#it's about how sometimes you put on acts to conceal and sometimes you put on acts to reveal

[bombusbombus]

Just two clever, quiet men hiding in their own shadow

[ohproserpine]

iv. dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, jealousy, possessiveness, alastor does not know how to interpret love, or maybe he does, in his own twisted way, roadkill used as a symbolism, gorey descriptions of love, murder the song she sings is 'roxie' from chicago

˚୨୧₊♱

"Hey!" Charlie's voice rang out as she spotted Mimzy making her way towards the hotel entrance. The blonde froze, casting a nervous glance behind her to see the demon princess rapidly approaching with a worried look that she mistook for anger.

With practiced ease, the blonde put on a fake frown, pressing her hand over her chest. "Oh, Charlie! I'm so sorry for the trouble last night, sugar! I'll pay—"

"No, no! I'm not here for that," Charlie waved her hands with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the slump of relief on Mimzy's shoulders. "Are you leaving so soon? The hotel wouldn't mind taking you in!"

Caught off guard by Charlie's unexpected offer, Mimzy grimaced. She hesitated, opening her mouth before shutting it as she struggled to find the right words. "Oh! Well…you see…"

A laughing track, sounding like it was filtered through a radio, echoed through the air, and Mimzy turned to the source to find Alastor towering over her with his signature grin.

"I don't think redemption is quite her style," Alastor's chipper voice rang out. His clawed hand reached for Mimzy’s hair, plucking a feather from her headpiece. In his hands, the pink ornament erupted into flames. "Frankly, I have my doubts she could even be redeemed at all!"

Horrified, Mimzy watched as her feather fell to the floor in ashes, her hand instinctively reaching for the charred remnants.

"Alastor," Charlie glared at him before turning her attention back to Mimzy. "We believe in redemption for everyone. It's not about what you were; it's about what you choose to be now. We'll be here to support you every step of the way."

"Thanks, sugar," Mimzy forced a smile, waving her hand around daintily. She glanced at the entrance with a subtle wish for escape, playing up the nice act while Alastor continued to watch the scene unfold with a cryptic smile. "But radio here is right. I don't really think it's my style. Different strokes for different folks. Plus, I've got a business to run!"

Alastor hummed, twirling his microphone cane around in his hand. The crimson glow of his eyes narrowed at her as he chuckled. "You couldn't possibly mean that wooden box of debauchery you call a club, right?"

"My 'wooden box of debauchery' has more character than any joint in that city," Mimzy grit her teeth together in a smile, barely concealing her frustration.

As another argument began to form, a throat clearing interrupted the flow, capturing Mimzy's attention. A pink glove slowly rose from the couch and Angel Dust pushed himself off the furniture, sitting up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"If I may~" Angel Dust chimed in. "You saying you, ah, got a bar? I'm always up for checking out new places. Mind if I swing by sometime, tits?"

Mimzy beamed and sent Alastor a smug look, making her way toward Angel Dust. She reached into her chest, pulling out a card with a flourish. "Of course, kitten! Here's all our information. You'll find us in the Vee district. Feel free to swing by anytime. And don't forget to bring a friend!"

Angel Dust took the offered card, a grin forming on his face. "Bring a friend, huh? You got it, toots."

˚୨୧₊♱

The Vee district, designated as the entertainment hub of Pride, was dazzled with bright neon lights and tall towering buildings adorned with blazing billboards. The streets pulsed with life, where every ten steps brought you face-to-face with street performers desperately vying for attention, hoping to catch the eyes of industry scouts. The message was clear – fame was the ticket to success. Performers were everywhere, found in rundown bars, neon nightclubs, and costly theaters catering to the insatiable appetites of the elite.

Mimzy's Lounge, nestled down east on one of the city's worse-off streets was no fancy stage. The building, weathered and worn, seemed to barely hold itself together. The exterior bore the scars of years gone by, with cracked windows, peeling paint, and near-rotting wooden walls. While it may not have been on the standards of the elite, to the poor and downtrodden, it was the best piece of entertainment they could afford.

Inside, the dim lighting of the bar did little to conceal the stains and cracks that adorned the floor and ceiling. Tables and chairs, mismatched, were arranged haphazardly. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap perfume, wrapping around the audience—a motley crew of lost souls. On the stage, a couple of scantily clad showgirls were performing a dance routine, or at least their movements vaguely resembled one. The quality of the performance didn't seem to matter to the audience, who, hungry for any form of entertainment, welcomed the spectacle with open arms.

Seated discreetly in the back booths, Angel and Cherri had drawn their curtains tight, creating a cocoon of privacy amid the bustling buzz and thumping music in the club.

"…And check this out – Alastor is hitched," Angel Dust spat out the last word as if it were poison. His face caught the warm, bright lights spilling into their booth, slipping through the small gap in the middle of the curtains. He sipped from his drink, a glint in his eyes. "And the owner here's got some serious dirt on his missus or somethin' like that."

"That why you dragged me to this hellhole? Knew it," Cherri snorted, taking a sip of her cocktail, the sweet and tangy flavors doing little to mask the less-than-pleasant ambiance. "Couldn't believe you'd even want to step into a place like this."

"You know I can't resist a bit of gossip, and where else can you find more gossip than in a joint run by a gal who's got the goods on Alastor himself?" Angel grinned, his golden tooth flashing as he reclined in his torn red chair. "Hell. I bet anyone else would do what I'm doin'. I mean, who wouldn't be tearin' these walls down just to catch a glimpse of the Radio Demon's wife?"

Cherri Bomb let out a throaty chuckle. "Well, you're bloody right there."

A sudden blast of music echoed through the air, prompting Angel Dust to scramble out of his seat and poke his head out from behind the curtain. The previous performers stepped off the stage, making way for the upcoming act. He caught sight of a familiar pudgy figure sauntering onto the stage and hastily turned his head back to the booth, meeting Cherri's amused face. "It's startin'!"

“Welcome, all you devils and darlings, to the Dollhouse Lounge!” Mimzy's voice boomed, and the lights gracefully dimmed to focus on her. The hum of conversation dwindled, the audience's attention now on the stage. “It's the moment you've all been waiting for! The last act of the night… Dolly, the living doll!"

With Mimzy's spirited introduction, the claps and cheers crackled in the air. In an instant, the lights plunged into darkness, leaving Angel to flit his gaze across the smoke-hazed stage, hungry for a glimpse of what was to come. Suddenly, a surge of stage lights sliced through the lingering smoke, akin to a celestial burst, revealing your silhouette with a large signage that spelled out your name in bold, red letters.

Wearing a lovely smile, you spread your arms wide, catching everyone's attention as you sang the first note, voice sultry and dripping sweet like honey. "The name on everybody's lips is gonna be Dolly."

"That's his wife?" Cherri gawked behind Angel, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Are you sure we got the right girl?"

"Hell, I'm just as surprised as you are," Angel shot back, an equally dumfounded look on his face.

"The lady raking in the chips Is gonna be Dolly," your voice echoed, the melody carrying through the lounge as you strolled towards the stage's platform. The rhythmic beat of the music vibrated against the soles of your heels while the spotlight dutifully trailed after you, its gentle glow caressing the curves of your glittery dress, casting glimmers of silver and gold that danced across the dimly lit bar.

"I'm gonna be a celebrity. That means somebody everyone knows," you continued, sauntering around the stage. As you swirled and twirled, your silhouette became a blur of sequins and shimmer. The spotlight then intensified its focus on you, highlighting the glint in your eyes. "They're gonna recognize my eyes. My hair, my teeth, my boobs, my nose."

"Fuck," Angel muttered under his breath. As you moved closer to the end of the platform, he could finally get a good look at you.

Shimmery blue eyeshadow graced your lids, while a dark blush adorned the apples of your cheeks, complementing the red lipstick you had on. Your dress, a dazzling ensemble of sequins, was not only radiant but also provocatively low-cut, teasingly revealing a glimpse of your chest before gracefully dropping to your knees. Dark silk stockings, sensually tracing the contours of your legs, were held by garters. At your feet, bedazzled red Mary Janes sparkled like jewels, catching the light with every step you took.

As Angel thought back to his conversation with Mimzy, he found himself agreeing with her earlier comments. You really were a living, breathing doll.

"From just some dumb canni-bal’s wife. I'm gonna be Dolly," you continued, seamlessly weaving your magic, each lyric a spell that bound the audience. "Who says that murder's not an art?"

With a spin, you twirled around the stage, a ditzy grin on your face, the sequins on your gown catching the light like stars. "And who, in case she doesn't hang, can say she started with a bang! Dolly Heart!"

As the final notes of the song echoed through the venue, the room erupted in applause and cheers. But, the curtain wasn't falling yet. Standing backstage, Mimzy let the moment linger, reveling in the prolonged applause. After all, happy customers always tipped generously.

On cue, bills and coins descended like a storm, hitting the floor with a crisp sound that mixed beautifully with the cheers of the delighted audience. There was so much that the shower of currency formed a makeshift carpet beneath your feet.

Angel Dust, still peeking from behind the curtain, wore a smirk of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all," he whispered to Cherri, who nodded in agreement.

Standing on the stage, bathed in the lingering glow of the spotlight, you held your pose, chest heaving up and down. A demure smile graced your lips as soft, appreciative nods and fluttering eyelashes accompanied each gaze you cast toward the audience. Tonight's turnout was impressive, though not unexpected given your agreement to perform one of your most famous songs after a prolonged hiatus.

"Dolly" was a beloved crowd-pleaser and the one song you hated with a passion.

The spotlight continued to shine relentlessly in your eyes, causing a painful burn in your irises. The deafening applause felt like a relentless assault on your senses as each clap echoed loudly in your ears. From the speakers, the music blasted in waves, the volume rattling your bones. Showbusiness, a constant companion in both your living and afterlife, had become an achingly familiar yet tormenting cycle.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Mimzy step up onto the stage to address the crowd. "Thank you, my lovely devils and darlings! Wasn't Dolly simply darling tonight?" she squealed through the mic.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause once more, the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. Mimzy basked in the adoration, her grin widening as she soaked in the success and the money. Oh, the money.

"I know you loved that!" she laughed. She leaned into the microphone, her voice turning into a whisper "Of course, you all do. I wrote it."

"Now, let's give our star her rest. Dolly, my dear, take a bow!" Mimzy's voice rang out, signaling the end of the performance. Relieved, you bowed before making your way towards the curtains as the heavy fabrics began to descend. After blowing a few more kisses to the audience, you slipped backstage, letting the smile fade from your face. As you vanished from view behind the curtain, Angel caught the look on your face.

It was a look he knew all too well.

"She looks perfectly happy without him," Cherri remarked with a casual shrug. "I mean, look at 'er. She's the star of the show. You think she left on purpose?"

Angel furrowed his brows, deep in thought. It didn't make no sense to him.

Why would you willingly perform under Mimzy's control when Alastor, with his power, could easily get you out of here? Contract or no contract, that radio freak could tear Mimzy apart like a hot knife through butter.

The spider's attention shifted towards the audience, and his gaze locked onto Mimzy, who was engrossed in conversation with some VIPs. The sight of her triggered a scowl to etch itself onto his features.

"I don't think so. There's more to it," Angel's eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head turning, "I've seen that look before."

"What look?" Cherri raised an eyebrow.

"That trapped look," Angel said, his gaze following Mimzy as she continued her animated conversation, oblivious to the scrutiny. "Before the curtains dropped, I saw it on her."

"Shit, Angie," Cherri's gaze followed Angel's, and she pursed her lips. "You think she's playing the part or really stuck?"

Angel Dust stood up straight, now opening the curtains wide as his eyes never left Mimzy. "I don't know, but I'm gonna find out."

Both of them took their time, patiently waiting until Mimzy stepped away. Once the blonde demon finally made her way backstage, they discreetly followed her lead, slipping behind the curtains with her.

The busy backstage corridor welcomed them with an assortment of items – costumes, props, and stage decor – scattered in chaotic disarray. Angel's eyes wandered around, and he spotted Mimzy in a far corner, sitting atop worn cardboard boxes. Nudging Cherri, he gestured for both of them to move closer.

"Hey~ How's it going, blondie?" Angel purred, leaning against a nearby prop, his tone dripping with a sickly sweet tone. Mimzy looked up, confused before she recognized him and flashed a wide grin.

"Hey, you! You're that spider fella from the hotel!" She tapped her chin in thought narrowing her eyes at him. "Uhm, Angle Dust was it?"

"It's Angel Dust," he corrected, a twitch of annoyance in his eye.

"Uh-hah, that's nice," Mimzy seemed unfazed, continuing to count her money, her legs swinging back and forth absentmindedly. "You like the show? Oh, who am I kidding, of course, you did!"

Angel Dust crossed his arms with a chuckle. "Yeah, about that. That girl, Dolly. She's quite a number, ain't she?"

"Oh, yeah. She's my little masterpiece," Mimzy smirked. "Met her before she had any of this."

"Let's cut the fuckin' crap," Cherri rolled her eyes, tired of dancing around the conversation. The cyclops leaned down to Mimzy's height, scowling into her face and driving her finger into the blonde's chest. "I'll say it straight. What's the deal with her? You got some strings attached?"

Mimzy paused and glanced up at Cherri with an arched eyebrow before turning to Angel and laughing tensely. "Your friend here sure is forward, Ankle! Oh, sweethearts, Dolly's here because she wants to be."

Angel Dust shot Cherri a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. "Yeah?"

"The girl signed a contract willingly," Mimzy explained with a casual shrug. "She gets what she wants, and I get what I want. It's a fair exchange."

Angel's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "Contract? What's in it for her, then? Why willingly perform in this dump when she could easily be the star anywhere else?"

The blonde sent Angel a glare for his dig at her lounge but still answered him. "Dolly owes me something. A little debt she's paying off with her charming performances. A contract might sound sinister, but it's just showbusiness, furs." Mimzy leaned back, folding her arms, her expression daring the two of them challenge her further.

"Bull. She sold you her soul to dance and sing?" Cherri scoffed, taking the challenge.

"No, no, there was no soul exchange involved," Mimzy rolled her eyes. "Just a contract. But still binding, magical, and all of that stuff."

"Now, can you two get out of my hair?" Mimzy huffed, shooing them away with a dismissive wave. "I've got a lot of things to run here!" She returned to counting her money, clearly eager to be rid of the unwanted attention.

"Let's go, Cherri," Angel said with a look of defeat, pushing himself off the prop he had been leaning on.

Once the two of them finally stepped out of the establishment, the spider groaned to himself, now finding himself with more questions than answers.

˚୨୧₊♱

You strolled behind the weighty curtains, the backstage area buzzing with the rush of staff, the shouts of managers, and the lingering presence of performers idly awaiting their cues. Navigating through the organized chaos, you directed your steps towards your private dressing room—a sanctuary away from the glaring spotlight.

You threw the door open, entering quickly and slamming it shut behind you, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the clamor and racket outside. Flicking a light switch, the dim glow of a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed the room's worn-out glamour. A vanity cluttered with makeup, costumes haphazardly thrown on a worn-out sofa, and a cracked mirror that had seen better days—all were familiar sights.

"I would kill for a glass of whiskey," you murmured to yourself, the weariness of the performance settling in. Rolling your head and groaning as you heard a satisfying crack, you added, "or maybe a whole bottle of it."

Kicking off your heels, you let the cool floor cradle your skin, leaving the discarded shoes in a dusty corner to rest. Seated at the vanity, the chaotic world beyond the backstage curtains ceased to exist. The gentle glow of the vanity lights exposed the weariness in your eyes as you wiped away your mascara and dusted off the remnants of glitter from your skin. While removing your earrings, the shimmer of your wedding ring caught your eye.

A frown tugged at your lips, the subtle ache of longing surfacing.

You missed your husband.

With a sigh, you continued removing your earrings before tossing them onto your vanity. Seeking to ease the edge, you reached for a whiskey bottle on a nearby dresser, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself a drink. The golden liquid glimmered in the subdued light as you took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.

"C̵h̶e̸r̷?̷"̸

A static rumble of a radio, like thunder, jolted you mid-drink, causing the liquid to catch in your throat. Coughing and sputtering for a while, you scrambled to collect yourself before turning behind you. Your gaze landed on the desk table where your radio sat. The crackling static continued, accompanied by a familiar voice and distorted sounds.

Alastor.

Grabbing a cloth to wipe yourself, you rushed to the desk and grabbed the old radio in your hands. The radio was a faded, worn red with yellowed dials, and its antennas were visibly broken, held up together with scraps of tape. Your contract with Mimzy did not allow you to meet with Alastor or his shadows for as long as you were under her, but that didn't mean you couldn't communicate with Alastor in other ways.

With trembling hands, you carefully adjusted the dials, aligning them to the familiar frequency that bridged the gap between you two. Your heart thrummed in your chest, head almost dizzy from anticipation. The distorted voices began to clear, and Alastor's distinctive voice cut through the static, a lifeline in the abyss.

"Cher, my dear, are you there?" Back in his room at the hotel, Alastor spoke through his mic, awaiting your response. He was sitting by the large windows, bathed in the dim glow of the Ring of Pride's lights. The hues painted a lovely ambiance against his skin, highlighting the contours of his sharp features as he reclined against a plush couch.

Heavy silence lingered for a while as you felt your throat closing up. Without realizing it, you began crying, your sobs echoing through Alastor's microphone.

"Yes, Al," you choked out between sobs, your hands gripping the surface of the radio tightly, nails scratching against the peeling paint. "I'm here. I missed you."

Alastor listened to your tearful voice through the crackling static, his shoulders tense as his claws clenched against his microphone handle. Your vulnerable confession hung heavily in the air, and he felt a storm stirring within him. Unsure of what to do with these emotions, he could only sit there and listen to you weep.

From the busiest street in Pentagram City to the darkest alleyways, Alastor's reputation as a bloodthirsty killer was infamous, and he reveled in it. The idea that an overlord like him could entertain genuine care for someone sounded preposterous. Throughout his human days and beyond, Alastor never felt such sentiments.

Decades ago, he only needed himself. However, ever since you entered his life, he became a man possessed.

The moment he first laid eyes on you, you were a vision of beauty with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and he couldn't deny that he felt an inkling of fondness for you right from the start. But that was all it ever was—nothing more, nothing less.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he couldn't help but notice that the glow in your smile was brighter, lovelier. And despite his usual tendency to dismiss such details, Alastor couldn't look away. Not anymore.

You held him captive, like a deer frozen in the blinding glare of oncoming headlights. He was aware the collision was imminent, yet it still caught him off guard; A torrent of emotions crashing into him like a speeding truck, leaving him with twisted limbs and cracking bones, antlers torn from his head, fur matted and bloodied, with his heart exposed, beating vulnerably before you.

In the months that followed, Alastor remembered how foreign the feeling to him was. He didn't want to understand it, refused to, but each attempt to rip those festering emotions out of his chest only left him bleeding.

Looking back, Alastor finds himself incapable of fathoming how life was bearable before you entered it. The mere thought of returning to a time when you weren't present is something he refuses to entertain. The person he used to be, before he stepped into that speakeasy, now feels like a distant stranger, a mere shadow of the man he has become with you in his life.

The static in his thoughts subsided, in tandem with your crying and sobbing dying down. A prolonged pause lingered before Alastor interrupted the silence. "Cher, you know I'd bring you out of that wretched place if you just said the word."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you wiped away tears with your trembling fingers. "You tell me that every time we have these calls. Do you not get tired of it?"

"Never," Alastor hummed. The sound of your laughter, even tinged with bitterness, momentarily lifted the heavy burden that his heart carried. "The offer will always be up, darling!"

"You know I can't, Al. Me and her have history together," your voice paused, cracking with emotion. "And I still feel guilty."

Alastor sighed heavily, frustration dancing in his eyes. He always struggled to understand why you felt indebted to Mimzy, why guilt still clung to your decisions like a persistent shadow.

To him, Mimzy deserved the consequences. Despite his constant offers to free you from her grasp, you remained steadfast in your decision to complete your contract

"Very well, dear," Alastor's smooth voice crackled through the radio, weaving a comforting presence into the air as you moved back toward your vanity, taking a seat. "Now, enough of these melancholic talks. Tell me, how was the show tonight?"

"Mimzy had me perform 'Dolly' again," you remarked, a crooked smile playing on your lips. "She's well aware that I despise that song. I mean, really? Have you ever taken a look at the lyrics? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

As your frustrations spilled out, Alastor stood from his seat, staff in hand. Placing it beside his closet, he attentively listened to your words, occasionally responding with chuckles and interjections. He slipped off his monocle, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and then his vest, revealing a well-tailored red undershirt that clung to his lean frame.

"I find the cannibal's wife line rather charming," Alastor smirked, and though he couldn't see it, you rolled your eyes in response.

"Of course you'd enjoy that part," you scoffed, mirroring Alastor's movements on the other side. Shedding the bedazzled dress, you opted for more comfortable attire, draping yourself in a robe.

"What's not to like? It shows the audience that you're my darling wife," Alastor quipped with a smug tone.

"Bushwa. They don't even know it's you. And I don't think anyone thinks highly of some poor fool shackled to a gaudy singer," you snorted. With the radio in tow, you began to pack your belongings into your purse.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor's laugh rumbled against the speakers. "My dear, being 'shackled' to you is the most delightful form of imprisonment."

"Such a sap," you scoffed, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. Shouldering your purse, you made your way towards the door, ready to leave. However, a sudden memory of a conversation with Mimzy surfaced.

"By the way, did you know Mimzy was planning to have me perform on some talk show?" you shared with Alastor while locking the door to your dressing room. A furrow appeared on your brow as the backstage lights played with shadows, casting a pensive expression on your face. "What was it again… Oh! Yes! Box-2-Nite."

A sudden screech from the radio erupted, its harsh sound reverberating in the hallway. Luckily, no one was around at this hour, and you cringed at the unexpected disturbance. Glaring at the box, you raised your brow. "You scared the living daylights outta me."

Alastor stayed silent for a while, claws digging into the cloth of his coat, ripping the fabric. With a snap of his head to the side, he dropped it to the floor and moved toward his staff, his shadows playing on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath his feet.

"Do you perhaps mean… Vox-2-Nite?" His voice, usually smooth, carried an edge.

"Is that the name? I thought you hated telev—Oh. Ohhh..." As you ascended to the higher floors of the building, a realization swept over you.

Alastor's relationship with Vox was complicated. It didn't take a genius to see that. If the ceaseless back-and-forths on broadcasts, the turf wars that had casualties matching mass-extinction events, and the hushed gossip circulating among the other performers were anything to go by.

“Small world,” you chuckled, strolling down the hallway that led to the performers' rooms, the echo of your footsteps blending with the distant murmur of conversation. “I’m guessing I shouldn't take her up on the offer?”

"Absolutely not," Alastor practically snarled out, venom dripping from his tongue. The radio in your hand crackled and buffered, a faint golden glow emanating from the dials. "That pompous piece of shit television is nothing but a clout-chasing, mediocre host flitting between this fad and another on his little picture show podcasts."

“I know, love.” With a swift turn of a doorknob, you opened the door to your flat. "I wasn’t… planning… to…”

Your words trailed off, lingering in the air, as you entered the room. Your eyes widened in awe, captivated by the sight of a bouquet of white roses gracefully adorning your bed.

"Alastor," you spoke into the radio, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "Did you send me roses?"

Back in the hotel, Alastor, settled back into his plush couch. The fiery embers of his anger melting away like a fleeting shadow, replaced by the realization that you had discovered his gift.

A soft chuckle came from the radio, "Guilty as charged, cher. "

Your heart fluttered, and you sank onto the bed, dropping the radio on your mattress and taking the bouquet into your hands. The delicate petals felt soft against your fingers as you admired their beauty. White roses, unlike red ones, were so scarce it was difficult to get a hold of.

"Alastor, this is… wonderful," you spoke into the radio, smile so wide your cheeks almost hurt. "Why—How did you even—How did you even manage to find these?"

"Oh, I pulled a few strings," your husband grinned before chuckling, "and a few limbs too."

Your laughter intertwined with his and Alastor listened fondly, finding solace in the melody of your delight.

The day you inked that deal with Mimzy marked the onset of an agonizing pain he had never experienced before. The thought of leaving your sorrowful self under the wretched contract of that avaricious woman had incited a frenzied rage within him, leading to weeks of unbridled slaughters on the streets of hell.

The blood he spilled onto the sidewalks left a stain on the concrete that lasted months.

Fortunately for you and him, the ordeal was nearing its end. Just one more year remained until Alastor could finally reunite with you. After enduring decades of this agony, an additional year seemed like mercy.

"You like it, cher?" Alastor's voice dropped an octave lower, the satisfaction evident in his tone, pleased to bring happiness to your moment.

"Yes," you laugh, cradling the bouquet in your hands. "I like it very much."

˚୨୧₊♱

[mell0wjello]

𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓲𝓽 𝓫𝓮?

How would the NRC boys fall for their beloved prefect?

! 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒾𝒶 𝐸𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 !

~~~~~~

𝓚𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓶 𝓐𝓵-𝓐𝓼𝓲𝓶

Kalim knew from the start

And he was not ashamed to show it. In fact, it was quite obvious to anyone who knew him

Kalim was generous to all, but the way he invested so much money into restoring Ramshackle dorm and always brought you small (and by no means cheap) gifts to you every time he invited you to Scarabia incited the suspicion of people around him.

Kalim's love language is gifting and quality time! Can you blame him?

Jamil was the first to know.

The night Kalim realized, he went up to Jamil's room and knocked on his door to tell him all about it

His favorite part of you is your smile.

He’d try to take you on carpet rides all the time, and he loved sharing his food with you

He even asked Jamil to teach him how to cook so he could prepare lots of things for you

He really admired how resilient and positive you were against all odds

He wouldn’t formally ask you out, it would be more of an unspoken thing. He’d give you all the signs but it’s up to you if you reciprocate them or not

He’d be veryyy respectful of your boundaries. He’d never force you into something you wouldn’t want

If you never reciprocated back, he would honestly be hurt and a little confused. He’s not very used to rejection, but give him some time. Since there was never anything concrete between you two besides friends, he wouldn’t stop talking to you. He would, however be more silent. He’d watch from afar, but always respect your choice

If you did reciprocate, he’d be ecstatic. You’d notice how he’d become more confident with his advances.

Lots of PDA (As long as you’re comfortable). Hugging, holding hands. Sometimes light kisses on the

He’d tell Jamil all about your dates, practically gushing to him

His favorite spot to kiss is your hand. Backside, frontside, it doesn’t matter to him. He likes how soft it feels against his lips.

His favorite spot to be kissed is on the cheek.

~~~~~~

𝓙𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵 𝓥𝓲𝓹𝓮𝓻

Unlike Kalim, Jamil had no idea what struck him

It started quite softly. Piqued interest in the prefect with soaring grades, despite their lack of magic • Next thing he knows, he’s at Ramshackle dorm, studying with them. Not that he needs a tutor, no, he made that clear. He just wanted to observe.

Now, you were in his kitchen, cooking dinner for Scarabia.

First, your dorm, then his kitchen, and now his thoughts. When did he let you get this close?

Jamil was reluctant at this realization, almost wary and cautious

He had let his guard down around you, and yet, a part of him was completely fine by it

He’d try so hard to put his walls back on, but you were just devoid of any animosity towards him, it was hard to conceal himself

He just couldn’t lie to you. For the first time, he could unravel himself in front of someone and feel safe

It clicked suddenly for him. The fuzzy feeling in his chest was something he was scared to admit

Nobody could really tell. Not even Kalim, although he did notice slight changes in Jamil

Jamils main love language is acts of service and physical touch

He often tries to involve this in his outings with you, for example, going out to buy ingredients from Sam's shop

Jamil is a jealous man, although this isn't very noticeable. No one can tell, but when another guy approaches you to ask for a pen in class (you are the only one who uses magicless pens at school), he is fuming in his head.

Jamil´s favorite part of you are the legs. He loves how elegant and graceful they look as you dance with him

Jamil isn't much of a risk-taker. He's calculating. He'd make sure that you too were on the same page as him before confessing to you. This would be done in an intimate setting, where the both of you are alone and secluded.

If things didn't go as planned for Jamil, he would reasonably be quite upset. Opening up was something he'd never done for anyone, and for that person to not feel the same as him was a harsh blow. He'd gradually grow distant from you afterward. It's his way of re-establishing the walls that you had torn down.

If you felt the same way about him, Jamil would be overjoyed. He'd embrace you in his arms and sigh with relief. The itching feeling at his throat was now gone. You were his, and he was yours.

All of his affection and display of physical touch would happen in private and often manifest into cuddling sessions or sometimes something more intimate.

His favorite spot to kiss you is on your ear. He enjoys knowing you can experience his kisses with two of your senses instead of one, and he even gets to see you flinch from time to time

His favorite spot to be kissed on is the neck. The position you take to reach that spot brings you closer to him and he enjoys feeling your warmth

~~~~~~

[yandere-romanticaa]

An idea that I really like is Ratio falling for someone who is his complete and total opposite in every way imaginable.

He is the kind of person that operates on pure cold logic and facts. He believes in what he sees in front of him with his own two eyes and yes, while it may be fascinating, perhaps even a little entertaining, to philosophize about various unimaginable concepts they are all indeed just that.

Concepts. Ideas. Things made up from the bottom of the bored human psyche.

Veritas Ratio is a man who is able to grasp many, dare he say, possibly every concept he has ever encountered. He loves a challenge but hardly anything is challenging to him because he is such a genius. He devours books that are over a thousand pages long, the most complicated equations of any science are finished by his hand with such ease that many people might mistake him for a machine rather than a man of flesh and blood.

That's what makes it so fun to see him fall for an airhead. A person who probably doesn't care, or doesn't have the mental capacity to care about such things. This person would rather spend their days dallying away, picking flowers, baking, just doing things that are so mundane and plain (to him). If they do decide to read, it is some trashy romance model, maybe even just straight up written porn if they're just that shameless.

And this is the person who has Ratio grabbing his head in frustration.

He's shaking with anger in his room, golden eyes wobbly as he watches you walk up and down the space ship. You got lost, again. How much of an imbecile are you? Do you truly need someone to guide you through everything? With a huff, the scientist grabs his head made of plaster and makes his exist. He puts the mask on and in no time finds you, all lost in the hallways. You hear his upcoming footsteps before you see him and once you turn around, you are greeted with that bizarre mask you've grown so accustomed to.

You greet the man cheerfully, to which he just huffs. With his arms crossed, Ratio gives you a long and detailed lesson on how you ought to be more careful and aware of your surroundings, that this kind of behavior will not be tolerated. You are not a child and should stop acting like one.

Tears swell in your eyes but none are shed as the two of you turn back, him being a few steps ahead of you. Two pairs of footprints sound incredibly loud in this long and dark corridor. Veritas hears you quietly weeping and he feels the slight inkling of guilt pulling his heartstrings.

... Perhaps he was a smidge too harsh with you.

You are a clueless creature, sure. But maybe, he sometimes reveled in that fact. It was wrong and he would never admit it out loud but his heart whispered it clearly to him - you like this.

Veritas watched you carefully through the reflection of the window, the plaster head concealing the expression on his face. With your lips in a full pout and eyes watery like fresh morning dew, he couldn't help but to be just slightly charmed.

He scoffed to himself as he pressed onwards. He figured he had better standards for himself but that was not the case, clearly.

And just like that, he had escorted you back to your room. He could hear you mumble out a quiet thank you, which he acknowledged with a polite nod with his head.

He's not that cruel. Or rude for that matter!

With the situation now swiftly dealt with, Ratio figured it was high time he went back to his studies. He has already wasted far too much precious time on this, he isn't even sure when he'll finish that -

His train of thought is broken when he feels a pair of arms gently embrace him from behind, the warmth welcoming and dare he say sweet.

Veritas stilled, his body like the statue which some saw him to be. You still could not see his face but his anger could still be felt.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" he spat at you, his tone cold but venomous.

He felt your face being pressed against his broad back, fat tears caking his fine clothing. Just as he was about to pry your hands off him, he heard you finally speak:

"Thank you for helping me. Really..."

Your tone was soft and remorseful. You did not want to disturb him but despite that, you did just that. He was willing to accept your apology and have this situation be over with but what you said next simply knocked all of the air out of his lungs.

"You see, I... I wasn't sure how I could get your attention. I just wanted you to notice me, to talk to me..."

.... Goodness.

He was used to people trying to get his attention but to act like such a pathetic damsel in distress was new. He had to give you credit for your creativity, at the very least.

"I want to be your friend. I also want you to teach me all sorts of things-"

Ratio stopped listening to you mid sentence, his mind running hundreds of laps in thought. Perhaps you weren't the idiot he saw you as. Your little ploy worked, clearly. And if he took you under his wing, who knew what would become of you.

He could turn you into a diamond with his own two hands.

It was embarrassing just how giddy the thought made him.

The shadows of curiosity and some other emotions took over his mind as he analyzed the situation. There really was no harm in taking you all for himself.

Besides, if you were capable of this deceitful plan, who knew what else you could do?

He was eager to find out.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Heyo! I've been loving the content! Especially new management, that was a phenomenal read. Was wondering if you had further thoughts or scenes on it or on the Single Dad Au? I think the only story I like better than these two is congratulations, it triplets!

Adore your work! Phenomenal!

Damian did not trust Daniel Fenton.

The man pretended like he wanted nothing from his Father besides his heart—not his wealth, not his influence, not his company, and not even his vast amount of skills.

Even Damian's mother—who was in love with Father for a time—could not conceal the knowledge that marrying Father would elevate her position in Grandfather's eyes. There was a time when Damian believed love—the romantic type—was not real, that it was unnecessary.

Since his arrival at Wayne Manor, he's learned to acknowledge that love does exist, but he still believes it's never unconditional. He knows that Fenton has to be after something. He attempted to find the answer, but as loath as he was to admit it, Damian had not detected any hit of what Fenton was after.

His hours of surveillance on the man only showed him that Fenton enjoyed writing for his silly little book series- a fantasy novelist how quant- but was self-published and did not attempt to get father to fund him

. Fenton also spent much time with his daughter but seemed happy to support her in anything she wanted as long as she put in the effort, so he was not after Father influenced her. Fenton had no interest in Wayne Enterprises, often looking a tad bored whenever Father spoke of it- not dismissive, just lost- which meant he wasn't after the company.

He discovered that Fenton lived modestly despite having a decent amount of funds. He was middle class and seemed rather happy to stay in the middle class.

Damian would have looked deeper into Fenton, but Father had caught on to his surveillance and had forbidden him from scaring away his lover. Knowing that he required backup, Damian had called a sibling meeting.

He was expecting better results than them just speaking about the benefits of Fenton and Father dating. They should focus on how to defend Father's heart once Fenton's true intentions become visible.

It wasn't that Fenton didn't love Father- or getting there- but he would have a darker side to him that Father was unprepared for. Damian was sure of it.

He just needed to find it.

That's why he approached the man's daughter. Indeed, she would open the opportunity to get closer to the man after his father without using his training to follow Fenton. Father could not fault his brilliant walkabout.

Damian was just not prepared for her to be more tolerable than the regular fools in Gotham. She was a fellow artist with a love of nature and travel.

She took him to different parts of Gotham, where they could find animals and wonderful buildings to draw. Dani also always shared her music—he didn't want to listen, but it allowed him to build a profile on her—and he found she also had an application for classical covers of pop music.

Dani also seemed so unbothered by anything. She moved as if she had never been weighed down by any issues. She was weightless but not lost. Seeing someone so at peace with themselves was odd, so Damian sometimes forgot why he was spending time with her.

Sometimes, he just relaxed with her and spoke to her, and really, she was far better than the fools his Father took in.

Dani one day asked if he would go with her to the mall. She wanted some new clothes, and Damian found that her style was rather artistic. This style also caused many stares from those close to their age.

He watched as she walked through the street, owning it with her presence and powerful, unchained personality. Then she acted like she didn't even care, though she definitely knew it.

That is why when she offered to help him buy an outfit, Damian agreed with far too much enthusiasm before she finished. He even wore it out of the store, feeling...like he got close to her unchained freedom. He kept glancing into the reflection of mirrors, a rish of glee at how great he felt in clothes that he would have scoffed at.

He also appreciated how people gawked at them as if they were the most fascinating thing they had ever seen. Damina enjoyed following beside Dani's stride, grinning up at her as she told jokes.

"Dude, it's crazy to think that if our Dads get married, we'll be siblings," she says one day, and Damian startles. She leans over, helping him adjust the beanie she got him, a more blurt red of her own, and Damian's eyes go very wide as she grins at him.

Damian's eyes go very wide.

He hadn't even thought of that.

He races home after she takes him to a slam poetry night, snapping her fingers with that interesting, peaceful, fully in-the-moment-without-stress personality of hers.

Damian kicks the door to Father's office and shouts, "Father, you must marry Daniel Fenton at once!"

He misses that Fenton is also there, sipping from a teacup. He'd never seen Father look that embarrassed before, either. Though Fenton seemed rather pleased, which helped his new quest of making Dani his new, much more enjoyable sister that left him in awe.

She promised to take him to her favorite store for more pastel goth outfits next week, too. Once her father marries in, they might turn it into a weekly thing.

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ౨౿  ׅ ۟   ֪ 𝓛ove 𝓘n 𝓢ecret ۪ ׂ   𓈒 ୭

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ ceo!miguel 𝓍 wife!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. everyone at work assumes you and miguel dislike each other. however, they don’t know their boss and his assistant are married and have a daughter together.

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. modern!au, fluff, established relationship, secret relationship, swearing, pet names, hispanic/latina!reader

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓛𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄. one of the fluffiest things i’ve ever written and i love it so much. also, need some fluff with ceo!miguel because we need cute moments with him. ♡

the irritating sound of peter’s voice was making miguel pinching the bridge of his nose for the millionth time. imaginary steam like a train coming out from his ears. face red of frustration. internally swearing to the point of almost speaking aloud.

you recognize that face in a heartbeat. it happens almost everyday at work because some employees seem to stubborn or screw up whatever they are working on. it adds more anger and stress to your boss, or should say, husband. the company don’t know of your marriage with miguel or that you two have a daughter. for the sake of your job, you and miguel established an agreement to keep this relationship a secret. imagine working for your boss who is also your husband and you’re his assistant. yeah, that would turn many heads immediately.

luckily, you’ve been hiding it well for three years.

you decide to hate, or dislike each other as a method to conceal your relationship. always bickering when coworkers are present. during meetings, lunch, happy hours, in the hallways.

but in private? oh you two are love birds. cute kisses, or sometimes heavy makeout sessions which leads to much more interesting things. cuddling or simply embracing each other for comfort, especially if either of you are stressed out. discussing your daughter’s hobbies, school, soccer and ballet practices. plan dates that you two would go on later.

just two people utterly in love with each other.

although, it sucks to hide it during work but at least you see each other everyday. acting like enemies, putting on a show to convince people. it’s been working for three years. no one has suspected, well some do but not everyone.

“peter, i swear — if you keep saying that one more, i’m going to throw you out the room.” miguel mumbled under his breath, rubbing the temples of his forehead with a hand.

“what! i’m just saying that maybe—“

before the man could continue his sentence, a loud slam on the desk makes everyone jerk in their seats. you don’t, this isn’t new to you.

“¡ya cállete! everyone out!” miguel shouts.

to not piss of the boss even more, everyone scurries out the meeting room with fear illustrated on their faces. you simply sit there with folded arms, staring at your grumpy husband with an unimpressed look. of course when he means everyone gone, you stay.

once everyone’s out the room and the blinds closed, you finally speak. “well, that went well.”

a scoff escapes his lips. he loves your sarcasm, one of his favorite traits about you. the only person he could tolerate their sarcasm.

“ese pinche mamón doesn’t pay attention to what i say.” he pinched his nose again. “sometimes i wonder why i even hired him in the first place.”

you huff, getting up from your seat and walking towards him. “he’s your best friend, that’s why.” you stand behind him and gently wrap your arms around his bulky shoulders, chin resting on top of his head.

miguel immediately relaxes in your touch, slouching a bit in his chair. “best friend, sure.” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “still a pain in the ass.”

“that’s how best friends are, whether you like to admit he’s your bestie or not.” you give him a light, comforting squeeze on the shoulders.

a low sigh spills from his lips. “pues si, i guess…”

“but hey…” you unwrap your arms and turn his chair around so he’s facing you. “let’s forget about work and focus on gabi’s ballet recital tonight, ¿vale?” you cup his face, your whole world in your palms.

the frustration vanishes from his face and is replaced with adoration the moment he sees your face, ultimately melting under your touch. “sí, she’s going to be amazing tonight.” his beefy arms wrap around your waist, gently pulling you closer towards him so there isn’t much space between you.

a soft smile forms on your face. “she will be. she’s been practicing for weeks now and she’s so excited about it. also her soccer game on saturday, too.” your thumbs caress his cheeks with such tenderness.

“active girl, como su mamá.” he mirrors your smile, gazing at you with pure adoration. broad hands gently squeezing your sides.

you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. “ay si, working for her dad keeps me very active.” lots of sarcasm which ends with those heavenly chuckles of your husband that you love so dearly.

“and i tend to keep her mom active.” his hands squeeze your sides again in a teasing manner, earning himself a giggle that is music to his ears. “the recital is at 6:30, ¿sí?”

“mhm. after i get off, i’m picking her up from school and then help her get ready. make sure you leave on time, remember last time?” you shoot him a light glare, quirking a brow.

you can see the guilt forming on his face as flashbacks of last time when he barely made it out the door and was practically sweating when he entered the ballet studio consumes his mind. luckily he managed to get there right when the recital started. you forced him to take a good shower after.

“no te procupes, mi alma. i promise to be out way beforehand.” he smiles reassuringly.

“you better or your dumbass is sleeping on the couch.” you threaten playfully but you’re being serious and miguel knows that fairly well.

the man chuckles, nodding. “si, señora.”

you two smile at each other before leaning closer and collide lips in a passionate kiss. one of the very few moments when you can be intimate. to be a married couple without any worries or prying eyes.

“okay, i gotta go get gabi now.” you say as you break away from the kiss, hands still cupping his face. “see you later? and don’t be late.” you hold on a finger as a warning, lightly glaring at him once again.

he softly chuckles, gently grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips to planet a soft kiss on the back of it. “lo prometo, mi reina.”

a soft smile forms on your face. “te amo.” you plant a quick kiss on his lips before moving out of his hold.

“te amo más.” miguel whispers before gently swatting your ass as you walk away, the cheeky action making you smile and roll your eyes.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

“is papí gonna show up on time, mamá?” your adorable nine-year-old daughter asks, looking up at you through the mirror as you brush her hair.

“sí, mi cielo. papí promised this time he’ll be out the door way before this time.” grabbing a hair tie from the drawer, you gently pick all of her hair and make a ponytail before turning it into a bun.

the little girl smiles. “remember how sweaty he was when he ran inside? he was so stinky!” she giggles.

you giggle as well, remembering exactly how stinky miguel smelt and you shoving him into the shower the minute you got home that night.

“he was very stinky.” after clipping her baby pink bow on her head, you spray hairspray to seal the bun. “he won’t be stinky this time, that’s for sure.”

the two of you continue giggling before the sound of the front door closing makes you stop. gabriella rushes out of the bathroom and runs down the hallway to greet her father with much excitement. you quickly follow her, eager to see your husband.

“papí!” gabriella squeals as she runs up to her father with a big smile and jumps into his arms so abruptly, which he quickly catches her.

he chuckles wholeheartedly. “hola, mi princesa.”

“you’re home early! yay!” the little girl exclaims.

“sí, princesa. i wanted to come home early so mamá and i can take you to your recital.” he smiles.

“yay! at least you’re not stinky.” she fakes a disgusted face, fanning her face to pretend he smells like he was last time.

a little frown settles on his face, shifting his gaze from his daughter to you. you simply shrug with an innocent smile. miguel shakes his head, smiling.

“no, i’m perfectly clean.” he gazes switched back to gabriella. “look at you, a ballerina princess.”

the little girl giggles, twirling in her puffy baby pink tutu. “sí! i’m the princess and mamá is the queen.” she walks back to you, grabbing your hand.

the compliment melts your heart. your daughter is utterly adorable. your precious baby.

“and you’re the king, papí!” she points at miguel.

the both of you laugh.

“sí, princesa. we’re one happy royal family,” miguel walks up to you. “y tú mamá es la reina de mi vida.” gently cupping your face, he captures your lips in a soft kiss that you happily accept and reciprocate.

his words were just a smudge cheesy but they make your heart flutter. such a romantic dork.

“tonto.” you whisper, making him smile.

“no kissing! save that for later! it’s recital time!”

the sass in your child’s tone makes you and miguel laugh. she definitely gets it from you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

the ballet recital was a success. gabriella did an amazing performance, as well as the other children. you and miguel are proud of your little girl. you went to a diner afterwards and treat her with ice cream of her favorite flavor. now looking forward to the soccer game on saturday. but, you have to deal with work before you could indulge in that.

miguel is in the middle of a meeting when you wander in the room with a file on your hands prepared to give him. you notice his eyes lighting up as soon as you enter, making you almost smile but immediately stop yourself from others noticing.

just as you hand him the file, jessica stops speaking whatever she’s discussing and looks at you two with a skeptical yet unimpressed look.

“forgive me for stopping but come on, you two. just admit you guys are together.”

the meeting room went silent, the statement lingering in the air. everyone turns and face you both with anticipation, waiting for your answer.

well, shit.

you and miguel share a worrying glance before he rises from his seat. a bulky arm sneaks around your waist, gently pulling you closer towards him.

“yes, we’re together.” he states, feeling prideful.

you watch jaws drop and eyes wide in surprise. others, like jess, don’t seem surprise but rather relieved the suspicion is gone and truth revealed.

“we’re married.” you hold up your left hand and show off your big ass diamond ring.

some gasps but mostly aww’s fill the room.

“and we have a daughter.” miguel adds.

now that shocked everyone.

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[arminsumi]

req are open and idk how to act Σ(ﾟДﾟ；

reader putting on megumi's make up for their couples costume? he'd begrudgingly let her messed around with his hair/face but plans to be recompensated after hehe

"can i kiss you?"

megumi めぐみ x fem reader

megumi's needy for your kisses, but you don't want smudged lipstick

note : lol ur kaomoji got me gigglin 🤭 also omg i've never written for megumi i don't think? i have this draft about stargazing with him that i never completed lol. anywayssss hope i did this right and enjooyyyy :)

content : fluff

"can i kiss you?" megumi asks.

"no. you'll smudge the lipstick."

"maybe i want to smudge the lipstick." he frowns.

the poor boy has been nearly begging for kisses in the whole hour you've been doing his makeup. he has sat there with a small pout, letting you stroke brush after brush around his face. the little dabs of glitter shimmer on his cheeks. he's such a pretty boy.

"how about a quick kiss?" he sounds like he's begging.

there's an itch in his soul that he needs to... you know... scritch scritch. of course, with your remedy lips.

"no kissing. be patient."

"i'm already being patient letting you fluff brushes on my face. i feel like a canvas under an painter's hand."

"nooo kissing. be. patient." you smile. aw, that smile makes it even harder for him. your smile is the most irresistible aspect of you to him.

he bounces his leg. there's silence. you keep applying makeup serenely to his face and he looks to the side, forcing his vision anywhere but your pretty lips.

"can i have an air kiss at least?" he's got his lips parted for you to add a layer of sheeny shiny lip gloss.

"mwah." you blow him a kiss as per request.

his heart flutters. "thanks." there's a blush on his cheeks that the sheer foundation barely conceals.

"aw... you're blushing, pretty boy."

he grumbles. "i'm not a pretty boy..."

it takes all his self restraint to not kiss you and be patient. the way you parade your delicious, painted lips in front of him for the night makes him feel like a puppy beggingly drooling for a treat.

"can i kiss you now?" he asks, coming up to you with his hands behind his back. his tallness makes him cutely intimidating.

"no..." you tease with a smile. "be patient, 'gumi."

he groans so hard when he hears you use his favorite nickname, "gumi? really? in public?"

"yes, really, in public."

he groans again when he looks at your lips. it's like he's in pain at this point.

"you're killing me... just one kiss can't smudge lipstick that badly. come on. just a peck?"

you look at him, and look at his prettiness; makeup just makes him all the more kissable and yet you've been holding in your urges just to preserve lipstick. seriously?

he encourages by whining, "come on, i let you put aaaaall those products on my face... so you owe me compensation... with your lips."

"ah... okay.. one kiss then. just a light peck."

he dives in, you halt him warningly, "a light peck, promise?"

he nods, eyes wide with eagerness, "mhm."

and he definitely doesn't just give you one light peck. he smudges the lipstick on both his and your lips.

"megumi."

"sorry."

"come here."

"i'm sorryyy!"

"let me smudge my lipstick on you some more." you say, and tiptoe up to speck kisses all over his face.

oh boy, his heart neaaarrrrlyyyyy jumps out of his chest. he freezes up. it's like sometimes you're still his crush who makes him nervous and not his girlfriend.

you can bet that yuji and nobara die laughing while pointing at his face, teasing him for having kiss marks all over it. he doesn't mind the teasing; he's satisfied. in a daze after getting all that attention he so badly needed from you.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[yuoimia]

WELCOME TO MY HEART

summary: how has loving you changed him?

characters: neuvillette, alhaitham, diluc, xiao. (seperate)

notes: gn! reader, fluff, getting poetic in xiao, weird time skips. wc: 2k!

neuvillette

Hesitancy lingers like a translucent mist around Neuvillette. Thick, but also not thick enough to be indiscernible. As centuries tick by, soon enough, that protective mist wanes into nothing but a fragile facade that threatens to vaporise. That outcome is most unfavourable; simply visualising it already causes a spike in distress in his chest.

Fast forward a few 'scenic meetings’ later, Neuvillette wonders where that mist disappeared off to.

He needn’t put up a missing poster with a contact number because, shockingly, the Chief Justice no longer desired that prudential coverage.

You evaporated Neuvillette’s final layer of defence, stripped his rationality with unwavering strength of character, and erased any uneasiness within the language of love.

Throughout your shared timeline, every point marked with a memorable moment, there are many small aspects about each other that only the continuation of time can reveal. It’s as sweet as it sounds, unless, well, the other finds out about something you did try to conceal.

Sometimes you think to yourself: Who knew the Monsieur Neuvillette could be so…earnest in seeing you flustered?

Truly, there are only very few opportunities Neuvillette would starve himself from such delight. The other times, though, they consist of your rose-tinted cheeks and his charmed chuckle, florid promises ending with a trail of marks of his love down the slope of your neck.

Neuvillette is quite the bold one. Far too cheeky for his own good, really.

alhaitham

It was a warm memory. Still as vivid as ever, despite the years that have passed. A golden tattoo, activated whenever the dazzling drops of summer sunshine radiated down.

Three years ago, summer, the Akedemiya.

Heatwaves weren’t a rare occurrence in Sumeru. For weeks on end, the city of wisdom experienced boiling highs and dry, scorching winds. The streets were empty as shopkeepers resorted to staying under the cool of shaded roofs. That was the correct response, the only response to such situations.

Yet, there were still people willing to test your limited patience even more.

“We’re going to get a heatstroke,” you explained to each member of your darshan. “We can postpone the field trip to the desert some other day.”

“But this weather is indefinite, and knowing Sumeru, it is going to last a very long time. We can’t afford to waste time,” someone argued as nods of agreement travelled across the table.

Wow, you huffed to yourself, sitting yourself down. You were doing this for their own good, and partly yours.

“We should go ahead with the trip,” said the agitating, raucous noise again as a cacophony of voices arose in agreement. Maybe he should be in charge, then. As if you wanted to cancel this trip, you’ve spent endless nights planning the perfect itinerary! Also, the last time you remembered, you were appointed leader of this whole excursion.

“Facing the facts, there’s no traces of concrete evidence that our planned area holds the ruins,” you declared as the table fell silent. “Theoretically, we have more to lose than gain.”

“We’ve already decided,” came another voice. Archons, these people were going to be the end of you. “We’re still going to go next week.”

You came to the conclusion that, to knock some sense into their brains, you needed someone more intimating to interfere.

“…You want me to be pretend to collapse from a severe heatstroke?” the (acting!) grand sage repeated, not even attempting to conceal his bewilderment. “And, preferably, making it look as dramatic and exaggerated as possible?”

At the other end of his desk, you nodded with faux solemnity. “I’m afraid so.”

“Afraid so?” Alhaitham humours. “Everything from your…request to your actions betrays that.”

In the end, you didn’t manage to convince Alhaitham to put on a show showcasing the risks and dangers of heatwaves and heatstrokes, but he did agree to go out for lunch. To negotiate alternatives, of course.

After that lunch, he asked for your presence for dinner, and after dinner, you found yourself making breakfast at Alhaitham’s place.

“Since when did you come over so much?” you asked, sleep clearly clinging to your senses. “Last time I remember, I was waiting by your office door waiting to sneak in ten minutes of your time.”

The coffee he freshly brewed threatens to burst from the confinement of his mouth as he stares at you with a curious expression. “This is my house.”

The realisation spreads through your face like ink in water as you glance at the surroundings. “Oh yeah…that’s right.”

Alhaitham subtly rolls his eyes, letting out a lighthearted tsk as he disappears off into the kitchen. “Do you feel like going to Gandharva Ville in the evening?” he asks, the clatter of dishes echoing through the lounge. “You were groaning over how you hadn’t seen Collei and Tighnari in ages a few days ago.”

He remembered that?  You gawk to yourself, mouth and eyes wide open as you trod towards the sunshine of the kitchen . Moreover, he certainly wanted to go. Since when did Alhaitham suggest you leave the house for purposes such as catching up with friends?

“I’d love to,” you answer as you help him load the dishwasher. “You beat me to it.”

A soft smile imperceptibly brightens his face, casting you in slight awe. “What? You don’t think I disregard your desires just like that, do you?”

Alhaitham is the hopelessly romantic one. Those intricate plans he sets up for your happiness are nowhere as simple-minded as he plays them out to be.

diluc

There was always something peculiar about Diluc Ragnvindr. The snarky remarks about the Knights of Favonius’ poor service, which you found highly offensive in the presence of an employee (you), the genuine air of mystery he upheld, but the most interesting thing you were desperate to crack down on was his frosty distaste for the Cavalry Captain, your co-worker, Kaeya.

As far as you knew, Kaeya was a lovely co-worker. considerate, dedicated and reliable, he was an admirable worker. You didn’t understand why Diluc didn’t applaud him for his discipline renowned throughout the city, especially if he was continuously murmuring about the incompetence of the staff.

Amidst the possible explanations, you came to the conclusion that the unwelcoming atmosphere stemmed from something more personal. Jealously? Past disagreements? No, that couldn’t be. They didn’t appear the closest.

Little did you know that all you needed to do was ask. Not really, but you get the idea.

“You…want to talk to Diluc?” Kaeya spluttered, wide-eyed at your determined face, before moving his gaze towards Angel Share’s bartender with a smirk. “Ah, I see what’s going on.”

“You’re very far off, by the way,” you replied silkily, taking a sip of the apple juice. “I’m not interested in him romantically, if that’s what you were thinking.”

Kaeya raises an eyebrow. “If not romantically, then what could you possibly talk to him about?”

You shrug, making a beeline for the counter. “Thanks for the drink.”

Diluc had caught the words, ‘interested in him romantically.’

According to those four words he heard from you, the context of you and Kaeya’s conversation could already be visualised.

For someone who seemed to be interested in him, your choice of words regarding his interest in you were a little all over the place. So, he assisted you.

“How about we discuss this over dinner?”

Sometimes, you think to yourself, how did this ever happen?

For example, the weak beams of lighting from the east signify that it’s the birth of dawn, your neatly tucked in bed, except this bed isn’t actually yours.

The evidence lies with the person’s arms around your waist, tight and warm against the chills of early morning.

“Good morning,” a sleepy voice suddenly erupts from besides you. “Have I told you how even more striking you are in the sunlight?”

Diluc Ragnvindir is the passionate one—the one who would give you his heart if you asked. In some ways, he’s still as mysterious as the first time you laid eyes on him.

xiao

The moon is the muse for thousands of people. Whether it’s written in a rhyme, painted on a canvas, sung in a song or resonated with a soul, it has immersed itself in the complex depths of the sensitive human heart.

There’s a particular interpretation that has stuck with you since the first time you read it. A lyrical piece of literature from somewhere long lost. You were especially tired that night. A most unlucky dilemma, as it might’ve guaranteed to be one of the most critical and serendipitous nights of your life. Not that you knew at the time.

From that somewhere long lost, between the rolling tides of shadows, tucked away in the safety of peaking mountains, a mysterious figure observed with curiousity at your sentiment.

However, the discreetness of Xiao’s hiding spot was tested most instantaneously when you suddenly made a decision to look up. To the sky, or to him? Truthfully, you were actually aiming for the moon, but the pounding chambers of his chest crashed his steaming trains of thought.

He had to restrain himself from investigating further as your figure dissolved one by one into the night. Maybe you'll be there again tomorrow.

What started off as a little exchange of words soon blossomed into short conversations. Short conversations soon bloomed into a gap in time filled with occasional laughter and encouraging smiles. He learned your name, and you learned his secrets. Vicious, woeful secrets plaguing his dreams, or perhaps the title of nightmares suited it better.

On their own, the characteristics were incessant in disaster. Fusing those characteristics with centuries of solitude and emptiness, it assisted in further igniting the raging fire burning away his will.

The idea of somehow unravelling those years of pain seemed so clearly impossible, even if that person felt like they had a chance. Even if they felt just the tiniest bit more special than all the others.

“Some things are impossible,” Xiao had muttered as he watched you go through an assortment of books he lended from Verr Goldet, eyes flickering from your face to the yellowing pages. “It’s better to admit that than spend years searching for hope.”

Skimming through the columns of ancient literature, a strong feeling of suspicion arose as you distinctively felt like he'd seen you do this once before.

“But what if you find the hope?” you whispered gently, switching your attention to his avoidant gaze. “There’s always that outcome, too.”

That outcome. Of course he’s considered that conclusion, wished for it. But Xiao would never dare to believe that far.

“I read a poem a few nights ago,” you started again. “A comparison of us and the moon. Humans, just like the moon, need to wax and wane. We’ll grow and shine our beauty, but that can’t be achieved unless we remember to rest, to wane. After all, a full moon only lasts around three days out of a whole month.”

How can you just return to reading after you told him that?

That moon analogy was shared about a year ago.

It’s likely that you brushed it off, but for Xiao, it’s still freshly etched into the shelves of his mind. And it would be a lie if he said that he didn’t change in small, irrevocable ways because of it.

Particularly tonight.

An exhausted sigh escapes from your lips as you sink into bed. Lying like a starfish, a hollow expression is evident in your eyes alone.

“This project is never going to work,” you spoke, turning to stuff your face in a pillow. Adjacent to you, Xiao observed as you screamed, once again the same words into the fabric. Only this time, the words were separated by sharp heaves and quiet sniffs. Being a little inexperienced with scenarios such as this, Xiao could only reassure you with the same words and actions that you had endlessly showered him with in similar situations.

He knew you were listening, despite the softness of his voice, which was hardly detectable. He repeated the words you told him a year ago when he felt as if the world was about to end.

“Someone once told me humans and moons are alike,” he smiled as he saw your face lift just a bit, as if you couldn’t believe what he was saying. “We both need to wane before we can emit our light in full greatness.”

Xiao is the quiet one, whose love is often under-looked, but in truth, it’s expressed just as vividly, if not brighter.

[zhxngii]

— Submitting

⌗ note ❰❰ This includes all the tall(-ish)/bigger-built men, @ that one post where I mentioned something about yk. maybe i'm just writing this to spite the ones that don't like big subby men lmao. Also! Feel free to insert your faves with these scenarios as well <3

⌗ contents ❰❰ big submissive men; pegging, grinding, riding, oral (reader receiving; strap.), thigh fucking(?), strap is being referred to "cock/shaft/length", kinda messy... there's a lot.

◖Oral

They are in awe at the sight of your strap as they sit obediently between your legs on their knees, looking up at you with those eyes pleading for permission to touch you which you eventually give.

He wastes no time in reaching for your cock, excitedly scooting closer as his hand wraps around your length, a hum of satisfaction being heard from him as he takes you inside his mouth, feeling how heavy it was on his tongue. A shiver runs down their spines as they feel you petting and cooing at them as they take you further inside, eyes staying on yours and glistening in the light upon hearing you praise them.

Wriothesley, Neuvillette, Zhongli, Diluc, Thoma, Kaveh, Itto, Baizhu, Pantalone, Gepard, Dan Heng il, Luocha

They're so needy and pathetic looking once they finally get a taste of your cock, so messy as they eagerly bob their heads, taking your length as deep as they possibly can, sometimes gagging around you. Acting as if they simply just couldn't get enough of your cock, even taking the time to press kisses along your shaft, swirling their tongues around the tip just because.

When I say that they're messy? I mean literally, spit seeping out the corners of their mouths, dripping down their chins, they're so shameless. So shameless that they're not afraid to touch themselves while doing so, desperately hammering their cocks until they're a whiny mess under you, moans becoming more high-pitched the closer they are to their climax.. and to the way you push their heads down further.

Childe, Alhaitham, Ayato, Kaeya, Dottore, Welt Yang, Sampo, Blade, Jing Yuan

◖Grinding

A tint of red appeared on their faces as they felt your strap, flush against their cock, a sudden whimper as they felt your hands wrap around both of your lengths, softly and slowly moving in up and down motions. A hand shooting up to their mouths to conceal their sounds but fails as they feel you thrust just slightly, your cock rubbing so nicely against theirs that it's driving them mad.

Immediately giving up on hiding their moans, they just let it all out. Their heads tilted back as they try to match your movements but is instead met with their body being pushed down onto a surface. Without time to react properly, he blushes even more upon seeing you put his legs over your shoulder, hands instantly finding the sheets, eyes shutting tightly as he feels your cock gliding at such a pace between his thighs, giving such needed friction to his aching cock.

Wriothesley, Zhongli, Itto, Diluc, Thoma, Baizhu, Kaveh, Welt Yang, Jing Yuan, Gepard, Luocha

They're fully bare as they sit on your lap, lips latched onto yours needily as they subtly grind themselves against you. Even though they were bigger than you, it didn't necessarily stop them from feeling small in a way right now.

A while slipping past their lips onto yours as they feel your cock against the curve of their ass, your hands firm on their waists to guide their movements. Not to mention that little bit of friction on their hard, leaking cocks as it rubs against your shirt, shamelessly staining it with their arousal. Usually, they'd be embarrassed at making such a mess on your shirt but... it can be excused since you're driving them so crazy right now.

Neuvillette, Alhaitham, Childe, Kaeya, Dottore, Pantalone, Ayato, Dan Heng il, Sampo, Blade

◖Pegging

When I tell you they're riding you with a passion???? Letting out a whimper at the feel of you stretching them out once they slide down on your length, sluggish hips movements as they grind back and forth to feel how deep you are inside them.

Their breathing picks up once they start off a decent pace, light sound of the back of their thighs and ass smacking against the skin of yours. Their cocks rubbing against your shirt in a faster manner, bouncing in time with their pace. Nails digging into your shoulders as you thrust in time with them, a choked mewl in the shell of your ear upon feeling you spreading their ass cheeks apart.

Wriothesley, Childe, Kaeya, Ayato, Alhaitham, Pantalone, Dottore, Sampo, Blade, Dan Heng il

He prefers to be lying on the bed rather than riding you, since it was a bit embarrassing in his eyes for some reason but oh how he loved seeing you on top of him.

Despite mentioning being embarrassed, oh how he wasn't shy in the slightest while spreading his legs wide for you, making sure that you could see how he's properly prepared himself for you, your cock.

He's already panting and shivering so cutely under you once you pushed inside him, his back arching off the bed, wanting more of your touch as your lips found his chest, teasing his sensitive peaks with your tongue and teeth. His hands grasp the sheets underneath as your hips repeatedly smack against him, a string of 'thank you's and pleadings for you not to stop coming from his lips.

Neuvillette, Zhongli, Itto, Diluc, Thoma, Kaveh, Baizhu, Welt Yang, Gepard, Luocha, Jing Yuan

[oksana-moods]

All Too Well

Summary: Natasha tried to mend what's left broken. Because no matter what, she's the love of your life and she knows all too well.

A/N: It's been forever. This 5k piece felt like I was writing 300k, it was difficult, funny, hard and I miss doing this more often. I hope you guys like it and please, it be amazing for me to know your thoughts about it.

You can read it as One Too Many part 2 or as a single piece, it is up to you.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, torture, mentions of death, alcohol, angst (you know how I am, I can't simply write people kissing without suffering before).

"Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place"

The gun pointing at your face barely meters away should be intimidating, but at this point no one would blame you for not caring anymore. And you didn’t even mean the last couple of days, no, your whole life had been a fight, a struggle, an act of survival after another, so the last few days were nothing but the same blur.

The gunpower inundated your nostrils and the pungent smell masqueraded the smell of blood that clung to your brain and you were sure you wouldn’t erase it even if you got out of your current establishment.

Your heightened senses were capable of decerning all the different blood samples available in your cell: yours and from other occupants that came before you, or the blood that belonged to some of your kidnappers, who’ve learned in the worst possible way that you were not to be underestimated.

Back to the gun, the man behind it kept enchanting the same questions and you wondered how long it would take for them to get tired of your silence or mock replies. A sharp pain in the back of your head made you look up to meet his eyes, another man behind you was forcefully pulling your hair down to force your head up and you were already tired of him doing this.

“Where are the others?” The man with the gun asked, patience waning thin. Good to know you were on the same page. “Where is Romanoff?”

A blooded grin made its way to your face after you spat on his shoe. “It’s funny you think I’ll tell you now after all you’ve put me through. Do you think I’m afraid of your bullet?” And you didn’t even mean the fact that you probably wouldn’t die if he decided to shoot anywhere else other than your head, but you did mean that you were not afraid of dying.

Actually, you were so tired that perhaps laying down cold wouldn’t be unwelcomed. There wouldn’t be any pain, your body wouldn’t try to heal only to get hurt again. You thought it would be refreshing.

Two steps and the man pressed the gun over your knee, and you already knew, his wicked grin grew wider when your body convulsed with pain even though you concealed your scream in muffled grunts by biting your lips so tide you tasted your own blood, again.

“Why don’t you make it easier for you? You tell me what I’ve asked, and I kill you fast.” He pulled a chair and got comfortable for he knew all too well you wouldn’t budge easy. “I promise you. One silver bullet in your temple. Fast. Easy.”

Your eyes flashed to his. Silver bullets were really affective against your healing skills and very few possessed this knowledge. Someone must’ve tipped him off and the idea stung way much more than the powder burning the flesh inside your knee.

Only two women knew your weakness. Well, your creators knew, of course, but they were not in condition of speaking anymore. Unless someone from this organization was capable of going to hell to have a chat and then return to the living world with this intel.

Your love for Yelena was something so natural and it grew so fast for she was just deranged as you were: uncapable of functioning as what people labeled as normal. You were kindred souls and you felt like you were twins separated somewhere along the road and considering both of your past, who actually knew?

After long nights during long missions, you confided in her this. You were scared of losing control because sometimes the beast inside you took over and your brain couldn’t always sway the instincts. So you handed her one silver bullet in case things went south, she was adamant in returning it to you but you asked her to keep it, for insurance.

And the other person was Natasha. You never knew how she learned this but when she recruited you many, many years ago she already knew. If the pain in your leg wasn’t so overwhelming, you could’ve laughed at the memory engulfing your mind’s eye.

Her tide catsuit adorned with nothing but her black widow symbol, swaying her hips and pretending she wasn’t scared of the woman seated in front of her. You remember how her fear smelled, a stark contrast to her pose. You recall her words, her smile, her flirtatious play all to convince you to use your skills to her so called greater good.

And before leaving, she boldly closed the distance between you and placed a silver bullet in your hand. You understood the message. You weren’t stupid. Later she sworn that she was the only one, at S.H.I.E.L.D. or within Avengers, to know your weakness and you believed her.

And this belief comes back to bite you in the ass.

Because you knew full well that Yelena would die, she would kill herself even, before telling someone your secret. But Natasha? You didn’t trust her anymore. She had done it before, and you knew it all too well. If you were to be honest, after one too many treasons, you didn’t care about another.

Or so you told yourself.

“Good luck.” You rasped out after a long time inside your own head.

The man tilted his head to the side and smiled that smile that told you he already knew what you would say. You would go further and say he was eager for it. “I think in the torture manual says I should tell you that I don’t enjoy this, but I’d be lying. We actually bet how long it will take for you to drop the act and start screaming.”

You bet no one thought it would be that fast. He stumped a knife down your thigh so fast and so hard you saw stars. You could feel the silver poisoning the skin and muscle where it was nested, and it burned like nothing else would.

Unfortunately for them, the apex in you was not used to be a prey and this injury was powerful enough to make your survival instincts kick in. It happened so fast it was a haze, one minute he was laughing, the other he was on the ground - lifeless, and just as the others came, they followed their leader – well, who you thought the leader was, at least.

Funnily, your countdown was wrong, or you were not the only one putting your captors down. As the blood ran free down your leg, your strength and capability of keeping fighting diminished. When a body collided with yours, it was a miracle you were still awake.

Her red hair framed her face perfectly, skin white as snow and her green orbs looked like there was an aurora borealis looking down at you as she nested you in her lap as you felt life slipping through your fingers - veins.

“Hey, hey. Stay with me.” Her voice was strange, as if speaking was a struggle and she reeked fear, but not the same you were used to, as if she was feeling a different type of fear, it was a strange concept, but you hated it, nonetheless. If these were your last moments breathing, you wanted her true smell. The one you knew all too well.

“Please, don’t you dare die. I’ve got you.” Her muffled words found your ear, but it was hard to even comprehend anything at all when her lips felt so cold in your forehead. “Heal. Why are you not healing?”

“Silver.” It was all you could say. It was all you had to say.

She frantically started yelling at someone, perhaps the comms, but before you could close your eyes for good, you saw a red blur and he was complaining about your weight.

Her giggle filled the room as the first sun lights announced the day had just begun, you looked at her alarmed, for it was definitely something new. “Are you mocking me?” Enable to conceal a smile yourself.

“I’m not.” She denied, but her laugh told you differently. Her freckles painted her angelical face and her eyes looked like they held the sun captive. And you. And she knew, all too well. “It’s just I can’t believe you still have this scar.”

Her index finger traced said scar as she looked at you expectantly, waiting for your explanation, even though she already knew.

“I didn’t know Wanda’s necklace was made of silver, okay.” You finally replied, pulling her close to you as if her weight meant nothing, right in that moment this action felt so normal, so homely that it ached. “I thought I could take it from that heated place for her, but it burned me as I did. It was silly.”

She giggled again, though muffled by your shoulder this time, there was something new in her eyes that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “It was cute. Silly, but cute. That necklace belonged to her mother.”

“I know.” You were locked in her eyes, and she stared at you as if she was trying to reach your soul, then you felt her fingertip leaving the palm of your hand to intertwine your fingers as she let her eyes stray to look at both of your hands.

The feeling was overwhelming. You were aware of how fast your heart was beating, you could only hope she couldn’t feel or hear it, for in that moment, all you wanted was to engrave the sight of you, together, and you wish you could just have this forever. Have her forever.

“I’ve never felt this before.” Her brows were furrowed in a way that made you upset, but you wouldn’t let go of her hand for nothing in this world, even if it was to soothe the crinkles in her forehead. “I’m in love with you.”

For a moment, there was nothing that you could do but wait for your brain to register her words and meaning, for a whole minute you simply stared at her, trying to search for a catch or a joke but you found none. And she looked up at you so innocently that you found yourself believing in her.

“I thought-.” You tried, but she never let you finish your sentence.

“I know what I said.” She stopped you midsentence, but her voice was not stern, it was almost tired. “This is not what I feel anymore.” Again, her eyes found yours and the way they shone made your knees weak, luckily you were laying on her mattress.

Somehow, they conveyed so much of this feeling she had claimed she was not capable of nurturing that your stomach did somersaults. And right in that moment, you realized that perhaps silver could hurt you, but this woman was your true weakness.

Specially if she’s looking at you the way she was.

“You already know how I feel about you.” You whispered, it was terrifying saying again the three words that you were sure would make her fly away from this strange arrangement you found yourself in. Yet she didn’t.

“I know.” She confirmed after a while admiring your eyes as if she could read your mind. After deciding she was content with whatever she found, she leaned in and pecked your lips so tenderly it hurt.

Then, when she looked at you again you saw, from the small smirk growing in her lips, that she had gone back to play her prime character: the Black Widow.

“Let’s have a breakfast before the funeral, shall we?” As she got of the bad, you copied her movements going back to your own suitcase to find something comfortable as her voice broke the silence filling the room. “I never asked how you and Sharon became friends to the point you’d come to a funeral of her relative.”

The cleanliness of the room was the first thing you were aware of. In fact, you didn’t even realize you were awake, therefore alive, before the smell hit your nostrils. And with it, her scent.

The occasional up and down from her feet and bouncing leg was the only sound in the room except for the noise coming from the heart monitor over your head. She was anxious, that much was obvious even if you weren’t an enhanced being.

Mentally searching for your injuries and pain, you understood that whatever had happened with you, was all gone. Excluding the lingering pain in some specific places that you credited to silver induced wounds that would take way much more time to wear off.

However, considering the state you were in, whoever tended these wounds had operated a true miracle.

As you opened your eyes, you half expected bright lights, common to these hospital rooms to hurt your eyes, but you soon identified that the only source of light was a yellow bulb close to the door.

Natasha.

“Thanks for working the lights down.” You rasped out and stifled a giggle as she jumped from her chair by the wall and bolted to your bed side. The book previously nested between her hands now long forgotten on the floor.

The iron grip which she clutched your hand didn’t go amiss to you. “A week.” The sadness in her eyes was palpable. “A whole week blacked out.” She explained further but you didn’t need to know the details of how long you were sleeping or how many times your heart stopped at surgery.

“You scared the shit out of me.” Then it hit you, the same type of fear your nose caught when she found you in that facility, it was fear but not the one someone feels when they’re actively facing danger, but it was fear for someone else. Fear of losing someone.

Something stirred inside your heart, but it was something that you couldn’t dwell much longer, not, at least, in that moment.

“They had me, after you sent me as scout.” Your tone was flat, and her eyes widened a little at the bluntness of your accusation, though you were far from settling for little. “They knew about the silver.”

Her hold faltered, but your hand was still snuggled between hers. “What are you accusing me of?” She narrowed her eyes, but her green orbs were bright even in the poor light.

“Cynicism doesn’t suit you the way you think it does.” Before you could even pull back your hand, she completely let it go and got to her feet. “Look at my eyes and tell me that you actually didn’t let them get me, just to find their hideout.”

She had her back turned to you, acutely avoiding your gaze. “Look at me!” You demanded and she had the gall to look at you through her lashes, as if her seductive skills could help her now. You wouldn’t fall for that, and she knew it all too well.

“It wasn’t my intention for you to be captured and I never thought someone else would know about your weakness. I thought I was the only one alive to know.” She finally turned to you, eyes now darting around the floor as if it could grant her the answers she sought.

“Lena knows too.” You corrected her, but if she was surprised by your update, she never showed.

Shaking her head right to left as if to deny such possibility, she exclaimed. “She’d never do this to you.” It was funny that at least in this matter you agreed. “I think she loves you more than she loves me.” A sly smile escaped her lips and you had to restrain your heart from fluttering at the sight of it.

“I was waiting for your check-in. I went to your assigned coordinates, and I know I underestimated their numbers, but I would never let someone capture you.” Her feet dragged her back close to your bed but maintained some distance between you.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You shot back without missing a single beat, crossing your arms around your chest.

She sighed tiredly and looked down at the floor. You wouldn’t let her forget that she was the main cause for you to be locked in the Raft, well, her and your support for Steve when Ross tried to shove the Sokovian Accords down your throat, and solely because you shared his point of view.

After being controlled for most of your life by a group with shady intentions, you swore you’d never submit your loyalty and services to a third party again, even if it was a government group – specially a government group, actually, so only over your dead body you’d accept the Accords.

But when you came back to see if Natasha was fine, she had gone without thinking that you were left behind and in the care of Ross to be taken to the Raft with the others, without sparing a single thought to you.

“I’d never ever willingly put you in danger.” She said taking another step closer to you. “I have never mentioned to anyone about your secret, and I purposefully kept it out of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files.”

Her eyes kept darting from her hands to your eyes, never focusing, never staying too long. “Look, I know Yelena would never speak about it, but I wouldn’t either. And I didn’t, you must believe me!”

“I must?” Your eyebrows shot up so high so fast it hurt. “Well, you made it pretty damn hard for me to believe, don’t you think, Nat?” Your tone was hard, but you were not even speaking too loud.

Somehow, Natasha thought this hurt way much more.

“C’mon all I feel for you-” She tried to counter, but you wanted to swallow the lump stuck in your throat trying to choke you, so you cut her midsentence.

“Words, Natasha.” She found herself locked within your burning eyes. “I kept you as an oath, yet you hid me like another dirty secret. And all you’ve felt you kept hidden – buried – just as who you really are.”

After years thinking about how she lured and how she hurt you, you thought that maybe spatting what your relationship really was – a hidden lust, would make you feel better, would free yourself from her hold, but it didn’t.

After all, calling her unfair wouldn’t change how lonely she made you feel, how she took your happiness away whenever she drew herself back to her main character as she left you daydreaming about imaginary scenarios built in “what ifs”.

As your words found her ears, they settled heavily in her stomach. She knew she had massed up, she had hurt you many times, yet all she wanted was go back in time and erase all her wrongs and all the times she promised and never delivered.

She didn’t possess a time stone, though. There was nothing she could do about the past, however, she knew she couldn’t run from her mistakes anymore. If she wanted to start anew, she’d have to show she was different.

She wanted to, no, she needed you to understand that she was a whole new person because you’ve changed her. She didn’t want to hide anymore and for that she’d have to let go of her walls and be vulnerable. Truly vulnerable.

Funnily, she had played with her vulnerability before, being vulnerable just enough for people to lower their shields or masks so she could get what she wanted but this was something else entirely.

This time she wouldn’t act. She’d be vulnerable, at your mercy hoping she’d make it out alive on the other side. It was something new and it scared her, but losing you was scarier.

“I didn’t know you came back to check on Barton…” She tried weakly, knowing that this was a sore subject for the both of you. Each with your own views and reasons.

“I helped Clint, yes, but we went back looking for you. Yet, Ross was all we’ve found.” Your glare was cold, perhaps colder than ever. In the pit of her stomach, she knew she deserved it, she just wish you could move on with it.

“I was wrong, okay. Is that what you want to hear?” She snapped, though her voice was still in a low tone, eyes sad. And you hated it. “I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for not going after you that day at the airport or at the Raft.”

Her eyes fell once more to your hands, she slowly nursed them in hers and this action was so soft, so hesitantly as if she was afraid of you taking it away; afraid of you shutting her down once more.

“I wish I could do things differently, but I can’t, and for that I’m sorry. But I- I wish we could try move on from this. I still have feelings for you.” As words flowed through her tongue, you watched as eyes portrayed a sincerity that you rarely saw within those forest green orbs.

Usually, they hid her true feelings or performed like an actress twisting her truths mixed with pieces of lies and characters she created through life until she herself was unaware of what was true or not.

“I hear you, Natasha.” You rasped out after a long moment lost inside her beautiful eyes. “You speak of things as you did before, yet you never act on it.”

Her hands were warm, a muted invitation to go back to your dreams of having a life with her. The only person who never showed any sign of fear about your nature, that never once treated you like an animal.

She never treated you like a woman either.

“I want you to show me.” Your stone-cold eyes punctuated your feelings in the matter at hand. If she wanted to have you back, she’d have to show you she’s changed for words could only take her so far.

“I will.” She vowed and smiled softly, though her heart was shattering inside her chest. She made a career making people believe in whatever she wanted, she supposed she’d be able to make you believe in her heart.

How hard would that be?

Laugh filled the room after another not-so-funny Tony’s jokes and your head throbbed as the sound echoed inside your skull. Parties like these were always a torture for you, after all, your enhanced abilities of hearing and catching smells better than a normal person proved to be really awful in a place full of people with different perfumes, scents, chattering and loud music.

However, Tony himself forbid you from leaving tonight for this was his engagement party and it would be rude to Pepper if you left too early. Deciding that indulging him was easier than arguing with him, you found a safe corner and pretended to enjoy whatever was going on.

Though, your sharp eyes, even though you tried hard, always wandered after a certain redhead and you could all but clench your jaw every time you judged someone got too closer for your comfort.

Jealousy clawed its way through your throat and even the best bourbon from the bar couldn’t help it. You knew you had no right, no claim, especially after your last conversation. Still, your heart acted on its own and made sure you’d regret your words and resolve.

Considering that you were one drink from scooping lower than ever for her, you abandoned your glass on a random table and vanished to the balcony in hopes the fresh air could help your head and brain.

The cars down the streets ran from side to side completely unaware of your inner turmoil as you pathetically looked down searching for answers you wouldn’t find there.

In fact, as your answers arrived at the balcony, you realized that her hills clicking the marble floor announced her before her perfume invaded your nostrils in waves as she moved closer and closer towards you.

“Tired of mingling?” She asked as she lined her body at the railing. Her red hair bobbed around her ears in meticulously designed waves and her dark maroon dress hugged her curves in all the nice places.

She was flawless.

As always.

“I think I might’ve break Sam with incredible five words.” You gave her a sly smile that she retributed with a smirk and a fake gasp.

“This is basically a whole speech.” She clicked her tongue playfully. “I think you’ve been around Tony just too much.”

You snorted a laugh and she let a broad smile paint her lips, content with herself for making you ease the pained expression adorning your face the whole evening.

Uncertenty hugged you like a cold blanket as you pondered your next words. As if rolling the dices in a game you were sure you’d end up losing, you turned to her and spoke. “You’re really beautiful tonight, Nat.”

Your heart fluttered as she fought back a smile trying to win her lips and looked down as if she wasn’t expecting your praise. She genuinely looked flustered by your words.

“Thank you. You’re quite handsome yourself. Well, I already praised your choice of suit, earlier.” She turned her body so now she was fully looking at you and you tried to remember how to properly breath. However, it was as if the air was composed of her scent.

You were intoxicated.

“What do you mean?” You asked confused. “This is the first time we speak tonight.” You clarify. Truth be told you’ve been keeping a fair distance from her and funnily enough she didn’t make the effort to push you and your comfort space.

She did make it obvious that she was trying, though. She invited you out in front of people, she brought you coffee whenever you were reading in the garden in the morning or brought you a blanket when you were on the couch watching movies with Wanda.

Whenever you were called to a meeting, she worked the lights so it wouldn’t hurt your eyes that much. And, one day, she brought you the files they recovered from Hydra from the mission you were taken, and you both learned that one of your creators left behind a journal and there were a lot of dirty secrets down there. Including yours.

To be honest, she was really trying to show her true intentions, but you were still afraid that this was just for show, just a ploy for you to lower your guard and be disappointed after she return to her normal pattern of misleading.

However, the way she stood basking in the moon light looking at you like she was slowly sipped through the cracks of your determination of not giving in that easy.

Her soft smile was a sight to see, and you even forgot that you were waiting for her to reply. “Directly, yes. I sent a drink to you earlier.”

Then it clicked in your head. Your laugh was loud and very uncharacteristic of you, though Natasha simply stood there admiring your carefree stance, a rare occurrence.

Your mind traveled to a moment earlier that night when the waiter approached you with a drink in hand, stating that the lady had sent it to you complimenting your fine tailored suit. At the time, the way he vaguely waved in the direction of Agatha and other ladies, you thought that one of them had been the person.

Though if you thought harder about it, Natasha was at the bar in that moment, right behind said ladies.

“Now it made sense.” You grinned back at her and nodded your head softly. “Thank you for the compliment and the drink.”

“Of course.” She flashed on last smile and turned her body to admire the city bellow and you did the same. Though you found it hard to ignore her presence by your side. You could feel the heat emanating from her skin, her sweet scent still impregnating the air around you and you could hear her fast heartbeat. It was uncommon.

In a haste, you both turned towards each other and started to speak at the same time. A nervous laugh scaped your lips as you signaled for her to go on first. And she did.

She closed her eyes as one does when bracing for the impact, as if second-guessing her next step, but when she opened her eyes again, there was no doubt and no deceit. “I love you and it’s ruining my life not having you, knowing that I am the one who pushed you away.”

You were speechless by her blunt confession, specially because she never, ever, used the word love in such a direct sentence. She expressed her feelings before, yes, but always with an adore, in love with you once or twice, never this straight.

She took your silence as hesitancy and reached for your hand, she yearned for your touch and the closeness of the last weeks made her heart clench with longing. “I am asking for a chance to show you who I really am, and I, please, I know I’ve made mistakes, but I wish to make it up to you.”

Her eyes were pools of emotion and you had trouble in breathing with her so close now. “Please, let me love you the way you deserve, the way I should’ve since the very first time I kissed your lips.” Her free hand caressed your cheek in such a tender way that you felt your knees weak.

She was definitely your true weakness.

You brain was haywire, short-circuiting with the lack of air and the sudden increase in your heartbeats. There she was. The woman you felt like you could love forever, offering you what you always wanted: her heart. For real this time. Not the hide and seek games you’ve been playing in the past.

She promised and have been showing changes, however, if you were to be honest, all she’d have to do was to come at you and say hi. If you were to be honest, she would always have your heart at her mercy.

Unable to form words and knowing that your silence was unnerving for her, as you saw her brows furrowing, you decided to answer her differently as you brought your hand to her own cheek and guided her lips to meet yours.

Her lips were soft as they used to be, and you could feel her body melting into the kiss. Her eyes fluttered open when you broke the kiss and smiled softly at her. “I love you too, Nat.”

Smiling back at you, Natasha circled her arms behind your neck to pull you down for another kiss, and another. And another.

And you knew, all too well, that she wouldn’t stop soon.

taglist: @username23345; @afuckingshituniverse; @strangegardentaco; @waltermis (I know you didn't specifically asked to be tagged, but I am doing it, nonetheless, because if your rb - and because you sparked a fire in this. Thank you.)

[sorcerersseestars]

LIMERENCE (III)

PART I, PART II

preview: So maybe this was unexpected, but maybe not. Your parents had always told you to be careful who you lent your heart to, but even more careful about who you made promises—or rather, vows—to. You were never fond of listening to their advice, however life saving it turned out to be…

word count: 11.9k

warnings: Violence/violent thoughts, mentions of illness/injuries, mentions of choking, vomiting, and blood, actual romance finally?? 😳

song rec: Mahler Symphony III, mvt VI <3 for nostalgic/bittersweet parts

NOTE: JJK0 edit! In this timeline, Geto invaded the school, failed to obtain Rika, but left unscathed. The twins depicted as mid-late teens.

“WILL YOU please lay off for once?” The man sighs, an unusual note of annoyance threatening to creep into his voice.

“But, Master Geto, this is horrible! They look like they're on death's door and you basically dropped them!” The girl exclaims loudly. “Who even are they?”

He hoists your limp body back over his shoulder, easily handling your weight. He had set you down for a few moments, as his shoulder had begun to ache after being burdened in one position for too long, but he intends to move you to a more permanent place than the ground he had momentarily set you on. He begins to walk away and, like always, the girl is his shadow, following behind immediately with no hesitation.

"I didn't drop them, Mimiko. My shoulder was hurting, so I had to put them down..."

"You practically did. If that's how you treat someone who's unconscious, remind me to never pass out around you. It looks like they hit their head when you 'didn't' drop them."

"Well, they have a price to pay. I wasn't necessarily trying to be gentle," He chuckles bitterly, “Let this be a lesson to you and Nanako. Don’t make a deal you’re not willing to follow through with until the end. It could cost you your life.”

The young girl frowns, confusion clear in her bright eyes. “But Master, aren’t they a sorcerer and not a monkey? I feel their cursed energy, even though it is weak. Why are you acting like this, Master Geto? I feel like…I feel like I don’t know you right now. How can you be so kind to us and then…and then treat this sorcerer…”

Her voice that started strong, as she means her words and thus began her inquiry with conviction, now gradually fades in volume until nothing can be heard but the roar of the wind.

He turns away quickly, trying to conceal how wide his eyes are, to hide the quiver that runs down his neck and through his fingers, to bury the contradicting feelings and morals that are tearing him apart. Yes, he has always been praised for his gentle nature and softness of his soul. Yes, he has always been commended for his strong moral compass and even sometimes accused of being self-righteous. Satoru had a tendency for the latter, but you…you would always readily agree with Geto and would look to him for an example. He remembers your eyes on him when Satoru pledged to kill all of the sorcerers that had involvement with Riko’s death during the Star Plasma mission. You had instantly laid down your weapon when Geto told Satoru that it wasn’t worth anything, that it wouldn’t change the tragic outcome that had already fallen upon them.

But when Geto later had—in the view of the sorcerer’s world, and most definitely in your view as well, he can only assume—his fall from grace, you had not looked to him or followed him then. But as he only had one opportunity to speak with you after, he could not pretend to fully understand your entire opinion of him—did you despise him, did you feel betrayed by him, or maybe, deep down, did you understand?

He doesn’t know what you truly think, and probably never will. And yet he cannot hold back about what he thinks about you—you, a pivotal figure in the Jujutsu world, a strong sorcerer who also has a strong attachment to the strongest sorcerer. You, who represent and fight for the future generation of sorcerers. You, who often put your life on the line to save mere monkeys, and teach others to do the same.

He turns back to Mimiko, who looks to him with wide, hesitant eyes. Her presence alone reminds him of his purpose, of his mission, and he quickly summons his resolve. He has his reasons, after all.

“Master, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to doubt you or disrespect you—“

Geto sighs, expression softening at the slight tremble in her voice. “It’s quite alright, Mimiko. I am the one that should be apologizing. It’s just that it is difficult for me to be in their presence, knowing what they are and who they are close to. It makes me someone…someone that I sometimes wish I wasn’t. They are both symbols of everything we despise, of everything we are fighting against. I can’t help but feel disgusted and irritated in their presence.”

She blinks slowly, processing his words. "So you mean them and...are you talking about this sorcerer and Gojo Satoru?"

"Very good," Geto praises, but he does not smile. "Those two have been on my list a long time."

Mimiko raises an eyebrow. "I understand about Gojo Satoru, of course, but why this person? I don't recognize them from our black book. Aren't they just a teacher at Tokyo or something?"

"(Y/N) was our classmate at Tokyo, and it is true that they teach there now. They are particularly special to our situation, you could say. They could turn the tide for us," He pauses, then shakes his head decisively. "No, they will."

Mimiko's lips twitch as many more questions threaten to burst out, but she holds her tongue and instead takes in her master's expression. Excitement glitters in his dark eyes, or maybe anticipation. He looks like he has cracked the code to something very important, giving him an almost manic appearance. But there's also something else in his countenance. She can't put her finger on it, but an emotion akin to regret occasionally interrupts his otherwise eager expression.

"They have always been infatuated with Gojo. I can't say it was love at first sight, but as close as you can get to that. I knew that, eventually, they would fall for Gojo. For a long time, I never thought anything of it, other than the fact their heart was going to be broken someday. After all, he was notorious for his arrogance and, well...philandering, I guess you could say, back then."

Mimiko rolls her eyes. "You mean he was a playboy."

"So, you get my meaning," Geto chuckles. "Yes, he has always been like that. And ever since the night that...that I rescued you and Nanako, ever since we went our separate ways, I haven't been able to lure him out. Not that I've wanted to, yet, but you know my goal."

"Yes," She breathes out the word almost instantly. "To eliminate all non-sorcerers, for the betterment of our world."

"That's the end goal, yes," He says, letting out a grunt of assent. "But remember what I told you and Nanako all that time ago?"

He turns to face her, eyes searching her expression, wondering just how firmly she believes in his ideals.

She looks up at him instantly, eyes glinting with a determination and purpose beyond her age. The intensity of her gaze almost startles him. "Gojo is the sorcerers' figurehead. Once he is eliminated, they will panic and we can make our move. They won't have the advantage anymore."

"Figurehead...maybe I said that before, but he is no figurehead. The higher-ups are, definitely, but Gojo...Gojo is the real deal. As much as I hate to admit it, we are no longer equals and haven't been for a long time. He is the most difficult to handle, and that's why we have to take him out first."

"Even though you didn't get Rika? I thought acquiring that cursed spirit was necessary."

Geto sighs, "You wound my pride by reminding me of that failure...but, no, that won't be necessary anymore."

He enters his room and haphazardly deposits you onto his bed, although it is still considerably gentler of a movement than before. His eyes sweep over your form, scrutinizing your sickly appearance. You look rather convincing for his case.

"Why not?" Mimiko prompts after the silence stretches out too long. Her patience can only last so long—he has been avoiding what she has really wanted answers for this entire conversation.

He nods to your form. "Gojo will come for them soon. He knows this is my doing, I made sure of it. And once he sees their condition, knowing that he caused this...and after they explain our little Binding Vow we took, his worldview will shatter."

He doesn't elaborate. Mimiko, who was listening with rapt attention, shakes her head in confusion. "Master, please explain this to me. What do you mean to happen? I thought you wanted to dispose of him."

"I did, once. When I was angry with this world, angry at his sudden insistence on helping the weak, I did. But I've never truly wanted to kill him, just as he has no desire to kill me. He's supposed to, but he won't. We were best friends, after all. After this happens, after they succumb to this disease, then I can't imagine he will ever want to help anyone ever again, monkeys included. Even if he doesn't join us, he will no longer be a threat."

His dark eyes trail over your form, taking in your gaunt cheeks and thin hair. He lingers on your closed eyes—even though you are unconscious and technically resting, the fatigue that plagues your features does not fade in the slightest.

“Which disease, Master?” Mimiko prompts, seeing that Geto’s mind has drifted. His eyes quickly shoot up to meet hers.

"They are afflicted with Hanahaki disease. This is what I anticipated all those years ago as I watched them fall head over heels for Gojo. That he would be too cautious to show his affection to them and they would believe their love to be one-sided. It is not, I know it is not, but I convinced them otherwise. I made a Binding Vow with them to guarantee that they wouldn’t notify anybody else about their condition, once it has befallen them. They vowed to keep quiet until they sensed they were close to death."

“They took this Vow willingly, or…?” Mimiko asks in a hushed voice, as if afraid to offend her master.

“Yes. I told them that one day they would fall prey to this disease, that their love would be unrequited—they easily accepted this. I convinced them that letting them succumb to the disease would be…would be for the best.”

Fear and confusion pulse through Mimiko, quickening her heart rate. She is quickly piecing together all the information that pertains to her master, and through every line of thought she comes to the same conclusion. She squeaks out, “But won’t he come for you?”

Geto shakes his head calmly. “No, he’ll come for them.”

“That’s not what I meant, Master,“ She says with urgency. “Won’t he kill you?”

“And what would that accomplish?”

“He’ll be angry, he’ll want revenge! You implied that he…that he loves them, too.”

“Killing me will not bring them back.” He says simply, coolly. “It would only bring him more pain. His love and his best friend dead in one night? It would be too much to bear.”

Mimiko shakes her head worriedly. “Even so…would he really consider you his best friend after that? I think you are misjudging the situation slightly, Master…”

Geto laughs, “You believe me to be a fool. I can’t say I disagree, but I know him. Too well.”

“Can I ask you something, Master?” She asks quietly. He nods his consent with an intrigued expression. “Did he ever expect you to defect? When you two were close, did he ever know this side to you? If not, then…how do you expect to know him at all, either?”

Geto says nothing, train of thought interrupted by a bright sound. Mimiko’s point is clear, clearer than the peals of the bells from the rustling wind chimes outside. The wind that consumed Mimiko’s words before now disturbs his thoughts with this incessant chiming.

He eventually says, “He will be defeated, especially with the knowledge that they agreed to this. That they agreed to die for him.”

“Why did they?” Mimiko whispers, gazing at your broken form with unbridled pity in her eyes. “What did you promise them?”

“They came to me, begging to spare him. They knew I would come after him some day. They admitted to me that he had direct orders to kill me, but could never go through with them or even think on them. They feared this weakness of his would cause him to hold back and leave him vulnerable if I ever decided to go through with my plans. But I, of course, needed something valuable in return if I were to promise to spare him. And this is the only valuable exchange I could came up with…a way to defeat him without ever needing to physically do so. They didn’t hesitate to lay down their life, and I…”

Geto pauses, reflecting on his feelings for you. You had once been a good friend, although he always thought you were too lenient towards Gojo—always walking around with large puppy eyes for him, at times blind to his faults. At one time, you and Geto were so close that he perfectly knew your order at the local cafe, down to the two sugar packets and only a few droplets of cream, and that you would only ever go to bed earlier than 2 am if you knew they were serving your favorite breakfast in the morning. In comparison, Geto doesn’t know much of you anymore—but he knows your literal fatal flaw—you give up too much of yourself for Satoru, this time being your life.

“Well, I have to admit it didn’t feel great guaranteeing the death of an old friend, but…it is for a higher purpose. Our purpose. It’s for the sake of the entire world. If Gojo goes down, in one form or another, we will be able to infiltrate and dismantle their whole society. Their death won’t be in vain.”

A new voice pipes up from behind him, soft and choked. "That's too cruel, Master Geto.”

He looks over to the doorway and sees only long, dark brown hair and shaking shoulders.

“Nanako?” He questions quietly, tone gentle, yet curious.

Nanako slowly turns around, her face revealed inch by inch, and he is surprised to find glossy eyes and rivulets of tears pouring down her cheeks. One hand is pressed over her mouth as if she is trying to rein in her emotions, but is failing.

“I know it is for the betterment of our world—“ She is stopped by a telling rasp in her voice. “But—I really can’t believe in love and goodness anymore if they die.”

Before she can hear any response from either her sister or her master, she turns on her heel and races down the hall.

The air in Geto’s lungs is stuck and feels like it’ll be forever suspended there, but then Mimiko says, “She still believed in that stuff?” and he can finally exhale.

Gojo Satoru isn’t having a good night—or, rather, a good morning. Ever since you called him at 3 am, he has been wide awake and filled with a jumble of emotions. He was so relieved to see your name pop up on his screen—he thought it was a good sign, that maybe you didn’t hold his ghosting you for months against him. He was also glad that he didn’t have to initiate contact with you, which he honestly didn’t feel like he deserved after how he’s brushed you aside—although he couldn’t shake off the feeling that maybe he was just a coward and in denial about it. He’s often in denial about things pertaining to his feelings—oftener about feelings involving you.

Ever since the call ended, when your screams and near unintelligible speech were abruptly cut off, Gojo has been frozen: hands shaking, vision coming in and out of focus, mouth turning to sand. He can’t reach you right now. He wishes he could teleport instantly to you, but he remembers Shoko’s news that you have moved to a new apartment about a month ago. Shoko had been shocked when he admitted he didn’t know, and further so when he didn’t proceed to ask for your new address. Gojo always used to come by and bother you at your last apartment, after all. And here his past behavior comes to bite him in the ass.

His mind begins to race, full of regrets and hopes and fears; his thoughts fly by faster than they ever have before. It makes him think of you all the more, and memories he had long forgotten begin to surface.

It’s funny how fast he is inundated with memories. In school, you had always teased him about how slow he was in school, specifically how slow of a test taker he was. He would always finish last, no matter the day, no matter the subject.

“You must be a slow thinker,” You used to tease him. Once you had followed it up with, “I’m surprised you even take the tests seriously. I figured you’d just Christmas tree it and be the first one done just to get it over with. Wouldn’t ‘the strongest’ want to focus on training more anyway?”

Your mischievous smile flashes through his mind, your laughter so full of mirth that he hasn’t heard in forever also rings through his mind; his chest aches. Back then, he didn’t exactly know what to think of how you could never stop poking fun at him—he didn’t understand what you meant by it, but he sorely, sorely misses it now. Back then, he couldn’t help but try to fire back with something he found equally as insulting, but it never had the same effect. His face would always be flushed and his charisma would melt away, revealing a stuttering and helplessly in love boy. Nobody could look at him and recognize him as what would be the strongest sorcerer in their age, or relate him to the cocky, rich Gojo heir who was rumored to be head of his clan soon. He was a mere boy would wanted to impress a regular sorcerer of no material or familial importance or fame, a sorcerer who was smart and witty enough to cut down his personality—or, rather, his persona—down to his raw self with just a few words. And yet when Shoko and Geto would poke fun at his crush on you, he would vehemently deny it. He didn’t truly believe it himself—or didn’t want to believe it—because of how vulnerable you made him feel. Despite all the signs, he maintained his claim of not liking you, which was hard to believe with his strong need to impress you.

He couldn’t use his charm or fame to get to you, so he wanted—no, needed—to impress you through other means. For example, Gojo did indeed prefer training to studying, but he couldn’t just say that, otherwise he would reveal too much. So whenever you would tease him about his molasses pace in academics, Gojo would begin to either shrug or quip back with something about how you were quite the opposite, a quick learner with perfect grades but always the first one to be beaten in a spar and the last to understand a new technique. You never seemed offended or even embarrassed by his claims, which irked him, considering how ruffled he would get if you said something similar to him. You would just smile as if you knew something he didn’t.

The real reason why he tried so hard in academics is—surprise, surprise!—that he wanted to impress you. He found that you were difficult to impress—you didn’t seem to care about how strong he was as a sorcerer, or about his looks and charm. In Satoru’s view, you always seemed to prefer his best friend Suguru for his mind and moral compass. Suguru was naturally book smart and didn’t have to work hard to get good grades; if Gojo fell behind, he thought he wouldn’t have a chance with you at all. In actuality, you cared little about others’ grades, but you were amused—and, okay, maybe a little impressed—by how diligent Gojo seemed to be.

Either way, you’d be destined to fall for Gojo Satoru anyway. Either way, Gojo Satoru was destined to be oblivious to your attraction toward him.

But, your love for him was inconsequential—either way, he would always come for you. Even if you hated him, he would be there, with no ounce of hesitation. He wouldn’t think twice when it came to you, even if it involved someone he also had a painfully complicated relationship with.

His former best friend, someone he truly believed to be the only one to understand him, blindsided him all those years ago. Even you, who were always so perceptive and attentive to your friends, hadn’t anticipated Geto’s horrific exit from society.

That was the first time you had seen cracks emerge in Gojo’s mask. He remembers your concerned gaze on him when he would forget to laugh when a joke was told, or at how quickly his perpetual smile would fall once he thought nobody was looking.

“We’re all shocked,” You had tried to console him once, even though he acted like he didn’t need it. “It’s not your fault, Satoru. Nobody expected this…”

You two were enjoying ice cream, sat lazily on the steps of the school. It almost felt normal, but the fact that Satoru’s treat was untouched broke the illusion for you.

“Who said it was?” He tried to laugh like he normally would, but it sounded faker than he anticipated. “If that idiot wants to go running off like a little bitch, let him.”

Your brow had furrowed as you tried not to glare at him. You hated when he used misogynous terms like bitch or pussy when describing someone negatively, but he couldn’t give a flying fuck right now. You knew he was struggling so you said nothing on this, but your sharp gaze reminded him of his fault nonetheless.

“It’s a little more than just running off,” You had sighed. “The report was…”

You trailed off, not wanting to recount the atrocious crimes someone you believed to be so gentle committed.

“Like I don’t fucking know that.” He snorted bitterly, angrily.

The mask was slipping more, that much was obvious. You wanted to help ease it off, but knew you would likely have to press him. It wasn’t healthy for him to be holding everything inside.

“There’s a rumor that they’re going to assassinate him,” You said quietly.

“It’s no rumor,” He said, voice quivering from trying to hold back his emotions.

“Really?” You turned to him with rapt interest, but he didn’t elaborate. The school-wide known yapper sat silently, his jaw clenched.

“Why are you holding back?” You suddenly accused. “You never say so little.”

“He shook his head, avoiding your eyes. He felt like he could snap at any second, that his mask would shatter for good and he’d be completely exposed in front of you.

“Why are you holding back?” You repeated more loudly. You didn’t seem like you were going to give this up.

He suddenly threw his uneaten, melted ice cream to the ground. There was a palpable crunch as pressed his palm down on the cone, shattering it. You flinched, momentarily caught off guard, but deep down you weren’t surprised. He had so much guilt, anger, and sadness sitting dormant inside of him, and it was only a matter of time before it erupted.

Your eyes followed his figure as he pushed himself up and started to walk away. He didn’t glance at you—but it guessed he was being avoidant rather than spiteful.

“Don’t you dare walk away, too,” You had pleaded, but it sounded more like a threat. “We’re not done here, Satoru.”

You stood up quickly, ready to go after him, but your fear would soon be proven unfounded, because Gojo stopped abruptly at your words. For a moment, both you and him were still. You were scared of what might happen next, but you didn’t dare say another word.

You didn’t have to. Gojo swiveled around, eyes blazing with a fire you had never seen before and chest heaving as if he had just been battling. Long gone was his usual cocky smile and condescending, playful gaze.

He began to shout at you. “What do you want? For me to admit to you what you already know?! Well, fucking fine! They ordered me, me of all people, to murder him—or, as they put it, ‘dispose’ of him. Is that what you wanted to hear me say? Are you fucking satisfied now?”

Your eyes were wide, taking in this new and painful information. You recovered quickly, speaking back in the most gentle tone he had ever heard from you.

“I’m sorry, Satoru. I didn’t know. I can’t believe they would…No, I guess I can believe that, but they can’t…they shouldn’t be allowed to order you that just because you’re the strongest. I’m sorry I pressed you about this,” You murmured. “I just wanted you to let out whatever was hurting you. You keep pretending around everyone, but…You’re hurting more than any of us, but you won’t admit it. You can tell us your pain…you can let it out.”

Nobody had seen through him like that before.

Then words began to flow out, words he had never told anyone. Truths that had never seen the light of day. He hated that you had this effect on him, that you able to unravel him like nobody else could. He could never keep anything from you, and this alone would influence many decisions in the future.

He shouted the words out, thinking that maybe if he yelled it would force the ugly painful lump in his throat to go away. “I hate that I’m expected to kill my best friend. I hate that the higher-ups use me as a weapon. I hate that ever since I was born, that’s all I’ve been and ever will be. And I hate most of all that one day, one of us will have to kill each other, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Your eyes swam with tears, horror clear in them. You knew his words were true. You knew it was true, and you had to do something about it. Later you would seek out the other side behind Gojo’s back, not knowing why desperation burned through you until you had settled a deal.

You looked so scared that it startled Gojo out of his miserable state. He came closer to you, arms held out as if he was halfway thinking about embracing you.

“God, I’m sorry I yelled at you like that, angel.” He said, mistakenly believing that his yelling induced your horrified state, eyes crinkling apologetically behind his shades.

“Angel?” You questioned, taken so aback that you barely remember what other words he uttered.

His cheeks suddenly colored. You had never noticed him blush before, even though he had because of you many times, so you couldn’t help but be surprised at his redness.

“I-is that okay?” He asked, uncharacteristically sheepish.

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, Mr. Flirt. I’m sure you call everyone that, anyway.”

He shook his head, “Nah, I’ll reserve this one for you. Of course, everyone else is baby, or sunshine, or pookie—”

“Okay, can I give you one then? How about harlot? Can I call you that?”

“What? NO!”

He smiles at the memory—the first time he called you angel, which was then cemented as his ‘ironic’ nickname for you. How you never realized his pet name was indicative of his feelings, he could never understand.

His smile falls—that pet name hasn’t crossed his tongue in ages, just as he hasn’t been open with you about his feelings and situation. He is sorry to say that you and him haven’t had the type of transparency you had in the past in a while, at the very least not since he was backed into a corner by the higher-ups and forced to ignore you. And maybe even not since the time you once came to him, bawling your eyes out and claiming you felt like you had done something awful that involved him but you couldn’t remember what, as if someone had put a spell on you to forget.

These memories all run through his head at a speed beyond what he can comprehend. He feels like he is missing something, and that it may be hidden somewhere deep in his memories. But Gojo does not have the luxury of time on his side; he has no more time to dig through his memories. Even if the answer may lie from within, he has a better chance of finding it out by pursuing you.

After he allows himself a final moment to remember and remember and remember, to regret and regret and regret some more, he starts making calls—he needs to gather information as quickly as possible. He knows that Geto is crafty and calculated—this must definitely be related to your Binding Vow with him. He can’t guess what it entails, and as much as he wants to believe that Geto must have some good in him still, he can’t rule out the possibility of your life very much being in danger. You being some sort of a twisted bargaining chip is a fear that does not go unnoticed in his mind. He knows this to be highly probable, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

Gojo knows that Geto and his association, disguised and funded as a “religious organization”, are constantly moving around. Their temple’s location has been known for a long time, but they are rarely there, intel has reported. Thus he makes calls to all of the top sorcerers involved in collecting intel to see if a new hideout has popped up. He was hoping that they could pinpoint exactly where Geto is, but they only have a few general ideas of his location.

Gojo hangs up on the last sorcerer right after they could only propose two vague locations. He wanted to berate all of them for being inadequate, for letting such a high level dangerous sorcerer like Geto to exist without detection, to let him run amuck in their society with virtually no consequences, even after targeting Gojo’s student for his sole personal benefit. But Satoru knows this anger would be misdirected—projecting the higher-ups problems onto these sorcerers who are just obeying orders.

“Fuck!” Gojo yells, the panic and frustration rising with every passing moment. “I’m going to kill those fucking higher-ups one day.”

At least they all had similar guesses, so Gojo has an idea of where you could be held. The only completely useful piece of information he acquired was your current address, as much as it pained him to ask a random person for it. And just like that, Gojo is on the case. He could have called in specialized trackers, but it would take too long to dispatch them and would definitely result in interference from the higher-ups.

Instead, Gojo pockets his phone—which he had thrown quite forcefully onto his bed in his frustration after failing to locate you—and teleports to your new address. He races up the steps to your floor and stops in front of your unit. He frowns. Your front door is ajar, which makes him bristle. It’s a clear statement from Geto—brazenly boasting that he got to you easily and with little care about being caught. Well, really no care—which is suspicious and smells of a trap. But there’s no way Gojo will choose not to pursue you—and, unfortunately, Geto seems to know this, too.

Gojo sets his Six-Eyes on your apartment and finds no active cursed energy. Finding the coast to be clear, he quickly pushes the door open further and walks in. He is first struck by the mess in the living room, eyes darkening at the sight of the broken glass and neglected blooms lying on the floor.

You struggled all the way to the door, is what Gojo assumes of the eerie mess. His jaw clenches as he recalls your shrieks as you were dragged against your will. He continues on, reaching your bedroom first. It is surprisingly in order there, so he moves to your bathroom—and that’s when his heart drops into his stomach.

Blood. Blood is everywhere. He feels sick. The scent clogs his nose and he swallows to keep himself from gagging. He sees the imprint of your hands in the edges of the pool of blood on the floor. He feels sick. He sees red handprints on the doorframe where you desperately tried to hold on while you were dragged out—there are gouges in the wood from your nails digging in. He feels traces of your cursed energy, fainter than they should be, overpowered by Geto’s strong residuals. He feels sick.

The only key detail that Gojo fails to notice is the singular baby blue petal, darkened from a layer of dried blood, lying on the floor. You had disposed of the flowers earlier in the night because their presence only allowed you to think of him—but this petal had evidently escaped your notice. Is it ironic or fitting that the object of your affection and disease does not notice the petal in the color of his eyes?

Geto has been waiting patiently by your bedside. You haven’t woken yet, which spares him the ordeal of conversing with you. He fears that you would be troublesome if you realized that Gojo would be coming for you—if you truly realized what was going on, you’d in hysterics, surely. Good thing that he prevented that the day he made the vow with you.

On the other hand, however, Geto is curious about what you would possibly say to him. Would you be glad to see him after all of these years? He doubts you truly despise him, deep down. After all, you always aspired to be more like Geto—from his composure, to his gentle character, to his morals. You definitely don’t adhere to the same moral code now, and Geto is positive you think of him lowly for his misdeeds. But perhaps you may still envy him for his composure and even his apathy to an extent—his ability to keep calm in life or death situations, and for his ability to kill without batting an eye. Maybe you wish you more like that so that you could take him out and spare Satoru the pain of doing so.

Or maybe he is completely wrong. Maybe you have changed—if you had not been in such a sickly state, would you have fought back to the point of killing him? Have you gained enough mental fortitude and tenacity to kill him in Satoru’s stead?

After spending a few more minutes mulling over his thoughts, Geto leaves the room. Satoru should be here soon—but not too soon. After all, nobody knows his new location—only him and his girls know. So Gojo shouldn’t arrive at least until sun-up, or at least he hopes. He’s depending on that—if not, then he might have to interfere more directly.

Geto exits the house, hoping the chill of the night air will clear his mind. It is very cold tonight—a few small flakes are falling, but melt as soon as they touch the ground. He’s itching for a smoke, a warm stick of cancer to fill his lungs with. He detachedly wonders if Shoko is still keeping her old habit.

“Master Geto?” Comes a small voice.

He turns his head to acknowledge her presence.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks with genuine concern. “It’s late, Nanako.”

She shakes her head. “Not really…this place doesn’t hold the best memories for us.”

He nods. “I know. That’s why we chose it though, right? It sets the scene well.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of eerie that nobody lives around here anymore…I mean, this countryside was full of monkeys.”

“I remember very well,” Geto says with some disgust. “You and Mimiko were too good for this place. They were cruel to you.”

She sighs. “I know, we really hated it here. To think what would have happened if you didn’t rescue us…thank you, Master.”

Geto smiles gently. “There’s no need to thank me. I only did what was right.”

Nanako smiles back, looking a little sheepish. Then her smile falls and she nervously twiddles her fingers together. “By the way, Master, they’re still asleep…and still breathing. I thought they would…I thought you said they’d be deceased by now?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Hm. I thought so, but perhaps I was mistaken. I’ll go check on them. You should go back to bed and try to get some rest.”

He seems troubled and his mood noticeably soured. Nanako nods and quietly excuses herself, not wanting to bother her master any further. But before she is out of sight, Geto loudly lets out a string of expletives from. When Nanako turns to look at him, she sees that his head is in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Nanako asks, rushing back to him.

“He’s here,” Geto says through gritted teeth. “Nanako, go. I don’t think he’d harm you, but I won’t take any chances. Wake Mimiko and go to the place we discussed earlier.”

Nanako doesn’t hesitate. She really doesn’t want to be anywhere near Gojo Satoru, who her master has admitted surpasses him in strength. She’s seen Geto in battle before—she can’t imagine how monstrous Gojo must be in comparison. She rushes back into the house, set on going directly to Mimiko, but instead pauses by the room where you rest. She studies your sleeping form, lingering on the unfairness of your situation. But what can she do? She is powerless to help you.

And so, Nanako and Mimiko flee just as they were told to. One wonders if she’s doing the right thing, the other yawns and asks about breakfast.

While they’re escaping, Geto ponders what to do. It’s not dawn yet—the sky is starless, covered by black clouds full of snow—but the barrier Geto placed has been penetrated. Gojo Satoru has arrived. Early. Which is, well, rather inconvenient: you aren’t dead yet. But he can’t just go and finish you off—it would defeat the entire purpose of this set-up. He doesn’t have to lay a finger on you for you to die. That’s the beauty of it.

Geto suddenly stands up straight, alert from the feeling of cursed energy so near. His eyes trace the perimeters of his vision, but he sees nothing even in his peripherals.

“Where are they?”

The words come from nothing, from nowhere. It’s as if the words enter only his mind and not his ears.

His instincts are going off like crazy—ringing through his head as a massive wave of cursed energy washes over him from behind. Geto slowly turns around, regaining calm as his thoughts catch up to his instincts.

There stands Gojo Satoru, the man who can change everything. Just like the time Geto ‘revisited’ Tokyo Tech, white bandages obscure his famous eyes. While Geto blends into the night’s shadows, Gojo almost glows. His white hair and pale countenance instantly draw attention to him.

As Geto quickly looks over his figure, his eyes begin to narrow. Considering what he’s seeing, he’s not sure how to approach this or what his reaction will be—because right now, Gojo looks different. He doesn’t stand with his usual casual air, and even lacks the cocky smirk he normally wears. His hands aren’t in his pockets, he isn’t leaning on anything, and his weight isn’t shifted to one side. In contrast to his normal posture, he stands tall, finally doing his height and strength justice.

If Geto were wiser, he might be scared. After all, he’s never seen Gojo look this serious, even when he was messing with his students in front of him. But knowing what he knows, Geto can’t help but feel smug. Almost everything has gone according to plan so far—a plan that he had enough foresight to create years ago. His prediction of you falling for Gojo and feeling the keen sting of unrequited love came to fruition—surely, everything else will also fall into place.

Geto chooses not to be wise.

Geto looks at Gojo calmly, a small smile appearing on his face. “Always so direct nowadays, eh, Satoru? Well, nevertheless, I’m glad you’re here. Without the strongest, this would all be pointless.”

Gojo’s lip curls. He can hardly believe that the man in front of him used to be his closest friend that he thought understood him the most. To Gojo, it’s sickening how gentle and familiar Geto’s easy smile is, knowing he has killed more innocent people than he ever saved.

“Oh, really? Care to enlighten me on your worthless plan this time? I’m really starting to think you actually went crazy just like everyone said.”

Geto walks away from Gojo, back turned to him. With no eyes on Gojo, he leaves himself completely exposed and at the mercy of Gojo. Geto’s display of trust makes him bristle, eyes darkening under the swath of white that lays over his eyes.

“That would be easier to accept, wouldn’t it?” Geto says, but quickly pulls away from the topic. “You know, Satoru, I didn’t even give you the address. I would give a warmer welcome for an invited guest…say, like (Y/N)! They have been received well by myself and my twins.”

Gojo sighs, adopting more of his casual charm as he chuckles dryly.

“Just what is this, Geto?” Gojo holds up his hands. “Don’t tell me you’re the jokester now, because this isn’t fucking funny.”

“Whatever you say, Gojo. I’m thoroughly amused.”

His dark eyes, glinting in the light of the moon, crinkle in said amusement. Gojo holds back a shiver—there’s something sinister in those eyes.

“Just because you have forsaken yourself doesn’t mean others will accept that,” Gojo says firmly. “I thought that would be obvious by now.”

“And when has that stopped me?” Geto says with a tut. “Besides, you’d think someone would try to interfere if they didn’t accept this. But alas, you have left me alone for years. Is this not a product of your own doing?”

Gojo almost falters. After all, he’s not wrong.

“I leave you alone for years and you go and—” He audibly exhales. “You harass my students and then kidnap (Y/N)? Let’s cut the bullshit. What are you plotting? Why would you take (Y/N)? What could you possibly want with them? You left all of us and never looked back.”

“With them? Don’t you mean from them?” Geto says, turning to give him a small smile. “As to what I’m planning…you’ll find out soon enough.”

Gojo’s brow furrows, but he says nothing.

“It’s so cold tonight,” Geto sighs lazily, as if he hasn’t a genuine care in the world. “You know, I would welcome you inside, but you’re here earlier than expected. I don’t know if they’re ready for you, yet.”

Gojo is rendered silent for a few moments as he considers what Geto could possibly mean. Geto speaks lightly, as if he’s hinting at something amusing to himself. Obviously Geto has done something to you—but what could be possibly mean by ‘ready for him’?

Gojo doesn’t want to entertain Geto by falling for his bait, so he speaks only what he truly wants to know. “I already told you, Suguru. Cut the bullshit. Tell me what you want from them. Now.”

Geto turns to him with a sharp glare. “What am I, a dog for you to order around? Don’t you know that’s what monkeys are for?”

“Do you try to control, or should I say enslave, humans now, too?” Gojo sneers. “Sounds like you have less dignity than one of your so-called ‘monkeys’.”

“What a low blow. Enslave? No, nothing like that! I just put them out of their own miserable existence after they do some of my bidding. You know Satoru, you’re more feisty than you used to be.”

“I wonder why,” Gojo says bitterly, but tries to hold his tongue. The more he gives in to his banter, the further he is from what he came here for.

Geto doesn’t respond this time. Gojo doesn’t like the feeling he starts getting—the feeling that Geto is stalling for time. He needs more information if he can get it, but Gojo knows he doesn’t have any more time to waste—you could be in any sort of condition. He’s beginning to panic, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

“What do you want from them? Why would you take them?” Gojo speaks lowly. “They don’t have anything to do with you anymore.”

When Geto remains silent, Gojo barks out, “Tell me now, Suguru! I won’t play these fucking games with you. You already crossed the line before by messing with my students. Now this? You should be careful. It’s like you want me to kill you.”

Geto laughs heartily, as if this is just a tense moment in an otherwise pleasant reunion. “Sure, Satoru. We played poker together, don’t you remember? You could never hold your pokerface. You’re still horrible at bluffing, I see.”

“Call my fucking bluff then,” Gojo spits.

“I have been, all these years. We both know why I’m still alive.” Geto says calmly.

“But you know that I won’t overlook this. I don’t know what you’re thinking, Suguru, but there’s only so much I can sweep under the rug. Especially with…with them, and you know that.”

“Oh, yes, I certainly do.” He smiles easily, eyes crinkling as if he is particularly pleased.

This unnerves Gojo even more.

Geto startles when Gojo suddenly appears mere inches from him. He’s never before witnessed his former friend with an aura this agitated and full of aggression, with cursed energy so inflamed and oppressive. Gojo seems so tall in this moment, towering over Geto even though they’re practically the same height.

Geto finally feels a sliver of doubt. Gojo has never been able to harm him, or rather, could never bring himself to. Geto has known this and has exploited this, in fact—but right now, for the first time, he can’t help but wonder if today is the day.

“What the fuck are you doing, Suguru?” Gojo asks lowly, anger bleeding in to his tone despite his efforts to stifle it.

Geto laughs. If only he knew. If only he knew that he would soon be on his knees, reality falling apart, finally succumbing to Geto’s worldview.

“I don’t think that’s the right question,” Geto shakes his head, his voice teasing—mocking. “Wouldn’t it be ‘What have I done?’”

He watches the color drain from Gojo’s face as his meaning sinks in. Something has been done to you, and it might be irreversible. You might be…you might be de—

Gojo sharply inhales as his mind goes blank with fury. His entire mind is consumed with the thought of strangling Geto. He can’t get the image of his hands around his throat, hurting him like he must have hurt you, life draining from his twisted eyes, to fade away. The fiery rage in him is triggering the euphoria he gets with a taste of violence—when he almost goes mad, addicted to his own strength and invincibility.

But…but you. What about you? What if you’re still alive?

The violence falls away, cast away by thoughts of you. All it takes is a single second of your smile, an echo of your sweet laugh, for him to singularly focus on you. If you’re alive, he needs to find you right now.

And the next time Geto blinks, he is greeted on with an icy breeze, as the figure in front of him has vanished. Geto doubles over in laughter, thinking that he has won. He will be the one to break THE Gojo Satoru, or at least shatter the weapon the jujutsu higher-ups love to use. This weapon will be at his disposal; with Gojo Satoru by his side again, the extermination of the human race will be finally be within his grasp.

That’s assuming that your heart has stopped beating. Geto, who chooses to be a fool, does not even check. Even though Nanako relayed that you were breathing a few minutes ago, his arrogance and hope to break Satoru exceed any doubt.

Gojo is also a fool, or so he thinks. He wasted so much time on Geto, who had him so easily transfixed by his vague mentions of you. He should have just searched for you from the start.

Thundering footsteps and calls of your name now echo through the house in which you reside. Finally able to focus solely on you after separating from Geto, Gojo frantically searches the house, going from room to room as fast as he can.

He hadn’t acknowledged it to Geto, but he’s been here before, that time when he had to confirm with his own eyes the extent of Geto’s crimes. It doesn’t bode well with him that Geto chose this place to house you—the place where he slaughtered dozens of people, his first step to breaking away from jujutsu society.

Gojo finds himself profusely sweating—whether it’s from fear or from sprinting through this maze of a house, he can’t tell. But after learning practically nothing from Geto except that he has done something to you, Gojo can’t keep the bubbling anxiety at bay for much longer.

The panic rises acutely in Gojo once he realizes something—he feels so blind, running around like a chicken with its head cut off, because there is no cursed energy to detect. Your distinctive energy that led him from your home until here, is nowhere to be found, as if it has been extinguished.

He can’t breathe. His chest feels tight, and he is practically wheezing as he continues to rush around the rooms, scanning them with his bare eyes since he doesn’t trust his Six-Eyes right now. It’s illogical, he knows, but maybe his eyes are broken and that’s why he can’t see your energy. He refuses to give any serious thought to the alternative—if you didn’t have any cursed energy anymore, then that would mean…

He enters the last room—this room is larger than the rest, implying its greater importance, but is practically empty. It’s one of the the most minimalist looking bedrooms Gojo has even stepped foot in. The only thing that immediately captures his attention is a neat stack of papers that sit on the desk. He instantly recognizes the scrawl on the top paper as Geto’s. It pains him that he still remembers a detail as minute as that about Suguru.

His gaze migrates to the rest of the room, namely to the bed that is nestled into the furthest corner. His heart lurches. The fact that he didn’t notice this immediately, not used to relying solely on his normal vision, isn’t good. Him not noticing someone usually means they’re not with the living.

Only steps away, there is a figure strewn out over the sheets, unmoving and looking rather ragged. Hair unkempt, lips cracked, clothes bloodied, chest still.

Chest still.

He immediately moves to you, not wasting a second as takes a place by your bedside.

“No, no, no,” Satoru whispers, as if speaking too loudly will mean that this is reality, that maybe if you don’t wake up it’ll be because he didn’t speak loudly enough. Though soft, his voice is urgent and pleading. “Please no. Please don’t be true.”

He instantly scoops you up, handling your weight easily. He cradles you close to him as if you could disappear from his arms at any moment—and maybe, if you could see yourself, you’d understand that his fears aren’t unfounded, as you truly look as if your life force could fade at any moment. He then notices a rivulet of blood running from your mouth—he tries to gently brush it away, but ends up smearing it onto both your chin and his hand. Anger fills him when he thinks what Geto must have done to reduce you to this state.

Your eyelids begin to flutter open at his touch and warmth, but Satoru still sees more of your long eyelashes than your unusually dull eyes. They will not open past halfway, no matter how hard you try. In your disoriented state, you don’t notice Gojo’s sigh of relief, or how his grip on you tightens as if to remind himself that you’re here, you’re alive and breathing, you’re safe in his arms.

Through the spots in your eyes, you see a halo of white and two luminescent blue eyes. As your vision clears, you admire the light filtering through his translucent hair, which makes him appear angelic. Of course, he is as beautiful as the last time you saw him.

“Satoru? ‘S that you?” You manage to ask, and you sound raspier than a chronic smoker, much to your displeasure. You cringe internally, knowing how awful you must look and sound right now. You know it doesn’t matter how disheveled you look when you’re on the brink of death—and yet you can’t help but worry about it while you’re in his presence.

“You’re so cold,” Is his softly spoken answer. “God, I really thought– I thought that—”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say he sounds despaired. But that can’t be right—there’s no way he still cares about you. Not after his cold and harsh behavior towards you, not after he got together with Utahime—he can’t care. Or at least, not how you want to be cared by him.

After a few moments of silence, it’s evident that Gojo doesn’t intend to finish his sentence. Even in your hazy state of mind, you can guess what he was going to say. You do look awful, probably even worse than the last time you had a chance to look in the mirror.

“I think you’re just warm,” You tease weakly, with a smile full of too much amusement when considering the situation, when considering your condition. Now you’re playing Gojo’s role: joking when you should be serious.

It hurts Gojo to see the gentleness in your smile, gentleness and goodness that reveal how truly soft-hearted you are. Your natural softness after what you’ve been through—it angers him.

“No, I can’t be. It’s snowing outside,” He says, growing more upset with each sentence. “But you’re– you’re even colder than that. Your skin is—it’s like ice. You’re making me fucking worried!”

You blink rapidly, startled by his show of strong emotion but even more surprised by the glimmer of near tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You say quietly, although neither you nor him know what exactly you’re apologizing for.

“That’s not what I meant,” He says, sighing, pulling you tighter to him. “I’m just…I was worried before I came, but now I’m really scared for you.”

“You are? You have been?” You blurt out automatically and mindlessly, eyes wide open now. You look so surprised that Satoru can’t help but chuckle a little, though it pains him that you don’t seem to believe him.

Heat rises to your face and you squirm a bit in his arms, now suddenly aware of your closeness, of all his skin touching yours. He quells your movement with a brush of his hand on your arm, encouraging you to stay still.

“You shouldn’t move too much. You really don’t look too good, angel,” He says, voice tight and threatening to break. “What did he do to you?”

Hah. You must look so disgusting and beat up that he assumes Geto hurt you. You smile weakly to yourself, wondering what he would think if you said you had looked like this for days.

“He didn’t,” You simply say, not seeming to have any intention to clarify. “This is how he found me. How could something like this happen overnight?”

You’re astounded by your own honesty. It’s always been difficult to be completely transparent for you, especially to Satoru—always trying to brush things off, make excuses for people, diminish your own pain in order not to bother or worry others.

Your words cut deep through Gojo and instantly take his breath away.

How could something like this happen overnight?

He hasn’t seen you since the day he rudely brushed you off, and it has been weeks since then. In the months before that dreadful interaction, he had only seen you one-on-one a handful of times. He knows you didn’t mean anything by your words, but he can’t help but feel guilt and karma very sharply. He deserves this after ignoring you for so long, even if he thought it was for the best.

You begin to cough, and it’s a horrible grating noise. It’s a miracle this didn’t happen sooner, although you wish that Gojo wouldn’t see this at all.

“You should go,” You croak out between coughs. “Leave me here, get away from Geto. It’s…it’s too late for me. Leave me.”

Gojo lightly rolls his eyes, partly in frustration by your melodramatic reaction and partly at himself because he has made you believe that he would just leave you there.

“As if,” He says almost playfully, gaining back some of his personality now that he has processed that you’re alive. “What are you saying? If I leave, I’m leaving with you. Just gimme a second to call Shoko, she’ll get everything prepared as always, she’ll be annoyed but she always has a soft spot for you—”

“No,” You interrupt Gojo, your voice firmer than he’s heard from you in a long time. “I told you, there’s no saving me.”

The dread sets in. Why are you so insistent on that?

He opens his mouth, about to say something, but doesn’t manage get the words out before the room is filled with rough coughing. You cough until all the air escapes from your lungs—and then you’re wheezing and choking on nothing.

“You okay? Tell me what’s going on,” He asks in an even tone, but he is anything but calm, especially when you are thrown into another coughing fit. “Angel? It’s okay, just breathe.”

Gojo places you back onto the bed, elevates your back so you’re in a sitting position, and begins to pat on your back in the hopes that it’ll help regulate your breathing. What he doesn’t realize, though, is that you’re not just having a panic attack. Something is actually lodged in your airways.

You begin to choke and gag. Satoru’s eyes are wide when he realizes that something is wrong, something is horribly wrong. He pats your back harder, the force beginning to push your body forward.

“Well, it’s finally started, has it? A little late, but no matter.”

Gojo’s head whips to the door so fast it almost gives him whiplash. He has been so focused on you that he didn’t even sense Geto’s sudden presence. He rests on the doorframe, watching with interest sparkling in his eyes.

“What’s going on here?” Gojo asks, accusatory, but is so scared to hear the answer that he almost wishes neither respond.

“Just watch and you’ll understand,” Geto says knowingly, easily. Everything is unfolding as it should, he’s glad to see.

Geto looks to Gojo smugly, wanting to see the fear swimming in his uncovered eyes, but is completely caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. Adrenaline quickly courses through Geto’s veins, the type that spiderwebs through your tingling palms and traces icy fingers down your spine, for the first time in years. The true fight-or-flight feeling, reminiscent of when he first fought a high-level curse. But now it’s from Gojo’s hardened blue eyes boring into his own, penetrating down to his very soul, like a god passing divine judgment.

Your hacking interrupts the tense face off. Gojo is the one who looks away, but Geto does not feel as if he is backing down. He is ashamed to admit that he feels waves of relief once Gojo tends to you again. Unsettled, Geto takes a few steps away from the doorframe, retreating into the hallway away from Gojo’s scrutinizing gaze.

You don’t notice it, but of course you can’t in your state. At least, not when you feel it coming.

The thorns and stiff branches begin to scratch your throat. The numerous petals suffocate you and are slow to rise as they are heavy with blood. You grip Satoru’s wrist tightly to get his attention.

“Go,” You manage wheeze out. “Leave. Don’t want you to…see.”

He looks at you with so much horror in his eyes, looking even more scared than you feel. You can visually see the gears turning in his head, connecting the dots. Your weakness, your coughing, the blood from your mouth, the fact that this ‘couldn’t happen overnight’—

A blue petal escapes from your lips. It spins through the air, right before Gojo’s eyes, confirming his worst fears.

This must be a nightmare. It has to be a nightmare. Maybe he hallucinated the petal. Maybe you can still be saved, even though your coughing keeps getting worse and worse.

But then there’s something he can’t deny out of existence. As he rubs your back, helping you through your coughing and gagging, you cough up what he feared most. His heart rate skyrockets as he lays eyes on what you coughed up. A flower.

A flower the color of his eyes, the beauty of it corrupted by your blood that drenches it. A flower that’s meant for him. A flower that means you love him and that you don’t believe he loves you back.

Pain shoots through him, spikes working under his chest. He brought this on you. He thought he was protecting you, but instead he has been slowly killing you from the inside.

“No…” He whispers, unbelieving.

For some reason, you smile. Just a tiny quirk of your lips and the crinkling of your eyes as you look up at him. It’s a real smile, one he hasn’t seen in so long. And it hits him: one he might never see again, if he doesn’t fix this.

“No!” Gojo gasps out, not wanting to believe his eyes. “No, angel, no. Not this. This– this can’t be real. Why? Why did this happen to you?”

It’s cruel, but he knows very well why. He vied for your affection for years and years and has loved you for just about as long. And yet you are the one cursed to this fate, due to his denial erroneously leading him to Utahime and the suppression of his feelings leaving him to heartlessly ignore you.

You stare up at him with wide eyes, shame flickering through them. You didn’t want him to find out.

“‘Can’t help it,” You say weakly. “Not when it comes to you. Always sort of knew, but I figured it out recently. By then, though, you were…gone.”

He shakes his head frantically, words coming out in a jumble as he desperately tries to explain. “I just wanted to protect you. The higher-ups were after you—I thought I had to let go of you. I-I never thought this would happen. I never knew that you…”

“It’s okay, Satoru. I understand,” You say, holding back tears. “I’ve accepted it. It’s okay that you don’t feel the same. You have…you have her and that’s enough for me.”

You smile again. So bright, so genuine, and yet so painful.

“No! I…”

He wants to vehemently deny it, but the words get stuck in his throat. For years he has swallowed his feelings and never truly allowed himself to feel or speak them. The deepest feelings in his heart have never risen to the surface to be shared; they have always pooled deep in his soul, away from prying eyes and hearts.

But now they are so close to be verbally admitted that they are in his throat, choking him. He looks into your eyes and is overwhelmed by the waves of emotion that crash over him; it’s uncomfortable and even painful.

He has always shoved down his emotion for you. Any time he has ever shown his true feelings, about you aside, is when you eased it out of him. He has never divulged any real emotion on his own.

Despite his natural instincts screaming at him to keep it inside, despite the knot in his throat choking him, this time, he lets himself be overwhelmed.

“I love you. I always have,” He speaks, voice trembling with emotion. “Even when I didn’t know it yet. (Y/N), I’ve always liked you. I used to try so hard for you during school, always trying to get your attention. Remember how I never left you alone? You’d get so annoyed at me. Shoko and Geto said I was so obvious…”

Now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop.

“I know I’ve fucked up recently, but it’s not…it’s not because I don’t have feelings for you. They’ve never once faded, even when I tried to ignore them. I tried with Utahime because I couldn’t get you out of my head, even though I needed to. The higher-ups have been targeting you, and I thought it was because of me, so I had to prove to them that you weren’t close to me. I even went out with Utahime, who hated my guts, but that…didn’t work out. It wasn’t fair to her—she herself realized how in love with you I am.”

He looks at you with an emotion you can’t place—it fills you with warmth and brings tears to your eyes. You sniffle a little, wondering if this is a cruel trick because this just cannot be real. There is no way in the world that Gojo Satoru went to look for you after months of radio silence. There is no way that he is here, right now, admitting feelings you never once suspected.

A sob wracks your body, even though you try your hardest to keep it in. You cover your face with your hands when you can’t stop yourself from the absolute meltdown that ensues, trying to preserve your dignity. He can’t love you, he just can’t.

“Don’t do that,” He says softly, gently easing your hands away from your face. “You don’t have to hide from me. God, I’m so sorry, angel. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

He leans in close, wanting to embrace you but not knowing if he even deserves to hold you. You sense his hesitance when he comes near you, and you think that this is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. His hand slowly comes to your face to caress your cheek, to wipe away your pathetic tears, and you are shocked at the drops that fall on your skin from above.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” He chuckles weakly, tears freely falling, his words an echo of your own mind. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but please…please try. I don’t want anything more to happen to you.”

And you do try. You do, but you feel so tired and weak. Your vision is starting to go out of focus and your ears are ringing. Your body is telling you that it will soon give up. Your body is ready to give up, but you aren’t.

You lock eyes with him as best as you can, your heart skipping from the prolonged eye contact. If only you could have always been able to look into his eyes like this.

“Satoru, I think it’s pretty obvious by now, but…no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop loving you. Not even if it kills me…” You smile sadly. “And I think it might.”

“But I love you!” He cries, and it comes out as a plea. Tears stream down his face. “I don’t understand, I love you, (Y/N)! Is it– is it someone else? It’s okay if it is, I’ll take you to them and—”

You laugh, causing blood to dribble down your chin. “Even after all that studying, you can’t think. I already said it, but should I say it again? I love you, Satoru.”

“Then why? It was just one flower. You should- you should be fine. Please be fine.”

“The flower,” You explain hoarsely. “That wasn’t the first one. I’ve already coughed up a lot of them. Too many. I think my fate has been sealed for a while. I’m sorry, Satoru. I’m a fool. I finally learn that you love me, and I’m like this.”

He’s frozen for a moment, everything sinking in. Your life is no longer suspended in his hands, but rather in death’s treacherous grasp. There is no telling how long you have left.

In the next moment, he quickly gathers you in his arms, scooping you up effortlessly from the bed.

“You’re not dying on me,” He says, trying to assume his regular calm. “I won’t let you. We’ll figure this out, o-okay? Please angel, just fight it a bit more for me. We’ll leave right now, I’m sure Shoko can handle this.”

You nod, seeing through his false calm. “Satoru…I want you to know that even if I d—”

He shakes his head resolutely. “Tell me when you’re all better, okay? Promise me.”

Time feels suspended when you look into his eyes again, all of your emotions showing through them as if this is the last time you’ll ever see each again in this world.

You never get to promise him. Instead, Geto’s loud and commanding voice startles the two of you. “You’re not leaving with them.”

“Like hell I’m not,” Gojo snarls. “Like you can stop me.”

He closes his eyes, mentally easing into his large store of cursed energy, and prepares himself to make the familiar teleportation route to Tokyo Tech. But something’s different this time—his eyes fly open, pupils blowing wide, when he hits a block he never has before.

“You can’t teleport once you’re inside this barrier,” Geto explains calmly, voice as smooth and slow as molasses. “Thought you might pull something like this.”

You’re glad you didn’t promise him. Your ears ring again, and you feel so dizzy that you can’t keep your eyes from closing, even though you hear him begging you to keep them open.

The conversation between Geto and Gojo is lost on you with your fading hearing. You only hear their vague intonations and cadences, shouting and cursing. And then you’re being jostled wildly. Gojo is running with you in his arms, making a break for the edge of the barrier—that much you can surmise by the loud thumps and his erratic breathing.

You’re fading fast. You mumble out his name, giving everything you have just to open your eyes.

He’s so beautiful. The moonlight catches in his silver hair and reflects through his blue eyes you’ve always loved so much. You gaze into them as if they were pools you could dive into, endless depths of his soul. You wish you could spend more time looking at his eyes, just like this.

You hear his voice you could listen to for hours. He usually has a sly, silver tongue, but not today. It is weak and wavers. It bares the true feelings of the strongest today. “Don’t you dare die on me, angel!”

You wish you could promise him that, but your eyes close without your permission.

part iv

TAGLIST: @certainduckanchor @kawaiivillainess98 @arehzhera @starrylibras @mandysfanfics @rain-and-a-nice-nap @csillana @sup-hoes-its-me @llliissuu @hawkdaddy1111 @dcvilxswish @angel-kyo @eliz-lovesgojo @5268r @wooasecret @timetobegone @ceronnica @torusblindfold @mo0nforme @crookedlyaddictedtodark-blog @soapysofi @sadmonke @shartnart1 @dummyf @adoraspace @allie-jay @notgoodforlife @spin-garden @astrokatsuki @reiluvr @kinny-away @turtl3-warr1or

a/n: not Geto listening to the confession like 🧍‍♂️

ahhh I’m so sorry it took this long!!! Thank you for your patience! basically I had a pretty long draft written out and it yeeted itself out of this world (😭😭😭 legit have no idea what happened to it) and was really frustrated by that, so I didn’t return to this for a long while…Anyway, I’m glad to be back!!

There will be another part! Sorry not sorry about the cliffhanger/ambiguous ending. 😳

Btw I’m really sorry to all Geto lovers out there, I feel like I always do Geto dirty and write him as some evil unfeeling man 💀💀 but I swear I don’t actually hate his character and I think he’s a lot more complex than I write him…🥴

Thank you for reading! 💙🩵

[myjisung]

crushing with han !

content. stray kids han, headcanons, gn!reader — fluff.

warning. none

wordcount. 500

a/n. after the love language and kisses series, here comes the crushing series! i will tell you all about how skz acts when they have a crush ( headcanons, they're all my opinion. feel free to disagree, obviously ). tell me who you would like to read about next in this series :o) i missed this account so badly... i hope to be active in the coming weeks! ♥︎

WOULD HE CRUSH FIRST ?

han is the type to start developing feelings the moment he sees that someone expresses romantic interest towards him. yes, he does sometimes admire people from afar and wonders about them but for a real crush to form, he needs the push of someone being interested first. so no, not really. you would most likely be crushing on han first.

HOW HE WOULD ACT.

when han has a crush, it can go two very distinct ways:

either he is crazily obvious about it. han would be blushing the second you walk into the room and giggle uncontrollably at his own clumsiness. he would trip over his words, second guess every answer he gives to your questions and tickle the back of his neck when deep in thought. his friends would be no help at all, staring at him from the other side of the room trying to make him realize that you can see right through him. but sadly for han, he simply cannot help it.

or, he would simply not even look your way. it comes from a place of deep anxiety more than one of trying to look cool. han is too aware of your presence and the way it makes him feel. so much so that he would rather be distant and not look like he cares deeply though it is counter productive. he would ( try to ) keep his cool, laugh nonchalantly at your jokes and look your way when your back is turned. in a few words ; han would care for you in concealed ways.

WOULD HE MAKE THE FIRST MOVE ?

not really. he might if you were dancing around each other for months. han would lose patience then and get over his fear of rejection to try and ask you out.

he would much rather you ask him out or raise the question of what you both were after a few exclusive hangouts. han would not be able to live through the embarrassment of being rejected though he is mature enough to take it. he is rather afraid he would pressure you into saying yes to dating him just because he put you on the spot.

but if it can be any motivation: if you were to ask him out, han would give you one of his biggest heart-shaped smiles. all teeth and adoration.

MISCELLANEOUS.

han is quite a big fan of crushing, if that makes any sense. he feels inspired to create when he grows to know and like someone more as days go by.

he is one to romanticize the entire process of forming a crush / a connection to someone new. which is why he lets the whole 'crushing period' go on for as long as he can. of course he yearns for a relationship, but there is just something so sweet and innocent about dancing around each other. the stolen glances, the shy smiles, fingers brushing against each other's when walking side by side or the jitters he feels everytime he texts you ; han loves it all.

the type to be exclusive when crushing or casual dating. han gives his undivided attention to one person at a time.

taglist. @aeinzzzketchup — let me know if you would like to be added / removed.

© myjisung. please do not copy, translate, repost or claim my work as your own.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT • MINORS DNI • older!daddy!dom!Steve Harrington x bratty!fem!reader • Includes daddy kink, teasing, jealousy/possessiveness, implied age gap (reader 20’s or 30’s, Steve 40’s or 50’s) rough sex, talking back, spanking, oral, and fluff ♥️

All semblance of calm left Steve’s eyes the moment he saw what you were wearing. Normally, he enjoyed the little ‘show,’ you put on for him before leaving for a night out with your girlfriends. But not this time.

You pranced down the stairs in quite possibly the shortest mini skirt Steve had ever seen. In fact, he wasn’t sure the strip of material could even be called a skirt at all. The way it hugged your body, accentuating the curve of your hips and tummy, made Steve’s cock twitch despite his surprise. You were gorgeous. And not to mention, the blouse you were wearing: soft, thin fabric that barely concealed your bra-less breasts beneath it, nipples poking prominently through the sheer material.

Steve could feel the jealousy boiling in his stomach; he didn’t want any other man or woman in Hawkins to see what belonged to him, what only HE was privileged enough to see. He could be a bit domineering at times, and perhaps that was an understatement. But you loved pressing Steve’s buttons, testing his jealousy. Sometimes, you’d openly flirt with other men in front of Steve, because you knew the ‘punishment,’ for your behavior would be fucking WORTH IT.

Steve’s jaw was tight as he watched you descend the stairs. You caught the look immediately, and a little thrill shivered inside you. This is exactly the response you’d hoped to inspire. So you decided to go all-in with your teasing little game.

“Do you like my outfit, Daddy?” you asked, blinking up at him innocently. Steve pressed his lips together a moment before speaking, as if choosing his words carefully. “You dressed yet?” he asked, and you giggled.

“Of course I’m dressed, silly!” you replied, resting your hands lightly on his chest. “Your eyes must be playing tricks on you, old man.”

It was said with levity, in a playful tone, but Steve was not amused. You often teased him about his age when you wanted him to fuck you stupid, like now, and show you exactly what a man his age could DO…

Steve grit his teeth behind his lips. “Oh yeah?” he said. “Well, if you were dressed, would it be this easy for me to grab a handful of your ass?”

You winced as Steve’s palm slid in an instant beneath your skirt and squeezed one side of your ass, hard. The thrill inside you grew, going straight to your core.

“Well you do have big hands, Daddy,” you mused, sinking yourself against Steve’s warm palm.

“Mmm-hmm,” Steve agreed. “And you know what Daddy can do with his hands, don’t you Princess?”

He abruptly pulled his hand away and spanked the cheek of your ass he’d been gripping. A little gasp of surprise and excitement left your lips, and you smiled in spite of the act you were pulling. Steve was NOT smiling, however. He was pissed.

“Give me one good reason why I should let you go out tonight half naked,” he said, his voice low. You shook your head, feigning ignorance. “I don’t understand,” you responded. “I’m wearing a skirt and a blouse. That hardly makes me naked-.”

Another swat on your ass silenced you.

“Don’t talk back to me, (y/n),” Steve warned. The darkness in his tone sent your heart fluttering, warmth pooling between your legs. Both of Steve’s hands were on your ass now, massaging you, kneading roughly.

“You think I’d let you show everyone in this town what’s mine, and only mine?” he asked, pulling you a little closer. “Think I’d let you trot this pussy all over Hawkins like it’s nothing? Like it doesn’t belong to me…?”

You shivered as Steve’s hand slid between your thighs, cupping your pussy in his large, warm palm. Steve’s lip curved in a grin at your response, at feeling how soaking wet you were.

“Aww,” he cooed, massaging your slick between the folds of your pussy, purposefully neglecting your clit. “Looks like somebody’s misbehaving on purpose…”

Your eyes lolled back as Steve pressed two fingers inside you easily, considering how wet you were already. You moaned at the thickness of his touch inside you, the way he instantly found your g-spot and curved his fingers around it. “Oh baby,” Steve purred against your ear as you sank your forehead into his chest. “That’s right, thats my girl…”

You buried your nose against the coarse hair of Steve’s chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him, letting his warmth consume you. “Such a good girl…such a good girl for Daddy…” Steve‘s voice was like syrup, sweet and soothing as he gently stroked inside your pussy. “Gave in so easily…” You frowned, momentarily caught off guard. “Didn’t give her Daddy any trouble at all,” Steve murmured sweetly. “Just a couple of fingers up her cunt, and she forgets how to be a brat…”

You lifted your head from Steve’s chest, meeting his eyes. He was smirking at you, fingers buried to his knuckles in your cunt. He clearly thought he’d won, that he’d broken you. But it wasn’t a gentle fuck you were after; you wanted to be punished. A soft fingering wasn’t going to be enough; and you realized that unless you showed Steve that you were still VERY much a brat, he wasn’t going to be convinced…

So with all the strength you could muster, considering how fucking amazing Steve’s fingers felt up your cunt, you looked up at him and said with a straight face, “I have somewhere to be, Daddy.” You pushed Steve’s arm out from between your legs, lifting off his fingers with a wet squelch. “You’ll just have to play with my pussy later…”

Steve’s lips curved into a circle of surprise; he had NOT been anticipating this from you. But his demeanor shifted quickly to something much darker, his eyes staring you down intensely. “Later?” he muttered, his voice like ice. “You’re gonna make me wait, Princess?”

Your heart raced once again as you nodded, happy to see this darker Steve returning.

“The hell I will,” Steve growled. His hand found your hair, fingers clutching it just tightly enough not to hurt. You tried not to smile, but it was difficult to hide it. THIS was the Steve you’d been trying to provoke.

He led you by your hair to the nearby sofa, pushing you down so your ass was facing him. Another hard swat of his palm against it had you wincing, grinning freely into the couch cushions where Steve couldn’t see. “Fucking brat,” Steve murmured over your back, moving to straddle you. “Full of surprises tonight, aren’t you Princess?”

Steve pulled the skirt up over your ass and spanked you again, leaving a mark this time which he quickly soothed with his palm. You didn’t mind Steve roughing you up, but he was worried sometimes about going too far and accidentally hurting you. “You good, Princess?” he asked, and you quickly replied “yes, Daddy. But I wish you’d spank me next.”

Steve almost laughed out loud at your audacity, but restrained himself. He didn’t restrain his hand, however, and this time, his smack against your ass brought a tear to your eye. “Fuck yes,” you groaned into the couch cushion, your voice muffled but Steve could still hear it. He was on his knees behind you now, straddling your legs. His fingers slid under the waist of your thong panties and yanked them off of you, unintentionally ripping the elastic in his haste. “Oops,” he muttered under his breath, throwing the strip of fabric aside.

Steve took in the view of your bare ass, your cheeks crimson from his punishment. He pressed a hand to your back, sliding his palm down your spine, his touch lingering at the dip just above your ass. He leaned forward, taking a bit of your skin between his teeth. You flinched, your body tensing at the slight pain. Steve massaged your skin between his teeth, working his way across your ass, his hands on either side, groping.

When he was finished, Steve spread you open, and sank his face between your cheeks. You exhaled as his tongue slid down between your pussy lips and slowly up over your asshole. Steve continued to massage you, kneading your ass like dough in his strong hands. You arched your back, pressing your ass into his face. Steve obliged you, tilting his chin so you were now sitting on his face, the tip of his nose slipping between the lips of your pussy, his tongue lapping at your clit from behind.

Steve ate you like this till you were screaming his name, cum spraying his chin and trickling into his mouth like a small stream. He rutted his face between your lips letting you ride his nose as you came, breathing through his mouth in between swallowing your cum, grateful for every single drop. You were left shaking and crying into the couch, your mind and body completely fucked stupid. Steve had finally broken you, his little brat, and he smiled over your back at his victory, licking his slick lips and taking a moment to savor his win.

He flipped you over by your shoulders and hoisted you up onto the couch, your back against it. The look on your face was priceless: eyes glassy, half-lidded and dumb, your mouth hanging open lazily as you readily accepted whatever else your Daddy wanted to do to you. He knelt against the couch with one knee, eyes fixed on yours as he undid his pants. You were lost in a haze of bliss, taking in the sight of Steve’s drenched face and shirt, the smell of your pussy filling the air between you. He spit on his cock and pumped it a few times in his fist, lining himself up with your entrance.

In one hard thrust, Steve entered you fully, his balls slapping wet against your sopping cunt. He growled low in his chest, your wet heat enveloping and sucking him as he pulled his hips backward. Thrusting into you again, you felt the breath knocked out of your lungs. THIS is the fucking you’d needed Steve to give you, making you come harder than you ever had before and then stuffing you with his cock to do it all again…

He punched your insides like he was actually angry, hands locked around your hips, not letting you escape, even as you bucked and whimpered against his chest. Steve panted into your hair, dusting it off your shoulders as he fucked your ass into the couch. Your body was weak, depleted from the sheer power of the climax you’d just had on Steve’s face. He knew you could do it again, however, could already feel another orgasm building within you as your walls trembled around him.

“Come on, Princess,” he soothed, his forehead pressed to yours as he thrusted deep inside you. “You can do it…come for Daddy, baby…” Steve’s voice was so gentle it made you weak, the scent of your cunt on his breath as he spoke sending you over the edge. Your legs shook around Steve’s waist, your heels kicking into his ass as he pummeled your cunt. The room around you went white as your eyes squeezed shut, the force of your orgasm rocking you even harder than the one before it. Steve’s cock was prodding your deepest space, nearly splitting you in half. It would have been painful, SHOULD have been painful, but your body was too lost in the intensity of your climax to know it.

He moaned your name against your ear, a beautiful desperation and love in his tone. “Come for me, Daddy,” you begged, a hot tear streaming down your cheek. “Come inside this pussy…it belongs to you…”

At that, Steve lost the last bit of restraint he had, growling into your shoulder as he emptied himself against your cervix. You felt his cum filling you, breeding you, marking you once again as his, and only his.

Steve’s chest was wet with sweat and your cum soaked into his shirt. He gently lifted off of you, panting down at you, and smiled. You lifted your face to meet Steve’s, nuzzling the tip of your nose against his, still wet with your slick. “I love you, Daddy,” you breathed, a soft smile spreading your lips.

Steve kissed you, deeply, his cum-soaked tongue folding gently with yours. He pulled back and sleepily blinked down at you, grinning. “Love you too, Princess.”

[the-book-gnome]

Secret Obsession

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairings: Azriel x reader

Summary: After years of yearning for the Shadow-singer, you finally have a chance to act on your twisted urges

Warnings: smut, somnophilia, oral(male reiceveing) non-con if you squint, shadow play

A/n: This is definitely a little rough, it’s been awhile, the writing is probably not great but at least I tried

“Please?”

“No.”

“Why not? It truly causes you no harm, it’s just a small request.”

“If you want Azriel then go get him, I am not going to play matchmaker for you.”

You rolled your eyes at Rhys, after three centuries he still refuses to help you with your feelings for his brother. It’s not that you fear Azriel, you simply don’t want to have to deal with the awkwardness of his rejection if things were to go wrong. And unfortunately with your luck that would be highly likely. “You act as if it would be a difficult task, all I’m asking is for you to set me up with him on a mission, I will do the rest of the work.”

“And you act like there is any part of you that is in any way good at spying,” A sly smirk spread on his face as he looked you up and down, “Or being quiet in general, I don’t believe there has been a single hour where you’ve been able to keep your mouth shut, you even talk in your sleep.”

“We’ll you're being a little rude today, trouble in paradise?” Now it was your turn to smirk as he growled at you, you batted your lashes to him and put on the sweetest smile known to male-kind, “Pretty please?”

Rhys rolled his eyes at you, “You’re obsession with my brother is quite annoying, and as honored as I am to be the only to know of your affections to him I will not help you, but, how about this,” Rhys took your arm in his as he lead you through the hallways of the house of wind, speaking quietly, “If you don’t approach Azriel by the end of the night and make your affections towards him known, then I’ll make sure to tell him of all of your most embarrassing thoughts of him, maybe I’ll even tell him how your mouth starts watering the second his scent reaches your nose or even all of those dark twisted fantasies you daydream about. I’m sure that’ll scare him off,” A soft laugh escaped his lips as he looked down at your petrified face, “But who knows, perhaps that’ll interest him, he does have a different taste then most I know.”

As you reached the dining room he let go of your arm and walked towards his mate, giving you a wink over his shoulder. You stood in the middle of the room, your face scrunched up in anger.

“At Least I’m not the only one he likes to piss off,” You jump a little as Nesta whispers into your ear. You grunted at her comment and relaxed your body, you both walked over to the table where the weekly family dinner took place. Rhys forces all of you to be there no matter how busy you may otherwise be. As per usual you take your seat to the left of Nesta, Cassian at her other side. What was unusual was when Azriel sat himself to your right, he had always sat next to Feyre, never you.

Azriel’s shadows floated over you, dragging across your cheek in greeting, it seemed they never behaved when you were within proximity. Azriel had given up on trying years ago. “If you don’t mind, could you come to the library with me after dinner, there’s some information I need to find and you would be a great help?” His voice was soft as he leaned in to whisper his request into your ear.

You simply nodded towards the male, always the perfect picture of boredom when he was around you. At that he gave a small smile, then started stacking food onto his plate, the rest of the inner circle had already started.

——————

You trailed after Azriel to the library, dinner was the same as always, as everyone spoke and made jokes together you simply raised the shield around yourself to conceal and scent and went into your mind, dreaming of those dark twisted fantasies Rhys had mentioned earlier.

Sometimes you feel guilty thinking of Azriel the way you do, all of the ways you would use his body for your own pleasure. How badly you wanted to make him beg for you. The day dream you had at dinner was quite captivating, it was most likely now or never with Rhys’s little threat, Azriel might run far from you if Rhys were to tell him those stories.

“I’ve already made a stack of books for us to read through, there’s quite a few so if you would like to stop at any time I won’t mind restarting in the morning.” Azriel had led you to a quiet lower level in the library, it was late, all of the priestesses had already gone to bed so it was just the two of you till morning. Perfect for what you want to do.

You sat in a cushioned chair adjacent to the one Azriel had sat in and began with the first book. It was extremely mind numbing, it took all your focus to read these books, often having to restart the page. Hours past by, you’ve made it through another book, a true mystery that was. Azriel had made it through three already. You glanced over at him, his face showed pure concentration, it was a wonder to you how he was so interested in these boring ass books. You let out a little sigh as you continued on with the reading.

With the fourth book you had finally found interesting bits and pieces, enough for you not to notice Azriel dozing off next to you. That was until you heard the softest of snoring coming from him. Your head snapped to his direction in confusion, he had never fallen asleep around you before. Part of you thought he never slept at all. You were in awe at the sight of it. The hardened features of his face softened, his plush lips slightly parted, the book in his hands about to fall to the floor. His shadows swirled around his body slowly as if they were falling asleep as well. You set your book down and made to reach for the one in his hands. When you touched it his shadows perked up assessing your intention, when you slipped the book from his hands and set it next to your own they glided over to you. They swirled around your arms, settling around your waist.

You looked back to Azriel who so conveniently was still fast asleep. The thoughts of your fantasy from dinner crossed your mind. And as you slid to the floor and sat yourself between the spymaster's legs, his shadows did nothing to wake him, as if knowing what you intended to do, letting you do it. You reached for the ties to his leather pants, hands shaking a bit, the excitement of what was about to happen going through you. The space between your thighs had started the second you saw him fast asleep next to you.

Once the ties were done with you watched as a small shadow played gently with his cock, the other moved up to his face, lazily stroking through his hair, making sure to keep their master asleep. You watched as his cock hardened through his leathers, the shadow working quickly for you as you were getting impatient. Your panties were already soaked with how excited you were to finally be able to touch him. You watched as the little shadow joined the other up by his hair. Biting your lip you moved your hands back to his lap, slowly pulling the fabric down just enough to pull Azriel’s cock out.

A breath escaped your lips as you laid your eyes upon it, so much bigger and thicker than you had thought possible. What the other females say about wingspan must have been true then.

His tip was red and looked almost painful, you looked up to him, his mouth parted a little more, his brows drawn together. It wasn’t your fault his shadows did this to him, if anything, you would only be helping him with his problem. You leaned forward and licked a bead of his liquid that leaked from his tip, moaning at the taste you went back for more, dragging your tongue from the base to the tip. You slid your mouth down a bit, sucking harshly, your grip on his cock tightened. Your eyes rolled as you truly tasted him. Azriel gasped at the feeling, still in a deep sleep thanks to the shadows.

You closed your eyes and took more of him in, going as deep as you could, what wouldn’t fit down your throat your hands took care of. Another breathless moan came from his lips as you started bobbing your head, tracing your tongue around the veins of his cock. His hands twitched next to you. You gaged every time he hit the back of your throat, that only drove you to go faster, every moan from him made you feel even more obsessed with him. You could feel his cock twitching, so close to his needed release. You indulged the needs of his body, stroking the base and adding pressure. You moved your mouth back to his tip, your hands taking over the rest of him, sucking and swirling your tongue around his head, that tipped his sleeping body over the edge, you both moaned the second his come coated your mouth. Azriel’s hips jerked and his moans continued, you’d never heard such beautiful sounds before.

You swallowed around him, licking up any of the mess he made. Before tucking his cock away you gave it a quick kiss, a farewell until you could play with him again. His shadows left his head, moving to dance across your body, slipping through your panties, you shooed them away, “Not yet,” You whispered, standing up on shaky legs, buzzing with need. You ignored those urges, wanting him to be awake when you put his cock in you.

You stroked your hand in his hair, leaning down to kiss his flushed cheeks. His eyes slowly fluttered, finally waking up. You left before he saw you, heading to the main doors of the library. He will assume you have gone to bed, and come to get you in the morning to continue with the reading. He would never suspect a thing. The only evidence was his untied strings, you did not remember that little fact though.

[tiredandoptimistic]

No but listen. Abed sees Britta as "Britta Bot" while everyone else describes him as cold and robotic. People assume that his problem is being distant and lacking empathy, but that's Britta! We see it every time that Abed has a breakdown, she stops treating him as an individual and instead defaults to what she thinks is the appropriate response. It's all therapy talk with no understanding of who Abed is as a person or what would actually help him, because as soon as he starts displaying symptoms he stops being her friend and becomes a person she must help by picking the correct responses out of her psych textbook.

I am not saying this out of hate for Britta! I love Britta! I just think it's really interesting that one of the things she struggles with most throughout the series is her inability to be empathetic, and no one sees it but Abed. Her focus on political correctness and activism seems emotional, but it's more often about her wanting to do The Right Thing (which she sees as a monolith) than her actually feeling invested in helping individual people.

What's especially interesting is that Abed characterizes her weakness as "no faith in herself or friends," which implies that one reason she's so focused on doing the correct thing is that she doesn't trust her genuine responses to help anybody. She's afraid of making things worse, so she goes with what she's been told she should do in high stakes situations (like her friend hallucinating stop motion dolls or lava floors). In season one especially she always baby-talks to Abed, because her brother works with autistic kids so that's how she thinks you talk to autistic people. She's trying so hard to be accommodating, but it's from a perspective of "I know The Correct Way To Talk To Autistic People" rather than "let me learn how to best connect with this person." It could be called robotic, following her memorized paths for interactions even when they're clearly hurting people she cares about.

Then there's Abed, who does have some troubles with empathy which often show up when he manipulates people around him in order to achieve his goals, (ex: "Introduction to Film," "Contemporary American Poultry," "Anthropology 101"), and is always seen as cold and distant, safely removed from thr situation. He leans into that intentionally, acting as though he's "not in this scene" or giving logical trope-based reasons to avoid facing his fears (like when Troy wants to move in with him and Abed calls it "jumping the shark"), but deep down he's incredibly emotional. He's the one who willingly risks his life in "Epidemiology," he and Troy give up their bedroom for Annie, he lets his friends matchmake for him because he knows it's important to them.

Even when he is being all supposedly logical, it's often because he doesn't want to acknowledge his own feelings and feels safer acting as though sitcom tropes are the only thing making him act that way. In the argument about living together, Troy was right that they could just not put a line of tape down their floor, Abed knows that real life is different from TV and doesn't always escalate to the most dramatic possible conflict, but he doesn't want to say that he's afraid of Troy getting sick of him so it's easier to use shark jumping as an excuse.

They're such interesting foils; Britta who flaunts how much she cares to conceal how insecure she is about not caring, and Abed who puts up his lack of investment as a shield to protect him from how deep his emotions run. I don't think it's accurate to describe either of them as robots, but that metaphor really does ping off both of their insecurities about not performing humanity correctly. They both just want to do the right thing and help people, even if they get it wrong sometimes.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

I'm really sick and Satan's sacrificial waterfall is here AT THE SAME TIME!

I don't know if you do blurbs or headcannons, but if so, would you be willing to write for the boys (either taskforce 141, or singular characters,) taking care of an afab reader who has never had anyone wanting to take care of them?

If not, sorry to bother!

I don't typically take requests but... since I'm in the same boat (sacrificial waterfall is probably going to come over the weekend for me), I'll 100% do it.

A while back I also posted this: "You're feeling ill" and it's also along the same vein, if you'd like an extra little pick me up.

Period woes.

Rating: G Words: 1K~ tags: afab!reader but you/your pronouns, SFW!, fluff, comfort, periods and associated symptoms.

A person’s period might be the most hypocritical moment of their routine. They’re expected to continue moving, working and living their live as normal, all with a smile on their face, while their uterus actively attempts to cut off its own circulation… as if for any other injury or sickness you wouldn’t be expected to lay down and STOP for a moment and allow yourself to heal up, or at least improve enough to not be miserable.

But no. You’re expected to deal with it alone, to not show a reaction, to not be irritable, or groaning and writhing in pain. Take a shower, stock up on painkillers and slap a smile on your face, you’ve gotta go out in the world and act as if you’re not actively dreading every waking moment you spend on your feet.

That’s why you’ve learned to hide it when you’re going through your monthly. Your family, partners… not even your girlfriends know when you’re having it. Ever since you were a young teen, just starting out, it was very much a conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know, sort of moment.

But it’s miserable. You’re always miserable. Everything hurts, the cramps, the headaches, the back pain, hip pain, your sore chest… Plus the blood, the lack of appetite (or increase in appetite), the nausea, the fact you want to cry one moment, or break dishes and scream the next, the way your colleagues annoy you beyond compare, how certain sounds grit your nerves just. enough. to make you feel like you’re losing it… And then you can’t sleep.

And of course… he notices it. How could he not?

Ghost is discreet about it. He doesn’t mention it, doesn’t make a big deal about it… But he’s VERY good at taking care of you without you noticing he’s doing it. His love language is acts of service… So he simply goes around giving you a hand on whatever you might need. Food? Made. Dishes? Done. Laundry? Washed, Dried, Folded and Put Away. He finds you trying to do something? No. Give it here, he’ll do it.

The inevitable day that a leak happens and you find yourself angry at yourself as you strip the bedsheets off the bed, trying to be discreet about it so he doesn’t see it, he silently grabs the sheets off your hands and murmurs a “Go take a shower and change. I’ve got this.” before turning to put the sheets in the washer, clean the mattress and remake the bed so you can lay down again by the time your shower is over. It makes you emotional, sometimes, that such a stoic man will gladly take on every other responsibility to allow you to heal.

Gaz, blessed be him, is an absolute sweetheart… But he’s also a silly boy. He notices and although he’s not going to make a big deal about it, he’s still very… Boyish about it. Uses all the silly names for your period (“The Communists are coming”, “Shark week”,  “Satan’s waterfall”, “Carrie”) and affectionately calls you “My little ketchup packet”. 

He’s all for ordering takeout and getting you whatever you want when and how you want it. He’ll rub your back and be very careful about where and how he touches you. He’s ginger with touches around your waist and lower stomach, looks at you with those big brown eyes of his, as if checking that he’s not hurting you or crossing a boundary. You find yourself getting emotional when he whispers about how strong you are to deal with this every month… Keeps asking gently if you need anything… It makes you feel so safe.

Price’s older. He’s been in many relationships before. He notices your period is coming before it even does… Notices how you’re acting. Jumpier, grumpier, sadder… Notices how you toss and turn the couple of nights leading up to it. And he’s silently prepared. He’s made a supply run to the grocery store to get what brand of period products you use and some painkillers and puts them where you can see them in the bathroom. 

Fills you up with warm herbal tea and food that he knows are easy to digest and help with your state. No fucking chocolate and sugar or potato chips, you’re being pumped full of soups and stews and veggies and cut up fruit. He’ll sit by your side with a paring knife and an apple and slowly peel, core and cut it, before slowly feeding you (and himself) the slices. When you try to resist it, at first, too used to doing things alone, he’ll grab your face with both hands, look into your eyes and tell you. “And why exactly would I let you do that, when you’ve got me here to help you? How does that make sense?”

Soap’s… Well… Soap’s got a bunch of sisters… Each of them dealing with their periods in wildly different ways... So one thing he knows for sure: He’s not about to assume anything. You do what you’ve got to, he’ll adjust to you. He needs to go to the bathroom but you’re in there? Copy that, he’ll go piss in the yard. You’re having a cry in the kitchen because nothing looks good but you’re hungry? Talk it out with him, what do you want to eat? Let’s figure it out together, bonnie. You need to lie down in a dark room because of a migraine or headache or just to catch on sleep you’ve missed? Johnny’s blacked out every window, gathered every stray pillow and blanket in the house and will make you a nest if he’s got to.

And when you wake up in the middle of the night with a whine and a stretch because your back hurts and you’ve got cramps and cannot for the life of you get comfortable, Johnny’s hands are rubbing over you, pressing kisses to your temple and murmuring little “I ken, love… It’ll be over soon… I’m sorry you’re going through this…”