#and a very slow burn of having to be civil with each other to lovers. or something boring like that

[902186]

thinking about kurapika and chrollo and parallels and this circle of horrors where they are the victims AND the tools of their fates.

they both think they are neither or more like they don't care about it at all. they don't see themselves as victims, and they see absolutely no other way to live other than this role they took upon themselves. kurapika had such a strong sense of identity and what he wanted to do with his life and understands himself perfectly at all times. he was a part of his clan, but he was more an individual than anything else. kuroro, on the other hand, never knowing, never thinking what his motives are, deliberately not understanding himself and desperately holding on to the spider. he can't be an individual but with others, he can be the spider.

and for both of them, it all started on vengeance. kurapika abandoned himself in order to become a tool, a weapon, to avenge his clan, and to collect scarlet eyes. he stopped being himself and became his people. kuroro didn't know his family, didn't know where he actually came from, didn't know who he was or what he was supposed to be. so growing up in meteor city, he held on to his people strongly. and in order to avenge and protect his people, he would become a tool, a weapon, he would give himself to them. he started being himself as he became his people.

kuroro could be something for his people. and kurapika could be nothing for his people.

kurapika took on the role of judgement for vengeance. kuroro took on the role of villain for vengeance. kurapika acted his part by diminishing everything he was, and kuroro acted his part by filling up his identity with it.

but one thing stays clear and fixed with them throughout it all. they would do anything for their people. for whomever they consider their people. "he'll put his friends before his mission." a weakness kuroro sees in kurapika so quickly and so easily. but the same thing he considers a strength in himself. "i am not your top priority. it is the spider that must be kept alive." as long as his people are alive, his identity will live on. and as long as kurapika is alive, his people’s identity will live on.

"now you will get to experience the pain of losing your home." kuroro (and the spiders) killing the kurta clan set this parallel in motion for himself as the circle began for kurapika. and (speculatively) kurta clan hurting his people was what set the circle in motion for kuroro, too. now thinking about where they are in the story and how their end could be, it is very clear that they are finally ending up in a place where they mirror each other (as they have from the beginning) and they can recognise it in each other and themselves. kurapika ending up empty after his mission and kuroro ending up empty after losing spiders. both of them purposeless and with no self left outside of it. in a way, this is how the circle ends. "i can hear that he accepted death." they walk with death every day with no fear and full acceptance and after losing the only thing they live for, not even something they hold on to because they don't see a point in being alive outside of the fact that they must keep going for their people, for their purpose, and if not then there's no reason to exist, they are meaningless.

kuroro's vengeance left kurapika all alone, with everyone he knew dead, and feeling hollow at the end. by fate, he ended up all alone, with everyone he knew dead and feeling hollow at the end.

and at that point, they will have to start a new page and build a new self for themselves.

[kunasthiast]

champagne problems (part 1)

summary: Golf clubs, generational wealth (and trauma), and a childhood friendship that aged like milk. Everything is hell with Sukuna... especially if you had relapses of the memories that made you emotionally constipated for the last 12 fucking years. pairings: sukuna x reader (female) cw: crack fic! (pls don't take this srsly), one-sided enemies to lovers, slow-burn, delusional denial, aggressively coded sexual tension, french toast, suggestive content words: 17.1k (had to cut in parts since i've got too much words)

It’s either the universe has a twisted sense of humor or you were abandoned by it. Really. Of all the people in this planet, in this country, and in this obscenely, soul-sucking, beige-coded, stepford-smiling gated community, you had to be stuck with him. 

Sukuna.

That pink-haired bastard with more money than god and an ego large enough to have its own gravitational pull. For the love of strawberries and all things sacred, he’s a narcissistic, cocky asshole that you refuse to be associated with. For years now, actually. And he, by the way, just happened to be your self-proclaimed mortal enemy.

You’ve known him forever—since diapers, actually, thanks to your parents being disgustingly close. (Money and golf, as they say, deepen relationships and ruin offspring). Back then, it was you, Sukuna, and Gojo: inseparable, chaotic, and constantly banned from formal events for “behavioral disruption.”

Then came college. And oh, college. A series of very questionable decisions – booze, bad judgment, and that one summer you both agreed to never mention again. The one where tequila blurred every line you swore you’d never cross. Let’s just say, some boundaries were… explored. Poorly.

And of course, to top it all off: a stupid, petty fight that led to a rift in your friendship. Now, you’re both single parents, stumbling through young adulthood with a baby on each hip. You, with your son. Him, with his daughter.

Minimal contact is the unspoken rule. Occasional passive-aggressive exchanges at neighborhood meetings (gods, this is a cookie-cutter suburban hell – why is every lawn looked like the golf course green?). Where the air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and thinly veiled judgment, and every conversation was a subtle competition for the best-manicured lawn and the most successful offspring. 

Forced civility at school (because, of course, your kids go to the same overpriced academy that call tests “challenges” and uniforms “identity expressions”), and you’re both contractually obligated to show up at family business functions, aka golf disguised as networking disguised as family bonding disguised as a pissing contest.

And, speaking of contests – you’ve been lock in one with Sukuna for years. Specifically, your annual power play at the PTA sponsorship table. One-upping each other in increasingly ridiculous ways because nothing fuels you more than spite.

But what’s life without being a little bitchy, right?

Unfortunately, karma – being the absolute bitch of life – decided that your kids would become best friends. Not casual playground pals. No. Soulmate-level best friends. The kind that build pillow forts with emotional depth. With the insistent sleepovers, shared inside jokes in their own weird language you’re 90% they invented, and referred to each other as siblings.

How did it happen? You have no fucking idea. 

Or maybe you do, you’re just in deep denial. Maybe it’s genetic. Maybe it’s some goddamn cosmic joke. Maybe the universe has you by the throat and won’t let go until it watches you suffer in 4K.

Not that you don’t love his daughter – she’s an absolute angel, the kind of sweet that makes dentists nervous. But her being your son’s BFF? That’s… inevitable. 

Especially in your tight, old-money-adjacent social circle. They’ve known each other since they were just wearing diapers, since they were teething on the same overpriced Montessori rattles. 

Just like you and Sukuna. 

Except this time, it’s different. Because their friendship demands one thing: coexistence. You and that tattoed-to-the-gods asshole had been forced to coexist. Again, coexist.

And Sukuna? Oh no, he doesn’t do coexisting. Nah. Nope. Never. He breaks balance. He thrives on chaos. He gets off on making your life just inconvenient enough to ruin your peace, but not enough to justify a felony charge.

And this morning? This godforsaken Saturday morning? He outdid himself.

Twelve years of passive-aggressive parenting – scratch that, thirty-three years of slow-burn emotional warfare – have led to this moment. This may just be his masterpiece.

Because this was when the relapse started—and Sukuna made damn sure you felt every inch of it.

The first thing you register at seven-fucking-A.M. is the sound of something dying. Violently. It’s mechanical. Obnoxious. It sounds like a robot lawnmower from hell just met its end outside your bedroom window.

The second thing you register? Pure, unfiltered rage.

Your eyes snap open like you’ve just been slapped by God himself. That noise—it’s outside. Your house. Your lawn.

You lurch out of bed like a woman possessed – dazed, furious, still marinating in last night’s sleep deprivation, because of course you were up ’til 3 AM binge-watching that dumb dating show where someone literally said “Montoya, por favor,”. You then grabbed your pillow and screamed into it for ten minutes. Regret? Never heard of her.

You barely register the cool cling of your La Perla silk sleepwear against your skin as you stomp toward the window. One violent yank later—

And there it is. Not a noise. But, a nuisance. Him. Sukuna.

Shirtless. (Is that not a violation of at least three HOA rules?) Smirking. Holding a hedge trimmer like he’s auditioning for a cologne commercial that probably ends with “Dior Sauvage: For Men Who Deserve Jail.”

You’ve seen him shirtless before. Too many times. College. His apartment. Your apartment. That goddamn couch in the frat house that probably caused seven diseases just by looking at it. Heat. A lot of teeth. Chaos. And him tracing lazy circles on your back like he was trying to memorize you. The worst part? You let him.

The morning sun, which used to mean peace and lattes, now glints off the sheen of sweat on his stupid, tattooed chest—each muscle cut like it was carved by demons with a thirst for drama. His pink hair is tousled just so—purposefully chaotic, like the universe made him hot just to personally ruin your life.

And then you see it. What used to be your hedge. You blink once. Then again. No change.

Your lush, lovingly imperfect, expensive-as-shit privet hedge is gone. Vaporized. Replaced by a row of cold, surgically shaved shrubs that look like a serial killer’s idea of curb appeal. Your eye twitches.

As if summoned by your fury, Sukuna glances up. His crimson eyes gleaming with the kind of chaotic joy that only thrives on your rage – or maybe something else. That look – the one he gave you at 2AM on your billion-dollar couch the night you swore it was a one-time thing. The one that said, “I’d ruin you if you let me.” And you let him. Back then. Right before shit got complicated. Right before you woke up next to him and pretended that everything’s normal as fuck. Again. 

He knows what this is doing to you. And that annoyingly smug bastard does this all with a smirk. A slow, wolfish, go-ahead-lose-your-mind kind of smirk.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he mouths. Oh, of course. You can lip-read him. Of course you can. Curse your stupid subconscious for prioritizing Sukuna Fluency over Spanish.

You inhale deeply. Try to center yourself. Failing that, you simply open the door like you’re kicking off Act One of a Greek tragedy. No robe. No shoes. No dignity. Just you, rage, and a whole lot of leg.

“Sukuna,” you bark, voice rasping like vengeance incarnate.

He doesn’t flinch. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, he turns, casually leaning on the hedge trimmer like he’s posing for The Bachelor: War Criminal Edition.

“Oh. You’re up early,” he drawls. His eyes flick downward—just for a second, but long enough to set your entire nervous system on fire.

“You—” You gesture wildly toward the massacre formerly known as your hedge. “What the actual fuck did you do?”

Sukuna squints at the row of plant corpses like a man admiring the Louvre, “Landscaping,” he says.

“That was my hedge.”

“It was an ugly hedge.”

You nearly combust. “Are you clinically insane?!”

He finally turns fully to face you, crimson eyes gleaming with the kind of chaotic joy that only thrives on female rage. “Don’t be dramatic. It looks better now.”

“Better?!” you screech. “It looks like it was done by Hannibal Lecter with a pair of OCD scissors!”

Sukuna hums. “You’re welcome.”

You take one murderous step forward. “You owe me a new hedge.”

“I gave you a new hedge.”

“I will burn this entire street down.”

His grin widens, predatory. “Might wanna change out of that nightie first, sweetheart. Fire hazard.”

You freeze. That’s when it hits you. The air. The breeze. The sudden realization that you are—very much—standing in front of Satan in La Perla silk.

Short. Bare. Clingy. Absolutely illegal in three states. Straps like dental floss. Chest support? None. Coverage? Legally negligible. Your arms fly up like someone just yelled “freeze!”

And Sukuna? Oh, he notices. He notices everything. His gaze drags over you slowly, hungrily, with the smug satisfaction of a man who knows exactly the effect he has.

“Nice outfit,” he murmurs. “All for me, babe?”

Your soul? Gone. Astral projected. Witnessed its own murder. And a tiny, traitorous part of your brain, the part you usually kept locked in a soundproof room, whispered, ‘Yep.' You crushed that traitorous voice with the force of a thousand suns.

“Shut up,” you hiss, spinning on your heel like a scandalized Disney princess on the verge of committing a felony.

“Don’t be shy now,” he calls after you, laughter rumbling from his chest like a goddamn villain. 

“Come back! Let’s negotiate... hedge replacements. Or anything else you’re aching to trim.”

You slam the door so hard you hear a bird scream outside.

And you? You launch yourself face-first into the couch like a woman wronged by fate, God, and the HOA.

Because of that man. Because of Ryomen. Fucking. Sukuna. Because your life is a telenovela and that devil is hot and ruining your lawn.

Your theatrical death scene is cut short by the sound of a small, sleepy voice.

“Mom?” You freeze.

Riku, your 12-year old son, stands in the hallway, looking like he’s fought a pillow and lost. Pajama shirt backward.  One sock. A feather in his hair?

He squints. Then pauses. “Why are you yelling? It’s Saturday.”

You try to pull yourself together, smoothing down your very not-child-appropriate sleepwear and flattening your hair like that’ll help.

“Nothing,” you say. Too fast. Too high-pitched. Too guilty.

Riku eyes you. Then the door. Then back to you. “Mom, why are you dressed like that?”

Your soul flatlines. “I—no reason. Go to bed.”

“It’s seven in the morning.”

“AND?!”

He sighs like he pays taxes and you’re the child here. “Did you fight with Papa again?”

Your brain short-circuited. “Papa?”

He yawns. “Unckuna said I should call him that. Since we’re like family.”

Something in your chest twists. He said that? The same man who claims relationships are just complicated sleepovers with taxes? The one who ghosted you emotionally mid-snuggle and then had the audacity to joke about building IKEA furniture “as a team”? The one who doesn’t even believe in relationships (more like… you both don’t) that last longer than a lease. 

And now he’s out here playing pretend dad to your son? Like he didn’t once whisper the word “ours” into your neck and pretend it was a joke.

You see white. You see God. You see the void. You also see a very expensive therapy bill forming in your future.

“That man is NOT your father,” you snarl.

“He also said your hedge looked like a haunted broccoli. With trust issues.”

“HE MURDERED MY HEDGE.”

Riku shrugs. “It was kinda ugly.”

You gasp. “It was tastefully whimsical!”

Then your phone buzzes.

[Do Not Answer]: good morning, sweetheart. hope you’re still wearing that cute little nightie. you always looked best in silk. see u later 😘

You stare at the screen like it personally offended you. Then briefly consider throwing your phone out the window. Or yourself. Unfortunately, your insurance doesn’t cover “Sukuna-related injuries” or emotional trauma due to unsolicited thirst traps and flirty, horny, late-stage situationship texts. 

Because he’s done this before—flirting like it’s harmless, like it doesn’t drag old memories up from the basement where you thought you buried them under shame, sarcasm, and 12 years of pretending you don’t miss him. The way his hand used to fit in yours, the ghost of his lips on your neck, the memory of his laugh echoing in your apartment, a laugh you hadn't heard in person for years. All of it was buried, but the soil was thin.

You scream into the couch cushion like you’re dying on a battlefield. And worse than shame, deeper than anger, in the dark corners of your soul, is the memory of liking it.

“Ew,” Riku mutters. “Do I have to hear about your weird grown-up drama?”

“IT’S NOT WEIRD DRAMA.”

Riku gives you a long, tired look. “Mom.”

“What?!”

He points to the phone. “I know you like him.”

Your entire soul dissolves into steam.

Despite the fact that he just ruined your precious Saturday morning with this hedge incident and a completely inappropriate message to send to your ‘co-parent’, Sukuna was moving on with his day. Specifically, he was cooking breakfast like some domestic menace in his obnoxiously sleek, state-of-the-art kitchen that looked like it belonged in the magazine spread of Architectural Digest.

Because unlike most rich assholes, Sukuna didn’t trust personal chefs. People spit in food. People sneezed in food. People existed near food, which was already bad enough. So, every morning, he cooked his own. For him and his daughter. Without fail. And since it was Saturday, that meant one thing: big breakfast.

Which also meant, thanks to the unfortunate circumstances of your life, you and Riku would be there too. Because in a twist of cosmic cruelty, his daughter Keiko had long ago declared that Saturday breakfast at her dad’s house was sacred tradition. 

And Riku, the traitor, had readily agreed. Of course he did. The two of them had been best friends since they were in kindergarten, and you? You were just along for the ride. Fuck it, right?

Keiko, same age as Riku, stomped into the kitchen like she owned the place (she does, it’s her dad’s) – hair a tangled mess, eyes half shut, wearing an oversized My Melody pajama set like a gremlin princess.

“Daddy, what’s for breakfast?” She flopped onto a barstool, chin resting on her palm, already judging the pile of ingredients on the counter: eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, rice, miso soup, and a whole loaf of milk bread that was about to get French-toastified.

“Morning, princess. You’ve got drool,” Sukuna said, wiping her face with casual affection before returning to the stove, flipping eggs like a culinary showoff. She snorted. He hummed. 

Everything about this household was too chill. And that was his bragging right.

And now here you were, an hour later (mind you, it might already be 8:02AM). Not in your silk sleepwear now, but in your Loro Piana lounge set – a color-matching oversized hoodie and baggy sweatpants. In enemy territory. Sitting at his obnoxiously pristine kitchen island while the bane of your existence plated up French toast like he hadn’t just murdered your hedge in cold blood an hour ago and sent you a text message that would make Satan blush. Maybe you were Satan. Life was suffering.

You sat stiffly, stewing in silent rage, eating his stupidly delicious food in his stupidly perfect kitchen like the fool you were. Betrayed not just by your son, but by your taste buds.

Riku, of course, had zero shame. He was already seated next to Keiko, looking entirely far too comfortable as he reached over and swiped a piece of bacon from her plate.

“Hey!” She snapped. “That’s mine.”

Riku shrugged mid-bite with zero remorse. “Now it’s mine.”

Keiko kicked him under the table.

Sukuna – ever the type to let kids settle their own beef like unsupervised wolf cubs – didn’t even flinch. Like everything's perfectly normal. But his eyes, for a flicker, held a strange intensity as he watched you, a glint that wasn't just amusement. He simply set a plate in front of you, stacked high with French toast, bacon, and disgustingly perfect scrambled eggs. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in close – voice infuriatingly close to your ear and a sin against sanity.

“Eat up, sweetheart,” he murmured, smug as ever. “Wouldn’t want you getting lightheaded from all that screaming this morning.”

Your fork nearly snapped in half. 

Keiko, sensing the chaos brewing, quickly changed the subject.

“Daddy,” she said, perking up, “Riku and I are gonna work on our science project later, ‘kay?”

Sukuna sat down, completely unbothered. “What is it?”

“A volcano model,” Keiko said proudly.

Sukuna arched a brow. “Lame.”

Keiko glared. “It’s for school!”

He snorted. “What happened to building a flamethrower?”

You nearly choked. Nope, you choked on your French toast.

Riku’s eyes lit up. “Wait, we can do that?”

“No,” You snapped, pointing your fork at Sukuna. “Absolutely not. Do NOT encourage them.”

Sukuna smirked, utterly unrepentant, and shrugged. “Relax, sweetheart. I wouldn’t let them  build an unsafe flamethrower.”

Your stared at him in disbelief. “There is no such thing as a safe flamethrower.”

The kids immediately started whispered like they were plotting something completely unhinged.

You took a long, deep breath. One problem at a time.

Right now, your biggest issue was pretending this breakfast wasn’t delicious. Which, unfortunately, it very much was. It was fucking amazing. Yeah, you’re easily pleased when it comes to food. But giving Sukuna even an ounce of satisfaction? Absolutely not. So, you settled for silent suffering, stabbing your fork into your French toast with unnecessary force.

Sukuna, because he was the devil incarnate, noticed. Obviously. Because the pink-haired menace always noticed.

“Good?” He asked, smirking.

You chewed aggressively. “No.”

Riku, your traitor of a child, spoke with his mouth full. “It’s really good.”

Keiko nodded, licking syrup off her fork. “Yeah, Daddy’s food is always the best.”

Sukuna looked insufferably pleased with himself. You swallowed your pride with the same intensity you swallowed that stupidly fluffy French toast. It was almost worth selling your soul for. Mind it, almost. This man could burn in hell. Preferably after breakfast.

Some time the next week, you were sprawled on the couch, half-dead after surviving what felt like a thousand back-to-back meetings. Thank God you work from home, and thank heavens it’s the family’s generational business. You could’ve been stuck in some sterile office with fluorescent lights, but nope, you're chilling at home, in your luxurious chaos. Oh, and did you mention it’s old money and generational wealth? Yeah, that kind of wealth. It’s a blessing… or a curse. Honestly, it depends on the day.

It was a Tuesday evening, and you were half-heartedly flipping through Netflix, trying to figure out which rom-com would match your mood. Naturally, you were leaning toward something unhinged and wildly unrealistic – you know, peak escapism… because why not? Maybe something classic with Matthew McConaughey, who was inescapably charming, or Hugh Grant with that disarming, floppy hair of his. Adam Sandler was also on the table, because who doesn’t love his chaotic, awkward brand of comedy? Basically something that might almost restore your faith in the idea that true love could be both absurd and beautiful. Almost.

Then, the door opened, and in walked your son, back from school.

And no – you don’t fetch him. Not when your smug, self-appointed savior of a neighbor has been picking him up for years now. Five, to be exact. Something about “Tch. We’re neighbors and they’re best friends – I should just do it instead of a fucking driver,” as if that was the most obvious and safest solution (no kidnaps, right?) in the world. Well, it is.

You didn’t even argue. Why would you? Free childcare and no afternoon traffic? That’s a win. You don’t argue with that kind of magic.

“How’s school?” you asked, still scrolling through the abyss of movie options.

Riku kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag by the door with the grace of a well-raised (you raised him) gremlin. “Fine,” he called, heading straight for the fridge. “We had a math quiz. I killed it.”

“Good job, baby genius,” you said, eyes still glued to your television as you scrolled through rom-coms. You finally hovered over How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, thumb on the remote paused mid-air. “So, steak or sushi for dinner?”

“Nah, Papa said we might do burgers tonight.”

You blinked.

“Wait – what?”

“Yup,” Riku said, nonchalantly tearing into a kunafa pistachio chocolate bar and zero shame. “He said if I finished my homework early, he’d take us to that place with the crazy milkshakes and the gold leaf fries.”

Your jaw dropped. Turned slowly at your child. Offended.

“You’re making dinner plans with him? Without me?”

Riku, blissfully unaware of the storm he was causing, crunched into the chocolate bar. “I mean… yeah? It’s Papa. He plans everything better than you do anyway.”

You gasped, obviously scandalized by your son’s betrayal. Clutching your chest in exaggeration with an, “Excuse me?!”

Before you could fully process your son’s betrayal, your phone buzzed with a FaceTime call. A FaceTime call. From your mother. Red flag. Big red flag.

She always call through FaceTime if it was a serious business to discuss. Like weddings. Or funerals. Or your personal life, which she had no business being involved in.

You almost didn’t answer, but curiosity—and the very real possibility of her forcing a conversation about your non-existent love life—compelled you to pick up.

The screen flashed, and suddenly, your mother’s entire face filled your phone, her expression beaming with suspicious delight.

“Hi, sweetheart!” she chirped, like didn’t just interrupt your most sacred of moments — talking with your son who clearly forgot that you have to eat dinner too.

“What’s wrong?” You narrowed your eyes, instantly suspicious.

Her smile widened. Uh-oh. You knew that smile. It’s an all-too-familiar sign that something – something – was very, very wrong. It’s a trap. Oh my god, why the fuck did you answer it? You could practically hear your sanity slowly crumbling.

Your father’s voice rumbled from somewhere off-screen. “Is that her?”

Your mother turned the camera. And there he was – your father – glowing with smug satisfaction, reading the newspaper like a man preparing to ruin your peace. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted, not even bothering to look up. “How’s Sukuna?”

You blacked out, “WHAT?”

“Oh, your father and I just had the loveliest brunch with him yesterday,” your mother practically sang the words, her voice dripping with way too much enthusiasm.

Your brain short-circuited, processing. “You—what?”

“Brunch,” she repeated slowly, as if you were some kind of idiot who didn’t know what brunch was. “At that little place by the golf course! You know, the one with the fresh strawberry tarts? We were so surprised when Sukuna walked in! And oh, sweetheart—he insisted on paying.”

“Even the wine,” your father added, flipping a page, and still not looking up from his paper.

You stared, horrified. Yep, your entire existence is crumbling in real time.

“No. No, no, no. What the hell were you two doing having brunch with Sukuna?!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” She waved a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t planned! We were there. He was there – fate, darling. Fate.”

Your father set down his paper and finally looked at you like the sage old man he was. “He’s a good man.”

Oh my god. You fought the urge to throw your phone across the room.

Your mother sighed a long, dreamy exhale that belonged to a teenage girl meeting her favorite boyband, not a grown woman discussing your literal neighbor. Your self-proclaimed enemy.

“Oh, sweetheart, he’s just so charming and thoughtful! He even asked how we were, how you were, how Riku was—” She paused, giving you that look. "He even asked about your garden. Said he was sorry about the hedge. And then he asked what kind of flowers you liked.”

Sukuna… apologized? And asked about your favorite flowers? A memory flickered – Sukuna, years ago, nursing you back to health after a particularly bad tequila night, carefully placing a bouquet of spider lilies (your favorite, but you never told him) on your bedside table. And now, a pang of something that felt suspiciously like longing hit you. But no. Deny, deny, deny. Lock it down the deepest vault.

“Mom.”

“— and honestly, it’s just so rare these days. A man with such good manners…”

“Mom. We’re neighbors.”

“And handsome, too! I mean, obviously, we always knew that, but now—”

“MOM.”

Your father nodded, the sagely figure of a man who had clearly seen things.  “Still a shame he’s not yet married.”

You swore you were about to die or throw yourself off a cliff. You weren’t picky at this point.

Your mother giggled. That dangerous giggle. The one that said she was absolutely about to dive into matchmaking hell. Everything is hell when it comes to everything with Sukuna involved.

“Mom, I swear to God, if you’re about to —”

“Oh, I just think it’s such a shame you two never worked out!”

You screamed in frustration.

Right at that moment, Riku poked his head in the camera. Of course. “Oh. Grandma’s talking about Papa again, huh?”

Your mother, ever the opportunist, perked up. “Oh, hi, sweetheart! Have you eaten? Did Uncle Sukuna pick you up from school?”

Riku flopped onto the couch, still munching on his chocolate bar and nonchalantly stealing one of your throw pillows that your leg was clearly hugging. “Yeah. We’re also gonna have burgers tonight! And gold-leaf fries.”

Your mother gasped. “Gold-plated?! Oh, see? Isn’t he wonderful?”

Riku shrugged. “I mean, yeah, he’s cool.”

Your soul left your body.

“Mom,” you said, voice shaking. “Please. I beg you. Stop.”

She only laughed. “Oh, darling, don’t be shy! You know, when I was your age, if a man looked at me the way Sukuna looks at you—”

“HANGING UP.”

“Wait—!”

Click.

You threw your phone onto the couch like it physically burned you. Riku, completely unfazed, finished his chocolate bar. How he finished it that fast was beyond you. Was he part vacuum cleaner?

“…So, mom,” he said, casually. “can I sleep over at Kei’s tonight?”

You grabbed the throw pillow and playfully smacked him with it.

Wednesdays. Hump days. The weird, middle child of the week. The day that usually smelled like stress and overpriced cold brews.

Normally, Wednesdays were crammed with back-to-back meetings: clients, your personal assistant, your shopping assistant (because, priorities), and the occasional emergency call from your hair stylist because your toner was apparently too warm. But, not today. 

Today was sacred.

Today was shopping day. A full, uninterrupted day of retail therapy. Chanel, Cartier, a suspiciously overpriced iced matcha with edible gold flakes—you earned this. 

You even texted your driver, Hiro, at 9 a.m. sharp to be on standby – like the responsible adult you occasionally pretend to be. Your credit cards warmed up like a Formula 1 engine, and all your favorite stores knew to roll out the metaphorical red carpet.

This Wednesday was going so well until Sukuna betrayed you.

You were still in your robe, smearing serum across your face like a rich house cat bathing in luxury, when your phone pinged. You glanced at the notification and felt your soul leave your body.

[Do Not Answer]: babe, I’m slammed with meetings [Do Not Answer]: mind picking up the kids today?

You stared. 

Blinked. 

And blinked again.

… Babe?

Babe.

Babe?!

The sheer audacity of that word nearly made you drop your gua sha.

He doesn’t call you babe. He never calls you babe. Well, that was years ago. But, he says “princess” with that smirk when he wants to piss you off, or “gorgeous” when he’s being annoyingly charming, and most of the times, lately, he calls you “sweetheart,” and you’re so ready to combust anytime. But babe?

Babe is sacred. Babe is relationship territory. Babe is dangerous. Babe is cruel. 

You could feel twelve years’ worth of buried feelings rattle like a demon in the basement of your emotional trauma house. You shoved them back down with professional precision.

This was a trap. A distraction. You needed to focus. And also... what meetings?!

You jabbed your fingers at the screen, rage typing like a woman possessed.

[You]: since when do you have afternoon meetings? especially on a wednesday?! [You]: this feels illegal [You]: actually, I feel scammed

He replied instantly. The man had the nerve to send:

[Do Not Answer]: lol

LOL?! Oh, he thinks this is funny? Your eye twitched.

[You]: what if I was busy? [Do Not Answer]: you’re not [You]: YOU DON’T KNOW THAT [Do Not Answer]: you literally told me you had nothing scheduled this week

Okay, he wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t the point. The point is: he’s a treacherous man-child who clearly weaponizes your schedule against him. He couldn’t just pull the “I’m busy” card on you like that anytime. Not on a Wednesday, when your shopping trip had been meticulously planned to indulge in luxury and self-care.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, itching to send him something even more venomous. But instead, you stared at the blinking cursor, sighed like a Victorian widow, and texted:

[You]: k

You groaned dramatically into your hands. Yeah, to hell with your skin care. You went back to your bedroom and flopped onto your bed and groaned into your 600-thread count pillow. Somewhere in the distance, a dramatic violin played for your suffering. You were going to have to endure the other moms. The PTA vultures. 

And possibly your own mother, who loved nothing more than materializing at school pickups like a judgmental ghost, armed with gossip and Sukuna-related questions.

Your phone buzzed again.

[Do Not Answer]: thanks, sweetheart. appreciate it ;) [You]: shut up

Hiro, your long-suffering driver and part-time therapist, was clearly thrilled by the unfolding drama.

“Madam,” he greeted, glancing at you through the mirror. “You look… thrilled.”

You scowled, sliding dramatically into the leather seat like a woman betrayed. “This is Sukuna's job. I’ve been scammed. I should sue him for emotional damages.”

“Is it really a scam,” Hiro asked diplomatically, “if he asked nicely?”

"He didn't ask nicely! He said lol. That’s verbal assault.”

Hiro hummed like he agreed, but he didn’t. Traitor.

When the car pulled into the school gates, it was like arriving at the frontline of a suburban battlefield. Mothers. Nannies. Personal bodyguards. Chauffeurs in black luxury cars. PTA moms who always dressed like they were going to brunch with the royal family.

And you?

You wore sweats, your old uni hoodie, and exactly zero makeup. You looked like the before picture in a glow-up video. But your diamond rings sparkled like hellfire – your only giveaway that you were rich as fuck. You weren’t broke, you were just done with these kinds of scene.

The judgment came fast. Some of the moms did that thing where they glanced at you, then whispered behind their hands. A few nannies gave you nods of respect, probably because you weren’t the usual “too-rich-to-function” type.

But the worst? 

Mrs. Yoshida.

PTA Queen Bee. Two-time “Mother of the Year” because she nominated herself. Three-time brunch committee president. The woman probably tried to trademark: “yummy mummy.” The woman who would call the manager at a fucking charity event. Her heels clicked on the pavement like judgment incarnate as she stalked toward you. 

"Oh,” she said, smiling that fake ‘I pity you’ smile. “It’s so nice to see you doing the school run for once!”

You blinked. Then smiled sweetly.

“Oh, and it’s so nice to see you still dressing like an overworked air hostess.”

Her smile dropped like the stock market is full of reds.

Hiro choked on his laughter.

But before the woman could recover from the verbal slap, you spotted the kids. Riku and Keiko. Standing side by side. Waiting. Hopeful. Clearly hopefully waiting for Sukuna to get them sundae on the way home.

Except when they saw you, that hope died.

Riku blinked, confused. To your horror, his face fell. Your son, your flesh and blood, is disappointed that you’re the one picking them up. This left you gaping in disbelief.

Then, Keiko turned. She titled her head with the slow horror of someone discovering they’d been served sparkling water instead of Sprite.

Basically, her entire soul left her body.

“…Where’s daddy?” she asked, peering into the Rolls like Sukuna was hiding in the glovebox.

“Busy,” you said.

Keiko looked physically ill with that word.

“So… you're picking us up?"

"Yes, Keiko."

"You?"

"YES, KEI. ME. GET IN THE CAR.” You’re controlling yourself with pure rage wrapped in customer and parenting service. Trying to remain calm as possible in front of all these judgmental PTA moms.

As they begrudgingly climbed in, you caught sight of Mrs. Yoshida again, watching the entire ordeal with the satisfied smirk of someone whose life is just a little bit less messy than yours. Yeah, you’ve had enough of this soul-sucking vibe. You just wanted to throw a juice box at her.

Once the doors shut, Riku sighed, dramatic as ever. “Well. This is awkward."

"Awkward?" you scoffed. “You’re disappointed in your own mother picking you up. That’s awkward.”

Keiko crossed her arms like a betrayed heiress. “Daddy always buys us ice cream after school.”

Riku leaned forward. "Yeah, Mom. You buying us ice cream?"

You looked between the two gremlins and then to Hiro, who was silently laughing in the front seat. You exhaled sharply, “…Fine.”

They cheered and you glared at these two gremlins.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I swear to God, if you two start rating me as a school-run parent—"

Keiko already had her little pink notebook out.

"You're at a 2 right now," she said, flipping open a page. "But ice cream might boost you to a 5.”

“Out of 5, right?” You said with a smile on your face, overly excited with the high-rating.

“No, out of 10.” Keiko nonchalantly said as she write on her pink notebook.

Your face fell with a what an actual fuck is happening reaction to everything around you.

Riku nodded. “Papa's still at a 9.8."

A 9.8?!

“What did he lose 0.2 for? Murder?” Clearly, you shouldn’t be near kids. But one of these kids is your son. So, yeah.

Riku shrugged. "He called my math homework stupid."

Keiko giggled. "Oh yeah! But then he bought you Jordans, so it’s okay."

You turned to Hiro, scandalized, “Are you hearing this? This is corruption. He’s bribing them.”

Hiro, looking at the road ahead, and with a perfectly straight face, just said, “It's a delicate ecosystem, madam. He plays the long game.”

You groaned.

And that was how you ended up at a drive-thru, buying two sundaes and one sad coffee. You, in the front seat, emotionally wrecked while your son and Sukuna's spawn ranked your parenting.

You finished at 2. Sukuna is still winning.

The moment you pulled into the driveway, your phone pinged.

[Do Not Answer]: how’d it go? [You]: ur child is a menace [You]: she ranked me like i was on the next top parent. a 2, sukuna. A DAMN TWO [Do Not Answer]: lmao [You]: this isn’t funny. ur evil tactics are spreading [Do Not Answer]: u just mad i’m winning parenthood [You]: i’m blocking u [Do Not Answer]: nahh u’re not

He was right. You scowled at your phone anyway. Before you could chuck your phone out the window, Riku turned to you.

“Can Kei sleep over?”

You blinked. “Didn’t she just rate me a TWO?!”

Keiko smiled sweetly. “It was just feedback, mama.” (You are not her mama. You’ve explained this. Repeatedly.)

Riku nodded sagely. "Yeah, Mom. Feedback’s important."

You squinted at your own son. And then stared at them both for this unbelievable situation of you being manipulated by these two gremlins.

Hiro (again, your driver) was full-on laughing now, no longer bothering to hide it.

"You know what?" you muttered, rubbing your temples. "No. No sleepovers. I’m officially clocking out as a parent today."

"Mama, no!” Keiko gasped.

“You gave me a two.”

Riku groaned. “Mom, you’re being dramatic.”

“You know what’s dramatic? Giving me a two, then immediately asking for a sleepover.”

Keiko huffed. "Fine. I’ll bump you to a five."

Riku crossed his arms. “You did buy us ice cream.”

"Are you guys seriously negotiating my score?"

Keiko beamed. "So that’s a yes?"

You sighed.

This was Sukuna’s fault. All of it.

"...Fine."

They cheered. Hiro, the traitor, just continued laughing in the front seat.

You ignored them all and pulled out your phone.

[You]: ur little gremlin just emotionally manipulated me into a sleepover [Do Not Answer]: that’s my girl [You]: come get her. i’m done parenting [Do Not Answer]: lmao no [You]: i hate u [Do Not Answer]: no you don’t ;)

You glared at the screen. This was Sukuna’s fault. All of it.

You were going to scream.

Or text him again.

Or maybe both.

But for now?

You needed wine. And maybe a therapist.

Golf was supposed to be a sport. A peaceful, relaxing Friday activity. Supposedly.

But no. Of course not. Why would anything in your life be peaceful? 

In your life, everything was a battlefield – including, but not limited to, your tragic excuse for golf skills, the stiletto-thin patience you’re currently wearing, and the fact that you’re stuck listening to old-money business jargon that sounds like it came out of a rejected Succession script. Or maybe Dynasty, you never know anymore.

At the stupidly pristine golf course, your dad stood with Wasuke (aka Sukuna’s dad, aka walking intimidation in pastel polos) and Jin (Sukuna’s twin, aka the lesser evil?). Their conversation smelled like money. Like old, generational, smells-like-the-inside-of-an-oak-safe-and-a-Ferrari-merged-wealth. The air around them crackled with hostile mergers and billion-dollar foreplay. 

Your sister was occasionally chimed in like she was born in a boardroom, and Gojo—another menace of the century with Sukuna — was playing both sides with the enthusiasm of a court jester who inherited a hedge fund.

Let’s be real: only three of you gave a single solitary shit about actual golf – you, Sukuna, and your mom. And your mom only cared because she once beat a CEO with a 7-iron and hasn’t emotionally recovered since.

The sun was bright. The grass was green. The vibe was hostile. And, you were already regretting your entire bloodline. Then, the worst voice known to mankind – smooth, smug, and utterly punchable – cut in from behind.

"You’re holding it wrong.” 

You turned your head so fast your neck cracked. “Can you shut up?"

Sukuna stood there, leaning on his golf club like he was auditioning for Rogue Billionaires Weekly, smirk carved across his face like he owned the damn country club. Spoiler: he might be. 

"Your stance is off. And your grip is fucking weak.” he said, voice mocking.

"My grip is fine, thank you.” Also, what the fuck even is a stance? You’re holding the club?!

He just grinned at you. That infuriating, teeth-flashing, smug little shit grin.

You sighed and turned back to the sound of corporate greed happening ten feet away, like a live-action PowerPoint presentation from hell. Yep, this is your slow, corporate-sponsored death.

"—the Dubai expansion is moving along," your dad said, adjusting his golf glove like a Bond villain. "Full return on investment by Q3 next year.”

Wasuke nodded. "And you’re securing exclusivity on that?"

Your sister jumped in. “The terms are favorable, but the board wants to explore secondary partnerships.”

May gods help you. Not the secondary partnerships.

"Secondary partnerships dilute brand value," Jin said, matter-of-factly and a voice flat as a Wall Street banker’s soul. "If you’re going in, go in alone."

Gojo, never missing an opportunity to self-promote, smirked. "Which is why I love working solo. No boards, no shareholders—just me, my money, and my incredible business instincts."

Sukuna snorted. "You mean your incredible luck?"

Gojo gasped, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. Really, an Oscar-worthy performance. “'Kuna, I am deeply, deeply wounded."

"Don’t call me that," Sukuna muttered as he causally swung his golf club with perfect precision and sent the ball flying.

Meanwhile, Jin just dropped some casual xenophobia into the convo with, "I don’t trust the French.”

Heavens, they’re really brothers.

Wasuke didn’t even look up from his phone. “Their money’s good, but their loyalty is nonexistent.”

You leaned toward Sukuna out of curiosity. "Do you actually know what they’re talking about?"

Sukuna gave you a look that said: I have watched blood diamonds being auctioned off with less drama.

"Do you think I sit in boardrooms for fun?"

"Honestly? I try not to think about what you do."

"Because you’d get too distracted?" he said, mockingly sweet.

You rolled your eyes. "Because it’s probably illegal."

His smirk said no comment. Then Wasuke shifted the convo to Formula 1 – Sukuna’s domain of god complex and expensive toys.

"Motorsport contracts for the Euro manufacturers are wrapping up," Wasuke said, eyeing the scoreboard. "I want F1 projections next week."

“Already sent them,” Sukuna replied, because of course he did. “Wind tunnel drama, but the numbers are solid.”

"F1’s a money pit," your dad noted.

Jin smirked. “Yet they still beg us to be in their garages."

Your sister gave a knowing nod. "That’s because you control the entire supply chain. Power units, manufacturing motors, aerospace-grade materials—"

"You don’t win a championship without our parts," Sukuna added with terrifying ease.

Gojo whistled. "Damn. Y’all are playing god."

Wasuke smirked. "We don’t play god. We just make sure everyone needs us."

Sukuna’s crimson eyes flicked to yours. "Sound familiar?"

Ugh. That was a direct hit. You knew exactly what he was hinting at.

"Don’t be mad our family has the luxury industry in a chokehold," you shot back.

Jin laughed. "Our industries are co-dependent, though.”

You rolled your eyes. “Strategically entangled with deep-rooted dysfunction. There. Fixed it.”

“That’s rich, ”Sukuna chuckled under his breath. “Coming from the woman who emotionally negotiated a 5/10 rating out of a twelve-year-old.”

You whipped around to glare at him, your golf club pointed like a weapon. “Your daughter emotionally blackmailed me with dessert, okay? I’m the victim here.”

He took a slow step toward you, eyes gleaming like he was about to say something incredibly inappropriate. Especially in this place where you’re surrounded by family.

And you know that look. You hated that look he’s giving you right now. You just froze there, mentally preparing for the impact, fully aware that if this man so much as winked, your ovaries would detonate.

You sighed. "I hate it here."

"Sure," Sukuna drawled, “but you love getting the family-and-friends discount on Richard Mille."

You opened your mouth to argue — then shut it.

“…That’s what I thought," he said.

Meanwhile, the boardroom larping continued, with Jin casually lining up his golf shot. "By the way, what’s your play for the next expansion?"

Your dad smirked. "Exclusive deal on a rare pearl farm."

"How rare?" Sukuna asked.

Your sister crossed her arms. "One-of-one. Completely untapped market. If you want the pearls, you go through us."

Wasuke let out an approving chuckle. "That’s how you do business."

Sukuna turned to you. Smirking. "And you call me a capitalist pig."

You rolled your eyes. "I never said I wasn’t one too."

"Exactly."

Gojo clapped his hands together. "Okay, enough. Some of us are here to actually have fun.”

"Some of us are here to play golf," Jin added, eyes pointed at your disaster pose.

“Do you have broken legs or something, dumbass?” Sukuna asked. “Your stance has been criminal for the last 30 minutes.”

“Fuck you,” you whispered through a deep, meditative breath.

Gojo hummed, sipping his iced coffee. "No, he's right."

Your sister nodded sagely. "I’ve seen better posture from Riku playing Wii Sports."

Your mother sighed. "Honey, at least pretend you inherited some athletic ability."

You took a slow, deep breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t bury everyone here with a 9-iron. That’s a lot of jail time. And, murder is fucking illegal.

Across from you, Sukuna's shit-eating grin widened. “Want help?"

You gave him a deadpan look. "I would rather set this golf club on fire and dance around it like a pagan ritual."

"Aww," he cooed. "You’re so cute when you’re in denial."

Before you could golf club his skull, your dad clapped. “Alright, enough flirting. Take your shot.”

Flirting???

You turned slowly to look at him, completely horrified. Because why does every family function have to end up with everyone talking about your and Sukuna’s relationship.

“Dad.”

"Yes, dear?"

"That was not flirting."

Gojo grinned. "It kinda was."

Sukuna just snickered.

You ignored all of them and took your shot—which was terrible. The ball barely made it by three meters before pathetically rolling to a sad, pathetic stop like it just gave up on life. Not that golf balls have life but – everything’s just so stupid.

"Yikes," Sukuna whispered.

Gojo coughed to hide a laugh.

Your sister patted your shoulder. "It’s okay. Not all of us can be naturally gifted."

Sukuna slung an arm over your shoulder—bold move like a smug snake. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ve got other talents."

You shoved him off. "Like resisting the urge to commit first-degree homicide?"

He laughed and stepped up to take his own shot. He positioned himself with stupid, effortless confidence, gave a casual swing and then nailed it perfectly like it was nothing. The ball sailed through the air perfectly, landing exactly where it was supposed to.

Your father beamed. "Now that is how you play golf!"

Sukuna smirked at you. "See? That’s what maturity looks like."

You glared. "Maturity? You have a gold statue of yourself in your front yard, Sukuna."

"Confidence," he corrected.

Your mother sighed dreamily. "Oh, Sukuna, you should teach her more things. Maybe then she’d finally listen."

You choked. "Mom."

"She has a point," Gojo piped up. "I mean, you don’t even peel your own oranges—"

"That’s different," you snapped.

Sukuna grinned. "How?"

"Because peeling fruit is a waste of time. It’s too much work.”

"Uh-huh," he said, completely unconvinced. "And yet, you eat the ones I peel for you."

You paused.

Sukuna smirked with a wink, “Exactly.”

Gojo laughed. "Ohhh. He got you there."

Your sister gasped. "You’ve been peeling her fruit for years?"

"Yeah. Since high school.” Sukuna shrugged like it was nothing.

Your mother looked at you. "Sweetheart," she said, voice thick with judgment and amusement. "This is why we love him more than you."

You wanted to die. Right there. On the spot. Strike you down, Zeus, you’re ready.

Before your soul could ascend, Sukuna glanced at his watch. "We should wrap up soon. We have to pick up the kids."

Oh. Right. Riku and Keiko.

You groaned. "God, I hope they haven’t schemed anything.”

Sukuna just smiled. "Hope all you want. We both know they’re worse than us."

Your sigh was basically a prayer. Because he was right.

Then he looked at you – really looked – and for a second, you saw it. A familiar, almost nostalgic glint in his crimson eyes. That something in his eyes. The history. The bullshit. The college days.

Before the weird, co-parenting situationship.

Before the kids.

Before all this strategic dysfunction.

Of course it started with betrayal. Because why wouldn’t it?

REWIND TO 15 YEARS AGO

Ah, the golden age. The era of questionable fashion choices, stolen Netflix passwords, and zero concept of consequences. You were younger, dumber, and apparently, very susceptible to being peer-pressured by your stupidly attractive childhood best friends and tequila with a price tag that could fund a small startup.

And the betrayal? Classic Gojo.

Not yours. 

Not Sukuna’s. 

But Gojo freaking Satoru’s.

The plan was simple. A chill, lowkey, totally-not-going-to-spiral-into-chaos evening. The threey of you. One rare, bougie-ass bottle of unreleased tequila – procured through one of Sukuna’s many mysterious family connections, which probably meant some shady auction involving something you don’t even know if legal or illegal at this point, but like… whatever. Details.

And the holy trinity of chaos – you, Sukuna, Gojo – were supposed to break in your overpriced couch (emotionally) and consume alcohol worth more than your rent. In your apartment. With music, chaos, and maybe light emotional trauma.

But Gojo?

That flaky, unreliable, sunglasses-wearing disaster of a human being? He didn’t show up. He straight up ghosted.

No text. No call. Just vibes – and not even the good ones. You and Sukuna were left staring at your phones like you’d both been stood up by the world’s most unserious Tinder date. Sitting in the dim glow of your apartment, side by side on your ridiculously expensive couch. The tequila, untouched, sat like a third wheel on your pristine glass coffee table, judging you.

And of course Sukuna, ever the picture of carelessness, was lounging on your couch like he owned the place (well, he and Gojo has your spare keys thanks to your very insistent mother who said that this was for safety purposes). He’s made himself too comfortable. His expensive leather jacket? Tossed like trash. His shirt? Pushed up just enough to flash his abs like a Calvin Klein ad. His legs? Sprawled. Man was taking up 80% of your couch like it came with a deed in his name.

You’d almost asked him to move his knee off your thigh, but that required energy and dignity – both of which were too low.

“He’s a piece of shit,” you mumbled, flipping your phone screen-down like it had personally betrayed you too.

Sukuna just huffed, stretching like a lazy cat. “We knew that.”

A beat of silence.

Then you turned your head. Sukuna was already looking at you.

And that was the beginning of the end.

You didn’t even need to say it, but you did anyway – because you’re you and you’re brain was one shot away from being completely unhinged.

"Fuck him," you said, curling your fingers around the bottle’s neck. "You thinking what I’m thinking?"

Sukuna’s smirk was criminal. ”Gladly.”

Tequila hit like a kiss and a slap. Warm and mean. Sweet with aftershocks. It tasted like rebellion and a future apology text. It burned, sweet and smooth, slipping down your throat like bad decisions.

And by the fifth shot, everything had softened. You, the air, the line between sense and chaos. You weren’t drunk-drunk. Just in that dreamy, blurry zone where every thought seemed brilliant and you suddenly had strong opinions on things like fruit ethics and the social implications of banana neglect.

"Okay, hear me out," you began, swirling your glass like you actually understood tequila tasting. "If a banana has brown spots and you throw it away, isn’t that, like… fruitism?” You argued, dead serious.

Sukuna blinked at you, slow and unimpressed. “You’re equating overripe produce with discrimination?”

"Okay, but isn’t it?"

Sukuna, drunk but still insufferably rational, huffed. "Fruits were literally made to decay. The spots don’t even mean they’re bad. They’re just riper. Sweeter.”

“I’m just saying,” You squinted at him and gestured with passion. “And people toss them like yesterday’s garbage. That’s bias.”

He groaned, rubbing his face like your IQ physically pained him. “You’re drunk.”

You grinned, tilting your head. “You’re hot.”

He didn’t even blink. “Still doesn’t make what you said smart.”

“Can’t have it all.”

Shot seven was the real villain. That was the one that made you bold. That was the shot that made the conversation shift to a heated, increasingly idiotic debate about billionaires and time-travel tech like you were on a TED talk stage.

“Listen,” you said, pointing an accusing finger at him and serious as a heart attack, “if someone invented a machine that lets you relive the best moment of your life –”

“Oh, here we fucking go,” Sukuna muttered, who is slumped against the couch with a drink in hand and zero patience. And he’s already rubbing his temple like he has a migraine.

“—billionaires shouldn’t be allowed to use it.”

Sukuna gave you a flat look.the kind that screamed you’re an idiot and I am suffering. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve heard, and I talk to Gojo on a regular basis.”

“That’s justice,” you replied.

“You sound like one of those fake-deep Twitter threads with the ‘let that sink in’ at the end.”

You gasped loudly and dramatically, hand to chest. “That’s the meanest things you’ve ever said to me.”

Sukuna smirked and leaned back on the couch, swirling his drink, all lazy and smug. “Not even top five. Cry about it.”

And honestly? Fair.

You narrowed your eyes at him, then shoved at his shoulder. “Smug bastard.”

He didn’t even flinch. Just raised an eyebrow, all smug and irritating. “That the best you got?”

“You wanna go?” you said, drunk enough to mean it, sober enough to know it was a terrible idea.

“Brat, I’ve been waiting for you to throw hands.”

And just like that, it was on. The argument devolved into some half-playful, half-serious wrestling match that your tequila-soaked logic somehow decided was a good idea. You lunged yourself at him—awkwardly, gracelessly, like a cat trying to fight its reflection. And he caught you. Of course.

Sukuna met your weak-ass attack with a wicked grin and zero effort, catching your wrists mid-swat and easily flipping you onto your back like this was WWE: College Edition.

He was straddling your waist like this was some twisted rom-com where the lead-up was fruit bias and class warfare. He was pinning your hands above your head with one of his stupidly strong hands, face inches from yours. Neither of you moved. His smirk stretched slow and deliberate.

“Aw,” he murmured, looking down at you. “Pinned you already.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. Your brain screamed.

“We better not fuck,” you said, breathless, mock-serious, heart pounding like you weren’t already halfway there. “That would be crazy.”

Sukuna laughed, sharp and dark. “You’re right. That would be so stupid.”

You stared up at him, drunk on more than just tequila. “So, don’t.”

He leaned in, lips brushing yours, the world going mute, “Make me.”

The tension was a slow, burning thing. Suddenly too heavy, too obvious.

And it happened.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for it. And fuck, maybe he had.

It was desperate, messy, hot—his hands were greedy, large, possessive, fingers digging into your waist as you pulled him onto you. His weight settled over yours, pinning you to the couch, every hard line of muscle pressing into your body.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, breath warm against your lips. “This is a bad idea.”

You nipped at his bottom lip, smirking. “Then stop.”

Sukuna growled.

So obviously, you didn’t

Your soul has left your body.

You were spent. Utterly wrecked. A pleasantly, post-orgasmic disaster of a human being, melted into your couch like cheese. The kind of boneless, mind-melting exhaustion that came after a particularly intense workout—except the only exercise involved had been riding Sukuna like your life depended on it.

Sukuna yanked you back down with a lazy smirk, his fingers tight around your waist. He was against your neck, smug as sin, like he hadn’t just destroyed your entire pelvic floor and sanity in under an hour.

Your brain was short-circuiting. Not even crashing—melting. Like: what were you doing?

What were you doing letting Sukuna Ryomen, heir to a criminally rich, morally grey empire, raw you on a couch your mother had helped you pick out a week ago? That same couch that she said would “last through years of wear and tear”? Oh honey, if only she knew.

You could still feel him inside you (because, he is still inside you), which, frankly, was just rude. Your vagina had zero chill. Not when Sukuna had been whispering things like good girl and so fucking tight into your ear for the last forty-five minutes like he was narrating an erotic audiobook that only your nervous system had access to.

Your breathing was ragged, your skin damp with sweat, your limbs completely useless. The couch cushions were destroyed, one of the pillows had somehow ended up on the floor, and your legs… well. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to use them properly for the next hour. Maybe the next week.

Then there was a moment – still, quiet, charged – and Sukuna, ever the menace, had to go and say,  “Loving daddy’s cock inside you, baby?” 

Oh fuck, his post-sex voice is too sexy to hear. Your vagina responded before your brain did. Your moan was involuntary. Your dignity packed a bag and left.

The air was thick, too warm, and filled with the scent of tequila, sex, and very bad decisions.

You should’ve been freaking out. Should’ve been reconsidering every life choice that led up to this moment. Should’ve been thinking about things like consequences or friendship dynamics or even just the fact that you had quite literally defiled your own couch.

And then, because the universe has a terrible sense of timing –

BANG.

The door slammed open.

You and Sukuna froze mid-regret, your heart doing backflips and your brain buffering like a corrupted YouTube video. Basically, this is the time your soul left your body.

And then…

“Oh, hell yeah.”

Gojo.

Of course it was Gojo.

Standing in your doorway like he was meant to be the comedic third act twist in your sexual coming-of-age story. Sunglasses on at 2AM (maybe it’s already 3AM), stupid grin in full force, and holding a bag of snacks the size of a small child.

Your brain, still swimming in post-orgasmic haze and the last remnants of drunkenness, short-circuited.

Because—oh. That’s why he was late.

He’d gone shopping.

Gojo had spent—what, two hours? Three?—debating the intricate nuances of potato chips, probably standing in the aisle like a philosopher pondering the meaning of life. And in the end? He’d just bought one of everything. Every brand. Every flavor. As if he were assembling a tasting menu for a fucking wine and cheese night—except it was just snacks.

You blinked at him like he was a mirage.

He blinked back, grinning harder, “Did you—” He gestured vaguely at your naked, sweaty, entangled bodies. 

“You guys seriously just fucked?”

Sukuna groaned, voice muffled against your skin. “Get the fuck out.”

Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head. You wanted to cry. Or vanish. Or time-travel to an hour ago and slap the bottle out of your own hand.

Gojo continued, blissfully ignorant with his shit-eating grin dialed up to maximum wattage. “You could’ve at least waited for me.”

“GOJO.”

“Not to join!” he added, then paused. “Unless—?”

Sukuna finally lifted his head, naked, disheveled, and radiating murder. His voice dropped into something lethal. "You step one foot further, and I will personally make sure you never reproduce.” 

And then he threw the nearest couch pillow at Gojo’s face.

Gojo dodged with the agility of a mad who had absolutely walked in on worse. “Y’know, I knew something was up with you two since high school –” 

He sighed. Sighed, like he was talking about a missed prom date and not your current naked humiliation.

“SATORU.”

“— the sexual tension was like a constant third presence. Like god, but hornier.”

Yeah, you’re most likely dying of humiliation tonight.

“But I never thought you’d actually go and rawdog each other without me even getting a sip of that tequila.”

Your eye twitched. Your entire nervous system sent out one last emergency broadcast before collapsing like a dying star. There was no saving you now. You were gonna have to move cities. Change names. Fake your death and live in the woods.

In a blind, desperate attempt to salvage literally anything – your pride, your humanity, your grandmother’s ghost watching from the afterlife – you grabbed the nearest object and hurled it at him. 

Maybe it was a pillow. Maybe it was your shame. Maybe it was your will to live.

No. No, of course it couldn’t be anything soft or metaphorical.

It was your bra.

The bra that cost more than your phone. The bra hand-stitched by artisans in France who probably didn’t intend for it to be yeeted across the room like a missile of humiliation.

Gojo caught it midair. And fucking whistled. Whistled. 

Sukuna let out a lethal growl above you, like he was two seconds from choosing violence over pulling out. “Drop. It.”

Gojo, being Gojo, did not drop it. No. That would’ve been rational. Instead, he held it up to the light like some deranged pervert on an antique TV show. 

“Huh. Didn’t peg you as a lace kinda girl. Delicate, but slutty. Iconic.”

You lunged at him like a rabid raccoon.

Sukuna yanked you back down before you could inflict justified murder, his grip locking tight around your waist like he knew exactly how many war crimes you were about to commit. “Save your energy, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Oh, now he wants to be cute? Now? After he rawdogged your soul out of your body and left it there, on the floor, vulnerable and exposed like a neglected Sims character?

Gojo cackled, like this was the highlight of this week. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. So! Are we finally admitting that you guys have been feral for each other this whole time?”

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, GOJO."

He wheezed. Laughed like this was the best episode of a reality TV he’d ever seen. You, however, were having a full-blown metaphysical crisis.

And then it hit you. Like your brain finally sobered up enough to whisper, ‘hey dumbass… something’s off…’

You. 

And Sukuna.

Were. 

Still. 

Naked.

Not cute-and-covered-by-the-blanket naked. 

Not tastefully-draped-like-a-renaissance-painting naked.

No.

This was “there’s an entire Gojo eyeball on your titty” naked.

That’s why Sukuna fucking yanked you down so fast. Not to protect your dignity – lol, what dignity – but because your boobs were just out. Just there. Making their unwanted debut to the worst audience in human history. 

Your entire existence condensed into one singular thought: you’re gonna astral project out of this flesh prison and never return.

You buried your face in your hands.

“I’m never drinking again,” you mumbled, voice muffled and soul-dead. The words of a liar. A liar with regrets.

Sukuna, the bastard, didn’t even flinch. This man had seen war (business rejections, most likely). Tax evasion. Eternal damnation. Your naked ass wasn’t gonna rattle him. “I’m never letting you drink again.”

Gojo, now seated in the doorway like he was watching a 2000s rom-com movie, clapped his hands together. “Well! Now that everyone's tits are covered, I vote we unpack all this juicy sexual tension over midnight snacks.”

You made a noise. It might have been a sob. Or a scream.

Then, you locked eyes with Sukuna. Dead serious.

“Kill him first,” you said. “Then me.”

Gojo opened his mouth—

“No, you cannot take a picture,” you snapped.

Gojo shut his mouth. But only for a second.

“I was gonna ask if you guys needed snacks,” he said, fake-offended, “but sure, go ahead and assume the worst.”

Sukuna's eye twitched. Like, visibly. Dangerously. “You have five seconds before I personally rearrange your jaw.”

Gojo held up his hands in surrender—still holding your bra, like it was a white flag for surrender.

You just wanted to die. Or better—rewind time. All the way back to when you said, “just one tequila shot.”

“So, when’s the wedding?” Gojo smirked.

That was it. That was Sukuna’s final nerve snapping. Man went from 0 to murder real quick, pulling out (rude) in a heartbeat and bolting after Gojo around the apartment with the kind of fury that would make Greek gods go ‘damn bro, chill.’

You, meanwhile, scrambled to find a blanket. Any blanket. Any napkin. A curtain. You would’ve accepted being wrapped in your own regret at that point. Still dizzy. Still mildly post-orgasmic. Still spiritually decimated.

You never lived that moment down. 

Ever.

Gojo made sure of it.

And yet – despite the absolute catastrophic level of social humiliation – you really thought that was it. A stupid, drunken slip-up. A one-time tequila-fueled tragedy.

But it wasn’t. Because, of course, it wasn’t.

Because this was you and Sukuna.

Disasters. Walking, breathing, kissing disasters.

And this?

This was the biggest, dumbest, horniest fucking disaster of them all.

It wasn’t just a one-time thing.

It wasn’t just a casual phase.

It lasted three fucking years.

God forbid.

Three years of sneaking glances across rooms like the two of you weren’t regularly naked in each other’s beds. Three years of pretending there wasn’t stupidly cosmic about the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. Three years of pretending it was just fucking.

You were in your last year of college. Graduation loomed in like a loaded gun. Sukuna was finishing his postgrad, looking dangerously adult while you were still using dry shampoo as a personality. And instead of prepping for the real world, you were spending every night tangled in sheets, sweat, and denial.

You weren’t even being subtle about it.

Sukuna’s hoodies lived in your wardrobe rent-free. Your hair ties were all over his bathroom like forgotten corpses. You ate half his fries every time.

It wasn’t just the sex (though, let’s be real, the sex could summon the dead and cancel student debt). It was everything. The way his hoodies, shirts, pants (heck, all his clothes) lived in your wardrobe rent-free. The way your hair ties were all over his bathroom like forgotten corpses. The way you shamelessly ate half his fries every time. The way he memorized your coffee order. The way you always saved him the last dumpling even though you hated sharing. The fact that he punched a guy once for saying your laugh was annoying. You were basically in a relationship.

Just… you know. Without the commitment. Or the honesty. Or the emotional maturity.

But not everything lasts perfectly, right?

Because saying it would make it real.

And if it was real then, it could end. And neither of you were brave enough for that.

You don’t remember exactly when it started to shift.

Maybe when he stayed over just to sleep.

Maybe when you waited for him after class.

Maybe when he threatened his frat brothers for flirting with you.

Maybe when you were too in your feelings, and he was in denial, and the entire relationship had the emotional maturity of a wet paper towel trying to hold a gallon of wine.

It was three fucking years of closeness so intimate it could’ve been called codependency if it weren’t so mutual.

But neither of you said it.

Neither of you dared to.

Not until the night it all went to hell.

Over the stupidest, pettiest, most aggressively idiotic fight in the history of human race. And romance.

Over a fucking LED light.

You blinked out of the memory like you’d just been possessed by a much younger, hotter, dumber version of yourself. Truly, your early twenties needed a warning label.

Only dragged back to the present by the sound of Gojo’s obnoxious laugh and the distant thwack of another golf ball being ruthlessly yeeted into the horizon.

But your mind was still a few tequila shots behind. Still sticky with the memory of hot skin, tangled limbs, and the unforgivable knowledge that Sukuna had once bitten your neck like he was trying to ruin you on purpose. (He did.) That he’d once kissed you so hard you forgot your own name, let alone the fact that you were definitely, definitely supposed to keep things platonic.

You hadn’t thought about that night in years. You’d buried it so deep beneath co-parenting schedules and passive-aggressive text threads that it had fossilized. You’d compartmentalized it like a pro. Filed it under Regrettable But Also Kinda Amazing Decisions That We Pretend Never Happened Because Denial Is a Lifestyle.

But all it took was one look. 

One stupid look from Sukuna and your whole nervous system went, “Hey, remember that time you climbed him like a tree?”

You nearly choked on your own saliva.

Sukuna looked at you, raising a brow. “You good?”

You stared at him. The same eyes. Same smirk. Same stupid, punchable face that you’d once maybe considered kissing in a tequila haze.

You muttered, “I hate you.”

He grinned. “You looked like you were remembering something tragic. Was it my abs?”

You hit him with your golf club. Lightly. (For legal reasons.)

Gojo, watching from the side, completely unaware of your inner spiral, wandered over with the self-satisfied strut of a man who just made par and will never let anyone forget it. “So, what’s the verdict? Are we still pretending you two don’t have wildly unresolved sexual tension or…?”

You glared. “Do you want to die today?”

Gojo just waggled his brows. “I’m just saying, the air’s thick with tension. Like, if I blink, someone’s getting pinned to the nearest flat surface.”

Sukuna, infuriatingly calm, walked past you to grab his water bottle. “Grow up, Gojo.”

That was rich coming from a man who once texted you “wanna come over and fight?” at 2 a.m. and then had the audacity to kiss you like you were air and he was suffocating years ago.

You rubbed your temple. Get it together.

But the memory clung. It had claws. And it wouldn’t let go.

Only the three of you knew. Only the three of you would ever know. You’d made a silent, mutually-assured-destruction type pact after the fact. No one brings it up. No one mentions the couch. No one so much as breathes in the direction of “remember that night?”

And you’d all been doing so well.

Until now.

Until Sukuna looked at you like that.

Until you remembered exactly how he tasted.

Until your body remembered what your brain had worked overtime to erase.

You looked at Sukuna now – older, annoyingly hotter, a single father of a cute, angel-looking gremlin – and your stomach dropped.

Because the worst part wasn’t the memory.

It was the terrifying realization that some part of you... hadn’t actually moved on.

And that? That was the most dangerous thing of all.

It wasn’t normal. None of it was normal. You weren’t normal.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to be.

Sukuna knew. He knew the moment you glitched like a broken Sims out of nowhere, the subtle shift in your posture, the way your lips pressed into a tight line. He’d seen it before, in the way you tried to bury things under layers of sarcasm and nonchalance. 

And that? That was exact thing that made his chest tighten, just a little bit.

You’d always been good at pretending. Hell, you were great at pretending. But Sukuna wasn’t an idiot. He’d seen the cracks in the armor. He’d felt them in the way you’d tense up when he was too close. In the way you still looked at him when you thought no one was paying attention.

Even thought it’s been 12 years, the memory of your lips on his, the desperate heat of it, was all burned into his mind just as much as it was in yours. That last night had fucked him up in ways he couldn’t even begin to untangle. That fucking fight over LED lights. But he wasn’t going to admit that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But now? Now, standing next to you on this golf course, with Gojo prattling on about tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, Sukuna could feel something else — something he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront. 

He’d tried. He’d tried to move on. To tell himself that you were just a chapter in a stupid, messy college romance he could chalk up to a lesson learned. But the way you still looked at him — like you wanted to kill him one minute and kiss him the next — made him wonder if he was really the one who’d moved on. 

You hadn’t said it. You hadn’t admitted it to him, and you definitely hadn’t admitted it to yourself. But Sukuna could feel the pull between you two, like gravity trying to yank him back into orbit. And he fucking hated it.

You weren’t ready to move on, and maybe… maybe neither was he.

Gojo’s voice cut through his thoughts again, loud and obnoxious, but it didn’t help. If anything, it just made the tension worse. And there you were, glaring at him like you wanted to murder him with your golf club. That just made his smirk wider.

He didn’t care what Gojo said. He didn’t care how thick the air felt between them.

He cared that every time you looked at him, he felt something that wasn’t quite hatred. He cared that, despite everything, the memory of that night — the way you fit so perfectly against him — still haunted him.

The worst part?

You were still the one thing that got under his skin.

And that terrified him.

You’re sitting there, waiting outside the school, in his damn car, sunglasses on like you’re trying to hide from the world and also from the fact that your brain’s still stuck in the relapsing and post-golfing haze. The one where you remember way too much of that face – that stupid, stupid face – and the laugh that somehow made you feel things you don’t ever wanna feel again. And don’t even get started on his damn arms. Like, who needs arms to be that distracting in the middle of everything? Seriously, when did he roll up his sleeves? Was there some kind of cosmic mistake? The universe did not need that information. 

And yet, here you are, replaying it in slow motion in your head. Yep, even that night 15 years ago. Even worse, you almost drooled thinking about it. Almost.

It also didn’t need the fact that you almost drooled while thinking about it.

And, God, it’s too quiet. Way too quiet. Normally, you and Sukuna are bantering like two toddlers fighting over the last cookie. You’re both competitive assholes, arguing about dumb shit like whose playlist will play for the ride-back. But today? Nah. You’re both too out of it. Too tame.

You glance sideways at Sukuna, who’s leaning back in his seat too lax. Does he always look like that? But you’ve been staring at him for far too long today, and it’s messing with your internal wiring. You actually almost forgot to argue. Almost.

So, you break the silence first. “I’d rather not get out of the car,” you say, because... why not?

Sukuna looks over at you like you’ve grown an extra head, “What? Did Mrs. Yoshida go up to you the other day?”

The mere mention of her name is enough to spark an internal cringe. You snort but it comes out half-hearted. Like, yeah, you’ve got a serious vendetta against that woman, but even you can’t muster the energy to fully engage. “Yeah. Guess she wanted to show off yet again.”

Sukuna huffed a laugh, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, “Show off what? Her death grip on passive aggression?”

That earned him a real laugh from you, one that surprised both of you a little. But it fades just as quickly as it came. You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes closed, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. Like you’ve been holding it since that goddamn golf course.

“She said something about me finally doing the school run for once,” you muttered, your voice low with disbelief. “Like I was doing a cosplay of a present parent.”

Sukuna’s face doesn’t change, but his voice drops into that deep, sarcastic tone. “She would say that. Probably thinks your ovaries are overdue for reactivation or some shit.”

You turned to him slowly. “What does that even mean?”

He smirked. That damn smirk that you swear could put every other man on the planet to shame. “Don’t know. Ask her. I bet she’s got a PowerPoint ready.” Oh, honey, maybe, you’re too down bad after that relapse.

Another snort escaped you, this time more genuine, because honestly? She would. God, the thought of it made your skin crawl, but it’s too funny not to appreciate, “God, I hate her heels. They click like a countdown to emotional damage.”

Sukuna laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that makes you forget the day’s weirdness for a second. “She probably practices walking in her driveway.”

“Oh absolutely. Full parade route. With flags and a marching band made of guilt.”

That’s it. That’s the sweet spot. You both start laughing, but it’s like a weird patchwork of relief and awkwardness, too. Like you can’t quite shake off the tension from earlier today, but at least now there’s something more normal—something fun—in the air.

And that’s how you found outside the car, now standing in front of the school gates, with Sukuna this time. But standing so goddamn close to you. It made your heart rate do that little skip thing you can’t ever explain. But, no time to be a freak about it.

The bell rings. And of course, who’s the first person you see? Mrs. Goddamn Yoshida. She appeared out of thin air like a mid-tier Bond villain with hair lacquered into a helmet of superiority and lip gloss as weaponized as ever.

“Oh,” she drawls, her voice as sugary sweet as cyanide. “Two school pickups in a week? Someone’s going for Mother of the Month.”

You don’t even blink. Your sunglasses are firmly in place, and you’re already prepping your comeback. “You would know. You still printing the certificates at home?”

Sukuna laughed beside you, a deep, guttural sound that only made Mrs. Yoshida more uncomfortable. He eyes practically twitched. She’s not even hiding the fact that she’s shook that you’re here with Sukuna. The most-coveted bachelor (well, he may be a single dad but technically he’s not yet married) in the country. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but just as she’s about to speak –

“Mom?” 

Riku’s voice rang out like a melody through the tension, and just like that, everything resets. Your brain stutters for half a second as you snap your head around to see Riku, your baby boy (c’mon, he’s 12), running towards you like you’ve just saved his world.

And then, there’s Keiko. Running right behind Riku… but instead of launching themselves into your arms like the sensible kids they are, they both straight up betrayed you. These gremlins ran straight for Sukuna. What you can’t believe was the fact that your son ignored you. He may have called you but no he didn’t even ran towards you. What the fuck was that?

You blink, standing there, totally dumbfounded. Your mouth might even be hanging open a bit. Seriously? They just—what? Your son, the kid you’ve been raising, the one who’s spent years gluing your heart to his every move, just totally... skipped you? And now he’s practically throwing himself at Sukuna?

Your brain scrambles for words, but they’re stuck in some weird loop. "Riku," you manage, but it's more like you're calling him out of instinct than actually knowing what the hell to do with this new development.

But Keiko, of course, isn’t wasting any time either. She’s clinging to Sukuna’s leg like she’s on some sort of mission, because you might probably be jealous of his parenting dynamic with his daughter. You want to tell them both off, but the weirdest thing happens: a tiny part of you feels... left out? Like, what the hell?

Sukuna looks down at the two of them, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, clearly trying not to laugh too hard at your expense. "Guess your son likes me more," he teases, all calm and collected as usual, though you can tell he’s getting a kick out of it.

Riku finally looks up at you, a little sheepish now, like he knows he’s been caught. "Uh, sorry, Mom. Papa told me he’ll bring us to that sushi place today." He scratches his head awkwardly.

OH. So, that’s what we’re doing now.

Bribery. Betrayal. And sushi.

You narrow your eyes, your expression stuck somewhere between disbelief and parental betrayal. “Oh. Papa told you that, huh?” you repeat slowly, the word "Papa" practically dripping with italics and judgment. The way Riku suddenly fidgets? Yeah, he knows he’s in trouble. Good.

Sukuna just shrugs, the cocky bastard, still smirking like this is all part of his grand villain arc. “Can’t help it if I have good taste and your kid has excellent priorities,” he says, which is exactly the kind of smug crap he always pulls when he knows he’s winning.

You cross your arms, sunglasses still on, even though the sun is hiding behind a cloud like it’s also trying to avoid the tension. “Yeah? Next time, how about you bribe your own daughter and leave mine out of it?”

Keiko, ever the daddy’s girl, finally detaches herself from Sukuna’s leg and gives you an innocent look, but it’s not lost on you that she’s got a mischievous glint in her eyes. “No need, mama! I already love daddy a lot.”

You stare at both of them for a second, blinking as you process this betrayal. "You two are unbelievable. Is this why Riku comes home later than he should’ve been for the past month? Your briberies?”

Sukuna doesn’t even flinch. If anything, his grin widens like he’s thriving under the betrayal-fueled glare you’re shooting at him.

“Oh, come on,” he says, deadpan, “you make it sound like we’re running some underground snack ring. It was one burger trip. Maybe three. And a boba run.”

You squint at him. “And the churros that Riku brought home last week?”

“That was... spontaneous.”

Keiko, bless her tiny traitorous heart, pipes up like she’s on the witness stand. “And the arcade tokens, Daddy?”

Sukuna blinks. Then shrugs. “Okay, five bribery trips. But who’s counting?”

You’re counting. You are absolutely counting. You’re already adding it to the list in your Notes app. You inhale, deeply. Breathe in patience. Exhale vengeance.

“You do realize,” you say slowly, “that he told his math teacher you’re his second emergency contact now?”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased. “That’s cute. And honestly? Fair. I bring snacks, pick them up, and importantly? Emotional availability.”

You gasp like you’ve just been hit with a flying sandal. “I birthed him.” 

He tilts his head, hand over his heart in mock sympathy. “Yeah, but I took him to watch that new superhero movie twice, and I didn’t complain once. Not even during the post-credit scene.”

Riku nods solemnly. “He even explained the multiverse to me without getting mad.”

You turn to your son like you’re looking at a stranger in your home. “You never let me explain anything without groaning.” 

Riku shrugs with zero guilt. “Your explanations come with a lot of side stories.”

“That’s called context!” you sputter.

Oh, but now this pink-haired bastard is actually laughing. Not a chuckle. Not a smug little puff of air. No. This is a full-on, head-tilted-back, shoulders-shaking, evil-boyfriend-in-a-Kdrama laugh. And the worst part? It's lowkey making you relapse to that 3-year long situationship. Which is exactly what the problem is. You’ve been relapsing since this week fucking started. This shouldn’t have happened. And this all started because he murdered your hedge.

And now, you’re standing there—offended, outnumbered, and tragically out-bribed—and all you can think is: you hate it here.

“I’m surrounded by traitors,” you mutter under your breath, adjusting your sunglasses like they’ll shield your soul from this level of disrespect.

Sukuna wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “C’mon, don’t be jealous. You’re still the top mom in this cult we’ve built.”

You stare at him. “You literally poached my child with raw fish, sneakers, burgers, gold leaf fries, and Marvel trivia. That’s not parenting. That’s warfare.” 

“And I’m winning,” he says without missing a beat. 

Keiko pats your arm in consolation. “It’s okay, Mama. You still have snacks sometimes at your house.”

“Sometimes,” you echo, wounded. 

Riku’s still awkwardly standing there, clearly feeling the weight of his betrayal. “Uh, Mom, do you still wanna go to that sushi place later?” he asks, his voice full of nervous hope, like he’s waiting for a miracle to save him from your wrath.

You narrow your eyes, looking between your son and Sukuna. “You really think I’m gonna let you off the hook that easily?” You cross your arms again, but this time it’s not as fierce. “I mean, if you wanna bribe me with sushi... I guess I can consider it.”

Sukuna snorts beside you, clearly enjoying the inner battle you’re having with yourself. "See? Told you, bribery always works.”

"Shut up," you mutter, but you can’t help the hint of a smile. Dammit, this is exactly how he got you last time.

Sukuna’s trying to herd the kids toward the car now, like some unholy cross between a playground kingpin and the world’s most chaotic dad. And for one fleeting moment, you catch yourself smiling. Genuinely. The kind that sneaks up on you before you can armor it with sarcasm.

And then—

“I call shotgun!” Riku yells.

“No, I call shotgun!” Keiko yells back.

You’re about to intervene like a responsible adult (because who lets 12-year-olds ride shotgun?!) when Sukuna just shrugs and tosses you the keys. “Guess you’re driving. They’ll keep fighting otherwise.”

You catch them automatically, then freeze. “Wait, I’m driving? In your car?”

He’s already walking to the passenger side. “You’ll be fine. I trust you.”

And there it is again. That weird little glitch in your heart. The one that started on the golf course, peaked somewhere around churros, and now, apparently, comes with keys and unsolicited trust.

You mutter under your breath as you slide into the driver’s seat, “Next time I’m bringing veggie chips and trauma bonding. See how he likes that.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re genuinely grinning as you walk toward the school gates. Because no matter how many times you roll your eyes at him, you know that, deep down, you’ll always be this close to falling right back into that stupid pattern of chaos and longing.

And secretly? Secretly you don’t mind the shotgun betrayal. Or the sushi bribes. Or even Sukuna’s dumb laugh that now lives rent-free in your brain.

What you do mind is how easy it is to imagine this being…normal.

And that? That’s the scariest part.

Because the last time things felt normal with Sukuna—it ended with heartbreak, a bruised ego, and a pink LED light flickering like the world’s most ironic heartbreak anthem.

REWIND TO 12 YEARS AGO

It had all started innocently enough—just a stupid school project, both of you in your own little worlds, completely unaware of the mess you'd end up in. You’d been frantically pulling an all-nighter for your thesis on marketing strategies, running on a diet of coffee and panic. The room smelled like burnt ambition and three-day-old coffee.

Sukuna had walked in, uninvited (as usual), plopping himself down on the edge of your bed and looking like he owned the place. You didn’t even glance up from your notes.

"Got any snacks, or is your thesis a full meal by itself?” he'd asked casually, stretching his legs across the floor.

“it’s a five-course meal of existential dread. You should’ve brought dessert,” you muttered, eyes flicking over your outline that still had more question marks than actual points.

He made a dramatic tsk noise. ”Really? That bad? Damn, should’ve brought ice cream. Or a priest.”

You finally looked up, dead-eyed. “Unless the priest knows APA format and has a spare conclusion section in his pocket, I don’t want it.”

“Wow, brat. So ungrateful.” He leaned over to snatch your mug without asking, took a sip, and immediately gagged. “What is this? Battery acid? Motor oil? Regret?”

“It’s coffee,” you said, dryly. “And if you touch my highlighters, I will end you.”

He blinked at you. “Gotchu, babe. No touching the holy trinity: coffee, highlighters, and your rapidly deteriorating sanity.”

You grunted. “What are you even doing here, ‘Kuna? Don’t you have people to terrorize somewhere else?”

He shrugged, picking up a sticky note from your desk and squinting at the words like they personally offended him. “Thought I’d check in on my favorite stress case.”

You gave him a look that screamed I am five seconds away from a breakdown and you’re monologuing in my safe space.But Sukuna? He was already distracted, fiddling with your desk lamp like it held the secrets of the universe.

Before you could ask what the hell he was doing, he suddenly grinned, standing up, and twisting the lamp in a way that made the light flicker dramatically.

“What are you doing with my lamp?” you snapped, but he was already flipping the switch.

“Nah, I’m just making sure you’re not too depressed so we gotta change the mood lighting. You need it. Trust me. This is what creative enlightenment looks like.” He flashed a grin that had you wondering if he’d lost his mind.

“If that’s enlightenment, pretty sure the light’s about to start flickering and lead me to a breakdown.” You were so tired, but you couldn’t help the irritation bubbling up.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” He reached for your lamp again, twisting it in the other direction like he was adjusting some fancy futuristic remote control.

“I didn’t sign up for this!” you said, grabbing his wrist before he could do more damage to your perfectly ordinary, functional lamp. “This is my space, my chaos. You can’t just—”

Suddenly, you found yourself flat on your back on the bed, and Sukuna’s weight was pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

“Not a bad way to distract you, huh?” he said, his voice low and teasing. Before you could react, his lips were on yours, and that was it. The floodgates opened, your frustrations morphing into something entirely different.

Heat. Hands. Teeth.

And that stupid lamp still casting romantic lighting like you were in some low-budget romcom with a dangerously high body count.

You didn’t even remember who pulled who first. One second you were yelling about thesis formatting and desk territory, and the next, Sukuna was pulling your shirt over your head like it had personally offended him. You should’ve been worried about citations. APA format. Deadline. But somehow his mouth on your neck took priority.

Again.

You made it to the edge of the bed this time before knocking over a pile of highlighters and flashcards. Sukuna didn't even blink.

“Watch the thesis,” you gasped as your laptop nearly flew off the side.

“Babe, the only thing I’m watching is you falling apart under me,” he said, grinning like the devil, hands already sliding down your waist.

You hated that it worked. Hated how your body betrayed you so quickly—how easily you leaned into him, craved him, even when your life was falling apart in bullet points and overdue drafts.

It was frantic. A little sloppy. Neither of you had the brain cells for finesse. Just something rough and grounding to yank you out of the spiral and straight into Sukuna’s orbit—where logic went to die and pleasure took the wheel.

By the time it was over, both of you were breathless and half-covered in dissertation pages and regret.

And that’s when he did it.

He reached over.

And changed the mood lighting again.

Soft pink this time.

You stared at him, chest still heaving, sweat sticking your hair to your forehead. “What the actual hell is wrong with you?”

“What?” he said innocently, blinking like a man who wasn’t still inside you thirty seconds ago. 

“It’s a vibe. I’m curating.”

“You’re curating? This isn’t a Pinterest board, Sukuna. This is my room.”

“And yet,” he said, gesturing dramatically to the lamp, “I made it better.”

You sat up, immediately regretting it when your thigh cramped. “I swear to God, if you touch that lamp one more time—”

“You’ll what? Write a strongly worded thesis about it?”

“Oh my God, I hate you.”

“You say that,” he said, flopping back onto the bed with a grin, “but you let me raw you like a stress-relief squishmallow, so.”

You picked up a pillow and hurled it at his face.

Hard.

Sukuna caught it with one hand, smirking.

“I’m changing it to red next.”

“Touch that switch and I’m putting glitter glue in your shampoo.”

“…Kinky.”

You screamed into another pillow.

And for a second, it was funny. Ridiculous. The kind of scene you'd laugh about in five years over drinks.

But something in the air shifted—too subtle to notice at first. Like a hairline crack in a dam.

Then he said it. The thing that would claw its way into both of your memories and rot there, festering for years.

“You know, if you put half the effort into your actual thesis that you put into pretending to be in love with me when you're bored, you'd be graduating top of our class.”

Silence.

It came so fast, so sharp, it cleaved the air clean in half.

You sat up slowly. Carefully. Like you were disarming a bomb, but oh—too late. It already went off.

“What did you just say?”

Sukuna’s smirk faltered, but only for a second. He leaned back like nothing had happened, like he didn’t just shatter the air between you.

“You heard me.”

“No, no. I heard you, I just… I’m trying to figure out which part of your brain decided that was okay to say to me. After everything. After this.” You gestured wildly at the bed, the thesis pages crumpled under you, your tangled clothes on the floor, his smug, stupid face.

His jaw flexed. “I’m just saying, maybe I’m not the only one who treats this thing like it’s a joke.”

“Oh, you’re unbelievable.” You were up now, gathering your papers with trembling fingers. “You barge in here like you own the place, like I’m some goddamn stop on your rich-boy itinerary when you get bored of your mansion and your endless supply of zero-consequence bullshit—”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, standing up now too. “You think I want to be here every time you have a meltdown? You think this is fun for me? Watching you burn out for a piece of paper you’ll hate in six months? You make me your emotional support punching bag and then call it intimacy.”

“I never asked you to stay.”

“Well maybe I should’ve taken the hint three years ago, huh?” His voice was sharp now. No teasing. No heat. Just glass. “When we started sleeping together and you couldn’t even look me in the eye after.”

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t the first fight. Not even the worst one.

But it felt… final.

“You want honesty?” you whispered, throat tight. “Fine. You’re a coward, Sukuna. You sit in this little fantasy where nothing matters because you’re scared to actually want something. To want me. So yeah, maybe I pretended a little. Maybe I lied. But at least I felt something.”

That stopped him. For a moment, he just… stood there. Staring at you.

And then he laughed. Hollow. Low.

“You felt something? Great. Real useful. Let me know if you ever figure out what it was, sweetheart. Preferably not when I’m balls-deep and playing with your lighting setup.”

You slapped him.

You didn’t even think—your body just moved, and the sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.

He didn’t flinch. He just looked at you like something had gone dead in his eyes.

“Wow,” he said quietly. “There it is.”

“Get out.”

“You sure?” He took a step back. “You’ve got, what, one brain cell left and a thesis due tomorrow? Might as well finish what we started.”

“I said get out.” Your voice broke on the last word. Oh god. Not the voice crack. Not in front of him. That was the equivalent of handing him a loaded gun, then tripping and falling onto the bullet yourself. Incredible work. Ten out of ten. Gold medal in Olympic self-sabotage.

He stared for a beat. Just long enough to register it. The voice crack. The heartbreak. The humiliation curdling in your stomach like expired milk.

Then he scoffed. That trademark Sukuna scoff. That “you’re beneath me” noise that made your skin crawl and your heart crumble all at once. Like it wasn’t worth it. Like you weren’t worth it.

Then he left.

No dramatic door slam. No stomping. No cinematic thunder in the background. Just the soft click of the handle as it shut behind him. Quiet. Cold. Like a polite little fuck you from the universe.

You sat there. Alone.

Drowning in a sea of flashcards, energy drink cans, and the pink lightbulb you swore was a good idea when you bought it. You thought it was romantic. Cute. Mood-setting. Turns out it just made heartbreak look like a music video from hell.

Twenty years of friendship.

Three years of blurred lines.

And one second of cruelty you’d never come back from.

And the worst part? The absolute dumbest, most pathetic, most humiliating part?

You still wanted him to walk back in.

Oh god. Oh no. No, no, no, don’t cry. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t—yep. You’re crying. You’re crying in pink LED, like a sad little flamingo.

You wanted him to go slam the door open, with your favorite ice cream on hand (Friday is ice cream nights).

To say he didn’t mean it. To take it all back. To change the fucking light to blue this time, maybe even purple, something less pity-me-Barbie-core, and call it a truce.

But he didn’t. He never did.

Because that’s the thing about Sukuna. 

He didn’t fix the things he broke. He just stepped over the debris in expensive shoes and left before the dust settled. And you? You were always the idiot standing there, broom in one hand, heart in the other, wondering why it still hurt.

You wiped your face with his hoodie sleeve forgotten on the floor sleeve like a Victorian widow who also hadn’t slept in three days. Because your wardrobe is full of his fucking clothes. Oh my god, you’re still in your underwear. And, your thesis stared at you, cursor blinking like it was mocking you.

Fuck, you needed a drink so hard you wanted to forgot this stupid night.

So yeah—after that night, you both did it.

You broke the last, dumb, invisible rule of whatever-the-hell your relationship was.

You slept with other people.

Not out of desire. Not out of revenge. Not even out of rage. No, it was dumber than that.

It was survival.

You hooked up with someone from a rooftop party. What was his name? You don’t know. You don’t care. You laughed too loud, drank warm wine out of a Solo cup, and let some stranger kiss you like it meant something. It didn’t. Because he wasn’t Sukuna. That was the bar. The bar was not Sukuna. You limboed under it like a sad circus clown.

Across somewhere else, he did the same.

In a random ass bedroom in a frat house with lighting that looked like it was allergic to joy, Sukuna let someone run their hands down his back. He didn’t joke. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t whisper dumb things in her ear like he used to do with you. More like earlier.

He just laid there. Face blank. Eyes open.

Because if someone else wanted him—even just for one night—maybe it would drown out the sound of your voice when you’d said: at least I felt something.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work.

It never fucking works.

Because at the end of it, you both laid there in different places, beside warm strangers who meant absolutely nothing, staring at foreign ceilings that hadn’t heard you fight, cry, or laugh—and realized something ugly: you finally did the one thing you swore you’d never do.

You became strangers.

Strangers with shared ghosts. No one left to haunt but yourselves.

After that night? Radio silence. Nothing.

He didn’t walk over to your apartment anymore.

You didn’t leave the door unlocked. He has his own key to yours.

No Post-it notes on the fridge. No coffee mugs by the bed. No thesis pages tangled with underwear.

Just the hollow silence of absence. The weight of nothing.

And yeah. Gojo noticed.

Because you and Sukuna? You didn’t know how not to touch each other. You were that disgusting duo. PDA central. Couple-core. Fruit-peeling, lap-lounging, casual-hair-touching menaces.

You once made out behind the school bake sale. For charity.

Now? You barely made eye contact. And it’s been what? Three fucking weeks.

And if he walked into a room? You walked out.

Because looking at him was like looking at a memory you weren’t ready to bury.

Because if you looked too long, you might remember.

And remembering was dangerous.

Remembering felt like relapse.

Which—congrats, by the way—is exactly what you’re doing right now.

And now? You’re so disoriented from today (c’mon, two very deeply buried memories in a day flashing you because of that one look Sukuna gave you and sense of normalcy with this co-parenting situation with your son and his daughter being best friends, too?) – picking up the kids today, smiling like you weren’t dying, pretending that the raw fish didn’t taste like regret even as your son beamed up at you? 

So yeah. That Friday night? Alone in your master bedroom, lights off, ceiling staring back at you, while your son sleeps over at Sukuna’s house next door?

That’s when it hit. The full, unbearable weight of your very stupid, very mutual, very emotionally  constipated downfall.

And the worst part? The truly cursed, absolutely unhinged part?

Somewhere, in a dusty, padlocked corner of your ribcage you’ve spent years pretending doesn’t exist—

You still fucking loved him.

Even after that LED night.

Even after the single parenting.

Even after everything.

God. You’re such an idiot.

a/n: lol part 2 is coming sometime this May (?) aaaand as much as i wanna say that this is proofread – it's not :') hshdashadsah thanks so much for reading – i appreciate u all so much!!! also taglist is still open <3

[godmadeaterribleerror]

So Go On - A Babylon the Great Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Did anyone ask for this? No. Am I doing it anyway? Yes.

Chaper title from Give 'Em Hell Kid by My Chemical Romance

Word Count: 2.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Sam Chapter! Takes place after Chapter 20. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff

Read on A03!

When Sam Winchester was seven, he got lost in grocery store. All the walls had been too tall, and all the aisles had looked the same, and he’d squirmed away from Dean’s hand because he’d wanted to look at all the stuffed animals. He’d seen dog when they’d walked past, and Dad had said they couldn’t have a dog—isn’t safe, Sammy, and I ain’t got time to take care of it—but a stuffed one wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

But the novelty had worn off fast—Sam couldn’t even find Dad to pitch his idea—and then he was just alone. Afraid and surrounded by strangers, some of them giving him odd looks as he’d bawled on the floor, some offering help that Sam had run from.

Dad said not to take help from strangers. That it was dangerous, and could Sam up dead.

Dean said they had each other. That if Sam needed him, just to find him. And the store had been so big—Sam really didn’t miss when everything was too big—and until Dean did find him, there had still just been an overwhelming sense of lost. Unsure where to go, or what to do, or how this could possibly end. Only knowing that he wanted it to end.

To find Dean, and have it be over. 

A few weeks after that, Sam had asked Dean how Dad knew Mom was the one. It had seemed like a rational question at the time—it was Valentine’s season, there had been a romcom on the TV that Dean had turned off with a groan, but Sam had still seen the end of, and Sam was just starting to starting to understand the difference between love and in love—but Dean had just grimaced. 

“Dad doesn’t wanna talk about it.” He’d muttered, and Sam had frowned.

“But I’m asking you.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“But…” Sam had trailed off, swinging his legs off the motel chair as he watched Dean glare at the cereal box. “Dad did love mom, right?”

Dean had scoffed. “Of course Dad loved Mom. He’s working to avenge her because he loved her. That’s what love is, Sammy.”

Sam hadn’t been sure what Dean meant by that. At first, he’d decided it was avenging, because that was what Sam had ended up doing for Jess. But then Jess had still been dead, and Sam had been left with a whole lot of love that just hurt, until it faded into more of an ache and sorrow that he hadn’t gotten to love more.

So love couldn’t be vengeance. That started after the loss.

After that, Sam had thought that Dean had meant fighting.

Dean did fight with Her all the time. They’d never actually attacked each other—as far as Sam knew, though he was also pretty sure neither of them could ever bear to take so much as a swing at the other—but they argued about plans and strategies and hunts and a million other stupid things.

And then Dean would always turn around and fight for Her. Physically—holding a gun and moving in front of Her on a hunt, even though they all knew for a fact She didn’t need the help—or on Her behalf, telling Sammy how much She hated Ruby.

But Dean did that for Sam, too. He’d traded his life for Sam, and argued with Sam about a lot more than Ruby. So that was love, but it wasn’t love. It wasn’t what Dean had been talking about, all those years ago.

And there had been a very long point where Sam really hadn’t had a guess for what Dean could have meant. Maybe the key had been in the phrasing. It had just been vengeance the whole time, because Dean had said Dad loved Mom. Past tense. Just like Sam loved Jess. Still strongly, and probably a little bit for the rest of his life, but gone. Over.

Lost.

Sam didn’t like being lost.

Dean hated camping because of the bugs, and lack of civilization. And while Sam didn’t complain about it quite as much—people didn’t really seem to care about Sam’s problems enough for complaining to get him anywhere—he also wasn’t a huge fan. It was just like the grocery store. Sam was tall, but the trees were taller.

And it was too easy to get lost. 

Maybe Dean thought love meant being lost. That had been a very quick thought that was dismissed, because it was insane, and Sam had realized the truth minutes after. 

Dean hadn’t had a fucking clue what love was. He’d been talking out of his ass, parroting what Dad had probably told him and not knowing better. And Dad certainly hadn’t known what love was. He might have known then forgotten, through the haze of the grief, but whatever he’d told Dean had been wrong.

Love seemed to be a lot of things. Too many for Sam to isolate and study individually. He’d like to study it, but that was probably something that would get him called weird again.

She never called him weird. If Sam pitched studying love to Her, she might actually be on board with it. She was maybe the only person weirder than Sam was. And then he could—ethically—trick Her into being one of the test subjects, because there really wasn’t anyone who seemed to experience love more potently. Sam could fucking see it and hear it, every time She so much as said Dean’s name. 

Dean did the same thing, though. Sam was being put in a very annoying situation where he had to pretend that every time Dean called Her and she picked up, he didn’t notice the grin and change of tone. How Dean’s voice would drop a whole octave, and he’d lean back in his chair while smiling too wide for how he was still covered in blood from a hunt.

It was amazing that She hadn’t noticed. Sam thought of Her as an observant person, but somehow, all those details always escaped Her. It was the same as how normally, Dean was good at knowing the people he cared about. He’d always shown it through actions, their whole life. Ordering for Her and Sam at the diner and getting it right, doing work on the cars Bobby didn’t have time for, bringing Her any lore books She didn’t already have.

And Dean did know Her. Sam had no doubt Dean knew Her. 

But he still hadn’t seemed to work out why She’d gone insane when he’d been dying, or ran when they’d lost him. And She still didn’t notice enough to see why Dean didn’t spend nights with anyone but Her anymore, and always smiled at Her like she was the only thing in the world.

So Sam’s working theory was that love meant being a fucking dumbass.

It had to. And it was going to drive him insane that the only two people in the world that he’d ever seen be in love—full, true, star-eyed and almost adorably oblivious love—were so in love they were never going to figure it out themselves.

Sam would help them, if he was allowed to. But the last time he’d brought it up with Her, she’d thrown him across a room and started crying. And every time he mentioned it to Dean, there was a very strong sense of I’ll fucking kill you, Sammy in the air. 

That never stopped him, though. With Dean. Dean could take it. And Sam had earned mocking Dean about it, because he’d been forced to put up with eight years of just friends, Sammy, only to take one tiny push for it to be more. Sam leaves them alone for a few days, suddenly they’re sleeping in the same bed. Sam tells Dean to just go to Boston, and now they’re kissing. Sam pretends not to hear Dean sneaking out of their motel room in Florida, now they’ve kissed twice. 

One day, Sam was going to lock them in a room together, and maybe they’d finally have sex. Then they could have a good reason to just get their own room, and Sam would never have to be subjected to their longing eyes at each other again

Or hear Dean moaning Her name in his sleep.

That one would be freeing

It always felt wrong. Worse than when Dean had been on a sex spree at the start of the demon deal, and Sam had been forced to wait in the car. That had felt more like a chore. This felt like an invasion. Like walking in on his parents having sex, even if She wasn’t even in the room.

Sam wasn’t sure where She was. Cas wouldn’t tell anyone.

He wished She’d come back. 

It was harder to get lost, when She was here. She always knew what to do. If there was a case he couldn’t solve, Sam had always been able to ask Her for help. If he and Dean were fighting, She’d never talk to Sam less, even if She didn’t bother to hide Her opinion on the matter.

Like with Ruby.

Sam wished he could talk to Her about Ruby.

About how he wasn’t sure. He was lost again. Bobby and Dean were telling him to stop, but they didn’t understand. Sam could change things. He could help everyone, and he had it under control, and even if it wasn’t good wouldn’t it be better to do somethingrather than nothing? Wasn’t saving people what this was all about, no matter how much it hurt?

And if he was too far gone, wouldn’t it be better to just finish it? He might already be past repair. He might have been born past repair. Sam had always had a little too much sympathy for monsters, and he’d always wanted the best for everyone, but he didn’t know how to do that when he was lost. And Ruby offering him a way out of the woods. 

She’d understand that. She’d been lost too. In pain and not sure what was happening to Her. 

And if She didn’t, She’d tell Sam what he needed to hear. To stop. Just stop, because She didn’t trust Ruby, and Sam could keep being lost, but it would all end okay. There would be another way. She always found another way, and so there had to be one for Lilith, too. And She’d find it, and Sam wouldn’t have to do this. 

She was good at reading people, too. Sam knew She was. She made the same sharp, snap judgements and opinions Bobby did, and they were both right more often than wrong. 

And maybe Ruby was the one where She wrong. Sam wanted Her to be wrong. He wanted to trust Ruby, because it wasn’t her fault she was a demon, and she’d been there for him, when they lost Dean.

But Sam would have had Her too, if he’d looked for Her.

And maybe things would be different. Maybe She’d have given Sam a good reason to stop trusting Ruby, or She’d come around and Sam would be proven right.

It didn’t matter now. Sam trusted Ruby. The only person who understood, and was trying to guide him out to the other side. 

He still wished he could be sure. 

He still missed Her, and wished She’d come home.

“How do you know there’s always another way?” Sam had asked Her, a few weeks before everything went to hell, and She left. 

He and Dean had been on a hunt not that far from Sioux Falls, and She’d driven out to keep them company and help with research. It was the exact same as what She’d be doing back at Bobby’s. And Sam didn’t tell Her, but he knew She was only here because She wanted to see Dean. 

Sam had been forced to swallow a snort, when Dean had opened the door to see Her and visibly swayed like he was drunk. 

Love really did make them idiots.

She’d shrugged from the bed, Her gaze fixed on her laptop. “Don’t know. There just is, I guess. Haven’t found something that didn’t have another way. What do you want to do for dinner?”

Sam had frowned. “It’s like, eleven at night- Did you not eat dinner?”

“I-“ She’d paused, frowning at the clock on the nightstand. “Shit. Don’t tell-“

“Son of a bitch, it’s fuckin’ cold.” Dean had pushed open the door without warning, throwing a bag of chips at Sam’s face as he headed straight for the bed and carefully passed a sheath of Oreos and a muffin into Her hands. “Everything is so fuckin’ expensive here.”

She’d raised Her brows, a soft, sweet smile—the one that only Dean ever seemed to get, which the dumbass never noticed—already on Her face as Dean dropped at Her side. “We’re near Chicago, De, things aren’t going to be as cheap as home.”

“Yeah, but my jerky cost seven bucks.” Dean had grumbled, and She’d giggled. Sam had decided to investing in headphones.

“What were you planning on doing with that money instead of jerky? Investing?”

“No. Could’ve bought you a better muffin.”

“But I like this muffin just fine.”

“That’s because you have terrible taste in food, Princess. I could put sugar on a fish and you’d eat it.“

“Why would you put sugar on a fish-“

“To prove a point-“

“Stupid point to prove.”

“That’s pretty rude, sweetheart, I just bought you a muffin-“

“Dean.” Sam had called, and Dean had shot him a glare. “Did you get the coroner reports? Or were you too busy worrying about the jerky economy?”

She’d laughed at that. Even as Dean had scowled and marched back out to the car, She’d laughed.

It had made Sam feel big and warm, in his chest. Just like when he’d gone on his first hunt with just Dean, and he’d been to one to torch the body just in him. Dean had grinned at him and said nice job, Sammy.

She had laughed.

And Sam had seen how She didn’t stop watching the door until Dean came back. Or how Dean hadn’t even bothered to try and do work, seeming to decided that sitting at Her side and making sure She actually ate the muffin was a lot more important.

Sam could agree with that. There was always a slight itch under his skin about how She so obviously needed help taking care of Herself, but Sam wasn’t allowed to offer it.

He was never sure if She just didn’t trust him, or didn’t want him to do anything extra. Even thoughSam would be more than willing to try and offer Her food when Dean was busy, to remind her to go to the bathroom when she hadn’t moved in hours, or tp sit in the room with Her when she needed sleep. Not on the bed, though. Just in a chair, if it would help.

But those were things only Dean was allowed to do. 

Just like She was the only person Sam had ever seen Dean pass out against. She and Sam had continued researching while Dean watched TV—or pretended to watch TV, Sam could see he was actually watching Her more—right until he started snoring, slumped slightly against Her, and She’d closed Her laptop to take the remote from his hands.

She’d turned on a chick flick.

Sam hadn’t managed to hide that snort. “Dean hates these things, you know.”

She’d rolled Her eyes. “Dean can eat me.”

Sam had snorted again. If he knew anything about his brother, it was that Dean really wouldn’t object to that idea. He might short-circuit in a way She’d somehow miss, if he heard Her say that. 

And if it had been reversed—She’d been passed out at Dean’s side, Her head resting on his shoulder—this was the part where Sam would’ve started teasing. 

But he didn’t want to tease Her. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, and be the reason Dean lost Her. 

Sam never saw Dean happier than when she was here. 

He never saw him more stressed than when She was gone. 

And maybe that’s what love was. Always feeling better when they were there, and worse when they weren’t.

Sam wished he could make it better for Dean now. When She was gone again, and Dean never said it, but Sam could see the toll it was taking. Dean was sleeping less, frowning more, and on a further edge than usual.

And Sam wasn’t helping, by working with Ruby. 

He wanted to start helping again. He was working with Ruby to help.

And maybe killing Lilith would be enough to bring Her home. Sam would’ve helped like that. By bringing the woman Dean loved home, by getting Bobby back his daughter, by offering himself the only person who’d never treated him as odd or strange back into his life. 

The only person who wouldn’t try to make Sam do something, or tell him where to go, only for him to end up more lost than before.

Sam didn’t know what to do.  

And when She is gone, Sam sometimes felt seven again. Lost and wandering around the grocery store, everything looking like too much of the same, waiting for someone to grab his hand and show him the way back.

End Note: He misses his mom :( (She's literally a year older than he is)

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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[bonkybuchananbarnes]

There She Goes (1)

Next Chapter

Bucky Barnes x AFAB!Reader

You're a bright superhero popstar, and he's a quiet, brooding ex-assassin who seeks redemption. The two of you are like sun and moon. When Bucky suddenly moves in with the Avengers, you stop at nothing, trying to become closer with him. What could possibly go wrong?

Au!Post Civil War where all the Avengers are alive. This story is a slow-burn romcom!

Title and story inspired by the song There She Goes by The La's

Series tags: sunshine x grumpy trope, strangers to friends to lovers, 2000s romcom vibes, crackfic, reader is a bold outgoing flirt and Bucky is a self reserved shy?man, fluff & crack fic, some angst, bucky is trying to heal and you try to help him, maybe future smut?

----------------------------------------------------------

chapter warnings: swearing. thats all!

A/N: suddenly im trusted back to my 2018 marvel phase with an unhealthy obsession with bucky barnes! i wanted to give bucky barnes a 2000s romcom trope and so here it is. hope yall like it! lmk what you guys think, this is like a pilot episode tbh.

btw, you guys have a nickname. i'll alternate between that and (Y/N).

Word count: 2k

'(Y/n), no.'

‘(Y/n), yes.’

‘(Y/n), you can’t just ditch your world tour just because Star Spangled Spandex and I are having a pissing contest!’ Tony yelled.

‘Come onnnnn Tony! I want in on this tea! And besides, what's got you and Cap’s panties in a twist?’ you questioned. 

The two of you were sitting in front of each other, with the Avengers common table between your bodies. On the far side of the room was Peter, sitting on the couch and drinking orange juice from a straw while he watched you and Tony argue. 

Spiderboy finished the drink a minute ago, but he was still sucking on the straw, which made an unbearably annoying noise. 

‘Can you fucking stop that!?’ you screeched as you hurled a ball of photokinesis towards him. Peter yelped as he rolled to his left and dodged your attack, which resulted in the incineration of the couch. 

‘You asshole! Are you trying to kill me!?’ he exclaimed, as he clutched onto his chest. 

‘Stop clutching your pearls Penis Parker.’ you snarked. 

Tony stared at you incredulously. ‘You are so getting me a new couch Sunshine.’

You hated it when he called you that. You had photokinetic power, which in Layman's terms was being able to manipulate light at will and shoot power blasts. But Tony always insisted on calling you Sunshine because you were literally a ball of light. 

‘As I was saying Tony, why are you and Cap fighting again?’ you questioned.

The man in front of you sighed. ‘He wants to bring Barnes into our Tower. And for obvious reasons I don't want him here.’

‘Tony you gotta stop restricting hot men from living here. I want my daily fix!’ you pouted. 

The older man scoffed. ‘And that's the other thing! Even though you're a superstar and an Avenger you act like you don't have paparazzi in your closet! Keep your shit together Sunshine, I don't want another PR incident!’

‘Listen! Thor is so kissable. It just so happened that he turned his head while I was trying to kiss his cheek. And it was also a coincidence that the paparazzi were also there. Don't you want to kiss him too?’ you argued. 

‘She's right you know, Thor is a very kissable guy.’ Peter muttered with his mouth full of popcorn as he watched the two of you like a tennis match.

Tony’s eyes zeroed in on the brunette boy. ‘You’re in hot water kid.’

‘I’ve been in hot water for the past month.’ Peter muttered. 

‘Anyways… I’m still staying to see this lovers quarrel between you two. It's like watching a divorce and it's sooooo juicy.’ you said with a toothy grin.

‘Listen Sunshine, this isn't worth missing your show on. Besides, why would you miss the chance to shake some ass with Megan Thee Stallion? I clearly remember you complaining to me how she was impossible to get a hold of for your tour.’ Tony pleaded. 

‘Hm.. how about we compromise? You come down to Texas with me tonight, and Cap too. I want to see you guys argue after my show.’ you proposed. 

‘Girl please, you think Sir Chasity can handle all of that seeing you and Meg shake some ass on stage? He's clearly a Victorian child and it's going to kill him.’ He scoffed. 

In the corner of your eye, you see Peter ferociously shake his head in agreement.

You rolled your eyes and got up. ‘Whatever. At least I tried. It's been so boring lately here at the Tower. Would it kill for a girl to find some juicy entertainment? It seems to only happen when I'm gone on tour.’ you mumbled. 

Peter got up and shuffled towards you and grinned at you with a mouthful of food. ‘Don’t worry (Y/N), if there's a earth shattering danger, we’ll give you a call.’ 

‘We? Kid we speaking French now?’ Tony exasperated towards the boy. 

‘Boringgggg. Just give me a call when you finally let Mr. Armed and Dangerous live here, and I might just move back here for good.’ you announced while you walked your way out,

‘Stop going after abnormally tall and muscular men Sunshine!’ Tony called out behind you.

‘In your dreams Stark!’ you hollered back.

Skipping a step as you strutted to the elevators, you smiled to yourself. Growing up, you were the complete opposite of who you are now. Orphaned and alone because you were a freak of nature, you turned to music and singing to soothe the pain in your heart. Music saved your life, and it raised you to fame. The Avengers side gig was only an accident; you were discovered by Tony when you shot one of his satellites down from space. But now, you were quite fond of the man you now considered to be your uncle, and the whole team. And you couldn’t ask for anything else.

Humming your way down as you patiently rose the elevator, your tune was cut short when you arrived at the ground floor. The elevator opened, and you came face to face with Sam Wilson.

‘Well look who it is! It’s the superstar Sunshine!’ He greeted you with a wide smile.

‘Sammy! I missed you cutie!’ you squealed as you engulfed him into a hug.

‘Woah! Didn’t know I was being missed baby! Hold on, aren’t you supposed to be in Texas right now?’ he questioned.

The two of you walked towards the lobby of the Avengers Tower and stood near the entrance. ‘Yeah, I was about to head out actually. Talked with Tony a bit since I heard what was going on with him and Cap.’

Sam scratched the back of his neck. ‘Yeah, it’s been rough. Steve’s visiting Bucky at his place right now, and I just left. Is Tony still against him moving in here and being a part of the team?’

‘To be honest Sammy? I think I made it worse.’ you laughed.

The Falcon left out an airless laugh. ‘Of course you did. Now, get out of here! Your fans are waiting for you.’ he said as he lightly shoved you towards the door.

‘Now hold on! Come with me!’ you invited him, grabbing his arm.

‘And why would I?’

‘I’m performing with Megan Thee Stallion tonight. I thought you would know since I'm performing in Texas tonight.’

Sam’s eyes opened a fraction of an inch before he yanked you out with him. ‘Well, what are we waiting for!?’ he excitedly said while you let out a hearty laugh.

—----------------

While you loved performing at concerts, you hated the extreme exhaustion that came with it after it was all done. 

You sprawled out on the back of the Quinjet, breathing deeply as you tried to cool down. Your belongings were scattered on the floor of the jet, and they gently swayed as Sam flew you back to the tower. 

‘Man oh man, that was an awesome show! And when you brought out Meg? I thought I was about to lose it when she gave me a shoutout.’ Sam sighed dreamily.

‘You’re welcome Sammy! Now, I think you owe me something in return.’ you declared softly. You didn’t have the energy anymore. Once you reached back to the Tower you were going to crash. 

‘And what would that be, Sunshine?’ he teased.

Before you could answer, your phone rang. It was Tony.

‘What’s up, Tony Stank?’

All you got back was a sigh.

‘So… you’re not going to ask about how my night was?’ you snarked.

‘I’m sure your night was one hundred percent better than mine. Listen Sunshine, you got what you wanted.’

‘Tony, oh my god. You did not.’ you said as you suddenly sprang up.

‘Wait what’s happening?’ Sam questioned as he looked back at you.

‘Eyes on the sky Birdy! I’m not trying to die tonight!’ you exclaimed at him.

‘Tony if you’re not lying, I could kiss you over the phone right now!’

A retching noise came out of your phone. ‘Save that for Manchurian Candidate, (Y/n). Just get here safely and you’ll see him.’ Then he hung up.

‘Sam if you don’t hurry up I will jump out of this jet and go back to the Tower myself. A new man has entered my roster!’ you declared.

‘You got it baby.’ Sam laughed as he accelerated the Quinjet to get the both of you home faster.

—----------

“Steve, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Bucky muttered softly as he looked around the empty common room. He nervously played with the string of his worn down backpack, which held his entire life.

“Buck, listen. You can’t just isolate everyone. You need this.” Steve gently reprimanded him.

The former Winter Soldier’s eyes warily scanned the area and sighed deeply. “Listen, Tony doesn’t even want me here.”

The Captain placed a firm hand on his best friend’s metal shoulder. “Hey, if T’challa was able to make it up with you, hell, the government pardoned you! I’m sure Tony will eventually come around too.’ he conveyed. 

‘Hey, you said a bad language word Cap.’ you called out.

The two super soldiers turned around to see you and Sam standing. 

Steve sighed. ‘Come on (Y/n). It’s been years.’

‘You already know I’m never going to let you live this down Stevie.’ you sassed back.

‘Stevie?’ Bucky questioned the nickname under his breath.

You cocked your head and smiled brightly when you set your eyes on the gorgeous brooding man. Hastily making your way in front of him, Bucky tensed up at your foregoing attitude as you stuck out your hand.

‘I believe this is the first time we ever met! My name is (Y/n) (L/n). It’s so nice to see a new face here everyday, I was starting to get bored of everyone here.’ you introduced yourself.

Bucky simply stared at you. He swore that you were slightly glowing, and not because you were so chirpy.

‘Aw, you don’t mean that Sunshine! You’re telling me that you’re bored of me?’ Sam playfully whined behind you.

You shot a playful glare at your friend.

‘Sunshine?’ Bucky questioned. ‘What’s with these awfully affectionate nicknames?’ he thought.

A tense smile broke out on your face as you turned around to face Bucky. ‘An unfortunate nickname that I’m stuck with due to my unique abilities. And no, I’m not showing it right now.’

Staring back at the man, you suddenly became very self aware. ‘He’s got the same gorgeous eyes as Thor’ you thought.

‘Also, that nickname is not the only thing you’ll be stuck with.’ Tony suddenly called out, breaking your train of thought.

Whipping your head to the open kitchen, Tony is standing with his arms folded. He shot you a deadly smile.

‘Alright, Stonks. I can smell your plan from here. What do you have to say to all of us here?’ you shot at him.

The suave man took striding steps towards you and the three men beside you. Stopping in front of you, he gripped both of your shoulders as he smirked at you. 

‘You got what you wanted Sunshine. Since you wanted Mr. Armed and Dangerous to say here so bad, he’s going to be yours and Steve’s responsibility!’ he declared.

‘What?’ Bucky blurted.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Steve exclaimed.

Sam stifled a laugh.

‘Oh god.’ you muttered as you brought your hands to your face. ‘This is going to ruin the tour.’

Tony let out a hearty chuckle, but was cut short when you gasped.

‘Wait! Oh my god are you serious Tony? I get to be with him? Like a lot?’ you asked excitedly.

Bucky, who was clearly bigger and stronger than you in any way, shape or form, stepped back from your sudden outburst. Sam eyed him weirdly.

‘Uh, yeah? Also, you’re awfully excited for someone who just said their tour was ruined.’ Tony nervously said.

Steve shot Tony a wary look. The man simply shrugged.

A small light started to flicker out of your head. Bucky’s eyes widened at the sight. You made your way towards the super soldier as you grabbed onto his flesh arms and gave a side hug.

The ex-assassin froze at the sudden physical contact as you started to flicker more out of excitement.

‘Oh we’re going to be such good friends!’ you squealed.

James Buchanan Barnes, a man who was once greatly feared, was now scared for his life. He gave Steve a deadly stare. His best friend simply shrugged and returned a smile.

Oh God, what did he get himself into?

[inkofthebrain]

Imperial

[Paul Atreides x Reader] 1179 words

Paul Atreides, Duke of Arakkis, takes the hand of the Emperor’s eldest daughter for the throne, yet neither are pleased. They know they must learn to be civil, but what will it cost them…

Tags: post-Dune 2, strays from book canon, no use of y/n, dune typical everything, Corinno!Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers kind of? ARRAIGNED MARRIAGE TROPE EXCEPT BOTH PARTIES ARE PISSY ABOUT IT, not proofread LOL.

Warnings: Dune typical themes, motifs, and actions

A/n: ITS HERE! Sadly, there will be longer times between updates. But to mitigate that I have decided that shorter chapters and for frequent chapters will do better for my writing stamina

Previous chapter Next chapter (coming soon…)

Dune Masterlist

Eight———

The great hall is exceptionally expansive, its high ceilings supported by massive wooden beams. The room is filled with guests, all dressed in their finest attire, the women in flowing gowns and the men in tailored suits. The windows are bedecked with heavy velvet drapes, though right now they're left open to let in the soft golden light of the afternoon sun.

At the far end of the hall, you see the altar where the officiant stands, poised and expectant. Before him stands Paul, his figure tall and commanding, a vision in his ceremonial attire.

The atmosphere in the room is electric, charged with excitement and anticipation, yet you can’t help but feel anything other than fear. The guests are silent, their eyes fixed on you as you make way down the aisle. The music swells softly, its notes a perfect accompaniment to the scene unfolding before you.

Countless factions and political powerhouses are in attendance, all sat in organized sections waiting to bear witness. The Bene Gesserit stand in the shadows, Irulan eyes sticking out behind her veil. You give her a curt nod. Each step is carefully calculated and filled with poise. You carry a small smile on your face as you elegantly approach the altar. A facade of power.

As you make your way to stand in front of Paul, your heart is pounding in your chest. The officiant speaks, commanding the attention of the room. "we are gathered here today to witness the joining of two illustrious houses," he begins, his voice resonant and clear. "House Corino is an ancient line renowned for their wisdom and strength, their rule over the great empire marked by benevolence and prosperity. and joining them is the house of atreides, heirs to a long-standing legacy of honor and courage, their reputation built upon fearless leadership and unwavering loyalty."

as the officiant continues his speech, his voice takes on a more somber tone. "however, even in the grand tapestry of empires, a darker shadow looms. the emperor's rule has been marked by greed and corruption, injustice and tyranny. the empire has become a prisoner of its own vices, its people suffering under the weight of its excesses."

"but now," he declares, his voice rising with newfound hope. "with the union of these two great houses, a beacon of change has appeared." he turns to you and Paul, his eyes gleaming with optimism. "the atreides-corino union represents a hope for a new era, a time of prosperity and justice that will transform the empire for generations to come!"

As his voice rings through the room as you and Paul stand side by side observing the short applause. Dignitaries from all areas of the spacing guild and known universe have come to witness the eminent shift of power. The lesser houses hoped for more riches and power while the great houses feared for their standing within the new empire.

Breathe. That’s what you remind yourself. Just breathe. You have the weight of an empire on your shoulders yet you hold your head high. You refuse to falter, there is no room for weakness within this court; this you know very well.

the officiant looks towards you and Paul once more, a soft smile playing on his lips. "and so, as the stars witness this union, may the wisdom and strength of the golden lion, the honor and courage of the atreides, and the hope for a brighter future coalesce in this moment, and forever change the course of the empire's history. let the union be sealed, and the new epoch begin!"

He guides the two of you to a lavish table where union documents are played out. Paul approaches first as the room is filled with an eerie silence. He takes a deep breath before glancing down at his fathers ducal signet, pouring out a small puddle of wax and pressing his fist into it, leaving an impression of the Atredies crest. He steps back and motions for you to go next.

As you walk up you notice the existing signatures recognizing this marriage. High court officials, Lady Jessica, and your father. His lavish signature mocks you from the paper. His last decree is the overturning of his power. You take a deep breath and grab the pen layed on the table and sign your name. It is done.

Your feet trail backwards and your back is met with the arm of Paul, who then swiftly turns you to face the audience.

“House Corino and House Atreides have been conjoined! Through sickness and health, times of peace and times of war; this union will stand triumphant.” The officiant speaks into the air before turning to you and stating your name and title, “Do you recognize this union?”

Without thinking you begin to speak, “I do.” Your voice doesn’t falter.

“Duke Atreides , do you recognize this union?”

You feel Paul slightly stiffen before speaking, “I do”

From the pedestal adjacent to where you and Paul are standing lay the wedding bands. Within moments they are presented to the two of you, you with Paul’s and him with yours. No explanation is needed for the next steps.

Paul’s hand reaches for your left and you raise it to him. His hands are rough and slightly scarred, from training and perhaps Arrakis, as they slip your ring on.

It’s anything but delicate, the titanium wraps around your finger coming to a plateau at the top where a compacted sphere of spice encased in some preservative lay. It's similar to Paul’s, which you hold in your right hand. A silver band with spice marbling that demands your attention.

Your eyes flicker up to meet him as he releases your hand and outstretches his left. You slip the ring on before averting your gaze to the officiant. The silence in the room is broken.

“Duke Atreides, you may kiss your bride.” He states.

You turn your eyes to meet Paul’s before taking a deep breath. A kiss to seal your fate. The entire sentiment is ironic to you, such a soft and delicate act to mark the beginning of such struggle and pain. You have yet to see it but something within you shudders with the weight of the future.

Your eyes lock with Paul’s blue eyes as he leans in, his face cupping your cheek before his lips meet yours. His lips are soft and warm, a slight twinge that reminds you of cinnamon. Spice. Power over spice is power over all. A power which you are soon to hold.

As you pull away you wonder if Paul will falter under the weight of the crown. There is a want within him which you have yet to place, a want that proceeds past that of wealth and power. In the short time you have gotten to know your now husband, you have learnt a few things about him. He is strong and loyal like his father was yet cunning and intelligent like his mother. He has seen things you cannot even imagine, the significance of the power he holds terrifies you, yet you fear more for what power this union will birth.

———

Next chapter

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[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 15

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slow burn

cw ; none, dottore is mentioned but none of his hideous acts

notes ; WHATS UP SMART FELLAS AND FART SMELLAS ⁉️

I PROMISE IM NOT DEAD,,,, see the thing is that since i published the last chapter of this, i’ve done some crazy things like finishing and graduating highschool and studying and doing national exams and preparing to apply to colleges and yknow….. really normal, totally not time consuming stuff LMAO i can’t promise that i’ll be consistent again as i am still pretty busy with all that bizz but i’m very happy to have finally gotten a new chapter out

ANYWAY ITS MEROPIDE TIME BABEY ‼️ finally get to write my pookie wookie shmookie wriothesley, can u tell that i think he’s neat :3 can u tell that i am brewing up something with him :3 can u :3

also i HAVE OTHER WRITING PROJECTS COMING OUT SOONER OR LATER MORE LATER I PROMISE,,,,, currently cooking up something for whatever dungeon meshi-heads out there that r willing to enjoy it!!!!!

previous | next | masterlist

this line could not be moving slower.

you’ve been standing here for so long— any progress forward is merely two steps further but your legs have long since turned to lead, making each movement arduous and achy. mind hazy and limbs sluggish as you drag your feet through the rusted metal flooring. the most likely cause for your sudden stagnation is the overwhelming pressure from being… however many feet underwater you are, as you haven’t had much time to adapt to that yet.

ironically, it almost makes you regret your decision and you hadn’t even truly gotten inside the fortress of meropide. perhaps this was some sort of intentional psychological warfare towards the new prisoners, some sort of initiation for the upcoming torments of their sentences. even so, you look back on the moment and think it was the best course of action.

you remember the way your heart dropped upon hearing the word ‘guilty’, the way it fell all the way down to your feet and picked its pace back up again, beating a hundred miles per hour. you remember the way you weren’t even given time to say goodbye, to reach out to childe as he rebelled against the guards and was immediately detained by the iudex.

the iudex… you become conflicted at the thought of him. part of your brain tells you that you should be angry and despise him for only letting you visit childe after he was reported to be missing from the fortress, under the guise of inviting you to investigate his disappearance. though… he was so kind about it. you must’ve visited his office nearly everyday to ask for permission to visit the prison, every time being met by the same answer of ‘it’s beyond my capabilities’, but each of them he remained utterly patient and civilized— something that you ashamedly can’t say that you did in return. and even so, he graciously offered to grant you a fake sentence so you could find the harbinger yourself, with the help of the traveler and paimon of course.

there was a certain air to monsieur neuvillette, one of silent melancholy and deep thoughtfulness. your first impression of the iudex had you recalling zhongli as a comparison, but now you’ve grown more certain that they have far more in common. neuvillette is most definitely not human, you’ve long since assessed that, but every time you get a look at his eyes while visiting his office, you notice an almost draconic appearance to them. perhaps that’s why you can’t fully bring yourself to dislike him— he reminds you far too much of you the fond friendship you’ve found within the consultant of wansheng funeral parlor.

there’s a shove to your shoulder that snaps you back into reality and you realize it’s your turn to have your mugshot taken. mugshot… what would your mother think of you now? both her own child and their childhood best friend having criminal records in another country— you can practically feel the pinching of your ear, even if the false charge was something as ridiculous as stealing lady furina’s cake. despite the flash of the kamera making your eyes sting, you do your best to maintain a neutral expression and wonder if the traveler and paimon had already gotten their turn and have long since installed themselves in the fortress. you especially wonder so when you’re left to venture the fortress of meropide alone, with only a room number and no knowledge of the prison’s system to your name.

“hey! you there!”

oh dear heavens, it’s already started— you’ve not stepped foot into prison for one whole minute and you’re already about to become a bullying victim. you swallow thickly and turn around meekly like a cornered rabbit. a particularly grumpy-looking guard is the one who calls you over, expression hard and stoic. you nearly consider begging him to not be mean to you like a cowardly little kid, but he speaks before you even get to open your mouth and spew anything embarrassing.

“you’re y/n, the new inmate, right? the duke wants to see you in his office.”

oh it’s so over for you.

perhaps you haven’t become a punching bag just yet but you’ve sure, somehow, irked the warden enough to be immediately sent to his office. oh gods… is it because you’re fatui? you heard there were quite a few fatui operatives already residing in the fortress of meropide— perhaps the duke has a particular distaste for your kind. the guard half-heartedly shows you the way to the duke’s office, the singular, imposing tower at the center of the fortress.

the silence inside the tower is deafening, the only sound heard is the clang of your steps against the metal stairs, almost as if you’re the only living being inside. the second floor introduces itself through the incredibly faint, almost innate herbal scent that wafts around you more and more the higher steps you climb. finally, it reveals an atmospheric office with bookshelves rounding the walls, a comfortable-looking sofa with a coffee table littered with teacups before it and in the grand center of the room, a wide desk— the last thing you register is the man sitting at it expectantly.

he looks nothing like you expected him to.

by the title of duke, you were picturing an older, posher man adorning expensive fabrics and a distasteful, condescending expression towards the ‘lower lifeforms’ of his prisoners. instead, he’s much younger and rugged, littered with scars, dark tones and sharp edges to his outfit— he almost looks like an inmate himself. despite not appearing necessarily condescending, the duke of meropide is still plentiful imposing, as his icy blue eyes and platform boots send a shiver through your spine when he stands up to greet you. he sticks out a hand and you instinctively flinch away, although the hand only hangs in the air passively awaiting a handshake.

“y/n l/n, prisoner 7458, it’s a pleasure to meet you. welcome to the fortress of meropide.”

oh… his tone is so casual and friendly, it completely takes you aback— like you’re meeting a friend on the street instead of the highest authority of an enormous prison as one of his very own prisoners. you scramble to shake his hand and awkwardly fall into some sort of bowing motion in the midst of you’re panic.

“a-ah yes! thank po you very m-much, your grace.”

with this proximity, you have no choice but to look at the duke’s face up close. he wears an easy smile on his otherwise seemingly hardened face, one that you can’t help but subconsciously think of as handsome. another juxtaposition to your expectations toward the duke is that, despite his rugged and troublesome appearance, he is quite well kept— as seen by his neat peach fuzz. he confuses you entirely.

the duke chuckles amusedly at your entirely perplexed demeanor.

“no need to be so nervous, this is a casual talk that i personally wanted to have with you, rather than a… part of the fortress’ welcoming ceremony. so please, have a seat, make yourself comfortable— i’ll prepare us some tea. oh! and call me wriothesley.”

you do as… wriothesley says and sit on the surprisingly cushy chair in front of his desk as he himself steps off to the side to make the tea. your mind is still running at miles per hour with everything that’s happened and with what might happen next, with what to say or not to say to the duke, with where childe, the traveler and paimon might be right now. not to mention the sickeningly sweet smell that fills your brain even further… this must be some strong tea. wriothesley sets a teacup in front of you and sits at his grand, tall chair behind the desk. he faces you with a bright smile that you force yourself to return, yet you still can’t help but keep the thought of this ‘casual talk’ having other intentions gnaw at the back of your mind.

“so, i won’t dilly-dally with what i’d like to talk about— as you may have noticed, the fortress harbors quite a few inmates from the fatui.” bingo. who knew that your blinded anxieties were actually right.

“all of them arrive here with similar ranks, under similar sentences for similar crimes. standard stuff, really… but this is the very first time we’ve gotten ourselves a sergeant.”

although the duke keeps up an easy-going and lighthearted demeanor, you can’t help but remain on edge. you feel once again like prey cornered by a calculating hound. the smell of the tea still plagues your mind with its unavoidable presence— what’s even worse is that the scent isn’t entirely unfamiliar to you, the memory is just out of your grasp, frustrating you even more.

“and even further, this is our very first time we’ve gotten ourselves a fatui sergeant whose crime was… to steal a cake from lady furina?” wriothesley briefly looks down toward a document on his desk to make sure he’s actually recalling your crime correctly. you barely listen to what he’s saying, still laser focused on recognizing this irking fragrance.

“adding onto that, it seems as though we’re receiving two new inmates today who are arriving on the exact same sentence for the exact same crime as yourself. seems a bit curious, doesn’t it?”

your attention is caught by the mention of the traveler and paimon and you shoot up in your seat.

“oh yes, those are my friends! a-are they okay? have they arrived yet?”

wriothesley is seemingly surprised by your sudden enthusiasm, as he chuckles with certain shock and amusement. he looks at his file once again, eyes trailing over to the two other prisoner registry’s below your own with a certain analytical hint to his gaze.

“i’m certain they’ll be arriving at the fortress shortly. in the meantime, why don’t you tell me how exactly the three of you managed to commit such a heinous crime?” he asks humorously.

wait!

you’ve finally recognized the scent… a lesser known tea leaf from liyue, with no real definitive name for itself— only truly studied within the medical field for being one of the few tea leafs to contain sodium thiopental, a barbiturate that slows the speed of the communication between the spinal cord and the brain, making high-functioning tasks such as lying harder to perform. a truth serum.

wriothesley has served you a truth serum.

so much for a ‘casual talk’. you’ve known the man for not even a full day, yet you still feel a sting of betrayal fermenting in your chest. but truly, what can be done when you’ll always have a big fat target on your back that labels you as nothing more than a fatuus? you’ve chosen this wretched bed, now you must lie in it.

and lie you will.

with a forced laugh, you feign a reminiscent smile. “a-ah, it’s actually quite silly— i believe it goes without mention that my friends and i are foreigners and still wildly foreign to fontainian customs. we were invited to a meeting with lady furina and monsieur neuvillette in the spirit of diplomacy but, ahah… i guess we were unfamiliar with lady furina’s predilection for sweets and just took one for ourselves!”

wriothesley laughs in turn, but you’re unable to discern how genuine it is. you watch his periwinkle eyes flicker briefly toward your untouched teacup and suddenly, the atmosphere turns into one akin to a game of chess— innately hostile and strategic, where both of you must be hyper aware of the other’s next move lest you make a mistake and lose your carefully constructed composure.

“i must say it is an unlikely set of circumstances…”

you subconsciously look toward wriothesley’s own teacup, seeing that his remains as unsipped as yours. with a chilling feeling, you look back up to see that the duke’s gaze was already fixated on you, which means he saw you checking his teacup. which means he knows that you know.

“though, i’ve got to ask… what exactly entails your position in the fatui? this is purely out of my own curiosity, as most of our inmates all come from the house of the hearth.”

you swallow hard.

“well… i’m head of the infirmary, that’s all my position is, really. the sergeant title is just a half-assed justification for how high my ranking is.”

the calculating hint to wriothesley’s gaze softens in the slightest amount possible and he lightly looks off to the side, as if reminded of something, or someone he knows by your answer.

“i work directly under the second fatui harbinger, il dottore. i’m somewhat his… assistant.” the word assistant leaves your mouth with a tinge of disdainfulness as your body almost instinctively tenses at the mention of… him. the duke picks up on it.

“the doctor, huh— haven’t heard much about him myself, but what i have heard seems like more than enough for me.” you can’t help but snort at that.

“do you like it? working for him, that is.”

you’re staggered into silence and a shocked expression— the suddenness of the question completely taking you by surprise. the speechlessness you feel is painfully reminiscent of when kunikuzushi asked you if you’d like to kill dottore. despite the answer being obvious to you, there’s a subconscious fear gnawing at your side that dottore might be out here listening, disguised as someone else or as one of his segments, living a false life. but you can’t allow yourself to live in fear of him anymore— his segments are gone and he’s pathetically stuck in zapolyarny palace by himself while you’ve been out and traveling miles and miles away from snezhnaya. kunikuzushi doesn’t fear him, so why should you?

you’ve always been terrible at bluffing, so fuck it— you might as well not bluff at all.

instead of answering wriothesley immediately, you lunge for the teacup and gulp down the entire thing, much to his surprise. the duke is stunned in return as he merely watches attentively for your reaction to the serum. the silence between the two of you is prolonged as you give the serum time to take effect. the taste itself is a delightful, slight earthy flavor— making it even more enticing to drink normally for one unaware of the leaf’s properties. you don’t feel any different after a few seconds, if not ever so slightly woozier. you breathe in and out deeply, letting the first answer that comes to your mind be the one that comes out.

“i take my job very seriously, your grace— i am a medic, my ambition is to save lives. and there isn’t a soul in teyvat that i would ever want to kill more than i want to kill him.”

the answer feels foreign and unexpected even to yourself. the first time you were asked such a question, before one who was once the balladeer and dottore’s experimental god, your answer was no. it felt easier to say no— to tell him you’d rather he be the one to end the doctor’s reign of terror, because for the most part it was true. but then kunikuzushi found closure, he found new life and prosperity in places outside of godhood or tormenting others or spiting his ‘mother’ or going after dottore.

and you, you stayed the same. you’re still suffocating within the grimy, clawed grasp of the second fatui harbinger. you’ve been through so much, visited four different nations within the span of the last year, fought an abyssal creature and an artificial, nearly god-like being yet you still feel as stuck as you did while you were still stationed in snezhnaya. you’re still stuck having reasons to want to kill dottore, kunikuzushi moved past his.

the duke still can’t find an immediate response, as he merely scoffs incredulously at what he’s just watched. you see a faint glaze take over his gaze when he looks aimlessly down at his desk, as if truly involving himself in memories of the past— his eyebrows furrow briefly, as though the memories he recalls aren’t good ones. something grips at your throat, an anxious feeling, as you regret being so impulsive as to reveal something so damning about yourself. to a prison warden, no less. you feel as though you’ve sobered up and feel the need to make up for what you said and excuse yourself, but before you can even open your mouth wriothesley is already standing from his chair.

“well i respect your honesty, sergeant. i’m afraid we’ll have to leave our talk here, as i have to welcome more of the new prisoners into the fortress, maybe even your friends will be amongst them— i’ll make sure to give them the word that you’re here.”

you nod briskly and scurry to leave the office while the duke insists on seeing you out himself. your head pounds with nervousness, and perhaps slightly with the truth serum tea you just downed all at once— so much so that you almost don’t notice wriothesley’s hand sticking out once again in a polite handshake. much less do you notice the fascinated studying scan of his eyes across your face as your hand meets his.

“and again— welcome to the fortress of meropide, y/n.”

you don’t sleep well on your first night at the fortress.

perhaps it’s due to not being used to the overwhelming pressure of the water, perhaps due to the lack of warmth that your metal surroundings bring, perhaps a side effect of the tea.

or perhaps… it’s because you dream of ajax.

at first, the dream is sweet— drowning in cheesy, tooth-rooting romance tropes dug from the most delusional corners of your brain, ones that you desperately tried to suppress after you got over your phase of reading romance novels as a child. you’re reliving the tension-filled moment inside your hotel bathroom from the other morning, where some mystical force had pulled you and ajax so close together you shared the same breath, getting painstakingly closer still. only this time, instead of getting interrupted by those guards, the scene keeps going… and going… until you truly, finally meet each other in the middle.

within the misty midsts of your slumber, it almost feels real— there’s a shock of electricity when your lips touch, your heart beats faster from even outside the dream, you can nearly feel the warm sigh of satisfaction that ajax lets out from his nose and onto your face. but it still isn’t enough, the tightness in ajax’s desperate grip onto the back of your head and on the small of your back aren’t present enough. the juxtaposition of his fiery warm skin against your own cold one isn’t contrasting enough, your skin doesn’t burn as fiercely as it does when you touch him in the waking world.

and soon enough, the dream shifts… shifts into scenes of ajax inside the fortress. you’re not lucid enough to find the images strange, as you’ve never seen him inside the fortress yet— so you remain stuck, watching as he sneaks past a plethora of guards to reach a decrepit tunnel, overridden with plant-life as it connects out into the fontainian sea. your vision starts to blend incomprehensibly like watercolors on wet paper, until all the remains is a blinding, blue mess and a faint whisper in ajax’s voice:

“something’s… calling me… i… i have to go…”

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap @koichirana

and don’t forget to boycott this shitty game!!

[milksnake-tea]

Okay so. Hi again. I finally see your prompt stuff on the event and thought those were examples not the actual questions we could ask. I'm so sorry 😭😭😭😭😭 so here are my prompt hc questions:

How good do you think Luocha is at cuddling?

What is he like in love?

And what are youe general hcs about him?

That's all!! I hope you have a great rest of your day 😭 sorry I caused sm trouble

- NV

NO ITS OKAY BYE I GET IT IT CAN BE CONFUSING LOL ITS FINEEEE ALSO !!! technically the prompts are bothh, u can ask them and u can ask other stuff too !!

ANYWHO LUOCHA !!!! MY WIFE HERE WE GO

1. What are your general hcs about them?

I'll say this first and foremost, Luocha is a brat and he welcomes that title with pride. He just always has to have the last laugh, he'll taunt and tease you in that smooth, deceptively innocent voice of his. You could have him pinned to the ground with a sword at his throat and he'd have that self-satisfied smirk as if this was his plan all along. Luocha's a flirt when he wants to be (which is almost all the time), he's just also really good at appearing civil during it all. Enemies to lovers? No, enemies and lovers. Heck, you don't even have to be lovers for him to mess with you - Sushang knew him for five minutes and he was already sassing her up.

6. What do you think Luocha is like in love?

turns back to my notes uh BUT !!! I wrote some of it back in this post, but if I were to expand on it, there's a very big difference on how Luocha acts when he's attracted to someone, as opposed to when he's in love with them. You'll have to prepare for a slow burn though, because Luocha (like 60% of all HSR men) has walls upon walls around his heart. He's someone who constantly wanders the cosmos and rarely settles down for even a second. When he's attracted to someone, he's like how I described above - provocative, teasing, smug and flirty. A little shit. But when he loves someone?

Luocha doesn't hate the way he feels around you, but it still scares him, even for a little bit. He's still teasing, but he softens around you, and by a lot. Sometimes, when the air feels a little too empty without his prattling, you'll turn around to find him staring at you, taking in every little detail about you. When he realizes you've noticed him, he only gives you a little smile before turning away, leaving you confused. His fingers are always intertwined with yours, and by the Aeons, is he protective of you. If he even hears that you're in the vicinity of danger, he's immediately running over regardless of what he's doing currently. Luocha isn't that much of a fighter himself, but when it comes to you, he'd gladly draw his sword.

10. How good at cuddling is Luocha?

He's uh. He's definitely new at it BYEE I honestly don't think that despite his personality, Luocha has much experience on that kind of intimacy. It takes a lot just to convince him to lay down with you and just hold each other, but once he settles in, he finds that he rather enjoys it. Luocha also prefers to be the one being held rather than doing the holding, so he'll snuggle right up into your chest or your neck and just lay there. Feel free to play with his hair too, he loves it when you massage his scalp or run your fingers through his locks. If he's not busy trying to not fall asleep, he'll talk about his day or ask about yours as you snuggle together. I'd give him a solid 8/10; he's a bit stiff and awkward the first few times, but he'll eventually melt into it <3

2k follower event if you want to participate !!!

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 74

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: A prisoner escapes into Alexandria. Maggie and Glenn reveal a secret. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; threats via guns; heavy innuendo; discussion of eye-related injuries; discussion of pregnancy/children; car accident; car accident related injuries

Chapter 74 - Disruption

Despite Daryl’s mild, half-hearted protest, that really wasn’t a protest at all, Iris unabashedly answered the door half naked. Glenn flushed bright red as she leaned against the door in only Daryl’s button down shirt, Maggie’s eyebrows shooting up. Daryl leaned against the bannister on the landing, wearing pants but no shirt, trying not to smile as the realization hit them.

“He— um. He escaped.” Glenn said hurriedly, clearing his throat. The mood dropped, Iris and Daryl sharing a knowing glance as they jumped into action and pulled themselves together. And by pulling themselves together, Iris put on a pair of shorts and they both grabbed their weapons.

The four of them and Abraham burst into Rick’s house, guns out, Iris’ lips curling back in a makeshift snarl as Jesus sat casually on the staircase, holding a painting he took off the wall. Carl stood behind him with a gun to the back of his head, Rick and Michonne in haphazard stages of undress right behind him. It appears Iris and Daryl weren’t the only ones who were interrupted. 

“It’s— it’s okay.” Michonne called softly, putting her hand out. Abraham warily lowered his weapon, Glenn glancing between them. Daryl kept his gun trained on Jesus, not faltering for a second. Iris lowered her gun and met Michonne’s gaze, exchanging a knowing look.

“You said we should talk.” Rick stated plainly, shrugging a t-shirt over his head. “So let’s talk.” 

They sat Jesus down at the kitchen table, Rick lending Daryl a shirt, much to Iris’ dismay. It seemed like a somewhat civilized discussion, though Iris felt bad for Carl, who was likely now privy to a lot of information he didn’t need or want to know. 

“So how’d you get out?” Rick asked calmly.

“One guard can’t cover two exits or third floor windows.” Jesus replied with a half shrug. Carl sighed. “Knots untie and locks get picked. Entropy comes from order, right?”

“Right.” Daryl snapped loudly. Jesus turned to acknowledge him, blinking.

“I checked out your arsenal.” Jesus stated. “I haven’t seen anything like that in a long time. You’re well-equipped, but your provisions are low. Very low for the amount of people you have. Fifty four?”

“More than that.” Maggie corrected. Glenn’s hand still rested on his pistol beside her. Jesus hummed.

“Well, I appreciate the cookie. My compliments to the chef.” He said.

“She’s not here.” Iris replied shortly, narrowing her eyes at him. Jesus sighed.

“Look, we got off to a bad start.” He stated. “But we’re on the same side. The living side. You, Daryl and Rick had every reason to leave me out there, but you didn’t. I’m from a place that’s a lot like this one. Part of my job is searching out other settlements to trade with. I took your truck because my community needs things, and the three of you looked like trouble. I was wrong. You’re good people. And this is a good place. I think our communities may be in a position to help each other.”

“Do you have food?” Glenn asked.

“We've started to raise livestock.” Jesus replied, nodding. “We scavenge, we grow. Everything from tomatoes to sorghum.”

“Tell us why we should believe you.” Rick said, tilting his head.

“I’ll show you.” Jesus offered. “If we take a car, I can take you back home in a day and you can all see for yourselves who we are and what we have to offer.”

“Wait.” Maggie paused, leaning forward. “You’re looking for more settlements. You mean you’re already trading with other groups?” Jesus smirked, sitting back in his chair.

“Your world’s about to get a whole lot bigger.” He answered.

-

Iris grunted as she stood up straight, her head brushing Daryl’s hand as he braced the edge of the RV hood. She scowled into the engine, brushing her hands off on a rag he offered her. Everyone was properly dressed now, the situation handled and tensions loosened. Though, Iris quietly missed the way Daryl had filled out Rick’s shirt, his biceps bulging under straining seams.

“How’s it looking?” He asked. Iris shrugged, sighing.

“Works fine. Just not as smooth as it would if we had more supplies.” She answered. He nodded, turning to face Denise as she, Abraham and Glenn began to cart stuff out of Rick’s house to prepare for the journey. They were not about to leave for Jesus’ community without proper supplies.

“Here.” Denise said, handing the two of them small packets wrapped in plastic. “Homemade oat cake. Complex carbohydrates, omega-3s.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Daryl grunted, turning and pretending to do something in the engine of the vehicle. Iris rolled her eyes, taking them both from Denise.

“Thank you.” She said with a small smile. Denise nodded, waving as she walked back to her house. Rick stepped down from inside the RV, Judith in his arms and Carl on his tail.

“You sure?” Carl asked.

“No.” Rick sighed. “But if it is, this could be the start of everything.” 

“Hey, Cotton-Eyed Joe.” Iris called with a grin. Carl grimaced. His bandage was more or less for decoration at this point, much of his eye healed on the outside. Though, there wasn’t much eye left. He simply used it to cover the scar.

“Har har.” Carl grumbled, letting his father ruffle his hair. He was almost as tall as Rick and Daryl now, with enough attitude to beat them both. Rick prodded Daryl’s elbow, taking him aside to have a separate conversation.

“How are you doing?” Iris asked, leaning against the vehicle. Carl shrugged, turning to look as Michonne escorted Jesus down the steps of their house. “You didn’t know, did you?”

“Nope.” Carl replied, watching Michonne take Jesus over to his father, standing closer than they had been before.

“Are you mad?” Iris asked. Carl shrugged.

“No, I mean… I want my dad to be happy. It’s just… weird, I guess.” He replied. Iris nodded in understanding. “On the other hand, Abraham owes me a couple candy bars.”

“Oh?” Iris asked, raising an eyebrow with a small smirk.

“Yeah. I bet him as soon as you guys moved in together that something would happen. He said you and Daryl would be living together for years before one of you finally made a move. Glenn has been in debt since the prison, and my dad thought you guys would get together at the farm, so he’s a lost cause.” He grinned wide and Iris scowled, gently punching him in the arm. He made a face. “Definitely seen more than my share, though.”

“Put some hair on your chest, cowboy.” Iris grumbled, folding her arms across her chest as Carl chuckled. “Are you coming?” She asked, jerking a thumb at the RV. Carl shook his head.

“Nah, someone’s gotta stay back to protect this place. Besides, a kid with a messed up face probably wouldn’t make the best first impression.” He replied. Iris frowned.

“Carl—“

“It’s fine.” He assured, putting his hand up. “I’m fine. I want to stay with Judith anyways.”

“Okay.” Iris said softly. She pulled him into a one armed hug, hating that he was almost taller than her.

“Let’s chew up some asphalt!” Abraham called, standing beside the door to the RV. Rick bid Carl goodbye as Iris closed the hood, Daryl following her up the steps and closing the door behind them. Iris, Daryl, Rick, Michonne, Abraham, Glenn, Maggie, and Jesus.

Rick drove while Jesus gave directions, Abraham sitting behind the driver’s seat to ensure he didn’t make any sudden moves. Maggie sat sleeping up against Glenn’s shoulder, his arm around her. Michonne was playing cards with Daryl at the table whilst Iris attempted to read the most boring book on the planet. Someone had left it in the RV and clearly wished to cause people to suffer.

“Hey.” Abraham called softly, Glenn sitting up a tad straighter, looking over to him. Abraham raised an eyebrow. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Hmm?”

“When you were, uh, pouring the Bisquick,” He proposed, pursing his lips, “were you trying to make pancakes?”

Iris jolted upward, dropping the book, her jaw falling open as she turned to face Glenn and Maggie. Glenn’s hand was resting protectively on Maggie’s stomach, and Iris cursed herself for not noticing earlier.

“Are you kidding me?” She asked, her eyes blown wide. Glenn flushed a deep crimson, not only from being put on the spot but from Abraham’s phrasing.

“Uh… yes?” He replied, narrowing his eyes. He glanced back to Maggie. “It’s something that we talked about…”

“Yeah.” Abraham nodded, content with that information.

“Why?”

“No, I just… well, given the precarious state of affairs on any given Sunday, I am damn near floored that you or anyone else would have the cojones to make a call like that.” Abraham explained.

“I mean, well,” Glenn replied, sitting back. “We’re trying to build something, me and her.”

“For the record, I see rain coming, I’m wearing galoshes. I double up.” Abraham stated, nodding. Iris had no idea what the fuck that meant. Nor did she want to know. Glenn nodded, his face decorated in equal confusion.

“Fuck him,” Iris muttered. “Congratulations.” She said with a smile. Glenn returned it, gratefully accepting the hug she offered. Maggie was pregnant. Holy shit. The brakes of the RV squealed as Rick slowed, pulling off to the side of the road.

“Hey, Rick, what’s going on?” Daryl called from the table.

“We got a crash ahead.” Rick replied. Iris pursed her lips, hoping she wouldn’t have to do any repairs. “Looks like it just happened.” Standing, Iris peered out the window at the flipped car. It was just at the edge of a neighbourhood street, the car on its side and covered in a good amount of blood. Gas was splattered across the road so Rick kept a decent distance. A walker that was pinned underneath the car reached out as he turned down the residential street to get a better look.

“It’s one of ours.” Jesus said abruptly, standing from his seat. He practically bolted from the RV before it had even stopped, Iris on his tail. 

It was a gnarly crash, another walker stuck between the front bumper and the grill of the car. Jesus recoiled as he stopped beside it, breathing heavy. Rick cocked his pistol.

“If this is a trick, it won’t end well for you.” He stated plainly, the barrel of the gun poised between Jesus’ eyes. Jesus shook his head.

“My people are in trouble.” He stated. He was right, the car was empty and the walkers around it had been dead for a good while. “They don’t—“ He huffed. “We don’t have a lot of fighters. I know how it looks, but I’ll play it out. Can I borrow a gun?”

“No.” Daryl replied immediately. He gestured down at the ground. “We got tracks right here.” The group, minus Glenn and Maggie, followed the tracks to a small office building, Rick taking point as he pounded on the door.

“They gotta be in there.” Jesus insisted, shifting nervously between his feet. 

“We moving in or what?” Abraham asked, looking to Rick.

“How do we know this ain’t firecrackers in a trash can?” Daryl asked, stalking forward.

“You don’t.” Jesus replied, throwing his hands up in the air exasperatedly.

“We’ll get your people.” Rick stated. “You’re staying here with one of us.”

“That’s the deal.” Michonne agreed. Maggie agreed to stay with Jesus, urging them to go find whoever appeared to be lost. Rick handcuffed Jesus, asking Maggie to shoot him if he whistled.

Iris happily handled her knives as she stepped into the building first, looking around at the tipped desks and chairs. Most of the blinds were drawn, Daryl pulling out a flashlight to illuminate the way ahead. A few walker snarls echoed through the halls as they split up to search the building, quietly. 

Daryl, Glenn and Iris took the hallway to the left, taking out a few walkers that emerged from a small office. Iris spotted more movement through the frosted glass window, but it didn’t come at them. She hopped over the walker bodies, pulling the rolling chair away from the corner. A young man with wide eyes stared up at her, his hands raised high to show he was unarmed.

“We’re with Jesus. Let’s go.” Glenn called. Iris helped him up but he made no move to follow them.

“I can’t go with you. I’m looking for my friend.” He said softly. “He’s close and he’s hurt from the crash.”

They heard a soft yell down the hallway, running toward it to see Abraham grab a man by the neck, hauling him up against the wall.

“Come on, man, let’s go!” Daryl called. They ran together out of there, Iris watching their six as they emerged from the offices. There were four survivors in total.

They were brought back to the RV where the injured man could be treated and Glenn could keep an eye on them. The man Iris found introduced himself as Harlan, a doctor from Jesus’ community. They were on a run to get medication for some sick people. Harlan just so happened to be an obstetrician, and was more than willing to help them through their pregnancy. 

“You okay, Freddie?” Jesus asked the injured man, who was keeping his leg elevated on the small sofa.

“For a second back there,” Freddie murmured, glancing nervously at Abraham, “just when I thought he was gonna… I saw my wife. She died before all this. Just when I thought it was over… there she was. Clear as day.” He sobbed, Iris sighing quietly as she looked over Michonne’s shoulder at the road ahead. 

Right about the same time that the RV skidded into a mud puddle, the tires spinning without any movement. Rick almost stalled the engine before he stopped trying, slamming a fist on the steering wheel.

“Damn it.” He grumbled. He tried again.

“Rick! Christ, just stop.” Iris grumbled, opening the door and walking out to the engine. She put her hands on her hips expectantly, watching as Rick mumbled something and turned the engine off. 

“A storm must have passed through.” Rick called. “We’re stuck.”

“No worries. We’re here.” Jesus realized, standing up and following Iris outside. The rest of the group followed onto to see an enormous wall constructed of a few sheets of corrugated metal, but mostly logs of wood. It spanned a good distance, creating a perimeter around what looked like a large manor house, from what Iris could see of the roof. “This is it. This is the Hilltop.”

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[drew-the-pic]

love languages

Crowley and Aziraphale each have their own specific language for each other. Their own specific love languages, specifically for each other.

They both have a general love language, of course.

Aziraphale's is hard to discern. Gestures are a great part of it, I believe. Angelic nature = acts of service. But he is really just reclused. An ambivert, I believe you could say. He will socialise if he really truly needs to, and he keeps up the appearance of being perfectly amiable. But, he really just has Crowley and his books. I think that's one of the reasons books are such a large part of his personality. Throughout centuries people and civilizations rise and fall. Perhaps he got too attached in early years to mortals he didn't realise would pass on too soon. But books will never betray or leave you in unpredictable ways. Their stories are always there. The only one who has also been there the entire time has been Crowley. These two are the only immortals for each other. And that's also why quality time is quite a large part of Azi's general love language. Spending as much time with someone as possible because you never know when you'll lose them, especially if they're mortal.

The ambivert/recluse perspective really relates to both of them at this point. I can see Crowley having much more of a social life than Aziraphale, but only really on the surface. Practically platonic flings. As per the usual, he has realised the truth early on, that he can't get too attached to anyone. So he'll make friends, he'll spend time with random people; get wasted at clubs, become quick besties with Freddie Mercury, Hozier, Shakespeare, anyone who'll let him rant drunk. But he would never really delve deep into any sort of relationship. Only his angel.

They're the only people, or people-shaped beings, the other could rely on this entire time, through fights and Ragna-right-okay-neverminds, through everything. (until recently ;-;)

Their personal languages for each other are also much more than loosely based upon their ideas of love, and the sheer humanity of it.

Crowley's idea of love is desperate, intense, and intimate (not just physically). A burst of feeling in a tumultous atmosphere, followed by pure expression of adoration for each other. A slow burn and enormous supernova of love. A galaxy of devotion to each other. Which also directly relates to the (supposed) moment he fell in love. Love at first fricking sight. Looking into each others' eyes and realising you were made for each other. An explosion of feeling. He shows his love for Aziraphale in these ways. Desperate rescues and speeches. Very cinematographic ideals, he has.

Aziraphale- oh ho. This true good old-fasioned lover boy. Jane Austen, Cotillion Balls, a slow dance with your love. Gentle, caring, heart-wrenching. A sudden realisation. Very, very sudden, everything. His idea of love is of discovery. But it is also very vague. I feel he is terrified to pursue anything. The terror on his face of implications, realisations that he is knee-deep in the roller coaster of love. He probably never considered any of this until the 18th or 19th century, with his new favorite novels. It is all so very new and scary and sudden to him.

[ghouly-boiiiii]

A Light in the Dark 🕯️

Chapter 4: The Price of Freedom

Lucy x Cooper Howard / The Ghoul

In this chapter…

The bounty hunter turned back to her. “You alright?”

Lucy shook her head. “I don't know… I mean… I should be grateful that I got to grow up in a safe place where people aren't constantly killing each other, but…”

The old wastelander turned away again, then said thoughtfully, “Man wasn’t made to live in a cage. We’re animals. Same as any.”

“Yeah…” She said, her voice soft and forlorn. “I donno… there’s just… so much more out here than I ever imagined… Back in my vault, everything was… regulated, regimented. You were told what to do, what to think, how to feel. Everything was so… controlled… Then, I come up here and it’s…” She shook her head. “It’s violent and chaotic and brutal, but… it’s real.”

<<< Previous Chapter

Summary: As they begin their journey across the Wasteland, Lucy is very angry and fearful towards the Ghoul, but she wants answers. He, however, is harboring secret feelings for Lucy ever since she saved his life. Having not been with anyone since Barb, and believing she would never feel the same, the bounty hunter has to deal with these feelings on his own. Little does he know, Lucy finds herself having inexplicable feelings for him as well, and struggling to make sense of them.

Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Casual Sex Lucy and No Wait Let Me Court You Cooper, Cooper is touch-starved and rusty in bed, He’s also self-conscious about his body, Ghoul channels old romantic Cooper, Lucy is confused by strange surface dweller mating customs, She helps him discover his old self, He helps her discover her true self, Did I mention there would be angst

Rating: Mature - Word Count: 4,723

SPOILER WARNING: Contains all the spoilers. No trigger warnings except eventual sexy time with a zombie man and lots of angst.

Once they started walking, Lucy strolled briskly ahead of The Ghoul, with her chin held high and a smirk on her face. Feeling rather confident, but also a bit nervous. She wasn’t sure what had come over her. That was nothing like what those conflict resolution courses had taught her to do back in the vault. But it sure as hell felt good.

The vault dweller was starting to surprise herself. Wilzig has told her that if she were going to survive, she would have to adapt. And she was. She was adapting. The realization that she was starting to get acquainted with a part of herself she didn't even know was both exciting and terrifying. In the past, she always put considerable effort into being fair and civil when resolving issues with others. Never threatening with violence. But, thanks to the Ghoul, she had to learn quickly that… that kind of diplomacy wasn't gonna cut it up here. Still, it was pure posturing. Lucy knew she could never overpower The Ghoul. She could never beat him in a gun fight or a fist fight or probably even a pillow fight. But the last thing she was going to do is roll over and take his bullshit anymore. After several near-death experiences, her patience had run thin. 

“Hey, Vaulty… Slow down.” She heard him grunt behind her. “I ain’t no spring chicken, ya know.” 

“Oh! I’m sorry.” The vault dweller said and spun around, continuing to walk backwards, with a contemptuous scowl on her face. “Would you like me to put a rope around your neck and drag you?”

“Huh.” The Ghoul grunted again as he stared at her, jutting out his chin. “Behind you.”

The vault dweller heard the buzz right away, and turned around just in time to see a giant bug flying towards her. 

Her companion fired, splashing it's innards everywhere, before Lucy could even let out a yelp. 

“Jesus!” She screamed as she tried to shake the bug juice off her. 

The bounty hunter laughed. “Better not get too cocky.” He said and eyed the pistol on her belt. “By the way… you any good with that thang?” 

Lucy looked up at him, trying to wipe the slime off her arms. “...The pistol?”

“Yeah.”

“I can shoot.” She said, turning away and focusing on cleaning herself off. 

“You sure?” He said, walking towards her. “It's more complicated than you might thank...” 

“I can shoot.” The vault dweller insisted in annoyance. 

The wastelander tilted his head slightly. “Alright… Well, I hope so. You're gonna need it…” He looked around a moment. “ In fact, maybe we should do some target practice before we run into some real trouble...” 

She quickly spun around to face him and shrugged, waving her slimy hands at him. “Hey, I've got an idea. Maybe I'll use your face for target practice. Then you can tell me if I'm any good or not.” She hissed, then turned and kept walking.

“Ah. Well… I suppose that would settle it.” He joked as he watched her stomp ahead of him.

Lucy paused and looked around a moment, then back at him. “...You sure this is the right way?” 

“Sure is. Just keep yer eye out.”

She exhaled in frustration, then turned away from him and looked up, finding herself standing at the edge of a deep, dark forest.

The trees …

They had to be one of the most breathtaking things she’d seen since she came to the surface. Even though she’d seen plenty of pictures growing up… witnessing the sheer scale of them in person - the way they stretched up towards the sky and towered over her - was a completely different experience. Every time she came across them, she had to pause. Their looming presence and delicate beauty, drawing her eyes up towards the canopy.  

“Scared, Vaulty?” The Ghoul teased.

The vault dweller ignored him, not letting him interrupt her moment. But despite it's beauty, she trembled. Even though she'd trekked through a forest before, now she was a lot more aware of the horrors that could be lurking among the seemingly peaceful scenery. 

She still had nightmares about that damn Gulper. 

“What do we gotta look out for?”

“Out here?” The Ghoul stepped up next to her, craning his head up at the tall oaks and pines. “Mostly just bugs. Probably…” He smirked. “Like that cazador you was makin’ friends with back there.” 

She turned her head towards him, her expression unamused. “What else could be in there?”

“Well, there could be anythang.” He said as he brought his gaze back down and shrugged his shoulders. “Raiders. Supermutants. Deathclaws. Ya never really know.” 

“I thought this way we’re supposed to be avoiding the Deathclaws.”

He just looked at her and shrugged again. “Like I said. Ya never know.” 

She huffed, blowing her hair out of her face in annoyance, and crept carefully into the dense trees.

As they continued on, she admired how the light of the midday sun trickled through the canopy. Flooding the forest with glistening beams of light. The buzzing of the (normal sized) insects filled the air, along with the melodic chirping of (unmutated) birds and other wildlife. It amazed her how even after so much destruction, there were still places where the world brimmed with so much natural life.

She must have been smiling without realizing it, because The Ghoul saw fit to point it out. 

“Enjoying yourself?” 

Lucy turned to him, furrowing her brow and glaring. “Until you start talking, yeah.”

“Huh… So mean.” The Ghoul snickered, then turned to Dogmeat. “Why she so mean to me, huh?” 

“Tch…” She scoffed, looking away. “I'm mean.” 

“Big ‘ol meanie.”

They continued in silence for a while, until suddenly he whispered sharply to her, breaking her from her thoughts. “Hey! Get down!” he said, taking cover behind a tree.

She quickly found a tree to hide behind as well. “What is it?” 

The Ghoul pointed a gloved finger out ahead. “There she is.” He said quietly as he peered past the tree and a smile formed on his face.

Lucy looked in the direction he was pointing and saw a rather unsettling looking creature. “That's a… rad horse?” 

Dogmeat whined quietly as she eyed the animal. 

“Shh… Dogmeat.” The bounty hunter said, motioning to the dog to lay low. To which the canine obediently crouched and licked her lips in excitement. 

“Stay here.” He said, turning to Lucy as he pulled out his lasso, then started creeping towards the mutated horse. “Take notes.”

She glared at him a moment, but watched diligently. 

With a surprising amount of finesse for such an old coot, The Ghoul approached the radhorse with the stealth of a wolf on the hunt, readying the rope with an expert touch. 

 Lucy remembered when he used that rope on her, and it made her even more pissed off.

The bounty hunter closed in, spun the lasso into the air, and tossed it at the radhorse, expertly landing it around the beast's neck. 

Her eyes widened as the monstrous creature let out a horrifying howl. Not quite a normal horse's neigh, but more like a scream. 

“Whoa!” he shouted as it rose to its hind legs and thrashed its head, dragging him closer and nearly knocking him down. 

But he stood his ground as he fought to get control over the animal. He certainly seemed to have more experience with horses than gulpers, Lucy thought. 

“Hya! Hya!” The Ghoul called out as he pulled in the rope, gradually forcing the creature into submission, until he was face to face with its rotting carcass of a head as it spat and grunted in protest. 

“Ha-ha!” He barked victoriously. “That's right. Easy, girl.” Then, with a surprisingly gentle touch, he rubbed the creature's long muzzle. “That's a good horse.”

She smiled as she watched, finding herself quite fascinated, but also excited about the prospect of riding this thing.

As he pulled his old body up onto the horse, she slowly approached.

He grinned from atop its back when he noticed her. “There, you see? You just gotta show ‘em who’s boss!” Then he reached out to Lucy, offering his hand to help her climb up. “Come on now. Let's get a move on.”

With some hesitation, Lucy reached up and took his hand, letting him pull her up to sit behind him. 

Although she wanted to ride, she also felt rather uncomfortable suddenly being so close to The Ghoul. He was like… right there. “Oookay… so… we’re just gonna… ride this thing?” Lucy said with a lot of concern in her voice as she tried to keep herself steady. 

“Yup.” He smirked, tying the rope around the horse's head to use as makeshift reigns. “You best hold onto somethin’.”

“Like wha–!!” She was cut off when the bounty hunter clicked his teeth and the horse suddenly rose to its hind legs, letting out a raspy scream before it started galloping ahead.

With nothing else to hold onto, Lucy had no choice but to throw her arms around The Ghoul’s torso and hang on for dear life. “Gahhhh!!!”

“Yeah!!” He laughed in excitement, grabbing onto Lucy’s arms to make sure she didn’t fly away.

“Oh my God!!” She screamed and buried her face in his back, squeezing her eyes shut and praying she wasn’t about to die.

“Whoa, girl!” He shouted excitedly. “That’s it! Ha ha!” 

One thing the vault dweller was not anticipating was the way being on the horse jerked and tossed her body around. She was used to living in a vault, where everything was in walking distance. They had no need for transportation. She’d never moved this fast in her life.

The speed made the blood rush to her head. She felt a welling come up from her stomach, and expel from her mouth laughter that was both terrified and excited. 

Oh my God!! Oh my God!!!” She kept screaming.

“What's the matter, Vaulty? I thought ya wanted a' ride a horse?” He shouted tauntingly as they sped through the forest. “Ain't this everythang ya ever dreamed it would be?”

“I’m gonna throw up!!” She cried out, still unable to open her eyes and genuinely feeling nauseous.

The bounty hunter let out a hearty laugh. “Alright, alright. I’ll give ya a break. Don’t want’cha pukin’ on my good coat.” He joked, then pulled on the rope to coax the horse to a steadier pace.

Lucy finally got her bearings, realizing she was clinging onto him, then finally let go. “I-I'm sorry!”

“I’m just glad you didn't fly off.” he laughed. “Coulda put you up front. Then we'd be real cozy.”

Lucy's eye twitched a little. She couldn't tell, but it almost sounded like he was trying to flirt with her… “Ugh… no thanks.”

The two rode at a steady pace for a while with Dogmeat patrolling beside them, who was sure to investigate any sign of life she came across. Lucy found the ride to be a lot less fun and exciting and a lot more uncomfortable and unpleasant than she imagined. Mainly because of the man sitting in front of her. If he'd been a handsome, good man… like Cooper Howard, for example… maybe she'd enjoy it a bit more. 

But no. It had to be The Ghoul she was sharing this experience with. Her stomach muscles ached from trying to lean back away from him. She felt disgusted, being so close to him, and wanted nothing more than to take a shower after having touched that filthy coat. He smelled like a combination of dirt, gunpowder and cigarettes. An earthy, smoky, slightly damp-ish smell. Which was better than what she expected, but still not very nice. 

Lucy tried to distract herself by focusing on the environment around them. As the day drifted late into the evening, the intense golden-orange rays of the sun pierced through the great green canopy above, and she again found herself admiring its delicate beauty. And as they approached a body of water, the shimmering waves reflected the light even brighter. 

The Ghoul directed the radhorse to stop, looking out at the lake before them. “This should be a good place to rest for the night.” 

She eyed the seemingly calm scenery and glared suspiciously. “You sure this is safe? …What about gulpers? ”

“Ain't never seen a gulper ‘round these parts.” He half-heartedly assured her. “Lakelurks more wha’cha gotta worry ‘bout.” 

“...What's a lakelurk?” 

“You'll find out eventually.” 

Lucy huffed, then jerked her head back as he suddenly turned to look over his shoulder at her. “Alright. Come on, now. Scoot.” 

She blinked. “Oh… right.” Then hopped off the horse.

He followed suit and quickly got to work setting up a spot to camp. Tying the radhorse to a nearby tree where there was plenty of vegetation for it to nibble on, and enough slack on the rope where it could reach the lake for water. He didn’t make a fire this time, not with the wide open lake before them where plenty of prying eyes could see. Lucy did her part, picking up twigs and brush to clear a place to sleep, and kept her eye on the water for any sign of those… lakelurk things.

After making a quick scope of the area, The Ghoul pulled out the sack of leftover molerat and sat down on a fallen tree with Dogmeat excitedly taking a spot in front of him, hungrily licking her lips.

“We outta fill up on water while we're here, Vaulty.” He said, looking out at the lake as Lucy approached, and pulling out a handful of meat. “This lake is cleaner than most.”

Dogmeat whined and shuffled her paws in front of him. The wastelander threw her a piece before starting to gnaw on one himself. 

Lucy sat down on the log as well - keeping some distance as she'd spent enough time in uncomfortably close proximity to him - then held out her hand.

Without a word, he handed her the bag. 

The vault dweller took out a couple pieces, then placed it down between them.

The two sat in silence for a while as they ate. It was a silence that Lucy appreciated. It gave her a moment to listen to the sound of the water. The swish of the gentle waves as they washed in and out from the shore. Only interrupted by Dogmeat whining for more food, and the occasional cough from The Ghoul.  

She then found herself fixated on the sight of the sun settling behind the lake and hills beyond. Even with the silhouettes of crumbling ruins in the distance - the bright, multicolored sky and the sparkling waters beneath was an incredible sight. 

The Ghoul must have noticed her gaze, as he said something then that she found quite unexpected. “...Beautiful, ain't it?”

Lucy blinked, then looked at him. “...What?”

“The sunset…”

The vault dweller turned, shifting her eyes back out to the scene before them. She wasn’t sure what to say, and was a little annoyed. The way he was commenting on the beauty of nature, like he was some kinda sensitive soul. Still… she simply replied, “...Yeah.”

“Even after two-hundred years… it never gets old.”

Lucy blinked again, glancing over at him a moment, although he didn't look back. As she averted her eyes and again looked up at where the sun touched the water, a thought came to her mind. “Two-hundred years…” she repeated as the reality of his age finally sunk in. “So many sunsets…”

He nodded. “Sure is.”

Slowly, her face took on a subtle expression of sadness and loss. “You've seen so many…” Then she looked down at the ground. “Me, I've only seen… just a handful...”

“Mmm…” The bounty hunter nodded in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes forward. 

“...Back in my vault, we had this… projector.” The vault dweller said thoughtfully. “Every night… it would show a sunset. The same one every night.” She fidgeted with the food in her hands, idly turning and turning it. “I suppose… I got it in my head that... that's just what sunsets looked like. But… since I came up here… every single one has been completely different. Every single one is unique... And every single one is… absolutely breathtaking..." She turned her head down and shrugged a little, suddenly looking a bit embarrassed. "I mean... I'm sure everyone up here takes it for granted... but for me its...” 

The Ghoul stopped chewing and looked over at her, a realization suddenly hitting him as well. He turned back and thought a moment before responding. “You know… I can’t even imagine what it must be like never bein’ outside yer whole life.” 

Lucy sunk a little more, her eyes drifting to the ground as an inexplicable feeling of grief came over her. 

Noticing her silence, the old bounty hunter turned back to her. “...You alright?”

She shook her head and shrugged. “I don't know… I mean… I should be grateful that I got to grow up in a safe place where people aren't constantly killing each other, but… there are things up here that… I donno…”

The old wastelander turned away again, then said thoughtfully, “Man wasn’t made to be locked in a cage. We’re animals. Same as any.”

“Yeah…” She said, her voice soft and forlorn. “I donno… there’s just… so much more out here than I ever imagined… There’s so much to see, so much to experience… Back in my vault, everything was… regulated, regimented. You were told what to do, what to think, how to feel. Everything was so… controlled… Then, I come up here and it’s…” She shook her head. “I mean… it’s violent and chaotic and brutal, but… it’s real.”

The Ghoul nodded, then replied. “You know... I had'a opportunity to get in one'a them vaults once.”

She looked up at him. “Really? …What happened?” 

“Well… I turned it down,” he said and took another bite of the molerat meat.

“You did?” Lucy lifted her head a bit higher, looking at him with shock and disbelief. “Why would you do that?” 

“‘Cause a’ all the thangs you just said.” The wastelander scowled as he looked out at the lake. “I didn't fight for our freedom in'a war just'a let some company control my life.” He turned to her, looking at her with serious indignation. “Vault-tec… they ain't no saviors. They didn't give a damn 'bout savin' America, or the world, or nothin’. They just about profits, like any other corporation.” 

She returned his stare with reluctant defeat. 

“You've seen it. You might’a been indoctrinated yer whole life, but yer smart. You see...” 

The vault dweller blinked, then looked away. “I don't understand… how could anyone prioritize money over human life…?” 

“Huh…” The bounty hunter chuckled. 

She shook her head. “...No. You're right.” Then looked away. “People do it all the time.” 

“Guilty as charged.” The Ghoul acknowledged. 

“But in the face of complete extinction? I mean… if their goal is to make money, it seems like letting humanity die out would be pretty counter intuitive...”

“Oh, it's even worse than that.” He said, aggressively gnawing on more molerat and spitting out some of the tougher, burnt pieces. “These delusional fuckers thought they were gonna create some kinda fuckin’ utopia up here. By killin’ off everyone except the people in they own damn company. Hell, even the folks who shelled out millions a’ dollars to get a spot in them vaults weren't safe.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Most’a the vaults weren't even meant for people to live in, no matter how rich ya were. See, Vault-tec sold off most’a their vaults to some’a the biggest companies in America. One’s wanted a way to do unethical shit without nobody sayin’ nothin’ ‘bout it. Most’a the people who went in them damn vaults just wound up bein’ test subjects for all kinds’a fucked up experiments.”

Lucy stared at him a moment, then looked down, remembering the question she was asked by the Overseer of Vault 4. He’d asked her what the experiment in her vault was. It was a question she didn't want to think about. But now, being told this, the revelations from her father and Moldaver - realizing how little she actually knew, how much she’d been in the dark… it made her sick to her stomach. 

What… was the experiment in her vault?

The vault dweller sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. “...What else do you know?” She asked, then looked back up at him. 

“Hmm… Well, I know how ta play a mean game a’ Rummy.” He joked.

“Come on… What else do you know about Vault-Tec…?” She leaned in, her eyes pleading. “Please… Whatever you know… Just tell me…”

He paused and looked over at her, chewing on his cheek.

She looked back at him, square in the eye. “Please… I… I want to know everything… I need to know.”

The Ghoul rolled his jaw, then looked back at the water and took another deep breath. “Well, I ain't tellin’ you everything… and I probably don't know as much as you're hopin’ anyway...” He looked back at her, flashing a reluctant smile.

“Then tell me whatever you can…” 

He looked down at the ground. “Well… I supposed I can tell ya this. You'd probably put it together eventually, anyway." He pulled out a knife, and started cutting some of the meat up into smaller pieces, before tossing them to Dogmeat. "Before the war… My wife worked for Vault-tec...” 

“Ohhh…” Lucy's eyes widened a bit. “Before the war… That's how you got a chance at getting in a vault.” 

“Yeah… but then I found out what Vault-tec was up to…” he shook his head and furrowed his brow. “And, well… that was it for our marriage.”

“Oh… I see…” She looked down in thought. “I remember... at the observatory... you asked my father where your family is…" Then she looked up at him. "Have you... really been searching for them for… two-hundred years…?” 

“Eh… I ain’t talkin’ about that.” 

“They must have got into a vault, right? But you didn't? Is that how you got separated?” She pressed.

He chewed on his cheek. “Somethin’ like that…” 

“But you don't know which one they’re in?” 

The bounty hunter didn’t answer.

Lucy looked at him in confusion and shook her head. “But… if it's been over two-hundred years… What makes you think they're even still alive?”

“Damnit, I said I’m not talkin’ about that, Vaulty!” He snapped, raising his voice. 

She leaned back a little. “Alright. Geez. No need to get all cranky.” 

The Ghoul exhaled and shook his head, looking away. “Anyways… What I was tryin’ ta say… was that I actually learned most’a what I know 'bout Vault-Tec from other vault dwellers.” 

“Other vault dwellers…? You’ve… met other vault dwellers?”

“Well, sure. You thank yer the only one crawled outta them hamster cages?” 

Lucy glared at him a moment. “Did you use them as fish bait too?”

“Personally, I’d call gulpers amphibians, not fish.” 

“Tch…” She huffed. “Way to dodge the question.” 

“You wanna know if I messed with ‘em too?” He said, leaning towards her. “Well, the answer is yes. In fact, I practically tortured the first three.”

“God…” The vault dweller looked away, then back. “What is wrong with you?” 

“I was determined to find out where my family was, by any means necessary.” He leaned back and ran his tongue over his lips. “Needless to say, It didn’t work.” 

“Did you kill them?”

“One a ‘em died. But I didn’t kill ‘em. Fuckin’ centaur attacked us. Neither one a’ us had ever seen one’a them thangs before in our lives. Scared the fuckin’ shit outta me. I almost pissed myself. Poor bastard didn't know what hit 'im.”

She shook her head. “You really do only care about yourself, don’t you? ...Also, what’s a centaur?” 

“Aw, come on. That’s not true.” He said, flashing her a smirk. “I shared my molerat with ya, didn’t I?” 

“Only because you need me to help you find my father.” 

“Eh…” He shrugged. “I could probably do that myself. Way I see it, you’re a sort of… insurance.” 

Lucy rose a brow. “...Insurance?” 

“I figure he’s gonna want his daughter back, ain’t he?” He took a drink from a bottle of whiskey he had in his pocket as he looked out at the water. “Maybe, if he thanks it’s the only way, he’ll tell me what I wanna know in exchange...”

“Oh… so you’re just gonna trade me again.” She said indignantly. 

“Not without your permission…" He said, looking over at her. "And it ain’t like we gotta be honest about it, neither. Unless you’re that committed to that golden rule a’ yers.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, the wheels in her head starting to turn. “...What are you suggesting?” 

“When we find yo’ daddy, he’s probably gonna assume I took you captive." He turned back to the water and took another bite. "We can use that.” 

“Right…” The vault dweller pondered his words. “And if I do that… If I let you leverage me so you can find your family… you’ll help me get the answers I want?” 

“Those are answers we both want, darlin’. So, yeah.” 

“And how do I know you’re not gonna just ditch me after you get what you’re after?” 

“Well… I guess you’re just gonna have to trust me.” He said, turning to her and flashing her a smile.

“I’ll never trust you.” She scowled. “How can I possibly trust you?” 

“You know you’re free to leave anytime you want.” The Ghoul said, raising his arm towards the woods. “I ain’t forcin’ ya ta be here.” Then, he looked down at her hands. “...You gonna eat that?” 

“Huh… this time…” Lucy scoffed, then shifted her weight a little, looking down. “So… if you asked the other vault dwellers… why didn’t you ask me? You know… about your family..."

He smirked and looked down at the ground. “...I was runnin’ low on vials. I had other priorities.” 

“Okay… but still… Wouldn’t it make sense to just ask before potentially killing me? I mean… they wouldn't be around anymore but... their descendants could be living in my vault.” 

He shook his head. “God, you ask a lotta questions…”

“…I’m just trying to help.”

“Yeah, well I’m tryin’a answer, but ya keep interruptin’!” He snapped.

Lucy folded her arms over her chest. “...Geez… Touchy.” 

“Agh… Forget it.” The Ghoul stood up, then lied on the ground, using the log as a pillow, and tilted his hat over his face. “I’m goin’a sleep…” Then started grumbling inaudibly under his breath. 

She just stared at him for a moment and watched Dogmeat lay down next to him, then unfolded her arms and looked down at the molerat still in her hands. After a moment, she found her eyes drifting over to The Ghoul again.

“What'chu starin’ at?” He muttered. She wasn’t sure how he could see her, but apparently he could. 

“...Your fly’s undone.” 

“What?” The bounty hunter jumped up into a sitting position and looked down at his pants, but saw he was fully zipped.

Lucy started laughing.

“Tch…” The Ghoul scowled at her. “Get some fuckin’ sleep, would ya?” He laid back again and pulled his hat over his eyes. 

“Just keeping you on your toes.” She said and finally started eating. 

“Yeah. Sure ya are. Just can’t help yerself, can ya?” He joked. “Well, keep dreamin’, sweetheart.” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Lucy teased back as she laid down as well, still chewing on her food.

He just huffed and grumbled some more. “You don’t shut up, I’m gonna choke you with that meat.”

“What’s that about choking me with meat?”

“Aagghh…” He growled, then grabbed a stick and threw it at her. “Get outta here.”

She laughed as she put her hand up to block it.

Then Dogmeat quickly gave chase, retrieving the stick and bringing it back to The Ghoul.

“Ugh… No. Not right now...” He lifted his hat and looked over at Lucy. “Goddamnit. Now look what’cha done.”

“What? I didn’t throw the stick.”

The old bounty hunter just grumbled and grumbled some more as Dogmeat whined and Lucy giggled in amusement.

To be continued...

<<< Previous Chapter

[janumun]

no clear thoughts in this brain anymore except Alpha Zhongli in his rut for the first time after meeting his Omega, you, isolating himself lest he scares you, however, you find himself knocking at his door, late at night, greeted by a voice and octave lower than usual, dripping with thirst and the pain of losing the very last shred of self-control thrown out the window as you sit down next to him, putting your hand on his cheek in a worried gesture, only to feel the tip of his now prominent fangs against the tender skin of your wrist 🤭

MARIIIIII, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE 😵‍💫😵‍💫🤣💘 Don’t tempt me with getting back at you with thoughts of Omega Childe 🤣❗️

Content Warning for being suggestive/NSFW

Continuing from our line of thought in our last conversation, with a Zhongli and Reader who share feelings but have yet to confess to each other/the slow burn of it all, until it is no longer slow

Just imagining a reluctant Zhongli letting her in when he catches the worry radiating off of his omega her; the sour scorch of anxiety in the pheromones he scents off of the air around her.

His heart shudders at the mere thought of having been the cause of her worries, basal instincts immediately surrendering to her will, desperate to relieve that knit in between his beloved’s brow.

Ushering her in to allow her a seat within his guest quarters, instead of his personal office space like he usually does. The latter housing much more of her... vivid traces from when she often pays him visits on behalf of Hu Tao.

Zhongli does not think he could control himself were he to take her to that room, watch her sit herself from across him, at his desk. Fixating a look of worry for him, smelling like that.

Zhongli’s next breath gutters out of his throat, as if to shred apart the very graphic, obscene image that bursts across his lids; how he’d rather have that beautiful body unfurled across his desk, smooth that frown into pleasure with the slow press of fingers she’d graciously allow him to ease in between her legs—

The next sound that breaks from him is carnal, unhinged; he smothers it against an obsidian palm — unravelings of his power, bleeding onto his appearance, with the vulnerability that comes with his rut — before his control can shatter entirely.

“Zhongli?” Wrenching himself out of stupor to catch the question in her gaze, the way her eyes flitter momentarily across the seized tightness of his jaw, the jagged edge of his fangs clenched in a white, bared snarl; he realizes belated, the threat he must present to her gaze, wild and unfettered.

He needs his mind off of her body — now — before it is her clothes he cleaves off of her instead. The only shred — sliver — of sanity keeping him together: his several millennia lived, the iron will of control he’s had himself subjected to, century after century — nothing, no lover, before, however, has tested his patience as she does.

And...

Zhongli frowns, pressing himself back into the seat farthest, from across her, dark fingers curling irons across the arms of the chair, holding himself imprisoned.

And the fact that they have yet to be bonded, leashes him most.

A most inopportune time for her to have turned up at his doorstep when his rut is close at hand, and that too for personal business, but Zhongli knows he must remain civilized; the gentle man she knows him as, he wishes to remain untainted within her gaze, at the very least—

And so he asks her about her day, in an effort to turn her mind — and his — off his current “ill-health”, he assures her is no cause for worry. A decision that turns itself into swift, vicious vengeance upon Zhongli instead.

“I spent my morning with Scara— ahem, Wanderer. He wished to repay me for my earlier help with a neutralising antidote, I mentioned it once to you before, Zhongli.”

Whetted fingernails carve just that bit more deep into the wood beneath his arms.

That son of Beelzebub, the one who looks at her with the eyes of a man; a gaze that dares want for what he desires. How dare a mere doll ingress upon an Archon’s claim—

“...With him alone? Did that bard... Venti not promise to accompany you on your commissions today?”

She seems mildly perplexed at the line of questioning. Zhongli, however, is in no state to help himself.

“Venti had a task come up he had to attend to with Mari.” She answers, at last.

And then Zhongli spots it: a scent, a claim. An oddity not her own; he failed to notice earlier by fault of his lust fogged mind.

The teal, dangling earring — not hers — she skips delicate fingers, along her earlobe, as if it is a precious commodity.

And he begs, in silence, for her to not speak what he does not wish to hear in that moment. Sickening, as the scent across that jewelry on his omega her body tinkers at the cage of a large, gilded beast deep within him.

She does not spare Zhongli that mercy.

“He gifted me this earring, as a token of our friendship, although he wasn’t very forthcoming with his feelings, as usual.” She smiles. “It is a beautiful thing, isn’t it? Wanderer requested, well, more like, ordered me to keep it on at all times, that silly man.”

Zhongli feels that exact moment of time his fingers jam at, in poor imitation of reigning in a long fled control — and fail — splintering through the arms of his chair.

[kunasthiast]

just posting a sneak peek of the long one shot (fic) that’s currently eating my brain — singledad!sukuna + singlemom!you (aka enemies-to-lovers through emotionally repressed co-parenting and unnecessary breakfast intimacy)

basically... you know that one ex you never dated? yeah. now imagine raising children next to him in a suburban hellscape while pretending you didn’t make out in college and that your kid calls him “papa”. that’s the story.

cw: enemies (?) to lovers, slow-burn, delusional denial, aggressively coded sexual tension, french toast

It’s either the universe has a twisted sense of humor or you were abandoned by it. Really.

Of all the people in this planet, in this country, and in this obscenely, soul-sucking, beige-coded, stepford-smiling gated community, you had to be stuck with him. 

Sukuna.

That pink-haired bastard with more money than god and an ego large enough to have its own gravitational pull. For the love of strawberries and all things sacred, he’s a narcissistic, cocky asshole that you refuse to be associated with. For years now, actually.

And he, by the way, just happened to be your self-proclaimed mortal enemy.

You’ve known him forever — since diapers, actually, thanks to your parents being disgustingly close. (Money and golf, as they say, deepen relationships and ruin offspring). Back then, it was you, Sukuna, and Gojo: inseparable, chaotic, and constantly banned from formal events for “behavioral disruption.”

Then came college. And oh, college. A series of very questionable decisions – booze, bad judgment, and that one summer you both agreed to never mention again. The one where tequila blurred every line you swore you’d never cross. Let’s just say, some boundaries were… explored. Poorly.

And of course, to top it all off: a stupid, petty fight that led to a rift in your friendship. Now, you’re both single parents, stumbling through young adulthood with a baby on each hip. You, with your son. Him, with his daughter.

Minimal contact is the unspoken rule. Occasional passive-aggressive exchanges at neighborhood meetings (gods, this is a cookie-cutter suburban hell – why is every lawn looked like the golf course green?). Where the air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and thinly veiled judgment, and every conversation was a subtle competition for the best-manicured lawn and the most successful offspring. 

Forced civility at school (because, of course, your kids go to the same overpriced academy that call tests “challenges” and uniforms “identity expressions”), and you’re both contractually obligated to show up at family business functions, aka golf disguised as networking disguised as family bonding disguised as a pissing contest.

And, speaking of contests – you’ve been lock in one with Sukuna for years. Specifically, your annual power play at the PTA sponsorship table. One-upping each other in increasingly ridiculous ways because nothing fuels you more than spite.

But what’s life without being a little bitchy, right?

Unfortunately, karma – being the absolute bitch of life – decided that your kids would become best friends. Not casual playground pals. No. Soulmate-level best friends. The kind that build pillow forts with emotional depth. With the insistent sleepovers, shared inside jokes in their own weird language you’re 90% they invented, and referred to each other as siblings.

How did it happen? 

You have no fucking idea. 

Or maybe you do, you’re just in deep denial. Maybe it’s genetic. Maybe it’s some goddamn cosmic joke. Maybe the universe has you by the throat and won’t let go until it watches you suffer in 4K.

Not that you don’t love his daughter – she’s an absolute angel, the kind of sweet that makes dentists nervous. But her being your son’s BFF? That’s… inevitable. 

Especially in your tight, old-money-adjacent social circle. They’ve known each other since they were just wearing diapers, since they were teething on the same overpriced Montessori rattles. 

Just like you and Sukuna. 

Except this time, it’s different. Because their friendship demands one thing: coexistence.

You and that tattoed-to-the-gods asshole had been forced to coexist. Again, coexist.

And Sukuna? 

Oh no, Sukuna doesn’t do coexisting. Nah. Nope. Never. Sukuna breaks balance. He thrives on chaos. He gets off on making your life just inconvenient enough to ruin your peace, but not enough to justify a felony charge.

And this morning? 

This godforsaken Saturday morning?

He outdid himself.

Twelve years of passive-aggressive parenting – scratch that, thirty-three years of slow-burn emotional warfare – have led to this moment. 

This may just be his masterpiece.

Because this was when the relapse started—and Sukuna made damn sure you felt every inch of it.

a/n: this will be a long one shot (currently at 26k and growing), manifesting that i finish it by the weekend. if you wanna be added to the taglist, scream in the notes or drop a reply 💅

[deconstructthesoup]

*lights the candles on my summoning ritual and starts chanting your name*

So what more ya got about The Damsel & The Damned?

*rolls over my corkboard that's full of paper and red sting* A LOT MORE

But we'll start with some simple triva!

-The world that they're in is called Nexus, which is a world that I'm actually creating for a future D&D campaign---it's mostly steampunk-meets-art-nouveau levels of tech, with some notable exceptions. There's a few civilizations who have less advanced tech or rely more on magic, but Deepside (Nexus's version of the Underdark) is fully living in a 1930's-40's film-noir, art-deco, Golden-Age-of-Hollywood era, complete with a thriving film industry. And yes, my weird elves are in full swing in this world.

-Everyone's sexualities are as follows: Adelina is biromantic ace, Romi is an ace lesbian, Hilda is pansexual, Kassius is gay, and Tilly is bisexual. (Julio is achillean and demisexual, and Lorelai is the campiest goth lesbian you'll ever fucking meet.)

-The Damsel & The Damned is a fairy-tale-with-D&D-elements-adventure, but it is, at its core, a love story between Adelina and Romi. I've read a lot of allosexual love stories, and don't get me wrong, some of them are really good, but I kind of wanted to write a fairy tale that I could see myself represented in---with sapphic characters, genderqueer characters, and ace characters. It's a slow-burn, it's about being each other's anchor, it's about becoming devoted friends first and partners second... I dunno, man, I just love these guys.

-Kassius and Julio have a "classroom-rivals-to-frenemies-to-casually-dating-to-exes-to-enemies-to-friends-to-lovers" dynamic. It is fun, it is fraught, it has a lot of angst on both sides, it shows how both of them are absolutely insane in different ways... and yes, they're both undead, because I love spooky romance. Just a mad scientist vampire and a huntsman Frankenstein's monster being dudes.

-Hilda's "not my ex-wife, we're just separated" is named Madeline Bane (who was an NPC in the first campaign I ever DMed, and seeing as I literally designed her to be as appealing to my sapphic heart as possible I needed to bring her back), and she's a drow in charge of a smuggling ring in Deepside that's focused on bringing upper-world resources to the underground and vice versa, since there's some hostility between the two realms and Madeline wholeheartedly believes that they'd both benefit if they worked together. Basically, she's a crime lord for a good cause. (And, yeah, she and Hilda are gonna get back together eventually, but they've both got growth to go through.)

-Initially, I had a completely different villain in mind for Damsel & the Damned---a cold, quiet, almost regal man who sought to bring about a reign of permanent undeath and viewed himself as a savior who would be removing the world of pain. However, in the end, my desire for a campy, IDGAF, evil-because-it's-fun female villain won out, and I made my previous villain Lorelai's now-deceased father---who she's attempting to one-up as a fuck-you to his memory. Even though she's well over a century old, she still very much acts like a spoiled, egotistical teen... and, well, that's partially why she's so dangerous. (Also, yes, her full name really is de Crypt. Like, "the crypt," as in a place to bury your dead, and the word "decrepit." Yes, I'm aware it's an awful pun. Let me be a little bit silly.)

-This story is inspired by the following: Slay the Princess (the inherent horror that comes with actually being a damsel in distress, maybe the trapped princess is actually incredibly dangerous and she doesn't even know it); Dimension 20: Neverafter (see my first reasoning for StP, as well as the very unique take on fairy tales and curses) and Dimension 20: Fantasy High (the incredibly rich and unique world perfectly suited for adventuring, the interpretation of devils as not truly being evil but instead just serving to punish evil souls, the impeccable friendship dynamics); Adventure Time (see my first reasoning for Fantasy High, Kassius's character and conflict with vampirism, engaging fantasy stories don't need to take themselves too seriously); and The Owl House (Hilda and Madeline's relationship, Romi's unstable magic, magic as an intrinsic, natural force)

-I do have D&D classifications for pretty much everyone (Adelina: College of Spirits bard/Fiend warlock, Hilda: Swashbuckler rogue/Battlemaster fighter, Kassius: Chirurgeon artificer, Tilly: Oath of the Ancients paladin), but Romi's power set required me to create an entire homebrew sorcerer subclass for them... and honestly, I might make a homebrew artificer subclass for Kassius, since we still don't have an official necromancy-themed artificer subclass. (Julio is a Gloomstalker ranger, and Lorelai is... well, either a really OP Necromancer wizard/Shadow Magic sorcerer, or just a straight-up lich.)

-Adelina has an undead cat named Paczki, who looks like a very fluffy, glowing purple cat... except for the fact that she is completely translucent, and you can see her bones. And those bones are black. Paczki is meant to be a combination of a princess's animal companion and a witch's familiar.

-All of the main cast (thoroughly unintentionally, but that's the way it shook out) are in some way based off of established fairy-tale tropes: Adelina is the damsel in distress (obviously), Romi is the cursed royal (think Sleeping Beauty, the Frog Prince, Prince Lindworm, etc), Hilda is the heroic knight (without, y'know, the knight aesthetic), Kassius is the wise old wizard (who is also, again, a mad scientist vampire), Tilly is the fairy godmother, Julio is the huntsman, and Lorelai is the evil queen.

-Even though Adelina's prison is very Rapunzel-esque (fitting, as it's my favorite fairy tale), her overall tale ended up being largely inspired by Snow White. Honestly, once I made Julio a badass hunter-assassin-type, there was no going back. It's actually kinda ironic, since Lorelai does, in fact, have pale white skin, pitch-black hair, and... lips that would likely be red if she wasn't always wearing black lipstick.

I will talk more about character dynamics and personalities later... if I get more asks :p

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

There She Goes (3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Bucky Barnes x AFAB!Reader

You're a bright superhero popstar, and he's a quiet, brooding ex-assassin who seeks redemption. The two of you are like sun and moon. When Bucky suddenly moves in with the Avengers, you stop at nothing, trying to become closer with him. What could possibly go wrong?

Au!Post Civil War where all the Avengers are alive. This story is a slow-burn romcom!

Title and story inspired by the song There She Goes by The La's

Series tags: sunshine x grumpy trope, strangers to friends to lovers, 2000s romcom vibes, crackfic, reader is a bold outgoing flirt and Bucky is a self reserved shy?man, fluff & crack fic, some angst, bucky is trying to heal and you try to help him, maybe future smut?

----------------------------------------------------------

chapter summary: Tony forces you and Bucky to team up for the first time, and of course, it goes horrendously wrong.

chapter warnings: slight nudity, mentions of marijuana, sexual innuendos, creepy men, catcalling.

A/N: here we go! all aboard the sunshine and bucky train!

Word count: 4.6k

‘Are you guys having a staring contest?’ you asked as you sat across from Bucky and Sam in the briefing room.

Your best friend and soon-to-be part-of-your-himbo-collection friend were busy getting lost in each other’s eyes while you settled in to wait for the team meeting.

You glanced down to their legs which were touching knee to knee as they were squinting at each other, refusing to lose against one another. 

‘Am I interrupting something here? Maybe get a room instead of eye fucking each other in Steven’s Holy Briefing Room?’ you spoke out, just a tad louder than usual.

No response from either man. Sam’s eyes started to water and Bucky began to smirk at this sight.

‘What a bunch of immature losers.’ you thought as you brought yourself to the other side of the desk and situated yourself in front of them. Spreading your arms with a wide stretch, you got your palms together with a thunderous clap, accompanied by a small but very bright flash of light that emitted from your hands.

‘Fuck!’ ‘Shit!’ Both Avengers both swore at the same time in surprise. The super soldier reeled back and slammed his metal arm on the desk in response, while your Birdy boy quickly covered his eyes with his palms.

‘Sunshine! What was that for!? Are you trying to blind me? I was about to win a bet! Thanks to you I lost 20 bucks!’ Sam screeched. Once he finally recovered, he raised his head and squinted at your face. A large mischievous grin from you gave him a small shiver down the spine. 

‘How- What? What was that?’ Bucky groaned. He was going to get a massive headache from this stunt that you just pulled on him. The poor man slowly glanced up at you with a look that would kill you ten times over.

‘Well, the two of you were busy getting lost in each other’s eyes, so I had to resort to flashing you guys.’ you scoffed.

‘You can always flash us a different way Sunshine.’ Sam teased.

‘And take the risk of the paparazzi getting pictures of my glorious body? No way! Unless they’re willing to pay me the big bucks!’ 

‘Is anyone going to answer my questions?’ Bucky cut in. ‘(Y/n), what kind of power is that?’

‘Oh I’m so sorry my dear!’ you said with playful sarcasm. Jumping on the table and twisting your body to face closer to him, you continued your bantering. ‘How could I leave you hanging?’ 

The brunette-brooding man stared at you, clearly tired of your squabbling bullshit.

You mirrored his action right back at him.

Sam did alternate takes on you and Bucky, with a dangerously high smirk creeping up on his features.

After the small starting contest, you finally decided to answer. ‘I have photokinesis! You know, bending lights and stuff. In other words, I’m a ball of light! Which is why everyone here calls me Sunshine.’ you explained, drawing the last sentence like it left a bad taste in your mouth. 

His eyebrow raised slightly with this revelation. ‘So you’re a lightbulb.’

A genuine look of confusion spread on your features. ‘Pardon?’

You could hear Sam stifling a laugh to your side. You shot him a quick side-eye.

‘You know, like a fluorescent light? How about a lamp? Like that jumping light in one of those animation movies’ Bucky continued. A small teasing smile appeared. It was the first time you saw him smile.

Your heart fluttered. But you wouldn’t let it be known. 

‘Did you just call me the Pixar lamp?’ you gawked.

The macho Birdman lost his cool as he started to howl with laughter. ‘Oh, Tinman got some jokes now huh? Looks like he’s matching your energy Sunshine and trust me, I thought I’d never see the day.’

A smile of genuine disbelief and humour appeared on your lips as Bucky was adamant about continuing his name-calling streak. You wouldn’t believe, the grumpy technically-old-man-but-handsome-guy was actually opening up to you. 

It was only a matter of time until he rightfully joined your Himbo squad.

As Bucky opened his mouth, the room’s door suddenly burst open, with Tony, Steve, Clint, Natasha, Bruce and Thor walking in. Your eyes zeroed in and lit up as you saw your favourite God of Thunder march in.

‘David Hasselhoff! I missed you!’ you called out as you quickly hopped off the table and ran towards the blond man. 

Sam didn’t miss the frown that suddenly appeared on Bucky’s lips.

‘Sunlight! I told you my name is Thor, remember? Do you always forget my name every time we meet?’ He greeted you back with a smile. Your arms spread open as you hugged him, and Thor couldn’t help but laugh. 

Tony, who was sick of you and questioned why he even let you on the team, grabbed your shirt collar and peeled you away from the god, much to your dismay.

‘Get your slimy hands off of me Stonk!’ you cried out.

Tony sighed. ‘Alright Sunshine, I know you want to spend more time with Baywatch over here but we got work to do. I already let you in on this meeting despite your busy world tour schedule, so don’t make me regret my decision kid.’ 

To the side, Bruce muttered to Natasha; ‘You would think she’s related to Tony.’

The redhead smiled in response. “To be honest they're more like twins.’

‘Oh god, that's even worse.’ the scientist chuckled airlessly. 

The Earth's Mightiest Heroes situated themselves in their respective seats. However, instead of taking your usual spot next to Tony and Thor, you decided to sit between Sam and Bucky. This didn't go unnoticed, but everyone decided to keep their thoughts to themselves that day. 

Steve started to ramble on about some bad guy having access to confidential government information and being willing to sell it out. 

God, you hated these briefings. It was so boring. Maybe if the Captain did a song and dance it would catch your attention. But for now, you could always rely on Natasha to tell you the bits and bobs you actually needed to know. 

‘Psst. Bucko. Did you listen to the best album of the century yet?’ you whispered, nudging your left leg to his right. 

‘Stop talking. I'm trying to pay attention.’ he grumbled. 

A mischievous glint sparkled in your eye as you propped your hand to hide your (one-sided) conversation. ‘Oh don't be such a stick into the mud. I heard Nat that you were humming Isn't She Lovely this morning. What do you think?’

You felt a large foot pressing on top of yours in response. A sharp inhale escaped your lungs as the foot pressed harder into yours. 

‘Stop. Talking.’ he growled. 

A squeak unwillingly escaped your lips as Bucky's foot firmly stepped on yours. Sam looked at you weirdly as you gave him a pained smile. 

‘Bunkos.’ you pleaded. ‘Stop-’ 

He dug in even more. You swore you saw a vein pop up in his temple as he clenched his jaw in annoyance. Of course, he stared into you, but instead of his brooding stare, there was a mixture of annoyance and slight amusement. 

‘What a masochist.’ your mind echoed. 

‘Okay!’ you whispered harshly. ‘I’ll shut up’

‘-thank you Barnes and (Y/n) for volunteering on this mission!’ Tony called out in the front. 

Like deer in headlights, the two of you froze as the entire team turned their heads to face you and Bucky.

It was never a good sign when Tony used your actual name.

—-----

The only thing soothing your nerves at the moment was the quiet hum of the Quintet as it speedily and soundlessly sped in the night sky. The reason for your nervousness?

It took everything under your power to not look at the bionic staring machine situated across from you. 

‘You’ll get used to it.’ Sam had said to you earlier.

You’re starting to think that he's lying to you. 

Like a powerful magnet, you couldn't help but draw your eyes onto his very blue ones. The way he was staring at you made you wonder if he had gears in his head, like a machine. 

‘For the record, I think this can be a great bonding time for the both of us!’ you said with fake enthusiasm. 

It's amazing how a man can only blink 3 times in the span of 3 minutes and still project a burning gaze into someone in front of them. 

Then Bucky finally spoke back, ‘You and your big mouth got us stuck here on a mission we both don't want to do Lamp.’

For once in your life someone was genuinely pushing your buttons. And that someone was Golden Boy’s best friend; Bucky Barnes. 

‘You know what? Sure it was my fault we ended up in this situation, but know this Binky.’ you started as you brought up your finger to point at him. ‘At the end of this mission, we WILL be friends.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Fluorescent Lights.’

‘Dude. That's not even an insult.’

Bucky let out a low ‘hmph’ as he faced away from you, staring elsewhere that wasn't you. 

Whatever. You could deal with his pissy attitude later. 

‘Hey, Sam with the Plan! What's the rundown on this mission?’ you called out to the pilot in the front. 

‘You know, maybe if you actually listened to Steve you would know what's going on!’ he spat back. 

‘You know what? Consider your free pass to see Megan Thee Stallion cancelled!’ 

Sam whined. ‘Alright, fine! Tony wants you and Mr. Cyborg here to infiltrate a restaurant in Shanghai where there's a meetup between a former SHIELD official who's been selling confidential government information to an underground buyer!’ he shot back. 

‘Hey, you guys know I'm right here you know!’Bucky interfered. 

A sudden turbulence shook the Quinjet, causing the three of you to rock forward. 

‘Woah!’ you yelled as you were suddenly launched towards Bucky. Closing your eyes to the impact, you expected him to move to the side and to meet face forward with the wall of the jet. 

Instead, you heard a grunt and felt a tough chest cushioning the impact. Arms instantly wrapped around your torso as you landed. Your eyes shot open, whipping your head up to only see the super soldier’s blue iris bearing into yours. 

First thing you noticed:

They're really blue. 

His arms were strong.

You liked being held by strong arms.

This revelation caused your brain to haywire.

‘You’re heavy.’ he muttered. He truly hadn't meant it, he just didn't know what else to say when you were literally pressed on his body.

‘Sorry!’ you squeaked, scrambling to get off him. No snarky response from you, all you could think about was his strong arms wrapping around you.

You pushed yourself off of him and promptly made your way back to your side. 

You failed to see that his ears were bloodshot red. 

A pair of brown eyes watched from the front as the interesting scene unfolded. 

‘Woah there Sunshine! Jumping from man to man are you?’ Sam teased. 

Your lips pursed shut in response. Sam’s eyes widened. There was no way that you, the snarky and boisterous diva, and possibly one of the most famous people on the planet, was flustered over a man who barely tolerated you. 

‘Are you…? You're actually speechless?!’ he shrieked.

‘ShutbthefuckupSamorI’llshoveupastickupyourass!’ you hissed back. 

Bucky couldn’t wait until he got back to his room. A raging headache was approaching and all he wanted was to sleep.

‘That’s what you get for never strapping up when we’re in the air!’ Sam chuckled, drawing his focus back to the front. ‘By the way, ETA is 5 minutes. I’m dropping y’all off just outside the city. Take Nat’s motorbike near the exit, you’ll need it to get to the restaurant.’

That was a signal to gear up. Promptly getting from your respective seats, you and Bucky started to prepare. On the seat were your special glasses, which also doubled as your disguise and a black tactical jacket. Grabbing the glasses, you put them on, while also adjusting the earpiece in your left ear.

‘That’s all you’re wearing? What’s with the glasses?’ Bucky’s scruffy voice piped up.

Your eyes darted at him, who was in the middle of attaching a gun holster to his thigh.

‘A disguise.’

‘You can’t be serious, anyone can recognize you with those on.’

‘No, these are special. First, Tony made these for me. For some reason, no one knows it's me when I rock them. Think of it as the Superman effect.’

‘Who?’

‘Secondly, these prevent me from blinding myself with my light. Pretty neat huh?’

‘Hn.’ was the only response from Bucky as he continued to zip his tactical jacket. As he finished, he quickly made his way towards the motorbike as Sam began descending the jet.

‘Sunshine, Barnes, remember that you just need to steal those confidential documents. Don’t make a scene! Just grab them and come back! I’ll meet you guys back here!’ Sam instructed as he opened up the Quinjet.

Bucky triggered the motorcycle on. The engine roared as it came to life. The super soldier hopped on and beckoned you to sit behind him. You grinned in response. Oh, how you missed missions while you were on tour.

‘See you later Sammy! Don’t miss me too much!’ you saluted as the bike started to leave.

The Quinjet was a few feet off of the pavement, but it didn’t stop Bucky from revving the engine to full speed. Adrenaline started pumping into your veins, causing you to shriek in excitement as you and he flew off and raced into the bustling busy nightlife in Shanghai.

It took less than 10 minutes for the two of you to reach the location. The building’s bright neon lights highlighted the street, and even though you had no idea what it read, you knew exactly what kind of atmosphere it held.

‘Wow. Whoever this buyer and seller is, they are kinky.’ you whistled.

Bucky clicked the engine off as he parked the motorbike near the curb. A confused expression graced his face. ‘What’s so kinky about a restaurant?’

Smiling in disbelief, you pointed at the poster of a dancer wearing very little and posing provocatively. ‘Bucko, I’m afraid to let you know that this isn't a restaurant. This is a strip club .’

‘What’s a strip club-’ he started before the gears started turning in his big head.

The realization drained the colour of his face. 

‘Oh no. Oh no no no.’ he muttered as he scurried to get back on the motorbike. ‘(Y/n), I am not going in there.’

‘Hey! You can’t just ditch me! We both need to get in and get those documents! Who knows what world-ending secret this person is selling?’ you flailed. Grabbing the collar of his jacket, you yanked the larger man back to prevent him from leaving.

‘No! My dignity is on the line!’

‘What dignity? Bro, you’re an ex-assassin for a terrorist cult for 70 years but you draw the line at naked women?’

‘My Ma taught me decency and self-respect!’ he argued.

A sigh escaped your chest. ‘Alright, I get it. I don’t like this either but we’re on a mission here and we need to get this done. Good thing I brought some money because I just created a plan that will get us in and out faster than you could say ‘Stupid people say what.’

Bucky looked at you in disbelief as you walked to the nearby clothing store. With no choice but to follow, he followed you. 

He hummed in thought.

‘Stupid people say wh-HEY!’ 

—------------------

‘I never want to be on a mission with you ever again.’ The brooding soldier protested as the two of you pushed in yourselves between moving bodies. The music in the club was unbearably loud, the air reeked of weed, and the neon laser lights were unbearable.

Bucky was currently wearing a nice navy blue silk three-piece with a matching tie. On his feet were nice brown leather dress shoes that contrasted nicely with his outfit. Two matching leather gloves which were also blue covered his hands. His shoulder-long hair was slicked back with gel. He didn’t want to admit it, but he cleaned up nicely.

On the other hand, you were wearing a large faux fur coat that pooled to the floor. He doesn’t even know what you’re wearing inside the coat, but he knows you’re wearing ridiculously high heels because you are way taller than you usually are. Despite the getup, you were still wearing those same glasses.

‘This is a horrible idea.’ he muttered in your ear. The two of you made your way to the bar and sat down on the stools.

‘This idea is the best shot distracting the buyer and seller as you snag what we need!’ you hissed back.

‘Forget that, it looks like I’m pimping you out!’ your partner objected.

‘Wait, how do you know-? Oh right, you’ve been hanging out way too much with Sammy.’

The two of you watched closely as a hooded figure made its way toward a clean-shaven bald man who definitely looked like bad news on the far left table, which was situated in front of a circular stage.

‘Buck, on your 9 o’clock. Looks like the meet-up is happening now.’ you lowly murmured.

The former assassin discreetly looked to his left. The hooded figure’s arm pulled out a brown folder and slid it towards the suspicious man.

Bucky was about to approach when he heard you yelp. He whipped his head to see a Chinese woman with heavy makeup grabbing your arm. She was speaking to you in Mandarin, and the tone she was using sounded like she wanted you to do something.

‘Hey miss! Let go! What are you saying? I don’t understand you!’ you refuted. The grip on your arm grew stronger as you tried to shake the woman off. You observed her closely, realizing that she looked like the manager of the establishment.

Realizing that it was no use, you urged Bucky to stop the exchange as you saw him frozen, not knowing what to do. ‘Go! Take the documents and go!’

His eyes shadowed as he frantically looked at the exchange and back at you. Once he realized that there was no choice but to follow your order, he shot you an apologetic look as he ran off. 

Bucky's mechanical arm whirled as his metallic fingers clenched into a fist. Making his way towards the two suspicious individuals, he raised his right arm and clenched on the hooded figure’s shoulder, making them flinch. The man sitting across raised an eyebrow.

‘Can I help you sir?’ the man asked, his voice dripped with maliciousness. 

‘Uh.’ his brain stuttered, struggling on what to say as an excuse. ‘I need that seat.’

‘But I sat here first!’

The super soldier felt the hooded individual’s shoulders tense as they registered his voice. Bucky grew suspicious and yanked down their hood. To his surprise, flowing blond locks gracefully sat on their shoulders. The person turned around with wide eyes, and his blood ran cold once he realized who the person behind the scheme was.

‘Sharon?’ he said incredulously.

‘Bucky? She gaped with shock. ‘What are you doing here?’

The man watching the scene unfold in front of him scampered back from the seat. ‘Wait… you mean Barnes? The Winter Soldier?’

Hearing that old name being thrown casually left a bad taste in Bucky’s mouth. His jaw clenched in response.

‘What’s in that folder Sharon?’ he pressed, gripping her shoulder firmly.

Her eyes wavered. This was not the ideal situation for her, and she had to get out of there, fast.

Realizing that she was hesitant, Bucky prepared himself to snatch the folder that was now laid out on the table in front of them before a booming announcement stopped him in his tracks. He didn’t understand a single word but one; Sunshine.

So much for staying undercover. ‘Screw you and your stupid plan’ he thought.

His worst nightmare came true when gazed upon the circular stage and saw you standing there, with nothing on but a skimpy pink bra and thong with those insane pink high heels.

Everything he’s known and seen about you has been against his will. He wished he could head back to Wakanda and get them to erase any memory he has of you.

The tips of his ears began to flare up as you started to pole dance on the stage to a raunchy rap tune. Bucky wanted to take eyes off desperately, but couldn’t get himself to do it as he kept his gaze glued to your provocative performance. 

For some reason, he felt the need to shed his jacket.

The sound of Sharon’s gasp caused his eyes to finally break away from you. ‘Isn’t that…? What’s (Y/n) doing here? Why is she here dancing to Cardi B?’

The bad man whistled. ‘Damn, she’s hot! Let me get closer to try to get a glimpse of her ass-’

The man stopped and screamed in pain. A regular person would think that he suddenly collapsed for no reason, but Bucky saw what actually happened. While you were dancing, you shot a small energy light that was the size of a bullet into the bald man’s right calf.

Your partner looked up to you once more. He was met with your warning glare, as if you were saying ‘I gave you a leeway. Now get out of here with the document.’

No need to tell him twice. Bucky reached over the seats and dove into the table, snagging the brown envelope as he rolled off, body slamming into the stage.

The next few minutes were a blur. As he quickly got to his feet, Sharon attempted to slam her baton on his head, but he was quick enough to deflect it with his vibranium arm, pushing her away. Scanning the area quickly, he booked for the exit once he found it.

Meanwhile, you ripped off your heels and hopped off the stage. The sharp heel met with the face of the bald man as he tried to get up. Men in tactical gear started to flood into the bar, trying to stop you from escaping.

‘Oh come on!’ you huffed, grabbing your heels like a pair of batons. You realize that your outfit was probably not the best idea to fight in. Zeroing in on a fluffy white coat on a nearby bench, you ran barefooted and snatched it, wearing the sleeves as fast as you could. The soldiers inched closer and closer as you jumped over the tables and chairs. One of them tried to grab the collar of the coat, however you formed a small ball of light and smacked them with it.

Once you freed yourself from the onslaught of men, you booked for the exit and ran out of the strip club and into the cold streets of Shanghai.

—-----

It took you half an hour to find Bucky outside the city, near where Sam dropped you off. You found the man sitting on a fallen log off the road, with the motorbike parked beside him. As you walked closer you noticed his once slicked-back hair was slightly frizzled, with strands of his brown hair framing his ruggish face. The once blue silk suit was tattered, with the left side ripped in half, showcasing his bare calf. The gloves he once wore were long gone.

‘Hey Bucky.’ you softly called out.

He looked up to see your figure slightly limping towards him. The faux fur coat you had was ripped in half, so you made a makeshift skirt to cover your almost bare bottom. The pair of heels were being held with your left hand, while you hugged yourself with your right arm. It was a miracle that those glasses still remained on your face.

You sat beside him. ‘Did you get it?’

A long silence lingered before he answered. He raised the folder up. ‘Right here.’

A small smile adorned your lips. ‘Mission accomplished.’

He frowned. ‘That mission went wrong in so many ways.’

‘Did you have a better idea?’

‘No, but if I did, it wouldn’t involve endangering you!’ you admitted.

Your eyes went wide from the revelation. ‘Why would you care? I thought you hated me! I thought I was annoying you! Which I admit, I was purposely doing!’

‘You may be annoying but my God (Y/n), I don’t wish for you to be injured or hurt!’ he confessed.

You’ve never been more shocked in your life. Looking closely at Bucky’s face you realized that he wasn’t entirely mad at you. There was also concern etched into his face.

The super soldier ran real fingers through his hair as he looked down at his feet. ‘Listen I-’ he started. ‘You’re okay. You’re tolerable. You just need to tone it down though but truthfully, I don’t mind your company.’

A small ‘o’ graced your lips. A spark of possible friendship was there, and you were going to take it.

You let out an airy chuckle. ‘I appreciate your concern, Bucko. But I promise I’m okay. 

Besides,’ you gave him a shoulder nudge before you continued, ‘your confession made me feel much better.’

Bucky smiled softly. ‘I’m starting to regret it.’ he teased.

The two of you laughed softly before silence took over again.

The muted rustle of the leaves indicated that it was getting colder. Your body took notice, especially since you were half-naked with only a bra on. A shiver ran up your spine as the wind continued to blow.

You tried so hard to diveron your freezing body. Distracting yourself by looking at Bucky’s mechanical arm would hopefully help. Honing your sights on the silver and gold plating, you noticed that it glistened softly against the moonlight. How pretty.

Meanwhile, Bucky noticed your shivering figure. Concern graced his face once more, causing him to shed his jacket off. He hesitated before he gingerly placed it over your cold shoulders.

You were genuinely surprised once you felt the sudden warmth drape on you. As if on instinct, your fingers clutched the sides of the coat as you wrapped yourself with the jacket.

‘Thank you.’ you quietly spoke as you faced Bucky once more.

He didn’t smile, but his eyes spoke for him. He cared. Cared enough to give you his jacket.

‘So,’ you broke the silence. ‘Does that mean we’re friends?’

The man hummed. ‘Only if you stop those stupid nicknames you give me.’

‘As if! It’s a necessary requirement to have a nickname picked out by me if you want to be friends with me!’ 

Bucky stared at you with disbelief. You stuck out your tongue back at him.

Knowing that he can’t argue with you, he shook his head. ‘I’m going to call Sam. I need to go back and eat.’

‘Slow your roll Binky, we’re in Shanghai! Before we go back we have to try their special Shanghai Fried Noodles! I’m not in the mood for some boring American food.’ you persuaded. 

A tired sigh escaped his lips. ‘Sure. Why not? We’re here anyways.’

You squealed in excitement as the two of you hopped onto the motorbike. As he started the engine you pondered about something.

‘I can hear you thinking Lightshade. What do you want?’ he groaned.

‘Say, do you have your phone with you? Want to listen to some Stevie Wonder while we get there?’

Without a word, Bucky passes you his phone.

This night was your favourite night ever.

[lemongingerart]

Chapter 4 - Breaking point (I)

Fic summary: The second arc of my Armitage Hux x OC fanfic, “chocolate cookies and tarine tea”, in which both need to deal with the mess they got into (and with each other, eh eh eh). Involves cookies that won't be eaten and tea that will get spilled. Same goes for certain feelings... they are going to be hungry ant thirsty 😏

You can find the link to AO3 and other chapters on Tumblr in the pinned message on my dash, both for the first and second arc 😊

Rating: Explicit. This is going to be very NSFW. So, Minors, do NOT read or interact. 18+. Family, friends and colleagues, please don’t read this. :’-)

Tags & warnings: TRoS fix-it (kind of), Hux!lives, Hux doesn’t like Kylo, Not a Redemption Arc, maybe a little bit, shameless fem!OC insert (there are cliches but entertaining ones imo), slow emotional burn, medium sexual burn, Enemies to Enemies With Benefits to Lovers, Hux is still a villain don't forget, Virgin Characters, masturbation against the door, pinv, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Awkward Sexual Situations, Past Child Abuse, dubious first kiss, Dom/sub Undertones, Mental Breakdown, Unprotected Sex, wet Hux, that deserves a tag/warning on its own, Minor Character Death

I will add tags as we proceed in the story, please let me know if I forgot one!

Taglist: @mylifeisactuallyamess, @morby and anyone who’d like to join 🥰

A/N:   Yoooo! I'm still alive and finally have some days off! A nice bottle of wine has encouraged me to dust off this fics chapter and publish this bit.

Again, this chapter has been through quite some editing to the point that I don't think I'm reading what's actually written. So I hope the dialogue and thoughts are not too wry. Miko is an emotional sponge, so I tried to focus on that but since I'm not it's not always easy to capture her… I hope I didn't overdo it this time 😅

“What is the meaning of this?” Miko heard from her back. She was just putting the little container she purchased in a corner of the cargo hold, securing it for travel. PC resided on her back, giving her maximum space for the manoeuvre.

“... stuff?” she slowly responded, guardedly turning her head towards Hux, who entered the space with a rather authoritative walk. The clack of his marching boots were making it apparent that his steps weren't even, from which Miko, in a fleeting thought, deduced that the blaster shot hadn't healed yet. It didn't pique any sentiments of pity towards him though, for that he should’ve started this conversation differently. 

Frack that kriffing tone of his, I just risked my life to save his skin and this is how he thanks me? crossed her mind, but she kept that to herself. She still tried to be cautious around him, to avoid any second physical confrontation.

“ Stuff? ” he mimicked with an ice cold voice, his chest slightly heaving upwards, showing cracks of anger while the rest of his facade remained expressionless. 

Wow. He’s already lost his civility , she concluded, trying not to roll her eyes. Okay, her answer might’ve been on the blunt side, but she was going to elaborate if he would give her the chance to. Maybe he could've, you know, communicated like regular beings do. She momentarily closed her eyes and held back the urge to sigh out loud.

“Yeah… we still have a few days to spend on this ship, so I figured we could use some extra groceries and stuff.” she replied, pulling up her shoulders and trying to act casual. Internally, though, her blood started boiling. She just went through the second most thrilling event of her life, and she needed to blow off some steam, for kriffs sake, not get caught in his web of judgemental anger. 

Is he going to start a fight already? Because I was trying to plan ahead a bit?

“So you just went shopping ? While we are on a tight schedule? While I was thinking you might’ve been held captive? While I was starting to assume even worse?” he bristled and she could almost feel the shift in the air coming from his nose. Even when he was standing a few meters away from her .

Oops. 

She gulped, as cold sweat took over and washed away some of the anger she felt, replacing it with confining guilt. He did have a point there.

“We discussed the course of action, shopping was not part of it!” he said, while slightly raising his voice and throwing one hand to the side. 

She could see him clenching his fists,  body language she was already familiar with. 

Oh, he was right to be angry, she realised that by now, but he should at least give her the chance to speak out instead of just being so… demanding. 

The way he just treated her, though, together with his own apparent anger, worked through her culpability and made her temper rise in mere seconds yet again. 

Without a thought, she launched a counterattack: “Hey, these are loaded with useful stuff, I can think for myself. You don't have to order me around!" Miko threw back at him, reflexively mimicking his tone, although she knew this retaliation was plain stupid. Why does he always need to go that extra parsec to drive me crazy? He doesn't even give me the chance to explain or apologise!

She suddenly stopped her outburst though, when she realised the scrutiny she was under. He was looking at her under the harsh light of the cargo hold now, his eyes obscured by ink black shadows, his cheekbones hollow and his whole appearance radiating anger and darkness and a mood she couldn’t pinpoint yet. But it made her think back about how he attacked her neck before. 

No, getting into an argument with him wasn’t a bright idea, she contemplated and gulped. She took a glance at PC, who was back at her shoulder and taking a defensive position. She tried to calm down her breathing, but couldn't stop the shiver running down her spine while she slowly backed away from him, avoiding any eye contact. If he would lunge at her again, maybe she wouldn't be as lucky as the last time. Should she reach for the blaster?

While she braced herself for possible physical contact, it seemed Hux wasn't done with the verbal response.

“I’ve been here, constantly checking your position, wondering when I’d see you back. If anything happened to you- “ Hux shouted back in the meanwhile, pulling her attention back to the argument they were having. His breath hitched, making him interrupt his plea. The glitch in his otherwise harsh demeanour didn't go unnoticed by Miko, and made her involuntarily look up again. For some reason she wasn't aware of, he suddenly started focusing on the floor and stopped paying attention to her, while she was still trying to create some distance between the both of them. 

An uneasy silence fell in the hangar deck. 

“I- I…sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry that much,” she silently apologised, mimicking his body language and staring at the durasteel floorplates. 

PC turned his head sideways, as if he was surprised by her uncharacteristic response. 

She wondered when she became like this… he was the one shouting at her and she only bought some necessities. He should be thanking me, for kriffs sake, not reprimanding me. The thought about him getting physical again was holding her back and it stinged.

“It won’t happen again, I’ll see to it.” she muttered, not really knowing where that came from. Was she really going to abide by his tirades, or was there more to it? Was it the worried undertone of his voice, during that last sentence? The way he altered his stance?

She tried to pinpoint why he made her back off. Maybe it wasn't just about the fear of a lash out. Maybe, she just didn’t like to see him this angry and worried about her, too. The whole ‘mission’ had gnawed on her nerves as well. But everything went fine, right? 

She just might have forgotten to take into account his view on the matter. He’s been here for almost an hour, without any sign of life from her part. Then, she happily walks in with a box full of groceries. And if she was honest with herself, not everything in there was actually necessary. Also, she did pay for them with that credit chip he gave her, so she hoped they could let the whole ordeal rest for a while, instead of it driving him more mad than he already was.

Miko kept standing there, expecting him to reprimand her even more, but -surprisingly- no words followed. 

When she finally turned her gaze up, she saw him still looking down, his hand shielding his face, the thumb and digit finger pressing his forehead with a force that must be leaving marks. 

She paused. What was going on here? Was he still angry or…?

"Please… be patient with me," he quietly said with a raspy, trembling voice, still not lifting his head. 

Kriff , that timbre made her feel so much worse than how she felt when he was angry. The atypical request hit her right in the chest, wringing out her heart and making those banished, inappropriate feelings for him resurface in merely seconds. If she wasn’t kept back by what happened before, she would’ve walked up to him and try to console him, and who knows what would've come from that. 

Miko attempted to interpret his wordings through the emotional fog. She didn't know what exactly he was referring to - although he probably was talking about the way he was treating her - but…why did he sound so vulnerable ? Or, was this the first time she heard the man behind the mask?  

The realisation that this high placed and high minded officer was asking her such a personal thing, almost pleading to her, made her shaky, as if the way they stood towards each other was subject to a landslide, and instantly everything between them was cast in a different light. 

He did know he crossed a line back then, probably felt he was doing it all over again, and now he suddenly sounds so desperate to make amends… she thought while rubbing her neck with her thumb. Maybe… there's still some empathy left in him… maybe even…more…

Hux let out a loaded sigh and, as if by reflex, all air left her lungs; she could not bring out a word, so she just nodded and made a positive humming sound. What other reply could she provide him with anyway?

"I.. don't know who I am anymore. And who I should be right now," he continued, still focused on the floor, his tone soft and cracked. The words creeped into her core, more than anything else he had said or done to her before. Any trace of her being mad at him dissipated, the sentiment replaced by something much more gut wrenching. She was sucking in his desperation and while she was aware of it and probably should hate it, there wasn’t a way to stop it from happening.

He stumbled, now rubbing both hands in his face. 

"I almost lost everything… I can't afford to lose even more." 

Stars , she wasn’t prepared for this.

The rawness in that sentence made her heart clench, her fingers curl up, as if her world was crumbling down together with his. Why was she such an emotional sponge? This is why she usually keeps her distance from people in general. But now, there was no escape.

And with the sentiments he radiated off on her, came the realisation. It was as if she only now fully saw the gravity of what happened to him: both of them were taken from their homes, but he's the one who got shot at. She could probably return when this is all over. For Hux, on the contrary, it was not that simple. Everything he used to have, used to be, had gone up in smoke. He was killed after all, it must feel like only an empty shell remained... a black hole, forming right in front of her, ready to devour her if she couldn't get free of its menacing gravity.

An awkward silence fell between them. Miko was still processing the intensity of his statement, having a hard time keeping bot hers and his emotions quiet. It made her even cautious to breathe, as if the sound could drag him down even more. 

But… oh frack… seeing him standing there, struggling with himself and what happened to him… deep down, it made her want to comfort him… hug him, breathe new life into him. Keep the darkness at bay. 

But how could she, of all people, help him out of this deep hole? 

And actually, why would she? After how he treated her?

Frack . 

She rubbed her upper arms in an effort to lose the feeling that she was going to drag herself down into the dark pit called Armitage Hux.

Hux scratched his hair and bowed deeper down, letting out a low sound like he was trying to make everything stop. The rawness, the sincereness, the way his hands were woven through his hair made her realise that he shouldn’t look like this beautiful mess, how she wanted to support his tired face and run her fingers through those locks as if she could remove the distress by doing so, and she immediately tried to revoke those thoughts. 

He suddenly looked up to the ceiling with a sigh. 

He swallowed, and she could see his adam's apple move as he was trying to keep his distress from surfacing. 

With his focus still upwards, he asked her: "Do you have the coördinates?", his voice turning emotionless again.

"Uhuh," Miko replied softly, slightly taken off guard.  His request brought her back to reality. One part of her might've wanted to console him, just because she was not able to see someone suffer, she tried to make herself believe. But, the other part really didn’t want to get close to him when he was unstable. She didn't want to land on the wall with his hands on her throat again. 

With her reply, she saw a chance to escape the hangar and the invisible grip he had on her, so she quickly added:" I'll bring us into orbit."

Miko stepped towards the door with a pace giving away her need to get out of there, crossing him and feeling the sorrow radiate from him. She rubbed her upper arms again, trying to get rid of the chill she got from him... instead of patting him on the arm, like she probably would have done with anyone else.

[vacantgodling]

For the Pride asks:

5. & 9. for an OC of your choice

and 20. & 21. for in general <3

this took me forever to answer but we’re here now 👀 let’s do some… tcol generally

5. How did you figure out your oc's identity?

i’ll talk about clear for this but when tcol initially came into being clear and san were supposed to end up together — which in retrospect and hindsight literal just PFFFFF WHAT. terrible. but san’s character was kind of different back then and i hadn’t quite developed the skill of nuanced character personalities and backstory yet. but when i started to write the very old version of tcol (in notebooks) whenever i wrote clear and forte interacting there was just… something there, yknow? the first person that forte talked or laughed around was clear. they naturally hung out and stuck with one another and while i wasn’t quite sure what was going on with forte i felt like something was up with clear

(this isn’t necessarily unique to clear this whole… i notice you gravitating towards a dude because if i take ANY of my older ocs who are dudes: toph, clear and darren specifically, they all started in their initial concepts in relationships with femmes but then i realized that like… yeah no that’s not it).

when i started deciding to take tcol more seriously and started worldbuilding/fleshing shit out, i then realized why clear ran away from home and his sexuality was part of the reason why. there’s something to be said about why i do make this many of my characters struggle with sex and sexuality and it’s because of so. much. xtian upbringing repression. cough. but i ended up realizing that clear liked forte more than just a friend which was enlightening (wow, he’s gay!) but then also created the: oh. there’s kind of a love angle now.

but realistically me growing more comfortable in my own sexuality and attitude towards sex helped me peel back the layers of clear to discover that he’s a gay boy with mad repression and trauma lmao. basically.

9. Are there cultural or lore specific aspects to their identity? If applicable, does their species affect it?

gender and sexuality are pretty fluid in tcol; there are some bigots who exist or people with slightly idk regressive viewpoints however: two of their deities in tcol are genderqueer (YUTARA, deity of medicine is also androgynous/nb and goes by they/them. they’re also the god of gender expression & MARTH the god of blacksmithing and alchemy is a trans man. got a whole city named after his origin story of becoming a man -> marthveil). the war goddess YLENE and YUTARA have an ages long slow burn going on (YLENE literally has a seared into her skin kiss mark on her body because she wanted to immortalize the time that YUTARA gave her a kiss on the cheek. however they aren’t “together yet” in the traditional sense because YUTARA can’t help but tease YLENE). the second king of lathsbury anele of kairos is a he/she butch and was married in a literal war enemies to lovers rival dawn nightwillow… etc etc. there’s a lot of lore of queerness in tcol basically

20. Have your ocs helped you in self discovery? How?

my preference for writing male characters and finding it easier to relate to them and get into their heads was kind of a big giveaway for me growing up. making a lot of mlm ocs also helped me kinda discover that yeah mood me too. and vice versa; the more i discovered about myself the more i was able to imbue those discoveries into my ocs

21. Free ramble card wee

i haven’t talked much about anele of kairos and dawn nightwillow bc i adore the first age of tcol quite a bit and these two only come around during the end and into the second era but their love story is supremely funny to me. basically the only time terrae had a civil war happened while these two were leaders and in part of the peace treaty they married each other. the funniest parts of their eventual romance is (1) that there was a romance at all bc the two of them were so set on just tolerating each other (2) the god of love MIRANKA was literally born out of their union and if that doesn’t say something idk what will and (3) the reason MIRANKA was born, isn’t bc love didn’t exist in terrae before them it’s because he’s also the god of relationships in general and his oracles act as magic relationship counselors LMAO. so he really was born out of hmm. y’all need relationship therapy and it’s funny to me

real enemies to lovers vibes yknow