#I lose it all when the weather gets cold

[meownotgood]

this is such a silly thing to say but I've been so happy since the summertime started because the weather reminds me of when I first got obsessed with chainsaw man and aki last year, I just smell the breeze and feel the sun and I'm reminded of all those good vibes

[dandyshucks]

not me finally realizing just as im going home that i accidentally dressed like arthur today 😭

[nerdie-faerie]

Why is it when I have a big task to complete that should take days to do, I procrastinate the hell out of it when I have plenty of time but when it comes down to the absolute last minute, I can do a couple of days work in a couple of hours? What the fuck is wrong with me? Why couldn't I do it casually over a couple of days but can do it in matter of hours?

[b1rds3ye]

“Your Hoodie? No, My Hoodie.”

How the boys react to you stealing their hoodies/clothes, if they would steal yours, and other cute clothing shenanigans

Characters: Captain John Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions

Genre: Pure Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k (~300 each)

Warning: A little spice but no smut

A/N: After writing some drama/angst pieces I figured some pure fluff will do me good 😌

Captain John Price

Price’s fashion sense has become a little dated, so while he has one or two hoodies, he owns a lot more jumpers and vests (especially those puffy ones that all American dads seem to wear in colder weather)

He also doesn’t wear said hoodies all that much so if you steal them, he’ll likely just compliment your attire like a gentleman then go about his day. When he does notice the hoodie as his, he doesn’t care, you can have it

“Lovely top, darling.” “Price, sweetheart, this is yours.” “… Ah, so it is.”

However Price will notice if you use one of his jumpers or sweaters, not that he has a problem with it. In fact he encourages it, he thinks you look far better in them than he ever will and you actually make his clothes look fashionable when all he ever cared about was practicality

It becomes a bit of a love language of his, for the sake of being a gentleman and as he gets older he’s more aware of the cold. Price is always making sure you’re suitably warm before going outside when it’s chilly and he’s always giving you his own clothes to layer yourself with

Ever a traditional man, Price loves doing up your outerwear for you, as you keep talking and he nods along with deft fingers making work of buttons or zippers. There’s something intimate about it, having his hands so close to your abdomen, with him being responsible for your warmth and consequently your wellbeing

Has considered asking you for a hoodie or item of clothing of yours to bring him comfort on missions but eventually decided against it. His operations get messy unexpectedly and quickly, heaven forbid if he loses your items. He doesn’t have the best habits either and he’ll never forgive himself if he gave your clothes the lingering smell of cigar smoke

Simon “Ghost” Riley

When off duty, hoodies are his go to. They’re simple, easy to put on, the hood obscures more of his features and with his stature they help him look terrifying. He has quite a few but they’re all the same dark shades so for the longest time you thought he only had a couple

He always tells you and Soap that he’s “plenty fashionable” and you genuinely can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. All you know is that it looks like he wears the same outfit 24/7

The first time he saw you in his clothes, it activated something in him. It was an almost animalistic possessiveness, like wearing his clothes meant you were willing to be owned by him

“Fuckin’ hell,” is all he can say, it’s quiet, barely audible but just loud enough for you to hear and get the hairs on your back standing. You feel like prey being found by the predator as he stalks up to you and attacks you with kisses

Seeing you in his clothes is like a public broadcast that you’re with him, that you’re proud to be with him and Simon wishes he can reciprocate but he’s got a reputation to uphold but most importantly, he doesn’t want to put a target on your back by associating you with him

He still does little things just so he can feel connected to you though, he’ll gladly slip accessories under his sleeves or in his pockets to remind him of you

He has taken one of your hoodies with him on long missions, he swears it’s the only thing that keeps him sane when he brings it close and gets the scent of you and home. He’s not concerned about having it damaged, he leaves it at base, neatly folded and stashed away like a treasure that he guards with his life

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Has a respectable amount of hoodies, he likes how comfy they are and he wears them well. The only thing better than him wearing them, is you wearing them

He’s a tease, he wants you to take his hoodies but he’ll never outright say so. You won’t have a choice though when he straight up steals and hides all of your outerwear, leaving you to drift over to his wardrobe and take something

And then he acts incredibly smug about it as if he didn’t orchestrate the entire damn thing

He gets giddy whenever he sees you wear his things, you just look so damn cute. If you’re leaving for an event you better hope your friends don’t mind you being half an hour late because he will latch onto you, begging you to stay with him

Johnny will also try to wear your clothes. Doesn’t matter if you’re a few sizes smaller than him, he’s not afraid of prancing around in a crop top in the confines of your home (or in public if he’s very tipsy). Are you a similar or larger size to him? Well call Johnny a communist because it’s not your closet but our closet now. Don’t be surprised if some of your favourite clothes “magically” disappear

He becomes very proud and energetic when wearing your stuff or vice versa, he puffs his chest out like a pigeon but he does get very serious and apologetic if he accidentally damages your things and will immediately buy you a new one

A chronic clothes stealer, he has most definitely taken your non-important items with him to missions. He stores them under his camp bed, he calls it a mini shrine that he worships for good luck

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Probably the most fashionable out of the 141 (although the bar isn’t set particularly high), he has a range of hoodies for various casual occasions, dark for covert missions, brighter if he’s just out with friends, you name it, he’s probably got it

His clothes are so high quality you honestly feel bad so you initially avoided using his clothes, which just broke Kyle’s heart because he’s an absolute sucker for the trope of partners sharing their things. He has to near beg you to take his stuff

But when you finally do? Especially out of your own volition? Kyle is all over you, praising you to the moon and back about how good you look, trying to encourage you to take more of his things

Extra points if you borrow his hats, Kyle swears it’s the cutest sight in existence and now he has a reason to look forward to a sunny day

Loves cuddling you while you’re wearing his hoodie, particularly where you’re lying on the couch and he’s on top of you, head on your stomach or chest. He has to give himself credit, he bought some very soft hoodies and on you with his head listening to your heartbeat has him feeling like he’s lying on a cloud

He adores how at the end of the day his clothes end up smelling like you instead, he’s almost tempted to never wash them

He will never gift you clothes, if you want clothes you’re taking them from his wardrobe and that’s final. The only exception is if he wants you two to wear stylish matching outfits where he’ll supply you with what you need

Alejandro Vargas

A man of style, Alejandro much prefers his turtleneck jumpers (also because he knows he absolutely kills it) but he does have a hoodie or two if he’s really prioritising discretion or comfort for the day

Seeing you in his hoodie gets him incredibly riled up, even if to you it’s not incredibly stylish or sexy. The instant he lays eyes on you in his clothes he’s rushing up to pull you into a passionate kiss, hands tugging and massaging you through the thick fabric. Whenever you have to pull away he’s purring in Spanish before pulling you back in

Obsessed with seeing you in his clothes, if you ask for a jacket he’s automatically going to his wardrobe. If you want your own clothes you’re going to have to get it yourself because Alejandro can be very stubborn when he wants to be and will only bring you his own attire

Alejandro will gladly borrow your clothes if he can, but only in private. It destroys him inside because he desperately wants to be publicly associated with you but he will never risk your safety associating with him in Las Almas for his own selfish wishes

An absolute gentleman, he loves putting clothes on you. He opens up the hoodie so it’s easier for you to slip your arms in, he zips it up for you, and then he tugs at the folds so it compliments you perfectly. In his world, you’re the emperor and he’s but a humble and grateful servant, he’s not letting you lift a finger

The only thing he could enjoy more than putting on your clothes is taking them off for you. Not even in a lustful manner (although that’s not off the table for him), it just feels intimate, like he’s pulling armour off of you, with you entrusting him with your most vulnerable self and he’s honoured you trust him this much

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

He likes his cosiness and practicality so he has a fair lot of hoodies and he’s more than happy to lend them to you. You don’t even have to ask, he just assumed that when you two became a couple his stuff was yours too

But when Rudy first saw you in his clothes, he was taken aback. He never thought much of his clothes, they just look decent and offered functionality, so how did you make such mediocre items look so damn good?

Gets oddly sentimental when he sees you in his clothes. It’s such a domestic sight, one he thought he’d never see when he dedicated himself to Las Almas. Every time he’s holding you close, peppering your face with brief but hefty kisses. You won’t be escaping his grip anytime soon

Rodolfo will only borrow your clothes if you explicitly tell him you can. He adores you and treats all your items as something sacred, it feels almost blasphemous using your things

When he does use your items, he realised it’s been a long time since he’s felt bashful. Not that he’s embarrassed or ashamed of you, far from it. He just knows some of his soldiers will ask and he’s near giddy that he can talk about you

Another clothes helper, he giggles when he sees you get tangled and lost in his slip on hoodie, accidentally trying to put your head through the arm sleeve. He gently guides you, and when you finally poke your head out, he gives you a soft smile and a kiss on the forehead as though he hasn’t seen you in months

“Ah, I found you mì amor.”

Call of Duty Masterlist

[boydepartment]

three strikes - nishimura riki x fem! reader

a/n: HIIIIII this was a request from my 🧈 anon :3 i hope you love it my dear

warnings- jealousy! nothing insane tho, mostly fluff 😋 i added a small inside joke that riki would call ricky from zb1 “discount ricky” all jokes tho (pls don’t kill me)

wc- honestly over 750

MASTERLIST

“here.” you looked over to riki setting your drink down on the table, you looked up at him and smiled as he sat down across from you at the cafe table.

“did you-“

“ask for extra peppermint? yes. even though it’s gross..” riki mumbled, you giggled and sipped your hot coco. it was freezing cold at least to you and so the coco helped a lot.

“when is your project partner arriving?” riki mumbled, sipping his coffee.

you shrugged, “any minute.” setting your coco down riki watched you, he wasn’t necessarily happy over this whole project partner thing. riki knew your project partner, and safe to say he was just irritated by his presence. he didn’t know why, but he was just irked.

so when the OTHER ricky walked in, he just waved and watched as the other boy sat next to you.

“hey y/n!” he smiled, you grinned back at him.

“hey! it’s cold outside are you sure you’re bundled up enough?” you asked, grabbing your books. riki just decided to go on his phone to pass time.

“yeah! it’s crazy how quickly the weather changed huh? are you warm enough?”

you and ricky made small talk which didn’t bother your best friend. that was until one sentence.

“your hands are freezing y/n!”

riki’s eyes shot up to see the discount ricky’s hands on yours. if stares could kill a man, discount ricky would be six feet under.

“oh! yeah that’s why riki, well, my riki got me hot coco.” you let go of his hand and turned to your hot beverage.

nishimura riki would be lying if he said some pride didn’t bubble up inside him, which didn’t go unnoticed by the boy sitting next to you.

riki didn’t take notice and he went back on his phone, he just wanted your project to be over so he could walk back to the car with you and just be away from people. by people he meant discount ricky. this was strike one for his patience.

“i think we should work more on the details of the piece of art itself. like things that normal people look past in monet’s art. there’s a story everywhere.” you suggested, this art project was pretty big for your grade. and you were just relieved that your project partner agreed to do monet.

“that’s such a good idea y/n.” ricky smiled.

oh please riki thought to himself, at that point discount ricky should just get on his hands and knees and beg for your attention. that’d be way less embarrassing than kissing your ass at every little- wait what the hell

to riki’s horror, discount ricky, was readjusting your beanie so your hair didn’t get in your face. this pissed him off, strike two of his patience gone. riki was the one who spent HOURS trying to crochet you that beanie last year and now he’s going to have to make you another one because discount ricky’s grimy hands touched it! riki felt his eye twitch, he ended up making eye contact with the boy next to you. a smirk ghosting his features.

riki wanted to kick his shin under the table or maybe throw his hot coffee-

“i think we should also choose one of monet’s less known works aswe- oh ouch…” you mumbled rubbing your hands, whenever you wrote or sketched too long your hands would hurt. riki always took notice of this so he looked up proper hand massages- safe to say he could be certified- WHAT THE SHIT?

discount ricky grabbed your hands and started massaging them.

strike three

“can you get your hands off her?!” riki finally snapped, “god at this point it’s revolting! i’m right in front of both of you!”

your eyes widened as you watched you best friend actually lose his temper, yeah you’d seen him bicker but this was different.

“what are you two dating?” ricky asked, if you were in a tv show you’d see the angry lightening bolt hit both of them. this was not good, you quickly packed your bags and grabbed your best friend. apologizing to your project partner.

“what’s his fucking problem?!” riki stomped through the fresh snow to your car.

“what’s his problem?! what’s your problem? what the hell was that?! are you okay?!” you had a million questions. and they were flying out.

“i- what- how is this my fault!? he had his grimy discount ricky hands all over you! only i’m allowed to do that as your best friend!”

it was really hard to take him seriously as you finally got to the car laughing. you leaned against the hood trying to catch your breath.

“y/n this isn’t funny!” he stood right next to you.

you finally caught your breath, “i’m sorry where did the nickname discount ricky come from?”

“well obviously i’m the better one way more deserving of, um hello, touching your hair, massaging your hands because im youtube certified, AND THE COLD HANDS THING?! he was flirting with you shamelessly in front of me!” riki swung his arms around like a crazy person trying to explain that the end was near.

your hat fell slightly as you laughed again which riki fixed gently before speaking again, “then he’d smirk at me like he knew he was getting on my nerves! like that discount version of ME KNEW HE WAS MAKING ME ANGRY!”

“should i take my hat off and give you sanitizer? since you touched my discount ricky infected beanie?” you asked, unlocking the car and throwing your backpack in the back. you turned around and bumped into riki.

“actually yeah take off that hat. i will sanitize it and crochet you a new one.” riki grabbed the hat off your head and gave you his own beanie.

“should i sanitize my hands too?” you asked giggling, going to open your door but slipping on black ice.

riki immediately caught you, “um guess who couldn’t catch you- discount ricky. i’m clearly better for you so.”

you started laughing again, hitting his chest playfully, “you’re acting like a jealous boyfriend.”

“is that a bad thing?” riki asked quickly, suddenly unsure of himself.

you shook your head no, “it’s cute.”

riki smiled down at you; it was obvious he was at least a little smug.

“you know what he didn’t contaminate?” you asked, still giggling, your eyes flickered from riki’s eyes to his lips. immediately he got the hint and took his chance.

discount ricky is out and nishimura riki hit a home run

[nariism]

ೃ⁀➷ ALL I WANT ✧.*

a/n: tooth-rotting fluff !! this is so so mushy and soft. kissing and some touchiness but nothing too crazy i think. also this is unedited brainrot i wrote at 2:30am so enjoy ... <3

Neuvillette has never told you that he loves you.

The words are always there— resting heavy behind his teeth just waiting to burst out at the most inconvenient times, and yet he's never brought himself to say them.

You don’t need the words to prove his devotion to you anyways, already aware that there is no other soul in the world able to hold him the way you do. But he’s always wanted to say it, stopped only by his own fears.

Immortality is a funny thing. In a thousand years you could be nothing but a distant memory for him, gentle whispers in the back of his mind or ghostly touches wisping over his skin.

The idea of losing you terrifies him, but he knows the loss well and knows to keep his heart safeguarded somewhere deep within himself. I love you are words he only murmurs into your skin while you sleep, or chanted in his head when you hold him.

However, you’ve been proving it difficult to resist ever since you moved in with him.

There's nothing extravagant about the way you wake up, nothing extraordinary or strange. You wake up like any Fontainian would: cold and gloomy and complaining about the weather.

Despite how ordinary it all is, it doesn't stop him from spending the first few minutes of the day admiring your face before he inevitably has to get out of bed to get ready for work.

Mornings are his always favourite; the slow stirrings of the day like a calm before the storm. Those few minutes are precious to him more than anything in the world, where he can do nothing but kiss your sleeping face awake and keep you wrapped up in his arms.

You've recently made it your routine to follow him out of bed a few minutes later. He hasn't found out why exactly until today.

He doesn't even need to turn around to know it all— every part of you memorized and carved into each muscle and filling any thoughts that cross his mind.

The slow shuffling of your feet across the room; the quiet yawn that makes him smile because he can imagine your face; the bumping of your body into the back of his in your clumsy state.

It's all comfortable. Familiar. You.

"Morning..." You mumble, arms wrapping around his waist and nose buried against his back.

"Seems someone slept well," he hums.

Your arms squeeze his waist a little tighter. "Because you keep the bed so warm."

"I see. Is that the only reason you decided to crawl out of bed this morning?" He asks with a little lift of amusement, placing his mug down and watching the ripples stir in his coffee.

"No," you lie rather blatantly, and he laughs in a way that makes your heart flutter. "....Shut up."

"It’s quite rude to say that to the Iudex, no?"

"Shut up," you huff again. Your hands carefully climb under the hem of his shirt and explore the expanse of his skin. The cold this exacts on him makes him stop in his motions. He shivers before finally turning around to catch your wrists.

You frown, gently knocking your face back into his body— his chest this time, where you can hear his heart beating.

"Not my fault you're so warm."

Neuvillette only sighs, scooping you fully into his arms and leaning back onto the counter so you can rest your weight against him.

And he knows every part of you like this too: a memory chained to his beating heart. A second life breathed into him meant only to remember you this way.

He knows you're cranky because the sun just rose and here you are, already shuffling around the cold house since he left his side of the bed empty. He knows that you're impossibly perfect in his arms— a piece of a puzzle hand-crafted for him to hold. He knows that it will be sunny today.

You are everything. Everything.

He pulls you away by the shoulders, nose brushing against yours as he leans in close to kiss you. There's a pause just before your lips meet— an apprehension in his actions. He sighs, shaky and nervous.

"I love you."

Then he kisses you slow and sweet, the same way he has always savoured that feeling twisting in his heart at the very thought of you. Enduring and knowing, lacking any more hesitation because he knows this is exactly what he wants and where he needs to be.

You're blinking at him dumbly when he pulls away, lips parted in such a cute way that he wants to lean in again.

"I must be hearing things because I swear you just said–"

"I love you," he repeats quietly, suddenly feeling embarrassed by his confession yet unable to contain the words anymore.

Your expression twists in wonder and for a moment he can't help but think that you're the most beautiful person in the world. In the centuries that he's been wandering Fontaine, he's never been so sure of one thing:

"I love you," he says for a third time in full confidence. His lips crash into yours again in a frenzy, a flurry of emotions swirling in his stomach and so many thoughts screaming in his ears that he can't think straight.

When he stops for air he doesn't fully leave you, mouth still married to you as he kisses along your cheek to your jaw. You laugh, arms circling around his neck.

"Can you say it again?"

And he will. He would say it a million times just to see you smile like that again.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

🏷️ @saetoshi hi my beautiful

[flawseer]

On Mudwing Culture

My last deliberation on Seawings and their eccentric insult vocabulary seemed to be well-received, so here is another one of my headcanons:

Mudwings are seriously into food.

I know, pretty revolutionary take when there is only a handful of named Mudwing characters, and two of them love eating so much that it either almost or entirely eclipses their personality.

But Clay and Ochre are not what I am talking about. This isn’t about a love of eating (though many Mudwings admittedly do have that). I’m suggesting that, out of all the tribes from Pyrrhia, Mudwings are at the forefront of food preparation and culinary innovation, to the point where a large part of their culture revolves around it.

The State of Food Preparation on the Continent

Pyrrhia as a conglomerate of different cultures largely sustains its populations through hunting and gathering. The average dragon, when the hunger pangs set in, will make a hasty trip into the nearest forest, cave, or scavenger den and round up some prey animals. In most cases, this prey will go straight from the talons to the mouth, or, if the hunter is a bit more forward-thinking, into the pantry, and then from talons to the mouth.

There are a few variations of this practice; Skywings may give the carcass a quick roast on an open flame before eating it, Sandwings may dry the meat out so the excess moisture does not upset their internal water balance, Rainwings will prefer fruit over meat. Icewings will nearly always consume their prey raw and unseasoned, as their extremely delicate palate is easily overwhelmed by intense flavors that may be released through cooking.

More complex forms of food preparation seem to exist mostly outside the scope of the general populace. The practice of “cooking” appears to be limited to the ranks of aristocracy, with dedicated cooks only found within the court of a queen or in private households of other high-born individuals. It creates a sharp divide between commoners and social elites, between the wealthy and (as Sea Queen Coral once put it so succinctly) the “eel-eating masses”. All exemplified through the differing standards of food.

And yet somehow, standing in stark contrast to everywhere else on the continent, nearly every Mudwing-- from the most low-born runts of the Diamond Spray Delta to the most decorated head advisors in the Queen’s palace --knows how to cook, and will do so regularly.

Why is that, and how did it happen?

Historical Benefits of Cooking

Most things that form the backbone of a culture usually start with some ancient practice that was useful at some point in time and then, as people kept doing it, eventually got absorbed into public awareness and became “the way things are done”.

Mudwings face a unique challenge compared to anyone else, as they are the only tribe whose combat prowess is significantly affected by their environment, specifically climate, weather, and temperature. Sure, you can take any dragon, drop them into an unfavorable climate, and they will generally perform worse than under normal circumstances. But the unique weakness of Mudwings is that they lose their breath weapon when they get too cold. Place an Icewing into a burning room and they will still be able to use their frost breath. Pluck a Sandwing from their dry environment and drop them into the humid, sweltering hell of the jungle, their natural weapons will still function. But make a Mudwing cower between two piles of snow for a while, and their internal fire will go out quickly.

As you might imagine, this is a bit of a liability when you have to defend your territory from Skywings hiding and scheming among the frozen peaks bordering your country.

So the ancient Mudwings had to figure out a solution to their conundrum, and what they came up with was this: They got a large pot and filled it with water, threw in all manner of meats, plants, and herbs, whatever they could find where they were holed up, then boiled it until it was good and filling. The hot food in their bellies helped them stay warm even at high altitudes and allowed them to stand their ground against the northwestern invaders.

Soon it became tradition for troops to share a hotpot the night before battle, and a rich variety of hearty broths and stews developed from there, as these were simple to make from scraps and could be reheated easily. The practice became so popular, the Mudwings kept doing it even during peacetime. Soon, in addition to the hunting of prey animals that was commonplace, Mudwings began to cultivate vegetable gardens to have access to a more stable supply of ingredients. Eventually, their growing understanding of agriculture allowed them to grow rice, which was especially well-suited to the abundance of wetlands found in their territory. Everyone was cooking now.

The Role of Food in Mudwing Society

If you ask several Mudwings which core values represent their tribe best, many would likely put forward some variation of “camaraderie”, “family”, or “loyalty to your sibs”. They are a very social people who form deep bonds with those whom they grew up with, and one of the most direct ways to grow close to someone is to share your meals with them every day. As such, the preparation and consumption of food is a vital part in maintaining cohesion between members of a Mudwing sibling group.

Every one of these groups will have a “Bigwings”, which is understood to be a combination of a leader and caretaker role. The Bigwings is aware of all of their sibs’ culinary preferences and needs and has all of the troop’s recipes memorized. When mealtime approaches, he or she makes the call on what kind of dish will be prepared and delegates roles and tasks to the troop. This is a daily exercise that builds the Bigwings’ authority and communication skills, and reinforces trust and familiarity between all siblings.

Next to the Bigwings is the Gatherer, which historically was a role assigned to one or more troop members who foraged for wild vegetables or hunted more prey if the previous communal hunt did not yield enough. While this is still true today, many Gatherers also maintain a garden or wet patch to source fresh vegetables or grain for meals.

And lastly there is the Communicator, which is a role usually assigned to the most social and charismatic sibling. The Communicator is vital for coordinating battle strategies with other troops, which, while very important, is not really all that relevant for this deliberation. What is relevant however, is the role they fulfill during peacetime, which is to set up joint meals between two or more sibling groups. This practice is critical for maintaining morale, as doing this regularly helps expand the troop’s palette and keep their Bigwings inspired. That way the troop’s collection of recipes stays fresh and innovative instead of turning stale and rigid.

Of course how much each troop values culinary exploits varies between individuals. Some Mudwing groups are outspokenly passionate about cooking and advancing their craft. They might view their work as an expression of art and get very upset or offended if you indicate that thinking about food is unimportant or a waste of time. Some extreme cases may even get angry at you if you waste ingredients or refuse to elevate a dish to its fullest potential by not seasoning it well or doing something else to ruin it. Other groups may be more relaxed and casual about food preparation, and a few might even not think about it much at all.

If a Mudwing invites you to dinner, it is paramount to figure out which of these groups they belong to beforehand, so you may get an understanding of how much of a threat this outing may pose to your health, especially if you are an Icewing or Seawing with a limited palate.

Is there any evidence for this in the books?

To my knowledge, there isn't much. Mostly because there isn't much about Mudwings and their culture in general. Across all the books, only one of them has a Mudwing protagonist, and the vast majority of it is spent in the Sky Kingdom, so his roots don't get a lot of exposure. Then whenever another Mudwing comes into the story, they tend to exit it very quickly after, without being able to share more.

I made this theory for myself largely in response to Mudwing culture being such a big question mark. I initially came up with it when I saw a Mudwing gardener in Escaping Peril and thought "That could be a cool direction for the tribe." The guidebook that released recently gave me some additional pointers with regards to a few of the looser points of this theory.

I'm hoping it is interesting, or at the very least entertaining in some way.

[skelliko]

๑-context: a summer activitie with them

๑-featuring: kazutora, chifuyu, Baji, Mikey, inui, shinichiro, Kokonoi, Rindou, ran, mitsuya,

°- kazutora hanemiya

• exploring abandoned places and going so far out into the city, climbing over fences just to get into the buildings and running from the police or other pedestrians that had caught you trespassing in someone else's property even though it's not like you both are doing anything harmful there. your just enjoying each others company whilst getting excitement in exploring new places that may be even a little dangerous but what's a little fun if you don't 'ball it'

°- chifuyu matsuno

• making hand made jewelry is a cute activity, you had to teach chifuyu how to tie the string right otherwise it'd come loose but after he got the jist of it y'all were making many sets of matching bracelets that you wear all the time in different colours and patterns. though sometimes it gets frustrating when it comes to tying the string and you can't seem to get the loop right or when your fingers accidentally let go of one side of the string and then all the beads fall downwards and both of you end up crawling on the floor trying to recollect every lose bead, but that doesn't happen often.

°- Baji Keisuke

• forest walks, not all the time but sometimes he'd suggest wandering around a forest, picking up weird shaped branches to show you, finding a bug on a leaf and if you don't like bugs then he'd be a nuisance about it and chase you around with the it. but if you have a heart with bugs then hed look around trying to find the coolest looking one specifically to show/give you and he'd dedicate to it even if he does occasionally get a little grossed out by them.

°- manjiro sano/ mikey

• constant motorbike rides! if you have your own motorbike then the both of you will be riding till you reach the end of earth and seeing which one can out do the other. but if you don't then you'd be latched on at the back of his bike and going with the flow of the wind to cool off from the heat. mikey would also try teaching you how to ride a motorbike, he's more patient with you than anyone else so you can take your time with taking in the information so that you know how to switch gears and dont attempt in going through a wall.

°- Inui seishu / shinichiro sano (I couldn't decide)

• due to him being in the bike shop and working on fixing some motorbikes here and there, there'd be trips to visit him holding a sweet, cold treat to give him on his lunch breaks. though when you're teasing him a little too much he'd purposely smear his oil grease stained fingers across your skin to leave a large, black mark and it'd cause a small fit of smiles and laughter but also some small annoyance on your side as you have to scrub the mark off from you by the sink.

°- Kokonoi hajime

• perfect time and weather to go visit new towns and enjoy the beautiful scenery that neither of you thought you could see until now. browsing into small business shops that you haven't seen/been into before and if something catches your eyes that you'd die for to have then Koko would buy it for you in a heartbeat because seeing you smile with light in your eyes at an item makes him want to keep you in that gleaming mood.

°- rindou haitani

• spontaneous night outs where you start the night to be all cozy watching a series with a tub of ice cream to then be all dressed up and sparkly after one text or phone call from rindou mentioning a club is doing a certain theme. the both of you may seem to be there for the party but actually it's the attention you both bring, getting all dressed up is the fun part and most of the time you do it together and have matching outfits or accessories, give everyone around a sight to see and only then do you give your all with the drinks and dancing.

°- ran haitani

• constant need to be in the pool or anywhere that has water, especially on hot boiling days when a 5 minute walk would feel like 5 hours. in the day you'd usually go to an outside pool and enjoy yourselves and then at night you'd have to pamper him since he's still affected from the heat, he has no tolerance. you tend to go to public ones but only those that you know are clean and have decency of others, essentially public pools that kids don't go to.

°- mitsuya takashi

• summer is the perfect time for him to work on summer clothes and you always happen to be his muse meaning you're the one who he always dots down your measurements and your always the one that tries the clothes on and half the time you tend to keep the clothing. if you wear dresses then sun dresses are always something that he enjoys sowing for you, you spinning around as the dress flows and spins with you, he doesn't make those basic ones but rather he puts in a lot of detail just for you, making it adorable and flattering. but if you don't wear dresses or such clothing then he always considers what kind of material he uses, that way for the hot days your not melting and instead you feel more free and feel a breeze.

 ♡----

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ sober thoughts ] n. hischier

paring: Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary : Nico appears on his best friend’s doorstep after the Stadium Series win and confessions are made

warning(s) : slightly drunk nico, mentions of alcohol (but no actual alcohol consumption involved)

author’s note : pls ignore any typos bc i thought of this while drunk and wrote it while tipsy so i will go back and edit when i am 100% sober. it’s a v short and cute thing that i wanted to write (even tho i am working on like 7 different requests rn)

༺═──────────────═༻

The moment ‘nico 🏒🤍’ appears on her phone screen, she thinks something is wrong. She’s especially worried because it’s nearly two in the morning. Something could be seriously wrong.

The last time they talked, Nico was getting in an Uber to go to the bar after they won the Stadium Series game against the Flyers. That was a half hour after the end of the game and nearly three hours ago at this point.

A very exhausted and confused (Y/N) quickly answers the phone as soon as she processes what’s going on.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice slurred with sleep. “Do I need to come get you from the bar?”

“I’m outside your apartment building,” he tells her. “Can I please come inside? It’s so cold outside and I just played a game in this weather. Please let me in.”

She rolls over and turns on her bedside lamp before she walks to the window. Outside on the sidewalk stands her best friend and captain of the New Jersey Devils. He smiles up at her and waves. “Oh my God,” she gasps as she puts on a pair of slippers. “Why are you just standing outside my building like that?”

“Because I missed you and wanted to see you,” he tells her as she grabs her keys and leaves her apartment. “It felt very wrong that I wasn’t celebrating with my best friend after one of the most amazing games and one of the most beautiful moments of my career. If I woke you up, I’m sorry.”

Without tripping down any stairs, she says, “It’s okay. I was just worried you were passed out on the side of the road in East Rutherford.” She pushes the main entrance door open. “Yet here you are on my doorstep.”

Nico smiles and stumbles up the steps after he hangs up the phone when he sees her. He trips on the last step. She catches him and he catches himself on the doorway. She can smell the alcohol on his breath because of how close they are to each other, yet her heart races in her chest since they’re so close to each other.

“Are you drunk?” she asks as she backs away from him with a look on her face. “How did you get here? Don’t tell me you drove because I might kill you and your team is going to be left without a captain.”

“I’ve had a few drinks,” he admits to her. “I took an Uber because I did have a few drinks. I didn’t drive here. Don’t worry. I still have brain cells.”

Nico walks into the building in a hoodie and jeans instead of the tracksuit he showed up to MetLife in. She’s happy he is in actual clothes because if he showed up in that tracksuit, she might lose it.

“Why did you come here instead of going home?” she questions as they make their way up to her apartment. “I thought that maybe after the game you’d celebrate with your teammates then go home to sleep.”

They walk into the apartment as soon as she unlocks the door. “I told you that I wanted to come celebrate with my best friend,” he replies. She closes the door behind her. “Especially since I couldn’t get you into the stadium to watch the game. I wanted you to be a part of this day.”

She pouts and sits on the couch as Nico turns on one of the lamps. “Your family flew in for the game,” she says to him. “I shouldn’t take priority over them. I get to see you play all the time. They don’t.”

He sits next to her. Not too close but close enough where she can feel the heat coming off his body. If he were to move his knee, it would bump into hers.

“You’re my family too,” Nico softly says. “I wanted you to be there.”

“I’m your friend, Nico,” she sighs. “I’m not your girlfriend or your wife. I didn’t need to be there.”

It feels like she is trying to convince herself too because sometimes the line blurs. Sometimes she doesn’t know what she is to him. She has to remind herself that they aren’t together, and probably will never be together.

A moment of silence falls over them. She looks at her hands on her lap while she plays with her thumbs. Nico’s big brown eyes never leave her while she avoids looking at him.

Nico sighs and practically whispers, “I wished you were there as my girlfriend.”

Her head snaps up and she blinks at him. “You what?”

“I wished you were at the game as my girlfriend,” Nico repeats. “The entire time I wished that you were at the family skate and sitting in the suite with everyone else’s families. I wished you had one of those cute jackets that the wives and girlfriends had with my number on it.”

She stares at him until he’s done talking. Then she starts to shake her head. “You’re just saying that because you have been drinking,” she replies. “You don’t actually mean that.”

Never once has Nico shown that he wanted to be in any kind of romantic relationship with her. He’s never given her any kind of hint or sign that he wanted to be more than just friends with her.

They’ve known each other since Nico moved to the US in 2017 to play in the NHL and never once did it seem like he wanted something more.

There is no way he means that.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he says.

“Then tell me when you’re sober,” she retorts. “Tell me in the morning if you actually mean it.”

Nico frowns and brushes a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Schätzli, you have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you that,” he tells her. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until I wake up before I tell you again.”

Almost as if on cue, he yawns. “Go to sleep, Nico,” she says to him. “Tell me whatever you want in the morning. You know where the guest room is but do you need my help in getting there?”

He shakes his head and sinks down against the back of the couch. “I’ll get there eventually,” he replies. “You can go back to sleep.”

With a nod, she stands up. Nico’s eyes are half open so she takes off his shoes and pulls his legs up onto the cushions. She grabs a blanket to throw over him as he lets out soft snores. The alcohol has finally caught up to him and knocked him out.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to hear you say that you wanted me to be your girlfriend,” she whispers to a sleeping Nico. “All it took you was having a few drinks and winning a big game before you told me how you felt.”

She presses a soft kiss to his temple before she retreats down the hallway to her bedroom just in case he wasn’t actually asleep.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The smell of coffee is the thing that wakes her up in the morning. Not the sunlight or an alarm. Coffee. It takes a second before she remembers that Nico stayed over.

She remembers Nico telling her that he wishes she was at the Stadium Series game as his girlfriend. She has no idea if he remembers that he said that to her.

It’s time to find out.

Slowly, she makes her way out to the kitchen. She finds Nico standing at the coffee machine with his back to the hallway. She yawns and walks into the kitchen area.

“Morning,” she softly says so she doesn’t scare him. He turns his head and looks at her. “You making coffee?”

Nico nods and pours them both a cup. He puts cream in her cup and hands it to her. “I figured we could both use a cup,” he tells her. “Me to get rid of this hangover and you because I woke you up at two in the morning.”

She blows on her coffee before taking a sip. “How much of last night do you remember?” she curiously asks as she leans against the counter beside him.

The moment of silence that follows worries her. He probably doesn’t remember what he said, and she isnt going to remind him if he doesn’t remember.

He takes a sip of his own coffee before he asks, “Are you asking me if I remember telling you that I wish you were my girlfriend? Yes, if that’s the case. I told you that I meant it.”

“And you’re sober?”

“Very,” Nico replies. “And very hungover.”

It surprises her to the point where she almost drops her cup of coffee. Her eyes widen and Nico smiles. “Nico, I could kill you and kiss you at the same time because why did it take you playing in one of the biggest games in your career before you-”

Nico takes the cup of coffee out of her hand while she’s talking then cuts her off by bringing his lips to hers. She gasps in surprise then melts against him as he presses her against the counter. She wraps her arms around his neck and puts her fingers in his hair so he can’t break the kiss.

Never in her life did she think that she would be in her kitchen kissing her best friend of nearly seven years. The thought only occurred in dreams and occasionally during games when she found him attractive, which is really all the time.

This is something she has wanted for two years. Since the moment she realized that she was in love with Nico.

He lifts her up and sits her down on the counter. He stands between her knees and rests his hands on her thighs.

It becomes too much for her and she has to pull back for a second to breathe. Her eyes meet his and finds worry in them. “I just- I don’t think you understand how long I have waited for this,” she breathes out. “Wanted this. Wanted you. I just need a second.”

Nico smiles and pushes her hair behind her ears before he cups her jaw. “I’m such an idiot for waiting so long before I told you,” he replies. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, Schätzli.” His voice drops to nearly a whisper and his thumbs brush her cheekbones.

“We’re both idiots,” she tells him. “I’m glad you meant it though. I thought you were going to get my hopes up.”

He shakes his head and kisses her nose. “I would never lie to you about loving you.”

“Well I love you too,” she says. “Just so you know.”

Nico laughs and envelopes her in a hug. She smiles and happily accepts the hug.

“I told you that drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“I believe you now.”

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

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[theoldsports]

Moody.

Coriolanus Snow x Reader | 3.3k words

depression, arguing, manipulation/toxic marriage, fucking each other over, possessiveness. it’s tamer than some of my others in an objective sense, but emphasizes dark thoughts and internal monologue.

requests always open! thanks for your kindnesses. i think this one is more experimental than the others. the objective here was to show how both of them mimic regular human feelings because they know they should, but it’s a poor pantomime. two sickos with nothing else but each other <3 i think i am going to call these works the Truculent series.

Coriolanus grew cold fast and did not tolerate heat well. He only slept only in his underclothes and wore heavy layers at the first sight of winter. His alarmingly fair complexion meant excessive sun wasn’t in the cards. In spite of his name, his scrappy build wasn’t meant to cut through harsh January terrain either. His nails chipped at labor, and his mind grew uneasy at laziness.

The world was tough on Coriolanus and he was tough right back on the word.

There was little Coriolanus was designed to do. Many people were strong, or smart, or wealthy, or drop-dead-gorgeous, or violent, or talented. There was something about every person Coriolanus could think of that made them stand out. He could easily categorized people by them. Here was the group of people known for their beautiful voices; here, those who could benchpress four-hundred pounds… Coriolanus could not be quantified like that.

Coriolanus Snow had to take what was left, like a runt. He was only good at two things: enduring and controlling. Since those were the only options leftover for him, Coriolanus became the best at them both. When, like Coriolanus, one has been gifted such shitty talents and nothing else, they have to figure out how to use them well enough to win against everyone with a better gift. Eventually, he realized his talents were not the ability to endure and the ability to control, but actually the ability to win. Eventually, he won so much, Coriolanus forgot there was ever a time when he lost (most days).

(The days he didn’t forget were the Bad Days).

Coriolanus felt like he couldn’t get out of bed on the Bad Days when the crushing weight of his failures and his ego landed across his chest. He told himself he was done with love after Lucy Gray. Disgusting Lucy Gray, a name he never wanted to even think again. He thought he would marry someone he hated and be done with love.

But junkies and addicts quit every Monday anyway.

Once he found [Y/N] again after their childhood together, there was no quitting. He knew it was bad for him, so he married what was bad for him to make sure he had an endless supply. How he hated that familiar feeling of obsession, the feeling of being so desperate that he had to rely on something other than himself. Somehow, he would have to sustain the feeling without losing his girl like an idiot. Marriage was likely the thing to steel their attempt at a bond.

Upon waking up to the alarm that morning, Coriolanus knew this was one of those Bad Days. Maybe it was the weather, the stress of Games. First year as head Gamemaker had almost driven Coriolanus mad under the pressure to succeed. He reached over to turn off the clock that buzzed painfully at six in the morning every day ending with a Y.

“Coryo…” [Y/N] mumbled, hearing him stir beside her. The sound must have woken her. She tossed an arm over his chest.

“‘Mornin’, Darling,” Coriolanus replied, wishing he were dead.

[Y/N] immediately picked up on the flatness of his tone, but she knew better than to push him too far. “All good?” She asked.

Coriolanus grumbled passively. He rarely did anything passively. Coriolanus grabbed the hand over his chest and dragged it up to the side of his face to rest it there, but only after he had kissed [Y/N] palm.

“You’re affectionate this morning.”

“I just missed you. I’ve been busy.” He said dismissively, pressing his face further into her hand.

“Well, thanks, dear, but don’t you have work?” [Y/N] asked. She propped her chin up on his shoulder to stare at him inquisitively. This attitude was odd. First thing in the morning during Games seasons, she got a kiss on the forehead and then Coriolanus was gone for a run and a shower and out til nightfall, barring special occasions.

“Don’t you?”

“Not til early evening today. Normally, you’re up and out of here first thing on a Tuesday morning,” [Y/N] told him, as she rubbed from his cheek to the side of his throat gently. She dragged her hand up his face to rest on his worried forehead. “You sick, or something?”

“No.” Coriolanus replied weakly. He closed his eyes again. He couldn’t face the legendary blunder he had made at work. Coriolanus had allowed his aides to code the program for the arena wrong. The open water was nowhere near as deep as was needed for the aquatic muttations. It was causing all sorts of trouble. The Games would end too fast if he didn’t do something, yet the stress of thinking of reaching across the nightstand for his Communicuff was paralyzing.

“You sure? You don’t feel feverish,” She confirmed. [Y/N] sat up to press her lips to his forehead just in case her cold hands had misread his temperature. “I can call the doctor, though.”

“[Y/N], stop. I’m fine.” Coriolanus lied harshly. He tried to sit up, but his psychological anguish made him feel like vomiting.

“Call in. Stay here.” She suggested, watching his weak movement to sit up.

“I’m head Gamemaker, I don’t get to call in. I need to go for a run’n I’ll be fine.”

[Y/N] raised an eyebrow. “So you aren’t currently fine? Because you said—“

“I know what the fuck I said, okay?” Coriolanus barked. “Wanna recap anything else, or can I go?”

Sharply, [Y/N] scooted away from him to the other side of the bed. His moods were hardly predictable. She sighed. “Fine,” She said, averting her eyes to her hands like a scolded girl. “I was merely concerned that you—“

Coriolanus scoffed at her and shakily stood up from the bed. He quickly stepped into the closet and stepped joggers and a wifebeater. [Y/N] hoped he would grab a jacket as well; the weather was much too cold for mid summer. The Capitol itself got disproportionately cold often. She didn’t say anything out loud, though. “Get off my ass. Can’t you sit there and be grateful for once? With all that I do for you?Fucking hell.” Coriolanus said. He did not so much as look back at her as he stormed out of the bedroom.

[Y/N] could not understand what she had done wrong. The only things she had were provided through Coriolanus or simply the man himself. Once Coriolanus was presumed out of earshot, [Y/N] dropped her head into her hands and cried. Not tears of frustration or anger, but tears of self-pity that her one lifeline had yelled at her like that.

—

By the time Coriolanus returned from his run, it appeared his wife had gone out for the day. Strange since she usually capitalized on the extra sleep if she was not working downtown with Capitol News until evening shift. Since their reckless young adulthood of media stunts, Coriolanus had watched [Y/N] grow a stifling love for spectacle. With his support and their shared deranged name recognition, she had quickly risen from an editor, to a correspondent (brief. He had helped her but her way up and out of that position) to Associate Head of Programming for Capitol News. It helped to have his wife steer both their media narratives from the inside.

Except for when she was mad at him.

Coriolanus wiped the sweat off his brow in the shower as he thought. There was no doubt in his mind that [Y/N] was going to run some sort of primetime bulletin that made him look a fool during his Games coverage that night. It was bad enough that Lucky Flickerman was beginning to look like botox had gotten better of him, in addition to Coriolanus’ own fuck up with the muttations. Fact of the matter was that viewership was down and [Y/N] was going to make it worse. She was going to make his Bad Day worse and he knew it.

He could feel his heart rate racing as he stood under the shower’s cold stream. His equally cold blue eyes glanced across the bathroom at the clock. Six-fifty AM. Realistically, he need to be into the Gameroom by no later than eight-thirty, but it frustrated him to be in later than eight. In roughly an hour, how could he perform the maximum amount of damage control? Coriolanus’ head began to ache at the thought.

She had never run that harsh of a piece on him before, but it was a Bad Day, and no doubt she was angry with him for his attitude. [Y/N] was capable of a great many horrible things. Wouldn’t Coriolanus himself want to sting somebody back who he had known was pissy with him?

When he exited the shower, Coriolanus rushed to dress himself. [Y/N] said she wasn’t working until late. But where, then, had she gone? With all the thinking about his own feelings, he hadn’t considered that conundrum.

—

Coriolanus called her secretary, a boring woman with a name neither man nor wife could recall. According to that woman, [Y/N] had not gone early to work. He rang Tigris. Tigris said [Y/N] had not been over unless she was lying which Coriolanus wouldn’t put past her. The Plinths swear they had not encountered her.

Coriolanus stared down at his datapad of phone numbers. He refrained from calling all of their friends because he didn’t want to to exude the panic he was starting to feel for letting his wife run away. None of her belongings seemed out of place. Her suitcase was present in the back of their closet. Still, Coriolanus was terrified in the back of his mind that his wife had finally left him. A year and half was a dreadful lifespan for a marriage in his opinion. [Y/N] was not getting away that easily.

However, his watch told him it was eight and the Games weren’t going to run themselves.

Throughout the day, Coriolanus could not get his heart rate to settle. It made him feel ill. So ill, in fact, that he couldn’t keep down most of breakfast, or all of lunch. He skipped dinner all together. Who was [Y/N] to up and leave him like that?

The slight rational segment of his brain told him to walk it back, but the rest of his brain paid no mind. Coriolanus had nothing going for him other than gut instincts and his gut instincts now were implying something was fundamentally wrong.

Coriolanus’ decision-making was way off of its game at work. Coriolanus, for ratings, could not allow the Hunger Games to end on a Tuesday night. Somehow, he would have to create obstacles to last the four remaining tributes til Friday. He didn’t much like those odds. He was going to cave and hand in his resignation before the end of the day, he was certain.

Though, at eight in the evening, the primetime announcement or chiron that Coriolanus was a shitty husband or a murderer never cut through his broadcast to make his Day irreparably Bad. Nor did it at eight-thirty, or even nine. Coriolanus felt shaky. Maybe with relief for his reputation, maybe because he had nothing in his system.

If nothing had aired at Coriolanus’ expense on TV, had something happened to [Y/N] while he was on his run, or later? Was this some rebel attempt to bring the head Gamemaker to his knees? An attempt from a bitter rival to play games with him? Coriolanus frowned. Many things could have happened to his wife between six in the morning and nine at night. Coriolanus could barely stand up as it was. He clocked out and summoned his driver as quick as he could.

The second Coriolanus’ key entered the lock, he started shouting with the energy he had left. The door had yet to even close behind him. “[Y/N]! [Y/N], my love! Are you here?” Coriolanus pushed open every cabinet and closet on his way to the bedroom. Empty. He checked the closet - her suitcase remained. Coriolanus had called her office on his way home. She had not shown up for work. Unheard of.

Coriolanus ran through every room of the townhouse shouting [Y/N]’s name over and over until he felt hoarse. He could only imagine what the neighbors thought. Then he saw the attic door open.

The door remained open, but the stairs to the attic had snapped back up halfway and gotten jammed. “Coryo!” He heard [Y/N] yell faintly from upstairs.

“Darling, are you… in the attic?” Coriolanus shouted back cautiously under the open door. He watched as [Y/N]’s tearstained face peered around the edges of the attic door. It was really her. Not a Jabberjay, not a setup. Coriolanus exhaled for what felt like the first time all day. “Let me come up. I’ll come to you. Hold on!” Coriolanus’ finally left behind the Bad Day as he leapt into action. Protecting his wife was his job before Gamemaker, or any other obligation. Anyone in the Capitol would remember their vows, or her smashing cake into his face much to his dismay. Marriage was socially his most binding contract of all. Coriolanus did not take contractional obligations lightly.

Coriolanus had not realized that his wife was so delicate and helpless as to get stuck in the attic. She needed him more than he thought. His heart swelled with pride. Coriolanus grabbed a broomstick and hooked the hinge in the stairs. He yanked with all his strength until the ladder descended. Quickly, he dropped a large sack of rice from the kitchen counter over the bottom step in hopes it would weight the stairs down and he took off up them.

“[Y/N], are you alright?” Coriolanus asked, popping his head through the attic door

There on the unfinished attic floor sat [Y/N], bundled up in her thin teddy she had been wearing when Coriolanus left. She had only that and a too-short blanket Tigris had crocheted as a child. There was very little in the attic at all. Some of the Grandma’am’s belongings in clear glass bins and whatever surviving relics had carried on from their post-war childhoods.

It was clear [Y/N] had been crying. “I thought you would come back.” She sniffled.

Coriolanus urgently climbed the rest of the way up the ladder and sat carefully down beside [Y/N], wrapping her in his long arms possessively. “I thought something happened to you,” Also, that you tried to leave me. “You’re freezing… How long have you been up here?”

“Since you went on your run.”

“Shit… All that time?”

[Y/N] thought her tears had long since stopped, but seeing Coriolanus appear upset about ignoring her all day made her want his attention more. She wanted him to feel bad.

The tears started flowing the second his arms were looped around her waist. [Y/N] rested her head on Coriolanus’s shoulder heavily. “Coryo, you just left. I come up here all the time to think and I didn’t think it would—“

The blonde man’s heart softened at the sight of her. “Darling, Darling, shh, don’t cry,” Coriolanus combed his hand through sobbing [Y/N]’s hair. “You’re okay. I’m here now.”

Coriolanus felt like he was able to play the role of comforter and protector nobly tonight in a way he had recently felt inadequate at. With ease, he draped her legs across his lap and adjusted her arms around his neck so that her body was completely supported by his. She clung to him like a desperate child. The skin-to-skin contact was most appreciated by Coriolanus after the Day he’d had. Coriolanus excitedly drew a breathe from her neck, taking in her scent.

[Y/N] sobbed dramatically into Coriolanus’ dress shirt, but he pretended not to care like a good husband. “I’m sorry. I c-couldn’t—couldn’t get down. I th-thought you would come get me. I shout-ted for you,” she played up her tears. [Y/N] played up everything for attention; they both knew that. But the situation was mutually beneficial for people that liked attention so damn much. “You didn’t hear me.” You never hear me.

“Oh, Princess…” Coriolanus rubbed his hands up and down her arms, hoping it would warm her up. He pulled away from her regrettably and stripped off his blazer. He wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled it carefully in front of her. He knew [Y/N] would like the gesture. Now, Coriolanus did not say I’m sorry. It was not his fault that [Y/N] had fled to the attic. He did instead try to make good from now forward. “I was so worried, I started to think something happened to you. I wanted to give you space, but then I didn’t hear from you all day. I’m relieved to know the only monster that got you was the attic,” Coriolanus leaned into her neck to kiss her in his favorite place. “You sat up here in all this junk and dust today; how are you still so stunning?”

[Y/N] laughed through a wet sniffle as Coriolanus searingly kissed her neck. “I didn’t know I’d worried you this much.” She muttered.

“I didn’t know I’d upset you this much,” Coriolanus agreed. That was as close to I’m sorry as she was going to get. “What did you do up here all day?”

“W-Went through some boxes. Found your old uniform.” [Y/N] smiled back.

“My Peacekeeper uniform?” Coriolanus asked in surprise. He hoped that she had not found anything else, if there was anything more scathing up in the attic.

“Mhm,” she affirmed. [Y/N] stood shakily from the floor, snot dripping from her nose. Snot, which she knew better than to wipe on the sleeve of his blazer. She followed where the beams were in the floor nimbly so she didn’t put her foot through the ceiling below her. [Y/N] collected a decently sized metal crate with a handle on it. PRIVATE SNOW, CORIOLANUS B. was stamped on top of the dusty, dented metal. She carried it back to Coriolanus and sat down with it in front of him.

“I didn’t go through everything in here, that felt intrusive, but I did pull this out,” they both knew that was a lie and that she had absolutely gone through every item, but Coriolanus let her keep going without cutting in. [Y/N] decided she would still let him explain the history behind every item he wanted to share anyway.

When she shook the long gray-blue jacket out of the box, something happened that hadn’t happened last time she took the jacket out. “Coriolanus, what’s this?” [Y/N] asked, plucking a bulky chain off the floor that had tumbled from the coat’s breast pocket.

“Ah, I’d forgotten where those went. Dog tags from my time in Twelve.” Coriolanus said.

“I still have my father’s. You were like a real soldier then, huh?”

“Peacekeeper.” Coriolanus corrected.

“Yes, Peacekeeper.” [Y/N] agreed quietly.

[Y/N] held the two identical pendants in her hands.

SNOW, CORIOLANUS

CITADEL, CAPITOL

4147769218S 12

O NEG

CREMATE

His entire identity all on two pieces of nickel. While she squinted at the embossed metal, Coriolanus leaned forward across the box that had once held his entire world and grabbed the chain she was holding as well as her hands. [Y/N]’s red weepy eyes met his crystal clear blue ones. “Would you like them?”

“You don’t want to keep them?”

“Certainly not. My name right there on your chest? That’s preferable to them sitting in a dusty box forever. People will know who you belong to if you wander off like this again. ‘Know you’re not, hm, like… up for finders-keepers.” Coriolanus shifted them out of [Y/N]’s hands and dropped the chain around her neck as if it were the finest gold necklace he had ever purchased her.

Coriolanus put that box up in the attic because he had not wanted to think about it ever again. Above all, though, Coriolanus Snow was an opportunistic man and he put those dog tags on [Y/N] just like he had Lucy Gray because he knew this move was flattering. If it worked once, it would work again. Sickeningly, he pulled out the same words he had used before too: “There. All mine.”

“All yours.” [Y/N] replied.

TAGLIST:

@badwicht @stelleduarte @cinnamongirl127 @prettyppetty @soulessien @bejeweledreverie @jjstyles @arminsarlerts @chmpgneprblem @co1dmountains @miscellaneousmoonchild @lille999 @pumkinnxsmut @taykorsyogurt @ndycrls @watermelonharry @nananarwhal @ohantonia @catlover420sstuff @justaproudslytherpuff @notarabellasstuff @scarytiger111 @zucchinimalfoy @secretsicanthideanymore @h-l-vlovesvintage @dannydevsbbg @clintsupremacy @lookclosernow @10ava01 @or-was-it-just-a-dream @lucielsstuff @fairyydvst

as usual, apologies if your tag didn’t work. tumblr’s tough like that. also so sorry if i forgot anyone! remind me if i did!

[charliemwrites]

Part 6 of Nikto's Commandments!

A little angst because... yeah. Comfort next, though! Whenever I get around to it...

So CW for injury

Being shot feels exactly how you expected it would.

You’ve cared for enough bullet wounds, listened to enough agonized soldiers, to imagine it in vivid detail. Asked Nikto once. He didn’t have the words to explain it, just shook his head and ushered you off to the next thing. Mumbled something about not wondering after what wouldn’t come to pass.

Getting dragged bleeding and delirious with pain now, you have the hysterical thought I told you so.

Speaking of Nikto, you don’t know where he is now. You separated on O’Conor’s orders – Nikto needed for stealth, and you needed as support for another squad member. He hadn’t been happy about it, eyes searing into yours. But you had nodded for him to follow orders and ducked away to get the mission over with.

If you live through this, he’s never going to listen to you again.

You’ve got two men dragging your half-dead weight down the hall, another leading the way in front. A smear of crimson follows after your legs like a demented snail. You kick and try to thrash, but it just sends white-hot pain throughout your abdomen and leaves your vision spotty. One of the enemies says something – hard to hear over the beating of your heart, the rush of blood, the thrush of your blood-soaked clothes along the floor. But you hear something about torture and feel your already-ruined stomach sink.

KorTac doesn’t save compromised assets.

You can hear Nikto’s voice in your ear but can’t reach your headset to answer; the men have both your arms. Fuck, fuck.

His face flashes through your panicky mind. Handsome and ruined and still so sensitive to cold air and humid weather. Eyes so startlingly bright but fathomless. It’s like trying to find the bottom of the sky. You love waking up to them.

He’s getting more frantic now, voice hard but brittle. Others chiming in as well, but you hear his above all.

You murmur his name, the one you’ve only hushed in the quiet of a dark car. Wish you could tell him one more time.

There’s a shift in your captors’ gaits. A stairwell. Your body jolts down the first stair and sends spikes of fire straight from your throat. It’s an awful scream, loud and cracking and only serves to make it hurt worse.

But there’s a sudden, deafening silence in the echo of your voice.

Then Nikto.

“Copy.”

The men stop, realizing that your screams are going to be an issue. The one in the lead wrenches your head back, trying to shove some sort of fabric in your mouth. But the knowledge the Nikto is coming, that you just have to hold out, sends the pain to the back of your mind. You twist and struggle, teeth sinking into flesh.

Your boot catches on the corner of the step and you push.

The soldiers lose their grip, and you tumble halfway down the stairs, head bouncing off cement. But your arms are free, and you manage to grab the pistol at your thigh. Fire wildly and hit one in the leg with a ricochet off the wall. All the while trying to scramble out of sight before they can reach for their own weapons.

You hit the landing with a bitten-off yelp. But you’re low on bullets and you’re not confident in your abilities with a knife right now.

And then a blur of black armor slams into one of the men, a knee in his throat, crushing his windpipe. Someone follows just behind – you recognize Konig by height alone. He throws another down the stairs, and the soldier doesn’t hesitate to take the head start he’s been given. Doesn’t even pause to try to use you for leverage, just begins limping away. The third man is quick to turn tail while his comrades are being assaulted.

“Run, bastard,” Nikto laughs, ragged and manic.

He turns as if to follow and your heart turns to ice. “Stop!”

It’s like you’ve physically yanked on his leash. He goes rigid, head whipping around to take in the state of you. You can almost measure the fury that floods him when he realizes how badly you are.

“Nikto, I need you here,” you say, as calm and even as you can. Same voice you use as in medical emergencies – well, technically, you suppose this is a medical emergency. “Leave it to Konig.”

He jerks as if you’ve offended him somehow. Like you’re unjustly punishing him. You struggle up onto one arm, gun forgotten in favor of applying what little pressure you can to your abdomen. Your throat feels tight with repressed fear, struggling to breathe through radiating pain.

“I know you’re angry, I do,” you strain, “but I need your help right now. Revenge can come later. I’m sure Konig can save one for you.”

Understanding seems to dawn through bloodlust. Nikto darts to your side between one ragged breath and the next. He kneels beside you, pupils shrunken to pinpricks.

“Go on, Konig,” you call, “I’ll be alright.”

He nods and disappears. You turn to Nikto and softly call his name; instantly have his attention.

“I need you to apply pressure,” you explain, “I can’t do it myself.”

He does, but you know he’s trying to spare you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug.

“Harder, love,” you whisper, “or it’ll kill me.”

His mask shifts as he grits his teeth and puts his weight into it. You choke on a cry, swallow it down and try to blink through spots.

“G-good. Keep it like that.”

“You’re shaking.”

You hiss out through your teeth. “I might be going into shock.”

“That can kill you too.”

“I said ‘might’.”

“How do I fix?” he demands.

You swallow and lower your arms to your side. “Loosen my vest as much as you can. Radio someone else for help, they can get a blanket. Don’t let up on my side.”

You focus on regulating your breathing while he obeys, murmuring to himself in Russian. You occupy yourself with trying to translate – though it mostly sounds like curses. Still, it’s something for your brain to latch onto other than the severity of your injury. You wish you could risk speaking, but the adrenaline crash is already hitting, and you need to focus on staying conscious for as long as possible.

Soon O’Conor is there, the foil blanket flashing in the shitty stairwell lights. He also comes with a stim that stabilizes you enough for Nikto to scoop you up and get you to exfil. You lose the plot after that, swimming in and out of awareness through triage.

But through it all, you keep your hand around Nikto’s.

[dinogoofymutated]

ik you just wrote for Kurt but if I could request some sfw headcanons for him? 👉🏽👈🏽 he'd be such a cuddly man especially with that tail of his

Sfw! Nightcrawler/GN!Reader

YES OFC!!! I was just thinking about this !! With how cuddly he was in the latest episode it had me all giddy and shit AAUGHH!! THIS MAN!!!

I also may or may not have gotten carried away with the fic half of this because I'm actually in love with him.

-Ps- @bl1ngringz You sent an ask for more Kurt, and I'm working on more but I figured I'd tag you in this one!

TWs: none that I can think of atm.

Touch is 100% one of Kurt’s love languages. If you're close to him, he's going to be touching you in one way or another

He really likes to wrap his tail around your waist to pull you closer to him, and it's always surprising because how is his tail that strong?? The sensation of his tail being wrapped around you in one shape or form starts to become such a comforting sensation.

If you're anxious and picking and your fingers in a social situation, he'll take hold of your hand and press a kiss to your palm, and if you're less comfortable with pda, he'll snake his tail in between your hands instead. Afterwards he always checks your hands and cuticles, just in case.

Sometimes he'll have really rough days and will just really need you to hold him. He'll teleport you out of your office if he feels like you've been gone too long and he starts to worry about you. It's surprising at first, but you quickly get over it when the furball snuggles into you, quietly pouting about how long you've been gone. It's easy to tell other things are on his mind, but you know he enjoys the silence when you choose not to press him, and simply hold him tightly.

Kurt isn't just a cuddle bug. He's a cuddle MONSTER. On the couch? He'll plop down on top of you, falling asleep on you like a cat who only ever manages to fall asleep right when you need to pee. In bed? Again, no pee breaks. He usually has such a tight grip on you, only able to fall asleep buried in your arms. It doesn't matter how hot it is, if you roll away he'll feel bad. He knows you don't hate him and that you're just moving in your sleep but :( come back. He can't sleep without you!

You wouldn’t consider yourself a morning person, but sometimes you’d wake up and simply be too restless to fall back asleep. Sometimes it was anxiety, other times excitement, but today you woke up simply content. Kurt’s arms were wrapped around you loosely, which was a surprise. He’s normally fully wrapped around you, limbs tangled tightly with your own, tail wound around your wrist, ankle, or hand in his sleep. You smile as you turn around, brushing hair out of his face. He doesn’t even stir, nor lean into the warmth of your hand. You’d be freaking out if it weren’t for his steady breathing, but the two of you had a rough couple of days. If he’s sleeping this deeply, he deserves the rest.

It’s easy to slide out of his arms, quietly padding out of the bedroom barefooted. You flinch when you reach the cold wood floors of the hallway, early spring still inconsistent with its bouts of cold weather. After quietly closing the door, you make your way to the living room on the search for a pair of slippers. You had a bad habit of losing them, sometimes stealing Kurt’s instead, but you find yours set aside neatly. You smile as you slip them on, knowing that you most certainly weren’t the one who put them there.

It’s still dark outside when you start to preheat the oven, and you know you must be up way too early. You laugh a little, with how early Kurt tends to rise, you can only imagine the time. You glance at the oven clock and notice it’s a little after 5 am. You grimace just a little, deciding to ignore it for now. Might as well make breakfast.

You feel like you’ve forgotten how to make breakfast food. Kurt always manages to beat you to it, waking you up in the morning with the smell of coffee and baked goods. You used to feel bad about it, telling him that he didn’t have to. That he didn’t have to go through with the effort. You felt guilty about such a simple thing, feeling like an inconvenience to him. That feeling didn’t last long, however. Kurt had insisted that you were worth the effort, worth his love, and much more. You don’t fight him on it anymore, having taken over lunch preparations instead. He still tries to beat you to that too, though. It’s become a competition as of late, and you smile in a giddy manner, excited to see his pout when he realizes you managed to beat him to breakfast.

    The sun has risen by the time you’ve finished the biscuits and set them out to cool. You’re scrambling some eggs when a tail wraps around your waist and a warm chest presses against your back. Kurt nuzzles into your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the skin. 

    “Guten morgen.” His morning voice is groggy, and to be honest, he sounds like he’s about to fall back asleep right here in the kitchen, holding onto you like a pillow.

“Good morning,” You giggle, turning your head to kiss him sweetly. He’s pouting when you pull away, leaning his cheek on your shoulder.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up.” Kurt mopes. You mimic his pout with a poorly hidden smile, kissing him a few more times. They were chaste, as you didn't want to get distracted and burn the eggs.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep, and I didn't want to wake you up.” You turn your attention back to the eggs in the pan, and Kurt sighs dramatically at your words, beginning to smile a bit himself. You see an arm sneakily reach over to take the spatula out of your hands, but you’re quick to hold it away from him. He smiles widely when he’s caught, pulling you flush to his chest as he tries to snatch it again with his other hand.

“No!” You giggle. “Kurt, stop it! I’m not letting you finish the eggs!” You may have the willpower to keep the spatula away, but Kurt still has the upper hand with longer arms and an extra limb. His laughs are infectious and he fights you for the utensil.

“Penance, then! For leaving me in a cold bed, I could have gotten sick, you know?” You gasp as Kurt manages to slip the spatula from your grasp. He rejoices in victory, holding it above your head as he turns back to the eggs. He kisses you on the cheek, holding you squarely in his grasp as he finishes breakfast for you, as he always does.

Today was a good morning indeed.

[asumofwords]

Common Factors - Michael Gavey x Reader

Synopsis: Part 2 of Midpoint, though can be read as a standalone. Michael Gavey asked you out for a drink and you had surprisingly agreed. Will you be able to tolerate each others wit without bickering, or will you lose yourself to him once more?

Warnings: This fic is 18+, readers discretion is advised. Public fingering, teasing, degradation, name calling, voyeurism, dumbification, finger fucking, biting, bratty reader. This is porn with barely any plot.

Word Count: 6k

Notes: Hello my angels, I know you have all been waiting so patiently for part two of Midpoint and here it is! Now I can't say that there will be a third/final chapter, but I may have ideas for it. No promises though. Saltburn has made me so nostalgic, I miss MSN messenger and MySpace. I miss the early 2000s so much, the tackiness of it, how everything was just to the max. Lmao. I also miss Tamagotchis. *Sigh*, nostalgia. Anywayyyyy, thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy! <3

Part 1 - Midpoint

When Michael had asked you out for a drink, or rather asked if you wanted to get a drink, it was not really a distinct question of going on a date with him or not, and perhaps you were arguing semantics right now, but that was besides the point.

He had thought that you would go right after your little event in the library. His eagerness was riddled by anxiety, clear for anyone, not that there was anyone in the vicinity, to see or hear, you hoped. 

You had shifted awkwardly for a moment, feeling his spend slide down you thigh in the large hole he had ripped in your stockings, explaining that you wouldn’t be able to go that evening.

He wilted.

It strummed a cord in your chest, and so you quickly explained that it was because of said issue between your legs, and not that you didn’t want to see him again. The fire in his eyes lit up again, and for a moment, the hair on the back of your neck stuck up. It felt as if you were about to be confronted once more by his obnoxious spite, though thankfully, and only because of your quick explanation, did he soften and you exchange details for your respected MSN Messenger accounts. 

The night after he was busy, apparently there was some sort of important chess tourney that he would be going to with his friend, you were unaware that he had any, and so he proposed the night after. But the night after you had told your best friend that you would bus into the city centre to meet with her, so that was no go as well.

You both thankfully settled on the Friday later that week, agreeing to meet at the small pub you frequented, which you found he did too. Each time the computer dinged at his reply, a thrill of excitement crawled through you. He was rather curt in his messages, but eager, and would often would send moving emojis at the end, which you saved and would send back.

Friday rolled around quickly, and you found yourself eager to see him again. You spent a solid two hours fretting over what to wear, deciding that pants or tights were not an option this time despite the cold weather.

You settled on a cute little outfit, the skirt of it coming to your mid thigh, looking at yourself in the mirror as you left before triple checking your computer and Nokia for any messages to say he was late, or couldn’t come, but none came. The last message he had sent to you, was a smiling thumbs up that moved largely across your screen agreeing to see you at 7pm sharp. 

You left early, earlier than what was needed, and sped walked the entire way to the pub, pulling your large jacket tightly around you, scarf covering the lower half of your face. The air was particularly crisp that evening, and by the looks of it, it may snow later, and although it was quite cold, you could see from afar that the pub was full, the winter air not deterring them. 

When you opened the door, the stale stench of its beer soaked floorboards filled your senses, loud music and even louder people, drinking and smoking and laughing in large groups without any care for the world. You knew that break would soon enough be coming to an end, and all the students would now be slowly making their way back, spending their last days or weeks of break with friends on campus and the establishments surrounding. 

The air inside the venue was stuffy, and almost wet with condensation, and as you rose on your tip toes, looking over the heads of others at their tables, or at the bar, you struggled to spot the familiar sandy blonde hair from your library, and the glasses that sat perched on his sharp nose. 

You pulled out your Nokia, checking the time and also checking for any messages. 

It was 6:57.

You were early.

But not too early.

Heading straight for the bar, you ordered yourself a drink, eyes drifting back over the pub, looking at the faces to see if you could see him with anyone. When again, you didn’t spot him, you told yourself not to panic, and instead decided that you would find yourself a spot to sit. There was table in the far corner, away from most, its surface was cleared bar a half drunken pint, hidden in the shadows and pressed against the wall between two larger tables, filled with people. You paid for your drink, and headed straight for the empty seat, winding past the pulled out chairs and wafts of smoke.

You were halfway there when a figure popped into your periphery. Your eyes locked onto a pair of familiar blue ones, a twitching smile pulling at his sharp yet plump lips. He came towards you from the direction of the loo, and you watched as he wiped his hands down the sides of his pants despite them looking dry.

“Hey.” You smiled, stopping short of the table, to awkwardly look up at him as he made his way over.

“Hi.” 

You shifted awkwardly around each other before you leant forward to give him a hug, he wrapped one arm around you stiffly in reciprocation, before pulling back to straighten, eyeing the drink in your hand.

“You get me one?” Michael nodded his head to your drink.

Your brows furrowed softly, “Uh, no. I wasn’t sure if you were here.”

Michael hummed, “I’m never late.”

Here we go again, you inwardly sighed. This is just what you didn't need. Another run in with his attitude.

“I wasn’t to know that.”

Michael stared at you a moment longer before turning away to the bar. You watched him awkwardly, yet somehow confidently, move through what little people stood at the counter waiting, standing rod straight as he ordered himself another pint. As he waited, you took your seat on the side where the half drunk beer wasn’t, back to the wall and completely cornered in. 

When Michael came back, beer in hand, you let yourself graze your eyes over him. You couldn’t stifle the laugh that exploded from your lips. He frowned as he sat opposite you, a tinge of defensiveness showing on his strong features.

“What?” He almost sneered, watching as you brought a hand to your mouth to try and cover it up.

“I’m sorry,” You giggled again, having to look at the ceiling for two seconds, trying to compose yourself, pushing a breath out shakily, “Your shirt.”

You began to laugh again, watching him as he looked down at it, inspecting it for a stain or hole.

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” He asked clinically, not finding a rip or hole or bird shit which he had suspected was there for a moment on the material.

You bit your bottom lip and giggled again, “It’s awful.”

Tucked into his cargo pants and black leather belt was one of the worst shirts you had ever laid eyes upon. It was white, and in big font on the front, it read ‘Weapon of Math Instructions’. On it, small drawings of calculators, protractors, and sums surrounded the large font.

In a quieter voice this time, he replied, “I got it for my birthday.” He picked up the sweating beer to bring to his lips, the foam coating his mouth as he drank deeply.

You felt a tinge of regret for laughing at him so openly, even though it was admittedly the worst shirt you had ever seen, “Do you enjoy maths puns, Gavey?” You tried to sound flirtatious, but in the moment you sounded more unsure than anything.

Michael took the beer away from his lips, swiping the back of his hand against his mouth, “If they’re funny. Why?”

“Do you have more shirts like this?” You tried to contain your mirth and failed.

The curiosity melted away, and a stony expression slipped over his face, “You’re taking the piss.”

You shook your head, heart speeding up, “No! No, sorry, Michael. I swear I’m not, I just, I wanted to- I’m trying-“

“-For someone whose degree relies heavily on the english word, you sure do struggle to find them.” The smirk on his lips was a thinly thing that indicated that he was being playful, but if he hadn't of smirked, you wouldn't have known. His tone was flat, his body posture stiff, and not once did he laugh, but you knew him.

And it more intimate than you would have liked.

Tongue in cheek in you leant back in your chair, feeling a comfortable little bubble surround you, the tension that was there only simmering in the background now, and not drowning you in it.

“How was the chess tourney?” You took a sip from your drink as he watched you.

“Fascinating, if it’s something of interest.”

His answer surprised you,.

“And was it of interest?”

“TBD.”

You took another sip of your drink, “My nan used to play chess with me when I was little.” 

This seemed to peak Michael’s interest greatly, “You can play?”

You shook your head humbly, smiling, “I can play, though I’m probably not very good.”

“We should play.” His answer was so immediate, so abrupt, that you could only blink before remembering to reply.

“What, now?”

Michael raised his brows at you as though you were intellectually stunted, “Do you see any chess boards in this shit hole?”

You breathed sharply through your nose, “No.” You said more afronted than intended, “I was just asking-“

“-You ask a lot of questions but don’t know what ones you want the answers for.”

Annoyance began to bloom in your chest, “I thought we were done with this tit-for-tat nonsense. Or did you want a round two, Gavey?”

A soft blush spread across his cheeks, and you knew you had him.

“Are you going to ask me about my day?” You cheeked, enjoying the way he flustered slightly, and then held back an angry sneer.

“How was it?”

“How was what?”

Michaels jaw tensed, and you bit your inner cheek to not smile, “Your day.”

A large grin spread across your lips along with a false expression of realisation, “Oh, my day! My day was fine, thank you, Michael. I did some reading, I did some study, and then I got myself ready to have drinks with a right git.”

Michael sucked his teeth loudly, “You’re funny. Should be a comedian instead of studying them.”

“You’re cute,“ You countered, “Should smile more instead of sneer.”

“I thought you said we were done with this nonsense.”

“I did, and I am. Starting…. Now.” You smiled widely, bringing your drink up to toast. 

Michael looked at you oddly, then to the glass in your hand before finally he brought his up, connecting the two cups.

You smiled wider, proud to be ready to say something you know will interest him,“‘If you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough.’”

Michael's glass slammed down onto the table, his body leaning towards you in palpable excitement, “How do you know that?” His voice was eager, like you had lit a flame inside of him.

You smiled smugly, sipping on your drink, proud of yourself to have garnered such a reaction, “Learnt it with my degree. Einstein wasn’t just a man of maths. He was an important part of modern history. Especially regarding his involvement, or I should say rather, his non-involvement in the Manhattan Project.”

Michael's eyes lit up behind his glasses before he picked up his beer and thrust it against yours again, “Glad they’re teaching you something of importance.”

You huffed and laughed and sipped, watching as Michael settled his chair closer to you. It felt as if a door had been opened, and suddenly you were able to step inside the world that was Michael Gavey.

“You know,” You smirked, feeling heat from him beside you, chairs still apart, but bodies leant towards each other, “Art and History is just as important as Maths and Science.”

Gavey looked as though you had declared that the Earth was flat. It was a peculiar little look that made you want to lean across the space and press your lips squarely against his.

“I’m being serious.” You continued, “Without art, without history, the world would be a lot more boring than it is now.”

Michael pursed his lips at you, “Whatever helps you rationalise your choice of degree.”

You sipped your drink, eyes watching him over the rim of your glass, “I’ll let that slide. Only because I know you like watching me get riled up.”

“You’re rather confident of yourself this evening.” He commented, his blue eyes gleaming behind his glasses.

“And you’re rather goading. Not that that’s out of the ordinary.”

His fingers strummed against the table as he looked at you, eyes roaming over your body, “You look nice.”

“I would say the same, but I hate lying, and that shirt is an abomination.” You teased, bumping your shoulder into his lightly.

He smiled.

When did it become this?

How did it become so easy for you to melt into this conversation with him of all people?

Only earlier this week the two of you were at each others throats, snarling and fighting, and now here you were, seated beside each other, making little jokes and sitting intimately close. 

“Careful. Tit-for-tat.” Michael warned you, and you rolled your eyes playfully with a huff.

It seemed to please him, and soon enough you were moving through a smooth conversation. He mostly asked you about your studies and friends, and even asked about your family.

And you learnt about his. A fairly standard, run of the mill family. One sister, and an older brother, had a dog growing up, and now has a fish. 

But soon enough the conversation drifted back to your studies.

“Are you looking forward to term starting again?” You asked.

You felt as though he would be, his desire for learning and studying was clear whenever he spoke about it. He was passionate, and it was something that you admired about him. Or at least, now you did.

Michael shrugged, “I’m looking forward to graduating.”

This confused you.

“Why?”

Michael frowned, “Why do you think? I’m second in our year, I barely need to study-“

“-All you do is study, Michael.”

“Because there’s not much else to do here, I don’t have friends like you do.” Michael sneered the word friends, and immediately you knew who he was referring to.

“Michael-“

“-It’s different for us. People who aren’t ‘in’. Theres no parties, or accolades, only our degree.”

“You know that I’m not-“

“-I know that you don’t think you are, but whether you like it or not, they consider you one of them.”

You frowned. You didn’t like hearing that, especially with what Farleigh had said to you. You hated it because whilst it was wrong, it was still true. You did get invited to the parties, you had them all on MySpace and MSN, and even had their numbers in your phone. But for you, it was different, and Michael knew it.

You pushed your tongue against the side of your mouth, “I’ll bring you as my plus one to the next party. Then you can see that you’re not missing out on much.”

“You’d be seen with me in public? With them watching?” He said it with a laugh, though it was entirely humourless.

Your head tilted to the side, “We’re in public right now, aren’t we?” You looked around the pub, watching the many faces around you before settling back onto his. His expression was unreadable, until finally-

“We are in public.” He smirked. Gavey downed the rest of his beer quickly, all but slamming his glass onto the table, though not loud enough to garner any attention from the other patrons.

Michaels hand grabbed the seat of your chair and pulled it roughly towards him. You let out a squeak of surprise as your seat shifted against the floor suddenly, almost making you lose your balance. 

“Michael!”

“What?” He asked innocently.

“What are you doing?” Your heart began to quicken, his hand coming down to brush against your thigh as he intently stared at you from behind his glasses.

“I’m not doing anything.” His hand inched higher, grazing your inner thigh.

In a small panic, you lifted your gaze to the rest of the pub. Not one person had looked up when he dragged you to him, nor had anyone taken even the slightest bit of interest about the two students hidden in the dark corner table. Everyone in the pub was drunk and too absorbed by their own conversations and friends to notice anyone else.

“What’s wrong?” Gavey teased, voice dipping lower as he openly mocked you, his pinky finger skirting against the edge of your panties. 

Your brain had short circuited itself.

You were in public.

Where anyone could see.

And Michael had his hand under your skirt, teasing you.

This was what not what you would have expected from the man who was currently wearing a maths pun on his shirt. Your hand dropped under the table and grabbed his wrist tightly, stopping him from moving it any higher, though this didn’t prevent him from continuing to run his pinky back and forth under the elastic of your panties.

Heat coursed through you, and your core clenched around nothing. 

“What are you doing?” You asked breathlessly, a rhetorical question really. You knew just as well as he did exactly what he was doing. 

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Gavey.”

“I’ll tell you what,” He smirked again, eyes locked onto your face, watching as you struggled internally, “You sit there and be a good girl for me, and when we go back to your room, I will give you what you want.”

You blinked.

Michael squeezed your thigh roughly, “Use your words.”

“Okay.” You breathed.

“Okay what?”

“Yes.” Your blood pumped loudly in your ears, air struggling to get inside of you as you squirmed in anticipation. 

“Yes, who?”

You wet your lips with your tongue, mouth suddenly feeling dry, “Yes, Michael.”

He could be so demeaning so quickly. Like a switch was flicked. He went from this awkward, sneering maths genius to a cold and domineering man who could pull any response he liked from you.

“Better.” He smiled, “Now,” Swiftly Michael tugged your panties to the tide, two fingers immediately grazing your centre. You jerked as he slowly dragged his fingers through your folds and up to your clit.

You were soaked.

“Tell me what they’ve taught you about Einstein, since you want to use his words as a toast.” He looked you in the eyes as your breath caught on itself, his fingers swirling around your bud slickly. 

Michael suddenly paused, stilling his fingers, “Unless you only used him to try and impress me?”

Irritation coursed through you alongside frustration, “I didn’t use him to im-“ Your voice stilted as he began to rub his fingers against you again.

“To what?” He mocked you.

“I-Impress you. We learnt abou-t him and his wife recently.”

“The wife he divorced?”

“Yes.” You grit through your teeth, pleasure winding powerfully through you. Your toes curled in your shoes, stomach clenching as his fingers dipped back down to your entrance, scooping up more of your slick to drag back to your bud. Your eyes flittered around the pub, checking nervously to see if anyone had noticed what was going on underneath the table. 

No-one had.

“Surely you can find the words to tell me more?” One long finger suddenly pressed inside of you, causing you to gasp loudly, hands gripping the edge of the table tightly, “Or are you dumb already?”

“H-his wife was a brilliant physicist,” You struggled to control yourself as he crooked the long finger inside of you, curling it up against your inner walls, “And a-a mathematician.”

“Was she now?”

“Yes. Mileva Marić. They were married for a decade, and he-“ All thoughts escaped you as Michael added a second finger with the first, the stretch pressing into you deliciously as he immediately hooked his digits. You blinked mouth agape whilst looking at him, feeling your face become flushed. 

His eyes were half lidded as he watched at you intently, watching your every reaction, testing and teasing to see what made you tick, eager to make you come undone.

This was affecting him as much as it was you. 

Only he didn’t care for others catching on.

His stare urged you to continue.

“H-he was cruel to her.” You muttered, brain struggling to catch up.

Michael hummed, “Most men of historical notice were. It was the norm.”

“It doesn’t m-mean that it was okay.”

“No. But a man such as him surely deserves more merit in your eyes.” As his fingers crooked into you, slowly rubbing the spongy patch inside, his thumb pressed against your bud, causing you to shift your hips towards him, grinding down on his hand as you breathed a breathy moan, “Einstein did things that no men could.”

“I-if it was all his w-work to begin with.” You argued weakly, unable to keep your voice sturdy.

“What do you mean?” Michael’s interest halted his hands movement, but this lapse in control only lasted a moment before he corrected himself and began again.

“M-Mileva scored higher than him in applied physics. Five to his one. I-It's believed she helped him complete equations that he couldn’t without the credit. I-It's why he promised her the money f-from his Nobel Prize.”

The mans fingers slowed down their ministrations as he digested your stuttered information, the coil within you already beginning to tighten, “Fascinating.” He breathed, edging closer to you, “Tell me more.”

“Many women-” Michaels thumb began to quicken, halting your thoughts abruptly, your hands still clutching the edge of the table, knuckles aching.

“Many women, what?” He parroted you meanly, “Don’t tell me you’re close already, are you?”

You swallowed thickly, not willing to open your mouth lest a moan or gasp fall out. Michael chuckled quietly, his fingers quickening the pace within, causing you to arch towards him and grind down against his hand again. His arm subtly moved against you, and if anyone in the pub looked, they would surely know what was going on.

“Look at you,” He cooed, his other hand brushing hair behind your ear, “Already so close.”

You whined, trying to shift closer to him and his hand, if that was even possible.

“Does it turn you on that I’ve got my hand in your cunt for all to see?” He purred, “If someone just turned around right,” His fingers pulled out from you momentarily, moving up to your clit where he pinched it between thumb and forefinger, causing you to jerk, “Now, and looked closely enough, they’d be able to see how you’re desperately grinding down against my fingers.”

Your core clenched around him at his words.

“Oh, you do like it.” He tutted, “Such a dirty little whore.”

You whined again, “Michael I-“

“Shhh, don’t you worry that pretty, little, empty head.” He cooed, emphasised by swift rubbing circles on your bud, “I’ll take care of you, but only if you behave.”

You nodded desperately, feeling yourself get closer and closer to the edge. You would do anything. You were desperate at this point. The week of waiting for him had filled you with anticipation, and meant you spent most of your nights with your fingers or vibrator between your thighs thinking about him and your last meeting in the library.

Michael watched you nod and grind down on his hand, his pace slowing so that you couldn’t get much out of it besides a slow and steady buzz of pleasure.

He seemed to think for a moment, deliberating, before an almost cruel smirk pulled at his lips.

“Do you know your times tables?” He asked, fingers almost still at this point, only languidly moving to keep you riled, or to remind you of what he was doing.

You could scarcely think, scarcely exist without feeling as though you were at any moment about to come undone, his hands keeping you just at the precipice. Your mind was hazy, and any and all thoughts of substance had seemed to escape you.

“Use your words.” He encouraged you in a demeaning manner.

“Y-Yes.”

“Good. Not just a pretty face then.” The backhanded comment could have made you smile, “We are going to play a game.”

Could have.

Your eyes widened slightly, hands dropping down to clutch the underside of the table, “A game?”

“Yes.” He gave you an encouraging smile, “Good job. A game.” He was treating you like you were a child who is only just beginning to understand a basic concept, “I’m going to ask you an equation, and you’re going to answer it. If you’re correct, you get a reward. If not,” He paused, fingers teasing you again, “You get punished. Do you understand? Or do I need to dumb it down for you?”

The way he was speaking to you, so meanly, so smugly, made you clench harder around his fingers.

You liked when he was mean to you.

��Answer me. Yes or no.”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl. Alright,” His hand paused its movements, pulling his fingers out to just rest lightly against your bud, barely touching you, “What is the sum of seven times nine? I’ll use small numbers so that it doesn’t confuse you.”

Slowly, you did the maths in your head, “Sixty-three.”

Michael smirked, “Good girl.” You keened at the praise, and felt his fingers press a little harder into you, his movements beginning to start again slowly, though not enough to give you any pleasure.

“What is fifteen times six?”

Oh god. 

“Um,” You shifted, blinking rapidly to try and do the maths, but every time you got somewhere, Michael would press against you harder as if he knew, ruining your train of thought.

“Come on,” He teased with a swirl of his fingers, “That’s an easy one.”

-5 is 75, then-

“Ninety.” You gasped out.

“Good, good. So clever of you.” He cooed, though the sarcasm dripped from his lips. His fingers once again pressed harder, sparks of pleasure finally springing up inside of you. The sound of the pub was loud around you, and in the dim light, you could see that a blush had spread across his cheeks. 

“One more and then I’ll give you your reward. If you get it wrong, then you get nothing. Ready?”

You nodded shakily, chasing his hands with your hips. He tsk-ed you and stilled his hands, “Don’t be greedy.” You apologised softly and stilled, waiting for him to start again. 

"Twelve times seventeen.”

Oh God. 

What?

“M-michael, that’s not-“

“What? It’s easy enough. Even the thickest of people could get it. Though I suppose you’re getting all pretty and dumb for me anyway.”

“I-“

“How about this,” He smirked, and the way he did it caused you to sit on edge, “I’ll help you since you’re such a stupid little girl.” Michael plungers his fingers into you with no warning, immediately fucking them into you rapidly.

You sucked in air sharply, feeling the coil within begin to pull taught. 

“Twelve times fifteen is one-hundred-and-eighty. You need two more twelves. Do you know what two times twelve is?” 

Did you?

Jesus.

“I- It’s twenty four.” You answered shakily, surprised at your own voice.

“Twelve times seventeen?” He repeated the original question, “Oh dear, you really do have no brain.”

“N-No.” Your voice shook with how roughly and quickly Michael fucked you on his fingers, “Two times twelve.”

“Ah, clever little idiot. Go on now, what is one-hundred-and-eighty plus twenty-four.”

Your brain couldn’t do it, too hazy with how he was degrading you and how well he was touching you. You just wanted to cum. All you wanted was to cum. And then his thumb joined, swirling over your clit slickly as his fingers pistoned in and out of you, the sound of your wet rising from beneath the table. Your arousal pooled onto the back of your skirt and the wood of the seat.

“T-two-hundred-and-“ Michael pressed his thumb brutally against your clit suddenly, fire coursing through you, ruining your train of thought once again.

Damn him.

“Two-hundred-and what?”

Oh god.

“Two?”

Michael frowned at you, though you could tell that he was pleased, his fingers pulled away from you quickly, your eyes widening.

“N-No!” You grabbed his wrist keeping it against your inner thigh, his slick fingers pressing against your skin, “I-I-“

“Wrong answer.” He tutted, “You’re so fucking stupid. So fucking stupid and desperate, look at you.”

“Please, please,” You begged, clit throbbing, “I know- I know what the sum is. Please.” You pulled his hand back to your core, his fingers stiff as you ground against them desperately, “It’s two-hundred-and-four. Two-hundred-and-four. Michael, please.”

Michael’s fingers did not move, and watched you with entertainment as you desperately rubbed him against you. You needed to cum. You needed it. You didn’t care who saw. You didn’t care if it was degrading. You needed him. And you needed him now. 

“Look how fucking desperate you are.” He laughed, “So pathetic. Whining like a bitch in heat as you grind against my hand. Are you that desperate to be a little whore?”

“Yes. Please. Please, Michael. Please. I need it.”

“You need it?” He smirked.

You were so close, so so close, “Please, please.”

“Tell me you need me.” He breathed, face coming closer to yours, his breath fanning agains your lips.

You licked your lips again, swallowing thickly, “I need you.”

Gavey smiled toothily, “You’re so pathetic.”

And without a second thought, or really without even a first thought, you nodded in agreement, “I’m pathetic. Please. Please, Michael, I want you.”

“What will you do to get it?”

“Anything. Please.”

“Anything?” He asked again, eyes searching your face.

You nodded desperately, needing him more than you had ever needed something before “Please.”

“Okay.” His fingers slipped back into you as he breathed the word, almost as if he was bored, like fucking you with his hand in public was an all too boring affair.

Mundane.

Little to nothing coming out of it for him. But in that moment you didn’t care as the coil within began to wind again.

“Fuck.”

Michael leant forward, his lips beside your ear so that you could hear him clearly, “You’re going to cum on my hand in this disgusting little pub like the dumb, desperate, little slut that you are, and then you’re going to thank me for it. Understood?”

“Yes.” You whined, hand gripping his wrist as it pummelled into you, thumb brutally swiping your clit as his fingers brushed over the sensitive patch inside of you over and over. 

“You’re close already, aren’t you?” His lips brushed your neck, causing a shiver to roll through you.

“Fuck. Y-yes.”

Michael leant forward, his lips brushing against the skin beneath your ear, his sharp nose nuzzling into your hair before he bit down on you roughly, causing you to gasp. To anyone else in the pub it would have looked like an intimate gesture, a man trying to whisper something sweet into his dates ear, but to you, it was damning.

You were so close, so so close, and all it took was four little words to send you over the edge. Michaels tongue lapped at where he had bit you before he came back to your ear one last time.

“I own you now.”

Pleasure erupted through you, your release bursting from within. You jerked in your chair against him, tucking your head into the side of your neck as you hid your face, grinding down onto his had as you whimpered. Michael plucked pleasure from deep within you, his hand not once slowing, prolonging your orgasm. It was only when it began to subside did his hand slow as you breathed raggedly against his neck, slumped into your chair and against him.

Your heart thumped against your ribs as you panted, and gently Gavey withdrew his fingers from within you, a wince falling from your lips from oversensitivity before he pulled your panties back into place.

Michael cooed you gently, “Good job.” Almost inaudible in the loud of the pub, “So good f’me.”

Fatigue washed over you like a wave, crashing into you so fiercely that you didn’t have the strength to sit up yet. You were fucked out, mind thinking of absolutely nothing as you nuzzled your face into his neck further, breathing in his scent.

“Hm,” Michael hummed, “You still with us?”

You hummed back in reply dreamily, only moving back when Michael pulled you away, watching you with half lidded gaze as he looked over your disheveled form. Michael laughed again, eyes crinkling in the corners as he brushed his hand against your cheek. Your first thought was how pretty he was when he smiled, and then you felt the wetness of your slick clinging to your skin crudely. 

With a curious touch, Michael moved his fingers across your lips, the taste of yourself tart and warm as he caressed you. You opened your mouth for him and let his fingers inside, immediately tasting yourself as he rubbed his digits against your tongue slowly as you held your mouth open for him, drool beginning to pool at your bottom lip. 

“Such a good little girl for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded lazily, small smile flicking at the edges of your lips. Michael pulled his fingers from your mouth and used his thumb to smear the saliva that had pooled at your bottom lip over lips messily.

He tutted, “Dirty girl.”

“Mmm.” You hummed in content.

Michael eyed your half drank drink, nodding towards it, “Finish it.”

You did as he bid, brining it to your lips as you kept your eyes on him, swallowing it quickly before placing the glass back on the table, a warm fuzzy feeling slipping over you, a little space that was warm and safe and cozy. Then Michael stood, rather abruptly, like he had remembered that he forgot to turn the stove off, chair hitting the wall behind him as he looked down below at you.

“Time to go.”

You stood, on shaky legs to follow, adjusting your skirt sheepishly, knowing that there would be a damp patch at the back but not caring enough to hide it. In a way, you wanted people to know what had happened, and in some ways your wish had come true. 

A table in the middle of the pub nearby had half of its eyes on you, whispers and smirks shared amongst one another, watching as Michael grabbed your hand to lead you through the crowd roughly. Wolf whistles and hoot’s were called after you, followed by rambunctious laughter. You weren’t sure if they had seen what was happening under the table, but you were sure they had seen his fingers in your mouth. 

The door to the pub was swung open as Michael pulled you out sluggishly behind him. As you stood in the crisp air he spun you abruptly, grabbing your face as he pressed his lips to yours, his tongue immediately swiping against yours, trying to taste your essence that lingered there. Michael groaned into the kiss, pressing his body against you, where finally you could feel how much what had transpired had affected him. He pulled back, restraining himself as his sharp nose bumped into yours as he moved. 

And then he was gone, stepping away from you as he began to walk away. You stood dumbfounded as you watched him, snow beginning to fall from the sky. 

Do you go after him? Was this it? Did he just use you in the pub only to humiliate you out the front? 

A wave of confusion and hurt washed over you, but before it could turn to anger, he stopped and faced you again, a soft smirk on his lips.

“You coming? You said anything.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to any tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3

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[strangersmunsons]

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 4 Prompt: Baking 🍰 ~ 1,700 words you bake some cupcakes for your handsome older neighbor, Eddie. (implied age gap, intentionally vague)

You wipe sweat off your brow with the back of your hand, leaving a smear of frosting on your forehead. 

This process has taken up more of your day than you expected it to, but you’ll spend as much time as necessary to get this right, because it’s for Eddie Munson.

Your handsome older neighbor has been occupying an alarming amount of space in your mind lately. It’s a recent development; you’d been moved into the new house for quite some time before you actually met him. He seemed to keep odd hours, and you only ran into him by chance one day, when you were both walking to the corner store up the road.

At first glance he was intimidating, with his long hair and all his leather, but he chatted with you easily during the whole impromptu excursion. Once inside the market he quickly bought his pack of cigarettes and then insisted on staying with you, so he could escort you back home, too.

He dragged on a Lucky Strike as he strolled down the sidewalk, his pretty face silhouetted against the setting sun in the distance, and you couldn’t look away. He left you at your door with a cheeky grin and a “Good to finally meet you. ‘Night, little lady.”

If those words had come out of anyone else’s mouth, you’re not sure what your reaction would have been. But spoken by Eddie? Your knees had gone weak.

Since then he seemed to be popping up more and more frequently. Every time you happened to glance out the window he was there. Sprawled out in a wicker chair on his porch, a paperback held flat against his knee; peering under the hood of his car, tinkering away on the engine; he even stopped by a few times when the weather got cold, offering to shovel the snow from your driveway and scrape the ice off your windshield, each time armed with a charming smile and a twinkle in his eye.

The self-indulgent part of you wants to believe it’s because he likes you, and so he’s making an effort for you to see him; the more rational part of you knows you’re seeing him now because you want to see him.

Regardless, you were thinking that you wanted to do something nice for him. Some neighborly gesture that’ll give him some indication of your interest, without requiring you to be too forward. You just hope that he’ll pick up on what you’re putting down.

The kitchen table is a mess of baking utensils and splatters of cake batter, but you’re pleased with the results. Six red velvet cupcakes iced — and filled — with cream cheese frosting and pink sprinkles are all neatly arranged on a platter, just waiting to be carried over to Eddie’s house. The heart-patterned liners feel appropriate but also a tad cheesy, maybe even overkill; but if he seems weirded out by the whole thing, you’ll just tell him they’re leftover from a batch you planned on taking to work.

You lose the apron and wash your hands in the sink, then skip to the bathroom to give yourself a final once over. You clean the frosting off your face, and fix your hair nervously with your fingers. Quit stalling.

You slip a coat on, and keep your hands as steady as possible as you carry the platter cautiously outside. Small, quick steps lead you to Eddie’s doorstep, and you balance the edge of the tray against your hip so you can rap your knuckles on the door.

The seconds tick by, and the door finally swings open. Eddie’s in black sweats and an Iron Maiden t-shirt, hair looking wild and disheveled; his eyes look puffy with sleep, but they light up when he realizes who he’s looking at.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice husky from his afternoon nap. “What can I do for ya?”

“Hi,” you respond, soft and breathy with nerves. Your mouth opens to continue and then snaps shut again, a realization of horror creeping upon you: the lines you’ve been practicing in your head all day have evaporated into nothing. Poof! They’re gone, and now you’re standing here like an idiot. 

Eddie stares at you curiously. You thrust the tray forward clumsily, any illusion of poise shattered. “These are for you!”

He looks startled. “Those are for me?” he repeats, like maybe he misheard you. 

You nod.

Now he’s the one at a loss for words. “Thank you,” he says automatically, gazing down at the dessert-laden plate clutched between your hands. He shakes his head as though trying to clear it, and steps back inside the house, gesturing for you to enter. “Here, come inside. You’re not gonna have me eat these all by myself now, are you?”

You suck in a quick breath and scurry over the threshold, entering Eddie’s home for the first time. It’s a little messy but surprisingly cozy, with a squashy-looking furniture set and knick knacks on every flat surface. Music posters hang in black frames along the walls, showcasing a lot of long-haired men who, quite frankly, all look sort of the same to you, although they’re apparently all different bands.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch, “and I’ll get us some napkins.” You gingerly perch yourself on the soft leather cushion, while he disappears further back into the house, presumably into the kitchen. When he returns he plops down in the seat next to you, taking the platter and setting it down on the coffee table with a pile of napkins. Then he stifles a yawn as he slumps back into the couch.

You feel bad. “Were you asleep? I’m so sorry if I woke you up.”

He waves you off. “Don’t worry, my alarm went off a few minutes ago. If I don’t set one when I nap, I’ll sleep the whole day away. These old bones are tired, you know,” he jokes. 

You shake your head in disagreement. “You’re not old.”

He pokes your shoulder. “I’m old next to you.”

You try to laugh but there’s a pang in your heart. Is he trying to tell me something? You wring your hands, and don’t reply.

Eddie peers at you with a gentle smile on his lips, his dark eyes crinkled at the corners. “Did you make these yourself?”

“I did indeed.”

“They look amazing.” He picks one up and takes a large bite, the frosting smearing clean up his nose. You giggle through a bite of your own dessert.

“What?” he says thickly, giving you a deadpan stare. “Something on my face?”

Hesitantly, you reach out with your napkin, wiping the sugary cream from his nose and upper lip. He scrunches his face but pushes into your hand, letting you clean him up. A thrill shoots through you at being able to touch him, even if it’s through a paper barrier.

“Thanks, sweetheart. These are incredible, by the way. Thank you for bringing them.”

“Of course.”

He clears his throat, and sets his cupcake down on the table so he can give you his full attention. “If you don’t mind me asking, um…why did you bring them?”

You’re answer evasively, still unsure of how he sees you. “Because I thought you’d like them.”

He gives you that penetrating stare again, and it’s like you’re being swallowed up in those dark irises. You feel as though he must see right through you, all your intentions laid bare. 

“Thank you for thinking of me. You’re real sweet for that.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Do you do this for all your neighbors?”

“No. But my other neighbors don’t walk me home from the corner store and shovel my sidewalk.” 

He purses his lips, as though he’s deep in thought, although still half-teasing you. “I see. So these cupcakes are purely transactional?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. He’s not really giving anything away, and this game is too hard for you to keep playing. “Well, no. I also…just wanted to do something nice for you. To make you happy.”

His face is impassive. “Rest assured, you’ve certainly done that.” He leans in closer to you, hand rubbing his chin pensively. “But you know what would make me even happier?”

You hold your breath. “What’s that?”

“If you stayed for dinner.”

Your heart leaps with joy. “You mean it?”

“Yes.” His warm expression suddenly flickers with worry. “But only if you really want to.”

“I really want to, Eddie.”

There’s a brief silence, and the energy in the room shifts. Eddie lets his hand wander over to your knee, gazing at you with heavy-lidded eyes. “I like it when you say my name,” he whispers, staring unabashedly at your lips.

Feeling both validated and bold, you close the distance separating the two of you. “I’ll just bet,” you whisper, letting your smiling lips ghost over his with every word.

Strong, tattooed hands hold both sides of your face as Eddie finally seals his mouth to yours in a kiss. It starts out firm but gentle, and you sigh; his tongue slips in between your parted lips, sugary-sweet, and you press your body closer to his. He moves to embrace you tightly, winding one arm around your waist, and cupping the back of your head with his other hand, his kisses becoming deeper and more frantic. 

He suddenly breaks away, gasping. 

“Everything okay?” you ask dazedly, not finished with him. 

He laughs. “Everything’s perfect,” he reassures you. “I’ve been hoping this would happen. But I want you to know, regardless of what happens in the next few minutes, I really do want to cook for you.”

You melt, fingers playing with the curls at the back of his neck. “You’re a really nice guy, you know that?”

He brushes your kiss-swollen bottom lip with a calloused thumb. “I’m glad you think so.”

His tone confuses you. “Others don’t?”

“I have a certain look.”

“I like how you look.”

He presses another quick kiss to your lips. “You’re a sweet girl,” he says quietly, echoing his statement from earlier. 

You fall back into him, and although it’s several hours later, Eddie makes good on his promise. Over dinner, he poses the question again, “You know what would make me even happier?”

You bite, fingers intertwined with his. “What would make you even happier?”

“If you just stayed.”

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

[aloesarchives]

Two for the Price of One (JJK Oneshot)

TW/Warnings: Profanity, NOT POLY SATOSUGU X READER, Fem Reader and She/Her pronouns, ANGST, Angst for Satoru and Reader, Bittersweet ending for Suguru and Reader, HIGHKEY MISCOMMUNICATION, Possible OOC Satoru, abandonment issues if you squint really hard, Reader slowly losing herself, Reader feeling depression/hopeless(implicit), Reader's has a healthy dynamic with her clan

Series: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader/Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader

AU: Canon

Pronouns: She/Her(Reader's clan has a unrealistic healthy and understanding relationship with her)

Word Count: 6.1k words

Summary: Gojo's lack of coping caused you to drift away and eventually depart after Suguru's defection from Jujutsu Society.

(A/N): I know it doesn't make sense and will make many frustrated with how dumb this is. I just wanted to write my emotions out with this one, okay? I know this wouldn't slide but I'm a sucker for these scenarios. Edit: Since I've been getting positive reactions from you guys, I decided to take out the cringe/unrealistic out of the warning/tws lists. I truly love and appreciate you, loves!❤️

[!!Semi-edited & Proofread!!! 2/8/2024 4:04pm CST]

It was hard on all of you.

More so for you and Satoru.

Ever since Geto’s massacre and defection, the higher-ups and Jujutsu society have been scrambling to get the chaos under control. Having a special grade user become a curse user was sounding red alarms as there was an immediate threat to present-day Jujutsu sorcery.

You knew something was up with Suguru. You did; your observation wouldn’t allow things to go unnoticed. It was a bit here and there, but never a significant concern. You tried coaxing him gradually to open up to you, but your efforts were fruitless. No bells were ringing until the post-Plasma Star Vessel incident. You felt the shift in Suguru’s aura; you noticed his lifeless stare—the growing dark circles around his eyes surrounding the tiny flicker of life left inside. 

You tried being there for Suguru. You did anything and everything to accompany him and not leave him alone. It was selfish of you. To be desperate for your best friend to lean on you for support and not to go down a destructive path. You became even more worried when Haibara returned cold with a frustrated and traumatized Nanami. It was becoming more evident of Suguru’s deteriorating condition, you to confide in Shoko and even Yaga-sensei. 

Grief is like love, a twisted parasitic curse. Even though a year has passed, your grief was a malevolent spirit that latched itself onto your shoulders with a vice grip. A bitter reminder of how Suguru never said goodbye to you. He technically did with Satoru. But it was more of him telling Satoru that he was severing ties with Jujutsu Society by questioning him with his newfound powers. All you got from Suguru was a simple letter Shoko gave you at your dorm. She was with you as you read it. Tear droplets stained the paper, words smeared, and became unreadable. Out of pure frustration, you ripped the paper in half—the tearing of paper cut through the sickening silence. Shoko hugged you as you sobbed in the aftermath. While you were mourning the loss of your friend and your lives together, you were also mourning your life after this would never be the same. It would only get worse from here. 

 Satoru is tossed onto multiple missions left and right, never catching a break.

And there was you, trying to return to your regular school life. Or how every day can it be now? One of your best friends just murdered an entire village and his parents, and the other one is overworking himself to the very bone. Shoko being there for you was a surprising one, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Given that she was the first one Suguru said goodbye to, she understood his actions.

The problem was trying to tell Satoru about it, but he would brush it off, saying that maybe it was the change in weather or sickness. When you tried to explain there was more to it, Satoru would wave his hand at you, saying, 

“You’re overthinking too much, (Y/N)-chan! I’m sure Suguru is fine. We just have to give him some time.”

Though the tone was light-hearted, it provided no comfort. You know Satoru was suffering as well. Individuals process trauma differently, after all. You were seeing this first hand. 

Satoru was overcompensating to the world of Jujutsu with his enlightenment, overworking himself and burying his pain through that charismatic mask he now dons. Suguru is the most common one: Insomnia, isolation, and depression. He slowly became a lifeless husk. On the other hand, you were coping by trying to move forward while acting like a rock for them. Despite the hard transition, you didn’t deny your trauma as you slowly worked to process and navigate through it. You had the support of Shoko, your teacher, and even your clan/family stepped in to support your mental health endeavors. They went as far as providing you with a therapist, who was also a sorcerer.

But you all were suffering in silence.

A year has passed since Suguru left, and you were getting by. You, Shoko, and Satoru would graduate in the third year and officially become Jujutsu Sorcerers. Yet, at this point, it felt more like only you and Shoko. Satoru still attended class and hung out, but missions mainly preoccupied his school life. He recently returned from Hokkaido, only to be sent out again. This time, however, it was somewhere in Western Europe. That’s on the other side of the world. It would only be for a week, but still. You wanted him to rest or take a break, as he never did– not since the incident.

He wouldn’t be leaving for another seven days, so you had enough time to be with him. Yet it was challenging because Satoru didn’t let up. The ravine he created kept opening, the distance stretching far and deep, pushing you away.

Just like Suguru.

You didn’t want to lose Satoru. You almost did, becoming a grim reminder of how much you cared for Satoru Suguru. To fall for your best friend was a betrayal. You didn’t mean it, but Satoru did things that made your heart warm and fluttered. Suguru was the first to catch on; he saw your crush a mile away. Confiding in Suguru about it, you found solace in his words– feeding into an enviable delusion. 

Unbeknownst to you, Suguru's eyes were able to hide his longing for you as you rambled about Satoru and your latest hangout together. Suguru always thought you and Satoru had a special connection—your two powerful chemistry and how you bounce off each other. He presumed Satoru had mutual feelings, but nothing was said. Once he left, he knew you had his heart. There was no space for anyone else to fill it but you. And Suguru was more than willing to live with reality. If the girl who gave his life light is with his best friend, so be it. He would settle with the heartache as long as you were happy.

But you weren’t happy at all.

Over time, you started questioning whether the life of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was worth it. Yes, you were born into the world of Jujutsu, and it has been your whole life. But the last two years radically changed that. You were already exposed to this life's dangers and cruelty; prepare to face it head-on no matter what. Yet second thoughts became third thoughts. Then, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh. The more you challenge your initial mindset, the more doubts seep into its cracks.

Why should I continue when I am nothing more than a placeholder in this world?

How can I save everyone if I can’t save one person?

Where is the meaning in all of this if I’ll just die alone and be replaced and forgotten?

Was this endless cycle of Jujutsu Sorcery even worth it?

You wondered if Suguru shared the same thoughts to push him to his decision. Now, you don’t blame him for leaving at all. It was grime. It was depravity. It was futile. You only stayed because you had your clan. You had Yaga-sensei and Shoko. But most of all, you had Satoru to shoulder the burdens of the Jujutsu world.

That’s. . .what you thought. . .

You decided to go to Satoru’s dorm to check up on him. Maybe squeeze a hangout in there. Gently knocking, you hope he was there since you couldn’t sense him around the campus. There was faint shuffling on the other side, signaling he was. You softly call out to him as you knock again. Once opened, Satoru greeted you in his school uniform. You found it odd since he’d switched to his comfortable clothes after school hours. 

“Hi, Toru! I just came by to see how you’re doing. The mochi store we always go to releases its seasonal flavors today! Why don’t you come with me? I heard one of your favorites returned, so I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“I appreciate the thought, (Y/N). But not today, I’m sorry.” Satoru said with a smile.

You couldn’t pinpoint his smile, tittering on, sad and strained. A tinge of uneasiness settled inside your heart, but you still wore your smile to not let it surface.

“C’mon, Toru! You don’t know if they will sell out today. Plus, the weather is great. I heard some festivals with food stands are opening up because of that. It wouldn’t hurt to go out just this once, Satoru.”

Satoru’s smile disappears at your insistence, replacing it with a fine line. His mood change didn’t sit well with you. You had previous attempts to get Satoru to care for himself. However, this is different from all your others because the band that holds your desperation began to wane itself thin. Your solid composure falters in bits. Your bright aura slowly dimmed as your now chapped lips twitched.

“Satoru, I know that you’re busy. Always on missions, meeting the higher-ups, your clan needing you more than ever, you have your hands tied. But it wouldn’t be too much just to enjoy yourself. Just come with me today before you go to Europe next week. It’s been a while since we hung out together.”

“Look (Y/N), I don’t really have time for this. I need to head out now, or it will get dark. Maybe another time–”

Then something inside of you snaps. You didn’t know whether it was your desperation or uneasiness, but assumed both because your facade crumbles to reveal your emotions.

“You always say later, Satoru, but never do! You haven’t taken a break in months! You’ve gotten paler, and your under-eyes are darker than before! You’re pushing yourself too hard and beginning to neglect yourself. Toru, Please! I’m worried about you! You know I can always help you–”

“For the love of God, (Y/N)! Can you STOP TALKING?! GOD, YOUR VOICE MAKES MY EARS BLEED! LIKE HELL YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND MY RESPONSIBILITIES!”

 It was never your intention to snap. But the way Satoru was acting paralleled Suguru. Eat, sleep, and go on missions. It was always those three, the same ones Suguru was subjected to that became a factor in his defection. Satoru was caught in the vicious cycle that pushed Suguru over the edge. 

On top of your crippling fear of Satoru sharing the same fate as Suguru, Déjà vu struck you. Desperation emerged from within as you didn’t want to lose him, breaking your resolve before him. Desperation was fear in another form. 

You weren’t the only one to reach a breaking point. Satoru snapped as well and at you, of all people. You guessed it was from all the stress and emotions he bottled up that exploded there. What Satoru was experiencing was valid and understandable; you knew this. Yet to blow up at you was uncalled for as you made it clear you’re only helping. Your eyes sting as you feel the formation of tears ready themselves, biting the inside of your bottom lip to keep your voice from breaking.

“B-but. . .Satoru. . .I w-was only trying to–” You stuttered out, forcibly pushing out words to fill the silence.

“Help? You were trying to help, (Y/N)?”

Once saying that Satoru let out a sarcastic laughter that could be mistaken for madness. Horror took over your face. Pain-filled eyes were glossed over, showing your tears could spill at any moment. His laughter abruptly stopped, making it so quiet that only your staggered breathing could be heard. He meets his eyes with yours with the most disdain you have ever seen.

“Do you think you could help when you’re just dead weight? You thought you were on par with Suguru and me. Get that out of your stupid little head of yours (Y/N). You were never strong like us.”

“You don’t mean that, right, Satoru?” You said incredulity as you reached out for him. Only for your hand to freeze before him, not going any further. A chill flashed over you, adding to the aching that enveloped your soul.

Did he– Did he just use his infinity on you?

“Oh, but I do. Now, I need to be somewhere. Do yourself a favor, (Y/N), and don’t bother me with your weak presence.”

And before you knew it, Satoru was already gone. He had used his teleportation to get to where he was needed. Leaving you alone with the door to his dorm wide open. The sounds of the crickets took over. They were paired with your small sniffles, furiously wiping away your nonstop tears. 

Were you weak to him?

Have you really been holding everyone back?

Were you that much of a nuisance to him?

Is this how Satoru really felt about you?

Has he always felt this way?

You never saw utter detest and contempt from Satoru. Your previous interactions had him irritated or annoyed, but never like this. This was the first time Satoru had blown up on you, let alone given you such a reaction. Before, you’d repeatedly remind him of your support and help. But it always ends the same way, pushing you away. After what happened, this will be the last time you’d do this for him. 

You were once told that you can’t help someone if they aren’t reaching out for help. And this was a bitter example of it. Your efforts in having Satoru lean on you bore nothing. What’s the point in continuing this if nothing changes after multiple attempts?

You were tired, drained, and indifferent. Your tears keep falling as you enter your dorm, not even stopping as the sound of nature lulls you to sleep. 

You let two days pass to let Satoru calm down and give him space. No interactions or anything to pass some time. You would try to contact him for the next four days after that. But your texts were left unanswered and on read. When you tried calling, your call went straight to voicemail. He blocked your phone number, too. 

 The weight of your doubts and Satoru’s words the other day are fueling your impulsivity. If Satoru called you weak and dead weight, other sorcerers would think so, too. If you become a thorn in their side, you’re doing them a favor by pulling yourself out for them. Even if Satoru didn’t mean it, you knew there was some truth to it because he kept his infinity up. You could never forget how his blue eyes lit through his pitch-dark glasses as he spoke down at you. Giving away that he was conscious and level-headed when he said those words.

You were losing the war against your intrusive mind. Your doubts and thoughts gradually solidified in your consciousness. In the course of time, they won and consumed your psyche.

If becoming a jujutsu sorcerer would get in the way of others, then being a sorcerer wasn’t for you.

With your last attempts to contact Satoru, you have made your decision. A day before Satoru departs for Europe, you decide to pay your clan head a visit. It was sudden and unannounced; nonetheless, they allowed an audience with you. 

They let you speak your mind, allowing whatever you need to be released and run free without judgment. Thus, you confided in them about everything.

This was too much; all of it was too much for you to bear any longer. You couldn’t see yourself as a sorcerer any longer after dealing with what you had experienced. Every day was a battle for you, and you lost every single one. You admitted you didn’t have what’s left of you it in you to shoulder the responsibilities of the Jujutsu world. You didn’t want the life of a jujutsu sorcerer anymore. You wanted one of peace, not having to fight every day. To enjoy the rest of your days as a regular civilian.

Confiding also in missing Suguru dearly and how his departure left a hole in your heart that could never be healed. You weren’t strong enough to face the horrors and hardships anymore and wish to live a peaceful life. 

Although your clan head was shocked at your confession, they were understanding and asked if this was something you truly wanted. An unwavering ‘Yes’ left you, and your clan head nodded. They gave you a choice: to go after graduation in a few weeks or leave now. If you leave now, they will deal with the rest as you finish the important schoolwork. It was just a waiting game with missions sprinkled throughout.

You could wait before leaving, but that’s wasting time. If you weren’t going to continue your life here, you might as well get a headstart now in your new one. You finalize your decision with the head. They said they would have some members pick up your stuff from your dorms tomorrow morning, but you said it wouldn’t be much. As you took your leave, you told them you would keep in touch with the clan. 

“What are your plans for what happens next, (Y/N)?” They curiously asked with your back facing them.

“Hmm, I don’t know exactly. But I have an idea, (Clan Head’s Name). Thank you for everything that you’ve done.”

With a reassuring voice, you turn to respectfully bow before leaving their room. Though they never said it out loud, they saw how your eyes were soft, like tremendous pressure was relieved from your body.

Thinking about it as you leave the estate, you never mentioned your fight with Satoru. Though it wouldn’t change anything. That night, you packed your dorm in your suitcase. Only leave your bedsheets, a pillow, and a few desk appliances behind. Your closet and drawers were empty of any clothes you had. By 10 a.m. tomorrow, any trace left of you would be gone. As you write a letter to whoever finds it about your whereabouts, your thoughts return to Suguru. To playfully think he did the exact same thing before his defection. 

You looked at your school uniform as it hung on your door. You contemplated taking it with you but decided against it. You wanted no strings left attached when you leave the world of Jujutsu Sorcery.

Morning came as you stared at the room you once called your own. The remainder of your things are packed in cardboard boxes for your clan members to get later. You glance back over to your desk as your school uniform is neatly folded on top of it. Your lips are graced with a sentimental smile as you close the door one last time. 

As you walked along the campus, fleeting memories of your days here flooded your mind. You reminisced on the areas and places you spent your youth with your friends and classmates. Now you’re leaving Jujutsu Tech and the Jujutsu World forever. Never to come back. You get to the main entrance of the school.

Before taking another step, you sensed someone behind you.

“So you're leaving, too, (Y/N)?”

It was Shoko.

“Yeah. . . Shoko. I’m going. . .”

She blows out a large smoke cloud from her cigarette, giving you a blank look before sending you a smile.

“At least say goodbye to me. . .I don’t blame you for going. . .” Shoko adds as she holds out her arms. You chuckle at her gesture and give her a hug. By the slight firm grip you felt, she didn’t want you to go, but she couldn’t stop you either.

Once you break away from the hug, you remember something and fish out a folded paper in your bag. You handed it to Shoko, and she eyed it curiously.

“I was going to leave it in my dorm for someone to find, but I thought it would work better if I gave this to you if I ran into it on my way out. My clan is sending members to get the last of my things, so I won’t return to my dorm. Sorry I had to make you the messenger again, Shoko.” You bittersweetly said.

You find it ironic that your departure is similar to Suguru’s. Shoko is the first to see you two go while giving her a letter for the others to read. You laugh as you think this over.

Oh, how history repeats itself.

Shoko tucks away your letter before taking a drag from her smoke.

“Does he know about this?”

You knew she was referring to Satoru. You shook your head no, still have a small smile.

“No, unfortunately. Satoru and I got into a arg– disagreement a few days ago. I don’t know if he’s okay with me to begin with, as cowardly to say. The only ones that know are you and my clan head.”

She hums at your response before going for another drag.

“Your phone number still the same?”

“I don’t really plan on changing my phone number. Even if I do, I’ll text you the new number so you can give it to the others.”

“I see. . .See you around, (Y/N). Keep in touch, will ya?”

“I will. I’ll see you around then. Bye, Shoko.”

Giving Shoko one last hug, you wave goodbye as you leave Jujutsu’s High entrance, disappearing from view. Not daring to look back because regret might come if you did.

Shoko watches from afar, her cigarette being halfway done. She takes one last puff before extinguishing it with the bottom of her shoe. She looks at your letter. The paper was crisp with no wrinkles like it had been fresh from the printer. From this, Shoko knew you had written it recently, no hesitation evident on the page itself. Unlike Suguru’s, her fingers tighten on your letter as she sighs while entering the school.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“What brings you here? He’s a busy man.”

“I’m just an old acquaintance of his. Just a simple chat. It won’t take long, I promise.”

The pretty attendant raises a brow at you as she guides you to one of the rooms. She looks you up and down before facing forward again.

“You have a substantial amount of curse energy. You have a curse technique then; aren’t you a jujutsu sorcerer?”

“I…used to be…but not anymore…I chose to leave that life. I’m just a civilian that has a curse technique.”

You see the attendant smile out of the corner of your eye at your answer. 

“I see. Geto-sama will be happy to take audience with you then.”

You shouldn’t be here. You knew that. Walking in taboo territory could get you hunted down by the very society you were born into. It’s not a secret of Suguru’s position as both a curse user and a cult leader. You remember hearing about him reforming a cult that worshiped Tengan but dissolved after the incident. You found it interesting he hasn’t done collateral damage yet. No incidents or missions revolving around curses terrorizing civilians. Perhaps he was going for something on a larger scale, you thought.

But you missed Suguru dearly. Not in a sentimental reminiscing way. More as in yearning for him entirely. Everyone tells you it’s not the same with Suguru gone, obviously. Yeah, but Suguru plagued your mind after his defection. You want nothing more than to see him again. Yes, things couldn’t go back to the way they were. But you didn’t like the prospects of what your future would hold if you stayed.

You disagreed with Suguru ridding the world of non-sorcerers. But you also understand and agree the current Jujutsu system is a dumpster fire that will never work. At the end of the day, only those the higher-ups favor will get to stay while the rest are sent off to die. You didn’t want to take part in that. You valued your life to know it shouldn’t be tossed around so easily by some dementia geezers who can’t even fight. And yet, you felt a tinge of regret for not staying to fix or break the system. Your only option was to leave and not involve yourself anymore.

The attendant takes you to the room, saying he will arrive shortly. Leaving you alone, you felt your heart race. You hope Suguru doesn’t kill you because he can sense your curse energy. Yet his letter was heartfelt and raw. His apology and the paragraphs after them were for you and you alone, like a confession. Even though you ripped the letter, you keep the two halves. Strangely enough, there was an address and a few words at the bottom of the page. 

‘You know where to find me.’

Here you are, waiting for him with the same letter he sent. As you wait, you can feel his energy get closer. You stare down, kneeling, the letter shaking like a leaf in your hands.

Then the door opens.

You let out a small gasp, not daring to look up as the footsteps approach his seat. A soft chuckle fills the room as you keep your head low.

“I thought I was mistaken when I felt your curse energy. But I now know my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. Please, lift your head so I can see you (Y/N).”

Your gaze meets Suguru’s soft eyes and warm smile. Both genuine and kind. His eyes widen before returning back to soft when he sees the tears trickling down for your lovely eyes he could get lost in. You stumble to stand, practically pouncing at Suguru. His embrace was like gates opening for you and closing once you entered. You softly sob into his robes as he holds you tightly. Comforting you by gently rubbing your back and hair, giving a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I missed you so much, Suguru!” was all you said before you continued to sniffle and hiccup into him.

Suguru hums as he pulls away to better view your face. You felt self-conscious as he lovingly gazed at you. Your nose and cheeks were raw from crying, and your eyes became an irritated red. Suguru smiles, wiping away your endless tears with his thumb.

“Oh, (Y/N). I’m sorry for leaving you behind. You understand, don’t you? From my letter?”

You nodded to respond. Holding the paper in front of Suguru. He notices the tear stains and ink smudges from the words he wrote down.

“I would’ve told you in person, (Y/N). Believe me. But I couldn't once they announced my charges. You would’ve been questioned as a possible accomplice. I didn’t want that for you. Do you know what it means for you to see me now?”

“Yes, I’m aware. But I left of my own accord; it wasn’t just for you, Suguru. I wouldn’t be able to last long if I stayed. So I decided to go, leaving it behind, all of it.”

He was a bit puzzled by what you meant. But it didn’t take long for him to piece it himself. Suguru figured something happened between you and Satoru but decided to stay silent out of respect. You both stare with relief and tenderness. Suguru gingerly takes your hand and places a light kiss on your knuckles. You set your unoccupied hand on his cheek, quietly giggling as Suguru leans into your delicate touch. He sighed in contentment. Bring your hand up again to kiss it as he wraps his free arm around your waist. His sincere smile radiates down onto you.

“I guess we have some catching up to do then, (Y/N).”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru was in a better mood today than before.

Satoru cooled off his head after a couple of days from when he made that outburst at you.  He was stressed and tired of being continuously sent out on missions, and you did make a point that he hasn’t taken a break in months. He remembered what he said to you that evening, which made him feel guilty.

He knows he hasn’t been around because the higher-ups have sent him out like a work dog. It was now you and Shoko with him. The stabilization you two had on him once Suguru left.

You’ve been only trying to help him for a long time. Being there for him in your own way while coaxing him to hang out. Yet he took it for granted and said some vile things because his bucket decided to overflow then out of all the times it shouldn’t. You didn’t deserve that. You also didn’t deserve the silent treatment he gave you. He saw your text messages and listened to the voicemails you left. He did not answer because he was too prideful and stubborn to admit he was stressed and hurt you like that.

But sitting with his emotions and reflecting on how stupid he is for prioritizing his ego, he decided to cut down his pride and make it up to you. He unblocked your number and was going to call you. But he chose to just surprise you instead he chickened out. Satoru knew the European mission was a nuisance to his plans, so he had already taken care of it. By that, Satoru somehow teleported himself to where he needed to be in Europe, slayed the high-level curses, retrieved some curse objects, reported what he did, and teleported back to Japan in four hours.

He did all this at the last minute on the sixth day before Satoru was supposed to leave. He did this to stay and spend the whole week with you, make up for lost time, and give a proper apology.

Now, Satoru was strolling through Jujutsu Tech. He whistles as he holds a bouquet of (favorite flowers), a box with a (favorite color) bracelet with (favorite designs/charms), and a bag of mochi and daifuku for you two to share together. He walks around the grounds, trying to search you. He was told no classes today, so he went to your favorite spots. You weren’t anywhere.

‘Huh, that’s strange. (Y/N) would usually be in those places when class is not in session. I wonder where she could be.’

Satoru thought about dropping by your dorm but figured you were with Shoko. On the other hand, he couldn’t sense Shoko around either until Satoru felt it alongside Yaga-sensei. He sensed them in Yaga’s building, so he headed there.

Blissfully unaware of what would await him. 

Satoru clutches your gifts to one side as he opens the door to enter. His six eyes hadn’t kicked in yet, but something in the air felt off. His sun smile hasn’t dropped yet as he scans around, wondering why the two were quiet when he entered.

“Yo, Yaga-sensei, Shoko! I’ve been trying to look for you guys. By any chance know where (Y/N) is so I can give these to her?”

He looks at his teacher, and Satoru’s demeanor instantly changes. There, Yaga stood with his glasses off, clutching a piece of paper with a stern frown. Satoru turns to Shoko, a somber expression replacing her lighthearted one. Satoru just looked back and forth between the two before his eyes settled on the paper in his teacher’s hand. Satoru stands stunned, hearing his heartbeat in his ears grow louder and louder. The air from his lungs disappeared as realization dawned on him. 

Satoru clenched his teeth as he teleported to your dorm room, the clap resonating throughout the hall. He burst open your dorm door, and to his horror, your room was empty. The room was stripped of everything that made it yours. The closet and drawers were emptied, and your desk and bed were bare of anything from you. What used to be your dorm is now an empty dorm room, ready for the next person to claim it. He frantically looks around in hopes of finding any reminds of you.

Then, he spotted your old Jujutsu High uniform, laying neatly on top of your old desk. Satoru just stares, not daring to pick it up. Because if he did, he would’ve broken down. He can’t stay there anymore, to which he teleports back. He bears his pearly white teeth as he closes in on his teacher.

“Where the hell is (Y/N)?” Satoru lowly said.

“Gone, Satoru–”

“I know she’s gone! But where?! Why the hell is all her stuff gone?! Her room is completely empty!”

“Satoru,” Yaga tried calmly speaking, but he was clearly frustrated. “I know this is so sudden. But the (L/N)’s clan head said something came up with (Y/N), and they retrieved all her things. Her clan said they were going to deal with everything else.”

Satoru's breathing became staggered. He could hear it growing louder. He tried his best not to let his voice crack, but that made him angrier.

“Everything else? The hell does that mean, sensei? Why would the (L/N) clan withdraw (Y/N) from school?! School ends in a few weeks! She could have graduated with us!”

“It…wasn’t their decision, Satoru…It was (Y/N)’s…”

Suddenly, Satoru became flabbergasted. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This gotta be some twisted, cruel joke that was playing on him. His curse energy was flaring up, and his cerulean eyes lit lightly. The flowers from the bouquet were losing their petals, and his bag full of treats was getting smushed from his intense grip.

“What…?”

“The clan head said it themselves.”

“No…”

“She decided not to be a Jujutsu Sorcerer and leave Jujutsu society.”

“LIKE HELL SHE WOULD!!!” Just like that, everything came crashing down for Satoru. Not being in your usual spots on campus, the empty dorm; hell, he noticed your curse residuals becoming faint. The traces of them becoming weaker and weaker. Your presence here in Jujutsu High was fading faster than he could notice. The anger he built up showed itself as it was on full display. Honestly, Yaga and Shoko don’t blame him for his outburst. Satoru held you close, after all.

“Satoru, please.” Yaga pinches the bridge of his nose as he clenches his teeth. “I’m just as lost as you are. This came out of the blue…Her clan confirmed it, and she said it herself.”

Satoru slightly flinches when Yaga holds the paper out towards him. Gesturing for Satoru to take it.

“I didn’t read far into this because it felt like (Y/N) wanted someone else to read it.”

Satoru’s long fingers snatched the paper out of his teacher’s hands. His hands shake as he opens the paper up to see its contents.

It was a letter–from you.

His eyes slowly followed the words of your neatly written goodbye. His heart rips itself piece by piece as he continues reading. The guilt and shaming grew. He could feel the fatigue and jadedness from your thoughts. But the last paragraph makes Satoru’s heart hurt the worst. Your frustration was transformed into desperation for a new life, a fresh start. Away from the endless curses and scrutiny of the higher-ups, away from the pain and hopelessness, away from it all. You didn’t want to throw your life away. You just wanted to live. Then, you end the letter with an apology. Saying sorry because you couldn’t tell them your honest thoughts, for not facing them in your departure, for not trying hard enough for everyone when it was needed. Then, the last line of your apology made Satoru’s blood run cold.

‘Most of all, I’m sorry for being weak.’

He knew that line was for him 100 percent. You wouldn’t have written it down if he didn’t tell you. To Satoru, you weren’t supposed to be the one apologizing. It should be him. He was the one who yelled at you and said those cruel and discouraging things to you. The one who pushed you away and didn’t allow you a chance to help. Fuck, he had the audacity to use his infinity against you. How dare he do that to you, his best friend the girl he fell in love with. His teeth clenched so hard out of pure anger they could crack. The anger he felt for himself was tremendous. He was angry at Suguru, the higher-ups, and Jujutsu Society. Angry at himself for being so stubborn and prideful, for waiting too long to act and apologize. But above all else, he was angry at what had become of the situation. Fully knowing he could do nothing to change anything as already was set in stone.

If he hadn’t been so prideful, he would’ve apologized to you sooner. If he didn’t blow up at you, you wouldn't become broken and hurt. If only he didn’t push you away, maybe you would have stayed– stayed by his side. But ‘if onlys’ are regrets from the past of the current reality. Now, he is living in it with the consequences of his own actions.

This is the price Satoru had to pay. He lost the only remnant that got him through this world by pushing you away. He lost his only two best friends in the world with no way of fixing it. 

The price of becoming the strongest came at the expense of two of his most dearest friends.

Suguru was gone.

You were gone.

Forever with no signs of ever coming back to him. 

In the end, Satoru Gojo was, truly, alone.

[marksmelodies]

I need like need a fic for your last jisung post when the members still think he's a virgin and he brings his gf over and the members are playing games and suddenly hearing moaning from Jisung room thinking it's just him and they open the door (to tell him to quite down but also to embarrass) seeing his gf on top of him

yess omg i love this idea!! i hope you enjoy

warnings: mentions of sex, sexual intercourse, cussing

minors dni

“hey baby” jisung says opening the door to his dorm as you take your shoes off and shed a layer of clothes due to the cold winter weather outside the walls of the heated dorm, you follow jisung into his room, as you pass the living room the boys are too focused on the game they’re playing to notice your presence, once you get to jisungs room you close the door behind you before engulfing your boyfriend into a big hug “i missed you” your voice is muffled as you hug him “i missed you more babe” he says lifting your chin to look up to him as he places a kiss on your lips before dragging you to the bed

the night before

“idk man i just feel like i can’t have sex unless i’m in love with the person, i can’t do hook ups” mark says drunkenly as the rest of the guys share their opinions “im in a dry spell right now, i feel like im going crazy, i haven’t had pussy in over a year” haechan groans. the boys had just come back from tour the night before, with jet lag still in their system none of them could go to sleep, the members decided to drink together. that’s how they got on the topic of their sex lives

“jisung you’re so lucky you’re still a virgin, once you know how it feels to have sex you’re done for, it’s addictive” jaemin states as the rest of them drunkenly agree

jisung didn’t say anything, he wasn’t drunk, he was a little tipsy but not enough to lose control of himself, he sat there repeating what jaemin had said “do they really think i’m still a virgin?” he asked himself trying to wrap his brain around it

jisung has been in a pretty long term relationship for the past three years, and although he never told his members about his sex life he thought it was safe to assume that at this point in his relationship with you it was obvious that he was no longer a virgin

“ji” you wave your hand across his face to gain back his attention “yeah” he sits up looking at you “you were staring into space” you giggle scooting closer to him as the movie you had chose plays on the screen, the two of you cuddling together in bed made jisung slightly turned on especially after not seeing you for a while since he was on tour but when your place your hand on his lower abdomen is when jisung loses all control of himself, he turns his head looking at you as you watch the television, jisung begins to kiss your neck and trace shapes into your inner thigh “god you’re so pretty baby” he whispers against your neck sending shivers down your spine, jisung pulls your jeans and your panties off leaving you completely bare from the waist down he then inserts his middle finger into your pussy causing you to gasp at the sudden action, jisung locks eyes with you before adding another finger as you try to hold back your moan “i gotta prep you baby, i haven’t seen you in so long, i have to make sure you can still take me” he kisses you again, you take his shirt off along with yours leaving you now completely naked “im ready ji, i need you” you whisper kissing his lips as you straddle his waist grinding your hips down onto his hard cock “fuck baby i’ll cum in my pants if you keep this up” he chuckles moving you aside quickly to pull his pants and boxers down causing his dick to spring up hitting his stomach “i always forget how big you are” you smerk at him before lining your hole to his member as you slowly sink down into him causing jisung to softly moan, you stay still for a moment getting used to his size before moving your body up and down his shaft “fuck oh my god” jisung moans as you bounce on his dick, he takes one of your boobs into his mouth sucking and biting on it, the bed slightly squeaks at your actions

on the other side of the wall the boys sit on the couch hearing jisungs whimpers “no way he’s jerking off in there” chenle laughs as the rest of the boys have a shit eating grin on their faces “ let’s go infiltrate and tell him to keep his volume down” haechan says laughing, the six of them come up with a plan to walk in on jisung “let’s embarrass the fuck out of him” chenle laughs as they all silently pile around jisungs door. chenle quickly swings the door open as they all shove into the room

to their surprise you are completely naked on top of your boyfriend who’s dick is inside of you, jisung quickly rolls over covering you both with the blanket “ what the fuck guys, are you fucking stupid or something” jisung says “holy shit” “oh my god” “we are so sorry” the members say scurrying out of the room closing the door behind them “ jisung has sex?” jaemin questions as they stand in the hallway trying to wrap their heads around what they just witnessed, jisung opens up the door in nothing but his boxers “seriously what’s your issue” he whisper yells to them as they stand outside his door “you’re not a virgin?” renjun blurts out, jisung furrows his eyebrows looking back at you who is still laying on the bed and then looking back to the members “no obviously not, i haven’t been a virgin since i started dating y/n three years ago” he says annoyed, the members stand there shocked “you’ve been sexually active for three years why didn’t you tell us?” mark asks “unlike you guys i like to keep my sex life private” jisung sighs “could you please just let me continue having sex with my girlfriend” he begs the members “yeah dude of course” they all say before jisung shuts the door. “i’m sorry babe, this is why i don’t like fucking in the dorms” jisung walks back over to you “ it’s okay ji, i just can’t believe they thought you were still a virgin” you laugh “yeah they’re idiots, could we maybe continue what we were doing?” he asks as you nod, smashing your lips onto his