank walls of his apartment as he passed through different rooms and hallways, eventually coming to a door nestled as far from the main body of the apartment as possible. With a shallow grunt, Childe shouldered it open and stepped into a bedroom – this space only slightly more personalized than the rest of his apartment. The walls were still that bland, non-descript grey, the bed sheets a respectable wine red, but you caught a wallet and phone left on the otherwise untouched dresser, the disparate pieces of a blood-stained suit hanging in the closet he’d left open. A few polaroids of a figure you couldn’t make out were piled on the bedside table, and your boyfriend was slumped over in a chair in the far right corner.

…

Okay, so maybe your mind was a little more affected than you’d thought.

Childe hadn’t been lying when he said Kuni got hurt. His shirt was unbuttoned, pushed far back on his shoulders, revealing the bandages wrapped around his shoulder, his side – both visibly damp with fresh blood. More damningly, he was restrained. Even at a glance, you could make out the silver cuff binding his wrists to the arms of his chair, the braided ropes doing the same for his ankles. He’d been gagged, but not blindfolded. You’d never seen his eyes so wide.

No amount of paralytics could’ve stopped you from thrashing against Childe’s loose hold. You squirmed and writhed, kicking weakly at his legs and shoving haphazardly at his chest – doing whatever you could just to get away from him. “K-Kuni,” you called, your voice hoarse and trembling. You heard him try to say something behind his gag, but if it was anything intelligible, it’s meaning was lost behind the buzzing in your ears, the sound of blood rushing through your veins. Childe made a half-hearted attempt to hush you, and you snapped in his direction, baring your teeth. “Let me go, I can’t—He’s hurt—”

“He’s fine, babydoll. Don’t pay him any mind.” You tried to throw your elbow into his stomach, but there was no real force behind the blow – a kitten burrowing its milk teeth into the throat of a lion. “Kuni…” He mumbled as if you hadn’t moved at all. “Is that his real name? You can call me ‘Ajax’, if you want. I don’t mind Childe, though, not when you’re the one saying it.”

You could’ve strangled him. You might’ve if he hadn’t abruptly dropped you, letting your body collapse onto the center of his bed. You made a desperate attempt to scramble to the nearest edge, but you’d barely hauled yourself onto your knees before he was on top of you - his hands around your waist, nudging you gently onto your back. Again, you tried to struggle, but all you managed to scrape up was an airy fractured whimper quickly drowned out by Childe’s laugh, the weight of his body as it slotted against yours. One hand remained on your waist while the other pressed into the mattress next to your head, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. You’d never known Childe very well, and yet, it still surprised you to see just how lifeless his eyes seemed, when you thought to look closely.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the day we met,” he muttered, nearly under his breath. “We were on a job, had some time to kill between clients. He didn’t even notice you, just saw that I was about to get my hands on something I liked and decided to be competitive. I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have let him get to you first.”

He paused, his smile taking on a manic note. “I’ll never let it happen again.”

And then, he was kissing you. Surprisingly, you quickly found that you preferred his rambling. It was messier than it had any right to be, considering he was the only one moving. You liked the way Kunikuzushi kissed you – delicately, tenderly, never quite trepidatious but always careful enough to warrant your active and enthusiastic participation, if you wanted anything more than a quick peck to your cheek. Childe wasn’t Kunikuzushi, though, and he wasn’t careful with you – at least, no more careful than he had to be to make sure his teeth didn’t draw blood as they scraped clumsily over your lips. His tongue raked over yours, and as far as you could tell, he wasn’t happy unless he was on the verge of tearing your jaw from its hinges and making it that much easier for him to crawl inside of you. You were thankful when he finally pulled away, but it was difficult to appreciate the way he panted against the curve of your neck; pressing long open mouthed kisses into vulnerable skin as his hands fumbled with the hem of your top. You tried to sit up, to see Kuni, but you were too weak to speak, let alone move. That might’ve been a small mercy, in retrospect. The last thing you needed to see was the love of your life’s expression while his polar opposite sunk his teeth into your throat.

Your shirt went first – dragged over your head as Childe pulled you into another hasty kiss, this one blessedly short-lived when compared to the first. You’d gotten dressed in a rush, meaning you weren’t wearing anything underneath your shorts, something Childe acknowledged with a sharpened edge to his grin, a hopeful murmur of “All for me?” He pried himself off of you as he worked, settling into the space between your open legs. You heard something heavy and forceful slam into the wall on the other side of Childe’s bedroom, but didn’t process that it must’ve been Kuni for long, blissful minutes.

It was only when you felt his hand cup your cunt that you snapped back into your own mind – your hands darting to his wrist, as if that would be a violent enough protest to stop him. Of course, it wasn’t, and of course, his expression only grew more saccharine as he ran two fingers down the length of your slit, his gazing fixed unblinkingly on the apex of your thighs. “So pretty…” And then, making no attempt to hide his self-satisfaction, “Scara’s never been this nice to you, has he?”

Despite your lack of control, you felt your entire body stiffen. “You can’t—”

“But, angel, I think I have to.” He leaned down, his lips brushing over your navel, then the arch of your pelvic bone. “Can’t just let a pussy this pretty go to waste, now, can I?”

You shut your eyes, but not quickly enough. You still caught the sight of Childe’s hand curling around your thighs, of his tongue lapping over your cunt before everything went dark.

It was difficult to say why you and Kuni never slept together. Part of it was mutual aversion – he was cagey about everything, his body included, and even with more readily intimate partners, you’d never really had an interest in sex, especially if it meant pushing Kuni into something you didn’t want and that he wasn’t comfortable with. You’d been more than happy not to think about it at all, but looking back, you wished you had leaned a little more into it, if only so you weren’t so startled by the heat of Childe’s mouth against your pussy. Immediately, it was too much – your thighs snapping shut around his head as his tongue laved over you, circling your clit, dipping into your entrance. Childe only let a throaty moan, deep enough to leave you clenching your eyes shut that much tighter, gritting your teeth as you swallowed back your reactions – pained or otherwise. There was no way Kuni, your Kuni could’ve ever thought you were enjoying this, but still. You didn’t want to make this any harder for him than it had to be.

(You made a point of not thinking about yourself. You didn’t know if you’d be able to survive this, if you made the mistake of considering how you were supposed to live with yourself when it was over.)

For all his talk, he couldn’t have had much experience. He was experimental, overeager – never satisfied with abusing your clit or attempting to fuck his tongue into you when he could be splitting his attention between both. Eventually, one of his hands fell away from your thigh, his middle and ring fingers slipping into your (admittedly, humiliatingly accommodating) entrance and splitting apart, adding yet another sensation to the list of things you’d spend the rest of your life trying to forget. You wanted to cover your face, to pry his head out of the space between your thighs, but lifting your arms seemed like a Herculean task, and the most you could manage was digging your nails into the bed sheets and hoping, praying that it would be over soon.

It was a few seconds later that, with a bittersweet tinge, you realized you’d get what you wanted.

Childe was sloppy, but effective – a soldier left untrained but devoted to the cause, nonetheless. You felt something alien and amorphous tighten in your lower stomach, a new pressure joining the hollow weight in your chest as he curled his fingers and found something sensitive, something vulnerable, something easy to exploit. It would’ve been better to brace yourself, to pretend it wasn’t happening at all, but panic instantly overshadowed your sense of logic, and your mouth was open before you had a chance to stop yourself. “Don’t,” you spat, reaching out blindly, your hand finding his hair. This time, his reaction was less of a moan and more of a growl. “Please, stop, stop—”

If he cared whether you were begging him to get away from you or singing his praises, you couldn’t tell. He seemed to melt, nuzzling into the plush of your thigh while burying his face that much deeper into your cunt. You could feel his smirk bite into your skin as his lips sealed around your clit and sucked. Instantly, you were thrown over the ledge; your body stiffening as your vision burnt white behind your eyelids. It was a miracle that you managed not to moan, but the prolonged, wavering whine that was forced out of you instead wasn’t much better.

Your self-restraint was a miracle, and Childe’s impatience was a mercy. He drew back hastily, his mouth finding the inside of your thigh, then the jut of your hipbone – eager to keep some part of you pressed against some part of him at all times. It would’ve been more bearable if that kept his mouth too busy to talk, and yet, he still found a way to strip you of even that comfort. “So good for me,” he mumbled, interrupted constantly by his own desperate need to suck and lap at every softened, tender spot you had. “I knew he had to be neglecting you, no way someone like him could ever take care of something like this. You don’t have to worry – I’m not gonna be that mean to you. I couldn’t, even I wanted to.” He paused, bowing his head and stifling a laugh. “Don’t think I could ever go another day without taking care of that pretty pussy.”

But, his altruism proved short-lived. With a raspy groan, he pulled away from you, allowing just enough distance for the sound of shifting fabric and the sudden heat of something vile and unthinkable to fill the space. Again, you were talking before you could stop yourself – as if you hadn’t already tried asking him not to. As if the sound of your voice had done anything but spur him on. “Please don’t, I’m not—I haven’t—” And then, meeting his prying gaze, as every thought seemed to catch and stick in your throat, “I’ve never done this before, Ajax.”

He stopped moving above you, but his eyes never broke away from yours. “You’re a virgin?”

It seemed so juvenile when he said it aloud, so trivial. Reluctantly, you nodded.

Impossibly, his expression seemed to brighten.

He was so annoyingly vocal. There was another soft groan as he straightened his back, a grunt with no real strain behind it as he pulled your limp body into his arms. You almost let yourself relax as he carried you off of the bed and across the bedroom, but any relief you might’ve been able to feel evaporated in an instant as he all-but dropped you in front of Kunikuzushi, now rigid in his restraints. You could see dried tear tracks tracing lines down his cheeks, a hostile grimace in the corner of his lips. He must’ve been crying, but he wasn’t anymore. That was good. You’d always hated seeing Kuni cry.

Unable to support yourself, you started falling towards him, but Childe was there to catch you – his arm winding around your waist, pulling you into his lap. “You’re so perfect,” he muttered, before looking toward Kuni. “Be thankful. You’ve got the best seat in the house.”

There was a second of stilted silence, a reassuring squeeze to your side. Distantly, you felt Childe bury his face in the crook of your neck and drag you flush against him, aligning the head of his leaking cock with your entrance. His hips ground into your ass in a reflexive, sort of bucking motion, and just like that, he was inside of you.

You heard Childe’s breath catch, then a whimper in your own voice. At the same time, something cracked, and you noticed that Kuni was gripping the arm of his chair with enough force to splinter the wood. You hoped he wouldn’t hurt himself.

Childe proved to be tragically energetic. With another partner, your paralysis might’ve made things difficult, but he seemed more than happy to bounce you in his lap, grinding and thrusting into you from below in turns, moaning and mewling whenever your traitorous body tightened around him. Again, you found yourself wishing that you’d rushed Kuni just a little more – if only so you’d be better at blocking out the feeling of defined veins grinding against the walls of your cunt, of his considerable size stretching you to your limits. His hands were everywhere – kneading at your chest, groping for purchase near your waist, rubbing quick, tight, awful little circles into your clit – but you did your best not to care, not to react, not to acknowledge the airy gasps and miserable sobs trickling past your lips every time Childe’s body pressed flat against yours. You could hear him talking, something about ‘the next nine months’ and ‘loving husband’, but the specifics were lost on you. You’d never been able to stand the sound of his voice, and tonight hadn’t done much to endear you to it.

His climax (and, by extension, yours) was embarrassing. Best not to mention it.

The sound of Childe’s panting filled the room, only occasionally accompanied by your little, pitiful cries. His grip loosened at some point, most likely to let him admire the way his cum dripped from your entrance where it was still stretched around his cock, and only half-intentionally, you lulled into Kuni’s lap, crossing your arms over his legs and staring blankly at his beautiful face. It took a few tries, but eventually, you managed to reach up and hook your thumb around his gag, pulling it down with some effort. As the thin piece of fabric fell limp around his neck, he spoke.

“I’m going to kill him.” And then, his voice still cold as ice, “I love you.”

For the first time, you weren’t sure you entirely believed him.

[catsoupki]

花的名字 / flower territory (bakugou x reader)

Summary: a flower has its cycles, it buds, it flourishes, blooms, and it dies, yet you’re still a constant in his life, he’s a sunflower that doesn’t look away

Warnings: improper capitalisation i’m afraid :( very very fluffy ! inspired by this wonderful post and this AMAZING one, both written by @cashmoneyyysstuff lmk if u want this taken down! (editing rn and i feel like flower territory is not the best title but im just so EMOTIONAL over it …. attachment issues fr)

wc: 700

the way katsuki crushes on you has stayed the same, since he was four he has made sure that everyone, including you, always knew that you were his.

he offers you roughed up flowers from the sandbox, covered in dust and dirt, shoved into your hands are the bundle of wild chrysanthemums and crumbled weeds, and in exchange are the paper rings you made before going to the park, because even when you were four, you already knew bakugou in the way you knew the names of the stuffed animals in your room; a sense of pride nestles inside, somewhere between your little childishly innocent heart and your soft fluttering stomach when you see your katsuki declare proudly with a smug smirk to all his groupies that he's now a married man, and that doesn't change.

in middle school, aged 12 bakugou isn't afraid to lean over your desk and stare you down and demand your time during recess, even though his cheeks used to redden when his female classmates would tease him for being such a romantic for you, he's learnt that it's either he toughens up and take this, or he has to deal with the other boys from his class chatting you up, and seeing their little cheeks tint with pink when they're spared even an ounce of (undeserved) attention from you is much more painful than having his own apples go fuzzy from your gaze.

katsuki changes a lot in U.A. but not in this. maybe the other class 1A kids don't have enough reference to notice, but izuku sure as hell can tell that the slight glisten and shine in his childhood best friend's eyes when he looks at you have only ever grown in brightness as you mature and age. as your body takes shape and your voice deepens, his affection for you simply gets magnified from a sheer adoration for your ability to keep up with him on the monkey bars and to withstand his loudness, either that be from the epicentres of his palms or the ever growing intensity of his voice when deku gets in his way, his respect for you grows and grows and festers and festers the more you win in the sports festival, the more you train, the more muscular you get, and the more internships you are offered.

as his own brashness gets dimmed down while the months go on, deku is no longer the only one who is able to notice the soft spot he has for you. jirou and shoji can only ignore the way bakugou whispers 'that's my girl' to you during class drills so many times, ochako and mina can only turn a blind eye to the way bakugou always cooks for you during the late nights where you collapse from exhaustion before eating so many times, by the end of the second year, even shouto knew to always find bakugou when you got hurt during missions and to just leave you two to your own devices for the rest of the evening.

the smirks might have grown less and less smug throughout the years and maybe more genuine, but the childlike wonder when katsuki looks at you stays always the same, it stays constant from when you were four all the way to when you're walking down the altar, it stays the same, from stepped-on flowers to bouquets of roses, from 'that's my girl' to 'that's my wife', you've always been his, the switch from craft paper to the 24 carat diamond ring on both your fingers never changed that; his face, to deku, looks identical; whenever dynamight is on a talk show and is asked to watch a clip of you fighting, the soft creases next to his eyes have always been there, bakugou's lips just twitch upwards when it's you;

what can he say? your katsuki has always been a prodigy, he knew since he was a kid, since the second his grabby little hands and tiny rolling eyes were laid on you, he has since decided that you were the only one worthy of his greatness, no matter how shitty his temper was at age 15, he looks at you like how sunflowers look at the sun, and that will never change.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tear In My Heart

Aemond never cared for tourneys, for hunts, nor for any sort of pageantry; he supposed marriage fell in that category. To be frank, he never cared for you either, but then he heard whispers about you and his brother, and then thought, maybe he somehow did.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader x Aegon Targaryen | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has baratheon feature (dark hair), wife!reader, arranged marriage, jealousy, possessiveness, infidelity, men being men, angst, violence/hunting for sport/death, typos, etc.

A/N: mind the tags! This is part of my graduation celebration 🩷🩷🩷🩷 slayed college. Let's pretend I posted this on schedule lmao. The hotd trailers really brought me to life. Part of this fic is inspired by the 2014 french beauty and the beast film.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa @lxdyred

Brother.

What was he?

The word was a stone, heavy but worthless. Nothing ever came from a brother besides bluntness, brashness, and bludgeoning burdens.

No kindness befell Aemond from his brother Aegon. Likewise, Aegon long knew to expect nothing but vexation from Aemond.

Yet even the most broken of bonds are bound back under the great unifier— Death.

Never before had the brothers worked towards a common goal so fast, so easily, and all without needing to utter a word. Together, they carry their game back to their camp, equally ignoring the burn of their arms.

Aemond loathed hunting expeditions. He loathed it then, he wholeheartedly abhorred it now. He regrets forcing himself into this godforsaken trip. He should have let you go on it alone, like always.

He regrets letting his slimy older brother getting under his skin. He regrets listening to all the rumors about Aegon and you. But in his defense—

"I MAY BE BLIND IN ONE EYE," Aemond snaps, causing you to flinch. He had never raised his voice at you like this before. He despises how shocked you look, how your bright eyes accused that he was wrong. It makes him fume, "but I see clearer than most."

Aemond is further irritated when your eyes began to water.

You, who was otherwise so well-kept and pristine, were falling apart in front of him. The wayward strands of dark hair framing your face irked him. The momentary thought of his children inheriting this trait added fuel to his anger. If, that is, whatever child you'd bear was even his to begin with.

"You are whoring yourself to my bovine brother!"

Your chest heaves heavily beneath your nightgown, "you would happily believe any slander to my name."

He scoffs when tears begin to fall from your cheeks. He paces towards the bed, unbothered if the issue is left unresolved. He'd rather sleep than watch you sob. The latter left a rather bitter taste in his mouth.

"What have I been but docile and serving?"

"Serving?" Aemond turns back, one eye narrowed, "to whom? Your greed and lust?"

"TO YOU!"

Aemond slightly pulls his head back, not expecting you to scream. He watches a spirit take over you. It was similar to that of the one that sometimes causes him to stare at you from across the room.

You suck in a breath, "do you not complain about Aegon day in and day out?" You blink rapidly and point harshly, "do you not wish him away and want him out of your hair, husband?"

"Don't you twist the truth for your-"

"I played his keeper so that you wouldn't have to," you motion, "I kept him in check so that you could do your errands, help your grandfather, go on your dragon rides, and yet you say you see clearer than most?"

"I saw you," he hisses, grabbing your shoulders.

You gasp and go rigid.

"I saw you embrace him in the cloak of night, in the corner of the gardens, where you thought no one could see."

You catch betrayal in his words, but it only causes you to chuckle dryly, "had you not lurked in the darkness, you'd have known he vomited on my shoulder and nearly passed out. Perhaps you would have felt compelled to help me drag him to his chambers."

Aemond clenches his jaw. He does not believe you.

You swat his hands away. You shake your head, "you're just a man. You're bored of what you have and want what you cannot."

"Ha. You are delusional if you think I want you."

You cannot help the sound that leaves your lips. You cannot help how you slap a hand to your mouth.

In that split second, Aemond spots the hurt on your face before you walk past him to your side of the bed.

You pull the covers down, "worry not. I've long accepted you will never want me."

"Oh," he growls, grabbing your arm before you can sit down, "and is that why you turn to my brother? Or why you leap at every chance to leave?'"

You wince as you turn to him.

"Now that I think about it, why is it you're invited to hunting expeditions so often?" Aemond demands under an angered breath, "d'you seek refuge in the-"

"I RUN INTO THE FOREST!" you hiss, shoving him away. His grip left a sting on your flesh and you rub it as you continue to burstp, "I run into the forest and let my instincts take over! I let myself shift into a beast and I run wild like a deer, begging to be shot down."

Aemond expression sours at your reaction.

"I live my curse as a Baratheon woman and morph into a doe, bullied by stags and dragons alike," you shudder, tears running down your face.

"Don't you play the victim here," he rebuts, "your family offered you to mine for power."

"Then why is it that I am so powerless, husband?"

Aemond doesn't bother watching you walk away, slamming the door shut on your way out.

Aggravation spills from his mouth through screams when silence drowns him. There is an ache in his chest that intensifies. It doesn't take long for him to question why he felt so hurt when what he was is angry, angry at you.

He then finds himself imagining you throwing yourself at Aegon, weeping on his lap. He imagines Aegon brushing your dark tresses back and drying your tears. It infuriates him more.

And as he convinced himself whilst in fumes that the reason why he hated your leave was how rudely you left, parts of his nightmares where coming true.

Aegon saw you storming down the hall in nothing but a nightgown, a cloak, and tears. He was too drunk to actually ascertain if you had no shoes on, but he was partially sure that there were truly tears running down your neck.

He was shocked by how shocked you were when he grabbed you by the arms and stopped you in your tracks. He knew you to have eyes that could spot a needle in a haystack, or real jewels from fake ones ten paces away. How could you not have noticed him when he wasn't even trying to hide how he staggered down the halls on his way back to his room?

"Spooked, kitty cat?" Aegon furrows his brows.

Your skin definitely had a damp sheen to it. Your gaze upon him somehow always hurt his thorax but it was amplified now with how puffy and red your eyes were.

"Where 'r'you storming off to?" he slurs.

You push him away, but even then you managed to offer consideration, as it was clear he was one shove away from dropping. You say, "unhand me, Aegon. I have no time for you tonight."

He pouts, blinking slowly, "and here I thought we were friends now."

You laugh. Your laugh has always had the power to make his spine tingle, but it was different this time. You shake your head, "the enemy of my enemy is not my friend."

Aegon slowly releases you. He clenches his jaw and sighs, "so it's Aemond who did this."

You scoff as you break away from him, "oh, spare me."

He watches you walk away from him. He feels hurt by your coldness. How quickly Aemond reaps your warmth. He calls out, "from what?"

You stop and snap from over your shoulder, "from whatever it is you think you can do!"

He was sober now, and his throat was dry at that.

"My burden is mine. I am his wife."

"And am to be king," he whispers, taking a step forward. He watches as you heave. He's long wondered what it would feel like to hear it as you did so beneath him.

"But you are not king," you reply, stepping back to maintain the space between you, "and you have your sister wife."

"Who would deny me?" he peers his face closer to you, "even a fool would deny me nothing."

"I would," you rebut.

He freezes.

"I am prize to you," you muffle out. Your manage an even voice even as hurt baptizes your cheeks, "meat between your teeth. You and him are cut from the same cloth."

"I AM NOT MY BROTHER, " Aegon snaps.

You flinch, just as you did Aegon. You shake your head and force a smile, "of course not, your grace."

The next moment, Aegon realizes he may not have been as sober as he thought, considering how quickly you fled him and how delayed his reaction to it was.

But then again, it was probably just you and your effect on him. After all, he managed to evade the incoming attack from behind, albeit momentarily; Aemond's senses were far shaper than Aegon's.

He grabs his older brother by the collar and shoves him against the wall. "All my life, I watched you be spoon-fed your desires, yet still you covet my bride," the younger Targaryen rages.

Aegon grins in challenge. He chuckles, "as it appears, you covet your own wife from me, brother."

Without warning, the first born is hurtled to the ground. He lets out an undignified grunt after he collides with the stone. He gasps when Aemond lunges at him.

It was only at this moment, he realized his brother without his eye patch. Dare he say that the sight of the sapphire added to the madness in is functioning eye.

Aemond produces a dagger and presses it to Aegon's neck. The former seethes, "I have every right to demand satisfaction from you."

Aegon groans when the cold steel kisses his skin too tenderly.

"You wouldn't last a second against me," the prince spits with venom, "brother."

"Do it then," Aegon screws his eyes shut, "and watch your marriage crumble before your very eyes."

Aemond throws his dagger to the side and slams Aegon once, "DO NOT TRY TO TRICK ME! I saw her reel from your touch."

"Oh," he utters through pain, "just as she reels from you, I bet."

Aemond releases him with a growl and heaves while looking down at him. He paces around; Aegon props himself up on his elbows, slowly coming to a stand.

Before Aegon can goad him on any further, Aemond grabs his dagger and pushes past him.

Both of them anxiously await your return that night. Aegon falls asleep whilst waiting for word from a servant, Aemond fights sleep whilst waiting for you to return to bed.

Yes, in Aemond's defense, the rumors about you and his brother was enough reason to pick a fight. In his defense, it was his right.

And for the first time, when you received invite for that hunting expedition with your cousin, no longer did he send you off on your own. He was keen to keep you at his side at all times, especially because Aegon weaseled his way into joining.

Aemond did not know why your cousin was so against the idea of hunting a stag. He was, in fact, offended by the Baratheon's adamant decline. The lesser lord dared even imply such a beast was beyond his caliber. He wasn't surprised you sided with your him, imploring Aemond to try his hand another season. What spurred him on was how Aegon agreed with you and how you looked at him when he smiled your way.

Yet, the spite he bore for his brother was the same thing that led to cooperation with him.

That night, when you thought he was sleeping, Aemond followed you outside. When you were nowhere to be seen when he got out of your shared tent, he stormed to his brother's, sure to catch you in the act.

All he got was a startled brother, cuddling up to a pillow when he ripped his blanket off, a naked one at that.

And after a bit of arguing, Aemond saw a shadow of a deer passing outside the tent. That was how the brothers ended up in the forest. Aemond was intent to hunt that stag and Aegon was intent to watch him fail.

Again, in his defense, it was dark. In his defense, of course he wouldn't believe Aegon when he said that they were stalking a doe and not a stag.

Aemond was satisfied with his shot when he heard the beast cry out in pain. Aegon was satisfied when they found the writhing deer to be, in fact a doe.

It was common knowledge not to hunt the female of a species, yet the two debated whether or not they should let the injured animal go free or put it out of its misery. They thought they received the answer when the animal dropped in agony, but instead they received horror that would last them lifetimes upon witnessing the beast morph into a bride.

Your bare body laid before them, stomach pierced with an arrow. No traces of a doe was left, there was only pain and you. Tremors took over your body. Yolur tears flowed as steady as the blood from your gaping wound.

Aemond fell to your side, eye wide as he reached out to you. He thought a touch of your trembling flesh wake him from this nightmare, but it didn't. His mind raced, but he had a moment of clarity when he felt your blood dampen his knees.

He took off his shirt and covered you. You screamed in pain when he tried to carry you by himself, and he glared at his brother when he tried to help.

Aemond does not stop him however, thus, the brothers carried your body back to camp.

When you were laid on your shared bed, Aemond ordered Aegon to wake everyone and ready a carriage back to the city. His brother runs off to do just that.

"This will hurt," Aemond tells you, "but I must cut part of the arrow and bind your wound."

Before he can do so, you wet his face with the blood on your hand as you whine, "why do you weep for me?"

Aemond's brows furrow.

You swipe your thumb on his cheek with great difficulty. "Soon you will have the freedom you desire," you mumble, eyes slowly closing, "as will I."

The pain that courses through you when your husband breaks off part of your arrow prevents you from passing out.

As an extra precaution, Aemond taps your cheek, "keep your eyes fixed on me."

Your sad eyes open. Your tears gush down like rain.

"Is this why you're invited to hunt so often?" he cups your cheek, shaking you slightly, "does your cousin, himself, turn into a stag?"

Your reply does not come easy. You speak between your breaths, "it is a curse from my father... for hunting so many of them..."

There is commotion from outside your tent.

Aemond has the mind to grab some fabric to press on your wound. You cry out again because of this.

"Why didn't you tell me of your affliction?" he speak in panic.

Stabbing pain cuts off the laugh you meant to laugh. Your breath shortens, yet you manage a response, "would you have listened?"

He must admit, all the prayers he ever prayed were only uttered to please his mother, but as Aemond held half your body in the carriage back to King's Landing, as he watched Aegon's tears fall onto you while he held your other half, he prayed as earnestly as any pious man would. He claimed he would be better, he would even share you, if that is what it took to keep you.

And just as easily as Death unified the Targaryen brothers, she collected your soul the same night.

[star-sim]

supernova ☆ riki nishimura

☆ hero! riki x fem! villain! reader ☆ summary: riki was the city's top hero, you were the top villain. when your archnemisis pulls up to your apartment late at night, all battered and bruised, you just sighed and took him in. you were a villain, not a monster! ☆ genre: superhero! au, good ol' patching up scene, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff, a lil bit of angst ☆ warning(s)? injuries, riki has a panic attack, but it is very brief ☆ word count: 3.7k words ☆ i love this trope sm reblogs are appreciated! >_<

When you were awoken by the sound of banging on your door, you nearly killed someone. It was a dark and stormy night, with rain pouring down so hard that you had to put on your headphones.

But the moment that you saw Riki, your biggest enemy, standing at your doorstep all you could do was sigh, and let him fall into your arms.

"Not again."

By day, you were a regular high school student. You had a lot of friends, with a few admirers and confessions along the way. Like everyone else, you worked hard and kept up with your studies.

By night you were the city's top supervillain, aptly named Supernova for the bright and theatrical spectacles that were your terrorizing.

But while everyone thought you were some evil spawn, you were really just carrying on a family business. Thank your supervillain parents and supervillain grandparents. You had nothing personal towards the civilians that you terrorized, it was all just a part of the job. Because your family was scattered around in different cities for their supervillain activities, you lived on your own.

Enter: Riki Nishimura.

You knew the moment that you saw his grown-out bleached highlights and oversized black clothes, you knew he was up to no good.

He'd transferred to your high school in the middle of the school year, and unfortunately, you had far too many classes with him. It felt like wherever you went, he followed. 

You didn't like him. 

You knew you were popular at school, and maybe a quiet guy like Riki didn't have good experiences with the popular crowd, but did he have to treat you like you didn't exist? All he did was grumble under his breath something that no one could hear, before putting on his headphones and ignoring the world around him. Some courtesy would be nice!

Oh, you didn't like him one bit.

Which was why the moment that you realized that the new hot-shot superhero in town whose arrival suspiciously aligned with Riki's transfer to your high school was Riki Nishimura himself, you wanted to laugh.

The reckless, brash, and otherwise cocky, yet self-righteous and heroic, superhero persona Riki put on was so perfect, yet so unlike anything you've seen. 

Riki Nishimura, who couldn't pay anyone any mind even if he was forced to, fighting crime and representing justice! Hilarious. Leave it to the most arrogant and condescending person to name themself Orion, after the brightest constellation in the sky.

You couldn't remember a single headline you read where he actually saved someone. So much for a so-called superhero.

And your identity was no secret to Riki either.

In the past few months, you and Riki had had multiple showdowns— on rooftops, over traffic, heck, even in Riki's own house. It was no surprise that he figured out pretty quickly that the popular girl that everyone liked was the worst supervillain in the city's history.

Glares in the middle of class, shoving you if you were in his way, and sometimes even purposefully following you to the bathroom just so he can wait outside to pass a few mean words to you. So childish.

The only thing keeping you and him from revealing each other's identities was the fear that the other would reveal your own identity.

Which was why you could almost 100% trust that Riki wouldn't say a word.

You could not stand Riki Nishimura, whether it be his civilian self or his superhero self.

However, something was changing.

Something bad, something bigger than anything you or Riki could even imagine. 

There was a bigger, and much worse, villain organization in town. 

Instead of pulling little pranks, terrorizing people, and just sometimes breaking in and robbing places, this new villain organization was legitimately hurting people.

You and Riki couldn't help that you were just teenagers, which was why in the first few weeks of this new arrival, you couldn't help but pay no mind to the new villains in town and focus on fighting each other.

But one night, when Riki didn't show up at your window like he usually would to fight you, you found yourself just a tad worried. Not that you cared about Riki. Had he finally resigned and given up on fighting you?

However, when you went on your nightly villain patrol a few hours later, you felt your heart drop to your stomach when you found Riki Nishimura in his hero suit slumped over at the back of a dark alleyway, covered in cuts, bruises, and blood, barely conscious.

"What the hell happened?" you asked, as you crouched down in front of him. You couldn't even tell if he was still alive, so you reached down to check his pulse. But the moment that your fingers brushed up against Riki's neck, he jerked away, immediately slapping your hand away.

"Stay the fuck back!" he yelled, suddenly fully awake and alert. Even with the mask over his eyes, you could see how red and blood-shot they were. "Don't— Don't fuckin' touch me!"

You lurched away immediately, standing back up on your feet.

And you watched in sheer horror as the one boy you've been fighting for months struggled to his feet, clutching his side. Under the moonlight you could see the streaks of red and skin peeking out under his suit. He was cut. And severely injured everywhere, for that matter.

You'd never forget the sound of Riki's ragged breaths and silent curses under his breath as he stumbled. And what startled you the most was how he clenched his fists, standing defensively.

"Fight me," he breathed, teetering on his feet. "I—I can still fight."

"Are you crazy?!" you cried. "I'm not going to fight you."

"What," Riki rasped. You could hear how strained his voice was, almost as if he had been screaming for hours. "Are you finally giving up? Are you admitting defeat?"

You scoffed. "No, of course not— Oh my god, are you oka—"

Riki was hunched over, clutching the gash on his side. A single stream of light hit his skin just enough for you to see how deep it was. Dark red blood stained Riki's gloved hands. He groaned in pain, a sound that you never wanted to hear again. 

The way his shoulders and legs shook like he was about to fall over made your heart pound. 

You reflexively reached out for him. "Riki, are you—"

"I said don't touch me!" he shouted, bringing his other hand to shield himself defensively. Yet the moment those words left his lips he fell to his knees. You could see how his face scrunched in pain, his brows furrowed and lips curled. "Just give me a second. I— I just need a second and we can fight."

"You're in no condition to fight," you crossed your arms. "I will not fight you."

But it seemed like your words fell upon deaf ears. Not because Riki wasn't listening, but because he collapsed over himself, falling unconscious.

That night you used your supervillain abilities for good, for the first time ever. But not too good, of course. You just took him to the hospital, making sure that both of you were in your civilian forms and saying that you found him unconscious in the alleyway.

You couldn't look him in the eye the next day at school.

You quickly realized that this wasn't a one-time occurance, because it seemed like every few weeks you'd find Riki severely injured. He'd always proclaim that he could still fight you, but both of you knew that that just wasn't possible. 

It was the new villains in town, he finally admitted. They were purposefully targeting Orion, or Riki, for he was the city's main crime-fighter.

And for the first time ever, you actually felt bad for him.

At school, you'd see the way dark eyebags hung under his eyes, a heavy limp in his walk. Sometimes, he wouldn't even spare you a glance.

Since then, the streets have been more dangerous than they ever were.

So now, you couldn't even be surprised when Riki showed up to your apartment in the middle of the night, covered in injuries.

He was still in his hero suit, but there were rips everywhere, coupled with his torn up mask. His hair was wet, whether from the rain outside or from the sweat of fighting. Either way, he was shivering, small whimpers of pain leaving his lips.

The boy fell into your arms almost immediately, and as you pulled him into your peach-lit apartment, warmth kissing his skin, he murmured something.

"Shhh," you whispered into his ear. "Don't talk."

He was heavy, just as heavy as he was all those times you threw him across skyscraper rooftops. Yet as you carried his slumped body to your bathroom, he was as light as a feather.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled against your shoulder. His eyes were shut, his body devoid of all life and energy. Only his lips moved. "I didn't— I didn't know where else to go."

You only hushed him.

You set him down on your bathroom counter with a flick! of the lightswitch. It seemed like the moment that he was set down, Riki let his head fall back against the mirror behind him, his body giving out. 

Under the warm light of your bathroom, you took a closer look at his face.

Despite the cut on his lip, Riki's lips were purple, probably from being out in the storm for so long. Other than the smudges of dirt and gravel on his face, you couldn't help but notice the streaks of redness streaming down his cheeks. Like he was crying.

You stared at him for a little bit longer. You'd seen him beaten down like this before. As a matter of fact, you've seen him battered like this so many times these past few weeks. 

But what set all of those instances apart from now was that you couldn't see that glimmer of hope in Riki's eyes anymore.

All those times before, he would be knocked down and bruised up, yet Riki always had the spirit to stand up again and declare a fight.

But now, all he did was slump back in resignation.

It made your heart clench in your chest.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when you realized that Riki was probably more physically hurt than any teenage boy should ever be. You made a bee-line for your kitchen, fixing him a glass of water. 

When you came back, you shoved the glass into his hands, forcing him to drink it.

Meanwhile, you started a warm bath for him. When you made sure that he could stand on his own, you gave him his privacy to bathe, with the reassurance that you'd be right outside.

And as the bathroom door shut, you sighed.

Riki shuddered as the warm water touched his skin, sinking down into the bathtub. It hurt to move. His entire body ached like hell. It felt like any wrong move would break his bones.

If someone told him that he'd be bathing in top supervillain Supernova's bathtub a few days ago, he'd lose his mind. But now after the events of tonight— being ambushed, tortured, and beaten by a group of villains before his escape— this felt ordinary.

Riki felt himself relax into the warmth, letting his eyes fall shut. 

He felt disgusting. All sweaty and bloodied up, tears still staining his cheeks. The water did just enough to make him feel a little better. Still, even if he was far away from those villains, Riki couldn't shake off the feeling of their hands on him. It made the hairs on his neck stand up. He knew that he was safe now, for they couldn't reach him now. Yet Riki couldn't help but have that eerie feeling that he was being watched, that at any moment, they'd come back and hurt him.

Chills ran down his spine, like spindly cold fingers clawing at his skin. Riki's heart dropped.

He was safe. He knew he was. No one could hurt him. But why could Riki still hear their voices? His breathing became ragged again.

He's okay, he told himself. But his body told him otherwise. 

And just as Riki pulled his knees to his chest, digging his nails into his palms as he rocked back and forth, a knock on the bathroom door pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Riki?" your voice rang from the other side of the door. "I got you some clean clothes. I'll leave them out here for when you're done."

"O-Okay," he called back.

His heart still raced in his chest. He bit on his lip.

"Wait," he said from inside the bathroom.

He could hear you hum from the other side. 

"C-Can you stay in here with me?"

You didn’t need Riki to explain. After all, your entire family was supervillains. You’ve seen it yourself: how painful and traumatizing it could actually be.

So here you were, pouring bubble bath soap into the tub as Riki sat rigidly. 

"Am I making you uncomfortabl—"

"No," Riki answered quickly, pulling his knees closer to his chest. "It’s just awkward."

You nodded understandingly, watching as the bubbles began forming in the water. They came in twos, then fours, and suddenly the entire tub was filled with bubbles. 

As if he wasn’t the city’s only protector, and as if he was a young child, Riki watched, fascinated. He reached out to touch the foamy bubbles, staring at his hands.

"Are you okay with the bubbles?" you asked, but Riki only absentmindedly nodded. too occupied with the bubbles. Your lips curved. "How are you feeling now?"

Riki’s eyes flickered up to your face. He was about to shrug, but the aching feeling that he was beginning to forget returned. It struck through him, piercing through his skin in a way that made him hiss, keeling over himself.

Immediately, you rushed to his side. You reached out for him, and for the first time, he didn't jerk away. 

Riki turned a little bit, twisting his torso just enough so that you could see his back. 

And oh, his back was horrible.

You've seen some bad injuries, but the lashings, gashes, and slashes with red blood oozing out littered his skin. In fact, all across Riki's back and shoulder area you could see some pretty nasty gouges.

But that wasn't the most concerning part. Starting from the base of his neck and trailing down his side, a reddish-mauve colored scar was imprinted. On the inside of his arm, there was a collection of darker blemishes. They were not protruding from the surface, nor were they bumpy. The collection of blemishes continued, spotting his skin, until it reached a large patch.

You knew what it was just by the sight of it: burn scars.

How did he—

It seemed like Riki read your mind. 

"I know, I know," he breathed. "Bad, isn't it?"

You nodded, your mind still racing. How the hell does a teenage boy even obtain such a severe burn scar?

"I got—" he let out a groan of pain as he turned back to you so that you couldn't see his back anymore. "I got the new ones earlier when those bastards—" you watched as he paused, his brows crashing together like he was remembering something he didn't want to— "when those bastards captured me."

Before you could question further, he continued. "Those burn scars are old."

"How did you get them?" you blurted.

He gave a sly look, almost with a curve in his lips. "I'm a hero, you know."

When you only gaped at him confused, the grin on his lips grew. "There was a burning apartment complex a few weeks ago. I had to rescue some victims, and got a few burns in the process. No biggie though."

You blinked.

Oh.

Maybe you were wrong about him. You shook off the oncoming guilt, focusing on the boy first.

"When you're ready, I'll patch you up," you said, rising to your feet to inspect your bathroom cabinet. 

He hummed.

"Ack— That hurts—!"

"Stay still!"

Riki's physical state was much worse than you thought. It wasn't just his back. It was everywhere else.

He was covered head to toe with bruises and cuts, some of them so severe that you couldn't believe your eyes.

Somehow, even when he was literally injured he still managed to be an asshole. So much of an asshole that you had to give him candies to shut him up.

"How do I know these are not poisoned?" he asked you suspiciously, though with a sly little grin as if his lip wasn't busted. He examined the foil-wrapped candies in his palm as if it were a specimen of science.

You scoffed. "Suit yourself. Either you eat my poison candies or shut up."

He did both.

As you disinfected his wounds, you watched his expressions closely, being careful to hurt him even more.

You stood between his legs as he sat up on the bathroom counter. If punching him square in the face multiple times didn't count, this was probably the closest that you'd ever been to him. 

It was completely silent now, so quiet that you could only hear his hisses of pain and the rain that continued to pitter-patter outside. Everything was so still, so quiet that you could almost hear his heart beat.

His wet hair dripped from time to time, a bead of water dripping onto the counter or maybe his chest. Maybe it was a bad time to think this, but you couldn't deny that Riki was a handsome boy. Maybe people at school would disagree, but his rugged and brooding look was always something nice to look at.

You focused on his biggest wounds first, and after patching and bandaging all of them up, you were at last tasked with the injuries on his face.

It was weird to see someone that he'd spent so much time fighting be so kind and tender with him. On most days that he was injured, Riki usually just sloppily cleaned himself up. He ran on pure ambition and passion, at the expense of his physical health. But here you were, gently cradling his face like he was made of glass, a type of warmth that he hadn't experienced in years. 

So pretty, was all the thought. He'd be lying if he said that you weren't a formidable opponent. Strong, fiery, and just as much of an asshole as him. But pretty, too.

The feeling of your fingers gently pressing against his lips was weird, but he didn't mind it. The way you wet your lips unconsciously, swiping your tongue over them, made him feel all different things. 

Whatever, he thought. 

He pushed it all to the back of his mind.

But that was difficult in itself. 

You were just so close. He'd been close to you before, when you fought him, but not like this. Not in such an intimate way. 

Maybe it was how physically drained he was. Maybe it was the burden of the city weighing down on his shoulders, or the mental distress he underwent earlier. It could be the warmth of your apartment and the sound of raindrops on the window down the hall, or it could be his craving for affection, any at all. 

But before he could even think, Riki's hand jerked out to grab your wrist, pulling it away from his lips. And in one swift movement, he smashed his lips onto yours.

All time stopped.

It was just the two of you frozen.

And then, you pulled away, resting your hands on the counters to stabilize yourself.

"We can't—" you whispered against his lips, a whimper coming from your lips when Riki's hand wrapped around your waist— "We can't do this."

"Why not?" he rasped, leaning into you again. You pulled away just enough for him to miss your lips.

"You're you, and I'm me," you shook your head. "It won't work."

Yet all your resolve crumbled when Riki's hand slithered up to gently push your head closer to his, his lip brushing against yours.

"It's just a kiss," he said coolly. Then, he pressed his lips against yours again, and the moment that they touched, you hungrily deepened the kiss. You gripped the countertops under your fingertips, leaning into him as you ravage his lips.

"And plus—" Riki murmured against your lips between kisses— "We're kissing as you and me, not Orion the hero and Supernova the villain—"

"Just shut up," you shut him up with your lips.

And he did.

"I have something to tell you."

The two of you settled into bed a while ago. You forced Riki to stay the night, because it was still too dangerous for him to leave right now.

It's quiet again. Although there was a wall of pillows separating the two of you, you couldn't help the beating in your chest. And you were sure Riki couldn't either.

It was getting late. You could feel that familiar burn in your eyes, the sensation you got when you were getting sleepy. You could tell from Riki's softer, much more slurred voice that he was, too.

"What's up?"

He was silent for a little bit. "It's about the villains. It's really bad—"

You shook your head. "Tell me tomorrow morning."

"No," he continued, and you could hear the strain in his voice. The desperation. "I— I need your help. The city is at risk, and—"

"Tell me tomorrow," was all you said. You could hear him sigh. "Riki, I promise that I'll help you. But you are exhausted right now. Tell me in the morning."

"Okay."

It took much longer for Riki to fall asleep than it did for you. He was awake until the sun rose, not even being gifted with the privilege of rest. 

There were a few times where Riki almost started crying, blinking back his tears. It felt hopeless as thoughts raced through his head.

But then he'd hear you stir and feel you reach for him, and Riki would take it as a sign to slow down.

He didn't know if tomorrow would come.

He didn't even know if tomorrow would be kind to him.

But for some reason, the thought of you being beside him while it all fell down made him feel just a little bit better.

How strange.

[cockslutpadalecki]

There Is A Heaven, Lets Keep It A Secret

Summary: The owner of the brothel you were sold to only offered you to the ghoul in the hopes it would frighten you. To stop you from trying to run away. You weren’t meant to actually like it.

Characters: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x F!Reader.

Words: ~1K.

Warnings: ghoul fucking, what else can I say? Mostly PWP, some initially unintended angst, 18+.

A/N: Dedicated to the queens that are @sweeterthanthis & @likedovesinthewnd ❤️ Not beta’ed so all errors, spelling mistakes and general bullshit are entirely mine.

The smell of leather and day old blood used to turn your stomach. But as Cooper slams his glove over your mouth to keep you quiet, your gut rolls with something that’s so far removed from revulsion, it makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Pavlovian instinct or not, warmth blossoms in your core, and flames take root in your veins until all you can feel is unmistakable heat.

“Ssh sweetheart,” he coos in Texan above you. “Can’t have them knowin’ you like it. You wouldn’t want me to stop comin’ around, would ya?”

He doesn’t need your affirmation in words. The way your cunt pulses around him is more enough to tell him what he already knows.

The ghoul was only meant to scare you into staying. To put you in your place.

But the more he keeps coming back, the more of the man beneath the irradiated skin shines through.

Initial terror morphs into adoration and some nights, when the raiders decide to get a little rough, you find yourself hiding inside your head— fantasising that it’s his hands on you instead.

But the fantasy only lasts briefly. Cooper Howard would never.

Unless you ask him nice and pretty.

You stare up at him, his eyes lost in the way your breasts bounce from the force of his thrusts. He ruts into you with abandon, the loud slap of his hips against your ass echoing around the room. The obscenity makes heat creep up your spine, and settle thick beneath your cheeks.

You can’t have anyone knowing that these moments are all that keep you sane.

“Maybe it ain’t gonna be your mouth that reveals your truth, after all, honey,” Cooper observes with a husk.

A free hand slides up your writhing body, and a gloved thumb runs circles over your pebbling nipple. Your back arches at the contact, forcing your hips up. His stare catches yours over the top of leather.

“There you are, little Jet,” he smiles.

Cooper lifts your leg over his shoulder, the contrast in depth steals the breath from your lungs. He notices— must see the way your eyes widen as he slides back inside you, right up to the root. Your hand flies up, tightening your grip around his wrist.

“Right there, huh?” With another brash smile, he presses his lips firm against the inside of your knee. The kiss sends pulses of electricity firing straight to your core.

Fuck. If there was still a God, you’d pray.

There was a part of you that used to hate how easily he managed to unravel the components that make you weak.

But hate fast became a need. Now you welcome it. Crave it.

Your stomach lurches with heat the moment his pace begins to quicken. Everything suddenly heightens around you— heartbeat and all five of the senses— and it’s evident your end is close to catching you.

“You gonna give me what I came for, sweetheart?” His voice is gentle, but his actions are not.

You nod. You’d give him your fucking life at this point.

His hand slides off your mouth, settling loosely around your throat like a necklace. “Wanna hear you beg.”

You lick your lips wet, the words, “Please, Coop,” hissing quietly through your teeth. Just loud enough for him to hear.

He smirks. His free hand finds its way between your legs without a second thought, and the roughness of the leather against your sensitive clit is everything you need to tumble over the edge.

Cooper clamps his hand back over your mouth, hurrying to stifle your scream as you splinter beneath him. Stars swell, bursting into bright white behind your eyes just as the tremors start off in your thighs. Euphoria claims you for its own, and by the time you’re finished, your entire body is shaking with delirium.

He stares down at you in awe, hips snapping to a rhythm that has you keening into the palm of his glove. Leather and blood encompass you. Your body ripples from the weight of Cooper’s body against yours, your name wrapped up within his lips as he surrenders to his high.

When he moves out from between your legs, you’re too fucked out to pull him back in. Every inch of you needs him back.

You hate this moment the most. The awkward silence before he has to leave. And as he glances at you over his shoulder, tipping his hat in your direction like the goddamn gentlemen he still is beneath the surface, you feel a twinge in your chest.

“Until next time sweetheart,” he drawls thickly.

You flash him a small smile. “I’ll be here, Coop, just like always.”

And just like always, you’ll be counting down the days like it’s fucking Christmas.

[sprytesukii]

you know me (better than i know myself)

bakugou katsuki x reader

katsuki is hopelessly in love with his best friend until you waltz into his life and warp it beyond his recognition.

rating: mature, 18+, MDNI

wc : 10.4k (holy fuck)

tags : mild to heavy angst, fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), afab!reader, unrequited love (not between reader and kats), depictions of mild depression, genderfluid!denki, queer!katsuki, reader has a quirk, oral (reader receiving), p-in-v intercourse, unprotected intercourse (wrap it b4 u tap it pls!), soft katsuki, and they were roommates :0, Not Beta Read, i think that’s it T^T

an: this is the first thing i’ve genuinely written in over a year and jesus it was like i was possessed writing it LMFAO incredibly self indulgent and i had a lot of fun writing it! i hope you guys enjoy it (pls rb n leave feedback pls pls pls)

read on ao3

the warm light of the coffee table lamp casts a beautiful shadow across the planes of eijirou’s face — his sharp, angular nose, smooth cheekbones, plush lips that form a sheepish smile — and katsuki can’t even appreciate it, not with the absolute bullshit that pours from his best friend’s lips.

“the fuck you mean, you’re moving out?”

the words come out a lot harsher than katsuki intends, but he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty, not even when kiri’s face screws up in clear disappointment.

“well, uh, i told you, this new place is closer to my agency so it makes more sense. the commute’ll be much shorter and, uh…” he trails off then, a pretty pink blush spreading across his nose, highlighting the small spattering of freckles that katsuki is certain he’s the only one who’s ever noticed, a broiling heat setting alight in his stomach.

he feels like he might die.

“and.. kaito finally asked me to move in with him.”

there it is. fuckin’ kaito.

katsuki is far from an idiot — people call him a lot of names (brash, inconsiderate, a righteous asshole), but never dumb. they couldn’t unless they were outright lying.

part of what makes katsuki so intelligent is his observance.

of course he’s noticed eijirou’s late nights, his suspicious absences at group get togethers, the sweet smiles he makes as he taps at his phone screen, the fucking hickies.

bakugou katsuki is not stupid. he’s incredibly observant. especially when it comes to the massive crush he’s been harboring on his best friend for the last three years.

he’s not entirely sure when his reluctant tolerance of the bright redhead shifted to something more but he knows he’s been viciously, painfully pining over him day in and day out in the weeks (months, years) since.

and it’s not like kirishima hasn’t had partners before. he’s nearly impossible to resist with his intense attentiveness, his willingness to go above and beyond for those close to him, not to mention his insane physique, built from long hours out on the field and in the gym.

it’s no wonder katsuki has been in love with him for as long as he has been — eijirou is perfect.

perfectly imperfect, of course. he gets upset when katsuki sorts his clothes for him (“i’m an adult, okay? it makes me feel like you’re parenting me, man.���) or when he lectures him on his diet, or when he shuts him out after being friends for so long (when his feelings become too much to handle), but eijirou’s the only one who’s stayed.

katsuki has tried flings and a few more serious relationships but those have ended quickly because he’s just too much.

too loud. too frustrating. too closed off. too him.

but not for eijirou. never for eijirou.

that’s why when kiri mentioned he was talking to this new guy, he brushed it off. it would be like all the others who would eventually break it off because of the long hours at work or eijirou’s boundless enthusiasm and katsuki would be there to pick the sopping wet, heartbroken kiri off the ground and put him back together. they didn’t deserve him anyway.

but this kaito? apparently katsuki’s eagerness to ignore eijirou’s flings made him blind to what was happening — eiji wasn’t his anymore.

he’s moving out.

he’ll be gone forever.

subconsciously, katsuki realizes he’s been silent for far too long and that eijirou’s face has lost the hurt and is now painted with concern and confusion.

fuck, even now, he’s concerned. he cares so so much, except in the way katsuki craves.

“uh,” kirishima’s gentle voice breaks him from his thoughts, a big hand finding its way to katsuki’s knee, “are you okay dude?”

the touch sears through the expensive black joggers katsuki is wearing and he flinches so hard, he jostles the coffee table to his side. he barely sees kirishima’s brows furrow as he launches himself to standing, the telltale burn behind his eyes signaling the incoming wave of tears.

he can’t see katsuki like this, he fucking can’t.

katsuki marches to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and blankly staring into it while he tries to will the water back into his face and still the turmoil burning in his chest.

it feels like he’s aflame, like he’s suffocating, drowning.

he can hear kirishima’s steps behind him but thankfully stopping a reasonable distance away as he calls his name again, desperation coloring the word.

fuck.

with everything he has in him, katsuki grabs a random bottle from the refrigerator (a smoothie eijirou made for him with far too much kale and too little milk and a little note attached with his name and a smiley face. he’s gonna be sick.) and turns to face him, a strained, shaky grimace painting his lips.

“that’s-“ his voice cracks hard and he desperately clears his throat, blinking hard when he sees eijirou reach out for him and stop. “that’s fuckin’— that’s great. ‘m happy for you.”

the words feel like glass inching their way out of his throat and while he knows he sounds anything but, the words seem to do the trick, kirishima’s face lighting up like a fucking christmas tree.

“that means so much to me, man!” this time, he doesn’t stop himself from wrapping katsuki up in a hug, the full body contact sending a wracking shiver through his body. “and don’t worry! we’ll still hang out all the time and i’ll — yes! — finally be able to introduce you to kaito — you’re gonna love him, and-“

katsuki has to tune him out, if just to keep a hold on his sanity because otherwise, he’s gonna break.

he keeps it together through the rest of the conversation about kaito, tuning in only to give time appropriate grunts and hums while pretending like his entire world isn’t imploding in on itself.

he keeps it together, miraculously, as kirishima packs up his things, the evidence of their entwined lives for the past five years disappearing into cardboard boxes over the span of a few weeks.

he even keeps it together when he meets kaito on the move out date, even if it’s just barely. kaito is handsome — tall, taller than katsuki, with windswept brown hair, bright brown eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. if he wasn’t so fucking in love with eiji, he wouldn’t mind taking a piece out of him, but as it were, the sight of kaito makes him genuinely sick to his stomach.

it’s even worse that kaito is so nice. his quirk is even nicer — some nature type that makes it impossible for plants to die when touched by him. they turn to him like he’s the fucking sun and eiji does too.

by the time all kirishima’s stuff is packed up in the back of kaito’s truck, bile is burning at the back of katsuki’s throat as he says his final goodbye to kiri in the way of a bone crushing hug that doesn’t last as long as he wishes, as he craves.

kiri sends him a blinding smile as he climbs into the passenger seat of the truck, looking all too at home against the worn blue leather seats.

it’s now when katsuki wishes he was a little less observant because the hand kaito gently places on kirishima’s thigh and the subsequent full body blush makes him sick.

he waits on the curb the appropriate amount of time as the pair drive away before racing back into his building, up the stairs, into his unit and straight to the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet and heaving, chills wracking his body despite the sweat on his brow.

nothing comes out (praise whoever above because katsuki hates vomiting) and he slumps against the porcelain, resting his heated skin against the toilet seat.

he thought… fuck, katsuki has no idea what he thought, but he didn’t expect it to hurt this bad. he feels a little like he’s dying and lot like he’ll never be okay again. that kirishima walked out with his heart and all he’ll be for the rest of his life is a walking husk of a human being.

a wave of nausea overtakes him again and he debates leaning back over the toilet, but exhaustion overwhelms him and he falls asleep against the wall of his bathroom, sweaty, sick, and heartbroken.

(the next morning, he wakes up to a pounding headache and two texts from eijirou.

he drinks a shit ton of water first and pops an advil before opening the messages.

EIJI (18:21) : just got to kaito’s! dude it’s so nice i can’t believe ill be living here now ><

katsuki has to take a deep breath to fight against the wave of pain that hits him right in the gut, but he keeps reading, the second text simultaneously warming him and twisting the knife.

EIJI (18:25) : i’m gonna miss you so much kats T^T so weird living without you

he stares at the message until his vision swims before liking the second message and turning off his phone, tossing it onto the couch and trudging to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.)

the next few weeks prove to be incredibly difficult.

a new case is brought to best jeanist’s desk and as the best sidekick at the agency, he’s placed in charge of heading the search and capture of an elusive invisibility quirk villain.

the days are long and exhausting, and more often than not, he doesn’t even have time to miss kirishima or notice his things missing from the apartment — he gets home, makes a barebones meal and collapses on the couch for what feels like a four hour nap until he has to turn back around and do it all over again.

it’s sustainable until it isn’t.

a few too many missed meals and restless hours of sleep has him passing out in a morning briefing, prompting best jeanist to send him home for a mandatory two week “vacation.”

it’s a prison sentence, is what it is.

at home, there’s nothing to distract him from the utter lack of kirishima, from the idea that the one person who has seen all of him and loved him anyway has left.

most days it’s too much to bear, so instead, he sleeps.

the usual tidiness of his space slowly deteriorates as he wastes away, waking only to scarf down whatever is left in his refrigerator before going right back to bed.

his friends text him often — hanta, denki, even fuckin’ hitoshi — but he ignores them all. the texts from kirishima are the hardest to delete, all concerned words and pleas for them to just talk, but he does it anyway.

it’s better this way, he tells himself. this way, no one else is dragged down by his self pity.

izuku ends up being the one to break the streak on day nine of radio silence.

a knock resounds at his door and he ignores it, pulling his blankets high above his mussed blonde hair, effectively hiding him from view as he hopes whoever is there spontaneously combusts or, better yet, just leaves.

when the knocks stop, he believes the latter has just occurred and he sighs in relief, completely missing the sound of metal creaking and his doorknob falling to the ground.

he’s debating on taking another melatonin to find the sweet release of sleep once more when his bedroom door opens up and he startles, launching up out of bed, hands and quirk at the ready to destroy the intruder, but he’s slow, too slow.

izuku is on him in a moment, pinning him to the bed and disregarding his gnashing teeth and cursing to look him over with a detached gaze.

“katsuki,” he says, voice firm in effectively shutting him up, despite the way he wriggles for freedom (so ineffectively, it’s embarrassing), “you look like dogshit.”

a harsh bark of laughter escapes katsuki’s throat and even from his angle where he’s pressed into his pillows, he sees izuku’s expression soften.

“you’ve lost your tact, deku,” he responds, his words gravelly from disuse. izuku scoffs but lets him up, taking a step over a pile of clothes on the ground to lean against the desk opposite of the bed.

with his newfound freedom, katsuki sits up, absentmindedly rubbing his now sore shoulder, the pain oddly grounding. izuku watches the motion with the intense focus he’s carried throughout his entire life, though he’s a far cry from the boy who used to break his bones and cry over injured birds.

now, he’s built like a brick house, forest green curls tapered into a flattering modern undercut, the fat from his cheeks transforming into something more chiseled and adult. his eyes aren’t as soft either — they’re tired and, as he looks at katsuki’s form, tinged with worry.

“where have you been? no one has heard from you in a week.”

katsuki rolls his eyes, looking away from the gaze that pins him, the gaze he tried so hard to get to look at him without fear. there isn’t a hint of fear in them now, but katsuki is afraid there’ll be disappointment and that’s almost worse.

“none of your fuckin’ business,” he grunts out and he immediately knows it was the wrong response. besides eijirou, izuku knows him the best and after all they’ve been through, he doesn’t deserve this.

he never deserved any of it.

with that thought spinning around in his head, katsuki rubs a hand over his face with a quiet curse, leaning back against the headboard.

“fuck, i’m sorry,” it comes out as a mutter, but its effect on izuku is instantaneous. the previous hardness of his expression melts and he moves closer, his bushy brows furrowing together. katsuki can barely look at him but he does anyway, he makes himself. izuku deserves that much (he deserves so much more but one day at a time).

“we’re just worried about you,” izuku says quietly but without pity. never pity. “what’s going on?”

maybe it’s the way izuku’s freckled face reminds him far too much of eijirou’s own spattering of constellations or maybe it’s the fact katsuki hasn’t eaten in over fifteen hours, but he shatters in that moment, crystal tears filling up carmine eyes.

if izuku is startled at katsuki’s sudden change of emotions, he doesn’t show it, instead moving to envelop katsuki in his arms, allowing him to bury his face in the crook of his shoulder and let go.

katsuki tells him everything and by the end of it, his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and his eyes are puffy and red, but he feels better than he did all week.

izuku just looks thoughtful from his place sitting near the end of katsuki’s bed, the pair parting somewhere in between katsuki’s admission of throwing up when seeing kaito and kirishima together and his accidental confession of stealing one of eijirou’s hoodies from one of the boxes (it sits right under his pillow, but izuku doesn’t need to know that).

“i’m really sorry, katsuki. that fucking sucks,” izuku ends up saying and katsuki’s initial reaction is anger. he spills his heart and guts out to izuku and all he gets is that sucks? but when he opens his mouth to give deku a piece of his mind, he realizes that it does suck. it sucks royal ass and there’s nothing he or izuku can do to fix it - at least not yet - but the acknowledgment, without any attempt to give advice or make everything better, does wonders for katsuki.

he pushes out a watery laugh, his lip ticking up into a smile - for the first time in weeks - and izuku lights up a little. “yeah. it really fuckin’ does.”

the smile izuku sends back is blinding and for the one thousandth time, katsuki is reminded why the symbol of peace is just that.

they talk for a little while longer before izuku forces katsuki into the shower. he takes a long time, letting the scalding hot water turn cold before he emerges to find that his childhood best friend has started cleaning up the mess that has become of his apartment.

katsuki watches on for a moment until izuku raises an eyebrow at him and offers him a trash bag which he takes wordlessly, a wave of affection crashing over him so quickly tears come to his eyes. he blinks them away but he doesn’t miss the knowing smile izuku sends his way.

the pair work together in relative silence until the apartment is spotless and katsuki’s stomach is grumbling something fierce. izuku makes his way to the fridge but is met with nothing but a half carton of eggs and a rotting smoothie in the far corner, a sticky note attached to the lid. he fixes katsuki with a small, sad smile before digging through his drawers for a takeout menu.

when the food arrives, katsuki finishes it in record time and he can’t tell if it’s the fact they remembered to make it extra spicy or if it’s because he literally can’t remember the last time he had an actual meal, but it’s the best thing he’s eaten in a long time.

after they finish, izuku turns on the television and they both spend the evening shit talking a d-list hero film until they fall asleep on the couch, bodies slumped against one another, holding each other up.

—

that night seems to have knocked something loose in katsuki because the next morning, he wakes with his first alarm and heads to the gym for the first time since his mandatory vacation. by the end of it, his arms are burning from quirk overuse and he’s completely wiped, but he feels more like himself than he has in ages.

he finally texts his friends back (barring one) and they greet him back with high levels of enthusiasm and concern. it feels good to be received back into the fold with the love he’d thought he’d lost, his cheeks hurting with how much he’s smiling as the messages roll in.

katsuki finishes out his sentence and goes back to work on the fourteenth day with an earnest apology to best jeanist and a new lead on the villain after pouring over the case files in between hyperintensive workouts at the gym. best jeanist is quietly impressed, but the squeeze to the shoulder he gives katsuki tells him he was more worried about him than he let on.

the next few weeks pass in a blur, but this time it’s more pleasant. he watches shitty movies with izuku, deletes instagram when he sees a photo of kaito and kirishima on holiday in america, starts attending a pottery class on the weekends he has off with mina and denki, continues to ignore the texts from eijirou that are becoming more and more infrequent as time goes on, smokes with hanta and shinsou one evening and laughs harder than he ever has, and life feels like it’s slowly gaining its footing once again.

he realizes three months after kirishima had moved out that he should probably start looking for a new roommate or downgrade to something more reasonable. he seriously considers the latter, but when he looks at the space he cultivated right after he graduated from ua, he realizes he can’t quite give the place up.

he posts an ad on craigslist that night.

the next time the group goes drinking (kirishima is suspiciously absent, despite his reentry into the country a few days prior — mina mentioned it), katsuki brings up his roommate problem and denki latches on, his cheeks pleasantly flushed from the wine he’s been sipping on.

“oh, oh! i know - i know the perrrrfeeccttt roommate for you,” he slurs, toying with the earring dangling from his ear and fixing his excited gaze on katsuki’s face. “they’re like.. the besttt, dude, you’d - you’d love them.”

the words are vague, but when katsuki opens up his mouth to ask for more details, denki’s eyes widen and he rushes off to the bathroom, a hand over his mouth, nearly tripping over the his platform shoes and maxi skirt.

the topic of the roommate is quickly forgotten then, but it resurfaces a few days later at pottery class.

katsuki is glaring holes into the side of his slightly lopsided vase on the pottery wheel, internally going through the steps to see where he went wrong. denki to the left of him laughs and chatters as he makes his, frankly, hideous ceramic, the clay warped beyond recognition.

something in his one-sided conversation brings his attention to katsuki who’s startled at the sound of his name coming from denki’s mouth.

“yo, you still looking for a roommate?” he asks, tilting his head as a strand of hair falls from the lengthening ponytail at the back of his head. without alcohol in his system, denki looks a little more hesitant to be approaching this topic, but does so when he isn’t met with a howitzer to the face.

the group doesn’t know much of anything, just that kirishima and katsuki aren’t talking, so they tend to tread lightly around the subject. katsuki appreciates it, genuinely, but he’s not going to shatter at the sound of eijirou’s name - not anymore. it hurts still, of course, but the pain has dulled to a steady hum that he can ignore if he tries hard enough.

“yeah,” he grunts, turning his eyes back at his vase. “why? you got someone in mind?”

denki grins, showing off the lightning tooth gems on his canine. “hell yeah! i’ll give you their number — they teach the watercolor class here on tuesdays and they’re so cool.”

he speaks about you with obvious adoration and katsuki belatedly wonders if the two of you are dating, but doesn’t voice this curiousity, instead wordlessly handing denki his phone to put in your contact as “ROOMIE” with what feels like a hundred paint emojis after it. katsuki smiles at his friend’s antics and can’t quite bring himself to change it.

the colorful contact remains untouched for about another week until he gets a rent notice and remembers the little paint palettes in his phone.

in the middle of his morning workout, he taps out a quick text to you, before tossing his phone to the side and promptly forgetting about it.

katsuki [09:27] : Hey. I’m Bakugou. Denki gave me your number. I’m looking for a roommate. You interested?

ROOMIE [10:16] : oh hey yeah i’m interested

ROOMIE [10:17] : do you want 2 meet td

ROOMIE [10:17] : i’m at the cafe on 5th n cherry

ROOMIE [10:17] : in the back

ROOMIE [10:19] : i’ll b here 4 a while

ROOMIE [10:19] : just come whenever

katsuki only sees the message at the end of his workout a half hour later. the number of messages in a row and less than ideal grammar makes him turn up his nose but he quickly taps out an affirmative, before dapping izuku up and heading to the showers.

he makes it to the cafe twenty minutes later, scanning the place to see what he assumes is you tucked away in the back corner, your table full with books, papers, paints, your laptop and at least four empty cups of coffee.

katsuki raises an eyebrow at the sight but walks over anyway, telling himself he’s doing denki a favor by meeting someone he thinks so highly of so he won’t feel too bad when he tells him it’s not going to work out.

you don’t look up when he stops at your table, too occupied with the piece of art in front of you, your face twisted up in intense concentration.

you’re quite pretty, he notes subconsciously, the hard set of your eyes and one track focus reminding him an awful lot of himself when he’s swept into a difficult case. your complete unawareness gives him more time to take you in, though, so he can’t even bring himself to be too annoyed.

you’re wearing a bright yellow chargebolt hoodie that clashes terribly with your garishly pink acid queen baggy sweatpants. a pair of cellophane socks cover your feet where they’re stretched out in the seat across from you and your shoes (made to look like the red ones from deku’s costume, jesus christ) sit haphazardly beneath the table, empty.

it’s such a bizarre sight, katsuki almost laughs — almost — but he doesn’t, instead opting to knock your feet off the chair opposite you so he can sit down.

“a big fan of heroes, huh?” he asks, the action coupled with his words startling you so bad, your knees hit the underside of the table, threatening to upend all the precariously balanced objects decorating the surface.

you look angry at first before you realize who it is and once you do, you just look relieved. it’s an unusual reaction, one katsuki rarely gets from anyone who isn’t actively in danger, especially strangers.

“you scared the absolute shit out of me,” you say tiredly, rubbing a hand over your face and sighing. katsuki watches you recognize your own impoliteness in real time, a sheepish smile spreading across your lips.

pretty.

“fuck, sorry,” you extend a paint splotched hand to him and he takes it, shaking it firmly before it falls back to his side, fingers tingling. “i get super into shit and completely forget where i am. kami gets onto me about it all the time. says i’m prime villain bait or some shit. i think he’s saying it most of the time to freak me out, but he might actually be right. don’t ever tell him i said that though.”

katsuki can’t help but stare at you as you ramble at him with the familiarity of someone who’s known him for months, not just a few minutes. it’s uncomfortable in a strangely nice way and he can feel his muscles loosen as the nerves melt away.

“aw fuck, i’m sorry again. i didn’t introduce myself.”

you give him your name, offering your hand out for him to shake once more which he does with an amused look painting his expression. you don’t seem to notice, your attention being grabbed by the piece in front of you again.

“i’m bakugou,” he offers after a moment of silence. you don’t even look up when you respond.

“i know. you sent me that text, remember? also you’re like, super fucking famous, dynamight,” you look up at him through your lashes, teasing, and heat unexpectedly blooms on the back of his neck.

what the fuck?

in a bid to gain back control of the conversation (and himself) katsuki asks, “what’re you workin’ on? dunceface said you’re a painter or some shit.”

your nose crinkles at the moniker, but you don’t say anything about it, instead turning the sketchbook around for katsuki to look at it.

the piece is stunning, but it’s visceral and he can’t help but lean back a little when looking at it, stomach dropping.

a deer lays on the ground, gutted, blood, guts and viscera pouring out of its abdomen as a figure just out of frame reaches inside and pulls out its heart.

katsuki is disgusted but intrigued and that feeling only amplifies when you press a finger to the painting and activate your quirk.

suddenly, the hand in the painting moves so realistically he flinches — he can hear the deer’s heart beat, can hear the way the blood trickles through the blades of grass, can smell the coppery tang and can feel the rush of spring wind blowing past his face.

it’s like he’s there, in the piece, and he feels both a little sick and also so alive.

“holy fuck,” he whispers, shivering, and you laugh, deactivating your quirk, bringing him back to the real world. the sounds of the cafe flood in, replacing the smell of blood and spring fields with coffee and loose tea leaves. he shakes his head, eyes a little blown when they look at you.

your expression is playfully amused as you bring your sketchbook closer to your person, resting your head on the palm of your hand.

“sorry,” you offer, but you don’t sound very sorry at all, “should’ve asked before i used my quirk on you. not everyone likes that shit.”

the words are so nonchalant but you look like you’re poised to watch him get up and leave, never looking back. katsuki doesn’t think he could leave if he tried.

“nah,” his voice feels raw so he tries to clear it but the feeling doesn’t go away. “you’re good. just surprised me, ‘s all.”

your mouth parts in muted surprise and you tilt your head, appraising him like you’re seeing him for the first time. katsuki feels surprisingly bare as you study him, but he doesn’t drop his eye contact, despite the heavy pounding of his heart from your intensity.

the pair of you sit in silence like that for a moment or two longer before you break it, asking him if he wants something to drink. before he can tell you he doesn’t drink coffee though, you flag down the waiter, ask for a hot cup of tea (“darjeeling or oolong,” you ask the waiter, not even sparing katsuki another glance, “he doesn’t look like he fucks with green tea.” it’s true. he doesn’t. his heart does a stutter step in his chest.) and when it arrives to the table, katsuki asks you to move in with him.

you agree.

—

the move in process is so quick and easy that when it’s done, it feels like you’ve been living there for years.

your belongings integrate seamlessly into his own. your books about art history and watercolor technique find their way onto his bookshelves filled with classic japanese literature and hero history.

(he comes home one day to see you propped up on the couch with a thick book on the origin of quirks and heroism in japan that you stole borrowed from his collection. he just cocks his head at you when you meet his gaze and you shrug.

“i’m not japanese, i don’t know any of this shit,” you say in way of an explanation. “besides, this is important to you. i wanna learn.”

you turn back to your book like you didn’t just completely shake the foundation of katsuki’s world for a moment and he stumbles off to the kitchen, heat burning at the tips of his ears.)

your plants find their way on every windowsill and while, once upon a time, it would’ve made him think of kaito and that sick, curling jealousy would wrap around his chest and squeeze, now? it just makes him think of you.

(it helps you can’t really keep them alive so nearly every other week the two of you are replanting something new in the pots and vases katsuki makes in pottery class.)

your favorite foods join his in the refrigerator and the two of you take your meals together more often than not. katsuki cooks and you clean, either eating on the couch while watching a documentary or at the dining room table as you talk and talk and talk.

(the first time katsuki misses dinner, you wait up for him, even forgoing your own meal to eat with him when he returns at 2 in the morning.

“don’t do that shit again,” he grumbles when he finds out what you’ve done, his scarlet eyes piercing your own. you shrug, unafraid, tired eyes trailing lazily over his tank top clad form.

“don’t tell me what to do,” you retort after a moment, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “i like eating with you.”

your honesty, unabashed and loud, always bowls him over and he has to take a sip of his ice water to feel steady again.)

the relationship between the two of you is easy, for once, and katsuki finds himself looking forward to coming home, to you and your witty comments, sharp intelligence, and your uncanny ability to see right through him.

he swears it must be a hidden quirk, the way you seem to just know — know what he wants and needs without even asking and your accuracy rate is pretty much unbeatable.

after a particularly bad mission where the property damage is unusually high and the civilian casualties match, the leading hero news journalist puts out a scathing piece about him, sending him into an emotional spiral.

you find him that afternoon, curled up in bed, staring at the window blankly. you crawl up in bed beside him and you don’t speak, don’t offer him coddling words of “everything’s gonna be okay,” or “you did the best you could,” because if that was katuski’s best, he doesn’t fucking deserve to be a hero. not at all.

but no, you don’t offer him empty words of placation. instead, you brush a lock of his hair off of his forehead and look at him with that all-seeing gaze, your expression neither soft nor hard, but understanding.

“you’re not gonna let that shit happen again, right?” you ask, tilting your head. katsuki shakes his head vehemently, the mere notion of the same amount of dead bodies on his watch sending a fire through his chest as he sits up.

“fuck no.”

“good. now come here, i painted something new and i need to see if i get ‘good job’ or ‘holy fuck that’s shitty’ eyebrows from you.”

and that’s that.

you’ve even given him a nickname and it inexplicably makes his skin feel tight, like he needs to tear it off and show you, like it’s a display of how you make him feel.

it’s a lazy sunday afternoon, one he’s required to take off by best jeanist, and he’s spent it next to you on the couch, listening to a few of your records while you paint a forest scene, a skittish doe front and center with rivulets of water streaming from beneath it.

occasionally, you’ll activate your quirk and katsuki can suddenly hear birds chirping and the creak of the wood before he’s back in your cramped flat, the sounds of city sounding below.

it’s jarring and yet, comforting, both your presence and the quirk, in a way that still doesn’t make sense to him yet.

“bambi, are you even listening to me?” the term of what he assumes is endearment startles him out of his thoughts and he eyes dart to yours, an amused expression on your your brow.

“who the fuck are you callin’ bambi?” in his shock, he can hardly conjure up the ability to sound pissed, confusion instead hijacking his words, making them come out soft and gruff.

“you, idiot,” you reply, like it makes all the sense in the world. “you’re like a deer to me. something in you is skittish, afraid and yet, you’re still so beautiful.”

what the fuck.

katsuki’s breath completely evaporates from his lungs and he feels like he’s going to pass out at your frank words. it doesn’t help that you don’t break eye contact or look embarrassed to have said something so, so… intimate.

he can’t even begin to parse through how to respond to something like that, but you know that too, flicking a little bit of paint water at him with the tip of your brush. he sees the olive branch for what it is and he grabs it with both hands, the annoyed sound rising from his throat on autopilot as you laugh, but your eyes are still so knowing.

he thinks about that day everyday after with sickening butterflies flapping around in his stomach and those only magnify when you choose to call him the new nickname every single chance you get.

katsuki would not dream of stopping you.

—

it’s about two months into you moving in with him and he’s going out drinking with the squad. he’s invited you about thirty times but every time you decline, citing that you’re behind on grading art projects and that show you were looking forward to is airing tonight.

(you’re a substitute art teacher at the local elementary school, a fact that genuinely shocked katsuki when he found out.

you’d laughed, wide and unapologetic at his reaction.

“i know i’ve got quite the potty mouth but i clean it up for the kids,” you say, eyes twinkling. “they kinda love me, i think, but it might just be the bob ross videos i put on for them every friday.”)

katsuki chooses not to push but he knows that he’ll end up cutting the night short, just so he can sprawl next to you on the couch and watch you paint.

you seem to know it too (how?? secret quirk, it must be) if the knowing look you give him isn’t enough as he goes to change.

when he returns to the living room, he’s clad in a nice black button down that’s unbuttoned enough to show off the strong planes of his chest and his thin gold chain, and a pair of black jeans that fit him and his tiny waist incredibly well.

katsuki knows he looks good in this outfit, but he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he stands in front of you, your eyes dragging down his body as slow as molasses, igniting the skin as though it was a physical touch.

your eyes meet his once again, molten and hot, and katsuki’s knees nearly buckle at the sight. he’s never seen you look like that - not at him, not at anyone, and he finds that he quite likes to be the center of your attention in this way.

“you clean up nicely, bambi,” you murmur, your voice a lower timber in comparison to your normal speech.

the blush spreads immediately to all visible parts of his body and he can fucking see you holding back a grin. “fuck off,” is all he can say before he spins on his heel, grabs his keys, and marches out the door.

it takes everything in him to continue walking, out and up to the train station and then to the bar, because all he wants to do is turn right back around, back to your home and back to that lava-like gaze you pinned him with earlier.

it’s you that’s racing around in his mind when he pushes the door open to the bar, but all thoughts come to a complete, grinding halt when he sees kirishima at their usual table, surrounded by all their friends and grinning like he’d never left.

he looks different - after all, it’s been about a year since katsuki had seen him last. his hair is longer and his roots are grown out, his skin has taken on such a warm glow and it, impossibly, seems like he’s gotten even bigger somehow.

it’s also impossible to miss the black band on his ring finger signaling a new engagement ring which he figures is what they’re meant to be celebrating tonight, eyes belatedly catching on the comically tiny “i’m engaged!” sash hanging around his chest.

the sight of kirishima sends the most heinous bolt of anxiety through katsuki and now he really just wants to call you to come get him and take him home, to make him forget all about his unrequited love. he moves backwards to do just that, but he’s already been spotted by kirishima himself.

fuck.

katsuki is frozen as kirishima’s happy expression falters when he meets his eyes, cycling through shock, disbelief, stark hurt and then utter relief.

he can see the way kiri’s mouth forms “katsuki” from a distance as he puts down his drink and moves towards him, his feet completely frozen until they’re standing face to face (face to chest, really) for the first time in months.

“hey,” kirishima says, hesitantly, breathlessly, as his hands flutter uselessly at his sides, like he wants to just pick katsuki up but is stopping himself. “can we, uh, can we go outside and talk?”

katsuki just nods because what else is supposed to do? and as they move out, he catches the worried gazes of their friends watching the pair of them from the table. denki and izuku, the latter of whom knows the most (everything) and the former who managed to figure most of it out on his own.

(“takes one to know one,” he’d said, bitterly when he’d confronted katsuki a few weeks ago about his unexplained mandatory leave all those months ago. katsuki was confused until kaminari flipped around his phone to reveal a photo of him and hanta pressed tightly together in an embrace that was strictly platonic and yet, horribly intimate.

katsuki’s lips drew together into a tight line as he settled against the brick wall kami was leaning against, trying to light the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

“you’re too good for plain face,” he says after a moment, attempting to channel his inner you, blunt and honest. “you’re gonna find someone better.” and just like all his thoughts as of recently, they’d flitted right back to you.

denki had watched his face carefully, cigarette unlit, a thoughtful look crossing his own expression.

“yeah,” he concedes, “i will, won’t i?”)

katsuki gives the pair of them a nod, holding up a hand to izuku who looks like he wants to follow them out of the bar, despite the pounding in his chest and the way he suddenly feels unsteady on his feet as they leave the building to step right back out into the cool, fall air.

kirishima’s stance is awkward and since neither of them smoke, they both just stand there, barely looking at each other and waiting for the other person to speak up first.

“fuckin’ hell- what’d you wanna talk about kirishima?” katsuki grits out, tired of the waiting game and suddenly, immediately, so exhausted. all he wants to do is be curled up beside you, with your all seeing eyes and gentle utterances of “bambi” in his ear.

the tact he’d lost in his haste to get this over with stings kirishima whose brows furrow in annoyance. “what do i want to talk about? i haven’t seen you in a year, bakugou, not since i moved out and you completely cut me off with no explanation whatsoever. i want to know why. what - what did i do wrong?”

his voice breaks on the last word and it sounds so sad, so uncharacteristically eijirou, that katsuki flinches, finally looking over at kirishima to see a broken, pleading man who lost his best friend for nothing more than silly, stupid feelings.

at once, katsuki feels all the fucking idiot asshole he is and it’s staggering how much that thought makes him feel like shit. he could’ve reached out, he could’ve, but he was so worried that he wouldn’t have been able to keep it together, spending time with kiri, and as time passed, the issue became that so much time had passed and he had no idea how to navigate this all over again.

he runs a hand over his face, leaning against the brick facade of the bar. “fuck,” he whispers, gravel crunching underfoot as kiri steps closer.

“i - i miss you, kats,” kiri’s voice comes out quiet and thick, “i got engaged and all i wanted to do was call you, but you weren’t there, you weren’t speaking to me and i-“ he takes a shuddering breath and katsuki’s eyes fill with tears.

“i was in love with you.”

the sounds of the street fade out as katsuki finally turns to look at kirishima, the tears falling down his cheeks.

“wha- bakugou, what?”

“i was in love with you and i couldn’t fuckin’ - i couldn’t do it. not to myself, not to you.”

kirishima face is drawn, pale and mouth gaping. his mouth closes, then opens again, then snaps shut, his head shaking in disbelief.

“why didn’t you - fuck - why didn’t you ever say anything, man?”

katsuki scoffs, the sound wet with grief. “are you shittin’ me? why the hell would i do that?”

kiri shrugs, long, dark lashes sweeping his cheekbones, leaving tiny wet marks. a year ago, the sight would’ve filled katsuki with rabid butterflies, but now it remains just an observation, one made passively and without thinking.

“i should’ve told you somethin’, i fuckin’ know that now, but i was - i was scared. scared of you hating me, scared of losing you. but i went and fucked that one up anyway, so,” katsuki laughs, self deprecating, and kirishima shakes his head vehemently, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug.

katsuki’s throat is tight as he gives into the embrace, burying his face into kirishima’s shoulder.

“you haven’t lost me, kats, and you never will,” kirishima whispers, pulling apart far enough to press his forehead to katsuki’s, red eyes meeting red. “i mean, who else is gonna be my best man?”

katsuki’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “don’t fuck with me.”

kirishima shakes his head, a wet laugh escaping his lips. “not fucking with you bro. you’re my best friend. i want you there beside me on the happiest day of my life.”

after everything, after the year of no contact and the absolutely shitty way katsuki treated him, kirishima still wants katsuki by his side?

he’s honored, he’s out of his depth, he’s fucking nauseous, and he really wants to go home and tell you.

“i met someone,” he blurts and kirishima looks startled at the change of subject, but takes it in stride, a smile tugging at his face.

“that’s so great, dude, congrats! what’s their name?”

katsuki breathes it out and when he does, he realizes something, the force of it hitting him like a steel beam to the head.

“i think i’m in love with them.”

kirishima blinks, taking in katsuki’s tense form. he looks like he’s about to run away.

“i’m so happy for you, kats. really, i am,” kiri says, before being taken off guard yet again by the hug katsuki initiates.

“of course i’ll be your best man, shitty hair. i fuckin’ missed you too,” he murmurs and he hears kirishima sniffle. “i gotta go but text me and we’ll get lunch tomorrow or some shit, okay? i’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

he pulls away to see eijirou’s big wet eyes stare down at him with unabashed care and love, and katsuki feels his heart swell.

he got his best friend back and now it’s time to get you.

kirishima agrees to the meetup wholeheartedly and lets katsuki go with a hearty pat on the back and a shouted “good luck!” over the sound of the rain that started up during the last moments of conversation before going back inside the bar.

katsuki considers blasting his way to you, but he knows the optics would be incredibly unfavorable and his pr department would have his head, so he races to the train station instead and hops aboard, his mind racing with thoughts of you.

his hair is plastered to his forehead with rain by the time he gets to his apartment building and the button up is molded to his body like a second skin. he’s uncomfortable, of course, but he hardly pays it any mind because before he knows it, he’s unlocking and pushing open the door to your shared flat.

he’s home.

you startle from your place upside down on the couch, your paints and sketchbook cluttering the coffee table at the side while the tv plays an ancient looking cooking show quietly.

katsuki is bowled over by the sight, the weight of what he now knows as love sending him stumbling a little on his feet. he has to hold onto the doorjamb to keep his footing.

you sit up, observing, and you tilt your head. “you’re back early,” you comment, curiosity lacing your words.

he nods, not trusting his voice as finally steps past the threshold, kicking off his shoes and putting on a pair of hideous hawks themed slippers that you’d bought for him on your own birthday.

you hum thoughtfully before standing and disappearing down the hallway, katsuki’s eyes glued to you as you go. he can hear the sounds of you rummaging around in the bathroom, his feet frozen to the floor when you return, a fluffy towel in hand.

“you should shower, of course,” you say with a grin, opening up the towel and draping it over his head to dry it before moving on to the rest of his sopping body. “but i figured i’d keep you from dripping all over that ugly rug you’re obsessed with.”

katsuki doesn’t respond, can’t, and you don’t push or question, instead diligently wiping him down until he’s marginally more dry, eg, not actively dripping on the hardwood.

you move to go dispose of the towel and katsuki’s hand shoots out, not of his own volition, to hold you in place. it’s here he notices how close you’ve been standing to him, your breath wafting over his collarbones.

“bambi?” you question, unafraid of him, just lightly confused, but you don’t move away from him, somehow picking up his need for closeness without him saying anything, and he snaps.

“i love you,” he whispers, the explosion in his chest coming out in just those three gruff words, his carmine eyes boring into your own with an intensity you match.

a small smile spreads over your lips and your eyes light up, joy thrumming over your skin. “i love you too, katsuki.”

it’s perfect and katsuki can’t stop himself from cupping your face and pressing your lips together.

the kiss is gentle and chaste, your hands dropping the towel, coming up to rest on his forearms and holding him in place as you move your lips softly against his own.

katsuki feels like the rest of the world could implode right now, could be on fire or flooding or being overrun by villains and none of it would matter, not a single fucking thing because you’re in his arms and you’re kissing him back and you love him.

these thoughts ignite a hunger in him, a flame stoking in his belly, and he pushes further into the kiss, his hands sliding from their place on your face. one cups the back of your neck while the other slides down your back, pressing you firmly against the front of his body.

he’s almost giddy, having you like this, and he’s sure you can feel it because you’re smiling into the kiss like this is the happiest day of your life.

he thinks it’s his.

you continue trading kisses like this in your foyer, but it only escalates when your tongue flickers across katsuki’s bottom lip and you sigh softly, back arching against him.

katsuki has to break apart from you so he doesn’t consume you in that moment, but you don’t go far (you never do), your foreheads pressed together while you breathe in each others air.

“fuckin’ hell,” he chokes out and you laugh. “can i please - fuck - i need you.”

his honesty shuts you up quick and you nod, biting your lip. “take me to bed, bambi.”

and that he does.

katsuki’s hand finds yours and he pulls you towards his bedroom — you’ve been in there countless times, to watch movies, to nap, to read with one another, but of course, it was never like this.

the tension is thick but it’s not uncomfortable at all. you walk over to his bed and plop down on it like you’ve been in this situation a thousand times. the action soothes any residual anxiety katsuki might’ve had as he walks over to you, your heated gaze tracking his movements the entire time.

“take this shit off,” he grumbles, tugging at the garish all might crewneck covering your abdomen and you swat his hand away with an amused look.

he can feel his pout forming at your smile, but you just shake your head. “don’t tell me what to do, bambi,” but still, you raise grip the bottom of the thick fabric, lifting it up and over your head before letting it drop to the ground, leaving you bare.

or almost bare, if not for the objectively hideous, brightly colored, thin, cheap and lacey dynamight themed underwear covering your body.

“what the fuck is this?” katsuki doesn’t mean for his question to come out so reverent, but seeing you clad in his colors sends a bolt of heat down his spine so strong, he’s quite literally never been harder in his life.

you don’t seem to notice (but you always do), tilting your head at him with a grin playing on your lips. “they were on sale. didn’t think you’d ever see them.”

katsuki’s brows furrow at that, his hands tightening from their place on your hips. “who the fuck else was going to?”

you shake your head, like there’s something he isn’t getting. “no one. it’s always been you.”

“fuckin’-“ katsuki surges for you, claiming your lips with his with an urgency that had previously been lost. you respond in kind and this time, you’re letting out all these quiet gasps and sighs, writhing beneath him. he has to see you fall apart.

he reluctantly detaches his face from yours, kissing down your neck and sucking marks into the thin skin there, one of your hands sliding up to tangle into his hair, keeping him close.

a moan escapes him at the feeling of your fingers on his scalp, nearly getting lost in the mindless action, but he has to keep going. he makes it to your chest, laving his tongue over one of your nipples, flicking the hardened bud with the tip.

“f-fuck, bambi,” you outright moan and katsuki has to grind down against the mattress, his free hand sliding to pinch and pull at your other nipple.

your body can’t figure out whether to arch towards or away from his ministrations, which katsuki takes special delight in. you’re always so in control of yourself, even when you’re not, so it’s beyond rewarding to be responsible for your destruction.

“bambi - fuck - ‘suki, fuck me,” you groan and katsuki’s eyes roll back before he pulls off your nipple with a pop, his lips red and slick.

“nah.”

“nah?” you parrot, leaning up on your elbows with the closest thing he’s seen to annoyance directed at him written all over your face.

“nah. ‘m gonna make you come first.” katsuki grins, feral, and you shudder.

“get to it then, hero.” the moniker, while meant to be sarcastic and biting, just makes katsuki moan, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your (dynamight !!) underwear and tossing them to the floor.

he leans in, propping up one of your legs over his shoulder to bury his nose in the crease between hip and thigh, inhaling deeply. you smell sharp and tangy and so you that he couldn’t stop himself from taking a lick, entrance to clit, if he tried.

you sigh at that first touch of his wet muscle, melting in the bed while one hand remains buried in his hair and the other splays above your head. you watch him move with that intense look and you don’t look away so he doesn’t either.

he doesn’t look away as he slurps loudly at your entrance, tasting the wetness that’s gathered there with a pleased hum. doesn’t look away as he swirls his tongue around your clit, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest. doesn’t look away as he picks up pace, swirling, flicking and sucking until you’re chanting his name and “bambi,” your body tensing up as you buck your hips up into his face. doesn’t look away when you cum hard, soaking his lips and chin to which he eagerly groans, slurping up all you have to offer.

you pull him up to stop him from licking you through your aftershocks, kissing him hard once he gets to eye level.

“please,” you beg, eyes wide and urgent. who is he to deny you or himself?

katsuki stands and shucks off his boxers in record time, wrapping a hand around his cock that’s hard and leaking, the tip bright red.

your eyes eat him up hungrily, lingering on the way his precum spills over his knuckles with every slow stroke.

“i’m gonna suck your pretty cock tomorrow, preferably before breakfast,” you comment breathlessly. katsuki has to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock to keep himself from coming in that moment, taking a deep breath and glaring at you when you giggle.

“condom?” you shake your head, leaning back and spreading your legs to show off the wet mess he’s made of you.

“‘m clean and i’m in love with you. fuck me. now.” you can’t even sound commanding, not with the whine lying beneath your words, giving away how bad you want him. how bad you want this.

if the way katsuki’s cock legitimately jumped at your words is anything to go by, he obviously feels the same.

“goddamit, can’t fuckin’ say shit like that to me, jesus,” he rambles, crawling back onto the bed and notching the fat head of his dick into your entrance before leaning down to kiss you, open mouthed and messy.

he pushes into you when your tongue is halfway down his throat and he nearly chokes on it. you’re so soft and wet and velvety — he’s gonna cum so fucking fast, holy shit.

of course, you know it too, know him like the back of your hand because you squeeze even tighter around him and slide your hand down between your bodies to rub frantically at your clit.

“you - oh, god, you feel so fucking good bambi, fucking me so well, always taking care of me,” your words slur together as your eyes roll back, his hips slamming into yours at a quick pace.

he wants you to cum first, wants it more than anything, but the dirty talk coupled with the way you feel clenching around him has him shooting off faster than he expected, a low, long whine leaving him.

his hips stutter against yours and fireworks go off behind his eyelids. it feels like he’s coming forever as he humps into you and that feeling is only prolonged by you coming around him, your cunt clenching so tightly, you force him out, his spend spreading all over your mons and pelvis with a choked groan.

after another long moment, he slumps against you, exhausted and happier than he’s ever been.

you hum contentedly, wrapping your arm around him to pull him half on top of you, your body succumbing to the tiredness that’s so quickly overtaken you.

“i love you, katsuki,” you whisper, the phrase thick with sleep and emotion. katsuki feels burning at the backs of his eyes so he buries his face in the crook of your neck to hide, kissing your shoulder when the words don’t come.

you know, though. you always do.

—

“fuck, bambi, we’re gonna be late!” you screech from your (now) shared room, the sound muffled from where your head is buried in the closet.

by the door, katsuki is trying (and failing) to tie his bow tie, the red fabric remaining uncooperative in his hands. he groans in frustration, raising a hand to run it through his hair but stopping short when he remembers how you painstakingly fixed it for him a few hours ago.

“i know! it’s this stupid fuckin’ tie!” he shouts back, staring at himself in the little mirror you purchased, smiling a little despite himself when he remembers that trip to the home decor store with you, picking out new items that represent the both of you for your apartment.

speak of the devil, you step up behind him, looking gorgeous in a red, floor length dress, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“you look really good bambi,” you grin, fingers dragging down his abdomen to rest on his waistband, but his hands stop your downward motion while he gives you a halfhearted glare through the reflection.

“don’t start that shit,” katsuki turns around in your hold to face you, your hands immediately finding his undone tie. you work efficiently, face so scrunched up and focused that katsuki can only lift your face to press a kiss to your lips.

you melt, kissing him back easily and when you pull away, his lips are tinged with your lip products, marked by you. “you have a little something…” you trail off, wiping it away, not realizing how he stares at you like you’re the sun and he has no other choice but to revolve around you.

“marry me,” katsuki blurts, heat burning at the tips of his ears after a moment of you looking at him in utter disbelief.

he worries for a split second that you’re going to say no, but then your face splits into the most blinding smile he’s ever seen.

“are you proposing to me right now, bakugou katsuki?” you tease, fingers toying with the tie around his neck.

he nods, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer to him. “so what if i am?”

you laugh and nod, tears filling your lash line as the lighthearted facade drops to reveal you, earnest and honest and so so in love with him.

katsuki has no idea how he got so lucky, what he did in a past life to have you in his life and agreeing to be with him, in his life forever.

“of fucking course, i’ll marry you,” you say, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. “and i want nothing more than to make love to you on our brand new ikea sofa, but if we’re late to kiri’s wedding, he’s gonna kill me and make you watch.”

even the empty threat you make through your happy tears centers you in katsuki’s life, like you know that you are the center of his world, of his entire universe. you always know, know him better than he knows himself and there isn’t anyone on this whole earth who he’d rather be with than you.

he doesn’t tell you any of this though, blinking back tears instead and agreeing with a laugh, before finally ushering the pair of you out the door.

the thing is, katsuki doesn’t have to tell you.

you already know.

[clairdelunelove]

badges of honor

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (sticker drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, protective!ghost

synopsis: ghost doesn't understand the appeal of receiving stickers, a tangible reward, after the completion of successful missions. never thought it was necessary for his efforts. however, his mindset changes when he finds out you're the one handing them out–

a.n. just a silly lil blurb that floated around in my mind for some time! decided I'd write it and I'm thinking about writing something similar for könig too! hope you're all well! and if you wish to show more support here's my kofi! <3

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holding onto the belief that ghost would stubbornly swallow his pride and allow you to decorate him in cutesy unnecessary stickers.

-

it starts with price’s recommendation of implementing a routine of handing out stickers after successful missions. he insists it’s a great way to dial into intrinsic motivation. to keep the task force motivated to dedicate their best into every operation. a way to recognize positive behavior. a byproduct of hoping for the most favorable outcome in war where the only images are bloodshed, conflict, and hostility. it’s a stark difference. “who knows,” price’s shoulders lift into a casual shrug as he addresses the fierce group settled around him, “it might just help you lads.” it’s a harmless and cost-efficient idea to justify the boxes of tangible reinforcements that are shipped to the base. literal cartons of sticker books that range from the traditional ‘great work!’ to ‘prized soldier!’ and the notion seems childish (disguised to be more of a scheme, in all honesty). that is, until the pieces of sticky, illustrated adhesives start working– boosting the soldiers’ determination for the taste of victory– because you’re the one handing out the affordable versions of chest candy. they adore saccharine treats. and over time, so does ghost. 

ghost who initially loathes the new process that price endorses. he’s good at his job. knows he’s an expert in clandestine tradecraft. doesn’t need a miniature label tapped on his chest to recognize that no one does a better service in infiltrations or sabotages in risky environments than he does. he’s in and out like a gust of wind. well, more similar to a grim reaper that takes and punishes whoever he deems fit. a brutish force not to be reckoned with. and he reasons that this little sticker ceremony ultimately wastes time. precious alone time that ghost exploits to catch up on some well-deserved rest or exercise. because training after an intense mission totally makes sense to the lieutenant. yet, he’ll doggedly line up with the rest of the task force and await getting crowned with the bane of his existence. doesn’t wish to stir the pot with price and sit through being lectured. so he stays. and he’s a bit taken aback when he catches a glimpse of you handing out the stickers; a beaming smile on your lips while you press an overly exaggerated thumbs-up design onto the front of a soldier’s vest. 

ghost who rasps, “I’ll pass,” before your fingers can pin the sticker onto him. unaware that his voice would come out grainy from the weeklong mission and, involuntarily, blunt. brash. the complete opposite of how he wished to sound towards you. notices the surprise in your eyes due to the acidity of his voice and how you instinctively shrink from him. he shifts, straight away, and hastily tries to take back his tone of voice. to right his wrongs. to atone for his mistake. however, your nervous movement is swiftly replaced with your usual upbeat nature as you plaster on a grin and dramatically bring the back of your hand to your forehead to mimic a fall, “woe is me.” you exhale pointedly while mentioning, “whatever shall I do with all these stickers then?” and ghost understands that it’s so typical of you to hide your hurt with witticism. you’re too considerate. too bright. a touch of color to his monochrome soul. venturing a step closer to you, he lightly scoffs at your melodramatic behavior and remarks, “woe is most definitely not you. now get up, pup.” and before you can comprehend, his gloved hand wraps around your wrist to gently pry it away from your face. “changed my mind,” he murmurs while indicating to the book of stickers that you casted aside, “pick one f’ me, will ya.” 

ghost who refuses to comment on your shaky fingers to save you from embarrassment. it’s endearing that despite the layers of heavy clothing, you’re still hesitant to touch any part of him. “you’re all set,” you quickly chirp before stepping back to admire your handiwork. or so you tell yourself that excuse. in reality, you’re teetering on the edge of becoming distracted by the heat that he radiates. and he savors how your gaze dances across his masked face but evades his intense eyes. the most profound part of him that reduces you to stumbling on your words like a drunk. intoxicated by him. it’s like he’s drinking you in and allowing himself a selfish taste of your beauty. a thought that causes you to heavily gulp. to take your mind off of the blatant yearning, you teasingly raise the sticker book up to him, “how about I add another one? this one has glitter—” “that’ll do,” ghost interjects and turns to leave. his immediate answer and retreat brings about a genuine laugh from your lips. it’s music to his ears. wagering a glance to his chest, he notes the sticker you chose for him. cursive letters twisting into ‘you’re a star!’ followed by a smiling gold star draws his attention. you don’t spot it but as he leaves, his gloved fingers reach up to smooth the sticker over his vest. to pat it down so it stays a while longer. 

ghost who attempts to convince himself that his disinterest toward the small slips of adhesive paper is still the truth. they’re just for show, right? no one really pays attention to how some of the stickers varied in size. they’re all mature adults. and it was completely unrelated how there’s regular bickering amongst various recruits that compared their hard-earned rewards. doesn’t admit that his chest visibly swells with pride whenever the other soldiers point out that ghost always receives the biggest sticker. purposefully taunts them by stating, “get better then, yeah?” he also fails to acknowledge that you’ve coerced and conditioned him to accept them like a pavlov experiment. after all, your unwillingness to comment on how he noticeably leans over so you can put stickers wherever you wished must mean that it doesn’t happen. and in the scenario where it could perhaps occur, you shouldn’t blame him because ghost was certain no one else had the willpower to brush you away. you with gentle fingers and an angelic voice. singing him a siren song whenever you mutter, “for your excellent work, lieutenant,” as you smooth on another ridiculous sticker. his heart stutters in his chest when he feels how your hand tentatively flattens against his chest. the broad muscle causing you to hum appreciatively before gracing him with a coy smile. an interaction that replays in his mind whenever he’s awake and follows him to sleep. 

ghost who clenches his fist so tightly that his blunt nails bite into his own palm when he overhears a lowly recruit outrightly insult the implemented routine. hears them utter (when you’re out of earshot of course because goodness forbid that they have courage) ‘bullshit’ and how you were ‘off your rocker for putting up with this waste of time.’ and ghost isn’t usually responsive in situations like this. he’s got a covert operation to focus on in about 15 minutes. a level-headed person was far more intimidating and efficient during classified matters. now, however, his heavy boots thud against the floorboards when he stalks toward the recruit. an abrupt wave of darkness and unabridged horror before the recruit is face-to-face with ghost. “problem?” he asks challenges, voice dead and devoid of sympathy. his head slowly tilts and the action creates a dismal shadow over the eye sockets of his mask. ominous and menacing. everything that ghost is infamous for. knows he’s won when the recruit’s apology is nasally and on the verge of crying but their reaction isn’t his personal interest. what he does undertake as his responsibility, though, is when he’s called into price’s office for a debrief. he pockets some of the miscellaneous sticker books that sit on the superior’s desk. wordlessly hands them to you when you’re both briefly passing each other in the hallway. and while you profusely thank him for the additional sets (vaguely wondering what caused the change in his behavior), you playfully press a sticker above the lower portion of his mask– right where his lips are. somewhere new. you leave him rooted to the spot, the sweet gesture sending him into a stupor, and call over your shoulder, “compensation for the stickers!” he watches as you hurriedly dart away before he can react but there’s no need. he unabashedly smuggles more stickers from price’s office in hopes of reaping a similar repayment again.

ghost who reasons that stickers aren’t that bad if you’re the one giving them out. he organizes himself with the rest of the force, a brooding figure that patiently waits in the back of the line. favors being the last one because you’re able to utter more than a few words of encouragement to him. if he’s lucky then you converse and excitedly share your day with him– like you currently are. “want me all to yourself, do you?” you heartily tease him upon noticing that he’s consistently been last in line for the third time in a row. he shifts on his feet, makes a show of looking around at his fellow team members that are filtering out of the room, and deliberately concedes, “‘suppose so.” his frank answer is followed by a flustered roll of your eyes but it’s the genuineness that causes your heart to flip. you force yourself to concentrate on the task at hand– giving out prizes. unsteady fingers lifting at the sticker page, you skim the options before spotting a perfect one. your teeth catch the edge of your bottom lip as you can’t help but question, “you say that to everyone, simon?” his real name on your glossy lips. a prayer that he desires to hear being chanted over and over as he holds you in his arms. the gaze he wraps you in is burning. tempting. exhilarating. you push yourself up on your toes to reach out and place a sticker on his cheek. on the hard shell of his skull mask that you’ve learned will ultimately end in halfhearted chiding because the adhesive is difficult to remove off of it. ghost catches a glimpse of the sticker that you’ve picked. the bolded words of ‘#1 lieutenant’ flashes at him. and the sticker is like a brand you’ve adorned him in. an embellishment that he proudly displays and wears because it’s what you’ve given him. he hums, dark and inquiring, when he leans to graze his masked lips against your inner wrist. his eyes are heady and half-lidded. clouded with a violent craving for you– always you. visibly strains to make contact with your exposed skin by tilting his head to place another chaste kiss on your hand while murmuring, “just to the sweet ‘n pretty ones that I fancy.” 

[lemonyboy97]

Heyyy I like your writing, and I was wondering if you could do like fluff/comfort of like Val, vox, and/or alastor with a reader who gets really socially anxious and shuts down when they get overwhelmed?

Wasnt sure what gender reader was so i did neutral, thank you so much for the ask! I havent gotten one in forever and i was fresh out of inspo ❤️❤️🫂 love you anon! (Also i threw in different relationship dynamics to spice things up and also because i cant imagine alastor being ANYONES 'boyfriend', that man would go from 'close friend and confidant' to 'fiancé')

Pop in and leave me a request on my new blog!

Fiancé!Vox, Boyfriend!Val, Husband!Alastor (seperate) x gn!anxious!reader

Warnings: brief mentions of sadism, anxious reader (obviously), not quite my definition of a panic attack but close to it

(Im going to do some loose headcannons about each of the boiz, then include a oneshot for each of them)

Fiancé!Vox

Headcannons:

I feel like Vox would be the best out of the 3 in this scenario, as he's the least sadistic. Vox is a very protective lover, he's also compassionate and doting (behind closed doors). If Vox notices you (its really a matter of when not if because this man WILL notice) becoming overwhelmed or overstimulated he is gently guiding you away from the crowd to check on you, 'Are you okay?', 'do you want to leave?', 'is there something specific bothering you?' are FAQs (frequently asked questions) His way of dealing with the issue is removing you from the situation altogether- taking you back home, wether thats to your shared apartment or the Vee's headquarters depends on whichevers closest.

Scenario:

You and your fiance, Vox, are at a release event for the newest VoxTech drop. Vox is proudly harping about the newest Tech he’s developed, an even prouder arm around your waist; how could he not be proud with his pretty little love on his arm? (He calls you his ‘pretty little thing’, ‘little love’ no matter your gender or size) He’s so absorbed in his success that at first he doesn't notice the subtle tremble in your hands, or the way you curl into him as if trying to hide, or maybe the way you flinch at the bright camera flashes. But when you let out a barely audible whine Vox immediately turns to you, all ears.

Vox suddenly realizes how overstimulating this all must be; the flashing cameras, the loud and frantic crowd, the music in the background, the shouting, the rowdy demons who are protesting- oh god how could he have been so negligent?

Vox is immediately passing the reins over to Velvette (much to her dismay), and gingerly leading you through the crowd, towards the back door.

“It’s alright, lovely, just through here… There we go…”

His words are gentle, and the hands on your shoulders to guide you are 10x more so. He leads you out the back and to the limo, and once you’re sequestered away inside he just waits- He knows when you’re ready for touch you’ll initiate. He knows that for now, just the knowledge that someone is aware and looking after you is enough to help de-escalate the situation.

“There you go, doll, breathe yeah? In…. Out…. In…. Out… good job, love, doing so well for me”

Boyfriend!Valentino

Headcannons:

Val is definietly more of a 'what do you mean?' Kind of guy, or 'just breathe?', you know? We know from his workers (ahem angeldust ahem) that he isnt the most... understanding with weaknesses and the like. So- while I feel like Val's approach is a bit more 'deal with it by not dealing with it' than Vox's, it is still heartfelt for his wonderful gf/bf/partner. Even if he wont directly address it, Valentino is the type to try and reassure you through touch, wether thats what you need or not, thats what he's got because this man KNOWS he is brash and he doesnt want to make things worse.

Scenario:

You had walked to Valentino's studio to bring him homemade lunch after he was complaining about his imps being 'inconcievably incompetent'. You are now awkwardly standing backstage, out of sight, as he directs a particularily.... raunchy... scene. You are visibly uncomfortable with screams and various sounds of... mixed sensations.. echoing around the set, along with flashing lights and dizzying scents. Altogether they make an array of overstimulating inputs, and after setting down said lunch on a side bench, a pretty note tucked into the lip of the basket, you stumble back outside, trying to catch your breath. Val follows you shortly after, he caught sight of you from across the set.

Valentino carefully sits beside you, pulling you into his side.

"You alright there, babycakes?"

You shakily nod, but Val sees right through you. He sighs and kisses your temple as he absentmindedly rubs your shoulders.

"Thought I warned you 'bout my work hours, baby"

You slowly explain that you just wanted to surprise him with lunch and he smiles, kissing the inside of your wrist.

"Damn, sugar, shoulda started with that, hm? Why don't I pop in and grab it- then we can share it out here while you get your head back on."

Husband!Alastor

Headcanon:

This man. This. MAN. It can go one of two ways depending on where your relationship is with him- but in this you are married so- he would be so attentive- like. You would barely be feeling the 'oh hey, this is a lot' feeling and Al would pick up on it and knight in shining armor you away from it. Alastor just KNOWS. He has like a sixth sense when it comes to you. He is so finitly attuned to every fibre of your being that you cant even hide it from him. He just KNOWS. Like- you're in cannibal town (because be real y'all go on dates there all the time and Rosie adores you) and the children are being rowdy but 'its alright, i can manage-' oh and there's Susan- 'yes susan, we are married- no, no susan you cant see my ring im a bit worried you might try to eat my finger- No, really i insist-' oop and here comes Alastor, scooping you up with a charming grin, Rosie on his heels. 'Come along now darling, our dinner is waiting'

Scenario:

You and Alastor are in the hotels lobby, greeting guests for a party Charlie is throwing to 'encourage the inhabitants', Alastors hand is protectively on the small of your back like always. The arriving demons are a bit rowdy but nothing too bad- the real issue is the howling, rambunctious laughter coming from the bar, poor karoke all but screamed into the low quality microphone (much to Husk's annoyance), flashing strobe lights arouns the room turning the guests pink, green, blue, pink, green, blue, pink, green, blue-

"Dear?"

Careful fingers snap in front of your face- effectively lurching you out of your spiraling thoughts. You swallow thickly and look up at your husband, shaky smile plastered on your lips.

'Yes, Al?'

He frowns as he gaze flits from one eye to the other, then, his mind seemingly made up, he summons his shadow, scoops you up, and shadow travels back to you twos shared room.

"Oh lovely, this certianly wont do"

He dotes on you, rubbing your tense shoulders, kissing the crown of your head, murmuring sweet nothings to your skin as he lays you down in your shared, king bed. And later, once you're half asleep and content in his arms, he lovingly murmurs,

"No more of Charlie's so-called 'parties' for you, my sweet"

A/n: Reblogs are always encouraged and appreciated! And yes i did like my own post. I am very proud of this, i wrote it in one day WHILE (legally) high on loopy pain medicine

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Hello I was wondering if you could do Jackson ellie x bestfreind reader and like they have had a crush on eachother for a while and have a sleepover where they smoke or drink maybe or play some type of game like truth or dare and find out they like eachother and get kinda freaky idk. Thank you!

EEE I am so excited for this one watch me cook on this request. This is a rlly good request and I wanna write something just as good!! Also I want to recommend you an ao3 fic with this EXACT plot it's tagged here actually my favorite Ellie fic ever.

Content: 4k words, bestfriend reader, Jackson setting, pent-up feelings, nipple-play (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), tribbing, Ellie puts a finger into your mouth how fun!, a lot of dialogue before the actual sex sorry but I loved writing Ellie to be funny, reader likes pink a lot (couldn't help myself) and is afab, reader and Ellie 18+, NOT PROOFREAD LMAO

You're far from safe from liking people you shouldn't like.

That doesn't even cover the multitude of feelings! Like doesn't cover it. You're pretty sure you love Ellie.

Maybe in another lifetime, you and Ellie could've met and went on a date. You could've loved her freely. In this universe, she is your childhood best friend.

You know it could ruin the best thing that has ever happened to you if you tell her, or if she finds out in some way, but fuck; when she looks at you, it's like you forget how to breathe. You just wanna breathe her in, you want to share the same air and feel her lips on yours.

Ellie is unlike anyone you've ever known. She's sweet for you. She's impulsive to others, and honestly sometimes an asshole. That only makes you fall more and more in love for her. You didn't know it was possible to be attracted to someone's flaws, but you want every piece of her, even the bits that others in Jackson label as "annoying."

Ellie has always been there for you since you were just 15 and she moved to Jackson right by Joel's side. You just seemed to click. She was brash, foul-mouthed, and told ironically funny dad jokes. You were the type of person who liked having adventures and never shut up. Ellie always listened. She held you while you cried, let you borrow her book of puns, and volunteered to do patrols with you just so she could have fun adventures with you.

You couldn't ruin a good thing. You don't know what you would even do without Ellie in your life. You didn't wanna freak her out or make things weird. You feel like such a coward, but even thinking about Ellie distancing herself from you because of your stupid crush on her? It just makes your stomach churn with dread.

Little did you know Ellie was equally obsessed with you.

You're like a fucking ball of sunshine to the girl, always there laughing at the stupid things she says, defending her when she gets in trouble for something minor, and your smile should be considered warfare for how easily it could kill her. She tries to keep her feelings to herself, but it is so hard to when you look at her with bright eyes and the sweetest smile like you're trying to give her a toothache.

It's a recipe for a bomb, and it only takes one game to set it off.

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You're sitting criss-cross on your bed and Ellie is in your floor. It's a Saturday, which means both of you get to have a sleepover. No patrol, and no major chores to be done around Jackson.

Ellie just got back from a multiple day lasting patrol and she missed you so much while she was gone, it's not even funny. Seattle is beautiful, but boring when there isn't a sunshine girl in awe about how the verdure clings to the buildings. But at least now she is here, back in your bedroom which she loves so much.

Ellie's room is vastly different from yours. Well, her garage is. Her bedsheets are grey and minimalistic, and her make-shift kitchen is lined with posters. Her favorite is the one with the punk green-haired man holding a guitar. Her closet, however, it quite impressive. Her shelves are lined with comics and space movies, and her hangers are lined with flannels, of course.

Your bedroom, in contrast, has white bedsheets and a cozy pink blanket. You have a few raggedy plushies from scavenging around and your shelves are filled with lighter-colored clothing. White curtains decorate your windows and frilly pillowcases (that end up in the floor most of the time) compliment your bed. You have a full-length mirror in the corner of your room and a shelf of DVDs you usually just bring over to Ellie's garage, since she has a much nicer tv than you do. Ellie glances up at you from the floor, squiggling her eyebrows.

"I'm so fucking bored!" You groan, making Ellie laugh in the process.

"And how is that my problem?"

You flip her off and she clutches her stomach.

"Seriously, Ellie. I wanna actually do something and not just eat grilled cheeses and read your nerdy comics."

She scoffs.

"Excuse me? It's not my fault you have bad taste in literature."

You snort at that. "Starlight Savage and Raven Mouse are not literature."

"Oh, then what are they, huh?" She stands up, amusingly offended.

"Comics!"

Ellie grabs one of your pillows and pretends to suffocate you with it. You're laughing and trying to pry it off of your face.

"Hey, quit! You're actually gonna kill me!" You giggle, your voice muffled from the cushioning.

Ellie finally relents, laughing along with you.

"Better think twice before disrespecting Starlight Savage." She is wearing her signature shit-eating grin.

"Oh, whatever.. Hey!- You got me off topic." You groaned.

Ellie laughs at that. "And what was the topic?"

"I am bored out of my fucking mind," you complain, your voice rising in pitch to sound whiny, which she pretends to absolutely hate.

Really, she just hates that it makes her stomach clench when she hears your cute complains, and the tone of your whines only makes it worse.

"Okay, okay, fine. We can do something fun." She feigns reluctance, setting down on the bed beside you.

"Great!! So, what should we do?"

"Seriously? You don't even know what you wanna do and you gave me whiplash bitching about being bored?"

You scoff, jumping to your own defense. "I was tryin' to get you to come up with something," and then you add to complete your argument, "I wouldn't be bored if I knew what we could do."

Ellie sighs, and you smile because you know that means she has had enough of your bullshit and she just wants to throw in the towel.

"Fine. Well, we can play a game perhaps?"

You groan in protest at the suggestion. "You're a dirty cheater when it comes to Monopoly!"

Ellie only lets out a sheepish laugh at that, because she knows that you're being 100% truthful. "That is what makes the game fun!" When she sees your glare, she sighs once more. "Fine. How 'bout Truth or Dare?"

That sounds intriguing; the game begins.

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You and Ellie sit across from each other, and the game has been going on for around 10 minutes now. It's getting quite boring - always questions like "What's a secret you haven't told me?" or Ellie dares you to do something she knows you won't do, like lick the toilet bowl.

Then, she asks a question that brings the game onto another level.

"What's your favorite sex position?"

You stare at her, your jaw practically in your lap. You don't wanna talk sex positions with the girl you secretly wanna do sex positions with.

"What the fuck, Ellie?!"

She looks a bit guilty, but shrugs with a smirk that doesn't go unnoticed.

"What? I wanted to spice things up. C'mon, don't be a pussy."

You think it over, but finally, with a heated face, you say fuck it and give into her bullshit. "Missionary."

Ellie bursts out laughing.

You're sitting there not knowing what to do! She is laughing like a hyena at this point, tears in the corners of her eyes. She slaps her knee. What the fuck?!

"What's so funny?!"

Ellie just laughs, falling over and she is snorting like a pig now before she finally settles down. "It's just.." she tries to stifle a giggle, "that is the most boring thing you could've possibly said.”

You know that, but you're keen on defending your word. Ellie loves that about you, how you're always quick to stand up for yourself. "It's romantic!"

"Okay, okay," she shrugs. "Enlighten me on how missionary is more romantic than any other position that actually feels good."

You don't hesitate to list off the facts. "First of all, it does feel good! You just haven't tried the pillow method. Second of all, you can kiss your partner and actually talk to them." You sigh, getting a bit flustered (and turned on) by the conversation at hand. "Imagine fucking someone and getting to kiss all over their face while doing so, or on their neck or their tits. It's about the intimacy."

Ellie looks just as flustered as you now. She is silent for a moment before giving you the benefit of the doubt. "Okay, I guess you can rest your case now. But there is much more intimate positions than missionary, you know. You're just thinking vanilla ones like riding the strap-on, or from behind."

You raise an eyebrow at that. "Okay, I'll bite. What's more intimate than looking into someone's eyes while they cum?"

Ellie laughs at your vulgar question, pink tinting her freckled cheeks. "Tribbing." Her voice is more quiet, and that only makes you more aware of the slight tension.

You quickly brush it off with a laugh.

"Of course your gay ass would say that."

She grins and sits up at that, quick to defend herself. "Hey, you have no room to be talking, little miss 'my gay awakening is Rose from Titanic.'"

Your jaw drops and you look at her like she has said something crazy. "Hey, Rose is hot!"

She giggles. "Yeah, Sherlock, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, okay. Can we get back to the game?"

She nods, and it continues.

As time passes, the questions grow more and more...uncomfortable to answer. You're still asking her the more casual things, but Ellie is daring you to do stupid, impossible stuff, or to answer questions like "what was your first time like?", "do you have a friends with benefits situation with anyone in Jackson?", and "if you could kiss anyone in Jackson, who would it be?" (which you brushed off jokingly by saying old man Eugene. She didn't press any further, only mocking you).

Then, she leans forward after you choose truth, and she whispers something you can't really brush off.

"Who do you like?"

You're fucked. If she asked "do you like someone?", you could answer without revealing who it is. She knows she has you trapped. Sneaky cunt.

You don't answer right away. Ellie is so close, your knees touching. The air in the room is insanely hot, and you want to leave your own house, you want to hide under your blankets or cover your face, but you can't.

Ellie doesn't wait for you to answer.

"I know you like someone, I can tell when my best friend is in love. Who is it?"

"That's way too personal, I.."

She scoffs, but it's not a rude sound. Just shocked, maybe slightly hurt. "You have always told me your crushes. Why won't you tell me now?"

You feel guilty now because she doesn't understand. She doesn't get why you won't tell her. She can't understand that it's because you like her. You want to scream it: I'm in love with you, Ellie! But those words won't be the next you utter.

"I just...I feel like this time it should be private." You know that your reasoning is weak, for once in your life, the defense is slipping and it's ugly. You internally wince.

She just stares in silence, not really meeting your eyes. It makes you panic, and then, then the words slip from your mouth seeing the hurt on Ellie's pretty face.

"It's you."

She stares at you like she didn't quite hear what you said, even though it was shaky, nevertheless loud and coherent.

"What...?"

"I..I'm in love with you, Ellie." You repeat yourself.

She leans into you. "Fuck.." Her breath hitches. "You better not be fucking around with me, I swear to-"

"No!", you shout loudly and quickly try to compose yourself. "I mean..I'm not joking. I like you. I hope this doesn't fuck with our friendship, or like.." You trail off, not wanting to think about what could happen now.

"I'm in love with you, too." There, now Ellie has gotten it out too.

Ellie didn't even fully understand why she asked you that. She knew she could've gotten her feelings hurt, that you could've liked someone else or that it would definitely mean you did like her, and then she had to be vulnerable and confess it back. Still, she was so exhausted, so fucking tired of pretending like hugs and casual touches were enough. They were never enough.

"Can I kiss you?" She doesn't even give you the proper time to react to her shared confession before she springs that onto you. You don't complain, only nodding quickly.

Her breath is warm against yours, and you can tell how shaky it is. You've never seen her so nervous, it makes your own stomach flutter with butterflies. Then, Ellie's grasping onto your face and smashing her lips against yours. Her mouth is warm, and the kiss doesn't even start out gentle. It's all devouring, all need and passon.

You quickly move into her lap, thighs on either sides of hers, and both of you are desperately pulling each other closer, finally sharing the same air. She tastes like everything natural, something so unique it can't be described but you immediately know you need more of it. Her tongue moves inside of your mouth, devouring you just like how she has been dreaming of for who knows how long, and when you're forced to pull away for a breath, her lips are sloppily trailing down your jaw to your throat, her hands grasping your hips to pull you closer.

"I've wanted you for so long, you know that?" Her voice is warm against your sensitive skin, and you think you could just burst with how it feels to be practically intertwined with her.

"Show me how it feels, Els.." You gasp and tilt your head back for more, but Ellie pulls away to look at you.

"How what feels?' She doesn't sound rude, only confused with her lips swollen and wet.

"The intimacy..the intimacy you talked about.." Oh, that.

She nods quickly, and her mouth is all over your shoulders, leaving soft pecks between words, "We can do that, but I wanna do something first..is that okay?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

With that, she pulls your shirt over your head and stares at you like she has never seen a pair of boobs before. Her eyes are wide and she takes you in before her.

"You're so pretty," she mumbles with conviction, kneading your tits through your bra. You can only moan when she sticks a hand into your bra and rubs her palm over your nipples, her other hand deftly undoing the clasp of the fabric.

That was the hottest thing you could do for a woman, Williams..

Her lips quickly find a nipple, pulling it into her mouth to swirl her tongue around the bud. Your fingers tug at her hair, begging for more. You need her closer. She reluctantly pulls her mouth off off of its new favorite place and leans back up to face you, planting an affectionate kiss on your cheek before smiling sheepishly.

"I'm gonna say something I want to do to you, but you can't laugh.."

That makes you already giggle, despite the heat building between your thighs. That is something you love about Ellie, the way she can make you laugh even when you aren't supposed to be.

"I'll try my best. What is it?" You ask, and she fiddles with her fingers nervously.

"I wanna use my fingers on you," she says it so quietly, voice nervous but filled with hunger before she quickly adds, "if you want me to. It's okay if you don't wanna go any further-"

"I want you to finger me, Els."

That was easier than she thought it would be.

She nods now, slowly unbuttoning your jeans and watching with an intense gaze as you hop off of her lap to shimmy them off. Now you're in nothing but a cotton pair of panties and you look so gorgeous.

Ellie has always found you to be beautiful. During patrols and on lookout, your hair had a shine to it that most people wouldn't care to think too much about, but Ellie always noticed it. Ellie always noticed the way your lips parted when you were zoned out, or how you walked like you always knew where you were going even on the paths that were mainly uncharted. You were so lovely-looking.

Now, nearly naked for her, she doesn't know if she can bare to blink even for a second. She is currently having a never-ending starting contest with your body, and she has to stop herself from pouncing on you. She wants to love you, not just fuck you.

Ellie is on her knees between your legs, hooking her fingers into the waistband of your underwear. Her eyes flicker over your body before looking to yours for confirmation.

"You sure you want this?"

"Please, Ellie. I want you." You know you sound desperate for her, but it can't be helped. You were soaked through your underwear, clit beating with need, and Ellie is just eyeing you like she wanted to devour you. She probably would, but she wants to save your clit for later.

She nods and slips your underwear down your legs, pulling them off of your ankles and throwing them behind her. The action made you giggle, but Ellie quickly squashed your outburst.

"Somethin' funny?" She asks, slipping a finger through your slick folds. You gasp and jolt.

"Hey, where the fuck is the warning, you cunt?"

She has to stifle her own laugh at your outburst, but she is growing tired of the cute giggles; if you laughed one more time, she'd be fucking you until you were limping-

"Sorry, pretty. I'm gettin' impatient." Her tone mkes you involuntarily clench. You rarely hear that tone, the serious one when she is either around someone she doesn't know and is keeping it professional or just not in the mood to joke. Now, you discover it's her horny tone, too.

You nod, tilting your head back to rest it on your frilly pillow. Finally, she slips two digits past your lips and you resist the urge to let a whorish whine slip past your lips. When she easily slides into your heat, you then can't resist.

Ellie's eyes are glued to your pussy like it's magic, watching your hips try to rise for more, feeling the way your walls tighten around her intrusion.

It's too much for her poor, fucked head to bare.

She is already as wrecked as you are. She wants to taunt you for the way you already look like you're going to cum from her barely brushing at your spongey g-spot, but she can't. She is probably in rougher shape right now.

"You feel so warm." It's all she can manage to get out, and she curls her fingers inside of you into upward, making you moan.

"I wanna cum, Els..please, more. Give me more." Ellie has never seen you this dumb for pleasure before, but who is she to deny you?

Her fingers aren't thrusting in and out or finger-banging you, just slowly sliding through your cunt, her fingertips stroking where you need them to. You feel so full, so complete. You hope she does this every single day from here on out.

It doesn't take long to get you into a state of complete bliss, and you haven't even climaxed yet. Your legs aren't clamping down, rather spreading wider as if you're begging for her to take you in the most obscene ways possible, fill you up with more than just her fingers. If only she you two were currently at her house, she has that unopened strap-on box... maybe for another day.

The knot that builds in your stomach, the temperature of it overheating your insides is about to snap. You're begging as if Ellie is teasing you or something. You're whining, and you look like you're about to start sobbing if she pauses her pace even for a nanosecond. She just wants to gives you everything, thinks you deserve the whole world, so she leans forward and intertwines her fingers with yours as her other fingers pump deep inside you, and you swear it's rearranging your guts. You wanna be wrecked so damn badly.

"You keep fluttering around me, gonna cum?" She asks, and you whine and nod.

Your orgasm soon hits you like a tsunami, once in a crash and then it simmers throughout you in waves. This is probably the hardest you have ever came. You gasp onto her hand tight, squeezing her fingers. You can't even speak or you'd be howling her name. It feels so euphoric and you wonder how it can get any better than this.

When you come down from the peak, she eases her fingers out of your tender insides and licks her ring finger clean. Then, she settles her hips between your legs, bringing her soaking middle finger to your lips.

"Open up."

You do so without question, tasting yourself on her digit before she swiftly pulls her finger away with a "pop!"

"I taste weird," you mumble and she rolls her eyes, mumbling a little "fuck you" before sitting up to strip out of her flannel.

You feel maybe a little nervous before. Something about the thought of feeling her in such an intimate way makes you feel even more fluttery inside. You've been with women before, you are far from a virgin, but you've never clashed clits before (omfg what). Most girls thought it was just a porn thing.

"You okay?" Ellie pauses, her flannel on the bed and a black t-shirt layer underneath it.

"Yeah," you mean it, "just a little nervous."

Her eyes soften, and she takes your hand and squeezes it. "I promise I'll be slow with you. I'm not gonna rush you into this, and if you want, we can always stop."

You feel more assured now, and you smile. "Okay."

When she finally strips out of her clothing, you take her in. She is breath-takingly beautiful. Her body is pale but covered in tan freckles, and her nipples are perky with arousal. Her shoulders and collarbone look so fucking kissable. You're still in a daze as she hooks a leg over yours, her warm cunt only an inch or two away from yours. She hovers.

"You ready?"

"I want you, so yes."

That makes her smile, and she slowly eases down onto you, her folds rubbing up against yours and both of your neglected clits finally getting the attention they deserve. Both of you are already moaning and Ellie leans down onto you, her tits brushing against yours as she kisses you deeply.

This kiss is slower than the first, less desperate but just as emotional. It's hungry and consumes you in a sensual way. Her hips grind against yours, her slick mixing with your soaked pussy to make you only whine into her mouth.

Now you understand how intimate this is. You feel so connected to Ellie in a way you hope you never get to feel with anyone else. You wanna always be this close. You think that even after this ends, you'll feel that tie to her body and heart, always leading you back to her.

When you both cum together, it's much different than what she gave you before. You can feel her tense up with you, hear her shaky breaths and moans, and you feel a warmth inside of you reminding you that she feels this way because of your pussy, because of her feelings for you. It's making you obsessive to feel this way.

When the high fades, she collapses on top you. You're both breathing heavily for a few minutes. Her breath is against your neck and it feels like a kiss. Your brain is thinking of something stupid now that the horniness is over.

"Isn't it obvious that I'm your girlfriend now?"

Ellie laughs and squeezes you tightly.

"Yeah. You're my girlfriend now, and I'm not letting you go."

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄

[kismetrose]

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Sir Brash

11. He Takes You As You Are

Once you see just how lonely Brash is, it’s hard not to feel some sympathy.

Warning: this post has minor spoilers.

I don't mind where you come from As long as you come to me I don't like illusions I can't see them clearly

I don't care, no, I wouldn't dare To fix the twist in you You've shown me eventually What you'll do

I don't mind I don't care As long as you're here

Go ahead, tell me you'll leave again You'll just come back running Holding your scarred heart in hand It's all the same And I'll take you for who you are If you take me for everything Do it all over again It's all the same - “All the Same,” Sick Puppies

Are you Saint Bright, sweet as the day is long? Brash might chide you for it, but he’ll pull a lot of punches for you.

Are you Rebel Bright, giving back as good as you get? He’ll go from barking back to being amused at your moxie.

Are you Destroyer Bright, full of mockery and homicidal tendencies? He’ll join you in laughing at others’ stupidity and lashing out at them.

Brash is more concerned for you if you’re kind and naïve, but whoever you are and whatever you do, he accepts you. He doesn’t try to change you. He won’t manipulate you into feeling things you might not be okay with otherwise (I’m looking at you extra hard, amulet boy). Even if you hurt him or talk crap about his people, he can’t seem to hold a grudge against you (unlike Ari, who has a definite line you shouldn’t cross). He sees you for what you are and only turns away if you turn him away.

[hana-no-seiiki]

This is generally such a stupid ask but I feel like it would be.. Chaotic? At the very least amusing

Anyways

Batfam x Nicole from Class of 09! Reader

Do what you want (etc make it romantic or platonic, doesn't matter)

Just the batfam (yandere ofc) dealing with a chick who loves to ruin lives for her amusement and sometimes for revenge

Istg she'll just bully them at any chance she gets

~ 🕒

I just binged watched Class of ‘09 and all its endings/choices for you non. I don’t think I can fully depict how brash wittiness of Nicole is but here I go! (I am so traumatized) Didn’t know that’s where “No I’m flirting with you flash me a tiddy bitch” came from no wonder Nicole sounded so familiar.

btw if people are interested in watching class of ‘09 just be warned it’s basically a VN version of Degrees of Lewdity but the mc is actually a minor (without the sex/r*pe mechanic though) and it depicts a lot of just… pedophilia, necrophilia, assault, su*c*de, school shootings, racism??, BE WARNED.

The following content above ^ might be mentioned in this fic but in passing. MASSIVE DDDNE WARNING.

I don’t think I’m comfortable writing stepcest/incest in this blog so despite how perfect it’ll be to make Bruce your step father considering Nicole’s mom has divorced like a hundred times…maybe ask me in @yoru-no-seiiki and I’ll be down for it.

THIS IS ADMITTEDLY TIM + DAMIAN CENTRIC

“Do you even care? Do the results of your actions mean anything to you?”

“Yeah when they affect me, sure.”

You were a bitch. There was no denying that. But you were a pretty one. One many would grovel to be under.

You were used to this, ever since you reached a certain age people just looked at you different, acted in a way that… made you think they were boring, utter losers.

One of those losers was Tim’s friend.

Like all the stupid, horny men in your life, you hung out with him once and he spilled everything there was that you could share.

To the entire campus, the internet, even the news.

And because you were pretty, you got off scot-free. Those morons didn’t even check to see what you’ve been doing the past decade.

Except Tim. Timothy Drake. You only knew that his dad was super rich, and as much as it was tempting to sink your teeth into him and get a load of that daddy’s money, you knew better.

He apparently didn’t.

You see there was one thing every batfam member couldn’t resist. Well, two things. The first was saving people.

The second? Fixing them.

When Tim first approached you he was confused.

You were quite the popular figure in Uni. He heard the rumors. He fully expected to be cussed out to hell and back.

But you were… nice. Agreeable at most really. Brash was an understatement. But you were witty. Your comebacks were swift and deadly.

The more he studied stalked you the more he realized that the two of you were the same.

Two bright people stuck with dull idiots.

And Tim? Tim interested you enough for you to not to completely drop him after the first week. That and most of your bullying probably wouldn’t bode well towards the son of a billionaire.

He was smart, even more so than that nerd friend of his that you destroyed the life of. But more importantly he actually had some tact, and was surprisingly packed underneath all those baggy clothes.

Tim had to admit he was kind of forgetting his entire purpose of ‘fixing’ you.

Until you manipulated yet another guy into jumping off a school building for you. Thankfully he survived because Red Robin happened to be there to apprehend him but still!

And what’s worse, you met up with him afterwards talking about how that Red Robin ruined all your plans of crippling a r*pist.

Wait, a r*pist?

Tim looks through your past victims once more. Admitted he only did a surface level job of studying them in comparison to his PhD level knowledge on everything about you specifically.

And…you were right. Every guy you’ve harassed was being pushy with you in the first place, if not people with authority a decade older.

Fuck.

Well now he had no excuse. He had to make you his.

Meanwhile…

“Ugh, Damian. Can’t you tell your brother to like, fuck off or something? I can feel my social standing totally plummet every second he’s around. How do you handle being related to him?” You groaned. You weren’t fucking stupid. You knew Tim was stalking and drooling all over you lately. You hated it. He was ruining your chances with your new victims.

“Jeez [Y/N]. And here I thought you were like, into him.” Jessica, your actual crush and best friend, commented as she filed her nails.

You being the emotional stunted adult you were only replied with an (admittedly softer) “Eat a sandpaper cock and die bitch.”

Damian stared at you, the words die before they crawl out of his mouth. His hands clenched underneath the lunch tables.

Guess he had another thing to steal from his brother this time.

[grimm-writings]

hihi >_< could i request chilchuck x reader, maybe with reader flirting with him constantly, and then getting flustered when he actually decides to flirt back?

“what a flirt!”

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, suggestive comments, grimm trying so hard not to make the flirting sound cring, mention of chilchuck's wife

…wc! 698

…notes! my stupid doodle of chil with an iron is at 4203 notes at the time of writing my fic blog reputation has been squandered by the shitpost… but i finally got motivation do actually WRITE who cheered!!!! hope you enjoy and apologies for the wait!!

“Gosh, Chil, with those hands of yours you could easily please a partner!”

With his back turned away from you all you can hear from the picklock doing his job is a very deep inhale.  You can’t miss the way the tips of his ears glow red, even in the dim dungeon light.  You know there’s a ‘rule’ to not disturb the half-foot as he works but… goodness it’s just too tempting!  It’s not like there’s any harm in it!

When Chilchuck finishes his task he stands up and glares at you pointedly.  You return it with a bright smile.  “Thank you very much!” you chorus with the party oh, so politely.  The rest have partially given up on convincing you to not say or do anything while Chlichuck is busy.  He still gets the job done, at least…

Travels continue, and you find yourself trying to match a tall half-foot’s pace.  You have to slow down considerably but in your head all you can think about is how adorable Chilchuck might look if he tried to match your pace instead.

Right as you were about to drift off into fantasy, Chilchuck cleared his throat.  “You got somethin’ to say or is your head in the clouds again?”

You giggle.  “No, just thinking about how handsome you are.”  Once more, you relish in how flustered Chilchuck gets, attempting to speed walk ahead of you and start up a chat with Laios instead.

It’s so irritating.  Chilchuck can’t say or do anything without you making some kind of dumb comment!  He’s convinced even in a life or death situation you’d find some way to make him choke on his words and stumble.  You probably would let it happen if it means you can get the jump on him and humiliate him once again!

Before Chilchuck knows it he’s gritting his teeth together, his seething not going unnoticed.  Laios says quietly enough so you aren’t quite able to pick out what’s being said, “why not fight fire with fire?”

It’s an alright suggestion, sure, but that means… having to flirt back with you.  Chilchuck doesn’t know what constitutes flirting really.  His old flame used to say that he only ever honeyed her up when he’s a few drinks in.  Is that really what it will take to get you off his ass?

His question would be answered just a few hours later.  Combat isn’t Chilchuck’s forte, so once again he’s hiding behind some rock somewhere, slightly elevated off the floor.  That way he could avoid any collateral damage.

So he hoped at least.  A swing of a tail from the creature, slamming on the rock floor, proves him otherwise.  The ground collapses beneath Chilchuck and for a second he internally laments that he’s going to acquire another spot of brain damage.

But he doesn’t.  Instead, your arms easily catch underneath his knees and torso, holding him almost like a bride.  It’s you, and you look just so relieved, off guard.

Almost on instinct, Chilchuck lets the words slip.

“Looks like I fell for you.”

It’s so awful.  It’s so pathetic.  At least your pick–up lines were actually creative.  He almost wishes you’d let him break a bone or two.  Marcille’s healing might actually hurt less.

What he doesn’t expect at all is how your face deepens in colour and dusts across your face and cheeks, how your eyes widen and your jaw hangs open.  In your hold, Chilchuck feels your arms shaking.  Chilchuck only had to think for a second before realising that you seriously can’t take what you dish out.

The smug, brash grin that makes its way onto his face could infuriate anyone else, but you just feel your knees buckle.  “C’mon, be an angel and let me down, yeah?  Can’t have you dropping me, though I know my charm is irresistible.”

Funny how just a spot of encouragement can bring out this side of him.  Even as you do as you’re told with a pat on the head and, “why, thank you” being cooed at you, you know this isn’t the end of this.

Chilchuck will make sure you never forget how his words make you feel.

[ariseur]

✧˖° - DESIDERIUM.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - featuring ; satoru gojo x fem!reader, slight hints of suguru geto x fem!reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - synopsis ; “ for what is love if not brought back grief but just a little bit smaller? ” satoru wonders as he thinks about the time you got away from him, little does he know it’s eating you up inside everyday.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ word count ; 13.7k words, 74.2k characters

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ cw ; sfw, fem!reader, fluff to angst with little comfort, canon au, not proofread, interchanging povs but for reader it’s always second person, technically need a pt2 but lmk if u guys want it, not proofread, mainly satoru x reader but hints of sashisu x reader for a while, spoilers / allusions / mentions of jjk 0 and later manga chapters ( after suguru’s left obv ), mentions and cameo from kenny later, canon character death, mentions of smoking, mentions of blood and typical canon violence, mature language, intended lowercase

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes ; ( request linked here !!) wow so this has been sitting in my inbox for a few months now, this was actually requested but i forgot to link it to the post so this idea was brought to us by the wonderful @skypperlegacy — sobbing in my bed writing this i hope you all enjoy. ( edit: i wrote this note on 8/24 and i’m assuming i’m posting this AFTER my birthday, so take this as a little treat for not posting for my birthday ^.^ )

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes (2) ; it is currently 10/26. i have not finished this yet either. what the hell is wrong with me

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes (final) ; i did it. i finished it. 11/13 oh my days i finally completed this thing. i didn’t even flesh out the full idea so lmk if you guys want more of sad pathetic gojo and reader

i. sunlit hallways in 2005

your footsteps bounce off of the walls of the hallway, sun rays ricocheting off the floor and projecting onto your body as you make your way to your classroom. your eyes zip around in every direction as you tried to scan the room numbers to try and find the one yaga had referred you to. you grimace at his booming voice replaying in your memory talking about these two boys who were supposed to help you — idiots he referred to them as. ‘strong idiots’.

you assume you’d be heading into the classroom with the most noise in it, as the sound of muffled chattering pricks your ears from beyond the sliding door of the homeroom to your left. a long exhale leaves your lips, your shoulders rolling backwards in an attempt to try and alleviate the weird pressure that settled upon them before your fingers find the little slot that allowed it to open the door, cursing yourself as a loud squeak emits from your action.

you scrunch your eyes shut in a wincing manner, taking in the silence before peeking an eye open to see two boys — which you presume were the ones that yaga had mentioned to you. both of your eyes shoot open at the sound of a small laugh, seeing a boy with spectacles and snow white hair snickering to himself while his friend shook his head at him and instead greets you with a small smile.

you clear your throat. “are you suguru geto and satoru gojo?”

they nod, the dark-haired boy scooting out of his seat to get up and properly greet you while the other lazily grins at you, the cerulean lenses of his gracing his face and framing his teasing gaze behind a deep blue. “geto,” the former gestures to himself, “and this is gojo,” his hand waves over to the seemingly brash boy who stands beside him, giving a small wave as his hands come to intertwine behind his back.

you lean forward, ducking your head as you bow out of respect for your new classmates. hair falling in front of your face, you introduce yourself quietly as you hear small shuffles emerging towards you until sheen black shoes come into your peripheral.

lifting your head up a little further, you’re met with the bright face of ‘satoru gojo’, the name striking a familiar cord within your brain. gojo, you think, as in the gojo clan? however, you don’t get to ponder on that for too long before he chuckles at your expression — clearly somewhat impressed with his appearance. either that, or you’re completely freaked out. although, gojo’s pride would only let him choose the former.

“so,” the boy, gojo, begins, “are you the little shrimp yaga-sensei told us we’d be looking after?”

you press your lips together in a soft frown, before your eyebrows furrow with the small huff that left you as geto smacks the back of his palm against his friend’s chest. “‘m not a shrimp, you know — not even that much shorter than you.”

as if to further prove his point, you get an eyeful of white hair as he leans down to meet your eyes, just barely but enough to provide the message. “yeah?” he breathed. his grin makes you nauseous, pearly whites on display and dimmed with the backlit centered illumination giving him a frontal shadow. you tilt your nose up at him before holding his own gaze, his bright ceruleans on display as you replied with a passive-aggressive, “yeah.”

geto laughs, pressing his arm against his friend’s chest to get him to back away from you, the intense scent of cypress and a deep sea breeze no longer engulfing your senses. soft snickers instead fill your ears as gojo stuffs his hands into the pant pockets of his uniform before slipping past you with a hum. geto follows in suit.

you turn your head back to the open doorway, seeing the boys make their way out before gojo turns to you once more. “you coming or what, shrimp?”

you groan under your breath and he smiles at your reaction, now no longer in your sight as he turns the corner; struggling to hold back a grin at the quick footsteps that trail behind him with a hesitant, “hold— hold on a sec! i’m not a shrimp!”

“you are too.”

“are not,” you huff.

his eyes trail up towards the ceiling for a second, tapping his chin as he feigns a long, hard thought before cracking out into another smile. “are too.”

this game continues for a while, and you almost feel bad for geto — except the little game of chicken that you and his counterpart had going on was taking up more of your attention at the moment. with his obnoxiously long legs, gojo purposefully takes wide strides to try and tease you at least a little bit, having you make more of an effort to keep up — just because you’re new doesn’t mean that you should be let off the hook so easily, he thinks.

“are too—“

“these are the dorms,” suguru interjects, his tone clearly exasperated at this point. a few minutes of walking and the poor man felt like it was hours of meaningless boredom.

your eyes follow the direction of geto’s finger over the trail of doors that lay before you. he leans his head forward, the golden sunlight capturing his face as a few strands of raven hair from his bun slip out from their ties. “my dorm’s on the very end right there,” he gestures his head to the door at the corner, “satoru’s is two down to the left.”

speaking of him, gojo slings an arm around your shoulders; keeping a firm grip even with only his bicep as you try to squirm away. “don’t worry, i’m sure yaga’ll help you in no time. by the end of the day, you’ll be lazing around in a nice bed with your feet kicked up, thinking about how you met the most beautiful man ever today,” he says to you.

“don’t you think it’s a little weird to call your friend the most beautiful man ever?”

to gojo’s horror, geto snickers from behind him.

“you’re a sassy one, aren’t you. .” he mutters under his breath, a sigh escaping him as the warmth of his arm leaves your shoulders and is instead met with the cool air conditioning of the halls, only the sun’s peeking through the windows warming you up. he takes a step near his friend, hands stuffed in his pockets once again. “well, you can always stop by whenever you do get your dorm, i’ll always be here,” he singsongs. you fake gag at his playful wink.

geto steps towards you, leaning into you as he mumbles a little too loudly ( whether that was on purpose or not remained unknown ), “don’t worry, the girls’ wing is on the other side — luckily you won’t have to see that idiot all the time.” you laugh at your eyes trail to gojo’s small pout from behind the boy, his shoulders deflating instantly once he realized he was left out.

“hey, so like, can we not bully me for today? just once?” he chimes in, tilting his head to the side a bit in question. you and geto share one last glance and laugh together before he walks ahead of you again, gojo lagging behind so you’d walk next to him as well.

he couldn’t help but glance at you, noticing how you keep your eyes trained in front of you. only occasionally flitting to the window to admire the outside scenery. it wasn’t everyday that they got a new student, and if they did, they never lasted long. despite still only being a first year, geto and gojo adapted to the harsh environments of jujutsu society — fully aware of the consequences and what it would take to save non-sorcerers. which only made gojo all the more curious as to why you were here.

“pervert, quit staring at me.”

“hey, people would pay for these eyes on them — you’re a lucky girl, today,” he explains, bumping his shoulder with yours. you glare at him. his smile doesn’t falter.

“so do all new recruits get this treatment or what?” you chide, putting a hand on your hip comfortably as you walk. he hums for a moment. “nah,”. he decides, “you’re special,” his grin only widens the more you banter, bright blue eyes mimicking yours in a sharp narrowing. you hold his gaze for a bit, before ultimately deciding it wasn’t worth it — turning your head with a low, ‘tch’ as you keep your feet moving. gojo does the same.

they walk you around the campus, showing you the track field and the direction in which the girls’ wing is, telling you to report back to them once yaga had assigned you a room, gojo urging you to invite him over one day to which geto nudges the back of his leg with his shoe. and at the end of the day you’re left with a small wave goodbye to your new classmates, smiles on their faces as they walk off back into the dorms; leaving you to roam around with the new-known information.

you look back at the stone arch of the school’s entrance, the stone pathway beneath your feet as you squint from the brightness of the sun just beyond the horizon. a perfect point of which the ground and the sky meet.

you can feel the blocks of sunlight on your chest as you take one last look at it, face softening at the sight.

gojo takes one last look behind him to check on you, seeing your frame simply stand and soak up the golden skies. his lips only quirk the slightest bit upwards, geto quirking a brow beside him only to let an amused breath out at his best friend’s infatuation. “don’t start going all mushy on me now, satoru.”

said friend turns his head back ( geto notices how he takes one last quick glance back before fully rotating his head ) and scoffs, “no way.” geto merely hums and closes his eyes, a knowing feeling growing in his stomach. “she is kinda cute, you know,” gojo mumbles — closing his eyes when geto opens his own to look at the boy dubiously.

he, too, looks back at you only to find you walking off to another section of the high school; presumably to go and talk to yaga to find out where the hell your dorm would be. he chuckles. “don’t ruin another friendship for us by going a little too far with the flirting, this time.”

the snow-haired boy stays quiet at that, creating a small lull in the conversation only filled by the clacking of shoes against pavement. the sun on the nape of his neck slowly eases up with how it lowers beyond the skyline, small beads of sweat slowly seeping back into his skin before he huffs. “can you believe the way she talked to me?” geto looks over to him once more. “‘yeah’, who does she think she is talking to us like that?” gojo makes a dumb face as he mimics you, hands on his hips momentarily as he mocks the way you stood — it was surprising how he was the one saying this.

geto snickers. “you mean the way she talked to you.”

“whatever,” his classmate responds with a yawn, being able to crack a small smile at geto’s laughs of amusement at his frustration ( or how gojo would call it, his ‘suffering’ ). “you’ll learn to like her eventually,” he chides. his friend stays quiet at that once more.

gojo tilts his head up at the darkening sky. he swears he can feel the sun on his chest, too.

ii. the way the clouds shape us

“special grade? guess satoru was wrong about you being a shrimp,” the sound of geto’s laughter fills the air, thin fingers handing you back your student id as you pocketed the small, white card back in the pocket of your uniform.

“he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” you shake your head, placid smile painted on your lips. geto leans against the tree, careful not to ruin his sleek hair against the chipped bark. he watched as you lifted your hands up to the sky. you extend your fingers and stretch them out — watching as the light blue of the sky above you illuminates your open-faced palm and casts a shadow for the rest of your arm.

gojo wasn’t wrong, you were definitely beautiful. even geto knew it, taking in the way your hair splayed out delicately against the vibrant grass, as he could hear the distant chatter of his other two best friends making their way towards you two. you had to thank gojo for this, considering he was the found who found this little safe haven in the first place.

over the past few months ( even if you joined a little later than halfway through the actual school year ), it became quite comfortable for you to chat with these newfound friends of yours. you quickly got along with ieiri, much to gojo’s dismay as he has discovered you two make the best team against him with your sharp words towards him. he’d savor the way you’d lean in and tell him you were never really serious afterwards ( even though he was well aware of that fact, he’d like knowing you still didn’t want to really hurt his feelings ). it really felt like home when you were with them, a sanctuary only for the four of you.

with your eyes flitting closed, geto finally tears his eyes from you to gaze at the duo approaching the two of you, gojo whining about something like usual as shoko barely humored him with the little tolerance she had left; a pale cigarette hanging from between her lips.

you relish in the sun on your skin, lessened from the months before that first day you came to tokyo’s jujutsu high as you’ve adapted. you must adapt in order to survive. you realize that now, which is why you indulge in the small moments you can get — even if it’s just silence with geto or the fact that suddenly, even behind closed eyelids, the sun was gone.

allowing your lashes to flutter open, you see a familiar brunette stand above you. a combination of the sweet, earthy tones emitting from the dewy grass below you and her perfume suddenly hit your nose, surprising but definitely not unpleasant. you hummed, eyebrows furrowed.

she laughs, “eh? you two are just out here without us?”

“sigh,” you roll your eyes at gojo who audibly says the word ‘sigh’, “so inconsiderate, you two.”

geto laughs, resting his hands upon his stomach as he closes his eyes — nose twitching with the leftover pollen floating along with the soft, spring breeze down from its habitat within the trees and the plants enclosing you all.

he doesn’t exactly fall asleep, especially in such an uncomfortable position. but he makes peace with this discomfort and instead seeks refuge in his own place of serenity, only him and his thoughts ( and the quiet chatter of you and shoko ganging up on your white-haired friend ).

you exhale smoothly through your nose, a breath of fresh air leaving your lungs as you stare up at your friend, a smirk threatening to unleash itself on her face even from behind the cancer stick. “those things kill, you know,” you playfully chastise her, watching as she chuckles before crouching down.

she slips the cigarette from past her mouth, the end stained glossy and pink from that one lip product you always forget the brand of, before offering the smoke to you between her two fingers. she hums as you take the tube, the material dry against your lips. “might as well while we’re still alive and young,” she says — and the morbidity of the question no longer bothers you like it would have a few months earlier. instead, you actually chuckle at her dry delivery. you struggle not to choke with your laid back position as you hold it before letting it escape you, a hot puff of smoke emitting in the air.

“so, what’re we doing today?” a pair of lanky, slack-clad legs come into your peripheral along with a familiar mop of snowy hair before it disappears, his voice trailing off as he sits next to geto. you prop yourself up on your elbows, squinting at the sudden bright light as shoko sits beside you inside.

you crack a small smile at the feeling of her fingertips messing with the ends of your hair, shaking out the small bits of grass that got stuck in the delicate strands. gojo, however, thinks you’re smiling at him so he grins in return before your smile is soon replaced with an unsure expression — almost like you’re gonna throw up just from looking at him. he still doesn’t falter.

“what do you think we should do?” you ask after a bit, thanking ieiri under your breath as she’s done helping you primp.

“what if we go to the convenience store for a bit and get some snacks? i was thinking—“

“boringg..” shoko’s thoughts are interrupted by gojo’s loud interruption, her face immediately dropping as she looks at him. “hey, you don’t have to show off in front of your girlfriend every day, y’know,” she shoots back.

he pouts at the brunette, his shoulders deflating as his hands come up to his face to mimic a fake tear rolling down his cheek. a nervous huff escapes you as you look between her, geto, and gojo before you start, “he’s not m—“

“how about we go to the arcade in shinjuku city? they close in like,” he checks the imaginary watch on his wrist ( whether he didn’t know he had interrupted you or he didn’t want you to finish your thought was something you didn’t understand ), “two hours, i guess.”

you roll your neck around on your shoulders, sighing at the low cracks that escape your aching bones. eager for some activity, you shrug. “hate to admit it, but that might be the greatest idea gojo’s ever had.”

to that, he beams. you hear a duet of groans come from your other two friends. “aw, c’mon. don’t give into him so easily,” geto chides playfully.

“not to brag—“

“—all you do is brag, gojo—“

“—but i, personally, think i have a ton of great ideas.”

geto tips head back and laughs. you see the way his eyelids twitch and scrunch with his soft smile, outer corners crinkling as the airy sound frees itself from him. he crosses his arms. “that’s why you personally think that, im afraid ‘s not a very common opinion,” he answered calmly. gojo sulks as he looks to shoko for help. she shrugs and puffs out another cloud of smoke between the small opening she’s created on the side of her mouth.

“we can always bully him some other time, i’m bored and i’m practically losing years off of my life just listening to him,” you mutter to her — perhaps a little too loud as you see gojo’s jaw drop open from your peripheral.

geto gets up, dusting the damp pieces of grass sticking to his pants and the back of his legs before taking a big stretch. you wrap your arm around the other, extending your elbow and mimicking his motions as you let out a sigh at the feeling of weary muscles ( which you can already tell that geto and gojo will use against you when you spar ).

“why don’t we go already then?” he inquires, causing gojo to shoot up as you already start to slowly walk back to the campus entrance. shoko snorted as she shook her head, trailing behind to walk and talk with the raven-haired man. your eyes scan over the perimeter of the horizon, spotting all the grass and the vast architecture of the highschool, squinting as you look for the way you came from.

feeling the air change from behind you and the soft sounds of quick footsteps on grass, you begin. “hey shoko, do you ever—“

then you see his stupid smile.

“oh,” you say. he scoffs, almost like he’s offended that you had such a tame reaction. gojo huffs a bit, still attempting to keep up with your pace. “just ‘oh’? you aren’t excited to talk to me at all?” he groans.

you shrug. “just thought you were shoko ‘s all.”

oh, you really shouldn’t have said that. you think — because once you see the way his face splits into a grin once more, you instantly grimace. “so you are excited to talk to me.”

“never said that.”

“you didn’t have to. i’m psychic.”

“that so? what am i thinking right now, then?” you ask, finally tearing your eyes away from the ground and tilting your head at gojo; who taps his chin and pretends to think ( although, you know that there’s a seventy percent chance that whatever comes out of his mouth will be bullshit considering the way he’s struggling to hold back a smile ).

your question evokes a long hum from him as he looks up to the sky, to the right, and then back to you before he answers, “how handsome i am?” your eyes narrow a bit, one of the rare moments where satoru gojo could render you speechless.

once your mouth drops open, void of sound, gojo’s almost ready to backtrack and apologize before you finally laugh. a nice, hearty laugh that makes your chest rumble in between every breath. and if that isn’t the biggest ego booster for the boy then you’re not sure what is. he couldn’t care of you were laughing at him or with him, all he knows is that he can’t help but chuckle along with you. his chest swells with pride as you lean on the stone archway as the cacophony of giggles slows down.

you wipe the corner of your eyes, looking back at geto and ieiri as they eye you in confusion — but nonetheless give you a pity snicker in response.

“you’re hilarious, gojo — keep it up,” you finally say.

he beams boyishly at you, a warm wave of something washes over him albeit he can’t figure out what. “nice to know i still got it,” he asserted, making you give one last eye roll before you looked back at the stone steps leading to the front entrance.

you skipped forward and turned your body a bit to look at your classmates. the usual scowl on your face no longer evident anymore for it was replaced by a soft smile, one so foreign even to shoko who’s company you more or less enjoyed the most. she pursed her lips around the tobacco stick in an uncharacteristic curiosity, wondering what that fool could’ve done now to make you genuinely laugh.

“i’m gonna grab something from my dorm real quick, ‘kay?” although you were probably saying it to the group as a whole, gojo nodded eagerly as he flashed you a thumbs-up with a small, ‘okay’ as well.

he turned to shoko and geto as you rushed up the stairs and into the building, running along to the girls’ wing as they glared at him. “what?” his voice was too innocent to be gojo, just the sound of his “oblivion” made them want to facepalm. geto held a thumbs up as he mocked his friend’s earlier face while shoko have a light huff, the sound somewhere in between sounding both exasperated and entertained.

“th’hell was that?” she asked, finally stubbing the cigarette out with her shoe ( still keeping a pack on here though, you never know when you might need one. especially when you’re friends with the biggest idiot in tokyo ).

“what?” he repeated.

“nothin’,” geto shrugged, the tiny front piece he kept loose from his bun swaying as he shook his head. he shares a look with shoko that definitely throws gojo off though. he narrows his eyes at them, spectacles somewhat hiding the oceans that are his irises.

gojo crosses his arms. “you guys are just jealous that i can make a pretty lady laugh.”

“you— you don’t think . .” shoko trails off, her forehead crinkling as she looks like she’s trying to decipher something. gojo quirks a brow even though she was thinking aloud or possibly talking to geto instead — he still waits for her to finish her sentence. “what?” he repeats only to be met with a dismissive shake of the head from her.

he opens his mouth to ask what they’re talking about before he hears hasty shoes against stone and looks behind him to see you, walking back down with a small pin clasped in your hand that shimmers in the sun when you hold your hand up.

gojo’s eyes take their own route as they fly away from your palm, down your arm until it reaches your face — a fond smile written on your face like you had been claimed victorious. it made his own smile quirk back up again.

you only spare him a glance before you lope to shoko. he watches as you hand the item over to her before she takes it, a faint half-smile twitching on her lips bemusedly.

“so you can keep your bangs to the side,” you answer — even when no one has asked why you gave that pin to her. “i got it from osaka on that mission last month — thought it’d look cute on you.” geto cocks his head as he tunes out your conversation before shrugging and walking back over to gojo, hands shoved in his pockets.

he chuckles, “no need to pout, satoru.”

“i’m not pouting,” he placed a hand on his hip. unbeknownst to him, he totally was; whether it was unintentional or not. “she’s just playing favorites over here when i’m the one who so graciously invited her to start hanging out with us,” he frowns.

a laugh and a rough pat on the back from geto interrupted him from entering his soon incoming villain arc as he walked back over to you and ieiri, pulling his dramatic friend along with him. gojo’s ears perked up at your voice in the conversation once more.

“oh, you know i don’t like all those weird hair clips ‘n’ stuff—“

“don’t worry,” you lean over, brushing some of her bangs out of her face as you clip them to the side. gojo watches afar as your thin fingers work to cover the small pin with another piece of shoko’s hair, successfully getting it out of her face and concealing the pin in the process. you grin, mission accomplished.

pulling back, you watch as shoko touches her hair — smirking when she realizes how useful it’d be. she pats your head and looks at you before her eyebrows furrow; only then do you realize what she was focused on behind you.

“uh, where’s my souvenir?” your face instantly drops as you feel gojo’s chin on your shoulder, words purred dangerously low next to your ear.

“up your ass.”

“mind fetching it for me?”

“you’re disgusting—!” you push him off as he chortles, his eyes crinkling softly as bouts of laughter overtake him at your exaggerated reaction.

“we’re not gonna make it to shinjuku if you guys keep bickering like children,” you both hear geto chide. you look over to the entrance, a small smile on his face as he teases the both of you.

you scoff, stuffing your own hands in your pockets as you walk over to the dark haired man. “he started it,” you mutter.

he gasps. “nu-uh!”

“yu-huh,” you retort. he sticks his tongue out at you in retaliation whilst shoko follows you and geto in return. gojo smirks as you huff and turn around, watching as his friend bumped hips with you on the way there, making mindless conversation.

the air wasn’t so bad, the light breeze felt more refreshing than over. he looked back over at shoko’s hair in thought.

perhaps he’d have to work harder at officially getting on your good side some other time, he thinks.

iii. the taste of blue raspberry

vibrant lights and loud video game chirps wasn’t exactly gojo’s scene despite how he always presented himself; extroverted and inherently obnoxious ( although, he’d prefer to use the word ‘comfortable’ rather than obnoxious whenever you’d refer to the latter ). all he could do was trail after you and shoko, geto following him as he observed the random teens and little kids accompanied with their parents that kept the arcade flowing.

cerulean eyes follow your movements in hopes that he’ll keep track of you. that he wont lose you in this crowd. he’ll occasionally look over at shoko and geto to make sure they’re still here, too.

“so, you chose a shitty arcade spot to hangout in? such poor taste,” he leans down over you, hoping that mild jabs and soft teasing will help keep his mind off of the fact that there’s snot nosed kids running around the already narrow spaces between the machines; their flat footsteps melding together with all the loud sounds as they become synchronized with the beat of the music.

your lips twist into a sneer at the sound of him, slowly turning your head to look behind you at the boy who grinned so slyly. gojo knew exactly what he was doing.

“would you rather have yaga put us to work and sweep the dorms?” you bat your eyelashes as he only smiles further, reveling in how you play along with his little game.

“i dunnooo.. wherever you go i go, i suppose.”

“such a flirt.”

“just being honest,” he puts his hands up defensively as he walks past you to a random machine that stands stationary in front of you, untouched with whirring, vibrant lights that glow brighter when he thumbs a few tokens in the slot at the bottom. as you hear the clinking of the coin hit against the curvature inside of the machine, the snow-haired boy turns to look at you with a boyish smile as he crouches down and points a finger to the blinking button saying, ‘play now!’

you have the urge to warn him about how the game is most likely rigged. you don’t. instead your parted lips close with a huff. gojo is said to be able to do anything, you remember, he’ll learn the hard way.

“you mind getting me a slush at the machines?” he says, lanky body extending to its full height as stands upright again.

“that’s so far — and scary,” you feign a pout. realistically, you were just too lazy to walk all the way over there and back for one item.

“take suguru with you,” he tips his head up to gesture in the direction of the dark haired friend, to whom you see looking out the glass doors at all the kids who run through the place.

so there you are, walking along with geto as you huff about how gojo could have gotten the drink himself. he hums occasionally, looking around and observing the environment to try and make sure you don’t run into anything during your chatter.

“he does care about you, though. you know that right?” his fingers sift through the yen in his palm, the coins clinking around as he grabs some and puts it into the thin slot of the slushee machine.

your lips press together as you hum almost dismissively, head cocked. the cup makes a soft thud against the metal as he puts the cup inside and closes the small glass opening. the machine whirs as he clicks the blue raspberry flavor almost like it’s muscle memory — the blue button lighting up with the white kana in front of it.

“you want something?” geto asks quietly, leaning down to interrupt your analysis.

the thought makes you crack a small smile as you think for a moment before turning to face him. “do you want something?” you inquire. “i’ll pay.”

he waves you off with a soft smile. “it’s alright, i’m not much into sweets.”

you grab gojo’s cup out of the dispenser, putting a clear lid and straw in it as you grab another disposable cup. if you were going to get a slushee, you weren’t going to let geto pay for it by himself. the whirring of machine’s drink being poured almost drowns out the loud, coinciding beeps and animated sounds of the nearby screens you both hear.

“then let me buy you something when we get out of here,” you smile at him.

you fail to notice the way his face softens at you when you’re too busy grabbing the cup, licking off the excess that spills over onto your thumb as you laugh. his smile falters a bit, before he walks with you back to go get shoko and gojo.

you scoff at the sight of the white haired man smirking at the pixelated screen, pointing it out to you and geto. the two of you lean over as you heard gojo sip on the drink while you roll your eyes at the big blue kanji in bold spelling out, ‘top score: satoru gojo’.

“thought you weren’t a fan of blue raspberry,” you hear from behind you.

already, you see the man in question leaning on geto as he looks at you with a quirked brow. you look down at your cup. ah, you think, guess you did. your expression must give something away because you hear shoko amusedly huff next to you.

you shrug. “guess i just wanted to try something new.”

clearly a mistake because his smile only widens as he slings an arm around your shoulder too. “nah, you know what i’m thinking?”

“you never think.” that earns you a flick to the forehead.

he leans down. “i think i’m rubbing off on you,” he laughs.

you try to push him off of you yet he manages to let his weight relax as you struggle to keep him up, “gojo, you ass,” you mutter.

he turns to look at you, his smile looks different. feels different. “call me satoru,” he beams.

iv. ‘the star plasma vessel?’

riko amanai is a pretty girl, you think. you have no idea why she wanted to be the star plasma vessel in the first place. you weren’t there when satoru and suguru went to go meet her, instead hearing her version of the story where they practically tortured her — and knowing the boys, you’re not quite sure that she wasn’t exaggerating.

she likes you, definitely favoring you a little more than tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum, you think as you pointedly look at the pair of friends, walking ahead of you.

you look down at riko’s arm interlocked with yours and smile. “so,” you whistle, “what do you think of those two?”

her green eyes dart up to yours before looking at suguru and satoru and squinting. “they’re interesting, that’s for sure,” she mumbles. her lips twist into a sneer-like pout just at the sight of them, evoking a lighthearted chuckle from you. you fail to notice the way satoru’s head turns to look at you ever so slightly at the sound.

it makes riko grin as you playfully bump your hip with hers. satoru had never seen you so lax. maybe because the young girl was easier to handle than himself. he didn’t mind seeing you like this, but he couldn’t deny that it was pretty fun to work you up, too.

he smiles at the thought of your puffed cheeks with furrowed brows, narrowed eyes burning holes into him as he would flick your forehead for the third time in a row.

“what’s gotten you all cheesy?” he hears suguru inquire from beside him, tearing his eyes away from the stone road beneath him to look at his snow-haired friend. “eh? just thinking about stuff,” satoru replies.

suguru hums, his hand still shoved in his uniform’s pocket. “you sure it has nothing to do with—“

“a-tat-tat-tat—!” satoru waves a hand in front his friends face, holding another finger up as a gesture for him to silence. “what’d we say about sharing private stuff in public, suguru?”

“i can’t help it, some ‘gossip’ is too hot,” he shrugs.

“that does not help me—“

“what gossip are you guys talking about?” riko chimes, crossing her arms as the two of them look at her. you quirk a brow yourself.

if he’d had known better, satoru would’ve flinched at the rough hand you had smacked down on his shoulder. his eyes flickered towards you, already spotting the sly smile on your face. fuck you for being so beautiful, he thinks.

“yeah, what gossip are you guys talking back?” you press. he scoffs, waving you off as he continues walking. your lips press into a pout as you cross your arms as well, mimicking riko’s motions as you two whisper about whatever. suguru laughs at the two of you — only a few days and you guys were already twins.

sometimes the thought made your smile falter ever so slightly, knowing that you had to escort her only in a day or two was saddening. but for now, you’ll enjoy the smiles and pats on the back — knowing you’d have to part soon was only so minuscule in a world drowned in familiarity.

you intertwine your fingers with hers instead and swing your arms back and forth before you turn your head to your aforementioned friend.

“hey suguru, what do you say we show riko-chan here that little coffee shop downtown?” you ask, watching as he turns his attention away from his small flip phone’s messaging system ( as he’s most likely texting shoko and making fun of satoru in the process ) before his eyebrows raise with a soft smile.

you hear satoru huff again as his head whips around to look at you. stifling a laugh, you take in his furrowed brows and jutted lip as he sulks.

“hey, why don’t i know about any secret coffee shop downtown?”

“we had just found it walking around one day,” suguru deflects.

“and you didn’t tell me about this super-cool-top-secret-no-satoru café?”

you beam before resting your hand on his shoulder. satoru swears electricity shoots through his nerves as he turns to look at you. he wouldn’t spoil it now, but he’s seventy percent sure that this is the first time you’ve touched him without pushing him ( or as he’d like to call it, abusing him ) away.

“don’t be so jealous, satoru,” he ignores the way you call of his name makes a pit settle in his stomach. you turn to riko, “we’ll share the spot, yeah?”

“if you say so,” suguru puts his hands up in playful submission. satoru only chuckles.

your laugh synchronizes with the sounds around you, like music to satoru’s ears whilst you skip ahead with riko and scan your perimeter. everything sounds clearer now; the birds outside zipping around trees, chairs and drinks clinking, a heavy pair of distant footsteps that you can only assume is the trailing of a few people on their way to the same place.

but none of that really matters, although you’re sure everything does. all these sounds are apart of you and you’re willing to make the most of it. you walk hand in hand with riko as the boys follow in suit.

you scoff at the way satoru pulls the chair out for you before sitting himself in his own and kicking his feet up. his brow quirks cockily at the sound. “ah, so you’re only nice to me when amanai is around?”

“someone’s still gotta keep you in your place, satoru.”

“yes, ma’am,” he laughs, tipping his head back lazily as his hands fold over his chest. suguru huffs and grabs his friend’s feet before shoving them back down onto the cement. “decency, satoru?”

“ehh,” he groans, only peeking an eye at suguru before closing them again and letting his body go lax. you shake your head and laugh, watching as riko eyes him in annoyance. they’ll warm up to each other eventually, you think — and you can tell suguru feels the same.

“this is so cool—!” you chuckle at the way the young girl gleams at the intricate details of the outdoor table and the faint music playing from inside the café. her green eyes shimmer in the light, you notice; perhaps maybe just curiosity glinting in them. she’s only fourteen.

your eyes flicker around your environment yourself, hearing the mindless chatter that riko and suguru partake in about, presumably about what they’re going to do next. you squint at the distance, seeing an unusually tall man towering over a few people as he looks in your direction. your lips purse as you narrow your eyes at him further before he tilts his head up and turns away.

you watch as he walks away, his toned back all you see before you hear a mumble of your name and a tap of your foot.

you look over to see satoru, who stares at you with an indecipherable expression — something between an uncharacteristic curiosity and a standoff-ish glow. your head tilts before you look back over at the front of the café. that man is gone.

you turn back to see satoru leaning over the table with a sly smile. “penny for your thoughts?”

you shake your head and dismiss him with a weary smile and a lazy shake of your hand. “just looking around,” you say — even if you know that you can’t fool satoru gojo, his eyebrows only pinch a bit before slightly rotating his head to look behind him a bit.

“you want a sweet?” you ask, tapping his side of the table to get his attention.

had his eyes always looked so piercing, you think to yourself, as you feel something move around in your chest. rearranging itself along with the soft onomatopoeic thumps of the organ that lays inside.

he hesitates. “nah, i’ll get something on the way back later.”

“who are you and what have you done with satoru?” you chuckle. he ignores the way the usage of his given name makes him feel, the way you say it — syllables still fresh on your tongue. instead, he laughs along with you while looking over to his friend. he doesn’t know what he expected, suguru was always observant; so why was he so surprised to see him looking at the two of you with a raised brow?

you look back at riko before gasping out a small laugh at her chubby cheeks, full of food as she eats it like it’s the last meal she’ll ever have. it only makes your grin grow wider when her eyes meet yours, like a deer in headlights whilst she stops chewing. you both take a pause, even when the boys turn to look at you as well — before you burst out into bouts of laughter. riko’s giggles are muffled by the parfait that’s swelled in her cheeks but she covers her mouth with a polite hand as she tries not to choke.

your cheeks feel warm with the way they stretch to curl into a smile. suguru and satoru exchange a look before satoru smiles right along with you. it wasn’t so bad, he thinks. if amanai made you act like this then maybe he didn’t mind her as much as he thought. his foot taps against the concrete underneath the table. he can feel something wriggling around in his chest.

v. deficit

riko amanai’s beauty, no longer will it be seen as the white sheet frames her features instead, you think.

the deafening sound of applause almost takes your mind off of satoru’s expression; only coldness lies within his features, now.

your hand clutches your side, even with the greatness of the stitches that shoko had blessed your wounds with — you could almost still feel his knife in your abdomen. the stinging never seemed to go away. the clapping doesn’t help, all of your senses are occupied on trying to focus on satoru.

with the close proximity of suguru next to you, you can feel the way his hand twitches against his side while he looks at riko, or more so, the sheet that covers her. you can feel his horror, too. just a couple of days ago, she was fourteen, trotting along tokyo with you

you’re almost upset you weren’t there for her death, you weren’t there to comfort her in her last moments or save her at all. you were only there for the aftermath, the same man who you saw at the coffee shop just days prior. you look at suguru to your right — who knows what he’s gone through, you think.

and yet throughout all the booms of cheers and applause, you can hear satoru’s voice and your head whirls back to him. you almost don’t recognize it when he utters, “i screwed up, it’s not your fault.”

your hand comes up to gently rest upon your mouth in a soft gasp as your eyes try not to trail down to where riko’s shoe clad feet swing with satoru’s steps, the only part of her that’s left unsheathed from the horror of what’s underneath the cover.

his next words come out muffled yet you know you couldn’t escape them even if you tried, so close yet so far to avoidance — but you know you heard him clearly.

he calls your name, then suguru’s. “should we kill these guys?” your stomach churns, the pain in your side gets worse — your head hurts and it feels like you don’t know where you are at one point. you start to question whether anything is real at this point. he adds, “i doubt i’d feel anything about it.”

his eyes don’t dart to yours like they had the few mornings prior, before you had gone to escort the young girl. he had smiled and slapped a comforting hand on your shoulder once you explained how you had a bad feeling. you still do. you wonder if there’s any other feelings you could have, anymore.

you hear suguru’s soft mutter next to you, the applause only simmering down as you try to hyper-focus on his voice. perhaps to ground you, or perhaps you couldn’t escape it; a reminder of what this world is really like. “no,” he says. “there wouldn’t be a point.”

your vision glosses over into a blur and you go to look at the light above you, florescent and blinding. your heart hurts and you do your best not to clutch it through the fabric of your uniform, you can’t be seen like this, you think. you can’t let them see what’s happening to you.

fingers digging into your palm, you tune the rest of suguru’s voice out; even though you can feel his eyes on you regardless. instead, the pair of your own follow satoru, seeing riko’s hand, partially crusted with the leftover pool of blood that had flowed beside her head, swing lifelessly as he walks past the two of you.

your brows knit closer together as you stare at him. everything clips in and out. the noise, the cheers, suguru’s voice slowly melding into satoru’s. “no point, huh?” he huffs. “does there need to be a point?”

“of course there does,” suguru snaps back. mauve irises are nothing but void now, his eyes only fixated on the ground a few feet in front of him. “especially for jujutsu sorcerers.”

your eyes burn with the way they’ve been mindlessly gazing at the snow-haired boy, the back of his head the only thing you can catch a glimpse of behind suguru’s dark hair. it doesn’t feel like they can close, only the sheen layer of oncoming tears coating them so they don’t entirely dry out. “satoru,” you breathe — and with the way things are going, you’re surprised to see cerulean eyes turn to meet yours.

suguru doesn’t bother to look at you since he can already anticipate the crumbling feeling of guilt when he sees your expression. it doesn’t matter anyway. it almost feels like nothing does.

glossed lips don’t part like how they’d usually do, they don’t even grace you with the smallest sight of a smirk like how satoru always would. you’re not quite sure why you whisper his name, what you’ll even say. maybe a mantra that only connects the two of you, something that’ll keep you sane.

he keeps his eyes locked on you for a second more before turning his head and walking away. your hand comes to grasp at your side. the stinging comes back.

vi. pinky promises (of two)

sentimentality was a privilege in a world of jujutsu — you learned, after riko. sensitivity wasn’t trained into sorcerers, in fact, you’d say it was actually trained out of them. it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to be sensitive. although, surrounded by the strong, tears burned hot on your skin and your hand burned even harder when they’d come up to wipe them away.

the birds outside the encapsulated feeling of the trees chirp, showcasing what once looked golden now is tainted with a dull grey that seems to gloss over everything now. your eyes feel droopy, no longer laced with sleep but with the dread that’ll come with the rest of the day.

you wonder how satoru’s doing, how shoko’s doing. how suguru’s doing. his face looks thinner, you noticed as you think back from the recollection of your faded memories from two mornings ago. he won’t go out with you as often, you wonder how badly it fucked him up. you wonder if anything will be the same again.

you run a frustrated hand through your hair, cringing at the way oil meets your fingers. you know you have to wash your hair, but you can’t bring yourself to. it almost feels like a chore, combined along with your classes and being put on your ass every time when you try to spar with satoru.

(he always says he’ll go easy on you and let you win. you huff in annoyance — he never does.)

despite all the breaths of fresh air you try to take, your lungs can never feel free of the burden that they’re tainted with. you close your eyes and savor the heat of the bark against your palm, in hopes that it’ll finally soothe the ache in your chest like how it did all those weeks ago — at the beach in okinawa.

you remember the warmth of the sand against your skin, smacking your hands together when you’d sit upright to rid your skin of the small golden flecks. you remember seeing riko and gojo splashing each other in the water as you heard kuroi and suguru’s soft voices conversation from beside you. the feeling of your hair tied, the brightness of the sun drowning your skin. it’s so vivid in your mind, you wonder if everything was all a dream, sometimes.

a raspy voice breaks your reverie as it excuses itself before you move your propped leg and look down below you. a faint smile finds its way to your lips as you see a familiar brown bob accompanied by the scent of tobacco and rose body spray.

“so distant out here,” she cranes her neck up at you with pressed lips, you internally sigh in relief at the lack of a cigarette that’s usually rested between them. a small pout forms on your lips at her extended arm, looking down at her hand and then back up at her with a cocked head. “i’d say with more to do out here, i would understand why.”

you huff. “i was brutally injured not too long ago, and this is how you treat your favorite patient, let alone favorite friend?” shoko smirks with an entertained scoff.

“i don’t see utahime around here anywhere.”

“shoko!”

she snickers as she makes her way over to the grass, the plush dirt cold against her upper thighs as she unceremoniously plops down onto it. you begrudgingly ( but not really, as the lack of social interaction practically burns your throat ) hop down from the branches of the tree, the heat finally capturing you in all of its glory as you carefully sit down next to shoko.

“always reminiscing, huh?” she asks. you can see the way she fidgets with the turtleneck of her uniform, presumably from the antsy withdrawal of her cigs. you give a small hum — whether it’s an affirmation or not, you don’t know. all you know is that it’s a noise that escapes you, now only a rare sight for the people closest to you.

your tongue tingles with the longing of verbosity. eager to say something, except the brunette beats you to it first. “i get it,” she sighs. “it’s nice to be alone out here.”

“we can’t ever be alone with those two idiots,” you remind her playfully, a chuckle managing to slip past your lips as she groans at the mention of the two familiar boys.

“how’s satoru doing?” you ask softly, plucking at the dewy grass that lay beneath you. shoko looks at you quizzically from out of the corner of her eye before closing her eyes with a snorted laugh. your heads whips around to look at her as you see her head shaking fondly.

a small, contagious huff makes it way out of you at the sight before she looks back at you, honey eyes narrowing once she realizes that you’re genuinely asking. her smile never falters, though ( which is usually a bad sign considering of the sadistic streak you’ve seen her partake in ).

“have you got it for the satoru gojo?”

you gape. “i don’t—! i just,” lips pursed, you huff and tilt your chin up with crossed arms. “the escort was a bust, just wanted to see if his ego wasn’t too hurt.”

at your brash synopsis; your ears grow hot when you realize shoko definitely doesn’t believe you — especially with the way she hunches over a fit of silent snickers.

“shut up.”

“ah, i won’t bully you,” her lips twist into a grin. “for now.”

“shoko!” you throw your head upwards while you fall back and ragdoll, your back hitting the solid dirt beneath you as you put your arms over your head, blocking the sun’s view from your eyes.

all you can feel is the ache in your stomach, even with your friend’s reversed cursed technique, you can still feel the knife that once pierced the flesh linger on. your lips twist until you hear the shuffling of weeds and dirt swipe next to you. you turn your head, lifting your arm only to see the brunette scooting closer. she pauses, “what?”

“you don’t wanna lay down with me?” you feign a pout as you look up at her on propped elbows, the corner of your lip quirking up when you see how unenthusiastic she looks with your antics.

“you can get bugs on you,” she chimes before leaning against the bark of the tree.

“it’s nature, sho.”

“some of it’s pretty gross. you ever see tortoises fuck?”

“you’re so weird,” you laugh before rolling on your back again and looking back up at the sky; eyes gazing at the sun until when you look away, you see faded, floating shapes in your trajectory. she snickers too, looking up at the sky, too.

she’s starting to get eye bags, you notice — the fold of skin forming under her eyes along with faint, darkened circles that sit right under her splayed bottom lashes. unable to blame her, you simply lay there and stare. your eyes still pick up on the way she fiddles with her thumbs placed in her lap, pale yet irritated hands a stark contrast to the darkness of her uniform.

“y’know if it’s me you want instead of gojo, you can say so,” she laughs, interrupting your analysis with how hard you were staring. but this time, you don’t say anything. nothing at all, not even a small twitch of your lips in annoyance or a giggle to her joke, you simply keep staring at me.

she barely tilts her head yet it’s enough for you to notice. she finally asks, “something you’re thinking about?”

the words sit heavy on your tongue, laced with a bitterness you could only describe as filth. “do you ever wonder what’ll happen when we’re older?”

“what do you mean?”

“look at what happened, now.”

her brows relax. “oh.”

shoko’s lips pout out a little bit as she looks off into the horizon, where the school lays dormant with only few staff occasionally walking out or a few students walking out to their drivers to participate in another assignment.

your hands feel hollow with the way they’re too weak to even ball your fists, so you swallow the pit that forms in the hollow crevice of your throat and look back up at the sky.

“we’ll be together forever, right, shoko?”

you hold out your pinky to her — and despite her scoff, she interlocks hers with yours anyways.

vii. words left unsaid, words always heard

“you think it’ll get any better?”

your turn your head to the velvet voice emerging from the shadows, tensing in your spot atop the dorm balcony as you slowly look behind you. long hair is seen first; thick, ebony silk cascading down suguru’s thin t-shirt. you can’t count how many days you’ve seen him wearing that familiar white oversized tee, you wonder if it’s become a second skin for him at this point.

you hum at his presence, turning back to the dark sky that lay before you. looking at the exterior of the school that lay in the courtyard, painted with darkness as only the soft glimmer of moonlight embraces them, embraces you.

“you act like everything will go to shit.”

“i’m not saying that,” his tone is sharp — no longer smooth as how it used to be, he sounds on edge, like the rubber band inside of his throat will snap at any moment.

you hear a few small steps shuffle closer to you whilst you turn around and lean your body forward, the metal of the railing cool against the sweat of your arms. another nightmare, geto notes; from the way your hair is still frazzled and your breaths come out heavy with few quick intervals of inhalation.

you could feel his presence beside you, the aura of tensity thickening the air as you struggled not to say anything. you could feel his eyes on you, observing you. suguru was always observant somehow — you wonder how long he had been that way before you had found out. he was a very interesting boy, you learned early on.

“i never said you did,” your lips twisted like something sour fell damp in your mouth. “you’ve just changed, suguru.”

“have you not changed also?”

closing your eyes, you hope for one more breeze to pass through — for one opportunity, for one sign that’ll release you from this energy. it doesn’t.

“suguru—”

“don’t you ever wonder how the world would be,” a pregnant pause wriggles its way into the two of you, “without curses?”

you look at him only to see violet eyes focused straight ahead of him. he doesn’t glance at you nor even breathe in your direction, his shoulders don’t seem as tense though.

you shake your head with a breathy laugh. “yeah, i guess so.”

you lean further to try and alleviate the pain in your stomach, a churning inside of your gut that gives you a bad feeling just at the thought of it. sharing a look, your heads turn toward each other in the moonlight — he looks paler, you notice. sickly.

“hasn’t everybody? or at least hasn’t every jujutsu user?” you mumble.

( you notice suguru pauses, an uncharacteristic habit that he’s slowly developed — once always so sure and witty with his remarks, now wilted with the uncertainness that’s plagued him. )

“why do we exist?” he finally says.

your eyes dart around, stomach finally squeezing at the discomfort you feel at his question; yet you laugh it off anyway.

“philosophical, are we?” you meager a forced grin, although it only falters slightly once you feel him sigh out a breathy laugh. “a human’s purpose on earth is undefined, i don’t really know the answ—“

“i mean as a jujutsu sorcerer: what is our purpose?”

“i don’t know where you’re going with this,” you finally say. suguru takes a step back and stops resting against the railing. you look down at the high drop, then back at the sky — you wouldn’t want to jump to conclusions, but you can’t help but look at him out of the corner of your peripheral.

( at your absence of an answer, he fills in the quietude for you. )

“we fight curses, right? to protect civilians?” he runs a hand through his dark hair, the sweaty strands connecting with the callouses that lie embedded his fingertips.

you swallow. “uh-huh.”

“but who’s saving us?”

your lips twist into a small pout as you try to comprehend the underlying meaning of his words, you wonder what sort of plan he’s dancing around — why he can’t share it with you. he always shared everything with you.

( your mind mainly focuses on that one blanket that he would always hog when he was over, fleece and blue with white polka dots; now faded and worn, and you’re pretty sure it has one hole in it from when satoru tried pulling it towards him at the foot of the bed. )

“curses are created from human negative energy, the shit that stirs within non-sorcerers that finally manifests itself,” he spits. you don’t move.

“i know what you saw out there. about r—”

you cut him off. the topic ends at the beat of your heart.

suguru calls your name softly, looking back at you with furrowed brows and an inquisitive look upon his face. he seems like he’s genuinely considering this, you think.

a pause ensues, and all you hear are the distant chirps of crickets that inhabit the area. suguru doesn’t, he only looks at you — his ears drowning out any other noises besides the soft breathing exerted from him. he doesn’t seem fazed, he’s thought about this for a while — regardless of your answer, even though he knows it’ll hurt him either way.

“satoru,” you mutter.

“what about him?”

“he doesn’t know?”

“the burden he carries is unlike no other, and i have a feeling we can change that.” he places a soft hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his hand spreading along your arm and only furthering your nausea. “i think you know that, too.”

you turn on your heel, feet similar to lead as it takes everything within you to turn away and head back past the glass, trying to make it back to your dorm before a deft hand catches your wrist. it’s bordering tight, but your head whips around to see him nonetheless.

“promise, right?” his other hand holds out his pinky — almost ironic in a way. you can feel your eyelids heating with the oncoming wave of tears threatening to spill. you can’t though, not now.

it takes a second or two but you apprehensively bring your hand to interlock pinkies, a childish but fond gesture the four of you had always done.

soon, he will have coffee and crepes in the street. he’ll breathe in bliss. empty his cup of its grief, for the new life he will lead — you think.

“promise.”

viii. satoru gojo - the strongest

satoru gojo often feels like he’s not as strong as he can be.

how silly is that?

goodness, to him, is adjacent to a rock flowing slowly through the rapids. he’ll float there first. although, he knows it’ll follow him — he can only hope he’ll meet you in the river, up to his knees, both hands full of something good, like silverfish wriggling for the waters.

a bright, childlike grin on his face as it meets your sheepish one, as if when he were to meet you as a child — being your friend would be worth more than being the heir of the gojo clan. his yukata dirtied and muddy from the cross contaminated water, soaked and dripping once the two of you would make it onto the small rocks. he would’ve been punished by the elders for the mess he had created, but he wonders if it would have made a difference.

he wonders, if you had been there, whether you would have made a difference.

he knows you’ve made one now.

and when he hears the news from yaga, he can’t help but clench his fists like his heart had clenched alongside it. his head pounds with blood thumping through his veins as yaga’s voice muffles.

he doesn’t remember much — he remembers being told about you and suguru, he remembers yelling, he remembers the hot tears that welled up in his lashes as he walked away. he remembers going back to your dorm room, opening your door, and feeling his gut drop at the sight of it.

satoru remembers the lingering scent of your body spray and how it engulfed your room. the small scratches satoru had carved into your desk with a pencil once he had tried tutoring you (it ended horribly and you didn’t get anything done, a smile threatens to tug at his lips at the memory).

the small notes you used to pass in class with shoko folded neatly in an organizer. he picks one up and squints at the shaky kanji of shoko’s handwriting bunched up on the page compared to the way your characters floated on the small ripped piece of paper.

‘did you do #14?’ he read shoko’s.

yours read, ‘yep’.

he could almost laugh at her last response — which read, ‘nerd.’

he wonders how you’re doing with suguru — satoru wants to believe you had no part in the massacre he had inflicted on the village but there’s no way to no for sure, all they can tell is that they found one was suguru’s buttons on the scene. his fingers run along your sheets, neat and made from the days before you had left — he feels his breathing quicken at the sight of your fluffed pillows.

(you knew you were leaving, and that part hurts the most.)

his eyes dance around the decorations of your room, littered with cheery figurines and souvenirs from past missions in shibuya or sapporo, ones you’d always have to march back into satoru’s room for because you knew he had taken at least one.

he had never told you that the only reason he did that wasn’t to be obnoxious, but so that he could pull you into his room and coax you to stay a little longer — how he’d promise you wouldn’t get into trouble with yaga if you just went out for a plate of takoyaki in the middle of the night.

when he had seen suguru in shinjuku that day, all he could think about was that he wanted to tell you — how he wanted to just see you, even if it was only a glimpse; even if you hadn’t said anything to him. he just wanted to see you.

words lingered in his brain, suguru’s request burned into his head. because he didn’t come to fight, he didn’t come with aggression. he only requested that he saw his side, too. a part of him was relieved you weren’t there with him, because he was always weak to you — it would’ve made it so much harder, he thinks.

has he always felt this way about you? feeling what way? what the fuck is he thinking? he doesn't even know.

there's a big, hot, white ball of something within him — something wiry inside of his gut that cuts and scrapes at every edge inside his intestines. satoru doesn’t know what it is but he’s never felt this way before.

but he’ll go outside, and he’ll see shoko or wave to his classmates. he’ll hear the whispers float around in the halls, overshadowing the faint sound of soft laughs he used to hear when he’d bump hips with you when you would take your daily rounds — to help with the dreams you had, you said.

satoru gojo didn’t get nightmares, he just woke up with once again another weight on his shoulders the next morning, groggy with the idea of obligations that would only pile up on him. and although satoru never dared to dream when he was asleep ( nor did he know how to dream when he was awake ), he would only pretend to so that he could roam around at night in search of you.

and when he’d find your figure, shaky breaths escaping your lungs with disheveled hair and tear stained eyes — so beautifully illuminated by the celestial pearl in the sky, the only beacon of light suspended in velvet darkness. you’d look up at the moon, perhaps with a prayer in mind, as you’d only think about what to do next.

like always, he’d sneak up behind you. only this time, he wouldn’t startle you with a playful call of your name or tap your shoulder and be on the other side to confuse you. he’d merely slip behind you in silence, leaning against the railing of the open-view gap that’d let you view the outside of the high school. he’d feel you glance at him with a wobbly bottom lip, swollen from the chewing you’d had to do just to silence your cries.

satoru wouldn’t say anything. but you knew why he was there.

(or at least, why you thought he was there.)

your head would drop low with eyes screwed shut, and only satoru could hear the quaky breath you’d take as you’d try to compose yourself. azure eyes would rake across your figure with a furrowed brow, he never understood why you were so emotional — yet he’d lay a comforting hand on your back anyway. you’d savor the warmth of his palm with only more tears building up in your lashes.

he’s strong. he has to be — whether it’s for you, for suguru, for jujutsu society; doesn’t matter. that’s neither here nor there. for now, satoru will nurse the thought of your memory until it bleeds and stains the very bed he dreams of you in — knowing he’ll awake the next morning and jolt at your absence. he’ll then wash his face, hold his head high, and walk right back outside. the hurts only scabs over for the day before he opens it up again the same night.

ix. migration

“you— what?”

“i’m going to the states.”

geto’s lips quirk into a soft pout, one you’ve gotten accustomed to for the past few years.

“how come?” he asks softly, albeit you almost frown at his tone. a sound that had come to be so comforting — it tingles at your bones in small zaps and shivers. it makes you feel terrible, but you can’t help but indulge in the feeling.

“always wanted to go,” you shrug. your eyes glance to the girls’ bedroom; the two twins suguru had found in that small village that had come to be but a large pile of ash and dismay. hand still warm from tucking the two of them in, it fills you with bitter sweetness.

his eyes linger on your face — you can tell he doesn’t believe you because he always has this tell, where his lips will shift to the side momentarily as he presses them together, almost in thought. you’re not sure you believe yourself, either.

staying in japan does nothing for you but weigh you down with the slow, imminent guilt that swells your chest from the fact that you’re stuck here. of course, it wasn’t an involuntary choice to go with suguru — you felt you had no other choice but to escape the things you had seen at the place that had hurt you most.

although, you can’t help but think about the boy who’s hair lights up the room, who’s eyes can see right through you — it’s almost unsettling how much you remember the flecks of blue and detail within them, practically painting the sky in those colored irises. often times, you’ll lie awake at night; hands folded neatly over your chest as the external stimulus of the outside world provide you with a sense of security, realness.

the expensive eau de cologne of his lingers in your nose, the almost spice of the musk permanently altering your brain that’s only triggered when you walk past advertisers outside of the store trying to sell a similar scent.

you swear your eyes don’t water, even though no one’s presence is there but yours — so there’s really nothing to swear about. you just don’t want to seem like something you’re so foreign to; vulnerability. letting the tears flow down the curve of your cheekbones. you don’t wipe your eyes for it’s the only reminder you have left that that boy exists.

so the next morning, you’ll wake up. slumped over from the thing that eats at your bones, your cursed energy being the only thing you can feel running through you.

fingertips coated with the smallest bit of dust, the leather cover of the suitcase is practically unused save for the few times you’d use it when you’d be sent to the outskirts of japan for certain missions. you almost smile at the faint memories that cloud your brain around that time; shoko’s quiet laughs while utahime and you would whine at small inconveniences on the trip. stopping by certain food stalls that weren’t available in tokyo, trying new things — it makes you miss it.

but you know you can’t go back now.

you pretend not to notice the watery eyes of nanako and mimiko once they see you walking out of the door, nor do you notice suguru watching you walk out the door all the same; the robes clinging onto his figure disfiguring him into a man you no longer knew.

the soft smile that once lied on his young face now replaced by one of feigned amicability; like a customer service smile. you’ve known him over a decade and yet it seems like the two of you’ve only been roommate faintly acquainted with each other. it makes your heart thump a little harder.

you pretend not to feel the way your throat closes up as a single tear courses down your skin; leaving a residue that coats the linear path trickling down your cheek — this time, you wipe your eyes.

x. (not so) divine intervention

tongue sticking heavy in your mouth, any form of noise that you could’ve possibly made dying on your throat. your hands feel a surge of pressure through them, fingers twitching along as the gears in your head turn.

you look different, he takes note of. your hairs parted a little different, a few inches of extra length added on as well. a smile tugs at his lips; one full of mirth and almost jocularity. you look so clean, healthy — strong. there’s potential, he realizes, as he searches suguru’s memory bank of you; your face making a constant reoccurrence throughout his mind. the day you left, you cooking for the girls next to him, you lying next to him, your tears that night.

his half-smile only grows wider.

he cocks a brow before he holds his hand up in salutations. he says your name, but it’s not how he would usually say it. it’s almost raspier, lower. your lips press together as you examine him, your eyes keep flitting back up to his head — intricate stitches wrapping around the width of his forehead.

“hey,” geto looks you up and down. “shrimp.”

tilting your head up, you roll your eyes at the nickname before continuing to walk forward. you don’t know what you expected because he follows you anyway, hands clasped together under the warmth of the sleeves of his robes.

his soft footsteps easily match your quick ones, stern and at least trying to flee. you don’t wanna look at him, whether that’s because you know you’ll crumble or because you’re so upset, you don’t know. all you know is that you can’t look at him now. even when he observes the bustling streets of and makes passing comments about the citizens of tokyo.

“i wasn’t sure that you had gotten back — how come you didn’t find me?” he asks, and you know it’s only because he’s fishing.

you spare him a glance out of your peripheral. you frown softly, it doesn’t even look like suguru anymore. paler skin, thinner cheekbones, lips now a lighter shade of pink with small cracks lining them. an angry, irritated color begins to form around his forehead where the stitches lay, the thread sunken so deep in his skin that it makes your own head hurt at the probable tightness.

you quietly exhale, but you know he can hear the shaky breath that comes along with it. “didn’t know if you were busy.”

“you know i can always manage some time for you,” he smiles bittersweetly. tilting his head up, he looks up at the tall buildings that surround you, admiring the straying leaves falling from the trees. one floats down and makes its way onto your head — your eye twitches as he plucks its off your hair before holding it up to his view.

you take your time to look at it, too. it’s starting to brown with the oncoming seasonal change, an amorphous combination of a golden crisp and veranda green.

“i’ve been meaning to ask your help with something,” he doesn’t look at you, still trained on the leaf. “only if you’re ready to be my partner in crime, again." he smiles at you, one that seems more like suguru. it’s confident and teasing, and with the way he leans a little more forward brings you memories of his old demeanor back in high school, the way him and—

you pause, because for a moment, you swear you could’ve seen a glimpse of white hair behind him. it’s almost concerning how quickly your blood runs cold at the thought. it’s not out of dissent nor is it out of a manifest of obscureness to which you’ve rendered him to.

but once you hear geto speak of his name — it’s like you crumble all over again. your hands going soft and clammy, your chest surging with an almost sort of giddiness at the thought of him again. just like a wishful coin in a pond, it’s beautiful to know that there are still glimmers of this feeling. even this deep in.

“suguru?” you tilt your head back, meeting his relaxed gaze as he halts his movements.

“hm?”

“what are those?” you gesture to your own forehead, keeping your eyes locked on your head as you talk about the stitches on his own. you don’t get a reply.

after that, you don’t pay attention half-way through his explanation, stopping him again with a closer step forward as he talks about some sort of plan. really, the only thing you listen to is the small glimpses you hear of satoru’s name. he talks about something going on in shibuya, he talks about jujutsu high — and you would be lying if you said that the mention of the school didn’t make you a little sad.

you wonder what satoru’s doing, you wonder what shoko’s doing. hopefully, you’ll see them soon — even if it’s just in passing. you know nothing will be the same as it was before, but you can help but wonder what they’re doing now.

you won’t know her now — but as she puffs the remaining tobacco through the small opening of her swollen lips, shoko shakes her head and looks down at her pinky. she wonders if that promise had gone down the drain like you had. she swears she can feel the corners of her eyes dampen a little.

and you won’t know it either — but satoru can’t help but see you everywhere he looks. when he sees the first years walking back home from the mission, he trails behind them just to get the view of them lined up together; yuuji bumping hips with megumi while all he gets is a glare in return. nobara looks up on the sky and drags her feet out of boredom, spewing off mindless bits of chitchat about how she totally ‘did that’.

his neck will crane up to the horizon as his lips only recite your nothings. all he is sees is sunset, yet he’s scarred with the melancholy he carries. he’ll try to close his eyes, your hands coming up to his collarbones before you press down. until he’s bruised with incompetence; until his shame has configured the astronomical.

and satoru will smile, a slew of memories seeping back into the curves of his brain as he thinks back to those times of you — of suguru, shoko, nanami. he never stopped hurting that day, but he can’t help but smile at the sight of something begun anew.

oh well, satoru thinks — he can only wonder to what you’re doing now. something inside him hopes for a day where he’ll see you soon. he’ll wait for the day where he’ll see you soon.

𐙚 holy shit i did it

𐙚 comment to join taglist ; @kasumitenbaz @sad-darksoul @seternic @kalulakunundrum @2ukika @sugimvra

𐙚 requests are open — november thirteenth, 2024

[kurokawaia]

❛ Jealousy ❜

Jiang Cheng X Fem!Reader

WC;3.4 k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW; afab reader, she her pronouns, jealous feelings, NSFW, smut, PIV, PWP, rough sex, begging, breeding, praise, implied manhandling, possessiveness, implied size kink, reader is depicted to be shorter that him + probably more i cant think of

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯:: (filled request) Hii! I read your fic with LWJ and oh my gosh I fell in love and cant wait for part 2 🤩I have some idea and I'd like to ask you very very nicely if you could write a fic with jiang cheng (fluff to smut if it's okay) when wwx returns and he finds out that JC is married and maybe reader is busy answering all the questions that wwx has and JC gets jealous? 🤭Thank you in advance and take care! <333 - ANON

m.list | mo dao zu shi m.list

You stood at Lotus Pier's busiest entrance, awaiting Jiang Cheng's return, the autumn breeze playing with your hair. News had reached you: the one who was famous for his cruelty, Wei Wuxian, had reappeared. And you couldn't help but feel bubbles of anxiety rising up in your chest. You've never seen Wei Wuixian before but knew he was Jiang Change brother.

When Jiang Cheng finally arrived, he had a guarded expression, his eyes darting around the crowd. His gaze landed on you, and immediate relief crossed his face before it settled back into its usual stoic mask.

"Jiang Cheng," you called softly, stepping forward. "Glad to see you back."

He grunted in acknowledgement, attention captured just a moment by the reappearance of Wei Wuxian from the crowd, as brash and bright as ever.

"Jiang Cheng!" Wei Wuxian exclaimed, his loud voice attracting the attention of everyone else in the courtyard. "It's been so long!"

There was a tense muscle in Jiang Cheng's jaw, but he returned the brief greeting. You watched as Wei Wuxian immediately peppered Jiang Cheng with questions, asking him everything that had happened over the years. You knew Jiang Cheng's temper did not hold much patience for Wei Wuxian's antics.

"You must have so much to tell," you cut in, diverting Wei Wuxian's focus from Jiang Cheng. "Why don't we sit down and catch up?"

You pulled Wei Wuxian out, leaving Jiang Cheng by himself, his expression inscrutable, but you sensed that he was irritated. All the time as you answered Wei Wuxian's questions on you, and in particular on how you and Jiang Cheng are married, that it is of very recent development, you could not resist peeking at Jiang Cheng.

Even his face was tense, with crossed arms, as he just stood watching the two of you. Occasionally, his gaze would flicker to you, and his features would tighten subtly.

Hours passed with stories and laughter until finally, Wei Wuxian seemed to run out of questions. "I should let you get back to your duties," he said, grinning as he gave you a playful nudge. "But we'll catch up again soon, right?"

"Definitely," you assured him and watched him walk back through the crowded streets back to Jiang Cheng. As one or two more words were exchanged between the two, a feeling arose within you that something must have changed that profound relationship between you and Jiang Cheng.

The courtyard had emptied now, and Lotus Pier was settling into its nighttime calm, when Jiang Cheng found you standing at the edge of the water, looking out over the moonlit surface.

"It really seemed like you were enjoying your catching up," he said, his voice betraying evident jealousy.

"He had many questions," you said carefully, turning toward him. "I only wanted to make sure he felt welcomed."

Jiang Cheng's face slightly darkened. "You were busy," he grumbled back, his voice a shade sharper than usual.

"I'm sorry if I neglected you," you said softly, drawing closer. "But you know Wei Wuxian—once he starts talking."

"He never stops," Jiang Cheng finished, his face twitching slightly with annoyance. "It's like nothing's changed."

You hesitated, trying to find the right words. "Things have changed, Jiang Cheng," you said at last, meeting his gaze. "We've changed."

His face averted, jaw clenched. "Have we?"

You reached out to touch his arm. "Yes," you persisted, pressing on with a firm tone. "We have come a very long way since those days."

He didn't answer right away, but when he turned back to you, the tension did seem to relax a bit in his face. "I know," he agreed in a low voice. "It's just that."

"Just what?" you pressed on softly.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Seeing him again, it brings back memories," he finally admitted, almost whispering. "And seeing you with him."

You squeezed his arm reassuringly. "You don't need to be jealous, Jiang Cheng," he said softly. "Wei Wuxian and I share a history, but you and I share something different."

"It doesn't matter," he replied, reaching out his hand to squeeze my plump cheeks. "You are my wife." He put an emphasis on the 'My'. Very sacredly and respectfully, you murmured, moving in closer to his touch, the warmth of his hand on your cheek. "And you are my husband."

He looks at you again with an expression that softens to relief tinged with possessiveness. "I don't want to lose you," he tells you with the whisper of fear folded into his voice.

"You won't," you reassured him, reaching up to place your hand over his. "Wei Wuxian may have returned, but my heart belongs to you."

His eyes locked onto yours for a really long time while the moonlight gleamed off his. "Promise me," he whispered, and his thumb stroked your cheek lightly. "Promise me you'll be standing with me here forever."

"I promise," you whispered back. "I'll be here always, Cheng."

"You're mine, Y/n," Jiang Cheng huffed before he yanked your face toward his and press his lips roughly against your own, staring for a second before you closed your eyes,.

His tongue slid inside your warm cavern, tangling with your tongue and causing a gasp to slip from your mouth against his. The noise was muffled by Jiang Cheng's mouth, and your hands shakily placed themselves on his chest, still in shock from the surprising action he did, in public, no less.

He wasn't usually this forward, but you weren't protesting, you loved the feeling that you received when Jian Cheng kissed you.

Jiang Cheng's hand resting on the centre of your back trailed down, slipping around to your chest, where it was about to untie the sash that held your hanfu together. You pulled away hastily, a pout on your lips as Jiang Cheng looked down at you confused.

"What?" he scoffed.

"Not outside," you mumbled, head falling to his shoulder and he sighed, realizing.

He only wanted you to the extent of proving to everyone that you were his and his alone.

So that Wei Wuxian would finally leave you alone.

A gasp left you at the lips when Jiang Cheng picked you up, seamlessly making your figure appear minute in contrast to his own as he carried you to your shared room and placed you with slight haste onto the bed.

Jiang Cheng undresses his robes, revealing a body—bared, yet meant only for your eyes. You watch the muscles on his back ripple slightly as he unties the knot in his hair, black stands falling down his back before he makes his way over to you.

Straddling your hips, he began slowly undoing the sashes and ties to your hanfu. You let out a sigh at the pace that your lover was going at. Small hands hold the wrists of Jiang Chengs and he quirks a brow.

"Cheng, p-please," you breath out, face flushed and embarrassed. ".please b-be faster."

"Alright," Jiang Cheng hummed, untying your Hanfu at a faster rate.

He made room on top of you, tousling tongues again as he slipped your socked panties down your smooth legs. Jiang Cheng's long, thin fingers slide down your slicked folds and burrow past them, a mewl eliciting from your mouth.

Your arms tighten around his back and neck as his fingers press against your throbbing clit, and you are washed with pleasure, breathless and craving more. A moan leaves your parted lips as your back arches into his touch.

Your eyes were screwed shut, but Cheng studied every minuscule movement and reaction your body made as his fingers toyed with your puffy clit, getting slicked by your arousal. Your legs squeeze around his hips, moans stringing out your mouth before you felt his digits slid to your seeping hole.

In less than an instant, the two fingers slipped inside your gummy soaked walls, causing your eyes to snap open. "Feel good?" Jiang Cheng questioned. You could only nod frantically.

"So good," you whimpered as he slowly pumped in and out your spongy walls. "I–It feels so good, Cheng."

"Yeah? And who's making you feel this good?" He asked, and you moaned as he inserted another finger into your walls.

"Y - You're makin' me feel s' good, Jiang Cheng," you whimper. "So good

It's too intense, the perfect combination of pleasure and pressure that you can't contain from being blasted by your voice and into his shoulder. You press your lips to his shoulder, muffling the sounds that come out from the depths of you. His fingers plunged into you, and the heat moved throughout your system, tormenting every thought within you. Each little movement, each curve, sent electric shocks of pleasure radiating through your body.

Jiang Cheng's fingers are slick as you surrender to the intoxicating rhythm of his touches. The combination between the fingertips of a master and the strength of the connection has you pressed ever closer to the edge, teetering on the precipice of release. Time stood still, a second of pure bliss, as you are consumed by wonderful pleasure coursing through your system.

His fingers did not stop their rhythm and went on pumping in and out of your getting-leak hole. There was a foreign tension developing inside your lower stomach; the pleasure tightened inside your stomach.

You shakily wrap your legs around his, your body quivering in anticipation of each and every one of his moves, responding to his every touch. Chant's of his name were leaving your mouth, voice filled with desire and need while comfort words left his mouth to stabilize you.

Tears welled in your eyes wanting to desperately release the coil that was growing in your stomach.

"Cheng, please," you sob out, wanting that euphoric tension to empty into your body.

But he complies, pressing the pad of his thumb into your clit with a soft groan, yet another layer of pleasure to stack onto what already was. It's pure electricity. You let my back arch in response. "Beg for it," Jiang Cheng hummed against your skin.

"Please, Cheng," I sob. "I need to. So good. Making me feel so good."

"More," he said, teeth digging into my neck, my head thrown back against the pillow.

"Please, please, please," you whimper. "I need it, Cheng," you mewl. "Please, I need it," you mumbled out and Jiang Cheng lifts his head from your neck, admiring the trails of splotches of red.

Jiang Cheng cupped your chin with his free hand, angling your face toward him with eyes staring intently into your own. "Louder," he hummed, leaning in, wanting to hear the words simply spill from those plumped, pretty lips.

Your eyes screw shut as you continued on, desperate for the release you so desperately needed. "Please, please."

"Look at me when you beg for me," he barked, his eyes working, trying to see you fall apart underneath him.

Your his, no one elses.

Eyes snapped open at his command, wanting to release badly. "I want it, please, Cheng, I want you so bad, only you, please," you whimper and you saw his eyes flicker in approval causing a swell of happiness to surge through your body.

"That's it," he reassured, allowing you to release, intertwining your mouths together, his mouth swallowing the moans that slipped out your mouth.

The pleasure rises, the tension building with every second that passes until you teeter on the edge of release. It's a pure moment of surrender, where the pleasure is supreme and you are overtaken by the overwhelming ecstasy that floods over you.

Waves of ecstasy hit you, leaving your legs trembling and weak, unable to stand even for the greatest sensation. He slips his fingers from your drenched hole, and you continue trembling from the aftertaste of the orgasm.

A mewl leaves your mouth at the sensation of his fingers leaving your soaked cunt. Jiang Cheng pressed his lips against yours, not as rough as before but still with the same impression, and you moan into the kiss.

"I wan' more," you whimper out through his tongue entangled with yours.

"Yeah?" Jiang Cheng hums against your lips and you nod.

"God, I need you, so bad," you add. "Cheng, please, can't leave me like this."

Jiang Cheng filled you around, your stomach pressed against the bed while his abs were flush against your back. His hands moved to grip behind your small ones, rendering your ability to squirm out of Jiang Cheng's hold.

Jiang Cheng's breath sent shivers down your ear, and you wiggled your head at the warm sensation. Now, your core was getting wetter; your body was trying to squirm away from the imposing hold he had on you.

Jiang Cheng slid his hands in this subtle push-and-pull motion, changing his hold so one of his hands can grip both of yours above your head and careful not to get your hair caught in-between the movements. You let out a content sigh as Cheng rose his body just a little, trailing his free hand down the expanse of your smooth back before his fingers meet your slick entrance.

"Sodden," he murmurs against your ear, and then takes a bite of the collagen, and you gasp at the unexpected move.

Then, you felt a heavy, pulsing head press against your clit, and you moaned from the contact. You tried to squirm away from the cause of pleasure, only to be unable to do so, for Jiang Cheng knew your body better than you did yourself—he knew you were going to try to run from his body due to the pleasure. So, he pressed his weight on you once more.

You held your breath as Jiang Cheng sank his flesh into your spongey walls, the ridges squeezing his length with every thrust into your soaked cunt. A moan left both of your mouths as Jiang Cheng's length nudged the deepest spot within you.

"'Look how you take me in,' he grunts. 'Such a good little slut.' You sigh in pleasure at degrading praise—the way he knew you enjoyed being worshiped in an abasement. He savored his words, words that hit so deep, and in a way, he never wanted to call you anything else.".

But he didn't move, he wanted to savor how you wanted to cause friction, desired to move against his touch, but couldn't. Jiang Cheng's cock prodded so deep in your gummy walls that you whimpered in pleasure, but that didn't stop him from not moving. He was still snug inside.

Those hot, tender kisses made their way from your ear down to that dip of your neck to your shoulder right as, with an exhale that breathlessly kills you, Jiang Cheng rolled his hips into yours. A moan slipped out from your mouth, his thick length scraping over all the sensitive spots of your heated insides.

Jiang Cheng splay your legs apart with his knees, so any inclinations from you are ensured to be suppressed with his efforts to keep you still. Underneath him, your beautiful body paled in comparison to his colossal frame. He hoped that you would not budge from his ensnared arms. And true enough, he had his way.

He speeded up further in his own movements, his cock thrusting deep in my needy hole, strained moans and whining leaving your throat. Jiang Cheng could be heard panting in your ear, letting out the occasional deep groan with the sounds that made your cunt flutter tightly around his length.

Jiang Cheng was filling you up to the hilt, his throbbing pink tip knocking against that soft, gummy spot inside my cunt, and I felt I could fly over the edge, scream out in fulfilment. "Found it," he breathed into you, making you let out a moaned sigh, shaking against him with the pleasure. "Found it, hm?" Jiang Cheng smirks. "Am I making you feel so good, huh?"

Your body tried to arch away from the pleasure, not being able to take the strong rolls of his hips, but as you arched back away, his thrusts only aimed deeper, harder into your G spot. "Y-yeah," you sobbed out, tears filling your lash line. "B-but. Too much. Slow down, too much."

His hips picking up in pace now, loving how your cunt squeezed his cock even though you wanted him to slow down, how contradicting he thought your words were, you were denying your body the release that you so desperately needed. "Your taking me so well though," Jiang Cheng added. "You can take it, your so close."

Repetitive moans left your mouth while he pounded into your tight heat. You had the sudden instinct to press yourself into his length, but you couldn't; his weight was too heavy for you to move against him. You were utterly hopeless as his thrusts became faster.

"I—I wanna come," you cry out mewling. "So big, you feel so big, Jiang Cheng."

Your body trembled beneath him and the hold he had on your hands loosened, your hips getting held, then, the strength he possessed lifting you onto your knees before a bicep wrapped around your throat, lifting your head. It wasn't a tight grip but the power lifted your head from the futon while you shakily rested your weight on your elbows.

Your back arched heavily, finally being able to sink more into him. Jiang Cheng hunched over you, pulling you closer to him and connected your mouth in a sloppy, wet kiss, forcing his tongue inside your mouth, grunting into you while he swallowed your moans. "Taking me so deep, making me feel so good, making you feel so good, aren't I?" Jiang Cheng moaned, drawing back from your mouth and pushing the arch into your back deeper.

He watched your ass ripple again against his lower abdomen, watching your pussy with grey eyes'. Watching how your walks sucked him in, leaving a creamy white rind of arousal around the base of his cock. "Making you feel so good, aren't I?" Jiang Cheng groaned with his head tilted forward, sweat beading on his forehead as he watched you fall apart and tremble from his dick, with broken moans slipping past your plump lips.

A satisfied smirk came onto Jiang Cheng's face as he watched those tears that welled in your fluffy lash line spill down your smooth cheeks. "Look how good you are taking me," groaned Jiang Cheng. "So good. Love you so much."

"'Wanna come, please," you beg, wanting to feel the release, desperate as the tears stream down your flushed cheeks. "Want it so bad. 'M love you too!"

You clench around his length as he picks up his pace. Instantly accommodating the speed, your moans escalate. Chasing with a deep moan, he mumbled in my ear while he leaned down, and my insides stirred, clenching around his length. "How much you need me?" rasps Jiang Cheng in your ear.

"Want you bad!" you whimper, being unable to grasp any thoughts that swelled into your head. "You make me feel so good!"

"Say it again, wanna hear it," Jiang Cheng grunts his teeth grinding together.

You moan out, your body trembling. "You make me feel so good, Cheng, want you so much," you hiccup out as the coil in your stomach tightened while his heavy balls slapped against your swollen clit.

"Nnggh, that's it," Jiang Cheng groans back, not allowing you to say anything towards the end, wantonly ready to fill your cunt up with his seed. 

"Please, Cheng, I wanna come," you moan.  "Want you to make me come."

"That's it," he groaned, and you spasmed around his length, as your high washed over you, your legs shaking, as his weight pressed down even more than it already was. He didn't slow his thrusts—a fact rather evident, as I let out whimper after whimper of overstimulation—but Jiang Cheng continued to help it, his hips rutting into mine, helping me ride out my orgasm as he chased his own.

With a groan he was back, lips planted against mine once again as his hips slammed into mine, hard, cumming, spilling inside me which caused me to moan into his kiss. Jiang Cheng slipped his softening length out, and pulled away from the kiss as you slumped to the futon, his eyes chained to the white splotches of silky come that spilled from your gaping cunt before fingering the liquid back into your cunt.

The grip of Jiang Cheng's hands on your hips tightened a bit as he gracefully rolled you to lie on your back and pulled back far enough so you could see the intensity in his eyes as he dipped down, taking your lips in a chaste but at the same time almost possessive kiss. The world faded away. There was just you two in that shared moment of intimacy.

And when the kiss finally ended, his forehead rested against yours. "You are mine," he murmured with voice filled with affection. "Mine and nobody else's."

Your heart swelled with the words he uttered, causing a warmth in your chest as you nodded. "Yes, Jiang Cheng," you replied softly, your voice tender and kind. "I'm yours and yours only."

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