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stellamancer · 8 months ago

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beyond the unending night (reader + satoru gojo)

notes: it's finally here. the long awaited halloween fic. yes, i know it's march, but i did start working on it in september. haha. there's so much i could say, but i will leave it at that this fic is, in every sense, a fic that i would not normally write. and yet here we are.

contains: f!reader (no physical description or gendered language is used), no explicit romantic pairing (though you don't have to look hard to find the reader x gojo implications), major character death (played with), semi-graphic depictions of death, blood and violence, minor suicide ideation, canon retelling (lines of dialogue are pulled from the jjk english dub because i'm a dirty dub watcher). opening poem is from higurashi no naku koro ni (minagoroshi-hen). fic title is from giga's beyond the way.

please note that this is a time loop fic and, by nature contains repeating scenes (particularly from canon). please do not read this fic if you do not like that sort of thing.

wc: 21,883 read on ao3 (account required) || playlist

Please tell me what happened in this night. It's like the cat inside the box.

Please tell me what happened in this night. You don't know if the cat in the box is dead or alive. Please tell me what happened in this night. The cat in the box was dead.

The first time, it is instant— you don’t even know what’s happening.

The second, it is by flame, but you barely realize it, barely feel it— a second of mind numbing heat before nothing.

The third time, it is something slicing across your throat; you see the blood spilling everywhere, then the pain follows— a moment of pure agony before nothing.

The fourth time you realize what’s going on; what’s really going on.

You realize you’ve been dying.

You think your head is going to explode.

At first, you think it’s because the subway platform is crowded, insanely so— there are hundreds of people shoved into this space alongside you, packed like sardines in a can. You’ve never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you live in Tokyo. For the most part, you’ve learned to accept it, but even this crowd is a little much and you wish you hadn’t listened to your friends when they said you should go party in Shibuya for Halloween; you don’t even like partying.

There’s a sharp pain in your temple followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone is screaming it at you through a megaphone positioned right next to your ear.

It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

For the eighth time.

Before you can even question the thought, images flash in your mind’s eye, blurry at first before they come into focus. The platform gates open. Chaos ensues. People dropping onto the subway tracks— spontaneously bursting into flame— their heads, necks sliced off, stomachs cut open—

Bile rapidly builds up in your throat, and you clamp your jaw shut, trying to force it down. Not here. Not now. You try to focus on something else, anything else happening outside of your brain. There’s a pair next to you musing about the people standing on the subway tracks, wondering what the two (the four?) of them are talking about. You blink back tears as you look. You can only see two: a freakishly tall man with white hair dressed in all black, and another man, dressed in strange, yet more traditional looking garb. Are those costumes too? You don’t have a lot of time to think about it as another image forces its way into your brain.

Your corpse— lifeless on the ground.

Your corpse— burning to ash.

Your corpse— bleeding out.

You can’t hold it in any more. Every fiber in your being screams at you to get away from the subway tracks, but instead you rush toward them, shoving people left and right as your hands desperately reach the stability of the gate. You grip it like a lifeline as you retch over the side of it, the contents of your stomach spilling all over the subway tracks.

There’s a quiet murmur of disgust behind you but you can’t be bothered to respond. You need to get out of here. You need to leave. You need to do it before—

The gates open and the crowd starts to move like a tidal wave, pushing and shoving their way through the gate. You’re swept away, vomit long forgotten as you and a few dozen others tumble onto the railway.

Alarm bells go off in your brain, loud and deafening. A voice in the back of your head screams for you to get off the track! Get off the track now before—

The platform erupts into a cacophony of screams, drenched in horror, saturated in fear. You are surrounded by people, by corpses— beheaded, sliced open, bursting into flames.

Your terror roots you to the ground as the carnage ensues around you. It’s only when another person, another corpse, dressed in a magical girl costume collides with your body that you can finally move. But it’s too late, you realize, despaired and helpless, as your bodies fall to the ground.

It’s too late.

You die an eighth time.

You think your chest is going to explode.

At first, you think it’s because it’s so hard to breathe, frustratingly so— there are hundreds of people squeezed into this space alongside you, packed like cattle for slaughter. You've never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you’re in Shibuya. For the most part, you’ve come to accept it, but this crowd is way too much and you wish you had just stayed home and ordered a pizza; though honestly, the thought of pizza kind of makes you sick.

There’s a dull throbbing in your forehead, followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone’s hollering at you from a loudspeaker that’s been installed in your brain.

It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

You think it's the ninth time now.

Behind you, you hear a woman screaming, her voice crazed and terrified. You turn your head automatically to look at her and when you see her you realize you recognize her yellow and white magical girl costume. You can say with certainty that you’ve never seen her before and yet—

Before you can ruminate more on it, images— memories assault your mind’s eye with a clarity that is absolutely sickening. That woman colliding into you, your bodies slamming into the subway tracks before you both— Your stomach churns violently,

and you feel like you’re going to puke, but you force it down— can't afford to right now. Instead, you make your way over to the woman.

Her head is in her hands as she mutters over and over again about how everyone is going to die. People around her figure that being stuck in here with the crowd has probably gotten to her. You, however, know better.

“...hey,” you say softly.

Her muttering comes to an abrupt halt and slowly she raises her head to look at you. There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes and she grabs you violently by the shoulders. “You! You know, don’t you? That we’re going to die?”

If it weren’t for the fact that you have indeed experienced death here eight times already, then you would have thought she’s lost her mind. Slowly, you nod and she seems relieved by it, her grip on you loosening.

You can’t help but feel a little relieved too— glad to know that you’re not the only one experiencing this nightmare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that’s confused though. Why is she only remembering now? But then again, it took you a few times before you realized yourself.

Around you people start to gasp, and you glance back toward the railway to see an abnormally tall man with white hair and dressed in all black jump down from the atrium onto the railway. He lands rather gracefully for someone who jumped at least one floor and starts to converse with the other three people (you think they're people— two of them are in some pretty wild costumes) on the track.

Wait. Isn’t it supposed to be just two people: the tall man and the one in the traditional clothes? Where did the other two come from?

“We have to get out of here,” the woman says. “Before they kill us.”

Her grip shifts from your shoulders to your arms and she starts to shove at everyone around you, trying to force her way through. She seems to know, just as well as you do, that any second now the gates will open and the crowd will start spilling onto the railway, littering the tracks with bodies and ash. Neither of you can let yourselves get swept up with the rest. If you do and you end up on those tracks, you’re as good as dead.

People move aside at a snail's pace, many of them too focused on trying to see what is going on on the subway tracks. This isn't good. You need to move faster or else—

The collective sound of the gates opening echoes in your head, a metallic hiss that makes your stomach fold into itself. Before either of you can stop yourselves, you both whip your heads back to look, to confirm, but it’s a mistake.

The briefest lapse in attention is enough to pull you both into the current of people, and try as you might to fight against it, the crowd splits you and the woman apart as it swallows you both whole. You’re both spat onto the tracks at the edge of the platform and your head collides with the metal rails of the track. It feels like your skull is about to crack in two, and it takes every fiber in your being to scramble to your feet. You're close enough to the platform that if you can just climb up it, then you'll be—

“Help! Help!”

It’s the woman’s voice. You turn to see that she ended up a couple meters away from you. She’s staring at you, eyes brimming with fear filled tears as she extends her hand in your direction. You take a step toward her, reaching out.

And then, her entire body is engulfed in flames, the skirt of her magical girl costume a ring of fiery death around her.

Her blood curdling scream is the only thing you can hear, her burning flesh, the only thing you can see. You don’t know what to do.

You can’t save her.

There's something touching your back. You can barely feel the pressure, but it's hot, scorching hot, mind numbingly hot, painfully hothothot.

You know this sensation. You have felt it before. The scent of burning cloth, burning hair, burning flesh clogs your nostrils. It's too late, you realize, helpless, despaired as the flames eat at your body— your soon to be corpse.

It's too late.

You die a ninth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the tenth time.

Your head hurts, but you ignore it. There’s something more important that you need to attend to. You immediately make your way to the woman you met during your last round, the one you watched burn to death. Her costume is still pristine, unmarred by fire and death.

For now.

She’s not screaming this time and while there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that’s concerned by this, you try to ignore it.

“Um, excuse me?” you say when she doesn’t acknowledge you as you approach.

The woman turns to look at you. You’re taken aback by the distinct lack of recognition and it feels almost as if the woman you encountered previously and the one before you now are two separate people. In a way, they technically are.

“Do I… know you?” she finally asks when you don’t say anything.

Your mouth is dry. How do you even answer that? You don’t know her. You just watched her die twice. You know her. She begged you for help. You couldn’t save her.

If you explain all of this you know she’s just going to think you’ve lost your mind. Maybe you already have— you’ve died nine times after all.

You give her a weak smile. “I… just wanted to tell you that you think your costume looks great.”

She blinks, taken aback by your words. There’s no doubt that she wasn’t expecting you to say that. It’s the truth though, her costume is nice; she’s dressed up as a character from a magical girl anime that was popular a couple years ago.

“Thank you! I made it myself!” The woman breaks out into a genuine smile and your heart hurts. In a few moments she’ll die and the costume she worked so hard to make will be nothing but ash on the subway tracks.

“Sorry,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“For?”

For watching her die. For not being able to save her.“...I just kind of came up to you all of a sudden…”

She laughs. “It’s okay.”

It’s not.

You consider telling her that she should try to move. That if she stays here she will die. You don’t want her to die. Again. You can still hear her screaming in your ears as she burned to death. You want to tell her.

You don’t.

“Stay safe, okay?” you say. It almost sounds like you’re begging.

She gives you another smile, kind and gentle and you think you’re far too undeserving of it for not telling her what fate will soon befall her. “You too.”

“I’ll try,” you say and move away from the woman just as the gates open and the crowd surges toward the railway. You do not fight it as you are swept up into the crowd and despite what you said, you do not try, this time, to stay safe.

You die for the tenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the fourteenth time.

There’s a slight ache in your head, but it’s subtle enough that you can ignore it. The pain you feel lessens with each round and you think it’s a sign that your body no longer feels the need to remind you of the precarious situation that you’re in.

Or maybe you are just becoming numb to everything: your death, the death of the people around you, the death of the woman in the magical girl costume—

You try not to think about it too much as you reach into your bag to check the time on your phone: 8:37PM. There’s not a lot of time: you need to move.

At the very end of your last attempt to escape this nightmare you realized something. You need to know exactly what is going on around you so you can plan accordingly: where to not stand, where to not go. Up until now, you’ve relied almost solely on the knowledge gained from your previous failures to try and survive, but obviously it’s not enough to keep you alive. You’re not sure why you didn’t realize this earlier. The panic, maybe? The fear?

Maybe you really are becoming numb to all this.

Unlike previous iterations, this time you elect to move closer to the gate, positioning yourself somewhere against it where you’re unlikely to be pushed off the platform in a couple minutes when they open. You take great care to place yourself where you can see the ones responsible for the slaughter very clearly. At the beginning, you could only see one, the one who looks the most human, but with each repetition, the other two have become more and more clear. You wonder why. You don’t have time to think about it.

Murmurs nearby alert you to the arrival of the fourth major player involved in the night’s events. You look up and see the white haired man dressed in all black descending upon the platform like an angel from the heavens. This is your first time really looking at him and you realize there’s something almost inhumanly attractive about him. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it occurs to you that you shouldn’t even try; you don’t have the time to be drooling over some handsome stranger.

You’ve naturally never taken the time to try and listen to whatever the conversation the man and his opponents have before all hell breaks loose on the platform, but you try and lean closer to listen. It’s hard to hear over the dozens of conversations going on behind you, but you try anyway. There might be a clue to what’s actually going on— or better yet, a clue on how to get out of it.

It’s obvious that you’re missing context from what bits of the conversation you do manage to hear, but honestly it all sounds like stuff out of a shounen battle manga. There is one part of the exchange that you manage to hear with a startling sort of clarity. It feels almost as if your heart stops beating as your blood turns ice cold in your veins.

“If I run away, you’re just gonna kill everyone here, right?” the man in black asks.

There’s a pause, and if your heart was still beating it’d be long enough for just four heartbeats.

“If you run away?” The monster with cane repeats, the sadistic grin spreading wide across its features, displaying its charcoal black teeth. The gravelly sound of its voice sets fire to the blood in your veins, your stilled heart thumping wildly, in fear, in anticipation. Soon. It’s happening soon. You brace yourself. “We’re going to do that even if you don’t!”

You die a fourteenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the seventeenth time now.

Things are going surprisingly well, even as the people around you tumble onto the tracks. You manage to hold on, desperation keeping you from falling into the abyss. This is good, you tell yourself, despite the fact that it’s not the first time you’ve achieved this. Every little victory is worth celebrating, but you have to remain vigilant. This is yet another information gathering loop, and while you know that maybe this time you’ll be lucky and live, there’s still a chance, a big one, at that, that you will die again.

You have to make the most of each and every death.

It’s such a morbid thought, but the ends justify the means, or so you tell yourself. If you have to die a few times to make it out of this unending nightmare, then so be it.

The spot you’re in is a good vantage point; it’s easier to see everything happening below you. It’s so good that it’s actually sickening. You watch as the monster with the cane and one with what looks like branches for eyes slaughter the people on the track, mowing them down, setting them aflame. In another life, in another many lives, that was you down there, and for what feels like the first time in forever, you feel like you’re going to be sick. You feel like, at some point, you likened the scene before you to some kind of shounen battle manga, but you think that was wrong.

This is borderline horror.

Everything plays out before you like a scene out of an action horror flick. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were just an extra on set, but you know the reality is that you’re just an extra to whatever phantasmal battle is taking place in front of you. The monsters and the strangely dressed man all try to attack the man in black, but he manages to block every hit effortlessly, as if he is protected by some sort of invisible barrier. When it seems the two monsters are about to hit him, he merely jumps out of the way and the two monsters seem to collide, the force of their combined strength sending a gust of air throughout the crowd. The man in black neatly lands on a nearby platform half wall and says something about curse users, whatever those are, to the monsters, before he starts to mock them, pulling down his strange blindfold in the process.

And this, you’ve found, is where you start to get in trouble.

You clearly remember thinking, at some point, previously, that there was something attractive about this man. You still don’t know what it is. You haven’t had the time to try and figure it out, but there is one thing that you do know: you can’t keep your eyes off of him.

He drops back down onto the tracks, antagonizing his opponents in an arrogant tone as he approaches. When he comes to a stop between the two monsters, the second round of their fight begins. They try to hit him, but he dodges still, gracefully, fluidly, like the three of them are embroiled in some sort of passionate, yet violent dance.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he cruelly rips off one of the arms of the one-eyed monster.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he brutally kicks the branch-eyed monster in the abdomen, sending them flying to the other side of the platform.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he effortlessly hurls the one-eyed, now one-armed monster in the same direction, sending them smashing into the wall.

Only when the man in black seems to fly to the other side is the spell over you seemingly broken. Still, your eyes give chase, and your body too, rushing from one side of the platform to the other. You can’t lose sight of this fight, you tell yourself, settling in a spot you recall being safe during your last round. Doing so could mean another death, another loop, another October 31.

You watch as the man in black acrobatically dodges what looks to be vines or roots that the monster with branches for eyes seems to have summoned from the depths of the Tokyo metro. He lands on the monster’s shoulders, balancing on them as he uses its branch-eyes for leverage. The look in the man’s eyes is so crazed that you can see it from where you’re standing. He says something to it and then—

With a feral and sadistic smile, he rips their eyes straight out of their skull.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest as you watch the fight unfold. It is horrifyingly, disgustingly violent, yet still you watch as people on the track are killed by the human-like person, blood raining down as their freshly beheaded skulls go flying into the air. He and the one-eyed monster launch their counter attacks against the man in black and the blowback is so intense the power goes out causing everyone to scream.

There’s a faint glow where the man in black is standing that starts to grow brighter and brighter. You can make out his form turning to face the wall, and it seems almost like he’s slammed the monster that had branches for eyes against it with some sort of telekinetic power. Despite the panic from the people around you, you manage to hear him, chuckling like a mad man as he draws closer and closer to the monster.

The one-eyed monster yells out a name, a name you think must belong to the man, but he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as he extends his hands out toward the eyeless monster, exerting some kind of force that you can’t really see. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as the eyeless monster’s entire body is vaporized in a flash of blue light. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster, as the lights flicker back on revealing a smoking crater stained with purple blood where the eyeless monster once stood.

But you do.

Satoru Gojo.

You make sure to remember that.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And this is the eighteenth time.

You watch as the man called Satoru Gojo stalks through the crowd of people on the subway tracks, chasing after the one-eyed fire monster. It throws people at him, in a clear attempt to slow him down.

It does not work.

Satoru Gojo climbs back onto the platform in a way that you can only describe as inhuman, and the people nearby shriek and move away from him, out of terror, out of fear. You, on the other hand, draw closer, refusing to lose sight of him.

He is relentless in his pursuit of the one-eyed monster. It continues to throw person after person at him, but he does not stop and the people float there, suspended in midair before they are gently lowered to the ground by some unseen force and scramble away.

No one dares get close to Satoru Gojo, everyone on the platform seems to know that doing so means certain death, yourself included. But you still feel the need to keep an eye on him. The monster and the strangely dressed man are focusing more on him than the crowd— anyone in between is just collateral damage.

But not you.

Especially since you’ve made it this far— you’ve never made it this far before.

A voice echoes throughout the platform; you realize it’s the automated announcement.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

You can hear everyone’s relief coming from all sides. The train is coming! The train is coming! A ripple of hope makes its way throughout the crowd. With the train comes the chance to get off the platform and the senseless violence that’s been happening here. Some of the people around you are talking excitedly and others are running toward the gates, toeing the yellow line they’ve been instructed to wait behind. And you, you should be excited, you should be hopeful.

All you feel is dread.

It eats at your stomach, at your chest, at your mind. Clawing and gnawing at you in a way that leaves you paralyzed on the platform. There’s something wrong here. You can’t be sure because you’ve never made it this far, never survived long enough for the train to come, but something is just not right.

No.

You must be paranoid. The train coming is a good thing. It has to be a good thing. You are just paranoid. It’s normal. It’s natural. Dying seventeen times would do that to anyone— rob them of hope, condemn them to an existence full of fear.

It is not lost on you that the thought of dying more than once, much less, dying seventeen times is not normal or natural in the very slightest.

But you need hope, you crave it, wildly, desperately. The hope of freedom, of escape is the only thing getting you through this unending nightmare. Every time you die, every time you wake, it is with the hope that maybe, just maybe this iteration will be different, maybe this one will be the one where you make it out, make it back to your friends who must be waiting for you, make it back home where you can be safe and sound. You need the hope to keep going. Because without hope, what will you have left?

The train screeches as it pulls into the station and the people around you laugh in both disbelief and relief. They start to push and shove toward it, fighting to be able to board because there’s no way everyone here will be able to get on an eight car train and being left behind at this point is practically synonymous with death. Unable to decide if you believe in the train as a symbol of hope or a new layer of fear, you are pushed along with the crowd toward it.

The doors of the train cars slide open and the current passengers all rush off as they disembark. You as well as everyone else on the platform can see with a horrifying clarity that the train is filled to the brim with monsters. Monsters that reach out and grab anyone their hands can reach. The woman to your left. The person to your right.

You.

Hope is gone.

What do you have left?

You die for the eighteenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is probably the twenty-sixth time now.

If there is anything this entire ordeal has taught you, it is that you are resilient. Whether it is some innate trait that you never had any reason to uncover before or just a byproduct of being trapped in an unending cycle of being dead and not dead, you don't know. What you do know, though, is that even if you no longer have hope, you at least have your resilience.

Whether you want it or not.

You check the time. It’s 8:35PM. Something flickers in your chest, like a faint light in a sea of darkness, but you ignore it. You don’t have time right now.

With a nimbleness born from your previous failures, you weave your way through the crowd. You’ve done this enough times to know where the gaps are— who will yield and who won’t. Your destination is the escalator that leads off the platform and up to a higher part of the station. You’d noticed previously that the escalator along with every other entrance onto the platform will eventually be blocked by vines or roots of some sort (the work of the branch-eyed monster probably). It’s not a perfect plan because you don’t know what happens on the other side, but whatever it is has to be better than whatever is happening on the side that you’ve been on.

You’d tried to get to the stairs during your last two rounds, but you’d just missed it. You hadn’t been fast enough and had gotten caged and slaughtered along with the rest. But this time, this time you have more time. It’s just one minute, but it’s enough. You know it is.

The flickering in your heart grows stronger. Hope. You try not to pay attention to it— you don’t want to be disappointed yet again. But you want to so badly. A voice in the back of your mind tells you to focus on the good, tells you that if there was truly no way out of this endless nightmare, then why would you get more and more time with each round to escape your fate?

With that thought in mind, you break out into a run, recklessly rushing through the crowd, shoving anyone who will not yield to the side. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the stark white of Satoru Gojo’s hair as he descends upon the platform.

You need to get up those stairs.

Now.

If you remember correctly, the roots and vines don’t close off the area the moment he touches down, but a little after they start talking, so you think there is probably some time, but you can’t leave it to chance.

The stairs are packed, and for some reason no one is moving. The escalator right next to it is just as full and the power doesn’t seem to be working. You don’t have time for this. You clamber onto the escalator’s rubber handrail, ignoring the weird feeling that passes through your body as you do so. You don’t have the time to worry about whatever that is. The people around you start exclaiming around you, but you don’t care, you don’t listen. You wobble as you try to balance yourself and when you think you’re steady you try to run.

But you trip.

And you die for the twenty-sixth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This marks the thirtieth time.

And you have, finally, finally made it up the escalator, up the stairs with barely a second to spare. You pause, glancing back as the roots or vines or whatever the hell they are seal off the entrance to the platform. You notice that the area where the plants come down is actually fairly clear, despite the crowd. It seems weird, but you don’t dwell on it.

A strange feeling envelops your entire body and your legs turn into jelly. As you sink to the floor, you realize what you’re feeling is relief as all the tension, maybe thirty iterations of Halloween 2018 worth, seeps from your being. You don't remember the last time you felt anything other than fear and dread; it’s weird, but not unwelcome.

That voice in the back of your mind tells you that you can't relax just yet: October 31st isn’t over. Even though you have repeated this night again and again, burning the events that play out on the platform into your memory, you do not know a single thing that happens over here. It would be smart to scope everything out.

Legs still shaky, you rise to your feet and start walking. You think it’s probably for the best to try and head up to the surface and you make your way up to the next floor.

It’s packed with people here too, but relatively peaceful, especially when you compare it to the pandemonium taking place beneath your feet. Still, you can make out the undeniable hum of displeasure resonating throughout the crowd. People complaining about how uncomfortable their costumes are, people complaining about how much they want to go home, people complaining about how much their nights have been ruined because they couldn’t meet up with their friends and—

A thought hits you like an eight car train.

You were supposed to meet up with your friends.

That’s why you were on the platform in the first place— you were waiting for them to arrive, but then the trains stopped working, and people just started pouring into the station out of seemingly nowhere (you think you heard some people say they’d come from the crossing?). Soon after that is when everything went to shit.

You check your phone, though, for once it’s not to look at the time (8:56PM). Instead, you open LINE to check your friends’ group chat. There’s no signal here, for whatever reason, so if there are any new messages, you haven’t received them. The last one was from Kei, mentioning he was enroute, but as far as you know, you’re the only one who made it to Shibuya before the trains stopped.

Did one of them maybe make it here though? Surely, you would have run into them if—

The image of a woman in a magical girl costume fills your vision, burning to death before your very eyes as her screams echo in your ears. It is the first time in what feels like forever that you’ve thought about her and your stomach churns violently. You couldn’t help her, you can’t even help yourself, so how could you even expect to do the same for your friends if they were here? The mere thought of having to watch them die over and over is almost enough to send you over the edge. You don’t know if you could do it.

Would you even have a choice?

No. You can't think like that. You have choices. You've had choices. If you didn’t then, you would still be down below, among the fire and brimstone. Dying, if not dead already. However, instead, you are up here, where, for the moment, it is quiet and peaceful.

That thought, in of itself, is enough to give you a shred of solace, a glimmer of hope.

You take a deep breath and fiddle with your phone a little more, changing your lock screen to a picture you and your friends took at a photo booth not too long ago. The four of you are huddled together, faces squished as if you're all struggling to fit in the frame, despite there being plenty of room. You're mid-laugh because it's the first time you've been in a photo booth in years, Mio and Shin are grinning mischievously and finally, Kei is smiling, but only just slightly, the embarrassment clear on his face. It's probably only been a few months since you all took this picture, but the fact that it feels like it's been years makes your heart ache.

You press your forehead to the screen, like a prayer, like a promise.

You will make it out of this nightmare.

No matter what.

A shrill scream yanks you from your thoughts and you are instantly on your feet, alert as your eyes flit around frantically to identify the source. It doesn't take long for you to find it and when you do, you think you might have stumbled upon a new layer of horror to this nightmare.

It’s not the corpse, dangling by a noose, that terrifies you— by now you’ve seen dozens upon dozens of dead bodies that the sight of just one more doesn’t faze you in the slightest. The thing that’s the most mortifying, that’s the most disturbing is that right next to where the body is tied are two girls, two teenage girls still dressed in their school uniforms.

You can accept monsters and weirdly dressed men being responsible for the carnage tonight, but children too? Both girls look like they’re barely in high school and try as you might to rationalize things, to chalk it up to coincidence, you cannot ignore the ominous energy radiating from them.

The very notion that these two children could have killed someone here is a hard pill to swallow, but so is the fact that you’ve died.

And you’ve had to swallow that pill thirty times now, so what’s once more?

“Listen up!” one of the girls yells over the crowd, but she is mostly ignored; you don’t think everyone here has noticed her and the corpse dangling from the rafters. She scowls and turns to the other girl and says something quietly to her. The other girl nods and almost instantly she’s stringing up another person, another example. You want to look away so badly, and yet you cannot bring yourself to and you watch the poor soul choke to death.

“I said listen, you dumb monkeys!” the girl shouts, and this time she’s caught most of the crowd’s attention. “If you don’t want to end up like these two, you’ll listen to what we have to say!”

There is clear dissent among the crowd, people dismissive as they utter their disbelief. Some seem to think it’s a prank, but you know better. It takes two more examples before the crowd goes silent before the two high schoolers.

“About damn time!” The girl roars and then points toward the atrium, which is currently covered by roots and branches. “All of you move over there!”

You have a bad feeling about this.

Still, you comply; the girls have made it abundantly clear that failure to do so will result in death, though, at this point, you're almost certain this iteration is a bust and death is all but imminent. You try to keep positive— thinking you can at least gather information or, who knows, maybe there's a chance that this one is the one.

Yet when you step onto the mound of vines and branches that cover the atrium it feels as if you've crossed the threshold into hell. Your footing is stable… but for how long?

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

It's faint, but you can hear the announcement from below. The liquid in your stomach curdles at the sound as you recall the train and, in particular, what is on board. Soon enough, those monsters will be swarming the platform, massacring everyone in reach, guzzling down their blood, feasting on their flesh—

It dawns on you that the people on the platform are the monsters' first course.

And you, and those around you here in the shrubbery, are the second.

As you realize this, the branches and vines disintegrate beneath your very feet and suddenly you are mid air— falling, falling into the abyss below.

You die for the thirtieth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

You've done this nearly sixty times now.

After countless failures, you've decided that you're just not going to go upstairs any more. No matter where you try to go, you still end up herded onto the death trap above the platform where you ultimately fall to your death. You've tried positioning yourself in the same spot, tried bracing yourself for the drop— but nothing seems to work: upon landing, assuming you manage to land without hurting yourself or dying in midair (which has happened a couple times) you get grabbed and killed by one of the monsters from the train. It's probably not impossible, you just don't have the physical prowess or reflexes for it.

If anything, you can try again later, but you sincerely hope you don't have to.

It's 8:32PM, and you have plenty of time to get to your chosen spot for this loop— it's close to the stairs, in the very center of the platform. Here, there's little risk of getting pushed off onto the tracks when the gates open. You'll probably have to move when the train comes, or even before (assuming you survive) to avoid the monsters, but you'll get to that when it's time.

You can't really see the fight once it breaks out after Satoru Gojo arrives, but you still try to keep track of it as best as you can. You see when he hurls both monsters across the platform and you're not sure if it's muscle memory or what but you have to fight the urge to move to the side and watch. It's been a while, yes, but you've seen the fight countless times before— it doesn't change. Satoru Gojo will give chase. He will rip the branches from the branch eyed monster's skull. He will use some kind of power to eviscerate them.

You don't need to watch, but there's something in you that wants to.

It doesn't make sense, you've seen it all before; if you're unlucky you'll see it all again.

The lights go out and people start screaming; Satoru Gojo is ending the life of that one monster. Soon enough he'll be back on the platform, in pursuit of the other. You think at that point it would be good to move, reposition yourself as far from the incoming train as possible.

When he rises from the tracks like a demon straight from hell, you realize it's the first time this loop that you've actually gotten a good look at him. You remind yourself, again, that this isn't the first time you've seen this man, this scene. You can't help but watch, but stare at Satoru Gojo as he stalks through the crowd in pursuit of his prey. His expression is an eerie sort of calm that's at odds with the acts of violence you've seen him commit— his eyes an unnaturally bright blue.

He's a terrifying sort of beauty and you can't help but be captivated by him.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

The sound of the announcement sends your heartbeat into a frenzy, snapping you out of your little trance. The train is coming and you need to get moving. As you dart to the edge of the platform, the thought occurs to you that even if you avoid the initial wave of monsters, it's likely you will inevitably be caught by them and killed. It wouldn't be impossible for Satoru Gojo to turn his attention to them instead of the two he's currently facing, but he's just one man— can he truly defeat all those monsters?

You can see the train pulling in and you brace yourself, praying that it'll work out somehow.

The doors hiss open and the screaming starts again as the monsters come bursting out of the train, biting and mauling anyone they can get their hands on. Those who were lucky enough to not be at the front start to scramble away and the monsters give chase. Your body is taut, ready to try and dodge any that come your way.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice something moving through the air. A person? With blue hair? You take the risk to look— they're attacking Satoru Gojo. He tries to punch them but they fly away from him to dodge— disappearing into the crowd.

You hear a loud cracking sound over the cacophony of the crowd and your stomach twists; you know what that sound is. The roots above the atrium disintegrate and bodies from above start to rain down onto the platform.

And then, you're not sure what happens— it's so quick that you only manage to see what looks like an explosion of blood surrounding Satoru Gojo. Corpses litter the ground around him and even from here you can tell he is shaken by the carnage.

The monsters have finally reached where you're standing, and you duck under one as it lunges at you. Although it's big and scary, you realize it's moving kind of slow. Right after it another one comes at you and you take a side step to avoid it; this monster is kind of slow too.

Maybe you can do this.

As soon as you think that a strange feeling courses through you. Every hair on your body feels like it's standing on edge and the voice in your head is telling you to look at Satoru Gojo. You don't understand why because you think he's the least of your worries right now, but you do it anyway.

He's in some sort of stance, one hand raised to his face, fingers bent in some kind of gesture. There's some sort of aura, oppressive and frightening emanating from his form.

Satoru Gojo is doing something.

You just can't tell what.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you are utterly confused.

Barring your first few loops when you weren't fully aware of what was happening, you have very distinct memories of how each of your previous iterations of this night have gone— of each and every one of your deaths. But for your last round, the last thing you remember was feeling the immense power radiating from Satoru Gojo's body, but that's it.

You do not remember dying.

In fact, you don't think you did.

And yet, here you are again, back at the start: it's 8:32PM and the monsters and strangely dressed man are standing on the subway tracks waiting for the arrival of Satoru Gojo.

You don't understand what's going on; you didn't die but you're still stuck in this damn loop. Up until now, your death has served as the trigger to restart the loop. It's not impossible that maybe you suffered a quick and painless death but you're almost certain that isn't the case.

Something else must have happened.

Something having to do with Satoru Gojo.

You have to find out what. If you don't, you won't know how to avoid it, and if you can't do that, then you really might spend an eternity stuck in this nightmare. And so you take great care to repeat the steps of your last round. You need to make sure to survive to the same point you made it to last time.

Miraculously, you do.

The moment you feel that sensation again, a prickling sort of feeling that envelops your entire body, your eyes are on Satoru Gojo— trying to figure out what the hell he's doing. His eyes are crazed with a desperate kind of focus. You see his mouth move— he's saying something. A spell? A prayer? A curse?

You don't know.

You do know.

Your brain feels like it's going to explode.

Again.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

Again.

You do not know how many times it's been the night of Halloween in Shibuya: you stopped counting around the hundredth loop. It feels like it's been a while since then. Or maybe it hasn't? You don't know any more.

What you do know is that this night ends up going one of two ways before you are forced to repeat it. Either you die, in some way, shape or form or something happens just after nine that forces you to reset. You still don't know what it is exactly; you only know that Satoru Gojo is responsible for it.

You do prefer it to dying— it's far less painful.

But if anything, you wish you could just die permanently and never have to repeat this night ever again.

Unfortunately, you know better.

The only good thing you’ve noticed about all of this is that you really do seem to keep waking up earlier and earlier. The last time you checked, it was at around 8:30. It might take hundreds of thousands of loops, but eventually you’ll certainly wake up early enough to avoid this damn entire mess.

But by the time that happens… will your sanity still be intact? Will you really be able to go back to a normal day to day life after living the equivalent of hundreds of years, repeating the same night over and over again? You don’t even know how you’ve managed to stay sane all this time and as much as you want to believe you could do it…

There has to be a breaking point.

For both your mind and this time loop.

If you’re lucky, you’ll reach the latter first.

There’s a dull ache in your head that feels foreign yet familiar. Your mind is foggy, all your thoughts hazy as you try to recall what the word for this feeling is.

Groggy.

It feels as if you’ve woken up from a nap and you blink the sleepiness away from your eyes. When was the last time you took a nap? It’s been a while… You think you maybe tried once or twice, but you were too nervous, too on edge. Awake or asleep, it didn’t matter because, either way, you were doomed to repeat this nightmare.

As you think this, you realize that something is different.

You’re used to how the start of each loop feels like waking up suddenly and abruptly and it becomes clear to you that you haven’t looped. This is completely uncharted territory.

You need to find out what’s going on.

The first thing you notice is that it’s quiet. Almost eerily so, especially when the last thing you remember was screaming and chaos. You glance around you and find that it looks like all the monsters from the train are dead, the ground littered in their bloodstains and corpses. There were so many of them, you don’t know how someone could have wiped them out so quickly… Could it possibly have been Satoru Gojo’s doing?

More concerning than the complete eradication of the monsters is the fact that nearly everyone else on the platform is standing stock still, their mouths ajar with blank expressions on their faces. It’s almost as if their souls have completely vacated their bodies…

Were you like that too before you woke up?

You hear voices, and your body immediately goes tense as you turn your head in their direction. A little ways ahead of you, you see a man dressed as a monk conversing with the blue haired person from earlier and before them is—

Your heart nearly stops: it’s Satoru Gojo, restrained and on his knees.

Honestly, you can’t make heads or tails of the conversation they’re having; it’s more shounen battle manga nonsense. Satoru Gojo doesn’t seem to be enjoying their conversation either, and he interrupts them, clearly annoyed.

“Are we gonna do this or what?” he asks. “The view sucks and I’m just kinda bored.”

“I wanted to enjoy this sight for a little bit longer, but you are right,” the monk says. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen— gate, close.”

When he says that, Satoru Gojo’s restraints move, the weirdly shaped cubes at the ends of them closing in around him, trapping him in a giant red cube. It starts to shrink until it’s small enough to fit in the monk’s hand.

You gulp and hope they don’t notice that you’re awake. The fact that they haven’t slaughtered the rest of the people standing around you is a good sign, but you don’t want to find out what happens if they know you’re cognizant.

It’s not hard to play the part of a living statue, especially when you compare it to everything else you’ve had to suffer through on this night. You watch as the monk’s allies, the ones who had attacked everyone on the platform, wake up, but before they can do or say anything, the box holding Satoru Gojo slips through the monk’s fingers and makes a dent in the concrete. The look on the monk’s face makes it clear that it’s a problem he wasn’t expecting.

You don’t know a damn thing about Satoru Gojo, but you feel like this kind of thing is the norm for him.

The blue haired person suddenly looks in your direction and you nearly stop breathing. Have they noticed you? It takes everything in you to keep perfectly still, in hopes that maybe they didn't, that maybe they’re looking at something else. They raise their arm and it extends, their hand acting like some kind of projectile. You almost shut your eyes and brace yourself for impact, but their hand flies upwards and hits something on the ceiling, destroying it.

Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief— you’re still safe.

For now.

You listen to their following conversation and while you still don’t fully understand everything, it’s clear they’re talking about what to do next since they’ve taken care of Satoru Gojo. Something having to do with someone named Yuji Itadori? The group seems split on what to do about him but it’s clear he’s their next target.

Eventually, everyone but the monk (you heard the blue haired person, who is apparently named Mahito, call him Geto?) runs off, probably to find this Yuji Itadori person. Once they’re gone, Geto speaks and, at first, you think he’s talking to you, but it becomes clear he’s addressing someone else. “Those cursed spirits are actually smarter than the two of you.”

“Give him back!” a voice hidden among the crowd hisses. Your blood runs cold at the sound. You recognize it; it’s one of the high school girls from the upper floor.

“We cooperated with you fully and kept dropping monkeys for you,” says another voice; it must be the other girl that was with her, the one who hung all those people.

“Now give us back Master Geto’s body like you promised!”

“Don’t toy with Master Geto any further than you have!”

You blink in confusion. Isn’t the monk named Geto? The way the girls are talking it sounds like they’re talking about someone else… Is it possible that the body is ‘Geto’ but the person they’re talking to is someone else possessing it? It sounds kind of crazy, but then again, so is every single thing you’ve experienced tonight.

Your suspicions concerning this ‘Geto’ are confirmed only seconds later as he says, “Now begone, or is it your desire to be killed by this body?”

One of the girls vows her revenge and you hear shuffling somewhere else in the crowd as they scurry away. Now you think it’s just you and whoever it is that’s puppeting Geto’s body. You see him plop down in front of the box (the prison realm, you think he’d called it) that’s holding Satoru Gojo.

“You can come out, you know,” he says after a while.

You freeze. The rest of the platform is completely silent. This time you think he might actually be talking to you.

“I know you’re there,” ‘Geto’ adds, his voice casual. “If you’re insistent on hiding, you should know that I’m not afraid of using whatever means necessary to smoke you out.”

Given everything his allies have done, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s serious. You were hoping to hide out among the crowd until he decided to leave, but it looks like you won’t be able to now.

Looks like this loop is a bust after all.

Your heart starts to race as you weave your way through the crowd. In every single one of your loops, you were always treated like a bit character, never noticed or singled out by any of the major players of the night. Although this is your first time encountering this ‘Geto’ it’s clear to you that he’s involved with everything that’s happened here and honestly, you get the feeling he might actually be the mastermind behind the massacre.

That makes you even more nervous.

You come to a stop in the place where Satoru Gojo was once kneeling before he was put in that box. Now that you’re out in the open, ‘Geto’ looks you over with some sort of nonchalant curiosity.

“You’re…” he starts, sounding thoughtful, "not a sorcerer, are you?”

Sorcerer. You heard that term thrown around by him and his group a few times. It’s what they’ve been referring to their enemies as. It probably wouldn’t be smart to lie and say you are one; you get the feeling he’d see through your lie anyway. “I’m not.”

He hums. “How interesting.”

“...what do you mean?” you ask before you can help yourself.

“It’s just you have an abnormally large amount of cursed energy for a non-sorcerer,” he explains. “Though, I suppose that all just sounds like gibberish to you."

You nod and look down at the box lodged in the floor. It has eyes, big creepy looking eyes. "...are you going to do the same thing to me as you did to that man?"

He laughs, "...fortunately for you, the prison realm only holds one person at a time and I need him sealed away more than you."

"...does that mean you're going to leave him in there forever?"

"If I'm feeling nice, I might unseal him in a hundred years or so."

One hundred years? At this point, you've probably lived roughly that amount of time through your loops alone, but for Satoru Gojo… "Won't he die first?"

"Only if he decides to," 'Geto' says, looking completely and wholly unbothered. "Time doesn't doesn't flow in the box, so when I unseal him, he'll be the same as he was just now. Physically anyway. Who knows how deteriorated his mind will be after all that."

Time doesn't flow in the box.

The words echo in your mind over and over. Time doesn't flow in the box. In other words, that means time has stopped in the box, and if that's the case then—

"Anyway, rather than worry about him, shouldn't you be more worried about yourself?"

You look at 'Geto' and he's smiling at you, it's friendly, but ominous. There's no doubt what is going to happen next, though you had already resigned yourself to this iteration being a bust; it was only a matter of time.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

"I was thinking I might keep you around, even if you aren’t a sorcerer, your wealth of cursed energy would serve my plans well," he muses. "But… it would be too much trouble trying to teach you how to use it in time."

As he talks, you realize this is probably the first time your death is intentional— every other death you've suffered has just been a byproduct of the ongoing slaughter. You were just another casualty, a victim, never a target.

You're scared.

Even though you know that once he kills you, once you die, you'll just loop back to around 8:30 again. You'll be on the platform again. And you'll play out some sequence of events before you eventually die again. And again and again.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

"I'll be nice, though," 'Geto' says, raising a hand and another monster appears out of nowhere. You don’t even bother trying to figure out from where. It doesn’t matter, especially since this monster will surely be the one to end your life. "I'll make it painless."

"...I appreciate it," you say and close your eyes hoping that he's not lying about it.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

He didn't lie.

You die again.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you're trapped.

You don't know how and you don't know why, but you are stuck in a time loop— forced to suffer through the horrific events of the night before you die and begin it all again. It's been a long time since you stopped counting how many loops you've gone through, but if you had to guess, it's probably somewhere in the hundreds now.

You are so very tired.

But it doesn't stop. It won't stop no matter what you seem to do. You are stuck. You are trapped. You are doomed.

“Time doesn't flow in the box.”

Ever since that first loop where you heard whoever is possessing Geto's body say that, the words have been stuck in your head, playing on loop.

You finally realize why.

“Time doesn't flow in the box.”

It's 8:25PM when you wake up; that should be plenty of time.

You need to find Satoru Gojo.

After hundreds of loops you've come to a singular conclusion: you need to prevent him being sealed in the prison realm. You've witnessed it enough to know that you won't be able to do it alone; you'll need his cooperation.

You rush upstairs as fast as you can, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine as you step onto the stairwell. According to your previous loops, Satoru Gojo arrives on the subway tracks at 8:40PM. With how crowded the upper floor is, you don’t know if you’ll have the time to intercept him and talk to him, but if you can at least figure out where to find him, then you can try and talk to him during a subsequent loop.

When you reach the fourth basement floor, however, you don’t know where you should even start. He’s pretty tall so you think you could spot him in the crowd, but… there are still so many people. It occurs to you that maybe it would be better to try and look from a higher vantage point so you head to the stairs that lead up to the third basement floor. You check your phone again. It’s 8:35PM; you need to hurry.

Luckily for you, you find him very easily on the third basement floor.

The only problem is that he’s in a hard to reach spot— squatting above a sign hanging over the crowd.

You check your phone again. It’s 8:38PM and he’s starting to move, presumably to meet with those waiting for him on the subway tracks. It’s good that you found him, but there’s no doubt about it.

You’re going to need more time.

The moment you wake up, you immediately bolt toward the stairs. It's taken many, many more loops, but you've finally brought the time you wake down to around 8:15. You're still not sure if it's enough time, but there's only one way to find out.

You barrel your way up to the next floor and zig zag through the crowd to get to the next flight of stairs. By the time you get to your destination, you're completely out of breath, your chest heaving as your lungs clamor for air. You’ve done this so many times, yet your body acts like it’s always the first. It sucks, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You slow to a brisk pace to catch your breath and check the time. It’s 8:27— a new record. Hopefully it’ll be enough.

The goal is to catch Satoru Gojo before he moves to his lookout point above the crowd. While not impossible, it would be difficult for you to follow him there. You eye the safety barricade that blocks off the area where he’ll be moving in just a few minutes warily.

Yes, getting over there would be extremely difficult.

You don’t want to think about it right now; you’ll deal with it when the time comes.

Especially since Satoru Gojo has now entered your field of vision.

Your heart starts to race at the sight of him and it feels like it’s beating a million times a second. There isn’t a lot of time. You need to talk to him, but your legs only wobble, your feet planted firmly to the ground. This is not good. You need to move. You need to move.

Finally, after what feels like both an instant and an eternity, your feet finally budge, propelling you in Satoru Gojo’s direction. The beating of your heart only grows louder as you make your way toward him, mingling with the single thought that’s echoing throughout your mind right now: will he even hear you out?

You need to make him.

“Excuse me!” The words nearly come out in a stutter as you realize that you are actually talking to Satoru Gojo. You have watched this man at a distance for so long that it almost felt like he wasn’t real, like he was just another fixture in this nightmare that you’ve been living for far too long. And yet, here he is, right in front of you, in the flesh.

And his attention is on you.

All sound stops: the crowd around you, the thoughts in your head, the beat of your heart. Even though you cannot see them through that blindfold of his, you know that Satoru Gojo’s eyes are on you and the thought of that, the knowledge of it is actually a little overwhelming. Your mouth is dry and suddenly you don’t know what to say, but you need to say something. You need to say something before he thinks maybe you bumped into him by accident and just walks away without a word.

“I need to talk to you!” The words just burst out from your mouth and something about it is just absolutely embarrassing. You’re not sure if it's desperation or the fact that you haven’t really talked to anyone other than the existence occupying Suguru Geto’s body in nearly forever.

Satoru Gojo’s lips slowly start to form a smile, “Oh, yeah?”

The sound of his voice makes your mind go blank. There’s something different about it right now; more playful, amused even. Maybe it’s because he’s talking to you, a harmless human being and not a monster trying to kill him. It’s almost kind of jarring, but you know, with certainty, what Satoru Gojo’s voice sounds like. And the fact that he’s actually talking to you right now has you kind of excited. You nod, doing your best to not show how thrilled you are that he’s not ignoring you.

He hums thoughtfully, “Sorry… but unfortunately I kind of have some business to attend to right now.”

“I—” You start to say that you know that he’s headed down to the platform below to fight with…Choso and Jogo, you think their names are— you don’t know the name of the monster with the branches for eyes. “It’s— it’s really important!”

Gojo tilts his head a little, clearly thinking. You should probably say something else, something to try and convince him to stay a little longer and hear you out, but your mind is both full and blank. Where do you start? From the beginning? Or do you start with what is most important? Maybe you should say what you think will get his attention. You’re not sure, and you realize you really should have thought about this earlier because you’re running out of time right now.

“...mind handing me your phone?”

You stare at Gojo, completely and wholly confused, but he just holds out his hand expectantly. When you don’t move, he wiggles his fingers a little, a silent gesture telling you to hurry it up. Without thinking, you reach into your bag and unlock your phone before handing it to him.

“Kind of sucks that cell service isn’t working right now,” he remarks as he types something into your phone before handing it back. “But! Here's my number.”

You look down at your phone and, sure enough, Satoru Gojo has added himself as one of your contacts. He’s even added a little star to the end of his name. That’s… a little unexpected. Why his number though?

“Are you… hitting on me?” you mutter in your confusion.

He laughs, “Well, you said you had something really important to talk to me about, right? So just give me a call when you get home or some time tomorrow and we can talk then!”

You’re not going to make it home, or even to tomorrow, and neither will Satoru Gojo. As you start to tell him this, he steps past you. Desperate, you try to grab him, but somehow, for some reason, you can’t. You remember he did this with Jogo and the other monster, made himself untouchable.

This is not good.

He gives you a little wave, cheery as he says, “I’ll talk to you later!”

You watch, helpless as he hops over the barricade beyond your reach.

Gripping your phone tightly, you take a deep breath. It's fine, it's not like you didn’t expect things to go well anyway.

You'll just have to try again.

Every time you’ve tried to solicit help from Satoru Gojo, it has gone the same way. He just won’t give you the time of day, and in some ways you can’t blame him; he’s clearly here to deal with the monsters down on the platform. You’re fairly certain that he probably thinks that whatever is going on with you is a much lesser issue in comparison.

Plus, it probably doesn’t help that in the times that you’ve approached him, you haven’t been able to articulate yourself particularly well. Once you start talking to him, you just get hit with something akin to stage fright and the connection between your mind and your mouth just stops working. It’s gotten better with each attempt, but…

It’s just so frustrating.

It is interesting that Gojo has given you his number every time, star symbol and all. You’re not sure what kind of person you were expecting him to be, but after witnessing him literally and viciously rip monsters apart, you’d figured he’d be a little more somber. However, in the fragmented conversations you’ve had with him he’s come off as far more friendly and playful than you would have thought. Is he the type of person to get more serious when the situation calls for it? You can’t help but wonder, but ultimately, it doesn’t really matter.

What really matters is that you’re able to convince him to help you.

You have to convince him.

“Excuse me!” you say, stepping in Satoru Gojo’s path. You don’t stutter this time, and your voice is more sure. This is good.

“Yes?”

His head turns in your direction and you gulp. Gojo’s gaze, despite that blindfold of his, still feels just as overwhelming as it did the very first time you approached him. You have no doubt that he’s sizing you up, but there’s just something about it that makes you feel like you’re being picked apart.

You take a deep breath and step closer to him, hoping your voice sounds firm enough as you say, “I need your help. I’m trapped.”

He chuckles a little, “I know, but yours truly is on his way to go beat up the bad guys keeping you all trapped here, so soon enough you’ll be all free to go on your merry little way.”

Right. You were so caught up in your own plight that you nearly forgot that technically you’re not the only one ‘trapped.’ Satoru Gojo obviously knows that everyone else is confined to this station, but you doubt he knows that you’re confined to this night alone.

“That’s not what I mean!” you sputter.

“Then what do you mean?” Gojo asks. Should you tell him that you mean that you’re trapped in a time loop? You’re honestly not sure— in the movies and manga you’ve read about time travel, revealing that sort of thing risks creating a time paradox which seems to be a bad thing. If you have to tell him, you will, but— “Oh, I get it.”

You stare, bewildered. Did you maybe just spew all of that aloud?

Gojo gives you a mischievous smile. “You’re hitting on me, aren’t you?”

“No!” The word comes flying out of your mouth. You can’t deny he’s attractive— you’ve thought it all this time, but that is not what’s happening here.

“No need to be embarrassed,” he continues, ignoring you. “I totally get it, so if you want, I’d be happy to give you my number!”

Again? There’s really something odd about how he keeps giving you his number. Part of you wonders if he’s got some sort of ulterior motive, but you haven’t thought too deeply about it. There are way more important things going on.

“I don’t need your phone number,” you say. “I need to talk.”

Your response seems to give Gojo pause. Did you somehow manage to get through to him? No way. Your suspicions are all but confirmed when he gives you that familiar apologetic smile.

“Like, I said, I’m sort of in the middle of something, but…” Gojo reaches into his pockets and rummages around until one hand fishes out a folded up piece of paper. The other hand keeps digging around in his pocket and when Gojo seems to give up on whatever he’s looking for, he turns his attention back to you. “Got a pen?”

What?

Gojo tilts his head. “Well?”

“I do, but…” You trail off, unsure why he’s asking.

He holds out his hand waiting for you to just hand him the pen. You still don’t get it, but you reach into your bag’s front pocket and pull out the pen and hand it to him. Gojo looks almost like an excited child when he takes it from you, quickly scribbling something onto his paper before shoving it and your pen back into your hand.

You look at the paper; it looks like a receipt. For a disturbing amount of mochi that Gojo bought earlier today. The amount of money he spent is almost sickening; way too much to be paying for mochi. More importantly, you notice something juxtaposed over the receipt’s print.

It’s Satoru Gojo’s name and number.

He even drew a little star next to his name.

“If you change your mind later, just give me a call!” he tells you cheerily. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while!”

You gawk at him. He cannot be serious. You literally just told him that you didn’t need it and yet he still gave it to you. He must want you to contact him later, but you can’t even begin to understand why. It can’t have been something you said or did, right? Unless, he’s actually—

“Later!” Gojo’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you notice him walking off with a wave.

You can’t let him get away.

Again.

You crush the receipt in your hand and rush after him. Despite the crowd, Gojo seems to move through the people with ease and it almost seems like they are yielding to him naturally. It’s good for you. Makes him easier to chase.

“Wait!” you yell, but Gojo doesn’t even look back. Bastard. Your muscles strain as you try to run faster. You know you won’t be able to grab him if you get to him, but there has to still be something you can do to stop him. Circle around him? Cut him off before he—

Satoru Gojo reaches the barricade.

“Wait!” you yell again. “Satoru Gojo, wait!”

He does not even acknowledge you.

You’re almost there though. Almost. If you reach out your hand, then maybe, maybe you can grab him. Something in your head tells you that it’s useless; you’ve never been able to touch him. But, you don’t care, you don’t care because you have to try. You stretch out your hand, desperate and hoping, but just as you do, Gojo effortlessly jumps over the barricade, moving to survey the crowd.

Due to your momentum, you almost collide into the barricade, but you manage to stop yourself. You stare at Satoru Gojo through the glass. He watches the crowd for at most three minutes. Is this just another bust? Is there really nothing you can do? There must be a way you can get his attention. Is it possible to climb over the barricade? No, it’s too high. There’s nothing you can grasp onto or use as footing either.

This fucking sucks.

Another minute or two and Gojo will be on the move again, and there will be no way you can follow, no way you can get his attention. You press your hands against the glass, pushing against it. Naturally, it doesn’t budge. Why would it? If only you could get it out of the way. If only you could break it. This stupid barricade is the only thing between you and Satoru Gojo and there’s no way you can climb it, but if only you could break it.

If only you could fucking break it.

Suddenly, the glass feels warm. Satoru Gojo’s image starts to look a little distorted as the warmth beneath your fingers grows. Something is happening. The glass starts to vibrate and shake. Violently. The tremors grow stronger and stronger. You should stop. You should back away.

You don’t.

The barricade starts to crack and fracture and soon the sound of shattering glass resounds throughout the entire room. Everyone starts screaming. No one knows what’s going on— not even you. But you don’t care. It’s gone. The barricade is gone.

You take a step forward, toward Satoru Gojo. He’s on a beam that’s about a two meter drop from where you’re standing. That’s fine. That’s okay. You can make it. You have to. Without a second thought, you jump—

And you land on the beam. You look up and Satoru Gojo’s attention is back on you. He’s finally, finally turned toward you, face twisted into an expression you can’t decipher or even comprehend, but—

Something’s wrong; your world is turning on its axis, but—

Satoru Gojo is looking at you, and—

Up is very quickly becoming down, and—

Satoru Gojo is coming closer, but—

You’re slipping—

But he’s right there, and—

You’re falling, but—

He’s trying to catch you, but—

It’s too late. It’s too late.

The last thing you think you feel—

—is Satoru Gojo’s arms around you.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you are causing a commotion.

“Shit! Fuck!” you curse loudly. The people near you start to shift away but you barely notice; you don’t really care.

You were so close, so fucking close and yet… yet here you are again. It’s quarter past eight and you are back on the goddamn platform. You don’t know what happened; you remember falling and thinking you were going to die, but you are absolutely certain that, once again, this time, you didn’t die.

Is Satoru Gojo at fault again? Did he do something? Like he did all those other times you looped without dying? When you think about it more, you don’t think so. You don’t know what happened; all you know is that you tried to get to him, but you slipped.

And he caught you, you definitely remember that.

You still don’t understand why you looped, but there’s not much you can do about it now; it’s not like you can go back anymore. It just sucks, because you think he might have actually listened if you’d talked to him.

Or he would have come after you for… whatever happened with the barricade. It could have been taken as an attack on the crowd… But if he thought you were doing that, then why would he catch you?

You don’t know.

All you know is that you have to try again.

The only problem is that you don’t know how you managed to shatter the barricade. You think about it as you make your way up to where you’ll find Satoru Gojo. There is the possibility that it wasn’t you and something else happened to it instead, but that feels way too coincidental. It had to be you. That’s the only thing that makes sense. You just can’t figure out how you did it outside of wanting, wishing, praying for the barricade to break. It’s not like you have supernatural powers like Satoru Gojo and his enemies.

Despite your mind being completely and wholly occupied by trying to figure out how in the world you managed to break through that barricade, you still manage to make it to the second basement floor of Shibuya Hikarie by 8:25PM— a brand new record. Satoru Gojo doesn’t show up until around 8:34PM, so that gives you almost ten minutes to try and figure out what you need to do to try and replicate shattering the glass barricade again.

Except—

Except Satoru Gojo is already here.

The thought that maybe you’re mistaken flashes in your mind before it’s quickly dismissed; there’s no way you’d mistake anyone else for him. There is absolutely no denying it: that is Satoru Gojo. Bewildered, you double check the time on your phone. Maybe you misread it and you’re actually late but sure enough you read it right— Satoru Gojo is here early.

What the hell is going on?

Of the thousands of times you have experienced this night, this hell, this sort of thing has never happened before. Everything happens at a specific time, as if adhering to an unseen schedule. It’s likely that what happened in your last iteration did delay Satoru Gojo’s arrival onto the platform, but other than that there has never been a deviation to the time table.

And yet, here Satoru Gojo is, nine minutes early now.

You realize that that’s not the only thing that’s strange: he’s not moving. In previous rounds, when you encounter Gojo here, he’s walking to the lookout spot beyond the barricade. But, right now, he’s just standing there, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. It almost looks like he's waiting for something.

Or someone.

This unexpected turn of events has you rooted to the spot. You’re not sure what you should do. No. This shouldn’t change anything. You need to talk to him. As concerning as a change like this is, the extra time it gives you should be a good thing. Despite knowing that, your feet are still firmly planted to the ground.

The crowd shifts and you see Satoru Gojo start to move. Toward the barricade? No. He’s not heading in his usual direction, rather he’s—

You stop breathing.

He’s headed toward you.

He comes to a stop before you, lips curled up to form an amused sort of smile as he says, “Soooo, you needed to talk to me?”

You try to answer but no words come out of your mouth. Are you dreaming? You have to be, right? There's no way that this is actually happening. Could it be that, after thousands of loops, you’ve finally lost it? Your mind shattering along with the glass of the barricade at the end of the last one?

Gojo tilts his head, indicating that he's still waiting for an answer. When you open your mouth, at first, nothing comes out, the words stuck in your throat. You force them out, your voice cracking, “...how did you know?”

He smiles, looking almost mischievous as he reaches up and lightly taps the side of his head. “I remembered, of course!”

All you can do is stare at Satoru Gojo. He remembered? How is that possible? From his perspective, this is the first time you’ve met and while it shouldn’t be possible for him to remember there’s something in your mind that’s keeping you from completely dismissing the possibility.

Gojo laughs, “I take it from the look on your face that you’re not used to this sort of thing happening. Is this the first time?”

“No.” The fact that the word is out of your mouth before you can even really think about it surprises you and you really have to think. Your face scrunches together as you try to remember. Is this really not the first time? Then, the memories assault you, overlapping as they replay simultaneously in your head— a woman in a yellow and white magical girl costume— begging you for help as she burns to death— smiling as she tells you she made her costume herself. “...it happened just once a long time ago.”

“‘A long time ago,’ huh. Sounds like you've been at this for a while now.”

“...unfortunately.”

Gojo hums. “So when you said you didn’t need my phone number…”

“You’d already given it to me a few times,” you say, figuring that’s where this conversation is going.

“Really now?”

Does he not believe you? Or is he just being an ass? You’re not sure, but since you had taken the liberty of memorizing Satoru Gojo’s phone number you recite it back to him to prove your point.

Just when you think you may have stunned Gojo into silence he starts to laugh, obviously finding something funny about the fact that you know his cell phone number. “Seems like you've got quite the fascinating technique there.”

Technique? What is he talking about? Your confusion must be plain on your face because he adds, elaborating, “The time travel.”

You continue to stare at him. You don't think you'd consider what you've been going through time travel, because traveling implies moving from point A to point B, but you've been stuck walking in circles at point A for a long time. What really gets you is… “What do you mean by ‘technique?’”

“You mean you don’t— oh. I get it; no wonder you’re trapped.”

That does not answer your question in the slightest. “Can you please explain what you're talking about? What do you mean by ‘technique?’”

“Right, right… So basically, a technique is like a special sort of power,” he finally explains. “Like I said, your technique seems to be a kind of time travel. Whenever you activate it, your mind is sent back in time.”

What he's saying makes sense, but… “How come you were sent back too?”

He laughs again. “Isn't it obvious? Think back to before— do you remember that I caught you as you were falling?”

You nod slowly. The memory of his arms around you is almost embarrassingly vivid. “...is it because we were touching?”

“Ding, ding, ding! That's correct! Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!”

Something about his tone annoys you, but you try to ignore it. He could have just told you rather than make you guess. “How do you know that for sure?”

“Well,” he continues. “You’ve done your little time loop a bunch of times, right? If your technique affected everyone, or even a few people in a select range you would have noticed for sure. And if it affected only just you then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, now would we?”

When you think about it, you do think that the woman in the magical girl costume might have bumped into you before the loop where she remembered.

“That’s honestly just conjecture, but I've got pretty good eyes, so I’m hardly ever wrong.”

Gojo gives you a grin and while you do think that his reasoning is sound enough his confidence is a little grating. More than that, though, you’re glad that this conversation is actually going really well.

“Either way,” he says thoughtfully. “It doesn’t look like you can control your technique. Usually a person’s technique manifests when they’re a kid, but you seem to be a special case… in fact, I bet your technique activated for the very first time tonight— probably under some pretty extreme circumstances, too.”

“...dying counts as an ‘extreme circumstance,’ right?”

“Oh, absolutely. Or legitimately thinking that you’re gonna die, but it seems like your body has been unconsciously activating your technique as a sort of defense mechanism. Which is why you’re trapped.”

“So, if I could control it I’d be able to make it out of this time loop.”

“Yeah, but in this case it probably wouldn’t end very well for you,” he points out with a chuckle. “It’s not like you actually want to die, right? I mean, if you did, then your technique wouldn’t even activate in the first place.”

You don’t; what you want is for this night to finally end. To be free from the endless cycle of dying over and over again and again. You don’t think death is quite the answer; even if you were to learn how to control this supposed technique of yours, there’s no guarantee that you would just unconsciously activate it when the grim reaper comes knocking on your door. No, the answer is…

“Anyway!” Gojo’s cheery voice cuts through your thoughts. “I highly doubt that you’re the type that makes a habit of jumping off ledges for the funsies, so the fact that you’ve been dying tells me that some pretty gruesome stuff is about to go down, so, tell me what happens tonight.”

The sudden drop of his voice sends a shiver running down your spine. If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve seen how serious Gojo can get, the sudden shift in demeanor would probably freak you out a bit, but it doesn’t. This is the Satoru Gojo you’re familiar with.

You do have one concern though. “That… won’t create a time paradox or anything, will it?”

“Nah,” Gojo shrugs. “You wouldn’t cause one with the way your technique works, besides, if you’ve only been going back at most an hour or two in time it’s hard to believe you’d be making a really big impact… unless you really believe in the butterfly effect.”

You’re still not quite sure.

“Trust me, it’ll be fine.”

His voice sounds strange. Gentle. Kind. It's the most soothing thing you've heard in a long time and it makes you want to believe him.

“...okay.”

Anxiety is still gripping at you, but you try to dispel it, taking a deep breath before beginning your explanation. For the sake of brevity, it’s probably best that you’re as concise as possible. There isn’t much need to really get into the nitty gritty of things unless he asks specifically.

Naturally, you begin with his arrival onto the platform and how soon after a fight breaks out and how the crowd is unfortunate enough to be involved. Gojo’s expression is passive for the most part, but he does crack the faintest hint of a smile when you mention how he manages to eviscerate one of the monsters.

It disappears once you tell him about the arrival of the train. Between the dozens upon dozens of people being dropped onto the platform by those two high school girls and the hoard of monsters disembarking from the train, everything devolves into pandemonium.

“Wait,” Gojo holds a hand up and you pause. This is his first interruption since you started recounting the night’s events for him. “Everyone is able to see the monsters?”

You stare at him. What a weird question. “...yeah?”

His mouth twists and it looks like he’s thinking about something. You can’t even begin to imagine what. Finally, he comments, “Makes sense.”

It does not, but you don’t ask him to elaborate. Surely if it was important he would have just done so.

“Anyway, in the middle of all that, you… you do something.” Your brows bunch together as you remember the stance Gojo took, the crazed and desperate look in his eyes, the feeling of your head about to explode. “I don’t know how to describe it. At first, it would just force me to… activate my technique, I guess. But now, it just knocks me out for a few minutes.”

Gojo frowns and he rubs at his chin, obviously thinking about what you’ve said. Eventually, he raises a hand and bends his fingers into a familiar gesture. It’s the one that preludes whatever he does on the platform. “Do I do this?”

“Yeah.”

He hums. “Interesting.”

You wait to see if he’ll explain. He doesn’t. Great. Even if he doesn’t think you need to know, it certainly would be nice to. It’s annoying otherwise, but you ignore the feeling and continue. “I can’t tell you what happens when I’m knocked out, but when I come to everyone is basically a zombie and all the monsters from the train are gone. I think you kill them.”

“I probably do,” he says casually. “But what about Volcano Head?”

“...you don't…get a chance to kill him,” you say slowly. Gojo tilts his head, waiting for you to elaborate, but you hesitate. You have to tell him, you know you do, but…

You have seen the interaction so many times and though you don't know the exact nature of the relationship between them, you can tell that seeing Suguru Geto (or rather seeing his body) shook Satoru Gojo to his very core.

There's no doubt in your mind that he will not take this news well.

“Come on now,” Gojo's tone is light-hearted, unaware. “Don't keep me in suspense here.”

It's as if you're withholding the punchline to a joke. In a way, you suppose you are, but you don't think he's going to find it funny.

You take a deep breath. You need to tell him. The worst thing that could happen is that he doesn't believe you, but if that's the case… you'll probably just end up repeating this all again until you find a loop where he does.

Having made it this far, you'd like to avoid all that.

“Before you can get Volcano Head you get restrained by something called the prison realm,” you say slowly, “by someone calling themselves… Suguru Geto.”

The second the name leaves your mouth, there is a clear and obvious shift in the air. Gone is Gojo’s laid-back and frivolous demeanor, replaced with something more somber and almost frightening. The tension grows more and more palpable to the point that you think it might almost choke you.

You almost wish that it would.

“You can’t be serious,” Gojo finally says, once your words have fully sunk in.

“I—” You start to speak, but come to an abrupt stop when you see him shove his hand into his pocket to yank out his phone of all things.

The both of you know full well that there’s no reception here, but you don’t think that he’s planning on making any calls. Gojo scrolls and scrolls on his phone before he stops and shoves the screen in your face. It shows a picture of three people— a teenage girl with a cigarette in her mouth, a younger, happier version of Gojo sporting a pair of round sunglasses and—

“When you say ‘Geto’ is this who you’re referring to?” Gojo demands, using his other hand to point at the third person in the frame— a handsome young man with long dark hair pulled up into a bun.

“Yes, but—”

“That’s impossible. It can’t be him,” Gojo interrupts, his voice firm, cold even. “He’s dead.”

There’s a note of finality in his words that is definitely meant to leave no room for argument. It doesn’t stop you, though. Instead, you glare at Gojo’s stupid blindfold and say, “...being dead doesn’t mean a damn thing! I’ve died hundreds of times and yet I’m still fucking here, but—”

“Your situation is different,” he interjects, the temperature of his tone hiking up, his words like heated hissing. “I killed him almost a year ago. There's no way—”

“You didn't get rid of the body properly!” You cut him off, raising your voice in hopes that he'll take even just a second to stop and listen. It seems to work and you add something you remember ‘Geto’ saying. “You should have had Shoko Ieiri get rid of it, but you didn’t and now some… some kind of gross brain thing is possessing the corpse!”

The air between you both is silent as the grave. Though you can't see it, you can feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. He’s definitely having second thoughts about everything you’ve said so far. There’s a chance he might even think you’re his enemy now. You stare him down though, refusing to look away. You’ve made it this far, you can’t— you won’t back down.

“...you’re not lying, are you.” Gojo’s words are more of a statement than a question. There’s no doubt in your mind that he knows the answer, and yet he’s still asking. You wonder if maybe he’s clinging onto some vain hope that maybe, just maybe this all a sick, cruel joke that’s gone way too far.

“I’m not.”

Gojo holds your gaze for a second longer before he lets out a curse. “Fuck!”

“...I’m sorry,” you say quietly, mostly because it feels like the most correct thing to say at this moment. You don’t know the whole story, but it seems like they were close. If so, then it must have hurt Gojo a lot to have killed him, and must hurt even more to know that someone is desecrating the body. You hate that you, a complete and utter stranger, happened to be the person to tell him, but…

It had to be done, for the sake of getting past this unending night, it had to be done.

Gojo runs a hand through his hair and lets out a ragged sigh. “Okay. What happens after that?”

You give him a rundown of what follows; he gets sealed, the monsters wake up and all but ‘Geto’ leave in search of their next target. When you mention the high school girls demanding the brain give Geto’s body back, Gojo snorts loudly.

“Fat chance of that,” he says derisively.

You nod in agreement. It was clear to you that the brain parasite has no intent on giving it up any time soon. “After they leave, he… talks to me.”

“Probably couldn't ignore all that cursed energy you have,” Gojo remarks offhandedly.

You stare at him, expression twisted in a way that shows that you have absolutely no clue what that means. It should be fine for you to ask this one question; it actually concerns you after all. “What does that even mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, though… probably doesn't make much sense to you, does it?”

You give him a pointed glare and all Gojo does is laugh.

“Just think of it like having a lot of MP.”

“...Like in a video game?”

“Exactly!” Then, Gojo tilts his head, clearly thinking. You don't bother asking; you don't feel like he'll explain.

“He does ask me if I'm a sorcerer, whatever that is. Is that why?”

“Probably. Ordinary people don't have even a fraction of the energy you're packing.”

‘Ordinary people’ he says as if you’re not an ordinary person who got caught up in all this supernatural sorcery bullshit. Or at least you were, but if the time loops are really a product of your own doing…

“Does he kill you when you answer?” Gojo asks to get the conversation back on track.

“Not right away. What happens next kind of varies,” you answer. “He usually lets me have a question or two before he kills me; I've asked him a couple different things.”

“Really taking advantage, aren’t you?” Gojo says and you're not sure what to make of his tone. Is he mocking you or is he easing back into that laid-back persona of his?

“If I’m doomed to repeat the same situation over and over, I might as well make the most of it,” you respond flatly.

“You know, your technique kind of reminds me of save scumming.”

He’s definitely gone back to acting almost completely unserious— all signs of his earlier agitation are nearly gone.

“So what did you learn?”

“Well, the prison realm only holds one occupant. Once they’re sealed, time stops for them and the only way out is if the bearer unseals them or if they choose to kill themselves.”

“I see… And what about our body jacker?”

“He didn’t go into detail but he said something about… striving toward the evolution of mankind?” You frown a little at the memory. He didn’t explain further because he said that you wouldn’t understand.

“Huh. Interesting. Wonder how he was gonna go about doing that.”

“I don't know, but I can't imagine you'd like it since he goes out of his way to seal you into that box,” you say. “Said you’d get in the way because you’re too strong.”

Gojo shrugs his shoulders and grins a little. Cocky. “Well, I am the strongest sorcerer around, you know.”

You would think him overconfident if you hadn't seen the magnitude of his strength first hand.

“Anyway, that's as far as I ever go. When he's decided he’s done talking to me, he kills me and I loop back.”

“So, in short, what you want help with is getting past that point, right?”

“More or less.”

“And all I have to do is avoid getting caught by the prison realm?”

You nod.

“What’s it look like?” he asks. “A big cage with a bunch of metal bars?”

Now that you think about it, you haven’t woken up early enough to see it before it traps him, but you can’t imagine it looks that much different. “No.. It’s a small box with eyes… It gets big enough to fit you in it, though.”

“Huh.” He stretches his arms out above his head as if he’s trying to emphasize how large he actually is and shoots you a grin. “Should be easy enough then. I bet our body snatcher used the shock of seeing Suguru to trap me but since I'll see it coming, avoiding it'll be a piece of cake.”

Gojo makes it sound so easy, and maybe it really is as simple as that, but you can't help but be worried still.

“Don't tell me you don't think I can do it,” he says, tilting his head.

“It's not that,” you admit. “I'm just concerned I might die before we can get to that point.”

Truthfully, since you know that will just result in another loop you're less concerned with dying itself and more worried about losing the progress you've made in convincing Gojo to help you. Even though it's been clearly proven you can loop him as well, there's no guarantee you'll be able to make the physical contact needed to do it upon death.

“You've made it pretty far on your own, though, right?”

“Yeah, but… I’ve messed up plenty of times.” More than you can even count. “There's also the possibility that taking the time to talk to you might have thrown things out of whack.”

Speaking of time, you check your phone. It's 8:39PM. You curse.

Gojo leans over to check your phone. “Let me guess, I'm supposed to be somewhere right now.”

“Yeah, this is when you’re descending down onto the platform.”

“You know where I am down to the exact minute?” He asks and you tilt your head back and forth a little. It’s not exact per se, but it’s close enough. Gojo chuckles a little. “Man, I didn’t realize that you were actually that into me.”

That earns Gojo a glare from you, but he just laughs it off. “I doubt being a few minutes late is going to make a big difference.”

You certainly hope so.

“Don't worry,” Gojo says and you notice he's using that tone from earlier. “You won't die.”

It’s hard to argue with him when he uses such a reassuring sounding voice and yet, you still open your mouth to try— to voice your doubts, but what he says next silences you before you even can.

“I'll protect you.”

You think your heart stops beating in your chest and your words dissolve in your throat.

He grins at you. “Did you fall in love with me just now?”

That catches you a little off guard. You're willing to admit he's hot, but surely he must be joking. “How could you even think of something like that at a time like this?”

Gojo laughs again. “Well, since someone is so worried about their time table being all messed up, I better head down there; can’t keep Volcano Head and friends waiting, right?”

You blink. Is that it? “Wait, shouldn’t we make a plan or something?”

“Isn’t the plan for me to not get caught in the prison realm?”

Yes, but… “But what about me? Is there anything I can do?”

Gojo stares at you, or at least you think he does. “...I don’t know, is there?”

You’ve seen the encounter between Satoru Gojo and those monsters so many times and you try to picture a version of it where you intervene and… all you can see is yourself getting in his way. You’re no fighter, no… sorcerer, or whatever he is, you’re just some ordinary person that was unfortunate enough to get all caught up in this mess. The most you can probably do is kick the prison realm out of the way when the time comes, but otherwise… “...no, I guess not.”

His expression turns sympathetic. “You’ve done plenty by telling me everything that happens. So just wait up here, and let me handle the monsters.”

You almost nod. Almost. But then you remember what transpires up here above the platform. You know it sounds safer up here where you’re less likely to get involved in the carnage, but… “Wait, no, if I stay up here then I’ll fall to my death when those girls—”

Gojo laughs, interrupting you. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll be fine.”

“How?”

“Just trust me.”

“I…” It’s hard to. After everything you’ve gone through it’s hard to trust in anything, to believe in anything. Even though you’ve made it this far this time, the worry that something will go wrong and that you’ll have to do it all again still lurks in the back of your mind.

Despite all that, you want to believe.

You want to believe that you can make it past this unending night, that one day you’ll wake up and it’ll no longer be October 31, 2018. And the first step towards that is trusting in Satoru Gojo.

“...okay,” you say quietly. “Okay.”

Gojo chuckles then asks, “Anything else before I head off?”

You start to ask if there’s anything you should say, in case things don’t work out, but you stop yourself. You’re choosing to trust him, to believe in him— you can figure out that stuff later if things end up going south after all. So, instead you give him a smile and it feels a little weird because you don’t remember the last time you did. “Good luck!”

For a split second, Gojo looks almost surprised, but then he laughs again, beaming widely at you. He starts to move past you and reaches out to give you what you think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder and then he’s off. You turn to watch him go, the crowd, once again, parting almost naturally for him.

When he reaches the barricade, he pauses, raising his hand as if he’s giving you one last wave. Then he jumps over it onto his little perch and then less than a minute later he’s gone, descending to the platform below.

Now, all you can do is wait.

You check your phone again and it’s 8:44PM. If you remember correctly, the high school girls start threatening everyone right before 9PM. With Gojo’s arrival being shifted back almost five minutes, does that mean that they’ll be shifted back too? It would make sense, but you’re not too sure.

Out of habit, you keep checking your phone and at nearly 9PM, you hear the shrill voice of one of the girls over the crowd, commanding everyone to do what she says, her partner stringing up bodies until everyone listens. Everything plays out just as you remember it, which is mildly comforting, though you know that the events that happen up here are more or less independent from what happens below.

Surely, just as Gojo said, a few minutes aren’t going to change anything, but—

No.

You agreed to trust him. To trust that everything would be fine.

When the girls start to demand that as many people as possible climb onto the roots and vines covering the atrium your heart starts to hammer in your chest. In just a few minutes, all the foliage will disintegrate beneath you, and you and everyone else here will fall into the abyss below.

You are afraid.

There isn’t a single loop where you’ve really survived this fall. If you don’t die in midair, you die right after landing. It’s a death trap, and that’s why you’ve stopped coming up here. There’s a part of you, the part that knows what’s about to happen, that wants to try and run back onto stable footing. But you can’t, because you know if you do then the girls will kill you for sure; you have to stay.

It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, it’ll be okay.

You just have to trust Gojo.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

You hear the announcement faintly below you. It’s almost time. You brace yourself and try to stay calm. Gojo said he would protect you, that you wouldn’t die. You don’t know how he intends to keep that promise, but all you can do is believe in his words.

It’ll be fine. It’ll be okay.

The vines and roots start to crack and the ground beneath you starts to give out. You squeeze your eyes shut as that sickening weightless feeling overtakes you. It occurs to you that this is actually quite literally a trust fall— will Satoru Gojo really be able to catch you?

As you fall, you realize almost instantly that something is different.

You’ve experienced this fall dozens of times and so, even though it has been a while since you’ve gone this route, you are very familiar with what it feels like. Something is different. You’re falling faster. The trajectory is changing. It’s like some force, other than gravity, is pulling at you.

Is this Gojo’s doing?

Just as your body collides with the ground you hear the sounds of mutilating flesh meld with the screams surrounding you. Blood and severed limbs litter the ground, but you try to ignore it. You need to focus on your own survival right now. Quickly, you scramble to your feet scan the area around you; you’re on the platform right now and right in front of you is—

Right in front of you is Satoru Gojo.

His back is turned to you, his focus currently elsewhere. Looking at him you realize you recognize this scene, though it’s much closer and at a different angle. He’s about to do that thing, that thing that knocks you out.

Something in you tells you to move closer to him, after all, he used his mysterious powers to deliberately bring you closer to him, right? You rush toward him and as you do something he said earlier pops up in your mind.

Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!

Whatever he’s about to do… Is that his ‘technique?’ And if it is, would it work the same way as yours? If so, there’s only one way to find out: you need to touch him. You dodge monsters and other people as you run toward Satoru Gojo and—

A monster still manages to grab you, its large hands wrapping around your wrist. You try and yank it free, but it's much stronger than you are.

“Shit!” you hiss as the monster starts to pull you toward it and away from Gojo. What do you do? Your other hand is still free, should you try to punch it in the face? Or—

Before you can do anything, something blasts the monster’s head clean off. Shocked, you stare as the monster’s body slumps onto the ground, its grip loosening on you instantly. You whip your head around to find that while Gojo still has his back to you, his arm is bent back in your direction, his palm open as if he fired some invisible blast from it.

Then you feel it again, something pulling at you, but this time it's more forceful. Your body is yanked toward Gojo and the second you feel his hand press against you, you see him make that gesture with his other hand.

“Domain Expansion,” he whispers in a strained voice. “Infinite Void!”

Something happens and your vision flashes for a fraction of a second. And then—

The room is enveloped in an eerie stillness; all the violence and bloodshed coming to an abrupt stop. Monsters and humans alike stand like the living dead, unconscious with their eyes wide open as if they are staring into an infinite abyss. You recognize this scene, you’re familiar with it because it’s similar to the one you wake up to after being hit by Gojo’s ‘domain expansion.’ The only difference is the presence of the monsters, who are all but gone when you regain consciousness.

The pressure from Gojo’s hand is gone and he says to you, his voice still low. “If you’re squeamish when it comes to blood and gore, it might be best for you to close your eyes.”

And then he’s gone.

You do not take his advice. You do not close your eyes. How many loops were you unable to witness what’s about to unfold? A few hundred? A few thousand? And if all goes to plan, then you will never get another chance again: there’s no way you could possibly look away.

And what you see unfold before you is that Satoru Gojo was right.

He is the one to kill all the monsters.

It’s not as if you really had any doubt, after all, it seemed like the most logical conclusion to come to and yet…

There’s a difference between knowing and seeing.

All the violence resumes and the platform is engulfed in the sounds of carnage and slaughter once more. The lack of terrified screams makes everything more disconcerting— without them, all you can hear is the squelching echo of mangled flesh and blood splattering all over the place. You can’t really see him, but you can tell where Satoru Gojo is in the crowd as he leaves dozens upon dozens of decapitated heads soaring in his wake. Once or twice, he leaps out of the crowd and even from where you stand you can see the crazed glow of his inhumanly blue eyes as he massacres monster after monster.

Even though you don’t think you have anything to be scared of, you are still terrified: Satoru Gojo is no longer a man, but violence incarnate. You want to move closer to where Gojo gets trapped, but you’re afraid to. What if you get in his way? What if he kills you by accident?

Dying again when you’ve made it this far is definitely not ideal, but isn’t being killed by Gojo the best case scenario? Because then the two of you would probably loop together again and—

No.

Gojo said you wouldn’t die.

He said he’d protect you.

It’s hard to believe when he’s in the middle of a massacre, slaughtering monsters left and right, but you remind yourself yet again that you have to believe in him.

You take a deep breath and start moving, taking care to keep an eye on where Gojo is. You don’t know how long this is supposed to take, but you do know where he ends up when he’s just about done. The closer he gets to that spot, the sooner the prison realm will be unleashed upon him.

There’s a small group of zombified people nearby and you settle yourself among them. It’s not super close, but you think it's close enough that you'd be able to run over and kick the box away from Gojo if you have to. You do a quick survey to see if you can spot the body snatcher, but he's nowhere to be found. Hopefully, he hasn't noticed you moving around, or, if he has, he's more concerned with Gojo than he is with you. Given that you always seem to be the last thing he acknowledges, you'd like to think that he doesn't consider you a threat.

Which you're not, not really anyway.

The sounds of slaughter start to die down and you look to see Gojo approaching the spot where he gets caught. He looks beat, his eyes unfocused and his breathing heavy. You do another quick scan around him and notice a small box a few meters away from him, wrapped in what looks like paper charms or seals or whatever they're called. That has to be the prison realm— though it looks different than what you saw before. Gojo seems to notice it right after you do, his gaze honing in on it, examining it with some measure of bewilderment. Then, some invisible force slices through all the paper seals covering the box and it expands, the corners of the box floating up in midair to reveal what looks like a large sheet of dark red flesh with a large bloodshot eye stapled to the middle.

Disgusting.

If Gojo didn’t realize before, he seems to now, because he takes a step back, away from the grotesque thing. Good, good—

“Hey! Satoru!” Your blood runs cold at the sound of the body snatcher’s voice. He emerges from the crowd, smiling widely as he gives Gojo a wave. “Long time no see!”

Satoru Gojo’s entire body goes rigid. Shit. You told him, you warned him about what was going to happen, who he was going to see, but was that not enough? It’s possible that no amount of warning would have been enough to mentally prepare Satoru Gojo for the sight of the man he said he killed a year ago. After all, you know that there’s a stark difference between knowing and seeing. Even then, if Gojo doesn’t gather his wits and move now then he’s going to get caught and you can’t let that happen.

Your body moves before you can even think about it.

You scramble out from your hiding spot in the crowd and throw yourself in between Satoru Gojo and the prison realm. There’s no way you can kick it away from him now, not when it’s in this form, but maybe, if you get between them you can at least keep it from capturing him.

The eye quivers erratically, as it flits from Gojo to you. Every hair on your body stands on end as it watches you, the pupil dilating and contracting uncontrollably. You can’t look away from it, your own gaze fixed to your image reflected in the black abyss of the pupil. Something in the back of your mind tells you to stop, to get away, it’s dangerous, but you keep your feet firmly planted to the ground.

A second, or maybe even a minute passes and the prison realm shifts, its fleshy form morphing to restrain you.

The body jacker looks at you, his frown tinged with disgust. “Don’t you think you’re being rather rude by butting into what could have been a touching reunion?”

You scowl. Is he still trying to play the role of Suguru Geto?

He sighs and looks past you at Gojo. “Satoru, I thought bringing lesser sorcerers to fight alongside you was more trouble than it was worth?”

You hear Gojo snort from behind you, “It is… but this person here isn’t a sorcerer… Just like you aren’t Suguru Geto.”

The faker almost pouts and presses his hand to his chest as if Gojo's words have wounded him. “Satoru, I’m hurt, how could you say such a thing to your best friend?”

“Cut the bullshit,” Gojo snarls. “You can’t fucking fool me. You might be in Suguru’s body but I know with all my heart and soul that you’re not him.”

The corpse snatcher stares at Gojo, expression blank before he sighs once more. Then, his gaze shifts back to you, his eyes narrowed as he looks at you with sheer disdain. It feels as if you’ve been drenched in ice cold water. There's no smile this time but you already know what's going to happen.

He’s going to kill you.

“I intended to deal with you later since you seemed harmless enough,” he says, raising a hand to summon a monster— the same one he always uses to end your life. “But you’re in the way. So, I think it’s for the best if I just get rid of you right now.”

Instinctively, you try to take a step back but the prison realm’s restraints keep you in place. Not that it would have mattered much, even in the loops where you’ve tried to escape the faker’s monster, it still kills you, too fast and too agile for an ordinary human like you to avoid. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the monster to kill you. At least, it’s always painless.

Something touches your back.

Your eyes shoot open.

Before you is the monster, wiggling and writhing only mere centimeters from your face. It gurgles and snarls at you, desperate to fulfill its master’s wishes and kill you but it doesn’t move any closer. You stare at it with wide eyes, unsure of what to do.

Someone behind you clicks their tongue— Gojo. You try to turn your head to look at him, but your movements are too limited, the most you can do is turn your head to the side. The sounds the monster is making start to change, sounding more frenzied, almost as if it’s in pain, and you flit your eyes in its direction just in time to see its entire body explode. The monster's guts and bright purple blood fly off in every direction, getting on the floor, the ceiling, the zombified bodies of the people unfortunate enough to be nearby, but not on you.

This is Satoru Gojo’s doing.

He steps in front of you, half turned towards you as he moves in between you and the body snatcher. His hands are shoved in his pockets as he loudly says, “Did you really forget about me?”

You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the body snatcher.

Past him, the imposter scowls, raising his hand once more, probably to summon even more monsters, but Gojo’s quicker, and it almost looks like his eyes are glowing even brighter, the blue looking almost white as he whips his head in the faker’s direction. The sound of mangling flesh and breaking bones echoes throughout the room as Gojo, using that mysterious power of his, seems to break the faker’s arm.

The body snatcher hisses loudly and despite the fact that his face is twisted in very obvious pain, he tries to shoot Gojo a mocking smile. “Do you really think you can kill your best friend again?”

“I already told you,” Gojo turns to fully face the monster inhabiting Geto’s corpse. He tilts his head a little to the side and some force starts to squeeze at the faker’s neck. “You’re not Suguru.”

You hear a loud crack as Gojo telekinetically snaps his neck.

The head rolls onto the ground and you almost look away, but then you notice his eyes still moving, looking around. Is he still alive? Then you remember: the thing possessing Suguru Geto’s body was some kind of parasite. “Gojo! Wait! The brain!”

He reacts almost instantly, head turning and in an instant the skull is crushed and all that remains is red splotch on the ground.

You almost relax. Almost.

But the body is still standing.

Horrified, you watch as it quivers violently before falling to the ground. Then what looks like dozens of black spirits start to erupt from the corpse and the entire room is engulfed with a shrill howling.

What the hell is going on?

“Those must be all the cursed spirits he consumed,” Gojo explains uselessly, voice barely audible over the screaming. “Guess he was empty before.”

You don’t bother asking what he means. There are bigger problems right now. “What do we do?”

“No choice to exorcise them,” he answers plainly.

For him to exorcise them, he means. You both know that there’s not much that you can do. You still can’t move and honestly, you don’t even know if it’s possible to get out of the prison realm’s restraints. Not without dying. And if you die now…

Everything will have been for naught.

You’ll reset time and have to do this all over again— assuming you can even get to this point again.

There has to be something, you just have to think outside the box.

Or rather—

“Gojo!”

He glances back at you.

“You need to seal me in the prison realm!” you exclaim. He turns to face you fully, looking bewildered and you start to explain as fast as you can. “Those things are going to attack any minute right? I can’t move or try to hide and I can’t expect you to protect me the entire time and if I die then I’ll end up looping time again, but— but, if you seal me in the prison realm then that won’t happen.”

Gojo frowns, looking conflicted. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“Wouldn't it be easier if you didn’t have to?”

He tilts head and you think he’s conceding your point.

“Please,” you beg, staring at him desperately. “We don’t have much time. The other… cursed spirits will wake up soon too!”

You don’t have to explain that you mean Volcano Head and friends.

It takes only a second for Gojo to consider the very few options you have. “...how do you seal it? Do you know?”

“I think so,” you answer. “There’s no guarantee it’ll work but I think that if you say ‘prison realm, gate close’ it should seal me inside.”

If anything, it’s worth a shot.

Gojo nods. “Do you know how to break the seal?”

“I… don’t,” you confess. You never asked, and you don’t think the body snatcher would have told you even if you did. He only told you that it holds one and that…

That time doesn’t flow in the box.

“...you don’t have to break the seal.”

Gojo frowns, “Wait a sec—”

“Even if I make it past tonight… What if this all happens again? What if I inadvertently trap myself in another time loop?” you ask. “I… I don’t want to have to go through all of this again. It’s better for me in a place where time doesn’t pass.”

You don’t know for sure if it’ll be better, but right here, right now, it seems like the best option.

It feels like an eternity passes before Gojo says anything.

“...fine,” he agrees and you don’t quite know how to feel about it. The howling around you all grows louder. You wonder why the cursed spirits haven’t attacked yet. Maybe Gojo’s power is holding them at bay… for now anyway. You both know that he can’t ignore them forever.

“...before I do, though, mind if I ask you just one thing?”

You blink. “Not sure what I can do for you in this state…”

He laughs. “I just want to know your name.”

What an odd request. Though, now that you think about it, you don’t think that during this loop or any other loop really, you’ve ever told him your name. It only seems fair to tell him, since you’ve known his for longer than he’s known of your existence.

You tell him your name.

He nods, looking as if he’s committing to memory. Probably easier to remember than his phone number. “Any last words?”

You try to think of something. Nothing comes to mind and you just shake your head.

Gojo takes a deep breath, “Alrighty then… Prison realm, gate close.”

Just as it did the many times you’ve seen Satoru Gojo sealed away, the boxes and restraints around you vibrate a little before they start to close around you, growing large enough to fit your body as they approach.

You won’t see it, but once you’re inside the box will shrink and become small enough to fit in the palm of someone’s hand.

Will it be quiet inside?

In your final seconds, some words, some last words come to mind, and you say them, hoping that he hears them in time. “Thank you, Satoru Gojo.”

You burn the glittering glow of his brilliant bright blue eyes into your mind.

And then, everything is engulfed in an unending black.

It’s November 30, 2018— morning on the campus of Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School.

Satoru Gojo strides through the school grounds, casually tossing a small silver box with eerie blue eyes known as the prison realm up and down in his grasp. Walking at his side is Shoko Ieiri, a pretty woman who’s been unfortunate enough to have been Satoru’s friend since high school.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Shoko asks, twirling a few strands of her long brown hair.

“What do you mean?” Satoru responds nonchalantly. “All my ideas are good ideas.”

Shoko hums in clear dissent, but doesn’t say anything more. Even she knows better than to try and waste her time trying to argue with Satoru. “I’m just worried about their mental state. Didn’t you say that time doesn’t flow in the box?”

“I’d be worried if it was some normal person,” Satoru says. “But after what they’ve gone through I think they’ll be fine.”

“...well, if you say so.”

The two arrive at their destination: the largest training area on the Jujutsu High grounds. Satoru places the prison realm at the center and takes a few steps back with Shoko standing behind him, in case anything happens.

He doesn’t think it will, but it’s always good to take at least a few precautions.

“Gojo, are you sure we should be doing this?” Shoko asks again. “Didn’t they want to remain in the box?”

“Of course I am,” Satoru says with his usual air of confidence before looking back at the prison realm nestled in the grass. He grins and then—

“Prison realm, gate open.”

if you made it this far. thank you. it's my sincerest hope that you enjoyed the ride.

#gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic

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ckret2 · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 48 of human Bill Cipher slowly dying inside for 24 hours straight with no signs of stopping anytime soon:

The Eclipse: Part 6

Over a month since his death and after nearly 50 chapters, at long last, the moment you've all been waiting for:

Bill has a complete physical and mental breakdown.

Unfortunately there's only one person available to deal with it.

They landed near where they'd camped last night. While the Pines climbed out, Bill stared at the sharp gray rocks beneath the cliff. The blood was gone. It took him a moment to process that Ford was speaking: "We can pack our tents, return Tate's boat, and borrow a phone to call Stanley for a ride."

Bill numbly climbed onto land.

Their tents were in disarray, but more or less where they'd left them the night before. While Ford and Dipper dealt with the largest tent and cleaned up the campsite, Bill methodically attempted to fold up the tent he'd slept in.

He couldn't make sense of it. There were too many plastic rods with too many little joints and too many fabric flaps, he couldn't parse the geometry of it. This should be easy, he'd watched Dipper assemble the tent last night, how hard could it be to do the same in reverse?

But it wasn't working. His hands were shaking. The joints were bending wrong, the joints were bending in directions that shouldn't exist, in impossible dimensions, shrinking and expanding perversely as they twisted in alien foreshortening—

Bill let out a gasp so loud and sharp that Ford and Dipper immediately whipped around to face him. Ford asked, "What is it?"

Bill couldn't speak. He just stared down at his awful human legs.

"Bill?"

Voice very far away—but impressively calm and flat—Bill said, "I have to sit down."

"Why? What happened?"

"My legs aren't working. I can't feel them."

His knees buckled. He tried to grip them to keep them straight, but found only one arm responded. "And—my left arm." He dropped to his knees in the mud.

And suddenly he was the center of attention, two humans moving around him in a dizzying flurry, all grotesque limbs and fabric: "Hey, are you okay?" "What happened? Are you injured?" "Think we should get help?" "Maybe he needs food—"

Too much. He closed his eyes, but there were still fingers on his arm and shoulders and back. He swatted at them with his functioning hand. "Don't touch me don't touch me DON'T TOUCH ME!" His shriek startled the birds from a nearby tree. He attempted to bite somebody, he wasn't sure who—this was what he'd been reduced to, no legs, no strength, no power, he couldn't even protect himself from being touched, all he had left was his teeth—but he misjudged the distance and bit only air. But it was enough to make the humans back off, shrinking into the distance.

"Don't touch me. Stop trying to move me. Don't ask me why I can't move. I don't know. This—this—" he gestured frantically at his body. He was moving too fast, talking too fast. "This—corpse—human body—is stupid. It's just being stupid! I need to sit. Leave me alone, I need to sit. I need to sit, and—look at nothing, and breathe." He was talking far too fast, breathing too fast. "I need it so much. Go away."

No matter how hard Bill tried to imagine the humans spontaneously ceasing to exist, they did not go away. Ford knelt in front of him, studying his face. "Try to smile."

Bill forced a smile. "Good. Good, good. Positive thinking."

"No. I'm trying to see if you're having a stroke." He sat back. "Your face muscles are still working symmetrical."

Bill decided to keep smiling anyway. He thought it might help. Happy happy happy.

"You say your can't feel your legs."

"Yes."

"Or your left arm."

"Yes."

"Did you feel any pain beforehand? Tingling in the limbs, or...?"

"No—no, no. They were working fine and then they were gone. They just—disappeared." Bill laughed. The laugh went on too long and sounded too high and too nervous.

Ford nodded. "Okay. Drink this."

A water bottle materialized in Bill's field of vision. It took a couple of tries for Bill to manipulate his hand through three-dimensional space to grasp it. He shakily drank as much as he could. It tasted like drowning.

"Dipper, run to the bait shop and call for an... The nearest hospital is at least twenty miles outside Gravity Falls' weirdness barrier, Bill can't get there. Call for a doctor and I'll stay here to—"

"No," Bill snapped, "no no no, don't call a doctor. I don't want—" He didn't want to be seen like this. He didn't want somebody picking him up and helping him into an ambulance like he was too weak to move himself. He didn't want Mabel to know. Bad enough Ford and the brat did. "I don't need it. I'm fine."

"Fine?!" Ford gestured at him in disbelief. "Three fourths of your limbs aren't functioning—!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Something's wrong with the body. It's got nothing to do with me. I'm fine, I'm just in it." He shut his eyes and tried to breathe. "Just—just let me sit."

"Let you sit and then do what?"

"Give me time. It'll come back. Don't tell anyone and—stop looking at me."

There was silence. Bill didn't want to open his eyes. He heard Ford stand and walk away.

####

"Do you think he's faking?" Dipper murmured.

Ford hated that that always had to be the first question. "I can't imagine what he'd stand to benefit from pretending he can't walk." Bill had been desperate to get back inside the last two days. If he'd now decided to—what? maybe take advantage of his freedom to try to escape?—then why hadn't he done that when they got separated in the lake, or in the caves where Bill could see in the dark and Ford hadn't known how to call the geodites? If he was trying to separate Ford and Dipper from each other so he could kill them one by one—why hadn't he just let them die?

It was hard not to think about how he really had saved them for no clear reason.

"He's spent two very stressful days hardly eating, sleeping poorly, and hiking through half the mountain. I'd say he needs food and rest. And probably more water." He'd gulped down two thirds of Ford's water bottle.

"Seriously? He can't feel his legs, is—is that normal for like a day without food and sleep?" Dipper asked. "People can go longer than that, right? You've gone longer."

"It's not a 'normal' symptom of exhaustion, hunger, or dehydration. But I think he'll fight us if we try to get medical help. Let's deal with the immediate problems first and—see where we are then. Even if it doesn't help, at least then he won't be paralyzed and starving."

Dipper nodded uncertainly. "What do we do if he's dying?"

The boy catastrophized at the drop of a hat. In a way, Ford supposed it was a good thing—having been through his fair share of catastrophes, he knew it helped to be prepared—but Dipper was so young. "Get him to a doctor as soon as we can; and, if that isn't enough... hope we're lucky." In other words: hope Bill stayed dead.

Dipper nodded again. "What's our strategy if Weirdmageddon restarts? Maybe... I wonder if that's what the Axolotl was trying to warn me—"

"Lunch first," Ford said. "Then we can plan for the apocalypse."

####

Bill knew they were going to make him move. They hated him. They would parade him through the streets to make a mockery of him, look at the alien loser in a malfunctioning corpse, washed-up puppeteer who can't even control a meat marionette, he's already dead and you can make his corpse in the forest a tourist destination—

"Okay," Ford said. "We'll give it an hour. Dipper's heading to town to get some proper food and call the shack."

The shack. Like a prison cell with an open door and a black hole inside trying to suck him back in. "Don't tell them—"

Dipper said, "I won't, I'm just letting them know we're not dead. And that we'll call again in a couple of hours."

No doubt so that Bill couldn't kill them without the shack knowing something was wrong. "Right."

"Do you... want any specific food?"

"Not hungry."

There was a pause. "Right. I'll just... grab something."

Bill didn't care what he did. As Dipper left the sound of each footstep was like a knife in Bill's ears. He just needed to breathe, needed to breathe and be normal and feel normal and happy—

Something soft landed on his head.

Bill opened his eyes.

There was an unzipped, slightly moist sleeping bag draped over his head and around his shoulders; and Ford standing several feet away, hands awkwardly clasped behind his back, looking somewhat embarrassed with himself.

Bill said, "What."

Ford cleared his throat. "It. Helped when you were, ah... had a hair cut. I thought—it can't hurt."

It took Bill a moment to figure out what he meant. "Oh." The towel. Ford had seen him hide under a towel. Right.

Ford winced and muttered, "Maybe it can hurt."

Bill croaked, "What."

It wasn't until he tried to speak that Bill realized he was crying so hard he couldn't breathe. His vision swam, his shoulders shook, his breath came in sharp hitches—no no no no, that wasn't okay, not in front of— Stop, stop, stop.

He covered his eyes with his hand. The water bottle slid off his thighs and spilled on the ground. Between gasping breaths, Bill forced out, "This's—this is—good. Good."

"How is it...?"

"It's a—hint. This—it's—prob... probably... ps-psycho—som—ss—"

"Psychosomatic?"

"Mm. Mhmm." He tried to get in a deeper breath and failed. "'Sgreat. Means—no inj—injuries. Flesh is—fine."

"So you're..." Ford's footsteps came closer, "saying it's psychological—?"

"No!" Bill let out a hysterical laugh. "I'm FINE! 'M happy. It's the body. It's—some hormone—hunger—exhaustion—just... s-synapses—and neurotrans—transmm—tr—"

"Easy. You can barely talk." He heard Ford sit next to him, felt the sleeping bag shift as he brushed against it. "Try to focus on breathing—"

"WHAT do you THINK I'm TRYING to—" Bill ineffectively pummeled Ford through the sleeping bag. "Move! Move, move, move! Don't t—touch—" He let out a frustrated scream that morphed into a humiliating sob, and had to clap his functioning hand over his mouth to smother the sound. He was not this body; he was a separate thing locked inside the body. This body was a prison, this body was a punishment. The legs didn't work, because the body was doing something to him. These weren't his tears, his grief, his fear. They were the body's. Which hormone was at fault? What could he blame other than himself?

He felt Ford's weight shift away from his side. "Okay, okay," Ford said. "Just... take it easy."

Bill socked him again. "Don't t-talk to me like a horse." He covered his eyes.

He didn't mean to risk his life for Ford.

Former friend, false worshiper, useless pawn, now enemy. Bill had just seen him floating out there and he'd done it—and he'd forgotten he could die.

In the Nightmare Realm he had saved his friends from peril billions of times before, because it was so easy for him, powers like a god, to see someone he was fond of and casually pluck them out of harm's way. It had been billions upon billions of years since Bill had been vulnerable to physical harm. He'd seen Ford in danger and he'd done what he always did and he'd forgotten he could have died.

He could have died. Eternally, permanently, last chance—he could have died.

And it would have been for nothing.

Bill was selfish. He had effortlessly saved friends billions of times but he'd also casually let them die just as many—assuming he didn't kill them himself. He saved friends because he liked them; but he didn't put himself out for ex-friends. Ford hadn't had one nice thing to say to Bill in years. Bill would never lure Ford back under his sway. Ford's survival endangered Bill's. But Bill had saved him anyway. He hadn't even stopped to think.

He didn't know. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to think about saving the human hellbent on killing him, he didn't want to think about almost dying, he didn't want to think about how peaceful it had been floating under the water, how easy it would have been to open his mouth and breathe in—he didn't want to think. He wanted to stop thinking. He wanted to empty his mind. He couldn't meditate through his hitching breaths and the way his stomach ached from struggling to keep his sobs silent, and his legs and left arm were gone.

He was fine. He was happy. He'd always been happy. Happy happy happy.

His entire body shook with sobs. He was dizzy—gasping between sobs for air he couldn't get. He was so lightheaded and crying so hard he couldn't stay upright. The edges of his vision went dark.

Ford wrapped an arm around Bill's shoulders and tugged him against his side. He held him up until Bill was too exhausted to cry anymore.

####

There was zipper noise, then a sound like shifting vinyl. Bill cracked his fingers apart to peer through them. Ford had unrolled the portable chessboard and was setting it up. "What?"

"It looks like we'll be here a while," Ford said, addressing his statement to the chessboard rather than to Bill. "It's... something else to focus on."

Bill wasn't sure what the emotion clawing its way through the grief-stricken haze in his mind was, but it felt very similar to relief. He nodded. "S—smart. I'm already—getting bored." His cheeks itched, his eyes burned, and his head was throbbing. As Ford set up the board, Bill closed his eyes and tried again to force himself to breathe more evenly. He was still dizzy from hyperventilating. Embarrassing—even a comatose human can breathe, and Bill couldn't even get that right. "Black?"

"I know."

Of course he knew. Bill always chose black. "First?"

"Fine." And Ford also knew, despite white traditionally getting the first move, Bill always moved first.

Bill waited in numb silence for Ford to finish setting up the board and sit on the other side. Moving almost automatically, Bill picked up a queen, hopped it over his line of pawns—

"Play it properly," Ford said irritably. "I put up with your cheating and lying for years, I'm not putting up with any more."

Bill gave Ford a look that he intended to be deeply offended, but immediately realized was probably just wet and pathetic. "Really? Now?"

Ford at least had the good sense to look a tad embarrassed, but he said, "I didn't set up the board to watch you move random pieces around like an untrained kindergartener."

"Three of my limbs don't work, Stanford."

"Are you suggesting your right arm doesn't remember the proper rules of chess?"

He wondered what Ford would say if he said yes. "I have a headache."

"You're probably dehydrated." Ford rummaged around in his backpack and offered over another bottle of water.

Bill reluctantly accepted it. He probably was dehydrated. "You owe me your life."

Ford fixed him with an unimpressed look. "You're trying to cash in a life debt... so you can cheat at chess?"

Bill opened his mouth; paused as he slowly thought that over; and dissolved into broken, hysterical giggles. "I don't know w-what I'm trying to do." He covered his mouth, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to steady his breathing again.

Ford sighed. He waited until Bill had regained some control over himself; and then he said, "You can make up one new rule."

Bill considered the offer. "Total, or per game?"

"Per game."

Deep breath. "Fine. But I'm not telling you what it is. You have to guess it."

Ford considered it. "Three conditions."

"Mm?"

"One: you have to share what the rule was at the end of the game. If any of your illegal moves didn't conform to that rule, you automatically lose."

"Mm."

"Two: any rule you come up with has to apply to both sides of the board equally. Nothing that only advantages you or disadvantages me," Ford said. "Three: if I can figure out what your new rule is before the game's over, I can use it too. Obviously, you lose if I ask you about the rule and you lie."

Bill mulled over Ford's terms. His head was so foggy, he'd already forgotten the first one. "Deal."

"Deal."

####

Bill lost every game.

Badly.

He was clobbered. He was creamed. He was a faint red smear upon the pavement.

Back in Ford's dreams, Bill had won a good four-fifths of their games. Ford had heard during his travels that Bill was a mediocre player, but he didn't think he was so bad that all of those games had been won due to cheating. Even when he wasn't cheating, Bill had sometimes taken Ford by surprise.

But now, Bill was squinting at the board like he was struggling to see where the pieces were. Occasionally his fingers pinched down on thin air like he was trying to grab a non-existent piece. So Ford assumed the catastrophic losses were more a reflection of Bill's mental state than his skill level.

The option to make up rules didn't save Bill, but it at least made the games more interesting—and unlike the rest of Bill's abysmal playing, the new rules gave Ford a glimpse of the devious mind still buried somewhere in the traumatized human body.

The first round, Bill decided that the queen could leapfrog over pieces like a knight, and when Ford pointed out that would mean whoever had the first move could put the opposing king in checkmate in one move, Bill grudgingly amended the rule: the queen could leapfrog to an empty square, but could only take pieces in a straight line in the conventional manner. Ford had to maintain a phalanx of pieces jealously clinging to his king to guard against Bill teleporting his queen to the king's side. Bill managed to check him twice before Ford won.

One round, Bill decreed that rooks could only land on pieces the same color as they were sitting on, then smugly nestled his king on a white square next to Ford's rook on a black square; and then promptly lost the game when Ford pointed out both of Bill's rooks were currently on white squares, meaning he'd broken his own rule before he'd revealed it.

One round he decided that kings could move like queens, which Ford only discovered when he thought he'd checkmated him and then Bill zoomed his king across the board to take Ford's bishop; and then Bill lost a few moves later when Ford used his own king's newly revealed power to properly corner Bill.

One round Bill decided that once any back row piece was captured, it reincarnated in the body of the corresponding front row pawn. Ford genuinely liked the new rule—it meant you had to capture and checkmate both the king and the king's pawn before the game was over, and you had to be more cautious about what pieces you took since it could inadvertently set up a previously harmless enemy pawn to devastate your side of the board. But by the time Bill revealed that rule by jumping a pawn like a knight, Ford had already taken Bill's king's pawn and seen a way to checkmate him in two moves. It was a sore disappointment to end the game before getting to experiment with the new rule.

A few games were so short that Ford won without ever seeing Bill pull a nonstandard move. Round seven was one such game. Ford cornered Bill with a knight and a bishop. That had been the quickest match yet. Game over. "Checkmate."

"Checkmate," Bill said.

Ford paused, looking over the board, thinking moving his bishop must have given one of Bill's pieces line of sight to his king; but no, his king was perfectly safe. "What?"

"Checkmate."

"You can't mate me, I just mated you."

"I know. Checkmate."

Frowning, Ford said, "Explain."

"The extra rule this game is that both kings are wearing suicide vests." He tapped his king, "He's wired up with enough explosives to wipe out the whole board." There was a look of steely exhaustion on his face. He looked like the kind of desperate, hopeless man who would put on a suicide vest. "If I'm going down, you're coming with me."

Ford laughed so hard his stomach hurt.

It was petty revenge for losing seven games in a row. A frustrated child flipping the chessboard, but making a self-deprecating joke out of it: as long as we both know I'm going to lose anyway...

When Ford had recovered himself enough to look at Bill again, Bill was giving him a faint, grim smile that didn't quite make it to his one open eye. Still—he looked a little less miserable than he had for the past hour. Or the past couple days.

Ford said, "We'll call that one a stalemate."

"I'll take it."

####

After trying all morning and half the afternoon, Dipper had remembered part of what the Axolotl had told him. Just one phrase: sixty degrees that come in threes. He could hear the rhythm and rhyme of whatever the Axolotl said next, something something something -eez—it rhymed, he was sure of that—but the rest...?

It took Dipper over an hour and a half to get back to the campsite; he'd gotten lost in his thoughts, and consequently, gotten lost in the forest. He returned with a plastic bag of the kind of junk food they regularly saw Bill consuming in the shack, a few slices of gas station pizza, and a clear takeout container of nachos. Bill immediately went for the nachos.

While Bill was inspecting the circle-shaped tortilla chips with obvious disappointment, Dipper rummaged around in the plastic bag until he found a small jar of rainbow sprinkles and offered them to Bill. Bill took it without acknowledging Dipper, awkwardly untwisted the lid with one hand and ripped off the seal with his teeth, and liberally drowned his nachos.

"The gas station looks like an earthquake hit it," Dipper reported. "And most of the cars had popped tires. I guess they must've floated up and then crashed back down." He took a cheese pizza slice and offered the box to Ford. "Nobody I asked saw the Axolotl."

Ford glanced at Bill, expecting him to have some kind of comment on that; but Bill just grunted "Mm," focused on the chess game like he thought he'd be killed if he glanced away.

Dipper pointed out when Bill pulled an illegal move, Ford explained the new rules they were playing by, and Dipper settled down to watch. He tried to razz Bill the next time he lost; but Bill made such a pathetic figure that he couldn't even enjoy making fun of him and quickly gave up.

During the next game, Bill unexpectedly slid a pawn backward diagonally to take out Ford's queen. While Ford was silently fuming over the loss of his most powerful piece, Dipper hazarded, "Can pawns capture both forward and backward?" That would have been Ford's guess too.

But Bill simply said, "No."

Dipper mumbled, "Huh," lost focus on the game, and stared off into the distance, murmuring something under his breath. He kept getting lost in his thoughts today. Ford supposed nobody in this hiking party was in the best mental state.

Maybe pawns could move like bishops? But when Ford tried to slide one diagonally across the board, Bill said, "That's illegal," and Ford returned it to its original spot. There was some hidden condition he was missing. Maybe which color square the pawn was on? Or maybe it was like en passant, you could only capture an enemy piece backwards if that was the first time the enemy piece moved?

When the game was over—Ford won, but Bill had held out longer than usual—Ford asked, "All right, what was the new rule?"

"Pawns can capture forward and backward." While Ford and Dipper stared at him in mute outrage, Bill ignored them to casually shift his posture from kneeling—his knees had gotten sore—to lotus position, and said, "Next game?" as though he couldn't even be bothered to notice the humans' fury.

"But that's exactly what we said!" Ford snapped. "You lied to me!"

"No," Bill said, "I lied to the kid. I'm not playing against the kid. Why are you paying attention to what I tell him?"

Dipper demanded, "How is that fair? Anyone listening would think—"

But he fell silent when Ford laughed. "Of course," Ford said. "I should have expected that. Any loophole you can find. That's part of the game to you, isn't it."

Bill gave Ford an unsettlingly knowing look; and Ford supposed it was part of the game to him, too.

(Somewhere in the back of Bill's foggy mind, he kept count: three times. Before today, Bill wasn't sure he'd heard Ford laugh once this summer. What changed? What was Bill doing differently? Maybe Ford only liked him when he was completely broken.)

It took until halfway through the next game for Ford to realize Bill had moved his legs.

####

Over Ford's protests that they should wait until his strength was back, Bill insisted they get moving immediately. He'd rather be locked in the shack again than spend one more minute sitting by the lake.

"I hate being surrounded by trees. Why do humans like nature so much. This is miserable." Caked in mud, still wearing a towel like a skirt, teetering with exhaustion, Bill certainly looked like the most miserable camper to ever exist. "I cannot begin to tell you how sick I am of looking at pines."

Ford wondered whether the pun was intentional.

Bill's limbs were weak and uncoordinated. He could twitch his left fingers when asked, but his grip strength was nonexistent and the arm hung limply at his side when he wasn't actively trying to use it. His legs moved, but when he tried to get to his feet he collapsed back into the mud. But he thought he could probably stand with support. He ignored the hand Ford offered and crawled to the nearest tree to lean on as he got to his feet. Ford could see Bill's knees tremble.

"I don't need your help," Bill grumbled. "I can stand fine on my own."

Ford wouldn't argue with Bill's definition of fine. "But can you walk?"

"I could." He couldn't even make the lie convincing.

"Then be my guest."

"I'm saving my strength."

It would almost be funny if he wasn't being such an inconvenience. "Well, you're here and the boat is over there." Ford gestured. The shore was much further away than it had been yesterday. "If you can't walk, then you're either crawling or you're getting help. Which you'd prefer is between you and your dignity."

Bill's face reddened. "Don't talk to me about my dignity, like you've ever cared about my dignity..." He twisted around to inspect the tree behind him, tired gaze looking over the branches—maybe he was planning to break off a walking stick? He attempted to grab a thin branch that wouldn't serve as a walking stick for a toddler. He wasn't strong enough to break it off. He kept trying.

They were never getting to the boat. "Please let me help."

"Go jump in a lake. Again."

How did Ford handle this without prodding at Bill's bruised ego? "Consider it my thanks for—ah..." Ford cleared his throat. "For actually telling the truth about the eclipse. In spite of... what was no doubt immense temptation to lie like a cheap rug. Since we didn't believe you anyway." He had averted his gaze in embarrassment; he forced himself to face Bill like a man. Bill was actually looking at him again. "And for not chucking my gnephew's body off the cliff when you had the opportunity." The bar was so low it was on the ground, and yet it was still impressive that Bill hadn't found a way to dig under it. "And... for saving my life."

Bill set his jaw tight, as if he didn't like being reminded of his moment of decency; but he said, "Fine, get over here." He held out his good arm. "Help your hero and savior limp triumphantly off the field of battle."

When Ford offered his hand, Bill ignored it, and practically snarled when Ford tried to wrap it around his waist for support. Rather than putting his arm over Ford's shoulders, Bill seized a wad of fabric near the collar of Ford's t-shirt as a handhold to hang his weight from. Ford felt less like he was supporting Bill, and more like he'd just gotten in trouble and his father was marching him into the living room by his collar to give him a stern talking-to.

"First time you've ever thanked me for anything I've done for you," Bill muttered. Ford told himself he could drop Bill once they were on the boat.

Dipper was completely zoned out, waiting on the boat staring off in the direction the Axolotl had flown. He didn't react as Bill sat next to him, and Bill didn't acknowledge he existed. Ford started the motor, and they crossed the lake toward Tate & Backle's Bait & Tackle.

####

(You can't imagine how long I've been waiting to post this chapter. Hope you enjoyed, I'd love to hear what you think, and I hope those of y'all who have been waiting for Bill to cry like a baby are satisfied.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

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So I 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your casual arrangement turns a bit too serious.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“It was great to talk,” you shake Nick’s hand. “I’ll send you the details?”

“Wonderful,” he squeezes as his lips slant in his characteristic half-smirk. His eyes remind you of another bold blue pair but you’re trying not to think of him. “I look forward to doing business together.”

“Let’s aim for a follow-up next week. Make sure everything’s on track,” you confirm.

“I like that. Very straight to the point,” he muses.

“As nice a company-paid dinner is, I’m sure you’re dying to get home,” you say.

“Maybe... if I wasn’t going home alone.”

You hesitate. His little comments keep popping up. It’s expected. It comes with being a woman. You’ve done your best to ignore them but that one is too pointed to miss.

“Again, appreciate doing business,” you pull your hand away. “Have a lovely night.”

“Maybe next time,” he calls after you.

You walk away, focusing on your posture as you keep rigid. It wouldn’t do any good to show your discomfort. You’re not sure what it is but lately, you’ve been like catnip to men. Something about you is drawing them all in.

You raise your hand to flag a cab but your arm is caught and pulled back. You yipe as Bucky pulls you to face him. Holy shit!

“What-- Bucky?! You scared me. You—you scared me.” It’s all you can stutter as your shrill voice scratches in your throat. “God!” You yank on your arm but he keeps a firm grip. You hit his other shoulder with your fist, “let me go. What are you doing?”

“Who was that, huh? Thought you weren’t looking for anything serious.” He snarls.

“Ow,” you finally rip your wrist free, rubbing your sleeve as you lean back on your heel. “I’m not. That was a work dinner.”

“Oh yea? Cause it didn’t sound like just work.”

“You-- you’ve been watching me?” You accuse.

“I happened to pass by. Couldn’t help but overhear,” he scoffs. “You sitting there in that dress. I couldn’t look away.”

“We agreed that this is over,” you insist.

“I didn’t agree to shit. You pulled the rug out from under me.”

“What are you talking about?” You bluster hotly. “This was never—it was always going to end. You know that. Why are you complicating this?”

“Me, complicating it? It didn’t have to end. We were having fun,” he spits.

“No, I wasn’t. I’m too busy for all that. So are you. I can’t have you stopping by in the middle of the night all the time or—or walking into my office after hours. Don’t you see that it was getting... too much?” You shake your head.

“Too much? It’s exactly what you wanted. You said you wanted spontaneity. You wanted me. You liked it. All those time when you were under me, you couldn’t get enough. You always begged for more--”

“Just stop. Bucky, we could be friends, we could hang out but I can’t keep doing that. I don’t have the energy and it’s getting scary.”

“Scary? Oh so now I’m some monster? Huh?”

“That’s not what I mean--”

“No, I get it. You see me and you see this,” he raises his metal hand and wiggles his fingers. “You see what they all see.” He snaps his hand down. “You haven’t even caught a glimpse of what I was.”

“Why-- why are you doing this? I wasn’t mean. So why--”

“Doll,” he squares his shoulders and steps closer. He’s never called you that. He’s never been one for petnames when he isn’t buried inside you. “I’m not doing anything. I’m standing here talking to you. But think about what I could do?” He stops and you take another step back. He snorts, “I can your fucking heartbeat. You really think I’d hurt you?”

“Right now, I don’t know what you’re going to do.” You utter.

His blue eyes turn dull as his pupils dilate. He gets closer and huffs through his nose, “you won’t even talk to me like I’m a person.”

“Bucky--”

“You used me. You treat me like some dog you can throw out.” He takes one step and you take one back.

“No, we had an understanding. We were just messing around--”

“You’re messing around!” He barks as your back hits a pole. “And now it’s my turn.” He grins and raises a hand. You wince and he gently caresses your cheek with his knuckles. “You want me to be him, hm? Not Bucky, the other guy. You wanna see him? You wanna see how nice I’ve fucking been.”

You whimper and shrink down, “please, I’m sorry. I know it was sudden but I thought--”

He grabs your jaw and squeezes and you whine. Your legs buckle as you brace the iron street pole.

“You thought fucking wrong. You didn’t think. Not about me.” His fingers tighten and your jaw aches. You slap your hand around his wrist. “Now, you will. I’m not going to let you go. Not forever. Tonight, you get to walk away but you’re going to be thinking of me. You’re going to check over your shoulder, behind your shower curtain, under your desk. You’re going to be watching and waiting for me because, doll, you won’t see me right in front of you and you won’t be able to stop me.”

You shudder as he lets you go. You cling to the pole to keep from folding into a trembling heap. He stretches his fingers out as he examines his hand and turns to face the traffic. He chuckles as he steps up to the curb and motions for a taxi. You just stand there.

A cab pulls up and he opens the door, “get home safe, doll. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no one else bothers you.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #au #so i #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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thesecretsofthedivine · 10 months ago

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Pick a Pile Reading | Messages From Your Future Spouse 💍🪐

Business Carrd 🍶🧺

Paid Services 🍇⭐

Tip Jar 🍾🎱

*Disclaimer: This is a collective reading - take what resonates and leave the rest. If this resonates with you, please show support by reposting (with credit), tipping, or booking with me! :)

*Exchanges with other intuitives/readers are available via dm's

──────

PILE 1 COLLECTIVE

• I love the sound of your laughter.

• You’ve turned me into a more carefree person.

• Let’s spend the day baking/cooking then heading right back to bed to cuddle!

• I feel like we could never have enough quality time together.

• You’re my favorite person in the world.

• I’m addicted to your scent.

• We should start a family (🐾/👶).

• You’re my lock screen.

• I tell all my friends about you. If you checked my notifications, all you’d see is a group chat roasting me for how obsessed I am with you.

• There is no place I’d rather be than here with you in my arms.

• I like to watch you sleep. You just seem so peaceful and still that it’s intensely captivating. I hope you don’t mind 😵‍💫.

~ miscellaneous: earth sign placements. homebodies. 2 introverts or an introvert & an extrovert. hard-working, masculine qualities in your spouse. wholesome domestic moments.

PILE 2 COLLECTIVE

• I want to drown in the sea of your existence.

• Dedicating poetry and art to you — my favorite muse.

• There is nothing in the world that I wouldn’t give to have more time with you.

• I’m afraid of loss/dying, but entering old age with you would make my existence complete.

• Please don’t leave me.

• Can I wake you up early if I’m craving your attention? It’s hard for me to contain my excitement when you look this beautiful/attractive.

• Let’s watch the sunset together and stay up late talking for hours.

• Every detail of your existence does not go unnoticed by me.

• We were meant to love each other in this life/I know that we are past life lovers who have found one another again.

• Come on, baby. Don’t be shy with me.

~ miscellaneous: water sign placements (especially scorpio or for their moon sign). 2 night owls or a night owl & a morning person. hozier songs. romantic moments caught on camera/posted online. artist x muse trope.

PILE 3 COLLECTIVE

• You light me on fire with desire.

• I love teasing you more than anything else in the world.

• You’re my best friend and lover, all wrapped into one.

• My heart feels warm and glows from the inside whenever you’re around.

• I can’t lose you. If I do, I’ll go crazy.

• Let’s go for a drive, listen to music, eat food, and forget about our worries.

• I want to be the first person you call when you’re in trouble.

• I will never judge you.

• We will travel everywhere and make the world our own.

• I want to surprise you with grand gestures (especially via gifts or shared experiences).

~ miscellaneous: fire sign placements. ready or not — bridgit mendler. sneaky smirks that make you smile uncontrollably. spontaneous memories or communication. fluffy hair & tan skin features for some.

PILE 4 COLLECTIVE

• Pulling out all my best jokes just for you.

• Give me a nickname and I’ll give you one back.

• How can I possibly deny your charm?!

• Your style is impeccable. Every time we’re in a shop together, I just want to watch you pose in front of the mirror.

• I’ll make you homemade snacks and share my family’s recipes with you!

• Spoiling you with acts of service.

• We don’t even have to speak to understand one another. Mere eye contact is enough.

• You bring out my (good) crazy side 🤪.

• I love how we can always bounce off each other’s energies so well.

• I wanna give you expensive jewelry or items with my initials on it.

~ miscellaneous: air sign placements. a quirky sense of humor. distinct eyebrows. friends to lovers trope (Monica & Chandler came to mind). latin/hispanic backgrounds for some.

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ntonlvr · 5 months ago

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can't help myself falling endlessly

synopsis: an innocent movie night takes a turn word count: 3k status: 1/? (trying to update 2 times a week) genre: non idol au, fem reader, mutual pining, friends to lovers content warning: drinking, making out, heated making out

“Why do you have to work tonight? You know I’ve been dying to watch this movie,” you pout at Sohee as he gets ready for work.

“It’s not my fault they called me in. The overnight closer called in sick, and I opted to be on call. Besides, they’re paying me time and half for last-minute shifts. I can’t say no to that,” he shrugs, grabbing his keys and heading out. There you stood left with the project you decided to start.

With Sohee gone, you decide to text Anton. He’s always been your go-to for spontaneous plans. You can almost guarantee that he will come over on such short notice.

Texting:

y/n: heyyyy question for youu

anton: hey! answer for youu

y/n: sohee has to work tonight :( wanna come over and watch that new scary movie with me? (u can’t say no)

anton: Scary movie? You know I’m terrible with horror, haha, but I guess I can be brave

y/n: YAYYA okay, come over as soon as you can then

anton: I’ll be there in 10

Anton has been friends with Sohee for almost his entire life. He’s always been soft spoken, quiet, and well-mannered. All completely different from your brother. It’s always been a surprise to you how they became such close friends. Over the years, Anton has also become one of your best friends, which is why you feel so comfortable inviting him over without Sohee there as the connecting friend.

Ten minutes later, the doorbell rings. Despite coming over practically daily for the past decade, Anton still rings the doorbell and waits patiently outside. You peek through the window and see him standing there awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. Opening the door, you greet each other with a smile.

“I tell you this every time, Anton. You can just walk in or use the spare key we have hidden just for you,” you tease lightly.

“I know; but it just doesn’t feel right. Even if this is my second home,” he laughs quietly as he takes off his shoes.

“Well, I’ve created the perfect setup for us. I might have gone a bit overboard this time,” you say with a grin. Leading him downstairs where movie nights are typically held, Anton can see what you meant by ‘a bit overboard’. Y/N had made a pillow fort with the couch and a few of the kitchen chairs. Inside it was filled with an assortment of pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals. In a small basket there was a variety of snacks and what looked like a bottle of soju.

“Did you do all of this in the ten minute span it took me to get here?” Anton asks in surprise.

“Noo. But that would be really impressive. I started it before I texted you and just finished a few things when you agreed to come over because I knew you wouldn’t say no,” you tease.

“What if I did say no?” Anton laughs, hanging his jacket on the couch and crouching to inspect the fort further.

“Ah, I knew you would say yes because you love hanging out with me. Admit it,” you tease further.

“Alright, I admit it, but don’t tell Sohee. He’ll never let me hear the end of it, that cry baby,” you both laugh at that statement.

You pat Anton on the shoulder, encouraging him to make himself comfortable in the fort. The pat on his shoulder as you run upstairs to change catches Anton’s attention, lingering in his mind as he reflects on how special you made this hangout. It’s unlike him to feel this way around you, and he’s caught off guard by his own thoughts, having harbored feelings for you over the past few years. He’s always pushed them aside due to your close friendship and his bond with Sohee.

In your room, you pause, catching yourself in the mirror. Thoughts of Anton flood your mind–his smile, how he admired your efforts. His warm tone stirred up the feelings you’ve kept hidden for him. You stand there contemplating what to wear, because no matter what time of year it is, the basement always tends to be colder. You opt for shorts because at least if you get cold, you can snuggle under one of the many blankets. Before heading down to the basement, you stop at the kitchen grabbing two shot glasses for the soju that sits down there. Coming down to the fort you announce to Anton that you brought shot glasses. You hand them to him as you kneel down to crawl to the open space next to him. You notice his eyes briefly wandering to your legs, causing a strange flutter in your stomach. Anton can’t help but realize how good your legs look in those gray shorts. And how you somehow looked even better with the two-sizes-too-big sweatshirt you paired them with. Almost mesmerized by the view, his breath hitches in the back of his throat as you brush past his body. Anton clears his throat awkwardly when you ask if he’s alright, nodding quickly with a sheepish smile. You continue your path and settle down next to him. But Anton’s mind keeps thinking back to how soft your legs look and how badly he wanted to feel them.

“Helloo, Earth to Anton?” you joke, waving your hand playfully in front of him. Snapping out of the haze he didn’t realize he had slipped into, Anton looks over to you with an embarrassed smile. “Did you even hear the question I asked you, or were you too busy staring at my legs, you weirdo?” you joke, hitting his arm.

“N-no, sorry,” Anton stammers slightly, feeling a bit flustered. “I was just lost in my thoughts for a second, didn’t even realize.”

“I was just wondering if you wanted to join me for a shot or two before we start this movie,” you ask once again.

“Oh yeah, yeah, I would love one,” Anton agrees eagerly. You pour each other a shot and clink the glasses together before downing the drink. Anton signals for another shot, and you oblige, repeating the same gestures as before. The second shot goes down a lot smoother than the first, leaving a pleasant warmth that lingers a little longer.

“I think we should take a shot after the first major jump scare,” you suggest with a giggle, already feeling the effects of the alcohol.

“I agree, but only because it will make me less afraid of the movie.” You press play on the movie and grab the bowl of popcorn, making yourself comfortable. Placing the bowl between you and Anton, you absentmindedly reach for popcorn as you watch the film. Occasionally, your hand brushes against his, and you offer a silent apology.

During an intense scene, you notice Anton fidgeting beside you. You know he isn’t the best with horror, so you place your hand on his thigh to hopefully offer some comfort after the ineffectiveness of the shots. Without turning to look at him, you feel his eyes widen at the unexpected touch. The alcohol seems to heighten his senses, making the contact more pronounced. For a moment, his attention shifts away from the movie, his thoughts consumed by the sensation of your hand on his thigh.

Shaking his head to refocus, Anton comes back to reality. Just as he regains his composure, a sudden jump scare on the screen startles him, causing him to jolt in his spot.

“God, I didn't think that was gonna happen. It caught me completely off guard,” Anton says with a sigh, “Guess we better pour that third shot,” hopefully covering up the fact that he was not paying full attention.

“What do you mean you didn’t see that coming? It was so obvious it was going to happen,” you tease, exaggerating your surprise.

“Not to me I guess,” Anton chuckled nervously, still trying to cover up for his lapse in attention.

“Uh-huh, are you sure” you ask, giving Anton a side eye.

“I am positive. Cheers,” Anton replies with a wry smile. You clink your glasses together and settle back in to continue the movie. A few moments pass, and you start to feel a bit chilly and uncomfortable in your current position. You pull the soft blue blanket, your favorite, over the both of you and snuggle closer to Anton. Your head rests on his shoulder, and one of your legs is bent slightly over his. It feels natural and comfortable, and that’s all that matters to you.

Anton immediately notices the warmth of your thigh against his. As a lightweight, he can’t tell if the alcohol is making him dizzy or just the proximity. ‘Where do I put my hands now?’ he wonders, overthinking despite knowing where they would eventually rest. For the next ten seconds, his mind is a blur as he tries to ignore the gentle movement of your leg.

Deciding to play it cool, he casually places one hand on your leg and other around your shoulder. A quick glance to the right shows you are undisturbed, completely engrossed in the film.

Anton’s heart was pounding, the kind of intense thumping that resonated through his entire body. With your leg on his, he couldn’t help but wonder if you could feel it too. His fingers, slightly trembling, rested against your legs, the throbbing more pronounced where they touched your thighs.

In your mind, you began to see the subtle game you had initiated with Anton. You noticed he seemed a bit tense once again. You brought your arm over and let it rest across your body, landing gently on his upper leg. The touch, to his surprise, seemed to ground Anton. Feeling him relax into the feeling.

Time passes and the movie carries on. You can tell Anton had become lost in the movie as he began to mindlessly move his hand up and down your thigh, the motion calm and unbothered. You shift into his touch, bringing your legs closer to your chest to give him better access to explore as he wished. The gentle caress of Anton’s soft hands sent a burning sensation through your stomach; the touch was euphoric.

His hand slid up, just grazing the hem of your shorts, and you found yourself aching for him to touch you more. You longed to feel his hands trace your body, to explore every curve and contour. Lost in your thoughts and the intensity of the subtle moment, you let out a small, involuntary moan. A testament to the desire that was building inside you.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Anton asks, looking down at you with concern.

“Yeah, I-I just got to thinking for a second there,” you reply nervously.

“Oh, what were you thinking about?” he inquires, his curiosity piqued.

“Uh, that we should take another shot. It’s been at least a half hour since we took the last one. I could use another one, what about you?” you respond quickly, almost in one breath.

“Sure, I could do another shot; I’m feeling a little wild,” he chuckles, sitting up to pour another round for both of you. You take the glass from him and down the shot immediately, barely pausing to clink glasses. Anton shakes his head, laughing before taking his own.

Before he even sets his glass down, you move in front of him, positioning yourself on your knees with your hands resting on his legs.

“What are you–” Anton was cut off mid-sentence as you closed the gap between your bodies. He could barely process what was happening. Feeling your soft lips on his, he closed his eyes, tasting the sweetness of the peach soju you had been drinking. Just as quickly as you kissed him, you pulled back.

Anton blinked his eyes wide open, still in shock and struggling to fully process what had just happened. A million thoughts raced through his mind, but the overwhelming urge to tell you how sweet your lips tasted and how soft they felt was at the forefront.

You watched as Anton’s natural blush from the shots deepened after the kiss. A moment passed in silence, and Anton still didn’t say anything. You began to worry that maybe you had misinterpreted the signals, and your heart raced with uncertainty.

Anton pulls you back in for another kiss, interrupting your thoughts. This time, he relaxes into you, drawing you closer by grabbing your sweater. You adjust your position onto his lap and place your hand on the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss. His tongue swipes across your lip, a bold move you never expected from him, but you respond immediately. He probes his tongue into your mouth, making the kisses more desperate and sloppy.

His hands rest on your waist under the sweatshirt you’re wearing, and he starts to slide them up, creating goosebumps all over. He breaks away from the kiss to catch his breath and taking in the sight of you. Seeing your face flush from the heat and intensity. When he leans in again, he aims for the crook of your neck, kissing the skin repeatedly, each kiss wetter than the last.

As he takes in the skin on your neck and gently sucks on it, a small gasp escapes your lips. Tilting your head back, you allow his lips to roam freely over the exposed skin. Feeling the constriction of your sweatshirt, he tugs at the hem, silently prompting you to remove it. Without hesitation, you swiftly discard the article of clothing.

Beneath the hoodie, there is nothing, revealing a breathtaking view of your plump breasts to Anton. His eyes widened at the sight, momentarily captivated by the unexpected reveal. Quickly refocusing, he darts to the newly exposed skin, using his teeth to graze the skin gently, eliciting a soft moan from you this time.

“I love how you sound,” he murmurs, his hands moving up to caress your breasts gently. The words, coupled with his actions, draw out another soft moan. Any shyness he had felt earlier dissipates as he shamelessly flirts with you now.

His hands move with deliberate precision, drawing involuntary arches from your body as you press closer to him. You begin to grind in his lap, silently urging for more of his touch. With a bold move, you bring your hand down to his zipper, feeling the growing bulge in his jeans.

“You feel so hard,” you whisper, adding a bit more pressure to your touch. A low groan leaves Anton’s lips in response, sending a shiver of anticipation through you. That sound makes your core tense; you crave hearing it again and again.

Anton has always been quiet, but you have a feeling he would become so vocal for you if you continued down this path. Just as you start to pull his t-shirt over his head, the front door slams shut, startling you both.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” you both whisper to each other. Sohee’s unexpected appearance shattered the intimate moment that enveloped you and Anton. Both of you scramble to compose yourselves, hastily getting dressed and tying your hair into a bun,trying to cover up any evidence. Returning to your original seats, now slightly more distant from each other, you steal a glance at Anton and notice his bulge is still visible through his sweats.

“Hey, you might want to cover up,” you whisper urgently. Anton grabs the blanket and hastily conceals himself, pulling his legs up to his chest. Just then, Sohee sticks his head into the fort.

“Hey, guys, how’s the movie?” he asks cheerfully, squeezing in between you and Anton, oblivious to the charged atmosphere.

“It was pretty good,” you managed to say, exchanging a quick, almost guilty glance with Anton, who nodded in agreement. Anton, still visibly flustered, shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the blanket over his lap discreetly hoping Sohee wouldn’t notice the lingering flush on his cheeks or the tension that hung in the air. You stole a glance at him, sensing his attempt to appear nonchalant despite the lingering desire and uncertainty.

“Yeah, it was intense,” Anton added quietly, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. Sohee, unaware of the mood, began playing the next movie. Wanting to join you both in your hangout session.

“Why are you back so early?” you ask him, silently hating him for interrupting your moment with Anton.

“They ended up not needing me for the whole night, but they are going to pay me for the whole shift.” he replies, grabbing a handful of popcorn. You and Anton exchange nervous smiles, each other struggling to maintain composure while internally grappling the change in dynamics.

Finally, as the movie drew to a close, Sohee stretched out, breaking the tension. “Well, that was something,” he said with a wide yawn. You both watch Sohee gather his belongings and head up the stairs. Standing still, you both wait to hear Sohee’s door shut, and when it does you and Anton begin taking care of the fort. Despite everything that just unfolded, it didn’t feel awkward being alone with him. It felt almost natural.

Once everything was taken care of, Anton stood up, brushing his pants nervously. “Well, thank you for inviting me over. Even if I have no idea what movie we just watched, or what happened in it,” he says with a slight chuckle to reassure you that he enjoyed what happened. Secretly hoping it would occur again, or even progress further.

You smiled back at him, feeling a sense of closeness and tension lingering between you. “Yeah, definitely more eventful than expected,” you admitted, your voice tinged with nerves and lingering desire. Anton nodded once more, offering you a small wave before heading upstairs to leave. You watched him leave, but something told you to catch him before he left. You sprint up the stairs and see him at the front door. You walk towards him to say something, but you are quickly interrupted with a swift kiss. He pulls away, you smile at each other and part ways for the evening.

#riize #riize x reader #lee anton x reader #anton scenarios #riize imagines #riize anton #riize smut #riize smau #riize sungchan #riize sohee #riize fluff #riize anton fluff #riize anton x reader #riize scenarios #riize lee changyoung #anton lee #anton fluff #lee anton #lee chanyoung

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caprisunnydays · 1 month ago

Text

Kurapika x Reader Head canons

I never see Kurapika content that keeps his actual character in mind, so here's some of my personal opinions on what being loved by our fav pretty boy is like :)

First of all, he's not interested in a relationship

He's out for blood, everyone knows that, everyone understands that. He's not even thinking about being in a relationship

But then he met you

Stupid, wonderful you

I don't think it would be a "love at first sight" situation with rose petals and stary eyes and all that shiz cuz he's too emo for that

I could say he might be a demiromantic king but I digress

When you first met, he didn't think of you differently from gon or his other friends

But as you continued adventures with him, perhaps through and after the Hunter Exam, you both got to know each other better and he didn't even notice he was falling for you

He just thought it was a REALLY good friendship (again, romance isn't even a thought to him right now)

It becomes second nature for him to protect you in fights, especially against people like Hisoka

He just sticks by your side through adventures

He just finds your presence nice. Very peaceful very demure

He's drawn to you in a way he doesn't understand, but doesn't even think about

That's probably a good thing for now because when he realizes his feelings he's gonna have a freak out

Speaking of which-

One day he's crashing out over his clan for the millionth time and you're like "bro chill" and he doesn't obviously, but with you standing in front of him, he can't find it in himself to actually go off on you

Don't get me wrong, this is not a "bby look at me this isn't u" situation, it's just like you : "Kurapika PLEASE this isn't gonna solve anything right now this is not the time nor the place" him : Stares intensely You don't understand...starts monologuing but not cursing your name so like you're kinda special

Leorio makes jokes about how Kurapika is finally getting some, which makes him roll his eyes, telling him he's beings stupid

But then Gon genuinely asks why he makes goo goo eyes at you all the time "I'm just watching" He says...

Then he thinks about it a little more and he's like fuuuuuuuck... FUCK NO I DON'T GOT TIME FOR THIS

And then he buries his feelings.

He mentions them to NOBODY, not even his little group

It would take probably you almost dying or some big dramatic event for him to confess. It would be spontaneous and heart felt, probably in the rain (a little cheesy yes but I think it'd be cute)

"This horrible feeling in my chest...not just the burning hatred for those who have wronged me, but something else...It won't stop clawing at my insides. This...feeling...for you. I can't...feel this way about someone. Not right now...Not until what must be done is done." Something like that

If you want a relationship I genuinely can't see him in one for a while, and if you do it's gonna be a tad toxic, but he loves you so very much

You're all he has left, and he'll protect you with his life. That's tough though when he's always busy

BUT THATS FOR ACTUAL RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS WOOOOOOOOO

A bit long but I had fun with this, love hxh, will post more of those there's just not enough of my boy!

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hunter x hunter kurapika #hxh kurapika #kurapika #kurapika kurta #kurapika x reader #kurapika x you #hxh headcanons #hunter x hunter headcanons #hunter x hunter kurpakia x reader

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valeriianz · 11 months ago

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Smutty fic idea prompts - 36 is just perfect for Dreamling please?

36: A rolls sleeves up/takes shirt off, revealing body hair to B. B has no idea how to act normal around A anymore.

Hob dresses up as Sexy Santa for a staff party and Dream absolutely loses his cool <3

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These days, Dream finds himself as the newest addition to Johanna Constantine’s friend group. It’s quite nice of her, if not a little presumptuous, to drag him along to nearly every social outing and local music show in order to introduce him to as many people in her network as possible. The only reason they are still friends, Dream and Jo, is the small mercy of her not putting up a fuss when his social battery has been drained and he awkwardly dips out.

The best thing to come out of these adventures, at least, is meeting Hob Gadling.

Hob and Jo go way back, or so she’d announced the first time he and Dream had met. At a bar where the lights were low but Hob’s natural charisma and warm smile had radiated through anyway. They got along immediately, exchanging intellectual conversations where Hob had surprising takes and kept Dream’s interest; kept the dialogue fresh and spontaneous. Dream didn’t even need to contribute much while sharing a space with Hob, he could simply sip on his gin something-or-other and listen as Hob went on passionate rants about revolutions or human invention over the past centuries– each time they met up he’d go down a 100 years. Or complaining about how washed up Shakespeare was (an argument Dream allowed himself to fall into and they’d talked about all night, much to Johanna’s chagrin and massive eye roll, muttering a very clear “nerds” under her breath).

Chemistry aside, Dream also couldn’t deny how… effortlessly attractive Hob was.

Deep brown eyes that seemed to sparkle with barely contained mischief, chocolate dark hair with brush strokes of greys that unfairly complimented his face, and a seemingly permanent five O’clock shadow that Dream never imagined would leave him staring and daydreaming… alas, he’d discovered quite a few new things about himself around Hob.

Like how he’d imagined on more than one occasion, how easily he’d be able to lift Dream, how those broad shoulders and chest, thick biceps that even a cable knit sweater couldn’t hide– might manhandle his own body, lifting and bending him into submission. Dream ached with it; the possibilities. Was dying to kiss Hob’s plush mouth, his gaze fell to it enough, or feel the stubble of Hob’s jaw under his own palm, under his lips, along the inside of Dream’s thighs.

Hob was everything Dream was not; roguish, masculine, and unbearably kind. It was no wonder Dream had developed a crush from their very first meeting.

And maybe Hob was interested too, if you squinted. He always offered Dream a ride home, set his hand on the small of his back, his shoulder, and never seemed to stop smiling in his presence. Dream was never very good at picking up cues though– his prior relationships had been him making the first move, striking immediately at what he wanted, courting in the most by-the-book manner, before he was ultimately either rejected or caught up in a love affair that burned out before the year was up.

He didn’t want to do that with Hob. Dream held back, kept his desires at bay… because he truly enjoyed Hob’s company. It would be devastating if Hob rejected him, or worse, fell into a relationship and then realised Dream was… too much, too fast, too methodical. Dream wasn’t sure he could handle not having Hob in his life now that he’d met him. He was determined to keep him around, even if it meant remaining friends. Dream could work with that, could suffer quietly and go home after a long night of drinking or dancing and being subjected to Hob’s ever-present smile, his unwavering gaze, the warmth his body radiated, even feet apart. Could hold onto those images and sensations and close his eyes, take himself in hand, and work himself to climax in the safe darkness of his own bedroom, clenching his teeth and imagining how it might feel if it were Hob’s hands on him instead.

All of Dream’s self restraint comes crashing down about a week before Christmas, at the staff holiday party Johanna had invited him along to.

Because Hob is sitting on a large red velvet chair at the back of the venue, surrounded by cotton snow and boxed presents, wearing absolutely nothing but a Santa hat, explicitly short red and white trousers, and black boots.

It’s a mockery of what you’d see at perhaps a mall: Santa waiting to greet children and ask what they want for Christmas while his elves putter around and keep order. This is…

Obscene, is what Dream’s brain provides before it completely resets and replaces the word with animal noises.

He’d overheard Hob and Johanna talking about this, how they had a “sexy Santa” every year (because Jo’s office was mostly comprised of women who voted on it every year, vastly sweeping the competition to the point of tradition). And to save on money this year, decided to find a Santa who would do it for free, hence Jo asking Hob to do her a solid.

Dream felt heat rush through his entire body, unable to look away as Jo, Matthew, and him walked out of the foyer and into the thick of the party. Dream heard Johanna speaking, but couldn't decipher her words, his brain wiped clean by the reveal of Hob’s body, something Dream had only imagined in the safety of his own head, and kicked himself over the exclusion of hair.

So much body hair. Thick, dark hairs covered Hob’s chest like a pelt, rolling down his abs and scattered out around his soft belly. It was enough to make Dream’s mouth water, a ringing sound began in his ears, making him dizzy as he forced one foot in front of the other.

Dream had only met Hob a couple months ago, while the weather had just turned cold and they’d both only seen one another buttoned and bundled up in high necklines and long sleeves. To see Hob nearly completely nude was a shock to Dream’s system. And holy shit, Dream wanted. He had to know how those thick hairs felt between his fingers, digging them in while he sat on Hob’s lap, grinding his hips down while his own naked chest slid along Hob’s. What sounds Hob would make while Dream petted and pulled and rubbed his cock along the swell of Hob’s furred stomach.

And then Hob spotted them coming in, his smile dazzling as he stood up and waved.

Giving Dream a fantastic view of his legs, which were just as thick and strong as Dream had fantasised, and just as hairy as his top half. As well as a view of how those pants rode up enough to make Dream question if the man was wearing underwear.

Dream stumbled to the nearest restroom, locking himself in a stall and attempting to breathe and calm his erratic heart beat.

Friend, friend. Hob is your friend. Dream chanted to himself, keeping his hand out of his pants and taking deep breaths as his blood circulation regulated itself. Don’t make it weird.

Dream didn’t know how to socialise on a good day, and how with a half naked Hob in the building– shamelessly on display and humouring drunk female staff as they boldly sat on his knee– Dream felt himself shutting down entirely, spluttering and stumbling over his speech with enough velocity that he feared he'd glitch and spark out, setting the place on fire. Or at the very least, melt into a puddle of goo, the remains of his dignity soaked into the hardwood floor.

Dream tossed back drink after drink, matching Jo’s pace if only to distract his wandering thoughts, losing his jacket somewhere in the scuffle and rolling up the sleeves of his black button down.

Johanna’s laughter snapped Dream back to the present, looking down at the red solo cup in his hand and Jo standing across from him, visibly swaying on that spot. Dream doesn’t remember what he’d said to elicit such a reaction, but felt his lips curl anyway.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, dreamboat!” Jo’s laughter simmered down to a pleasant chuckle, if not a little devious. “I thought– nah, can’t be. But holy shit, you like Hob, don’t you?”

It took several long, embarrassing seconds to figure out what Jo just asked him. Dream felt warmth spreading up his ears.

“Of course. He’s my friend–”

“Nonono–” Jo stepped into Dream’s space, landing a heavy hand on his bony shoulder. “You like him. I can tell, because you haven’t spoken to him all night.”

Dream swallowed. The alcohol was affecting his brain, sloshing it around and rendering him speechless.

Johanna smirked. “Am I wrong?”

“You’re a menace, Constantine.” Dream said, pushing her hand off him and sliding his gaze sideways to find Hob rubbing the tops of his thighs. It’d been well over an hour since they’d arrived, Dream wondered how long Hob had been sitting there, playing a role he clearly wasn’t enjoying anymore.

Jo inclined her head.

“He likes you too.”

Dream’s head snapped back to meet Jo’s eyes, searching for that tell of humour or sarcasm, and finding none.

She leaned in conspiratorially. “He told me not to tell you. Thinks your eyes are ‘dazzling’ and your hands are pretty–” she makes a face at that one. “And that your hair looks– and I quote– ‘like raven’s feathers’.”

Dream swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

“When did he tell you this?”

Jo huffs a sigh, taking a sip from her beer, her lips making a smacking sound off the bottle’s mouth.

“The night after I introduced you two.”

Dream’s heart flips over at the revelation.

Johanna winks and shoves at Dream’s shoulder. “Now go say hi before you break his heart.”

Taking Johanna’s advice seems like a death sentence, but Dream is just drunk enough to summon courage, finishing off his drink and setting the empty cup on a random surface, before forcing his shoulders back and finally making his way towards Hob.

The smile that breaks across Hob’s face once he spots Dream is staggering, and it strikes Dream down more so than before, informed with the knowledge that Hob might like him as much as Dream does.

Dream slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks, affecting nonchalance as he finally stands before Hob.

“Hello, Hob.”

“Hey, Dream.” Hob tugs on his ear, looking up at Dream. His entire body seems to relax, even slouching a bit in the chair. “Was surprised to see you here.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I know parties aren’t really your thing.”

Dream hums, his eyes selfishly taking in their fill. This close to Hob, he can catalogue every hair, curve and freckle in greater detail, storing the information away for later.

And with Hob looking up at him, giving the illusion of superior height, an unmistakable flicker of arousal begins low in Dream’s belly.

“I can be persuaded, from time to time.” Dream smiles, coy. The alcohol gives him a confidence boost and relaxes him further. “I apologise for not visiting you sooner.”

Hob waves it off. “I honestly didn’t expect you to. I know this is… a lot.” He gestures to himself and laughs self-deprecatingly. “I only agreed to be Sexy Santa because I owe Jo a favour.”

“It’s a fetching look on you,” Dream says, flinging himself into the deep end. He bites his bottom lip as Hob actually looks twice up at Dream, his smile falling into something like disbelief.

“O-oh. Really?” Hob laughs, but it’s small, doubtful. Dream will have to remedy that.

Dream takes a long breath, grounding himself, licking his lips before speaking what he’d wanted to say to Hob all night.

“I believe it’s my turn to ask Santa what I want for Christmas?”

The prettiest pink flush rises up Hob’s cheeks. His lips part as his eyes rove across Dream, down and up.

Despite what Johanna said, Dream feels himself shake with nerves as he tips forward, touching the top of Hob’s thigh before slowly lowering himself onto it. His eyes never leave Hob’s as he goes, silently asking for permission and receiving a nod once he’s fully seated.

Hob’s hand instantly curls around Dream’s narrow hips, holding him steady, locking him into place both upon his lap and in his gaze; wide and dark and focused.

Dream crossed one leg over the other, settling his hands on his knees, which inadvertently causes him to sway that much closer to Hob. He can feel the heat of his body, this close. Can smell something sweet and earthy, like sandalwood and pine, mixed in with something tangy that makes Dream’s mouth water. He has to hold back the urge to close the gap between them and shove his face in Hob’s chest, into the crook of his neck, under his armpit and lose his sanity. Abandon all pretence and inhale Hob like a wild animal, scent and mark him with his teeth and tongue and–

Hob swallows. Dream watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs, fascinated.

“Are you messing with me?”

Dream cocks an eyebrow. “You think me capable of jokes?”

Hob laughs, soft, wonderful. “You are. You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met.”

His thumb is pressing into Dream’s side, caressing back and forth, sending spikes of electricity through his veins and heating him up from the inside.

“No one thinks I’m funny,” Dream says matter-of-factly.

“Well, you make me laugh,” Hob says simply, his other hand coming across Dream’s front to lace his fingers together, forming a snare around Dream that ignites something within him. “You challenge me, keep me on my toes… keep me guessing.”

Dream’s heart beats so hard against his ribs it nearly hurts. He wonders if Hob can hear it, how he makes his blood race a mile a minute.

“I’m being very serious,” Dream takes a breath. “But if you deny me, I’ll just say I’m drunk.”

Hob laughs again, his hold around Dream tightening and nearly causing Dream’s knee to bump into Hob’s crotch.

“Are you drunk?”

Dream is very aware that they are in the middle of a party, and although the people around them seem to be paying them little attention, it would probably be inappropriate to follow the path enticing him to resituate himself on Hob’s lap to instead straddle him. To grind his barely contained semi against Hob’s flimsy excuse for shorts, while winding his arms around his shoulders and kiss him stupid.

Dream leans forward, brushing his lips along the shell of Hob’s ear and lowers his voice.

“Not enough to not know what I want.”

Hob groans, Dream can feel the vibration in his own chest as he pulls back just enough to see how his eyes have fluttered shut, swallowing again before opening his eyes and focusing on him.

“And what do you want, Dream?”

“Whatever you’ll give me,” Dream wets his lips. His hands venture up, tentatively brushing his knuckles against Hob’s bronze skin, fascinated at how snow-white his own appears against it. His fingers uncurl as he dares himself to properly touch; pushing into the soft flesh at Hob’s sides and drinking in the unmistakable sound of a choked off whine from his friend.

“I’ll take anything, Hob.”

“Holy shit–” Hob whispers, his head lolling back, exposing his throat which Dream violently refuses to latch his mouth on to.

“Okay…” Hob clears his throat, his eyes swinging over to gauge Dream again. His pupils are blown wide, hunger clear in its depths. “Okay.”

He’s looking at Dream’s mouth as he speaks again. “Meet me out back in 10 minutes?”

Dream bites back a smile and nods, his heart soaring as he climbs off Hob.

Johanna gives him a knowing look as Dream stumbles back into the crowd to find his jacket and coat, managing a wave (great, now he owed her a favour as well) before all but running out of the building to make good on his promise to Hob.

Hob makes good on his offer as well; indeed giving Dream everything he’d wanted. All night.

#dreamling #hob x dream #omg i managed to write a semi-holiday themed fic!#so sorry this took a hundred years lol #im slowly working on all the prompts sent to me from this list #thank you so much for sending one in!!#i hope you love it!#my writing #happy holidays!#this is sfw mostly

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rosielovesf1 · 5 months ago

Text

lucky 🍀 | AA23

alex debuts an... interesting... new hair for race weekend, and y/n is to blame after a little too much to drink

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none!

author's note: MY WRITER'S BLOCK IS CURED WOOHOO SO NOW TWO POSTS IN ONE NIGHT!!!! this season seems to be the anything can happen type, so i am crossing my fingers and toes to see alex on the podium at some point. anyway, this was literally so fun to write i hope you enjoy :))

“alright kids, you’re home.” george russell did not imagine this would be his friday night when he had left his home a long six hours earlier. if he’d known that he would be assigned the role of babysitter for his former teammate and his girlfriend, he maybe would’ve stayed home. or at least worn shoes that he liked a little less, as his favorite trainers were currently sporting a new, puce green stain.

“thank youuuu, george,” y/n slurred, her eyes hazy and unfocused. her boyfriend didn’t look any better, practically putting all of his weight on poor y/n. she didn’t seem to mind though, one hand braced against the couch for balance, one hand wrapped around his waist to keep him upright.

if only the world could see the wholesome “parents of the paddock” now, george thought. satisfied they were safe and taken care of, he shut the front door quietly behind him, grinning as he made his way to carmen who sat in the passenger seat of his car. now that y/n and alex were home, they’d likely sleep it off and stay out of trouble. right?

well… not quite.

as george pulled out of the driveway, inside, alex and y/n had managed to remember that couches could be sat on, not just leaned up against. they collapsed onto the soft cushions, alex sighing contently as he pulled y/n to sit between his legs. she cuddled into his chest, craving warmth after what had been a very cold night out in a very tiny dress.

just as y/n was starting to fall asleep, alex started to shift underneath her. she groaned and just wrapped her arms around him tighter.

“love, i’m so thirsty.”

y/n shook her head, trying to get back to the drowsy state she’d just left. “too comfy.”

he poked her arm in response, and she ignored it best she could until it was unbearable.

“stop it!”

“i need water,” he moaned dramatically, starting to unwrap his arms from around her.

“i’m thirsty too, but i’m being nice and not moving.”

“you’re not being nice, you’re being lazyyy.” he drew out the last letter, and she turned her head only to stick out her tongue at him.

“fine. i’ll take you with me.” y/n didn’t mind what he did, as long as she didn’t have to walk or do anything other than shut her eyes tight against the blurriness that came with a few (okay, a lot) too many shots of vodka. alex pushed himself off the couch, and y/n wrapped her limbs around him tightly until he safely deposited her to sit on the kitchen counter.

there was the sound of the cabinet door opening and closing, and the gurgle of the tap broke through the otherwise silent apartment.

“i can hear you gulping.” y/n said, eyes still squeezed shut. “share please.”

the three glasses of water each they downed helped somewhat- y/n’s stomach had settled and her head was spinning less, but now she just had the lack of inhibition and craving for spontaneity that alcohol fostered.

from her perch on the counter, she could sit with her legs wrapped around alex’s torso, his head relaxing back into her chest as he stood with his back to her. she ran her fingers gently through his hair, smiling as an idea formed.

“when’s the last time you dyed your hair, love?”

“mmm. it’s been a while. last year, maybe?”

y/n felt a rush of excitement, but tread carefully to avoid spooking her poor unsuspecting boyfriend.

“what if you let me dye it?”

his posture became a little less relaxed, a little more alert. uh oh. say yes. she chanted silently in her head. say yes, say yes, say yes.

“have you ever dyed hair before?” not a full yes, but this was good. it wasn’t a no. there was still a possibility.

“i did rina’s hair just last month.” sure, your sister changed her hair so often that she had simply laughed at your botched dye job, rocking the streaky blue until she was able to get into a proper salon the next week. but experience was experience. he hadn’t asked about the outcome.

“okay.”

“okay?” you squealed and planted a kiss on his cheek, wrapping your arms underneath his chin and resting your head on top of his. he just laughed, relaxing even more into your embrace if that was even possible.

“alright, come on, i think i have dye under the sink.”

“wait, now? i was thinking next week after the race, love.” but you didn’t want to wait that long, you wanted to do something fun now, while the world looked a little brighter than usual and you could practically feel the blood pumping through your veins. you decided to test your luck and hopped down from the counter, pulling him along towards the small hall bathroom, grinning when he just followed along.

alex sat down on the toilet lid while you rummaged through the messy sink cabinet, finally finding what you’d desperately hoped was still there in the back corner- bleach, and the remnants of a dye kit you’d bought when your sister had encouraged you to try red hair (spoiler alert, it was a very bad idea). there definitely wouldn’t be enough red dye to do alex’s entire head though, and you frowned as you tried to work out a solution.

suddenly, the perfect idea struck. after mixing the dyes, you happily got to work. alex was content to just relax into the pressure of your fingers in his hair, and before you knew it, your masterpiece was complete. after a quick rinse, and a change into comfier, cleaner clothes for both of you, you fell into bed. there was only time for a quick goodnight kiss, and by the time your head hit the pillow, you had practically already fallen into a deep sleep.

which is why, when you woke up the next morning, cursing the bright sunlight of the gorgeous fall morning, the previous night wasn’t totally clear at first. you cringed at the memory of puking into the dirty club bathroom, but there was nothing hideously embarrassing up until george bringing you and alex home. however, at the thought of what your drunken brain had thought was a good idea once the two of you were left to your own devices, you shot up in bed, staring in horror at the sleeping boy next to you.

alex’s hair. dear god. you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips, and then cursed yourself as all the movement and noise had alex stirring in bed. he smiled up at you with sleepy eyes, getting halfway through “good morning” before clocking your expression.

“what?” he sat up in bed, sheets sliding down as his worry increased. “y/n, what’s wrong?”

“alex, love, i’m so sorry.” it was all you could do but apologize, and alex looked confused until he spotted himself in the mirror hanging to the right of your bed.

his jaw dropped as he turned his head left and right. you just winced, apologizing over and over. but you stopped mid sentence when his look of shock turned into a grin, and then a full blown, stomach-hurting laugh. he dropped his head into his hands, shoulders shaking.

you couldn’t help it- that type of laugh was infectious.

“i’m so sorry, love,” you groaned between giggles, leaning into alex’s shoulder. “i don’t know what i was thinking.”

it took him a couple seconds to get back the breath to reply, but when he did it was clear that there was nothing but amusement in the situation.

“don’t be sorry, y/n,” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and squeezed tight. “i’m surprised we didn’t do worse with how plastered we were last night.”

“remind me that shots are very, very bad the next time we go out, please.” the dull throb in her temples was her body’s way of agreeing with that statement. in a serious tone, she looked up at him, determined to fix the situation. “i’ll find you an appointment at a salon before the race, i promise.”

“are you kidding?” he turned to look at himself again in the mirror, running a hand over his hair. “i’m definitely going to get bullied by the grid, but this can only be good luck.”

and despite your protests and offers to fix it, he remains resolute in having the absolutely horrid dye job for the entirety of the race weekend. and when he manages to achieve the practically impossible- a podium in a williams- after crediting the team’s immense efforts, it isn’t his stellar driving that he wants to discuss in post-race interviews. no, he attributes his success to his new hair, which he makes sure to emphasize was done by his lovely girlfriend.

even though your drunken mistake is now a very popular topic of conversation in the f1 world, you can’t help but feel any emotion besides all-consuming pride.

@alex_albon: best weekend ever. biggest thanks to the team, and my new barber @ y/n-l/n for the lucky hair

@y/n-l/n: HE DID IT!!!!!!!! endlessly proud of you AA23 <3

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 #williams f1 #williams formula 1 #alex albon #alexander albon #williams racing #aa23 x reader #aa23 #george russell

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sofiascripts · 3 months ago

Text

detentions secret soundtrack

mha band au (lemonade mouth inspired) // eventual bakugou x reader

★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆ striking a chord!

while tidying up the bandroom in the school’s basement, someone suggests a spontaneous jam session to lighten the mood. the drab room quickly transforms into a lively stage as they perform a kyoka jirou original, with each student adding their own flair to the impromptu performance. the music infuses the group with new energy, lifting their spirits and easing the tension. when the jam session wraps up, ms. midnight, who has been observing from the sidelines, enthusiastically praises their unexpected talent. her encouraging feedback hints at the group’s potential and opens the door to new opportunities. could something so silly really turn into something more?

╰┈➤ tw: not proofread #imsorry </3

the end of the day arrived much faster for the troublesome six than they had hoped. each of them left their respective classrooms, going through their end-of-day rituals before making their way toward the music room, which was inconveniently located in the basement at the farthest end of the school.

to bakugou’s distaste, there was only one way downstairs, meaning he had to walk through every single club that had been banished to the basement. his gaze was fixed ahead, his body rigid as he moved through the narrow, dimly lit halls. students and staff alike quickly moved to the side, avoiding his path, their conversations dying out as they felt the intense energy radiating from him. kaminari, who had run into bakugou in the elevator, took advantage of the clear path and practically skipped through the hallways, trailing closely behind.

when the pair finally reached the end of the hallway, they stopped at an old, battered lemonade vending machine. bakugou reached for his wallet while kaminari obnoxiously patted himself down, feigning surprise at his lack of funds.

kaminari slowly turned to bakugou with a silly grin. “you got me?”

“seriously?” bakugou grumbled, his tone dripping with irritation. kaminari just shrugged, unfazed. the two grabbed their respective drinks, with kaminari forcing their bottles to clink together in a mock cheers before they took a swig. kaminari didn’t bother hiding his obvious distaste for the sour drink, while bakugou struggled to maintain his signature scowl.

“it’s not that bad,” bakugou muttered, though the slight twitch in his eye suggested otherwise.

finally, they entered the music room, where the others were already inside. jirou was facing the small, high window in the top corner of the room, her expression unreadable. momo was beside her, typing furiously on her phone, her face contorted in a deep frown. shinsou sat in front of them, his head resting on his folded arms, already fast asleep. you were across from him, your head hung low as you absentmindedly wiped down a desk.

bakugou and kaminari slowly made their way to some seats in the corner of the room, settling down with a rustle of clothing and the clink of bottles. the room fell silent once more, a heavy, uncomfortable quiet that lingered for only a moment before the door creaked open again, revealing mr. aizawa. he stepped in with a clipboard in hand and a stern expression on his face.

“today, you’ll be doing some housekeeping. some of you have earned multiple days—” his eyes flicked towards jirou for a moment, causing her to sink further into her seat.

“and you will be expected to finish up whatever doesn’t get done today.” groans and sighs filled the room, but the six teens reluctantly got to work. bakugou managed to find a broom and began sweeping the floor, his movements more aggressive than necessary, sending small clouds of dust into the air. the others wisely chose to work on the opposite end of the room. kaminari and jirou dusted off the various instruments while momo sat on the floor, organizing sheet music. you focused on wiping down the teacher’s desk, meticulously cleaning the many trinkets that filled it, while shinsou worked at the shelves, emptying out the cardboard boxes filled with books.

“so… what’s the deal with you and monoma?” kaminari’s voice broke the silence, his curiosity getting the better of him. jirou was quick to slap him on the back of the neck, muttering an exasperated “idiot.”

you gripped the rag a little tighter, your knuckles turning white as you turned to offer them a forced smile. “just a little misunderstanding.”

“a misunderstanding, huh?” shinsou’s smirk grew wider, his voice dripping with amusement. “that’s not what it looked like to me. seemed pretty clear-cut.”

“it’s complicated,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even. “but, in essence, yes, a misunderstanding.” you didn’t owe them an explanation, but their stares were unwavering, pressing for more. the lack of noise from their end of the room suggested that they had all stopped cleaning to face you, their curiosity practically tangible.

the tension in the room thickened, the silence amplified to an almost unbearable degree. all that could be heard was your violent scrubbing, the rag squeaking against the desk, occasionally shifting it with the force of your movements. you tried to gather your thoughts, searching for anything to say that might lighten the mood, but your emotions were hard to keep in check.

all you could think about was the way monoma had looked at you when you tossed that drink in his face. his expression was a mixture of shock and anger, but that was it. that was all that was there. he didn’t look at you like someone who had spent the entire summer with you. no, he looked at you like you were some random psycho who had a bad day and decided to take it out on him.

your grip on the rag tightened further, the fabric digging into your palm as the memories swirled in your mind. the silence continued to stretch on, oppressive and heavy. finally, unable to take it anymore, you muttered under your breath, barely audible but enough to break the tension.

“it’s not worth talking about.”

with that, you turned back to the desk, determined to focus on anything other than the prying eyes behind you.

the tension lightened on its own, everyone in the room seemingly understanding that you weren't ready to talk about it and decided to respect your wishes. everyone except for bakugou.

“you gonna tell us or what?” he grumbled, his tone impatient and rough.

you quickly turned your head towards bakugou, meeting his sharp gaze with a glare of your own. “there isn’t anything to talk about. we worked together over the summer and got a little close. that’s it.” your words had come out a little more strained than you had hoped.

you wanted to end it there, already continuing to clean off the desk in front of you, but there was a tight knot of heat rising in your chest, coiling tighter with each passing second, threatening to unravel if you didn’t get the words out. “it’s messed up, but i kind of saw it coming,” you said with a bitter laugh.

“he’d been pretty distant lately,” your tone a little sharper this time, cutting through the air with a bitterness that surprised even you.

the words hung in the air, and you felt a surge of frustration bubbling up inside you. “but i just can’t stop thinking about it,” you continued, your voice rising with both anger and disbelief. “like—who even does that? who cheats so obviously, so publicly?”

your frustration began to boil over as you paced the room, your hands gesturing wildly. “it was almost like he wanted everyone to see it—including me,” you said, your voice now a little unsteady with rage. “and the worst part? he didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. like it didn’t matter at all.”

the room thickened with tension, the air heavy as everyone exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent. you could feel their eyes on you, waiting for more, but you had nothing left to say. the silence grew oppressive, pressing down on your chest and making it hard to breathe. you turned back to your little section, your movements more deliberate as you tried to push aside the painful thoughts.

“you should’ve hit him instead,” bakugou said gruffly, breaking the silence with a sharp edge to his voice. “dumping soda is for kids.”

you shot him a glare, your patience wearing thin. “what did you expect? a brawl in the middle of the cafeteria?” your voice dripped with sarcasm,“i’m not a violent person, unlike some people,” you snapped, referencing his infamous temper. “heard about your little incident with the soccer coach.”

bakugou’s smirk widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “should’ve taken a couple of notes and tossed that can at his head,” he retorted, his tone lightening with a hint of amusement, but still laced with that familiar bite.

you huffed, crossing your arms as you faced him. “not everyone solves their problems with their fists, bakugou. some of us try to handle things like normal human beings.”

he rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall mimicking your pose. “that shits boring. you wanna get back at someone, you make sure they don’t forget it. that bastard deserves more than a soda bath for what he did.”

bakugou’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room seemed to pulse with the intensity of his conviction. his eyes were locked on yours. your eyes narrowed, a mix of frustration and something else—something like agreement—simmering beneath the surface. bakugou might have been blunt and abrasive, but there was something in his words that struck a chord with you. he wasn’t pitying you; he was angry on your behalf, and that made his support, twisted as it was, feel oddly genuine.

“thanks for the advice,” you muttered, your voice a little steadier now as you turned back to the desk, focusing on the task at hand. “but i’ll handle it my way.”

bakugou paused for a moment before shrugging “your loss,” he muttered, turning away with a huff as he resumed sweeping, his movements no less aggressive than before.

as the clock ticked closer to the end of detention, the atmosphere in the room began to shift. the earlier scene between you and bakugou had fortunately been enough to let the room settle back into a more comfortable silence. you all continued to work towards a clean room, consistently glancing at the clock in the front of the room.

jirou, who had been dusting off a set of old drums in the corner, paused for a moment, her eyes flicking over to the guitar propped against the wall. in this quiet, awkward moment, it seemed to be calling to her. without a word, jirou picked up the guitar, her fingers instinctively finding the chords from the song she had been trying to write earlier that morning. she strummed a few notes, testing the strings, and the sound filled the small room, breaking the silence in a way that felt almost magical. the melody was soft at first, a gentle, soothing tune.

momo, a little intrigued, put down the sheet music she had been organizing and moved over to the piano in the corner. she sat down, her fingers hovering over the keys. she paused for a moment focusing on the tune. jirou made her way towards her helping to count her in, and soon she began to play, adding a delicate harmony to jirou’s guitar.

kaminari, catching onto the impromptu performance, quickly grabbed a guitar from a nearby shelf. he adjusted the strap, tuning it with quick, practiced movements before joining in with an upbeat rhythm that contrasted with the gentle melody.

shinsou, watching the growing musical ensemble, found a bass guitar leaning against the wall. he picked it up, his fingers gliding over the strings as he added a smooth, steady bassline that nearly tied everything together.

bakugou’s sweeping had slowed to a near stop, watching the scene with a mixture of irritation and something else—something that looked a lot like interest. despite himself, he found his foot tapping along to the beat, though he kept his face set in a scowl, determined not to show that he was enjoying it.

kaminari noticed his friends behavior and looked over at him with a cheeky smile, “cmon bakugou, you gotta know how to play something”

bakugou glared at him, but there was a spark of something in his eyes—a challenge that he couldn’t resist. with a low growl, he finally gave in, he put down his broom and marched over to the drums, plopping himself down in the little stoll, quickly finding the drumsticks, his movements were loud and brash, but precise and added a flare that caused the others to cheer.

shinsou had locked eyes with you and slowly walked towards you as he continued to strum to the rhythm, he nudged you with his foot, his voice low as he teased, “scared to join in? thought you were better than that.”

you rolled your eyes, but the playful challenge in his words was enough to make you crack a smile. without giving him the satisfaction of a reply, you started humming along, your voice adding another layer to the growing chorus.

jirou was quick to reach into her bag and point to the song she had been playing, lyrics already spread across the page. it would be rude to ignore her invitation so you began singing along, your voice adding a bright, energetic layer to the growing melody. as you sang, you moved around the room, book still in hand, draping furry scarves over shinsou and kaminari, who both looked momentarily surprised but amused by the sudden accessory.

kaminari wore a goofy grin as he tapped his foot to the beat, while shinsou raised an eyebrow but couldn’t help a chuckle as the scarf was wrapped around his neck. you picked up a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses and plopped them on bakugou’s face, who initially tried to swat them off but eventually gave in with a reluctant smirk.

jirou, still playing the guitar, laughed as you placed a sparkly crown on her head, and momo soon found herself wearing a matching crown as you draped one over her too. the playful transformation gave everyone an almost surreal, whimsical look, turning the music room into a makeshift stage of goofy fun.

the room erupted into spontaneous dancing. jirou and momo twirled around with their crowns, while kaminari and shinsou tried to keep up with the beat on their instruments, all while their furry scarves whirled around them. bakugou, had pushed his heart sunglasses up, wearing it as a headband, and he couldn’t suppress a genuine laugh as he played the drums with extra flair, his usual intensity softened by the sheer absurdity of the moment.

the room now resonated with laughter and music. you all played together, your individual sounds blending into a surprisingly harmonious and fun song. bakugou pounded the drums with intensity, a fierce look of concentration on his face. jirou's guitar riffs were energetic and playful, while momos keyboard added an unexpected but beautiful layer to the music. kaminari guitar strumming was enthusiastic and full of life, and shinsous bass lines were steady and grounding.

as the song came to an end, they all exchanged glances, a mix of surprise and amusement on their faces. but a loud squeal snapped you all out of your excitement.

“wow, that was amazing!” ms. midnight said, clapping her hands together with a beaming smile. mr. aizawa, standing behind her with his usual stoic demeanor, nodded approvingly but remained quiet.

ms. midnight’s playful challenge hung in the air. “you guys should definitely give that monoma brat a run for their money. if this is how you perform when you’re having fun, imagine what you could do on stage!”

despite her praise, the six of you exchanged awkward glances before shrugging off her suggestion as you all made your way back to your seats. but ms. midnight wasn’t one to let things go so easily. she quickly approached the group, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“ms. yaoyorozu, your precision and control are impeccable, as always,” ms. midnight said, turning to momo with a warm smile. “you brought such elegance to the performance—it really grounded everything.”

momo gave a modest nod, her cheeks tinged with pink from the compliment. “thank you, ms. midnight,” she replied with a small smile, always the picture of grace. “but–”

“and as for you three—you were the driving force behind this whole thing! mr. kaminari, your energy was contagious, ms. jirou, those riffs were killer, and mr. bakugou, that intensity? perfect for the stage.” passion was practically spilling out of her as she danced around the room complimenting everyone.

kaminari’s eyes lit up, and he grinned widely, clearly pleased with the praise. jirou smirked, nodding her appreciation, while bakugou crossed his arms and scowled, “whatever.”

“oh, don’t be like that, mr. bakugou,” ms. midnight teased lightly, her gaze shifting to shinsou. “and mr. shinsou, your cool, laid-back vibe really balanced everything out. it’s like you’re the calm in the storm, keeping everyone on track.”

shinsou gave a casual nod, “just doing my part.”

finally, ms. midnight’s attention turned to you. her expression softened, and she looked directly into your eyes with a more intimate focus. “and as for you, y/n…”

you felt your heart drop to the depths of your stomach as her gaze zeroed in on you. her voice lowered slightly, making the moment feel more personal. “your voice was just incredible out there.”

you flinched slightly, taken aback by her sudden closeness. “uh, thanks. just... was having fun with it.”

ms. midnight leaned in even closer, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “oh, don’t be so modest! it was fantastic. you have such a unique tone—meshed beautifully with those friends of yours. how come ive never heard it before?”

just as you were about to respond, a chuckle came from the back of the room. shinsou, who had been silently observing the interaction, smirked and spoke up.

“you know, y/n’s got the talent, no doubt,” shinsou said, his voice tinged with amusement. “but i think i remember—”

before he could continue, kaminari suddenly chimed in, cutting him off. “honestly, ms. midnight, you’re giving us way too much credit. we also dont even know each other, calling us all friends seems like a stretch”

shinsou frowned slightly, sinking back into his seat, clearly a little annoyed by the interruption. but it gave you a sense of relief. ms. midnight pouted slightly but wasn’t ready to back down.

“oh, come on, kaminari!” she exclaimed. “imagine how stunned everyone would be if you guys took the stage at the halloween bash. picture it: a lineup of raw talent that’d have everyone’s jaws on the floor, a feast for the eyes and ears!”

jirou, who had been quietly observing, chimed in with a smirk. “sounds like you’re really pushing for this, ms. midnight. ya sure you’re not just trying to live vicariously through us?”

ms. midnight laughed, waving off the comment. “maybe a little, but mostly, i just know talent when i see it. you all have something special, and i’d hate to see it go to waste.”

as ms. midnight stepped back, you let out a small sigh of relief, your cheeks flushed from the close encounter. the conversation had clearly left an impact, with some more than others, but you all remained resolute. the idea of becoming a band, especially for the halloween bash, was firmly off the table. you were ready to move on and put this performance behind you, knowing full well that there was no way in hell you’d be performing again anytime soon.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“hell no, headphones!” the shouting echoed down the hallway, the frustration in the voice was unmistakable. your face flushed with annoyance, the events of the day already wearing your patience thin. you glanced over at shinsou, who had his head resting against the wall of the elevator, muttering curses under his breath. the kid next to him shot nervous glances in your direction.

you and shinsou trudged down the hall towards the music room, neither of you particularly eager for what awaited inside. what was supposed to be a single day of detention for the group—except for jirou—had turned into a second round of cleaning thanks to the chaos you’d all caused with the instruments.

apparently, there had been a very intense chess match in the room next door, a title match that could’ve earned the chess club a spot upstairs with the regular clubs. but because of your little ‘band practice,’ their star player got too distracted and lost his round, condemning the club to another year of basement meetings.

you had all been made aware of your later detentions during your homerooms. while everyone had grudgingly accepted their fate, bakugou nearly earned himself another week. he was quick to find and scold the chess player, claiming that if he were as skilled as he said he was, he would’ve won despite the distractions. mr. aizawa, however, let him off with just a stern warning about his temper. it seemed aizawa was either feeling lenient or simply couldn’t stand the thought of dealing with bakugou in detention for another week.

you both reached the end of the hallway where the small yellow vending machine was placed, you exchanged a knowing look with shinsou and before you knew it you shinsou was already putting in the bills for a drink, a small indulgence from the day’s frustrations.

as you reached into the machine to grab your drink, you heard a call of your name causing you to turn around. kaminari and momo had arrived and they both offered kind greetings. they came up behind you, each buying drinks of their own. kaminari had seemingly remembered his wallet this time. the four of you made a show of clinking your cups before grimacing at the taste.

you all entered the classroom and you made your way over to an empty desk, dumping your stuff onto the chair before walking over to grab a rag and a spray bottle. however, you were quickly stopped by an uncharacteristically cheerful jirou. she held your spray bottle in one hand and the rag in the other. you gave her a small smile and a quick thanks before reaching out for the set, but she took a quick step back, her smile unchanging. you furrowed your eyebrows, confused, and reached for them again only for her to take another step back.

“wh-”

“pleasejointhebandireallywanttocompeteandifeelliketheressomethinghere—”

“what are you saying?” you asked, tilting your head to the side.

“midnight got into her head with all that bullshit and now she wants us to become a band for the night and play at that stupid halloween dance,” bakugou grumbled his voice laced with irritation as he continued to empty our boxes and organize the various music books into their respective shelves.

a collective groan erupted from the group as the realization sank in. it was obvious that the earlier outburst had come from bakugou, who had reacted explosively when jirou first proposed her idea.

“tried to tell her that we already did the singing thing once. no need to turn this into a thing,” bakugou added, slamming a book down with enough force to make everyone jump.

momo shook her head, clearly unimpressed. “jirou, while i do admit it was rather enjoyable, i have to agree with bakugou. it was supposed to be a one-time thing. we’re in our final year now. we have more important things to focus on.’”

jirou’s enthusiasm didn’t wane. “cmon guys, you all have gotta hear me out.”

she continued to follow you. even while you began working at your own section, hoping that she would take the hint. “ it’s a chance to showcase our skills, have some fun, and—” she paused dramatically. “monoma’s gonna be performing as well!”

you knew what she was implying, but you couldn’t stop yourself from humoring her just a bit, “so?”

“sooo thisll be a fun way to humiliate him by simply being better than him! and i’m pretty sure the best band gets some sort of prize, who doesn’t love a good prize” jirou clasped her hands together and looked at you with large hopeful eyes. and when you turned to face her, you swore you could see a literal twinkle inside of them.

“i will admit i do love prizes.” kaminari muttered, jirou was quick to turn her attention towards him slamming both of her hands down on his desk dramatically.

kaminari leaned back in his chair, trying to escape the intensity of jirou’s gaze but clearly intrigued. “but isn’t monoma just going to show off? hes been doing this kinda thing for a while now.”

“exactly!” jirou grinned triumphantly, as if kaminari’s reluctance was exactly the confirmation she needed. “that’s why it’ll be so satisfying to beat him. and think about it—we’ll be the highlight of the dance! plus, it's halloween! we can dress up, add a theme to our performance, make it unforgettable!”

bakugou scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at jirou. “you really think we have time to mess around with costumes and setlists? i’m not interested in stroking monoma’s ego by even pretending he’s competition.”

jirou didn’t miss a beat. “oh, please, bakugou. like you wouldn’t love to blow him off the stage with one of your killer drum solos. ”

for a brief moment, bakugou’s expression wavered, as if he was genuinely considering the idea. but then he shook his head, returning to his usual scowl. “it doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “we’ve got exams, college applications, and real-world shit to deal with. we can’t waste our time on this nonsense.”

momo nodded in agreement, “bakugou’s right. our schedules are packed. we don’t have the luxury to divert our focus from important tasks.”

kaminari, who had been unusually quiet up until now, suddenly perked up, his face brightening with enthusiasm. “i’m with jirou on this! come on, guys, it’s our last year! we should make the most of it. plus, we’ve got the talent—why not show it off?”

shinsou, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, finally spoke up, “i dunno. it could actually be kinda fun.”

bakugou shot shinsou a heated glare, his frustration boiling over. “you too, eyebags? i expected this bullshit from him,” he said, jabbing a finger towards kaminari, “but i didnt think youd be dumb enough to fall for this crap too.”

shinsou shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “it’s not exactly my scene, but i don’t have much else going on right now. why not give it a go? besides, i’m not a fan of monoma either. it’d be satisfying to put him in his place."

“yeah, come on, bakugou, you’ve already got the jump on him in soccer and academics—why not try this?” kaminari asked. he’d known bakugou since they were in grade school, understanding exactly how he ticked and which buttons to push.

bakugou shot him a sharp glare, carefully weighing his response. after a tense pause, bakugou finally spoke up, “alright, so what if i agree? what happens if this turns into a disaster?”

jirou placed a hand on her hip, her smirk widening. “disaster? with you in the band? please, bakugou. the only disaster here would be if we didn’t give the crowd a show they’d never forget. and let’s be real, if anyone can turn this into a win, it’s you.”

bakugou’s eyes narrowed, the tension in the room clear as he glared at jirou. the two locked eyes, the unspoken challenge between them crackling with electricity. jirou didn’t flinch, her gaze steady. she knew she was playing on bakugou’s pride and competitive spirit.

bakugou’s lips twitched, a flicker of a smirk betraying his resolve. after a long pause, he finally growled, “fine. but we’re doing this my way. no half-assed performances. we’re going all in. you screw up, and i’ll make sure you regret it.”

jirou’s face lit up with victory. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

before the excitement could fully settle in, momo stepped forward, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. her expression and tone were serious as she spoke, “i’m not trying to be a killjoy, but have you all thought this through? this isn’t just about jamming for fun. if we mess this up, it’ll reflect poorly on all of us. we’ve barely got two weeks, and we’re up against monoma—who, despite his flaws, knows how to put on a show.”

momo’s frown deepened. “and if things go wrong, we’re risking our reputations.”

unfortunately, that sense of responsibility and reputation really only applied to bakugou, momo, and kaminari. each of them had made a name for themselves at the school, though for very different reasons. you, shinsou, and jirou were on the opposite end of the popularity spectrum. both you and shinsou preferred to stay out of the spotlight. you both typically chose to avoid unnecessary attention. jirou, having transferred midway through last year, was still somewhat of a mystery and had yet to establish a reputation of her own.

kaminari, ever the optimist, waved a hand dismissively. “so what if we embarrass ourselves a little? we’ll have a good laugh about it later. besides, mo, you’re always the one telling us to balance work and play. this could be our chance to do that.”

momo hesitated as she weighed her options, glancing around the room she could see the resolve in their eyes. she also couldn’t deny the fact that part of her found the idea of a band a bit exciting.

“fine,” momo said slowly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “but just promise that we are going to approach this with the seriousness it deserves. i cant allow myself to be part of something that falls apart because we failed to put enough effort ”

jirou’s face broke into a wide grin, and she clapped her hands together in excitement. “yes! this is going to be amazing! i promise, momo, you won’t regret it.”

now all eyes were on you, and you were still trying to grasp how things had changed so quickly. barely a few minutes ago, the idea had faced the strong resistance as yesterday, yet jirou had managed to win everyone over, with bakugou’s agreement being the most surprising.

that scene in the lunchroom was the most spotlight you’d had in years, and you had always preferred to remain in the background. it had taken years for the whispers about that middle school incident to fade, and now this performance felt like a shortcut to more unwanted attention and awkward reminders.

but it was clear that no matter what you said now, they would continue to push and attempt to persuade you. you were unfortunately fighting a losing battle. you sighed in defeat, meeting the eyes of your peers. “alright,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “i guess it won’t be that bad.” the group exchanged quick glances, a mix of excitement and apprehension settling over them.

jirou clapped her hands together, her excitement reaching a fever pitch. “this is going to be amazing! we’ve got the talent, the drive—now we just need to figure out the details.”

the room buzzed with a renewed energy as the group began tossing around ideas, discussing song choices, potential costumes, and ways to make their performance stand out all while continuing to tidy up.

but as the conversation continued, your mind wandered, a flicker of doubt still lingering. you couldn’t shake the nervous knot in your stomach. the idea of standing up in front of the entire school, putting yourself out there like that, was daunting. you could only hope that this gamble would pay off and not end in disaster.

a/n: GUYS PLS TELL ME IF THE SCENE WHERE THEY LIT JUST BROKE INTO A JAM SESH IS CRINGE PLS I WANTED IT TO BE LIKE THE MOVIE BUT OMFG FELT LIKE I WAS WRITING A Y/N SINGING FIGHTSONG DURING THE SPORTS FESTIVAL SCENE. but anyways, i decided this is going to be a band au with lemonade mouth elements bc i lowk fucked up with the characters and the plotline! also i have my full outline now #yippie! also sorry for deleting and uploading, i kept changing the picture. still not a fan of this one, might have to mess around and make my own...

taglist:

likes & reblogs & constructive criticism are all welcomed and appreciated <33333

thank you sm for reading this! im gonna try and pump out another chapter tomorrow or the day after <3

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echotoyou · 3 months ago

Text

Euphoria: Jungkook

Part of the I miss you Collection

pairing: boyfriend!jeon jungkook x gn!reader

what's inside: the cuddliest cuddle session of them ALL with your boyfriend (who is also your favorite weighted blanket)

warnings: kisses, allusions to smut but no actual smut, reader redirects when jungkook makes a move, all are happy and comfortable with the new direction

word count: 993

a/n: iiiii couldn't wait to get this one out haha this little drabble was definitely inspired by the line in seven "I kiss your waist and ease your mind" bc that IMAGE lol okay enjoy part two of the I miss you collection! I have ones planned for each member + an ot7 one -- any requests for who's next?

posted august 2024 (also on ao3)

It was finally Friday night. Work had finished for the week a few hours ago and you had a few fun plans already scheduled for the coming weekend days. You always enjoyed a good mix of planned and spontaneous activities and event and luckily your boyfriend wholeheartedly agreed with you.

You and Jungkook had just made it official a few months ago, falling into each other’s life like pieces in a puzzle. It always felt easy to be around him and he clearly enjoyed being around you too.

With the Merry-Go-Round of Life and the end credits of Howl's Moving Castle softly tinkling in the background, you glanced down at where Jungkook had nestled into your side. You had somehow stayed awake during the film, likely because you were still sitting relatively upright, but Jungkook didn’t seem to fare as well – he had started the film sitting next to you, one hand in yours with the other holding your waist.

As Sophie argued her way into the Castle life and befriended Calcifer, Jungkook had pulled his legs up onto the sofa, becoming nearly horizontal and maneuvering himself so his head rested on your lap. Your hand had moved to soothe his shoulder, eventually reaching to rest on his waist. You’re not positive he started snoring, but it was definitely a possibility as the soft colors of the Ghibli film danced in your living room and you felt his breath even out. The night had been the perfect way to wind down from a tough week, held in the embrace of the man you adore.

It’s perfect. And then it's not.

You're actually dying of thirst and for some unknown reason you left your water bottle just out of reach. You war with yourself for a moment, hesitant to disturb your incredibly comfortable partner when he starts to stir and stretch. You’re nearly certain he can read minds when he mumbles, “Mmm that’s such a good movie. I’m gonna get some water, do you want some?”

Your “yes please” in reply is so quick, and his half-asleep-dark-fluffy-hair-gray-sweatshirt-wearing grin and nod make you feel like you’re falling in love all over again. Your eyes follow him into the kitchen, and you turn to sit with your knees against your chest facing the kitchen.

As he makes his way back with a glass of water in each hand, mischief glints in his eyes. He sets the glasses down on your coffee table and suddenly pulls your legs to rest on the long part of the sofa. Your small “oof” from the movement causes both of you to chuckle. He settles in the space between your legs and resumes his position from earlier, laying his head on your lap, this time with his eyes blinking up at you, a devious little smirk on his face.

At your nod, he lifts the edge of your shirt, sliding a cool hand to settle on your hip, and kisses your waist, lips easily finding a spot that makes you sigh.

You sigh into his touch and close your eyes, your work due dates and family conundrums floating out of your mind as you focus on where soft fingers are dancing along your skin. His hands gently grasp your waist, your hips, back to your waist, your left thigh, then your right, as he peppers kisses along your stomach.

You feel a hand dance at your belt buckle and open your eyes, meeting his brown doe ones. His seem to have a hint of mischief today as he stares up at you. It’s been a long week though, and you’d rather not start something that’ll keep you both up late. You gently cover the tattooed hand directly on the buckle and give him the biggest pout you can muster, while whispering loud enough so he can hear, “I’m not feeling up to it tonight. Uh. Can we just…” your words die down as a bit of anxiety touches your thoughts at his potential response, “… cuddle?”

You feel the chuckle rumble up his stomach before you hear it as he replies, “just cuddle? Baby, you know I love cuddling with you, especially if it’s what you want to do tonight. Anything else I can grab you before we commence operation: cuddle time?” His voice turns slightly terminator-y at the end of his sentence, making you laugh as you shake your head no.

You reach over for the glass of water and take a quick sip as you feel him settle between your legs and lean his head on your stomach. His arms reach around your waist and interlock behind your back and he settles into you like a warm weighted blanket onto your body. His sigh matches yours as you gently begin to breathe in sync.

Your hand moves to stroke his soft, so incredibly soft, how the fuck does he get it so S O F T hair, pushing it rhythmically out of his eyes. It’s your favorite length right now, with little curls and a set of long bangs that you’re going to beg him to keep. With every stroke of your hand, his eyes start to flutter shut before quickly reopening. After a few minutes, his eyes slowly close completely and do not reopen. You continue for a little longer before you feel him squeeze your waist and wonder if he’s going to suggest you both move to your bed for some proper cuddling. Instead, you begin to hear soft snores as his hands relax.

A small smile crosses your face as you take in your sleeping boyfriend. The tension drains from his face as he sinks deeper. You love that as simply as he can ease your mind, it feels like you can do the same for him.

Your eyes also start to drift shut, the weight of his body on top of yours providing a comforting pressure similar to your beloved weighted blanket. Warm, soft, and cozy.

dividers by the amazing @strangergraphics!!!

#bts #jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts drabble #jeon jungkook #jeon jungguk #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fluff #fanfic #bts fluff

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shawnxstyles · 2 years ago

Text

prank? more like spank

DATE: JANUARY 28, 2023

summary: after a day out with your friends, they convince you to prank your boyfriend tom that you got a vaginal piercing. once you break the news, he has to see for himself.

request: yess

words: 3.6k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [pussy spanking, clit play/edging, masochism, slight nipple play], dirty talk, aftercare) language, and fluff.

note: THIS TITLE IS SO FUNNY PLEASE. the gif is so random too 😭 sorry i’ve been so inactive, i’m so busy!! tom masterlist

soft dom!tom

—

“What if I just got a tattoo?” You ask spontaneously as you approach the tattoo and piercing shop. You and your friends were wandering around town, having a much-needed girl day. The two girls stare at you for a moment before giggling hysterically.

“You hate pain and plus, Tom would freak!” Alina laughs harder at your ridiculousness. She had a few simple tattoos herself; small ones on her hands and elegant drawings on her arms. Her black hair was long and sleek, always looking on-point. Even though her tattoos fit her beautifully, it didn’t convince you to get one. You could never get a tattoo, even if you were paid.

“What about a piercing?” You suggest. You have had your lobes pierced since you were young, but you’ve never desired anything else. Nose and lip rings were trendy when you were in high school, but you never understood why anyone would ever put metal inside of their face, let alone the more sensitive parts of their body.

“Again, your pain tolerance is very low,” Alina says, swinging her small bag of leftover food from lunch. “Did you know people pierce their vaginas?”

“Of course. I’ve considered it,” Reyna nonchalantly inserts. You and Alina gawk at her, dumbstruck because she’s never mentioned anything like that before. One thing about Reyna was that she always surprised you; there was always something you didn’t know. One day, she said she was getting a tattoo, so she did. Another, she said she was going to Venice, so she did. In a way, she was very good at keeping her word, which made her a great friend.

Her body was littered in tattoos from top to bottom. Her drawings were thick, dark, and colorful along her naturally tan skin. Her ears were engulfed in pieces of jewelry, while her nose held a septum and two opposing studs. How did she breathe? Her red-dyed hair was frizzy and wavy and shaped her face just right. Her eyes were a hazel, but could easily pass for a shade of green.

“What does it even pierce? Where does the jewelry go?” You ask, trying to imagine how painful it would be on a scale.

“Your clitorus,” Reyna answers, sipping from her straw casually.

“That’s like the most sensitive part!” Your face screams in horror. Why would anyone ever do that to themselves? You feel your legs clench in protection like you can feel the blinding pain just picturing it.

Unfathomable out of ten you decide on when thinking back to the scale.

“I don’t think you could pay me to get that done. Even if I could have it removed,” Alina shakes her head in disapproval.

“When I told Riker I was thinking about it, he was freaking the fuck out. He was trying to be supportive, but I can tell he was scared,” Reyna chuckles. Her boyfriend was the complete opposite of her. She is sociable and outgoing, and is always at someone’s place to party. Riker, her boyfriend of eight months, was a homebody who played video games in his free time. Their largest sharing characteristic is that they are extremely hardworking, which led them to meet while working at the same job.

Ah. Romance.

“I can’t even imagine how Tom would react,” You say, eyes wandering the ground.

“You should see,” Alina suggests.

“What do you mean?”

“Tell him you got a piercing. See what he says,” Reyna adds for clarification.

“Oo, you should record it!” Alina claps giddily and you laugh at their ideas. You shake your head at the recording part, but heavily consider the main idea. Why not have a little fun? You turn over your shoulder and peer at the tattoo and piercing shop that fades in the distance as you continue to walk. Your sundress flows in the spring breeze as you bite your lip.

“Okay,” You shake your head, somehow convinced to play a stupid joke on your innocent, loving boyfriend.

“Ah, how I love a good prank,” Reyna smiles to the sky as you all approach the car.

—

When the girls drop you home first, you wave goodbye to them and then head straight for the door. The sun was beginning to set in the evening, and you wondered what Tom had been doing all day.

“I’m back!” You shout, removing your shoes and hanging up your purse. His response echoes from the kitchen and you walk toward him with nerves.

You weren’t the most convincing liar, so trying to pull off a prank was going to be difficult. Your fingers fiddle anxiously as he turns around from the stove to face you. A soft smile curls on his lips and your insides melt. However, your heart races in extreme nervousness because he looks so innocent and unknowing.

Oh, he’s so going to fall for it.

“Hey, baby. How was your girl’s day?” Tom’s hands slide under your arms and hug you securely. His lips press a firm and tender kiss on your forehead and you sigh softly.

“It was… exciting,” Your eyes sparkle as you stare at him. He looks at you, patiently waiting for you to continue. But you don’t, you wait for him to ask.

“What was so exciting, love?” He delicately brushes the wispy hair from your face, admiring every one of your facial features. Tom was so in love with you, he couldn’t help but stare in disbelief that you were really his.

“I got a piercing!” You smile widely as you squeeze Tom’s biceps in exaggerated excitement. Tom raises his eyebrows, not expecting you to say that. He always just assumed you went out for lunch or went shopping. He would have never assumed you got a piercing, especially knowing how much you hate unnecessary pain.

“You did? Where?” Tom smiles as he curls your hair behind your ears, scouting for the nonexistent jewelry. His eyebrows scrunch when he searches your face as well, but doesn’t find anything.

“It’s on my clit,” You whisper sweetly, biting your lip. Your heart pounds in your chest and you’re hoping he can’t feel it. You tried your best to hold in your laugh at his reaction.

Tom’s eyes widened so much, you thought they were going to pop out of their sockets. He blushes profusely and pulls away from you, cheeks a rosy pink as his jaw practically slides along the kitchen tile. He dryly coughs, trying to hide how flabbergasted he is.

You smile wider and harder, trying not to break your act. Seeing Tom so shocked makes you want to burst out laughing at how easily he fell for it. He knows you absolutely hate pain, yet he still believed it.

“I-I thought you hated pain…” He starts breathily, “What…how…?”

“Reyna convinced me. She said it feels great when having sex,” The lies spill from your mouth before you could even process what it meant. Did that even make sense?

Tom blinks rapidly, mind racing at the change. He didn’t even know that one could get their clit pierced. He never would have thought you would want to get yours done. He remembers early on in your relationship when you told him you cried the entire time when you got your ears pierced. And when you got your shots at the doctors. He even remembers you telling him you cried when you first had sex… but that was understandable. But being reminded of that just makes him even more confused on why you would get something so painful.

You must have cried a lot, he thinks. His heart aches a tad because he wasn’t there for you.

“Well… can I see it?” Tom tries to cool down his burning red face, but it only seems to intensify as he imagines seeing it; your clit irritated and puffy as a bar of metal sears through it.

Now, it was your time to widen your eyes. You tried to hide it by wandering your eyes all over the place, but if anything, that just made it more obvious you were hiding it. Tom contorts his face in mild confusion at your hesitation as you laugh nervously.

“Y/N, can I see the piercing?” He repeats, stalking a bit closer to you.

“No!” You deny too quickly, backing away from him like he was psychotic.

“No? Baby, I’m going to see it eventually. Might as well see it now,” He smiles, reassuringly as you struggle to come up with more lies. Why did you think he wouldn’t want to see it?

“It’s um… really swollen and puffy. You can’t even see it,” You shake your head as you wave it off, swallowing your nerves dryly. Tom skeptically squints his eyelids, puzzled at your sudden defensiveness.

“I can’t see it? How do you know? I haven’t even tried yet.”

“I looked. It’s like it’s not even there,” Nervous laughs release from your mouth and you would be surprised if he still believed you.

Then he quirked an eyebrow, sensing your deceitfulness. Your nervousness gives him a growing confidence. He licks his lips and clicks his tongue, a sly smirk threatening to curl up on his lips.

“Let me see it, Y/N.”

“No!”

Before you could even take off in a sprint, Tom’s arms are tightened securely around your waist. He drags your flailing body and hoists you up onto the kitchen counter, forcing you to stay seated. You wiggle profusely underneath his strong grip, but realize it’s no use compared to his thick muscles. You huff, annoyed that he captured you.

“I guess I’ll have to see for myself since you want to be so stubborn,” He grumbles as he crumples the sundress up to your waist. You hold your breath, hands gripping the counter. He forces your legs to spread, eye level with your panties. Your cunt aches as it begins to dampen the material.

“Is the piercing making you that wet? Or is it something else?” Tom taunts, yanking the flimsy fabric until it’s tossed along the kitchen floor. Waves of heat creep up your neck at how close he is to your cunt. He’s seen you naked a million times for your usual sensual, soft sex. But with a lie in between you, you don’t know what to expect.

Tom’s arms lock your thighs to the marble counter. He stares at your pussy, looking as gorgeous as ever. He takes his rough fingers and carefully spreads your soaking folds, inspecting for a piece of jewelry. You gasp as more arousal leaks out of your pussy, begging for more friction. As he gets closer to your clit, you whine from the teasing.

“Well, your clit is puffy… but I don’t see any piercing,” Tom pretends to pout like he hadn’t known you were lying most of the time. His thumb delicately taps your neglected nerves, eliciting a sharp gasp from your throat. “Why did you lie, baby?”

“I don’t know,” With clenched teeth, your eyes focus solely on his devoid touches. Your mind is so distracted by the tedious teasing, you barely comprehend his words. Before you could even reconsider your answer, Tom slaps his hand directly on your clit. You yelp as your hips thrust forward at the mixture of pleasure, pain, and shock that sears through your body. Your clit throbs as you continue to seep on the cold counter, more desperate than ever.

“Another lie. You’re being such a bad girl today. Do I need to punish you?” He questions, palm rubbing deliberately slow on the hood of your clit. Your body trembles as you roll your hips against his hand. With an upset growl, his hand comes down on you again, harsher and more demanding than before. A needy moan escapes you, your hands clawing at his T-shirt. “You just never learn.”

Tom tsks disappointingly and spreads your legs impossibly wider, juices leaking onto the solid surface below you. The texture of his hands roaming your skin created the most sinful scenes in your head. You imagined his thick digits pushing into your cunt, slippery and soft as he thrusts deeper and deeper. You mewled just at the thought, causing him to stare at you curiously.

“What are you thinking about? Hm? Answer me truthfully this time or I won’t even consider you coming tonight,” Tom demands as he flicks your pulsing clit, causing your body to jolt in surprise. Your hands squeeze his muscular shoulders as you try to remain still.

“Your hands. I love your hands,” You admit breathily. Tom slowly removes the loose straps of your dress until they’re slipping off your smooth shoulders and down your arms. He reveals your breasts, nipples pointed and neglected.

With a smirk, his dominant hand continues to deliberately stroke up and down your clit, while his other toys with your nipples. Your breathing heaves as your eyes gawk at his motions, getting more turned on just from the sight. He twists and pulls on your buds until they’re aching painfully good. Tom makes sure his hand tickles your skin when it trails down your torso to add more stimulation to your clit.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, darling,” One hand forces your legs open while the other collects your arousal too lightly. You clench around nothing, pleading for his teasing to end. He resumes his delicate tapping on your nerves, making you whine in agony. “Why did you lie?”

Your heart races and thighs begin to shake from being stretched out.

“I-I wanted to see how you would react,” You reply breathily as he repeatedly taps you. You roll your hips in circles, trying to get more friction against the pad of his thumb. He hums, satisfied yet evilly.

“So this is what you wanted?” Tom slots his middle finger into your seeping hole, causing you to gasp as if it was your first time. With all the teasing, you were sensitive to any little touch, grateful for what he was giving you. “Wanted me to freak out, wanted me to punish you?”

You release a nosy moan, clutching around his digit as it sinks into you deeply. You nod your head to every thrust of his finger, slow and tedious. As your high builds from the edging, his finger is removed from your cunt, empty and aching. You elicit uncontrollable whines as you scoot to the edge of the counter to get closer to his hand. His hand grips your hip tightly to ensure you stay still.

“No, no. This is a punishment, baby. If it gets too much, let me know, but,” Tom husks with a soft expression. When you nod impatiently, waiting for his next moves, his sinful glare returns to your eyes. “you said you liked my hands, so I’m going to give you one.”

Tom’s hand strikes down on your pussy, a wet slapping sound against your arousal. You squeak with a strong grasp on his shoulders as he smirks, pleasured from catching you off guard. He spanks you again, clit throbbing under the palm of his hand. Your stomach tightens as you grind into the air, begging for more. When his hand slaps you again, he makes sure to directly strike your bundle of nerves, making you tremble immensely.

Fireworks shoot through your body like you’ve never felt before. The sensation was a mixture of pleasure and pain; so shocking and blissful you thought you might pass out. You never would’ve thought you’d be enjoying something as agonizing as spanking, especially on one of the most sensitive parts of your body.

You felt hypocritical and pious; for someone who hated even the idea of pain, enjoying spanking was the last possibility crossing your mind.

But each slap of skin sent you higher into the sky as you floated with ecstasy. Even though you were inching closer to heaven, you’ve never felt more sinful and devilish in your life.

Tears slip down your face as you moan in euphoria. Your core clenches and your eyes roll back as you lose your grip to reality. Your legs beg to close, but Tom’s hand and body forces them to remain open.

“Look at you. Enjoying your punishment,” Tom tsks as his thumb rapidly circles your clit. You gasp with a cry, shaking violently from the blinding pleasure. “Are you going to come from me playing with your clit? Hm? From me spanking you?”

His words have your stomach tensing and mind spinning. You felt like you were flying through a starry haze; a dreamland where everything felt too good to be true. Your high builds and builds until you’re falling down so fast, you’re floating gracefully. Waves of euphoria crash through your body as your muscles spasm, chants of his name repeatedly leaving your lips.

A knowing and encouraging smirk is in your view as he rubs you out, draining you of your orgasm. The white moisture coats his hand before he brings it up to his lips and licks his fingers clean.

Your pussy lips pulsate as your clit continues to throb in irritation from the spanking. Your breathing relaxes as you blink away the glossiness from your eyes. Tom licks his lips, smiling goofily at you as he wipes away your tears.

“You did so well for someone who doesn’t like pain,” Tom compliments as he smooths your wild hair away from your tear-stained cheeks. You roll your eyes with a raspy chuckle and shake your head. “Let’s clean you up, yeah? And how was it?”

“I didn’t think… I never would have thought…” Your mind continues to blur as you forget the words on your tongue. Pulling up the straps of your sundress, you try to recall what you were going to say. “I liked it, surprisingly. A lot. Like a lot a lot.”

Tom chuckles at your enthusiasm and leans in to you. His lips lock with yours in a breathtaking kiss, rocking back and forth. Similar fireworks spark in your body again as you wrap your hands around his neck to sink deeper into him. His tongue slots into your mouth with ease, making you melt in heart-bubbling bliss.

To catch a breath, you release from each other, you now both wearing silly, fond smiles.

“This doesn’t mean you’re going to get a piercing… right?” With skepticism and hopefulness, Tom looks at you. You bite your lip, pretending to really consider it.

“I mean, now that I have an amazing tolerance to pain, I might as well. I have nothing to lose!” You push Tom away and hop off the counter with an overwhelmingly ecstatic smile. With shaky legs, you sprint out of the kitchen and into the bedroom.

A burning sensation is felt on the skin of your vagina as your legs rub against the irritation surface. You hiss and wince as you make your way up the stairs. You regret running away from Tom because he said he was going to take care of you. Your skin screams in agony as you make it to the bed. You didn’t think it would be this painful, especially after he just spanked you. And you liked it.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” He shouts as he jogs up the staircase. “Swear, she’s going to be the death of me.” He mumbles to himself before entering the bedroom.

He finds you lying on the bed, wincing with a pinched face. His expression softens as he comes to your aid.

“What’s wrong, lovie?” Tom rubs your shoulder, searching over your body for injuries. Your hands push down on the material of the dress right over your burning mound. He nods in sudden understanding before heading toward the bathroom. He comes back with a tube of some type of cream or ointment. “Lay back, baby.”

You do as he says and crawl back until your head is relaxing comfortably on the pillows. He slowly widens your tense legs and flicks the flare of your dress up to your hips. He takes a peek at your irritated skin, a deep frown on his lips. With the cream on his fingers, he very gently rubs it onto you. It’s cold, almost too cold compared to the heated burn on your skin. But the contrast cools you and relieves all your pain, causing you to sink into the mattress calmly.

“Better?” Tom asks, softly applying the medicine to the bare areas.

“Yes,” You sigh with your head thrown back, breathing steadily. Tom bites his lip, looking at your distraught figure.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I went too hard. I’ll never do it again—”

“It’s okay! It’s okay, Tom. Really, I liked it. I’m not lying this time,” He smiles softly at you and you return the favor reassuringly. He hovers above you and gives you a graceful kiss on the lips. He falls beside you and stretches to grab some tissues for his hands to clean off the cream. Then you two lay in the comfortable silence of each other.

“If I really did get a piercing though, how would you react?” You question, turning your head towards his.

“Probably the same.”

“Noted,” You smirk, causing him to turn his face in slight horror at your back and forth attitude. “Kidding! I can’t even handle moderate pain.”

“You’re crazy.”

You infamously roll your eyes before he kisses you again, making you forget everything. You laugh against his lips, causing the whole kiss to be a sloppy mess. In hysterics, you both laugh full heartedly as you pull away.

“Come on. Let’s go finish dinner,” Shaking his head, Tom gets up from the bed and begins to walk back downstairs to the kitchen.

“What if I got, like, a tongue piercing?” You shout from the bedroom. You hear him groan in annoyance as you follow him to the kitchen.

Oh, you loved pranking your boyfriend.

—

tags: @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes

#shawnxstyles #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fan fics #tom holland fluff #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #requests

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jangofettjamz · 1 year ago

Text

Overwhelming

Jenna Ortega x Autistic!Male!Reader

Summary: Your were nervous about going to the Scream 6 premiere, but it turned out to be a lot of fun... until it wasn't.

Words: 1993

3rd Person POV

The premiere for scream 6 was but a few hours away. Tensions rose as Y/N tried to prepare himself for the event, despite being an actor he has very secluded and did not enjoy the limelight as much as his fellow peers.

He had been trying to muster up the courage to become more socially involved in his work such as: going to interviews, late night shows, going to dinner with directors etc. Unfortunately, It just seemed for too difficult.

However, this time was different. He was going to try this time; to attend a premiere. He knew this would be no easy feat, the camera flashes alone would overstimulate him into madness but he was determined, scared but determined nonetheless.

His girlfriend and co-star, Jenna Ortega has been helping him to confront his fear of social interaction through love and support. She had studied his language and helped him navigate in a world that didn't understand him.

Y/N has also made a life long friend in Mikey Madison, who also happened to be close with Jenna. Though she never was on the set of scream 6 due to her character dying in the previous film, she remained close with the cast and crew and treated him as an equal.

Y/N, although adamant in his choice to attend the premiere, was still absolutely terrified at the thought of hundreds of people in one space wanting him to sign autographs, take photos and pose on the red carpet. It made him feel ill.

Jenna was his shield from everything. She promised to protect him from the cameras, should he not want his photo taken. She promised to protect him from the hyper fans who have little regard for personal space.

"Alright sweetie, I've got all your stuff in my bag: stim toys, plushie and snacks if you need one. If you need a break or want to leave just tell me, your comfort is my number one priority."

One problem; Jenna didn't pack the headphones and Y/N was too stressed to even remember them aswell. The noise would likely send Y/N spiralling.

"Jenna how many people are gonna be there?"

"Atleast a thousand people honey" she says sadly knowing that this was going to be tough for Y/N.

"We don't have to go you know, we can just chill here for the night." She suggests not really thinking of the consequences that could have on her career.

"Wouldn't you get in trouble?" Y/N asks but imm receives an answer.

"I don't care, as long as your comfortable it's worth it" she states making Y/N feels warm inside, like a scarf wrapping him up in the cold winter but on the inside.

"It'll be fine Jen', we're all ready to go now anyway so there's no point in backing out now." He reassures making her form a toothy smile.

"Besides I know how much this movie means to you and I wanna make you happy aswell." She approached him with loving intent.

She placed a hand on his cheek. "Can i kiss you?" She asked, knowing he doesn't like spontaneous kisses without permission. He nods and she kisses him lovingly which he reciprocates, light pink blush painting his cheeks.

Their private car soon arrived and they made their way to premiere. Y/N was on edge, he wasn't as excited so much as he was nervous.

Jenna held his hand rubbing soothing circles with her thumb and he put his head on her shoulder as she held him tight around his waist for the rest of the car journey.

The premiere was more packed than usual, containing around 2230 people; far more than they anticipated. The movie drew more hype than Y/N and Jenna thought possible, some just there to see Jenna.

This troubled Y/N, yes he had prepared to undertake an entire crowd but not to this extent. Jenna could sense his fear as if she was some sort of telepath and held his hand tight.

He started to stim by clicking him fingers and tapping him knees, though seemed futile as the feeling of overstimulation didn't seem to falter.

"Y/N/N, do you need your stim toys?" He nodded violently, starting to sweat as the noises from outside became more irritable.

She grabbed a fidget cube for him to play with for as long as he needed until they had to walk onto the red carpet. He slowly leaned back into her shoulder and she held him tightly again, placing feather light kisses on his scalp.

"Remember, we can always leave if you want." She reminded him wanting to make feel as safe as possible.

"I'm gonna be with you the entire time okay, Mikey's gonna be there too and she'll protect you aswell; we both will I promise." He nodded and took deep breaths while Jenna rubbed soothing circles on his back.

He took one final deep breaths before opening the door of the car and out into wilderness of: fans, paparazzi, reporters and fellow actors. He was gonna hate this.

He instantly grabbed a hold of Jenna's hand and she squeezed tightly letting him know that she's there. Fans wanted to Jenna to sign stuff for them, but she made it a point that she's putting his comfort first, much to their dismay.

"Let's go find the others okay, I heard Jack's here aswell and I know how much you two get along." Jack Quaid visited set often in vancouver when he wasn't Filming for The Boys and the two of them clicked because of their shared nerdiness.

Jenna and Y/N made their way up the red carpet and were called for an interview by Vanity Fair. Y/N considered his options, he could either do this interview with Jenna by his side and be extremely uncomfortable or walk away and still be extremely uncomfortable. The choices were negligible so he figured he'd do the interview.

They walked hand in hand over to the interviewer for Vanity Fair. "Well hello you two, how are feeling about tonight's premiere." She started

Jenna was the first to respond. "I'm so excited, I can't wait for everyone to see this film we worked so hard on it and I think fans are gonna be very satisfied with what we've created." She says smiling.

"Y/N L/N so lovely to see you at the premiere, how was filming with veteran talent like Courtney Cox and Hayden Panettiere?"

He answers "They're very lovely people and easy to work with too. This film project is probably my favourite one I've done thus far." The interviewer asked more questions before promptly ending the interview.

"It was very lovely speaking to you two, congratulations on the movie." Jenna looks at Y/N with a proud look on her face which made Y/N's heart do cartwheels.

She cups his face making eye contact with him. "You did so well Y/N, I'm so proud of you for getting through that interview. You should be proud of yourself too."

Y/N kisses her on the cheek thankful for her words of encouragement, he felt elated on this new found confidence, he wanted to do more and that's exactly what he did.

"Y/N/N!!!" He heard and he saw Mikey and immediately tackled her into a hug. She had become a very good friend to him.

"I'm so glad you came, you having fun?" She asked and he was indeed having a good time.

"Yeah you know what, I think I am having fun." He said with a wide grin.

Everything went great, he did more interviews, conversed with his co-stars and even took a few pictures with fans. He was having a good time... until he wasn't.

The next interview he did was with Fox News and they did not hold back on their questions. He and Jenna both went up to talk with them.

"Hello Miss Ortega and Mr L/N, how's you're evening?" she starts "It's going great, we're having a wonderful night" Y/N answers with tremendous enthusiasm, which will be snuffed out soon.

"Y/N is it true you have spaz attacks when people are screaming on set?" He was confused, Jenna was pissed.

"I'm sorry?" He says politely but still confused. "We heard that you have spaz attacks on set, it would be really unprofessional if you did you know." Now he was annoyed "spaz attacks" who does she think she is?

"I don't have meltdowns on set, or "spaz attacks" as you call them when people scream on set. The screaming is on script so why would I complain? Has anyone ever told you you're extremely unprofessional and terrible at your job?" He says, his voiced laced with venom.

Jenna snickered, she was proud of him for taking a stand for himself, plus she thought is was hot. But that confidence soon faded.

The interviewer says under her breath "Yeah well atleast I'm not a retarded spaz like you" just low enough for the camera's not to pick up but Y/N and Jenna heard it well. Jenna was PISSED.

Suddenly Y/N felt his confidence diminish, the voices around him became louder, the camera flashes became more irritable, creating spots in his vision. He could practically hear all the clicks and cracks coming from each of the cameras as they snap photos.

The colors around him became more and more irritable to look at; too bright so he clamped his eyes shut. The voices and music hammered his ears drums, he held his hands to his ears and started to hyperventilate, thoat closing up in the process. He was having a meltdown.

Jenna saw this and instantly whisked him away from the crowd and into the theatre, they found a quiet corner and begun their techniques. She searched through her bags only to find that his headphones weren't there, he started to panic.

He babbled uncontrollably, he needed his headphones to block the noise. She pulled out her headphones that she carried with her 24/7 and moved his hands and put them over his head; noise cancelling too so that helped.

Once she put her headphones on his head she began to speak. "Honey, can I hold you?" She says, her voice quiet and muffled due to the headphones but he nodded nonetheless.

"We're gonna rock okay?" She says and he nods they begin to sway side to side. His head was in her chest and her head on the top of his, she was his safe space and he was so thankful.

After a few minutes he took the headphones off, but was still feeling non-verbal. Jenna continued her rocking as she began to speak.

"What she said was bullshit, you know that don't you?" He shrugged in response. "Sweetie, you're not a spaz or retarded or whatever horrible words she called you, she's just a bitch and she will be dealt with, believe me."

He nodded against her chest. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, buddy. I hope you didn't regret coming here." He shook his head, he didn't regret it and he had fun.

She pulled something out of her bag. "Here, I've got your ghostface plush. You wanna take him with you while we watch the film?" He nodded and they made their way into the screening.

They sat down and Y/N put his head on her shoulder as she stroked his hair to keep him regulated, keeping a vice grip around his body as they watched their new movie.

In moments like these he felt safest, like no could hurt him as his girlfriend shields him from all the bad things in the world. It felt like home. She felt like home.

Despite everything that just happened, he was very happy.

#jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna marie ortega #scream 6 #autism #male reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

No Time This Time 10

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You prize order and practicality but your past, and newest client, throw your life into chaos. (older [~50s] reader)

Character: Tony Stark

Notes: Don't even mention how long this update took. I mean it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like Tony loves his own voice. Take care. 💖

A yellow cab pulls up and the window rolls down. You near warily and the door swings out. Matt sticks his cane out before he steps through, ducking his head lower than needed. He stands and you click closer on your low-heeled leather boots.

"Hey," you call to him, "right here, Murdock."

"Told ya, Matt's fine," he smiles in your direction and waves his arm, hitting his hand on the car door, "shall we?"

"I'm dying for a drink," you eagerly step past him and dip into the backseat.

“Hope you don’t mind, I was thinking somewhere that doesn’t feel like a cult,” he kids as he follows you in.

“Not at all. I’ve been to some dives in my day. Probably the most fun I’ve had,” you click the seat belt into place and sigh.

“I thought you were out of town,” he says as he feels around for the buckle.

“Was.”

“And...”

“Family emergency,” you answer.

“Ah, hope I’m not keeping you from that,” he replies.

“You’re saving me from it, trust me.” You cross one leg over the other and peer out at the city lights.

You’re uneasy. It’s not the spontaneity or even the fact that your mother is in the hospital and you have a thousand things to worry about. It’s more than that. You aren’t read to be back in New York. The glare of a red light twinges in your chest, hinting at the reason why.

“You alright?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Uh, yeah, jet lag. Sorry.”

“I’ll try not to keep you out too late.”

“Just try to make me go home,” you challenge.

He chuckles and it eases your nerves. Just enough to get through the lull of traffic. He tells the driver to slow down and let you out on the corner. He pays and sidles out.

You follow and he taps around. He guides you to a bar with a dingy yellow sign. The furor from inside beckons to you. It’s somewhere you can fade into the background, even if your tweed sweater might make you stick out like a blackeye.

He tells you to find a table. You do and announce you’ll be in the corner. He assures you he can find you. You can’t help but admire how he moves through the world so effortlessly. You have your sight and can admit you’ve felt lost in the city rush.

You sit and wait patiently. Your phone vibes incessantly. You don’t look at the messages before you set it to Do Not Disturb. Your mother has doctors, the best care you can afford, and your sister can handle a few hours without tagging you in. Whoever else may be bothering you can wait.

Matt approaches with two pints, his can hugged beneath his elbow. You watch him in amazement. He kicks around with his fit until he finds the chair. He puts down one glass, then the other, and his can clatters to the floor. He retrieves it without missing a beat.

He sits by your shoulder and laughs, “I may have had a few before I came.” You laugh at his joke. He leans his cane against the table and reaches for his glass. He lifts it, “cheers. Hope you don’t mind a bit of lager.”

“I won’t turn my nose up at a free drink,” you clink his glass. “Especially with a good looking young man.”

He snorts, “not that young.”

“Oh no?”

“I know what I’m doing,” he affirms and takes a swig. You taste the thin foam. It isn’t the worst brew you’ve tasted.

“I could never doubt your expertise. A young and upcoming graduate. Isn’t that what the paper wrote?”

“It’s been a while,” he evens his tone and turns his head towards you. “You wanna take the edge off and I wanna take your panties off. I think we could make a deal.”

As crass as his suggestion is, you can appreciate his pointed approach. Your cheek burn like they haven’t in years. It’s been some time since a man didn’t make you feel anything but rage or disgust.

“I’m sure we can come to acceptable terms,” you extend your arm and hesitate. Suddenly you’re very afraid. You hover your hand before you make yourself clamp down on his thigh.

He sits back and drapes his arm on your chair as he grins and takes another drink, “you’ll have no objections from me.”

👜

The moonlight beams through the large square window panes, refracting off the silhouette of writhing bodies. The silver glow slats over Matt’s shoulders as he bends his head over your chest and nuzzles between your tits. You could blame the beer or the stress or a number of things but there’s no shame in you. You want this.

A cluster unfurls in your chest. A sensation completely new to you. You’re giddy. This man, this handsome, younger man, hasn’t let up for a single moment. He’s matched your energy every step of the way. The tension chains you together, locking you in the tunnel vision of sheer desire.

It might help that he can’t see you. That even with the sheen of moonlight limning your figure, he won’t notice the rippled lines around your hips and thighs, are the extra crinkles around your eyes.

He slips his hands beneath you and you arch your back as he unhooks your bra. He’s more agile in the release than any man you’ve been with. You could chalk it up to his familiarity with working without seeing but there’s a confidence in his movement that assures you it’s more than that.

You moan and close your eyes as he drags the bra down your arms and frees your chest. Your tits aren’t as perky or tight as they once were. None of you is. There’s a soft layer that covers every inch of you; arms, chest, stomach, legs. His hands worship it as if you’re a goddess in the flesh.

You shiver and hook your hand around his head as he takes your nipple in his mouth. The pressure tweaks and draws another sigh from you. He swirls his tongue around the beaded bud and you clutch his head tighter.

His other hand tickles along your side and follows the line of your pelvis. He brushes up and down as if savouring the feel of you. You run your fingers along his shoulder, muscles hard beneath your touch. He guides your panties down your legs and untangles them from your ankles before setting back to his mission.

He dotes on you, nosing you, nibbling, and nuzzling. He sucks and teethes, groaning as he reaches between your legs. He grazes along your lips and you shake, tensing then easing into him. You comb your fingers through his hair and caress his shoulder as he descends your body.

He kisses along your stomach, goosebumps prickling in his stead. His lip brush along your pelvis and you arch your back with a gasp. Your fingers curl as his soft tresses flow between them. You bring your hand up to clutch at your chest as his breath fogs between your thighs.

He presses a lip to the tender flesh. He trails up to your groomed triangle and traces the crease of your pelvis. He pushes against you with his nose and pokes his tongue out to taste between your folds.

He flutters his fingers up your leg and flicks along your entrance. You twitch as he laps at you long and slow. He hums in delight and encircles your clit with his lips. He sucks and gently rolls your bud between his teeth. You moan louder as he inches his finger into you.

He pushes down to his first knuckle and pulls back out. He repeats the motion as you quiver desperately. He sinks in to his limit and wiggles his finger as he rocks his head. He drinks you up as he draws his hand back again and lines up a second finger.

He delves into you as his mouth enthralls you. You writhe, legs bending, feet arching, breath trembling. You can’t get enough. You put your hands around his head and urge him on. You rock your hips in time with him.

You huff and heave, mewling and moaning. You push your chest up and drone as your climax blooms. Slow at first. Creeping along your thighs and stomach before flooding into your core. You squeal as your defenses shatter.

He wipes his lips along your pelvis and trails over your hip. His breath is shallow as he raises himself on his knees. He hooks his thumbs in the elastic of his briefs and tugs them down. His dick bobs out, rigid and wanting, all for you. He wants you.

You push yourself up on one elbow and reach for him. You pump him as he lets out a startled noise. You toy with him, stroking as you bring yourself up. You roll your thumb around his tip and he spasms. He catches your hand, stopping you.

He reaches for the waiting condom. He stretches it over himself as he gazes down at you. You’re happy you can’t see his face, that he can’t see all of you.

His other hand comes up behind your head and he pulls you into kiss him. You’re reticent as your lips meet. You don’t want that. You just want to fuck but it’s nice. You won’t spoil the moment.

As his tongue pokes along your lips, your chest plucks. Your eyes pop open and you grip him tighter. A memory flickers in your head. He pulls back to look at you and you release him. You shake out your fingers as your knuckles ache.

“Hey...” he whispers.

“I’m fine,” you cup beneath his dick and squeeze his balls, “just fuck me.”

You move on your knees and he sits on the mattress. You climb over his lap as you tease him and rub him against your wet cunt. He frames your hips with his hands and groans. You put him against your cunt and sheath him in your walls. You shudder and clasp onto his thick arm.

He feels along your side and chest as you settle onto him. You keep your face down and eyes closed. He hooks his hand around your lower back as you start to rock, your clit rubbing on his pelvis as you start your deliberate motion.

You slide your hand behind his neck and pull him closer. He buries his head between your tits and slips down to grope your ass. He guides you, groaning and growling as you ride him.

Another strike of fear courses through you and you recoil. Before he can react, you push him onto his back and he grunts in surprise. You pin him with your hand on his chest and roll your hips. You moan through your teeth.

You want this. You want him. It’s not like it was. Don’t think about that. Don’t think about him.

You bite your lip and dig your nails into his muscle. His rocky voice wafts into the air as he keeps a hand on your chest, his other on your thigh. You puff as you speed up.

“Mmm, oh, you’re so good,” he breathes. “Mmm, god.”

“Yeah,” you push your hand up to his shoulder as your other snakes down between your legs, “not too bad yourself.”

“Fuck,” he snarls. “Ah, wow, I... this is... ahhhhh.”

You grit your teeth and roll your eyes back. You play with your clit as the tension builds, coiling around your fingertips, mounting as the friction turns to fire. You babble as you chase your orgasm. You cum but don’t stop.

You have to keep going. You need to cling to this feeling. A rare moment of bliss breaking through the stony sharpness of your everyday existence. The one time you’re not trapped behind that icy wall. You are enshrined in the licking flames of your need.

He cups your ass as he eggs you on, muttering your name between airy moans. You buck hard, clapping down on him even as your bones aches. More, more, more.

You climax again. You can’t stop. You rip your hand away and slap it down on his other shoulder. You keep him at your mercy.

He grunts and lurches you suddenly. He rolls you over and pins you beneath him. He ruts into you, shaking the bed, crushing you into the mattress.

The ecstasy turns to panic as your chest constricts. You claw at his shoulders as your eyelids paint another seen inside. The metal walls of the elevator, the tickle of a coarse goatee, the taunting laughter.

Matt goes rigid and twitches as he reaches his peak. He eases his motion and exhales as he lowers his weight onto you. He rests his head beside your shoulder as you lay limp. You feel the pulsing behind your eyes, that heat that threatens to break through.

Your hand shakes and you touch his side.

“Let me up,” you whisper.

“Hm?” he shifts slightly.

“Let me up,” you demand, your usual sternness taking over.

He slides out of you and pushes off. You’re up in an instant, staggering around the dark and into the bathroom. You slam the door and hide on the other side. You stand in the blackness but can see your shadowy reflection. You growl at it and throw your hands up.

You are not doing this. You’re fine. You’re fine!

You can’t not be fine.

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #tony stark x reader #series #iron man #no time this time #matt murdock #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #avengers

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dr3mvaalmar · 1 year ago

Text

Bound by Fate | Kinktober Day 7

Pairing: Solomon x F! Reader

Prompt: Stuck in Wall (nsfw, mdni)

Summary: The reader goes to Diavolo's garden and finds a stone fence. Unaware of the warnings, she becomes stuck under its curse. Solomon, the kind sorcerer he is, lends a helping hand in more ways than one.

Warnings/Tags: power dynamic, slight noncon, unprotected sex, standing doggy style, public (caught)

Credit: @cafekitsune (divider)

“Finally,” I sighed, opening a gap through the large double-wide doors. The cacophony of the party inside bellowed into the silent night, echoing along the wind. The noise was becoming unbearable, so I decided to take refuge outside. Hopefully, no one would notice my absence. I didn’t want anyone to follow me as I relieved the tension in my head.

Diavolo's mansion loomed over me as I walked into the gardens. The trail spiraled across the large expanse of land, a maize for those unaccustomed. I certainly was unfamiliar with the layout. Every step I took made me question my decision to leave the safe haven of the indoors. Maybe I should’ve asked Diavolo if I could rest in a spare room. However, he was quite preoccupied, from what I could tell.

I sighed, observing my surroundings. Neatly trimmed bushes led the trail to a fixed location. Maybe I’ll walk for a bit and return when I feel better. I let the various landmarks guide me. Moss lined the stone walkway, cushioning my feet with every step. Various plants were neatly tucked along the fences and monuments. I wondered how they stayed so healthy with so little sunlight. Before long, the path stretched as I lost myself in the night. I didn’t know how long I’d been walking or where.

“What’s that?” I mumbled to myself, finding a large stone wall before me. Its length traveled beyond what the eye could see. Was it a fence? It looked like some kind of mural with intricate etchings across it. An unfamiliar language was transcribed about should-height, along with strange images. It was an amalgamation of lines and shapes. Curiously, I stepped closer. I recognized some of the text. It was carved deeply into the stone and was worn with time.

I followed the writings, trying to decipher what the words meant. The wall seemed to surround the entire premises, so I wasn’t sure how far I would go. However, not long after my journey, the text abruptly ended. Next to it was a…

“A handprint?” I asked myself, lifting my hand to compare. It seemed almost too perfect for the contours of my fingers. Growing ever more curious, I pressed my fingers against the stone. It was smooth and cold, yet there was a subtle warmth. As the warmth increased, I retracted my arm. However, to my horror, I realized my hand was stuck in place. In an instant, I realized the writing was a warning, not ancient text. Spontaneous panic spread through my mind as I tried to tug and tear my body away from the wall. Without thinking, I brought my nondominant hand to push me back. Regretfully, that hand sunk into the depths of the wall along with the other. Now, I had no leverage but my legs to free me from this predicament.

“Come on! Ugh,” I exclaimed, my breathing becoming ragged from the exhaustion. I had no idea how long I struggled. However, I could hear the music in the distance, dying to a low thrum. Pitifully, I wondered if anyone noticed my leaving. They probably were having too much fun. I jerked back my shoulder in one final hurrah, but the reality dawned on me. I was stuck. I didn’t know how far away I was, but the mansion seemed much smaller than before.

I shouted every name I could think of from the top of my head. My voice was growing hoarse with every plea for help. Yet, as time elapsed, I realized I had no savior. It was just me in the depths of the dark. I stopped, a veil of exhaustion washing over me. What would I even say if someone were to find me?

Resting my knees on the ground, my hands stretched high above me. I laid my forehead on the wall. Shocked, I realized my error but felt relief when the stone left my skin. Why were only my hands affected? I let the tension go, letting my body collapse. My arm was becoming numb the longer it stayed above my head.

“Oh? What do we have here?” a voice bellowed towards me, the slow movement of footsteps in the distance. “You’ve got yourself in quite the predicament, (Y/n).”

I looked up, my eyes cloudy and narrowed. It was Solomon. Of all people, it would have to be Solomon. I wanted nothing more than to flee.

“Go away,” I said, turned away. “I don’t need your help.”

“Are you sure?” Solomon asked, a few feet away from me by now. He crossed his arms, a cocky smile plastered on his lips. “If you don’t need the help, maybe I won’t tell the others. You’ll spend the night out here alone. We don’t want that, now, do we?”

I sighed, bobbing my arm up to get circulation through my arm. As much as I didn’t trust him, he was reliable when I needed him the most. I’d be so sore if I spent the night out here.

“Fine,” I said, relenting. Solomon’s eyebrow quirked up.

“What was that?” he teased. “I’m not sure what you’re wanting, dear.”

“Solomon, set me free or so help me God,” I said, a biting acidity to my words. I already spent so long out here. My legs and back were stiff. I needed to stretch. The wall encasing my fingers felt so oppressive.

I looked expectantly at the sorcerer, but he only stood there and smiled. Solomon showed no signs of budging as he watched me struggle under his gaze. Did he… enjoy this?

“Solomon! Please, just get me out of here already,” I cried, getting up from my knees. I tried tugging on my arms again, using the strength of my legs. Solomon seemed entertained with every passing second.

“Ah, what a sight. Never could I imagine the brave (Y/n) succumbing to the mysteries of the Devildom. Literally,” Solomon said, a finger perched below his lip. I scoffed.

“Haha. Very funny. Get me out. Now.”

“Everything has a price in exchange for a service. What will you offer for my assistance?” Solomon asked, stepping towards me. I couldn’t stand up to my full height as he taunted me with half-lidded eyes. I knew he held me in the palm of his hand.

“What do you want? I don’t have anything,” I told him, rolling my eyes. “I left all my stuff back at the castle. It’s nothing good anyways.”

“Quite the contrary, I have everything I want in front of me,” Solomon affirmed, his pupils scanning me from my head and descending shamelessly. I felt my face burn under the implication.

“You want… me?”

Solomon nodded, enjoying my revelation, “I knew you’d understand.”

I contemplated his offer for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. I can’t believe it’s something I would even consider, but it’s not like I had much of a choice. Solomon was patient as I caved in.

“Don’t worry, it won’t feel like very long at all,” Solomon said in an attempt to comfort me. “I’ll make you forget everything.”

“Just do whatever you want. I don’t care,” I grumbled, averting my eyes. However, I did, in fact, care. Frustration was eating at every fiber of my being.

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Solomon chuckled. “Once I’ve had my fill, I promise to set you free.”

I turned my head away, the guilt of my decision heavy on my mind. However, that soon disappeared as I felt cold fingers snake underneath my shirt. My breathing hitched as the digits contrasted with the warmth of my skin. The gliding of his touch brought goosebumps along my skin. His hands felt my stomach, moving up towards my ribs. I squeaked.

“Ticklish, aren’t we?” Solomon said, a laugh resonating from his throat. He never paused for a moment. His onslaught of calculated movements sent shivers across my body. Solomon hitched the fabric of my blouse up, allowing him to move more freely. The more I squirmed and struggled, the more access it granted to his wandering touch. He would hold my body firm under his large hands if I felt especially resistant. Eventually, his fingers lingered just below my bust, tracing the fabric confining them. I could feel Solomon’s body, his crotch grinding into my backside. The lining of his cock was no secret, even if I couldn’t see it. Our surroundings seemed to fade away with every movement until it was just the two of us.

“No need for this pesky thing,” Solomon mumbled, voice husky, as he flipped the fabric above my chest. My breasts, freed from their entrapment, were immediately seized in Solomon’s greedy hands. He stifled a groan as he massaged each one vigorously. His chest fit into the curvature of my back, hips moving in tandem with his groping hands. Solomon's mouth wavered over my neck before latching on. His pitiful gasps with each wave of pleasure made my mouth open wide. By now, I didn’t even notice what lewd sounds spewed from within me.

“Mmn you need me, right? You don’t mind if I put my thick cock inside you? Hm?” Solomon moaned, his voice a raspy mess. His lips trailed my earlobe, nipping playfully. I could smell his cologne seeping from his clothes from here. It was intoxicating. “Don’t answer. I already know exactly what you need.”

One of his hands left my breast, and I could feel his vice grip against my ass as he pressed into me. I could feel everything. Every curve. Every inch of his throbbing cock. His clothes did little to conceal his aching member. He seemed drunk with pleasure, rubbing against my skirt without a single ounce of shame. Before I knew it, I felt the soft skin of his dick settling on my back. I gasped.

“So responsive. I wonder…” Solomon chuckled, both of his hands now gripping my hips as his dick thrust up and down. His fingers descended underneath the hem of my skirt, prying my panties away from my smoldering skin. He didn’t hesitate to rub the growing wetness of my cunt. “Is this all for me? How enticing.”

Solomon laughed airily as he ripped my skirt from my body. It fell to the ground pitifully. I felt so exposed under his intensity.

“Solomon,” I cried, finally finding my words under a whirlwind of sensations. “Please.” “Do you want me to stop?” Solomon asked, and I could practically see his smirk through every word he uttered. I shook my head. “Use your words, or I’ll have to force them out of you.”

“Please, just fuck me, Sol,” I exclaimed, rubbing my ass rhythmically against Solomon’s engorged dick. I could feel his body shake.

“Good girl,” Solomon said, aligning his dick against my wet entrance. I had no time to prepare before he pushed inside of me. My body resisted, but Solomon was determined. He explored every inch until he hit a dead end. I could feel the warmth all throughout me. Even a twitch was enough to send spikes of pleasure up my spine. “So inviting. I didn’t know you wanted me so deeply. Don't worry.”

Solomon’s pulled back before slamming inside of me. I could feel the tip edging into my cervix.

“I’ll give you…”

He thrust again, slapping skin against skin.

“Everything…”

Again.

“I’ve got!” Solomon shouted, digging deep inside of me. His movements wouldn’t slow as he fucked me raw. His dick slid easily in the essence of my arousal. The wet sound struck against the walls, returning to me in full force. The lewd noise of our sex was too much to bear.

Solomon gripped my throat as he fucked me senseless. I could only give in as he reared my head back, fingers clasped on my jugular. Solomon pecked my lips, straining the muscles as I twisted around. All the while, each thrust brought me painfully flat against the wall. I could feel every gasp for breath as he hovered over the nap of my neck. His nose nuzzled into the crook before biting down, saliva trailing from his mouth. My eyes furrowed as I shrieked with euphoria.

“Oh fuck yes, you fill me up so good, Sol,” I commended. I so desperately wanted to run my hands into his shirt, to feel up every inch of his body. I wanted his dick between my lips, fucking my wet holes like the toy I am. Every word I spoke seemed to make Solomon quicken his pace. His hands would grab every inch of skin he could fit in his palm. His entire body was against me now. I felt almost claustrophobic against the wall, but the pleasure dulled every sense of danger.

As the knot inside me started to reach its peak, my walls tightened around him. He let out a guttural moan, letting every ounce of energy into his last remaining thrusts. Whenever he delved deeper, my vision blurred, and stars crossed my eyes. He was getting close. Too close.

“I’m going to come,” Solomon gasped, not faltering for a moment. “Take it all. Every last ounce.”

I moaned out his name as he pumped his seed, delving deeper until I couldn’t hold it all. I could feel it spurt, warmth seeping into my core. Solomon grinded into me until he was sure I was thoroughly saturated with his cum. His voice grunted as he hit his high of the orgasm.

We hesitated to pull away from each other, his warmth a cocoon over my naked body. Yet, things must end inevitably. Solomon pulled out, my hole oozing with his very DNA. I felt a sense of pride well up in me, despite being taken advantage of by a horny sorcerer.

“Now, for my end of the bargain,” Solomon said, slowly readjusting his clothes. With a snap of his finger, I could feel the stone slowly glide off my skin, almost like goo. I flexed my fingers momentarily, perplexed to see my hands finally set free. I could already feel a dull ache, not only in my hands but in the areas Solomon ravaged. “I hope our intimate moment helped you realize how much you mean to me.”

It was hard to accept the heartfelt moment when a mixture of our fluids was running down my leg. Yet, I still felt his words tug at my heart, remembering each fleeting glance and teasing remark he showed me before. I wouldn’t mind round two.

“I had fun,” I giggled, picking up my skirt and pulling down my bra.

“Well, if you need a little company, you know where to find me,” Solomon said with a wink. The corners of my lips curled up further.

“Let’s go join the others,” Solomon said, holding a hand toward me. I accepted it without hesitation.

“But what about the mess?” I asked, referring to my ruffled clothes and wet skirt.

“What mess?” Solomon teased, pulling me along. We didn’t make it a few steps before we noticed a crowd in the distance. It was the others… I sincerely hope they didn’t hear me as I cried to the heavens.

“Ah, there you two are!” Diavolo exclaimed arms spread out before him. He seemed eager to see us as the demon brothers and Barbatos trailed behind. They all looked aghast, and I noticed Asmodeus snickering something amongst them. “We heard a commotion. I assume everything is all right now?”

“A minor disturbance, Lord Diavolo. Rest assured, all has been resolved,” Solomon said, a sly smile adorning his lips. I noticed a devilish glint in his eyes, which made heat rise to my cheeks.

The sea of faces was perplexing and entertaining. Barbatos was as professional as ever. Lucifer raised an eyebrow, his face indifferent. Mammon looked like he was constipated. Beel seemed none the wiser. Satan had a knowing smirk, suppressing a chuckle. Levi seemed awkward and averted his gaze. Belphie seemed dazed. Lastly, Asmodeus was trying to resist a squeal of delight. This was not how I wanted to make a lasting impression on the brothers.

Now free to move on my own accord, I shifted my clothes, not daring to let out a single noise. If I spoke, I might break under the pressure. Solomon side-eyed me, a teasing but reassuring gesture.

Asmodeus was the first to crack. Every movement—from the tilt of his head to the flutter of his eyelashes—felt like a pang of embarrassment straight to my heart. He seemed to enjoy my reaction more than Solomon ever would.

“Oh, Solomon,” Asmodeus said. “Always one for… hands-on solutions, aren’t you? How resourceful of you both~”

Solomon’s arm snaked under me, looping around my waist protectively. Slowly, he guided me away from them as I turned my head towards the group in disbelief.

“I believe we’ve taken enough of everyone’s time. Good day,” Solomon said, not paying another thought to the tragedy of what just occurred. I had a feeling that gossip would spread like wildfire. I hung my head in shame as Solomon reveled in my misery.

#solomon x reader #obey me #kinktober 2023 #obey me smut #fanfiction #day 7 #obey me solomon #/reader

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ragzonacamrencruise · 4 months ago

Note

Azutara #48

azutara highschool reunion au lets goooo!!!!!

-------------

REMEMBER WHEN WE . . . ?

One can only hope.

One can only hope that they have carefree fun with their childhood best friends, seeing them after, like what, 15 years? Yeah . . . give or take. Playing, ‘recognise that one?’ And catching up non-stop the whole time for one single beautiful night.

But, one can only hope.

Katara hoped too. Of the same carefree night, when she entered the huge hall, looking all around in awe at the population inside, chattering away merrily. She approaches the reception with a warm smile on her face, and the young girl sitting behind the desk returns her smile with twice the radiance.

"Your name, please?" The girl asks, prying open a giant list.

"Katara Imeq" Katara grins.

The girl instantly rushes through the list and finds Katara's name a few seconds later. She then finds a label sticker, writes Katara's name down and offers it to her, instructing her to stick it on her dress and make it visible. Katara does as told, thanks the girl, and walks into the hall bustling with energy and laughter.

Hope, as it turns out, is not her strong forte. Katara spends literally 5 minutes of catching up with a friend group when she notices.

It's her.

Katara's worst nightmare.

She's here.

She'd hoped against all hopes that she wouldn't be here. That she's too much of a diva to ever come to a party as lame as this. That she wouldn't even look twice at the reunion invitation sent out to every class '09.

But here she is, standing at the other side of the great hall, gaining a whirlpool of attention around her.

Azula Sei'naka.

She's wearing the finest looking silk robe Katara's ever seen. It's flamboyantly blood red. Any other person wearing it to this casual, friendly party would've been standing out painfully against all the suits and the formal dresses. But THE Azula Sei'naka wears it with such ease and confidence that she's the one that's complimenting the robe and not the other way around.

It's a feast for the eyes even from this distance, but Katara would never admit it.

She'd also never in a million years admit that the very sight of the woman gets her heart to race annoyingly faster. It'll be like she's just another dumb nobody, swarming around the diva, calling out her name, thinking her every move to be sent straight from the spirits or something. Forget saying, even thinking her name was too much for Katara. She doesn't know how these imbeciles are even nearing the diva without spontaneously dying.

Katara busies herself making small talk with her group of friends. She's seeing Suki and Tami after a long time and she's not gonna let some jerk spoil her mood. The last time she saw them, they were graduating. And she surely does not want to think about the last time she and the diva had been in the same room together, unintentionally plaguing her mind. She's better off staying at this side of the room, thank you very much.

It's relatively easy. All Katara has to do is hide behind her friends and talk as much as she likes and the whirlpool surrounding the diva does the job for her, making her stay well out of sight.

But paradise, can only last for that long. The blue-eyed woman excuses herself out of habit to go get a drink in order to make the catching up and embarrassing stories a little easier to handle. She stands at the makeshift bar, smiling politely as the bartender fixes her a drink. She runs her eyes over the bartender’s face. His hair falls over to cover his eyes partially but that does not hide the fact that the left side of his face, around the eye, is scarred. Katara can’t help but feel that he’s familiar.

She gets her drink and returns back to her friends.

She lasts two minutes before it happens.

A clearing opens up in the whirlpool of heads surrounding the diva and Katara’s glance is timed perfectly in sync when golden-brown eyes suddenly fall on her like a dart hitting the bulls-eye. It happens so fast that Katara almost physically flinches with the sheer force of that intense pair of eyes she’s gone 15 years without peering into.

All these years, she’d gone without thinking too much about her high-school days. But this night, is especially made to think about it. And Katara feels the force of memories come crashing down on her with just a single glance. Their gazes stay connected for a long moment, before Katara wills herself to look away, feeling an odd shiver up her spine.

Her peripheral vision tells her that the diva’s making a move, striding slowly around the hall to meet with everybody, finally breaking away from her audience. Exactly a minute later, Katara hears that drawly, nagging voice beside her.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is. The woman in STEM.”

Katara doesn’t immediately turn. She doesn’t have to. She knows exactly who it is. One might think that even after all these years, she would forget that voice. But she didn’t. She can’t.

“What do you want, Sei’naka?” Suki, the ever protective companion that she is, lifts her chin up, facing the diva. “Your little pity group is over there. Why don’t you go and entertain them, as you should.”

Katara places her hand on Suki’s arm gently. When Suki turns to look at her, she indicates with her eyes, not to engage anymore. It’s a terrible waste of time, Katara knows it. And they’re adults now, for spirit’s sake! This is turning out to be petty.

The diva clicks her tongue in mock pity. “And here I thought I was welcome here to catch up with everybody. It’s a damn shame.” She shakes her head.

It’s only then, Katara’s eyes find her. “We have nothing to talk about.”

The diva doesn’t answer. She narrows her eyes just a sliver, a smug smile on her face. Her gaze is intense and sharp, piercing Katara’s soul, making her want to fidget and bury herself into a hole. A long moment of silence passes between them. Katara looks all around, trying to keep herself from losing her sanity and that’s when she notices Ty Lee and Mai standing at either side of the diva.

But then, Azula’s ember like eyes are in her line of vision again, and Katara can breathe no more.

“Nothing at all?”

The diva’s voice is a low drawl, meant only for Katara to hear. Katara’s eyes snap, catching on pretty quickly that the diva is insinuating something far different than what the others around them can perceive. It makes her skin crawl. Especially because she catches on to the exact thing she’s trying to make her pay attention to.

She doesn’t want to think about it. She really does not. But, it’s all her mind can go to. The dusty supply closet. Her splayed open lab coat. Azula’s dark hair under her fingers. Her aching sighs. She can almost smell the air and feel Azula-

Katara breaks herself away from her own little hell-hole. “Nothing except surprise, seeing these two still in touch with you even after all the things you did to them in high school.” She motions at Mai and Ty Lee behind the diva with a single, lazy finger.

Azula pulls her head back, just as Mai ad Ty Lee steal a quick glance at one another.

“They were kind enough to support me when I went through a rough time. You wouldn’t know, would you?” The diva says, with a slight shake of her head.

Katara frowns. THE Azula Sei’naka is capable of uttering words that aren’t inherently mean?! When?! How?!

“Whatever.” Katara sighs, before walking away from the place.

Suki and Ty Lee have been friends over Azula’s back and that led to a series of events that ensued a power struggle through the entire junior year. Katara, as always, had sided with Suki that led to a tense rivalry between her and the diva. Now that Katara thinks back to it, it’s kinda lame, and petty. It was a stupid fight and didn’t really matter anymore.

But that doesn’t mean that she’s over her hatred towards Azula Sei’naka. That girl single-handedly made not just Katara’s but everybody’s life living hell in high-school and she’ll never not hate her for it. But that all came crashing down, that one fateful day in the supply closet. The day Katara can never forget, even if she lives a million years. Even if she dies.

***

Katara finds herself sat at the bar with a freshly made drink in her hand again. It’s loud. Too loud. People are flocking in, along with their plus ones and it’s getting crowded and chaotic, almost like it’s a club party.

Suki, Mai and Ty Lee are chatting in the distance. Well, at least Suki and Ty Lee are. Mai’s just, there. She watches them for a little while, before turning around on the stool to face the makeshift bar counter.

“No plus one?” She hears a voice beside her.

And again, she doesn’t really have to turn her head to know who it is. It’s the same raspy drawl she can recognise anywhere.

“Spirits! You’re everywhere.” Katara sighs, sipping her drink for liquid courage.

Azula slides herself onto the stool right beside Katara, leaning on the counter. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Of what business is it to you?”

When Azula doesn’t answer, Katara looks to her side with a slight frown. She’s taken aback when she finds Azula’s eyes scrutinising her curiously with no mockery in them whatsoever.

“What?”

Azula shrugs. “Nothing.”

It’s strange. So strange. Katara’s never seen Azula behaving this way. Never.

Azula’s gaze falls on the glass in front of Katara and she reaches out to grab the drink, downing it in one gulp. Katara squints her eyes in offence. For a proper, high-end actress, Azula’s lack of manners is still astonishing.

“Are you for real?” Katara asks, disgusted with her behaviour.

“I could’ve fixed you your own drink, Zula.” Katara startles as the bartender speaks up from behind the counter. “You didn’t have to trouble her like that.”

"But where's the fun in that, Zuzu?" Azula replies, a smug smile on her face.

Katara watches on, confused. Then suddenly, it clicks. Her eyes widen ever-so-slightly as she looks at the bartender again.

Zuko Sei'naka.

Azula's brother. He was their senior, before he graduated the class of '07. But how his sister went on to become a rising, talented actress and he's standing here bartending, Katara will never know.

"Stop being mean." He says, wiping the counter clean. Then he moves away to the back, leaving Katara and Azula alone on the other side.

The raging party around them, drowns Katara in her thoughts. She almost forgets that Azula’s right beside her, until she hears her talk.

“What?” Katara leans towards her, not hearing her over the din.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Azula leans a bit closer too, raising her voice a little.

Katara gives her a curious look, not really sure if she’s being serious. They’re not the kind of girls who have a girl’s night out just for the sake of it. Hell, they were rivals during their high-school years, picking up petty bickering whenever they can. It’s no surprise that they don’t even have each other’s number. All the interactions they’ve had before this evening were purely superficial (well, except for that one time, of course, but Katara doesn’t like to count that as an interaction). So, she can’t really be blamed for her astonishment when such a proposition is kept in front of her by THE Azula Sei’naka.

The Azula Sei’naka who broke their friend group. The Azula Sei’naka who jabbed her with insults and trolls whenever she spotted Katara in the school hallways. The Azula Sei’naka who lit Katara’s project on fire and made it up as an ‘accident’.

But it’s the same Azula Sei’naka who kept Katara’s sexuality a secret when she didn’t expect her to. It’s the same Azula Sei’naka who made her feel things she didn’t know she could feel – both mentally and physically. It’s the same Azula Sei’naka who made her shiver and shudder and-

Katara gulps. “W- Where?” She asks, voice unsure and unstable.

The glint in the diva’s eyes doesn’t go unnoticed. “Somewhere that isn’t a room full of noise pollution.” She says before getting up. “You coming?”

Katara isn’t sure. This is turning out to be not what she had expected at all. All she wanted was a peaceful night, catching up with her friends. But, this ain’t it. She eyes the diva incredulously, not really certain if she’s genuine or wants to secretly murder her in an alleyway or something. But, she already feels like dying, so murder doesn’t seem that deadly or far-fetched either. She looks at Azula’s expectant eyes and immediately comes to a decision. She doesn’t know why.

She huffs out a short breath before pushing herself up and away from the bar stool. “Alright.”

***

It’s still early for the night, but the winter hangs over them, darkness engulfing the world quicker and Katara wishes she was wearing something thicker instead of her thin strapped, azure-blue, crystal, flowing dress. She looks over at Azula.

The diva had gotten rid of her long robe, and everything underneath revealed a whole different Azula. A short sleeved, red, tank-top that went splendidly with a greenish-blue, high-waist jean. She has a jacket and an overcoat on, wearing the expensive garments like it was second nature to her.

Cold breeze flaps against her dress as she steps out of Azula’s car. The setting sun illuminates the beauty before her eyes. An enormous lake, surrounded by lush, green trees and a winding pathway around it, filled with warm glow from some old-fashioned lamps studded all along, makes Katara reel.

Azula walks around the car and smiles. Katara’s pretty sure people will go to war with her if she ever tells them that Azula’s 32 years old. She looks not a day older than 22. She’s matured, sure, but she still has this young glow over her. The orange sun hits the diva’s eyes and it glimmers with rare elegance. And that’s when Katara knows that the diva’s career choice fits her perfectly.

A faint murmur of people already present at the lake reaches Katara’s ears. It’s a welcome distraction from the crowded party hall and the ever increasing vision of Azula’s lips in front of her. She clears her throat and hugs her arms, averting her gaze to the glassy mass of water.

Katara becomes suddenly aware of a slight problem though.

“Is it safe for you to be out in public like this?” She questions, worry creasing her forehead.

Azula shrugs, locking her car and starting to walk. “As long as they don’t recognise me, we’re good.”

Katara follows right behind. “Are you sure? You don’t even have your bodyguards around-”

“I’m not that big of an actress, STEM. We’re good. But it’s cute to see you worry about me.”

“I’m not-” Katara’s taken aback, not by the bluntness of Azula’s statement, but by how right she is. And even after all these years, she still calls her STEM. Katara doesn’t know what to make of it.

Azula laughs softly. “Yeah, yeah.”

They walk a short distance to step into the path running along the circumference of the lake. It’s silent between them, unsaid words and tensions taut on Katara’s shoulders, waiting to fall off any moment.

It’s Azula who speaks first. “You got into medical school?”

The question startles Katara. She glances to her side briefly before nodding. “It was tough. But, yes.”

“Tough how?”

The genuine curiosity hanging heavily in Azula’s tone makes Katara frown in confusion.

“You really wanna hear about all the tests and preparations I went through to get into medical school?”

“If it gets you talking, then yes.”

The frown gets deeper on Katara’s face. She abruptly stops walking, not really sure whether to keep going, or run like crazy cuz, Azula’s being somewhat cordial towards her and it’s genuinely making her question her whole existence, getting scared for her life as this is turning out to be every horror movie’s beginning.

“Sei’naka, what’s going on?” She questions.

Azula looks back from where she’d walked forward without noticing that Katara’s left behind. She stops too, fully turning around to stand before Katara. “What?”

“This-” Katara begins, not really sure how to articulate what she’s feeling.

Azula steps closer to her. “What?”

Katara looks up at her for a moment, before gesturing wildly with her hands. “I don’t know! This whole thing! Why are we here?! Why are you being nice to me?! Why are you asking about my life as if you’re my fucking friend?! What’s going on?!” Her voice becomes a little softer. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

A sudden chilly breeze picks up from the lake and drifts to their lithe bodies. Katara hugs her arms instinctively, shuddering.

Katara notices the way Azula’s eyes run over her body, before immediately removing her overcoat and wrapping it around Katara’s shoulders in one smooth motion. The blue-eyed woman is instantly hit with warmth and Azula’s intoxicating scent, without warning. It makes her head go dizzy, her body tingling and buzzing. Azula grabs the collars of the coat and pulls it close in front of Katara’s chest, wrapping her up like a giant burrito. Katara’s stunned into silence, and she’s not really sure why. Maybe it’s the sudden proximity.

“I’m not the same person I was years ago, Katara.” The diva’s saying and Katara can’t hear it over the loud cacophony of feelings rushing over her. “That little idea you have of me in your head? Throw it out.”

Azula motions with her eyes to continue walking, and Katara can’t help but obey.

She pulls the collars closer together around her body, basking in the warmth that it provides. She involuntarily begins to breathe deeper, not really realising that she’s doing it for the sweet scent.

They walk for a little while in silence.

Katara can’t help but notice the pretty glow of the lamps as they pass each one. It fills her with an uncharacteristic feeling. One that makes her want to cherish this moment forever in the fear of it disappearing suddenly.

Azula leads them both to an empty bench at the edge of the lake. The chirping of birds coming home has died down a little, giving rise to owl hoots and cricket trills. The sun’s set completely, and the light of the lamps bounce off of the peaceful lake. They sit, basking in serenity.

Katara’s the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Azula silences her. “I understand why you’d think that way. In fact, I’m the one who should be making an apology. I’ve been a complete asshole to all of you. I know my age doesn’t really excuse my behaviour, but I truly am sorry for all the things that happened during our childhood.”

Katara can do nothing but blink, hanging her jaw to the floor.

This is like some kind of fabrication her brain’s desperately making up, trying to paint Azula as a better, decent human being. But, no! The coat is still warm around her and she can still smell that damn intoxicating smell. Surely, you can’t feel and smell stuff in dreams, right?

“I- I don’t know what to say-”

“You don’t have to accept my apology right away, STEM.” Azula’s perfectly manicured fingers raise up. “I know it’ll be hard for you to do that.”

Is it hard, though? Katara can’t help but wonder. All her life, she’s been living in this mental image of Azula Sei’naka being top of the food chain, preying on everybody else. But to think that her image’s been wrong for over a decade, stuns Katara.

“Okay. But I need some time.” Katara hesitates. “It’s not like we’re going to meet again after tonight.”

Even in this dimly lit setting, Katara can still see Azula’s face fall. “Right.”

Silence falls between them again, and the blue-eyed woman is determined not to elongate it any further. “Getting my application accepted was hard. But they eventually did and I was the happiest girl on the planet.”

Azula perks up. “Medical school?”

Katara smiles. “Yeah.”

“Tell me more.”

“Well-”

“OH MY GOD IT’S AZULA SEI’NAKA!!” A woman’s screech echoes through the open lake and both Azula and Katara jump out of their skins.

Wide blue eyes meet annoyed golden-brown and panic sets in.

“I swear, they have like a seventh sense or something.” Azula grumbles before taking Katara’s hand in hers. “Quick, before a crowd settles here.”

They get up in a flash, rushing towards the direction of Azula’s car. Katara’s pretty sure she’ll never get over the feel of her hand in Azula’s.

***

The first thing that Katara notices is the delicious warmth. And only after that does she lay her eyes on the expensive furniture laid out in Azula’s mansion as she steps in through the door. It’s huge. Katara’s entire house can fit into Azula’s living room. And yet, she doesn’t feel intimidated. They had been laughing when they arrived and the mirth dies down on Katara’s face and a look of complete awe replaces it.

“Wow.” She breathes.

“I know, right?” Azula smiles behind her.

Blue eyes scan the entire space. “Beautiful.”

Golden eyes never leave Katara. “Yes.”

Katara turns around in a flash. “You could at least try and be humble.”

Azula just chuckles.

The over coat’s still around Katara’s shoulders.

“Drink?”

“Just water.” Katara replies, making herself comfortable on the huge couch. The whole house seems abandoned. For such a star, this seems to be such a lonely life to lead.

A few seconds later Azula hands her a glass. She takes a big gulp, before setting it down on the table set low in front of her.

“Remember that one guy who always had to skateboard everywhere, even into the classrooms?” The diva asks, sitting down beside Katara.

Katara almost chokes on her water, remembering it. She swallows hurriedly before speaking. “One time, he literally ran over my foot and didn’t even apologise!”

“The nerve!”

“Oh, please! As if you wouldn’t have done the same.”

Azula pretends to think for a while before nodding. “You know what? I would have.”

Both of them share a giggle.

Silence falls between them again, making them sober up from their laughter.

“Hey.” Katara says after a while.

“Hm?”

“You mentioned earlier about a rough time you went through . . .”

Azula’s gaze falls on her. “Yeah . . .”

Katara pauses for a moment. “I mean . . . If you’re not comfortable talking about it-”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Azula sighs. “I went through this whole psychotic phase triggered by my mother leaving and my father being a bitch about it . . .” She notices Katara’s expectant glance and continues. “Long story short, I got over it by contacting Mai and Ty Lee again. I don’t why I contacted them of all people, but maybe it was the child in me reaching out to the happy days with them again or something. And . . . here I am.”

Katara’s eyebrows knit together. “Wow . . . I . . .”

Azula lets out a dry chuckle. “My brother and I coped in different ways. But we coped, and that’s what’s important.”

Katara nods.

She moves closer to Azula on the couch, with the intent of comforting her. She reaches out a hesitant arm, not really sure if she’s allowed to do it. The diva’s waiting, looking at Katara’s hand with a strange expression that she can’t decipher.

When a few seconds pass with Katara not progressing even a bit, Azula chuckles again, shaking her head. “You’re bad at this.”

The blue-eyed woman huffs out a breath and her arm falls limply on the couch. “You need not add fuel to the fire.”

“Comforting people isn’t my strong suit either. But I learned from the best. Here, let me demonstrate.”

Katara’s heart stops when pure warmth moves from one side of the couch to sit right next to her in one fell swoop. She watches on with bated breath and deer like eyes. The diva’s arms open up wide, inviting her. Katara stares at her open arms for a long moment. “W- What am I looking at?”

Azula rolls her eyes. “You’re supposed to hug, silly.”

“Oh.” She leans forward, not really opening her arms for a hug, but purely intent on just, going with the flow. She’s hesitant at first but then, when she sees that Azula means no harm, she allows herself to fall completely.

Azula’s arms instantly wrap around her, like a second over coat. It’s crazy how Katara can feel her heat even over the enormous coat. It’s like she doesn’t even need it anymore. She’s tense for a bit, but relaxes rapidly as she understands how comfortable this is.

“See?” She hears Azula’s voice vibrating near her ear. A hand wraps around her waist and pulls her forward to make her lean on the sturdy chest, more comfortably, and Katara just short-circuits. “This is comforting.”

“I’m pretty sure this is called cuddling.” Katara mumbles out from underneath layers of clothing and warmth, half buried and half trying to hide the faint red of her cheeks.

The laugh that ensues, emerges from deep within the diva. Like an earthquake waiting to spill. “Well, in that case-” She says, before removing her arms from Katara’s lithe body and moving back.

Katara whines almost immediately. She wasn’t even aware that she did it until she hears Azula’s confused, “What?” above her.

“Don’t!”

“Don’t what? I thought you didn’t want to-”

“I never said that!”

Azula pauses for a moment. “Okay, then . . .”

Katara feels the warmth of Azula’s hands returning back to her and she instantly feels at ease.

It’s crazy, really. If you’d gone back in time and told a teenage Katara that she’d be cuddling with THE Azula Sei’naka, she would’ve probably slapped you across the face. But things are different now. Things are blurry and grey and somehow also ruminant and luminous. Almost like Azula’s singlehandedly slurring a clear pond.

“Remember that one time you wore heels to class?” Azula murmurs against her hair.

Katara nods, or at least tries to. “I would’ve tripped and ate dirt if you didn’t . . .” She lifts her head up slightly, looking into soft golden-brown orbs, “If you didn’t catch me.”

She doesn’t know what comes over her. Maybe it’s the alcohol still in her system. Maybe it’s the quiet of the night. Maybe it’s the rush of feelings at the old memory. Maybe it’s their proximity. Maybe, just maybe it’s the look Azula’s giving her. She isn’t quite sure. But the next thing Katara knows, she’s reaching her head up closer to Azula and capturing the actress’ lips in a soft, hesitant kiss.

It only lasts a second, before Katara pulls back, reeling at the feeling. A slight sense of panic settles in her heart, her mind racing to the possible things that could go wrong, and if this was a bad idea. But the smile that paints Azula’s face slowly, pulls her back to reality. It’s a huge risk, Katara knows that. And yet it’s something she’s willing to take.

“Remember when we did that?” Katara asks softly, searching golden orbs for something that she herself isn’t sure of.

Azula exhales in a rush. “Maybe if you do it again, it’ll come back to me.”

Katara lands a slap on Azula’s chest in mock anger. “Asshole.”

The giggle that erupts from the diva’s chest instructs Katara to feel it more. She moves impossibly closer to Azula, eyes staying locked on her, heart thundering away inside her bruising chest. She feels like a teenager again, head giddy and giggly.

“Remember when I did this?” Azula gushes, immediately before dipping her head down and placing an open-mouthed kiss on Katara’s soft neck.

“Azula!” Katara gasps, her eyes shutting close involuntarily.

And Azula’s hot breath is against her ear. “I love how you say my name.”

Katara shudders. She’s rarely called Azula by her name before. She simply did not see the need to do it, as people often knew whom she’s referring to without even the mention of her name. This is probably the second time this has happened. The first time, well, Katara would blush beet-red just thinking about it.

Azula’s skin is unfathomably soft. Her gentle hands scout Katara’s tan skin, before pulling her own coat away from the healer’s delicate shoulders. Katara shivers at the sudden hit of cold air, but then, Azula’s mouth is upon her shoulders, enveloping her in pure heat.

“Azula . . .” She’s whispering. Maybe she’s whining, she doesn’t really know. But it’s all she can say right now.

When Azula looks back up, Katara knows exactly what’s supposed to happen now. And she does just that. Their lips crash in sync for a bruising kiss, hands desperately trying to pull each other as close as possible. It’s aching and urgent now, kinda like how it was all those years back in their school’s supply closet.

It’s insane how the same kind of energy is buried within them even after all these years.

They get up in a hurry, making their way to Azula’s master bedroom, stumbling and crashing into random stuff along the way. When they finally make it, it only takes Azula a fraction of a second to push Katara to her back on the bed.

When the clothes come off, Katara feels Azula’s eyes on her, drinking in the luscious sight, hungrily raking her gaze everywhere, unashamedly.

“I can’t believe you’re here, in front of me right now.” The actress is saying, climbing on to the bed, to sit right in between Katara’s legs. She loops her arm around Katara’s waist and lifts her up, pulling her close. The motion causes the healer to land right on Azula’s lap, her leg wrapping around the actress’ sides.

The noise that escapes Katara is sent straight from hell.

The only coherent word out of the healer’s throat is, “Azula . . .” and everything after that, becomes a pure, warm, fuzzy, mesh of feelings and desires that she didn’t even know needed satiation.

***

Katara’s fingers trace soft lines over Azula’s bare chest. Their bodies are entangled in a way that has Katara unable to differentiate between her limbs and Azula’s. It’s quiet and serene, with only their breaths for company.

“Azula . . . ?”

“Hm?” The actress is barely awake, exhaustion from their long list of satisfying activities creeping into her system.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

Katara hesitates. She looks up lazily at golden-brown orbs that are half closed. “No one’s ever . . .” she pauses, “done that.”

Azula’s eyes fly open when her brain registers what Katara’s talking about. “No one’s ever gone down on you?!”

The healer flinches a bit, guilt rushing over her system. She shakes her head, ashamed.

“Oh Agni!” Azula exclaims softly, noticing Katara’s reaction. She sits up a little, properly looking at the healer. “Why are you sorry for it?!”

Katara averts her eyes to Azula’s chest, unable to look at her anymore. “Well, you know . . .” she shrugs, “I’m inexperienced, and . . . it’s not something I’ve ever explicitly asked for or anything-”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“It’s fine, Azula. I don’t deserve it any-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Azula’s voice is stern and firm. “Oh, you beautiful piece of shit . . . do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

Katara blinks. “What?”

Azula huffs. “Do you know how many days and nights I’ve spent thinking about doing that to you but was unable to?”

“Azula, what are you-”

“And here you are telling me that you don’t deserve it?! Hello?! What in the whole world-?!”

“Please, calm down.”

“No, STEM, you need to understand. It’s a crime that no one’s ever gone down on you!”

“Well, most of the people I’ve been with told me that-”

“Most of the people you’ve been with are jerks. You have no idea of how wonderful you are!”

Katara blinks at Azula’s outburst, wide-eyed and astonished.

“You deserve everything good and to think that they were stupid enough to make you think that you aren’t good enough for it just-”

She gets cut off with Katara’s mouth planting itself heavily on hers in a searing kiss. Azula’s stunned.

When Katara pulls apart, she has this seductive look on her face that makes Azula’s insides go bananas.

“Prove it then. You don’t have to keep thinking about me anymore. I’m right here. So, prove to me that I’m good enough.” Katara’s breathing against Azula’s face and that’s enough for Azula to roll on top of her, intent on securing round 2.

***

okayyyyy this has been sitting and steaming for a LONG time now and i didn't wanna keep you waiting anon, i'm so sorry.

hope you enjoyed this!!

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