#hes in pain in bed watching not dead yet while crying

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Marry Me (Pope Cody)

Description: The craziness of the Cody’s and Y/N

Warning: Smutty

Word Count: 1,510

Author’s Note: I wrote this over a year ago while I was watching Animal Kingdom and I haven’t edited it yet.

Y/N knew that he was the one,she’s always known. The crush she had on him happened when she was young,18 years old to be exact. She was Deran’s age, they were best friends. She even pretended to be his girlfriend when he was still in the closet. But ever since she was an adult she’s been in love with Pope Cody who had like 12 years on her.

That never mattered to her. He never really saw her as anything more than Deran’s best friend until he got out of prison. At this point J had moved in. Y/N felt for him and was super nice to him and Pope hated that. He wasn’t sure why but he did but he wasn't a fan of J. She greeted Pope with a smile and a welcome back and it was in that moment that he realized he saw her in a different light.

He was in prison for some time and during that time she became a woman. He wanted to be social and talk with her but didn’t. When she found out that he had sex with a stripper she was pissed. Though she didn’t have a right to be. They weren’t together. On jobs Y/N almost got distracted by him multiple times. He was very demanding during those times which turned her on. And then Katherine disappeared and Pope was in shambles.

She knew he loved her and it broke her. Why couldn’t he love her? What got them together was the fact that he had felt guilty for killing Kath. He ran to her and cried. She never saw the man cry before and when he exposed what Smurf made him do she was shocked. But she didn’t hate him or blame him. She’s aware of how Smurf was. She manipulated Pope. Y/N could see that. It was in the heat of the moment that she kissed him.

Both of their tears came together. He kissed her back to her surprise. And one thing led to another and they had sex, passionate and loving sex. It changed their lives. Ever since that night they’ve been together. Though it wasn’t easy at first, Pope wasn’t an easy going person towards these things but Y/N was patient. When Baz got killed she was by his side and cried with him.

She didn’t leave his side knowing the pain he felt. He appreciated that and during those times the three magic words were exchanged. “I love you Pope.” She softly said to him as they were in bed. He looked over at her with a soft look in his eyes. “I love you too.” He said. He meant it too, he really did love her. He was glad to have her in his life. Y/N had watched in horror as Smurf shot Pope. She didn’t process that he wasn’t dead at first.

Her cries were heard through the group as Smurf was going crazy. J had shot her and everyone went silent. She watched Pope go crazy during that time. He was losing himself and Y/N needed to save him. She knew that Smurf meant a lot to him. It was scary. She woke up one morning and he wasn’t in the bed. She got up hoping he was in the kitchen. But he wasn’t. She sighed and J walked in the house.

“Oh good you’re up. Pope is in the hospital.” He told her. “What?” She freaked out. J drove her to the hospital so they could pick him up. She ran up to the man and hugged and kissed him a million times. “Baby what happened?” She asked with tears in her eyes. “I don’t remember.” He told her. She felt like she was losing him. She told J that she would stay with him and not leave his side. She wasn’t letting this happen again.

He told her he couldn’t stay here. The house he grew up in. Y/N sighed but told him that she would go anywhere with him and that it didn’t matter as long as they were together. But Pope wanted time alone. He didn’t exactly break up with her but he told her that he wanted space. She fought him and told him she didn’t think he should be alone. But in the end he left. She was broken, worried and couldn’t sleep.

J watched as the poor woman crumbled. Deran also watched and tried his best to help her but it was no use. The only person that could make her better ran away. It was weeks later when Pope returned. Y/N didn’t walk up to him and hug and kiss him like she would. She didn’t know if he wanted that. But Pope felt sadness when she didn’t. Did she not care anymore? Was she over him? “She’s been a wreck without you man.” Deran told his older brother.

Pope felt awful for leaving. He caused her pain. She was still in their shared bedroom and didn’t have plans of moving out it seemed which made Pope feel a little better. He heard the shower running and knew she was in there. He decided to surprise her and get in with her. She gasped out of horror but calmed when she realized it was Pope. They stared at each other. Not really moving. His eyes bore into hers.

She took the first step and wrapped her arms around his neck. She leaned up and kissed him. He kissed back without a thought. The slow passionate make out session turned heavy and she was pressed up against the shower wall. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. He let out a groan at the tightness of her once he was inside. She whimpered at how big he was.

She would never be used to it. He started moving slowly. He didn’t want this moment to be over so fast. Both of them soaking wet and clinging to each other was the best thing they’ve both felt in weeks. Her head was back on the shower wall and his lips attached to her neck. He made mark and mark moving down as he started thrusting faster. Her beautiful moans filled the shower and he even grunted here and there.

He loved watching her fall apart. It was his favorite thing. When she started panting and squeezing him he knew she was close. He pulled away from her neck to watch her fall apart. As she came she let out the most pornographic moan he’s ever heard. He slowed his pace to ride it out for her.

Once she came down he started thrusting again to get to his release. She watched as he closed his eyes. Her hands moved over him as she whispered sweet nothings in his ears. It was long after that he groaned and she felt him cum. He opened his eyes breathing hard and saw that she watched him and was running her fingers through his soaked hair. “I love you.” She whispered. “I love you too.” He kissed her. 

Since then it’s like he never ran away. Things were perfect and with the heist they just went on and went well they celebrated. All of them are having dinner together. Pops laughed and smiled and it made her so happy. She took the moment to do something that she felt like was long overdue. She stood up and they all looked at her. “I uh I’m not very good at speeches so bare with me. Pope ever since I was 18 years old I’ve loved you. I never cared that you barely talked or you went a little crazy at times. I was head over heels. So much that Deran and Baz teased me for it.” Deran laughed at the memory.

“Nonetheless when you went to prison I was sad and when you came back I made it my destiny to get you to see that I wasn’t the little girl you once knew. These past few years have been amazing and we’ve been through some crazy times and I couldn’t ask for a better partner. So I guess what I’m getting at is that I love you so much and I want to be with you forever.” She got on one knee. Everyone’s jaw dropped.

“Pope will you marry me?” She asked the man. Pope looked at her with love and adoration. He didn’t have that normal Pope stare. “Aren’t I supposed to ask you?” He asked her. “Oh shit that reminds me.” She pulls out the ring. “Holy shit.” Craig says. The ring was beautiful. She had planned this. “You bought that?” J asked.

She nodded and looked at Pope with hopefully eyes. He smiled and chuckled. “Yes.” He nods. She giggles and leans up to kiss him. His brothers and nephew clap and cheer. “You do realize that we have to redo this with me getting down on one knee right?” He said. She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She giggled. 

[orangesand-lemons-234]

[talaok]

How it was

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After Abby's attempt at Joel's life, he's in the hospital, and while you try to navigate through the difficult feelings having almost lost him bring up, his mind seems to be on a much different, inappropriate, thing.

Warnings: talk of Joel almost dying, mentions of blood. Smut| oral sex (m receiving), attempt at fingering (lol), talk of f receiving oral, and Joel's dirty mouth.

a/n: i haven't watched the new episode yet bc im tired of crying but what i can tell you for sure is that did not happen, my baby is fine and ellie has never been happier.

"Well good mornin' to me"

You were bent over the armchair tidying what had transformed into your bed for the past ten days when you heard him.

His raspy morning voice had you turning around with a smile.

You let go of the blanket in your hand as you walked closer to his bed.

The rising sun was filtering through the windows of the hospital, illuminating his upper body with a golden light.

His face was still bruised and swollen and they hadn't yet taken his stitches out.

A bittersweet feeling filled your heart every time you looked at him, every time he winced as he sat up, every time you watched him struggle to walk for more than ten steps... it hurt, and yet it filled you with joy.

He was alive- he'd come so very close, the closest he'd ever come to the end of it all, and he had survived- he was still here, with you.

"Good morning" you beamed, taking his hand in yours as you sat on his bed "How're you feeling?"

He smirked, but you felt him squeeze your hand tenderly "Would feel a lot better if you turned around and showed me that view again"

You could only roll your eyes, chuckling softly.

"Really baby, you feeling any pain? You need something?"

His lips formed a soft small smile as he brought your hand to his mouth to leave a kiss on it.

"'M great babygirl, dontcha worry"

You very much doubted he was great, but you nodded nonetheless.

He never wanted you to worry, which was silly, because there was nothing else you did these days besides worrying.

"Now c'mon, give me some sugar"

"Joel" you protested immediately "I don't wanna hurt you, let's at least wait to see what the nurse says about the stitches"

You talked as if your protests had ever been anything but futile, as if the moment he gave you those sweet puppy eyes and his honeyed voice called your name you weren't already leaning closer.

"I don't care if it kills me darlin', just give me a kiss"

You stopped dead in your tracks, your mouth an inch from his, your breathing one with his.

"don't joke about that"

You knew it was just a stupid joke. But nothing was really a joke anymore, not since you witnessed him being carried into Jackson unconscious, his bloody face beaten to a pulp, his body so close to being lifeless... you knew that image would haunt you for the rest of your life.

"'m sorry, doll" he apologized, his eyes looking into yours with all the care and love inside him "'m here" he promised, squeezing your hand.

You closed your eyes for a moment, holding back the tears threatening to spill.

"Don't scare me like that ever again"

Your tone was serious, matter of factly, because it all was true. You knew, with terrifying certainty, that if anything like that were to ever happen again, you wouldn't survive it.

"I won't" he murmured, your hand in his the only thing grounding you "I promise you, darlin'"

There were so many more things to say, so many things you had to talk about, so many feelings, fears, and hopes bubbling inside you, and yet all you could do at that very moment was press your lips to his, kissing the man you'd feared losing forever, just to lose yourself in him.

The kiss was sweet, soft, tender even.

You didn't wanna hurt him, his lips were still cut and his cheeks were still bruised.

But despite it all, the feeling of kissing him was exactly the same. If there was one thing that hadn't changed, it was the way he made everything else disappear, every hurt, scare, and sadness dissipated into thin air when his lips were on yours- when his stubble grazed your face, his hands held you, his scent hugged you tight...

It always became just you and him.

And then Joel groaned in pleasure, and in what you knew from experience to be frustration.

Your mouths were still connected, just as your hands, only his tongue was now sloppily tasting you deeper, as his other hand, his injured, tired hand, found your thigh, slowly traveling up and up until two of his fingers infiltrated between your thighs, rubbing your cunt through your jeans.

You couldn't help but huff a laugh.

There he was, bedridden and barely alive, and he was still trying to get in your pants... quite literally.

"Joel" you chuckled.

He didn't answer, instead, he only compelled his head to lean forward to deepen your kiss as his hands started fighting with the button holding your jeans together.

The angle was uncomfortable and he was very clearly struggling, but you just sighed into his mouth, silencing your amusement.

It took about a full minute for him to unbutton your pants, but once he finally did, he slid two of his fingers beneath the fabric as quickly as he could, which wasn't a lot given the position.

You obeyed his silent command to spread your legs, but even as his fingers reached your clothed slit, he couldn't do much more than try to caress your pussy.

"Baby" you murmured with a smile as he desperately tried to pleasure you "do you really think now's the time?"

"yeah," he breathed without missing a beat.

Just then his fingers drew higher and came in contact with your clit, making you stifle a soft moan.

But the jeans were too damn tight, and he really had no space to work with.

"take 'em off"

You couldn't help but grin.

He had not changed. Not one bit.

"Joel I can't exactly take my pants off in here right now"

He groaned, his big brown eyes pleading you.

"why not?"

You laughed as you took his wrist in your hand and started leading his fingers off of you, to which he protested with a frustrated noise deep in his chest.

"Because baby... not only is the door open" you said, glancing at it " but anyone could come in at any moment"

He groaned, his hand on your thigh now.

"That never stopped us before"

He earned himself a pointed glare with that one.

You weren't gonna be caught pantsless as your barely alive husband fingered you. No way in hell.

"Then put a sock on the handle or somethin'"

An amused snort left you at that.

"This is hospital baby, not a frathouse"

Those deep brown, expressive eyes of his were completely shadowed with lust- the man was desperate.

Ten days of no sex and he was already looking like a deprived, starved man... not to mention the fact that he had begun to touch you inappropriately on day two.

He almost died, and instead of wishing to watch the sun rise again or listen to birds chirp in the morning, all the man seemed to think of was pussy... yours specifically.

"please sugar"

Goddamn, those damned puppy eyes.

Those two words were all you needed before you got up and started towards the door.

You heard him groan behind you.

"You're gonna leave your man layin' here blueballed?"

You laughed softly as you closed the door, hoping to god that the nurses would get the hint and not come in.

You didn't answer, you just walked back to him, watching his eyes sparkle with excitement once you took the blanket off of him.

How the man still looked hot in a hospital gown was something that needed to be studied.

His left leg, where he'd been shot, was bandaged completely, while the naked right one showed off his hairy thighs, which made warmth spread low in your belly... yeah maybe you'd missed sex too.

Silently, your hand went to the skin that was covered by the very hem of his gown, slowly trailing up and up and up until you cupped his hardening manhood through his boxers.

"fuck" he breathed, struggling to prop himself further up on the bed to get a better view.

You raised your eyebrow, shooting him a look- the last thing you wanted was for him to hurt himself.

"You've got to listen to hear if anyone's coming and warn me if that's the case, ok?"

He nodded mindlessly, his sole focus on your hand stroking his dick.

"yeah- sure" he murmured, urgency and need straining his voice.

Yeah, you were fucked.

Nonetheless, you hiked his gown up and pulled his underwear down- his cock was hard as a rock and you hadn't even done anything more than put your hand on it.

You bent over, looking to the side at him as you slowly, oh so slowly, started kissing his tip.

He twitched in your hand as your tongue darted out to kitty lick him, precum leaking from him just in time for you to taste it.

You were looking at him with those godforsaken sexy eyes you'd get as you finally wrapped your mouth around him, and Joel... Joel was in another universe already.

He groaned, shifting his hips up with a painful grunt as you hummed around him, starting to bob your head as you fit more and more of him inside your mouth.

"Fuck me-" he couldn't help but moan "fuck that feels good darlin'"

He strained his neck as his head fell back against the cushions, his eyes shutting close as his tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag.

He was fisting the blanket so hard his knuckles were white as chalk, and his breathing was so erratic that he was half sure the doctors would run in at any moment because the monitor would pick up him having a heart attack.

"Jesus Christ" he groaned.

Your mouth felt better than anything on this earth at the moment. You were sucking him so tight and god but you had him so deep inside you.

"Just like that" he breathed, watching your eyes water as you forced almost all of him down your throat.

It had been four years and you still couldn't get all of him in- at this point you'd given up trying- He was just too damn big.

"so good for me sweetheart" he grunted, observing his cock go in and out of you "Such a good girl-fuck"

Your hand had found his balls, massaging them tenderly- which meant Joel was pretty much done for.

"Goddamnit-- I'm gonna- I-"

He erupted, filling your mouth with his spent before he could even finish the sentence- and you were more than happy to swallow it all up.

He was breathing heavily, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you smiled up at him, before tucking him back in his boxers and putting the blanket back on top of him.

All sounds from outside suddenly filled the room again, reminding you of where you were... and what you'd just done.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he asked, smiling as you reached his side again.

"beats me" you teased, leaving a quick kiss on his lips.

He groaned from deep in his chest, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek.

"We still need to take care 'f ya darlin'"

"no, we don't" you immediately shook your head.

A side of his lips twisted into a smirk as he got an idea.

You didn't wanna take off your pants, and it's not like he could much to change position given his state, so that meant only one thing...

"Sit on my face"

And yes that idea made you hornier than you already fucking were, but unlike your husband, you still had some sense of decency left in you.

"I'm scared to hurt you when I kiss you and you think I'm gonna sit on your face?"

He looked at you for a moment, trying to figure out if there was any way he could convince you- unfortunately, the results came back negative.

"A man can dream" he sighed as he guided you down for another kiss.

"Let me get a taste at least"

Your lips parted in stunner- he really was desperate today.

"Jesus baby" you huffed, your mouth betraying you with a smile "H-how am I even supposed to do that, you really shouldn't force your hands to struggle too much, it could be bad for-"

His eyes sparked with mischief as he murmured "There ain't nothing wrong with yours though, ain't that right sugar?"

Heat crept up your face as you understood, but seeing the unadulterated need in his iris, the strain in his voice as he whispered 'Just a taste'... in seconds your own hand was in your panties.

"This is dirty..." you murmured, eyeing the door as your fingers delved between your folds, gathering up your slick.

"we've done worse" he breathed, his eyes only on what was happening beneath your jeans.

The worst part was that you actually had.

You swallowed thickly as you pulled your hand out of your pants, guiding your glistening fingers to Joel's mouth.

He wasted no time opening his lips, sucking greedily on your digits, a groan rumbling from deep in his throat at the taste.

You bit your lip, watching the scene unfold as you pressed your thighs together to relieve some of the burning pressure.

He would have probably gone on for god knows how long if you hadn't pulled your fingers out of his mouth.

His cock was hard again and he was goddamn tired of being in this hospital bed.

He wanted to go back to his old life. To his house, his wife, his daughter.

He wanted to get back to waking you up in the morning with his tongue between your thighs- not... this.

So he brought your head down, guiding you for yet another kiss that overflowed with all the hopes and dreams he had about it all going back to how it was.

"fuck me-" he groaned in between desperate kisses "I miss our life- I miss... shit babygirl, I your pussy"

You laughed softly into his mouth before leaning away, a devious spark in your eyes.

"Tell you what...I'll wear a skirt tomorrow" you murmured, ghosting his lips "and I think the weather might be a bit too hot for panties"

The groan he let out at that caused a nurse to worriedly rush in.

[choco-bites]

Thinking of aYandere!Popular boy with a Creep!Fem!Reader

Part two: here

notes: english is not my first language, if this contains errors, please let me know. warnings: mentions of dead animals, reader is also a yandere?, mentions wanting to cut someone, stalking, non-con photographs. idk if I miss anything, let me know too.

Yandere!popular boy known for being the richest in the school, yet despite that, he offers a kind smile to everyone. Wherever he goes, he is greeted and invited to all the parties. If you want to boost your popularity level, just a minimal interaction with him is enough. His great size and strength make him ideal for the school’s football team.

Creep!reader surrounded by rumors. who has been seen collecting dead animals for an anatomy research in biology and a serious face what seems strange to everyone; remains unfazed—except when, with an old digital camera and a strange smile, takes pictures of her deceased pets. Others move away when she sits at their table during lunch, excluded from group projects, and make she the target of ridicule. Yet, maintains an unshakable façade of seriousness.

Creep!reader who notices him first. Accidentally walked past the playing field during practice and stared at each student on the team. When saw the brute strength with which Yandere!Popular played, swore her heart stopped for a moment. Now, had a new reason for her lips to curve into a smile.

Started to spent her free time researching him, taking photographs, drawing him, writing about him, and imagining what it would be like to break someone so radiant down into nothing but a puddle of tears and misery.

Yandere!Popular who one day caught you stalking him, taking pictures while he walked home, decided to let you be. Soon, he would find out why you was watching him so closely.

The next day, Yandere!Popular sneaked into your classroom to snoop through your belongings, eventually finding your diary. He flipped through the pages, finding nothing truly interesting—until he came across a drawing of himself alongside several written passages.

"I wish I could get closer to him. I wish I could grab his strong arms and open them up. I wish I could see his beautiful lips twist in pain. I just wish I could have him."

Yandere!Popular heart ignited in a way he could not bear. He had never felt so flattered before. He shut the notebook and tucked it away desperately before rushing to the bathroom.

Locked in a stall, he read and reread the diary, a foolish smile adorning his now deeply flushed face, feeling as if he might cry from sheer emotion. No one had ever taken such an interest in him before. Sure, he was popular and all, but no one ever looked beyond that. But you—

You didn’t just stalk him to get to know him better. You wanted him so much that you wrote about him, drew him so majestically, and, most of all, desired him only for yourself.

Yandere!Popular decided to give you exactly what you wanted. After finding out your address, he skipped school that day to sneak into your room, only to discover that you had his photos plastered all over your wall. His heaving chest could hardly take it.

You were made to worship him.

You entered your room after a few hours, only to find the boy you had recently obsessed over sitting on your bed, sniffing your pillows. You weren’t entirely surprised—you had already noticed your beloved diary was missing and suspected he had caught you in the act of taking pictures of him.

A choked gasp escaped him at the sight of you, and you stepped closer, grabbing his cheeks with one hand, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

The only thing he could manage to say was a sweet:

"Make me yours, please."

[littlest-w01f]

Bloody

Sylus x Reader

SYLUS MASTERLIST

LADS MASTERLIST

Summary: Even after being told against it time after time, you took a hit meant for Sylus

Cw: Blood, injury, angst, little suggestive at the end

The fight was a blur to you, all you remembered was that you and Sylus had been attacking your own Wanderers, as you finished off the Wanderer in front of you, you rushed for Sylus when you saw another about to take a strike at Sylus while his back was facing the creature.

With a cry of desperation, you lunged towards Sylus, throwing yourself between him and the looming threat of the Wanderer's weapon. Your body took the brunt of the impact, the alien's weapon slicing into your chest with brutal efficiency, the cut cauterised on impact. The pain was excruciating, but you barely registered it.

As you lay there, the gash burning your chest, your clothes slowly burning in, your vision blurring, you felt Sylus' strong arms wrap around you, cradling your injured form. His face was etched with concern, his eyes searching yours desperately.

"Stupid, aboslutely dumb little kitten!" Sylus growled, right eye pulsing red, his body nearly shaking in anger as he rushed home with you in his arms, being careful not to hurt you further, "Why? Why the fuck would you do that!?"

"You... You were gonna get hurt..." You gasped out as he set you on his bed, surrounded by pillows. "You always protect me... So I thought..."

"You don't take my hits!" Sylus growled, his hands hurting to remove your clothes so they didn't stick to your burnt skin, his words were harsh, yet they were laced with a desperate fear. "I step in front of you because I heal faster than you can blink. I will always step in to protect you, but you don't have to do that! Have you gone mad!?"

Sylus' intense gaze bore into yours, his chest still heaving with agitation. The dim light filtering through the curtains cast long shadows across his chiselled features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrowed brow above piercing crimson eyes. His broad shoulders seemed to tense even further beneath the leather jacket he hadn't removed yet. "If the blade was a little to the left YOU WOULD'VE BEEN DEAD!"

As he stepped back, giving you space, and himself too, his clenched fists hung at his sides, the knuckles white with restrained fury. The air around him crackled with barely contained rage, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, but you didn't flinch at how pissed he was, knowing he would never harm you.

Sylus paced back and forth across the room like a caged beast, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The anger radiating off him was palpable, making the air feel charged with tension. Every so often, his gaze would flicker over to you lying on the bed, his expression softening just slightly before hardening once more.

"I won't let anyone hurt you," He muttered, his voice low and rough. "But that doesn't mean you get to throw yourself in front of danger like some kind of martyr, sweetie!"

As Sylus tried to calm his breathing as if trying to lessen the power pulsing in him, his mind raced with thoughts of how close he came to losing you. The memory of seeing that Wanderer's blade pierce your chest made his stomach churn with nausea even if he had destroyed it, he hoped he could've tortured it more. He couldn't bear the idea of living without you, of watching your life slip away before his very eyes.

He stopped pacing abruptly, turning to face you with a look of determination etched onto his features. With swift movements, he shed his jacket and kicked off his boots, revealing his toned physique clad only in a black fitted top and pants.

"Sylus…" You whispered weakly, trying to sit up but wincing at the pain in your chest. He quickly moved to support you, helping you recline against the pillows.

"Just relax, sweetie," He murmured, his fingers gently tracing along the wound, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. His eyes blazing with intensity. "Look at you, all pale and shaky. You could've died, and for what? To prove some stupid point about how much you love me? I know you love me, you were crazy for what you did."

Sylus ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, his chest heaving with agitation. He knelt beside you, brushing away a stray lock of hair that clung to your forehead, his touch gentle despite his rough exterior.

"Damn it, y/n," Sylus muttered, frustration clear in his voice, "I can't lose you. I can't stop seeing you... On the ground... I..."

"Don't worry," You whispered, the words barely audible even to your own ears, "I'm fine."

Sylus growled lowly at your weak reassurance, his red eyes flashing dangerously. "Fine?" He scoffed, his large hands hovering over your exposed torso, hesitating to cause you any more pain.

His breath hitched at the sight of your tattered flesh, Sylus scoffed, unclasping and slipping off his leather belt, "Now this is going to hurt for you, kitten." You automatically opened your mouth for him to put the leather between your teeth to bite onto, having gone through him using his Evol to heal you before. He held you down, hands holding down your shoulders, he focused on your gashing wound, red and black tendrils formed around your injury, energy humming, stitching your skin back up as you struggled in pain.

Your breath hitched as Sylus' Evol surged through you, the sensation of your flesh knitting together was excruciating. Bitting onto his leather belt in pain, tears lining your eyes. For Sylus, he was used to healing, the pain was almost unrecognizable to him, but for you, it was torture.

Sylus kept his grip firm on your shoulders, anchoring you to the spot as he focused his energy on repairing your torn flesh. The sound of your pained whimpers and whines were like nails on a chalkboard, tearing at his heartstrings. He wanted nothing more than to take away your suffering, to make everything better.

As soon as the last tendril of energy dissipated, Sylus released his hold on your shoulders, allowing you to slump back against the pillows with a gasp of relief. His chest rose and fell rapidly, matching the frantic beat of his heart, yours slow, gaining speed back after you were healed, a faint line now replacing the gash.

"There," Sylus said, panting lightly. "It should heal nicely." Sylus' touch was tender, his fingers tracing along the newly healed skin, ensuring every stitch was done correctly, leaving no opening. His eyes never left your face, watching every flinch, every grimace that crossed your features.

Leaning in closer, Sylus pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, then to your eyes, making the tears fall, his lips brushing against your skin with a feather-light touch. "Never again," He spoke softly, his crimson eyes burning with an intensity that spoke volumes of his unwavering dedication to protecting you. "Never do that."

He was furious. Furious that you'd willingly taken a blow meant for him, furious that you'd endangered yourself for him, furious that he hadn't been quick enough to stop you, or protect you. Sylus's voice was low, almost a growl, "You're mine to protect, not the other way around, alright, my pretty kitten?"

A vulnerability, a hint of his underlying emotions that he tried so hard to keep hidden. He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "You can't just throw yourself in harm's way like that, y/n," he said, his tone softer now, though no less firm.

You looked away from his burning eyes, still a little weak, "I just..."

"You just what?" Sylus demanded, his voice rising once more as he towered over you again, looming over you. "Couldn't bear the thought of me getting hurt? Thought you could play the hero?"

His words stung, but you refused to let him see how much they affected you. Instead, you met his gaze head-on, your own eyes blazing with determination. "I did what I had to do," You said firmly, your voice unwavering despite the pain still coursing through your body. "I won't apologize for not wanting to see you hurt."

For a moment, Sylus seemed taken aback by your defiance, his brows furrowing as he studied you intently. Then, with a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You stubborn kitten," Sylus' nostrils flared, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. "You have no idea what you put me through," He muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "Seeing you lying there… It felt like my world was ending."

For a moment, his usual tough exterior crumbled, replaced by raw vulnerability. He took a step back, raking a hand through his hair, his crimson eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Oh, Sylus..." You whispered, voice a little shaky, reaching out to place a hand on his forearm, feeling the corded muscles beneath your touch, the other stroking his cheeks. "I'm ok... I'm ok because you healed me... I'm so much better already..."

Sylus sighed heavily, his gaze dropping to where your hand rested on his arm. For a moment, he remained silent, as if grappling with his own emotions. Then, with a resigned sigh, he pressed his face further into your now healed chest. "I can't lose you, y/n..."

As he nestled his face into your chest, you felt his warm breath ghost across your skin, each exhale a reminder of his closeness. He buried his face deeper, inhaling deeply, the scent of you filling his senses, pressing his ear against you to hear the beating of your heart.

"I don't know what I would do…" He murmured, his voice muffled against your breasts. After a moment, he pulled back, looking up at you with those intense crimson eyes. "But I swear, if you ever try to pull another stunt like that… I'll tie you to my damn bed forever."

"Mmm... Kinky..." You joke half-heartedly, stroking his silver hair.

A small, wry smile tugged at the corner of Sylus's lips at your teasing remark, though his eyes still held a serious glint. "Don't think that's funny, sweetie," He warned, his voice a low rumble. "I mean every word."

"You're such a handful, kitten," He grumbled, shaking his head slightly, yet his actions belied his words as he settled further into your embrace. "Always causing trouble, always testing my patience." Despite his stern warning, there was a playful spark in his eye that belied his earlier anger.

"I love you, Sylus..." You breathed softly, nails scratching his head gently.

Sylus groaned in pleasure above you from your antics, "I love you too, sweetie."

He leaned into your touch, letting himself be pampered by your gentle strokes, something about your touch soothing his agitated spirit, his hands reaching your hips, calming himself with the feeling of you as you did the same with him, hands tracing his back, grounding yourself.

[carlislefiles]

long distance | fushiguro megumi, geto suguru, gojo satoru, ino takuma, kamo choso, nanami kento, yuuji itadori ╰►living apart for a little while didn't seem to big a deal when it first started, but now he realizes that you've made being alone absolutely miserable and he copes...not at all. 12.5k words

a/n: hi hi! back with another headcanon post about the jjk men being so embarrassingly down bad for you, so nothing new of course. this was actually a request, so I hope it's what you wanted!! thanks for leaving a request, I love to get them :] warnings: cussing, kissing, vaguely yandere!suguru but he's trying his best not to be. I think that's all. some are canon compliant, i.e. sorcerer au, cult!geto, etc. and some are not; don't read too much into it please because I'm stupid and don't think very hard. enjoy <3

he always got nervous sending you off on missions. it’s not that he didn’t think you capable of handling yourself. no, megumi knows that you are. but curses are capable, too. capable of pain, capable of torture, capable of damage, capable of murder. he’s watched it happen one too many times. he’s come close to it himself, much too close for comfort.

so that ache is already permeating when yaga assigns you a mission. but this is not like most missions. long games were for special grades or, at the very least, adult sorcerers. you were still in school, still learning. but yaga thinks that’ll be good for you. so he sends you with nanami to some shabby motel in the middle of tokyo to retrieve a cursed object. all in all, no big deal. 

you didn’t cry when you left, didn’t cling to him at the train station or demand nightly calls or send him with some obnoxious token to remember you by. you kissed him, told him you’d be gone for a while, and promised to text when you could.

he didn’t think it would be this hard. it’s been four days. no messages from you yet. nothing but an empty text thread and that stupid blinking cursor in the box where he keeps typing things and deleting them. did you eat? are you okay? I miss you. deleted. deleted. deleted.

megumi isn’t good at being needy. he isn’t good at much when it comes to feelings, honestly. he’s trying not to think about the fact that the dorm feels colder without you. that yuuji keeps asking if he wants to hang out and he keeps saying no. that even nobara noticed he’s been quieter than usual. and then, finally:

“hey!

things are quiet here. I’m okay. 

nothing’s exploded, no one’s dead. don’t worry too much, okay? I know you are.”

he stares at the message for a full minute before answering. it’s the most emotion he’s shown all day. 

“trying not to. 

can you call tonight?”

that night, you do. your hair’s messy, you’re already in pajamas, and the lighting is bad. megumi thinks you look perfect. you don’t say much. you eat in front of the camera—instant ramen in a paper bowl, chopsticks clacking softly.

“you can never repeat this or I will kill you…but I’m kind of missing gojo-sensei’s late night convenience store trips for sweet treats. I’ve eaten plain noodles for the past three nights.” 

“yeah, but you’ll live.” god, he’s such a little shit.

you grin through a mouthful of noodles. “barely. nanami lectures harder than yaga. and he watches me eat like I'm gonna throw my food away or something.”

megumi tilts his head a little, lips twitching. “I would’ve watched you eat too.”

“yeah, but you wouldn’t judge me for only eating the noodles and leaving the broth.”

“...yes I would.”

you gasp, mock betrayal written all over your face. “that’s rich coming from the guy who eats cold miso soup straight from the fridge.”

he doesn’t deny it. doesn’t even blink. just says, “it’s convenient.” you both pause, a lull in conversation. "well, you should go to bed." he says, almost longingly, like he really doesn't want you to.

"wait, no! I still have to finish eating and write a mission debrief. don't leave me alone to this torture," you whine dramatically.

"isn't nanami on the other side of the wall? won't he get annoyed with us talking?" but it's a feeble, pathetic excuse. he doesn't care if nanami's annoyed, he wants to keep talking to you. but megumi is so painfully polite.

"nah," you lie. "he's probably writing his mission debrief. or laying in bed trying to pretend he doesn't miss his girlfriend."

"fiancée," nanami corrects, from the other side of the wall. you roll your eyes and keep eating, and that settles the matter.

megumi watches you from his own desk, textbook open in front of him, highlighter in hand. he doesn’t get much studying done. he keeps glancing at the way your hair falls into your face. the way you hum a little under your breath while you eat. the way you keep glancing at him to see if he’s still looking.

you tell him about the mission in vague terms. enough that he knows you’re still safe. you tell him how boring the town is, how the cursed energy’s been faint but persistent, how nanami makes you check in at regular intervals like a human tracking collar. you joke about it, but megumi hears the fatigue under the laughter.

still, you smile at him. stretch your arms over your head. let out a soft sigh and curl up on your thin little bed in the background. “you tired?” he asks.

you nod. “gonna pass out in a second.”

“I’ll stay on the line.”

you don’t argue. just mumble something like “okay, ‘gumi,” and turn the camera so it’s angled toward your pillow. he hears your breathing first. then the quiet shuffle of your blanket. and then—nothing. he doesn’t hang up. just listens to the soft rhythm of you sleeping and sets his phone down beside his own pillow. it’s the only thing that keeps the nightmares at bay. from that night on, it’s routine. if you don’t call, he doesn’t sleep.

some nights you eat in front of him again. sometimes he reads to you from the literature class you’re missing. you tell him you don’t miss the essays, but you do miss him reading to you, even if it’s monotone and serious. he takes it as a compliment.

he tells you that yuuji says hi. that nobara’s plotting to replace you as his “emotional regulation buddy” with a plush panda she won at an arcade. that gojo told the entire class you’re devastated to be missing “your favorite, beloved, beautiful teacher.”

you make gagging noises over the mic. megumi smirks. “gross,” you groan. “if I die, let that be the last thing anyone hears from me. not gojo-sensei slandering utahime’s good name as my favorite teacher.”

“you’re not dying, and utahime isn’t your teacher.”

“I know. just saying. and she’s still my favorite.”

he doesn’t like that kind of talk, even in jest. but he lets it slide. mostly because your voice is starting to fade again, and he can hear the soft, sleepy rasp that means you’re seconds away from unconsciousness. “goodnight, gumi,” you whisper.

he swallows. “goodnight.” he stays on the call long after you’re out, usually the whole night. he wakes up and nanami’s already dragged you out of bed. but sometimes, early in the mornings, earlier than he’d need to get up, he wakes to the sound of you saying “bye gumi,” before leaving. 

the calls had become a rhythm. a soft beat he could rest his heart against. so when the call doesn’t come—when you don’t pick up—megumi’s world tilts.

it’s a wednesday, just past three in the afternoon. he calls because he misses your voice, because he’s been holding on by the thinnest thread and hearing you breathe over the mic somehow makes him feel like his chest isn't full of barbed wire. it rings once. twice. four times. and then it goes to voicemail.

he stares at his screen. tries again. still nothing. he tells himself you’re probably just busy with the mission. maybe you’re asleep. maybe nanami’s giving a debrief. maybe your phone’s dead. maybe—maybe you’re hurt. maybe you’re bleeding out in some cold concrete stairwell and your cursed tool slipped from your hands and—

he calls again. and again. it spirals quick. too quick. he forgets how to sit still. paces his dorm room like the floor’s going to fall out from under him. pulls his hoodie tighter around him. shoves his phone in his pocket. takes it out. checks his texts. nothing. checks the school emergency threads. nothing. pings gojo just in case—doesn’t get an answer, which just makes it worse.

he feels it building in his chest—this clawing panic he hasn’t felt since he was a kid, since he watched his sister's body be wheeled away, since he realized he was alone in a world that doesn’t care how scared you are.

and then—his screen lights up. [your contact]: incoming facetime call. he answers before the first ring even finishes. “hello?” his voice is raw, low, already cracking.

“gumi,” your voice spills through the speaker, breathless, warm, real, and he can see your face, your phone propped up on the pathetic excuse for a desk in your motel room. “m’so sorry I didn’t answer.”

he exhales so hard it’s almost a gasp. the air rushes out of him like a lung finally punctured, like he’d been holding it the whole time. “what happened?” he asks, too fast.

“nanami was ripping me a new one,” you sigh, dragging the words out like a dramatic retelling. “I dropped a cursed object. by accident. no curses escaped or anything, he’s just being nanami about it.”

from somewhere behind you, nanami’s voice cuts in, sharp as a blade, “it was for your own good!”

“yeah yeah,” you mutter, rolling your eyes so hard he can hear it. “for my growth as a professional sorcerer, I know.” megumi doesn’t laugh, exactly. but something like a breathless, stunned smile pulls at his lips. you’re okay. you’re fine. his fingers are still trembling.

“don’t do that again,” he mutters. “don’t—don’t scare me like that.” he knows it’s irrational, that you’re on a mission and if you’re busy–for example, getting your ass chewed for a dumb mistake—he can’t expect you to drop everything for his phone call. 

“wasn’t on purpose, gumi.”

he knows that. he knows. but it doesn’t matter. logic doesn’t cushion the way his stomach still aches from the half hour of imagining you gone. “when you get home,” he says, voice rough, “we’re talking about this. about these long missions.”

“mm,” you hum. “you know we can't avoid them forever.”

“don’t care.”

you snort. “so bossy.”

“promise me.”

you go quiet for a second. not teasing, not stalling—just watching him through the camera, reading the too-serious look in his eyes. “…we’ll talk about it when I'm back,” you say softly.

megumi doesn’t push it. just says, “fine.” but he’s already made up his mind. he’ll talk to gojo. he’ll talk to anyone. no more of this. no more weeks without seeing you. no more half-breathing panic every time you don’t pick up. because he needs you too much to keep pretending this is normal.

you get home just after 2 a.m. about three weeks later.

you don’t expect anyone to be awake. especially not megumi. but the second you creak open the door to your dorm, you feel the warmth of the heated blanket across your bed and the familiar smell of your perfume hanging in the air like a ghost. he’s curled up on your desk chair, long legs tucked beneath him, phone in hand.

his eyes snap open the second the door clicks shut. “you’re late,” he mumbles, already standing. “you said midnight.”

you grin, exhausted. “blame the traffic. and nanami’s rigid driving; he’s almost as bad as ijichi.”

he’s already crossing the room. grabbing your bag from your shoulder. pulling the blanket draped over your other arm. but then he pauses—just a breath—and pulls you to him. no hesitation. no asking. he grabs you hard. arms like a vice, face buried in your shoulder, breath shaky against your skin.

you groan half-heartedly. “m’all gross. smell like gas station snacks.”

“don’t care.”

he holds you for another thirty seconds. maybe more. long enough that your fingers twitch against his back, grounding yourself, grounding him. long enough that your eyes sting with something quiet and familiar and good. then you pull back, barely.

“gumi,” you murmur. “shower. let me shower.”

he sighs through his nose but lets you go. watches you shuffle off into the bathroom, yawning as you go. he doesn’t lie down. he just sits.

legs tucked up, back resting against the headboard like he’s trying not to make himself too comfortable. because this isn’t his room. this isn’t his bed. but it smells like you—your detergent, your body spray, something floral and sugary he’d never be able to name but would recognize in any crowd. and it’s unbearable.

he hasn’t smelled you in weeks. and now you’re twenty feet away, humming off-key in the shower, and the reality of it slams him in waves. you’re here. you’re safe. your voice doesn’t sound strained. you aren’t limping. you’re home. and he feels—well…he doesn’t know what he feels. something like grief. something like longing, bent inward.

he picks at a loose thread on your blanket. he can hear the muffled splash of water. you’re probably using the shampoo he restocked before you left. the thought—so small, so domestic—makes his throat feel tight.

he hadn’t meant to wait here. he told himself he’d just check your room. make sure everything was warm. maybe leave a note. but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. not when the hours ticked past midnight. not when his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, the leftover tremor of panic clinging to his fingertips.

he’s not used to missing people. not like this. not in a way that guts him clean. he’s used to solitude. used to quiet. used to locking every sharp emotion behind his teeth. but you—you’ve made his silence heavy. you’ve made being alone unbearable. his eyes flicker toward the bathroom door again. he can hear the faucet shut off. movement. a cabinet. your toothbrush rattling. nothing special. ordinary things. and it moves him in a way nothing else has in days.

he wonders if you ever felt this way when he was on a mission. when he went quiet for hours. when his texts were flat and dry and full of nothing, just the bare bones of logistics. he never knew what to say. still doesn’t. you had always carried the weight of their communication, laughing off his ellipses and single word answers. he hated that it took your absence to realize how much he had taken that for granted.

his hand drifts toward the spot on your mattress where you usually lie. he presses his palm to the indentation there, barely noticeable, like a memory. like the way your body had fit there so many nights, warm and half-asleep and reaching for him.

he closes his eyes for a second. just one. listens to the lock click open. you come out in an oversized shirt and…are those his socks? gross, he thinks. they’re yours now. your hair is damp and messy and you’re rubbing at your eyes like you’re already halfway asleep. you don’t even notice the look on his face. which is good. because he’s looking at you like you hung the stars.

he doesn’t say a word when you climb into bed beside him. doesn’t flinch when you tug his arm toward you, drape it around your waist like it belongs there. doesn’t speak when you whisper something about the drive, about being sore, about the ramen being even worse on the way back.

he just holds you. pulls you into his chest like he’s still scared you’ll vanish again. like if he doesn’t wrap around you tight enough, you’ll disappear back into the wind.

and when you mumble, “shouldn’t’ve waited up for me,” into the fabric of his shirt, his breath catches.

he wants to tell you how much it wrecked him to wait. how every second of not knowing was its own kind of torture. how his heart felt like it was bleeding out in the dark. but he doesn’t. he just tightens his grip. noses into your damp hair. “couldn’t wait,” is all he says.

he hated leaving. hated the silence of being apart from you. hated the dull throb that settled in the hollow of his chest the second he stepped outside your shared space. it wasn’t about control. it wasn’t even about the cult, not really—though geto did have obligations. rules to keep, people to placate, power to maintain. no one ran an empire of belief and blood by sitting on their ass. but still.

the thing about being away from you was that it felt like waking up in the middle of a dream and finding the world gray and unrecognizable. suguru had known grief. he had known rage and cruelty, had held the hand of sorrow like an old friend. but this? this constant ache of missing you—of living in days you weren’t part of? it was a quieter suffering, but no less violent. it chewed at him from the inside.

you didn’t help. of course you didn’t. he could feel your affection like sunlight on skin, even from miles away. you texted often—too often, really, if he were a lesser man. if he didn’t live for every single message.

there was the blurry selfie you sent one morning, barely lit by dawn. bedhead in every direction, your eyes puffy with sleep and your mouth slack, crust of drool shameless at the corner. you looked like a disaster. you looked like home.

the bed misses you, you’d written beneath it. oh, and I do too. he stared at that photo for longer than he should’ve. long after he’d replied with his usual: go back to sleep. it’s too early. (you replied with bossy. he smiled.)

there was a picture of miso soup you made. you’d captioned it with theatrical misery: I made enough for you and I. guess I’ll have to eat it all myself :/

he laughed. a real one, from deep in his chest. he scared one of his subordinates with the sound. what a shame, he wrote back. 

there was a day you sent him a photo of yourself cross-legged on the floor, nanako braiding your hair and mimiko painting your toes the brightest glittery pink imaginable. they’d hijacked your phone and typed with relentless confidence: she so pritty sensei u better come home soon or we keep her

he’d answered with: the prettiest. she’s mine, not yours, he’d teased.

it struck him then, for maybe the hundredth time, how strange this life was. his days were grim and sterile. the smell of iron lingered on his clothes. he spoke to liars, sycophants, zealots. he disposed of the wretched, the corrupt. and yet…you were sending him soup. selfies with sleepy eyes and too-big shirts. pictures of your toes being painted like you had nothing better to do. like you weren’t worried about the dark parts of his life clawing too close to yours.

he missed you like a wound misses the stitch. like a man freezing misses the flame. you were busy, he knew. but not too busy. you always made time to call. the sound of your voice through the phone cut through everything. made it easier to breathe. he’d been in the middle of a meeting once when your name flashed across the screen. walked out without explanation. no one dared follow.

you greeted him with a teasing pout. “aww, you look tired, sugu.”

he rolled his eyes, dragged a hand down his face. “do I?” he murmured.

“yeah,” you said, soft. “a little.”

he considered lying. pretending he was fine. that he was just tired from work, from travel, from the endless cycles of doing what he believed was right. but instead, he just exhaled. let the truth out like smoke. “I just miss you.”

there was a beat of silence. a rustle as you shifted in bed. “I know,” you whispered. “you’ll be home soon. you’ll be in my arms before you know it.” you know that if you tell him you miss him, he’ll be ditching whatever cult business he needs to tend to tomorrow and driving home to you.

he closed his eyes. let the sound of your promise sink into his bones like warmth. that one sentence carried him for days. suguru geto had built a life from ruin. constructed an ideology from loss and pain and righteous fury. there was blood on his hands, and there would always be. but the knowledge that you waited for him—chose him—that you wanted him to come home, not as a leader, not as a god, but as a man—it was enough to keep going. only for so long, though. 

he’d decided he’d come home early. your precious, domestic texts and sleepy phone calls were only sustaining him for so long—small, bright glimpses into a life he was meant to be living in full. he’d stared too long at a photo of your socked feet propped up on the coffee table, your caption reading, these little guys are cold without you, and just…decided.

he wasn’t needed as badly as he was wanted. his responsibility to the cult weighed heavy, yes, but not heavier than the one he gave himself the moment he started loving you. and god, he loved you. so earnestly. so indulgently. as if he could worship the loneliness out of himself just by touching you enough, giving you everything you never asked for, offering you every corner of his heart like he owed you interest.

you told him he didn’t have to. he knew that. you never demanded a thing. never pressured. never made him feel like love was something transactional. but he had made a quiet promise to himself, sometime in the crook of a sunday morning with you pressed against him and sunlight painting your cheek—he’d love you so well, the world would forget it had ever been cruel to him.

so he came home. late. quiet. shoulder-heavy from travel, but stomach-light with the anticipation of seeing you.

he slipped into the house like a ghost—except ghosts don’t bring bags full of wrapped sweets and your favorite soy milk. ghosts don’t stop to make sure their footsteps don’t creak. ghosts don’t pause at the edge of the kitchen, heart pounding like they’re sixteen and about to kiss someone for the first time.

you were there. barefoot. bent over the stove in one of his old t-shirts, hair clipped messily, humming something tuneless as the smell of pan-fried dumplings filled the air. the domesticity nearly knocked him out. you looked like a dream he’d never dared to wish for.

and then you turned. and screamed. and launched yourself into him, clinging with all the force of a hurricane wrapped in a t-shirt and lavender body mist.

“when did you get back—how long were you standing there—why do you smell so good—wait, aren’t you supposed to be gone for another week—are you hungry—”

he just shushed you, kissed your hair, held you so close you whined, and cooed softly as if calming an overexcited cat. “missed you too,” he murmured. “so much, I couldn’t wait.” you’re flushed and breathless and glowing. and for the first time in too long, he feels…calm. like his body’s no longer stretched across two continents. like he’s whole again.

you finish cooking together, except his arms never leave you. he presses himself against your back, kissing your shoulder when you season something absentmindedly, humming when you sway a little to the music in your head. you tell him things he already knows from the phone calls, but hearing them now—woven with your laughter, punctuated by your hands brushing his as you grab plates—feels different. realer. better.

he makes you sit on his lap as you eat, feeding you little bites with his fingers, biting them himself just to feel your giggle against his jaw. “so clingy,” you murmur teasingly.

“deal with it,” he says, nuzzling into your neck.

the compliments come in waves, unfiltered. he missed your voice. your hair. the way you sit, slouched and cozy. the way you smell like rice steam and your favorite lotion. he missed your laugh, your offbeat commentary, the way you act like his t-shirts were always yours first.

you tease that he’s acting like you’ve been gone for years. but he just cups your jaw, tilts your head to kiss you slow. “felt like longer.”

you clean up together. he dries, you rinse. he hums as you put the dishes away, as if it’s some sacred duet. then, without a word, he scoops you up bridal style. you shriek. he grins, soft and sleepy. “bedtime,” he says simply, and that’s that.

in bed, he tugs the blankets high over you both, arms wrapping like he never wants to let go. your back presses to his chest. he buries his face in your neck. he doesn’t even speak. just breathes. in. and out. like your skin is the first oxygen he’s had in weeks.

and then you whisper, so mocking and sarcastic. “looks like you’ve missed the bed as much as it’s missed you.”

he doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed. he just hums, nose still pressed behind your ear. no bed is a bed without you in it. no life is a life without your warmth next to his.

you’d known gojo for years. adjacent, mostly. orbiting one another like curious planets in a system too chaotic to align—too many curses, too many tragedies, too many times your paths almost crossed. he was always a few feet away. loud and laughing, or solemn and deadly. the strongest. the best.

everyone seemed to gravitate toward him. you didn’t. not out of spite—just…you didn’t need to. and that alone made you unforgettable. you weren’t dazzled by the brilliance. you didn’t stumble when he walked into the room. you just met his gaze like he was anyone else. and god, that was all it took.

he spent months chasing you. ridiculous, grand, pathetically sincere efforts to earn your attention, your time, your affection. he hated how much he loved it. and he loved it. because for once, it wasn’t about being the strongest. you didn’t want his power. you wanted him. and now that he had you, nothing else quite compared. not even close.

of course, hard, cruel missions were just a part of his life—ugly constants that weren’t going anywhere. and he accepted that. he didn’t whine about it (too much). but what killed him now, what actually made his chest feel tight…was missing you. this was new. this ache, this yearning. he’d missed people before. friends, students, the dead. but this was different. a slow, golden kind of missing. like homesickness, but gentler. like longing, but soaked in love.

he left for a month-long mission—business, training, extermination, bullshit—with megumi and nobara in tow. the only thing that kept him sane was the note you’d slipped into his pocket. “good luck, handsome. not that you’ll need it <3” written in your loopy, familiar handwriting, laced with your perfume, folded once with intention. he kept it in the pocket of every uniform he wore. reread it constantly. swore the ink still smelled like you even after week three.

and then there were the calls. the constant calls. megumi swore he was going to throw gojo’s phone off a mountain if he heard your voice through it one more time. “eight hours,” megumi muttered once, utterly horrified. “eight hours. what do you even talk about?” gojo just smirked. “everything,” he said simply.

because it was true. you two talked about everything. and nothing. from global politics to what cereal you had that morning. you talked like it was oxygen. like if you stopped, the spell would break. and god, when you weren’t talking, you were texting. constant little updates that meant nothing to the world but meant everything to him. took a nap on your pillow. it still smells like you <3

burned my toast this morning, please come home and fix my life.

yuuji just dropped kicked a vending machine. your son is out of control.

he replied to everything. with emojis. with voice notes. with dumb selfies and long paragraphs and out-of-pocket comments that made you laugh until your stomach hurt. he’d wait five hours in a hostile zone for a curse to reappear and spend all of it reading back through your messages like they were scripture. he loved your voice. your thoughts. your jokes. your complaints about the coffee machine. your book recommendations. your grocery lists. you.

sometimes, late at night, when he was finally alone and the world had quieted, he’d just…watch you. on facetime. your camera angled toward your desk or the stovetop or your bed. sometimes you were talking, humming, scribbling notes. sometimes just brushing your hair or stretching. and he’d be still. quiet. eyes a little glassy. you were so real. so alive. and so impossibly his.

he didn’t even know what to say, half the time. which was rare, for him. he’d just murmur your name, and you’d glance at the screen and smile. and that was enough. he didn’t realize this kind of love existed before you. the soft kind. the quiet devotion. the love that doesn't demand anything except presence. and now? he can’t imagine surviving a single mission without it.

yes, he misses you. terribly. desperately. consumingly. he misses you like it’s a full-time job. like it’s a cursed technique in itself—one that gnaws at his chest and makes him sigh like a victorian widow. megumi and kugisaki are beyond sick of it. 

“did you know she was valedictorian?” “she expelled a special grade curse today, did you hear about that?” “she’s thinking about getting blonde highlights, what do you think? 'cause I think she’ll look gorgeous.”

and to make it worse, he says all of this unprompted. out of nowhere. while they’re eating. walking. fighting a curse. like he’s legally obligated to mention you every fifteen minutes or he’ll spontaneously combust. megumi glares. nobara sighs. gojo just smiles like the happiest idiot on earth. because honestly? the ache? the missing you? it’s the most beautiful pain he’s ever felt. how lucky is he, really? to love someone so good it makes his chest hurt? to have a reason to want to come home at all? he thinks about that a lot. how he used to come back from missions to empty dorms and empty beds. how his life used to feel like an endless hallway with no one at the end. now? he’s got you.

so he sends you things. takeout from your favorite place, delivered to your door like clockwork on tuesday nights. trinkets from roadside stands. little notes, scribbled on receipts and napkins and hotel stationery, folded into snail mail envelopes with poorly drawn hearts and terrible handwriting. souvenirs from tokyo, as if it’s not your backyard. “this made me think of you,” he always writes. every single time.

and when he finally comes home—god, when he finally walks through that door…you’re there. his house is dark except for the lamp you’ve left on. you’re curled up on the couch, eyes fluttering, a blanket pulled halfway over your lap, waiting for him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. and just like that, he forgets he’s tired. forgets the drive. forgets nobara and ijichi bickering in the backseat. forgets everything except you.

his chest cracks open and sunlight pours out. he practically launches himself across the room to scoop you up, spinning you in a dizzy circle before you can even stand. you’re real, he reminds himself in his head, pressing kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your forehead, your nose, like he’s checking if you’ve been replaced by a doppelgänger. you’re here. you’re mine.

you’re laughing, breathless, arms looped around his neck as he carries you like a bride to your own couch. he smells like wind and exhaustion and sweets. his hands are everywhere—tugging your hair gently, holding your face, gripping your waist like he might float away without you. and the talking—oh, the talking—it starts instantly.

you’re telling him about the neighbor’s cat and your lesson plans and the weird dream you had last night, and he’s telling you about the guy who tried to stab him and how megumi learned a new technique and how he missed you so much it made his stomach hurt. you don’t stop talking. it’s like trying to drink from a firehose of love. overwhelming and nonstop and absolutely intoxicating.

you both fall asleep in the living room that night. you, tucked into his chest. him, whispering half-conscious declarations of love into your hair.

“I missed you so much, baby. like, actual physical pain. never leave me. ever. I'll die. actually. dead. gone.”

you just hum and stroke his hair. and he clutches you tighter. because this is his whole world. and it talks to him in your voice.

it was just a three-month internship. just one summer. twelve weeks, eighty-four days. not even a full season. but, to takuma, it felt like a lifetime.

and it was a critical opportunity—one of those shiny, brag-worthy, fate-altering positions that made people blink twice when they heard the name. working at a renowned fortune 500 company. a place with glass walls and brushed steel fixtures and a breakroom espresso machine that cost more than your entire rent. takuma was lucky to even be employed there. he was luckier to be handpicked. he couldn’t say no. even though he wanted to.

a whole summer away from you was a particular kind of torture he wasn’t built to survive. and it wasn’t like he’d be lazing about in a cushy little dorm, feet up, texting you all day. he’d be working. up before the sun. in meetings. taking notes. running errands. being important™.

and you’d be busy too. school was out, which meant full-time hours at a job that drained you to the bone. you were practical like that. no-nonsense. bossy in a way that only he could make soft. you took one look at his hesitation and gave him that look. and that was it.

you made him go. told him that your relationship could never come between him and his future. told him he had goals and ambition and plans—and none of them would matter if he didn’t take himself seriously enough to chase them. he called you mean. you kissed his forehead and told him to grow up. he left the next morning with tears in his eyes and your hoodie in his carry-on.

he was a good boyfriend. no, a great boyfriend. but long distance revealed a hard truth: you were the one managing all the actual boyfriend tasks. you texted him reminders like his mother.

take your lunch break. they legally have to let you.

coffee is not breakfast. I swear to god, takuma.”

we can only talk for five minutes. go to bed.”

go to sleep. do not respond to this. I'm serious.

and he whined about it, obviously. because he was a little brat and he missed you like hell. but being bossed around by you? being cared for by you from miles away? it melted him. reduced him to mush, to goo, to something warm and stupid and in love.

he thought about you constantly. obsessively. you weren’t just on his mind—you were his mind. his default brain setting. his internal monologue. his every other sentence in conversation. his coworker was going to snap.

by week two, the poor man knew your full class schedule, your favorite brand of hair conditioner, and the name of your cat from middle school. takuma would not shut up. not during meetings. not during breaks. not even while writing quarterly summaries. his fellow intern had to physically swat his arm to stop him from zoning out mid-presentation because takuma was daydreaming about you in too tight tank tops and daisy dukes. (which, by the way, you rarely wore, but in his fantasies, they were basically the only things in your closet.)

he was losing it. and the worst part? you weren’t even out partying. you weren’t living your best hot girl summer. you were at home, being responsible. studying for a semester that hadn’t even started yet. working long shifts at a minimum wage hellhole that absolutely did not deserve you.

he thought about you when he typed emails. when he walked through security. when he accidentally dropped his pen and found your scrunchie in his pocket.

you consumed him. and it was kind of…concerning.

you didn’t even text him much. you were sentimental in theory, not in practice. but he’d set your custom ping—something soft and sparkly and obnoxious—and every time it went off, he dropped everything. his clipboard, his sandwich, his laptop (once). nothing mattered more than those three words lighting up his screen.

miss you.

ate some strawberry pocky today. reminded me of you.

you better bring me a souvenir.

simple stuff. barely even emotional. but it had him blushing. smiling at his phone. kicking his feet like a high school girl in a shoujo anime. god, he was gone. he’d sigh and press his phone to his chest like it was your face. he’d write six drafts of his reply and delete them all. he didn’t want to sound too clingy—which was hilarious, because he was. completely. desperately.

he nearly sobs at his desk. a fellow intern throws him a concerned glance from across the boardroom. the last week of the internship, he’s jittery. manic. he can’t sit still. can’t focus. his work’s still excellent, but it’s powered entirely by the promise of you.

I bought the ingredients for your favorite udon to make when you get home :) 

oh god. a fucking smiley face. you never sent those. he throws his head back and groans like he’s been shot. the guy next to him asks if he’s okay. “just in love,” he sighs dramatically. seven days. seven days until he can lie across your lap and whine about capitalism and let you pet his hair while he tells you about his boss’ entire schedule from memory. seven days until he can finally, finally, come home.

he’s texting you dumb updates the entire train ride home. like, every single thought that crosses his mind gets sent to you as a message.

just passed a field of sunflowers. thought of you.

guy next to me is eating chips. I want to fight him.

I'm wearing the cologne you like. do I smell good from here?? 😏

and you’re reading them all. like they matter. like they’re important. because they are. you’re hearting each message. sending him little thumbs up emojis, laughing silently at his nonsense, and responding with fast fingers because you’re at work and you really shouldn’t be on your phone—but you can’t not. it’s takuma. he’s coming home.

the anticipation eats at you. he’s only hours away. and still, it doesn’t feel real. three months is a long time. three months is forever. three months made you forget what it’s like to hear him laugh in person, to feel his breath against your skin.

tonight’s dinner will be fun. your friends insisted. “celebrate!” they said. “you’ve been holding it down on your own, you deserve a night!” and yeah, they’re right. but when takuma actually gets there—god. it’s too loud. too many people. music blasting. laughter ringing. someone’s yelling about a spilled drink and someone else is screaming over a beer pong table. it’s overstimulating. and he’s exhausted. and he hasn’t seen you in eighty-four days. and all he wants is to be somewhere quiet with you.

then—he sees you. standing in the yard, talking with a few friends, untouched by the chaos. the rest of the world blurs.

he sees you. tank top. daisy dukes. a glass in your hand, your other arm crossed loose under your chest. hair kissed by sun, smile subtle, barely-there gloss. you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. and he’s not thinking anymore. he’s moving. across the lawn. through the bodies and beer and sweat and laughter.

you turn, meet his eyes—and that’s it. he kisses you like he’s trying to wake up from a bad dream. like he’s afraid if he doesn’t touch you fast enough, you’ll disappear again. his hands are wrapped around you, one in your hair, the other around your waist, pulling. he holds you like oxygen. he breathes you in. he kisses you like you’re a prayer he never said out loud.

someone whistles. someone cheers. one of your friends gasps out a half-laugh, half-“oh my god.” but none of it registers. just the way your fingers curl into his shirt. just the way your breath stutters when he finally pulls away. your eyes flutter open and you’re smiling—shy, surprised, soft.

and then—he grins, dazed and breathless. leans in again and murmurs, "I love your outfit.”

and you smirk, head tilted, knowingly smug. “I thought you might.”

"let's go home, yeah?" and you nod. yeah. home.

choso and you hadn't been dating for long. the concept of romantic love was still relatively new to him—foreign, even. for most of his existence, his idea of love was synonymous with protection, with blood, with survival. this was different. now, he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was definitely, 100%, desperately, ridiculously in love with you.

but that sensation was new. often overwhelming. sometimes he’d just stop mid-sentence, mid-step, mid-thought, and look at you—brows drawn, head tilted, eyes wide—like he couldn’t quite figure out how all that affection fit inside his chest. he wasn’t built for this. not really. he didn’t know where to put all of it.

he didn’t say “I love you” often. not yet. not because he didn’t feel it—but because he was terrified that once he said it out loud, it would never stop coming out. like a dam breaking. like a wound that wouldn’t clot. to cope, he defaulted to closeness. physical presence was grounding. if he could see you, then he could breathe. you didn’t seem to mind. neither did he. you spent so much time together that megumi started calling you “the parasite couple” under his breath. choso didn’t take offense. parasites were just misunderstood.

when you left on a two-week-long mission, he stood by the door, stiff and silent, while you packed. his stomach felt strange. not painful—just...loud. like there were nerves bubbling in his bloodstream. his general thoughts were that he was worried. he trusted you, sure. he knew you were competent. but humans were fragile. you'd once bruised your knee walking into a coffee table. what if something actually dangerous tried to hurt you?

he considers asking yaga if he can go too—just stay a couple towns over, pretend it's a coincidence—but yuuji talks him down. “dude. don’t be weird about it. she’s gonna be fine. they wouldn’t have sent her if she wasn’t capable.” he knows yuuji’s right. he hates that yuuji’s right.

he hugs you for a long time before you leave. he doesn’t want to let go. not because he’s being dramatic—but because his brain keeps cataloguing the things he might miss: the sound you make when you stretch, your fingers in his hair, the way your socks never match. he helps carry your single bag to ijichi’s car and lingers near the curb while you make small talk with your reluctant chauffeur. he’s glad you're not flying. planes are unnatural. “giant metal bird coffin” is what he calls them.

before you climb into the backseat, you kiss him. it’s not a dramatic, cinematic kiss. it’s soft, familiar. your lips are a little chapped. the kind of kiss that promises i’ll come back. his heart stutters so hard in his chest that he sways slightly on his feet. you smile at him—that smile—and he wonders how anyone survives this feeling.

maybe one day, your kisses won’t give him heart palpitations…maybe. but he doubts it.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you promise, tapping your fingers twice against his chest, just above where his heart is hammering. “and now you know how to facetime me. you can see me anytime you want.” he nods solemnly. like you’ve given him a sacred task.

he tries to be subtle. he really does. he drafts every text twice, sometimes three times, trying to land on just the right combination of calm concern and casual curiosity. he thinks he’s being clever. he is not being clever or subtle in the slightest. he leaves you voice notes, asking questions, rambling.

what time did you go to sleep last night? don’t talk to strangers. did you bring your charger? what’s the exact longitude and latitude of your hotel? do you have enough socks? just double checking—when do you come back again? did you eat? you should eat. I'm not saying you didn’t eat I'm just—just checking. ignore me if you already ate. actually don’t ignore me. respond when you can. no pressure

“you don’t have to text her every five seconds,” yuuji says, halfway through a cup of instant noodles. he doesn’t even look up when he says it. “you’re gonna give her stress wrinkles.”

“she doesn’t get stress wrinkles,” choso says flatly, still staring at his phone. “her skin’s too perfect.”

“okay, see, that’s exactly what I mean.” yuuji finally looks up, waving his chopsticks for emphasis. “you’re spiraling.”

“I'm not spiraling,” choso says, with all the conviction of a man who is absolutely spiraling.

“you sent her fourteen messages in three minutes, dude.”

“she could be in danger.”

“she said she was taking a shower.”

“.......showers are slippery.”

by day three, the nerves have fully colonized his chest. he’s not just lovesick. he’s worried. anxious in the way only someone who's lived through the worst can be. you’re strong. he knows that. he believes that. but strength doesn’t mean invincible. it doesn’t mean untouchable. and you’re so selfless, so catastrophically kind. the kind of kind that gets people killed.

choso’s seen too many strong people fall because they were too busy protecting someone else. what if it happens to you? what if you’re too busy shielding a civilian to dodge a hit meant for someone else? he tries to explain this to you on facetime. several times, actually. but he always gets distracted.

because you answer the call, freshly showered, hair damp and curling, hoodie swallowing your shoulders, and look up at him with those wide, unassuming eyes like he’s not a man currently being held together by string and blood manipulation.

you talk about your day. every detail, every dumb anecdote. the mission report you had to rewrite because gojo kept adding dramatic sound effects. the vending machine that ate your change. a black cat you passed on the way back to the inn. you talk, and choso listens. listens like it’s scripture. wide-eyed, silent, lips parted slightly like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your voice. nodding slowly, rhythmically, like a metronome. “uh huh.” “yeah.” “that sounds…like him.” “uh huh.”

he’s so mesmerized that you swear, one night, you see a tiny sliver of drool start to escape the corner of his mouth. “choso,” you giggle, leaning closer to your screen. “you’re staring.”

he blinks. slow. like he’s waking up. “I'm always staring,” he admits quietly. “you’re the only thing I want to look at.”

you short-circuit a little. he doesn’t even realize what he’s said. he insists you fall asleep first every night, even though you’re exhausted and he’s clearly worse off. “I’ll sleep better knowing you’re okay,” he murmurs. and he does. at least for a few hours. you’re always gone by the time he wakes up—already off to scout a cursed site or drag gojo out of a sugar-induced stupor. and the anxiety…it creeps back in. like tidewater. slow but sure.

still, your texts help. short. direct. enough to tell him you’re alive and functional.

leaving to go scout out a site with excessive cursed energy. I promise I'm being careful. I’ll text again in a couple hours. gojo is the most annoying person on the entire planet, remind me of that next time I accept a mission with him.

he rereads every message five times. he takes screenshots. it’s pathetic. he knows that. but the truth is: he would give anything—anything—just to hold your hand for five minutes. to feel your pulse, warm and steady beneath his fingers, and know that you’re safe.

he didn’t realize love could feel like this. it’s always been, up until this point, soft. kind. beautiful. overwhelming in a lovely, poetic way. like the sun coming out for the first time and stretching warm fingers across his skin, melting all the snow left behind from years of cold. you made him feel safe. known. like maybe he wasn’t just a collection of trauma and blood anymore—but something real. something deserving.

but this? this kind of love? it hurts. it aches in places he didn’t know could hurt. a deep, bone-weary throb that settles in his chest and pulses every time he thinks about you being somewhere he’s not. every time he imagines you standing alone in a cursed place, facing something dangerous. every time he glances at the empty space beside him and remembers it’s going to be empty for another seven days.

he didn’t know missing someone could feel like this. he didn’t know it could feel like grief. it eats away at him that he can’t be with you. not even to interfere—just to be there. in case. what if you need something? what if you drop your water bottle and no one picks it up for you? what if your shoelace comes untied and you’re too busy to notice? what if your hair gets caught in your jacket zipper and it takes you ten full minutes to get it out and you end up frustrated and alone and—who will help you, if not him? he should be there. he should always be there.

his hands flex at his sides. his body hums with this low-level urgency he can’t shake. fight or flight. protect or perish. the same instinct that kept his brothers safe for years is now turned toward you—and he doesn’t know how to channel it when you’re not near him.

and he’s not sure what to do with that. not sure what kind of man he becomes when he doesn’t have a purpose. when his job is to wait. he hates the silence in his room. it’s the worst kind of loneliness. knowing you were here and now you’re not. but you always seem to catch him mid-spiral, facetiming him exactly when he decides it’s been too long since he’s seen your face and heard your voice. 

because for you, yeah, being apart was hard. you missed him—his quiet presence, his constant check-ins, his overbearing love masquerading as casual concern. it wasn’t easy. but you functioned. you coped. you did your job and stayed in touch and kept your head on straight. choso…did not. he was a mess. restless. worried. half-feral. the ghost of your warm body in his bed haunted him like a curse. now that you’re back, he’s not wasting a single second pretending he’s fine.

you get home late. everything is quiet. the streetlights are humming and the world feels soft at the edges, like it's been waiting for you to come back. you're not expecting anyone. you thought you told him not to wait up.

but there he is—choso, standing near the steps with his hood up, hands in his pockets like he’s trying to keep them from shaking. he looks like he hasn’t slept in years. like he’s rooted in place by some force bigger than him. his eyes catch yours in the dark, and something in his shoulders loosens.

you barely get a word out before he’s crossing the distance and crushing you into a suffocating hug. you’re mumbling something about needing to unpack or go turn in mission reports to yaga’s office. he mumbles, arms locked tight around your shoulders, “not important. I've got you now.”

you laugh into his hoodie. “hello to you too.” he hums. it might be a greeting. it might be relief. you’re not sure. you didn’t realize how much you missed him until you felt the way your body settled into his. your bones remember him. your heart remembers him.

“we should take more missions together,” he adds a moment later, voice still low and flat like he’s making a tactical recommendation.

you grin, tired and stretching like a warm, lazy cat in the cold. “okay. that would be fun.”

he doesn’t say anything to that, but his arms tighten around you. just for a second. you don’t know how much he needed to hear that. he missed you so much he thought it would kill him. not in the poetic sense. in the actual, physical, hurting sense. two weeks felt like a lifetime. it felt wrong. unnatural. like something vital had been ripped out of his life and taken on a mission without him. you always said you were fine alone. but he wasn’t.

he scoops you up. not because he wants to be cute about it. because his body demands it. because now that he has you again, he's not risking even the smallest chance of you slipping away. the steps to his dorm are a blur. the hallway barely registers. all he knows is the way your weight feels in his arms, familiar and right, like you were made to rest there.

he doesn't even let you unpack. he doesn’t ask. just lays you down in his bed like he’s tucking away a treasure. joins you seconds later, pulling you in with the neediness of someone who's been cold for weeks and has just found the sun again. you sleep, finally. and he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip.

by morning, his arms are deadlocked around your waist. his face is pressed into the back of your neck, breath steady, but there's a tension in him that never quite fades. like even in sleep, he’s preparing for the moment someone tries to take you away again.

you shift. once, twice. no give. you’re held fast. but it doesn’t feel suffocating. it feels nice, familiar. you press your hand over his, tangled at your stomach. his fingers twitch, tighten, tangle further. choso, even now, asleep and still, is reminding you: you’re home. 

nanami married you for a reason. and it’s not because he was feeling impulsive. he doesn’t do impulsive. no—he married you because he never wants to be apart from you. ever. even back when you were dating, before the shared toothbrush holder, before the joint tax returns, before you casually wore his surname like it had always belonged to you—he hated leaving. you didn’t live together yet, but every second spent away from you was filled with torment. not the dramatic kind—just the kind that gnawed slowly and methodically.

what if you got off work bone-tired and skipped dinner? who would cook for you? who would put a heating pad on your back and massage your feet and let you drool on his chest during a 90-minute documentary about the politics of Japan’s train system? what if your car broke down and it was raining and you didn’t have your umbrella and your phone was dead and your heels were too high? what if there was a sorcerer’s gala while he was away—who would hang off your arm, look stupid in a suit for you, worship the ground you walked on like a trained husband-shaped puppy? what if you opened a jar and the lid was too tight and you strained your wrist trying to twist it off? who would open it for you? who would kiss your wrist better and say, “you loosened it for me” just to make you feel strong? what if your neck hurt because you slept wrong and nobody was there to adjust your pillow, rub your shoulders, and scold you for not sleeping ergonomically? what if you had a nightmare and woke up reaching for him, but he wasn’t there? who would tuck you back in and whisper that you’re safe? who would pull you into his chest and fall asleep breathing in the scent of your shampoo? what if your zipper got stuck on your favorite jacket and you were late for something and already frustrated and flustered? who would help you without laughing, without teasing, without judgment—just gently fix it and kiss your forehead and say “you look beautiful”? what if you finally got around to assembling that bookshelf and it collapsed halfway through? who would wordlessly take over, follow the manual to the letter, and build it better than ikea ever dreamed?

he hates what-ifs. they make him feel helpless. because what if you needed him, and he wasn’t there? it simply eats him alive. so now that he has you, now that it’s legal and spiritually binding and signed on paper, he’s simply decided that leaving you is no longer an option. a trip away from his wife is inhumane.

he once went on a long mission right after you two got engaged and swore he aged five years in those short weeks. he didn’t sleep a full night. didn’t enjoy a single bite of food. got irrationally angry at a hotel pen. so, no—travel is out of the question.

which is why you’re currently shoving him out the door, a pressed shirt and briefcase in hand. “it’s gojo’s bachelor party,” you say. “it’s five days long,” he says, like the words physically wound him. “you have to go,” you insist, ignoring the withering look he gives you. “I don’t have to do anything,” he counters. “you’re his best friend.” the glare he gives is withering. “and, his only friend that isn’t 16 years old.” he scoffs. “I’m his coworker. and besides, he’s friends with shoko.” “oh please. ieiri would never admit to being his friend. she hates him more than you do.” so he goes. begrudgingly. and when the plane lands, he’s already got your contact pulled up. texts you: Landed safely. Will call you after I’ve unpacked. Love you. punctuation and all. capitalized. formal. very him. you read it at work and clutch your phone to your chest like a teenager.

he facetimes you as he unzips his suitcase—facetimes, even though he hates it, says it’s awkward. “you don’t even look at the camera, you look at yourself,” he once grumbled. but you pick up before the first ring finishes. “KENTO!” you squeal. “I didn't think you’d facetime!” he smiles, soft and slow. “I wanted to see your face,” he says, like it’s just a fact.

you coo. he blushes. you tell him you miss him. he immediately replies, “don’t tempt me. I have a browser tab open for a return flight in three hours.” you laugh. “you just got there. go have fun, kento.”

he sighs and props you up on the hotel room desk like it’s a Zoom call with a board of executives. “I’m not fun,” he mumbles. shocking. you tease him until he cracks a smile. you tell him you love him. you do the thing where you blow him kisses through the phone and he pretends to be embarrassed, but he loves it. gojo has to knock on his door for five straight minutes before nanami finally hangs up and leaves for the night’s events.

you get a text a few hours later. Goodnight, my love. the timestamp is ridiculously late.

you text back: good lord, how late did gojo make you stay out?

nanami: Why are you still awake? you: you’re texting me at 2am and i’m the one getting scolded for being awake?

he spends ten seconds too long responding, so you call. “if you thought I was asleep, why’d you text?” you tease. he sighs. “I was hoping you wouldn’t reply until morning.” “you know I can't ignore you,” you tease, but he looks so serious. he goes silent. just breathes into the phone. “sleep well, darling,” he says. “you too,” you reply, knowing he won’t, not without you there. 

the days blur together. calls in the morning while you’re brushing your teeth. calls at lunch while you eat in your car. calls when you’re off work and he’s getting ready for that night’s activity. you complain about having to ride the train home. “I hate that,” he mutters. “I hate that I'm not there to drive you.” “then come home,” you say sweetly, fluttering your lashes and smiling. “oh, don’t tease me. I’d do anything to be home with you. gojo signed us up to minigolf this evening.” the look he gives you says he’d rather driving a knife into his stomach. 

you jokingly suggest he take gojo to a strip club. he looks physically ill. “why on earth would you—?” “it’s a joke, kento.” “it’s not funny.” “you’re right,” you laugh. “you’d cry if a woman touched you that wasn’t me.” he doesn’t deny it.

he’s silent for a second, then says: “it wouldn’t be right.” you laugh; nanami kento, the eternal gentleman. 

he texts you on his final night, and he’s clearly drunk. not in a stumbling, slurring, karaoke-on-the-table way—nanami would rather set himself on fire—but in a way only you would notice. his texts lack punctuation. no capitalization. no perfect syntax. just: back at the hotel. alive. gojo is an idiot. and when he calls as he’s unlocking his hotel room, it confirms everything. there’s a muffled thud. a pause. and then, low under his breath, as he walks face-first into the bathroom doorframe: “fuck.”

you gasp like he just punched a nun. “kento kiyomasa nanami—did you just cuss?” “…it slipped.” “you never cuss.” “I do occasionally.” “kento. I’ve known you for three years. you’ve cussed maybe five times, and this is your first ‘fuck.’” he groans dramatically, and the sound is just shy of a whimper. when he finally tilts the phone to his face, he looks…wrecked in the softest way. tie gone. white shirt rumpled and unbuttoned halfway down his chest. slacks nowhere to be seen. hair tousled like he’s been pacing and running his hands through it nonstop. eyes sleepy, flushed, and glassy. he’s laying on his stomach like a teenager at a sleepover.

meanwhile, you’re sitting cross-legged on the bed, backlit by your nightstand lamp. damp hair clinging to your shoulders, your skin glowing from moisturizer, oversized sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder. and you’re giving him that look. that sleepy, “i love you so much it’s criminal” look.

he stares. you smile. minutes pass. finally, you tilt your head and laugh gently. “kento, what did you even call for? you’ve barely said anything.” he sighs like he’s just been caught mid-crime. “…I just needed to see your face.” “well, you’ve seen it. time for bed.” “no.” he shifts, gripping his phone like it’s a life preserver. “don’t go.” “okay…why not?” “I need to keep seeing your face.” you snort. “I'll stay on until you fall asleep, sweetie. but just think—if you sleep now, tomorrow will come faster, and you’ll get to see me in person.”

“...I could just stare at you all night and see you tomorrow.” “go to sleep, nanami.” “eugh, don’t call me nanami. it’s kento. or—sweetie. I liked that.” he doesn’t have the clarity to be embarrassed by that admission. you barely say anything, but your smile says it all. it floors him. nicknames weren’t your thing. you once told him calling someone “babe” felt like being cast in a cw show against your will. but he lives for these rare little indulgences, like a victorian man being handed an ankle.

he’s out in minutes. drunk sleep swallows him whole. and when he wakes the next morning—groggy, puffy-eyed, collared shirt all wrinkled and buttoned wrong—the call’s still on. your phone is face-down on your bed, but he hears you breathing steadily. you never hung up. neither did he. he doesn’t have the heart to end it.

you wake up not long after, hair wild, muttering about needing caffeine and how you’re out of creamer and if this is how society collapses. he listens, entranced, while brushing his teeth. packs while you throw on an outfit and kiss the phone goodbye. you don’t mention his drunken rambling. don’t tease him (yet). you just talk like normal, and he’s so grateful he could die.

when he lands—when he walks through the gate and sees you there, bouncing on your heels in the middle of terminal 9, grinning like the sun—you run to him. you launch yourself into his arms, koala-style, and he catches you with a grunt. you pepper kisses all over his face, ignoring the small crowd around you. you’re cooing, giggling, sing-songy voice saying, “you’re home, you’re home, you’re home,” like it’s magic.

once upon a time, there was a version of nanami who would’ve been mortified. who would’ve rolled his eyes and muttered about professionalism and “appropriate conduct.” that man is dead. this nanami holds you tighter than what’s probably allowed by airport safety regulations. he’s not letting go. not again. you finally pull back, brushing a hand over his jaw, cheeks flushed. “so…” you grin, wiggling an eyebrow. “feeling sober? or do I need to drive? might give you some more time to stare at my face.” he groans. but as you laugh—arms still locked around his neck, your perfume faint and warm and unmistakably you—he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder and breathes you in like it’ll fix every crack in him. and it does. it does.

after a week of blaring music, bad cologne, and gojo’s incessant, brain-melting antics, this—you—feel like quiet. like calm. like coming home in the most literal, soul-deep way.

I'm never leaving my wife again, he thinks, and it's not a casual thought. it's a vow. a personal mandate. a declaration of absolute truth. the world without you was gray, predictable, and painfully dull. but now—now you’re here and smiling, and suddenly everything is color again. texture. sensation. a rush of heartbeat and heat and softness that could crack a lesser man clean in two. he kisses your temple like it’s a lifeline and exhales, long and low, into your hair. god, he loves you. so much it might actually kill him.

“let’s go home,” he murmurs. “I’m never doing this again.”

you pull back, suspiciously pleased. “a bachelor party?” “no. leaving you.” you blink, pretending to swoon dramatically. “oh, wow. should I faint?” “you should be impressed,” he says flatly, “at how long I was able to stay away.” “I am,” you beam, cupping his cheek. “I love you, sweetie.” it’s a joke, but his soft smile is so painfully serious. 

“I can't believe fushiguro is letting you spend the whole summer with him,” you tell yuuji, voice tinny through the speaker but smiling all the same.

“I know! it’s probably gojo-sensei’s doing, but I’m gonna pretend it’s just ‘cause he’d miss me way too much to go the whole summer without me.”

yuuji grins so wide it nearly splits his face, angling the phone so you can see the infamous fushiguro in the seat beside him. the look megumi gives you both is deadpan—dry enough to wrinkle a desert. you almost feel bad for him. almost. but you know better. megumi loves your boyfriend almost as much as you do. which is saying something, because loving yuuji feels like breathing: unconscious, necessary, natural.

they're on the train heading toward gojo’s not-so-humble mansion—bachelor pad energy, unlimited snacks, a pool, no rules, god help megumi. you spent last summer together, you and yuuji. he’d visited your hometown, chased your nieces around the backyard, helped you carry groceries down warm, cracked sidewalks. he got sunburned and bought popsicles from your corner store and slept with his head in your lap while you rewatched your childhood favorite movies.

this year, it’s megumi’s turn to have him. and honestly? it sucks. you miss him. constantly. in the big, heavy ways and the small, sweet ones. but there’s something beautiful in this version of love too—in the kind that stretches across space without fraying. you send each other everything. pictures. stories. little moments from your day. he shows you a blurry photo of a sunset over the pool. you show him a neighborhood cat you’ve decided to name after him. he sends you a selfie soaked to the bone because gojo threw him in fully clothed. you send a picture of your niece covered head to toe in pink sharpie (her little sister’s doing).

it’s like you never left each other. but you did. and when the day winds down and the calls get softer, more tired, more sincere—when megumi’s asleep on the other side of the room and yuuji’s voice drops to a whisper—he admits it. “I just can’t wait to see you again.”

and it hurts. because you’ve both been pretending not to miss each other too much, but the ache is real. quiet. familiar. you miss his laugh in the room. you miss his warmth. his over-the-top affection and the way he always holds your pinky first when you reach for his hand. and yuuji—he’s doing fine, technically. gojo is chaos incarnate. megumi’s company keeps him sharp. but his heart? his heart is still at home with you. every night, every call, every time he folds his pillow in half to mimic the way you used to curl up next to him.

you send him a letter the first week. it's handwritten. covered in doodles of your faces, your inside jokes, your hearts and stars and half-scribbled lines that turn into love notes without meaning to. he opens it in front of megumi and immediately starts crying.

“you two are disgusting,” megumi mutters, smacking him upside the head.

“oh, shut up! I know you miss your girlfriend too, fushiguro. at least mine sends me cute things.” yuuji hugs the letter to his chest like it might run away if he lets go.

megumi smacks him again, harder. “yeah, well, my girlfriend’s not a sappy baby.” lies, they miss each other terribly, they’re just too proud to admit it. they bicker for twenty minutes, but yuuji tucks your letter under his pillow that night. sends one back the next day. it becomes a tradition. a sacred exchange of stickers and pages and half-dried tears all summer long. he saves every one of your notes. brings them back to school in september like precious cargo.

mid-july, you send him a photo of you wearing his favorite red hoodie. he calls immediately. “you are in so much trouble right now,” he says, dramatic, clutching his metaphorical pearls. “i’ve been looking for that hoodie all summer!”

“it’s summer,” you say sweetly. “you don’t need a hoodie, sweaty guy.” ironic considering you’ve been wearing it all season. 

“you think I'm sweaty?” he pouts, wide-eyed, like this is the most offensive thing you could’ve said.

you laugh—head thrown back, sound full of warmth and life and you—and it breaks him a little. in the best way.

he gets quiet. his eyes soften. he blinks hard like he’s trying to press back tears, but they still shine.

“aw, baby…I miss you.” and he means it. he means it. loving yuuji is the easiest thing in the world. and missing him might just be the hardest. but you’ll both make it. love like this? it doesn't disappear with distance. it travels. it endures. it always finds its way back home.

the last week of summer, yuuji is buzzing. like, atomic levels of energy. chaos barely contained by skin and bone. his mood is so hyper, it’s starting to annoy even gojo—and that’s saying something.

“you’re acting like it’s been ten years,” megumi mutters on the train, as yuuji bounces his leg like a caffeinated kangaroo.

yuuji groans and dramatically slumps in his seat. “it feels like it’s been ten years.”

megumi rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out. “you facetimed her literally seven hours ago.”

but yuuji is immune to logic. he’s a man possessed. you’re waiting for him. you’re probably already in his hoodie like the absolute menace you are, and he’s going to get to hold you again, finally, finally, finally. he practically explodes off the train the second the doors slide open, and megumi has to jog just to keep him in sight. yuuji tears across the campus like he’s running a marathon with a girlfriend at the finish line. because he is.

except. you’re not there. he skids to a stop outside your dorm. knocks. waits. nothing. he calls your name through the door just in case. checks the time, double-checks his texts—you were supposed to arrive yesterday. you’d even texted him earlier today about how your dorm felt a little cold without him in it.

confused and weirdly heartbroken, he drags his duffel to his dorm instead, figuring maybe you’re off getting groceries or finding your ra or something. he’s mid-sigh, phone halfway to his ear, when he pushes open the door.

and there you are. sitting on his bed like you’ve always belonged there. music playing low on his speaker. legs curled up beneath you. reading a book you’ve probably read ten times. wearing his red hoodie like the little criminal you are.

you look up. blink once. and then—“yuuji!!”

you scream it like your life depends on it. you launch yourself at him with all the force your body can manage. he catches you like he knew you’d do that, like he’s done it a thousand times, and you kiss him all over—cheeks, forehead, lips, chin, nose—endlessly.

he’s laughing so hard his abs start to hurt, tears springing to his eyes, because you’re real and you’re here and you’re warm and soft and solid in his arms and the hoodie’s all stretched out from where you’ve clearly worn it all summer and god, he never wants to let you go again.

he buries his face in your neck like he’s trying to breathe you in. you smell like home. he could cry. he might cry. megumi walks in just in time to witness it and looks seconds away from walking right back out. you turn, grinning wickedly. he flinches a little when you launch a hug at him too, but lets it happen. “I missed you, too, megumi,” you say, so bright it’s hard to tell if you’re teasing. “even if you completely ignored all the adorable letters and I sent you, you emotionally repressed little cryptid.”

he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I kind of missed you too.”

yuuji practically melts at the scene. and then—you turn back to him. hands cupping his face. studying him like a miracle. “you look so tan,” you murmur. “and…did you get taller?” you always know just what to say to absolutely fluster him. 

your voice is so genuine it short-circuits his brain. he opens his mouth to respond and instead lets out something halfway between a wheeze and a squeak. you laugh again. the same laugh he’s been playing back in his head every night like a bedtime song. he kisses your forehead. he kisses your cheeks. he kisses your nose.later—once you’re both settled, once megumi has fled the scene like a man escaping a rom-com horror film, pretending he’s not off to go find his girl—yuuji turns serious for a second. his arms are wrapped around you, and he says it with all the honesty his full, stupid heart can muster: “I’ll have to tell megumi I’m sorry because I’m never doing another summer without you.” and you believe him. because when yuuji loves, he loves out loud. bold and bright and boyishly devoted. and you, wrapped in that love, never feel anything less than completely adored.

list of men who simply do not allow you to leave their presence:

sukuna ryomen

sukuna ryomen

sukuna ryomen

[ink-stainedkiss]

Both arms cradle you now

Synopsis: Stress hits Katsuki hard and there's only one person who can save him from the intense pressure: you

Word Count: 1.3k

Coming home from a night of patrol was like shedding off a layer of skin, Katsuki had been desperately dreaming about. The apartment was cold, almost empty from your lack of presence, but you were already asleep in your shared room. Katsuki trudged through the complex, telling himself he would take a quick shower, but seeing you curled up and so peaceful, his will broke down instantly. 

Slipping off his hero costume, mumbling to himself about how he needed to get some spots sewn up, he lazily climbed into bed with you. Katsuki had been rather upset tonight. Eijirou, his teammate taking the double shift with him, had noticed how quiet he was. Not even complaining about how smoothly the patrol was running.

Katsuki loved fighting and taking down bad guys, but that was the least of his troubles, since all he wanted to do was see your face. In the morning, you were both rushed, barely having time to kiss Katsuki goodbye as he zipped out the door, heading to his agency to handle an annoying problem. You, on the other hand, had to get to your job. Being a journalist these days was not for the weak.

You were expected to get piles of papers done and finish reports for photos the paparazzi had snuck. It wasn’t as important as your boyfriend's work, but you were so worn out, it felt like you had beaten up criminals the entire day. So when you got home, you whipped up a small dinner, making sure to leave Katsuki some in the refrigerator in case he got home early.

Winding down, you did your pre-bedtime ritual: taking a soothing bath, putting on a facial mask, munching on some ice cream you found hidden in the freezer, and you tried to stay awake and wait for the Pro Hero. The TV show you turned on was getting dreadfully ignored, since you continued to check your phone for that exciting text, but no indication that Katsuki would be heading over came.

So you tiredly let your head fall onto the pillows, thinking so longingly of the missing person who was supposed to be right next to you. Sleep took over your system, and you were knocked out seconds later. 

Katsuki found you in your drowsy state, quietly snickering. He shuffled under the covers, instantly wrapping his strong arms around you from behind. Inhaling your scent, his body relaxed instantaneously. He finally felt at peace, happy to have you in his arms, and tomorrow he would make up for his rapid exit yesterday.

There was only a small problem that sleep wouldn’t help with. Throughout the hectic day, Katsuki had faced being rushed out of the complex, ignorant people, fighting criminals nonstop, and having to deal with their outbursts. Normally, Katsuki could handle it, but it had piled up more and more as the minutes passed. His solution was always you.

He would come home, topple onto your body and rant about what a shitty day he had while you carded your fingers through his hair. It was a win-win situation because he got to rid himself of all that tension while also getting affection from you.

But today, that didn’t happen. It wasn’t your fault, you need sleep too, but it meant Katsuki still suffered from the strain of his day with no way to relieve it. So it was only expected that he began to twist and turn, his head conjuring nerve-racking things that kept him up.

More often than not, he was brought back to the war. Where he thought he was truly dead. He couldn’t imagine you seeing his dead body, but he was forced to watch it over and over. You were crying over his lifeless frame, shaking him, yet it did nothing. It was horrific to see the one he loved most in so much pain, yet the universe didn’t want to give him a break.

Images of you finally leaving Katsuki made his heart shatter. You looked so tired and fed up, even though he was begging you to say what he could do to fix this. Instead, you said nothing, walking out of his life completely. He was breaking down, having to go through every heartbreaking scenario imaginable to him.

You had woken up from the man next to you grunting and mumbling incoherent words. Yawning, you sat up and turned toward him. Your stomach sank at the sight of him. He was sweating, head jerking back and forth, and his chest rose harshly. Hurriedly, you flick on the lamp next to you, jumping into action. You planted your hands firmly on his shoulders, shaking him and calling out.

“Kats? Katsuki, can you hear me?” You called,”It's just a nightmare, I’m right here.”

His eyes were squeezed shut, and he began to thrash around, his brows furrowed. Katsuki having nightmares was not something new; many times, you had to wake him since he wouldn’t stop shifting around, but this one seemed worse than the rest.

He seemed to be fighting whatever was happening in the dream, grunting softly and trying to get you off of him. You stayed unwaveringly by his side, caressing his face and trying to pull him out of the nightmare. This was the longest he’s ever been trapped in a dream, usually, he will snap right out of it, but what was going on in his head must have been bad. 

Suddenly, Katsuki sat up, clutching his chest and panting. He fought to catch his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. You were stunned, unsure of how to help, so you whispered in the night.

“Katsuki?”

Your voice was barely audible, but Katsuki still heard it over the pounding of his heart. He froze, making sure this wasn’t another nightmare, then turned to face you. The moonlight that slipped past the curtains illuminated his panicked face and the tears welling in his large eyes. 

Katsuki would never admit it, but he was horrified. He hadn’t just lost you, he had lost everyone. Nonetheless, here you were, right in front of him. It was only justified when you reached out, your soft hand resting against his cheek. The look on your face was full of nothing but sympathy.

“Hey, you’re alright now.” You assured, moving closer,” I’m not going to let anything hurt you.”

The wall of fear Katsuki had built up through the night came crumbling down, and he was clinging onto you in a matter of seconds. He sighed against your chest, hands gripping you tight as if he were to let go, you would cease to exist. 

You didn’t say anything, not yet, you needed to make sure he knew everything was alright. In the darkness, the only sound was Katsuki’s breathing. Once he calmed down, he didn’t let up his grip. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Katsuki thought about it, hesitant to even utter the terror he had gone through,” Everything was horrible.”

His voice cracked, and you knew it wasn’t going to be easy to explain.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, we can just lie here if you want.”

The suggestion sounded like heaven to him, and he nodded against your skin, moving up to place his face in the crook of your shoulder. Your hand glided on his back, scratching soothing patterns into the loose tank top he wore. His shaky breaths died down till they evened out, letting you carefully turn off the light on your nightstand. 

You had dealt with Katsuki’s nightmares time and time again, and you were proud of how far he had come. At the beginning of your relationship, Katsuki would have forced you to ignore him and go back to sleep, feeling insecure about his stupid nightmares. You would try to tell him that he didn’t have to hide his awful dreams or just the things he was afraid of, but he wouldn’t let up, at least not until you had to calm him down. 

After that day, Katsuki knew two things for certain: He was one of the strongest heroes alive, and that you would always be there to save him from the things he couldn’t fight himself.

Divider creds: @steviebbboi

*rubs hands together mischeviously* I love angst and a soft bakugou crossover muahahaha

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

Devotion & Deceit

Rhysand x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: Upon learning Rhysand intends to go through with his proposal, you begin to deteriorate. Your mates complete disregard for your concerns leaves you making some brash decisions of your own.

Read pt.1 to Devotion & Deceit - HERE

Read pt.4 - HERE

Warnings: Descriptions of trauma, Panic Attacks, Blood, Depression, Brief mentions of self harm.

You weren’t able to get up out of bed, and despite Azriels visits and multiple attempts, he couldn’t get you up either. Even though the majority of your time was spent in the small bedroom of that log cabin, very little time was spent actually sleeping in it. The miniscule amount of sleep you did get was broken by you jolting awake in the dead of night only to cry until the sun peaked through the cracks of the drapes that remained closed no matter what time of day.

The meals that Azriel brought to you remained ignored and untouched on the nightstand, to be removed by him the next day with a fresh platter in the hopes that you would at least pick through it. On occasion the smell would have you scrambling for the toilet, thin figure peeled over the side as you dry heaved into the bowl. The meals eventually reduced to small snacks the more often it happened, making you feel the slightest hint of guilt which only had you burrowing further into the sheets.

Niliana’s best efforts didn’t seem to shake you either, she’d come by to give you the latest spiel of the gossip in town, or brush out your hair as you laid in bed. She came by every day for the better part of a month, until the work she put off caught up to her, sending the wraith scrambling to catch up. She no longer came by.

Rhys hadn’t sent a word down the bond. Not a flicker of emotion, pain, even a thought. Just.. nothing. He was completely shut off from you. Not like you could complain, you did the exact same to him, going completely MIA.

“Have you two spoken?” Azriel said from the doorway, a glass of water in hand along with a small rag that undoubtedly held more food he wanted you to shove down your throat. Azriel sighed as he saw your eyes fall on the item, a grimace gracing your features. You muttered a soft “no” as he padded towards the bed, hand outstretched in a silent plea for you to sit up.

You groaned, sitting up as you rubbed your eyes, the dark circles surrounding them making you look like you had taken a beating. “I need to change anyways.” You croaked; voice rough as you swung your legs over the side of the bed.

You had visibly lost weight, your legs looking like if you look a step they’d crack under the pressure. You couldn’t bring yourself to care even the slightest bit. Ever since he had chosen her. Left his mate to rot in this stupid log cabin as if you meant nothing to him. Chose her again just like he did Under the Mountain, while Amarantha forced you to watch every night as she danced for him in that skimpy little outfit. But even then, you understood, then you knew that he was doing it for you- doing what was necessary.

What you didn’t understand was this. It had ended, you had run to him in that arena like you had wanted to for fifty years. You had clung to him like he was your lifeline. Five decades of Amarantha using you as her slave, only allowing you to see Rhys when he was tangled up with her. Always by her side.

And he had chosen someone else over you- yet again.

Azriel broke your thoughts by holding out the glass to you, and you rose from the bed, taking it in your frail hands, slightly shaky from the lack of vitamins. You brought it to your mouth, letting the chill of the glass rest on your bottom lip as you swallowed a few mouthfuls of the liquid. It didn’t go down easy, the cold making you recoil slightly as you swallowed the last bit.

You turned back to hand the glass back to Azriel, but he was frozen, face pale as he looked at you. His shadows swarmed him, moving around him in a frenzy, curling towards his ears, flicking around his waist. He stared at the glass you held out to him, and you slowly retracted your hand as you realize he was too caught up in whatever his shadows were whispering to him.

Your face fell, and the corners of your mouth downturned into a poorly concealed frown. “Is she there?” You asked, the question falling out of you before you could do anything to stop it, not that you could’ve. You didn’t know why you needed to know so bad, your body ached with the question, your hand gripping the glass tighter in an unexplainable want.  His mouth opened like he was going to speak, but immediately shut closed as he hesitated. He didn’t need to say it, you knew.

You knew, you always knew.

Something in you snapped, and like a cage being unlocked, a fiery, all-consuming fury burst through the bars and swallowed you whole. The feeling swamped you like a tidal wave, your arm cocking back, barely feeling the glass slipping from your grasp as you sent it soaring straight at the wall.

The glass shattered immediately upon impact, the sound breaking the comforting stillness of the room, making Azriel flinch. Shards of glass and remnants of water were blown back at you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you felt the water drench the front of your shirt. The cloth stuck to your ribcage, the frigid wetness not registering in the slightest. You felt a shard slice your cheek open as it grazed you, and other bits of glass embed themselves into you as you heard the tinkle of the pieces falling to the floor, a few skittering across the ground.

“I’M NOT STAYING HERE!” You roared, hands coming to cradle your head, hands fisted in your hair. You pulled at the roots, clung to them like they’d offer some grain of comfort as your breathing began to speed up. The room was spinning, everything was spinning.

And you were Under the Mountain again- you were cold and wet. It was dark, your cell was too small. You could feel the dirt and grime and how it was caked under your fingernails like the dust had engraved itself onto you. Your matted hair and the feeling of the violent tugs as you ripped it out. But that was your hair- you could feel it between your fingers. You couldn’t breathe- God, why couldn’t you breathe.

“Get your shit together!” Azriel yelled, jolting you as he forced you to stop spiraling, hands clamping down on your wrists as you stilled. His grip dug into your skin, and you finally surfaced from the hurricane in your head enough to realize you were holding clumps of your hair in your hands. The thin strands hung from your fingers like a morbid Solstice decoration, and you vaguely recognized the sting that told you that you had bitten through your bottom lip in your haste.

You stared at him wide eyed, feeling the burn of your tears leaking into the cut on your cheek. You flinched as you felt a drop of blood hit your forearm, and looked down soon enough to watch the crimson run down the expanse towards your elbow. It stained your skin, and you watched as another drop landed right beside it. You were bleeding, you could feel as it ran down your cheek, over your jaw, mingling with the blood that dripped from your lip down your chin.

“Do you think if you destroy yourself enough that he’ll come save you like he did for Feyre?”

It dawned on you then, just how much you had ruined yourself. You had turned into the very thing you had hated Feyre for. The very thing that had Rhys tripping over himself to go and fix, just like he did for her Under the Mountain.

Yet he didn’t come for you.

“I can’t stay here.” You whispered, bottom lip trembling.

“Then you won’t.” Azriel said, letting go of your wrists.

Azriel had helped you calm down and think of what you were going to pack, not that you were taking much with you, the very idea of having anything to remind you of your time here made you want to throw up whatever was left in your stomach. You settled for a small change of clothes, your hands smoothing over the wrinkles as you folded the articles.

“Have you even decided where you’re going?” Azriel asked as he perched on the bed beside you. You shoved the small shirt you were folding into your bag, eyes trailing over to him as he waited on your answer. The drapes had been opened after your breakdown, making the light glint off Azriel’s siphons as he shifted, hands coming to perch on his knees. You shrugged, eyes stinging the slightest bit as they still needed time to adjust to the newly introduced light that you’d been avoiding for weeks. “Home.” You answered simply, finishing shoving your change of clothes into the small pack you now slid over your shoulder.

Azriel bristled, head cocking back as he questioned “The Winter Court?” The dresser at the corner of the room suddenly became very interesting as he made no attempt to hide his concern. “Yep.” You licked your lips, tongue smoothing over the teeth marks that had made a small crater in your bottom lip, the indent making you sigh. “That’s one hell of a flight.” You tucked your knife into the sheath on your thigh, the metal making a grating sound against the studded leather that had you cringing. “It’s not like I could winnow in if I wanted to.”

It's there, then that perhaps Azriel had begun to understand your insatiable need to flee. To leave everything that you had created, the life you’d built, everything that you are. Maybe he had sensed it subconsciously when he had found you that day on the border of the Night Court.

Azriel knew why you couldn’t winnow, it had always been a silent understanding between you two, and exactly the reason he hadn’t touched on it when your training had begun all those years ago. Not that you had gone into detail about what had happened in the middle, what you went through during your journey. But with Azriel being a spymaster, it hadn’t taken him long to fill in the blanks. He knew enough, and he had decided he didn’t need to know anymore- didn’t want to.

But even after you had gotten so used to running, the instinct carved so deep into your blood not even The Mother could undo it, he still had a small pit of anxiety sitting in his stomach that never quite went away. It was out of love, out of an uncontainable fear that history would repeat itself that he swished his hand over towards you, a shadow stirring to life, swirling around your waist and anchoring itself to you.

You watched how it swam and twirled around you, scurrying up your hand and over your arm. “Really?” You had asked, a light, barely there hint of amusement twinged your tone, and he rolled his eyes in response. But when he turned to you, his expression was deadly serious, almost concerned. This man, who had cared for a scared, young Illyrian girl who had somehow crawled her way to the border. Who had taught her how to fly, how to live, how to control the magic that wanted to burst out of her as if it was overflowing. He looked up at you, lips pursed. “You might see her again, you know.” He said, barely a murmur, almost scared that the words he spoke would conjure them to life.

Your eyes flickered to him as you shoved the last dagger into your boot at your heel. “That’s the plan.”

[voxslays]

IN THE END — HAZBIN MEN

SUMMARY: Their reaction to your (second) death. WARNINGS: Major character death (reader), unhealthy coping mechanisms. A/N: Back in my Hazbin phase??

ALASTOR

❤︎ Haha…what? Did he hear Charlie right? She must be bluffing. There was no way you were dead…right? For the first time since he’s arrived in hell, his smile falters. Although it was only for a short moment, he only realizes then how much he loved you.

❤︎ He had always kept you in the friend-zone. Maybe it was because he was afraid, or just not ready. Maybe it was because of his ego. The infamous Radio Demon having a lover? Preposterous! Yet, he can’t help but regret it. If he hadn’t fled from Adam during their fight, maybe he could’ve saved you.

LUCIFER

❤︎ …what…? The moment Charlie tells him, he can feel his heart shatter into multiple tiny pieces. His second love—the one who took his broken pieces, put them back together, and watched them heal. You were dead? How could this have happened?

❤︎ He was the third most powerful creature in existence, only gaining more power after the fall…yet…it still wasn’t enough to save you, was it? Although he killed Adam and avenged you, all he feels is sorrow. He spends countless nights getting drunk in his room while crying into his pillow on the bed you used to share. Maybe in another life.

VOX

❤︎ The moment he hears Velvette utter those three words, he loses it. Glitching and buffering, the room around him starts closing in. Once Velvette leaves, that’s when his anger is truly unleashed. The penthouse you once used to love? It’s now in ruins.

❤︎ He cuts any and all ties to you, even going so far as to surgically remove the memory card in his system that stores all your memories together. If he doesn’t know, he can’t feel the pain right? Yet, even after he forgets, he still feels numb—and a sense of deep longing. In the end, the pain was too much for him to remember.

[queenofheartlessdreams]

Scorned Sympathy ( Aegon II Targaryen x Reader)

Fandom: House of the Dragon, Aegon II Targaryen x Fem! Hightower! Reader

Summary: Alicent Hightower's sister has always hated the King, and transversely, he has hated her back. But, that all changes after he returns from Rook's Rest.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: none? I think, I don't know, its HOTD but mostly hurt/comfort and fluff

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They say that burns are a sacred death. The death of  dragon riders, honoring them among the living, and the dead. In his history lessons, Aegon had heard it was peaceful. Yes, there was supposed to be a screaming,  agonizing pain, but as flesh burned away, it took nerve endings with it, leaving them to feel nothing, numb. 

But Aegon hadn't been so lucky, he had only wished he had died back on the battlefield, died on impact of the flames. Then he wouldn't have had to suffer through spiraling to the ground, snapping his bones, or feel his armor being peeled away after it had merged with his flesh. He wouldn't have had to sleep nearly every hour of the day, waking up only to experience excruciating pain, relearning to walk when every step made him cry out in agony. 

The once comforting walls of his bedroom had turned into a torture chamber as he was forced to his feet by the Maesters, only to hobble around the confinements of those walls, good hand gripping the cane with enough force to drive splinters in his hands and cause his knuckles to turn white.

He cried out as the Maester pushed him into another step, holding him upright as best he could. Larys Strong stood in the patch of sunlight in the room, giving him an angelic halo, ironic as it was his devilish idea to make Aegon start walking so soon, only weeks after he had returned to the Red Keep.  

"Impressive," the club-footed man says, heads turning in his direction, "But I'm afraid you must work harder."

Aegon screams as Larys reaches around his other arm, cries of pain sounding like twisted laughter as together, they move him another step. Burned tissue stretched as they did, a blinding pain seeping through his barely-healed broken leg. 

The men pause in their persistence as the large bedroom doors swing open, silver-draped guards pushing them back to reveal the figure of Y/N, the youngest Hightower daughter. Her frame was draped in a long black gown, tied around her center with a golden chain that stopped several inches above the hem of her skirts. Long copper hair draped down her back, just as her eldest sister, yet that was where the similarities stopped. 

While Alicent was looked up to, a regal Queen of the realm, her sister had all but denounced her high-blood status, working in the streets as a herbalist, giving medicine to the poor, healing wounds, and delivering children. It wasn't until Viserys had died that Alicent welcomed her into the castle, for her protection, she had explained, though no man nor woman would dare to touch the 'witch'.

"Return the King to his bed, my Lords," the woman says, striding into the room, hands folded neatly in front of her gown. 

"The King must regain his strength, my Lady, he must practice," Lord Larys calls over his shoulder, dismissing her command.

Y/N smiles curtly at his defiance, "How would you like to disfigure your other foot, Lord Layrs?"

The man stops, struggling out from underneath the King's arm, "The King-"

"The King is too busy moaning in agony to give a shit about what you think," the woman interrupts, a boldness frowned upon in the castle, "Return him to bed, and leave us. I'm sure there are whispers to attend to."

Reluctantly, the Maester carries Aegon to his bed, allowing him to fall back onto the sanction of his covers. The Maester moves to lift the King's legs, despite his protests, earning a painful cry as they hit his sheets.

Vhisrya watches as the King rolls to his untainted side, arms curled up against his chest in defeat, body trembling as whimpers escape his scarred lips. The Maester exits quickly, Lord Larys slowly following, glaring at her with every step. It is only when she hears the large doors latch shut behind the men that she makes her way over to the King's bedside. He resembled a small child more than a man, curled around himself in loosely fitted clothes, eyes squeezed shut as his body shook.

He takes a ragged breath as he senses her presence beside him, eyes opening just the slightest to glare at the black-clothed woman, "Come to finish me off, witch?"

The witch makes no remark against him, only motioning for the boy to sit upright in the bed. He does so, grunting in pain, bracing himself on his good arm as he slides up to prop his back against the headboard. 

Y/N makes note of his trembling hands, the way he still insisted on putting up a bitter front despite not being able to move even a foot without collapsing in pain. It reminded her of his father. 

Regardless, she reaches for the buttons of his nightgown, pulling them apart hastily till his chest was exposed. Blistering red wounds stretched across the expanse of his left side, charred and black in some places, while in others, the skin had been cut away in jagged marks from separating melted armor from the King's flesh. 

"What-what are you doing?" Aegon trembles, fear lacing his voice. 

The woman's eyes move from his chest, to his face. He watched as they drifted from his swollen eyelid, to the top of his head, where silvery-blonde hair parted from vibrant burns, to where his ear once was, reduced now to a small lump that opened into his eardrum. He knew it was hideous, he wouldn't lie to himself, trying to persuade his own mind that he was still the beautiful boy the kingdom worshiped. He knew that if he healed, he couldn't even be seen in a pleasure house, not even the whores wanting to be fucked by a monster such as himself.

"Your grace?"

A soft voice draws him out of his own mind, one that was nearly unrecognizable coming from the woman beside him, "I have an ointment, one that should assist in healing your burns. But, I require you to remove your sleeves."

"Can't", Aegon grunts, talking becoming an exhaustion.

"I can assist you," the woman cooes, dragging the soiled fabric down his good arm first.

Aegon whimpers as her hand moves to his burned side, gently peeling the fabric from his neck, then down his shoulder, drawing near his bicep. He could feel the fabric stick to his skin, the pus that leaked from his wounds drying, attaching itself to the coarse fabric.

"I'm going to lift your arm," the woman says, earning a series of pleading "no"'s as she does.

The prince groans in pain, feeling the blistering skin stretch, muscle burning as she peeled the fabric away from his body, letting it pool around his waist.

Y/N could see the King's murderous gaze as she finished, pulling his arm back immediately, heavy breaths filling his chest, followed by shaking exhales. 

She makes haste, placing a mortar on the nearby table, filling it with oils and herbs, grinding it till the scent fills the room, overwhelmed by lavender. The King watches as she pulls a small vial from the pocket of her dress, opening it to reveal a nearly clear, thick liquid.

"What is that?" the King asks, the filth of his mind overpowering common sense.

Y/N looks back to the burned man, unaware he was watching her, "It's dragon saliva. Something in it prevents the dragons from being burned when they breathe fire, and proves itself to assist the healing process quicker than the Maester's brew alone. It only took me so long to bring it to you as your brother won't let me near his dragon, Sunfyre has not returned from Rook's Rest, and Helaena won't speak to me as she thinks I had something to do with your son's beheading."

Her last words come out as an aggravated shout, making the boy flinch. With a deep breath, she regains herself, carrying the mortar to his bedside, black dress fanning out on the sheets beside him, "I apologize, your Grace. You all think of me as some plague here to ruin the sanction of your home, yet Alicent refuses to let me leave the castle walls."

It was strange, hearing his mother's name be used so plainly, everyone else referred to her as the Queen, even Aemond and him referred to her as  "your Grace". 

Aegon clears this throat as the woman begins to spread the paste across his chest. It burned at first, but not to the level of the Maester's concoction. Perhaps dragon saliva was the key.

"She believes you would flee to Rhaenyra, aid her conquest for the crown," he grunts, intently gazing at the greenish mixture spread across his skin.

"And she is right," Y/N states plainly, "Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and you have usurped her crown."

"I could have your head for that," Aegon jokes, a faint smile, one of the first since he had returned, spreading across his lips. 

The woman smiles back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she continues to coat his torso, " I could have already had yours."

"Why haven't you, then?"

The hand that holds the brush hesitates, as Y/N searches for an answer. In all honesty, she has had many opportunities to kill the man, yet the thought never truly crossed her mind. She takes a deep breath before continuing her strokes, "You may be a monster- the sins you have committed are so terrible that you'd burst into flames if you ever set foot in the Sept. But, I know you did not choose to be King, just as I did not choose to waste away in this castle. I do not wish to punish you for something you cannot control, you have suffered enough."

Aegon says nothing, only faint whimpers coming from his lips. His breathing stilled as the woman traced a line of ointment across his face, delicately placing it across the edge where untouched skin met charred flesh. His body jolts as she accidentally brushes over an open wound on his cheekbone, where his helmet had melted, merging itself with his flesh. Despite how careful the Maester had been when removing it, deep gashes still marred his face. 

The King yelps in pain, eyes shut as the oils burn their way through his open wound, sending a new wave of intense pain across his face. His body curls against itself, a position he found himself in more and more often these days. But rather than digging the nails of his good hand into the palm of his fist, he found a softer, more delicate hand in his , softly stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, "I'm sorry."

Aegon whimpers, the comfort of her touch calming the scarred boy. It was rare that he obtained touches like these, not even from his mother, despite how much she claimed she loved him. No, she was more focused on being Queen than being a mother.  His wife was the same way, more fascinated with her bugs than her husband, only laying with him when they were forced to produce an heir, before returning to her own quarters in solitude. He would watch Helaena with their own children, interacting with them, holding them, reading to them, only wishing that his mother had done the same. 

So Aegon welcomes the warmth of the witch, clutching her hand with the intention to never let go until his scars had healed and he could hold his head with as much dignity as a true king. "Tell me a story," Aegon whispers, distracting himself from the pain that stretched across his body with every breath.

Y/N smirks, placing the mortar between her legs so she could continue placing the ointment with his hand still clutching her own. 

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Princess, who was locked away in a tower guarded by a fierce dragon. Her parents, the King and Queen, missed her dearly, and declared that any knight who were to rescue her from the dragon's keep, would marry the lovely Princess.

Not far from the kingdom lived a beast, alone. He was happy that way, till a power-hungry Lord wished to take the beast's land for himself. Upset, the beast made a deal with the Lord, in exchange for his land, the beast would rescue the Princess from her dragon's keep, so the Lord may marry her. True to his word, the beast saved the girl, yet as they traveled back to the Lord's castle, the beast found himself falling in love with the Princess."

Beside her, Aegon's breath slows, muscles relaxing against her grip, yet his violet eyes stay fixated on the woman. He listens to her intently, soft voice ringing through the silent room, as airy as wind blowing his curtains in the night. 

"One night," Y/N continues, brushing the ointment across his scarred forearm, "The beast sought to confront the Princess, yet when he came to her cabin, he heard vile words coming from her mouth, ones solely describing such a monster as the beast. Furious, he gave her to the Lord, returning to his swamp alone. Yet, he couldn't forget the Princess, as even if she despised him, he loved her. So, he returned to the Lord's castle the night of the wedding.

As the sun fell that night, the beast watched as the beloved Princess transformed before his eyes, to a beast herself. Cursed by a witch many years before, the Princess turned ugly, monstrous, every night, the curse only to be broken by true love's kiss.

Together, the beast and the Princess slayed the Lord, and wed that night. Yet, when she kissed the beast, her appearance remained disfigured. The Princess then realized, that love's truest form was not based in beauty, but in happiness. She returned to the swamp with her beloved beast, and the two lived happily ever after."

Vhisrya finished her story with a smile, placing the brush back in the mortar. She looks down at the King, whose eyes were shut. For a moment, she thinks he has fallen asleep, but Aegon grunts, indicating he is still conscious, "Was there a moral to that story?"

He had only thought of the question after listening to one of Jaehaerys's lessons, one of the few times he was sober while the sun was still high in the sky. It made him feel like a child himself, curled along his tutor's side as she read him tales of past Kings.

The woman beside him rolls her eyes, placing her hand atop his own, "The moral is that even though someone may appear hideous, it does not make them a beast."

A deep flush overtakes Aegon's body, understanding her words. Still, he purses his swollen lips, "What if one's insides are as hideous- as hideous as their outsides?"

"Then that is truly a monster," Y/N replies, watching as the boy's face turns to a scowl.

A few moments of silence pass before the woman lets out a heavy sigh, "The beast was known for killing villagers set foot near his swamp, yet after he rescued his bride, he never killed again. He changed, Aegon, and you can too."

A chill is sent up Aegon's spine when she says his name. Like the rest of his court, she only addressed him "your Grace", and even when she did refer to him indirectly as "King Aegon", spite laced her words, bitter as poison. In every sober moment he had believed that she had hated him, yet her presence and aid in his time of need dismissed the notion from his mind entirely. 

Not even his mother had looked at him for this long, or made conversation so kind. Aegon had seen her, several times, hovering behind the Maester's as they tended to his wounds, yet she never dared to approach him, so close to his gnarled flesh. He couldn't blame her, he knew it was hideous, and the Queen's stomach was not meant to see such obscenities. 

In all honestly, neither should Y/N, but her previous line of work made her accustomed to such sights. The King swallows thickly, pain stretching up the left side of his neck, causing him to let out a small whimper. 

He feels the woman's hand stroke through his matted hair, hair that hasn't been brushed, or even washed in days. It shamed him, that he was incapable of keeping up his own appearance, needing the hands of servants to take the place of his own in combing his hair, washing him, dressing him, feeding him. 

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he whispers, discarding the last bit of dignity he held.

Y/N looked to the boy below her. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that she had never seen before, a glisten of sadness, despair, hopelessness. "Of course."

Aegon grunts as the weight shifts on the bed as she lays beside him, on his good side, not wanting to damage him in his slumber. The tormented King watches as she discards her jewelry on the furthest bedside table before fluffing a pillow to join him in the bed. Her long hair splays across the pillow as she grasps his hand, leaving several inches between the two of them. 

"Come closer," Aegon pleads, pulling gently on her hand, as much as his muscles would allow without excruciating pain.

"I don't want to harm you," Y/N says quickly, concerned etched in her features. 

"You won't" Aegon replies, sinking into the warmth of her body pressed against his own.

His body aches from his burns, the ointment only soothing his pain so much. It was nights like this, when Aegon couldn't sleep, when his body caused him so much trouble that he trembled and moaned until the morning sun rose. But as he curled against the woman, his pain began to subdue. He knew it wasn't literal, that her presence made his hurt go away, but he wished to believe it that simple, that she was his cure.

Y/N listened to his wheezing breaths slow as she held him, hand tight in her own. She felt the King's nose bury itself against the nape of her neck, a small grunt escaping his lips. She could feel his  chest rise and fall against her own as the King falls into a dreamless slumber. 

Darkness fills the room as the final candle burns low, the witch finally closing her eyes for her own rest, holding the broken, tortured boy in her arms, keeping him safe through the night. 

[comicarc]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭 (𝐈𝐈)

•──✮ masterlist ✮──•

> Main Continuity Mark Grayson/Reader > y/n makes a lot of discoveries, some good and some bad as she officially starts working with Teen Team 【 wc: 2298 】

◃ previous ◃ ▐▐ ▹ next ▹

Mark Grayson had powers. Mark Grayson was the new guy. Mark Grayson was sitting injured at the foot of his father’s hospital bed. y/n had no idea what to feel–betrayed by the fact that Mark never mentioned such a monumental change in his life or empathetic to the fact that he needed medical attention immediately. Frozen in place, lips slightly parted, y/n was deciding how to approach the situation when Debbie ran past her to hug her son. They both shed tears in each other’s embrace as y/n watched.

Taking a shaky breath she took a seat at the bench on the other side of Nolan’s hospital bed, back facing the Graysons her head hung low so her tears would be unseen. She silently wept, holding a tissue she had found in the corner of her eye so the salty water wouldn’t stream past her waterline. It was a plethora of emotion she released through her tears. She was trying to forget the literal pain emitting from her bruised body, just as much as she was trying to extinguish the anguish of having to lie to Mark about her own powers. She couldn’t tell him yet, for a promise was a promise. 

A while had passed before silence crept back into the recovery room. Debbie had stepped out to grab some food for the three of them, while Mark paced back and forth, now realizing what he had brushed off before. He should have told her he’d gotten powers, he’d even promised she’d be the first to know at one point, so why didn’t he? 

Mark tried to reason his actions before apologizing to y/n. “I thought things would be different if I told you, and the last thing I needed was more change–”  

“–What? You thought I wouldn’t be excited? Or that maybe I wouldn’t like you anymore cause you’re different? You know you couldn’t have hidden it from me for long, I would have found out eventually. So what exactly would be different Mark, other than me knowing?” y/n retorted with a whisper yell for she feared her voice would have broken midway through her sentence with all the crying she had done. 

“I–I just thought if you didn’t know, then you’d be safe from…” Tears welled in his eyes as he turned his gaze from y/n’s back to his father. “...this.” His voice broke as he finished.

Standing from her place, y/n made it to Mark’s side and hugged him, drowning in his reciprocated embrace. “Don’t worry Mark, I can take care of myself just fine.”

Mark chuckled, wrapping a hand around y/n’s waist. He noticed her wince ever so slightly at the touch but shrugged it off as a result of his super strength. He needed to do better, be better to help stop threats like the aliens, and protect his loved ones from himself. So he decided his first priority would be to get some lessons from a reliable and relatable superhero: Atom Eve.

“How about we get out of here, have some ice cream, and watch some trashy reality TV with your mom?” y/n suggested, hoping it would give Mark some much-needed laughter. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

“Cecil?” He’d teleported to y/n in the middle of an empty hallway at school, much to her dismay. “I’m at school, what was so urgent you couldn’t wait?”

He paced toward her, as a faux show of authority, before beginning, “I need you to meet the Teen Team at their quarters, as soon as you’re out. You’re going to have to work together to stop any new threats now that the Guardians are dead.”

y/n didn’t want to get in the middle of any superhero-ing activities, for that always spelled trouble. But, even working together, they were no match for the aliens that attacked downtown. The only way to solidify a weakened defense would be by unifying the most powerful people they could find, her being among them. Reluctantly, y/n answered, “Fine, but this is temporary.”

As if on cue, the bell rang, effectively ending her school day. Heading out the doors as quickly as she could, y/n beat the crowd of teenagers vying to leave campus and flew off to the Golden Gate Bridge without anyone seeing her. On her way there, she wore the costume she’d kept in her bag and stashed the backpack in her bedroom. 

Descending into the base, Rex was the first to greet her, “Well, if it isn’t Ms. I’m Above Everybody. Finally joining?”

Throwing him the nastiest look she could conjure, y/n retorted, “You need all the help you can get. Think of this arrangement as a pity favor.” A smile snuck on her face as she finished and stood to the side watching Dupli-Kate play ping-pong with her other self. 

The base was just the same as the day she’d first seen it, rooms located on the higher levels with the main area split into a spacious floor and a locker room. Kate and y/n stood in another section, where the ping pong table had been set up beside the platform with Robot’s computers. 

y/n was about to strike up some conversation with Kate when the compound doors opened allowing Eve and Mark Invincible to enter. When Eve landed, subsequently having a mini-makeout session with Rex, y/n couldn’t help but feel proud for Mark as he wore his super suit with pride, just like his father. But she mentally reminded herself that she wasn’t supposed to know who he was, so she simply remained quiet, smiling at him like an idiot. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before Rex stole his attention by taunting him and blabbing about how the Teen Team was victorious. 

Robot, shifting the atmosphere to a more welcoming mood introduced, “Welcome, Invincible. My name is Robot. Apologies for Rex Splode, he’s–”

“Unbelievably awesome.” Rex interrupted, with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. 

Robot, unphased by the disruption finished, “–Incorrigible.” 

Kate was next to introduce herself as all three of her walked up to Invincible. Turning his head, he looked at y/n who sent him a wave of acknowledgment as she said, “Wonder.”

He responded to both heroes with a succinct, “Invincible.”  

Finishing with the introductions, Robot began debriefing, “The flaxans come from a dimension with a faster temporal rate. As a result, the tachyons they emit spin more rapidly than our own. I’ve created this detector to warn us if they return. It should give us a few minutes of early warning.”

Moving away from his computers, Robot stepped toward Invincible, continuing, “Cecil and the GDA have also requested to call on us for any possible emergencies. Since the Guardians are apparently indisposed, Invincible, may we count on you in the future?”

“You sure you want my help?” the boy began, waiting for a response. A moment of silence transpired before he manned up and responded, “Yeah, I mean, of course. Just text me, I guess.” 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Sitting at a cafeteria table besides William, who had caught y/n up on all of Mark’s drama, the girl taunted, “So, loverboy?”

Raising his hands in the air to make a point of his frustration, Mark answered, “We’re just friends.”

“Will you stop saying that? It’s like you’re trying to jinx any chance you have of dating Eve.” William chimed. 

“A day ago you said I had no chance!” Mark countered, eliciting a laugh from y/n.

Smirking she elaborated, “That was before everyone saw you leave school with her yesterday.”

Mark’s eyes went wide at the realization. As he began bickering with William about any chance of being with Eve being nonexistent because of her boyfriend, y/n’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Pulling it out, she saw a notification from an unknown number telling her to head to downtown as quickly as she could. Knowing it was Robot, y/n patted William’s back, letting out a quick, ‘gotta go’ as she ran off to the lockers. 

Grabbing her suit from the bag she had stashed inside, the girl made sure to be inconspicuous as she left school grounds fully suited. Flying to the city, she spotted Rex with his arms crossed and a cheeky grin. y/n walked right past him to the ledge where Kate and Robot stood.

Below, she observed the same Flaxan troops marching onto the streets in hordes, except this time they had new tech. The leader emerged from the portal, drawing a red cape and a scar where his eye should’ve been. It seemed they had taken the previous battle a little too personally. She wondered what they were waiting for, as more troops kept filtering in by the second. Her question answered itself when Eve and Invincible landed on the rooftop, occupied by Rex’ scrutinizing inquiries about their whereabouts. 

Unwilling to wait another second on the rooftop, y/n was the first to fly down, landing on the ground with an impact that sent some soldiers flying. Using her speed to her advantage, y/n fought her way through the crowd, creating an opening for the others to land. Eve stayed back to give civilians enough time to escape while the others took their respective places in the battlefield, each superhero attacking a different horde. Once most of the civilians had managed to escape, Eve let out a blast that pushed the Flaxans pretty far back. But, the victory was shortlived for the others seemed to be getting overwhelmed by the forces and Eve was subdued by the flying orbs the army had brought with them. 

Mark broke through the forces after being temporarily held back, directing his rage at the commander. y/n took the troop’s distracted state to decimate as many as she could, dwindling the force to a third of what it was to begin with. Permitting herself enough time to free Kate, Robot and Rex, y/n attempted to figure out how the Flaxan’s were able to stay alive for so long. Her eyes scanned the soldier heading toward her, when they landed on the wristband he was wearing. That was new. 

Conveying her thoughts in her words, y/n tested, “Robot, y’think it’s the–”

“–wristbands. Yes, they protect the Flaxans from our timestream.” He finished. In no time, they were able to subdue the troops with Robot emitting a charge that dirupted all the bands on the same frequency. Retreating, the team had finally won. 

As the dust cleared, y/n began cleaning up the scene as she piled up the debris from the nearby destroyed buildings. She’d left the team to bicker amongst themselves as they always did, knowing that if she waited for them then they’d all be at this for the rest of the day. Invincible was the first to leave, just as the team started to carry their weight in the task.

Mark wouldn’t have left early for no reason. Either, Debbie was in danger or something happened to Nolan, her mind leaning toward the latter reason. She couldn’t just leave the team to finish up on their own like Mark, so she opted to super speed her way out. Finishing in record time, y/n was finally able to act on the worries that plagued her for an hour. She rushed into the GDA facility, suit discarded at her house as soon as she had left downtown. 

As the doors to the room opened, y/n let out a worried, “What happened?” not even registering the fact that Nolan was awake and sitting up. 

Debbie was bewildered at the sight of the panting girl, asking, “You didn’t see my text?”

Feeling her pocket, y/n realized she had left it in her school locker. Shaking her head no, y/n came by Debbie and Mark’s side with a wide smile stretched across her face. Nolan’s awakening was the best news she’d witnessed all day. y/n asked the bed-ridden man the typical questions he’d probably gotten used to hearing ‘How are you? Any broken bones? Y’think you’re recovered, yet?’ before Mark and Debbie left the room to grab some coffee. 

Now alone with the man, Nolan initiated, “Mark told me about his excursion in the field. How’s he doing?”

“Great! He’s got the basics down, pretty well and he’s more powerful than everyone else on the team, but I guess that was expected. But, I think the only reason he hasn’t realized his real potential is the weight of it all. Y’know watching people die and coming to terms with the fact he can’t save everyone yet.” She paused a moment thinking if there was anything more she needed to add. “Oh! Mark doesn’t know about me, if you’re worried about that.”

Nolan lightly chuckled, replying, “I trust you y/n. How are you?”

“With the Guardians dead, I’m with the Teen Team, but y’know how much I hate working in teams. It’s like commiting myself to being a superhero full-time and I can’t–” y/n couldn’t quite verbalize what she was thinking. She didn’t want to be a superhero for the very reason that Mark was hindering his full capabilities. She couldn’t handle the psychological aspect of having the power of preserving life and imposing death, without guilt building in her heart. She had an obligation to save everyone she could, and when she couldn’t, then was she really worthy of such immense power. 

Redirecting the conversation, Nolan told her, “You’ve got just as much potential as Mark y’know. Out of every being I’ve faced, I’d say your powers are second to Viltrumite abilities. You’ll find your way in time.” 

y/n chuckled his comment off, figuring he only said such sweet words because he pitied her. 

-ˋˏ ༻💫༺ ˎˊ-

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taglist: @luvvfromme

[corpsekiller]

i saw your halloween headcanon post from earlier and i just had to to drop this here — bakugou dressed up as ghostface from scream. that's it, this is the only thing going through my head😩

girl, you're so real for this. i've already read so many fics with this trope, but katsuki would definitely also dress up as ghostface on halloween. thank you so much for sending this ask, my love <3 i loved writing this dkksjsksla

PAIRING. ghostface!katsuki bakugou x genderneutral!reader

WARNINGS. a lot sexual tension, that's it

MASTERLIST

It's strangely quiet.

Your kitchen is dimly lit, the only source of light are the candles flickering auspiciously on your bedside table and the occasional colorful strobe of your decorations you've placed on your windowsill next to a carved pumpkin and some skeleton figurines you've found in a neat little store a while ago.

You're not sure where Katsuki is — he was supposed to pick you up for the party Mina is throwing at her place, but one glance at the clock steadily ticking on the wall above your bed tells you that he's already fifteen minutes late. It's odd, really, because he's always on time, considers punctuality almost as important as strength and victory during battle and yet, here you are, waiting for him as you stuff candy into your bag in preparation for this evening.

There's a faint memory of him mentioning that he wouldn't dress up, ignoring your pleads to wear matching costumes with a dismissive wave of his hand and a typical frown, muttering something about over my dead body and dressing up is only for kids, dumbass, so it doesn't make much sense to justify his unlike tardiness with the lame excuse of him just struggling with his costume.

"Where's that idiot?" You mutter with an exasperated sigh, gently tugging on the hem of your flimsy costume to readjust the fabric before reaching for your phone to text your boyfriend. Just as you're about to open your chats and type your message, a gloved hand snakes around your waist and pulls you back against someone standing behind you.

For a fleeting moment, your heart skips a beat. Then it begins to pound against your ribs — hectical and painful like a small frightened animal caught in the sharp canines of a predator — and your mouth falls open to cry out for help, but no sound dares to leave your trembling lips.

"Did I scare you?" His voice is low, a rough whisper that reverberates in his chest as he pulls you flush against his body, slowly leaning down until the smooth surface of his mask is pressed against your heated cheeks before he continues to speak. "Thought you'd just get away without giving me something sweet and call it a night, huh?"

Carefully, you turn your head and look up at him — hollow eyes and a distorted mouth locked in a permanent scream glare back at you, though the tension finally leaves your limbs and you sigh in relief, almost burst into laughter at your stupidly terrified reaction to his costume. You really must've watched too many horror movies over the span of the last few weeks if you're unable to recognize your own boyfriend.

Because now that you pay attention to the way he grabs your waist, almost possessive in a certain way, you just know his touch — strong, confident, so unmistakably Katsuki.

You squirm in his grip, meekly attempting to fully turn around to face him, but his grasp on your waist only tightens. A whimper leaves your lips, a quiet sound that causes him to chuckle as his hand trails up to tilt your chin, turning your head so you can look at him again.

"No, I don't think so. You're stayin' right here, got it?" His thumb brushes along your jaw, slow and almost tender. Even with the mask on, you can feel his smirk, can imagine the devilish grin that pulls on the corners of his mouth as he keeps you trapped between the kitchen counter and his body without a chance to escape

Though you're not sure you really want to.

"You like it, don't you?" He drawls, tilting his head to get a better look at you — although you can't see his eyes, his gaze seems to burn on your skin and you can't help the violent blush that tints your cheek in a shade of pink. There's a certain edge to his voice too, taunting and dangerous, almost sadistic if you listen close enough, as if he's enjoying the anticipation etched into the soft furrow of your brows, the sheer power he has over you and your body. "You like that I've got you cornered... nowhere to run?"

Oh, this is just a game for him and you've fallen right into his trap.

"Maybe," you reply, barely above a whisper, though you can't help but smile just a little.

"Maybe, huh?" He murmurs, a soft laugh escaping him as he lets his gloved hand wander from your cheek to your neck, lingering there for just a moment before his fingers slowly close around your throat. He doesn't squeeze, not yet, only lets you feel the weight of his hand, but it's enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Better be sure about it. Because now that I've got my hands on you, I won’t let you go.”

With one smooth motion, he pulls the mask up just enough to reveal his face—- the crimson of his eyes has darkened, pupils blown with something you can only describe as hunger and his lips are pulled into a sinister smile that bares all his teeth. There's a moment of silence, then he pulls you into a bruising kiss that punches the air out of your lungs and causes your knees to buckle under the weight of your body until the only thing that is holding you on your own two feet is none other than your boyfriend.

After what feels like half an eternity, Katsuki pulls away. Your head spins with the lack of oxygen, your legs are shaking and yet you can't help but reach out to dig your fingers into the fabric of his costume, roughly yanking him back for another kiss that leaves you just as breathless as the first one.

“Do you really think I'm done with you yet?" He whispers, voice a low rumble, before slipping the mask back down. "You have no idea what I've planned for you...Happy Halloween, babe."

[azrielsdove]

Hidden: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Some Violence, Near Death, Angst

***

You walked into the training ring with a bounce in your step, humming happily to yourself. The day was beautiful, the air cool and the sun bright. You made your way over to the staffs, carefully selecting one you wished to train with today. You were happy, upbeat, and ready for an energetic session.

Azriel was not.

His frown only grew deeper as he watched you, his mood putting a damper on yours. “Something wrong, Az?” You asked, concerned. He grumbled in response, moving to the center of the ring. You shook off his attitude, assuming he was just having an off day.

He jumped right into the mock fight you were supposed to be doing, staff cracking into yours with enough force it nearly knocked you over. You glared up at him, starting to become annoyed. You swung back just as hard, beginning what was clear to be a ruthless battle.

Cassian and Rhys came up then, their conversation faltering as they watched the two of you. You matched Azriel step for step, blocking his blows while planning your own attacks. You heard a whistle of approval from Cassian, a small smile making its way onto your face.

Which, in turn, only seemed to make Azriel angrier. He delivered a nasty hit to you, causing you to lose the perfect rhythm you had going. A spark of fear filtered into your mind as he kept going, stronger than ever.

“Hey, Az, why don’t we-“ You were cut off by another swing of his staff, yours narrowly coming up to block it. Your eyes darted over to where Rhys and Cassian stood, a silent cry for help. You did not know what had overcome the Shadowsinger, but he was taking it out on you. Azriel’s blows were getting harder and harder, each one pushing you further backwards. You felt the sand of the ring disappear under your feet, turning into the hard stone around the edge. Your hands grew sweaty as you realized you were mere feet from the drop of the mountain.

“Az, please-“ You tried again, only for him to hit you in the leg. You cried out, pain flooding through you. Once again you looked to Cassian and Rhys, who finally seemed to understand something more was going on.

Yet nothing slowed Azriel. He pushed you until your back was pressed against the low wall around the perimeter of the training ring. His staff was pressed against your neck, yours dropped in submission. You were pushing on his, trying to get it off of you. Your breathing was coming in gasps, and you couldn’t understand why no one was helping you. You looked up into the eyes of someone who used to be your friend, a final “Please” leaving your lips.

He shoved you.

And you fell backwards over the wall.

***

You could feel the wind rushing around you, doing nothing to slow your fall. You felt as if you were moving in slow motion, watching the ring grow smaller as you fell farther. You reached your hands up towards flashes of blue and red, a sign that Cassian was fighting for you.

He wasn’t going to make it.

You’d always longed to fly. Perhaps this was your time to. You bowed your head back, eyes fluttering closed. You accepted the death that was sure to come to you. The ground wasn’t so far away now. Your back slammed into something hard, your head cracking forward.

All went black.

***

AZRIELS POV

He knew something was off that day. Something wasn’t right in his brain. He was filled with uncontrollable rage. He should have stayed in his room. He should have called Rhys. He should have should have should have.

He should have done anything but kill you.

Although you weren’t quite dead, not necessarily. Your body was here. It was laying right in front of him. On your bed. Peacefully.

He watched the slight rise and fall of your chest, the only sign that there was life left inside of you. Madja had done what she could to heal your broken body. He would never forget the way you felt when you crashed into his arms after her flung himself off the House after you. You were falling too fast, too hard. He caught you, but did he really save you?

After all, it was his fault you were in this state at all. He had pushed you over the edge. He couldn’t quite remember why, now. He could only recall the pure anger that was flowing through him that morning, when you challenged him to a simple warm-up fight. Something in him wanted to hurt you.

Was it you? Or would it have been anyone who had the misfortune of training with him. He didn’t know. Rhys didn’t know.

Oh, Rhys. He would never forget the look on his face when he handed your lifeless body to him. The confusion, the anger, the pain.

The silence.

He seemed to understand something had come over Azriel. There was no blame placed, no consequence. Yet there were no words spoken, no acknowledgment of him. It was as if he had become invisible to Rhys.

He laid his head back against the wall, closing his eyes for the first time in days. Some rest would help, surely.

READER POV

Pain flooded your body, shocking your senses. Your eyes shot open in confusion and panic. You couldn’t remember what had happened, forcing yourself to sit up so you could take in your surroundings. You calmed slightly as you realized this was your room. You looked around-

and then you screamed.

Azriel shot up from the dead sleep he had been in. You shakily slid yourself out of the bed, using it as a barrier between the two of you. He frowned, taking a step closer.

“No!” You shouted, body trembling with the force of staying upright. “Stay away from me.”

“You shouldn’t be standing,” he said, moving again. You moved farther back, fear and adrenaline keeping you going.

“I said stay the fuck away from me!” You yelled again, holding one shaking hand out in front of you. “Why are you in here? Did you come back to finish the job?” You knew provoking him was probably a bad idea, given the circumstances, but you didn’t care.

The door burst open and Rhys rushed to your side. You crumpled into his arms, finally giving in to the pain. “Go, Azriel,” he commanded, a pulse of his power thrumming through the room. A warning.

Azriel didn’t dare to argue. He left without a sound as Rhys helped you back to your bed, calling Madja for your pain. “You are safe, I promise,” he told you. You nodded, looking warily towards the door. Rhys sighed from next to you, following your gaze. “I do not believe he was entirely in control that day.” You snapped your neck to look at him, eyes narrowing.

“What are you saying? I shouldn’t be mad at him for nearly killing me for no reason?” You knew your anger towards Rhys was misplaced. His eyes turned sad as they met yours.

“You are entitled to your feelings, yes. I would not keep you from that. I am just saying, something was not right with him. He never would have hurt you.” He took one of your hands in his. “He sat here, every day, waiting for you to wake. He did not act like someone who wanted to hurt you would.” You glared at him, but kept your hold on his hand. He continued on. “I’ve not been able to speak to him since, however that doesn’t mean I haven’t been keeping a close eye on him. He’s withdrawn into himself. I do not know if we will ever understand what happened, but I have reason to believe it wasn’t entirely him. I’ve had Amren looking into any threats or enemies that may have breached our city. Something else was in control that day.” Your blood ran cold at his words.

“You think someone was in his mind?” You asked, mind racing at all the things that could mean. Rhys sighed, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go and standing.

“I don’t know. I’m going to talk to him soon, present any information Amren has found. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.” With that he left the room, sending Madja in his place. You barely took notice of her working on you, too lost in your thoughts about what this all meant. Why target Azriel? Or, perhaps, was the target you?

***

The following days passed slowly, your healing taking longer than anyone would like. This morning Madja finally cleared you to leave your room, with strict instructions to do nothing too strenuous. You mumbled agreements to her instructions before hastily making your way out the door.

Your first stop was going to be the small library in the House. You wanted to look into something that the conversation with Rhys had reminded you of, to see if it could be what had ailed Azriel. You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, causing you to run headfirst into the wall. You stumbled backwards, looking up to glare at the offending structure.

You were shocked when your eyes met golden ones. “Azriel, I- What are you doing?” You asked defensively, narrowing your eyes at him.

He stared at you. “I live here.”

Hm. Well, you suppose that is true. “Yes, well. I really must get to it then.” You pushed past him, trying to not recoil as your arm brushed his. Even with Rhys’ concerns, you were still uneasy around your old friend.

You could breathe a little easier once you were in the library, doors shut firmly behind you. You slowly went through the titles of the books, looking carefully for a specific one. You refused to believe that something had infiltrated the city and taken control of Azriel. It just didn’t make sense. Why him, why have him attack you? You were not a great sense of strength to the Night Court. You did not really hold a place within the Inner Circle, you didn’t have any great talents. You were an average warrior and were very skilled at the occasional board game, but nothing to attack.

You hummed in excitement when you found the book you were looking for. You pulled it from the shelf, moving to sit on one of the small couches by the fire. You quickly found the chapter you recalled, although the information was not exactly what you had thought. You had only skimmed the book before, not caring much for what it said.

Now, though, it caused a pit in your stomach. You had to find Rhys.

***

Rhys answered the door to his office, a bit puzzled by your incessant knocking. “Has something else happened? Are you okay?” He asked, looking at you strangely as you barged into the room without a reply. He called your name as he shut the door behind him, worried. You waited for him to return to his seat behind the desk before slamming the book down in front of him, open to the page you were reading.

“Here,” you explained, pointing to a passage. “I fear this is the issue with Azriel.”

He looked at you before beginning to read the words in front of him. “Not much is known about a hidden mating bond. This occurs when a Fae either choose to ignore they have one, or rather do not realize it. Especially common in males, this hidden bond causes them to lose control. The magic within can take over their minds, making them-“ He stopped, finishing the rest silently.

“Oh.”

“Oh? That is all you have to say? Oh?” Your voice was rising with your panic. “Rhys, do you understand what this means?”

His eyes met yours. “Of course I understand what this means. Do you?”

You slumped down into the seat in front of him, burying your face in your hands.

“I’m his mate, Rhys. And he either doesn’t know or doesn’t want me.”

“Hm.” You heard him leaf through the pages of the book. Your head shot up, watching what he was doing.

“Do you not think so? That’s what the book says, after all. That a hidden bond can create a strain on the mind such that they attack their unknown mate! He attacked me, Rhys. Nearly killed me. Do you believe me to be hysterical?”

“No,” he answered calmly. “I believe you to be correct. Unfortunately, you will have to handle this one.”

You stood from your chair, pacing in front of the desk. “How am I to handle this? I cannot be around him for fear of my safety. I refuse to go near him on my own. The book reads that he will only get more violent until he realizes, or until I am dead. How do I trust that he won’t kill me before I can tell him? How do I know he won’t kill me after I tell him?” You paused your walking, placing your hands on the back of the chair in front of you as you looked at Rhys. “And aside from all of that, how am I to feel about him being my mate? It has never been anything more than a friendship between us.” He didn’t speak for a long while, long enough for you to begin your pacing once more.

“I cannot answer that for you.” That was not what you wanted to hear, though you couldn’t truly argue. No one else could tell you how to feel. You stood still, resolve steeled.

“Will you come with me, at least? You can stay hidden away, he does not need to know youre there. But Rhys, if he takes it poorly, I won’t be able to handle him alone. You know that.” You didn’t like having to ask him to potentially battle his brother. What other choice did you have? Rhys sighed, nodding his head.

“We will search for him at once.”

***

Finding Azriel was a rather easy task. Unfortunately, it lead you to the training ring. A place you had not visited since the incident, a place you hadn’t been able to stomach. Yet time was of the essence, and the sooner you confronted Azriel the sooner you were safe.

Possibly.

You watched as he trained, his muscles flexing impressively in the hot midday sun. He was certainly not the worst male you could have as a mate, you supposed. You subtly checked behind you to ensure you could see Rhys hidden in the dark of the stairs before taking a step closer to the ring.

“A-Azriel?” You called, a feeble crack to your voice. You cleared your throat, calling for him again. “Azriel!” He ceased his movement at once, slowly turning to face you. You tried to give him a smile, though you were sure it was a sad attempt. “Hi. Uh, how are you doing?”

“How am I doing?” He repeated back to you, sheathing the daggers he was training with. “You have avoided me since you woke, and now you dare to come up here and act like everything is fine?” His outburst of anger caused you to take a few steps back, searching behind you for the reminder that Rhys was there. I would not abandon you. Talk to him. His voice echoed in your mind, your heart rate slowing slightly.

“Yes, well, you did nearly kill me.” Your poor attempt at a joke was lost on Azriel. “No, I mean, that is to say- I,” this was going abysmally.

“You what? Did you come up here to actually say something, or to just burden me with your presence?” Your fear was rapidly replaced with anger.

“Excuse me? I didn’t realize i posed such a threat to your miserable, pathetic life.” It was wrong to engage with him like this, knowing the war that was going on in his mind.

He scoffed. “At least I have a life. What is it you offer to this Court? Oh, that’s right. Nothing.” Your heart stopped at his cutting words, his true words. Tears came to your eyes as you tried to think of something else to say. “Oh, now poor little baby is going to cry? Is that it? Rhys little lapdogs feelings got hurt?” He moved closer to you, leaning in near enough that his breath ghosted over your face. “I should’ve let you die.”

Those words snapped the bond in your heart, the wicked golden tug to his own. The tears fell at the overwhelming injustice of it all. A small voice reminded you that his words were not entirely his own, that the unknown bond was messing with his mind.

“Go cry to your High Lord, pup.” He turned away from you, heading back to the ring. You had to say something, you had to get it out, you had to do it now.

“You’re a sorry excuse for a mate, Azriel.”

He stopped in his tracks, body going rigid. The silence felt like it was suffocating you. You reached a hand out for Rhys to take, unable handle this on your own. He grabbed onto you, pulling himself up to stand behind you, one hand resting lightly on your back for support.

“What do you mean by that,” Azriel growled, still looking away from you.

“I think you know exactly what I mean.”

He slowly turned to face you, eyes narrowing as he looked at Rhys. “You accuse me of being your mate? When we all know the only reason your here is for my dear brother to fuck you when he feels like it?” Your jaw dropped at his words, embarrassed tears joining the others on your face.

“That is uncalled for, Azriel! You need to get your shit together and open your eyes! Never have I laid with Rhys, and that’s an awful thing to say.” The words came tumbling out of you. “I’m your mate, Az. Your godsforsaken mate. Either accept that, or break the bond. I do not care.” He looked taken aback, like you had just slapped him across the face.

“How do you know?”

“How do I know?” You laughed at the absurdity of everything. “It’s called a hidden mating bond. You may think I bring nothing to this Court, but I tend to find answers others can’t.” You tossed the book on the sand in front of him. “Chapter twelve. Read it. And then go fuck yourself, Azriel.” With that you turned and ran down the stairs, ignoring Rhys when he tried to speak to you. You didn’t pause until you were fully in your room, doors locked tight behind you. Only then did you allow yourself to feel the pain in your heart, in your soul. The pain of an unreciprocated mating bond. You fell to your knees, your head buried in your hands.

And the tears came anew.

***

You cried well into the night, until nothing else could come of it. You had finally worked up the strength to stand and make your way to bed when you heard a knock at the door.

“Go away,” you called, voice hoarse from hours of sobs.

“I won’t.” Came through the door, his voice sending chills down your spine.

“I don’t want to speak to you Azriel.”

“That’s fine. You just have to listen.”

“I won’t let you in.”

“Through the door it is then.” You heard him suck in a deep breath. “First, I am sorry. I am sorry for everything I have done, and all the pain I have caused you. Physically and emotionally. The book was correct, as I know you know. That day I pushed you off the edge of the mountain I knew something was wrong. I saw you and I was angry. It felt like nothing I had ever experienced. The second you fell the cloudiness in my head was gone. I would never hurt you willingly. I assumed something was broken in me, to hurt the girl i’ve loved since the moment I met her.” Your hand covered your mouth at that, eyes widening in shock.

“I suppose that’s a confession, isnt it? I’ve always loved you. You are the most breathtaking, charming, intelligent, perfect being. When the bouts of anger began taking over I was so upset with myself. Out of everyone here, why was I taking this out on you? It seemed like some cruel joke the universe was playing on me.

Anyway, when I saw you earlier the same anger took control. I did not mean any of those things I said. I was trying to fight it, but Love, it was so powerful. I have never once believed that you were useless, and I certainly never thought you were sleeping with Rhys.” He gave a dry laugh, and you could picture him shaking his head in disbelief.

“All that to say, I love you. I always have. I can feel the mating bond now, the inexplicable pull to you. I have accepted it, if you will have me. I understand if you do not wish it to be so. I will leave Velaris if it pleases you. Rhys can give me a permanent position and residence in the Hewn City, and no one will be any the wiser about it all. I know I have hurt you in ways that may never be amended, though-“ You cut him off by swinging the door to your room wide open. He seemed genuinely shocked by this, looking at you hesitantly.

“I do not wish for you to leave Velaris,” you said shakily. “I do not wish for anything but for you to love me.” A grin lit up Azriel’s face as he moved to cautiously rest his hands on your waist. “And I wish for you to stop treating me like i’m made of glass,” you laughed, tugging him closer by his shirt. “I know it was not truly you in control that day. I do not fear you, Az.” He leaned down closer to you, his lips a breadth width away from yours.

“Is there anything else you wish?” He whispered, nose rubbing gently against your own.

“I wish for you to kiss me.”

He wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. You melted into his touch, the golden bond between your two hearts singing happily at last.

***

eeeeeeeeeeek i’m back at long last!!!! i hope you all enjoy this, it’s a little rocky i feel. i just had to get something out to get back into writing! i have lots of WIPs and kinktober to finish, and lots of ideas for all of that. so hopefully you’ll be seeing more of me again. love to you all <3

[bellarkeselection]

Can you write a Matt Casey x female reader story?

Matt Casey is married to his dead best friend Andy Dardens little sister. Y/n is the PIC on ambo 61 and her partner on ambo is Gabby Dawson.

Y/n and Matt are taking care of Ben and Griffin since Heather is in prison. Everything is good between Matt and y/n, they are doing the best they can with taking care of two boys.

Y/n finds out that she is pregnant and one evening when the boys are asleep y/n tells Matt that she’s pregnant.

A little smut if you can get that in to the story, and of course if you feel comfortable with it.

Aunt & Uncle to Mom & Dad

Here's my first Matt request! Comments really appreciated ❤️

“Thanks Gabby. I’ll ride back to the house with Matt.” I called over my shoulder getting out of the passenger seat of our ambulance truck. She waved bye to me as I quickly went inside the school. Moving down the hallway I found my brother's older son Griffin sitting outside the principal's office. Putting a hand on my hip I shook my head at him asking. “Is Casey already talking with him?”

“Yes, aunt Y/n.” Griffin nodded before I opened the door and shut it behind me seeing Matt was already talking with their principal and hadn’t noticed I was there just yet.

“Believe me, Griffin and I are gonna have a long talk the minute I get off shift. This won’t happen again.”

The principal sighed heavily sitting at his desk. “I have to say, Matt. This whole childcare situation doesn’t exactly instill me with confidence.”

“We’re making the best of it.” Matt told the principal simply.

“And who exactly is we? If you don’t mind me asking?”

Waving to the pair I finally introduced my presence in the office, walking up to the principal I shook his hand sitting down beside my boyfriend. “I guess it’s time I introduce myself, I’m Y/n, Y/n Darden. Ben and Griffin are my nephews. My brother Andy was also best friends with Matt here, that’s why we were both asked to take care of them by their mother Heather.”

“And how exactly do you know Mr. Casey?” The principal shifted his gaze between the two of us.

Gently looping my fingers through Matt’s I responded knowing this all is a bit much, especially considering we aren’t even married yet. “He’s my boyfriend. And as I said a minute ago my sister in law Heather asked both of us to watch out for them until she gets out.”

“Well it’s good to know that neither of you is having to raise these two young boys by yourself.” The principal nodded and thankfully he let us take the boys home after that. Matt and I had called into our captain and let him know we weren’t going to be able to finish out our shifts tonight but that we would them up another time.

Once we all had finished eating dinner I sent the boys off to get ready for bed. Matt was cleaning up the kitchen while I went to check on the boys, finding that Ben was asleep but Griffin was still awake so I whispered into the room getting his attention. “Can’t sleep, buddy?”

“I miss my parents.” He sniffed beginning to let some tears fall down his face.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed I gently ran a hand down his back knowing it always made me feel better when my brother would do it when I was upset. “Yeah. I miss your father too, Griff. I’m going to tell you something that most people say but when I say it you should know that it’s the truth.”

“What’s that, Aunt Y/n?” Griffin asked me, looking up at me.

Tracing patterns on his back I sniffed back some tears that were appearing in the corner of my eyes when I began explaining to him. “The same pain that you feel about missing your father I feel it too. I lost my brother. A lot of people will try to understand or claim that they know what you’re going through and some do and then some don’t. But I can tell you right for certain that I understand 100% what you are feeling when it comes to missing your father.”

“Thank you, Y/n.” Griffin spun around and flung his arms around my neck, crying some happy tears.

Wrapping my arms around his waist I kissed his forehead gently holding him tightly against my body until I smelled the fabric of his shirt suddenly feeling sick to my stomach for some reason. “You’re welcome - urgh!” Separating myself from the kid I dropped down on my knees grabbing his trash can in the corner and puking the dinner that I had eaten.

Griffin jumped down from his bed running over to me with concern. “Aunt Y/n, are you okay?”

“Uh - I guess dinner isn’t setting right for me.” Wiping my hand across my mouth I cleared my throat, sending my nephew a weak smile. “I’m alright. You don’t need to worry. Now get some sleep, you’ve got school tomorrow.”

He nodded going back over to his bed and climbed underneath the covers. “Goodnight Aunt Y/n.”

Leaving the two boys' bedrooms I entered my shared bedroom with Matt going directly to the bathroom. Rummaging around in the cabinet until I found a box of pregnancy tests I had recently bought at the store. Locking the door I sat on the toilet peeing on the stick and waited for the results, hearing a knock on the other side followed by my boyfriend’s voice. “Y/n, Y/n, are you okay. Griffin told me you got sick a few minutes ago in his room.”

“Give me a minute, Matt.” I called back to him, reading the time on my phone and seeing the test should be ready. Slowly opening the bathroom door I found my boyfriend leaning in the doorway until he saw me holding a pregnancy test in my hands. “There’s something I gotta tell you. I know that you’ve always talked about having kids and I know we haven’t really been trying but it’s -“

“You’re pregnant.” A huge grin crossed Matt’s face, stopping me from finishing my sentence, scooping me up into his arms and connecting our lips in a passionate and slow kiss.

Matt signaled me to jump and I wrapped my arms around his waist still holding the test in one hand. He walked me over to the bed and I tossed the test onto the bedside table. We fell down onto the mattress finally breaking the kissing to catch our breath. “So you’re happy, Mathew?” I giggled watching him begin to remove his shirt and I shrugged my own over my head throwing it somewhere onto the floor.

“Hell yeah I’m happy.” He chuckled, nuzzling his nose with mine, helping me remove my clothes and I did the same thing to him until he was hovering over me completely naked. He scanned my face more so asking about me having his kid then having sex. “Are you okay with all this? I know your nephews are enough of a handle right now.”

“We’re first responders, Matt. Having a baby has to be easier than the things we face on a daily basis.” Laughing playfully I wrapped my arms around his neck drawing him in for a kiss. He slowly slid his body into mine and the maitress began squeaking underneath our movements.

Matt bent his head down leaving kisses down my neck until he reached the crook of my neck, I moaned instantly when he kept kissing that particular spot. “I love you, Y/n - you’re gonna be a mama.”

Grabbing the sides of his face I pressed his forehead against my own. “Love you too. You’re going to be a daddy, Matt Casey.”

Matt smashed his lips upon mine with my back being pressed against the mattress some more. “Our next goal is finally getting your name changed to Mrs. Y/n Casey.” I threaded my fingers into his already messy hair, our bodies molded together letting us get lost. Our family of four would soon become a family of five and we couldn’t be happier.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Not to Me

Christian Yu/Mito x Y/N - drabble - 861 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: TW! mention of suicidal ideation, depression, fear, fluff, comfort, jealousy, hugs and kisses for the special bb boy, so much love its almost gross

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Christian watched from across the room as you spoke to Da-bin. You laughed, hard. You playfully shoved him, almost spilling your champagne. Christian sat in the shadows, the party for the Dream Reborn World Tour was in full swing and had been for hours. Christian was exhausted and defeated. His whole heart had gone into getting the tour going. He had rarely seen you over the past two months and you were nothing but understanding. Yet he couldn’t help but feel like the long hours had put a wedge in your relationship and it was all his fault. So there he sat, watching you and his band member talk. He knew in his soul you would never cheat on him, but that didn’t make him any less jealous. Didn’t make him want to somehow fix it all and beg for you to stay. He could feel Mito inside, aching to take over. He fought so hard to be himself while all this was going on, to be normal. But he was losing the fight; he stood up slinking out of the venue. He lit a cigarette as he walked through the city, wandering back towards your shared apartment. At some point during the walk it wasn’t Christian moving, it was Mito. He had no idea how he ended up at the Han River but he did. Even worse, he was looking over the edge of the bridge into the deep blue below. He leaned in, closer to the edge. His foot slipped, a shoe coming off and pulling him back into reality. He stepped away from the edge, stumbling backwards before deciding to run home. Even Mito was scared of the hasty decision he might make. Once home he collapsed in your shared bed, wanting to escape his own mind.

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“Christian?!” you screamed as you bolted through the front door.

Mito woke up with a start; why did you sound so panicked? He sat up, stretching a bit before the bedroom door flew open and startled him. 

“Oh my god…” you sobbed, running to him and engulfing him in a bone crushing hug. 

He felt confused but hugged you back instantly, “Baby? What’s wrong?” 

You leaned back, your voice sounding angry but also pained, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Are you kidding me??” you said searching his face.

He looked genuinely confused.

“I have been calling you since I saw you slip out for a smoke at the party. I thought you might want some space so I didn’t follow you but then… then you didn’t come back.” you said, eyes becoming big and round. “I called you so many times… you never answered. I got nervous and left the party. I walked home just in case. And what do I find at the fucking Han River? Your fucking shoe!” you said, hitting him in the chest as your tears pick back up. 

Oh. He understood now. “You… you thought I…” he gulped.

“I thought you jumped!” you yelled at him. You weren’t angry and he knew that, you were worried to death. “The only reason there isn’t a S.W.A.T. team searching for your ass is because I checked your location!” you hit his chest once again.

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I thought… I thought you were dead.” you cried, holding his face in your hands just to confirm to yourself that he was real and there with you, not at the bottom of a river. 

Mito kissed over your cheeks, catching your tears on his lips. He felt himself crying. Not only because of the fear he instilled in you but the fact that your nightmare had crossed his mind as an idea just hours previously. He felt ashamed and the question of why you were with him drowned his mind. “I’m ok…” was all he could think to say - over and over again until your sobs turned into sniffles. 

“I love you,” you said, “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.” you said in all seriousness. The way your heart dropped when you saw his shoe on the side of the bridge. It felt like your soul was ripped out. You had never rushed home so fast after picking up his distinct shoe (the one you painted red hearts on). You felt some relief when his location was current and said your shared address but that didn’t stop your mind from racing with all the other horrible things that could be happening to him. 

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, “I love you too… I don’t understand…” you could barely hear the last part. 

“Don’t understand what?” you said, thumbing over his cheeks. 

“Why do you love me?” he asked. His eyes looked so pained, so full of fear. 

You smiled at him softly, “You are my happiness. My sun, moon, and stars. Everything fades into background noise with you. You’re all I want and all I’ll ever need.” you said, sounding so sure of yourself and the decision to love him.

“It’s rotten work loving me,” he said.

“Not to me.” you assured him, kissing him so passionately it took his breath away.

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Naboo's Note:

Two requests in one fic! Hello all, sorry for the little break, life was life-ing and got very busy very fast. I hope to post more but there will be another community update soon that I think would be helpful to read so I don't get anyones hopes up too high. Thanks for sticking around, XOXOXOXOXOXO!!!!!!!!!

[c0smoshit]

Seeing you cry

⋆ ࣪. ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 ≫ Solid Snake, Big Boss and Venom Snake

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ smut!!, dacryphilia, mocking the reader >:((

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ STOP THE METAL GEAR BRAINROT, I NEED MORE FICS

Solid Snake (David)

★ My man is worried

★ All the people he had to kill yet seeing you in any pain would be the death of him

★ However, if he sees that you are begging for more...

★ It is such a turn on for him

Gripping your hips tightly, back pressed against the mattress as your back arched in a way that made his head spin over and over again.

Stranded moans suddenly being quieted down, he looked over the hickey he was placing just on top of your areola into your face.

He was dead silent, his hips on automatic mode hitting over and over again the spongy spot inside you. He couldn't get any words out, your tear stained cheeks, the redness of the saltiness already begining to tint them a passionate red.

"Ah- mgh... nhg"

Red he also loved seeing on other cheeks too

He was concerned, of course, was he being too rough? Maybe he needed to stop, however, before he choose that option he watched your eyes roll back, a choked moan leaving you as another fat roll cascaded from you eye.

"Fu-Fu...uck"

Tightening on him like it was the first time you had ever taken him, he even struggled to move, restraining his bloodflow as he was begining to drift into nirvana with you. The new wash of arousal from you was the only thing that could have kept him going, the bed hitting wildly the wall as he raced to his orgasm.

"I love... mgh- you, so beautiful"

Big Boss "Naked Snake" (John)

★ Not much of a talker while he's reaching his orgasm, but if you pull that out

★ He's gone and he is not going to shut up

★ Something about seeing you so pure, real with him, to feel such powerfull emotions during intimacy

★ It just starts to mean something deeper than just carnal desired for him

"Doing alright there?"

His gruff voice asked even when he was in the verge of going mad, the creak of the bed from his wild movements as he pushed you further and further into the pillows.

Face down, your moans were muffled as only your mouth let you breath, cheek pressed against a pillow your hair created a mattress on top of your face. You had absolutely ruined the fabric; drool, tears and sweat tinted it in such an erotic colour.

When you didn't respond, he slowed down a bit, grabbing your chest with one hand and pulling you up so your back was pressed against him while the other hand peeled sticky strands from your face, just to see the most beautiful view ever.

"D-don't stop"

He had thought you were in pain, but of course you were absolutely enjoying this the same way he did by watching you fall apart on him, hiccuping and sniffling as you took him.

"ngh- Snake!"

"You're such a dirty thing aren't you?"

He whispered into your ear, pushing his hips into you deeply, slowly as you felt all of him. He still held your chest, his hand dangerously close to your pulse as he perfectly knew here it was thanks to CQC techniques. Noticing how fast it was beating, his breathing raged and you also could feel the adrenaline flowing inside his veins through your back.

"Got me all worried, your- fuck... little face"

He enhanced his last words with a deep thrust as he felt you tighten around him, almost going limp on his arms as he held you securedly.

"But you... like this huh? Cryin- crying all over my cock"

Venom Snake "Big Boss"

★ He's the most dipshit in all of the three, such horny words coming out of his mouth the moment he sees you in that state

★ "All this just from me huh?" YES

★ As big boss, seeing you so vurnerable with him clicks on a switch inside his brain

★ He needs to ruin you every session after seeing you completely frustrated to the verge of tears by him

★ Has seen you crying before, however, during sex it's even more arousing to him

"What's the matter sweetie?"

The sound of his pat against your right cheek pulled you out of your extasis for a little while, teary eyes threatening to fall apart looking at his blurry face.

"Can't take it?"

His mocking tone made you huff a breath out, not letting down your words, you were supposed to ride him until he passed out, not the other way around. However, as soon as your movements halted for a bit, he smiled wickedly. Trembling thighs around him, sweaty skin and a frustated face was such a cute view for him.

A low "yeah" was enough praise for you to keep going, moving up and down, down and up. Grasping his knees with both hands you felt him pressing a hand sneak down your stomach, ending on the most brutal nervous point of your body.

Your elbow buckled at the sensation, tears now starting to fall down more wildly as he repositioned you, letting you bounce as he kept you close to his chest. His devilish thumb never stopping it's ministrations.

"Such a good girl"

Gruffy vocals sending you over the edge right away, finally giving out as you cried from the stimulation on his chest, a mantra of many of his names coming out of your mouth.

Yet he wasn't done, grasping your hips he forced you up and down once again. The coldness of his prostetic arm making the hair on your back stand out.

"Sna-..ke, st- stop"

"You are-.. letting me finish-"

He grunted out as his thrust became more erratic, deeper. His own eyes were closed, opening a few times to admire your drool on his chest, your scrunched eyes as he abused your sensitive hole.

"You wanted me-... hmph, to pass out huh?"

He repeated your words, grabbing your face to make you look at him, seeing your puffy cheeks as he squeezed them until your mouth formed an oval.

"Then you're in for a ride, cowgirl"