#maybe once they meet depending on how it could be a mutual thing but

[thecherrygod]

currently thinking about lighthouse keeper hdb and ship captain kim kitsuragi................

like.. look. hes in the lighthouse. alone. only company his skills and some alcohol to also keep himself warm in the winter. most interactions he has are the people that he gets stuff for his own survival. dora's been out of the picture for a looooooong time now, he wasnt around often, the pay isnt relayable, and every time she met him he was worse, so she left. all he has is himself, and the lighthouse.

there are times in which the light will reflect on the fog in the ocean, and he will see her in there, as if she was a guardian angel with long blonde hair who would take any ship coming nearby into her hands as toy boats, and she could decide if theyd make it to safety, or if shed just drown it on a whim. all he can do is manifest her with the lights, but her actions are her own.

and then theres kim, the diligent captain of a ship that has all the love in his heart, something he can use to move through fog and pale alike without losing himself to his surroundings, always ready to make sure him and as many as his men survive what the sea has to offer them, but he knows its dangerous, all of them do, everyone is ready to lose their lives if it comes to it. storms and tides and an inavility to see through the weather, they are all ready to manouver the ship or die trying.

thankfully at the worst times, theres always a helping hand, a guiding light helping him move in the right direction, making sure hes able to keep them as safe as possible even through the worst storms and the densest of fogs hes ever seen.

[starmapz]

what you know - ch4: served || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

When Sukuna was in the sixth grade, he read A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket for a project. He doesn’t remember the plot, the characters, nor any details of real importance about the series, but he knows one thing for sure.

The title could describe how his day unfolded.

Nothing is particularly out of place throughout his morning. He wakes up to the sound of his alarm, blearily rubbing his eyes as he gets out of bed for an early morning workout. He throws his airpods in and turns on his workout playlist as he lifts weights and hops on his treadmill before taking a cold shower to rouse himself from the clutches of drowsiness.

He wakes up the kids, helping Yuji get ready while he multitasks making oatmeal for breakfast and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for their lunches, which he tosses into their Pokemon lunch bags alongside some snacks. Mornings like these are like clockwork for him, simple and predictable, just how he prefers. No surprises.

With the first snow of the season chilling the air, he bundles both kids up in winter gear and grabs his heavy coat before walking them to school. He sets his alarm for their pickup, allowing him just enough time to get to his final class of the day, albeit a little bit late. Nothing new about that, though. As long as he isn’t late for your presentation, that’s all that matters. It’s the one thing he’s keeping at the front of his mind so as not to disappoint you.

He’s not sure why it matters so much, but like an itch he can’t scratch, the thought won’t go away. Ever-present and the only thing at the forefront of his mind since he accepted the presentation on your behalf. He’s not foolish enough to think that there’s any world in which you want to present at all, even though he knows you wouldn’t say no to the extra credit, and he could use it too.

He blinks snow away from his lashes, letting it melt from the warmth of his cheeks as his gaze sticks to the ground before him. His fingers fumble with the metal lighter in his pocket as he walks. He’s had it for a long time, evidence of how worn it is carved into the steel, but he’d sooner pull it apart and put it back together himself than get rid of it if it failed.

As he reaches the campus with time to spare, he spots one of your friends outside the building to his next class. He recognizes the blonde immediately, the one you sit next to at lunch, though he doesn’t recall his name. He knows they share an Accounting class, though him and Sukuna have never interacted beyond brief glances.

Keeping his distance from the blonde, Sukuna pulls out a cigarette as his thoughts are once again back on you, and all he can do is pray the nicotine dulls the feeling of his heart palpitating just at the thought of you like some pathetic teenager. The smoke billows and wisps in the air, more evident than usual in the cold, and he relishes in its brief reprieve from his thoughts.

It’s lust.

It’s nothing more than a reminder that he needs to find an excuse for his neighbour to watch his brothers so he can attend one of Gojo’s shitty frat parties and get laid.

With a glance at his watch, he stubs out his cigarette and trudges past the blonde without a glance. He makes his way to his usual seat isolated from the rest of the students in the corner closest to the door in case he needs to leave. Flipping his laptop open, he waits for the old computer to boot up so he can put together a semblance of an outline to work off of for the presentation at the end of the day.

It’s then that his misfortune begins.

His eyes flicker down to a notification in his email inbox and he sighs at the sight of the contact, his boss at the warehouse looking for him to fill a shift. Right now. He could accept the shift, miss European History, get off in time to pick up his brothers, bring them home, shower, and make it to Art History albeit a few minutes later than he’d intended. That wouldn’t be a big deal, you wouldn’t present at the beginning of class. It would also give him enough money to begin looking at Christmas gifts for the brats, which is an appealing idea…

He accepts the shift, and slips out towards the end of class. The shift isn’t unlike any other, nothing that would make anyone think this day is worse than any other. Sure, he stepped in a deep pile of snow on his way back from his shift and his ankle damn near froze and his socks are wet, but he’ll live. Not the end of the world.

He clocks out and picks up his brothers without a hitch, getting back with enough time to quickly shower the remnants of his shift from his skin and toss on a black hoodie with a Deftones logo across the front, and a pair of black jeans that were strewn over the back of his desk chair. His neighbor would be over any minute and he could head to class, only a few minutes late. An exhausting start to his day, but not bad.

A knock at the door sounds, and Sukuna’s brow furrows. Since when does his neighbor knock? He gave her a key for a reason.

“Choso! Grab that!” He calls as he throws his laptop and textbooks into his backpack, sure the sitter just forgot her keys despite being literally across the hall.

With a sigh, Sukuna casts a glance back at his room to see if he’s forgotten anything, when Choso peeks his head through a crack in the door. “Kuna? Someone’s asking for you.”

The tattooed man’s brow furrows further as he throws his backpack over one shoulder and follows after his little brother, who had shut the door on the person upon realizing it wasn’t their neighbor. The little boy stands a small ways back as Sukuna opens the door.

A man dressed in a long, deep gray peacoat with neatly styled hair stands at the door. Something akin to shock flickers in the man’s gaze at the sight of Sukuna, but it hardens as he addresses him.

“I’m looking for Ryomen Sukuna.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, his posture straightening. “What do you want?”

“Can you confirm you’re Ryomen Sukuna?” The man doubles down, keeping his expression indifferent.

With a scowl, Sukuna nods. “Yeah, I’m Sukuna. What do you want?” There’s more bite this time as Sukuna repeats his question.

“Excellent. I am here to serve you with legal documents. Please ensure that you attend your court hearing on March 23rd. By accepting these documents, you have been officially notified. Should you decline them, I am still obligated to make a note of this interaction.”

“The fuck?” Sukuna snatches the manilla envelope from the man’s hands, ripping it open and pulling the documents out. His eyes scan the words on the document, widening in disbelief. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

–

If Sukuna were a better man, he would have put your presentation in his calendar. He would have made an alarm. He would have sent you an email. Anything to let you know he was occupied. If he was a better man, he wouldn’t have torn his court documents in two. The ripped paper is hardly any concern when the handle on his door fell to the ground with a clank with the force he used to shut the door. At least one of those could be fixed with tape.

If Sukuna was a better man, he would have noticed his mistake before it got dark out.

With his head in his hands, he stares out the window by the table at the back of his apartment, brimming with anger when it all comes back to him.

The fucking presentation.

He wants to tell himself that he shouldn’t care, that you’re just a nuisance that wormed your way into his life and his mind. He wants to tell himself that you don’t matter and that he should forget about you like he had tried to last week, and accept that like everyone else in his life, he let you down.

But when he envisions your genuinely nervous expression at the thought of presenting even with him, his blood runs cold at the thought of you presenting without him.

He balls his hand into a fist, trembling from the sheer force of strength he puts into flexing his muscles.

“Fuck!” He hisses, slamming his palm down onto the table as he pushes himself up, sending ripped paper tumbling to the floor. His chair scrapes loudly across the scuffed hardwood of the dining space as he rushes to the door, pausing for only a moment at the sight of the handle he’d barely managed to screw loosely back into place. His jaw tightens as he grabs his keys and coat, tugging the door open a bit too hard as he hears the handle fall to the ground with a metallic thud inside the apartment.

As if he wasn’t already frustrated enough, this only serves to piss him off further. He considers himself lucky (if it can even be called that at this point) that his neighbor is still willing to watch his brothers (with a warning about the door handle) after the irritated dismissal he’d thrown her way earlier, but he’ll fix that bridge later.

There’s a more important one on his mind right now.

He’s not sure why he runs to campus first. Of course you won’t be there. Of course the professor won’t be in class, with the lecture hall closed and locked.

He tries the door again, as though a second tug at the handle might turn back time to three hours ago when he should have been here, but it’s nothing but wishful thinking. With his hand still on the unmoving handle, he slams his head against the door.

“Fuck!” With his brothers no longer around to hear, the curse escapes him in a furious roar. Whatever anger had been simmering at the surface for hours now bubbles over and explodes. In a flurry of frustration and pent up emotions, he reaches into his pocket and tosses the first thing that hits his fingers.

His lighter collides with the wall with a dull thud, falling in two pieces to the ground across the hall as a small dent is left in its wake in the drywall.

Sukuna’s hands rake through his hair, his teeth gritted as he inhales sharply, grappling with the weight of his emotions. He stumbles back until his back collides with the wall behind him, sliding down it with his head in his hands. He’s not sure how long he sits there before the sound of the cold wind whipping at the door outside brings him back to the present.

Running a hand over his face again, he grits his teeth as he stares across the hall at the lighter on the floor and frowns. Pushing himself to his feet, he crouches in front of it as he gathers the lid, hinge, and body, smoothing his thumb over the engraved name of his father on the steel.

Looks like he’ll be learning to fix a lighter sooner than he thought. Shoving it back into his pocket, he pulls his hood up over his head and makes his way back out into the cold. It’s well into the evening now, the cold snowflakes a sharp contrast to his warm skin as the night temperature falls well below that of the early morning.

His gaze rakes the empty Friday night campus. Distant laughter outside one of the bars on campus is all that disrupts the drone of wind and distant cars. You’re gonna be pissed. You have every right to be pissed, and he knows it, but for some god forsaken reason that Sukuna can’t make sense of, he can’t leave this be. He doesn’t want the image of your fearful expression as you present alone to be the only thing that comes to mind when he thinks of you.

Would it be stupid of him to show up at your door? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t know what the protocol is for shit like this because this doesn’t happen to people like him. Sukuna’s only long-lasting friendship is with Uraume, who knows him well enough to know not to hold his fuck-ups against him. It’s a miracle they’re still friends, if he’s honest with himself. Of course, he has other people he hangs around with here and there, but no one close enough to bother himself with matters like this.

Fiddling with the broken lighter in his pocket, he sets off towards your place, bussing to the nearest stop as he makes his way there from memory. He buzzes your apartment, staring at the ground as the machine rings several times, before it eventually hangs up.

No.

He hits the button for your apartment once more, but you still don’t answer. You’re not home.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the remnants of his anger fizzling out into concern and something that twists in his gut- dread. The day has worn him down so much he has half a mind to wait for you to come home and try to talk to you, but with his mind and body as drained as he is, he doesn’t think he’ll make it home if he doesn’t leave now. That’s not even taking the cold into consideration.

Trudging back to the bus stop, he slides down against the bench and stares up at the sky. The stars are barely visible, but a few still shine brightly enough to be seen over the glow of the city lights. Like everyone else, he took Astronomy as an elective just for the credits, and he remembers that the stars that don’t flicker are planets. He wonders if the one he’s staring at is Jupiter, or maybe Venus.

He wonders if you like looking at the stars.

Sukuna leans forward with his head in his hands. He’s fucked, he’s so fucked. How many ‘unfortunate events’ do those kids go through in that stupid book? How many more can he take?

He swallows hard, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette and balancing it between his lips, reaching in again for his lighter. Although the cap isn’t attached, he hopes it still turns. To his relief, it produces a flame and he sets the broken cap over it to put it out, replacing the pieces into his pocket as he waits for the bus. The nicotine does very little to help dull the edge of his stress.

The ride home is quiet, save for the rumbling of the bus’ engine and the tapping of someone’s foot at the front of the vehicle. It’s not long before Sukuna’s back in his apartment with a screwdriver in-hand as he holds the doorknob back in place while screwing it back in. Its hold on the wooden frame is loose at best given just how badly he’d jostled it earlier and Sukuna has to turn to super glue to keep it in place.

Putting the kids to bed is a mechanical and empty action, one that he tries with every fiber of his being to hide from them. They’re smart kids, he knows they’ve already figured out something is up, but Sukuna needs to keep up appearances and make it seem as though nothing is wrong.

With the kids in bed, he sits at his desk with his laptop, his fingers hovering over your email thread. ‘sorry’, he types out, before hitting backspace. ‘howd the presentation go?’, he then types out, but that’s just about the worst thing he thinks he could send. ‘can we talk?’ he tries next, staring at the screen. He rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before typing and hitting send before he can overthink his words.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 10:02 PM hey. let me know if you get this. i owe you.

Shutting his laptop, he leans over his desk, his chin propped up on his forearms.

His mind is plagued with thoughts that make it feel as though a dagger is being plunged straight into his chest, each one twisting and dragging it through his body. He wants to fight back, he wants to fight back so violently that he draws blood, but there’s no one on the receiving end of his anger but the world itself.

He grits his teeth, exerting enough strength that he knows his jaw will be sore tomorrow. Every muscle in his body already aches, why not add another one? With a sigh, he finds it in him to sit back up, staring helplessly at the ceiling.

When Sukuna was in second grade, he read Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst. He doesn’t remember what that one was about either, but that one could be the title for his day as well.

–

You blink up at the ceiling the Saturday following your shitty presentation, emotionally drained. Though Nanami had proposed to take you for breakfast… or lunch or dinner, he had allowed you to decline this time, unlike on Friday. You’re no less thankful for him being there for you, but all you really want to do is take some time for yourself.

Pushing yourself out of bed to make tea, you stare out at the snowscape outside your window, glad you’re staying inside as you’re able to bundle yourself up in blankets. You pick up your laptop, setting it on your lap in front of you as you browse movies, looking for something that appeals to you.

Your email inbox number rises as you peruse streaming services, though you don’t bother to look at it. You’re not awaiting any emails. That is, until it’s rising steadily as you’re watching it.

You know who’s blowing up your inbox. It’s not the latest deals from the ramen store down the street, or Netflix requesting to change your password.

It’s the one person you don’t want to talk to.

Your mouse hovers over the ‘x’, your finger not even an inch away from clicking. Yet some sort of bitter curiosity gets the better of you as you click on your inbox.

Seven emails, huh?

You sigh as you stare at the emails. He’s replying to the thread of your last exchanges, so you can’t see a preview of what he’s written.

“Is it so wrong of me to be disappointed?” You remember asking Nanami last night, stirring the straw in your milkshake mindlessly.

He sits up in his seat. “He made you a promise, no? You have every right to be upset.”

You glance up at him. His sharp mahogany eyes are unreadable, but you can sense his sympathy for you through his actions.

You’re silent, absorbing his words as you return to mindlessly stirring your milkshake. The chatter around you is dull in comparison to the loud thoughts of inadequacy digging their filthy claws into your mind.

“I made a fool of myself.”

“No one will remember by Monday,” Nanami tries to reassure you, but it falls on deaf ears.

“I think I said that to myself after Prom.”

Nanami’s lips press together in a tight-lipped frown. “We were kids, back then. All of us, all of them. Things will be different this time around.”

“Do you believe that, or are you just saying that to reassure me?” You ask with a dry laugh, a nervous reaction to his sympathy.

Kento frowns, leaning forward. “I believe it with my entire being,” he replies firmly, ending his statement with your name. You glance up at him again, observing the way his jaw tenses when he sees your puffy cheeks and reddened eyes. “Don’t let this keep you from being you.”

You stare back down at the strawberry milkshake. It’s melting so steadily it’s hardly a shake anymore, it’s closer to strawberry milk.

“You know what the worst part of this whole thing is?”

“What’s that?”

“Well-” you laugh bitterly, “- I can't decide what's worse; That I’m actually still worried about him for some reason or that I ever believed him to begin with.”

Nanami’s gaze flickers away from you as he leans forwards over the table. He contemplates his words carefully, mindful of your obvious feelings for the burly man. “You don't deserve to contemplate that over someone.”

“What am I supposed to contemplate, then?” You chuckle wryly, finally taking a sip of your milkshake. It’s definitely just strawberry milk now. At least it’s not lukewarm yet.

“Did you see the latest episode of ‘Love is Blind’?”

You set your milkshake down with a clink. “Did you?”

“Well… No, but I heard Shoko and Haibara speaking about it at lunch.”

You crack a smile. It’s half-hearted and doesn't reach your eyes, but he senses your amusement anyways and returns your smile.

Now, staring at your unopened emails from Sukuna, Nanami’s words continue to echo in your mind.

“You don't deserve to contemplate that over someone.”

So why are you struggling to return to Netflix? You should just watch a movie and forget about him. If his words meant anything, he would have shown up when you needed him. He wouldn’t have made promises he couldn’t keep.

Sighing, you will yourself to click away and keep your mind off of him as you peruse movies on Netflix. Mindlessly scrolling through each category, it’s by the third one that it occurs to you that you haven’t actually been paying attention to your options, your thoughts occupied by the one man you’re trying to avoid.

After showing you his words mean nothing, why are you still so stuck to him like glue? Staring into your mug of tea, you frown when the answers to your problems aren’t swirling within the warm drink.

Against your better judgment, you take a sip of your tea and click on his emails.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 10:02 PM hey. let me know if you get this. i owe you.

Frustration stirs within you. He knew damn well that you would be upset with him for not showing up and the best he can do is an ‘I owe you’?

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 7:23 AM cmon just let me know youre seeing this

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 7:28 AM fuck, i know i

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 7:29 AM shit. hit send too early. i know i fucked up but give me a chance to explain

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 7:33 AM please.

The sight of his plea staring back at you feels like a mockery. Burying your face in your hands, you groan loudly to yourself, as though it might help you make sense of your emotions. Sukuna doesn’t plead with people, he’s made that much clear. Everything with him happens on his terms and is purely transactional, so what’s changed to have him suddenly begging for your attention without asking for anything in return?

Some delusional part of you wants to believe that whatever he wants from you is more than just free babysitting services but he’s given you no reason to believe otherwise.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 8:41 AM ill make it up to you. idk how but fuck

You know he’s serious when his email ends with your name. Not Prom Queen, not some nickname that borderlines on flirty, but your given name.

Your mouse hovers over the reply button, thoughts racing through your mind. What if there was an emergency? What if he needs help? What if the boys are in trouble?

No, if something was wrong he wouldn’t be rambling over email. Nothing is wrong, Sukuna is just an asshole, and maybe you need to remind yourself of that. Maybe you’re too kind, maybe you give others the benefit of the doubt too often when they don’t deserve it. Maybe the rumors about Sukuna were always true. Maybe Gojo is right about him.

With frustration fueling your movements, you close the emails and shut the tab. He doesn’t deserve your time and you’ll be damned if you let him ruin your weekend with his incessant messages.

Returning to Netflix, you finally settle on a romantic comedy you’ve been meaning to watch and get back to your (somewhat cold) tea.

–

After a relaxing Saturday spent by yourself and a rejuvenating Sunday spent alongside Shoko, who convinced you (again) to forget about Sukuna, you feel miles better than you did on Friday.

Shoko was ready to put up a fight with your former project partner when you told her what had happened. Now that classes had ended for the semester and you only found yourself on campus to make use of the library, the extra free time only fueled her fire. Nanami, usually cool and composed, was no better when the two of you joined him in the library.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, shooting a glance at Shoko who he’s certain had heard about what went down.

“I’m okay. Thanks, Nanamin,” you shoot him a smile. Though you do seem more at ease than Friday, it’s clear that your anxiety and frustration runs deeper than simply being disappointed. You’re heartbroken. Shoko and Kento would have to be fools not to see the heart eyes you’d had for the History major.

“If you need anything from me, please feel free to ask,” he offers.

“Anything at all,” Shoko tacks on to his statement.

A smile pulls at your lips, even as you find yourself sighing. “Can both of you stop trying to fight him? I’m okay now, really.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that I would fight him-” Nanami begins, interrupted by Shoko.

“I was.”

You can’t help a laugh at her confidence and the grimace that Nanami dons at the sound of said confidence. Regardless, you’re thankful for their support, even if Shoko’s just a bit too eager to teach Sukuna a lesson.

You all fall into easy silence as you study individual subjects, simply enjoying being in the presence of your friends. The morning is quiet and still in the library outside of the sounds of pencils and pens scratching over paper and textbook pages turning. Only a few other students made their way to campus on the first official day of break aside from you, Kento, and Shoko.

Your focus wanes quickly as you find your thoughts wandering, something that’s been commonplace when you find yourself stuck in your own head. Your thoughts roam back to Sukuna’s emails, to his mention of wanting to explain what happened. Had something happened?

You shake your head, trying to remind yourself he’s not worth your time of day and you have no reason to trust his words.

The morning drags on as you struggle to focus on your studies and the moment the clock strikes noon, you’re immediately packing up and dragging your friends to the lunch hall, desperate for the reprieve from your hopeless thoughts.

“I think I’m fucked for my Bio exam,” Shoko sighs as you take a seat at your usual table in the empty hall.

“Perhaps if you had spent more time in your lectures and less time smoking outside my Accounting class, you wouldn’t feel that way,” Kento bites back, earning a laugh from you. He may be aloof and calm, but sometimes you forget just how sassy the blonde can be when he wants to be.

“Shit, that was your Accounting class?”

“Mhm.”

“Motherfucker,” Shoko mutters under her breath, looking off to the side when something catches her eye and she sits up straight suddenly. Both you and Kento take notice of her weird behaviour and go to follow her line of sight, turning your gaze over your shoulder until you’re eye to eye with none other than the cause of all your problems.

Sukuna’s chest rises and falls unevenly, as though he ran to the lunch hall in an effort to find you, his usual aloof expression long gone and replaced with something you’ve never seen on him before- regret. He’s in a black winter coat, his hands fiddling with something in his pocket as he stands there as though he’s debating what he wants to do.

Your heart clenches, your chest feeling heavy all of a sudden. All you can do is freeze, staring uncertainly at him as your body flips between a morbid curiosity to know what happened and the sparks of anger that you feel for him putting you through something you made clear you didn’t want to do.

Finally making up his mind, he crosses the lunch hall to you, only to be met with Nanami taking a stand in front of you. Kento is a tall man, though you would never know when he stands between you and Sukuna. Even with the horribly obvious disadvantage between them, there’s something heartwarming about Kento putting himself between you.

Sukuna’s gaze hardens, his jaw tightening at the sight of Kento. He opens his mouth to say something, but Shoko speaks up first.

“Leave, Sukuna.”

Your lips purse as you glance between Shoko and Kento. It’s sweet, really, of them to try to spare your feelings and fend for you, but you can do it yourself.

“Ken, Sho. I can handle this.” Your smile does little to convince either of them, but with a frown, Nanami sits down. With a resounding sigh, you’re able to finally get a good look at Sukuna.

You’re used to him looking tired, you’re more than used to him looking downright exhausted, but the expression he wears now isn’t exhaustion. His muscles are tense, eyes flickering between your friends before they land on you and it’s only then that his distress becomes apparent. He’s doing what he can to hide it, but his facade of indifference is already cracked, falling apart at the seams.

Your heart twists at the sight as you wrestle with your anger and concern, deciding finally to put yourself first for once. Something Sukuna is clearly incapable of.

“I don’t want to see you, Sukuna.” Your voice is firm and even, and you’re grateful you’re able to keep up the hardened shell you’ve built up over the weekend. He doesn’t deserve your tears or your anxiety.

“I know. You can tell me to fuck off and I’ll listen, but first you gotta give me a chance to explain,” his voice is raspy, evidence of some sort of strain, and you wonder whether he’s been crying or yelling, or maybe he’s been smoking more than usual. Conceivably all three.

You grimace, staring at the wall as you contemplate his words. “You promise you’ll leave me alone after?”

“Anything.”

He’s so quick to respond that it tugs at your heart strings. Why is everything about this interaction so unfamiliar? Where’s the Sukuna you know? Even as he had begun to open up over the last month, you’d never seen him like this. His hand is still fidgeting with something in his pocket, the faint sounds of metal scraping ringing out from his pocket, he keeps shooting glances back at your friends, and his usual air of confidence has fizzled out to nothing.

Then there’s his appearance. His hair is disheveled, pushed back and sticking out on all sides as though he’s been running his hand non-stop through it. His face is gaunt from a lack of sleep based on the dark circles under his eyes and his jaw has been clenched since the moment he arrived. In fact, that might be the only part of this encounter that is familiar, he looks about as angry as usual.

“Fine,” you sigh after a moment, observing the way he exhales in relief.

“Come with me?” He asks, nodding his head towards the door.

Kento and Shoko exchange an uncertain glance as you turn back towards the table and grab your coat and pack your backpack again.

“Call us if you need anything,” Kento speaks up, loud enough for Sukuna to hear as the two men throw scowls at one another. Sukuna knows he’s in the wrong, but he still doesn’t care for this protective behaviour Ken, as you called him, is throwing his way. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.

“Thanks, Kento,” you whisper with a dry attempt at a smile.

With one final challenging stare at the blonde, Sukuna turns to lead the way as you pull your coat on and follow him out into the cold. The snow has been piling up over the weekend, crunching beneath your feet and allowing the cold to seep into you, chilling you straight to your bones. You zip your jacket up further, wrapping your arms around yourself as you follow after Sukuna.

He glances back at you, at the way you’re obviously cold and struggling to keep in step with him given the height of the snow banks he’s trudging through. He diverts his path until you’re both in a spot that’s been cleared and you’re able to steadily keep pace with him, although you still keep a small distance back.

The air between you is heavy with unspoken words, and Sukuna knows he’ll deserve everything you throw his way, though it doesn’t make him anymore eager to get to his destination and keep his mouth shut.

“Where are we going?” Your voice is meek, and those sharp crimson irises observe you quietly from ahead for a moment before he replies.

“For lunch.”

“Oh, I actually brought my own lun-” Your words die in your throat at the sight of his brow twitching as he stares back at you. “Okay.”

You just need to grin and bear it through the next twenty or so minutes, and then you can ask him never to bother you again.

Keeping your eyes on the snow as it kicks up with each step, you’re silent for the remainder of your walk. You keep yourself a few feet back at all times, only catching up once he finally reaches his destination and holds the door as he waits for you to catch up. You pause at the entrance of the building, finding a cafe sign hung above the door.

With a nearly inaudible ‘thanks’, you slip past Sukuna into the building. You both pull your hoods down as you take a look around the cafe. Although it’s only a few blocks from the college, you’ve never been inside.

The interior is decorated in warm orange hues with deep wooden floors and plants lining the walls. There’s shelves from floor to ceiling filled with loaves of bread and a display at the front filled with pastries. Two menus hang above the back of the counter with sandwiches, soups, and salads, alongside cozy looking drink options. You make your way up to the counter slowly, followed closely by Sukuna.

“Get whatever you want,” he grumbles in a tone that would make anyone else think he’s frustrated with you, but it lacks the usual growl that would give that indication.

“Hm? Are you sure?” You ask uncertainly, knowing his financial situation all too well.

He nods. Luckily for Sukuna, he took an extra shift and he thanks whatever god will listen that he did and he can afford to buy you lunch. He owes you more than just food, but it’s a start and he hopes he can convince you to give him a chance to prove himself.

He brings a hand up to scratch his chin, the first signs of stubble poking through his skin and faintly visible around his jaw. It’s a good look on him although he clearly just hasn’t had time or bothered to shave.

“What’s good here?” You query, doing whatever you can to ease the discomfort between you, even though you want to tear into him for what he did.

“Ya haven’t been here?” He quirks a brow questioningly. You’re so close to the college he assumed you would have been. “I like the chicken and beef barley soups. The deli sandwich is good too,” he shrugs.

After a moment, you settle on a small soup and a grilled cheese, letting your attention wander to the plants as you wait for the food while Sukuna pays. Neither of you dare to interrupt the tense understanding keeping both of you from saying something you may regret, allowing the silence to suffocate you.

Even once your lunch is ready and the two of you find a quiet seat in the back corner of the cafe, it does nothing to ease the growing anger threatening to boil over as this frustrating man can’t even so much as apologize.

“How’s your food?”

You drop your spoon into the bowl. It clatters against the edge with a sound that startles the poor employee behind the counter, but your attention is stuck on the man in front of you. The stupid man who can’t bother to start with the one thing you truly want from him.

“You know I’m not happy with you, right?”

His gaze flickers between the spoon and your eyes, which are filled with a blazing fire he’s never seen from you before. He sighs, setting his own spoon down as he sits up. “Figured as much when you didn’t email me.”

“Oh, not emailing you back was what tipped you off that I might be upset? Not-”

“I know, I know.” He’s strangely somber as he accepts the way you’re tearing into him. “I didn’t mean to miss the presentation.” He hunches forward over the table on his forearms, his shoulders tense. There’s no subtle cocky bravado behind his demeanor as there usually is, he’s simply… here, listening intently.

Shaking your head, you chew on your lip as you do what you can to subdue your anger. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to miss our other meetings too, but you really had me thinking this time was different.”

“C’mon, those other times weren’t a big deal,” he gruffs, his forearms visibly bulging as he flexes the muscles. He’s doing his best to keep his frustration at bay.

“No, they weren’t. But this time, you signed me up for public speaking. I told you I didn’t want to do it. I even trusted you with my insecurities, and I thought because of that, this time would be different.” You swallow hard, shaking your head as you fight back tears. “But your word doesn’t mean anything, does it?”

“That’s-” His hand balls into a fist as he growls out the beginning of a sentence, but the sharp look you give him has him re-thinking his words. His hand relaxes, his fingers tapping on the table as he diverts his attention to a plant on the wall. “That’s not fair,” he manages, strained.

“How is that not fair? You told me you would handle it and you knew how I felt about presenting. How is that fair to me?” Your voice is low, somewhere between a whisper and a yell as you try to keep your voice down and more importantly even despite the tears pricking at your eyes.

Sukuna adjusts the way he’s sitting, his hunger subsiding at the sight of your growing frustration with him. “It’s… not fair to you.” All he can do is agree, because he knows he deserves this.

“So why couldn’t you grow a pair and at least warn me you wouldn’t be there? I could have prepared something at least!” You make a motion in the air with your hand in disbelief as your rage grows.

Sukuna’s jaw tightens as memories of why he missed the presentation flood his mind and god how he wants to walk out right now and not worry about you or your feelings, or hurting you, but that would be too simple for Sukuna’s life. No, whatever force of nature Sukuna had angered wanted him to suffer, wanted him to sit here and listen to your agony, pinned to the seat by his reverence for you.

He drags his hands over his face, shaking his head like a dog in an effort to come to his senses and come up with something to say.

His silence is somehow worse than his usual devil-may-care attitude. At least you know how to handle his arrogance and anger. His silence only serves to further the insult of his behavior. “You really have nothing to say about all of this?”

Sukuna has a million things to say, but his thoughts are so disorganized he doesn’t know how to make sense of what he wants to say. What needs to be said. He should have taken more time to come to terms with the gravity of the situation he’d gotten himself into, but he couldn’t bear the idea that you would be living with the thought that Sukuna had abandoned you. Yet he’s here now, with you, to disprove that and he doesn’t know what he can do to fix things with you. One misstep and he digs a deeper grave than the one he’s sitting in already.

That’s the thing about you. You’re the sun, able to brighten any room you walk into with so much as a smile, and Sukuna isn’t even the moon by comparison. He’s a distant star, flickering on the horizon but always outshone by those brighter. Even knowing this, he so selfishly doesn’t want to let you go. He hardly understands it himself, but he finds himself smiling more around you and that alone is worth the effort on his part.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out a pathetic excuse for an apology, one that he knows won’t put out the fires he’s started, but it’s the best he can manage in his disheveled state.

You shut your eyes, letting out a long, dragging sigh. When you open them, you’re staring down at your reflection in your soup bowl, distorted by floating noodles. It’s a genuine apology, a rarity when it comes to him, but he’s lost your trust and good will. Of course there’s a part of you that wants to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he’s not giving you any reason to believe his words, let alone a reason to leave you sputtering over words at the front of your class last week.

Kento’s right. You don’t deserve to be constantly guessing, even if it tugs at your already fragile heart. Why did it have to be him that your heart decided to fixate on?

“I don’t know how I expected this to go, but I guess I should have known this would happen,” you mumble, getting to your feet and grabbing your coat. You need to leave now before you second-guess yourself.

“Wait-! Fuck…” Sukuna’s on his feet in an instant, unable to look you in the eye as he reaches for your wrist, staring at the point where your skin connects like it’s burning him.

“Shit, just…” He hesitates, his jaw tightening. “Gimme a moment.” He doesn’t dare let you go out of fear you’ll leave, his other hand dipping into his pocket as he fiddles with his broken lighter again.

It takes him a moment to gather himself but finally he finds his footing.

“Look, I owe you. I know I fuckin’ owe you, okay? It was a piece of shit move.” He finally meets your gaze, his resolve hardening. “I shoulda been there, I- I got caught up with something. I didn’t mean to miss it and I-” he hesitates, “- I’m beggin’ you to trust me.”

“Why should I trust you? You’ve never given me any reason to. This is just a shitty excuse to use me as a free babysitter again,” you shrug, trying to use reason so as not to fall for the excuses he’s sputtering that your heart so desperately wants to cling to.

His face contorts in disbelief. “Why the fuck would I care about that?”

“If that’s not what this is about, then what is it about? Because if you cared about me at all, you would have been there.”

“Fuck- No- That’s not-” He huffs, his anger threatening to boil over. Running his spare hand through his hair, he grumbles another curse under his breath. “Prom Queen-”

“Don’t call me that.” He knows that’s the cause of your humiliation in the first place, to bring it up right now is downright cruel.

“- Somethin’ happened- with the kids. I didn’t forget. I wanted to be there, I swear on my life that something came up.”

You pause, contemplating his words as he finally gives you some semblance of a reason for his absence, and it’s the exact reason you’d expressed to Kento that had you still worried over the man’s dumb ass. An emergency, a reason to be worried about him, even if he didn’t deserve that kindness from you.

“What happened?” You ask cautiously, sitting back down. Sukuna breathes out a sigh of relief and releases your wrist when you sit back down with him.

“It’s nothin’ I can’t handle, but I need you to believe me. I don’t care that you were babysitting the brats. And that wasn’t free anyway.”

It was, but you’ll let that slide.

Your brow furrows. “What is this about then? Since when do you care about anyone other than your brothers or yourself?”

“Christ, I’m not heartless,” he mutters, shutting his mouth when you shoot him a glare. Yeah, he deserves that. “I care. I do care.” He runs his tongue over his lower lip.

“You didn’t seem to care when you didn’t talk to me for a week and a half straight.”

“I thought we already established that I was a dick for that,” he grumbles, frowning.

“That was when this was a one-time thing. Twice, Sukuna? Really? How am I supposed to trust you when you pulled the same stunt again so soon?” You grimace, quietly observing the way his finger is tapping the table in sync with his leg shaking. At the very least, he doesn’t seem to be lying.

“I don’t expect you to, just give me a chance. Gimme a chance to prove I mean it.”

Kento would kill you for even entertaining the thought, yet… you can’t help it.

“Can you at least tell me what happened?”

Sukuna sighs, leaning back and crossing his arms. If ever there was a time to tell you what happened, it should be now. But Sukuna can’t bear the thought of bogging down your life with more issues than what he’s already thrust upon you. “I don’t want you involved in it.”

“You’re not doing yourself any favors by not telling me.”

“I know,” he frowns, “but I don’t want you involved. It’s messy and complicated and I know you and I know you like to stick your nose in my fuckin’ business,” he scowls at the thought.

“You could at least be nice to me since you’re trying to apologize.” You grimace, exasperated with the attitude he’s throwing your way. You’re tired of his bullshit and who can blame you?

“Right. Sorry. I’m an asshole.” He sees the gears turning in your mind. “I’m a dick,” he tries to appeal to you. Had he blinked, he could have missed the way your lips twitched at the corners into the smallest hint of a smile. “Just give me one chance.”

You stare down at your soup, which is surely cold by now, scrutinizing him as you think things through. Your silence is nothing short of miserable for Sukuna, but he’ll give you all the time in the world if he can have your kindness for one more second.

It’s that same kindness that you just know Shoko and Kento are going to absolutely kill you for as you let out a prolonged sigh after weighing your options. “One chance, Sukuna. One.” Maybe you’re naive for it, but you want to believe that whatever reason he had is a good one.

To your surprise, there’s no irritated grumble or begrudging sigh from him. No notes of disapproval. He simply nods.

“And you have to help me study.”

“Deal.”

“Oh! And you have to come eat lunch with me on campus again.”

His lip curls up in distaste. “Your friends don’t like me.”

“They’ll come around,” you shrug. “Oh! And-”

“Alright, alright. Don’t push your luck, woman,” Sukuna grumbles, leaning on his fist. You giggle at him and although he knows things aren’t back to normal, it’s a start. He’s not stupid enough to think he’s fixed everything right away, but even if it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, he’s thrilled to at least see that you’re smiling.

That smile that’s like the sun.

The rest of lunch is quieter than usual, the regular cadence of your conversations never fully returning.

“How are Choso and Yuji? Is everything alright now?”

The burly man’s eyes seem to dull at the question as they stay fixed on the soup he’s eating. “They’ll be fine.”

His reaction is anything but reassuring. He doesn’t seem nearly as sure of himself as usual, choosing instead to push the question aside. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Fuck, is he ever difficult sometimes.

“You know, if we’re gonna try to be friends, I’d appreciate it if you gave me something to work with here,” you offer a wry smile, your best attempt at lightening the air. He shoots you a glance, spooning more soup into his mouth as he leans on his palm against the table.

“It’s been a shitty weekend,” he answers. Well, that doesn’t really give you anything to work with, but at least he’s being honest with you. You fall silent again, the steady clinking of spoons against porcelain and the buzzing of a lunch rush behind you seeming to fall to the wayside in favor of a quiet understanding that things aren’t quite back to normal.

“Am I allowed to ask how the presentation went or would I be digging my own grave?” Sukuna asks over a spoonful of soup after an extended silence.

“I humiliated myself, what do you want me to say?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” he tries to reassure you, though it comes across empty.

You’re reminded of the laughter and judgmental glares, setting your spoon down as the reigns of anxiety stir in your stomach at the thought.

“I’m sorry, Pr-” he hesitates, his jaw tightening as the new meaning of his go-to nickname sinks in. “- Princess. I hope you at least took credit for my bullshit.”

“I did.”

Sukuna offers a proud smile. “Good girl.”

You blink down at your soup as your stomach does a backflip and your cheeks heat up, and all you can do is pray that he hasn’t noticed the effect that his words had on you.

It’s not long before you’ve both finished your meals over relative silence. “Um- thanks for lunch.”

“Yeah. No problem,” Sukuna gruffs.

“I should go.”

“Let me walk you back,” he insists, as though the uneasy silence wasn’t enough for him. With a lopsided smile, you grab both of your trays and dispose of the trash before you find yourself back out in the cold again.

Sukuna mindlessly fiddles with the lighter in his pocket again, a reminder that he needs to figure out how to put it back together, much like his friendship with you, if he can even call it that.

In an effort to mend things, you turn towards him as you wait to cross the street, smiling shyly. “You know, I do appreciate the effort, Sukuna. I honestly didn’t think you’d really bother trying.”

He scowls. “Sometimes you’re too honest.” He sighs, but he can’t be too upset when you’re giggling again, even if it’s at his expense. “But, that’s fai- shit!” He cuts himself off, whipping his hand from his pocket in a flash as he pats his jacket down.

Your lips are pursed as you watch him, puzzled by what he’s doing. That is, until a puff of smoke leaves his pocket. You blink at him.

“Did you just…”

“Shut up.”

“Light yourself on fire?”

“I said shut up,” he hisses, his cheeks reddening. He’ll blame the cold if you ask, but he’s embarrassed beyond belief, his cool exterior crumbling as he somehow managed to spark a flame in his own damn pocket.

You bite down hard on your lip in an effort to stop yourself from laughing.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking laugh.” He snarls, flashing you a glare.

But being told not to do something only makes it that much harder.

“You’re-” A laugh bubbles between your words and you do your best to swallow it. “You’re okay right?” You strain through your barely-contained chortles.

With a peek into his pocket, he pulls out the lighter, lid, and hinge pin, tossing them into the opposite pocket as he pats down his coat once more. “Yeah, seems fine now.”

Well if he’s fine- you absolutely double over in laughter, unable to bear holding it in any longer.

“Oh, laugh it up, short stuff,” he grumbles, dusting whatever ashes had clung to his skin off onto his jeans. He grits his teeth as he watches you double over at his expense, his cheeks no less red than they were a minute ago as the crimson glow spreads to his ears.

At least this time he can blame the cold, or the fire.

Not that you’d believe him.

As your giggles finally subside, Sukuna’s able to relax more than he has since Friday at the sight of your eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine happiness. Maybe embarrassing himself in front of you isn’t so bad, if it brings back a semblance of the connection he’d been chasing since he found you in the lunch hall.

Wiping tears from the corners of your eyes, you tilt your head. Cute. “How did that even happen? Don’t lighters have like a- a-” you wrack your brain, turning your attention to the overcast sky. “Like a safety or something?”

Sukuna digs a hand into his pocket that isn’t singed, holding the base of his lighter out to you. “It might have, but it’s broken.”

Curiously, you run your hand over the broken hinge, flipping the lighter over. The name ‘Itadori’ is carved in cursive across the back.

“Itadori?”

Sukuna hums. “My dad.”

Your face softens. “I think it can be fixed.” You hold it back out to him and he tucks it back in place.

“Maybe.”

Now that Sukuna’s not literally on fire, you’re able to cross the street and head back to the library where you’re sure you’ll find Kento and Shoko.

“Are you gonna join us?”

“Another time. I gotta take care of some shit.”

“Thanks for lunch. See you around, Sukuna.”

Before you can turn away, his fingers brush your wrist, as if he’s hesitant to stop you.

“Thank you,” he breathes quietly.

You smile.

–

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Sho, please, you weren’t there!” You try to insist.

“Girl. I’m begging you, you’re better than him.”

To nobody’s shock or awe, Shoko and Kento are equally as unimpressed that you’ve given Sukuna another chance. It comes from a place of concern, of course, but they insist you’re letting him walk all over you.

“There was an emergency with-” you cut yourself off with a glance at Nanami. You suppose you can’t go airing out Sukuna’s personal business to him given that he doesn’t know about the kids. “There was a family emergency,” you insist, “it was an accident.”

“You believe that bullshit?” Shoko’s whipping an unlit cigarette through the air like it’s a sword and it’s you she’s aiming to strike.

“I don’t think it’s bullshit,” you mumble.

With a sullen sigh, Kento finally speaks up in an unimpressed tone. “Had we not just discussed that you deserve better?”

You wince, his words searing. “He made a mistake. Accidents happen, Ken.”

“Hell of an accident,” Shoko shakes her head. “You’re actually hopeless.”

Pouting, you look to Kento for backup, but he doesn’t seem to be in agreement either.

“Give him a break,” you whine, “he literally lit himself on fire today.”

There’s a collective hum of confusion from both of your friends.

“He was messing with a lighter in his pocket and he accidentally lit his pocket on fire,” you grin.

Shoko scoffs. “That’s almost impressive, between the safety and the lack of oxygen in his pocket.”

“Well, the safety was broken,” you reason.

“Hah. Dumbass,” she snorts, exchanging a glance with Nanami. “Just… be careful with him, okay? He’s got a short fuse and a whole boatload of baggage that you and your scholarship don’t need to be involved in.”

“Don’t let him step on you,” Kento pleads in a tone unfamiliar to you.

Your brow furrows as you observe him, but his expression is aloof as ever. “I know, I know. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

–

It’s cold as you slip into the lobby of Sukuna’s building the following evening. You’d re-opened your email tab the previous night to find a message from him.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Monday, 8:58 PM busy tomorrow? kids wanna see ya

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Monday, 9:39 PM Just the kids want to see me? ;)

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Monday, 9:47 PM you coming or not

You could envision his scowl from behind the screen as you teased him, a stupid smile on your face at the thought of it. Things may not be back to normal, but your heart certainly isn’t aware of that as it palpitates at every thought of him.

Now, as you make your way up to his apartment with your GameCube, you don't really know what to expect.

The moment you crack the door to his apartment, you’re bombarded by Yuji in a tight hug as he’s practically leaping into your arms in utter excitement. Caught off-guard, you barely manage to catch him as he excitedly chants your name.

“We missed you!” He grins as you let him up onto your shoulders, ruffling Choso’s hair while he calmly smiles in greeting.

“That’s enough,Yu,” Sukuna mutters from the stove. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans, that same painfully tight black tank top from last week and a red plaid shirt that hangs loosely from his shoulders. A pair of wireless black headphones sits atop his head, but he pulls them down around his neck as you enter the apartment.

Yuji pouts as he begins to clamber down from your shoulders, landing with a thump! back on the floor before hopping over to the TV again.

Bringing you around the kids is likely a part of Sukuna’s scheme to bring things back to normal, now that you’re seeing him again. Kids are smart, too smart at times and they would know if something is wrong.

The apartment is warm in contrast to the cold winter evening, the smell of fried chicken wafting through the air. You bound up to Sukuna, peeking around his side. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

He clicks his tongue. “D’you think I feed them takeout for every meal?” He arches a brow as he looks over his shoulder at you.

“Maybe,” you simper, looking over the ingredients. There’s a rice cooker with a steadily descending clock and he’s frying up some chicken. “Katsu?”

“Mm.”

“It smells great!” You grin, turning back to give Sukuna space to cook as you head back towards Choso and Yuji. “So, I hear you two missed me?” You chide, your heart filled with warmth when Yuji eagerly nods and launches into a story from school that he’d been wanting to tell you since last week. You listen attentively and his eyes shine when you laugh along with him.

“Give her some space, brat. Come grab plates,” Sukuna instructs calmly, once Yuji’s story is over. He’s more at ease than he has been in a while, and even with the weight of everything going on in his life piled on his shoulders, he feels the familiar pull of your gravity keeping him grounded.

Like some sort of drug, you just seem to relieve his tension merely with your presence. You really are like the sun, warming his skin and lulling his worries to a dull buzz.

As Yuji excitedly runs over to Sukuna in the kitchen, Choso gingerly approaches you. “Thanks for coming.” His tone suggests he knows a portion of what happened between you and Sukuna and he’s grateful you’d give his idiot older brother another chance. Smart kid, just like you thought.

You return his smile. “How’ve you been, Cho?”

“I’m good. Um-” his gaze flickers briefly to the back of the apartment where Sukuna has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches Yuji set the table, handing the little boy three four plates. Choso’s voice lowers as he continues. “I think something’s wrong. Um- with Kuna.”

You tilt your head, following the little boy’s gaze. Sukuna doesn’t seem much different from any other time you’ve seen him. His skin is still somewhat gaunt, but he looks better than yesterday, no longer under duress. “What do you mean?” You prod softly.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, perplexing you. “Someone came to the house on Friday,” he tells you. Your lips purse at the realization that Friday was your presentation. Maybe his reason for missing your presentation is bigger than he’s letting on. “He seemed mad at them and then he was gone most of the night.”

“He seems fine now,” you comment, but you don’t know Sukuna well enough to know who could have angered him at the door. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m sure your brother’s fine. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Choso nods, sunken eyes following Yuji’s movements as he places napkins around the table. It’s not long before you’re all seated with a plate of chicken katsu curry. 

“Thanks, Kuna!” Yuji cheers gleefully, digging in immediately. His mild expression cracks as he picks up his utensils, eyes flickering around the table to his two little brothers before landing on you. He may only hum in response to Yuji, but you see the subtle gleam in his eye, along with something else that you can’t quite identify. Sadness?

Choso’s words echo in your mind, but you can’t find any other sign of anything being wrong. You settle on keeping an eye on him, smiling gratefully at him for making you dinner. The meal is filled with Yuji’s imaginative rambles as he shares stories from school and stories that may only be about forty percent true. Kids, right? Either way, you laugh along and grin at him.

“You know,” you begin once all of your plates are clean, “if you go check my backpack, I brought something for you guys.”

Like cartoon characters, both kids’ eyes widen and they bolt off towards the living room, two bundles of thrilled laughter as their full attention turns towards the GameCube tucked into your bag.

As you join Sukuna with two empty plates where he’s cleaning up in the kitchen, he casts a glance at you. “You’re too good to them.”

Placing your hands on the counter beside him, you shrug. “I just like spoiling them.”

“I see that. They ask about you a lot.” Your heart swells. You’re not a grinch, but you think your heart grew three sizes just now.

“I think they get it from you,” you tease, poking his bicep. He scowls down at you, rolling his shoulder as though it’ll rebuke your teasing.

“They didn’t,” he grumbles, turning towards the sink and flipping on the tap to run water over the plates.

You follow his movement, leaning against the counter beside him. “Is that why you’re being so grumpy about it? Because they don’t get it from you?” You grin, giving him a bright smile.

Sukuna’s lips curl into a devious smirk and before you know it, he lifts his hand from the running water and flicks it at your face. His smile widens to a grin when you jump, squealing in shock.

“Sukunaaa!” You cry, wiping the water from your cheeks and forehead with the back of your hand.

He chuckles, making a point of letting the water run over his hand again as he shoots you a sly smirk.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss, brow furrowed. But when has Sukuna ever listened?

He subtly flicks more water at you, chuckling when you swat his bicep and go to join his little brothers on the couch with a pout that’s just too cute. Both kids move to the floor as the familiar sounds of Kirby Air Ride fill the room and Sukuna joins you on the couch, sitting just close enough that his knee brushes your leg.

“You’re studying English Lit, yeah?”

You nod, shuffling slightly closer to Sukuna to hear him over the TV. “Yeah, this is my last year. I’m hoping I can line something up in the next couple of months.”

“What do you wanna do?” He queries, leaning towards you just enough to give you the impression he’s seeking your warmth.

“A book editor!” You grin, eyes shining.

He lifts a brow. “You wanna read half-baked books for a livin’?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Sure, something like that.”

Amused, Sukuna smiles, relaxing into the couch.

“Have you thought more about what you want to do?” You ask cautiously, tilting your head as you prod at Sukuna’s reinforced walls.

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “No,” he grumbles, pulling his gaze down to his lap. Before you can push him any further, he glances at his watch and gets to his feet. “Be right back.”

You purse your lips as he hurries out of the room as though he has something to do. Sighing, you grab your bag that’s sitting on the floor by Choso, dragging it to your feet in search of the gum that you know is buried somewhere in its depths. You offer some to both of the boys before tossing your bag aside when something grabs your attention.

A torn piece of paper is on the ground at your feet, it must have slid out from under the couch when you had pulled your bag to your feet. That’s not all that unusual given all three of them are students, but the logo on the paper catches your eye.

Decorated in greens, you recognize the bold logo of a law office on the other side of town. A crease forms in your brow as you stare at the logo, but the paper has been torn in a way that all you can really see is the logo and that it addresses Ryomen Sukuna.

Could that have been Sukuna’s dad? No, that wouldn’t make sense if his lighter belonged to his father and ‘Itadori’ is engraved into its side. It had to be Sukuna himself. You suppose you’ve never actually heard anyone refer to him by another name, but the name is fitting somehow, even if he chooses not to use it.

The sound of footsteps alerts you to Sukuna’s return and you tuck the paper back where it belongs, or at least where you found it. The nosey and concerned part of you wants to prod, especially given the apprehension Choso expressed to you earlier, but you know better than to push Sukuna’s limits.

Sukuna rounds the corner with tense shoulders, tilting his neck to either side as he cracks it.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just didn’t wanna hear you nagging about what I wanna do.” There’s a little more fire behind his words than usual and you sense that this is not the time to be asking why in the hell there’s legal papers torn up under his couch like a rabid mutt got a hold of them.

“A little dramatic, don’t you-”

“Be nice, Kuna!” Yuji yells suddenly, pausing his game. 

Sukuna’s jaw slacks in disbelief at his little brother. “Pay attention to your game, brat,” he hisses.

“No! You’re gonna scare her off again! Meanie!”

“That’s it-” With a gleam in his eye, Sukuna lunges forward and tosses Yuji over his shoulder. He’s met with thunderous giggles as the little boy kicks and wriggles in an attempt to escape from his older brother. “You know what happens to kids who get in their older brother’s way?”

“NOOoooO!” Yuji cries out between giggles as he pushes his absolute hardest against the mass of muscles that is Sukuna. Choso is quietly laughing as he watches Sukuna toss his brother onto the couch, albeit gently. “No no no nononono!” Yuji puts his hands up in an attempt to block Sukuna, who pretends to sit on his brother, though you can see he’s not putting his full weight on poor little Yuji.

Putting only an ounce of his weight on his little brother, he slyly grins at you as you laugh along with the siblings, your eyes shining. He may be just about the most hardened and irritated (or maybe irritat-ing) man you’ve ever met, but it’s clear just how much he loves his brothers, even if he could use some time away from them.

“Kunaaaaaa!!” Yuji cries, weakly pushing against him.

“D’ya hear that? Almost sounds like my little brother, except it can’t be because he was a little shit,” Sukuna snorts, only to be met with giggles. You bring a hand up to your mouth as you laugh along with the poor little boy.

“Let me gooooooo!!”

“You done bein’ a brat?”

“Yesss I promise, yesss!!”

Sukuna stands up as Yuji dramatically rolls off the couch, feigning being dead. Sukuna plops back down beside you and runs a hand through his locks, mirth swirling in those striking crimson irises of his.

“You’re still a meanie,” Yuji sticks his tongue out at Sukuna, a mischievous gleam in his eye as he scoots closer to the TV, but Sukuna only rolls his eyes this time. “Don’t scare her.”

“If your brother keeps tutoring me, I’ll be back before you know it,” you reassure the young boy who grins brightly before his attention turns back to the TV. “Speaking of which, I should get going. My final project for Women’s Lit is due tomorrow at midnight.”

You begin gathering your things, pausing as you realize you would have to unplug the GameCube to pack up all of your things, so you settle on pretending to forget it, hoping that Sukuna isn’t paying attention, his eyes locked on the TV.

Checking to make sure you have your phone, wallet, and keys, you cast one last glance at the corner of the piece of paper beneath the couch that’s just barely sticking out, debating doing some snooping later.

To your delight as the boys hug you goodbye and Sukuna follows you to the door, he either forgets about the gaming console or lets it slide this time, leaning against the door frame.

“You make a mean chicken katsu,” you beam, “thanks again for dinner.”

“Mm. Thanks for the second chance.”

Your smile softens.

“I got work at one on Thursday. You up to watch the kids? If you drop by earlier, we can study beforehand.” He leans his head down to your level, the warmth of his breath fanning your face as he can’t resist flustering you at least once each time you visit. “And y’know, you never did get to tell me the third thing I owe ya,” he hums, his voice low and sultry.

Your breath hitches at the implication behind his tone and before you know it, you’re stumbling back away from his close proximity, fumbling for the button for the elevator as the rickety old door slides open with a jarring screech.

“See you on- uh- Thursday.”

“See you then,” he chuckles.

This man will be the absolute death of you.

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❦ a/n ; hiii loves! i hope you all enjoyed <33 very angst heavy chapter, i'm sorry :((( i absolutely adored writing sukuna's horrible day, the poor guy. i also had to consult my friend who's a lawyer on how one gets served documents, what a confusing process and i'm sure she was even more confused why i was asking her LMAO.

anywayyy i just wanted to say that the comments and tags and asks you guys have been sending in seriously make my day and i'm so here for it. thank you all so much for all the love and support <33 as always, it's super appreciated <33

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[glossykissies]

simon riley being your older bf ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა

simon was private, blunt, quiet — so it always filled you with pride to hear the shock in people’s voices when they found out the two of you were a couple.

“fucking hell, you locked down ghost?”

ghost. you’d only heard of him, never seen him. stories were passed around the office that you’d file paperwork and battle reports in, gossiping about the soldiers like they were your own personal celebrities. you’d heard of how ruthless he was, how merciless and strong. how violent… as sick as it was, that was what drew you to him in the first place.

alas, once you got to know each other — you were rather surprised to find out he wasn’t really like that. there was no trace of ‘ghost’ in simon when he was off duty. big and strong? yes. mysterious and rather quiet? definitely. but there was something you craved from him, something you’d pushed down for months. you wanted to see ghost.

you would never admit it, but it would turn you on when you’d casually mention your relationship to those who mutually know the two of you — all because of that look in their eye. the way they’d widen slightly, giving you a once over before drifting off — like they just can’t help but imagine it. you were all soft and sweet, dwarfed in comparison to him, and simon was well, simon. you wondered what they must picture, how they’d worry for you, dating a man that big and scary, especially when you’re quite the gap younger than him. you wondered if people thought about him intimidating you in the bedroom, forcing your hole open around him. maybe no one was perverse as you.

you were convinced to make him snap tonight. you’d shyly invite him to your small, humble apartment that friday night. already, the thought of him — so big and manly in your little girly bedroom was sending chills down your spine and dampening your panties. you’d slipped on a silk slip dress that was so thin you could plainly see the peaks of your nipples, and slid your damp underwear down your legs all together, chucking them in the hamper. you wanted to push him, you wanted to meet ghost.

it wasn’t to say simon wasn’t great at sex. he was — and wouldn’t let you off the mattress until you’d given him a good few orgasms. but the thing was, you could tell he’d been holding off. he looks unsure sometimes, borderline uncomfortable when your brows would knit together at the stretch of him— occasionally pulling out all together and switching to his fingers instead. you knew he was being extra weary, already feeling like someone like him shouldn’t be with someone like you, and that it was only a matter of time before you got hurt or scared. his gentleness with you did not go under-appreciated, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try and push your luck.

you rush to the door when he arrives from training, still wearing that black balaclava, baggy black hoodie and sweats. his heavy, dark-circled eyes fall on you when you speed up to him, wrapping your arms around his middle.

“alright, love?” it’s so quiet you barely hear it — and then he lifts his hand to lift off his balaclava.

“no.” your voice is all thick with spit when you grab his wrist, fingers not even wrapping round the girth of it entirely. he gives you an odd look, trying again and you let out this pitiful whine that makes him freeze all together.

“wha’s this about?” he breathes, gravel crumbling in his throat like a tire on stones. he can see that you’re worked up, infact you look like any second you’ll burst into hyperventilation or tears. si’s worried.

“keep it on.” you whisper desperately like your life depends on it. there was some natural defiance there, because despite being a soldier — simon didn’t like being told what to do. he tsks quietly, gripping the edge of his mask and this time you whine loudly, foot kicking out frantically like you wanted to stomp, hands still nestled into his hoodie with white knuckles, holding him close. you stare up at him with wide, hazy eyes, your whole plan to calmly seduce him and discuss your needs long gone. the mask, you realised — added to the whole ghost persona.

“use y’words. i don’t know what you’re on about.” he relents, no longer trying to remove his mask and you bury your face into his hoodie, mumbling something as you breathe him in. he pulls you back instantly and flicks you once with the pad of his finger beneath your chin to lift it. “oi. speak up.” he commands. there it is.

“i wan’it.” you breathe, lust dripping from your drooly lips and his cock twitches, yet doesn’t want to jump the gun.

“what do you want?”

you close your eyes, drawing a breath like it would take courage to speak aloud— this was only your deepest fantasies after all. you don’t open your eyes when you mumble the truth.

“cant hear you sweetheart, please.” he shifts on his feet impatiently and you squeeze your eyes harder shut.

“want you to fuck me like you’re angry at me, puh—p-please.” it’s like you’re possessed, his sweet girl nowhere to be found. he squints, the rest of his features obstructed by the black fabric.

“you what?”

“i want ghost.”

it’s like the world stills for a moment, you’re not even sure he breaths. there’s too much silence to bare and you open your eyes, your own chest rising and falling with the adrenaline of admitting such things.

“no y’don’t.” his response is blunt, and he firmly moves you aside as he walks through the house. you note that he doesn’t take his boots off at the door, and still — the mask remains on his face. simon plops down on your couch, legs spread and arms resting along the back, looking so good though he only came back from training. you hover like a fairy, standing near the couch as you stare at him, teary eyed.

“i wanna. i wanna see.”

“you’d fuckin’ piss your pants. there’s a reason i leave that at the door. you know that. would fucking break you.” he lifts his mask only an inch to access his stumble where he roughly scratches and tugs the material back down into place. you feel like you’re going to start dripping down your legs.

“i know but— but i want it. i want it—m’so greedy i know but—” you’re inconsolable now, crawling onto his lap and pressing your body to his, face closed to his all puffy and needy like a baby bunny. he’s staring down, void of emotion like he fucking hates you but that couldn’t be further from the truth, clenching his jaw when you start to frantically rub all on his chest, grinding your hips down into his lap.

as if he has a sixth sense, his hand slides beneath you with the motion of your grind, cupping your glossy cunt firmly as you collapse on his front with a whimper. “you got nothin’ on under this.” he breathes out the statement. “been waiting to ask me that?”

“mm—mhm.” it’s a groan, humping into his hand like you’re in heat. he’s never seen you this worked up.

now it’s simon squeezing his eyes shut, the inner conflict destroying him. of course he wants to rough you up, look at you — but also, look at you. you don’t deserve that.

“y’too little. can’t take that sweetheart. i’ll scare ya.” he grips your hips and grinds you harder down onto him, controlling your body with such little effort that you’re practically already crying.

“not scared. please. please. ruin me.” you beg and now his hand is caressing your throat, testing the water with a squeeze. your own hand flies up, and he thinks you might be panicking, or going to pry his fingers away but you press your palm on top of his knuckles, making him choke you harder.

“take your fuckin’ hand off.” he seethes and you moan in excitement, doing as he says. his rough palm slides to the back of your neck and before you’ve even processed it — he’s flipped the two of you on the couch, with the quickness and precision he’d use on the battlefield. so far, the only person simon was scaring was himself.

he’s got you now, cheek to the couch cushion, ass in the air, slip dress having ridden up around your waist exposing you fully. the two of you breath heavily in silence, both waiting for a reaction, a sign of distress. surprisingly, you’re the first to move— pressing your bare ass and pussy against his crotch.

“please—wantghost—” you hiccup, and simon resigns, starting to yank his pants and boxers down.

“ghost ain’t a very nice man. not gonna treat you very nice.”

that was more than okay with you.

[ennabear]

I'm begging you to write about mean!abby and reader finding a kitten in one of the buildings, Abby not letting her save the kitten but reader cries all night so Abby HAS to go back and get the kitten...

a/n: plsss this is so cute 😭 thanks for the request baby ilysm and i may or may not have written too much about this 🤗💗💗

daily click / boycott tlou / help these families evacuate / free palestine

abby wasn’t mean necessarily, just very strict. she knew you even better than the back of her hand, and she liked that you depended on her for everything.

hungry? ask abby to make something for you. tired? good, it’s almost your bedtime, don’t want you being cranky in the morning. can’t reach something? better go get abby to grab it for you.

so when you saw that poor kitten while walking back to your apartment, you knew you had to ask her for it. it started with you just hearing a few pleading mewls before turning around and seeing it toddling toward you.

“aww, abs, look! it’s a little kitten!” your smile growing. you were met with a cold “hmm.” from abby. “can we take it home?” you asked. “absolutely not. we don’t have room for an animal.” it was partially true. your apartment wasn’t huge, but it was a comfortable size, and you were moving soon anyways.

ignoring her, you picked it up and continued strolling beside her, cooing at it’s small size and adorable face. “did you not hear me? i said put it back.” she snapped. “don’t call it an ‘it’, abs. i think it’s a girl.”

she glared at you, unamused. “now.” you walked over to a small corner and placed her down, giving her a final pet as your eyes welled up. even if you couldn’t keep her, you at least hoped you’d see her again. maybe it would become a neighborhood cat that everybody mutually loved, everyone except abby.

you didn’t talk to her the rest of the walk home, which was short, or even meet her gaze. although you understood that she only ever tried to look out for you, sometimes she was too strict. you went to bed that night without even returning a kiss, too angry at her, too worried about the poor kitten all alone outside. scared, cold, hungry.

these thoughts continued to plague your mind, eventually causing tears to collect. you hid your face in abby’s chest and sniffled, trying not to start sobbing. “baby?” she asked, “are you alright?”

“abs… that poor kitty. it doesn’t even have a family.” you were crying now. “w-what if it gets too cold, or it gets h-hit by a car.”

abby frowned at your words. “it won’t, honey. it’s already survived this long, it can go a few more nights before someone else picks it up.”

“but it’s n-not supposed to survive on its own. someone probably left it there to die.” you were sobbing, too.

“well, we’re not taking it home. i’m sorry, hate me all you want but we don’t have time or space for a pet.” you didn’t understand how she could be so mean. you cried even harder at this, hoping, praying the cute little guy survives. you cried into her chest until eventually, sleep took you.

abby had other plans. she didn’t know you’d instantly get so attached to that cat, and she hated that now you were crying because of her. she only wanted to do what was best for you, but there was no winning this battle.

once she was sure you were asleep, she slid her shoes back on and headed outside, hoping it was stills there, even more that there was only one. to her luck, the kitten was still there, instantly jumping up and waddling toward her. it’s meows seeming louder than earlier, like it recognized her or something.

she picked it up with two hands, trying not to hold it too close in case she changes her mind about wanting to keep it. slowly, she tiptoed back inside, trying her hardest not to wake you.

her fingers raced to ask google every question she had about caring for it. things like what to feed a baby kitten or where to get kitten milk replacer or how do baby cats stay warm at night? after finding what she needed, she put the kitten in an old shoebox and carried it out to the car.

surprisingly, the kitten didn’t seem to hate the drive, it was mostly just excited to be out of a big, scary parking lot. she put the car in park, and swore to herself that she would take no longer than 10 minutes in the store.

12 minutes later, she’s back with a syringe, a tin of kitten milk replacer, a heating pad, a litter box, and a water bowl. the kitten peeks up at her after she opens it just to check in. it meows and tries to grab her hand, but she closes it too quickly and drives back home.

when you wake up, you’re surprised to see that abby is still in bed with you. usually she’s at the gym, or if not, she’s definitely started her day by this time. with hands on her sides, you roll her over to cuddle with you. “abs,” you whisper into her neck, “why are you still here?”

“i had a long night.” she responded. “and i’m sorry i made you cry, i promise the cat will be fine.”

you completely ignored the second part, “long night? no you didn’t.” how could she have had a long night? she was in bed with you the whole time, right?

“go look on the kitchen table, silly girl.” so you did. you yawned and put on your slippers, making your way out of the bedroom.

on the kitchen counter you found an old shoebox, a heating pad with a temperature remote attached to it, a soft hand towel, and a sleeping gray kitten.

tears threatened to spill again as you felt abby’s arms wrap around you, her head snuggling into your neck and whispering “surprise.”

[lostinlovingrevery]

Logan and fluffy things I like to imagine with him. Part 2: electric boogaloo

logan has a soft spot for animals. He wont go absolutely out of his way i think to interact with them, but definitely has a mutual respect for them.

that being said, going for a walk with Logan, and a stray kitten comes up and absolutely WILL NOT leave logan alone. It adores him, screaming and climbing his pants. You of course insist on taking it home and logan grumbles over it but doesnt argue

cue all the moments of "dad who didnt want animal in first place" with logan as he treats it like his literally baby. Its young and still needs milk, and lots of tlc.

you wake up to him missing from bed one night, crawling out in search of him and finding him in the kitchen- babytalking and cooing the little itty bity baby kitten hes holding in his arm (imagine. Tiny kitten. Logans beefy arms. 😍) and bottle feeding it.

he gets so embarrassed when you catch him.

making him laugh. Like really. He's so stoic sometimes. hes sarcastic and has a smart mouth and really funny himself but not much gets him going

but you tell him a joke . or maybe a funny story of something that happened to you, or a funny limerick whatever okay

and he LAUGHS

its the first time you ever heard him laugh, probably the first time you ever made him laugh that wasn't a small chuckle (say you're still new to each other)

His laugh is just so warm and boisterous. It's a real peek into the kind of person Logan can be if he's in the right enviornment

that big cute smile, his low voice. that loud laugh. I mean honestly

making him laugh so hard he's crying and its uncontrollable

thats right baby girl

anyway

Logan loves listening to your heartbeat

lies on your chest and listens to it beat away. it's grounding to him, a reminder you're still here with him

Either with the X-men, or with Wades gang, Logan slowly opening up and becoming more comfortable with people- purely because YOU'RE there.

your presence reassures him so much

feeding each other

its natural too. You're just at breakfast, lunch, or dinner. you take a fork of your food, or maybe your french fries, or whatever and immediately hold it up to his mouth and he just eats it without question

Feeding him fruits, or chocolates, or a charcuterie spread AH *sigh*

Leading to having a picnic with him. He's a little unsure at first. I think depending on the logan you're picturing, or at least when you meet him, he may have points where he gets shy about dates and stuff

a picnic is one of those things. planning food and a blanket and all and it really does sound nice to him. Too nice. It feels unnatural to him and he doesn't know how to behave, maybe he doesn't think he deserves to do something so...domestic, and soft

you of course argue that "yes logan, you deserve to do picnics too."

Once you actually get him out though, he'll eventually relax, lying on the blanket, on a nice breezy yet sunny day under a large tree, arms crossed behind his head as you feed him grapes and strawberries and blueberries

"Yeah, okay, I could get use to this"

planning other dates with logan. for awhile it's something you take initiative of. But then Logan surprises you. He got you tickets to see a broadway show you've been talking about for months.

since then logan starts pulling his weight with planning dates. he always enjoyed the dates esp in the beginning. he just wasn't used to it, used to meaninglyess flings and lonelines. Sitting and trying to get to know each other was hard for logan bc he struggled opening up

for you tho he does

in a setting with the x-men, they all are amazed how easily logan trusts you. Even as just friends.

you do whatever to him and he just accepts it. He doesn't flinch. or scoff. or tell you to fuck off (sorry Scott. i know you were just asking for the salt). He'll give you his witty and sarcastic remarks but they tend to be a lot nicer and sweeter

he looks at you with a softness they're all confused by

well except jean and charles, they both see what's going on in his head. it's sweet actually

ororo actually picks up on it pretty quickly too

Scotts the one who's just confused but prob bc he gets the most abuse

sorry again scott

okay, not really a logan fluff relationship but honestly logan and scott becoming semi friends? I feel like hard feelings and annoyances aside, they could really get along. I don't know much about Scotts character but i feel like they're both men who can be great leaders and genuinely care about their people. Logan and Scott putting aside differences and going out for a guys night at a bar. Maybe some other X-men join to, but Scott and Logan talk a lot

Meanwhile you, Jean, Ororo, and a few other girls have a girls night

Logan opening up to Scott about how he feels about you (you're still friends at this point), he doesn't outright say that he's scared to make a move, mainly because he's scared of hurting you in more ways than one

Scott gives him a pep talk, male bonding. of course they end the night insulting each other but on the bright note they seem to come to an understanding

Logan is a very attentive boyfriend. He may act aloof sometimes but he notices EVERYTHING. Don't be surprised that your birthday and christmas gifts are always exactly the things you wanted even if you hadn't told anyone you wanted them.

You're teaching a class and logan stops by to give you something. He gives you a kiss in front of the class without thinking, and they're all "Oooooo"ing and "Aaaw"ing over it. Logan tells them to grow up, (They're 5th graders logan)

imagine shopping together, and logan picks out clothes he thinks would be cute on you. He finds a pretty sundress and practically demands you to get it. Of course you do. He ADORES you in that sundress. His hands are never off you when you wear it

It awakens something in him and he starts buying you pretty clothes he wants to see you in. He knows your size by heart, he knows what materials you like and what you hate, and the colors you despise on you (even tho he thinks you look good in everything)

Kissing each space of his hands where the claws come out. It's a gesture of love and trust. Logans scared of you doing it, afraid he'd somehow lose control but you reassure him. Now he loves it, and it truly makes him think that maybe he isn't such a monster if you could love him like that

You do his laundry for him. It's not like he asked you or that he doesn't keep the laundry up himself, you just do it, acts of service being your love language and he comes home and finds you did it and hes kinda shook because like...wow? being taken care of? it was so simply. its just laundry. But damn

Speaking of, doing laundry together.

I want to do laundry with Worst! Logan, we go to some 24 hour laundromat. maybe just neighbors but you've been flirting with each other, and consider each other good friends, the implication of something more. You're laughing and you guys have the place to yourselves. Logan feels safer than he has in a long time with you. Maybe share your first kiss, at 1 am in the laundromat.

I like to think about late nights in your study with Trilogy Logan, he hangs out with you, he already has trouble sleeping, and just loves your sweet company. Your conversations turn deep, maybe you had a recent mission that turned rough, and it literally turns into a love confession by Logan. You return the feelings, and he asks "Are you sure about me?", and you respond to him with an eager kiss, your arms embracing each other in the way those old romantic movies when they kiss (I use to be so grossed out by those and now I would love nothing more *dreamy sigh*)

I want to comfort Old Man Logan, maybe he had a really bad day, and disappears. You get Caliban to watch Charles for the night while you search for him, and you find him at a bar he usually frequents. Hes gruff but polite and tells you to go home and go to bed, but you urge him to come back with you. Eventually you get him to agree to at least come walk with you down the streets. He doesn't know how, but you draw out of him his worries, his fears - and they mainly revolve around you, this sweet little thing who came into this fucked up life of his. You reassure him that you wouldn't want to be anywhere else, and you end up kissing him. He's shocked you like an old man like him, but...he'll take what he can get.

I want to be 70s DOFP Logan friend first, hes a menace, and he has fallen hopelessly in love with you. Much to your obliviousness, you think he's still a Casanova out in the bars- but hes spending his nights thinking about you. One night he has enough, and rides on his motorcycle down in the pouring rain and thunderstorm. He's at your doorstep and you open the door to this sopping wet creature and the first thing he says "I'm in love with you." with water dripping down his face. Then he pulls you into a searing kiss. (im writing a fic about this btw)

With Future DOFP Logan, he would meet you, a new professor at the school, and he's quickly taken aback. After some quite hellish adventures he's been on, you were a fresh breath of air for him. You both fall into something of relationship without realizing it- because it came so naturally. It's only one day you're talking to him, outside on the patio and he's smiling softly listening to you and he leans forward and pecks you on the lips. you look at him in surprise, before grabbing his shirt and pulling him in for a real kiss

Origins! Logan takes you out on a romantic date, because he's classy like that. you share your first kiss over dinner, something sweet, and you could feel him smiling against your lips. He does it again after dinner, when he takes you home like a gentleman, you can feel his eagerness when he kisses you again, like he's trying to control himself, and he finally pulls away and wishes you goodnight (i mean, you're gonna have to invite him in)

97' Logan! He's giving you a pep talk after some bad shit went down on a mission, you feel like you could've done better, could've done more, even if everything you did do was enough. He's being unusually sweet and supportive and you leaned over and kissed him. You're surprised at yourself, but Logan isn't. He chuckles, telling you he gets it, he's irresistable, but then he kisses you again and can't stop (whos the irresistable one NOW Logan??)

I didn't mean for those to turn into first kisses prompts but enjoy. I have so many ideas of how first kisses with logan could go, these are just a few of many

pecking his cheek and his beard scratching your lips, but you actually really like how it feels

him rubbing and scratching his beard all over you to mess with you. It tickles but he's pinning you down and you're shrieking.

He keeps a picture of you on him at all times.

he loves hearing your stories. he wants to listen to you yap. he loves when you yap. even if it's useless stuff, the way you seem to enjoy and live life the way he never had before, he just can't get enough

helping him with his suit, you're zipping him up, but you press several kisses up his spine as you are zipping him. your lips sends shivers through him

helping him with a fancy suit. like suit and tie, (this would be cute for old man logan!). he's grumping and frumping about wearing it, but then you tell him how handsome he looks, and he smiles, and suddenly he's not so grumpy about it.

logan pressing soft kisses all over your face. bonus if it's after he hadn't seen you for awhile

okay but imagine after yall been together for awhile, maybe talking about getting a house together...

you guys "just look"

logan doesn't like anything. So he convinces charles to give him some land and goes and secretly builds a house for you. he recruits help from some others. he hires a designer to be able to get the parts he noticed you liked

you have NO idea. A year later, maybe 2, he brings you to it, and you're like "When did this house get here" and he tells you everything

logan definitely doesn't think things are "too much" when it comes to his devotion to you lets just say.

These are all i got for now! Keep an eye out for pt 3 :)

[melobin]

✧ eunseok as your boyfriend ✧

part of the riize as your boyfriend series!

cw. eunseok x female reader. strangers to lovers, fluff, some light angst, smut toward the bottom.

summary. eunseok as your boyfriend, both domestically and sexually. nsfw content is included below!

a/n. sorry for randomly abandoning this series .. it’ll be finished i promise 🫶🏻

how you met

you met when you were quite young

he’s been your brothers best friend for as long as you can remember

you grew used to him always being at your house, always being around you

you tried to not take too much notice of him but it was hard, he was sweet, funny, attractive

in some fucked up way he felt like your dream man that realistically you knew you could never have, or so you thought

eunseok was always quite doting on you

your brother trusted him around you, trusted him to be there if something was to happen and your brother couldn’t show up

you knew all of this, your brother always telling you that if you can’t get ahold of him, call eunseok

you hardly ever did but in the rare occasion you did call for him, he’d be there

how you got together

your crush developed on him quite quickly as you grew up

you pinned it down to some form of silly little school girl crush

the cliche, having a crush on your brothers best friends who’s older than you, who’s so sweet to you, who always makes you laugh and who is attractive as fuck

you’d read about those kind of relationships and how in the end they always worked out

you weren’t too optimistic about this though, spending a while fearing he saw you as nothing more than his best friends younger sibling who just happened to be around him because of a mutual connection

it wasn’t the case though

eunseok wanted to take care of you, he wanted to protect you

for a while he pinned it down to the fact you were younger than him and you’d practically always been in his life

it wasn’t really he case though and deep down he knew it

as the two of you grew older around each other, the more his feelings of needing to protect you and take care of you grew

he founds himself hoping he’d bump into you around your house, hoping you’d reach out to him because you needed something, needed him

once he accepted his feelings he decided he needed to play them out on the table as soon as possible

the day it came to confessing to you, he was stressed

wasn’t really sure how it would go, hated the ides of things becoming awkward between the two of you and for your brother to find out the man he trusted with you

he really was stressing over nothing though

it was a little strange for you when you received a message off of eunseok, asking if you could meet him somewhere

you weren’t entirely sure on what he wanted to say to you and in all honesty it made you worry a little bit

did he notice the crush you had on him? was he about to reject you? was he about to tell you to never look in his direction again?

maybe your overthinking was a little extreme

and completely wrong

for some reason eunseok thought the best place to be rejected for his confession was a little cafe near by your house

something about him seemed different when you got there, he was fidgety, couldn’t seem to stay still no matter how hard he tried

“there’s something i need to tell you” you looked over at his, eyes confused and head tilted to the side. you looked so cute, distractingly cute. the pout that formed on your lips as you watched him made me want to lean over and kiss it off of you, he both loved and hated how you made him feel. “is everything okay?” your voice was so gentle, it calmed him. he cleared his throat “yes? uh well i guess it depends how this talk goes” now you really were concerned “i’ll just come out and say it, in the past few months i’ve noticed myself growing feelings for you and i didn’t know what to do about it or how to handle it due to the nature of our relationship and i just didn’t wanna fuck anything up” whatever you had expected him to say, you were dead wrong. you sat in silence for a few moments, those few moments terrified the lost looking boy in front of you. you weren’t mad or upset or anything like that you just weren’t sure on what to say. what do you say when the boy you’ve been pining over for years confesses to you? “i’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable or anything i just-“ “eunseok” he stops speaking, eyes darting to yours, entire body relaxing instantly at your next words “where are we going for our first date?”

he was smitten right from the start, he loved spending time with you. although he hated lying and keeping secrets from your brother, you were worth it

the dates he took you on were simple but intimate

he realised he couldn’t do anything too big without your brother noticing, he had already been questioning him about him seeing someone, already noticing the change in his behaviour

he noticed it in you too, but decided against commenting on it, already putting the math together in his head, he just wanted the two of you to tell him before he spoke up about it

he wasn’t against the idea of a relationship forming between the two of you, there was no one he trusted more than eunseok, especially when it came to you. he just wanted to watch eunseok sweat and panic for a while

eunseok wanted to ask you to be his before tackling your brother thought

boy already adored you and didn’t wanna wait too long before securing your relationship, so he didn’t

only a few dates had passed before his hands found themselves sitting on your hips and his eyes trained on yours, looking down at you like you held everything he could ever want

wanted to be sweet with it but couldn’t stop himself from just asking you, wanting to be able to call himself your boyfriend as soon as possible

“would it be too soon to ask you if you’d be mine?” his fingers rubbed small circles into your hips, yours played with the bottom on his hair, you wanted to humour him “hmmmm i don’t knowww” you dragged out your words, laughing a little as he rolled his eyes, but your demeanor turned serious after “but if you think it’s not too soon seokkie, i wouldn’t be opposed to it” he smile and pulled you. a little closer to his, lips ghosting over the skin of your cheek “in that case, be mine?” “happily”

what he’s like as a boyfriend

he adores you and everything you do

he’s the walking definition of domestic dominance

just wants to take care of you in every way that he possibly can

it’s the small things that matter, standing and sitting close to you when you’re doing mundane things, always having an eye on you when you’re out and about, hand on your lower back when you’re walking past people, even leaning over you to put your seatbelt on when you’re in his car

you don’t ask him to do any of these things and you never fail to get flustered when he does them

he just wants you to be safe and happy and content and will always be prepared to do what he needs to do in order to make that happen

his ideal date is just laying in bed with you in his arms, starting with watching whatever film or show netflix has decided to offer the two of you and ending with you making out under the covers and giggling against each others lips

he embraces any form of intimacy and gentleness that he can get with you, especially out of the way of the other boys. wants you to himself, just for him to enjoy

he does enjoy the occasional date outdoors, usually during the night. something about being under the stars with you is so peaceful and comforting

likes to wrap his arm around your waist and hold you against his side as you walk, always taking precaution to glance around before leaning forward to kiss you

eunseok is not too fond of pda, he adores touching you, kissing you, holding you in his arms but he’s a little less willingly to do it around other people

not out of embarrassment, but more so out of wanting to keep his privacy with you

in private he’s very touchy, hands always on you, all over you. everywhere.

he loves forehead kisses, will find any excuse he can to hold you in his arms whilst you’re laying down and press a gentle kiss to your forehead before resting his own head on yours. it’s so comforting and intimate. for him, it’s a kiss that says both everything and nothing at the same time

boyfriend eunseok would give you anything you wanted and more if you let him.

arguments with him

eunseok can be quite nonchalant about a lot of things, he doesn’t enjoy arguing with you but he’s not the most outwardly emotional about it either.

he’s cold, he doesn’t necessarily mean to be, especially when it comes to you, but that’s how he is by nature so it’s not uncommon for you to assume he doesn’t care when you’re upset about something. even more so when it’s something that he’s done.

but he does care, often finds himself stuck in his own thought once he realises he’s hurt or upset you.

sometimes he’ll realise mid argument and try to fix it but he finds himself making it worse, often accidentally saying things like wrong.

most arguments usually end with him holding you, stroking your hair and kissing you’re head until you’ve calmed down, whispering the sweetest words in your ear about how you mean the world to him and how he’d never want to upset you.

if you’re the one who’s upset him then he just doesn’t know how to act.

he knows you’d never hurt him intentionally but sometimes he finds himself overthinking things you’ve said to him, getting into his own head and beating himself up over it.

he loves you and he’ll hear you out when you apologise. he might seem a little distant and off during it but once you curl your fingers around his hand and tell him how much you love him he tends to come back to the ground.

letting you wrap your arms around him and tell him sweet words, comforting him

at the end of the day he loves you more than anything and he’s ready to work through any argument the two of you have. he thinks you’re worth it.

his love langue

quality time and physical touch are his.

he loves spending time with you, just sitting and talking or playing games or anything. as long as he’s with you it doesn’t matter to him what you do.

he values all of his time with you, you’re his favourite person so he treasures everything.

if you’re around other people he always finds himself gravitating toward you, hand in yours or arm round your waist.

thinks the way you’re happy to just sit and play with his fingers whilst he talks to his friend is cute.

he also loves touching you, having his arms around you, holding your hand. anything that lets him having skin to skin contact with you.

his favourite times are when you’re sat together, arms wrapped around each other playing a game or watching something, he gets to spend time with you and have fun as well as have you in his arms.

lowkey bullying too. lovingly.

he’s teasing, taunting, mocking, he’ll make light hearted jokes to you.

genuinely gets slightly upset if you don’t find them funny because you’re his girlfriend and you’re supposed to find everything he says funny, those are his words.

it’s all with love though, teasing you when you get flustered around by him, taunting you when you lose against him in your favourite game and mocking you when you ask him for something as simple as a kiss.

he always finds your reactions to be the cutest thing, loving the way you whine and pretend to be mad at him.

knows he’ll always get your attention back on him when he starts littering kisses on your neck and telling you i’m so sorry baby, a hint of amusement in his voice.

what he’s like in bed

dominant. it’s very rare that he’s not. eunseok just loves taking control, loves having power over you.

thinks having you at his mercy, a wreck under him is the ideal way to spend the night. especially when you’re crying out his name as he fucks himself into you.

he can be mean, you’ve found yourself bent over his knee, counting the slaps he makes against your ass countless times.

he just likes when you’re good for him, loves his good girl more than anything and needs to put you in your place when you’re a brat.

has no issue in putting you in your place either.

very rarely will he drop the dominant act, but sometimes he will.

no power play sex with eunseok is the sweetest, softest thing you’ll ever find yourself doing.

he holds you so softly as he fucks you, whispers the sweetest words in your ear, moans so prettily as you clench around him.

constantly reminding you about how much he loves you, cums so deep inside of you just to be sure you take all of it.

on the flip side, he can be rough.

he loves forced eye contact, making you look at him whilst he fucks you senseless.

but he also loves pressing you face down ass up and fucking you till you’re crying, god he loves it when you cry.

the way you look, the sound, everything is so beautiful, even more so because it’s coming from you.

you’re just his everything and he makes sure to treat you and fuck you as such.

tag list - @ma-riiii @choqolei @addictedtohobi @strayghibli @seokeuns @productiwity @swaggyjinnie @kvstjwonnie @xushigyu @daebin @saintzdoll @hyucksdelicate @shotaroswifeyily @imthisclosetokms @wccycc @gyuvision @seotired @starrypen @llearlert @yeolwrld @snowyseungs @shawnyle @bbg7mae @hwhjsthetic @cysier @lilriswife4life @blueberryyuta @revehosh @kpxpseoul @emoseob @sashasbluehair r @ohmykwonsoonyoung

[jakowskis]

have i talked about my headcanon that jack and owen hooked up a few times pre-s1. i think it makes a lot of sense considering they're both characters who default to the intimacy of sex as a coping mechanism. owen would've been hurting and seeking comfort after katie and jack likes to feel like he's helping people. i don't think it's a reach to say that at some point early on owen might've been trying to drink himself to death, jack showed up to take him home, and owen impulsively (and angrily) tried to kiss him, like that could 100% be canon to me. and they very possibly could've slept together, too, depending on how you think jack would handle that situation. i always felt there was a palpable sexual tension between them in the early eps of s1, and you can read that as torchwood's token flirtatiousness and the way every single combination of characters has a 'will they wont they' going on, but considering they're the two most likely to actually act on attraction, maybe they already had smth by the time we first meet them. and idc how this fandom views them, to me they're absolutely mutually physically attracted to each other. like, come on. it's torchwood.

more than anything though i think it'd explain owen's weird preoccupation with ianto + his relationship with jack, and the way he's, of all things, competitive with him in particular - in a way he's not with gwen, who also gets a lot of jack's attention. if jack and owen hooked up once or twice but it was very casual / probably even kind of combative, but then jack chose to have a romantic relationship with ianto, i could very easily imagine some part of owen, regardless of whether or not he actually wants jack in any capacity, feeling like "why would he want him over me? what the hell's the teaboy got that i don't??" we already know owen feels... insufficient, as far as his importance in jack's life (i think 'i found my doctor.' 'did he fix you?' says sooo much), i think he badly craves being important within torchwood, obviously, but just as equally, being important and useful to jack - and considering how sex kind of influences everything with owen, i could just very easily see that manifesting in a brief no-strings situation. again, very early on; jack acting on attraction to his angry new employee (his substitute doctor,) who's so very desperate to be saved and given new purpose by him (and isn't that good for jack's ego, too), who hates him and wants desperately to please him in equal measure, and owen acting on a desire to please his new boss, to try to ensure this job's a sure thing even though he's been acting out and not showing up at times, and what a fine way to self-destruct, to self-punish, too, sleeping with the man he blames for his fiancee's death and who's surely gonna lead him to his death.

i just. hrgh. i love how much fucked up shit you can do with jack/owen, like there's so many dark miserable things to play with there. i love it

[renata-has-thoughts]

I've never done an ask before so this might suck

There is little to no narrator x readers and your writing is the best I've ever seen!!!!

If you have spare time could you pretty please possibly make another narrator smut where he's all pent up desperate and whiny but then fucks fem reader as rough as he can?

Kinda friend's to lovers almost?

If it's stupid or embarrassing please ignore this request all together!

Outlet

Pairing: Tyler Durden (Narrator) x f!reader W/C: 1.6k

Includes: NSFW!Friends to lovers, rough sex, penetrative sex, mutual orgasm, and, as requested, pent up Tyler.

A/N: Stupid? Embarrassing? Anon, we have nothing to be ashamed of. The Narrator is hot, this is indisputable fact.

“So you’re telling me…you have a club…where you fight. That you’re in…” you muttered, punctuating your words by tapping the table between you two alongside your disbelieving words.

“Yeah.” Tyler nodded without further explanation, taking a sip of his drink as if he had said enough. As if this were a normal thing to say.

“Y’know, when you told me you couldn’t hang out because you had ‘a club meeting’ all those times, I thought it was something stupid-or more importantly, normal, like a book club…or chess club, or something. But here you are willingly going to get your ass beat every week.”

“Why are you assuming I’m the one losing the fights?” Tyler asked, a tinge of hurt in his voice.

You paused, and shrugged. Granted, he has become a lot more toned over these past few months. More prominent muscles, a bit more confidence, the like.

“Right. Well, to each their own, but…try not to get too hurt, alright? Don’t expect me to nurse you back to health.” You sighed, staring at your drink.

“I wouldn’t burden you with something like that.” Tyler said, finishing off his own drink. A moment of comfortable silence passed. You two were good friends, had been for awhile, so it never was awkward anymore.

“Why?” You asked suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Why do you fight? Why are you in that club?”

Tyler ran his finger along the rim of the empty bottle for a second, then replied, “it’s helpful, I guess. It’s an outlet.”

“As in, therapeutic?”

“Yeah. I mean, everyone has their ways of getting out that anger. Getting an adrenaline rush.” He explained, his eyes leaving yours, and added, “I guess some with actual therapy, yeah, or healthy things like writing or sex.” He didn’t look up, especially at that last part. You noted that he hasn’t had a girlfriend, or otherwise, in the whole time you’ve known him, which was a good amount of time. Then you realized, neither had you.

“I feel like there’s a difference between things like therapy, writing and such, and sex.” You said, and put your drink aside, with your final swig. Usually by now, during these afternoons where you’d meet up at your house for drinks, Tyler would say his goodbyes, but now he merely shifted back in his chair.

“Depends.” He mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, as in, it depends on the sex.”

“Why? Is fighting for you a substitute for sexual frustration?” You laughed, but partly a genuine question, too.

“Well it’s not like fighting gets me going or anything, but they both relieve a similar thing.”

A silence simmered yet again.

For once, it was awkward.

“How long has it been since you’ve had sex?” You questioned softly.

“…I dunno. …maybe a year by now.” He responded, meeting your eyes again.

You thought, and recalled that it had been the same amount of time of celibacy for you, too.

“Same here.” You admitted, and caught his gaze.

Yes. You were very much attracted to him. It’s no secret you two had flirted playfully, but it was nothing more than banter, right?

By the way he looked at you then, you could tell it was never that casual for him.

Suddenly, he looked away again, clearing his throat as if catching himself.

“Thanks for the drinks, as usual. Uhm, I should get going.” He said, rising from his chair.

You mirrored his actions, but then rounded the table to stand before him in a swift action.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Tyler.” You stopped him, grabbing his hand.

Something flashed in his eyes when you said that, like a prediction of your coming words.

“Fuck.” He whispered under his breath when your other hand grabbed his waist, pulling him closer to you.

“Tyler, I-I think you’re-“

“Say I can kiss you. Tell me to kiss you. Right fucking now.” Tyler interrupted, intertwining his fingers with yours. His eyes widened.

“Please.” You whimpered.

He tilted his head, eyes closing as he pressed his body to you, along with his lips to yours. It started small, drawing away for a second for him to breathe in before returning, open-mouthed this time, his tongue sliding next to yours. He moaned into the kiss, and soon so did you when his hand slid to slowly knead your waist.

You began shifting back, tugging him by his shirt while you broke the kiss, guiding him to your room.

“Tyler,” you explained as you headed to your bed, “get it out on me.”

“W-What?” He gasped as you let go of him to slide off your shirt.

“The tension. All that’s pent up in you.”

“Oh, fuck,” he whined under his breath upon seeing you now only in your bra. “Yeah, yeah, I…I can do that.” He nodded, swallowing down his nerves.

“I can take it, Tyler. Whatever you give me. I can take it.” You promised, staring into his eyes.

“Really?” He murmured again, still in that whiny tone.

“Yes.”

His breathing halted, then sped up, like a racehorse when the gun fires, he fumbled at his jeans, stripping them off. He pushed you down onto your bed and climbed on top of you, keeping a hand pressed down on you after he threw off his shirt.

“God, you’re so hot. I’ve always thought that,” Tyler rambled, tugging your pants off.

“Do you know how many times I’ve touched myself to the thought of you?” You moaned while he rid you of the rest of your clothes, bra and all.

“Fuck, holy shit-don’t even-don’t even tease me like that. I don’t think I can g-get any harder than I am.” He exemplified this by taking off his boxers, leaving you both naked and panting already.

“Please, please use me,” you cried, gripping onto his shoulders.

“Want me to treat you rough? Huh?”

“Yes!”

Two fingers dipped down into you, smoothing along the wetness you had ever since he had mentioned the mere idea of sex.

You moaned loudly, not just by the feeling, but the fact it was Tyler. It was Tyler, of all people, fucking you. Finally.

His fingers left you to grab himself, pushing him into you steadily, groaning at the feeling of pressure around his cock, you easily inviting him, warm and slick.

“I knew you would f-feel so good. I knew it.” He whined, both hands groping your waist and pulling you down along into him.

Your nails dug into his shoulders and your head rose to mouth desperately at his neck. That was his final breaking point.

He began thrusting into you, using every inch of his cock through your impossible tightness. It seemed like every part of you went numb except for the places he was hitting.

It was euphoric. It was Tyler fucking you. And he was fucking you good.

His breathing occurred through grit teeth and growls, his pace unyielding. The spots in which he was grabbing your waist to shove you into him while he thrusted would surely bruise in the morning, and your body got hot just by thinking about that.

Tyler shot one hand up to your neck, just under your jaw, and you gasped in surprise, although it was quickly drowned out by stuttered whimpers as he continued his abuses. His fingers prodded into your mouth, with his palm firmly on your neck. You took them in hungrily, licking and sucking on them, making him moan. His reaction was enough to make you shiver.

“You f-feel so good.” You managed through the obstruction of not only his fingers but the overwhelming pleasure.

“Yeah?” He promoted, removing his hand placement on your neck in favor of slotting his damp fingers above your clit. “You like it rough?” He growled, proceeding to change his quick thrusts to hard slams.

From the combination of everything he was doing, you felt sweat form on your brow.

“Tyler, I-I’m gonna cum,” you moaned.

“Yeah? Hm? Cum for me.”

“Don’t stop! Please, fuck, don’t-“

“Baby, I don’t plan on it.”

There it was. Your orgasm approached you with the same raging force as Tyler’s pace. Hot and dizzying. As he vowed, he did not stop, staying at the same speed despite the mumbling of curses under his breath, stammered ramblings of ‘so tight’, ‘yes, fuck yes’.

You couldn’t help but bite his neck as you let the remnants of your orgasm finish onto him. He groaned loudly as your teeth found purchase in his skin, and he pulled out just as your orgasm faded to grab his cock and guide himself through his orgasm, cumming onto your stomach with breathy whines, his composure shattering with each small sound.

You left a kiss on the mark you made on his neck, letting your head fall back onto the bed to look into his eyes, drained but still transfixed on you.

“Tyler? You there?” You smiled.

“Y-Yeah. Fuck.” He replied, catching his breath. “Are you alright?”

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had, Tyler.” You were saying that genuinely. “Of course I'm alright.”

His eyes seemed to light up, despite his exhaustion when you said that.

“Thank god.” He mumbled, lowering himself to lie by your side, running his hands through his hair to collect himself. “That was definitely the best for me, too.” His eyes fell closed.

“Could I ask you one more favor?”

“Sure, anything.” Tyler responded, opening his eyes again.

“Uhm…” you began, and gestured to your stomach, where he just came on.

“Oh! Right! Shit, sorry.” Tyler laughed, getting up from the bed and heading to your closet, grabbing his boxers along the way and sliding them back on.

You felt content in that moment. You first regarded your attraction to Tyler as frivolous and one-sided, yet now you watched him leaning down beside you, wiping you off with a washcloth and kissing your forehead.

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  John is dead. Your whole world crumbles. Arthur and you are facing your first real argument, and everything grows out of control -- featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Words: 5.8k

TW: Extreme angst - read at your own risk, graphic depiction of violence, domestic violence, mention of drug use, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, major character death, self-harm, guilt trip, co-dependent relationship.

Notes:

✞ Read the notes at the end.

Previous || Masterlist || NEXT

The creaking which resounded in the whole morgue when the door opened sent shivers down Tommy’s spine. The infamous Peaky Blinders’ boss was standing next to the mortuary table, staring at the ashen face of his little brother, frozen in a peaceful expression. Although Tommy tried his best to remain neutral, the way his enchanting turquoise eyes gleamed belied his profound sorrow. A sorrow so distressing that he was not even able to express it – instead, his negative thoughts piled up inside of his already decaying heart. First Grace, then John… Tommy let out a long exhale from his nostrils while going on with his morbid contemplation. How many more deaths would he have to endure before his hunger for power was sated? “Fuck, I’m sorry John.” He whispered, softly pressing his large hand on his brother’s muscular shoulder. The sensation of John was cold and hard, even above the fabric of his blood-stained shirt, “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” His hand then reached for the funeral shroud and pulled it over his brother’s chest, which had been riddled with bullets. He did not want John to look weak, even in death. He wished for people to recall his joy and strength, not his troubled last moments. “I’m sorry.” He reiterated, offering a last apologetic look at his little brother before turning around at the sound of someone’s heels beating the cold tiled floor. Tommy’s forehead creased as he furrowed his brows: he had not been expecting anyone now that Arthur and Esme had left.

“Tommy.”

The hypnotizing and melodious voice that called him led him to briefly open his eyes wide in surprise — especially when he recognized its owner. And when he did, his face immediately hardened. It was only seconds later that he saw you walking towards him with hastened steps, rivers of tears still streaming down your angelic face. He didn’t know what surprised him the most though, to see you here in this morgue, to hear you calling him “Tommy” and not “Thomas” for the very first time, or maybe the unexpected way you threw yourself into his arms. In fact, it was certainly a bit of the three at once. As soon as your body collapsed with his, the gangster’s muscles tensed, and his placid expression shifted into a stunned one: your affection had taken him aback.

“Oh my God, Tommy…”  You were crying your eyes out, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He could even feel the warm wetness of your tears on his skin, the little salty drops running down his chest and dying under his shirt. Esme had told him everything. Tommy blinked a few times to chase away the surprise and, gradually, his body relaxed as he felt your frail being snuggling against him, the freezing sensation of your dainty frame meeting the warm temperature of his skin even separated by the clothes you were wearing. He gave you a quick glance from above your head to check if what was happening was true and, finally, he sighed. As his arms wrapped around you softly, you felt like you were falling apart and, ironically, the only thing that held you together at this very moment was Thomas Shelby. The man you hated since day one.

“I’m here.”  His quiet and deep voice simply stated, soon followed by his arms tightening around you and his fingers gently diving into your waist, not willing to let you go anymore. To hell with your mutual hatred, you thought, Tommy had just lost a brother and you wanted to be here for him too. Surely, all the ice of his heart couldn’t shield him from grieving a loved one.

What started as an awkward hug soon turned into a powerful embrace when Tommy indulged in your love. All the resent, all your past arguments, all the fear… The more you were pressing together, the more they were turned into dust, “I’m fuckin’ here.” One of his hands ran up your body only to rest on the back of your head, inviting you to nuzzle your nose in the crook of his neck even more – which was what you did, desperately looking for comfort.

“I can’t… I can’t let him go. I don’t want to.” Your voice was merely a desperate whimper, for the uncontrollable sobbing and the ball of sorrow in your throat wouldn’t allow you to align more words. Another hiccup — The excruciating sadness almost suffocated you when you realized that John’s dry blood was still stuck under your nails.

“He’s gone, Heaven.” His words, stone cold, made you shake like a leaf, to the extent that Tommy was now certain you would shatter if he were not holding you. He started rubbing your back with his powerful free hand, the other clenching its fingers on the back of your head, “Listen to me.” He started, holding you firmly against his strong body: he was not going to let you all apart.

“They fucking shot him! Ces enculés lui ont tiré dessus!” You repeated in French, and of course he understood. He tried to hush your worries down but it didn’t work. Deaf to his attempt to comfort you, you gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated and painful cry. John was dead and your whole world felt like it was collapsing. Your little fists hit Tommy’s strong chest in a weak blow, anger taking over sadness as seconds passed. You were angry at him, at you, at Changretta, at the whole damn world. In truth, your mind didn’t know how to cope with grief anymore, and rather let you experience various emotions to test which one hurt the less. In response, the gangster restrained your movements by hugging you tighter and then, he brought his lips near your ear to keep you focused on him and only him.

“Hey, listen to me now.” He said with a firmer tone, catching your attention. You glanced at him and froze, realizing how dangerously close his face was, “I want you to calm down. You’re a fucking Shelby.” Despite his harsh words, Tommy’s tender caresses made amends for his toughness and managed to dry your tears up. His palms, then, wandered on your back and shoulders, stimulating every nerve of your quivering body to anchor you to reality, “There. Better.” He finally praised you, warming up your body with the sole power of his touch and rubs. Feeling calmer, you sniffed a little bit and tried to focus on the musky yet delicate fragrances of his cologne rather than on John’s corpse that was lying a bit further from you.

“Better.” You softly replied, surprisingly lulled by little King Shelby’s presence. A real miracle. Once comforted, you decided it was time for you to move your body from him and break the embrace though. After all, Tommy and you had never got along. Plus, you were pretty sure he wanted this to end as quickly as possible now that he had done his in-law duty. But, somehow, a little part of you still hope for this moment to improve your relationship from now. Maybe things wasn’t that hopeless? You were about to move but the gangster didn’t let you leave him. Quite the contrary, he pulled you closer until your breasts flattened against his chest and your cheek rested on his collarbone. Surprised, your lips parted but no sound came out.

“Stay.” Even though he did not mean it, his tone sounded like an order more than a request. Truth was, he couldn’t control it – the way his heart had quickened at the physical contact he was sharing with you unsettled him. As much as the thought that you came to him for comfort, not to your husband. Under the crushing weight of something he couldn’t name, Tommy delicately rubbed his perfectly shaven cheek against yours and buried his nose in your long white hair to get himself drunk with your spring-like perfume, “I’ll keep you out of sorrow, if you ask me,” He whispered, shutting his eyes tight and deepening his embrace again, until it became slightly painful. His thoughts swirled in his restless mind, and between plans for the Vendetta and the grief of John’s death, there was you. You and your intoxicating perfume. With his breath quickening and his lower lip trembling, Tommy allowed himself to sink into your softness, “And you’ll keep me out of it.” His husky voice was merely a murmur only you could hear. A soft whisper even the Grim Reaper, who was leaning over John and contemplating about where he was going to send him, did not catch.

“What do you mean?” You bated your doe lashes, confused at this sudden passionate demonstration of affection. But Tommy didn’t reply. In fact, he did not even hear a word you said for his mind was trying to cope with the overwhelming feelings and sensations that were drowning him. He felt like a sailor thrown into a raging see, desperately trying to keep his head above the water, and the only hope for him to survive was to cling onto you as hard as he could. The truth was it felt so good to have you in his arms, blessed with your holy and calming aura, that he had momentarily forgot what pain was like. For a split second, colors came back in his black and white life – something he hadn’t experience since Grace’s death. Letting out a relieved sigh, Tommy gently pulled his face away from you only for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes to dive into your celeste iris.

“It’s going to be alright, Tommy. It’s not your fault.” You stuttered, trying to comfort him too despite being slightly confused by his intense stare. Nevertheless, you could not help but commiserate with him, grief being one of the most universal human feelings to share. United in pain, you offered him a faint smile. The fearful gangster replied with utter silence – struck by the fact that he loved how his nickname sounded in your mouth. Only his brows frowned slightly as he watched you for the very first time: your big fair eyes, your long lashes, your plumped lips, the way your snow-white hair reflected the dull lights of the morgue… Last time he recalled having stared at you like this was during your first meeting, when his hand was wrapped around your throat. Worried by the unfamiliar ways he was looking at you, your little cold fingers grazed one of his hollow cheeks as softly as a feather’s caress to bring him back to his senses. A surge of electricity ran through his soul at the skin-to-skin contact. You touched him and, all of sudden, Tommy understood Arthur. He understood what he meant when he told him you were an angel. And after the epiphany came a moment of madness.

“No, it won’t.” He admitted with a sad tone you never suspected he was capable of. At his words, he finally gave in and broke the distance between your lips. Life flashed before your eyes, your brain momentarily ceasing to function at the soft press of his mouth. Tommy’s hand had wrapped itself around the back of your neck, keeping you from moving your face with one thick and strong palm. His kiss, eager but indescribably sensual, made your heart miss a small beat. It took you two solid seconds to realize what was happening, and one extra to push him away from you as he started to make it slow and deep with the wet stroke of his tongue. Forced to take a few steps back, his chest vibrated with a low groan of disappointment.

“No, Tommy.” You stuttered in a whisper, astounded by his bold and senseless move. Your fingertips grazed your swollen lips, still tingling with the sensation of his lips against yours, all the while your otherworldly pale eyes gawked at him wide open.

Tommy’s lashes fluttered, then he slightly shook his head to chase away the sweet torpor that had overtaken him for a short while. Regaining his composure, he clenched his jaws and tried to cope with your rejection. Admittedly, it had been a bit too much for him to handle. Why did he do that? What did happen in his goddamn mind? And how the hell could a woman say no to him? Unfortunately, Tommy couldn’t find any answer to these questions. All he found was frustration and anger, fueled by his unsufferable heartache of John’s death.

“No.” Tommy’s face closed up, going placid again while the blue of his iris turned two shades darker, “No” he repeated, trying his best to keep his emotions how he always did: hidden behind coolness, “So why did you come here and throw yourself in my arms?”

His question had taken you aback, for you didn’t expect him to wonder about such a trivial thing. Somehow, you wondered if he ever knew what the definition of platonic love was, or if all his interactions with women, except the ones from his family, always led him to their bed. “I just wanted someone to talk to...” Your eyes fled his, and you folded your arms to hug yourself, feeling suddenly freezing, “And I thought you’d maybe need someone too? I mean… I wanted to comfort you too. Just not—like this.” In truth, you were left agape by the whole misunderstanding. And by Tommy’s unfathomable mind.

Not minding that he was in a morgue, the King of Small Heath took of a cigarette from his pocket and rubbed it nervously on his lower lip before lighting it. Thoughts were now racing in his mind, along with your words. He could have dismissed the topic with a simple wave from his hand, but he couldn’t come to terms with how good you had made him felt for a few fleeting but intense minutes. Tommy’s chest rose and fell with rapid breath, for both shame and anger had crept into his bones. Why? He thought. Why did his brother had been allowed to meet you before he could? Why did Arthur, broken and fragile Arthur, had been allowed to have a loving woman by his side and not him? After all, he was the one who needed it the most. No, he was the one who deserved it the most. But now Grace was dead, all women he shared his bed with tended to leave an unpleasant after taste of ashes in his mouth, and the one he thought who could heal him didn’t want him. What kind of freaking curse was that? But in his inner turmoil and feeling of unfairness, Tommy forgot to take into account the real problem: you could do nothing for his heart. No one could.

“Alright then, you wanna talk? We gonna talk, ey. I wanna know something, Heaven. Why didn’t you save him ey?” A cloud of smoke escaped from his mouth, leaving you wondering if it was due to the cigarette or to his rage.

“Sorry?” You asked, feeling your shoulders tense.

He threw his cigarette further away before squinting his eyes as he talked to you “You resurrected a damn bird. Polly talked y’know. She told me you had the great power of healing, something that’s fucking rare. So why?”

“Why?! Why what?! What the hell are you implying?” You were starting to lose your patience, already fed up with his mean games. Moreover, your emotions was already all messed up with all the earliest events.

“Why the fuck didn’t you save John?! Why the fuck didn’t you bring him back to life?” His voice rose, resounding in the morgue so loudly that John probably heard it from where he was.

You blinked, astonished. “Because it doesn’t work like that, you fucking idiot!” You replied to his screams with louder ones, now troubling the dead’s final rest.

“Of course, it doesn’t. Isn’t it a bit ironic? I mean… For everyone, you’re a saint. For Arthur you’re a fucking angel, ey, even a divine being. But now that you have the occasion to use your wicked powers for something useful you can’t even do it!” His prose had turned into poison, seeping through your veins and contaminating soul.

“Thomas, stop it.” You begged, trying to remain calm. Surely, you didn’t want to argue right after John’s death. Especially not when he was there… You took a quick glance at his motionless body and your heart sank. Was it your fault?

“I told you what it is. You’ve bewitched all of them. You’ve bewitched me,” His eyes darkened, “All your so-called gifts come from the Devil... So come on! Bring John back to life, you fucking witch!”  He was now pointing John with his index finger, “Bring him back now!”

“HIS HEART HAD STOPPED BEATING!” You howled, self-control breaking down.

“It doesn’t matter, you had let him die!”

“I didn’t!” You shook your head, rage taking over you, “It’s the blood. My witchcraft doesn’t come from the Devil, it comes from the fucking blood. From the human body. That’s what I manipulate. I could have done something if his heart had been still beating the slightest, or if it had just stopped. But it wasn’t the fucking case!” Tears of wrath left a moist trail on your skin as you wiped them away quickly with the palm of your hand, “He was dead for too long when I found him!” A short silence fell in the morgue after your attempt to justify yourself – Tommy didn’t buy it.

“It’s your fault.” He concluded in a quiet and low tone, desperately trying to both find someone to blame for his brother’s death, and wanting to make you pay for rejecting him.

“W-What?” His words had stabbed you right in the heart.

“It’s your fault if John is now lying in a fucking morgue, dead and cold. You have let him die.”

“I didn’t!” Your voice broke.

“You fucking did! Look at him now, look at his fucking corpse riddled with bullet! Look at the fuck you did, ey!” Tommy had stepped aside and pulled the shroud from John’s body. Doing so, he gave you full sight on his bloody chest, whose round bullet wounds were already darkening. Such a macabre spectacle momentarily broke the last bit of sanity you had left.

John, Oh John, your soul lamented.

“ENOUGH!” You yelled. The way your usually sweet voice screeched was so powerful, so inhumane that all the lights of the morgue flickered, rendering the place even more ominous than it already was. On top of the dancing lights, whose glow had been undermined by your own darkness, the atmosphere around Tommy thickened. The gangster swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly overtaken by an unpleasant and eerie feeling of unease. In other circumstances, your brother-in-law’s change in behavior would have appeased you. Especially when considering that shutting up was not in Tommy’s habits. Nevertheless, far too hurtful words and years of restrained spite got the best of you: from the moment you met to this one, Tommy had been nothing but a bane. Anger rippled through you, hardening your maimed heart and blurring every notion of decorum you’d usually try to respect for Arthur’s sake, “You wanna make me your villain?” You had stopped screaming. Quite the contrary, your tone had turned from a bawling banshee to the quiet and sinister sigh of Death. With that last question posed, you extended one of your arms, palm facing Tommy, and spread your fingers, “I’ll give you a reason to fear me!”

At first, Tommy raised a brow wondering what the goal behind your move was. Then, the fact you dared to scream at him and insult him – certainly combined with your rejection – made rage coiled in his stomach. He opened his mouth, about to reply to your arrogance when words choked in his throat. Hit by a sudden and obliterating pain in the chest,  Tommy pressed his hand were his heart was and looked up in terror as a thin trickle of blood started to run down one of his nostrils, dying his thin lips with a crimson color, “What—What are you doing to me?!” He stuttered, barely hearing his voice because of the sound of his own heart beating faster and faster echoed in his skull far too loudly. However, you didn’t answer him, far too consumed by the flames of your rage, licking though your delicate bones and dainty frame. With your hand still facing him, you started to close your fingers very slowly. Tommy coughed for each inch your fingers moved, his lungs were crushed harder in his tight chest. He wanted to scream – scream to let out the pain, scream to stop you, but the only noise he could make was muffled squeals, similar to an agonizing prey.

“Here is what I can do, Tommy! This is the pain I am capable to cause with my delicate and fragile little being! See? If I can heal, I can also make one sick and destroy them.”

“S—St—Stop...” He tried to beg, bloody mouth gaping, desperate for air. But this time he was not only met by your silence, but by the worsening of his pain to the extent that his legs were about to collapse. No, you didn’t want to stop. In fact, you wanted him to pay for everything. You wanted him to kneel.

“Beg.” Your voice echoed in the morgue and your eyes were staring coldly at Tommy Shelby who, crushed by the extreme pain you were exerting on his body, had no other choice than to rest one of his knees on the ground, right in front of you. The metallic taste of blood that kept running down his throat, thick and hot, enhanced his suffocating and labored attempt to breath. At this point Tommy had one certitude; you were going to kill him. Whether by a heart attack or by smashing his lungs to a pulp, it did not matter. What mattered was that, for the very first time since you met, he was at your mercy. Far too well he understood that all you had to do was to close your fist, and then he would end up lying down on the table next to John’s.

The shovels, the dirt in his mouth, everything came back to his mind as he fought to breath.

“Heaven!”

“Listen closely to what I’m about to say,” You spoke calmly, “I think I’ve had enough of your hypocritic ways and your unjustified battle against me, whose only goal is to tear me down. I am not going to kill you, Thomas Shelby. But if I spare you, it’s only because, first I don’t want to murder you in front of John, and then, because Arthur loves you. I don’t fucking know how he still does after every mean thing you’ve said and done to him, but the facts remain that he does.” You paused, finally reopening your hand, and lowering your arm. It didn’t take more for Tommy’s lungs to finally be able to stock air again and for his heart to return to a normal pace. The gangster immediately inhaled, still under the shock of what had just happened. Hands on the cold tiled floor, eyes wide open, he was shaking like a leaf in a raging storm, “So for Arthur’s sake and John’s memory, I want you to wear your most beautiful smile next time you’ll see me. Just like you told me the first time we met ey?”

By the time you’ve stopped stabbing him with your murderous and poisoned words, Tommy had managed to stand up on his quivering legs. Yet, he was still catching his breath and pressing one hand on his chest to alleviate the soreness of his lungs. He licked his lips to clean the blood off them, the taste of his own crimson essence reminding him of what he was: not a God. Much less the Devil. Just one simple mortal man. At this very moment, Tommy Shelby had lost his splendor. Still shaken and utterly terrified by your wicked abilities, little King Shelby looked at you, his face contorted in pure horror and disgust. “You…”  His enchanting turquoise eyes, whose color made women’s head spin, were now glazed with an almost primal fear, “You’re a fucking monster.”

“At least we have something in common.” You retorted, before turning your heels and leaving the morgue. John’s spirit wasn’t there anyway.

Following your quarrel with your brother-in-law, all you wanted was to go back home and hide from this cruel world in Arthur’s arms; the only place in which you could find a bit of inner peace. Moreover, you knew he would certainly need you after his visit at the morgue.  Your holy tears had flown from your eyes all the way home, only chased away by your delicate hands. The only thing that kept you from collapsing in the midst of the streets, weeping on the ground like a fallen angel, was the thought of finding your husband. It has always been you against the rest of the world anyway. So, what was your disappointment when hours flew and Arthur was nowhere to be seen. 

A little sigh escaped from your lips as you poured the rest of the red wine bottle you had opened earlier in your glass. Once your glass was refilled with alcohol, you simply dragged your exhausted body to the living room and collapsed on the sofa, looking blankly at the dancing flames in the hearth. Before panic settled in, you thought that Arthur needed time for himself after being informed of his little brother’s death — which was perfectly fine and understandable. He had every right to stay with his family, grieving the loss of his own blood. But the more time passed, the more his absence was weighing on you. Feeling your sorrow, Kaiser woke up from his nap, stretched his muscular body, and came closer to rest his large head on your thighs. The dog’s cropped ears were flattened, and his large hazel eyes were looking at you with sincere worry.

“That’s okay big boy, that’s okay.” You gently stroke his head, but despite loving your caresses the Cane Corso let out a sad whining sound, “I know…” You simply replied, knowing that Kaiser missed Arthur too, on top of hating the sight of you being that mournful. Suddenly, the mutt’s ears raised again, and he turned his head towards the door, sensing someone was coming. Trusting his shape senses, your eyes looked up at the entrance too. When your instincts weren’t working, you knew you could always count on Kaiser and tonight was no exception: only seconds later the door opened, revealing Arthur’s lanky silhouette. You got up from the sofa, putting your glass of red wine on the coffee table, and watched him carefully. 

“Cheri?”

“Hm.” The only reply you got was a grunt, followed by his staggering frame walking past you without stopping for a hug nor a kiss. In fact, you wondered if he even saw you. The strong scents of alcohol and tobacco floated in the air at his passage, leaving no doubt on his intoxicated state. You sighed, watching him walking towards the furniture and pouring himself another whiskey. Not the first of the evening for sure.

“Arthur, maybe you shouldn’t do that.” You said quietly, with care and sincere worry. Losing John had broken him, obviously, so you knew you had to be delicate with him. A lecture was definitely not what he needed at this aching moment, which was why you used suggestions rather than orders.  Nevertheless, your husband remained deaf to your gentle advice and gulped down the alcohol in one mouthful, right before pouring himself another glass. You shook your head and walked to him, for you could not let Arthur drink his pain until he passed out – because that was what he was trying to do. Somehow, he only acknowledged your existence when he felt your hand gently touching his arm, right above the thin texture of his shirt, “I’m going to run you a bath and we’ll go to bed, alright?” You finally said, knowing that no words would ease the tormenting grief he was experiencing. Why? Because you did too. John Shelby was your best friend. No. He was more than that, he was like another part of you. But as you weren’t blood-related, you’d rather leave your own pain on the back burner and take care of your husband, who hadn’t lost a friend but a baby brother. A loss whose ache you knew far too well. Taking this into account, you didn’t want to ask him if he was okay nor if he wanted to talk because you knew that no he wasn’t and no he didn’t want to.

“Yeah.” Arthur drank the second glass of whiskey and put it on the furniture a bit bluntly, his reflexes numbed by alcohol, “Yeah…” He sniffed, tears flooding his vision for the umpteenth time today – he had lost count. He didn’t think he had some left but here he was, crying again, unlike Tommy who could hold it well. “Heaven…” He moaned in pain, his suffering coming from the deepest part of his soul. You opened your lips to reassure him but you stopped: there was something unusual in his voice, “I need ye to save me …” He begged, turning around to face you even if his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

“I’m here.” One of your hands reached his waist with an indescribable tenderness, “Look at me Arthur.” The other slipped under his chin and gently forced him to look at you — which he ultimately did. Yet, the moment your eyes dived into his iris your heart stopped beating for a micro-while. His pupils were so dilated that the blue of his eyes was barely visible, reduced to small rings around two soul-sucking black holes. From then, you were quick to react: you slipped your hand in the pocket of his trouser and, when you did, your fingertips were met with the cold surface of a little vial. “No…” You whispered, pulling the object from his pocket and observing it with genuine disgust and disappointment. In truth, you could recognize it from miles away for those blue and small vials usually contained cocaine, “What the fuck, Arthur!” you exclaimed, stepping back from him and showing him the small bottle you were holding between your index finger and your thumb.

“What?” He straight off hissed, eyes half closed and his body slightly reeling left to right due to his state of inebriation.

“Did you take it?!” The answer was obvious, but you still wanted to hear it from him. You wanted him to admit it and assume the consequences of his relapse.

“Yes I did eh!” He finally exclaimed after one long second of staring at your eyes, searching for any kind of excuses he could find. But the disappointment in your frozen iris kept him from lying – He definitely could not do this to you, even drunk and high. You closed your eyelids a brief moment, for his words felt like a stab in the chest despite you already knew the undeniable truth.

“No Arthur that’s not going to be possible. You made a promise,” You tried to remain calm but red wine, your fight with Tommy, and the mess in your emotions had destroyed your diplomacy, “You’ve promised me! That’s… Thats not going to help you cope with John’s death!” One of your bare feet was nervously tapping the wooden floor.

“AND HOW AM I GOING TO COPE WITH IT EH? FOOKIN’ HOW?” He burst in anger, your words fueling the raging fire that was burning inside of him. Carried away by his emotional turmoil and the drug, Arthur swept the furniture with one violent movement of his arms, knocking the bottle and the glass over. The cacophony of broken glass made you jump a little as they crashed on the floor, exploding in dozens of shards.

You looked at him, shocked to the core, for he had never really yelled at you before. Each time his voice would rise in your presence it was always because of external factors, never because of you. In truth, Arthur had never got mad at you. The more he could do in your presence was being grumpy. However, tonight you were the source of his sudden anger, and such a revelation hurt like hell. For a fraction of a second, your angry expression flickered into an aching one. Still, you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat and answered him with a cool, almost placid tone.

“Don’t yell at me. Understand?” You warned him, jaw clenched and every muscle of your tiny body tense,  “I don’t want you to take drug except on very, very rare occasions and I must be here– It was part of the deal.” You punctuated you sentence by throwing the vial into the fire, which burnt brighter for a short while. Arthur scoffed, his lips stretching in a sarcastic and irked grin.

“Isn’t it a fookin’ rare occasion? My brother’s dead. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime event that needs to be celebrated properly eh.” His bitter smirk disappeared as he winced with pain, bringing his trembling hands in his hair to pull it. “I need to numb the pain. To numb everything. Oh God, John is dead. Dead. He’s fookin’ dead!”  Each time he repeated the last word, Arthur hit his head with his fists. The dancing flames reflected in his teary eyes, and lit his face with an orange hue. It was getting hard to tell if such an effect came from the fire in the hearth, or if he was burning from inside.

“Stop it Arthur!” You grabbed his wrists with your little hands, trying your best to keep him from hurting himself, “I know alright? I know you’re suffering and I’m deeply sorry for it. I swear I’d love to take your pain away, but I can’t. I can’t,” You forced him to look at you by squeezing his wrists, “Thing is, I don’t want to watch you destroying yourself with cocaine or God knows what other kind of drugs! That’s out of fucking question!” Despite your attempt to remain calm, your emotions got the best of you. The betrayal of him breaking his promise was more painful than a bullet shot through your chest. Maybe more painful than losing John itself. Tears began to stream down your face as you let go of Arthur and observed his enraged and dilated pupils.

“What the hell do ye know, eh.” Arthur stumbled, closing the distance between you a second time and leaning over until his face and yours were only a few inches away. His whiskey breath fanned over your skin. “What the hell do ye knew about pain, little angel? You have no idea what I’m going through. If ye did you’d be the first to snort snow ey.”  

“Listen,” You sniffed, swallowing back a sob. Okay, maybe yelling at him wasn’t the best way to react so, in a desperate attempt of not aggravating the situation, you forced yourself to regain your calm  “I’ve lost my family, I know what it—”

“IT’S NOT ABOUT YOUR FAMILY!” He cut you, yelling so loud your ears buzzed, “THEY’VE BEEN SIX FEET UNDER FOR A FOOKIN’ WHILE! WE’RE TALKING ABOUT JOHN! MY LITTLE BROTHER!” Arthur’s eyes darkened and then, he bared his teeth like a wounded wolf trying his best to scare someone away, “They’ve riddled him with bullets, those mops. Those bastards! We’re in a fookin’ war and here you are scolding me like a kid because I took drugs! That’s fookin’ ridicu—”

The sound of flesh snapping echoed in the living room when your hand slapped him, followed by a heavy silence only the fire’s cracks broke. Arthur backed up at the blow, eyes wide open. Slowly, his shaking fingers brushed his reddened cheek, right where his skin was tingling. At this well-deserved reality check, the tall gangster blinked several times and finally noticed the heart-wrenching pain in your glistening eyes. You, who had tried to hold back your tears and be strong for Arthur, could not keep your sadness for yourself anymore. They flowed from your holy eyes, salty waterfall of sorrows. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Not a single sound. It was not really the fact you had hit him that petrified his whole soul, but rather the realization that he had hurt you, his beloved angel. The woman of his life.

Your face contorted with a caustic combination of pain, sorrow and anger. In truth, you didn’t want to hit him. You really didn’t. But he had been barking at you like a rabid dog, almost spitting at your face as he screamed. And then, he had the stupid idea of talking about your family while knowing what had happened to them. All brutally murdered in a matter of hours. Guided with rage, your blood had boiled, and your hand slapped him even before you truly realized it. “Don’t talk about my family like this anymore.” You hissed through gritted teeth, your cold voice seeping through him and turning his blood into liquid nitrogen.

“Heaven…” Arthur said, feeling himself breaking down at your hateful gaze. He quickly moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, thinking carefully about the next words that were about to come from his mouth but you didn’t let him the time to speak. You had heard enough.

“Shut up. Seriously Arthur, just… Shut up.” Your eyes, who always looked at him with indescribable love and tenderness, were now filled with Hell’s fury and it tore his soul. All of sudden, he felt very small despite towering you with his height.

“You think I’m not suffering from John’s death? You have no idea how much he meant to me. Of course, he wasn’t my brother! Of course, his blood doesn’t run through my veins. But still, he mattered like no one else did, except you.” Each sentence had a bitter taste. Then, you turned away from him and walked to the smashed bottle to take one huge shard between your fragile fingers, “You wanna know how it makes me feel when you’re high? We’ll that’s easy.” Now you were determined to make him understand, no matter what it took. First thing, you showed him the pale flesh of your forearm, “I’m not Linda, right? I didn’t put a leash around your neck because I trusted you. Now, I want you to look at me carefully. When you take drug, it’s as if I was doing this to myself.” Turning your words into deeds, you suddenly slashed your skin with the glass fragment in one quick motion. The sharp surface cut your skin just like butter, and crimson blood quickly filled the gash, overflowing from it and dripping down your arm to your elbow under Arthur’s astounded eyes.

“No, angel!” Suddenly sobering up at the sight of blood on your porcelain skin, he almost pounced on you and took the shard from your hand to threw it away, “The fook ye did eh?! Bloody hell…” Arthur tried to take your arm to examine the depth of your wound but you pushed him away with a stern “Don’t touch me”.

Don’t touch me. Surely, you didn’t mean it right?

You didn’t – Arthur’s heart ached.

“Now just imagine that all you can do is watch me cutting myself until, one day, I bleed to death. How fucking bad it would make you feel? How powerless?!”

“Gosh Heaven, you’re hurt. Oh God!” Arthur started to panic, tears filling his eyes and shoulder jolting with dawning sobs. His whole being ached at the sight of you wounded. It was stronger than him: he couldn’t bear the idea of your being hurt, even less when it was because of him — whether he was the direct cause or not. “I’m sorry love. Fuck, I’m so sorry…” He begged, trying to approach you again but each step he made caused you to step back. Arthur’s hand slowly squeezed his own arm, for he could almost feel the pain of your cut on his own unwounded flesh. Everything began to spin around him as he realized how stupid he had been, “Please, love…”

“Keep your apologies for yourself, Arthur. Let’s make things clear:  I’d rather burn at the stake than watch you slowly killing yourself with this shit.” You retorted, turning your heels and heading to the door not minding the fact you were not wearing shoes and that your arm was abundantly bleeding. It didn’t matter, you needed so fresh air and, more than anything, you needed to be away from Arthur for a little while. Meeting his eyes had become far too painful for you to bear anymore. You had almost reached the door when the gangster’s long and calloused fingers grabbed your hands to hold you back.

“No! Don’t leave me! Please, please I fookin’ beg ye but don’t… Just don’t leave me, Heaven.” He kept repeating over and over again, the gravel in his voice rising from one octave under the weight of despair and utter fear. The way his menacing traits had turned into the facial expression of a panicking child was truly heart wrenching – Arthur could not live without you, and it wasn’t a euphemism. Yet, you snatched your hand from his and, as you did, his very soul crumbled. As painful as it was to see him like this, you just couldn’t let this pass – he had to understand how serious you were about the whole drug issue, and how deep he had maimed your heart. You took one last look at him, shaking your head in disapproval, and stormed out of the house, letting the darkness of Watery Lane swallowing you whole.

At first, he had wanted to pin you against the wall and force you to stay. His desperate mind, seeking for any way to keep you by his side, had even thought about threatening to kill himself with his gun right in front of you if you left, but he had been frozen by the disappointed look on your face. Petrified by your gaze, as a poor unfortunate traveler meeting Medusa’s deadly eyes. Following your departure, Arthur had screamed until his throat hurt and his voice broke. The drowning misery he was experiencing, far worst than suffocating in French tunnels, had led him to destroy everything he could in the living room. Maddened by the thought of losing you, the flip in his brain switched and nothing made sense anymore. You had left him alone here, and he felt his mental health getting worse and worse as minutes passed, until he was completely out of his mind. He had done all he could to alleviate his guilt and sadness: from throwing in the fire all the cocaine he kept to hiting a furniture until his knuckles’ skin cracked open. God, he even threw his lanky frame at the wall several times in a frenzied attempt to knock himself up and get a break from the pain of your absence, but nothing worked. He was now sitting on the rug, rocking himself back and forth in front of the dying fire. If you didn’t want him anymore, all was left for him was to blow his damn brains out with his gun for if you’d rather burn than witness his fall, he'd rather die than existing one sole second without your heavenly presence by his side. He could afford to lose Linda, John, hell even Tommy, but he couldn’t do it without you.

Arthur looked at his wedding ring, jaw clenched and heart in bits.

He had fucked up. And he had fucked up really bad.

As he always did.

✞ Readers are left to interpret/choose what the characters feel for the reader. By no means it wants to make Reader/Heaven a Mary Sue everyone loves. Nevertheless, fanfiction should remain fun for readers so that's why I leave most of the things open to interpretation.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Tag list: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @brummiereader @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @shelbydelrey @peakyswritings @helen06dreamer

[bistaxx]

Anyway, Jinx random wartime q!hgduo spitball ramblings/ headcanons/ off-the-cuff analysis ig cuz I like thinking about them ^_^

I think they didn't meet at the start of the games but maybe a few months to a year or two in- I'd say either when Cellbit is about 15 or close to being 15.

By that time both Bad and the currently nameless teenager both had some sort of reputation as dangerous, ruthless, and maybe even downright cruel killers on the battlefield. One way or another they ended up becoming partners much to the horror of everyone else.

For Cellbit he'd recognize that sticking by Bad increased his chances of survival by a LOT and this dude doesn't even get mad when he takes bites out of him which is great.

For Bad I feel like he could've gone through the games alone with not much trouble but staying solo gets stale and lonely after while- he'd have teamed up with other players in the past but they all either died or left him eventually- he thinks it's gonna be no different with Cellbit but is pleasantly surprised when he's proven wrong.

And boy was that a good thing, because Bad has a bad habit of getting attached! He fed this stray cat a few times and now it's following after him and Bad doesn't have the heart to shoo the poor beast away!

Although Bad has much more experience and is vastly older he respects how much fighting skill his teenage partner has- he can hold his own on the battlefield- which is why he doesn't view him as his 'child' or a dependent but somewhere in-between an equal and a protege. Cellbit deferred to his leadership during fights, but theirs still a mutual respect between them.

Later on their bond would end up in a sort of vague area in the middle of a triangle between mentor & protege, equals, and something dangerously close to familial.

I find it hard to doubt that there were times when Bad would be shockingly reminded that his partner is in fact still a child... and perhaps times where Cellbit would find himself relying on Bad the ways a child would their parent or older sibling... Maybe at some point letting his funny little friend eat his flesh or spending resources healing him became less about keeping him healthy for the next battle and more about keeping him alive just a little bit longer- Maybe sticking by this powerful ally became less about pragmatism and more about companionship.

That said, as far as Cellbit's concerned he never had a family, as far as Bad's concerned his children are Dapper and Pomme... Cellbit's all grown-up now and so much time has passed that they see one another as something more akin to just 'old friends' who know what the other is capable of and thus know better then to underestimate each other... but I feel as they spend more time with each other again the echoes of the dynamic they once had become more tangible- especially given the major toll of the eggs being missing. Cellbit knows he can turn to Bad if he needs him and Bad will look out for Cellbit when he can even as he is (quite ltierally) falling apart.

Maybe sometimes even now he still can't help but see that nameless kid when he looks at Cellbit.

I honestly don't think Bad regrets the way he guided Cellbit during the war- nor do I believe that Cellbit harbors any resentment over Bad's influence in his life- even if it's left him with the same sort of fucked morals his former guardian has, his terrible self-sacrificial tendencies, and who knows what else. The reality of their situation during the games could never allow for softer forms of kindness- there was no time for them to be a 'family' and no time to think about what happens 'next' after this is all over. Bad couldn't teach Cellbit how to live, but he could teach him how to survive.

I haven't really settled on what I think happened at the end of the 'war' when they part ways... but sometimes I do think about how in the actual video Cellbit dies at the very end and man that can be interpreted in a lot of interesting ways- like obviously in qsmp canon Cellbit survives the war but it's still fun to take that into consideration!

Anyway, you know those images of predator animals with blood covered on their faces after eating a tasty meal- yeah that's them during the hunger games to me LOL

... Also does anyone else find it really funny that Foolish's adopted son and Badboyhalo's protege ended up getting married like- something about that is just really funny to me... Also I'm surprised no one has done anything about how the dude taken in by a totem of undying found love with the guy who was guided by a grim reaper like- I feel like there's some cool potential there!

Ty for reading all of that- or skimming it that's cool too! I just wanna say despite liking q!Bad and q!Cellbit a lot I do NOT consider myself to be super knowledgeable about them as characters, I just have a major soft spot for dynamics like theirs and wanted to ramble LOL so um yeah:

[forsaking-serenity]

Get to know your mutuals!!

all the love and care to indi, my beloved munchkin @aixabi, for tagging me <333

What's the origin of your blog title? it’s a lyric from my all time favourite song “again&again” by against the current (im wearing their hoodie rn actually lmao)

OTP(s) + Shipname: uhhm idk my dudes parksborn and gwenmj will always have a soft spot in my heart and probably musa/layla from winx too

Favourite colour: blueeee :) any and all shades, my second favourite is red and colour combinations (do not separate, im attached) are pink & blue, red & black, purple & yellow

Favourite animal: (red) pandas, otters, manta rays and cats :) (also the peacock mantis shrimp)

Favourite movie/show: depends on the category, animation, live action, anime, genre, mood im in and whatnot, but mostly in that order. movie: treasure planet (2002) shows: the owl house (2020-2023), bones (2005-2017), the apothecary diaries (2023-present)

Favourite food: uhhh i love anything pasta/noodles, thai is probably my favourite cuisine rn, i also really enjoy korean, indian, japanese and italian (im not counting surinaams bc thats my own culture and ill always be biased lmao)

Favourite game: uhm idk i like card games and some board games, do puzzles (from sudokus to jigsaw and the human mind, i enjoy picking them apart) count?

Song stuck in your head: uhh probably k.o. by haiden henderson (its the first song i thought of lmao vv catchy)

Hobbies: photography, reading, writing, listening to music/going to concerts, puzzles and uhm bouldering? maybe? ive only gone once but i wanna start going once a week

If you work, what's your profession? currently, im a piercing apprentice, id like to find actual work in that area tho

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? marine biologist, absolutely obsessed with marine life as a kid and i still think its fascinating

Something you're good at: my friends have told me im a good photographer and ive also been told im good with words, be it giving compliments or writing poems or fics

Something you're bad at: trying new things, new things are terrifying

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: how winx club fumbled and lost its cuntyness (i have a miro board, pp slideshow and word doc abt it)

Something you love: lots of things truly, flowers, nature, wildlife, photography, music, writing, reading, my found family, puzzles (see the other question)

Something you hate: hypocrites and entitlement idk i don't really hate all that much

Something you collect: seventeen albums, plushies, tote bags and pins

Something you forget: to be kind to myself i suppose, tho i am working on that

What were you like as a child? lonely, quiet and tired lmao

Favourite subject at school? biology and chemistry

Least favourite subject: math and physics (i had really bad teachers, i didn't understand anything when they tried explaining stuff)

What's your love language? words of affirmation and acts of service are the "traditional" ones ig but idk im not that big on love languages, i kinda just see it as showing ppl i love that i love and care for them in any way i can that they are comfortable with. like if my friend isnt comfy with physical touch then ill focus on other things yk

What's your best character trait? hopefully my kindness and compassion, that's what id like it to be. can't really say if it is tho

What's your worst character trait? saying "im fine" when im clearly not lmao, and also i tend to undersell myself/talk myself down bc i don't feel like im good enough

Weirdest habit/trait? pickle pits? pit pickles? ticklessssss (this has context btw but i dont feel like typing it all out, also i asked my bf and this is what he said so blame him for the confusion)

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? idk my dude nothing in particular, other than maybe the abysmal weather in amsterdam rn

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? my maternal great grandmother, she died when i was two years old, but i have so many things i wanna ask her. she literally took secrets to her grave and now im left curious

as for who im tagging @tmarauder101 @outofmyhead-justlikeyou @sarah-sandwich @shipskicksandgiggles @ordinaryhorror @toa-greatmind-nothingislittle @calliiopes and anyone else who wants to, ok byeeeeeeeee <3

[fandom-monium]

Sweet Poison - Part 4

Summary: In which you realize some things about your friend, Zagreus. “Death may be normal here, but the pain…”

WC: 1.5k

TW: Zagreus (Hades Video game) x Succubus!Reader, GN!Reader, a succubus AND an artist bc sex is just work and food, au where in game Zag commissions the paintings using gems, what if boons actually affected Zagreus, slow build, strangers to friends to lovers trope, sex work, fluff, fluff and humor, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild angst, pheromones (technically it’s succubi magic aura), Zagreus is at least 6 ft convince me otherwise, eventual smut

AN: What is a slow burn without the angst??

“Why go through all that effort? Surely you understand how dangerous it is,” You say, referring to his runs through the Underworld. As far as you know, there’s been several. Buried in the covers with a good book, you lay on your side and flip to the next page, though it's lost your attention since Zagreus arrived. “Death may be normal here, but the pain…”

At your lounge chair, Zagreus waves you off, eyes flicking from your figure to your sketchbook in his lap between exaggerated strokes, obnoxiously scritching the parchment. You roll your eyes. “I’m more than familiar with pain. As for why…”

Hearing the somber shift in his tone, you look up, willing him to meet your gaze. “Please don’t feel obligated to answer if it’s too personal.”

“No I… I trust you,” For a moment, Zagreus expression softens, like he can’t believe he’d befriend a demon to this point. You know you can’t, but you also know you could tell him anything and he’d listen.

Almost anything, that is.

The sketchbook shuts with a soft thud. Zagreus crosses the short distance to sit at the foot of your bed, by the curve of your hips. The bed dips under his weight before he takes a deep breath. “Long story short, I found out the mother that raised me isn’t my biological mother, and eventually I learned my biological mother escaped the Underworld and is somewhere on the surface.”

“So once you get to the surface, you intend to find her?”

“Exactly.”

“And what then?”

“Get answers,” He simply answers. Though his eyes steel with conviction, he slumps forward, resting his elbows on toned thighs.

Heat rises to your face, and you turn back to your book.

“You must think I’m a fool.”

“No.” Zagreus shoots you a flat look over his shoulder like he doesn't believe you, so you fully turn your attention to him. “Really! I don’t. I mean, shades aren’t allowed to leave the Underworld, natural order and all that.”

“…Shades. Right,” He says slowly, breaking eye contact for a split second.

“But I understand why you’d want to try. I just wish I could help you in some way, maybe smuggle you out on my next job.”

He perks up, gazing at you curiously, “You’ve been to the surface?”

“A few times for work. Though it has been a while since my last assignment…”

“What’d you have to do?”

Oh, you know: make contracts with humans and feed off them until they’re a husk of their former selves. You know, as succubus do. You settle on, “Demon things. You wouldn’t get it.”

Zagreus shrugs, unable to argue with that.

“… Suppose you do find your mother and get your answers,” You start, tone low and nervous. You swallow, trying to keep your nerves from wracking your vocal cords, keeping the tremble out of your voice. “What-what do you plan to do after?”

“That depends,” Wild, black hair falls over his eyes as his gaze drops to the floor. “If she hates me or not.”

You cock your head. Was that fear in his tone? For a moment, you allow yourself to study his broad back, scolding yourself when you admire the exposed ridges of muscle. Harsh, green light frames his profile, turning him into a slim silhouette among the soft shadows of your chamber. But now, as he sits at the edge of your bed, no longer he looks poised and regal as he usually does. No boons livening the air around him, no charming grin or cocky smirk. Posture be damned, he slouches, beautiful lips pressed thin, and he looks defeated—no, he looks…

Tired.

It never occurred to you how miserable your friend is here in the Underworld. He always seemed so lively by the time he reached your chamber, even when he’s scuffed and bloodied, like the heat of battle cheers him up. And yes, it’s Tartarus; souls are supposed to be despaired, miserable, tortured—for gods’ sake, it’s your jobs—but looking at Zagreus, exhausted yet still handsome as ever in his flaming laurels and refined chiton, feet seering footprints into your floor, he looks out of place in your humble abode.

Your heart clenches, suddenly self aware. Self conscious. Differences that hardly mattered before now at the forefront of your thoughts.

“I’m not finished, by the way.”

You meet his gaze, visibly perplexed though it’s painful. His heterochromia, the contrast of the blood red and forest green, is needlessly beautiful, as if the man isn’t magnificent enough already. Curse his family for whatever genes they poured into him.

The bed rises once more and as Zagreus leaves for the balcony, the gap between you—once miniscule and quickly closing—begins turning into a chasm.

“My drawing. It’s nowhere done.” Stopping before the balcony’s threshold, Zagreus gestures to the sketchbook. You sit up, blankets and furs pooling into your lap as you take it into your hands.

You, or a semblance of yourself at least, stares back. The strokes are short, thick, lines of charcoal jagged and uneven, though that’s to be expected. Zagreus snorted at you he buys art not create it, but that did nothing to deter him from trying. You lent him your sketchbook and pencils anyway, the thought of sharing your hobby with him filling you with giddiness you haven’t experienced in gods’ know how long.

As you study the amateur sketch of yourself, your heart swells so big, it terrifies you. There’s scuffed edges where the side of his palm pressed into the strokes, leaving partial prints. The proportions are atrocious, and if he’d been anyone else you’d tear into him. Yet, far from accurate as it may be, he manages to highlight your most discernible features. Just not the ones you expect. It’s not your chest or your hips or waist or even your legs, no.

It’s the fluid lash of your tail as you lay on your stomach, as if he tried to capture the cat-like movements on paper; the draping of your wings and the way you relax them against your back like a blanket; the graceful curve of your horns, the ends pointed not in a threat but a promise. And your face—

Smudges blot all over the background of your figure but most of all where your face is, the paper slightly damaged as if he erased one too many times trying to capture your visage.

Your heart skips. Blood and darkness.

As Zagreus’s back disappears behind the rumbling door to the next chamber, it’s for the best, you think, left to the familiarity of your quiet chamber. Your heart thunders in your ears.

Zagreus and you, a demon—a succubus? You’d never last.

As friends. As friends, of course.

This is for the best. 

It’s for the best.

…Is it possible to feel loss when there is nothing to begin with?

Eyes misting over, you snatch up your sketchbook and pencils, letting your tears stain the page with Zagreus’s eyes still fresh in your mind.

It’s for the best.

[swifty-fox]

talk to you about the outlaw au, you say? alright! what's bucky's relationship with his siblings like? how often does he go home? does his mother know what he's up to? do you think bucky would ever want to find a forever home with buck somewhere? who initiated their physical relationship? what was their first kiss like? any plans for other works in the same verse?

KISSES U MWAH

what's bucky's relationship with his siblings like

Bucky is very close with his siblings! Or as close as he can be. He left home when he was about fifteen/sixteen (slightly retconning when his dad dies from like 10 to when he was 14) For a while he stuck around Manitowoc but eventually ended up on the road when things got a little too hot. I'm not sure of the ages or much about them (mostly cause Buck doesn't meet them so didn't think about it lol) but he talks to them on the phone and brings them presents when he can.

how often does he go home

It can vary. Sometimes it's a couple times a year sometimes it's once a year, sometimes its none. It depends where he's ended up (especially in the winter months) and what odd jobs he's working on top of his more illegal stuff. He really tries to get home for his Ma's birthday, he really, really tries to call on the anniversary of his dad's death.

does his mother know what he's up to

As he said, after his father passed his mom really struggled with supporting five children, especially one as a handful as John Egan dealing with the trauma and grief of finding his father dead. She tried her best and she never made him feel unwanted but he could see her struggle. He started out stealing for her and that escalated to things like armed robbery. Is she aware of what he's doing? In a vague sense. She knows he's not exactly coming by the money through honest means but she doesn't know that he's got a gun and is actively robbing people for it (even if he's doing with with his own questionable rules of morality) She knows the less she knows the better for all of them. If something (when) ever happens she can honestly testify that no, she has no idea where the money came from.

do you think bucky would ever want to find a forever home with buck somewhere

they often spend winters in one spot, working odd jobs and renting crappy apartments to get out of the cold. Even in places like New Mexico and Texas can get chilly in the winter at night! So they do put roots down for 4-6 months at a time out of the year. I think eventually they may set up a home base, someplace they return to year after year to spend winters. But they're always going to have the itch so I think they still will spend a lot of the summer months traveling the country. maybe with less illegal stuff happening though. Neither of them are interested in a life sentence

who initiated their physical relationship? what was their first kiss like

I think it was pretty mutual. They're attracted to each other off the bat, really and it doesn't take long for them to act on it. I think one night they're eating dinner posted up in the Corolla outside some diner. And John's got salt on his lips and chin from fries and Gale's looking at it and then Gale's looking at his lip and then John's looking at him looking at his lips.

He reaches brushes the crumbs off his pants, gives one ample thigh a little pat, "Come here."

And Gale slides over the center console and settles in his lap, brushes the salt off his bottom lip and John reaches up to slip Gale's braid through his hand. Has played with it and tugged on it playfully before but never just played with it like this. And then Gale bends down to kiss him soft and slow and sweet.

I don't think they have sex that first time, just make out until they get too tired to go on. And then Bucky gives Gale a handjob the next morning while driving

any plans for other works in the same verse?

Yes!!! I've got one more prompt oneshot to write which I will be posting all three as Interludes on ao3 and then I have plans to write the next two years of their life!

[godofdystopia]

Durgeheart Week 2025: A Shipweek by Dystopian God

The interest is there, by me at least, so I pounced early and made this because the idea's keep flowing and I want to share it with all that I can.

I've contributed to ship weeks before... well, A ship week. In anycase I would like to believe I am obsessed enough with these two amnesiac idiots that I can host a proper ship week in four months. God, plese let this all work out...

June 2025, June 8-14, Sunday to Saturday, be there or be square. Please give interest and tell me so I can properly credit your work however I can when you present your entries. That being said, what is the work? well, first off we have-

SUNDAY, JUNE 8TH: STARES OF LONGING (Mutual Pining. Glances and blushes stolen when they can, Shadowheart and Durge are down bad apocalyptically for each other and literally everyone can tell... but can our two amnesiacs?)

MONDAY, JUNE 9TH: TENDER LOVING CARE (Afterbattle care is important when trying to save the world, especially when Durgeheart are involved. How does Shadowheart care for Durge? How does Durge tend to Shadowheart? Are they angry at the wounded party? Worried? Relieved they're alive?)

TUESDAY, JUNE 10TH: IN ANOTHER LIFE (Every flavor of AU but Canon: Durgeheart in college, Mass Effect, Thedas, a Zombie Apocalypse, the American Wild West... whatever AU that doesn't take place on the Sword Coast is up to you, because maybe they find themselves in every universe)

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 11TH: OUR CHILDHOOD INNOCENCE (Before they were Shar's Justiciar and Bhaals Chosen, they were two kids in Baldur's Gate. Perhaps they were friends, perhaps they were a single meeting, or perhaps they were a first crush... all before the gods intervened and ruined it all. But as Durge asks: were they sweet once?)

THURSDAY, JUNE 12TH: MEET THE PARENTS (The Hallowleafs want to meet the person who has so ensnared Shadowheart... or perhaps Durge wants to take Shadowheart to a forgotten grave from their first and most agonizing kill. Will it be a comedy of errors or a quiet moment of grieving what could have been?)

FRIDAY, JUNE 13TH: GREEN EYED MONSTER (Jealousy is a green eyed monster, and Durgeheart are no exception. Perhaps Shadowheart really does not like how Gortash looks at Durge, or Durge hates how a Sharran talks to Shads... jealousy is the name of the game here)

SATURDAY, JUNE 14TH: AFTER THE END (Baldur's gate is saved, the Netherbrain is dead, and the Absolute Plot is ended... so while the dust settles, how do Durgeheart react: Do they ride out into the sunset? Kiss like their lives depend on it? Talk about the future?)

That is it: seven days of Durgeheart all ready and waiting for people to engage with... so hopefully there comes a fine crop of Shads and Durge. There is a bonus round, for those who want something a bit (read: a lot) more angsty than the seven entries above but I'd rather reveal that to anyone who asks specifically than just drop it here.

In anycase, this will be a big thing for me and I hope that at least a few people will be willing to participate in it because, well, it'll be kind of sad if it's just me.

[yandere-sins]

Can I ask for your take/opinion on a yandere idea? This was a passing thought, so forgive me if I don't explain it well.

But what about a yandere who enjoys the chase more than the catch? Like, they go all out getting their Darling and making sure they are Darling's one and only, but they start to get bored after a while of Darling finally being theirs so they move on. And what if Darling had snapped at some point because of the Yandere's constant mind games and was now convinced the two of them were meant to be so they sort of... switch positions. Now Darling is the predator and Yandere is the prey. The feelings are never really mutual (except for that short overlap in the middle). I think the idea is fun to consider, especially if you want to see how crazy handles crazy.

Honestly, I'm not proud of it, but I have totally chased someone and dumped their ass once I had them before lol. 16-year-old me was fucking ruthless I tell ya. Regardless, I, personally, don't think it's a very good trope for yandere, so it's not my favorite. Sorry to not have a better view on it ):

I believe there is something about the darling that draws the yandere in, but instead of being able to be normal about shared interests or kindness you showed them—or anything you can think about really—they just fall into this huge hole of obsession that they can't get out. Although this is also possible by e.g. torture and breaking of the mind, as with the darling here, somehow regretting the catch feels almost like the yandere... never was a yandere. Because it's the end goal to have a loving darling and live the 'normal' life with them for the yandere, their obsession never stops. At least to me, I know it's farfetched.

The "darling going yandere for their yandere" is just not my favorite thing because it honestly equals the ending of a compliant darling which is just a fucked up couple if they do end up together consensually. And if we take away that the captor is a yandere originally, then wouldn't the captive breaking not result in a more catatonic darling, rather than a darling that wants the love of the captor? You see, of course this is all nitpicking because I really can't make sense of it otherwise while still staying in the trope.

I will, however, give you an alternative if you look for the crazy meets crazy. How about two polar opposites that hate each other? Serial killer and detective, hero and villain, two office workers absolutely unable to stand one another but forced to work together. The good ol' enemies to (unwilling) lovers, where one of them finally goes yandere because they can't imagine their life without the other. Because they realize they are nothing without their darling, their whole existence relies on them. Darling is the only thing on their mind ever, and they can't control the many, untameable emotions they feel for the darling. Sure, they hate each other, but the yandere loves being hated by their darling and loves putting them in their place just as much. If they could have their way with their darling they'd absolutely have them exactly how they want them.

However, darling too, is struggling without them. Maybe going through existencial crisis without their mad counterpart or they realize they can't live up to the expectations once they bested the yandere (yan let them win obv.). Maybe the yandere is putting stones in their way, and forcing the darling to rely on them if they want to progress in their doings. Maybe darling gets gaslit and their self-confidence destroyed. The tension is exquisite as they realize they hate the yandere more than anyone in this world, but the yan might be the only one who gets them and keeps them motivated to improve themselves. It creates the dependency I talk about a lot, and it can go so far as to make the darling desperate, crushing them until they realize they can't get out of the mess they created. They can't give in to the yandere, but also can't do anything to stop them. They need to work with the yandere somehow, but everything about them repulses the darling.

People can't help but think the darling has gone mad as well. They are right. The darling broke a long time ago, but so did the yandere. No one will ever be able to understand these two psychos as they fight each other, so fixated on the other that they don't even realize the things going on outside of their feud. Or how people secretly ship them. Or that they need to finish their fucking around, but even if they leave their jobs/doings/etc. behind they'll never be able to get rid of each other, already too lost in the mad love and mad dependency.

Hope you might like this idea, and thank you for sharing yours! I am just very particular about figuring out how to make yandere work realistically and in-depth. And I totally don't mean in any way or form that you can't enjoy it, it's just my opinion ^^

[cornus27florida]

Frederick Appreciation Post!

Sorry in the mess kinda style and born from various emotions tbh - the goal is to feel better towards thinking him as the best boi tbh ^^

As in, thinking more about him - Frederick! ~

Him being the Green Plaid Prince ultimately makes him the green flag too - there's so many examples but only in Gwen's dinner arc alone he keeps helping people that he knows care about him and being very supportive to Gwen <3

His character is so complex, the pioneer of the redemption trio - as he indeed make mistake that basically the trigger of the story unfold with unintentionally making Gwen hurts and then she meets the CPC. But it's not coincidence, as giving ultimate breaker for his father's evil plan. He indeed jerk and sassy and judgemental on early appearance but I know LambCat has stuff in store to gives layers for him and that's turn out right! Dark troubled past that's relatable but very capable of goodness - he just need an angel of the fortune (Gwen) to guides him to the light path and have mutual "special" relationship in form of respect and cares to each other = relationship goal, totally! This what healthy (love) should be! And he totally capable of goodness like what his sudden surprise! mentor at the street when wants to meet Gwen, Whitney, that later on becomes part of the CPC says - his pain although "subtle" is valid so he shouldn't belittle his own as 'insignificant' but he didn't need to wallow too long as once he feels ready - He could change his story, ultimately changes story roles. First part he painted as unaware villain, then later we learn how he could be a very nice supporter as simple a friend to Gwen. He's judgemental but that's his defense mechanism, and yet at the same time he isn't afraid to admit his mistaken opinion-ask forgiveness-and totally making amends out of it.. He just need to be pointed out gently about where his mistake!

Serious "Dark Comedy" 'Fun' corner

This give ultimate debate regarding topic about gaslighting, too eager 'To die' or passive suicidal ideation - one thing that I could say: mental disaster blonde, someone (or multiple) people please save him! This clear sign of "self-harm"

Frederick, and the cliffs - symbol of "death"

Sorry for ping there @randomgentlefolk but I remember your talk at episode 158 about Frederick and the cliffs at the Pastel Kingdoms

He never actively jumping to the cliff but somehow falling a lot too - and in the real world rational thinking...The height of the cliff are all abnormal (one of funny yet also concerning is when he accidentally fell down to the CPC as isn't like several meters? People could fall to death depending on many factors, but I feel if ordinary people (unlike him who has ridiculous Plaid genetics that makes him physically strong deep down) fall from the cliff like him-they die

And when i am rereading balcony serenade arc

The first event as the catalyst that make sure for Frederick that at least Gwen as his fiancee care-

^ the comment section pointing out: if Gwen let go, what happened to you?! You just fall from the cliff then? Maybe in the CPC for Frederick's case he somehow 'magically' surviving all the falling from cliff incidents but Frederick himself knows that "pushing someone from the cliff"=murder

That's the whole reason why he mistaken Gwen with Monika thus thinking Gwen as immortal witch after all - he so scared 'kills' Gwen

But why he feels totally OK if himself the one that falling? The nonchalant exclaim "I fall a lot" seems not bodes with me - if not adding the unwritten fact that if Pastel siblings are like fairy tale with superpower abilities each.. Then Plaids has fairytale resiliency and ridiculous power. Leland could rip a coffee mug in half. Make dull knife a lethal weapon. Frederick that supposed to be "the weakest" could carry 200 kilograms llama, and his resilience over falling from the cliff seems the nods for that. Blaine in physical power not clear but in swordsmanship skill he so excel. Now only need to see Lance that dubbed as the strongest plaid prince can do! It's established as he can make someone flying with a slap