#probably through no fault of their own i’m sure the cw didn’t give them the budget for a perfectly bespoke suit or whatever

[au-where-spn-is-good]

my hottest take as a sam lover is that i didn’t rly like the show’s portrayal of samifer (as in sam possessed by lucifer not as in the ship) very much. and i do think a not insignificant portion of that is how fucking ugly that suit was it did not fit him right and the shirt wasn’t the same white as the suit in a weird way and why didn’t they give him a TIE i just think an all white suit is such a difficult thing to pull off if ur not doing it right and the costume department was Not Doing It Right That Day

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

City Slicker (m, allergies)

I present to you all: p0rn lmao. This is my first allergy fic in YEARS and it is literally just 2k of Elijah sneezing himself silly. It's a little messy, just fair warning. Hope you all (especially my allergy-hungry friends in my ask box) enjoy this - I certainly enjoyed writing it lmao.

cw: male snz, MESS

City Slicker

“What’s your favorite animal?”

“Greyson. I really am not in the mood to play twenty questions right now.”

“But I’m bored.”

Elijah sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other held firmly on the steering wheel of the van. “What are you, a toddler?” he asked, replacing his hand so both were white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Play on your phone or something.”

“I’ve reached the end of the internet. Can we stop and get Starbucks?”

“Greyson, we’re in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere. What do you want me to do, conjure up a Starbucks? You should’ve asked before we were out of the city.”

Greyson groaned loudly, living up to the toddler label his boss had bestowed upon him. “Great, so now I get to be bored and uncaffeinated.”

“I’m sure they’ll have some shitty folger’s or something when we get there,” Elijah said, prompting a loud, fake gag from Greyson. Elijah took a deep, calming breath in through his nose. “We’re almost there, you fucking brat.”

The event this weekend wasn’t one Elijah would have normally said yes to; it was a Farmhouse Retreat out in a rural part of New York State, and any town with fewer than a million people living in it tended to give him hives. Not to mention his irrational fear of farm animals – not that he’d ever actually seen one in person; the thought alone of a pig looking him in the eye was too disgusting for him to put into words. But, it was a paid event which was incredibly rare, and it was a celebrity getaway which meant buzz for the restaurant. Those were two difficult things to say no to.

Elijah’s phone signaled them to turn right, and when he did he and Greyson gasped in unison – this was no Podunk farmhouse getaway. The house itself was more of a farm mansion, twice the size of even the largest house Elijah had seen out in the Hampton's. The agriculture was meticulously kept, and the animals were grazing out in the tall grass – far enough away to escape any fear, but close enough to give the entire place a Fisher-Price-esque charm. Greyson whistled long and low as they parked next to the line of other caterer’s cars.

“Not in Kansas anymore, eh Dorothy?” the chef asked, yanking open the passenger side door and stepping out to stretch. Elijah couldn’t help but huff out a laugh as he opened his own door.

“Guess no �� HTSCH!” Elijah wrenched to the side as he stepped out of the car. Clearly the air out here was too clean for his city-boy sensibilities. Greyson barked out a laugh from the other side of the van.

“Bless,” he called, pulling open the two trunk doors to start unloading their things. “I figured your systems would all start shutting down the moment you breathed in air that didn’t smell like piss.”

“Oh, like you’re any better,” Elijah said, starting towards the trunk to help his friend. “When’s the last time you chose to take a trip somewhere with no bar or coffee shop?”

“Obviously never, but I grew up in a shitty one-horse town,” Greyson said. “You’ve probably never even seen a cow in real life.”

Elijah’s face flamed, and Greyson howled. “Shut the fuck up,” Elijah grumbled, elbowing Greyson in the stomach and grabbing the decorations for their booth. Greyson doubled over with laughter, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted into the quiet farm air.

“CITY SLICKER! WE GOT OURSELVES A CITY SLICKER!”

“Greyson, shut up,” Elijah called, turning to face the chef. “People are paying to stay here, you fucking dickhead.”

“Alright, alright, sorry boss,” Greyson lamented. He pulled a few chafing dishes out of the back and hoisted them onto his shoulder. “Not my fault that it’s hilarious that your body hates fresh air.”

“It doesn’t – hhITZCH! TSHH! HTSH!” Elijah crushed his nose into his shoulder to sneeze this time, prompting another round of laughter from Greyson.

“Sure it doesn’t,” Greyson said, passing his boss to head towards the sign directing the purveyors to the massive yard of the farmhouse. “City slicker.”

***

Something was happening – he didn’t know what it was, but he did not like it.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Like, I know I was making fun of you before, but are you sick?” Greyson asked as Elijah buried his face in his arm for the fiftieth time that hour.

“HTSHH! Hh-ITZCHH! HRSHH!” Elijah wiped his running nose on his sleeve and cringed. He used his hand to attempt to wipe the sleeve of the watery mucus he’d left behind to no avail. “I’m not sick, I feel fine,” he said. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me – HTSHH!”

Greyson slowly raised an eyebrow, covered his finished food so it would stay fresh for the first guests’ arrival in thirty minutes, and leaned against their booth. “Lij, I’ve spent a lot of time around you – you literally never sneeze this much unless you’re sick.”

“Grey, I’ve been completely fine up until we got here, are you saying the fucking fresh air made me sick? Do you think I’m some sort of nega-Victorian child, instead of needing the fresh air to clear up my scarlet fever I need the sweet smell of street hotdogs and sewage? Hhuhh’ITSCHH-ue! TSHH! ITZCHUE! Fucking hell.” Elijah covered his face with a hand and looked desperately around for something to wipe it with. Grudgingly, Greyson handed him one of his kitchen towels. “Thanks,” Elijah muttered, blowing his nose.

“Y’know,” Greyson said, “normally I would say that yes, you are the nega-Victorian child, but I don’t think you’re lying.”

“Thanks,” Elijah said, rolling his eyes from behind the towel.

“For once.”

Elijah flipped the chef off.

Greyson laughed. “Seriously, though, have you ever been on a farm before?”

Elijah threw his hands into the air, annoyed. “No, Greyson, I’ve never been on a farm. Happy? Yes, I’m a fuckin’ liberal-elite city-slicking dickhead. Happy?” He sniffled lightly, post-tirade, his nose already itching again with the need to – to -

“HTSHH! HRSHH! Huh! TSHHH! HRSHH-uh! ITZCHH-ue! Huh!” Elijah pressed the back of his hand hard into his nose to stop the stream of sneezes – the other caterers had to be staring at him. He was sure of it.

Greyson bit his cheek to keep from laughing. “Lij,” he said, placing a careful hand on his boss’s shoulder. “I think you’re allergic to this farm.”

Elijah blinked back itchy tears. He rubbed his nose on the towel, sniffled lightly, and looked around him – at the animals he’d never been near before, the grass he’d only been around when it was perfectly manicured for a lawn or fake, the trees with their yellow pollen floating in the wind. “Oh,” he said. “I… I mean, I’m not allergic to anything.”

“Not allergic to anything you’ve been around before,” Greyson corrected, a shit-eating grin slapped across his face.

Elijah pressed two fingers into his itching, swelling right eye. “Yeah,” he said, taking in the allergen-ladled scenery. “I guess you’re right.”

Greyson motioned towards the back doors of the farmhouse, where throngs of people were beginning to head towards the booths of food. “I’d offer to ask the host for an antihistamine,” he said, “but I think it might be showtime.”

Elijah watched the crowd with a mix of anxiety and abject horror. This walk-around event was two hours long, and he couldn’t go two minutes without sneezing. “Fuck me,” he muttered, shoving the towel behind their booth and sniffling. “Hhh-! HTSSHH! HRRISHH!”

“Get it together, man,” Greyson said, unwrapping his food and setting out tiny plates. “It’s showtime.”

***

By the time the event was over and the guests had filed back into the farmhouse for whatever rich person activity they had planned for the evening, Elijah had quite literally sneezed himself hoarse.

“Dude,” Greyson said as he piled their things back into the containers they’d brought with them, “maybe you should go sit down for awhile.”

Elijah turned to the chef, rubbing his nearly-swollen-shut eye, and gave him the dirtiest look he could muster. “Sit where, Chef? In the grass that’s trying to kill me, or under the tree that’s trying to kill mehhh – ETSCHH-ue! ESHHH! HRTSHH-uhh! HTSHH! TSHH! ITZCH-ue! Guhh…” Elijah had given up the facade and moved from sneezing helplessly into his sleeve to sneezing directly onto the ground, hands braced on his knees so as not to pass out from dizziness. Greyson cringed as his boss wiped a string of snot from his nose with the back of his hand – this was about to be a long drive back to the city.

“I meant in the car, Lij,” Greyson said, not-so-subtly handing Elijah his last clean kitchen towel. The GM took it, grateful, and wiped his nose, which seemingly subconsciously turned into a long, congested nose blow.

“Fuck, sorry, my brain isn’t fucking working,” Elijah muttered, clearing his throat. “I can’t fucking stop – HRRSHH-ue! Snee – HTSH! HRSSH! ITZSSCHUE! Hhh!” Elijah cringed into the now-soiled kitchen towel, delicately wiped his nose, and folded it up. “You don’t have another one of those by chance, do you?” he asked, breath already hitching once again.

“Sorry, boss,” Greyson winced. “Last one.”

Elijah nodded, somber. “Yeah, I’ll go waii – huh… snf. Wait in the cah – HUHHITSZHH-ue! ITSSZHH-uh! Huh! HTSHH! HuhhhITSZZHH-ue!” Elijah once again turned away from Greyson to sneeze towards the ground. Each one sounded more desperate, more painful than the last. Greyson had literally never seen his boss so… well… affected.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” a voice from behind the both of them said. Greyson whipped around as Elijah attended to his nose. It was one of the other chefs, smiling in sympathy and holding a pink package. “I wanted to see if he needed some Benadryl. I mean, it’s not non-drowsy, but since the event is over I figured -”

“Yes,” Greyson said without consulting Elijah. “Yes, one million percent.” He took the Benadryl out of the other man’s hand and placed a grateful hand on his shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

The other chef laughed in earnest, took a peek over at Elijah, then regarded Greyson again. “I remember my first farm trip,” he said. Greyson bit back a laugh.

“Something similar?”

“You could say that.”

Greyson smiled and patted the man’s shoulder. “Thank you again. Seriously, here’s my card – stop by anytime for dinner on me. You just saved me from five hours of breathing in his fuckin’ mucus.”

The man laughed again. “Anytime,” he said, taking the card from Greyson’s hand. “And I think I’ll take you up on that. You guys in the city?”

“Lucky guess,” Greyson said. The other chef smiled.

“See you around,” he said, heading towards his truck. Greyson popped a pink pill out of its packaging and placed a rough hand on his boss’s shoulder. Elijah, obviously gearing up for another fit of sneezes, turned and saw, almost instinctively, the pill in Greyson’s hand.

“Oh thank god,” Elijah gasped, snatching the Benadryl and choking it down dry. Greyson snorted out a laugh.

“Now you really need to go sit in the car,” he said as Elijah wiped his raw nose for the millionth time.

“Wha - ? Why, what was that?”

“Benadryl, you pill-fiend,” Greyson said, showing his boss the packaging. “Can’t sneeze if you’re passed out.”

“At this point I would’ve taken a lobotomy if it stopped the snee – sneezi – HUTSHHH-ue! HRSH! HRSHHH! HTSHH! Hhuhhh… hh, hhh… huhhITSSZZH-ue!” Elijah, clearly too exhausted to even cover his mouth, just turned away and allowed the fit to happen, sneezes sprayed into the open, pollen-heavy air. He groaned and held a hand up to his streaming nose. Greyson sighed, took off his chef’s coat so he was just in a white cotton t-shirt, and handed it woefully to his boss.

“You owe me a new coat,” he said as Elijah, too exhausted to even feel shame, took the garment and held it to his face. “Now go to the car and go to sleep.”

“Yes, Cheehh – HRRTSHH-ue!”

[writereleaserepeat]

Hear No Evil - Chapter 5

Previous // Next

CW: bbu, bbu-adjacent, pet whump, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization, dehumanizing intent by using it/its pronouns, ableism, blood mention, scar mention, non-sexual nudity

It felt wrong to touch the boy’s face. It felt wrong to touch a person who had been endlessly abused into mindless submission, someone who had been trained through pain and suffering that they had to exist at the will and command of another. It felt wrong that the boy was still sitting naked, all but skin and bones, entirely unmoving on Rowan’s floor. 

What other choice did Rowan have? Was there another way to communicate with this boy, one  that wasn’t as direct as physical contact? Necessity, Rowan reminded himself as the boy’s face turned upward in his palm. I’m doing this out of necessity.

Even as he gently guided the boy’s face to look upwards, he refused to meet Rowan’s eyes, his gaze directed towards the floor. That was alright. It was going to have to be alright for a while, Rowan suspected. 

After a moment he let his fingers fall away from the boy’s chin. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but he was relieved when his new houseguest held the position rather than dropping back to the ground. 

“Hey there,” Rowan greeted. He did his best to smile. “I don’t know if you remember, but my name’s Rowan. I know this is new for you, but it’s new for me too. It’s new for both of us. I’m sure you’re probably scared, but we’re going to get through this. We’re going to have to learn together, alright?” 

The boy didn’t even blink. 

---

Master didn’t seem upset that Pet was holding still and looking up at him. By the hint of a smile on Master’s lips, it seemed that he was pleased by the unusual posture. 

It didn’t dare meet Master’s eyes, of course, but now it could try and read his lips. Even if it couldn’t decipher the words that Master was speaking, it had already come to enjoy the soft murmur of Master’s speech. The kindness and warmth was enough for it to relax. 

New… new… new for both of us… learn together…

Pet knew that it could do that. Pet was happy to learn new things for its Master, and it was going to try its very best to do them well. Failure meant punishment, but even worse, failure meant disappointing Master. Disappointing its old Master is what got Pet into this mess to begin with. It could handle any amount of pain, however Master chose to train it, but disappointment always burned the deepest. 

Pet can be good. Pet can learn with Master. 

---

It struck Rowan that now only was the boy still naked, but the stench of waste and sweat clung to his body. The putrid odor of the liquidation event had begun to seep into the room at no fault of the boy’s own. 

Of course - Rowan privately scolded himself for forgetting. The facility never gave its victims the luxury of proper hygiene, and this one had been stuck at the liquidation event for days, before eventually being stuffed in a box. There was no wonder that the boy’s curls were slicked down with grease and dirt. 

Rowan attempted a smile. He knew it didn’t reach his eyes, but how could it, when he knew how much pain this person had been through? 

“How does a bath sound, yeah? Can we do that?” Rowan offered this enthusiastically. Rowan also knew that his bathroom was a bit of a disaster, scattered with half-empty shampoo bottles and skin care products he hadn’t used in weeks. He tried to soothe himself by rationalizing that the boy wouldn’t particularly care about the room’s cleanliness. 

There was no reaction to Rowan’s offer, not a nod, not so much as a twitch. It was all he could do not to sigh, worried that any sighs would be interpreted as misplaced frustration. The last thing he wanted to do was set the boy on edge. 

He remembered what worked earlier, the very gestures that had lured the boy to his bedroom in his first place. After giving himself a determined nod, Rowan took a few steps backwards, and gestured with a low hand to invite the victim to follow along. 

Much to Rowan’s relief, the boy understood. He scampered forward on his hands and knees, eyes glued back to the ground, every bone on his gaunt frame showing. As much as Rowan would have preferred him to walk on two feet, this was going to have to do for the moment. Just enough to get him cleaned and settled in, nothing more. Then they would begin work on rehabilitation. 

As soon as Rowan opened the door to the bathroom, the boy bolted forward and into the tub in a tangle of limbs and apparent enthusiasm. Rowan hadn’t spoken a single word or made a gesture. He smiled in spite of himself, and cocked his head to the side.  

“Alright, I guess baths are okay? That’ll make this easier.” Rowan thought about the many victims that had been tormented by water, scalded or frozen at inhumane temperatures, or held beneath the surface until they drew mouthfuls into their lungs. To have a victim who was at least amiable to the cleaning process would relieve the burden on them both. 

The boy had resumed the typical kneeling position in the tub, seemingly unbothered by the hard porcelain. Rowan figured it was best not to try and correct that for the time being. One step at a time. Be encouraging. 

Rowan leaned over to the spigot and slowly turned it on, carefully easing the handle towards “H,” and diligently checked the temperature as water began to flow. Once it was comfortably warm he plugged the drain and watched as the clear liquid began to pool around the boy’s legs. Rowan almost swore he heard a contented sigh as the boy’s eyes slipped closed. 

For the first time in more than a day, Rowan felt himself smile, a genuine smile. And for the first time, he felt that maybe he was cut out for this. 

---

Pet was grateful for the washing before it even began. Its old Master was so particular in keeping Pet clean, and would have his servants scrub Pet down every day beneath a stream of hot water. Sometimes the soap was floral, other times it was citrus, but it always left Pet smelling wonderful. Handler never gave it such luxuries when it was sent back to the training facilities. 

The water rose ever higher, first over its thighs, then over the pale skin of its stomach, until the water finally came to a stop right above its navel. It could have groaned with how pleasant the warm water felt on its aching legs and bruised knees. For a moment it nearly dared to speak, express its gratitude for the kindness, but knew better than to open its mouth without being told. 

Still, it was a treat to have Master wash it rather than a servant.

Master gently cupped warm water over its head, and Pet closed its eyes tight to keep the water out. With each new splash of water Master continued to talk away, his voice nearly as warm as the water, wrapping around Pet’s shoulders along with the suds. Of course, the words were still indistinct, and Pet listened in case there was a command it could discern, but it was already starting to think that maybe Master just liked to talk. Pet wouldn’t mind that at all. 

---

“I’ve never really had anything to name before,” Rowan mused aloud as he worked his fingers through the boy’s curls. The texture was so much deeper than his own, the ringlets rich with weight. He made a quick mental note that the dollar-store shampoo he used for his own pin-straight hair would most certainly not do in the future. 

“You see, I had to name a goldfish when I was a kid,” Rowan continued as he began to rinse the shampoo out. “I had to name it, and I stalled for weeks. My parents kept asking me, and my sister kept bugging me about it, but I just didn’t have anything. My mom eventually suggested ‘Goldy,’ and I just went with it. But if you can’t tell me what you want to be called, at least not yet, you deserve a name. A proper one, something with a bit of dignity.”

He wondered if there were websites to help with such a thing. namesforyourbrainwashedhumanslave.com? It wouldn’t surprise him. 

“You’re going to have to learn to wash yourself in the future.” Rowan gently wrung some of the water from the boy’s thick head of hair and hoped he wasn’t pulling on the roots. “It’s okay if that doesn’t happen right away. I’m more than happy to help, but I want you to feel comfortable doing things on your own, without having to ask me. You can come in here and have a bath whenever you want. The apartment incorporates the cost of utilities into the monthly rent already, which means we can use as much as we want at no extra cost. It’s nice to have almost unlimited heat in the winters, especially this far north.”

As he began to carefully wipe away the grime on the boy’s face with a warm cloth, Rowan nearly startled when the boy leaned into the touch. He hadn’t expected to feel pressure returned against his hand. After pausing long enough to pull himself out of the shock, Rowan pressed on and began to scrub at the dried blood on the side of the victim’s face. Flakes of muddy brown and deep crimson scabs covered the deep gouges that ran from his temples, down his ears and jawline, almost down to his neck. Given the extent of the damage, it was a wonder there was any skin left. 

“I hope one day you can tell me how these got here,” Rowan murmured as he got a good look at the wounds for the first time. Blood flaked away and fell in hues of brown into the water, mixed with fresh red from the most recent and still-weeping wounds. 

“I’m sorry,” Rowan whispered before he could stop himself, because he knew he had to be hurting the boy, no matter how gently he tried to proceed. The wounds were deep, and Rowan wondered if they needed stitches. How was he supposed to tell? Maybe they were too wide for stitches, maybe the scar tissue was already too well-formed. 

They were different than the scars that Rowan had seen on other victims before, and he had seen the aftermath of many instruments of torture in his time. These scars were jagged, and they were as wide as three fingers across, as though they had been continually torn open. It was the first time Rowan saw them this close up, and he noted that the cartilage of the ears was warped and knobbed. Again, something like he had never seen before. 

The water had turned a translucent copper color, and Rowan tried not to be sick as he reached in to drain the bathtub. A quick hand gesture and the boy got out of the tub and knelt back down on the bath mat. 

Right, towels. Dry him off. 

“Let’s get you dry, huh?” Rowan spoke. Maybe it would help ease whatever tensions were running through the boy’s mind if Rowan kept narrating what he was doing. He imagined it would be beneficial to take away some of the nerve-wracking suspense, and instead replace it with vocalized certainty. 

Forcing a smile on his lips, Rowan grabbed the freshly-laundered towel he had set aside, and held it out in the boy’s line of sight. 

“I’ve got a clean towel here. If you want to do it yourself, just grab the towel, and I’ll stop. Otherwise, here we go.” 

As soon as the terry cloth made contact with the boy’s shoulders, he leaned into the touch, his upper body shifting a few centimeters closer to Rowan’s own. Again. This time, Rowan didn’t startle quite so easily. In fact, he was surprised at himself, and the happiness that blossomed in his stomach. 

He knew he couldn’t take happiness in this forever. There was no joy to be taken in a human being that acted on inhumane training, a human who sought other human contact because they were told to, not because they wanted it. But if the boy wasn’t afraid of him and his touch, that was one small victory. Rowan had a feeling he was going to have to take the little victories for what they were. 

“You’re doing great,” he said, not for the first time that hour. But this time, Rowan knew he might have been talking to himself as well. 

---

Taglist: @honey-is-mesi @aswallowimprisoned @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @honeycollectswhump @rekiroyalstraightprincemaru @tragedyinblue @clairelsonao3 @octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @peachy-panic @whumplr-reader @dislexiher @cc1010foxy @onlybadendings @panstardalia @tempoghast @whumpzone

[izvmimi]

WSB (and WSHB) - Chapter II

cw: pregnancy mention, description of a seizure, reader has a hero name.

Masterlist

“Eri-chan, do you think you can give me an extra hand here?!”

You try to keep your professional grin plastered on your face, the one that is meant to reassure patients that you have everything absolutely under control and you absolutely will see their ailment through, but it’s hard to keep smiling when you’re nearly on top of the young man, trying to hold him still so that you can prevent him from launching more sparks from the tips of his fingers.

His uncontrolled quirk has him jerking uncontrollably, muscles intermittently tonic and clonically contracted like a seizure, and because you’re not exactly sure how his Quirk generates these jolts of electricity, you have yet to rewire them enough to quiet their impulses.

“It’s okay, just relax, sir! We’ll have you feeling good as new in a minute!”

A minute in this case is an imprecise unit of time. You feel like you’ve been at it for ages, but from the clock on your wall, it’s probably been closer to ten minutes. You use your Quirk to strengthen your limbs and thus your hold on him but you can’t activate your own cells and quiet his at the same time.

His screams and jerks only seem to get louder as you press on.

“Eri!”

“I’m coming!”

You look up from the grimacing man stretched across the hospital bed, thrashing every which way, and see your mentee turn the corner, white coat flapping behind her. Her horn begins to glow before she even lays hands on the patient, and while you are using all of your fortified strength to keep the patient’s writhing to a minimum, she finally concentrates enough to stop his Quirk-induced seizure.

The man settles, and the two of you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” he moans, the exhaustion of pain and loss of control evident in his voice. He looks at both of you but lingers on Eri, and there’s a small bit of pride in your chest as you watch her smile.

Eri’s progressing faster than either you or Recovery Girl could have anticipated, and more importantly, her kindness outshines her tremendous power.

…

“I’m sorry I got distracted,” she mumbles under her breath, hours later, as the two of you arrange bottles of medicines and restock supplies before the clinic closes. “I was trying to catch up on some of the readings you sent over the weekend so I’ve been doing a bad job of shadowing and I didn’t hear you the first time so -”

You turn abruptly and smile at her and she takes that as a cue to stop apologizing.

“I know you’re busy. Senior year is hard and there’s a million things on your mind, aren’t there?” You ask. Eri nods and tucks locks of her pressed straight white hair behind her ear, the opposite side of her horn, which is slightly reduced in size from her earlier work.

“Exactly. Remember, I’ve been there and not that long ago,” you remind her. You wave at one of the nurses who rushes out the front of the door, bidding you farewell, then turn back to your student.

“You are here to learn in lots of different ways and it can be overwhelming at times, but it will come together.”

Eri nods again, this time more energetically.

“Yes!”

She only works at your office once or twice a week as a work-study, but whenever she’s around, she’s engaged and very proactive, so you could never fault her for anything. Sometimes you wonder if you know enough to teach someone so talented, especially now as you offer her a ride home and throughout the drive, she essentially regurgitates the papers she claims to have failed to read in earnest. Even despite boasting a prestigious UA education and later specialized graduate level education focused on healing, you barely feel like a professional Hero, so being given a student, especially one Aizawa cherishes so much, feels almost like a burden.

Yet, you rise to the task, and she is learning.

“Eri’s not causing you trouble, is she?” Aizawa asks the moment he opens the door, his deadpan expression almost laughable when you consider his topknot and dad-like tracksuit.

“You could say hi, you know,” is a statement said by both you and Eri in unison, and then snicker once you both realize. Aizawa rolls his eyes but opens his door for Eri to come in. He looks at you meaningfully as you remain planted firmly in the same spot.

“I made dinner.”

It’s meant to be an offer to stay but it feels more like a statement as casually said as the sky being blue. You smile, thankful that your former teacher at the very least never changed all these years.

“I have to get home and catch up on sleep.” You let out a gentle chuckle with your words and he shrugs as if to say your loss.

Aizawa does take a second long look at you, and you wonder if he can see that the dark circles from exhaustion are also from your lovelorn nights. He’s always had an odd way of reading into you, ever since the day you first transferred to his class.

“Sleep is important, I suppose,” he says with a sigh.

“Good night!”

You giggle as you part ways.

As you get back in your car, your phone begins to ring and you receive the call on speakerphone as you drive to your own apartment.

“These people are fucking crazy,” Tessa begins the moment you pick up. You hold back a laugh as you turn onto the freeway.

“How so?”

“First of all, I have no idea how none of these people have anything better to talk about than go on Twitter and argue about hero couples. Someone said Murder Rampage sounds like a villain name and Katsuki’s ranking should be lower on that fact alone. And people will not stop talking about DekuTen being over-”

“Okay, but it is over,” you cut in, pursing your lips.

“Yes, but-”

“But?” You don’t mean to sound curt, but there’s a part of you that wishes that your friend would stop trying to smooth over the fact that you and Izuku are never getting back together. Not with the way he’s trying to prove to you that he doesn’t care about your absence and has so easily focused on continuing his role as He Who Can Do No Wrong.

“You know it’s only a matter of time until one of you caves and you end up back together,” she insists. You let out a small sigh. The pang of regret no longer hits as hard when she talks like this, but there’s still a phantom ache in your chest when you think about it.

The worst part about breaking up with him was the fact that it felt as though people knew before you’d even had the time to consolidate your feelings. Before you unpacked your last box in your new apartment, you were already in the gossip columns and opinions abound across social media about what would be next for the two of you.

And of course, a certain cute and curvy fan favorite was immediately brought up again, and again and again and again…

“I don’t think so,” you insist, and the solemn tone in your voice makes Tessa back off.

“Fine!” She changes the subject reluctantly. “How was work?”

“The same. Eri is a delight as usual and I saw Aizawa after work today and he looks like he’s leaning a bit too far into this fatherhood thing.”

Tessa snorts. “How so?”

“One word. Tracksuit.”

“Oh my God.”

---

By the time you’ve made it home, Tessa has given you a rundown of the most recent crises in wedding planning - the rising cost of flowers, security methods to keep paparazzi out, and who might need to be added and removed to the guest list. She’s apologized no less than three times about talking about weddings when you’re recently single, and you have to remind her that it’s been over 3 months. You’re not falling apart.

Not even when you spend the entire night poring over forums to see what people have to say about your slipping Hero rank.

I mean she makes a better Sidekick than anything. She’s a buff-debuff Hero, what can she do on her own?

Being cute together wasn’t enough. People should be useful, especially if they’re a duo. All she did was stand around and be an easy target half the time. I’m glad they broke up.

Tenacity is a shitty hero name anyway.

She should stick to her clinic. It’s probably a good change of pace.

The last one is right, you think as you force yourself to find something else to obsess over after three months single. You have papers to read to perfect some of your techniques, sent over by your mentor. There’s also a big decision you have to make, one that was almost unthinkable a  year ago, when you were still sure you’d one day carry Midoriya’s name, but now feels like a pleasant escape from the organized mess that is your life

Tenacity is your Hero name, a name you chose. You should act accordingly.

---

“I have my first appointment this Friday, if you would like to come.”

Ochaco’s voice is tentative for once, as though she is recognizing that she is making a large ask. She’d figured that Izuku had just been shocked when she’d told him the news just days ago, then immediately told him her decision to keep it (not that he would have ever suggested otherwise) but the sudden new awkwardness he was developing with her was making her nervous. He was not cold, just clearly uncomfortable, and it harkened back to their first year at UA. Their relationship now seemed to have reverted back dramatically ever since that night.

“I’ll be there,” Izuku promises. He never disappoints.

She smiles and reaches for his hand on the table then squeezes it. It’s warm and small compared to his, he notices. He doesn’t withdraw but he doesn’t squeeze back. Shirking off the growing feeling of anxiety settling into her bones, Ochaco withdraws instead and places her hand on her belly as she rises from the kitchen table, then heads over to the kitchen to grab a yogurt drink. She tosses him one and grabs one for herself, then sits down to watch television.

He sits in his chair for a moment, wondering if he should join her. Although days ago he wouldn’t have thought twice of settling on that couch beside her, he suddenly remembers you bought that couch with him a year ago, and then he remembers that he fucked Ochaco on that couch. Was the baby she’s carrying conceived on that couch? His head hurts.

Rather than join her, he heads to the bathroom, and Ochaco glances at him from behind as she watches him disappear in the hallway. She tugs her lip in between her teeth.

Persevere. It’s fine for now.

She rubs her belly again, not yet swollen in the slightest, but fully aware that a life is growing inside her. A life that she and the man she’s loved her whole life are making.

It’s okay if he’s afraid because she is not.

---

“You know sis, I know it’s been a while but if you want me to whoop his ass, I will.”

You look up from the iced coffee you’ve been stirring for the past minute to avoid looking at the overhead television in this diner, then direct your gaze onto your little brother, who for all the world looks dead serious. You burst out laughing.

“Please, he’ll kill you,” you say in between cackles, and as he tries to defend himself, you only laugh harder. He huffs loudly then digs into his pancakes aggressively, not appreciating the fact that you’ve called out his bluff.

“Thanks for the offer though,” you say, grinning and he rolls his eyes before you reach across and punch him gently on the shoulder. Your brother is part of the small population that remains Quirkless and doesn’t necessarily abhor Heroes, but isn’t particularly a fan of them either. Especially not Deku after your breakup.

“See, I just think him and honestly a lot of the rest of them need to be knocked down a peg. Like that Dynamight guy. Complete asshole.”

You pause and frown.

“He’s actually really nice though, despite the way he looks.” He crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow. It’s clear he doesn’t believe you, not for a second.

“Believe me, all of them are good people for the most part” you insist.

“Even Deku?”

You pause.

“Yes.”

He groans at your admission but doesn’t say anything else for a few more bites, washing down the rest of breakfast with a large milkshake. He could go on a lecture about sticking to your decision to break up and not wallowing in his ears for months afterwards but he chooses not to in favor of telling you something useful instead.

“You should leave this Hero stuff behind and just do medicine or rehabilitation or something. All of this has been really stressful from the beginning, even if I support you,” he says finally. You can tell he’s serious from the uneven frown on his features. He has always thought that all of this was too much from the beginning, and the break you took from missions after your breakup - mostly because you weren’t sure you could show up at his agency without being paired together - only encouraged him to press you to disengage from the Hero circle.

However, you aren’t ready just yet, especially given how much of your blood, sweat and tears you’ve put into becoming a pro and making this your life. You change the subject.

“Tessa’s wedding is coming up soon. Do you want to be my plus one?”

He snorts.

“Isn’t that weird? Find a date.”

You roll your eyes and he shakes his head as he considers further.

“Plus, it’ll be crawling with Hero types. No thanks.”

“At this point this sounds like bitterness,” you tease, but he’s right. It would be weird if you brought him around so many people he’s never met. Maybe… maybe you’ll ask Shoto. Although he isn’t as easy-going as your pretend husband Shinsou was in high school, a similar friendly understanding had blossomed between you two, and he was one of the few guys who didn’t already have a partner and was neutral enough about your breakup to take the time to check in once in a while.

“Fine. You’re paying for breakfast by the way.”

“Of course.”

He pulls out his wallet and calls down the waitress who seems to have been eyeing him with irritation ever since he meticulously inspected his water glass and sent it back. Once she leaves with his credit card, he gives you another meaningful look.

“I’m serious about that offer.”

“What offer?” You ask, genuinely confused.

“If I see him anywhere, I’m-”

“Please shut the hell up.”

---

It’s been a little over a week and Bakugou is about to pull his hair out.

Not because Midoriya has been calling him to talk or vent; in fact, he’s been doing the opposite, tight-lipped ever since showing up at his doorstep and giving him information he would have preferred not to have. Rather, it’s because Bakugou can overhear Tessa on the phone, genuinely believing that her friends are on a “break” rather than an actual breakup and can’t bear the fact that he has information that she doesn’t.

Unfortunately Tessa is very good at picking up on the anxiety that is starting to build as he overhears her flippant attitude over the shifted dynamics between their friends.

It’s only in a quiet moment when they are lying in bed in the dark of night, Tessa’s cheek pressed against his chest, between sharing details from the day’s missions, that he ends up spilling.

“Round Face is pregnant.”

Tessa shoots up straight as a board, sitting up beside him with a gasp.

“What?!”

Katsuki groans before pulling her back down beside him, slightly annoyed by the lost skin-to-skin contact.

“Stop freaking out, I didn’t say I got her pregnant.” He blows air from his nose, and if you didn’t know him well enough you’d think it were due to annoyance but rather it’s from relief. Pressing her closer to him, he shakes his head.

“He’s a fucking idiot,” he murmurs under his breath, but then Tessa pulls back from him. When he looks back at her, her face is wrinkled in disgust.

“Don’t tell me…”

He frowns.

“Yeah, exactly.”

Tessa gasps and the blood practically rushes from her face.

“Don’t just fucking drop news like this with no warning. How long did you know this for?”

Bakugou, now irritated that he’s not only broken his promise but getting shit for it, rises to meet her gaze.

“Does it fucking matter?”

“Yes, it does???”

He lays back down rapidly, making a small thud with the mattress.

“It’s none of our damn business, but I was tired of hearing you lie to her on the phone every day,” he admits. He rolls over facing away, his head on his folded hands. “Plus, we probably should figure out the bridesmaid and groomsmen’s situations because I.. don’t think your girl’s gonna recover from this easily when she eventually finds out.”

Tessa grabs his shoulder and shakes him so that he turns back to her, still highly irritated. Her heart is racing on her friend’s behalf and perhaps she is overreacting but the simple thought already drives her insane. Perhaps she feels some guilt for joking so many times that it wasn’t really over. Maybe it really is.

“Why do you know before she does?”

“‘Cause Midoriya’s a fucking coward.”

“Fuck,” she whispers under her breath. “Is she keeping it?”

Before Katsuki can give her an irritated glance, she groans.

“Fine… I just.. There are options! How do you knock someone up in 3 months… I…”

Tessa makes another frustrated cry and kicks her feet before laying back. She can’t be the one to tell her either. She too wishes she didn’t know. She doesn’t have the heart to tell the truth.

[sukirichi]

earned it [01]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it.  But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

request. (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + (dumbification, praising kink)

cw. smut, overstimulation, slight dumbification, praising kink, slight degradation, spanking, belt whipping, explicit murder, rough sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), multiple sex scenes, riding, slight angst, veryyy unedited, sex when standing up, sex in pretzel position, dom! gojo, manhandling

notes. 🦋 anon, thanks so much for the request! i hope you love this one, i absolutely poured my heart and soul into this! minus the effort to edit, i’ll just edit this when i’m no longer sick lol

series masterlist

There he was again.

Working in a high-class restaurant located in the heart of the city meant you were no stranger to seeing people of power and titles, but he never failed to make everyone stop in their tasks every time he came around.

You don’t know his name, much less his usual orders since his usual table – middle 98 – wasn’t in your rotation. But you’re held captive in his presence, attention drawn to his broad shoulders clad in what seemed like a hand-stitched three piece suit, his striking white hair falling down in smooth tendrils. There’s something about the way he walks – confident doesn’t begin to describe it – that makes everyone surrounding him feel like they’re merely spectators to the enigma that was him, and he carries this observation proudly in his shoulders, that mischievous smile never absent from his face.

Your co-worker tugs at your sleeve, nearly knocking the empty wine glasses away from your tray. Barely catching them as you falter, you bow down to them in apology. No matter how intriguing the mysterious midnight comer was, you were still working. You needed to keep your head focused and in the game.

Hours pass by of shifting from one table to another, your hands beyond cramped from scribbling down such intricate orders. It’s a miracle you were hired in a place as luxurious as this in the first place when you couldn’t pronounce, much less spell the main dishes, but you proved through determination and hard work that the miracle was also accompanied by your grit. It didn’t matter that you were the youngest part-timer with little to no experience – unexpected things always happened when you’re backed in a corner, leaving you with no choice but to follow through.

This corner was nothing less than the struggle to make ends meet. While you’re lucky to have gotten accepted in one of the top state universities, there still came the issue of tuition fees, plus dorm occupations.

You don’t have the privilege to complain or whine that your experiences are probably not on par with what they expect of you, so you have to do your best; you have to keep pushing no matter how hard it gets and you’re barely awake for class the next day.

Clocking out, you bid goodbye to your co-workers and thank them for their hard work, about to leave through the back door when you hear his voice.

Your gaze lands on him from outside the kitchen, body twisted in the direction of where he sat, long legs crossed one another. He’s thanking the waiter for the wine, and you wince, because it isn’t just any wine. That’s one of the drinks locked in the special cellar because of its hefty price, yet there he was, swirling the red liquid around in his glass as if the amount of zeroes never bothered him. He’s reading something from his tablet, head tilted to the side as he drinks, and that’s when you see it.

It’s so miniscule you would’ve believed it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’ve seen in this class during one of your laboratory practices, the burn marks on your wrist a painful reminder of your carelessness.

Your boss’ shouts of warning fall onto deaf ears as you push past the double doors, feet moving on its own. The edge of the glass makes contact with his lips, gray lashes flattering across his cheeks, while time and sound becomes nothing but background noise to you. Your cry is inaudible when your hand pushes the glass away from his grip, the sounds of it shattering into pieces like a wake-up call to both of you.

For the first time since you’ve met him, the faintest look of surprise crosses over his face. His hands remain into a reflexive hold of the now missing glass, azure eyes cutting through yours.

You bow down to apologize – you can’t believe you’ve just done that and how his suit was stained and his pants soaked – but the words that left his lips stun you beyond disbelief, effectively freezing you in your state. His voice holds the same iciness as the blue of his pupils, but to you – just for you – there’s a tinge of awe behind them.

“Odd,” he says, “To think my life would be saved by you.”

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutched on the blanket covering your bare frame. There’s sweat forming on your hairline as you look around, wincing at the sliver of light passing through the curtains. Silver, ceiling length draperies obscure the view of the city skies outside, a huge reminder of where you are now – somewhere between the past and the future that’s about to come – and the king-sized bed you lay on almost feels like a dream.

Right. It’s been two years since you’ve met Satoru, the once mysterious customer turned into lover, an arrangement between financial aid and companionship solidifying your relationship with him now.

Your face burns at the sight of your clothes scattered all over your shared room. Your lace panties somehow end up on the chandeliers, the expensive material of your silk dress about to slide off the humongous TV and your bra hanging off the doorknob.

The light ache between your legs does nothing to appease your embarrassment. Even after two years of being with Satoru, it’s still difficult to believe he’s chosen you of all people.

He could’ve had anyone he wants. Not only is he beautiful, young, successful, and smart, he’s also an absolutely god in the sheets, your throbbing core attesting to his never ending array of his skills. Truly, Gojo Satoru was perfect, so much so that you pale in comparison to him no matter how much he’s assured you you’re the only he has eyes on.

It doesn’t make sense to you, but does it have to?

Love never required a logical reason for it to blossom, and you left it at that, fearful that it may just ruin whatever happened between the two of you. Besides, if Satoru wants you, then who were you to question that?

You swing your legs off the side of the bed to make him breakfast, but your legs shake upon contact to the floor, still very much sore after last night’s events.

Satoru’s been away for work for three days, and even though it wasn’t that much of a distance, he still acted like it’s been forever. He sure took his time with you, making you cum three times just with his tongue and fingers alone. He’s a cheeky and mischievous man; there’s no telling whether his words are just sweet lies or plain facts, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Satoru keeps his promises to heart. If he says he’s going to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day, he means it, and now you’re left groaning back onto the bed.

You’re thankful that it’s a weekend. Had it been a school day, it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass. No matter how much he’s covered your school fees, you still won’t risk missing a day.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend clothed in nothing but his boxers, the smile on his face huge at seeing you glare at him. “Aw, baby,” he coos, sliding himself next to you, carrying a tray of pancakes topped with blueberries with him. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulder and laughs into your air when you grumble at the soreness, which he tries to kiss away. “Sorry not sorry for last night. It’s not my fault I’m so addicted to you.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, fighting back that stupid fluttering feeling in your chest. Your attention is diverted to the luscious, fluffy pancakes, and your brows furrow at the sight. “Did you make this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at him; his energy was always off the charts even after fucking you into oblivion. Thanking him under your breath, you reach for the breakfast, eternally grateful that it’s breakfast in bed because you can’t walk anywhere right now. However, Satoru pries your hands away from the fork, making you lean back instead as he spoon feeds you.

It’s a little humiliating – and he’s basking in this judging from the smirk he wears – but you give in anyway. Unlike him, your stamina isn’t monstrous. You’re still a human and you’re utterly tired, the glare endless through mouthfuls of the pancake. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re my baby,” he retorts, smacking a kiss right at your lips.

You complain harder, ever so annoyed that you could never seem to throw him off guard and have the upper hand for once. Satoru eases the frown on your face by kissing you harder, his hand cradling your neck. He’s a fucking tease; his tongue languid and sensual as he tastes the honey coating your lips, sucking your bottom lip inside his mouth before nipping at it.

At the back of your mind, you’re wondering how each moment with him results into touching. Not that you really mind, of course, your stomach only flares up with heat at the thought he wants you just as much as you crave him.

Breakfast is soon forgotten right after seven bites as Satoru leans back against the headboard, thumb soothing circles at your hipbone to guide you on top of him.

He pulls away to breathe, a thin thread of saliva and honey between your lips present, and it’s so erotic that his eyes darken with lust, hands gripping a little tighter. You’re still bare on top of him, hardened breasts on display, but he holds himself back with heavy breaths, not wanting to ruin you further than he already has.

Satoru’s lips lands on your shoulder instead, thumb grazing under the weight of your breasts. He’s kissing you everywhere, almost as if he expects the flutter of his lips to heal you. You gladly let him taste you as he pleases, neck tilted to the side while you catch your breath.

The transition of him from an absolute freak in bed to the caring, compassionate boyfriend he is never fails to give you whiplash.

“How’s your studies?” he murmurs into your skin, his touch feather-like in caressing your back. You feel the hairs stand up at where he grazes them, shivering at the sensuality and tenderness he holds you with. “Doing good? My sweetheart still top of her class?”

“Hmm,” you hum back, planting yourself firm in his lap. He’s already hard under you, his cock twitching when your bare cunt presses on top of his tip, but he controls himself, focusing on your state instead. “My grades are tip-top, all thanks to your support,” Satoru smiles when you’re the one placing kisses all over his face this time, his giggles almost child-like.

Time flies by as you lay there in his arms. You’re lulled back into sleep at the sound of his heart beat, and just as you’re dozing off, Satoru pats your ass. “Baby,” he calls out, “Let me wash you first, then we’ll cuddle afterwards. What do you think about that?”

“That’d be great, I feel sticky.”

Satoru laughs, pulling panicked squeals from you when he suddenly hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. He kicks the door open before turning the heater on in the Jacuzzi, placing you under the shower first.

You close your eyes under the sprinkle of water, hands splayed all over his chest. Your legs are still wobbling, no thanks to him railing you as if there was no tomorrow, but he holds you upright, kneading his hands into your hair then washing every crevice of your body. When you open your eyes, you see him kneeling down to rub the loofah all over your legs, a slight pinch in his brows from sheer focus.

Your heart beats loudly on your chest, unable to process that the Gojo Satoru is on his knees, his touch nothing less of worshipping as if you were a divine being in his eyes.

It makes you breathe sharply as his face comes up before your core, his tongue darting out for a moment before he looks away, focusing on cleaning you up afterwards. His control and care for your well-being leaves you speechless, leaves you breathless, leaves you wanting him more and more and more that you’re kissing him again the moment he brings you both to his Jacuzzi.

He’s taken his boxers off to enjoy the feeling of skin brushing against skin, the fuzz of bubbles foaming up at your breasts only enticing him to kiss you with equal fervent passion.

You’re grinding down on his dick, his length encased between your lips that are extremely warm in comparison to the cool water. Finally, Satoru is stuttering beneath you, little whines leaving his breath as he kneads your ass, resisting the urge to slap the smooth flesh.

“Satoru,” you moan, “N-need you now, please.”

Fuck, his name on your lips mixed with your moans are enough to make him want to lose his restraint and just fuck you hard and deep there. He growls at how unaware you are of your effect on him, and he’s nothing short of starving in his kisses, never getting tired of tasting you over and over again. He wants to keep kissing you until your scent and taste is imprinted on his skin, to carry you around with him even when you’re not there, because he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone this much before. Especially for people like him, love was nothing but a myth.

Everything is a fantasy with you, a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. If you were to ask him to give up everything for you this instant, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

His heart is enslaved by your existence, and he nods, helping you lift your hips up to align his cock to your entrance. He takes note of your soreness as you slowly sink down on his cock, swallowing your whimpers through open-mouthed kiss. You’re shaking inside his arms, tiny scratches mixed with mewls making its way on his chest, further adding to the litter of scars already painted on his body.

Your head lands on his shoulder the second he bottoms out. Satoru groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering down on him, so warm and so tight that he has to lean his head back on the headrest just to catch his breath.

“You ride me, baby,” he manages through pants. “I’ll let you set the pace – do what’s comfortable with you.”

Your jaw clenches at the same time you clamp down on him one more time, eliciting another sinful moan from your lover. A lazy smirk graces your face as you ride him slowly, the image of the almighty Gojo Satoru falling apart at your ministrations burned at the back of your mind. You’ll replay this memory every time he leaves for work again, and the dreadful thought of having to watch him leave one more time fuels you to bounce on him harder, nails dug into his shoulder.

Satoru winces at the slight sting but doesn’t stop you anyway; he’s no stranger to pain. In fact, he’s a master of that and many more in more ways than one, though you didn’t know that – and he’ll never let you know that.

His eyes snap open at the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the water sloshing out the Jacuzzi. He’s met with the sight of you clutching the edges of the tub, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fuck yourself harder on his cock. Your breasts bounce right in front of his eyes, tempting him to latch a mouth around it, which he does, the sudden flicking of his warm tongue on your nipples driving you to the edge.

Your soreness becomes a hazy memory of the past with each slide down his dick, thighs burning from the exertion. Satoru is lapping up your breasts and palming the other expertly, his breath hot on your skin.

Something familiar coils into your lower abdomen with each hard thrust, and you throw your head back, moaning his name as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. You’re growing tired; he can tell from the way you’re barely lifting your hips, but you’re so close, so near, that Satoru takes it upon himself to push you both right where you wanted to be.

Your moan comes out breathless the moment Satoru grips at your hips, snapping his hips upwards at the same time he guides your body to crush down on him. He’s the one controlling your body, but you’re falling on top of him with no reserve, your weight slamming down to his groin in full force that he’s faltering. Satoru is entranced by the motion of your hips gyrating around the head of his cock, the wavering grin on your face a telltale you’re enjoying the act of destroying him, but he lets you – it’s only fair after the countless times he’s done the same with you. But oh, he’ll have you again and again, and he proves his endless desire for you by forcing himself deep to your most sensitive spots, the glimpse of your mouth hanging open as you come making his cock twitch.

Satoru squeezes your hips as he situates you flat on his cock, groaning as he came in thick spurts. You mewl, scratching at his chest as he rides his high out with a few more sloppy thrusts.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers at the top of your hair, well-aware that your oversensitivity is clouding your mind. But he can’t help it, not when you feel so good around him like this. “Just a little more, I’ll be – fuck – right there, oh yeahhh,” he drawls out breathlessly, his cock twitching with the last strings of cum until he grows boneless inside you.

Satoru pulls his cock out, chest heaving up and down from that earth-shattering orgasm. In all honesty, he’s confident he could give you an even better one, but your lids are already fluttering close that he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your temple as a silent you did well.

Somewhere through your half-awake state, you manage to card your fingers through his hair, voice small and weak as you ask, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Satoru’s eyes lour with something unreadable, and he’s thankful you don’t get to see the sudden glooming of his face. He gently pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at his rippling reflection in the water. In his eyes, he sees the truth – he sees a monster holding an innocent angel he lives to protect – the truth he wants to conceal. He can’t even fathom the possibility of you finding out about who he really is, much less what he does that enables him to provide you with everything you need.

He’s the demon himself, caressing someone as pure as you in his arms, his eyes and true self sinister except for the gentle kisses he leaves at the shell of your ear.

If it keeps you safe, he doesn’t mind becoming even more of a monster if it means keeping you safe.

So he keeps you right where you can’t witness the slight moments of vulnerability in which his horns reveal itself, hugging you tight and possessively in the fear he’ll lose the only thing that matters most to him.

“I have a meeting tonight,” is all he says, is what he always says.

He’s mysterious and aloof, too vague every time you inquire him about what he does for a living. Usually, you’d feel worried or even wary that maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you originally thought, but you’re too tired to question him further, and he takes advantage of your weakness wholeheartedly. All to keep you safe.

Satoru closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, no longer bothered by the fact each step he took is getting him closer and closer to a point of no redemption.

He’s not worried about that anymore, not when his salvation is right in his arms, wrapping him with your love and false sense of safety that it becomes the lie he feeds himself every night just to keep going on.

“I just want to be with you a little longer.”

This time around, Satoru tells the truth.

The rust of blood dripping off the concrete walls is as normal to Satoru as breathing is for everyone else. He doesn’t falter in his movements, doesn’t scrunch his nose at the stench, and he doesn’t waver from swinging his arm back, the heavy weight of the wrench already wielded in his hand.

Someone dared come up to their base to face him head-on.

He has to admit, he was impressed with their guts, but now he feels empty save for a slight sliver of irritation at the man’s bloodied face. He’s panting after coughing up blood so much, his face unrecognizable after the beating Satoru gave him, teeth splattered on the floor. Satoru’s right hand man, Geto, stands at the side, silently inspecting his nails.

They’d been going at this for hours now, yet they seemed to be right where they were at the beginning. Torture was usually an effective method of gathering information, but this hostage seemed to be on the same par of monstrous as Satoru from his unyielding nature, even had the audacity to laugh.

Satoru stops in his tracks, a brow raised at what seemed to be so funny.

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” he spat his blood out, his busted eye twitching under Satoru’s stone cold gaze. “They told me you were barbaric, ruthless, the most feared mafia boss out here, but you’re pathetic now, aren’t you? You’re not the same Six Eyes who sees all they claimed you to be,” Satoru watched warily when his hostage smirked, the same one he always wore just moments from bashing the skull out of someone. It’s because he’s so familiar with it that Satoru immediately puts up his walls, Geto stepping beside him with his gun gleaming under his coat. As expected, the man does not falter, his laughter merely increasing in volume. “You’ve grown soft, Gojo. Your little lover is your weakness, it’s written all over your face. Tell me, what’s stopping you from ending my life already? Afraid that if she finds out, she might push you away?” When Gojo doesn’t answer, the man clicks his tongue. “I fucking knew it.”

Geto moves quicker than his boss. He draws his gun and aims it right between his eyes, only to be stopped by Satoru’s indifferent tone. “Stop.”

“But boss-”

“Why did you come here?” he stabs the man in the thigh with a knife, his screams of pain alleviating enough to distract the painful clenching of his chest. “I don’t believe you came here just to prove the rumors true. Now you tell me, why have you come here?” Satoru slams his fist down on the knife, the blade pushing past through muscles and hitting deep to the bone. “Answer me.”

“Th-there’s a drive in my pocket. Open it and you’ll see.”

The man doesn’t stop squirming as Geto rummages through his jacket, nodding to his boss once they got hold of the slick black device. Geto immediately plugs it to the monitor, several photographs popping up in a few seconds, and those few seconds were all it took to bring the infamous mafia boss down.

Because they weren’t just photos, they were photos of you.

Of you laughing with your friends, of you hugging Satoru’s arm in one of your dates, of you kissing him under the streetlight and even an intimate photo of you going down on him while he’s driving. It must be taken from a street cam judging from the blurry quality, but it’s crystal clear to him anyway, and Satoru’s mind muddles with thoughts darker than he once believed he’s capable of. He feels his anger bloom like fire licking up at his skin, his nerves bursting through, and he’s so obvious, so predictable that his hostage guffaws.

“I was right, I was right-!”

“You mean her?” his voice drips down with so much indifference, it shocks even he himself. His hostage shuts up at the sudden change of Satoru’s aura, that dark, fearsome aura that had people begging him to kill them as an act of mercy coming back to life. The man clamps his mouth shut, chills running down his spine because it’s no longer the same Satoru he mocked pulling the knife out from his thigh.

No, this is the Gojo Satoru, the devil incarnate himself, and he’s made the huge mistake of believing he would be affected by a mere woman. Satoru reads the fear on his face too easily, not bothering to hide his sigh as he twirls the bloodied blade between his fingers.

“She’s nothing to me. She’s just another bitch, another paid pussy. Favorite of the month, you could say, but nothing of worth to me,” he announces, ignoring Geto who’s stiffened up at the corner. “Did you really come all the way here just to see if you could find my weakness? If so, then your organization is a lot dumber than I thought, and I hate people who waste my time.”

“No, no, please, I was just jok-” his eyes widen when Satoru snaps his fingers, and Geto rushes to his boss with his gun. “Please, no, I didn’t think she was just a bitch-”

The man never got to finish his words.

A loud ‘bang’ echoes around the room, followed by a slight snap when his head falls backwards. Blood drips from the hole sitting in between his head, the aim perfect and flawless even with Satoru not looking back. He’s still Gojo Satoru, leader of the Gojo Mafia Clan, and he’s not the most feared leader in history for no reason. He’s always been blessed with a physical prowess and fighting abilities that allowed him to take on other clans by himself, but he’s changing. There’s now a chink in his armour, and people are starting to notice.

If he doesn’t do anything about it soon…

“Sir,” Geto begins, following the rushed footsteps of Satoru outside the hall, where his security is lined up with guns poised and ready to risk their lives for him. This was his power, this was his legacy – and this is who he was.

A killer. A monster. A demon – he’s everything you wouldn’t love.

“I know, Geto, I know,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He already knows what he’s supposed to do; he doesn’t need another reminder of it. “You don’t have to tell me anything I know of already. Now send that body back as a warning. I’m going home for tonight.”

Geto is stunned, and he’s got every right to be. After all, in his boss’ 28 years of existence, not once has he called anywhere or anyone home.

He’s always claimed himself to be irredeemable, to be unworthy of love and forgiveness, but slowly yet surely, he was beginning to look at life differently after meeting you, after loving you. The word ‘home’ was never in his vocabulary, and yet, every time your face comes up in his mind, it’s the only word he can think of.

He came home a lot earlier than you expected him to. You’re hunched over the table, legs swinging back and forth as you finish your school packets when the door chimes with the familiar beep. It’s only midnight and he’s already here, the excitement manifesting in you as you jump off the stools, running to greet your beloved.

Satoru ends up as a blur of frantic hands tugging his tie off, his scowl seething with anger and regret pouring off of him in waves.

Before you could say anything, he has you pinned on the wall, one knee inside your legs to keep you upright. Satoru is kissing you, hard, one hand raised to keep both your wrists planted above your head. You’re moaning at his aggressiveness, the sounds encouraged by his erection poking at you from your silk robe.

It’s not rare for him to come home in need of a fuck to clear his head, but…something feels different this time around. He feels different, almost like an entirely new person.

Satoru pulls away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded with lust and lips bruised from the kiss. You’re confuzzled; your lover is the exact same person standing before you, the same person grazing at your breasts until your nipples harden at his touch, so then why does it feel like the person who left and came back are entirely two different people.

“Can I fuck you, angel? Please?”

Your words die down your throat.

Satoru’s never said please before, much less look this devastated as he asks to have you. He always says it with exuberant confidence, his present frown usually a smile. There’s no trace of happiness or even playfulness in his eyes this time around. Instead, they’re filled with fear – desperation, even.

You say yes before you realize it, but it’s enough for Satoru. It feels like he’s only been waiting for that word before he goes on a rampage, for his lips are on yours again, patting your thighs as a silent command to jump. You follow his orders and kiss him feverishly until it becomes a battle for dominance, tongue and teeth clashing against the other. Your hands are tugging at his hair from how rough he’s grabbing at your hips, spanking the sensitive flesh that draws a whimper at you.

You don’t know how Satoru manages to find his way to the leather couch even with his eyes closed, but he takes you there, no longer gentle as he throws your weight down. You’re falling, falling, falling as your knees hit the material, cheeks pressed against the headrest. You turn back to kiss him one more time, but Satoru keeps you down there, the sound of his belt unbuckling reaching your ears.

Satoru wraps the leather around his palm, kissing you flat on the lips just as he slaps the material to your ass. He’s pushed your robe to bunch up at your waist, groaning into your mouth upon the realization you’ve been walking around the house butt-naked.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he nips at your lips, feeding off of the pained moans coating his senses at each whip of his belt. “No underwear while I’m gone – you’re begging to be fucked, angel. You’re so filthy,” he swings his arm back to extend the length of the belt, squeezing your ass before he whips it harder against your flesh. You scream at the contact, nails ripping the leather couch and a slight puddle of drool on your lips.

“S-Satoru!”

“What?” he snaps, gripping your jaw, his eyes replaced with something animalistic as he stares at you. The love is gone in his eyes, your lover almost unrecognizable from the way he whips you again. You jut forwards, arousal pooling and dripping down his sofa. His eyes trail down your gushing pussy, nostrils flared before throwing his belt to the other side of the room. The buckle hits one of his expensive vases until it comes crashing down, the sound of it nostalgic to the first time you met him. “Can’t talk, huh, baby? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” you blurt out, wiggling your hips sensationally at his already throbbing dick. “Please fuck me.”

You suppose you should’ve been more careful with your words, because Satoru lives to please, and if you tell him to do something, you can expect he’ll give his everything.

He knocks the wind out of your lungs by squeezing your waist, sliding himself into you one, full thrust. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but it’s too fast, too early, that the sudden stretch is painfully pleasurable. Satoru delivers one more smack to your flesh that makes it bounce, his growls loud and ragged as he pounds into you.

You’re clutching at the backrest, eyes shut tight as all your attention diverts to the heat in your core. You wish you could see his face, hold his hand or see the way he admires you while he fucks you, but you can’t see anything. Tonight, you could only feel.

Each thrust sends the couch a little ways forward, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s cursing left and right, more focused on getting his anger out his system than pleasuring you. It’s a drastic change to your lover’s behavior in bed, yet you can’t find any muscle in your body that denies this. Satoru can be rough, but he never really goes all out. One way or another, he manages to hold back for your sake, but his mind’s a mess, the voices in his head screaming louder that it drowns out the need to make you cum first.

He’s relentless, grip bruising the harder he fucks into you. You know you’re gone in the instance Satoru plants one foot beside you, the angle causing him to hit deeper.

Satoru ends up fucking into your cervix with each hard thrust, fisting his hand under your robe while he slams forward. It’s so intense that your vision blurs, a faltered grip on the couch. You’re falling limp under his ministrations, his dick successfully hitting that spot that has you seeing white. You’re screaming, babbling nonsense while Satoru uses you as his own fuck toy, pushing past your tight walls and relishing in the way you hug his cock snugly.

He came first, his thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering for a moment. Satoru pulls out so quickly from you that you’re left gasping for air at the sudden emptiness, and that’s when you feel his cum landing on your lower back.

You’re too slow, too weak – or perhaps he’s too strong, too fast – to react properly to his movements.

Satoru doesn’t let you catch your breath as he throws you over his shoulder, your face nearly smacking his ass. You feel dizzy at this position, and the voice in your head tells you that you should be scared he’s manhandling you like this, but seeing him this way – so reveled, so angry, so out of control – has you rubbing your legs, core dripping at the thought of how he’s going to use you tonight.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t head for the bedroom. You were so sure he’d take you there, but Satoru lays you flat on the marble countertops of the kitchen, the cold biting into your skin.

Satoru doesn’t waste another second before he spreads your legs open and dives into your cunt. You squeal, legs instinctively closing around his head when you feel his tongue lick a flat stripe at your pussy, but he only pushes them apart, encircling your ankles hard to keep you open.

You know he’s strong, but you’re still surprised that he’s capable of rendering you motionless, powerless like this. Your mind wanders off to a dangerous path in wonders of how else he’s hurt someone like this – whether intentionally or unintentionally – but he immediately pulls you back to reality when he sucks your clit, his eyes direct with yours.

His hands trail upwards to squeeze at your breasts, the immediacy of it all firing up that tight knot in your stomach that he failed to snap a while ago.

Satoru’s nose rubs at your skin the harder he sucks at your clit, tugging it upwards until you’re whining around him. It’s always so erotic to see his pretty face buried in your cunt like this; you’ll never get used to him eating you like you’re his last meal. He laps up your juices like a starved man, his tongue prodding between your lips and slurping everything you offer him, one of his arms retracting to slide two fingers inside your sopping hole.

You moan at the sudden intrusion. The sounds of your moans mixing in with the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy is extremely embarrassing, even more so because you’re actually gushing down his palm.

Your juices spread all over his face, and Satoru is greedy, thirsty for more. He pumps harder into you, curling them against the ridges of your walls, and finally, finally you’re there. Your orgasm washes down on you violently that Satoru has to keep a palm flat down on your stomach, his tongue not ceasing from lapping up your juices. You’re convulsing from his hold, stuttered moans rewarding to his ears.

He doesn’t stop coaxing your wetness out of your cunt, his fingers working you out and easing the previous pain of when he entered you without warning. Satoru leans up to help you sit up, his lips colliding with yours for a much gentler kiss this time around.

You cup his cheeks, feeling him slide your body across the counters. Your arousal that he’s failed to clean up remains there until it spreads all over the back of your thighs, the feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but you’re more focused in his tongue dancing with yours. He tastes sweet – like mint and sugar – but his moans are sweeter, the sound dulcet and making you weak on your knees as you taste yourself on him.

Satoru tugs you forward, panic flooding you when you feel nothing under you. You feel like you’re falling again and you immediately encircle your arms around his neck, but he chuckles through the kiss, quick reflexes put into work as he carries you.

The kiss is sloppy yet heated, both of you unable to focus properly when he’s growing hard again. You expect him to take you to the bedroom to finish things for once and for all, but he’s impatient – this much you know the moment he walked in, but somehow keep forgetting – wrapping your legs to his waist instead before slipping inside you.

You mewl into his mouth, eyes snapping open to look at him nervously. His legs are slightly bent as he bounces you on his cock like you weighed nothing.

In this position, he’s hitting deep each time you slide down his cock. Unable to help it, you graze your foreheads with his to stare him deep in the eyes, the usual passion in them slowly returning with each thrust. The work is placed on his shoulders as he holds you close to him, the mind numbing sensation of your erect nipples grazing his sensitive skin enticing him to rut harder into you, all to enjoy the way you fall apart above him.

You’ve been rendered speechless, mouth fallen open to release breathy gasps. Hell, you’re unable to moan, not when his cock is sliding in and out of you so lusciously that you feel every vein protruding from the base of his length. How he manages to walk while fucking you is beyond your comprehension by now, but he seems to be having the time of his life based on his grunting, continuously fucking deep into your pussy so much that he refuses to let you go. Satoru kicks the door to your room open and places you gently on the bed this time, trapping you in his arms but with enough space to let you crawl back up on the bed. You stop as your head hits the pillows, and the mood immediately changes.

Satoru stays still inside you, his large hand cupping your face while you both catch your breath. There’s something unreadable about him. He feels young yet old at the same time, giving you the impression that perhaps he’s still just a child trapped in an old man’s body.

There’s so much fear swirling through the blueness of his eyes that you frown, marveling about what happened to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, you swipe the stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, smiling up at him in hopes he’d realize you’re always there for him. “Satoru,” you whisper, breath hitching as he starts to move. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Satoru props you sideways, your leg flat on the bed while he hooks the other one over his thigh that is spread beside your body. You have to tilt all the way to the side just to see his face, your hand now bent in an awkward position. Although he doesn’t answer vocally, his gentle thrusts are enough to tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it – he never does, and he never will – so you shut your mouth, focusing on the pleasure of him hitting deep.

Your heart aches for him. You wish he could tell you everything, to share you his worries, and you can’t enjoy him fucking you too much because you’re crying, chest clenching that he’s growing distant no matter how close he is.

You don’t want to lose him.

“Hey,” he easily reads you, leaning down to flutter his eyes at you. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, okay, angel? But you’re making me feel good, you always do, so let me do the same for you,” Satoru kisses your tears away, the saltiness of it making him fuck harder into you, all to ignore the screaming inside his head.

He wants to hold you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to keep loving you like this, he wants to be with you, he wants to touch you – but it’s not that easy.

It’ll only keep getting harder in the future, but the future isn’t now. Today is the present, and it’s even more precious because you’re there with him. Right now, you’re untouchable by anyone but him, and it’s only him that gets to fuck you like this, only him who gets to see you whimper under him, only him who gets to kiss you hard while he fucks you deep.

He wants to fuck you hard enough that you never forget the feeling of him inside you.

Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he really is demonic, because he wishes that after this you won’t be satisfied with anyone else. He wants to fuck you hard enough you’ll keep wishing it was him, that it’s him who’s hitting your sweet spots and making you see stars, that it’s only him who can make you feel this good.

Satoru interlaces his hand with yours as he feels you tighten around him, the clamping down of your walls a telltale you’re near. You’re moaning, eyes dropping to where your bodies are connected. His cock is slicked with your arousal and he’s still thrusting to passionately, his hands touching you everywhere with the same ardor and impatience one would have when they know time is limited. And Satoru knows better than everyone that no amount of money can buy enough time in this world, because if such was a case, then he’d have done so long ago.

He silences his demons with the only way he knows how to; by kissing you and burying himself deep inside you, snapping his hips angrily as if they would counterattack his fears. Your hold on him is slipping from the sweat dripping down your bodies, but he doesn’t stop, his cock further stretching you out because he’s growing impossibly bigger.

Satoru’s cock twitches inside you, the motion pulling a gasp from you. He bites down on your shoulder, one hand gripping your other leg open as he grunts into your skin, his thrusts focused more on power than speed. He hits deep each time, the sensation of him sliding out slowly only to push back in vigorously to make your pussy throb too intense for you to even form proper sentences. He’s getting nearer, his thrusts growing more fervent and impatient. Satoru thumbs at your clit to coax you into following him, and with his thumb rubbing your clit and flicking it side to side, you end up finishing before him, your moan high-pitched and broken. He eagerly swallows the sound by releasing after you, refusing to pull out even as he feels both your cum trickle afterwards.

The sensitivity is too much for you that you have to push him away, and he complies, falling at your side but not before wrapping an arm around you first. His heartbeat is pumping under you, your hands tracing circles at his chest while he holds you impossibly close, littering kisses at the crown of your head.

It’s clear that something is wrong, but he won’t tell you no matter how much you ask. You know firsthand how annoying it is when someone can’t respect your space, so you close your eyes and let sleep overtake you instead, basking in the after sex glow and relieved only by his touch.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, he can tell you another time.

“Satoru,” you murmur seconds before falling asleep.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s something wrong…you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lies through gritted chest, pushing your head deeper into his sweaty chest. He has a habit of doing this; of pushing you close so you don’t see his face, so you don’t see the tears streaming down his face that are soon lost in your hair. You think that maybe he’s just breathing hard after work and fucking you, but he’s torn inside, feeling too broken that not even you could help fix his heart.

But you’re still there, and that’s enough for him. So he keeps his lips planted on your forehead all the way until the first sliver of light extends its fingertips over the horizon, the orange glow bathing you in an ethereal light while his body remained in the darkness.

It serves as a painful reminder that he’ll never be worthy of your love, that he’ll never earn the blessing that is your heart, that you’ll never truly love him the way he’s always wanted to be loved. Maybe now you think you do, but it will change once the darkness reveals his true nature, and the thought of you pushing him away hurts a lot more than having never been loved in the first place. To him, it’s a thousand times worse when you get a taste of something, only to have it pulled away from you.

And the longer he stays there next to you, he can’t help but picture your smile soon turned into a look of fear, your body bruised with marks and blood instead of his love bites.

They call him the notorious mafia leader who bows and yields to no one, but it’s not true. Gojo Satoru most definitely has his weakness, one that came into a form of his lover, and he can’t handle that you’d get hurt because of him someday that he believes it’s just better to let things be this way.

He’s silent from when he leaves the bed, refusing to look at you one last time as a final resolve of whatever is left in his strength. He quickly dresses himself and picks up your discarded robe on the ground, folding it and leaving it on the counter before shutting the door, the sound of his footsteps mute compared to the frantic beating of his heart.

Geto is already there at the lobby, his face empty yet eyes filled with sympathy. He opens the door for Satoru who slides in wordlessly, his lips pulled into a thin line while he punches in zeroes upon zeroes.

The words transaction complete flashes before him, and for a split second, he gets the urge to run back inside to hold you. But Geto clears his throat from the passenger’s seat, nodding at his phone that Satoru visibly deflates. His hands are numb the whole time he deletes your photos, your videos, and erases your contact, but it only hits hard that its over once he chucked the phone out the window, watching through his sunglasses as the device is crushed under another speeding car.

Its over, its over, its over – it keeps chanting at his head, and he wants to punch himself, wants to never see another daylight again every time he imagines you waking up alone and unable to find him. He wants to be sad, and he is, but there’s that relief blossoming inside him anyway that whispers its over, you’re safe that he can’t help but think…its okay, its over.

With that, Satoru rolls up the windows and nods at the driver who’s been waiting for him the whole time. He makes eye contact with a proud Geto from the rearview mirror, concealing his heartbreak with a laugh as he crosses his leg over the other.

“It’s over,” he says more to himself, “Let’s go.”

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. That’s the reason he got this far in life in the first place, he’s got his tenacity and dedication to thank for. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins as well, and he also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

And the punishment of loving you – only to have you slip from his arms – is a punishment he’ll wholeheartedly accept.

[boydiisaster]

It's so awesome there's blogs like yours out there trying to provide content for GN and Male fans. It's so hard to find anything even GN, and as a nonbinary person I just want you to know how much it's appreciated! If you're okay with taking requests right now, I have an Obey Me one? Do you have any headcanons on a poly/throuple relationship between a GN MC, Satan, and Solomon? Those two are surprisingly good friends in canon and alike in a lot of ways, I love them both so much!

throuple satan and solomon headcanons

reader: gender neutral, they/them pronouns

tw/cw: a bit of spoilers and fighting/blood mentions

author's note: AWW YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME CRY YOU'RE SO NICE, ANON :,) i'm trying my hardest to provide more content for other male and gender neutral readers out there, so i really hope that what i write is enjoyable for yall <33 also i haven't the slightest idea of satan and solomon's canon relationship because i'm only at like lesson 30 smth and don't keep up with my messages so i just pulled most of their dynamic for this out of my ass ( ._.)

It was like a cat just met a dog when Satan and Solomon started dating. They have similarities, sure, but whereas Satan is cold and calculated with his spells, plans, and pranks, it's as if Solomon doesn't think. Like, ever.

How was someone so smart so insufferably stupid at the same time? It's as if Satan is his babysitter more than he's his boyfriend.

Oh god and when Solomon ropes you into doing something with him-

"I hate you both," Satan grumbles, checking your temperature and seeing how it's well above the normal temperature for humans. "Solomon, you can't just drag MC on all your dangerous adventures. They're much more human than you are."

"Just because I accidentally made a spell that cursed me with immortality doesn't mean I'm any less human than they are." Solomon crosses his arms at his boyfriend's hurtful words. "Besides, MC wanted to come with me. Isn't that right, MC?"

You didn't speak. That was probably because you had passed out from how incredibly fatigued you were. Your skin was sticky and noticeably sweaty, eyes closed shut while letting out painful whimpers.

"Tell me again just what happened to them?" Satan groans as he opens a spell book. God knows where he got it. He did that a lot. He was like a video game character or something the way he'd just pull books or spell jars from out his ass. He was always the one Mammon would ask for a pencil, because hell he had like hundreds on him at all times.

"Well," Solomon cheekily smiles and scratches the back of his neck. "We went looking for some herbs for a new spell I concocted."

"Uh huh?"

"And MC sort of... fell."

"What did they fall on, Solomon?"

Said man falls silent. "Solomon?" Satan drags out his lover's name, threatening him, to which all Solomon can do is smile again, this time more nervous.

"They kind of, maybe, fell into a bush of what could have been poisonous flowers...."

"What kind of poisonous flowers, Solomon?" Satan glares at him.

Solomon thinks for a moment, then clasps his hands together. "Let's just say that if we don't get Diavolo or Lucifer in the next," he looks toward a clock, "fifteen or so minutes, MC might fall asleep for probably a whole millennium."

That earns the sorcerer a big thwack to the back of his head by Satan's spell book.

That was probably the first major incident where you were dragged into Solomon's dangerous plans, but it certainly wasn't the last. Most of the time you either ended up with several scrapes or bruises, things Satan or Solomon could easily patch up on their own. But sometimes you'd come back missing a shirt or as a cat.

(It's hard for Satan to be mad at Solomon for accidentally turning you into a cat, but he manages it because you were furious.)

... You were a really cute cat though, MC.

A cat was frantically trying to climb up Satan's pant leg. He was out in the garden tending to his flowers when a kitty he'd never seen before made their way through the bushes and crashed into his leg.

"Hello little one," he smiled at the cat. "Are you lost?"

The cat let out a pitiful wail and latched themselves onto Satan's leg. Satan frowned a bit and started to get worried. "Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

He picked up the cat to examine them. They were a cute little thing with [eye color] eyes and a sleek fur coat. Satan couldn't see anything physically wrong with them. Their paws looked fine, and there was no blood anywhere.

"Did you lose your mom? Maybe your kitten?" he began to muse, then Solomon exploded through the bushes looking frantic as ever.

"Have you seen a cat?" he gasped for air. "About this tall, [eye color] eyes, clearly upset?"

"You mean this one?" Satan held up the cat he found.

"Yes! Give them here-"

The cat hissed and clawed at Solomon's hand, burying themselves further into Satan's grasp. They growled, then looked toward Satan to let out another pitiful whine.

"MC, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" Solomon cried.

The cat hissed again.

"I'm sorry, did you just say MC?"

Solomon stiffened. He started to laugh nervously, fiddling with his cuffs. "Uh... would you break up with me if I told you I turned our darling MC into a tiny cat...? If so then no, I didn't say MC."

"You did what?!"

"Oh would you look at the time! I have a meeting with Lord Diavolo I must attend to right now, goodbye Satan, I love you!"

And then Solomon left, leaving Satan to fix whatever spell he put on their partner by himself. Satan wasn't angry about it, but the look of pure rage on your little furry face was enough to let Satan know that if he kept you as a cat for a moment longer you'd raise hell upon everyone in the vicinity.

Having a pact with a demon means that pretty much everything you do is shared with said demon. You feel emotions stronger, god forbid if you feel their specific emotions. You could be angry at Mammon for swiping a bag of candy you bought for yourself, but you act as if Mammon robbed you of every last thing you had just because of the pact you share with Satan. He feels awful about that, even though you reassure him time and time again that:

1.) It's not his fault, and

2.) You wanted a pact with him

Even so, please give Satan cuddles and kisses after he gets all sulky. He acts composed, but on the inside he's so incredibly self-conscious of both his sin and his pact with you.

"You need to be more careful," Satan quietly mused as he bandaged your hurt hands and face. You had gotten into a fight at school because a demon shoved you, and now you were currently inside Satan's room, getting blood all over his pretty carpet.

"I know," you softly sighed and hissed once the rubbing alcohol came into contact with the cuts on your face. "I just, I don't know. It set me off for some reason."

Your boyfriend hesitated for a moment, then applied a bandage to your cheek. "It's because of the pact."

"Satan-"

"You know I'm right, MC." Satan didn't look at you when he talked. Instead he looked at his lap, which had the first aid kit he was using to fix you up in it. "I know I talk about this a lot but... I am truly sorry for doing this to you."

"Hey," you cupped his cheek. "It's not your fault. I can learn to live with this. I learnt to handle my greed, envy, and gluttony when I built pacts with your brothers, right?"

"You shouldn't have to though. Maybe it's best if I-"

You silently kissed him. It was a bittersweet kiss, one filled with love yet unspeakable sadness and hurt. Satan was so self-conscious of his sin, yet you loved him still anyway. You wished he could see that.

"Don't finish that thought," you whispered as you pulled away. Resting your forehead against his, you continued. "I love you. Despite your sin, despite how you were born, despite everything; I love you. I chose you, and I wanted a pact with you." You smiled, and Satan couldn't help but blush at your next sentence.

"You silly demon. You really can't see how amazing you are, huh? It's okay though, because both me and Solomon will always be here to remind you."

Solomon touches all your pact marks constantly. When you take off your shirt it's hard to stop him from touching Leviathan's mark located directly on your back. He's always rubbing his fingers over Beelzebub's symbol on your stomach, always outlining Mammon's mark on your wrist. Sometimes he kisses Belphegor's symbol on your throat. When meeting your eyes, he never fails to stare into the one that holds Lucifer's mark, and even though you cover your thighs almost all the time, it's like Solomon can tell where Asmodeus's mark is. It's his favorite place on your thigh to touch.

You sighed whenever you felt Solomon's lips touch the small of your back. A smile made its way onto your own lips as you giggled.

"I didn't expect Satan to place his mark somewhere so... subtle," he admitted as he popped up to press a kiss to your cheek.

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. He was playing with your wrist again, looking at the symbol of greed that adorns your skin.

"Solomon," you started.

Your lover hummed. You could tell he was beginning to grow drowsy. His eyes were closed and his movements slowed.

"Are you... jealous?"

That woke him up. He made you face him, and the expression he wore was unreadable. It worried you. Maybe you shouldn't have said that.

"I just mean, like," you grew embarrassed. "Um... you're always touching my pact marks, or always looking at them, and I don't know. Are you mad at me for them?"

The sorcerer gently grasped your hands. His fingers were weirdly soft considering how much he uses them. He sat there for a moment, just running his thumbs over your palms before speaking.

"I am a little," he admitted. "But I'm not mad at you. If anything I'm proud."

You smiled a bit. It was a lopsided and awkward sort of smile, but to Solomon it was the most beautiful thing in the world, as cheesy as that sounded.. He loves seeing his partners happy. He loves seeing you happy.

"You're much stronger than you think," Solomon continued. "Being able to hold seven different pact marks, ones belonging to Avatars, as a human with no sort of prior knowledge on magic?" He beamed. "You're incredible."

That only embarrassed you more. You groaned a bit and tried swatting Solomon away to hide your face, but your lover only pulled you in for a short yet loving kiss.

"You're cute, you know that?"

"You're cuter," you retorted. Solomon just smiled.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, dear. Speaking of which," he leaned back on your bed and made grabby hands at you, indicating that he wanted you to lay next to him. "I'm tired. Cuddle me."

"So needy," you joked, but instantly complied to Solomon's request. He was never like this in public. It was nice seeing him so open and vulnerable... and cute.

[merakiui]

hii could we get an angsty scenario/hcs of xiao and scaramouche/any characters you prefer! who are basically head over heels for someone but that person keeps getting with the wrong people and constantly getting their heart broken? Preferably with a good/fluffy ending but it’s up to you!

cw: angst + heartbreak  note - decided to go for scenarios! (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

[Xiao] 

One Call Away—

The sudden shout of his name had brought him out into the open, where he finds you sitting in a field of wildflowers, your head hung and quiet sobs racking your hunched form.

“You called?” The gruffness in his voice startles you and your head snaps up. He notices your pained expression and the tears that refuse to cease, and it gives birth to a strange feeling within his chest. “What happened? Surely I am not too late.” And then he shakes his head. “No, I’m never late.”

“Ah... I’m sorry.” You sniffle, pitifully rubbing at your eyes. “I guess your name slipped out. I didn’t mean to bother you. I just didn’t mean to call for you either.”

Xiao raises a brow and then surveys the surrounding area. “Well, it doesn’t look like you’re in any mortal peril. In that case, I’ll leave you to—”

“No!”

Your sudden shout startles the both of you, with you drawing back and Xiao’s eyes widening ever so slightly. He wonders why you’re crying when beautiful scenery surrounds you. Are you truly that pathetic? Are mortals usually this weak-hearted? Xiao can’t wrap his head around the idea of grief; he’s an immortal who has seen plenty of hazardous scenarios worth grieving over. Yet with the passage of time he has learned to let such emotions drift away on a wind current. Emotions are useless to an adeptus.

But now he’s stuck with them.

“No?”

“D-Don’t go...” Your voice wobbles and you wipe at your reddened eyes. “I don’t want to bother you, but could you stay here with me? For a little while, at least. It’s all I’ll ask...”

He feels like he should decline your desperate plea before it spreads its perplexing roots throughout his system. The words are practically on the tip of his tongue and he struggles to verbalize them. If he could, he’d shake his head and vanish from your sight. There’s something about your expression that forces him to stay, and he truly detests the way his emotions run wild at the prospect of something he can’t quite comprehend.

“Fine.”

And so Xiao listens to you. It’s something he does best; his eyes and ears are open as he gives you his full, undivided attention. Half of him observes your reactions as you explain what happened and the other half zeros in on the way your subtle hand motions. While he might not be anywhere near a cupid—and he would never be caught giving out relationship advice to mortals, which is something he couldn’t do even if he tried—he is still a being of immense power. From what he’s able to understand from your explanation, your loved one decided to part from you because they believed it just wasn’t working. And you, having been struck with an immense sadness, failed to call out to them to clear up any misunderstandings.

Eventually, after internally wrestling with his own thoughts and feelings, he asks, “Do you want me to teach them a lesson? Should you need them to feel the same amount of despair you’re feeling—”

“Oh, no! No. No. They don’t deserve to be punished for that. I understand now that our feelings weren’t the same. We really weren’t working and that’s okay. It just...hurts.”

Xiao tilts his head, an innocently childish show of confusion. “Where?”

“It’s not a physical pain, Xiao. I mean, it could be. But...this is more emotional.” Your hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around his wrist. He stares down at your hand and he almost pulls away. Before he can even consider what’s happening, you’re guiding his hand to where your heart is. “In here. It hurts now, but I’ll overcome it eventually. I’m used to it anyways...”

The straight-faced adeptus remains still as he feels the fast-paced beat of your heart. Mortals have always been weak in his eyes: feeble beings who break at the slightest inconvenience. Although you don’t seem close to shattering and that confuses him more than he’d like to admit. Perhaps you are one of the more resilient humans he’s come across in recent years. It’s strange when he feels your heartbeat, so very certain and alive with the sour feelings a heartbreak brings. He’s never understood that either. Heartbreaks and relationships. The differences between friendship and romance. Both can be seen through to the very end, if fostered healthily.

So then why are you so sad?

Truthfully, you’ve always seemed sad to Xiao. As an adeptus, he’s never been able to fully grasp the meaning behind human emotions. They’re insignificant in his eyes, mere flashes of feeling that can hurt and blind. They’re troublesome and useless—certainly not something he would ever want to experience. But those emotions can heal and bring cheer. They’re not all entirely bad, nor are they as evil as he seems to think they are.

Xiao realizes his hand has been on your chest for a while now and he’s been staring at you so much that you’ve begun to shrink away, partially embarrassed to have him analyze you with so much scrutiny.

“Is...something wrong?”

He shakes his head slowly at first before retracting his arm. And then he notices you’ve stopped crying. He’s not sure when this happened, but he’s oddly relieved to see your neutral expression. Somehow your crying face is painful and it wounds him in a way he never would have imagined.

“Thank you for listening to my rant. I know this is probably meaningless to you, since you’re an adeptus and all, but it really means a lot. So I’m glad I was able to get these things off my chest. I feel a lot lighter now.”

“You’re not sad?”

“Ah. Well...” Your gaze flickers, eyes darting to and fro while you struggle to look at him. “I’m still sad, but I’ll get over it! Don’t worry! I’m resilient!”

Xiao’s brow furrows in confusion. As he has thought plenty of times before, mortals are far too complex. Eventually he sighs and says, “It’s okay to cry. Don’t keep that inside, okay? You’ll just hurt yourself even more.” Now he’s avoiding your gaze and there’s a barely noticeable tinge of pink dusting his pale cheeks. He’s really not good at consoling humans.

“Oh, Xiao.” You pull him in for a hug and he stiffens, trying to squeeze out of your arms like a cat near water. But then he feels your fingers digging into his arm and he realizes that you might actually need this hug. Despite the fact that he’s not used to freely giving out hugs—or even cheering up mortals, for that matter—he is definitely out of his element. “Really, thank you. I promise to make you an Almond Tofu as thanks.”

“There’s no need for that.” Hesitantly, as if he’s worried he’ll break you, he wraps his arms around your form. “I’m just helping you because you called my name. That’s all.”

But that’s not the full truth. Hidden in those words is the real reason why he even bothered to stay despite the false alarm. And it worries Xiao when he thinks about the implications. He really does like you and this admiration has surpassed platonic love. As long as you’re okay, though, he’ll swallow his feelings in favor of making sure you’re always happy. It’s one of his duties as your friend.

Friend. A word Xiao never thought he’d ever use, but it feels nice. He likes it.

Yet The Distance Remains Harrowing.

[Scaramouche] 

To Mend a Broken Heart—

You’re spilling your emotional guts in front of the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, tears freely running down your cheeks like two faulty water faucets. It’s a pathetic sight, really. Scaramouche witnessed this exact show just a few weeks ago when you were so certain that that fisher was the one. Now, after meeting and getting together with someone else for a short time, you’ve come out of yet another relationship, unhappy and unsatisfied.

He’s jealous. There’s no denying the envy he feels when you talk so highly of these people and then wail about them a few days later. It’s a vicious cycle of mending a fragile heart and then breaking it into pieces all over again. With no end in sight, you fall victim to your own demise in the pursuit of love. He wonders if you’ll ever learn to choose your next partner carefully rather than settling for anything with a pulse.

“This is exactly what I said would happen, was it not?” he says with a sigh. “Oh, woe is you. If you were smarter, this last relationship might have lasted longer.”

“That’s rich coming from you. I’ve never seen you in a relationship before,” you mutter, wiping angrily at your eyes. His eyelid twitches at the not-so-subtle jab. “Ugh!I hate being so unlucky! This is the worst.”

“Rather than your foul luck, I think the problem lies within you and your taste in partners.”

Sniffling, you lower your head onto the table, hoping to just melt into the crafted wood before you end up making even more of a fool out of yourself. It’s rare to be in the company of Scaramouche, considering how often he’s assigned missions that require swift travel and a covert profile. But whenever you do find yourself sitting across from him, indulging in light snacks and tea, it’s always because you’ve lost your latest lover; and your own sadness requires the nullifying effects of Scaramouche’s cynicism.

“They’re good people! I just don’t know why it never works out. We’re happy and we both like each other—it doesn’t make any sense. Am I missing something? Is it my fault? They probably got tired of me because I’m not a good person.“

“Perhaps.” He takes a moment to sip his tea and you muster a weak glare. Only Scaramouche can delight in his beverage while you’re holding back another onslaught of tears. “Your crocodile tears are hardly flattering and your apparent need for consistent affection might come off as clingy. And you have a tendency to find flaws within yourself whenever something doesn’t go your way. Adding onto that, you doubt yourself a lot and you’re always quick to take the blame for things that are out of your control. In a way you are partially—”

“I get it. I’m not a good person.”

“I never said anything of that sort. Now you’re just asking for pity.”

Oh, how close you are to punching that smirk off of his face.

“Then since you seem to know everything, my oh so helpful friend, why don’t you tell me what I’m missing?”

“With pleasure.” His cup finds the surface of the table as he ponders your demand for a moment. “You’re missing someone who meshes well with your personality.”

“That’s not true. Everyone I’ve been with so far—“ His skeptical look makes you stop short. “Okay. Maybe we forced it because we thought it was love. But that’s besides the point! There was still an attraction! I think...” You huff and bury your face in your arms, nearly almost sprawling on the table. You’re too depressed to even consider how impolite your actions look, and Scaramouche scoffs at your poor display of manners. “Where am I even going to find someone who ‘meshes well with my personality,’ hm?”

“I’m sure you’ve already found them.” He clears his throat, tracing a finger along a sanded knot in the wooden table. “You’re sitting across from him.”

Whether he intended for you to hear that whispered part, you can’t say for sure. But your head perks up and you fix him with a lopsided grin. “You’re kidding.”

“Hm?”

“Me and you, a couple?” A small giggle escapes your lips and you swipe the remaining tears out of your eyes. “Don’t joke about that. I’m trying to be sad here!”

It wasn’t a joke, he almost says and he catches himself, suddenly self-conscious.

“I don’t think we’d work out,” you continue, motioning between you and him. “We’d hardly see each other and you don’t seem like the type for romance. Besides, I’m not attracted to you in that way. You feel the same, right?”

Scaramouche stares into his cup before he meets your gaze, a tight smile gracing his expression. “Of course. Your inability to settle isn’t all that attractive.”

Your eyes roll and you finally pick up your own cup to take a large gulp of lukewarm tea. The bitter Harbinger observes your actions with narrowed eyes. There’s a distinct pain that taps at his hardened soul, splitting it apart as your words echo within his spinning head. I don’t think we’d work out. I’m not attracted to you in that way. Why is he suddenly feeling...upset? He’s not one for pitiful emotions; he’s a Harbinger, not a lovesick fool! He ought to glare at you and storm off, demanding the two of you never speak again. But he won’t say that because he doesn’t want to hurt you. Because he cares for you. Because he loves you.

You feel the same, right?

No, that’s not right. This is the love he’s been wallowing in since he first got acquainted with you. It’s strange when he remembers every event that has led up to the blossoming feelings that reside deep in the epicenter of his heart, but it’s even more strange that he can’t find the courage to voice his own opinion.

“We wouldn’t mix,” he reaffirms your statement with a cold tone. There is no warmth in his eyes. “After all, your taste in tea is as bad as your taste in partners.”

And even though he wishes you could see through his walls—just this once he’ll allow you to tear them down for the sake of a half-baked confession—you just sit there and grin, no longer teary-eyed and forlorn. How odd. His heart feels far heavier than it’s ever been before. And you’re already scanning your surroundings, hungry for a love that will never keep you sated. Perhaps you weren’t even sad in the first place.

Upon realizing this, Scaramouche wants nothing more than to disappear into the wood like a feeble worm and never come back out.

You Must Break Another.

[bakugohoex]

“you come here often then?” “well considering i work here, yes”

pairing: satoru gojo x female reader

cw: fluff and language

word count: 2100+

information: the great conjunction collab masterlist by @suna-reversed

a/n: ugh yeah have fun reading this, it’s probably crap because i waffled a bit and made gojo become an idiot

summary: in which gojo can’t help but have an infatuation with you as soon as he sees you through the glass window of a restaurant, now finally meeting you he can’t help but become an unaware teenager in front of you

↞ back to jujutsu kaisen masterlist

Gojo would hate to admit it but seeing the way you swerved past the customers at the restaurant was a dance in his eyes. The way you easily carried three plates on your arms and still had a calm and collected face. Even if he was a powerful jujutsu sorcerer the ability you had to still chat to people even when you were on your knees picking up the glass one of the customers happened to drop infatuated the man.

It wasn’t like he was busy, Yuji, Nobara and Megumi had decided to go out into the city and being the responsible adult he was he tagged along. Even if he had no idea where the three had gone, he had better things to watch as he stared through the window, any person inside would have noticed him. He was almost gawking but the way they either dismissed his wide mouth or genuinely couldn’t see him was an issue they could handle.

He continued watching you speak to the customers, the black blouse hugging your form as you took another order. The restaurant seemed busy, even if it was the lunch rush, the way you easily handled it with that perfect pretty smile. How could Gojo not stare at you, with those bright eyes that filled him with a passion he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe it was stupid to go in, to ask for your number, he was a Jujutsu Sorcerer for one thing but the fact he didn’t even know your name would make it seem creepy.

He stook to watching through the window, occasionally going on his phone to not cause any disruption with his clear blue gaze at your form. He looked up watching how you continued to skim past customers, talk to the customers, even cooing at the babies.

Hearing a loud crash behind him, he turned to be met with the three delinquents, the three-looking confused at why Gojo had been standing all doe eyed. “What’s wrong with him?” Megumi muttered.

“He always looks like that?” Yuji was barely concentrating as some shop nearby had caught his eye.

Nobara understood where he had been looking, could see that he had seen something he wanted. Her eyes went to the restaurant seeing your form taking plates away from an empty table. “He has a crush.” Her voice was loud as the two boys whipped their heads to give a confused look, Nobara pointed through the window as both her and Yuji went straight up to the glass staring right at you.

“Get away from the window.” Gojo spoke, grabbing their collars as he pulled them away from the window. “I don’t have a crush, that’s not my thing.”

“Sure, sure.” Yuji laughed as Gojo was clearly flushed from the way his ears became red and how his voice cracked as he tried to form words.

Megumi rolled his eyes as he spoke out loud, “leave him alone, even if he did have a crush that’s not our business, and it’s not like anybody would go for him.”

Gojo turned to face Megumi with his eyebrows raised, Megumi’s tone had been calm and without any malice but the way Nobara and Yuji laughed at the comment made Gojo roll his eyes. “I liked it when you weren't here.”

They dismissed his comment as they decided to head back home, Gojo gave one more look back through the wide window. The way you move your finger to brush your hair behind your head talked with the customers. You’d just be another woman who he had never gotten the chance to speak to, another woman who probably had a life that didn’t need the disruption of sorcerers and curses.

Turning back around he walked behind them, hands in his pocket as they all hurried back to the Jujutsu High.

It had been a week since he had seen you through the window of the restaurant, the three had been sent on a mission on their own as Gojo had found himself stuck inside after the incidents had occurred. Finding boredom through texting Nanami irritable messages, he got a reply he never expected from the blond, a meeting place for lunch.

It was highly unusual for Nanami to ask for something but whatever the issue was Gojo would be there without a second question. His eyes fixated on the address which sounded so familiar, he didn’t realise where he was until he stared directly at the restaurant. The restaurant you worked out, it had to be a coincidence. It couldn’t be that Nanami knew from Nobara or the others clearly wanted to have a conversation with you.

But just as he walked through the doors, the gold bell ringing, your head beamed from the doors of the kitchen watching to see who it was. The restaurant was empty as the lunch rush had finished and the only one’s left were regulars or the mysterious white-haired man.

He walked straight to one of your tables as he went to the blond, “Y/n, I don’t pay you to talk all day.” The manager said as you rolled your eyes laughing, you shook your head as you grabbed your apron staring at the two men.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” You muttered as he shook his head, even if you brought in a lot of customers and got the highest paid tips he questioned how you had gotten the job in the first place.

You walked straight to the table, a happy smile on your face as you undid your pen and flipped the notepad open. “Hi, I’m Y/n, I’ll be your server today, can I get you any drinks to start off with?”

Gojo eyes stayed fixated on your form as you gave the two men a happy look, “coffee.” Nanami spoke as the two of you turned to face the white-haired man.

“Not…nothing.” You nodded as Gojo had paused at how close you were to him, you stared back at them as you wrote the single drink down.

“And can I get you any starters?”

You barely looked up at them as Nanami spoke out some food items Gojo couldn’t comprehend, after scribbling it down you looked up. “Always the hungry one aren’t we Nanami.”

Gojo’s face fell as he stared at Nanami who rolled his eyes, you giving a chuckle as Nanami rolled his eyes at your antics. “Gojo meet Y/n Y/l/n, Y/n meet Satoru Gojo, she’s a friend and he…”

“Was the guy staring at me last week through the window.” You interrupted as Gojo didn’t look up through his sunglasses, you could see a spec of blue come through and he looked different from last week but still the handsome guy your customers had noticed gawking at you.

“You were doing what?” Nanami questioned as you laughed at the blond staring daggers at his friend.

Gojo leaned back on his chair as he tried to replace his embarrassment with another emotion, “I wasn’t staring.”

“My customers called it gawking.” You laughed once more before beginning the walk back to get the two men food.

Gojo’s eyes stayed fixated on your form as you left to grab the food, Nanami clicking his fingers in front of the man's face. He couldn’t help but stare at your form, how pretty you looked in full view, how you laughed off his clear gawking at you and how he knew you had a pretty name to match your pretty face.

“How do you know her?” Gojo spoke after you had gone into the kitchen, Nanami raising an eyebrow before replying.

“Before I became a Jujutsu Sorcerer again, I met her here and we became friends…I do have friends, Gojo.” He muttered as he stared at the menu and what he wanted to eat.

Gojo didn’t bother staring at the menu as all he wanted to do was become friends with you, he thought you were perfect. The way you laughed was even perfect but most importantly if you could handle Nanami he would be able to get along with you easily.

“She gets people handing her numbers every day, you can’t just give her your number.” Nanami hinted as he did want to see you happy and if it meant a date with Gojo then who was he to judge.

Nanami had only picked this place after you had spoken of the weird white-haired man who had been surrounded by three teenagers wearing blue uniforms. In an instant Nanami knew who you were talking about he couldn’t help but see how Gojo would react to seeing you once again.

You came back with the food as Nanami leant back grabbing the food as he wanted to see how Gojo would ask for your number. Gojo had one thing in his mind, and it was how pretty you looked, he barely even knew you but the urge to get to know you succumbed him.

All he had to ask was for your number, that was ask for your number and he could start something with you. But the words that formed out of his mouth was not what either Nanami or you expected.

“You come here often then?”

You let out a laugh as Gojo couldn’t dare look at you, he felt like a child in front of you and Nanami was enjoying all of it. “Well considering I work here, yes.”

Gojo knew he had lost his chance as you laughed once more before walking away to go to your other tables. “That was unexpected.”

“This is your fault; I would’ve never said it if you hadn’t told me she rejects every guy who asks her out.”

“I never said that.” Nanami spoke nonchalantly as he continued to play with the food.

It seemed like the rest of the lunch was going to be awkward as you hurriedly passed their main meal before going to another table. Nanami spoke of Yuji’s progress as Gojo was barely listening, staring off into the distance. It seemed like he had ruined any chance to ever get to know you, rolling his eyes as the two of them finished their meals.

“If there’s anything else you two need just ask, but i'll bring you the receipt.” You smiled at the two before leaving once more, never to chat or make conversation just making simple cordial comments before hurrying away to grab drinks for another table.

Nanami stood up as he stretched sorting his tie out as he looked at Gojo, “It’s on you.”

He didn’t say anything else as he walked out of the restaurant giving a nod goodbye to you as you had turned to see Gojo on his own. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way Gojo’s mouth had turned downwards in anger as you passed the receipt to him.

He was cute enough and funny from what you had gathered from Nanami. His awkwardness or most likely staleness from not flirting in a while had been cute. You bit your lip questioning if you should do it, but you grabbed your notepad as you wrote down a time and place on it. Slipping it inside you walked over placing it to the side of Gojo as you gave a smile before leaving.

His eyes went down as he opened the booklet, grabbing the receipt and seeing the cost, already cursing out Nanami. Grabbing some cash he slipped it inside before he noticed the note, seeing a time and place, he turned to see you staring at him from the register.

“Really?” He mouthed as you chuckled at him.

Walking closer as you wanted to talk to him properly, “really? I can’t let an attractive guy who can’t help stare at me, walk away from me?”

He chuckled lightly as he leaned back, glasses on the bridge of his nose as you saw his crystal blue eyes. The passion and lust felt through his warm gaze as he smiled at you, “you saying I’m attractive.”

You lean forward having taken Nanami’s seat, “I guess I am.” He leans forward himself, faces a mere inch from each other as you give a light chuckle. Feeling your warm breath fan against his face, “if you’re even a second late then I will get Nanami to beat you up.”

“You wound me.” He laughs as you roll your eyes at his comment, “I would never be late for a pretty girl.”

You give one last smile before standing up with a happy glee, he watches you take the money as he takes the note. He couldn’t help but not stare at your form as he stood outside the window once more, the way you worked with customers with such love for them all. You noticed him staring as you turned to the window smiling once more.

You had acknowledged him and that was all that he had ever wanted since last week. Waving a goodbye, you waved back as he finally walked away from the store. Ready for a whole new world with you at the centre of it.

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[youngbugandtonystank]

what's the difference between what wanda did to those people in wandavision and what tony did with ultron?

I have so many asks about this. Hate asks, and people wondering what’s going on. This is the only one I’m answering.

Both of them are responsible for their actions. I’ve seen people try and take away either Tony’s responsibility for that or Wanda’s engagement and accountability. 

In Tony’s case, the Ultron program was supposed to be a global peacekeeping program to protect the people, acting as a suit around the world to prevent events like the Battle of New York. He was doing it in the name of peace and safety. Tony was rightfully scared because he was the only one who knew what was coming. Wanda intentionally enhanced that fear in him and this drove him to create Ultron with Bruce. He has responsibility for it. Same as Bruce. He owns up to this, he took full responsibility and agreed that they needed to be regulated. 

Tony Stark: A few years ago, I almost lost her, so I trashed all my suits. Then, we had to mop up HYDRA... and then Ultron. My fault.

--

Tony Stark: There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys.

--

Tony Stark: That's good. That's why I'm here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stop manufacturing.

--

If people think he needs to be in jail for it, then I’m guessing the rest of the Avengers too since all of them have made mistakes and killed people too. As a matter of fact, after the events of Wandavision, I’m sure that Wanda should be in the Raft, but because she’s ‘a poor baby’ yall won’t think she deserves that. 

SPOILERS

It’s a big possibility that we don’t have all the info about what happened in Wandavision but we’re going to go with what we know so far. 

In Wanda’s case, she did it to appease her grief and pain, and I can understand why she would get to that point, she’s been through a lot and maybe she was about to lose her mind. Instead of recruiting Wanda after the Sokovia incident, they should’ve given this girl treatment for her mental health problems. She just lost her brother and passed through a very traumatic war zone, of course she needs assistance. Cap and Natasha were the ones responsible for her because they were training the ‘new’ avengers. Sam was with them and he used to be a counselor to veterans with PTSD. He could’ve helped Wanda with some of her traumas. As shown in the series, Wanda did the whole hex business before meeting Agatha, which means creating that little reality was all Wanda’s responsibility. Hayward and Agatha did exactly what Wanda did to Tony (and the avengers/other people) in AOU. They manipulated her and played with her emotional traumas. Hayward showed her Vision’s body parts and Agatha started to pull strings to know how Wanda did what she did and her real powers while orchestrating against her. 

Both of them have made mistakes. No one is better than the other. I don’t understand why some fans want to make someone responsible more than the other or blame one character for the other. While Wanda gave Tony that vision and pushed his self-destructive side to obsess over saving the world, he did create Ultron, what Tony didn’t predict was that the robot was going to corrupt itself. Same with Wanda, while Agatha and Hayward contributed to her trauma, she held hostage and isolated 3,892 people to create her perfect reality, ripping these people away from their identities and free will to fit her own fantasy. Don’t turn this into ‘omg poor her, it’s Tony fault that she’s this way'. I can’t believe I have to repeat this but you don’t see Peter Parker obsessively looking for the person who manufactured the gun instead of the criminal who actually killed Uncle Ben. Ridiculous that I have to repeat this example. 

Oh and about Vision’s body (damn yall have a gift to turn everything into Tony’s fault for some reason). I can’t believe some of you think Tony (while grieving for 5 years) would give Vision to Hayward. You’re either pulling stuff out of your asses or you didn’t pay attention to the show. Maria Rambeau founded and was the Director of S.W.O.R.D. In 2018 (when IW happened), this is where she came up with a new policy within S.W.O.R.D. to ground snapped agents in case they ever returned. Maria was diagnosed with cancer, then two years later (2020), she passed away. Then, Hayward was promoted to Director of S.W.O.R.D., in his first years (2020-2022) he refocused the organization’s work from extraterrestrial operations to robotics, nanotechnology and artificial intelligence, etc. There, that was the 5 years. Then in 2023 it’s when he started project Cataract, which revolved around rebuilding Vision as a sentient weapon. Tony was dead when this happened. How come yall don’t get this part? I don’t understand, do you really think his dead corpse signed some papers to give Vision to those people? LMAO

Instead of thinking Tony would give up Vision just like that, think (possibilities):

Maria was the head of S.W.O.R.D., she might have just been keeping his body safe without doing anything with him. Maybe she trusted Hayward and he, obviously, betrayed her because he’s turning her organization into something else after her death. 

One of the Sokovia Accords regulations states that the use of technology to bestow individuals (the term ‘enhanced individual’ in this book is defined as any person, human or otherwise, with superhuman capabilities) with innate capabilities is strictly regulated by the government, as is the use and distribution of highly advanced technology. Vision signed those accords ('I'm saying there may be a casualty. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict... breeds catastrophe. Oversight...oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand’) The Avengers were no longer be a private organization and they operate under the supervision of the United Nations. This means they (UN) were the ones that referred Vision’s body to S.W.O.R.D., to a trustworthy leader, Maria. 

Vision died in Wakanda, not in New York. Tony was missing for 22 days after the snap, the rest of the avengers should’ve taken responsibility for his body.  

Why is it always Tony’s fault but never consider that other parties are also involved in this? 

I want to address some other asks with this one. I know some of you are angry because people are starting to blame Tony all over again, so a few things to remember:

Tony did not create the Accords. The Accords were the result of all the collective actions the Avengers have done in their superhero careers. All of them have made mistakes and the collateral damage of that was taken into consideration by the government and 117 countries around the world. He signed the accords because he knew that he could amend them with the support of the rest of the avengers and he knew about Thanos (something big was coming). 

Obadiah Stane (it’s so bizarre for me seeing that some people don’t know who this guy is, I’m guessing that the people who are watching Wandavision are too young to remember or didn’t watch the Iron Man movies at all which is highly probable) was the one selling weapons to the wrong people, not Tony. Obadiah was the CEO of Stark industries and became second-in-command for two decades. He grew jealous of Tony and began cooperating with the Ten Rings in Afghanistan, selling them Stark Industries weapons illegally. Imagine blaming all of it on Tony when Obadiah basically murdered thousands only because he felt a little green. If someone who you trust (he had no reasons to doubt Obadiah since he was like a second father-figure for him) does something behind your back (take into consideration that people like Pepper; who was Tony’s assistant and had knowledge of all of Tony’s activities and responsibilities, Rhodey; who was the liaison between the military in the department of acquisitions and Stark Industries, and Happy Hogan; who was his personal bodyguard and Head of Security of Stark Industries, didn’t know what Stane was doing either), how are you going to know about it? Tony trusted him. And when he realized what was going on he immediately stopped all of it. He worked hard to be better and people overlook that because they want other characters to look better. 

Don’t act like Tony was the only one assisting the military. All of the avengers assisted in one way or another. Natasha (who used to be an assassin) was in the Red Room, trained in the Black Widow Program in association with Leviathan and the Soviet Armed Forces, served for KGB, etc. Bruce Banner used to work for the United States government and was commissioned to create a super serum for them. Same goes with the rest, Sam, Clint, etc. Steve Rogers was a soldier lmaoooooooooooooo like, what happened to Tony with Obadiah happened to Steve with SHIELD/HYDRA in TWS. He trusted the people working in there (SHIELD), served for them, did missions for them and as soon as he found out what they were doing behind his back he turned against them. 

Knowing all of this, how is Tony always the villain for yall? I’m guessing because Tony’s popularity in the MCU, but still, aren’t yall tired of not understanding the plot and having people repeat it to you constantly? Watch the movies if you want to understand the franchise, people. Stop following the crowd. 

Also, Wanda is not a kid, she’s a 35 year old woman in Wandavision, she was 26 in AOU and 27 in CW. Hardly a child. Tony had almost her same age (38) when he realized Obadiah was selling illegal weaponry behind his back. The only reason people don’t fully forgive Tony is because 1. he’s a man and 2. he’s a billionaire. Even if Wanda was poor she still killed and hurt many people over the course of her life. Stop trying to make Tony the villain only to downplay Wanda’s actions. 

Both have killed people, both have made mistakes. They’re both responsible for them. 

[elentiyawhitethorn]

When Passion Rules the Game | Part Seven

CW: NSFW, language

AN: Wow, I wrote seven chapters in seven days and I feel so accomplished! This fic has been so fun to write, and I hope everybody enjoyed. (Last chapter btw)

Part Six//Masterlist//2835 words

By some miracle, Aelin made it through the rest of the day. She introduced herself to Nox, showed him the ropes, and got some work done. And as soon as she had completed the day’s tasks, she just about bolted out to her car, headed to Rowan’s apartment.

There was no hesitation in Aelin’s mind as she firmly knocked on Rowan’s door. He would let her in, explain, and she would realize that this was all some cosmic joke.

Aelin heard footsteps approach the door, and she braced herself, straightening her back and plastering a smile on her face.

But the door never opened. After a moment, Aelin heard the footsteps retreat, and she blinked in confusion.

She knocked again.

Another minute passed. No more noises sounded within the apartment, and Aelin started to scowl. What right did he have to ignore her? She was his boss! Well, not anymore—but that was beside the point.

Aelin reached for the handle and jiggled it, but it was locked.

“Rowan,” she called. “Please let me in.”

“Dammit, go away, Aelin.”

She hadn’t been expecting a response, and to hear that animosity toward her frightened her. Rowan must have quit because she was sleeping with him, and he wasn’t comfortable with the situation. Aelin had never done anything like this before, never unintentionally harassed someone out of their job, and her heart started aching. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Coming to terms with the fact that Rowan wasn’t going to let her in the door, Aelin pulled a bobby-pin from her hair and inserted it into the lock. She had been a rambunctious teenager, always causing poor Aedion and her parents trouble, and picking a lock was second nature to her.

She smiled internally as the last tumbler fell into place and the lock clicked. Aelin absentmindedly discard the bobby pin in her purse and turned the knob.

Rowan was sitting on the couch, hunched over with his head in his hands, clearly upset about something. His head snapped up the instant Aelin walked in, and his eyes narrowed. “How did you—”

Aelin shut the door, cutting him off. “Why did you quit.” She was slightly angry at herself, and it came out in her tone.

Rowan sighed. “I resigned.”

“Same difference. Tell me why.”

Rowan stood up, but still kept his distance. “I found a new job. I thought it would be a better opportunity for me.”

Aelin scoffed. “You were just relocated to Terrasen. Don’t tell me you’re moving again.”

“I’m not moving. I got a job at Salvaterre Enterprises. It pays more.”

“If you wanted a raise, I—”

“I left. It’s done. There is nothing to say.”

Aelin frowned, trying to cover up the fact that her heart was fracturing in her chest. “But—”

“Do you always break into the homes of employees who decide they don’t want to work for you anymore?”

The ice in Rowan’s voice had Aelin trembling. “I want to know if you’re leaving because of me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re sleeping with me!” Aelin yelled. “And you’re quitting because you’re worried about it or you’re not comfortable with it or something and I can’t just let you do that! I can’t just sexually harass one of my employees and let them leave.”

Rowan’s eyes widened. “You’re not… Aelin, this is not your fault.”

“Then what is this?” she rasped. “Why did you even apply at Salvaterre Enterprises anyway?”

She could see the hesitation in his eyes. Rowan took a step forward, then paused. “I can’t… I just needed to go. I’ve never been uncomfortable around you, Aelin, I swear.”

“Then why, Rowan, did you go? Because I’m going to keep believing this is my fault if you don’t prove otherwise.”

He hissed out a breath and turned around, running his hands through his hair. “It’s because I…”

“Because you what?”

“I can’t… I shouldn’t say.”

“Tell me,” Aelin’s demanded. She dropped her purse on the floor so that she could cross her arms.

“Because I’m in love with you!” Rowan shouted, spinning back around. “Because I love how passionate you are about your work, and how funny you are, and how you pretend to have an attitude but spend your whole life trying to help people. I love the way you tuck your hair behind your ears when you’re nervous, and how red your face gets when you’re embarrassed, and I even love the way you eat your gods-damn bagels with a fork. And I can’t do it anymore!”

Aelin couldn’t summon words. Rowan loved her?

He was breathing hard, surprise evident on his face. Maybe he hadn’t meant to say all that.

“I think you should go, Aelin. Don’t feel bad. You’re not to blame.” Rowan sighed, turning his head.

He expected her to leave. To walk out and pretend this had never happened, to forget about him. Aelin didn’t know what she was going to do next, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to forget about him.

Rowan took a deep breath, then looked back at Aelin, who wasn’t breathing at all. “I’m sorry, Aelin. But I need you to leave now.”

Aelin didn’t do that.

Rowan gasped in surprise as he felt Aelin’s lips crash into his. She had mindlessly surged forward with no intentions of stopping herself. Aelin fisted her hands in his shirt and pulled him closer, tangling her tongue with his. Rowan kissed her back for what could have been a minute or an hour; Aelin was too lost in him to tell. When he finally pulled back, they were both panting.

“What does that mean?” Rowan gasped out.

“I think I might be in love with you, too.”

Rowan yanked her back to his mouth, and Aelin felt herself melting into his touch, trying to get closer and closer, touching as much of his body as she could.

They parted again, and Rowan raised his hand to her face. “You really feel the same?” His thumb stroked her cheek and Aelin leaned into the touch.

“Of course I do. You’re amazing and kind and hilarious, and despite your protests to the contrary, you’re a total sweetheart. I love you, Rowan. I should have noticed it a lot sooner, and I must have been blind not to until now, but I see it now. I love you.”

Rowan leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. “I love you, too. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve cared about people, but no one has ever driven me so insane.”

Aelin laughed. “I drive you insane? I have never broken so many rules because of one man. And that’s really saying something.”

“Oh, I know,” he replied, their noses brushing. “No goody two shoes knows how to pick locks.”

“Don’t ask me about that,” Aelin said, laughing. “Or I’ll ask you why you have a picture of a scowling teenage boy with chains dangling from his jeans hanging up on the wall.”

Rowan groaned. “My mom made me hang that up when I moved in.”

“Oh, you’re a mama’s boy, then?” Aelin teased.

Rowan smiled, but the expression turned fond as he leaned forward that last half-inch and kissed her. It was nothing like any of the kisses they’d shared before; this one was soft and sweet. This one was full of love.

When they pulled apart this time, Aelin whispered, “I still can’t believe you love me.”

“Neither can I,” he replied softly. “I never expected you to say it back. Though I’ll admit, I wasn’t surprised to find you stubbornly knocking on my door.”

Aelin smiled, then tugged Rowan down to the couch, plumping onto his lap. “So now that we’ve gotten the love confessions out of the way, maybe we can try to be in a relationship? Be together?”

Rowan smiled. “I would love that. But I might have to dump you if you ever call me a sweetheart again.”

Aelin let out a choked laugh. “But you’re so sweet. Like a little cinnamon bun.”

“I really hope you did not just say that.”

Aelin grinned. “Now that we have all this sorted, you’ll come back to the company? Nox was good at the job, but he doesn’t have your work ethic, and I had to tell him how to—”

Rowan smiled sadly and interrupted her. “Babe, you would be my boss. We may be able to keep a lid on friends with benefits, but you think no one’s going to be upset to hear you’re in a relationship with me?”

“I don’t care what people think,” Aelin insisted, despite the sinking feeling in her gut.

He tugged her farther onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s still wrong. I can’t do it.”

“But… Rowan, you can’t give up your job for me.”

“I’m not. And if it came down to it, I probably wouldn’t. And neither would you, I would guess, should you ever be in that position. Your dedication to your career is one of the things I love about you.” At Aelin’s sad nod, he added, “But I got job with Salvaterre Enterprises, remember?”

Aelin rasied her brow.

“I wasn’t lying,” Rowan said with a grin. “I got a good position there, nothing worse than I had with you. I’ll miss working with you, but I’m excited to be working there, and I’m excited to be with you.”

Aelin bit her lip. “Okay, but I don’t care that you already got hired. I’m sending a recommendation for you. Not just because I love you—never because of that—but because you are an amazing worker. Besides, I know Lorcan.”

Rowan blinked in surprise. “Lorcan Salvaterre?”

Aelin flashed a grin. “We went to college together. Like you, he pretends to be an ass, but is super sweet.” Rowan scowled, and she laughed. “And he’s head-over-heels for Elide. I’ve been trying to set them up for ages.”

“Wow,” Rowan said.

“Underestimating my connections?” Aelin asked snarkily.

“Just shocked that you have friends with money. After all, you just about swiped my savings last time we played poker.”

Aelin smirked. “Lorcan always paid up in other ways.”

“I really hope you didn’t just imply…” Rowan trailed off.

“Imply what?” Aelin asked innocently.

“Did you sleep with my new boss?” Rowan asked, dreading the answer.

She laughed. “No, I was just kidding. I made him do my homework for a month every time he lost.”

Rowan breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised you would trust someone to control what grade you get.”

Aelin snorted. “Oh, I wouldn’t. I turned in my own work. I just wanted to make him do it for the fun of it. He went ballistic when he found out I never turned any of his hours’ worth of work in. He’s been trying to get me back for it ever since.”

“Um, perhaps I won’t tell him I’m in a relationship with you, then?”

Aelin cackled.

After another hour of chatting and laughing, Aelin decided she would tell her cousin and friends about this tomorrow, and Rowan said he would do the same by calling his mom. She could barely contain the joy that flowed through her thinking that people would know about them, that he cared about her enough to tell his mother already.

The hand that Rowan had resting on her thigh started stroking her, and Aelin started trying to recall what underwear she had put on his morning. Hopefully something nice.

Aelin ground down on Rowan’s lap, and he stood in one sudden movement, pulling her legs around his waist. Aelin sighed against his neck as he carried her to the bedroom. It sure as hell wasn’t the first time she’d been in here, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Aelin smiled into Rowan’s shirt, but that smile dissolved when Rowan threw her onto the bed. She smiled up at him prettily, the epitome of virtuous and wholesome. Rowan just snorted and said, “Take your clothes off and touch yourself.”

Feeling blood race to her face, Aelin sensually stripped off each piece of clothing, a bit more urgently than she’d been attempting to do. It was hard to act sexy when Rowan was shirtless and smirking at her.

Once she finished, Aelin lay back and spread her legs slightly. She let one hand tug on several strands of hair, delighting in the way Rowan’s eyes tracked her hands.

Then Aelin licked her lips and moved one hand to her stomach to stroke the smooth skin. She smirked at Rowan as she moved her other hand to her mouth and sucked on her thumb, making sure he was able to see as her tongue swirled around the digit. Aelin brought her wet thumb to her nipple and rubbed it roughly, parting her lips in a breathy moan.

She noticed the bulge in Rowan’s pants becoming more apparent as she played with her nipple and teased him with the hand moving on her lower stomach, and she grinned. “Get on with it,” Rowan growled.

Laughing, Aelin spread her legs farther and trailed her hand down, pressing a finger into her entrance. She immediately gasped and inserted another finger, unused to having control over when she got what she wanted.

Knowing exactly what she was thinking as she started thrusting her fingers harder, Rowan smirked and pulled his shirt off. No matter that seeing him watching her made her even wetter, Aelin couldn’t concentrate on what she was doing when she looked at him. She averted her eyes to ceiling and started pumping her fingers in deeper, groaning.

But it was not to be. “Look at me,” Rowan commanded, and Aelin had no choice but to obey.

Holding his gaze, Aelin thrust her hips into her hand and and brought the second hand down the rub furiously at her clit. She was moaning now, making more noises than she did when she was by herself, turned on by the way Rowan rid himself of his pants and started pumping his own length.

“Stop,” Rowan ordered, right as she felt release nearing. She couldn’t. She couldn’t stop. She was so close, and just few more thrusts and she would be at the edge and—

Aelin’s hands were forcibly removed from her pussy, and she cried out as she was flipped over on the bed and spanked.

“What did I tell you?” Rowan’s voice was the sharpened edge of a blade, and Aelin shivered.

“You told me to stop,” she whispered.

Rowan’s hand smacked her ass once more. “And did you?”

Aelin whimpered. “No, sir.”

He spanked her again, his hand stinging the sensation flesh of her bottom. “Why not?”

“Because,” Aelin rasped, trying to summon even a single coherent thought, “I needed to come. I needed to.”

“Hmm,” Rowan said, trailing his finger along the curve of her ass. She shivered at the sensation. “But you knew I wouldn’t let you. And look where we are now.”

Aelin squirmed in his grasp. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” He brought his hand down, the slap sound filling the air. “Or are you just saying that so I’ll stop?”

“I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.” Aelin clung to the sheets, burying her face.

Rowan hummed thoughtfully and spanked her again. But before Aelin could beg him to stop again, callused hands gripped her thighs and spread them, Rowan’s cock filling her almost instantly.

Aelin moaned loudly into the sheets. “Rowan, gods.”

He grabbed her hips, pulling her onto her knees and farther onto his cock. She whined and lifted her ass higher in the air.

Rowan’s grip was bruising as he slammed into her. He started pounding into her, and Aelin wondered how she was supposed to walk into work tomorrow and concentrate on her job, let alone walk at all.

The fingers Rowan had on her hips dug harder into her skin, and Aelin felt even wetter knowing that he was marking her right now. His cock was hardening fully inside of Aelin, and the immense awareness she had of him was driving her crazy.

Rowan’s balls slapped her pussy and she screamed into the sheets, her orgasm forcing its way over her body in a shattering earthquake of pleasure. Rowan kept moving, fucking her senseless as she shook and screamed, finally coming and spilling into her.

Once he separated their bodies and rolled over, Aelin turned on her side and put both an arm and a leg across his body. “I love you.”

Rowan kissed her neck. “I love you, too, darling.”

Aelin snuggled closer and, instead of reflecting on her previous shortsightedness and poor judgment, thought about how much she was looking forward to a life being teased, laughed at, fucked, and loved by Rowan.

Little did Aelin know, Elide would owe Dorian twenty bucks after losing the bet about how long it would take them to confess their feelings. What an interesting day tomorrow would be.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@autumnbabylon

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@mis-lil-red

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@pagemasters

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@theysayitscrazy

@yesdreamblog

[persimmonteas]

take a good look

4 times you gaze at him + 1 time he gazes at you

fic cowritten with @shinaus​, art by @annypuff​ <3. you can buy mel a coffee and anny a coffee. please support them! their work is banging and i love them 🥺 

pairing: vampire!shinso x f!reader

word count: ~4.5k

genre: slice of life fantasy (a tinge of coffee shop!AU), fluff, mutual pining, smut

cw: dom!shinso, size kink, daddy kink (inspired by toshi anon), praise kink, some degradation (he says slut 3x), fingerfucking, nipple play, choking, hair pulling, mirror sex, mating press, hickies everywhere, a cunt slap, overstimulation

first time: the coffee shop incident 

Of course your favorite coffee shop is swamped. This place is the only good thing about waking up close to dawn, with drinks always better than what your office has to offer and not to mention the pastries they make fresh.

Letting out a small groan, you decide to wait it out in the line and do your best to hurry with your breakfast before heading into work. Thankfully, you always leave yourself with enough time to actually sit and enjoy whatever you decide to buy that day, opting for it over greasy break rooms or stuffy smoking areas. 

Once the warm mug is in hand, you make quick work to try and find your usual spot only to find it occupied. While you won’t act possessive over a public seat of all things, losing the chance to enjoy glancing out the window and munching down your croissant seems to screw with your brain. 

You act without thinking, making a sharp turn to go sit somewhere else only for your knee to make contact with the underside of another table. Shit, you think to yourself, hearing the clatter of their cup. You helplessly watch liquid run down the table and into the person’s lap. 

You expect them to flinch, dart up from the table or, hell, even yell at you for your carelessness. He doesn’t yell at you and you don’t expect to see the colour of the liquid running down the table onto the floor to be red. Blood red. Fuck. A vampire. Hopefully, one who doesn’t eat you for your stupidity.

Just as you feel your heart sinking down to your stomach, your eyes flick up to meet the man whose day you likely ruined. You don’t see a hint of anger on his attractive features. In his defence, it’s probably because he’s busy looking at the way you’re gawking at him.

His unkempt hair and the deep eye bags adorning his sculpted face somehow make him look all the more endearing. It even looks like he’s wearing the smallest hint of eyeliner. Or are his eyes just naturally like that? Hard to tell. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts (and staring session) by him breaking eye contact with you to clean himself up, before rising to his feet and doing the same to the table. It makes you come back down to Earth, and thereby remembering your clownery

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—” you start, but are met with a hand held up in front of your face. You furrow your brows in confusion, having assumed his lack of aggression would mean he’d be more understanding but nope.

“No issue,” he grumbles in response, giving his trousers one last wipe down before swiftly weaving through the others in the coffee shop, flipping his hoodie up and taking his leave. Now, you’re even more confused. 

Sure, you spilled something over him and the table, but you would have bought him another one? Paid for his dry cleaning or something maybe? Yet, off he went, moving so quickly you couldn’t ever hope to catch up to him. Fucking vampires, man, you shake your head.

The confusion eventually fades but not completely. You help one of the baristas doing the last of the clean up before settling into the strange vampire’s seat and letting your mind wander as you eat your breakfast. 

second time: gawking at the gym

It’s a common occurrence for you to make it to the gym right as the rush of 9-5s ends, the perfect time in your opinion. Nobody hogging any of the ellipticals, the water cooler always left unoccupied and nothing but time for you to get through your usual routine.

With this in mind, you can confidently say that nothing out of the ordinary ever happens at the gym. Well, could say. 

Carefully bringing your leg around to meet the other on your way off of the exercise bike, you're momentarily distracted by the sound of a nearby treadmill whirring so much hard that it sounds as though it may break. 

Lifting your towel and water bottle, you make your way over in curiosity. It almost seems as if whoever is on the treadmill moves even faster as you approach. Once you make it there, you’re met with the man who seems to be continuously haunting your surroundings. 

Despite his unruly purple hair in a band and all-black gym attire, vamp man still seems out of place. The athletic wear is a complete change of pace, considering the hoodie and leather jacket he was wearing during your first encounter. 

You rid yourself of any wandering thoughts about the man and focus on him being the reason that the treadmill is about to be on its last legs. You can’t bring yourself to look away from him; the sheer speed of his legs is mindblowing.  And a little ridiculous looking if you’re honest with yourself.

The moment is short lived when he slows to a stop, probably thinking the same thing that you are about the poor machine not being able to last another mile. He looks like he’s barely broken a sweat. Fucking vampires, you repeat to yourself.  

Just your luck, he notices your presence as he dabs the side of his not-even-sweating face with his towel. He begins to smirk at your eyes on him. 

“Little rude to stare, isn’t it?” he wonders aloud, voice much deeper and more luxurious than what you remember. Getting caught fills you with deep embarrassment. You stutter out a quick apology before making your way over to another machine. 

Even with your back facing away from any passing people as you continue your routine, you can practically feel his eyes boring into you.

A few minutes is all it takes for you to turn to check if your suspicions are correct. You’re met with his shameless stare. He’s not even making an attempt to hide his gaze either, leaning on one of the back walls as he watches you, large arms crossed over his broad chest somehow making the skin-tight shirt he’s wearing even tighter. 

This is torture, you think to yourself as you give him a polite smile, only to hear him chuckling at your strained smile.

“What? So you can stare but I can’t?” he tries, fully getting your attention once more as you stop what you’re doing. Sighing and smacking your machine, you come off of your machine and make your way back over to him.

Your confidence about approaching decreases as you see the full height difference between you two. You’re a fair bit smaller than he is. He looms over you even with his back still leaning against the wall.

“If you’re trying to stalk me, you’re doing a bad job. It should be me, after all. I’m the predator,” he lightly mocks you. 

You almost stomp your foot. “I am not stalking you!” you protest. “It isn’t my fault that you apparently go to the same coffee shop and gym as me.” 

He levels you with a delighted look. Humans usually don’t take his teasing well but you seem so much fun.

Throwing an annoyed peace sign at him, you make your way out of the gym.

third time: literally just that scene in the first twilight movie without edward doing donuts in his car into the lot

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out at this time?” The low voice comes from your side, making every muscle in your body suddenly jolt. You just left your friends. Why do creeps seem to have a radar?

Even as you pick up your pace and ignore the question, it only seems to egg him on more. Right as he starts talking to you again, he’s swiftly cut off.

Feeling a small gust of wind at your back despite the calm night, you turn in confusion. Where did the creep go? Your question is answered when you watch him get slammed against the nearest storefront’s shutters. A much taller figure overshadows over him, hand around the creep’s throat. 

Even in the darkness, you can see the purple hair, unruly as ever starting from the collar of his coat. You stride over and pull on Shinso’s coat sleeve in hopes of ceasing his threatening actions—no matter how much the creep deserves the vampire’s ire. After all, you don’t want Shinso to end up with a track record after, like, a century (you’re guessing) without one.

“Shinso,” you say, eyes pleading as you look up at him—unaware of how much he enjoys hearing you so naturally say his name. He meets your stare briefly then rolls his eyes and releases his hold, watching the man scramble away. The chuckle that leaves him at the scene makes you wonder if he’s a sadist. 

Before you can wonder much more, he grips your hand tightly in his own as he leads you farther down the street. The clasp strangely comforting to you despite his freezing skin.

“You really need to stop being so irresponsible,” he tells you, tone almost mocking as he (somehow) takes every right path to your apartment building. There’s no point in questioning how he knows this. After all, for some reason, the world keeps leading you to him in an array of coincidences that are starting to feel less and less coincidental. 

When you let out a scoff, his hand seems to tighten further and you reflexively try to yank your hand away. He just stops in his tracks and turns to face you. There’s a look in his eyes you don’t question, especially since he speaks up before you do. 

“Don’t make me have to watch your every move to keep you out of trouble, I’d like to have a social life too, you know,” he grumbles, before turning to walk away. It leaves you a little dumbfounded to say the least, since you’re not exactly stopping him from having a life. Y’know, with, how totally unplanned these encounters are and all.

fourth time: the confrontation

Apparently, not one thing can be your own anymore. Not that you’re complaining, of course, but the sheer number of coincidences between you and Shinso is extraordinary and only seems to escalate. You keep running into him even in places so busy that you think there’s no chance of running into anybody you know. 

Now that Autumn is in full swing, the nights are colder and the leaves are dappled in brown and red shades. The perfect time to start going on walks through some of the bustling parks you live near. 

You love the scenery, especially the large lake that lies in the middle of your favorite park. As dusk rolls around, you take the chance to get a walk in to enjoy the now barely visible sunlight and to ponder a certain vampire. 

Not even one lap into walking around the lake, you catch sight of the colour that’s been plaguing your thoughts in your peripheral. 

The deep indigo colour is hard to miss, especially when it’s on the head of the vampire you keep running into. Though this time feels a little different since you finally catch him when he’s unaware of you.

Sitting on one of the benches facing the water, he’s wearing his typical hoodie and leather jacket and is holding what looks to be a book. What kind of book a vampire reads is beyond your imagination. 

All you know is that you finally have the opportunity to take the upper hand. Every time you see Shinso, he worms his way out of your questions. Or he leaves in an ominous distinctly vampire fashion.

There’s no reason for him to be everywhere you go, unless ... You want to confirm your hypothesis. 

The plan is simple. You’ll act like you're still out on your casual walk and you’ll walk up to the bench and sit down in a non-suspicious way. You nod to yourself. Perfect, flawless plan. 

It shockingly works … his book must be really good. You get all the way up to the bench without him acknowledging you. Since he’s only taking up one side, you don’t wait for verbal permission to sit down alongside him.

He still makes no indication that he notices you. His eyes never leave the book he has in his hands. You fixate your eyes on the silver ring on his index finger as he flicks through the pages. 

You lean in close and try to keep your smugness about finally startling him from bleeding into your voice when you speak. 

“You know, I’m starting to think you’re conveniently everywhere I go on purpose.”

For the first time ever, he’s the one caught off guard. Shinso flinches away from you and brings his eyes to meet yours. Without his signature smirk or witty comments, he simply gets up to take his leave. 

Well. This certainly isn’t going the way you want.

After your many encounters, you can pick up on his overall mood through his reactions to you. Though, he’s never reacted like this. At least not since the incident at the coffee shop.

The dismissal ignites irritation in you. Why is up to him whether or not you interacted? Taking the opportunity while you still have it, you follow him. 

It isn’t until he passes a large tree just off of the main path that you completely catch up to him. You realize he’ll easily slip away if you don’t move quickly. So you do, hand coming up to hit the tree trunk and essentially blocking his way. 

His eyes widen at you. However, he makes no attempt at escaping. 

“Why do we keep running into each other?” you ask with exasperation, eyes still on him as he moves to lean against the tree. You don’t move your hand, using it to grasp some control of the situation.

“You’re everywhere I go, it doesn’t matter where or when. You’re always there.” The rant is far from needed for him, he knows this already. But, you keep going. 

“What is this? Were we lovers in a past life or something? Do you have some unresolved feelings?” The way you’re rambling makes you impossibly endearing to him. His classic chuckle slipping out stops you in your tracks.

“Nothing of the sort,” he curtly replies. You cross your arms over your chest at his usual demeanor returning. “No such thing as reincarnated soulmates, at least with what I’ve experienced in my lifetime. Though, the feelings department…” As he continues, he leans closer to you. So much so you can almost feel his breath on your face and smell his warm, spicy cologne. 

“Is there a problem if I do have feelings for you?”

You blink at him. What? You don’t think you’ve ever been so caught off guard.. Feelings? Is that what this has all been about? 

Every previous encounter begins to run through your head and you start picking out small things that back up his statement. The lingering stares, teasing words, protective nature. You groan and drag your hands down your face. Man, you didn’t pick up on any of his hints. He must think you’re an idiot. 

Before you can give him an answer, he pushes off the tree, standing over you at full height. Assuming he’s about to attempt to leave once more, you’re surprised to see him turning back in the direction of the bench. When you make no effort to move, he reaches out and pulls you by your coat until his hand is in yours. 

“I’ll take that as not a problem.” A smirk still on his face due to you indirectly feeding his ego. 

Although, now walking beside him, you don’t miss the way his free hand reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. A gesture you recognise as one of his nervous tics. Did you do that to him? You grin at the idea that you make the great vampire feel that way.

“There’s a scooter rental place down by this side of the lake.” His voice brings you out of your thoughts, realising he’s been trying to hold eye contact with you. “I’ll make a deal with you, if you let me take you out on a ride around the lake, I’ll answer any questions you have, deal?”

The way he’s practically bargaining with you makes you want to laugh, but you keep your face neutral as you agree to his offer. Who turns down taking a romantic scooter ride with a hot vampire? Nobody. 

Of course, he takes any opportunity to tease you, so he rents a smaller scooter so you have to cling onto him.

You don’t complain though. How can you as you enjoy feeling his back muscles flex? Not to mention, he keeps his promise and answers any and every question you have about himself or his past. And, wow, he has an interesting and long past. 

As the sky turns dark and drips stars, you’re left with a feeling rising in your chest that you certainly don’t reject and with the hope of meeting him again—on purpose, this time. A planned event seems likely as you clutch the torn-out blank page of his book with his phone number scribbled across it in your fist.

one time: he gazes at you

“Hitoshi. You already have better night vision than me. This is so extra!” you protest, stumbling through the dark apartment as your vampiric boyfriend maneuvers you to ... his room, you think. 

Hitoshi just rubs soothing circles on your back and you just know the fucker is smirking. You hear the light click on. 

“You can take the blindfold off.” 

Tugging the blindfold off, you stare at the new object Hitoshi bought for his room. 

“Baby, this is a mirror.” 

He nods while leaning against his bed, looking infuriatingly pretty per usual. 

“You can’t even see yourself in a mirror. Why?” You arch an eyebrow in Hitoshi’s direction, trying to explain your absolute bafflement at his purchase. 

“In case you’re here and want to check yourself out.”  

You see nothing but innocence plastered on his facial expression but did you trust it? No. 

A mindblowing second later, he stands in front of you, caressing your face with calloused, cold hands. A nice contrast to the sweltering temperature in his room he set for you. Hitoshi leans in to kiss you, gentle but firm. Your hands go up to fist his shirt as he intensifies the kiss. 

He slides his hands down your cheek to stroke your lip and then slowly skims down your body.  

“It would be a great idea to take this off,” he whispers, playing with the hem of your shirt. 

You eagerly nod as he strips you out of your shirt and pants. Awareness of his plans finally clicks when he turns you to face the mirror. 

The remark on the tip of your tongue dies when Hitoshi rolls your nipples through the thin lace of your bra. You arch into his touch as he gently pinches and pulls them. God, your panties are already drenched and nipples hard. 

“Fuck,” you moan as Hitoshi slides your panties to the side. Letting you lean against his corded chest, he hitches one of your legs off the floor. 

“Go on, spread yourself open. Let me see how wet your slutty cunt is,” he murmurs into your ear. 

You hard swallow as you spread your glistening lips open for him, strands of your arousal clinging to your fingers when you pull them away. Hitoshi digs his hand into your thigh.

“Did I tell you to stop?” He sounds amused as he uses his other hand to pull your hair by the roots.

“No, no, daddy, I’m sorry,” you apologize and move your hand back to where it belongs. 

“Good girl, look at yourself. Wrecked without even being fucked.” You stare at yourself in the mirror with a half-lidded gaze. He’s right. With your heaving chest and puffy, soaked pussy, you look like you’ve been railed. But instead, you continue to spread open your aching pussy for your fully clothed boyfriend.

“Daddy, daddy, please touch me,” you plead as you grind against his hard bulge, desperate for any kind of friction. 

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” If you were any more lucid, you’d have smacked Hitoshi for his lilting tease. 

“Aren’t I always a good girl,” you whine, hands clambering at his thighs. 

He chuckles at that, kissing your head before somehow gracefully crumpling to the ground with you in his lap. In a blink, he has you spread out in his lap as he plays with your clit. He slides a thick finger inside your tiny cunny as he grazes your shoulder with his canines.

“Look at you,” he coos. “You look so good like this, my darling little slut.” 

You don’t even have a retort, too enraptured by the sight of Hitoshi fingerfucking your sopping cunt with his invisible hand. The way your cunt opens for him and gapes in the mirror spellbinding for both of you.

You moan as your hips jerk up. There’s not much more he loves than how your lips part and your legs shake at how he strokes his finger inside of you. 

“More,” you beg. How can he resist your dazed expression? 

“Such a needy baby,” he tsks as he scissors you open with another finger. 

Another strum of your clit and pinch of your nipple and you’re gone, eyes squeezing shut. Your juices surely ruining his pants as you writhe in his lap. 

He cradles your cheek and then grips your chin to turn you back to the mirror. 

“Look at yourself, pretty girl. Such a fucked out mess.” 

You gaze at the bruises blooming over your shoulders and down your neck and shudder, pleased. The aftershocks of your orgasm leave you warm as you languidly suck your juices off Hitoshi’s fingers.  

“Toshi!” you squeal as he gently deposits you on his bed and pulls his clothes off. The bed is purely decorative and for you considering he doesn’t sleep. Although, even with a bed, you guys still fuck over every surface in his apartment. 

Your sensitivity protests fall to deaf ears as he bends your knees to your chest. This time, Hitoshi is the one to spread you open. He slaps your cunt and you claw at the sheets. Pumping two fingers slowly in and out of you, he uses his other hand to roughly pull down your bra.

His chapped lips wrapping around your nipple and cold fingers groping your other breast feel overwhelming. Hitoshi cages you in, sucking wet kisses over your tits, leaving you no room to evade his overstimulation as you squirm to get away from his fingers fucking up into you. 

Your sore nipples and cunt get a moment of reprieve as he moves down to concentrate on marking bites all over your plush thighs. Instantly, you miss being full. 

When he passes your empty, clenching cunt for the third time to suck bruises on your inner thighs, you burst. 

“Daddy, please, please, fuck me!” 

Hitoshi trails kisses up your heated skin to your throat, laving over the hickies he left.

“Beautiful,” he croons as he finally positions his tip against your hole and pushes in. The praise and stretch make you whine. He stills as your tiny cunt clenches around him. Your warm, drenched walls wrapping around his cock makes him toss his head back in pleasure. 

“My patient good girl,” he groans, pulling at your nipples. 

“Fuck—more, daddy, more,” you curse as you squirm, your hips rocking up to meet his shallow thrusts. He doesn’t reply and grazes his fangs over your pulse point as he holds your hips down. 

Your breath hitches—and he abruptly pulls back.

“Did my baby think I was going to bite her?” Hitoshi gives you a lazy smirk as he keeps his vexingly slow pace, watching his cock drag in and out of your creaming cunt. 

His large hand wrapping around your neck makes you squeak and suddenly tighten around him. Your favorite necklace. Knowing he’s using an insignificant fraction of his strength to please you makes your eyes roll back as your breath stutters.

“That’s it, cum for me, pretty girl.” Hitoshi starts a punishing pace as he strokes your clit with his free hand. His dark eyes never leave his hand wrapped around your throat, your ravishing lightheaded face and your bouncing tits. Hitoshi’s furrowed expression as he drags his tongue over his canines in concentration makes you whimper. 

You buck against him, gushing around him and crying out his name.

The way you cum so prettily for him has Hitoshi hissing your name in your ear as he thrusts deep into your spasming cunt, chasing his own release. Intertwining his hands with yours, he presses you into the mattress to pin you down. Before long, his orgasm washes over him. 

You gaze contentedly at Hitoshi as he pulls out, feeling empty already—and then you realize. 

“Hitoshi! I swear to god if I look like a grape again,” you threaten as you try to stand up to head to the bathroom. 

You don’t even take a step before he whisks you into his bathroom, laughing at you and kissing your forehead. 

Well. You suppose looking like a grape isn’t that bad.

[slowlyandthenallatonce]

Aquatic

A/N: Hello all, this is a follow up to my fic The Night We Met, but it can be read as a stand alone fic. It's short, and sweet.

Aquatic

Rating: Mature, 17+

Pairing: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

CW: Major Character Death, Swearing

Summary:

“Steve, it’s been a year.”

“I was having a good dream, Max.”

“You came from the trees.”

“Am I the fuckin lorax now or something?”

“No you ass! Just- shut up. I’m trying to say something beautiful and poetic about you.”

“Ok, Shakespeare, go on.”

“You came from the trees, everything about you was- are- are you taking pictures of me right now?”

“Yeah, just ignore me.”

“No, is that Jonathan’s camera?”

“Yeah, I asked if I could borrow it. Now, would you just- like fucking continue with what you were saying. Trees or something- come on the suspense is killing me-”

“What the fuck are you going to tell him when you give it back and there’s pictures of me naked in your bed, Steve?”

“Well, I’m gonna replace the film before I give it back, dumbass. Go back to reading- no wait- go back to calling me a tree.”

“When we met, the first time I ever saw you, what I see in you….you came from the trees. Everything about you is flora and fauna. Your eyes, your hair, your body. It’s like being in the middle of Hawkins forest, those haunted gray trees. Lost but not scared. 

“I could never be scared because you came from those trees. Your eyes, dark brown, and full. They say your pupils dilate when you look at something you love, and you always look….full. Your hair, shaggy as it may be, blown through the wind like free leaves. The same leaves, and the same wind that carried you to me. Your body, tall, slim, and strong willed. 

“My first time driving through Hawkins, I was met with the forest. This forest, which envelops us, surrounds us, holds us. And for the first time, I felt protected by your body. Everything about you is flora and fauna, filling me, freeing me, fortifying me….

“I love you Steve.”

“Billy, I….”

“Steve, kiss me.”

“Steve….”

“Steve.”

_______________________________

“Steve.”

His eyes blinked open. He found that his right arm dangled carelessly in the pool, while his other was awkwardly squished and tingly under his head like a bony pillow. “Dustin?”

Steve rolled over, the concrete around his pool bit into his shoulder blades, and sure enough it was Dustin. Dustin, Mike, Will, and….Max. Shit.

Dustin had nothing to say at the full sight of Steve laying there, so pathetically on the ground where he fell asleep. Max stepped forward, unfazed by his current state, and it hurt that Steve fully knew why she didn’t care.

“Steve, it’s been a year.”

“I was having a good dream, Max.”

“I told you it wouldn’t help-”

“Yeah, and it’s fucking summer again, ok! And obviously it did help because- because I had a really fucking good dream.”

Steve sat up, putting his hands over his eyes. He doubted the other kids knew what was really going on, probably chalking it up to seasonal PTSD from everything that happened at Starcourt last summer. If that were really the case he would be fucked up all year. 

“What happened?”

“It was his own fault anyway, and why do you care?!”

“He won’t tell me anything. Either he forgot or you actually made my dad embarrassed enough to be speechless.”

“I win a fucking fight for once, and he doesn’t even fucking remember it.” Steve muttered under his breath, standing and walking back to his house. “I had one beer ok, one. He came into the bar, already drunk, and started talking shit. I got- really pissed off.”

“What the hell were you thinking?! Look at you! I thought you were better now.” Dustin snapped.

“I’m fine it’s not as bad as it looks-”

Max huffed, a small smile on her face. “Yeah, that’s nothing. You should see my dad.”

“Hey, you don’t get to smile, you told me it wouldn’t help anything.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t make me feel great!”

An argument started bubbling between the three of them, and Mike found it somewhere in himself to be included. Before anything could get too bad, a gentle voice rang through the tension.

“Steve?” Will spoke.

“Yeah….”

“We’re worried- I’m worried about you.”

“Why? I’ll get over it eventually Will.”

“Well, because, you said it yourself. It’s summer again.”

“Ok, so?”

“Steve, trust me….you’re not gonna get over it.”

“Wow, thanks, that’s very reassuring Will-”

“Not unless you go and do what's really bothering you.”

_______________________________

He left the next night. He packed any summer shirt he thought he owned, a stack of cash from his parents, and every picture he took. Max and Will came by before he left, and Steve was convinced Will must have known something, however little it was. Will carried Max’s backpack for her, her hands full.

“Here,” She said, handing over a surfboard gingerly. “It was his, he didn’t have the heart to sell it before we moved. I think he always thought he’d be going back.”

“He might be there already.” Will smiled, and comforted Max when tears came to her eyes.

“I want to come with you.” She said, her voice tight knowing she couldn’t.

Steve put a hand on her shoulder. “I know, next time.”

“Oh, and um-” Max held her hand out to Will. He rummaged through her bag until his hands came up with a mixtape, passing it to Steve. “It’s for when you hit the water. He’d only ever play it while driving down the coast.” Max huffed a laugh. “You know, sometimes, when things were good. When things were ok between us, I’d ask if we could drive and listen to this tape. And he’d always say, ‘it’s not deep enough into summer yet’, whatever that meant to him, I didn’t know what he considered deep summer.” She took a deep breath. “He loved summer. And, lo-and-behold, there would always come those days when I guess it was ‘deep enough into summer’, he’d knock on my door, and we would go.”

It had the words The Eyes of California across it in blue marker. “What’s on it?”

“Um, a lot of weird stuff really. I think half of it is The Eagles.”

“Seriously? The Eagles? That’s- different.”

“I guess that’s what he thought belonged to California.”

“Ok, anything else?”

“You know where you’re going?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ll have to figure the specifics out when I get there but, yeah. I know where I’m going.”

“And you remember what I said about the board?”

“Yeah, it should be easy enough. At least it sounds easy enough.”

“It’s easier than it seems, trust me. It’s not like you’re trying to do tricks or something off it.”

“Yeah….” Steve shuffled on his feet, he argued, staying in his head one more time. 

He’d never been to the beach before.

“Goodbye Steve, call us once a day.” Will said, probably sensing his hesitance. 

“Bye Steve.”

He cleared his throat. “Bye guys.” He turned, getting in the car and rolling down the window.

“Steve-” Max came to the window. “Come back. He’d want you to come back.”

He said nothing. Words threatened tears, and promises were dangerous when he didn’t know if he could promise them. All he did was nod sternly.

_______________________________

Steve remembered. He’d tracked her down once, before they moved to Hawkins. He never went of course, wanted to but didn’t have the heart. Said she never could be too far from the beach. She moved north, and now lives in a small coastal town called Capitola. Steve had to knock around awkwardly a few times before he found anyone that knew who he was talking about.

She lived on the second floor of a building, above a quaint spiritual shop. It was a literal two minute walk from the sand, and therefore three minutes from the water. He was right, she never wanted to be far from the water. 

He hated that she looked like him, but remembered that if not for her, he would have looked like Neil. She had similar wavy blond hair, and bluish eyes, hers only tinted with green around her pupils. She was wearing a beach cover-up, and holding a book, lounging at the back side of her house near a jacuzzi, looking ready to go down to the water at any moment she pleased. 

It’s not like Steve looked any better. He was wearing a teal blue, flowery button up, it was light-weight and baggy, with it practically half open. He wore his sunglasses perched on the top of his head, and a pair of white shorts.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked after noticing his awkward hovering in the front of her house. She didn’t bother getting up.

“Uh, yeah. My name is Steve, and I uh, I just thought you would want to know….” He shoved his fists in his back pocket, fishing out a stack of photos and flipping through to find one half decent or mildly appropriate.

Steve paused on one, probably his favorite from that day. He laid in Steve’s bed, his back leaning up on the headboard. The sheets covered his nudity, with one leg in the white sheets and one leg out. In his right hand was Romeo and Juliet, his thumb holding the pages open. His left elbow was resting in a pile of pillows while he chewed on the knuckle of his index finger trying not to laugh, but not caring to hide the wide open smile on his face. The window was open behind the bed, leading to the trees. He’d just finished telling Steve about the forest.

“Excuse me? You were saying?”

Steve hadn’t noticed that his eyes had welled until a single drop hit his precious photo. “I thought you should know, your son is dead.”

There was silence. A stunned, staring, jaw slacked silence. “I’m sorry, wha-”

“Your son, William Hargrove. He died last summer. Here,” He came towards her, passing over the photo. “Sorry it’s kind of a- the picture is questionable but. Anyway that’s not the point, I just figured someone should tell you.”

She took the photo gingerly. “I-” then looked behind him. He turned as well, seeing a child, a little boy, and what was probably her new husband returning from the water. “Sweetie, can you hurry inside, I have to take care of something here.”

The two said nothing, giving Steve strange looks on their way past him. The boy said very quietly to him before going into the house ‘hi’, in the sweetest tone with a timid wave. 

Steve cleared his throat. “What’s his name?”

“Oh, uh, Joey.” Still looking at his photo. “You two were close then?”

“Very.”

“How did it happen?”

“He saved us.”

“I see.” She took a moment to look at Steve, passing the picture back to him; there was nothing more on her face than a hint of melancholy. Her eyes rested on the pendant at his chest, the corners of her mouth twitched up. “That’s mine, isn’t it?” Her fingers reached out. “Can I have it back?”

Steve frowned, his hand coming up to close around the necklace. “No. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Please, it was the last thing he had to remember me by. Don’t you think it makes sense for me to have it back now, to remember him?”

“Like you remembered him when you left him with that fucking asshole!” Steve growled, and she only grew more irritated with him. “No, he left it to me! You don’t deserve it.”

“What? And you do?”

Steve paused at that. He promptly turned, stomping away and leaving her to yell after him all she wanted. He came and did what he meant to, there was no need to stay. 

So he stomped, down the stairs and to the shop under her house. Then he ran, he ran past people on the beach, the benches that lined the coast, past the breakfast diner, saltwater taffy shops and surf shops. He shoved past confused crowds of people and skaters for blocks, until he lost sight of sand and came to the rickety wooden pier. He didn’t stop there. He stumbled his way down the long pier, briefly catching the attention of fishermen and restaurant customers who wanted clam chowder. 

At the end of the pier Steve could finally breathe, but that also meant he could sob. People trying to watch the water stepped away from him, and he’d feel bad for disturbing them if he even had the ability to think about that right now. Steve thought about the year past, his barely existing, his ghost of a life. He might as well have been dead too. Even after he stopped drinking, stopped laying by the pool when it was too cold, and didn’t go on anymore midnight drives, he wasn’t alive, he was simply there in the absence of Billy’s love. 

Steve removed the necklace from around his neck, and held it over the open water. His hand shook, and he screamed at himself to let it go. Like depriving it of his neck would stop him from choking, and give him back his life. 

Did he want his life from before Billy?

He couldn’t drop the pendant, instead sinking to his knees at the end of the pier and resting his head against the wooden barrier.

The shadow of a child came over him, and he was met with the face of the little boy from before, Joey. The kid was holding a bundle of flowers. “Hi. You’re sad.”

“Uh, yeah….” He croaked.

“Do you need help?” The boy motioned to the necklace, and Steve nodded his head. He turned his neck, lifting the back of his long hair, and the little boy clipped it at the back for him. Steve stood, looking down, and the kid set the bundle of flowers, pink carnations, at the top of the rails. “These are for your friend. I like to leave flowers here sometimes, for people I don’t get to see anymore. Like my grandpa; he had to leave, so I bring him flowers. He always comes to pick them up eventually.”

“He does, does he?”

“Yeah, I mean, they're never here when I bring more. I leave them for him, so, yeah. I hope your friend likes them.”

“Thank you.”

_______________________________

Steve drove down to Santa Monica the next morning, listening to the tape from Max. It was perfect, and Steve concluded, deep enough into summer. It was hot, hotter than Capitola, and he thought Capitola was hot. Hell, Steve used to think Indiana was hot. 

His shirt stuck to his skin, and there were too many people. It was loud, crowded, it didn’t have the same kind of peace that the other beach had. But the food was good, and people were happy. He could picture Billy coming from a place like this. Most of all, he could see why he didn’t want to leave. 

Steve spent the day restless, and struggling to find ways to waste time before sunset. He couldn’t tell if it got busier as the day grew late, or if there was a calm coming over the beach. With twilight, the sky became gold and pink. 

Steve changed into a pair of swim trunks, stuffing a plastic bag in one of his pockets, and fastened a bottle of champagne around his waist with a belt. He knew it was a stupid idea really, and it would probably fall off, but it was the same brand of champagne they drank at Tina’s New Year Party so long ago. He tried best to remember what Max told him, and be careful with Billy’s board.

She said it was easy. All he had to do was swim out past where the waves broke, and sit on it. It’s not like he was actually surfing. With every coming wave, Steve lifted his body to let the water flow between himself and the surfboard. It was harder to do while balancing a bottle of champagne tied to his waist. 

But once he thought he had paddled, or more like struggled, far enough into the sea, Steve popped his champagne, and watched the sunset. His first beach sunset. He was just disappointed he couldn’t share it.

“When we met, or, when we didn’t hate each other. Or when I didn’t hate you- god I’m not as good at this as you are!

“The night we met, when I first saw you, the you that you really are, you came from the ocean. Everything about you was….aquatic. Your eyes, your hair, your body- and I know it sounds like I’m just copying what you said, but I’m stupid fucking Steve Harrington and I’m fucking trying ok.

“But you came from an ocean, just like this one. At any moment I could drown, but I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid. Your eyes were the deepest, most beautiful, blue I had ever seen, and I would sink if I could see them one more time. Your hair was heavy, waved, and sun soaked. Your body was dripping with gold, and your necklace didn’t even do you justice. 

“So, yeah, I wouldn’t be afraid to drown. Because you came from the ocean. Everything about you is aquatic. To drown would be to sink into your eyes, your soul, and as dark and blue as you might have thought yourself to be, I can’t find a better way to go. 

“Drowning would be like falling in love with you again. Love from you tasted like champagne and strawberry pop rocks, and the weird ass ice cream toppings you got. It was laying in bed and watching you re-read Romeo and Juliet because you longed for somebody to speak to you the way they spoke to each other. I’m sorry I never could. 

“Falling in love with you was- sweet. It was knowing you, how truly, perfectly, uncool you really were, and only I got to know what you really were. You liked cheesy romance movies, drawing hearts on my fucking windows, and you liked gentle sex. I mean- you liked all sex- but every time I fucked you like I loved you, you acted like nobody had ever fucked you like that before.

“Your love was just you- a deep ocean of your soul, chasing, blaringly loud, blindingly gold, the bluest of any blue, falling, sinking….drowning. 

“I loved you Billy. I hope you knew that. I hope I said it enough.

“I hope you can hear me….I love you.”

Steve took another long swig of his champagne. He reached into a pocket on his swim trunks and pulled out a small plastic bag. In it, a browning leaf from Hawkins forest.

There was also a photo of himself that Billy had taken after stealing the camera that day. He let out a choked laugh, that could be mistaken for a sob. In the photo, and at the time, Steve had taken a book off his dresser to hastily cover his genitals. There was a content, and somewhat surprised smile on his face. He could see the tops of Billy’s knees at the bottom of the photo from the angle he had taken the picture at. 

The last of his bag, a page that he tore out of Catcher in the Rye. “You said I wouldn’t find anything romantic about this book. Well I did, but, I guess it’s only romantic in the way that you found me in a forest, and I lost you to the sea.”

Taking another swig, looking towards the quickly setting sun, he gave a kiss to the photo and to the leaf, and he let them fall into the water.

But they didn’t sink, didn’t drown. They didn’t even really fall. They floated. They floated away.

And Steve read.

“This fall I think you’re riding for—it’s a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn’t permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement’s designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn’t supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn’t supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started.” -The Catcher in the Rye

▽▽▽▽▽▽▽▽▽▽▽▽▽

A/N:

There you go guys, I hope you enjoyed. I really wanted to get this one out there. It was born out of my own depression. Pride month is supposed to be a celebration, but some things had just made me sad, and then came the idea to write this piece. (Sarcastic) wow, *Owen Wilson Voice*.

I really enjoyed writing it, and another thank you to my Snoop sis for reading it for me.

I really love this song, it's Aquatic by Son Lux.

[miwtze]

mediocrity is a skill in its own right (sakusa kiyoomi x reader)

cw: insecurity in ones self, self hatred, depression yk the good stuff 😐 post time skip

wc: 1.2K 

notes: i dont ever edit anything so as per usual no beta i die like a bitch. 

you feel stupid. it’s another day past twelve when your body crumbles with exhaustion but your mind doesn’t allow you to rest. you can’t count the number of times you’ve stayed up attempting to shove the thoughts of inferiority eating away at your soul. the feeling of giving yourself up whole only to never be enough. after all no one wanted someone mediocre.

sometimes you wonder would what it would be like to be like sakusa, a person who cultivated a skill into a talent that’s become second nature. maybe if you stuck to one thing instead of throwing things at a wall to see what stuck you would feel more complete. you can’t find it in your heart to be upset at the sakusas of the world or even the hinatas of the world, who have been blessed with both talent and ambition. of which you have neither. you don’t have the desire to be something great, to be standing at the top, to be the sole messiah leading a legion of lost souls but you crave to anything, anything at all.

it was dizzying the amount of times you’ve tried to grow as a person only to be left with the fleeting sense of being just okay. maybe you were selfish for wanting more because technically being half way decent at anything is better than being dogshit at it. you wish you could hold on to the moments where you felt as though you had potential, to bottle it in a jar and let it build up but like sand in an hour glass it always seems to slip though.

you always find yourself telling yourself that if you can spend time feeling like this you can spend energy doing better. but you never do, instead you always find yourself curled into yourself letting the bubbles of insecurity trickle down from your eyes. you’ve gotten good at keeping quiet when you cry, never wanting to bother sakusa in his slumber who found it unpleasant to be disturbed by mundane things.

when you shuffle around to curl into sakusa you’re met with tired eyes looking down on you. you realize that everything that has can be given to you will always settle with dust no matter how hard you try to brush it away. at some point or another, becoming far too exhausting to clean up and way to dirty to keep around. it feels like lifetimes pass as you stare into each other completely unsure as to how to navigate the situation presenting itself on your queen sized mattress. eventually sakusa shifts, gesturing for you to sit up as he reaches over to turn the nightlight on. you wait with your palms folded over each other for something.

“you know you can talk to me right?” he seems uncomfortable, like words he wants to say aren’t the ones coming out of his mouth. “i know i’m not the most approachable person by any means but i don’t want you to be alone.” he’s words are gently, heartfelt. you can’t bring yourself to believe that someone would speak to you with such affection. “i know you don’t reach out when you need someone. i know you’ve been upset for a while i just didn’t know how-”

“it’s not your fault, omi. i didn’t want to be a burden is all.”you wanted to ease some of the tension you placed on him, but when you see his jaw clench, you realize you’re probably doing more harm than good. “i didn’t realize i was being so loud, i’m really really sorry i didn’t mean to make it hard for you.” he sighs opening his arms, you crawl into them with your heartbeat in your ears.

“that’s not the reason why it’s hard for me. i want to be able to support you the way you support me, but you’re about as emotionally constipated as me. fuck, actually you’re probably worse.” you giggle into his chest as he brushes through your hair. “i’m not a therapist or anything but i can always listen and comfort you.”

you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, the tears poking the corners of your eyes were threatening to spill into a whole new emotion. one that made the butterflies in your stomach go crazy even as your head tries to reel them them in convincing you that you didn’t deserve his love. “do you really want to know or do you want to go to sleep and your conscience won’t let you go to sleep without at least doing damage control.”

“babe if you’re going to be annoying the only thing my conscience is going to want to do is toss you out the window.”

“omi we’re on the first floor nothing will come of that.”

“no critical damage then.” he leans down to place a kiss on your lips, hovering over to rest his forehead on yours. “so what’s got your feelings all twisted?” you want to tell him it’s okay, that he should go to sleep, that he has practice in the morning but more than anything you want to let him into the dusty hallways housing your insecurities on picture frames that you can never seem to tear your eyes away from.

“you know like it’s kind of stupid.” he shakes his head, encouraging you to continue. “but i just, i don’t know, really want to feel fulfillment in the things i do you know? but for someone like me-” you’re crying again trembling in his arms as he coaxes you into spilling more. “-i can never really be anything more than just okay at something. and it’s hard because you’re so amazing, almost everyone around me is but i’m just some npc support character. i just wish i had more to offer because you deserve someone better and can-”

“i’m not sure where you got the idea that i am the one that deserves more when i know you offer the world and back to be when i can only give you myself, but rather than that i feel like-” he stops picking his next works carefully as to not unintentionally hurt your feeling. “-you’re spending more time comparing yourself and ultimately end up ignoring the little things that make you reason that you’ve become a pillar in my life.”

“but i’m so so just boring and normal.” he smiles down at you, brushing away your tears.

“you’re the only one that sees yourself that way. maybe you’ll always only see yourself as mediocre but i hope you know that people have define normal in different ways.” he pulls you down into bed placing you on his chest and securing you in his warmth as he continues. “you’re far more than normal. there really isn’t a word that can justify what you mean to me and how otherworldly you are.” he pauses. “maybe extraterrestrial?”

“omi you were doing so good.” it’s hard to hide the laughter spilling from your lips.

“what you don’t like katy perry?” but it’s much harder to ignore sakusa’s growing smile. 

[hurting-fictional-people]

Okay guys, so I think I’m getting attached to these characters and might have more ideas for them... so please let me know if you’d be interested in seeing more?

CW: (putting them here because tumblr decided to be weird about my tags tonight) a whole lot of angst and betrayal, stabbed whumpee (recovering from it... kinda), collar and chains, IV mention. Please tell me if I missed something

Continued from here

tagging @thelazywitchphotographer and @swift-perseides

-

“You said you’d set Whumpee free if I gave you the information,” someone hisses somewhere above them.

The timbre of that voice is a familiar caress, soothing the uneasiness that threatened to take over as soon as consciousness approached. Still, there’s a sharp edge to it that propels Whumpee’s eyes to flutter open, even as it calms the fear.

“Can you prove it?” 

That’s the sound that truly awakens them. The sound they hoped never to hear again, that sends chills down their spine and makes them squint their eyes against the dim light and groggily look around.

“Can I p– you know you said it, Whumper. Stop fucking around,” Caretaker growls. “If you don’t want to let me go, then fine. Keep me here. Torture me if you will. But leave them alone.”

“Ah, to be young and in love,” Whumper sighs.

Someone towers over Whumpee, large shoulders they know better than their own stand by their bed, restraining their line of sight to the wall to their right and the one in front of their bed.

“I gave you what you wanted. Now let them go.”

Before they can think about it, before they can even truly remember where they are or why or with whom, their hand reaches out and touches the soft skin of Caretaker’s arm, making them stiffen and turn around with a furrowed brow over softening eyes.

“You’re awake.”

It’s the worry underneath the words that brings it all back. The betrayal months before, all the hurt and bitterness, and then those last hours – minutes? – with a hole in their abdomen silently draining their life away, suffocating in pain.

They pull their hand back.

“What happened?” Whumpee rasps out, only then noticing how dry their throat feels. 

They know what happened. Every second of it is etched on their mind forever, but the question still slips out, the need for reassurance bigger than anything else.

“I got you fixed,” Caretaker gives them a sad smile, “just like I promised I would.” 

“Actually, I got you fixed,” Whumper says, walking around Caretaker to stop in front of Whumpee’s bed. “You’re welcome.”

Whumpee’s eyes dart between the two of them, narrowing at the way Whumper’s gaze shines with something dark while Caretaker holds themself statue still. 

“How are you feeling, dear?” Whumper asks.

“Like I’ve been stabbed,” they grumble, frowning when Whumper chuckles. “Why am I not dead?” 

“Poor thing, you were really out of it, weren’t you?” Whumper smiles as they hold Whumpee’s ankle through the sheets and rub circles that would’ve been calming coming from anyone else. “Caretaker took the deal in the end. Almost too late, but my doctors are pretty good, so you should heal just fine. If given proper time, that is.”

“So, what now?” they ask, half wanting to just close their eyes and pretend to still be asleep. Their throat pleads for water, but they don’t want to ask either of them, so they just swallow saliva and pretend it helps.

“Well, that’s a question for Caretaker to answer,” Whumper says, turning toward the third person in the room, the one keeping disturbingly silent, arms crossed and jaw clenched. Probably regretting saving them in the first place.

But Caretaker doesn’t say anything. All they do is glare at Whumper from their spot beside Whumpee’s bed.

“What do you mean?” Whumpee asks after a few seconds, stifling a yawn, eyelids pleading to close.

“They mean that they have no word,” Caretaker snaps. “Whumper wants to make another bargain even though they never fulfilled the first one.”

“Fine. But why am I here?” Whumpee whispers, forcing their eyes to stay open long enough to hear the answer.

“Because you’re the bargaining chip, lovely,” Whumper smirks, squeezing Whumpee’s ankle until they gasp.

Whumpee’s heart drops to the floor, and then lower. 

Caretaker has saved them once, which was a miracle in itself. Expecting them to do it twice is just too much. 

“Can we discuss this later, since you don’t seem inclined to negotiate right now?” Caretaker nods toward the door. “Whumpee needs to rest.”

“I guess they will be needing their strength very soon if you don’t change your mind,” Whumper sighs, winking at Whumpee as they walk to the door. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone for now.”

The lock clicks behind them, but neither Caretaker nor Whumpee acknowledges it. They’re too busy staring at each other to do much else. 

Deep bags mar the skin under Caretaker’s eyes, just like it always happens when they don’t get enough sleep, and Whumpee hates themself for still remembering that.

“Why did you–“ save me, Whumpee tries to say, but their voice fails when a dry cough makes their chest heave and their wound hurt. 

Caretaker is immediately leaning close, one hand splayed on their back and the other on their tight, each touch raising goosebumps along their skin. “W-water,” they rasp, closing their eyes at the humiliation.

But Caretaker doesn’t seem to notice how defeated Whumpee’s eyes are, how their cheeks burn red for having to ask them for something so simple. They simply grab a plastic water bottle from the bedside table and hand it to Whumpee. They gulp down the entire thing.

“How are you feeling?” Caretaker asks once they sag back on the mattress.

“Like shit.”

It’s true, but the irritated tone is nothing but a defense mechanism, and they fear as much as they hope that Caretaker notices it. 

The pain is a constant weight in Whumpee’s stomach, and the medication slowly dripping into their veins through an IV makes them nauseous and sleepy, but none of it makes Whumpee any less confused or sad whenever they look at Caretaker.

Why did Caretaker save them? A blurry memory tickles their brain, of sobs that didn’t come from their lips, of trembling hands holding theirs, warm lips kissing their forehead when they couldn’t convince their eyes to stay open anymore. It dissolves before they can grasp it, leaving only an empty feeling behind.

“You should sleep,” Caretaker says when the silence grows uncomfortable.

“Are you regretting saving me already?” Whumpee whispers, averting their gaze.

“What? No.” It sounds so real they almost believe it. They want to, so badly, but they’d already made the mistake of trusting Caretaker once before. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

There’s a hurt edge to their voice that makes Whumpee’s eyebrows rise as they look Caretaker straight in the eye. “Tell you what?”

“What Whumper did. That you were bleeding out.”

Oh.

“You could’ve died, Whumpee. You almost did. If you had just told me they had stabbed you, it would never have gotten to that point.”

“Why do you sound so angry? You’re the one who taught me not to trust anyone. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you but I’d do it again’, remember? You are the one who said those words. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it would matter.”

Caretaker furrows their brows, opens their mouth, and turns around. Before they do, though, Whumpee catches the flash of pain and sadness crossing their eyes and pretends not to notice the glint of tears there.

The seconds tick by, and as the silence extends, pain and exertion make Whumpee’s eyes take longer and longer to open each time they blink. They are almost asleep when Caretaker’s voice sounds again.

“It’s not true, you know. It would’ve mattered. It’ll always matter when it comes to you.”

But Whumpee is already dreaming once they stop talking.

-

“So, have you made your choice?” Whumper asks from behind a ridiculously large desk. Caretaker folds their arms and doesn’t fight the will to bare their teeth. “We’ve talked through it already, Caretaker. It won’t even be any sort of bother, you just have to go in, pretend I let you free, and come back with the drive I gave you.”

“You and I both know it’s not that simple. You want me to infiltrate my own team, lie to their faces, and hand our biggest enemy a drive filled with classified information,” they bite back, hands curling into fists.

“Well, you can always say no,” Whumper leans back in their chair and grins. “You know I’ll even let you walk out if you do. And then I’ll have a pretty little pet to play with. The only downside is that dear Whumpee won’t last very long as my plaything with that wound of theirs.”

The words might as well be a blade sinking into their heart. And Whumper knows it, relishes the knowledge, laughing when Caretaker holds their breath.

It’s been three days since Whumpee’s woken up. Three days of poorly hiding the desperate need to be by their side, to make sure nothing would ever hurt them again. Three days of knowing that each small noise of pain Whumpee lets out, each hazy look they get whenever Caretaker says something kind or offers help, each distrustful glance, it’s all Caretaker’s fault.

Whumper doesn’t even bother hiding how much pleasure they take from locking Caretaker up until they can’t help but bang on the door and beg to see Whumpee. And when they do, it’s only to be hit by a new wave of pain breaking against their heart, flooding their veins with sorrow every time their eyes meet. 

“Don’t fucking touch them,” Caretaker spits out, taking a step forward before they can stop themself.

“Is that a ‘yes Whumper, I agree with your terms’ I’m hearing, dear?”

“How can I trust you won’t hurt them while I’m gone?”

Whumper’s lips tug upwards, growing into a mocking, open smile. “You can’t. And I won’t even bother promising I won’t. So if I were you, I’d hurry up, because each second you try to stall me makes me even more excited to play with little Whumpee, and I don’t think they’ll appreciate my games as much as I will.”

It’s almost funny how a handful of words is capable of completely shattering someone’s heart, of stealing the ground from under their feet and filling them with dread all at once. 

“Don’t you dare touch them,” Caretaker says, but it’s scared and quivery and both of them notice. “How the fuck do you expect me to leave with you saying you’ll hurt Whumpee?”

“Do they know how much you care about them?” Whumper muses, getting up and sauntering around the table. “Because I remember rather clearly Whumpee telling me you’d sooner offer them ruin than help.”

“What do you care?” they say through clenched teeth.

“It’s just intriguing how desperate you are to keep them safe and how oblivious they are of it. What did you do to make them so distrustful of you?”

Tore their heart apart with my bare hands. The answer comes to their mind unbidden, bringing a sharp twist of pain along with it. They can still see Whumpee’s shocked face, tears streaming down their cheeks, eyes desperately searching theirs for an excuse that wasn’t there for a treason they had no way to deny, no matter how much they wished to. I’m sorry I hurt you, but I did it for the greater good, and I’d do it again, Caretaker had said with all the pride and coldness a soldier could master. 

They had kept their own tears for later, when no one could see them shatter.

“Is your life so miserable you have to feed off of someone else’s or are you just a nosy bastard?”

Whumper laughs, and they wish they could punch that laugh out of that smug face. “I’ll give you the details now and you’ll leave tomorrow. And just because of the insult you won’t get to say goodbye to Whumpee.”

Caretaker glares in response but doesn’t argue. They don’t deserve to be near Whumpee, not after everything, and are pretty sure Whumpee wouldn’t want it either. Besides, the simple thought of seeing the face they love so fiercely fill with suspicion each time Caretaker opens their mouth makes them want to weep. 

Still, as long as they are alive to do so, Caretaker will gladly take the suspicion and anything else Whumpee throws at them. They deserve far worse anyway.

-

Each breath Whumpee takes hurts, and they are about to start crying out of frustration when the door opens. They don’t dare recognize the sharp tug of disappointment in their heart when the face that appears isn’t Caretaker’s.

“Good morning, love, how’s that wound?”, Whumper asks.

“Fine.” There’s an air of amusement around them that makes Whumpee shiver, even if they don’t know exactly why. “Where’s Caretaker?”

It leaves their lips before it hits their brain, and Whumpee has to bite their tongue to avoid slapping their forehead for it. Stupid. Caretaker shouldn’t mean anything to them anymore.

“Oh, dear. You still care about them, don’t you?”

Whumpee doesn’t even open their mouth, not when the answer they can voice would be a blatant lie and they’d both know it.

“It’s really unfortunate to have feelings for someone who doesn’t reciprocate them, isn’t it?” Whumper says, drinking in the slight frown between Whumpee’s brows, the way they look away to hide how much the words hurt them. 

Before the wave of bitterness can crash over Whumpee, Whumper nods to someone outside the room and two guards step inside. 

Their heart starts to pound, thrumming louder at each step the men take toward them.

“What, what’s going on?”

“We’re going somewhere else today, love. I assumed you needed the help to walk.”

They are shaking their head before Whumper even finishes the sentence. With a smile stretching across their face, they raise their brows, as if inviting Whumpee to do it themself.

They know what’s going to happen even before it does, and by the glee on Whumper’s face they do too, but Whumpee still kicks the thin blanket away and gets up on wobbly legs before taking two steps forward. On the third, the pain becomes unbearable. On the fourth, they can’t help but hold their injury and hunch their shoulders. Whumper watches them with mock concern as Whumpee stumbles out of the room. When they finally fall to their knees two steps later, Whumper simply tuts from their spot against the door.

“I guess you did need the help, huh?” they say, and Whumpee catches only a glance of their smile as they wave for the guards. 

Two pairs of hands grab Whumpee’s arms and pull them up, and they can’t hold back a scream when it makes their entire abdomen explode in pain. 

They are hauled over countless hallways, into a room made of concrete walls and nothing more, barely big enough for all of them.

“Please,” they breathe. “What are you doing? What about your deal with Caretaker?”

“Caretaker left, Whumpee.”

It’s the softness in their voice that makes Whumpee’s head turn to them, all wide eyes and parted lips. 

“The bargain we told you about was for them to either betray their team and keep you safe or go away and leave you behind. They made their choice.”

Whumpee can only stare at Whumper’s sympathetic smile. The words take a while to truly sink in, and when they do, all Whumpee does is take a deep breath. 

They’d been expecting this all along, they tell themself. They knew they couldn’t trust Caretaker, knew they’d never come first. They know it, they do. But then why does it hurt so much?

“And you see, Caretaker’s leaving made me kind of mad,” Whumper says as Whumpee is dumped on the cell’s cold floor, falling on all fours. “Betrayals make me bloodthirsty, I’m sure you’ll understand. And since you’re mine now, how can I resist it?”

Whumpee’s mouth dries at that. Terror shoots through their veins at the same time sadness tightens their heart.

The two men who’d carried them there take a step forward at the words and grab chains from a hook behind the door they hadn’t noticed before. As the chains are hung on metal loops attached to the wall, Whumpee realizes how wrong they’d been. The cell walls aren’t completely barren after all.

And when the guards crouch down in front of them, Whumpee can barely find strength through the panic and the pain radiating from their stomach to fight. 

They do, though. Even when it burns and sends waves of dizziness down their body, Whumpee thrashes in hands that don’t budge, jerks against grips that only tighten. 

But none of it matters when metal cuffs lock around both their wrists, nor when the chain is shortened until their arms are pulled straight above their head, back touching the wall. At least they are still sitting. Not that they could get up if they wanted to.

“Whumper, pl–“

But it isn’t over yet, they realize when another shiny gray circle approaches. Whumpee lets out a choked whine, but it’s all they can do before the collar closes around their throat and locks their neck to the wall as well. An uninvited sob escapes their lips, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it either.

“You look beautiful in chains, love,” Whumper says from the door, grinning with sadistic satisfaction at Whumpee’s weakness.

Humiliation tinges their cheeks red when Whumper’s gaze travels up and down their body. Chained, collared, like a dog, unable to do more than wiggle their arms and weakly kick their legs.

“Why are you doing this?” Whumpee asks, voice airy and desperate, searching for an explanation they know isn’t there.

“Because I wanted to. Because it brings me joy to see you struggle. I wouldn’t keep thrashing like that, though, you’ll wear yourself out very quickly with that unfortunate wound of yours, and we don’t want this to end too soon, do we?”

They leave the cell with a giggle and a wave of goodbye, and when the door doesn’t lock behind them, Whumpee almost chokes on a bitter laugh.

The cell is big enough for them to lie down straight if the chains weren’t keeping them tightly tied to the wall. But as time goes by, it seems to get smaller and smaller, closing in on them with each ragged breath Whumpee takes. The chains clink together as they squirm, but there’s no give. Their wound hurts through it all, burning with each movement, but stopping feels like giving up and if they do, then what? 

No one knows where they are but Caretaker and they’ve already made it clear they won’t help. They’ve already given up on Whumpee, left them once again.

No one cares. There is no saving this time. 

Whumpee chokes on rage and grief as tears stream down their cheeks, for a love that should never have been born, for the heart that has been broken in so many pieces they don’t know how it can still find strength enough to keep beating in their chest.

Whumpee stares at the gray walls and feels a scream building, and there’s no one there to stop it from bursting out, containing all of their anger and sadness and betrayal and spilling it over to the world. But even though it’s left their chest, the cry keeps echoing, bouncing around the walls, and none of the feelings are gone. They are all still there, still boiling inside of Whumpee.

So Whumpee sobs and pulls at the chains until their wrists are raw and bleeding, and don’t stop until both their strength and their voice are gone and there’s nothing else to do but sag on the chains. 

-

Caretaker is in the elevator when the phone Whumper’s given them buzzes. Seven floors to go before they have to face their team. A few seconds before they have to betray the people who are nothing less than their family.

Even so, it’s not that thought that sends a shiver down their spine. 

No one but Whumper has that number. The phone was given to them with specific instructions to be used solely to communicate with them. It’s Whumpee’s wide eyes that shine in their mind when Caretaker unlocks the phone, and it’s the memory of their smile that makes Caretaker’s heart race as they stare at the text and the video attached to it.

Got bored. You better hurry up.

Their hand trembles as they click on the video and Whumpee’s thin figure fills the screen, arms chained above their head, legs loose on the ground in front of them. Their eyes are closed, and for an instant, Caretaker’s heart stops in fear. But then Whumpee’s head starts to loll forward before being violently pulled back, and at the same time relief makes Caretaker suck in a sharp breath, the thing shining around Whumpee’s neck makes their heart sink through the floor. 

The collar surrounds the soft skin Caretaker’s tasted more than once, marring the perfect curve of their throat. When it yanks their head back, it hits the wall behind them and their eyes snap open. Whumpee stares at the ceiling for a moment before their mouth opens in a scream Caretaker feels in their soul, even if they can’t hear it. They feel it with their whole heart, and when Whumpee starts pulling against the chains, Caretaker thinks they’ll puke.

The video ends with them panting silently through the soundless video, the glint of tears wetting their cheeks. 

And then the elevator stops, and Caretaker barely has two seconds to wipe away their own tears before the doors open. 

When their teammates run toward them, none of them sees the way their eyes shine for the dread it is. 

As they smile and let lie after lie slip through their teeth, the only thing resounding in their mind is Whumpee’s silent screams. And as they deceive and betray, no one seems to notice the way their hands tremble or how they can’t convince their lips to smile no matter how happy they should’ve been to be back with the team. Not when the ten seconds keep playing over and over again inside their mind.

(next)

[thechangeling]

But you like her better: Part 1

This fic features Kit's potential new girlfriend hinted at in a letter from Tessa to Magnus in CC's newsletter. A bunch of people in the fandom built her from the ground up @littlx-songbxrd @foxglove-airmid @the-wckd-powers @adoravel-fenomeno and @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood to name a few, and gave her a personality, name and backround. Their name is Marí.

Kit uses he/they pronouns in this fic and Marí uses she/they.

Cw: Disassociation (or at least how I experience it idk it might not be the same for everyone), negative self talk, self injurious stims, and bad coping mechanisms.

Title is from Heather by Conan Gray.

Marìa. Marí as she preferred to be called, was a bubbly kind soul with a wide inviting smile and a melodic voice.

Even Ty could admit that they were quite beautiful, despite not seeing women (or in Marí's case anyone who was particularly alienated with womanhood,) in a romantic or sexual light. It took him awhile to realize he was gay, but when he did it just seemed so obvious. He had gone through a minor phase of experimentation at the scholomance when he was younger but it hadn't lasted long.

Still Marí was stunning. And perhaps what made her even more stunning was her kindness and generosity. Ty had met her on the beach in LA while she and her parents were visiting the LA institute for a downworlder/shadowhunter summit being held by Helen, Aline, Mark and Cristina, similar to the one Julian held in 2012.

Ty noticed that Tessa and Jem were present, but Kit was not. He was not exactly sure how that should make him feel. So Ty elected to push the pain in his chest further down. To shove all if his unresolved feelings and worries and questions about Kit Herondale back into the metaphorical box and move on.

So he had gone outside to walk on the beach to distract himself when he found Marí sitting on the sand and crying.

Apparently according to them, they had come across a few dead moon jellyfish, or Aurelia aurita as was more scientifically accurate, that had washed up on the beach.

Ty remembered being moved by how she had such compassion for another living creature who wasn't even a person. It was rare. Ty had helped her bury them. She seemed wary and a little hostile around him at first, noticing his runes. She was clutching her body tightly. Ty noticed her anxiety and told her how he was also a lover of aquatic life and he found marine biology fascinating. This had prompted her to instantly change demeanor and become very excited and start jumping up and down and waving her hands before she told him that she was studying marine biology at university in Devon.

The mention of Devon should gave promoted Ty to wonder if Marí knew Kit but he was still putting up mental blocks to protect himself from the Kit situation so it hadn't crossed Ty's mind.

They had sat on the beach and talked for hours. Marí told him their name and that they used she/they pronouns. They also told Ty that they were from Devon, but their family was from Loiza, a city on the Northeastern coast of Puerto Rico. And also that they were all werewolves who pretty much hated shadowhunters but he seemed ok because he liked jellyfish. They mentioned that marine biology was one of their special interests and that they were autistic and had ADHD.

It would have been the perfect opportunity to tell Marí about him also being autistic but Ty being guarded and asocial, decided not to and told her as little as possible. He supposed he had some trust issues after everything. He mentioned his name, that he was attending the scholomance, and a few basic facts about his family. He also talked about his friend Alyssa Reyes. 

Alyssa or Ali as he called her, was a werewolf with Maia's pack in New York. She was assigned as a liaison to the scholomance to act as a bridge between the werewolves and future centurions. And BOY had she complained about it. Alyssa was basically the president of the fuck shadowhunters club and she was autistic and had ADHD. She and Marí would have gotten along quite well.

Marí overall did most of the talking but she didn't seem to mind. On the contrary.

Ty had no idea that by that point they were already dating Kit.

When Kit returned with apologetic smiles and a new found charisma and confidence, he also brought her. And she was so happy to see Ty again that he felt so guilty for feeling torn up inside.

Ty couldn't hate Marí. Not even if he tried. They hadn't done anything wrong and neither had Kit. So Ty would just have to settle for hating himself for being angry over nothing.

Kit and Ty weren't really talking. Sure they had exchanged some words together when basically forced to, but Kit was being standoffish and Ty was still feeling a little annoyed. But mostly hurt. Ty had heard that Kit was using he/they pronouns and now identified as genderfluid. He had so many questions for Kit but Ty knew he couldn't ask. At least not right now.

Currently Ty was watching Kit and Marí talking. Kit was in the middle of telling her what looked to be a funny story based on the way she was laughing. Kit pushed a lock of dark curly hair back behind her ear and smiled.

Ty felt queasy. He bit his lip and averted his gaze trying to shake off the horrible feeling. Everytime he saw them together his chest felt like it was being squeezed by a juicer. Like he was being crushed and torn up on the inside and it was his fault. Just like it was his fault that Kit left. Or maybe that wasn't true. Maybe it was just inevitable but that didn't make it any easier.

Ty didn't have the right to be jealous or upset. He had no claim over Kit. He was being ridiculous he told himself as he attempted to shove all of these dark feelings into the box.

But this time it wasn't working.

"Alright you look like you're about to snap crackle and pop," Ty heard a voice say beside him. "What gives Sherlock?"

Ty looked up to see Alyssa Reyes standing next to him. When they had all congregated together in the LA institute and Kit had brought Marí and his friend Janessa back with them. Ty had decided to bring his lucky charm and close friend with him.

When Alyssa first came to the scholomance things were quite rough. But they had connected, first on the basis of being autistic and then through other things. Ali also had a love of mysteries and the two of them together were quite the team. The two of them had become incredibly close. Anush called her Irene because she was the only one who could outsmart Ty.

Speaking of Anush..

He was currently still back at the scholomance. They had both decided it was best for him to stay behind so they could spend some time apart. They had recently broken up after Ty finally realized he wasn't in a good place emotionally to date anyone. Ty had been forced to put Livvy's spirit to rest permanently when it started to have an affect on the mortal world negativity. It had been Livvy herself who had begged Ty to save the world at her expense.

That had been about a month ago and Ty was still relatively numb. He had a feeling it would begin to hurt eventually. Just not yet.

"Hey did you hear me?" Alyssa raised her voice. "What's wrong?" Ty refocused on his friend.

She was wearing her costume for the Halloween party they were all attending tonight. Kit, Ty, Dru, Alyssa, Marí, Jaime, Janessa and Thaís. It was Dru herself who had suggested they need a break from essentially preparing themselves for what was probably going to be another war. So they were headed to a vampire hosted party at a club in downtown LA. Alyssa had been sure to grab earplugs for Ty and herself which he was grateful for.

Alyssa was dressed as Aeryn Sun from Farscape, one of the many autistic coded characters from scifi that she was obsessed with. She was wearing a long black leather trench coat with black leather pants and a black tank top. Her dark brown hair was pulled back onto a long braid traveling down to her lower back. She even had leather boots and a fake blaster gun holstered at her thigh to complete the look.

And Ty of course, was dressed as Sherlock.

Ty shook his head at her. "Nothing Ali I'm fine."

Alyssa glowered at him. "Bullshit you're fine. I thought we agreed never to lie to each other?"

Ty sighed, gazing back at Kit and Marí, still smiling at each other. Alyssa followed his gaze.

"Oh you're jealous aren't you!" She declared matter of factly. Ty instantly shushed her.

"Oh relax they can't hear us, she muttered. We're too far away." She twirled her long braid and stimmed with the ends of it. "You know if you plan on taking your anger out on that lovely girl, a member of our COMMUNITY no less, who has done absolutely nothing wrong, then I'm like legally required to throw hands," she said with a smile.

Ty didn't smile back. "I wouldn't," he murmered, looking down. He had been flicking his fingers lazily at his sides, but now Ty found that wasn't good enough. He dug his fingernails into his right palm.

Alyssa looked concerned. "Hey I was just kidding," she said softly. She took his hand that had been creating little half-moon red divots on his skin and carefully threaded his fingers through her own.

Ali squeezed Ty's hand. "You know I'm on your side no matter what." He squeezed back.

Ty looked at the couple again. Emotions swirled all around his heart like little ribbons grazing against the sides. It wasn't just jealousy neccessary and Ty was a little shocked to find that he wasn't angry anymore. He was just...what?

Sad?

Sad didn't even begin to feel like it covered it. He felt so lost. And alone. And.... He felt himself starting to drift away, separating from himself. Ty could hear the fuzzy far away echo of someone trying to speak to him, but he couldn't make out the words. They were getting further and further away.

Everything was blurry and out of focus.

"Ty!" He heard a voice shout. With a jolt he was snapped back into his body. He turned to face Alyssa who was staring at him, looking obviously alarmed.

But the worst part was that everyone else was staring at him too. Including Kit. They looked  shocked, but also something else that Ty couldn't quite pinpoint. There was an air of desperation to their voice when they asked,

"Are you ok?"

Was Ty ok?

It was such a funny question coming from Kit who hadn't spoken more than two words to him this whole time.

Kit who had left.

Ty didn't know what else to do except laugh. He burst laughing hysterically, almost falling from his position of where he was leaning against the wall. He desperately tried to gasp for air as he cackled.

Everyone was staring at him looking horrified. Dru pulled out her phone as if she was contemplating calling someone, then decided against it. Tears were starting to roll down Ty's cheeks as he kept laughing.

Alyssa grabbed his arm. "Alright, come with me," she ordered, dragging him to the side. Ty managed to stop laughing as she guided him firmly into the training room.

Ty's eyes were still blurry with tears, so he wiped them away. Alyssa was smiling at him softly, looking sympathetic. "It's gonna be ok Ty,: she cooed, taking his hand again. Alyssa began to rub slow soothing circles onto his palm.

"Ok, you wanna tell me what's going on now?" She asked gently. Ty sniffed and used his other hand to wipe away the rest of his tears.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted. "I don't know how to describe or explain it.

Alyssa nodded. "Well, try. You can use quotes or song lyrics if you want." Ty smiled. He was grateful that Ali understood.

Ty chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. "It feels like a tear in my heart. Like a part of me is missing and I just can't feel it," he quoted. Alyssa stared at him, pondering. She continued to stroke his hand.

"Do you think what you're missing is Kit?" She asked. "Do you miss him?"

Ty glared at Alyssa and snatched his hand back. "No," he said firmly. "I don't."

Ali rolled her eyes. "Jesus you're almost as bad at love as I am! It's like trying to open a rusted toolbox with a fork getting you to open up!" She snapped.

Ty bared his teeth under closed lips and glowered at her. "Well maybe I never asked for your help!"

"Well maybe you should calm down and recognize that I'm your friend and I'm worried about you!" She shouted back.

Guilt instantly washed over him, pricking his skin. Ty squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry Ali," he whispered.

He wished he could cry. Now more than ever Ty wished he could make himself cry. Over Livvy, over Kit. Over the coming battle. Over everything.

"Do you love them?" He heard her ask. There was no need to ask who she meant.

Ty opened his eyes. This was the thing he never acknowledged. Never said outloud. Never even let himself think it. Because it was terrifying. The acknowledgement of the truth.

The truth was that Ty would probably give his life just to see that adorable smile one more time. That he could tell you how many freckles Kit had because he had spent so many hours staring at Kit and counting them.

The truth was that when Kit held him, he felt closer to anyone then he ever had in his entire life. Ty had sat outside of Kit's door for hours, days even when they had first arrived because he had felt something, even then. Something pulling at him from the other side of that door like a magnet. He told himself it was just curiosity. A scientific curiosity.

It was the only thing that could logically explain Ty's obsession. It wasn't serious. It wasn't-

"I love him," Ty admitted shakily, breaking the silence. Even Alyssa looked a little suprised.

"I'm in love with Kit."

Before Ali could respond, Ty sensed movement by the training room door which they had forgotten to close. Ty instantly whipped around to see who it was, wondering frantically if they had overheard what Ty had said.

Standing in the door frame wearing her Mortica Addams costume for the party, complete with a jet black long wig was Marí.

And the look on their face suggested to Ty that they had heard every word.

I will try and get part 2 up as soon as I can! It will be from Marí's perspective.

The song Ty quotes is Can you hold me by NF.

Tag list: @playwithravenclaw @lavender-scented-rat @jazzkaurtheglorious @waterlillies   @nott-the-best @stxr-thxif @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @clarys-heosphoros @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @arangiajoan @queenlilith43 @adoravel-fenomeno

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Things You Said When it was Over

Somewhere else, anger, a truce, and fight, and a happy ending

cw Jon's typical level of wanting to die but not actually wanting to die, fighting, mentions of vomit but no vomit, mentions of stabbing, mentions of stitches, losing time

Spoilers for 200

Let me know if you enjoyed!  Stop back in a week for another fic. I am accepting Things You Said prompt list prompts for Jon, Martin, and/or Tim!  I have two prompts in my inbox and both have been back written, but if you are wondering if I have ignored your prompt, chances are I have not!

Being unwound hurts.  Unwound.  Rewritten.  Removed.  Pulled and crumpled and twisted and extracted.  Spun in with a web of tapes.  

Masses of crinkling magnetic strips.  Unsure where voice, and web, and body, and blood intersect.  

Woven and ripped through that careful crevasse.  

And it hurts.  Much more than being stabbed.  With that awful scratch and skittering of strands being eaten by an eager, hungry machine.  

As time and entities and two people are chewed through and eaten with all the care of a faulty cassette player.  

It’s a shriek of static, the thrumming whine of machinery wound wrong.  The deafening scrabble of unknowable and terrible things going Elsewhere.  Loud enough that the explosion doesn’t even register.  Just a background whine to the overpowering white noise of the end of the world moving.  

And Jon wakes up.  

With a gasp.  Small.  And so painfully normal.  Like his POTS flaring up and waking up in the break room.  Again.  

That hasn’t happened since the world ended.  Since things went wrong.  

A strange thing to reminisce about.  POTS isn’t something he thought he’d miss.  And… well… he doesn’t?  Didn’t?  Doesn’t know the tense to use because there was that slim, slim chance that everything is actually okay.  The smallest, most fragile idea that things are back to that idyllic normal of the safehouse.  

He doesn't move for a while.  Focusing on breathing.  It's cold.  He isn't sure if the air is cold or if he's experiencing cold himself, or if this is just a new way of feeling pain.  He can't tell.  

His chest hurts, but he can't make himself check for blood.  Moving is still a little too beyond him.  

He wants to open his eyes, and look for Martin, but he doesn't want this to go away.  Because if he's alive, then Martin must be too, right?  Martin was much more likely to survive this.  Not being... you know, stabbed?  

But what if only Jon is somewhere else?  What if this is somewhere Martin couldn't follow?

In that case, Jon would rather not be alive at all.  If he doomed all the other universes because he couldn't go through with it in the end... if he gave it all up for Martin... he can't live with that.  He can't.  More than not wanting to, he just... Can't.  

Then again everything is... kind of numb so he can't actually be sure that Martin isn't there... but he is never that lucky.  Jon never gets the privilege of the best case scenario.  

Breathing still hurts.  But he doesn’t think it hurts in the “breathing around a knife” sort of way.  Then again, after bearing witness to the pain of Everyone on the planet, a single wound is hardly a drop in that ocean with all the other pain just Gone.  

“Jon!  Jon!  Can you hear me?”

He cracks his eyes open, and is met with the safe house ceiling.  Eyes struggling to focus, trying to find the source of the voice that certainly sounds like Martin, but Jon is too sore to move.  The force of it hitting him out of nowhere, without him even trying to lift a finger.  Senses filling the void of 7 billion people screaming with the voices of scars and joints and exhaustion and hunger.  

The best response he can manage is a wheezy groan.  

Wheezy?

Does he need his inhaler again?  Did Martin pack that even?  He hasn’t needed it… since… the world ended.  

Everything’s blurry.  Where did his glasses go?  

“Oh thank Christ!”  

Jon makes to sit up, but stars burst in his vision, and his arms give out.  

Martin’s hands fluttering around him.  Flying to his chest.  

Jon carefully reaches for his chest also.  There is a hole in his shirt.  Well.  A lot of holes, but he’s only looking for one.  

He feels tacky blood on its way to drying.  And as he carefully probes further, he finds a tidy line of stitches in slightly sticky thread, that he has a sinking suspicion is spider’s silk.  A final gift.  A thank you.  He wants to vomit.  

But Martin’s hand catches his, stopping him from potentially hurting himself.  Jon stretches his free hand to cup Martin’s cheek.  He finds it wet.  

It occurs to him that Martin has been crying.  Is crying?  Jon can’t tell.  His face is too far away to see more than the fuzzy outline.  (Not that Martin’s face is actually far away, Jon just has shit vision).  

Crying, present tense, Jon assesses, when Martin shakes with a suppressed, silenced sob.  “How could you do that Jon?  Fuck!  I mean… I knew you would.  But how could you do that?  You Lied to me.  You could have Died!  And I know you didn’t.  But Jon, I… I can’t.  You Promised me!  You Promised!  I…  How could you make me do that?  To you?  How could you?  I…  Jon, how could you?”  Martin’s crying too hard to get anything else out, and Jon still hasn’t managed to find enough breath and energy to speak.  

Jon whines.  Too exhausted to even sign.  

Martin’s hand on his chest.  Still trying to keep the blood in, even when there is no blood trying to get out anymore.  Martin’s usually warm hand icy (Jon hopes with fear, and not the Lonely, but he can’t know.  Firstly because he can’t break another promise, Secondly because he doesn’t think he can Know anymore, and thinking about trying makes his stomach drop.)  

And Jon just… can’t.  He rolls on his side away from Martin.  Curling up tightly.  Against the angry words and the guilt, and the rest of the guilt, and the pain in his body.  He’s doomed infinite worlds.  He’s betrayed everyone who ever cared about him… who he ever cared about.  He caused so much pain and he sat back and watched.  It seared through him the entire time of unknown and uncountable quantity that made up the apocalypse.  

All the words that he could never say, the guilt he could never express, all his own fear that had been just as much a meal for his god choking him.  

And he braces for the hate and the rest of the yelling, and everything else he deserves.  Everything he brought upon himself, one poor choice after another.  

Squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself gone and wills that if he doesn’t just vanish out of everything that Martin will get done yelling quick so maybe Jon can grovel some comfort out of him, even if it isn’t forgiveness, it will be better than the aching nothing that has been threatening to overtake him since he tasted the bitter words of the false statement.  

Martin more than deserves his anger, but Jon can’t take it.  He’s literally held together by spider silk.  He’s worn and tired and battered.  Guilt plunging deeper than Martin’s knife ever could.  

Not that he’s not grateful for this time with Martin.  Not that he doesn’t deserve every centimeter of guilt piling up on him.  He deserves all the hate.  And all the anger.  

He’s spineless, and he knows it.  He Almost did the right thing, but he couldn’t.  And he almost lost everything he cares about.  And now he probably still has.  And… and what?  What now?  Martin elected to stay with him despite it all, on one stupid, slim chance that things could be okay, but how can they be okay ever again, with this aching hole of fault and blame and regret and shame pulling at his core.  And he wants to be pulled open and rip it out.  He wants to enjoy what he has, but he can’t and Martin has every reason to hate him.  

He’s lost time.  

Martin’s calling his name, and his limbs are stiff and numb from bracing for an impact that never came.  

“Jon.  Christ.  Jon!  I’m… I… I didn’t mean to scare you.  I… I don’t hate you.  I love you, I promise.  …I’m… angry.  And we need to talk about this.  But… but I think that should wait until you’re up for talking, and I’m up for not crying for ya know, more than five minutes at a time.  ….And Fuck.  I just… well.  You owe me a good screaming at, too.  And Goddamn it, you were just doing what you thought was right… and you tried to tell us… tell me.  I’m not saying you were right, because you weren’t… but I’m not saying you were wrong.  And.  Well.  We’re both here.  Please.  I’m sorry for yelling.  Can I touch you?”

Jon nods jerkily.  Because he can’t stand the distance between them.  He doesn’t care if touch can get him hurt, he’d take hurt over the space between them.  

Martin holds him like he’s precious and Jon cries.  

Harder than he has in a very long time.  

And when he’s done he’s empty and shaking and filthy.  

They shower and sleep.  In the morning they can shout at each other for broken promises and wandering off, and not communicating enough, and not listening when the other is trying to communicate.  And one leaves in a huff, and one cries himself sick in the bathroom, and there is hugging and a trip to town for tea and figuring out if this is the universe they saved or one of the infinite they doomed.  And there are years for the aftershocks of those arguments to bounce around, losing energy in the form of heat: tea, hugs, hot showers, overeager workouts, kisses a little too rough, hugs a little too tight, a strange combination between fierce affection, and things a little too much to make them feel like they are accomplishing something.  

And they can grow whole once more.  

And they can grow old.