#it was like.. fine at first and then someone’s spine was on the outside and for once im not talking about the book spine !

[arilevenatz]

Chasing Shadows - TEASER

Pairing: popular guy!yeosang x chubby!fem!reader

Genre: Angst (?), fluff

Word count: 582

Posted! Click here to read chasing Shadows!

Warnings: kinda frat boy yeosang, him and his friends are handsome (yes that's a warning), reader has anxiety, she is also insecure, anxiety attacks, yeo is cheeky, like really cheeky, you might wanna flick him a bit, bestfriend! San and wooyoung, suicide mentioned. Lmk if I missed any!!

AN: y'all bear with me this is my first time posting on Tumblr, I'm still figuring out stuff. I had a dream about this and I decided that I'm gonna write a yeo fic. And also if you wanna get tagged, you can give your @ in the comments I'll tag y'all. And also please reblog and like, so I can get more motivated!!

"stop mocking me. I know people like you. you guys go up to girls like me and say you like them only to say 'April fools' or say 'its a dare' later. I hate guys like you"

His grin fades, his expression turning serious, but his eyes still hold a glint of mischief. "You really think that's what I'm doing?" He tilts his head to the side, studying your face intently. He maintains eye contact, his expression unreadable. He sees the suspicion in your eyes, and it only seems to fuel his mischievous glint. He leans forward, his voice lowering. "Let me ask you something..." He studies your face intently, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "First off... do I look like I have a problem finding girls to talk to?" He gestures to himself, a hint of pride in his tone. "And second..." His voice drops lower as he deliberately maintains eye contact. "Second what?" You shout.

He leans in closer, and says "Second, would I really waste my time pretending to like someone just to play an April Fool's prank?" His words send a shiver down your spine as he pulls back, his eyes never leaving yours. "Or maybe..." He looks at you with a half-smirk, half-serious expression "You're actually quite... interesting. Not many people stand up to me like you do." His eyes crinkle again as he studies your reaction "And hey..." He reaches over and lightly taps your finger. You retreat your hand from his touch. His expression shifts to a playful pout, though his eyes still hold a glint of amusement "Wow, so I'm not even worthy of a tiny hand tap?" He leans back in his chair, studying your defensive posture with interest "You're not scared of me, are you?" He chuckles low in his throat, his gaze never leaving yours. "listen, can I not just like you? I like you. I want to be with you"

"No! people don't simply like girls like me" you felt like crying, but you can't. His expression turns mockingly serious, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, so you're saying you're not likeable? You think I can't like you because you're... what?" He crosses his arms, leaning forward again, his curiosity piqued.

"You know what I am"

"No I don't"

"Fuck. Fine! Im fat and ugly"

His face freezes and for a moment, he looks genuinely shocked. But then, he lets out a harsh laugh. "Fat and ugly? He shakes his head, his gaze raking over your form appraisingly. "You really think that's what I see when I look at you?"

"You don't need to look at me like that, I am like that so fuck off I don't need you laughing at my face."

You stand up harshly, take your bag and walk outside the library. He follows you and grabs your upper arm, not harshly but firmly enough to hold your attention. "Listen carefully..." His voice softens, losing its usual mocking tone. "I'm not some creep who goes around lying to get in girls' pants." You open your mouth to say something but he quickly shits you off. "You know what I see when I look at you? I see someone who's honest, even if it hurts. I see someone who's strong, even when they feel weak. And I see someone who's fucking beautiful, inside and out."

[uplandthropps]

Christmas at Shiz

The bustling halls of Shiz University were quieter than usual as Christmas break approached. The students, eager to return home to their families for the holiday, packed their bags and filled the port, leaving behind the campus, which would soon be shrouded in a blanket of snow. Yet, Elphaba Thropp remained in her dorm room, the only sign of life in the otherwise empty corridor.

She sat at her desk, her green hand resting over the pages of a thick book, but her mind wasn’t on the text. Instead, her thoughts drifted to her family—her father, who hadn’t even sent a letter this year, her mother, who had long passed, and Nessarose who’d fought tooth and nail to get her to join the family to no avail. The holidays had always been a bitter reminder of how alone she was. Her father’s disdain for her… her difference. She wasn’t welcome in their home, not for Christmas, not for anything.

As she stared out the window, watching the first snowflakes of the season descend softly upon the grounds, she knew there was no reason to go home. No one would miss her except Nessa— who’d soon forget at the sight of the many gifts she’d surely receive. The thought of spending the holidays alone didn’t faze her as much as it probably should. She had always been used to it, after all.

It was then that there was a knock on her door.

“Elphie? Are you in there?” came a familiar, cheery voice that always, without fail, sent a chill down her spine.

It was Glinda, her best friend, her roommate, and possibly the only person who ever seemed to truly care about her outside of her studies, unless you count Dr. Dillamond, but even he’d have more interesting counterparts to interact with. Elphaba sighed and remained at her desk.

“I thought you were going home for the holidays,” Elphaba mumbled, flipping the page of her book with a frown. Of course it was nice to see her friend, but it was the holiday season, one in which she knew Glinda Upland had be eagerly awaiting as she’d sang every Christmas song she knew. Every. Day.

“I was… but I received notice that Momsie and Popsicle were caught by a rip in the sails if you can believe it! It is most heartbreaking that they won’t be able to see my face for the first day of the Upland Christmas festivities. Alas, they will be here tomorrow.” Glinda replied with slight frown, her brown eyes now riddled with concern. “But Elphie, what on Oz sake are you doing here?”

Elphaba tensed at the question, her teeth gnawing at the insides of her cheeks as she debated whether it was worth it or not to send her feather hearted friend into a frenzy, however, she knew that the girl would only pry more and more until she got to the truth. And damn it did she always get to the truth.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Elphaba said quietly. “Besides, my family.. They don’t want me there.”

Glinda’s expression softened. Hesitant, she stepped closer to Elphaba, her blonde curls swaying as she moved. “That’s not fair,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and genuine sympathy. “You should be with someone— people who cares about you, Elphie. And I do. So I’ve decided.. I’m going to stay here with you! We’re going to have the best Christmas ever!” Glinda’s sugary voice sang as she clapped in approval of her own decision.

Elphaba blinked, unsure of how to respond. “But… why would you want to spend Christmas here, with me? Shouldn’t you be with your family?”

Glinda shrugged nonchalantly. “I suppose my parents will be fine without me for one holiday. I’ve already sent them my gifts, personalized photos of me in these great Shiz halls. And besides, it’s important to me that you’re not alone—“ The blonde daughter herself, “because how else would you feel the Christmas magic?!” She flashed a smile, unsure if her quick thinking covered her pathetic pining. “So, what do you say? Will you let me stay?”

A smile tugged at Elphaba’s lips. She wasn’t used to such kindness, not from anyone, let alone someone like Glinda. “I… I guess so,” she said, her voice quiet but filled with gratitude.

“Great! Now, let’s get you into the Christmas spirit!” Glinda said, clapping her hands together excitedly. “We’ll decorate the whole place, bake some cookies, maybe even build a snowman. You’re going to experience your first real Christmas, Elphie!”

Elphaba groaned, already wondering if she’d made the right decision of letting her best friend stay just at the sound of all of the extravagant activities.

—————

The next few days passed in a whirlwind of activity. Glinda was, as always, a force of nature when it came to organizing and decorating. She had managed to find an old Christmas tree in the campus storage room, which, despite being a bit scraggly, had a certain charm to it. The tree’s branches were sparse in places, but Glinda didn’t seem to mind in the least. It was still a tree, and that was all that mattered.

Elphaba watched from her spot on the floor, arms crossed, as Glinda eagerly strung lights around the tree, her movements quick and precise, almost as though she’d been born for this. Elphaba couldn’t help but be captivated by the way Glinda worked. There was something about the way she moved—so graceful, so full of energy—that made everything seem brighter, even on a dreary winter afternoon. The cheerful clink of ornaments being hung on the tree and the occasional giggle from Glinda only added to the warmth that filled the room.

Elphaba, who had never done anything like this before, felt a mixture of awe and discomfort. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made an effort to do something for her. The idea of having a tree in her room, something so festive and joyful, felt almost alien to her.

“Okay, Elphie! Now it’s your turn.” Glinda sang, handing Elphaba a green ornament to place amongst the rest of the sparkling bulbs and tinsel.

“I’ve never done this before,” Elphaba admitted as she cautiously placed the single ornament on the tree. “This whole thing… I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”

Glinda paused her decorating and turned to her with a soft smile. “It’s okay. You don’t have to know what to feel. You’re here with me, and I’m going to show you how wonderful Christmas can be. No expectations, no pressure. Just… us.”

Elphaba couldn’t help but feel a warmth in her chest at the sincerity in Glinda’s voice. It was such a simple promise, but it meant more to her than she could articulate.

“I’ve never had a real Christmas,” Elphaba murmured, her fingers tracing the edge of a green ornament. “Not like this. I don’t even remember the last time I had someone to spend the holidays with that didn’t do it out of proximity.”

“Well, now you have me,” Glinda said, grinning. “And I’m not going anywhere. So… let’s make the most of it.”

Elphaba’s heart gave an unexpected flutter at the words, though she quickly brushed it off. Glinda didn’t mean anything by it. She was just being her usual bubbly self. Still, the sentiment lingered in the air like a spark.

When Glinda finally stepped back, her hands on her hips, she surveyed the tree with a proud smile. “Perfect! Now for the star!” she exclaimed, holding up a shimmering gold star, its edges delicately curved. The short woman stood on the tips of her toes to try and place the star but failed to reach the top. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Mr. tree could you be kind and bend to me so I mustn’t struggle so much?”

“Do you want me to help?” Elphaba asked, her voice betraying a hint of hesitation.

Glinda’s eyes lit up. “Of course! I suppose that is best since my wand is still broken, which I need to talk to Morrible about that.”

Elphaba let out a soft chuckle, avoiding Glinda’s gaze as she stepped toward the tree and place a soft touch to either side of Glinda’s slender waist, helping her stretch to place the star on the very top branch. For a second, Elphaba’s hands lingered a little longer than they should’ve on Glinda, and a jolt of warmth surged through their bodies. The proximity was both comforting and overwhelming.

When the star was finally settled atop the tree, they both stood back, their gazes lingering on the shimmering gold decoration.

“It’s perfect,” Glinda said, her voice soft and full of admiration. She turned to Elphaba, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, both of them blushing slightly, the unexpected intimacy of the moment still hanging between them like a delicate thread.

Elphaba cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “It’s… it’s nice,” she said quietly, trying to ignore the rush of emotions stirring in her chest. “Thank you. For letting me help.”

“Thank you for not fighting me on this,” Glinda said with a bright, almost mischievous smile as she stepped back. “Now it’s time for the next part of our Christmas festivities—cookies and hot chocolate!”

Elphaba nodded, relieved for the distraction. She still wasn’t sure what had just passed between them, but for now, she could at least try to focus on something else. As she followed Glinda to the kitchen, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder at the tree—at the star, shining so brightly at the top, as though it were a symbol of something new beginning.

And for the first time in a long while, Elphaba didn’t feel quite so alone.

For the rest of the day, they laughed, sang Christmas carols (even if Elphaba’s voice was a bit off-key), and indulged in Glinda’s latest holiday obsession—baking. Glinda was a disaster in the kitchen, spilling flour everywhere, but it didn’t seem to bother her in the least. Elphaba couldn’t help but be amused by Glinda’s infectious energy, even if she kept accidentally burning the cookies.

As the evening drew near, they sat down on the floor, sipping hot chocolate that Glinda had somehow managed to make without burning the milk. The tree glittered in the corner, the lights twinkling softly in the dim room.

“I’ve never had hot chocolate before,” Elphaba confessed before cautiously taking a sip of the hot liquid, her eyes widening at the taste. “This is… good.”

“See? I knew you’d like it!” Glinda exclaimed. “It’s a Christmas classic! Next up, we’ll do some caroling—just you wait.”

Elphaba chuckled softly. “I’m not much of a singer.”

“You don’t have to be,” Glinda replied with a grin. “It’s all about having fun. Just wait until we get to the mistletoe part.”

“Mistletoe?” Elphaba raised an eyebrow.

Glinda’s grin wiped from her face as she realized she’d said that out loud. “Oh, Oz. I-it’s nothing. You’ll see!” She squeaked, taking another sip of her sweet, chocolately excuse to not talk.

—————

The next morning, Glinda had many thoughts that paced through her mind as she watched her emerald companion get ready for the day they had in store. Swallowing hard, she finally mustered up enough courage to stand. She tip toed over to the other side of the suite and handed Elphaba a small, neatly wrapped box. “Here,” she said, her tone suddenly quieter than usual. “This is for you. It’s not much, but… I wanted to give you something.”

Elphaba stared at the gift for a moment, unsure how to react. She gently unwrapped the paper and opened the box to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, etched with a small ‘G + E’.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Elphaba whispered, her voice tight with emotion.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Glinda replied softly, boldly taking Elphaba’s hand in hers. “It’s just something I wanted you to have.. As a reminder when you’re outside of these here Shiz walls that I, Glinda Upland of the Upper Uplands, am your best.. friend.” The word friend had taken a bit more effort to say than she’d liked, but her friend was still too shocked to notice.

Elphaba’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. She hadn’t realized how much she had longed for such an acknowledgment, such a gesture, until this moment. Her fingers brushed over the smooth surface of the bracelet, and for a moment, everything else in the world seemed to fade away.

“Thank you,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Glinda smiled, her gaze warm but hesitant. “You’re welcome. Um.. Elphie, actually I.. well I was thinking about how you haven’t had the full Christmas experience, and as your.. friend.. it’s my job to make sure you have absolutely every magical Christmas experience, is it not?” The golden haired girl rambled, her light feet pacing across their room.

Elphaba raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Glinda bit down on her perfectly glossed lips, glancing toward the doorway, where a sprig of mistletoe was hanging just above the entrance. “I.. I mean. I know we’re just friends and you can totally say no if you want to, but I mean it’s a tradition and.. well you should experience all the traditions. Right? I hope I’m not confusifying you.”

Elphaba had never thought much of the traditions surrounding Christmas. She’d always seen them as frivolous, unnecessary. But in this moment, as she glanced at the mistletoe with Glinda underneath, she couldn’t deny the magic of it all.

Elphaba’s eyes were soft as she stepped closer, her breath warm against Glinda’s skin. “I mean.. it is tradition.” Elphaba cooed.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Glinda said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “But… if you do, I’d like it. A lot. For you to get the experience, that is..”

Elphaba’s heart was racing. She had always been so guarded, so protective of herself. She had never allowed anyone to get too close. But Glinda… Glinda had a way of way of chipping away at her walls, even when she’d first arrived at Shiz it was Glinda who got under her green skin and made a home. Now her mind was filled with much more than just the cruel darkness of the past, but the warmth of the woman just inches away from her.

“Elphaba?” Glinda’s voice was a whisper now, almost too soft to hear.

Elphaba swallowed hard, her gaze meeting Glinda’s. There was something new in her eyes, an uncertainty that she’d never seen before. One that she’d recognized so many times in her own gaze.

Stepping closer, Elphaba closed the small gap that somehow was still too wide between them, allowing Glinda to feel her heart beating against her chest as she gently cupped her soft, blushing cheek in her hand and kissed her like the delicate flower she was.

The kiss was gentle, tentative at first, as if they were both testing the waters. But as their lips met again, and again, and again, the world seemed to fall away. For the first time in years, Elphaba felt… home. The warmth of Glinda’s presence, the tenderness of her touch, completed something inside of her that she didn’t know was unfinished. “So this is the Christmas magic you were talking about? I quite like it, Glinda Upland. Now.. remind me, with Mistletoe am I allowed to kiss more than just your lips?”

Glinda’s eyes widened and she quickly ran to her bed to pull out a handful of mistletoe from her bedside table. “Shall we find out?” Her swollen lips curled into a smirk.

The two enjoyed the rest of their Holiday at Shiz just like that, filled with warmth and wrapped in each other, eagerly awaiting their next school break.

——

I hope you all enjoy!! :)

[mxbitters]

i was really sorting books at my job in the children’s section of a library today and came across a graphic novel and for only about a split second i got to be like oh… grant morrison! since when did they write graphic novels for kids? and then i opened it up and flipped through and um.. yeah let’s just say somebody made a grave cataloging error, animals ≠ children’s book and i saved so many kids from a traumatic experience today. love u grant morrison tho

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴊ ᴀ ʏ ʙ ɪ ʀ ᴅ ⸻

“ The Second Son: Blood Stained Bonds ”

Pairing: Dark Jason Todd x Fem Reader Part 1

Summary: After his death you left everything behind. You're still Bruce daughter but no longer a part of family. You had a new life and everything was fine, until the day someone left a box outside your door...

Warning: Physically violence/Choking.

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

“You sure you’re ok?” he asked as she kissed him lightly on the lips.

“I’ll be fine,” she said smiling.

He searched her face for a moment before nodding, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be back late.”

As Daniel left, she closed the door behind him and exhaled, her chest tightening. She shook it off, slipping out of her shoes and heading straight for the shower. Maybe hot water would ease the tension coiled in her spine.

The steam filled the small bathroom quickly, clinging to the mirror and fogging the glass. She stepped under the stream, letting the water rush over her skin. It was almost too hot, but she relished the way it scalded, burning away the nerves she carried like an old scar.

She hummed softly, a melody that she didn’t recognize but felt familiar all the same. Her thoughts wandered as the water cascaded over her, but something pulled her back.

A sound.

She froze, water streaming down her face. She strained her ears, her breath catching in her throat.

Nothing.

It was probably nothing. The pipes, maybe. This building wasn’t new, and the plumbing always made strange noises. She shook her head, laughing softly at her paranoia, and returned to her shower.

But the feeling didn’t go away.

She felt it then—the distinct sensation of being watched. Her fingers tightened into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She counted slowly in her head, telling herself she was imagining it, that she was safe. Safe.

The ringing of the doorbell shattered the silence.

She jumped, her heart slamming against her ribs. The water continued to pour over her, but the incessant ringing pulled her focus. It didn’t stop.

“Seriously?” she muttered, cutting the water off and grabbing a towel. Wrapping it hastily around herself, she stormed out of the bathroom, her wet feet slapping against the tile floor.

The ringing continued, grating against her nerves.

“Alright, alright!” she yelled, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. She grabbed the towel, wrapped it tightly around herself, irritation bubbling to the surface. The ringing didn’t stop. Again. Again. Over and over, like whoever was behind the door had nothing better to do than torment her.

“Coming!” she yelled, stomping toward the door, her wet feet leaving angry prints on the hardwood.

No one was there.

Just a box.

She blinked, her gaze dropping to the large cardboard box sitting on the welcome mat. There was no note, no markings, nothing to indicate where it came from or who had sent it.

She sighed, irritation flickering through her. Probably Bruce, she thought, stepping forward and dragging the box inside. She left it by the coffee table, her focus already back on her shower. The towel was damp against her skin, and all she wanted was to feel clean and warm again.

By the time she was out of the shower, dressed in an old sweatshirt and leggings, she’d nearly forgotten about the box. She made a cup of tea, settling onto the couch with the remote, flipping through channels.

Everything was dull. Every show, every movie. Nothing held her attention. Her gaze drifted to the box.

It sat there, innocuous yet somehow foreboding.

She hesitated before setting her tea down and kneeling in front of it. The tape peeled away easily, the cardboard flaps opening to reveal its contents.

Her breath caught.

The first thing she saw was the Batgirl suit.

Her old suit, neatly folded, its colors dimmed by time and wear. Beneath it were other items: a small photograph, trinkets she hadn’t seen in years.

She reached for the photo first.

It was a picture of her and Jason. He was grinning, his arm slung around her shoulders, while she was caught mid-laugh. The memory hit her like a wave. She’d teased him relentlessly that day about his messy hair, and he’d retaliated by messing up hers until they were both in a fit of laughter.

"You look like you just rolled out of bed Jaybird," she said with a smirk, poking fun at him.

Jason rolled his eyes but grinned back. "Says the girl who hasn’t combed her hair in days."

She laughed, flipping her own hair over her shoulder dramatically. And just like that, they’d been caught in a moment of unguarded joy.

Jason, ruffled her hair, making it even messier than before. “There. Now you look like me!” he teased.

She gasped in mock horror, instantly reaching up to fix her hair. “What did you do?”

Her fingers trembled as she set the photo down and reached for the next item. A bracelet he’d made for her—clumsy knots of red and green string. She’d worn it for months until it fell apart.

“You like it?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

“Of course I do,” she’d replied, smiling softly as she accepted the bracelet. It was clumsy, but in that moment, it felt like the most beautiful thing anyone had ever given her.

Then came a note in her handwriting. She remembered writing it, a quick scribble of encouragement before a patrol.

“You’ve got this, Jaybird. Show them what you’re made of.”

“You okay?” he asked, his voice surprisingly soft, a rare crack in his usual persona.

She hadn’t answered right away. Instead, she had sat beside him in silence. The hurt from the night before clung to her like a second skin. She hadn’t expected him to do anything—she didn’t need pity. But then, he did something she would never forget.

Without a word, Jason had wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. It wasn’t some grand gesture, nothing theatrical. Just a simple, genuine hug. His cheek had rested against her hair, and for the briefest moment, she let herself feel weak. She let the tears threaten to spill.

“I’m here,” he had whispered, and his voice had been steady, warm. “We’ll get through it. Together.”

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. She clutched the note tightly, her chest heaving with silent sobs. The weight of everything she’d buried, everything she’d run from, came crashing down.

She remembered the good moments, the times Jason had made her laugh until her stomach hurt. The way he’d always looked at her, like she was the only person who mattered. The trust in his eyes when she’d told him they could make Bruce proud together.

She wiped her cheeks, but the tears kept coming.

Her gaze drifted back to the box. Something else was in there. Something heavier. She hesitated, her hands trembling as she reached for it.

It was a crowbar.

Bloodstained.

Her breath hitched, and the air seemed to leave the room. She dropped it, scrambling backward, her heart racing.

The shadows in the room seemed to shift, and for the first time, she felt utterly alone.

The phone was cool against her ear as she sat cross-legged on the couch, staring at the opened box on the floor. Bruce answered on the second ring, his voice as steady and deep as she remembered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Bruce," she said softly. Her voice cracked despite her best effort to sound normal.

"Y/N." Relief washed over his tone, and she could almost see him leaning back in his chair, rubbing his temple. "I didn’t think you’d call back so soon."

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "I’ve been meaning to. Just... been busy."

There was a pause, the kind that stretched uncomfortably long. Bruce, for all his control, didn’t handle emotional conversations well.

"How’s the family?" she asked, breaking the silence.

Bruce seemed to relax at the shift in focus. "They’re doing well. Dick had taken over Blüdhaven. Tim’s been working on a new case—too much, if you ask me. And Barbara’s focused on her tech projects."

"And Alfred?"

"Still the same. Still trying to make me take a day off. But he missed you. Everyone does." There was a faint smile in his voice now. "How about you? How’s university?"

"It’s good," she replied, twirling a strand of her damp hair. "They say I'm good, if I continue like that I will be a certified doctor."

"I’m proud of you," Bruce said quietly.

Her throat tightened at the sincerity in his words. "Thanks," she murmured. "And Daniel’s great. He’s... he’s good to me."

Bruce didn’t respond immediately, and she could hear the faint hum of the Batcave in the background.

"You’ve built a good life for yourself," he said finally. "But Gotham will always be your home, Y/N. You’ll always have a place here. You’ll always be my daughter."

Her smile faded, and she bit her lip to keep the tears at bay. "I can’t come back, Bruce," she said, her voice trembling. "Not after what I did."

"Y/N..." His voice softened in a way that was rare for him. "It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I should’ve been there. I should’ve protected you both."

She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. "I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself. Jason—" Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard.

"Jason wouldn’t want you to carry this guilt," Bruce said firmly. "Neither do I. You didn’t fail him, Y/N. I did."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. She looked at the box on the floor again, her gaze locking onto the crowbar.

"Bruce," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "That box you sent—"

"What box?"

Her stomach dropped. "The one with my Batgirl suit. And... other things." She hesitated, her voice growing unsteady. "There was a crowbar in it, Bruce. It was bloodstained."

"I didn’t send you anything," Bruce said, his tone sharp now. "Y/N, what are you talking about?"

Her heart began to race. "You’re telling me you didn’t send it? You don’t know about the box?"

"No. I don’t know what you’re talking about."

The sound of glass shattering made her jump, and her head snapped toward the kitchen.

"Y/N?" Bruce’s voice was urgent, but she barely heard him.

"Something broke," she said, her voice distant. "I’ll call you back."

"Wait—"

She ended the call, her hand trembling as she set the phone down. Her gaze flicked to the crowbar lying on her desk.

Swallowing her fear, she grabbed it, the cold metal heavy in her hand. Slowly, she moved toward the kitchen, her bare feet silent against the floor.

The house was eerily quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards under her weight. She tightened her grip on the crowbar, her pulse hammering in her ears.

When she reached the kitchen, she hesitated, her breath hitching as she peeked around the corner.

The window was open, a chilly breeze fluttering the curtains.

Her eyes darted to the broken mug on the floor and the small, furry figure perched on the counter.

A cat jumped down from the counter, its fur bristling as it hissed at her before darting out the open window.

She exhaled shakily, her knees threatening to give out. She lowered the crowbar, leaning against the counter as her heartbeat gradually slowed.

“Just a cat,” she muttered to herself. “Just a stupid cat.”

But the feeling didn’t leave her.

The sensation of being watched lingered, a prickling at the back of her neck. She glanced around the room again, her grip on the crowbar tightening.

“Stop it,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You’re just imagining things.”

She turned back to the box in the living room. Her mind raced with possibilities. If Bruce hadn’t sent it, then who had?

Joker?

No. It had been years. He had no reason to come after her now. But the thought nagged at her, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

She glanced at the crowbar again, her stomach twisting. She needed to talk to Bruce.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t over.

She felt it before she saw it. The impact of something heavy hitting her, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her vision was distorted, the world around her a wash of blurry shapes and smears. Everything was red—vivid, suffocating red that stained her mind and her skin, pressing down on her like an iron weight.

She was screaming, but the sound wasn’t hers.

She couldn’t breathe. The air was thick, suffocating, and she gasped for it, but it was as if her lungs couldn’t fill. Something—someone—was there, near her. She could hear him, his voice rising above.

His voice.

It was faint at first, but then it became clearer, cutting through the disarray.

“Don’t… don’t… please!”

Jason...

His voice, strained and desperate, barely reaching her through the fog in her mind.

“Please, please don’t... Don’t do this!”

She tried to focus, to clear the haze in her head. But it was so hard. What’s happening? Everything felt so wrong. Was he crying? Was he... begging?

Wait.

Why was he begging? Why was he crying?

His voice broke, and it stabbed her like a knife. Don’t cry, she thought, almost absently. Don’t cry, Jason. It’s not your fault.

He didn’t want her to be hurt.

Her chest tightened at the thought, and her vision flared with red-hot pain.

Why are you crying, Jason?

His voice broke through again, desperate, louder this time.

“Y/N!”

Her pulse stuttered at the sound of her name, raw with agony. She wanted to reach out, but her hands wouldn’t move. The world spun faster, and she couldn’t stop it. The walls around her were closing in.

She tried to focus on him—on his voice—but everything was blurring again. Why was he crying? Why was he… Why was he yelling?

It’s my fault, she thought desperately. I’m the one who did this. I ruined everything.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, everything went still.

She gasped for breath, but her body wouldn’t obey. Her chest constricted, and she tried to scream again, but the world around her was just too far away. The red haze thickened.

And then, everything went black.

She awoke with a start, gasping as though she had been submerged underwater. Her body trembled violently, drenched in sweat, her chest heaving for air.

Her heart pounded in her ears.

What was that?

She sat up in bed, her eyes wide as she tried to steady her breath. She hadn’t had a nightmare like that in so long. She thought she was done with them. But that voice… Jason’s voice, still echoing in her ears. The sound of his crying. The desperation. The guilt.

A soft ringing broke through her daze. The doorbell.

It was raining outside, the soft patter of the storm barely reaching her through the walls.

She stood slowly, wiping the sweat from her brow as she grabbed the crowbar from beside her bed. There was something about the ringing that set her nerves on edge. Something... wrong.

She moved cautiously down the stairs, every step creaking beneath her. Her hand gripped the crowbar tightly, knuckles white. She stopped at the door, staring at the peephole, but saw nothing—just the darkness of the storm.

She swallowed hard and turned the handle, swinging the door open.

Empty.

Her breath escaped in a shaky laugh as she shook her head. She was being paranoid.

Just a mistake. Just the wind. Or maybe a neighbor…

She laughed at herself again, weakly. How stupid could she be?

She started to close the door, her hand gripping the handle, when a sudden force slammed into her.

Her breath was crushed out of her as a hand gripped her throat, yanking her backward with brutal force. The crowbar fell from her hand, clattering uselessly to the floor as she was slammed against the door with such force that the wood shook.

She couldn’t breathe. Her hands flew to her neck, scratching, clawing at the hand that was squeezing the life out of her.

Everything was a blur, her vision fading in and out. But there were two eyes—two wild, unhinged eyes—staring at her through a mask of red. A twisted, maniacal grin was visible beneath the blood-streaked fabric. She gasped, her lungs screaming for air, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t break free. She was weightless now, her feet no longer touching the floor as the pressure on her throat intensified.

She kicked out, her feet uselessly struggling to find purchase. Her vision began to dim, a ringing in her ears drowning out the world. Everything was spinning. The edges of her vision were dissolving into darkness.

Is this how it ends?

Her throat tightened, her eyes burning with the effort of holding onto consciousness.

Is this it?

Her thoughts flickered. The coldness of the hand around her neck, the darkness closing in, everything felt too heavy, too wrong. She had no strength left. Her muscles screamed in protest, but they didn’t obey.

Tears gathered in her eyes, blurring her sight. Her lungs burned with every desperate, ragged breath.

And then, the grip released.

She crumpled to the floor, gasping for air as her vision swam and her chest heaved.

Through the haze, she looked up, but everything was dark, save for the faint outline of a figure standing above her. She could barely make out the shape of a face, the contours of a body, but there was one thing she saw clearly.

Two eyes.

Green.

Tears filled those eyes, glistening in the dim light, staring at her with an intensity she couldn’t understand.

They were familiar.

But she couldn’t place them.

She blinked, but everything was slipping away.

Her mind was going blank, her body growing colder by the second. The last thing she saw was the figure, the two green eyes... and then, everything went dark again.

Next: Part 2. Part 3.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[yaniluvs]

‧₊˚ ⛲️ ⌇ 리노 : OUR MOONLIGHT ── your idol-boyfriend comes over to yours, tired from the day's schedule, only to find you wearing one of his tees.

𓍯 idolbf!leeknow ʚଓ unistudent!fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ） 0.9k ── ༯ DRABBLE, established relationship, domestic and tooth rotting fluff, cute, comfort, petnames, messy but romantic kissing, making out, corny flirting, requested by anon! ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ if you saw this post earlier, no you didn't. this is a repost ㅠㅠ.. ginger/red/brown minho is my weak spot.. >< loved writing this so much !! my very first request, thanks anon! comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! happy reading <3

the hum of the city outside was a comforting backdrop as y/n sat in her apartment, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. she adjusted the brown frame of her glasses, staring at the glowing screen in front of her.

assignments always had a way of consuming her time, but tonight, her thoughts kept drifting elsewhere.

the sound of keys jingling at the door snapped her back to reality. she smiled to herself, knowing exactly who it was.

the door opened quietly, and the guy stepped inside, the dim light of the apartment highlighting his newly dyed dark brownish-scarlet hair. it suited him perfectly—soft, warm, hot, and too fine. 

he noticed her immediately, sitting on the couch in one of his tees- fitting her loosely, paired with shorts that barely peeked out from under the hem. she looked effortlessly cute, and his heart swelled at the sight. 

"busy, hmm?" her boyfriend asked, his voice gentle yet teasing, as he closed the door behind him.

she looked up, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

"you’re home," she exclaimed, pushing her glasses up her nose. "and you look so fluffy today. i can’t get over how perfect this hair color is on you."

minho cringed at her words, his face turning into mock-disgust, running a hand through his soft locks. "you think so? i thought you’d like it." 

"i love it," she replied, her tone affectionate. "you look like a hot rockstar who's secretly a red velvet muffin inside."

"interesting choice of words.." he chuckled, shaking his head at the nickname. "a red velvet muffin? really? i was going for something more…mature."

she giggled, setting her laptop aside. "oh, trust me, you look very mature," she teased, her eyes trailing over him. "but i can’t help it, you’re just so adorable."

minho made his way over to her, his movements slow and deliberate. he leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead before whispering, "and you, look way too good in my shirt."

y/n smirked, pulling him down by his hand to sit on the armchair nearby. "you mean my shirt now," she corrected, her voice playful.

"is that so?" his eyes sparkled with mischief. he sat down, pulling her with him so that she ended up on his lap, straddling him. 

she gasped softly, her hands instinctively finding their place on his broad shoulders. "someone’s feeling bold tonight."

"bold?" he tilted his head, his expression innocent. "i’m just getting comfortable."

she rolled her eyes, though her heart was racing. "comfortable, huh?"

he nodded, his hands resting on her waist, gently tugging her closer. "very comfortable. i mean, how could i not be when i have you right here?" his voice dropped to a whisper, lips brushing against hers.

she couldn’t help but smile, her hands moving to play with the soft strands of his dyed hair. "you really do look good with this color," she murmured, her lips hovering just above his. 

"then stop talking about it and do something," he challenged, his voice low and teasing.

her smile widened as she accepted the challenge, closing the small distance between them. their lips met in a slow, deliberate kiss, the kind that sent shivers down her spine. his hands tightened around her waist, pulling her even closer as the kiss deepened.

her heart pounded in her chest as she melted into him, every inch of her body aware of his presence. she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips, and it was comforting, grounding her in the moment.

his hands slid up her back, his touch gentle. he broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against her lips, "you taste like strawberries."

"you look like one," she chuckled softly, brushing her nose against his. "but you taste like trouble."

"is that a bad thing?" he asked, his voice pouty, laced with amusement.

"not at all," she replied, capturing his lips again. 

the world outside her apartment faded away, leaving just the two of them, lost in each other. their kisses stayed soft, more calm, as if they were making up for all the time they’d spent apart. 

minho's hands roamed over her body, his touch setting her skin on fire. he loved how she responded to him, the way she clung to him, the little gasps that escaped her lips between kisses.

her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer, as if she could never get enough of him. she could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed her, and it made her heart swell with love.

eventually, they pulled apart, both of them breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other. 

"you really need to come over more often," y/n whispered, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw.

the guy only chuckled, his breath warm against her skin. "i’m not going anywhere, not when you look at me like that."

she blushed, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. "like what?"

"like i’m the only person in the world," he replied, his voice soft, sincere.

she smiled, her heart fluttering at his words. "that’s because you are," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him once more.

this time, it was better, more tender, a promise of all the moments they would share in the future.

and as they held each other, wrapped up in their own little world, they knew that nothing else mattered. not the assignments, not the schedules, not the outside world—just the two of them, here, in this moment.

[sweetshuga]

𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 ✰ 𝑰𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

𝒃𝒇!𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕! Warming his dick in you after experimenting with snow. "Fu—ck, y’feel so good, so fuckin’ warm."

𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂. @issysh3ll... Her asks inspires me everyday. «𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅»

𝒘𝒄. 𝟫𝟧𝟩

𝒑𝒔𝒂. English is not my first language! A little bonus since I accidentally posted Smutmas before I was supposed to<3 𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰

⚠ 𝑫𝑶 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑴𝑷𝑻 𝑨𝑻 𝑯𝑶𝑴𝑬, 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑰𝑺 𝑷𝑼𝑹𝑬 𝑭𝑰𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 ⚠

Matt woke up earlier than usual, groaning softly as he stretched his limbs before carefully disentangling himself from your sleeping form. He stood up and immediately walked to the window above his bed. Lifting the curtains up slightly to see the weather and his eyes lit up, it was snowing. His mind pinged with an idea—his painfully stiff morning wood dragging his mind into the gutter.

He grumbled a complaint under his breath about his dick being too insatiable before slipping on an oversized white jumper that hid his arousal. Ready to go out and get some snow from outside to do his little experiment he just thought of.

The moment he stepped outside a shiver ran down his spine from the cool breeze, "fuck, why’s it so fucking cold outside?" He mumbled as he briskly walked towards his car where there was a thin sheet of snow covering the roof. He carefully extracted a small amount of snow into a plastic bag before walking back inside, letting out a shuddering breath.

"Hm? You’re up early, and is that snow?" Nick laughed in amusement as he walked towards Matt, "I can’t believe you went out at 5 am just to get snow in a plastic bag, what’re you even gonna do with that? Don’t tell me you’re gonna rub—" Matt punched Nick’s arm, making him let out a loud noise.

"Ow motherfucker! What was that for?" "Why are you awake?" Nick raised his eyebrows, "why am I awake? Well, someone has to edit the fucking videos, and I didn’t wake up, I just didn’t sleep." Matt shook his head slightly, a laugh escaping him despite himself, making Nick’s annoyed expression falter and morph into a grin.

𓆩♡𓆪

Matt finally managed to get back to his room, exhaling softly as he closed the door behind himself. He walked away from the door and towards the bed, checking if you were still sleeping before he walked to his gaming chair. Plopping down on it, he looked at the bag of snow that still somehow hadn’t melted yet—much to his excitement. He quickly pulled down his pants, letting out a low groan as he palmed his painfully hard erection.

He tugged his jumper over his head and shrugged it off, leaving him in a black tank top, and his pj flannel pants down mid-thigh. His red briefs had a blotch of precum soaking the front, and he was quick to pull his briefs down slightly, letting his hefty length spring free. "Fuck," he rasped as he swiped his thumb over his tip, collecting the steadily leaking precum before spreading some of it around his shaft.

Matt couldn’t resist giving himself a few pumps, letting out a series of muffled moans as he did so. He reluctantly let go of himself – his length twitching from the loss of friction – and took the bag of snow. He knew it was nearly impossible to put the snow flake by flake on his tip, but he wanted to try anyway—his curiosity clouding his common sense.

𓆩♡𓆪

"Fuck this," he groaned aloud, tossing the bag of slushy of snow onto his desk. His tip was cold, slightly red and swollen from not getting relief, and he could feel himself shuddering. Suddenly, he felt a gentle hand carding through his hair. "What’re you doing baby..." Your voice trailed off when you looked down at his lap – his cock standing at attention – before taking your gaze back to his face which now had a pink-ish hue to it. All sleep, that lingered, vanished into thin air, an undeniable heat pooling in your panties from the erotic scene.

"Matt, what—" he cut you off with a quick mumble that sounded something like "It’s fine, i’ll deal with it myself". You chuckled softly, "you sure?" He gulped audibly, his resolve crumbling bit by bit. "I mean... I don’t wanna burden you, you don’t have to—" he paused and sighed—knowing his hands couldn’t compare to your warm pussy. "I take it back, please, sweetheart?" You smiled and pulled him up and towards the bed.

He stumbled slightly due to his pants and briefs around his thighs, but made it to the bed nonetheless and plopped on it, his erection bobbing obscenely. You chuckled before tapping his thighs, "c’mon, up." He immediately lifted himself up just enough for you to pull his pants and briefs further down, letting it pool at his ankles and shimmied out of your own underwear before straddling his lap.

He hissed in a breath when he felt your warmth on his much cooler skin. "Fuck, baby, hold on—" he let out a shaky moan when you teased his tip against your already slippery slit. He felt his need increase tenfold, the sensation of your warm and wet pussy against his poor sensitive tip proving to be too much for him, and in an instant you were laying under him with wide eyes from the sudden change in positions.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, gripping your hips tightly before suddenly plunging deep inside without any warning. The coolness of the head of his cock against your much warmer insides sent tingles down your spine. "Oh fuck, Matt," you moaned, your head thrown back against the pillow and eyes shut tightly to prevent it from rolling back. Your hands flew out to clutch onto his forearms when he started to move.

"Fu—ck, y’feel so good, so fuckin’ warm." He groaned, his hand coming up to cover your mouth, "shh—sweets, we’re not alone—mffh, you know." He didn’t wait for a reply and instead started to increase his pace. Making sure to hit all the right spots. He knew everything about you—and your pretty little cunt, after all.

𓆩♡𓆪

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @strnilolover @mattsfavoritestar @sophand4n4 @tpwktahlz @lilyyliloo @slut4angstt @pvssychicken @poolover123 @loud-sturniolos @inlovewchrissturniolo @sagesturns @chrisstopherfilmed @billiesbabya @h3arts4nat @moosegirl96 @sofiaaguilaxx @sturniolo-fann @goingtojohnkramershouseee @sturniolosluttt @chrislilcumslvt @mattsninja @bilssturns @sturnioloszn @slvtf0rchr1s @knowingnothingnoel @shadowthesim @brookheartsmatt @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @m00nl1ghts1vt @strnlslut @ribread03 @hearts4werka @larallott @ivysturnss @chrisfavoritewhore @peiivnao @sturniolokaulitz @diasturnsth

© sweetshuga

[avocado-writing]

hi!! I read your fics and I love your writing style! I was wondering if you could do something with a human reader, maybe she works in a bookshop or she’s a teacher? And it’s all cute because he finds her genuine??? Maybe some angst because she finds herself in danger? Idk sorry I’m rambling I just wanted something with a human reader 🧍🏻‍♀️💐

the place where the pages meet

logan howlett x bookseller!reader

4k words, rated explicit.

cocky!logan; awkward!reader; excessive book references; threat of physical violence (quickly averted); anti-mutant language & sentiments; smut (oral - reader receiving, penetrative sex). minors dni. thank you @saradika-graphics for dividers!

The sky is heavy with the promise of rain, and you suck your breath in through your teeth. It’s fifty-fifty on days like these: either people will seek shelter in your little store, or they’ll scurry away with the fear any purchases they make will get soaked and ruined.

God damn it, what kind of fool opens an independent book shop in New York?

You’re the kind of fool, apparently. Still, it’s your home, both figuratively between all the old paperbacks and literally with your tiny apartment on the top floor. Barely more than a studio, but enough for you. A piece for yourself carved out of this world. 

Outside it starts to pour. You sigh. Well, at least you know you’ll get one visitor today.

Charles, your dear friend and long-time financial supporter of your store, had called earlier to let you know that the usual face wouldn’t be coming to grab his order. It’s a shame, you like Ororo, enjoy sitting and sharing a pot of oolong with her on quiet days. Also she could have chased away this terrible weather for you. Ah well. 

“Who can I expect?” you’d asked. 

Charles had laughed, a warm and friendly sound. 

“Ahh, you’ll know Logan when you see him.”

You don’t know what you’d do without Charles. Between orders of rare books for his personal collections and en-masse copies of classics for the kids, he pretty much keeps this place running for you. Bless that man, honestly, because you’re not sure where you’d be without him. 

The sound of someone pulling up outside has you putting down your book and turning towards the shop window. 

A pickup truck parks up by the kerbside and you watch the man in the driver’s seat emerge into the rain. He cuts a fine figure, tall and strong, but you don’t get a good look at him until he walks through the front door. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome. 

Leather jacket now pocked with raindrops, very obvious white vest beneath it showing off his broad chest. He shakes like a dog to get the moisture out of his hair as he stamps his boots on the doormat, pausing only briefly to scrutinise its no admittance expect on party business slogan. 

“Logan?” you ask. He looks up and when his eyes first meet yours? Oh, a fire is sent down your spine. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, looking around to take in the place. You can’t tell if he’s impressed or not. He has a remarkably neutral face, careful, the sort of man who doesn’t want to give anything away about himself. 

“You’re… here for Charles’ books?”

He’s sauntering over to the counter now. Cocks an eyebrow. It goes right through you. Fuck. 

“That’d be me.” There’s a beat. “Why, you think someone’d try and steal them?”

“People can steal books!” you say, defensively. 

“People named Logan who you’re clearly expecting?”

You bristle, because he’s got you. Something flickers over his face for a second: a smile. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome and he’s an asshole.

Huffing, you fish the box out from under the desk and groan with effort as you lift it up. Logan takes it from your grasp as if it weighs nothing at all. Your fingers touch as you do. You try to ignore it.

“Thanks,” he says, easily.

“Mm. Mind the rain. It’d be a shame if you slipped.”

A proper smile crosses his face then, but he turns away too quickly for you to let it sink in. The bell on the door chimes as he heads back out into the rain.

Well, you hope you never see him again.

By the same time next week, you’re really hoping you see him again.

You’ve sort of not been able to get him out of your mind. He was kinda prickly, sure, but a welcome break from the mundanity of your life, and pretty good looking to boot. It’s probably just a pipe dream. You’re sure it’ll be Ororo again, and you can go back to the easy pattern of seeing your dear friend. That’s okay. You’re fine with it. Who needs a handsome man? You have your books, you have your store, you’re happy.

Yeah. You’re happy. 

Imagine your surprise, then, when you hear a motorbike outside your shop.

You must be blessed with street parking, because Logan pulls up right outside again. Same jacket, same well-worn jeans. He catches your eye through the window and you’re sure they glisten. You pretend to be engrossed in your book but it’s not fooling anyone, the words swim into soup on the page as you see him approach.

The door goes; he approaches the counter. Closer this time, you can smell him. Tobacco and leather. Fuck it’s good.

“You should wear a helmet,” you say, trying to be flippant. Logan lets out a single, solitary note of a chuckle from deep in his chest.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern, though.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and try to hide it by looking for Charles’ order again. It’s a single book, a first edition you had to go through the backwater book depositories to hunt down. You’re the best at what you do, though, so it was no real problem. It’s why he always comes to you.

“Here you go. Let him know I’ll try and find the sequel if he’s interested, too.”

“Sure.”

Once again your fingers touch as you hand the book to Logan. No. No, this is too quick! You want to keep him here for a little while longer. He looks so out of place between the wonky shelves and hanging plants, it’s just perfect.

Your mouth tries to say two things at once: can you tell Charles I’ll have his other order ready same time next week, and, do you like to read often? 

Instead what comes out is, “can you read?”

You must wince when you ask the question, because Logan stands there transfixed. Baffled, just for a second.

“Can I… read?” he repeats slowly. 

I’ve failed you, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t stop your mouth in time, says your brain.

“I didn’t mean… of course you read… I just… I didn’t want to assume… maybe you didn’t like books… erm…”

“Yeah, I read,” he says softly, as if you are an old dog and he is putting you out of your misery. You fucking wish he would. Jesus Christ, it’s like you’ve never spoken to another person before.

You can’t find a way to recover this. Your cheeks are on fire. You’re going to explode and burn down your store. Oh authors, you are so sorry for using all these works as kindling.

You expect Logan to turn on his heel and walk out but he… doesn’t. Instead he takes a step back so that he can look at the shelf nearest to the desk. Runs his fingers across the spines before picking one. It’s slim, no more than the width of his finger; he puts it on the counter and fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami. You ring him up, punching the price into your old cash register, give him his change. His palm is soft as you drop coins into it. 

“See you next week,” he says, stashing both his book and Charles’ inside his jacket. 

“Okay,” you say, amazed you’re able to get any words out, and watch him walk away again.

He does see you next week.

The sun’s out, so he’s sans jacket, and oh fuck you can see how his arms are like treetrunks. The way this man has you reacting is unhealthy. You try and focus on the hardback in your hands but all you can picture is those veins which are bulging on his biceps, begging you to come and get to know them better.

“You’re always reading huh?” 

His voice makes you jump a little, you’re not expecting him to be so close. You look up. He slides his sunglasses up into his hair. Fuck it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Would you trust a bookstore owner who didn’t read?” you ask, bristling with the need to defend this little shop and your place in it. He holds his hands up in the universal sign of peace.

“Not an insult, just an observation.”

You sink back from attack mode, walls still a little high, but definitely coming down.

“How did you get on with the Murakami last week?”

Logan takes a moment to consider this, trying to piece his answer together in a way which won’t offend you.

“I liked it until the last chapter.”

You sit up in your chair. 

“Yes! A lot of people say that. It feels like it ends sort of abruptly, but if you just appreciate it for what it is, it’s a good book.”

He smiles a little as you speak. You fucking love talking about books, to a degree some people find absurd. You don’t want to babble though, so you force yourself to end your observations there.

Logan nods at the book in your hands.

“What are you reading now?”

You lift up your book so he can see the cover: A. S. Byatt’s The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye. 

“It’s very good! Byatt has such a wonderful way of writing. I love fairy tales and there’s such a wonderful voice in this one. They made the titular story into a movie a couple of years back, it’s quite good actually, it has Tilda Swinton in it.” You’re floundering. Don’t stray too far from the normal lines of conversation. Mouth, for fuck’s sake stay on course, begs your brain. It doesn’t. Instead you ask, “do you… like Tilda Swinton?”

Logan raises an eyebrow and you know this is a man who has never once had to consider the question of whether or not he likes the actress Tilda Swinton. 

Mouth still talking. MOUTH STILL TALKING, your brain screams. It’s true. It is. You were too busy being horrified to notice.

What your mouth says while being unchaperoned is, “There’s a little single-screen theatre nearby doing a showing of it this week, actually, do you wanna come with?”

DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT. DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT?!

Logan doesn’t seem to know what to make of that. He seems just as shocked that you’ve asked as you are. But then, just as you want to cast yourself into the street so that a passing garbage truck might take pity on you and sweep you away, he smiles. It’s slow, but it makes him look so much hotter.

“Sure, why not.”

Oh mouth you genius. I shall never doubt you again.

“Oh, okay, great! Uhh, are you free Friday?”

“I can be. What time’s the screening?”

“Seven. Meet me here at six-thirty?”

“It’s a date.”

Fuck, it is a date, isn’t it. It’s a date!

Logan stands there, awaiting something. You’re confused for a beat, then go up on your tiptoes, aiming your mouth towards his.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture… Charles’ book, honey.”

Hmmm, okay. Still time for the earth to just swallow you whole then, actually.

You sort of don’t expect him to turn up. You wouldn’t go on a date with you, all awkward edges and uncomfortable words. And he’s… the coolest fucking guy you’ve ever seen. 

Of course he won’t turn up. Of course he won’t. 

He turns up. 

He’s waiting for you outside the store, leaning against a lamppost, dressed in flannel and smelling like subtle cologne. You can’t help lighting up when you see him and hope you’re dressed suitably - your nicest pair of dungarees and a tight-fitting jumper. 

“Hey! You made it,” you say. 

“‘Course I did,” he replies with a little smile. Oh, you’re giddy. 

“C’mon, it’s not a long walk. It’s a nice night too.”

He lets you chatter as the two of you make the brief journey, content to have you talk his ear off about business and books. He’s happy to answer any questions you ask him about himself: what he does for a living, how he knows Charles, if he’s got anything else on his to-read list. The two of you skirt around the most obvious thing: if he lives at the mansion, he’s definitely a mutant. You can’t quite get the courage to ask him about it. Seems easier to just let it lie, so you do. It’s not that important anyway, you think, you like Logan, with or without any extra bits. 

When you arrive at the little hole-in-the-wall cinema, he gets the tickets and the popcorn and the drinks. You do your best not to feel absolutely pathetic by his side. Surely everyone here knows you’re punching above your weight with this absolute grade A specimen of a man? You’re so busy looking around the foyer to make sure nobody is staring that you almost don’t realise when he takes your hand in his.

“You with me, honey?” he asks, soft, low. You swallow thickly and nod because for once, you can’t find the words.

It’s not a very full screening, which is just fine, because you’re happy to be alone with Logan in the dark. You share a bucket of popcorn and a secret little thrill runs up your spine every time your fingers brush together. When that’s finished, he puts his arm around the back of your chair and you snuggle up against his side, cursing the damn plastic cupholder in the middle forcing you to keep a distance. 

One hundred and eight minutes. They’re not enough. You want to be here forever. But eventually the credits roll, the lights come up, and Logan has to pull his arm back; you hope the reluctance in the withdrawal of the gesture isn’t just your imagination. 

“What did you think?” you ask, standing up and stretching. Logan follows suit, mulling over the question. 

“It was… cute,” he decides. “I can see why you like it.” 

You beam. 

“I can lend you the book if you want. It goes into way more detail about the main character’s life at the start, it’s very stream-of-consciousness but I really enjoy it? It’s different to the other stories before it but definitely worth reading. I think that…”

You’re outside now, under the streetlights, fingers tangled easily with his, and when he stills you’re pulled to a stop too. 

“Hmm?”

He drops his grip on your hand so that he can put one under your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you. Your heart beats violently. He can definitely feel it. He knows. You don’t care. Fuck, he’s so near. 

“You talk a lot, huh?” he asks. It’s not unkind, the smile on his face is one of fondness, and all of your skeleton turns to jelly as you fucking melt under the affection in his gaze. 

“Please shut me up,” your beg comes out as a whisper, and he does. 

His lips are rough against yours, guiding, but sweet. The hair on his face tickles your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down to kiss him with more enthusiasm. This is not a public-appropriate display of affection, and someone honks their car horn at you both, but it just serves to make you laugh against his mouth and keep going. His hands slide onto your hips and hold you tight against him. Possessive. Wanting. Covetous. 

“You know,” he says when he pulls back for air, still running his lips along the line of your jaw to the hinge beneath your ear, “when Charles told me I should go and get those books, he said I’d like the person who runs the store. Didn’t expect you to be such a gorgeous little thing, though.”

You, gorgeous! Logan thinks you’re gorgeous! You could do a fucking cartwheel in celebration. You don’t though, you’d probably give yourself a concussion. 

His hand goes to his pocket and his brow furrows and, for a second, you panic. Has he started regretting kissing you already? Another quick kiss calms that down though, settling the simmer of worry in your stomach. 

“I think I left my wallet in the theatre. Hold on, I’ll grab it, then I’ll walk you home?”

“Only if you come in with me,” you breathe, and once again your mouth has taken the reins on that one. Logan huffs a laugh, a little incredulous, but mostly pleased at your gumption. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.”

He leaves you standing there, feeling all tingly. This is happening. It’s fucking happening! Sometimes the stars align for a book nerd and a handsome guy wants to come up to their studio apartment. You thank Jesus, Buddha, Arthur C. Clarke - whoever is listening, they fucking deserve it. 

“You gonna fuck that mutant?”

The voice sends a chill down your throat. 

The trio of guys standing behind you do not look friendly. The biggest one, the one standing in the middle, sneers at your panic, crossing thick arms over a broad chest.

“Well? I asked you a question.”

You screw your courage to the sticking place, puffing up a little. 

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you spit back, hoping that vitriol will deter them. It does not. Instead, they close in, hyenas around a cadaver. 

“Never had a human dick you down good enough, huh? Need a little help? C’mon baby, we’ll show you.”

He reaches out to grab your arm. You let out a noise of panic. 

At the same time, Logan’s fist collides with his face. 

The guy is sent stumbling back, spitting out a globule of blood. His friends step away with panic in their eyes. Logan moves in front of you, his bulk your shield, three metal claws extending from between his knuckles. 

Yeah. Mutant, huh?

“I think you were just leaving, pal,” says Logan in a voice which doesn’t bear messing with. The man bares his reddened teeth. 

“The fuck do you think you are, mutant scum--?!”

He lunges for Logan and the breath is sucked from your lungs when you see he’s pulling out a fucking knife, but another punch sends him flat on his ass. The blade clatters across the street and into the gutter. His friends grab either one of his arms and half stand him up, half drag him away.

“Shit, it’s not worth it—!” is their conclusion as they disappear into the night, shouting back expletives, blood trailing from their leader. Logan shakes out his fist, flexes his fingers; claws retract. He turns to you, slowly. 

“You okay?” he asks, hurriedly checking you over. You nod. 

“Y…yeah. Shaken.” you confess. 

“C'mon. Let’s get you home,” he sighs, and from the cadence of his voice you can tell he’s worried the night has been ruined. You place your hand on his bicep. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you still… will you still come up?”

He softens. 

“If it’ll make you feel safer, sweetheart.”

It does. 

And that’s how you find him sitting on your well-loved couch in between your needlepoint pillows, looking around your tiny home as you make a pot of coffee to share. 

“Jesus, you’ve got more books in here than in the store,” he mutters. 

“Well, some of them I couldn’t part with. I like them too much. And, as you pointed out, I am always reading.”

You look around at the shelves stuffed into your flat, the dozens of them holding hundreds of novels, plays, poems. You love them all dearly. They all hold a special piece of your heart, you can remember where you were when you read most of them. (Downstairs while manning the desk is often the answer). 

“Oh, even this?”

You can hear the smile in Logan’s voice. He’s holding up a copy of Fifty Shades. You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Christ, I read that as a professional courtesy to the art of bookselling. Got it for fifty cents at a thrift store. It’s crap. If you want some good erotica I can recommend…”

The sentence lingers unfinished. Logan raises his eyebrows. 

“You can recommend what, huh?”

The coffee is ready. You can smell its rich scent enveloping your little apartment. An idea forms. Creates a heavy anticipation on your tongue. Your brain screams at you. 

Locked. Loaded. Fire, mouth, fire!

“… then I’d recommend you take me to bed,” you say.

Logan stares, eyes wide. You’ve had an immediate effect on him. His pupils dilate. 

“I… honey, after earlier, I’m not sure if you should…”

You cross the room and sit on his lap, an easy feat when his legs are so thick and inviting. His sentence stops as you press your mouth to the pulse in his neck. Kiss. 

“I’m a consenting adult,” a kiss on his cheek, “who’s invited you into their home,” a kiss on his brow, “and is asking you to take them across their painfully tiny apartment and fuck them. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, but Logan? I’ve been game ever since you first walked in from the rain.”

He looks up at you to double check that you’re telling the truth, then kisses you with such ferocity that you squeak. 

You do not make it to the bed. 

He undresses you there on the sofa in the middle of your bookshelves, between Brontë and Austen, beside Carter and Rushdie. Your clothes end up in a messy little pile on the coffee table. It gets kicked and the pile of literary magazines slide to the floor as Logan moves to take off his shoes, letting you drag his jeans down and off of him, cupping his cock in his boxers.

Fuck. Thick, heavy, large, you want all of it. All of him. 

He leans you back against your kitschy little pillows with book quotes on them and pulls your dungarees off, an act both ridiculous and endearing. He catches your knee in his hand and begins to kiss up your thigh towards your underwear.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he presses a kiss to your sex over the fabric. He grins up at you from between your legs. 

“That was the plan.”

He fucks you with his mouth like a man starved, luxuriating in the little sounds you make for him, pressing fingers inside you without any effort at all. You cum all over his knuckles embarrassingly quickly. He looks sorta smug. 

“Baby, when was the last time someone took care of you…?” he asks, licking a stripe along your sex to taste what he’s done. You huff. 

“Too long. You gonna fix that?”

It’s a challenge and he takes it as one. You strip off his shirt, making sure to get a good feel of his muscles as you go, kissing his pectorals and abs just because you can. He slides inside you with one thrust, one of your legs in a crook at his hip; the other with its ankle resting on his shoulder. He starts moving and the couch shakes but all you can do is cling on for dear life to the crocheted blanket. 

“Holy shit… so fuckin’ tight… aren’t you just the most gorgeous thing…” he hisses. You reach up enough to tangle your fingers in his hair and drag him down for a kiss, sloppy and charged with heat. His hand moves in between your legs and you cum for the second time that night, hissing with satisfaction as he spills inside you. 

You collapse onto the sofa together, your heavy breaths harmonising. When he pulls back to kiss you this time it’s softer. With intention. With reference. 

“Uh, you know, they’re showing To Kill a Mockingbird next week. Maybe dinner beforehand, if you’re interested?”

He laughs affectionately and you can feel the rumble in his chest.

“Sounds good. You’ll have to lend me the book first.”

Fuck yeah. You’re never doubting your mouth again. 

Taglist: @falsewordz@malfoys-demigod@belilwen@mildly-salted@tvwebs@childeslegstrap@getmeoutofhell@s1eep-o@just-a-beatlemaniac69@yrthr@momopad@sugarplumz100@captainjinkx@madspads@acrosstheunivcrse@yeethaw13@na-is-salty@florduarte@hunterispunk@starfleetteddybear

[simplyraeblue]

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one-time thing (bakugo x reader)

ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP !femreader when you run into bakugo at denki's house party and do some... physical activity in the bathroom. but you swear it's just a one-time thing considering you'd never met before WARNINGS: swearing, NSFW, sexually explicit content, oral (f receiving), smut, y'know the usual ◦ ◡ ◠ word count: 2,328 A/N: might become a full fic... we'll see how posting a lil bit on tumblr goes first ;P Also, I'm still very new to writing smut so bear with me, and feel free to offer suggestions!

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The house was a maze, mostly because of the crowd, so you ventured up the stairs where it was quieter to find a restroom. The more steps you took upward, the more you realized how buzzed you were. Finally, you could see a door open to a bathroom, and you quickly shut yourself inside.  You turned the tap on to splash water on your face, only to be suddenly sprayed.  

“Fuck, stupid faucet.” you cursed, running your hands over your now-soaked top. You'd barely turned it on full blast. Luckily, you looked in the cabinet and found a hair dryer. Removing your shirt and laying it over the towel rod, you turned the hair dryer on to hopefully salvage your top.  

As you continued cursing under your breath, you heard a knock at the door. “Someone’s in here!” you shouted over the dryer.  

Then the door knob turned. Fuck, thought it was locked. You scrambled to grab your shirt and cover yourself before a man stepped into the bathroom. 

“Everything okay in here?” The voice was low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. A blonde man stepped through the doorway, his red-colored eyes meeting yours. 

“I’m fine, just had a spill.” you rushed out, still attempting to cover your bra.  

“Saw you rush up here, albeit stumbling, and wanted to check.” He told you, still standing in the doorway as if he was unfazed by the state you were in.  

Truth be told, Bakugo was a bit buzzed himself, and the sight of a pretty girl in front of him was enough to set his senses on fire. You were blushing, making you look even cuter, and he found himself struggling to not look at where your hands were holding your shirt so as not to expose herself. A daring question sat heavy in the back of his mind as he took a step towards you. 

“What are you doing?” your words came out stuttering as the man stepped closer. You were very aware of the state you were in, and on top of that, your friends' words rang in your mind. ‘The boys will be all over you’ they'd said. While the man before you was very easy on the eyes, okay maybe more than easy on the eyes, you were feeling unsure about the predicament you found yourself in. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asked you, his voice low and causing your face to flush. How could he be so forward? You hadn’t been touched in years, not since your last fling, and now some random guy was making your body heat up like you were sitting in boiling water.  

“I-I don’t know.” That was all you could say. Bakugo took note of how flustered you were getting and wondered if you were a virgin.  

“Pretty girl, alone in a bathroom at a party, shirt already off.” He trailed on, glancing to where your hands held your shirt firmly. “I saw you at the bar from outside, couldn’t take my eyes off you and even then, you were fully clothed.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat as he continued to stalk closer. Were you seriously getting flustered by a man you ran into in the bathroom? Damn, you really were touch starved.  

“Y’know, one could see this a sexual assault.” You told him, and he paused where he was, hesitating. “But, seeing as I have just enough alcohol to make poor decisions but know what I’m doing and you are really hot...” 

At the sight of the teasing smirk on your face, Bakugo grabbed your cheeks and pulled you in, his lips crashing into yours. Dammit, he didn’t care if he never saw you again, you were hot, and he was needy. With his forceful actions, he heard you moan into his mouth, setting fireworks off in his brain. It was the prettiest sound he’d ever heard in his life. 

You were shocked at how he was acting, so confident and straightforward; but you were more shocked by how you were letting it happen. Hell, he was attractive and knew what he wanted. The perfect one-night stand in your book. You let loose a moan again as he backed you up against the glass shower wall before he reached one hand inside to start the water. 

“What are you-” you started to ask. 

“So, no one can hear how hard I’m about to fuck you.” The tone of his words sent heat straight to your core. This time, you smashed your lips into his, the heat sending signals to your brain that you wanted more.  

Bakugo grabbed the shirt from your hands, tossing it aside quickly to take in your lacy bra. God, your body was perfect. He wasted no time in pressing kisses to your neck, giving rough bites before seeing the hickies he was leaving behind. Even if you didn’t share your names before leaving tonight, he wanted you to remember everything that had happened. When he nibbled at the soft spot between your collar bone and neck, you whimpered, and he could have came just from the sound.  

You made quick work of his shirt, gripping the bottom of it as he allowed you to pull it over his head. Your hands met his torso, where strong muscles ripped under your touch. Between his biceps and abs, you were pretty sure he could lift you up to fuck you if he wanted to. You grabbed for the buckle on his pants, but his hands stopped you.  

Before you could try again, Bakugo kneeled in front of you, noticing how you tried to hide your surprised look. As he palmed your thighs, he marveled at how soft your skin was before placing kisses on the inside. “Stop teasing,” you warned through a gasp, making him smirk. Bakugo lifted your skirt just enough and inhaled sharply. You weren’t wearing any underwear.  

“Fuck, it’s like you were waiting for me.” He spoke. 

“What makes you think I was waiting for you, Mr. Big Ego?” you managed to tease, even though you were pretty sure you had no room to talk since you were letting a stranger see you in all your glory.  

“Trust me. After this, you’ll be happy it was me who found you.” He smirked up at you from below, a sight that sent you spiraling, before he quite literally dove off the deep end. 

As Bakugo pressed his mouth between your legs, his tongue giving a quick lick, he felt your legs quiver as a loud moan escaped you. Fuck, you tasted like heaven on his tongue. Bakugo gave you no time to recuperate from his initial contact, immediately beginning to devour you.  

While his tongue licked up and down your folds, you were fighting to hold in your pleasure-filled noises. He knew what he was doing, and your legs were already shaking from him having barely done anything. “Holy... holy shit.” you breathed out, reaching your hand down to let your fingers twist in his hair. His tongue found your clit, taking it in his mouth quickly like a man starved, sending electricity through your body. “If you don’t stop...” 

“I want you to cum on my face first, sweetheart.” His voice was muffled, but his words had an impact on you nonetheless. Soon after his request, you felt him tease your entrance with his fingers, almost sending you right over the edge. “Are you going to cum on my fingers? Or should I continue to just use my mouth?” 

“P-please, fuck me with your fingers.” you whimpered, bucking your hips with desire. “I want to c-cum.” 

Bakugo smirked as he slid two fingers past your entrance, feeling your tight walls clench around them. He was now silently hoping you were on birth control so he could feel it on his cock in a minute. His mouth found your clit again, sucking and nibbling at the bud as he began to pump two fingers in and out of you.  

He could tell you were close; you'd stopped talking at this point and your hips began to spasm as your knees shook. With the fervent need to taste you, he continued drilling into you as he became relentless on your clit.  

“Fuck, yes cum f’ me.” He demanded, and you felt that chord within you snap. His free arm wrapped around your leg to hold you up as you gave in, riding out your orgasm with his face still between your legs.  

When you felt like you could breathe again, you let out a shaky, “Holy fuck.”  

But before you could say anything else, he stood up and kissed you before he even wiped off his mouth. you could taste herself on his lips and the thought drove you wild. you let his tongue tease yours in your mouth as he finally allowed you to begin unbuckling his belt. He helped you get it off before unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down himself, along with his boxers. 

Bakugo noticed how your red-tinged cheeks became even more prominent once your gaze met his dick. He placed his hands on his hip with a smirk, asking, “Do you like what you see?” 

you could feel your walls clenching at the sight of him. Forget the orgasm you just had, you wanted him inside of you right now. “Shut up and fuck me. I’m on birth control so just get on with it.” you demanded, sounding needy, and he responded quickly. 

He grabbed your thighs and lifted you off the ground, pushing you against the glass shower wall once again and wrapping your legs around his waist. With one hand holding you, he pumped himself a couple of times with the other before positioning himself at your entrance. “Don’t forget, you asked for this.” He whispered as he buried his face in your neck before plunging himself into you without hesitation.  

Bakugo swore to heaven and hell once he felt your walls tighten around him in response. It was too good, and he found himself teetering on the edge already. Thank the universe you were on birth control so he could feel every inch of you swallowing him. He felt your previous orgasm covering his dick, making it easier to begin sliding in and out of you. Each time he pulled out and entered again he shivered at the pleasure building up in his body. 

you were a mess at this point. His dick felt too good inside of you to even be real; you couldn’t help the noises that escaped your mouth as his hips thrust into yours while he sucked on your neck, no doubt leaving more marks for you to find tomorrow. “I-if you keep fucking me like that, you’re gonna make me cum again.” you whined, while he only continued to drive himself further into you, hitting all the right spots.  

“Let me feel you cum on me. P-please, cum with me inside of you.” He groaned into your skin as he began moving his hips faster, snapping into yours with force.  

The next time he bit down on your neck, you felt a wave of pleasure crash over you again, drowning you in your release.  

Bakugo felt your walls clamp around him, sending him over the edge with you. His cock strained with his orgasm as he pumped deeper into you, filling you to the brim as he came. He felt like it was the longest orgasm he’d ever had, maybe even never-ending as he panted into your neck. While he was a little embarrassed at how long he’d lasted, it just felt too damn good.  

“Holy shit,” you said while trying to catch your breath. Bakugo could only nod in agreement, at a loss for words from what he’d just experienced.  

When he pulled out and gently set you back on her feet, you swayed a little bit before feeling his arms catch you. “That was...” He panted; his eyes half-lidded as he looked at you. For a moment, you wished you had asked his name, but then deemed it too complicated realizing you would probably never see him again.  

“Do you think anyone heard?” you asked him as you became aware of where you were and who all could be around.  

“With how loud your mouth was, I'm sure they did.” Bakugo teased while grabbing a washcloth to wipe himself clean before handing it to you so you could do the same. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we went back downstairs and found that people were staring.” 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t normally do this. You caught me in a time of need.” you tried explaining away the fact that you'd just done something dirty in someone else’s bathroom. However, you didn’t regret it one bit, as your body still felt more satisfied than it had ever been. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled at you as he shrugged. “I don’t normally do this type of thing either.” 

Before you could muster up the courage to ask his name, you heard your phone buzzing wildly from the counter. When you grabbed it, you read numerous text messages from your friends, all asking where you'd gone. “Well, we better get back to the party. Do you want to go out first and I’ll wait or vice versa?”  

Bakugo fought internally with himself, trying to decide if it was worth it to ask for your number. He wanted to see you again, do this with you again, but from the way you had talked, he got the hint that you wanted it to be written off experience. “You go ahead, I’ll clean myself up better before I come out.”  

you nodded, reaching for the doorknob but pausing. “If you have any desire to find me after this, my name is y/n. y/n l/n.” And before he could respond, you opened the door and left.  

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Link to Kirishima x reader here

(word count: 902)

Link to Shoto x reader here

(word count: 1,800) Link to Kaminari x reader here (word count: 2,680) Link to Hawks x reader here (word count: 1,903) Link to Aizawa x reader here (word count: 1,930)

[charliemwrites]

Mafia au with Price perspective

Content: Implied Violence

John, for the life of him, can’t believe he ever ran SpecGru without you.

It’s a hit to his pride to admit it, certainly. That an outsider has discovered a small conspiracy within his own organization less than three months into employment. That, apart from even that, he’s never been less scattered, having someone right by his side remembering details, appointments, bits of information.

Morning smells like Earl Grey and your perfume now. Steam mixing with whatever you’ve spritzed for the day, his own little aroma therapy. Revitalizing after however late the previous night dragged him out.

In general, you’re like a breath of fresh air. A smiley little charm of color and delicacy in his world of saturated shadows, blood and brutality.

Clean-cut dresses with patterned tights, soft-knit scarves. Lace accents and modest stilettos. Thin, sparkly jewelry and smart makeup. The scent of you drowns out the lingering burn of gunpowder; or maybe just transforms it into something heady.

John lingers on your hair. Smooth ponytails, tight coifs, intricate braids. Likes when it’s loose enough to brush you shoulders and neck, a little bounce to it as you toddle in and out of his office.

You’re gorgeous, he knows it like a gun in his hand or the stench of fear in the air. Has encountered (and indulged) in more than his share of stunning women. Women with beautiful smiles, and bright laughter, and sweet voices. Cunning women, too. Women who could outfox all but his best on any given day.

You have all of that in spades, though you’re not the first.

The difference, he thinks, is your sincerity. You’re never anything but honest with him. Even when you maybe shouldn’t be. Not that you share your opinion every time you have one, but if he asks for it, you’ll answer without pulling punches.

Respectful, always. Polite. But scalpels are elegant tools as dangerous as any dagger. You’re not cold by any means, but you’re made of steel. Precise and implacable in some ways. Have never hesitated too look him in the eye and cheerfully explain why he’s wrong.

That, he knows, is a rare commodity.

“I understand this is time sensitive Mister Graves, but raising your voice is not going to open Mister Price’s schedule.”

Your voice goes silky when you get like this. A finely draped, overly pleasant “no” in each word. A wall is still a wall no matter how finely it’s painted.

You’ve just gotten your nails done again, glossy wine red tap-tap-tapping over your customized keyboard. Whatever Philip is saying on the other end does not seem to be impressing you. Soap and Gaz are trying not to snicker. You shoot them an amused look.

“Well, he’s booked every morning for the next two weeks,” you continue.

John is not, in fact, booked every morning for the next two weeks. There are two mornings with two hours open and you’re serenely looking at them on your computer screen. He doesn’t correct you, interested to see how this plays out. You know he hates Philip and are gleefully taking advantage of that fact.

“Well, Mister Graves, a lot of people have time sensitive issues to bring to Mister Price,” you explain, a touch condescending now. “I’m afraid I can’t reschedule them just because you have… a trip to Glasgow, is it?”

You don’t sound impressed. Neither is John. You clear your throat, arch your eyebrows at him. Put up three fingers. He nods.

“I can schedule you in on the 3rd in the evening. Your assistant said you’ll be back by then.”

You blink, an almost smug curve to your lips at whatever is said. A pleasant shiver runs down John’s spine. Philip will just have gotten in then - a full day of travel after whatever business he’s been up to will put him at a disadvantage.

“Well, I’m afraid Mister Price’s next availability won’t be until the… 8th. So shall we schedule something for the 3rd? I can always call if he has a cancellation.”

A pause. Your eyes narrow into a mean little smile at nothing in particular. Practically glowing with satisfaction. Without your attention on him, he shifts a bit.

“Of course, Mister Graves,” you hum. “I can forward your people the details. Have a lovely day now.”

Soap and Gaz start laughing the moment you hand up. You huff at them in amusement, shaking your head, then turn to John.

“Was there anything you needed, sir?” You ask, syrupy sweet.

John snorts and finally approaches your desk, leaning his hip against the edge as he crosses his arms. You tilt your head to give him your full attention, a stray curl falling against your jaw.

“Since you seem to be on rampage,” he says, “I need you to get a reservation for Friday at Muse.”

You blink at him. “Muse? Sir, that’s… don’t they book that place out months in advance?”

He smirks. “Just use my name, luv. I’m sure you’ll have the rest under control.”

You don’t look convinced, but you slide your sticky pad over - light purple clouds, now. With a pink glitter pen.

“How many and what time, sir?”

“Six for eight o’clock.”

You hum as you scrawl it down, pretty round letters that shimmer under the office lights.

“Before you go,” you say as you set the sticky pad aside. “I have those inventory logs from the docks - as well as the incident report from security that evening.”

You pluck up a neat stack of papers, held together by a star-shaped paperclip. Already he can see pink highlighter on the first page, a little memo-note summarizing information for quick review at the top. Somewhere within, you’ve attached a pink tab to something.

“I’ve highlighted anything in the original shipment that wasn’t found in the inventory log,” you explain, tapping at one of them.

He hums, skims the summary, then starts rifling through the papers. Will never admit how much he appreciates the thoroughness, even if he’s comb through every detail himself just to be sure nothing has been missed.

“Oh, also,” you add, spinning the glitter pen between clever fingers, “I think we should maybe set up a camera near that back entrance to the warehouse.”

He pauses. The back entrance where they do the more gruesome aspects of “business.” Odd that you would suggest that.

“Why’s that?”

You hum. “Well, I’m no narc, but I heard from someone who works over there that one of the shipping guys smokes weed with his cousin in that area. Maybe someone saw them and realized that’s a good way in.”

You shrug, leaning back in your seat again. The computer dings, calling your attention. John shoots Soap a glance, who nods and quietly steps out. You don’t seem to notice, clicking your tongue at whatever you see.

“Nicely done, luv,” he says, voice warm in his chest. You beam at him, pleased as always when he recognizes your hard work. “I’ll call if I need anything else.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply.

Twenty minutes later, you tap lightly at the open door to his office.

“Got the reservation!” You announce, a funny little smile on your face. “They were so nice about it too. What are you, some kind of mafia boss?”

He chuckles at your joke, shaking his head.

How did he ever manage all this without you?

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[kenzlie]

𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐔𝐓. - 𝐦.𝐬

summary: 𝗒𝗈𝗎 pleasure 𝖻𝗌𝖿!𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: oral (male receiving), hair pulling, slight slapping, nicknames, small use of y/n, playful teasing, soft!matt? dom!matt?

a/n: bruh i almost just deleted this all..

you and your best friend matt were laying down in his bed watching a movie, while his brothers, nick and chris, were asleep upstairs.

it was around 1:00AM and it was quiet, the only noise was the sound coming from the tv in front of you two and the loud thunderstorm coming from outside.

in the middle of the movie the power goes out “fuck..” matt curses under his breath, barley above a whisper. matt sits up using his forearms to hold him up on the mattress, “what? are you scared of the dark?” you tease “what? no!” matt says sitting up fully now. you reach your hand over to the nightstand, searching for where you last placed your phone.

a few minutes go by and it’s still dark, the only light was the one coming from your phone, matt placed his hand on your bare thigh, the feeling of his cold jewelry sent shivers down your spine, he snatches his hand back quickly “my bad” he said, but something told you that wasn’t just a ‘accident’. you brushed it off and told him it was fine.

it’s been half an hour now and the power was still out, “matt, im thirsty” you say before the light on your phone went out, your phone had died and you couldn’t charge it, “wait let me get my flashlight first” matt told you before going to reach for his phone but remembering it was also dead “shit.” he groans “j-just grab my hand and i’ll lead you” he says putting his hand out as you place your hand in his, good thing he couldn’t see you because you were as red as a tomato, he stands up, still holding your hand, he leads to out of the room and towards the kitchen “whatcha want to drink?” he asks, “just a water” you reply, he hands you the water when all of a sudden there was a loud thunder, out of shock, you grab onto matt, holding him close “and i was the one scared” he teases, you slap his arm playfully before laughing

its’s been exactly an hour since the power went off, you both were extremely bored, “i’m gonna try to get some sleep it’s pretty late, goodnight matt” you say before turning your back towards him “your right, im gonna go to bed too, goodnight” he turns his back towards yours before you both drift off to sleep

it’s 3AM now and something or someone was cuddled up behind you grinding softly, you toss your head back onto matts shoulder whimpering softly “m-matt..” you groan, he whines softly as you can feel him growing harder “n-need you..” matt begs, he didn’t even know what he was doing, he was clearly having a dream about something, “matt.” you say a bit louder before he wakes up, he snaps back to reality and sits up fully “i am..so sorry..” he says, clearly meaning it “it’s okay you didn’t know..” you assure him as you sit up and rub the side of his face “plus, if you needed me that bad, you could’ve just asked pretty boy” you state before reaching your hand down to palm his aching hard cock through his pj pants “f-fuck” he whines clearly desperate “need y-your mouth..” he says as he grabs your wrist

you laid down between his legs, your hands pulling his pants down slowly, “hurry” he says in a pleading tone, you pull his boxers down the sound of his cock hitting his lower stomach made your mouth drool, even with no power you still wanted to make sure he didn’t go to bed hard, your hand reaches out cuffing it before you lean forward slightly, you suck the tip earning whimpers from matt, it wasn’t long before you filled your mouth with his throbbing cock, you bobbed your head not fast but not slow either “just like that!” matt moaned loudly causing you to smirk, that pissed matt off, he grabbed your hair into a makeshift ponytail as his hips thrusted up into your face “fucking whore!!” he groaned out, forcing you to take him deeper, there were a couple of tears in your eyes as he slammed his cock in and out of your mouth “g-gonna cum..” he whined barley audible, you went faster as he whined and moaned before shooting his load in your mouth, you swallowed it all not leaving a drop left “god i just know you look so pretty right now..” he praised.

a/n: i didn’t feel like finishing the rest, so here 😭

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @chrissslut @xoxo4chrisss @luvb0xoxo @phoenix062 (if i didn’t tag you it was because i couldn’t find your @)

[justaaveragereader]

Slashtober🔪|| Jennifer’s Body!Yeosang

Pairing: Yeosang x Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: DARK THEME, Dub Con, CNC Manipulative Yeosang, Mean Yeosang, Mentions of Death, Yeosang Is A Killer😬, Choking, Reader Is Put Into A Headlock🤪, Spitting, Name Calling, Humiliation, Dollification, Raw Sex, Degradation, Rough Sex, Oral, This Is Slashtober..You Know What You’re Getting Yourself Into🤪If I Missed Something..Lemme Know👀👀..

A/N: Yall it’s finally time for Slashtober AHHHHH! Im just going to apologize ahead of time for the person I was when I wrote all the fics for Slashtober this year😔, they are all 5.5k+, believe it or not I cut a lot out of this fic otherwise it was going to be a 9.8k+ fic, with that being said let’s have an amazing Slashtober this year👏🏼🖤! Onto slasher Yeosang!

Slashtober 24’ Masterlist

NSFW UNDER CUT MDNI!!!🔞

“Yeosang come on.” You groan out, pulling his wrist. His shyness always killed you, the man was sculpted by the Greek Gods themselves yet Yeosang hid inside his shell constantly.

“This is our first day of college.” You groan, attempting to pull him further on campus. Trying to move him was next to impossible, convinced his feet here one with the concrete.

“What if someone talks to me?” He says nervously, while looking around the campus. Multiple people pass by him chattering amongst each other. Well immersed in college life. This was the lifestyle for you, not for him.

Over the past couple of months it was hard to convince Yeosang to go out, he had originally planned to take a year off after highschool, not even wanting to bother with any type of academics anymore. His parents had burnt him out, the social setting fried him up, and your constant nagging on attending the same school is what grounded him. Highschool had been quite a ride for you both, you both had always stuck to each other. Being the outsiders amongst all odds, none of that mattered as long as he had you, and vice versa. You were born practically attached at the hip, and nothing would change the connection you both had.

Letting out a loud sigh he begins to move his feet, dreading the life he signed up for all because you didn’t want to “be alone” in this chapter of your life. As his feet begin to move your eyes light up. Gripping his wrist you swiftly move towards the buildings dodging all the moving bodies, while you continue to yap his ear off about what classes you both got, Yeosang soaks in his surroundings, a shiver runs down his spine, just as his body breaks out in goosebumps a shoulder bumps Yeosang sending him slightly tumbling back into another body, your hand that was holding him was knocked away.

Your eyes immediately try to find the culprit of the contact you whiz your body around. Vocals warming up to cuss out whoever knocked into you both.

“Way to go San.” A small man says with annoyance underlying his tone, his hands placed on Yeosangs shoulders to help steady his balance.

“You alright man?” San says quickly panicking, hands flying in multiple directions, glancing over Yeosang to make sure he has no injuries. Wooyoung rolls his eyes, gripping Yeosangs shoulders tighter, pulling him closer to his body. His warm breath tickling Yeosangs ear.

“I think he’s fine, after all I did catch him.” Wooyoung says with a hint of teasing underlying his tone. Lightly shoving Wooyoung back, San steps in front of you, broad back facing you while he scans over Yeosang, lightly grasping him like he’s made of the most precious glass. His warm hands brushing his hair out of his face, exposing the birthmark by his eye. Sans jaw drops slightly, his eyes grow in size.

“How cool!” He says bringing his face closer to Yeosangs birthmark, wanting to inspect it further. San never knew the meaning of personal space. You slightly shove San to the best of your abilities away from your best friend, barely moving, he looks in your direction. Being shell shocked at the fact you put your hands on him.

“Who the hell do you think you are?! Get your hands away from him! You don’t go around touching people you don’t know. On top of that how rude of you bump into us. You got eyes, do they work though?!” You shout, as you shove off Wooyoungs hands from Yeosangs shoulders.

“And you!” You shout even louder, pointing a finger in Woos face, as you grip Yeosangs wrist snatching him out of his grasp.

“Who in the entire fuck are you?! You caught him my ass, your big boulder shoulder friend here knocked him into you. You didn’t catch him.” You shout in his face, his hands still in the air where Yeosangs shoulders were just seconds ago. You smack his hands down to his sides.

All San could do was watch with admiration in his eyes, never had he seen someone as fiery as Hongjoong in quite a while. His eyes followed your every moment, all the yelling you were doing was being drowned out, the twinkle in his eyes lighting with every finger you pointed in Wooyoungs direction. You poking his chest brought him back to reality.

“And you, all in my bestfriends personal space! What you got rocks for brains up there?!” Cracking a smile he grips your finger in his hand, warm palms engulfing it. He shakes your finger poking his chest. A radiant smile breaks out on his face, warming your hearts lightly. Face still stone cold you look at him with daggers in your eyes..

“Hello I’m San.” He says full of glee. Like you hadn’t been cursing him and his flirtatious friend out for the past five minutes. Snatching your hand back, you wipe your palms on your pants. Side eyeing his friend who was clearly looking at Yeosang like he was a hunger deprived animal. You step back, guarding Yeosangs frame. San beams his smile, stepping to the side, he waves his hand once more.

“Hi! I’m San! Nice to meet you!” He speaks to Yeosang, Yeosang gives him a tight lip smile, raising his hand quickly, barely waving before dropping it.

“And this here..” San says pulling Wooyoung in a bone crushing side hug.

“Is Wooyoung!” He says while patting Woos shoulders knocking him slightly forward.

“Jung Wooyoung at your service.” He says winking at Yeosang reaching his hand out, attempting to shake Yeosangs hand. Slapping his hand away, you push Yeo back slightly, not wanting him to get any closer to Yeosang.

“Listen here San, take you and your flirty feral friend over here out of my sight.” You grit out.

“Heading into the main building?” San questions with hearts in his eyes, your snappy tone fell on his deaf ears. All he heard was you say his name and his heart practically imploded on itself

“If so, that's where we are heading! We could walk as a group!” San crushes your side while Woo crushes Yeosangs side. Forming one line, San grabs your wrist pulling you and Yeo towards the main entrance. As you all fall into an assembly line of movement, Wooyoung blows lightly on Yeosangs ear, startling him, grabbing Yeosangs sweaty hand, he leans into his ear once more.

“You’re pretty and skittish, I like that in a person.” He whispers, blowing on his ear once more. A small squeak leading into a laugh fills Yeosangs ear. Your hand grips Yeosangs wrist tighter, pulling him closer to your body. As San continues to lead you all into the main entrance never does he stop talking, with each step joy fills his tone. A warmth spreads through your body at his actions, still on the fence you let him lead, hesitantly following him through the doors. Only if you had known then that the friendship that would bloom between you all would end up to their demise.

-

“How are you feeling?” You ask Yeosang, your palm covers his forehead, face sunken in, sweat covering his whole body. He shivers with each breath he takes. Letting out a wet cough he looks up at you, lips cracked, dehydration and lack of sleep warps him into a quivering mess.

“I think I’m going to die.” Yeosang whispers out, deep voice cracking in pain. Letting out a small groan he tries to cave in further on himself, pushing himself further in the fetal position.

“Should we take him to go see someone?” You ask distressed, your eyes shoot all over Yeosang. You had never seen him this sick before. Your stomach doubles over in worry, uneasiness filling your veins as you stand up grabbing his jacket and shoes. San grabs your arm, stopping your frantic actions.

“He will be fine, he probably has the flu.” San says, a small smile creeping on his face. His effort to reassure you falls short. As you both had grown closer the underlying jealousy Yeo and San felt for each other was hard not to notice. The tension between the two could suffocate anyone within a 50 mile radius.

“The flu? Look at him San, I’ve never seen him this bad before.” You reply, clearly on edge. Hushing you San brings you into a small hug.

“If he’s like this tomorrow, I say we take him to the doctor, as for right now I think we should at least give it 24 hours, his sickness came out of nowhere.”

Cracking a dry lipped smile, letting out a small whistle which breaks into a coughing fit.

“It’s almost like that’s how sickness works San.”

Rolling his eyes, San gets ready to rebuttal back to Yeo but is stopped by you placing your hand on his chest.

“I’ll call Wooyoung, and he can come babysit you.” San says, tone laced with sarcasm. Before Yeosang can respond his stomach lets out a loud growl, doubling over in pain, biting his lip he lets out a small groan. Before you can shoot to his side, San grabs your wrist holding you back. His lips graze your ear..

“He will be fine…Woo will be here shortly so he can take care of him.” Biting your lip you look over Yeo once more, grabbing him some more pain meds, placing them down beside his water. You brush your hands through his damp hair.

“Will you be alright..?” You whisper kindly to him.

“Of course. These could be growing pains.” He says with a chuckle, letting out a small laugh, brushing your hands through his hair once more you place a kiss on his forehead. Sans nostrils flare, one thing no one would ever break is your and Yeosangs bond. Two flames in the night, even though one always burned brighter than the other. You place your hand on his forehead once more, gathering your things along with San, you make way to head out before looking over your shoulder once more, against your better judgment you leave, letting the aching sound of the door close behind you. San nudges your shoulder lightly with his own, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Hey…” he says in a small voice, giving your hand a squeeze.

“He will be okay, Woo will be over shortly.” Biting your lip, you try your best to gather a smile to send him, nerves of sickly Yeosang still cloud your mind. Nodding you both make your way to the library, Yeosang will be fine right..? Right. If only you had known that Yeo wasn’t the one in danger.

~

“Hey Yeo! I’m here!” Wooyoung gleefully announces. Taking his shoes off at the entryway of the room. Holding his backpack strap with a big smile on his face.

“San told me you weren’t feeling well. Don't worry, I made some soup. Guaranteed to heal you!” Looking up from the floor with the bowl in his hand. He looks around, the lights are off, the tv casts a shadow on the wall, such little light barely illuminating the small dark room. Taking a step forward he calls out for Yeosang again, with no response. Taking his phone out, he rereads Sans text messages, making sure that Yeosang was left at his dorm. Just as he’s beginning to message San, he feels a heavy presence in the room. It's like boulders have fallen on his chest, his knees slightly buckle. Dropping the bowl of soup, the liquid pours all over the floor, dampening the area around Woo, falling completely to the floor, gasping for air. His eyes fill with tears, struggling to breath, he attempts to crawl back out the door. Through blurry vision he sees an object blocking the door. Reaching his hands up he grasps Yeosangs pants, twisting them tightly, with pleading eyes he looks up, face turning a purple and blue hue.

“Look at you…” Yeosang coos through a sultry tone. Bending down so he’s eye to eye level with Woo, he traces the features of his face softly before grabbing a fistful of his hair. Fear pulsing through Wooyoungs veins, his choked sobs ring out though the room, the tv buzz adding onto the leery tension.

“Pretty and helpless.” Yeosang groans out, bringing his soft lips to Wooyoungs ear.

“I like that in a person.” He grits, a choked sob leaves Woos throat once more, his drowned out scream was all that was heard behind the dorm room labeled 1117 before silence took over.

~

“Have you heard from Woo?” You say into the phone stuffing your bag full of papers, running around like a chicken with your head cut off. Cramming as much as you can into your bag. With finals right around the corner, Yeosangs sickly experience, and Sans clinginess. Your plate was overloading with stress.

“Nope, not at all. He never even came the night you said he would.” He says with a frown on his face, you let out a small defeated sign. Rubbing your temples. Yeosang lets out a small gasp startling you.

“What's wrong?!” You practically yell through the phone, heart dropping to your stomach.”

“I’m a literal God!” Yeosang says in the most nonchalant tone you’ve ever heard. You let out a small hum, clearly annoyed at Yeosangs sudden change in behavior. Wooyoung was possibly missing, no one had heard from him in a couple of days. Yet here was Yeosang parading around like he was hot shit. A full one eighty from his normal demeanor.

“Yeo can we not do this right now?” You say with the phone held up by your shoulder, stuffing what felt like endless amounts of notes into your backpack.

“No I don’t think you understand, I am literally a God, you should see it.” He says through a breathless voice, almost in a moan.

“Yeo I’m a bit busy right now, where the fuck did I put those papers!” You slightly shout.

“Plans?”

“Yes, I have a study date with San..” you trail off at the end of your sentence, checking your bag once over again making sure you had everything you needed.

“Date? You have a date with San.”

“Are you asking me..or telling me..?” You say while your fingers pinch the area above your eyebrows. With a billion things on your plate, Yeosangs new attitude was adding onto it.

“Well I guess have a good time…” trailing off, the awkwardness in the conversation was so thick it felt almost taboo, forbidden.

“Umm..okay. I still have to go.” You huff out, trying not to let the annoyance seep through your words. Cutting the phone conversation short, you hang up. It just seemed like everything changed with Yeosang. He was this quiet, overly shy boy you had grown up with, attached at the hip with, and now? It feels like you barely know who he is.

Opening the lighter he had taken from Hongjoong pockets the night he caught him in the art room alone, flicking it open the flame ignited. The blue base of the flame catches his eye. Sticking his tongue out he lets the heat engulf the tip of his tongue, no ounce of pain in sight. Letting out a small squeal of excitement he closes the top to the lighter. The new found power goes immediately to his head. Deciding to go pay San a visit before you two could have your meetup.

~

You look down at your phone, San thumbs up your message when you let him know you are close to being at the pool house. On Tuesdays he had swim meet, deciding to stay behind to get some extra practice. You both decided to meet up and head to the library from there together.

“Hey San..I’m here!” You announce stepping into the pool area, clutching your bag strap with extra pep in your step as you walk closer before coming to a complete stop. The pool was a crimson color, the smell of chlorine, and iron filled your nose. Your body does a noticeable shiver, before you can step forward a gnawing feeling in your stomach stops you.

“San!” You call out, refusing to move from your spot. Your feet move before your body can comprehend what’s going on. Your back brushes the knob of the door, fully turning around to book it out of there. You frantically pull out your phone, dialing San when you hear his phone go off in the room you are in. Deciding to leave you hear a soft splash. Your hand frozen on the knob of the door, your brain is fighting your heart. Your brain is telling you to leave, be logical, that your fight or flight isn’t kicking in for nothing, while your heart tells you to turn around that it could be your San swimming in the pool playing a joke on you.

“Go on…turn around.” A timber voice whispers in your ear. Your body freezes in place, your eyes fill with tears. Your mascara smudging slightly, you turn your head to the side, watching as Sans phone floats at the top of the water, the small waves carrying the phone around the top. You feel a cold breath on your neck. Pushing the door you book it out of the building, your feet fuel your body, taking you the one place you always feel safe. Yeosangs dorm.

~

Your hands fly to your keys grabbing the spare key he had given you, with trembling hands, and eyes filled with tears you go to unlock his door, just as the door flies open you fall forward into his chest. Clutching the material of his damp shirt, you let out a choked sob. His cool hands come to hold the back of your shirt, removing the bag off of your arm, letting it smack the floor with a loud thud.

“Yeo-Yeo…San he wasn’t in the swimming pool bu-but..” you are cut off by Yeosang shushing you, grabbing you tighter. Your head on his chest, usually it was so warm but his chest is freezing cold, the damp material aiding in the temperate. You listen closely, as his heartbeat sounded like an angel playing the harp, it always has such a steady rhythm to it, like it was tuned by God himself but you heard nothing. It was almost like he was hollowed out. The same goosebumps you felt in the pool area, the uneasiness is the same feeling you have now. Your stomach is in a knot, biting your lip you don’t dare to look up at the man before you. Wanting to put space between both of you, you push him back slightly, eyes glued to the ground. The wet spot around Yeosangs feet make you wanna hurl.

“You're not my Yeosang are you?” You whisper quietly, the security you once had felt with him was slowly dying. Letting out a loud laugh he pulls a lighter from his pocket, pulling a cigarette from thin air, he lights it huffing in the smoke. Letting the smoke invade his lungs, letting out the smoke, blowing it from his nostrils. Pink moist tongue flickering over his bottom lip, a smile graced his face. The devil truly dressed as an angel.

“Now what gave you that idea?” He says matter of factly. Taking the lit cigarette and putting it out on his tongue. An even deeper smile gracing his face, a smile that could fool any man or woman. Your eyes grow large at the sight in front of you. Your hands come up to slap the cigarette out of his hand, the burn mark on his tongue glowing with redness.

“What is wrong with you?!” You shout.

His eyes that once shone with such light, dimmed to a dark room. This was not your Yeosang, nor who you knew at all.

“You know..” he says, taking small, slow steps towards you. Caging you in like you were a helpless animal who got caught in a weevable web. His slow but precise movements reminded you of a predator. Cold fingers coming out to dance along your jaw.

“I can count on my hands how many times you saying my name has brought me much joy..” he groans out, letting a smile creep on his face.

“I also could probably count on Hongjoongs hands, Wooyoungs hands, and Sans hands as well.”

Your heart falls into your stomach. Hongjoong the art major that had suddenly vanished out of thin air, assuming he had dropped out. As he steps closer you get closer to the door, with a flick of his wrist it locks. The temperature in the room changes drastically, it feels like winter has blown through the room. Skin breaking out in goosebumps, your eyes remain locked on Yeosangs dead eyes.

“What did you do to Woo? What did you to do San?” You semi shout, immediately shushing you he steps closer. His cold body radiating as much coolness as it can.

“Use that pretty head of yours.” He whispers into your ear, sounding like the voice in the swim area. Your eyes refuse to look at him locking on to the bag that belonged to San sitting alone in the corner of Yeosangs dorm, right next to Wooyoungs wallet.

Your eyes begin to swell with tears, shaky hands come up to lightly push Yeosang, barely moving an inch his cold hands come to rest on your waist. Your hands ball into fist pushing him harder than before. With his feet cemented in the ground he barely moves once again. Your tears pour over, streaming down your face a small choked sobbed leaves your throat.

“I hate you…I promise I do.” You say through shedded tears. Your heart breaks with each shove you give him. Knowing this isn’t your Yeosang, that this…this…thing was responsible for the disappearance of Hongjoong, Woo, and San.

“Get away from me.” You sob, trying to shove him harder, his hands steady at your waist while continuing to sob and break down. Your sorrow fills the air, and fueling Yeosangs need for you.

“Hey hey hey…” he whispers, pulling your body close to his, palming your head so you would place it across his chest.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers while kissing the top of your head. Arms wrapping around your body, so easily you fall victim to his siren-like voice. Your head immediately falls against his chest, arms tired of shoving and pushing him.

“You could have anyone you want Yeosang, why them? Why me? How could you do this to me.?” You say above a whisper. Head flat against his cold, beatless chest. His hand comes to brush your lower back, providing you comfort before he cocks his head back, head butting you with ease. Your body knocking out instanously, slumping against the floor. Letting out a small groan of satisfaction, he grabs you from the floor placing you onto his mattress.

Cracking his neck before he walks over to his bathroom to grab some supplies to clean you up. An empty face with each movement, yet on the inside he’s beaming with excitement. He can’t wait to dress you up, after all you are his doll.

~

“Yeo-Yeosang you don’t ha-.” Your sentence gets cut off by quickly wrapping a hand around your throat, the pressure making you let out a small gasp. He moved with such precision you didn’t even have time to process what kind of predicament you were exactly in.

“Good dolls don’t talk, they just act and do as they are told. Okay?” He says almost mockingly. All common sense leaves your mind, you are on the equivalent of being brain dead. Nodding your head slowly, your movements are restricted as his hand still sits on your throat. Removing his hand, you notice his veins are bulging, practically ripping from under his smooth skin.

“Look at you..” he coos, taking a step back to admire the work he has done. Your skin flawlessly smooth due to the foundation, eyes wide and doe like. His eyes twinkle with amazement, your dress that poofs at your mid section, cinching off your waist. Your breathing picks up pace, he’s studying your every move, you are trapped in a lion's den during feeding time.

Your eyes are locked into his face, refusing to look elsewhere. Hands nearly folded in your lap, back stiff, and sitting up right, just the way he wants his perfect doll. Placing the makeup brushes down, his empty eyes study you. Every breath you take, he watches as your chest rises and falls. Each time you blink he watches as your long eyelashes brush against your eyelids, the dried mascara not smudging on the skin. Biting his lip he can’t help but contain his smile. Your obedience fed his hunger.

“Look at my beautiful doll…” he answers to himself, eyes void of any light yet they speak more words than his mouth ever could. Coming close he tugs on one of the small bows on the shoulders of the dress, rubbing the soft material between his fingers. The chill that wafts off his body smacks you in the face full force.

Squishing your cheeks together, you look up at him with big eyes. The lovable and caring Yeosang was no more. His eyes twinkled with a dark lust. How could one not get lost in his eyes, the man you once knew was completely gone.

Lowering his head, nose brushing against your pulse. The soft fabric of the dress tickles his nose. He lets out a small groan. His hand that was still currently squishing your cheeks trembles slightly, grip faltering only for a second.

“You smell..” he takes another deep whiff of your scent in..

“So delicious, almost like I could eat you up.” He finishes his sentence off with a low growl. Sharp nails continue to pinch into your skin. Your eyes never leave the side of his face that’s currently being occupied by your neck.

“Wanna know a little secret?” He says, ending with a snicker.

“This pretty dress…” running his hands softly over the fabric that layered with ruffles.

“San actually bought you this dress.” Your heart comes to a screeching halt, tears swelling in your eyes. A small laugh leaves his mouth, face shriveled up in anger you pucker your lips and spit at him, the salvia hitting the side of his face. Your eyes grow big, your hand slowly coming up to cover your mouth in shock, smudging the lipstick as so. Not believing you just spit at him. Letting out a loud, breathy moan. He grabs his hard on that’s straining through his pants.

Wiping the spit off he puts some of it on his thumb sucking the warm liquid.

“Should’ve seen his face he cried out for you, ya know? His last thoughts were of you.” Ending his sentence with a snarl, his hand shooting out to grab your face. The veins are practically popping out of his skin, the red birthmark by his eye is glowing red. Yeosang is seething with the need to put you in your place once more.

“You know I don’t know why you let him come between us..” he whispers, face getting closer to yours. His eyes bore into yours snatching your soul and holding it within the palm of his hands. You were dancing in a circle with the devil. A heat rushes to your core, with every word he speaks it's almost as if you are diving head first into temptation.

“Then in the same breath I can almost say I see why he cried out for you..a sweet thing like you? Oh my…” his hands rested on your knees, the cool sensation of his skin mixing with your warmth made you break out into goosebumps.

“The jealousy he must’ve felt seeing how close we are…I wonder how many times he had your pretty ass bent over for him.” Voice like velvet yet the filthy words that were leaving his mouth were anything but silky.

“Always made me wonder if you liked it rough or soft…or maybe in between?” Bringing his face closer to yours his cool hands begin to hike under your dress. Your eye makeup creases as your eyes grow bigger with size, a heat spreads across your chest clearly embarrassed by how turned on you were by him mocking you and San. That guilty feeling you once had flees your body.

“Did you spit on his cock the way you spit on me?” He whispers against your lips, the cool plushness brushing against your lipstick, making your breath hitch. A small whimper leaves your throat. Refusing to break eye contact with him you continue to stare off into the empty pools of his eyes, doing laps in them.

“I’m not going to lie…I was almost a bit jealous, I can’t imagine having this wet of a cunt wrapped around anyone else’s cock but my own.” Cold fingers dance along the outside of your tights, pushing his fingers into the material he can feel the wetness of your cunt soak through the multiple layers of clothing you're wearing. Rubbing his thumb over your wet lips pussy lips, letting his thumb soak with your slick arousal, pushing further into the fabric letting the material get caught between your lips, his cool thumb brushes your clit, making your eyes slightly flutter.

“If you say pretty please, I might just give your little cunt some attention.” Yeosang coos at you, slapping your clothed cunt over, and over. Working your body up til it was on edge, his eyes never lost sight of you, watching your body twitch and move with each slap, letting his sharp nail cut the fabric of your tights so he had full access to your pussy. He pushes a thumb right against your throbbing clit, your skin heated with each slap making the skin on your cunt slightly swell.

Biting your lip you divert your eyes to the floor, not wanting to look at him as you beg for him to give you what you want. Standing back he rids himself of every piece of clothing, making his way slowly towards your fully dressed body. Pulling your dress down so your breast pops out. Letting out a breathy sigh, lowering himself he nips at the tender skin on your chest. Letting out a small mewl you can’t help but fist the sheets below you. Trying to remain as perfectly still you can’t help but stir in pleasure. His heavy cock brushing your thighs comes to a slow hault. Engulfing his hands with your left breast, he kneads it, letting his finger tips glaze over your perked up nipple. You bite your inner cheek at the sensation, more of your arousal leaves your body. Your white tights sticking heavily to your wet lips. Flipping your dress up he thumbs at your pulsating clit.

The small amount of attention on it has you letting out a breathy moan, legs twitching in need squishing his fingers together and slowly pulling them apart to watch your arousal spread before popping them in his mouth.

“Fuckkk” he sighs out at the taste of you, pushing your body back, flipping your dress up so your covered lower half was to his sight, stretching the hole he had made into your tights a bit bigger. Gripping his cock he slides it between your pussy lips, coating it in your warm juices before sliding in slowly, with each inch he gives you, the air is being knocked out of your lungs. Your cunt stretches to accommodate his size. His strokes start out slow, and deep. Letting you feel each vein that danced along his cock, choking on your saliva, your hands fist the sheets below you. Trying to grip onto reality as swiftly as possible, it’s almost like he has you underneath his own spell.

“Should’ve seen the way he was begging.” He said through a moan, continuing to deep stroke into your cunt. Your juices spread between your thighs as your back arches off of the bed.

“It was so pathetic.” He grits out.

“Now look, his girl is crying on my cock. Am I fucking your good baby?” Biting his lip, he brings his hips back, slamming them into you again. Your nails scratching down his bare chest.

“Sh-shut up.” You say in a breathless moan. With each stroke of his hips you feel the wind being knocked out of you. Your eyes filled with warm tears that are streaming down your face, you feel so dirty, so disgusting like this was all wrong but if sin was so bad, why does it feel so right?

“Or what?” He questions before letting your throat go. Thumb hooked in your mouth, soft lips wrapping around his cold thumb. Your immediate obedience sets him off. Pulling his thumb from your mouth he flips you over. Pulling your hips so your ass is arched in the air. The ruffles from the baby doll dress hike up, leaving the hole in your tights exposing your wet cunt to him. Snaking an arm under your left breast he grips your throat from the underside. Pushing his throbbing cock back into you, immediately hitting your spongy spot with the new position. Letting out a loud gasp your head begins to fall forward, squeezing your neck he pulls out before slamming you back on his cock. A loud cry leaving your throat, eyes immediately rolling back.

“Fuc-fuck! Yeosang please.” You cry out, letting his body weight on top of you, he continues to rag doll you up and down his cock. Your hands fly to his strong hand around your throat. Mouth agape as he continues to slide in between your warm, wet sticky walls.

“Tell me you love this dick.” He groans into your ear, with a big smile right across his lips. His other hand comes down to crack the meat of your ass watching it jiggle with each movement. Letting out a loud sob, you begin to drool on his arm, his thick cool cock contrasting your warm wet walls was so blissful, repeatedly he kept pushing your spot, which each hike up the bed your hands squeezed tighter around his arm. Fully wrapping you in a headlock, he drops even more of his body weight on top of you. Practically laying flat against your back.

“I love it Yeosang!” You cry out, drool running down his cool forearm. The speed in his hips picks up, his wet pelvis slamming against the meat of your ass, hiking your body up the bed with each stroke. The headboard of the bed slamming against the wall leaving indentations on it.

“You love this dick?”

“Yes!”

“Say it.” Locking his arm around your neck tighter, he begins to cut off some of the air flow. Your head begins to buzz with delight, toes curling as you are on the brink of an orgasm.

“I fucking love your dick Yeosang.” You practically scream out.

Putting you in a full head lock, he snatches you off the bed pushing your body against the door. Nipples coming into contact with the cool surface causing them to pebble up. Putting his arm back around your throat placing you in a headlock once more. His weight crushes you against the door, his other hand aids in pumping you up and down his cock. Your nails leave crescent like marks in his skin, small red marks litter random areas all over him.

“Yeaaa you love this dick. I know you do.” He grunts into your ear. Letting his arm loosen up, he wraps a hand around your throat, tilting your head back so he can kiss you. Both of your tongues dance in a heated session. Your drool is getting all over his chin. Teeth clink against each other as the fight for dominance is at an all time high. His hips pick up speed making you drop your jaw and let out a breathy moan into his mouth. Your lipstick smears all over his skin.

“Tell me you love it.” He groans into your mouth, hot breath being exchanged between you both. Your eyes flood with need, with desire, with want.

“I fucking love it Yeosang.” You pant into his mouth, his hand around your throat squeezes a bit tighter. You both lock eyes, the squelching noise from him sliding in and out of your cunt clouds the room. Your toes begin to curl once more.

“You gonna to be a good doll and take it?” His empty eyes continue to set a flame to yours. As your own orgasm is on the brink your toes begin to curl even harder. Your eyes begin to flutter, trying your best to remain focused on his gaze. You let out a small squeak when he grabs your throat tighter, practically lifting you off the ground. Pushing you harder against the door both his hands come up to your breast. Using them as an anchor to hike you up and down kiss throbbing member. Your feet are barely on the ground, your hands cover his own that are kneading your breast with each stroke he gives you.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You chant religiously like a prayer that Yeosang will answer to. Your foundation leaves streaks against the door due to your face being squished against the cool wood. Your eyes begin to roll back, nails cutting into the material on the door, your jaw unhinges and with one final stroke you are soaking his lower belly with your juices. Squirting so hard it nearly pushes his cock out of you, letting out a soaring scream of Yeosangs name, he continues to plow through your juices letting them soak his skin with the slick fluid. His hips slow in speed making sure to hit into you even deeper. His slow strokes are nearing the edge for him. Hands soon firmly grasped around your breast. Coming down from your high you blink the tears out of your eyes, pressing your head against the wood. He slowly lets you slide down the door til your feet hit the ground. Slowly easing his member out of your swollen pussy, he kneels down, hiking your leg up. Head fully under your dress, running his nose over your swollen and red clit. He flicks his tongue collecting the juices that run down your plush thighs. Letting out a small, satisfying groan at your juices dancing on his tongue. You try to push his head away with your hand, snatching your hand and pinning it to the door, he collects some of your juices again. Standing up, he tilts your head back spitting the liquid on your mouth, while you let the flavor of you both dance on your tongue he pushes his wet cock between your thighs, the head of his member brushing against your clit making you whimper. Grabbing your hand he brings it to his stiff cock, making him groan when you wrap your warm hand around him.

“Be a good girl and make daddy cum. If you do it right, I may just let you live.” He sing songs in your ear. What he says goes in one ear, and out the other. Your post orgasm brain is straight mush. Dropping to your knees you open your mouth, flattening your tongue out for him. Sliding his wet cock onto your warm tongue, coating it in salvia. He pets the top of your head before bending down, back arching outwards.

“Wanna know a secret?” He whispers, pulling you off his cock so he can brush his lips flat against your lips. Your eyes bore up at him, mascara smudged, lipstick all over your face, foundation coming off in patches. Running a thumb over your cheek he hooks two fingers into the bottom of your mouth prying open your jaw.

“This was the same exact sight San saw before I killed him.” He whispers on your lips before breaking out into an eerie smile. Head butting you once more, body immediately thumping to the floor. That eerie smile never leaves his face. Yeosang was ready to have his final meal of the day, you.

Taglist: @mingisprincesss @sanhwalvr @walkingtravesty97 @crazylittlebisexual @sheilogreen @ateezmakesmehappy @miyaluvvsyou @wisejudgedragonhairdo @star-wingz @ririnnie @ihaveaproblem98 @raindropsondragons @hongjoongsprincess @radskaddattle @suzukialice16 @a-tiny-thing @arilevenatz @multistanisms @demonlineswhore @dij-ology @yyaurii @sousydive @itza-meee @ana-stasssiaaa @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @yunyunrin @jjoongstar @kyeos4ng @peach-bearies @bitchwhytho @spooo00oky @hey-im-charisma @tearfulsparks78 @metalheadatiny @apriecotte @aurorajoye @lola-horore-553 @ayoo-bangtan @acetruepunk @tajannah-price1 @seungminsfavoritegirlll

Divider and Gif @justaaveragereader

DO NOT REPOST.

[nishirikiluv]

Twisted Love

Facing Reality

pairings: yandere!jay x reader

chapter warnings: fear, drugging, kidnapping, threatening, restraints, noncon, choking, slapping, oral (f recieving), fingering, protected sex, multiple orgasms, Jay gets kinda mean at one point, please lmk if I've missed anything (also not proofread so.. if theres mistakes, look past it...)

a/n: took me long enough to post chapter 2... i don't know when i'll post chapter 3 but i'll try not to take as long as i did with this one

taglist: @bbyinthehouse

masterlist | previous | chapter 2 | next

It had been about 2 weeks since you had that first awful dream about Jay. It would've been fine if it was a one time thing. But it wasn't. Every night you'd have the same dream. The details were a little different each time, but for the most part it was the same. It didn't make sense that they were dreams when they felt so real. Luckily, Jay seemed much different at work recently.

He joined your group's project at like he'd told you before, but he was acting so normal? He was the same man that chased you into the elevator, right? Regardless, it's relieving that he hadn't been acting that way anymore. Every interaction was strictly professional and work related, which relieved all the prior tension you had about the whole idea of having him in your group.

It was the end of the final meeting your group had for this project. One of the girls suggested you all go out for dinner together to celebrate. Everyone seemed excited so you felt awkward to decline going with them. Jay had a blank look on his face but still agreed to going. Something felt off, he usually wasn't very expressive but right now it felt different. You brushed it off deciding not to dwell on it too much.

Somehow you ended up in Jay's car on the way to the restaurant. The silence was deafening. You tried to get into someone else's car, or even just uber or walk but he insisted he drive you. He cleared his throat suddenly, making you jump in your seat. "We're here."

The two of you walked into the restaurant together, the rest of your co-workers waved you over. The dinner was nice, it felt relieving to just laugh and eat and drink with people.

Towards the end of the night you excused yourself to take a phone call, Jay's eyes couldn't seem to leave your figure as you walked away.

You finished the call shortly, only to be met by Jay right when you turned around. You were startled when he walked closer to you, backing you against a wall. Feels familiar. "Who was that?" The tone in his voice sent chills down your spine. "I-It was my broth-" He cut you off, not bothering to listen to your reply. He grabbed your face, his hand maneuvering your head, as if inspecting you. "You look like you haven't been sleeping well... is something... bothering you?" Obviously you weren't going to tell him about the dreams. You were so busy trying to think of an excuse that you missed the dark look in his eye. "No I just... stayed up late, working..."

He released his grip on your face, patting your shoulder. "You should be catching up on sleep then since today was our final day working on the project." I nodded in agreement. "Yeah... hopefully I can." He hummed in reply, his hand moving down to gently rub your arm. "Will you need a ride home today?" You had a bad feeling about the way he asked, instantly declining. "No!" You yelled without thinking, making him raise a brow. "No.. sorry, I just- I live close so... it's not necessary." He chuckled at the panic in your voice, "If you say so..."

You arrived home, tossing your purse aside, along with your shoes and coat. You decided a shower was necessary so you gathered your things and headed to the bathroom. For some reason you felt the need to lock the door behind you, even though you live alone.

You stepped into the shower and instantly the warm water relaxed you, easing all the strain in your body.

A sudden thud outside the bathroom door broke you from your calmness. You shut off the water, quickly hopping out of the shower and dressing yourself. You heard the thud again, your hand hovering shakily over the doorknob. Did you really want to go see who or what that was? No. But you had to since it is your apartment. You unlocked the door only to find no one there. You checked every inch of your apartment finding nothing.

You plopped down on your bed with a sigh, holding your head in your hands. Is this was going insane felt like?

A clinking sound came from the kitchen right as you were about to lay down. "Didn't I just check in there..." you mumbled to yourself, getting up and slowly walking back over. Your eyes landed on a glass of water sitting on the counter. That wasn't there before. You walked up to it, lifting and inspecting the glass.

An arm wrapped around your waist, a knife coming up to your throat. You felt your blood run cold when a voice spoke. "Drink it." You trembled in his hold, "I-I don't want to..." He pressed the knife against your neck, the sharp end digging in slightly. Your soft whimper of pain made him sigh. The cut was only deep enough to draw a bit of blood. His intentions were to scare you, not kill you. "I wasn't asking. Drink it." The sharp pain left you in panic and you quickly picked up the glass with shaky hands, gulping it down as fast as you could. After a few seconds he felt your body go limp in his hold.

Your eyes fluttered open and you found yourself in an unfamiliar place. It wasn't the usual dark room with white walls, you were sat in a bed with dim lights illuminating the room. Your arms were tied above your head to the bedframe by red ribbons. This dream is weirder than usual.

You watch the doorknob turn, revealing Jay. "My love, you're awake." He sit's on the edge of the bed next to you, caressing your cheek. He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip as he admires the sight of you. "You look so beautiful like this... tied up... in my bed. Do you like the pretty ribbons I used? I thought they'd look great on you." He traced his fingers over the ribbons tied to your wrists.

"When is this going to stop..." You were saying it more to yourself rather than to him. His face twisted into a sinister smile. "When is what going to stop?" You shifted uncomfortably, refusing to make eye contact with him. "These weird dreams..." His loud laugh echoed in the small room, causing you to jump slightly. "My love, this isn't a dream. How cute of you. It never has been."

"What...? Yes it was... I woke up in my room every time... and went to work..." He ran his hand down your body, letting it rest on your thigh. "That was a gift from me. I was being considerate. I knew how important that project was to you so I let you finish it, love. Now that it's over though, I get to have you."

"Y-You can't be serious-"

"I'm very serious. I would never joke around when it comes to you." He ran his hand up your thigh and it was just then that you noticed. He changed your outfit. Instead of your pajamas he dressed you in a short, all white, babydoll dress. Your eyes began to water and he could tell that if you blinked, tears would fall.

He cooed softly at your frightened state, petting your hair softly. "Don't cry, you can't be sad because you were made for me. I'm supposed to have you." He sounded so deranged, stating it so matter of factly as if that was supposed to ease your anxiousness.

Jay climbed over you, wrapping his hand around your neck and smashing his lips against yours. He squeezed your neck, causing you to gasp so that he could slide his tongue past your lips to taste every inch of your mouth. You made no effort to kiss him back, letting a few small tears slip down your cheeks. He wasn't happy with your non compliance. He pulled away to harshly slap you across the cheek, grabbing back onto your neck after. "Kiss me back before we have a fucking problem, love."

The look on his face was horrifying, it completely distraced you from the sharp sting in your cheek. He forced his lips on yours again and you, of course, kissed him back, fearful of what he might do if you didn't.

He pushed the dress up your thighs so he could squeeze the soft flesh. He parted his lips from yours, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. He burried his face in your neck, deeply inhaling your scent. Jay slid his hands up your body, stopping along the way to squeeze your breasts over the fabric of the dress. You gasped softly when he pulled at the ribbon at the top of the dress, making it come undone so that your cleavage was exposed to him. "Fuck, baby, I've waited so long to have you like this."

All the alarms in your head rung in panic. Your body was still weak from whatever he put in your water earlier but you used the strength you had left to try and kick him away, desperately tugging at the ribbons that kept you tied to the headboard. Jay pinned your legs down with his hands, his fingers digging into your thighs. "Relax. If you don't stop struggling I'll have to hurt you. You don't want that do you?"

You quickly shook your head, a soft sob falling past your lips. He smirked at the sight, letting go of your legs to hike the dress up more. "Good girl." He pulled the top of the dress down under your tits, groaning at the sight of your body. His lips latched onto your nipple, his hand pinching and teasing the other before switching sides to give each one the same treatment. You whined, small tears dripping down your cheeks while you squirmed beneath his touches.

Jay pulled away from your nipple with a 'pop' latching his mouth back onto yours. "Your mouth tastes so good, I can't wait to see how good you taste here..." His finger slid underneath the thin fabric of your lace panties, pushing it to the side. He crawled down between your legs, ignoring your cries and pleas for him to stop.

You were embarassingly wet for someone who didn't want this. He couldn't help but smirk at the sight. "Look's like you want this as much as i do." You rapidly shook your head but nothing was going to stop him now.

He immediately pressed his tongue flat against your cunt, licking in between your folds. He moaned at the taste of you, the vibration sending a jolt through your body. Your whines only encouraged him to keep going. Jay latched his mouth onto your clit, sucking hard while he slipped his index finger into you making you gasp out. He lifted his head, groaning when he felt you clench around his finger. "You're so tight Y/n... can't wait to feel you around my dick"

"No no no no- Jay p-please don't!" He clicked his tongue. "You're saying no..." he slid in a second finger, "but you're gushing around my fingers right now..." you cried out, your head falling back. Jay chuckled leaning his head back in between your legs. "Wanna see you come, baby. Go on, don't be shy."

You gasped and writhed, trying so hard to hold back your orgasm. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of making you come, you also felt appauled by the fact that your body was so turned on right now. He curled his fingers inside you, hitting the spot that had you squealing and your toes curling. "F-Fuck.." He doubled his efforts, fucking his fingers faster and harder into you. He was so desperate to see you fall apart to his hands. He began sucking on your clit again, making your legs tremble and forming the knot in your stomach. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't have held back this orgasm. You came with a cry, your body shaking while a layer of sweat coated your skin.

The sight of your high was intoxicating to him. He wished he could have it on video to watch at every hour of the day. The way your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth hung open, your chest heaving with every little gasp and moan. He swore he could've come at just the sight alone.

He continued sucking and licking at your folds, making you whimper from overstimulation. When he pulled away you could see the remanings of your arousal on his lips and chin and you felt ashamed of yourself. He, however, was very pleased.

He wasted no time, unbuckling his belt and yanking his pants and boxers down, tossing everything on the floor. He made sure to slip on a condom and before you could fully catch your breath, or even register what he was doing, he plunged his length into you, splitting you in half. A pained moan left your lips as he thrusted relentlessly into you. He pulled your legs over his shoulders to get a better angle.

He could tell you were in pain so he rubbed your swollen clit, quickly turning all that pain into pleasure. You began to wet around him embarassingly fast. "You're disgusting, getting off on being used by the man that kidnapped you." His words ripped a sob from you. The sight of your tears made him groan and twitch inside of you. He picked up the pace, slamming into you so hard that your body moved up on the bed with each thrust.

The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping, bed creaking, and the wet noises coming from your arousal. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss, swallowing all your cries and moans. His lips trailed down to your neck, sucking and biting at your sensitive skin. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling your head back to give him better access. Jay lifted his head to watch the way your tits bounced as he slammes into you. He moaned at the view, cursing under his breath. He was close. But he didn't want to come yet.

He started to pinch and roll your clit in his fingers, wanting you to come again before he did. The sounds you made brought him so close to the edge and it took everything in him to hold back. He felt you clench around him and he used all his force to slam into just the right spot. "Come. Come on my dick." Your soft pants and gasps quickened as your orgasm approached quickly. Your orgasm ripped through you with an intensity that had your body going limp. Weak cries left your lips as your body convulsed from the white hot pleasure.

He thrusted harshly into your limp body, coming shortly after with your name on his lips. He continued moving inside you until he physically couldn't take it anymore, slipping his softened dick out and laying on his side next to you.

He admired your weak form, the way you'd already knocked out. He caressed your cheek softly, a contrast to his dark and possesive gaze. He pressed a kiss to your lips.

"Sleep well, my love. Tomorrow, all you're going to see is red."

[hungharrington]

i’m almost 22 and have never even kissed a boy (which i’m chronically insecure about). it’s made me feel very nervous regarding intimacy or “doing it wrong”. i feel like steve would be great coach and reassure the reader it’s okay and that they’re doing great. nothing to embarrassed about. (my soul needs this so bad)

hi honey !! i think you r so right & steve would be the perfect guy to give all the assurances <3 i hope u know that kisses don’t matter too much til they’re with someone you’re rlly sweet on so i wouldn’t sweat it angel x this one is sfw! wowzer!

You’re on your couch and in Steve’s lap and worried about just about everything. 

Steve’s being sweet about it, his hands resting gently on either side of your waist, his thumbs swiping up and down to comfort you. He’s watching you closely, unaware he’s just taken your first, second, and third ever kisses. How could he know? you think, on the side of insecurity— it seems everybody else your age has already kissed someone. 

“You okay?” He asks, hazel eyes tracing over the soft features of your face. He loves your nose and the shape of your bottom lip— strange things to like perhaps, but Steve doesn’t care. 

You nod but don’t say anything. The motion is a bit jerky. Your hands are planted on his shoulders, holding them probably a bit too tight. Exhaling a breath, you nod again and pretend the fondness in his gaze isn’t making you shy.

“Yeah,” you finally speak, voice smaller than you intend. “Just- just wanna like—“ you swallow, eyes darting to the ceiling for a moment, if only to avoid his intense eyes. “I wanna get this right.” 

A car engine drones by outside in the dusky evening. Steve gives a little chuckle and his hands on your waist tug forward, pulling your attention down and your body an inch closer to his. It’s warm— every part of him is glowing warm. 

“I don’t think there’s any way you can get this wrong,” He admits, awfully sincere about it. 

It’s the truth. Steve likes you a lot. You could probably bite his lip too hard and make it bleed and he’d still find it pleasant. You have that effect on him. 

You don’t know that though. So, every stress seems very, very real. Are you kissing firm enough? Too firm? God, are your lips too dry? 

Your tongue flicks out to wet them, your hands giving his shoulders a nervous, minuscule squeeze. In your chest, your heart is torn between rabbiting in its anxiety or shrivelling in insecurity. 

“I mean,” you laugh a little, if only to cover your embarrassment. You duck your head to avoid his face, murmuring, “If there is, I’m sure I’ll find it. I haven’t, uh, exactly done this… too much.”

“That’s fine,” Steve says instantly. His warm, large hands give a tender squish on your waist, before sliding up and around to curl snugly around your body. He sits up a little straighter, his nose nudging against yours. 

“No, Steve,” you say, cheeks a touch heated. You count his eyelashes so you can avoid his eyes, you voice dropping volume towards the end of your sentence. “I mean, like… like ever.” 

Surprise flashes in his eyes for only a moment. His gaze darts down to your lips quickly but then he’s smiling, nudging closer, and stealing a quick kiss off your lips. Now he’s taken your fourth kiss too. 

You flush, something warm pinging its way up your spine. 

“That’s okay,” He murmurs, sounding like he really means it. 

“It is?” 

“It’s great. You’re great.” He kisses you again—your fifth— so sweet it tastes like sugar on your lips, his arms around you pulling you in closer. You drown in it, enamoured by how it feels to have his lips against yours. God, he makes you dizzy. 

Steve breaks the kiss but stays close, his arms pulling you closer still so you’re straddling him properly. He’s warm, so warm— and so freakin’ nice to you. 

“You don’t find it weird?” You can’t help but whisper. Your eyes crush closed, unable to face him. 

“Weird?” Steve echoes. “Are you kidding me? It’ll take more than that to freak me out.” 

One of his hands shifts up, moving up off your waist to cradle your jaw gently in his large palm. He peppers a string of kisses along your cheek and jaw, beginning to suck a sweet spot beneath your ear. Your hips shift before you realising, subtly grinding down into his. Flames begin to burn in your stomach. 

“It’s—I mean it’s kind of, like, a little embarrassing, don’t you think?” You continue, voice a little breathier than before. You’re not sure what you’re trying to convince of him of— you certainly don’t want him to stop. 

Steve’s lips brush over the barely forming bruise on your skin and your breath hitches. 

“Are you feeling embarrassed?” 

One slow kiss against your neck, his plush lips accompanied by the heat of his tongue. You squirm in his lap but don’t answer, fearful of being too truthful. You are and you aren’t. He isn’t making you embarrassed but you are, just a little. 

Your silence makes Steve pause, digging his face out of your neck to meet your eyes. “Hey. You shouldn’t be embarrassed- if you are for some other reason, we can— we can like stop—“ 

“No.” You cut in, God, now you’re seriously giving him the wrong idea. “No, oh my god, I sound so stupid- it’s not you— Steve—“ 

He cuts you off with another kiss, your sixth, and steals your runaway thoughts. It blissfully chases away your nerves for just a moment. 

“Great.” He smiles against your mouth, giving another squeeze of your waist. “Cos you don’t need to be.” He kisses your mouth again, seven. “All you need to be is enjoying yourself, okay? 

You like the sound of that— adore the way he’s so seamlessly finds the thing that sets your nerves alight and soothes it so easily. You whisper back, “Okay,” and gift him your eighth kiss, sweet and fierce. 

[violetszone]

Hurtful Dependant

Charles x fem!reader

From this request

Summary: You have been in a relationship with Charles for a long time and you were engaged.You were always getting bad comments like other wags but receiving threats and scary letters was starting to scare you. You didn't mention these to Charles, and you didn't expect to come face to face with the person who sent you these threats at the Monaco race.

WARNINGS: knife, stalker, violance,blood etc. not edited.

A/N: I'm sorry for the logical error I was in physiology class when I wrote this.

You never imagined that your fiancé being a famous F1 driver would cause anything to happen to you.You have been in a relationship with Charles for a long time and recently got engaged, but for a while now, Charles' fans started to cross borders.Gathering in front of Charles' house and waiting for him was the most uncomfortable thing they'd ever done, or so you thought.

When you started dating Charles three years ago, you initially received both bad and good comments, like every other wag, but with Charles' help, you learned not to care about them.After you got engaged, everything suddenly started to get scary. First, you started receiving threats from unknown accounts on Instagram. But you didn't mention these to Charles so as not to escalate the situation and they stopped doing this.

Everything went well for a few months. When Charles left for the races after the winter break, you were left alone at home and scary letters started arriving at your house, along with a few photos of you leaving work or doing something else outside.This was getting really scary, but this time you didn't say anything because you didn't want to worry Charles while he was away.

When it was time for the Monaco race, Charles had finally returned home and you were relieved. You missed your fiancée very much and you felt like you could take your mind off these terrible things. You spent time with Charles before the Monaco race you both took time to relax and satisfy your longing.

You were going to watch the Monaco race with Charles. Charles got up early in the morning and went out. You were preparing breakfast for you. When you received a message on your phone, you smiled, thinking it was from Charles. You looked at your phone. It was from an unknown number and it said, "Watch your back." And there was a photo just taken of you. This made you nervous again, even though you tried not to show it to Charles when he came, you felt terrible.

You went to the paddock for the race, everything was fine, but you still had a bad feelingYou felt as if someone was following you, and you even turned and looked behind you from time to time. Monaco was an important race and you decided to tell Charles what happened after the race. You spent time together in the Ferrari hospitality and garage until the race.Even though the race was tense, Charles came in second. When he got out of the car, he first hugged the team and you, then said he was going to the cooling room.

There were a few minutes until they got to the podium, so you started to go to the front with everyone else, but someone whose face you couldn't see in the crowd grabbed you and said that Charles called you and that it was urgent. At that moment, without thinking, you went to where he said, a little outside the paddock, and you had no chance of reaching anyone because he didn't have his phone with you. As you were walking in the dark, you saw someone far away.

"Charles? What's the problem? What are you doing there?" I called out to the person in the distance First a laugh was heard, then a woman's voice sent a shiver down my spine. "How naive you are. I warned you so many times that if you had listened to me none of this would have had to happen." While you were stepping back in fear, she started walking towards you from the darkness.

"what do you want from me? Isn't what you've been doing for a few months enough?" When I heard the podium music from afar, I looked there and when I looked in front of me again, the girl was in front of me now. "No it's not enough. You are the only reason I can't reach him, you are the biggest obstacle, and as if that wasn't enough, you got engaged to him" her voice scratched my ear.

"you are crazy" While she was laughing again, I hit my back against the wall, I had no place left to escape She came closer and suddenly wrapped her hand around my throat and started squeezing, "You made me crazy.If you didn't exist Charles would be mine but don't worry I will solve this quickly" I couldn't breathe but I started struggling. The girl was stronger than me. When I kicked her leg, she retreated a little and punched me in the face. I fell to the ground.

When you could breathe again, you started coughing.You tried to get up from the ground but you fell so hard and it hurt, this time she kicked you and took a knife out of her pocket. "don't make my job difficult" She spoke melodiously. When I saw the knife, I started to crawl backwards "Please don't do it, are you crazy? If you kill me, you will go to jail. And if you hurt me Charles will never look at you anyway" My words made her even more angry.

She leaned down next to me, held my face with one hand, and slowly rubbed the knife in her hand against my face, leaving a small cut. I sighed in pain, but I couldn't move because if I struggled, she would pierce my face with knife.While the sounds of celebration were coming from the side of the podium again, we both looked in that direction.You took her distraction as an opportunity and got up from the ground and started running towards the paddock. When you fell to the ground, you hurt your arm and leg, so it was hurting and it was slowing you down. You could feel blood coming out of the cut on your face, you could hear the girl running after you.

As you were entering the paddock, you felt a sudden pain in your leg, screamed and fell to the ground. When you looked at your leg, you saw that she threw the knife at your leg and there was a huge cut, but because you screamed, a few guards around looked at where you fell to the ground. This time, you had no strength left to get up from the ground. While the guards were coming to you, you heard the girl running away.

You were semi-conscious  from pain and shock while the guards were helping you.What you don't know is that Charles was worried and scared when he didn't see you when he got to the podium. As soon as the podium was over, he asked everyone about you and looked around for you. While he was looking for you, he saw the guard carrying you towards the emergency room at the entrance of the paddock and ran there.

When you opened your eyes, Charles was next to you, holding your hand. You squinted your eyes because of the light. His voice was mixed with anger. "Who did this to you, Y/N? Why didn't you say anything to me my love?" You shook his hand tiredly "I didn't want to worry you, at first I thought it was a normal fan, you know.but later-" You didn't want to continue. Charles looked at you with worry while stroking your hair.

"I should have known, Y/N, what if something had happened to you, you should have told me baby" Charles got up from his seat and hugged you. "I am sorry" you said in a weak voice. "No, I'm sorry, I should have protected you." You shook your head no. You spent time there for a while, you were better as they looked at your wounds.

A few days later Charles released a statement and everyone was surprised but very angry at the person who did this.Even though it took a long time for you to heal, it was nothing serious. Still, Charles did not leave your side and immediately informed someone to find the person who did this to you. Even if something bad happened to you, having a caring fiancé next to you helped you recover quickly.And unlike the girl who did this to you, the bond between you got stronger.

[thesparkling-diamond27]

Hey, can you do a Fiyero x reader where the reader doesn't trust people much and he likes her and helps her trust people?

No One Mourns The Wicked

Fiyero Tigelaar x Reader

A/n: I had to revise this several times because I was not happy with it, so I hope you like it! I took some inspiration from scream and to all the boys I loved before, so if you know you know. I also continued with the theme of having song titles because I’ve been listening to the soundtrack 24/7 :)

It wasn’t easy to trust people. Especially after what happened a year ago. Trusting people meant to let them in and let them see the real you. It was a beautiful thing. But trusting people also made it easier for people to take advantage of you and betray you.

Before the incident it was easy to let people in. You let people in quite often because you enjoyed the concept of meeting new people and getting to know them on a personal level. Now having your walls up has become second nature and it’s hard to go back to the way things used to be. So now you keep everyone at an arms distance and only interact when necessary.

Life was fine that way. You were still very close with your family and they respected your new choice of living. But no one outside of your family gets to discover the real you.

You were actually glad when you received the news, one early morning, that Prince Fiyero Tigelaar of Winkie Country had just arrived at Shiz. You knew that everyone would be too preoccupied with him to notice you, so it was the perfect way to avoid people.

If you saw him anywhere near, you would walk the in the opposite direction in order to avoid people. And it worked. But that didn’t mean you never thought about him.

He seemed like he was fun to be around. Carefree and oblivious to the tribulations of the world, but at the same time still being aware. He would be someone you would have been friends with before what happened.

Sometimes you wish you weren’t the way you were. You wish you could just walk up to him and strike up a conversation. Younger you definitely would have been able to. Now you just sit by and watch and only imagine what it would be like to interact with Fiyero Tigelaar.

What you didn’t know was that he was intrigued by you as well and he was determined to get to know you.

—————————

You were currently in the library writing an essay for literature. It was your best subject and you always received perfect scores, but your mind wasn’t there at the moment. You knew that you would get nowhere if you kept pushing yourself, so you set your essay aside and decided to read a book.

You left your belongings where you sat and went to a nearby bookshelf near the fantasy section. You found the title of the next book from the series you were currently reading. It was pretty high up so you had to stand up on your tip toes.

Your fingers grazed the spine of the book and then suddenly a hand came from behind and grabbed the book from the shelf. You turned around and it was the man himself. The one no one could stop talking about. Fiyero Tigelaar.

This was the first time you’ve ever been in such close proximity with him. You’ve never realized that his eyes were crystal blue until now. You being the person who never interacts with people waited for him to say something first.

“You’re Y/n right?”

You nodded.

“I’ve seen you around and never properly introduced myself. I’m Fiyero Tigelaar,” He paused for dramatic effect, “of Winkie country.”

“I know.”

You plucked the book from his hand and walked back to your chair. Fiyero ran after you and stopped you from getting back to your seat.

“How come I only see you in class and rarely around campus?” He asked.

You were taken aback by his words. You didn’t even know he knew you existed let alone kept tabs on you about where you were.

“I like to keep to myself.”

You walked past him and sat back in your seat. You opened up the book and began to read the first page. Suddenly, you heard the chair across from you scrape and somebody sat down it in. Very slowly the top of your book was pushed down by a finger and you looked up to see Fiyero.

He sat there, with the chair facing the opposite direction that it should be, looking dare you say, devilishly handsome. The corner of his lips pointed upward in an endearing smile.

Younger you would have come up with some witty remark to say, but you now drew a blank at what words to choose from. Feeling like a fish out of water when interacting with others.

“You don’t talk much do you?” He pointed out.

You shook your head.

“Why is that?”

His head tilted to the side like a puppy and you wanted to point it out, but you were too afraid to.

“Because I want to.” You said.

“Because you want to. No there has to be more to it.”

“There isn’t.”

Fiyero sat there for a moment before speaking again.

“I don’t really see you interacting with other people much. It’s as if you socially isolate yourself on purpose. Why are you so antisocial?”

This guy doesn’t try to allude to anything you thought. He just says whatever pops into his brain.

“I’m not antisocial.”

Fiyero gave you a skeptical look, but then suddenly you could see the gears turning in his head, while thinking about what you just said. He leaned forward in his chair and talked quieter.

“You don’t trust people do you.”

That sentence caught you off guard. No one has ever been so blatantly blunt with you until now. Even though you keep to yourself you actually are an open book, and anyone would get to the point Fiyero is right now if they cared enough.

Even though you never voluntarily interacted with others you secretly wished that someone cared enough to get to know you. But now that you finally got what you wished for, you didn’t know what to do.

You felt like a deer caught in headlights. You can hear the answer in your head as clear as day, but putting it into the words was the issue. The words were coherent, but they became jumbled as soon as you tried to speak.

So you did what you did best. You avoided people. In this case you avoided Fiyero. You stood up and began to grab your belongings.

Fiyero’s smile began to fall from his face.

“Did I do something wrong?”

But you ignored him. You grabbed the rest of your belongings and began to speed walk towards the exit of the library, when you felt a hand grab your wrist.

You looked up at Fiyero and he had guilt written all over his face. It made you feel guilty for acting the way you did.

“If I said anything to offend you then I’m sorry. I only wanted to get to know you better. I’m sorry if my questions came off as rude. I was just nervous and I really wanted to make a first good impression and—“

You didn’t let him finish and you yanked your hand free from his hold. Without another word you walked out of the library and you didn’t look back.

You felt his eyes on your back and you could have sworn you felt his regret and disappointment all the way down the courtyard.

—————————

For the rest of the week Fiyero kept his distance from you and you were grateful for it. It’s like the way things were before, but now whenever you two came across each other he would either smile or nod at you. A way to still interact you, but not so direct and it gave you time to think about what you could possibly say to him.

You felt guilty about the way you treated him the other day and it’s been eating you alive that you caused him pain. You didn’t mean to be rude, but you just didn’t know how to explain to him why you are the way you are. It meant opening up to him. Trusting him. And that’s something that you haven’t done in a long time. You forgot how to trust anyone.

You tried to come up with different scenarios in your head on how you could confront him. But you knew deep down that you could plan on what to say, but you woundn’t know how to set your plan into motion. As of right now you had nothing

So you tried to write down your thoughts in a letter to say you’re sorry for the way you acted, but you could barely write two sentences before crumbling the paper up and throwing it in the trash. All of your drafts seemed too impersonal.

And when you weren’t trying to write an apology letter, you often thought about the last few words he said: “I was just nervous and I really wanted to make a first good impression and—“

What did he mean by that? From the outside he looked calm, cool and collected. He never gave off the impression he was nervous, so why would he be nervous with you? And why would he want to make a first good impression with you? It’s not like you are someone important.

But you tried not to dwell on it too much because you still had assignments, exams, and projects that needed to be completed and that was stressful enough.

One day after a stressful exam you decided to find solitude in your hiding place. There was a forest near campus you went to whenever you needed to clear your head or simply be alone.

Today you simply wanted to draw, something you did quite often, and you thought what would be better artistic inspiration than the forest you always go to.

You found a clearing with a pound and used a nearby rock as a seat. You began sketching the outline. You started with the lake and then moved on to make roughly shaped trees. You can get more detailed with everything once the layout is sketched out.

You found it quite peaceful to be alone and content with the only sounds being the ripples of the water and the animals and bugs in the forest. You were shading the edge of the flower you drew with a shading tool, to create a shadow, when you heard a twig snap. Your head snapped to look at the intruder and it was the last person you expected to see.

Fiyero.

All the guilt you’ve been feeling came crashing down like a tidal wave. You didn’t think you would see Fiyero right now. You thought he didn’t know this place existed. You weren’t prepared and you had no idea what to say, so you just stared at him.

Fiyero said nothing either and he took a seat on the rock next to you. You continued to stare at him as he picked a flower from the ground and began to pluck the petals off. With every other petal he said.

“She’ll talk to me.

She won’t talk to me

She’ll talk to me

She won’t talk to me.”

Finally the last petal.

“She’ll talk to me.” Fiyero said with wink.

You looked away from Fiyero and down on the ground because you didn’t want him to see your blushing face. The grass looked very interesting all of a sudden. You began to pick out the spades of grass.

“You don’t have to say anything to me right now. We can just sit in silence if you would like. But over time I want to get to know you little by little. I know I have to gain your trust, and I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to trust me.”

You looked up at him and noticed his eyes softened. You tried to read them and they gave a sense of acceptance and comfort.

He accepted the fact that it would take a while to break down the walls you built around yourself, but he’ll wait. His presence alone felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around you.

Without realizing it, tears began to well up in your eyes. Although you gave off the impression of wanting to be alone, all you along you wanted someone to approach you and put in the effort to get to know you.

You haven’t had a basic human connection in so long and you’ve longed to feel that way again. To feel like a piece of you was missing, but when you were together with that special person you felt whole. That missing piece finding its rightful place in your heart. You haven’t felt that way in a long time.

Not until now.

You felt something soft land on your hand that was to the side. It was Fiyero’s hand. He flipped your hand so that your palm was facing upwards and he interlocked your hands together.

You looked back up at Fiyero and he was already looking at you with a warm smile. It made you feel dizzy and odd in the best way possible. You felt that leap in your heart that you never thought you would feel again. It caused a tear to finally slip from your pooling eyes.

Fiyero chuckled softly before using his other hand to wipe away the stray tear from your cheek ever so gently.

“No one has ever took the time to learn more about me.” You said with a small smile.

Fiyero brought your interlocked hands to his lips and kissed the top of your hand.

“Well then let me be the first one to do so.” He said with a gentle, comfortable smile. Fiyero turned to the sketchbook that was sitting on your lap.

“What are you drawing?” He asked.

You could tell he wanted to say something more. There was something left in the air that was left unsaid. You knew what he was doing and you were grateful for it. He wanted to get to know you, but he was starting with something small, which was your sketchbook. Nothing too personal, but big enough to create an opening for something more.

You looked up at the pond in front of you and pointed at it as a way to answer Fiyero’s question. He seemed to understand. He looked between the pond and your drawing and a smile spread across his face from ear to ear.

“You are very good!” He exclaimed, “your drawing looks like an image!”

“Thank you.” You said quietly.

“You’re welcome.” Fiyero was satisfied that he got you to start talking to him. Even if they were a few words at a time. He would wait.

And he did.

—————————

Over the next few weeks Fiyero did his best to intertwine himself into your life, but without stepping on your toes too much. He was usually the one to approach you, but now you didn’t shy away and you enjoyed his company.

Most of the time the two of you sat in silence and Fiyero didn’t mind it. It was a change from the noisy and boisterous life he was used to, but he enjoyed it.

Spending time with you was like escaping from his exciting life. He always felt like he had to put on a show for others, but with you he could just be himself. He could just be plain old Fiyero. And that made him very happy.

As time went on you began to open up to him little by little the more time you spent with together. He would often acompany you in the library or your dorm room whenever you were studying or he would be following you to the forest where you would draw.

Your simple nods become smiles, and your quick words became sentences. And the other day you laughed for the first time in front of Fiyero and it was music to his ears. Day by day Fiyero began to start seeing the real you piece by piece and he was longing to know more. (At your own pace of course).

As you started to open up to him more, you began to trust him. The first person you ever trusted ever since the incident and you couldn’t help, but feel proud of yourself. With the help of Fiyero’s constant presence you were able to let someone in and that’s an accomplishment in itself in your eyes.

One day, when Fiyero and you were siting on your bed, he cautiously asked you what has been on his mind for awhile. Why do you not trust people?

You answered with, “Cause the more people you let into your life, the more that can just walk out.”

Fiyero wanted you to elaborate, but he could sense your sadness, so he didn’t push any further. However, you trusted him enough to share with him about what happened to you. Why you became the way you are. So you did.

You explained how you were dating a guy named Charlie and shortly after, out of nowhere your grandma got sick with an illness. She died within a month.

Your grandmother was like a second mother to you. She helped your parents raise you and has been by your side for all your life. Loosing her was like losing a piece of yourself. A piece that you can never gain back.

At first Charlie was understanding about your grief, but then over time he grew bored with you. He felt like you were being a prude for not giving him what he desired from you and you tried to explain to him that that was the furthest thing from your mind (you were still grieving), but he didn’t listen.

So he turned to someone who would give him what he wanted. Your best friend.

To say you were heartbroken was an understatement. The one person you thought you could trust the most in the world betrayed you in the worst way possible with your best friend, another person you trusted. Your heart was broken in more ways than one and there was no way to heal the opened wound.

You could barely grieve for your grandmother when your heart was split in two from the cheating and the break up. You couldn’t bear to feel anymore pain, so you began to block people out.

It was easier to dull the pain when the people who caused it weren’t it, so to prevent it from ever happening again, you made sure no one else was in your life.

Fiyero listened whole heartedly to every word that left your lips and processed what was being said. He felt immense anger towards your ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend. How could they do that to you? To someone who was so gentle and pure of heart. If Fiyero ever crossed paths with either one of them they would wish they never met him.

But at the same time he felt immense pride and gratitude. He was proud of you for still standing strong after what happened to you and he was grateful that you trusted him enough to share your story. Trust that he wouldn’t take for granted.

Fiyero grabbed your hand that was sitting in your lap and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

“I’m glad you feel comfortable enough with me to share what you just told me. I know it took you a lot of strength to get where you are now and to relive it once again as you told me.” Fiyero cleared his throat. “There’s something that my mother always used to say to me. She would say, “Goodness knows the wicked’s lives are lonely. Goodness knows the wicked die alone. It just shows when your wicked your left only on your own.”

He gave you a moment to let the words sink in.

“No one mourns the wicked and you are not wicked. You are the opposite of that. You are the sunshine that creeps in from the clouds. You don’t deserve to be alone or feel lonely because then you’ll die alone. They are the ones who deserve that, so don’t let them win. You’re mourning everything that you had when you should be living in the present. If you continue to go down this path then they win.”

And ever since that day you’ve lived by his words. It didn’t happen overnight, but over time you became more open with others around you and you found yourself having a few acquaintances. They weren’t friends now, but you can see yourself becoming friends with them in the future.

Your trust in people wasn’t the only thing that evolved. A few weeks after you and Fiyero’s talk on your bed, he asked you out on a date and you said yes. Now you two are in a relationship and are still going strong.

Fiyero is the best boyfriend you can ever ask for and especially today. He knew how stressed you were lately with finals coming up, so he decided to surprise you with a shopping day out on the town. It was exactly what you needed after these stressful past couple of weeks.

You both were currently at a clothing store and you were looking at different dress options, while Fiyero went off to get something for his mother. You were feeling the fabric of a pink dress when you heard someone say.

“I love your shirt.”

You turned around and was face to face with a girl your age. You recognized her from Shiz. You shared a few classes with her and sometimes you would see her in the library when Fiyero was distracting you from studying.

Talking to people again was still new to you, so you couldn’t find the right words say. You pointed at your top to ask if she was talking about your shirt and she nodded.

“Yes your top! It’s really pretty! Where did you get it?!”

Then you managed to find the words that were swimming through your mind.

“I uh…I actually made it.” You said bashfully.

The girl looked stunned.

“Really?! How.”

“I crocheted it.”

“That’s really impressive. I wish I had the gentleness to do something like that. My hands are NOT meant for such tedious things.”

“It’s actually not that hard. Of course for a beginner it might be difficult, but once you get the hang of it it’s not so bad.” You replied.

You had no idea how you managed to gather the courage to continue talking to her, but somehow you were doing it. You two broke into a lovely conversation and you two were in your own little world.

Fiyero had just finished paying at the register, so he turned around to go look for you and he found you in the dress section talking to a girl!

You’ve been more open with people lately, but you always had the protection of Fiyero with you so you could feel a sense of support. This was the first time he saw you engaging with someone on your own and he felt proud of you. With a smile adorning his face he walked up to you and the girl.

“Hello ladies.”

“Hi Fiyero. I’m going to let you two be.” The girl said and she turned back to you. “It was so nice talking to you. Maybe we can hang out soon!”

“I would like that!” You said.

“Great!” The girl, which you found out was named Grace, gave you one last smile before walking out of the store.

“She seemed nice.” Fiyero said.

“Yeah she was.”

Fiyero slowly walked up to you and brought you into a hug. He rested his head on top of yours and quietly whispered in your ear, “I’m proud of you.”

You smiled and said I know. That caused Fiyero to chuckle and he pulled away, so he could look at your face.

“I got you something.” He said as he handed you a plastic bag.

“I thought you got something for your mom.”

“I might have lied.” Fiyero said with a smirk.

You playfully punched him in the arm and curiously grabbed what was in the bag. In your hand was a small velvet square box. You gave Fiyero an arched eyebrow, but he only prompted you to open the box.

You slowly opened it and inside was a necklace. It had a gold chain and at the center was a sun charm. It was shiny and it had different hues of orange and yellow. It was beautiful.

You instantly knew the meaning behind it. Lately he has been calling you sunshine because he believes that you are the sun that lights up his day. The first time he called you sunshine your cheeks turned into a tomato, so he’s been using that nickname any chance he could.

“Fiyero…” you didn’t know what to say. Fiyero grabbed the box from your hands and carefully took the necklace out of the box. He told you to turn around and you obliged. His arms went in front of you and he wrapped the necklace around your neck. Once it was clasped you turned around and Fiyero was looking at you like you held the sun in the sky.

“Now you can shine your light on everyone sunshine.” He said with a smile.

You instantly wrapped your arms around him and he reciprocated your actions. He placed a kiss on top of your head and smoothed out the knots in your hair.

“No more mourning.” Fiyero said.

You looked up at him.

“No more mourning.”

In that moment the old you disappeared.

“Now at last she’s dead and gone

Now at last there’s joy throughout the land.

No one mourns the wicked.”

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Post-Shibuya Nanami x Classical Dancer Desi Reader

In the aftermath of Shibuya, an injured Nanami struggles to balance his eroding self-worth with his desire to conduct his duty as a sorcerer. He finds healing in the fragrant garden of your dance.

Genres: Romance, angst, suspense.

Content warnings: depictions of low self-esteem, dealing with trauma, erotic and sexual content.

Thanks to @tsukimefuku for reading and editing this piece that is so precious to me. 🧡💜

Please refer to the glossary for the meaning of certain terms used. 🧡

(I)

Pushpanjali: an offering

"Tha ka dhi mi, tha ka dhi mi, tha ka ... "

It is a chant that spans centuries, leaping from the high-ceilinged, airy chambers of a land and time long past, to here, and now. It winds between the gently rippling silk scarves that adorn the walls, a drumbeat like the slow collapse of ancient kingdoms under the steady tramp of cavalry.

Time seems to pass at a stagnant pace in here, in this place where your domain has taken root and unfurled, a red, red bloom in the heart and hand of a painted god.

Feet slide and strike against the worn wooden floor, precise and weighted, as you perform the basic stance before your pupils, watching faces tight with the concentration of the inexperienced.

"Tha ka dhi mi, tha ka dhi mi ... "

Your voice guides them, as does your form, an arm straightening here and a pair of knees bending further as they watch you. The twist of your lower back, the stretch of your arms in a line to some point behind you, the rejoining of your fingers in katakamukha, the arch kept between chin and the line of your shoulder, all shifting in a single fluid movement that requires no thought.

Incense snakes through the air, close to the glass double doors, the heady scent of sandalwood gathering in tendrils there, where the gentle push of the breeze cannot dissipate it. It is through this fine mist that you see him, for the first time, standing just outside the doors in the narrow passageway.

Shoko had informed you of his arrival, of course. She had warned you about his physical condition, about the nature of his grievous injuries. It wouldn't be the first time she'd made use of your services to assist in the rehabilitation of wounded sorcerers.

Your eyes meet his, through the shifting coils of fragrant smoke from the brazier, and you see, in a single, fractured moment, why he is here. He has been sent here for a form of healing, but his gaze is not soft and receptive. It is shuttered, its passion muted and closeted away, defences piled so high they might as well be weapons. He scans the dance hall with the kind of predatory clarity that long, long years of being a sorcerer would bring.

You excuse yourself and step outside, the open door allowing the scent of the incense and the soft evening air to filter out into the hallway. Behind you, the silk scarves flutter gently in the draught.

He is a tall man, poised and elegant. He wears the jacket and comfortable, warm trousers in a way that speaks of someone more accustomed to formal wear. As soon as you enter the hall, he bows with deep formality, and the mellow resonance of his voice seeps into the narrow space like honey spilled across the floorboards.

"Nanami Kento. I was referred here by - "

"Shoko. Yes. I've been expecting you."

You return his bow and introduction, aware of his scrutiny travelling the length of your spine. You can sense that he is picking you apart in his mind, fitting together the components to try to build a coherent whole.

Close-up, the severity of his burns are evident. A layer of darkened scar tissue covers the left side of his face and scalp, running down his neck and further, where your eyes cannot follow. The left eye, according to Shoko, had been unrecoverable, now shielded with a soft, surgical patch. The damage to his arm had been even worse, as it seemed he'd used it to shield himself. A fuzzy growth of pale hair had started along the scorched skin of his scalp, a sign that even now, his body was knitting itself slowly back together.

Your eyes travel over his sharp-edged countenance, and he stares back, unphased. You make a rapid mental list, a trickle of first impressions that will later build to a torrent.

Stength, and plenty of it. A deathly, well-controlled calm that permeates his living flesh, skin over smooth stone. The martial bearing and powerful arms and shoulders, even scorched as they are, speak of the force he must have presented on the battlefield.

He assesses you in return, and you tilt your head as the dim sunlight filtering into the corridor catches his eye, turning the honeyed brown of their depths to a moss-flecked river bed, steady and cool.

Beautiful.

That is your first impression of him.

(II)

Alarippu: the flowering

Recovery.

Kento has heard a dozen variations of that word by now, couched in the language of choice. 

The road to recovery. 

Recovering your mobility. 

Getting your old self back. 

A return to routine.

He is aware, by now, that any such full repair of the damage that has been done to him is a castle in the air, one he cannot summon the lightness of spirit to ascend to. Positivity had never really been his hallmark. Now, even less so.

The world had shifted around him while he was asleep, you see. Comrades had fallen. The new generation had triumphed. The very fabric of Jujutsu society had been rewoven, the dawning of a new age embroidered for all to see across the hard-won horizon.

The sacrifices he'd made were but a few of many. They'd hardly mattered, in the larger scheme of things. Many had given their lives. What had he offered up?

The ability to walk without aid, for one. Also, most of the skin on the left side of his body. Basic movements, things that had once been second nature to him, were now carefully calculated because of the pain.

The lunge of an arm through a coat sleeve when he was in a rush. The brisk pace he'd maintained to keep his body temperature up in cold weather. The sensation of a soft cashmere scarf against his cheek, or the brush of an aerated cotton shirt against his skin in summer. The cascade of hot water on tired muscles, after a long afternoon swinging diligently at cursed spirits. All muted, fuzzy, lost.

And what else?

Kento had never been soft with himself. People often thought that sentiment never clouded his cool judgment, allowing him to make objective and sensible decisions. While that was largely true, it flew wide of the mark in terms of what really pushed him, what gave him direction. It was ironic, as he'd speculated later, that his mortal enemy had been the one to identify what many of his comrades hadn't.

Mahito, in that light, youthful, jubilant voice, declaring how he'd seen Kento's soul quivering. And he was not wrong.

Kento was a man driven by a quiet, desolate desperation, a desire to fill an empty space that yawned endlessly within his soul, a black hole with an insatiable appetite. Emotion was as vital to his function as breathing. It drove him out of bed everyday, into the office, into the boardroom, into the bakery, back to jujutsu tech, into rain, snow, sun and wind, into the face of his darkest imaginings.

He watches traffic from the window of his room at the private clinic, pedestrians going about their lives, people chatting on precariously held phones, children dancing through a world of make-belief, people on lunch break. People with purpose, a certainty of their place in the world. What could he offer, in this world of colour, sound, movement and shadow, this world that threatened to leave him behind?

Kento had paid the price, and would do it again, and again, and again, in every known reality, if it meant maintaining the stability he saw outside his window.

(But if that was the case, why was the darkness inside him more ravenous than ever?)

********

Shoko comes to see him most frequently, even with her workload at the Tech. She can't really help it. Nanami is her last remaining bridge to the past, as selfish as that makes her seem. She doesn't care much, not anymore. She'll take what she can get.

A tenuous bridge, is Nanami.

Shoko is accustomed to seeing the damage that can be done to a body by the uncontrolled hatred of a curse, or the more conscious destruction of a cursed technique. She has seen it all, performed the most grotesque procedures on the corpses of those she loved. But something about seeing Nanami's injuries, seeing him like this, is more jarring than any of those horrors.

Her technique has allowed his skin to heal, the raw flesh, exposed tendon and muscle beneath now covered by the new epidermal growth she has stimulated.  The chances of oedema and infection are also minimal, considering her precautions. All that was left now was his slow physical conditioning and therapy.

(If only that were all.)

If Itadori, Kugisaki, Fushiguro and Ijichi had their way, Nanami would never know a moment of solitude. They wanted constant updates on his condition, to bring him his favourite foods, to talk, weep, mourn and rejoice with him. She allowed them to see him, every other day, but drew a firm line, citing his recovery as priority. She didn't have the heart to tell them that every gentle glance, every proud smile, every glimpse of the old Nanami they received came at a great cost.

Standing in the doorway of his room now, she could see it. Or rather, the lack of it. That vitality, that pain from which he drew his vigour, the firm lines of his back and shoulder that reminded her of an implacable bulwark against the raging of the cursed world, all absent. When he didn't think anyone was looking, that is.

Stepping into the room, she offers a slight nod as the door slides shut behind her. The change is immediate. He straightens, the corners of his eyes regaining their sharp edge, the set of his mouth firm and familiar.

"Shoko."

"Nanami. Ready to talk about physical therapy?"

She gets straight into it, knowing that he wouldn't want it any other way.

"I'd like that very much. When can I begin?"

His words are still slightly muffled, the burnt edge of his lips stiff with a new layer of scar tissue.

Nanami had never been a vain man. He had always been in possession of striking features, and had taken care of his appearance, but in a way that was more attuned to practicality; if he was neat, well-presented and unremarkable, Nanami considered this a success.

It was why he had been able to look in a mirror with such equanimity for the first time after his treatment. All she had seen was a slight tightening at the corners of his mouth, a slow nod, a brief look of exhaustion and resignation as to this new set of scars.

The loss of his left eye and the damage to the arm on the same side had been the worst of it. There, she'd done everything in her power to restore the lost tissue, but Nanami would never regain his eye, or the full range of motion with that limb. There was, however, the soft growth of new hair on his scalp, a promising sign that elsewhere, her rejuvenation of the underlying tissue layers had somewhat succeeded.

Shoko doesn't reply to his query just yet. She approaches the bed, and he sits up, unlacing the front of his hospital gown, accustomed to the routine by now. She place her palms a few inches from his skin, closing her eyes as she maps him out, bone, muscle, blood and water, the minute synapses where impulses leap in a frantic race, the steady beat of his heart.

Inhaling deeply, she steps away.

"The sooner you begin, the better. I know you've been walking a lot. That alone won't help in the long term."

There is a hint of reproach in her voice. Nanami, displaying his singularly stubborn streak, had been discovered out of bed on more than one occasion, standing by the windows, staring into space in a way that made her worried.

He gives a wry, crooked smile.

"What do you recommend?"

Shoko places the file she'd carried along carefully on his lap.

"There's a family with a specific cursed technique I've corresponded with before. Sent some of my patients to them. They specialize in therapeutics."

Nanami is watching her closely, taking note of the way she focuses on the view out the window.

"And you're sending me to them?"

"They aren't local. The main clan is located in India. Scattered at various locations in the Tamil Nadu province. One of their members moved here, some years back, to conduct research on the compatibility of their techniques with ours. It wasn't a success, for various reasons, but he stayed, with his family."

"So it's a hereditary technique?"

"In a way. It manifests with varying degrees of efficacy. I'd simply like ... for you to meet with their representative."

She returns his gaze, and when she speaks again, he understands why she has been so hesitant.

"It's not just physical therapy, Nanami. We can achieve that pretty well here. Their methods go ... deeper than that. I can mend physical wounds. They might be able to help you heal in other ways."

He doesn't agree to it immediately, looking through the list of exercises that came after the therapy recommendation letter. One eyebrow lifts slightly in a comfortingly familiar query.

"You want me to do yoga too?"

"Gojo's idea. He added it to the list before he - "

She stops abruptly, one hand finding purchase on Nanami's ankle, squeezing lightly on it where it rests beside her, under the blankets.

"Anyway. He said he wanted to make video edits of you with your ass in the air. Said it would be good to bring you down to earth a little."

Her chuckle doesn't sound hollow any longer. She can talk about her friend (yes, he was that too) without that tell-tale catch of agony in her chest. Nanami sighs before opening up the file, his good hand leafing through the printed pages.

"I suppose ... I could humour him. This once."

(III) 

Shabdam: The Word

In a month's time, with Shoko's regular treatment, Nanami is in good enough condition to leave the clinic. He still makes use of a walking stick, especially for longer distances and steeper flights of stairs. Ijichi makes sure he is permanently on call, for the occasions when Nanami simply needs to get out of the sterile halls of the clinic, the rapid intake of the world outside enough to sustain him.

Nanami has, for the most part, been following Shoko's regimen religiously, adding his own variations without her knowledge. In this way, his strength and endurance steadily build up to a point where he is ready to be discharged (with daily check-ins, of course).

Nanami keeps the file that Shoko had handed over, but every time he spies it out of the corner of his eye, he occupies himself with something else, procrastinating in a way that is wholly unlike him. Eventually, his own conscience prevents him from delaying further. He is entirely skeptical that anyone can truly help him. He has felt that way since Haibara died, but even he can admit that there's no harm in trying.

He finds the address given with little issue, and Ijichi is more than willing to take him there. The place is nondescript, no signage giving any indication of the activities that take place there. There is an wood-panelled foyer, a colonial style spiral staircase leading to the upper floors. The stairs themselves have been worn smooth by many generations of feet.

Nanami is half an hour early, anticipating some kind of registration process, or introductions, as there had been in martial arts dojos he had frequented. There is nothing of the kind. He finds himself in a corridor, flanked by two pairs of glass double doors. In one of the rooms, a wide open space with a wooden floor and a view over the city, he sees some kind of class in session.

Approaching slowly, he hears it. The rhythmic thump and shuffle of feet, the feminine voice that called out a pattern that he's never heard before, but seems familiar all the same. The glass doors give him a clear view of the room, of the five occupants (a small class, then) who were engaged in some kind of dance practice, and the instructor, up front.

He pauses, body coming to a complete and rare standstill. He watches as she moves through a repetitive step, in time with the beat she calls out, firm, musical, lilting. The grace of movement, the low centre of gravity, the rigidity of the lower body in contrast with the flow of the upper, arrests his vision.

The disciplined line of her throat turns, and she is facing the door, facing him, hands brought together in a signature pose. Long lashed eyes, observant, catching and holding his glance. For a moment, he feels the desire to back away from the door, to hurry out into the street, a return to his comfortable routine. He stands his ground, as always.

He watches as she approaches the door.

********

Once your introductions have been dispensed with, you gesture to Nanami to follow you into the smaller room you use for individual therapy. His gaze lingers on the class that continues, even in your absence.

The same silk scarves ripple gently along the walls of the room next door, orange, grey, red and green. The rug is old, but rich and plush. There are two chairs, comfortable and supportive, their orange upholstery lined with faded gold thread, and an urn on a stand nearby, on the boil in readiness to prepare chai.

You pour him a cup now, the fragrant liquid a rich, caramel brown in the small glass, eyeing his expression through the steam.

There. Immediate interest. A man with a varied palate, considering the way he accepts the tea with polite deference, but takes an appreciative sniff before sipping deeply.  The way his shoulders relax slightly afterwards has the corner of your mouth tipping up.

"So, Nanami. Shoko told me that you're here for our specific line of therapeutics."

He puts the cup down with a decisive motion.

"Yes. She told me a little about the effects of your technique."

"Did she explain what exactly it involves?"

He pauses, gaze traveling to the students in the dance hall next door who were now stretching and rounding up their practice.

"I assume it has ... something to do with that?"

You set your own cup down and clap your palms together.

"Well observed. It has everything to do with dance. Bharatanatyam, to be exact."

He raises an eyebrow, and you explain obligingly.

"Where I'm from, Bharatanatyam is one of many classic dance forms. The practice itself goes back centuries. My family's technique is rooted in the principles of the dance itself."

Nanami cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid ... I'm not a good dancer."

Your laughter comes easily.

"That's what they all say, in the beginning. But don't worry. You won't have to do anything strenuous, nor am I going to make you prance around in a dhoti."

"You have my thanks, I suppose."

"We will do plenty of physical conditioning, but you will also be my audience. My technique requires that you are ... receptive and open to answering the things that I ask."

Here, the easy flow of conversation stills a little, and the tea swirls gently through the motion of his dexterous fingers. He does reply, eventually, softer than before.

"I chose to come here. I think that speaks for itself. I will accept whatever your technique can do for me."

The non-committal nature of his reply does not escape you. You nod, understanding that this is the best you'll get from him, for now.

"Hmm. I think it's best that I demonstrate. That always works better than sitting here and explaining."

You stand and gesture for him to do the same, observing his movements carefully.

There. The burned side of his body has slower movements, as expected. He still displays agility and grace, despite the stiffness and pain he must feel. You approach and stand directly in front of him.

"Nanami, I'm going to lay my hand here, on your abdomen. Please tell me if this is fine."

He nods, but his body is now taut, anticipatory. This close, you can smell the surgical cleaning fluid that he must still use when changing dressings, the scent of the clinic still clinging to his clothes and hair. Beneath it, something warm, vital, pleasant. The scent of him. His hair falls over one brow, unhindered, and he impatiently pushes it back. Judging from the length, he must like it shorter than it currently is.

"Please try to relax."

Your hand presses against the firm planes of his stomach, centering around his navel. He is shockingly solid, vitality surging under your fingers. And something else. You frown, but keep your hand in place. After a few minutes, your fingers begin to move. You start to tap out a gentle rhythm against his skin, tentative, repetitive.

You keep this up for a while, eyes shut tightly, focused. When you eventually look up at him, he is watching you with close attention. You know what he sees, that he is following the currents of cursed energy that swarm around your body, fluttering and pulsing in accordance to the pattern you've been tapping out.

This part is crucial. The manner with which you approach this will determine his response, and you can feel his resistance to an invasion of this kind, how he could shut himself off from you, the giant ribcage of self-preservation sealing to the sternum, forever shielding his heart.

You step back and take your seat again, and he pauses before doing the same. He leans forward, elbows on knees, watchful. This man doesn't miss a thing.

"Your diagnosis?"

He had a lot of cheek too.

"There is no diagnosis. Not in the sense you're thinking."

"So, what was the purpose of ... that?"

"It allows me to plan my dance. For next time."

"Your dance?"

You reach for your glass, take a quick sip of the cooling liquid.

"In plain terms, my technique is called Arangetram. It's named after the dance recital performed by a bharatanatyam student after many years of perfection of their art. The recital takes place in stages, and each stage reveals more of their dedication, their skill and their unique talent."

Your palms, placed together, draw apart and Nanami's gaze falls between them.

"It's an unfolding. A gradual one. My technique enables me to read deeper into the patterns of your own energy, gently peeling apart each layer in stages, until we reach the crux of the issue. The wound to your Atman. Your true, and eternal self. With my guidance, and your cooperation, we can possibly help heal that."

As you speak, Nanami's gaze falls to his glass, the bitter dregs collecting at the base. He stands abruptly, and turns away from you, facing the window. You remain still, waiting.

When he speaks, there is something in his voice that makes you wince slightly. So much heaviness. So much despair. The weight of it must be crushing.

"That sounds ... familiar. Before I was saved by another young sorcerer, someone I helped mentor, I ran into a curse that could have ended my life for good. I'd met him before, you see, but he escaped me at that time. His technique ... wounds the soul. Our perception of ourselves."

You take in a sharp breath. What Nanami was describing was a form of cursed technique in direct opposition to your own. Nanami continues, eyes fixed on the steady stream of cars that pass by below.

"Are you telling me that you can heal that kind of damage completely?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because damage to the soul requires accurate perception, but a callous disregard for any and all forms of life. Destruction is part of universal balance, but to actively go about it, without any consideration for what you will create, is ... inhuman."

You stand, wanting to meet his eyes when he turns to face you again.

"Healing the soul is nothing like this. Nor can it be done in the same way for every person. But Nanami, here's the question I want to ask most right now. Why, even now, are you thinking about all the victims of this curse? Why, since you've heard the nature of my technique, have you never once thought about how it could actually help you?"

This demand is what it takes for him to finally tear his gaze away from that window, mouth opening in protest, but your silencing finger is up. You're not touching his lips, not quite, but close. His warm breath ghosts over your finger.

"Dont answer that question now. Answer it tomorrow, after you watch me dance."

(IV) 

Jathiswaram: Purity of dance

He is early the next day, and you can sense that this will be a pattern. A seasoned sorcerer, through and through, gaining intel on the lie of the land. He is dressed with casual elegance once again, this time in a soft sweater and old jeans.

You guide him through a series of stretches and stances, eyes following his movements. As hard as Nanami is to read, you can tell, from the softening of the lines at the corners of his eyes that these exercises give him relief.

He is also unlike any other pupil you've ever encountered. There is something about having that keen gaze trace every line your body forms with such close attentiveness, the lithe mimicking of each pose, the easing of the stiff line of his mouth when he gets something right, and is aware of it.

It is like practicing yoga alongside a panther, one that won't harm you, but with every stray connection of the eyes, you are aware of just what it is physically capable of. It is both thrilling and strange; new.

When the first short session is over, and he seems slightly more at ease, you serve him tea once again.

"Take a few minutes. Relax. You'll wait in here until I call you into the hall next door."

"What would you have me do?"

"There will be a cushion on the floor. You're going to sit cross legged, as comfortable as you can get. Arms relaxed, hands resting on your knees. Then, you watch."

"A performance of some kind?"

"Yes. To be more specific, you're going to be inside my domain."

This was the one detail he seemed most hesitant about. You wait, in silence, giving him a chance to defer, to push back, to delay the inevitable. He doesn't do any such thing. You're beginning to understand just what kind of courage this man possesses. It takes a different kind of bravery, you're well aware, to face your own demons rather than the gnashing beasts of the cursed world.

*****

Kento does his best to let the soothing spiced heat of the tea perform its dutiful relaxation of his limbs. He sits, legs spread slightly, staring at the wall. The door to the small side room effectively cuts off any sound from the dance floor beyond. He does not know what to expect and he doesn't like it.

Finally, a soft chime sounds. His signal. Setting the glass of tea aside, he stands and makes his way into the corridor, then into the room beyond. He pauses, taking in the transformation.

The view of the city outside has been completely blocked by rich, embroidered curtains, a screen propped up all along one end of the room. Behind it, he hears soft voices speak in another language, rapid and lyrical. The experimental pat of drums and the musical clink of small cymbals indicates that a band of some kind has set up back there, in readiness with their instruments.

Following the instructions he'd received earlier, Kento pads quietly to the centre of the room, where the large, solitary cushion sits, and lowers himself onto it. It is surprisingly comfortable. When everything seems to be in position, a hush falls over the room.

The first hint of her approach is the chime of the anklets she wears, many layered, the bronze shimmer of the individual bells catching the buttery light. She wears a sari, but something about it seems tailored differently from those he'd seen before. The waist has been cinched in with a belt, the pleats of the skirt fanning out around the knees. Beneath, she wears a pair of loose-fitting pants, the shimmering material caught in at the ankles by the bells he heard earlier.

Her hair has been fixed back in a long braid, flowers framing the outline of her head. Dark kohl lines her eyes, and her hands and feet are decorated with a red stain that stands out against the ocean-coloured silk of the sari.

She approaches and crouches nimbly before him, that long-lashed gaze travelling over his form, attentive. Her voice is low pitched, as always, but now there is a new undercurrent to it. He can feel the latent energy within her, as if she has been calling to it, like some long- submerged civilization breaching the surface of the sea.

"Nanami. I'm about to start. In order for me to do so, I need you to picture something in your mind's eye for me."

He nods, slowly.

"I'm going to touch your navel the same way I did yesterday. When I do, don't fight the image your mind throws up. It is natural. It may be a good memory, or an upsetting one. Either way, just let it be. Do you understand?"

"I do."

The pressure of her hand is barely tangible through the material of his sweater, but her cursed energy slides against him with a force he can push back against. He doesn't. Even as it goes against every preservatory instinct he has, he lets her in, watches the slow dawn of soft surprise in her eyes. She has kind eyes, he is only just realising.

And then an image flashes across his mind, just as she warned. Another era of lost kindness, a boy who looked at him with eternal patience, good humour and warmth. In the instant that he sees that face, laughing, animated, lips peeled back from wide, white teeth in that trademark grin, the world shifts. The face is no longer filled with life and humour. It is cold. Pale. Lips purplish and creased, dried blood flaking from the corners.

He wants to pull away, to stop, but he cannot. This is important. This has to be done.

Her hand comes down on his abdomen, harder. Then again. She is finding a rhythm in his own cursed energy, hand mapping out the pulse, scenting his weakness, his pain, following it. Again. And again. And again. The steady pattern builds. So does her cursed energy. It fills the room, filtering into every space, until Kento feels like he is the inhabitant of a fish tank.

Blue silk fluttering, she steps back suddenly. The scent of the incense is heady, intense. Behind the screen, the unseen musicians have somehow struck up the same tempo she has been playing on his abdomen. Her expression changes, and he straightens, slowly.

The kohl-lined eyes open wide, the whites stark gains the smoky backdrop of her lids. She drops to the same stance he'd seen her adopt in the class she'd taught yesterday, knees slightly bent, thighs holding a rigid line, arms outstretched, hands slightly bent at the ends. Her entire upper torso forms an elegant line, see-sawing gently, before the arms snap back and forth, as if tugged by an elastic band.

Red-painted, flickering like four flames, her hands and feet move with rapid precision, taking her through a fluid series of steps that are timed exactly to the beat of the drums, the beat of his own cursed energy, humming and writhing. Her dark, dark eyes meet his, and he understands, now, that every movement she makes entwines their energy, tangles it further, a cat with a ball of yarn, edging the threads closer to a woven pattern.

Her hands stretch toward him, shaped in what seems to be something symbolic of a flower. They spread, and he follows the reddened unfurling of her fingers, the crash of the cymbals louder, a portent of her ability.

He sees the incorporeal lotus, the shadow of it on the screen behind her, petals rifling past each other like the pages of an endless book, and her hands are dragging something out and away from him, emptying like fragrance into the room.

This is her domain, and he shudders in sudden understanding, as memories he'd long buried, bruised and raw, come fluttering like a cloud of butterflies to the surface of his mind.

The first time he'd met Haibara, the way the bright-eyed boy had handed him a shared ice cream, that hot, hot summer's day. The way he'd followed Kento, ignoring his grumpy demeanour, pressing snacks and home-made creations (less successful) into his hands. The long days of training, the sudden and pleased widening of his eyes when Kento had let slip that he'd been improving. The muted tones of his exuberant voice when he'd spoken of his sister, of the path he'd make sure she'd never choose.

And that, right there, was that focal point of pain, the sore spot that had festered, untreated, deep in the knowledge of his soul. Haibara had known, all along, the dangers of their job. He'd known, full well, how easily his life was spent by those who did not understand the full value of such currency. He knew that his youth was a fool's game, one that may never be completed. And for all of these years, since his death, Kento had chosen to -

The loud clash of cymbals dissipates those thoughts instantly, the energy permeating the room, surrounding them both, snapping back to her still form, controlled and under her command. She is watching him closely, the tight grip he now has on his knees, the sweat beading on his brow.

She takes three steps forward, legs lifting high in the stylized movement of her dance form, and her palms come together as she bows to him. Instantly, the performer is gone, and she is back with him, no longer in command. She pads quickly over to him, kneeling and touching his leg.

"Hold on to those images for a moment. Tell me, who was that boy?"

Kento pauses, swallows thickly.

"Haibara Yu. A boy who studied at the Tech with me. We trained together."

She does not need to ask what has happened to Haibara. She has seen it, through the binding of her dance. She has seen his death. Her next question catches him off guard.

"Why is his spirit so strong inside you? You carry him with you like a briefcase to work everyday. Why is his reflection on every surface you pass? Why does he force you forward, and yet, drag you backwards too?"

Kento is still, the sweat cooling on his temples. His muscles are rigid, cording. Pain flares along his jaw, where he has been clenching it. She raises a hand, palm up.

"Don't answer me now. Take the next few days off, and think about the questions I've asked."

*******

He does consider it, as she asked him to. In fact, it's all he can dwell on. As much as it robs him of sleep, leaving him tossing and turning, blankets rumpled and damp with perspiration, he thinks that this is better than staring into formless space. This torment is preferable to the endless battle played out against the pale, sterile walls of the clinic.

How long has it been since his pain has been cut out of his chest, a fully formed, hard-edged diamond, the corners so sharp they slice through him at every touch? How long has it been since he's turned over that crystalline fragment in his hands, allowed himself to remember, to cherish, to grieve?

He understands why he could not, before this. There were missions to undertake. Work to be done. Curses to be dispatched. An endless cycle of activity to tear his mind away from such things.

And then, there had been the students. He goes over each of their names in his mind like a mantra. Yuuji. Megumi. Nobara. Maki. Panda. Inunaki. Ino. The faces of children, the minds of warriors, the scars of those who had known their worst fears and overcome them. It was his duty to protect and serve, to keep them safe, and yet ...

If he had convinced himself, so many times over, that Haibara had needed an adult like the one he had shaped himself to be, then why wasn't he needed any longer?

(V) 

Varnam: The Centerpiece

When you see him again, you can't help the smile that breaks across your face. Nanami is a tricky customer. In spite of his natural strength and charisma, you can tell that he is unaccustomed to relying on others for his emotional well-being.

And yet, here he is, standing in the hallway, expression controlled and muted as always. There is a certain tension and guarded quality to his demeanour that is lacking this time around, however. He has seen the extent of your technique. It cannot harm him any more than he harms himself. This, you are also aware of.

"Nanami. It's good to see you."

He nods, that keen eye of his taking in your expression.

"You were not expecting me to return."

It is not a question. You laugh and gesture to him to follow you into the smaller room beside the dance hall.

"I can't say what I expected. But rest assured ... I'm glad to see you here."

He dips his head in acknowledgement as he follows you through the door. You note that he's had a haircut since the last time you've seen him, the flowing blonde hair slicked back on the right side. His surgical patch has been replaced by a soft black one. His walk seems a little steadier, even if he still has to use the sturdy cane to navigate the stairs.

You pour him tea in silence, waiting for him to initiate the topic that you've asked him to consider. He takes a sip, a soft grunt of satisfaction escaping him, before he sets the glass down with that decisive motion you've come to recognise.

"Last time I was here ... you asked me about Haibara."

"I saw him. In your memories. He must have been important to you."

"I said that we studied together. We were in the same year. There was ... a mission. It was assigned wrongfully, by the higher ups. The difficulty level was ... too great for two fledgling sorcerers. We'd held our own against curses before, but this was different."

"And Haibara ... "

"He was killed. I escaped."

There it was. The words seem to exit him easily enough, because he's probably said them many times before. There is a raw quality to them, though, that cannot be disguised. He has never forgiven himself for Haibara's death. You give him a minute before resuming your questioning.

"My technique showed me that Haibara had a sister. He did not want her to become a sorcerer like you two?"

Here, Nanami's hesitance is tangible.

"No, he didn't. He knew the dangers of our work."

"And yet, in your memories, you clearly see him as someone to be protected."

"He was."

The words emerge sharper than Nanami likes, because he tries to lessen the bite of his tone as he continues.

"I believe that the younger generation of sorcerers should be protected at all costs, whenever necessary. It doesn't matter how much they've seen, how much they've experienced. What matters is that they are not robbed of responsible adult figures in their lives, who can help them cope with what comes later."

"Did anyone help you with coping? With dealing with what happened to Haibara?"

For the first time, Nanami does not meet your gaze. There is a softness to this man, that shows in the gentle, considered way he touches objects, the way his dark lashes shadow his cheeks, the way he is always thinking of someone, anyone other than himself.

"No."

His voice is charged, but quiet.

"And so, you think to play this role for the future generations?"

"I hope to. Yes."

You already know what must be done, as painful as it may be.

"Nanami, is it possible for me to meet with your students?"

******

"Nanamiiiinnnn!"

The boy with soft-hued pink hair is enthusiastic in his greeting, none of it contrived. You can see from the way his eyes light up, the way his whole body gravitates to the sorcerer standing beside you, that Nanami means the world to him. The girl with the eyepatch beside him gives a more staid greeting. There is a certain tough rakishness to her bearing that you've come to recognise as well-earned bravado.

It's Nanami you are more focused on. He introduces you to the students who greet you politely, each giving a small bow.

"How's the progress, Nanamin? You look great!"

The young sorcerer, Yuuji, truly means it. He is taking in Nanami with an air of triumph.

"It's slow, in some ways, but I'm getting there, Itadori."

You note how he still refers to them by their family names, even after everything they've been through together.

"Why don't we have lunch together?" you suggest.

Nobara immediately points at Nanami.

"Ask him. He's knows all the good places, in just about every part of the city."

And so, you find yourselves seated at a small soba place, one you haven't come across before. The food is excellent, and Yuuji and Nobara chat animatedly across the table with their senior as they plough through a selection of dishes.

It is now that you notice all of the things that Nanami doesn't.

The way Yuuji constantly keeps an eye on how much his mentor eats. The way Nobara adjusted the table when they sat down, such that Nanami could be more comfortable. The way they both scoped you out with clear protective instinct, forming their opinions of you.

Yuuji keeps up an encouraging stream of comments, complimenting Nanami on his receptiveness to treatment, on his hair, on the fact that he's been getting out more. He asks Nanami's advice on missions he'll be undertaking solo, and with others.

"So, Ino got his grade one promotion!"

"He told me."

Nanami cannot help the small smile that appears on his face. Yuuji shakes his head.

"Ha. I bet he told you before he told his mom."

Nobara snorts in agreement.

"Did you know he's picked up wearing a suit on missions now?"

"He does?"

Nanami seems surprised by this.

"Sure does. Keeps his hair shorter too. Thought I was teaming up with a Yakuza the last time we went on a mission together."

"Surely not."

"Oh, absolutely! He tried acting all cool, until I told him I'd video him and send it to you, and then he stopped with the persona real fast."

Nanami chuckles. It is a rich, warm, hearty sound, one that flickers over the table like the heat of a fireplace. You see the aching softness in Yuuji's eyes, the way Nobara grins triumphantly at having wrung that sound out of him.

And you understand, fully, like you knew you would.

These are no fledgling sorcerers. Nanami can never again offer them the kind of protection he once had. It is obvious that they value him no less for that. He is a glowing lantern of comfort, of hope to them. If he'd ever desired to play the role of responsible adult to these youngsters, then he'd exceeded every expectation and made himself indispensable, and loved.

If only he could see that.

You catch yourself watching Nanami's smile throughout the meal. It is, at times, contagious, at times shy, at other times a sarcastic tilt. He likes sandwiches, as you learn, and Nobara makes fun of the time one of Yaga's cursed dolls knocked a fresh salmon bagel out of Nanami's hand and he'd snapped and almost destroyed the garden it had escaped into.

It's only when the meal is over, and you are gathering up your purse, that you spy Nobara's eyes on you. The curve of her lips is discreet, and knowing.

*******

During the next few weeks, Nanami's physical condition slowly, but gradually improves. He does not ask when you will ensconce him in your domain again, and you do not offer. You feel that there is some fundamental hurdle he needs to overcome before this.

He still comes regularly, though. For someone who lived a regimental lifestyle like he did, you suppose it has something to do with maintaining a routine. Every other day, he is present, and sometimes, you note, he arrives almost half an hour early, watching the dance practice through the glass doors from the room across the hall.

You now leave the chai where he can help himself to it, and the cushioned mats rolled out so that he can take himself through the preliminary stretches while he waits.

The muscle atrophy, that is sometimes expected in cases of severe burns, does not present in any such way with Nanami. You can see, in the firmness of his stride, in the way he is able to balance his weight, in the slow loss of infirmity, that he has been working hard to maintain his strength and regain his physical abilities.

This is not what worries you. It's what comes after.

One month after treatment began, you see him ascend the staircase without assistance from a cane. He looks across the small distance, that bewitching hazel eye so firm, so proud, so accomplished, turning to you for acknowledgement that you cannot help the small sound of delight that escapes you. You also feel your stomach clench in anticipation.

Once in the room, you notice the small hint of amusement on his face, as you serve him from a plate of samoosas. You lift a curious brow.

"What is it?"

"You don't have to look so concerned. I won't be trying to take on any missions."

"I'm not concerned about- "

You cut yourself off, busying your hands with the tea. When you look up again, your breath catches slightly in your throat. He is watching you with what looks like tenderness, one hand still holding the plate you've absently passed to him. He speaks again, leaning back in his chair.

"There is something I haven't told you yet."

"And what's that?"

"About a dream of mine. One I've had for a very long time."

"And I presume it's a good dream?"

"In every sense. When I worked as a salaryman, I planned to save up enough money to retire. Live somewhere affordable, near the sea. Somewhere like Kuantan. I'd finally get to read all the books I'd bought and never finished. I'd live peacefully. Travel now and then."

You hum slightly, considering this dream.

"That sounds wonderful. Do you still think that this dream ... belongs to you? That it can be your reality, someday?"

"I always have. But ... I also know that such dreams come at a heavy price."

"Nanami ... I'd say that you've paid a thousand times over for such a dream."

Your heart twists at the pained knowledge in his glance. You've underestimated his astute nature.

He knows.

"I did tell you that one of the younger sorcerers saved my life, before. It was Yuuji. He found me when I was half conscious, burned, hallucinating about ... but that's beside the point. When I walked through that subway, I kept thinking the same thought, over and over again. 'Haven't I done enough?'"

The silence that descends upon the room is stifling. You clasp your hands over your knees.

"And have you?"

"I don't know, truthfully. Every time I think I have, there is something else. There will always be those who need the help of sorcerers. As long as I am able, how can I deny them that help?"

He is testing the waters, you can tell. Something about the last time he entered your domain must have triggered a curiosity in him, a desire to know just how much you could help him. You're not sure what it is, but you feel a rush of hope, a sense of a dawning breakthrough.

He spoke of a dream, and you know that Nanami never speaks idly. You pour him another glass of tea.

"I have a suggestion. Would you like to enter my domain again?"

(VI) 

Padam: Simplicity

This time, there is no pre-amble. Nanami seats himself on the cushion at the centre of the room with preternatural calm, but you sense the roil of emotions beneath. It gives you a sense of purpose, as you prepare, focusing your technique as you braid your hair and apply the red alta dye to your hands and feet and leave it to dry.

When you enter the room, you see his gaze immediately follow the movement of your hands. You crouch beside him, and something feels different.

Prior to this, Nanami was yet another patient of Shoko's, referred to your family for the kind of healing that physiologically-based cursed techniques couldn't touch. It was the reason that the study of their connection had fizzled out. Practitioners like Shoko were fully aware of the effects, but could not recommend them without a sense of hesitation.

And what was Nanami to you now?

You'd been avoiding that question. You know, full well, that helping him has become a desire birthed inside you as vital as breathing. You want to see him well, you want to see him happy, you want his laugh to echo through the corridors of Jujutsu Tech and his feet to find their way to warm sands and the gentle caress of waves. It is that simple.

(You wish it was.)

Your touch on his abdomen is charged with the weight of this knowledge, the heat that floods your veins intoxicating as he opens himself to you. You feel for the thread that hangs in the still interior of the self, the quivering vibration that changes and slides from his soul to yours.

There. It is different this time.

There is a tug of greater urgency, a rhythm that swells into a powerful current that threatens to snatch away your control.

No. You won't let it.

The reigns twist in your hand, but you pull them further into yourself, taking them, pioneering your way across the ocean of his desolation and uncertainty. You begin the steady rhythm, synchronized with the music of his soul. The drums behind you take it up. The song holds power, heady and fractious.

There will be theater in your performance tonight.

You spring away from Nanami, the connection between you thrumming with latent energy. The visions of his mind's eye flash upon yours, a series of broken images. You need more coherency. And so, you dance.

You allow your expression to mould to a frightening form, eyes wide, shadows gathering beneath them. Your palm raised, the other thumb above it, quivering.

Illumination. Let the soul reveal itself.

And it does. Nanami's form, dragging his feet, fresh, horrific burns across his torso, swimming into your vision. As you take measured steps across the floor, knees poised high, anklets chiming, his footsteps echo yours.

You turn, palms facing floorward and ceilingward, the red seeping between your fingers in the dim light reminiscent of the blood that creeps sluggishly from the raw ends of his scorched flesh. You take his pain into yourself, whirling across the floor.

And then, something startling. Yuuji appears, but not as the heroic saviour. There is a gaping hole in his chest, those bright eyes, fervent with life, now empty and soulless. He collapses with a solid thud and your steps falter.

This is not -

And then, Nobara. Your hands draw back, foot placed on the flesh of the enemy, but Nobara's face explodes in a bloom of scarlet, painting the walls with a hibiscus flare of bone, flesh and matter.

Why is he -

Nanami's face and neck are drenched in sweat, his eyes shut tightly. There are crescents forming in the fabric of his trousers, over the knees, where his fingernails dig into the flesh. The cymbals are now clashing to a faster pace, and you are drawn along, the river of his despair breaking its banks.

You see them, one by one, in-between the rush of your spinning braid, arms and the red flash of your fingers. All of them. All of the students Nanami holds so dear, lifeless, bodies broken beyond repair. A thin, bespectacled man in a dark suit, motionless on the ground, blood seeping from beneath him. Shoko, with her lackadaisical smile and lazy warmth, neck slit, dropping to her knees. Haibara Yu, his youthful face ghastly and pale, one finger raised, pointing.

There is a dreadful sound emerging from Nanami's throat, pain and loss and suffering ground between his teeth to spill into his lap, along with the dampness that rushes from beneath his single, uncovered eyelid. You fight against the overwhelming current, back towards him, the muscles of your legs screaming as his cursed energy pushes up from all around him, a defensive wall.

You're on your knees beside him now, reaching past the battering of his energy, grasping hard at his shoulders.

Come back. Come back to me.

He is twisting in your grasp, his strength all but overwhelming, even in his weakened state. You position your hands on either side of his face, gently, the tendons in your neck standing out with the effort of keeping them in place.

Come back to me.

You are vaguely aware that words are spilling from between his clenched lips, the muffled sounds slowly gaining clarity as you fix your gaze on his mouth.

"Why not me, why not me, why not me, why - "

You feel an answering dampness on your own cheeks as you draw him closer, feeling his cursed energy envelope you, binding you even closer in mind and body.

"Not you, Nanami. Not you. Because your life is not going to be spent like this. Not like this."

Through the atomic engagement of your cursed energy, you feel for the familiarity of him, and you flood his awareness with images that push away the darkness that lingers. Of Yuuji and his kind eyes and watchful care, of Nobara with her brash humour and protective glance. You force him to confront the reality of the others he's buried in his memory, of the bespectacled man scurrying around his office, of Shoko puffing out a dense, white cloud as her head tilts back against a pillar, of the other students, traipsing back in, exhausted after a mission, of a young man pulling a ski mask over a cheeky, lop-sided grin.

"They need you, Nanami Kento. They need you to be alive and well. That's all they've ever wanted."

Your voice has lowered to a whisper as your domain is finally able to manifest, unfolding in the absence of his resistance. The many-petaled flower blooms in shadow, until the shining heart of it breaches like a whale's head above the turbulent waves.

And Nanami is enfolded in your arms, head pillowed against your shoulder, as your voice draws his drowning mind inwards, a solitary lifeline.

*****

Nanami does not return for his scheduled appointment the day after, or the time after that. Two weeks go by with no sign of him. You debate calling Shoko to enquire after him, your concern growing like a viper, hatched in the pit of your stomach.

Something holds you back, however. The same idea that forces you to confront what Nanami Kento has become to you. Your technique alone is based on facing the uncomfortable truths buried deep in your soul, and your feelings for him are no exception.

You cannot, in good conscience, call Shoko when the man you have come to care for so deeply wants nothing more to do with you, or your domain. The best thing for both of you would be to remain as silent ships, passing each other on the vast ocean, as Nanami gradually finds his way to the uncertain shore of recovery.

You cannot help but wonder, though, if you did truly have some impact on him. Had it worked? Would he now make more positive changes in his life that you would simply remain unaware of, or would he ignore all the progress you had made since the first time he'd stepped through those doors? You had to make peace with the idea that you'd probably never know.

(It still leaves you breathless with hurt, remembering the tender scent of him that remains on your clothes.)

******

Nanami does return, just not in the manner you'd expected.

It is a cool spring day, a full month after the incident in the dance hall. You've just come down from your apartment on the third level, wrapping a scarf around your neck and steeling yourself to brave the chill. You hear footsteps on the stairs, and you will your heart to a regular beat as their steady pace and weight sounds familiar. You've long given up the chance of seeing him again.

And then the distinctive wing of blonde hair makes an appearance past the rickety balustrade, followed shortly by the rest of him, and something in your chest constricts, because all of your discipline and mindfulness is about to fly out the window, and -

He mounts the final stair, pausing as he takes you in, in your outdoor clothes. You are trying, failing, trying so hard not to read too much into his expression, but there ... you see it. His eye kindles; the warmth of it floods the narrow space between you two, seeping into you down to your bones. No scarf can replicate this.

He steps forward, uncertainly, face twisting slightly in pained apology.

"Am I ... I hope you're well."

"I am. You look ... "

He is finally clad in the form most natural to him, a tan business suit, dark blue shirt beneath, a speckled tie cast to one side by the wind. His hair has grown drastically in the time he's been absent, one half of his scalp covered by a short growth of luxuriant white. He wears a dark glove over his left hand, presumably protecting the sensitive burnt skin there.

He is walking, completely without aid, only a slight stiffness betraying the original severity of his injury. All the elegance, strength and beauty you saw in him at first glance, now magnified beyond your comprehension, because something else is different.

His soul, the Atman that had struggled like a wounded tiger, frantic and torn, beating against its constraints, is not whole. Not just yet. It is, however, expanding beyond the borders of his body, exuding that confidence and grace you knew were such a vital part of his being. This is Nanami, the shackles of his mind trailing with uncertainty behind him as his gaze seeks yours.

You take a breath, but he holds up a hand.

"Please, let me speak first."

Seeing your slow nod, he seems slightly relieved.

"I apologise sincerely for not coming sooner. I felt that ... I needed to make progress on my own, to come to terms with what you'd shown me, before I came here once again. Above all I was ... "

Those rich, mellow tones of his drop to the range of the barely audible.

"Above all, I was ashamed. Of how obtuse I'd been. Of all the things I'd missed. I had to make that right somehow, to work harder to show the people who care about me that I can learn. That I can change. That I can ... think of myself and prioritize my well-being."

You are vaguely aware that you've drawn closer, a hapless moth, fluttering closer to a consuming flame.

"And are you at such a point now? You can really think of yourself?"

He huffs a soft laugh, eye traveling slowly, softly over your hair, your face, your lips.

"Yes. Yes, I think I can. If you choose to forgive me, maybe I can accompany you on your walk now?"

******

It is not the only time he walks with you. Nanami starts to visit again, regularly, but not just for yoga and exercises. Many of his visits are social, calling on you with a small gift of some edible treat or other that he'd discovered.

He tells you that he has started working at the Tech again, but in a purely advisory capacity, holding special seminars for younger sorcerers on the dynamics of co-operative missions, prioritizing the safety of oneself and teammates, strategy and appropriate preparation before missions.

He watches each young face that peers earnestly at him from the audience and feels a sense of peace, that he is doing all that he can to help them survive the harsh world that awaits. He is also liaising with various counseling services, trying to build a solid foundation for sorcerers who require emotional and psychological support.

You listen to each of his endeavours with delight, especially when he asks if you are willing to be part of this new co-ordinated team, bringing your area of specialty to the table.

Other times, you sit on the balcony with him, watching the ebb and flow of humanity in the city below, your bubble of tranquility untouched. These times are the most precious to you, because that is when Nanami's shoulders ease, when the lines at the corners his eyes deepen with merriment, when he tells you stories of places he's visited, people he's come across, anecdotes from his days as a salaryman and the latest exploits of the students.

There are times when he leans in close, when your breath halts at the verdant, warm, masculine scent of him. There are times when you pass him a steaming glass and your fingers brush the ends of his, and you notice that he always takes off his glove when he sits with you. Sometimes you stand, side by side on the balcony, your upper arm pressed slightly against his, revelling in the sweet, solid proximity of him.

It is one one of those occasions that you turn to him, to point out a new store that has opened not far away, and you see that he is watching you. There is no shame in his glance, only a gentle wonder that weaves a golden bridge between the both of you. Your voice is soft, reverent.

"What is it?"

"I'm remembering the first time I saw you dance."

"Oh?"

"You were teaching a class, as I recall. I remember standing by the door, watching, and some time later, your eyes were on me. And I realized that I couldn't remember anything that had happened in between."

He reaches for you, the glove absent, and you lean into his touch without hesitation. His fingers are light, so light, as they trace across your temple, your cheek, the corner of your lips.

"And ... during our second session, when you held me, I knew that I couldn't continue like this. That you were using the strength of your soul to heal mine, and that if I didn't do my best to understand what you had shown me, then all your effort would have been for nothing. I couldn't accept that."

Your forehead finds purchase against his, a natural movement that echoes the press of your palm against the substantiality of his chest.

"And now?"

"Now ... I can walk beside you in the sun."

The taste of his mouth is a nectar you've never known you've craved. It is heady, a fiery joining of soft and rough, the edges of the scar tissue tracing along your lips like the light drag of a fingernail.

You open your arms to him once more, and this time, he stays.

(VII)

Thillana: Revivification

After learning the soul, learning the body is as natural as breathing. You were hesitant about touching him, wondering how much he'd allow after his injuries. You needn't have worried much on that account. As much as he makes your heart flutter and sing with his praises, with his eager, gentle touches, with the growing harshness of his lips against yours, all that he seems concerned with is how to use his body best to bring pleasure to yours.

You have seen the barest desolation of his soul, and its healing, and the damage to his body means as little to both of you as the muted rush of traffic outside your small apartment.

His urgency is sweetened by the clumsy tug and pull on zips and fastenings, on the shedding of clothes, the soft exhales, painting skin with warm moisture in between the frantic pace of your lips and his.

His hands are so large, spanning your ribcage as you lead him to your bed, circling and finding purchase on the dip of your waist. His body is a moving furnace that warms you as you stumble and clutch at each other, the ripple of muscle like an unseen beast beneath the waves as your palms explore his shoulders, arms, torso, hips.

Kento's skin is a map of hidden treasures, the smooth, tawny, gold- flecked expanse of chest meeting the ridges of scar tissue halfway across. The new growth of white hair on his scalp is downy soft between your fingers, in contrast to the silky texture on the right. His powerful thighs slide between yours, the forward thrust of his hips spreading you open to receive his weight.

He is not forceful, and yet, takes the reigns of your intimate dance almost as if by instinct. He pauses above you, propped on his hands, chest heaving slightly as he takes you in, his amber-shot gaze misty with adoration and lust. You reach up,  tracing the firm line of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, the sinew of his neck. Every new angle you spy reveals more, that elusive, predatory beauty that never fails to enchant you.

His head dips, the blonde strands falling forward softly against your skin as he kisses a line of fire down your torso, quickening your breathing as his tongue flickers against your flesh. He holds you down, pressing you firmly into the mattress as he worships each breast, lapping, suckling, savouring.

He moves further down, and your sharp breathing devolves into whispered pleas and whimpers as he nudges your inner thigh softly with his nose. So deliriously slow, so decisive, as in every action he takes, he devours his way to the apex of your thighs, sliding his hands underneath you as you lift your hips and present yourself further to him.

The feast he has been waiting for lies open beneath his gently probing fingers, their honey smearing over his lips as he tastes you, eye snapping up as a breathy moan escapes your lips. He laps at you with heady abandon, that smoky, devoted gaze never leaving the contortions of your face as he brings you to each hard-won peak, drifting you back down to a mellow lake of blinding pleasure.

Your fingers slide and catch on his shoulders, anchoring yourself as blood thunders in your ears, and a rising storm, electric and charged with fresh potency, builds at every ultra-sensitive point of contact. He is your passionate guide, leading you to a shining horizon, familiar and yet fraught with the overwhelming knowledge that he is the one who pulls you over the edge of the thundering waterfall.

You are submerged, the shake of your limbs and the hoarse cry of your voice reaching up from beneath the surface your senses have yet to emerge from. When they do, you glance down at him, past your heaving chest, at the blaze that roars within him as he beholds you splayed out, breathless; an offering.

He takes it.

The slow crawl of his skin, sliding against your damp flesh, the brief touch of his mouth at the hollow of your throat, the brush of his nose against yours. He takes your lips in a soft request for entry, groans into your mouth as you trace the ridges of his spine. 

Kento is almost too much for you, the burning vitality that steals your breath, the fullness of your arms as they embrace all of him. The air rushes out of your lungs as the hardened press of his length breaches you, fills you to overflowing.

He holds you close, so close, as if he could meld your bodies as you had once done with your cursed energy, ragged puffs of air escaping his lips to collect like clouds in the evening sky of your hair. His movements are slow, dragging tears from the corners of your eyes, drunk and blissful moans cocooned within the slowly rotating vessel of your lovemaking.

You are at sea with him, around him, washing over his starving self and nourishing his spirit with every slick press of your bodies together, every arch of your back, every trace of his scarred skin, every gentle touch of your lips to his brow, cheek, mouth. He is now taking as well as giving, rolling his hips hard into the widening harbour of your thighs, soft grunt and pants deepening in their urgency.

The unfolding within you is different, completely out of your control. A wild, reckless dance, the rhythm ever-changing, golden threads running like molten metal between the undulations of your bodies. The flower of your combined desire unfurls, petal by petal, each dropping to the floor as new layers of delight and abandon are reached.

The bed creaks beneath the weighted push of his thrusts, his hands flying to your cheeks as your cries grow louder, louder, raspy and choked. This is the true face of passion, the complete submission to the will of your lover, the way you take all that he gifts you with and reciprocate with the finest nectar that slides from the deepest parts of you, soaking the sheets beneath you.

It is here, it is here in the glazed film of his eye beneath dusky lashes, the sweat between his body and yours, the heat that stretches on and on to an infinity within your knowing and snaps-

Washing over his ears in your sharp scream of release, in the wanton covering of his mouth with yours, the ecstasy of a thousand fluttering birds within the cage of your ribs. This time, the gentle ripple of your tide pulls him forward over the edge, his deep groan of guttural satisfaction reverberating through your whole body as his hips stutter and still their frantic pace.

You lie with him, afterwards, limbs entangled, aware only of the shift of his nose against your collarbone, the tightening of his arms around you, the way you wrap yourself around his form, as if to shield him, just for a moment, from the world he has been born into.

Kento. 

Brightness, shadow, mellow and hard-edged, the loveliness of everything in-between. 

Yours.

How can you ever call it anything other than love?

(VII) 

Mangalam: Gratitude

To be in Kento's presence is to discover a thousand tiny precious shards, hidden in the silken folds of your changing life, piecing them together to form a diamond of unparalleled value.

He is quiet, stubborn, brave, resilient, mischievous and agile of mind. He challenges your thoughts on the jujutsu world, brings summer to your heart and draws you into the sunshine of his embrace. The fractured nature of his soul is not one that can be undone, but weeds (hardy and weathered) have grown through the cracks and your own flowerbed finds a home there, gently blossoming.

You are reminded of every richness he has brought into your life on one summer night, in the aftermath of a taxing mission for some of the students, when he meets them for supper and a discussion of what had occurred.

This time, Megumi is also present, and he reminds you a little of Kento as he watches Yuuji's animated re-enactment of the battle, rolling his eyes at obvious embellishments, adding a solemn word now and then. Kento leans forward on his elbows, listening attentively, as always.

When Yuuji is finished, Kento sits back, contemplatively sipping his coffee.

"What you've described is certainly concerning. I'd take this information up with the research committee as soon as you've filed your report. They may want to know details like that."

Yuuji nodded fervently.

"Already on it. I've been looking it up and there was a similar surge in cursed energy in Okinawa a few years ago. Pretty much leveled a small village. I'm not taking any chances with this one. I've texted Ijichi about sealing technique specialists and requested a team to map out energy signatures in the surrounding area. Anything I may have missed?"

You take note of the small smile that graces Kento's face, the pride that spills out along its sharply defined edges.

"No. You've done well, Yuuji. It's exactly what I would have done under those circumstances."

"Oh?"

Yuuji's surprised expression quickly morphs to something else, a deepening realization that silences him and brings a tight, tender quality to the set of his mouth.

Kento has called him by his first name.

********

On the slow stroll back to your home, you link your arm with his. The night sky is flecked with faint stars, unusual to see in the normally smog-laden sky over the city. You speak into the comfortable silence.

"Yuuji handled that well."

"He's a born leader. I've always thought so. He has the confidence and drive to be the strongest, not just in technique. Not to mention the magnitude of what he's already accomplished."

He pauses, one finger idly tracing over his eyepatch.

"I noticed it on our first mission together. He was not just a young sorcerer, going through the motions, trying to survive. He genuinely felt for the victims of the curse. It ... reminded me of Haibara, a little."

He gives your hand a small reassuring pat.

"Not that I've ever confused the two. They're fundamentally different. But Yuuji ... Yuuji had a light inside of him. He made me take note. He made me see him, and his spirit."

Your fingers entwine with his, tugging his hand up to your lips.

"Your spirit is quite marvellous too, you know."

He eyes you sideways, slyly.

"It is?"

"Of course."

"Would you like to elaborate?"

"Fishing for compliments, are we?"

"From your lovely tongue, always."

Your laughter echoes in the silent street, stretching out along the sidewalk, shimmering in the puddles that had formed after the rain.

"You are beautiful, Nanami Kento, and you're- "

You never finish that sentence, as his hands draw you closer, his lips finding yours in the glow of the street lamp. In that moment, you can think of nothing else apart from the man who strides with quiet confidence beside you, on every conceivable path to an unknown future.

He is a red-painted center, kindling in the palm of your hand, the tiger that inhabits the secret garden of your heart, the flame in a gilded brazier that never goes out. 

************