#the grips on the handle and foot are fucked up but at the very least it’s something to lean on

[whoblewboobear]

Moving this one fucked up leg is so exhausting. I need to buy a cane and I need it now.

[tonycries]

Isn't That Sweet? (I Guess So) - G.S.

Synopsis. Oh no! Why do your pantíes keep disappearing? Well, maybe your hot roommate knows the answer…

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, pànty-stealer! roommate! Gojo, annoyances-to-lovers, he’s REALLY down bad, vírgin! Gojo, oraI (fem receiving), màle màsturbation, pining, face-sítting, jealousy (his side), fírst times, unprotected, creampíe, teary Gojo, pànty-gagging, HEINOUS things, pet names, aIcohol mentions, swearing.

Word count. 8.6k (whoopsies)

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely week hehe <3

“Damn…” you sigh at the glaringly empty drawer, rubbing your eyes as if that would make a difference - maybe even magically materialize a fresh pair of panties in front of you. “It’s the second time this month.”

Or was it the third?

But, alas, standing around in your bedroom on a Sunday night does not give you the answers. Or any extra underwear.

Which is why you find yourself making a beeline for the bathroom - teeth gritted, stomach flipping at how very, very exposed you felt underneath the thin fabric of your shorts. Cursing everything from the building’s rundown old washing machine to Gojo’s stupid smile when he took away your laundry basket.

You could’ve sworn you saw your last pair perched right on top of your pile of old clothes, all flimsy and an obscene red that stood out amongst everything else. 

Seriously, how hard would it have been to lose that thing? Maybe you could bother him into buying a new washing machine for-

“Woah there-” Before you know it, you’re crashing face-first into a wall? Pillows? Gojo - unfairly shirtless. “Now, what’s got your panties in a twist, sweetheart?”

The lack thereof. 

Maybe because you can’t say that, maybe because of what looks - feels - like miles upon miles of milky, sculpted skin, you’re instead settling for an extremely eloquent, “Nothing I uh-” But whatever excuse catches in your chest as you raise your face - still smushed between two large pecs - up, up, up and-

Oh. 

It’s not like you’re seeing something new - far from it, actually, unfortunately for your poor heart.

And at first, you’d thought it was some strange habit - hell, maybe the guy just didn’t like t-shirts. But it was around the fourth or fifth time he’d forgone one that you realized Gojo Satoru was just a tease. A no-good, insufferably smug tease that just loved to catch you ogling him. 

But, well, at least the rent was cheap.

Though, you weren’t exactly complaining about the view either…

Because lo and behold stood the infamous campus sweetheart - you knew about fourteen people who’d kill to see this exact sight. Gojo’s cloudy hair tousled, tiny droplets of water twinkling like diamonds against the bathroom light. Bouncing off his rippling abs, his strong arms circling your waist to stop you from falling backwards. Holding you too fucking close against the white towel slung low on his hips. His skin damp, smelling so delicious-

“Gojo, did you use my body lotion?” 

“Awww–” he whines, finally releasing his grip on you. “You were supposed to admire me some more.”

You scoff, eyes darting over broad shoulders - partially to search for your laundry basket, partially because you really couldn’t handle looking right at a shirtless Gojo Satoru any longer. “As if. Get out if you’re done.”

“Damn, woman. Feisty.” Gojo lets out a deep chuckle - smooth and cocky - when you’re hastily shoving him away from the doorframe. “If you wanted to put your hands on me that bad then you jus’ hafta ask, y’know~”

It was way too late for this. 

“Hilarious.” you deadpan, though you let go of where you were gripping Gojo’s arm like it burned. Immediately stepping behind the bathroom door before he could make you lose whatever’s left of your sanity, “Next time you hog the bathroom m’gonna smash those ugly new sunglasses of yours.”

He’s pressing his foot between that gap in the door to stop you from closing it, “Oi, don’t think I don’t see that glint in your eyes, sweetheart.” Yeah, the glint in your eyes that told you if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under already. Which only makes him grin wider, “You’re telling me you really weren’t checkin’ out the most sought-after man on campus jus’ now?”

Huffing in frustration, you cross your arms, “I don’t see Geto Suguru anywhere.”

“...you take that back right now. I’m the pretty best friend.”

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

“Am not. Isn’t that why you’re still single?”

“Th-that’s not- fuckin’ Suguru? Really? Most people would kill for a look of this-” Gojo gestures at his bare torso, and once more you’re reminded that those absolutely awful protein shakes he makes every morning aren’t just for show. “-and you’re getting it daily.”

You reach out a hand, Gojo chest hot underneath your touch. He seizes up instantly, ears tinging red as you muse, “Yeah.” Only to push him fully out the doorway, “I just wish you’d shut up daily, too.”

With that, you’re shutting the door with a resounding slam! Feeling only slightly guilty until you hear Gojo’s squawks of protest from outside, “I really don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist.”

Right. Panties.

Something just a tad more important than recounting exactly how many abs Gojo Satoru had.

You let out a shuddering breath, clamoring to find that spare laundry basket you’d forgotten in here earlier today. Shuffling through through the soft clothes, hoping, praying to find-

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

Fuck. 

Somehow, you’re hiding away your body lotion that night.

---

“Now, listen here, sweetheart. I know you look fuckin’ gorgeous in everything but-”

“Satoru.”

“But that-” he whirls around, pointing a long finger accusingly at the boxers you’d improvised into sleep shorts. Spitting venomously, “-that I cannot allow.”

You’re rolling your eyes at your roommate’s theatrics, forking through your pancakes while he monologues to himself more than you. “Why does it even matter? It was just for yesterday.” you mutter. “I didn’t have any clean uh- panties for the night n’ this worked.”

Thankfully, since the fresh laundry this morning, you’d found two more of your panties - courtesy of a very smug Gojo handing off your clothes. Ah, it felt like the universe itself was smiling down on you.

But oh if you thought the great Gojo Satoru was having a breakdown before then you weren’t prepared for when you lifted your gaze off the kitchen table. Only to meet his - eyes wide, a pretty pink blush coloring his cheeks, lips gawking and stuttering around what looked like a silent, “P-panties-”

You raise a brow, “What’s got you this worked up, Gojo?”

“Nothing.” he clears his throat, “Absolutely nothing at all. Panties? I love- er, wait no-”

“B-besides-” you bristle at the way his heavy gaze was now turning to flit between your face and down below. Dangerously. “They’re not even yours so I don’t know why it matters.”

This seems to snap him out of his little reverie, and he’s immediately standing up straighter, brows furrowing. He continues, in a much more serious tone than before, “They’re his?” 

You stab your breakfast with a bit too much vitriol than necessary, looking at Gojo with narrowed eyes, “If you mean the one my ex left behind then yes. Who else?”

Your ex wasn’t good for much - and Gojo seemed especially hostile towards him because of his distaste for your little living situation. But, hey, at least the guy was helping you out at this time. Albeit unknowingly. 

He’s raising his hands in mock-surrender, shuffling back into the kitchen to work on the rest of those “world famous” Gojo pancakes. “Nothing nothing.” he hums, and maybe it was how sleep-deprived you were - running on a few too many assignments due today and a few too little panties - but you think Gojo’s voice has a bit more bite to it than usual. Jaw clenching as he plows on, “Of course that fucker- in my- our apartment, too. Fuck-”

A spatula is suddenly mere inches from your face, Gojo brandishing it in front of you like a weapon as he declares, “We’re going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture today.”

“Gojo, I-”

“We-” he cuts you off, delicately placing another pancake on your plate - a little truce. So close now that it reminds you of last night - you could feel his minty breath on your face, count every long, sultry eyelash of his. “-are going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture n’ I’m paying. That’s final.”

And of course, in true Gojo fashion, you can barely get a word out before he’d immediately ducking out of the kitchen. You almost let your lips curl into a smile, hit with a sudden wave of endearment as you hear Gojo’s long legs padding urgently down the hallway to God-knows-where. Maybe he did know when to be-

Smack!

You jolt as you’re hit with a pair of boxers - fresh ones, thankfully, that you recognized from all the clothes you’d rummaged through last night - plopped unceremoniously onto your lap. Jaw dropping in disbelief when you look up to meet Gojo’s devilish grin. 

“Next time-” he winks, motioning at the fabric you were poking in concern now. “-wear mine.”

The talk of Yaga’s lecture hall that morning was of a pair of burned boxers found right outside your building, everyone speculating what the poor guy had done to have his presumed girlfriend make an example of it like that. 

For you, however, the only thing running through your mind was whether or not you could count properly.

Because surely you remembered it correctly when you counted two new underwear this morning - that gauzy black one and the deep red? Two. Definitely not the singular, sad piece of red fabric laying on your bed after breakfast today? Two. The only one you could find even after scouring through your whole bedroom. 

So where the fuck had that other one gone?

---

(8+ new messages)

Do not answer (roomie)🧿🧿: Hurry up ive been lurking inside that lingerie shop ya told me you liked n’ now the old ladies here look like they wanna eat me alive ＼(º □ º l|l)/

im boooored, gonna stand still n’ start blending in with these mannequins if you dont hurry up istg

Hurry

HURRY

HURRY THEY THINK IM SUSPICIOUS

PLEASE THEYRE GONNA ESCORT ME OUT

┬┴┬┴┤･ω･)ﾉ i literally SEE YOU outside 

BITCH STOP LAUGHING-

No sooner are you letting out a cackle at Gojo’s rapid-fire texts, you’re looking up to see the man himself being walked outside by two security guards. Squabbling heatedly in a way that had them heaving out long sighs - which, honestly, you felt a stab of relatable empathy for.

“-I swear I’m not a creep I’m jus’-” Gojo’s bickering dies on his tongue as he catches the sight of you walking closer to the commotion. Closer. Taking your sweet sweet time, eyes just barely glazing over him before- you’re walking away. “Hey!” he calls out, stopping you in your tracks. “Now, don’t you dare-” Before turning back to his wary escorts, “I’m with her.”

They exchange a look between each other, and no matter how much you’d like to pretend the scene had absolutely nothing to do with you - you’d rather Gojo doesn’t get banned from the mall altogether. 

“He’s right.” you drone out, one hand grabbing Gojo’s, the other forcing his head into an apologetic bow. Hissing to the side so that only he would hear, “Unfortunately.”

The two security guards now seem more amused than anything at your strange dynamic. One of them raises a brow, muttering, “Well…this one’s certainly a handful.” Turning around to head back to their stations, “Ya better keep a tight leash on your boyfriend.”

You sputter, eyes wide, “Oh- he’s not-”

But it’s too late - they’re both swiftly out of earshot, most likely more than happy to hand over the public nuisance off to you. And Gojo’s looking to you with a smug smirk, voice dropping about an octave deeper as he breathes against your ear, “So, gonna take your boyfriend to help out with lingerie shopping, sweetheart?”

Oh. God. 

This was going to be one long day.

“I’m only here because another one of mine disappeared, y’know.” you hiss, rifling through all the options before you. “Which really has me wondering why-”

“H-hey! How about this one?” Gojo interrupts, shoving a lacy set right in front of your face, his voice just a bit louder than what was appropriate. 

You sigh, catching the eyes of a few disapproving older women around you. “No this is-” But running a thumb over the fabric makes you bite back an insult. And for all how brash Gojo was, maybe his panty selection wasn’t awful. It was a flimsy little thing, gauzy and light blue - the type you’d typically wear on a night out. You meet his boyish grin, admitting, “...not bad.”

“See?” he laughs - eyes glinting with delight as he piles on a few more in your basket. “N’ if you’re impressed with that then you’re gonna be proposing to me when you realize it’s exactly your size-”

You quirk a brow, “How do you know my size, Gojo?”

And this makes his body stiffen, large shoulders squaring up, throat bobbing as he answers,“Uh? Experience?”

Oh, right. You’re rolling your eyes, fighting off a weird little stab of irritation. This probably isn’t the first time he’s come here with a girl, anyway. 

And yet, despite however much of an alleged “catch” Gojo was, he’d - perhaps mercifully - never brought anyone over. You don’t know why, but you didn’t really want to question it.

“A-anyway.” Gojo’s airy voice cuts through your thoughts. And he’s plucking up a few more sets of lingerie for you to sort through, “Can’t let these one, two, three- six lovely lil’ things go to waste now, can we?” At your look of confusion, he chuckles, guiding the two of you to the counter now. “Suguru’s holding a party at his place tonight, how would you like to do the honors of being my cute plus one?”

“I’d rather go with Yaga.”

Though, you really can’t say no - not when Gojo’s flashing you that black card as he pays for everything in an instant. Not when all he can prattle about on the way home  is how gorgeous you’d look together at Geto’s party - how you’ll have to beat everyone off of him with a stick (to which you reply that you’d no sooner do that than beat him with a stick.)

Not when he sits outside your bedroom door as you get ready later that night. Insisting on keeping you company even as you slip out of your towel. Looking over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t peeking in before eagerly turning to grab at one of your new set of silky white panties- only, they weren’t there.

Strange. 

“Hey, Gojo…” you call out, looking underneath your blankets for where you might’ve thrown them about after trying them on. Under your bed, in your drawers, anywhere. “-didn’t we buy six sets?”

“Huh? Dunno, I didn’t count. Just wear the blue one.” he whines, ushering you to hurry up from outside. Face burning because shit, this was you and you were inside - still wrapped up in only that sinful little towel. Oh, would the painful death really be worth it if he happened to accidentally look around? “S’pretty and y’know what else?”

Your voice was muffled as you hastily put on your clothes, “What?”

“It matches my eyes.”

Really strange.

---

Thankfully for Gojo, you didn’t go with Yaga to the party - nor did you find your lost pair of panties, sadly, but that wasn’t too much of a concern for him. 

And here he was - one hurried Uber ride and about several billion death threats from you later. Wishing that you’d actually just acted on one of them because fuck at least then he wouldn’t have to be watching from across the room as some bastard from the university basketball team tried to chat you up.

Gojo can’t even hear the way the girls surrounding him were giggling about something or the other, alcohol making his tongue a little heavier, eyes a bit glassier. 

Nothing like the way that other man was drinking in that polite smile on your face. Tilting your head to face forwards and- God, why won’t you just look at him instead?

Would that guy still look at you that way if he knew you were wearing lingerie matching his eyes right now?

“Not gonna entertain your fans?” Geto’s voice rings through his whirlwind thoughts, eyeing down the forgotten crowd in amusement.

“When have I ever?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair in frustration. 

He lets out a knowing laugh, “Yeah, you little vir-” Turning into a coughing fit when Gojo elbows his best friend straight in his stomach. “Anyways.” Geto gestures with his drink in your direction, as if Gojo hadn’t seen - as if it wasn’t the only thing on his mind right now. “Well, your lil’ roomie there seems to be popular, too, huh? Star player of the basketball team n’ all. 

He clicks his tongue, slumping further against the thumping wall. “So? I’m taller, and more handsome.”

“Are you sure ‘bout that?”

“Y-yeah?” he sputters. 

“Well then why aren’t you over there with her?” Geto hums, lips curling. “Looks t’me like even she doesn’t like him that much so why’re you being a pussy over here? Always sneaking around stealing her-” 

“Shut up-” And Gojo knows he’s riling him up, he knows that Geto wants to see a little drama - maybe finally shut up his pining over the one girl he’s wanted for the past year - and couldn’t have. It’s a trap. But Gojo can’t stop his head from snapping between you and his best friend’s sly smirk. Slurring indignantly, “Of course I’m fuckin’ handsome, n’ taller. I’d make a better boyfriend too and-” He trails off at the sight of that loser leaning in - but more importantly that tiny furrow in your brows, your hands on his chest softly keeping him at bay. “-and m’gonna go over there n’ prove it.”

“Ah, that loser’s gonna thank me later.”

And, hell, Gojo could barely even walk. Barely even think straight as he’s parting the stuffy living room, ignoring whatever whispers and titters were following him. 

“I said no-”

“Hey, sweetheart.” you jump when someone - Gojo - creeps up from behind you. Large build hanging off your own when he nuzzles his face into your neck. And you could feel his toothy grin on your skin, “Missed me?”

Your face burns, “I uh-” Angling your face as dignifiedly as possible to face your roommate, “Gojo, are you drunk?”

“Drunk on you, yes.”

“What the-”

The man in front of you pipes up - shuffling uncomfortably on his feet. “Didn’t realize you were taken. My bad.” Looking like he’d rather be anywhere but under the scrutiny of Gojo Satoru. His big arms tightening around your middle - when did they even get there? “I’ll just uh- get out of your way, man.”

“Mhm, by the way,” Gojo puffs up his chest a bit, clearly towering over the other man - ha, take that Suguru. “Nice loss against Kyoto last week, real knee-jerker.” 

You smack Gojo’s chest at his rudeness, to which he only smiles wider. Watching the other man being swiftly handled away by another apologetic member of the basketball team.

“Gojo.”

And before you can react, Gojo’s dragging his pretty plump lips along where that light blue band of your bra was just peeking out, murmuring lowly, “Love it when you scold me like that.” Still refusing to let go of you despite the jealous looks thrown your way, “Let’s go home, my girl.”

Oh, the look on your face was priceless. 

He just wished he could fish out his phone and record, or maybe even tell Geto to take a picture - help him make it his wallpaper. And he did - over fifteen times, in fact, as the two of you helped drag him away from the thrumming party. Geto doesn’t listen, of course, and you neither do you - grumbling out a slew of profanities underneath your breath that makes the Uber driver look at the two of you weird.

And yet, Gojo’s biggest issue right now was trying to climb up these fucking stairs - not when they were trying to run away from him. 

“I swear to God, Gojo-” you huff, chest heaving under the weight of walking - well, more like dragging - your roommate up to your apartment. Knees wobbly - maybe at the intensity of his cologne, maybe at the way his biceps were flexing on your shoulders, probably at how fucking useless he was. Damn lightweight. “You better cover my rent for the next year for this.”

“Of course I will~” his hot breath tickles your ear, “Anything for m’girl. I’ll take care of us forever, don't you worry your pretty lil’ head.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny the way your heart clenches - just a little bit. And if you’re slamming open Gojo’s bedroom door with a little more force than necessary, well, at least he’s a bit too impaired to nag at you about it.

He bounces lightly when you throw him on his plush mattress, giggling softly, “You should just join me, y’know. Have a little sleepover.”

“Drop dead.” you monotone, not even daring to look back at him while you shuffle through Gojo’s shirts. Throwing one over your shoulder at him, “N’ wear this, I just know you’ll complain about messing up your favorite button-up tomorrow morning.”

“Aww, you always take care of me so well, my girl~”

That familiar little nickname makes a shiver run down your spine, and it’s all you can do to concentrate on shuffling through Gojo’s drawers in search of his shorts. Absent-mindedly reaching for the lowest drawer and-

“Wait!” 

You jump, whirling around to catch Gojo sitting up ram-rod straight on the bed, eyes wide, hand reaching out as if to stop you. Swallowing thickly, you ask. “Gojo?”

And he jolts - like the very sound of your voice is sending electricity zapping through his veins. Abruptly scrambling off the bed before resting two hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you away from the drawer. “My shorts are uh- in my wardrobe, heh. Sorry about that.”

Furrowing your brows at the sudden twist, you squirm in his grasp to look at the drawer again. Failing - when Gojo keeps his grip steadfast, “Why’re you acting so-” 

“How about we order take out? My treat?”

And that night, tucking yourself into bed, you should be falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. You should be caring less about that strange little outburst of Gojo’s inside his room. You should have realized sooner - those light blue panties you’d worn tonight were gone. No longer in your hamper of old clothes.

And there was only one thing to do. 

---

Gojo thinks he shouldn’t - fuck he knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t even want to- well, that last bit was a lie.

Gojo Satoru first met you about a year ago, when you’d come knocking at his door asking about his ad for a roommate. It was more because he was bored inside this big apartment by himself than anything, really, but here you were all gorgeous and sweet, flashing him a smile that was burned into his mind for the rest of the week, at the very minimum. How could he ever say no?

And when you’d taken to walking around the apartment in those slutty lil’ shorts as a way to get back at his perpetual shirtless-ness? Thin panties just peeping out of the low hem? 

God, it was everything he could do to not run to the bathroom with each little glimpse. He was fucked, so very embarrassingly fucked. 

He just never thought it would get to this point - the first time had been an accident, honestly. When your laundry had gotten mixed up with his. Surely he didn’t remember having such a cute pair of pink panties in his closet? And surely it didn’t mean anything if he just-so-happened to stash them away, right?

At least, that’s what Gojo told himself the first time. And the second. And the third. And shit, it was a bit of an addiction now, and within a year of rooming with you, he’d accumulated a drawer stuffed guiltily with exactly what he shouldn’t be having. 

Gojo Satoru - insufferable campus sweetheart, the dreamy first place on everyone’s To-Fuck list - had been hoarding away your pretty panties. Like the pathetic virgin he pretends he isn’t. 

And so here he was - that dirty little drawer flung open, pants pulled down just enough, one hand flat on the flat surface to steady himself, while the other fisted desperately around his swollen cock - and one of your panties. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart.” he’s hissing, body shuddering in lewd little tremors at that torturous drag of fabric down his length. Squeezing at his thick base, moving fast - filthy up, up, up to thumb along the end of his sopping slit. “Feels s’good- too fucking good hngh-”

Such a pretty, wet gasp escapes him when your soaked, absolutely ruined underwear catches on his veins, tangling around his sensitive shaft. And he’s biting his lip, trying not to make a noise when he threads through the mess down below. 

“Oh fuck, yer killin’ me even when you’re ngh- not here.” he breathes unsteadily, weaving the sticky fabric around his long fingers. Tight - just how he knew you would. “S’like you know what you do t’me with these.”

They were your blue ones, this time - the ones from just last night. The ones you were wearing not even a full day ago. And Gojo has them wrapped daintily around his rock-hard cock, stark against the blushing red at his fat head. Already so drenched in precum as he fucks his fist. 

“Y’looked so p-pretty with these, sweetheart.” he groans over the wet fwip! fwip! fwip! Eyes rolling to the back of his head with each long, feverish stroke. “So pretty being mine. Ngh- so pretty in my- fuck.” 

Slam!

He’s hitting his palm facedown on the wood, knees buckling, eyes scrunching shut with pleasure. 

And that ruined, utterly depraved part of Gojo wonders whether next time he should steal your bras too? Have the full set of you proudly wearing his color like some secret little slut for him. 

He’s letting out a ragged little laugh, oh how cute you’d look all confused. Nipples hard through your flimsy excuse of a t-shirt while you looked around for them. While you asked him for help. 

Oh, just the thought of that has Gojo’s red, furious cock beading glossy drops of precum at his tip. Leaking a sinful, slippery sheen down his wrist. “Ah.” he lets out a guttural groan when his angry dick twitches in his hand, falling onto his elbow on the drawer. Not having the strength - or the sanity - to keep himself up anymore. “Look what you’ve-” Gojo’s eyes catch sight of a flash of red inside, sounding so wrecked. “Look what you’ve done.”

And those obscene red panties are snatched up by his free hand in a second, not even a second wasted before Gojo’s bringing them up to his face. 

Fuck. 

“Look what you’ve done. Look how ngh- filthy you’ve made me.” he whines, muffled. Hips fucking up in quick, uncontrollable little thrusts into his closed fist. Voice a pitch higher as he spits out embarrassing little accusations, “How pathetic. Gettin’ fuck- gettin’ off to this? Me of all hah- people like this? Can’t imagine how f-fucking mad you’d be.”  

Would you figure out it was him? Would you look in his drawer again? Teach him a lesson or two about being such a pathetic little pervert for his roommate. 

Maybe - just maybe - if Gojo plays his cards right, gets on his knees and begs for mercy, then you’d let him keep his little treasure. 

He throws his head back in a humorless little laugh when his aching hand slows down to languid, unforgivable tugs. He had time, anyway, your classes ended late today. Torturous - exactly the way he imagines you’d drive him mad. “Heh- wish this was you.”

You’d be so much meaner, pressing down on that little divot at his tip, flicking teasingly like you were trying to fuck out something delicious. You’d be running your nails down his achy veins, running your soft palms around his painful balls. 

You’d whisper, “This all you got, Toru?”

“Oh fuck!” Gojo moans, raspy little sounds of what sounds like your name filtering through the crevices of his fingers, your panties. “Fuck fuck fuck- gonna cum.” he whines. Heavy balls smacking back into his thighs with each thrust into your imaginary hand. How he wished you were here. He’s managing to wrench his eyes open to spy down at his sloppy cock - needing to see how your cute lil’ panties would look painted all white for him. How he wished you- “Gonna-”

Oh. Fuck. 

You. 

“Aw, why stop now, Gojo?”

You’re leaning against Gojo’s open bedroom door, flashing him such a sultry little smirk. Your voice almost a purr when you echo, “I said…” Before taking two long steps to where he stood frozen, “Why stop now?”

Gojo lets the damp fabric held up to his face drop in guilt - yet the other stays firmly wrapped around that hand cock of his still in hand. 

“S-sweetheart what are you- why-” And perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has terrorized this planet, he’s speechless. Worry-bitten lips sagging open stupidly, “I- this is-”

You cut him off, “So you’re the panty thief.” So close now that Gojo’s dick was throbbing at each heave of your chest, the way you were squeezing your thighs together. Eyes sliding down his body to rest at the mangled mess of your all-new panties around his painfully hard cock. “I knew it.”

“I can explain-”

“All those times pretending to help me?” you bat your lashes in a way that makes him gulp. Words dripping with the same tease he’d imagined in daydreams just like this. “When you were the pervert stealing my panties? Are you even ashamed?”

Gojo flushes an innocent pink, excuses tumbling out of those pretty lips immediately. But they sound like lies even to him.

“This- ngh-” he’s rolling his hips forward when you slide a smaller finger down his arm, between his pecs, almost the way down to those tufts of white. “Fuuuck- y-you’re not mad? Are ya the devil herself cuz you’re gonna- ngh- kill me this way.”

Humming, “Class was canceled, but of course - don’t hah- stop on my account, Gojo.”

“Toru.” he’s gasping out, a low moan wrenching out of him when he’s bowing his body into his fist again. Squeezing - almost warningly - at his hilt. “C-call me Toru. Please.”

And fuck he could’ve cum right then and there at that devilish little smile you give him, biting down on your lower lip - inches from his that it felt like you were biting down on his. Maybe you were, shit Gojo didn’t even know right now. 

“Toru.”

That’s all it takes for Gojo’s lips to be crashing onto yours. Biting back a little whimper at the messy clash of teeth, of spit, because one taste of your candied lips and he was already so addicted. 

“Mmpf-” Gojo gasps, chasing hotly after your lips. Eyes half-lidded to watch the snapping of those delicate strings of saliva, “You’re- you’re so-” And he’s way too impatient to get out his words, licking heatedly at the slit of your mouth. Over and over and over-  “As bad as me- ngh-”

“Are ya sure about that?” you grin, cunt clenching at your roommate’s pained grunt when you pull away. “Because look-”

And the both of you are stuck on the way Gojo’s moving again, hips fucking up in jagged, mindless little grinds. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Like he didn’t even feel the way his leaky tip was smearing along the front of your sinfully short skirt. 

“Can’t help it.” he whines, kissing down your neck. Hips urging forwards to slip up the thigh-length fabric, and when you don’t pull away, Gojo drags your skirt up, up, up with his pulsing length, “You don’t know what you do to me- fuck.”

His jaw falls slack, ogling at the sight of your pretty pussy on full display for him. Already so glossy with your sweet sweet juices, needy between your restless thighs. Bare. 

And this might be the first time he’s seen a cunt in real life but Gojo already knows - he already feels - that she’s gonna be the death of him. 

Sharp teeth nip at your bottom lip, tugging. “What the fuck-” Gojo breathes - more to himself than anything. “What the fuck what the-” Bringing down his free hand to run the pads of his long fingers along your puffy folds, as if to confirm whether this was real. “-fuck! Going out like this? You’re even dirtier than me, huh?.” 

“What can I do?” Sliding your arms around his broad shoulders, palms running along the heated skin. Back arching to grind down on his hand, “Someone stole all my panties.”

Your words fall on deaf ears, because Gojo doesn’t hesitate for even a second before he’s bringing his dripping wet fingers up to his lips. Smoldering eyes looking right into yours when he pops them in his mouth. Sucking them dry. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.”

In a split second, you’re being splayed out on Gojo’s king-sized bed like such a slut. Bouncing at the sheer force of the throw. And it happens so fast that you almost think you’re seeing things - but, no, the way you’re bouncing against the silky sheets was real. Your skirt bunching up at your waist was real. 

Gojo’s hazy gaze getting stuck right at the spot between your legs was real. 

“Shiiiit.” he murmurs, low and gravelly, like he’s moving through molasses. Stalking towards your trembling figure as if hypnotized, “Oh, she looks even prettier this way.”

You shuffle in embarrassment, pressing your thighs together, “Toru-”

But he doesn’t hear you, instantly scrambling onto the bed. “No- no no no no no-” Just wrenching your legs apart with his hands. “No, you don’t get to hide th-this from me, you don’ know how long I’ve waited for this. How much I’ve imagined-”

You’re gasping when he runs the tip of his index between your sopping wet slit, coating his fingers in your juices once more. Teasing. “N’ so wet. This all f’me? God, can’t even- ngh-”

“So eager.” you mumble, fingers threading through Gojo’s soft locks to pull him in so close. To drag him towards where you needed him the most. “Why don’t you jus’ shut up- N’ put that big mouth of yours into use somewhere else?”

His eyes widen, words a whisper, “C-can I?” He doesn’t wait for your response before flipping the two of you so easily. Having you toppling precariously on his lap now, “Can I really? Never done this before.”

Never?

It’s not before he lets out a shy huff, that you realize that you said that out loud. “So what? S’that bad?” Two large hands groping and kneading your ass to keep you in place, “Ya didn’t actually ngh- believe all those stories on campus, did ya?”

Squirming at the feeling of his massive girth rubbing up against your swollen folds, “D-doesn’t matter.” You grit out, “You can…”

And no sooner are you seeing Gojo’s megawatt smile, you’re already feeling it between your thighs. Being wrestled up like some glorified ragdoll, dragging your sloppy cunt all the way up to straddle Gojo’s pretty face. 

“So, this is what she ngh- looks like.” he whines, hot breath lapping at your quivering pussy. “Shit, she’s so wet I could almost-” You’re gasping when the man below you simply sticks his awaiting tongue out, admiring your pussy while letting your syrupy sweet slick drip! drip! drip! down his throat. “This all f’me?” 

The only thing you can give him right now is a needy little whine - which makes Gojo kiss the fat of your ass with a sharp smack! Biting his lip at the way it jiggles against his hand, “Tell me, where did my feisty girl go?”

That lewd little nickname has you scoffing in pathetic frustration, your grip searing on his scalp when you force his obscene mouth closer. “Y-you seriously need to-” Pulling, “-shut up, Toru.”

And oh, you’d played right into Gojo’s devilish hands. This was exactly what he wanted - to have his face stuffed between your limp legs, ready mouth meshing messily with the folds of your dripping cunt. “There she is.” he moans, the tip of his tongue slurping up the sloppy dredges of your slick. Carding between your pussy lips, “Oh- fuck there she is. Yeah use me like that- use me.”

He’s running his mouth a mile a minute and you wonder how. Because Gojo was lapping at your cunt so feverishly, everywhere - from your inner thighs, to your folds, to just around the circles of your sloppy entrance like he wanted to taste it all. And couldn’t decide where to go first. 

“T-Toru.” you let out a honey sweet mewl of his name when the tip of his nose is rubbing against your clit. “There. Right there-”

Eyes rolling to the back of his head when he easily locates your sensitive nub. Wrapping those ruby lips around your clit to give an experimental suck. 

Shit, he could almost pass out from how heavenly you look on top guiding him. Your entire body jolting with each roll of his hot tongue, giving him such a pretty view of your tits up your silky shirt. Just dragging your sloppy cunt all into his mouth when he toys with your pulsing clit. 

“Oh fuck!” your hips are darting away with each zap of electricity sent down your spine. 

Which, for Gojo - who’s only ever dared to dream up this moment on those lonely nights - isn’t enough. 

“Know m’new to this, sweetheart, but stop bein’ nice n’ fuckin-” He’s pulling on the crease of your waist, dragging you to rest your entire weight on his face - his mouth. “-sit.” You’re keening when Gojo forces you to collapse on his soft tongue, bullying past your puffy folds and into that sloppy ring of muscle. Jus’ barely dipping past the resistance, “I said use me so fuckin’ use me. Don’ care if I can’t breathe - if I fucking suffocate- ngh- m’gonna die if you don’t just sit.”

“Fine.” You cry out when the curve of his tongue is molding into your gummy walls, pushing recklessly past. Not even fucking easing you into it before he’s fucking you on his tongue. Calculated, mean little thrusts in search of all your sweet spots. “No half-assing then, m’kay?”

Though, you had the feeling that he would do anything but. 

“Good, now keep still.” he’s scolding, one hand starting up again in those slow, satisfied tugs on his length. “Please keep still.” And the other dancing between your legs to push a finger inside your snug cunt. “Mmm it’s a tight fit, can feel ya clenching around me. Ngh- always wondered how it’d feel- where that would be.”

Blinking away the haze in your eyes, you look down at where Gojo was already locked on you, “Th-that?”

“That.” he breathes into your cunt, voice reverent as he speeds up. “S’your pussy gonna tell me where your good spot is? Gonna help me ngh- learn?”

And to your embarrassment - and Gojo’s smug satisfaction, it only takes a few more hurried strokes of his tongue before he’s nudging against your g-spot. Both the texture of his tongue and his long, cold fingers curling to assault the poor bundle of nerves. 

Your body bows deeper as if on auto-pilot, “Oh- fuck! You fucking- hngh”

He’s snickering at the way you’re so responsive, cock hard - and only swelling girthier in his fist with each adorable moan falling from your lips. 

“Oh yeah? There? Ya like this?” he moans, “Ya like shutting up the ngh- p-pervert that steals your panties with your cunt?” 

Getting faster. More attuned to his feral need. 

Lips smacking in tempo with those obscene squelches, you can’t tear your eyes away from the way his cheeks hollow. Fingers still so rapid, moving to make out and toy so messily with you clit - untimed, sloppy but fuck did you love it. 

“Y-yes.” you’re shoving his mouth guiltlessly deeper. Letting his long tongue explore every crevice and inch of you. Sloppier. So, so filthy. “Love it- fuck- you’re such a fast fucking learner.”

“I know.”

There was that cocky Gojo Satoru you were used to, lips curling into a strawberry pink smile around your clit - all glossy and sweet with a sheen of your slick. Making such a mess of the lower half of his face, his chin, shit, all the way down to his jaw. 

“M’close-” you choke out at the sight, “M’so fuckin’ close- gonna- gonna cum on your tongue, Toru.”

“Look at you ruining me.” his words hit you hard on your sensitive cunt, sending shockwaves up your arched spine. Obscene little smacks of his lips following your barely-lucid mewls.“Absolutely defiling me. Are ya proud of nghhh fuck- yourself?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a strained, “Yes! Yes yes yes yes- God, m’so close, Toru/ Gonna cum m’gonna-”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming at first, just that you’re riding Gojo’s unfairly pretty face in harsh grinds - just the way he liked it. Jaw grinding against your cunt, chin hitting you with each slutty jerk of your hips, letting you use him all you want to ride through your high. 

And his fingers are digging into your hips, stopping you from pulling away even when you were snow. Even when you’re sobbing in oversensitivity. So painfully good. 

“Ngh- T-Toru–” you’re slurring out, his name thick on your tongue. “M’not gonna cum on your dick if you k-keep hah- acting this way.”

Only then does a pussydrunk Gojo Satoru raise his bleary eyes back up at you. Giving you a strained little grunt of acceptance, before parting ways with your pussy with a lingering, wet kiss on your clit. Barely-audible as he whispers, “Gonna see ya soon.”

You don’t have the time to think about his newfound addiction. Because in all of three seconds, he’s plopping you back down so prettily on his lap. Purposefully feeding your sopping wet slit his weeping red tip. 

“Please.” Gojo’s usually-arrogant grin has fallen into such a pretty pout with one graze of his length sandwiched between your folds. “I did good, right? Please ngh- so I th-think if I made you cum then I get to hah- fuck you how I want.”

And it’s not that you didn’t appreciate it before - but looking at his thick tip pushing up against your cunt right now has you recognizing that shit, Gojo is massive. 

Fat head blushing a pretty reddish, leaking so messily down, down, down those glistening veins at his side and to the creamy ring at his base - from when he’d cum, just from eating you out, you realize with a jolt. His girth so intimidatingly thick, long enough that you know you won’t be walking for a week straight, at least. All throbbing and angry with every second he isn’t buried to the hilt inside your cunt. 

Gojo Satoru is massive. 

“Like what ya see?” he echoes your thoughts, a soaked thumb coming down to pry apart your glossy folds. Grinning at the way your hole was already so needy and clenching around nothing. “Think m’the ngh- perfect size for this pretty pussy?”

Through it all, you find it in yourself to muse, “Only one way to find out. Gonna let me be your first, Toru?”

And then he’s pushing in, shallow, high little gasps bursting from his lips with each inch being bullied into your plush cunt. 

“O-oh fuck-” Gojo can’t stop himself from taking a good look at the way your pussy lips are bulging around him. Jaw dropping at the way your greedy entrance is only sucking him up more and more - trying to bite off more than you can chew with the way he was in so deep but barely even halfway in yet. “S’too good- oh my god- fuck I think m’gonna die. Is it s’pposed to feel th-this good?”

You’re running a hand gingerly through Gojo’s mussed-up hair, smoothing down the sides sticking up where you’d been pulling on it. “S’alright, Toru.” you soothe, letting him grind up into you. Trying to fit more - all of it. “You’ve got it- you’ve hah-”

You let out a pathetic little whine when his tip kisses your cervix, legs flexing around his toned waist. 

“Oh- ohhh fuck-” he’s barely able to string together coherent sentences now. Eyes falling till their half-lidded, body moving before his mind when he pulls yours stuck to his. “S-soo good n’ I haven’t even- oh!” His voice goes a few octaves higher when Gojo finally starts moving. “How can- it feel this good, hng-”

And shit for being inexperienced, he was fucking up into you so mean. Just in short little thrusts up like he was trying to fuck you even deeper - trying to squeeze inside more of himself impossibly. 

“Some- ah- some more, Toru-” 

He listens, and the stretch - fuck. Gojo wasn’t even trying yet, but his girth was already massaging your gummy walls so dizzyingly good. 

“Y-you’re so- ngh-” you graze your lips across his in what can barely be called a kiss. Too messy. Too depraved. “-so deep.” Sliding a hand about midway down your stomach to press down, “Can feel you all the way in here.”

Your words are sticking to Gojo like a second skin, driving him so fucking mad. Hips smacking up into you deep until his heavy balls were slapping your ass, sculpted pelvis crashing into yours.

“Stop talking.“ he spits, “Stop talking stop talking stop- talking.” Each word is punctuated by a desperate, messy stroke. Pushing you further and further up Gojo’s body from the obscene impact. “Stop hah- talking or m’gonna cum.”

He wasn’t lying - you could already feel the twitch of Gojo’ length rubbing up against your hidden sweet spots. The furious throbbing of his veins stretching out your elastic walls. 

And yet you’re still wailing stubbornly, “B-but Toru it feels so good.” Partially truth, partially because when the fuck do you get to see him so utterly wrecked like this. Sanity dancing away from him with each syrupy moan leaving your mouth, “Your cock is too good- ngh- feels-”

“Shut up.”

Gojo can only take that much of your nonsense before he’s stuffing your mean mouth full with a flimsy piece of fabric from somewhere on the bed- no. A strangely familiar pair of panties. 

“Heh, s’much ohhh fuck- better.” he beams with pride when you’re gagging and tearing up so adorably around the light blue fabric. Ramming his cock up harder - stronger, as if daring you to make a little comment about it. “Should’ve ah fuck- known you wouldn’t make it easy f’me.”

As if to prove his point, he gives your ravaged clit a little smack! before teasing and rolling his thumb exactly the way you’d taught him to with his tongue.

And he’s scrambling to sit up, carrying your boneless body with him. 

The new angle has Gojo seeing stars, penetrating your gummy walls deeper, hitting that familiar g-spot he’s mapped out by now. “Here?” he manages to cackle, a big arm wrapping around your waist. “Right here? S’my cock hitting th-that ngh- good spot? Yer pussy is fuuuck so much easier to u-understand than I ah- thought.”

Reeling back to bounce you on his thick cock. Crashing into it again. And again and again and-

Since you can’t snap back - or even beg for more - you only let out muffled little moans through the gag in your mouth. Thighs burning as you push back in pathetic little thrusts to somehow meet Gojo’s mindless cadence.

“Oh yeah?” he drags, leaning back to help you ride him properly. “Yeah yeah do i-it hah- like that. Do it juuuust like that.” A harsh thumb rolls into your clit, making you stutter and grind yourself down messily. “Fuck- Yeah ruin me- ngh- just like that.”

His words were jagged - uneven. Spitting out of his plump lips like he didn’t even know they were every time Gojo’s fat, leaky tip was gliding across your cervix, your g-spot. Leaving possessive little bruises to claim you from the inside out. 

“C-close.” you slur out, not even sure if he could hear over the dull slap of his balls on your ass, and the greedy squelches of your cunt. “More, Toru.”

Yet your sinful, sickly sweet noises have him freezing - if only for a split-second. Pussydrunk eyes going wide, jaw falling slack in such awe. 

But before you can fully appreciate this sight, he’s starting back his depraved thrusts again. Bouncing you harder - faster. Just dragging you along every ridge and bump of his swollen cock. Fingers just a needy blur toying with your poor clit. 

“M-more?” he whines into the crook of your neck, voice breaking at the end. “More. More?” He speaks up, like a mantra. Each word sending you spiraling down Gojo’s merciless cock, Panting, “Ever since you fuck- started rooming w’me, wanted this- wanted you to hah- be my first.” Holding you in such a vice-like grip as he splits you apart on his aching cock. Harder. “You’ve ruined me-” he spits against your lips, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “Don’ know how many times I’ve cum to your pretty panties. Ruined me- ruined me- fuck m’so close- ruined me.” Violent, even. 

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. 

And it’s only taking a few more unsteady jabs into your g-spot before a wave of euphoria is crashing over you. “Hngh-” you spasm in Gojo’s arms, his eyes going wide in wonder when your cunt squeezes him so fucking tight- only to-

“F-fuck!” he whines, connecting your lips to his. Kissing you even with your panties still stuffed into your mouth. And Gojo’s cumming and cumming so hard he doesn’t even think he’s breathing. Intertwining his tongue with yours to muffle his overstimulated moans, wrapping around your sweet slick-soaked panties in the middle. The contrast of his soft tongue with the lazy fabric of your panties only making you milk his poor cock harder. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- fuck- Take it. Take it, my girl.”

You moan incoherently, going insane at the way he was filling you up with long, thick ropes of cum. Fucking deeper and deeper up into you to paint your plushy walls from the inside. 

“S’all I’ve- ngh wanted.” he murmurs throatily, such a fucking mess now. Face flushed, eyes glassy with tears, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth with the way he was sucking lewdly on your tongue. “You’re all I-I’ve ever wanted.”

Shit, he hasn’t cum this hard in his life.

Finally having had enough of shutting up your smart mouth, Gojo slows down to deep little grinds - still moving. Still trying to hold back his moans at that creamy ring around his hilt, at the globs of seed trickling out of your poor overfilled pussy. 

“Hah- Toru-” you whine when he pries away the fabric in your mouth. Shuddering with the swipe of his finger along your clit, “C-could almost ngh- forgive you…”

“The blue one.”

“What?” you’re staring at him in confusion, and Gojo’s fucked-out grin only spreads wider. 

“That was for the b-blue one.” you gasp when his balls suddenly squeeze so painfully underneath you. Cock jerking in interest, “Y’gonna have me make up for that whole drawer full of panties, sweetheart?”

A/N. VIRGIN GOJO BRAIN ROT GOES BRRRRRRRR

Plagiarism not authorized.

[alexiroflife]

jjk men when you aren't feeling well but try to hide it...

"hello! i was wondering if you could write an angst but w comfort fluff headcannon w the jjk men? i was thinking reader has an injury or is sick but she hides it, but they find out. it would be great if you can, but if not i totally understand. your writing is amazing!!!" -anon

gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

satoru gojo: (sprained ankle!)

you're fucked.

you know you are the moment you go to pick yourself up from your boyfriend's hardwood kitchen floors and wince in pain in reaction to the pressure in your left ankle.

you hiss, immediately stumbling back to a sitting position. You look over your outstretched foot to find that your ankle is rapidly swelling, and you curse under your breath.

this is so inconvenient. of all times to injure yourself, you of course had to a day before an important mission. you never handle injuries very well. you are always so quick to brush them off, or at least be in denial about them because you can't stand the thought of feeling helpless or incapable.

especially not when satoru gojo is your boyfriend, who unfortunately knows you far too well to overlook something like an injury to your ankle.

damn. what are you supposed to do? satoru will never let you out of his sight, let alone allow you to go on this mission if he finds out about your injury. as much as you love the way he looks after you, you're not in the mood to accept the fact that you may not be able to walk for a few days without his help.

you try to stand again, stubborn with determination. you grip onto the countertop and rise slowly on your able foot, then lean to press your injured foot down slowly. okay... not so bad! Maybe you can add just a little bit more pressure, and-

"fuck," you curse, sharp pain throbbing through your foot the moment you try to walk. You lift your leg immediately and whimper, leaning your body against the counter. "god dammit," you pout.

you should ice it, you think, but icing it will only make the injury more real. maybe it's not so bad, right? maybe if you just sit down for a bit and push it to the back of your head, it will go away?

you know it's not smart, but truthfully, you don't have the time to worry about a stupid ankle. you're sure you only irritated it. with some rest, you'll be fine.

you hop your way up the stairs with your hand gripping the railing tightly to your shared bedroom and ease yourself into bed. you decide you'll take a nap while you wait for satoru to come home, ignoring the simmering pain in your swollen ankle.

"babyyy!"

you wake suddenly to the sound of satoru's voice singing through the house. you jump and immediately hold in a whimper of pain when you accidentally shift your foot beneath the covers. you can tell solely by the lack of mobility in your ankle that it's, unsurprisingly, gotten worse.

you panic, moving quickly to prop your back up against the headboard. you fix yourself in the most normal possible position you can without agitating your foot, and you turn to the door with an innocent expression the second satoru bursts through with a beam.

"hey, pretty," he walks in and immediately crouches over the bed to wrap you up in a hug. you cringe as his lips meet every crook of your face, his body enveloping you in warmth. "missed you so much today," he sighs.

"missed you too, toru," you wrap your arms around his back. "how was your day?"

"same old same old. the higher-ups only get more annoying each day, if that's even possible," he grumbles into your ear, slumping against you. "what are you doing cooped up here all by yourself? you taking a nap?"

"yeah, I just woke up," you tell him with a hefty exhale, his lips meeting the crook of your neck lazily as he nuzzles into you. "you wanna take one with me, you big baby?" you giggle.

"god yes," satoru agrees. "but first, I'm starving. did you eat while I was gone?"

"nah, I waited for you, toru."

"well, you normally cook, baby, I was waiting for you."

you momentarily freeze and he pulls back reluctantly, not before dotting one more kiss to the crook of your jaw. you had completely forgotten about making dinner, but seeing how you couldn't even walk, those cards were off the table.

he looks down at you with his arms propped on either side of your figure on the bed. your ankle continues to throb, and while you try to hide the pain that you are currently in by shifting ever so subtly beneath him, his sapphire eyes catch the twitch in your brow and the motion of your body beneath his blindfold.

"not that I care if you cook or not. obviously you were tired..." he trails off. "you okay?"

fucking hell, damn those six eyes.

you nod despite yourself, keeping a soft smile as you brush your fingers over satoru's hair. "yeah, of course. just tired like you said. I'm sorry about dinner, it slipped my mind."

"don't you dare apologize," he ducks down to kiss your cheek loudly. "we can go out to eat. make it a date before your big mission tomorrow, yeah?"

you internally deflate. the idea sounds amazing, but going on a date would mean getting up, getting dressed, and walking out the door. you're unfortunately physically incapable of doing any of the above at the moment.

satoru watches the way your shoulders slump and your lips part as if to protest, and he tilts his head in slight confusion. "...or not..." he says slowly.

"sorry, toru, it's not that I don't wanna go, i just don't have the energy..." you excuse pathetically.

satoru's face tells you that he doesn't buy your words, but he complies nonetheless. "that's no problem, baby, we can order in instead."

you sigh and nod with a gentle smile. "that sounds great."

"someone's feeling real lazy today, huh?" he teases, hooking his finger into his blindfold to peel it from his face, revealing his bright irises gazing curiously down at you. "you sure you're just tired?"

"yeah... why?"

"i'm just askin," he says. his eyes dart over you one more time before he pushes himself up with an exhale and tugging at your arm. "come on, let's go to the living room to order."

why the hell does he want to move around so much?!

"um- why can't we just order here?"

a smile quirks on Satoru's lips as though you've made a joke. "cause, we'll be downstairs once the food gets here," he says.

you pucker your lips slightly and tilt your head. "can't we just eat it up here and you can go get it?"

gojo's eyes are now slim with suspicion as he pulls himself back over to you. "i mean, of course i can but you never eat takeout in bed, we always cuddle downstairs and eat."

"I'm tired, can't i change it up today?"

"you know i have no problem doing what you want and pampering you baby," satoru starts slowly. his eyes dash to your legs, and he suddenly notes that he has not seen you bend them in the few minutes he has been home. in fact, you had been rather stagnant instead of running up to clobber him when he entered the room, whether you were previously asleep or not. "but you're acting a little weird."

"no, I'm not," you deny adamantly. you have always been a poor liar, but in the face of Satoru Gojo, your lack of talent in the arena only proves to be more prominent. "you think too much, you know that?"

"you think so?" he raises a brow at you, a hint of playfulness remaining though it is steadily fleeting the longer he examines you. "you think i'm thinking too much if i feel like you're lying to me?"

you press your lips together tightly. "...yes."

"hm," he nods. "come here for a second, pretty," he requests, stepping back a bit to give you room to stand. "just real quick, then you can lay back down and I'll get us that food."

"why do you want me to stand?"

"i wanna give you a big hug," he opens his arms widely. "c'mon, give your loving boyfriend a hug. you'd never deny me that after such a long day."

"come hug me here, then," you roll your eyes, turning to look the other way as heat overtakes your body.

"i want to hold you and pick you up," he argues, knowingly. "just stand and walk to me for one second."

"no."

"no?!"

"no, i don't want to."

"don't want to or you can't?" he accuses, face falling along with his arms. he moves to sit at the edge of the bed beside your legs, resting a hand over your uninjured one. "why can't you get up?" he asks, this time a tad more serious.

"i don't feel like it, satoru, god," you murmur in annoyance, growing agitated with his swiftness to notice that something is wrong.

"don't 'satoru' me, baby, you're the one not telling the truth," he says. "what's wrong with your legs?"

"nothing."

"then stand up."

"no, satoru. stop telling me to stand."

"i will if you tell me what's wrong."

"nothing's wrong!" you shrug harshly, crossing your arms and suddenly taking interest in whatever is outside of the bedroom window. satoru stares at you intently for a moment then back down at your covered legs.

he gazes harshly between the two, pondering, before reaching over to rip the comforter upward to reveal your bare feet. you gasp slightly, jerking to stop him, when your swollen ankle is revealed.

his brows immediately angle and he leans to hastily look over it. "(y/n), what the hell?! what happened to your foot?"

you grow embarrassed suddenly, moving to brush his hands away. "it's not that bad, stop," you say, going to move your leg to the side when you hiss sharply.

"not that bad? baby, your ankle's the size of a golfball!"

"satoru, you're being dramatic."

"what happened?" he asks, concerned. "did this happen while I was gone?"

"it's fine, relax."

"(y/n)," satoru begins sternly. you can tell that you've pinched a nerve. "i'm about to lose it if you don't tell me how this happened and why you were trying to hide it from me."

you frown. "But-"

"Now."

you hug your arms around yourself with another meek shrug. "it's humiliating..." you murmur.

satoru softens slightly. "baby, humiliating? i'm worried about you getting hurt."

"yeah, but-" you sigh and close your eyes, your emotions suddenly getting the best of you. you hate feeling small and weak, as though you can't handle yourself, and you swear every time you injure yourself or get sick, it's the worst possible thing that could happen in the entire world. "i don't know. whatever."

"uh uh uh," your white-haired boyfriend tuts, leaning over the smooth his hand over your leg comfortingly. "it's not 'whatever.' i know exactly how you are. you can't fool me. is this about your mission tomorrow?"

"it's not just about the mission, toru, i just don't- i hate it when i can't do stuff on my own."

"you don't have to tell me something i'm already well aware of." you give him a look. "don't look at me like that. i know you like the back of my hand, and i especially know when you're uncomfortable."

"i get it, toru," you frown.

"why the attitude, hm?" he asks, leaning over to prop his elbow on the other side of you, his body resting against your lap as he peers up at you gently. "it's okay to get hurt- well, no, it's not okay for you to get hurt because it makes me wanna die, but you get what I mean."

your lips twitch in amusement momentarily, leading satoru to grin widely.

"there's that pretty smile."

"it's just-" you huff. "it was such a stupid thing... i rolled my ankle stepping down from closing the cabinets and when it started getting worse, i thought it was so dumb that something so small did that to me so i left it alone. now it's probably twisted, and i just feel really..."

"you're not weak," satoru interjects urgently. "if that's what you're saying, which i'm pretty sure you are. you're far from what i would call weak."

"still. it still made me feel weak. and i'm supposed to go on that mission tomorrow, and i don't know what the hell i'm gonna tell yaga-"

"forget the mission."

"...satoru, i can't just-"

"you can and you will. you have an injury, baby. you can't walk. it's okay, i'll talk to yaga and he'll get someone else on the assignment while I take care of you."

"but the fact that you even have to do that because i was clumsy!" you shake your head and look down. "it's so ridiculous. and i knew you were gonna worry..."

"of course i'm gonna worry, (y/n). no less than you'd worry for me."

"but you're you."

"so? do you worry for me any less because of that?"

"i mean... i know you're always gonna be fine, but... yeah, i guess."

"you guess?" satoru scoffs. "to think, my girlfriend doesn't care about me..."

"oh shut up," you nudge his head away. his grin remains, face turning back to you as he captures you in his soft gaze. "obviously I worry."

"then, there you go," satoru says. his free hand runs over your hip. "i know you can handle yourself just fine and that you're strong as hell, but whether you're going on a mission or stubbing your toe, I'm worrying 'cause i love you."

you pout slightly. "I love you too."

"i know," he beams, kissing your thigh. "so stop with that. as if you'd ever be weak for getting a little boo boo."

"yeah, but now you're not gonna let me do anything," you whine.

"is there really such a big problem with that?" satoru smirks. "try hiding an injury from me again, and you really won't be able to do anything. now let me see."

he pushes himself up to round the edge of the bed. he kneels down and cradles your foot in his hand delicately, fingers grazing the area of swelling. his brow angles. "can you move it?"

you shake your head slowly. "not without it hurting."

"in all seriousness, baby, you need to take better care of yourself. why didn't you ice it?"

"...i wanted it to go away."

"and you walked up the stairs after rolling your ankle?!"

"i wanted to get into bed!"

satoru lowers his head. "what am i gonna do with you? you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days."

"it's really not that serious. i just need to rest it a bit and then I'll be fine-"

"i'm gonna go cook you some dinner, okay? then we can eat in bed and cuddle, and then I'll run you a hot bath later."

"satoru, i just said it's not that serious! please don't go burning down the house because of my ankle. we can literally still order food," you try to convince him, but the blue-eyed man is already on his feet, by your side, and kissing your lips.

"not another word. you're practically dying, now, i have to look after you."

"toru-"

"i'll be right back, i'm gonna grab you some ice and a pillow for your foot."

"satoru!"

but when you call him, he's already zooming out of the room and down the stairs. you sigh and plop your head back against the headboard with a soft smile. as humiliating as you find it to be injured, you can never say that gojo doesn't do everything he can, if not excessively more, to look after you when you are.

suguru geto: (cold!)

shit.

you step into the bathroom for the umpteenth time today to blow your nose, clearing your searing throat as you do so with a groan.

something in you knew this morning that you were coming down with a cold when you woke up to that dreadful scratch in the back of your throat, but the idea of getting sick physically ails you more than actually being sick does.

you're far too busy today to be weighed down by some common cold. you're in between meetings at work as you toss another tissue into the women's trash. You have paperwork to finish filling out by midnight, and you have to pick up the girls later from daycare.

how can you be sick of all things?

you know it's likely because you run yourself ragged more often than you need to, and suguru always tells you to slow down and take a breath, but you rarely listen to him. your life moves at a quick pace, constantly on the run from one task to the next, and you truly do not feel that you have the leisure of giving yourself one second to rest.

you're on the verge of earning a new promotion, and you need the money. you need the opportunities, and the accomplishments to care for the family you've built with geto. just as suguru works tirelessly to manage his cult, you work tirelessly to keep a living for yourself.

you're proud of the work you have done, truly you are, but at times it feels as though you are amounting to nothing, chasing promises of a higher position that have yet to come. despite the haziness of the path ahead, you push harder and harder each day.

suguru hates it, how you drive yourself to the brink of insanity day in and day out, but you can't help but be an overachiever. you can't help but work hard for those who may not even deserve it.

and now, of course, you're sick. you can feel your temperature spiking, your nose is stuffy, and your head is pounding. you want to go home and curl into bed, but you have responsibilities to fulfill. just a few more hours... then you're home with geto, with the girls, safe in bed just to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

you jump when your phone suddenly rings in your pocket. you pull it out to see your boyfriend's contact, and you straighten yourself up as best as you can to make it sound as though you aren't struggling to breathe through your nostrils.

"hello?"

"hey, babe, how's work going?" suguru's soothing voice echoes through the phone and you sigh, clinging to the comfort his tone provides. you miss him. you want to go home already.

"it's good," you lie. "i have a few more meetings. then some paperwork to finish, but I'll be able to get mimi and nana on time."

"actually, i called to tell you not to worry about that. i got finished up here with the group pretty early, so i'll be able to get them later."

you're relieved that you won't have to expose the girls to your germs in the car. "okay, thanks for letting me know. you need me to pick up some food on the way home?"

"no, we're gonna make pizzas later. the girls have been dying to try it making it from scratch forever, so i'll take them to the store once i get them."

"...oh. okay..." you nod. "there's nothing else you need me to do then?"

"just to come home in one piece," suguru says. "i'm trying to take some stuff off your plate, (y/n). you've been exhausted, and you can't tell me otherwise."

"sugu, I'm fine," you dismiss him, only to turn your head into your elbow to muffle a cough. you forget to mute the call when you do so.

"what was that? are you okay?" the dark-haired man questions quickly. "you're not sick, are you?"

"no, no," you deny fast, voice slightly hoarse. you clear your throat quickly. "something was just- stuck in my throat. but I'm fine. i'm not sick."

suguru's quiet for a moment, and you chew on the inside of your lip while you wait for him to respond. you know it's impossible to fool suguru, especially when it comes to matters regarding you or the girls, but you can't handle him worrying over you right now. his concerns would only bring you back to reality, pulling you from this cycle of overworking you've fallen into. you need to keep going. You can't stop, and if suguru knows you're sick, he will make you stop.

"suguru? you there?" you finally say.

"oh yeah, i'm here," he responds rather quickly, and you internally curse yourself. "what time do you get off?"

"uhhh..." you think about it for a moment. it's 3:30 now, and technically you only have an hour and a half left, but since the girls will be picked up by Suguru, you realize you can finish your paperwork in the office. "today's kind of a long day... so I probably won't be home until... 7?"

"(Y/n)."

"i know, i know, but listen, i just have to finish up this paperwork. that's all."

"weren't you just gonna do it at home?"

"well, yeah, but since you're getting the girls, it's kinda easier for me to finish it here..." you start mumbling lowly, knowing that whatever explanation you give is not one that suguru will willingly accept.

"babe, please just come home at a normal time today. you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"i promise it won't be past 7. i swear. just let me get this done, and I'll be home."

suguru releases a hefty sigh, and you can picture him rubbing his thumb against his forehead in stress. "7 o'clock, (y/n). i mean it. if you're so much as five minutes late, i'm coming over there myself with rainbow dragon."

you chuckle softly. "i promise it won't get to that. i'll be fine, alright? i'll text you when I'm headed out."

"okay. I'll see you in a bit."

after your meetings had ended, your cold symptoms grew worse. your coughs were more frequent, a pile of tissues were stacked at your cubicle, and the glare of your computer screen felt as though it was burning a hole into your already aching head.

you feel miserable, and as luck would have it, your boss placed a new stack of papers onto your desk to finish filling out before you went home on his way out of the door.

you're alone in the office now, surrounded by excess assignments, and you can hardly breathe through your nose. you check the time, and its thirty to the time you told suguru you'd be home. you groan, rubbing your hands over your face.

you're tired. your bones are aching. you want to be with the girls, you want to be home, you don't want to do this anymore. you're so burned out, it hurts, and you want to cry and collapse face-first onto your desk at the same time.

just then, your phone lights up with a message from suguru. you open it eagerly to be greeted with an image of the girls beaming up at the camera in the kitchen, hands covered in tomato sauce as they display them to the phone. beneath the photo, suguru types.

we miss you :(

you break, placing your phone down and shielding your face in your hands as the tears flow. god, you miss spending time with them. you're hardly home anymore because you've been so busy with work, and you're yearning to be held by your boyfriend, to hear the girls laugh, to sink into the bed combined with your deteriorating physical state makes you feel worse.

you miss having a life.

you don't know how long you spend crying in your empty office before your body shuts down on you completely. the energy you exerted shedding tears in addition to your long days at work send you into a deep sleep. before you know it, you're knocked out with your cheek pressed against one of your unfinished papers.

the second you failed to answer Suguru's text, he knew something was wrong. he calls, and calls, and calls after twenty minutes, but you don't answer. He wastes absolutely no time in calling up manami to look after the girls before trekking out of the house to you with rainbow dragon, just as he promised.

he's prepared to break a window when he sees the janitor leaving the building. he takes the opportunity to swoop in through the doors after grumbling something about his girlfriend being inside, before making his way up to you.

when he reaches your office, he finds you lying in the only occupied cubicle. His eyes go wide as he studies your slumped figure, walking slowly to where you're seated. he notes the tissues and cough drop wrappers crowding your space, then the tears that coat your lashes when he kneels down.

"jesus, (y/n)," he murmurs, swiftly getting to work and clearing your desk of all your trash. when he's done, he crouches by you again and runs a hand over your back. "baby, wake up for me. come on," he coaxes softly.

you stir, face tightening in discomfort. suguru sees the bags under your eyes and his frown deepens. Eventually, you wake with furrowed brows, adjusting your blurry eyes to the sight of suguru gazing down at you worriedly.

"sugu...?" you mumble weakly, only to be interrupted by a few coughs that rack your chest. suguru's heart aches.

"i knew it," he sighs, eyes hardening as his hand strokes over your warm forehead. "why don't you listen?"

"what are you doing here?" you grumble, picking your head up slowly. you're greeted with a retched reminder of your headache, and you wince, pressing your hand to your head.

"we had an agreement, remember?" he reminds you, and you slowly recall. you move to grab your phone and the time reads 7:15. "i wasn't joking."

"suguru..."

"stop," he immediately cuts you off. "look at you, (y/n). you've made yourself sick."

"it's just a- a cough," you murmur, rubbing your irritated eyes harshly.

"that's bullshit, baby," he tells you rather firmly. "i don't know why you're trying to hide this from me when i knew something like this would happen. we're going home."

"no, wait, Suguru, i didn't finish my paperwork yet."

"do you think I give two shits about your paperwork?"

his tone comes off rather harshly, and both of you notice. he blinks his eyes tensely and readjusts himself, attempting to reel in his anger. his anger for you, over your lack of care for your wellbeing, at your fucking boss for letting you work yourself like this.

"you've been killing yourself for weeks, (y/n). i won't let you anymore. this is the last straw."

"hold on," you urge. suguru looks down at you, befuddled. "i really can't just up and leave my work behind like this. I'm sorry, I can't."

"what's more important to you, (y/n)? being healthy or working yourself to death?" he proposes, almost pained by the latter. "if you cared about your well-being, you would have asked for an extension or at least had a conversation with your dick of a boss about doing this another time. anyone can see that you aren't feeling well, and someone who cares will tell you that enough is enough."

"don't make me do this, suguru," you whimper. suguru's face relaxes when he sees your eyes glossing over. "don't make me stop. I can't stop."

"baby," he curls his brows, holding your cheek in his hand as he kneels before you. "why are you doing this to yourself?"

"b-because, I have to..."

"no, you don't. i've been telling you this for years, you don't have to do this."

"but I need to make something of myself. i have to keep going. i can't just quit, because if I do, then what will any of this have meant? why have i been doing this?"

"you're breaking my heart, baby," suguru exhales. "this job doesn't define you. i see how hardworking, smart, and strong you are. i see the effort you put into everything you do. i see the commitment in your heart. i see it everywhere, all the time, and that is one of many reasons why i love you so much."

your lips wobble as you look into his hazel eyes as his voice and words melt you into his palm. you've been moving so fast all this time, you've been trying to prevent yourself from falling into suguru's warmth, which has always had the power to make you do anything he says.

"but I can't stand to watch you make yourself sick because you think there's more you need to do. this isn't good for you. you know it isn't."

you nod, red nose flaring as you sniff. "i know," you admit.

"so please, please take a break. i'm literally begging you. you need to come home and rest. i'll take care of everything else, just come home. lay down. come back to us. to me."

your shoulders jerk as a few tears drop from your eyes. "sugu, i can't do this anymore," you finally give in. "i don't even feel like myself. i just want to go home."

"then let's go baby, come on," he stands and takes you with him in his arms, pressing your body to his as he holds you. you sink into him, your exhaustion and your sickness finally crashing down over you. "i'm gonna fucking kill your boss," he murmurs into your hair.

you laugh weakly against him, closing your eyes. "later. just take me home, now. please."

"yes ma'am," he nods, kneeling down to pick you up into his arms. you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest.

"m'gonna get you sick," you mutter.

"we can be sick together," he chuckles. "the girls and I can make you some soup. they've been obsessed with cooking lately," he says, leaning over to shut off your monitor before carrying you off to the elevators.

"that picture of them you sent earlier made me so sad. I miss you guys so much."

"i'm sorry baby, i didn't mean to upset you that much. i was only trying to guilt you a little into coming home early."

you slap his shoulder pathetically. "asshole."

"i know, i'm sorry," he kisses your head. "gonna get you all better in no time."

kento nanami: (low iron!)

you have always been a little anemic, and of course that never really posed as a terrible challenge for you until you ran out of iron supplements.

it is your responsibility undoubtedly to keep track of when you run out and when you need to restock, but recently, you've found yourself neglecting the habit.

you never did like taking iron pills, or any supplements for that matter. you feel as though they take too much out of your daily life, as though they're a burden to your existence, and the harder you think about it, the less inclined you are to keep track of it.

it's been about three weeks since you last took your iron, and while you would like to say that you have improved significantly, you would be lying.

perhaps the first few days of not taking your supplements was fine, but as time droned on, the symptoms kicked back in rather quickly. you are extremely tired all the time, you feel lighter on your feet as if you are going to pass out at any given moment, and your hands and feet are ridiculously cold though it is now the summertime, and the weather outside thoroughly contrasts your body temperature.

you're in denial about the changes, of course. you want to be able to feel fine without the crutch of your pills, but the reality of the situation is that you don't, and it's crushing you for some reason.

what's crushing you more is that you know how disappointed nanami will be to find out that you haven't been being responsible in stocking up on your supplements. he would normally keep track of when you run out in addition to you, but he's reeled it in a bit over the past few months because you wanted him to trust that you can handle taking care of something that you've managed all of your life, so he did.

and yet, here you are, trying to hide the symptoms of your iron deficiency that are only proving harder to veil. nanami has already asked you a few times if you are feeling okay over the past few weeks, therefore you know that he suspects exactly what is happening, but you brush him off each time.

"i'm good, honey," you'd tell him. "just had a long day. what about you? how are you feeling?"

you feel like shit lying to him, but you're afraid of being truthful for some reason. he would scold you, and you'd have to resort to the aid of your only weakness all over again.

god, why can't you just be normal?

you've even tried to ween off of the strict iron-sufficient diet that you've been on practically all your life because you feel like you have something to prove, especially in this world of jujutsu. how can you be a sorcerer with low iron? how can something so smell render you so weak? it's pathetic.

you don't want to think about it, in truth. you want it all to just go away. you want to be fine, to feel fine without eating certain things constantly or taking those damn pills, and you try to force yourself to, but it only grows worse the longer you hide it.

you stumble into your home after a long day of teaching and press your back to the door with a sigh. you know nanami won't be home for another forty or so minutes, so you kick your shoes off, go grab a water, and plop down on the couch.

you feel so tired. you pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, leaning back. this is stupid, you think. you're being stupid. just reorder the damn pills.

but something stubborn within you refuses. something within you that must prove you can push past this.

you decide to watch some tv to distract you as you wait for nanami to return home. he suggested cooking for you tonight, so you rest until you hear him walking through the door.

"hi honey," he greets. you turn to smile gently at him as he rounds the corner. your cheeks pinch with happiness, your current turmoil momentarily forgotten when you see your husband approach. you go to stand and walk into his open arms, just like you normally do when he comes home.

you put the remote to the side and shoot up. your mind is occupied only by nanami as you move toward him, but you see his face drop and your vision turns upside down, and suddenly, you're falling.

kento is quick to react, ducking down impressively to catch you in his arms before you can hit the ground. you collapse into him, head dizzy and breath suddenly gone.

"sweetheart?! (y/n) are you alright? are you awake?"

you groan, shifting in his strong arms as they cradle you securely. when your vision regains focus, you're staring up at nanami's worried face, your body resting over his lap. you blink rapidly before realizing what just happened.

"oh shit," you whisper.

"(y/n)," nanami says your name again, caressing your cheek sweetly. "are you here with me now?"

"y-yeah," you nod, moving to sit up and press your hand to his chest. "i'm alright."

"absolutely not," he stops you immediately, pressing against you to lay you back down on his lip. you frown, looking up at him. "don't even try sitting up like that right now."

"kento," you start, growing worried by the tense look on his face. "i'm okay, really. i just sat up too fast."

"i know," he affirms, his thumb still smoothing over your skin. "and care to tell me why that alone is making you pass out?"

you can't find the words to respond as you stare at him, likely as guiltily as you feel. he hums knowingly.

"right," he sighs. "(y/n), how long has it been since you've taken your iron?"

and there it is. the very question you had been dreading.

"...i'm not sure what you're-"

"don't. really, don't," he interjects firmly and you shiver, rather unfamiliar with this side of your doting partner. "i'm still trying to adjust to the fact that you haven't been truthful with me. the least you can do is tell me how long it's been."

your heart drops. "kento..."

"i'm not in the mood for stalling, sweetheart. go on. out with it."

the sternness of his voice hardly matches the way he is holding you and stroking your cheek, but nevertheless, you feel awful. you avert your gaze and shrink into yourself. "three weeks."

"three?" he repeats incredulously, and you nod in shame. "i knew it had been over a week, but three, (y/n)?"

"i know," you mutter.

"why? after you told me not to check after you, to trust that you'd take care of yourself," nanami questions. "this is why i tried to help you. i know it can be a hassle sometimes, and forgetting is one thing, but to deliberately stop taking them when you know how much i worry about it... when you know how important it is for you?"

you bite hard on your lip and look away, brows curling. nanami notices immediately and softens himself, leaning down closer to you.

"my love," he starts. "i don't mean to upset you, but this is very upsetting to me."

"i know. i know, i'm sorry..." you whimper.

"but not because it's about me, (y/n), because it's about you. and you've been hiding this from me, of all things. i don't understand."

"i just didn't wanna take them anymore, ken," you say quietly.

the blonde furrows his brows. "you didn't want to take them? have you not been taking them for years?"

"i have but that's the problem. i'm a sorcerer now, and..." you exhale. "the point of being a sorcerer is to not have anything weighing you down, and this weighs me down."

"if anything, (y/n), not taking the supplements weighs you down more."

"no, i just mean- all of it, the whole iron deficiency, i hate it," you confess. "i'm tired of relying on something to be strong. i'm tired of being tied down to this. i wanted to see if i could overcome it, but i can't. i'll always have this problem, and it sucks, ken," you ramble. "if i could go without taking these pills and still do my job like i always have, then just maybe.... maybe i could be better. and i could prove that i... i don't need those stupid pills, or the extra greens, or the- whatever. just all of it."

nanami looks down at you rather sadly. "i had no idea you felt this way."

"i haven't always felt this way. it's just lately, i don't know, i feel pressured to go beyond."

"darling, your iron-deficiency doesn't make you any less talented than other sorcerers."

"i know. i mean, i should know, but i can't help but feel that way."

nanami presses his lips together, smoothing a knuckle over your cheekbone. "i'm sorry you feel like this."

"it's not your fault, ken. and i shouldn't have kept this from you, i know. i'm sorry. i just felt humiliated by it."

"there's nothing for you to be humiliated by," he reassures you. "your deficiency is no different from any of us having to feed ourselves or drink water in between missions to keep ourselves alive. it's a necessity, and though we are sorcerers, we live off of necessities to keep ourselves physically and mentally able to work. you have a responsibility to yourself. just like the rest of us. just because your iron's a little lower doesn't mean anything about who you are as a sorcerer."

"...i never thought of it like that. i've just been thinking of it as a burden."

"it's only a burden if you view it that way. you are a grade one sorcerer who i have watched climb the ranks effortlessly since we were in high school, all the while with an iron deficiency that you have always taken supplements for. that never stopped you," he says. "the problem comes in when you don't keep up with yourself and take care of those needs. just like how i'd be unable to work if i decided to skip my last few meals and drink less water."

"that makes sense," you mumble, capturing his soft brown eyes with yours.

"good," he nods. "(y/n) you can't neglect your needs like this."

"i know."

"i'm being serious. i'll start checking behind you again if i find out that you're not doing what you need to do to take care of your body."

"i know, ken, i'm sorry, i-" you stop yourself and shake your head. "i just let my insecurities get the best of me."

"then, let me handle taking care of your insecurities. you handle taking your supplements. do we have an agreement?"

you nod slowly. "yeah. we do. i'm sorry for lying again, ken."

"please don't do it again," he sighs, ducking to kiss your forehead. "but i know you wouldn't lie to me about anything else, and that you hiding this was solely out of fear."

you slowly move to sit up, and this time, kento helps you very gradually. he guides you back to sit on the couch and cups your face gently, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "i'll go order some more iron and then get started on dinner. alright?"

you hum with a soft smile. "alright. i love you, ken."

he returns your loving smile. "i love you more, sweetheart."

choso kamo: (broken finger!)

it had fully been an accident.

you should have been paying more attention to what you were doing and at the same time, so should have panda.

it really was an honest mistake. you were standing in the doorway as everyone left the classroom, your fingers clutched around the frame as everyone filed out. you were asking around if anyone had seen your boyfriend, and yuta mentioned that he saw him with yuji earlier that day.

you thanked him, and just as you were about to pull your hand away, panda, who was the last out of the room, slammed the door shut behind him thinking you had already moved out of the way.

but you hadn't.

the door flew into your index and middle fingers and you screamed bloody murder. the cursed corpse as well as his classmates whipped their heads around, and to panda's horror, you were knocking your forehead against the wall with tears in your eyes as your fingers trembled in the doorframe.

"(Y/N), HOLY SHIT I'M SO SORRY!"

you hadn't expected panda to actually break one of your fingers, but you give the freak credit for his unnatural strength. you later find out that yuji and choso had gone out to grab food for you when you see a text from your boyfriend pop up asking what flavor ramen you want the second you learn that shoko will not be available until late tonight.

for the time being, you're given a finger splint and pain medicine as though you aren't freaking surrounded by jujutsu sorcery.

and god, did it hurt! like, really, really hurt. your fingers are throbbing, and the one that isn't broken is bruised and stained with some blood. you wish you could be angrier at panda, but his groveling before your feet on his knees eases your frustration a bit. after all, it hadn't been on purpose.

you're sent home and you are given no choice but to wait until choso returns, and you're... nervous. choso never handles the ailment of his loved ones very well. his spiritual and physical connection to his brothers wellbeings' often causes him to lose his mind every time yuji gets accidentally punched in the face during training, and when it comes to you? well, choso is just the same if not somehow worse.

you remember one time you got a papercut and winced when your finger made contact with soap. choso was quick to your side, grasping your wrist and looking over your hand as though it had been severed off.

one thing you have come to know in your relationship with the brunette is that he would (and has) killed someone for the sake of the people closest to him. he does not mess around when it comes to his family, and he certainly doesn't mess around when it comes to you.

and while you think he can be a bit excessive with making sure you're alright when it's hardly necessary, it's first and foremost endearing, and it only makes you realize that he will go ballistic the second he finds out that someone broke your finger.

he doesn't naively think that you can never go unharmed, though he would be incredibly content with the notion if it were plausible. he's familiar with scars, wounds, fights, and battles, and he knows you're in the very center of it just as much as he and his brother are. but still, he hates it when you're hurt. he wants to protect you as best as he can, or to at least prevent you from suffering any more than a sorcerer already has to suffer. he only wants you to be safe.

so to prevent him from having a heart attack, you decide it's better if he doesn't know about the incident. when you answer his texts before heading home, you mention nothing about your poor finger in hopes of him not finding out at least until after you're healed.

that plan of yours, however, fails when choso comes barging through the door three hours earlier than you expected him to return. your eyes go wide from where you sit on the couch, and you have no time to even go to hide your fingers behind your back when choso marches up to you, agitated.

"uh-" you're cut off when he grabs your arm gently and lifts it into the air, your taped crooked finger showcasing itself to him. you press your lips together at how poorly the plan to conceal this from him has failed. "cho-"

"were you gonna tell me about this?" his violet eyes fly to yours in a fury, and you're almost stunned by how aggravated he looks. his voice is calm, low, but his face is wrecked with concern and almost betrayal.

"...i was, but i wanted to wait because i didn't want you to freak out..." you say slowly, watching him softly. "like you are now..?"

"that's not fair, (y/n)," he frowns and you furrow your brows. "that's not fair at all."

"woah, hold on... are you mad at me?"

"i don't know," he answers you honestly, looking between your face and your trembling hand. "i'm... upset."

"who told you about my fingers, love?"

"yuji got a text from yuta," he tells you, moving to sit down on the space beside you with your hand still cradled in his. "he said that panda was begging me not to kill him, and this was after i had talked to you."

"oh..." you sigh. "okay, yeah, i can see how that looks."

"why didn't you tell me you got hurt? and pretty badly too? where's ieiri?"

"she won't be back on campus for another hour," you explain. "i didn't want you to worry, cho, i figured i'd just tell you after it was better, but..."

"why would you try to hide something from me?" he asks you, suddenly sounding hurt. it's clear on his face that he doesn't understand why you would conceal something as important as your health from him, whether it was small or not. you tell each other everything, and that shouldn't have stopped now of all times because you don't want him to worry.

"i didn't know you'd get so upset, cho, honestly," you tell him. "i-" you stop when a sharp pain shoots through your fingers and you gasp. choso's face drops and he gently sets your hand down to his lap, panicked.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes. "shit, you must be in a lot of pain."

"it's nothing i haven't experienced before," you try to reassure him, giving him a tight smile.

"why does that matter?" choso drags his brows together. "pain is pain. i don't like when you feel any of it."

you melt. "i know. i know you don't, i don't like when you feel any of it either."

"so don't... keep stuff like this from me, (y/n)," he says sternly. "please, i need to know. i don't have the same connection to you that i have with my blood brothers, but i'm still connected to you all the same. when you hurt, i hurt."

"i get it cho, i'm sorry," you nod bashfully. "i wasn't trying to make you mad. i just don't like it when you're stressed out."

"i'm always stressed out," he says flatly, and you raise your brows with a halfhearted smile.

"yeah, i know. so why stress you even more?"

"i'd rather be stressed about you if i'm stressing about anything," he says, looking over your face as the hardness in his gaze washes away. "you know you're everything to me."

"i know, baby," you push out your bottom lip, pressing your free hand to the side of his cheek and leaning in to kiss him. his ears burn when you pull away, and he sighs heavily.

"don't offend me by trying to hide stuff like this. it won't work."

"i'm sorryyyy," you giggle and choso grumbles incoherently under his breath.

his gaze goes back to your fingers and his brows curl. "how the hell do you slam a door on someone's hand?" he hisses.

"it was an accident, cho, he didn't mean it."

"i know, and i shouldn't really be angry at him but i can't help but be irritated because you're hurt..." his fingers graze the tape. "how bad does it hurt?"

"cho, it'll be okay."

"that wasn't my question."

you roll your eyes at his attitude with a soft smile. "it hurts as much as a broken finger would."

"right. sorry," he murmurs.

"you're okay, love, you don't need to apologize."

"i still wish i- nevermind," he refrains himself from discussing how he wanted to be there to protect you from such an unpredictable occurence. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better while we wait? do you need anything?"

"ummm," you try to think. "actually, could you grab a new pack of ice from the freezer? and... the snacks you got me earlier."

the brunette's face brightens slightly with the thought that he can do something to help ease your pain as you wait for shoko to return to the school.

he nods in determination, carefully sliding your hand into your lap and kissing your cheek before hopping up to run to the kitchen. he returns with the items you requested, placing the snacks down beside him and lifting the bag of ice over your hand.

"like this?" he eases the bag down and you wince, nodding.

"mhm. yeah," you strain out. choso watches your face sadly, hating the fact that you're hurting.

"i'm sorry for getting upset," he mumbles. you turn to look at him curiously. "i just love you a lot."

"i love you more, cho," you smile gently, leaning your head against his shoulder. he sighs, resting his chin atop your head as he ices your hand. "and don't worry, i get it. i won't try to hide injuries from you anymore."

"i really hope so."

"now can you pass me those chips please?"

toji fushiguro: (knife cut!)

toji is going to absolutely kill you, and you are dreading the moment he does.

he has always told you not to touch his weapons. even if you see any of them lying around his place because he never bothers to clean up in between jobs. his one rule when you're over is to leave them alone and to let him handle them when he gets back. he doesn't care how much you protest, he doesn't care that you want to help him pick up after himself.

no touching. that is all he asks of you.

and of course... one afternoon when he's out sorting out some finances with shiu and one of his knives is glaring at you from where it lay on the kitchen table, you can't help yourself.

you don't really think anything is going to happen. after all, you're not a baby, nor are you an idiot. you know how to handle a freaking knife and you know where to put it, and yet, somehow, you allow your arrogance with the task to distract you. you're not handling it as carefully as you should be, and the second you hear the keys jingling outside the front door, you panic.

the blade, naturally, fumbles in your grasp, and swipes through the air, over your palm, and to the carpet. you jump, stepping away as quickly as it falls. you feel a sting in your hand and look down to see the fresh gash stretching over your skin. you gape as blood slowly simmers from the wound, befuddled as to how something like this even happened so quickly.

you have no time to clean it when you hear the key inside the lock. you hurriedly pick up the knife with your unwounded hand, place it back on the table where you first saw it, rip a napkin from said table to press to your bleeding palm, and clench it into a fist just as the door opens.

toji immediately greets you with a raised brow, jade eyes eying you oddly as he steps in. "the hell are you gettin' into?" he asks, confused by the way you are standing against the wall when he enters.

you're quick to move into his space to distract him from the vision of his knife and from looking any further downward from your face. you lean up on your tiptoes, normal hand on his forearm as you kiss his scarred lips. "what do you mean?"

"why were you just standing there like that?"

"can't I wait by the door for you to come back?" you bat your eyelashes, and toji grunts, gazing down at you with lidded eyes as his hand comes around the small of your back. "i'm just happy to see you."

"you take a pill or somethin', doll?"

you glare at him. "now why would you ask me that?"

"you're just acting a little too nice, that's all."

you scoff. "i don't know what you're talking about, i'm literally always happy to see you."

"yeah, but i was gone for thirty minutes and you never make a show of it like this."

"why are you making it sound like i don't show you love? you're the one who's mean all the time," you retort sassily.

a smirk captures toji's lips as he ducks down to kiss you again. "that's more like it," he murmurs against you. "still ain't answer my question though."

"i literally did. i told you i was waiting for you."

"sure," he says, unconvinced. his eyes drag down your body and momentarily go to your fist when you swiftly wrap both arms around his neck, pulling him down to crash your lips into him once more.

his brows narrow and as you kiss him, and you can feel the blood on your hand seeping through your napkin. you curse internally, lowering your hand back down behind him as he pulls away.

"not that i'm against this," toji starts, voice dangerously low against your mouth. "but it feels like you're tryin' to distract me from something."

"why would i be doing that?" you ask gently, looking up into his piercing eyes. he hums, dragging himself away from you. he grabs your chin softly and tilts your head left and right, looking over your face. "what are you doing?" you ask.

"lookin' for whatever you're hiding."

"i'm not hiding anything, toji."

"uh huh."

shit. it's never a good sign when toji doesn't even try to pretend to believe anything you're saying, and the way he's looking over your face let's you know that he at least suspects you've done something to yourself that he should know about.

you keep your fist to his back as he looks over the rest of your body with a rather relaxed expression, which only means that he doesn't suspect you touching any of his weapons. yet.

you have to keep his attention away from the knife on the table so that he doesn't figure it out.

"can you stop messing around already? i wanna go take a shower," you try to say, but toji doesn't listen.

"turn around f'me."

"huh?"

"huh?" he mimics you, looking at you unimpressed. "turn."

you suck your teeth. "i hate when you get like this."

"and i hate when you lie, now turn."

you grimance. you can't turn around with him looking down at your hand, and you're sure by now that the napkin you hold is coated red. your eye twitches in that moment when you feel a line of blood drip down your wrist.

god dammit. you're so dead.

nonetheless, you try to keep your palm facing inward as you slip it from his back and turn over your left shoulder, which connects to the uninjured hand. the second your back is to him, you bring your bloody hand in front of you.

"yeah, no," you hear toji gruffly say. your heart hammers in your throat and you know what's coming next. he moves around you to wrap his hand around your wrist and tug at it.

you cringe, allowing yourself to accept your fate when he pulls forward your balled up hand.

"open."

"can't we just-"

"open."

you sigh heavily, slowly peeling open your palm to reveal the red-stained napkin balled in it, the line of blood rushing down your inner arm, and the slice that stretches across your hand.

toji's eyes blow wide, and before he asks you anything, he throws his head over his shoulder to locate the knife that sits on the table. "are you fucking kidding me, (y/n)?" he growls, turning back to face you angrily.

"okay, let's not act like this is so crazy!" you immediately defend, throwing your other arm up. "you leave your shit lying around all the time!"

"and every single time, i tell you that i'll take care of it. what the fuck, do i have to go child-proofing the house now because of you?"

"if you would just be more mindful of how you leave your space, you wouldn't even have to worry about shit like this! you shouldn't even have knives lying around in the first place."

"i'm a grown man, (y/n), i know how to avoid cutting myself with the weapons i use daily."

"you're being a prick."

"oh baby, you must not know me because i'm about to be worse," he grunts, eyes heated with fury, and you frown.

"toji, come onnn, it was an accident."

"what do i always say about my weapons, (y/n)?"

"i just wanted to help you put it away, is that so crazy?"

"what. do i say. about my weapons."

you deflate slightly, uneased by the rate at which toji is growing angry with you. "...not to touch them."

"so why the fuck did you touch them?" he growls, picking up the napkin in your palm and tossing it over his shoulder. he looks over your wound and clenches his jaw. "fucking hell, (y/n)."

"look, i'm sorry."

"shut the hell up and come on."

despite his rage, he leads you to the bathoom with surprising care.

when you arrive, he flicks on the light with his free hand and swipes up a cloth from under the sink. he turns to you, pressing it down to your wound to stop the bleeding. once it seems like it's done, he puts the cloth down and turns on the faucet. "put your hand under," he orders, guiding it to the cool water nonetheless.

the water hits your open wound bitterly and you jump, watching the blood run through the drain as toji washes your arm as well.

"sit," he nods over to the bathtub, shutting off the faucet.

you oblige mutely, shuffling over and holding out your hand. you sit slowly on the ledge of the tub and watch as toji shuffles through his cupboards for a bottle of peroxide, some bandages, and ointment. you dread what is coming, for you know your hand is gonna sting like a bitch.

toji thuds over to sit hunched on the closed toilet lid, leaning over to grab your hand again. you stretch your fingers out and he sighs, shaking his head. "so fucking hard-headed," he murmurs.

you watch him screw open the bottle of liquid.

"go slowly," you plead.

"it's gonna hurt all the same, doll," he tells you, and you pout. "you should listen next time, then maybe you wouldn't have to go through this."

"shut the fuck up."

toji clicks his tongue, glancing at you momentarily before leaning down and holding the bottle over you, grasping your wrist loosely with your hand above his knee. "keep still."

the peroxide comes flooding out of the bottle and onto your hand, bubbling instantly over your gash. you whimper, tensing your body and scrunching your eyes at the sting.

"i know," toji mumbles, smoothing his thumb gently over your wrist. "you're alright."

your fingers dig into your thigh as it continues to burn. toji leans over to put down the bottle and continues to caress your arm, lowering your hand to his lap. he blows over your palm slightly as the peroxide dries, and you eventually open your eyes.

"not so bad," he tells you. he leans himself back to reach for a new cloth then pats it around the gash, drying your hand and your arm. he reaches back again for the tube of almost empty ointment he found and twists it open, squeezing it over your wound. "shit, hold on," he stops. he lets you lift your hand as he rushes to wash his own before coming to sit back down at hold yours on his leg again, now with bandages in hand.

you watch him gently as he works the bandage over you with such attentiveness, a dip in his brow proving his focus. you suddenly feel guilty for making him worry.

"i'm sorry," you finally say again, this time with more meaning.

toji's green eyes snap up at you amidst his wrapping. "yeah?"

"i really was just trying to help you. didn't mean to stress you out."

toji sighs, pausing his movements to look you in the eye. "you need to be more careful. i tell you not to touch my stuff because it's not your responsibility. obviously i know you can yourself, but some of my shit's really dangerous and i don't want you gettin' hurt," he gestures to your hand. "it could've been a lot worse, but still."

"if you don't want me touching your weapons, toji, you should probably clean them up more," you quirk a brow and he exhales loudly.

"i'm seeing that now, yeah," he says. "i'll be more careful if you are. don't need my doll getting a bunch of scars 'cause of me, now."

you smile softly. "yeah. i won't touch your stuff anymore, i promise."

"...how about instead i just... teach you how to handle 'em the right way?"

you perk up. "really?"

"i don't see why not. i'd rather you know how to use some of it than see you scrape yourself up because you don't know how to hold a knife."

"don't be a smartass."

toji smirks, continuing with his wrapping of your hand. "i mean it. i'll sit down with you sometime to show you."

"...how about after we're done here?"

"don't fucking push it."

ryomen sukuna: (fever!)

you wake up in a cold sweat, shivering.

you groan in displeasure, rolling over, slightly discombobulated. it can't be any later than 7 am, but you are boiling hot. you press your hand to your forehead and curse. you're sweating profusely and you feel incredibly lightheaded.

you don't even have the energy to get up, but you know that you need to take your temperature. you shudder, carefully shuffling out of bed and wincing as every brush against your skin feels like the stab of a thousand pins and needles.

you lethargically make your way to your bathroom, the cool air hitting your neck and sending you into a fit of shivers. you cling to yourself, teeth chattering, and reach into your cabinet for a thermometer. with half-open eyes, you pop it under your tongue and make your way back to your bed, bundling up in your blankets and curling into a ball.

it feels like hours before the beep resounds, and you slowly lift it from your mouth to read the little digital numbers.

102.4. perfect.

you shudder in pain, tossing the thermometer to the side and nestling your face in your pillows. you feel like absolute shit, but you can't bring yourself to do much else. you need medicine, water, a cool compress, but none of those things you have access to currently.

you close your eyes as your mind swarms, body throbbing and shuddering with chills though the last thing you need is to be cuddled under the covers. you think maybe it will go away if you get some rest. maybe you just need to relax, to take some time in bed. you'll let sukuna know when-

shit! sukuna.

there's no way in hell or on earth that sukuna will allow you to go untreated if you tell him, but god, you don't feel like letting him know. despite his likely haste to make sure you have everything you need, you can only imagine the snarky comments about your fragility, your strange body, your vulnerability that he''ll spout.

you don't want to hear it. you don't want to hear any of it, because you're sure that if you do, you'll start crying. you're already worn down, clearly, and the last thing you need on top of a fever is your boyfriend joking about your weak state.

you elect to stay in bed and tell sukuna you'll see him another time if he pesters you today.

which of course, he does.

a whirlwind of alarming dreams that you almost thought were hallucinations are disrupted by the persistent buzzing of your phone on your dress. you groan, reaching out a shaky hand to blindly grab the device and answer the call, pressing it to your ear with no knowledge of who you're speaking to.

"yes?" you croak.

"can't answer a telephone call the first time it rings?" sukuna's voice thunders through the mic, and you lift your brows.

"kuna?" you try to say his name normally, despite the constant chatter of your teeth.

"who the hell else would it be?"

"sorry... i was asleep."

"at this hour?"

"...what'dy'mean?"

"jesus, woman, it's 2 in the afternoon. why the hell are you still in bed?"

you reel momentarily at his words. 2 pm? it was just 7 in the morning! have you really been sleeping all this time?

"oh..." is all you can manage to say before a chill wracks your body again. you cringe, curling into yourself and holding the phone away from you.

"oh?" the king of curses repeats. "what is the matter with you?"

"n-nothing," you respond quickly. "i guess i was up late last night. i was c-completely knocked out..." you tremble.

"last night you told me you were going to sleep early because you were tired, you brat."

fuckkkk.

how could you have forgotten about that? you hadn't been feeling well last night, which is likely the reason why you feel so much worse today, so you turned in early. "i- couldn't fall asleep until later, though," you mumble.

"you are attempting to deceive me," sukuna grunts. "care to explain why?"

"m'not, kuna," you sigh halfheartedly.

"what exactly do you take me for?"

you're really not in the mood for this. you're aching at this point, and you can tell your body temperature has only risen. you're so weak. you can barely even process the fact that you're on the phone, and you can't handle sukuna's attitude. not if he's not going to help, which you automatically assume that he won't.

"i'm going back to bed," you say softly.

"what do you mean back to bed?!" sukuna fumes. "seriously, what the hell is the matter with you. you sound ill."

"i'm not i-ill."

"then why do you keep stumbling over your words, woman?" he questions, his voice mellowing out into a steady intensity. "what is it now? your monthly plague? whatever you people call allergies?"

this is exactly why you don't want him to know. he handles these things too crudely, as if it's a burden upon his existence. "y-you ask too many damn questions."

"i wouldn't have to if you answered them. now talk."

"i'm fine, sukuna. i'm just gonna go back to sleep."

"you hang up this phone, i'm at your door in two seconds."

"that's impossible."

"try me."

you know he's serious, but you don't have the energy. you can't stay on the phone with him any longer, trying to speak like nothing's wrong. it's cold. so cold, but you're so hot. you're probably drenched in a pool of your own sweat, but you can't feel it. you want to sleep. you just want him to let you sleep.

your vision grows dizzy as you stare ahead, brows arching in discomfort. you think you press the end call button, but you can still hear his voice picking up in urgency... is he shouting? are you even on the phone anymore? you aren't sure.

your vision suddenly drifts into inky blackness as the phone rests beside you on your pillow. the last thing you are aware of before you slip into unconsciousness again is banging at your front door.

sukuna bursts into your apartment mere minutes after you stopped answering him on the phone. he looks about ready to kill, crimson eyes wide and pupils shrunken as he breathes heavily, looking all over your apartment.

he's stomping to your room and throwing the door open when he sees you laying in the bed. "(y/n)!" he barks, searching for some response from you, but all he recieves or nonsensical murmurs.

he moves quickly to the side of your bed and grabs at your shoulder, turning you over to find your sheets drenched and your face tight with discomfort. he falters, heart jerking at the sight. "...the fuck?"

he presses a hand to your sweat-drenched face and furrows his brows in concern. you're hot. too hot for the temperature of a human being, and you're sweating like crazy, mumbling things under your breath in your sleep he can't even hear.

"the fuck did you do?" he grumbles, starting to internally panic. he scrambles to remember what this could be. he knows of plague, of pestilence, so maybe you're suffering some form of that?

hell, he can't tell. not from a glance. he's not even sure if he knows how to help you. you're entirely too hot for him to brush this off like it's nothing, and you passed out in the middle of speaking to him.

he looks over and sees the thermometer on your sheets and leans over to pick it up. the screen reads a high number, which he assumes is the temperature of your body. curious himself, he prods open your jaw and tucks it into your mouth, pressing the button the way you had shown him when you had the flu to reset the time.

"come the fuck on," he growls as seconds tick by before it beeps, and he pulls it from your lips to read 104.7.

he doesn't know how far it is from your usual temp, but he knows it's high. too high.

he's quick to dial uraume for some more information, and the second he hears that you need immediate medical help, he's picking you up and making a run for it without even thinking that uraume can likely help you.

when you wake, you're blinded by nauseating lights blaring down overhead. "ugh," you groan, feeling light and disoriented. you turn your head to the side and blink, to find sukuna's face staring directly at you rather harshly.

you jump slightly, startled. "what-?" you start, scrunching your eyes to adjust to the sight before you. "sukuna? what are you..." you trail off when you realize that you aren't in your house, nor are you at sukuna's estate. instead, you're in a hospital bed hooked up to a series of fluids.

your eyes go wide as you sit up suddenly, only to be hit with a sudden dizzy spell that sends you leaning back into the bed.

"don't move," he orders, and you turn to him in confusion. never would you have expected to see the day that sukuna sits in a chair beside you in a hospital.

"why are we... what happened?"

"apparently you had a high fever," he answers harshly, fist-propping his chin up over his leg. "too high for you to be seen in my care, and too high for you to be lying in bed as though nothing was wrong."

your heart sinks. "how high?"

"when we got here, tipping past 105."

"...are you serious?"

"i had to come bust down your door to make sure you were alive. i put you on an empty roller downstairs because these fucking dumbass doctors can't see me and i had to get their attention so they could notice you. yes, i am serious."

he sounds pissed. and you hardly want to think of what he means by ‘getting their attention.’

"what do you have to say for yourself? for daring to lie to me? for pretending like you weren't on the brink of a much worse fate?"

"...i..."

"you're so lucky you're unwell, girl, because you don't even want to imagine the things i would do to you as punishment for putting yourself in such a ridiculous situation," he growls. "all you had to do was tell me and i would have taken care of it before it got worse."

you blink, almost dumbfounded. you still aren't all there, but you can tell that your fever has gone down significantly. you're no longer sweating and fewer chills wrack your body. "...huh?"

"did that fucking fever scramble your brain or what?" he fumes, eyeing you sharply. "you should have told me."

you part your lips slightly as you look at him. "honestly, sukuna, i didn't think you'd really... i don't know-"

"care?"

"no, not care. i just didn't think you'd handle it well. i didn't even handle it well myself."

"you believe me to be incapable of tending to sickness?"

"no, i just thought you'd like... not take it seriously."

sukuna's eyes darken, and you realize that you may have said the wrong thing. "in what reality would i fail to take any threat to your health seriously, whether you are frail or not?"

"see, that's what i mean. you always have to slip in something about me being frail."

"because you are. as a member of your species. look at where you lay currently," sukuna grimaces. "that is not an insult to you, it's an observation. it's an insult, however, to everyone else who isn't you."

you relax slightly. "then you were actually worried?"

sukuna scoffs. "why the hell do you think i'm sitting in a human hospital with your sick ass right now? i thought we were past you believing i do not concern myself over you."

you suddenly feel foolish, having forced yourself to suffer in your isolation and simultaneously made sukuna, of all people, worry over you.

"hm. feeling foolish, are you?" he says, reading your mind.

"shut up,," you whine, only to clutch your stomach suddenly with a groan. sukuna sighs as he gently eases your head back onto the pillow.

"i told you not to exert yourself. you give me a headache."

"kuna," you mumble.

"what?"

"can you... take me home?"

sukuna raises a brow. "home?"

"to your place," you clarify. "i don't wanna be here. i just want to be with you. want you to hold me."

"you're such a needy thing," he exhales, toying with a strand of your hair as he leans over and gazes gently at you. "you have medications you need to take."

"then bring them with."

"and if you get sick again? you've only been here ten hours."

"ten?!" you exclaim.

"you were very ill, (y/n)."

you groan. "ten is long enough. i hate hospitals. take me home. i feel better anyway, and if i get worse, i’ll just go to uraume."

sukuna sighs, standing slowly. "after i get these tubes out of you without further damaging you, i will take you home," he says, looking over the IVs that you're hooked up to.

you close your eyes tiredly and nod in acceptance. "okay," you murmur.

he grunts. "let me find some damn instructions.”

"kuna," your hand weakly reaches out to catch his wrist and he stops, turning to look down at you.

"what is it?"

you open your eyes to look up at him fondly, exhaustion welling in your gaze. "thank you."

the king of curses clenches his jaw. he smoothes ahead over your now warm forehead and leans over you. "don't do some shit like this again."

[evilminji]

I woke up to this thought? And it made me smile~

Wrong way Au?

It's EASY to fly from point A to point B. Linear. Just on long, no traffic, straight line. And if you get lost? Go higher! There you are! But "normal" reporter families with Totally Human genetics can't exactly DO that.

Plus? It's part of the whole Americana thing!

Childhood.

Gotta do a road trip, see weird road side attractions, camp and hike a bit. Go somewhere other then the farm for once. Soooo~ everyone into the car! Yes, you too, Kon.

And don't look at Lois, kids. She hates this idea as much as you do. But it's for Dad. So we're doing it. Get in the car. Some times loving people means "suuuure, honey! I TOTALLY want to sit in an uncomfortable car for hours for your nostalgic dream trip!", so get comfy.

Problem is? He either can't navigate for SHIT (unlikely) or this patch of nowhere? Possibly haunted? Cursed? Fuckey. Very, very Reality Fuckey. Far more likely, honestly. They THINK that was the a same barn the passed four times now... but it looks... wrong? Off. Worse each time, in ways that are hard to place.

Where the FUCK are they Clark?

According to the GPS?

Here.

(You are Here. You are Here. You are He-)

Oh, THAT'S not cursed! She fucking KNEW they shouldn't have left the city. FUCK the countryside. She likes ONE(1) small town and it's where her in-laws live, THANK YOU VERY MUCH! If they die, she swear to GOD-!!!

Then Jon points to colorful tents up the road. A mix of the kind you buy at big box stores and Ren fairs. Balloons. What the fuuuuuck? "Fenton Family Reunion"?

Was... was that THERE a second ago?

Clark's very deliberate Not Too Tight Grip Of Panic ™ on the steering wheel? Confirms that No Honey, it was not. Kon points out? That eventually they ARE going to run out of gas. They should stop.

Words can not express how little the Kents want to do that. They have KIDS to protect. This feels "magical fuckery" to them. AKA? One of the few things Kryptonians very much CAN NOT handle.

And luck getting ahold of anybody back there kids? No? Emergency lines too?

Fuck ™.

Okay! Guess we're stopping! Stay behind us.

They park.

There are campers and trucks, modified tanks and trackers. A few horses grazing side by side with an honest to God moose and two mules. A Llama. Someone's anchored a dirigible. A boat with spindly chicken footed legs, like it's the house of baba yaga's sea faring love child. The name Fenton is slapped on everything. Peoples faces.

Grinning.

Everything grinning.

As they get closer, the racket gets louder. Crashes and smashes. Roaring laughter. Explosions. The screech of metal failing and the whine of energy overclocked. Fatty meats cooking. Spices from around the globe. Radios and instruments, at least one of which violently cuts off in a smash.

They pass an almost violently balloon choked arch, into chaos.

Grinning giants, everywhere. Every color, every shade, every race imaginable. The spectrum of humanity laid bare. Made large. Grinning, Grinning, Grinning. Crashing into each other, against, through. Smashing and laughing, as everything breaks around them. Titans.

Darting underfoot, children. Fast with wild eyes. Mad grins and fae laughs. Wives and husband's, partners and friends, dancing in and out of the chaos. Just as destructive. Perhaps MORE so. Grabbing meals from grills, laughing and joking, tossing children into the fray, all as they effortless hold conversations of their own.

Like a Dionysian revelry, all madness and joy.

Then they are noticed.

"Cousin!"

One of them booms. Locking eyes on Clark. He doesn't even have time to move, doesn't realize until too late, in all the chaos, that the man meant HIM. A running start is followed by a brutal, full body, flying tackle. Clark is taken skidding to the ground and into a headlock.

"LETS WRASTLE~!!"

He watches in helpless confusion as, with high-pitched war cries, a pair of twins jump Jon. They are wearing war paint. Krypto already taken out by a glowing green dog, now confused and wrestling off to the side. Lois has whipped out her tazer. Kon between her and who ever comes next.

By the time he wrestle his "cousin" off of him, he's lost sight of them both.

Dives into the fray.

Magic be damned, that's his FAMILY!

It... It's the most fun he's had in years. That any of them have. He finds Lois in a breathless, screaming, debate/fistfight with her new best friend. Samantha "call me Sam Or ELSE" Manson-Fouley-Fenton. Kon is in the mud pit, wrestling other teenagers in some sort of battle Royale. Jon? Has become king of the ferals. The other parents are impressed.

His years of Damian wrangling finally paying dividends, apparently.

By the time Clark FINALLY tracks down Krypto, there is already crowd and it apparently six heel turns deep into the WWE Grand Saga of the Fenton Pet's League. Krypto, what the hell. No. No you may NOT "form one last alliance against my sworn wrestling enemy, to prove the true meaning of Christmas!" It's the middle of SUMMER!

Clark... Clark is so tired.

He's also a Fenton now. Yes, he KNOWS that's not how anything works. YOU try explaining that! He's on the call list and card list. It's like the Addams family out here! They just... just DECIDED him and his family were related! They've apparently DONE THAT BEFORE!

They leave with directions, fudge, more leftovers then anyone could possibly eat, and a massive new extended family. One that honestly? The Justice League SHOULD have known about. The sheer destructive chaos they get up too? EVERYONE should be aware of them. It seems impossible NOT to be! But? According to THEM, it's a "family thing". Reality tries to ignore them for "it's own sanity"? What???

So yeah.... no more road trips.

How was YOUR weekend?

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @lolottes @babbling-babull @dcxdpdabbles @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[whereubeenloca]

Doors

Part 3 of the Neighbor! Reader series: Table of contents

Summary: Carmy locks himself out, you help him.

Pairing: Carmy x Reader

Tags: VERY Slow burn, Awkward flirting

Word Count: 713

“Thanks. Have a good night.” You slur out to the Uber driver as you fumble with the door handle, slipping out of the car and clamoring to the sidewalk. 

Your boots clatter against the concrete, crunching the small bits of salt and ice below them. The wind whips your hair around as you walk the treacherous five feet to the front door. What was supposed to be a quick happy hour with your friends had turned into a bar crawl, and you were drunker than you’d like to be on a Wednesday night. Or was it Thursday now? Whatever, doesn’t matter, you decide as your hand blindly sweeps the bottom of your purse in search of the front door key. As your vision focuses you see something on the stoop, suddenly it shifts to the side. Wait- 

“Carmen?” You say a little too loud. 

The lump jumps and stares back at you. Tired eyes meet yours along with chapped cheeks and a runny nose. 

“Uh, hey.” He sniffles in response. 

“What-” You start, placing one foot in front of the other. You miss the first step and your ankle rolls into the concrete. He reaches for you as you awkwardly correct your position, gripping the cold metal railing to steady yourself. 

“What are you doing out here?” You try again as you pull yourself to the top step. 

“Got locked out.” He responds sheepishly, standing up from his spot on the ground. “Couldn’t get ahold of Randy.” 

You click your tongue as you dig through your purse once more. “Fuckin’- fuck Randy, dude.” Rolling your eyes at the thought of your landlord. 

“Asshole still hasn’t fixed my radiator. It’s free-zing in there.” You huff, keys in hand. 

You miss the keyhole once, twice, three times. The door clicks as it opens and you stumble inside. Carmy’s hands hover closer than usual, half ready to catch you and half ready to let you fall on your face. 

“No, yeah, totally uh. Fuck Randy.” Carmen mumbles as he follows on your heels, stopping in the small foyer of the shithole you both called home. 

“How long were you out there?” You ask over your shoulder as you attempt to climb the narrow staircase to your apartment. 

“Like an hour maybe.” He says tentatively, eyes glued to your back as he watches you oh so gracefully crawl up the stairs. 

“Jesus, you’re lucky then.” You huff, limbs heavy as you make your way to the landing. You push your weight into the wall next to your door, suddenly aware of how drunk you are. 

“I don’t like- I don’t do this often.” You say sheepishly “I swear.” 

He laughs in response “No- I mean. I didn’t think-” 

“But in case you did.” You interject, raising your hands.“I… do not.” Beautiful, eloquent, spoken like a true poet. No notes. 

Silence fills the air as you rock back onto your heels. 

“Are you… can you get inside your apartment okay?” You ask. 

He nods quickly. “Oh yeah, I uh- I have those ones.” He laughs, hands in his pockets.

“Good, good…” You nod simply, pressing your weight into the wall as you take a breath. He’s lingering, at least that’s what you want to think. 

“Can I… have your number?” You blurt out. 

Carmen’s eyebrows shoot up “I- uh.” he stutters out. 

The weight of your words suddenly hits you as heat climbs your neck. 

“In case this happens again.” You say in an attempt to save yourself. Smooth. “In like- a neighborly way.” Super smooth. 

He takes a pause as he looks you over, poor guy looks absolutely shell shocked. Before you know it he’s pulling out his phone and opening his contact list. 

“Yeah, that would be uh, good.” He says as he passes his phone to your shaky hands. 

“Yeah, yes. Great.” You agree softly. Your skin is hot as you type your phone number into his cracked screen, thumbs shaking nervously. 

He takes his phone back and gives you a polite smile, “Well um… goodnight.” He nods. 

“Goodnight.” You respond back “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” the words come out of your mouth without thinking and your face drops. You can’t get into your apartment fast enough. 

You did not just do that. 

[gingerteafairy]

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲, 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱 (𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝘅𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗳𝗳𝘀 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿)

@ikkyfics you match my freak, ily. masterlist

The Maximoffs are chaotic, over-caffeinated tornados. But when they work together? Trouble.

tags n warnings: smut, mdni, therapist!reader, threesome, DUBCON, language, praise/degradation kink, blowjob, cheating, power use, semi public sex (office), p.e., fingering, cum eating, porn with plot, roleplay, dumbification. word count: 3.7k.

"Alright, let's try this again. Why are you here?" you asked once more, crossing your legs to steady your notebook as you prepared to take notes.

You checked the clock, fifteen minutes passed and those two didn't even say a word about the occurrence. They exchanged a glare filled with mutual disdain before shifting their eyes toward you.

"This guy is literally stealing my life!" Pietro burst out, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Oh, come on! Everyone knows I’m the better Quicksilver. Stop whining, loser." Peter rolled his eyes and crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

"Seriously, dude? You couldn’t come up with any other powers?" Pietro shot back, leaning forward slightly.

"Oh, you idiot. You’re so jealous you even stole my name." Peter jabbed a finger toward Pietro, who immediately swatted his hand away.

"Funny coming from a kleptomaniac," Pietro sneered.

Peter's mouth fell open before he let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. "At least I didn’t commit identity theft. You literally just translated my name. PI-E-TRO."

"Okay, patriot. Your mom liked the idea when I found out she was pregnant," Pietro mocked, arching an eyebrow. Peter clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around his own arms.

"That’s rich coming from you. Speed’s the one thing you’re actually good at, huh?" Peter shot back. “Can’t last longer than 3 seconds at this speed, right?”

That was the last straw. Pietro lost his temper, grabbing Peter by the collar of his shirt.

"You son of a—!"

"Enough!" you sighed, raising your voice a little louder than what was considered professional for a therapist. Taking a deep breath, you straightened your posture and forced a composed, professional smile.

"Now, let’s try this again. Why exactly did you two end up in the police station and get court-ordered to attend these therapy sessions?"

The two Maximoffs tensed at the question, shifting stiffly in their seats on the couch. Though their posture became slightly more formal, their glares and barely contained anger made it clear they’d rather be anywhere but here. A tense silence settled between them as they avoided eye contact, suddenly very interested in every insignificant detail of the office—except for each other.

"Peter?" you called out.

He jerked his head up, looking startled, sniffed, and rubbed his forehead.

"Do I gotta go first?" he groaned, scrunching up his nose like the idea physically pained him.

"You always do when it comes to women," Pietro chuckled, winking at Peter with a mocking charm.

Peter stiffened, his fingers twitching like he was fighting the urge to lunge, but he held back, inhaling sharply through his nose.

"Alright… so, uh… you know how me and Pietro are both, like… fast?" He gestured vaguely, his words dragging like he was stalling. "We kinda… got the same powers, so…"

"We decided to race," Pietro cut in, crossing his arms and leaning back like he wasn’t slightly embarrassed admitting it out loud. "For the record—I won."

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Peter muttered, his foot tapping so fast against the floor that the whole damn room vibrated.

"Aw, what’s wrong? You mad ‘cause you lost?" Pietro grinned, his voice teasing as he pouted to him.

You shot him a sharp look. He immediately put his hands up. "Alright, alright. My bad."

You exhaled, shifting in your seat. "Okay… Pietro, do you feel like Peter copies you?"

The answer was obvious, but honestly? You were still figuring out how to handle this. This was your first time counseling mutants, and these two? They were like a chaotic, over-caffeinated tornado. But you couldn’t deny it—it was kind of cool.

"Do I feel like he copies me?" Pietro scoffed, tossing his hands up. "Uh, yeah. Dude wants everything I got. My name, my powers, my fights, my women—"

"Wait—women?" you blinked, trying to absorb the nonsense.

"This idiot stole my girlfriend," Pietro accused, pouting his thumb to his side.Peter smirked, then tried (and failed) to hide it behind his hand.

"Peter, is that true?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn’t know she was his girlfriend!" Peter defended, throwing his hands up. "She just ran up, kissed me, and said she always wanted to make out with a Quicksilver." He shrugged. "I mean… kinda funny the whore knowing who's the original."

"And how did that make you feel, Pietro?" you asked, settling back into your chair.

Pietro rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Pfft. Annoyed? But, like—not surprised. Typical little thief behavior."

"I don’t steal anymore!" Peter shot back, smacking his hands against the couch.

"Yeah, but you’re still an idiot."

"Guys, please," you interjected, setting your notebook aside with your lecture glasses. "Look, I’m gonna be real with you. You two? You're some of the coolest mutants out there. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a runner—like, badly. But more than that? I always thought it'd be awesome to see you working together instead of trying to one-up each other. Don’t you think you could take down way more bad guys as a team?"

Unprofessional? Oh, absolutely. But these two were far from typical patients, and something told you this was the best approach.

And, shockingly—it worked.

Peter blinked. Then he let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a crooked grin. "Damn. That was kinda… deep."

"Yeah, uh… wow," Pietro muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "That’s… real different." He exhaled, rocking forward slightly. "Alright, fine. We’ll try to cooperate."

"Yeah. We will," Peter agreed, eyes flickering with something serious for the first time all session.

You smiled, feeling like you might have actually made some progress with the Maximoffs. Which was saying something, considering they’d already burned through four therapists—one of whom straight-up retired after dealing with them. You weren’t exactly sure what worked, but you had a feeling it had something to do with the fact that, deep down, you admired them. Unlike the others, who had only met their sarcasm with eye rolls and thinly veiled contempt.

"I wanna add something to that agreement," Pietro suddenly announced, raising a hand like he was in a classroom.

That actually caught you off guard. Was he… taking initiative?

"Uh—sure, Pietro. Go ahead. This is a safe space," you replied, lacing your fingers together in your lap like a proper professional.

"Yeah, just one thing—no more stealing other people’s girlfriends," he said flatly.

Peter groaned dramatically, throwing himself across the couch. "Dude, get over it already, for the love of God!" He whined, raking his fingers through his silver hair.

"What? Look, I think the therapist is hot, you probably think she’s hot—so you’re not gonna be with her," Pietro said, his voice dropping into something almost threatening.

Peter sat up instantly, staring him down. "No, I’m gonna be with her."

Pietro stood.

Peter stood.

And just like that, they were squared off like two boxers in a ring.

"I’m not gonna be with anyone!" you cut in, standing up too. "Jesus, every time I think we’re making progress, you two find a way to completely derail it!"

"Sorry. I’ll behave," Peter mumbled, looking down like a scolded kid.

"Yeah… my bad," Pietro sighed, hands resting on his hips. He hesitated before adding, "But, uh… what do you think of me—I mean, uh, us?"

"I think I can’t do this. It’s not professional," you said firmly, crossing your arms.

"But what if… I dunno… hypothetically—you could?" Peter murmured, raising an eyebrow at you.

And for a split second, the idea made you waver.

You clicked your tongue, scanning the room as if searching for an escape. "I’m referring you both to another professional," you declared, already walking toward your desk to grab your phone.

"What?! Why?" Peter practically whined, stepping into your personal space, lips curving into an exaggerated pout.

You sighed, setting your phone down again and pressing your fingers to your temples. "Because. When a therapist develops feelings for a patient that cross professional boundaries, they’re supposed to step away. Bringing emotions into it? That can cloud judgment. And that’s not something I’m willing to risk."

For a moment, that seemed to convince him. Maybe even you. But then you remembered something.

When the two Maximoffs worked together?

That meant trouble.

"So… you do feel something for us?" Pietro finally broke the silence, his eyes locked onto yours, dead serious.

Your breath hitched. You clenched your fists at your sides, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "Look… admiration is easily confused for lust. It happens all the time—it’s just part of the whole messy spectrum of human emotions."

"Lust?" Peter echoed, one eyebrow shooting up.

You swallowed hard, rolling your shoulders in a weak attempt to shake off the tension.

"Yeah," you repeated, forcing your voice to stay steady. "Which is exactly why I’m giving you two options—either you leave now before this turns into a complete disaster, or you stay and we pretend to make progress for the next 35 minutes so no one gets suspicious."

Pietro tilted his head slightly, his smirk lazy. "No one has to know, doc," he murmured, stepping in closer until he was at your right side. "Unless you tell them."

"There’s, like, patient confidentiality, right?" Peter added smoothly, sliding into place on your left.

Your heart pounded so hard you swore they could hear it. The proximity of your two favorite mutants—two men you’d admired for years—was making your head spin.

"Y-Yeah… there is," you admitted, barely above a whisper. You were trying so hard to keep it together, to act professional, to not look like some desperate needy woman.

"This is a safe space," Pietro teased, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "So go ahead, doc," he murmured, thumb brushing lightly against the curve of your jaw. "Say whatever you want."

Your gaze flickered to the clock on the wall, grasping for anything to ground yourself. "There’s still… 35 minutes left in this session,"

Peter grinned, his hand pressing against the small of your back. "Perfect," he mused. "That’s plenty of time. We’re fast, aren’t we, Pietro?"

"More than enough," Pietro agreed.

Then, he gently tilted your face toward him, his voice dipping lower. "So… what’s bothering you, doc?"

"Nothing," you exhaled, heart hammering, body betraying you. You couldn’t even bring yourself to move his hand away. "This session is about you two, not me."

Peter tsked, shaking his head. "See, that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart." His fingers curled under your chin, tugging your gaze toward him instead. "This session? It’s all about you."

Your breath hitched.

"Tell me something," Peter continued, voice dropping into something warm and coaxing. "You see a therapist?"

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Finally, you whispered, "No…"

A slow, satisfied grin spread across Peter’s face.

"Then this is your chance to let it all out," he murmured, pressing his thumbs lightly into your cheeks. "You're so damn pretty, doc… but you look so stressed. Tell us what you really want."

Your pulse spiked—this was getting out of hand.You pulled away abruptly, stepping back, heading straight for the door.But before you could even reach the handle—

A gust of wind rushed past you.

Pietro was already there, blocking your way.

And another burst of air—Peter had already found the key, twirling it between his fingers before shoving it deep into his pocket. Your stomach flipped as the undesired heat rushed on your core.

"Avoidant behavior isn’t healthy, doc," Pietro teased, smirking. His voice was drenched in that same mix of sarcasm and effortless flirtation.

"Pietro… Peter… please," you whispered. “I won't send you to any other therapist, okay? Just… let me out, huh?”

Peter shook his head, giving you a slow, knowing look. "Nah." He tilted his head, eyes gleaming.

"This session ends," he said smoothly, "when you tell us how you really feel about us, doc. So sit down and relax, you're not going anywhere without proper care.”

You had no options. They were mutants.So, you did the only thing you could do—you walked toward your armchair, ready to sit down and say whatever was necessary to get through this.

But Peter had other plans.

"Uh-uh," he interrupted, shaking his head as he pointed to the couch. "Sofa."

You hesitated, but ultimately obeyed, sinking down between them.

"Good girl," Peter hummed, flashing a smirk as they settled in close on either side of you. "Now… what’s been bothering you?"

Your throat felt tight. You couldn’t look at them, so you fixed your stare on the floor instead.Then, you felt Pietro’s hands on your shoulders. A slow, deliberate massage. Firm fingers kneading into your tension.

"You’re so tense…" he murmured, pressing a little harder. A quiet, unbidden grunt slipped from your lips.

"Running from your feelings is only gonna make things worse," he added, voice low and knowing.

"I… I’m uncomfortable with this," you lied, though your body was betraying you completely—shoulders loosening under his touch, breath steadying, eyes fluttering half-shut.

They noticed. Peter reached for your hands, his touch light but insistent.

"You need to relax," he said gently, voice laced with something syrupy—something coaxing.And damn it, this was relaxing. You’d been working so hard for so long—maybe you did deserve this.

“You seem hurt. Can you tell me where it hurts, doc?”

And somehow, your body listened. Your head nodded all on its own. Peter smirked, palming his hand on your forehead. “Is it here?”

“No…" you murmured, looking between them, eyes soft.

“Uhmm…I see…” he muttered, snaking his hand to your throat, giving a gentle grip that crept a sigh out of you. “Nah… that's not the right place. Should i keep exploring?”

Your body trembled for a moment, but then—slowly—you let yourself sink into the plush cushions, head tilting back, breath evening out.

He kept exploring from your collarbone, shoulders, arms, chest and finally to your belly, just at the hem of your skirt, where he paused and your brows knit together, not wanting them to stop.

“Oh… is it here?” He cooed, his fingers entering on the fabric, playing and testing the softness of the skin.

“No, it's…” you swallowed, regretting telling it, but it was so good. “It's lower…”

Two pairs of sharp eyes watched you, studying every shift, every exhale. Peter licked his lips and unzipped your skirt, downing it, watching you toss it to the ground.

“I know how to make this pain go away, doc,” Pietro smirked, leaving your shoulders and palming the soft flesh of your inner thigh, approaching the heat. He sides your panties, chuckling at the glistening spot. “Look, Peter. Our doc is suffering so much, we need to do something.”

Peter nodded, biting his lip as his cock felt painful on his pants by the sight of your clit getting moist by Pietro's fingers wet with your arousal, massaging the spot.

You shutted your eyes, grinding on his finger light touch to get more pressure. He chuckled, nuzzling his fingers. “Fuck, do that again.”

Pietro grinned, taking the loose hair locks out of your face to see your dizzy expression better. "See? Progress.”

“She's evolving so much,” Peter cooed, approaching his fingers to your slit, teasing the entrance. “D’you think she can handle a little more?”

“Oh, I’m sure she can. She's strong, aren't you, sweetheart?” Pietro pouted, applying more pressure to the vibrations.

“Yeah…” you mumble, whimpering when Peter's finger slipped inside your needy cunt.

“It's sucking me,” he added, curling his fingers teasingly as you moaned slyly. “Shhh. Calm down, doc. You don't want anyone hearing your session, right?”

“Uh-huh,” you whined, digging your fingers on the couch as the both of their fingers vibrated and their gaze lighted you even more as the first signs of your orgasm approached. “I'm gonna cum, m gonna…”

They stopped.

“What? You really did think we’d let you cum easily like this?” Peter provoked, pinching your fold lightly. “What do they say about medication, doc?”

You frowned, licking your lips as you tried to rationalize with your cunt pulsed as it had its own heart. “We need to introduce small doses, that way we can see if the patient is prepared… or ready for a bigger dose.”

“Yep!” Pietro smirked, petting the top of your head as he standed in front of you, unbuckling his belt. “Time for the medicine, doc…”

“Jeez, it sounded cheesy as fuck, dude.” Peter snorted and you relaxed, laughing with him. “See? You made her laugh, clownsilver.”

“Sad you won't get a blowjob, Peter.” He mocked, unbuttoning his jeans and finally freeing his cock from its confinement. “I’m gonna ruin your pretty mouth, is it okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, embarrassed enough to keep you shutted facing his veiny cock. You wrapped your hand on the base, mouth opening to welcome his length on your canal, a ‘pop’ sound coming when you toke it out to lick.

“Fuck, you're even better than I imagined,” he groaned, gripping your hair on a messy ponytail to face fuck you, tears and gags coming as a reflex. “Shit. Check this out, Peter… our little— hmmmghh—slut here is crying on my dick.”

“Don't call her slut,” he warned, cupping your engorged teary cheek, drool coming out. “Shh, my dear. Peter's gonna take care of you after this savage fucks your face, okay?”

“Nah, man. She's fucking loving it,” he chuckled, throwing his head back as his pace got faster, his cock spurting his seed on your mouth. “Yeah… take it… take it, darling. Swallow your medicine.”

You swallowed all, breathing heavily as you recovered. Pietro leaning his body down, cupping your face, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Atta girl.” He whispered, kissing you, feeling his own taste in your mouth. “All yours, quikdick.”

Peter smirked, looking at your disheveled face with flushed cheeks and swollen eyes. “Oh, my girl must be so tired…” he pouted, brushing your hair with his fingers. “C’mere. Quickie’s gonna make you feel good.”

He patted his lap, lips curling into a sly smile as you standed, peeling your panties off your body as you straddled on his lap, unbuttoning your shirt.

“25 minutes left,” you breathed, revealing your breasts covered by your lacey lingerie.

“You're so beautiful, doc.” He praised, surprising you as his hands drove to your chest, cupping the weight. He left your boobs to get his hard thick cock out of his jeans, gripping on your hips to guide you as you sink down on his length. “Shit, you feel so good, suga.”

Pietro sat down on the couch, touching his cock as he saw you starting to move up and down on Peter's fat cock, stretching your pussy, his tip kissing your cervix.

“C’mere, lay down on me,” Peter muttered, pulling you to his chest, your head resting on his shoulder. His feet planted on the ground to support his thrust on you.

“Fuck—yes, yes, yes, Peter,” you cried out, grasping his shirt, your clit rubbing on his abdomen as he turned his head to lick your neck.

Pietro’s cock was already hardened again at the scene, not resisting the urge to adjust his position to kiss you as he pumped his cock. Fuck, you couldn't even think about anything with Peter's cock buried inside you and Pietro's lips.

“Yeah, that's it…” he murmured sweet nothings in your ear, his hot breath causing shivers down your spine as you bounced on him, moans muffled by Pietro's lips, massaging your tongue.

“You taste so good,” Pietro praised, his tone soft, almost whiney-like as his fist rushed it's pace on his cock. “It's so fucking good to see you like this doc —ugh… being braindead… you're so smart and all… and here you are—can’t even say a word.”

“D’ya like this, doc? Being spoiled by two mutants?” Peter grunted, increasing his speed. “Think your greedy cunt want both of us, is it true? Can't —shit—decide between us? We need your judgement, doc. C’mon. Say it.”

“Uhmmm—” you tried to speak, but nothing came. You were seeing stars, no, better, lighting strikes. “Fuck—uhm, gonna cum.”

“Then, cum.” They both said in unison as you came shamelessly soaking Peter's lap, squeaking on Pietro's mid-part lips. He came with you and so did Peter, filling your womb with his thick white ropes as he slowed his rocking hips on you, giving a last one when he finished.

You paused, panting, unable to speak or even think straight by yourself, trying to stand, stumbling on your boneless legs. Both standed to help you, laying you down on the couch.

After the affectionate session, your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep on the couch. Peter narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms, while Pietro tilted his head, planting his hands on his hips.

“I think we overdosed her,” Peter mused, pressing his lips together—a bit ironic, considering he was the biggest culprit.

“Nah, she can handle it,” Pietro countered, flashing you a grin as you began to stir. “She’s our therapist. The smartest of them all. You think just anyone could keep up with our… situation?”

“No one,” Peter added, stepping closer and settling onto the couch. He grabbed your legs, resting them on his lap. Pietro followed suit, lifting your head to place it on his lap, his fingers immediately running through your hair in slow, soothing strokes.

“How much time do you think we’ve got, doc?” Pietro asked, glancing at the clock on the wall before turning his gaze to you.

“I’d say… five minutes,” you murmured, your eyes slipping shut.

Pietro smirked, exchanging a glance with the other Maximoff. “No, sweetheart,” he corrected, pinching your cheek playfully. “20 minutes.”

Frowning, you sat up and checked the clock. They were right. Peter chuckled at your confusion.

“Forgot already? We’re the fastest in the world.”

“No, I am,” Pietro argued.

“No, I am,” Peter shot back.

“No more sessions if you two don’t cut it out,” you threatened, barely suppressing your laughter. Positive reinforcement was, after all, the most effective approach when dealing with the Maximoffs.

[godidontevenknowwhat]

Attitude Problems

Avatar Driver!Jake Sully x Omatikaya!Reader

Fic Includes: NSFW so MDNI, idiots to lovers, semi-descriptive animal hunting/death (not gory, very brief), spanking, fingering, orgasm denial, p in v, dirty talk, dubious consent?? (consent is not verbally given, warning just in case), creampie, shitty writing that hasn't been checked so sorry 😔, 2.8k words

Synopsis: There's not much that can frustrate Jake, at least not openly anyway. The RDA and the avatar programme are relying on his ability to shut up and do what he's told which means keeping his irritation locked up, his head down and his mouth shut. Neytiri keeps him on his toes, her teaching methods are to learn fast or die faster and he's adjusted to handle it. Hell he even feels like the cruel words of Tsu'tey and his burning glares wash off of him like water off of a duck's back at this point. The only thing he can't brush off and walk away from is you and your goddamn, cocksure attitude. Best hunter in the village his ass, more like best fucking cause of a migraine. You make his tail flick with anger, his pupils dilate like he's a pissed off little kitten and the worst thing is he can tell that above all else: you like pissing him off.

Heat lingers in the air on Pandora, a humidity that forces a layer of sticky sweat to coat his blue skin despite most of it being bare of clothing. Muscles ache and pull uncomfortably, calves burning from his latest trip into the vast rainforest surrounding the Omatikaya home tree and in spite of it all a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth that he can’t seem to shake. 

There's a comfort that comes with the pain his avatar body experiences, comfort that he’s there and present and goddamn his fucking legs hurt for the first time in years so who cares if they’re big and blue.

Neytiri trains him hard, part of him deep down doesn’t really blame her for the hate that lingers in her eyes when she looks at him or when she pushes him to do better. Augustine told him about what those assholes did to her sister and he can understand that despite being on his best behaviour the assholes that murdered her are his assholes so there's always going to be some animosity there no matter how many smiles he can get her to crack when he falls face first into direhorse shit. Every now and then though, when the long day comes to a close and they sit together eating the meat caught by the hunting party, he can see a softness to her that he likes to think shows she’s warming up to him.

The only one knocking around this damn hollow tree that he hasn’t managed to warm to him other than Tsu’tey is you. Neytiri said it's just who you are, that you’re passionate about being the perfect hunter and providing for the clan, that you’re serious. 

‘Serious’ his ass, in fact, he can guarantee the only ‘serious’ you are is a serious thorn in his side. 

Since he stepped foot in home tree he knew he pissed you off and everyone around him who had to listen to his rambling thoughts both in and out of his avatar body knew that the feeling was mutual. It got so bad that Augustine put a ban on talking about you in his video logs unless you were a big part of his day, unfortunately for her the Tsahik thought it was the will of Eywa to have you teach him how to hunt so you were a big part of his life despite him begging for you not to be. 

Truthfully as much as this tree-hugging, Eywa stuff was starting to seem more plausible to him the longer he spent with the Na’vi, there was an unsettling glimmer in the Tsahik’s eyes when she paired you with him that plays on his mind more often than not. Maybe this is his punishment for being so damn lucky up to this point. The Na’vi surely believe in karma.

“Your grip isn’t firm” A not so gentle kick to his calf forces him to widen his stance. “And your stance is not open enough, are you learning nothing from these hunts?” Irritation prickles under his skin at your words, you’re the only one who seems to never see his improvement. 

“Sorry”

“Sorry won’t provide for the clan, dream walker” His jaw ticks, teeth clenched so hard that he can almost hear them crack under the force. He chances a glance at you from the corner of his eye and the nonchalance of your posture is betrayed by the amused glint in your eyes, your attitude only serving to piss him off further.

Doing his best to ignore you he takes a deep breath.

In. Out. In. Out.

His eyes follow the largest hexapede of the group, watching it dip its head into the plush grass. The tension of the pulled back arrow makes his shoulders burn and your scrutinising stare does little to ease the fire creeping over his tight muscles.

In. Out. In..

“Oel ngati kameie, ma tsmukan, ulte ngaru seiyi irayo. Ngari hu Eywa salew tirea, tokx 'ì'awn slu Na'viyä hapxì.”

His arrow releases with a sharp whistle, cutting through the air and flooring the hexapede immediately.

Out.

Taking off in a sprint, Jake whips out his hunting knife and performs the final act of sacrifice he can for the creature.

The knife is heavy in his hand, his words weighing on his mind in a confusing way. He had taken life before, been ordered to anyway.. and it never became easier. But taking a life in this way, with respect and the idea that this animal made an incredible sacrifice to provide for the people- 

“Sloppy”

Your voice cuts through the silence like a thanator’s claws and Jake can only scoff in disbelief rather than give a proper response.

“Did you hear me, tawtute? That was sloppy, you were barely on target and you took far to long too position yourself”

Jake cleans his knife off on the grass, refusing to look at you in the fear that he would be unable to fight the urge to use the knife on you. Your words were enough but the irritated sigh that you let slip is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Knocking your legs out from under you with a sweeping kick is just the right move to floor your unexpecting form. The look you shoot at him from your position is venomous and for a brief second Jake can see exactly why the Na’vi would be so terrifying to face in a real life or death fight. He watches your chest heave, the delicate beading of your chest covering barely keeping your ample tits concealed from his gaze after being disheveled from your sudden fall. 

Jake's ears twitch as they pick up a strange sound and it’s only when your own drop to your head submissively that he realises the sound is coming from him. A deep, rumbling whisper of a growl that emerges from deep in his chest and seems to have you frozen in place in the dirt below him. 

“You” The sound of his own voice is almost foreign to his ears, it huffs out of him in a harsh pant that makes you flinch despite your best efforts.  “You are such a pain in my ass!” There’s a strain of frustration in his voice, emotions bubbling to the surface that he’d tried to hold back and keep to himself. 

He’d thought about this moment plenty of times before, almost obsessively since the first snippy comment passed your lips about him, thought about confronting you and really giving you shit, putting you in your place but when the opportunity finally presented itself all he could think about was how desperately and stupidly he wanted you more than he’d ever wanted anyone else. How he wanted to shut you up by kissing you until you were breathless. How when he first saw Neytiri in the forest he thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen but when he had first seen you he knew that you were.

Jake drops to his knees between your spread legs, the swiftness of his rash movements activating your fight or flight causing you to lunge at him which in turn results in your arms locked within Jake’s firm grip.

“Not fucking talking about my grip now are you?”

He pulls you closer to him, holding you and forcing you to look at him in the eyes as he speaks to you.

“You frustrate me, you piss me off, you shit all over me constantly”

Your eyes are wide in shock as you gaze up at him, their colour so striking that it takes his breath away and stops his words before they can leave him. 

The tension between you both is thicker than the skin of a titanothere and maybe he’s as stupid as people think he is, maybe it’s the way your long eyelashes brush your cheeks while you blink up at him, maybe it’s the electric feeling of having his hands on you or maybe it's some weird combination of everything overwhelming him but his grip on your arms loosen, his left hand moves to the dip of your lower back and his right cups the back of your neck giving a light squeeze that makes your cunt pulse with need.

Your lips slot together like fitting the last piece of a puzzle and while Jake waits for a slap or scratch or a well delivered right hook, you surprise him when your hands only move to bring him closer and he knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Jake kisses you with an urgency that you’ve never felt before, parting your lips and licking into your mouth in a way that makes your stomach dance with atokirina. You’re embarrassed that you can only whimper and cling to him, shocked and subdued by his passion.

You attempt to follow him as he pulls away, craving more but he stops you with his grip on the back of your neck.

“Why..? I just want to know why? Why do you give me such a hard time?”

Your soft eyes harden almost immediately, glaring up at him again with none of the sweetness he’d felt during your kiss. 

“Because you are not ready, I have already told you-”

Jake can only laugh, it’s an airy, unamused laugh that sends an unpleasant shiver down your spine.

“You’re such a fucking brat”

Your world flips around you as Jake flips you onto your front, manhandling you, pulling at your hips until your ass is presented to him.

A yelp rips out of you with his first swat, your tail furiously whipping behind you as you crane your neck to look back at him. 

“Ow! What are you doing, skxawng?” 

“Think of it as a little payback, huh? For being such a pain in my ass” Another firm smack comes down on your ass, the deep blue of your skin becoming a gorgeous purple before his very eyes. 

“You like being a pain?” Smack. “Being a bitch to me? Pushing my buttons?” Smack. Smack. “You like pissing me off?” 

Smack.

There’s a surprising silence from you, tamed from a little roughhousing and the grin that spreads across Jake’s face in response is uncontrollable. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to answer. I know you do”

His thumb traces the outline of your pussy through your tewng, spurred on by the feeling of your wetness seeping through the fabric and the sweet moan you let out.

His hands leave their grip on you for a moment, loosening the strings of his tewng before moving to your own. He gives you plenty of time to stop him, plenty of time to kick him away or tell him he's a bastard but the biggest movement you make is a subtle rock back of your hips, seeking pressure from him on your needy cunt again.

His large hand cups your mound, fingers tracing through your puffy lips and barely dipping into your hole. Teasing or checking how wet you are even Jake isn’t 100% sure. Back and forth, Jake traces every inch. An embarrassing slick sound filling the air as he gathers your wetness on his fingers and presses his finger into you with a groan.

“Jesus..” 

You whine at the feeling, his finger doing nothing to fill the emptiness and just serving to tease you more. Your hips helplessly rock back, desperate for more already and he takes pity on you by adding a second finger, curling them just right to make your sensitive clit twitch from going untouched.

He purposefully neglects your clit, thrusting his fingers fast and deep enough to bring you close but never send you over the edge. Your whines drive him crazy, such sweet sounds from just his fingers make him borderline feral to find out what you’ll sound like split on his fat cock.

His fingers pump in and out of your squelching hole, spreading your wetness until the sound of each movement is making your eyes roll back in your head and your legs tremble. 

Jake feels you getting tighter, hears your moans hit a whinier pitch than before and finally touches your clit, rubbing quick circles into your sensitive little bud until he sees tears in your eyes. He feels the pulsing of your cunt, has to grip the base of his cock to keep from finishing early. Embarrassing but true. In his human body he’d lost all feeling in his bottom half and in this body he’d not exactly had the chance to get any action, it was like he was a virgin all over again.

Your nails dig into the dirt, tail wrapping around Jake’s arm like a brace to try and keep him going but he doesn’t hesitate to stop right as you’re about to fly over the edge.

“J-Jake..” 

He pulls his fingers from you, wrapping his slick hand around his cock and letting out what can only be described as a growl at the feeling of your wetness coating his cock as he strokes his hand over it. 

“I like when you say my name”

Once he feels that he’s lubed enough he presses forward, guiding the head of his cock through your slick folds and barely pulling away enough to tap it against your clit before repeating the process again.

“Not tawtute.. or- fuck- or skxawng, s’nice.. a nice change” 

He takes his time, pressing just the tip into you with restraint that he surprises himself with. Barely giving you any of his cock before taking it away again only to repeat with slightly more each time. Each inch of his fat cock feels like torture to take because he can’t just let you have it. It makes shameful, hot tears rolling down your cheeks and when he finally settles himself fully inside of you, so deep you can feel him in your guts, your cunt clenches and twitches around him almost gushing from just the feeling of him filling you.

He feels you fluttering around him and takes his time stuffed deep inside you, fearing if he moves even a miniscule amount he’ll have you both cumming too quickly, too intensely to recover from.

Jake’s eyes clench shut, hands gripping your hips so hard that you will most definitely have bruises left when you return to hometree. Silence surrounds you both, interrupted only by your quiet sniffles and Jake takes a second to look at you properly, his hand subconsciously rubbing the length of your back in a comforting motion.

“I got you, I got you don’t worry.. taking me so fucking deep.. M'gonna move now baby, don’t worry baby M'gonna move”

He pulls back, dragging his cock from your heat and letting out a sinful moan at the feeling of your cunt gripping him so tightly. He does his best to hold back and give you time, give himself time but when he presses back into you and all you can do is give a punched out whine of his name he loses himself.

His thrusts accelerate without warning, the slap of his heavy balls against your wet clit making you clench around him even tighter. With every thrust the tip of his cock bullies it's way against your g-spot, getting you closer every second he fucks you.

Jake makes the mistake of looking down at where you’re connected, sees the creamy ring being left around the base of his cock from your soaked cunt and that authoritative, rumbly growl seeps from deep in his chest again as his fingers desperately seek out your clit.

It barely takes one swipe of his fingers before your voice cracks mid scream and your vision flashes white as you gush around his cock, cunt clinging to him so tightly that he can barely pull back out to keep thrusting. He settles for grinding into you, trying to keep your high going as long as possible with each press of his tip digging into your g-spot.

Overstimulation settles in quickly, you try to wiggle away but Jake holds you in place. Finally feeling you loosen up enough to give a few more well delivered thrusts. 

“Hold on baby, just wait, just- mm fuck- just wait”

You say his name in a whimper, sweet and quiet like you’re begging and then he’s cumming, filling you up so deep that you’ll feel him for days.

He makes the most incredible noises as he cums. Strained moans mixed with feral growls with each pump of cum that fills you, stuffed as deep as possible until the very last drop.

Jake pulls you close, keeping you connected as he lays you on your sides. Wanting to comfort you and keep you close but selfishly wanting to stay deep inside you as long as possible. His head drops into your neck as he spoons you, panting breaths tickling your skin.

It’s peaceful, idyllic. Jake thinks it's the best moment you’ve shared with each other despite just having the best sex of his life but then your quiet voice breaks the silence, heavy and full of tears that make Jake’s heart ache instead of his cock. “You are ready.. I just did not want you to be”

[sim0nril3y]

Driving Worries

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Simon gets a first hand experience at your driving and is less than impressed Note: Set in 2014 Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), teasing, canon-typical swearing, very bad driving, very British driving.

Simon had begrudgingly agreed to joining you at a drink out over your friend’s house for the evening. In your own words it was one of your nicer friends, which made him a little worried about the rest of your friends. Regardless, if it would make you happy then Simon would join. Plus, you’d offered to drive so at least he could sit back and relax on the journey, or at least that was what he had thought…

The beginning of the journey was harrowing. There were multiple times that Simon had to remind you the speed limit, wave his hand apologetically to other vehicles you had pulled out on. All this whilst you happily sat beside him, either chatting away or humming along to the music. His sunshine girl. Fuck, she was gonna kill them both.

The way that Simon gripped at the handle above him as you drove a little too close to a parked car. His eyes flickered over as you continued to hum along happily to the radio seemingly unaware that you’d almost written-off your car along with the poor idiot who’d parked on the curb. “Turn this down a bit…” His fingers diligently rolled the sound down on your stereo as you frowned in his direction. “Eyes on the road.” He commanded, now that the radio was low, he could hear the gears churning, it made him visibly wince, allowing for it to continue thinking that maybe you might right the error before needing to be told, but it didn’t happen. “Think you’re in the wrong gear, love…” “Oh yeah…” You laughed with ease, changing the gear with a heavy sound.

As they approached a busy roundabout Simon wondered if he should just stare straight ahead and pray for the best, but the moment he glanced to his right and saw you about to pull out into two cars he had to stop it. Yanking up the hand break furiously you looked at him suddenly. “Who the fuck let you pass your test? Are you having a laugh? You could have killed us both.”

“What are you talking about?” Taking your foot off the clutch without taking it out of gear lead it to stall and you huffed. “Bloody hell. Look what you’ve made me do now…” “Good. Fuckin’ hell. Swap with me. Now.” He commanded in a rough voice. Unplugging his seat belt Simon rounded the car, angrily glaring at anyone backed-up behind them who dared to think about honking. You climbed over the centre console and took the passenger seat. “Kid, you fuckin’ terrify me…” Simon took a moment to roll back the seat from where it was uncomfortably close to the steering wheel.

You had the gall to laugh, pinching your brows together and saying. “I have no idea what I did wrong.” His hands gripped at the steering wheel and looked over to you for a second. “That is the most worrying thing…” A second later pulling out safely onto the roundabout and continuing the journey. “I always thought it would be going to war that would kill me, but I think it might actually be your driving that does it.”

Leaning over she pushed his shoulder gently. “Don’t say that.” She commanded softly, clearly the idea of him not being around was something she certainly wasn’t comfortable joking about. “Sorry.” He huffed, reaching over and squeezing her knee. “You scared me.” You scoffed and shook your head. “I’m serious. You fuckin’ really scared me. I can cope with being in danger, but not… not you.” He said, squeezing your knee again, feeling terror bubbling at the base of his spine.

The night with your friend and her partner hadn’t been as bad as Simon had been expecting, it was a nice evening so you’d had a little BBQ whilst sat in their back garden. They both seemed nice enough and Simon was just happy to get a little insight into your life outside of him.

A few paces in front of him you approached your call, pulling your keys from your purse and said. “I’ll drive-” In a second Simon snatched then from your hands and wrapped his arm around your waist to yank you firmly back against his warm body. “Absolutely fuckin’ not.” You laughed as he walked you forward pressed you against the car. “I value my life, but more important I value your life.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your face. “Get in.” He smacked your rear as he moved to the other side of the car.

Masterlist | Ask | 09-09-2023

[kiquebi]

Farlands destruction scenario with some personal indulgence… Wifies self implosion..

TW: gore???, death

1012 words

———————————————————————

Wifies’ hand is cold.

It’s always been cold, even when they traversed the scorching depths of the nether. So it’s no surprise that it’s freezing as Parrot reaches for it now. Wifies is sitting against a fallen wall, legs outstretched, and Parrot kneels to clasp his hand in his. There’s no visible reaction from Wifies, no tightening of his hold, no fingers tangling around his, but Parrot understands. He fucked up, he sees it now.

The sky overhead is a deepening burnt orange, littered with broken planes of invisible players long gone. The air is suffocating, tingled with red and smelling of tnt that had rained destruction upon the land he so desperately tried to protect. It glows in the approaching night, gleaming crimson from the carnage. The farlands are gone, reduced to rumble from the long battle. A battle that Parrot had lost. A war he could not shoulder despite all his words and promises. The once buzzing civilization was now a quiet symphony of crackling flames and crumbling stones. It’s just the two of them now, just Parrot and Wifies. He feels his heartbeat go faster and faster, erratic in his regret, and there’s a ringing in his ears. Parrot takes in a large breath. His heart doesn’t steady and the ringing only gets louder. The dust in the air burns in his lungs as he exhales, but he pushes down his urge to cough and lowers his head to rest on the hand he’s holding onto.

It feels cool against his skin and comforting in all the ways he doesn’t deserve. Parrot lifts his head so it hovers over Wifies hand instead, tracing circles on his knuckles all the while. “You were right, Wifies. I was being reckless, I wasn’t thinking,” his throat burns as he rasps out word by word. There’s no response from Wifies, but Parrot doesn’t dare to look him in the eyes, not if he wants to finish everything he wants to say. It’s shameful to be unable to meet Wifies’ eyes, cowardly even, but this is all Parrot could muster at the moment. He has to apologize to him, Wifies deserves a complete apology at the very least.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry I ignored you. You just wanted me to be safe. I was-,” he gasps for some much-needed air, and in a quieter voice he whispers, “I was being selfish. I wasn’t being considerate of your feelings. I’m sorry, Wifies. I’m really sorry”. Parrot can feel the beating of his heart at the back of his throat and he takes in yet another breath of air. His heartbeat slows down to a thrum and he swallows.

He opens his eyes- when had he closed them?, and he finds that he’s been gripping Wifies’ hand too hard. Parrot quickly loosens his grip and mutters out yet another apology. He begins gently running his thumbs over the light indents, brushing away the dust he’d left on Wifies’ hand. The dust on their hands feels gritty and the grains stubbornly cling to his joints and refuse to go no matter how he tries to wipe them away. The red dusty air coils around them like a noose, bringing with it the night chill. Wifies still hasn’t uttered a word, but Parrot is alright with that. He doesn’t deserve Wifies’ forgiveness. Not with a measly apology, not with all he’s made him give up ever since the moment he stepped foot on this server. He has to be alright with that. Wasn’t this exactly what Wifies had done? Parrot can handle groveling, he’s got the kneeling part down already.

But his selfish heart yearns and yearns. The hand in his grip may be cold but Parrot knows that Wifies’ pulsing chest is warm, he’s spent enough time huddled close to it that he can imagine the steady hum of his heart and the affectionate cradle of his arms. His eyes shouldn’t water at the lack of response he’s getting. He should be happy that he’s able to hold Wifies’ hand at all, with redstone staining his hands akin to blood. He’ll gorge out his beating heart and serve it to Wifies on a platter if it means he could nestle into Wifies’ warmth again. The biting wind gathers more and more dust and with every ragged breath, Parrot takes in more and more of it. The chill permeates his bones and surely Wifies feels it too. Jagged rocks dig into his knees as he decides to slowly shuffle closer.

Wifies doesn’t protest so Parrot presses closer still, almost straddling his thighs. He closes the distance between them, gingerly setting his head on Wifies’ shoulder and wrapping his arms around him. Immediately, Parrot pulls himself back, his movements frantic as he realises: Wifies is cold. His hands, his sides, his face, they’re all freezing to the touch. He’s never felt this cold before. Parrot finally allows himself to trail his eyes over Wifies, and oh, he sees the problem now.

Wifies’ sweater is torn, the yin-yang pattern on it stained by grainy redstone. Glowing red dust seeps out of the gaping hole in the front of Wifies’ sweater, its color gradually dimming to a dull maroon. The surrounding dust in the air flickers and its glow dies out, welcoming the descent of night. Parrot notes to himself that he should ask Wifies for his sweater tomorrow. He’ll stitch right back it up and Wifies will never have to be cold again. Maybe he’ll make a pair of gloves for him along with it as well for his hands. Parrot takes in another breath, redstone penetrating deep into his lungs and he settles back down on Wifies’ shoulder. He shifts so that his body blocks out most of the night winds and wraps himself around Wifies once again. The mobs have come out, lured in by sparse dying flames, gleaming beacons on a starless night. Tonight, in the rumbles of a once beautiful civilization, Parrot promises himself to keep Wifies safe for a change.

[pattywinchester]

Suptober 2023 Day 4 -Nimbus

“Cas, I’m telling you, something’s not right. We must be a target or, at the very least, this... What are they calling it... phenomenon is somehow connected to us."

“Really, Dean, I think you are reading too much into this.”

“Seriously? Let's recap. We have been on what? Six hunts in six different cities in the last eight weeks, and in each of those cities, every night that we’re there, the sky lights up like the Fourth of July, complete with shooting stars and shit. You telling me that’s a coincidence? I don’t think so.”

“Well, in either case, it appears to be harmless. People haven’t reported any threats or destruction of property, have they?”

"No, Cas, you know they haven't. Everyone we have spoken to says it's the most beautiful thing they've ever seen."

"So, see, Dean, why worry so much. Don't borrow trouble. It's fine."

“Man, what’s gotten into you? Since when do we give crazy shit a pass just because it's 'pretty.'”

Cas shoots Dean a look and raises one brow before remarking, “I do it every day for you, Dean.”

"Oh, you're a wise guy now?" Dean says as he leans in to give his angel a kiss and a slap on the ass.

Their argument is temporarily forgotten when they end up in a tangle of arms and legs and quiet moans, causing them to get little sleep.

As they stow their gear in Baby the following day, the men overhear motel guests, remarking on the previous night's incredible light display.

“Fucking hell, it happened again. What the fuck, Cas? Don’t you think we should investigate?”

“Nooooo, I don't think so... I mean, what is there to investigate, really. What are we going to do, question the sky?" Cas responds as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

Dean looks at Cas for a full minute before he says, "Man, what is up with you? You’re acting cagey as hell."

“I don’t know what you mean, Dean. I am behaving normally. My responses are completely natural and truthful.”

“Oh, is that right? Cas, you gonna tell me what the fuck is up? This shit is weird, even for you.”

Cas stares at Dean unblinking, not saying a word until Dean gives up, slams the trunk, and makes his way to the driver's seat. "Get in weirdo. We’re going home."

They barely reach the freeway when Dean's phone chimes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glances at it, and hands it to Cas. "It's Sam. What's it say?”

"There is some ghost activity in Lincoln. He wants to know if we are 'up’ for it." Cas says, employing his now famous air quotes that never fail to make Dean both cringe and go incredibly fond.

“I’m good if you're good, Sunshine. What do you say?”

"Sure, Dean, Let's take care of it."

They pull into the parking lot of yet another seedy motel a little after midnight. Too late to do anything at that hour, they decide to get a good night's sleep and start fresh in the morning. After hot showers and Door Dashing burgers, the two men crawl into bed exhausted. It doesn't take Dean long before he snuggles against Cas, kissing him down his neck and nibbling at his earlobe. Cas' response is immediate, as it always is, and he turns his body to feel all of Dean's body against his.

"Dean, you should sleep..." Cas says reluctantly into Dean's mouth.

"Yeah, Angel. I'm way too far down this road. There is no turning back now." Dean says, pressing his hips against Cas as evidence. "Besides, there hasn't been one night since we've been on the road that I haven't felt you inside me, and I don't plan on changing that.”

Cas lets out a strangled groan, pushes Dean onto his back, grips his wrists, and pins him to the bed. Holding nothing back, Cas gives Dean what he wants.

The following morning, Sam calls to inform the men that there have been more reports of strange lights in the sky, this time in Lincoln.

"Well fuck, Cas. Whatever this is, it's definitely following us. I don't know why you've been shrugging this off, but we are investigating right after we handle this ghost."

"Uhh, sure... it's harmless... but I suppose we can 'look' into it if it makes you happy, Dean."

"If it makes me happy? Cas, you crazy son of a bitch, since when do we hunt to make me happy? You know what, forget it. You're going to tell me what is up with you when you are good and ready, and until then, I'm doing my job and investigating this thing."

"I love you, Dean."

Although confused, Dean's agitation leaves him instantly, "I love you too, Sunshine. Come on, let's go ruin some ghost's day."

What they thought would be a routine salt and burn turns out to be so much more. As a result, they both come back bruised and bloody. Dean instantly falls asleep after Cas stitches him up.

In the morning, Dean wakes up stiff and a little worse for wear but determined to figure out those goddamn lights in the sky. He and Cas get ready to head out to start interviewing and researching when Sam calls to let them know that last night was the first night since they've been gone that there has been no anomalous activity.

"See, Dean, it's nothing. We can go home now. Don't you want to go home?"

"Well, yeah, Cas, but let's think about this for a minute. What made last night different from all the other nights since we hit the road?"

"Nothing?" Cas says nervously

Dean laughs and says, "Yeah, the only difference is that I didn't knock your socks off last night like every night."

Cas looks at Dean nervously, eyes wide.

Realization slowly dawning, Dean exclaims, "Holy fucking hell, Cas. It's you, isn't it? You're doing this?”

Cas, at last drops the façade and responds, “Yes... Not purposefully... I'm sorry... I've been trying to control it. I hope this will not impact the frequency or the intensity with which we copulate.”

"So let me get this straight, having sex with me is so good that it causes you to create a fucking celestial light show?”

"Yes, when I orgasm..."

Dean stares at Cas blankly, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide.

"Dean, say something. Are you angry?"

"Holy shit, Cas, that's the best fucking thing I have ever heard," Dean sputters, doubled over with laughter.

[oohnotvery]

Edges of the Night (Chapter 7)

“It’s about Alan.”

“Alan,” Scully repeats.

She shoots Mulder a questioning look. She’s trying to remember whether she’s ever told him her fiancé’s name. And she’s dead sure she hasn’t. Did Alan’s name appear on T.V. during his interview? No, no it didn’t . . .

That means Mulder must . . .

That Alan isn’t . . .

Oh god. Oh, no.

Her vision blurs. Her lungs refuse to expand. She starts shaking her head, her long hair falling across her face.

“No, no, no,” she whispers to herself.  

Mulder leans forward to catch her hand and she shakes her head even harder. The gleam of her diamond seems to fade as she considers the possibility that Alan could be mixed up in all of this.

“No, no, no, Mulder, don’t bring him into this. Please, he’s not—he can’t be—”

“Scully—”

She wrings Mulder’s hand between her own and he winces. “No, Mulder, please,” she begs, fixing him with a hard, desperate look. “Don’t take this away from me too. Don’t let this be fake.”

He’s opening his mouth to protest when there’s a beating sound on the door. Scully startles and Mulder shoots to his feet.

“Larimer County police, open up!” a deep voice bellows from outside the room.

Mulder glances sharply at Scully. The blood rushes from her face. The bed-and-breakfast owners must have seen the news and called the cops on them. Mulder rushes to the door and jams a chair under the handle, then takes two long strides towards her, pausing only to snatch the car keys from the end table. He grabs her hand and starts pulling her towards the window, but she tugs loose to slip into her shoes.

“Mulder,” she cautions as he unlatches the windowsill, “we’re three stories up!”

He shakes his head in disregard. “If we’re caught, we’re dead.”

After everything she’s heard, she certainly can’t argue with that logic. She helps him lift the sash and steadily ignores the banging and yelling at the door. Frigid air blasts her face as Mulder leans out the window.

“We should be able to climb most of the way down,” he mutters as he studies the house’s façade. He glances back at her, his face just inches from her own. “I’ll go first.”

She doesn’t bother protesting; at this point, she knows that Mulder is going to do what he wants to do. He throws a leg over the sill and starts hastily maneuvering his body down the side of the house. When his head disappears, Scully wipes her sweaty palms against her dirty pants and throws her legs over the edge. The cold shocks her body and she almost slips as her fingers scramble for purchase on the snow-covered wall.

Below her, she hears Mulder slip and curse and she forces herself not to look down. She’s quickly making peace with the fact that at least one of them will suffer from a broken ankle today.

“Hurry up, Scully!” he shouts under her, but she’s having trouble finding hand and foot holds on the icy surface.

“Shut up, Mulder!” she shouts back, but she forces herself to climb lower, yelping when her feet slip. Her legs swing out from under her and she frantically digs her fingers into the wall.

“Steady,” Mulder calls out, and she glances down to see him already safe on the ground. Curse him and his long, lanky, naturally athletic body. He braces his hands against the wall, creating a place for her to land. “Just jump, Scully! There’s no time!”

Her arms are shaking and she hasn’t even reached the second story. If she jumps from this height, she could very well knock Mulder unconscious. She’s scrambling to find a new place for her feet to grip when she hears it above her—the crash of a door banging open.

“Jump, Scully!”

The sound of people bursting into the room spurs her to action and she grabs for an icy gable that hangs a foot or so below her. Her fingers are curling around the slippery surface when a head pokes out of the window above her.

“Freeze!” the police officer shouts, and out of her periphery, she sees the shiny metal glint of a gun.

Oh, fuck.

She doesn’t even bother glancing down to see if Mulder is still in position. Whether or not it’s a testament to their partnership or simply her desperation to escape the law, she lets go of the wall.

Falling two stories feels both longer and shorter than it should. The breath catches in her lungs and stays suspended until she collides roughly with Mulder’s tensed body. He doesn’t quite catch her as much as he breaks her fall, but before she can even assess whether either of them is injured, he’s grabbing her around the torso and shoving her towards the parking lot.

She trips over him and they both plunge into knee-deep snow. She barely registers the sensation of ice soaking through her pants before he’s yanking her up by her armpits and throwing her towards the car.

Either Mulder underestimates his own strength or overestimates her own amount of bodily control at this moment, because she crashes into the car door with an oomph.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he curses, but before she even registers the blow, he’s grabbing at her left hand. His eyes dart to hers just briefly before he starts wiggling the diamond ring off her finger.

“What the hell?” she asks, jerking her hand protectively into her chest. But he pulls her hand back, so roughly she flinches. “Jesus!” she yelps as he yanks the ring from her finger. She lurches forward to grab it but he catches her wrist tightly. His eyes are dark, defensive.

“We’re being tracked, Scully,” he warns. “They’re finding us somehow, and I’m starting to wonder if this is how.”

Her mouth falls open and she starts to protest that Alan would never, that Alan could never—

But Mulder said there was more. More about Alan, specifically. Pain lashes through her chest and shock stuns her into stupor. Mulder swipes a quick, reassuring thumb across her cheek before he turns and chucks the ring as far as he can. His pitcher’s arm is strong and the ring disappears into a snowbank many, many yards down the road. He turns back to her and squeezes her left hand tightly.

“I didn’t do that just for show, Scully.” His eyes are full of a certainty that she herself doesn’t have.

She thinks of the X-Files, imagines them burning in the hallways of the Hoover Building. Her mind flashes to an image of Mulder strapped to a bed in a psych ward, the nurses shoving medications he doesn’t need down his throat night and day. She remembers standing in the basement office, listening to him say hateful, hurtful things to her while Skinner looked on in dismay. She watches him step shakily out of the wreckage of a car crash, his head bleeding and hands tied, his eyes fixed firmly on her.

All of it to protect her. All of it to save her life.

She meets his gaze and nods. He nods back, then runs to the other side of the car. She waits breathlessly as he fits the key into the lock, his frozen fingers slipping as he wiggles it in.

She’s sliding into the passenger seat and slamming shut the door just as the police officer, tailed closely by the BNB owners, darts out the front door. The officer aims his gun at their windshield just as Mulder shoots the car into reverse. A gunshot reverberates loudly against the front bumper and Scully takes a moment to thank God for the officer’s poor aim.

Even with their new snow tires, the car swivels and skids in the icy driveway and Mulder overcorrects as he yanks them out into the road. The car starts slipping into a ditch and Scully screams, planting her hands against the dashboard as Mulder tries to whip the car back towards the road. They miss the ditch by mere inches and Mulder has to fight the wheel to urge the car back onto the unplowed street. Once they finally get going, they’re traveling much faster than they should. But behind them, the officer has jumped into a big, bulky police truck and he’s riding close on their tail.  

They fly down the road in a tense silence, Scully’s hands intermittently grabbing at her seat or the console when the car slides across a patch of ice or gets stuck in a deep snowdrift. Behind them, the cop isn’t gaining on them but also isn’t losing them. His sirens and lights seem wildly out of place in the otherwise peaceful, snow-quiet morning.

“How do we lose him?” Mulder mutters to himself, and Scully wishes she had her weapon. If she could blow out a tire on that truck, they could make their getaway.

“His truck is better equipped than ours to handle these roads,” she notes, and Mulder’s jaw clenches in response.

“And it’s only a matter of time before his backup arrives,” she points out pragmatically.

“Gee, Scully, got any more words of encouragement?” he snaps.

Ignoring him, she turns her focus back to the truck. Once they’re well outside of town, they start climbing up into the mountains, and the snow gets deeper and more treacherous. She feels her little car just barely gripping the roads as it weaves its way up a pass. The higher they climb, the slower Mulder must drive to stay in control. She’s so focused on the road conditions that she almost doesn’t notice when the truck behind them drops back, then turns off onto a different road.

“Mulder,” she says quietly, unwilling to speak too loudly for fear it will distract him from his main task, “the cop is gone.”

He frowns. “If we can manage these roads, so can he.”

“Suppose he knows a different way around the mountain? Think he’ll be waiting for us on the other side?”

He clenches his jaw. “That, or someone deliberately called off the dogs.”

His eyes flit to hers meaningfully. She swallows hard. “They let us get away,” she murmurs.

He nods tightly. “They let us get away.”

**

As the morning sun rises, the snow turns slushy and the roads become more passable. By midday, they’re well into southern Idaho, where the snowplows have cleared most of the roadways. Hunger forces them to stop at a gas station, where Mulder quickly fills up the car while Scully pays cash for a huge bagful of food, four long-sleeved t-shirts in sizes large and small, two jackets, two knit beanies, and some basic hygiene products. The gas station clerk pays her little attention and although her heart is racing, she’s confident they’ve flown under the radar at this pit stop.

Back on the road, they tear silently through lunch and Scully tries unsuccessfully to change into fresh clothes without exposing herself too much.

“Dinner and a show,” Mulder jokes approvingly as she pulls off her dirty work blouse and yanks on the gas station shirt. “And who says romance is dead?”

She rolls her eyes and gratefully swipes deodorant under her arms, then manages to brush her teeth using a water bottle and wash her face with a cleansing cloth. She is amazed at how much better she feels after tending to these basic needs, and when they pull over on the side of the road so Mulder can pee, she forces him to do the same.

But now that the adrenaline from the car chase has worn off, dread has taken its place. She and Mulder still have some unfinished business.

“So,” she starts quietly.

He looks at her with mind-reader eyes. “You ready?”

She isn’t ready to hear the truth, and maybe she never will be. Mulder seems to sense this, because his hand flits over to graze her knee. He squeezes.

“You deserve the truth, Scully. And maybe you always have.” His voice turns somber and serious. “I was wrong to ever think I could keep it to myself.”

She closes her eyes briefly, grateful for this acknowledgement. But she knows her partner well, and she understands—somewhat—his misguided attempts to protect her. He was always going to be the martyr. He was always going to take on the pain to spare her the suffering.

“Lay it on me,” she finally says.

“You said you didn’t want Alan to be fake,” he begins. Her chest constricts with the reminder. “And I don’t think he is, at least not in the way you think.” He pauses and the anticipation builds and builds and builds.

“Just say it, Mulder.”

He rips off the Band-Aid. “Alan is a friend of Skinner’s. And a friend of . . . mine. We sent him to California to watch over you.”

Blood rushes to her ears. Not real, not real, not real. None of it was real. Images flash through her mind: meeting a handsome young nurse at the hospital, getting invited to coffee several times before she finally said yes. The coffee dates turning into dinner dates, the dinner dates turning into sleepovers. The first time he kissed her, just a gentle press of lips. The unbelievable feeling of being wanted. The press of his erection against her belly that one night. His whispered ‘I love you’ a few months later. A seafood dinner, a walk on the beach, a knee bent in the sand, a diamond ring. A yes to forever.

“To watch over me,” she repeats numbly. Her hand clutches the leather of the seat. She’s either going to throw up or faint. She shakes her head disbelievingly, trying to logic her way through this. “But Alan said—on T.V.—he said he didn’t know you. That he hadn’t even heard of you.” Surely this isn’t the truth. This can’t be the truth.

Mulder’s eyes tighten. “Someone was making him say it. Someone was making him put on an act. Be the concerned spouse, and all that.”

She winces. His eyes flash apologetically to hers and he quickly begins to backtrack. “I mean—I do believe the concern part was real. I don’t think that part was fake, Scully.”

“It’s not real, though,” she mutters. “He was a watchdog. A plant. A . . . spy.” She turns sharply to Mulder. “You sent a man all the way to California to date me? You sent someone to sleep in my bed and get to know me intimately and—and to do it so convincingly that I thought he was in love with me?” Her voice breaks. “How could you, Mulder?”

He starts protesting, begins waving his hands in the air as he tries to explain it away, but all she hears is how once again, someone has made a mockery of her life.

She slams a hand into the dashboard. “After all I’ve been through, after everything that’s been taken from me, you couldn’t even let me have this one real thing? You—you ripped me away from my job, my work. From you.” Her voice drops to a whisper.“That hurt, Mulder. It hurt. But even that wasn’t enough for you. You went and messed with my relationship too.” A pang rips through her chest and she’s briefly reminded of how it felt to lose her father, to lose Melissa. She scans the tangled mess of emotions inside herself and tries to determine whether she’s grieving the loss of Alan himself, or simply the loss of a life she thought was real. But all she can really parse out is anger.

“How could you?” she repeats defeatedly.

Mulder reaches over and grabs her wrist. She tries to pull away but he clamps down tightly, so tightly she’s sure to bruise from it.

He shakes his head vehemently, his eyes darting between her and the road. “No, Scully, no. I truly believe that what you had—what you have—with Alan is genuine. I actually didn’t—I hadn’t even heard he proposed to you. He never told us that part. He was only ever supposed to work with you, just to keep track of you and make sure you were safe. He wasn’t a plant or a spy or anything like that. He was supposed to be a bodyguard of sorts. But in performing that role, he spent a lot of time with you and . . . and he fell in love.” He sucks in a deep breath. “That’s not so hard to do, Scully.”

She doesn’t even bother dissecting that comment. Instead, she tries to recall her memories of meeting Alan, of getting to know him, of starting to care for him. What was real, and what was an act?

Nothing is real, her brain insists angrily as her eyes fall to her empty ring finger. Nothing in your life is real. Everything good is taken from you.

She buries her head into her hands and stifles a scream. “Nothing is real,” she breathes, digging her nails into her palms. “Nothing about my life is real. People use me and take advantage of me and play me for the fool. And this is the consequence.” She gestures wildly around the car. “I’m on the run with someone who tricked me into leaving my job and who tricked me into a relationship with some guy that I may or may not really know. I let Alan—Jesus, I let him fuck me, for Christ’s sake.” She ignores the way Mulder’s hands clench on the wheel. “And despite all of that, despite everything you put me through to keep me safe, I’m still stuck running. I’m not safe. And the life I thought I had was never even real. I’m left with nothing. Nothing.”

She sinks her head back into her hands and just barely registers the jolt of the car as Mulder pulls off the road and slams it into park. She feels him lean over the console and pry her hands from her eyes. He cups her cheeks, his palms warm and steady against her face.

“I’m here,” he says adamantly, “and I’m real. You and me, this is real,” he promises. Firmly but gently, he pulls her chin up until she’s looking him in the eyes. “Scully, it’s true that a lot of people have messed with your life. Me—me included.” His eyes crease painfully. “I’m ashamed to say it, but I have. But I’m here right now, staring you in the face and telling you the truth as I know it. You know me better than anyone in this whole goddamn world. You know what I’m willing to do to protect you. And I’ve gone about it the wrong way, I see that. I thought I was protecting you but I was just—I fucked it up.” She tears her eyes away and his hands fall to grip her shoulders. He shakes her gently until she looks back at him. “But don’t say you have nothing, because this is real, and you have this. From day one, from the moment we sat in that motel room in Bellefleur, Oregon and I told you about Samantha. You know every part of me, all of me. And we’re here, and we’re running, and everything is shitty and uncertain, yes. You have lost a lot of things, yes. But not me, okay? Not me. This is real, and you haven’t lost me.”

Her face crumples. “But I have lost you,” she whispers in protest. “You pushed me away, you let me go. You destroyed our work and you lied to me and although I’m starting to understand why you did that, I—I don’t know where we stand.” Dread crosses Mulder’s gaze. “I trust you, Mulder, but what we used to have is gone.”

“Gone,” he repeats slowly.

“The respect, the friendship, the partnership, the—the—” She can’t get it out. She can’t bring herself to say the word love. Whether it was platonic love or romantic love, whatever existed between them, whatever she glimpsed during her fight against cancer, that isn’t there anymore. If you love someone, you don’t cut them loose the way he cut her loose. Even to save her.

“I did a lot of things that have hurt you,” he acknowledges. “But I don’t agree that we’ve lost all of that between us. And if you feel differently, fine. But we haven’t lost trust. That’s real, Scully. If you don’t believe that anything else in your life is real, look to that. Look to us.”

She bites her lip hard, tastes blood. His thumb swipes gently at her mouth and her eyes fall closed. She is an exposed nerve, a live wire. If he touches her just so, she will combust.  

“This is real,” she repeats, as if under a spell. She opens her eyes and sees him nodding encouragingly. But Alan wasn’t real. Her heart constricts again in pain and she tips her forehead to Mulder’s chest. His arms curl around her neck and she feels a hand stroke soothingly down her spine. She breathes him in, the unfamiliar gas station deodorant and the all-too-familiar Mulder scent underneath. She thinks of the way she let herself fall from two stories high this morning, knowing his arms would catch her; she thinks of the way she drove hours and hours across the country on just his meager explanation and nothing else. She has lost so much, but some part of her still deeply trusts him, still feels intimately safe with him.

After a moment, she pulls back, nodding as if to reassure herself.

“Thank you for telling me everything,” she manages to say, although she doesn’t really feel grateful at all. He runs a thumb across her cheek and she realizes she’s crying.

“I do believe that Alan cares for you deeply,” he says gently, and she sees the honesty in his gaze, “but I also believe he could be working for someone else. I don’t—I don’t know exactly whom to trust right now. Except for you.”

She nods. He’s right. He’s completely right. She stares into his grey-green eyes, notes the stubble on his cheeks, runs her eyes across his messy dark hair. It hits her like a freight train. This—this right here—could be the rest of her life: him and her, on the run. Never being certain of another single thing except for this thing that stretches between them. This bond. This thin, fragile rope connecting their hearts. Call it trust, call it history, call it shared circumstances. But don’t call it love.

He pushes a strand of hair behind her ears. His touch grounds her and she clasps her hand over his. “Is there anything else?” she asks quietly.

He sighs and pulls away, his hands falling from her face. She resists the urge to lean back into him.

“Just that I should have involved you from the start,” he says. “I shouldn’t have tried to hide it from you. You’d been through so much with your cancer. I thought I was protecting you. I—I had so much on my mind then, Scully. I thought if I didn’t share what I knew, if I kept it to myself, if I forced you away, it protected you. It saved you from doing this. From being here.”

“Here?”

“Running, Scully. Being chased for the rest of our goddamn lives. Having targets on our backs forever.” He shakes his head. “That’s not a life.”

No, but at least it’s real, her mind provides.

She reaches over and grabs his hand. She squeezes. He squeezes back.

**

The rest of Idaho passes easily and they’re halfway through Montana when the sun sets. The roads have been relatively empty of other vehicles, but Scully checks the mirrors every few minutes to make sure they aren’t being followed. She isn’t quite sure whether it’s a good or bad thing that no one is pursuing them anymore. She’s not sure what it means that the police officer gave up on them so easily.

It’s nearing midnight by the time they finally roll into Kalispell, Montana. Scully knows from family road trips that this town is the gateway to one of the most beautiful national parks in the United States. If it were daytime, she’s sure they’d be treated to crisp, clear mountain views. But it’s pitch black now and their eyes are trained on less awe-inspiring things.

They’re looking for a road.

That’s all the Gunmen could give Mulder—the name of a road and the description of a cabin. They drive up and down the main drag three times before they finally spot the street sign. The road turns from asphalt to gravel, then from gravel to dirt, then from dirt to a sloshy, sloppy mud-and-ice blend. The car protests the thick sludgy mixture and there are a few moments when Scully is sure they’re going to get stuck.

But they don’t. They travel slowly along the road for four miles, maybe five, passing nothing but tall stands of fir trees and aspen groves. They drive for twenty minutes without passing a single house. When the road abruptly dead ends, Scully, who is driving, slams on the brakes, narrowly missing another crash. Mulder helps her reverse out of the tight spot and then they spend several minutes arguing about whether the cabin really exists and whether they need to wait until daytime to properly find it.

She’s turning the car around when her headlights illuminate something far away to the left and down the hill. She grips the wheel tightly as anticipation thrums in her chest. She spies a small cabin, nondescript in every possible way, nearly impossible to see amongst the thick trees surrounding it. It’s not clear at all how they’re going to get the car down to the house, but they can’t leave it on the road in plain sight. Mulder offers to take the wheel but she shrugs him off. She is the better driver, after all.

In the end, she tears up the car driving it through all the thick brush. What she really needs, she thinks, is a Humvee or some sort of Army vehicle. Definitely not an Oldsmobile. Still, she manages to maneuver the car behind the cabin, hiding it from view of the road, and breathes a huge sigh of relief when she throws it into park.

“I don’t think your car’s ever going to forgive you,” Mulder jokes as he cracks open the door. Cool night air floods in, sending chills up her spine.

She rolls her eyes and grabs the bag of items she bought at the gas station. “If we’re going to get supplies regularly, we’re going to have to figure out a better way to get in and out of here.”

Mulder frowns. “Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are when you talk logistics?” he ribs, and Scully can’t help but shake her head in amusement. Apparently, being off the road and into the relative safety of the cabin has made Mulder giddy.

They walk to the front door quietly, their FBI training alerting them to every possible sign that the cabin is already occupied. Not for the first time, Scully wishes she had her gun, and finds herself slinking along the cabin walls with her hands subconsciously pointed into finger guns. When Mulder catches sight of it, he cracks a wide grin and she smacks his arm.

But her finger guns are for nothing: the cabin sits unlocked and untouched. They sweep the rooms quickly and precisely, and although Scully is thankful to be off the road, she’s slightly bothered to discover that the place is tiny: a bite-size kitchen, a bathroom with the smallest shower she’s ever seen, a small sitting area with a fireplace, and one bedroom. With one bed. Still, the cabin does seem to have some access to electricity, because there are lamps in the bedroom, bathroom, and living room.

They spend a few minutes securing the place as best they can, shuttering the windows, moving furniture across the front door, and scouring cabinets for possible weapons. Mulder is thrilled to find a hunting knife in the bedside table, and Scully considers it good luck that the kitchen is well-stocked with heavy, skull-crushing cast iron pots and pans. It’s bitterly cold inside and she wishes she could put Mulder to work getting the fireplace going, but she knows better than to give away their location with a smoke signal. They find a few musty blankets in the bathroom closet and pile them onto the bed. Scully unloads their meager supplies and tries to find some joy in brushing her teeth over a real sink.

When it’s clear there’s nothing else for them to do, they both walk into the bedroom and stare at the bed. Mulder glances at her and shrugs, and she shrugs back.

They crawl into bed and Scully arranges a half dozen blankets on top of them. Mulder kicks at the extra covers and complains he’ll get hot.

“Suit yourself,” she says, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

The air around them feels frosty and cold, tinged with the fresh scent of pine. For a moment, she is quietly content, warm and safe after days of running from trouble. But then the realization hits her: this could be it. This could be her bed—their bed—for weeks, months, years. This could be their life.

She closes her eyes and tries not to think about it.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Sunrise zine! It’s always interesting looking up traditions in other cultures, especially around marriage. I feel like Eijiro would like to uphold old traditions while Katsuki is very “fuck it, let’s just go to the civil court and get it done with” (how is not as important as the fact that it happens).

…

…

…

…

“This is stupid,” Katsuki said bluntly.

If his fiancé heard him, he didn’t show it. Eijiro hummed cheerfully as he sat down at the kitchen table across from Katsuki, their knees bumping and elbows touching. In his hands was a steaming cup of tea (not coffee—Katsuki refused to deal with a hyperactive squirrel) and a protein shake. His recent cooking kick had just died down, leaving their fridge once again empty and unstocked.

The humming grew louder. A pop song. It was far too early for a pop song. At least Eijiro wasn’t outright singing it. Katsuki wasn’t sure if his coffee was strong enough to handle it.

“This is stupid,” Katsuki repeated, louder. When Eijiro still said nothing, he lightly kicked his feet. “Hey!”

Eijiro laughed as he cleared the table, shoving aside crumpled flyers and torn napkins. He didn’t even wince at the foot on his shin, the idiot’s skin so thick that insults and attacks just rolled off him. “It’ll be fun!”

That wasn’t a denial. Katsuki scowled, bumping their knees once more in protest. “It’s pointless and stupid.”

Rolling his eyes, Eijiro shrugged off the complaints and disdain with a practiced ease. Now that the table was clear, he sat back in his seat with a satisfied sigh. “Just humour me, ok? I want to try. Our parents did it.”

Katsuki snorted. “Another reason not to do it.”

If his father had inserted this inane idea in his fiancé’s head…

“It’s not even that much work,” Eijiro added, his smile not dropping a notch. It was something both infuriating and endearing, how positive he could be regardless of the situation. Right now, though, it was just annoying. “We don’t have to go to a shrine or anything!”

“You think that’s the problem?” Katsuki’s frown deepened. Perhaps it had been a mistake to let Eijiro take charge of the wedding. He kept tossing in frivolous old rituals, things that Katsuki could care less about. If they had done it his way, they’d have just run to the court already and signed the papers. They’d already be on their honeymoon by now, in a hotel room with absolutely no interruptions.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to do that now.

Eijiro squinted at Katsuki, as though sensing his thoughts. “It’ll be quick, trust me.”

“That’s not the issue,” Katsuki retorted, rapping his fingers on the table impatiently. “If you wanted quick, you’d have just listened to me.”

“That’s not quick, that’s just doing nothing. Look!” Unmoved, Eijiro pulled out his phone and quickly typed. Turning the screen to Katsuki, he showed a simple calendar. Rokuyo.com. It was tacky and hideous, like it had come from the 90s. Brightly coloured font, black and white grids, and pictures of random weddings lined the sides. “There’s a website that checks what dates are auspicious.”

“It’s a bunch of money-stealing bullshit!” Katsuki snapped, rolling his eyes. His grip tightened on his coffee mug. At the rate things were going, he’d have to buy a new one. Again. “None of it’s—”

“Real, I know, I know.” Eijiro finished his sentence for him. “But I like it.”

Katsuki glared at the TV across the room. He knew he should have stopped Eijiro from watching his horoscope every morning. Letting the small things slide had invited a big trouble.

“Please? It’ll be easy!” Eijiro reached across the table, covering Katsuki’s hand with his. He cocked his head softly and pleaded, “Just do it for me.”

Easy. Nothing had ever been easy when it came to Eijiro. It hadn’t been easy meeting him, falling for him, or even proposing to him. Why did Katsuki think that marriage would be any different? At least it was just rokuyo, instead of a more obscure, hard-to-do, annoying ritual.

“It’s outdated,” Katsuki grumbled. He didn’t move his hand.

Eijiro squeezed gently and smiled. “Kinda. No one really does it. They’re missing out.”

“Missing out on what?” Katsuki ground out. It was a serious question. What was there to miss out on? Rokuyo was just picking an auspicious date for an event. You didn’t even need to go to a temple these days. Look at the lunar calendar, find out if Buddha liked a day or not, and wham. Just why were they letting someone else pick the date for their wedding? Throwing a dart at a calendar would work just as well.

“The fun.” Eijiro grinned like the idiot he was. Whether it was lucky colours or lucky numbers, he ate up all of these mystic bullshit schemes. Even when they went out, Eijiro liked pointing out signs of good fortune.

This was a losing battle from the start. He might as well just accept it. With a huff, Katsuki rested his chin on his hand and gestured for his partner to continue. “Fine. Do it. It had better be the best fucking day.”

“Knew you’d see it my way!” Eijiro bounced forward, pecking Katsuki on the lips before sitting back and reaching under the table. His red hair disappeared for a few minutes as he grappled with an invisible object. “Momo,” he grunted, “said we’d need this.”

That reassured him more than he expected. “Need what?”

“This.” Eijiro inhaled sharply before sitting up quickly, a giant binder in his hands. He dropped it on the table with a loud thud. Sticky notes and colourful tabs stuck out from all ends and the thing looked like it weighed a ton. “Everything we’ve planned is in here.”

Finally, something Katsuki could agree with. If Momo said they needed it, then they needed it. Katsuki couldn't be bothered with the planning and Eijiro couldn’t organize to save his life. Their friend was the only reason Katsuki hadn’t actually dragged Eijiro to an officiant.

There was something impressive about how neat Momo’s writing was. Tiny, yes; cramped, yes; even the margins were filled with notes, but her writing was still neat and legible, despite the fact that Katsuki would need a magnifying lens to read it all. If Eijiro had any problems, he didn’t show it, his finger sliding down calendars and day-to-day itineraries as he skimmed the pages.

“She wrote too much,” Katsuki commented, still leaning on his hand, still watching. He took a sip of his coffee, the caffeine burning a path down his throat and jogging him awake.

“Just a little,” Eijiro admitted, rubbing his neck awkwardly as he gave the binder an affectionate look. “I don’t think we’ll do even half of this.”

Katsuki snorted. “A quarter is pushing it.”

“It’s not that bad!” Near the end now, he stopped flipping pages. “Alright, looks like the last thing we have planned’s in June, so the wedding’s after that.”

Part of Katsuki wanted to ask why they were planning their wedding around side events, but he could tell he wouldn’t like the answer. It was either sappy or crappy and he didn’t want to deal with either.

Eijiro thumbed through his phone. “Alright, when’s the first lucky Taian day…the sixth!” His smile dropped. “A Thursday.”

Katsuki shrugged. “Then we get married on Thursday.”

“We wanted it on the weekend in case someone can’t take the day off.” Eijiro shook his head sadly.

Katsuki tapped his fingers, not getting the problem. “So we don’t invite them.”

“We can’t not invite Momo!” Eijiro’s jaw dropped, his phone almost falling out of his grip in his shock. Well, at least that explained everything—that someone was Momo, everyone else was capable of skipping work except for her. “She’s literally planning everything.”

“Then tell her to start taking vacations!” Katsuki scowled, sitting back and crossing his arms. Their friend was a workaholic. If anything, they should be forcing her to play hooky. Maybe if they’d dragged her away from class once in school, this wouldn’t be an issue now.

“Yeah, I can’t remember the last time she took one—” Eijiro agreed before catching on. He shook his head quickly, making an X with his arms. “But that’s not the point here! No weekdays!”

“Fine.” Katsuki curled his lip. “Then what?”

“How about…” Eijiro checked the binder, scanning the dates. “The next Saturday isn’t good, but the one after is free.” His grin faded as he glanced at his phone. “And that’s Butsumetsu. The worst day to do anything.”

Katsuki idly rubbed his fingers, feeling his sweat build up, a spark building in his fingers. Maybe he should just destroy all calendars.

Eijiro chewed his lip, frowning as he read from his phone. “The day after’s another Taian and a Sunday and—” He pouted and flopped over onto the table. “But Deku can’t make it.”

That made things easy. Katsuki snorted. “We don’t need him.”

“Yes, we do,” Eijiro stared at him incredulously, “he’s your best man!”

“We’ll do a traditional wedding,” Katsuki countered immediately.

He flicked a pen at Katsuki. “We still can’t leave him out!” Flicking through the phone once more, Eijiro perked up. “The twenty-ninth’s good, and it’s a Saturday.” He sat up, double checking the binder. His eyes widened and he stared at Katsuki excitedly. “Everyone’s free too!”

“Fucking finally,” Katsuki muttered. “Book it.”

“Oh, right! Good idea!” Eijiro hummed as he tapped a number on his phone, another inane pop song that Katsuki unfortunately knew all the lyrics to. “Hey! I wanted to—yeah, it’s Kirishima, we talked before! Yeah, yeah, what’s up?” When Katsuki glared, he smiled sheepishly and cleared his throat. “Actually, calling about booking—I know, we picked a date! July twenty-ninth! It’s a—oh. Really?” His smile dropped. “No, not, it’s cool, just gotta pick another. Yeah. Uh huh. Yep. Call you later!”

Katsuki didn’t even have to ask. “All booked?”

“Yeah.” Eijiro smirked triumphantly. “All because it’s a Taian day. See? Other people do this too!”

He twitched. “And that’s why it’s booked.”

“Well. Yeah.” Eijiro rubbed his neck, an embarrassed flush reaching his ears. “But still—”

“And they rip us off on those days.” Katsuki scowled, remembering his mother’s complaints. “Doesn’t it cost a goddamn arm and a leg more?”

“Well…yeah.” Eijiro slouched, dispirited. He set down his phone and fiddled with his fingers as he contemplated. “I guess…we can just drop the whole thing.”

Shit. Katsuki clicked his tongue. He’d gone too far. He always did, as the rest of his friends were more than happy to remind him, but it was easy to forget with Eijiro sometimes. His fiancé was especially good at bouncing back, deflecting sharp words like they were nothing, and sometimes he seemed almost invincible.

As stupid as he found horoscopes and lucky signs, Eijiro didn’t. Eijiro didn’t and that was all the reason Katsuki needed. Leaning forward, he glanced at the still open calendar. July 15th was free. His lips curled and he slammed the binder shut. “July fifteenth.”

Eijiro blinked. He glanced at the binder, then at Katsuki, and cocked his head. “Huh?”

“The wedding. July fifteenth,” Katsuki bit out, not letting his partner get in a word edgewise. “We’ll have it then.”

Flustered and confused, Eijiro reached for the binder. “Oh, uh, is that—”

“Everyone’s free,” Katsuki said, his hand firmly keeping the fat thing shut. There was no need to check anything else.

Still taken aback, Eijiro picked up his phone. “Oh, then—”

Katsuki reached forward and wrapped his other hand around Eijiro’s, keeping him from unlocking his screen. “It’s a Saturday. Everyone’s free. We’ll do it then.” He glared at the phone. “Who cares if someone else thinks it’s a good day or a bad day?”

Eijiro deflated slightly, his grip on the phone going limp.

Fuck. As usual, his mouth got in the way. Katsuki growled, running a hand raggedly through his hair. He had never been good at words. “You just want the day to be auspicious, right?”

“I guess,” Eijiro agreed hesitantly, not entirely following.

“We met July fifteenth. Nothing more auspicious than that.” Katsuki snorted derisively, his eyes meeting Eijiro’s. “It’s our day, we say if it’s a fucking good one.”

They stared at each other, his words hanging in the silence. Eijiro didn’t reach for the binder, didn’t reach for his phone, just sat there and stared. Then, maddeningly slowly, he nodded, his smile returning. His eyes crinkled as he reached up and cupped Katsuki’s cheek. “It’s our day, isn’t it? Ours.”

“You good now?” Katsuki asked, leaning into his touch. The table dug into his hips as he tilted closer.

“Yeah.” Eijiro wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s neck before kissing him. “More than good.”

Another kiss, deeper this time. He should have bought a smaller table, there was no way he could get closer without getting around it. At least the table was cleared, they wouldn’t even have to go to the couch or the bedroom.

Before he could move, Eijiro broke the kiss. Panting, he pressed his forehead to Katsuki’s. He smiled slyly. “You remember the day we met?”

“Shut up,” Katsuki growled.

“Or what?” Eijiro teased.

Katsuki didn’t even bother going around the table before lunging. He already knew the best way to shut that damn mouth.

[alterchaos]

THE EVE OF DESPAIR

A journey until the end...

(cw: strong language)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: TIME BOMB

NEXT CHAPTER: THE KING OF BONES

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“…”

“E-Eve?”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“…”

“…”

“…”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“…”

“A-A…A-Ab-bout what…huff…h-happened…”

Tap…

“…”

“…”

“…”

“huff…huff…L-Listen…Y-You…You don’t n-need to…hnngh…”

“…”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Ev-Everything’s g-going to be o-…huff…okay…a-alright…mnn…N-No wishes…re…quired…”

Tap. Tap.

Tap.

…

“Would you just give it a rest, Sonic?”

“E-Eve…”

The girl turned to face him, her tearful, hurting eyes flashing green.

“You know I HATE it when you lie to me like this! Can you just care about yourself for ONCE!?”

Sonic stared at her in silence as his outstretched hand fell. His feeble heart shattered at the sight of her face, which contorted with both the lingering influence of the rings in her pack as well as her own very real pain over his situation. His brow furrowed with warmth and concern as he reached out a shaky hand once more.

“H-Here…L-Let me have the…huff…the r-ring of hate…a-at least…haa…I-I can-”

Eve turned away from him, “No. You can’t. Sharah and I will handle the rings from now on.”

“A-All that…p-power though…i-it…huff…i-it isn’t good for-“

She whipped her head back around, her eyes now flashing red, “YOU ARE DYING, SONIC!!!” She froze as the weight of her words hit her, her heavy breath quivering with the terror of the reality she’d finally come to admit. She sucked in her breath, holding it so as to prevent the rising sobs from escaping her, “Y-You’re going to…t-to…” She steeled herself, stepping forward and grabbing his shoulders in a desperate plea as she steadied her voice, “You. Are going. To DIE…Do you understand that? This isn’t a game, Sonic! You don’t get any more lives than the one you’ve got!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?”

Sonic stared at her in heartbreak, his mouth agape yet at a loss for words. He reached for them, trying with everything he had to hold on tight, yet they slipped away. 

His thoughts…slipped away…

His…mind…

…

…

Eve watched in horror as his gaze fell blank, his arms falling limp at his sides as the flame on his chest flickered. Flecks of light danced up into the dark sky, disappearing….

Forever…

She caught him as he slumped forward, her tearful eyes flying wide with terror. She held him in her embrace for a moment as she processed what just happened. After realizing there was nothing she could do to help, she laid him gently on the ground before her so he could recover. She stared at him, her gaze falling for an instant on the diminished flame before pulling sharply away. She turned, stomping down her foot as her eyes flashed red.

“Shit! SHIT!!!”

Her heart began pounding as she gripped her head. She wanted to lash out, to destroy this world that would soon claim her best friend’s life. 

They were running out of time.

They were running out of time.

They were running out of time.

Time…

Time!

TIME!!!

TIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIIIIME!!!!!!

WHY COULDN’T SHE JUST DESTROY DAMN TIME ITSELF!!?

She unsheathed her sword, slamming it down onto the ground in a fit of rage.

“Stupid-!!!”

She kicked the hilt, sending it spinning across the stone-cold ground before her.

“FUCKING-!!!!”

She gripped her head once more, screaming between gritted teeth as she bent over, all of her anguish and pain that she’d fought so hard to contain finally boiling over.

She wanted to run.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to destroy.

And yet…

sniff hic

Eve squatted down beside her catatonic friend, burying her face in her knees as a wave of intense sobs overtook her, rocking her body to its core. After maintaining possession of the ring of rage for some time, Sharah had shut herself away in her own ring, blocking the outside world in an endless cry of silence. Eve was alone.

All alone…

Just as she always had been…

sob 

sob hic

…and as she always would be.

clatter

clink clatter

“sniff…H-Huh?”

The girl with the golden hair watched with puffy eyes as her sword slowly made its way back to her, clattering ever so slightly against the stony floor.

Eve narrowed her eyes, which returned once more to their natural, aqua hue, “W-What?”

The sword stopped before her, Eve looking to it with wide, curious eyes. Then, as if on cue, a small, bony hand popped out from underneath, beckoning gently for her to take it.

She reached down, taking her scimitar in her dry, cracked hands before turning it over a couple times and then sheathing it at her side. She then looked back to the hand, recognition lining her features.

“A…skeleton?”

The hand jumped before pointing and waving behind itself.

Eve stood up, “You…want me to follow you?”

The boney hand clenched into a fist, making a nodding motion.

Her gaze fell, “I-I can’t…I have to help-”

The skeleton hand clacked against the rocky surface as it waved itself frantically. It crawled over to the hedgehog beside her, hopping onto his chest and patting the area near the flame.

The human’s wet eyes widened with hope, “Are you…saying you can help him?”

The hand nodded once more.

Eve wiped her tears, not having any better options at the moment, “A-Alright…” She took Sonic's limp body in her arms, hugging tightly and pressing her forehead to his affectionately as the lively bones leapt up to her shoulder blade. She looked to it, nodding with determination, “Lead the way.”

The girl with the golden hair made haste as she followed the skeleton hand’s command. All the while, Sonic remained catatonic, never breaking free from his half-dead state despite his steady breaths. It was concerning. His prior episode hadn’t lasted this long and Eve wondered whether his mind would ever wake again before the flame’s curse claimed his soul.

Still, she didn’t care.

She wasn’t leaving his side.

Until the end…

As the girl continued to follow the skeleton’s guidance, she began to notice her breath forming before her lips. She shivered as a rush of cool wind hit her skin, yet she didn’t stop. No matter the bite or the sting of the open sky, she pushed on, paying no mind to the weariness in her soul nor the aching in her bones. 

She didn’t care.

She would carry him as far as it took.

Until the end…

The skeleton and the human came across a mountain, little flecks of snow blowing against her red, frostbitten skin in the howling night. She gazed up the rocky surface, gulping slightly at the harrowing sight.

Still…

She wouldn’t give up on him.

Until the end…

She wrapped her catatonic friend’s arms around her neck, calling upon the skeleton hand to help hold his hands steady like a sort of clasp. She exhaled, gripping the rough, rocky surface with her rough, shaky hands. Even if her arms wanted to give out, even if her body was screaming from the distance she’d carried him, she refused to give up. 

She grabbed one ledge…

Then another…

Then another…

She slipped.

Until the end…

She regained her footing.

She climbed…

Higher…

Higher…

She could see it…

The top…

She reached out…

Until the end…

She grasped it, pulling herself up with a cry of determination.

Until the end…

Until the end…

She flopped over onto her back, gasping and blinking out the snow from her eyes as she lay next to her friend. Worn, hungry, and thirsty from her journey, her vision swam, her eyes growing heavy from the insane fatigue overtaking her.

Until…

…

No.

She couldn’t give up now.

The girl with the snowy hair rose onto shaky legs, taking her best friend in her arms once more with a grunt of effort.

Sonic needed her.

Until the end…

She took a step.

Until…the end…

Then another.

Until…the…

She swayed, losing her balance.

…the…

…the…

She fell forward, Sonic tumbling from her arms into the powdery snow.

…en-

Everything went dark.

MUSIC END

—----------------------------------------------------------

“Awaken, child.”

Eve gasped, her eyes flying open.

She sat up, shaking the snow from her hair as she gathered her bearings. The small skeleton hand flew from her back to her front from the force, Eve cupping her hands to catch it before it could fall to the ground.

She smiled sheepishly, “Sorry about that. You okay?”

The hand nodded.

She looked out before her, noticing the cliff of the mountain where she’d climbed up. She hadn’t moved but a few feet, drag marks lining the snow from when she was passed out.

“You were…trying to save me…”

The hand nodded again.

Eve smiled, “Thank you.”

The hand waved before turning to the side in a bashful motion, eliciting a small chuckle from the girl. It hopped down, crawling over to the hedgehog laying on his side. He was still completely lifeless apart from the small, steady breaths escaping him every few seconds, appearing in the cold wind before his friend as a sign of reassurance.

Eve sighed in relief before making her way to her feet. She froze a moment in shock as she did, the skeleton hand tilting to the side in question.

Eve looked down at her hands, gripping and ungripping them as she took in the sensation.

She felt…strong…

Rejuvenated…

Warm…

The human gestured to her restored figure, “Did you do this?”

The hand pushed out three fingers before clasping them down.

Eve frowned, “Sorry but…I don’t know what that means…”

The hand lurched forward as if to sigh before clenching into a fist once more and shaking side to side.

“How then-” She looked over herself once more before shaking her head, “Nevermind.” She scooped Sonic into her arms, “Let’s keep going.”

With that, the skeleton hand hopped up onto her leg, crawling back up to its place on her shoulder once more. She marched on, unwilling to let whatever strange phenomenon had overcome her go to waste.

She looked on with determination, her eyes glowing a fierce blue.

Until the end.

CHAPTER END

[originemesis]

@bored2deathiswear xxx

It was laughable really- the poisoner of humanity himself likely confounded by the food criticism of a serial fast food conditioned palate. There was a time when anything edible was readily received when shit like the weather and seasons and vermin plagued production of said food with various mouths to feed. But heaven had spoiled him beyond that ready hardiness so that not even a plate of spilled spaghetti could bother him past a dismissive scoff. Still, he'd had wings in heaven and hardly any real appetite beyond the self soothing ones conjured from being called the ancient asshole equivalent of cringe whenever he tried to convince the council that the national anthem of heaven should really be Knocking on Heaven's door- or like...Welcome to the Jungle at the very fucking least.

Cheek still cold and glassy in his palm, he tips his head ever so slightly towards his captor's contempt while his gaze remained level with the foliage beyond the window. Is that 'how it's going to be?'

"Get used to it." His noodle tangled talon snaps it's bond to wiggle and 'shoo' the other out of his enclosure as if he had a say in the matter.

"I might be stuck here, but I don't have to talk to you. So go eat shit." The aggression in his tone has taken a turn for the lazy as if Lucifer's just a fly to bat out of his breathing space before he inhaled him accidentally. And he'd be happy to keep it that way if the actual fuck didn't just waltz up and plant himself between him and his view through the window. With no feathers left to twitch in alarmed annoyance, the first man shoves the edge of the table on either side of the other's legs just to scoot himself back a half inch, a scowl not far behind the gesture.

"Bruh! What is your fucking PROBLEM?" Though it would be his problem in finding any motivation to eat the slop showing up on his room on schedule that Lucifer brings into question. Though it's not really a question is it? "I don't have to do shit, actually. If you wanted me to act like this isn't some cage, then maybe you should have reconsidered the bars??" Huffing and puffing without the convenience of getting the same agitation across with extra ruffled feathers, he quirks a brow as confusion (and a twinge of apprehension in his wing's scar covered connection points) settles into the glass of his expression as it simultaneously reflects Lucifer's snarling smile back at him, his talon indicating the location of the physical embodiment of what happens when one eats food prepared by the devil behind the three foot collar that guards it from prying eyes.

A barely secret insecurity.

"Uh huh ... real cute. How about YOU choke? On these fat NUTS-"

The outburst dwindles when, amidst the sudden appearance of a steaming pie held between the leisure of slowly swinging knees, he finds his face suddenly slammed down past the crust and swimming in the scald of the gravy beneath. Revulsion is of course his first reaction, though there's no jerking his face out of the savory pie filling with the firm grip administered to his helmet's 'handle bars'. Outraged gurgles and attempts to blindly slash out at anything his anchored flailing could reach, it's only after the other lifts his head out of the steaming slop that he sputters a complaint of "-fuck!?"

With shoulders shivering as he greedily drinks a few breaths in along with whatever pie goop happens to coat the stunned slant of his lips (which upon accidental ingestion, he fucking hates that it actually tastes tolerable...maybe more so in his famished state), he has little time to lambast the other as one eye display slides uncertainly open to the slow slide of serpent tongue dragging a clean line from cheek to temple. Without his wings to slam down in alarm, he sits there- half blinded with a better than bullion base splattered over his vision, stunned at the taste test past issuing a guarded gulp in response before he's unceremoniously forced face first into the pie again.

More scratching of the air ensues, but given how long his arms are to where Lucifer had slid up close on the table's edge, he does little more than frantically rake the air past his captor's perch. Once the grip on his horns starts to unceremoniously grind his face around in the mess of slimy peas and carrots, he can't stifle the yelp of an open mouth outrage, earning a mouthful of the filling- buttery, smooth...sliding down with no effort in his bid to lift his face out of an early gravy grave for another gasp of air.

The force holding him down seems to fuck off all at once, leaving him dripping pale brown liquid over the baking tin, chunks of shredded chicken clinging to his face. He couldn't see where Lucifer had gone, but could tell the fucker was still loitering nearby with his crooning commentary and that off-putting scent he couldn't help but squirm in his chair over. "Oh- you fucking BITCH..."

There's a valiant attempt to mop some of the goop off his mask with a swipe of his talon, but the demand of his stomach after having inhaled the first taste would see him hesitate to flick it off in earnest. Rather he'd mop it discreetly into a portal produced seamlessly by his mouth that allowed him to choke down most substances through the mask. Well that was a fucking problem. It actually tasted...? Good? Maddeningly enough for his starved human-presenting stomach that bid him to dip his claws in to the mutilated pie and start scooping the solid chunks of it into his mouth with a shudder and a moan as low as it was methodical.

And when too much of the leftover sauce trickled through his fingers once he'd picked all the solid bites out, he'd lean over to lap the tin with a lengthy, banana slug of a tongue, breath hot and heaving into the dish with the drive a bear might insert it's snout into the nearest hive. He's on auto pilot cleaning the pie tin, unconcerned if Lucifer is still milling about until it's licked clean. Face rising from the feral task, he knocks the empty tin off the table just as carelessly as before (sans the food waste) and slides the length of his tongue up to start clearing his cream splattered mask. His gaze fixates blankly on the other's expression during the thorough process until there's hardly any indication that there even was a pie there save for the bits of crust stuck to the corners of his mouth.

"...more." He replies simply with morose abandon, bid to by another rumbling growl from his gut that had him hissing through grit teeth that part only for him to lap at a speck of gravy on the cuff of his wrist that he'd missed amidst his pie inhaling. "-want some MORE."

[sinelity]

eyes like yours, can look away (but you can’t stop dna)

↳ in which dabi struggles with the overwhelming familiarity of his reflection

—-

shaky hands gripped the counter, turning white at the knuckles. it was late, far too deep into the am’s to still be awake and this wasted. dabi didn’t care though. he was so numb to the touch, he could hardly feel the counter digging into his skin. hell, he couldn’t even stand properly without a support.

he deserved this though. at least he thought so. he’s been working his ass off, causing trouble for the hero’s every which way he went. it was rewarding enough to watch them from a shabby alleyway as they scrambled around, trying to save every pathetic bitch that couldn’t help themselves.

well it was, up until endeavor arrived on scene. he could handle seeing him, loved the rush of satisfaction it gave him to watch his father seethe at the sight of his very own signature. what he couldn’t handle was the brat shadowing his footsteps. of course, daddy had to parade around his special lil’ boy that he was oh so proud of. the only heir endeavor ever needed; the only one he truly wanted.

it made bile rise in his throat before he forced it down, walking off with his jaw clenched in a similar manner to his hands, only to make his way back to the bar to wash away any memory he had left of the day.

and so here he was, hunched over the sink after a few rounds too many. any self pity he had left in him was long forgotten, put to rest for the remainder of the night. he hated feeling like he had no control, no power over his own stupid fucking emotions. dabi refused to cope, instead opting out for less savory methods that lead him to this exact situation hundreds of times over.

the faucet gave in with a creak, a sharp flow of water ricocheting against the porcelain. he splashed water over his face, hardly holding himself up without a hand against the surface to steady him. the same routine he’d never outgrow no matter how many years pass by.

he didn’t bother to dry his dripping skin. he only held himself against the counter once again, this time his shoulder leaning into the wall.

an empty box laying close to his hand served as an empty reminder; he needed more dye. begrudgingly, dabi looked into the mirror, avoiding any direct eye contact with the man staring back at him. he just wanted to examine his fading hair and white roots, an annoying nuisance but one that was much needed. it was inevitable though. impossible to ignore his own reflection so when his eyes met the familiar blue in the mirror, he felt sick.

he felt sick because it wasn’t him who he saw, but the cold eyes of his father. the same man who he despised more than anything. the same man who was supposed to raise him with a loving smile, yet only ever looked at him with dead eyes. the sight was unwelcome, but it didn’t mind it’s manners. a foot in the door, pushing past the ever growing force trying to keep it away, it made itself at home in his head.

his gaze was locked on the image that intruded his every thought, attempting to get him to focus solely on its presence like it would heal the very wounds it inflicted.

yet it only ever reopened them, and suddenly he was right back to his past, burning up and screaming for help as his father watched. he waited, begged, cried for even a flash of care or regret in his fathers eyes but all he saw instead was disappointment. it hurt, digging into his sides and letting loose on his worn down body. he caught a small glimpse of himself engulfed in blue flames before he erupted and everything went to hell.

it tore at his insides, starting low in his knees, weakening them as it makes its way to the tip of his ears. a path only it could trace, hitting every nerve and marking its way deep inside him like it belonged. but it didn’t. he didn’t want it to. it wasn’t supposed to be there anymore. he tried so hard to tear it out of his head like it never existed in the first place.

it wouldn’t relent. he could try and try all the wanted, but even he couldn’t rid of every trace of the past that lead him here. it wasn’t what he envisioned his future to be when he was younger, but fate was cruel. it wouldn’t forgive the sins of those it had no hold over, so it would latch itself onto those around.

it wasn’t fair, but the world was doomed from the start much like his family was. his life was mapped out for him before he could even blink and he had no ounce of control over what happens anymore. he never did, and it was foolish to ever think he could change his destiny like he tried to the mind of the very man that put him in this position.

so he looked away, forcing his eyes to look elsewhere. anywhere else but his reflection like it would ever be enough to forget the eyes he inherited. it wasn’t though. it’s always going to be there. every fucking time it will be right there again, waiting for the pained face he makes to stray back. he can turn his back all he wants, but it won’t follow his movements. instead it’ll creep closer, glass shattering as it reaches for him, clawing at his scarred back and dragging him towards it.

then what?

he can’t escape the blood that so desperately wants to corrode his lungs, fill them up until he’s a sputtering mess. he can’t escape the way it begs to seep out of his torn skin, wanting to cling to every inch of his body until he’s drowning in it. he can’t escape it no matter how far he runs.

it sticks to his shadow, outlining his silhouette even on the darkest of days, trailing into his room right after him. it hovers over him as he hardly even gets his boots off before he collapse on his bed, one hand under his head and the other on his abdomen.

his mind is far too corrupt to ignore it. it lingers as his eyes close, watching, waiting for him to drift off to into a dreamless sleep. seconds pass by, then minutes until it decides to bully its way in again, deciding that it was now it’s home and he was just a mere guest. pulling and plucking at his eyelids, forcing them open as a way to make a statement; there’s no avoiding it. no way around it, to forget it, to bury it. he’s forever damned to be stuck with this torment.

[acutiewithagun]

Do better

@michan-starweaver, @oleander-nin

(tactical AU: warning- cursing, threats of violence.)

She grit her teeth as she skidded down a hallway, hands busy keeping the long skirt of her dress from tripping her. Siren looked behind her to see she was still being chased by the Foot goons. She let out a low growl from her throat as she turned a corner quickly.

The earpiece she had adorned hours previously gave a static before his dreaded voice chipped in. "Getting chased, Siren?" She ducked into a room after barely losing the goons. She reached up and pressed a button on the hidden earpiece. "Minding our own fucking business, Purple?" She heard an audible scoff as she let go of the button before pressing it twice. "And no, not anymore, just lost them in corridor Melvin."

The third voice of Michan chirped in. "Don't fight you two, you just need the coordinates of the target, take them out, then we can leave." She sounded down with the two's bickering as they had been going off on each other all night. Another voice chimed in. "Corridor Alpaca is clear, I spotted the target running into an empty lounge."

Siren gave a hum of acknowledgement as she peeked out the door. "Corridor Melvin is also clear now, heading your way. Eta, maybe five songs." "Heard, Blue out." The sound of the click from Leo's com went off. "I'm also out, don't argue you two." Michan's com also went out, leaving just the rivals.

"Alright, Purple, I'm closing in on the sailor. Prepare for the song then immediately head for the rocks." Siren walked slowly down a few halls. "Seriously what is up with your lingo? It's so cheesy." She rolled her eyes from Donnie's comment. "Would you prefer I give everything away, or hide it with my weird lingo? At least I still get my job done." He gave a laugh as the sounds of machinery cut through his microphone. "Not very well, but I suppose." She scrunched her nose in annoyance as she reached the needed door. "Shut your trap, I'm about to sing my song, I hope you're ready idiot."

"Ah, resorting to petty insults, but I shall oblige only to get this torture over with." Siren gripped the door handle as she grit her teeth. "Yeah, I'm done with your shit." She turned the knob and entered the room.

She glanced around as she put a confused expression on. All Siren had to do was find the target and distract them in one place as Donnie took the shot. The target they were after was one of the Foot's supporters. He dabbled with illegal substance selling, which gave them more than enough reason to get rid of him.

As she walked around the room, looking for the target, she thought back onto how he mission started. It was simple, breaking into a posh party and gathering information. Although Michan and Leo had to come along as Siren and Donnie's dates. Siren had refused to act as Donnie's partner if even for five minutes. And Donnie held the same sentiment.

But on the plus side, Michan was excited to wear a big frilly party dress. And Leo was looking forward to the food. So it worked out, until they lost sight of the target. Then they all went searching for the find until he was finally found.

Siren's ears perked up at hearing a slight creak. She jumped and turned around, spotting the man of the hour. Acting the lost victim, she nervously, or at least it appeared to be, twirling her fingers. "Oh, hello, apologies I didn't know anyone was in here." The man looked at the door then back at her. "Right... Well I best get going..." Siren immediately grabbed his wrist and pulled him over to a window. "Sorry, before you leave, could you help me?" She gave her signature signal, positive Donnie could see her. "I wandered from the party and ended up here. But I don't remember how to get back."

The target wavered and was about to say something when a gunshot was heard and he pooped over. Siren looked at the dead body in disgust and checked her dress. Seeing as it was clean of blood she walked around the corpse and made it out of the room.

"Alright, song was sung, sailor sunk. Let's head back to the rocks everyone." Siren was about to turn her com off when a grating voice was heard. "We would have gotten done faster if you weren't so distracted earlier." She grimaced and made her way down a hallway. "In my defense, someone kept dragging me around." Before the victim of Siren's defense could say anything, Donnie spoke in an annoyed tone. "Oh? But isn't your job distracting others, not yourself? Guess being a pretty face is all you are good for."

Everything went radio silent after his comment before Siren banged her fist into a wall. "I'll fucking kill you Purple, and I'll enjoy it. Just see what this 'pretty face' can do." She seethed as she marched down the hall. Siren ripped her earpiece out and shoved it in the secret pocket of her dress. She was pissed, planning just how much pain she'd give the softshell the next time they spar.