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tremendouscreationperson · 7 months ago

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Logan x Reader pt.4

So some of y'all are gonna not like this part but it's necessary 🤌🏻 hope it's okay I wrote it whilst bleaching/dying my hair 🤣🤣

I have also put some very rough sketches of the X-Men I did on holiday so you can get the vibes on the super suit/costume

<< Part 3 Part 5 >> Masterlist

He was gone, you waited for a moment just in case, but no, he was gone. It was okay, you'd had more time with him than you'd thought possible. The hours were a blessing.

“He isn't going to come back.” Cassandra spoke to your right. “You missed your chance.” She matched over to Pyro and slapped him awake.

You shook your head, she was right. Why were you just staring into space? You had to get a move on.

Quickly picking up Laura's discarded backpack - now full to the brim with Deadpool comics - you moved past them. Better to leave when she's distracted, if you hung on any longer she might remember you all came here to bargain with/kill her.

You looked down from the socket, drained. Using your powers was mentally taxing and, without the help of adrenaline, you didn't know if you could even make yourself a disc to descend. Instead you skidded downwards, holding the skull to climb and landed on your feet. The texture was like bricks. Was that really how a skull felt?

You swivelled to see your family. Laura sprinted as soon as her eyes landed on you, crushing you in a hug. “You stayed.”

“Of course I did.” Your arms held her tighter. “I’d have missed you all too much.”

She pulled back from the hug only to gaze into your eyes with her own glassy ones. “We couldn't see who jumped, did they make it? I thought you'd been eaten.”

“No, I'm here.” You assured her with a teary smile. "They did make it. They're gone."

She quickly burrowed back into your neck as you noticed El make her way towards you both and joined the hug. “That was intense.”

Gambit was next picking you all up as he squeezed tight. “Le’s never do tha’ again.”

Blade had hung back but Laura extended her hand to him and gestured until he held it. He wasn't one for ‘lovey dovey’ displays but he did love you all. He never thought it possible, not after he landed in the Void, but here he was. Clutching Laura's hand and thanking any deity that would listen.

“We better go.” Blade instructed. “Let's see if they got any wheels we can borrow.”

They did in fact have some wheels you could borrow. The five of you all sat in a beaten down Ghost Rider vehicle. It was an old fashioned Chevy and the boot space was perfect for the looted goods you all scrambled to swipe under Cassandra’s nose.

The drive back was strange. Obviously you were no longer in the boot with Logan but even if he was here you'd thought it was odd. You all survived.

There were no casualties.

Not that you were complaining, gosh no, but you were feeling a sense of unease. As though it had all been too easy.

Laura sat between you and Gambit, holding one hand from each of you as she dozed. Blade was driving and El sharpened her sais.

This was so ordinary. Well, your version of ordinary. But seeing actual civilization had thrown you. Because no this wasn't ordinary. This was fucking batshit.

You took a breath and tried to calm the fuck down because yes this was crazy and it wasn't what life should be but it was what it was.

You had to make peace with it.

You'd let Logan and Wade leap into a real life.

If they came back good. If they didn't… well, you were fine with it.

A week later, once word had gotten out that Cassandra Nova had left, the Void seemed calmer. There were less riots - still a large amount - and people seemed to go it alone more. There wasn't the threat of ‘join or die’ so people made peace with scavenging and surviving.

Your group had still tried to help if people needed it but you mostly stayed out of sight. Without a ‘big bad’ to fight there was no longer an ultimate goal which was good but at the same time it made life boring.

You were playing a game of Uno, having found it in a rotting classroom, when an orange rectangle opened behind you. The others were quick to draw their weapons and you craned your neck to see a woman step out.

She had an air of authority with a kind face.

“Y/N L/N, Laura Kinney, Remy Lebeau, Eric Brooks, Elektra Natchios, I am B-15.” She informed you with a pleasant smile. The fact that her name was a letter and a number wasn't lost on you but you were still reeling over the fact that you're fairly sure Blade was called Eric. “I oversee the TVA and we are here on business.”

“TVA?” Gambit raised an eyebrow, lowering his powered up deck.

“The Time Variant Authority. We are the overseers of timelines. Our job is to watch them, nurture them, keep them safe.”

Elektra straightened but didn't hide her weapons. “If you 'oversee our timelines', why are we here?” Her tone was accusatory.

B-15 looked a little embarrassed. “One of our managers, Paradox, had accelerated the time frame on your dying timelines. He is the reason you are here. I am sorry for that but I am here to make amends, we have been in discussions with Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett about your recovery.”

Well, fuck me, he was coming back. You'd practically lost hope after the third day.

“Dying timelines?” Elektra's eyes flickered to Gambit. She knew he didn't remember a time before being here like the rest of you did.

“Timelines, like many organic things do, decay and die. Sometimes it is natural, sometimes it is fabricated and sometimes their 'Anchor Being' dies and they slowly rot.”

“But our timelines, our universes, are dead?” Blade questioned.

“Yes. But we can house you in another. We need to go through the proper paperwork and screenings but I do believe you can all be happy there.”

“People we knew-” You started. “Our friends- I've seen multiple versions of the same person. Our friends won't know us?”

“I can safely say in this universe there is no version of each of you. You would be entering as yourself and, yes, you will have to create friendships and relationships again but I'm sure each of you is up to the task.”

The feeling that this was too good to be true crept up your spine again. “What's the catch?”

“There isn't a catch.” She clasped her hands. “You don't have to come, it's an offer but I won't ask twice.”

The room that had previously been full of laughter and frustrated yelling was now dead silent, each of you considering her words.

“Do you want to go?” You asked Laura.

Her face betrayed no emotions. “I will if you want to.”

“It might be very different then this, then what you grew up with. You might not like it.” You didn't want to steer her any way but you wanted her to be sure.

“As long as we're together.” Her eyes flashed around the table.

El nodded. “I'm game.”

“Are there blood suckers in that world?” Blade asked B-15.

“There are Vampires, yes. There are also a few Lycans.”

That baffled you. No fucking way was there Vampires. “Then I'm ready to kick some Vamp ass.”

“I dunno.” Gambit shook his head. “I feel like I wa’ born ‘ere. Wha’ if there no room for me there?”

“Of course there's room.” El placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don't stay here, this place is horrid.”

He gave an uneasy look but did eventually nod.

“Right.” B-15 smiled. “Let's go.”

She gave you five minutes to collect your things and meet her at the rectangle. It was a little sad to realise five years worth of memories could be boiled down to a water bottle, Uno cards, a few knives, some art you and the girls created and your photo of you and your husband.

There was no point taking your clothes, they were tattered and stained, you weren't even sure the super suit you currently had on was clean enough for the 'new universe'.

B-15 walked through the portal when you all agreed it was time and Blade followed. Laura and you were next and finally El led Gambit.

You were struck by nostalgia. Walking through from a hot country to an airconned airport slapped you in the face. Memories of your honeymoon dancing across your mind. Was this wrong?

Was being with him insulting his memory?

You scanned the room. It was a tacky beige corridor with a set of brown doors, each door had a friendly face waiting with a clipboard.

“Right, so this is the boring part.” B-15 tried to joke. “I will need you all to partner up and answer some questions.”

“Wait’re minute.” Gambit ceased Elektra’s movements. “Wha’ if they kill us?”

“We won't kill you.” B-15 made a face.

“You are separating us.” El folded her arms.

B-15 sighed and plastered the professional smile back on. “If we wanted you dead we would've left you in the Void. This is part of the process, unfortunately it involves asking a lot of questions and to save time we thought to free up some extra agents, who are all very busy, mind you.”

Laura was the first to move, she gave a curt nod, pulled her backpack tighter against her spine and strode right to the end of the corridor. The lady she met was small and unassuming but she greeted Laura with a friendly hello.

You were next, always following after her, and found yourself beside a man. He was tall and waved awkwardly.

The man led you into what was clearly an interrogation room. There was a definitely double sided mirror on the wall reflecting the dark oak table and chairs that sat directly in the centre.

“Right,” the man said, taking a seat. “I am here to fill you in on this universe and fill out this questionnaire to determine whether or not you are fit to join it.”

You eyed his clipboard. “How long will this take?”

“Time works differently in the TVA.” He shrugged and began the explanation, which felt as though it lasted three whole days.

This universe was much the same as yours except the X-Men hadn't picked you up. There was a Jean and a Charles and a Rogue, etc however their version of Logan died which was beginning to kill off the timeline. Paradox had offered Wade the opportunity to hop over and he learnt the truth causing everything that had happened to happen. In order to secure all five of your places the TVA had to create some ‘micro-adjustments’ to certain parts of this universe. This was completely new territory so it did take some time to set up events and try to create anchor spots.

The X-Men were formed however they were now operational in the year 2024 and they worked side by side with the Avengers. There were many names and many dates and many places that Y-23 told you and you could barely catch up.

“So there's Avengers and Guardians and X-Men and there's still villains? Isn't it overkill?” You finished your lemonade, placing the plastic cup on the table by your messy notepad. You'd created a mini conspiracy board, trying to piece together all the information he was throwing at you.

“There are more heroes than you could ever imagine but that just brings the threat of violence higher.” He shrugged.

“And B-15 said that there were Vampires and Lycans.”

“In a world full of Mutants are you really surprised?”

“But a mutation is different from a species of Vampire, no?”

Y-23 thought about it but shook his head. “No it isn't. It's simple evolution.”

This was starting to feel like a Charles Xavier lecture.

“This universe isn't a part of what was once called the Sacred Timeline, this is a wild, thriving, new and exciting thing. This has never been done before.” He tried to reassure you.

"Meaning it's an experiment.” You muttered. “I'm game for it, I'm just scared.”

“Well, you have answered all of my questions swimmingly.” He gave you two thumbs up.

“You haven't asked any questions.”

“The questions are more for me than for you.”

This was starting to feel like a really bad idea. “I'm confused.”

“Don't be, the next step is wardrobe. Can't have you going to a new universe in…" He looked you up and down. "..that.”

You stepped out of the tailors with a spring in your step. They had provided actual clothes but being in a brand new suit was bliss. They'd even provided weapons! The suit was beautiful. It was mainly purple, with a purple ‘x’ on your chest on top of black fabric. The black fabric was angular, causing a triangle shape underneath the ‘x’ and then carrying on down from your armpits to your ankles. The purple was on the front and the back connecting from your chest via the ‘x’ to your shoulders. Your spine had a delicately placed holster for two knives.

This was quite possibly the most powerful you had felt, despite being unable to actually conjure your forcefields. Y-23 had told you there was no magic in the TVA and that got you both into a large debate on whether or not you had magic. You were a mutant, you weren't magic! Gambit toed the line between mutant and magic better than anyone so you wondered how he was doing.

El and Blade were in the main room you were being led to. The room consisted of more brown furniture - desks and chairs - but had many old-school TVs on the far wall. Each screen held either a series of lines or a person. You were quick to zero in on Iron-Man, his iconic suit was blasting at several enemies. He was one of the biggest heroes in your world and the most recognised. You literally couldn't imagine Tony in another suit, another mask. He wouldn't look right even in a different colour, say green for example.

“That's Punisher.” El pointed to a gruff man, with a dusty white skull on his chest. He was mean looking but you had the feeling he was probably good as gold when needed.

“Whistler.” Blade nodded to another gruff man. He was older and definitely played by his own rules.

You watched the row of moving heroes. “So we have to just drop in and say hi, we know you in another universe?”

“H-1 told me I would say what I wanted.” El gave you a confused shrug. “that doesn't exactly clarify anything, what if I tell Matt and Frank and they don't- what if that means they don't want anything to do with me?”

“Precisely.” Blade agreed as Gambit walked into the room. “I will need Whistler's help. I can't fuck that up.”

“A’least I can' destroy wha’ weren't there.” Gambit smugly grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We all look ‘mazing by’t’way.”

Yes. You all did. Blade was wearing all black. A protective vest on top of a long sleeve and leather trousers. His outfit was swallowed by his leather coat. Weapons were under and over the coat, you could see all sorts of knives and daggers and even a crucifix dangled from his belt. He had a new pair of sunglasses, which he seemed very pleased about.

Elektra was wearing a bright red outfit, you assumed her Void outfit started off as this colour but she stained it to be safer. Her chest was now unexposed and she had gloves on. Her trousers were still there but on top she had an overlaying split skirt. The material was softer than the bodysuit, it matched the scarf which covered the lower part of her face.

Gambit looked much the same. His outfit was perfect. The only thing different about this one was there were no knicks and dents. He also wielded a staff.

Laura was yet to show her face. Something that didn't worry you but didn't not worry you.

“So where are we living?” You questioned. “I used to live in the X-Mansion but Y-23 said Charles was around but he now operates in 2024. So in my head he must be very different.”

“It seems like that's true for all our friends.” Blade’s eyes hadn't left the screens.

Gambit strode to the screens and gazed intently at each person. “Surely, they couldn' be too different. If it's the same person an’all.”

“Different circumstances, different upbringings.” El countered.

“That's Magneto.” You pointed to Erik. He was talking to Charles, drinking a cup of tea. It was infuriating because they were this civilised as enemies so you couldn't even tell if they were friends. “He was a concentration camp survivor. If he's about now, did that happen? Is he evil?”

“He looks pretty friendly with Charles.” Elektra cocked her head.

“They always were.” You huffed. “This will be really difficult won't it?”

Blade’s head swivelled in your direction. “Adjusting always is.”

Fuck how was he just effortless cool?

The door reopened, B-15 and Laura came through. She was gorgeous. They had dressed her in a yellow suit, with black trim much like yours. The suit had gloves and shoes which had special slots for her claws. But the icing on the cake was her cowl. She wore the famous Wolverine cowl and she looked glorious.

“Woah!” Gambit cheered. “You look li’ him!”

She did. She really looked like Logan.

“You look amazing, sweetie.” El grinned wide as Laura held one elbow in embarrassment.

“Thank you.” She wore a shy smile.

Blade clapped her back and couldn't help but nod.

“I can't believe it. You really- you look like- you look good.” You stuttered through the sentence.

She, thankfully, waved you off and turned to the screens. “Who are they?”

“Heroes in the 'new universe'.” Blade smirked. “They'll need our help.”

B-15 cleared her throat and you all looked over. She was standing in front of a freshly opened ‘timedoor’. “This is it.” She stepped to the right. “Through here is a collection of Earth's Mightiest Heroes. They will greet and assess you.”

Oh great, more assessment.

Laura, again, was the first of you to make a move. She confidently marched through the door, ready for this to be over with.

El was next, followed by Gambit, Blade and finally you.

You entered a white room. It was grand and outlandishly ‘modern’ - sparse. There were walls that were made entirely by window planes and the sunlight shone warmly. There was a silver, angular table and six beings were seated at it.

These were the ‘illuminati’. Y-23 had explained that a member of each super team created the illuminati, an omnipotent organisation. They controlled the world.

Iron-Man was there, creasing a ridiculously expensive suit, as well as Doctor Strange - the Sorcerer Supreme - Mr Fantastic - the smartest man alive - Namor - the King of Atlantis - Blackbolt - the Ruler of Attilan - and… oh my god. That was Charles!

The negotiation wasn't long. Charles took a look into each of your minds and declared that you and B-15 were all telling the truth. Then they revealed a set of apartments that they had brought for you to settle into normality in. You were allowed to leave them once you had settled and you had to come back every month for therapy "monitoring".

Stark handed you all a bank card and told you there was a limit to them. They also informed you that if you were needed to defend Earth they would call upon you.

Blade was under extra surveillance as he was a Daywalker. Reed had been able to recreate Whistler's serum to suppress the bloodlust but they were still taking precautions.

Doctor Strange placed a spell on each of you to track your whereabouts but other than that they let you go.

“The idiots are outside.” Stark used a thumb to point over his shoulder. Blackbolt smiled, his shoulders shaking in a silent chuckle.

“They haven't stopped pestering.” Namor rolled his eyes. “You must be integral.”

“We are just ourselves. We were cursed to live in that Void for years, for no apparent reason other than a cocky bastard's ego.” Elektra held her head high, watching the men she addressed like a hawk.

Charles adjusted his chair and gave you a sincere grin. “You may venture out, we do hope you find solace here.”

Part 5

@geeksareunique @lovelyvaderx @melissa-ashe @st1nkabutt @maximumchilddreamland @ravenmedows @vulgarfuckinvirgo77

The sketches, be kind pls

#logan howlett #logan x reader #logan xmen #logan 2017 #logan #james logan howlett #wolverine x men #wolverine #the wolverine #deadpool 3 #deadpool #deadpool and wolverine

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barbies1shots · 8 months ago

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part3 of toxic!sukuna , prt1 , prt2

this one is kinda freaky..

not proof read

@hazzelle-kento for the idea !! thank you😉 this might turn into a series ..

☆- predator/pray dynamics , size kink , overstim (cant help myself) , stalking , fem!waitress!reader, batshit crazy!sukuna, slight misogyny , degradation, non-con>dub-con , possessive themes , body shaming , hair pulling , name calling , unprotected secs (wrap your willy pls)

thinking about toxic!sukuna and his inability to keep you off his mind. the way you cuss him out because he didn't put up dishes like you asked. or the way you stare him down when he doesn't take his shoes off before entering the house.

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who denies that you actually want to break up with him. who said you couldnt break up with him.

why would you break up with him when he didn't do anything?

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who is just so unaware of the toxic things he did. restricting what you wear and who you go out with. lashing out at you when he asked a simple question. brushing you off when he came back late and smelled like alcohol.

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who told you a top looks horrible on you. that it wasn't your color, and it was too tight, making you look fat. all because he wanted you to change.

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who heard your sniffles from the other room but wanted to hear more of them. just because he's mean

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who is in denial and in complete confusion when you put a restraining order on him

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who claims he never put any hands on you.

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who quite literally has internal conflicts on what to do. leave you alone, let you have your space youve been complaining about or come pounding on your door and fuck you to sleep.

thinking about toxic!sukuna who wouldn't respect any boundaries you've made and would invade your personal space.

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who would contact you even when you blocked him on everything. instagram, SMS, twitter, tiktok, snapchat, facebook, google chat, EMAIL, yet the man still finds a way to messsge you.

' you still mad ? '

thinking about toxic!sukuna who doesn't care about your feelings at all. about how he only wants you for your mind- or for your body.

thinking about toxic!sukuna would try and corner you on your way back from a third shift at your work.

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who literally dreams about chasing you and making you love him again.

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who tries to explain that he's right wrong and that he only wants you.

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who wants to be in every part of your mind. he wants to corrupt you, break you in, and make you maleable. just for him and his dirty pleasures.

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who succeeds in his dreams of chasing you.

why would you ever want to run from him?

thinking about toxic!sukuna, who chased you down the alleyway with you screaming at him to leave you alone.

☆

"get the hell away from me, you damn psychopath! youre fucking crazy! you stalk me, message me, call me- i dont want anything to do with you, Ryomen!" the sounds of your shrill voice bounce off the dry walls on either side of you.

he followed you from your work to the little 'short-cut' home, and now he got you cornered in a deadend. you had black wedges and a skirt on- courtesy of your uniform regulations.

of course, he knew where you worked, why wouldnt he?

"come back baby, you know better." he snickered. his taller form was hiding by the darkness of the alleyway as it was well past 11PM.

you shuffled through your purse in search of something to defend yourself. pepper spray, a pocket knife, maybe keys. but came up empty.

why would you need to defend yourself anyway?

it sounded like his footsteps got closer as your movements were more frantic in trying to find something to fight Ryomen off with. you hand came in contact with your phone, and you raised it above your head before looking up and straight into the eyes of the devil himself.

"what are you looking for-" he asked in your face, his breath washed over you. as your nerves spiked, you threw your hand down so your phone came in contact with his forhead. "argh- you stupid cunt!" he grunted out as his face contorted in straight fury and disbelief.

did you... just strike him?

you stomped on his foot with your heel, and you earned another pained groan. you immediately went around him to run off, run into someone to help you, run into the light- something. you ran, your wedges rendering your full ability to move, but you had to make due.

your phone layed cracked at the back of the alleyway but atleast you had your purse? the entrance of the alleyway came closer than before, and you made it about 2 full steps into the light of the streetlight before a rough hand pulled you back by the hair.

"no- no, oh my damn, let go, Ryomen!" you screamed in frustration. his other hand came in, covered your mouth before taking your struggling body and pushing you against the wall.

why would he let you go when he just got you back?

he held you there, his face red and burning by the way you swung at him without hesitation. his eyes didnt lie, and they were filled with hatred but longing.

"youre mine, im not letting you go." he growled into your face after his let his stinging grip away from your hair. his hand ran down his face and he sighed loudly, "you are just as predictable as any other woman." he looked bored.

"you hit me, step on my foot, and then try to run?" he asked. your eyes stung when he pressed your head harder into the concrete wall.

"sounds like you need to lean your place again, yeah?" he concluded.

his hand moved from covering your mouth to grabbing your chin roughly and forcing you to look at him. "been out of check for a while. ignoring me, blocking me, avoiding me, wanting to take a break from me? i think you have lost your mind, baby" he said as his fingers forced their way more into your skin.

"leave me alone-!" you tried to say before he pushed you roughly on the ground, you hit your tail bone, and he came in between your distraught legs and leaning over you. his rough hands came in contact with your body, tugging and pulling on your clothes. he ripped your blouse, and the bottons popped everywhere. he flipped uo your skirt so the waist band was up your tummy.

why would he leave you alone when you just look edible.

"ryomen- i asked you for a break for a reason!" you screamed at him as you tried to cover your body. you tried to grasp the last bits of your dignity, but as soon as he cupped your cunt through your underwear, it was left for good.

why would you ever want a break from him..?

the chase from the back of the alleyway and the adrenaline from him holding you against the wall made you wet. it turned you on that he was willing to chase and catch you.

he smirked as he slid your underwear to the left and slid a thick finger in between your soaked fold before finding your clit and pressing harshly into the little nub.

"uhh-" you groaned at the feeling, he went hard and rough, not caring if it didnt hurt or not. you squirmed as your hips jerked and tried to scoot away from the stimulation.

he put his other hand on your hip, pulling you close as his fingers dipped lower and probbed at your entrance. "youre about to be in for a ride, you little bitch." he growled and forced his two dry fingers into your cunt, immediately finding your g-spot and abusing it.

your back arched as your thighs came up to your chest and closed around his arm, "Ryomen- please! I cant do this.." you whined out as your hips grinded against his fingers.

he smirked over you as you whined and arched your back, "cmon' cunt- cum for me" he demanded. he pressed a thumb into your clit, rubbing it as he fucking your cunt wet.

as you were recovering from one of your intense orgasams, he looked over you. his eyes drifted from your blissed out face to your shivering torso to your trembling thighs and hips. he licked your liquids from his fingers and slotted himself between your thighs.

why would you ever leave him when he is just perfect for you?

"time for the main event, yeah baby?" he snickered and started unbuckling his pants, unzipping them and pulling his underwear under his ballsack. he grabbed your calf and held it up by his head as he leaned in and stuffed his face into your sweaty neck.

his large mushroom tip nudged your entrance, and you tensed up as he started to push in. he was reforming your insides just to match around him, "cmon, whore... take it all.." ryomen groaned into your neck. he resisted the urge to bite into you as he listened to your sobs.

he raised back on his haunches when he bottomed out and quickly set a rough pace. your pleas and little whines only egging him further the more your worked up.

he let go of your leg to rest on his shoulder and started to grope your tits, kneeding them in one hand while tweaking one in another.

"youre being rough, ryomen! ugh- be gentle.." you whimpered. he shook his hand as he smirked and started to actually plunge into you. thrusting his hips and pulling you back by your tits as leverage.

plap! plap! plap! was the wet sounds of his balls hitting your ass.

he only sped up as he got lost in the pleasure, chasing his and fucking you complete stupid. your neck stretched as you felt another orgasm take over you and your mind felt blank. only thinking about ryomen, ryomen, dick, dick, ryomen.

he saw your face and shook his head and took one hand from your tits to the front of your head and forced your head to look at where hes fucking you open at. your back in an awkward yet painful position as you started to groan.

"you can't escape me, your morsel. you belong to me! i will kill you before you ever get any other thoughts of trying to leave me again. I control you. You are mine."

left unfinished cs ive gotten lazy and unmotivated. let me know what you think !!

toxic!sukuna part 1

toxic!sukuna part 2

revenge on toxic!sukuna

@aizawasbarb

#sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #toxic sukuna smut #toxic sukuna #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen x you #ryomen smut #jujustu kaisen x reader smut #toxic jjk #toxic x reader #sukuna x black reader #x black reader

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izurou · 2 years ago

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⋆ .˚ 𖤐 — ft. SHIDOU RYUSEI ⋮ contains: f!reader. penetrative sex. a creampie. choking. many pet names. cum eating if you squint maybe. his dialogue is .. anyways happy shidou day <3

ryusei’s love for you is strange.

he expresses it in such a way that fools everyone else into thinking there’s no love there at all��just some psychotic, lust driven obsession.

sure—he’s overzealous with his public affections, and has a dangerous habit of flashing his canines at anyone who looks your way, but that’s love. he loves you.

he loves everything about you, everything you do.

you’re underneath him, with the cutest little pout sitting on your lips, and he loves it. your brows are knit together—pleasure dotting your features, and he loves it. you’re letting him bury his cock inside you, as deep as he wants, and he fucking loves it.

but then—he leans down to press a kiss to your mouth and, you turn your head to the side.

“oh? what’s with the attitude?” he sneers, craning his neck in an attempt to follow your gaze. “hmm, babydoll? where’re your manners?”

“dunno,” you mumble—lolling your head back into place as you continue avoiding his persistent pink stare. “ask your other girlfriend.”

he starts to laugh.

it’s deep at first—straight from his gut, but the sound changes as it travels further up his throat, morphing into something a little higher pitched and maniacal when he tilts his head towards the ceiling.

“yeah,” his chuckling continues as he playfully taps a finger against the tip of your nose. “keep talkin’ like that baby, and you’re gonna have me cummin’ in no time.”

oh how he loves this.

you being upset over a harmless little interaction he had with another girl—fucking perfect, maybe he’s rubbing off on you, or maybe you’re starting to love in the same way he does. the thought is just so exciting, he can’t help but jump the gun.

“you’re insane,” you mutter under your breath.

“am i?” he tilts his head to the side and grips your chin, squishing your cheeks together a little. “for you, i might be.”

you swat his hand away and prop yourself up on your elbows, narrowing your gaze onto his. there’s displeasure flooding your stare, but he still grins at you, ear to ear.

and then you say it—what he thinks has to be his favourite question ever.

“only for me?”

⋆

he fucks you like it, like he’s batshit crazy for you.

you wouldn’t be surprised if there was a band of stars circling the crown of your head right now, that’s how completely dumb you feel.

the skillful, pornstar roll of his hips is a monster in and of itself—but pair it with the hand decorating your throat, the unmistakable weight of fingertips pressing into your skin, and he’s another creature entirely—a true demon.

a slew of crescent moons wrap around his wrist, a cute little bracelet etched into his skin, courtesy of your nails. he doesn’t seem to notice his new jewelry though—too entranced by those fucked out sounds leaving your mouth.

“still mad, babydoll?” his pace falters briefly as he locks eyes with you—god, you’re just so gorgeous like this, he’s already filled you up half a dozen times inside his head.

every variation of the word yes sits in the back of your throat—and maybe, you could’ve gotten one of them out if it weren’t for his hand—filtering out anything and everything he doesn’t want to hear.

all you can do is nod your head, and even then, you can barely do that.

“hm? doesn’t feel like it,” he taunts, and you know what he means—the stickiness of your cunt, the way it’s coating his shaft in a glistening hot sheen of your arousal. “shh shh,” he cups his free hand over your mouth with a sadistic grin, and that’s when you hear it—a lewd squelch, over and over and over again. “doesn’t sound like it either, huh? pussy’s talkin’ to me, shit, think she loves me.”

a wave of heat floods your cheeks, and oh—how you wish he would just shut up. unfortunately, silence isn’t a concept he’s very familiar with.

“right, angel face?“ he grits his teeth and prods further, pressing kisses to your sweet spots with the thick head of his cock. “this pussy loves me.”

you screw your eyes shut and try to tune him out, knowing the mere sight of him above you, all wide eyed and pussy crazed, with a thin layer of sweat highlighting his chiseled features—is enough to tip you over the edge.

“fuck, c’mon, don’t do this to me sweetheart,” he feigns innocence, masking the subtle increase of pressure he puts on your throat with his honeyed words. “you’re breakin’ my heart here.”

shit, he really knows how to get you going.

he knows what buttons to press and which to steer clear from, and even then—he’ll rewire you to his liking and press them all regardless.

“r-ryu,” you choke out, struggling to remain in the present moment as your vision starts to blur—as the tight knot in your tummy threatens to unravel.

“oh yeah, right here baby, right here.” he purrs, coaxing what little focus you have left onto him. “cum with me, lemme feel that sweet cunt. it’s all mine, ain’t it?”

he loses you halfway through his sentence, but it’s fine—your body is about to give him the response he was looking for.

you don’t hold back—knowing how much he loves you like this, with your head thrown back and your hips stuttering towards him. you’re so upset, you think he’s crazy, and yet your cunt pulses on him in perfect time with the racing beat of your heart just beneath his fingertips.

he’s right there with you, moaning shamelessly as he blows a hot, sticky load between your folds—and fuck, it’s so much hotter when it’s real.

“shit, you’re somethin’ else,” he laughs breathily, enjoying the view of his sheathed cock twitching—shooting out whatever he has left.

and it physically pains him to have to pull out, but you look so pretty right now, so ruined—with your half lidded eyes and your wet lips, it’d be such a waste if he didn’t.

with a knee on either side of you and his cock in hand, he inches his way up your body—stopping only when he’s straddling your chest. he taps his tip against your lips, and being the perfect angel you are, you take him into your mouth.

“you taste yourself?” he bucks into your face a little, and you hum in response—forcing him to grab onto the headboard as the vibrations travel up his shaft.

“oh baby,” he sighs, “only you can cum on this cock.”

#izurou #shidou x reader #shidou smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #shidou ryusei x reader #bllk smut #shidou ryusei smut #sorry

3K notes · View notes

mysterioushistorian · 9 months ago

Text

midbloods are here! headcanons under the cut

Lowbloods

Highbloods

Charun Krojib

agender (they/them)

master of conceptual artworks

surprisingly oblivious to cirava's flirting

sneaky

Konyyl Okimaw

recycling is good

good pals with remele

trans woman (she/her)

likes to SLASH

big and tough on the outside, sweet and lovely on the inside

is actually a big fan of Nihkee Moolah, just won't admit it

secretly knows a lot about the Disciple

Polypa Goezee

still doing the job, regardless of caste

is now Tegiri's moirail. therefore, it's harder for her to keep her secret from him, especially with all these new bandages.

revived her blog for relationship advices.

troll sailor moon is her favorite

can and WILL beat someone twice her size

Boldir Lamati

shh! not so loud

he/she, unspecified gender

knows everything

she solves ALL the mysteries

not much is known about her. he just wants to do his job

short but tough

Bronya Ursama

cares for all her wrigglers. all of them.

elwurd was the one who convinced her to dye her hair, back when they were in a relationship. no longer together, she sees no point in continuing to dye it, so she lets it discolored

have you seen Karako? she's been looking for him for a while now

schoolfeds all the new jades

Wanshi Adyata

aspires to write a fanfiction with her soldier purrbeats OCs

actually believes in rainbow drinkers

real bookworm right here

A+ student

she's just a girl

Lynera Skalbi

still batshit crazy

Ardata's matesprit. what did you expect

is now genuinely interested in meeting new people

do NOT touch her diary

tall, but a little bit shorter than daraya

Daraya Jonjet

demigirl (they/she)

they listen to some hard shit over there

tyzias' moirail. rebels time

being a rebel teenager is hard. its hard and nobody understands

taller than lynera

fuck bronya. fuck lynera. fuck elwurd. fuck everyone. let her be free!

Lanque Bombyx

troll twilight fan, thank you very much for asking

asshole

vampire wannabe (he'll never be dracula)

this motherfucker gets no bitches

stop playing fancy good lord

Tagora Gorjek

sign here to agree with all terms *_______

galekh's kismesis-matesprit.

beware, he might scam you

hair flip

hates pirates

Tyzias Entykk

she/they

sleeps once a week

no... mustn't stop studying..

seriously girl, what even is in that mug

please take care of yourself properly

Stelsa Sezyat

still won't speak slower

deep breaths, girl

loves tyzias but worries about her revolutionary thoughts

big mother energy

always ready for dates

big fan of nihkee's channel

Tirona Kasund

spends too much time on grubtube.. unfortunately

her influences are terrible

yeah, we get it, you use memes to spread the good word about the empire

but please improve on the memes

considers stelsa as a mother, and tagora as a brother to her

would love to meet trizza someday

Tegiri Kalbur

KONO TEGIRI DA!

only buys products of original quality. those who sells him fake products will be DAMNED!

worries a lot about polypa and how she must be hiding something from him.

more obligatory anime references

gets too philosophical at times.

surprisingly gets along with the other two voidbounds, even if they can't stand him

no longer wears eye contacts, for... his own safety.

227 notes · View notes

blessedbucky · 19 days ago

Text

we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 5.3)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 8.9k (this actually might be the shortest i've written to date)

summary: satoru has been naively thinking that his world hasn’t been on the edge of collapse for a long time.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, not sure if it's suicidal ideation or what since suguru wants to die for what he did to reader, definitely probably some unhealthy codependency because everyone here is a teenager going through traumatic shit, uhhhh let me know if there's anything else but I think those are the big ones, hurt/like minimal amounts of comfort, gojo is disgustingly in love please help my boy he's struggling with his depressed s/o's

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @lexlibrary, @ziggy0stardust

author note: really wanted to write the fallout of the last chapter in satoru's pov, like how it goes in canon. not sure if it's my own depression on some fuck shit or a genuine struggle, but i got stuck in the middle of the chapter. i really hope it has the emotional impact that i was going for. i was channeling my depression here since my annual seasonal big sad is coming up. brains are great (:

chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4.1, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, AO3

[YEAR THREE]

[PART THREE]

No, I don’t know who you are. Should I?

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. No, that’s mean and unfair. You don’t deserve that. Satoru is the stupid one. Him and his traitorous heart that had fluttered like some blushing maiden when you completely dismissed his identity up until that point, ignored his immense strength that anyone with a shred of cursed energy could feel, and treated him like an actual human. Do you even know how much time he spent hunting down an exact replica of those cheap sunglasses you offered up to him during that first meeting? After Suguru broke them when he was punching Satoru in the face?

Yeah, Satoru is a moron. Because he’s happy that he hadn’t learned Reverse Cursed Technique yet and that Shoko had been away long enough that his nose would never sit totally right ever again after it was broken. Just like your sunglasses, his crooked nose is another reminder that two country bumpkins have rocked his shit so wholly that it’s kind of insane.

That night had been embarrassing and confusing. He hadn’t been able to stop pressing against the tender bridge of his nose, making pain shoot across his face. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was Suguru standing over him with sharp, furious eyes and bloody fists. All he could feel were the phantom touches of your soft yet unflinchingly steady fingers on his cheeks and chin. Never an ounce of hesitation from either of you when it came to Satoru. He’d rocked against his mattress, coming way too many times for him to ever admit. The second time that he’d touched himself to the thoughts of you two.

People have always been terrified of Gojo Satoru and his unfathomable strength. Little do they know that he’s no longer the strongest sorcerer in the world. He hasn’t been since the morning after his seventeenth birthday when he woke up in the early dawn, your head weighing down his chest, Suguru’s breath warm against the skin of his neck, and Satoru thought, I love you. Because he worships the ground that you and Suguru stand on. If either of you came to him and asked him to burn the world down, he’d do it. The only thing that held him back from blowing up a room full of batshit crazy cult followers is because Suguru told him there’d be no meaning in it.

But Satoru is still the same boy god as he’s always been. Thinking that his strength alone will be enough to protect himself and everyone else from problems. Pretending that plastering a smile on his face and never taking anything seriously will be enough to infect everyone else. Forgetting that his childhood of being raised as a weapon has dulled his sense of what’s horrifying and what’s not.

Naively thinking that his world hasn’t been on the edge of collapse for a long time.

No. That’s not totally true, either. Because he’s noticed. He sees everything, right? He’s been with Suguru on his trips to buy cigarette packs, becoming increasingly frequent. Satoru’s wondered, more than once, if Suguru is smoking more than eating these days. The bags under Suguru’s eyes and yours are getting darker. The windows and doors of your rooms have been locked more than ever before, a silent warning that you’re not up for spending the night with anyone. Both your tempers are shorter, especially with each other. He doesn’t think you’ve ever shrugged off the touch of others as much as you are now.

In the back of his mind, Satoru has known for a long time that you and Suguru are not okay, but he looked away. That’s his biggest sin. Because he’s been afraid that if he accepts that, he’ll have to accept that it’s because you and Suguru are not cut out for the lives of sorcerers, and that would mean you’d have to walk away from this world.

You’d both have to walk away from him.

This has been his blue spring. That’s what the adults call it, isn’t it? At some point, his spring turned to autumn without his realizing it. Now, he faces the daunting reality of his love turning into a brutal, deadly winter.

“…huh?”

It’s the middle of the night and Satoru has literally just walked into his dorm room when Suguru calls.

He doesn’t understand, at first. It’s hard to when the connection is in and out. There’s so much static. And between all that, Suguru isn’t making any fucking sense. He’s incoherently babbling. And Satoru prays that he’s wrong, but it sounds like Suguru is crying. Satoru thinks that he hears your name in there somewhere, making his stomach twist. There aren’t many reasons why Suguru would be this upset, but Satoru is trying to make Suguru calm down enough to explain.

“…hurt…so much…blood…blood everywhere…sorry, so sorry…”

“Please…need you…Shoko…get here…”

“…Squid…dying…”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Satoru remembers the prefecture that Suguru mentioned he was going with you to. Sensei would have more specific information on the village in his office, right? A primal panic, one that he’s not felt since last year, fuels him to flicker across campus. If he can get near the village, he’ll be able to sense someone’s cursed energy. He tears Sensei’s office apart, trying to find where he keeps mission details.

As soon as he’s got the location, he’s honing on Shoko’s energy, and then he’s there. Next to her bed. She’s still awake, hunched over some medical textbook. She yelps when he snatches her by the upper arm. He’ll apologize later for the rough treatment, but all he can think is Sketch is dying, Sketch is dying, Sketch is fucking dying.

“Run Reverse Cursed Technique,” Satoru demands as he physically prepares himself for this trip.

“What? Why? Where did you even come from? Why are you in my room—”

“I haven’t teleported with anyone.” He’ll also apologize later for making her his first guinea pig. If it’s going to be someone, though, it’s good that it’s the person who can heal herself. “I haven’t even taken myself more than a prefecture away.” This is going to hurt.

Shoko’s voice pitches higher with panic. “What the fuck is going on, Gojo?!”

“Sketch is dying. Start healing yourself.”

Satoru doesn’t even give her the chance to start running it.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

Wrong. That’s wrong.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

For the first time in the course of the Gojo clan’s history, the Six Eyes are wrong.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

They have to be wrong.

Or…Satoru is overthinking it.

There has to be another explanation for why, buried deep in the gash across your torso that’s almost a mirror image of Satoru’s own scar, Suguru’s residuals linger. Suguru is crying and drenched in your blood because he wasn’t able to help you in time. The cursed spirit that did that to you was absorbed by Suguru after the damage was done.

That’s not how that works.

“What happened?” Shoko asks in a tone that Satoru has never heard out of her before. He tries to find his voice, tell her to shut the fuck up, because he knows what she’s thinking. The way that she’s curled over Sketch’s body, body tense, cursed energy flaring with emotion gives her away. “Suguru!” Shoko shouts, trying to reach him through his tears. “Tell me what happened to her!”

“I’m sorry.” Suguru hunches over. Digs bloody fingers in the dirt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Why are you sorry?”

Satoru knows the truth. He does. It’s the reason why it feels like the world is about to slip out from under his feet. He wants to shut Shoko up because he doesn’t want to hear the truth. When Suguru, through his tears, manages, “I didn’t mean to,” Satoru wants to cry with him. There’s no stopping it now.

“What didn’t you mean to do?”

Suguru’s next cry is gut-wrenching. Satoru is trembling, more terrified than he’d been staring down the sharp edge of Zen’in Toji’s blade. “I didn’t mean it, I swear. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. Please, believe me. I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

Shoko, the stone-faced judge, has no mercy for either of them. She demands the truth, no matter what hell it’ll bring. She says your name, knowing Suguru can’t deny you your justice. “Did you hurt her?”

Satoru, the unintentional jury, has to witness Suguru become his own executioner when he chokes out, “Yes.”

A crack splits Shoko’s indifferent mask. Twisting her body around, she stares at Satoru with wet and shining eyes. “Goddamn you, Gojo,” she curses before quickly turning back around toward you. She ducks her head, but he catches the stray tear roll down her cheek before her hair fully hides her face. “You didn’t even give me time to get my smokes.”

The more time that passes where Satoru is forced to stand there, unable to do a goddamn thing for you or anyone else here, the more that he has to wonder what the worth of his strength even is.

Because, right now, it’s nothing.

His eyes have never left you after Suguru’s confession. He doesn’t think that he can face the implications of that yet. It’s so slow, the rise and fall of your chest, but he can see how rapid your pulse is under the delicate skin of your throat. Even from his vantage point and in the low light, he knows your skin is clammy. And the gore. It’s not like he hasn’t ever seen the result of a cursed spirit attack. He thought he was desensitized to that. But…things are different when it’s like this.

Guess this is what people mean when they talk about things hitting close to home. Seeing you there, your skin all torn open, blood so red…it makes him sick. His stomach has never rolled quite like this, not even when he was blearily watching his own skin stitch itself back together after getting shredded apart himself. He’d been…detached before he was totally healed and then the overwhelming euphoria poured in.

There won’t be any of that for you, he realizes. If Satoru is on the end of the emotional spectrum where he struggles to pinpoint feelings—even in himself—then you’re on the other side where you get it all. Your heart is too big. Always bleeding. Sitting there on your fucking sleeve, getting stabbed at by everyone and everything. Is this what you feel like all the time? Satoru’s brain is struggling to comprehend it all.

Aah, this is what it feels like to be weak, he suddenly understands. And he remembers how he’d felt it when that spear pierced his Infinity, right before metal sunk into flesh and he had to focus on survival. There was nothing he could do then and there’s nothing he can do now. This sucks, he thinks with the corners of his eyes stinging. No wonder you’re always undermining yourself and saying you’re weak.

How can you think you’re strong when your heart is always bleeding?

Nails digging into the skin of his palms, blood trickling through his fingers, he tries to think about anything else. He doesn’t want to cry. He never wants to feel like this ever again. He never wants anyone to feel this way again, actually. If he could go another day without ever having to hear your gut-wrenching cries when you were in the morgue with Haibara’s body or hear Suguru tonight, then he’d trade his soul away. He’d give his strength away. He’d pluck his eyeballs out and throw them to the highest bidder.

How can he do that, though? Satoru could throw his Infinity around your bodies, but it won’t protect your hearts. The two of you would never let him whisk you away to Kyoto and hide you away from the world forever, as much as he desperately wants to do that right now. Part of the reason that Satoru and every-fucking-one else loves you idiots so much is because of how fucking kind you are.

For some reason, Satoru thinks about that day near the start of the term, under the cherry blossom tree. This just isn’t a sustainable system, you’d said. I wonder how many Special Grade sorcerers there have actually been, but they just couldn’t reach their full potential because old men sent them off to die.

If he can’t make your hearts stronger, then he has to make everyone else stronger.

Satoru knows what he needs to do now.

The settling of Shoko’s cursed energy has Satoru lifting his head. It’s taken a lot of strength out of her. The healthier you look, the worse Shoko does. “We need to get back to campus.” Her hands are trembling, and she drops back on her ass, trying to catch her breath before she’s forced to move. “She’s stable now and I can take care of those kids back at school. I need to eat before I do, get my calories up,” she adds. “You didn’t hurt me on the trip here. Do you think you will hurt us if we go as a group?”

Right. The kids. They were hidden in the bush when Satoru and Shoko got here, but seeing Shoko healing and Satoru’s inaction must’ve been enough to coax them back out. They’ve been beaten. Satoru wondered, briefly, if they were the catalyst for what set Suguru off.

One of them, the one with dark hair, whispers your name. “She’s gonna be okay now?”

“Yes,” Shoko answers softly. “And so will you when we get back to Tokyo.”

“You’re…you’re Miss Shoko…right?”

“That’s right. I guess she told you about us?” The girls nod. “You know our names. What are yours?”

“Mimiko,” the brunette answers.

The other, the blonde, steps beside her sister and takes her hand before introducing herself as, “Nanako.”

Shoko nods in acknowledgement, slowly rising to her feet. “Okay. Well, Satoru over there knows how to move between places,” she explains while pointing over at Satoru. “He’s going to take us back to the school we go to. For people like us.” The girls nod again, eyes alight with understanding. “Don’t be scared. You’re safe now.”

“We’re not,” Nanako mumbles. “She told us we didn’t have to be scared with Mister Suguru around.”

Suguru had calmed down, his sobs quieting to silent tears, but hearing the kid say that has him hunching back over and covering his face in shame.

Shoko watches him, lips pressing into a thin line. “Take those kids first, Gojo,” she orders lowly. A complete turnaround from her earlier decision for them all to go at once. “It’ll be less of a strain on your body and ours. Do it in batches.” It’s a bullshit excuse. Right now, he’s scared of her. Those healing hands of hers can so easily become weapons. He’s seen it before. And, sure, she normally wouldn’t be a threat to Suguru, but there’s no fight left in him. “Now.”

In the end, though, she’s still right. There was no strain on her on the trip here, but he sure as fuck felt it. While future trips tonight will be easier in the fact that he has the two landing points in his mind, adding more people would ramp up what reprieve that gives. It’s more cursed energy, more brain power, more finely tuned control to keep the other bodies all in one piece.

What other choice does he have?

Satoru leaves the kids in his room. It’s comfortable, you’ve told him as much. He marches to Nanami’s room, but he’s already opening the door of his room when Satoru gets there. Apparently, the sudden absence then reappearance of Satoru’s massive amount of cursed energy woke Nanamin up. Satoru is in a rush, so all he can do is demand Nanamin watch the girls while he goes to get you because you got hurt.

Then, between one blink and the next, he’s back with you, Suguru, and Shoko.

The only hint that something happened between Shoko and Suguru is a dark mark on Suguru’s cheek and his split lip. Also, she’s got a lit cigarette in hand—probably stolen from Suguru. Satoru has never given thought to smoking. He’s never really seen the appeal, but he thinks he does now. Especially when Shoko beckons him over and he knows that he’s going to have to carry you on the second trip back to campus.

Bile rises to the back of his throat when he carefully lifts you up in his arms. He’s never been squeamish until he’s had to touch your blood-soaked clothes before. It’s disgusting and now, it’s sinking into his clothes. Satoru hates that. He knows you hate it, too. Wet clothes. You hate being sticky even more. It’s why you’re always so careful when you eat desserts with him. He hopes you blacked out as soon as you were hurt. He doesn’t want to think about you having to lay there, pained by more than the gashes themselves.

“Gojo will be back, Geto,” Shoko explains as she grabs Satoru’s upper arm since he can’t hold on to her right now. “Don’t you dare try to run. If I found out you tried, I’ll do a lot worse than punching you in the face.” To Satoru, she says, “Drop us off at my room.”

When they land and Satoru has gently placed you on Shoko’s bed, he collapses next to it, needing to catch his breath and run his own Reverse Cursed Technique. Not only has he gone the furthest he’s ever warped, but he’s done more trips than ever before, too. There’s still one more round-trip that he’s got to make. There’s a strain on his muscles that he’s never felt before. There’s a blossoming pain behind one of his eyes.

Shoko starts rummaging around in her pantry for something to eat. “I have some protein bars. You should eat one, too.” She throws one over her shoulder when she finds the box and he catches it without looking and pockets it. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have the stomach for much right now. “Clean him up when you get back. Burn his clothes. We need to hide the evidence.”

Satoru bristles. “Stop treating him like a criminal.”

“Take off the rose-colored glasses and stop being naïve,” she snaps back. “You heard him.”

“Yeah, and he said he didn’t mean to. It was an accident—”

“Hurting her? Yeah, I believe that. It’s what led up to it that’s the problem.”

He stumbles to his feet, still glaring at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Geto just doesn’t lose control like that,” Shoko hisses before pointing at you. “She wouldn’t be hurt by one of his spirits unless he wanted it. He has to give them specific orders, you know that as well as I do. Maybe he didn’t intentionally have it attack him, but if he was pissed off enough, if he wasn’t careful enough with his order, then a spirit would consider her a threat.”

“Shut up.” Satoru wants to put his hands over his ears like a child. He’s in denial. She’s making sense, but he doesn’t want to admit that because it feels like acceptance. If what she’s saying is true, it doesn’t matter if he accidentally hurt you or not. If he was acting out of anger towards someone else, he’d be branded a curse user and there’s only one person strong enough to kill Suguru. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking about? The guy always riding on his moral high horse?”

“Stop pretending you’re both the same people after last year.” She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes. “Just leave me alone. I can’t deal with you right now. I’m saying that we don’t know, but you need to be a fucking adult and think about all the possibilities here. Also, you’re such a selfish asshole. Do you think I want to think about this? No. That’s why we’re hiding the evidence from Yaga.” She whispers your name. “If we had Suguru declared a curse user before she’s awake, it’d push her over the edge.”

Satoru feels less…panicky than before. He backs down. Glances at you while he asks Shoko, “What’s the story?”

“My residuals have covered up evidence of his on her,” she whispers. “Suguru got there too late. It’s why he keeps blaming himself. Any idiot at headquarters knows how close they are, so it won’t be hard to convince them that their relationship is what’s got him so hysterical.”

“Okay,” Satoru answers as quietly. “What—” his voice cracks. “What do we do if she wakes up blaming him?”

“That’s not something we can answer for each other, Gojo.”

“Explain yourself, Suguru.”

Just like Shoko said, Gojo Satoru is a selfish asshole. Somewhere between Shoko’s room and here, with Suguru, rage overcame Satoru. Because Suguru ruined everything. Instead of trusting Satoru or even you enough to talk about the things bothering him, Suguru let everything fester.

(But you didn’t, either, a nastier part of his brain reminds him.

Is there something wrong with Satoru?)

Suguru hasn’t moved. He’s still there, on his knees, staring blankly at your blood left behind in the grass. It’s like Satoru doesn’t even exist. It pisses him off more. What? Does Suguru think he can give up? He thinks he can sit around, crying over what he did to you, while everyone else has to clean up his mess? No way. Fuck that.

“Why?”

“Huh?!”

Suguru still hasn’t looked away from the place your body had been. “Why does it matter? I hurt a fellow sorcerer. That’s all you need to know, isn’t it?”

Satoru grits his teeth. “Why the hell are you being so vague now? Ten minutes ago, you were apologizing for hurting her!”

While saying your name hoarsely, Suguru reaches out to dig his fingers in the bloody grass. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t. But those…those goddamn monkeys…that’s who I wanted to hurt.” He squeezes his eyes shut, tears falling no matter how hard he tries to keep them from doing it. “I hate them, Satoru. All our suffering is because of them. They create curses. We exorcise them. Over and over until sorcerers die. First, it was Riko. Then, Haibara. When will it be you? When’s it going to be her on a metal slab?”

Under the weight of all this suffering, the anger quickly rushes out of Satoru. No, it’s still there, but he’s so stupid mad at himself for not seeing how bad things have gotten. He pretended that everyone else could separate themselves from their pain like Satoru has always done. He loves you. He loves Suguru. Why couldn’t he just see how much you two have been hurting?

Satoru doesn’t know what to do with all this sadness. He sprints forward, dropping and sliding in on his knees right in front of Suguru. He throws his arms around Suguru’s shoulders and Suguru seems to almost resist. He clenches his fists around the fabric of Satoru’s shirt. Then, he ducks his head down, pressing his head against Satoru’s sternum, trembling and giving another one of those sobs that’s just a gut punch.

“I wanted them dead. It was all I could think. I want them all dead. I want us to have a better world. I would start here. But I made the order too vague when I summoned them. I wanted to kill all the monkeys in this goddamned village and anyone that tried to stop me. She wasn’t even in the way. She said my name. She said, ‘Suguru, stop,’ and that was enough. They knew her because I know her, but I was so blinded by my rage. It was like nothing else existed but that.”

“It was an accident.” Satoru cups Suguru’s face with his hands, trying to get Suguru to look at him, but Suguru won’t budge. “It was an accident, Suguru. It’s okay. Look at me. Just look at me. It’s gonna be okay. We’re already figuring out how we can cover it up.”

Suguru just cries harder. “I can’t live like this, Satoru. Exorcise. Absorb. Exorcise. Absorb. Swallowing their shit. I want a better world, but I can’t do that, either. Because the people at the end of that road, standing in my way…it’s gonna be you and her.” He gives one sharp, hysterical laugh. “The people that I’d be doing it for, the only two fucking people that I love enough to make the world better for are the people that I’d need to hurt to get that utopia. How fucked up is that?”

“We’ll fix it,” Satoru whispers desperately. “It’s okay. We’ll figure out a way to fix it. The three of us, we can make this world better together.”

“Kill me, Satoru. Put me down. I’m begging you. I can’t live in this cycle anymore.”

“Stop! Stop it. Don’t you fucking ask me to do that.” Suguru finally loses the strength to fight Satoru’s hands. When Satoru lifts his face up, he goes. “Just listen to me. We’ll come up with a plan. We can make this world better together the right way. But you can’t give up on us. Me and Sketch, we can’t lose you. We can’t.”

“You don’t need me.” Satoru’s heart skitters in his chest when Suguru reaches out himself, hand on Satoru’s cheek. “I’m not good for either of you anymore. I can’t go back to being the person I was before.” Satoru shakes his head. He refuses to accept that. Suguru is the one holding Satoru’s face in his hands now, trying to make Satoru see his light. “You’re the best for her. I know you love her as much as I do. Take care of her. You can forget me and live a happy life together.”

“I can’t. I’d never be able to forget you. The only future I can see is one with Sketch and Suguru.”

“I don’t have a future anymore. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t accept that and neither will she.”

Suguru laughs bitterly, pulling away from Satoru completely. “Even now, after everything that’s happened, you’re still so damn arrogant, Satoru. What are you going to do if she wakes up condemning me? What will you do, then? Is the strongest sorcerer going to impose his will on her, too?”

“No! I’d never do that!”

“So, if she asked you to, will you kill me?”

“She wouldn’t!”

“I betrayed her,” Suguru whispers. “Weren’t you listening to those girls? I heard her say it myself. You never have to be afraid when Suguru’s around. Suguru is going to protect us all. She’s always trusted me. She wanted to leave all this pain behind, and I asked her to stay. I’ve been actively drowning her, but she couldn’t see it.” There’s a defeated slump in Suguru’s shoulders. “And neither can you, Satoru.”

Satoru doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been good with words. Not like you. But he does know that when you wake up, you’ll understand what Satoru does. You’ll say something along the same line as Satoru when he tells Suguru, “You’re hurting.”

“My pain doesn’t matter. I did what I did, and I need to be punished for it. I still believe in that. Justice.” Suguru stares Satoru dead in the eye before declaring, “I’m going to confess.” His features soften. “I know you’ve got a gentle heart, Satoru. You don’t need to worry. I’ll stick my neck out willingly so that you’ll never have to choose between me and her.”

When Suguru leans forward to press a chaste kiss against Satoru’s forehead, right over that tiny scar left behind last year, Satoru realizes that, yeah, maybe he is a little gentle. Because that gesture alone is enough to break him.

Satoru didn’t know what else to do with himself after everyone kicked him out—Shoko, so she could wipe away the blood and re-dress you, and Sensei, who needed to talk with Suguru about the details of what happened. He showered, desperate to be clean, but it’s like your blood left a stain on him even when he’d rubbed his skin raw. He put on one of Suguru’s hoodies because he’s broader than Satoru and the sleeves will cover his hands. He can’t look at them right now.

The sun is rising when Sensei tracks him down where he’s sprawled out on a staircase. He’s got a lit cigarette in one hand. Sensei has always been pretty good on keeping his habit on the low, wanting to be an excellent role model for his students, but even he has his limits, Satoru guesses.

“Suguru asked to be put in one of the cells.”

Figures, Satoru thinks bitterly.

“Should I?”

“You’re actually asking me that?” Satoru mumbles, no energy left to put any heat behind it.

Sensei sighs, as mentally exhausted as Satoru is. “My bad.”

Satoru straightens from where he’s been hunched over. After everything tonight—last night…something opened up in him. He’s got to stretch himself beyond the little world he’s cultivated. It shouldn’t have come to this, but he’s got a really shitty personality. He’ll always have one, probably. But he’s willing to learn now. It can’t be about him anymore.

“Sensei, I’m strong, right?”

“Yeah, brazenly so.”

“But apparently, it’s not good enough for just me to be strong.” Sensei’s a good dude. He listens. Doesn’t tell Satoru that he’s a dipshit for not realizing this sooner. Satoru throws Sensei a bone and says it for him. “Sorry, old man, for being a dumbass and not listening sooner.”

Sensei takes a drag of his smoke. “Don’t apologize to me for being a teenager. If anyone’s at fault, it’s us. The adults. The weight of the world shouldn’t be on your shoulders.”

“Not only on mine, though, is it?”

“No,” Sensei admits quietly. “Adults are forgetful. Not only do our days pile up, but so do our regrets and fears. With all that, it’s hard to remember that there was a time when we weren’t used to the weight of others’ lives on our shoulders. It’s just another one of those burdens that we carry.” He finally stoops down to sit next to Satoru. “At the end of the day, you’re all children. And to a child, it really is like having the world on your shoulders.”

“I know my shoulders can handle it, but…that’s only those of us that are born into it. Most of the school’s enrollment comes from scouting, doesn’t it?” It’s not only your face and Suguru’s that flash across his mind. It’s Nanami, too. Haibara. “We’re not giving anyone else the time to strengthen their shoulders, y’know? There’s not much fostering going on here. And that’s not a diss on you. No offense or anything, but you just don’t have the strength to keep us all safe enough to get that thick skin.”

Sensei exhales a cloud of smoke. “I know I don’t.”

“It’s not like we can add more teachers, though. Not enough out in the field to spare. But…hey, you ever read Fullmetal Alchemist? Nah, probably not. What about an ouroboros? Heard of that? It’s like this snake that eats its own tail. That’s us right now. Kids enlist and get thrown to the wolves before they can fend for themselves. Most of them die, so there’s few to go out in the world. Even fewer to stick around and teach. And that cycle goes on and on.”

“I agree.”

“We gotta break it.”

“I know we do, but how?” Satoru turns to stare at Sensei who is, in turn, studying Satoru in the same way. There’s this familiar spark in his eyes. Satoru thinks he’s seen it before. “You said it yourself. There’s not enough of us.” Oh. Wait. Yeah, Sensei is asking these pointed questions because he knows the answer already. He’s waiting on Satoru to figure it out himself. “How do we change things?”

Satoru knows what he needs to do. Last night, he knew that he needed to change things. But he understands how he’s going to do that now. “Make someone like me a teacher.”

A large hand suddenly drops on top of his head. “You’re going to be terrible at it,” Sensei whispers. He’s no longer looking over at Satoru, but he ruffles Satoru’s hair. “I look forward to working with you in the future, Satoru.”

***

Shoko crashes when everyone’s healed. Took those kids with her to bed.

Suguru…he’s holed up in his room when Sensei refused to put him in a cell, no matter how bad Suguru wanted it. The old man said that until you, the victim, corroborate Suguru’s story, there’ll be no imprisonment. Satoru asked Nanami to keep an eye on Suguru. Not that Satoru thinks he’s going anywhere. It’s like the fight left Suguru as soon as Sensei denied his request.

Nothing else for Satoru to do but keep vigil at your side. He’s seated on the floor next to your bed, cheek pressed against the mattress. He doesn’t do anything else. He doesn’t think he could focus on a game or manga or anime right now. Shoko’s always told him that Reverse Cursed Technique can do a lot, but it can’t wipe away the emotional weight of an experience. He can refresh his brain all he wants, but not his memories.

Before she went to bed herself, Shoko warned Satoru that this could break you in a way that you can never come back from. If they thought it was bad after Haibara’s death, this’ll be worse. Because it’s piled on for you. The incident with the Zen’in, the death that you blame yourself for, and even if Suguru didn’t hurt you, this is the closest you’ve come to death.

You can’t do what Satoru does—disassociate from the trauma. There’s no Infinity for you to keep people at bay when they start to close in on him the way all those fly heads had. If you’re scared the things that haunt your dreams, you’ll have to face it because you can’t wipe away the need to sleep with a technique. For the last two weeks, he’s watched you try to train yourself to smile, to try and distract yourself away from the thought constantly pressing in, but you’re not built for that like he is.

With every passing second, it gets harder and harder for Satoru to resist the urge to grab you and Suguru and flee to Kyoto. All he wants to do is protect you both. More than anything, he wants you to be happy. Neither of you have to be sorcerers anymore, he’d make sure of it. It doesn’t wear him down like it does you and Suguru. Or…maybe it does, but you two make it better.

It doesn’t take much for Satoru to be happy. For him, it’s as simple as the scratching of your pencil against paper. It’s the slide of Suguru’s fingers against the pages of his books before he flips them. It’s a gentle breeze that floats through your room when you open the window to get better lighting, carrying away the smoke of Suguru’s cigarettes. It’s the sunlight on his face and the press of your shoulders against his as you all lay on a blanket in the park.

Satoru doesn’t want to be lonely anymore.

As if between one blink and the next, the press of a hand on his cheek is pulling him from his doze. His vision is blurred when he opens his eyes, and your thumb is wiping away one of his stray tears.

You’ve rolled on your side to face him. There’s nothing on your face. Nothing in your eyes. It’s like your body is moving on autopilot. And none of that changes when he reaches up to return your gesture except that the breath in your chest shudders before tears roll down your own cheeks.

Satoru sees it for what it is. A war inside yourself—one side desperately trying to flee from the memories and emotions that come with them. Your body betrays you, though. Tear after tear slips from your eyes and soon, your bottom lip wobbles. You squeeze your eyes shut. Wordlessly, your hand moves down, fisting the fabric of his shirt, and you start tugging while shifting back on the bed to make more room.

“In the bed?” Satoru checks quietly.

You nod fervently in answer.

Satoru crawls up into bed with you. Your hands are greedier than they’ve ever been. He tries to be careful to not overwhelm you with touch, but you yank his arm to drape it over your waist so you can press yourself fully against him. You tremble in his arms, on the edge of collapse.

Right before you bite his shirt to muffle your gasps, you confirm what he’s known all along.

“Suguru hurt me.”

***

“Come again?”

You don’t repeat yourself, instead staring at Sensei with those lifeless eyes.

Sensei stares you down, waiting for words that aren’t going to come. He glances over at Shoko and, when she looks away, he then moves to Satoru. All Satoru can do is shrug helplessly. It’s not like either of them can make you talk. Satoru wouldn’t want to, anyway. He’s shocked you’re talking at all. This is the most you’ve spoken since you woke up two days ago. You haven’t had the energy for it…

Or anything else, for that matter. It’s been keeping Satoru up at night, stealing what little sleep he was getting before. It’s worse than it was after Haibara. You’d been a shell of yourself, but…you ate. A little. Once a day. Now…it’s like you’re a ghost. Shoko had threatened to pour some toxic sludge posing as a protein shake down your throat. She’d been so frustrated with you that she grabbed your chin, and you just gave her the same look as now. Not defiant. Not upset. Just…nothingness.

There’s not supposed to be smoking in the dorms, but Sensei lights one, anyway. “Explain what happened, then.”

“I wasn’t ready.” Your voice cracks from disuse. “The Grade 1 hurt me.”

“Suguru said it was under his control.”

“Not before it hurt me.”

Sensei presses a hand against his forehead, sighing. “Why would Suguru confess to something so serious?”

“Because it’s who he is. He’s upset he didn’t get there fast enough.”

For a long time, Sensei stares at you. “I need you to understand that our laws aren’t like normal ones. There’s no decision on whether or not to press charges against someone for a crime against you. If he hurt you, jujutsu law requires you to report that. If the official investigation results find that you lied to cover for him, you’d be charged as an accomplice and sentenced to death alongside him,” he explains carefully.

“I understand.”

“Good. So, knowing that, do you want to change your answer?”

“No,” you reply with no hesitation whatsoever. “Suguru didn’t hurt me.”

“There’s most likely going to be an official investigation.” Sensei is trying to get you to change your mind because he thinks it’s going to save your life. He knows you’re lying. Everyone that knows you and knows Suguru knows you’re lying. Suguru would never confess to something like this unless he actually did it. “I won’t be allowed to interfere.”

“Suguru didn’t hurt me,” you declare with an air of finality.

***

It’s a few days after you told Sensei your side of the story. Privately, Sensei confirms to Satoru what they all knew would happen. There’s going to be an official investigation. There’s no way they’d let something like this slide. The higher-ups are terrified of Suguru. Maybe more than Satoru. Satoru is a familiar threat. He’s a one-man army. But Suguru…as long as he’s alive, there’s no limit to how many strong his army can be. So, if there’s a chance that he’s gone off the rails, they’ll put him down. And you’ll just be collateral damage. You were always replaceable. A pet project. Nothing more.

“For the time being, you’re off assignments,” Sensei says to Satoru when he’s on his way out the door. Satoru glances over his shoulder at Sensei. He’s looking away. “You’re to keep your eyes on Suguru until the investigation is over.”

Satoru scoffs bitterly before leaving Sensei’s office without another word.

Shockingly, you’re not in your room when Satoru goes looking for you. You’re at the edge of the forest that they use for the Goodwill Event. Just sitting down in the grass, legs crossed, staring intently at some low-level cursed spirits who’d been lured to the tree line by your presence. He plops down next to you, ready to do the same thing he’s done since you woke up which is to be a steady presence.

“What do you see when I use my technique?”

Satoru is so startled by the sound of your voice that it makes him jump in place a little. His head snaps in your direction, but you never look away from the forest. “Uh…what?”

“Last year, when I influenced that old man…you said it was like there were two of me. It was like it was something you’d never seen me do before. But how was that different than what I do with a cursed spirit?”

It’s a weird thing for you to ask, but he’s desperate to hear more of your voice, so he tries to explain it. “Oh. It’s…normally, it’s kinda like…eh, a blanket? Yeah. When you pacify spirits, it’s like a blanket getting put over them. More than Suguru’s contract that looks like chains on them. With that geezer…” He hums. It was close to the blanket, is the thing. “It was like an infection, I guess. It was like there was this shot of your energy through his brain and it seeped through everything else. Does that make any sense?”

Your brows are knitted together in thought. “Yes,” you whisper after digesting all that. “Why is it different, though? What is my pacification but just another way to order a spirit around?”

“Maybe because the pathways are all different?” He crosses his arms over his chest, thinking about this harder now. “Spirits are just huge lumps of cursed energy. Cursed energy in sorcerers has a whole network to go through. Yeah, if you think about the shape of it, that might actually be why. Blanket for the lumps, an infection of sorts for sorcerers.”

You nod slowly. “Why do you think I didn’t have a brain bleed when I influenced Zen’in Ogi?”

“It could be a few different reasons, but the main one is probably time. The point behind this school is to hone your technique, y’know. They don’t really have a Sorcerer Biology 101 class, but our power grows as we do. You kind of peak after your body is done growing. Everyone, though, has this explosive burst of power when they hit puberty that lasts through the rest of your body’s development.”

“I’m still in sorcerer puberty?”

Satoru laughs a little. “Yeah, I guess that’s the best way to put it. It’s like your body is in the home stretch. C’mon, Sketch, I know you’re not dumb. You’ve noticed that your technique has developed over time, right? Why’re you asking such an obvious question?”

“But you said there were other reasons,” you remind him.

“It’s not obvious? C’mon, think about the basics here. How emotional were you? You were the angriest I’d ever seen you when you broke that geezer’s hip. How were you with Zen’in? Also, Zen’in Ogi loves to act like he’s hot shit, but he’s nowhere near as strong as he thinks he is. That guy never would’ve cut it as the head of the Zen’in. That higher-up is the stronger of the two.”

“But…you’re stronger than all the higher-ups combined, right?”

“Duh.”

“Do you think the action itself can cause more strain on me?”

“Huh?”

“Does it expend more energy for me to force an action than force a thought?”

“Oh. Probably, yeah. The Inumaki clan are like that. The more damage they cause to their opponent with their cursed speech, the bigger the blowback on the sorcerer themselves. It’s all about balance in sorcery.”

“Right.” You sigh softly. “I wish I had as much cursed energy as you.”

He rubs his ear absentmindedly. “You’re already halfway there. Once you pierce that barrier inside them, it’s really just a waiting game from there. You just need to finish letting your cursed energy flow through them.”

“Easier said than done. That’s probably where most of my energy is burnt up. If only there was a way to infect them faster…”

“Too bad you’re not like a snake or a spider and can just inject yourself in their veins, huh?” You don’t respond to that. You duck your head, staring down at your hands in your lap. Satoru doesn’t want you getting lost inside your head, so he tries to redirect the conversation. “How’d you like my explanations? Good? I’m gonna be a teacher, so I have to start working on that kinda stuff, right?”

You raise your head, turning to him with raised brows. “A teacher?”

“I’m gonna change things,” he swears. “Last year, when you said this system isn’t working, you were right. But there’s never been anyone strong enough to shake things up, not until me. What if that’s because of what you said? They were never allowed to grow before they died. The future needs someone strong enough to protect them, to let them grow. I’m gonna be that person.” He nods to himself. “I’m never letting anything like this happen ever again.”

For the first time in a really long time, you smile. It’s that small, genuine one that does what it’s always done—make his heart skip a beat. “You won’t be alone.” The back of his neck is getting warm. Why didn’t he bring his stupid sunglasses so he can obviously look away from you? Why can’t he stop blushing, damn it? “Let me be your spy on the inside. They’ll probably ask me to work at headquarters. I want to help you, too.”

As much as you hate dealing with people, that’d be the best course of action for you. It keeps you in this world, but you’re out of the line of fire. And…he doesn’t think you could cut it as a teacher. Kids are still going to die. Not as many as now, he hopes, but he knows the higher-ups won’t be happy with him. They’ll work to keep things the way they are. He can try his hardest, but he can’t be everywhere at once. You’d get too attached to the students. It’d break you.

“I’m going to make things right, Satoru,” you insist.

“You make it sound like it’s your fault.” Satoru leans sideways, his head butting against the top of yours. “Besides, the one in charge of fixing everything is me, isn’t it? It’s alright, Sketch. You don’t have to worry about things right now. I’m gonna figure something out. I promise that nothing else happens to either of you anymore, okay?”

***

The evening before the unofficial trial, when the sun is setting, you ask Satoru and Suguru to meet up with you. It’s at your favorite koi pond. The one where him, you, and Suguru named each fish. There’s a stone bench that you’re already seated at, posture straight and stiff, facing away from the pond. There’s a determination in your eyes that he’s been watching grow from an ember to an inferno over the past week. With that fire, though, is an edge.

“I know I don’t have any right, but…I’m glad you reached out,” Suguru admits softly. “I wanted to see you,” he adds again, even quieter than before. “Just one more time.”

There’s a bitter twist to your mouth. Before you rise to your feet, Satoru watches with a sinking stomach as that iciness forms in your gaze. Suguru flinches backward. Satoru resists the urge to do the same. No matter how mad you’ve been at them, you’ve always forgiven them. Were you finally pushed too far? Is what Suguru did unforgiveable to you?

“We both go, or we both stay. You remember when you said that, right?”

Suguru ducks his head. His shame never lets him keep it high anymore. “I do.”

“You’re as selfish now as you were then.” It’s not said as an accusation, no anger behind it, but it’s got Suguru hunching in on himself, anyway. “I keep finding myself here. Having to decide your future. If there’s anything I resent you for, it’s that. It’s worse now because it truly is life and death.”

“I’m sorry. I know it means nothing, but I am.”

“What about you, Suguru? Is there anything you resent me for?”

Satoru knows the answer even before Suguru confirms it with, “No. Nothing.”

“You will,” you whisper cryptically. “Do you remember the rest of that day? What happened when we made up? I told you what scared me most about coming to Tokyo. I don’t want you to leave me behind when we get there. Remember that?”

“I’m breaking that promise, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Your words sharpen. “You keep saying that, but you begged me the other night to change my mind. You keep doing that. Wasn’t it enough hearing the first time that I didn’t blame you? Do you care that little about me? I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

Suguru sighs your name. “I need to be punished.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that?”

“You don’t want to punish me. That’s the problem.”

“Who says I don’t?”

The tension in Suguru’s shoulders loosens and there’s relief on his face for a moment before he straightens to his full height. He’s serious about receiving your punishment. He’s happy, too. Satoru feels stuck between you two. This…it’s your right, but…but he’s scared to lose you both.

“What is it? I’ll do anything.”

“Live.”

Suguru’s brows furrow. “What?”

“I’m making you do the thing that you clearly don’t want to do. I’m forcing you to live. You’re going to live with what you’ve done and you’re going to learn to live with non-sorcerers. I won’t make you stay a sorcerer, but I’m not letting you die. I’m not living in a world without you in it.”

He barks out a sharp, harsh laugh. “You can’t guarantee that, Squid.”

“I already have.” You raise a hand. Satoru had noticed a bandage wrapped around your palm last night, but you’d brushed him off like it was no big deal. That bandage is gone, showing a jagged gash. “I’ve already influenced them.”

Satoru’s stomach drops. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should’ve asked more questions when you came back so exhausted from headquarters after they called you in to give your official statement. You’d told him that you wanted to study some cursed spirits, clear your head doing something you like. “What did you do?”

“It was easier than I thought it would be,” you start slowly. “All it took was a cup of tea. They trusted me too much. They trust us all too much, honestly. They left the kettle unattended. They didn’t look at the water before they let their tea steep. None of them noticed my blood in the water.”

“Blood?” Suguru repeats incredulously. “What?”

“I needed a quicker way to get my cursed energy flowing through them. I’d already tested it on the pencil pusher that drove me to headquarters. Coffee hides the taste better. It was harder with him than it was the higher-ups. Orders require more energy. It was just suggestions with the higher-ups. It took, though. They agreed.”

“Agreed to what?” Suguru asks hoarsely.

“You and I are going to make a binding vow. If a non-sorcerer should ever die by your hand, I die with them.” That look of horror on Suguru’s face is mirrored on Satoru’s own, he knows. “Even if they eventually realize that I influenced them, I doubt they’ll do anything. It’s a perfect deal. I’m a hostage. Neither of you would risk my life.” You pause. “That’s if you agree to the deal, of course.”

“I won’t,” Suguru spits.

“You will. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell them what I did. I’m an accomplice now. Binding vow or not, if you die then I die. You forced my hand.”

Suguru’s hands slowly ball up into fists. They’re clenched so hard that he shakes. You’ve trapped him. You’ve saved his life and he’s furious about it. This was the best possible outcome and Suguru has never looked so betrayed. “I will never wear a heartfelt smile in this world.”

“And I can never live in a world without you in it,” you state just as bluntly.

Tears well up in Suguru’s eyes. “For as long as we both live, I won’t forgive you.”

“I know. I’m doing what you wanted me to. I’m deciding what to do with your life. But I understand. I’ve accepted the risk. I’d rather you resent me for the rest of our lives than watch you die.”

“You’re cruel.”

“No crueler than you.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #anime #jjk fic #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #jjk gojo #jjk geto #gojo satoru #geto suguru #my fic #jjk angst

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bugs1nmybrain · 9 months ago

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Bipolar!Tomura x Reader

Warning: Bipolar Disorder (implied to be type 1), gender-neutral reader, angst, fluff, Shigaraki is mean to the reader, psychotic symptoms, substance use (weed and alcohol), short

note: Shigaraki refers to himself as "being bipolar." I'm aware this is pejorative language, but it made sense for the context of Shigaraki's condition in this story. I also have Bipolar Disorder for reference.

The TV was barely audible over the obnoxiously loud video game music and sound effects coming from Tomura's bedroom. It wasn't like he was ever quiet, but this loud? The neighbors might mistake you two for having a break-in. It definitely didn't help when Tomura would cuss out his screen.

"are you fucking KIDDING ME?! You SCUMBAG CHEAT FUCK!!"

You weren't unused to him talking shit to people on voicechat. It's just he was particularly erratic at the moment. You wanted to check in on him but you weren't sure if that was appropriate. The stabbing decibels would surely blast you away.

Suddenly, all the sounds stop, only leaving the sound of your ears faintly ringing from the absence. It was soon that you smelt..*sniff* .. pot. You hoped he had a fan going and you also wished he'd share. Tomura was already on it though. He opened the door to his room and zipped into the kitchen. With his joint still burning in his hand, he reached up into the cupboard to grab a glass and then a bottle of whiskey. Damn, maybe he should ask for some help?

You watched as he attempted to open the bottle, with his joint in his left hand. His quirk certainly was to be taken accounted for, and he knew it too, because he got too impatient and dusted away the cap, only for the disintegration to fall into the bottle.

"fuck," he said abruptly, but just decided to pour the alcohol in his glass, dust particles included.

"Tomu?" you questioned, watching him try to multitask putting the shit back while smoking his joint.

"Yea, I know, I'll share. Just hang'on."

"Can I help you?"

"Uh.." he spent a moment pondering as if it was a weighted decision. "Here, hold my joint."

You walked over to him and took it from his hands. You contemplated if you really wanted to smoke now, given his state. You knew early on that Tomura had a condition and this wasn't the first time you'd seen him manic. The fact that he wasn't on medication also meant that his episodes could get carried away, and he'd scare you. Not because he was scary...or maybe he was, but you knew it was because he had tripped into a heavy episode.

Tomura turned back to face you when he was done, noticing the joint burn down.

"Why aren't you smoking?" He asks. His tone was normal, though a little jumpy.

"I don't really wanna."

"Why? I don't like smoking by myself. Makes me feel like shit."

"You seem restless."

"Mm, how'd you guess?" He said with a blissfully agitated staring at you.

"Like..you're fast."

"I'm so speedy fast wanna watch me?"

"When's the last time you slept?"

Shigaraki paused and tried to sort through his recent memories but he was unsure. "Uh, maybe..five? Five days ago? I've probably had a nap or two though."

"Maybe we should calm down. Do you wanna watch a movie?"

"Why're you talking to me like a kid?"

"I'm not, I'm worr-"

"Yea I know that, I can tell it's all over your fucking face. Listen, I'm well aware I'm batshit crazy right now but I'm NOT some tragedy, alright?"

"I didn't mean it that way," you stood shaking, trying to fight back your eyes watering.

Tomura sighed seeing you standing scared in front of him. He'd been trying to be fine for weeks. Tomura was never "fine," but when he was paranoid, hyper, determined, and careless beyond proper function, it was a major hindrance. Impacted his goals, though he was great at brainstorming when he was manic.

"You meant it. I'm not even like, mad. I don't know why this happens though, you've seen it before, right?"

"I have. Tomura, can I say something without you getting pissed?"

"What?"

"I think you have Bipolar Disorder."

"Oh really? Turn in your psychiatric report because I'm sure I'm many other things too!"

Tomura huffs and plops down on the living room couch. His adoptive father never gave him access to anything like mental health treatment. AFO told Tomura himself that issues of this matter where only problems that could help his passion for destruction. But Tomura would even admit, being manic beyond belief was scary. He heard voices, saw things that weren't there, sometimes his family, and it was a total living nightmare.

You snuck up behind the couch and began playing with his hair gently. He let out a "hm?", confused considering he just raised his voice at you.

"I just say it because I notice patterns. Like you'll be motivated and nonstop for weeks and then super depressive and bummed out. And it repeats over and over. Usually within the same time frames, too. I'm not trying to insult you, but it might explain things, right?"

You ran your fingers through his scalp. It was definitely a while since his last shower, too. His hair was greasy and dry, but you kept touching him. You could feel him relax into your fingers and whine.

"Sounds like bullshit. I'm not taking any pills."

"I'm not telling you to."

"Well, are you leaving or something? Gonna punish me for being Bipolar?

"No. I want to help you."

"Ain't you some fucking hero."

"I mean it. I can tell you're overwhelmed and just need some sleep or something. I'm not mad Tomura, I never was, I just want you to be ok."

His shoulders began to tense and shake a little. He may have been tearing up but you didn't look and he sat silent.

"Can we order pizza and play Mario Kart, instead? I don't wanna just sit. I'm too awake."

"Yes, baby. I can make a pillow fort!"

"Fuck yessss. Um. I'm also really sorry for yelling at you that wasn't cool."

"I understand Tomu."

You ruffled his hair and kissed his head quick before bolting off to grab your phone but he pulled you down to his lap before you could escape! mwah-ha-ha!

"Stay here for a bit."

"You're trapping me!!" You protested.

"You want me to settle down? Then stay."

Tomura rested his head against yours and held you like you were a stuffed animal. Soon, you could feel his body relax and heard snoring. You turned to see Tomura finally sleeping, but decided to sit still and drift off with for the rest of the night.

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #shiggy x reader #shigaraki angst #bipolar shigaraki

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honeyydrunk · 10 months ago

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the nct fuckboy/fratboy agenda has me weakkkk omg give us more whenever u have the time ur so good!!!

ofc thank u !! they have me going delusional feral crazy barking and meowing !! let me do it for you let me write it out ANY MORE REQUESTS LEMME KNOW !!

part 1 link NCT COLLEGE FUCKBOYS PART 2 ten jeno jungwoo hendery yangyang renjun xiaojun winwin

ten lee chittaphon leechaiyapornkul is a whore. absolute whore. he's raising those neos into SLUTS. his reputation precedes him bc he is so pretty, so flexible, so ughhhhhhhhhhh !!!! like you see him for the first time and you know why people say he's got a body count bigger than his age. everyone wants to fuck himmm. he's so pretty, and even even prettier fucked out. messy hair and everything.

he's always flirting with someone new in the hallway when you see him. and like taeyong, his sex tapes get sent AROUND. people come up to him at school randomly and beg for 1 night w him. he's slept w all the neos at one point im sure about that.

you knew about how much of a SLUT bro was. but once you saw one of his sex tapes w johnny, you found yourself showed up outside of his class and begged for him. he responded that you should dm him w your application and he might get back to you about it. lee jeno 💪 bro is ur average athlete player fuckboy. THE cliche. smokes behind the benches, rich family, somehow top of the class. the one that everyone swears they won't fall for but they all want. you see a new girl on his arm each week and it hurts. but you've already fallen, it's just a matter of time. he'll start wearing you down and he didn't even know he did it. but you did. pulling the triangle technique when you lock eyes, catching you when you fall. and eventually he'll be right behind you when you shamefully admit to your friend that you want him. when he fucks you gone in his car? you know you need to get him to stay with you. you couldn't live without this. like you need his dick to even function. you've given up your life for him, just so that when he asks you're available to suck his dick.

JUNGWOO,,,, oh my god. he's so crazy. y'all remember the 2 baddies fuckboy jungwoo era. imagine that, but that's his default setting. man's still sugaring candy, but it's ur candy this time. he's sucking ur pussy if u didn't understand what doja said. he's the quiet slut. the whole school doesn't talk about him like they do mark, ten, taeyong and jeno. but when you see him? you're done for. batshit crazy delusional. his whole demeanour and personality is straight flirting, pulling his shirt up at every opportunity. the way he walks around the school with his sweet perfume trailing, he gets people going feral over him. people will just walk up and beg for him to fuck him, and ofc jungwoo obliges if they're hot enough.

he's so sweet when you taste him, like his cum is sweeter than sugar. his perfume too. everything about him is like a candy drug. a pretty moan when you suck him dry. he's so pretty and sweet that makes you cum too. genuinely, you start following him around school just so you can smell him. you don't even care it's creepy.

H E N D E R Y is the epitome of "so weird you forget he's hot." he's actually extremely popular. genuinely friends with everyone. people are a little hesitant because they know he's part of the neo slut gang, and they see him acting a little unusual special crazy. but they actually have a conversation with him and suddenly they realise, bro this guy is amazing. and jus like that he's friends with everyone.

but then, uh well here comes a strange phenomenon. you've only seen him being silly, a little whimsical even. but when you see him zoned out, or concentrating for once? ..... "oh". because you finally realise how beautiful he is. an actual prince. it's not exaggerated to say he's taken your breath away. you're in love. imagine how much it hurts to go to a party and realise that you're not the only one in the room that is. so many people had that exact experience as you. learning how beautiful he truly is, falling in love, and begging for him. you see him in the corner, zoned out from the loud music and watch one of the guys you're mutually friends with have that phenomenon right there and then, pulling him away to a cupboard.

the same thing happened 3 times that night. liu yangyang international exchange fuckboy. he doesn't realise he's a fuckboy though. with the whole funny and cute personality going on, he thinks he's just got an amazing ability to pull people. sleeping with a different person or multiple people at a party, to seeing someone new every day and asking for their instagram. bro doesn't even know about the horrendous reputation he's got. "dude people say i'm a slut? nahhh that's crazy."

yangyang is of the opinion he's just a funny chill guy. down for anything, including a little fun fuck times whenever someone asks. and while that's his reasoning, he doesn't quite understand how it looks to everyone else. a rich guy coming back from germany, taiwan, and wherever else for weekend getaway bender and driving to school in a luxury car with a new girl in it almost every day.

when he fucks? it's just like his personality. fun and hyper. bros fucking for a good time and with him it's definitely a good time. spilling cum on the luxury leather seats, tinted windows and a surround sound system. yeah,,,,, you see why he does this so often. it's genuinely so much fun. better make sure you give him a really good time though, so he invites you to his apartment next time.

renjunnie the most smug class president for some, and nct's little plaything to others. it really depends on who you ask. for people in his class, he is the most obnoxious, smug, annoying ahh know it all, with the biggest dick. (a stick up his ass which is obviously jenos). genuinely, every person he's tutored has ended up unfortunately eyeing him instead of the book. how did that end? with him being just as rude and bitchy as he fucks you. measuring how much he pleases you by how much you can answer while fucked out.

but for the ones that know of the dreamies having their way with him can't possibly see him as anything other than a little toy. the way the other six just devour that man is actually quite shocking. lowkey surprised bro can even walk.

xiaojun oh my lord. this man's moans are heavenly. you actually cum when you hear them. (lowkey think some czennie do when he hits those notes). he's part of the nct moaner gets passed around line with renjun, haechan, taeyong, and ten. horrid sex tapes.

he looks so beautiful. standing in front of the school performance during an assembly, halting everyone with his voice. if you could look around, you'd see everyone frozen. haunted by his siren song and face that launched a thousands wars. everyone in that room was looking at him, and only him. in that room, no one was in a relationship. how could they love anyone else except him.

countless marriage proposals, dowrys of billions. everyone in that room would give xiaojun the world in exchange for a sliver of his love. no joke someone has given him a car in exchange for his private instagram account. winwin bros got the cha eunwoo effect. the campus crush. he hangs out with the china line horrid fuckboys , yangyang hendery chenle. but who cares? that actually elevates his status. literally a rose in a garden of slutty ahh thorns. that's not to say he's not a giant fuckboy. he's just quieter about it.

with his quiet excuses, sneak dates an hour away, his subtle ways of affection. he says he doesn't want attention, so you can't publicly date. but that's just so the other girls won't find out. he doesn't even think he's dating you, just seeing where it goes. eventually you'll call it off, "making it easier on your friendship" you say. that's how he goes through so many girls.

taking you to a beautiful garden several hours out of the city, you think it's romantic. he uses a different phone to text with you, 'so the guys don't go through my regular one and tease you'.

enjoying the sunlight he's slowly fingering you so you're focused on his love, and not seeing what's right in front of you

tags: @stanskzorillkickyou you asked for yangyang bbg !!

prev: haechan, mark, johnny, yuta, jaemin, kun, chenle, jisung next: jaehyun doyoung, perhaps lucas sungchan shotaro

#nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #wayv smut #nct smut #ten smut #ten lee smut #lee jeno smut #jeno smut #jungwoo smut #hendery smut #yangyang smut #xiaojun smut #winwin smut

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melrodrigo · 1 year ago

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Tardy, part 11

Tara Carpenter x Fem Reader

Summary: It’s time for you to face Ghostface head on.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Pretty gnarly violence, Tara being protective and kinda batshit crazy, betrayals left and right

A/N: lol

Shit.

When you open your eyes and see nothing but a hot blinding light, you think you might've died and gone to heaven.

"God?" You whisper, blinking slowly.

It was in fact, not god, you find out once your eyes properly adjust.

You're stuck in a tiny compartment; so small you think you might suffocate. The walls are painted a shade of obsidian black that makes you feel like you're stuck in a black hole. Only one single flickering lightbulb grants you sight.

Your arms are sore; so sore, and it only intensifies when you try and pull them up from the weird position they're in.

Huh, I can't move my arms.

You tug at the rope-like fabric of material that's holding your hands together. It doesn't budge in the slightest. Panic rises like wildfire in you.

You breathe deep. Try to gather your wits and make sense of anything that is possibly going on.

"Get it together." You remind yourself.

You blink once.

Feeling a little more clear, you realize that you're strapped tight to a chair, back pressed uncomfortably close to the ridges.

Where am I?

There's no time to find the answer to that question since the wall is moving- oh it's a door-, and Ghostface appears right in front of you, smiling.

Well, you don't really know if he's smiling. But the way he's moving, all confident and cocky, makes you think you're not too far off.

It hits you all at once. Now that you're fully conscious, you can feel everything.

One inhale and your lungs feel like they're on fire. Breathing is hard.

You groan, the pain all too overwhelming for your brain to work properly. It would be embarrassing how loud you were if you cared in the least.

You can only seem to think of one thing.

"Where is she?" You ask, with all the confidence of someone in the position of interrogating Ghostface.

Tara. God, what did they do to Tara?

“Of course, your first words are about her." Ghostface spits, still using that goddamned voice modulator.

“Where is she?” You spit, trying your very best to look intimidating.

It's not very convincing when you're heaving and gasping like a fish out of water.

"Would you believe me if I said she was already dead?" Ghostface drawls, tracing their knife along your jawline, pressing just enough for you to feel it.

You scoff.

"Right...you'd kill one of your beloved 'main characters' before the finale." You say, sure you've read him to filth.

"But, this is the ending. Don't you see?" He continues to tease, unbothered by your last comment.

You huff, but you feel your heart picking up speed slightly.

What if...he was telling the truth?

A shrill scream sounds throughout the theater, and you feel your blood run cold as you recognize exactly who it is.

"Tara." You breathe, half terrified and half relieved she's still alive.

"Tara!" You yell, as loud as your lungs are willing to let you.

Tara doesn't reply. What you do get is a smack to the head and an elbow to the jaw.

"Be quiet." Ghostface hisses, and you can almost swear he sounds sort of scared.

"Be quiet or I'm going to get my ass whooped." He mumbles, and you pull back as far as you can, eyebrows raised.

You bite back the need to tell him you definitely don't care if he gets in trouble or not, not wanting to get slapped in the face a billion more times.

"Come on." He grumbles, gripping the back of the chair and lifting it up swiftly.

The feeling of your feet dangling off the chair reminds you of one of your favorite memories.

"Mint ice cream sucks," Tara tells you definitively.

You squint your eyebrows at her and bring up a hand to your heart like she's just stabbed you.

She's sitting with her ice cream in hand, a good distance away from you. You guys peer down at all the university students walking around, now the size of ants; trying to point out people you guys recognize.

It was your own little secret spot. Tara could never really go study outside uni, since her sister was always up her ass about traveling unknown spaces. You never asked her why, pure sister protectiveness, you guessed.

A couple of weeks into knowing Tara, she'd brought you up to this mini garden haven of hers, all shy and smiley.

She's sitting now and she's looking so pretty with her big brown eyes and freckles out for display. They shine bright today, sunshine illuminating her face and making everything just pop the slightest bit more.

You get a wicked idea, and before you can stop yourself, scoot yourself closer and place your arm around her.

Tara cocks an eyebrow at you, but before she can speak a word, you start tickling her sides.

"Stop!" Tara squeals. Her face turning a bright pink comically fast.

You're careful not to tickle her too hard, or else you think she might just slide off the ledge and fall right here.

You're close now, closer than you should be. Tension swims in the air. You lean down to whisper into her ear.

"That's what you get for saying mint sucks." You huff, smirking a little as she shudders from the feeling of your breath fanning her ear.

When you pull back and look into her eyes, you're surprised to see them wide and dilated. She has a weird expression her face, like she's fighting something in herself.

You lean in slowly, stuck in a trace with the way she's looking at you.

She grips your shirt and pulls you in further, your noses brushing. And then suddenly, like she's just snapped out of her daze, she sits up abruptly.

She laughs nervously, letting go of your shirt.

"I think Sam's calling me. I'll see you tomorrow. Same time?" She's saying, but she's not even giving you a second to answer before she's sprinting away.

Despite the sort of failed kiss, you chuckle a little. You feel the blush creep up to the tips of your ears.

The day your crush on Tara Carpenter officially started.

It's a bad time to start daydreaming, but you figure if you're going to die right now, it wouldn't be so bad to think of the love of your life while you go.

The sound of Tara's voice brings you back to life.

"YN!" She gasps, from somewhere behind you. You're still getting dragged, hair stuck to your forehead, eyes blurred.

You try your best to blink everything back to focus.

She's standing on the platform slightly below you, beside Sam, looking relieved. There's a brick in her hand.

You try and say her name but all that comes out is a painful groan. Everything feels heavy. Your shirt is painted red where your stomach wound is, and you figure you must've ripped the stitches.

There's another Ghostface beside you, the two of them bracketing you on either side.

Not that you would have the energy to up and escape anyway.

"Tara..." Sam warns, eyeing her sister like she knows what she's about to do.

Tara rushes forward, ignoring Sam's protest, trying to get to you. To hold you in her arms, to press her hands against your wound, to kiss it better; to do anything.

The Ghostface to your right swings their knife as soon as she comes into the vicinity, and slices the skin above Tara's collarbone easily. She gasps from the jab. Red liquid seeps out immediately.

You feel the Ghostface to your left tense, a mixture of a gasp and a yell stuck together.

"Anika wait-!" The Ghostface is saying, the name slipping out as easy as second nature.

Everybody stills.

It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The other Ghostface whirls around, shoulders tight.

Sam tugs Tara back quietly, looking between the two Ghostfaces. Your head is swimming.

"What did you say?" Ghostface- supposedly Anika, says.

"What the fuck." You manage to spit out, but it goes unheard, everyone being laser-focused on the scene unfolding right in front of them.

"I'm sorry- I'm sorry I didn't mean to say that. It's just, I thought you were going to kill Tara. I couldn't let you do that." The other Ghostface reasons, albeit unconvincingly. He stumbles over his words, in a tone that's all too familiar to you.

"Ethan?" You hesitate, tears brimming in your eyes.

The Ghostface that's hovering above you drops down to your ear level, whispering softly.

"Well, aren't you just a smart little thing?" And promptly slides off that wretched Ghostface mask, and even though you knew, you have to gasp at who you see.

Anika.

Sweet sweet Anika.

"Just take it off. It's not like they don't already know." Anika tells Ethan, an order more than anything.

You tilt your head just enough to see Ethan take off his mask, grinning nervously.

"What the fuck?" You hear Tara say, but it sounds so far away.

"But, but how-" Sam starts, pointing at Ethan, her face as pale as a ghost.

He looks good, healthy. More alive than you've ever seen him. There's a glint in his eye you've never seen before.

"I'm alive. Surprise!" He grins, flashing the four of you a pearly white smile.

I must be dreaming.

You squeeze your eyes shut. He's still standing there when you open them again. Shit.

"But I watched you die, I felt the blood. You-you died in my arms. I saw the ambulance pick you up." You splutter, voice cracking unevenly.

"You know...some fake blood and a couple of acting classes can do wonders. You guys really are not good at picking up on hints." Anika sing songs, waving her dagger in the air.

"Seriously...we even had to send you a note." She continues, scrunching her nose in disgust.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you so hell-bent on destroying us?" Sam asks, fire in her eyes. She looks scary. Messing with Sam was one thing, but messing with her sister? You have a feeling they'll be dead in minutes.

Anika sighs dramatically, putting a hand up to her chin and feigning thought.

"Gosh. Where do I even start? Let's set the scene: it's 1996. There's been two mysterious murders in the small town of Woodsboro, leaving everyone in fright." She recounts, words slipping out of her mouth with ease like she's rehearsed them a million times.

Sam rolls her eyes, fed up with this godforsaken story that seems to follow her anywhere.

"Akio Kayoko however, lives happily, because finally his two bullies Billy and Stu aren't on his ass anymore. They have more important things to worry about."

Sam cuts in before Anika goes any further.

"Are you fucking kidding me? This is all because what, your dad couldn't handle a couple wedgies? Are you a little daddy's girl?" She says, fed up.

Anika shoots her an icy glare, but continues.

"You don't even know what you're talking about." Anika tells her, voice lowering to soft and almost sorrowful.

"Poor dad, he just had to go to that party. Do you know what happens to a person when they go through something traumatic? It changes them. He came out the only bystander that survived, but not without a scarred face and a scarred soul to show for it." She murmurs. She turns suddenly, a new pep in her mannerisms.

"Your father," she points at Sam accusingly, "and your father," she points her knife at you, "fucked my dad up royally. He got diagnosed with severe depression and bipolar disorder from it. And for what?" She seethes.

"Your guys' fathers are just racist assholes. You deserve everything that's coming to you, don't you even doubt it for a second!" She sneers, with so much venom and power that you can't help but agree.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, try to explain that you aren't your dad, but Anika beats you to it.

"Did you know he left me? I still remember it like it was yesterday. I was 6." She tells you, voice getting softer. Your heart tugs for her.

She straightens up, as if just realizing where she was, and her icy facade once again builds up.

"Anywho, motive enough for you Sam?" She tilts her head up, eyes bright.

Sam stands scarily still, but you can see the concern swimming in her eyes.

Ethan's standing wide-eyed like this is all new information to him.

"It really wasn't that hard getting you two to meet. All I had to do was invite Tara to that party and just give YN a little bump so you two would talk." Anika continues, and you furrow your eyebrows. Party? You met Tara at a party?

Your eyes dart to Tara and she's looking at you a little solemnly, and suddenly it hits you like a truck. Memories that have never been unlocked before replay in your mind now. The angel from that party.

That was Tara.

"After that, everything just fell into place. You guys are one pathetic predictable group of people." Ethan pipes up.

"The friendship, the night you got stabbed, it was all planned. I mean, why do you think I took you back to the apartment? For Anika to "stitch you up?" He asks excitedly, looking at Anika for approval to speak further. She gives him an annoyed nod.

"And guess what the best part is," He giggled midway, but gains his composure again. "Every time she came to fix you up, she actually poisoned the wound. Never too much that you would notice- but enough to guarantee your death today. It's infected." He cheers, like he hasn't just told you you're going to die.

"Jesus, you never told me how bad it was," Tara says, making your eyes dart back to hers, trying to catch her gaze to inadvertently say your sorry, but she doesn't meet your eyes.

"I didn't want you to worry." You sigh.

Ethan makes a noise of disgust. He looks at you with scrunched eyebrows, a little crinkle of his nose betraying his chill facade. His gaze shifts to Tara, and you can't help but notice his voice move just a pitch higher.

"Poor Tara. Caught in this sick twisted web between your sister and your girlfriend. You didn't even do anything wrong right, baby? Don't worry...nothing's going to happen to you. I've made sure of that." He tells her, and it hits you all at once.

"Baby? What are you talking about? " Tara asks, cocking her head to the side.

"I love you, Tara. I did all of this just for you. When the both of them are dead, you and I can get together. Finally." He says, between deep breaths.

You don't know how you never saw it before. Memories of the prior weeks flash in front of your eyes.

His heart eyes for your girlfriend every time the group would have a movie night and you two would cuddle, the weird lingering around the both of you whenever you'd go out.

You just figured he really liked your company.

"You're out of your mind you sick fuck. Tara would never date you, even if you were the last person on earth." Is what Sam says, and despite the consequences of what's sure to come, your heart sings.

Last person on earth.

Ethan stutters, like he never thought of the possibility that she would reject him. You see tears forming immediately, frown apparent. He's trying to keep it together- you can tell.

He leans back slightly, dejected. His eyes cloud with something you can only describe as hatred, and for a scary moment, you think he seriously might jump at Tara.

However, he doesn't get the time to act on his thoughts, because in less than a blink of an eye Anika's moving over and stabbing him in the neck.

"Agh!" He grunts. A trickle of blood runs down the side of his mouth, then it bursts. So, so much thick crimson liquid gurgles out.

Anika stands behind him, sliding her knife out his back, wiping the blood clean.

"Gosh, what a bore he was, right? True love this true love that. I couldn't listen to that shit any longer." She gags, leaning over to stick her tongue out at Ethan's lifeless face. She stabs him again in the jaw for good measure.

She looks back at the three of you, who are clearly aghast.

"Gotta make sure he's dead right?" She smiles, and it finally gets through to you that she's lost it. Whoever you thought you knew, that person never existed.

No one answers her as she stands up.

You turn stoney-faced as you look up at her. "So what's the plan Anika? How are you gonna get away with this?"

She turns around, rolling her eyes. Before you know it, she's advancing towards you, knife raised. She jabs lightly at your wound. Teases her knife against your skin. You really wish people would stop picking that specific part to hurt you.

"Do we really need to go over this again? Kill you guys blah blah blah, find Mindy and kill her, say that you and Sam went crazy like their fathers. Really, it's not hard to understand." Anika continues, shuffling her feet as she speaks like she's bored.

Time is ticking before she snaps and just decides to kill you, you know it. Not to mention the fact that you were actively dying.

"What do you really want from us? Just name your price now, and we'll- we'll get it. Just let her go." Tara splutters, almost begging.

Anika stomps her feet with the energy of a three year olds tantrum, "I want revenge! Have I not made that clear enough?" she basically yells.

Sam moves forward slowly, like a wildlife expert moving towards a wild beast.

"Look I'm sure we can come to an agreement about something-" She's saying, but Anika rolls her eyes once again and advances lazily towards you.

Nothing happens in slo-mo like the movies, you can barely register her face before she's plunging the dagger deep into the other side of your lower stomach. You can feel it pierce it's way through your whole body.

You hear a scream but it sounds a million miles away. You gag, moving your head to the side to try and puke, but nothing comes out. You try to groan in frustration but it makes your skin sting everywhere that you stop. You just stop for a moment.

Tara's fully sobbing now, you think. You can't really tell.

All hell breaks loose. Sam breaks out into a sprint at Anika, effectively knocking her down till both of them are tumbling on the floor.

You see flashes of black and gray and blood spurting from someone.

"Stay with me." You hear someone say, and try with everything in you to blink back everything into focus. It's Tara.

Her mascara is everywhere. Black stripes of tears and makeup streak down her pretty face, and you feel the urge even now to bring your hand up and wipe the tears away.

You try and tell her to stop crying but the words die in your mouth. What feels like fire engulfs your lungs.

"Stay with me. I'll be right back." She whispers, pressing a kiss to your chapped lips.

You search your mind desperately for a way out of this mess, a solution, but everything goes blank. Your ears ring, eyes rolling to the back of your head in pain.

With everything you have in you, you squeeze Tara's hand one last time, and tell her to take the knife currently lodged in you out.

Tara's eyes darken, the most cloudy you've ever seen them.

"No, no. I couldn't do that." She says, another round of tears falling down her cheeks. She shakes her head adamantly, but you shush her.

"Please. For me." You manage to get out, then with the utmost acceptance, you let yourself go.

Tara doesn't remember much of what happened after that. She remembers sobbing, she remembers someone screaming, but she can't be too sure if it's her or someone else. She remembers the feeling of your fingers loosening their grip on her hand, and she remembers seeing red.

With no where else to channel her emotions, and with your words engraved in her mind, she turns on Anika.

She hurries over to where she's still wrestling with Sam, expression tight, and grabs the first thing she can find in this shithole of a theater.

Your father's wooden box.

She remembers faintly telling Sam to fuck off, and smashing the box over Anika's head. Then picking it up and doing the same thing again. And again, and again. She remembers taking the heel of her shoes and smashing it to Anika's nose, breaking it in one clean hit.

She remembers going back to you, your white as paper skin, and yanking the knife out of you.

And the final thing she remembers is screaming at Anika while she buries the knife in and out of the girl’s body, everywhere, again and again.

#tardy #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x reader #melrodrigo #jenna ortega #mine

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tired-biscuit · 2 years ago

Note

Cockwarming kiba as a punishment for him being jealous but he literally cannot stand it and instead tries to fuck you wildly 😩

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: cockwarming, jealousy, degrading (reader gets called names), lots of bickering, kind of a sweet ending, established relationship.

↳ you wear a skirt that your boyfriend thinks is much too short for his own personal comfort. after he shares his (mostly unwanted) opinion on it, an argument ensues for which you both end up paying for.

all kiba wants to do is pound your pussy. but instead of doing that, he’s being forced to sit completely still, while you literally soak his cock as punishment.

it all happens so quick, neither of you remembers who had made the first move as a means to connect in the midst of the storm that is your argument. one second you were screaming at him, losing your shit and acting ‘batshit crazy’, and the next you were tasting his tongue in your mouth, experiencing the prickle of his canines tugging on your bottom lip like so many times before.

it’s different this time, however. while the kissing might be something you’re used to by now and is nothing short from a whirlwind of transparent need and an almost ferocious exhibition of love, the air in the room sits heavy; it’s laced with unresolved tension that you’re both secretly dreading for having to sort out.

it’s a sensitive matter. words had been said, poison unleashed, and you can’t take any of it back. panting on the couch, you’re both avoidant when it comes to facing the consequences as you try to cool down after the tense, oddly sexually-charged fight you’ve just had.

you suppose it’s safe to say that it’s not going all that well.

the living room has gotten hot, it’s been like this for the last twenty minutes or so. kiba’s body feels like it’s burning, reaching close to a hundred degrees because of how pissed he is at the fact that you keep on refusing to bounce up and down his dick in that slutty way that you know damn well he’s an absolute sucker for.

your body, meanwhile, has practically been set ablaze as an aftermath of the stretch that you willingly choose to endure between your legs. it makes you pulsate with heat right from within; causing you to simmer with annoyance and pleasure at the same time. he’s so snug inside you, fits you so well.

both of you want to move, it’s making you visibly desperate. but you can’t; at least not until one of you admits defeat first.

“apologize.”

“nah.”

a fed up scoff leaves you at his point-blank denial, at how he really makes an effort to say it as nonchalantly as possible. it’s like he doesn’t care, even if you know that he’d die for you at the end of the day. it’s just the kind of man he is.

you stare at one another; gazes filling to the brim with lust, but also getting intense, heated with bitter disapproval that emits from both sides in nearly equal amounts.

pride truly can be a curse. to an outsider, it would look like you’ve come to despise each other from how venomously you’re currently glaring at him and he at you. there are daggers hiding in your respective stares, though all their cuts are superficial. the blades might be honed, but neither of you lets them cut too deep. years of partnership has taught you well.

still, kiba’s anger is intense, so much so that it’s almost palpable in the room you’re in. the irked look that now sits on his face only fuels your own outrage that you feel for him. it’s no wonder that the longer you stare at your persistently obstinate boyfriend, the desire to spit the outright nastiest, most hurtful words that you’d ever be able to come up with on the spot, gets so profound that it nearly starts to swell within your chest.

they’re getting awfully impatient as they sit on the tip of your tongue, the insults. you can feel them pushing against the back of your teeth as they desperately try to break free so that they can relieve some of the frustration that dangerously bubbles inside you, and can thus cause damage you’d both regret later on.

you want to say them so badly, and yet, one look aimed at his dark brown eyes makes you swallow every bad word. makes you shove them down your throat, that feels way too tight because of the knot that’s currently residing in it. makes you keep yourself in-check and forces your mouth to remain shut, because you’re well aware that it’s not worth it, even if there’s red clouding every corner of your vision.

there’s nothing but love underneath the surface.

after all, you surely wouldn’t end up in this sticky situation if there was no heart, yes?

it’s time to try again.

“apologize.”

“no.”

“c’mon,” you huff, blinking away the merest hint of tears from your eyes. “apologize.”

“mm… stop that.”

the way you readjust ever so slightly then, wiggling your hips in the most careful manner, makes him swallow thickly this time, and causes the vein in the side of his neck to bulge against his tan skin.

kiba exhales loudly through his nose at the little movement, repressing the urge to groan in pleasure that it invokes. his lips press into a firm line when he looks up at you from underneath his dark lashes. he doesn’t want you to cry — he loves you, goddammit — but at the same time, he doesn’t want you to win either.

in his unfortunately small, male brain, he feels like you’re the one that’s in the wrong about the entire situation. just like you must surely feel like he is in yours.

but can you blame him for it, really? he simply isn’t capable of understanding the reason as to why you’d ever want to wear a skirt that short anywhere else but in the safe confines of your home, where he’d be the only one able to lay eyes on it and would consequently slide his hands underneath it just as well.

he’s overthinking it. is wondering if you’re doing it because you’re somehow trying to mess with him on purpose. if you are trying to make him jealous by wearing it, which you’ve indeed succeeded in doing already, and if you are trying to provoke him as well. god, what if you’re doing it to catch someone else’s eye? and whose eye exactly, if you are?

to be fair, he’s well aware of your freedom when it comes to picking and choosing your outfits, as well as every other thing, of course, and he normally doesn’t fuss about it at all but rather supports it instead. but come on; even you must admit that you’re acting straight up absurd this time.

aren’t you?!

the wretched thing is so tiny that it makes your entire ass peek out from underneath the hem. and yes, that’s when you’re not bending over at the middle. he’s made sure.

he could see everything as you’d carelessly strolled past him earlier, telling him that you’re ready to go out. could see the smooth back of your thighs, the fat of your ass. hell, he could even see how plump your fucking pussy looked in your cutesy underwear.

the same plump pussy that he’s sank balls deep into, now. the same fat ass that he’s got his hands full with; blunt nails sinking into the plush flesh as he hikes the piece of clothing that is to blame for all of this higher up your waist.

“i said no,” he mutters quietly, his breathing ragged from how overwhelmed and impatient he’s getting. his cock is leaking inside of you. it makes him twitch all over; he can’t stay still.

you make a note of how he doesn’t sound as self-asssured as he did before, even if his gaze remains unmoving from yours. and sure, while he might be stubborn as a bull, you don’t miss the unsure flicker of a muscle in his cheek when you purposefully squeeze around him, though. the way his dick throbs in response, warming your sensitive walls, causes one corner of your lips to kick upward slightly.

he’s giving in.

“c’mon, ki,” you utter sweetly, trying a different approach whilst squeezing him again just for good measure. “just say you’re sorry and we’ll, umm… forget this ever happened. yeah, baby?”

“fuck no,” he replies in a whisper, furrowing his brow at the sudden sugar in your tone. there’s sweat gleaming on it already.

“why not?”

“because.”

“because, why?”

“just ‘cause.”

“okay, but why?”

“‘cause i don’t wanna say it, all right?!” he frowns. “now stop pesterin’ me.”

you’re getting nowhere.

but what he does want from you, though, is for you to just fucking ride him already. this forced stillness, that you’re making him follow through with as punishment for what he’d said about your outfit earlier, is absolute torture. it’s his own personal kind of hell.

and he wants out.

“why don’t you want to say it?” you press on.

“‘cause,” he insists yet again, swallowing the saliva that’s gathered in his mouth for a second time.

silence stretches between you. your warm slick dribbles down to his balls. it makes his heart race.

“fine, whatever. have it your way, i give up,” you say, clearly done with it.

you start to lift your hips but he stops you. makes you stay on top of him with the help of both big hands wrapping around your curves. the callouses that touch your skin make your chest tighten. you’re getting slippery between your legs.

“keep sittin’.” his eyelids are so heavy when he looks at you and sighs in defeat when you push back against his grip, not listening. you feel so good, it makes him physically ache. he can’t have you running off, it’ll ruin him.

“no, i don’t wanna,” you talk back, scrunching the bridge of your nose. you keep pulling away from him now; pushing at his chest and trying to lift yourself off his lap. all this disobedient squirming that you’re doing clearly hits a nerve within him.

“fine, fine, damn! i don’t wanna say i’m sorry ‘cause i hate that slutty lil’ skirt and how fucking short it is, okay?” he obliges at long last, relishing the way you go still. “your entire ass is out when you wear it, for fuck’s sake.”

you quirk a brow, astounded. “so?”

he blinks. “what d’you mean ‘so’?”

“what does it matter if you hate it? that doesn’t give you permission to be mean to me about it!”

“no, i—”

“last time i checked, i can wear whatever i want. so if i want my ass to be out, then it sure as hell will be.”

now he’s the one that’s baffled. “i mean, it’s jus’ my opinion… why should i have to apologize for having an opinion?”

some opinion.

insecurity is more like it.

“whatever… do you really hate it, though? the skirt?” you look down at the place where you connect; at the glistening little spot where your clit is pressing against his dark pubic hair, now that you’ve settled back down.

“y-yeah.” his stomach is clenched tight, the muscle lines there visible from how strained he is and how badly he’s trying to keep himself from fucking right into you. it’s a struggle for you both, the entire cockwarming situation, but it seems like he’s taking it way worse than you.

“aha. sure, buddy.” he doesn’t miss the way your eyebrows shoot up towards your hairline at his unconvincing answer. you’re clearly more interested in his treacherous body language than what he has to say.

“what,” he nearly growls out. he’s getting frustrated, and the fact that you aren’t giving him what he wants, not letting him cum, is definitely not helping either. “what is it?”

“oh, nothing,” you chirp playfully, giggling a little. “nothin’ at all.”

“why are there always gotta be games when i’m with you?” he glares. snaps his jaw into place. “just say what you wanna say, is it really that hard?”

“mm,” you bring a finger up to your lips as you pretend to ponder. and just as he gets hopeful that you’ll speak your mind, just as he’s nearly delirious with want, all he gets as an answer is you leaning in and gently flicking the tip of his nose as you mock the depth of his voice and say, “and what happens if ‘i don’t wanna say it’?”

before he can respond, you grin and continue, “what if all i wanna do is, oh, i dunno… wear my slutty little skirt, as you’ve called it, and prance around in it right in front of everyone…?”

he stares up at you at your taunt. you watch with a twisted sense of victory as his pupils grow large to the size of a cat’s whenever it finds itself in the dark.

heat rises up kiba’s neck; it makes his face turn so red at your provocative remarks that you’re positive it’d be hot all over if you were to touch it. but the blush does not happen because of embarrassment, like you’d initially thought at the start. no, no.

this is pure, jealous fury.

the lewd embrace that your soft cunt continues to provide around his cock tightens to an almost unbearable degree when he grabs you by the hips again all of a sudden, and holds you in a grip that’s so iron-like that it causes his knuckles to flash stark white because of it.

“what’re you, h-hey— n-no, fuck!” your legs squeeze around him as he slams into you with relentless force, then; with no warning whatsoever. it’s an action he’s rarely seen accomplishing without your approval first, but he doesn’t even think about seeking it out in that exact moment.

he doesn’t think you deserve it, really.

at least not when you act like a brat.

“fuck… this. you can wear that shitty skirt for as long as ya want, sweetheart,” he whispers, every breath laboured. “but lemme just make one thing clear; you won’t even be able to walk, much less sit in it after i’m done with that little whorish cunt of yours that you wanna flaunt around so bad.”

“oh, fu-fuck you!” you repeat with a squeal at the sudden intrusion; mouth popping open, eyes squeezing shut. your fingers twitch as you grab fistfuls of his hair and try to make him ease his ruthless pounding a bit.

he smirks. “you’re doin’ it right now.” fucker.

the squelches are so loud. the slapping of skin against skin stings you. the tears that threaten to spill over your waterline are hard to hide, now. it all makes your upper lip quiver.

and yet, it doesn’t sway him into mercy.

kiba doesn’t listen, nor does he care as he puts his hand on the back of your neck, tangles his fingers into your hair and presses you flush against his chest. ever since your panties had come sliding down your legs, currently clinging for dear life around one of your ankles, he’s turned completely brain-dead.

because no matter how many times you mewl and cry out now, all he does is grunt and grumble into the tender spot where your neck meets your shoulder. he simply doesn’t budge. his pounding has even gotten so ruthless that he’s got you gritting your teeth from how close you’re getting to climax and overstimulation.

“you think i’ll just stay completely still like a good boy while there’s a cute lil’ slut sitting on my cock?” his exhales are warm against your skin. arrogance drips off his tone as he kisses your cheek softly, “baby, who do you take me for?”

you’re both sweating like crazy by the time you start to comply and help him by wiggling your hips again. your walls are just so tight, so wet, and your hole keeps fluttering around his cock in a way that makes his eyes want to roll back into his skull. the fact that your tits are out and are being shoved right into his goddamn face as you sit on his lap and keep your arms tightly wrapped around his neck is pure heaven.

he nearly shivers when you drag your nails through his hair and let your knees sink deeper into the cushions of the sofa you’d shoved him onto long moments prior straddling him in pure frustration.

“i’m sorry,” you whimper through tears and quiet sniffles when the first heatwave of your orgasm rushes through you, shaking you to your fucking core. his thrusts have gotten jerky and sloppy, but he doesn’t stop. just keeps on pushing you through your high.

“m’sorry, too, sweetheart,” he heaves, pulling you in for a kiss that’s more spit and clashing of teeth than anything else. his forehead rests against your own and his eyes are soft. “sorry for being so mean and acting like a prick. i’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“i love you.” your eyelids flutter shut at the overwhelming sensation, the bliss, the fullness. “…god.”

“love ya too.” he chuckles. tries to focus on his movements even if the way you clench around him like a vice wipes his mind entirely clean. “and forget about what i said, yeah? who cares what you wear? i can fight if someone tries shit with you… i’ll knock out their fucking teeth if i have to.”

you grin, all dazed and crooked. “really? you’d fight for me?”

“mhmm,” he hums lazily, hiking your skirt up again as if he wants to prove a point. his gaze fixates on it as he watches how his cock pushes in and out of your drenched cunt, the ring of milky arousal gathering at the hilt of him. “you know, it kind of fits you well… a slutty lil’ skirt for a slutty lil’ pussy.”

all is forgiven with the quiet laugh you share then.

#kiba smut #naruto smut #kiba x reader #biscuit drabbles #cw cockwarming #cw degrading

835 notes · View notes

lucajayms · 4 months ago

Note

once again, i apologize for the rant

helloo, if youre still taking requests, fem reader who is the drummer (fuck b*b) who has been dating gerard since bullets (i love bullets gerard so much) and theyre doing the im not ok video and she is dressed as one of the cheerleaders and has the same uniform as the guys but with skirt. and gerard keeps making jokes about how unfair is that she is only one wearing a skirt and being cheerleader, everyone laughs and he acts like its no big deal but reader knows he feels truly a little bit sad because of it but she doesn't say anything because she want him to be the one to talk about it first. then like 18 years pass 😭 and reader and gerard are at a thrift store and gee sees THE cheerleader outfit and is really interested by it but tries to play it cool but reader convinces them to buy it and get it modified to wear on stage. then gerard puts it on for the first time and reader is just happy that he is so happy bc they have been wanting to be a cheerleader for almost 20 years 😭

take your time, feel free to ignore this, cubicles was soooo good thanks for reading my batshit crazy rants <3

You Should Have Raised A Baby Girl...

gerard way x reader she/her used use of y/n

masterlist

warnings: mentions of drug use, drug tests, consensual ass grabbing

funfact Gee wore the cheerleader dress on my bday 🤭 (8/24/22)

I cross my arms, the sting of doubt twisting inside me, and take a deep breath. "Are you fucking high?" I spit, each word coated in anger and disappointment. I know it hurts to ask, especially now, when he’s been clawing his way through every withdrawal, trying his hardest to get clean. But his hands are shaking, and his eyes, hidden beneath that curtain of greasy hair, seem lost and unfocused.

"What?" His voice wavers, but he manages to snap back, "No! I'm not!" He pushes his hair out of his face, and his eyes—those eyes I used to know so well—look up, wide and offended.

I narrow my gaze, searching his expression, his stance, anything that might give me the truth. His defenses are up, but that doesn't reassure me. "I don't care. I’m drug testing you."

He scoffs and flails his arms in exasperation. "Fine! Go ahead. I have nothing to hide." There’s defiance in his tone, but the fear flickers beneath it, plain as day.

I grab a test kit from my bag, ignoring the questions in his eyes. He looks at me, searching for privacy. I shake my head, a hollow ache stirring inside me as my thoughts drift back to Helena—how young she was, just seventeen, when her own addiction took root. They always find a way to make it negative, but sometimes that reassurance just isn’t enough. Bracing myself, I mutter, "What? It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before. I know how addicts work, Gerard. I've seen people fake a drug test."

He groans but doesn’t argue, reluctantly turning to the test. As he fills the cup, I give him enough space for dignity but keep my gaze steady, just long enough to confirm he's not faking. When he finishes, we settle into a tense silence, the minutes dragging painfully as we wait for the results. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, gnawing on my lip. My stomach twists, dreading that I might be right—and hoping, desperately, that I’m wrong.

The test finally beeps, and I look down, half-expecting the worst. But it’s clear: negative. For everything.

"See?" he snaps, grabbing the result before storming out of the bathroom. "Fucking told you."

I follow him out, the frustration spilling over. "Well, what did you expect, Gerard? Huh?"

He whirls around, his jaw clenched, eyes blazing. "I expected you to believe me, (Y/N)! Just once, without pulling out some test like I'm some… some criminal!"

His words hit me, and a wave of guilt washes over me, but I steady myself, my voice softer. "I just… I had to be sure, Gerard. You don’t get it. Watching you… wondering if you’re slipping again… it kills me."

He stops, his shoulders slumping, and suddenly he looks tired, worn down to his bones. "You think I don’t know that? Every damn day, I’m fighting myself. I’m fighting for you, for Mikey, for everyone. I’m trying, (Y/N). I’m really trying."

I reach out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know you are. And I’m proud of you. More than you’ll ever know." My voice softens further, a crack showing. "But I can’t be too careful, Gerard. I can't watch you spiral again. Not after… not after Helena."

At her name, his face shifts, and the anger in his eyes softens. He knows what Helena’s been through, what addiction stole from her, from all of us.

He looks away, sighing, and rubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “For making you doubt me. But… I’m not going anywhere, (Y/N). Not this time. I swear.”

I nod, swallowing back tears. "I believe you," I say, and it’s the truth. “And I’m with you. Every step.”

We stand there in silence, something heavy and real hanging between us. I take his hand and give it a squeeze, feeling his fingers grip mine back, and for a moment, the fear eases—just enough to remember that maybe, this time, we’ll both make it through.

And he kept his word for the next few days. The jitters continued but it was fine because he was quitting cold turkey. That's a very difficult thing to do and I have no idea how he's gone this far.. I almost feel bad with every accusation that comes out of my mouth. I want to be wrong, and so far each time I have been.

The shoot for I'm Not Okay (I Promise) was set for tomorrow—our first real music video, with an actual budget. Sure, we had those two videos from the last record, but those were put together on scraps and prayers. This time, though? Reprise was footing the bill. They let us do whatever we wanted with it, so we went for prep school misfits, us being the outcasts, too clueless to catch the hints but somehow breaking through, brainwashing the place with our song. It was the coolest idea we’d had yet.

And it wasn’t just the video. Next week, we were kicking off the Taste of Chaos tour, our first tour for Revenge. The whole thing was surreal. I could see it in Gerard, the way he fidgeted with his sleeves, or spaced out a little too long whenever he thought no one was looking. He’d never done a show sober before, not a real one, and that fear was clawing at him. We all knew it. But no one dared to say it.

That night, we piled into a late-night diner, the five of us crammed into a booth, splitting greasy fries and cheap coffee. Gerard was uncharacteristically quiet, his fingers tapping anxiously against his mug. I nudged him gently, trying to pull him out of his head.

"You ready for tomorrow?" I asked, forcing a smile.

He chuckled softly, but his eyes were distant. I knew something was bothering him, he just didn't want to say it. “Yeah, I mean… it’s exciting. Just… a lot, you know? First real video. Then the tour…”

Mikey shot him a reassuring look from across the table. “You got this, Gee. We all do. This is what we wanted, right?”

Gerard nodded, taking a shaky sip of his coffee. "Yeah. I know. Just… new territory."

I leaned closer, giving him a nudge with my shoulder. “We’re right here. You’re not doing this alone. Just think about the video, okay? Tomorrow, we’re gonna be a bunch of misfit weirdos, and I think we’ve all had enough practice for that.”

That got a real laugh out of him, and I caught the hint of relief in his eyes. Maybe he was still scared, but he was here. He was trying.

That night in the hotel room, I sat in front of the mirror, straightener in hand, trying to make tomorrow’s prep a little easier. I’d get half my hair done tonight so the crew wouldn’t have to wrestle with it in the morning. But as I worked on one of the bottom layers, my gaze kept drifting back to Gerard. He was lying on the bed in his matching pajamas—Batman this time—eyes glued to the TV. I could tell something was eating at him. There was this distant look in his eyes, like he was somewhere far away.

“What’s the matter, baby?” I asked, running the straightener over a strand, watching him through the mirror. He shrugged, not looking away from whatever was flickering on the screen. “Come on, I know there’s something. Talk to me, Gee.”

He shifted a little, lips parting like he was about to say something. “Do you… do you know if…” He trailed off, shaking his head like he’d thought better of it.

I set the straightener down, turning to face him fully. “Do I know if what, babe?”

He hesitated, biting his lip. Finally, he sighed. “Do you know what your costume’s gonna be like tomorrow?”

My brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Like… are you gonna be in a skirt or are you matching us?” His voice was soft, hesitant, like he didn’t want to give away the reason he was asking.

I moved to the edge of the bed, leaning over to rub his shin through the silly Batman pajama pants. “I’m gonna be wearing a skirt, yeah. They wanted me to stand out a little more.”

He nodded, looking down, and there was that far-off look again. I could tell he was wrestling with something. “Why do you ask?”

He squirmed a bit, his fingers fidgeting with the blanket, before finally looking at me with those big, uncertain eyes. “I… I’ve always wanted to wear a skirt, you know? Just… not in a joke way. I don’t know, I just… I’ve thought about it a lot, but I’ve always been too scared to actually… you know, do it.”

The confession hung between us, delicate and vulnerable. He looked at me, waiting, as if expecting me to laugh or brush it off. But I didn’t. I just moved closer, so our knees touched, and I took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Gee,” I murmured, “you’d look amazing in a skirt. Seriously.”

He let out a shaky breath, almost like a laugh. “I just… I don’t want anyone to think I’m… I don’t know. I don’t want people to make fun of me or think it’s, like, a stunt. I just… sometimes, I feel like I’d be more… me.”

I felt my heart squeeze. “I get that. And you know what? Fuck anyone who doesn’t get it. If it’s something you want to do, then do it. I’ll be right there with you.”

He smiled, shy but grateful, and his hand tightened around mine. “You… you really think it’d be okay?”

“More than okay,” I replied, leaning in to nudge him with my shoulder. “If you want to, we can even get you a skirt for the shoot. Who says you have to look like everyone else?”

He let out a soft laugh, glancing down. “Maybe… maybe one day.”

I smiled, knowing he’d take that step when he was ready, and I’d be right there, cheering him on every step of the way.

The day of the shoot, Gerard was unusually handsy—not that I minded, of course. But he was everywhere, catching me in quiet corners, his hands sneaking under the hem of my skirt, fingers tracing my hips, or pulling me close when he thought no one was looking. He’d wrap his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder, a soft hum of contentment escaping him.

Something had changed overnight. The confession he’d made, that weight he’d carried, seemed lighter now. His energy felt freer, brighter, almost playful. This was the side of Gerard that only surfaced when he was truly at ease—no stage persona, no walls. Just him, vulnerable and electric, taking on the world with this new spark.

At one point, we were waiting between scenes, tucked away in the back hallway of the school they’d rented out for the video. I leaned against a row of lockers, tapping my fingers against the cool metal. He leaned into me, one hand braced on the locker behind me, his other resting on my hip, pulling me close. He gave me a mischievous grin, his eyes alight with something that hadn’t been there for a long time.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, just for me, “I can’t believe I waited so long to tell you that. Last night… I just… it felt like I could breathe again.”

I smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “You deserve to feel that way, Gee. No matter what anyone else thinks. I’m glad you told me.”

He pressed his forehead to mine, his hand tightening on my hip. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, (Y/N),” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Good thing you don’t have to find out,” I murmured back, brushing my lips against his.

Just then, we heard someone clear their throat. Frank was grinning at us from down the hall, arms crossed. “Lovebirds, we’re on in five. Hate to break up this Notebook moment.”

Gerard rolled his eyes, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he reluctantly stepped back, adjusting his tie. But he didn’t let go of my hand, holding it tight as we walked to the set together, like he needed that anchor.

The shoot went on, the hours blurring by in a whirlwind of takes and costume adjustments. Gerard, with his newfound confidence, gave it everything, his voice raw and defiant, his eyes holding that steady fire. When he wasn’t on camera, he’d throw glances my way, little secret smiles just for me, like we were sharing a world no one else could touch.

2022

Nashville was as sticky and humid as ever, clinging to us like a second skin. Gerard and I strolled hand-in-hand down the bustling streets, taking advantage of a rare day off to just be together. He’d wanted to go out, despite the heat, saying something about “soaking in the vibes” of the city. Since Taste of Chaos—his first tour clean—he’d grown into himself in ways I could never have anticipated but always admired.

The experiments with theatrics and costume had only gotten bolder: The Black Parade uniforms, the neon punk style of Danger Days, and each tour adding something new, a more vivid version of who he was. As his confidence grew, so did his willingness to play with his identity, his style, and especially his look. He’d always talk to me first, hesitantly at first, but now with a quiet confidence. We’d have long talks about gender, how he felt, and where he fit. He told me he felt somewhere in between, not fully masculine, not quite feminine, and finally, he’d started exploring what that meant.

His pronouns had become he/they—a subtle but important shift that he let me in on first. He’d whispered it to me one night, his face half-hidden by the pillow, unsure of how it’d sound out loud. I remember how his shoulders relaxed when I just squeezed his hand and said, “Then that’s who you are. And that’s who I love.”

Today, I could see how far he’d come. He wore a pair of black jeans, a loose-fitting yellow plaid shirt with his favorite green jacket. His hair was in that perfect, unkempt mess that suited him so well, falling into his face in a way that made me want to brush it back for him. He caught me looking and grinned, that mischievous spark in his eye.

“You’re staring,” he teased, voice low, hand squeezing mine.

“Can’t help it,” I replied, leaning closer. “My husband’s hot. And he knows it.”

He blushed, looking away with a smile that was all shyness and pride. “Lucky me. Got a hot wife who puts up with all my crazy ideas.”

“Oh, like the Black Parade costumes?” I teased, nudging him. “Or was it the neon hair phase?”

He laughed, that warm, unguarded laugh that I loved. “Hey, those were good ideas!”

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. “Every single one,” I murmured, brushing a kiss to his cheek. “You know, I love that you’re trying all this stuff out. The costumes, the makeup, everything… it’s all you, Gee.”

He sighed, leaning into me, his face softening. “I just… I spent so long thinking I had to be a certain way. But when I’m like this—when I’m just… me—it’s like, finally, I can breathe.”

“And I love you for it,” I whispered. “Every part of you.”

He looked at me, eyes bright. “Thanks for… always being okay with me. You don’t know how much it means.”

I kissed him, my hands on his face, brushing my thumb over the liner just a little. “It means the world to me to see you happy. I fell in love with the real you, Gee. And you're perfect just the way you are."

Gerard beamed as we wandered the streets of Nashville, our fingers intertwined, stopping to browse comic book stores, jewelry shops, and cozy little cafes that seemed to breathe with southern charm. We’d talk about the places we passed, imagining lives where we’d just hop from one coffee shop to another, taking days off together like this every week.

Then we stumbled upon the cutest thrift store, tucked away on a side street, with a neon sign that read Second Chances buzzing in the window.

“Ooh, Gee, maybe they’ll have one of the records!” I said, tugging him toward the door before he could even protest.

He laughed, letting me pull him in. “You really think someone just dropped an original Three Cheers here? In Nashville?”

“You never know!” I shot back with a grin. We’d been on a hunt lately to collect originals of our own records in any format—CDs, cassettes, vinyl. Thrift stores like these were sometimes goldmines for rare music finds, so every visit held a little thrill.

After scouring the music section and turning up empty-handed, we wandered over to the clothing racks, half just for the fun of it, flipping through sequined tops, vintage jeans, and concert tees that probably had a whole lifetime of memories. That’s when Gerard froze, his eyes locking onto something that made him tilt his head curiously.

It was a green cheerleading dress, faded but charming, with a big white W stitched onto the chest. The dress looked around his size—maybe a little snug, but close enough. He reached out to brush his fingers over the fabric, his eyes thoughtful.

I could practically see the gears turning in his head. “You want to try it on, don’t you?” I asked, a knowing smile tugging at my lips.

He looked at me, almost sheepishly, but nodded. “Yeah. You think they’d mind?”

“Oh, definitely not. They’ll love it.” I grabbed his hand and dragged him to the fitting rooms, slipping the dress over to him before closing the door. “Go on. Let’s see it.”

A few moments later, he opened the door, stepping out with a nervous little smile. The dress fit a bit awkwardly, the hem resting higher than it was probably meant to, and the waist a little too tight—but somehow, it still suited him perfectly. His hair spilled over his shoulders, framing his face, and the way he looked at himself in the mirror had me grinning ear to ear.

“Well?” he asked, tugging at the skirt to straighten it. “Does it look too weird?”

I stepped up behind him, resting my chin on his shoulder and looking at him in the mirror. “Not at all,” I murmured. “I mean, sure, it’s a little tight here and there. But I can make it fit. Just give me a few minutes with my sewing kit, and it’ll be perfect by tomorrow night.”

He turned, his eyes lighting up with a mix of excitement and relief. “Really? You think I could… wear it on stage?”

“Absolutely,” I said, wrapping my arms around his waist. “You’ve wanted to try something new, right? This is your chance. And you’ll look amazing up there, Gee.”

His smile grew, that sparkle in his eye I’d come to love. “You really think I can pull this off?”

I leaned in, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “You already do.”

We left the thrift store with the green dress carefully folded in a bag, along with a few vintage band tees Gerard had picked out on impulse. The whole walk back to the hotel, he kept glancing over at me, his excitement bubbling just below the surface. I knew he was nervous about tomorrow, about showing up on stage in something that finally felt like him, but he couldn’t hide the spark in his eyes.

As soon as we got back, I laid the dress out on the bed and pulled out my sewing kit, ready to get to work. Gerard sat beside me, practically vibrating with excitement, as I took measurements, talking through each adjustment I’d make. Every now and then, he’d crack a joke or mumble some self-deprecating comment about his body that I’d instantly counter, reminding him how perfect he was.

When I had the dress pinned and knew what I needed to do, he gave my shoulder a squeeze and ducked into the bathroom to shave his legs. I laughed when he popped his head out, cheeks flushed, talking about how he hadn’t done this since he was a teenager, experimenting with styles and pushing every boundary he could.

“I’m committed,” he said, grinning as he disappeared back into the bathroom.

As I sat on the bed, working the fabric to fit his frame, I felt an overwhelming swell of love. This was so much more than a costume. I knew he was taking a huge leap here, stepping into an identity he’d been tiptoeing around for years. The stitching felt sacred, like I was helping create something that would show the world the Gerard only I got to see: soft, unapologetic, playful, and so beautifully himself.

He left to find knee-high socks and sneakers, and by the time he returned, I had finished the dress, smoothing it out over the bed. He came in holding up a pair of bright white socks and some simple canvas sneakers, his eyes shining as he looked from the dress to me.

“You’re… already done?” he asked, a mix of awe and nerves in his voice.

“All done and ready for you,” I said, patting the bed. “Now go try it on. Let’s see the star of the show.”

He hesitated just a moment, then took the dress with an appreciative nod and disappeared into the bathroom. My heart pounded as I waited, imagining how he’d look and hoping it would feel as perfect for him as it did for me.

When he finally stepped out, I was floored. The green fabric hugged him in all the right places, and the socks added that playful touch he loved. But it was his face that struck me the most—the way he looked at himself, tentatively touching the W on his chest, then glancing up at me, almost shyly.

“Well?” he asked, giving a small, nervous laugh as he did a quick turn, tugging at the skirt. “I don’t know if it’s… too much?”

I couldn’t stop smiling, my heart so full I thought it might burst. “Gee, you look… you look absolutely stunning." I hold my hands out, gesturing for him to come over to me. "My pretty husband."

He laughed, his voice catching just slightly. “You really think so? I’m not… I mean, I’m no model or anything.”

Once he got over to me, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. “You don’t have to be. You’re you, baby. That’s all anyone needs to see, and that’s what they’re gonna see. This is everything I’ve ever dreamed for you—to just be yourself. This is all you.”

He wrapped his arms around me, holding on tight. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. “You make it sound so easy. I never thought I’d have the courage to do this… but here I am, with you, feeling like maybe I could take on the world.”

I pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingering there as I took in every part of this moment. “You don’t need me to make you brave,” I whispered against his skin. “You’ve had it in you all along. I’m just lucky to be here, watching you become everything you’re meant to be.”

His eyes were glassy, and he leaned his forehead against mine, his voice choked with emotion. “I'm so fucking grateful for you. You're someone who makes me feel like I don’t have to hide anymore.”

All I did was smile at him. Words cannot describe how proud I am of him.

That night, he had the best stage presence in the 21 years of his career, and I mean that. I definitely didn't. I was so distracted, but I managed to keep on beat. I could have done better behind the kit, but how can I when I have my beautiful husband directly in front of me. Especially when someone gave him that stupid flame thrower. Where did he get a fucking flame thrower?

The rest of the tour he had a few more feminine outfits: the teacher, the flight attendant he called it, the tourist, the cat, and a few other. And he pulled off every single one.

All I could do was smile at him. There aren’t words for how proud I felt, how proud I still feel.

That night, Gerard had the best stage presence I’d ever seen in his 21 years of performing—and I mean that. It was magnetic. Every move, every word, he owned the stage. Me? I was a mess. My focus kept drifting, too distracted by the way he lit up in front of the crowd. I kept the beat, but honestly? I could’ve done better. How could I not be distracted when my beautiful husband was standing there, owning his truth, directly in front of me?

And then there was that goddamn flamethrower. Seriously, where the hell did he get a flamethrower? I could barely keep my eyes off him, but I swear, that thing almost distracted me more than he did.

The rest of the tour was a parade of outfits, each one more Gerard than the last. The teacher look, the “flight attendant,” as he called it, the tourist, the cat—oh god, the cat—and a few others that I never even saw coming. He wore every single one with such confidence, with a kind of ease that made it clear he was finally, fully, himself. Every time he stepped on stage in those outfits, he wasn’t just performing; he was living—and the crowd felt it, too.

I just couldn’t get enough of it. Every single night, he blew me away.

4685 words

thank you for reading, my loves!

#my chemical romance #mcr #gerard way #frank iero #fanfiction #gerard way x reader #mikey way #mychemicalromance #my chem #ray toro

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