#so it's all fluff there's no danger or angst

[deathbxnny]

Helloo!! Arcane is ending soon, so I was wondering if I could request the Arcane cast reacting to a reader who suspiciously seems to know everything that’s gonna happen in the plot? They always appear where the action is, and they warn about dangers before they happen, trying to ”subtly” change the outcomes of horrible events. Tragedies are a core element of the story, so I feel that the narrative would create another disaster if one event got prevented, but the thought of these characters being safe and happy after all they’ve been through would be so healing :3 It’s up to you which way you want to take it 🐁💖 I’m fine with both platonic and romantic, but I’d love to see Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn if that’s ok :)

I love love love your writing, reading your HC’s before bed has become an important part of my day and it’s always a joy to see your work pop up in the tags <3 Thank you for letting us read your creations 💖 I can’t wait to read the second part of your Caitlyn fic!!

The Timekeeper. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx x Gn!Reader

I absolutely LOVE this idea, Anon, and I appreciate your request so much!! Also, thank you for your kind words. It really means the world to me reading something so sweet!<33

Content: Angst, can be read as either platonic or romantic tbh, time traveling, fluff, bitter sweet, cursing, spoilers for season 2?, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

You were always a mysterious figure to them. One that appeared at the right time in the right place whenever they needed you the most.

You never revealed a thing about yourself. You never even told them your name. But one thing they did know was that you had always looked out for them, like a guardian angel in a way.

And on one fateful day, after another evaded tragedy, they finally caught up to you just before you could leave again.

》VI

"Who the hell are you?" She asked completely out of breath after having practically chased you down through the dense crowd of the undercity. She had seen you so many times before. So, so many times. And every time she did, you were somehow able to save her from certain death by subtly showing her the right way to survive.

It took her a while to piece together that you must've known the outcome of every situation she had ever been in beforehand. That was the only logical answer to the many questions around your existence she could come up with, but it wasn't enough to satiate her desperate curiosity. There were times she had chosen against your signs, and the consequences ended up being almost grave. So whoever you were, you must've had otherworldly knowledge about everything and everyone.

Because whilst she didn't know a thing about you, you certainly knew everything about her.

Raising your hooded head, you idly played with the pocket watch in your hand, piercing eyes meeting her own. "Does that matter?" You ask, and truthfully, it shouldn't. Who cared about your identity when she knew she could trust you? But that wasn't enough. "Yeah, it does to me. Now tell me who you are already. I... I've been seeing you everywhere for years now. You have always been there and I..." She trailed off, suddenly losing her confidence.

She had thought of this moment for years now, imagined exactly what she would say to you. And yet, ultimately, she found herself speechless in your presence that seemed to drown out everyone else around you two. "I see... but my apologies, we were not supposed to meet yet." You said calmly, seemingly undisturbed by her appearance. "Time and fate... they both are so tightly intertwined and yet also so far apart from each other... how odd that the timeline changed so suddenly again, no?" Your words made zero sense in her mind, but that just added to your mystery.

"What-" "-Are you happy with the way your life is going?" You ask, and that made the woman pause in thought. The answer was positive, of course, but only because you had a strong hand in it once she accepted your help. She thought of Powder back home, who was probably happily tinkering away with the young girl Isha they recently took in, and that made her finally nod. "Yes. All thanks to you." "Not at all. It was you who chose your fate. I only showed you the alternative paths."

You two stood there in silence for a moment before she shoved her hands into her pockets and looked over to a nearby bar she liked to frequent in-between missions. "Let's go grab a drink and talk. It's on me." Deciding to accept this new path the timelines had given you, you accept her invitation with a smile.

》JINX

"You're terrible at your job." "Am I? I like to pride myself in my good work ethic, actually." Jinx was idly swinging her gun back and forth on her index finger whilst she rested up in the ceiling above you, clearly having followed you around secretly. But she knew that you already knew that from the start.

Scoffing at your words, she jumped down and landed in front of your indifferent figure as she pointed the gun right at you. "Pah! You're a funny one... so what are you? A time traveler?" "Ah, I like the title Timekeeper more." You were aggravating but at the same time a familiar face she had grown to appreciate deeply. You were the reason she was doing well in life now, even if she ignored you for a very, very long time. She thought she knew better despite all the odds pointing against her, especially you. Ultimately, she learned her lesson when she finally just listened to you.

"Ugh... whatever. Can't ya at least tell me your name?" "No." "Man, you're such a pain in the butt!" "Likewise." Rolling her eyes, she lowered her gun and lazily leaned against a wall, arms crossed tightly as she observed the crowds passing by from outside the abandoned building you were in. An admittedly comfortable silence fell between you two, one that relaxed her shoulders and made her sigh in defeat after a while. Your presence was always so comforting.

"So, you let me catch up to you this time. Finally tired of the cat and mouse game we've been playing?" You lowered your head at her question, a sly smile on your face that made her narrow her eyes in interest. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted to ask you how you're doing?" What an odd question, considering the context of your meet-up. And yet, it was somehow fitting coming from you specifically. Wasn't your whole mysterious mission revolving around her well-being anyway?

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that, oh so esteemed 'Timekeeper'?" You found no offense in the mockery of your title. Just pure amusement. "I'm afraid that mind reading was not in the initial job listing." Jinx took a moment to think about your question carefully then, deciding to indulge you despite her better judgment. Things were good now, after all. She, Isha, and Vi were together again as a family, including Vander, even if they had yet to find a way to turn him back properly. But everything was happy otherwise... because you made sure that the end to her story wouldn't be a painfully tragic one.

"... I'm fine. Everything's fine." She muttered, and your smile widened at that answer. "So... I'm not terrible at my job, after all?" Pressing a playful hand to her chin, Jinx acted as though she was in deep thought. "Hmmm... I guess I'll need more convincing than all of this to decide." "Of course... then how about we start with running away before the Enforcers show up to raid this place in approximately... 2 minutes?"

Jinx rolled her eyes again with a grin but agreed to follow you, very much glad to have learned her lesson at your side throughout the years.

》CAITLYN

She was ignorant towards your judgment from the start, especially as she was able to analyze very quickly that you weren't all you claimed you were. You were too smart, too fast, too aware of everything. It was clear that you already knew how her life story especially would come to an end. But that didn't mean that she'd always listen to you.

Caitlyn believed to know better, even going as far as to protest against your word, which she had learned to be fate itself. And sometimes she'd nearly get away with her life, and on others, you'd be the one to show up just in time to save her. It was embarrassing and at times even near humiliating, but you never judged her, just silently left every time she attempted to confront you.

And this time she had finally succeeded.

Now dressed in a formal uniform, she watched your still form stare out of a window in her estate, as though you weren't practically trespassing. But Caitlyn was used to that. "It's going to rain soon. I wonder if the construction workers will get done with the restoration on time today before the first drops fall." The navy haired woman came to stand next to you, ears finely tuned to your calming voice she had heard in her dreams and mind for so many years. It felt surreal to stand next to you at last.

"You already know the answer... but I think Mother will send out guards soon to retrieve them." Her mother, who had only narrowly escaped her death, if it wasn't for you. She had only gotten a little injured from falling debris, but that was all that happened. All of the councilors and people in the building had survived the Jinx attack. No grave injuries. All because you prevented it by throwing Jinx slightly off balance enough to make her shot not as precise.

"... Thank you." "For what?" The right answer would be absolutely everything, but she refrained, noting that you didn't seem keen on praise. You saw it as your job. As your duty to her for a reason unknown. "For saving my mother." That should do.

You nodded at her words in acknowledgment as your eyes spied Ambessa retreating with her troops in defeat. They were practicing chased away by the council since their help was unwelcome. Served them right for meddling with the business of other nations. You had exposed their ulterior motives in secret, and that's all it took for the tide to turn against them. "Just my duty." "I knew you'd say that... but I want to reward you for all you've done. If it wasn't for you... then I... I don't want to know what I would have become."

You glanced at her with an unreadable look in your eye, and that reconfirmed her suspicions regarding how deep she would have fallen otherwise. It's best not to think of it.

Humming to yourself in thought, you gave her a small smile. "Very well, if you insist... you can treat me to some fine tea and cookies." Caitlyn weakly mirrored your grin, relief filling her senses at you accepting her offer. She was worried you wouldn't. "Of course. Follow me." Linking your arms together carefully, you made your way through the dim halls.

A chuckle left your lips when it indeed began to rain.

[ihrthoney]

no grave can hold my body down

pairings: arkham knight!jason todd x f!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, a lil bit of suicidal thoughts but nothing too major

word count: 1.8k

an: this is a more detailed version of this post! please request jason todd fic ideas pls pls pls. sorry if theres any mistakes it’s almost midnight lol

Almost two years had passed since Bruce Wayne came to your door and revealed who he was. Nearly 730 days since your boyfriend "died". Gotham was a city full of awful crimes and even worse people but you've never hated anyone like you hated Batman.

You can understand that he tried, the guilt he must feel probably consumes him and a sick part of you is glad. Not only was your boyfriend killed, with video evidence might you add, but his body was never recovered.

Jason would hate it if you saw the video of the Joker killing him but you needed to know. It was all for naught though, you never buried a body so your brain fully believes he isn't dead.

Whether or not it was the grief of having the love of your life ripped away from you or the feeling in your gut, you know Jason isn't dead. Until there is a body in front of you, you will do anything that you can to find him.

-

It started with swallowing your pride and asking the person you loathed for help.

Bruce obviously refused, he wanted to avoid another young person's death. You caught him by surprise with how you begged for his help, he fully expected you to be mad at him, to threaten him for answers. But no, instead you got on your hands and knees and begged him for help, which somehow made it worse.

For weeks you kept reaching out to him, asking him for any clues or hints, anything at all! He has all the resources a person could ever need, he's known as the greatest detective in the world but he can't find his son?

"I've told you, Jason is... Jason is dead. You saw the video. Get out of Gotham and move on, there is nothing more I can do for you." You didn’t stop there though.

You knew of Nightwing, that he was the robin before Jason. So you reached out to him when he was on patrol. Unlike Bruce, you actually felt bad for asking for help, especially since he was working and was grieving himself.

Even through the domino mask, his face scrunched in sympathy, and as gently as he could he told you he couldn't consciously help you. He couldn't let a civilian rope themself into business they wouldn't be able to walk out of.

Understanding of his reasoning, you started going against the law. You started to sneak into offices at different police stations in Gotham (they were sloppier than you could've ever thought, no wonder people love Batman).

Given Jason's at the time profession, he taught you how to defend yourself. There was never a time you didn't carry a knife on you, but you always left your gun at home. Living in Gotham, it was best to take all and every necessary safety precautions.

Using the very low-level skills you had, you searched places that were abandoned and discarded, anywhere that Joker was ever near in the past few years. A part of you knew that what you were doing was dangerous, that if Batman had found anything he would've done so already.

But you couldn't just go to work and pretend your boyfriend wasn't out there somewhere, alive or not you had to be absolutely sure. If you died trying then so be it, it's better than living in the reality of Jason not coming home.

-

A year went by, 365 days of feeling your sanity drain out of your body. You've been caught a few times by the police for trespassing and once by Batman himself who scolded and lectured you about your activities. He was livid, upset at you willingly putting yourself in danger. You were at a higher risk of dying than he was and yet you go out in nothing but black clothes and a few weapons. He's genuinely shocked you're still alive.

After Bruce catches you, he makes sure to keep tabs on you which prevents you from going out. Even if he's busy, if he sees your tag too far out he will drag you back to your place.

There's a part of you that wants to give up, to actually take his advice and move away. But you know deep down inside nothing will put out the fire of finding Jason. Even if you moved to a different country, you know you would still look for his hair, to listen for his voice in the crowd.

Months of gaslighting yourself that he'll knock on your door and say it's just one big prank, that he was on a big mission far away and couldn't tell you to keep you safe.

Millions of excuses rolled around in your head day and night, work was a blur. Bruce even tried to compensate by offering to pay for your rent, to help you seek medical help like a therapist. You know it would do you good to rest but the guilt of leaving Jason behind was too strong. He's been through so much in his life, you wouldn't dare abandon him.

You still stayed in the apartment you were looking at with Jason, "a safehouse" he called it, you weren't even 18 at the time but you both allowed yourselves to think ahead.

Every piece of furniture you bought it with him in mind, "This would be convenient for him to hide his gear," "He likes this color, plus the blanket is soft so it'll help him sleep." Jason consumed you, call it unhealthy but he was your night in this dark city.

There was a spare bedroom, you were going to originally use it as an office/workspace but instead, it's covered in all the papers you've stolen to find him. The floor, walls and even the door were covered, overlapped, and written on with any possible clue you could've stumbled upon. It's been months since you've been able to add something that wasn't already on there. So instead, you sat in the room and just stared at it, cried, ripped things down, and put them back up with tears streaming down your face. It didn’t help that you would hear Jason’s voice soothing you whenever you cried, reassuring you whenever you were down. You knew it was your subconscious trying to console you but you liked to believe he was really there.

Then there were the hallucinations, they started back when you stumbled upon a hostage situation in an old arcade at the end of Gotham, you swear it was Jason but when the guy looked up at you all you saw was a stranger. You were stuck in the police station for hours, yelled at for stupidly interfering in a dangerous situation. The cops looked at you with annoyance now, you were nothing more than a crazy love-sick girl.

-

Lately, work has been exhausting, learning there was a new robin made your stomach swirl. It was like Batman just moved on, how is that fair? How could he move on while you were stuck chasing dead ends? Why couldn't you just accept his death?

Instead of eating dinner, you let yourself boil in whatever hot water Gotham could provide and scrubbed layers of guilt off of your skin. You put on an old shirt of his, which was horribly faded by how much you wore and washed it then curled up in bed; The bed was too big but you didn't want a smaller one in case he came back.

Usually, you triple check that your windows and doors are bolted shut but for tonight you just trusted your brain. Sometimes, it felt like it would be easier if you didn't wake up anymore, at least when you closed your eyes you could see the Jason you knew and loved.

Tonight was one of those nights where sleep was in and out, so when you felt a hand push back some hair behind your ear, you grabbed the knife under your pillow and lunged forward though there were no sounds of anyone in pain, in fact you heard the knife hit the floor.

"You have to be faster than that, sweetheart."

That voice. You would know that voice anywhere.

You blink your eyes open, slowly revealing the man you love in front of you. Except, he wasn't in front of you. This wasn't the first time he's appeared in front of you, it broke your heart all the same.

The exhaustion creeped up your throat and tears started to slip down your face, "No don't cry baby, it's okay." 'Jason' attempted to reach his hand toward you but you shook your head, backing into the corner of the bed,

"This isn't real. Go away, please. Not tonight."

The ache Jason felt in his chest at the sound of your distress hurt him in a way he's never yet experienced. His poor girl crying, thinking he wasn't real.

"I'm real baby, I promise." He calmly approaches you, kneeling on the bed, a hand reaches out towards you again,

Your head was buried on your knees as you hugged yourself into a ball, "You're not! I haven't found you! This can't be real!"

"Please look at me sweetheart."

You noticed his voice sounded different, deeper, more matured. It caused you to slowly look up, "There you are."

That's when you see him. The scars, the tired look in his eyes, the rage he's hiding behind it; There’s a difference in color in his eyes but they're beautiful all the same. They still look at you with love.

None of your hallucinations were this detailed, to be honest you couldn't imagine what he would look like after the years have passed. So to see this, you knew it was real. (Or some villain was damn good at illusions.)

He was caught off guard as you hugged him tight, he had to swallow down the feeling to pull you off. You were the exception to everything, so for now he could stomach the feeling of being held in place because he (is trying to convince himself) knows it's out of love.

You sobbed in his chest, apologizing over and over and over again, "It's okay baby, take deep breaths please."

Again, you started to shake your head, "It's not okay, I should have found you. I tried to find you, I'm so sorry!"

"I saw the room baby, I know you tried but that wasn't your responsibility." He tried to reason with you, doing what he could to calm you down. It's been years since he's seen you, years since he's dealt with anything normal, his mind is all over the place.

"Don't say that, I love you Jace. I would rather die than stop looking."

Jason tensed at the phrase, after everything it's hard to believe you, to believe any of this but he wanted to see you. He had to.

A hand found its way in your hair, holding you close to his chest, "You did good honey, thank you for trying."

Lifting your head from his chest, you looked into his eyes, "I would do anything for you, I need you to know that."

He can only offer a small smile, he knows you did and there's a small piece of his heart that can rest knowing you didn't forget him, that you still loved him.

He hopes he can learn to love you again, too.

part 2? lmk down below :)

© ihrthoney. reblogs & feedback are greatly appreciated𑁤

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection Part 7

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has to face the harsh reality that she can’t help everyone.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, light fluff

Words: 3790

“Whitney Frost, daughter of Byron Frost—a typical Wall Street tycoon,” Tony’s voice echoes through the phone as he reads out the details FRIDAY managed to dig up.

On Natasha’s screen, she can see multiple files and articles pulled up on Tony’s monitors, the holographic images casting a blue glow on his face as he continues.

“There are plenty of articles about her earlier years. Standard socialite magazine garbage—life of a spoiled rich kid, extravagant parties, lavish vacations. You get the idea.”

Natasha lets out a dry scoff at the irony, her lips curling slightly. 

“Coming from the playboy billionaire who once blew up half of his mansion?”

Tony gasps theatrically, placing a hand over his chest in a wounded gesture. 

“Watch it, Romanoff. I’m helping you here.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha nods. “My bad. Please, continue.”

Tony huffs, turning his attention back to his screens. 

“After her father’s death, she goes dark for a couple of years. No public appearances, no sightings—nothing. Coincidentally, around the same time, reports start cropping up about a new leader rising within one of the East Coast’s major crime families. Descriptions of the leader consistently include one distinct detail: a golden mask, giving them the title–”

“Madame Masque,” Natasha finishes for him, her tone flat.  

“Bingo,” Tony confirms. “Over the years, she’s pulled off some pretty big moves. Arms deals, arson, major heists—she’s dangerous, Nat.”

There’s a shuffle of papers in the background, and Peter’s voice chimes in. 

“I don’t get it, Mr. Stark. If she was already rich, why turn to crime?”

Natasha doesn’t hesitate to answer. 

“It’s not always about money,” she says. “Sometimes it’s just about power and control.” 

A brief silence follows, the weight of her words sinking in. 

Tony’s expression darkens slightly, and even Peter doesn’t offer a rebuttal. They all know Natasha is right. 

People like Whitney thrive on domination, bending others to their will. 

Natasha’s frown deepens, her thoughts drifting back to the night before—the memory of you leaving with Whitney still fresh and raw. She exhales slowly, the sting of hurt in her chest flaring again, though she pushes it down. 

Suddenly, Tony’s voice cuts through the quiet. 

“Okay, I can’t ignore this anymore. What are you doing?” 

Natasha’s brows knit in confusion as she glances at the screen. “What do you mean?”

Tony leans closer to the camera, pointing a finger at her with exaggerated disbelief.

“Why are you bottle-feeding that cat like it’s a baby?”

Natasha pulls Widow closer, cradling the tiny feline protectively against her chest. In her free hand, she holds a small baby bottle filled with water, offering it near the cat’s mouth. 

“She still won’t eat complete meals,” Natasha explains defensively. “At least this way, she’s staying hydrated.” 

Widow lets out a faint, sad meow, turning away from the bottle and burrowing deeper into Natasha’s arm. 

Natasha sighs softly, her expression tinged with disappointment as she looks down at the cat.

Peter’s voice pipes up from off-screen. 

“Miss Romanoff, I could go pick up some different kinds of cat food if you’d like?”

Before Natasha can respond, Tony waves him off. 

“Great idea, kid. Take my card and have at it.”

“Awesome,” Peter replies, his excitement evident as he disappears from view. 

As soon as Peter is gone, Natasha raises an eyebrow at Tony. 

“Was that really a good idea?”

Tony shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Eh, it’ll be fine.” 

“So, what is it?” Natasha asks knowingly. She can tell Tony got rid of Peter so that he would not hear whatever it is Tony was holding back. 

“Some tough love,” he says bluntly, his relaxed demeanor shifting into something more serious. He leans forward, fixing her with a pointed look. “Look, Nat, if your friend is running with people like Whitney Frost, you might need to face the facts.”

“Which are?” Natasha’s tone grows colder, her jaw tightening.

“She’s a criminal,” Tony states flatly, the words landing like a stone.

Natasha’s frown deepens, the label grating against her as she reflexively clutches Widow a little tighter. “And?” 

Tony sighs, shaking his head as if she’s missing the obvious. 

“You need to start treating her like one.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow. 

“Did you forget I used to be an assassin?” she counters, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

“And now you’re an Avenger,” Tony fires back without missing a beat. “Not everyone’s like you, Nat. Not everyone wants to change.” 

The silence stretches between them, tension simmering as Natasha processes his words.  

Seeing her still hesitant to accept the fact, he adds softly, “You can’t help someone who doesn’t even want it.”

Natasha frowns, her eyes drifting down to the little cat in her arms. She strokes her fur delicately, and Widow returns a faint purr in response, though she still refuses to move much more than that. 

“Send me everything you have on Whitney and Madame Masque,” Natasha says, her determination resolving. 

She’s not going to give up on you so easily.

Tony studies her for a moment, his expression knowing before he sighs and leans back in his chair. 

“Already done.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

A deep sigh escapes Natasha as she rubs her tired eyes, trying to dispel the exhaustion. The hours have stretched into the late night, a glance at the window and then at the clock on her tablet confirming just how much time has passed.

Beside her on the couch, Widow is curled into a small ball, her tiny body seeming to shrink further with every passing moment. 

The meal Natasha had prepared for her earlier sits barely touched—a few nibbles at best.

Though, in her tired mind, Natasha can’t help but let a stray thought creep in: maybe her cooking is bad enough to deter a cat. 

The self-deprecating humor makes her sigh again, a sure sign of just how drained she feels. 

Setting the tablet on the table, Natasha leans back against the armrest of the couch, her head tilting to rest against the cushion. She raises an arm to cover her eyes, allowing herself just a brief reprieve, not planning to sleep but needing the darkness to ease the strain from hours of research. 

For a while, the silence wraps around her like a blanket. 

Natasha focuses on her breathing, the steady rise and fall helping her ground herself. 

Eventually, she debates whether she has it in her to dive back into her work for the night when a sudden movement shifts at her side. 

Tiny paws pad up her torso, and then a soft weight settles against her stomach.

A familiar, distinct meow breaks the quiet—a chirping, happy sound Natasha hasn’t heard from Widow in days. 

She freezes, her body going rigid as suspicion blooms in her chest. Breathing slowly, Natasha tries to maintain her sleeping position so as not to give herself away.

Widow’s sudden shift in mood—it could only mean one thing.

“I know you’re awake,” your voice cuts through the stillness, warm and teasing from just above her.

Realizing she’s caught, Natasha exhales softly with a mix of both relief at your presence but also mild frustration at the fact that you were able to sneak up on her again. 

She removes her arm from her eyes, blinking up to meet your gaze.

You’re leaning casually against the back of the couch, your head tilted and resting atop the cushion, a small smirk on your lips. 

“It’s way too early for you to have fallen asleep,” you tease lightly, your voice carrying that familiar playful lilt. 

Your attention shifts to Widow, who’s now eagerly leaning against the cushion to lick at your outstretched hand. 

“Isn’t that right, Widow?” you coo, your tone softening as you address the little cat.

Widow chirps again, louder this time, in agreement and nuzzles against your hand with obvious affection. 

Natasha can’t help but scoff, shaking her head at the way the two of you seem to operate as a perfect team.

Carefully, she sits up, trying not to disturb Widow perched atop her. 

However, the movement brings her face unintentionally close to yours. She stills as she realizes the proximity, her lips parting slightly as the quip she intended to deliver gets caught in her throat. 

Instead, all that escapes is a soft exhale. 

Your smirk falters, replaced by a small, almost sad smile. Your eyes search hers, lingering as if you can see something more beyond her carefully maintained exterior. 

The intensity of the moment steals Natasha’s breath, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. 

Breaking the tension, you lift a hand into view, holding up a bag of takeout containers.

“I brought dinner,” you say softly, the warmth in your tone cutting through the charged silence.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha sits cross-legged on the couch, a takeout box resting limply on her lap as her attention drifts away from the half-eaten meal inside. 

Instead, her gaze falls on the two of you. 

You’re seated on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, also cross-legged, with Widow nestled comfortably in your lap. 

The little cat looks more content than she has in days, her tiny paws resting on the edge of the table as she eagerly eats the torn-up pieces of meat you prepared for her. 

A wave of relief washes over Natasha at the sight of Widow eating normally again, her movements lively and natural. It eases the knot of worry that’s been sitting in her chest, but as always, her focus inevitably drifts to you. 

It’s a pull she can’t resist, her gaze lingering on the subtle details in your expression, the quiet ease with which you handle the moment. 

Natasha absently stirs the noodles in her box, her mind turning over the question she’s been holding back since you arrived. It gnaws at her, but finding the right way to ask feels like navigating a minefield.

“How…” she begins, her voice hesitant, but the words falter. 

Natasha bites her lip, uncertain whether she has the right to pry into your life any deeper. 

You glance up at her, catching on to the unfinished question. Setting your takeout container on the table, you tilt your head slightly, offering her an easy opening. 

“How am I here?” you ask knowingly, your voice gentle.

Wordlessly, Natasha nods, grateful but wary of the answer.

“You didn’t look at the USB?” you ask, a touch of curiosity in your tone. 

Natasha shakes her head. 

“I was busy worrying about more pressing matters,” she says, her eyes flicking meaningfully to Widow, who’s still munching happily in your lap. “And anyway, it didn’t seem like she wanted me to have it in the first place.” 

You huff lightly at her words, and with an amused shake of your head, you turn Widow to face you, your fingers gently scratching behind her ears. 

“You were supposed to give it to her,” you chide playfully. 

Widow lets out a small, sassy meow, as if to argue her point, and then wiggles free from your grasp. 

Natasha watches with mild curiosity as the little cat pads over to the side table, where the USB has sat untouched for days. Widow grabs the small device in her mouth and trots back toward Natasha. 

Stopping at her side, Widow drops the USB onto Natasha’s lap with a decisive plop before looking up at her with a smug little chirp, her tail swishing behind her. 

Natasha raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching with the faintest hint of a smile as she picks up the USB. 

“Thank you,” she remarks dryly, her tone soft but teasing.

Widow lets out a pleased meow, circling once before hopping back into your lap, her little body nestling comfortably against you. 

Natasha’s gaze shifts to the USB, her fingers brushing over its surface thoughtfully, before lifting her eyes to meet yours.

“So,” she says, her tone calm but tinged with curiosity, “what exactly am I going to find on here?” 

You glance down at Widow, stroking her head absently as you answer, your voice steady but carrying an undertone of something more. 

“Whitney had a scheduled meeting out of state with some buyers tonight.” 

At the mention of the other woman, Natasha narrows her eyes slightly, reading between the lines. 

“So this is…?”

“Everything you need to finish your original mission,” you reply evenly, meeting her gaze with a serious expression. “The buyers’ identities, their locations, the details of each weapons deal. Enough to track them down and stop the weapons from being used in the wrong hands.” 

Natasha studies you closely, her sharp instinct catching on to the underlying reason for your sudden assistance in her original mission. 

“To shift my attention from Whitney.” 

Your silence at her pointed remark is telling. 

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, the unspoken truth hanging between you. She tilts her head, her voice firmer now. 

“Why are you protecting her?” 

You flinch slightly at the accusation, your hand pausing mid-stroke on Widow’s fur. After a moment, you let out a sigh, your gaze drifting downward. 

“You know, it wasn’t always like this between us,” you say quietly. 

Natasha stays silent, letting you continue.

“Her dad—her real dad—was the original leader of the organization,” you explain, your voice tinged with something softer, almost nostalgic. “I met her when she was training to take over his position. Or, rather, she found me. I was just a simple thief back then. But not to her.”

You pause, your hand resuming its slow strokes over Widow’s fur as you collect your thoughts. 

“She made me an offer—something I never expected. Another opportunity for my life. To join her. She saw something in me. Something…more.”

The words hang in the air, and Natasha feels a pang of understanding, recalling her own experience from the past. 

“It felt good,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Having someone look at you like that, like you’re worth something. Like you could be more than you ever thought of yourself.” 

You let out a soft, bitter chuckle. 

“She’s always been good at that. Making you feel special. Like you’re the only one who matters.” 

Natasha’s gaze softens slightly, her arms folding across her chest as she listens. She doesn’t interrupt, sensing the weight behind your words.

“No matter what she did—how far she went—I always found a way to forgive her,” you continue, your tone darkening. “Until I couldn’t anymore.” 

There’s a long pause, the quiet broken only by the faint sounds of Widow’s contented purring. Finally, you lift your gaze to Natasha’s, the vulnerability in your eyes stark, unguarded, and disarming.

“And then I met you,” you say softly, your voice carrying a bittersweet edge. “And for a while, I felt that same thing again. That feeling from the beginning—when it was just lighthearted, fun, and flirty, intoxicating even.”

Natasha’s breath catches, her chest tightening at the quiet admission. The honesty in your words cuts through the usual banter and teasing, leaving her unsure how to respond.

“But I already know how this ends,” you add, your voice softer now, tinged with resignation. “I’ve seen it before. And I can’t…” You trail off, shaking your head slightly, the words left unfinished. 

Natasha watches you closely, her sharp gaze softening despite the weight of your rejection. She leans forward, her voice low but steady in understanding. 

“It’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.” 

Her tone shifts, gaining a quiet intensity and insistence.

“But you don’t need to stay with her either. We can figure out a way to disengage the bomb without you returning to her. A way to keep you both safe.”

Your gaze lowers, regret flickering in your expression. When you finally speak, your voice is heavy with sorrow.

“I have to go back.”

Natasha’s lips part in protest, her brows knitting together in frustration, but before she can speak, you cut her off, your tone firmer now.

“Not because of the bomb,” you clarify. “But because of what I did to her.”

You rise slowly, retrieving the tablet from the table, its screen still displaying the research Tony sent on Whitney. Sensing the shift, Widow hops into Natasha’s lap, purring softly as Natasha strokes her fur, grounding herself.

Sitting down beside her, you scroll through the files until you find what you’re looking for. Wordlessly, you turn the screen toward her. 

Natasha scans the report, her frown deepening with each line. 

It details a failed raid on a Stark Industries facility, ending in a catastrophic explosion. Operatives were killed or gravely injured. Their leader, however, was not discovered among those found.

“I abandoned her that night,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “None of that would have happened if I had stayed.” 

“You don’t know that,” Natasha counters firmly, her gaze snapping to yours, her hand reaching out instinctively to rest atop yours.

A faint, sad smile tugs at your lips at her touch, and you shake your head slightly.

“I appreciate the thought,” you reply, your voice tinged with bittersweet humor, “but we both know that’s not true—especially considering how I’ve managed to sneak past Stark’s defenses twice now without any problems.”

The smirk you add at the end is small, almost fleeting, but it carries a sting of truth that Natasha can’t ignore.

You’re exceptionally skilled. She can’t deny that.

Your fingers brush hers lightly, tracing the bandages covering her knuckles. A contemplative sadness crosses your face.

Then slowly, you lift her hand to your lips, pressing a soft, almost apologetic kiss against her skin before lowering it back onto Widow’s fur.

“I’m not innocent here, Natasha,” you continue resolutely, your voice low, as if the words are for you as much as for her. “I never was.”

Natasha’s jaw tightens at your words, but she doesn’t interrupt as you continue. 

“I owe her a lot,” you admit, your voice heavy with the weight of your past. “She gave me a chance when no one else did. She saw something in me that I couldn’t. And yet…” Your voice falters slightly, but you press on.  

“I still betrayed her in the end.”

Your gaze shifts to Natasha, your eyes meeting hers with a depth of emotion that makes her chest ache. 

“You deserve more than to wait for me to eventually do the same to you,” you say softly. “More than I already have.” 

Natasha’s chest tightens, the quiet ache spreading as she watches you, her gaze taking in every flicker of pain and regret etched across your features.

But this time, it’s not sadness that rises within her—it’s anger. Not at you, but at everything else.

At Whitney, for manipulating you. At the circumstances that have pushed you to this breaking point. And most of all, at the invisible chains of guilt that hold you hostage, preventing you from seeing a way out.

Her hands twitch, the urge to reach for you almost overwhelming. She wants to close the distance between you, to grasp your shoulders and shake you free from the weight of your past, to tell you that this isn’t your only option.

But she hesitates, her fingers curling into fists as she forces herself to stop.

Forcing you to accept her help, no matter how badly she wants to, would make her no different from Whitney. It would just be another form of control, another pressure you don’t deserve.

And Natasha refuses to become that.

Instead, after a long pause, she speaks with quiet determination.

“What will happen to Widow?” 

You look down at the small cat, curled up peacefully in Natasha’s lap, and sigh. 

“I can’t bring her back with me,” you admit, your voice thick with regret. “But I’ll stay with her as long as I can tonight. Make sure she’s okay, and I’ll explain it to her—let her think it’s like last time, when she stayed with you while I was away.” 

You glance at Natasha, searching for her response. 

“If…you’re still willing to take care of her?”

Natasha straightens slightly, her expression softening as a small smirk forms on her lips.

“I promised, didn’t I?”

Your lips twitch into a faint smile at her answer, gratitude flickering in your eyes. 

But Natasha isn’t done. She leans forward, her tone resolute as her gaze locks onto yours.

“You don’t have to keep punishing yourself,” she says, her words deliberate and carefully chosen. “If you feel guilty about what you’ve done, you can always make it right for yourself. You still have that choice.” 

Her words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, an unspoken plea woven into her steady tone. 

Natasha’s expression holds no judgment, only quiet insistence and something deeper—hope.

The silence that follows feels fragile, as if it could shatter at the wrong move. 

Widow shifts slightly in her lap, her tiny body curling closer as her soft purring fills the space between you. 

It’s a faint sound, but comforting nonetheless, grounding you in a moment that feels far too heavy for words.

For a fleeting second, Natasha sees something in your eyes—an almost imperceptible flicker, as if her words might be reaching you. 

But then your gaze drops, breaking the connection, and the moment slips away. 

Without a word, you gently lift Widow from her lap, cradling her with the same care Natasha has come to associate with you, and rise to your feet. 

Natasha sits up a little straighter, her sharp eyes following your movements as you step toward the hallway, your figure outlined by the dim glow of the room.

“Try to get some rest, Miss Black Widow,” you say softly, your tone steady but carrying a subtle finality that roots her in place. You pause just before disappearing from sight, your head turning slightly as if debating whether to say more.

“You, out of everyone, deserve it.” 

The words linger in the air long after you’ve gone into your bedroom, wrapping around Natasha like a quiet echo. 

She stays where she is, her fingers drifting absentmindedly over the fabric of the couch where you’d been sitting just moments ago, as if tracing the memory of you.

The warmth of your presence is gone, replaced by an emptiness that spreads through the room, making it feel colder, quieter. 

Natasha exhales slowly, leaning back against the couch and staring at the space where you had disappeared from her view. 

She knows you meant those words for her, but the ache in her chest tells her they’re something you’ve denied yourself for far too long. 

“So do you,” she whispers into the empty room, her voice barely audible but filled with a longing that she knows you’ll never let yourself hear.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

a/n: Fair warning, I believe there’s only a couple parts left in this series. But don’t quote me on this cause we all know I’ve never been good at predicting the number of chapters left. Again thanks for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it or if the tag did not work for you, please let me know.

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[d-z20]

The Agent Next Door part 3 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agent Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: When a ghost from Rio's past resurfaces, the safe haven you’ve built together is threatened. As danger edges closer, your bond deepens in unexpected ways, testing your trust and strength in each other. Amidst fear and uncertainty, you discover just how far both of you are willing to go to protect what matters most.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, angst, smut, fluff ending, fingering (R recv), oral (Rio recv), praise kink, slight power bottom Rio

Words: 4.2k

A/N: The angsty third (and final?) part as promised

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Master List

Under Her Protection

You’re sprawled out on Rio’s couch, nestled comfortably against her side as the TV plays in the background. It’s the kind of night you’ve both come to love—no plans, no rush, just the two of you together, half-watching some crime drama. You can feel the steady rise and fall of her chest as you rest your head there, her arm slung casually around your shoulders, fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm.

It’s a rare, peaceful moment, one that you’ve started to cherish more and more. You glance up at her; she looks different like this—softer. The usual tension in her jaw has melted away; her sharp features relaxed in a way you rarely get to see. You smile to yourself, the sight of her at ease filling you with a quiet kind of joy. She’s not just the composed, authoritative FBI agent you first met. Here, she’s Rio—your Rio—and you could watch her like this forever.

You press a kiss to her jaw, feeling her smile against your lips.

“Enjoying the show?” she asks, her voice teasing. You know she couldn’t care less about what’s on the screen, but it’s a running joke between the two of you—mocking the exaggerated, overly dramatic FBI agents depicted on TV.

“Oh, absolutely,” you drawl, playing along. “I just love how accurate it all is. Clearly, every case is solved in a day, and all agents wear heels and leather jackets.”

Rio chuckles, pulling you closer. “It’s ridiculous,” she snorts. “Half of this would get thrown out in court in a heartbeat. And don’t even get me started on the ‘enhance the grainy footage’ bullshit.”

You grin, enjoying the rare, playful side of her. “I bet you’d never pull a stunt like that. The great Agent Vidal would never dream of cutting corners.”

She raises an eyebrow, her smirk sharp. “Oh, you’d be surprised what I’ve pulled off. Sometimes rules are more like... guidelines.”

You laugh, leaning into her, and she squeezes your shoulder lightly. For a moment, everything feels easy—peaceful.

Then her phone buzzes, cutting through the quiet. She lets out a small sigh and picks it up, her expression immediately shifting as she reads the message. The shift is so sudden it makes your stomach drop. Without a word, she gets up and walks to the window, peering through the blinds like she’s expecting to see something—or someone—out there.

“Rio?” You ask cautiously, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer right away, her shoulders visibly tense. Finally, she lets the blinds fall back into place and turns to you, her expression grim. “That was work,” she says, her voice low and controlled. “Someone I put away years ago just got released on parole. He... wasn’t supposed to get out this soon.”

You frown, confused. “Why is that a problem? Didn’t he serve his time?”

Her jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think she won’t answer. Then she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “The last time I saw him, he threatened to ruin my life,” she says quietly. “He’s dangerous. And vindictive. If he finds out where I live... who you are... how much I lov—.”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t have to. The implications hang heavy in the air. You swallow hard, suddenly very aware of the weight of her job and the risks that come with it.

“Hey,” you say softly, standing and moving to her side. “I’m sure it’s fine. He probably doesn’t even know you’re here.”

Her eyes meet yours, and for the first time since you met her, you see real fear there. “Maybe. But I can’t take that chance.” She pauses, her hand brushing your arm. “I want you to stay here. At least until I figure out what’s going on.”

The seriousness in her tone leaves no room for argument, and you nod. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

You settle back onto the couch together, but the atmosphere has shifted now, an unspoken tension lingering in the room. Rio keeps her phone close, her other arm wrapped protectively around you, her eyes flicking back to the window every so often.

You try to focus on the TV show, but your thoughts keep drifting. It’s unsettling, this shadow of a threat hanging over the two of you, and you can tell Rio feels it too. Her grip on you tightens every time she hears a noise from outside, her thumb rubbing circles against your arm as if she’s trying to soothe both of you.

Eventually, you turn your head to look up at her. “You know, I don’t need a TV show when I’ve got my own personal action hero right here.”

Rio snorts, shaking her head. “Is that what I am now?”

“Yep,” you say, grinning up at her. “Neighbour, fashion critic, and now... bodyguard.”

She rolls her eyes but leans down to press a kiss to your lips, soft and lingering. “Just stay close, okay?”

You nod, your heart fluttering at the protectiveness in her voice. “I’m not going anywhere, Rio.”

Relief flashes across her face, but it’s fleeting. She takes your hand, leading you to her bedroom without another word. The silence between you is heavy but not uncomfortable—it’s charged, humming with unspoken worry and a need for closeness.

When you get to the bed, her hands are on you immediately, tugging you close. There’s a new intensity to her touch, her fingers gripping your hips firmly, almost possessively. She kisses you hard, like she’s trying to stake her claim, her mouth moving with an urgency you’ve never felt from her before.

“Rio—” you start, but she cuts you off with another kiss, her hands sliding under your shirt, nails raking up your skin. Her lips move to your neck, sucking and biting hard enough to leave marks that you know will last. It’s not just passion—it’s something deeper, rawer. Like she needs to prove to herself that you’re here, that you’re hers.

You let her take the lead, your own hands roaming her body, trying to reassure her in your own way. But she’s relentless, her mouth trailing lower, her teeth grazing your collarbone. She pushes you back onto the bed, her weight settling over you as she pins your wrists above your head.

Her gaze is dark, her eyes searching yours. “I need to know you’re safe,” she murmurs, her voice rough. “I need to feel it.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, and it’s the truth.

Her grip on your wrists tightens briefly before she leans down, kissing you again, slower this time but no less intense. 

The night is a blur of heated touches and whispered reassurances, her possessiveness never crossing the line into discomfort. Instead, it leaves you breathless, the depth of her need for you pulling you even closer.

When you finally fall asleep, tangled in her arms, the weight of her protectiveness wraps around you like a shield. Even as your mind drifts, you know this is only the beginning of whatever storm is coming. But with her by your side, you’re ready to face it.

—

You’ve been staying at Rio’s apartment for a week now, and every night, her hold on you seems to grow tighter. Even in her sleep, her arms remain locked around you, as though her subconscious refuses to let you out of her grasp. It’s a level of protectiveness you’re not used to, but you can’t deny how safe it makes you feel.

The days are a strange mix of normalcy and subtle unease. You run errands, cook together, and share quiet moments on her couch. But in the back of your mind, there’s always a faint sense of being watched. You’ve chalked it up to paranoia—Rio’s warning had a way of sticking with you, and you tell yourself you’re just imagining things.

Still, it’s hard to ignore the nagging feeling when you start seeing the same person more than once. A tall figure with a hood pulled low over their face, lingering at the edge of your vision. You’ve seen them on the street, at the corner store, and now again as you leave the grocery shop, arms full of bags. You glance over your shoulder, your pulse quickening as you catch sight of them just a few steps behind.

You quicken your pace, gripping the bags tightly. Your heart pounds in your chest as you cut across the street and head for the apartment building. You take a chance and glance back again. They’re still following.

By the time you reach Rio’s apartment door, your hands are shaking so badly you almost drop your keys. You fumble with the lock, finally getting the door open and slamming it shut behind you. You lock it, bolting the deadlock for good measure.

You text Rio immediately: I think I was followed. Just got back. Door locked.

The response comes quickly. Stay put. Don’t answer the door for anyone. I’m coming back now.

You breathe out, trying to calm yourself, but as you read her words, a new sound sends a chill down your spine. A faint rattle at the door.

Your stomach drops, and you freeze, staring at the door as the sound grows louder. It’s not your imagination. Someone’s trying the handle. Your mind races, and you grab the closest thing within reach—a table lamp. It’s not exactly a weapon, but it’ll have to do. Your grip tightens on the lamp’s base as the rattling stops, replaced by a loud bang.

The door crashes open, splintering the frame, and the hooded figure steps inside. They’re taller than you thought, their broad frame filling the doorway as they pause, scanning the room. You take a shaky step back, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Well, well,” he says, his voice dripping with malice. “Look who’s made themselves right at home. You must be the little pet she’s been keeping around.” 

Your mind races, and you instinctively take a step back, trying to put the kitchen island between you and him. “Who the hell are you?” you demand. 

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “You don’t know me, but Rio does. She’s the reason I spent the last ten years rotting away in a cell. Thought I’d pay her back by taking something she cares about.”

He lunges at you with a knife, and you barely manage to swing the lamp, hitting him across the face. He staggers back, but only for a moment, then charges at you again. You fight back, kicking and screaming, but he’s strong—stronger than you expected. He pins you against the wall, one hand around your throat. 

“That’s right, scream for her,” he growls. “Let’s see if she gets here in time.” 

You’re gasping for air, your vision blurring, when suddenly, the already broken door is rammed open again, falling off its hinges from the force of the action. 

Rio barges in, her gun drawn, her expression a mixture of fury and fear. “Let them go,” she says, her voice deadly calm, the kind that promises retribution. 

The man tightens his grip on you, pulling you in front of him as a shield. “Shoot me, and you’ll hit them,” he taunts. 

Rio’s eyes meet yours, and you can see the raw, helpless anger there. You’ve never seen her look so terrified.

The man tightens his grip on you, and your vision starts to black. Your pulse pounds in your ears, the lack of air making your limbs feel heavy. Rio stands frozen in the doorway, her gun unwavering, her eyes locked on the man holding you.

“Let them go,” Rio repeats, her voice low and seething with barely restrained fury.

The man smirks, his grip loosening just enough for you to gasp for air. “You really think you’ve got the upper hand here, bitch? You’re so predictable—always running to play the hero.”

Rio doesn’t flinch. “This is the last chance I’ll give you. Let. Them. Go. Now.”

He sneers, then suddenly shoves you away with all his strength. You stumble, hitting the edge of the kitchen counter hard before crumpling to the floor, pain flaring in your side. Rio’s shout of your name echoes through the room, but you can barely focus as you clutch at your ribs, trying to steady your breathing.

The distraction is all Rio needs. She lunges at him before he can turn back to her, knocking the knife from his hand as they crash to the floor. The struggle is brutal—a chaotic blur of punches and grunts as Rio fights with a ferocity you’ve never seen before.

He manages to pin her briefly, his hands going for her throat, but Rio uses the momentum to roll them over, her knee pressing into his chest. She grabs the cuff of his wrist and twists him onto his stomach, forcing him to let out a pained shout as she pins his arm behind his back.

“You should’ve let them go,” she growls, forcing his face against the floor. He thrashes beneath her, but her grip is unrelenting, her strength fuelled by sheer fury.

She pulls her cuffs from her belt, snapping them onto his wrists with a finality that fills the room. She grabs his hair and yanks his head up, knee still pressing into his back. “And now you’re going to pay,” she says coldly before smashing his face into the ground, breaking his nose, and knocking him unconscious.

Her eyes flick to you, her expression softening with worry. “Are you okay?”

Before you can answer, Rio pulls out her phone, calling for backup. Her voice is calm and clipped as she gives the necessary details, but her free hand remains clenched at her side, still shaking from the adrenaline.

When the call ends, she crouches next to you, her hands ghosting over your body, careful not to touch the areas where you’re clearly in pain. “Hey, let me see,” she murmurs, her tone gentle now. “Where are you hurt?”

You wince as you shift, trying to sit up. “Just... my side. Think I hit the counter pretty hard.”

Her jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think she might explode all over again—but she just exhales, brushing a hand over your hair. “Backup’s on the way. He’s not going anywhere. I promise you’re safe now.”

You nod weakly, and she leans closer, her forehead briefly touching yours. The tension in her body doesn’t ease until the distant wail of sirens signals that help has arrived. Even then, her focus stays on you, her protective presence a shield between you and the man who dared to threaten what she holds most dear.

With the chaos finally under control and the intruder hauled away in handcuffs, Rio keeps a steady arm around you as she guides you back across the hall to your apartment. You can still feel the tremors in your hands, the echo of fear and adrenaline in your veins, but her presence is grounding.

As the door closes behind you, she doesn’t let go. Instead, she leads you to the couch, sitting beside you with her arm securely around your shoulders. “You okay?” she asks softly, her fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

You nod, leaning into her touch. “Yeah. Just... processing.”

A flicker of guilt crosses Rio’s face. “I never should’ve left you alone.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you reply, reaching up to squeeze her hand. “And you came back in time. That’s what matters.”

She exhales heavily, her arms tightening around you protectively. For a while, neither of you speak, the silence broken only by the rhythmic sound of her breathing. Then she shifts, her thumb brushing against your knuckles. “I mean it, though—I’m not letting you out of my sight for a while.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. The truth is, you don’t mind the idea of her staying close.

As the evening wears on, you begin to feel a sense of normalcy returning. Wrapped in her arms, you finally let your guard down, the weight of the day melting away. You tilt your head up to meet her gaze, your heart skipping as you notice the way she’s looking at you—soft yet intent.

“You’re staring,” you tease, your voice quiet.

“Can’t help it,” she murmurs, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re kind of hard to look away from.”

Your cheeks flush, but before you can respond, her lips capture yours in a kiss that’s slow and deliberate, like she’s savouring every moment. You respond eagerly, your fingers tangling in her hair as she shifts to deepen the kiss.

Somehow, the two of you end up lying on the couch, her body pressing against yours as your hands roam freely, exploring the familiar territory with renewed fervour. She pulls away just long enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against yours. “Bedroom?” she whispers, her voice husky.

You nod, your heart racing as she helps you to your feet. The walk to the bedroom is brief, but each step feels charged with anticipation. 

You guide her to the bed, her hand sliding into yours as you both move with an unspoken understanding. She lets you press her down gently so she’s sitting on the mattress, her signature smirk tugging at her lips. “So, this is how it’s going to be tonight?” she teases, her voice low, challenging but still laced with warmth. Her eyes glint with curiosity, though you can sense she’s enjoying this shift in control. “Guess I can let you take the lead. Just this once.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, leaning down to press a playful kiss to her lips. “Call it a thank you for saving me. Hero perks, right?” You reply, your voice just as teasing.

Her chuckle rumbles low in her throat as her hands settle lightly on your hips, grounding you. “You’ve got an interesting way of saying thanks,” she murmurs, tilting her head to expose her neck—an invitation and a challenge all at once. “But I’m not complaining.”

You take her challenge with a grin, leaning down to press your lips to her neck, your kisses starting soft but quickly growing more heated. You find the spot just below her ear where her skin is most sensitive, and when she lets out a low, pleased hum, you focus your attention there. Your tongue darts out, followed by a sharp nip of your teeth, before you suck on her skin, leaving a mark to match the ones she gave you just nights ago.

She tilts her head back with a soft gasp, her fingers tightening their grip on your hips. “You’re getting good at that,” she murmurs, her tone teasing but breathless. Her words spur you on, and you trail more kisses down her neck, each one deliberate, each one claiming her in your own way.

As your lips continue their path, your hands slide over her body, unbuttoning her shirt and tugging it off. Your eyes roam her, taking in every inch of her toned body and the way her muscles flex under your touch.

“Enjoying the view?” she teases, arching a brow, but there’s a flush on her cheeks that betrays her confidence.

“Absolutely,” you reply without hesitation, earning a quiet laugh from her.

Your hands move to the waistband of her pants, your fingers brushing against her skin as you pull them down, leaving her bare before you. You grab her hips, pulling her into you so she’s perched on the edge of the bed, your legs pushing her knees further apart. Her dark eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of anticipation and challenge, and you can’t help but feel a surge of affection and desire for her all at once.

“You look good like this,” you say softly, your hands trailing up her thighs as you kneel between them.

Rio leans back on her palms, her smirk widening. “Show me just how grateful you are, sweetheart.”

Looking directly into Rio’s eyes, you drag your tongue through her wetness. 

“That’s it,” she breathes, her voice huskier now. Her nails coming to dig lightly into your shoulder as her body shifts beneath you. 

Hooking your arms under her legs, you push your face further into Rio, tongue pressing firmer against her clit and she rolls her hips at the sensation. Your tongue swirls over and around her bundle of nerves, eliciting more praise. “You’re so good at this, sweetheart,” she says, her tone uncharacteristically tender.

The praise makes your stomach flip, and you press your thighs together, feeling your arousal soak your underwear.

You notice the subtle change in her demeanour, her usual teasing grin replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. Her hands grip you tightly, but there’s a gentleness to her touch you hadn’t expected. “I don’t give up control often. But with you... it feels right.” Her voice falters slightly, and the admission makes your heart ache with tenderness.

As her orgasm builds, she finally lets go entirely, her usual defences falling away. Her head tilts back, her breathy praises and quiet gasps filling the space. After she reaches her peak, she pulls you up to her, her arms wrapping around you tightly as if grounding herself. “You’re incredible,” she whispers into your ear, her lips brushing against your temple as she catches her breath. “But don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

Her smirk returns, this time sharper, more determined. Before you can respond, she drags you down on to the bed, flipping you gently onto your back. Her strength is firm but careful, her lips curling in amusement at your surprised expression. “Your turn,” she murmurs, her voice low and promising. She begins to trail kisses down your body, her actions deliberate and knowing. “Let me show you how grateful I am,” she adds, her grin growing as your body arches beneath her touch.

With that, she strips you, her soft hands feeling all over your body. When her fingers trail up your thigh, she lets out a soft chuckle at the feeling of your arousal dripping. “Seems like someone enjoyed the praise.” 

You whimper as her fingers press lightly against your clit.

“You made me feel so good, baby.” Her middle finger slides lower. “Such a clever girl.” She teases your entrance. “You know exactly how I like it.” She pushes her finger in.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” you moan as it curls inside you. “More.”

Rio slides another finger in, biting her lip and groaning at how easily you take it. "Oh, darling, you’re taking me so well,” she praises, starting to pump her fingers in and out. She adds a third, and you feel the familiar tightening in your stomach. She picks up the pace, fucking all of the tension from the night out of you both. “You look so good like this,” she coos.

Arching into her touch, head pushing into the mattress, you keen, “Oh fuck. Rio, you’re going to make me cum.”

“That’s it, sweetheart; you’re doing so well, cum for me,” she whispers against your skin, kissing your neck.

Your mouth falls open, a breathless cry escaping as your orgasm overtakes you. The tension that had been building within you shatters, a wave of heat and pleasure coursing through your body. You arch into her, every nerve alight, the sensation so overwhelming that it renders you momentarily weightless. A strangled gasp follows, your voice raw and unrestrained, her name slipping from your lips like a plea and a prayer all at once.

—

Later, as the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, Rio’s arms wrap tightly around you, holding you, refusing to let go. The tension of the night seems to fade, replaced by a sense of closeness you hadn’t fully realised until now. She presses a kiss to the top of your head, her fingers tracing absent patterns along your back.

“You know,” she begins softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t usually do this—let people in, I mean. I don’t let myself feel this way.” She hesitates, her grip on you tightening slightly. “But with you... I can’t imagine not having you here.”

Your chest tightens at her words, and you tilt your head to meet her gaze. The raw vulnerability in her eyes makes your heart ache. “Rio...” you begin, your voice trembling slightly as your hand brushes against her cheek. “I love you.”

Her lips part in surprise, and then her smile grows, soft and genuine in a way you rarely see. “Took you long enough to say it,” she teases, though her voice is thick with emotion. She leans down, brushing her lips against yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender. When she pulls back, her eyes lock with yours. “I love you too, you know.”

You crack a small smile. “So, I guess you’re gonna be the one crashing at my place now, huh? Seeing as it’s your door that got kicked in this time,” you say, breaking the tender moment.

Rio blinks at you, then lets out a soft laugh. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you reply, grinning now.

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝓑eauty 𝓞f 𝓣his 𝓜ess ♡ 𝓒hapter 𝓝ine

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀military!miguel⠀𝓍⠀fem!neighbor!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

‧ ִ ۫⠀♱ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. your bond with your military neighbor miguel has blossomed into something more special, beautifully. it was surely unexpected but you’ve never felt so happy.

‧ ִ ۫⠀♱ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. fluff, angst, themes of depression, but mainly fluff, ass smacking (miguel receiving), pet names, swearing, smut, unprotected sex, blowjob, lowkey sub!miguel, riding ( mdni )

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

warmth awakes you from probably the best nap of your life. never slept so good in your life. slowly opening your eyes, you feel your body enveloped in warmth. a smile forms on your lips as you notice the beefy, hairy forearm wrapped around your torso.

miguel’s light snores against your ear. he definitely wasn’t lying about knocking out after an incredible night of sex. you want to turn around to face him but you also don’t want to wake him up.

glancing around the room, you find luna sleeping in her fluffy baby pink dog bed. a sight that makes you smile as well. your two favorite beings fast asleep.

the delicious warmth miguel was providing lures you back to slumber. just as you close your eyes, a deep husky voice behind you prevents you from doing so.

“falling back asleep, preciosa?”

god, could this man be any more sexy? his sleepy voice does something to you.

“well, i have a human heater behind me so.” that elicits a low chuckle from him.

“buenas dias, hermosa.” miguel nuzzles his face deeper into your neck, pecking it with soft kisses, making you giggle softly.

rolling over to face him, oh lord and behold the view before you. brown disheveled hair, droopy eyes, a sleepy smile on that handsome face.

god, he’s so majestic.

it’s like a blessing to see him like this.

miguel, on the other hand, is enthralled by how the angelic sight before him. your disheveled hair and the soft golden light of the morning shinny through the curtains and illuminating on your figure. as if you are an ethereal being, glowing beautifully.

a sight he likes to see more often.

for the first time in years, miguel actually slept well. no nightmares or discomfort, just a good night sleep. a nap he definitely needed after who knows the last time he actually slept and felt was well-rested.

it was all because of you.

you provided him a sense of comfort. your softness and warmth lured him to sleep quickly, as if you were the embodiment of a lullaby. while you tossed in your sleep, his grip on you never faltered. bulky arms wrapped around you protectively throughout the night, your back against his firm chest.

and for the first time, miguel didn’t wake up alone. there was warmth next to him, smoothing his poor fragile mind filled with dangerous emotions.

for the first time, there was no voices in his head as he woke up. no screams of terror and pain. miguel can finally hear silence, peace. that peace was your breathing. a sound that brings him comfort.

he felt okay because of you.

“did you sleep okay?” he brings up a hand and gently ticks a string of a hair behind your hair then lowers it to caress your cheek with gentle strokes.

“mhm.” you lean into his touch, sighing contently. “did you?” you slowly run up a hand over his chest, feeling his chest hair against your skin.

miguel nods, slowly dragging his hand down to your exposed shoulder, rubbing it slowly with the same gentleness. “the best sleep i’ve ever had in years.”

your hand slowly comes up to his cheek and cups it, your thumb tenderly rubbing back and forth. “i’m glad.” a soft smile on your face.

the sight makes his heart flutter, smiling back at you before leaning down to capture your lips in a soft kiss which you gladly accept and reciprocate. your hand still cupping his face while his own sneaks down to your waist and gently tugs you closer towards him. your bare bodies snuggled up together, both your body warmth combing. miguel is warmer, though.

your kiss is interrupted by something crawling near your feet then up the bed. looking down, you find luna in between you with her tail wagging and sniffing you and miguel. you welcome her with open arms, hugging her and planting kisses on her forehead. miguel smiles at the adorable sight.

“someone wants to cuddle too.” you joke, letting luna go as she goes to sniff at miguel.

“i guess so.” he softly chuckles, giving the cute fluffy dog several gentle pets.

this was the perfect morning. waking up and laying in bed with your two favorite beings. definitely something you wish to experience more often.

after a few minutes of cuddling and playing with luna, you finally get out of bed and start the day. you shower first then miguel after. both of you secretly wanted to shower together but you were eager to cook breakfast while he showered to surprise him, despite miguel’s pleads for him to cook instead but you heavily insisted. he couldn’t win nevertheless.

exiting the shower with the same sweats but remains shirtless, miguel waltz into the kitchen to find you standing in front of the stove. walking up behind you, he wraps his arms around your middle. looking down at the stove, he sees one pan filled with eggs mixed with sausage and tortillas in the other pan.

“¿huevos con weenie? qué rico.”

a smile creeps onto your face. “it’s my favorite, especially wrapped in a burrito.”

“even better.” his arms give you a gentle squeeze.

“oh shit, i forgot the frijoles. do you want some?”

you forgot this man is a beast and most likely has a big appetite. eggs and tortillas aren’t gonna fill him up. at least something else to fill up his belly.

miguel shakes his head. “no, it’s okay. i’ll just eat three burritos. they look good, maybe four.”

you giggle. “okay mr. eating monster.”

“sí pero there’s one thing that’s better than this food i’d rather eat…” he whispers seductively.

your cheeks warm up and you gently wack him with the spatula, making the man laugh as miguel tries to block your playful attacks before stopping you and leans to down to kiss you once again.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

your relationship with miguel blossomed into something special. it was similar like before but now you know the feelings you have for each other and there is much more intimacy.

when you come home from work, you either find miguel standing outside in the parking lot or in the main lobby waiting for you. always greets you with a big hug and a kiss. it always made your heart flutter.

casual conversations about each other’s days while munching on delicious food, either cooked or take out. cuddling on the couch while watching a show or show. a few kisses here and there, gentle touches turn into more handsy which leads to clothes being discarded on the floor and moans echoing in the room. miguel leaving you a panting, crying mess underneath him. then showers you in affectionate kisses and gentle massages over your sore body.

you’ve never felt so happy.

it’s been so long since you’ve experienced such happiness, especially in a relationship. your last one was a good one until it was ruined horrendously by the very man who supposedly loved you and left you with a broken heart and unforgettable pain.

but now with miguel, you feel so happy. he makes you happy. the kindness of his heart is so precious, he is so precious. everything that man does or says makes your heart swoon, even the littlest things. you feel senses of comfort and happiness when he’s by your side. he makes you feel safe and vulnerable.

you truly believed you wouldn’t find love again, real love after the heartbreak joel left you. coming to new york was a fresh start, to erase the past. finding a new relationship wasn’t in the books for you at first. but you don’t regret it, you don’t regret miguel.

miguel can say the same about you.

you were the first to offer him true kindness. to offer him true compassion. everything about you is just so precious, cozy and soft. those feelings were so strange to him, he felt so alienated.

after a long time trapped in the dark, he believed he would never find light at the end of the tunnel. instead forever drowning in an ocean of pitch black, unable to escape from purgatory. the guilt and self-loathing on his shoulder weighed him down to the point where miguel couldn’t get back up. he was so lost and endlessly blaming himself for everything. there were times he thought there was no point of continuing on, especially without his brother.

what was the point of living if he caused his brother’s demise? how could he live like that?

after many internal conflicts and a deep conversation with george, miguel decided to continue on. for the sake of his mother, despite the tension between them. she lost one son, she can’t lose another. the other half of her heart will break too and miguel couldn’t allow that to happen. in the end, he still loved his mother no matter how much she hates him.

so he continued on, living in his own purgatory.

he felt numb, no soul.

relived the same day over and over. waking up gasping for air after a nightmare. sitting in his bed, thinking of all his regrets before getting up for the day. sometimes goes for a morning run when he feels motivated enough. head over to the boxing gym to unleash his frustration and anger with each punch to the punching bag. come straight home, take a shower, make dinner or do take out if he wasn’t feeling it. take his meds before bed.

it was a cycle, a dreadful cycle.

returning home a heavy mission, which almost resulted in a partner’s death, miguel expected to return to his ordinary life of isolation and misery. returning home to no one, just an empty home with no warmth or traces of life inside.

but he did find that warmth he’s been seeking for, in the most unexpected way. meeting you was probably the best thing to happen to miguel.

sure, it started off a like awkward but look where you two are now. he found that light at the end.

all those times spent with you, miguel never felt so happy. being around you makes his heart go fucking crazy, rapidly beating in his chest like a drum. your kind, sweet words making his cheeks warm. just a touch of your hand makes him crave for more. miguel never felt so comfortable with someone.

all those times being alone, isolated from the world, he finally wasn’t alone anymore.

he has someone who cares for him.

all those dark thoughts, believing there was no purpose of continuing life, he found one.

you gave him a purpose.

now, miguel is going to fulfill that purpose. he’s going to show his gratitude for having you in his life. making you the happiest ever.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

miguel mentioned he needed to clean his bike. you two planned a motorcycle date, a simple cruise ride around the city. you decide to tag along and help him since the date was already planned.

you have no knowledge of cleaning a motorcycle, properly at least, but you now have a military biker boyfriend to explain it to you.

“you can just clean the bike with a rag. i’m cleaning the tires.” miguel suggests, handing you a rag.

you do recall when your dad would clean the tires of the car and how long of a process that was. your brows furrowed a little, you want to be more of help.

“just wipe it? i can also help with the tires.”

he shakes his head. “it’s okay, preciosa. i appreciate it but i got it, you’re helping me big time so don’t feel like you’re not doing enough.”

he kisses your worries away with a kiss on the top of your head and a gentle squeeze on your hand before walking away to grab the other material.

well, if he says so.

miguel’s playlist blasts through the bose speaker that he owns. well, not blasting but loud enough to hear. it’s a combination of the cure, iron maiden, and rush. all three are your dad’s favorite bands, ironically. you know majority of the songs since your dad used to play them all the time when you were a kid, he still does when you visit your parents.

miguel is filled with glee, listening to you singing along to the songs. impressed that you knew them but understood that it was your dad’s influence. he has great taste. it boosts miguel’s enthusiasm to meet your dad, your parents in general when the time is right and the relationship is solid enough to meet each other’s families. well, meet your family because his family is just a chaotic mess. miguel doesn’t want to involve you in that.

dismissing the sad thoughts with a head shake, he continues cleaning the tries while you clean the rest of the bike with rag he gave you. sneaking glances at you and admiring you. smiling at how cute you are singing along to the whatever song is playing.

miguel stands up for a moment to take a breath, grabbing his water bottle and phone. gulping down big sips while scrolling through his phone checking for any missed messages or emails.

looking ahead, you observe him. more so shamelessly eyeing him up and down. his black compression shirt looks so tight on him, outlining every muscle. the thin cotton hugging his bulging biceps so tight and perfect. that damn slutty waist of his. the silver dog tags adorned around that thick neck. but what’s got you biting your lip is the tiny sneak peek of his happy trail. the hem of his shirt raised a little, revealing the mouthwatering sight.

goddamnit, he’s so damn fine.

that familiar burning sensation in your core slowly develops as you continue admiring miguel. just by looking at him makes you feral and weak.

not to mention that dump truck he’s got. never had you seen a great ass on anyone, let alone a man. some women, and men, would be jealous as hell. shit, even you are a little jealous.

an ass that is smackable. especially in those sweats.

the temptation consumes you entirely, not able to resist. very slowly and quietly, you walk up behind miguel. coiling the rag in your hands, you quickly give his plump rear a nice smack! which he jumps at.

miguel’s eyes widen dramatically as he slowly turns around like a robot and sees the mischievous smile on your pretty face. your heart suddenly beats faster as you noticed his shocked expression. an intense staring contest between you two.

“did you just…”

that mischievous smile on your face grows wider as you make a run for it with a squeal. it doesn’t take long for miguel to catch you, wrapping his muscular arms around you and holding you in place so you don’t escape. not that you can since the man weights like a tank compared to you or anyone. squeals and laughter echos through the area as you squirm in his strong strip. miguel is careful not to hurt you, trying to be gentle yet indulging in your playfulness.

“miguel, ¡suéltame!” you squeal, gigging.

your cute giggles makes his heart flutter. “i don’t think so, preciosa.” miguel teases as he begins tickling you, making you laugh and squirm more.

it was a cute, playful moment.

“okay! ya! ya!” you laugh, feeling breathless.

miguel obeys and turns you around to face him then leans down to claim your lips with his. your hands rest against his abs while his wrap around your waist. sneaking one hand up your spine, to your shoulder then your cheek, cupping it gently.

“¿porque hiciste eso?” he arches a brow, grinning,

“not my fault you have a dumpster back there.”

miguel scoffs, shaking his head yet still grinning. feeling heat rising in his cheeks. “ay mujer… you’re so… you drive me crazy.”

“i know but you love it.” you smirk.

he chuckles before leaning down to kiss that mischievous smirk off your face.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

that little incident sparked things off drastically. eating each other’s faces off as you stumble into his apartment, almost tripping. moans echoing in the hot air. hands roaming over each other’s bodies. ripping off your shirts before miguel scoops you up in his arms and rushes to the bedroom. bouncing off the mattress as he quickly lays you down.

your hands touch everything they can. his chest, biceps, shoulders, back. even gave his ass a squeeze which earns you a heavenly groan from him.

“chinga… you’re really that obsessed with my ass.” miguel pants, hot breath against your lips.

“like i said, a dumpster.” a teasing smirk on your lips.

the makeout session grows more intense. one calloused hand cupping a breast and squeezing it, eliciting a soft whimper from you.

you want to take a different route. too many times have you been underneath. not that you don’t like it. but an intense desire to be the one on top flows through your veins. using all your might, you flip positions so now miguel is the one underneath. his eyes go wide as he’s suddenly laying on his back but loves your enthusiasm and wants you to take control.

it’s a big turn on for him.

as a man who is so used to taking charge, it feels so fucking good to be dominated by a woman.

your lips leave a trail of kisses from his cheek down to his neck. miguel sighs contently at the unusual sensation, biting back a groan.

“preciosa…” he couldn’t hold back a small groan.

you hum contently as you continue leaving marks on his neck before moving down. leaving a trace of kisses over his body, following the trail of body hair. his breath hitched and stomach clenches as you lick his abs so sinfully. the sensation of your tongue makes his cock twitch in excitement.

“fuck…” miguel groans as he feels you mouthing over his erection through his sweatpants.

you realize you haven’t had the chance to suck this man off. it’s always been him pleasuring you, not that you don’t appreciate it. you just want to return the favor and provide him pleasure.

plus, you’ve been waiting to suck him off since you first laid your eyes on that thing the first night.

“you never gave me a chance…” you purr, glancing up at him with a seductive glint in your eyes, making miguel groan at the sight. “let me take care of you, bebito.” you give his clothed cock a squeeze, which twitches under your addictive touch.

“fuck, bebé…” his mind fucking haywire.

gripping the hem of his sweats, you slowly pull them down along with his boxers. his erected cock springs out of its confinement, breaking free from prison. beautifully erected, tip leaking with precum. a sudden burst of hunger bubbles inside you, biting your lip as you admire the gorgeous sight in front of you. grabbing his erected length, you begin stroking him, earning groans from above.

while giving him slow teasing strokes which makes miguel a groaning mess, you realized how your hand can’t fully wrap around his cock. so damn thick there is space between your thumb and the rest of your fingers. the sight makes you smile mischievously.

“preciosa, por favor…”

to hear this hunk of a man whining makes your pussy throb terribly, wanting to sink down his cock and ride him to fucking oblivion. but you have to be patient, you want to make this man into a babbling mess. hear those whines and grunts as you slurp him up.

“shhh, bebito…” you shush him sweetly, hot breath against his aching cock as you keep stroking him.

without warning, you give kitten licks on his bulbous tip which causes his hips to buckle.

“fuck— bebé.” miguel inhales a sharp breath.

your tongue teases his sensitive tip, flicking the small slit where precum is oozing out of, gathering it all. leaving kitten licks all over his shaft. that elicits more soft groans from miguel. he’s about to plead once again but instead lets out a loud groan as he feels your mouth slowly envelop his cock.

“fuck—” he throws his head back against the pillow, reaching down to grip the back of your head with a hand. fingers digging into your hair.

you hum around him, savoring the taste of him. moaning sinfully as you bob your head, devouring miguel whole. one hand stroking him and the other gripping on his thigh for support.

“ay chingado…” he buckles his hips in your sweet, warm mouth which causes you to gag a little. miguel heard and panics a little. “lo siento—”

“shhh… it’s okay.” you reassure sweetly before sucking him back into your mouth. hollowing your cheeks as you suck his fat tip, making him moan out. the sound goes straight to your throbbing clit.

you need to hear more.

you eagerly suck his tip, drawing out more of his heavenly moans. the grip on your hair tightens. your eyes dart upwards to admire the man who is a moaning, blabbering mess. his stomach clenching with each sound he makes, his abs flexing in the process. mouth agape as sounds of pleasure escapes those plump lips. oh what a beautiful view.

with a few more bobs of your head and sucks on his tip, miguel can’t help but come down your pretty little throat. he wanted to come first in your pussy but you had other plans and there was no way he would escape from this, not that he didn’t mind.

“fuck~” he curses as you continue sucking him for all his worth, feeling the warmth down your throat.

finally releasing his now sensitive cock from your devious mouth, you gather the leftover from the corner of your lips with your finger and sinfully lick it while maintaining eye contact with him.

“jesús bendito…” miguel whimpered at your sinful actions, feeling so breathless.

“we ain’t done, bebito~” you purr.

oh he knows but it still sends a shiver down his spine.

after discarding the rest of your clothes, you’re back in the same positions. you on top and miguel underneath after sweetly pleading to him that you desperately wish to ride him.

how the fuck could he deny you?

grabbing his cock and aligning yourself with it, you slowly sink down his thick length. a shared moan echoes in the steamy air. you can feel him in your tummy, so utterly full of him. your hands placed on his abs and his own gripping your hips. after giving yourself a moment to adjust, you start moving up and down his cock at a slow pace. his bulbous tip repeatedly kissing that sweet spot inside.

“miguel~” a soft moan falls from your lips.

“i know, bebé, i know.” he groans as you clench around him, rolling his eyes back in his head.

“so deep~” you arch your back.

your hips soon pick up pace, riding his cock to oblivion just like you desired. loud moans and groans fill the room, the obscure sounds of skin slapping bouncing off the four walls. miguel’s eyes stare in awe of your bouncing tits as you ride him, causing his hands on your hips to travel up and grope them. playing and squeezing them, relishing the soft squishy fat in his calloused palms. gently tugging your perky nipples, causing you to whimper.

with each clench and bounce, miguel loses all his sensibilities. mind fucking crazy at the addictive sensation. throwing his head back against the pillow, relishing the sensation of your sweet pussy squeezing the life out of his cock. his hands still playing with your soft, bouncing tits.

“ay fuck, mi amor~” a moan falls from his lips as you circle your hips in a sinful manner.

you admire his sweaty, panting form. the silver shining of his dog tags in the dark atmosphere of the bedroom. you reach up with a hand and grip them, tugging miguel to sit up and smash your lips onto his. he kisses right back and instinctively wrap his arms around you as you continue making love.

“ah miguel~” you throw your head back as he hits that sweat spot with a deep thrust.

he answers with a hum before leaning in to brush kisses on your exposed neck as he continues thrusting inside your tight, slick cunt. a gasp leaves your lips as his lips takes one of your nipples and suckles on it. chest arching into his mouth. one of his hands reaches down in between your bodies, finds your little clit and gives it several flicks.

“ah!~” you squeal at the sensation.

the attention on your clit and miguel’s cock fucking you so deeply into another dimension was causing your climax to approach quickly. miguel is right behind you, sensing his climax approaching soon.

“i’m gonna—”

“me too, bebé. i’m right with you, cum with me.”

with a few more thrusts and flicks to your sensitive pearl, you come with a loud moan of his name. miguel follows right after, coming deep inside you. filling your womb with his heavy load. your name falls from his lips as he buries his face into in your neck.

you hold onto each other, as if embracing one another. sweaty bodies connected. your synchronized panting echoing in the air.

after a few minutes, miguel slowly lays back down on the bed taking you with him in his arms, never letting go. your head on his heaving chest, the rapid beating of his heart against your ear. one of his hands rubbing your back in a slow, gentle manner. enjoying each other’s presence in peace as you recover.

“you okay?” he asks softly.

“mhm.” you hum weakly, eyes closed. feeling a bit sleepy due to his smoothing body warmth.

miguel presses a kiss on the top of your head and continues holding you in his arms, wanting to enjoy this moment longer.

nothing could get better than this.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @reverieblondie @nina-from-317 @kavimoo @aly29a2001 @marshhbs @lazyjellyfish300 @tojishugetiddies @aphinthestars @novelaaaaaaaa @imamexican @obessgurlll @deputy-videogamer @watertribeissuperior @lovehadlovelost @auiciqa @agoddoesnotplead @saintdiior @whoopwhoppghost @tomalymme @skadiloki @miguelsfavwife @asterrrrose @glossygreene @aefin @youcantseem3 @resident-clown @kutsipie @zuevcs @totorotales-08 @meowgirl1 @sukunash0e @jadeloverxd @sirendyes @leahnicole1219 @lisa-takeshi @yehet-moi-ohorat @slowlyshycomputer @wasitforrevenge @webshoootrz @f1-hoff @chaeriescola @espressopatronum454

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

[yuna542]

[6.]

~Pogues to the Rescue~

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader/Oc

Genre: Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Smut, Angst, Drama, Action

Warnings: Jellyfish-stings, Swearing, Alcohol and drugs

Taglist: Open

Word count: 2,8K

Summary: The Kook princess is back after a year and reignites the war between Pogues and Kooks on Kildare. But she quickly realizes that after this year, nothing is the same as before. Deception, secrets from the past, and dangerous conspiracies sweep across Kildare, leaving her no choice but to work with the Pogues and her personal nemesis to find the truth and maybe even $8 million. A dangerous treasure hunt begins that turns her world upside down.

Note: Hope you like this part. Let’s say I’m pretty devastated and sad about S4…

Soundtrack:

⏯️Play: Ain’t It Fun by Paramore

“Where you're from

You might be the one who's running things

Where you can ring anybody's bell and get what you want

See it's easy to ignore trouble

When you're living in a bubble”

"Put me down!" escaped me irritably as I drummed my palm on his frighteningly firm chest as soon as we reached the stairs.

I could feel his warm skin close against mine and it was messing with my head.

He just snorted and actually let go of me.

"Wait here! And be quiet!"

Already he had disappeared into the house. I settled down on the step, sighing, since I had no choice anyway.

Only a few moments later he came back with a red plastic box with a white cross on it.

He placed it on the cheap plastic table that looked like it had been stolen from a kiosk where they sold those disgusting fries.

When I looked at it closer, I noticed that it probably was.

"Shit," I heard Maybank mutter, and he closed the box again.

"What?"

I looked over my shoulder questioningly, careful not to turn my upper body.

"It's empty. My dad must have used it all up."

He put his hands on his hips and seemed to be trying to figure out what to do with me now.

"Well, we can definitely go ahead and disinfect the wounds."

Suspiciously, I watched him disappear back into the house and return with a large bottle containing a transparent liquid.

Half of the bottle was already empty.

He sat down next to me on the step and unscrewed the cap.

"What's this?"

I grabbed his hand before he could pour the contents onto my leg.

"Vodka. Alcohol."

He looked at me as if I didn't know what that meant.

"I know what vodka is, dickhead, but is this really a good idea?"

I knew alcohol was used to disinfect, but that's about all I knew about medical treatments.

JJ just shrugged.

"It got 70%. You won't find anything better."

"Yeah, I bet."

JJ gave me an annoyed look, but I just raised my eyebrows provocatively. There probably wasn't even a pharmacy here.

After a moment's hesitation, I finally gave in. What could go wrong?

I could not use an inflammation or infection now.

So I let go of his hand and he began to pour the liquid over my leg.

Immediately a burning sensation shot through my leg, making me gasp loudly.

Several curses escaped me as I waited for the probing pain to subside.

"Now the back," JJ said, and I wanted to punch him in the face.

"On three. One. Two..."

I couldn't even take a breath, when he already had poured the alcohol over the wound on my side as well. The pain was even worse there, and because of the shock I couldn't prepare myself internally.

Reflexively, I grabbed his arm and clawed into it so as not to cry out.

Although I dug my nails into his skin, he didn't make a face, but reached for my hand to squeeze it.

When the pain finally subsided, I pulled my hand away and glared angrily at him.

"Asshole!", I hissed and braced myself to get up from the stairs.

"You're welcome," he replied, setting the vodka down on the table.

"This really should be looked at. I can drive you home so that-"

"No!", I interrupted him harshly, fixing him with my gaze.

There was no way I could go home like this. Rick would just ask a lot of questions and if he found out I was surfing, that I was on the Cut and if he saw JJ to top it all, I'd be screwed....

I'd rather not imagine his reaction.

Astonished, the blond tilted his head and crossed his arms.

Fortunately, he didn't ask any more questions, since he didn't seem to care either.

"Then I'll take you with the others. John B has a first aid kit in the Twinkie and Pope knows what to do. I was on my way there anyway."

Vehemently, I shook my head.

„No, absolutely not!"

At that very moment I staggered and would have fallen forward if he hadn't grabbed me by the wrist.

"You have no choice, though," he murmured, holding my wrist tightly. As he did so, his gaze wandered aimlessly through my face and I noticed the dark green circles at the corner of the endless blue of his eyes.

They were really intense and reminded me of the cloudless sky over Kildare.

Everything in me resisted going to the other Pogues.

For one thing, I was embarrassed to ask for help, and for another, I couldn't let myself be seen there.

If anyone found out about this, I would also be screwed. At JJ's look, however, I realized that I really had no choice.

He clearly seemed to enjoy every second of my sorrow.

I needed help and this was my only option.

He realized that I was admitting defeat and at that, the corners of his mouth lifted a bit. It wasn't until he took a few steps back that I noticed how close he had just been to me.

"We're going on my motorcycle."

He tried to support me, but I fought off his hand. I could still walk myself, even if it was hard.

I didn't want him to think I was weak or needed his help.

So he went ahead and grabbed the keys and I tried to follow him.

"Do you think your friends are really going to help me?", I called out as I tried to catch up to him with a limp.

He glanced over his shoulder at me and tossed the key from his left hand to his right.

"They're going to help you! We're not self-serving kook assholes, after all."

I wanted to hurl a counter at him, but I couldn't think of anything to say. His words hit me because it was true. Hardly anyone from Figure Eight would have even been interested in what had happened to me.

Arriving at the motorcycle, he got on and put the key in the ignition.

The engine howled and rattled away contentedly.

JJ offered me his hand, which I accepted this time, to get on.

His fingers closed tightly around mine and when I was finally seated, he wrapped my hands around his body.

"Hold on tight, princess!"

Then he was already driving off and I actually had to clutch him to keep from falling off.

The wind went through my hair and made it dance around my head.

It wasn't until we turned onto the road after the wooded area that I realized I had been clinging to him tensely the whole time.

Gradually I let go and got used to the ride.

I felt his skin under my fingers and the muscles of his stomach under his unbuttoned shirt.

Directly my fingertips tingled and I fought the urge to run over the contour of his abs while my upper body was pressed tightly against his.

I couldn't focus on my surroundings and had lost my bearings after only a few minutes. Instead, I paid attention only to the amazingly toned body and broad shoulders in front of me.

When had this happened? Just a few years ago, JJ had been just a lanky little daredevil.

The smells of conifers, fresh grass, and salt water mingled into a distinctive nuance known only from the Outer Banks.

Slowly, I began to enjoy the time on the bike and forget about the pain. All too soon, the ride ended at a driveway.

The first thing I noticed as soon as we dismounted was the huge tree with countless branches that had a hammock hanging from it.

I had never seen such a special tree. Like a monster, its branches reached for the sky, trying to grab the clouds.

Or I had simply never paid such attention to trees before.

Behind it, John B's house came into view. Like JJ's fishing shack, it was run down, but still in reasonably good shape.

It even looked quite cozy, if not very luxurious.

As we climbed over the much-too-tall lawn and shrubs, I propped myself against JJ's shoulder.

It was uncomfortable, but my leg was already shaking with exertion.

On the patio sat the rest of the Pogues.

I could make out a large campfire area and the Pogues' old boat.

The property had to be really huge.

Besides, it was really beautifully situated.

Further ahead, the shore began and a long boardwalk led out to a small pavilion out on the water.

Ward Cameron would buy it in a heartbeat and put one of his mansions on it.

"There you are at last! What took you so long?", John B's loud voice rang out from the deck and already his head appeared from behind the sofa back.

"What the hell!" he snapped as his gaze fell on me.

Now Kiara and Pope also looked up. While Pope looked surprised and confused, Kiara looked at my face in disgust.

"What is she doing here?"

Kiara was sitting on an armchair with her ukulele on her lap. Pope sat across from her, tinkering with a fishing line. John B had been lying upside down on the sofa and was now completely perplexed.

"She's hurt. I had no choice but to take her. JB, you still have the first aid kit and that ointment, don't you?" explained JJ, helping me up the stairs.

John B frowned and I was eyed suspiciously by everyone, as if I could detonate a bomb at any time. After what they had done to the Camerons today, that concern was justified.

Kiara put her ukulele aside and straightened up.

With one look at my wounds, she immediately realized.

"Every child knows that this time of year the waters are teeming with Portuguese galleys!"

Kiara seemed upset, yet she stood up and looked at my reddened skin. By now, some numbness was spreading, but the pain did not subside.

"I'm really sorry that I don't have the know-how of a simple fisherman," I hissed, annoyed, and propped myself up against the wobbly railing.

Kiara now looked at Pope, who was also slowly approaching, almost frightened, and eyeing me.

"A simple fisherman wouldn't be so stupid, anyway," now came snidely from JJ, who rummaged in his pants pocket.

I glared at him angrily.

"JJ, what did you do?" asked Pope directly, and I realized that the alcohol had indeed probably not been a good idea.

The blond was now sitting on the sofa where John B had just been sitting. The other Pogue was standing behind Pope with his arms crossed, trying not to get in the way of the two.

"I disinfected the wounds," JJ muttered, putting a joint in his mouth. So that's what he'd gotten at his place.

A moment later, the click of his lighter sounded and he lit it.

"Just like a doctor. I saw it in the movie Pope made us watch!"

"Oh please don't!" it escaped Kiara.

"What? We only had vodka there, so I improvised."

Pope buried his face in his hands as Kiara was about to push JJ off the couch.

"Vodka? Are you out of your mind? You might as well have peed on it! Idiot," Kiara hissed, turning to the other two boys.

"Hey, at least I kind of helped. Could have left her there."

He clasped his hands behind his head and seemed pleased with himself as he blew smoke into the air.

Kiara just groaned in annoyance and pointed at Pope.

"You get the ointment and bandages, please! John B, get ice cubes in a cloth and JJ get a bottle of salt water!"

She threw an empty plastic bottle, harder than would have been necessary against his chest and when the boys disappeared without protest, I had to admit that I admired Kiara for her assertiveness.

I guess she was a kook deep inside after all.

"Come on! Sit down!" she urged me, so I did as she said, since she obviously had common knowledge about jellyfish stings.

Tentatively, I settled down on the sofa and watched as she sat down next to me.

"I don't see any more nettles.... That's good."

"Oh yeah?", I returned sarcastically, whereupon I got a threatening look.

"Don't think I'm helping you because I want to. I just want you to leave as soon as possible."

"Believe me, that's my fondest wish too."

At that moment, JJ came back and threw the water bottle to Kiara. Skillfully, she caught it and unscrewed the lid.

Without a word of warning, she poured the water down my side and then over my calf.

Instantly it burned again and I tried to breathe away the pain.

"You can thank JJ for that. Vodka... Really."

She still couldn't seem to believe that JJ had done that.

In fact, the stinging was starting to subside.

Now the other two returned as well.

Kiara handed me the cloth with the ice, which I eyed in disgust. It looked as if it had last been washed a decade ago.

"Press this on the wounds and the pain should go away completely!"

Tentatively, I did as she said and sure enough, the cold on my skin was liberating. First I pressed the ice underneath to my shoulder blade until the stinging disappeared and only the numbness remained.

Then I put my leg up and placed the cloth on my calf.

In the meantime, Kiara unwrapped the bandage stuff and took the ointment.

"This stuff will make the wounds heal quickly and not leave any scars," Pope explained calmly, leaning against the wall of the house next to John B.

„It's from my mom. Her ointments work like magic..."

„Great", I mumbled sarcastically. Pope immediately looked down on the floor, remembering who I was.

Kiara was now sitting behind me and I winced when I felt her cool fingers on my skin. She carefully probed the skin on my back and I felt like I was on display.

"Watch it," was the only thing she said before she pulled the strap of my bikini open with a flick of her wrist.

Panicked, I held the fabric pressed against my body before it would have fallen off.

Pope swallowed in a panic and turned to face the wall, John B had eyes as big as plates and it took endless seconds before he cleared his throat and averted his eyes as well.

JJ, on the other hand, was looking at me with that amused grin that made me go furious.

Along the way, Kiara spread the ointment on my back.

"The bikini was in the way. I'll bandage this now so the ointment can soak in," she muttered, taking the bandage off the table.

JJ made no effort to avert his eyes and seemed to be enjoying the show. He took a drag on the joint and looked challengingly into my eyes.

"That's very true, Kie! You should really get rid of the bikini completely," he said provocatively and obviously stared at my breasts, hoping to see something more.

Immediately, heat shot up my cheeks. John B cleared his throat loudly again and disappeared into the house with Pope.

It felt like an escape.

"Shut up! If you're not going to make yourself useful, get out of here and start a fire!", Kiara beat me to it and threw the empty water bottle at him again, which he caught this time.

He stood bolt upright and saluted.

"At your command, Captain!" he shouted and winked at me.

By now a huge knot had formed in my stomach, which wouldn't let me throw anything at him in return.

Already he was skipping down the stairs and sauntering down to the fireplace with the joint between his lips.

"He's always like that. Don't worry about it. Every girl he sees, he hits on. You're nothing special."

Kiara fastened the bandage around my body and tied my bikini back on. Even though her voice sounded cool, she no longer seemed so dismissive.

"I noticed that already. Thank you"

Then she began to tend to my leg.

"You really don't seem to like each other?" she said, smirking.

Directly, I shook my head.

"No... He's so incredibly rude and annoying."

"Yes that's true," she agreed, fastening the bandage.

"But still, he brought you here."

I didn't know the answer to that. After all, he just wanted to get rid of me again quickly, right?

⬇️

© Yuna542 — 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[fic-dumpster]

Dear in Headlights | Panic arrives at the office

Summary: Working as Sanzu’s secretary for a day wasn't so bad; he was rarely in his office, so you had to handle most of his paperwork and appointments. Where was he? Who knows…

Pairing: Bonten x F!Reader

Word count: 2.4k+

Content Warnings: Plot development, feelings with sprinkles of angst (eww), reverse harem, fluff, brief mention of violence and death. This is part of a series! Just adding that for new readers.

A.N: Finally freeing one of the old wips which I rewrote like five times because i couldn’t remember what I was doing. Anyway! Enjoy more of this never-ending series of unfortunate events surrounding Doe and her harem. K bye 💋

You asked Mikey if you could stay at their workplace longer since being at home was becoming duller and duller. He agreed, but as always when it comes to anything involving you, nothing happens in this household without a fight.

At first, Takeomi objected and would only allow this ridiculous idea if you were his assistant, then Kakucho added that he also needed help. But then backtracked. He remembered his position as an enforcer and didn’t want you to see him like… that— so yeah, discarded.

Meanwhile, Kokonoi laughed in their faces. mentioning how he was the one who spent more time sitting down on his desk— buried in paperwork— and that's why you should be with him. The safest option, according to him.

Surprisingly, the infamous Bonten trio had been quiet the whole time. Ran, Rindou, and Sanzu seemed very uninterested in acquiring you for help. Such a reaction from your pack of hyperactive golden retrievers left you puzzled.

Your incertitude didn’t last long. Later you found out that they didn't want you with them due to the nature of their jobs too, just like Kakucho earlier. The more gruesome parts of Bonten always fell on their shoulders as well.

Not soon after you heard Kokonoi explain their unusual silence, he also added a few extra details. Such details gave you the final push to decide who gets a new helping hand.

Kokonoi gave the longest speech you’ve ever heard him say about Sanzu. The silver-haired individual went on and on about Sanzu never submitting reports on damage, expenses, casualties, and a whole bunch of other desk work.

Sanzu argued that it was utterly ridiculous and unnecessary since everything would be destroyed by the next day. Still, you watched them ping-pong about such… matters for a while.

That's the main reason why you decided to choose Sanzu. And that's what you are doing right now. Sitting outside the door to the pinknette’s office in a new desk that Kokonoi insisted on arranging for you, even added a new desktop setup and all.

The whole morning was pretty calm. Kakucho came by and left some sweets for you, then Ran and Rindou took you out for lunch, and Mikey passed and snatched some of the sweets Kakucho gave you.

Everything seemed normal. it wasn’t until a little after noontime when the scorching sun hit the blinds that a shadow fell over your desk. Looking up from your papers, there stood a tall man—a dangerous-looking man, you might add. A distinctive tattoo was peeking from the neck of his well-tailored suit, strikes of blue and white adorned his hair. The alarms in your head activated for the first time since you were with Bonten. Which meant that danger was imminent.

He greeted you, although his gaze was not on you but looking at his surroundings. Observing and analyzing.

“I’m here to see Bonten’s numbers two,” that was all he said, not sparing you a second glance.

Panic settled in your guts. Sanzu never told you about a scheduled meeting, nor that someone might be asking for him today. You felt that denying something to this individual was not a good answer and how you wished you had followed your instincts.

“I’m sorry, Sir, he's not here at the moment, but you can-” You were cut short when, out of nowhere, a hand hit on your desk, sending papers and pens flying everywhere.

“Call him, then,” now he did pay attention to you, yellow eyes scanning every inch of your features, “or not.”

he stepped closer to your desk, somehow, you felt he was about to break the wood and glass with his palm still there. He then proceeded to bend over, just a little, to have a closer look at you. And it was like recognition hit him and his eyes seemed to acquire a playful glint, “I don’t think he would mind if his secretary keeps me company.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat. You froze under his scrutinizing eyes. As still as you were, your fingers itched to bash the keyboard on his face. What was this slimy feeling covering you, overwhelming you? A sudden thought shot through your mind… you were no cheap whore.

That’s what you wanted to scream at him, at least. But you held back— or more like, you were out of options. The fact that he was standing inside Bonten’s building unharmed and without an escort spoke volumes about the caliber of this individual.

Why was such a short interaction setting off all your distress signals? Why was your throat screaming for air even as you breathe? Cold fingertips and a racing heart were the least of your worries at the moment.

Damn, Sanzu and his unorganized schedule and his lack of communication and… you would have continued to mentally berate him if the previously mentioned individual hadn’t stepped around your desk and offered you his hand.

“What do you say we take a walk?” As much of a question as it sounded like, your instinct told you that there was not really an option to decline.

“My boss wouldn’t like me leaving my position…” you articulated with gritted teeth. Against your best judgment, you tried to kindly refuse with an excuse involving Sanzu.

“I’m sure he would make an exception for me,” those were his last words before one of his hands steered you away from your just-acquired desk.

And that’s how you were now walking away from your new desk and going to who knows where. Every step was a scream you swallowed. Again you wondered, what was your instinct detecting from him that your consciousness couldn’t comprehend?

He mentioned his name was Taiju and that you should be careful working in such a precarious organization, such a feeble thing as yourself shouldn’t be exposed to an all-male environment and he kept going on about it.

This… Taiju individual placed his hand on your lower back. Dangerously low. Too low for your liking. So much so that you even hurried your step to create some distance but it was futile.

As if they had heard your silent prayers, Rindou and Kokonoi arrived just in time to see your back being led away from your supposed workplace. Both men felt like cold buckets of water had been thrown at them, blood freezing as a picture they never imagined possible now rose in from of their very own eyes.

You heard your name being called, well, almost screamed. The big guy halted his steps and you followed soon after, both turning to the screaming duo at your backs.

“You can’t take her.” Rindou asserted with a very forced smile, hands already on their way to reach you and bolt if necessary.

“Why is that?” The blue-haired individual inquired.

“Because she’s—“

“She’s my girlfriend!”

Both Rindou and Kokonoi spoke at the same time respectively, the latter with more urgency than the other but the message was clear enough. You were not to be taken away just like that.

“Oh? Congratulations! I never expected you to settle down, Hajime-kun. I thought you would be with Sei—“

“Nonsense,” quickly replied the silver-haired man before moving beside you and hastily pulling you towards his body; avid fingers replaced the previous hand on your lower back—gripping your skin tightly.

“Then why is she with Pinky? Shouldn’t you be taking better care of your women?” Taiju bellowed, eyes analyzing how his old acquaintance held you with so much affection and care. It was clear to anyone witnessing the two people in front of him, how Kokonoi was desperately but subtly in a hurry to erase any trace of Taiju’s touch from you.

“Yeah, Koko, you should take better care of your woman,” Rindou added, internally biting his cheeks to stop himself from laughing at how unexpected of a reaction his colleague had. Forgotten was the panic no soon you were in his fellow member’s arms. Now he decided to play along just for the laughs.

Meanwhile, you were face-pressed against a hard chest and an expensive button. You would have an imprint of Koko’s button on your face, you thought as you silently groaned in frustration; but eternally grateful for their opportune interruption.

“I am,” Kokonoi sent death glares towards Rindou who seemed to forget where you had been a minute ago. He cursed his fellow member’s fish brain. Sending a nod to his old acquaintance, Koko mumbled a hurried goodbye and disappeared with you in his arms.

The remaining two were left standing, watching silver locs wave like a cape.

“That’s an… interesting character development, I must say.”

“He’s pussy whipped,” the purple head commented, dismissively as he took Taiju toward his own office. Of course, the pot calling the kettle black. Well, Rindou talked from first-hand experience.

How does he tell you that he panicked? How does he tell you that you might not have been in danger, but his mind refused to understand? How does he explain his actions when they are not consistent with how he always treats you?

Kokonoi Hajime knows it doesn’t make sense what he did or what he’s feeling. It had nothing to do with Taiju but everything to do with you.

He sat in silence with you on his lap, arms wrapped around you tightly as his mind circled over his latest silent outburst. Sanzu’s office wasn’t the coziest place but it would have to work for now.

Air was something you certainly knew you needed in order to live. You hoped you didn’t have to remind Koko of that fact as he kept tightening his grip as time passed.

Up and down, your eyes gazed over his side profile. The few details you could see from your perspective—face harshly compressed against him—seemed to suggest he was not here completely. The lost look he wore was new to you.

“Koko?” You mumbled curiosity and worry mixed together within you. After a while, the odd silence didn’t quite sit well with you. “Koko?” You called out his name for a second time, squirming in his constricted grasp in an attempt to get his attention.

“Hum?” He seemed lost as he hummed a response. Slowly blinking away whatever thoughts had captured him for the last several minutes.

You knew talking things with him was hard, you didn’t wanna say the wrong things and make him lock you out. That’s why you had waited in place, letting him process whatever happened in the hall. It was so uncharacteristic of him to claim you in public or even touch you in front of others. You had expected Rindou to make a scene but never from Kokonoi.

After another prolonged silence, you went for the safest route. Asking for the only phrase that stuck with you. “So I’m your girlfriend?”

“Of course, you are, dummy,” he whispered with a dry chuckle; cradling your head against his chest—not once did his grip loosened. You felt words weren’t needed at the moment, something told you just to be there for him.

Kokonoi wanted to reaffirm you were real, you were still there, you weren’t a product of his mind… like his younger self used to imagine.

Maybe that was it? The image of you simply walking away; your back facing him tormented him now. He felt like his old self again, the one who lost so much and the little he was left with he kept it under a thousand locks. His mind and body remembered the devastating events and the pain… the pain of having something so dear to you again and how easy it was for life to take everything away in the blink of an eye.

Fear paralyzes. That’s when he realized he was afraid, but also… in love. Love doesn’t make sense; it’s the only part of the equation he could never calculate accurately.

He was so in love, that he acted out of character—vulnerable and raw. Only you had been able to bring that back out from the innumerable hard shells covering his heart.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You might not know that your words were just what he needed. Saying whatever was at the tip of your tongue has always been a talent of yours.

“Thank you,” he said softly, unwavering. you both stayed intertwined in the coach until darkness fell.

Somewhere in Japan near an abandoned port.

“You did this on purpose, did you not?” Mochi accused the pink-haired man after checking the message Rindou had sent to the group chat.

“Dunno what you mean,” rebuked Sanzu.

ah, so feigning ignorance now, was it? Mochi sent him a questioning gaze. “Sanzu…”

“It’s a sign that she wasn’t supposed to be there. She’s perfectly safe at our place and I don’t need help with paperwork.” He nonchalantly told Mochi. “Hey! Roll out the tarp! I don’t want any mess here!” Sanzu bellowed at the henchmen around him.

“Nah, I agree. You knew.” Ran taunted him, walking toward the now laid-out tarp. “You knew at what time Koko was going to check on her with Rindou and Taiju just magically went straight to your office with no problem? Ha, right.”

Kakucho heard the conversation and nodded in agreement with Ran. Bonten’s enforcer would have engaged in the accusation party but three cold bodies rested at his feet and nobody else seemed to have his mind on the job at the moment. He barked orders to the footmen who were taking too long to move the deceased.

“No, it was Takeomi.”

Every Bonten member perked up at the information their leader was providing them with. Takeomi froze in place as four pairs of eyes focused on him. Mikey on the other hand, sat a top of a wooden pallet tower; munching carelessly on some snacks.

“Well, now it makes sense. It was too much of a good plan to be yours.” Ran commented out loud with a laugh.

“Excuse me? I was part of the plan!” Argued Sanzu like a hissing kitten.

“Didn’t you just say you didn’t know?”

Sanzu looked at Mochi with exasperation as the sound of something heavy hitting the plastic tarp resonated in the background.

“You approved, though,” mentioned Takeomi who was standing close to Mikey.

“Sometimes it’s better to let a bird clash against the glass. It learns that sometimes no matter how clear the path looks, you can’t always fly at your heart’s content.” Mikey said as he dusted off the remaining pieces of crackers from his dark shirt. “And eventually… it won’t fly in that direction ever again.”

“And Koko?” Mused Kakucho joined the two men conversing.

“He needed a push in the right direction. He’s as hardheaded as always.” Chuckled Takeomi before tasking a drag of his cigarette.

[party-poison-218]

Rekindling The

Flames 💜

Toji x reader, second chance! Angst,

Fluff :3

This is just a one-shot.

Tokyo had always been a city that felt alive, a constant hum beneath the surface. But for you, the city felt hollow, like a stage set waiting for a performance that never came. After years of quiet solitude, you'd managed to carve out a life that was... safe. Predictable. But that didn’t stop the ghosts from haunting you. And none haunted you more than the ghost of Toji Fushiguro.

You hadn’t seen him in over four years.

When you met him, you were captivated by the rawness of him. Toji wasn’t like anyone else. He was a sharp-edged, dangerous—an assassin who lived by no rules except his own. It didn’t matter that your love for him was filled with chaos and danger. He was everything you needed at the time: exciting, unpredictable, a storm in human form. But eventually, the storm became too much. The blood, the lies, the constant fear that he would disappear—along with you. You walked away, left him behind, and tried to move on.

But you had never truly moved on.

That morning, as you walked through a quiet street market, you didn’t expect to see him. Toji had a way of blending into the shadows, becoming invisible to the world, but not to you. And yet, there he was, standing at the edge of a café, as if time hadn’t passed, as if you hadn’t left him all those years ago.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but they still held that familiar intensity. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, not quite a smile, but enough to remind you of the way his grin used to make your heart race.

"Well, well. If it isn’t the ghost of my past," Toji’s voice was rough, gravelly, yet somehow comforting in its familiarity.

You took a steadying breath, unsure whether you were relieved or angry to see him again. "What are you doing here, Toji?"

"Same as you, I guess. Trying to stay out of trouble," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe of the café. "Didn’t think I'd ever see you again."

You narrowed your eyes. "And yet, here we are."

He chuckled low in his throat. "Yeah. Here we are."

You hesitated, unsure if you should walk away or stay. You had spent so much time pretending you didn’t care about him, pretending that he didn’t affect you. But the truth was, you had never truly let him go. And now, faced with him again, all those emotions you thought were buried resurfaced.

"How’ve you been?" Toji asked, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer to you. His presence felt like a heavy weight, but it was one you had never quite been able to escape.

You swallowed. "I’ve been fine. I moved on."

"Yeah, sure you did." His voice was soft, almost teasing. It didn’t sound like the Toji you had known—who was often sharp, indifferent, and blunt. There was something different about him now. Something... vulnerable? You couldn’t place it.

He gestured for you to join him inside the café, and after a long pause, you did.

The café was quiet, filled with the soft murmur of a few patrons and the clink of coffee cups. Toji didn’t look like the same man you had walked away from. His once-polished, dangerous exterior was now rougher, like he’d been worn down by the world. He had that haunted look in his eyes—like he’d lost something, or maybe never had anything to begin with.

"I thought you were done with this life," you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you took a seat opposite him. You hadn’t planned to confront him like this, but there was no hiding from the truth.

Toji shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "I thought I was too." He met your gaze, his eyes hardening for a moment. "Guess life has a funny way of pulling you back in."

A silence fell between you both. The years that had passed seemed to disappear in the space between words, but the scars from the past remained, as fresh as ever.

"I’ve been… trying to live a quiet life," you confessed. "I didn’t want that chaos anymore, Toji. I wanted peace."

Toji’s eyes softened for a moment, and for the first time, you saw something akin to regret in them. "I know," he said quietly. "I never wanted to drag you into my world. You deserved better than that."

You clenched your fists under the table, fighting the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. "Then why did you pull me in at all? Why couldn’t you just walk away from it?"

Toji's jaw tightened, and you saw the familiar frustration flicker in his eyes. "Because I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to." He looked down at his hands. "Still don’t know how to."

The honesty of his words hit you like a punch to the chest. This wasn’t the Toji who had pushed you away so easily. This was someone who had been through hell, who had been broken by the very things that had once made him feel alive.

"I didn’t want to hurt you," Toji said, his voice almost too soft. "I was never good for you. You deserved someone who could give you more than what I had to offer. But I... I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even after all these years."

Your heart skipped a beat. His confession was raw, vulnerable, and for a moment, it felt like the walls you had built between you both were starting to crumble.

You took a deep breath, your emotions swirling inside you. "You left me, Toji. You didn’t just walk away. You shut me out completely."

He winced, the pain evident on his face. "I know. I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was doing what was best for you by keeping you away from my life. But I was wrong."

You didn’t know what to say to that. You had spent so many nights wondering if he ever thought about you, if he ever regretted walking away. Now, hearing him speak so openly, you felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest—but at the same time, you didn’t know how to navigate the broken pieces of your past.

"What now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toji leaned forward, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "I don’t know. But I’m not going to walk away this time. Not unless you want me to."

The silence stretched between you both, thick with unspoken words, raw emotions, and the weight of the past. It wasn’t a simple decision. It never could be with Toji. But for the first time in years, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Later that evening, as you walked side by side through the streets of Tokyo, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were making a mistake. Toji Fushiguro had never been someone who played by the rules, and yet, here you were, stepping back into his world.

But as you glanced at him—his tall frame, the hardened lines of his face softened by the quiet of the night—you knew one thing for sure: You weren’t walking away this time.

[thiniceofeternalyouth]

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER TWENTY

A MONSTER THAT LOVED PEOPLE

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Words count: ~13k

⊲ previous

Mike was thoroughly washing his hands, standing on his toes - he could barely reach the sink. The boy, realizing he couldn't become manly just like that, had fought his mother into letting him walk to the restroom through the crowd alone - it was always easier to start small. Mike, unaccompanied, doing everyday but adult things, felt himself grow a whole couple inches. After somehow turning off the water and snatching some paper towels, he wiped his hands clean. Taking one last look at himself in the mirror, he squared his shoulders, making himself look bigger, and walked out of the restroom and into the bustling street.

His mother's thick red hair caught Mike's eye at once, it serving as a beacon for her son. Rachel was scrutinizing the hand of Itadori, who was sitting in front of her. Mike, frowning, was about to go to them, but he didn't have time to make a move before the air rang quietly in his ears and a black wing flew in front of his eyes. A tiny whirlwind of worry landed on the trashcan that stood at the entrance to the restroom - Mike glimpsed the crow, nervously slammed his palms on his chest, and, failing to find the medal, indignantly drew air into his chest. "Hey!" he angrily called out to the bird, pitching forward - the crow immediately jumped to the far side of the trash can, clutching the consolation prize harder in its beak. "That's mine!"

He lunged at the bird, trying to grab it, but it flapped its wings, but never flew up, only dropped to the grass and hopped forward, stopping and turning around, beady eyes fixed on Mike, tilting its head to one side or the other, taunting him with the stolen trinket. "Give it back, now!" snorted the boy, trying again to catch up with the crow, but it deftly retreated, flapping its wings mockingly.

With his mother's encouragement and love, the medal had become the epitome of strength and spirit for Mike, but for the stupid bird it was just a shiny bauble, and the boy's nostrils flared with anger at the thought, and he ran forward, willing to spare neither himself nor his own stamina. The crow, sensing danger, flew up - not high enough for the boy to lose sight of it, but not so low that he could reach it with his hands.

Mike ran with his head up and his eyes on the bird, not noticing that the noisy streets were being replaced by the quiet vegetation of the park. He stopped when the bird, perched on a tree branch, released a medal from its beak, which fell at Mike's feet. He grabbed it irritably, and in doing so, plucked a good tuft of grass, and pinned it back on his chest. He glared angrily at his assailant - crow carelessly brushing the black feathers that glistened in the streetlight. Would he never be able to punish his foe?

"Kid, it's pretty dangerous to wander around unaccompanied at night," a voice murmured behind Mike's back. The boy jerked in surprise and turned around. He looked suspiciously at the woman, who chuckled playfully as she tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear and squatted down in front of him. She delicately corrected the medal hanging crookedly on his chest - smart kids weren't supposed to be enticed by candy. Squinting, Mike took a step back. "Let me take you...to the adults," the woman smiled languidly, gently stroking the black plumage of the crow that landed on her shoulder.

***

"Don't worry about it!" fussed Itadori, fidgeting in his chair, the sudden care that had been thrust upon him making him embarrassed. Rachel had even borrowed a first aid kit from the first counter she could find. "Really! There won't be a mark on me by morning," he laughed awkwardly as he watched Rach treat the back of his hand. He frowned, remembering his own shame. He'd tripped on a low curb when he'd gotten off the wagon and fallen flat on the metal floor.

"Ya can't rely on energy all the time," Rachel muttered, concentrating on dabbing the bloody skin with absorbent cotton. "What if it gets infected?"

Itadori didn't have it in him to object, and he sighed and settled back in his chair, letting Rach do as she pleased. He was red from ear to toe, confused by both the attention and his own memories of his ridiculous embarrassment. Yuji breathed out a sigh of relief as the woman lightly applied a band-aid to the sore spot.

"Here ya go," Rachel chirped, gathering everything back into the first aid kit. She was used to mending children's wounds - she'd unwittingly learned to do it when Kyle fiddled with you both when you were young, and afterward she'd had to treat her son's bruises and abrasions with bandages and a kind word.

When she thought of Mike, Rachel glanced at her watch - her son had been gone for twenty minutes. She scratched her temple thoughtfully, ruffled Yuji's hair, rose from her seat, and turned toward the men's restroom. There were unfamiliar, adult, male faces scurrying around, but there were no kid eyes or disheveled redheads to be seen. Rachel tried her best to put the blame for her anxiety on her own overprotective behavior, but without waiting a second, she took a cautious step forward.

By the time Rachel was close to the room, she was almost running - bursting through the doors and not hearing the outcry, she looked around the empty restroom with a cold stare - a quiet song of boiling anger rang in her head. There was no one at the sinks, all the restroom stall doors were ajar - swinging each one open with a foot and making sure her son wasn't there, she was ready to break something. And if she didn't find what it was, it would be someone's bones.

Running back out into the street and pulling out her phone from her pocket, Rachel frantically searched for her son's picture with trembling hands. Her gaze darted haphazardly from one cheerful eye to another, ringing voices crackled in her head with the squeak of a fingernail on glass. "Mike!" she shouted, but no one but a couple passing by paid any attention to her. She frantically turned around, but her gaze blurred more and more, weaving everything and everyone into one messy stain. "Mike!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, and now most of the eyes were fixed on her, but there was no sympathy or interest in them - rather, they were looking at her like a wild, dangerous animal.  

Rachel didn't remember grabbing every person she passed by by the shoulder and shoving the picture right under their nose, but she could clearly see them all shaking their heads, pulling away from her. Some tried to comfort her, but Rach couldn't hear the quiet, comforting words, for the voice of rage roared deafeningly, turning her song into an animal scream. "Hey," Rachel was called out by a familiar, troubled voice. "What's wrong?" asked Megumi, stepping closer.

"Mike," she whimpered, panting. "He's gone."

Rachel was on the verge of tears and a breakdown - she should have listened to you. Better that he'd spent his whole life in Hopetown, better that he'd never seen the sky or the stars on it, and she'd never have been in the midst of this nightmare where her son wasn't.

Megumi snatched the phone out of her hands. "Then go to the police station," he muttered, sending the picture to himself. Rachel chuckled bitterly, almost hysterically. "Look, he could have just gotten lost," the boy objected, handing Rachel the phone back. "At worst, Mike really could have been taken. But it could have been a human," Fushiguro stammered with emphasis on the last word - he was trying to find words of comfort, but only common sense could speak for him now. "In that case, the police might actually be useful."

Rachel didn't ask any more questions - not if Mike wasn't just lost, or if he hadn't been stolen by human at all. She nodded briefly to Megumi, who was already sending the picture to his friends.

While Rach was running toward the police station, Gojo's students were going around to every person in the amusement park, showing the picture of the red-haired kid. Many of them pressed their lips together sympathetically and shrugged their shoulders, shaking their heads; some of them pointed their fingers thoughtfully; a few joined in the search.

Gasping for breath, Rachel stopped just before the turnoff to the police station - she clutched at her pounding heart, trying to calm it. Her thoughts were a sticky mess of anxiety, and for a brief moment she forgot her own name - she had to come to her senses as soon as possible, lest she look like a runaway lunatic to the police.

Straightening up and exhaling raggedly, she rounded the corner - as soon as she saw the front porch, a puzzle came together in her mind, and the tune became jubilant, almost triumphant - instead of anger, revenge whispered.

Stepping quietly, as a predator would with powerful, furry paws, Rachel came to the steps where Mei-Mei was sitting - a woman with her legs crossed and her hand resting on her chin, glaring at Rachel with a squinting, slippery gaze. "I didn't have to wait long for you," she said in a raspy voice. "Unlike the others," she chirped, rising and heading toward the narrow alley between the house and the police station.

When Rachel heard the flapping of wings, she raised her head slowly and saw a black shadow circling against the blue sky. The crow, following its mistress, descended closer and closer to the ground. Blinking slowly, Rachel followed the woman, but barely had they been in the alley, your sister abruptly grabbed Mei-Mei by her silver hair. "Where. Is. My. Son?" she groaned, bellowing - each single word accompanied by the slamming of Mei-Mei's lovely face against the wall.

Tossing the girl to the ground, Rachel stood at her feet, towering over her - the woman was laughing with bloody teeth, but the laughter was quickly replaced by a wheeze as Mei-Mei felt her oxygen being cut off - her hands went to her neck, clawing at the thin skin involuntarily. Mei-Mei shifted her panicked gaze to her crow, which perched on the antenna and glared at them. Rachel, looking the same way, loosened her invisible grip of her ability - Mei-Mei took a shaky breath and coughed, her own blood now preventing her from breathing. "It'll take you," the woman explained hoarsely, rubbing her neck and red saliva dripping onto the dry ground.

"Is it?" hissed Rachel, seeing three shadows born in the distance, at the very beginning of the alleyway - though they stood still, Rach pitched forward, ready to strike first. "And how long have ya been with them?"

"Business," Mei-Mei laughed huskily, pulling herself up on trembling legs. Even being behind Rachel's back, Mei-Mei realized there was nothing she could do to Rach, but pleasure involuntarily spread through her at the thought of others avenging her face. "It's nothing personal."

Rachel wasn't paying attention to the demons that waited for her, claws bared - she was staring thoughtfully at the crow that stared back at her, bending its head. If she finished Mei-Mei off right now, would it stay here, or would it follow his mistress? Would it crumble to dust, or would its gutless corpse fall to the ground with a thud? If the crow did die, how long would she look for Mike?

She clutched at her heated forehead and shook her head, curbing the bloodthirsty rage, trying to silence it. She swung around sharply and slapped Mei-Mei's bloody face, knocking her head back against the brick wall, making the woman fall to the ground. Rachel walked over to her, crouched down, grabbed her by the hair and brought her face closer to her own. "From now on, every breath ya take is my gift to ya," she hissed, spitting out the poison.

Rachel tossed the limp body back to the ground and moved forward. Crow didn't wait; he rushed forward with her, accompanying her. The demons were still waiting for her, and Rach was laughing madly.

"Tranquility."

The immobile ones remained frozen, but a couple of moments later, they paid for their inaction with their bodies. Rachel wished she hadn't killed them that way, but she was powerless here - mentally apologizing to the people whose bodies the Diomorphea would use to resurrect the demons she had torn apart and whose hearts she had ripped out a few seconds ago, she continued to run under the dark wings of the crow.

The walls of narrow streets and alleys pressed against Rachel, widening in every direction as her path grew more and more dangerous, darker and darker because of the shadows looming over her life. The demons were growing in number as if they were making up for their lack of strength in the human world. They lunged at the Rachel without fear or concern for their own lives - in Rachel's mind, they all mocked her, for she was incapable of harming them, even by ripping out their hearts. Here, on these streets, she would only get as far as the human ones.

Anyway, their faces, their glassy eyes, the way they struggled when they couldn't move their legs or arms, gave Rachel an unearthly pleasure - the kind she really only experienced in the void. Dark lines sprouted at her fingertips and were already spreading across her shoulders, gently, beautifully wrapping around her tanned skin at her collarbones - the girl was not frightened even by that. In the bloodiest moments of her mad grin, she momentarily forgot why she was doing this and where she was running to, but the crow hovering above her reminded her that her son was waiting for her.

She stopped at the huge gate of the abandoned factory and refused to believe the aching pain she felt in the area of her heart, the throbbing reminding her that she was exhausted. Slowly, soothingly rubbing the sore spot, comforting her own heart, she whispered quietly in her mind to it that there wasn't much left.

"Relocate."  

She didn't alert everyone to her arrival with the long, drawn-out creak of the gate - moving just outside the door, she was met with dozens of dark eyes that stared straight at her. "Ya fucking kidding me," she drawled tiredly, leaning her forearm against an old metal post. Trying to catch her breath, she lowered her gaze to the floor. Around her she heard the clatter of small stones, the rustle of wet construction sand - when she felt fangs behind her back, she turned sharply and grabbed the demon by the face, pushing the back of its head into the rickety wall - the plaster sprinkled on the floor cracked along with the bones. Clenching her hand tighter, Rachel felt the demon's jaw burst, and a second later it snapped with a clunking sound. The demon slid down the wall without a human heart before it could even whimper.

On wobbly legs, Rachel turned around, nearly falling over.

"Tranquility." 

Her living, beating heart was stabbed by the blade, and she fell to her knees with a silent cry of pain, surrounded by those she hadn't had time to kill. The ability soon dissipated, scattering into nothing - the motionless demons came to life, but did not dare to make a move in her direction. On the contrary, they shuffled gingerly into the shadows of the rotting columns and pipes, disappearing into the musty odor. Rachel, trying to calm herself, listened to the clatter of drops - she counted each one, hoping the next one would bring a second breath. "Well, well, well," a voice behind her said joyfully, but Rachel didn't have time to jump up - her arms were bound by something wet, scratching her skin, the same something wrapped around her legs, pinning them to the ground. "You really are as reckless as you are violent," the man said, squatting down in front of her and reaching up to touch her face.

Rachel lifted her chin and squinted at Christian, but he reeked too much of inhumanity. "Who are ya?" Rachel hissed suspiciously, dodging the hand that was fixing a strand of her hair.

"I'm an old friend of your little sister-"

"That chicken didn't bring me here for nothing," spat out Rach, ignoring his words. She didn't even want to consider whether it was true. "Where's my son, ya bastard?"

Rei nodded briefly to someone behind Rachel's back - immediately there was a kid's whimper that made her heart clench. "Mom," Mike whimpered softly.

"Baby," she sobbed, oblivious to the fact that she was shackled by the wet sand clutching around her - she howled harder, realizing she was unable to get up.

"How touching," Rei said, looking sympathetically at the mother and son. "I'd talk to you some more, really," he said brokenly, lifting Rach's head by the chin - clear, helpless tears streaming down her eyes. "But I'm more a man of action than a man of words. So, I'm offering you a choice. Either I take your body, or...," the demon shifted his gaze behind her back again.

"No!" she yelled, pitching forward.

Rei, humming approvingly, stood up and gently stroked her head. "Good girl," Rei murmured, stepping behind her.

"Wait," she whimpered, trying to turn her head, but to no avail. "Let me...," she whispered so quietly that Rei had to lean in. "Let me say goodbye to him."

Rei squatted down in front of your captive sister, looking at her with interest. He was thinking about something, his knuckle stroking her lips and glaring at her chest. Coughing, he ripped open her sweater, what he saw reflected in his satisfied smirk. The dark lines running down her collarbones already encircled Rachel's heart - they pulsed brightly and furiously to the beat of her heart. "Cut off the boy's arm," he coldly ordered his subordinate.

The kid's cries became loud, almost unbearable. "When I rip your heart out, I'll make ya eat it, ya fucking scum!" she yelled at the top of her voice, drowning out her son's painful cries. "Let me out!" she struggled and twitched, and Rei was even surprised when the grains of sand of the chains separated for a moment, but sighed disappointedly when he realized that was all the girl was capable of. "Let me out!" she sobbed, swallowing her tears as she tried to control her weakened arms. "Let me go..."

"I was just kidding," Rei waved it off.  He knew for certain now that Rachel couldn't do anything more - not use her ability, not her ability to relocate. She could only sob helplessly.

Rachel shook her head, but no one was laughing at her. The phone was heavy in her pocket - why hadn't she called you? Why hadn't she told Frank? Why had she fallen back on the primitive emotions that had always kept her on a leash?

When her frightened but unharmed son was brought to her, the shackles fell from her wrists, and she instantly pulled Mike to her. When she pulled away from him, she frantically stroked his wet cheeks, swallowing her own tears. Turning her head, she caught a glimpse of Rei standing nearby, surrounded by his subordinates and looking at them thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "It's okay, baby," she assured Mike in a shaky voice, looking into her son's eyes. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her as tightly as she had ever held him before - Mike didn't make a sound, only hid his face in his mother's neck. "Tell Y/N," she said quietly in his ear. "Tell her that mom is no longer in isolation, 'kay?"

"What does that mean, mom?" sobbed Mike in a shaky voice, raising his head and looking at her fearfully, his small hands clutching at her sweater.

"It's nothing," she laughed softly, trying to hide her bitterness. "Just tell her I'm not there anymore," she whispered, leaning her forehead against her son's forehead. "It's okay, don't cry, baby. Mom will always be with ya," she paused as she kissed his forehead recklessly, her lips stilled on his skin as she closed her eyes and listened to the approaching footsteps.

"Are you done?" asked Rei kindly, but received a cold stare from your sister in return. "I'll take that as a yes," he grinned.

Rachel was ready to be honest with you now - you were right. You had warned her more than once that her temper would be her undoing. You hadn't been shy about arguing about it, even over the bed where your injured brother lay, and Rachel's mind was reeling with the words you'd said then. 'Bite me, adoptee,' you were wrong about one thing, though: the order. Rachel would follow Kyle, not the other way around, as you had once fervently proclaimed in an attempt to hurt your sister. Rachel bit her lip, trying to suppress one last smile, but her heart stopped before she died when she realized she'd never be able to tease you about it again.

As the demon stood across from her, his thoughts intervened. "You want to do this right now?"

"Yes, I want it right now," he replied confidently, adjusting his tie. Christian's body instantly collapsed to the floor - his arms sprawled out to his sides unconsciously, his eyes turning from black to human but now glassy. Mike flinched fearfully, trying to scurry away, but was grabbed by his mother's hand. "I told ya it was gonna be okay, baby," she cooed, scooping the confused Mike up into her arms. "Oh, I'm sorry your birthday ended this way," she lamented, kissing the boy's temple. "Ya wouldn't mind if mom took away those horrible memories, would ya?" Mike couldn't object, nor could he shake his head - the boy huddled against his mother in fright, feeling himself getting dizzy.

Rei couldn't get past the puddle - stopping beside it, he squatted down and stared at Rachel. "Tell me," he smirked, stroking his cheek in the reflection of the water. The demon admired the tanned skin, the expressive, green eyes, the way the playfully curl fell straight down her face. "Ya didn't think I didn't hear anything, did ya?" the answering reflection was silence - only the water surface reacted to Rei's touch, which quietly laughed your sister's ringing laugh.

[May 23, 2023, 23:40; hunter headquarters, training field]

You followed Rei without saying a word, confused and distraught, staring helplessly and fiercely at his back, his red hair burning your eyes. It seemed your sister was about to stop, turn around and laugh at her own joke and your stupidity. Your weakened legs stumbled and you nearly fell, but you never took your eyes off the demon - you didn't even know why you were following him, what you wanted from him, but your inner humility told you that you were always Rei's shadow - no more, no less.

Rie could feel the vibration of your dagger in his gut, feel how fiercely you clutched it in your hand. He smiled at you, and it looked as if you were too sentimental. He smirked, and involuntarily began coyly winding the red curl around his finger, biting his lip. Was all he needed to keep you by his side, to show him the gratitude he deserved, was for him to take the form of someone close to you?

He tortured you long and thoroughly. Burned out your skin, cut open your organs, gave you to others, made you eat human hearts - in your darkest and most sinister moment, you lavished Rei with happiness with your shivering, withdrawal and a confused, quiet, nasty request to give you another one. The vow that this heart would be your last did not fly from your lips, did not play in your thoughts - all sanity was swallowed up by a dread hunger.

You left your house and the training field behind you in a helpless, slow chase - your footsteps were quieter than the rustling of leaves, but even that was no match for Rei's stealth. Even now you wondered if you saw him before you, or if it was his game, his deception. Exhaling raggedly, almost whining, you became a shadow, merging with the forest - in the blink of an eye, standing in front of Rei, your hand stabbed right into his forehead with a dagger. You stepped back, frightened, as you lost control of your energy and became visible again, standing before Rei in all your cowardly glory.

"Oh," Rei squeezed his hand against his bleeding forehead. "I was wrong after all," he muttered, and thoughts of your reunion began to slip away from him, and for the first time the demon was powerless - he couldn't hold back even one of them. You may have hesitated at first, but you were ready to kill your own sister.

He wiped the blood from his face carelessly with his sleeve as he felt the wound heal, and only then did he turn his attention back to you. Cold sweat was running down the back of your neck, and Rei laughed when he felt it. You were in a fighting stance, ready to pounce on him, but your hand, clutching the dagger, was trembling, Rei felt it as if it were his own. "What is it?" he asked, grinning predatorily - he couldn't smell fear, couldn't smell sorrow, but something primal slid across your bodies, connecting you. "Can't resist anymore?" he pitched forward, and his eyes widened with madness - the feeling of your hunger was pushing him into an abyss of despair and unholy, wrong love.

There was no ground beneath your feet - you clung to the muffled, happy voices. There was no cold of the void, no chains holding you, and your body was wrapped and lulled by the warm wind, but you didn't have the strength to enjoy it - the iron shackles had been replaced by hungry ones. "You must learn to forage yourself," Rei's voice was instructive, soft in your head. You almost couldn't make out the words - they all sounded strangely unfamiliar, though the sounds took you back to a past you couldn't remember. You jerked your head around, but you were surrounded by a swirl of gray, indistinct shadows, and only a child's laughter brought you back to earth one last time. You didn't realize who you were, you didn't know what you looked like now, but you could clearly feel the hearts beating, hear them pumping blood through the living, fresh people - there were many of them, so many that the once-swirling swords were pulled from your body. All it took for you to feel no more pain was to simply stop resisting, so why had you always been so obstinate?

The more you felt the lightness, the more the laughter turned into shrieks, but you, wandering the free lands, relieved of your torment, could not feel your clammy hands, could not see what pictures they painted - only the hunger grew quieter and quieter.

"Shading."  

You were almost out of control - you couldn't even feel your own weight, your hand was free to strike your sister's body, and Rei, instead of fighting back, was accepting each slash of your dagger with a hearty laugh. Stepping out of the shadows and grabbing him by the hair, you pressed his face against the tree and pressed the blade against his throat. "Don't ya change bodies too often, bastard?" you hissed in his ear.

"That gives you some idea, doesn't it?" he smirked, easily releasing himself from your grip and moving behind your back. When you turned around, he was faced with his favorite painting - you, all stained in blood. His best piece of artwork. "Have you forgotten our deal?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. "I'll gladly beat you to death the day you come crawling back to me on your knees, remember?" he spat out obsessively, holding himself back from attacking you right away.

You, lowering your gaze to the ground, swallowed. If you kill the demon, Gojo's promise becomes null and void; if the demon kills you, his promise becomes fulfilled. And the sorcerer, regardless of the outcome, would live. You and Rei couldn't coexist - only one of the two had to stay. And if your hunch was right, you'd not only free Gojo from his promise, you'd also rid the people of demons. At the very least, if there were no Diomorphea, no dioreact would be able to merge with the human body anymore. 

"I really enjoyed watching you sleep, eat, and coo with your human, completely unaware that your sister was gone. I guess you didn't love her enough to realize it. And not so careful to realize that you had an enemy around you," Rei grinned as he effortlessly found and pressed your sore points to drive you to the brink of insanity. "I admit, it was indeed amusing... but I have to go now, liebe."

Looking up at the demon again, you wanted to howl under the piercing gaze of green eyes - what was the moment he'd taken Rachel from you? Why didn't you hear any screams or quiet pleas for help? Against your better judgment, you wanted answers to your questions - you wanted Rei to stay just a little while longer, but he pushed back his red curls and disappeared into the darkness of the woods before your eyes. Your eyes widened with confusion and bewilderment. "Wait!" you screamed helplessly, turning sharply and looking around, trying to make out a human silhouette among the hundreds of trees. Your cheeks burned as you stammered and shuddered and went deeper into the thicket, helplessly searching for him, refusing to believe he was gone. "Rei!"

The rustling of the leaves resembled the sound of rain, but your face was wet only from your own tears. You were no longer able to walk, you couldn't even breathe - falling on the first tree you came across, you gasped, trying to hold on to your consciousness, in which all of them were still alive. The ground didn't shake, your house on the hill didn't burn, that purple flame didn't take away all people's hopes and wishes - your paper plane kept flying and flying, with Frank, Kyle, and Rachel standing behind you. "Someone," you whimpered, pressing your palms into your face - your whole body was shaking, you could barely stand on your feet. The creature wasn't screaming - it was silently, painfully taking your will from you, subjugating you. "Get someone back, please..."

You wanted to shackle yourself to the cold ground - in flashes of insight, you saw yourself walking back toward home. You couldn't tell if those disgusted and frightened looks were real. The creature didn't ask you if you were ready to show your real face - you didn't know if any of them were fake. It wouldn't hurt you if someone stabbed a knife through your heart right now - it would be one less monster in the world anyway.   

Your body was no longer yours - it refused to turn around. You couldn't even look at your own hands - they wouldn't rise. As you obediently walked back, your thoughts screamed in a way that tore at your sanity - was this how the creature felt when it was locked away? Not taunting, not teasing - it was silently trying to bring you back to the humans, oblivious to its own hunger. 

No one had come to their senses yet - almost everyone was standing with hastily packed suitcases on the cliff at the entrance to the house, waiting for the others to gather. Shoko was still walking between the students, inspecting them for injuries - a smoked cigarette was immediately replaced by a new one. No one even dared to whisper, no one even stepped from foot to foot, just worried and anxious glances from side to side.

Gojo stepped outside, holding a lost and half-asleep Mike in his arms - as he approached Ieiri, she shook her head to let the sorcerer know you weren't here. Swallowing nervously, he set the boy on the ground and quietly nudged him toward Megumi and Danielle, and ran his eyes over the familiar faces once more. Rachel wasn't here either. 

Whether out of anger or despair, Gojo stormed back into the house, into the workroom, and swung open the bathroom doors - he hadn't imagined it. You really were missing. Fumbling for the phone, he dialed your number, and his heart stopped - the intervals between beeps were so long, so quiet, he could hear his own ragged breathing. The hem of your burned blue dress vibrated - the sorcerer, drowning himself in denial, shook his head, rubbing his eyes and trying to get rid of the annoying vibration that was ringing and crackling in his ears, but it was getting louder - unable to bear it, Gojo jerked the dress aside. Underneath was your phone, its screen still glowing with his name.  

He was scared to death that you might have done something to yourself, completely oblivious to the fact that your favorite habit was running away. "Fuck!" he yelled, hurling the phone at the wall - the shards flew weakly, helplessly to the floor.

Sobbing and breathing hard, Gojo grabbed the sink to keep from falling right where your dead dress lay lifelessly on the floor. He straightened up sharply, wiping his face as he heard the sound of the door opening. "Hey," Ieiri quietly called out to him. "Let's go," she nodded her head toward the exit, giving him a meaningful look - his eyes widened with realization, and the sorcerer almost shoved his friend off, rushing for the exit. 

You were slowly coming down from the training field - your arms were hanging limply along your body, your legs barely moved, and Gojo almost ran towards you, but Mike was ahead of him - looking at the boy confusedly, the sorcerer slowly moved towards you, trying not to scare you away. Mike, stopping near you, took a step back and froze - coming closer to you, Gojo saw the bloody stains on your gray T-shirt, which were gaping like black cinders - just like your eyes. But no waters of the dark oceans could hide the grief Gojo saw in them.  

"Y/N?" asked Mike uncertainly, startled. You didn't respond, just continued to stare at the boy. "Where's... Where's mom?" he asked, almost whimpering.

The night wind ruffled his red hair, inadvertently reaching up to yours, but you didn't feel so tenderly touched. "I'm sorry, Mike," you said hollowly, unable to hear your own voice. "Your mom's not coming," your own whisper was an executioner's axe, cutting away whatever humanity was left in you.

Once you were surrounded, you no longer distinguished between friends and foes. The creature told you, echoed that they looked at you the same - all their pain reflected in childlike eyes. "No," Mike whimpered softly, sobbing. He looked at the creature with horror, and the bloodstains as proof instilled Mike with confidence in your guilt. "No," he repeated, shaking his head and stumbling backwards - you couldn't see him running away anymore. 

"Mochi," Gojo whispered softly, reaching out gently and trying to touch you, but not in time - you, with a strangled cry of unbearable pain, fell. Sharp stones dug into your palms, taking away your last will and remnants of resistance. "Mochi," he was still quietly trying to reach you, but his soul went into a mute scream, making him feel the same way you felt. The sorcerer crouched beside you and wrapped his arms around your stiffened, petrified body, trying to lift you up, but you wouldn't budge. Each of his careful touches threw you off balance, each of his agonizing sobs drove you further into the void. 

As Megumi ran up to you, Gojo turned around, startled, and slowly shook his head. You needed some peace. He'll sort it all out. He'll get you out of there, wherever you are now. "Go away," the sorcerer ordered, and his tone did not tolerate bickering. Megumi, taken aback, tried to get a glimpse of you, but Gojo, having covered you with his body, gave no one a chance to see you in your state of madness. "Get everyone out of here!" he shouted, and Fushiguro nodded, turning and running to the others. 

"Baby," he whimpered at the necessity of his own actions and pulled your face off the ground with force - you howled harder through clenched teeth, and Gojo didn't waste a moment and pulled you against him, not even seeing what was happening to you. Taking you by the waist, he lifted you up - when the sorcerer turned around, there was no one on the cliff. "It's okay, there's no one here," he reassured you, leading you into the house.  

You kept stumbling because you couldn't feel your legs, but Gojo kept picking you up. Your head hung limply, but you could not see the ground beneath you. Almost crossing the threshold, you stumbled in your own pain and collapsed to the metal floor. "Go away," you wheezed in your last breath, lifting yourself up on your hands - your dark, disheveled hair hid your disfigured face. 

"No," Gojo resisted, sinking down beside you and trying to lift you up again. Gojo refused to be powerless in the face of the extraterrestrial madness that was trying to take you from him. He held you close to him, taking all your accidental blows - your claws that dug into his skin burned his flesh from the inside out, but he knew you were doing it unintentionally. Gojo frantically stroked your hair, writhing each time the claws dug harder, deeper. Your breathing had become inhuman - it was too ragged and fast - but Gojo didn't realize that there was still a shred of sanity inside you, begging the creature to move to places where no one else was.  

Get out of here. Get away from it. Go somewhere where it couldn't hurt anyone. Using the remnants of your thoughts, your memories of loved ones, your knowledge of humanity, you covered your dark eyes, giving yourself over to the creature entirely.

"Relocate."    

[May 28, 2023, 9:11pm; Kyoto, Kyoto Prefecture, Kyoto College]

You've been gone for five days, and Gojo hasn't slept a wink. The walls of Kyoto College reminded him painfully of the old days, the days when he had not yet met you. The sorcerer hid his face in his collar and walked along the stone-paved road among the tall columns that burned red - they towered over him, trying to make him feel smaller, but he only treaded indifferently on their flat shadows. 

Gojo checked the news every day, immediately visited the places where the murders had been committed, and, completely desperate, widened his search - he returned again with nothing, checking the scene of a robbery at a shabby convenience store outside Kyoto. The sorcerer darted from place to place, torn between Kyoto College and the abandoned headquarters. He had no idea where exactly you would return, but the thought of your return was a beacon to Gojo, a light that shone with an imminent light that would never go out. 

The approaching summer did not give him hope, the ending spring did not give him confidence for goodbye - all the good things were extinguished in a flash under the sympathetic and worried looks of his students. The sorcerer almost did not communicate with them - it was difficult for him not only to speak, but just to keep the usual carefree smile on his face.

Gojo stopped in the shade of the trees and, taking off his blindfold, looked at the students who were quiet in the training stadium. All of them were unusually silent, sitting on the grass, absorbed in their own thoughts with occasional muffled blows - Maki was practicing her strikes on Panda, and he was stoically enduring them. But even these two were silent, not encouraging each other in any way.  

The urge to check on Danielle and Megumi never left Gojo, thus aggravating his condition - every time he gathered his courage, he was stopped by one question: what could he say to make them feel better? The sorcerer was no good at comforting and soothing people before, and no words would bring the dead and unburied back to life - there were no bodies left of them that the purple flames had taken, their bodies would not be committed to the ground, and their names, never engraved on a tombstone, would dissolve into eternity.

Gojo asked himself, lying captive in the sleepless night, blamed himself for everything that had happened, trying to remove the dark circles under his eyes with ice water in the morning, and even in the afternoon, in the blazing sun or drizzling rain, he couldn't shake off the confusion - how had this happened, and was there a single moment he could interrupt to change everything? Gojo was never a hunter, but he knew that all those whom you brought out of the void, and who found their refuge in Hopetown, were humans. He quickly connected two threads in his head - you'd told him that only the three of you had access to the vault, and while Frank was already dead, Rachel was nowhere to be seen. As he walked up the steps to the porch, the sorcerer hid his already hidden face in his palms, trying to keep his bitterness at bay - you were still standing in front of his eyes, covered in your sister's blood. She couldn't have betrayed you like that, so it wasn't her at all. There was only one name, the silent sound of which burned the sorcerer's soul with rage - it was to find out who Rei had used to take them all away from you.  

"Showing up?" Ieiri blurted casually as she passed him - Gojo, taken aback, started up when he met Shoko's gaze. She clucked her tongue irritably at his tired, bloodshot eyes, and leaned against the wooden railing, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. "You missing not on missions, are you?" he huffed, shaking his head in embarrassment with a short shrug, and stood next to his friend, repeating her pose and directing his gaze to the floor. "Listen," Ieiri gave up, exhaling restlessly, shaking off the ashes. "Stop looking all over for her. It's not like she's a little kid, she'll be able to contact you if she comes to her senses."

"When," Gojo corrected her quietly but stubbornly, raising his index finger softly. "When she comes to her senses."

"Well, kinda...," Shoko said, shrugging tiredly.

"Give me one, too," he demanded, holding out his hand - Ieiri looked him over from head to toe in surprise, trying to find the usual jocularity, but his blank, absent look made her pull a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and hold one out to the sorcerer. 

She watched him carefully, nervously - the first time he took a drag, Gojo nearly choked, but suppressed a hoarse cough against his fist. All the bitter smoke stayed in his lungs, settling, saturating, but it never filled the void. "I'm disappointed," the sorcerer said wistfully, taking a second drag. "For some reason I always thought that was how you calmed your nerves. Turns out you're just poisoning yourself."

"Welcome to adulthood," she patted his back comfortingly, trying to dilute his sadness with a sarcastic joke. "You have many more disappointments ahead."

He grinned softly, stubbing out the cigarette butt on the ashtray. It seemed no grim revelation would cause him as much pain as Gojo was feeling right now. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know," Shoko admitted honestly. "On the one hand, I'm glad Doc swamped me with work and I never got to go to the wedding, but on the other...," she swallowed and fidgeted, twirling the pack of cigarettes in her pocket, fiercely fighting the urge to smoke another one. "Just because I haven't seen these deaths doesn't mean they never happened. It's just... It's just hard to realize."

"Believe me, if you saw it, it would be a lot harder."

Shoko, sensing his distressed state, did not take to arguing with him. She gently stroked Gojo's shoulder, trying to keep him here on Earth on his own two feet. "Um...," she began awkwardly, trying to search for some truth. "You know, your students sometimes say things," she scratched her temple and felt a prick of conscience between her shoulder blades. "Is it... Is it true that she killed Rachel?"

His reaction made Ieiri flinch. "No!" spat out Gojo sharply. "It's just...," he continued, burying his hands in his hair. "It's hard to explain. But it wasn't her sister anymore," he gibbered, and the speculation pressed and choked him harder and harder. Three keepers. Rei used the body of one of them - your sister's body - to tear the heart of the town and let the demons in, but who helped him? Who was behind him?  

"I get it. Calm down."

"Now she's got nobody," the sorcerer sobbed despondently. Guilt crept closer and closer, but it didn't explain her origins, just wandered around and laughed, mocking his helplessness and inability to fix things. 

Ieiri tightened her lips and hugged herself stiffly. You'd barely spoken to Issu, Dany was broken, but now she had a family of her own, and you'd lost yours - something told Shoko this wasn't the first time this had happened to you. Despite your background, you'd always held up well, carefully sidestepping madness, and now the woman couldn't blame you for inadvertently going insane - an unfamiliar sympathy was zealously working its way through the excuses wandering through Shoko's mind. "She has you," Ieiri stated softly but insistently. "So get a grip," Gojo, barely able to tear his hands from his face, glanced at his friend over his shoulder, inadvertently exposing before her the painful worries that lingered in the blue eyes. "You should rest," she admonished softly, patting him on the back as she left. 

The sorcerer could hear the clatter of her heels that inevitably grew distant. Even though Ieiri had left so soon, he was still grateful for her soothing words - they had been said carelessly, almost sloppily, but he had been guilty of that himself. The sorcerer had never let Shoko be at his side even in the darkest of times - he just had to pretend the darkness didn't exist.

Alone, Gojo, rubbing his tired eyes, sat down on the porch of the minka, resting his shoulder on a wooden post and staring blankly into nothing. The stone-paved road had crumbled, the stately red columns had crushed, and the trees, stripped of their leaves, had rotted away - there was nothing before him, and the haven of the rising sun was a ruin where that sun had never come up.

There was no counting the times when all his thoughts were occupied by desperate terror - his mind flashed back and forth to the places where the sorcerer had already been in his attempts to find you. They were smoothly replaced by secluded corners of the ground where you might be lurking - he grimaced as he came to the conclusion that you were now out of reach. Somewhere he couldn't go. 

Gojo wiped his eyes a dozen times, your silhouette flashing in front of him, making him jump up and down on numb legs. He laughed softly, maniacally, and pressed his palms into his eyes, needing to wash away the image the sun had painted of you. The departing, chilling rays had treated him cruelly, shadowing his revelations and desires. Blinking tiredly, Gojo no longer expected to see you, but you were still striding forward toward him, barely dragging your feet. His body was paralyzed for a moment, and that second seemed like an eternity - Gojo had waited too long already. He leaped up from his seat and ran toward you, almost out of breath. 

Once a couple feet away from you, Gojo slowed his step, almost stopping. "Mochi?" he asked quietly, gazing at you intently. The last ray that went down shone down on you - your tattered pajamas were soaked through in darkness, black lines ran down your arms and legs, wrapping around your flesh, and the closer you came, the more ugly patterns Gojo could see - they lurked even under your dark eyes, which didn't reflect the light. You stopped a step away from him - your open, empty gaze stared through him, and there wasn't a single unfamiliar feature in you, but it wasn't you anymore. But not to him. "I...," Gojo began, swallowing. "I'm gonna pick you up, okay?" you didn't respond - not with a word or an action, just continued to stand numbly. He couldn't reach your thoughts, and he couldn't imagine what you were feeling right now, but if your heart was whimpering bitterly in pain right now, his howled a little louder.   

Gojo scooped you up in his arms gently, intending to carry you as quietly as possible to the infirmary, but when he felt that you were wet, he looked at his palm, which was covered in blood, and though he could see no wounds or even scratches where the fabric had been torn, he sprinted on. Your limp body was so cold that touching your skin made him feel a tingling sensation on his own. There was no doubt - all this time you'd been in the void.  

When Gojo burst into the infirmary, he met with a couple of puzzled looks. Doc, hidden behind a pile of papers, jumped up as soon as he saw you. "Give her here," he ordered coldly, taking you from the sorcerer. Without wasting time, doc rushed to the room across the hall - laying you on the couch, he began rummaging through the drawers for ropes, but found tourniquets. Shoko hovered over you as if studying you, and Gojo stood at the foot of the bed, lost. "Get out," Doc muttered. Ieiri took her gaze away from you and noticed that the sorcerer still hadn't moved - she tugged at his jacket, leading him away from the room. "Ieiri," shouted doc to after her. "Bring me the metal box. It's in the bottom drawer of the desk."  

With a brief nod, she closed the door behind them, and, leaving Gojo in the corridor of the infirmary, headed for the office. Finding it easily, she handed the box to the doc, who didn't even let her enter the room, just stuck his hand out from behind the door and grabbed it.

Ieiri eyed her friend apprehensively as he stood almost right up to the door, unmoving. No wandering of lost gaze, no hands pounding on the door, demanding to be let in. There was the muffled rustling of a body against the sheets on the other side - doc was doing all this work in silence. And probably not for the first time. Her hand reached into her pocket, but she restrained herself from going outside and leaving Gojo alone, right in front of the door where the unknown was happening to you. 

A sharp, strangled scream cut through his unexpectedly fragile heart, leaving it bleeding - it was as if it had snapped Gojo out of a nightmare, and he didn't hesitate to kick the door open and burst into the room. You lay there meekly, not moving or breathing, your black eyes visible from under half-closed eyelids - you didn't even blink. Gojo's fists clenched tighter when he saw your hands bound tightly to the metal frame of the couch. A needle from an IV was stuck in your vein, and doc was standing nearby, calmly injecting some kind of liquid into that saline bag through a syringe – Gojo's eyes turned red when his gaze collided with the open metal box.

Gojo grabbed doc's neck and pulled the man toward him, throwing him into the wall. A few inches from the doc's face, a metal box flew into the wall with force - the ampoules shattering on the floor released a pleasant but pungent odor. Standing in front of doc and with his back to you, Gojo faced him - there was no feeling in him, only eyes poured with scarlet obsession that gave away the habits of a wounded animal. "Let me through," growled doc, trying to shove him aside, but the sorcerer would not move an inch. His stubbornness, his recklessness made doc boil with anger. He clenched his teeth and slammed his fist into Gojo's jaw, as hard as doc's arm was, but the sorcerer still stood as before, his head tilted slightly to the side.

Gojo grabbed doc by lab coat front and dragged him toward the exit, away from you. "I think I've been playing the good clown for too long," Gojo spat out right in the man's face, and doc's skin caught fire, twisting. Reaching the door, the sorcerer shoved him off again, but this time spared - doc recoiled a step. "Don't make me do this," the sorcerer begged surreptitiously, lowering his head and making it clear that he would regretfully kill the man if doc dared move towards you again.   

"Idiot!" howled doc, waving his hands in despair. "What fairy tales have you come out of if you think that love can overcome and transcend everything?" he tried to get through to Gojo, but the sorcerer, without raising his head, had made up his mind a long time ago. "Look at her!" barked doc, but he did not obey. "I said look!" he muttered, and Gojo, coming out of his trance, turned around.   

How many people have you killed while bound by dark lines? How many destinies have you destroyed while your eyes drowned in darkness? The simplest questions that should have popped into your head, but Gojo seemed to have lost his mind completely, for he saw you as the same kind of victim, a hostage to circumstance and fate itself that had appeared from a world of distant stars. "She's a monster," doc urged with all his might at the remnants of common sense. You did have half of a human in you, but none of your good deeds could stand up to a bloodthirsty entity that wasn't bloodthirsty by choice - it just wanted to live. "Not theoretically, not metaphorically, and not in any other sense! She's a monster, straight up."   

"So am I," Gojo didn't snarl, didn't object, for he knew he had enough power to destroy the whole world, and if he had the same essence in him, Gojo would have done it, but you were stronger than he was, and the world, surprisingly, was still standing and alive. Unlike you, who lay motionless on the bunk. 

"Love won't overcome or transcend anything. Just get over it," doc said discreetly, making one last attempt.

Gojo, coming up to you on weak legs, ran his fingers gently over your cheek - the lines, awakened, were caressing and trying to reach him. "Why do you think she came here?" he asked blankly, taking a seat in the chair beside you. "Not that she knew where Kyoto College was. So she came to see me," Gojo tried to shake you up with gentle motions - he would fix and smooth your disheveled hair, or stroke the thin, soft skin under your eyes, decorated with dark patterns, but you didn't respond. "Did you always do that to her?" he laughed bitterly, glancing at doc. "When she was in pain and could no longer control herself, did you always tie her up, drug her with an orchid and leave her alone?"

"In that state, she's completely out of control and anything can throw her off balance," doc said dryly. "So yes, it's important to immobilize her and remove stimuli. Right now, all you're doing is disturbing her. Very convenient, isn't it?" asked doc sarcastically. "After all, if she loses her temper, it won't be you she'll blame for anything she does-"

"Just leave us alone," Gojo pleaded quietly, turning away from the man. When doc opened his mouth again, Ieiri, taking him by the shoulder, shook her head. With a ragged, noisy exhale, doc waved him away and strode out of the room, Ieiri followed, closing the door behind them. 

"You don't need this," Gojo whispered painfully, desperately shaking his head and removing the needle from your arm. "You don't need all of this," he repeated obsessively, releasing you from your shackles, removing the tight tourniquets from your wrists. "It's okay," the sorcerer whimpered, resting his head on your chest - not hearing the pounding of a human heart, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid himself of the intrusive images his morbid imagination was painting. He knew from myths and first-hand accounts where the other heart lurked - even if he couldn't see it, Gojo still kissed you feverishly between your collarbones. With a sob, he pulled away and put his hand around your cheek, your body heating up, though you remained still. "We can handle everything, just come back to me," he frantically promised in a whisper against your hidden lips, calling out to you that were locked away. "Come back to me, please."    

[June 4, 2023, 06:34pm; Kyoto, Kyoto Prefecture, Kyoto College]

You hadn't woken up in a week, but you weren't asleep either - you were lying in the same position doc had left you in, your eyes still half-open. Gojo had barely left your side, ignoring sleep, hunger, and the missions he'd been assigned. He snapped at the Gakuganji that appeared before him, demanding his duties - in case the curse was dangerous and powerful, the sorcerer would grudgingly leave the chamber, but would return an hour later. In such moments he thanked and appreciated the power he had been gifted with, which allowed him to deal with his enemies instantly. He was reluctant and afraid to leave you alone, and in moments of separation, Gojo would approach Ieiri with a shy look, begging her to look after you, and she would quickly give up, seeing his puppyish, powerless glance.   

Today was one of those quiet days, when the sorcerer wasn't disturbed or troubled, and he could devote it entirely to you. There was a glass of water and a carton of chocolate milk on the nightstand next to your bunk in case you woke up suddenly, and one of the popular science books he'd dug up from the clutter of your abandoned workroom. Reading it to you in the evenings, Gojo didn't memorize a word, but he couldn't stand the silence. One day, when he decided to tell you a story from his life, his voice trembled before he even spoke - that's when the sorcerer got the idea for the book. All he had to do was stare at the lines and say them aloud so you could hear him and know he was there.  

Gojo, standing by the bunk and humming softly to himself, was massaging your bent-knee leg - he was slowly rubbing your shin and calf, pressing gently on the muscles. Even though everyone who lived at Kyoto College was protected from such human problems as bedsores, he could use this as an excuse to touch you and feel your warm skin, for you gave no other sign of life. No matter how carefully Gojo treated you, he was still wary of turning you on your side - he was ready to kill the doc for his words, but Gojo heeded him anyway and tried to disturb you as little as possible. He couldn't even change your clothes on clean one. Whether out of embarrassment or fear for your condition, the sorcerer turned to a capable man - doc, changing from anger to mercy, changed you into hospital pajamas. 

Carefully, Gojo sat down next to you and worked on your hands, carefully squeezing your flesh, feeling the muscles and massaging them. He was weak to temptation - sometimes he gave in to the urge and kissed the back of your palm. "Here we go," he murmured softly, warming your skin.

Barely had he picked up the book, a knock came into the room - hearing cautious footsteps, he turned around. "Oh, Megumi, hey!" smiled Gojo exhaustedly but self-consciously, waving and greeting his student. Fushiguro, seeing his strained smile, tensed up. 

"Yeah, hey," he said quietly in response, and stepping awkwardly from foot to foot, he took a chair and placed it next to the teacher.

"How's Dany?" Gojo asked cheerfully, making Megumi wince - the boy could hear the affectation and pretense in his voice, but he didn't bother to point it out.

"She bury herself in taking care of Mike, so it's not as bad as it could've been," he said, and while Gojo thought of the happiest day of his and Danielle's lives collapsing into ashes of broken and burned bones, he thought of Mike - the one who hadn't started living yet, but had already seen ten lives ahead of him. "But I still won't take on any missions just yet." 

"Honeymoon, I see," the sorcerer said with a sigh, and Megumi didn't hit him or threaten him or snap at him - the amusement in his teacher's voice had melted away, leaving behind only a sticky residue. Everyone was coping as best they could.  

Frowning slightly, awkwardly fingering his interlaced hands, Megumi dared to take a glimpse at you. "And you... How are you doing?" he asked quietly.   

Gojo, putting the book aside, clapped himself on his thighs. "Wonderful," he chirped. "She even blinked once today, can you believe it?" Megumi didn't know since when he'd learned to separate lies from truth, or if it only applied to Gojo, but he wasn't happy about the newfound ability. It would have been better to pick up on his feigned joy and rejoice with him, but instead, Fushiguro pursed his lips skeptically against his will, lowering his gaze, and it left its mark on Gojo. "I don't know what to do anymore," he admitted in a cracked voice, ashamed of himself, feeling disgusted at his own weakness - it had only been a week, and though the sorcerer wasn't ready to give up, the thought of you never coming to the senses was visiting him more and more often, driving him mad. He grabbed a carton of already warm chocolate milk and started twirling it around in his hands, pretending to look at the inscriptions. "Doc told me... He told me that when she's in a normal state, her atoms are constantly trying to rearrange themselves, and she holds them back. By willpower, power of thought or whatever," Gojo exhaled raggedly, calming his trembling words. "Also... Doc said that even he can't imagine the pain she feels all the time. It all amounts to your body constantly trying to split itself into smaller pieces," Megumi looked at the teacher fearfully, seeing him start to break down. "So... Maybe the fact that she's in this state now isn't such a bad thing. At least she's not in pain now," realizing that the feelings were about to spill out of his eyes, the sorcerer stood up from his chair, still clutching the carton of chocolate milk in his hand. "She... She likes it cool," he explained hushfully. "Sit with her for a minute, I'll be right back."

Before Megumi could even open his mouth, Gojo was out of the room. When he turned to you, he stared at you for a second and then dropped his gaze to the floor. He just couldn't look at you any longer. Your motionless body and glassy eyes made him feel like he was in a morgue. Fushiguro was caught between two fires. He felt like he was alone with a corpse, but what he dreaded more was your sudden awakening. What will you do to him if you wake up now? Would you recognize him, or would you see Megumi as nothing but blood-soaked meat? The boy doubted he'd have the strength to stop you. 

Shame choked him for thinking such thoughts - you were there for him when he doubted himself, and he couldn't even dignify you with a glance. Which was the worst part for him - if he had admitted it to you, you would never have blamed him. "I'm sorry," he muttered, getting up from his chair, still not lifting his head. "I'm sorry," he begged in a broken whisper, turning around - Megumi didn't remember flying out of the room, slamming the door loudly behind him. Leaning back against the wall, he tried to catch his breath. 

Clutching his hands into his hair, he chastised himself for being a coward - the anger was so strong that he forcefully slammed his fist into his forehead several times. "Megumi?" the boy looked up sharply to see Gojo cradling a new carton of milk to his chest. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah...," he said, panting. "Yeah," he repeated, straightening up. "Just... It just got a little uncomfortable."

"Why are you so afraid of her for?" he snorted resentfully, shoving Fushiguro aside and opening the door. "It's not like she's gonna bite you." 

Grumbling a little more and forgetting even to thank Megumi, Gojo entered the room, still clutching the cold carton to his chest, hopelessly trying to cool the hot heart, but it was so disobedient and stubborn that it started beating fervently, painfully, when the sorcerer looked at your bed. The carton that had fallen out of his numb hand cracked, the milk trickling across the floor. For the second time in his life, for the briefest moment that existed, Gojo actually wanted to kill you - he saw only crumpled sheets on an empty bed.    

[December 25, 2018, 8:15pm; hunters' hq]

Gojo had opened his eyes half an hour ago, but he still hadn't woken up. He didn't know whose house he was in, didn't know the moods and motives of his masters, but he didn't care - all his thoughts were occupied by his student who was lying on the next bunk. The sorcerer no longer felt the presence of the curse king in him or anywhere else, but why did the dark lines spreading across Megumi's arms look so carnivorous? They didn't ooze cursed energy, and Gojo could barely see the enemy in them, but they were desperately reaching for the boy's heart.     

Out of the frying pan into the flames - first his student was enslaved by Sukuna and then by unknown forces, and while Gojo understood how to fight the curse, the dark lines didn't lend even to the reverse technique. Mockingly, they spread further and further away. Megumi had been through too much already, and whoever had done this to him would have to pay for it. "Good evening," hearing an unfamiliar voice, Gojo gripped the armrests harder. Two figures blocked the window, appearing on the other side of the bunk. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine enough to twist a couple heads off," Gojo grinned, and despite the lack of light in the room - sunlight or moonlight - his eyes glittered hostilely.

Christian, sighing understandingly, adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "We're not the ones who did this to your student," he explained, glancing at the unconscious Fushiguro. "But we know who did."

"What do you want from me?" Gojo asked wearily, carelessly waving their words away - Christian was starting to get annoyed that Gojo wasn't giving them the respect they deserved. He hardly looked in their direction - all his attention was on his student. But they could take advantage of that. 

"We want you to kill whoever did this to your student," Christian stated defiantly, interlocking the fingers of his hands. The man wasn't going to press Gojo, nor rush him, for he realized that no better moment would present itself - the strongest sorcerer couldn't be taken by surprise, and his misunderstanding of the situation, his confusion as to how and why the fight with Sukuna had ended, his bewilderment as to how he had ended up in this house were a gift worth graciously accepting. "Your student is very lucky," Christian continued softly, cautiously. "She doesn't usually leave anyone alive."  

Nathaniel stood beside Christian, neither moving nor speaking, listening and catching every word, learning. He was uneasy - if someone outside but close got wind of this, both demons and hunters would want them dead. But, as Christian had said, it was necessary - after all, you were a danger to both. "All you need to do now is name a price."  

"Two hundred million yen and Hokkaido land to boot," laughed Gojo, mocking.

Christian, though he pressed his lips together, was willing to pay any price. "Well, it won't be easy, but it can be arranged-"

"Are you idiots?" he barked, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Get outta here."

The higher-ups looked at each other. It was their last resort, their stronghold, and if it didn't work, they'd never get the chance to kill you again. Your weak point wasn't so easy to penetrate, but it was possible to try to bend it. "Satoru." 

Gojo turned around, dazed, in utter disbelief. His best friend stood before him, not alive, but not dead. In that second, the sorcerer forgot that he had finished him off, his memory faded into oblivion of the atrocities for which he had had to kill him, for Geto stood there smiling at him as he had before his soul had been broken by human cruelty.

Gojo, rising slowly, didn't find the courage to take a step forward - lost in his unconsciousness, he stared at his friend with open, glittering eyes. "Hey," Suguru smiled, taking the first steps towards him. Suguru stopped across from him - Gojo, oblivious, tried to place his hands on Geto's shoulders.

"You...," he mumbled, shaking his head - his hands didn't feel the weight or the clothes, but they didn't go through either, and he'd learned that day what it meant to touch the void. 

"Not alive, but I guess I'm not dead either," Suguru grinned, scratching the back of his head. "Feels weird, to be honest," he said, looking at his hands - they weren't transparent, but barely resembled human flesh. "I don't want to pressure you, but you'd better make up your mind soon. I'm not thrilled with what these two are offering myself. I don't trust them too," Geto patted his friend on the shoulder, and Gojo could have sworn he could almost feel the touches. "But I can't be in limbo anymore either. So I'd love to drink a couple liters of tea, or retire. It depends on what you choose." 

Gojo didn't have time to say goodbye to Suguru or consult with him - his best friend scattered and disappeared, and he continued to stare at his empty hands, which had just been touched by Suguru. "If it eases your agony of conscience," Christian continued to press softly. "She and her accomplice killed more than a thousand people."

"Who is she?" the sorcerer asked perplexed, turning to look at the higher-ups.

"Please look closely at your student," Christian asked. "Do you know the origin of the dark patterns that are trying to kill him?" no matter how much Gojo scrutinized the lines, they refused to tell him about themselves - he shook his head slowly. "It is not only curses that exist on Earth that humans themselves have spawned. There is another threat, far more dangerous and coming from outside. And she is one of them," he said firmly, placing the folder at Megumi's feet. 

After hesitating, Gojo took it in his hands. "Unfortunately, these creatures are vulnerable where you can't go," the higher-up shook his head mournfully. "Here on our soil, they carefully hide their weak spot," Christian involuntarily touched the spot between his collarbones, and Gojo opened to the first page and was confronted with your picture. You were staring with open eyes straight into the camera, and the dark lines spreading across your skin burned brighter against the white background. "But that doesn't mean there's no access to it at all. They can show it willingly."

The sorcerer cocked his head sharply, realizing what the man was getting at. "Are you suggesting me to get her in the sack and kill her there?"

"Did you think we were going to make you fight for everyone's amusement? Not everything can be solved by force, sometimes you have to find other ways, and if sex is the only way for you to get close, you can do that too," Christian said dismissively. "In fact, you can find common ground without it. After all, she's just as lonely as you are."

"Who are you?" he asked, slamming the folder shut loudly and throwing it on the nightstand, but continuing to hold your picture in his hand.

"We are the ones who watch her and hold her bloodthirstiness in check," Christian explained. "However, it's getting harder every day," at that moment, Suguru's smile eclipsed his common sense - he gave his agreement with a short nod. Christian, grinning contentedly, adjusted his glasses. "As soon as she takes her last breath, your best friend will be back to you."

The two silhouettes were gone in a flash, making way for the blue sunset to spill over the room, making Gojo question his decision for a second. Taking a seat next to Megumi, he stared at your picture again - if the darkest night had eyes, they were yours. The monster must die - the conviction grew quieter by the second, and it wasn't destined to live a day.

[August 2, 2023, 01:43 am; hunters' hq]

Trying to catch and keep time, Gojo sat on the edge of a cliff, the very place where you had become almost friends the first time. The only thing that had changed was the light in the windows hidden among the rocks - it was gone. The bay was still as unruly, loud, its waves still crashing desperately against the rocks in the light of the distant stars and the worlds they hid. "Look, you just don't throw accusations around, okay?" the sorcerer turned to the sky, feeling foolish in trying to talk to his friend who wasn't here. There wasn't even a grave for him to visit. "Yeah, I dumped you for a girl. So what?" he snorted, pouting his lips and lowering his head.  

Gojo exhaled, playing with his intertwined fingers - he wasn't looking for advice, guidance, or scolding. "You know, you're the one who wanted to change the world according to your own vision, and the God complex is attributed to me for some reason," he mumbled frustratedly. "But I can't help but think that if I'd talked to you, if I'd paid attention to what's happening to you, all of this could've been avoided," he added in a quieter, mailed whisper. "I didn't... I saw something was wrong with you, but I didn't know you needed help. Because...," the sorcerer stammered, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Well, you and I were the strongest, weren't we? I thought you could handle it on your own. So did I. I got so caught up in that training, and when I woke up, it was too late. "

In the strokes of bloody and bitter experience on the canvas of time, Gojo saw the truth years later - he didn't need the alliance of the two strongest, he just needed a person who would accept him without power. "I'll never know if anything would have changed if I had been there for you then," the sorcerer admitted frankly, lifting the gaze of his blue eyes back to the stars. "But now I'm sure I'll never give up. I will never leave her, no matter what she does. Forgive me for being so indecisive in the past," he said, rising to his feet. Gojo paused for a moment, still searching for a familiar name between the flickering, distant lights. "And thank you for being my best friend once." 

Turning around, Gojo headed for the house - on the basement floor he was greeted by familiar boxes covered in a layer of dust and the smell of acetone that never left. As he approached the workroom, he took hold of the doorknob and stopped, hesitating. From the other side he could hear a quiet, barely discernible fuss - entering the workroom, Gojo saw you digging into your laptop, humming something to yourself. The kettle was boiling on the nightstand, and two cups were next to you. He watched mesmerized as you jumped up and took the kettle and poured the boiling water into mugs. Gojo leaned against the closed door and slid slowly to the floor, watching as you put six spoonfuls of sugar into one of the mugs - he could hear the clinking of the spoon as you stirred the tea.

"Meg?" he asked deafly with fading hope.

"Sorry," the mechanical voice replied. "Nothing yet."

Gojo wish he could stand like that longer, holding onto the doorknob and hesitating to enter - he'd made up everything down to the cooling mug of tea on the table.  

The workroom was empty.        

next ⊳

[hayaku14]

anyway kaishin + bad parent toichi and chikage enjoyers go read cuethesun's tomorrow, and the next day ✌️😎✌️

[loveanddeepthroat]

Baby Blues

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - In the first two weeks of being new parents, the dynamic hasn’t been quite what you and Sylus expected. He’s eager to be involved, but your daughter doesn’t seem to have warmed to him.

Word count - 2.7k

⚠️Warning⚠️ - Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. Hurt/comfort, fluff, and a little sprinkle of angst.

Your newborn didn’t like Sylus.

It sounded ridiculous, but you know he was thinking it too. You didn’t have the gall to say it out loud—not that it even needed to be said. The fact was definitely lingering between you both.

You never thought much of why she would wriggle and kick up a storm in your stomach whenever he touched the swell of your belly, but you now had an inclination that it was because she didn’t like his hands there.

It was strange and upsetting, but he didn’t seem too hurt by it so far, only silently helpless as he watched you do everything. You were two weeks postpartum, so your emotions were already all over the place. It seemed as though Sylus was holding his own feelings back to make room for yours, and when you had asked him about it, he simply kissed your forehead and reassured you that he was fine. All while your screaming daughter cried for you against his chest.

Not that he opened up to you all that often. You did manage to get things out of him with a push sometimes, but he was like an unyielding gate, refusing to open to anyone.

Your exhaustion was only adding to the toll on your fragile emotions. The baby only wanted your touch, and sleep was almost impossible for you because of that very reason. Only you could feed her. Only you could soothe her. Only you could touch her.

That was one thing that was really getting to Sylus. The bloodshot whites of your eyes as you rocked the fussy newborn to sleep and fed her at all hours of the morning. The barely touched plates of food that ended up stone cold and in the bin. Not to mention the completely non-existent ten minutes you needed to at least have a wash without having to run out of the shower to her aid.

He must have felt quite useless in the weeks where you should be recovering, but he didn’t want you to worry about his feelings by indulging you in his thoughts. 

Your pregnancy had been smooth, ending with a good twenty-seven hours of rather torturous labour, and pushing that went on for an agonising two hours. It had all been worth it, though. Your little bundle of joy with tufts of platinum hair had finally greeted you both with a piercing wail, but eased her protests once placed against your heaving chest.

You just wished she would settle with both parents.

It was another day of desperate wailing, your arms becoming so heavy with the exertion of having no option but to hold her. You tried to put her in her pram for Sylus to push her around for a while, but her cries only increased to the point of her little face turning purple. You couldn’t sit and just listen to it, and you absolutely would not ignore her—no matter how much Sylus pushed for you to go and get some sleep.

“She wants me,” you say for what felt like the millionth time that week.

Sylus was evidently reluctant to stop trying, but he wouldn’t keep you from her. He conceded with a defeated huff, watching your every move as you gently lifted your screeching daughter out of the plush pram. Her screams died down quickly as you placed her against your chest, her ear-piercing wails whittling down to soft whimpers.

“Of all the dangerous paths I’ve crossed and violent challenges I’ve encountered, it’s our newborn daughter who finally defeats me,” he mumbles quietly, trying to make a lighthearted joke about it.

You tried to smile at his attempt to add a bit of humour to the situation, but the comment only made you cry. Hard.

“Hey.” He immediately stepped toward you, rubbing a large hand up and down your back soothingly. You had to give it to him, his patience with you in the last two weeks had been immaculate. “Don’t cry, sweetie.”

You couldn’t stop, your ragged breaths and shaking shoulders refusing to relent. “I d-don’t get it,” you bawl. “What are we doing d-differently?”

Sylus sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His hand continued to rub soothing circles against your back to ease your upset. “Well, she did live inside you for nine months. Besides, you didn’t exactly like me either when we first met.”

He smiled faintly, tilting his head down to capture your gaze. Despite the obvious tease, he still seemed to be holding himself back. It was frustrating him more than he wanted to admit to you. You knew he was protecting your feelings, but you wished he would just show some sense of vulnerability.

You don’t dare set your sleeping daughter down in her moses basket, knowing full well that she would just wake straight back up. So the rest of the afternoon is spent with your tiny newborn curled up against your chest, a few feeding and changing breaks in between.

Once the day turned into night, nothing in the world sounded more appealing to you than a hot shower, a hot meal, and a hot cup of tea. But letting her scream and cry while you did that was not an option. It wasn’t fair on her, and it wasn’t fair on Sylus.

He didn’t leave you unless he absolutely had to throughout the day. You watched him every time he heard a little whimper from the baby, his hands flexing and twitching. Every time you had to get up to do something for her, he was either at your back or side.

He wanted to help.

The chef brought through a very large bowl of marinated chicken and pasta for you, upon Sylus’s instruction. As soon as the bowl was set on the little table beside your recliner chair, you almost began drooling. You hadn’t managed to eat much at all in the chaos, and Sylus wasn’t amused when you didn’t even get the chance to finish the two biscuits he’d brought you earlier in the day.

You reached a careful hand over to the fork, not even lifting it before your daughter began to wriggle and whine in your other arm. Dropping it immediately, you retract your hand, only making it halfway back to the fussy newborn before long, slender fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist.

“No,” Sylus says firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Your initial response is to immediately go on the defence. “She’s cry—”

“I know she’s crying,” he interrupted tightly. “I know. But you’re going to eat while your food is hot, and you’re going to do it without our screaming daughter on your chest.”

“But—” 

“No buts.”

He had that commanding look in his eye, the one that would intimidate most, but was only used on you when he was especially adamant on you doing something necessary for yourself. 

You were a little relieved to see him so passionate, if you were being honest. He had been treading on eggshells to not upset you or the baby for fourteen whole days, and it wasn’t good for anyone. You felt the tension on him every time you both managed to get into bed together for more than five minutes. He needed this little outburst.

“This needs to stop now. I’m going to figure her out, and you are going to eat. Alright?” His tone left no room for argument, and the more your daughter protested against your intention to eat, the more hungry and tired you felt.

It wasn’t easy, but you handed her off to him carefully, swallowing a lump in your throat. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her distressed little face as Sylus attempted to cradle her.

You were practically twitching, your legs about to push the footrest of the recliner down to retrieve her in the first thirty seconds she was away from you. Sylus noticed immediately, and pushed it back up with his foot before you could close it down fully.

“She’s not in any danger,” he said calmly, but his whole body was visibly tense. “She’s right here, I won’t leave the room. Just eat, sweetie.”

You wanted to protest further, but he wasn’t going to yield this time. His eyes remained trained on you until you finally sagged back into the chair, and it wasn’t until you picked up your fork that he finally turned away, focusing on the distraught newborn kicking up a storm against his chest.

He held her the way you did, one hand cupped over her head to keep it steady while the other hand softly patted her back. Why she didn’t want to be near him was an utter mystery to you, he wasn’t doing anything incorrectly. 

You couldn’t eat while the two most important people in your life were quite clearly in a distressing situation before you. “Are you alright?” You asked him gently, hoping that he would answer you.

“I will be if you eat,” he quickly responded, not looking at you.

Sighing, you stab a slice of the chicken onto your fork, just looking at it for a moment. Your brain had managed to kick itself into gear as you forged a new approach to his silence. 

This was an opportunity to head in the right direction.

“I’ll eat if you speak to me.”

Blood red eyes shot in your direction, an eyebrow raised. “Blackmail?”

You quickly shook your head. “You were right, this does need to stop. Starting with you shutting yourself off from me.” 

“Eat.”

The forked piece of chicken points straight at his unamused face. “Talk.”

He shook his head a little in clear annoyance, the stress consuming him. Your daughter continued to wail, immune to the warmth and safety of his arms. He was basically trapped after promising to remain in the room with you.

Your bleary eyes held his irises of rubies, neither of you conceding. It was a mental challenge to ignore the fragrant aroma of garlic and fresh basil beneath your nose, but you were not eating until at least one of the two beautiful people before you had calmed down.

Sylus visibly swallowed, finally giving in as he noticed your lack of a bluff. “Do you think she knows?” His voice was quiet, barely heard over your newborn’s cries.

“Knows what?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, nodding his head towards the piece of chicken on your fork. You shovel it into your gob, eager for him to continue.

His eyes flicker down to your daughter before he speaks again. “Do you think she knows that I’ve done terrible things? Do you think that’s why she doesn’t like me?”

“I—” you grumble and roll your eyes as he nods to your plate of food again, waiting for you to take another mouthful that you end up having to speak through, “I don’t see how she could. Is that why you’ve been so quiet?”

The corner of his mouth curled upward ever-so-slightly. “Missing my tongue, kitten?”

You couldn’t help your own smile as his shoulders sagged a little from where they were practically touching his ears. It wasn’t often that he opened up to you like this. You almost always had to pry or throw in a proposition to coax him into speaking.

You took another bite of your food, moving the plate from the small table to your lap. “Do you really think she doesn’t like you?”

His smirk faded away quickly, a gentle thumb brushing over your daughter's head. She continued to cry, but the volume had dropped a little. “Do you not think that?” He asked.

You didn’t know how to answer that question. To tell the truth, you did think that, but not for the same reason he was thinking.

“I think she may be a little attached at the moment. We’re very different shapes and sizes. Maybe she feels—”

“Unsafe?” 

His tone had dropped an octave—something you didn’t think was possible considering the already bone-chilling vibrations of his voice. Never before had you witnessed him in a state of such vulnerability. He was insecure about this, and it was finally starting to show.

You went to stand up to be near him, but he immediately stepped forward to halt your movement.

“Eat.”

Not wanting to lose this free-speaking Sylus you had barely met before, you did as he said, twirling a fat mouthful of pasta onto your fork for extra brownie points.

You both remained in silence for a few moments, only your fork scraping against the bowl in your lap marrying with the sounds of your baby’s cries surrounding the small sitting room.

Sylus’s gaze didn’t leave the newborn cradled in his arms, a gentle sway in his hips as he tried to keep her moving. All you could do was study his composure, seeing it as it cracked.

After a moment, he looked back at you. “I don’t want to keep failing you.”

You coughed on the mouthful of the creamy pasta at his words, completely in awe of his confession.

Failing you? How did he get to that conclusion?

“You’ve done everything for her,” he continued, not allowing you to immediately reassure him. “I want to be able to do everything, too. For both of you.”

The all too familiar sting in your wet eyes built in intensity by the second, and you quickly found yourself sniffling.

Not only was he insecure about your daughter not feeling safe in his arms, but he felt that he’d failed you both in the past two weeks. It was heartbreaking for you to hear.

“Don’t cry—”

“You’re…fuck, Sylus. You’re not failing anyone,” you tuck your fork back into the pasta with a loud sniffle, ignoring his glare that silently demanded that you continue to eat. “How the hell did you come to that conclusion?”

He looked entirely reluctant to answer, his head dropping back down to stare at his tiny twin. You didn’t want him to stop speaking again, so you quietly picked your fork back up, hoping it would capture his attention.

The silence stretched between you as you made the effort to eat for his sake. Even your daughter's cries became a little weaker—like she was pitying him.

He didn’t look at you as he said, “I’m the bad guy. The boogie man. The kind of monster that parents threaten their kids with visits from in the middle of the night if they don’t brush their teeth before bed.”

“Not in our story, you’re not,” you quickly reassured him earnestly. “You’re the husband and father who keeps the monsters away from your family. That’s the only Sylus she will ever know. The real one.”

He still didn’t look up from the newborn, now almost completely silent in his arms, but you catch a subtle bob in his throat. You didn’t need him to respond to you. You knew you had said the right words to soothe that self-deprecating thought in his complicated mind. You could see it.

“Have I told you how perfect you were two weeks ago,” he asked, knowing full well that he’d told her every day since then.

Your mouth curled into a soft smile. Even after all these years together—after welcoming your first child into this scary, yet beautiful world—Sylus had no trouble giving you butterflies.

“I think you might’ve mentioned it,” you hummed softly.

And on that very note, the baby was fast asleep in his hold for the very first time in two whole weeks. His face didn’t reveal anything, but you knew he was relieved. All he wanted to do was make this easier for the both of you.

Finally, you had managed to figure out what the problem had been all this time.

“You were too tense,” you point out quietly, noticing how openly at ease he now was. “That’s what she didn’t like.”

He hummed in response, unable to tear his gaze away from the sleeping babe in his arms. You didn’t say anything further, letting him enjoy that special moment in peace while you proceeded to enjoy the rest of your meal.

Despite the challenges of becoming new parents, things were going to be alright from that point onwards.

A/N - Hello! I hope you enjoyed this oneshot, thank you so much for reading. Just to let you know, I do take requests ❤️

[street-smarts00]

in omnia paratus

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: Spencer's been on the fence with his feelings for you. Due to his past traumas he’s decided to keep his feelings hidden. Until you’re caught in a dangerous situation at work

WC: 3.5 k

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long. I’ve been sitting on this for two months because I was being a perfectionist and had writer's block. Thank you so much to the person who requested this idea and I hope ya’ll like it! beta read by @whats-yesterday00

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Protective!spencer, Friends to lovers, age gap (25 and idk 33 or 34), during season 9 (sadly no post prison Reid, I refuse to watch the show after Derek & Hotch leave), Maeve is implied 

Warnings!: mentions of murder, stalking, gunshot wounds, hostage situation and incorrect info about hostage situation cause Idk I'm not in the FBI

Everyone knew Spencer Reid had a soft spot for you. Well, everyone except for you. 

Since the moment you met you’ve been on his mind. 

“Do you know how old she is?” 

“No, how old is she?” 

“25!” Penelope squeaked before being shushed by Rossi. 

“Wow, she’s gotta be the youngest person to ever be in the BAU. Well, second to genius over here,” JJ commented while pointing to Reid. 

“That’s if she gets the job,” Morgan added. 

They were all crowded around the desks in front of Hotch’s office. The blinds were cracked and they could just barely make out the woman seated across from their boss for an interview. 

Due to the increase in caseload after Alex joined, Hotch made the request to add an additional member of the team. After interviewing a few people that didn’t pan out, he heard quite a bit about you from your supervisor saying how well you’ve done with the FBI and you’d be an exceptional fit for the team.

Then of course Penelope looked up everyone who was interviewing with Hotch. You being her most recent victim. 

“How long has she been with the FBI?” Alex questioned. 

“Three years,” Penelope answered 

“What? Did she join right after college?” 

“Not right away. She graduated early and got experience with law enforcement first.” 

Spencer sat at his desk quietly while everyone was peering into Hotch’s office. Not to say he wasn’t nosy as well. You were already behind the blinds when he arrived for work. 

“Oh they’re shaking hands! That has to be a good sign,” Penelope cheered. 

Morgan turned to the window, “It’s definitely not a bad one.” 

Her eyes widened before loudly whispering, “Oh no they’re leaving. Disperse.” 

She scurried off in her heels towards Derek’s desk while he followed behind with a grin. JJ, and Rossi averted their eyes from Hotch’s office and found Alex’s desk far more interesting. 

All while Spencer’s attention was brought to the woman led down the stairs by his boss. It felt like his heart stopped beating when he saw how beautiful you were. He was brought back to earth as Hotch introduced you to the rest of the team. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he gestured to the man sitting at his desk. 

You offered him a small wave and a kind smile, “Nice to meet you.” 

It became quite obvious you two would get along very well. From very early on conversation flowed incredibly well between the two of you. There were very few people that he felt were easy to talk to because of his niche interests and the way he would ramble spitting facts left and right. 

But he never had to worry about saying the wrong thing or talking too much with you. You often were a content listener or you would even match his passion on certain subjects. Most were topics Spencer already knew about. 

When you first met Spencer you didn’t know the Dr in his name meant he held 3 PhD’s or that he was quite literally a genius. 

So you were often telling stories or facts you found interesting that he already knew. In fact, almost every “fun fact” you brought up, he knew about already.  

But he never interrupted you. He always was listening intently to what you had to say. Like he was hearing about it for the first time. 

At some point you learned of his eidetic memory and how vast his knowledge was. It was during a case where you found out and mentioned it to him. 

“Reid, remember when we were at the harbor and I mentioned that thing about sharks?” You hesitated, “did you know that already?”

“Yes,” he guiltily admitted. 

You partially deflated suddenly feeling that the whole tangent you went on was pointless. “Why did you let me go on and on if you already knew?” 

His eyes softened, “because I wanted to hear you talk about it.” 

That was when his feelings started to peek through. As the months went on it only grew and grew. And you were none the wiser.

To the average person, it might not seem like much. Perhaps you were just good friends. But to a team of profilers (and best friends) it was painfully obvious. 

It was almost painful the way he looked at you with a longing in his eyes. Or when his gaze immediately turned to you to catch your reaction or smile. 

It was obvious by the way he found any excuse to bring you up in conversation. Or how in conversation with you he would mirror your mannerisms and lean closer to you. 

As well as the things he remembered about you or the little things he did for you. Like the countless coffee cups he bought for you from his favorite coffee shop before work. And when he saw you struggling to find something or open something he was always right there to help. 

Spencer Reid had feelings for you. Feelings so deep that he couldn’t pull the roots out even if he tried. 

He didn’t know what to do with his feelings exactly. He hadn’t felt this strongly for someone since … well for a while. He was terrified of history repeating itself. 

He couldn't lose you. He’d seen first hand what this job did to him, what it did to Hotch. Their loved ones ripped away from them too soon.

So for now at least, he kept his feelings to himself. 

Well, until your last case. 

The BAU was called in on a case that just turned serial. They found the unsub to be a man named Mark, who started killing because his girlfriend cheated on him. The first two victims reminded him of the man she cheated with. When that didn’t satisfy him, he hunted down and killed the other man. 

Now the team and SWAT was stationed outside a bus that Mark was holding hostage. He stalked his ex-girlfriend and tracked down the new city bus she took. 

The officers couldn’t get a clear shot of him because of where he was standing and he kept using the passengers as shields. Rossi was currently on the phone with him trying to make negotiation terms and get some of the people off the bus. Mark however was incredibly stubborn and didn’t want to let his leverage go. 

So Rossi asked about the children on the bus and if Mark would be willing to let them off. They were met with silence on the other end of the phone, contrary to his previous behavior where he loved to hear himself talk. 

After a short pause the phone spoke. “I’ll only send out the kids if you send in an agent.” 

Rossi shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “Are there any other circumstances you’re willing to send out the children for?” he asked. 

“Nope,” he said with a pop at the end of the word. 

A look of concern was quickly exchanged between Rossi and Hotch. While their faces didn’t reveal much, their eyes spoke volumes. 

“How about this,” the unsub continued. “I’ll send out their moms too.” 

Rossi’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the eagerness to comply from the criminal. “You’ll send out the children and their mothers if we send in one of our agents?” 

“I promise.” 

Rossi returned his eyes to Hotch who stood rigid and tall with his arms folded. He was met with an approving nod before returning to the call. 

“Alright, we can agree to those terms.” 

“Oh and agent Rossi?” Mark perked. 

“Yes?”

“Send in a girl.”

There was a tension that quietly branched out between the agents listening to the phone call. 

“Why do you want a woman?” Rossi asked, clearly changing the dialogue used.

“I’m losing too many ladies sending out these moms. I want one back,” he replied with a cockiness to his voice. 

Ross confirmed they could send in a female agent. Almost immediately after the unsub hung up, you volunteered to be the agent going on the bus.  

“I’ll do it.”

Spencer’s head shot in your direction. “No you're not.” His voice was laced with concern and a hint of demand.  

“Reid-”

“He specifically asked for a woman. We don’t know what he’s planning, he’s devolving.”

“And I’m willing to take that risk to make sure those kids are safe,” You defended yourself. 

You turned to your boss waiting for his thoughts. Hotch knew you’d been exposed to enough high tension scenarios to know what you were doing. But just like any member of his team, he silently hesitated, worrying for your safety. 

He took a breath before meeting your eyes again. “Send her in.” 

Right before you were led to the bus, Hotch took off the holster on his ankle and handed it to you. “Some extra protection in case something happens.” You couldn’t hear the concern in his voice, but you saw it clear as day in his eyes. 

You made your way to the bus and saw through the window Mark holding a gun to the driver and telling him to open the door. You stepped on and the doors closed quickly behind you. The unsub took a long look at you, panning up and down. 

“Well how about that. Aren’t you a beauty? He said with a cheeky grin. 

You tried your hardest not to look disgusted with him. Instead you kept your composure and spoke with courage and a confident demeanor. 

“You this flirty with all your hostages?” you asked plainly.

As he gazed down at your legs his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He bent down and with the gun in his hand, pushed away the bottom of your pants leg. When he saw the gun in the holster, he tsked. 

“You always carry this much dead weight on you?” 

He stood back up and put his hand out, “hand it over, I told them no weapons.” 

You reluctantly took off Hotch’s holster and placed it in the unsubs hand. Your one line of defense was gone. 

The longer you were on the bus, the more anxious Spencer got. He knew you were an exceptional profiler, and you had enough experience and skill to handle yourself in situations like this. 

But that couldn’t stop the ache in his stomach or the fact that his heart rate could power a car by now. 

He stood closer to the bus now to get a clearer view of the windows. They managed to successfully get the children and moms off and to safety, but you weren’t safe. Spencer figured you were trying to negotiate with the unsub, but that was going nowhere. This was confirmed when Rossi tried calling him again but every call was ignored. 

This unsub was stubborn as hell. He knows he trapped himself, but didn’t want to back down. At least he didn’t want to go quietly. 

Spencer was talking with the rest of the team trying to devise a plan when the gunshots were fired. The team immediately ran back to the cacophony on the bus. 

More shots were fired, he didn’t know where from. He didn’t care. 

He just needed to get to you. 

When he got a decent view through one of the windows that hadn’t shattered he saw you. Your hand over arm in pain but still standing in front of the civilians to protect them. The unsub stalking over to you, gun in hand and smacking you over the head with it. You slammed against the chairs and fell to the floor. 

Spencer's face paled. He swore he was going to throw up. 

Through the fog of his mind Spencer saw Morgan escorting Mark off the bus, his hands now behind his back in cuffs. 

He rushed past them, clambering through the door and up the stairs to get to you, calling your name. 

“Reid?” he heard your small tired voice through the crowd. 

He followed it to you, laying on the ground struggling to open your eyes and clutching your left arm. 

He crouched down to your level with a gentle hand on your uninjured arm. 

“Hey, I’m here. I’m right here,” he comforted. 

“My head hurts,” you mumbled.

His eyes softened, “I know. I think you might have a concussion, you need to go to the hospital.” 

You slowly started to fade out of consciousness. Spencer’s heart dropped and his hand moved from your arm to your face. 

“No no no no stay with me okay?” he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he consoled.

Your eyes stopped struggling to stay open and finally made their close. His other hand rushed to your pulse point as he called for a medic.

Time seemed to stand still while Spencer sat next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up. He couldn’t leave your side. He didn’t want to. 

You were okay. You were laying in the bed in front of him. But of course in his mind he ran through all the possible scenarios of how things could’ve gone worse, how things could’ve gone better. What would’ve happened if you didn’t have your gun taken away, or if the unsub got angry that you tried to bring a gun in. What if he didn’t lose his cool and start firing. What if you never went inside in the first place. 

And with all of those possible scenarios, the same thought plagued him. 

He was wrong. 

Before he was too scarred from past traumas to reveal just how much you meant to him. Not wanting to repeat the past and lose yet another person he loved cared for. 

But now, after seeing you in danger right in front of him, now he was terrified at the thought of you never knowing. He was now more scared you would never know how much he loved the way your nose crinkled when you smiled. How he thought the sound of your voice could cure any ailment he had. How he admired your strength and desire to protect others. How you could light up anyone's mood by just being you. How he could listen to you for hours, even if you were lecturing him on things he’d known like the back of his hand.

To him it was a whole new experience hearing it from you. 

Spencer was pulled from his thoughts as you stirred awake. He saw your eyes adjust to the bright fluorescent lights ahead. He quickly got up to dim the lights for you. 

When he returned to his seat you smiled at him, “hi.” 

“Hi,” he smiled back.  

“How are you feeling?” 

You sighed. “Like shit,” you complained with a hint of humor. 

“The doctor said you have a minor head injury, bruised ribs, and the shot to your arm thankfully didn’t break any bones.” 

“Fun,” you said sarcastically. 

A moment of silence passes between you two. He doesn’t exactly know what to say. How do you casually tell your friend and coworker you have a crush on them? 

There is no casual way. 

“You called me sweetheart,” you broke the silence. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?” 

You fidget with the blanket, “earlier, when I passed out on the bus. You called me sweetheart.”

He searches his mind for the memories of the day. When he finds the memory he realizes in the heat of the moment the term of endearment slipped out. 

He wasn’t aware you heard it. 

“I did,” he confirmed as his ears flushed.

“Why?” you asked curiously. 

He didn’t know how to tell you that he’s wanted to call you that for weeks now. So instead he settled with-

“It just … felt right.” 

“Oh,” you replied quietly.

Spencer tensed up at your response. 

“If I crossed the line-“ 

“No. Of course not,” you interrupted with a comforting voice. 

The corners of your mouth lifted and cheeks dusted pink. “I thought it was sweet. You don’t normally say stuff like that.”  

His heart warmed at your confession and a smile spread on his face. 

“You thought me calling you sweetheart was sweet?” he lightly teased.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “You know what I mean.” 

Your laughter was cut short by a sharp pain in your abdomen. You bit down on your lip and gripped the side of the bed in pain. 

The reality that you were injured on the job was rushing back to him. 

He licked his lips, his nervous unconscious habit. 

“I was really worried about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he interjected. 

“The entire time you were on that bus I was sick to my stomach. Terrified that something bad was gonna happen and it did,” he started to ramble. 

You leaned closer to him. ”But I’m okay Reid.”

“You still got hurt. He shot you for christ sake!” his voice raising in pitch and volume. 

“Reid-”

“He lashed out at you! You could’ve died!” 

“Spencer,” you said firmly, pulling his attention towards you. 

He never heard you say his name before. No matter how many times he said you could call him Spencer, you still called him Reid. Hearing his name fall from your lips was like the consistency of honey.

You placed your hands on his face caressing his cheek. His golden eyes meet yours. 

“I’m alright. I’m still here,” you consoled. 

“But if-“

“Spencer.”

“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s important.” 

You nodded your head, signaling for him to continue. He gently grabbed your wrists and brought your hands in his. He took a deep breath before he decided to spill the thing that had been eating away at his heart. 

“I have feelings for you. I have for a long time. Almost as long as you’ve been at the BAU,” he started. 

With your hands in his he started tracing his thumb over your knuckles. 

“If we don’t have work I count down the days until I can see you again. When I do see you I desperately want to see you smile, see you happy. And if I’m the one that causes that smile, it makes my whole day. That’s why I never interrupted when you talked about something I already knew. The way your face lit up when you talked with such passion was the highlight of my day.” 

“For months I was scared of my feelings and I kept them to myself. I was too scared to admit how much I liked you because I-” his hold on your hands tightened.

“I know what it feels like to lose someone. This job takes so much from us; I never wanted it to take you.” 

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“Today I realized it would be more painful if I went the rest of my life not telling you, than having even a fraction of a moment with you.”

A moment of silence danced between you two. Your head reeling from his confession, heart beating so hard you could feel it in your bones. Your palms sweaty from holding onto Spencers, but still neither of you let go. 

The silence was deafening, plaguing him. 

“Please … say something,” he begged. 

Your lash line was collecting tears that you simultaneously tried blinking away. Your eyes found his tie less intimidating than his gaze.

“I never thought you would like me back,” you said with a soft tone. 

Spencer's cheeks turned red as his heart started melting. “I do.” 

You brought your eyes back to his. That precious smile on his face was infectious. 

“Listen,” you squeezed his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. So you have as much time with me as you want.” 

Spencer's eyes softened at your words. He raised your hands and placed a loving kiss on your knuckles. 

The two of you were too lost in eachother to notice the footsteps towards the room. 

“Hey, I found some Jello for her if she-” Alex abruptly stopped once she noticed what she walked into. 

You both awkwardly pulled your hands away from each other; you fiddling with the hospital blanket, him rubbing his palms on his slacks. 

“So, feeling better?” she asked hesitantly. 

“Much,” you answered, still a bit flustered. 

“Good, good to hear,” She tried not to sound too smug, but the small smile on her face said otherwise. 

She raised and shook the jello container in her hand. 

“I’m gonna leave this here,” she placed it on the table. “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“Thanks Blake,” you thanked as she left. 

Once she was gone you quietly giggled and mumbled “oh my god,” under your breath. 

“You know, she kept teasing me asking when I was going to ask you out. And don’t even get me started on Morgan,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

Your jaw dropped and eyes furrowed. “Did everyone else know but me?” 

He pressed his lips in a thin line, “pretty much.” 

“I must be a shitty profiler,” you half joked.

“Absolutely not,” he said in the most comforting voice. He brushed the hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear. 

“You’re an amazing profiler.” 

You smiled that smile he loved so much. The one where you couldn’t hide your joy and your nose crinkled. 

“So, how do you think you’ll spend all those moments with me?” you inquired with a bit of a teasing tone. 

“Doing anything sweetheart,” he answered seriously. He looked at you with awe written all over your face. “I'm ready for anything with you.” 

“in omnia paratus” - ready for anything

Tag asks: @adrienneleclerc @ladybirdbeetle7

[bruhstories]

sweet like honey ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

summary: logan ended up spending his evenings in the bar across the street from your bakery, watching you do your job. he never approached you, never talked to you, but he always kept an eye on you, until he has a bad feeling. pairing: logan x fem!reader warning & content: swearing, violence, reader almost gets assaulted (but logan saves the day), she/her pronouns for reader, wade being wade, unprotected p in v, fluff, angst, lots of baking and mentions of food, slightly ooc logan (if you squint), slow burn, sex in a bakery wc: 6k

a/n: i don't always write, but when i do, it's a fucking thesis. unedited.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

Logan was never a fan of sweets. He hated chocolate, cheesecake, gummy bears — literally anything sweet. The only thing he could barely stomach was tiramisu, and only because it had coffee in it. Other than that, he steered away from sweets like they were the fucking plague.

Yet despite all that, he found himself enjoying the smell of freshly baked croissants, custard donuts, brownies, and whatever goods you baked in your little bakery, conveniently situated across the street from his go-to bar.

Cleverly named Flour Power, it was all pastel both inside and out, with little pots of hyacinths hanging from its window and a big sign above the entrance. Not that Logan ever went there, but he always walked past it when he went for a drink. Flour Power stood out from all the shops with its baby blue windowsills and bubblegum pink door. As much as he disliked vibrant colours, his eyes were always drawn to the bakery. But not because of how it looked or the way it smelled.

No, Logan strategically sat down by the window in the bar to see you. Every evening, he watched you sell everything you had on display, from wedding cakes to éclairs, greetings customers with a warm smile on your face. He watched you turn the sign from open to closed, lock the door, clean the display shelves, the counters, the only two tables and four chairs inside, and sweep and mop the floors. Then you disappeared in the back for a while, perhaps doing the dishes or preparing dough and frosting, before you walked out, locked the door again, pulled down the blinds over the big window on the right side of the door, and left.

It became a ritual for Logan to watch you. In a way, it brought him some peace, despite him never speaking to you. To him, you were innocence personified, the type of girl who made others feel better simply by being there, and he didn't want to disturb that peace.

Tonight was an ordinary night for the 200 year old mutant. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, drank it all, then went to the bar to ask for another round, killing time until you closed the bakery, then he could finally go back to the apartment. You closed at 7 for clients and left at 8:30 every evening except for Sundays, when you didn't work. Logan knew your schedule a little to well, even knew you opened for clients at 8 in the morning, but you were there much earlier, because he could smell the pastries at around half 6. This time, however, you seemed to have a bit more work. It was past 9, it was dark, and you still hadn't left, and Logan was slightly concerned.

He watched you like a hawk, how you tucked rebellious strands of hair behind your ear when you mopped the floor, how you wiped your hands on your cute little apron after you finished scrubbing the countertops. Logan thought you had extra orders from customers, perhaps a wedding cake. He scrunched his nose at the thought of having to try so many flavours only to pick a damn cake that he probably wouldn't enjoy anyway.

But finally, you were done.

It was almost 10 when you locked the door to the bakery, double checking to make sure it wouldn't budge. Then the blinds and off you went. Logan was satisfied to see you go, but the hairs on his back suddenly stood up, his nostrils filled with the scent of danger. Bitter, sour, it went straight to his brain, and so he finished his drink and left the bar, following you down the street but keeping a safe distance.

You walked past a group of drunk men, gripping your tote bag with your left hand and your keys with your right one. You've learned to place the keys between your fingers, like claws, in case someone attacked you. Going home at that time wasn't something you enjoyed, and you always tried to avoid working late, but sometimes that was inevitable. When you heard footsteps approaching you, you picked up the pace, but paranoia kicked in, and you didn't want whoever was following you to find out where you lived, and so you took a detour.

Logan was like your shadow, going everywhere you went, until he heard something drop in a dimly lit alleyway and he sped up, finding you round a corner, pinned to a wall by a man while another guy had his hand up your dress. It was too dark to see, but Logan didn't need eyes to know that was you. He could smell the vanilla extract and icing sugar and fear.

"Take my wallet!" You told the men, but they weren't there for the money. They wanted something else from you.

"Nah, doll, I'll take something else from you. Somethin' more precious than money." One of the men said, his breath reeking of alcohol, the cheap kind.

"Hurry up and fuck her, bro, I need my turn-"

Something flashed, then a shadow lunged at the second guy who couldn't even finish his sentence before he was struck down.

"Mike?" The man who pinned you against the wall asked, his hands trembling on your body. "Stop fucking around."

But Mike was seeing stars somewhere on the alleyway. It happened so quickly you couldn't understand what was going on. When your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you saw him, rough, handsome and very, very angry.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man asked, but all he got in response was a guttural growl. "Hey, man, I don't want any trouble. My girlfriend and I were just talking. Stay out of it." He grabbed you by the neck, dragging you away from Logan.

You seized the opportunity and wrestled out of his grasp by biting your assaulter's hand, dashing behind a bin.

"Ow! Fucking bitch!" He lunged at you, but Logan was quicker, piercing his claws through his shoulder and holding him in place.

"That's no way to talk to a lady." The mutant snarled, and you watched how his claws retracted before he punched the man in the face, effectively knocking him down.

He was the Wolverine. You had seen it all over the news, how he saved your universe, how he came from a different world. You couldn't believe he was the one helping you when you thought no one would save you in that moment.

"You alright, kid?" His raspy voice startled you and you barely nodded, still too shocked to move or speak. "You sure?"

You shook your head and tears rolled down your cheeks as you finally started to process what just happened. Logan scrunched his nose — comforting someone wasn't his strongest skill — and instead he picked up your bag and keys from the pavement.

"Shit, um, don't cry." He handed you your belongings, and you looked up at him with a frown.

How could you not cry when you saw your entire life flashing before your eyes? Logan swallowed a lump in his throat and offered his hand to help you stand up. You looked at his hand, reluctant to grab it. The only thing he could compare you with was a cat — cautious, yet curious.

"No claws." He said when he understood the meaning behind your eyes. "Come, I'll- um, I'll walk you home."

The invitation had you perk up and gain courage, and you quietly took the bag from his hand. He walked with you in complete silence, until you stopped in front of a building. You lingered, unwilling to go in. Logan asked if that was your place, and after you nodded, he offered to take you all the way to your apartment, which made you feel relieved. He could see it on your face when you sighed. You guided him up the stairs, constantly looking behind you to make sure he was there.

You stopped in front of a tall wooden door, keys in hand.

"Go on. I'll wait until you lock the door." Logan encouraged you.

"Can you stay?" You finally spoke, and your voice was sweet like honey, fitting for a baker.

"I don't know, kid-"

"Please." You looked at him with glossy eyes, pupils blown from the fear that hadn't left your body yet. The fear he could still smell.

"Yeah. Okay, I'll stay."

"Thank you."

Logan followed you in, and you flipped the light switch on before locking the door behind him. He looked around and, just as he expected, the apartment was a direct reflection of your bakery — clean, colourful and calm. There were recipes stuck to the walls with pink pins, and between them little paintings of sunsets, skies, flowers, cats. All things cute. They weren't framed, and so Logan figured they were hand-made, his assumptions confirmed by the easel in the corner of your living room.

Of course your sofa had to be colourful, too — mustard yellow with sage green cushions and blankets. Even your curtains were sage green. Despite the explosion of colours, Logan found himself enjoying being there. Not everything had to be brown, black and grey, he thought. Probably the only vibrant thing in his life was his suit, since the only people that brought colour were his friends, and they were gone.

"Drink?" You cracked the walls he put up around his heart with that sweet voice.

You shook a bottle of gin to get his attention and he nodded. Logan wasn't a fan of gin, but he didn't expect you to have any hard liquors. He watched you pull out two blue glasses from the kitchen cabinet, and of course they had to be funky, with white flowers on them.

"Where'd you get these?" He asked, swirling the drink in his hand.

"I made them. Kind of." You said. "Bought them from a charity store and painted the flowers. Do you want some tonic water?"

"Fuck no." Logan choked on his gin when you asked him that question. Simply being in a place so... colourful was enough. He didn't need a girly drink.

"I'm Y/N, by the way."

"I'm-"

"The Wolverine!" You cut him off a little too eager.

"-Logan. Call me Logan." He cringed when the beverage tickled his taste buds. It wasn't bitter enough for him.

"Logan. Thanks for tonight. Is there any way I can repay you?"

The question was riddled with innocence, but he couldn't stop the degenerate thoughts that popped in his mind when you asked him that. You were just so pure that he wanted to both protect you and ruin you.

"Don't mention it. I couldn't just walk past without doing anything." Logan lied, because, really, he wasn't just walking by, was he? No, it was downright stalking.

"I could bake something for you." You offered and he shook his head.

"I don't like sweets, kid."

"What?" You were baffled. "Everybody likes something sweet."

"Not me." He shrugged. "All I like is tiramisu and only if those biscuits are doused in coffee."

"Ladyfingers." You corrected him with a chuckle. "They're called ladyfingers."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious! Here!" You rushed to your pantry and pulled out a whole box of them, showing Logan the name.

"That's just stupid." He shook his head. "Who calls them ladyfingers?"

"Uh, everyone?" You laughed at his surprise, and the thoughts of your bad evening slowly dissipated, like a bad dream.

Logan truly was clueless about baking, but spent hours listening to you talk about types of sugar, extracts and their uses, and the difference between baking soda and baking powder in cooking. You rambled on and on and not once did he get bored. He could listen to you talk for hours with your voice soothing. Logan thought about it, and he genuinely never met someone like you before. The women in his life were all so different, but you took the cake. You were special in ways he couldn't understand. And he was just so drawn to you.

"I'm sorry, I haven't stopped talking once!" You apologised, realising how safe you felt with him there. You would never let a stranger inside your house, let alone talk about baking while having gin. But Logan wasn't a stranger. Not after he saved you.

"'s alright. It's not every day I learn about baking." He chuckled, finishing his drink. "Listen, I should get going."

"Right." You sighed, eyes darting at the floor. "No, of course. I've kept you too long."

Logan got up and you walked with him to the hallway. He was slow to put his leather jacket on, as if he was waiting for you to say something, anything, but when you didn't, he unlocked the door and opened it.

"Hey, Logan?" You tugged at his sleeve, whispering so you wouldn't wake your neighbours. "Are you sure I can't bake you something? Not now, I mean. I really want you to try something besides tiramisu. And that way I can repay you."

"Hell, why not?" He shrugged.

"Great!" You beamed at him like a child on Christmas day. "Stop by my bakery tomorrow at twelve. It's on Granville Street."

"I thought you didn't work on Sundays."

"Oh, how'd you know?" You quirked a brow at him.

Caught red-handed.

"Educated guess."

"Fair enough." His answer satisfied you. "Be there or be square!"

Sleep was for the weak. All night, Logan tossed and turned and abused his poor pillow with with punches. The mere thought of seeing you, no, interacting with you, had him wriggle like a worm on the mattress. It didn't help that Wade instantly noticed something was up.

"Oh, my, did you shower, peanut?"

"Not today, Satan." Logan poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Mmm, and what do I smell?" Wade sniffed the air. "Wait, is that my perfume?"

"Forgot to pack mine when I swapped universes." The Wolverine barked back.

"Hah!" Blind Al chimed in from the living room. "I think tall, dark and handsome here has a date!"

Logan rolled his eyes while Wade pouted, plopping on the sofa next to Al.

"You never called me that."

"That's cause you’re a degenerate." The woman snorted.

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it- ow! Stop hitting me with your cane, I know where you hide your nose candy!" Wade fought back.

"Touch it and I'll bust a cap in your ass!" Al scoffed.

"And I'll regenerate."

Logan used the opportunity to slip into the hallway, but his roommate was quicker, and blocked the door.

"You're not going anywhere until we have the talk."

"The talk?" The Wolverine snorted.

"Ah, they grow up so fast." Wade told Al. "Now, son, when a man and a woman love each other-"

"I'll give you three seconds to fuck off."

"Oh, but I need to know everything! Who is he?"

"She." Logan rolled his eyes.

"Oh my god, is this you coming out to us? Al, he's straight! I promise we love you anyway." Wade went for a hug and all Logan could do was accept it. He learned to live with Wade, even though he dislocated his jaw a few times after he moved in.

"Alright, that's enough."

"Nooo, we're just getting started. Name? Age? Occupation? We could do a double date with Vanessa-"

"Absolutely fucking not." Logan pushed Wade off of him.

"Okay, okay. Just make sure you wrap your willy, and if you need any advice, daddy's here." Wade opened the door for his roommate.

"Actually." Logan lingered in the hallway. "What kind of flowers do girls like?"

The blinds to the bakery were closed but you were inside, pastries in the oven and dessert in the fridge. You couldn't help yourself and prepared something savoury as well, in case he didn't like the lemon cake. A knock on the door startled you, and you rushed to check who it was.

Logan stood there, a bouquet of peonies in his hand. You welcomed him in with a smile, but he could tell it was different than the one you flashed your customers. It seemed more genuine. And it felt like a date.

"These are for you." Logan handed you the flowers, taking in the scent of pork pies. "I thought you were gonna bake something sweet." He flared his nostrils.

"I did, I just thought I should have a plan B in case you didn't like my cake." You placed the bouquet in a vase on one of your tables. "How did you know I liked peonies?"

Logan couldn't believe Wade was right about those damn flowers. And there he was, thinking roses would be better. Maybe the Merc with a Mouth wasn't so bad after all.

"I had a hunch." He shrugged. 

"Well, Logan, I love them! Now sit, sit!" You ushered him to his seat. "I hope you're hungry, because there's a lot for you to try."

"A lot? I thought you'll make me a cupcake or somethin', bub."

"A cupcake?? Don't be silly." Just as you said that, the oven made a loud ding sound, and you turned on your heels, heading in the back.

Logan waited patiently, observing every little detail from the front of your bakery, from the spotless display shelves to the neatly organised paper bags, to the fairy lights around the window. It was obvious to him that you had put your mind, body and soul into this bakery, and his expectations were quite high after all the fuss you made. But he decided to be nice not matter how the food tasted. He couldn't bear seeing you upset if he didn't like what you made.

You reappeared with a tray in your hand, and on it two plates, one with a small pork pie, one with a croissant, and a cup of coffee. Hell, even the cutlery was cute, with swirls engraved on the handles of the fork, knife and teaspoon.

"I decided to leave the cake for last." You said, placing the tray in front of him. "This is a simple pork pie, start with that." You urged him. "Careful, it's hot."

The Wolverine struggled with the cutlery, too small for his large hands, and the brief thought of slashing the pie with his claws crossed his mind, but he decided to be civil. You watched him butcher the food, eager to see his reaction, but he was taking his time.

"I'll let it cool off a bit."

"Ooh, that's probably a good idea." You nodded.

"Aren't you having some?" Logan asked.

"Noo, no. I like to bake for others, not for myself."

"So what do you eat, then?" He sipped on the coffee.

"Instant noodles usually. I'm too tired to cook when I get home. I do occasionally have leftovers, but whatever isn't sold I take it to the local shelter." You explained.

Christ, you couldn't be any kinder. Logan was stunned by your beauty and your soul, which was why he decided that after today, he will stop any interaction with you. He couldn't ruin you, not with his lifestyle, not with the danger that followed him everywhere.

The only problem was that the conversation flowed naturally, and he felt safe with you, just as you did with him. Like you were the missing piece to his puzzle. Logan pushed away those thoughts and decided to try the food. He took a large mouthful of the pie, chewed and swallowed, and you waited expectantly.

"Shit."

"What? Is it bad?" You jumped from your seat.

"Fuck, this is the best pork pie I've ever had." Logan wiped his mouth with a tissue you provided. "I'm serious, kid. Did you put drugs in it?"

You laughed, shaking your head as he finished the rest of the pie. He truly seemed to enjoy it, and you felt so satisfied. But the real test came after.

"Pistachio croissant." You said. "I thought about making almond ones, but I figured pistachio wasn't that sweet."

"Right, let's see." Logan took a healthy bite out of the pastry, and lo and behold, he closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. If heaven had a taste, it would be that damned croissant.

"Is it good?"

"Good? Jesus, this is the best one yet." He finished the rest of it, the pistachio cream tickling his taste buds in all the right ways. "Who taught you to bake like this?"

"My grandma. She was the best cook I knew." You smiled.

Logan noticed your use of past tense, and he didn't want to bring up any bad memories. He wasn't the nosy type, but something possessed him to ask you about your life, your family, your favourite colours. He needed to know more about you, and you answered all his questions, opening up to him like a flower in bloom. But when it came to him talking about himself, Logan was reluctant.

Talking to Wade was easier, because Wade didn't take anything seriously, nor did he ask personal questions. Well, he did, but in his own stupid way that provided Logan some distraction, as well as a reason to punch him. But with you it was different. He felt like he owed you serious answers that he wasn't yet ready to tell a stranger who made a mean pistachio croissant.

"The cake!" You spun on the chair, changing the subject when you saw Logan dodging your questions like bullets.

Although he didn't say it, he was grateful that you didn't put any pressure on him to talk. He wasn't a talker. That was definitely Wade. You came back with the whole cake, and it looked so good that Logan didn't want you to cut it. Perfectly round, a layer of cream in the middle and white frosting on top. You even went so far as to decorate it with all kinds of yellow flower petals and what seemed to be mint leaves.

"Alright, hit me. What's this one called?"

"I call it the Mojito Cake. The sponge cake has lemon zest, the cream is made of lime, mint and rum syrup, and the frosting is buttercream with a dash of actual rum." You explained.

"Shit, I can't tell if that sounds disgusting or incredible."

"Only one way to find out." You cut him a thick slice, and Logan wasted no time trying it.

"I think you found yourself a new customer."

"You're too nice."

"I'm anything but nice, kid." He took three more spoonfuls. "But I ain't a liar. This is delicious." Logan spoke with his mouth full and it made you chuckle.

"Oh, there's a bit of frosting on your face."

"Hm?" He used the tissue to wipe his chin. "Did I get it?"

"No, it's still- here, I'll get it." You leaned forward and delicately ghosted your thumb over the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with his.

Without thinking about it, you dragged your tongue over the frosting, and Logan couldn't look away from you even if he wanted to. A gesture so innocent, but it destroyed any form of restraint. He pressed his lips onto yours, tasting the rum and the cream, but before you could kiss him back, he pulled away.

"Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

You gave him no time to finish his sentence when you placed your hands on his shoulders and kissed him with fire on your tongue. God, he hated being touched, but when you did it, he melted in your hands. Lust battled reason and prevailed, and you found yourself straddling Logan's lap, arms around his neck and chest pressed against his.

His large hands found their way under your dress, fingers digging in the plush of your thighs until a moan escaped past your lips. Logan could've sworn you were pure in all ways — a virgin — so, naturally, he was surprised to see you eager to jump his adamantium bones.

With the last shred of reason left in you, you glanced at the door and window to make sure they were covered, and pushed Logan's jacket off his shoulders, peppering his neck with soft kisses. He wasn't the gentle type, no matter how hard he tried, and he didn't need to be when he felt your hips grind in his lap. It was more than obvious that you wanted him then and there.

Logan lifted you up as if you weighed nothing and slammed you down the empty table. His roughness sent a chill down your spine, because you really wanted him to manhandle you from the moment he stepped foot in your bakery. He kissed you again, pressing his whole against yours until your back hit the table. You felt like a cornered animal with nowhere to go, and the thrill of it turned you on.

"Are you sure you want this?" Logan asked despite you unbuckling his belt.

"I don't want this, I want you. I need you to fuck me so hard I can't walk." You unzipped his jeans, and although he was taken aback by your sudden use of filthy words, he couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing that side of you.

"Greedy little girl." Logan's hand slithered between your legs, fingers rubbing circles over your clothed clit. "Shit, you're soakin' wet. Can feel it through your fuckin' panties already." He flared his nostrils, taking in the scent of your arousal.

With his jeans loose around his waist, you palmed his cock through his boxers, and it didn't shock you for a second that he was rock hard. What did shock you, however, was the size of it. It was probably the biggest you've ever taken, and you didn't want any other man anymore.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, making it clear that you didn't want to waste any more time. Not that you didn't want to suck his dick or explore every inch of his body and worship it the way a man like him deserved it, but you were impatient.

Logan got the hint when you whined and scoffed, and he tore the pink panties off of you, tossing them on the floor. At least he had the decency not to put them on the table, which you were going to disinfect anyway. He pushed his boxers down, and you propped yourself on your elbows to look at him, and it was a sight for sore eyes indeed. He had perfectly sculpted abs, you could see them under the half-lifted t-shirt, but it was his cock that made your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" Logan was smug, confident in his good looks.

"I need to permanently imprint this image on my retina." You told him, and he couldn't help the chuckle.

"Likewise. Now spread 'em."

"Yessir!" You very quickly obeyed, parting your legs for him, and Logan couldn't deny that he enjoyed being in control.

He wasn't one to take orders, nor give them, but watching you comply scratched an itch he couldn't get rid of. Logan pressed the tip of his cock against your slick folds, earning another whine from you. You bucked your hips, craving more, and he scoffed.

"That desperate, hm?"

"You have no idea." You dug your manicured fingernails into his shoulders, bracing for temporary pain, because you knew damn well it would hurt.

"I don't know, I didn't hear you say please." Logan frowned, and you understood what game he was playing. A game you yearned to be part of.

"Oh, please, please, please fuck me, Logan! I'll be so good for you! I'll do anything you want." You clung to his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. "I'll even take it in any hole you want." You whispered, dragging your tongue over his lips.

"Shit." Logan was weak in the knees from your words, and the worst part was that he believed everything you said. But there was a time and place for everything.

You were the perfect mix of sweet and spicy, and you begged so nicely that the Wolverine just couldn't say no. You felt the leaking tip of his cock push past your folds and you audibly gasped at the size of it, drawing blood from his skin with your fingernails.

"It won't fit-" You whined with lust in your voice.

"I'll make it fit." Logan promised, painstakingly slowly thrusting into you.

He gave you time to adjust to his girth, constantly checking if you were alright, if you wanted him to carry on or stop, and while you loved that he was so caring, you needed him hurry up and fuck you.

To assure him that you would survive his monstrous cock, you planted a soft kiss on his nose, and there it was again, the change in your personality, from sultry to innocent. It was as though you embodied everything he ever wanted, and his desire to never contact you again went down the drain. How could Logan ever leave someone like you?

"I'm ready." You nodded, and he pressed his forehead onto yours, slowly rolling his hips.

You weren't ready, because it hurt like a bitch when he stretched out your velvety walls. But the pain was soon replaced by pleasure, and Logan picked up the pace when your whimpers turned to moans, and the slight frown on your face disappeared.

"So tight." He hummed, forehead resting against yours.

Were you tight, or was he just so incredibly big? Either way, you were a panting mess already, clinging to him for dear life, and Logan forgot his worries, even if it was just for that one moment. You were too good to be true, with your parted lips and glossy eyes — a beautiful sight for his sore eyes.

"Fuck, I- fuck!" You wrapped your legs around his waist, the table screeching under you. Not a single coherent sentence could come out of your mouth. "Logan, shit, I-"

"What's the matter? Need something?" He cooed, fingers bruising into your hips. "Use your big girl words."

"Need it ha-harder!" You cried out but he slowed down, confusion written all over your face.

"Where are your manners?"

"Please, daddy, please give it to me harder!"

The term of endearment had Logan quirk a brow at you, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest that you had a daddy kink. And he basked in being called that.

"Are you sure you can take it?"

"Yes!" There was no hesitation in your response. "Fuck, yes!"

Logan growled when he felt your pussy clench around his cock, and he delivered, thrusting deeper, harder and faster into you, until the sound of skin on skin echoed in the bakery, and your breathing became heavier.

"Fuuuuck, I can feel it in my gut!" You threw your head back when the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix.

"Filthy. Little. Slut." Each word came with a thrust and a groan, and he filled you up so good, you became addicted to him.

Your toes curled up, and your legs began to twitch when you felt your orgasm build up. Each push and pull made your vision blurry, and Logan's grip on you tightened as his hips stuttered. He was feral, and he was close, you could feel it in your bones.

"Fuck, Logan, do- oh- don't stop!" Words spilled from your mouth incoherently, and after a few more thrusts, pure bliss rushed through your body.

"That's it, let go." Logan buried his face in the crook of your neck, slamming hard into you until all you could do was chant his name like a prayer.

You felt him fill you up, pussy hot and sticky and sore, and he slowly pulled out, eyes darting at the tissues on the table. He grabbed them, gently cleaning you up, and you couldn’t stop the grin on your face. There was just something about a man like him be so gentle. And you were absolutely delighted to have him take care of you.

"You know," Logan said licking his lips, "I'm beginning to think you didn't want me to just taste your pastries."

"True." You told him smugly. "But you liked them."

"I like you more." He blurted out without thinking.

You felt your cheeks burn at his sudden honesty, and after sliding up your underwear and fixing your dress, you planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I like you too, honey badger."

"Don't ever call me that again." Logan chuckled.

"Not happening. Now, could you pleaaaase help me clean up this place? The last thing I need is a surprise hygiene inspection tomorrow."

He couldn't even imagine what the inspectors would do if they found out you had sex in a bakery, and with a nod, Logan zipped up his jeans and began disinfecting the tables and chairs while you swept the floor.

In less than half an hour you were done, and the shop was squeaky clean. You were satisfied with the end result, and told Logan that you wanted him to have the rest of the cake, pies and croissants. He thought Wade and Al could eat something, and decided to accept your offer.

"Can I come with you? There's quite a few boxes of food." You told him, a sheepish grin on your lips.

"Is that your way of finding out where I live?"

"Maybe. I'll go home if you don't want me with you."

"No, you're good." Logan assured you. "Besides, I'm sure my roommate's gonna devour everything. He'll probably lock you up in our apartment and force you to bake for him."

"I don't know if that's a threat or a promise." You laughed.

"Both. It's both."

You walked with Logan down the street, boxes in your arms, and you were surprised to see him open up to you more. He answered almost every question you had, and you felt him more relaxed. And he was. Logan forgot how much he needed that kind of connection with someone. You were so easy to talk to, you didn't judge him, and most importantly, you listened.

He guided you up the stairs to his apartment and knocked on the door, because he couldn't reach his keys with so many boxes in his arms. You baked for a damn army.

Wade opened the door, and you were taken aback by his appearance, but it didn't scare you. Instead, you introduced yourself as Logan's personal baker, earning a chuckle from him.

"Come on in, Martha Stewart." Wade opened the door enough for you to walk through it with the boxes and not drop them.

"Wade." Logan came back from the kitchen with a croissant. "Eat. Seriously, eat."

You watched Wade wolf down the pastry without hesitation and his eyes lit up. He chewed and swallowed, then moaned, eyes rolling back. The look of disgust on Logan's face was priceless.

"Holy fucking shit, Y/N, what the fuck did you put in this?" Wade grabbed your shoulders, giving them a good shake. "It's so flaky and creamy and buttery, like a bunch of unicorns came in my mouth."

"I'm glad you like it." You giggled. "Try the cake."

"There's cake?!" He ran to the kitchen, leaving you and Logan in the hallway before coming back, a slice of half-eaten cake in his hand. "I am officially impressed. Can you make Rocky Road?"

"Yes."

"Dulce de leche?"

"Yep."

"Baklava?"

"Uh-huh."

"Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte?"

"Yes, Wade!" You rolled your eyes, then turned to Logan. "Sugar rush?"

"Oh, you have no idea. And this is him on a good day."

"Listen, sweet cheeks, if old man fuckface here won’t marry you, I will. Just don’t tell Vanessa." Wade whispered.

"Don’t even think about it, you degenerate limp dick."

"Ugh, fine. And here I was hoping all four of us could be a happy dysfunctional family. Five if you count Al. Six with Colossus. Wait, actually, eight with-"

"Wade, have you tried the pork pies?" You asked, effectively shutting him up.

Yeah, Logan could definitely get used to being around you from now on to sweeten up his life.

[the-sunflower-room]

scared half to death

🌪️tyler owens x fem!reader 

☆ genre: angst, fluff, friends to lovers

☆ wc: 2.7k

☆ summary: tyler owens is not easily angered, but when the love of his life runs into an incoming tornado without a second thought, his emotions get the better of him.

☆ warnings: a very upset tyler, yelling, language

note: so i watched twisters and it was actually everything to me! the brainrot is bad and i’ve been wanting to write for tyler ever since i saw it, so here it is! this is very much the idiots in love trope because it’s one of my favorites. enjoy! :)

“Where is she?”

Tyler isn’t sure if he’s ever felt this angry before. He considers himself a fairly easy going man, always quick to make light of a situation and put everyone in the room at ease with his charming, joking nature.

But this was different. This had his heart pounding, his ears ringing. His face is flushed red and he feels like he can hardly breathe.

All because of her.

He slams the door of his truck, approaching his crew in the gas station parking lot with a look on his face that’s so completely un-Tyler that it makes them all shift uneasily.

“Where’s…who?” Boone tries weakly, unsuccessful in his attempt to play dumb. Lily rolls her eyes and elbows him in the ribs, shooting him a glare.

Tyler clenches his jaw, for once not in the mood for his friends’ antics. “You know damn well who I’m talking about.”

They all exchange glances, his uncharacteristic demeanor both surprising and concerning. This isn’t the calm, charismatic frontman of the Tornado Wranglers they’re used to.

“She’s in the RV, but I don’t think-” Dani begins, but he’s already beelining for the camper before they can finish. He can hear his heartbeat pulsing in his ears as he nearly bursts through the door, finding her sitting at the small table in the back with her head in her hands.

Her gaze snaps up at the sound of his entrance into the RV, and her face immediately drops when she sees him practically fuming. “Tyler-” she says urgently, instantly on her feet as he approaches as if she’s about to defend herself. But he isn’t having any of it.

“You wanna tell me what the hell you were thinking out there?” He seethes, suddenly towering over her with his jaw clenched and hands on his hips. She swallows thickly, nervous around this version of him. Terrified to have upset him, disappointed him.

“Tyler, I promise, I was just trying to do the right thing-” she starts again, her tone practically pleading, but he just scoffs. 

“The right thing?” He questions in disbelief, cutting her off with a shake of his head. “You call nearly getting yourself killed in the field ‘doing the right thing’?”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the reminder of what she’d done, at the venom in his voice that’s ordinarily so gentle when directed at her. Memories of what had transpired nearly 20 minutes ago flood her mind and she feels a lump forming in her throat.

“I couldn’t let our data get lost,” she whispers weakly, her gaze glued to the floor in shame. “Bullshit,” he mutters, jaw clenched as his breath picks up. His eyes search her face, grasping to understand why the hell she had risked her life the way she had.

“You don’t run into the path of an incoming EF3 to recover some stupid equipment for our disruption research,” he practically spits, his voice growing louder, more emotional.

“That equipment is completely replaceable. You sure as hell aren’t. So I want to know why on god’s green earth you thought it was a good idea to run headfirst into danger like that.”

Her breath hitches, her eyes welling up with unshed tears at the reminder of her brashness. She feels ashamed and almost embarrassed as Tyler practically berates her.

They were best friends, a pair that the rest of the team liked to call the “dynamic duo.” With a shared passion for tornadoes and a taste for danger, they had instantly clicked from the moment they met during a chase a few years ago, becoming inseparable. Which is why Tyler’s harsh reminder of her stupidity stung so painfully.

She wasn’t used to hearing him so upset, so emotional in the worst way. With her, his tone was always soft, teasing, sometimes so overtly flirty that it would leave her heart pounding and her cheeks flushed.

But this was different. Now his gaze was harsh, curses unnaturally tumbling from his lips as she struggled to explain herself. And she hated every moment of his scrutinizing stare.

“You’ve worked so hard on putting together the equipment for the disruption research. I didn’t want you to have to start from scratch…not after all the effort you went through,” she explains pathetically, her voice cracking slightly as her emotions begin to shine through.

Tyler shakes his head, stepping even closer into her space. “And you thought it was worth risking your life for?” He grits out, his furrowed brow and downturned lips looking so unnatural on his normally smiling face.

Another shuddering breath escapes her as she catches herself from revealing the true reason she’d been so careless, from baring her soul and telling him that she’d run into the path of an incoming tornado because she loved him more than anything. That the thought of his disappointed face, his devastation over months of work lost to an unpredictably large tornado, hurt her so much that she would have done anything to save that equipment.

Anything to make him happy, to be the hero that he was to her.

“I- I didn’t get hurt, I knew I had time to get at least some of it-” she stammers, but she can’t get the words out.

“You didn’t have time!” He practically yells, gripping her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. His eyes are wide, his gaze burning as he stares down at her.

“If Boone hadn’t been close by with his truck, you could’ve easily not made it. You could’ve died,” he chokes out, his grip on her tightening. His eyes are watering now, his anger fizzling out into something more desperate, more panicked.

Tyler still remembers the pure, unadulterated fear he’d felt as she slipped out of the safety of his truck before he could stop her, sprinting out into the open field where the winds and torrential rain were getting worse by the second.

He remembers the devastated scream of her name that had ripped itself from his chest, lost to the howling winds.

He sure as hell can’t forget the feeling of overwhelming fear and helplessness that overtook him when the rain became so intense that he could not longer see her, no longer assure himself that she hadn’t been sucked up into the raging funnel or hurt by the flying debris.

It was only when he got radio confirmation from Boone five minutes later, stating that she was safe in their truck with some of the equipment intact, that he even knew she was alive.

It had been the most hopeless, terrifying five minutes of his life.

“Don’t you understand what you mean to everyone? What you mean to me?” He rasps, his voice quieter now, more broken. “Some stupid equipment for an experiment isn’t worth your life, Y/N. Not in the least.”

His eyes are tender now as they rake over her face, scanning the scrapes and cuts littering her cheeks, the patch of dried blood clinging to her temple. His heart aches at the thought of her getting hurt, even if the injuries are small.

She notices that nearly all of his anger has left his body, replaced by the emotion that had truly been brewing beneath the surface: crippling fear at the possibility of losing her.

A silent tear runs down her face at his softer, more vulnerable words, her heart breaking as she realizes the effect her thoughtless actions have had on the man she loves. He’s quick to gently wipe it away with the pad of his thumb, his touch lingering on her cheek as he gazes at her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she chokes back a sob. In an instant, he’s enveloping her in his tight, comforting hold, cradling her head to his chest and pulling her so close to him that their bodies are practically molded together.

“Shhh…it’s alright, sweetheart,” he gently hushes, his hand stroking through her hair as she cries softly against him. He’s back to himself now, all anger and frustration long abandoned in favor of his naturally calm, caring demeanor. Through her tears, she feels herself flushing slightly at his term of endearment.

“I’m the sorry one. I shouldn’t have yelled at ya, you didn’t deserve it,” he murmurs into her ear, his arms tightening around her.

He internally berates himself for defaulting to anger when she had also probably been scared and upset. But thinking she had died in that tornado just for attempting to recover his equipment had struck something so deep within him that his brain had reacted irrationally.

He stews in his remorse for a moment longer before admitting a truth that might be a little too vulnerable, a little too revealing of his deep and unwavering love for her, but he has to get it off his chest.

“…You just scared me half to death, darlin��. I can’t lose you...I can’t. It would tear me apart worse than a damn tornado ever could.” His whispered words are so raw and tinged with devastation that her breath hitches against his chest.

Slowly, she peels herself away from his comforting embrace to get a good look at him, and what she finds makes her heart clench in her chest. 

His eyes are red and glassy, obvious signs that he’d been crying. His muscles are taught with anxiety, like every fiber in his body had been tense ever since she fled his truck. His hair is slightly tousled and she instantly knows he’d been running his hand through it the way he does when he’s stressed.

The thought that she could cause him this much worry, this much pain, sucks the breath from her lungs and makes her feel dizzy.

“I only tried to save the equipment because I knew how important the research was to you,” she whispers, her voice still shaky but full of sincerity.

“I know how much it means to you, finding a way to keep these tornadoes from causing so much damage to innocent lives. I just- I wanted to do something brave and selfless for you, the way you always have for me,” she admits softly, swallowing as she meets his gaze.

His lips part slightly at her admission, the reverence in her words staggering. Hearing that she cares for him, finds him brave and selfless, wants to return the way he makes her feel, fills his heart with a love so deep he feels like he’s drowning in it.

“Y/N, you’re-” he rasps, pausing to clear his throat when he hears how raw and weak his voice sounds.

“You’re so damn sweet. Your heart is so big. That’s what I love about you. But please, don’t be as stupid as me. I throw myself headfirst into danger so much because I don’t think first…my judgement gets clouded by the thought of helping someone and I get tunnel vision. Which has put me in one too many potentially life-ending scenarios,” he murmurs, his hands squeezing her slightly as they rest on her shoulders.

“I can’t- I won’t let you be that careless. You mean too much to me.”

Her eyes widen at the tenderness in his voice, the affection and worry dripping from every word. It feels like their conversation is breaching on something deeper, something much more vulnerable and terrifying.

Her mind is hung up on his soft that’s what I love about you. Even hearing the word love directed at her from the mouth of Tyler Owens makes her head spin and her face heat up, and she’s unsure if she’s even breathing anymore.

“Tyler…” she manages, her voice threatening to break with the overwhelming swirl of emotions running through her. She can’t help herself, knows that she’s finally going to put it out there, tell him how she feels no matter how scary it might be.

“I love-” his lips are on hers before she can even finish. The sensation of Tyler kissing her is unlike anything she’s ever felt, and she’s damn sure she never wants him to stop.

His large hand tenderly cups her cheek while the other snakes into her hair, tangling his fingers through the strands as he pulls her even closer. She gasps softly as his grip tightens, his lips moving against her own with an almost feral desperation.

The salt from her tears mixes with his sweet taste – something like honey and peppermint – and she melts further into him and his warmth. She can feel him pour every ounce of his turbulent, pent-up emotions into the kiss, and it leaves her completely breathless.

He’s waited for this moment for so long, and after thinking he’d lost her today, he’d be content to just kiss her like this for the rest of time. Reassuring himself that’s she’s still there, that she’s his. Showing her what she means to him.

Finally getting a grip on his emotions, Tyler pulls away for a moment, wanting to make sure he hasn’t misread the signs, misinterpreted what he’d felt brewing between them for so long.

But a wide, disbelieving grin spreads across her face as she fights to catch her breath, and he suddenly has no doubt that she’s been his all along.

“I’ve been waiting for that for- well, I don’t even know how long,” she laughs breathlessly, slightly woozy from his intoxicating taste.

He huffs a laugh in return, his eyes shining with an overwhelming adoration for the woman before him. “Yeah…I think Boone might owe Dexter and Lily some money,” he jokes softly, his thumb gently brushing her rain-soaked hair away from her face.

His eyes roam over her, taking in every inch of her muddy clothes, her scraped up hands, the shallow cut on her temple. Regret courses through him at the way he’d raised his voice at her, even if it had been out of fear of losing her.

“Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” He murmurs, his voice lower and more serious than before. She gently nods, her hand moving to rest on top of his own as it cups her face.

“I’m ok, promise. It’s just a little scrape from slipping in the mud,” she reassures him, sensing his lingering gaze on her slightly bloodied face. She can practically feel the apprehension in his stare, his constant worry for her well-being so endearing that she just wants to kiss him again and again.

“I promise, Ty. And I swear, I won’t do anything like that again. I just got lost in the moment and didn’t think before acting.” He nods slowly, letting the sincerity in her voice wash over her and comfort his racing mind. 

“You’d better not,” he teases softly, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. “If we’re doing this thing, no more running headfirst into tornadoes, you hear? Can’t have my girl acting like an irrational daredevil like me. I’ve been told she’s smarter than that.”

She feels herself blushing as he calls her his girl, the title rolling off his tongue so naturally that it makes her heart skip a beat. Tyler watches as a hearty laugh escapes her and she leans into his touch, his own smile growing wider.

Suddenly nothing else has ever mattered beyond this moment of her in his arms, blushing and laughing like he’s the funniest damn man in the world.

“Ok, alright,” she giggles with feigned exasperation. “No more running into tornado paths, I swear. Wrangler’s honor. But you have to swear it too. You’re an adrenaline junkie and a trouble maker, even more than I am.”

He chuckles at her playful jab, his body feeling lighter than it has all day as he finally lets the tension within him fade. She’s safe, he tells himself over and over. She’s alive, she’s teasing him like she always does, and she’s got him smiling like a damn fool.

“Baby,” he mutters with that teasing glint in his eye, “you need to get my head checked if I ever run away from you and into a tornado. No man in his right mind would leave a gorgeous thing like you for some wind.”

Before she can reply to his ridiculous comment, he captures her lips once more with his own, relishing in the way she smiles against him as he pulls her closer.

This is all Tyler’s ever wanted - all he’s ever needed. Just her, safe and sound, loving him in all his flaws and worry for her.

If her running into that damn field led to this moment, this reality where she’s finally his, then so be it. He’s never been more grateful for a tornado.

[sinner-as-saint]

here forever

Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Run-through: Dating a superhero was no joke. And as noble as Bucky’s job was, it was just as dangerous and unpredictable. Which is why ever since you and Bucky started dating, he’d been training you in his free time. Teaching you how to defend yourself if ever he wasn’t around to protect you, or if ever his enemies came after you. Although you weren’t perfect at combat yet, you were almost certain you could get out of a tricky situation if you ever found yourself in one. But you were soon proven wrong. And your only option was to hope and pray that Bucky finds you in time. 

Themes: smut, fluff, mentions of kidnapping and death, boyfriend!bucky to the rescue, slight angst, hurt/comfort, mean!dom!bucky, aftercare, biker!bucky (except i made him wear a helmet because safety), mild daddy kink (nicknames only)

a/n: short, quick lil fic because I know we’re all hungry

It had been two hours since these strange men had so easily abducted you off the streets. 

It was a regular day, you were leaving yoga class and were on your way to pick up a smoothie. A treat you always got yourself after each workout class. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except Bucky’s incessant messages asking about your location. 

You knew you weren’t supposed to let your guard down, not even on busy streets – one of the first lessons Bucky taught you just weeks after your first date with him. But you couldn’t help looking down and frowning at your phone. Your bag, purse and phone in your hands. Always have your hands free when walking alone, even on busy streets – the second thing he taught you. 

Always be ready. Always be ready. Always be fucking ready. 

But you had messed up that morning. Bucky’s messages were starting to worry you. He had been away since last night, and as usual, never gave you too many details about his job. But all you knew was that before he left, he’d asked you to try and not go out if you could. Your apartment was safe. He had eyes all over that building. Cameras, security guards, it was the safest place you could be. 

‘Where are you? Why aren’t you home?’

Seconds later: 

‘I told you not to go out. It’s not safe right now. Call me.’ 

Then some missed calls which you couldn’t answer because you were in class at the time. Then messages one after the other: 

‘Go straight home.’ 

‘Is your class over?’ 

‘Go home and wait for me. Don’t open the door for anyone else.’ 

‘Baby I’m so serious right now, go home.’ 

And you were midway through typing an answer to reply to him. To tell him not to worry. To tell him that yes your class was over, and everything was okay and you would call him as soon as you got home. 

But you never got the chance to reply to his messages. 

It all happened too fast. One moment you were looking down, all your focus on your phone and boyfriend, and the next, you were being grabbed and shoved into a dark truck. You barely even got a scream out before the doors were shut and a tape sealed your mouth, ropes snaking around your wrists and ankles. 

And just like that, in less than a full minute, you were taken. 

And here you were now. 

In the back of that same truck which had been driving for about two hours, maybe more. Getting further and further away from the city you lived in, and into more and more unknown areas. 

Fuck! You had messed up. 

You should’ve checked your phone while you were still inside the building. You shouldn’t have been texting on the streets. You shouldn’t have let your guard down. Bucky had been saying for weeks that he suspected people had eyes on him, and consequently you because you two spent a lot of time together. 

He was right of course. He always was. You should’ve listened. You should’ve stayed at home, at least until he got back later today. 

A tear slid down your face, like it had been for the past hours. You silently cried, thinking about all the potential circumstances you could end up finding yourself in. You couldn’t even tell who were the men who kidnapped you because they all wore masks and hadn’t said a single word in the past hours. 

They were armed. And the truck seemed bulletproof. And they kept driving. Nothing said about wanting a ransom, nothing about why they had taken you, or whether they were using you as bait to get Bucky’s attention. Surely they were. 

And a few minutes later, when you heard the familiar roar of a familiar bike, you knew they had his full attention. 

Bucky was here. 

But they hadn’t noticed yet. And you didn’t want them to. So you tried to get all their attention on you by wiggling in the backseat, acting like you were trying to get more comfortable. The two armed men right in front of you just glanced at you and your tied limbs and let you be. 

You noticed the guy in the passenger seat didn’t even bother looking at you. The driver looked into the rearview mirror but quickly looked away and ahead. 

They still hadn’t heard the faint, steady roar of Bucky’s bike. 

Perfect. 

By the time Bucky would get close enough to attack, he would catch them by surprise. And it would be too late for them to react and defend themselves. 

So you kept moving, grunting in annoyance extra loudly just to mask the sound of Bucky’s bike as it got closer and closer– 

A loud gunshot exploded near you. For a moment nothing made sense. 

Then you realised the truck was no longer steady, it was tilted on one side. Bucky had shot one or more of the tires. You sighed in relief, while the men in the vehicle panicked. Muffled voices spoke all at once, one of them telling the driver to drive faster. 

Another, one of the men who was armed in front of you, lowered the window and popped his head and gun out, trying to find whoever was around but it was too late. 

You turned your head and managed to catch a glimpse of him through the rear windshield. Amongst the smoke and dirt flying, there he was. Mounted on his mean bike like a fierce general riding his beast into battle. Except this general wasn’t backed by soldiers. He was alone. 

But army or not, he was still Bucky Barnes. All black bike, black helmet, full biker gear, metal arm catching the sunlight. Guns strapped to his body. He looked like Death. 

A sob shook your body as you ducked and hid under the seats as much as you could as Bucky rain down bullets like hellfire upon the vehicle. He knew it was bulletproof, but you were certain he was doing it just to get the men to use their weapons and waste their bullets on him as fast as possible. 

The loud noises made it seem like your brain was vibrating, your heart was racing, and your ears were hurting with how loud the guns and shouts were. But Bucky was here, and all would be well now. 

A few seconds later, the truck began zig-zagging. You assumed it must be because the driver got shot. More shouts and bullets later, the truck came to a sudden stop. Like it collided with something that was strong enough to stop it even at that speed. 

But there was nothing on the empty streets you had been on. Nothing except… Bucky. 

An eerie silence followed. Then footsteps. The men in the truck had all been shot you realised upon smelling the scent of blood and gunpowder. 

You couldn’t get yourself up, not with your limbs still tied but you tried your best. And you were barely up when you heard the sound of metal literally tearing apart. You managed to peek from the back seat and Bucky had torn off one of the doors. The entire door off the side of the truck. 

You couldn’t call for him, but you kicked the back of one of the seats hard enough to get his attention. 

The moment his ocean blue eyes met your teary ones, you couldn’t help but start crying. Hot, burning tears streaming down your face as Bucky almost tore apart the entire truck to get to you. The moment he grabbed you and pulled you out into the open air, it was only his arm around you keeping you up. 

“I’ve got you,” He whispered over and over again, “You’re safe. I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.” He repeated continuously as he carefully peeled the tape off your lips and cupped your face in his hands, looking at you intently to look for injuries while he wiped your tears away. “Are you hurt?” He asked, looking more panicked and worried than ever. “Baby, answer me. Did they hurt you? Inject you with anything? Touch you?” 

You shook your head, wanting nothing more than to just be able to take a deep breath, now safe in his arms. Only when you went to wrap your shaky arms around him, he stopped you. Keeping you at arms’ length and away from him. 

That worried, soft look in his eyes turned cold. Even under the afternoon sun, you shivered under his gaze. 

“What the fuck did I tell you before I left, huh?” He snarled. “I told you to stay inside, don’t leave the building. Didn’t I say that?” 

You sniffled, nodding. “I just went to my weekly class, and–,” 

He cut you off, hissing, “And look what happened!” He was almost screaming in your face, “You’re so lucky I got here in time. You’re so fucking lucky I have a tracker in that bag of yours. Otherwise it would’ve taken me days to get to you! Days!” 

You trembled, knowing he was right. Bucky dealt with dangerous people. He knew why he asked you to be cautious. 

Bucky leaned closer to you, looking down at you with no warmth. “These aren’t the villains you read about in your silly, little fucking books.” His voice sounded menacing, freezing. “These are actual, dangerous people. They wouldn’t have waited for you to charm your way out. They would’ve killed you!” He yelled. 

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed. “I was replying to your texts and–,” 

“We had a deal, didn’t we?” He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look at him. “That when I tell you it’s not safe out there, you stay put. You stay inside and wait for me.” He growled. “You could’ve been killed today! And who would have had to live with that, huh? Who would’ve had to live with the disappointment that he couldn’t keep you safe? That he brought you into this shitty life and couldn’t even keep you alive?” He bellowed. “Who would’ve had to look your family in the eyes and tell them he lost you? Me! That’s who!” 

More tears, and a whimper escaped your lips. “I’m sorry.” You whispered. You had never seen this side of him. He let go of your face like it burned to touch you. 

He looked around, at the torn apart truck. At the bodies. The bullets on the ground. He grimaced but didn’t say anything. He reached into the truck and grabbed your things. Your bag and all that you had on you when you were taken. Your phone wasn’t here though, they must’ve thrown it out onto the streets while they took you. 

Bucky said, “We need to get out of here. Come.” 

He didn’t turn around to see if you were following, he knew you would. Once he got on his bike, he handed you his jacket and helmet. You put both on without questioning where you were going. 

Once sat behind him, your arms hesitantly around his torso, he turned to the side and said, “City’s not safe right now. We’ll spend the night at a motel nearby.” 

And that was all he said for the next few hours. 

– 

By the time you two made it to the motel – which was much, much more decent and clean than you had imagined – the sun was already setting. The place was quiet. A few voices conversing here and there, ACs humming as ACs do, cars coming in and out frequently given there was a gas station nearby, and a burger joint on the other side of the street. 

Bucky got you two a room for the night, and didn’t say a word to you as he grabbed your hand and led you to the room. 

It was a decent room. Bed, bedside tables, TV, sofas. The usual. 

You didn’t notice Bucky had packed a bag as well. You hadn’t been paying much attention anyway. He placed his much bigger bag on the bed and pulled out a few things. Some belonging to you, you noticed. Toothbrush, soaps, clean clothes. 

He handed a bunch of things to you and said, “Go shower.” He didn’t even look at you as he spoke. Guess he was still angry at you. 

You didn’t argue. You just took the things and rushed to the bathroom, locking yourself in there for a good half an hour. 

When you stepped out of the shower, feeling clean finally, you noticed Bucky wasn’t in the room. And the weather outside had changed. You could hear the faint thunder approaching. Surely by tonight there would be a storm. 

But where had Bucky gone? 

You put your clothes away in your bag, and with no phone you had no choice but to turn the TV on. You got in bed, a few minutes into watching some random documentary when Bucky walked in with food. 

You gave him a look, wondering if he would talk to you now. But all he said as he placed the bags filled with food on the bed was, “It’s none of your fancy green smoothies and healthy wraps, but it’ll have to do for now. I’m going to shower.” 

Then he disappeared. 

You were still upset, but then hunger took over and you pawed at the bags like a raccoon. You found milkshakes, fries, and burgers. And you ate while you wondered how long Bucky would keep being angry at you. 

You were halfway through your second burger when Bucky walked out of the shower. With nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His wet, dark hair pushed back, droplets of water still dripping down his chest and abs. 

You swallowed your food before you choked, then looked away, acting as if the documentary on the TV was much more interesting to look at compared to your half naked boyfriend. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He asked, and you noticed he was carrying a first-aid kit in his hands. 

You shook your head. 

“Nothing? No scratches, nothing?” He asked again. 

You shrugged, “Just a small cut. It’ll heal. Nothing serious.” 

He walked over to your side of the bed, and said, “Show me.” 

You didn’t want to argue so you placed your food aside, lifted your shirt and showed him the minuscule cut on your ribs. “It’s not–,” 

But he cut you off by placing the kit down and looking for some cotton and disinfectant. 

It burned as he cleaned in and put a little bandaid over it. It hurt even more when he didn’t kiss it after like he usually does whenever he tends to your cuts and wounds. 

You didn’t say a word though. And soon, you both finished your food in silence with only the TV and the approaching storm as noise in the background. 

The thunder got louder and louder as you both got into bed. That weird silent treatment continued, and by now you were annoyed as well. You’d admit, it was your fault for being so careless when he’d told you to be cautious. But didn’t he see that you needed him now? 

Couldn’t he see you wanted to be held? And kissed? And comforted? 

You frowned in the dark. The lights from outside came through the blinds and lit the room up a little bit. As did the lightning. You were the only one tossing and turning you noticed, Bucky was asleep it seemed. 

But the thunder, the new bed, the fear and stress from earlier, it was all keeping you from falling asleep. Plus, it was a little embarrassing to admit, but you liked being held while you fell asleep. But Bucky wasn’t even talking to you, and wrapping your own arms around yourself wasn’t working. 

Another hour went by. Now the heavy rain finally came, along with a proper thunder storm. And you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You turned to face Bucky and he had his eyes shut, facing you. Not a single item of clothing on his body, except for a thin sheet covering him from the waist down. You sighed, frowning a little in annoyance still but you couldn’t help but scoot closer to him, seeking his warmth and embrace. 

First you pressed into him, to see if he would stir or wake up. He didn’t. So you got bolder and took his metal arm and placed it around you, waiting again. He didn’t move. So you went to wrap your arms around him, and once you did, you heard his sleepy voice saying, “Oh, what’s this? Now you need me?” 

You froze, trying to see if you could pretend you were asleep already. He didn’t buy it. 

“I know you’re awake.” 

You sighed. “It’s the thunder.” You said, nuzzling his warm neck. 

“And you need daddy to protect you now, little bunny?” He mocked. “But when I try to tell you what to do to keep you safe you never listen.” 

You noticed he kept his arm around you, pulling you more into him even as he chided you. “I’m so sorry, Buck. It won’t happen again.” 

He hummed. “It better not.” 

You were quiet for a second or two, then said, “You were so mean to me earlier.” 

“I have to be.” He said sternly. “You never listen. You don’t take your training seriously, you think you’re ready to fight your way out, baby, but you’re not. All I asked you to do was not to leave that apartment until I got there. But you couldn’t help but be a brat, could you?” 

You squirmed in shame. “I don’t want you to be angry with me.” 

“Well,” He said, sounding sassy as he pulled you closer, “I am pissed. Deal with it.” 

You had had enough. You slipped out of his arms, “Stay here and brood then,” You tried to get out of bed, “I’ll sleep on one of the sofas–” 

Bucky didn’t let you. A loud thunder boomed right above as he pulled you back into bed and climbed on top of you. “Stop being fucking difficult.” He hissed. 

Before you could answer, his mouth was on yours. Beard scratching your face, his long hair tickling the sides of your face. 

His kiss was rough and it hurt in the best way. Bucky pulled away for a brief moment, squeezed your cheeks so you couldn’t close your mouth. “Brat.” Glaring down at you, he spat in your mouth before kissing you again. 

Your brain felt like it was floating. His kiss was hot. And messy. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, “Needy little brat. Can’t ever do as you’re told, can you? You almost got fucking killed today, but you don’t care about that. Do you? Huh?” 

You were quiet. Your brain was too foggy with lust to function. 

“Why are you quiet? No bratty words for daddy?” He asked, sliding his rough hands up and down your parted thighs. You spread them even more the moment he touched you and he smirked when he noticed it. “Go on, tell me to stop. Tell me to let you go.” He taunted, knowing full well you would never do that. 

All you did was whimper as he touched you mindlessly, sliding his fingers up and down your slit, spreading your wetness around. 

“You’re gonna listen from now on.” He stated. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll lock you in that apartment if I have to. But from now on, if I tell you it’s not safe out there, you do not leave that house. You hear me, princess?” 

Silence. Which earned you a slap on the thigh. You yelped in pain before glaring at him. “Fine,” You said, “Yes, I hear you. I’ll be good.” You whined. 

“Of course you will,” He said, his metal hand pinned you down on the bed by wrapping around your neck to keep you in place, while his other hand wrapped around his cock. Pumping it once, twice while holding your stare. “‘Cause I’ll have you over my knee and spank that little butt raw if you don’t.” 

You whimpered and squirmed because of how badly you needed him inside you. “I will. I’ll be so good,” You begged, “Buck, please.” 

Bucky wasted no time sliding inside of you. Giving you no time to even think, he moved in and out of you in a way that had you moaning out loud, not caring that the walls might be thin. 

The storm got louder somehow, thunder rumbling and lightning lighting up the room every now and then. The rain got heavier, silencing the rest of the world as Bucky fucked you. His body weight pressing down onto you in a way that made you never want to be anywhere else. 

It didn’t matter that you were in a small motel room, so far away from home. It didn’t matter that danger could still be lurking around. Nothing mattered, not when he held your stare as he fucked you hard and fast, barely giving you time to breathe right. 

He leaned in again, whispering against the corner of your open mouth, “Look how you behave the moment you have some cock in you. Is that all my baby wanted? Daddy’s cock? Hmm? Is this why you’ve been pouting for the past few hours?” He chuckled, spreading your thighs even more, “I’ve been mean to you, haven’t I?” He cooed, fucking into you deeper somehow. “I’ve been so mean by telling you just where you messed up and how bad things could’ve gotten if I didn’t reach you in time. I’m so mean to you, aren’t I?” He mocked you, scoffing, “Is that why your pussy is strangling my cock, baby? Because daddy’s so mean to you, is he?”

You could feel your face getting hotter as your walls clenched around him over and over again, as he sped up and pounded into you. You felt all of him stretching you out, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on. 

“Is this what you wanted, little bunny?” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “Is this enough to make you behave from now on, baby?” 

You moaned at how perfect his warm body felt on top of yours, his weight pressing down on you. His stubble tickled your skin as he kissed your face and bit on your lip. Your legs trembled as his thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body grew, familiar, tight and hot.

The storm, the streetlights, and every little bit of light allowed you to see how Bucky looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. He smirked, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you each time he thrust in. “I killed for you today.” He whispered, “I saved you, and this is what I get? Attitude? A bratty girl? Not even a thank you,” He scoffed, “Not even a ‘thank you for saving me daddy’, nothing.” The cold cruelty in his voice only made you clench around him harder. 

His hand squeezed your throat again, making you moan even louder. “Dirty little slut. Look at you, all cock drunk.” He scoffed, giving you yet another messy kiss. “Are you gonna be good from now on?” 

“Yes,” You whined, not recognising your voice because of how desperate you sounded. Then again, only he could make you sound this way. You whimpered, unable to say anything else because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. 

Fuck, you needed this. So much. You whined again when his hand let go of your throat, fingers trailing down your squirming body until his metal fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly. 

“Yeah?” He stared deep into your eyes as he spoke. “You’re gonna be my good girl and listen to me?” 

You nodded, tears streaming down your face again. The exhaustion from earlier, the day you had survived. It was all too much. “Please…” You whimpered, squirming and unable to hold back anymore. You needed to come so bad. Your thoughts were a mess. 

“Good girl.” 

And you couldn’t hold back anymore. You came undone all around him. Moaning, your back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him even harder than earlier. 

Bucky kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under him. “That’s it, babygirl. Come for daddy.” 

You could hear the untamed hunger in his deep, growly voice. He groaned until he came undone as well. You whined and whimpered as you felt him filling you up, his thrusts slowing down, his cum dripping down your inner thighs. 

—

You vaguely remember his cleaning the two of you. He let you rest for a minute, but then it seemed like he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. So he flipped you around, straddled you and began massaging your worn out body. 

He rubbed his rough hands all over your back, down your hips, and thighs. It was quiet for a while. Just the rain, the thunder, and the sound of Bucky breathing. 

Then you heard his gentle voice. “I can’t lose you. Not you.” He whispered, like he was saying it to himself, “Not you, baby.” 

Your heart throbbed and pinched.  

He leaned down and kissed the back of your neck, your shoulders, down your spine, all while massaging your body. “I don’t like being mean to you.” He kissed his way up again, nuzzling your ear and whispering, “Earlier today,” He spoke softly, “When I watched the tracker show me how fast you were getting further and further away, thinking about how they must’ve grabbed you. How easily, how quickly they took you, I–,” His voice cracked. 

You couldn’t help the tears anymore, “I’m sorry.” You tried to turn over and face him but he gently pushed you back down on the bed. 

“Shh,” He shut you up. “Just let me take care of you.” His hands touched you everywhere. Soft touches soothing the spots he’d grabbed harshly earlier. “You scared me, baby.” He kissed around the cut on your side. “For a moment I thought I’d never see you again.” 

“I’ll be good, I promise.” You sniffled, trying to look at him over your shoulder. “I’ll train harder, I’ll be better. I won’t let my guard down, ever.” 

He leaned in and kissed your lips gently. “You’re perfect.” He stated. “We’ll work on training you better. We’ll be okay. Don’t worry baby, I’ve got you. Always.” 

You gave him a teary smile and sheepishly said, “Thank you for saving me.” 

Bucky laughed softly, nuzzling your neck again, kissing your skin like he couldn’t get enough. “I would burn this entire world down if anyone tries to take you from me again.” 

You laid your head back down on the pillow, laughing softly. Thinking he was joking. 

He wasn’t.

[shegetsburned]

Uhm hi 👋🏻 could you please write something about Gojo, Nanami, Geto and Toji's reactions to their significant other's life being threatened? Like heartbreaking stuff that ends up well? 👉🏻👈🏻

LOSING YOU w. jujutsu kaisen men ˚ 𐙚 ⋆.

.angst/fluff.

• — ft. satoru gojo, kento nanami, suguru geto, toji fushiguro. took me ages to get to but i’m a sucker for angst, so i just had to do it. thanks for the request, luv! • — content. their reaction to your life being threatened. • — tw. mentions of death, violence, murder.

satoru gojo

₊˚⊹ ᰔ as soon as your name came out of yaga’s mouth, satoru wasted no time and vanished. he searched every place he knew, every corner and alley, in a matter of seconds. there was no coherent thought in his mind while he teleported. the only thing he could clearly see was you. that you were in danger and that you needed to be saved. that he couldn’t let you die and that he previously had so clearly promised that he’d never let anything happen to either you or him.

a liar, he thought he was. how could he have let this happen? what was the point of being the strongest sorcerer if he couldn’t even protect you. he really did believe nothing could happen to you if he was by your side. he’d murder anyone who’d ever try to harm you without even looking back. this time wouldn’t be any different.

he felt his heartbeat reach his ears when he finally felt you near an ally, back pressed against the wall. a hand on your chest, crimson blood dripping down your shirt. jerky breaths escaping your trembling lips. this curse had taken his sweet time with you. it wanted to feed and you were a tasty dinner. there were marks of struggle on your shredded clothes and bruised wrists.

nothing came out of satoru’s mouth when his eyes landed on you. he just couldn’t believe he had let this happen to you. his expression was stoic. when he slowly approached you the curse immediately felt it. the strongest sorcerer doesn’t let most curses escape from his grasp. but this one.. this one would inevitably suffer the most.

it wasn’t long before the curse felt his body being pushed against the wall in front of you. a yelp was heard when his skull hit the wall head-on. you could hear the bones crack and send shivers through your entire being. that’s when you realized your boyfriend had finally arrived. but when you lifted your head trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes he had already turned all his attention towards the threat.

you had never seen him like this. he was lifeless. his eyebrows were lowered and pulled closer together. you could’ve sworn his eyes bulged. he was enraged. he didn’t even bother to raise his arm towards the curse, he just advanced and slowly- very slowly crushed every little bone in the monster’s body.

you were out of breath but couldn’t shift your gaze from the horrible spectacle in front of you. the wall caved under the pressure as gojo used his infinity to create a space between him and the curse which only crushed it more. it was cruel. cruel but deserving considering the circumstances.

the curse’s body was retracting upon itself with no way out. a loud and piercing cry followed the sound of the wall being crushed under the weight of the infinity. the only thing you found the strength to mumble under your breath was your boyfriend’s name.

after a few seconds, black smoke emanated from the crushed bricked wall with no curses in sight. no remains, nothing. your heavy breath filled the air as satoru finally sighted. you could barely see his eyes when he turned to you, crouching down at your height.

his violence had surprised you, but you were so relieved. tears ran down your cheeks when you tried to speak. you tried to reach for satoru when he crouched but he was quicker and wrapped one arm around your back and another supporting the back of your head. he held you close and it made you feel at home. his scent and touch reassured you when you buried your head in his neck.

still silent, he held you tightly close to his chest. his hand threaded your hair, a slight pressure applied so he could make sure you were okay. you could feel all his anger slowly fade when you returned the gesture with one hand against his chest. your tears slowly fading as you felt the warmth of satoru around your body.

“satoru..”

he shushed you. always pulling you closer and closer to him. he wasn’t going to leave this time. he’d never let you endure something like this ever again.

“i’m right here. you’re safe. lend me your pain, baby. i’ll carry you the rest of the way.” he whispered into your ear, caressing your back so that you’d warm up to his touch. you could feel he was slowly coming back to being the satoru you knew.

you were safe in his arms but guilt still ran deep inside of him. he promised to take you to shoko as soon as possible, resting by your side until you were completely healthy. he also promised himself to assign you with an escort when he couldn’t be here to protect you.

satoru’s only concern was you and he’d never let anything get in the way of your well-being ever again. if he had to show every curse on this earth that he’d destroy them if they ever tried to get near you, he’d have no hesitation in doing so. you were safe. you knew it, now.

kento nanami

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you were the most important person for nanami. his one and only. his love, his soul, his heart. he would’ve resigned in an instant if you hadn’t begged him to keep his job as a sorcerer. but knowing his personal feelings about loss, you knew it’d break him if something came to happen to you. that is precisely why you always acted cautiously, never putting yourself in harm's way and living your life as safely as you could. unfortunately, this time, your efforts had been in vain.

when he saw you, helplessly struggling at the mercy of a first-grade curse wrapped around your throat, all he could think about was how much he regretted not having taken a safer job and bought you that house you both talked about so much on a beach in malaysia.

he knew he needed to act quickly or the curse would finish you off as easily as it had taken you hostage.

you wiggled your feet when it lifted you off the ground, hands desperately scratching and holding onto his grasp so he’d let go of his claws around your throat. you could feel kento’s eyes on you but couldn’t even dare to look at him or do anything else than push against the claws so they wouldn’t crush your neck further.

therefore, you couldn’t see him remove his tie, wrapping it tightly around his knuckles. he knew he couldn’t use a weapon, scared that the curse would use you as a shield. his fists were more precise and his sword wasn’t enough to unleash the rage he had built up inside.

he slowly made his way to the curse but, with every step, its hold crushed you more. you were so scared, almost out of breath with tears rolling down your cheeks. these cheeks kento had kissed so many times to take away your pain. you were hoping he’d do it once more.

once he realized that the threatening stance he was in only alarmed the curse, kento stood down, lowering his curse energy’s flow to an almost invisible state. he made himself look harmless in the face of the monster which slowly but surely helped you to breathe better.

you knew your husband. you had heard it several times from yuji and Ino and you also personally knew that he always handled things the right way. this is was kept you from breaking down and letting go of your almost meaningless fight against the curse’s strength. you had never doubted him and you wouldn’t now. he built his strength with yours. that’s what kento had told you the day he had asked for your hand.

his eyes were locked with your struggling gaze. despite him trying to contain himself, his veins stood out from how tightly he clenched his fists. he would’ve massacred the curse right here and now if it hadn’t cowardly taken you hostage. nanami might have seemed harmless in the moment but his anger was apparent.

without thinking much about it, he threw his sword aside, lifting his hands above to show complete surrender to the curse.

“let her go.”

the furious and deep voice of your husband made you whine, finally hearing a sign from him. unfortunately you could feel that the curse was still hesitating. the clinging of the sword on the ground had startled it which only showed kento how weak it really was. it also showed that it did not want to fight but preferred to flee.

this strange demeanor encouraged kento to step closer, hands still in the air, and that’s when he saw his opening. the curse was looking left and right to find an escape which diminished his attention and loosened his grip around your throat. it lasted just a few seconds but it was enough for you to breathe out his name.

“kento..”

that’s when he drew his fist and used all of his force and cursed energy to deliver a devastating blow right into the curse spirit’s face. it was sent flying several meters away after dropping you so kento could easily catch you and keep you from hitting the ground, arms wrapped around your body.

it only took one hit. one punch to obliterate half of the curse’s body in pieces. the shock had been so violent that your savior’s knuckles bled on your shirt through his yellow tie.

“mine.”

you could feel his heavy breath against your neck when he got on one knee, holding you against him, a hand carefully placed on your cheek. his thumb caressing your skin and whipping the single tear you shed.

“my love..”

kento’s expression had returned to the one you knew. the calm but stoic gaze he wore returned your breath to a normal pace. his arms pulled you always closer to him and he felt his sense come back when your fingers brushed the hand he had placed on your shoulder. you couldn’t talk or you’d burst into tears so you smiled in admiration.

he placed his warm lips upon your forehead and you could feel how scared he had been, maybe even more scared than you. his eyes were stuck on your finger, the one that wore his ring.

losing haibara had crushed his soul to tiny little pieces and you had been the one to delicately put them all back together with your innocent kindness and understanding. he’d be damned if he was to let something happen to the one who saved his heart.

this was the first and last time your life had been threatened, thanks to the careful supervision of kento but also his promise to quit his job and buy that house. he hadn’t realized how much he already had with you and would curse anybody who tried to take his happiness away from him ever again.

suguru geto

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you trusted him. you trusted that, if you were in pain, suguru would find ways to eradicate that pain. you trusted that if you showed any sign of distress, he’d be by your side helping you in any way he could. most importantly, you trusted that he’d protect you no matter the cost and no matter the consequences, because he was devoted to you. if there was something he’d burn the whole world for, it’d be you.

these men, these humans, these pathetic monkeys that had attacked you on your way home never knew what would come for them. you were beaten and almost lifeless when the men started searching for any kind of money or jewelry you had on your person. of course, you had resisted. that’s the only thing you could do, because you were so scared that if you had willingly complied to their demand they would’ve asked for more.

being helpless was scary. you thought it wouldn’t be so scary with suguru by your side, but right now you had never been more terrified. you also knew that your boyfriend would never forgive the men that harmed you, so the only thing you could do was wait. because you did not doubt him. you never doubted him. you knew he’d come for you.

when the men had finished checking your bags and any belongings you had on your person, one approached you, lifting your chin with a vulgar smile. you couldn’t even look at him in the eyes but hit bullseye when you spat directly in his face making him drop you in anger. he cursed under his breath before tightly grabbing you by the collar. a hand in the air so it’d land on your face.

with a weak and desperate groan you turned your face away but was surprised when the slap never landed.

when you reopened your eyes to look at your aggressor, he had his own hands wrapped his throat. it’s like he was struggling to breath, a firm pressure was crushing his neck as he tried to break free from this invisible hold.

when you realized what might be happening you tried to take a peak at the other men who were all struggling with the same problem. scratching and screaming at the invisible menace that were preventing them from breathing.

under the distressed shoutings, a cocky laugh attracted your gaze. when you turned to look at the source, your face lit up at the sight of suguru. but he didn’t look as relieved as you were. his laugh was dark, almost cynical. it was psychotic and displeased.

you had seen him despise simple-minded humans before but killing them was a different story. he wasn’t only taking their lives, he was torturing them. their necks were getting slowly squashed by the curses he had sent on them.

seeing you struggle to breath, helpless at the hand of those who had harmed an innocent girl like you. his girl. it had awaken another kind of hatred in him. a hatred that had been buried deep for so long.

suguru took one good look at you, searching for your eyes but you were incapable of keeping them open. you were just glad your boyfriend had arrived. you knew you were safe when you rested your eyes, a small smile of satisfaction drawn on your lips.

when he concentrated his gaze back on the man that had touched you, he crouched in front of him, getting to his level before taking over the curse and wrapping his hand around the stranger’s neck. tormenting him and taking the air away from him. suguru tightened his grip, his smile fading when he brought the man closer and closer towards death.

“so you think you can just harm her and get away with it?”

the man was hissing swears as small cries of help escaped his bloody lips. his face was swollen and breaking down under suguru’s hold and his watering eyes looked like they would pop out of their socket sooner or later. that’s how tight he held the man.

“pathetic.”

he fed on their cries. helplessly calling out for help, the men only fueled his rage with their insufferable sounds. the sorcerer remembered every time he had felt an ounce of empathy for these beings in the past and regretted every actions he had done to protect them when he saw your wounded state. what they had done was inexcusable and no amount of pain would be enough to atone for it.

after a while, resigned, your offender chocked out a weak apology. but as he did, all the bones in his body instantly broke under another a new kind of pressure coming from yet another curse suguru had unleashed upon him. so now he laid there, between your boyfriend’s compressed clutch. dead.

after a few seconds he dropped the body on the ground like garbage waste and walked to you, passing by the other men that were struggling to breath. he pushed the first one aside with his foot, throwing one on the ground, creating a path for him to walk to you.

“move. i’ve come to take what’s mine.”

on suguru’s command, two snaps followed when the curses broke the other men’s necks before they fell on the floor. three lifeless corpses were now scattered in front of both of you, and as soon as he made sure those stupide monkeys had payed for what they had done, he joined you.

when he leaned towards you, his hand grazed yours, wrapping it with his own in a warm grip. his eyes searched for yours, lifting your chin with his thumb before running it along your jaw, making comforting circles on your cheek.

“are you alright, my love? can you walk?”

suguru’s tone was calmer than before. his eyes never left yours when he wiped one of your tears. his comforting smile reassured you and you nodded at his question, holding onto his wrist when he helped you up, closing the distance between the two of you.

you could hear his calm heartbeat when you leaned against his chest, hiding between his arms and you wondered how he could be so tranquil after killing these men so easily. little did you know the only thing he felt was rage. he knew he was right to despise these inferior beings that had harmed the only important thing that mattered.

he could’ve burned the world for you.

toji fushiguro

₊˚⊹ ᰔ toji fushiguro was an asshole. a first-class asshole. you guys had slept together left and right and he always left first. you had no expectations regarding the man. no doubt that you were replaceable. he didn’t open up much and never talked about his work which didn’t alarm you much considering toji’s character.

basically, emotionally and personally speaking, you two weren’t close. that’s why, when two strangers raided your apartment, screaming fushiguro’s name in anger, you wondered why you had accepted to sleep with a man with a secret and violent past.

your furniture was on the floor and the men had destroyed most of your electronics so you had no way to call for help. one was guarding the door while the other took care of questioning you. it had something to do with a bet and broken promises. of course, money had to be involved, otherwise, why would they be threatening the girl he had slept with once or twice to know of his whereabouts?

tied to a chair, almost unconscious, he had been covering you with bruises and scratches using anything that he could find but you still gave him the same answer. you had no idea where toji was as he never kept contact with you. he was always the one that came to you. and if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t expect him to come save you anytime soon.

after a while, when the man realized he might not easily get an answer out of you, he reached in his back, pulling out a pistol from the edge of his pants. at the sight of the gun, your heart shattered. that was it for you, you thought. you couldn’t get out of this mess and you would die convinced toji was out there somewhere, probably getting rich and fucking naive girls like you.

you couldn’t even talk anymore, your head was hanging in front of you, blood dripping from your mouth to your thighs. you didn’t know if you’d last long, your vision was blurry and you felt yourself chasing the dark tunnel that clouded your eyesight.

you could hear faint words of command when your chin was lifted with the cold metallic canon of the pistol. the man had your life between his hands. you knew he’d pull the trigger if he eventually realized you couldn’t give him any information he needed. you knew he would kill you. it was so easy and you were pissing him off.

your eyes never left his nervous figure which only frustrated him more and, out of instinct, he slapped you with the handle of the pistol, almost knocking the air out of you. your jaw was broken and tears were flooding your eyes when the blow forced you to look away.

but as he pulled his arm up, preparing for another strike, he seemed to stop in his movement, startled by something behind him. sounds of struggles and a broken door were heard when he shifted his gaze entirely towards the front of your apartment. his accomplice had disappeared which alerted the man and made him call out to him.

several seconds and unanswered calls later, on his guard, the armed stranger decided to go take a look. as soon as he took a step towards the broken piece of wood that was left, a corpse dropped to his feet.

it was the other man, and he seemed to have been brutally murdered from the back, a hole at his heart’s level revealed the level of violence he had endured which left the man panicked and distressed. sweat was covering his forehead when he tried to peak out the door, fingers trembling against the handle and trigger.

unfortunately for him, a tall and broad shadow quickly covered him, before a shot came off. one single gunshot followed by a loud thud.

you could barely make up the identity of the person who had saved you with your weak sight, but his odour was enough for you to distinguish the man clearly. he always smelled the same.

toji was here. he was standing in the doorway, a tight grip around his gun and a grin covering his scarred lips. “can’t believe they send these weaklings to come after me.”

he carefully stepped between the cadavers, examining the poor state of your apartment and their lifeless bodies before his gaze shifted to you. a quick exchange was enough for you to sigh in relief and let yourself relax to an unconscious state.

despite himself, he did feel an ounce of guilt when he took a good look at you. his mistakes had almost gotten you killed. he couldn’t have imagined how he would’ve felt if he had arrived too late. the blood on your face, the broken jaw and the many scars were revealed by the moonlight passing through the door. the cold air misplaced your hair for toji to see tears strolling down your face.

his grin faded as he stood still in front of you and the mess he had made. his grip had loosened around the gun but he slowly moved the canon towards the second man he had killed. without hesitation, he emptied his clip through the culprit’s head, a look of contempt and disgust plastered on his face.

“tsk.. you just had to go and get yourself noticed, hm?” he said, now focused only on you.

thanks to toji, you were safe now. and you had silently thanked him for coming back for you.

carrying you bridal style as you laid there now unconscious but safe in his arms, he placed his thumb against your jaw, tilting your head to get a proper look at you. even now, you were so beautifully calm and your cheeks wore a pink tint, probably because of the cold, which only accentuated your beauty and innocence.

with a sigh, like it weighed on his conscience, toji murmured. “guess someone’s gonna have to take care of you, from now on.”

but the truth was far from what it appeared to be. saving you that night had just brought the man closer to the conclusion that he cherished you more than he thought he did. you weighed on his conscience like a guilty obsession which he could only nourish by spending more time by your side.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.