#hi felt like writing the destruction of the school :)

[gnzma]

eleven year ago...

Someone calls for him, stopping the complete wreck of the umpteenth desk. Guzma stops with the damn thing about his head, about to throw it out of the window just like the rest of the gang told him to, and offers the youngest member of the team an annoyed look as he stopped the fun -- a nuisance that turns into mild panic when he continues, telling him that the cops are coming.

To be fair. They should've seen this coming. You can't go in a big school near a town in the middle of the night and smash everything you see and not expect someone to call the guards. It was a miracle if Hala himself didn't rush in to pick 'em up yet.

Still with the desk over his head, Guzma watches as his little group of rejects goes left and right, some with the hand in their hair, some other even trying to fix the chairs they broke just a few seconds ago, some others thinking if they should just let their Pokèmon go free instead of ending up in jail. That's... it, then. That's the end of their little rebellious streak.

"..."

...the scared muttering is stopped when the table is finally thrown out of the window.

"I dunno you guys, but I ain't gonna let those Pignites make our fun end."

Silence turns into confusing grumblings while he paces towards the teacher's desk, swinging a previously discarded baseball bat he just picked up with one hand, pointing the finger of the other towards the door.

"In just a few minutes, those assholes will burst in and force us to play nice. They'll throw us back home if we're lucky, behind bars if we're not. They're gonna try to push us down again. They're gonna make us into this stupid fucking Region's least favorite chewtoys again. And y'know why?"

Golisopod lets out a worried chirp, falling silent as the baseball swings towards the teacher's desk, breaking it in half.

"'Cause they're scared of what happens when the dog they kicked 'till now bites back."

He hated the look in his mother's eyes when he had the guts to react, not realizing until now how much it pissed him off to see her so terrified of him. Not realizing until now that, instead, the same fear in his father's eyes, trembling under him after all those years, made him feel so...

POWERFUL.

"...tonight" his improvised weapon rests on his shoulder as he tilts his head on the side, finally showing a toothy grin "we take control of our lives, folks. Ya can leave. Accept your fate, live as the good little Rockruffs they love to push around."

He can feel the excitement rising in the room as he takes a moment of pause. The hype and adrenaline in his people's eyes as they don't move, if not when they start mirroring his expression.

"Or. Ya stay here. Ya stay, and tear 'em apart like the Lycanrocs we've always meant to be!"

Another swing of the bat, now towards the blackboard behind him. It crashes on the floor, but the noise is barely audible under the cheers of his audience.

"Tonight, ya numbskulls--" a foot is placed on what remains of the desk as he roars in triumph "WE SHOW ALOLA WHAT DESTRUCTION REALLY LOOKS LIKE!"

[fuu-miku]

"Dungeon Meshi is the first time I've seen this frustration and the resultant voluntary isolation from other people portrayed in media so candidly. Laios' anger is not downplayed or written to be easily palatable, either."

Oh my god someone said it. I didn’t know how to articulate this aspect of it but yes

Represention of Autistic Frustration in Laios Dungeon Meshi

Like many other autistic people, I related strongly to Laios Touden while reading Dungeon Meshi. This post isn't going to spend time disputing whether he displays autistic traits or not—while I could do that, I want to focus on why specifically his portrayal struck a chord with me in a way the writing of most other autistic-coded characters has not.

Disclaimer: as the above suggests, this post is strongly informed by my own experiences as an autistic person, as well as the experiences of my neurodivergent friends with whom I have spoken about this subject. I want to clarify that in no way am I asserting my personal experience to be some Universal Autistic Experience. This post is about why Laios' character feels distinct and significant to me in regard to autistic representation, and while I'm at it, I do feel that I have interesting things to say about autistic representation in media generally. This also got a bit long, so I'm sticking it under a read more. Spoilers for up to the end of chapter 88 below.

The thing that stands out most to me in regard to Laios' characterisation is the open anger he displays when someone points out his inability to read other people. This comes up prominently in his interactions with "Shuro" (Toshiro Nakamoto):

The frustration pictured above (Laios continuing to physically tussle with Toshiro, using crude language toward him) becomes even more notable when you remember that this is Laios, who, outside of these interactions, is not easily fazed and often exists as a lighthearted contrast to the rest of the cast. Then we get to Laios' nightmare.

In Falin's words: "Nightmares love emotional wounds. Wounds you hold in your heart. Things that give you stress, or things that were traumatic for you. They aggravate memories like that and cause the dreamer to have terrible dreams." (chapter 42, page 10.) (damn. i'm properly citing for this post and everything.)

Thus, Laios' nightmare establishes an important fact: even if he is unable to recognise social blunders while he's making them, he's at least subconsciously aware that other people operate on a different wavelength to him, and that he's an outsider in many of his social circles (both past and present). His dream-father's disparaging words stress the impact this has had upon his ability to live up to the expectations set out for him, and we also get a panel of kids who smirk at him (presumably former bullies to some degree). Toshiro's appearance only hammers home how much Laios is still both humiliated and angered by his misunderstanding of their relationship.

I've thought a lot about anger as concomitant to the autistic experience. When autistic representation portrays ostracization, it's generally from an angle of the autistic character being upset at how conforming to neurotypical norms doesn't come easily to them; as a result, they express a desire to 'get better' at meeting neurotypical standards, a desire to become more 'normal' (whether the writing implies this is a good thing or not). In contrast, not once does Laios go, "I need to perform better in my social interactions, and try to care less about monsters, because that's what other people find weird." His frustration is directed outward rather than inward, and as a result, it's the people around him who are framed as nonsensical.

The Winged Lion starts delineating Laios' anger, and Laios' reaction is to think to himself, "It can sense all my thoughts, huh?" (chapter 88, page 16.) This is the scene that really resonated with me. I'm not saying I have never felt the desire to conform to neurotypical norms that is borne from insecurity, but primarily, I know that I don't want to work toward becoming 'normal'—I don't want to change myself for people who follow rules I find nonsensical. It's the difference between, "Oh god, why can't I get it," and, "WHY CAN'T YOU GET IT?" (phrasing here courtesy of my friend Miles @dogwoodbite). And for me personally, Dungeon Meshi is the first time I've seen this frustration and the resultant voluntary isolation from other people portrayed in media so candidly. Laios' anger is not downplayed or written to be easily palatable, either.

The culmination of Laios' frustrations in this scene wherein we learn that Laios has fantasised about "a pack of monsters attacking a village" drives home just how alienated he really feels. I need not go into his wish to become a monster himself, redolent of how many autistic people identify/have identified with non-humans to some degree as a result of a percieved disconnect from society (when I was younger, I wanted to be a robot. I still kind of do.)

Obviously, wishing death upon other people is a weighty thing, but the unfiltered nature of this page is what deeply resonated with me. The Winged Lion is laying Laios' deepest and most transgressive desires bare, and they are desires that are a product of lifelong ostracization by others (whether intentional or unintentional). This is the brand of anger I'm familiar with, and that my neurodivergent friends express being familiar with, but that I haven't seen portrayed in writing so explicitly before—in fact, it surprised me because most well-meaning autistic representation I've experienced veers toward infantilisation in trying make the autistic character's struggles easy for neurotypicals to sympathise with.

Let's also not neglect the symbolism inherent to Laios' daydream. "A pack of monsters attacking a village". Functionally, monsters are Laios' special interest—he percieves everything first and foremost through his passion for monsters. His daydream of monsters attacking—killing—humans, is fundamentally a daydream of the world he understands (monsters) overthrowing the world that is so illogical to him, that has repeatedly shunned him (other people). I joked to my friends that it's an autistic power fantasy, and it actually sort of is. And in it, his identity is aligned with that of the monsters, while his anger manifests in a palpable dissociation from the rest of humanity. This is one manga page. It's brief. It's also very, very raw to me. I think about it often.

To conclude, I love Laios Dungeon Meshi. This portrayal of open frustration in an autistic character meant a lot to me, and I hope I've sufficiently outlined why. Also, feel free to recommend media with autistic representation in the notes if you've read this far—I would really like to see if there is more of this nature. Thank you for reading. I'm very tired and should probably sleep now.

[acid-ixx]

brutus: out for blood (villain au concept)

ft. neglectful yandere! bruce wayne x gn villain! reader

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: did anybody ask for this? no! did i decide to write this anyways? abso -fucking-lutely. is this a rantfic? mayybee. anyways, this is not my best piece nor will anything i write be my best piece but i just love destroying my happiness with angst and altho writing a very anxiety ridden mc is fun, i also love to dabble in sadomasochistic traits for a main character. like i said, i am not proud of this but i figured i should post something. erm... leave comments bec i love reading whatever stuff u guys have in store hehe.

you've tasted blood on your tongue far longer than you've felt the loving touch of a family.

it's metallic. it's salty. it twists every vein in your gut.

it tastes of broken metal pipes in playgrounds, destructive tantrums and broken dreams, of skipped classes and detention rooms, of ripped test papers and missed diplomas. it reminds you of your bitter past every single time; one you swore you've buried six feet deep into the ground. a burning memory with nothing more than heartaches and heartbreaks.

you taste blood whenever they reject your advances for even a single moment of bonding time. you feel it pumping slowly, steadily, painfully whenever you stumble upon a room, only to see them, smiles and all, huddled together in a group with junk food in their hands and a movie playing in that stupid flat screen tv. you know it's the only thing accompanying you whenever he misses another event in your school. it becomes the only friend you have whenever you're alone, inside your too-small room, with shatters glass scattered around and bruised knuckles.

blood, for most, is vile, utterly repulsive. it reeks in every corner of a room, its scent is overpowering, it stains, it's hard to clean. it imprints. and it will always remind you it's there, in the depths of your body, curdling and boiling and ready to burst out of the seems every time you rip at your skin with a razor sharp blade. blood has always been your only friend, like a scar that will never fade away.

yet you embrace crimson like it was the color of your soul, and accept how it's the only color you allow in your grim life. black has never provided you solace, but red allowed for a mantra of emotions to trail into your very being.

blood. it's more homely than you let it out to be.

and you're far more familiar with it than anything else. you cradle it like an unwanted child, you kiss its wounds, allow it to fester and grow into an abhorrent disease that crawls like a lump in your throat that you could never get rid of.

in moments of solace, of quaint prayers and hours of kneeling into the floor— it is the thing that slides on cold, hard tiles. it is the warmth, the numbness, the thing that seeps out of your bruised knees, your scratched neck and your thighs with fingernails buried deep into flesh.

you've come to love blood, cherish it even.

especially if it's your own.

especially if it came from the punch of none other than your father.

left, right, left, right.

his punches were cruel and his kicks can easily crush bones into powder. he demands answers with every strike he delivers, he exudes an energy far more adrenaline based than yours. batman is methodical in the way he moves, the way he acts, and you're not; you're impulsive, you had no plans to counter the towering man— no counter for the brutal hits he lay upon you. you let him, you open every doorway world to beat your body black and blue, with red painting the canvas as a finishing touch.

he's stronger than you, and every time he bashes your head into the wall, the urge to spit into his face, to piss him off, to laugh at him and his Idiocracy; it all becomes stronger.

yet all you do was allow him multiple openings, denying yourself the pleasure of attempting to even take your abandoned gun at the corner and shoot at his cranium— you want him to suffer, even if it costs you your mobility by the near future, fuck it.

up, down, to the side, then an uppercut to your jaw and you're nearly depleted of anymore moves to counter. you want to seem like you've given up; but you want him pissed off, enough to punch you 'til blood seeps into the fibers of your mask. until your face starts bruising, until your nose breaks, until he finally rips your mask off and sees your face.

and he'll come to regret.

you shift to the side, and ignore the sting of your throat, the lull of your head and the soreness of your entire body.

because if you hadn't dodged, then your head would've left an imprint on the walls. you would've preferred that now, rather than the disgusting feeling of sentimentality that creeps into your heart at the implication that his blows were slowly, but surely, weakening.

he's holding back, you hold back a sneer.

as if he actually cares about you.

maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. you know he cares far more deeply for his enemies than he does you, and you hate how glad you are at the pride that finally, just finally are you being acknowledged. at the opposite end of his side, as enemies. but for once you can feel the care he offers others, most of which were nonexistent back when you were just some... nobody.

batman never kills; but he can hurt, he can injure, and he can destroy. and right now, you feel all the air leaving your body as the cloaked vigilante delivers the last punch to your ribcage.

you fall, on your hands and knees, a loud thump resounding through the empty abandoned building. all you hear are your crackling joints, and heavy breathing. heavy, like your eyelids, about to fall, about to shut until black encompasses your vision. if not for the remaining adrenaline coursing through your veins, you would've fainted— but you won't, you wouldn't, not until you see him, see his face.

the thumping in your heart beats louder, and your hands. god, they feel like jelly, it's burning, it's one step closer on collapsing under gravelly concrete and piercing skin into rocks. yet you're forbidden any time for grace, not when he lightly shoves you out of your position, and not when you fall to your sides, hands paralyzed, tears prickling against your cheeks at the pain that burns throughout your body.

"you don't deserve peace after shooting that family in front of that child, you know it."

his voice, domineering, absolutely fucking vibrating with a tremor of sheer anger. he directs his words at you, without empathy, without mercy. he wants you to learn to never mess with him in the streets of gotham. but you'll never... not until he notices you. fuck, you just want him to notice you. and now, he is, with utter vexation that causes a lump in your throat to form.

shit, you've never felt so happy.

it's when his tussled form — heavy, pitch-black boots slathered with crimson liquid — enters your sight that you cough, violently, out of breath, and you can feel it one second, then taste it in your tongue the next.

blood.

you grin, and slowly, ever-so eminently, did you spiral into a cackle. your throat gurgles crimson liquid, and yet it only builds into a cacophony of a broken record. you move your head, look through your nearly shredded domino mask, with so little strength to accompany you, to look at the man above you, eyes glinting with a glow never so alive until now.

you're genuinely so fucking happy.

batman, he who strikes fear into the hearts of gotham villains and civilians alike. he who protects the city at night. he whose name is said with wavering uncertainty— he's looking at you, only you.

'bruce wayne: my dad— is finally looking at me.'

and you! you're laughing, the sounds that emanate from your throat are so scratchy, so utterly decimated that it sounds like vultures feeding through a dead corpse; but you don't let your chuckles die down, because you're so, so happy.

he looks at you, with contempt, with disgust, you don't know; but you're still so overjoyed.

"y-yeah... it's me, i did it. are you proud of me...?" you ask as you look up, through the tears that flow out your eyes, through the grin that couldn't die down. he looks at you like you're insane, and you know he's confused, shifting uncomfortably as he gives someone a status update through the comms, his eyes never leaving your pathetic form—

you look at him like he means the world all throughout.

"call for red robin, i have one of the culprits," he orders through the intangible device, eyes squinting as he takes you in— you whose chuckles slowly calmed down, as your breathing finally becomes heavier, as blood, yours, seem to seep into clumsily made apparel. you, who bruce realized seem too oddly familiar, too small, too childish, whose moment of spiraling insanity is too damn innocent to ignore.

you're not like the typical rogue he encounters, no. and right before you finally allow sleep to overcome you, you muster the last of your energy, to stare back at him with shining eyes, expectant, and like a child's, you ask with the meekest voice.

"hey... dad, i have a surprise." scratchy, absolutely broken, yet spilling with joy, with... your last word right before you continue, bruce's heart thumps ever the slightest faster.

"take my mask off, please?"

crimson began to overtake your entire body, and bruce should've never complied with your... request, but as he kneels and finally gets a grasp of what you truly look like, he notices the frailness, the vulnerability, as if you were never built for... combat. with just how quickly you succumb to the depths of rest, with how oblivious you are to the fact that if it were anyone else, they would've killed you.

you're not properly trained, you fight out of impulse, and he knows it with just how swift you gave up midfight.

when he pulls the domino mask (which seems oddly inspired by the shape of... his vigilante partners, the robins...) off your face, did his heart finally hastened its pace, loud thumping crawling its way to his ears, his eyes registering your face: its form, its shape, your eyes, your nose—

all similar to his, all an amalgamation of your mother's, too.

no... wait, no.

it's not...

it's not his... child?

you?

your eyes, flickering one last time stared at him, softly, like that of a child who looks at their father with pride like nothing else. your hand, it shakes, it shivers, as your fingers find its way creeping to his hand, holding your mask. fingers so dainty, now pulverized bones lay atop his shivering hand, tenderly, as if trying to comfort the very same man who has nearly killed you.

batman— no, bruce looks at you. at what he's done, and only now did he realize his greatest mistake. a child, his child, one whose innocence retained through heinous acts, now a villain, whose actions were all a testimony to merely wanting their father's attention.

he failed you, his child. he failed to protect you, who he has never held up close until now— as your body is hastily taken into his arms. so small, so easily wrapped around his body, so unbefitting of committing criminal activity. now bloodied and laid into barren ground by their very own father.

bruce wayne never felt this much terror, for nearly killing his child.

this, this day marks his sin.

and you? dearest you feel like today is your greatest day.

crimson, nearly every part of you is stained with that putrid color.

yet blood has always been your best friend, no? and right now as you bleed into the arms of your father, you find yourself grateful that it is the last thing you see before a black cloak wraps around you, before black fills your entire line of sight.

short rant ahead: another author's note??? wow. yeah this was such a hard drabble to write. plsplspls leave a comment or some sort of input. anything will do. ive been so demotivated to write lately and i feel like anything i write is just, so bad 😭 like is my pacing good? are the emotions out of place? am i even doing this right ?? i don't know, and i feel like every time i post something i always put up expectations on myself that I should've done better so yeahh. is this attention seeking behavior? probably. but i don't get how people have come to like the stuff i write when i hate whatever i write hence why im in a constant cycle of hiatuses and short breaks. and really, it's just so hard to come into terms with things and i need input lest i accidentally get into a year or two of hiatus, lmaoo.

[zillychu]

I’ve gotten a WAVE of asks about this AU, so I decided to flesh it out some more and answer some of those questions!

I’ll probably polish this extended summary up at some point and submit it to AO3. But for now, here’s a rundown of my thoughts–please feel free to send more questions! I’ll update this post if I get any more. But if you’re someone who wanted to write fic for it, don’t worry, you don’t need to take my headcanons as gospel. It’s a pretty basic AU honestly lol

Summary:

The portal accident results in a violent explosion that wipes out the whole block, and condemns all of Amity Park. Danny haunts the city for 100 years, before Sam and Tucker find him. 

Setup:

In the 1920’s, 19-year-old Danny went into the incomplete portal on his own, hoping to help out his parents. Ripping the portal open through unnatural means created a huge burst of energy that resulted in a massive explosion. A good portion of the Amity Park population died, many were injured, and the ones on the fringes relocated–Amity was quickly deemed too dangerous due to the excess ectoplasm in the area that attracted ghosts. 

While the disaster was in Amity, the fallout was seen around the globe. Before, natural portals were rare, short-lived, and rarely allowed ghosts to fully slip into our realm (the most severe cases being on par with poltergeists that most people didn’t believe in). Now, natural portals pop open frequently around the world, large enough to allow the entirety of a ghost into the physical plane. They’re more common the closer you get to Amity, but they happen enough elsewhere that this change was something of a small apocalypse before people settled back down and found out how to combat at least some of their new, permanent neighbors. 

Danny is unaware that he’s only half-dead, believing he’s a full ghost. He ends up sticking around Amity, unintentionally making it his haunt. His grief and guilt over causing the death of his loved ones (and many others) makes him isolate and avoid human contact. Though he has, at times, scared nosy people away from the city in a mix of territorial instinct–and to get them to leave before a less friendly ghost finds them. 

Ghosts are much more of an uncontested danger in this AU. Lesser ghosts are practically mindless, and while stronger ghosts are capable of reason, their interests are limited. They’re highly territorial, possessive, and often destructive. Most worrisome is that they also like to snack on the life force of anything alive. No one is sure what dictates a ghost’s propensity to attack or hunt the living for their life force since ghosts don’t exactly experience hunger. At least, not the way we do. If a human is rescued before their life force is fully drained, they can make a full recovery–though humanity has still not yet found what this “life force" is. 

And since the Fentons’ research died along with them, there aren’t many tools available to the public to protect them from ghosts. Most homes have standard ghost shields and some weapons are available on the market, but certified ghost hunters are required to take care of anything more powerful than your average spook. 

Sam and Tucker met in high school, and are now rooming together for college very close to the Amity border. Rent is surprisingly cheap when you’re a stone’s throw away from a condemned area crawling with ghosts. Sam is the one who drags Tucker along with her fascination over finding out more about the city, and its largely mysterious demise. Sam is aware of the danger, but feels ghosts have a place in this world just like everything else, and does exercise caution–like one would while foraging in the woods with a known tiger population. 

What she and Tucker weren’t expecting was to run into a ghost that felt almost human. One that hasn't hurt them, not for lack of trying–while being powerful enough to walk past ghost shields without so much as a flinch. The long white hair is familiar in the whispers of the ectobiologist community, but there’s no way it could be the rumored ghost king Phantom, right?

About Danny:

He has very long hair, claws, and black sclera. His hazmat suit is more torn and ragged, with exposed hands and feet that fade into a burnt black.

His hair tends to float a lot on its own. It can start morphing into fire under duress. 

He does still technically have gloves and boots, they've just charred and melted into his skin towards the ends. He can't take them off in his ghost form. His hands and feet have a leathery texture that's tougher than the rest of his skin.

The white of his hazmat suit is both supposed to look like flames, and also a battered look representing his more violent, explosive death.

Overall, he appears rather listless and sad, with an unnerving air of danger around him–even for a ghost. 

Danny’s “ghost sense” comes out as white smoke.

He does breathe black smoke at times, usually when agitated. 

He's already fought and defeated Pariah Dark by the time Sam and Tucker find him, technically making him the Ghost King. This is heavily speculated by ghost experts, despite there being no real proof beyond a massive battle that scarred Illinois. He has not donned the Ring or the Crown, and captured sentient ghosts are hesitant to answer questions surrounding him. Danny basically has the throne but doesn’t do anything with it, and finds it meaningless enough to routinely forget he has the title. He only fought Pariah because he knew otherwise, humanity would have perished. A lot of ghosts are scared of him because he's so hard to figure out, and he's strong. 

Danny is usually very quiet and speaks softly, because his lungs were damaged in the blaze that half-killed him. He's technically healed since becoming a ghost, so it's more of a compulsion due to the traumatic memory. That, and he’s just… very forlorn and distant, shy around humans who don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to keep hanging around him.

His memories pre-accident are extremely fuzzy. He knows the very basics of who he was, but specifics have been muffled due to trauma and isolation. He routinely forgets human habits, etiquette, etc. and tends to act more like a full ghost with some odd quirks. 

He does try to scare Sam and Tucker off numerous times. Unfortunately for him, they realized they shouldn't have been able to escape a ghost that strong–but they did, because he let them. 

Sam and Tucker think he's mute at first! He doesn't speak a word to them until several encounters later, when he fumbles his whole scary act and saves them from another ghost. 

He’s still half-ghost, though he doesn’t figure this out until Sam and Tucker come along trying to unravel the mysteries behind the Amity catastrophe. Physically and emotionally, he’s been stuck for 100 years–so his human form is still 19. It’s unclear at this point if he can age normally like a human as long as he stays in human form, or if he’s immortal. 

Danny's family did not turn into ghosts, though he sometimes worries he'll find them in the afterlife as shells of their former selves. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not sure he'd recognize them. 

(Danny also still has some living family. Take a guess.)

Yes, he knows how to Wail. Understandably, he very rarely uses it. You do not want to witness this.

Danny :) is not immune :) from the allure of eating a human's life force :)))

[bartxnhood]

cowboy casanova | t.o

tyler owens x fem!reader

based on this request: “Omg, how about Tyler Owens comforting reader on their first storm chase, maybe she’s really nervous or scared and he’s like don’t worry I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you… something like that???”

warnings: depictions of a tornado, reader has a panic attack. severe damage to homes and buildings.

w/c: 1.7k

a/n: thank you for the request! i added a touch of a backstory to help the plot go forward. i hope that’s okay!! i’m also currently in the theater about to watch it again (i saw it last night lol) enjoy <3

requests open

not proofread

Copyright © 2024 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

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you see a man standing in a wide-open field, as the sky above you darkened to a menacing shade of gray. the once-gentle breeze turns into a fierce, howling wind, and you feel a sense of unease settle in the pit of your stomach.

you were assigned to follow him and his crew around while they chased these monstrous tornadoes then went in and dissolved the threat. you worked for a huge journaling company from the north, but you grew up in arkansas and became familiar with these devastating weather patterns.

now, you were in oklahoma where you’d be joining this storm chaser during a week-long chase.

“you ready to chase some storms?” his back was still towards you, and his southern drawl was familiar.

as the man in the maroon shirt and white cowboy hat, spun on his heels to face you, you were taken aback.

tyler owens.

“y/n?”

his blood ran cold, not expecting to see you after all of these years. you laughed in disbelief, “this is crazy..” you shook your head and crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one leg.

“you’re the journalist?”

you and tyler go way back. the two of you were in school together, majoring in meteorology.he started chasing these storms, becoming famous on campus.

but, it all came to a head one day when you got trapped and lost your best friend. that’s when you dropped meteorology and took up journalism. you documented the destruction, the path, how they moved, etc.

and now, you were writing about who was called the tornado wrangler. you should’ve done your research but you didn’t want the assignment.

but, he had become so popular with his crew. they’d go inside the twisters and release a mixture to help dissolve the storm. and it worked.

“you’re the wrangler?” you ask, and tyler laughs. that signature laugh that always made you want to punch him in his pretty little face.

tyler turns around and rests his hands on his hips. “what do you see?”

the wind picks up even further, swirling around you in a dizzying dance, pulling at your clothes and hair. you sigh, taking a few steps closer till you are standing next to him.

“there” you point to the east, the air was thick with an unsettling hum as a dark mass loomed on the horizon. the skies darkened further, and a chilling gust of wind whipped up debris and sent trees bending at unnatural angles.

"another one" he murmured, eyes locked on the clouds as his adrenaline spiked and his lips pulled into a smile that he couldn't help but wear every time a storm was brewing.

glancing over at you he tried to hide the excitement in his chest that he felt when one appeared, but tyler knew hiding your feelings from another storm chaser was like trying to hide a tornado in an open field.

"how much do you wanna bet it'll touch down two miles east of our position" he teased, eyes scanning the clouds for clues.

“mm” you shake your head, even though you hadn’t done it in years you still had it. “three.” you continue, then point to the wind and how it carries against the wheat field.

“look at the way the wind is carrying. it’ll go east and hit north. perfect conditions,” you add crossing your arms

“i think you have yourself a ef5.”

uou had it. the intuition to tell where a storm was going to go by only looking at the clouds, the way the winds were blowing, and the speed at which the storm moved.

tyler had a similar gift, every storm chaser had it, but he had never met someone who could predict the size of a storm, which was a rarity he had never seen before.

“ah EF5, huh? i’ll hold you to that. If you’re wrong, you’re buying me a beer.”

tyler owens would be the death of you.

“i’m not buying you anything, owens.”

you load up into his truck, snapping pictures of forming a storm. he was flooring the red truck in a wheat field right towards the storm so he could get ahead of it.

“ya miss it?” he yells, over the thunder. occasionally turning his head to look at you. you say nothing, continuing to snap pictures.

“sometimes.” you blurt, not looking back at him. “i just don’t miss the destruction” you continue, rolling up the window and reviewing the photos.

“you were good,” he says, one hand on the steering wheel and eyes still taking glances at you. “mm” you just hum in response, not wanting to talk about your storm chasing days.

suddenly, a funnel begins to descend from the clouds, growing larger and more ominous by the second. the air around you crackles with anticipation, and you realize that you are witnessing the terrifying formation of a tornado. an EF5.

this was the second time you had ever seen an EF5 form in front of you, this was frightening.

you held onto your camera tightly as tyler drove right towards the black abyss. “shit..” you mumble quietly.

as the rain beat down on the windshield, the engine's roar could hardly be heard above the gathering storm.

tyler's truck sped through the wide-open fields, creating a trail of dirt and dust in their wake. with his eyes locked on the approaching storm, he clinched his teeth and gripped the steering wheel firmly like a man about to die.

he had chased tornadoes before, but never an EF5. the adrenaline in his veins was making his heart race and his senses heighten as he pushed the truck to drive faster, the roar of the wind and thunder in their ears.

“what a beauty” he muttered, admiring the sheer force and size of the storm in front of them.

as your heart pounded furiously in your chest, you felt a sudden tightening of the breath in your lungs.

your mind raced with panicked thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. you fought to stay calm, but the fear was overwhelming, like a living entity trying to consume you whole.

sweat beaded on your forehead, and your hands trembled as you held the camera. the world around them seemed to blur and spin out of control, like the tornado in front of them.

"tyler, we should go back," you yelled. tyler smiled, eyes fixed on the whirling green giant in front of him.

he yells, "not a chance, l/n. look at it!" as he maneuvers through the difficult terrain. “we can’t give up now!”

“stop!” you proceeded to yell, flashes of that night you lost your best friend. the way the sky looked, how it sounded, the rain on your skin, how cold you were. it was all flashing in front of you, experiencing the whole thing again.

tears brim your eyes, your body shaking like a leaf. “please! just stop!” you yell over the growl of the thunder clapping.

tyler’s heart sank to his stomach as he heard the raw emotion in your voice. he had teased you and challenged uou, but now it was clear that this was not just another storm for you.

it was a personal struggle that was tearing you apart and he had triggered it with his arrogance.

without a word, he stomped on the brakes and brought the truck to a screeching halt, his own heart racing against his ribs.

"y/n, look at me," he said, voice suddenly hoarse and quiet.

you’re gasping for air, pulling at the collar of your crewneck. the cab of the truck felt like it was closing in on you, you unbuckled the seat belt and tried to unlock the door. “i can’t do this” your bottom lip begins to quiver. “i have to..i gotta get out of here.”

you can’t even bring yourself to look at him. your mind is fogged with the traumatic experience of the last time you were caught in the eye of a storm like this.

tyler’s heart dropped as he saw you struggling, your gasping breaths and trembling body. he reached over to her, gently grabbing your wrist, preventing you from opening the door of the truck.

“hey, hey, whoa. look at me, look at me, please.” he pleaded, his voice firm but surprisingly gentle.

he reached out and took your chin, gently turning your head to face him. his eyes searched yours for a moment before narrowing in concern.

“y/n, listen to me. you need to breathe, sweetheart.”

your breathless, unable to think straight until your eyes meet his sea green orbs. you take in a deep breath and mirror tyler’s breathing.

inhale, exhale.

you repeated this until you eventually calmed down.

your hands continue to tremble as you speak, “tyler, i cannot do this. i just can’t.” hour southern drawl escaping. “it’s too much”

tyler watched as your rapid breathing slowly began to match his own, your hand gripping his tightly. his heart ached as he saw the fear and the anguish in your eyes, and knew that this was not just a simple fear of storms.

it was a trauma, something deeply personal, that had left a permanent mark on your soul.

he gently raised his other hand to your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb, trying to soothe you. “i know, i know” he whispered, his own tone gentle and soft.

“ain’t nothin gonna happen to you, kay? i won’t let it.” he assures your worries, wiping away the stray tear that escaped your eyes then tucked some hair behind your ear.

“i’ve got you.” he continues. you watch as his attention goes from you to the tornado in front of you. “if you want me to take you back i need to know, now” he says, looking back at you.

you sniffle, following his gaze to the twister.

if he could stop something like this it would be a huge achievement to the community. no more damage, no more homelessness. it would all be fixed.

“no..” you begin, and find your eyes back on him. “i’ll be fine.”

tyler nods, putting the truck into drive. one hand on the steering wheel and the other reaching for yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “you’ll be fine, city girl.”

you choke out a laugh, and shake your head.

“then, let’s chase this beaut!” he yips and slams his foot on the gas and takes off towards the monster of a tower.

[librababe99]

Healing Touch

cw: MDNI, 18+, Smut, Fluff, Young!Charles Xavier, Fem!Reader word count: 2.7K Summary: In the mid-1970s, Charles Xavier is a man haunted by loss and burdened by the weight of his own mind. When you, a fellow mutant, offer him not only companionship but a love he never expected, the walls he has built around his heart begin to crumble.

A/N: Since I wrote for Erik I felt that writing for Charles balances everything out <3 Forgive me if mentioning the cuban missile crisis at the beginning throws off the timeline in anyway, we don't have to jump into technicalities...lol! Anyways, please feel free to comment, reblog or like this <3 happy reading!

(Marvel Masterlist)

The 1970s had a way of weaving magic into the air—rife with a rebellious freedom, spinning off the back of a decade of upheaval. Amidst the intoxicating haze of civil rights movements, psychedelic music, and ever-changing fashion, there was something magnetic about this era, as if the world were in the throes of rediscovering itself. And in that same time, tucked away in the heart of Westchester County, Charles Xavier was a man rediscovering himself too—one who had seen the world both at its brightest and at its darkest.

The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning had become more than just a school. With the Cuban Missile Crisis a decade behind them and the threat of mutants still very much real, Charles had been pulled into a storm that had rocked him to his core. The man who had once been so full of optimism and hope had become someone else—someone hardened by loss, crippled both physically and emotionally. He had found himself retreating from the world, isolating behind the walls of his mansion, letting the noise of the outside world fade into a dull, muted hum.

But then there was you.

You had come into Charles’s life by chance, a fellow mutant with abilities that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had noticed you first because of your power—something akin to empathy, the ability to feel and manipulate the emotions of others. It was subtle, nothing explosive like fire or ice, but it was potent in its own right. In some ways, Charles found it even more fascinating, for it spoke to the heart of what he had always believed—that mutants were more than just their powers; they were people with gifts, capable of great good or terrible destruction depending on how they wielded them.

But it wasn’t just your abilities that caught his attention. There was something about you that stirred something long-buried inside him. You were strong, yes, but kind too—empathetic not just because of your powers but because of who you were at your core. And in a world where Charles had grown tired of fighting, tired of losing, you had become a beacon of warmth in the cold. Your presence began to thaw the ice he had encased himself in, and though he resisted it at first, that pull between you was undeniable.

It was a Friday night, and the mansion was quiet, the students having all gone off for the weekend. The air outside was thick with the scent of rain, the clouds heavy and swollen, but inside, there was a warmth that clung to the air. You had found Charles in his study, a glass of scotch in hand, seated behind the large oak desk that had become almost a throne for him. He was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair slightly out of place in a way that made him seem more human, less like the esteemed Professor Xavier he had always tried to be.

You knocked softly on the doorframe, leaning against it with a playful smile. "You look like you could use a break."

Charles glanced up from his drink, his eyes settling on you in that way that always sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes—those sharp, piercing blue eyes—were tired, but they softened when they met yours. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "A break from what, exactly?"

You shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. "From thinking. From brooding. From being Charles Xavier, mutant extraordinaire." You reached his desk and perched yourself on the edge of it, your knee brushing his thigh as you did so. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, and you saw the briefest hitch in his breath.

“I don’t brood,” he replied, though the smile that followed betrayed his words.

“Oh, you most certainly do.” You leaned forward, teasingly close, just enough that he could feel your presence in the air between you. “You sit in this big, empty mansion, all alone, with your thoughts and your scotch, and you brood.”

Charles chuckled softly, though there was something in the sound that was darker, more resigned. “Maybe I do.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes distant for a moment. “There’s a lot to think about these days.”

You watched him for a moment, your gaze softening. Charles had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even before the accident that had left him in a wheelchair. But now, that weight seemed heavier, as though the world had taken too much from him.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his wrist, and the moment you touched him, you could feel it—a deep, aching sadness, buried beneath layers of composure and strength. It was like touching a wound that had never quite healed.

“I can feel it, you know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles looked up at you, and for a moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble, leaving behind the man he had tried so hard to hide. “Feel what?” His voice was just as soft, but there was an edge to it, a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

You smiled gently, your fingers trailing up his arm, barely grazing his skin. “Everything. The pain, the loss, the weight of all of it. You’re carrying so much, Charles. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he did. “And what if I don’t want you to feel it?”

“Then I won’t,” you whispered, your hand now resting against his chest, right over his heart. “But I want to help you carry it. I want to be there for you.”

Charles’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with something deep inside him, as though he were warring with himself. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours as it rested on his chest. His touch was warm, gentle, and yet there was a tension in the way he held you, as though he were afraid to let go.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your heart clenched at his words, and without thinking, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you until your lips were inches from his. “You deserve so much more than you think, Charles.”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, as though you were testing the waters, waiting to see if he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around yours, and you felt him respond, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprised you both.

The kiss deepened, the years of longing, pain, and desire pouring into it with a ferocity that neither of you had expected. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, the way his breathing quickened as he lost himself in the moment.

Before you knew it, you were climbing into his lap, straddling him as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Charles groaned against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire and hesitation.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your forehead resting against his as you smiled softly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His response was a low, guttural sound that sent a thrill racing through you, and before you knew it, he was kissing you again, more desperate this time, as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and Charles let out a breathless laugh, the sound vibrating against your lips as you finally managed to push the fabric aside, revealing the hard planes of his chest. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that broke your heart. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his neck. “Then they’re all fools.”

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His touch was gentle at first, almost reverent, but there was a fire behind it, a need that he had kept buried for far too long.

When you finally peeled off your shirt, you heard him suck in a breath, his eyes darkening with desire as he took you in. “God, you’re—” His voice broke off, as though he couldn’t quite find the words, but you didn’t need him to.

You kissed him again, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way his body responded to you, the way he trembled beneath your touch. You could feel the tension between you building, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, slowly, you began to move against him, your hips grinding against his in a rhythm that had both of you gasping for breath. Charles’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you, matching your movements with a desperate need.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice ragged.

You didn’t need to ask what he wanted. You could feel it, the desire, the longing, the need for release that had been building between you for so long. You reached between your bodies, your fingers making quick work of the zipper of his pants.

When he finally slid into you, the sensation was overwhelming—an electric jolt that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Charles let out a broken gasp, his hands gripping

as he pulled you closer, his body trembling beneath yours. You could feel the tension in him, every muscle wound tight, as if he were barely holding himself together.

You both paused for a moment, the sheer intensity of the connection stealing the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this, like every nerve in your body had come alive, attuned to him and only him. Charles's forehead pressed against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin as you both adjusted, savoring the feeling of being so intimately joined.

“God,” he whispered, almost reverently. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

Your fingers slid up into his hair, cradling his head, and you pressed a soft kiss to the top of it, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “Then take me, Charles. I’m yours.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low, guttural sound, Charles’s grip on your hips tightened, and he began to move beneath you, slow at first, a steady rhythm that made you gasp with every roll of his hips. He filled you so perfectly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. You matched his pace, rocking against him, savoring the slow burn that built between you, the friction pulling you both closer to the edge with every passing second.

Charles’s hands roamed your body, sliding up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, then slipping lower, his fingers digging into your skin with barely restrained intensity. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Charles…” you gasped, your head tilting back as you gave him more access.

His lips parted against your skin, and you could feel the groan that rumbled in his chest. “I can feel you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Every thought, every emotion—it’s overwhelming.”

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with need, but there was something else there too—something raw, something so deep and primal that it made your heart race.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whispered, your hands cradling his face. “Feel me. All of me.”

Charles’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if letting go of the barriers he had so carefully constructed. And then, all at once, it hit you—the full weight of his mind brushing against yours, the flood of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t just desire you felt—though that was certainly there, sharp and electric, searing through your veins. It was everything. His longing, his fear, the deep well of sadness that had haunted him for so long, and underneath it all, a love so profound it left you breathless.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation of his mind intertwining with yours sent a jolt of pleasure through you, heightening everything. The room around you seemed to fade, the only thing that existed in that moment was him—his body, his mind, and the way he was utterly consuming you.

Charles groaned, his hips bucking up into you with a sudden intensity that made you cry out. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he panted, his voice strained, as though he were on the edge of losing control.

You could barely form words, the pleasure building inside you almost unbearable. “Charles, please…”

He understood without needing to ask. His hands slid down to your hips again, guiding you faster now, his movements more urgent, more desperate. You could feel the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring wound too far, ready to snap.

And then, with one hard thrust, you shattered.

A wave of ecstasy washed over you, white-hot and all-consuming, leaving you trembling in its wake. You cried out his name, your body arching against his, and you could feel him lose himself in the moment too, his hands gripping you so tightly it almost hurt as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the only sound in the room your ragged breaths and the thrum of your racing heartbeat. You slumped against Charles, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you both came down from the high.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as though afraid to let go. You could still feel the echo of his mind against yours, the connection between you not quite severed, and it brought a sense of intimacy that was unlike anything you had ever known.

After a long moment, Charles broke the silence, his voice soft and hoarse. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Neither did I.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes were still dark, but there was a softness to them now, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For reminding me what it’s like to feel something other than pain.” His voice was filled with a quiet reverence, as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Charles. I’m here.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. “I know.”

You shifted slightly, still straddling his lap, and Charles let out a soft groan. The movement stirred something in you both, a flicker of desire reigniting as your bodies remained entwined.

“You know,” you said playfully, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest, “we’ve got the whole mansion to ourselves tonight.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into something more mischievous. “Is that so?”

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

His breath hitched, and you felt his hands tighten on your hips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “Then I’ll make it a night you won’t forget.”

With that, you began to move again, slow and teasing, savoring every moment of the night ahead.

[ashwhowrites]

King!Steve Harrington x reader, he asks the reader out because of a bet. Happy ending!!!

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Drunk bet

Steve had a reputation in Hawkins High, and he loved it. He loved the attention from the girls and the respect from the jocks. He was cocky and smug whenever eyes watched him as he walked. He was the King and there was a line of girls wanting to be the Queen.

He could get anyone he wanted, and he had many choices. He liked the way girls chased him and all he had to do was send a smile their way.

Steve was drunk at a party, betting money on games of beer pong. If he was sober, he would remember that he was awful at that game. Hundreds of bills slapped down on the table as he missed another cup.

"Nice playing with you, Harrington" Billy smirked as he collected the money.

"Wait! Come on, rematch!" Steve slurred

"It's fun kicking your ass, but you have no more money to bet" Billy laughed

"My dad will kick my ass knowing I lost all of that. What do you want to bet on? I'll do anything to win that back," Steve said

Billy gave it a thought, he had King Steve in the palm of his hand. "Alright, Steve. I'll give you everything back if you ask out Y/N and date her for three months. Hundred for each month. We have a deal?"

"No way! If I go out with her, my reputation goes straight into the mud" Steve fought.

The thing was, Y/N was a very pretty girl. But she was nowhere near the popular crowd. And dating within the popular crowd was acceptable, dating outside of the circle was immediate destruction. He'd lose his King title.

He didn't know that Billy knew all of that. Billy wanted to be the king of Hawkins. He could take Steve down in every aspect. Steve felt stuck because he knew his father would be pissed about the money. Maybe Steve could complete the bet without anyone knowing he was seeing her.

Billy stood there with a smirk when Steve sighed and shook his hand.

~~~

Monday rolled around and Steve had to put his plan into motion. He didn't know too much about Y/N but he knew they shared a few classes together. All he had to do was get her alone, turn on his charm, and ask her out.

He waited in the hallway until it died out, slipping next to her locker when she wasn't looking.

"Hey,"

She jumped as she heard his voice, turning to see him standing there with a smile on his face. She was skeptical but stayed polite.

"Hey Steve, what's up?" She asked, closing her locker and then leaning against it.

"I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out tonight? You can come to my place and I can cook us something"

Y/N was swooning from Steve's smile and the smell of his cologne right under her nose. She couldn't believe that Steve was interested in her.

"I would love to," she smiled, maybe all those small waves and hellos meant something to him.

"Perfect. How about you give me your number and we can talk about details after school." He said

"Sure!"

Steve smiled at how excited she was, this was going to be easy. He let her softly grab his hand and write down her number. The pen tickled his skin as she wrote on his skin.

"Call you later," he said as he pushed off the locker, sending her a wink that made her heart race.

~

Y/N arrived at the address Steve said over the phone. She was nervous as she walked up to his house. She knocked on his door and anxiously waited.

"Welcome to my casa!" Steve said as he opened the door and allowed her to walk through. It was a beautiful home, very clean and everything had a shine.

"I hope you like pizza, I've got a great recipe," he said as he trailed off to the kitchen. Y/N followed but was still in awe of the house.

"Pizza sounds great," Y/N said, Steve pulled out a chair at the counter and motioned her to sit. She sat and took in his cute apron and the towel hanging over his shoulder.

"Do you like to cook?" She asked, her eyes following him as he checked on the oven

"I love it" he replied, "parents are barely home and I got tired of take out and frozen meals." He shrugged

Y/N couldn't help but frown. She wondered if he ever got lonely, but he was popular so maybe not.

"Can I help with anything?" She asked, standing up and walking over to him. Steve smiled at her, he could see the excitement sparkling in her eyes. He already has her wrapped around his finger.

~

A month flew by and Steve believed he had this bet in the bag. Since he was always home alone, he'd ask her to come over. She didn't question why they never went anywhere and that made it easy.

He didn't have much interest in her, but he did like her company. She was funny and was fun. There was never a dull moment with her and Steve didn't realize how much fun he needed in his life.

A few weeks into the first month he kissed her.

It was soft and slow. She didn't know where to put her hands but once she got more comfortable she touched him. He kissed her a few times, letting her grow more comfortable with him and adding anything she wanted to the kiss.

~

Two months in he asked her to be his girlfriend. She said yes without a second thought, just like he thought.

He started taking her out on dates, but only in private areas. Private waterfalls for picnics and driving into another town. She saw it as all adventures. She loved to explore and her heart raced by how much Steve seemed to want to explore with her.

~

Three months in Steve felt it.

He felt a little spark when he kissed her. When she held his hand as they jumped into the cold water below, he felt warm everywhere. The sound of her laughter as they plunged into the water made him smile.

He started loving the long drives. Singing with her and dancing at red lights. He started to feel happy when he saw the excitement in her eyes when she took in something new.

How he wished he had a camera to take a picture every time she smiled at him.

They had a few drinks one night, cuddled on his living room floor as the fire roared. Lately, the bet has been the last thing on his mind and it certainly was right now. The way her skin glowed from the fire. Her shoulder was exposed from her shirt, and without thinking he leaned down and kissed the skin.

He felt something burn inside him when she moaned. Then it became the only thing on his mind, making her moan and moan again.

They had sex on the floor in front of the fire, the beer bottles scattered on the floor. His forehead was against hers as he pushed himself in and out of her.

~

Steve knew he'd have to face Billy now that the three months were up. He didn't want to break up with her, he liked her and he liked her a lot. He knew he fucked up with how they started and he planned for her to never know.

Billy pulled up to his house, honking the horn as he got out.

Steve groaned as he rolled out of bed. Y/N was asleep, so he quickly left the room. He raced out to make Billy stop the honking. Once Billy saw him, he stopped.

He had a big smirk as he took in Steve's appearance.

"My oh my, sex hair and scratches? Someone had a good time," Billy chuckled.

"Look, I'm out of the bet. Keep the money and we're even." Steve said

"Oh, why? Fucked her and now you're in love?" Billy scoffed, "King Harrington settles for the pretty nerd."

"Billy, just stop. You get to keep the money, so let's keep this between us. She doesn't have to know" Steve hissed

"Alright, man. I'll keep this little bet between us, but what's your plan? Gonna have to start taking her out in public at one point, people will see and your reputation is doomed. And also," he said, stepping closer to Steve as he lowered his voice, "she's right behind you."

Steve gulped as he was fast to turn around. She stood there in his shirt from the night before. Her arms crossed as tears ran down her face.

Billy laughed as he got back in his car, but before he sat down he whistled.

"If you need a rebound, I'm here, gorgeous," he winked at her.

They watched as he raced out of Steve's driveway, leaving them alone.

"Y/N," he started but she already was running inside.

"I CAN EXPLAIN!" he shouted as he raced into his house, he was quick to head up to his room. She was yanking off his shirt and throwing on her clothes.

"I don't care anymore. You're just as much of an asshole as I thought." She hissed, angrily putting on her pants. "I should have known better. 'Oh baby, I just want you all to myself and I know this romantic spot at the lake,' you just didn't want anyone to see us together!" She mocked his voice as she headed out of his bedroom.

"I know! I'm so sorry and I fucked up. But please believe me. You heard me tell him to keep it right? You heard me!"

"Yeah, I heard you! But I never heard you admit any feelings for me. Why? Too scared to admit that to Billy? Knowing your reputation is on the line?" She scoffed, sliding on her shoes.

"I do have feelings for you! Yes, it was a bet initially but I fell for you. I really like you and I didn't want us to break up. I want to be with you," he cried, tears falling down his face as he grabbed the front door knob.

"Yeah, well I don't want to be with you." She snapped as she slammed the door behind her.

~~~

Steve gave her time to cool off but when Monday arrived he had his eyes set on her. He followed her around and begged for her to listen to him. People were staring and whispering about them in the halls but Steve didn't care.

Finally, she stopped, turning around as Steve's body smashed into hers.

"Quit following me around, this time I don't want to be seen with you," she declared, ignoring the kicked-puppy look in his eyes. "Take a look around, any girl would jump at the chance to be with you. And you wouldn't have to be ashamed of them, leave me alone and find someone else."

She went to turn around but Steve grabbed her shoulder.

He looked into her eyes and she tried to keep her hard face on.

"I don't want them. I don't want to look elsewhere. I'm looking at the girl I want. I'm sorry for everything and I'm sorry I thought you were someone to be ashamed of. You're not. You are the best person I have ever met and I'm begging for another chance."

She watched as he dropped to his knees and held her hand. She smiled awkwardly as the school stared and gasped.

"People are staring!" she hissed

"Good, because then you will see that I don't care who sees us. Y/N, will you please give me another chance? We don't have to label it right away, we can start with a date and talk through everything. All I ask is you say yes in the moment and we can think about it later."

She sighed, looking down at their hands. In his eyes, he looked sincere and sorry.

"Fine," she sighed, smiling to herself when Steve's face lit up, "But we will be thinking about it later."

"Deal!" he cheered as he stood up. She was caught off guard when he swooped her into a kiss. She ignored the crowd around them as she kissed him back.

[sakur4ii]

Echoes Of Tomorrow

JEAN GREY x SCOTT SUMMERS x READER

reader's gender unspecified

Note: it took me 5 hours to write this and I think it sucks, but if you like it let me know. (English is not my first language and I am sure I narrated badly).

And by the way I didn't know whether to make it inspired by the movies or X-Men '97 so I made it up.

You were taken in by Charles Xavier when you were 14 years old, becoming a part of the school and the X-Men shortly after. You became best friends with Jean Grey and Scott Summers, the three of you were inseparable, and maybe you were a little bit in love with them.

Your power is the ability to control people with your voice, a dangerous power, but the professor taught you to control it at will for good.

You also learned hand-to-hand combat and how to use weapons, though Charles was hesitant about that last part, he understood that you couldn't rely solely on your voice.

One day, on a mission, you made a mistake that nearly cost your teammates and some civilians their lives. Your friends assured you it was okay, that it was a slip anyone could make, but you couldn't stop replaying the scene in your head, going over everything you could have done better.

You had used your power to stop some soldiers, but your mind was on your friends, so the order you gave was directed at your team, giving the enemies an advantage.

You felt guilty seeing Scott injured in the infirmary and Ororo with her arm in a cast, all because of you.

As much as your friends reminded you it was okay, you only self-destructed, making the hasty decision that everyone was safer without you.

At least until you learned to control your power perfectly.

You packed your bags and disappeared without a trace. You only left an apology note.

Jean was the first to notice something was wrong; she always felt a kind of connection with you, she could feel your presence without trying, always knowing where you were without using telepathy. But suddenly, in the middle of the night, your presence vanished.

The second person to notice was Charles. He knows who comes and goes from the mansion, he can feel everyone's presence, hear them. But you—he stopped hearing and feeling you in an instant.

The third person to notice was Scott, not because of his powers, of course, but because of the note on his nightstand. Although you didn't say goodbye, the overabundance of apologies raised alarms.

Jean and Scott ran to your room, meeting each other on the way, looking at each other in horror, assuming the worst. This set off a chain reaction, worrying those who saw them running through the halls.

Once they arrived at your room, Charles, Hank, and Ororo were close behind. The room was empty, the closet had only hangers with no sign of clothes, the framed photos were nowhere to be seen, and as they feared, you weren't in the room.

Days went by searching for you, but they never found you; Charles couldn't even locate you using Cerebro.

Each reaction was different.

Jean had succumbed to sadness, feeling like a bad friend. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed sooner, to prevent you from running away, from abandoning her.

Charles was infinitely worried; it was his duty to protect you, and now he couldn't even locate you. He feared the dangers awaiting you out there.

Ororo held on to hope that you would return someday; she knew you well enough to know that you didn’t say goodbye because you would come back, but there were nights when she doubted. What if you didn’t return? She should have insisted more that it wasn’t your fault about her arm; she should have been a better friend.

Hank started a routine where every day he dedicated hours, which gradually decreased, to looking for you, trying to locate you the old-fashioned way. Although the hours of searching diminished, he never stopped looking.

Scott was angry, his rage growing to the point of hating you, blaming you, but not for the mission, but for abandoning him. He couldn't believe you didn't even have the courage to face him, to say goodbye, TO SAY GOODBYE, to something that would have given him the chance to stop you. Every time he saw the photo he had with you and Jean on his nightstand, he felt like burning it. He thought it was the three of you against the world, and you abandoned them.

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

A year passed since your disappearance. Nightcrawler had joined the team. There was no trace of you. Scott still hated you. Hank stopped searching. Ororo still held on to hope. Jean stopped mourning you but felt an emptiness in her chest. Charles still tried to locate you at least once a week.

Nightcrawler quickly discovered that you were a delicate topic, and the only people who spoke about you happily were Charles, Ororo, and Hank. It was better not to bring up the subject with Jean and Scott. And the rest weren’t close enough to you to talk about it.

A well-kept secret that Scott and Jean had was that they had fallen in love with you; they were going to tell you before you left, and now it was a mutual regret, a burden they shared only between them. Sometimes, if the day was too much for them, they would lock themselves in one of their rooms and whisper past regrets that still haunted them.

___________________________________________

Two years since your disappearance.

What had started as a casual mission ended as a kind of new war between humans and mutants.

The X-Men are in Hank's lab, reviewing the information they have so far.

Suddenly, a portal opens in front of the group, causing everyone to adopt a fighting stance, expecting a possible threat.

The white portal's glow doesn’t allow them to see anything on the other side. Suddenly, a gloved hand, with the fingers exposed, appears, causing everyone to tense up.

The hand seems to check if the portal is working by the way it moves, and then it disappears. But everyone jumps when a person suddenly steps through the portal.

As soon as the stranger enters, the portal disappears.

Everyone seems about to jump in to start a fight, but the person raises their hands in surrender, confusing them all.

“Y/N?” Xavier asks incredulously, earning a chorus of surprised gasps.

“Hello” you say with a huge smile.

It’s almost impossible to recognize you; you’re tall, with a developed body, you can’t be a teenager, you must be in your early twenties. But you had left when you were only 14 years old. What did this mean?

As you explained that you came from the future to prevent them from making the same mistakes that caused severe consequences later on, Jean and Scott’s minds were racing, never taking their eyes off you.

On the other hand, Ororo felt proud of never losing hope; she noticed that you were wearing what must be your hero costume with the X-Men emblem on one side, meaning that you would indeed return sooner or later.

Well, after ending the war, making sure not to make any mistakes or leave any loose ends, you all returned to the mansion.

During all this time since you arrived in the past, those who would be your life partners in the future were tense around you, something that did not go unnoticed by you.

The professor had confessed that it reassured him to know that you were okay and that you would return to the family. He also congratulated you for mastering your gift, your power completely. And he suggested you talk to Jean and Scott while Hank tried to create the machine that would take you back to your timeline (with instructions that future Hank asked you to give him).

So here you were, in Summers' room. You wanted to talk to him first because you know very well that he is angry with you; he was when, in your timeline, you returned to the mansion, and if his scowl every time he looked at you was any indication, you could say he is angry now.

You look at the photo on the nightstand while your leg bounces nervously. You don't regret leaving the mansion temporarily, but you do regret not letting them know or staying in contact.

Scott arrived at his room, and upon seeing you sitting on his bed, he frowned, letting out a huff. It almost made you smile with amusement; you didn't remember your guy already openly showing his teenage anger through huffs.

The younger Scott noticed your hint of a smile, crossing his arms and leaning against the door, deepening his frown.

"What’s so funny?"

This time, you didn't hide it, widening your smile and looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing."

"You're not even hiding it; what's so funny, L/N?"

At the mention of your last name, your amused smile faded to one of embarrassment and nostalgia.

"You really were mad about my absence."

Scott shrugged and looked away, avoiding your gaze while still frowning. An uncomfortable silence settled in the room; as he avoided your gaze, you absorbed every tiny movement he made, trying to catch something that wasn’t anger or discomfort.

The silence dragged on too long, so you decided to get it over with.

"I'm sorry, Summers."

Scott was surprised to hear your voice; he had been so focused on physically showing his anger and avoiding letting you see how nervous and embarrassed he was by your presence that he had forgotten you were still with him for a second.

He looked back at you and encouraged you to continue talking.

"I'm sorry I didn't give you the chance to say goodbye or stop me, and I'm sorry I couldn't face you, for making you suffer with my disappearance for so long." You stood up slowly. "I know it wasn’t fair, and that you have every right to be mad at me for not even contacting you in these years and in the ones to come. But I hope that if you can't accept my apology now, you’ll be able to accept it when my present self returns with you."

You placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, giving him a twisted smile full of regret.

Scott looked you in the eyes through his glasses, uncrossed his arms, and sighed, relaxing his shoulders.

“It seems like you've apologized before. How many times did I ask you to say sorry?” he asked playfully, earning a laugh from you.

“Several times, to be honest. It’s usually your go-to move,” you replied with a teasing look, and your heart warmed at the sound of his laughter.

“Can I hug you?”

Without saying a word, you opened your arms, and he wasted no time rushing into them, squeezing you tightly while you rubbed his back.

“The day you return, I won’t stop hugging you.”

You laughed joyfully at his words.

“Believe me, mini Scott, I know that very well.”

An hour later, you were walking down the halls on your way to Jean Grey’s room. You had left Cyclops in his room after a long session of hugs and the release of emotions bottled up during the first two years of your absence. You didn’t want to tell him that two more years still remained, so you left before he could start asking questions you couldn’t answer.

When you reached her room, you knocked on the door. After a few seconds, it opened, and mini Jean was sitting at the head of her bed, hugging a pillow.

You walked in silently, closing the door behind you.

If there was one thing you learned over time, it was that Jean had taken your departure much harder. She blamed herself, even thinking that maybe she should have left instead of you. You knew there was a point when she was so distraught that she wouldn’t leave her room, letting only Scott in, who wasn’t going to let her drown in her sadness alone.

In the future, Jean wouldn’t want to let you out of her sight once you returned. She didn’t want you to leave her again and would make sure of it. Scott and you would have to help her learn to live without you, and you would have to assure her that you would never leave her again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you whispered, catching her attention.

“But—”

“It wasn’t, Jean.”

The words she was about to say died on her lips. She looked at you with eyes filled with tears, ready to spill.

You moved closer and embraced her. Unable to hold back her tears any longer, she returned the hug tightly, crying on your shoulder.

You stayed like that for a while until Jean suddenly pulled away with a gasp of surprise, startling you.

“What? What happened?” you asked with concern.

She just stared at you with wide eyes.

It was then that you realized you had stopped blocking out any telepathic minds. She had relaxed and accidentally read your mind.

“What did you see?”

Jean didn’t respond, but the blush on her cheeks gave her away.

You looked at her amused.

“I guess a little spoiler doesn’t hurt anyone,” you said, laughing with amusement, while Jean just covered her face, trying to hide her embarrassment.

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

A few hours later, Hank had already built the machine.

You said your goodbyes to everyone, told Nightcrawler that you would soon be best friends, and returned to your own time.

It seemed to be very late at night, and you were relieved to see that the mansion was still standing.

You went to your shared room where your partners were sleeping in the shared bed.You took a bath and put on your pajamas.

As always, there was a space in the middle of the two lovebirds reserved for you, so you carefully slipped into bed without waking them.

Once in the cozy bed, you sighed in relief. You were exhausted, not having stopped to rest since you traveled to the past.

“You’re back.”

A soft voice was heard on your left as slender arms wrapped around your waist.

“I’m back.”

Jean rested her head in the crook of your neck, hugging you tightly.

"I missed you.”

You started stroking her hair, a gentle smile adorning your face.

“I missed you too, dear.”

Suddenly, strong arms encircled both you and Jean, followed by a kiss on your head.

“Your apologies were acceptable.”

You chuckled softly at Scott’s joke, and you snuggled between the two loves of your life, ready to sleep, not without first wishing them sweet dreams and giving them a couple of kisses.

The professor was right to send you to the past to fix old mistakes.

[reblive]

An except from Eric’s journal that i’ve thought about often as of lately. I have no place to put my thought so I will speak on here. No intent for discourse, I just have no outlet to speak on this matter. If this is not the space for you, just don’t read it. I don’t really care to hear anything.

“Society may not realize what is happening but I have; you go to school, to get used to studying and learning how youre "supposed to" so that drains or filters out a little bit of human nature. but thats after your parents taught you whats right and wrong even though you may think differently, you still must to have more of your human nature blown out of your ass. society trys to make everyone act the same by burying all human nature and instincts. Thats what school, laws, jobs, and parents do If they realize it or not and them, the few who stick to their natural instincts are casted out as psychos or lunatics or strangers or just plain different. crazy, strange, weird, wild, these words are not bad or degrading.. if humans were let to live how we would naturaly it would be chaos and anarchy and the human race wouldnt probably last that long, but hey guess what, thats how its supposed to be!!!!! society and goverments are only created to have order and calmness, which is exactly the opposite of pure human nature. take away all your laws and morals and just see what you can do. if the goverment was one entity it would be thinking "hey, lets make some order here and calm these crazy fucks down so we can be constructive and fight other goverments in our own little so called self created "civilizied world" and get rid of all those damn insticts everyone has" well shit I'm to tired wright anymor tonight, so until next time, fuck you all”

In some way in pains me to see the way he felt about the world and the wrong doings of those around him. If you take a second to sit and read what he’s saying it’s like part of his authenticity comes out and then transitions back to switching to speak to the audience and how he wanted to be seen. I can’t always articulate in words the feelings I get when I think about him but it’s genuinely always painful. He was so hurt, and described his pain, but still shadowed his true feelings of distress for the audience. He cared about what other people thought about him even in his writings, and it’s so disheartening that he was that broken and plague by the environment he was in. I take time to consider how people cannot feel empathy for him and I understand it due to the situation at hand (obviously) however, considering how he was 17 years old writing this, he was just a kid. He was once how we all once were, innocent and compelled to continue on the paths of our lives the way that the nature of society intended us to. It really goes to show how fucked up he had it. This draws me back to the butterfly effect, was there one decision by himself, or inflicted upon him by others that brought him to where he ended his life? Empathy is a theme he seems to disregard in his journal entries, and quite frankly, all of media and the world deems him as un empathetic because of his writings. We didn’t know how he thought of himself in his head, we didn’t know the guilt, destruction, and true pain he went through that was genuine. I find this a reason why there is much more weight put onto him within his person. “It’s only a tragedy if you think it is, and then it’s only a tragedy in your own mind.” (7/29/98) I suppose this is how we all (who empathize with E&D) feel and can relate to.

Thinking too much about his pain these days and what he once was and how he became what he was. Being truthful and honest are two different things. Being truthful, factual, what he did was terrible. Being honest, feelings, I have so much pain in my heart for how he was feeling. There’s nothing anyone can do now (whom empathize)

[harzilla]

Honestly can I admit I've been sitting on writing a full God!Yuu fic? I keep trying to turn game mechanics into God skills. I just wanna throw this out there. Sorta a ficlet? It's mostly my kind of stream of thoughts.

Imagine the guys are absolutely clueless that the "magicless" human is a god. Like a trickster god and whatever little thing that follows their amusement and they notice a weird little blip of magic one day and decides to follow where it leads.

they immediately shift into a vessel that fits the world and when Grim busts open the coffin the god realizes it's his magic they noticed. Oh? Interesting....

The dark mirror can't read their soul because the mirror is tuned into the souls of those born in Twisted Wonderland. The body? Yes. Their actual being? No. So for the first time the mirror calls a colorless empty soul since it's creation.

The god soon realizes they're in a school of humanoid mages and they can sense the different flows of magic from everybody. Allowing them to be able easily analyze what kind of magic it is, ties into the world/nature(aero, water, fire) and emotions(void/light)the self.

Our God realizes that things could get boring fast if they push their powers around and they decide to handicap themselves by only using intentional power to prevent somebody from dying. They're not particularly interested in seeing a bunch of kids die. Mortal lives are fleeting but full of fascinating things.

It turns out that Twisted Wonderland is very interesting if you're willing to see where things lead. But, they can still interfere if they do it within the limitations of a magicless mortal, right?

They also can also pick up on the emotions of mortals and the drips of blot they see are literal buildup of negative emotions starting to manifest in a physical world, very nasty little thing. But only they can see it at this point. They stick by Ace and Deuce because they know that the two will lead them to Riddle. The only one dripping blot at this point within their line of sense. They work with Ace and Deuce, so it's only natural they follow because they helped make the tart, right? They know they can only allow the overblot to happen because they limited their powers but the rancid magic wafting off Riddle makes them unhappy. Diving into Riddle's mind they gently pull through his memories and pull the threads of his thoughts in the right direction. Weakening the link to the overblot and allows Riddle's own mind to push forward and ask the question he needed to hear. This Allows Riddle to hit a breakthrough the overwhelmingly destructive negative feelings. It severes the link to the overblot completely, killing the overblot and allowing Riddle to live.

Riddle awakens and now our God slips back into the magicless human act. They know something is off and they're going to follow along because they want to see just what is causing the world to flow in the direction it's going.

The sticker system is them giving the guys blessing. Our God likes interesting things and the entire rewardable cast is their kind of fun. These stickers kind of create a pavlova effect where they feel positive energy/feelings when around the prefect. The emotions trigger the blessings they received that it boosts their magic. Thus the higher the friendship the higher the magic output

Honey? Candies? All the treats? More blessings. Increased lessons is the god blessing them with more lessons by tweaking the flow of time. They can't perceive the change unless the god wants them to.

They enjoy learning new things about everybody and seeing their progress. They like studying the different dynamics between everybody and are always curious about what's running through their head. A bunch of hormonal teenagers with way to much power at their fingertips always attracts trouble. But also they find them all endearing in their own weird ways.

Of course our god sometimes creates it's own trouble, oh my it seems the tsums felt the gods power somehow and they showed up at specifically Ramshackle? oh my how odd? The God permits it because, well it's interesting and the tsums are harmless if not as chaotic as their counterparts. Just the right kind of mischief they're looking for. Of course maybe our god might have felt a tiny bit bored, saw this adorable magical creatures by staring out into the infinite void of space, magic, and existence and was all "Visit this world please? 🥺"

I just have so many ideas for this I honestly feel like I should try to make a long fic of this idea. But I just want you to think about the absolute crisis all of them go through when they're revealed to be a god that has just let the guys do everything that has happened throughout the entire plot and events because they're amused?

But oh what fun they can have now! Now that they can mess with the guys openly. Only the ones they permit can tell anything is happening.

Pay backs fun now isn't it?

[aloesarchives]

Two for the Price of One (JJK Oneshot)

TW/Warnings: Profanity, NOT POLY SATOSUGU X READER, Fem Reader and She/Her pronouns, ANGST, Angst for Satoru and Reader, Bittersweet ending for Suguru and Reader, HIGHKEY MISCOMMUNICATION, Possible OOC Satoru, abandonment issues if you squint really hard, Reader slowly losing herself, Reader feeling depression/hopeless(implicit), Reader's has a healthy dynamic with her clan

Series: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader/Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader

AU: Canon

Pronouns: She/Her(Reader's clan has a unrealistic healthy and understanding relationship with her)

Word Count: 6.1k words

Summary: Gojo's lack of coping caused you to drift away and eventually depart after Suguru's defection from Jujutsu Society.

(A/N): I know it doesn't make sense and will make many frustrated with how dumb this is. I just wanted to write my emotions out with this one, okay? I know this wouldn't slide but I'm a sucker for these scenarios. Edit: Since I've been getting positive reactions from you guys, I decided to take out the cringe/unrealistic out of the warning/tws lists. I truly love and appreciate you, loves!❤️

[!!Semi-edited & Proofread!!! 2/8/2024 4:04pm CST]

It was hard on all of you.

More so for you and Satoru.

Ever since Geto’s massacre and defection, the higher-ups and Jujutsu society have been scrambling to get the chaos under control. Having a special grade user become a curse user was sounding red alarms as there was an immediate threat to present-day Jujutsu sorcery.

You knew something was up with Suguru. You did; your observation wouldn’t allow things to go unnoticed. It was a bit here and there, but never a significant concern. You tried coaxing him gradually to open up to you, but your efforts were fruitless. No bells were ringing until the post-Plasma Star Vessel incident. You felt the shift in Suguru’s aura; you noticed his lifeless stare—the growing dark circles around his eyes surrounding the tiny flicker of life left inside. 

You tried being there for Suguru. You did anything and everything to accompany him and not leave him alone. It was selfish of you. To be desperate for your best friend to lean on you for support and not to go down a destructive path. You became even more worried when Haibara returned cold with a frustrated and traumatized Nanami. It was becoming more evident of Suguru’s deteriorating condition, you to confide in Shoko and even Yaga-sensei. 

Grief is like love, a twisted parasitic curse. Even though a year has passed, your grief was a malevolent spirit that latched itself onto your shoulders with a vice grip. A bitter reminder of how Suguru never said goodbye to you. He technically did with Satoru. But it was more of him telling Satoru that he was severing ties with Jujutsu Society by questioning him with his newfound powers. All you got from Suguru was a simple letter Shoko gave you at your dorm. She was with you as you read it. Tear droplets stained the paper, words smeared, and became unreadable. Out of pure frustration, you ripped the paper in half—the tearing of paper cut through the sickening silence. Shoko hugged you as you sobbed in the aftermath. While you were mourning the loss of your friend and your lives together, you were also mourning your life after this would never be the same. It would only get worse from here. 

 Satoru is tossed onto multiple missions left and right, never catching a break.

And there was you, trying to return to your regular school life. Or how every day can it be now? One of your best friends just murdered an entire village and his parents, and the other one is overworking himself to the very bone. Shoko being there for you was a surprising one, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Given that she was the first one Suguru said goodbye to, she understood his actions.

The problem was trying to tell Satoru about it, but he would brush it off, saying that maybe it was the change in weather or sickness. When you tried to explain there was more to it, Satoru would wave his hand at you, saying, 

“You’re overthinking too much, (Y/N)-chan! I’m sure Suguru is fine. We just have to give him some time.”

Though the tone was light-hearted, it provided no comfort. You know Satoru was suffering as well. Individuals process trauma differently, after all. You were seeing this first hand. 

Satoru was overcompensating to the world of Jujutsu with his enlightenment, overworking himself and burying his pain through that charismatic mask he now dons. Suguru is the most common one: Insomnia, isolation, and depression. He slowly became a lifeless husk. On the other hand, you were coping by trying to move forward while acting like a rock for them. Despite the hard transition, you didn’t deny your trauma as you slowly worked to process and navigate through it. You had the support of Shoko, your teacher, and even your clan/family stepped in to support your mental health endeavors. They went as far as providing you with a therapist, who was also a sorcerer.

But you all were suffering in silence.

A year has passed since Suguru left, and you were getting by. You, Shoko, and Satoru would graduate in the third year and officially become Jujutsu Sorcerers. Yet, at this point, it felt more like only you and Shoko. Satoru still attended class and hung out, but missions mainly preoccupied his school life. He recently returned from Hokkaido, only to be sent out again. This time, however, it was somewhere in Western Europe. That’s on the other side of the world. It would only be for a week, but still. You wanted him to rest or take a break, as he never did– not since the incident.

He wouldn’t be leaving for another seven days, so you had enough time to be with him. Yet it was challenging because Satoru didn’t let up. The ravine he created kept opening, the distance stretching far and deep, pushing you away.

Just like Suguru.

You didn’t want to lose Satoru. You almost did, becoming a grim reminder of how much you cared for Satoru Suguru. To fall for your best friend was a betrayal. You didn’t mean it, but Satoru did things that made your heart warm and fluttered. Suguru was the first to catch on; he saw your crush a mile away. Confiding in Suguru about it, you found solace in his words– feeding into an enviable delusion. 

Unbeknownst to you, Suguru's eyes were able to hide his longing for you as you rambled about Satoru and your latest hangout together. Suguru always thought you and Satoru had a special connection—your two powerful chemistry and how you bounce off each other. He presumed Satoru had mutual feelings, but nothing was said. Once he left, he knew you had his heart. There was no space for anyone else to fill it but you. And Suguru was more than willing to live with reality. If the girl who gave his life light is with his best friend, so be it. He would settle with the heartache as long as you were happy.

But you weren’t happy at all.

Over time, you started questioning whether the life of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was worth it. Yes, you were born into the world of Jujutsu, and it has been your whole life. But the last two years radically changed that. You were already exposed to this life's dangers and cruelty; prepare to face it head-on no matter what. Yet second thoughts became third thoughts. Then, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh. The more you challenge your initial mindset, the more doubts seep into its cracks.

Why should I continue when I am nothing more than a placeholder in this world?

How can I save everyone if I can’t save one person?

Where is the meaning in all of this if I’ll just die alone and be replaced and forgotten?

Was this endless cycle of Jujutsu Sorcery even worth it?

You wondered if Suguru shared the same thoughts to push him to his decision. Now, you don’t blame him for leaving at all. It was grime. It was depravity. It was futile. You only stayed because you had your clan. You had Yaga-sensei and Shoko. But most of all, you had Satoru to shoulder the burdens of the Jujutsu world.

That’s. . .what you thought. . .

You decided to go to Satoru’s dorm to check up on him. Maybe squeeze a hangout in there. Gently knocking, you hope he was there since you couldn’t sense him around the campus. There was faint shuffling on the other side, signaling he was. You softly call out to him as you knock again. Once opened, Satoru greeted you in his school uniform. You found it odd since he’d switched to his comfortable clothes after school hours. 

“Hi, Toru! I just came by to see how you’re doing. The mochi store we always go to releases its seasonal flavors today! Why don’t you come with me? I heard one of your favorites returned, so I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“I appreciate the thought, (Y/N). But not today, I’m sorry.” Satoru said with a smile.

You couldn’t pinpoint his smile, tittering on, sad and strained. A tinge of uneasiness settled inside your heart, but you still wore your smile to not let it surface.

“C’mon, Toru! You don’t know if they will sell out today. Plus, the weather is great. I heard some festivals with food stands are opening up because of that. It wouldn’t hurt to go out just this once, Satoru.”

Satoru’s smile disappears at your insistence, replacing it with a fine line. His mood change didn’t sit well with you. You had previous attempts to get Satoru to care for himself. However, this is different from all your others because the band that holds your desperation began to wane itself thin. Your solid composure falters in bits. Your bright aura slowly dimmed as your now chapped lips twitched.

“Satoru, I know that you’re busy. Always on missions, meeting the higher-ups, your clan needing you more than ever, you have your hands tied. But it wouldn’t be too much just to enjoy yourself. Just come with me today before you go to Europe next week. It’s been a while since we hung out together.”

“Look (Y/N), I don’t really have time for this. I need to head out now, or it will get dark. Maybe another time–”

Then something inside of you snaps. You didn’t know whether it was your desperation or uneasiness, but assumed both because your facade crumbles to reveal your emotions.

“You always say later, Satoru, but never do! You haven’t taken a break in months! You’ve gotten paler, and your under-eyes are darker than before! You’re pushing yourself too hard and beginning to neglect yourself. Toru, Please! I’m worried about you! You know I can always help you–”

“For the love of God, (Y/N)! Can you STOP TALKING?! GOD, YOUR VOICE MAKES MY EARS BLEED! LIKE HELL YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND MY RESPONSIBILITIES!”

 It was never your intention to snap. But the way Satoru was acting paralleled Suguru. Eat, sleep, and go on missions. It was always those three, the same ones Suguru was subjected to that became a factor in his defection. Satoru was caught in the vicious cycle that pushed Suguru over the edge. 

On top of your crippling fear of Satoru sharing the same fate as Suguru, Déjà vu struck you. Desperation emerged from within as you didn’t want to lose him, breaking your resolve before him. Desperation was fear in another form. 

You weren’t the only one to reach a breaking point. Satoru snapped as well and at you, of all people. You guessed it was from all the stress and emotions he bottled up that exploded there. What Satoru was experiencing was valid and understandable; you knew this. Yet to blow up at you was uncalled for as you made it clear you’re only helping. Your eyes sting as you feel the formation of tears ready themselves, biting the inside of your bottom lip to keep your voice from breaking.

“B-but. . .Satoru. . .I w-was only trying to–” You stuttered out, forcibly pushing out words to fill the silence.

“Help? You were trying to help, (Y/N)?”

Once saying that Satoru let out a sarcastic laughter that could be mistaken for madness. Horror took over your face. Pain-filled eyes were glossed over, showing your tears could spill at any moment. His laughter abruptly stopped, making it so quiet that only your staggered breathing could be heard. He meets his eyes with yours with the most disdain you have ever seen.

“Do you think you could help when you’re just dead weight? You thought you were on par with Suguru and me. Get that out of your stupid little head of yours (Y/N). You were never strong like us.”

“You don’t mean that, right, Satoru?” You said incredulity as you reached out for him. Only for your hand to freeze before him, not going any further. A chill flashed over you, adding to the aching that enveloped your soul.

Did he– Did he just use his infinity on you?

“Oh, but I do. Now, I need to be somewhere. Do yourself a favor, (Y/N), and don’t bother me with your weak presence.”

And before you knew it, Satoru was already gone. He had used his teleportation to get to where he was needed. Leaving you alone with the door to his dorm wide open. The sounds of the crickets took over. They were paired with your small sniffles, furiously wiping away your nonstop tears. 

Were you weak to him?

Have you really been holding everyone back?

Were you that much of a nuisance to him?

Is this how Satoru really felt about you?

Has he always felt this way?

You never saw utter detest and contempt from Satoru. Your previous interactions had him irritated or annoyed, but never like this. This was the first time Satoru had blown up on you, let alone given you such a reaction. Before, you’d repeatedly remind him of your support and help. But it always ends the same way, pushing you away. After what happened, this will be the last time you’d do this for him. 

You were once told that you can’t help someone if they aren’t reaching out for help. And this was a bitter example of it. Your efforts in having Satoru lean on you bore nothing. What’s the point in continuing this if nothing changes after multiple attempts?

You were tired, drained, and indifferent. Your tears keep falling as you enter your dorm, not even stopping as the sound of nature lulls you to sleep. 

You let two days pass to let Satoru calm down and give him space. No interactions or anything to pass some time. You would try to contact him for the next four days after that. But your texts were left unanswered and on read. When you tried calling, your call went straight to voicemail. He blocked your phone number, too. 

 The weight of your doubts and Satoru’s words the other day are fueling your impulsivity. If Satoru called you weak and dead weight, other sorcerers would think so, too. If you become a thorn in their side, you’re doing them a favor by pulling yourself out for them. Even if Satoru didn’t mean it, you knew there was some truth to it because he kept his infinity up. You could never forget how his blue eyes lit through his pitch-dark glasses as he spoke down at you. Giving away that he was conscious and level-headed when he said those words.

You were losing the war against your intrusive mind. Your doubts and thoughts gradually solidified in your consciousness. In the course of time, they won and consumed your psyche.

If becoming a jujutsu sorcerer would get in the way of others, then being a sorcerer wasn’t for you.

With your last attempts to contact Satoru, you have made your decision. A day before Satoru departs for Europe, you decide to pay your clan head a visit. It was sudden and unannounced; nonetheless, they allowed an audience with you. 

They let you speak your mind, allowing whatever you need to be released and run free without judgment. Thus, you confided in them about everything.

This was too much; all of it was too much for you to bear any longer. You couldn’t see yourself as a sorcerer any longer after dealing with what you had experienced. Every day was a battle for you, and you lost every single one. You admitted you didn’t have what’s left of you it in you to shoulder the responsibilities of the Jujutsu world. You didn’t want the life of a jujutsu sorcerer anymore. You wanted one of peace, not having to fight every day. To enjoy the rest of your days as a regular civilian.

Confiding also in missing Suguru dearly and how his departure left a hole in your heart that could never be healed. You weren’t strong enough to face the horrors and hardships anymore and wish to live a peaceful life. 

Although your clan head was shocked at your confession, they were understanding and asked if this was something you truly wanted. An unwavering ‘Yes’ left you, and your clan head nodded. They gave you a choice: to go after graduation in a few weeks or leave now. If you leave now, they will deal with the rest as you finish the important schoolwork. It was just a waiting game with missions sprinkled throughout.

You could wait before leaving, but that’s wasting time. If you weren’t going to continue your life here, you might as well get a headstart now in your new one. You finalize your decision with the head. They said they would have some members pick up your stuff from your dorms tomorrow morning, but you said it wouldn’t be much. As you took your leave, you told them you would keep in touch with the clan. 

“What are your plans for what happens next, (Y/N)?” They curiously asked with your back facing them.

“Hmm, I don’t know exactly. But I have an idea, (Clan Head’s Name). Thank you for everything that you’ve done.”

With a reassuring voice, you turn to respectfully bow before leaving their room. Though they never said it out loud, they saw how your eyes were soft, like tremendous pressure was relieved from your body.

Thinking about it as you leave the estate, you never mentioned your fight with Satoru. Though it wouldn’t change anything. That night, you packed your dorm in your suitcase. Only leave your bedsheets, a pillow, and a few desk appliances behind. Your closet and drawers were empty of any clothes you had. By 10 a.m. tomorrow, any trace left of you would be gone. As you write a letter to whoever finds it about your whereabouts, your thoughts return to Suguru. To playfully think he did the exact same thing before his defection. 

You looked at your school uniform as it hung on your door. You contemplated taking it with you but decided against it. You wanted no strings left attached when you leave the world of Jujutsu Sorcery.

Morning came as you stared at the room you once called your own. The remainder of your things are packed in cardboard boxes for your clan members to get later. You glance back over to your desk as your school uniform is neatly folded on top of it. Your lips are graced with a sentimental smile as you close the door one last time. 

As you walked along the campus, fleeting memories of your days here flooded your mind. You reminisced on the areas and places you spent your youth with your friends and classmates. Now you’re leaving Jujutsu Tech and the Jujutsu World forever. Never to come back. You get to the main entrance of the school.

Before taking another step, you sensed someone behind you.

“So you're leaving, too, (Y/N)?”

It was Shoko.

“Yeah. . . Shoko. I’m going. . .”

She blows out a large smoke cloud from her cigarette, giving you a blank look before sending you a smile.

“At least say goodbye to me. . .I don’t blame you for going. . .” Shoko adds as she holds out her arms. You chuckle at her gesture and give her a hug. By the slight firm grip you felt, she didn’t want you to go, but she couldn’t stop you either.

Once you break away from the hug, you remember something and fish out a folded paper in your bag. You handed it to Shoko, and she eyed it curiously.

“I was going to leave it in my dorm for someone to find, but I thought it would work better if I gave this to you if I ran into it on my way out. My clan is sending members to get the last of my things, so I won’t return to my dorm. Sorry I had to make you the messenger again, Shoko.” You bittersweetly said.

You find it ironic that your departure is similar to Suguru’s. Shoko is the first to see you two go while giving her a letter for the others to read. You laugh as you think this over.

Oh, how history repeats itself.

Shoko tucks away your letter before taking a drag from her smoke.

“Does he know about this?”

You knew she was referring to Satoru. You shook your head no, still have a small smile.

“No, unfortunately. Satoru and I got into a arg– disagreement a few days ago. I don’t know if he’s okay with me to begin with, as cowardly to say. The only ones that know are you and my clan head.”

She hums at your response before going for another drag.

“Your phone number still the same?”

“I don’t really plan on changing my phone number. Even if I do, I’ll text you the new number so you can give it to the others.”

“I see. . .See you around, (Y/N). Keep in touch, will ya?”

“I will. I’ll see you around then. Bye, Shoko.”

Giving Shoko one last hug, you wave goodbye as you leave Jujutsu’s High entrance, disappearing from view. Not daring to look back because regret might come if you did.

Shoko watches from afar, her cigarette being halfway done. She takes one last puff before extinguishing it with the bottom of her shoe. She looks at your letter. The paper was crisp with no wrinkles like it had been fresh from the printer. From this, Shoko knew you had written it recently, no hesitation evident on the page itself. Unlike Suguru’s, her fingers tighten on your letter as she sighs while entering the school.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“What brings you here? He’s a busy man.”

“I’m just an old acquaintance of his. Just a simple chat. It won’t take long, I promise.”

The pretty attendant raises a brow at you as she guides you to one of the rooms. She looks you up and down before facing forward again.

“You have a substantial amount of curse energy. You have a curse technique then; aren’t you a jujutsu sorcerer?”

“I…used to be…but not anymore…I chose to leave that life. I’m just a civilian that has a curse technique.”

You see the attendant smile out of the corner of your eye at your answer. 

“I see. Geto-sama will be happy to take audience with you then.”

You shouldn’t be here. You knew that. Walking in taboo territory could get you hunted down by the very society you were born into. It’s not a secret of Suguru’s position as both a curse user and a cult leader. You remember hearing about him reforming a cult that worshiped Tengan but dissolved after the incident. You found it interesting he hasn’t done collateral damage yet. No incidents or missions revolving around curses terrorizing civilians. Perhaps he was going for something on a larger scale, you thought.

But you missed Suguru dearly. Not in a sentimental reminiscing way. More as in yearning for him entirely. Everyone tells you it’s not the same with Suguru gone, obviously. Yeah, but Suguru plagued your mind after his defection. You want nothing more than to see him again. Yes, things couldn’t go back to the way they were. But you didn’t like the prospects of what your future would hold if you stayed.

You disagreed with Suguru ridding the world of non-sorcerers. But you also understand and agree the current Jujutsu system is a dumpster fire that will never work. At the end of the day, only those the higher-ups favor will get to stay while the rest are sent off to die. You didn’t want to take part in that. You valued your life to know it shouldn’t be tossed around so easily by some dementia geezers who can’t even fight. And yet, you felt a tinge of regret for not staying to fix or break the system. Your only option was to leave and not involve yourself anymore.

The attendant takes you to the room, saying he will arrive shortly. Leaving you alone, you felt your heart race. You hope Suguru doesn’t kill you because he can sense your curse energy. Yet his letter was heartfelt and raw. His apology and the paragraphs after them were for you and you alone, like a confession. Even though you ripped the letter, you keep the two halves. Strangely enough, there was an address and a few words at the bottom of the page. 

‘You know where to find me.’

Here you are, waiting for him with the same letter he sent. As you wait, you can feel his energy get closer. You stare down, kneeling, the letter shaking like a leaf in your hands.

Then the door opens.

You let out a small gasp, not daring to look up as the footsteps approach his seat. A soft chuckle fills the room as you keep your head low.

“I thought I was mistaken when I felt your curse energy. But I now know my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. Please, lift your head so I can see you (Y/N).”

Your gaze meets Suguru’s soft eyes and warm smile. Both genuine and kind. His eyes widen before returning back to soft when he sees the tears trickling down for your lovely eyes he could get lost in. You stumble to stand, practically pouncing at Suguru. His embrace was like gates opening for you and closing once you entered. You softly sob into his robes as he holds you tightly. Comforting you by gently rubbing your back and hair, giving a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I missed you so much, Suguru!” was all you said before you continued to sniffle and hiccup into him.

Suguru hums as he pulls away to better view your face. You felt self-conscious as he lovingly gazed at you. Your nose and cheeks were raw from crying, and your eyes became an irritated red. Suguru smiles, wiping away your endless tears with his thumb.

“Oh, (Y/N). I’m sorry for leaving you behind. You understand, don’t you? From my letter?”

You nodded to respond. Holding the paper in front of Suguru. He notices the tear stains and ink smudges from the words he wrote down.

“I would’ve told you in person, (Y/N). Believe me. But I couldn't once they announced my charges. You would’ve been questioned as a possible accomplice. I didn’t want that for you. Do you know what it means for you to see me now?”

“Yes, I’m aware. But I left of my own accord; it wasn’t just for you, Suguru. I wouldn’t be able to last long if I stayed. So I decided to go, leaving it behind, all of it.”

He was a bit puzzled by what you meant. But it didn’t take long for him to piece it himself. Suguru figured something happened between you and Satoru but decided to stay silent out of respect. You both stare with relief and tenderness. Suguru gingerly takes your hand and places a light kiss on your knuckles. You set your unoccupied hand on his cheek, quietly giggling as Suguru leans into your delicate touch. He sighed in contentment. Bring your hand up again to kiss it as he wraps his free arm around your waist. His sincere smile radiates down onto you.

“I guess we have some catching up to do then, (Y/N).”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru was in a better mood today than before.

Satoru cooled off his head after a couple of days from when he made that outburst at you.  He was stressed and tired of being continuously sent out on missions, and you did make a point that he hasn’t taken a break in months. He remembered what he said to you that evening, which made him feel guilty.

He knows he hasn’t been around because the higher-ups have sent him out like a work dog. It was now you and Shoko with him. The stabilization you two had on him once Suguru left.

You’ve been only trying to help him for a long time. Being there for him in your own way while coaxing him to hang out. Yet he took it for granted and said some vile things because his bucket decided to overflow then out of all the times it shouldn’t. You didn’t deserve that. You also didn’t deserve the silent treatment he gave you. He saw your text messages and listened to the voicemails you left. He did not answer because he was too prideful and stubborn to admit he was stressed and hurt you like that.

But sitting with his emotions and reflecting on how stupid he is for prioritizing his ego, he decided to cut down his pride and make it up to you. He unblocked your number and was going to call you. But he chose to just surprise you instead he chickened out. Satoru knew the European mission was a nuisance to his plans, so he had already taken care of it. By that, Satoru somehow teleported himself to where he needed to be in Europe, slayed the high-level curses, retrieved some curse objects, reported what he did, and teleported back to Japan in four hours.

He did all this at the last minute on the sixth day before Satoru was supposed to leave. He did this to stay and spend the whole week with you, make up for lost time, and give a proper apology.

Now, Satoru was strolling through Jujutsu Tech. He whistles as he holds a bouquet of (favorite flowers), a box with a (favorite color) bracelet with (favorite designs/charms), and a bag of mochi and daifuku for you two to share together. He walks around the grounds, trying to search you. He was told no classes today, so he went to your favorite spots. You weren’t anywhere.

‘Huh, that’s strange. (Y/N) would usually be in those places when class is not in session. I wonder where she could be.’

Satoru thought about dropping by your dorm but figured you were with Shoko. On the other hand, he couldn’t sense Shoko around either until Satoru felt it alongside Yaga-sensei. He sensed them in Yaga’s building, so he headed there.

Blissfully unaware of what would await him. 

Satoru clutches your gifts to one side as he opens the door to enter. His six eyes hadn’t kicked in yet, but something in the air felt off. His sun smile hasn’t dropped yet as he scans around, wondering why the two were quiet when he entered.

“Yo, Yaga-sensei, Shoko! I’ve been trying to look for you guys. By any chance know where (Y/N) is so I can give these to her?”

He looks at his teacher, and Satoru’s demeanor instantly changes. There, Yaga stood with his glasses off, clutching a piece of paper with a stern frown. Satoru turns to Shoko, a somber expression replacing her lighthearted one. Satoru just looked back and forth between the two before his eyes settled on the paper in his teacher’s hand. Satoru stands stunned, hearing his heartbeat in his ears grow louder and louder. The air from his lungs disappeared as realization dawned on him. 

Satoru clenched his teeth as he teleported to your dorm room, the clap resonating throughout the hall. He burst open your dorm door, and to his horror, your room was empty. The room was stripped of everything that made it yours. The closet and drawers were emptied, and your desk and bed were bare of anything from you. What used to be your dorm is now an empty dorm room, ready for the next person to claim it. He frantically looks around in hopes of finding any reminds of you.

Then, he spotted your old Jujutsu High uniform, laying neatly on top of your old desk. Satoru just stares, not daring to pick it up. Because if he did, he would’ve broken down. He can’t stay there anymore, to which he teleports back. He bears his pearly white teeth as he closes in on his teacher.

“Where the hell is (Y/N)?” Satoru lowly said.

“Gone, Satoru–”

“I know she’s gone! But where?! Why the hell is all her stuff gone?! Her room is completely empty!”

“Satoru,” Yaga tried calmly speaking, but he was clearly frustrated. “I know this is so sudden. But the (L/N)’s clan head said something came up with (Y/N), and they retrieved all her things. Her clan said they were going to deal with everything else.”

Satoru's breathing became staggered. He could hear it growing louder. He tried his best not to let his voice crack, but that made him angrier.

“Everything else? The hell does that mean, sensei? Why would the (L/N) clan withdraw (Y/N) from school?! School ends in a few weeks! She could have graduated with us!”

“It…wasn’t their decision, Satoru…It was (Y/N)’s…”

Suddenly, Satoru became flabbergasted. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This gotta be some twisted, cruel joke that was playing on him. His curse energy was flaring up, and his cerulean eyes lit lightly. The flowers from the bouquet were losing their petals, and his bag full of treats was getting smushed from his intense grip.

“What…?”

“The clan head said it themselves.”

“No…”

“She decided not to be a Jujutsu Sorcerer and leave Jujutsu society.”

“LIKE HELL SHE WOULD!!!” Just like that, everything came crashing down for Satoru. Not being in your usual spots on campus, the empty dorm; hell, he noticed your curse residuals becoming faint. The traces of them becoming weaker and weaker. Your presence here in Jujutsu High was fading faster than he could notice. The anger he built up showed itself as it was on full display. Honestly, Yaga and Shoko don’t blame him for his outburst. Satoru held you close, after all.

“Satoru, please.” Yaga pinches the bridge of his nose as he clenches his teeth. “I’m just as lost as you are. This came out of the blue…Her clan confirmed it, and she said it herself.”

Satoru slightly flinches when Yaga holds the paper out towards him. Gesturing for Satoru to take it.

“I didn’t read far into this because it felt like (Y/N) wanted someone else to read it.”

Satoru’s long fingers snatched the paper out of his teacher’s hands. His hands shake as he opens the paper up to see its contents.

It was a letter–from you.

His eyes slowly followed the words of your neatly written goodbye. His heart rips itself piece by piece as he continues reading. The guilt and shaming grew. He could feel the fatigue and jadedness from your thoughts. But the last paragraph makes Satoru’s heart hurt the worst. Your frustration was transformed into desperation for a new life, a fresh start. Away from the endless curses and scrutiny of the higher-ups, away from the pain and hopelessness, away from it all. You didn’t want to throw your life away. You just wanted to live. Then, you end the letter with an apology. Saying sorry because you couldn’t tell them your honest thoughts, for not facing them in your departure, for not trying hard enough for everyone when it was needed. Then, the last line of your apology made Satoru’s blood run cold.

‘Most of all, I’m sorry for being weak.’

He knew that line was for him 100 percent. You wouldn’t have written it down if he didn’t tell you. To Satoru, you weren’t supposed to be the one apologizing. It should be him. He was the one who yelled at you and said those cruel and discouraging things to you. The one who pushed you away and didn’t allow you a chance to help. Fuck, he had the audacity to use his infinity against you. How dare he do that to you, his best friend the girl he fell in love with. His teeth clenched so hard out of pure anger they could crack. The anger he felt for himself was tremendous. He was angry at Suguru, the higher-ups, and Jujutsu Society. Angry at himself for being so stubborn and prideful, for waiting too long to act and apologize. But above all else, he was angry at what had become of the situation. Fully knowing he could do nothing to change anything as already was set in stone.

If he hadn’t been so prideful, he would’ve apologized to you sooner. If he didn’t blow up at you, you wouldn't become broken and hurt. If only he didn’t push you away, maybe you would have stayed– stayed by his side. But ‘if onlys’ are regrets from the past of the current reality. Now, he is living in it with the consequences of his own actions.

This is the price Satoru had to pay. He lost the only remnant that got him through this world by pushing you away. He lost his only two best friends in the world with no way of fixing it. 

The price of becoming the strongest came at the expense of two of his most dearest friends.

Suguru was gone.

You were gone.

Forever with no signs of ever coming back to him. 

In the end, Satoru Gojo was, truly, alone.

[kiarastromboli]

You’re mine (Chris Sturniolo x y/n)

Masterlist.

Warning: smut content, drug mention, toxic relationship, argument, rough sex.

Summary: y/n and Chris are in a toxic relationship, and y/n is about to tell him that she wants to end it.

Note: This fanfic is entirely inspired by a past relationship I had. I want to emphasize that I'm writing it as a way to talk about my experiences and for fun. If you're in a similar relationship, please, for your well-being, escape. Don't let anyone, under any circumstances, treat you this way. It's destructive, trust me, it's not worth it.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Here I am again on a Thursday night at 12:30 AM, sneaking out to see the boy I promised to stop seeing.

I'm pathetic; it only took one message for me to go against my principles, and now I find myself making the same mistake that I've been repeating for over a year.

But this time is different; tonight, I'm going to end this toxic relationship once and for all.

The boy I'm talking about? Chris, a guy from my high school with whom I've been in a secret relationship for a little over a year.

It all started when he replied to one of my Instagram stories. At the time, I had no idea how much of an asshole this guy was. I was naive and carefree, smoking joints with my friends to have fun, and I only knew Chris by sight.

He hung out with the "cool" people at school—the ones my friends and I desperately tried to become by smoking and adopting a delinquent attitude.

When Chris responded to my story, telling me he found me cute, I couldn't believe my eyes. No one really paid attention to me despite all the effort I put in.

Anyway, after a bit of conversation and some innuendos, I eventually understood what he wanted from me: to hook up. And, to be honest, that was enough for me. I was ready to settle for just that if it meant being closer to him.

That same night, I sneaked out to smoke a joint with him, and I discovered a whole new Chris, far from the one I saw at school.

He was funny, attentive, nice, caring, and very open. I quickly felt comfortable with him; the connection was great. Eventually, we ended up sleeping together in his room.

I had sex with a guy before him, but it didn't go well, and I didn't know much about it. Chris was super understanding and took his time with me. He helped me discover my body and taught me how to please myself and him.

Our relationship helped me become more comfortable with myself. Chris always took the time to kiss every inch of my body to make me understand how beautiful he found me.

"You're so beautiful, Y/n."

"I forbid you to have any complexes; you're perfect."

"Look at yourself; you're gorgeous."

You're probably wondering why our relationship is toxic if Chris helped me so much. Well, the thing is, our relationship has always been a double-edged sword. When the doors were closed, and it was just him and me, everything was fine. He only had eyes for me, complimented me, and listened attentively. But as soon as we were in public, everything changed.

I wish he had just ignored me because he didn't want to acknowledge our relationship, and that was the case at the beginning. But it went much further than that over time.

At first, he ignored me at school, and it hurt a little, but I signed up for it. He made it clear he didn't want anyone to know about us, so I had no say in the matter.

But over time, his friends and mine became friends, and we started hanging out together before, during, and after classes.

That's when things took a different turn. I knew I had to keep a low profile, so I tried to keep my distance from him without looking suspicious when our friends hung out together. However, he started acting strangely.

Whenever I opened my mouth to say something, he hurried to cut me off, diverting attention to himself, making me look like a fool.

Whenever he had the chance, he made more or less hurtful comments about me to amuse the group.

"What's with this outfit? You look like a clown."

"Are you naturally stupid, or did it come with time?"

"You know, you can hide behind all the makeup you want; we still see your face underneath."

In short, he acted like a real jerk when people were around, and in parties, it was even worse. He would grab my attention and then proceed to hook up with other girls right in front of me, as if to provoke me.

He spent all his time humiliating me. The thing is, it happened gradually. It started with a few tasteless jokes from time to time, so I never really took the initiative to defend myself. I don't know why, but I already felt like a fool, and I didn't want to worsen my situation.

At first, I tried talking to him privately to understand why he did that, why he treated me like his princess in private but like a dog the rest of the time. And his responses were always the same.

"Babe, don't stress; it's just how we joke around with my friends."

"It's not a big deal; I just had a bit too much to drink. It happens."

"I treat you the same way I treat my friends so that we don't look suspicious. You know very well that I don't mean any of what I say in front of them, Y/n."

And after that, he would kiss me and make me forget everything with a few caresses. I blamed myself for being so weak, but he was so good with me.

I felt alive and considered with him. No one looked at me the way he did, and no one treated me like he did. But what I hated more than anything was the way I belonged to him while knowing that he didn't belong to me at all.

"You're mine, Y/n; I don't want any other guys putting their hands on you."

"We're not together; I have the right to see other people."

"Who the fuck was that guy in your story this morning?"

I found it cute that he was jealous, but I quickly understood that it was just possessiveness. I was his trophy, and he loved knowing that I adored him, maintaining this destructive little link between us.

I struggled to realize that it was bad for me; I idealized him so much that I normalized his awful behavior towards me. I reached a point where I thought it was the price to pay for having such a perfect guy by my side.

I know it sounds insane, and you probably judge me, but when I met Chris, I was not doing well. I felt bad, lost, and he helped me appreciate life again. He helped me with my body and mind, treated me like a princess, and I was ready to endure all of this not to lose what he gave me.

It was like a drug; without him, I was doing very badly. As long as he was there, everything was better, but I knew it was destroying me, and I knew it was bad. However, cutting ties with him meant giving up on my happiness, and I didn't have the strength for that.

I began to realize how bad it was on the day I broke down publicly with him, during a party with our friends.

Start of the flashback:

What a shitty night; I'm wasted, and Chris shows up with another one of his girls. I don't want to see him; he disgusts me.

I headed to the kitchen to take another shot when I felt hands wandering on my hips. I immediately turned around in surprise to find a Chris even more drunk than me. "Oh my god, Chris, don't touch me," I spat out, rolling my eyes before removing his hands from me.

He chuckled before leaning into my ear to say, "She doesn't suck as well as you, you know?" I felt anger boiling inside me; I pushed him away before starting to walk towards the terrace where the others were.

"Hey, I'm kidding; it's fine, don't make a scene for that, Y/n," he said, grabbing my wrist as I reached the door leading to the terrace.

"Damn it, let go of me, you asshole," I said, opening the door and breaking free from his grip. "Go to hell, Chris," I shouted, unintentionally drawing the attention of others to us.

Chris clenched his jaw and shot me a hateful look when he realized that everyone was fully focused on us. "Stop acting like a bitch and giving a show in front of everyone, Y/n; I don't have time for your bullshit," he snapped, and everyone around us sighed, shocked.

I felt tears welling up. "Damn it, what's your problem with me? Just leave me alone!" I said before breaking down and leaving the party.

End of the flashback.

After that night, nothing was the same. I hated him in public, always making a promise to myself not to go see him again, until he sent a message, and I caved.

It was always the same, the same message, "Come smoke a joint with me." I said no the first time, he insisted, promising it was just to smoke a joint. I'd give in, we'd smoke, end up sleeping together, and again, I'd go back home annoyed at myself for succumbing once more. Secretly, I hoped that the next day, when we met in class, he'd treat me well. But it never happened; he always ended up treating me like crap, and the cycle continued when he sent another message.

A damn vicious circle I tried to break free from as best I could, and for a while, I succeeded. Three months had passed without giving in. Three months of ignoring his messages. But tonight, I allowed myself to go back because I wanted to tell Chris that it was officially over. I found a guy, and I was determined to forget Chris in the arms of this guy I had met a few weeks ago.

I knew it wasn't right, and I had promised not to go back, but it was stronger than me. I couldn't wait to give him a taste of his own medicine, to see his face when he learned the news. Yes, I was acting out of revenge, but you couldn't blame me; he had ruined my life for over a year. I had the right to get back at him.

Anyway, here I am, after a 15-minute walk, in front of his house. I knew where the keys were hidden; I was used to coming here. I stealthily entered his house, being careful not to wake up his parents or siblings. I headed to his room and stopped in front of his door.

Oh my god, what am I doing? Suddenly, stress invaded me, memories flooding back. I thought I was over this, but now, standing in front of his door again, all those good moments rushed back, only accelerating my heartbeat.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. It was too late; I was already here. I opened the door and closed it behind me, making sure to put the towel at the bottom to prevent the smell of weed from escaping his room.

I took a deep breath, memories swirling in my head—the smell of weed and his deodorant, the green glow of his LEDs, his slightly messy room—nothing had changed. Chris was slouched in the chair at his desk, shirtless, and hair disheveled. He had just finished rolling a joint, looked up at me, and I saw the smirk that I hadn't seen in ages. "Long time no see around here, princess."

"Yeah, I've been pretty busy," I replied, rolling my eyes before removing my sweater; it was unbearably hot in his room.

Chris stood up and started walking towards me. My heart raced, and I stood there, watching him approach. "I missed you," he said, running his hands over my waist.

I cleared my throat before moving towards his bed to sit at the edge. Damn, I just lost my composure in front of him. I was confident just a few minutes ago; all of this was a bad idea. "Shall we smoke this joint?" I said, hoping that the joint would help me feel more at ease to accomplish what I came here for.

He turned to me with a confused look before sitting back in his desk chair and grabbing his joint. "Very eager tonight?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm eager to shut you up and pass me that joint," I said, giving him a fake smile. He chuckled before lighting the joint and handing it to me.

"You're sexy when you're angry, you know?" he said, leaning towards me from his chair. I rolled my eyes before taking a drag.

"Three months without seeing me, and you're acting like a real bitch with me," he said, smiling and watching me smoke his joint without passing it back. "You're not even going to let me have a little, mama? Are you that angry with me?" he said, tilting his head to the side and placing his hand on my thigh.

I jumped at the contact of his hand on me, immediately passing him the joint, hoping he would take it with the hand resting on my thigh. However, he did the opposite, pulling his chair even closer to mine, blowing his smoke into my face. "You're chattier than that usually," he said, smiling before taking another massive drag and placing the joint on his desk. He then leaned in, burying his head in my neck, extracting a sigh from my lips.

He started kissing my neck, placing his hand on the back of my head to keep me in place. I couldn't help but tilt my head back, offering him better access, and as he nibbled on my skin, a warm sigh escaped my lips. I could already feel my panties getting wet at that moment.

My head began to spin, unsure if it was the effect of all those drags at once or the way he devoured my neck as if it were his last meal.

Suddenly, I regained my senses, remembering why I had come here in the first place. I pushed him back by the chest, forcing him to sit up on his chair. "Chris!" I said, catching my breath, and he looked at me confused when I did that.

"I didn't come here for this, damn it," I said, getting up from his bed and starting to walk away from him.

"Why are you here, then?" he asked, turning his chair towards me without leaving his chair.

"I came to end this, Chris. I'm tired of your shit," I told him, crossing my arms, and he chuckled. "Is that funny to you, you jerk?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

"Come on, baby, stop your drama. I acted like an idiot, let me make it up to you by having a good time," he said, getting up from his chair.

"No, it's over, Chris, I'm done," I replied sharply.

"You say that every time, y/n, and we always end up here," he sighed. "Can we avoid going through this again, please? You know very well that you and I won't end." He said this while caressing my arms once he reached my level. "These were the most complicated three months I've had since I've known you. You've punished me enough like this," he added, rolling his eyes.

"Do you hear what you're saying, Chris?" I said, shaking my head. "You don't even realize how toxic you are to me," I said, getting angry. "Damn, it took me three fucking months to have the courage to end this relationship. Three fucking months of crying and lamenting because of you, Chris."

"We'll figure it out, y/n. You can't just leave me because you're feeling bad; it's selfish!" he replied. "Do you think I was doing well these last three months? Fuck, y/n, we'll find a solution; we always find a solution."

"We always find a solution?" I said with a fake laugh. "Because treating me like crap in public is a solution for you, Chris?" I said, pushing him, carried away by my anger. "You only think about yourself; damn it, I can't fucking take it anymore. It's not a healthy relationship, none of this is healthy!"

"I told you I didn't want others to know about us, y/n. I don't like airing my life; you can't change who I am!" he said, advancing towards me.

"But damn it, you don't listen to anything I say!" I told him, shaking my head. "This discussion is fucking pointless; it's over. I found someone else, Chris, and he'll genuinely make me happy, not like you," I spat out full of rage before heading towards his door.

He grabbed my arm abruptly and violently slammed me against his door, causing me to release a groan of pain. "What the fuck did you just say?" he said through clenched teeth, bringing his face closer to mine and tightening his hand around my neck to force me to look him in the eyes, where I could see all his burning rage.

"You're hurting me," I said, closing my eyes as his grip tightened around my throat, forcing me onto the balls of my feet. It wasn't the right moment, I knew, but somewhere deep down, his reaction satisfied me. He was furious, and that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted him to feel the hatred he made me feel, and I knew he felt it at that moment.

His hold around my neck loosened, and a smirk appeared on my face. "You heard right, Chris. I found a guy better than you," I told him, looking him in the eyes before leaning toward his ear on tiptoes, resting my hands on his shoulders. "A guy way better than you for me, a guy who will treat me much better than you, and especially a guy who will fuck me much better than you," I whispered to provoke him.

I slowly faced him again, never breaking eye contact. He ran his hand over his face before pressing against the door behind me with his other hand. I could feel the anger boiling inside him, and I liked it. He raised his head to look at me before running his tongue over his teeth and fake laughing. "What's happening to you—" I started to say before being cut off by his lips on mine.

At first, I tried to push him away, but his hand caught both my wrists, pinning them above my head without his lips leaving mine.

No matter how much I resisted, it was useless. When I entered this room, I already knew how it would end, so I ended up giving in and kissing him back, letting his tongue into my mouth.

He pressed his body against mine, and the kiss was hungry and furious. I couldn't help but moan into his mouth. I must admit that this burning fire in the pit of my stomach had been missing, a sensation that only Chris had the power to provoke.

"You're mine, y/n," he growled before reconnecting our lips immediately.

"No, I'm not, Chris," I tried to deny despite having just succumbed for the thousandth time.

"Then why do you always end up here, huh?" he said between hungry kisses on my jaw and neck.

"Because—" I said, moaning as he started to nibble on my earlobe.

"Because you're mine," he insisted, placing his hand on the side of my neck. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget the name of that guy you're dating," he said, directing his lips towards my breasts.

"Chris—" I said before being interrupted by his hand on my mouth.

"Shut the fuck up, y/n," he said before pulling on my tank top to expose my chest and began kissing me. "This guy doesn't know you," he said, inserting one of his fingers into my mouth for me to suck, which I did. "I know you inside out. I know where to touch you and what to say," he said, straightening up so his face was in front of mine, lifting his knee between my legs to apply pressure to my pussy.

"I can't believe you even thought for a second that another man could ever fuck you better than me, baby," he said, smirking and rubbing against me, making me moan at the friction of my clothes against my clit.

"Chris, fuck," I said with his fingers still in my mouth. Suddenly, he pulled them out, removing my top in one swift motion. "Please, Chris," I said, desperate. At this point, I could deny it all I wanted, but this guy could reduce me to my knees with just one sentence. It had been three months since I had a proper orgasm.

"Please what? I thought you had someone else, someone better?" he said with a sly smile, grabbing a handful of hair at the back of my head and pulling to make me lift my head toward him. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" he said, stopping the friction between my legs, driving me completely crazy.

"No, Chris, don't stop!" I said in a frustrated moan.

"Say it, y/n," he said authoritatively, looking me in the eyes and pulling harder on my hair. "Fine, since you don't want to say it," he said, dragging me by the hair to his bed where he threw me before swiftly removing my bottoms and panties in one go.

I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't stop. I was dying to feel him inside me. I sat up from my previous position lying on the bed to kiss him. Before I could reach his lips, he pushed me onto the mattress with a sly smile, making me let out another frustrated moan. "Why?" I said, furrowing my brows.

He didn't answer and walked towards his dresser, taking out two pairs of handcuffs we had used in the past. I watched him come towards me with an apprehensive look. "Tell me if your new guy can make you cum like I can," he said, grabbing my face before suddenly releasing me and handcuffing both my arms to his bedframe.

"What are you doing, Chris?" I asked, feeling my breath quicken. He came to kiss me briefly, pushing me to pursue his lips in the hope of reconnecting them hungrily when he broke our kiss.

"Shhhhh," he simply replied before proceeding to kiss every inch of my body except where I really needed him to, making me squirm under his lips. "If only you were less complicated with me, y/n," he murmured, kissing the hollow of my waist. "You're driving me completely insane, y/n," he said, biting the inside of my thigh this time, prompting me to let out a moan.

"Chris," I said, unable to bear the way he teased me. "I need you, please," and with my words, he abruptly spread my legs and dove his head in.

He began licking my wetness from my hole before moving up to my clit, making me moan at the sensation. His left hand came to play with my breasts, while the fingers of his right hand teased my entrance as he stimulated my clit with his tongue, causing me to roll my eyes. "Oh my God, Chris," I said in a broken voice, trying to free my hands from the handcuffs to run them through his hair, but in vain.

Chris continued to groan against me, sending vibrations to my clit, making my head spin. Without warning, he inserted two fingers inside me, causing me to throw my head back and release another moan at the sensation.

He began to move his fingers in and out progressively faster, bending them inside me and hitting that spot that made me see stars. Chris knew perfectly well that he could make me climax very quickly; he knew me inside out. So when that familiar knot formed in the pit of my stomach, I didn't need to alert him for him to know that my orgasm was dangerously approaching. "Can you feel it coming?" he said, continuing to finger me. I simply nodded, too intoxicated by the impending orgasm to speak. "You want it?" he asked, accelerating the movement and making me lose my mind.

I was on the brink of climax when he withdrew his fingers without warning, making me moan in frustration and lift my head towards him. "Chris, no!" I gasped, "Don't stop, please." I pleaded desperately, closing my eyes and rubbing my thighs in the hope of feeling something.

"What's the matter? Did I frustrate you by making you think I was going to let you cum on my fingers?" he said mockingly. "Go ask your new guy to finish the job," he spat, grabbing my throat.

"I lied! Chris, I lied, please!" I said desperately. "No guy can make me cum like you!" I exclaimed, agitated and looking pathetic. "Fuck me, Chris, I beg you, just fuck me!"

He licked his lips while looking at me, then smiled and removed his underwear. I let out a whimper when I saw his member for the first time in three months. I bit my lip, remembering all the things he could do with it. "Did you miss this, little slut?" he said, slapping me before positioning himself between my legs. I nodded vigorously, making him smile. "I missed you, princess."

He began to slap his cock against my clit, making me lift my head and moan at the teasing sound. Then, he started rubbing against me without penetrating. "Chris, stop teasing me; I can't wait any longer," I said, frustrated and hungry.

"Say it, baby, say it, and I promise to give it to you. I promise to stop messing around, and I promise it'll be the last time you have to run away from me," he said between several kisses on my lips, jaw, ear, and neck.

I knew that if I said it, there would be no turning back. I knew that if I said it, the three months I've spent without him would have been for nothing. And I knew that if I said it this time, I was screwed. But it was Chris, the only guy who shone in my eyes. So, for the umpteenth time, I swallowed my pride and principles. "I'm yours, Chris, only yours."

He gradually entered me, almost making me scream when he hit the depth. "Fuck, I missed this pussy, baby," he said, moaning before starting to penetrate me. "I never want you to let anyone else touch you, do you hear me?" he said, thrusting abruptly into me, and I nodded furiously. "You're mine, y/n, only mine. Fuck!" he said, trying to contain his moans before burying his head in my neck to bite me.

"Oh my fucking God! Chris! Shit!" I exclaimed when he began to thrust in me at an inhuman speed. "Yes, yes, yes, don't stop, oh my-" I felt like I was losing my mind. He pressed his lips to mine to kiss me fiercely, our kiss filled with growls and moans.

"Damn, y/n, I missed you so much. Never leave again," he said, moaning against my lips and thrusting impossibly deeper.

"Never again, baby, I promise!" I said, looking at him with furrowed brows and a face tense with the pleasure I was receiving.

"You're the only good girl for me; I want no one else," he said, placing his forehead against mine while grabbing my legs and wrapping them around his waist. "I'm going to do things right; I'm going to fix things for you," he said, moaning when I started to clench around him.

"Chris, I—fuck, please," I uttered a sentence that made no sense. I no longer had the ability to formulate a coherent sentence, but he understood what I wanted. He untied my hands from the handcuffs without withdrawing from me. He turned us around so that I was sitting on him, and his back was against the headboard.

I moaned at the new angle, which allowed him to reach even deeper. I could feel him in my core. I began to bounce on him at a steady pace, and he threw his head back. "Oh my God, you're so good for me, baby," he said, closing his eyes.

My hands came to grip his cheeks, making his beautiful blue eyes meet mine. His hands grabbed my hips to guide and pull me even closer to him. Our torsos were pressed together, and our lips brushed against each other as I bounced on him. No words came out of our mouths, but we communicated through our eyes. His grip on my hips tightened, and he began thrusting from below. I felt my orgasm approaching. "Baby, I—I can't—I can't—I'm going to—" I tried to articulate, but once again, everything tangled in my head, and I couldn't say it.

"I know, princess. Let yourself go. Come for me, baby. I want you to come for me, ma , please don't stop," he said, biting his lips and clenching his jaw. I could feel him twitch inside me, and within seconds, I started to climax. He grabbed my neck roughly, kissing me while forcing me to continue bouncing on him until he also climaxed inside me.

I let my head fall on his shoulder, and he began to stroke my hair. We were both out of breath. "I never want you to see that guy again," he said.

"Fuck you, Chris," I replied without moving from my position.

"I'm serious. If I see you with him, I'll kick his ass," he said, grabbing my chin to make me face him.

"I won't see him again," I replied simply, and he smiled before kissing me slowly and gently.

Masterlist.

[iloveroblox48]

why not me ❣︎

❣︎ ➝ Masterlist here!

❣︎ ➝ Tags:childhood best friends with katsuki bakugou and izuku midoriya(focuses on katsuki),mentions of bullying, cussing,fluff and lightt angst,fem reader,mentions of a quirk(angel)

❣︎ ➝ A/n:hey guys! this is a kinda a big yap fest of a fic tbh and its rushed (╯︵╰,) also i swear im going to write for more characters and tropes the ones i post about just rot my brain and i need to get it out!! and i know i said i would write a full fluffy fic soon but the angst is getting to me man (-_-｡) also this is probs ooc anyways ignore grammar/spelling mistakes requests open as always enjoy ⁽˙³˙⁾

you had gotten your quirk around age four like everyone else but you had gotten the quirk angel wich meant you had gotten a small pair of white wings,heightened senses,and a thing called holy white light as you liked to call it,it was a lethal power.the power was a high concentration of pure energy from your plams,the level of power, shape, and destruction could be controlled! when you had gotten this power as a kid you had started to stand out more the wings making you more alone. meaning amongst other kids you were more quite and shy.many kids had talked about you,they whispered rude names,giggling when you walked by, you really had no mind for them though,the only person who didnt do this was izuku midoriya he was a little green haired boy who was kind and actually saw you as a person not as a quirk.so you guys became friends and hanged out at the park from time to time.that was until you had to move away for a few years for training.

By the time you came back you were in the last year of middle school.it felt weird being back in your childhood neighborhood let alone with all new people.you were sitting in front of your vanity finishing up your make up look for the day,you had already gotten dressed in your school uniform,you were contemplating if you you actually wanted to be back it was odd.everything changed you had changed your still somewhat quite, but your wings had growned,they were now bigger, stronger, you could use them in new ways,and they were well beautiful,you maintained them well.

“y/n come on its time for school” your mother shouted from downstairs.you grabbed your bag,not after checking fifteen times if you had everything.you walked out of your room and down the stairs to see your parents in the living room,watching whatever was on the news.they quickly glanced at you.you waved them goodbye and walked out the door.you started this short walk to school the wind slightly blowing,the sun awake shining down on everything.your grabbed your headphones and put them in playing your playlist.you continued to walk until you reached the front of the school everyone laughing,talking, socializing.

you felt out of place.it was like everyone knew each other already.it was hard trying to ignore the feeling of everyone looking at you,you werent that hard to miss! you had hoped to see one person that green haired boy from your childhood.some random group of kids came up to you while you were walking.they just had started asking you questions when you had heard someone yelling.you quickly looked behind you to see who was yelling only to be met with the loudest guy ever.he was in the hallway yelling something about extras being in his way when he had shoved past you,you scoffed at this who does this guy think that he is? you quickly sent one of your feathers flying after him just to poke him in the back and side a few times.he had stopped dead in his tracks.you quickly retrated the feather back to wing.

“who did that” silence nothing but silence filled the hallway.he turned to face you.he grabbed the collar of your shirt pinning you against the wall.

“i bet it was you huh?”

“so what if it was?”

he scoffed at this “dont think because you’re new here that you’re all that.you’re nothing but a damn extra.”

your back was on fire,the feeling of your wings being smothered against the wall was not a good feeling.he soon dropped you though not without looking you up and down,scoffing then spitting on your shoes of course.you had just gotten these shoes too! after that everyone slowly had faded away from the hallway, you had went to the bathroom to get that guys nasty spit off your shoe,because of this you had been a little late to class,unfortunately for you when you had walked in through the doors of class,everyone had turned to see why the door was opening,you saw him.that raging blonde from before,but on the upperhand you saw those big green eyes from your childhood,you would recognize them anywhere.it was izuku! the teacher called you to the front so you could introduce yourself.you shuffled to the front.

“i’m y/n l/n,and you guys can see what my quirk is” some scattered applause came from around the room. “you can take a seat behind bakugou, and next to midoriya”you made your way back to the seat your teacher had called out.his name was bakugou huh? you did not like him.after what felt like five hundred years of torture the class was finally over.you packed up your stuff and izuku started talking to you.

“hey y/n! its been a minute huh? i see you’ve improved your quirk! your wings look so good have only they improved or has other stuff improved too? where did you go when you disappeared for all those years? i missed you! it was so lonely with out you! you know-”

“izuku! you’re rambling again i see old habits die hard huh? ill tell you everything at lunch just show me where the canteen is.”

“yeah right!”

little did you know,bakugou was listening in on your conversation not on purpose of course i mean who would want to listen to you two extras talk? but he soon grew curious how did you know some random qurikless loser like deku? your quirk looked somewhat powerful and you werent sacred to stick up to him and stand your ground. so it all circled back to the question

how did you know stupid deku?

you and bakugou had more interactions,well more like arguments and bickering,but you never took them to heart and neither did he! its just how you guys worked.sometimes he would push you,shove you,take a book or two out of your bag and hide them somewhere stupid,you would repay the favor.one day though while you were zoning out during class until you heard your name “lastly bakugou and… l/n will be partners for the project” you nearly fell out of your seat! partners!? and worse a project!? for what! you weren’t even paying attention to what the teacher was saying. bakugou turned around and made eye contact with you.

“lets go we need to plan this shitty project”

“uhm right..”

“do you even know what were doing?”

“no…i was zoned out…”

“were doing a project each others quirks and stuff.”

“oh yeah right…why does this have to be a partnered up project though”

“the teacher wants us to get as much information on each others quirks and compare them”

“oh okay that makes sense..anyways! do you want to come to my house or yours”

“mine obviously,its a friday so you can come over today”

“okay but we have to stop at my house first so i can get some stuff”

“tch whatever” and with that he walked off

you continued on with your normal classes.much to your dismay the day soon came to end meaning you had to meet up with bakugou and do this stupid project.you walking out of the school when you heard his footsteps you didnt say anything,you didnt really have to.you guys had a silent walk to your house.when you arrived you unlocked the door and stepped inside you let him in too,it was odd seeing him in your house, but you payed it no mind.

“hey uhm you can help yourself to anything in the fridge,if you get bored you can go in my room or the living room”

“i thought we were going to my place you idiot”

“we are dont worry i just want to shower and change,wont take long i swear” you said saluting him

“tch better not”

he helped himself to a glass of water and stayed downstairs in the living room.after a bit you came down the stairs,you were changed out of the school uniform in more casual clothes now you had a bag probably filled with stuff for the project.

“okay we can go now!”

he got up from the couch and led the way to his house.surprisingly he didnt live that far from you.he opened the door to his house and you were welcomed with the smell of something amazing.his house was actually quite nice you didn’t even expect the house to even be in tact considering his personality,but hey lets look on the bright side!

“hag were home” he shouted towards the kitchen “my moms going to want to talk to you so do that first and ill be waiting in my room” he walked off

“hi dear! are you one of katsuki’s friends?”

“sure you can say that! we just got partnered for a project is all”

“well thats just lovely! please be patient with him i know he can be a pain in the ass”

“of course mrs.bakugou”

you walked around the house,the walls adorned with family pictures,and vacations.you saw his door and knocked lightly against the wooden material.you walked in and you met with his huge room,posters of bands hanged all around,a huge bed in the corner,you know typical stuff for katsuki.

“lets get the stupid project over with”

you guys had brainstormed,and worked together for hours comparing your quirks,but also talking about how they could work together.when you guys weren’t talking about the project you talk about your guys music taste,your dreams to be a hero,it turned out you had more in common than you thought and maybe katsuki wasnt that bad after all.the sun outside of his window had set, turning from a bright afternoon to a shaded evening.you didn’t even realize the time until his mom had called for dinner and invited you to the table,i mean who were to decline the food smelled heavenly and she was much better company than katsuki so why not! at dinner mrs.bakugou brought up how late it was and if you would be staying the night, okay this one you had to decline no way you were staying the night here!…except she insisted and said she had a spare room for guests that was never used and you could leave in the morning. wouldnt be to bad right?after dinner you helped mrs.bakugou wash up and put dishes away.then you headed to the guest room to sleep.

so the next morning after you woke up you said your thanks to everyone and headed home.as you were on your way home though you ran into izuku! you guys started chatting it up talking about school and some recent drama he had heard.until he invited you to hang out in the park you guys always went to as kids,of course you said yes you finally had time to catch up with your friend! after a while izuku had walked you home and told you he would talk to you at school.

the weekend eneded faster then you would have liked but whatever,the boring classes came back except this time you and katsuki actually talked all week,you could say you guys were at least acquaintances now it was weird at first,but you had grown to like his presence and personality.It was finally friday,and today was the day everyone enrolled into high schools you had enrolled in UA of course! after you turned your paper into the teacher you grabbed your stuff and left,after realizing you had left your phone you went back to class to grab it when you heard two voices no maybe three? who knows you opend the door to see katsuki and his two goons hovering over izuku no had noticed you had walked in except for izuku his eyes latched onto yours silently begging for help.

“what the hell do you think your doing katsuki”your voice broke the laughter, all three of them had turned to look at you.

“teaching this nerd his place…did you know he enrolled in UA? how pathetic is that”

“you have no business telling anyone that”

“dont tell me you actually like this nerd! we all know you hang out with him out of pity”

“i hang out with him because he is my friend, something you would know nothing about”

“your just as stupid as him if you thought we were friends”

“i guess so just get the hell out of here katsuki! and dont talk to me again”you stared right in his eyes,he thought you were joking at first but seeing your face he knew you were serious

“whatever your nerd just like him”

him and his goons had walked out of the classroom.you turned to so izuku he was lightly scratched,and tears threatened to fall you said nothing just helping him up and walking him to the nurses office.good thing this would be one of the last weeks of school,you and izuku could be freed from this place and could enjoy the summer.

the summer finally rolled around you and izuku hanging out more,but you were also a little concerned he seemed to be training harder than ever,but so were you.exams for UA came in no time it seemed,you and izuku stayed strong as ever,katsuki being a fuzzy memory in your mind. till you saw him at the exams he seemed to he the same old person loud,rude,but under all of that he was still a decent person,but you had stood your ground by leaving him alone and him being just as hard headed didnt bother to talk to you.you seemed fine chatting it up and being best friends with izuku.if he hated izuku he definitely hated him now.katsuki didnt know why he had grown to not mind your presence maybe it was the way you werent scared of him,maybe the way you fought back,he didn’t know nor care he just knew he hated you hanging out with izuku.all three of you guys had made it into UA not surprise there though.the school year went on and it seemed like you were always with izuku,katsuki tried talking to you sure but you were true to your word and didnt talk to him,he hated a lot of stuff but this,you ignoring him and izuku taking the spotlight in your life really took the cake.so he started picking on izuku more now,you didnt know of course otherwise you would have put a stop to it immediately.

you found out though izuku had been more distant,appering with more bruises,and he wouldn’t tell you? he was being really suspicious. you were walking around UA campus when you heard some commotion near the fountain you walked over there to see no other than katsuki and izuku,it looked like he was being cornered once again,obviously you rushed over there.

“katsuki what on earth is happening”his head turned at the sound of your voice you finally noticed him of course you payed him some mind when it came to being at izuku’s rescue.

“so now you decide to talk to me?”

“izuku can you leave clearly me an katsuki need to talk”and with that he scurried off

“so what did you have to say to me?”

“…thought you didnt want to talk to me”his voice raspy

“i dont,but you obviously have something say so spit it out,dont think i haven’t noticed you looking at me and whispering”

“why are you always with him?”

“who?…izuku? its because he is my friend”

“and im not? it seems like your always with him and to his rescue,people have been assuming you’re dating”

“so? why are bringing this up”

“because you’re always spending time with him! you left me for him!”

“katsuki…”

“no! you dont ever want to pay me the slightest bit of mind its like you forgot me..but i couldn’t forget you no matter how hard i tried..but i just cant..” hes looking at you now,eyes desperate

“i could never forget you katsuki…why dont we have a fresh start at us being friends again? we have enough time right?”

“right.”

[queenie-the-court-jester]

If there will be a part two for yandere online friend, once I found out im pregnant, I will cause a miscarriage on purpose and blame him for the lying, the cheating, the drugs, EVERYTHING. Tormenting him for his betrayal, because it’s not fair that he messed around with another girl while I was there for him when his own family wasn’t.

(I know i was aware high school love wasn’t gonna last but i love being petty and holding on grudges brings me joy.) 🥰💅

you're more fucked up than me dawg 😭 but at the same time it's understandable?? In a way?? But then again that isn't any better than the yandere... This will be the first, and last darkfic I will ever write

Tw: self abortion, guilt tripping, toxic relationship, mentioned non-con, this whole fic is a warning in itself, self harming, suicide. readers be warned,dead dove do not eat

🥀no no NO! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS!? WHY WOULD YOU RUIN EVERYTHING HE WAS SO CLOSE TO ACCOMPLISHING?? you were supposed to love the baby.. all in all, he goes into hysteria when he sees you on the floor of the bathroom. Blood all over the tiles and toilet

💔calling 911 and breaking down, sobbing uncontrollably as they load you onto the stretcher and go to the hospital. When you wake up, he expected you to call the police or scream for help. But you just.. stared at him? No emotion..

🥀you stayed in the hospital for a week, he stuck to your side like glue. The nurses always commented on how much of a loyal boyfriend you had, but they were met with silence. It unnerved them a bit but they just brushed it off as you processing the miscarriage

💔when Damien took you back to his house, he boarded up the windows and doors. Adding multiple locks all while looking like he was hyperventilating. Images of you bleeding flashing through his head. the doctors said it was a miracle they even managed to save you

🥀he froze when he finally heard you speak for what felt like the first time in weeks.

"this is all your fault. You did this to me."

"d-darling please! Let's not go there.."

"you're a worthless pathetic bastard. I hate you."

💔he slowly goes back into his old destructive habits, cutting his arms and smashing solid objects against his thigh or legs. Making himself feel the pain you must've felt, always crawling back to you. Bloody and bruised, begging to be forgiven

🥀he starts making up stories. Saying the girl pushed herself onto him, or he wasn't thinking straight when it happened. He'd be so unstable you could even manage to get him to off himself if you pushed him farther, taking his money and leaving his bloody corpse in the shitty house he called a home. Did he seriously expect to raise a family here? Pfft, what a weirdo..

[solivagantingrebel]

People You Know Can Hurt You The Most

for: @inkarmatqq happy ghoapmas!! i had a lot of fun while writing the fic (got a wee carried away too), hope you enjoy! :D

ao3 link.

summary: Nothing happened that night. Nothing happened for a long while, nothing happened until he was deployed elsewhere and the no-strings attached conditions got his curiosity evoked. It never led to anywhere, though. No one he met before the task force made him want to be involved in something other than his own life, selfish as it might sound to some, it had taken a long time for him to reach even a semblance of that peace, and he wasn’t ready to part with it yet.

Until Simon Riley walked into his life, and it felt like a series of small, culminating sparks slowly adding to an explosion grander than any he had personally witnessed.

cws: implied/referenced child abuse, childhood trauma, angst with a happy ending.

words: 11.8k

For as long as Soap has been alive, he has faced rejection more than any other obstacle in his life. 

It started off small. His preferences being picked apart when he was younger, his carefree, rowdy nature punished and cautioned against. He was the lad parents looked at and was relieved he wasn’t theirs. He was the one punished the most by the teachers, the class clown, the loud mouth who couldn’t shut up or keep his hands still enough for their liking. He was the one without a survival instinct in his bones, getting into all sorts of trouble to scratch the itch of adrenaline growing stronger each day. 

His parents didn’t entirely approve, though their attempts to shape him to their liking was as successful as teaching a rock to fly. His ma was softer on him, partially because he got a feeling she understood a little. He grew up in the countryside with his grandparents while his parents were settling in the city, an entire childhood full of freedom and the world to explore wasn’t compatible with the muted manners they expected here. But, he tried for his mother. If there was one person’s disappointment he didn’t want to shoulder, it was hers. 

Which meant tethering himself, drawing back the strings of his eagerness, and swallowing the sting of every criticism thrown his way until it numbed down to a duller ache. When they told him to shut up, he did it without question, letting his thoughts run rapid and fill the void left behind by the impact, when he was told to stop, his body fought with him, but he’d prevail over the initial spark of rebellion — see the immediate reward of it in the form of praise or acceptance. He was palatable like this, agreeable, and his family got fewer complaints from his school. 

Growing up wasn’t easy. His situation at home was more or less stable, parents more ‘supportive’ of his recent behaviour, asking him what was wrong when there were days he couldn’t repress himself as much. He understood from a young age who he was as a person did not fit in with his parent’s, or his school’s, or his society’s standards. He was allowed to be himself when no one was looking; the mess in the wake of his destructive tendencies lied away like he was born with a silver tongue, eyes so sincere no one noticed the weight of the cross around his neck — one his grandma gifted him, the only piece of her he had after she passed — growing heavier. 

It was safer like that, though. Easier to lie through his teeth, accept rejection and move on with whatever approval he could garner from his corrected behaviour than linger on the festering wound of every rejection piled on top of each other. He distracted himself whenever the thoughts got too loud, allowed his hands to wonder and loud noise to smother the pull to linger, until it was instinct, coded into him like muscle memory. Once he was a bit older, there were more socially acceptable ways to get steam off. Sports was one. His school’s football team was already packed, so he opted for cricket, found himself liking the intricacies of the field and how much of mind and body involvement it demanded from him. 

It was perfect for him.

Over the years, his focus on the sport more than his studies drew attention. He was winning school-level tournaments and the local club was interested in him. While his parents were proud of him at first, it gradually grew into ‘concern’. Cricket didn’t have a good enough future for them to consider it an option for him, apparently, and they didn’t approve of him moving to England in the future to have a better shot at it. He had such a clever mind, he’d do well furthering his studies and getting into a more scientific field. Something that wouldn’t have him running around for others, taxing his body. But, he couldn’t give up the only source of comfort he had, he refused to.

Pride crumbled into pieces to scratch at the aching gash inside of him. He was good at lying, good at keeping the peace and making sure what he was didn’t disturb those around him, but in his father’s blue eyes, he knew it wasn’t enough. Regardless of how he acted, regardless of what he could achieve if he was allowed a silver of grace. He was convinced it was fate when an older cousin of his found him with bleeding knuckles in the field he practised in, after he ran away from home because of another nagging comment turned into an argument about his future. 

He sat with him, talked to him, and talked about himself when Soap didn’t, his own struggles with finding acceptance from his family and a path in life. He was in the army now, travelling more than he ever thought he would, defending his country and earning an impressive array of medals to show for it. His cousin took him to a restaurant after that, cleaned up his wounds and let him have a feast to make up for the food he’d missed in the family gathering. 

It was the first time someone extended kindness to him after he’d changed so much over the years — convinced he wasn’t enough for his family. Soap wasn’t going to say it was the primary reason he decided to enlist early, but it was a prominent one. He was going to be an SAS soldier, earn his place and force his family to shut up about his future, because surely, they were not going to complain after their country awards his efforts. Basic wasn’t what he expected; it was almost too perfect. He was suited to the military life, and that was the final realisation he needed before he tried for the selection, became the youngest in the Royal Army history to pass with flying colours. 

The name he earned out of it felt like his, too. Military opened up a myriad of opportunity without the additional baggage of what he should be, and the best part was, his aggression was rewarded, allowed an outlet, praised for the way his hands and mind worked in tandem towards the destruction of their enemies and swift execution of missions. He wasn’t told to be more than what he already was, but there was an itch in his brain that craved validation, being the best at what he did was a personal goal. Not an expectation, but there wasn’t anyone to disappoint other than himself — the kind of freedom he wasn’t allowed before this. 

And Christ, if he didn’t relish in the taste of it. He was starting to find out more about himself, no longer forced to be under oppressive eyes; his tendency to improve, impress and obey went beyond the friendly banter between teammates, and lingering looks and touches led him to places he’d never thought he’d grace. He liked men too. The realisation hit him softly when he was cornered and kissed sweetly by a bloke he stayed with in a bar after everyone left to make sure he reached home safely. Maybe it would’ve been more than an ‘ah, that makes sense’ if he was still back home, if the prominence of religion was continued outside his grandmother’s influence. 

Nothing happened that night. Nothing happened for a long while, nothing happened until he was deployed elsewhere and the no-strings attached conditions got his curiosity evoked. It never led to anywhere, though. No one he met before the task force made him want to be involved in something other than his own life, selfish as it might sound to some, it had taken a long time for him to reach even a semblance of that peace, and he wasn’t ready to part with it yet.

Until Simon Riley walked into his life, and it felt like a series of small, culminating sparks slowly adding to an explosion grander than any he had personally witnessed.

He should’ve known something would go wrong. He should’ve known the instinctual urge to be good, show-off and be trusted went beyond surface level assertion of his own ideals when it lasted beyond the first few missions. Ghost made him work for it. Dismissed him at first, but not for who he wasn’t. It was like he didn’t expect anything from Soap apart from following his orders good enough and — That, that was something he could work with, a complete absence of expectation which would’ve been an insult to a proud soldier, was heaven to Soap. 

He should’ve known it was going to get bad when he allowed him to get away with ‘Johnny’ spoken with such casual familiarity. The barest scrapes of leeway Ghost allowed him, and he was already craving more, like a mutt who couldn’t stop wagging his tail after being shown kindness for once in his life. It was humiliating to reflect on, but it made him feel like he mattered. The missions made it worse, so much worse. Las Almas forced both of them on their back legs, and he was allowed a glimpse past the walls Ghost shrouded himself in; the joking, indulgent Lieutenant on the comms far different from the all-business persona he was familiar with at that point. 

They managed to get out of there alive. Quite the team they made, despite the entire city being built like a trap to lure them to their deaths. Ghost waited for him, and that realisation didn’t set in fully until they were driving out of Las Almas, the pain of the open wound on his arm and the ache around his body revitalised as adrenaline wore off his system. There were other things to worry about instead of the growing inch of trust between them, but to hear it out of Ghost’s mouth was completely another, and having him stalk Soap in the safehouse when he tried to slick away with a medkit, to help him clean and stop the bleeding, made it almost difficult to breath. 

In a good way. Great way. Wanting to smother himself in the source of it until his lungs were familiar with the scent, way. The intoxication of allowance and trust enveloping a more instinctual part of him, tugging at him for attention. He was drunk on it, mouth looser than alcohol was capable of making, bolder when he muttered ‘that’s why I love the Ghost’ and worse with his quips in the operation right after. He was told to shut up too — More directly, more than just ‘keep it tactical’ and —

It shouldn’t have made him obey so easily. Shouldn’t have made his body so eager to please, it would’ve been embarrassing if Ghost was there to see it. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, maybe Ghost was used to his subordinates keeping their mouths shut and following orders, and it was as natural as breathing to him. Soap shouldn’t have found it attractive after years of being in the military. 

Las Almas, Chicago, the reveal of his bonnie face, and how Ghost chose to sit next to him in the bar, his thigh pressed against his when the news broke, contributed to it. The desperate way he said his name when he thought he lost him. Christ, he was over his head, heart pounding like it was the first time he’d genuinely developed a crush, and maybe it was. He couldn’t say the past flings in his life amounted to much aside from nightly enjoyment. Things were different with Ghost. For starters, he didn’t look at his COs that way. It was against regulations, against every self persevering bone in his body that told him to not fuck his spot in the task force up.

He tried to repress it. 

Tried his bloody fucking best to keep his lingering stares to just that, stares. Ghost stood out in most crowds they were in, it wasn’t strange to find his eyes flickering over to his Lieutenant every so often, was it? 

He tried his best to keep it minimum, even when they were alone together and the temptation of seeing that pale, scarred skin again tugged at his neck like a leash. Life was kinder to him, allowing him glimpses of different body parts, occasionally indulging him with the sight of Ghost’s wavy blond hair, practically making his fingers itch with the urge to run them through it. If Ghost noticed, he didn’t say anything. Their banter through the comms got worse, too. More playful, almost flirting, edging towards more than the casual back and forth between mates.

And they were. Good mates, as good as you could be when you were directly under the command of another. Soap didn’t want to jeopardise their relationship, but he wasn’t a man who strayed away from danger. He should’ve known it wouldn’t always work in his favour.

The first time he made a bloody fool of himself was in the middle of combat. He blamed it on the adrenaline, the smell of blood, destruction, and no other thoughts aside from working with his instincts to make sure they get out of there alive. It must’ve been an oversight on his part, something he didn’t immediately catch from his position, but thankfully Ghost was with him, and he noticed the mistake before it was too late. 

He was pulled by his vest and shoved against a wall, his body bracketed by his Lieutenant, who followed him for cover. The bullets wheezed past them, hitting the wall opposite of them. Ghost’s entire bulk was pressing on him, keeping him in place as he reached down for the pistol strapped to his thigh and made quick work of the company waiting for them through the doorway. 

Soap heard him swear, but didn’t catch the words properly, too engrossed in how tightly he was held in place, his senses getting overwhelmed by proximity and the fact that his face was inches away from Ghost’s. His blood was rushing and wires were getting crossed, the look Ghost gave him after softly calling out his name made it too irresistible to not give in, to lean up, closer, as much as he was allowed. For a split second, it looked like Ghost was going to let him close the distance and kiss him, mask in the way be damned. 

But their comms buzzed to life and Ghost stepped back as if he was burned, awareness clearing the lidded haze in his dark brown eyes. The loss of heat was so palpable to Soap, it was the equivalent of throwing a bucket of ice water to his face. Effectively snubbed any semblance of that confidence he felt to take a step forward and take what he has wanted for a long while. It was fine. Soap wasn’t a stranger to rejections. The situation wasn’t ideal, and whatever that might’ve happened would’ve been a mistake anyway. 

If it was ever going to happen, Soap was going to make sure both of them had space to properly discuss it. Even if the ‘discussion’ was a reprimand from Ghost for pushing for something that shouldn’t exist; at least, he’d know on more certain terms, and he could move on. The mission continued without any other issues, albeit things were on the quieter end from his side. He didn’t want to cock it up more than he already had. 

Ghost’s gaze was heavy on the exfil back, not looking away even when Soap stared back, but they didn’t talk about it otherwise. Soap didn’t have an incentive to ask without making his feelings clear as day, and the delicate balance of friendship he’d earn after Las Almas was something he didn’t want to jeopardise. Call him selfish, or maybe coward was more apt, but it was the first time he had felt this much for someone else. He wanted to bask in it for a few more, before what he was inevitably ruined any possibility of indulging it in the future.

He’d ruined his relationship with his family because he couldn’t help it. Who was to say it wouldn’t happen again? 

The tension bleed away after a day or two. They were back to their usual back and forth, new missions and base shenanigans taking the focus, and Soap was relieved, so relieved, that he was sure Ghost noticed too. Though, he didn’t comment on it. Everything was back to normal, except it wasn’t. In the back of Soap’s mind was the knowledge of how it felt to be pressed by Ghost’s warm body, the delicious heat, adding into how naturally he’d protected him, kept him close until the danger was cleared. How bloody fit he looked in the process. 

There were nights where he regretted not ripping the plaster off and kissing him right then and there, consequences be damned. At least, he would’ve known how Simon Riley’s lips would’ve felt like before being kicked out of the task force. Crushing on his commanding officer — a new type of low to reach. It wasn’t like he could help himself. He was like a mutt with a bone, unable to tear himself away after a taste, even if he knew the bone was rotting from the core. 

It was subtle at first. Bare whiffs of consideration; Ghost always saving a seat for him, wee touches that could be brushed off by coincidence or accidents, the growing extent of patience he showed him. Maybe it was a by-product of their closeness, maybe it was just natural for Ghost to be this considerate, but he couldn’t tear his mind away from the increasing number of the mental tally. He didn’t need to, and yet, he did regardless of whether he wanted to impress Soap or not, like being good to him was natural 

His superiors weren’t usually like this. Most noted his talent for the field and kept their praise to just that, never going out of their way to treat him more than an expendable soldier. A very useful expendable soldier, but expendable nonetheless. Ghost treated him like someone worth having around, listened and entertained him beyond work stuff, and while he was pretty private about himself and his thoughts, he’d occasionally chime in and reveal things. Precious things.

Preferences. Tidbits of stories from his childhood. Once, when they were out drinking in a pub near base, Ghost even pushed for details about Soap’s sorry love life by offering a story of a relationship before he joined basic. Some bloke who worked the same job as him in a butchery, the kind of sweet sixteen love, broken off when he needed to move away for deployment. Soap was too focused on the ‘bloke’ part that he didn’t notice Ghost’s unblinking, curious stare at his silence, cheeks flushing warm. He was going to blame it on the whisky.

“Nah,” Soap murmured. “Had a fling or two, but nothin’ that lasted. Didn’t feel like I needed to be in one, if m’gonna be honest.”

Not until you. 

Soap downed the rest of the beer in his glass, refusing to look at the one person who was making him reconsider everything he wanted out of life.

“Makes sense,” Ghost said. Soap didn’t look at him until he was leaning away, gesturing for another round of drinks, and the warm, glistening gaze of his bourbon eyes when he returned the stare almost melted him. Almost. Soap wasn’t drunk enough to start blabbering yet, but the night was far from done, and he remembered the sting of Ghost’s ‘no, Johnny’ despite the amount of liquor in him. 

It was on the walk back to base, he was sure. Ghost was close enough to touch, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to feel him again, more purposefully than what happened in enemy territory, with more intent than the casual brushes that came with existing around another person. His hand shot out before he thought better of it, grabbing Ghost’s arm, and they stopped dead in their tracks. 

Ghost didn’t shake him off, didn’t flinch away nor say anything, the silence would’ve made sober Soap reconsider his actions, but it only emboldened him as he was, alcohol clouding his usually sound judgement. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but there was a sense of anticipation, a careful observation of what he’d do behind those dark eyes studying him. He had to do it. He had to step closer, invade the space standing between them and invite himself over to Ghost’s. His body language made it more obvious; the arch of his neck, the subtle shift of his weight from the balls of his feet to his tiptoe; his lips were parted, eyes dazed, focused and adoring — or so, he hoped — and he was willing to defy the line between them for a chance.

It was reckless. He was bloody swaying on his feet, nerves and alcohol finally setting in, and right when he was about to kiss him through the cotton balaclava, the world spun. His visions blurred for a second, and his back was pushed against a hard surface. A concrete wall, he realised. There was a hand on his neck, heavy and hot, his jaw held tight by rough fingers. Despite how angry and stern the hold on him felt, Ghost’s voice was anything but. 

“No, Johnny,” he said it in a whisper, a soft and low dip in his usual gruff accent that made him sound almost… sad. It didn’t take away from the impact of it, a heavy-handed cold crystallising in Soap’s chest at the firm answer to his question. He was fine, had to be, it wasn’t his first rejection nor would it be his last, but there was something about a first love that stung more than it should. The closeness lasted longer than he expected, though it could just be his skewed sense of time. 

He woke up with a hangover after that night, vague memories of what happened outside the moment of rejection lingering with him. He was in his room, in his bed, his jacket neatly folded on the foot of his bed and shoes placed aside — Ghost must’ve helped him get back. 

It took painkillers, lots of water and some breakfast to feel remotely like himself again. He stumbled upon Ghost in the break room, getting the usual greeting for the morning. The sight of him languidly relaxing on the sofa, perfect and handsome despite being covered from head to toe made his chest tighten, almost painfully. He was already nursing a cup of tea, and Soap shuffled over to make his cup of coffee, only to find a freshly brewed one waiting for him. 

“Thought you might need it,” Ghost murmured.

How am I supposed to not love this ma — 

Ah. Right.

He loved Ghost. Why the revelation flew past his head earlier, when it was obvious, clearer than day, when he wanted what he was feeling to be reciprocated so bad it was starting to hurt. 

Soap coughed, embarrassed about his line of thinking when the man was right in front of him. “Thank ye, L.t. Always lookin’ out for me.”

Ghost hummed, rolling his mask up to his ear to take a sip. No indication of wanting to confront him about what happened last night — he’d sigh in relief if he didn’t feel slightly disappointed. 

Soap tried very hard not to stare at his scarred lips. Pretend he was more interested in three second glances and not memorising his entire face to sketch him later. 

“Think I deserve somethin’ for that.”

“Aye?” Soap said in a daze, distracting himself by taking a sip of his own. Would do anything you’d ask, he didn’t say.

“Take over for me.” Ghost gestured towards the window leading out to the training grounds. 

Soap contemplated for a pause, but the expectant, easy look in those brown eyes got him to nod just as easily. His Lieutenant had a chokehold on his heart, and there was nothing to indicate he knew beyond his clumsy attempts at trying to kiss him. 

It was better that way. They were good mates, weren’t they? Soap didn’t want things to take a turn for the worst. 

He didn’t care if it felt like a full body ache, it was for the greater good. 

-

Despite Soap’s clumsy attempts, they got closer after that incident. 

Others might say it’d be natural to, considering the amount of time they spent in each other’s company. In-between the time spent training, eating and looking out for each other, camaraderie was natural, easy, the kind of brotherhood between men who dealt with the worst of the worst. But, he knew it wasn’t naturally for Ghost. There were walls and barbed wires around the closeness he allowed Soap to glimpse, and a quick glance between his interactions with others gave him the idea that what he allowed him was special. 

There was some leeway with Price, the Captain was ‘trustworthy’ enough for Ghost to obey his orders without question, but the night from Las Almas flashed in his mind whenever he contemplated further. ‘Be careful who you trust, Sergeant. People you know can hurt you the most.’ He trusted Ghost. Without question, without thought. Did that mean he shouldn’t? Though, if Ghost decided to hurt him, he’d wager that he deserved it. Ghost was a good man, even if he didn’t believe he was; Soap knew he tried his best, regardless of their circumstance. He was there for him when no one else was, and the way he sounded, in that fucking skyscraper in Chicago when he didn’t respond back. 

On the verge of death, he sounded like Soap meant everything to him.

Or, at least, enough to be devastated by the possibility of losing him. Different from how he treated his other subordinates, different from how he treated the rest of the task force.

His delusions, probably.

Soap wanted more, but it was fine as it was. 

It was natural for them to find each other after ops. Either to drink, smoke or talk away the exhaustion from their bodies. They didn’t acknowledge it directly, but it became a ritual of sorts. Sometimes they were too tired to do much except get a drink from the break room and head to their rooms, although one of them would make sure the other knew. 

Over the years, Soap started realising that Ghost needed more R&R whenever it was festive season. More on December than November. It got worse around Christmas. They never explicitly talked about it, but there was mention of family during one of their conversations, when Soap was bitching about how they’re gonna blow up his phone for another missed Christmas with his phone in one hand and a cigarette in another. Ghost mentioned he didn’t like celebrating it either. Soap tried to inquire without pushing him, and all he got was ‘don’t have anyone to celebrate with, Johnny’ and that was that. 

This Christmas, he wanted to change that. 

They were in London, arriving a few days before Christmas, when intel revealed possible movement around the city, and they were settled in a nearby base to ‘train’ the recruits while MI6 figured out whether they needed to be on the field. They were stuck in base, allowed to get their energy up and relax as much as they could as they waited for the ball to drop. Ghost was more tensed up, something about him buzzed with a kind of energy Soap would usually get after a botched mission — something you can’t stop blaming yourself for. 

He preferred not to speculate, but he could try to make it better for him, couldn’t he? Soap wanted his CO to relax, it was only natural for him to extend the invitation to spar. It was only natural he let Ghost take his frustration out on him. Ghost was still a decent man, but between the agitation building up and the fact that he usually dominated with a 2-1 average, he didn’t notice the subtle slips Soap worked in their usual routine. It was a few more bruises to add to his body, one on his outer thigh, one on his chest and one on his shoulder. The closest he will ever get to having Ghost’s claim on him. He was fine with that, had to be. He wasn’t the focus, either. 

But, he selfishly wanted to be. 

“Go out drinkin’ with me. On the 24th.”

He’d managed to blurt it when he was pinned down by Ghost, gathering the courage as he was winding down from the controlled adrenaline high. Soap knew his plan had worked; he felt the broad, sturdy frame of his Lieutenant relax more through the spar, felt each blow lessen the tightly coiled tension, and there was a look over his eyes, pupils slightly blown but hazy, his guard was finally down. 

Before Soap spoke up, of course. 

Ghost tilted his head ever-so-slightly, shifting his weight on top of Soap and considering his request with more thought than he expected. 

There was a chance of rejection. Soap was bracing himself for it, and tried to keep his feelings at bay, because it wasn’t about him. Whatever hang up Ghost had with Christmas was obviously private, family-related, and yet, he didn’t want him to be alone during it. He knew Ghost could handle himself, but — 

Was it selfish to want to help him the best as he could?

The grip on Soap’s hands loosened, gloved thumb gently pressing against his pulse point, lingering for a second more before he spoke. 

“Alright,” Ghost agreed, moving off him. 

Soap took a few moments to collect himself before pushing himself up from the mats, staring at his Lieutenant with wide eyes. He was sure if he had a tail, it’d be wagging furiously, hiding his excitement by only a margin of what must’ve been showing on his face. He was never really good at hiding it when he felt things. 

“Serious?”

Ghost’s lashes shuddered, the corners of his eyes crinkling in what Soap recognised as a masked smile. “Planned somethin’ for it, Sergeant?”

“No,” Soap muttered. “But I can, if you like.”

“Do your worst, Johnny.” 

Soap grinned. “Solid copy, sir.”

When it was Christmas Eve, Soap didn’t catch a glimpse of Ghost. Unable to find him in his room or any of the communal spaces. He shot a text to him with the location of the pub, just in case, since he was going to be busy preparing the not-date outing, with his gift needing to be wrapped. He got it shipped early, an entire set he was convinced Ghost would find some humour in, even if he didn’t like it. 

Daytime passed within a blink. Soap was busy sitting on his bed, painting little white skulls on the black wrapping paper. A single glance would make the contents of the gift obvious, but he knew he could get that extra reaction with the set he’d managed to find in Ghost’s size. The material was nice too. Pure cotton, something that would last for a while. Maybe he could get him another set if Ghost liked it, he has always wondered about what went on in his Lieutenant’s spooky closet, and contributing to the pile seemed fun. 

The closest he would get to putting a claim on him.

Not that Ghost would know. Not that he felt any guilt in fostering the possessive desire, knowing nothing was going to come out of it. To finish the gift, he used a silver ribbon and tied a knot on the top. He checked his phone. Still nothing. There wasn’t a ‘read’ function in the messages they used, so he had no idea if Ghost saw it. It was a matter of trust, hope Ghost kept to his word. Soap planned the evening to start with drinking and end with roaming the streets of Soho, giving Ghost the opportunity to buy him something in turn. If he wanted to. He wasn’t expecting anything in return, company alone was enough for him. 

The festive decoration and alcohol warming their blood should be enough to distract both of them from less than pleasant thoughts. He went ahead and made sure the pub they were going to had good bourbon too. Something to try together, make new memories over. A clumsy attempt at trying to make Ghost feel better, maybe, but the spar worked, didn’t it? Who was to say their not-date wouldn’t either? 

It might not mean anything for Ghost, but it would be a cherished memory for him. 

That was enough. 

Had to be, Soap reminded himself, pushing himself up from the bed to move in front of his closet. He was going to wear something nice today. A nice button-up with fancier pants than his usual jeans and fatigues, leather shoes, a coat and a scarf. Which he may or may not bought, in addition to his gift, unable to resist trying on a new look for his —

For Ghost. 

Mostly to see his reaction, if there was any. Just because he liked men didn’t exactly mean he liked Soap, though he hoped Ghost wasn’t as indifferent to him as he thought he was. He wasn’t bad to look at, if the stares he got whenever he went on a night out said anything, and he could clean up pretty well. Simple white, black, brown and beige outfit, with face cream, aftershave, deodorant and some gel to slick back his hair. Looking in a mirror in his room, he would go as far as to say he looked fit.

Dressed adequately for a night out. 

He checked his phone again, nothing. Soap sent him another text. A simple ‘omw, will save yer seat, sir’ and hoped for the best. Christmas Eve, Christmas miracles, yeah? Not like he believed in any of it, but he believed in Ghost. That had to be enough. 

He took the scenic route, taking a walk through the streets of London to reach his destination and enjoying the decorations displayed in the process. It was snowing lightly, the Christmas atmosphere blessed by the rare snowfall in the city, and it added onto his belief that the day was special. If he could get a glimpse of Ghost with snowflakes stuck in his hair, he’d consider his wishes for the day and year fulfilled. The occasion to see his Lieutenant without the mask hiding away his handsome face was something he cherished, and the rarity only made it exceptional. Like the rest of him was. 

The opportunity to know Simon Riley was special in itself. 

He arrived to the pub fairly early. Soap didn’t notice his excitement making his strides longer, faster. He checked the time and his messages again when he walked in through the door, finding the place to be occupied but not fully packed. A quick glance around the place revealed no hulking, brooding blond lurking the corners. He decided to play nice for the evening, choose a table that would fit the big bastard. No need to cram his thick thighs in a tiny booth. 

He was being a good friend.

Nothing more than that. 

To pass the time, he ordered a pint of beer. There wasn’t a ‘right’ way to start the night. Something to ease the nerves was good, though. He checked his phone again. No updates. Just like their intel. The beer was a warm company to his shimmering thoughts, calmed him down enough to enjoy the rare moments of peace he was allowed. They were technically on a break through the New Years, duty resuming a few days into January since the bomb threats turned out to be less than credible. He could’ve visited home, actually bothered to show up for one Christmas after his deployment.

But he still remembered the face of disgust his father made when he returned home on his first break from deployment. 

His mother had tried to be supportive, in a way, and yet, her disapproval was apparent in the way she spoke to him about his work. They did an ‘intervention’ for him, telling him they didn’t approve of the unnecessary risk Soap was taking, they didn’t want their son to return to them in a casket one day. There was more talk about how smart he was, and he’d be better off using his brain to get a degree or three — a respectable profession and not the madness he was chasing. They had the audacity to bring up his interest in chemistry as a point, too.

That was the point he snapped. Minor arguments and disagreements leading to Soap needing some space away from his home had happened before, but he hadn’t stood his ground and defended himself with his teeth bared and anger lashing out of his throat before. Because there was a respectable ‘profession’ he wanted to pursue, and he didn’t because his parents couldn’t just be happy for him and support him for once. He was tired of the constant criticism and arguments he got into around them. He woke up the next day and left before anyone could stop him. 

He hasn’t returned home since that day. 

It was something he didn’t talk about in detail, shit was too sad to drag anyone or the atmosphere down with him. Soap was fine with it. Mostly because it was nice not feeling constantly judged and criticised and pressured to be someone he wasn’t, forcing himself to endure in the name of family. As if they’d ever cared to actually know him. 

Every family holiday came with a lick of envy, a voice in his ear reminding him he will never have the picturesque celebration. He did not let it corrupt his enjoyment of the said holidays or festivities, but it ate away at his psyche. A bitter reminder of things he will never get to enjoy. 

Luck has never particularly been on his side. He was great on the field, some close calls being too close for his liking, and yet, there was a stubborn beast forcing his hands to work faster, be better, because if he was allowed to, he was going to take back control of his life. Which included rewriting the tragedy of his sorry existence.

So, Soap waited for the one man he wanted in his life more than everything in his life. The unexpected perk of joining the SAS. Ordered a plate of chips and another pint of beer to keep him company, eyes trained on the door, every shadow drawing his attention until he realised it didn’t fit the Ghost mould. It would’ve been pathetic if Ghost hadn’t almost promised. If they weren’t good mates. He could wait — his Lieutenant wasn’t a man to be late for no reason. He wouldn’t leave him stranded, right?

Right?

Good three hours in his wait did he realise it wasn’t the case. No update from his phone, no response to his messages or the one call he decided to make when the server kept looking at him and his gift pitifully. Ghost wasn’t coming. 

And it shouldn’t have physically hurt. The stab in his heart feeling real, almost heavy, like he was bleeding from the inside out, his throat closing thick, made worse by the sweet heat of the alcohol. Spite spoke in his voice, logic presenting an argument tight enough to bury him underneath it. After all, why should Ghost come there? Just to waste time with him? Didn’t he remember the last time they were drunk, how blatantly Ghost rejected him? How wrong it was that he felt anything for him? Did he want to jeopardise everything for a glimmer of nothing that badly?

He should know better than to want something he couldn’t have. 

Green was an ugly colour on him, and envy could dip him lower than any of his other emotions did. The fact of the matter was, regardless of how much he desired or craved something, he wasn’t destined to get it, and he was better off accepting this fact than getting hurt each time it happened. Life, God, whatever else was in the universe dictating fate and destinies had been loud and clear with him. Easier to move on if he understood, fundamentally, that he has never deserved it, right?

It was hilarious, really. How the human spirit was stubborn enough to persist despite everything. How his blood ran hot and livid instead of cold and calm, sick and tired and ready to sink his teeth in and make the things that hurt him bleed. Only problem was…

It was the people he knew. 

The folks he loved, even if he tried to not linger in the sentiment. Like the rest of himself, he couldn’t help the love he had for his parents, for his job, for his Lieutenant. It was there; bruised, broken and buried, but there nonetheless, and he couldn’t imagine a world where he shouldered the burden of bridging the gap created by circumstance and deliberate inability to communicate. He would’ve been fine if Ghost texted him about not making it for one way or the other. It would’ve stung, but he wasn’t a bairn anymore, he’d get over it.

Except Ghost hadn’t. Soap was left alone in a pub, looking at the door like it could bring him his salvation, enough that he was pretty sure the server felt bad for him. When the one who was taking his order came around his table to ask if he was done, he decided to indulge in what he was there for, other than his Lieutenant. A glass of bourbon. Imported from the States. The kind of Ghost would’ve loved.

It was too fucking bad only Soap was going to experience the delight.

He ordered. It wasn’t bad, and it certainly didn’t taste like dog piss. The flavour was rich, smoky, with hints of vanilla and oak, strong enough to down his sorrows in. He found himself smacking his lips when he was done, wondering if it was how Ghost tasted that night in Chicago, not that the bourbon in that place was of the Kentucky variety, but it must’ve been somewhat close. He wasn’t tipsy yet, so he figured he could go for another, his brain providing distracting images instead of the awareness of the sorry sight he made alone in that pub. There were men, and women, looking at him with interest, and none that caught his. 

Heartbroken wasn’t the type people usually went for. It was Christmas Eve, less time to stick around, while liquor did most of the work of making him forget. The third glass of bourbon did it. He was drunk, a wee off-centre, his brain was warm and mushy, and he took it as a sign to end the night. Not a single fucking word from his bastard of a Lieutenant, but he was tired of the day, and people, to care too much. He paid his tab and went on his merry way, the gift tucked underneath his arm because fuck, if Ghost didn’t want it, he was going to keep it. 

Wasn’t his style, really, but he could use the set as jammies. He could return it when he was feeling better, the day after, maybe. Or he could burn it. Start his journey of getting over Ghost, regardless of whether he thought it was possible or not. Maybe it was going to be a lifelong journey — the options were plenty. He refused to let the sting of, everything technically, draw him away from enjoying his walk back. The snow was good. The cold distracted him, and his body ran hotter with the alcohol in his system.

The bright, burning flame in his mind’s eye was more enticing, elaborate plans of making a ritual out of the burning, maybe throwing in an explosion or two to spice things up. There was nothing a good ol’ explosion couldn’t fix. Especially in terms of eliminating things out of his sight and mind, and he was already coming up with a chemical concoction that would be perfect for the occasion. He mused all the way from the streets of Soho to the base they were temporarily staying at, so deep in thought — intoxicated too — that he ignored the vibrating buzz of his phone buried deep in his pockets. It was a call. 

Probably from Ghost. Maybe, if Soap allowed himself to hope for more, as if he wasn’t already tired of the possibility of more rejection to deal with. The feeling was good for a minute, ignoring Ghost like he ignored him without giving him a heads-up, but as the call died down, the bitterness was too heavy on his tongue to ignore. 

He barely made it to his room, swaying on his feet to the point he dropped the gift as he fished for the keys from his pockets. He stared at the thing — crudely painted, expertly wrapped, and felt a prick in his eyes, moisture gathering to compensate for the pain he refused to name. 

And he was going to keep refusing to say it because it wasn’t a confession, there was no sin committed wanting to be there for someone else. Intentions, thoughts, whatever the Church deemed wrong, be damned. 

“Fuckin’ cunt,” Soap murmured, both at his feeling and the complicated mess his life was turning out to be. 

He decided to leave the thing there. Deal with it in the morning, it wasn’t like anyone was going to be frequenting his room anytime soon. Not until midday, at least. He had enough of a headache for the evening. 

Soap went to sleep with a heavy heart and clear intentions. 

He was too tired to register the softest patter of footsteps coming to visit him late at night, lingering, a familiar, solid presence that vanished, alongside his gift in the morning. 

-

“So, you’re avoidin’ Ghost.” 

Gaz was staring at him like he was a dafty, and yeah, he probably was. Ignoring a problem wasn’t anywhere close to productive, but he didn’t want to confront it either. Whatever ‘it’ was. For his credit, Ghost was avoiding him too. So he wasn’t the only unreasonable one in their not-couple’s argument. 

“Do we have to talk about this?” Soap whispered. They were at the New Year’s Eve party to have a good time, not rehash the horrible way he spent Christmas — half in rejection and half in a hangover. 

Gaz raised an eyebrow at him. “You two have been inseparable for years, mate. This wasn’t the relationship update I was expecting, yeah? Give me a crumb here.” Gaz assessed him from head to toe, or waist, since they were seated at a table; slightly slouched shoulders, hand gripping the edge of his glass, and probably clocking the distracted haze in his eyes for what it was. His brown eyes went a little wide with realisation. “Don’t tell me. You confessed, and he didn’t take it well?”

Soap nearly spit out a mouthful of beer he was in the process of downing. He leaned back, coughing, trying to not choke as blood rushed to his face. Embarrassed, and caught entirely red-handed. 

Gaz shook his head at him, looking amused. He let Soap come down from his nearly-choking-on-his-drink-after-having-his-feelings-read moment, countering his anger glare with a tilt of his chin, a challenge to say otherwise. Of course, he couldn’t.

“Fuckin’ Christ. No. I’m not that much of an idiot,” Soap hissed. “He just didn’t…”

How was he supposed to explain it without sounding entirely oblivious?

“Didn’t what?” Gaz asked, putting his elbow on the table to lean closer. Not giving him the out this time. The party was just getting to the good part; they were in a restaurant with a pretty view of the Big Ben, a somewhat bougie place with good food and liquor, and they would have a clear view of the fireworks when the clock strikes midnight. The lads at the base they were staying at inviting the whole of 141 there for the party, and Soap had jumped at the opportunity, knowing if not anyone else, Gaz and Price was going to be there. 

If Ghost came, he could blend in the work, or get drunk enough to have his mistakes forgiven again. Whatever worked best. 

His team — Gaz and Price, at least, arrive pretty late. It was almost 2330 when Soap got dragged by Gaz to a booth while Price made rounds around, talking with officers more important than them. No sight of Ghost yet. It was almost reminiscent of that night, so he tried to not linger in it. The best he could, before his fellow Sergeant found him, of course.

Gaz was still staring at him. 

Soap sighed, relenting in the name of their friendship. He didn’t have anyone else to talk about it anyway, better to get it off his chest and start anew — the kind of nonsense folks sprouted around this time of the year. 

“We had a thing planned. He said he’d show up, but he didn’t. Left me hangin’ and lookin’ pathetically alone drinking by myself on Christmas Eve.” Soap stared at his own beer to give himself an excuse to not look at Gaz’s eyes. It wasn’t a date. Yet, it hurt like he got stood up on one. Made worse by the fact that he had deluded himself into thinking he was close, and mattered, to Ghost. “Went as far as to buy a gift for that big bastard. Couldn’t find and burn it in the mornin’ either.”

“Jesus Christ, Soap,” Gaz said. “It’s worse than I thought. So, he ghosted you. You’re not in speaking terms now?”

“Would speak to him if he showed his face. Haven’t seen him since that day. Maybe he’s out ‘o town, having more fun than we are,” Soap replied bitterly, finishing his drink. He was going for another pint. Needed to replace the taste in his mouth with something better. 

There was a commotion behind him. Soap had learned from his mistakes, took a seat opposite of the entrance to not repeat the pathetic performance. It wasn’t his circus, nor his clowns. 

“Speak for yourself, mate,” Gaz murmured, arching his neck to the side to get a better look past Soap’s shoulder. “L.t’s here.”

Well.

Fuck. 

“And it looks like he’s in trouble,” Gaz added, the final killing blow delivered with a dashing smirk. Soap pitied the man, or woman, who’d end up with him in the future. Who could say no to him when he smiled like that? 

At least, with Ghost, the man had the decency to keep his face hidden for the most part. Soap could figure out, and vividly imagine what he’d look like when he smiled, but that was far beside the point. The fact was, his CO was in trouble. Soap refused to sit around and do nothing about it. He was too conditioned, too devoted — to his detriment. 

He got up from his seat, glass in hand. An excuse, if he needed an out of a conversation, and turned around with heavy feet. The problem was obvious from sight. Ghost, in his 6’4 brooding glory, was standing at the entrance, staring down a much shorter security detail. He wasn’t wearing his balaclava. Yet, with his hood up and a normal mask obscuring half of his face, it didn’t matter much. Suspicious enough, no other company beside him, and the rest of the base too deep in the ‘party’ to notice.  

Other than Soap and Gaz. 

The moment he moved, Ghost caught his gaze. Sniper-trained instincts clocking him through the crowd, forcing Soap to suppress a shiver and ignore the goosebumps sprouting on his skin underneath his coat. Same outfit from that day, too. He wasn’t going to waste it on a sorry evening. There was nothing to read in those dark eyes, as far as they were from each other, but he could see wisps of his blond curls peak out of the hoodie, a familiar ache crawling in his veins. 

He started walking towards him, nearly stumbling into a bloke who neatly slotted himself between Soap and his goal. He was ready to murmur a sorry and move on when the man placed his hand on his arm, caressing. That bold move got his attention. Soap looked up to see frost-blue eyes drinking him in, auburn hair and decently built physic. He must’ve drank more than he thought because he didn’t immediately move away, aware of the growing weight of his Lieutenant’s gaze on him. 

“Let me get that for you,” he said softly, northern accent slipping through as he reached for Soap’s glass. What was equally surprising as that Soap let him, a bit dazed because he wasn’t expecting company, or be flirted with so openly. “Beer, yeah?”

“Aye, thanks.” Soap nodded, eyes flickering towards the man’s shoulder. He wasn’t tall enough to obscure his sight completely, not even close to Ghost’s bulk by any means, but having someone to distract him sounded nice for a change. Especially if he was allowed to think about other things than the dangerously obsessive feelings he had for his CO. Speaking of Ghost — “Give me a minute, I’ll be there.”

He saw the agitation clear in Ghost’s gaze when he walked closer, and for the briefest second, that look transferred over his shoulder. Away from him. To his new company, probably. It didn’t take long for Ghost to find him again, focused on him, dismissive, the irritation disappearing to a colder, sterner look. It hurt, because — yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have flirted with someone instead of getting him out of the situation sooner, and yet, he didn’t seem affected beyond that. Delusions, the lot in his head.

“He’s with us,” Soap declared when he was in earshot. The bouncer turned to him once, noted the sincerity of his face, and well, he added more to speed the process, “Lieutenant.” 

Tension melted when he stepped out of Ghost’s way. Soap chanced a glimpse of his face as he turned to lead the way towards the party; any trace of irritation was sorely missing, replaced by an indistinguishable intensity with which he stared back at Soap, the sort he was used to both on duty and sometimes outside. His initial impression of it was something closer to annoyance, but the closer he got to him, the more he realised it was similar to interest. 

He could be feeling sorry for leaving you alone, an unhelpful voice provided, so fucking hopeful despite the reality of everything. He moved on from the sentiment before it planted equally useless seeds in his head. It was going to be a new year soon, he was supposed to start it right — abandon the longing for something he could actually have. 

“Johnny.”

Soap swallowed down the bitterness trying to crawl up his throat. He couldn’t do this when he was right there. Ghost knew him. Too much for his thoughts to not be apparent if he looked at him. He needed to keep his cool, not fuck up his spot in the team. As selfish as it was to still want to be near Ghost, he couldn’t handle losing what he carefully built, and he had lived for so long pretending everything was alright. He could do it for a day more.

“The lads are near the bar ‘n balcony,” Soap said in a measured tone, making his way towards where he assumed Price was. They were close, right? He could deal with Ghost. “Let me know if you want a drink or a quieter place to sit. They’ll get loud when the time comes.”

Ghost was walking right behind him, so close that Soap could smell him, a fresh note of mint and spice and the shampoo he used. It was familiar, reassuring, borderline addicting. He switched to breathing with his mouth because fucking fuck that, he didn’t need his heid spinning on top of everything. 

“Johnny.” Insistent, commanding, breathing on Soap’s bloody neck as he clasped his arm — the same one the ginger from earlier had — hard enough to bruise. Mad, then. He stopped walking, causing Ghost’s grip to loosen, his voice softer than he’d ever heard it. “We need to talk.”

He understood what he meant. 

Ghost was right, they really did need to talk. 

“Alright,” Soap agreed, too tired to deny it any longer. 

He changed their course from the balcony to the stairs at the corner of the restaurant, the one leading towards the roof. It was his refuge when he needed a quiet moment away from the gathering, before he got a text from Gaz that they were close, and from how quiet it was, he assumed it wasn’t the part the guests were supposed to access. Most of the staff was busy tending to the people drinking and eating, though, and barely noticed two people missing from the crowd. Except Gaz, of course. 

The roof was a quiet, dark place, the standard brick and railing design, except they were a few storeys high, above the balcony where most people were at, which meant the Westminster bridge and the Thames was in full view. The scenery had kept him company a few hours ago, now the beauty of the evening was reaching its hands around his neck, ready to choke him with the reminder that it, and Ghost, wasn’t his. Laughable to think he was entitled to anything, really. This talk could’ve happened over text. Quick, easy, simple, keep it fucking tactical, Sergeant. 

Ghost was quiet, usually so. He walked over to the railing when Soap stopped a few steps away and did not stop until his hip was pressed lightly against the metal, too tall for the safety aspects to make a difference, but the height was hardly a thing of concern. He was focused on the sights, on the massive clock tower that said it was five minutes before midnight struck. 

Soap joined him, because. Of course. It was his place — not the one he hoped for, but close enough for now. Ghost turned towards him when he did. The roof was dark, but the street lights provided a crystal clear view when they were a few steps away from crashing into each other. Ghost was… 

Simon Riley was as handsome as ever. 

His masks hardly made a difference. Ghost’s lips were one of his favourite things about him, more if he got to see him smile or smirk, which was twice so far. Rare. But, his eyes. God himself must’ve been involved in making Simon Riley painfully beautiful; big brown eyes the shade of oak, bourbon, blood and gold, long pale lashes framing them, equally fragile and exquisite, face ragged, scarred, strong and angular, deadly in the right ways, and hair soft, wavy and blond, begging for Soap to run his fingers through them. 

Ghost’s eyes shuddered when he glanced down to them again, catching him in the act, as if he was aware of what he was thinking about. Maybe he was. He did not speak of it for the sake of what they had between them — considerate to him. He had done nothing to deserve it. 

“Johnny,” Ghost murmured, voice low and soft, like silk to Soap’s ears. His brows were scrunched, adorably so, a moment of hesitation present. Then, Ghost shook his head like a dog, the hood slide off, and he ripped the mask from his face. 

Soap bit his lips to prevent his mouth from falling wide open. Hard. He tasted blood, the pain and metallic taste of it grounding him into reality. He could imagine it, word for word, the questions, the accusation, wondering why it mattered to him at all when things could be normal if Soap acted rational, thought about those around him for once instead of being selfish.

He could imagine the disappointment in his mother’s face, the exact minute expression if he ever had the courage to retell what was going to happen tonight to her. Risking everything he painstakingly built just to put his feelings on priority again. 

Ghost’s lips parted, ready to say the words and shatter his entire heart. 

“Just tell me no,” Soap said, interrupting before he could speak. “Reject me outright. Here. I’ll get over it, new year, new me, yeah?” Lying through his teeth. He wasn’t sure if he would ever feel as deeply and intensely as he did for anyone else, but he wasn’t putting the burden of ‘the love of my life’ on someone who was preparing to put him down gently. “Everything will go back to how it was if you give me some time, promise. No need for things to change, if you don’t want it to, sir.”

Jesus Christ, he did it.

Years of wishing, yearning and suppressing the urge to spill his insides out resulting to this. Begging to be rejected swift and easy, anything to ease the bite of the pain. A headshot to erase his suffering. Except it was never going to be that easy for him, was it?

Soap did not have the level of audacity others often attributed to him, not as much as his feelings demanded, and yet, there was a special reserve of courage for moments when he said hell to it. He met Ghost’s eyes, expecting a lot. Anger, betrayal, distrust, etc, the list went on and on, his thoughts providing a colourful commentary. 

What he hadn’t expected was Ghost’s eyes to be as wide as it could be. 

Pure, unadulterated shock colouring the depth of his gaze, his face was frozen, like time itself stopped, and Soap was convinced that if he waved his hand in front of him, Ghost would be staring at him without even noticing. 

There were a few beats of silence, nothing happening for some awkward seconds, and then Ghost moved, blinking slowly, causing Soap to suppress a flinch, not used to the gentle weight of his gaze. It wasn’t… unpleasant.

The opposite, actually.

“Johnny,” Ghost started, taking a step forward. He was smothering him with his closeness, a few inches away from crashing into him completely. He could throw Soap down to the balcony easily, if he wanted. The corner of his lips twitched. A ghost of a smile. “What if I wanted things to change?”

What.

“You don’t — You’ve never —” Soap found himself stammering, unable to think. The air was suddenly colder, biting, heat rushing to his face, and he could feel him in his lungs. Obvious, he was so bloody obvious. Ghost hadn’t said no. “You’ve done it before, aye? I’m not…”

Not enough.

Not worth it. Not, not anything, to anyone, ever. Never meant to be anything, never meant to be precious like Ghost was. 

“You remember,” Ghost muttered underneath his breath. He was unfocused for a second, mind drifting away to that night no doubt, before returning to the present with a glint in his eyes. It flickered to Soap’s lips, and stayed there. Wanting. Very obviously so. “Didn’t want to kiss you when couldn’t remember it.”

Good lord.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Wasn’t that also just a confession —

A misplaced sort of confirmation, something that shouldn’t have happened to someone like him. Things didn’t fall in place neatly for John MacTavish, he had to grit his teeth and be fine with the hand life dealt him, even in places he fought to be in. Dismiss it, repress it, throw it out of his mind before the bitterness decided to poison his body with the kind of rage he couldn’t help but redirect towards himself.

Better that way.

“No, no,” Soap whispered, because he couldn’t. It was too good, some fantasy coming true of how he actually read the signs correctly and his fucking commanding officer was in love with him, willing to reciprocate his feelings. “Fuck, L.t. Don’t know who told ya to pull this on me, but I’m being serious —”

“ — as am I,” Ghost interrupted him, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t believe me.”

No shit, he didn’t.

He left him alone, rejected any advances and well —

Who would want him?

Soap snapped his jaw shut, unable to think, unable to say anything that wouldn’t make Ghost want to take back what he said, sullying the good impression he had of him. If any, at all. Ghost was right. He was waiting for the shoe to drop, for a camera to come out from somewhere, for him to wake up because there is no world where Simon Riley wanted to be his. 

Instead, Ghost reached for his hand. 

The one he almost bruised earlier, softer in his approach this time, like he was giving Soap the option to pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t. Ghost held his wrist with an ease of a practised hand, tugging it downwards, pushing the flat of his palm above his waist. Soap froze, hands and arms and neck heating up embarrassingly, and he could hear the beat of his heart in his ear, so loud he was delirious enough to entertain a thought that everyone in the building could hear it. 

Ghost was letting him touch, inviting Soap into his space.

His hand was yanked under Ghost’s hoodie, guided up from his stomach to his chest, nothing but a t-shirt with an odd texture separating him from the delicious muscle and fat hidden underneath the piece of fabric. Wait, Soap thought, flexing his fingers to trace more of the texture, the pattern. It was familiar, fucking — 

“Somethin’ came up, last second. Hadn’t meant to ditch you. It’s… I’ll tell you later, if you like.”

The Christmas gift he got for him. The stupid, over-the-top skull face t-shirt with a Santa hat on it, with matching boxer briefs and socks that had the print of a pink soap on it. Soap looked down at his feet, expecting to see a glimpse of those socks, but Ghost was wearing boots and there was nothing to look at except his trousers. He was wearing it? Underneath his kit?

“Ghost…” 

Soap raised his gaze, and found Ghost staring at him with a glint of amusement in his eyes, hints of… affection too. Fondness. He circled a thumb on top of Soap’s hand, giving him a second before tugging it up to his chest, pressed over his heart. 

“Johnny,” he started, pushing his palm harder against his chest. Soap felt the beat of his heart, a steadily climbing rhythm moving in time with his breaths. “Took everythin’ to stop myself from keepin’ you against a wall that day.” 

The proof that Ghost wasn’t unaffected was literally in his hand. 

His heart kept beating faster, eyes flickering to Soap’s mouth and back up, silently asking for permission. The world was rushing in his ears, the crowd was loud, incomprehensible, lights from the streets turned blinding, and yet, the only thing he cared about was standing in front of him. 

Ghost was offering his entire heart to him. 

How could anything else matter?

“What’s stopping you now?” Soap asked, knowing his own heart was matching the pace underneath his fingertips. 

“No wall,” Ghost replied.

The smile on his face was as breathtaking as it was mischievous, completely different from the serious, stoic Lieutenant he was used to. Ghost released his hand to hold his face, thumb pressing underneath his jaw as he leaned down. He didn’t move from his spot. Proximity made his heart continue with the rhythm, a couple of inches apart — so close to getting what he wanted. 

A noise interrupted them, a loud, bonging noise from the distance, and Soap eyes flickered over Ghost’s shoulder, barely catching the first sparks before fireworks exploded in the skies. Sparks of red, gold, white and blue coloured the previously listless London sky, the cheer from below and around and within the city almost deafening. 

It was a miracle he heard Ghost speak, some words he couldn’t catch, drawing his attention back to him.

“Happy New Year, Johnny,” Ghost said, his lips pressed against his jaw. 

Soap’s heart erupted as Ghost kissed him along the stretch of his jaw, feeling like a volcano from the inside out, and he wasn’t sure how his legs hadn’t stopped working when he found his lips. His hand slipped to Soap’s hip, and Ghost pulled him in all at once. He kissed him like he was trying to merge with him, lips and body baring down, sweet, needy and hot against it; it was like the sky was a celebration for this moment, the jolts of electricity running through Soap’s body reviving him, reminding he was alive, needed and loved. 

So unbelievably and utterly loved. 

He pushed back, kissing him just as hard, feeling his heart skip beats underneath his hand. Soap hadn’t moved it away, and it was strange how the deafening fireworks and screaming of the crowd had done nothing to alter the rhythm, but when he nipped his lower lip, licked and pulled until he was allowed to taste him, it exploded. Wild and frantic for him.

Like Simon Riley wouldn’t have cared if the entire world collapsed underneath their feet, if it meant he was still holding Soap.

His head was light, floating in the clouds, unable to grasp the concept of anything that wasn’t Ghost, and he was sure he was drifting overhead, presented salvation in the taste of a man who wanted him just as much. Soap loved him. He wanted Ghost to know it; whatever they had, went beyond want and need. It was in his veins; in his ribs, in his skin and meat, pulsing through his blood, overwhelmed by the possibility of finally having. After years and years of nothing. 

It took a while to spell out the letters, index finger digging into Ghost’s chest. Slow because he was busy melting in the slow, passionate way Ghost devoured him, taking as much as he was given. There was an I, then L-O-V-E, and the moment he spelled Y-O-U, he felt that skip of beat again. Ghost smiled within the kiss, pace shimmering to a heart aching softness before he pulled away an inch, a moment to catch his breath.

Another to whisper the same.

“Love you too, Johnny.”

Soap had a matching smile on his lips when Ghost leaned down for a second kiss. 

Maybe things were going to fall into place for him this new year.

After all, Ghost was his. 

[dr0wning-in-hell]

Awkward Situation- Alex Summers

Summary: You had originally gone to Alex's room for some help on some homework but finds herself in a completely different situation.

Word Count: 3.3k+

Warnings: smutttt, cursing, p-in-v, oral (m), throat fucking, fingering, sexy talkkkkk, fluff

Pairing/Characters: Alex Summers x mutant!reader

Prompt: "Hello there unlucky angel! I just read one of your X men works and wanted to make a request! Could I plz have an Alex Summers x Reader with the prompt - 88. “Did you just… finish?” (Also could you put it under the alex summers x reader tag plz?) TYSM!!!😍" - anon / “ if you still are writing for alex summers, could you do one using prompts: 88, 90, and 96 “- anon (90- “Get on your knees. Now.” 96-  “Do you know how bad I want you?”)

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I know I say that a lot but life is busy. I figured combining these two requests would help speed things up a bit. I feel like my boy Alex should’ve gotten more screen time:( anyways hope you enjoy you horny bastards.

new masterlist| prompt list | buy me a ko-fi!!

Y/N and Alex had a weird relationship. One minute they’re flirting up a storm, the sexual tension is high and you’d think that they’re gonna fuck right then and there, and the next minute it’s so awkward you just want to gauge your eyes out. That’s how it had been between the two since they arrived at the school for mutants. 

Y/N had never been afraid of Alex, unlike the rest of the new comers who thought his power was overly destructive, she never felt that way. His plasma beams were terrifying if you didn’t understand them, but Y/N understood them just fine. Her own mutant abilities included her being able to absorb radiation, whether chemical or something like Alex’s plasma beams, which made it easy for the two of them to start their friendship. 

Alex had certain feelings for Y/N since the day they met, but never wanted to tell anyone or even her just incase she didn’t feel the same way or a rumor started and embarrassed both of them. He’d spend his days thinking about what it would be like if she were his, what dates he could plan for the two of them, what their first kiss would be like. Alex was head over heels for this girl but was too scared to say anything. The boy would watch her from his window as she sat outside in the courtyard with her friends, studying and laughing. He like to watch her laugh, the way she smiled. It made his heart warm and fuzzy. 

Y/N was the same way, watching him outside with his brother or Hank, whether it was just him taking a leisurely walk or training, she was watching him. Obviously neither one of them knew that the other was watching, there were to oblivious to the fact that they both held feelings for one another. With as much tension that the two held between them, you’d think at least one of them would catch on eventually. 

That was not the case though. 

It wasn’t until one evening that Y/N had decided she wanted to spend some time to herself, read a book and chill in her room. The only catch was that the book she wanted to read was currently in Alex’s room since she had let him borrow it. Did he ever actually read it? No, it was just an excuse to see her. 

Putting on her fuzzy slippers, Y/N slipped out of her room and walked the hallways till she reached Alex’s room. Since he wasn’t a student, but not entirely a teacher either, he had his own room on the same level as most of the older students. As Y/N went to knock on his door she heard strange noises coming from inside the room, it sounded like moaning maybe? She wasn’t quite sure, but if that’s what it was then she didn’t want to interrupt, that would be extremely awkward. Y/N was about to walk away, give her friend his privacy, but when she heard him moan her name? She stopped dead in her tracks and couldn’t help but listen. He must’ve just been finishing from the sounds of it, which is why when she tripped over own two feet and made so much noise had he ended up opening the door.

Alex stood there, covered in a small coat of sweat, breathing heavily with his hair stuck to his skin. Before Y/N even realized what she was saying, the words were already coming out of her mouth. “Did you just... finish?” Not only were her cheeks burning from that question coming out so quickly, but she felt hot all over with a racing heartbeat, it felt like she had just run a mile. Just as Y/N was about to walk away and end this awkward situation until she felt Alex’s hand grab her wrist and pull her into his room. It smelled of stale air and just slightly of cologne. 

“How much did you hear?” He sounded out of breathe and a little worried. 

Y/N gulped slowly as her brain rushed with an excuse to make it seem like she hadn’t just heard him moan her name as he was jerking off. “I- uhm, I heard enough.” She refused to look him in the eyes now, it was just too weird. They were best friends.

Best friends who both had feelings for the other but was too scared to admit it.

“You’re lying.” Alex had now backed her up against the door. When did he even close that? Y/N’s back pressed against the door, Alex looming a little too close for the situation at hand. He wanted her to admit that she had heard him, that she heard him say her name. “Do you know how bad I want you?” His lips felt like they were just centimeters away from hers, she could practically taste him already. 

Y/N’s breathe hitched in her throat as she tried to make sense of what she just heard. She wasn’t hallucinating, was she? Alex really did just say that? Without another thought Y/N pushed herself off the door just enough to press her lips to his, finally connecting the two of them in a way that they had only dreamt of. Alex didn’t hesitate to pull her closer to him, his hands finding purchase on her lower back as he kissed her back. Their lips melded together, like they knew that’s where they were supposed to end up all along.

The kiss heated up quickly, their tongues dancing with the other as they explored the other’s mouth. Alex could taste her tea that she drinks at night, a bit of honey mixed in, while she could taste his cinnamon gum he had chewed on after dinner. It felt like forever before they had pulled away from each other, panting softly as they tried to compose themselves. 

Alex couldn’t help but move uncomfortably as he held Y/N, his hard on pressing firmly against Y/N’s thigh through his jeans. “Get on your knees. Now.” She did so without any question, falling to her knees in front of him with big doe eyes looking back up at him. She watched as he roughly pulled his sweatpants down, his boxers following shortly after. Y/N’s mouth went dry as she took in the size of his length. He was long and veiny, with a good few inches for girth. Alex watched with lidded eyes as Y/N moved her hands to his length, a bit of hesitancy lingering in her thoughts.

“Can I touch it?” Y/N didn’t dare to look up at Alex, she felt like a virgin seeing a dick for the first time again. The boy chuckled above her and nodded. Slowly Y/N wrapped her hands around his cock, using both of them to create friction against his aching length. She watched as pre-cum began to build up at the tip, to which she moved the pads of her thumb over the tip and rubbed it across the slit. Alex sucked in a breathe at the sensation, every fiber of his body going rigid as he let her play with his dick. After a moment of teasing him she got the the good stuff, moving her head forward and sucking the tip into her mouth and then ever so slowly inching it down her throat.

Alex felt like he was going to bust just at that alone, the feeling of her soft lips, her warm tongue lapping at the underside of his cock? It was an experience he never wanted to end. Though he wanted to start bucking his hips at his own pace, her throat like a fuck toy, he knew he couldn’t do that to her... yet. Y/N looked up at him through her lashes, eyes big as her mouth and throat were now completely stuff with his cock. She watched as his eyebrows knitted together once she started moving her head up and down, her tongue running against the underside of his cock and then to the tip when she’d come back up. Alex couldn’t help but thread his hands through her hair and help guide her movements, though it seemed as if she knew exactly what to do to get him to fall apart.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Alex grunted with his head tipping back in pleasure. He could feel her grin against his crotch, ever so pleased with being able to make the boy above her fall apart so quickly. His hips began to move on their own accord, thrusting in unison to match with her head bobbing up and down. She liked where she was at, seated underneath him and turning him to putty in her hands. Once she realized he was holding back she moved one of her hands onto his, squeezing it as a sign of trying to tell him to use her like he was wanting to. 

When Alex didn’t get the hint she took into her own hands and shoved his cock all the way down her throat, gagging slightly but not letting it stop her from holding him in place. That’s when he realized what she was saying without actually saying it. Finally letting himself go he thrusted rapidly into her mouth, his tip pushing past the back of her mouth every time. In no time he had her drooling and gurgling around his cock, face fucked with red cheeks and teary eyes. It was truly a magnificent sight, seeing the girl he had been dreaming about forever sitting prettily on her knees for him. 

Y/N let him use her face, her stomach tightening knowing that he was getting off on this and so was she. Her pussy constricted against nothing, the occasional rub of her panties and sleepwear against her clit causing her to moan against Alex’s cock. She desperately needed friction, anything to relieve the building ache in her core. Reaching between her thighs she pressed two fingers against her clothed clit, rubbing in tight circles to feel that spark of tension finally released. The moan she had let out caused Alex to look down at where her hand was at, the sight causing him to cum in her mouth without any warning. Y/N gagged at first, a bit surprised but then let the salty fluid fall onto her tongue. 

When Alex was done cumming down her throat he pulled out of her mouth and watched as she stuck her tongue out to show it to him, then pull the muscle back into her mouth swallow it, then show him her now empty mouth. Alex was hard again in no time, rushing to pull Y/N to her feet and ripping her sleepwear off of her. It didn’t take long for them both to be completely bare in front of each other, their bodies hot and covered in a thin layer of sweat. 

“Need to be in you, gonna fuck you so dumb you can’t even remember your own name.” Alex watched her legs rub together at his words, smirking to himself knowing that she need to feel him against her in any way possible. Without having to be instructed Y/N went and laid on the bed, sprawling herself in the sexiest way possible. If Alex wasn’t riled up already, he sure was now. “Think you need to be prepped a bit first, don’t want you hurting.” 

Alex moved between her legs, spreading them impossibly wide to get a look at the pussy presented to him. She was glistening, her slick nearly dripping down her hold and to the sheets. Alex rubbed her clit first, creating some stimulation before he inserted his pointer finger to get her started. 

The initial feeling of him touching her in her most private area had her eyes closing tightly, her hole clenching aimlessly. The feeling of his finger being inserted into her was already making her head fuzzy, her body accepting the intrusion quickly. Alex started with slow thrusts of his finger, making sure he felt every inch of her velvety walls. After a a minute or so of getting her used to one finger he added a second finger, watching her closely to make sure she wasn’t in any pain.

Y/N moaned a bit too loudly, instantly silencing herself by biting the inside of her cheek. Alex looked up to see her struggling to keep herself quiet. “So loud already, wonder what you’ll sound like with my cock in you.” Everything Alex was saying was making Y/N wetter by the second, surely dripping onto his sheets by now. Alex moved his fingers skillfully, scissoring them to stretch her opening as much as possible. 

“Alex please,” Y/N whimpered, “I can take it.” Could she really? She was about to find out. The blonde looked up at her, eyebrows raised at her.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or feel any pain.” Y/N let out a quick squeak of a ‘yes’ before she began to frantically nod her head. Alex chuckled before reaching into his side table drawers and scavenging for a condom. Once his fingertips brushed the plastic packaging he pulled it out and began to open it. Y/N waited patiently, though she was ready to pounce on him at any second from the anticipation, she didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

Alex moved himself back between her legs, being sure to run his hands up her thighs just to tease her more than he already was. She let out a whine of protest when he caressed her skin, her hips moving forwards as she tried to find any sort of friction or relief.

“Let me know if you feel any pain, okay?” Alex was slowly stroking himself as he nudged the tip against her opening, her juices instantly soaking the condom as he began to push into her. The gasp they both let out as they felt one another for the first time was a feeling neither of them wanted to end. Alex pushed more of himself into Y/N’s cunt, watching as she swallowed all of him up so easily. His eyes shut for a moment as he tried to calm his breathing, feeling as if he would bust the second he started to move. 

Letting out a shaky breathe he began to slowly move his hips, creating a steady pace to start out with. His hands were grasping Y/N’s hips, using them as leverage to thrust himself into her.

“Can- can you go faster?” Y/N gasped, her mouth hanging in a small ‘o’ shape as he body already began to shake. “Please, want you to go faster.” She looked up at the blonde with her pupils blown wide. The sight made his heart skip a beat, but his brain had no problem with working faster than he could comprehend. His fingertips dug into the soft flesh of her hips as he began to pound himself into her faster. 

Y/N couldn���t stop herself from letting out such a loud moan, her hands going down and grasping Alex’s wrists in pleasure. The faster pace had caused him to bury himself even deeper into her, hitting places inside her she didn’t know someone could touch. Alex grunted as he watched how blissed out the girl beneath him was. He was still in a bit of shock that he was fucking the girl he’s loved for so long now, it was like a dream and never wanted to wake up from it. 

Alex moved himself a bit, getting closer to Y/N as he pushed her knees to her chest and practically folded her in half. His cock was nestled deep inside her, still and throbbing against her velvety walls. “You feel so good,” Alex panted as he leaned down to kiss Y/N, their skin sticking together as they molded together. “Just wanna stay inside you forever,” He grunted as he began his brutal pace again, now putting more weight down on her body as he continuously slammed his hips against her ass cheeks. 

Y/N’s hands went from his wrists then up his arms, groping his biceps before they fell to her knees as she held her hands on top of his. Alex managed to intertwine his fingers with hers, holding her hands tightly as he moved in and out of her clenching walls. He felt so deep inside her she swore she was just going to be ripped in half by him. Not only was his cock brushing against that spongey spot inside her, but the sheer weight of him pressing on top of her body made her melt into the bed. 

Alex’s thrusts grew in speed as the two mutants began to reach their climaxes, their bodies covered in sweat with small beads falling onto the bedding and soaking the sheets in more ways than one. He watched the way Y/N’s face scrunched up with each thrust of his hips, the tip of his cock pushing itself against her cervix in the most painfully delicious way possible.

“Alex,” Y/N whined, her nails digging into the flesh of his hand, “I think I’m gonna cum,” Her little whines and gasps spurred Alex on, though he felt like he was about to cum as well, he wanted her to cum first. 

As if it were even possible, Alex pushed himself so incredibly deep into Y/N’s soaking pussy, his balls nestled nicely against her ass cheeks. The feeling of him so deep inside of her and twitching with every movement was the final straw for Y/N. She came undone on his dick, her hips jerking slightly as she clawed at his hands. It didn’t take too long before Alex was cumming into the condom, the feeling of Y/N’s walls clenching so tightly around his cock had him nearing his end as well.

Alex leaned down, wrapping Y/N’s legs around his torso as he pressed his body against hers. HIs forehead stuck to her skin, his hair a mess as it clung to him. The pair breathed heavily, relishing in the final moments of their ecstasy. He placed a soft kiss against her lips before he pulled himself away, gently easing his cock out of her abused cunt and discarding the condom into the trash bin. 

“That was unexpected.” Y/N finally said once the cloudiness had left her brain and Alex was laid next to her. He chuckled at her but nodded. “It was really good though, like really good.” Y/N chuckled to herself as Alex rolled his eyes playfully at her not so over exaggeration.  

Alex pulled the girl against his side, tucking her head under his chin softly. “I hope you know I don’t want this to be a one time thing, I want to take you out on a proper date and treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” Alex was starting to nervously ramble, so to ease his nerves Y/N kissed him softly. Luckily, it shut him up.

“I’d love to go on a date later on, but right now I just wanna cuddle.” She snuggled back into his side, her hands laying against his chest. Alex smiled to himself, his arms falling around her body as he held her. 

If this was a dream he never wanted to wake up.