#I didn’t even say he should be skinned alive or something

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Brand New One Shot - First Preview

It’s time for a new one shot! I promise I will finish “Dress Up” in the very near future but I wanted to get a jumpstart on this! No active warnings for this preview, but there is a very very subtle hint to something naughty if you squint lol

You remember first meeting the King of Hell on the day you checked yourself into the Hazbin Hotel. And you remember thinking that Lucifer looked nothing like you had pictured. Of course he was beautiful, that wasn’t shocking, but he was so…unimposing. Not only that, he was kind, albeit a bit dorky as well. Not that it was off putting to you, it was endearing if anything!

Although, you hadn’t spoken to him all that much since the time you’d moved in. Lucifer seemed so nonchalant and relaxed with everyone else in the hotel, save for Alastor, who you noticed always managed to get under the fallen angel’s skin one way or another. Even you knew the radio demon was playing with fire; probably wasn’t the smartest idea to piss off the most powerful being in Hell. Regardless, how he acted around you was a little odd to say the least. It seemed like Lucifer was always trying to avoid you for some unknown reason. Did he not like you?

When you had first spoken to him all those month ago, you could tell he was tense. He rambled, a lot. And he somehow managed to fumble every other word that left his mouth. He quickly left after your initial meet, and ever since then it was nearly impossible to get in more than five words at a time. He had an impossibly perfect disappearing act, what with his portaging abilities. One time you greeted him from across the lobby and his only response was “O-Oh! H-Hey you! Uhh, I just, umm…welp, gotta run!” and took off before you could even say goodbye. Truly bizarre.

You eventually went to Charlie, telling her that her dad was seemingly very distant towards you. “Oh, don’t worry about that!” Charlie explained. “He’s a pretty busy guy, so he’s usually popping in and out of here pretty frequently. And he’s told me on multiple occasions that he’s glad you joined the hotel! He can come off as a bit scatterbrained, but rest assured he’s more than happy to have you here! And so am I!”

You smiled and thanked her. From the few months that you’ve known her, Charlie was never one to lie, so you decided to take her words at face value. For now, at least. For some reason, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was up with Lucifer. You needed to find out.

A few nights had passed and you found yourself wandering through the lobby. It was late, way later than you should be awake. Even Husk was asleep, the bar sat devoid of any life. It was difficult to sleep most night, you were still grappling with the fact that you were, in fact, in Hell. You thought you were a decent person in life. Never religious but you tried your best to while you were alive. But that didn’t seem to matter. Perhaps you should have attended church with your family more often, or donated to more charities, or not cut that one person off at that traffic light. Laying awake in your bed wasn’t helping these thoughts, but getting up and walking around usually helped just a tad.

You glanced over to the fire place, noticing the flames dancing against the walls. That was strange, considering no one ever used the fire place, or at least not that you’ve seen. But then you noticed one of the large chairs in front of it wasn’t empty. A white sleeve laid across the arm rest. You walked over out of pure curiosity, just to see who was awake at this ungodly hour like you. You craned your neck to see Lucifer sitting there frozen, his head down and eyes closed with his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked troubled. Before you could speak up, you heard him mumble under his breath.

“What the hell am I going to do…”

Worried, you outstretched your hand, but stopped short of touching his arm. “Sir?”

Lucifer’s eyes shot open instantly, turning his head to see you towering over him. He leapt from his chair completely startled and began stumbling backwards towards the fire pit.

“Watch out!” you warned, gripping his hand and pulling him towards you. Lucifer held his breath, trying to process what just happened. His head ended up flush against your chest, your face now feeling as hot as the flames in the pit. You let go of his hand and stepped away from him as fast as you could. Lucifer remained motionless. “I-I’m so sorry, your majesty! I didn’t mean for you to…I’m sorry!”

You finally heard Lucifer exhale. He stood up straight and fixed his wrinkled jacket, making every effort to not look you in the eyes.

“It’s alright, m-my dear,” he spoke softly, “no harm done. A-And please, call me Lucifer.”

“Okay. Lucifer,” you started, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I saw you over here and I heard what you said and…is everything alright?”

Lucifer was tense again. You noticed him clench his fists. “How much did you hear?”

“Not much,” you admitted. “you just sounded worried about something.”

The king let out a sigh, letting his hands relax. “Thank you for your concern, I-I appreciate it. It’s nothing…nothing that you need to trouble yourself with. It’ll be fine.” Lucifer waved his hand, a portal now swirling open behind him, leading to his bedroom. “I think we should both get some sleep now. And t-thank you for catching me. Although, fire can’t harm me…b-but I appreciate the rescue nonetheless!” He was about to step through the portal when you caught his hand once more.

“Wait,” you said quietly. Lucifer looked down at the ground, still refusing to meet your gaze. You frowned. “Sir-I mean Lucifer…I wanted to ask you something. I need to know.” You felt his hand squeeze yours; he was tense again. “I-I’ve been feeling like I’m not welcome here by you.” Lucifer finally lifted his head, his eyes almost piercing your soul. He looked distraught at your words. You never noticed how beautiful his eyes truly were, the soft yellow complimented his pure white skin nicely. You blushed slightly, but shook your head and tried to remember what you were saying. “I-I just mean, you seem to avoid me every time I’m near. If I’ve done something to upset you, I’m very sorry. And if you’d rather I’d not stay here, then…”

“NO!” he shouted, now gripping your hand with both of his. “I-I mean, no. You haven’t done anything wrong! Please…Please don’t leave. I should be the one apologizing if that’s truly how you’ve been feeling. I never want you to feel unwelcome here, especially not from me. It…It’s just that…I…” Before he could finish his explanation, his eyes dropped for just a split second before returning to yours. His gaze had somehow shifted into a more panicked expression. He let go of your hands immediately and stepped through his portal in a hurry. “I-I have to go, I’m sorry!” You couldn’t get another word out before his portal disappeared from view.

You stood alone in the parlor, alone and confused. The fire had died out, and you felt a shiver down your spine at the realization of how cold it had gotten without it. But you couldn’t let the conversation end there. You needed to know what was going on with him. You wouldn’t sleep until you did. Luckily, Lucifer’s room at the hotel was very easy to find.

[scarlethexelove]

can you please write Y/N and Wanda also Natasha is not dead here (up to you thooooo) , and Y/N pretty much replaced Vision. But before these events Natasha has always been there for Wanda, (after Endgame) so she didn’t make a hex but still griefed about Y/N and Wanda making a big move for Y/N’s reincarnation but in a good way. After Y/N being back from the dead. She learns that her soon to be wife has already fallen for Natasha and her reincarnation just meant nothing and Y/N didn’t go on with her life and ended it just there.

Wands regretted everything until she lost herself and made a big mess with the universe (pretty much MoM) and overall Wanda regretting everything, and when she gets us back (it can be Wanda taking another one of us in an another universe) or her just making us alive from the dead *this all can be up to you author*

I love your stories 🖤

I'm Sorry

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 3590

Warnings: Cheating (Allusions to it but really it is there), Angst, Major character death, Mentions of Murdering innocent people, Angry Wanda, Suicide by others, Not really a happy ending, tiny bit of fluff like very little.

A/n: This one was fun. I hope I did it justice. I may have changed a little bit of it but I hope you still like it.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

Everything hurts. You have a splitting headache and it feels like you got run over by a MACK truck. Your face scrunches up in pain, the lights too bright even with your eyes closed. Sensory overload has you curling in on yourself. Hands come up to clamp on your ears when you hear a voice, but it’s so loud and muffled that you don’t even know who is talking to you. All you want is for all of it to stop. You had been an experiment but that experience doesn’t compare to what you are feeling right now. 

“Nat turn the lights off.” Wanda orders the older woman in the room. Nat flicks the light off as she watches Wanda brush some hairs back. You let out a whimper at the contact. It breaks her heart seeing you like this. When her hand brushes against your skin she can feel you. She feels your pain. Red whisps leave her fingers slowly seeping into your skin. Soon enough the pain starts to dissipate. 

Wanda crawls in the bed behind you wrapping herself around your frame. You feel a body pressed against yours and you immediately know who it is. “Wanda.” You whisper. You turn around in her hold and nuzzle into her neck. “I’m here sweetheart.” Wanda combs her fingers through your hair. You're so tired and she feels like home. You fight to stay awake but her ministrations have your eyes closing. “It’s ok detka get some rest.” Wanda whispers and kisses the top of your head. You finally let yourself drift off to sleep. 

A little over 5 years ago the team was fighting Thanos. Your powers let you see brief points into the future. You saw that if you died that Wanda would be safe. Thanos needed you gone to get what he wants but you also saw that in the end the Avengers would win. The event that sets that in motion was your death. So as much as it pained you you let it happen. To save Wanda, to save the world. Wanda could move on but the fate of the universe was in your hands. 

“Wanda.” Nat says softly from the corner of the room. She looks at you curled into Wanda’s arms. A sight she had hoped to never see again. “Natty, she needs this.” Wanda says softly, still stroking your hair as you sleep. Nat just nods. It hurts but she knows it is something that Wanda had to do. 

Your mind races. Your dreams are of your last memories. The fight with Thanos and how you let him kill you just in order to save everyone else. Your body shoots straight up as your chest heaves from the memories. You feel a hand rubbing up and down your back but you haven’t quite gained control. You mind questioning how you are here. Why are you alive? You should be dead. That was all your mind could see and you had accepted that fact but here you are. Tears stream down your face. “Why?” You're not sure what you are asking, who you are asking the question of. You feel so small. “Why what detka?” Wanda asks you with concern on her face. “Why am I here? I should be dead.” Your voice breaks and Wanda’s heart hurts seeing you like this. 

Wanda starts explaining everything that had happened while you were gone. Excluding some details. They had worked tirelessly to bring back those that were snapped away. Wanda and Nat become the de facto leaders of the Avengers. It took 5 years but they finally did. Once that was done they set out to bring you back. It took some time but somehow when Bruce had snapped his fingers he was able to bring you back. But somehow you ended up in a pocket universe in a deep sleep. They were finally able to get you back safely. All the information flooding into your mind is a lot to handle but eventually you understand. Somehow the universe had different plans for you. 

It’s been a few months since you came back. Most things are the same but something seems off. Wanda hasn’t been as loving towards you. Before she was always so touchy and wanting nothing more than to crawl under the sheets cuddling while watching some sitcoms. But now she barely even gives you a hug. Sleeping in the same bed has you feeling like she isn’t even there. She is a million miles away even if she is only right beside you. Your heart hurts not understanding, is she still mad at you for letting Thanos kill you. Anytime you try to talk to her she just brushes you off and says nothing is wrong. So you're left alone to your thoughts and worries.

Nat had moved into your shared home while you were away. The two women grew closer at the loss of so many others. You want to be angry and jealous that Nat gets more attention than you but you still trust Wanda hoping that she will come around eventually. 

You’re walking towards the kitchen when you can hear a hushed discussion between Wanda and Nat. You stop just shy of the door frame listening in when you hear your name mentioned. “Wanda you need to tell Y/n.” Nat says her body leaning on the counter and arms crossed against her chest. “Tell her what Nat?” Wanda counters. She sits at the table with a sad look adorning her face. “You know what Wands.” Wanda lets out a sigh. “I can’t do that to her Nat.” Wanda’s voice is low. “You can’t keep lying to her. You can’t keep lying to me. I love you Wanda.” There is a pause in the conversation before Wanda speaks up. “I love you too.” Your heart drops the moment the words spill from Wanda’s mouth. 

You’re quick to turn on your heels as the tears start to stream down your face. Holding in a sob as it all makes sense now. In your absence the two had fallen in love. You’ve somehow become the other woman in Wanda’s life. You don’t know how you didn’t see this coming. Your powers should have felt this but they hadn’t and now you’re left heartbroken. You push into your shared room focusing on pulling yourself back together. You can’t let them know that you know until you figure out what to do. 

The buzzing of your phone pulls you out of your despair for the moment. You see Fury’s name flash on the screen. You quickly wipe your tears and answer the phone. “Sir.” You say masking the waver in your voice. “Y/l/n I have a mission for you. Since you have been cleared for duty I would like you to head out tonight with Barton and Barnes. I have sent over the reports for you to go over. Good luck out there and glad to have you back.” The phone line goes dead as the man hangs up the phone. You open the report sent to your phone. You now see the flashes in your mind of how the mission will go. And that is where you see it. What you’re going to do. 

That night you enter the Quinjet greeted by the two men. Hugs and joy at your return. Your powers are always a significant help to missions. You three go over the plans for the mission. You lay out what you had seen in your vision, excluding one crucial part that the men don’t need to know. You know if they did they would try and stop you. But your heart aches and you put on a fake smile so that no one would expect a thing. 

Everything was set to go. A long message meant to play for Wanda after it was already too late. This would be your last mission. Wanda and Nat would have all that they could ever want. You wouldn’t be the burden that you know you are. They should have just left you dead if they were going to do this to you. So you made that decision for them. You weren’t going to come back from this mission alive. 

The mission was going perfectly. Playing out exactly as you had seen it. Bucky and Clint were together and far away from you. You snuck into the building off the side. It held some hostages that had been taken by Hydra. You snuck in taking out every agent that you passed. It didn’t take long for you to make it to the hostages. You were able to release them from their binds and get them out of the building safely. But you knew it wasn’t over yet. Bucky and Clint were waiting exactly where you told them too. Having each hostage run towards them for safety while you stood with your back towards the open area. 

You waited knowing what was to come soon. You could change the outcome but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to be in a world where Wanda loved someone else. You waited with bated breath as the last hostage ran towards your teammates. You exhale the air in your lungs before a sharp pain in your stomach is felt. You grit your teeth turning around firing off a few rounds, but you're hit with another round to the shoulder. You can hear the muffled sounds of Bucky and Clint calling out for you but you push through. Another shot to the leg sends you kneeling on the ground. You push through the pain as you stand. A few steps forward as you unload your mag into the man. Another man appears with his finger on the trigger of his gun. You watch as an arrow sores through the air and hits the man directly in the chest. His finger squeezes the trigger as he falls. You’re hit with the array of bullets. Your body sways before falling to your knees then falling to the ground. The ground below you stains red as your body goes cold. 

Wanda felt a change in the universe. She cries out causing Nat to panic next to her. Wanda clutches her chest in pain. She felt this twice before. Once when Pietro died, the second when you died fighting Thanos. She had never wanted to feel that pain again but here she is feeling it. The world stops turning at that moment. Not again she thinks tears streaming down her face. 

The doorbell rings but Wanda doesn’t hear it. Nat tries to console the younger woman pleading for her to tell her what is going on. It continues to ring when no one answers until Nat gets up and finds out what is going on. Wanda sits sobbing on the couch. Nat walks back in with a folded paper with your hand writing on it. Wanda scribbled on the top. 

Wanda sees this snatching the paper from her hands and quickly opening it before reading the words delicately written across the page. 

My dearest Wanda,

You’re reading this because I’m gone. I’m sorry to do this to you

but I can’t live life like this. I know that you no longer love me.

I see the way you look at Natasha and I know she is now

the love of your life. I want you to be happy. I saw this coming

and I could have changed it but who am I to keep you from the 

one you love. Don’t mourn for me, just live your life. You don’t

have to worry about me anymore and you can be happy, that 

is all I have ever wanted for you. But my love I can’t live in

a world where you love someone else. So this is goodbye.

Love,

Y/N

Tears hit the paper blurring the words in front of her. Wanda’s heart shatters into a million pieces. How could this have happened? How could she have thrown away all that you two have? She is absolutely disgusted with herself and with Nat. This isn’t how it was supposed to go but she was blinded and now her eyes are finally open but now it could be too late.

Through the tears Wanda gets up making her way out the door and immediately taking off towards the compound. Her magic lifts her into the sky as she flies as fast as she possibly can to the one place she knows you would be. Praying that maybe it was all wrong, maybe you can be saved. Nat calls out for her as she leaves her alone standing in the yard. 

The ground cracks below Wanda’s feet as she lands hard on the ground. Anger and guilt pumping through her veins as she walks towards the building. Her magic slamming doors open as she makes her way to the med bay. Your body is already lying there. Bucky and Clint talking outside the room. Windows lining the wall as they keep looking back at your body. Wondering what they would tell the angry redhead but they didn’t have to wait too long. They spot Wanda fear and sorrow on their faces. “Wanda we can -” Clint is cut off. “Save it.” 

Wanda makes her way into the room. The boys walked away looking like kicked puppies. Wanda’s breath picks up as she sees your still body encased in a black bag. The top half of it unzipped revealing your pale skin and blood staining your suit. You look so peaceful like you could be sleeping. Wanda cups your cheek, a light jerk of her hand when she feels how cold you are. She lets her magic slip out the ends of her fingers going into your head. Fresh tears streaming down her face. “I can’t feel you.” A sob wracking her body. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry love you never deserved any of this.”

Wanda silently sobs as she sits next to you. Your hand in hers as she just stares blankly at your body. The door clicks open a while later. Wanda doesn’t turn to look. “Go away.” Her voice is hoarse from all the crying but she doesn’t care. “Wands.” Nat whispers. “I said leave.” Wanda’s voice raises as her head snaps towards the door red swirling in her eyes. Nat knows she is just upset so she doesn’t back down. “Detka.” She whispers. “Don’t you dare detka me.” Wanda stands letting your hand drop off the side of the bed. “This is all your fault. She is fucking dead because of you.” Wanda seethes. “Don’t put that blame on me Wanda. You're just as much the problem.” Wanda stalks towards Nat red surrounding her body and slamming her into the window, a crack forming behind her body. “Don’t you fucking dare blame me. It should have been you. You should have died back then. I would still have her. She is more of a woman than you will ever be. I let myself be blinded by you. Blinded by the love you gave but I didn’t love you. I don’t fucking love you.” As hard as Nat can be, Wanda's words cut deep. Tears shine in her eyes as she holds back a sob. Wanda sends Nat’s body flying through walls until she lands outside. Wanda follows as she does so. Releasing Nat’s body which is now battered and bruised. She then flies off into the night. 

It’s been months since anyone has seen Wanda, held up in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere surrounded by mountains. Some have tried but they always get blasted out so they stopped trying. She has been lost to the Avengers and they aren’t sure they could ever get her back. The day they lost you they also lost her. 

Wanda’s black tipped fingers comb through a book. A very dangerous book. The more she searches the darkness in her soul grows and the blacked tips grow. She has tried everything in the book to bring you back to life but none of it works. She had another attempt today, something new, something hopeful but it ends with a magical outburst throwing everything in the cabin. She continues to comb through the pages ignoring the disarray around her. She closes her eyes and lets her magic do the work. It’s not long before she finds something new. She thought she had seen all that this book had to offer. All that the Darkhold had to offer to the Scarlet Witch. 

You are sitting in your living room, two small boys cuddled into each of your sides as you watch a movie. Empty bowls of ice cream sitting on the coffee table that you have your feet propped up on. You laugh as your son Tommy tries to mimic you. You other son Billy giggling along. Tommy huffs and crosses his arms. “Not funny.” He mumbles. You can’t help but ruffle his hair which makes him swat at your hand causing you to chuckle. “One day buddy you will reach it.” You kiss the top of his head. All of you falling back into the silence, the only sound is the movie playing. 

Your mind flashes to a vision of Wanda but not your Wanda standing in the middle of your living room. Her face twisted into something you can’t even imagine in your wildest dreams from the woman you loved. The pain that she has caused to get to this point. As your world comes back to you you are met with a star shaped portal in the middle of your living room. What was once an image in your head now in front of you. 

Wanda’s hand wraps around the young girl's throat in front of you. “What did you do?” She seethes. The two boys next to you are terrified. You quickly stand and tell them to run but Wanda’s head snaps towards you. The couch you were once on is now thrown at the stairs blocking the way. You push your boys behind you in a protective manner. Wanda’s eyes trailing the boys curiously, a small warm spot forming in her heart seeing your protective nature. She didn’t expect to find you with kids but she always wanted a family with you so it can’t hurt. 

“Wanda!” You yell at her. Wanda is startled by the anger in your voice. You have never yelled at her like that. “Let the girl go.” You demand of her. Her hand slips from the girl's neck as she coughs on the ground holding her throat. Wanda starts stalking towards you but you back up with your boys behind you. 

Billy tugs on your shirt a little trying to get your attention and you quickly look back at him. “Is that Mama?” His voice sounds so small. Your attention quickly turns back to the woman in front of you who has stopped. You can see tears in her eyes at Billy’s words. “That is not your Mama.” You shake your head. You can see the hurt on Wanda’s face as she gets closer to you. “I can be.” She says a crack in her voice. 

You start to walk towards the woman but your boys try to stop you. You motion that you will be ok as you stand in front of Wanda. “You could never be my Wanda.” She falls to her knees, her hand on her chest as she looks up at you. “I can see your hurt and your pain but you have caused so much more and for what.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I did it for you.” She whispers. “I would never want you to do this for me. Wanda you murdered people. Good people.” Wanda stands back up and moves towards you, her hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You back up away from her touch. “I wanted you back.” You scoff and shake your head. “After seeing what you did I could never want you. I miss my Wanda but you are not her and could never be.” 

Wanda’s face twists in anger. You try to back up again but she is quicker this time. She grabs your wrist in her hands. “Wanda that hurts.” You whimper as she digs her nails in. “Too bad. I’ll make you love me just you see. Now that I have you back I will never let you go again.” There is a panic that rises in you. “We will have the perfect little family.” She looks behind you. “Won’t we boys?” They are too scared to say or do anything just holding onto each other for comfort. 

Wanda keeps one hand on you as she turns around. Her wrist flicking as America is thrown back through the portal. It dissipates from the middle of the room before she turns back to you. You struggle to get free but she is stronger than you remember. She clicks her tongue and looks at you, her hand finally reaching to cup your cheek. Red whisps leave her fingers as they sink into your mind. “All mine now.” She replaces every memory and thought of your Wanda with her. Changes the fear to love. You’re hers now and no one will change that. Her magic soon flowed into the boys having the perfect little family. She would tear the world in two to keep you and the boys forever. 

[victoriademedici]

I’m sorry but that person is right! You can hate Andrew like basically everybody does but threatening to assassinate somebody??? Really? People like John Lennon and jfk were assassinated and that is not a comment that you should be making lightly...

I wasn’t threatening to assassinate him, I just said someone needs to. Ok I guess that word can be upsetting to people but were they rapists and pedos? He is and people need to stop acting like he’s a respectable person. I’m sorry but I feel like if he assaulted or affected anyone in your family, you’d be on my side. People only start taking things seriously when it affects them. He deserves hell and he needs to go bye bye

[ponderingmoonlight]

Satoru Gojo purposely keeping the scar you gave him instead of using reversed technique

Pairing: husband! Gojo x reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: When his skin gets busted by your sheer excitement, it doesn't feel right to Satoru to use his reversed technique and simply heal.

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, Yuji's "death" scnene in season 1, blood lol

Thank you dear anon for aggressively reminding me that it's canon for Gojo to not have any scars, it really helped me cooking up that fic! 🤍

Every step feels like hell, the only thing that keeps you from collapsing onto the floor being the reassuring hand of your husband on your shoulder.

This can’t be true, it’s just impossible. Yuji Itadori was a member of Jujutsu High for a few weeks, just started to get to know this world better. This was supposed to be an easy mission, the three of them should have made it out alive with ease. But apparently, Sukuna decided to show up. And apart from injuring Megumi, he violently took Yuji’s life by ripping his heart out. A heart made of pure gold, a heart so precious that you couldn’t help but care for that boy the minute you saw him.

But now he’s dead.

Your hands start shaking immediately the minute you step into this cursed room you visited far too often, gazing at Yuji’s body covered by a cloak. This isn’t a bad dream. No, the blood covering the white cloak tells you more than urgently that Yuji Itadori isn’t there anymore.

“Please tell me that there’s a chance he’ll come back”, you mutter.

Oh, how much both Shoko and Satoru hate to see you like that. It’s not a secret to anyone at Jujutsu High how deeply you care about your students, loving them like your own children. Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen a student die in front of your eyes. In times like these, jujutsu sorcerers pass away like flies. But Satoru knows what you’ve seen in Yuji, that he somehow reflected parts of yourself. And still, you weren’t able to protect that boy, both Satoru and you coming too late to rescue him.

“I really wish I could, but he shows no signs of life. I’ll move on to autopsy now. If you want to say goodbye…Maybe do it now and leave afterwards.”

Satoru wraps his arms around you just in time before you slide onto the ground, holding you tightly against his chest.

“This is not fair”, you breathe out, head still not able to accept Yuji’s farewell.

He was so young, so full of life. He doesn’t deserve to die, he still had so much ahead of him. There needs to be something you are able to do. Aren’t Satoru or Shoko able to use their cursed technique?

“He didn’t show any signs of life for hours by now, (y/n). Not even Shoko or me are able to bring him back to life. I’m so sorry”, he mumbles against your ear out of nowhere.

So this is really how it ended? With Yuji getting killed by none other than Sukuna himself? Like in trance, your wobbly legs carry you to the autopsy table his lifeless body lays on. You want to stretch out your arm, want to look at that precious boy one last time before Shoko does her job.

But you can’t.

“I can’t look at him”, you blurt out.

With a swift motion, you turn around and burry your face against your husband’s chest.

“It’s okay babe, just look at me, okay? You don’t have to do this.”

Satoru’s arms keep you from losing yourself completely, soak up your falling tears while his head rests against yours. Oh Yuji, you’ll never be forgotten. All the laughter’s both of you shared, his potential, how he always cared about others. You will think about him every time the sun starts to rise, when new students get greeted, when you kill another curse-

“Hey, what’s up? Huh, what are both of you doing here, Gojo-sensei?”

This voice…

That was Yuji Itadori.

Out of instinct you turn around rapidly, not even noticing how the back of your head crushes into Satoru’s forehead with full force. He sees starts, blood taking his sight in an instant while his mind isn’t even able to comprehend it was Yuji who just spoke.

“Yuji! Are you okay? Are you hurt? You’re back!”, you babble out, embracing the boy in a tight hug.

“To be honest I don’t even know what happened last and I’m pretty hungry…Oh, you’re bleeding Gojo-sensei!”

You’re…bleeding? You turn around in confusion, following Yuji’s eyes.

“OMG SATORU!”, you cry out, the sight of your husband covered in his own blood shocking you to your core.

When did that happened…Was it…you?

“I guess you were so happy to see Itadori that you’ve forgot about me standing behind you”, he mutters amused.

“Babe I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just got so carried away and-“

“Don’t worry about me. Reversed technique, remember? I’ll be whole in seconds. Just look after Yuji, I love you.”

You let out the breath you were holding, the bright smile forming on your gorgeous face making Satoru forget the world around him for a moment. You are so caring, so passionate. And you are his wife.

“I’m a lucky man”, he mutters to himself while pressing the tissue Shoko handed him against his wound.

There you sit, gently caressing Yuji’s cheeks and asking him over and over if he’s okay.

“You really are. This isn’t a problem for you, right?”, Shoko questions with one glance at the laceration on his forehead.

The shocked look on your face replays itself over and over in his mind, lets a chuckle escape his lips. With the help but his reversed technique, it would be way too easy to get rid of that minor wound. Within seconds, there wouldn’t even be a scar left, just his flawless skin. But…it was you who did this to him out of sheer excitement. It sure would be nice to look into the mirror and get reminded of you daily, right?

“Oh, I might as well keep that”, he replies with a sly grin.

- a few weeks later -

You sit on the edge of the couch, desperately waiting for that time of the day. Even after being married to that force of a man for 4 years now, you find yourself getting all excited when he announces that he’s going to shower. Because going to shower means that he’ll come out just wearing boxers with his body still a little wet and his hair sticking to his face in that delicate way.

“Still waiting for me, huh? It’s not like you can see me naked every time you want, babe”, he finally purrs.

Your heart skips a beat. This man…How is it even allowed to look so breathtakingly gorgeous? The way a single droplet of water runs down his cheek, how he gently strokes his damp hair back.

Wait. You squint your eyes a little harder. What is that on his forehead?

“What do you have there?”, you question, rubbing your own hand against the ride side of your forehead.

This almost looks like a scar. But Satoru shouldn’t have scars. After all, he’s able to use reversed technique, healing himself in the matter of seconds. Is it just dirt? No, that definitely looks like scar tissue.

“Oh, it’s nothing”, he immediately tries to brush you off, pulling his hair back into his face.

“No way Romeo, come back here right now”, you demand.

With a swift motion you lift yourself off the couch and hunt after him.

“Is that a scar?”

“It might be��”

“Why didn’t you just heal it? Show it to me!”

When you finally catch him, you slick his hair back again. Only to be greeted what indeed looks like a middle-sized scar. But why and how did this happen, why didn’t he just heal like he usually does?

“You really don’t know where this came from?”, he challenges you.

You blink a few times. What the hell is your husband talking about?

“Why would I know where this came from?”

“Because it was you, (y/n)?”, he playfully bites back.

You? Your mind races, searching for a single moment you ever hurt your husband. You were never really able to even hurt him, no matter how berserk you went in training. When was the last time you even wounded him? But wait, there was this one time you made him bleed, that one time when…

“This was when Yuji woke up-“

“EXACTLY!”, Satoru cries out and gives you a round of applause.

“But why did you keep it? You said you’d be able to heal it…”

“Because I didn’t want to. This scar right here”

Gently, he takes your hand in his and traces the soft scar with your fingertips.

“will always remind me of what a wonderful human being you are.”

Oh. Your eyes turn glossy in an instant, staring up at your loving husband while he gifts you with the most breath-taking smile you’ve ever seen.

“Satoru”, you breathe out.

There is no time to waste. You wrap your longing arms around his tall frame tightly, aiming to never let him go again.

“Every time I look into the mirror, I think about my wonderful wife”, he mutters into your hair.

“Y’know, you could just take a picture of me or something-“

“No. I would rather just keep that scar of my wonderful wife smacking me over a student.”

You hit him playfully over his comment, a giggle escaping your precious lips.

“Come on, it wasn’t like that…”

“I’ll always tell the story like this.”

Tags: @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp@localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo

Dividers by @saradika 🤍

[laundrybiscuits]

The officer leans close, jabbing a finger into Steve’s chest. “You’re damn lucky it ain’t ten years ago or one state over,” he growls. “You could be looking at a felony charge, serving 15 to life. We didn’t stand for this kind of thing in Hawkins when I joined the force.”

Steve just folds his arms and gives the officer a bored look. “Okay,” he says. “Good talk. Can I see my boyfriend now?”

The officer sneers, but he steps aside to let Steve through. They’ve got Eddie cuffed to the hospital bed with another gun-toting guard in the corner. 

“Jesus christ,” snaps Steve. “He’s not gonna escape, he can’t even walk right now. Why don’t you clear out and give us a little privacy, huh?”

“Sorry,” says the guard, not sounding all that sorry. “It’s for his own protection.”

Fuck. He’s gonna have to hope Eddie can follow his lead. All that practice pretending to be a wizard or whatever has to be good for something, right?

He perches on the side of Eddie’s bed and takes his hand. He can do this. “Hey, gorgeous. How’re you feeling?” 

“Uh,” says Eddie, eyebrows doing something hilarious. “Steve?”

“It’s okay,” says Steve. He rubs his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles. This is the most they’ve ever touched, he thinks—the most that was just skin, no layers of denim or leather in between. Not even a layer of blood and dirt. 

He swallows and keeps going, willing Eddie to develop freaky mind-reading powers all of a sudden. “I know you didn’t want to tell anyone about us, but I had to, baby. I’m sorry. I had to tell them you were, y’know, with me when…when Jason killed Chrissy.”

“You didn’t have to tell them about us,” says Eddie slowly. He’s giving Steve kind of an intense look. “Honey-pie. I’m sure there’s gotta be another way. One without as many consequences for you that you might not have thought all the way through.”

“There really isn’t,” Steve says. Thank god Eddie’s so quick on the uptake. Sure, he’s being a stubborn dick about it, but at least it doesn’t seem like he’s going to let anything slip. 

“Fucking hell,” sighs Eddie. “Don’t suppose we can put that pesky little cat back in the bag. Okay. Darling angel, light of my life, corndog of my soul, who else knows?”

Corndog of my soul, Steve mouths to himself. “Just the cops. And Robin and Nancy, obviously. And—oh, remember Hopper?”

“Do I remember Hopper, he asks. Oh, pudding-pop. The late Chief Hopper and I spent so, so much quality time together over the years; he was practically a father figure to me. And just as with my actual dear old dad, his departure was cause for great rejoicing in Casa Munson.”

“Sorry to break the bad news, then. Hop’s alive, and he—uh, he knows everything.” Steve tries to communicate the scope of everything by kind of tilting his head back and forth. “He’s been…helping.”

“Huh. No shit,” says Eddie. Steve can’t tell whether or not he’s getting it. To be fair, there’s a lot to get. “Okay, gallant knight errant of mine, any news on whether or not I’m getting sprung from this charmingly appointed dungeon?”

“We’re…Hopper’s working on it. That’s why I’m. Y’know. Here. To tell you that they know about us.” 

“Cool, right, understood.” Eddie closes his eyes, leaning back on his pillow. It’s so strange to see him in nothing but a hospital gown against white sheets. He looks like a wrung-out dishtowel. 

There’s a commotion from outside, raised voices saying something like you let him what and haven’t even interrogated the Munson kid yet and not a legal status you fuckin—

“Time’s up, sweetheart,” says Eddie, mouth quirking up into the ghost of a smile. “Anything else you wanna say before they decide to upgrade my security?”

“Uh,” says Steve. He’d mostly been focusing on getting the basics of Eddie’s alibi across in a convincing way, and he can’t remember if there were any other details Eddie should know. 

He hears the door slam open behind him, and panics. “Love you, bye,” he says, and ducks in to brush a quick kiss across Eddie’s chapped lips. The last thing he sees as he’s hauled bodily out of the room by a pissed-off detective is Eddie with his eyes gone enormous and shocked, lifting his uncuffed hand to his mouth, looking and looking at Steve like something is always going to be different from now on, forever.

(ETA: small continuation here!)

[azullumi]

“i wanna be yours” ; aventurine

premise — but this is what friends do, right? they slow dance together in the living room while saying sweet nothings ; inspired by this ask (though i never really followed the entire idea, my hands has minds of its own)

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff (with a little bit of angst at the end), friends but wanting more type of relationship, all written in reader’s pov, not proofread, 1.2k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs (hi boo)

note — i keep on comparing aventurine to the sun i dont even know why i do it. 9 DAYS LEFT UNTIL HIS BANNER

“care to dance?” the languid, lazy silence draws itself away as the honey-haired man spoke, offering you his hand as he did. the light humming of the music in the background keeps the night awake and alive, the softness of the notes intertwined in the air that settles in your home.

you stare at his hand for a moment, admiring the glistening bracelet on his wrist before you answer, tone meek and hesitant: “i don’t know how to dance.” you expected him to laugh at you for not knowing a simple and common concept; dancing was a form of art known to many and yet, you are unfamiliar with it.

but aventurine simply smiles at you and takes your hand to hold on his own, gently pulling you up from your seat and making you stumble on your feet—however, he catches you and doesn’t let you fall to the ground. you are only met with the warmth of his body and the feeling of his unoccupied hand resting on the small of your back.

“you could have warned me before you did that.” you huffed, although you weren’t exactly reprimanding him.

“i still caught you, didn’t i?” the man answers in a gentle tone as he begins to sway you to the rhythm of the song (the melody wraps itself around your form like the cradle of a warm blanket), a familiar tune that plays in your living room and now you are listening to it as you—no, as he dances and guides your movements. you try to follow him albeit like a clumsy child and silence trailed behind your steps as none of you spoke, only wallowing in this moment between you and him.

(his hand is warm against yours, fingers lacing with each other like two puzzle pieces meant to fit together. you have never known how gentle he can be, have never known the warmth of his hands and the softness of his palms up until this moment. maybe it’s the feeling of his touch that’s making you drunk and aeons, you’ve never thought of yourself as a selfish person but something in the way he’s holding you makes you crave for more.)

“focus,” he whispers to your ear, catching you completely off-guard when his breath tickles your skin, “you’re supposed to look at me, not at the ground.”

you compose yourself, bringing your gaze to his face instead of the marble floors that seem to spin as you move, “i was watching my feet so i won’t accidentally step on you.”

“i don’t mind if you do, all i wish is for you to look at me and me only.” he speaks so gently, so delicately as if something akin to despair hangs on the tangled threads of his words. you study his face, looking at the lines on his features and trying to look for the gap of his expression—you could never tell what he was thinking, could never decipher the meaning he skillfully weaves to the words that he utters (you wish you had the ability to look into minds, perhaps you would have known him).

he notices your silence and smiles, “can’t a poor man have their own wishes?”

you take a moment once more to answer, “i didn’t say that.” well, in fact, you weren’t saying anything. the sound of laughter slips past his lips and perhaps, if you didn’t see the way his eyes formed into a crescent and his expression contorts one into amusement, you would have mistook the sound as part of the song.

“you should see the way you look right now.” 

you raised your eyebrow at him, confusion evident in your face, “what do you mean? is there dirt on my face?”

aventurine pulled you closer to him, movements coming to a stop as you two stood still. his face is leaning down to yours, lips merely inches away from each other, and your thoughts are in a jumble as if your mind was a library of cluttered and disorganized bookshelves.

“no, i’m saying you look lovely tonight.” he whispers—and you swear, you see his eyes look down to your lips for a moment—, his voice low as if you’re the only one who’s supposed to hear and not the moon that casts its curious glow on his skin, not the stars that watched your every move, but you and just you.

(you’re left with nothing but silence and warmth in your cheeks, not knowing where to focus or even think about—the strong scent of his perfume or his words that repeatedly echoed inside your head.)

the golden-haired man doesn’t speak any further, continuing his slow dance with you in the comfort of your living room as he hums along to the melody. the night is heavy against your shoulders as the silver moonlight laid on the ground like spilled milk.

“it is quite simple, isn’t it? look, you’re able to follow.”

“aven, you’re doing all of the work.”

he slowly spins you around—the world looks slow and messy for you for a moment—before he answers, “barely.” he comes face to face with you and you don’t fail to notice the affection in his eyes when he meets your gaze.

“don’t look at me like that.” you wished he wouldn’t look at you in that way; something tugs at your heart and suffocates you.

“like what?”

“i don’t know.” hesitation follows your tone, broken and unsure, seemingly lost in an empty field full of directions. “like…” like you wanted me like a lover, you keep the words at your throat knowing you’ll choke on it one day. you don’t know how to say it, you don’t even know if you can say it. it was as if the ability to speak has been taken away from you.

the song came to its end and so was the dance.

“you should go to sleep, don’t stay up too much.” aventurine says, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek and pressing a kiss on your forehead. he lets you go as soon as he parts his lips, stepping back to the distance the both of you once had before all of this happened, as if nothing occurred between you two, as if the words whispered against each other, the closeness, the intimacy were all just some silly imagination.

“are you leaving already?” you ask, your hand reaching out to tug at his sleeve as if you didn’t want him to go. you don’t even know what made you hold on to him, what made you want him to not want to leave.

the man who had the universe in his wake answers with warmth in his tone, “i can’t stay any longer.” he holds your hand and ushers you to remove your grasp on his sleeve. everything felt so different now, your thoughts were all so loud but you couldn’t dare to speak nor say something as you watched him turn away and leave—the sound of the door closing echoed throughout the corners of your home and you were left alone, in silence and in the cold.

but the comfort and warmth of his touch lingered on your skin—and you’ll remember it all; it will haunt you, follow your shadow everywhere you go, pulling on the hem of your shirt with the desperation of a dying man and you don’t know how to live knowing the way he held you on this night. how are you supposed to deal with the fact that his hands were as soft and warm as summer?

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[mrsbarnesblog]

I trust you

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Summary: when Bucky comes back from a mission with a knife wound there is only one person who can convince him to get help.

Words count: 3.5k

Warnings: angst and fluff, injury, wounds, low self-esteem, bucky has trust issues and needs a hug, touch starved bucky,

Author’s note: ugh just let me hold my baby and kiss his cute sad face omggg... anyways, idk why I rarely write angsty things, I really wanna do something new, so if you have any ideas let me know! 💘

It was almost eight o'clock in the evening when FRIDAY reported that the guys' quinjet should arrive at the compound within an hour.

Steve, Sam, and Bucky went on another mission to destroy HYDRA almost two weeks ago. As usual, none of you could get any news from them because they couldn't risk giving away their whereabouts.

It was foolish to assume that you weren't worried about them. Especially for one person. Bucky.

You and the former Winter Soldier met about six months ago when Steve and Sam first brought him to the tower. Steve was really worried about his old best friend, so before bringing Bucky to the tower, he talked with the team and asked all of you to give Bucky space.

Of course, you knew who he was from the day Steve found out that Bucky was alive. You have seen hundreds of reports and photographs on TV and on the Internet about The Winter Soldier, a ruthless killer who was always invisible but too damn good at his missions. He is the man who was turned into a weapon against his will.

When Steve introduced him, the whole team just nodded and shared awkward smiles, and Bucky himself kept his eyes on the ground. The whole situation was too intense, and no one, not even the funny and sarcastic Tony Stark, knew what to do or say. You actually thought that it might be rude to just stand there and look at him, as if he was a wild animal. Looking at this shy and uncomfortable-looking man before you, you knew that the smallest thing you could get him was to show that he was welcomed in this tower and that everyone was on his side. So, pushing away your own shyness and nerves, you stepped forward, holding out your right hand.

"Hi, my name is Y/N.  It's nice to meet you. I hope you’ll feel comfortable around here." You offered your warmest and most sincere smile, trying not to show nervousness.

Bucky slowly raised his head, genuinely surprised that anyone else had actually spoken to him besides Steve. It's nice to meet you. When had he heard those words for the last time?

Your eyes met, and you could have sworn all the air was out of your lungs. His eyes were even more beautiful than in those rare, high-quality photographs. He looked truly beautiful, with long hair and blue eyes, even though you could see that he was tired—physically and even more emotionally. You stood for what seemed like an eternity, looking at each other's faces, until Bucky got a little nudge from Steve on the arm.

Only then did his gaze move to your still outstretched arm. He hesitated a bit, unsure if he wanted to be touched or feel someone’s warm skin. It’s been too long since another person wanted to touch him without causing any harm. Even Steve gave him minimal physical contact. Always through the gloves or thick jacket, and Bucky didn’t know the true reason for this—whether it was because Steve cared about his feelings or he just didn't want to do that. But then Bucky looked at you again, and he already knew that you would be his death.

You were so beautiful. Probably the most attractive person he has ever seen. It was still morning, and he assumed that you planned to have a day for yourself because you had no makeup, your hair was a little bit messy, and you looked really comfy in a big sweater and a pair of black leggings. Oh, and he definitely noticed your cute, fluffy pink socks. Your eyes were full of friendliness and comfort, so it made him want to trust you. Your lips curled into a warm smile, and he had no doubt that you wanted to make him feel comfortable on the team.

Bucky lifted the corners of his lips slightly, meeting your eyes again, and held out his right hand to you, still feeling awkward. Especially when the whole team around you watches your interaction too closely.

 "Hi."

When the Quinjet landed on the territory, you couldn't calm your pounding heart. Natasha, who was standing a couple of steps away from you, of course, noticed your condition but didn’t say anything and just sent you a reassuring smile. She knew you'd calm down when Bucky was by your side.

Sam got out first. He looked tired, had a couple of scratches and bruises, but was generally fine.

"Sam!  God, I'm glad you're okay." You said, running closer to him. "How is Bucky? And Steve? Are they okay?" Your worried eyes ran across his face, trying to find answers, but he only pursed his lips and lowered his eyes to the ground.

"Steve’s fine, and Bucky, um... I think you should see it yourself. And I think you need to have a serious talk with this idiot because he doesn't listen to us." Your brows furrowed, but before you could ask anything else, footsteps and stifled moans were heard behind Sam.

It felt like your heart stopped as soon as you saw him. Blood flowed from his temple and lip, and an already darkening bruise adorned his right cheekbone. Your eyes rushed down, trying to find all the damage, and then you saw it. Bucky kept his right hand on his left side. His entire palm was scarlet red as the blood passed through his thick suit and soaked through his fingers. Your mouth opened involuntarily, and your eyes instantly filled with tears.

Of course, this was not his first mission, but he always returned almost without any injuries or with something that quickly healed because of his supersoldier serum. It has never been so bad.

Before you knew it, you were already standing next to him. Tears flowed freely down your face, and you raised your hands up, wanting to touch him, but they froze in the air.

 "Bucky…" You sobbed, looking straight into his eyes.

 "Hello, doll" He smiled reassuringly at you, but you saw how he pressed his teeth together to ease the pain. He didn’t want to scare you.

"Bucky, God, wh-what happened? You need to go to the hospital wing. You’re losing a lot of blood!" You gently took his metal hand, but before you could lead him away, he removed it and moved away a little.

"It's all right, doll.  Nothing that I can't handle on my own. Trust me, I’ve experienced worse."

"Buck, Y/N is right." You notice Steve for the first time because all your attention has been focused on Bucky since he appeared. "That punk cut you pretty deep; it needs to be stitched up."

"You know, I never go to the hospital wing." He purses his lips awkwardly, looking down.

Of course. Of course you knew it. Everyone in the tower knew that the Winter Soldier didn't like being touched or visiting doctors, and he had never asked for any kind of help. He always limited himself to a short handshake or a pat on the back from his best friend.

But you also knew that Bucky couldn't take off his clothes in front of anyone. Too many scars from bullets, knives, and other things that HYDRA used to torture him He confessed this to you one evening when you were sitting in the dark in the common room after his nightmare.

In those six months, you got close enough to him that he trusted you to sit with him in the stillness of the night and share his fears. But he still avoided touching and, of course, did not want to show his body to anyone. Even you. Especially to you.

You were one of the few good things in his life. Someone who genuinely wanted to spend time with him, who wasn’t afraid of him, and who was always kind and supportive. Bucky didn't want to lose you. And he knew that if you ever saw him with those ugly marks all over his body, you would run away without looking back. Because who would like it?

The hand that took hundreds of lives. The hand that was forever connected to his body left a big reminder that he was, in fact, just an experiment that went too well. He often looked at his shoulder in the mirror with anger and despair, wanting to get rid of this mixture of scars and torn skin. Obviously, when HYDRA put that prosthetic on him, they didn't care much about looks or pain, so they just hooked it on the way they did.

"Bucky, please listen to me." You sobbed, moving closer to him again. "I know you're afraid to go there, but please, you have to do it, otherwise, you'll lose too much blood or just get an infection." You hugged yourself with your hands as your body began to tremble with concern for the person in front of you. "It can leave a big scar." You whispered and saw that Bucky’s jaw clenched again. You didn’t want him to think that there was something wrong with having scars, but you knew that it was emotionally too hard for him to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, doll, but I can't," he pursed his lips, shaking his head, "you know I can't do it."

"Bucky…" you whispered as more tears started flooding your face. You were so focused on Bucky that you didn't even pay attention to your friends, who stood aside and pretended not to eavesdrop on your conversation.

"Don't cry because of me, doll, please, you don't have to cry." Bucky's voice lowered to a whisper as he worked up the courage to use his thumb to wipe a tear from your right cheek with a metal finger.

You took advantage of the opportunity, grabbing his metal wrist and pressing his hand closer against your cheek.

 "Please, Bucky. Then let's go to your room. I can help you if you don't want to undress there.

"I don't think it's a good idea either, doll.  You don't need to see it."

"James," you focused on his eyes, rubbing small circles with your thumb into his wrist, "it'll be alright, I promise. I'm not afraid of you. I won’t leave. I'll take care of you. Please do it for me."

You were hurt by his gaze. You've seen a thousand thoughts go through that head. Doubt, fear, uncertainty, and pain. He couldn't lose you. Couldn't lose what you had. Even if he wanted so much more, he was content just being around you. He couldn't lose you to a damn ugly piece of metal attached to him.

But you looked at him like your life depended on it. Tears were still running down your cheeks. You were hurt because of him. But you refused to give up and let his self-doubt win this fight. You continued to gently massage his metal wrist as you placed a light kiss on it. And he could no longer resist you.

"Fine."

"It's better if we do this in the bathroom," you said as you closed the door to Bucky's room behind you. You quickly walked past him, going into the bathroom and pulling out the first aid kit you knew was in the bottom drawer. You felt comfortable being a little bit bossy here, and Bucky didn’t mind it.

He quietly followed you, watching you with an unsure face. His blood was still soaking through his arm, but that didn't bother him as much as the fact that he'd have to undress in front of you and that at some point you would touch him.

Once all the necessary things were ready, you turned to face Bucky, already preparing to help him out. But as soon as your hands went up to help him unbuckle his suit, he staggered back, and you froze with your hands in the air. For a few seconds, you silently looked into each other's eyes, then you moved, trying to understand his reaction, and what you saw made your heart ache.

His brows were slightly furrowed, and the corners of his lips were turned down. His eyes always told you everything that he tried to hide, and right now they told you how scared and insecure Bucky actually was.

"I don't think I can do it." Bucky whispered softly, casting his eyes down in shame.

"Hey James, look at me," you said, taking his face in your hands. "I'm your friend, you know? I won't hurt you. I won’t judge you. I won't do anything against your will. But I need to help you because I can see how much pain you're in," you sighed, running your fingers over his cheekbones. "I know it's hard. And I know you're scared or shy, but I'm here for you. None of this scares me, and I'll be as gentle with you as I can, okay? You can tell me if it becomes too much, and I'll stop. I promise."  You could see the tears forming in his eyes, and you couldn't help feeling the pain that this beautiful man in front of you had been without care and affection for so long.

Bucky nodded slightly, giving you permission to continue.

"I’ll clean up your wound on the ribs, and then we can take care of your face." You carefully removed your hands from his, now placing them on the clasps of his suit. You opened them one by one, and when you finally got to the last one, you helped Bucky carefully remove that piece of clothing. Next on the way was a stretchy long-sleeve shirt, and by glancing at the wound, you could see that all the tissue around it was completely covered in blood.

"So, now I'm going to carefully lift up the shirt so you can take it off and not bother your wound too much, okay?" you asked, running your eyes over Bucky's face to understand his emotions. He took a deep breath, as if preparing for the worst, but nodded anyway.

You started to slowly lift up his shirt, helping Bucky pull his hands out one by one, and then tossed that no longer needed rag into the bathtub.

"Oh god," you muttered softly, looking at the wound that seemed to be even bigger now.

Bucky thought that you said it about his appearance in general, so he lifted his head up to the ceiling to stop angry tears from falling.

Come on, Buck, we need to sew this up so it doesn't leave a scar. Do you think you can sit on the counter next to the sink?" You looked at Bucky, but you couldn't meet his eyes. You knew that he was at the edge, his body trembled a little bit, but he still listened to you and silently jumped up on the free space near the sink.

"Bucky," you said quietly, trying to be as gentle as you could. "I see you right now, and I’m not going anywhere, you hear me?" You put your hand back on his face, making him meet your eyes. Before you could think, you placed your right hand on his chest, causing his eyes to instantly widen in surprise. His skin was very warm and silky, even though there were a lot of scars from different conditions. You gently moved your hand, showing Bucky that you’re not afraid, that you’re not a threat, and that he can trust you. "You're doing well, it’s okay," you said as you started rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder.

You backed off a little, finally picking up all the necessary things, and began to sanitize and then stitch up the wound. Every time you needed to put your hand on your skin, you felt Bucky instantly tense under your touch, but you tried to send him quiet words of encouragement and praise. Bucky was very quiet, not making a sound even when the needle pierced his skin. His face wasn’t in bad condition, and Super Soldier serum almost healed them, so you decided to only sanitize and clean his skin.

"Well, you did a great job, James. I'm proud of you." About twenty minutes later, you finally tied the bandage and began to put everything back in the drawer, but then felt a touch on your arm.

You looked back at Bucky, only to meet tear-filled eyes.

"No one has ever taken care of me in a long time, Y/N." You stepped closer to Bucky again, unconsciously placing your hands on his shoulders. "I feel ashamed of my body. Of that arm. I didn't want you to see those ugly scars. God, this is so pathetic—"

"Don't say that," you interrupted him. "That's not pathetic. I understand how you feel. That you have so many negative thoughts about yourself. But Bucky… God, I don't know how to properly say it." You paused for a moment, considering the words. "You're one of the most amazing people I know. And even if many people in the tower are scared or intimidated by you, for me, you are the sweetest, most caring, and most generous person. You remember every little thing I say, make me coffee and food when I'm too busy, pretend to like those shitty movies that I make you watch with me. I'm so sorry that so many bad things happened to such a good person that you feel unworthy of good things."

Suddenly, strong arms surrounded you, and you realized that Bucky was hugging you with arms wrapping around your waist. He nuzzled up to your neck, and you could feel light sobs. Gently, you entangled your fingers in his hair, massaging the scalp with calming movements.

"I don't deserve you, doll." Bucky pulled back a little, still keeping his hands on your waist. "I wish I could be normal for you. Be who I was back in the 40s. I would’ve asked you out and given you everything that you deserved. But that person is not here any more, and I'm not worthy of you."

He wanted to ask you out on a date?  Your heart stopped as soon as the words left his mouth, and you stared at Bucky in surprise. "Bucky—"

"I know…fuck—I shouldn't have said that. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm sorry, doll. I didn't mean to mess anything up between us, I promise. I know you don't feel the same— it's okay, really. Just forget about—"

You didn't let Bucky finish by leaning forward and brushing your lips against his. His flesh automatically tangled in the hair at the back of your neck as the metal one tightened his grip on your waist. For the first few seconds, Bucky was in shock, not kissing you back, but just as you wanted to pull away, his lips began to move, taking over you immediately.

It was the best kiss you ever had. He was gentle yet so passionate. There were a lot of unsaid feelings that Bucky kept to himself for too long. All thoughts seemed to have left your head as the feeling of him filled your whole body.

When there was not enough air, you moved away from each other, touching your foreheads with your eyes closed.

"Fuck" was the first thing he said.

"Yeah," you laughed, finally meeting Bucky's eyes. He looked at you with such adoration that you felt butterflies in your stomach. You just noticed how much skin-to-skin contact you had. "Are you okay with that? Doesn't that make you uncomfortable?" You tilted your head as your hands squeezed his shoulders.

"That's... that's weird. I'm not used to that kind of contact," Bucky said, studying your face. "But I trust you, doll. You are the only person I trust completely." You felt him begin to gently run his hand along your back. "I'd like to ask you out on a date. I mean, if you want to. If not, I totally understand—"

You interrupted him again, leaving a quick kiss on his lips. "I'd like to go on a date with you, James. You know, you’re so cute when you’re shy?"

You've never seen his face so lit up with happiness, with a little bit of pink on his cheeks. Butterflies began to beat in your stomach again, and you realized that it was you who made him feel that way.

"Do you want to go to bed, put on some shitty comedy, and grab some food? I still have to watch over your injury."

"Sounds like a perfect plan, doll." Bucky kissed you on the forehead, interlacing his fingers with you, and led you to his room.

Even if it still required a lot of work, cuddling with Bucky, you knew it was the best place you could be.

[circeyoru]

Unwanted Soul _ Part 5 = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

The Request

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 (here)

How you had such a depressing life was beyond Alastor. He didn’t understand it. Can’t comprehend it! But he pushed these questions back to tend to your sadden mood, tucking you in and lulling you to sleep

Alastor sat next to your sleeping form, the room pitch black save for his glowing red eyes that pierced through the darkness. His staff played soft music to calm you down and fill the silence of the room. The only tears you should be shredding are ones of joy and happiness 

The people you’ve mentioned, surely they were in Hell as well. They can’t be in Heaven for causing you such torment. He can’t let you see them, any of them. He needs to get to them first. However, for now, he can’t leave you alone in such a state

His eyes closed as he thought out how he’d torture them. Perhaps skinning them till they beg for mercy and your forgiveness? Pulling out their limbs and draining their blood? Letting the cannibals partake in a feast? No, no, he had to enjoy this. They were your tormentors when you were alive, he’ll show you that he can and will be your protector, even a guarddog if he must

But his heinous thoughts were put to a hold when you shifted in your sleep. He pushed away his thoughts while he watched your serene form rest. He put away his monocle, laying beside you and gently pull you closer to him so he was hugging you to his chest. His eyes drooped close. Perhaps he should let those unfortunate souls enjoy Hell a bit longer. If they crossed his path or yours, their voice will be on his everlasting broadcast

When things got slow for you, you found yourself hanging out with the hotel residents at times. They were an interesting bunch to say the least

Charlie was always happy to see you and would invite you on her little activities and exercises to redeem sinners. Though you’d mostly decline unless it catches your interest in some way. On the rare chance you join, she was very appreciative of your presence and wasn’t shy to thank you for joining in front of everyone. Her cheerful attitude was a bit of a hit and miss for you

There was one exercise that got you sharing something you’ve almost forgot

“Okay! Last two to share! Who’s going first?” Charlie beamed

“I’ll go first, My Darling needs all the time to recall!” Alastor directed the attention to him. “My joy in my hay day is my murders. Oh how I felt the rush when chasing my victims, hunting them like prey in the woods. The warmth of their body fading the moment I repeated stabbed my trusty blade into their weak bodies. The—”

“Okay, okay, you can shut it with the creepy killing. Sheesh.” Vaggie interrupted with a groan. She turned to you who was still in a daze, completely unfazed with what Alastor said. “You ready to go?”

“Huh? Oh, okay.” You snapped out of your daydream, unconsciously, your hand patted on your book that was strapped to your hip. “My joy when I was alive… I barely remember it, but I loved going to the library and read all the books I can.”

“That’s surprisingly cute considering you’re with that freaky smil—” Angel’s mouth was immediately shut with the slap of Alastor’s staff

You continued without flinching, this was all a normal banter between the two already now that you were hanging out with the crew more. “I frequent the library, borrowing and finishing a stack of books everyday. The librarian would recommend me new books or save me my favourite corner. I can even eat and drink in the library just because.”

Charlie’s head tilted, “So you love reading.”

“Not just reading. I love books of all kinds. Sometimes I rad that book just cause I liked the texture or the shape of it. I collect books and keep it like treasures. I hate lending books to other because they don’t care for it like I do.” You fondly smiled at the memory, “Then I got a bunch of notebooks too, because I love the design or the cover.”

Lucifer leaned back into his chair, “No wonder your powers are centered around books.”

“Better call you bookworm now! Hahahaa—” Angel was hit by two cranes, one from Alastor and another from Lucifer. Charlie, Vaggie, and Husk flinched with a face twisted to pain as if they felt that. Niffty was living in the moment, wanting one too

Husk gulped some alcohol, “You better shut that loud mouth of yours if you know what’s good for you.”

Everyone laughed and chuckled, Charlie concluding that it was a good exercise and bonding time since everyone was in attendance. Alastor got up and offered you his hand, bringing you two back to your room. You stayed out of it, being in a daze again

When Alastor asked if you were fine, you smiled and said you were fine, if you needed anything, he would be the first you’d call for. So he left you alone

You didn’t tell them. You were that absorbed into reading that you didn’t realize you were being bullied, you were used. You shared your dream of wanting to be a writer that people would love to read what you wrote and share it with friends, to entertain others. You shared your ideas with your friend but your ideas were stolen from you

The moment you handed in your writing, the publishing company said they had one already and that yours was not up-to-date. They rejected your writing. Days later, you saw the newest novel on sell. The title was so similar to yours that you checked the summary at the back. That was your story idea. But your work was rejected so how was it published?

Your nightmare came to life. A betrayal so painful and chilling. Your friend’s name was on the cover. You remember your hands shaking. It wasn’t rage you felt, it was disbelief and sadness. The trust you gave, the care you gave, and the attention you gave. It was all to stab you in the back

You watched from behind the screens at the achievement and success that should have been yours. All of it, it should have been yours to smile upon. But then you were crying and shutting yourself behind the world of fantasy, an escape from reality

Why? Why? Why!

Closing your eyes for a moment, you locked up those memories. They don’t mean much to you now. Not when you had Alastor with you and an unlikely friendship with Lucifer the King of Hell himself, then there was the silly demons of this hotel. Ironic how you found true friends in demons

That’s why when you saw Mimzy again in the hotel, you were skeptical and burning with rage. She had someone as amazing and caring as Alastor to call as a friend, but she’s abusing it without a care. How she has the guts to come back and ask for Alastor, you have no idea, though you’ve seen her kind when you were alive

“You’re a new soul!” Mimzy’s voice made you want to throw glass or grip something until it broke. “Hey, I’m talking to you!”

“What do you want?” You eyed down at Mimzy with a bored expression

She let out a sound akin to ‘uww’ with a face of disgust. “You’re never gonna get your lucky someone with that attitude.”

Your eye twitched, “I never said I was.”

Mimzy gave you a fake shocked look, “Really? I thought you were going for Alastor!”

You groaned, heading over to the bar to ask Husk for something to drink (not alcohol) because you didn’t want this annoyance to follow you to your room

“Hey,” Mimzy sat next to you without asking, “You know what Alastor’s like when he’s upstairs?”

You ignored her, but your face of silent rage was enough to get her to continue

“You don’t know. He’s a realy lady’s killer! Not literally, but you get what I mean. Girls and ladies throw themselves at him and he doesn’t even bat them an eye. A nice wave and a dashing smile, then he leaves them high and dry! Oh, the broken hearts he had was definitely more than his body count and that’s something!” Mimzy laughed at the end

What’s that got to do with you? You thought to yourself as you aggressive sipped on your drink. Husk eyed you two while cleaning some glass to appear like he was busy. You’ll maybe admit, you were a bit envious of Mimzy that she got to see Alastor when he was alive, you wonder how he looked. Not like you were going to ask

Mimzy endlessly talked bad about Alastor behind his back. What happened to trying to apologise and wanting to make up? No idea, down the drain at this point. As the others around you wonder why you were still humouring the chatty demon, you were wondering the same. Why are you just sitting here and listening to all this?

“You should shut it, can’t you see you’re the only one talking here?” Husk spoke up, indirectly telling Mimzy to just leave you alone

“Aww, and you should do your job, bar cat.” Mimzy teased back. “I’m given this poor soul some attention cause Alastor’s too high of a standard to give some.”

“Ha! Jokes on you. This hot stu— I mean, cutie here’s always got smile’s attention.” Angel inserted himself into the conversation, climbing over the bar to stand next to Husk

You got up, “This is a waste of time.”

Mimzy faked another gasp, “No way. You poor poor thing. You actually fell for him of all people of this hellhole?” She got so close in your face and not to mention your personal space, “I understand why, but! Ha! That’s just bad luck! You’re bound to get your heart broken like all those poor ladies before you.”

Before you said anything, Husk’s wing separated Mimzy from you, “You really need to shut the hell up before you regret it.”

“You shut it fur ball! I ain’t talkin’ to you.” Mimzy snapped at Husk

Deciding that it was not worth your time, you started walking away. This was drama you didn’t want to be involved in and you didn’t want Alastor catching this happening since he sees Mimzy as a friend still

“The hotel won’t allow this.” Charlie tried to establish order and break things off

“Alastor will leave you in the dirt worse than whatever you were before once he’s had his fun with you! You might think you’re on cloud 9 now, but you’re going to be in a world of pain and hurt soon enough.” Mimzy continued, completely ignoring Charlie and Husk’s words

With each step you took, she continued as if singing a song, “Alastor only like things that entertains him. He never commits. He never cares. He doesn’t even have a heart to care! He’s so powerful because he has no room for ridicious things like love. The love he has is only for himself. Alastor is just a selfish heartless motherf—”

“Shut up!” You turned to her, a deep scowl on your face

“This is gonna be good.” Lucifer whispered to the others watching, “But bad for her. Yeah.”

“Shut you annoying f- mouth.” You snapped, unaware that your hair leviated a bit from your rage. “You don’t know how lucky you are to have a friend like Alastor. Alive and dead. But what do you do? You use Alastor’s name just for the fun of it and for your benefit. You just use it! How can you use your friendship with him like this! What’s wrong with your stupid tiny head?! In Hell, you’re supposed to treasure what you have. Not abuse it.”

Mimzy scoffed, “You think you’re so good? So righteous. Well, you would have been up there, now wouldn’t you. Don’t think you’re any better.” She smirked, “In Hell, we use everything and anything to our advantage.” Another gasp came and she covered her mouth, “Oh wait, could it be?” She got close to you, “Haha, you being so defensive and triggered by all this. You really actually did fall for him.”

“I love him.”

“Wait? Couldn’t hear you, sugar—”

“I love Alastor.” You repeated firmly and loudly

“What was that?”

Getting annoyed, you turned to the direction where the question came from. Perhaps it was all this anger in your system that made you slow to realize, “I said,” That you were now face to face with Alastor. “I love you!”

Note: This part's major focus has been mentioned in an ask already. And since it's confirmed that you and Alastor are dating in the latest asks and requests, I'm putting this scene in more detail since asks are trivia for the story

P.S. There's something new planned for future chapters~ Remember that lover and friend mentioned? OCs might be appearing cause I can't do rando short forms. Still thinking... You're thoughts? Or should I just end this series?

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

@mistpurpl3

@nevermore-ramblings 

@justboredforreal 

@youroneandonlysimp 

@falsemain

@scenteddelusion5

@anni1600

@readergirlstuff

@salutations-demonsanddappers

@mistpurpl3

@haruskrd

@biadoll21

@speedycoffeedelight

@wendds

@paninibit

[yanderenightmare]

Mahito

TW: idk, threatening atmosphere ig

fem reader

Thinking about being a psychologist assigned a certain crazed serial killing cannibal… 

The walls seemed too white. Loud. So impersonal, it became personal. Cold and eerie, as if it wanted to make everyone inside feel unwelcome.

Your palms were embarrassingly sweaty, causing you to wipe them down your skirt, also in an attempt to straighten it out, where the approaching footsteps on the other side of the door only helped make your heart beat faster.

You swallowed your anxiety when you heard the latch open and tried to wipe your face free of fear, knowing how such fragility would not survive here. You almost felt nauseous, but then the patient came in, and, unlike you, he looked completely normal – happy even.

"Good morning." You reported routinely, and just as routinely, he chose not to answer and instead stared at you where you sat on the other side of the table, as ready as ever. 

It had become a ritual shared between the two of you. Intimate.

You, who made yourself comfortable before he was let in – folder and notepad and two ballpoint pens in two different colors, one red and one blue, placed in front of you on the table – just far enough away that he couldn't reach them.

And he, who’s comfortable either way – dressed in his given uniform and slippers as he stepped across the cold floor slowly before dropping into the chair in front of you.

You wear jewelry, and suppose he does so as well.

He looked your body up then down – analyzing what he saw with an unimpressed face – taking in your straight posture where you sat like a doll placed in a glass display with your knees together and your hands folded neatly atop your lap. 

He seemed disappointed when roaming your outfit – a childish pout on his lips. A secular pencil skirt, tight but modest nonetheless, reaching below the knees – only showing calves and ankles. A demure blouse – no sheer fabric, no bright color, no cleavage – just dull pink-beige that reached up below a set of pretty collarbones and a neckline donned a simple pearl necklace. 

If you wore makeup, it couldn't have been much – but your lips had a certain shine to them, not much color other than natural, but glossy in a way that made them look… tasty.

You were pretty, but pretty in a very ordinary way – pretty in such a way that wasn't enough to answer the question of whether you were trying or not. And he thought that was fun. 

You looked boring, but you weren’t boring because you were anything but obvious.

You smiled nicely, pretending that he didn't make you nervous – and that, in turn, made him smile, but not for the reasons you would have liked. He thought you were a little weird for wanting him to get comfortable with you when you were so clearly nowhere near comfortable yourself.

"How are you today?" You asked as if in a normal conversation when your previous ask didn’t earn any response.

He considers playing along for a few seconds but eventually feels he has done so too many times before – that now it would only achieve something boring.

He nudges the inside of his cheek with his tongue and scrapes it against his teeth before finally answering. "Have you ever seen someone go through withdrawal?"

If this had been your first time with him, you would have reacted differently, but you have since learned that he’s happy to force what he feels like telling, regardless of your attempts to turn the conversation onto other topics. So, instead of asking why he's asking what he's asking, you answer honestly and let him continue.

"No. I can't say that I have."

"Then you're in for a treat.” He says and begins the game, quickly noting with a keen twinkle in his eye the way your smile tightens before he continues. "You might think I look like shit now, but you should’a seen my skin then – all ash and gray like a rotten fish. Should have some pictures of that in your binder – I looked as good as dead.” He joked with a smile. "And yet, I was still alive… ‘cause I kept kicking and flopping around. And it was cold – freezing – so cold that my teeth gnashed without having anything to bite into. And even though I’ve never been one to cry, I cried then, like a newborn fresh outta the womb." He confessed with even more of a chuckle in his voice.

The smile only grew sharper when he saw you open the notebook – his eyes twitching a little at the sound of the ballpoint clicking under your thumb as he watched you approach the sheet with red ink.

"Oh- and sweat," He continued, "My God, how you sweat." Grinning as the adrenaline of excitement sharpened the red in his corneas – crazed two-toned eyes bulging as he watched you scribble. “You may think you know sweat, but you don't – you don't know the stench of it.”

He shook his head along with the words, happy to have engaged you in his little game. You were so cute, sitting there opposite him as if the two of you were on a date and he was telling you some fun story from his past.

"And I shook! Like I was crazy – like I had demons on the inside that wanted out!"

You gasped as he brought his large fist down hard on the table with a blow that shook the remaining blue pen as if it jumped in fear and cowered to comfort itself the same as you.

“And then they came out. ‘Cause I puked ‘em out!”

His eyes were impossibly dark, though they remained the same as always. Full of something… something you just couldn't understand. Along with a crack of a smile that was anything but healthy.

"For several hours, I vomited until my soul was left in the toilet bowl… That is… the times I was lucky to even make it to the bathroom in time..."

His words earned a grimace from you, sitting with a lump in your throat, clutching the pen that had now gone silent in your still grip.

"And that smell doesn't go away…" He continued, calmer now. “It sits and sinks into the floors... Remains to remind you of what you are – mocks you, pokes fun, laughs as it predicts the future…”

His eyes gave yours the same feeling as being threatened with a knife, the way he looked down at you while you stared up at him – your eyes wide in prayer before you couldn't hold back any longer and had to look away.

"Because you know..." The voice was even quieter now but still with a reprehensible darkness that required goosebumps. "No matter what promises you make to yourself, you will always break them the moment the hunger strikes again... That's just human nature." He concluded, letting the silence work for himself.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and met his gaze again, trying your best to appear unflappable even though you’d already let the mask slip a couple of thousand times already.

"What made you think of that?" You asked then, clicking your pen – that way you do when the silence creeps worse than his words.

“This room.” He answered. “It's like withdrawal.”

"It doesn't say anywhere in your file that you’re a drug addict?"

"The whole reason I'm sitting in here is 'cause I’m an addict." He snarled, and you almost lost the pen with how you flinched.

There was another pause, and his face softened again into something else.

"But you're right. I've never done drugs." He smiled with his head cocked a little to the side as he looked at you with that fixed unpleasant look. "But I was convincing, wasn't I?"

You clicked your pen again and wrote another thing down in the notepad.

"Psh-" He scoffed. Something in his voice had changed, twisted into something similarly accusatory to yours. "You're just like me."

You stopped writing. Your whole body had been taken by instinct at his disturbing statement – brows furrowed as you fought the urge to gnaw at your bottom lip.

"How so?"

Your heart was pounding to the point where you could hardly feel anything but the bleeding pulsing in your ears – pumping in your fingertips – rocking the ribs in your chest.

A silent toothless smile crept up his face anew from where it had been playing at the corner of his mouth as he watched you cling to the red pen as some sort of weapon you could use if he chose to throw himself across the table.

He laughed at the thought but stopped short upon his next utterance. "You’re also an addict."

You had such a very pitifully confused expression. He took a second to admire it with a smile that only grew sharper, to a sick point where you almost couldn't recognize him as human at all anymore.

"You use – you eat and chew and swallow everything but the bones, everything you can stuff your bottomless belly with in hopes it'll soothe the hunger."

You had to gulp.

"Most people, you see, eat themselves. But we…" His gaze was like a spark – powder and fuse teased by friction, just waiting to explode. "We eat people."

Another silence fell upon you, but this one heavier than the previous ones – as if everything took a moment to catch its breath before you let it go, and with it came a deeply unsettling shiver down your spine.

But before you could question the statement, a beep came and took the patient away.

[qierxing]

A/N: An interpreted continuation of @shiny-jr wonderful fic. This is one of the longest fics I’ve written…..carried by my love for Heartslabyul. Been chipping away at this every so often until now. I would strongly recommend reading Shiny’s part first, or else a good part of this will not make sense. Part two will be something that will be floating in the future.

TW/CW: Graphic descriptions of PTSD & panic attack symptoms, self-harm from bad coping habits, dissociation, dismemberment, references to Alice in Wonderland, made up lore LOL

I. II. | Isekai AU | Yan! Heartslabyul x Reader

"So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality…"

– Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Caroll

i. Cremation

Ramshackle's mailbox is a pitiful thing.

It sits right in front of the small graveyard near forgotten covered in tangled vines and weeds. Unlike its surroundings which shine from recent renovations and repairs, the hinges still squeak loudly when the latch is opened and the outer parts are scratched and dented. On bright sunny days, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

And today, it's even more obvious.

The box now is in danger of tilting off its support pole, filled with the weight of lumpy letters, spilling out envelopes upon the dirt. Around it sits various colorful wrapped boxes and packages that are piled haphazardly across each other. You swear it gets larger each passing day.

“How many does this make?” 

A battered top hat pops into existence next to you, one of the resident Ramshackle ghosts who's been helping you around lately. (He had said you remind him of his siblings when he was alive. You're still unsure whether that was a good or bad thing.)

You let out a sigh through your nose. There's nothing to say about the situation in front of you. You wish they could disappear the minute you wish for it, yet the colorful wrappings and the various envelopes scattered around your feet don’t vanish the more you stare. 

“I’m really sorry about all this.” 

The ghost shakes his head, frowning at your apology.

“It’s not your fault, prefect.” 

The words are reassuring, but they don’t make the gross feeling go away when you crouch down and start picking up letters that have fallen out of the mailbox. 

From: Azul Ashengrotto 

Sender: Vil Schoenheit

Sent by: Riddle Rosehearts

All of them are addressed to you, of course. You can already imagine their contents: filled to the brim with regret and guilt, blotted words begging for forgiveness for the wrongs they’ve done. When you told the Headmaster that you didn’t want anyone visiting Ramshackle, that wasn’t an invitation for them to flood you with unwanted mail. Then again, perhaps you should have foreseen that they would do this. All of them are stubborn to a fault. It wasn't like your phone was any better until you’ve blocked all numbers making it go off endlessly like a shrieking parrot.

The resulting letters alone are thick enough to rival the textbooks Professor Trein assigns students. Pressing your lips together, you turn around to start heading back to your temporary home.The rest of the bulky packages can wait. The ghost helps swing the door open and Grim perks up from his seat in the living room as you set down the letters.

“Grim, can you get a fire going?”

“Now?”

He eyes the thick pile of letters with wary slit pupils and asks, “Aren’t ya…gonna read ‘em?”

You did. For the first few ones, at least. They were barely discernible, their apologies blurring by as they begged for your grace and mercy. That they would do anything to right their wrongs. If you didn’t know any better, you would say their reverence was akin to a cult. 

It makes your skin crawl.

After that, you stopped bothering to even  skim through. What is the point of continuing to make sense of lunatics? Of cruel games and intrepid players?

"We have the wood, and the house is a bit chilly, so why not?" You reply. Grim scrunches his eyebrows but doesn't object as heavy wooden logs are dumped into the grate. He takes a deep breath and blows upon the letters scattered on the wood, encasing everything in familiar neon blue flames.

You settle into the armchair next to Grim, staring into flickering blue flames. Grim curls up next to you, purring contentedly. All too easily, your eyes lull close to the sound of crackling flames consuming paper.

–

When you step out onto the front porch the next morning, you're overtaken by an overwhelming fragrance.

There's crimson red petals floating through the air. Fluttering in the crisp morning wind, they fall in your hair and the rest end up crushed under your feet. You'd feel bad if it wasn't so pungent; the very air feels like it's infused with the scent of roses. 

Your nose crinkles as you pick up the impossibly huge bouquet that is wrapped in silk and ribbons. It's certainly beautiful, you'll give it that. Yet this scent doesn't bring back good memories. It only brings vivid flashbacks of being lost among rose bushes, covered in dirt and scratches, trying so frantically to find a way out. When every single crack and snap was a possible life threat. 

You don't realize you're crushing the bouquet until something trickles down your fingers. It doesn't feel like blood pooling between your skin. Relaxing your grip ever so slightly, you find pin sharp thorns running down the stems where you were gripping. The fleshy meat of your palm is punctured cleanly in the shapes of the thorns. Was it left unclipped on purpose?

The card is the next thing you find with bloodied fingers, rumpling white cardstock and soiling it without a care.

To our beloved player,

We deeply apologize for the pain we have caused you and beg for your forgiveness. We will make sure to atone for our sins of harming you.

~H

The initial and the bouquet is too obvious of who it's from. Riddle must've penned it, because none of the card soldiers would ever write this formally. But it must've been Cater's idea to send the bouquet–Trey nor Riddle would've come up with such a sentimental and sappy idea. And Ace and Deuce would rather die than do such a cringey thing. 

The door opens again behind you. You turn to see a half-awake Grim groggily yawning. He stops once his blue eyes land on the bouquet in your hands.

"Whazz that?" He points a paw at the rumpled roses, and you hastily shove them behind your back. 

"Nothing." You say.

Grim makes a face before finally breaking the awkward silence with, "Do ya want me to go tell 'em off–"

"No." 

The answer is rushed and makes Grim's eyes widen. It's crazy, you know. But to have Grim try to solve the problem for you doesn't sit well with you. It's not like it's his fault for what you went through.

And maybe, deep down, you couldn't bear the thought of telling them nasty insults and curses to make them hate you more.

"I'll take care of it." You add, trying to reassure Grim, who only stares impassively. He shakes his head.

"Am I making another fire?"

"...if you can, please."

ii. The Morgue

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been brought to Twisted Wonderland. 

Yuu’s…body has been moved to another room. It freaks you out more than you would like to admit. It’s familiar, yet it’s not. It’s carved to your image, but with none of your personality. There’s something wrong with the way its eyes are tilted, the dip of its cheeks, the curve of the chin. An idealistic, dreamy mirror of yourself.

Still. You’ve seen many dolls in your lifetime, and even you cannot deny the life like artisanship. The seams of the joints are cleverly hidden and the skin is smooth and unfettered without any misshapen resin(or clay?)–these are marks of a true doll-maker.

“It’s your vessel.” Grim had said with a matter of fact tone. As if you weren't looking at an unmoving human body. “Everyone was freakin’ out cuz’ it just shut down outta nowhere.”

It must’ve been because you were brought here at that moment. The hypothesis doesn’t really make you feel any better. You should know better than to blame an inanimate shell of a vessel, but... 

You jerk awake, cold sweat running down your neck and face. It takes a second for you to realize you're not being encased in burning scarlet flames and it's not claustrophobic verdant green hedges surrounding you. The bed sheets are tangled, wrapped in a chokehold around your legs and torso. Instead of translucent leaves, the bed canopy curtain shields you from the moonlight pouring in. The soft snores of Grim sync with your ragged breaths in time.

Tonight's nightmare had been recurring for a while. Every single time you thought you had shaken it off, it comes back like a bad omen.

Instinctively, your hand runs over the bumpy raise of scars running down your back and neck. Most of them had faded with magical treatment and time, but there are some that still have rough skin that has hardened like scales on a dragon. 

Your fingertips curve inward and dig. 

You thought you were safe. The rose maze is large and encompassing: hiding would be the best move. You breath in–

– and you were face to face with the Crimson Tyrant himself.

His face contains no humanity, his eyes only reflect dark, dark anger and resentment. You thought you were staring into a never ending abyss. Something inky black catches your eye, and you realize with horror that blot is trapping your feet and leaving stains upon your skin.

"Stop right there, imposter!"

Your nails scrabble at the bumps and raises, tearing through them with obsessive speed. Faster, faster–it doesn't feel right, you have to scrub your skin clean of those foreign textures.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping your legs from collapsing to the blot climbing its way up. You have to do something–

–something wraps around your neck and torso, and all air leaves you as it squeezes and knife sharp needles gnaw into bone.

Your breathing grows more hoarse as your nails scratch faster and faster, desperate to remove more of those vile clumps of impurities. 

"You will suffer as Yuu did." The verdict is declared with deranged gleeful vengeance. The tyrant points his scepter at your fallen body covered in thorny vines reminiscent of roses. Blot swallows your form and screams whole–

It's only when the familiar smell of iron registers in your mind, that you finally snap back to your senses. When you finally draw your hand back to view, it's covered in clotted blood and torn skin, both dead and fresh, all clogged under your nails. The open cold air now makes your neck and back sting sharply as blood trickles out of reopened wounds.

It's with a heavy heart that you quietly leave the bedroom entirely to wash away the blood in the kitchen sink. Crimson dyes the white ceramic for a brief moment before swirling away down the drain. 

The wounds sting and ache, but you can barely be bothered to tend to them as you resign yourself to the living room couch with a thin blanket. You think of Grim sleeping unaware upstairs and close your eyes. The old weathered grandfather clock in the corner ticks on and on with each second.

No, you can't blame a puppet for functioning for its purpose.

But you could tear its limbs out of its sockets so it could never walk anywhere again. If you plucked out its fingers and eyes, it wouldn't be able to find its way around anymore. Sewing the mouth shut would seal the deal.

Then it would truly know how it felt to have no choice.

–

Working as Sam's assistant helps take the mind off things. Crowley had begged you to resume classes as Grim's 'beast tamer', but something in you screamed at the thought of having to shed your feelings aside to return to what normalcy was. As if this world didn't run on the giant malicious cogwheels of fate and lines of code.

How painfully obvious it is that your mere presence is just a substitute. 

"Ah!" 

You look up from sorting products on the shelves to a surprised looking Riddle Rosehearts. No no no no–

You take in his sunken gray eyes and pale skin, before going back to shelving products. It takes strength to play dumb. Your shaking hands betray the fear growing within as they sort through stationary merchandise. Finally, the products are lined up neatly and you're trying to bustle away as quickly as you can–

"W-wait!" You try to ignore the half whispered plea, moving behind the counter with an unnatural speed. 

"Please, wait, I need something!" You do stop, because unfortunately, you can't completely ignore a customer in need. So you take a deep breath and grit your teeth, turning around with a polite smile. Stare straight ahead. Think not of smoldering flames and knife like rose thorns–

"What can I help you with?" He stares into your eyes, frantic and desperate. It's clear with the way his mouth opens and closes that he wasn't sure how to continue his case.

"If you aren't sure, take your time to browse, dear customer." The grin was starting to wear on your cheeks already with how much you struggle to keep it in place. 

Please just leave, you internally beg. You settle behind the counter, watching as Riddle bows his head and disappears among the shelves for his items. A tired sigh leaves your nose. 

Your hands keep shaking no matter how hard you clench and unclench them. 

He can't hurt me here. 

Sam is just a yell away and there's mace and a knife in your bag underneath the counter. 

It'll be fine. It's not the Tyrant.

A clink of glass catches your attention, as some ink bottles are pushed on the counter. 

"I've finished." Riddle's smoldering eyes choke you under their hues.

"I'll ring that up, then." 

The exchange happens quietly yet as you hand him the bottles, he pauses, looking down. "What happened to your hand?" 

Shit. There were still obvious swollen scratches and puncture holes imprinted on your hand. You completely forgot about bandages after Grim caught you with the bouquet the other day. You quickly hide your hand in your pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He seems to want to say more, but is cut off when someone else comes up behind him, waiting to pay for their items. He only swallows hard and nods, setting out with only a guilty look back.

You finally breathe out a long sigh of relief when the door chimes echo behind him.

-

"That'll be ten thaumarks and thirty madols." 

This is the fifth time Riddle's shown up during your shift and bought ink. This time, it's a deep crimson color not unlike the shade that saturates his dorm. It reminds you of torn skin on nails from that night, and it takes a minute to shake those thoughts off as you pick up the bottles.

"Prefect, could I talk to you after your shift ends?" You turn to fix him with an incredulous stare, and he grimaces.

"I promise I won't harm you! Did you not get our letters?" But how can I trust you? On this cracked chessboard you are forced to play upon, you don't know where to place Riddle at all. He is too much of an unstable bomb that could blow up in your face at the wrong impression.

"Fine." He definitely won't back down until you agree to hear him out, and it's best to let him state his case once and for all. "My shift ends in an hour. I'll meet you outside."

"Excellent. I shall wait for you then, prefect." He takes his bag and leaves with a small bow.

The time passes all too quickly. Sam shoos you out before you can try to coax some overtime hours from him. And much to your annoyance, Riddle is waiting for you promptly as you step outside.

He looks nervous as he bows his head in acknowledgement of your presence. You'd almost feel bad, if it weren't for the fact that he nearly beheaded you at first sight.

"Have you received our recent letter and flowers?" A long silence follows, before you reluctantly nod. Your hand throbs as you open and close it out of habit. You just removed the bandages this morning, but the unbearable itch to reopen the scars is too tempting. Steel eyes are immediately drawn to the movement. "I see. Then I won't drag this out. Prefect, could we prove to you our sincerity to make amends?"

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly as I said. Please let our dorm express to you our sincerity to mend our relationship." The intensity of his eyes makes you sick to your stomach.

"You've apologized enough, Housewarden Rosehearts. I'm sure your card soldiers have too." Subconsciously, your hand drifts toward your neck.

He winces. No doubt it must be a sting to his pride that his numerous penned letters weren't acknowledged. "It's not just about apologies. We want to start over–turn over a new leaf, if you will, for our relationship. It would be a disgrace to the Queen of Hearts herself if I could not atone for what I've done."

Always with the rules. You're not entirely sure what Riddle means when he says 'mending your relationship', but it seems he's already set his mind to it. It would be hard pressing to get him to change his mind now.

"...sure." You reluctantly acquiesce. The tips of your nails brush against scarred skin before drawing back. You shouldn't. It took so long for the wounds to close again, for sinew to piece itself together, and for skin to finally grow back. You don't want another lecture by Crewel or Trein.

He brightens considerably with a look of relief. "Good. Then, please wait for our call." 

You watch in confusion as he trots off hurriedly after another deep bow. Wait for our call? What does that–

Something buzzes, and you realize it's your phone, lighting up with a notification from Magicam. You frown, tapping on the icon. A message? 

cay4cay sent a message request

The second you processed the username and profile picture, you instantly hit the block button. With a frustrated scowl, you shove the phone into your pocket. You deleted Yuu's account and only had a burner account for info purposes. How the hell did that social butterfly find your handle?

You groan. This is all too much.

iii. Paying Respects

A letter arrives, but not by mail.

A jarring commotion rudely rips you from sleep's embrace. You groggily sit up, blinking once, twice, before realizing the noises were very much real and still happening. Who is this loud on a Sunday morning? Grim continues to snooze right next to you, unperturbed by the disturbances. You debate whether it's worth it to get out of the comfy covers. Then another yell echoes up to the room and you groan in annoyance. 

You slam the entrance doors open, ready to give the lecture of a lifetime before you stop in your tracks. 

Deuce Spade looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up whole. Even Ace Trappola, haughty asshole that he is, looks thoroughly ashamed to be caught in a compromising pose. The scene is so familiar that you can't seem to be confused. It takes a second of awkward staring from all three of you before you realize that you're still standing in your thin pajamas, out front in the public entryway in the cold.

"...May I help you?" The distant polite inquiry has them both flinching. They scramble to their feet, brushing off dirt and debris from their fist fight. 

"We're very sorry!" Deuce bows deeply, while Ace scoffs and looks away.

"Housewarden Riddle told us to give you this, so…" Ace shoves a white envelope with a seal boasting a crown insignia into your hands. The Queen of Hearts. You exhale through your nose. So this is what Riddle meant earlier.

You open the envelope gingerly, carefully inspecting it as if it were some kind of trap.

"We're going to have a party soon." Ace is still determinedly avoiding your eyes. "You can come…if you want."

You hold back a sardonic chuckle. Even after everything that's happened, he's trying to act like some kind of cool, suave guy. Your eyes drop down again and you open up the flap to reveal the elegant crimson cursive that decorates the paper.

You're cordially invited to Heartslabyul's monthly tea party. Please send your response ASAP.

Date: XX/05

Time: 14:00 - 17:00

A silence lingers in the air, heavy as a rock. You can tell without looking that the two were holding bated breaths waiting for your reply.

This certainly was out of the blue. But. It was Ace and Deuce. Riddle may have issued the order, but they must've taken initiative in delivering her majesty's decree. Stubborn and tenacious, yet they were still endearing with their loyal friendship. Who in this world would run across a whole desert for you?

That wasn't for you though. The intrusive thought immediately makes your lips thin. The card soldiers shift at the subtle expression change, nervousness painted all over their faces.

You would be lying if you said you weren't curious. Why an invitation to a tea party? It was rather unlike Heartslabyul–or at least most of them–to be indirect like this.

"Sure. I'll be there. I can bring Grim, right?" You flip over the card and envelope, raising an eyebrow at their stunned faces.

"Wait, you serious?" Ace stutters. His ruby eyes blink rapidly as his mouth gapes open. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes.

"Why would I waste my time lying to you?" You sigh, crossing your arms. Granted, you never did send any response back to that ostentatious bouquet, but you were already preoccupied with the hundred of other letters and packages flooding your mailbox. 

"In that case, of course Grim can come!" Deuce says, looking like he's been released from an entire burden off his chest. It was no doubt plaguing him on what your answer would be.

"Great." You wave a careless hand, turning to close the door. You're so ready to go back under soft bed covers. "You can give my answer to your housewarden. See you then."

A hand grabs at your arm and tugs you back suddenly. You turn and open your mouth–

"You! You're the one that caused Yuu to shut down!!"

Wind blasts past you, leaving a thin trickle of blood down your cheek. Eyes wide, all you can do is stare at furious crimson eyes glaring you down.

"-Hey!" 

Those eyes. It's the same bloody crimson. The same sharp glint of raw bloodlust. Your right cheek aches terribly. Cold sweat runs down your back. Try as you might, you cannot suppress the reactive instinct to flee.

"Don't touch me." Your terse response has Ace retracting his own hand immediately. 

"S-sorry, sorry–" He’s scrambling to get past his mistake. If you were in a better state of mind, you would've laughed at his genuinely flustered state. "I–I didn't mean to grab you like that, it’s just that–"

"We also have something else.” Deuce cuts in, trying to cover for Ace’s blunder. He shoves something warm under your nose, and it takes a hot minute to process what you’re smelling. 

Lavender. The cookies within his hands are simple and aren’t decorated, but the buttery floral aroma they emit leaves you salivating. You slowly take it from his hands, staring at the carefully packaged bag. 

“...From Trey,” Deuce offers hesitantly after seeing your surprised expression. His tight expression and stiff posture betrays the way he is attempting to look respectable. “He's wanted to send you something for a while now.”

For a while? His dorm mates were all clambering to get any crumb of response from you. He might've had the manners then to understand that you wouldn't be delighted to hear from someone who only watched from the sidelines as you were being attacked. Did he only wait because his beloved housewarden didn't move yet? How typical.

“Tell him thanks for me.” The two of them shuffle their feet while exchanging glances at your freezing cold tone. 

"Don't mind us, prefect." Deuce elbows Ace, causing the red head to click his tongue and glare back. "Sorry for bothering you like this–we'll get going now!"

The two actually leave without more fuss, leaving you to twirl the invitation in trepidation.

When you look down again, the flowy calligraphy has been smudged by your fingers, ink blooming on your skin like blood.

–

"What does one wear to a tea party, Sam?" 

The question slips out before you know it, making the store keeper turn around and raise an eyebrow at you.

"And why is our little imp curious?" He teases. At your unamused face, his face splits into a garish grin.

"Perhaps you should ask Professor Crewel. After all, he does have quite the fashion sense." Sam strokes his chin in thought. "While we do have some outfits here, it might be best to get advice from someone who has been to these kinds of events."

And so, you find yourself standing in front of an indifferent Divus Crewel, who takes one look at you and takes another drag from his fashionable cigarette holder. He continues to shuffle through papers, all the while shaking his head.

“I should’ve known Sam would be the one to send you.” His voice sounds annoyed, yet carries no weight of anger. Much like how his bark is worse than his bite, Crewel isn’t one to heartlessly turn you away. “A tea party, you said?”

“Sam recommended that I go to you since you have more experience in this sort of thing.” Crewel does another critical once over of you, no doubt estimating your measurements for the look he’s thinking of. As expected of a former Pomefiore housewarden. He seems to already have an idea of what outfit would be best.

“I’ll help you, but you’re running some errands for me first, pup.” 

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the alchemy professor. Now you’re stuck picking out ingredients in the botanical garden while you’re waiting for him to get the materials together for your outfit. 

Of all the botanical zones, it just had to be the tropical zone. The harsh artificial lights shine down as you lean down to pick herbs. While the temperature is bearable, you don't know how much more sweat your outfit can take before it gets soaked completely. The humidity is choking, and you feel dizzy from both the moisture and heat clouding your senses.

“Prefect?” 

You look up wearily from basil plants to see Cater Diamond in his labwear, with a face that mirrors your stunned expression.

Give me a break. Immediately, your awkward customer service smile falls in place. First her Majesty, then Tweedle Dee and Dum, and now the March Hare? But Cater knows how to read the room. Maybe he'll know to let it go–

Your hopes are dashed as he immediately bounces up to you with a grin. “Didn't think I'd run into ya like this. Whatcha doing here?”

“Er, Crewel wanted my help with getting him ingredients…” This conversation was quickly swerving into awkward territory. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, you know…” Cater chuckles sheepishly, “I got assigned to water the plants…”

You take notice of the steel watering can in his gloved hands, then the long green hose by his boots. “Ah.” 

“Guess that means we’ll be working together!” He chirps cheerfully and you cringe. Seven, anything but that! You quickly turn back to your basket and begin to pick up the pace in harvesting the basil. The quicker you finish, the faster you can get out of this deathly awkward situation.

“By the way, Acey and Deucey wouldn’t stop chatting about you accepting our invitation!” You flinch as Cater idles up next to you, using the hose to spray a generous amount of water over the patch of herbs. “It was pretty cute to see, y’know.”

“R-really?”

"Trey was also glad too. He and Riddle have been planning to make it the best tea party ever," he mock emphasizes. "They've been running the dorm ragged over the party deets. Cay Cay's been so busy with planning stuff!"

"That's not really necessary…" A feeling of guilt worms into your guts for a moment. You squash it. What Riddle and the others do is none of your business and no obligation of yours. 

"Right? That's what I said too!" Is he implying that you're the reason there's more work than usual? How shameless is he?

After a good minute of dead silence, Cater pipes up again.

"Sooo, prefect, whatcha been up to lately?"

You can't take it anymore. 

“Why are you talking like I have a gun to your head?” 

Ever since he made his presence known, he's adopted a high pitched cheery tone that grates on your ears. It was akin to a customer service voice, but you know Cater. That's his influencer speak.

Cater's chipper smile vanishes instantly.

"Whaaaat?!" You catch a glimpse of his snaggle tooth in his exclamation. He quickly turns and moves to water a patch of sprouts further away, "Like, what are you even talking about? You know ol' Cay Cay's just trying to lighten the mood!"

More like he's desperately trying to appeal to you. He knows which attitude will get him the most views, and the best expressions to rake in likes and comments. You often thought that trait was endearing in its own way when you saw him as a fictional character. Now that you're dealing with him as a human being, it just pisses you off to no end. How could he? You know Cater isn't known for his genuineness but….you thought he would at least act his usual aloof casual self. Then you would know that it wouldn't matter if you offended him.

The straw basket is finally filled with everything Crewel asked you for. It's with dirtied skin and sore muscles that you turn towards the exit without sparing Cater a glance.

"If you say so, Diamond." You hurl the words like a molotov cocktail, and it's very effective. Cater's eyebrows twitch and his hands clench around the watering can. It's one thing to call him by his last name, it's another to completely blow off the nickname he blatantly shoves onto you. "See you later at the party."

“Wait, wait, time out for a second!! Can you at least unblock me on Magicam?” The last sentence makes you freeze in your tracks.

When you turn around, Cater’s somehow still smiling that insincere smile of his. Your neck prickles with dread.

You trust me now, right? His crinkled lime green eyes gleam.

You're not fooled. He is desperate to appeal to you not from genuine adoration, but rather guilty obligation. Although he tried to scrub it from his Magicam profile, you saw the blurry reels and pictures of you fleeing for your life. The detailed descriptions underneath. Each one boasting deliberate timestamps meant for best exposure. He put a bounty on your head with his own hands.

Two can play at that game.

"Block you? I don't have a Magicam account," is your dry response. Cater continues to smile as his eyes close.

"Really? I swear that it was you…" His lips jut out in an insincere pout, tilting his head. You shrug apathetically, hoping the conversation runs itself dead.

"Well, if you do make one, hit me up okay?" Cater calls out after your retreating back.

Once you're in the school corridors and catching your breath, you dig your phone out with shaky hands and pull up Magicam.

Hitting delete account has never felt more relieving.

–

The outfit, in your quiet opinion, was not worth the mental gymnastics you had to do in the botanical garden. Not that you were going to say anything to the very teacher who has been known to treat his students like barking dogs.

"It should fit just fine," Crewel smooths out the crinkles in the fabric before handing it to you. "Go on now. Try it on."

A simple white with a red ribbon bow tie and black slacks. It was rather simple, which is just fine. You didn't need or want to stand out in this party. But you certainly didn't want to end up looking like a slob either. This suit your needs quite nicely.

Smoothing down your shirt, you give a spin as Crewel looks on unimpressed. He waves you off with a dry "Don't expect me to do any more favors for you, pup." You mischievously grin and wave him goodbye as you trot off with your clothes in tow.

The last rays of the sun sets the hallway ablaze with orange and yellow hues. You hum as you take the familiar pathway back to Ramshackle. With everything crazy that’s been going on lately, it gets too easy to be swept up in the moment. As you watch the shadows flicker between the stone pillars, you slow down to observe the scenery for a bit.

The sunset catches a glint and reflects bright white for a moment. You blink and it’s gone when you focus. You stop, confused at the intrusion. 

A loud click echoes behind you, but when you whip around, there’s nothing but the empty hallways.

You stand for a moment in place, waiting and listening apprehensively. Nothing else happens, and it’s with cautious paranoia that you turn around and start speed walking.

iiii. Funeral

It would be impolite to show up to a party without something.

But now as you're standing before the mirror leading to Heartslabyul, you're having second thoughts.

What if it isn't good? You glance down at your box containing the simple custard puddings you were able to make just last night. You didn't really have the skills to make complicated sweets and the puddings only took three ingredients. And your outfit, what if it isn't up to the Queen of Hearts' rules–

"C'mon, [First]! Or else the food will be gone by the time we get there!"

You breathe out a giggle. "I don't think anyone can beat you on your eating speed, Grim."

"You don't know that!" He hops up and down impatiently, waiting for you to adjust the box in your hands.

Right, who cares about any of that?

You follow your companion through the warped glass.

The fresh spring breeze graces you first, then the refreshing scent of flora, and finally, the warmth of the sun on your skin. When you open your eyes, the stretch of viridian green pastures and vibrant flowers greets you. The land of Heartslabyul is as picturesque as you remembered on screen. It feels unreal.

And waiting for you at the end of the path is the very first dorm you've befriended.

"Weird. Where's everyone at?" Grim grumbles, ears twitching in irritation.

The entrance is completely devoid of any human presence. You don’t sense anyone in the building either, which is completely strange. 

Grim's right. Where is everyone? For an incoming tea party, wouldn’t there be various students rushing in and out for the preparations?

“Perhaps they’re in the maze?” You glance warily over to the tall hedges that bloom with beautiful roses. “Should we wait?”

“Ugh, that’s so rude of ‘em to keep us hangin’ though! I say we go lookin’ for them. Who knows how long we gotta stand out here!” Grim shakes his head, distraught at the thought of having to wait for his food. "Let's go to the kitchen!"

"You just want to see if you can eat something." You tut at Grim's scheming face. 

"Mya, so what?!" He yowls. "I'm going and you can't stop me!"

"Grim, wait–" You call anxiously, but your companion is already scampering off into the dorm. You're left with no choice but to take a deep steadying breath and press on. 

But the kitchen room is also empty when the two of you pop in. However, it seems like it was used recently, if not for the smell, then the sight of various dishes laid out on the counter would have clued you in. You sneakily compare your puddings to the spread laid out before you and wonder again if it isn't too late to put them away in a dark corner.

"What do you have there, prefect?" A low voice breathes in your ear. 

You and Grim shriek in tandem, with you almost fumbling and dropping your box and Grim’s signature sharp nails digging into your shins.

The looming presence behind you is revealed to be Trey Clover, who has an apologetic face after spooking the two of you. At least he is conscientious. 

"My bad, my bad," he chuckles, "I should've been more obvious about my arrival." He places a steady hovering hand behind your back. Just barely touching, yet close enough to feel its heat. Embarrassingly, the feeling is soothing enough that you can't find it in yourself to pull away.

"Sheesh, for real! You took some of my life with that, y'know Trey!" Grim hisses, detaching his claws from your poor legs. Trey only laughs and ruffles his head.

"I’m sorry about that Grim. Anyway, you guys came just in time," Trey begins to transfer the dishes onto a wheeled cart. "Food just needs to be carried out and the tea party can begin—but you have something, don't you?"

Regret seeps in when you think of your sad puddings next to all these gorgeous pastries and appetizers. 

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s really needed since you got all this,” you laugh sheepishly as your hands automatically hide the box behind your back.

“No way.” Trey’s smile is warm but firm. When he gently guides your hands to give up the box, you can’t find it in yourself to protest. “It can’t be that bad, since you made it.”

You're struck silent, and Trey immediately takes advantage of your state to press his hand to your back to usher you forward. His fingertips graze your side, and for a second, you swear his lips quirk into a smirk.

You follow alongside Trey as he pushes the cart out through the door.

"By the way, I'm happy to hear you liked the lavender cookies." You look over to see the baker smile warmly. "I would've tried something with the candied violets I had, but I ran out just as I was making them." He sighs as he shakes his head.

Something with the way he's worded it makes it sound like there was more to the story, but you don't care enough to pry further. Trey's golden orbs slide to meet yours discreetly, and you realize he's waiting for you to respond. You murmur an apathetic response back, and he visibly droops.

It's a long, quiet walk through the rose maze.

It seems your arrival with Trey threw everyone off guard. You don't know why they look so alarmed: the venue looks absolutely resplendent. Colorful lanterns dot the tree lines, swinging back and forth cheerily with brightly colored flags. The long table is draped with fine cloth embroidered with intricate lace patterns. There's not a single wrinkle to be seen in the fabric. And the rose bushes, blooming with both red and white roses, are pruned cleanly, not a leaf or branch out of place.

It is a tea party fit for the Queen of Hearts.

"And the guest of honor is finally here!" Easygoing as ever, Cater calls out jauntily to you both. He seems to be the only one not visibly panicking. "Trey, what took ya so long?"

"Had to get the dishes here, you know." He shoots a knowing glare at Cater, who flinches with a sheepish smile. "Someone was supposed to help me, which would've made it a lot faster."

Ah. Cater giggles nervously while twirling his hair. Ace and Deuce exchange disbelieving looks before shaking their heads. 

“Welcome, prefect.” Riddle greets you with a stiff bow. "And Grim." He hastily adds, seeing your companion’s face twist sulkily. The action makes you smile, if only for a moment.

“We’ve been waiting forever for you, Yuu—” Deuce jabs an elbow sharply into Ace’s side, making him cough and sputter mid sentence, but the damage has already been done. Another awkward silence reigns as everyone’s fearful faces are directed at you, trying to figure out how to best traverse the conversational minefield. 

“W-What Acey meant to say is–” Cater is cut off immediately.

"Uh, er, come to think of it, what's your actual name?" Deuce is the one who pushes forward despite everyone else’s horrified looks. As if he had uttered a profane exclamation.

"My…name?" You echo back. 

Right. Since all they knew was the puppet, they didn't know your true name. Heavy silence hovers in the air, even Grim was looking at you in anticipation.

"My name is…" Something chokes your throat. Reluctance? Or fear? 

"[First]. [First] [Last]."

They mutter it among themselves, tasting the syllables and weaving the rhythms of the letters. How strange. With sugar coated lips, their voices ring like church bells for prayer. You're born anew, for the way they look at you is enough to make your heart soar for several fleeting seconds. 

For a brief moment, you could believe that you were with your Heartslabyul again.

The tea party begins like a baby animal: slow, unsure, and always in danger of stumbling to the ground. But it’s Heartslabyul, and who else would know how to best host a party for its guests?

By the time the tea is being poured into your cups, a steady conversation has started naturally flowing between all of you.

“Is there something the matter?” Riddle asks for the nth time as he worriedly gazes at the way your eyes stray to the hedges and whimsical decorations beyond the table.

"Oh uhm…” You hesitate, still not meeting Riddle’s worried face. “Why are the roses both red and white? I thought one of your rules is that tea parties always have white roses." 

Riddle exchanges a look with Trey at your question. 

"That is true, [First], however…" He pauses, before continuing with a determined look. "Red and white roses are customary for parties celebrating with new friends."

“New…friends?” Your hand is frozen at your teacup.

Something fiercely warm fills your chest. There's cautious hope glimmering in Riddle and Trey's eyes. That wasn’t fair. How could they say something like that and not expect you to react? 

The party ends on a light note unlike its stiff beginning. The soldiers gather to see you and Grim off, but once Grim scampers off with his leftovers in paw, her Majesty moves to your side.

“Prefect–no, [First], would you come again?” He asks. His hands are trembling, tugging at your sleeve timidly like a young child again. “F-For an Unbirthday party, of course!”

It’s a request that’s not selfish, you note. Her Majesty’s card soldiers look on expectantly behind their monarch, and it takes everything within you to not collapse. 

“Of course. I can’t wait for it already.”

Your heart weighs heavy. They do not know that the promise is an empty white lie. Though you cherish them, you do not wish to act the role of a doll whose purpose is to play house. 

When they looked at you with those pleading eyes, who did they see? 

Yuu, the puppet they adored for its safe default responses and supportive words?

Or you, the player who has their own flaws and biased personality?

It's okay, you reason.

They won't be able to tell the difference between clay and flesh.

v. Burial

You have a hunch about Yuu.

Only a guess based on many hypotheticals, but better than nothing.

If the puppet stopped working when you arrived, then shouldn't it go without saying that if you left this world, that it would return back to life?

The wooden door creaks open, stirring up dust and sending it flying into the air. You cough and sneeze, waving your hand to disperse the irritant. Serves you right. After all, you refused to step into this room since Yuu's body was hauled here. Didn't even dare to come clean the room. The dust settles and you can finally make out the puppet's silhouette from the waning light rays of the window.

It still adorns its proper NRC uniform, wrinkled in the spots where you had lifted it. It hasn't moved at all from its sprawled pose on the sofa. You remember the dread at realizing the only fitting school uniform you could possibly wear was on this puppet. It only cemented your resolve to break away from the puppet's image. Even if you had to resort to clearing out ancient closets and haggling with faculty, you'd rather take the raggedy shawls and worn flannel over the crisp blazer and button up the puppet wore. 

Its skin has become ashen gray, drained of any life. Old joints creaked in agony when you adjusted it to a sitting position for better examination. For a while, the both of you stare at each other.

Despair tugs at your mind. How long will you be trapped in this world? Has the Headmaster even done anything to help you get home? You snort. He couldn’t even bother doing anything when it was just the vessel. Why would that change now? 

Can you hear me?

The voice, so quiet yet clear, makes you whip your head around. No one's in the room. Are you finally going crazy?

You can hear me, right?

Is one of the ghosts playing a prank on you? You can't pinpoint the source of the voice at all.

I'm here–look!

With dread and fear pooling in your heart, your head turns slowly to meet the doll's eyes; whose pupils are now fixated on you.

The urge to scream and push away the doll is overwhelming. But in a world where the supernatural is natural, you suppose that dolls that can speak are the least impossible thing out there.

I can help you find your way home.

You swallow thickly. Pursing your lips, your grip on its arms tightens as you lean in. Something stirs, and it’s crazy, but you swear it hums in pleasure.

Listen to what I say carefully…

-

Decorations? Check. Refreshments? Check.

Outfits? Check.

So why does it feel like there's something missing?

"What's wrong, Riddle?" He turns to see Trey's concerned face. He gives an awkward smile back.

"I'm not quite sure, but something feels amiss." He explains, rubbing his neck. It's obvious enough to make him feel the familiar slivers of irritation slither through him. 

He tries to will it away. It's a good day, and there was nothing to be angry about. The player–no, [First]–had decided to give them a chance and agreed to come over to celebrate an Unbirthday party with them. Ace and Deuce are behaving as good, law-abiding card soldiers should be. The roses were saturated with dripping red, the dormouse had its nose smeared with jam–so what is this itch that won't go away?

"We can do a double check of everything again," Trey offers gently. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Riddle shakes his head. “It’s almost time for them to arrive. I will not have them waiting on something that isn’t even a problem.”

“Housewarden~!” Speak of the devil. He turns with a frown at Ace’s loud shout, but it fades to a small smile when he sees you trailing after Ace.

"Hello, Riddle." You smile warmly at him, and his cheeks flush pink.

Wait. He stops. Have you ever called his name? He doesn’t have time to ponder this before he’s interrupted by Trey and Cater bringing in the food.

When everyone is seated and the party is in swing, he notices something.

“Is the food not to your liking, [First]?” He inquires as politely as possible, softening his tone to make it sound less accusatory.

You fluster, waving a hand. “Not at all. I’m just not that hungry right now.”

He decides to leave it, because it’s not as if it’s wrong, per se, if the guest wasn’t eating. He recalls Ace’s previous words to him.

“Housewarden, you really should loosen up a bit! Otherwise you’re gonna end up being a killjoy!”

He may be many things, but he is not a killjoy! Just because he was particular about certain things doesn’t mean he didn’t know how to let go.

But something feels off.

Then he realizes that while the conversation is flowing as usual, you are hardly speaking at all. You only speak when directly spoken to, and even then, it’s short, clipped responses.

He watches incredulously as you pour yourself a cup of tea and then drink it.

The golden scepter materializes in his hand as easily as breathing.

Everyone else reacts explosively, looking alarmed at the scene unfolding. Meanwhile, you merely stare blankly at the end of the scepter nearly several inches from your nose.

"Riddle, hold the phone, what are you doing?!" He barely hears Cater's frantic voice to his left. He's too focused on the way that…that thing is not reacting at all. 

"You. Where is [First]?"

It's silent for a moment, and then a disturbing crooked grin breaks out from its poker face. It starts cackling loudly and it makes his blood start boiling. 

"Start speaking or it's off with your head!" He screeches, scepter shaking uncontrollably in his hands.

"Boo, I was hoping you guys were stupid enough to fall for it.” The thing taunts, leaning back in their chair. 

Red fills his vision. How dare this thing use your visage and breath such vile words? Before he could register it, his arm swipes across. By the time his eyes clear and his breathing steadies, he's staring at a decapitated body that is mangled beyond repair. 

It takes another moment to realize he is not the only one who has raised their magical pen.

Trey is at his right, golden eyes dark as Riddle realizes he positioned himself to shield him. Cater mirrors Trey, but his arms are visibly shaking and his eyes keep switching from him to the broken body on the trimmed lawn. Ace and Deuce had positioned themselves to the backside, but they too, barely seem to be holding themselves together, clenched fists at the ready for physical blows.

“What…” he breathes, “is going on?”

The only answer he gets is the wind whistling through the grass blades.

He collapses to his knees as he fumbles with a body that has been torn asunder, but instead of flesh and bones, he only finds clay and chipped resin.

“What have we done?”

[makethatelevenrings]

Day 9: Cock Rings w/ Clark Kent

gonna be honest, researching cock ring porn made me question even more than usual if I am a lesbian but I do it for u all so here u go

Kinktober Masterlist

“I don’t want to know how you got this made,” Clark said once he saw it. You shrugged and then, reconsidering, nodded.

“Yeah, you won’t be able to look Bruce in the eye for a while.”

“I just…” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did you even approach him with the idea? No wait, I said I didn’t want to know.”

“Hey Bruce,” you mocked. “Can I borrow some Kryptonian to make a sex toy for my really hot, really submissive alien husband?”

“Please stop talking.” You giggled at his distress and shrugged.

“Who knows? Maybe this will come in handy sooner than you think.”

You and your big mouth.

It was common for enemies to use kryptonite against Clark. Hell, it was their main go-to. But no one had ever used pink kryptonite until today. Bruce struggled to get Clark into the Watchtower medical bay, a place that rarely saw Clark in there unless he was visiting a teammate, and promptly fled before you could ask him anything other than what had knocked Superman out of the battle.

“Okay, baby,” you whispered as you pushed his hands away from your hips. Clark’s heavy, ragged breathing assured you that he was alive but the raspy undertone made your heart race in a way that was entirely different from his. He whined at your denial and you cursed under your breath. If you let him fuck you right now, he’d destroy you. Clark was good at maintaining his strength in his everyday life, including the bed, but with pink kryptonite involved, he had no inhibitions right now.

“Okay. Okay.” Your mind went back to the gag gift that was currently sitting in a lead box in your bag. Fuck. Maybe you were clairvoyant. How did you come up with this shit?

“I’m going to grab something, okay? And when I come back you better be out of that suit and on your knees like the good boy I know you can be. Right?”

Clark whined, his erection straining against his skin tight suit. You brushed your hand over it and grinned as he moaned. He reached for the collar of his suit and you left him to it. Your bag was close by, luckily, and you fished through it until you found the little box.

Turning around, you found Clark kneeling on the ground completely naked with his heavy, long cock hanging between his legs. Big, blue eyes blinked up at you and he had to be painfully hard based on the tears lining his lashes.

“This should help, baby. It’s gonna make you feel better and then I will make you feel so good.”

He whined again, a pathetic sound that made your traitorous cunt throb. Now was not the time to get horny. Not when he needed you to focus.

The kryptonite infused cock ring had been a joke. Clark and you had poked fun at the idea of using sex toys on him, but nothing could faze or restrain the Man of Steel. Until you had gotten drunk with Dinah one night and came up with a brilliant idea that Bruce reluctantly agreed to help make, solely so you could stop saying he owes you for saving his life that one time.

It came in handy now. Despite Clark being hard as hell, you were able to fit the cock ring snugly around the base of his cock. His balls hung heavy over the edge of the metal, but he shuddered in relief at the feeling.

“Does that feel better?” you cooed, stroking your hand through his soft hair. He pushed his head closer to your hand and sighed at your gentle touch. The pink kryptonite effects would wear off in about two to three hours, but the green kryptonite ensured that he wouldn’t hurt you as you helped him out.

You settled yourself onto the ground in front of him, your knees pressed against his, and reached out to grasp his veiny, thick cock in your hand. He was so big that it made your hands look tiny and you always marveled at the fact that you somehow fit him in your mouth, cunt, and ass.

His hips jerked at your touch and then he let his head fall until his forehead pressed against your shoulder. You pressed a delicate kiss to his temple and started a slow, even stroke along his dick as his hips rolled along with the drag of your touch.

“So beautiful, Clark. Once you’re not affected by the kryptonite, I’ll make sure to put this cock ring on you and tease you until you’re begging me. I could probably even spank you and leave a mark for once. Wouldn’t that be nice, right? Seeing you covered in pretty little red marks?”

Clark moaned, wonton and broken and perfect. With one hand cradling his head and the other jerking him off, you kept talking him through it.

“You’re so strong that this ring won’t stop you, but I love knowing I have more power than you right now. I love knowing you trust me to treat you well. You know that I will always take care of you, right?”

He nodded and you kissed his cheek. “That’s my good boy. Let’s see how many times we can get you to come until it wears off.”

[javarium]

better | gojo satoru.

a cute short story in honor of my nephew being born on Mother’s Day, here’s a snippet of something cute (but it’s published a few days after Mother’s Day lol). Also, feels like I haven’t written in 100 years and I’m constantly rusty so I’m sorry if this is bad lol.

w — UNSEALED! Gojo, fluff, adult/minor relationship, former! teacher/student relationship, post-canon, takes place about seven years after the Culling Games and JJK storyline, Reader is 23/24

Satoru’s newborn son felt like a feather in his arms.

He’d never tell anyone (Shoko might would) that he was absolutely terrified when he was first given his son — his firstborn — to hold after coming out of you. You, of course, got to have skin-to-skin contact with Seiji first. (To which Satoru managed to snap a few pictures.) But when you were done holding him, it was time for him to hold his child. And he was downright terrified.

At the time, every bad thought entered his mind.

What if he didn’t hold him right? What if he squeezed his son too tightly? What if, God absolutely forbid, he dropped him?

No. No, that wasn’t going to happen. He was the strongest jujutsu sorcerer alive, for crying out loud. Why wouldn’t he be able to hold his newborn child?

Satoru was surprisingly glad his overconfidence kicked in, because holding his son felt like a dream come true.

A few months have passed since the first day he’s held Seiji — since his son has been born. And nowadays, he’s absolutely certain he wants at least ten more.

Well, five at the least. Considering he’s not the one carrying the babies and doing all the hard work and labor; of course, he was going to ask you first.

But he’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice your presence. Not even his Six Eyes or inhuman-trained senses seem to acknowledge you’re in the room with him. Not until your voice gently cuts through the air.

“Satoru,” you say, “you should be in bed.”

“I’m good,” he reassures you, eyes not leaving the sleeping boy in his arms. “I’m good. I’m fine. I’m just watching him.”

“You’ve been watching him for nearly half a day. You need rest.”

“I don’t need to sleep,” he tries to argue in a soft voice. “I have the Limitless. I don’t have to have sleep.”

“But Seiji would want his father to sleep.”

And of course, your words strike him exactly where they needed to be struck. And you continue to talk, driving that nail that needed to be struck even deeper.

“You don’t have to shoulder everything anymore. Not like you used to,” you murmur. “There’s more First and Special Grade sorcerers a than there have been in a long time, myself included.”

Satoru had bragging rights against his clan. (Well, rights to say that his wife was extremely dangerous and would be the first to come and annihilate them if they did anything to Seiji.)

You had been the one to annihilate the Elders during the time of the Culling Game, and they stood absolutely no match against you when it had happened. He recalls Maki saying that she’d never seen her kouhai — or anyone really — that angry.

So, Satoru was more than happy to make the Gojo Clan understand you were just as equally of a threat as he was if anything happened or they tried something to your son.

“I just don’t want to miss anything. Not a single thing. Not even him wiggling his eyebrows in his sleep,” Satoru admits, the last part making him smile. “And if that means using my powers to stay awake all the time, I’m fine with it.”

For a man that’s been so closed-off with his emotions for well over a decade, you’re so glad to see and hear Satoru being this open. Vulnerability has never been his strong suit, but over the last few years, he’s been allowing himself to be more vocal.

The only problem for the rest of the world is that he’s only that open with you — his wife. And his son, of course.

You obviously have no problem with that.

Seiji coos, garnering his parents attention. He squirms in his father’s arms, stretching his legs.

“Oh, hey buddy,” Satoru whispers happily. “You’re awake!”

You love the big, excited grin that stretches across your husband’s face as the baby moves. The light of fatherly love in his eyes makes your heart soar and tears form in your eyes.

You remember when Satoru was terrified about becoming a dad. You remember the times where he feared becoming his own father. The man wasn’t like the usual physically abusive father you’d seen in a stereotypical show or movie. He was, technically speaking, but it was with sorcerer training. And even though Satoru didn’t show it or tell anyone, you knew bits of his younger years haunted him.

There had been long and deep discussions about his past and how he’d handle those things if they ever came up. There were also lots and lots of reassurances on your part, telling him that he’s already nothing like his own father.

Satoru would burn the world for his little family, and that was something you both already knew — something his father would never do.

”I think he’s hungry,” you comment softly.

“Want me to get the milk from the ready?”

“Please.”

Satoru hands Seiji to you like he’s made of glass. And somehow the bottle is done within a few minutes. Seiji just chugs away at the bottle, downing it faster than you’ve seen him since he’s been born.

Satoru gives a low whistle and chuckles. “Damn. He’s hungry.”

“And he’s eaten recently, too,” you add.

Silence, save for the sound of Seiji drinking from the bottle, takes over the room. But it’s not the bad, deafening kind. It’s the kind that’s focused, beautiful even. And if anyone were to step into the room of your family of three, they’d understand why.

“Thank you, [Name].”

His voice is full of love. When you look up from Seiji and into Satoru’s eyes, you see that it’s there too: the unconditional love for you and the sweet infant in your arms.

“For what?” The question comes out, but you’re sure you already know the answer.

But the second you ask, Satoru lifts you into his lap and you squeak. You knew he had always been this strong, but goodness. The amount is strength and ease he used to lift you made blood rush to your cheeks.

A sweet kiss on the cheek. “For being there with me.”

A sweet kiss on the other cheek. “For staying by my side.”

A long, loving kiss on your forehead that made you close your eyes. “For marrying me and being my wife. For giving birth to Seiji,” he mutters against your crown. “But most of all: for loving me. For loving me as I am, and for helping me become better. Better for you, for Seiji, and for myself. For helping me be a good dad for our son.”

Hot tears line your eyes from Satoru’s declaration of devotion and passion. You had no idea this was what you’d wake up from your sleep to. If you had known, you certainly would have prepared your heart just a little more.

“Oh, Satoru.”

You wrapped your free arm around his shoulder to try hug him. He helps, pulling you as close to him as possible, careful to not squish the cute sleeping baby between you.

“I love you, too. I love you so much, Satoru. We’ll always drive one another to be the best versions of ourselves. I’m your wife, and I’ll always be here. I have no intention of leaving your side. Ever.”

You share a slow Eskimo kiss, but Satoru’s lips mischievously steal a kiss anyway and it makes you giggle.

He glances down at Seiji, and then grins a grin that you means he’s gonna say something you’re going to smack him for.

“We make some really cute kids, don’t we? Wanna have ten more?”

Okay, no smacking. Sending him through several concrete walls should definitely suffice.

taglist:

@torusbabygoat

[ edited 12/20/23 | dividers belong to @/saradika-graphics ]

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Passing The Baton (Six of Crows One-Shot)

Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: To your knowledge, your crush on Kaz is unrequited. Apparently this is not the case.

CW: Kaz is dumb but we love him

SAB/SOC Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Kaz ‘Dirtyhands’ Brekker. Bastard of The Barrel. Also- your unrequited love. Kaz had caught your eye just as he had caught everyone else’s. Everyone knew not to mess with the Dregs, and that was thanks to Kaz. Before he’d risen through the ranks of the club, the Dregs had been no one. Quite literally the dregs of society- and while, yes, that was where the name came from, it was quite the rise to fame as the Dregs started getting more and more popular, and more and more dangerous.

Even the Crow Club was starting to become a real pain in the other clubs’ asses. 

But Kaz? He’d fascinated you well before any of this. You’d been working at the Crow Club as a serving girl since before Kaz arrived. Not long, mind, but long enough before that you got to experience both sides of the Dregs’ fortune. 

Kaz hadn’t seemed to take much notice of you at first- and why would he? Weren’t you just another serving girl being groped by the drunk patrons? Anything to make a few Kruge. But he did take notice when you threatened to cut the balls off a patron when said patron got a little too handsy one day.

He’d taken you back into his office and thwacked his cane on the table hard enough to scratch the varnish and told you rather harshly to never do that again. To come to him next time there was an issue like that and he’d deal with it… discretely. 

What that had meant was clear only to Kaz, and that was fine by you. But that was when your little crush had really taken off. What could you say? You liked a bad boy. Someone who could handle his own and Kaz could definitely handle his own. Cane or no. 

Despite telling you off, Kaz had clearly taken note that you weren’t afraid to get your hands a little dirty either, something he had an appreciation and mutual respect for. And so you went from lowly serving girl to, well, still a serving girl, but a serving girl who also took jobs for Dirtyhands and worked with him to secure patronage for the club, and Kruge for his and your own pockets. And for Per Haskell’s pockets as well, you supposed. Lazy bastard. 

But you longed for more.

 

You longed for Kaz’s touch, for his lips on your skin. You longed for his affections as much as you longed for his approval. It was a dangerous combination.

As far as you could tell, he did not feel the same way. But then again, would you have ever known otherwise? Kaz kept his cards close to his chest- as he should. 

Today seemed different though. You’d barely made it back from a job and Kaz seemed… angry, to put it lightly. You had no idea why, though, considering you got what he wanted, and made it out alive, too. Win-win. 

Inej may have had to save you, but that was beside the point. 

“You need to be careful,” he said, mouth pursed angrily. “You can’t be making reckless choices and silly mistakes. This is The Barrel. I can’t afford mistakes.” 

You met his harsh gaze head-on and shoved the ledger he’d asked for into his chest with vigour. Kaz didn’t even break the gaze between you, just reached with one gloved hand to take the ledger off you. 

“I got what you wanted, didn’t I?” 

A muscle in Kaz’s jaw twinged. 

“That is not the point.” 

You let out an exasperated scoff, removing your hand from his chest with another soft shove. Surprisingly, Kaz lets the action move him. 

“Then what is the point?” You ask, frustration evident in your features. 

“The point is- oh, for Saints’ sake,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We could have lost you. I could have lost you.” 

Your eyebrows practically disappeared into your hairline. 

“You could have lost me…” you trail off, echoing his words, feeling them out for hidden meanings. 

“You’re a good investment. I don’t like to lose investments.” 

Oh. Okay. An investment. You should have known that that was all you were to him. That’s all you were ever going to be to Kaz no matter how much you wished differently. Ridiculous. 

“Of course,” you reply, turning to walk away. “Your investment needs a dri-hey!” 

Kaz’s gloved hand snatches at your forearm and yanks you back towards him. You re-balance yourself and glare at him, looking between the tight grip he has on your arm and his heated glare. 

“Stop,” he says before forcing his features to soften. “I’m not one for feelings.” He practically shudders through the word. “You’re more than that. An investment, I mean.” 

You stay quiet, not giving him anything to work with here, but you’re surprised he can’t hear the uptick in your heartbeat. 

“Look,” his grip loosens. “I don’t want to lose you. Purely selfish reasons. Not because you’re an investment, but-” Kaz clears his throat and avoids eye contact. “I care for your wellbeing.” 

It’s not an outright declaration of love, but it’s about as close to it as someone like Kaz would give. He’d bared his soul to you here. All the fractured, broken pieces of it. He’d bared his heart for you to treasure or smash into bitty little pieces. 

You sucked in a breath. 

“Are you saying you have feelings for me?” 

Kaz grunts and lets go of your arm. You brush your fingers over where he’d just touched you. 

“I suppose so, yes,” he said, eyes flitting to the door like he was thinking about making a run for it. 

“Don’t suppose it would interest you to know I felt the same way, would it?” 

And there it was. Passing the baton back to Kaz. Passing your heart in return for his. Now it was he who held the power to treasure or smash you into pieces. 

Kaz finally met your gaze, and his lips ticked up into a small smirk.

“Oh, I knew that.”

[bunny-yan]

Can we have more incubus yan, pretty please?

TW: n/a

—

You were drenched in a dark light. 

Moments of heavy breathing flipped between being so soft you had to strain to listen and being overwhelmingly loud. You could barely hear the heartbeat that was previously pounding in your ears. It seemed to match your rhythm perfectly, speeding up as you stuck so close together it was hard to tell where your body began, and theirs ended and slowing down. 

One becoming two again. 

Breath exchanging things words couldn’t. 

You were sure if it was cold enough, you’d be able to watch as your breath swirled with fleeting compassion, similar to the sessions between you and your unnamed partner. 

It was hard to get a grasp on anything about them. 

The color of their eyes, the shape of their face. They were hidden behind layers of moving shadow, and despite the fear you felt you should feel, it didn’t come. Instead, you chased to unearth the mystery they presented.

You looked and looked and looked, and all you could see was that light. It was dark, but you felt comforted, drawn in, almost guilty to be away from their presence for too long. And momentarily, you’d forget, feel their hand on your side, beckoning you closer, the idea of existing separately was too much to bear, a taboo act that would leave you feeling lost the longer you waited. 

A passionate exchange. 

It could’ve been seconds that lasted for hours or unfelt hours, brushing over your skin and dragging you deeper to something you weren’t sure you wanted to resist. 

You felt your body sink, surrendering yourself to the mercy of this force feeling more freeing, more euphoric, than anything you’d felt before. 

You wanted this. 

Yes. 

The more you opened up, the deeper you fell. Willing, headfirst into oblivion that retrurned your trust with promise. 

More, it could offer you more. 

And just like your breath, that fear was fleeting, but your tumbling thoughts were silenced as a sensation ripped through your body, setting it alight, fulfilling a desire you weren’t aware you were capable of. 

It beckoned you closer and you followed in a drunken haze. Too oblivious to say no or too uncaring to deny yourself the pleasures it offered you, you didn’t care. All you knew was what it offered and that it felt good.

That light, dark and soft, bathed you, your entire body cool to the touch and yet everywhere they placed their hands, their lips felt warm. Felt hot. Felt alive with desire that you couldn’t tame. That you refused to. 

Conflicting thoughts between those hands that were rough, taking what you freely gave, or the gentle ones. Touches that felt like whispererd confessions in a quiet room. 

“What the fuck?”

You jumped, the sound of that familiar voice breaking the spell. You looked in its direction and you found a fuming Ambrose, walking with heat on his heels. 

Your unknown lover scrambled to get away, shocking you as you tried not get crushed in their escape, but they were gripped by the nape before being lifted off of you. 

“This?” he questioned, anger in his voice as he shook the disembodied figure like a ragdoll. “You were drawn in by this?”

“What are you talking about?” you asked. “Why are you here?”

Your brain couldn’t process what was going on. 

“Hours every day spent breaking down your guard with energy that I still have yet to fully replenish, patiently putting up with your reluctant acquiescence, yet you let this low-level-” His words cut off with a snarl as he gripped the figure’s throat tighter. 

There was a sharp pain in your chest that felt as if lava was spilling from a rupture in your heart. You curled over, the pain too intense to yell, let alone speak. 

Looking at you, Ambrose’s gaze only narrowed. “You even let yourself be tethered to this-” He grit his teeth, closing his eyes as he used his other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You know what, it’s my fault. I should’ve known your guard would be lowered with so much exposure.”

“Why are you here?” you wheezed, scratching at the heat that wanted to melt through your chest. “I thought you could only appear in my dreams.”

“What do you think you’re doing right now?”

Oddly enough, you hadn’t questioned where you were. This room felt like your own, but the closer you looked, as much as you could bear to look, the details seemed off. Your lamp wasn’t exactly the right shade, the pictures on the wall were blurry and unrecognizable, and you just realized that this room had no doors. 

Slowly everything began to look wrong. The wallpaper, the sheets on the bed, the placement of your dressers. It was like a lazy copy of your room with differences you would’ve never noticed if you hadn’t taken the time to. 

So you were dreaming. 

But there wasn’t the usual path of dimly glowing lights beneath the inky black surface. No ominous gate. 

“These denizens have confusion wards to keep their victims unaware as they siphon energy from them.” He said by way of explanation. “The entirety of your unconscious is my domain so I didn’t think to cast a barrier, but this one-” He enunciated by squeezing the creature’s neck, making you gasp as it felt like his hand was around your heart. “Managed to slip in and create its own pocket in the corner of your mind.” Turning his narrowed eyes to you, you felt the heat of his gaze. “And you let it.”

“Why are you blaming me‽” you bit back, indignant anger momentarily overriding the pain you felt. “You act like I knew this was going to happen.”

“This entire situation could’ve been avoided if you had come to me to sate your desires. Instead, you left yourself open to be taken advantage of by this bottom of the barrel scum.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is. This is just a dream.” 

You saw a vein bulge in his neck. 

He watched you writhe in silent agony as gripped your tether in a tighter grip. “The big deal is that your wants, needs, and desires are mine to feed off of. Exclusively. Understand?”

You wanted to tell him where he could shove that patronizing tone, but you barely managed to let out a gasp. Your chest was on fire, a ball of compressed pain waiting to explode, but remained just on the verge, growing little by little. 

“That means I don’t share what’s mine. But now, I have to go through and expunge every trace it left until I can destroy the connection you formed without killing you.”

Your eyes threatened to roll to the back of your head and your body felt so hot you were sure you would’ve passed out if you weren’t already unconscious. You couldn’t really hear him anymore. You wanted to beg him to stop, to ask if it was such a bad thing to be tethered, to say that maybe you could figure out a way to make it work, but his grip only tightened, causing your body to jerk from the pain. Your nerves felt like nails scratching a chalk board repeatedly. You dry heaved, knowing nothing would come up in your incorperal form, and praying the same would be true for your physical body. The last thing you wanted to do was wake up from this hell covered in vomit. 

He sighed, touching a cool palm to your forehead that momentarily alleviated the pain. 

“I hope it was worth it.” he said, your eyes meeting his. There was no warmth. No concern. Only cold rage stared back at you. 

“Because this is going to hurt.”

[zedif-y]

Joel wakes up screaming.

His first thought, honestly, isn’t very coherent. A mishmash of need more time and a throat-tearing scream escaping him as he opens his eyes to–

His scream dies down. Joel looks around– at least, he thinks he’s looking around. Hard to tell when it’s all pitch black and he can’t see a thing, is he sure his eyes are working–?

Joel brings a hand to his face, “Did I go blind– What the heck!”

His voice comes out shrill, a hair away from a shriek (because no, it wasn’t a shriek, it was all manly and stuff, thank you.) as his hand kind of– it kinda–

He knows where his head is. Obviously. Be a bit weird if he didn’t. He knows where his head is, and he knows where his hand is. Both are important. So when he reached towards his head, right, gotta see if there’s a cloth over his eyes, or if he’s gone blind or whatever stupid thing must’ve happened to him after… After he…

His thoughts go fuzzy for a second, like that feeling you get when you think you’ve forgotten something but can’t remember what. Like knowing the shape of something you’ve lost, its absence so pressing that it chokes you like sand, clogging your lungs with each second it's gone but what the heck is it–?!

Where was he, again?

Oh. Right. He was freaking out.

The point is– because there was a point, right before things got all weird there– his hand went through his head.

It… He doesn’t even know how to explain it. It felt like… Not much, really. Didn’t feel like anything. But that’s the issue with it, the issue of something should be there, like skin and muscle and bone and perhaps even a brain. But instead, Joel put his hand where his face should be and he felt nothing, no matter how hard he tried, how far he reached and pushed and–

Joel wants to scream. Or laugh. Or cry. Either of the three, though preferably not that last one.

It’s so weird. He just wants…

There it is again. That feeling. The clawing, desperate something in his chest that twists and writhes–

“Hey, Joel.”

Joel screams. (First option, then.)

Jimmy just stares at him, unimpressed. His sunglasses are blocking his eyes.

For some reason, it makes Joel want to cry.

Jimmy sighs, “Are you done?” Joel gapes at him.

Are you serious, “Am I d– What the heck, Jimmy?” He snaps, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, I’m not bloody Grian–”

Since when did Jimmy get so quiet, anyway?

“Of course you’re not Grian,” Jimmy says, his voice all weird. Off. “It’d be easier if you were. He’s already moved on.”

Joel’s hackles rise, “What d’you mean it’d be easier?” He snarls, like snapping teeth. “And he hasn’t moved on, he’s just–”

“Looking for new friends?” Jimmy deadpans. Joel’s jaw clicks shut. “ ‘s what I thought.”

Oh, Joel wants to punch him in the–

Wait a second.

It comes back to him then, slamming into him like a wave. The bubbling, helpless laughter in his chest as he leaps and runs across a flimsy dirt bridge. The way he knows he’s fallen before, fallen a million different times and came out both dead and alive but he doesn’t care.

("–you can't keep doing this–")

He doesn’t (didn’t) care, because why should he, he’s got– he’s got water. He’s got water, like everyone else on this blumin’ server, he’ll live, surely, so there’s no need to be scared.

("–got to let go, eventually, right–?")

No need to worry, even as yellow feathers plummet and disappear from view and lightning strikes where Jimmy’s voice cut off–

“Joel!” Jimmy shouts, practically right in his face. “Joel, are you even listening–?”

This, Joel decides, is not Jimmy.

It's got the shape of Jimmy, sure. Right hair and face and everything. Right voice, right bloody curve of his eyebrows, which makes Joel laugh, because it isn't him.

It can't be. It can't be, because Jimmy's dead. Jimmy's gone, he ran out of time because he fell like an idiot so no, this can't be him, there's no way.

On all levels except physical, Joel can't seem to breathe.

There's no way this is Jimmy, he thinks, just the right amount of hysterical. It's just not possible.

Because if this is him, (and that's a big, gigantic if) then that means– That means wherever he went, Joel followed. Joel followed, and now they're in the Void, or Limbo, or whatever the heck it's called, and that means that Joel–

Joel failed Grian, too.

"You're not Jimmy," He says at last, with his not-there tongue and not-there face. His voice sounds distant. "He'd be like, crying. Screamin' about dying first again, going oh my gosh!" Joel tells Not-Jimmy, pitching his voice up and then laughs, laughs, and laughs.

Until he can't breathe. Until it hurts to.

Until it's not much of a laugh at all.

Light shines on Not-Jimmy's sunglasses. He's still the only thing Joel can see.

Joel reaches out, pretending to see two, shaking hands grab Jimmy by the shoulders. He pretends, thinks about it hard enough that he almost feels the texture of Jimmy's denim under his palms. He thinks, imagines, pretends, whatever, that the fabric crinkles under his touch, that the sob that makes his way past his lips is a laugh as he says, "I'm sorry."

Something wet trickles down his not-there face.

" 'm sorry, Jim," Joel rasps out, and it hurts. "You weren't supposed to– I had a surprise for you, you know?"

Jimmy's voice is quiet, "What kind of surprise?" He asks, and Joel…

Joel thinks he might be falling apart.

(Or maybe, his mind supplies, he shattered a long while ago. Like glass hitting the floor.)

He grins, or at least, he tries to. "I was gonna break your curse," He confesses, with his terrible, trembling mouth. "I was gonna sacrifice myself for you, be all heroic and everything."

Jimmy says nothing. Joel still can't see his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

He's getting tired of pretending.

"Will you come with me now?" Jimmy– Not-Jimmy says, his voice ringing like the toll of a bell. "You've said your piece, not many are afforded that luxury."

Joel blinks. Death stands before him, no sunglasses to cover empty sockets.

For a moment, Joel considers fighting. Again, and again, and again.

But he is so, very tired.

He sighs.

I don't feel very lucky, Joel wants to say. And you still aren't Jimmy. 

"Whatever," He says instead. He feels his entire being slip away like sand, like time held tightly between two fists. "Take me away, or whatever it is you do."

Joel closes his eyes, "I'll tell him when I see him."

[thesoftestpunk]

Will you be mine?

Summary: your crush is starting to become something more

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word count: 6.3k

A/N: This took for-fucking-ever, I'm sorry. I had a 5 month writers block

Warnings: Minors DNI!! If I find out you read this, I'm calling your mom. Lots of making out, dumb sex jokes, first time, smut, oral, piv sex, virgin!Eddie idk if I missed something lemme know. Also reader can honestly be read as plus size. I try to be inclusive.

Pt.1

When Eddie truly saw you for the first time, you were actually giving Dustin directions to the theater department, already late to swim practice, but you nodded along to his excited ramblings about joining Hellfire. You wished all three freshmen good luck and when you passed by Eddie, you smiled. Not even a half-assed, polite smile, but a full one. It’s so out of the ordinary for him that he just gawkes at you with wide eyes until your smile falters a fraction, and you move on. 

It’s been two years since you’ve moved into town, so he’s seen you around school before, but it’s the closest your worlds came to colliding, and in response to that, you smiled. Most people turned their noses up at the sight of him but the harder he thought about it, you never did. Not in two whole years. Even when his hair went through a terrible awkward phase. 

It set his curiosity in motion, unintentionally looking for you any chance he got. It was easiest in class, stuck in the back by choice, but that meant no one was looking at him looking at you. You sat with your friends any chance you got, devoted yourself to them, but anytime they made a snide comment, he saw you withdraw just the slightest bit, eyes drifting and frown deepening. Eddie never liked it when you frowned. In fact, anytime he could tell you were having a bad day, eyes burning with tears, he’d act like a fool in class. At first, you remained nonchalant, eyes drifting like they did with your friends, but the first time he got you to laugh, his heart felt too big for his chest. 

“Again?” Gareth teased when he caught Eddie drooling over you instead of the worksheet in front of him that only displayed the addition of his crooked name and nothing else. 

“I think I like her, man.” Eddie tries to keep his voice low. If anyone caught wind that he liked someone so high on the social ladder, he’d be eaten alive. The teasing over his hobbies he could take, but getting his heart caught on his sleeve and then stomped on made him nervous. 

“You should just ask her out.” Gareth says it so nonchalantly that Eddie can’t help but scoff.

“She’s friends with Christina Whitlock, wannabe cheerleader. She’s worse than Carver and his goons. I’m not going to put myself on the chopping block willingly.” 

“It’s either you ask her out or suffer in silence.” 

Eddie looks at you sitting in the front of the classroom, smiling at something you’ve been told, and his heart sinks a little. 

Then everything shifted after you sat next to him in English that day your friends seemed to be making fun of him about something. At first he thought you did it because you felt guilty, but when you seemed genuinely curious about his tattoos, he let his guard down. Which seemed to backfire pretty quickly. He had to endure hearing you say you didn’t like him, not once, but twice.

When he had lost all hope, you invited him to the pool. He almost didn't go, fully expecting you to turn him down politely, explaining that you were only being nice out of obligation, but none of that happened. When you had expressed your shared feelings for Eddie, he felt unadulterated joy. That was until he kissed you, and it seeped out of his skin, unable to be contained any further. Now, he got to walk hand in hand with you down the halls of the school, giving each other knowing looks when Tina stared the two of you down like she couldn’t believe you would have the audacity to hold hands. 

You always initiated the pda, and he shook off the nerves just to feel the soft skin of your palm against his. He kissed you in private, not wanting any chance of a moment ruined. But you can’t seem to get any privacy for anything more than making out. You’ve come close to the idea of more but that’s all it seems to be. An idea. It’s a lot of getting interrupted in your bed, Eddie’s hand just having slid underneath your underwear and one of you freezing at the sound of the front door. You always proceed to hiss out ‘shit. Someone’s home,’ before the two of you scramble to get decent and when, nine times out of ten, your mother checks on you, you pretend to be studying. 

Despite his -albeit joking- begging, you refuse the idea to do it in his van.

“I’m a bit of a romantic,” you argue. “So I don’t want our first time to be in the back of your smelly van.”

“Okay, it won’t be there.” He promises, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “It’ll be up front.”

You shove him off of you as he laughs maniacally, now beside you on your bed. Taking your childhood stuffed rabbit, you whack him in the shoulder playfully, and he catches it quickly. 

“How dare you use miss hoppity as a weapon!” He teases further. 

“Oh, you’re in for it now, Munson.” 

He screams dramatically when you roll over on him and attack his neck in rapid kisses, making him uncontrollably giggle. He had warned you he was ticklish in some parts, and you quickly learned where for your own personal enjoyment. 

“Uncle! Uncle!” He gasps out between bouts of laughter, even though he loved the feeling of your plush lips against his neck. His beautiful neck that left your mouth watering and legs clenching at the sheer thickness of it. Just more space to place kisses. There’s a moment when he’s calming and you’ve placed both hands on his stomach, neither worrying about your mother coming to check up on the commotion you just caused. You feel him harden underneath you, just like every time you get pulled onto his lap. He can’t help it. The way your legs spread just for him, and how your shoulders relax with ease gets him going. 

“What?” You whisper when he just continues to stare like you’ve told him he’s won the lottery. 

“I haven’t taken you on a proper date, have I?” As he asks, his smile turns downward at the sudden realization. 

“No, but I don’t mind.” You trace a finger from the back of his jaw to his chin and give a little pinch. “I like this time together. Just us.”

“Well, I’d be a terrible–” the words get caught in his throat as he almost says the big word. Boyfriend. Neither of you had broached the subject, and maybe that’s why he’s brought up the fact that he hasn’t taken you out. Whatever this relationship was, he was afraid he was going about everything in the wrong way. He should have taken you out before even kissing you, if any romantic driven book he’s read has told him. “-guy if I didn’t.”

“Okay,” you ignore his fumble, bumping your nose into his. “Take me out then.” You flatten your chest to him to feel the rumble of his victorious laughter, but then you remember where you are, and your bedroom door is open fully. “We need to get up before the guard does her rounds.”

You untangle yourself from him, giggling as he has to adjust himself if your mom actually does make an appearance. 

“This Friday, sweetheart. I’m picking you up at seven o’clock, sharp.”

“I look forward to it.”

***

Eddie says he would still rather not be seen at any school event, but he shows up to your swim practice, fulfilling his promise of being in the closest spot on the bleachers as he’s allowed. He drives you home from every practice, bragging about you to you. It’s selfishly endearing listening to the way he talks about how proud he is of you for how talented you are. The rest of the girls on the team didn’t understand his insistence on catching at least the last ten minutes. Usually he would be meeting with hellfire, but he would try and make it just to cheer you on, even if he was explicitly told not to by your coach. 

“He was here again today.” you hear Christina whisper to one of the girls. “I’m starting to think it’s not just for Y/N.”

“What do you mean?” She asks innocently.

“I mean… it’s kinda pervy, right?” 

“Ugh, totally.” Another agrees. 

A chill runs down your spine at the idea of that rumor spreading. Something in you snaps as you slam your locker door shut before turning to see their shocked faces. 

“Eddie is a gentleman,” you glare at Tina. “I don’t care that you all think I’m a freak too, now that I’m dating him, but you need to remember I’m co-captain. Keep his name out of your mouth, and if I hear any sort of disrespect about him, you’re doing drills until you puke.” 

“You’re only co-captain because you’re the coach's niece.” Christina crosses her arms defensively. 

“The only reason I’m not captain is because of nepotism. He didn’t want you whining all the time, but I work my ass off harder than anyone in this room. You could stand to be a little more humble, Tina, considering how slow you were today.” Your hands shake as everyone looks back and forth between you and Christina like they’re at a tennis match, just waiting for a full on cat fight to break out. “So, do you understand me?”

The locker room is silent as you stare down Christina, challenging her to retort back, but she actually looks flustered and nods. It has the others nodding along in a chorus of agreement. There’s no more chit chat as the girls rush to finish getting dressed. You’re one of the first few to leave, leftover anger and adrenaline making you stomp on your way out. That is until you see Eddie and feel your whole body relax. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says his usual greeting. 

Sudden tears burn your eyes as you rush forward to tackle him in a hug, causing him to stumble backwards a couple of steps. He chuckles, arm coming around your middle as he assumes you’re just that excited to see him. A sniffle gives you away immediately. 

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling away to look at you. His eyebrows draw together in concern as he looks you over, hands on either side of your face to inspect closely. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, yes, I just-“ you wipe your nose with your sleeve, feeling yourself get small. It’s the first time he’s seen you cry, and you don’t want to make him worry about why. “It’s stupid. Can you just take me home?”

“You can tell me.” His thumb moves back and forth over your cheek. 

“Eds,” you let out a wet laugh. “I’m fine.” To prove this, you give him a kiss. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Alright,” he eyes you warily, and even the door to the locker room, but wraps an arm around your shoulder to walk out with you. 

You’re sour for the rest of the week, not even indulging in teasing Tina about your relationship publicly. Eddie knows you’re in a mood, but he has no idea why. He tries everything he can think of; jokes, the little kisses on your collar bones that make you smile, and more jokes, but you just seem lost in your own world. For a moment, he worries you’re tired of him already and the pressure of being seen with him has become too overwhelming, and for his own sanity, he does some digging. 

It takes bribing four different people. One offer to deal at a party sends him to  Andrew Rickman,  who gets some weed for a huge discount, to send Eddie to his girlfriend, Jessica Armstrong who finally sends him to Janice Freedman and a promise to pass along her phone number to Gareth, and he’s sure he’s figured it out. 

On Friday’s you swim on your own. Eddie knows to leave you be for an hour before entering the pool house to catch you just as you’re towel drying your hair. He doesn’t like wandering the halls to risk getting yelled at, so he waits in his van, blasting music while smoking a joint. 

“Have a good swim?” His arms wrap around your waist from behind, the smell of chlorine invading his nose. 

“Mmhm,” you hum, melting into his hold. You had pushed yourself to relieve the frustration because you didn’t want to ruin Eddie’s date plan. 

“Just ‘mmhm?’” He copied your tone, slowly placing kisses along your shoulder, and up toward your neck. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be in here.” You remind him, voice stern, but he knows there isn’t any anger behind it. 

“Got away with it last time didn’t I?” He spins you around by your hips, making you wonder what’s suddenly gotten him in this mood. Eddie captures your lips, pulling your body flush against his, and tips your head back to deepen the kiss. It leaves you breathless immediately with how desperate it feels. 

“Eddie,” you sigh when he breaks it to move to your neck once more. His ring covered hand slides up your side, cupping your breast and giving a squeeze. It’s a shame he didn’t show up sooner or he could’ve done this when you were wearing nothing but a towel. “Seriously? Here?” 

“No,” he snorts, trying to behave. “I’m a gentleman.” 

“Not with that poking me in the thigh.” 

Before he gets the chance to laugh, someone is clearing their throat, making the two of you jump apart. Tina looks to the side, looking more than embarrassed by the obvious bulge in Eddie’s pants, and your kiss stained lips. 

“T-Tina,” you step in front of Eddie for his sake. “What, uh, what are you doing here?” 

“I signed up for extra practice time.” For the first time, Tina seems small, almost afraid to admit she needed the extra time in the water. “Guys aren’t allowed in the girls locker room, Munson.” 

“I’ll wait outside.” Stiffly, he leans forward to give you a quick kiss on the cheek from behind before rushing out. 

“Sorry,” you apologize before she can berate you for it. “I thought we were alone.”

And strange enough, she doesn’t. 

“I used to sign up for the latest slot so Declan and I could be alone when we first started dating.” She opens up her locker in search of her suit. “Just don’t go making a habit of it. Coach nearly tore my head off. Can’t imagine what he’d do to his niece.” 

“Right,” you laugh sheepishly, but catch a glimpse of the Tina you became friends with two years ago. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t thank me yet.” She hardens once again. “You’re doing drills for getting caught.”

You sigh. Tough Tina was back. 

“Aye aye captain.” 

After you rush out, tail between your legs, you smack Eddie in the shoulder with the sleeve of your hoodie. He flinched back like it hurt, but the smile completely gave him away. 

“You dingus!” You try to keep your voice down, but the shrill tone still echoes around the building. 

“Ow!” He laughs more than he does whine. “I can’t appreciate you for sticking up for me?”

“What?” You stop winding up for another smack. 

“I heard what you did for me.” He wraps an arm around your back, pulling you close so he has to speak quietly. “No one’s ever stuck for me like that before.” 

“Well, I- I was just being honest…” your cheeks burn at the way he looks down at you, one corner of his lips tugging up. 

“Mm, well, I find your honesty extremely hot.” 

“We can not get caught by Tina again.” As much as you wanted to reciprocate his appreciation, you weren’t looking forward to extra punishment for making her endure another shared kiss between you and eddie. “You need to take me home so I can get ready for our date.”

“What’re you gonna wear?” 

“Only if you tell me where we’re going but it’s—“

“A surprise,” he finishes for you.

***

Eddie shows up at your door on time for once. He isn’t allowed to pick you up for school, or else you’d be chronically late for first period. He had told you to dress casual, but you can’t help but grab your short tan pleated skirt to match your white shirt with extended shoulders and a jean fabric vest. (A jest if you will). To top it all off, you wear your favorite beat up sneakers and ankle socks scrunched down. When you hear the knock, your heart skips a beat and you take down the hall, shouting at your parents that you’ll get the door. Your dad beats you to it on purpose, but he’s already met Eddie. They were uncertain at first, but Eddie was polite and followed your house rules. To an extent. It was all a front, and you knew it killed him just a little, but he also knew if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to date you. 

He takes you to a local restaurant, nothing fancy, but also not cheap. you love it either way. It never really mattered what the two of you did together, as long as you were doing it together. He’s a bit quiet as you eat, eyes scanning the room, but after you get him to loosen up, he acts like he owns the place. He leans back in his seat, arm thrown over the back as he heavily flirts with you, not even wondering if the other patrons are staring or not.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles while fumbling with the crumbled bills when he pays. You know he doesn’t have a traditional job, selling drugs to help his uncle with expenses, and it makes you wonder how much extra he had to sell just to take you here. There’s a pause as he calculates if there’s enough for a tip before slapping the money down and smiling at you to wave off your worry. 

“Eddie?” You gently take his hand after he’s pulled out of the parking lot. “Did you- you know you didn’t have to take me somewhere that nice, right? I would’ve been fine if you made me, like, chef boyardee at your trailer.”

“I gotta make my girl feel special sometimes, right?” He flashes you that confident smile and brings your hand up to place a kiss on your knuckles. There’s a tug in your stomach when he calls you ‘my girl’ and you bite your bottom lip to stave off your sheepish grin. “Plus, the night’s not over yet. I got one more thing for you.”

You aren’t sure what to expect, but when he pulls up in front of his trailer, you feel a bit of a relief. Not because you don’t like being out in public with Eddie, you do, but you constantly worry about someone making a rude comment his way and upsetting him. In the time you’ve known him, though, the insults seem to roll off his back pretty easily, and you’re unsure how he does it. Every insult repeats in your mind for hours after. 

“Give me five minutes.” Eddie leans over to give you a quick kiss on the lips. 

“What, gotta hide all your cum socks before I go in?”

“I’ve got some class.” Eddie’s breath tickles your lips as he doesn’t lean back just yet. “I washed them yesterday.” 

As he gets out of the van, you laugh to yourself, even when he’s unlocking the door and disappearing inside. You stay inside the vehicle, only unbuckling your seatbelt and glance outside the window. The openness of the area combined with how dark it is leaves you a little unsettled. It’s eerily quiet, and you can tell even with the windows rolled up. A lone cricket and distant barking seems to be the only noise going on around. Turning by your torso, you see there isn’t much to the back of his van, bits of carpet pulling up here and there along the seams, a guitar case covered in stickers similar to what’s on his jackets, and ashtrays with cigarette butts and half smoked joints. There’s a rug thrown in the middle, probably to cover a stain or his attempt to class things up. A sharp knock startled you out of observing the burnt orange and red curves and sharp corners. 

“You okay there?” Eddie teases after opening the passenger door for you. 

“It’s scary as shit out here.” You take his outstretched hand and hop out of the van. “It’s way too quiet.”

“Let me lead you to safety, princess.”

Inside, the trailer is lit by the dim lamp in the corner of the living area, but mostly by the scattered candles along random surfaces leading toward his bedroom. The low lighting flickers off the reflection in the mugs lined along the shelves, and shadows dancing along the walls. Eddie leads you down the short hallway before you can even comment on his romantic decor. You’ve gotten a peek of his bedroom in past visits, but the two of you usually would hang out on the couch, so you know he’s tidied it up for you. There’s still plenty of clutter along his dresser and desk, but his floor is clean from any clothes or trash strewn about. 

He stops you at the end of his bed, your calves brushing against the sheets hanging over the side. Slowly, he brings up your hand to place a kiss on the back of your palm, causing you to shudder. A smile grows on his face and you can see it despite your hand being in the way. He lets go to drag the vest off of your shoulders and when it registers in your mind that he wants it off, you move with him, his face getting close to yours when he has to help your fumbling hands through the holes. You’ve been kissed by him a dozen times but when he dips his chin up to connect your lips, your skin burns in a want you’ve never felt before, as if he’s kissing you for the first time. You both move in sync, dipping down onto the bed, and not breaking contact until he’s hovering over you, delight making his features glow, but you can see the small bit of insecurity in his eyes while he seems to gather up his nerves. 

“Will you be mine?” It’s quiet, intimate, barely above a whisper, but leaves his voice graveling deep enough to send a jolt up your spine. “My girl? Each second with you…” he trails off, shaking his head as his lips split into a grin. “It’s a piece of gold, sweetheart. I want you to be mine.” 

“I-“ you huff out a laugh, his bangs moving with the small gust of air. “I thought I already was. Have been since you kissed me.” 

If his grin could get any bigger, it just did, and his body relaxes, his weight heavier on top of you. The next kiss he gives you is all teeth and tongue, before he calms and kisses you proper. Kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before, his lips and the gentle swipe of his tongue erasing all the others that came before. Your giggle is muffled into his mouth, trying to pull him closer than he already was, but there wasn’t any room left. If you could find it within yourself to let go of his shirt, he could be pressed firmly against you, but then you would just want his shirt off, skin to skin, only for that to still not be enough. 

A small moan from you escapes into his mouth when he grinds his hips down into yours, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he does so. His large hands slide up your hips, your shirt coming up with them, and up your ribs until he’s exposed your chest. You hadn’t even bothered with a bra, not entirely expecting the night to go this far. His eyes widen at the surprise, and his cheeks go pink like he’s never had the pleasure of being inches from any pair of tits. Especially a pair like yours, beautiful and on display just for him. His mouth wraps around your right nipple, his teeth sinking into the perked up flesh, and a pained squeak falls past your lips, the sharp sting only working you up more. As an apology, he releases your nipple to swipe his tongue over it in circles, while his other hand cups your other breast, giving it a perfect squeeze. His lips move down, alternating between kisses and biting the soft flesh of your stomach until he’s positioned between your thighs. Looking up, as if asking permission, to which you nod vigorously in agreement, his hands wrap around your legs to rest them on the top of your thighs, fingers digging into the meat as he kisses the inside of your thighs. You can’t help but squirm when he pushes up the fabric of your skirt with his left hand, the one with all the chunky rings, and leaves it there to rest and places one single kiss on your clothed pussy. 

A broken whimper from you gets him into motion, removing his hand from the thigh for a brief moment, moving your panties to the side and licking up you slowly. Eager, he burrows down, his tongue swirling around your clit, nose pressed against your pubic bone, not minding the scratch of the coarse hair. In desperation to hold onto something to steady your uncontrollable squirming and maybe to just find a grip of reality while your mind floats into a high, your hand falls on his that kneads the flesh of your stomach. The lumpy metal digs into your palm, the pain bringing you further back to reality. His mouth, his hands, his heat leaves you for a moment, looking up to the panting mess that you are, and you whine at the lack of touch. One by one, Eddie removes the large jewelry while maintaining eye contact and tosses them to the side before slowly laying back down on his stomach. Slowly his eyes land on your drenched pussy, and you’d feel uncomfortable if it weren’t for the hunger in his eyes. 

“Wait,” you breathe out. Removing the spare scrunchie from your wrist, you sit up to gather all of his hair quickly, apologizing when your fingers get tangled in the curls, and put it all into a messy bun. You don’t even get to soak up the image of his hair being held by something of yours before he’s gently laying you back down, and his mouth returns to his previous work.

His heavy hands hold your already trembling thighs apart. A hesitant finger hovers near your wet entrance, sliding in slowly. You sigh in relief until he experimentally strokes your core, breath caught in your throat and back arching slightly off the bed. Pleading words, begging breaths, you want for more of his hefty fingers inside you, stretching you out for what you expect to be more later. He complies easy, tongue and fingers moving in sync faster, enjoying every moan that falls past your lips. His name is whined out on repeat, each one raising in tone and intensity along with the pressure in your stomach. He laps up the mess you make as you clench around his fingers and fall over the edge for the first, but not final, time of the night. Soft kisses with the intention of being soothing are scattered along your thighs and stomach as his soaked fingers rub your overstimulated clit, letting you catch your breath as you ride the high just a moment longer.

“Fuck,” you huff, a dazed smile following. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Eddie moves so he’s hovering over you, chin glistening with his work. “Fantasy novels.”

“No, seriously.” With your thumb, you wipe the wetness off of his chin for him. There’s a beat of silence and you realize he isn’t joking. “Wait, seriously?”

“Well… yeah.” 

You sit both of you up, scooting up his mattress until your back touches the wall. There’s the pull of rejection in his chest the further you move away, the absence of your touch and the distance between the two of you sends a message that you don’t want to go further anymore. 

“But you-” you pause, adjusting your shirt so it isn’t exposing your chest. “You… you’re you.”

“That’s the problem, apparently.” The defeat in his voice makes you wince in regret. 

“No, I mean… you’re in a metal band and-” you almost don’t say it. “And I’ve heard… y’know.”

“That I’ll give a discount for putting out?” Amusement flickers in his eyes at that particular rumor. “Okay, I let one girl give me a handy, but that’s it. I’m a massive virgin otherwise.”

“Oh.” Your voice is small, going quiet so you can process what he’s told you. “Well, if you aren’t comfortable we don’t have to.”

“I set up the place for that purpose.” your stomach twists at the image of him excitedly getting ready, lighting the candles to set the mood all with the cute little smile he gets. “Unless you…”

“I’m not.” You almost feel bad for admitting it, but you didn’t regret losing your virginity to someone else. He didn’t seem jealous, just understanding. “And I wouldn’t mind.”

Eddie’s smile grows. “Good ‘cause I bought an entire box of condoms.” Leaning over, he pulls out the comically large box from his bedside table. 

“Were you expecting a sex marathon?” You gawk. 

“That’d be ideal.” 

You shut him up by swiftly removing your shirt and tossing it in his face. He’s quick to pull it off and toss it to the side, but you’re quicker in moving forward, hands falling on his shoulders and pushing him down so he’s on his back. If his hair were loose, you’d be distracted by the halo it created around his bed, but it isn’t. Instead it’s already fighting the scrunchie, his bangs falling down in sparse strands, making him look more innocent than he ever has. Crawling into his lap, you take care in placing yourself directly on his growing hard-on. His hands slide up your thighs to your waist, gripping tightly while you run yours up the entirety of his torso. A couple tugs on the fabric is your way of asking him to sit up enough so you can take it off. Immediately, your eyes land on the one tattoo you haven't had the pleasure of looking at for longer than a few seconds, and slowly you take in the small patch of hair in the middle of his chest. What gets your mouth watering is the thicker patch leading down underneath his jeans. On his back, you can see the peaks of his hip bones leading down to the short valley to his happy trail.

You drag your nails over the thicker patch of hair, smiling to yourself at his sharp intake of air, the upward tilt of his chin from your peripheral, working him up to squirm just as much as you had. He’s a whimpering mess while you only touch him anywhere besides the one place he wants. Desperate, he moves your hips for you, begging for any amount of friction. Almost defiantly, you scoot back, sitting on his thighs instead, and he huffs indignantly. You smirk, bite your bottom lip to keep from smiling fully at his pouting.

“Please,” he begs breathless, hips jutting into the air despite no available pressure from your weight. 

Giving in, you unbutton his jeans, finding the way they pop open satisfying, and tug slowly on his zipper. You can perfectly see the outline of his dick through his tight boxer briefs. You want to take your time, slowly pull his jeans off first and then his underwear, but that flies out of the window when you see just how girthy he is. You don’t undress him in any manner, running the palm of your hand up his length, a long moan filling the room. Leaning down, you kiss his stomach, his muscles jolting in surprise. You slip your hand past the waistband, fingertips brushing against the tip, already dripping at your light touch. Experimentally, you give a light squeeze when you’ve wrapped your hand fully around him. Using his pre-cum as aid, you start slow, his moans coming from deep in his chest. Slowly, you start increasing your speed, dropping kisses along his skin when he seems to get too quiet. 

“Baby, you gotta stop,” Eddie pants. You pull away completely, confusion and hurt covering your features. “No, no,” he takes your face between his hands. “I’m just gonna explode if you keep touching me like that, and I’m not quite finished with you yet.” 

You pause, blink once as heated shock covers your body over the realization. You almost made him cum too fast. Pride fills your chest, and you aren’t sure if it’s a bad feeling to have, but he returns your sheepish smile by grabbing a condom from the box. With fascination, you watch him as he rolls it on, not having had the luxury of witnessing this part. It was too dark or too quick before. There’s a bit of a struggle and you reach out to help but stop yourself, not wanting to take over. 

“Got it,” he smiles. 

“And you’re sure you want to…?” You aren’t afraid, but this is new to him. You don’t want him to be afraid. Everything should be perfect, though you know nothing ever is. 

“Do you?”

“Of course, Ed’s.” Running a hand down his chest to his stomach, to land on his strained cock, you give a reassuring smile. Before you climb back in his lap, he helps you out of your underwear, watching the way you smoothly throw a leg over him and line yourself up expertly without even looking. Raising your brows to wordlessly ask one more time, he answers by resting his hands on your hips, eyes never leaving yours. As you sink slowly down, there’s the familiar burning stretch that causes you to whimper, even more by his girth, but it’s all covered up by his moans. You bottom out, wiggling experimentally while he adjusts to the feeling.

And then you start moving your hips.

Slow at first, grinding your pussy into him, his head falling back onto the mattress and eyes squeezing shut. If he had any nails, they’d be digging into your skin, leaving crescents behind to remind you of this moment later, but his fingers are dull, pushing and pulling you into a perfect rhythm. Leaning down, you press kisses and soft bites onto his neck, your tits flat against his chest and moving with every desperate thrust he gives into you. You support yourself by your forearms, stopping your movements and letting him fuck himself into you. He’s a beautiful flustered mess when you look at him. He opens his eyes just a sliver to catch your smile. 

“Feel good?” You ask, voice soft.

“Mm-hm.” He can’t even speak, brows furrowed together roughly. “‘M gonna—“

“Go ahead.” You place a kiss on his pulse point, swallowing your moans as he thrusts harder, hitting your g-spot. His arms wrap around your waist holding you still, his hips becoming more erratic. “C’mon baby,” you coo. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, giving a few good thrusts before his hips stutter. You give him a moment to catch his breath, the only sound in the room being his panting. 

Leaning back, you smother his face in kisses, feeling his laughter vibrate underneath your chest. 

“Hey,” you say semi-serious, his soft eyes meeting yours. “You did great.”

“I sure hope so.” He finally slides out of you and you whine in indignation, missing the feeling of him already. 

“You did.” You insist. 

There’s this moment where he almost looks like he believes you and you get this warm mushy feeling in your chest at the realization that you’ve had your first time together. Not in the back of his van but in a lovingly decorated trailer with zero chances of being interrupted. To top it all off, you’re also officially his girlfriend. 

“Sweetheart?” He breaks you out of your revere. “Kinda need you off of me to get this thing off.”

“And then we cuddle.”

He smiles. “And then we cuddle.” 

Rolling onto your back, you realize you’ve still got your skirt on, laughing to yourself as you take it off. You look around and find a shirt, unsure of whose it could be, and slip it on, watching Eddie walk out of the room despite promising to get back in bed. A moment later, he returns with a damp rag, gently spreading your legs and cleaning you up the best he knows how.

“I got it, thank you.” You take it from him gently, getting the spots he couldn’t and hand it back. He immediately tosses it behind his shoulder, hoping it lands in his laundry basket. “Eddie, gross.” 

“No time, my dear.” He crawls in right behind you, pulling his comforter over the both of you so you don’t end up cold. His nose nuzzles into the back of your neck, lips leaving soft kisses on the top of your spine. 

“I can’t sleep over,” you remind him, eyelids already feeling heavy.

“I know.”

“My dad wants me back before midnight.”

“I know.”

A hand snakes over your side, wrapping around your middle to pull you flush into his chest. He breathes you in, the smell of your honey shampoo tingling his senses. 

“Eddie?” 

“Hm?” He sounds sleepy and you know you’re in trouble. 

“We can officially do it in your van, now.”

“Finally,” he teases. 

Tag list: @hesvoid3434 @jane-ways @akiratoro420 @ali-r3n @stupid-infinity (there were a couple of you it wouldn't let me tag, sorry <;3)