#he wears contacts because its easier

[themarvelmarauder]

James Potter wears contacts when he plays qudditch. And Regulus hates it. That's the post.

[elflutter]

— guard dog

kinktober 01 → dom/sub dynamics

sub!logan x dom mutant fem!reader

synopsis

Nobody would believe how his masculine bravado fell as he let you take control. They didn’t notice how you could dismiss him with a nod of your head, how he would immediately back down from a fight if you told him to drop it. Like a dog with a bone. That’s the thing about Logan. He is protective like a guard dog is  protective. And he is submissive like a guard dog is submissive. Oh, you so enjoy training him.

wordcount: 4k+ | crossposted to ao3

tags/warnings below the cut

tags/warnings: explicit (18+ mdni), dom/sub, light pain kink, light praise kink, porn with feelings, hurt/comfort, logan calls reader ma'am, reader wears a dress, pet names (incl. baby, pretty boy, kitty cat), degradation, oral sex (f. recieving), mutual mast., unprotected p i v, fingering, come eating, logan is compared to a guard dog (non-sexually), one (1) mention of collar play, no use of y/n. i'm sure i've forgotten something, please let me know if i have!

a/n: i have no excuse for this omfg. i'm a slut, ok!! and i am allergic to writing smut without including major feels what's up with that

thank you to the lovely @eupheme for looking over this before i posted!

You love seeing Logan like this. On his knees, eyes glazed over, beard drenched in your slick. Fingers tangled in his hair, hard grip pulling his head away from your cunt. You are bare beneath your dress, hiked up to your stomach, but Logan is completely naked. Looking down at him from where you sit on the edge of the bed, thighs spread wide. In complete control as he whines at the loss of his mouth on you, completely drunk on your taste. Candlelight and the Autumn twilight illuminating the planes of his face like liquid gold. Your core throbs where his tongue was just a moment ago. 

You hush him, your free hand cupping his jaw. “You miss my pussy, baby?” Your brows knit together in mock pity at the desperate sound he makes in affirmation. He grinds feebly at the side of your mattress, neglected cock aching for something, anything. Maybe it says something bad about you, that you get off on seeing him so pathetic. But you know he craves this too. 

He was embarrassed about it, at first. Being submissive. Getting hard when you called him your sweet baby, your pretty boy, voice dripping with condescension. But you could tell that he needed to unwind the second he woke up after you dragged him into the X-mansion with Jean and Scott. You could feel it, the emotions pouring from him. 

Your mutation is a difficult thing to control. To turn off. Sometimes, you feel like a creep. A trespasser. Knowing the deepest emotions of a stranger, ones they may not even recognize themselves. You think Jean and Charles are lucky, with powers rooted in thought. They can tease out feelings too, but their power is fundamentally different from yours. Thought is intention. Emotions are energy. 

“You can’t force your retinas to stop sensing photons just because the light bulb does not know you can see it. Even if you close your eyes, my dear, you will still be able to see its light, however dimmed.” Charles’ words from your first day at the mansion help to curb the guilt; when you feel like an intruder. 

You certainly felt like an intruder months ago, when Logan woke up in the lab, lit aflame like a wildfire. Fear and rage, as he shot up from the table. Confusion, as he pulled the IV from his arm. Idiot. You tried to ground yourself in something tangible, anything, to keep yourself from feeling him. So much him. The buzz of the fluorescent bulbs. The vent blowing cool air against your skin. The weight of contact where your feet met the floor.

You taught mindfulness and meditation to the students and your teammates. Helped them to guard their emotions from people like you. For you, meditation was like closing your eyes. You could still sense those around you, it was just easier to tune out. Like hearing music through cotton in your ears. When others meditated, it was like switching off the light bulb. Leading students through exercises in your class was your favorite time of the day. Sweet silence enveloping you like an embrace from an old friend. 

Later on that first day, when you introduced yourself to Logan properly, he grumbled, “Stay out of my head, bub.” His frustration butted against you like a battering ram. And you stood against it, the feeling piercing your heart just a little. Powers standing tall as a wall of stone as you told him that it wasn’t that simple. You wished they could have just crumbled. You couldn’t help but feel guilt eat away at you like it always did. You wouldn’t blame him if he hated you. 

Over his first few weeks in the mansion, you taught him basic mindfulness in one-on-one sessions. He had trouble taking it seriously; thought it was silly. A bit out, “No way this’ll work, bub,” as you led him through meditation in the training room, sat cross-legged on the mat across from him. You told him to close his eyes, to focus on the feeling of his breaths. “Now you’re just makin’ fun’a me,” as you told him not to fight his emotions. After twenty minutes, you could still feel the anxiety gnawing at him. Just as bad as at the start of the session. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze met yours— bright hazel making your breath hitch. His fear and anger and self-loathing were banked for a moment, and you felt something else. Understanding. Desire. You weren’t sure if it was his, or yours. Maybe both. He ended up in your bed that night. 

Your first few times were pretty vanilla. Him on top, pounding into you, sweat from his brow falling against your cheek. After a month of him fucking you into the mattress at least three times a week, he was still tense as he took you. On edge, knowing he was unguarded from your mutation. It wasn’t that the sex was bad. It was some of the best sex you’d ever had. But you could feel it, whether you wanted to or not. His anxiety. Curled up like a viper behind a bush, hiding just beneath his pleasure. Never fully letting go. 

He didn’t even hold it against you, anymore. Your mutation. Knew how it felt to be hated for something you couldn’t control. Maybe that’s what had drawn him to you in the first place.

But when your nails scraped down the side of his bicep, barely even hard enough to leave a mark, you felt the rumble of his moan, deep in your chest. Couldn’t feel that viper anymore, lurking just below the surface. Like it was carried away in the beak of a hawk as you marked him. He begged. 

“More.” 

You shuddered. In control, after that. Flipping your position so he was on his back, body pliant beneath yours as you rode him. Your breath was hot against his ear when you leaned down, bare tits tender where they pressed against his chest, to whisper. “Gonna let me take care of you, baby? Gonna let go?” 

Nobody would believe how his masculine bravado fell as he let you take control. From the outside, he seemed like the dominating personality in your relationship— undefined as it was. How his hand would reach in front of you protectively during missions, how he would bristle with a clenched fist if anybody talked a little too much shit during an exercise in the Danger Room. They didn’t notice how you could dismiss him with a nod of your head, how he would immediately back down from a fight if you told him to drop it. Like a dog with a bone. 

That’s the thing about Logan. He is protective like a guard dog is protective. And he is submissive like a guard dog is submissive. Oh, you so enjoy training him. 

And much as you tried to teach him to meditate over months since he arrived, empty his mind more conventionally, it never quite worked for him. But when he’s beneath you, eyes glazed over as you bounce up and down on his cock, and you can’t sense a single thing from his pretty little head? You know you’ve done your job well. Given him what he needs. 

“Such a good boy, making me feel so nice,” you croon, in the moment again. He sat on the floor between your legs, eyes desperate and wanting when you thrust your hips up in the air just a little bit. Teasing him with the movement, more than yourself. Your hand is still tangled in his hair as he tries to lean forward to bury his face in your cunt again. 

“Stay,” your voice is hard, careful that you don’t betray the fluttering in your belly at how badly he needs you. “I thought you were a good boy, but good boys follow orders.” You pout, mocking him. 

“’M sorry, baby, just wanna make you feel good,” he pants, eyes 

glistening in the dim light of the waning sun. Golden leaves rustling just outside the window. “Wanna make you come.” 

You smile, maybe a little meanly, your free hand squeezing his cheeks together. The other uses its grip in his hair to pull his head back farther, exposing the sweet column of his neck to your greedy eyes. He looks so pretty like this. If he hadn’t been so naughty, you would’ve told him as much. Instead, harsher words leave your lips. 

“Already so pussy drunk you forgot your rules, kitty cat?” You let your hand loosen its grip on his hair, the other still pressing into either cheek, forcing his gaze to yours. “You will make me come when I let you, hm? Can you handle that, darling, or do we need to stop?” The pet name is saccharine sweet on your tongue, mock sympathy dripping from your voice. 

“No ma’am,” he croaks out— words muffled by your grip on his face. You finally let go, comforter plush against your skin as you lean back on your elbows. Nothing but the weight of your gaze keeps him frozen in place beneath you. You wait for him to continue, expectantly. 

“Don’t need’ta stop,” he pants. “Just need you.” 

You love how the words fall from his lips. How he lets them. Tracing his jaw tenderly, the soft touch so at odds with the mean glint in your eye. So at odds with the swell of your heart, knowing he can let go with you. 

“I know you do, baby.” Your thumb strokes his bottom lip, “Now ask nicely.” 

“Please.” The way he begs has your core throbbing, the heat of your desire spreading down each limb like a flame. You almost give in. Almost. 

But you can’t have him getting spoiled. 

He knows he’s fucked when one side of your mouth lifts in a cruel smirk. You lean down so your lips brush against his ear. “I’ll let you lick my pussy clean after you fill it. If you’re good.” 

He whines; the sound a desperate thing. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” you guide as you tease your fingers at your entrance. Soaked, from your slick and from Logan’s mouth. Your first finger slides in easily, as Logan’s hand grips at his cock. He sighs at the stimulation, the relief, though you know he’d rather his face be buried between your legs. His tip is flushed, weeping. He ruts into his fist as your finger begins to move within you. Already so slick that you make room for a second. 

Sparks light up inside your belly, already sensitive from Logan’s work, but your touch is nothing compared to his. Your fingers are smaller, not reaching nearly as deep as his would, when you curl them. But you savor the control— as you fuck yourself on the bed and Logan touches himself on the floor. Almost feral for you. 

Locks of hair pulled from their little tufts where you mussed them, falling in front of his eyes. A bead of sweat glistens on his brow, before sliding down his cheek. His lips part; the sounds of his desire falling from them. Sweeter than any melody. 

And your mutation? Couldn’t sense a damn thing. So blissed out that his mind went blank. Letting each sensation roll over his body like a wave against the sandy shore. 

That’s the toughest part about this. Seeing him like this and maintaining your resolve, composure, control. To tease him instead of fucking him like an animal. And you will— fuck him like an animal. He just has to work for it first. 

You spread your legs a little wider, pumping your fingers in and out. Using your thumb to circle your clit. Teasing Logan with what you wouldn’t let him taste. Yet. You draw out his little torture, watching you get yourself off, so close that your heady desire is all he can smell. Climbing closer and closer to the peak of your pleasure, eyes hooded as they meet Logan’s, letting the sounds of his panting fill the air until you finally come undone. Feeling terribly vulgar as your walls pulse around your fingers. Growing even slicker, then. 

“Stop now, little prince.” 

Logan stops moving like he is bound to your will. You smile. He doesn’t even talk back when you call him little. Four hundred pounds of muscle and adamantium wrapped around your finger. You bring your hand, wet with your arousal, to meet his lips. 

“Open up.”

Logan lets his jaw slacken, his tongue jutting just above his lower lip to taste what you give him. You hum, as your fingers slide into his mouth and he hollows out his cheeks to suck. Your other hand moves to play with his hair, gentler now than it was before. 

“Such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” 

You think that the noise Logan makes is in affirmation. Your fingers remain between his closed lips. 

“Gonna make you come now, baby.” 

Logan bites back a moan, glossy eyes wild with need. 

Fingers slip loose with a slick pop as you guide him up to the bed. You finally let your dress pool on the floor around your feet. Logan sits back against the headboard, flushed cock at attention. You climb atop him, hard muscles so at odds with his lolling head and hooded eyes. Feeling his length press against your belly as you admire the view. Such a pretty thing, sprawled out on your bed, waiting for you with a leaking cock. 

“So needy. Need me to fuck you good, baby?” You ghost a touch across his sweat-slick forehead. “Need me to fuck all the thoughts out of this pretty little head?” 

He nods. But no words escape his lips. You angle your head to the side, patient. 

His voice is rough with desire as he croaks, “Yes, ma’am. Please.”

You feign confusion.  “Please what, sweetheart?” 

Swallowing his pride. “Fuck me, baby. Please” 

You line up above him, palms resting on his toned chest, thick length prodding at your entrance. 

“Mmm, only because you asked so nicely.” 

You sink down on him in a quick, brutal thrust that steals your breath— his cock brushing that perfect spot your fingers couldn’t quite reach. Your mouth finds his neck, where your teeth nip and lips soothe. Inhaling his scent— cigar smoke and whiskey mingle with the musk of his sweat. Undertones of cedar from his shampoo as vanilla wafts from your candles. Your hips remain still, his tip nearly brushing your cervix, savoring the slick, sweet stretch. Logan lets out something between a growl and a whimper when you clench your walls around him, teasing. 

His desperation finally spurs you on, lighting a sweet fire in your core. Angling your hips up before sinking down again. And again. Slow, at first. You let yourself enjoy his thick length dragging along your walls, stimulating that spongy spot that makes you see stars. 

“Y’fill me up so good, baby.” 

Logan’s muscles tense beneath you, eyes squeezed shut as he fights the urge to move his hips. Aching to meet you as you slowly pump, to rut up into you hard and fast. You click your tongue in admonishment as his eyebrows knit together. 

“Eyes on me, sweet thing.” 

His lips move, searching for his words, but all that comes out is a garbled moan. His hazel gaze meets your own, brow heavy with the effort you know it takes to follow your rules. Your mutation still can’t sense anything from him. The strain purely physical, as his mind floats through the bliss of your command. Your chest grows heavy with the trust that Logan has given to you so freely. 

“So good for me, Logan. So good,” you purr. 

Finally, you pick up the pace. Raising up before gravity brings you back down, hard. Logan sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, eyes rolling back in his head. Quickly darting them back to your face. Tender flesh gripping him to the hilt, before lifting yourself again. A few thrusts like that, as the impact of your ass on his hips fills the room. If it hurts at all, you know he’ll savor it. 

You think fucking like this might break another man’s hips. There are benefits to having a lover made of adamantium. You can play hard, and never break him. He always has his safe word, if it becomes too much. 

Changing your pace again, more for your benefit than for Logan’s. One hand tangles in his hair, pulling. Your arm rests by his head, face hovering just above his. Each of his pants ghost across your lips. Thrusting quicker now, as you rock your hips up and down. Gaze locked on his. The sound of the leaves rustling against the window is drowned out by the bed frame squeaking. 

His velvety length dragging against your sensitive walls brings you closer to the edge of your release— his tip brushes right where you need it with each thrust as he splits you open. The burning tension coils tight, tight, tight in your belly; until you can’t stand it anymore. 

“Lo, fuck, t— touch me,” the command comes out breathier than you intended. But Logan obeys just the same. His hand moves between your bodies, fingers circling your swollen clit as expertly as your own. 

Molten heat races through your body as you tumble over the edge. Waves of warm pleasure sweep you away, Logan’s palm resting against your tummy. You can feel your walls flutter around his cock, rolling your hips as you come down from your high, lips ghosting against his ear. 

“Come for me, Logan.” 

He moves up to meet your thrusts, then. The pressure verges on overstimulation as his cock plunges deep inside. But you savor it, savor giving him exactly what he needs. 

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.” 

Your grip on his hair weakens to a caress as he spills inside you. You still your hips, letting Logan fuck you through his climax. Once he stops moving, your bodies go limp, enjoying this moment of closeness. The way his skin sticks to yours, damp with sweat. The sound of his heartbeat. The rise and fall of his chest. He lets out a contented sigh, and you finally roll off of him. You enjoy the softness of the mattress against your back for a moment. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you finally spread your legs— making room for Logan to settle between them. 

“C’mere, baby. You know I’m not done with you yet.” 

Logan grins, wasting no time as he positions himself between your thighs. There is a mischievous little glint in his eye, face hovering above your cunt. 

“Finally somethin’ to eat. Had me starvin’ down there, baby.”

Bratty little shit. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you then, rolling your eyes. 

“You talking back to me, bub?” You grab him by the chin, digging in your fingernails hard enough to leave little red crescents in his skin. But there’s a smile on your face and mirth in your voice. 

“No ma’am.” His chin angles down, looking up at you with hooded eyes. His smirk is devilish as he bats his eyelashes. Fucking bats his eyelashes. You don’t think anybody would believe that the Wolverine packs a mean doe-eye. 

Shaking your head in disbelief, the ghost of a smile on your lips, your hold keeps his greedy mouth just beyond his treasure. 

“You wanna rethink your tone, kitty cat?” Head angled, as you watch him through what you hope are stern eyes. You try to add a hard edge to your voice, but he’s so damn cute. 

It seems to work. His smirk melts away, and only hunger remains, desperate and glossy-eyed. “Yes ma’am. ‘M sorry.” 

Victory is sweet on your tongue, at his concession. The heady weight of control in your palms. Electricity snakes down your spine, each pant of his breath teasing you between your thighs. 

“That’s it, baby. I forgive you.” You pout at him, mocking. Maybe you’re a sore winner. You can’t help it when he’s so needy for a taste of himself on your pussy. “Now be a good boy and clean up your mess.” 

As soon as you loosen your grip on his chin, he buries himself between your legs. Stroking the flat of his tongue from your weepy slit to your swollen nub. Licking and sucking at your puffy folds, swallowing the mix of your slick and his milky spend like it’s the only meal he’s had in weeks. The squelch of him lapping at you and you moaning his name are all that fill your ears. You toy with the hair at the base of his neck, the roughness of his beard against your thighs making you shiver. 

“F-fuck— Lo, baby,” a lewd whimper escapes you, breath stuttering. “You wanna make me come?” 

He somehow buries himself even deeper between your legs, then. Nose pressing against your clit just right, as he devours you. Fucking you with his tongue, before moving up to lick quick circles around the bundle of nerves.

“That’s it, Logan— fuck!” 

Words are lost to you, for a moment. Taken by the pleasure swelling in your belly as he slides a finger inside. Pressure builds in your abdomen when it curls against that sweet spot. You grind against him, eyes closed and mouth agape. 

“Know you can do it, baby,” you pant, spurring him on. Logan adds a second digit, bending to hit the spongy flesh. “So good for me, so—” you are interrupted again, choking out a sob as your core tightens with your impending release. 

Logan brings his lips to your slit, fingers still moving inside. His mouth falls open, ready to drink down your essence when the dam within you finally bursts. The pressure behind your navel gives way to warm wetness between your legs. You fall apart on Logan’s thick fingers, throbbing while he swallows the mix of your come and his. 

His fingers slide out of you, suddenly empty, and the milky ring around them could be his spend or yours. Hopefully both. Bringing them to his mouth, before he licks them clean. He goes limp when you finally relax onto the bed, his head resting against your tummy. His legs must be hanging off the bed comically, but you can’t bring yourself to lift your head and check. You choose to ignore the wet spot beneath your ass. The remnants of your climax and Logan’s inevitable drooling as he ate you out. Something to worry about later. 

For now, your fingers find their way to Logan’s scalp once again, touch featherlight and tender. You can’t help it when he sighs like that beneath your touch. If you had it your way, your hand would never leave its place here. Holding him to you, gently claiming him as yours. 

Your mutation is quiet, still, in the afterglow. At peace. And so is Logan. Head still floating in the clouds, blissed out and dazed. Somewhere nobody can reach except the two of you. As much as he needs this, the way you give him respite even sleep never offers, you need it too. The silence, after. As you lay with him, in tenderness. 

You’re struck with a sudden truth. Not sure how you’d overlooked it, all this time. A low whisper, as the sun finally rests beneath the horizon. Flickering candlelight and the faint fluorescent glow creeping beneath the bedroom door. The aged wood all that separates your little world from the rest of the mansion. If you weren’t so focused on that strange heaviness in your chest, you would have the presence of mind to hope nobody heard the two of you. 

“I love you, Lo.” 

Breath held in your lungs, as you wait. Just a beat, before he answers. 

“Love you too.” His palm rests on your waist, rubbing tender circles. His face nuzzles a little closer into your belly. “My baby. My girl.” 

The stinging behind your eyes catches you off guard. But, so do his words. You feel the truth in them. You never thought you’d have this with someone. Never thought anybody would trust you. An interloper. An unwelcome visitor, eavesdropping on the devotion of strangers, destined to feel their love for each other. But never for you. It was never going to be for you. 

But you feel it, now. Yours. Unsure why it hadn’t cross your mind before. 

Like a wolf, when you met. Wild, feral. Lashing out to bite any hand that got too close. Tamed, with your compassion. Firm as it was. You always thought he was like a guard dog. Faithful. Trusting. Once you’d earned it. Of course he would love you like one. 

You felt heat creep up your ears, at the thought of getting him a collar, stifling a laugh in the crook of your elbow. 

His hum vibrates against your torso. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah, baby. Think I just need some psychological help.” The words are muffled against your arm. 

Logan is still packing plenty of sass, even in his fucked out state.

“That’a surprise?” He looks up at you, a single eyebrow arched. You can’t help but laugh. Smiling, as you rebuke. 

“Asshole.”

a/n: aaah thank you for reading!! i'm nervous about this one, if you liked it please let me know!! 🫣

dividers by saradika-graphics

[tbaluver]

I LOVE YOUR WORK, OMG. i've been binging it since morning, and it's a good wake-up read (ꏿ௰ꏿ) can i request a scenario where reader likes to roam around naked (like, they're already way far into the relationship where they're comfortable enough to do that) and it surprise the four lis. also, they just randomly walk in on reader lying down and playing with their nipples and kneading their own breasts just because. what would their reaction be to that?

Walking Around Naked- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre/ tags: MDNI, 18+, suggestive content a/n: hihi anonnie! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) tysm for reading my works its an honor for my works to be read esp in the morning ily .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. ♡ i hope this was alright maybe slight ooc but just close ur eyes if it feels like it is (ᵕ—ᴗ—) but i hope you enjoy reading angel (づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He would make sure there is no one around the house, even though you both own the house and it's literally only the two of you. His cheeks were flushed pink and he's trailing behind you to wrap his arms behind you, pressing his very obvious hard on through his sweats. Looks like he's not the only one with the flushed cheeks.

He would honestly join in walking around the house naked and find it comfortable. He would pull you closer to cuddle and you'd feel his cock harden under your ass but that just means it's easier to slip it in.

"Do you mind if I join you honey?"

If he saw you playing with your boobs, he'd ask if he can join you before settling down on top of you. He'd play with one of your nipples with one hand while the other kneads your breasts. Sometimes he'll just pop one in his mouth, sometimes making eye contact with you as he does so

Zayne:

As always, Zayne was immersed in a patient report on days when he’s not in his office until he glanced up and caught sight of you walking around the house naked. His focus faltered, doing a double take and momentarily losing focus on the task on his laptop. Clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses, he attempted to refocus back to the patient's details but the images of you clouded in his mind. Eventually he couldn’t resist it and made his way to you

Since this is an often thing, he will tell you to make sure to put on slippers or something warm to slip on when it's cold. He would offer his own robe that he wears around the house and he's not doing this because he thinks you should cover up but because he doesn't want you to get sick!

This man loves your boobs. Mouth or hands or the combo of both are always latched onto them whenever you let him have the chance. So whenever he walks in on you casually kneading your breasts and playing with your nipples, he’d already forgotten what he needed to do in the room in the first place.

“Ahem. Are you cold? You might get sick without a blanket. Here I’ll join you to warm you up.”

You’re not one to complain whenever he joins you. He’ll settle you on his lap and pull over a blanket over the two of you. With a content hum, one of his large hands snake up to your waist to gently knead one of your breasts.

Rafayel:

The first time you walked by his studio and he heard you, he would have his jaw dropped. Although he’s seen your body countless times, each time just feels like the first time he’s ever seen you. The painting can wait because this fishie is tailing right behind you.

Blames you for being distracting but he doesn’t really mean it- he’s actually enjoying it. If you try talking to him, you’ll notice a hint of pink creeping on his cheeks. He just doesn't want to seem rude because he just wants to take a peek a little bit lower.

“Stop! Hold that position and don’t move cutie.”

He sees your beauty in every way, inside and out. He often tries to capture you whether it’s through a photograph or a sketch, even if you move too much, yet no art can do justice to what he perceives. It doesn’t capture the warmth of your touch or the spark in your smile. Once he finishes the sketch, he'll have you looking like a Renaissance painting. You’re forever his muse, his beautiful pearl.

Most of the time, when he sees you laying in bed playing with your boobs, he’ll just make himself comfortable. He’ll crawl on top of you, resting his head against your chest, nuzzling against you with a content smile. He'll mostly tell you to play with his hair as an excuse so he can play with your boobs.

Sylus:

Honestly he’s happy that you can walk around comfortably in your shared home with him. He’s very grateful that your romantic relationship with him is constantly evolving. He would approach you with a lowly chuckle, wrapping his arms around your waist and earning a surprised squeak from you. He’ll throw in many many compliments as he peppers kisses all over your face to hear your giggle.

Very handsy. If you pass by him, he’s most likely going to give your ass a slap or give it a quick grab or squeeze. Also reminds you that his closet is yours to always use if you happen to get cold.

“Got room for one more sweetie?”

If you let him, he would shift your position so he’s lying on his back and so you can rest his head on his chest. One hand gently kneading your breasts and occasionally rubbing your bud with his thumb and index finger as you both settle into a comfy environment

[mostly-imagines]

Well, I guess that I'm going to be that person so, Jay and threesomes — delicious idea actually;

But I don't think that he would dive into the idea of sharing you with other people, especially if you two are a thing (or not, it depends on how he feels about you), like, I've seen in another ask that I unfortunately can't remember the name but it said that if you dated Roy Harper (aka Arsenal) he would share you with Jay, but if it was the opposite, our pretty vigilante wouldn't allow it.

It's clear that it's not that he doesn't trust you, more like... Uhhh? Don't trust others or the insecurity of himself? You get the idea.

Would like to elaborate more, luv?

implied NSFW content below

okay i think there’s 2 ways this could go

1 ) you know how there's a bunch of fics of jason & roy conspiring to have a threesome w reader? every single time i read one (as hot as i do find it) i think about the alternate way that conversation could go

so like you're jason's gf & roy thinks you're hot and decides to get bold bc surely jason will agree?? what’s a girl between friends, right?

he's hung out w you guys/at your apartment lots of times so he's seen you two being touchy with each other plenty.

roy shows up one night to hang and you're wearing one of jay's shirts and as far as roy can tell, no pants because his shirt is so goddamn big on you, there's no point.

"stop looking at her like that," jason's gruff voice cuts through roy's thoughts as they sit on the couch, watching you move about the kitchen.

roy looks over at jason, who doesn't return the eye contact. "i'm not looking at her like anything." he returns his gaze to you, watching your hips. “she’s pretty.”

"i know.” jason says shortly.

jason, knowing roy pretty fucking well at this point, can tell exactly where he’s going with this. he’s been extra flirty with you lately, like he’s trying to butter you up. even going as far as putting a hand on your back or against one of your thighs.

but he’s being more lenient with roy than he would be with someone else thinking about you like that. jason can live with the flirting, that’s just how roy is. the touching gets to him a little though. and the staring might kill him. might kill either one of them, actually.

roy leans back on the couch, looking back to jason, "do you remember that girl in newhaven that wanted to go home with us?"

jason turns his head to look at him, gaze narrowing in dangerously on becoming a glare.

roy shrugs, "i'm just saying. at least you like this girl. makes things easier, doesn't it? plus she's sweet, isn't she?"

jason makes a low hum of a noise that's almost a grunt. "careful."

roy sits up again, fully turning to face him, "jay, come on, i'm just thinking—"

“i know what you're thinking. drop it.”

it takes a special kind of stupid person to argue with jason when he gets serious and resolute like this and roy is not that person so he shuts up and cools it on the flirting. the sudden change in his behavior is harsh enough that you have to ask jason about it later, who, depending on how much he's still simmering about it later, may or may not tell you about what happened there.

or 2 ) roy has the ability to read a fucking room and decides its better for him to keep this idea to himself

in this scenario i see it more as something that roy cannot stop thinking about and he’s doing absolutely everything in his power to prevent himself from getting his neck snapped. he and jason are really good friends but roy’s seen first hand how jason does not play about you so he’s not going to be running any risks.

so lately he won’t look at you unless you speak to him, and then it’s only fleeting, and he’s a lot more careful about when he enters a room he knows you’re both in. he gets real stiff whenever you enter a room and has a nervousness about him that’s uncharacteristic.

but jason’s not stupid and neither are you, so you’ve both noticed a shift in the air to say the least. you’ve been unable to attribute a cause to the newfound shift in energy, though your boyfriend hasn’t had the same trouble identifying the issue.

so jason’s a little annoyed, yeah. but he can’t be that pissed because he gets it. he knows you’re an absolute killer, he assumes every guy that sees you wants you. and that’s fine, whatever. the problem starts up when it’s his best friend who pretty regularly sees you in less-than-modest clothing. jason can’t help that he gets a little possessive then.

jason doesn't necessarily know that the thing taking up roy's mind is a threesome and not just the two of you, but it honestly wouldn't make a difference anyways. it doesn't really have anything to do with whether or not he thinks roy has romantic or just sexual feelings for you, though he's pretty certain they are just sexual.

there's something in the back of his head that tells him that no one has any business seeing you the way he gets to. sex is something so personal for him, for both of you, and he honestly can't even consider the idea of anyone being involved in that other than you and him.

you’ve left the room for a minute one night and there’s an unusual tension that lingers in the air between them. both jason and roy have clocked the shift in demeanor on the others part by now and the resulting silence is devastating. for roy, that is. jason just sits with it.

“you’re not going to do anything,” jason speaks up, not taking his eyes off the drink in his hand. “right?”

the question takes roy off guard and immediately has his heart jumping in his chest. it’s instinct to lie and say ‘no, i don’t want to fuck your girlfriend, what are you talking about?’ but he decides better against it.

he shakes his head, gaze on the rug, “no, no. of course not.”

“good,” jason nods solemnly before adding, “i’d break your nose.”

“i know," roy says simply.

you'd spent longer in the other room than you needed to, hoping something would be said and resolved about whatever was going on with them. clearly at least the former had gone down because when you come back in, there's a slightly different air to the room than the one you had left. more nervous on roy's part, more sure on jason's.

you give jason a questioning look when you sit back down and he just shakes his head cooly and wraps an arm around your shoulder. you trust him well enough to believe that whatever was said was what needed to be said and it's taken care of now.

and it was—the rest of the night was easier as it went on and after a couple of somewhat strange silent exchanges between the two men, roy even started looking at you again. and maybe jason gave you a few kisses with a bit more intensity and held you a little closer than he might have otherwise, but that’s nobody else’s business but his.

[luveline]

hi! could I request a fic where reader has trouble falling asleep without someone with her? maybe with Hotch or Miguel? like their voices soothe her into sleep? only if you feel like it!! have an amazing day and I adore your writing! 💟💟

hi gorgeous, thank you! ♡ fem

Hotch is rubbing the knots out of his neck when his phone pings with a text. 

Hi, handsome, hopefully you're sleeping, so when you wake up I was wondering if you can send me the photos from last Wednesday to print <3 

He adores your silly electronic heart. 

Hotch clicks your contact and brings the phone to his ear, waiting as the dial trills once. You pick up immediately, sounding sorry and sweet and the slightest bit tired. "Hey. You're awake." 

"Yes, I'm awake, I just got home. Why are you awake? It's four in the morning, honey." 

"You sound very accusatory right now. You're accusing me." 

"Mm. Can I come over, or will you fall asleep before I get there?" 

"Fat chance of that. You're really coming over?" you ask. 

Hotch leaps up the moment he hears the relief in your voice. Something is wrong, and you won't tell him over the phone. He says goodbye gently, dresses less so, and makes an impressively quick journey to your home to put whatever it is back the way it should be. 

You seem in good spirits even though the hollows under your eyes are prominent in the light of the porch, opening your arms for him and hugging him there on the door jam, rumpled under his chin. "You're not wearing a suit." 

"Would you have preferred that?" 

"Only if you were gonna take it off." 

"You'd like that, hmm?" he asks, his teasing at odds with the dulcet cadence of his voice. "I'll dance." 

You giggle into his chest. Hotch grins but quashes it as you look up for a kiss, your lips soft, sweet against his. You kiss his cupid's bow all smushed upward before stepping away from him, your hands drifting together. He pauses to lock the door and take off his shoes. You tug him impatiently back to your room.

Hotch has dreams about your bedroom. There's something about you, the way you climb into bed and sit pretty against the headboard waiting for him to follow you in, innocuous, intensely tempting. He pulls back the sheets and slides in, needling an arm under you to drag you into his side and down onto your back simultaneously. 

"Unnecessary show of strength," you say with a laugh. 

"Just reminding you." 

You turn out your lamp. He squirms to get comfortable. Your mattress is a mess and he's not young enough to bear it without consequence in the morning, but he'll suffer it and worse if it means you'll stay nestled against his side, your cheek at home on his bicep, your arm wrapped around his middle. 

"You'll tell me what's keeping you up?" he asks, hushed. 

"I really don't know how you just know these things…" You give in, because you always give in with him, and (to his credit), he always listens. "I don't think I can sleep without you, Aaron, I really don't." 

"Why? You're not worrying about me, are you?" he asks. 

"No. Of course I am, but that's not the problem. I just struggle without you here. It's easier when you call me, I can fall asleep with you talking to me. But otherwise it's hard." 

"How did you fall asleep before me?" he asks fondly, turning his face to nose at your temple. 

"I'm used to you, I think. I'm spoiled." 

"You aren't spoiled." He pressed his lips to your cheek, eyes closed to breathe you in. "What do you want me to talk about? Think of something soothing." 

"You aren't a man with many soothing stories," you say. 

Hotch tells you about the quieter things in his life, the things that make undertaking the unsaid worthwhile. Jack wants to be Bugs Bunny for Halloween and Hotch has no idea why. Spencer destroyed his computer with a cup of coffee —the problem being the amount of undisolved sugar clumped at the bottom of his cup that found its way into the computers RAM with no hopes of cleaning, rather than the drink itself. His office door squeaks constantly and he's half mad with it, but there's no solution beyond waiting for someone in maintenance to oil the hinge. 

He realises you've fallen asleep somewhere in his stories and he hadn't noticed. He didn't think your confession was wholly true. Perhaps you're stressed, or anxious in a way you haven't shared. And yet you fall asleep as promised from the sound of his voice, your hand scrunched in his shirt like you worry he'll escape you, your eyelid to his arm. Hotch contemplates you as you sleep, pulling the sheets snugly to your chin. He doesn't know if you know this, but you're his sweetheart. He finds you so precious, among a thousand other things, brave and kind and loving, but he knows he's a lucky man. He's the spoiled one. 

If you need his voice to fall asleep to, he'll talk until he's hoarse. And while he's away, he'll have to remember to call. He can't have you missing out on sleep. Hotch kisses the hollow under your eye and tries to sleep too, but he finds he misses the sound of your voice. 

[mononijikayu]

cure — ryomen sukuna.

"I’ll write you the best songs, little lamb. Even better than what I already gave you." he promised to you. His tone was softer than usual. "Songs so good they’ll make the stars jealous." “You are making quite big promises, don’t you think?” You tease him, giggling as you read over his newest piece. “This would make the stars jealous.” "Yeah, because they’re our songs." he’d say, his smirk softening as he handed you another crumpled page. "No one else gets to have something as good as this. Not even the stars. Only you.”

GENRE: alternate universe - alien stage au;

WARNING/S: dead dove do not eat, nsfw (not safe for work), alien invasion, heavy angst, romance, conflicted feelings, dehumanization, hurt/comfort, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, humor, guilt, trauma, pining, complicated relationship, emotional distress, grief, canon related violence, emotional abuse, physical abuse, social isolation, depiction of character death, depiction of dehumanization, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of emotional and physical abuse, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, mention of dehumanization;

WORD COUNT: 16k words

NOTE: this was supposed to be posted much earlier but my glasses broke and i have to wear contact lenses, but its rough. my eyes hurt but i wanted to put this out there for yall. i need to get new frames for my glasses, so let's hope i can do that later or tomorrow!!! i adore alien stage and i was really stuck on stage 6, which is ivantill going at it. and so i wanted to write about it in a fic, but with sukuna. this is not an easy thing for people to read as alien stage explores a lot of dynamics, including dehumanization, trauma, violence and other things. so please be careful, i tagged what it containsfor a reason!!! in any case, i think you'll be able to read nanami's much easier. i hope you continue to look forward to it!!! anyway, i'll see you then. i love you all <3

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 2000;

if you want to, tip! <3

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YOU’VE ALWAYS WONDERED ABOUT STARS. Everything about them is a curiosity to you, a mystery waiting to be unraveled. The stars, once distant and unknowable, had always felt like something you could only admire from afar—faint whispers of a universe too vast to comprehend, scattered far beyond the grasp of your outstretched hand.

But then the aliens arrived, and the stars transformed. They were no longer untouchable pinpricks in the night sky; they became tangible, living, breathing beings.

And one of them, Starlight, became more than a friend, more than a visitor from the cosmos. They became yours. Not in the way one claims possession of something, but in the way their very presence seemed to stitch itself into the fabric of your existence.

Starlight was radiant, their shimmering, soft luminescence enveloping you like a gentle embrace. Their light didn’t burn; it soothed, warm and alive. They spoke not with words, but with a gentle hum that resonated deep in your chest, as though they were singing to the very rhythm of your heart. When they were near, the world felt softer, brighter. They were your everything, your universe, encapsulating all of your childish self. 

Their curiosity mirrored your own, eyes (or something like them) wide as they marveled at the simplest human things: the way you brewed tea, the way the rain danced against your window, the way you laughed when you thought no one was listening. And in return, you marveled at them. They were a marvel, a being from the stars. And yet somehow so achingly familiar to you.

Every moment you both shared felt like secrets whispered between galaxies.It was endless excitement, especially for you who was still growing into yourself.

They would lift a glowing hand to the sky, and the stars would twinkle in reply, as if winking just for you. And when the weight of life pressed too heavily on your shoulders, when you missed home — you were reminded that you were already home. Because you were with Starlight.

Starlight was unlike anyone you’d ever known. Their presence was a tapestry of light and sound, shifting and shimmering in ways that no human words could fully capture. They were, without a doubt, the kindest of all the aliens you’d encountered—something you hadn’t thought possible in your tumultuous travels across the stars.

They never looked down on you, never acted superior. They never raised their voice or lashed out, never gave you cause to cry or to feel small. No, Starlight was different. They listened, truly listened, and their responses carried a patience and understanding that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

And they had this way of making you smile, even when you thought the weight of the universe would crush you. It was as though their very essence carried an unspoken promise: You are not alone.

You weren’t sure when it started, but somehow, you began to notice that you made them smile too. Well, if "smile" was the right word for the way their luminous form would pulse and shimmer with vibrant, joyful hues. It wasn’t until the day you sang that you truly understood how much you’d touched them.

You had been sitting by the viewing port, staring out at the swirling nebulae, the colors dancing in the void. The melody had come to you unbidden, a quiet hum at first, then blooming into words you hadn’t sung since you were a child. Your voice filled the chamber, mingling with the hum of the ship's systems. It wasn’t a grand performance, just something small and raw. But it was enough.

When you turned, Starlight was there. They were looking at you, their form trembling with flickering pulses of color you’d never seen before. It was awe-striking to see for the first time, who they truly are.

Those vibrant deep ambers and rich violets that seemed to ripple like a heartbeat. Their light dimmed for a moment as though catching its breath. Then, their glow intensified, and you realized they were weeping.

Tears? Could they cry? You’d never thought to ask before.

“Starlight?” you asked hesitantly, standing. “Did I... do something wrong?”

They stepped—or rather, floated—closer, their luminescence washing over you in a gentle cascade. They shook their heads at you, almost too reassuringly. Their hand rested against your head and traced the strings of your hair with soothing echoes. 

“Wrong?” Their voices vibrated like chimes caught in a soft breeze. “No, little one. What you’ve done is beyond beautiful.”

You tilted your head, still unsure. “But... you’re crying?”

They seemed to shimmer with quiet laughter at your confusion. “Your voice.” they said, “it carries something special. It reminds me of home, of frequencies long since lost to my kind.”

“Lost?” you echoed, sitting back down. “How can sound be lost?”

“It’s not just sound, little one.” Starlight explained, their glow shifting into softer, warmer tones. “It’s emotion, memory. My people... we’ve forgotten how to feel them as you do. Your song brought them back, if only for a moment.”

You felt your cheeks flush red, unsure how to respond to such an overwhelming compliment. “I-I see. But I….I still did not want to….I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Their light brightened again, wrapping you in warmth. “Tears are not always sorrow, my dear little one. Sometimes they are the purest form of joy.”

For a while, you both sat in silence, the vastness of space your only witness. Then, tentatively, you asked, “Would you like to hear another song?”

Starlight’s form pulsed with an eager glow ethereally happy. “I would be honored.”

Over time, you grew fonder of that voice of yours. That voice of yours that harmonizes to what the other aliens called singing. What once felt like a mere habit became a passion, nurtured by the joy Starlight showed in your songs. Starlight delighted you in every way they could, bringing melodies from across the cosmos to inspire you. 

They filled your world with sounds and instruments. At times, they would bring you little boxes they often called on Earth as music boxes. You had to crank it up over and over to hear those little sounds hum its tune.

You don’t remember much about Earth at all, but those melodies were haunting refrains from distant moons, rhythmic pulses from pulsar dances. They were beautiful. At times you wondered, is this what Earth people like?

You were thankful for everything Starlight would do for you. In return, you wanted to delight them too. So, you tried your best all the time, to sing. You sang for Starlight’s guests—beings of every shape, size, and light. And with time, they too grew fond of your voice. 

Their praises were frequent, full of admiration. Their luminescent forms often shifted with excitement as they spoke about you after your performances. That’s when the whispers began from each and everyone of them when they came around. They tried to be quiet, but they were always loud enough to be heard. Not only by you, but ever so clearly, your Starlight.

“Bring your pet to the Alien Stage.” they’d say to Starlight, their voices rippling like waves. “Surely, they’d win the crowd over.”

The first time someone said it, you noticed the subtle change in Starlight’s glow—a flicker, almost imperceptible. Their eyes, usually brimming with warmth, grew wide with tension. They would shake their head in a proud, head-strong manner. 

“No.” they said simply, their tone firm, though the words hummed low, almost mournful. “I will not.”

But none of them were deterred by each refusal. If anything, that only made the urge stronger, with each and every time you sang in their presence. Each time the suggestion came up, however, Starlight’s refusal was the same, unwavering. Each time, it was a hard pressing refusal. Over and over again, it was — “No.”

At first, you didn’t think much of it. You didn’t even know what Alien Stage was. But as the guests chatted, your curiosity grew. You overheard them talking with excitement about the performances, the music, the awe-inspiring singers from every corner of the universe.

They’d list the names of their favorites, their voices buzzing with admiration. Some even mentioned their own “pets” performing there, beings like you, brought to the stage to dazzle the multitudes.

Your eyes widened at every detail. The way they spoke of it made the stage sound like a dream. This seemed like a place where voices transcended worlds, where songs could echo through the cosmos itself. 

You started to imagine yourself there, standing before an audience of countless beings, your voice reaching further than you ever thought possible. Maybe Starlight would be proud of you. Maybe they’d adore you even more if you proved your worth on that stage.

One day, your resolve solidified. You approached Starlight, your heart pounding with nervous excitement. “I want to sing for others. Not just for you, but for everyone. I want to sing on that stage. And make them as happy as I had made you!”

The moment the words left your lips, Starlight’s glow dimmed, their light trembling like a flickering flame caught in a draft. It was the first time you’d ever seen them falter. “You don’t understand what you’re asking, little one.” they murmured, their usually harmonious voice tinged with unease.

“Why not?” you asked, stepping closer. “I want to share my voice with everyone too, Starlight. Isn’t that what music is for?”

Their glow wavered, their colors shifting to muted tones. “The Alien Stage... it’s not kind. It’s not about music, not truly. It's a spectacle. You are not a spectacle. You’re not a commodity, certainly not my pet, no matter how they insist so. I won’t let them turn you into something you are not.”

You blinked, taken aback. “But... the others, your friends—they said their pets perform there. They’re fine, aren’t they?”

Starlight’s light flared briefly, a rare burst of frustration. “Fine? Is that what they told you? Do you know what happens when the universe gets bored of a song? When will the novelty fades?” They quieted, their voice dropping to a near whisper. “You’re my melody. My little one. I won’t let you be taken from me.”

Their words stung, but you couldn’t let go of the yearning in your heart. “My songs aren’t meant to stay here, Starlight. They’re like you—meant to travel, to touch others, to spark something in their hearts. Don’t you see? This is what I want.”

For a long moment, silence hung between you, heavy and unyielding. Then, finally, Starlight dimmed further, their light softening into a pale, reluctant glow. They looked distraught, nervous. They seemed to look close to tears.

“If this is truly what you desire, little one.” they said, their voice trembling. “Then I will take you somewhere to help you. But promise me, no matter what happens, you’ll remember that you’re more than a song. You’re more than what they might try to make of you.”

“I promise.” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your chest.

Starlight didn’t respond right away. Instead, they reached out, their light brushing against you in a gesture that felt both protective and sorrowful. You looked up to them, blinking in confusion. At this moment, you still never truly knew what these complex gazes meant. You were still a child, after all. 

“Then I will help prepare you for the stage.” they said at last. “But know this: the universe can be a cruel audience.”

You nodded at them. They can only pierce their lips in a tight line. “I’ll send you somewhere safe, where you can learn." they said, their glow dim but steady. "Anakt Garden. They’ll teach you, nurture you. But promise me this: don’t let them take your essence away."

Anakt Garden was unlike anything you’d ever imagined. It was an orbital sanctuary, a massive structure built to mimic nature but filled with the impossible beauty of alien design. The fields glowed faintly, shifting in color as the air pulsed with an almost musical hum. Trees stretched high, their leaves shimmering like glass, and the ground beneath your feet felt soft, warm, alive.

Other children were there. And you realized that they were humans like you. The pets they were talking about like you. You hadn’t expected that all humans were pets. You had only known what Starlight told you about the universe.

Still each human child in their own right was unique in their presence. Some carried the same nervous energy you felt; others radiated confidence. It was comforting, in a way, to see so many dreamers gathered in one place. All of them yearn to sing, as much as you do. That had made you smile for the first time, the first time since parting from Starlight.

And then there was Ryomen Sukuna.

The first time you saw him, he was sitting under one of the bizarre trees, his pink hair like a fuschia flame against the soft glow of the Garden. He seemed at least a bit older than you. But you found him to be a fair face. 

He had a presence that demanded attention, his sharp scarlet eyes daring anyone to look away. Where the other children were careful and obedient, Ryomen Sukuna was bold, loud, and entirely unapologetic. And with the way everyone spoke about him, he seemed to be a lone wolf. A persona non grata in a group of these jolly children.

Yet, when you first heard him sing, you were awestruck. You stood there, listening as though he was growing something in you. Like a flower that has been waiting to bloom. Everything in the air shifted when he sang like he was crying out for something to be heard.

Of course, His voice wasn’t polished or restrained; it was raw, powerful, and full of an unyielding intensity. It shook something loose inside you, something you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back. You couldn’t help but gulp, you wanted to be just like him too. You wanted to be as good as him, blessed with such a wonder of a voice too.

Sukuna being good at singing had lit a fire in you, one you hadn’t fully realized was there until now. Watching him perform was like witnessing a storm in motion. It was wild, untamed, and utterly captivating. Everything about him would make anyone feel like the world should revolve around him. And you wanted that too. 

You wanted to capture that vibrance too. You wanted to be good. You wanted to make Starlight proud. You wanted to sing. Sing like you were the best in the world. It made you want to push yourself further, to become better, to chase the same freedom he seemed to command so effortlessly.

You started practicing harder than ever, retreating to one of the isolation cells to hone your voice. Day in and day out, you sang, the emptiness of the chamber amplifying your every note. Sometimes you sang until your throat was raw, until your limbs ache from exhaustion. You forgot to eat more often than you cared to admit, too focused on perfecting your craft.

And yet, despite all your effort, you knew you were holding back. It wasn’t hard to tell that you were. And that frustrated you to no end. It wasn’t that you couldn’t reach those soaring heights or push into the raw, emotional depths you heard in Sukuna’s voice. It was that you didn’t let yourself.

Of course, Ryomen Sukuna was quick to notice. 

With those sharp eyes of his, he always noticed.

“You’re good.” he said to you one day, his tone deceptively casual. 

He leaned against the doorway to the cell, arms crossed, his sharp scarlet gaze cutting through you like a blade.You couldn’t help but glance up from where you sat on the cold sterile floor, startled. You hadn’t heard him come in. 

“Thank you.” you muttered, unsure how to take the compliment.

“But you’re holding back.” he added, his voice laced with amusement as he stepped closer. His smirk was as infuriating as it was challenging. “Why?”

You hesitated, your heart sinking under the weight of Starlight’s words—the warnings, the fear in their trembling light. You wanted to sing, you wanted to be the best. But you had to be true to what your Starlight said. You had to.

“I don’t want to disappoint my guardian.” you admitted quietly. “They’re afraid I’ll lose myself if I go too far.”

Sukuna tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he was halfway to solving. Then he snorted, his grin widening into something both cocky and strangely reassuring. It was almost irritating. And yet, he had the right to be smug. He had it all figured out. All too well. 

“Lose yourself? You? Nah.” He crouched down to your level, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. “If anything, you’re too afraid to find yourself.”

The words hit harder than you expected, leaving you speechless. Ryomen Sukuna laughs for a moment before he leaned in closer, his laughter dying down. It was soon replaced by a sly smirk softening into something that almost felt like encouragement.

“You’ve got fire in you, you know that?” he said, his voice low but insistent. “I can hear it in your voice, even when you try to hide it. You’re scared of what happens if you let it out, aren’t you?”

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped. He wasn’t wrong. Some of the people here are favorites of many aliens who had come to Starlight’s home as guests. And Sukuna was one of them. And some of them whispered here about what the contest was like. Even more, you were without Starlight. They won’t be coming back until the next visiting day. 

He was right, he seems to always be right. You were afraid, sometimes feeling that fear of the unknown. That lack of security. That echo of loneliness. Of course you were scared.. You were but a child. And you don’t know much about this world. 

“It’s not about them.” he continued, his tone firm now. “Not your guardian, not the stage, not anyone else. It’s about you. You wanted to join because you wanted to sing, right? Then do it for yourself.”

Your brows furrowed. “But I—”

“No ifs, no buts. You’ve got something special, something that deserves to be heard. And if you keep locking it away, you’re not just letting them down—you’re letting yourself down.”

His words lingered in the air, a challenge and a promise all at once.You swallowed hard, feeling a spark of something new—courage, maybe, or defiance. Is it all that, you wonder? Or is just a phantom of a feeling. You didn’t know, truly. But his words made you feel like a fire was burning inside of you. And even if you didn’t know what it was…..at least it was there, long enough to keep you from sorrows.

“And what if I let it out and it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sukuna’s smirk turned into a genuine smile, rare and disarming. “Then you keep going. You mess up, you fall, you sing again. That’s how you find your edge. That’s how you find you.”

He straightened up, his presence still larger than life even as he turned to leave. “Next time I hear you, lamb.” Sukuna called over his shoulder, causing you to blink as he called you a new name. “Don’t hold back. Let the fire burn.”

You sat there in the quiet for a long time after he left, his words echoing in your mind. Maybe Ryomen Sukuna was right. Maybe it was time to stop holding yourself back. Maybe it’s time to let that fire you feel be more than just a feeling. You took a deep breath, and looked at your music sheets again. It was time to practice once more.

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YOU FIND THAT YOU DWELL IN THE SAME AXIS AS SUKUNA. Somehow, you and Sukuna understood each other better than most in the Garden. It wasn’t something either of you spoke about outright. Well, there was no place for that here, after all.

So, there were no flowery declarations of kinship or shared confessions under the stars. But it was there, an unspoken connection that threaded between your interactions, subtle yet undeniable.

At first glance, it didn’t make much sense at all. You couldn’t be more different. Sukuna, with his razor-sharp confidence and unapologetic boldness, seemed to command the space around him, every action deliberate and brimming with power. You, on the other hand, felt smaller, quieter, more uncertain of your place among the dazzling figures who roamed the Garden.

And yet, despite your differences or maybe because of them, you felt natural around each other. Conversations flowed without effort, even in their silences. He could sit beside you, offering no more than a teasing smirk or a dry comment, and you wouldn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with needless words. Somehow, it was enough just to share the same space, like two stars orbiting the same unseen gravity.

Perhaps it was the way you each carried something hidden beneath the surface, something you rarely shared with others. Sukuna, for all his bluster, carried a weight in his eyes, a history that lingered in the way he sometimes stared into the distance, his smirk slipping into something more thoughtful. You had your own burdens, your own doubts, ones you tried to shield behind polite smiles and quiet resolve.

It wasn’t that you talked about those things. At least not directly. But there were moments, fleeting and unguarded, where the weight of what you both carried seemed to align. In those moments, you’d catch him watching you, his gaze softer than usual, as though he saw through the walls you’d built. And you knew, somehow, that you could see through him too.

Even when your worlds didn’t overlap most of the time. When his passions and his sharp-edged confidence clashed with your quieter, more careful nature, there was still some well founded common ground in the simplicity of understanding. There was no judgment between you, no need to prove yourselves to one another.

Sukuna didn’t try to push you into his shadow, and you didn’t shrink from the light he cast. And perhaps, that’s what you liked the most about him. He didn’t change anything with how he treated you or how he interacted with you. He was just himself. And you were just who you were. 

For all the chaos and politics surrounding the Garden, where alliances shifted like the wind and friendships often felt transactional, what you had with Ryomen Sukuna was refreshingly uncomplicated. It wasn’t about competition or gaining favor. It was just... real.

And maybe that’s why, despite having little in common, you felt natural with him. You didn’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Somehow, you just knew.That was for the better, if you were truly saying it bluntly. 

The shimmering beauty of Anakt Garden couldn’t hide its truth: it was a terrifyingly stifling place. Every moment was monitored, every move scrutinized by the alien caretakers. Their intentions were kind, but their constant observation weighed heavy, leaving you feeling like a butterfly pinned under glass.

Ryomen Sukuna hated it. He wouldn’t even be here if his guardian wasn’t insistent on making use of him like a pet who made him a lot of money— of course, just as much to isolate him from the scandals and troubles he creates as a performer. 

You heard rumors about all of that, but you weren’t sure if they were true. You don’t want to cross a boundary with Sukuna, something he was unwilling to talk about as much as something he never truly decides to talk to you about. 

But it was obvious in all the other ways, you suppose. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened whenever the caretakers hovered too long, their cold, clinical voices reminding you to stay on schedule, to follow their precise instructions. He never said anything outright in their presence, but the tension in his body was impossible to miss. His hands would curl into loose fists, his eyes narrowing like he was fighting the urge to lash out. 

It wasn’t just their commands that grated on him—it was their entire approach. The way they treated you, and everyone else in the Garden, as projects, toys to play with rather than souls who deserve respect. 

To this part of the galaxy, human children were their tools to be honed, performances to be perfected. You didn’t need to ask how he felt about it; his disdain was evident in every clipped word and icy glare he threw their way and how much he does not care for their discipline and in the worst cases, punishment.

You worry about him, about his defiances. But you know he’s been through this before, and he was a veteran. Ryomen Sukuna has lived through the experience. You could see it in his eyes, how much he hated the Garden. And just as much, how much he hated how this is affecting you. He hated seeing you go through this too.

One evening, after a particularly grating session where the caretakers had spent far too long critiquing your pitch and posture, you found Sukuna waiting for you under one of the glowing trees in the Garden. The soft luminescence of the tree’s branches cast him in an almost ethereal light, though the storm cloud brewing in his expression was anything but serene.

He didn’t say anything at first as you approached slowly, just patted the ground beside him in an unspoken invitation. You sat, letting out a long sigh, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders.

“They don’t get it.” Sukuna muttered finally, breaking the silence. His voice was low, angry, but there was an edge of frustration that wasn’t entirely aimed at the caretakers. “They think they can mold us into their stupid little visions.”

You glanced at him, his face partially obscured by the shadows of the tree’s light. “Maybe that’s just how they think things work.” you said softly, even though you didn’t fully believe your own words. “They’re just trying to help us... be better.”

Sukuna snorted, his lip curling into a derisive smirk. “Help? Is that what you call it, little lamb? Barking orders, telling you to strip everything raw until there’s nothing left but their idea of ‘perfect’? Yeah, really helpful.”

You didn’t reply right away. There was truth in what he said, he knew it more than you. That was the truth of that. But the caretakers had a way of making you feel like you couldn’t question them, like they knew what was best. 

And even then, you were the one who wanted to be here in the first place. You had asked Starlight to let you be on that stage, happily so. You wanted to sing for the universe. For all the galaxies to see and hear. You chose your poison, your suffering. You had to make your bed and deal with it too.

Sukuna turned to you then, his sharp gaze piercing through your silence. “You’re already perfect, okay? Don’t listen to them, little lamb.” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “They just can’t see it.”

The words caught you off guard, scarlet warmth rising to your cheeks despite the weight in your chest. “I’m not... I mean, I’m trying to be better.” you stammered, looking away. “I want to be good enough.”

He leaned closer, his expression softening just a fraction. “Good enough for who? Them? You think their approval is worth breaking yourself over?”

You hesitated, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “I just... I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened again, but this time his anger felt different. You were good at reading his emotions by now. You had seen his eyes too much to not know what they felt. And when it comes to you, they shine with a protective glow almost all the time. 

“Listen to me, little lamb.” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’re not some tool for them to shape, alright? You’ve got something real, something no one else has. Don’t let them take that away from you.”

You met his gaze, unsure of how to respond. There was something raw in his expression, something that felt startlingly vulnerable. For all his bravado, Sukuna wasn’t just angry for the sake of it, he never was. You knew him too well for you not to know that. He genuinely cared.

“Thank you, ‘kuna.” you said quietly, the word feeling small but sincere.

He leaned back against the tree, his smirk returning, though it was softer this time. “Don’t thank me yet. Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t let them dim your light. You’re better than their rules, their schedules. You’re better than all of it.”

His words settled over you like a protective shield, bolstering you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. And as the glow of the tree cast shifting patterns across the ground, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. You want to start thinking that maybe he was right. Maybe you didn’t need their version of perfection. Maybe you could find your own.

With each passing day, his company as much as his protectiveness became your anchor in the Garden’s isolating world. When the pressure of always being watched felt too heavy, Ryomen Sukuna was there to remind you that you weren’t alone. He had a way of drawing you out of your own thoughts, pulling you into his world where the rules didn’t seem to matter.

He started making you little gifts, sometimes when it was the get together activities. He was crude about it but you found that he does endearing work for delicate, endearing things by his own hand for you. He was good at it, with how he cobbled together from whatever he could find around the Garden.

Today, it was a bracelet made of woven grasses that glowed faintly in the dark. A carved fragment of one of the brazenly bright trees, etched with symbols and letters that only he could explain. You gasped as he showed it to you once he was finally done. 

"It’s a good luck charm, little lamb. It’s all written in a human language, from long ago. " he said to you tenderly, pressing a small, smooth stone into your hand. It was warm, as if it had been sitting in sunlight. "To keep you safe. You need it here."

But sometimes, it wasn’t just those he gave to you. Sukuna would sometimes write you songs, too. He was more advanced with that than you in his classes. It’s why he sometimes gets bored attending the classes. Sometimes he also teaches you, when there are things that confuse you about the lessons or if they are going too fast.

Sometimes it was hard to read through it all. His thoughts go by so fast that he ends up writing without thinking about it. You giggle sometimes when he hands you page after page to go through them. They were always good songs, of course they were. But his writing was always something that was ever so special about it all. 

But his handwriting was messy, scrawled on scraps of paper or even on his own arm when he ran out of space. He would get flustered about it sometimes, too. But you never chastised him for that. If anything, it was because he was born a genius of music. 

He was born to create melodies that could move anyone in this life—human or alien. His music wasn’t just sound; it was an experience, a force of nature. It’s why he was a favorite of so many who tuned into Alien Stage. 

His songs weren’t polished or rehearsed to the point of sterility. No, they were raw, defiant, and unapologetically alive. Every note, every lyric burned with fire, passion, and a kind of honesty that left no room for pretense.

And yet, for all their intensity, nothing could compare to the moments when he sang just for you. In those moments, the wild edges of his music softened. The defiance was still there, but it felt different. Everything about it was more tender, like an ember rather than a roaring flame. 

When he played his guitar, the ink on the page didn’t seem as smudged, the chords didn’t feel as jagged. It was as though the very essence of the music shifted, reshaping itself into something gentler, something just for you.

When he sang for you, it wasn’t about proving anything or conquering the stage. It wasn’t about anyone else. It was personal. It was for his little lamb. And his little lamb, who was the softest voice that tendered anyone’s soul, he was sure to want to do the same. He wanted to make your soul a little less heavier in this stifling place.

“You bring out the quiet in me, little lamb.” he admitted one night, his voice low and almost shy, a stark contrast to his usual boldness. 

The two of you sat together under the alien sky, its vibrant hues dancing like living brushstrokes across the horizon. His guitar rested idly on his lap, his fingers brushing absentmindedly over the strings.You tilted your head, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his tone. 

“You? Quiet? I don’t believe it, ‘kuna.” you teased, grinning as you nudged his shoulder.

He smirked, though there was an unmistakable softness in his expression. “Don’t get used to it, little lamb.” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching into something halfway between a grin and a pout. “I’ve got a reputation to keep for all the galaxy, you know.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree. “Oh, I’ll treasure it while it lasts, then. The great Sukuna, soft-spoken and sweet. Who would’ve thought?”

“Careful, now.” he warned, though there was no bite in his words. “Keep talking like that, and I might have to write a song about how annoying you are.”

You gasped in mock offense, placing a hand dramatically over your chest. “Annoying? Me? I’m the one inspiring all this ‘quiet’. I’d like to correct you on that, thank you very much.”

“Fair point, little lamb.” he conceded, chuckling as he leaned back on his hands. He glanced at you then, his crimson eyes catching the light of the sky, and for a moment, he looked at peace. 

“I always make good points.” You giggled back at him.

“But don’t go thinking this is all for you.” he added, his voice playful but his gaze lingering on yours. “It’s just... easier when you’re around. The chaos doesn’t feel so loud.”

Your laughter softened, fading into a gentle smile. “Maybe it’s because you don’t have to be anything but yourself when you’re with me.”

He stilled, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he let out a quiet hum. “Yeah, I suppose.” he said finally, almost to himself. “Maybe that’s it.”

And as the vast expanse of the foreign sky shimmered above you, you couldn’t help but think that whatever quiet he found in your presence, it was mutual. Something about him, about these stolen moments, made the rest of the universe feel distant and unimportant. It was just you, him, and the melody he always seemed to carry.

For just a moment, the Garden didn’t feel so heavy tonight.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

YOU WERE SURPRISED AT YOUR PROGRESS. Just as much, everyone else was too. The caretakers and the teachers began to notice the shift in you. It was impossible for them not to. Your voice had grown stronger, more confident, and your performances carried a depth they hadn’t seen before from you.

They praised you for your progress, their clinical smiles and approving nods a stark contrast to their usual detached demeanor. But their accolades rang hollow. They had no idea that their rigid schedules and suffocating structure weren’t the reason for your growth. It wasn’t their drills or corrections that had helped you blossom. All that work was done by Ryomen Sukuna.

When you felt like the weight of their expectations was too much to bear, Sukuna was the one who reminded you of the fire burning within you. When doubt crept into your mind, whispering that you’d never be good enough, it was Sukuna who sat with you under the glowing trees and told you to keep going.

“They can watch us all they want, little lamb.” Sukuna said to you, with a furrowed brow. 

But then he yawned, his head resting against the false bark. His fuschia hair caught the golden light filtering through the Garden’s strange sky. He was exhausted from the evaluations today, he was up longer than some of the other kids. So after all that, all he wanted to do was sleep.

He leaned against a twisted, luminous tree, arms crossed, his usual smirk replaced by something fiercer, more protective. He wasn’t there for your evaluations, but with how the results came out — he had a right to reassure you. 

You had barely made the top ten of the class. And that terrified you. Being top ten meant that you wouldn’t suffer more remedial classes. You were already exhausted from practicing all month for the evaluations. You didn’t need a repeat of it again.

Sukuna did not believe in the ranking for the evaluations. If anything he hated it. He may have been at the first place mark now, but this doesn’t mean that it meant anything. It wasn’t any of the teachers who will give you points at the live shows. It would be the audience. What the audience wants is often not what the teachers like.

“They’ll never understand what you’re capable of.” He tells you brazenly. “And I’ll make sure they don’t break you. Don’t worry about that.”

You looked up at him, his words stirring something deep inside you. “You really think I can do it?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

His gaze softened, the fire in his crimson eyes still blazing but tempered with something gentler. “I don’t think so. I know.” he said firmly, stepping closer to you.

“I just….” You purse your lips into a small line, lowering your gaze.

“You’ve got more heart in your little finger than any of those caretakers have in their whole soulless existence. They’re just trying to shape you into what they think you should be. But you? You’re already enough. More than enough.”

You felt a lump in your throat, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. “It’s hard sometimes.” you admitted, your voice wavering. “To keep believing in myself when they’re always... pushing. Always watching.”

Sukuna crouched down in front of you, his expression unusually serious. “Then stop doing it for them, little lamb.” he said, his voice low but unwavering. “Do it for you. Never for them. They’ll never understand joy the way you do about singing. They’re just a bunch of pricks who want to make money. You’re amazing, okay? You got that? ”

His words struck a chord in you, and you nodded, a small smile breaking through your doubt. “Yeah.” you whispered.

“Good.” he said, straightening up and offering you a hand. “Because when we’re out of here, the whole universe is gonna know your name. And I’ll be right there with you, making sure they hear you loud and clear.”

The idea of a life beyond the Garden. That was something you’d barely dared to dream of, but now it seemed suddenly felt tangible. With Sukuna by your side, with Starlight on the other side of you.

Somehow, with him, the Garden’s walls didn’t seem so high or so suffocating. You started to dream again. You wanted to dream again. Not just of performing for others but of living, truly living, free from the caretakers’ rules and expectations.

“You really think we’ll get out of here?” you asked one evening, as you both sat under the alien sky. “And be together?”

Sukuna leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at the shimmering lights above. “Of course we will,” he said confidently. “They can’t keep us here forever. And when we’re out, I’ll show you what real freedom looks like. No rules, no schedules, little lamb. It’ll be just us and the stars.”

You laughed softly, the sound carrying a mix of hope and longing. “Sounds like a dream.”

“It’s not a dream, little lamb.” he said, turning to look at you. “It’s a promise.”

And though the path ahead was uncertain, with obstacles and risks you couldn’t yet see, you knew one thing for sure: as long as Sukuna was with you, as long as his voice called you forward and his presence anchored you, you could face whatever came next. 

And so, life in Anakt Garden continued, the days blending together in a cycle of practice, observation, and fleeting moments of stolen freedom with Sukuna. The caretakers pushed you even harder, their teachings were continually becoming a relentless scrutiny that was even more suffocating than before.

They wanted perfection, polished and pristine, a voice that could embody the harmony they imagined humanity should be. After all, they wanted a good show. Perfection was the only way to make that good show happen. But you weren’t perfect by their standards. Neither was Sukuna, and you didn’t want to be — not anymore.

You just wanted to sing together with Sukuna forever.

"You ever notice how quiet it gets here at night?" Sukuna said one evening, lying beside you under the alien trees. The Garden's soft glow reflected in his sharp eyes, making them look like twin stars. "It’s too perfect. Like they’ve sucked all the realness out of this place."

You nodded, your chest heavy with the truth of his words. The Garden’s beauty often felt like a trap, a cage made of light and silence. Artificial as it may be, it at least provided some solace to you when the times were rough. 

"They think if it’s quiet enough, we’ll forget what it feels like to be loud." he continued, his voice tinged with frustration. "But you and me? We shouldn’t be so willing to be quiet, you know?"

Those words stayed with you. And from that moment on, you started to see more of why Ryomen Sukuna was what he was to the caretakers and the teachers. He wanted to live. He wanted to be free. And the only way to be free was defiance. And you slowly but surely, you also became one with him in that too.

He began sneaking out of his quarters late at night to find you. Together, you’d climb the shimmering trees or sit on the glowing grass, whispering plans for the future. He talked about stages that stretched across galaxies, places where no one would tell you how to sing, where your voices could echo freely into the stars.

"I’ll write you the best songs, little lamb. Even better than what I already gave you." he promised to you. His tone was softer than usual. "Songs so good they’ll make the stars jealous."

“You are making quite big promises, don’t you think?” You tease him, giggling as you read over his newest piece. “This would make the stars jealous.”

"Yeah, because they’re our songs." he’d say, his smirk softening as he handed you another crumpled page. "No one else gets to have something as good as this. Not even the stars. Only you.”

“Only me?” Your eyes brightened at his words.

He smiled back at you once more. “Only you.”

But as much as Sukuna comforted you, you could see the way the Garden wore on him, too. The more you get to know him, the more he tells you about his experiences here. They were of course not going into all the details. He doesn’t want to regale you with sorrow.

Yet all that he says were consistent with his previous experiences. And each and every time he came back, he just hated it even more. The constant surveillance, the endless demands, the lack of freedom. It was like watching a wildfire struggle to burn in a room with no air. And no one was getting out without getting burned.

"They’re never going to let us leave, are they?" you asked him another night, the weight of the question pressing down on you like a stone.

Sukuna turned to you, his gaze fierce. "Not on our terms if they have their way, no. But that doesn’t mean we won’t get out."

"What do you mean?" You furrowed your brows quizzically at him. “Sukuna, what do you mean by that?”

He grinned, the kind of grin that sent a thrill down your spine because it meant he had a plan. "I’m working on something. Just... trust me, yeah?"

And you did. You always trusted him.

How could you not trust him?

He was all you had in this wretched place.

In the meantime, Sukuna never let the Garden take your spirit. When you were too tired to sing, he’d hum quietly for you, his voice a low, comforting rumble. When you felt trapped, he’d find a way to make you laugh. 

Sometimes there was a sly joke here and there. Sometimes a sarcastic comment, or even an impromptu, over-the-top performance that earned him a scolding from the caretakers. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was that you smiled.

"You keep me sane, you know that?" you told him one night, the two of you leaning against each other beneath the alien sky.

"Good." he replied, his voice soft but steady. "Because you keep me grounded too."

You liked to think that when he smiled then, you realized you loved him.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THIS WAS NOT WHAT YOU HAD IMAGINED IT TO BE. You had not wanted this to happen, not ever. But it has. You willingly walked into this stage. But you didn't know any better. You didn't know.

Alien Stage was supposed to be your moment, the culmination of all the practice, dreams, and songs you had poured your soul into. And yet, this was not the truth. It never was.

As you stood in the staging area, waiting for your name to be called, your chest felt tight. No, you don’t think it was the nerves. No, it had to be something darker. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

You could see it in Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes too. That pool of dread. That horror. He didn’t say anything outright, but his normally fiery demeanor had simmered into something quieter, sharper. As you waited, he stayed close, his presence grounding you in the chaos of the moment.

When your name echoed through the chamber, the sound bouncing off the crystalline walls like a bell tolling for the inevitable, Sukuna reached out without hesitation. His hand found your arm, his grip firm, almost desperate, as though letting go would send you spiraling into the unknown forever.

"Hey." he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. It lacked the usual bravado, the teasing edge you’d grown so used to. Instead, it carried something raw, something unguarded. "No matter what happens out there… sing. Don’t stop. Make sure you sing well. You have to win. Okay?"

His words were sharp and urgent, and the intensity of his gaze made your heart skip a beat. You nodded, but confusion flickered across your face. Ryomen Sukuna had never been this way with you before—so vulnerable, so unlike his usual self.

"Okay." you managed to whisper, though your voice wavered. "I will. I promise."

He didn’t let go, not right away. His grip loosened slightly, his thumb brushing your sleeve in a way that felt almost absentminded. You could feel your breath quiver at his touch, you looked at him for a moment, trying to take it all in. All of him in.

"Okay." he muttered, his eyes dropping for a brief moment before meeting yours again. "Sing as hard as you can. I’ll be here. Waiting for you. No matter what.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a cloak, warm and heavy. "Sukuna… why are you saying this now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk returned, but it was softer this time, tinged with something that looked suspiciously like worry. "Someone has to tell you that they’re waiting. I have to. So you’ll come back.”

You blinked, a small laugh escaping you despite the tension. “I’ll always come back. You know that.”

You could see his jaw tighten at your words. “Yeah. I know.”

The announcement once again rang out for the start, perhaps even louder this time, signaling your final call. He finally let go of your arm, his hand lingering just a second too long before he stepped back.

"Go, little lamb." he said, his voice firmer now. "Show them what you’ve got."

As you turned to walk toward the stage, the gravity of the moment hit you. His words, his touch, his uncharacteristic vulnerability. You know that they weren’t just about the performance. They were about you. About everything you’d worked for, everything you meant to him, even if he couldn’t quite say it outright.

You glanced back one last time and saw him standing there, arms crossed, his fiery red hair catching the strange, otherworldly light. His smirk had returned in full, but his eyes gave him away. No, there was hope there. And maybe, just maybe, a flicker of fear.

And as you stepped onto the stage, the lights blinding and the crowd’s anticipation palpable, you felt a strange sense of calm. You didn’t know why. But you could only look at it later as the calm before the storm that would change your life forever.

The space was nothing like the vibrant, celebratory arenas you’d imagined. It was stark and sterile, the kind of place that drained warmth from the air. The floor was smooth and reflective. You think that you could see your reflection if you look hard enough.

The audience or what passed for one was a collection of alien beings and floating orbs, their glowing forms pulsating with eerie rhythm. It was also broadcasting live all over the universe and even into the other galaxies. 

Across from you stood your opponent. He was about your age, his dark hair messy, his expression somewhere between fear and resignation. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, but the moment passed, and the caretakers began their cold instructions.

"The match begins now." one of them announced.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as the first note left your lips. The song you sang wasn’t what they’d wanted from you. It was the rigid, controlled melodies drilled into you during practice. Instead, you poured everything into the song, letting your voice carry the raw, unfiltered emotions you’d kept hidden. Fear, hope, defiance—it was all there, spilling out into the room.

Your opponent responded, his voice trembling but undeniably beautiful. It wasn’t a battle just yet, no. In that moment, it was a conversation between lovers, having a desperate exchange to bring back a love that was near the end of its lifetime.

You sang as hard as you could, as well as you could. And you didn’t stop. But soon enough, it ended just as fast as it began. The moment the last notes faded, the orbs above began to glow, casting their silent judgment. A brilliant light radiated from your side of the stage, signaling the tally of the votes to announce your victory.

For a heartbeat, you felt relief—until you saw your opponent’s face.

His eyes widened in terror as a column of light descended from above, surrounding him in an otherworldly glow of bright red neon lights. And then you heard the gunshots. You reached out instinctively, a scream tearing from your throat, but it was too late. The light consumed him. Soon enough, it was his blood pooling down the stage.

Just a moment ago, he was something.

And now, he lay there dead, nothing.

Nothing but a pile of blood and death.

You stumbled back, your legs giving out as you collapsed to the cold, unforgiving floor. Your hands trembled, clutching at nothing, your voice gone as the weight of what had just happened crushed you. Your eyes were trembling, you couldn’t look away from what once was a living being.

Someone had approached, their serene tone in sharp contrast to the horror you felt. "Congratulations to you." they said. "You have advanced to the next round."

The words barely registered. All you could think about was the boy’s face, his fear, his voice, now silenced forever. You wanted to scream, you wanted to shout. You wanted to tell them that an innocent young boy was killed for losing, and how horrid that is. There was nothing else you could do, as they ushered you away from the sweltering blood pouring down from the stage to the audience below.

When they led you off the stage, Sukuna was waiting. His scarlet eyes locked onto yours, and in that moment, he didn’t need to ask what had happened. He already knew, you didn’t have to tell him. And yet just as much, the answer was written all over your face. You don’t want to talk about it.

"They killed him, didn’t they?" he asked, his voice low, trembling with restrained fury.

You nodded, the motion barely perceptible as your body shook. Sukuna’s hands balled into fists, his jaw tightening as he pulled you into a fierce embrace. Your tears started to flow against his shoulder as you rested your chin against it. 

"I should've told you to run away. I should have stopped you." he muttered, his voice cracking. "I should’ve gotten you out of here before—"

His words broke off, replaced by a heavy silence. For a long time, neither of you moved. You clung to him, your breaths shaky and uneven, his arms a shield against the unbearable truth that the stage wasn’t about music or talent or dreams. 

It was a death sentence.

This is what the aliens at Starlight’s home would be excited about. This is what they gush over their human pets, children— would be doing. They would sing and they would lose and they would die. For entertainment. And you hated it. The thought of it all made you want to hurl everything in your stomach.

"They never told us." you finally whispered, your voice barely audible. "They never said what this was."

Sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, his scarlet eyes blazing with anger. But then there was regret. And then guilt. And then anger once again, for himself. For his stupidity.

He didn’t tell you anything either. He should have. Why didn’t he? Why didn’t he tell you? He was complicit in robbing you of your innocence. He was complicit in your grief. And even soon, your loss of life.

"They never tell how it happens. Now it’s guns.”

"But... why?"

"Because they can," he said bitterly. "Because we’re just pieces in their game."

For the first time, Ryomen Sukuna didn’t have a plan, and didn't have an answer for how to fix this. He didn’t know what to do, now that you had been robbed of what made you who you were,  your humanity. Yet, all he had was you, and all you had was him.

But as you sat there, wrapped in his arms, something began to harden in you. The Aanakt Garden’s beauty, the caretakers’ promises, the Stage’s allure—it was all a lie. It will always be a lie.

It will always be a place where the cattle grows and gets ready for the slaughter. While the whole galaxy could watch. And now, you couldn’t unsee it. Now you can’t escape it. Neither could Sukuna.

"We’re getting out of here." he said finally, his voice steady but laced with steel. "I don’t care how, but we’re not staying in this hell."

And in that moment, you liked to think you believed him.

If anyone was going to get out, you think, it would be Sukuna.

And yet, that ugly feeling in your gut told you — no one escapes this.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THE PLAN WAS AIRTIGHT, AT LEAST IT SEEMS LIKE IT. Or rather as close as it could be when desperation was your main driving force. There was some time before the next stage, where Sukuna was going to face another opponent. 

And so in that time, Ryomen Sukuna had spent weeks mapping out the routines of the caretakers and teachers, and the additional security and studying their movements and making an accurate layout of the Anakt Garden. He whispered the plan to you late at night under the glowing trees, his voice steady despite the fire in his scarlet eyes.

"We’re getting out of here, little lamb." he’d said. "I’m not letting them keep us locked up like this."

You trusted him completely. You always have. Sukuna had always been your anchor, your protector in this wretched place. He was your salvation, and he will continue to be. You will escape with him. And you will see Starlight again. And you would be free, together. That was the plan. 

But not all plans will go your way. No. Not at all. If anything, things will always go awry. Almost immediately, someone notices. And almost immediately, the meticulous plan that had been  compromised. The alarm rings from one hall to another. And you hadn’t noticed it yet.

As you ran through the dimly lit corridors of the facility, Ryomen Sukuna leading the way with his usual reckless confidence, alarms blared. The sound pierced through the still air, loud and jarring. Your heart pounded as alien drones descended downward, their glowing forms moving with terrifying precision.

"Go!" Sukuna shouted, his voice sharp with urgency as he shoved you ahead. "I’ll hold them off!"

"No! Sukuna!" you cried, grabbing his arm. "We do this together!"

But the drones were faster. Before you could react, one of them fired a net-like energy beam that wrapped around you, pinning your arms to your sides. Sukuna roared in rage, lunging at the drone, but another blast struck him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Run!" you screamed, but he didn’t listen. 

Ryomen Sukuna never listened when it came to you.

Almost immediately after that, they had dragged you both back. And the Garden was on a lockdown. It was evident with how the glow of their containment fields cast an eerie light over the corridors, along the fully locked halls and pathways. 

The cold, unyielding walls of the facility pressed in around you, each step back toward the Garden feeling heavier than the last. And you hated it. You absolutely hated it. But you hated even more that Ryomen Sukuna could not look you in the eye.

Sukuna was truly bitter about the failure.

Grievous because you were still here, trapped.

Mournful because both of you could have been free.

When you arrived, Ryomen Sukuna’s alien guardian was waiting. Starlight had always been stern, but Sukuna’s guardian was something else entirely. You were scared of them almost instantaneously. 

They were a towering, cold figure with a presence that seemed to sap the air from the room. Its form shimmered with an intense, otherworldly energy, and their piercing gaze locked onto Sukuna the moment he entered in his presence. Just as much as their fist locked against his human pet’s jaw.

"You reckless little fool." the alien hissed, its voice a low, vibrating hum that resonated in your chest. "Do you understand what you’ve done?"

Sukuna spat blood onto the floor, his red eyes blazing with defiance. "Yeah. I tried to leave. And I’d do it again."

The alien’s form seemed to darken, its glow pulsing angrily. "You endangered everything. Your place here, your future—her future!" It turned its piercing gaze on you, and you shrank back instinctively. “You got sent here to straighten yourself and now you punish someone else with you? What a wretched bastard you are, aren’t you?”

"Leave her out of this." Sukuna growled, stepping in front of you despite his injuries. "If you’ve got a problem, it’s with me."

The tension in the air was suffocating, heavy with unspoken threats and the sharp bite of inevitability. The alien stood before you both, its shimmering form radiating an icy menace that cut deeper than its words. Its gaze was fixed on Sukuna, unyielding and cold, like a predator sizing up its prey.

"I warned you," the alien said, its voice devoid of the warmth it had once feigned, now reduced to a blade of frigid authority. "Just like last time. This is not a place for rebellion. It is a place of purpose, a place of order. I sent you here for that purpose. Because you’re a wretched little fool who likes trouble. And still—still—you defy any sense."

Sukuna’s laugh was sharp, bitter, and defiant, like shards of glass scattering across the floor. "And what’s the consequence, huh?" he spat, stepping forward despite the guards already inching closer. His crimson eyes burned with a rage that even the alien seemed wary of. "You’ve already threatened to kill me before. You should just do it, goddamn it. Kill me already and free me from my misery."

The alien tilted its head, as if considering the words, and then its gaze shifted to you. The moment it did, the air seemed to chill further, and your stomach twisted into knots.

“Then I should kill the girl too.” it said, its tone as casual as discussing the weather.

“You will do no such thing, sir.” One of the caretakers speaks up, as Sukuna’s guardian looks to them. “You cannot touch the property of another.”

“Surely it doesn’t matter.” His alien speaks once again, looking at you. “I doubt this girl’s alien will have any trouble replacing her–”

“No!” The word tore from your throat before you could stop it, fear coursing through you like ice.

Sukuna’s reaction was instant, explosive to your fear. His eyes widened, but only for a heartbeat before narrowing with unrestrained fury. He lunged toward the alien, his movements wild, reckless. With an intent to kill.

"You bastard! I’ll tear you limb from limb if you ever DARE touch her!”

But the guards were ready. They seized him before he could even get close, their metallic hands clamping down on his arms with a force that made you wince. He struggled against them, snarling like a caged animal, his red hair wild and his expression murderous.

“Let me go!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber. "You think you can threaten her? You think I’ll let you? I’ll kill you with my bare hands!"

“I’m telling you again, sir.” The alien caretaker says once more. “You cannot touch another alien’s property without them knowing. You are not their owner. You cannot punish them without their owner’s approval.”

The alien remained unfazed with what the caretaker said, its gaze shifting between you and Sukuna like a judge deliberating a sentence. They snicker at the caretaker’s words, narrowing his gaze to your frightful look. “Very well. Take my own to his sleeping cell.”

“I won’t let you! Not this time!” Sukuna screams like a wildman.

Sukuna struggles against the guards. He nearly gets away, but is quickly apprehended. He growls as he tries to attack them from the side, but they tackle him to the ground. You tried to approach him, but the caretaker pulled you away. Sukuna’s guardian lowers themselves to look at him, eye to eye.

“You will learn, you brat.” They said finally, its tone edged with finality. “Both of you will learn. Separately.”

The word hit you like a blow. 

Separately. 

“No, no.” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, you can’t—”

The alien ignored your protests, gesturing sharply to the guards. "I can do what I want. He is mine.” He looks at Sukuna again and snickers. “We shall have a good conversation, won’t we? Take him. Lock him where his fire can burn no one but himself."

"Sukuna!" you screamed as they dragged him away.

He fought against them with everything he had, his voice a feral growl. You too struggle against the caretaker, but no matter how much you both tried to pull from the gravity of separation, you tried to get closer. Yet it was for naught, as they managed to pull him away from your proximity. Your tears started to fall once more.

“I’ll find you!” he shouted, his eyes locking onto yours even as he was forced through the doorway. “Don’t give up! I’ll find you—I swear!”

And then he was gone.

His guardian follows behind him.

And you knew, you knew what he’ll endure.

You stood frozen, trembling, the caretaker alien’s presence looming over you like a shadow. Its gaze turned back to you, assessing. You looked to the ground, not wanting to show them the tears you were spilling for Sukuna.

“You should hope his words are hollow.” they said, its voice dripping with cold disdain. “Because hope will only destroy you.”

And with that, it turned and left, leaving you standing alone in the silence of the chamber. The absence of Sukuna’s fiery presence felt like a void threatening to swallow you whole. But even in the stillness, his last words echoed in your mind, a flicker of warmth against the growing cold. Don’t give up. I’ll find you.

And no matter what, you held on to that promise.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THEY WERE FORCING EVERYONE TO WATCH THE NEXT ROUND. But you knew that they were doing this especially for you. You knew they were. It was Sukuna’s performance on the stage that day.

And you could see how exhausted he was, how brutalized his soul was. At some points, purple shade was peaking through his costume. You knew what that meant. And that had made you weep. 

His performance had left the entire arena in a stunned silence. The lights above flickered dimly, casting long shadows that stretched across the cold, metallic floor. The haunting, heavy lyrics that poured from his lips didn’t just fill the air. Each and every word was him, each and every semblance of harmony belonged to him,

Everyone in that arena was consumed by it. Each and every note shifts the energy in the room, warping everything around him. His voice, raw and unrelenting, bled emotion. All his pain, sorrow, fury and in every word, there was a piece of him. A piece that he hadn’t shown anyone before. A piece of him that you knew and now were knowing even more.

You stood just out of sight, as caretakers wanted.You stayed hidden in the shadows just below the arena, watching as Sukuna let the song carry him. You could see the strain in his expression, the way his jaw clenched with each line.

It was as if he was born to be the song. It was as if the words themselves were a personal confession to all that were watching him The black sorrow he sang about wasn’t just an abstract emotion; it was something he had lived, something that clung to him like a second skin.

The first verse seemed to echo a truth he’d carried with him since the beginning of your time together. There was always a distance between him and everyone else. He had always been the outsider, the one who didn’t belong. 

And yet, in the quiet darkness of the stage, there was you—his closest companion, the person who understood the weight of his heart. The loneliness in his voice spoke volumes: he wanted to reach someone, but there was always a wall between them, and that wall was made of sorrow, isolation, and the crushing weight of expectations.

He had sung like this for you before, in the quiet moments when he thought no one else was listening. But now, he wasn’t singing for you—he was singing for everyone. He wanted them to know his misery. He wanted them to know how much they had taken from him. 

This wasn’t just him pouring out his heart to you, no. It was also for the aliens who were taking in his siren’s song. For the aliens who had taken him from his home, for the caretakers who controlled his fate, and for himself.

The chorus rang out like the final bell of a war that had no victor—only casualties. He held the mic stand closer to him. The imagery was powerful, as he tilted his head to belt out the note. Each connecting harmony was like a deep, endless sea that threatened to swallow everything in its path. 

In that moment, as the echoes of Sukuna’s voice faded into the suffocating silence of the chamber you were in. There was a realization that struck you like a lightning bolt to the chest. Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just fighting the system, the Garden, or the alien overlords who sought to mold him into their image. 

He was fighting something deeper, something far more insidious: the darkness that had been festering in his soul for far longer than you’d known him. That defiance, that fire that burned so brightly in him, wasn’t just rebellion. 

No, it was a shield. A desperate attempt to hold back the weight of his own despair. And you hadn’t understood it then. Not fully. Not until now.

Memories of him flooded your mind: the way he laughed like it was armor, the way he played his guitar like it was the only thing holding him together, the way he smiled—wide, cocky, and so achingly fragile if you knew where to look. 

That was that smile, wasn’t it, Sukuna? you thought bitterly, tears slipping down your cheeks unchecked. A smile that didn’t just hide pain but dared it to come closer, to strike harder. You didn’t have to face it alone, but you did. Again and again. Because you thought you had to.

Your legs gave out, and you crumpled to the ground, hands clutching at the fabric of your sleeves as if the motion could ground you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, the ache in your chest suffocating. 

"You wanted to die." you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of the truth. "You wanted to be free, to let it all end."

And then the thought hit you like a second wave of agony, sharp and relentless. And I was there. I was there, and you couldn’t help it. 

The tears came harder now, your sobs wracking your frame as you clutched your knees to your chest. You felt guilt, beyond what you should. He too made his choices. He made his choice to live with you. Even if it was making him suffer. But that guilt, you want to free him too. 

You want to be free with him. And how, that might not even happen. Not in this life. Even if you don’t want to give up, you don’t know how you’ll be able to keep this up. You wanted to be selfish with him too, to want him by your side for as long as you both lived. And yet, you don’t know what to do anymore as you listen to him sing more and more.

"You stayed." you choked out, the words meant for him even though he was no longer there to hear them. "You stayed… for me."

Your mind spun with the weight of it. Sukuna’s anger wasn’t just about rebellion or resistance. It was the fury of someone who had been forced to live a life they never asked for, over and over again, only to find a glimmer of something, or someone worth staying for. 

And that someone was you.

He chose you, only you.

In that moment, as the final notes faded into the silence, Ryomen Sukuna’s expression softened, just a fraction. He wasn’t smiling, but there was something in his eyes that told you he had given everything on that stage. He always will. Even if he didn’t want to.

The votes quickly came in.

He turned to his opponent. 

And he watched, his eyes cold.

The red spilled on his face.

Ryomen Sukuna had won the round.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

YOU STARED AT THE SCREEN. The days leading up to the next stage were filled with uncertainty, the tension thick in the air. Sukuna and you hadn’t spoken much since his performance, both of you retreating into your thoughts. 

The silence between you two was loaded, heavy with unspoken fears and doubts. Neither of you could shake the knowledge that things were escalating. The stakes were rising, and no one, not even Sukuna, could protect you from what was coming.

Then came the announcement.

The one that would change everything.

You were going to face each other.

This was the last few rounds. And these were the rounds where the most dangerous matches took place. A place where the brightest stars were either made or shattered, and where the strongest were left standing. The announcement echoed through the Garden, their cold voices coming over the loudspeakers, numbing you with their indifference. 

They didn’t care that you and Sukuna had a bond. Or that there was something more between you. They didn’t care about your shared past or your quiet moments of rebellion. Nor could they care about your wanting for freedom. None of that mattered to them.

To them, you were just pieces in a game, and now the pieces were being moved into position for the final battle. The moment you heard it, you froze. The words felt like ice, the truth of them setting in slowly, like a bitter poison coursing through your veins.

You and Sukuna were going to face each other.

You felt the world shift under your feet. Your body went numb as the weight of the situation began to sink in. But even in that moment of paralysis, you could hear the distant, familiar sound of Ryomen Sukuna’s voice—strong, fierce, and close. He was wearing a collar. That was something he had never worn before.

"Sukuna..." you whispered, your throat dry as you turned to face him. This was the first time you’ve seen him since you were parted. “I….”

He was standing near the edge of the arena, his posture rigid, his expression dark. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by something far more serious. His eyes, usually sharp and calculated, were clouded with a deep, furious storm. He didn’t look like the same person who had stood on the stage with such confidence before.

Sukuna’s gaze locked onto you, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to read you, to understand the words he wasn’t yet hearing. But the words in your mind were loud and clear: you didn’t want this. You didn’t want to fight him. And you were pretty sure he didn’t want to fight you either.

"I won’t let you die." he growled, his voice low, but full of unrelenting anger. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, the muscles in his jaw twitching. You could see the frustration building in him, the same frustration you felt, but much more visceral, raw. 

"This isn’t some damn game. They’re trying to use us, twist us up into something we’re not." His breath was ragged as he took a step toward you, his gaze never wavering. "We’re not toys. I won’t let them take you from me. I swear."

You could feel your chest tighten as you watched him, your mind swirling with confusion. You didn’t want to fight him. You didn’t want to be a part of this blood-soaked game. But what choice did you have? What else was there left to do but survive?

"I don’t want to do this." you whispered, the weight of the situation sinking into your bones.

Sukuna’s expression softened for just a split second before the fire returned, burning brighter than ever. He stepped closer to you, closing the distance between you both with deliberate steps, his eyes searching your face. 

"Then don’t." he said, his voice steady now, though it was strained with emotion. "Just let me do what I can, alright? Let me figure it out.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that there was a way out, a way to escape this nightmare together. But deep down, you knew how this deadly game worked. You had seen the carnage before. And it's doubtful this will be the last. Not even his promises are enough to calm you down.

You had watched as real people were broken one after the other. Crushed under the weight of this deadly game, this stupid game you didn’t want to play. And you knew that in the end, it’s not likely to end. They don’t want it to end. They want to see the blood spill, so they may applaud.

But still, the desperation in his voice pulled at you, pulling you closer to him. There felt a horrible sense of finality. A finality you never wanted. Not with him. You don’t want it to end. Not ever. Not when it comes to loving him. 

Ryomen Sukuna had always been your protector, your anchor. But now, the roles seemed reversed. He was the one who needed saving, and you were the only one who could save him from the thing that haunted him. 

But the price is your death. You had to die to save him. To keep him from suffering. And the knowledge that he couldn’t protect you from this isn’t going to save him either. He wouldn’t let this happen. He doesn’t want to, either.

"I can’t lose you." Sukuna muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, but the pain in it was so raw that it sent a shiver down your spine. “I love you too much to let you go.”

You reached out, touching his arm gently, feeling the tension in his muscles as you tried to ground him, to remind him that you were here, and you were still alive. But the terror in his eyes told you everything you needed to know: this wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about protecting each other from the very forces that had taken control of your lives.

“I love you too.” You whisper back to him, almost so brokenly. “I don’t want to let you go either. I don’t want to lose you.”

He shook his head, his grip on your arm tightening. "Not like this.We can’t lose each other like this.”

You tried to pull him closer, but the weight of the situation was too heavy. You could see it in his eyes—the guilt, the anger, the desperation. He couldn’t bear the thought of you being forced to fight him, to be torn apart in front of everyone. But what were your choices?

You both knew the truth. You could either submit to the rules and fight each other, or you could rebel against them, together. And if you did that, the price would be steep. Sukuna’s scarlet eyes softened, though the anger remained.

"Thank you.”

“For what?” You asked him softly. 

“For being the object of my affections.” He whispers to your ear, leaning forward to press a kiss on your cheek. “Thank you for being the victim of my shallow emotions. My love and my hatred. All of it.”

You looked at him for a moment before smiling, eyes getting watery. You could feel the warmth of his kiss sear on your skin, like a burn from the flame. Like a moth burning in the candlelight. You wanted more of him. You wanted more of his love. And his hatred. You wanted it all.

But there will never be enough time. 

There will never be another time.

You cannot escape this time, not like this.

“Thank you for letting me have all of them.” You whisper back to him.

He returns your smile. “It was my pleasure.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

SOON ENOUGH, THE STAGE WAS PELTED BY THE POURING RAIN. And still, they will continue this, no matter what. It had to end here. There was no other way out. The harsh, mechanical buzz of the arena’s lights flickered above you, and the air was thick with the weight of the moment. 

You were back on the stage, but this time, everything had changed. Everyone had their cold eyes watching from every angle. Everything was properly set by now, to the perfection of their wants. All that was left was the stage to have two people, singing for a deadly performance. 

The stage was set, the tension palpable in the air as the crowd held its breath. Everything around you shimmered with the anticipation of what was about to unfold. The lights dimmed, casting long shadows across the space, and then, the music began to play.

A haunting melody rippled through the speakers, its ethereal sound sinking deep into your bones. The notes wove together like a sorrowful tale, threading through the very air that surrounded you. It filled the chamber, wrapping itself around you like an inescapable fog. 

You could feel it—the weight of the lyrics, heavy with longing and sorrow. You sang them as they were. They spoke of parting, of loss, of moments slipping through your fingers like sand. It was as though the song had been crafted specifically for this moment, for this fight, for the end of something you never wanted to end.

You had expected the chaos, the passion, the defiance that always accompanied Sukuna’s performances. But now, as the music surged, something shifted. Sukuna, his scarlet eyes locked on yours across the stage, suddenly stopped singing. 

The notes faltered in the air, the rhythm stuttering as he stood still. His lips no longer moved in time with the music. The sharp edge of his voice, so used to biting, so full of fire—was gone. The silence stretched between you both, thick and heavy.

Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze never wavered from yours, but it wasn’t the usual sharp, cocky look. There was no defiance there. There was no challenge. There was no will to fight. Instead, there was only something far deeper, more painful. 

You had noticed it too late, how resigned he already was to this raw, aching realization that you both had reached the brink. The consequences of this moment, the weight of it all, had become far too real for him. You saw it in his scarlet eyes. That flicker of something that you knew was just for you. 

Something more human, more vulnerable, than you’d ever seen before. The walls he’d built around himself, the fire he had fought so hard to keep alive, all began to crumble, leaving him exposed in a way that made your heart ache. And then, against the cold droplets of rain that began to fall from the sky, Sukuna smiled.

It wasn’t the usual smug, arrogant grin you were so accustomed to. It was softer, almost bittersweet. It was the sort of smile that carried the weight of everything unspoken between you. That was a smile of adoration, that was a smile of hatred — that was the smile of devotion.

He stood there as you sang. It was as if the rain had washed away the last of his resistance, as if the music itself had torn down the walls that had held him together for so long.In that moment, you realized something. 

That smile—fragile as it was—wasn’t a mask. It wasn’t a challenge or a jest. It was surrender. Ryomen Sukuna had always been the one to defy the world, to push against everything that tried to contain him. But now, standing there in the midst of the storm, he was no longer fighting. He had accepted it all.

"I should’ve known." he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the soft rustle of the rain. The words were barely more than a whisper, but they carried a depth of emotion that took you by surprise. "I should’ve known that... this was always going to be the end. For both of us."

You heard him and you almost forgot your part in the song. You longed to say something—to tell him that there was still time, that you could still fight, that you didn’t have to end this way. But the words died on your throat. You continued to sing.

Because the truth was, you could see it too. The end was already written in the stars.You knew it too, you knew it too well. The inevitable was crashing toward you both, and no matter how much you fought it, it was going to happen.

Sukuna’s smile wavered as he watched you continue to sing. And for a moment, the man you knew, that man you loved, the fiery, untamable force….He was gone. He had let him die at that moment. All that remained was a broken man, drenched in rain, standing at the edge of something he couldn’t escape.

The music swelled again, but this time, it wasn’t just about the performance. It was about you both, about the fragile connection that had formed in the midst of all the chaos. The music no longer felt like a fight—it felt like a goodbye.

To him, this only ends one way. 

If someone must survive, it has to be you.

He all but abandons his space, the rain pouring even heavier than ever. You were surprised as he pulled you close to him. Tears and raindrops all over your face. He was quick to know which were tears and which were the rain. He smiled. The music continued to play in the background.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for your face, brushing away a tear that had escaped. The song continued to swell deeper and deeper, and his turn to sing was upcoming. But Ryomen Sukuna’s lips were no longer part of it. He doesn’t want it to be. He wanted to die the way he wanted to.

His mouth pressed against yours in a kiss that was raw and desperate, a kiss that spoke of goodbye, of all the unspoken feelings between you both. A kiss that felt like a last act of defiance, a refusal to be another pawn in their game.

For a fleeting moment, everything else disappeared. The noise of the arena, the eyes of everyone watching this, the weight of the stage—all of it melted away as you kissed him back, pouring every ounce of emotion into that single act. 

Your kiss was hard and angry, angry at him for choosing this route. Hard because you wanted him to feel your pain, the pain that he was leaving you with as you continued on to live. You pulled him even closer. You part to breathe but you pull him back in even more. You continued on and on until you couldn’t breathe anymore.

Soon enough the pelting of the guns started, there wasn’t even the neon red to warn you. They continued to shoot one after another. One to his shoulder, another to his back. But he kissed you back even more, his hands around your throat. As though to tell you his own pain in parting. More shots rang out, one after the other. 

As your lips parted, his expression hardened, scarlet eyes flashing with the finality of his decision. Blood pouring out his lips as he smiles at you, almost so hauntingly with his hands still wrapped around your throat with such eager tightness. 

"You have to live." he whispered, his voice rough, breaking. "You have to survive."

The bullets continued to tear through him, their cold, metallic scream louder than the music itself. His body jerked with each impact, his eyes wide with shock and pain as he staggered back, the warmth of the kiss he had given you still lingering on your lips, the taste of it bitter with the knowledge of what was coming. His rough, brutish hands slowly, and then finally off your reddening neck.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Your long lost breath hitched in your throat as your entire world seemed to collapse in on itself. The music continued, relentless, as though mocking the pain in your chest. You wanted to scream, to stop them, but your voice was stolen by the sorrow that flooded your body.

Ryomen Sukuna crumpled to the ground, blood staining the stage beneath him, his chest rising and falling weakly, but his scarlet eyes never left yours. He wanted to look at you. He wanted you to keep looking at him. He was still there, still fighting, still telling you to live, even as life drained from him.

The music reached its climax, the voice of the singer rising in agony. Consume me, yes, me, oh, oh, the words rang out, but all you could feel was the sharp sting of your beloved’s corpse in front of you. The haunting notes continued as if nothing had changed, as if everything was still a game, but the truth was undeniable.

You cried out with everything in you, your desperate tears and the angry rain mixing with his blood on the stage, your heart breaking as you watched him slip away. Until he was finally gone. Until he was nothing but a bleeding flesh corpse in front of you. 

The music, now a distant, broken sound in your ears, felt like an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest. Each note seemed to draw the last remnants of air from your lungs, suffocating you as you stood frozen on the stage. 

Ryomen Sukuna's blood continued to stain the floor and mix into the water ceaselessly, pooling beneath him, but his scarlet eyes... his eyes that you so loved were still on you, still filled with the fire of a promise, a plea.

His last breath was shallow, but his expression never wavered. Live, his eyes said. Survive.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tear the entire world apart for what they had made of him, for the life they had stolen. But instead, you stood there, powerless. The caretakers' voices crackled through the speakers, indifferent to the tragedy they had orchestrated.

They had made you fight. They had made you kill. But Sukuna had chosen to fall for you. He had chosen to make sure you had the chance to escape the nightmare, even if it meant giving up his own life.

And the weight of that choice was too much to bear.

You were still there, staring at him, when they gave the signal. The arena, the very place where your blood had spilled—your tears mixed with the blood on the stage—was just another part of the system they controlled. 

Another place where they took away everything and gave nothing in return. The system that controlled your fate, controlled Sukuna's fate, was now turning its eyes to you. But in the midst of the flashing lights and the cold, sterile voices that told you to continue, that told you to perform, you made a decision. You weren't going to give them what they wanted. Not like this.

Your body trembled, but your heart, for the first time in so long, felt certain. You weren't just going to survive anymore. You weren’t going to let this system take everything from you, your life, your soul, your love for Sukuna, without fighting back.

You dropped to your knees beside him, the echo of his sacrifice reverberating through your chest. His body was still warm, still twitching with the last remnants of life, but you knew it was too late. He was gone.

But the part of him that lived. The part that had made sure you would survive. That was not lost. And that was something they couldn’t take. You didn’t care if they were watching. You didn’t care if they were observing your every move. 

You leaned over Sukuna’s body, placing a trembling hand over his heart, now still. And in that moment, something in you snapped, like a thread being pulled taut and finally breaking. The arena’s speakers crackled, and a voice you didn’t recognize spoke.

“Stage completion.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

epilogue 

The soft glow of the rising sun began to creep into the room, its warm fingers stretching across the floor, painting the walls with hues of gold and amber. The world outside was still, caught between the shadows of the night and the promise of a new day.

But here, in this quiet space, there was a peace that neither of you had ever known. The chaos of the alien stage, the endless battles, the pain, and the sacrifices—they all seemed distant, swallowed up by the serenity of the moment.

You lay there, your head resting on Sukuna’s legs, your body relaxed in the rare comfort of his presence. The rhythmic hum of your song, soft and almost hypnotic, filled the air.

It was a song that had become an anchor for both of you, a melody that whispered of things you had lost and things you still held dear. Your humming wrapped around him like a blanket, soothing the raw edges of his soul that had been scarred by too many years of violence.

Sukuna’s fingers, long and deft, traced the strands of your hair, moving slowly and deliberately, almost as though he were trying to carve this moment into his memory, like it was the only thing that made sense in a world that had long since turned upside down. His hand paused at the crown of your head, his fingers resting lightly as if afraid that any sudden movement might shatter the fragile peace between you.

"You’re still humming, little lamb." Sukuna said.

You were surprised that his voice was unusually quiet, the words more of an observation than a question. His fingers toyed with the ends of your hair, curling a few strands around his finger and letting them slip through his grasp, as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. 

"You always sing when you’re... content."

You glanced up at him, your eyes still heavy with the warmth of sleep, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I always sing when I remember the good things." you whispered, your voice a soft murmur. "The things that make everything worth it."

Sukuna’s gaze softened for a fleeting moment, a brief glimpse of something that had always been there but was too buried beneath the armor he wore to ever show. His hand moved from your hair, trailing down the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. It was such a simple touch, but it carried with it more meaning than he had ever given to words.

"The good things?" His voice was low, almost hushed, as if he were afraid to disturb the peace between you. "What good things, huh?" He shifted slightly, his hand resting beside you now, his fingers grazing the surface of your skin.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of his touch sink in, the quiet rhythm of your song keeping the silence comfortable. You let the words come, not thinking about them too much, just allowing them to spill from your heart.

"The times when we didn’t have to fight." you said softly, almost to yourself. "When everything was simpler. When it was just us... and the world felt like it was still ours to take."

Sukuna didn’t speak at first, his gaze far away as if he were lost in his own thoughts. His hand didn’t move from where it rested on the side of your face, his thumb now gently stroking your skin as if trying to memorize the sensation. There was a vulnerability in his touch that he rarely allowed anyone to see, but in this moment, with the soft light of dawn spilling over the both of you, it felt right.

"You really believe in that?" he asked after a long pause, his voice quieter than it had ever been. "You really think we could ever go back to something... simple?"

The question hung in the air between you two, heavy with the weight of the years you had spent in the fight for survival. But there was something in the way his hand lingered on your cheek, something in the way he allowed himself to be vulnerable with you that made you smile again.

"I think….." you began, your voice steady. "We make our own simple things in life. We can decide to live in the good things, even if the rest of the world is falling apart around us."

Sukuna’s gaze softened, his features easing for a moment as if your words had found something deep within him, something he hadn’t known he was missing. He exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

"You’re right, I suppose." he said quietly, his hand slowly shifting to the side of your head again, fingers gently threading through your hair. "Maybe... maybe we don’t have to fight all the time. Maybe we don’t have to live in the dark. Not if we don’t want to."

His words hung in the air like a promise, tentative but real. The two of you stayed there in the quiet, the hum of your song filling the space around you like a soft lullaby. The sun was fully risen now, and the light poured through the window, bathing the room in warmth.

The world outside might have been a battlefield, a place where survival meant everything, where love and peace seemed impossible. But here, in this moment, with Sukuna’s fingers tangled in your hair and the world reduced to the two of you, it felt like anything was possible. You could make your own good things, even if it was just for a little while.

"Stay with me, forever, ‘kuna." you murmured, the words almost too soft to hear, but he heard them all the same. You tilted your head up slightly, looking into his eyes. "Please, stay."

Ryomen Sukuna looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, in a rare moment of honesty, he nodded, his voice steady. He lets out a small smile on his lips. A smile he always reserved warmly for you. Only you.

"I’m not going anywhere, little lamb." he said quietly. "Not if I don’t have to."

You smiled back at him. “Good.”

[temis-de-leon]

Gn!MC with tactile hypersensitivity

Characters: Mammon, Asmodeus, Belphegor and Barbatos (x reader, separately; could be read as romantic or platonic)

Main Masterlist

Anon request: Hello! May I request maybe a Gn!reader who has oversensitivity to like textures with the demon brothers? Or the side dateables? Like certain fabrics with mess with them more and work the reader up? If they touch like rough textures they tend to scratch at the skin as it feels irritated. I don’t really know how to explain it as I suck with words but I have the problem a lot.

.

Mammon

Another reason for him to believe humans are weird and over-sensitive.

Not only you can’t stand too high or low temperatures, but also certain Devildom foods, books and critters; and now a 35% wool jumper?

He swears babysitting a child is easier than taking care of you and acts really mean about it, but everyone can tell it’s just his way of hiding how worried he is about you.

The first thing he notices is the fidgeting, although that would’ve been obvious even to a blind man. You squirm in your classroom seat, still unused to your brand-new uniform, and mindlessly scratch the skin under the collar and the seams until it’s red.

Mammon can only watch in a stupor as you kneel in front of the bathtub when you return home to soak the clothes in fabric softener.

But the jumper.

You jump at the contact, like it electrifies you, and then stare at it with undisguised discomfort, never touching It ever again.

That 60% polyester and 5% elastane are enough for him to swallow his pride and ignore his embarrassment, letting his affection for you show as time goes by.

The bond between you grows faster than anyone could’ve ever anticipated, so it’s not strange for you to find some of his belongings in your room. A spare charger, a toothbrush, his sunglasses case, a nail polish bottle… Small things.

However, not long passes until those small things evolve into something permanent with deeper intentions, like an unopened bottle of Devilish No. 5 or one of his beloved leather jackets.

It also doesn’t feel that weird anymore, now that you know him better, whenever he insists on you wearing the clothes he leaves there.

Not like you’re going to complain. Everything he has is of good quality, soft under your touch, and durable.

But don’t go babbling out that he’s doing this for you! He was just cleaning his wardrobe, that’s all!

Asmo

Going shopping with you feels like getting a gift wrapped in glitter and laced ribbons; he can’t get enough of it. And lately, it’s been even better than that because now you are the one asking him to go together.

He has nothing against your style, even if he would still modify it a little bit to perfectly match his, but he enjoys grabbing your arm and taking you to different stores, choosing a wild variety of items for you to try and, if you’re up to it, get out of your comfort zone.

That’s how he discovers your problem.

No matter what he chooses, you always consider it way longer than anyone else would ever do, including him; reading the tags to check the fabric’s materials and sometimes even not touching the item at all.

You tell him it’s because of the texture and how it feels to the touch, unpleasant and irritating, and while he doesn’t understand the sensation in its entirety, Asmo gets how certain types of clothes can cause aversion.

One of the most important things for him is feeling comfortable in what you are and what you’re wearing and no one in all the realms deserves that more than you, so he is already helping before being asked to.

As superficial as he seems sometimes, he is also extremely generous to the people he loves, and he happens to love you a gigantic ton.

Just tell him what type of fabric triggers you so he can avoid those while shopping; it’s like they don’t exist in the same world as you anymore.

Belphie

One moment he’s peacefully sleeping in the attic, his whole body sprawled over yours and an old blanket covering both, and the next he’s waking up alone and cold. The blanket is useless without you.

He thought you were mad at him, cue him trailing behind you with a confused and offended stare for the next few hours.

Why did you leave without telling him? Why did you leave at all, to begin with?

Oh, you’re not mad? Then come back!

You need to expressively tell him what the problem is or else he will drag you to bed again and pass out on top of or next to you.

Thankfully, his clothes are not the issue and he can still wear them comfortably while cuddling you at the same time. The blanket, however, is another story.

It’s been used for longer than you’ve probably been alive and the wool is pilled beyond recognition. Actually, it’s not until he decides to retire the blanket for your sake that he realizes the colour is also washed down to the point of looking like another thing completely.

Knowing that his previous blanket was so awful it made you scratch your own skin leaves an incredibly sour taste in his mouth.

In his defence, you could’ve said something sooner, but oh well.

Good riddance; it served good until it didn’t.

From then on you have complete freedom to use whatever feels more comfortable for you so you can keep sleeping together uninterrupted.

Besides his, yours and the attic’s bed, he has slept on the floor, the cabinets, tables, rugs and whatnot, so he isn’t really picky about what you’re choosing.

His priority is that you’re comfortable and satiated because as long as you’re there, he doesn’t need anything else.

Barbatos

Lo and behold, another festival has reached the Devildom.

How does anyone have the time to live their private life while dealing with school, (possibly) a job and the occasional event, you wonder?

Good question!

Anyway.

It’s not you who goes to Barbatos asking for help to design your costume; instead, he is the one sending you a message for permission to take your measurements. And who would reject such an offer from the royal butler?

Barely a couple of days later, you find yourself on top of a small platform in one of the guest rooms in the Demon Lord’s Castle while Barbatos kneels at your feet and holds a sewing tape in his hands.

He’s talking about the design, its colours and the length and you’re only thinking about fabrics, but would that be too much work for him? Of course, he lives to serve and he has made that abundantly clear on numerous occasions, but perhaps being too demanding was crossing a limit.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

He understands your struggle and acts very normal about it. Besides, he also wants you to be happy and comfortable and if he’s the one actively making that a reality, then it’ll be that much better.

Additionally, searching for more suitable fabrics means that you will both spend more time together, which Barbatos deeply appreciates.

In the end, not only will you look perfect in a costume he has made specifically for you, but he will also get to know more about who you are and what makes you you.

As insignificant as it may look, every single detail is very important to him.

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

Nanami x Tall!reader HCS

Nanami needed to have you the moment he saw you. The confidence that came along with your height and presence made him choke up, he almost couldn’t talk to you. The way you talked and the way you stood out in crowds of people is what drew him to you. 

He would constantly catch himself thinking about what you would wear every day. Would you wear heels? God he loved when you did and how you're taller than him when you do. He would think about you wearing a dress or a skirt, and how your long beautiful legs would be exposed. To him you were the embodiment of elegance. 

Nanami liked that he didn’t have to strain his neck to look down at you. He’s a big fan of eye contact and your height made it all that much easier to keep his eyes on you.

Nanami who knows you can reach stuff on the high shelf, races to grab it for you before you do with the excuse that its the gentleman thing to do

Nanami didn’t like to admit it, but he felt safe with you. Like you could protect him which more often than not ended up in him being a little spoon. He loves to be held close to your chest, resting between your thighs, long limbs entangled together as you both sleep. 

Nanami who insists you still wear his shirts to bed even though according to you “they don’t cover everything” because of your height. He loves stealing glances at your bum and panties when it rises up. 

Nanami, who always steals kisses from you because your lips meet perfectly without the effort of bending down and he can’t help himself. He may not be the biggest fan of pda but it’s just so easy for him to sneak a small kiss from your lips. 

Nanami, who loves missionary with your legs wrapped around his waist, meeting face to face so he could kiss you as your long fingers leaving scratches on his back.

Nanami who gets as red as a tomato when you suggest trying 69 but instantly becomes obsessed when you both line up perfectly as he eats you out and you suck his cock. Easily become his favorite thing to do with you. 

Nanami who finds himself thinking about how his children will hit the genetic lottery with you as their mother. So tall, gorgeous, and your personality. Everything he loved about you, he hoped your children would be the same.

[sky-high-standards]

Yandere!!! Millionaire!! x Fem!!Reader

(thanks for 400 followers edited thanks for 1000 love y'all)You were in a very poor family but somehow you caught the attention of a crazy Millionaire.

You were working at a local coffee shop to feed your family when a man with jet black hair wearing a expensive looking suit came in, he was undeniably attractive but his cold black eyes made you feel a chill run down your spine.

Then he made eye contact with you before smirking, he then came up to ask for your name and number but when you refused he tried to take you by force but you managed to escape and run into the break room.

He kept coming day after day yet somehow you managed to weasel your way out of talking to him but your luck soon ran out when you were suddenly cornered and pinned by your wrists, you looked up to see him with a smug smirk on his face.

"I know you've been avoiding me sweetheart."

"What's wrong with you? What do you want from me?!'

"Don't you get it? I want you~"

"You dot even know me!!!"

"Oh I know everything about you Y/n"

you gasped and tried to escape for the hundredth time but his grip was too strong.

"I know that your family is starving and are soon going to get evicted, I know that you work overtime just to feed your family and I know that you need a miracle to save them and I'm that miracle Darling~ Just do as I say and make it easier for everyone Sweetheart."

"No you're just a spoiled brat who gets everything he wants and you're not gonna get me!!!"

you said in anger and stormed off while he just stood there and smirked.

"Okay my dear let the games begin"

A few weeks after that encounter you stopped seeing him and genuinely thought he lost interest and left you alone but you felt something much worse was coming and you were right. As you came to work the next day your boss came and fired you on the spot you were shocked of course since you've been employee of the month for the past 6 months and your boss seemed terrified as he spoke to you almost like he was scared to say the wrong thing and constantly looked to the side as if some monster was here in the shadows and as soon as he fired you he ran inside.

This was terrible for you because without a job how could you feed your family but when you looked for new jobs the manager would fire you shortly after with the same look of fear as your former boss but when you finally found a job that paid well you immediately took it you were hired as an assistant for a wealthy business owner, you came to work the next morning in your best clothes and started working but as you went to your bosses office who were horrified to see the same creep from the coffee shop you stood there with your jaw dropped as he smirked and caressed your cheek.

"Well isn't it my lovely new assistant its nice to see you again y/n~"

All you could do was grit your teeth and greet him since he was your family's only hope now and you couldn't afford to get fired not again.

As worked days past he became far more touchy and would take any opportunity to touch you in any way possible this was tolerable until you came to work on day to find your seat was gone and he offered you to sit on his lap which sounded more like an order than an offer so you begrudgingly agreed while gritting your teeth and giving him a forced smile. He smirked back satisfied at how powerless you were with him now.

"Good girl~"

He said and you could here the satisfaction in his voice as you dug your fingernails into your palms in rage.

Though you constantly got harassed by your boss the job wasn't so bad due to the many friends you made and because your family was happy and healthy but good things don't last. One day after you came back from your break which u spent with your friends you boss went crazy and fired everyone that was with you because "they were only bringing you down." and "they made you loose sight of what was important" (which was him) and when you attempted to quit realized what he was capable of.

Sir I quit I'll clear out my desk now.

He then grabs you by the wrist and pins you to the wall where you're caged by his muscular arms and he whispered in your ear where you could feel his hot breath fanning your lips.

"You know you cant do that Dear you don't know what I'm capable of that sweet little family of yours wont be around much longer is you disobey me dear."

You gasped in fear and shock but he smiled at your reaction.

"Now be a good girl and do as I say"

He said as he pulled away and went back to his usual demeanor. Every time you found someone new they would go missing so you isolated yourself not wanting anyone else to get hurt but when your brother got really sick and you had to take care him for a few days but your boss didn't like that.

You came home to find the read stains? No it was blood but not just anyone's blood this was the blood of your family leading the way to their lifeless bodies the moment you saw that sight it was permenantly burned into your mind you still see that horrendous sight when you close your eyes...you broke down in tears and got on your knees devastated but you then got picked up by a pair of firm strong arms and felt a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I know you loved them Dear, but they kept you away from me and besides we'll have our own family soon enough~♥

[dusterbishop]

i hear you call my name (and it feels like home)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 6.4k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. this is the end! thank you all for the lovely words of support, it means so much that you all loved this duo as much as i do. i have ideas of oneshots for the future, but for now, i leave you all with this!

part one. || part two. || part three. || part four.

Your ears are ringing.

Awareness floods you in slow, uneven strokes. You can hear the roar of battle buzzing through the fog in your mind, guttural screams of pain cutting through in sharp starbursts. There’s a staff in your right hand, and you spasm your grip on it, testing its weight.

It is Remy’s.

Once, that staff had been too heavy for you to properly swing around. He had watched you practice with a pained grimace for a week before he surprised you with your own to train with. The two of you were nothing more than colleagues at that point, simply two mismatched X-Men crossing paths by sheer fate. Until he had handed you your own staff, its weight balanced with delicate perfection in the palm of your hand, and showed you how to use it.

You had never told him that you only used the staff because you could see it in every timeline, a slow conversion of your fighting style across lifetimes. Not every life you lived shared Remy, but his influence still lingered at the edges, seeping in like ink. Fighting with a staff, learning to pick locks, using sleight of hand to swap items from timelines with ease. It was all an extension of your life with Remy. Just echoes, over and over, spreading out in rippling waves.

Echoes, which could never replace the thrill that sparks your attention when a blazing playing card whizzes past your ear. There’s a muffled explosion as the card makes contact with the enemy swinging for your head, and you gracefully sidestep the half-dead man that staggers into a collapsed pile at your feet.

“Watch where you goin’, mon coeur,” Gambit calls. Another whistling hum of kinetic energy, another flash of blazing purple as he throws another card and cuts down another blank faced enemy. The base that Nova commands has a strangely illusive layout, and the war-starved bodies seem like an endless, writhing thing to overcome.

Time is a limited resource, after all. You can taste it just as surely as the blood in the back of your mouth.

“Maybe I’m too distracted watching something else,” you call back. You don’t take the time to see the expression on his face, but you hear his delighted laugh before he starts slinging explosives again. It’s easy to fall into battle. Even easier while you’re wearing your old suit, and the fabric is soft and well-worn just as you remember it. The clothes you wore in the Void were fine for travel, but you felt strangely out of place last night watching Remy adjusting his coat for the upcoming battle.

You are one of the X-Men, technically. It’s been more than a lifetime since you felt like one, but you know their colors and their mission. The suit always did feel more like a formality. There is nothing that could prevent you from fighting for people who cannot protect themselves. Everyone else only has one life, and you have an infinity of them. The gold and blue of your suit is meant to inspire hope for the people you are defending, not to boast about your position, and yet Remy had stuttered mid-sentence when he turned to see you suddenly dressed in your original suit, prepared for battle.

Been a’while since Gambit seen you wit’ those colors. Though, Gambit t’inks you look better out of ‘em, too...

“Pot callin’ the kettle black,” Gambit says. He’s closer, now, as if magnetized to the orbit of your battleground. You smash the skull of a man trying to catch a cheapshot to Gambit’s ribs, and Gambit slips an explosive card into the pocket of the man’s coat for good measure. Briefly, his hand catches the curve of your elbow, brushing his fingers over the pulse-point. Even through the sleeve of your suit, you can almost feel the heat of his skin, searing bone-deep.

“Just calling it as I see it, Cajun,” you say. It doesn’t sound as breathless as you feel. Gambit still has that infuriatingly pleased look on his face, though, so you give him a half-hearted shove with a raised brow. “Save the world, remember?”

“Mais la, all bluff no play,” he complains. “S’il vous plait, mon coeur —”

Time slips.

One moment, you take the chance to catch your breath, falling all-too-easy to the lure of sparring with Remy. The next moment, you’re on the ground. There’s blood beneath you, pooling under your head, dripping from your nose and down to the hard-packed soil.

“Remy,” you choke out. Your ears are ringing with echoes of voices, though you assume it’s across timelines based on the range of emotions. You can hear crying as soul-wrenching as fresh grief, and laughing as bright as bells. It’s like picking up a landline and hearing a conversation you’re only privy to as a passing voyeur.

You blink away some of the dirt and sweat stinging your eyes. You’re still on the ground. Something weighty and warm is settled over your back, tucked into the curve of your sides. The scent of smoke and cologne curls around you as familiar as the back of your hand.

Remy draped his coat over you. You spit a wad of bloodied saliva onto the ground, grimacing at the dark thickness. How long have you been out? You don’t remember charging up to leave the timeline.

Even worse, you don’t remember going anywhere. Time may change around you, but your mind keeps itself sharp with a constant awareness. Even when you would travel time in your sleep, you knew you were moving based on the pressure changing in the air. There had been no pressure change, this time. Only standing with Gambit, teasing him in the way that blazed adrenaline through your veins. Then, it is you laying on the ground, curled up underneath his coat, tasting blood.

You blink again. You think you’re shivering, or maybe you’re trembling, because you aren’t cold. That hazy, all-consuming fever pulses across your skin in waves, burning across your every nerve. It takes effort to turn your head just a fraction, searching the scattered battlefield. You’re still in Nova’s compound. You can see Blade and Elektra distracting any enemy seeking the weaker prey, luring them away from where you lay.

It had taken two more days before you and Gambit had met back up with the resistance. Initially, you had been wary of the strange collection of mutants, reflecting their own suspicion of you back like a mirror image. Yet they had seemed relieved that Gambit was back unharmed.

Now, far past the initial skepticism of your arrival, they treat you with the same consideration they give Gambit.

Though Gambit is… the same, and yet he’s more. The way he fights is far different than the way he did during the days when you both worked with the X-Men. He doesn’t linger near the boundaries of the fight anymore. You used to breathe easier knowing he had been prowling the edges of a fight with his cards at the ready, always protecting your back.

Now, when he fights in the Void, he storms the battlefield as a raging violet-blaze tempest. You find him easily through the crowded clusters of skirmishes, his staff humming with kinetic charge. He wields a handful of cards with careful scarcity, and you know it’s because you have his coat draped over you, holding all of his extra ammo.

He is going to get himself killed.

That thought propels you into motion. Your arms tremble as you push yourself to sit up, the back of your mouth filling with blood and nauseating saliva. It hurts to breathe. It feels like there is a shard of glass lodged in your ribs, cutting up your insides. The only blood you can sense is the slow drip from your lips, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t damage you can’t see yet. Something in your being is dismantling in slow, even strokes, cast adrift from the timelines and stranded in the Void.

One of Nova’s henchmen gets too close to Remy and sideswipes him. The soft-muted grunt of pain from Remy sends a chilling lance of fear through your gut, though before you can move, Remy is already turning and taking down the enemy with a swift twirl of his staff.

They are going to kill him if you don’t get him out. You know it, and it hurts so much to move, but you push yourself to your feet with a strangled whine of frustration. Of all the times for your body to fail you, it has to be now, when Remy is exposed to an entire base of people trying to kill him.

His coat is a familiar weight over your shoulders, but that doesn’t quell the violent shiver that runs through you. Neither does it stop the sudden rush of dizzying pain, or the way you have to hunch over and spit out blood onto the dirt. No time. You don’t have any time.

“Remy,” you call out. You fumble to wipe away the blood dripping down your chin just as he turns at the sound of your voice, his face bright with relief. He doesn’t notice the blood. He moves quickly through the battlefield nonetheless, wrapping an arm over the shuddering arch of your shoulders.

“ Mon coeur,” he says, and he must see something in your face that makes him hesitate. “Enjoy your nap, chér ?”

You suck in a sharp breath. It’s always ‘chér ’ when he doesn’t know which version you are.

“Still with you, LeBeau,” you tell him. Your hand reaches up to cradle the curve of his jaw. He’s buzzing with energy beneath your touch, but it’s the simmering fire in his eyes as he gazes back at you that makes you feel set alight.

“Wanna play?” He says softly. One arm is still slung protectively over your back, but he uses his free hand to fasten his coat tighter over your shoulders, his hand lingering at the vulnerable curve of your throat. “I deal you in, mon coeur.”

You’re reluctant to let him go, so you pull him in and press a chaste kiss to his mouth. You don’t let him go deeper than that so he doesn’t taste the blood, even if there’s a savage wanting in your gut to sink deep into his embrace and never resurface. It’s not fair, you think, that you finally found him only to lose him all over again.

“Deal me in, Cajun,” you whisper to him. His fingers drop from the hollow of your collarbone to the seam of his coat sleeve, drawing a card. He flickers it between his fingers to show you his dealt hand — the ace of hearts — before it disappears into the nothingness of time. You let Remy press another kiss to your mouth, and you have to close your eyes to fight back the burn of tears. Even with your eyes closed, you can hear the hoarseness in his voice when he pulls back.

"You an' me, chér, couple'a aces, non?" 

You have to turn your head to hide a sad smile. "A matched pair."

Like that, the two of you separate. He goes into the fray of battle, the air whirring violently with charged energy, and you step back into the shadow, pulling your ace of hearts from the timeline. You have caught nothing but glimpses of Nova since you arrived, but you can feel her presence at the edges of your mind, probing for weakness. 

So you look weak. It’s easy to slouch against the wall, your breathing coming in labored pants, the sleeve of your X-Men suit streaked red with the blood you keep wiping from your chin. Hurt prey is weaker, after all. You know what she must see when she sees you so far from Remy’s orbit: an injured fawn ripened for the kill.

“Don’ ya leave now, the fun just startin’,” Remy laughs. He sweeps his staff in a wide arc, warding off the enemies crowding closer to his position, but he only has eyes for you. He’s watching you, and you know the moment she arrives by the way his eyes harden with venomous hatred.

“Indeed,” Nova says. Her presence is a sudden, harsh strike to your mind. You have to grit your teeth to muffle your shocked gasp. Her hand is lax around your throat, but you are all too aware of the hand gently caressing the back of your skull. You can hear the smile in her voice when she whispers in your ear, “I’ve never seen something like you.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” you say. The air whirs in quiet contention around you,  but you’re more focused on the card still clutched in your hand. Come on, come on...

“You’re a little wanderer, aren’t you,” she muses. She runs her fingers through the locks of your hair with gentle fingertips, and it takes all of your self control not to spasm and jolt out of her touch. You clench your empty hands tightly, instead, and try not to stare at Remy when he suddenly tucks his hand into a tight fist, purple light buzzing ravenously through the tight clench of his fingers.

“What are you doing running with the swamp rats, hm?” Nova strokes your head again. “You don’t seem like one of their merry band of misfits.”

Remy makes an indignant sound at that, and just as Nova looks to him, the light in his hand dies to nothingness.

“His name is Gambit,” you say. The playing card in your hand whirs with pitched fervor. Almost there. “Make sure you remember that.”

Time condenses to your will, and you’re looking right at Remy when the ace of hearts detonates, rippling a shockwave through you and Nova. Kinetic energy consumes you in a wildfire, burning through the flesh of your body with fervent hunger. You see the ache of distraught cross his face, and then there is only the movement of timelines shifting in place, carrying you through lifetimes, blurring the world around you into a wash of muddled watercolors.

When you blink, the world rights itself.

When you breathe in, settling back into a body escaped unharmed, you see Remy fall.

“No!” You shout. Or perhaps it is a whisper. Or perhaps it is spread across every timeline, every particle of your being spread thin and calling out in pained fury. You aren’t sure of anything except the way Remy twists, losing grip of his staff, and collapsing to the ground.

A wordless scream of rage tears through you. You can hear its echo filling the air as you yank time into a heel, drawing yourself across the expanse of the field in moments. You aren’t sure where the others are, or if Nova truly perished in the kinetic explosion as you intended. All you can see is Remy, lying in motionless rigor, and the man that took the shot that put him down.

Time scrambles in your mind, but you reach your destination faster than the man can draw his weapon at you. Your hands take his head in a vice grip, the tips of your gloved fingers digging harshly into his dirt-streaked skin.

“How dare you,” you snarl. If you had the chance, you would tear him through time until he disintegrated. You break his neck instead, the sickening crack of his bone fading from your attention the moment you feel his body slip from your grasp. You don’t manipulate time to fall to your knees by Remy’s side, but the space between movements is a blur you don’t care to investigate.

“Remy,” you half-sob. You reach out and grasp his shoulder, turning him over onto his back, and nearly sob again in relief when you see him squinting back at you with dazed annoyance.

“Lucky strike,” he mutters. Your hand flutters down to brush against his side, your heart seizing at the grimace on his face. The warmth of blood against your fingers spreads a numbness through your gut. You only press your hand firmly to the wound, gritting your teeth against the roaring fury building in your throat.

“What happened to ‘the house always wins’?” You snap at him instead. The blood is sticky and warm, and it won’t be staunched by the pressure of your hand alone. He’s going to bleed out.

“Raising the bet,” Remy grunts. There’s a sheen of sweat across his brow, but it’s the ashen pallor of his skin that makes your chest tighten with panic. God, you’re going to lose him.

“I hate you,” you whisper. You hate the Void. You hate Nova, and her violent-driven henchmen. You hate yourself, most of all, for doing this to him. For not being able to do more.

“Tha’ sounds more like love than hate, mon coeur.”

“Just playing the odds,” you bite out. He blinks at you, sluggish, and you realize exactly what you have to do. It’s the only thing you can do for him. You draw your hand back from his side and try not to gag on the smell of it permeating the air. There’s a steady puddle beneath him, soaking the knees of your suit, but you hardly feel it. You can’t feel anything at all, in fact.

Just that whirring buzz of time, and the slowly approaching footsteps of Cassandra Nova coming up behind you.

“Go ahead, Remy,” you breathe. The timeline whirs to life beneath your palms, a composed symphony to the crackling buzz of kinetic energy. You cup his face, thumbs smoothing away the dust beneath his blackened eyes, and you will him to live.

He reaches up to try and catch your wrists. There’s that furrow in his brow, again, like he’s preparing to curse you out for this. He’s a pulsing livewire of humming energy in your hands, simmering with an explosive potential. If he stays here, he will be nothing more than a husk. Dying like a goddamn hero, slaughtered like a martyr upon the altar, just to give you the chance to take down Nova.

So you imagine him at your apartment, in your bed, instead. Tucked under the blankets, his hair mussed from sleep. Figaro curled up on his chest, purring his strange rattling hum, the other two boys stretched out beside him. The world is quiet, and safe. Nothing is there to hurt him.

The timeline sings in your hands. You want to kiss him, but you don’t. Kissing him will feel like goodbye, and you don’t think you could bear the thought of it, not right now. Not before you finish taking down Nova.

Your gaze locks with his. You can see the moment he realizes that you aren’t going with him. The annoyance at being forced to take the retreat cracks out of his expression with sharp, desperate panic. His hands nearly catch you at the wrist, his fingertips brushing against the sleeve of your coat, but then he’s gone. You stare down at the dirt where he once was, fighting to keep your breathing steady. He’s safe.

At least, you tell yourself, one of you made it home.

Yet it still feels like a gaping wound in your side. You betrayed him to save him.

“Touching,” Nova remarks. You can’t bring yourself to move. You’re still kneeling in the remains of Remy’s blood when she strikes you.

The world flickers in and out of focus, spinning in rampant circles. Distantly, you’re aware of your legs kicking weakly in the air, your hands scrabbling desperately at your throat to ease the choking grip she has you in. Except she isn’t touching you, not with her hands.

No, she’s standing just out of arm's reach, smiling like a sphynx.

“I have seen so many variants,” she says idly. You’re choking on nothing, fighting the headache rending through your temples. “There’s been some Jean Grays, a few Rogues. More than a few Gambits. Many, many Deadpools.”

“And yet,” she continues. “I have never found more than one of you.”

The release of the grip she has on your throat makes you gasp out a cry, sucking in air with deep, hoarse wheezing. You hardly feel the impact of your body collapsing to the ground, too relieved in the taste of air. You rub at your throat with shaking fingers, trying to erase the feeling of her grip crushing your windpipe.

“That isn’t the strangest part, however.”

You know where this is going. You close your eyes.

“I could feel you,” she shifts closer to you, but you don’t have the energy to flinch and create distance between the two of you. “In your mind, you are nothing but fragments.”

“Wayfarer,” you whisper. It comes out in a croak, but you are far beyond caring. “I am everywhere and everything.”

“Broken,” she agrees. You open your eyes at that. She looks vindicated, as if admitting your ability has only made you weaker. You suppose, hunched over and wheezing, you don’t look as threatening as you used to during your X-Men days. You must look like nothing but bleeding prey.

Good, you think. You smile at her with bloodied teeth. “Broken things are meant to hurt, you know.”

Like shuffling a deck of cards, you let time flutter through your hands, staggering into a timeline version of yourself where you can breathe without choking. Your body follows the commands of your mind with elegant obedience.

Your hands meet their mark, and latch onto Nova tight enough to turn your knuckles pale. The pair of playing cards pressed against each of your palms sizzle with hunger where they make contact with her body.

Pain lances through your skull, exploding into brilliant light behind your eyes. You think your hands are still clutching onto Nova, but you cannot feel them. The world is bright violet, time shuffling with a charged whir. The kinetic energy ripples down your hands in great, staggering waves, a faint prickle of pain among the agony of time rendering itself apart around you.

Nova is screaming. Distantly, you feel her hands pulling at you, yanking at the lapels of Remy’s coat, hitting your face. She must be trying to delve into your mind. She cannot catch you, though. You are plummeting through every timeline, shuffling from one version of yourself to the next, then the next, then the next. Over and over. Over, and over, and over.

Shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You think you let go of her.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

No, it’s not your hands that have let go. Your arms are shuddering through time, but your hands keep locked onto her, holding her steady, burning violet. You haven’t let her go, but your body is being torn into pieces.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Nova isn’t screaming anymore.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You are.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You can’t hear it over the roaring of time rushing through you, but you can feel your throat blazing, screaming through every timeline, every version of yourself. This must be what dying feels like. It is infinite across all time. There is no other way out.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Her body dissolves with slow tendrils of violet light creeping beneath the exposed flesh, tracing whirls with the lines of her veins and arteries. It consumes her from the inside, spreading out with a meticulous, parasitic intensity.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Remy’s power consumes you, too. You see the light creep up your wrists, then your arms, then your shoulders. You can feel its warmth down to your bones. It almost feels, strangely, like it’s him hugging you. It feels like it did last night, tangled in his arms beneath the sheets, your ear pressed to his chest to listen to the rhythm of his heart.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You wonder, distantly, if his power is trying to keep your body together. The charge of kinetic energy is concentrated in your hands, but you can still feel the heat of it pooling in the pit of your stomach and scorching the back of your mouth. Remy had been dismissive when you asked him what it felt like to charge something, though you figure he had been exasperated by your own explanation of your ability. You doubt he would have known what it felt like to be torn asunder with only the kinetic lightning crackling through him.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You think about Remy, for a moment. You think about the apartment that you both signed the lease on, furnished with a thief’s eye of luxury, cluttered with the little bits of memorabilia and creature comforts you curated over the years. You think about the cats that Remy dotes on, your own cats by marriage, all curled up in their favorite spots around the two of you. You think about the couch that you had teased Remy about for the price, only for him to turn around and gloat about the amount of naps you took on it. You think about the movie nights with you two intertwined on that couch, the cats pressed into your sides, the room dim-lit and safe.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You think about how you would like to do that, again. To be able to sit on the couch with your husband and watch a movie. To be with Remy, and not be caught in this web of unraveling agony.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Like a loose thread, you unravel.

Shuffle.

It starts in your hands, with your fingertips, and it spreads from there.

Draw.

Your eyesight goes last.

Pull.

You see Remy in every lifetime, looking at you, his outline glimmering with that kinetic violet light. His mouth is moving. It almost looks like your name.

Shuffle…

Nothing comes to your mind. Everything comes into pitch black.

Shuffle…

Your hands are empty.

Shuffle…

Time is empty, now absent when it once was vast. You had been infinite, once. Like time, you had been endless.

Shuffle…

You had been lost before you knew what it felt like to be seen. You could never be sure what timeline was originally yours before you switched them. Even the smallest of details could escape your attention if you weren’t looking for it. At a certain point, you realized you had to choose a life to claim as yours and stop wandering. Even a Wayfarer needed an anchor to call home for when it was time to rest.

Draw.

You had wandered for a long time. Years, perhaps, though your physical bodies changed shape and form in ways you couldn’t predict. The face in the mirror had never been home, anyway. There were too many genetic variables to each timeline to preserve the way you looked. Your body was merely a temporary housing for your time-stepping mind. A body was not an anchor. It was simply a tool to be used and discarded.

Pull.

An anchor needs to be constant. It needs to be something that will not retreat when time grows teeth and begins to hurt. It needs to be loyal to the cause. It needs to be kind, deep down, even if the surface is skin-deep careless. It needs to make you feel safe.

It’s… warm. Soft.

You bury your face deeper into the pillow with a long, blissful sigh. You will never regret insisting that you splurge and spend the extra money on a memory foam mattress. It feels like floating in the clouds.

A soft, questioning mmrph rumbles next to your ear. It’s your only warning before a small, wet nose presses to your temple. You know it’s Oliver by the way he starts to knead at the pillow next to your head, purring a roaring chorus. There’s another weight on your legs, pinning them down, and a third is nestled into your side. Remy must be up, already, if they’re all stuck to you for warmth.

“Did your father abandon us again, boys?” You mumble sleepily. Oliver purrs louder at the sound of your voice. You can feel the weight on your legs shift, no doubt being that it’s Lucifer standing up to stretch before he starts to walk up the length of your body. He’s purring, too, though he resettles on the spot between your shoulder blades, the hum of his purr radiating across your back. Figaro doesn’t grace you with an acknowledgement, but neither does he unfurl himself from his spot next to your side.

Warm, soft, and safely nestled amongst your cats. It’s nearly heaven. You end up half-dozing back off, lulled to sleep by the purring next to your ear. You feel like you haven’t slept in a lifetime.

You don’t hear the door open, though you know something is wrong by the way Figaro leaps to attention and Oliver’s purr stutters to a stop.

When you open your eyes, it’s half-lit by the morning sun. It must be closer to noon than the time that you usually wake to train. Any trace of lingering sleep drifts away when the bedroom door creeps open with its usual squall of hinges.

You smile and twist to look over your shoulder, dislodging Lucifer despite his soft sound of discontent, and yawn, “Morning. I think.”

Remy is posed in the doorway. Your next words die in your throat as you see the look on his face, the staff still gripped tightly in his hand. He’s dressed in his usual armor, not his civilian clothing like you expected. His hair is longer, tied back carelessly from his face, flyaway strands curling around his temples. His eyes are near-black, both through his irises and the dark shadows collecting beneath them.

He looks like he has spent years surviving an apocalypse.

“Jesus, Remy,” you breathe. You’re sitting up in an instant, one hand out reaching towards him. His armor is dust-streaked and worn from battle. “Are you hurt?”

“Where’d you go, chér?” He rasps. His face is still utterly, terrifyingly still. You have never seen him at the brink of collapse like this, before. He looks like he wants to step further in the room, his hand twitching with a nervous tic of adrenaline, but he stays stock-still. Waiting for you.

“Nowhere,” you say softly. “I’ve been in bed with the boys, love.”

You have to resist the urge to spring out of bed and run your hands along his body to look for any sign of injury. You aren’t entirely sure what’s gotten into him, but if he’s hallucinating or delirious, you should probably reach out to the other X-Men. Maybe the professor would know why Remy’s in full gear and looking battle-worn at this hour. Why would he go without waking you first?

Remy wavers. He looks heartsick. “Don’ lie t’me, chér.”

“Never,” you agree. You offer the spot next to you in bed with a half-pleading, half-alluring gesture. “Come here. You look like hell, Remy.”

“You…” he starts, then stops. Abruptly, he drops his staff with a rattling thud. Within three strides, he’s in your arms, melting into your embrace. You clutch at him just as fiercely, burying your nose into the crown of his hair. He smells like smoke and dust, but there’s no indication of blood and pain. He simply sags in your grip, his breathing quick and unsteady against your collarbone. His fingers curl weakly into the back of your nightshirt, as if that’s all the strength he can muster.

He’s mumbling, even with his face pressed tightly to the curve of your throat, but you can’t make out much more than your name, over and over.

“Shh, Remy, I’m right here with you,” you whisper against his crown. With a free hand, you reach up to pull out the elastic band holding up his hair, letting it fall in uneven waves. When was the last time he took care of himself? Your Remy loved to indulge in fine-smelling soaps and lavish hair routines, surrounding himself in a luxury he earned himself. His appearance was just as much armor as his coat was. You had never been fooled by his demeanor: his weapon of charm was just as sharply honed as his weapon of playing cards.

Yet it’s the length of his hair that sours the back of your throat with nausea. You run your fingers through it, slowly massaging his scalp in the way that makes him pliant and sleepy. It’s not that you haven’t seen Remy with long hair before; it’s simply the fact that you haven’t seen him with long hair in years. Just last night, his hair had been just long enough to curl at the nape of his neck. You had run your fingers through it and mentioned a haircut, and he had been a deadweight in your lap, humming sleepily in acknowledgement.

You swallow thickly. Either this is not the same Remy you went to sleep next to the night before… or you are missing time.

“You should take a bath, love,” you murmur, gently scratching his scalp. You can feel smudged wetness on the collar of your nightshirt from tears, though he hasn’t made a sound other than a few deep, unsteady breaths. Back when you first got together during missions, the shower was the first place you two could unwind and start to sort through your fading adrenaline rush.

He pulls back from your embrace, just a little, and every word of encouragement dies in your throat at the look on his face. Rage. Betrayal.

Heartbreak.

“You been gon’ awhile, chér,” he says. It’s not an accusation, but there’s a simmering anger beneath that matter-of-fact tone. It’s always ‘chér’ when he doesn’t know which version you are. His eyes burn through you, intent on stripping you raw. You wonder what answers he could possibly expect from you. If it’s answers he wants at all, or rather an apology.

You have to offer him something.

“I —”

“Gambit go lookin’ for you,” he laughs, mirthless. “Got him spending two years lookin’ and you jus’ show up in bed. Like nothin’ happen.”

Two years. There’s a small itch in the back of your mind, like the whisper of a memory raking its claws down your back. There had been an unraveling. Utter destruction. Then it had been you here, you waking up in bed as if nothing had happened.

You blink back at him, struck speechless. You don’t have to offer a word, though, because there’s true anger in his eyes, now.

“I go to de Void,” he says. “I t’ink that’s what it was. Nothin’ left there. Dere’s no life around, hein? Mais, non, not even my wife, only the dead. Ev’rybody dead.”

 His eyes close as if he can ward away the images tormenting his memories. You’re grateful that he can’t see the way your face crumples at that. He went back for you. He had survived the wound, and he found a way back to come for you.

And he had found nothing but death.

“You’re such an idiot,” you choke out. His eyes snap open at that, but you merely cup his face in your hands and draw him in to bump your forehead against his, sucking in a shuddering breath. He is warm and alive under your touch. You didn’t think you could touch him like this again when Nova had been standing above you, prepared to tear you in shreds. “I sent you ahead, but I was coming with you.”

“We stay together,” he tells you. There’s a strain in his voice just as painful as yours, but the way he reaches up to swipe away a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb is careful. As if he’s marveling that he has the chance to touch you at all. “Mais la, don’ tell Gambit he wrote up those vows for nothin’, Mrs. LeBeau.”

“Matched pair,” you whisper back.

“Couple’a aces,” he agrees, and he kisses you just as gently as he wiped away your tears, as if you have all the time in the world.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hi!! Hope everything is going well!

Could I Please ask for some bottom buggy (mayhaps with some watersports since I saw you had a interest) or some ftm crocodile being fucked into submission!

Have a nice day.

Ftm Sir Crocodile x male reader

Ficlet

I love Sir Crocodile so much 🗣️ 🗣️

Reader is part of Buggy’s crew, cuz I thought that would be hilarious. Reader doesn’t have a devil fruit, but is still super kickass. Hes kind of the information gatherer, smuggler, etc, for the Buggy crew. Reader is also normal human height.

Mixed terminology for Crocs bits. Also, breeding/pregnancy? kink warning ig. but its just mentioned for the fantasy.

The Cross Guild appeared great for any outsider or lesser in the know members, which was most of them. They all saw your captain as someone great and almost godly, thinking he was so much more than he was, but you had been with him for many years, even before the Buggy pirates had even been created. Shortly after the execution of Rogers, Buggy had stumbled into your path and had accidentally saved your life, and from then on you had been by his side.

Most people thought of you as something akin to an accountant or treasurer, wearing an outfit that looked very much like that of a ringmaster, long red tailcoat and top hat and all. You were always one of the first to run away, giving you a reputation of a coward who couldn’t fight.

The only one who truly knew how much of a threat you could be, would be your captain and his inner circle, which you were also part of. You might not have been the strongest physically compared to someone like Mihawk, but no one could gather information like you could, smuggle like you could, or have someone “disappear” like you could. Your network was so extensive that even the one they called Joker, who you knew was none other than Donquixote Doflamingo, was jealous.

That was why you knew everything about Sir Crocodile and Mihawk before the day was over when the Cross Guild was formed. You cowered off to the side, keeping up your weak act as you flinched at their raised voices or the light reflecting off Crocodiles golden claw.

They believed you a weak fool who’s only worth was your quick mind and ability to calculate numbers quicker than most computers, which resulted in them mostly dismissing you. It was a role you basked in and felt comfortable, using it to keep your true identity under wraps. That was until they pushed your captain too far, as Crocodile especially seemed to take great pleasure in antagonizing and hurting your captain.

You were protective, most pirates were, if they felt any sense of loyalty to their captain. It was because of that, that you dug up a trusted contact, a celestial dragon with greater access to seastone than anyone else you knew. Using measurements from the moment’s clothes had to be made, a pair of cuffs in just the perfect size soon arrived to you with the post.

It was easy to press Crocodiles buttons, to get him worked up by acting stupid and pathetic, just the way you knew made his blood boil. It was even easier to enrage him so far that he chased after you, so blinded by his anger that he didn’t even notice how you kept avoiding his sand, or how you were leading him further and further away from the rest of the guild.

When he finally caught up, Crocodile caged you against the wall, hook digging into the drywall as he almost snarled down at you, cigar crunched between his teeth as his purple eyes blazed. But mild confusion crossed his face as your fearful expression dropped, his body straightening as your eyes met his head on. Before Crocodile could order an explanation, a feeling of weakness crashed through his body, making his knees buckle enough that you had to catch him, supporting his towering weight and bulk.

His vision swam as you started dragging him along, his feet dragging along the floor because of his height compared to your own. Crocodile felt dizzy and mildly nauseous, his eyes finally catching the heavy bands around his wrist, the one he still had left. “ssseastone?” he slurred out, voice lighter than the growl you were used too, cigar long forgotten somewhere along the journey.

In the beginning, you had planned on torturing him, the blades strapped to your person burning at the thought, but as you threw him down almost carelessly on a barely clad bed, a different through passed through your mind.

A slight thrill ran down your spine as his purple eyes burnt into you, his usual anger still present, but mixed with something else, something deeper and hungrier. Soft pants left Crocodiles lips, sounding faintly struggled as the seastone drained the power from his body, leaving him limp and pliant.

You could see the heat rising to Crocodiles cheekbones as you started stripping off your usual getup, tailcoat slid off your shoulders and neatly folded, top hat placed down with care. “What the hell are you doing…” Crocodile rasped from the bed, his pupils blown as an unfamiliar need unfolded inside him, the familiar thrum of pleasure running through body.

Maybe it was his weakened state, but he swore his cunt was pulsing with need, especially as you unbuttoned the stark white shirt you always wore, revealing a tightly muscled and heavily scarred body underneath, leather straps adorned with vials and weapons stretched across your torso.

Crocodile tried to shuffle his legs, maybe to squeeze his thighs together, or to spread them further apart, he wasn’t sure, but all he could do was a minimal twitch and jolt. “I planned on cutting you up, making you beg for mercy. But from the looks of it… you wouldn’t mind some other kind of discipline” you murmur, almost stalking towards him where Crocodile was splayed out on top of the white sheets.

You could see all his muscles tense as you let your hands climb up his legs, up his thighs and stomach, traveling all the way up his arms towards his hook. A choked off noise leaves Crocodile as you remove his hook with ease, like you had done it a thousand times before, placing it off to the side with care.

“Behave yourself” you tell him, squeezing the sides of his jaw to make his lips part. Crocodile tried to growl or snap a threat, to snap his teeth at you or somehow fight back, but his body was mostly unresponsive, his tongue feeling thick and useless in his mouth.

A shiver of anticipation ran through Crocodile as you moved again, settling between his thick spread thighs. Your eyes met as you reach for his belt, your brow lifting as if asking if he wanted you to stop. You may be a pirate, but you had class and manners, at least when it came to stuff like this.

But when all Crocodile responded with was a sour expression and glare, you make easy work of his belt and slacks, tugging them down his hips and legs, throwing them off to the side with little care. Your disregard for his clothes made Crocodile grumble, but the noise was quickly silenced as you pressed your entire hand against his slick underwear, fingers teasing his hard t-cock and soaked folds.

“Tsk tsk, look at you, bet you just need someone to put you in your place, is that it?” you mumble in an almost mocking tone, looking up at him with an almost feral hunger in your eyes. Crocodile chokes on the words that want to form in his throat, some kind of rebuttal perhaps, that he would never want someone as low as you to do anything to him, but as you pinch his cock between your fingers, it morphs into a shaky moan.

Crocodile’s boxers as easily pulled off, thrown to the floor with a damp plap, making his face redden further as you only find amusement in the obvious sign of his arousal. Kicking off your pants and boxers, you crawl up the bed and sit between his thick thighs, pushing them further apart to expose where he only grows slicker, hole clenching around nothing as if begging you to fill it.

“What would they say, seeing the great Sir Crocodile, spread out like this, ready to take the cock of a feeble weak treasurer” you taunt, pressing your hips closer to his, so that you could drag the tip of your cock up and down through his folds. The act has Crocodile arching as good as he can with the cuff on, his eyes squeezing shut as he clenches his jaw, a breathy noise leaving him, folds only growing slicker around you.

Maybe it was your size difference, with you being average human size, compared to Crocodiles almost 9 feet, or maybe it was his gut deep arousal, but his hole didn’t need much prep for you to be able to fit inside.

That didn’t mean you were just gonna give it to him, since this was supposed to be a lesson. A stuttery moan spills almost silently from Crocodiles lips as your fingers rub through his folds, barely pressing against where he wants you the most. He had never imagined himself in a situation like this, splayed out and dripping for you, someone he had always just seen as a nuisance, but here he was.

“Come on Crocodile… ask nicely” your tone is almost cruel as you push only two fingers inside him, barely felt because of his size, but just enough to rub against his wet gummy insides and leave him aching for more. Crocodiles jaw clenches, barring his teeth as his head weakly rolls to the side, as if to hide his face into the sheets.

“Or… I could just leave you here, thighs spread open, cunt glistening with want. Im sure someone will pass by, and who wouldn’t want a chance to fill this” as if to exaggerate your point, you push two more fingers into his slick hole, burying them as deep as possible into Crocodiles wet insides, punching a gasp out of him.

Crocodile seems to debate it, if he wants to put his pride aside for someone like you, but his thoughtprocess is knocked off course as you pinch his cock with your free hand, twisting it cruelly. Had he not been wearing the seastone cuff, his thighs would have clamped shut and a shout would have left him, but now all his body could do was tense up as a wet keen tumbled out of him.

“P…please” Crocodile finally mumbles, voice small and almost shy, but it can barely be heard over the wet slick sounds of your fingers thrusting in and out of him, his wetness running down your palm and wrist in the process.

“Hm?” you hum, the questioning tone in it clear, as if you didn’t hear him at all, giving his cock another twist just because you could. “fuck me… please…” is gasped out, Crocodiles insides clenching around your slick fingers as they rub and prod around inside him.

Your fingers movements slow to a stop, silence filling the room long enough for Crocodile to peek an eye open and look down at you. Your eyes are intense as they bore into his, the predatory flare in them making Crocodiles insides quiver. “Normally id demand better than that, but I’m starting to pity you” you scoff out, withdrawing your fingers from his hold with a slick noise.

Instead of wiping them off on the sheets, you use the large amount of slick that had gathered in your palm to slick up your shaft, releasing a huffed exhale as Crocodiles eyes widen at the sight. “I’ve thought about making you ride me, so you’ll have to make yourself take it, but we can’t do that right now, can we” you eye the cuff around his one wrist, making Crocodile growl and spit out a weak warbled “fuck you”

His insult carries no heat, clearly only for show, his glare quickly wiped off his face as you finally push inside him. Crocodile needs little time to adjust, resulting in you almost immediately setting a bruising rough pace, drawing in and out of him with loud wet slick noises, his hole gripping onto you as he gasps and moans.

Reaching down, you push his shirt up just enough to splay a hand across his lower stomach, a foxlike grin spreading across your lips as you watch his hips weakly roll into your own. “If you weren’t such an asshole, I could fuck you whenever. Imagine that Crocodile, walking around, cunt leaking my cum, as you try to play tough.” You chuckle darkly, tone thick and hungry in the way only a predatory animal could possess.

As your cock rams into that sensitive spot inside him, Crocodile is finally starting to realize you are truly more than you seem, his cunt drooling a wet puddle under him on the sheets as you take him with a new hunger, a glint appearing in your eyes as your hand presses down harder on his stomach.

“I could knock you up you know, right here.” Is hissed out as you bottom out inside Crocodile, the words making him tighten up and shiver in want. “No one would find you so scary then, would they Crocodile. Waddling around, fat with my kid” you purr, letting both your hands splay across his stomach. It was all fantasy, but by God did it make Crocodile wet and wanting. Something about the fantasy of you, some lesser subordinate knocking him, Sir Crocodile, up, had him seeing double.

The seastone didn’t help with his woozy state, all attempts at forming words only becoming half formed and slurred, Crocodiles eyes going wet and glassy as that familiar feeling spread through his body. “in… inside me…” Crocodile slurs as you curse to yourself, clearly close to the finish line as well. Had it not been for the cuffs, he would have thrown his legs around you, squeezing you against his body to keep you inside him, but all he could do now was beg.

Crocodiles pride crumbled as your fingers squeezed his cock one last time, a pure orgasmic expression crossing his face as he gasped and moaned, his entire body twitching weakly as he came, wetting your cock and the sheets even further as the feeling thrummed through his entire body.

With a deep groan you bottom out inside Crocodile for a last time, letting your eyes squeeze shut as you spill inside him, coating his insides in a thick coat of white. Crocodile whimpers weakly at the feeling, trying to squeeze around you as if to milk your length for more.

He slumps against the sheets further than he already is, eyes falling shut in a relaxed exhausted expression. Crocodile barely notices as you pull out, white leaking out from between his folds to join his own mess on the sheets. He barely even notices you cleaning him up, only twitching and gasping softly when you clean up between his legs.

Its only when the seastone cuff leaves his wrist that Crocodile returns to himself somewhat, as the familiar feeling of his devilfruit washes through his body again. Squinting his eyes open, he catches sight of you getting dressed again, tucking on your shirt, then your coat, and lastly placing your hat on top of your head.

Even with his devilfruit returned to him, Crocodile still feels weak and exhausted, but the good type of exhausted one only gets after a good fuck. Part of him wants to ask you to stay, to hold him and pet his hair, to maybe mumble more dirty fantasies about knocking him up, and how you’d make him live as your pretty little housewife. But instead, Crocodile just grunts to get your attention, his attempt to demand to know where you are going.

“I have to get back to the others, since ill be taking over your duties for the rest of the day and tomorrow” you say, voice resolute and not allowing any denial or struggle. And normally Crocodile would have growled and rejected anyone taking over his duties, but for some reason, the idea of you taking care of him made him relax deeper into the bed, muscles lax and thoughts empty and calm for once.

Approaching him, you press a soft kiss to his forehead before telling him “this room is hidden away from everyone else, so take all the time you need. Ill check up on you later” as you pat his cheek. After telling him where the bathroom is, where he could find towels and replacement sheets and blankets, you were on your way, leaving Crocodile on his lonesome.

It took a while, but he finally pushed himself into a seated position before getting to his feet. The feeling of your cum trickling down the insides of his thighs as the familiar heat of arousal burning inside him once more, making Crocodile shuffle towards the bathroom you had pointed him towards. Even though you had just left, he could still get himself off a few more times from just the memory alone.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be disciplined by you, he wondered how you’d react if he caused issues with your smuggling routes. The idea sent a line of heat up his spine as he stepped into the shower, hand quickly traveling between his thighs, fingers burying themselves into his still sensitive hole, fantasies of hungry glare and cruel fingers filling his mind.

[wooahaeproductions]

Tracing Time (part one)

Kwon Soonyoung (Hoshi) x Female Reader

Summary: In order to cope with your mother’s death, you decide to study abroad in Rio for the summer just like she did. You come upon the diary she kept during that time, following all that she did 20 years ago. However, you didn't expect finding love would be part of that process.

Genre: fluff, angst, romance, comedy, smut (in part two), strangers to lovers au, neighbors au, college au

Word count: ~4.7k

Warnings: mentions of a family members death and mentions of ways to cope. Part two will have smut and will have it's own warnings.

Rating: 18+ for the completed fic

A/N: It's finally here! I struggled to write this for some reason but hopefully part two will come easier. This fic is for svthub's 2024 World Tour Collab and I am so happy to be apart of another collab. Please check out all the other amazing works as well! I also want to thank my beta readers Summer @beomcoups and Kiki @nonuify 🥰~Maren

You took a deep breath as you stopped in front of the student housing building and started at its gorgeous architecture before pulling an old photo from the front pocket of your bag. You held it out in front of you, confirming this was the building the smiling woman in the photo was standing in front of. You were here, standing in the same spot your mother had at your age when she studied at the very same summer exchange program in Brazil that you were going to.

You slipped the photo back into your bag and took one more big breath before bringing yourself and your luggage into the lobby of the building. You were supposed to meet the student liaison for the university exchange program there to get your dorm keys along with your class information. You looked around the large lobby in awe. It looked much more like a hotel with its grand marble floors and sophisticated ambiance than student accommodations. 

“You must be Y/N!” You heard a woman say in accented English and you spotted her walking across the lobby toward you. She was an older woman wearing a designer pantsuit, and her hair looked like she had just been at a salon. You certainly weren’t in Chicago anymore. Everything was different here, and you had only been at the airport and this place so far. 

“Hi, I am she,” you responded to the woman, feeling a little overwhelmed already. Which honestly wasn’t that unusual given the circumstances of the past year. 

“Welcome to PUC University and Rio de Janeiro. I’m Mrs. Delgado,” she said. She must have sensed how overwhelmed you were because she gave your arm a gentle pat before continuing. She pulls a packet of paper out of the bag she was carrying and hands it to you. “This is your class schedule and some information about the benefits available to you as an exchange student. There are only three classes since it is a summer program, one being the Portuguese class that all of our international students are required to take, Drawing 110, and Brazilian Art and Architecture.” 

After explaining your schedule, she then pulled out a set of keys that jingled on an ornate keychain, one that matched the building. “And these are the keys to your dorm,” she said, handing them to you. “I’ll let you get settled and ready for your first day tomorrow. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to contact me and boa sorte!” A second later, she was gone leaving you staring at your dorm number on the keychain. 

“203,” you murmured the number, looking around to see if there was any indication of where your room would be. You opted to ask the boy manning the front desk, whose English was actually great. He pointed to the staircase on the other end of the lobby and told you it was up those and to the right. Just as you were about to head up the stairs, wheeling your suitcase behind you, someone just about knocked you over. A guy to be exact, a handsome one at that. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m late. I’m so sorry, but I’m late!” He blurted, briskly brushing past you with a rushed apology. You stood at the bottom of the stairs, blinking while he ran out of the building. You didn’t have the energy to think about him right now despite his looks, not that you ever entertained the idea of a meet-cute this way or god forbid actually falling in love in this scenario.

You shook your head and put the handle down on your suitcase so you could carry it upstairs with you. You turned the key in the door to your room and walked in, your eyes taking in where you would live for the next few months. It was simple, much like a hotel room but you did have a tiny kitchenette that you didn’t expect to have and a window that looked out to the square that was in front of the building.

You brought your suitcase up on the twin bed so you could unpack a few things before thinking about finding dinner. You put a few clothes in the small dresser that was there before stumbling upon the whole reason you were here: your mom’s diary. You picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed with it, fingertips stroking the leather cover.

Six months earlier 

People were coming in and out of the house giving you and your family words of condolences, but everything was a blur to you. You sat on the couch in the living room when you had all come back from the funeral home, numb to everything. Tears had long since been exhausted, and now all you were was an empty shell, an empty shell without a mother. You were vaguely aware that your grandmother had sat down next to you, brushing your bangs out of your eyes before gently placing a book in your lap: your mother’s diary from when she was the same age as you.

You opened the leather book up, looking at the cover page that you had stared at so many times since your grandmother had given it to you. You recognized your mom’s loopy writing confirming that the diary belonged to her and Summer 1985 written underneath. You turned the page to the first entry, the one that had the photo of your mother outside this building stuck in right before it. It was dated June 15th of that year, when she arrived in Brazil and was in the same student housing. 

As you read your mother's account of her arriving at student housing, you couldn’t help but feel as if you were hearing her voice again. It was almost as if you were just on a trip and you were reading a letter she sent you. But of course, you weren’t just on any trip, and she was gone. 

Your stomach grumbled, interrupting your reading, and you closed the diary. You sighed, wondering if you should venture out to find something to eat. You pulled out your phone and laid down on the bed for a few minutes while you looked to see if there was someplace close that sounded decent. However, jet lag took over, and you fell asleep with your phone in your hand, it falling and smacking you on the forehead some time later.

Fourteen hours later, you awoke to your phone alarm going off. You panicked. Was that the first time your alarm went off? Were you late for your first class? You hadn’t meant to fall asleep at all, but that darn jet jag overcame you. Pressing your finger on the phone screen to silence the alarm, you were relieved to find that it really was just your first alarm. It was 7:30 am and you weren’t late, you had plenty of time. Which was a good thing because your stomach had upgraded from the light growling from last night to feeling like it was about to eat itself. 

You had done your research before enrolling in the summer program and knew that the university offered a student cafeteria for meals that was part of the tuition fee. You assumed it was in the packet of information you received yesterday as well, but you hadn’t had time to look over that yet. You got dressed in a simple sundress, one that was classy and suited to the warm weather in Rio. You grabbed the book bag with all your class materials from where you placed it at the small table by the door and headed out of your dorm.

The lobby was bustling with others probably also headed to their morning classes. The university’s campus was only a short distance away, so you opted to walk although it looked like the dorms had bikes outside the building that you could borrow if you wanted to. Your first class didn’t begin until 9 am and you would have plenty of time to get there as well as get breakfast at the cafeteria. 

You walked out of the dorm building and out to the cobbled stoned square. You paused to bring a map up on your phone, making sure you were about to head in the correct direction. You continued to walk on the brownish-gray stones as you passed by a few little shops before the cobblestones turned into a normal concrete street. You followed it up a small hill before you reached a large traffic circle with the main university building behind it. 

Luckily there was a campus map just outside the doors to the main entrance. You looked at it, finding where the cafeteria was and also noting where the international building was for your class afterward. The cafeteria was teeming with students getting food, mostly breakfast at this early hour. You got in line and grabbed some sliced fruit and scrambled eggs, as well as some coffee. They had some items that were also common for Brazilian culture, but you opted to try those later when you were less nervous and didn’t have a class to attend right after.

You scanned your meal card at the checkout which had been in the packet of information that Mrs. Delgado had given you yesterday. You chose an empty table near the windows and ate your food as leisurely as you could before class. Your stomach was no longer trying to eat itself and all that remained was an uncertain feeling in the pit of it. You didn’t even know why you felt all this turmoil, but nothing felt right or even normal since your mother passed.

You placed your empty tray at one of the receptacles by the door and walked out of the cafeteria. You followed the path you mapped out earlier, leading to the international building. You had about 15 minutes before the class started, so you didn’t need to hurry. You looked around at the buildings on your way. The campus looked much like a normal campus but all buildings were made from stucco material and the main roads had a wave-like pattern in them.

You reached the classroom after a few minutes. The door was on the outside of the building and you opened it. Still being a bit early, there were only a few people in the classroom. You chose a seat in the middle, not too far in the front but not too far in the back. You sat your bookbag on the floor next to you, took out the textbook with your notebook and a pen, and set them on the table in front of you. A couple of loud students entered the classroom and you couldn’t help but look up at the noise. 

You couldn’t believe your eyes. The same boy who nearly ran you over yesterday was among the group. You inwardly groaned. Worse yet, when he scanned the room for a seat, he spotted you. You looked down at the desk, trying to hide your face to no avail. “Oh! It’s you!” He exclaimed, coming to sit in the space next to you. You kept looking in every other direction but his, hoping he would think you were actually someone else.

He didn’t seem to be aware that you were trying to avoid eye contact and continued to introduce himself. “Hi, I’m Soonyoung! I’m really sorry for almost running into you yesterday but I hope we can be friends since it looks like we are both exchange students!” Now you couldn’t help but stare at him. How could someone have so much energy and also be so clueless to your anti-social cues? Your brain was tired just listening to him ramble on. 

You weren’t sure what else he was saying but it sounded like he asked a question. “-your name?” Oh, great, he was asking for your name. You contemplated not telling him, but he would probably annoy it out of you anyway. “I’m Y/N,” you responded, your irritation slightly bleeding into your tone. Soonyoung didn’t get to say anything after that. Luckily, the teacher walked into the classroom at that moment, clapping his hands to gain everyone’s attention and effectively cutting off any conversations happening. 

The teacher, who introduced himself as Mr. Morales went over the class syllabus, and then you started in on the first chapter of the textbook which introduced the different sounds the Portuguese language had versus English. You avoided Soonyoung’s gaze the entire time but you could feel it on you. As soon as class was dismissed, you threw your belongings back in your bag and booked it out of the classroom before he had time to think about catching you. 

You didn’t have more classes today, your other two would happen tomorrow so you had planned to take the somewhat long trek to see the famous statue in Rio, Christ the Redeemer. It would take you about an hour and a half by bus, but your mother had visited it, so you wanted to as well. You pulled out the bus timetable and map (one of the many things in the packet that Mrs. Delgado had given you) from your bag as you walked back toward the front of campus where the bus stops were.

You found the stop for the correct bus number and sat down in a seat under the covered area to avoid the early afternoon sun. The timetable showed the bus you needed would be there in about five minutes and once you got off it, you would have to decide if you wanted to walk to the statue or if you were going to take a tram. 

You sat there watching students walk by as you waited, looking like they were having the best time being at school. You felt so out of place, questioning why you even decided to come here. Would this really make you feel closer to your mother, make you feel better about her being gone? You highly doubted you’d ever feel better about the latter. 

You stuck your hand inside your bookbag, finding your mother’s diary and brushing your hand over the smooth leather surface. Somehow feeling the front of the book, touching a physical item of hers always soothed your thoughts. You knew you would continue feeling like you didn’t belong in a place as amazing as Rio, but you wanted to keep seeing what she saw and hearing her voice through diary entries, even if it was something you could only hear in your head. 

The bus arrived, pulling you out of your thoughts and you got up to get on it. You tapped the bus pass on the pad at the front near the driver and scanned the bus. There were quite a few people on the bus but it wasn’t packed. You spotted a window seat near the middle and took it. The ride was kind of long but you had nice scenery to look at and the bus wasn’t too loud. You took some time to relax a little and soak it all in. 

About an hour later, the bus had reached its destination. You had arrived at the bottom of a somewhat large mountain near the entrance to a rainforest. You looked at how high it was and at the statue at the top. You definitely were not going to hike that today, and opted to take the tram that was available instead. There was a little kiosk nearby where you bought your tram ticket and a schedule posted on the side that said the tram came every 5 minutes at this time of day.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long at all since you bought your ticket just a minute or two before the next one arrived. You handed your ticket over to the driver and got on the tram. It reminded you of those trams they had when you went to the zoo or something. The sides were open so you could feel the breeze as the tram climbed the mountain and you could smell the different plants and trees.

The further the tram climbed, the closer the famous statue got, and soon you arrived at the bottom of it. The tram stopped at the park at the top of the mountain that contained Christ the Redeemer. You got off the tram, in awe of how big the statue really was. You knew it was big, but seeing it in person was something else entirely. 

Many people surrounded the bottom of the statue and there were no benches to be seen. You found an empty area on one side and decided to sit on the concrete floor of the platform. Looking up at the statue, you settled in your sitting spot and pulled your sketchbook and your mother’s diary from your bag. You opened the diary to the next unread page, dated a week later than the first. Another photo was stuck in the pages and you took it out, seeing another photo of your mother smiling, with Christ the Redeemer in the background.

June 21st, 1985

Rio has been amazing. I haven’t been here long but it sometimes feels like home to me. I feel like I belong here with all this incredible architecture. And guess what? I met a boy! I came to visit the famous Christ the Redeemer statue and he offered to take my photo with the statue. He was actually in the middle of drawing a caricature for another girl but dropped everything when he saw I was trying to take a photo of myself with the statue. I couldn’t help but swoon a little. I found out he studies drawing at the same university that I’m attending for the summer. And then he asked me out for dinner! I’m really excited to go on a date with him. Will this just be a summer fling or could it be more? 

You took in this entry. Did your mom meet someone here? Was it your dad? You couldn’t help but be curious about this man and you wondered how far their relationship had gotten. Was he the person from whom you got your talent for drawing? You had so many questions and knew that those questions might go unanswered. For now, you opted to try and feel connected by drawing something yourself.

You took your sketch pencils out of the small pocket at the front of your bag and opened your sketchbook up to a blank page. Setting it in your lap, you looked around, deciding what you wanted to sketch exactly. Just the statue or the people surrounding it too? You decided to just sketch the statue to start with and fill in surrounding areas as you saw fit. You drew, looking up every once in a while to look at the small details of the statue. 

One time you looked up and noticed someone busking close to the bottom of the statue a little bit in front of you. He looked cute from just a glance. He was dancing to a little boombox playing near him with a cup next to it, collecting any change people were willing to give. You looked closer and realized who the dancer was. Soonyoung. You sighed in annoyance. Was he everywhere? Was the universe messing with you?

You continued to draw, hoping he was too distracted by his busking to notice you. There were tons of people around, there was no way he could spot you among all of them. As you sketched your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn back to him like a magnet. His dance moves were sharp but smooth and you could see his routine completely consumed him. You kept taking glances while sketching.

You were finishing up the last few lines when you heard your name called. You thought he was too enthralled with his busking to notice you, but you were very wrong. He picked up his cup of change and his boombox and jogged over to where you were. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, stopping in front of where you were sitting and giving you a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Um, yeah. I decided to do some sightseeing and do some sketching,” you responded, a little meekly. You felt weird around him now for some reason. He was annoying in class earlier, but now he seemed different and you weren't sure what to think. He was still bright and energetic but not irritatingly so. 

“Oh, you draw?” he asked, a bit surprised.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m studying here this summer. Art,” you explained.

“Cool! I’m here for performance arts if the busking hadn’t given you a heads up already,” He offered with a small laugh.

He paused your small conversation for a minute to take a look at his change cup to see how much he had made today.

“Listen, if you are done with what you wanted to do today..there’s a nice cafe near the tram station and if you are hungry, I made more than enough money today so I’d like to treat you,” He rambled. It wasn’t exactly a question, but the way he said it was actually kind of cute.

You were hungry and you supposed it couldn’t hurt, right? “Alright,” you agreed and a smile stretched across his face again. You put your sketchbook, pencils, and mom’s diary back in your bag and stood up, brushing your pants off from any dirt that you picked up while sitting on the ground. Maybe you should take a page from your mom’s book and get to know Soonyoung a little more.

You both walked back down off the statue’s platform and down the stairs to where the tram would pick you up and take you back down the mountain and to where the cafe Soonyoung mentioned would be. Once again, you did not have to wait long for the tram to arrive and you both got on, Soonyoung sitting next to you.

You could feel the breeze again as the tram descended the mountain this time. You looked over to find Soonyoung looking out the other side quietly, the wind ruffling his hair lightly. He had the same smile on his face as earlier, making his face look strangely childlike compared to the manly confidence he had earlier while busking. You liked seeing the two different sides of him. It was cute. He could be quiet when he was by himself, a big difference from when he was with a crowd.

While you were busy staring at Soonyoung, the tram stopped back at the bottom of the mountain. “Y/N?” Soonyoung questioned, holding out a hand to pull you up from the seat.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, not realizing you had spaced out. You took his hand as he pulled you up, noticing how big it was. It felt nice, having your hand engulfed in his. You continued to hold on to it as you both got off the tram. When you both got off, you let go awkwardly, not wanting to give Soonyoung the wrong idea (even if you did really like holding his). You hadn’t even been on a date yet. He gave a nervous chuckle and just beckoned you to follow him. 

You followed him down a few streets from the park area where you guys were previously, to a little hole-in-the-wall cafe that was surrounded by other shops and small apartments. It was small and felt homey when you walked in the door with Soonyoung. You waited at the front for a minute or two before someone came by to seat you. “Oh? I see you brought a friend today!” The waitress said before grabbing some menus and guiding you to open-air seating at a back patio that featured a small garden to the side of it.

She sat you two at a table and sat the menus in front of you. “I’ll be back in a few to take your order,” she said before giving Soonyoung a knowing wink. 

“I take it you come here a lot,” you commented.

“You could say that,” he responded with a sheepish grin, “I usually make enough to come here each time I busk, so two to three times a week?” 

“Two to three times a week?!” You were surprised that he busked that often and that he chose to come here every time.

“Yeah, it’s the only way for me to make some extra cash. I’m here through a special program so they only pay for my tuition and dorm fees,” he explained. You nodded. You were similar, except that you had your grandmother sending you spending money when you needed it. 

You turned your attention to the menu, trying to decide what to eat. There were a lot of options but you decided to try a more traditional Brazilian stew called Feijoada. Something hearty sounded good after the busy day you’ve had so far. The waitress came by and took your order while Soonyoung ordered Moqueca, another type of stew but with seafood.

You made more small talk while waiting for your food to arrive such as where you were originally from (You: Chicago, Him: Seoul) and what types of foods you liked. You passed the time well enough that your food felt like it came out quickly. It looked amazing and your stomach confirmed how hungry you were by giving a small growl. Loud enough, however, to make Soonyoung let out a small giggle.

You start digging in when Soonyoung nervously broaches a topic. “So, when we were at Christ the Redeemer you mentioned doing some sightseeing. I don’t know if I’m reading too much into things, but it seems like it was more than just seeing the sights here.”

You put down your spoon and contemplate whether you want to open up to him or not. You sighed before starting your explanation. “You’re right, it’s not just general sightseeing. In fact, my mom is the whole reason I’m here.”

“Your mom?” He asked, prompting you to continue.

“Yeah…she um, died about 6 months ago,” you said, looking down at your stew like it was the most fascinating thing in the world at the moment.

“Oh, Y/N. I’m so sorry,” Soonyoung frowned, his voice turning sympathetic and you swore his eyes had a sheen to them.

“It’s…okay. Or at least it’s becoming okay,” you responded honestly and then continued. “Anyway, my grandma gave me my mom's diary. One she kept while she was here doing this program with the university. So I decided to do it too and see all the same sights she did hoping it might make me feel closer to her or something? I don’t know.” You were rambling a little now. 

“I think that’s neat,” Soonyoung said after a minute.

“You do?” You asked, a bit surprised.

“Yeah, I think it’s cool. You get to go stand where she stood and see the same things she saw with her own eyes. That’s definitely a good way to feel closer to someone,” He encouraged.

“It does,” you agreed.

“This might sound weird and I know we’ve only known each other a few days but would it be okay if we go to the places your mom did together?” Soonyoung asked. His eyes no longer had the sheen you saw a minute ago but instead held a mixture of empathy, excitement, and something else you couldn’t decipher. 

Before you knew it, you found yourself nodding. “I think I’d like that,” you said, a smile starting to tug at the edges of your lips. Then you leaned over the table to give him a small peck on the cheek. He looked a little stunned for a minute but then he smiled back, a wide smile that showed his teeth and you had to admit he was adorable. 

How could you go from being so annoyed by him to liking him a lot in just one day? You didn’t know but maybe your mom would have wanted this for you.

©️wooahaeproductions

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[staytinyville]

For the Greek God Collab hosted by @wooahaeproductions and @beomcoups . You can find that here: The 13 Gods of Olympus: A Seventeen Collab

➵Title: Orion’s Constellation ➵Pairings: God!Vernon x Hunter!Reader , Vernon x Reader ➵Greek God: Artemis ➵Genre: Fluff ➵Word Count: 6.7k ➵Rating: T for Teen ➵Summary: The story goes that Artemis fell in love with Orion but Apollo was jealous of that love. So he tricked Artemis into killing her love. This is a different retelling. One where rather then the huntress killing the hunter—the hunter followed the orders of the gods. And was repaid graciously.

➵A/N: This isn't Beta Read. I on gawd just finished this lol. This could have been way better I will be honest but I kind of had a writers block. Also no smut because As you can tell Vernon got the virgin goddess so NO SEX!

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↣ Special Thanks: Thank you @aaagustd for the amazing banner! Go check out her fics as well as the one she has in this colab!

It wasn’t necessarily prohibited to enter the Forest of the Gods, but there were rules to follow. You grew up on the stories each devoted follower would tell you. How someone–if you were lucky enough–you could come across a nymph or mythological monster within the woods. You hadn’t had the chance to actually see them but you have heard them. 

Oh, how much you actually want to see them, get the chance to say you saw an actual nymph.  But you knew better than to anger the gods. You valued your life much more than the curiosity you had. But just because you were cautious doesn’t mean everyone else was. 

You were cleaning your weapons by a river when you suddenly froze at the sound of something getting closer. You didn’t think much of it, not until the sound of giggling reached your ears. At that moment you were sure, they hadn’t noticed your presence. 

It wouldn’t be your fault you saw them but the gods were unforgiving. They acted before someone had the chance to explain. So you tried to quickly gather your stuff, almost dropping things in your haste, before a sound caught you off guard. 

Screams came from around the trees, the giggles having come to an abrupt stop. The screams grew louder, your body moving into action as you raced towards the fight. Your eyes went wide at the large monster scorpion that was terrorizing what you assumed to be nymphs. 

The large insect had one nymph cornered, leaning over them as it geared up its stinger. You felt a shot of adrenaline hit you, pulling out your sword before charging without a thought. You had let out a loud scream when your sword came in contact with a leg, quickly slicing it off. 

You realized what you had done the moment the creature wheezed and yelled from your assault. It quickly turned around ready to charge at you.

“Run!” You screamed at the nymphs. 

The nymphs all began to scatter, not wanting to stay and chat any longer. You didn’t get the chance to see but they were all quickly turned into birds flying high into the trees from any danger. 

You were left in the clearing alone with the angry beast, taking in a deep breath as you began to feel the terror that was intertwining with your nerves. “Oh, Gods of the Forest, please help me.”

The monster had a tough exoskeleton, so you knew the battle was going to be hard. But just like everyone else, this monster must have had a soft spot. Between each joint was an opening, something you knew from where you had cut its leg off. 

So going off that, there must have been an opening in its neck. However, reaching that area was easier said than done. 

By the time you found your opening, you had been thrown into trees, trampled on, almost stabbed twice, and your body was wearing thin. You were on your last bouts of energy–at this point it seemed like you were running off adrenaline. 

Taking in a deep breath, you charged forward without thought, arms raised and sword ready to pierce through. You slid along the ground, coming under the monster's body. With as much force as you could muster, you quickly shoved your weapon into the scorpion's jugular. 

It screamed and withered, its tail trying to curl up to get you out from under it. However you stayed attached by your sword, back scraping against the forest floor as the monster pushed and pulled. 

It wasn’t until finally the scorpion moved off to the side that your sword sliced through its neck. It had screamed one last time before ultimately falling over you, crushing your body. 

Before the tiredness rushed into your system, you struggled to get out. And once you were free you felt everything begin to shut down. You laid panting on your back, eyes looking up past the treeline to follow the clouds. 

Just before the throws of unconsciousness hit you, you saw him. 

He stood there watching over you as the light seemed to cast a glow behind him. You couldn’t see him just yet but you could make out his tunic and the golden crown of leaves he wore atop his head. 

You didn’t want to go to sleep–not when you finally had the chance to see a god up close. But it was hard to stay awake. Even if your brain was–your body was telling you not to. Your fingers twitched at your side, mouth opening and closing as it wanted to say something to him. 

But you couldn’t.

And when he leaned closer, eyes curious, you wished you had more time. But you got the chance to see his breathtaking smile–the love in his eyes as they looked at you. You heard his voice, just before falling into the otherworld. 

And the moment his deep soothing tone hit your ears, it was like a lullaby that put you to sleep.

“You did well.” 

**

It was dark by the time you came to. 

Not only was it dark, but you also found yourself waking up in your own bed with your blanket tucked tightly around you. Your fingers clenched and unclenched your bedding, face scrunching up as you tried to remember how it was you got home. 

You began to pout, feeling frustrated with yourself over the whole ordeal. It bothered you how you felt like half of your memory was missing. At least enough to where you didn’t know if you had actually made it home safely or if someone had stopped you and you just trudged your way home all sad and alone. 

Just as you began to move your feet to crawl out of bed, you suddenly came to a stop as memories of the day came rushing back. 

The scorpion, you remember, defeating and having it almost crush you. The nymphs that you seem to vaguely remember protecting. But most importantly the man who watched over you as you fell unconscious. 

You could remember his smile, the way it grew as he seemed to watch you. His eyes were curious, full of something that seemed to make you blush as you remembered it all. It made you smile bashfully, the feeling of want spreading across your chest. 

You glanced towards your window, seeing the moon high in the sky as it watched over you. You didn’t know for how long you had been resting, but it seemed like your body was ready to get up again. You still felt sore but you amounted that to the bruising you had from the hits. 

Without really knowing why, you felt yourself wanting to go outside–follow along with the wind as the moon shined down. And you didn’t try to fight it. Instead you allowed it to take you outside and into the breeze. 

You felt the air cool down your body from your heated nap. It also felt a bit better on your stinging skin. It was like an ice pack was attached. You closed your eyes as you took in a deep breath from the soothing weather. 

You could feel the moon shining down on your skin. It felt like someone wanted to hug you–like they were trying to show you how appreciative they were. Your feet moved without your consciousness, dragging along the floor as you kept your eyes shut. They were being kissed by the moon’s light, something you found yourself falling in love with. 

You stopped just at the edge of the God’s Forest. Your eyes opened to the trail that led into it, the leaves of the trees draped over the ground like a canopy. It looked beautiful on that night. No scary creatures to catch up to you–only the call of soft whispers coming from the wind. 

You weren’t terrified. You didn’t feel a lick of negative emotions as you traversed into the forest. It was the time most mortals wouldn’t dare to travel into the god’s realm. The night was when the monsters and horrors would come out to find a sad soul who got lost during the day. But you felt something shrouding you, protecting you from the eyes of those that wish to harm you. 

You could hear the splashing water before you could see it. The soft cries of playing puppies entered your ears and it made you smile to finally be able to catch the glimpses of the animals playing in the water. 

There were five puppies all biting and running around with each other while the mother laid a few paces away watching them. They were quick to hear you coming, freezing in their wakes as they turned their heads to watch you. 

They kept their curious eyes on you, but still you stopped moving for fear they would attack. But their mother didn’t get up from her spot, nor did she shift much other than lift her head to get a better look at you. 

All of you waited for the other to do something. You took the first step and smiled at the energetic puppies. 

“Hi.” You squeaked out. 

They barked at you and each other, quickly rushing towards you to get some pets and nibble on your ankles. You giggled to yourself, quickly crouching down to give them the attention they wanted. You didn’t dare to keep from looking at their mother for too long, the animal still keeping a watchful eye on you. 

Your head snapped up the same time the mother’s did as a whistle sound came from within the trees. The puppies all stopped their musings, quickly yapping away as they took off towards the sound. The mother stood up and watched them all go for a moment before turning to look at you. She waited for a moment–waited for you to move forward. 

And when you did, she allowed you to follow behind her puppies. You glanced around, smiling to yourself as the trees started to open more for the moon to shine through. You closed your eyes feeling it glow down on your face. The yipping of the puppies grew louder but softer as they seemed to rush towards something pulling you out of your stupor. 

You opened your eyes, finding them rushing towards a cottage. It had smoke coming out from the chimney, the door opened wide to allow the air to blow through. The mother seemed to brush past you in a hurry, tongue lolled out as she seemed to be in a playful mood. 

More dogs were heard behind the home, some more coming out from within the trees surrounding the clearing. More dogs seemed to come out from behind you, pushing you more forward towards where they seemed to be going. You followed through, walking towards the back of the cottage where there seemed to be a large field. 

It was a large merging of hound dogs that seemed to be of all ages and sizes. Puppies trying to nip at the senior dogs who walked with limps but still seemed to be happy about their travels.  They were being fed by the people of the forest from what you could see. As you grew closer, no one seemed to pay you any mind, just trying to feed all the animals that patiently waited for their time to eat. 

You bowed your head to the people who looked at you, a majority of people had weapons on their backs that told you exactly who they were. You stopped in the middle of the space, looking around in all directions–waiting to be told that you were not supposed to be there. But they didn’t seem to mind you, going about their business. 

“You’re here.”

You turned your head quickly trying to find the person who spoke to you. 

He had a bright smile on his face, his teeth a bright white that seemed to look like the color of the moon. His eyes were sparkling as he casually walked closer to you. You felt your heart rate pick up at the way he seemed to be looking at you. It was a soft look, one that reminded you of a lover you never had. 

A blush overcame your face as he finally came to stand in front of you. You could see everything of him up close now. You could feel his energy–it was something that radiated an energy you couldn’t explain. 

He was a god. You knew that the moment he looked at you. But what’s more–why would a god like him look at you like you were the most precious thing out there?

“You’re him–” You sputtered. “You’re the god–”

“Vernon.” He whispered, stopping you with a soft laugh. 

“I want you to call me Vernon.” He repeated. 

You gasped to yourself, looking around in a panic before bowing your head. 

“No, you don’t have to do that.” He laughed, hands going around your biceps to make you stand back up. 

The flush on your face only seemed to go further down as you realized the god of the moon was touching you. He actually dared to put his hands on a mere mortal like you. What was going on today?

“You’re-You’re touching me.” You wheezed out.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t ask.” He quickly pulled back, worried he had offended you. 

“No-No-You can touch me all you want–” You purse your lips at how odd that sounded. 

You watched as his eyes went wide and he stared at you trying to hold in his laughter. 

“I mean, not in that way obviously because you're also the god of virginity which would be weird if you thought about that in a sexual way. I really doubt you did in the first place–”

“You’re not as smart in talking as you are while fighting.” He cut you off, laughing loud.

You immediately pressed your lips together, the heat just about to get to you as it only seemed to raise your body temperature even further. But once his words seemed to register, you realized something.

“It was you.” You spoke out loud. “When I was fighting that monster.”

He smiled beautifully at you. “You fought really well. The nymphs told me they were so glad you came to save them.”

“Anyone would have done it.” You quickly answered. 

Vernon shook his head. “I believe only someone like you would be capable.”

He smiled again, nodding his head behind him to get you to follow him. You took one more glance around at the dogs and people finally concluding that these were the amazons of the forest. The warriors who hunted with such skill. 

You almost tripped as something seemed to stop at your feet. Looking down you caught sight of a puppy with its tongue sticking out as it looked up at you. You smiled bending down to give him a head pat. He was brown-golden color, around the age of 3 months if you were to go off his size. 

You knew dogs like him were not common in your world and if they were they were surely going to be expensive to buy. He still yipped behind you, happily trotting at your side as you followed his master. 

You were giggling as you looked down at him, not looking up until you bumped into something. Letting out a soft omph sound as you quickly looked up to find Vernon trying to stifle his laughter. 

“Are you alright?” He asked you with a smile. 

You nodded, a bright flush to your cheeks as your lips pulled up. Vernon looked down to the puppy at your feet, bending down to pet him. 

“Most of the pups don’t have names yet. Would you like to give him one?”

“Orion.” You quickly said, not bothering to think on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows went up but he didn’t comment on the name you gave him. “Orion then.”

He showed you his home–the small cottage at the end of the clearing you had passed on the way to follow after the dogs. It was homey enough for the one man. He had everything he needed for his hunting equipment and furniture. It was a beautiful home that made you want to stay all day and night. It made you want to stay within his embrace. 

“It’s not much but it’s home.” Vernon spoke up, moving to take some dirty clothes off the couch. 

“It’s more than enough.” You absentmindedly said. 

“Stay for dinner?” 

And you did. You also stayed the rest of the night until morning. And then you stayed that night too–going out hunting with him for the first time during the day. It was absolutly amazing to see a god like him in his actual element. 

You spent days going back into the forest getting to fight alongside him and the amazons. You learned from each other. You relished in each moment you spent together. It was more than what you could ever learn to feel for someone else. 

And then came the day that he had asked you to go hunting during the night. 

It was different than watching him durning the day in the sun. At night he would glow–he seemed more powerful. It was his destiny to be a hunter but it was more when he would go hunting at night. 

“White stags usually come out at this time of the day.” Her explained, walking so quietly you wondered if he was even touching the ground. 

“There is more than one?” You asked. 

“There have been many who dared to break the rules of the forest.” He said ominously. 

“Stop.” He whispered, hand in front of you to keep from moving further. 

You waited with a bated breath as he moved around your front, allowing you to see the most beautiful animal you had ever seen. It was large, with 10 point antlers that seemed to stretch up into the treetops. It looked powerful even if all it was doing was eating gross.

“Take the shot.” You heard the whisper behind you in your ear. 

You gasped quietly, hands shaking as they gripped your bow. Your eyes didn’t dare to move from the stag but you began to feel your body heat up from how close Vernon was to you. You could feel his breath on your neck, feel the hairs on your arms start to rise as his hands hovered over you. 

Your bow raised, but you kept still–trying to find the perfect aim. However as the deer raised its head you felt your breath get caught in your throat. You couldn’t tell if it had found your position, but it felt like it was looking at you. 

Even if the human had gone against the will of the gods, you couldn’t kill something that used to be a human. 

“I can’t do it.” You said to yourself, lowering your arms. 

It was quiet for the longest of times, the only sound being the wind that blew around you. You felt Vernon leave your side–felt his heat drop leaving you to fend in the cold. Your mouth twitched as a frown was about to overcome you. You wanted to turn around and come face to face with him–see if he was actually disappointed. 

But before you could, you saw his bright light coming from around the trees that surrounded the stag. The animal didn’t flinch, it only turned its head to the god as he grew closer. Vernon held his hand out, waiting for the animal to allow him room to reach further for him. All he did was pet the animal, smiling to himself as he happily continued. 

“You’re strong.” Vernon calmly stated. “Any other hunter would have taken the shot without hesitating.”

He continued to calmly pet the deer’s neck. You placed your bow back on your back, softly walking closer in fear of having the stag run away. But it stayed, allowing Vernon to continue his ministries. 

“The white stag is one of the greatest hunts anyone could ever have. But they too have lives and treasures they valued.” Vernon turned to you, grabbing onto your hand gently. 

He pulled it up to the deers snout, you flinching just a bit as the cold snout touched your skin. 

“They might have been humans in their past lives and were forced to atone for their sins but they were still human. It takes a real mortal to know when to stop.”

You began to giggle as the animal licked at your palm, trying to get the salt from your sweat. You could feel Vernon’s stare on you as you enjoyed your time within his forest realm. It was something that made him so happy to know that someone like you was out there to showcase what the good side of humanity was like. 

“I love you.”

When you froze, the animal had stopped licking your palm sensing your change in emotions. But you didn’t care. All you could hear was the sound of your heart beat. All you could see was Vernon’s heavenly glow in front of you. All you could feel was the strong impending high of falling in love. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the truth behind a god’s words. You knew what you had always felt from him the moment he allowed himself to be in front of you. You were alucky soul to even get the chance to see a god in person without getting turned into some kind of animal. 

And even more, nothing could have prepared you when it came to falling in love with a god. 

“Why?” You asked out loud, trying to understand the feelings of a god.

Vernon chuckled, turning away from the stag to face you fully. He reached a hand to your face, softly rubbing at your cheek with his thumb. 

“You are so much more than just a mere mortal. You are an amazing person with such an amazing heart. The moment I saw you throw yourself head first into that scorpion to defend the nymphs I knew you were a valuable hunter.”

He drew his face closer to yours, leaning down to brush his nose with yours. 

“You’ve come to mean so much to me, that I can’t bear to see you hurting.”

“Then don’t allow me to hurt.” You whispered. “Please.”

“Never.”

And his lips pressed against yours. 

It was an unexplainable feeling being kissed by a god. You’ve heard the stories of being blessed but never something as powerful as being loved by one. You could never dare to tell anyone of this hidden secret. You didn’t want to share his love with others. It was only for you and you alone. 

You could feel his lips warm against your own. Feel how he seemed to pour everything he had into you. You wanted to think he was giving you life if only for a moment. But in reality it was just the amount of love you both had for one another. 

There was nothing better than getting to love a god. 

But god’s were not meant to love mortals. 

**

You didn’t even get the chance to enjoy your love high for more than a couple hours because when you returned home that morning things made you remember that you were only a mortal in the eyes of those who lived in the heavens. 

The sun was shining brightly in the sky. It was still early enough to catch the birds making their way and the villagers waking up to start their chores. It was fresh, enough to know that today was going to be a good weather kind of day. 

But it wasn’t for you.

There was no sign of someone breaking into your home. All the doors and windows were locked and all of your things were still where they should be. 

It was the person sitting calmly at your eating table that made you gasp and reach for your bow. 

You were quick to reel it back and notch a bow. Aiming it directly at the man who sat calmly at the table. He only took a sip of whatever drink he had helped himself to and turned to you with a stoic expression. 

“You’re home.” He spoke calmly. 

“Who are you?” You demand, tightening your hand on the string. 

“How rude of me.” He stood up. 

He wasn’t the tallest of people but he was large in build. He was well put together not a single hair out of place nor a blemish on his face. 

He was godly. Something you realized the more you looked at him. It only seemed to be more true with how the sun casted behind him in a glow that made him look more powerful. It didn’t take you long to know who he was. 

“You’re the sun god.” You spoke quietly, lowering your bow. 

He turned to look behind him at the window that had the sun shining through it. “What gave it away?” 

There was something about this god that bothered you. He was intimidating in a way that left you scared of saying/doing something he didn’t like. He was one of the god who would turn you into a stag if he so pleased. 

“You should know by now I’m not here for formalities.” He grew closer to you, almost nose to nose. “To put it simply, I want you to stay away from my brother.”

Your breath got caught in your throat, words not able to form from how you could feel the world around you caving in. 

There are consequences–there will always be consequences to interacting with a god. And to love one in a romantic sense? Those usually end with tragedies. It was always like that–someone falling in love with a god and another doesn’t like that. And now that it was voiced, you knew someone else was bound to know. 

“Your silence tells me you’ll follow my rule.” He pulled back, nose turned up. “Good.” 

He didn’t say anymore, moving by you without so much as a glance. You could feel everything within you falling. It felt shattering to think about how you would no longer get to see Vernon. It made you mad–angry for Vernon to know that his brother was dictating his life. 

But you knew better–even if one god loved you, the others would still see you as a mortal. And yet you couldn’t let go.

“Why?” 

The god stopped, sighing deeply before turning around. “Why what?”

“Why-” You paused looking down to the floor because of how scared you were. “Why can’t I see him?”

Woozi frowned, giving you a look that made you feel incompetent. “Are you asking a god why they are telling you to do something?” He questioned. 

You were once again caught off guard, knowing you were in no position to question a god. But you didn’t want to give up on that kind of love. Not when you felt something so special.

“I’ll put it this way, if you don’t stop seeing Vernon you’re punishment will hurt more than just you.” 

Your first thought was Vernon. You couldn’t possibly know what Woozi had in mind but you couldn’t bear the thought of having him heartbroken. You had no clue what the sun god was capable of. But from the other stories they weren’t above fighting with each other even if they were family. 

All of them were ruthless. 

“I’ll stay away from him.” You spoke quietly, looking down to the ground. “Just–Don’t hurt him.”

“He is my brother. I will only ever want what’s best for him.” Woozi told you. “Even if I have to be cruel.”

He went to turn around again, only to stop. “Gods don't ask for something without returning. There will come a day when your cooperation will be rewarded.” 

And he left you to your own devices. 

The sun burning on your back made tears pool in your eyes. There would be no escaping the angry sun god. They saw and knew everything–no matter if the moon was high in the sky, Woozi would always know. 

You weren’t able to count how long you had stayed sitting at your table. How many days had passed. How many nights you could feel the moon looking at you through the window. How many times you wish to yourself you were able to see him. 

He didn’t come looking for you. 

You wondered if it was because he had lied or if it was because he was threatened too. It took 7 days before you found yourself believing in something once more. 

You still had yet to leave your home, bustling about in your bed–moving to and fro to the dinning table to stomach some kind of broth because you knew you couldn’t eat anything else. Your weapons had begun to rust in such a small amount of time you wondered if perhaps they had been cursed just as you. 

You sat crossed legs on the floor of your cottage, picking away at the floorboards in a numbing situation when you heard scratching at the front door. You only glanced towards the door the first time, thinking maybe you had just heard it in your head. 

When you heard it again, louder this time, you finally gave it your attention. You hadn’t gotten the chance to get up before a loud banging was heard along with the scratches. You huffed to yourself, getting annoyed with whoever was at the door and was daring to face your mopping mood. 

Just as the next bang was heard, you swung the door open. “What!?” 

You froze in your spot finding no one standing outside your door. Sticking your head out you tried to look around until you felt something on your legs. You flinched and let out a short yell, hand flying to your chest to cradle your scared heart. 

Looking down your breath got caught in your throat at the animal standing before you. 

The puppy had gotten much bigger in the week that you had last seen him. He almost reached your knees at this point and it made your heart clench at how long it had actually been since you last saw Vernon. 

“Orion.” You whispered, slowly crouching down to meet the dog face to face. 

Your hands fell into his ears, brushing them through the soft fur. Your nose began to run–head burning from the tears pooling in your eyes. 

“Orion.” You cried, pulling him in to rub your cheek along his head. 

You found yourself having trouble trying to breathe. An attack was coming on from how all your emotions were finally catching up to you. It had been a long week, and this was just something that you needed to see. 

Maybe you weren’t able to have someone there to calm you down but you did have the one thing between you and Vernon to hold on to. Once you had let go of everything you held onto, you pulled back to hold Orion’s cheeks between your hands. 

“Even if we don’t see each other in this life again,” You looked up into the bright blue sky, the Moon sitting there by itself with no clouds in sight. “I know you’ll always be there.”

~~~~~~~~

“What time is it?” A sleepy Woozi asked, startling awake from his slumber. 

You looked up from your tablet, glancing his way before checking the time. “It’s currently 10.”

“Did I fall asleep?”

You gave Jihoon a deadpanned look, waiting for him to answer his own question. “You’ve been asleep for two hours.”

“Two hours! Why didn’t you say anything!?” He groaned, quickly moving his fingers along the buttons of his soundboard before you stood up.

You quickly shut off the thing after he had turned it back on, knowing that everything he was working on had been saved two hours before. “Because you need the sleep. And I know you weren’t going to take it at the dorm.”

Turning around from him, you began to gather your things, slipping your jacket on. “Let’s get home first. Just until you have to wake up tomorrow.”

“But I have so much time left-”

“And I have a dog to take out.” You retorted. 

Woozi stopped, shoulders dropping as he swiveled his chair around to face you. “You know your job ends at 5. Why are you still here?”

“My job ends when you get home safely.” You told him. “And close your whittle eyes to fall into dreamland.”

“Out of all the bodyguards, I get stuck with you.” Woozi rubbed at his forehead. “Why?”

“I ask the same thing everyday.” You grinned. “I like to think in a past life you did something terrible to warrant someone as annoying as me in your life.”

“How stupid of me.” He whispered to himself. “I’m going.”

You could remember how fresh out of the academy you were when applying to be the bodyguard to some idol. It started off as a background character in the guards who were just there for social distancing. You had been the only one to stay long enough to see so many promotions until finally reaching the personal bodyguard to one of the members of Seventeen. 

The last one you could have possibly wanted for some reason or another just so ended up being the one you had to take care of. You didn’t have any personal issues with Jihoon but there was something that struck your heart every time you looked at him. 

There were times you were scared of doing the wrong thing and having him punish you. In the beginning it was like walking around eggshells, trying to gauge what kind of person he was. But after so long you found him to be charming and caring. He took your words to heart–oftentimes following what you had to say about his health. 

Besides he knew no one else was as well versed in health as you were going to be. 

You overcame that fear at one point. Turning him into one of your closest friends. There was nothing you could ever want to give up the friendships you had with all of the members of Seventeen. 

Woozi’s phone lit up signaling someone was calling. A blush overtook your face and a smile fell onto your lips when you saw the contact photo on the screen. 

“It’s Vernon.” You called over your shoulder, handing the man his phone. 

Woozi pouted his lips, watching you with suspicion. He ultimately had to take the phone and got an earful from not only the American/Korean but also some of the other younger members. His face showed how tired he was but he followed you along to the garage park as his brothers screamed in the background. 

You took the driver's seat allowing the man to rest up in the passenger. Once he finally hit the end call button he let out a deep sigh and rested back against the seat. You gave him a pointed look, but knew he wouldn’t be able to see. 

“Do you like Vernon?”

You almost lost grip on the steering wheel as you sputtered from Woozi’s question. “What?”

“Do you like Vernon?” Woozi asked again, turning to face you. “I’ve noticed for a while now. You’re not you when he’s around. It’s like you look at him with some kind of glow that only happens when someone is in love.”

“You know what love looks like?” You questioned instead. 

He swallowed, thinking about it for a moment. “I think I did.”

There was a red light that had you stopped and looking at him honestly. You sighed, turning around before falling back into the seat. 

“I don’t know what to call it.” You began. “I just feel like there’s something I need to be seeing but can’t.”

You turned to look at him resting against the seat. “Does it bother you?”

He cracked one eye open, looking at you before going back to resting. “Not at all.”

You guys didn’t speak anymore longer until you reached the dorms. You allowed him to get off first before going after him gathering all your things. You lived in the same building as the boys–the other personal bodyguards doing the same. So it was normal to walk with him up to the floor he needed to get to. 

Before you could walk away and to your own destination, Woozi stopped. 

“This isn’t our past lives. This is now.” He told you. “Take the chance this time.”

Woozi frowned, thinking about his words before smiling to himself. He walked away chuckling to himself, giving you a backwards wave before turning a corner out of sight. You grinned, laughing to yourself at his words. 

You seemed to be in a better mood as you walked into your dark apartment, hearing the clicks of nails along the floor. 

“Hey, Arty.” You smiled, crouching down to pet the soft golden fur of your dog. 

It was around the time you met all the boys that you got the dog. He was only a puppy at the time which made things hard to control with a job and a puppy to train but you had a handle on things. It made sense to you–getting a pet at the moment. Especially when you had walked past that pet shop to see him looking at you. 

It felt right. 

“Come on. Let’s go for your walk.”

It wasn’t really ideal to take a dog out for a walk at 11 at night but it wasn’t like you ever went far. The apartment building had its own courtyard which oftentimes allowed him to run freely. It wasn’t for long–only enough to play fetch and then go back to do your business before bed. 

On a normal day you would be getting home around 2 in the morning because Woozi decided to stay in the studio during comeback season. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to but it was the career you wanted. There was something about getting the chance to protect the boys in your own way. It brought a smile to your face to hear their praises for how good you were at your job. An ego boost almost. 

As you threw the ball once more for Arty to fetch, you laughed to yourself at his large body bounding towards the ball. But suddenly there was something that was calling to you. 

Turning to look up at the sky you smiled at the moon shining down at you. Standing right next to it was Orion’s constellation, the one you could easily distinguish since you were a little kid. 

“The constellation next to the moon is Orion.” 

Turning around you gave a smile to the man walking closer to you. 

“Yeah, I think that’s one of the first ever constellations I knew about.” You told Vernon. 

He walked closer to you, standing at your side as the both of you looked up at the sky.

“The story was that Artemis loved Orion because he was a great hunter. But Apollo didn’t like them together so he tricked his sister into killing him.” You retold him somberly. “But she had him turned into stars.”

Vernon hummed, nodding his head along. 

“I don’t think she killed him.” 

You turned to face him, watching as he went on to explain his story. 

“To me the story went that Orion love Artemis so much the day that Apollo told him to stay away he listened because he didn’t want Artemis to be hurt. So he sacrificed their love for her to remain without pain.”

Your lips pulled up into a smile. “I like that story much better.”

Arty came bounding up to your legs, happy to see Vernon. 

“Hey, Arty.” The man giggled, hand moving to pet the dog. 

“Why are you up?” You asked. 

“Moon keeps me awake.” Vernon laughed. “Besides, I like coming out here when you do.”

There was something thumping in your heart. It made your hands sweat but it also made your head full of air that seemed to have you in a high. You could never really explain why you were so attached to Vernon in that kind of matter. But you knew that felt right.It felt right to be with him. 

Like things were finally where they needed to be.

“I do too.”

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[suugarbabe]

alright wifey, here's a little request for ya. I'm thinking enzo in a modern au at a haunted house or something and he works there as a scareactor, reader is being dragged there by their friends and gets scared by like everything. maybe a little mean enzo like at first he just finds it funny how actually terrified they get when he scares them so he starts following the group to pop out at them everywhere but like he also thinks it's kinda cute?? also I need him to wear a mask. maybe after reader goes on a mission to find that annoying actor to rip that stupid mask off his face and then they realize oh this guy is kinda fine. hope this makes at least a little bit of sense, love youuu 💕💕💕

I love love love that you suggested Enzo because I think his build (at least how I see him) is perfect for this 😇 and perfect for spoooky season 🎃

an: this turned out waaaay longer than anticipated, i may have gotten carried away in the spirit of the season; hope it does not suck

Frustrated. Livid. Infuriated. Pick a synonym for anger and you were feeling it right now at every single one of your friends that have dragged you to this god awful haunted house. And it seemed like you were the only one who felt this way. Around you were squeals and giggles from people excited to either enter the haunted house or playful screams from those being approached by the scare actors tasked with keeping the patrons adrenaline up before entering the main attraction.

Your arm was looped with your friends next to you and you squeezed her closer as two short clowns came dancing by, giggling and twisting their heads this way and that at the people in line. “Babes, I love you, but if you hold my arm any tighter I might be able to join the crew as the new one armed woman,” Daphne started teasing, even though she, herself, also took another step backwards with you as what appeared to be a headless man holding a rotting jack o lantern on stilts made its way through the crowded line.

"Listen, I agreed to come. I did not agree I would enjoy it; this is your own doing," your hold did not loosen as the line began to move forward. A girl about your height stood at the entry, clad in what looked like an old hospital gown covered in different splats of blood; some that looked like handprints. Her hair styled in two messy pig tails atop her head with the makeup on her face applied to make her look more pale and sickly.

Her voice was higher in pitch as she counted the people being ushered in through the entrance door, "One, two, oh you will do quite nicely, yes; five, six, beautiful jacket I hope it survives without getting blood on it." You and your friends just barely made the cut, settling into the room with the others. Your plan was to hover in the background, hoping that if you avoided the front that other people would take the brunt of the horror of the house.

The sickly looking scare actor's voice was suddenly right behind you, so close it felt like she was whispering in your ear and causing you to nearly jump out of your skin, "Most people think that the back is the safest place to be, but it's far easier to get left behind," she circled around your left side, head titled and pig tails dangling. The singular white contact in her right eye made her look a little extra deranged which only made you shudder more, "We wouldn't want that happening to you, now would we?"

All you could manage was a quick shake of your head as a sickly high pitched giggle then erupted from her lips as she maneuvered her way to the front of the room where three doors stood on the back wall. "Our house is full of fun and adventures," she slapped her hand against the door in the middle; a loud, ripping of a chainsaw sounded causing a number of people in the group to jump. "I never leave because my friends are here and we just have the best time playing," she slapped her hand against the door to her right. A sharp, piercing but muffled scream emitted from behind the wood, "HELP ME, PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME, GET ME OUT OF HERE, SHE WON'T LET ME GO!"

The sickly girl held her hand up to her mouth as she smiled and softly laughed, "She is so silly, isn't she silly?" She asked a woman in front of her who seemed to nod in agreeable just to avoid what may have come with telling her no. The sickly girl then pointed and wagged her finger at the door on the right, pouting her lips, "I'll deal with you later, friend."

She turned back to the group, unsettling smile almost too wide on her face. She walked sideways to the door on the left, placing her handle, "The glowing arrows show the way if you were to choose not to stay," she opened the door wide, plastic flaps you would seat in a meat cooler hanging in the doorway. "Remember, don't touch my friends and they won't touch you," the front of the group started through, the sound of the plastic flapping against the walls on the other side.

As you and your friends began to enter, the sickly girl was behind you again, "And don't get left behind." You gasped, turning around only to be met with the door slamming in your face. A large white sign with what was supposed to look like blood (but you were hoping was just paint) read "NOT AN EXIT" dripping down. You turned back round to see Daphne starting to walk away from you.

Hurriedly you caught up to her, holding on the the sleeve of her jacket and your group began to maneuver themselves around the maze like hallways. You weren't completely wrong about your idea to stay in the back. There were a few jump scares by scare actors while in the halls that by time you reached them they simply growled or barred their teeth or fake (very real looking) weapons towards you.

"I fucking hate it here, Daphne, I will never forgive you for this--fuckING BLOODY GOD DAMN SHIT HELL!" As the rest of the group began to enter a large black lit room with what sounded like a dozen creepy clowns in cages, a lone scare actor with a mask leap from behind the door right in front of you. His mask was not necessarily scary, per say. But the realistic ness made it all the more creepy.

He towered over you, his mask emulating similarly to an old porcelain doll with a few exceptions. There were large holes in each eye, so what you were terrifyingly looking into were the actors actual eyes. A large crack went across the left brow to his cheek, dark almost black looking blood coming from it. The bottom jaw was separated, but held together to the top half of the face with wire threading through where the lips should be. This gap allowed you to see where his lips should be coated in fake blood.

You were frozen to the spot, the scare actor in front of you flashing a smile of perfectly white teeth had they not had smudges of blood over them, "You're getting left behind, love." You turned your head to see your friends in front of you again, hustling your way back to them. You grabbed onto Astoria's arm this time instead, "I hate it here, I hate it here, I hate it here." Astoria just laughed, encouraging you to 'just have fun with it', as you all made it through the first room and into the next.

Something was starting to make you think being there was actually making you go crazy as it seemed like the same porcelain masked man was in every other room in the house. He popped through the window of the run down shed seemingly aiming to scare you directly as his low deep voice called out to you, "Hiya, darling," Another string of curses flew from your mouth, "Shit shit fucking shitfuck." You tried your best to push your friends further in the group, swearing you heard a low chuckle behind you.

He was seemingly chained against a wall two rooms after that, arms spread on either side of his head. While everyone else in the room was being frightened by the other actors, Porcelain mask seemed to be calling out to you once more. "C'mon baby, come and save me, won't you set me...free," you let out a high pitched screech, jumping further away from the wall as one of his hands seemed to burst from the chains and grab out at you."

"It's fine," Daphne assured you, "he's not going to touch you if you don't touch him remember?" You started walking in front of her, "I know that, but someone should remind him." Astoria playfully rolled her eyes as she held the curtain back for you to enter the next room. It seemed as if you were in the clear of Porcelain mask, the last two rooms you went through having no sign of him.

To exit the haunted house you had to go through a more narrow, very dark (very dark) hallway to the last door. It was a swinging door on side hinges, you knew it was the last one because every person who exited in front of you gave way to the sounds outside. So close, you're so close, you kept chanting to yourself like a mantra. It seemed like the only real scares in this area were random recordings of screams or quick flashes of light on a grim scene on one of the walls.

Keeping your eyes forward and aimed at your target (the door), another flash of light occurred. Only this time, you saw him. Porcelain mask was standing flat against the wall and when the light flashed, his head jerked quickly, looking straight. at. you. Trying to keep your cool you held your eyes to the same spot as to be aware of where he was and be able to dodge any attempt he would make.

Only when the light flashed again he was gone from the spot. Thrust into darkness again you went to grab Daphne's hand in front of you. Something wasn't right; why did her hand feel so...large. Another flash of light and you see that Porcelain mask is not only in front of you...but you were holding his hand.

Once again cloaked in darkness you were pushed against the wall as the lights began to strobe. The scare actor had a large hand on each side of your head, tall and broad towering over you. The flash from light to dark ness made his movements all the more horrifying as he tilted his head to the side before slowing bringing the mouth of his mask next to you ear, "Do I frighten you, angel?"

You ducked underneath his arms and bolted for the exit door. Pushing through it harshly, the hinges creaking as you made your exit, you frantically searched for your friends. "Over hear!" Daphne waved you over some ten meters from the exit, "You nearly did get left behind huh?" She meant it as a playful joke, erupting in teasing laughter as you flipped her off.

Over her shoulder you saw none other than Porcelain mask exiting the haunted house and heading towards a fenced off area. "I'll be right back," you tossed over your shoulder at your friends as you made your way in the same direction as the person that was torturing you all night.

You found that, luckily, the area wasn't really fenced off, and you were able to slip through a slightly open portion to what you discovered was like a 'break' area for the scare actors. You glanced around, spotting the porcelain mask sitting on top of a picnic table, three or four scare actors standing around and chatting.

In some new found confidence that was bubbling in your veins, you marked right up the table, snatching the mask and holding it up, "Who's is this?" A creepy clown and bloody hospital patient took a step back. In front of you, a tall man with soft brunette hair turned around locking your stare with his, "Looking for me?"

You wrapped an arm around your middle, "Y-yeah, who do you think you are, huh?" The man laughed lightly, "I'm Enzo, so very please to be formally introduced. And that's mine, angel. Can I have it back?" He wore a shit eating smirk, coffee brown eyes twinkling with delight.

The mask was most definitely his. The only horror makeup on his face where the crack in the eye would be and around his mouth. You stood up slightly taller, "No, Enzo, you can't have it back." His eyebrows shot up cockily, "Oh? And why's that?" You stared at him dumbstruck for a moment. His eyes had a playful glint, smirk so deep that dimples popped into each cheek.

You felt a blush creep up your neck under his gaze but you did your best to keep your voice steady as you spoke, "You think that just because you have adorable little dimples under this mask that I'm not going to be mad at you for following me around all night?" His head tilted slightly at this, not much unlike when he had you pinned against the wall in the last hall, "You think my dimples are adorable, hmm?"

Scoffing you look off to the side to break eye contact, "I, erm-" He cut you off, taking a step closer to you, your knees hitting the back of the bench, you reach for the tabletop behind you, clamoring back until you're sitting atop the table. This does nothing but give him leverage as he leans forward now, placing a hand on the table on either side of your hips. "S'alright, you're quite adorable too," he leaned in closer, "s'why I followed you around all night. Cute little angel with the sailors tongue." He was so close, lips ghosting near the shell of your ear as he spoke, "Wonder what else I can make you scream."

[llamagoddessofficial]

i love the good aquarium au! i want to see the fishes happy 🩷o🩷 How do the sirens interact with mc in this version? 🩷

Sans: He has to wait much longer than his bad AU counterpart to get to 'play' with her. This aquarium is very safety-focused, and unwilling to have anyone even near his open tank, let alone in it. Despite his obvious obsession and courting displays, Mc remains safely behind thick barriers and high out of his reach- the only chance he'll get is if he proves he can behave, and Mc herself is the one who approaches management about the subject of swimming with him.

Her presence clearly has benefits on him, so she spends a lot of time on his shifts, talking to him from up on the railings or entertaining him through the glass, sometimes just doing homework by the dappled blue light of his tank. He does occasionally attempt to pull her into the water, whether he's breaching and knocking the railing or grabbing a feeding pole and yanking it (in the hopes of yanking her in with it)... but he's always unsuccessful.

It gives them time to get to know one another more. Time for him to mellow, realise that just because she leaves when her shift is over doesn't mean she won't come back. Time, so that when they do finally make physical contact, it's a gentle and mutual experience that leaves him feeling like things in his world are going to be okay.

Red: Again, poor Red has to wait a lot longer in this AU to get to swim with his girlfriend. But not as long as Sans. Since Red's so well behaved with humans, his keepers interact with him a lot more closely (albeit while wearing plenty of hand and arm protection), giving him lots of chances to flirt with her close-up. He gets many more opportunities than Sans to show that he can behave with her; though 'behaving' still includes grabbing her butt if she lets her guard down too long.

... In this AU, the aquarium knows Red considers her his mate. Mc does too. After she was suddenly hired, the first thing management did was put her on a pretty intense and in-depth learning course. Now even if he's flirting like a siren she knows exactly what's going on. Initially, it made the aquarium cautious about letting her swim with him- but since he's never going to be released, it might be alright after all. It does make life easier when it comes to things like giving him medicine; he doesn't bite when it's his mate doing the medical checkup.

Skull: Mc ends up interacting physically with Skull a lot sooner than anyone intended. At first, there was obviously zero contact thanks to his kill, she'd only even THINK of interacting physically with Skull if she was completely confident he'd never hurt her. And that kind of confidence would only come from a long while working with him, perhaps years.

... Thing is. He's a clever boy, he wants Mc's affection. And he won't wait years. He makes a 'hobby' out of breaking security measures and pulling her into the tank- at first it's a terrifying incident, but as it happens over and over, it loses its shock value and becomes something of an in-joke at the aquarium. Especially since he never actually does anything... just pulls her in, cuddles her, then politely sets her back on the side of the tank like nothing happened. No matter what they do, Skull just finds increasingly more and more complicated and innovative ways to snatch her into his pool.

Eventually, they can clearly see he's not going to kill her- and they decide it's probably just easier for everyone if she interacts with him in person. He's going to grab her anyway, may as well let him do it before he finds a way to break every security measure they have.

[vhagarlovebot]

take a moment and think about aemond as ghostface. but he’s killing everyone around you because he wants you all for himself. every person that crosses paths with you ends up dead and once you caught up on what is happening you don’t know who to trust. that’s when the cute boy from your history class who’s always helping you appears. but you can’t really trust him, still afraid of the psychopath who is, apparently, obsessed with you. but he wins your trust when you find him bleeding out in the hall. together you come up with a plan to catch him but every time you’re about to, he slips through your fingers and a new person ends up dead.

until one night when aemond goes to your apartment—just like he’s been doing for the past two months—and finds you sleeping on your bed; looking so peaceful and pretty. he watches you until your eyes flutter open, and you find the psychopath in the white mask looking at you, knife to your throat. you don’t scream, too afraid of what he can do if you do, you try to focus on something else. and that’s when you notice it is the first time you see him without the usual black attire. he’s just wearing normal clothes and it scares you even more, knowing he’s a normal person doing all of this. you wonder if he goes to the same college, if you spoke at any time. you stop breathing when he gets on top of you, parting your legs with his free hand, caressing your thigh until he cups your clothed cunt. frozen in place all you can do is watch and feel him roam your body. it makes you sick but a flame of hope burns in your heart thinking of aemond, knowing he should be home in no time. he will save you. “aemond… please hurry.” your whisper makes ghostface laugh, knife going up to your cheek, slowly and softly making its way around your face and neck. ghostface tsks, shaking his head. his movements are slow and calculated, even when he leans in, face mere inches from your face. “oh, sweet girl. he’s not coming.” you’re too afraid to recognize the voice, ready to give up and accept your destiny when… “he’s already here.” you watch with surprise and curiosity how he takes the mask off, revealing the last person you would have thought. your heart stops beating and breath gets caught in your throat. he has a wicked smile on his face, eyes so dark you can’t see the blue irises that gave you peace and reassurance at some point.

once again he moves the knife to your neck, applying enough pressure to draw blood. you hiss, body shaking with fear and something else you can’t recognize. “don’t look so surprised, i know you had your doubts about me.” he speaks quietly, kissing you on the cheek and dragging his lips downwards, stopping just above the recent cut. you can’t stop looking at him, some strange force forcing you to keep looking at the mad man. aemond keeps the eye contact all the time, even when he sucks the blood still emanating from your neck. when he pulls away, a bloody smile is plastered on his face. you feel dizzy, head spinning and eyes barely focusing on his face. you don’t know if it’s due to the cut or the recent events…. or maybe all of it. just one thought races through your mind; why would he do this? deep down you know the answer, it is only easier to pretend you don’t know. aemond grabs your chin and slaps your cheek, a sharp pain waking up all nerve ending in your body. next thing you know, his lips are on yours. it is bloody, rough, dirty. it feels good. when you moan into his mouth aemond takes it as an opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips and wreck you. your hips start moving on its own seeking friction, which aemond gives you by smacking his clothed cock against you. “you’re fucking sick.” you groan at losing his lips, smeared with your blood. he keeps thrusting into you as he cuts your top with one swift movement of his hand. you arch your back and his smile grows bigger, your round breasts too inviting. he cuts just above your nipple, his hot mouth immediately sucking and calming the ardor. you moan his name, hands pulling at his hair. “i need more… need you.” you cry out, making him laugh. but he gives you exactly what you ask for.

well, you were going to hell anyway.