#could happen without deep scarring on us all

[lavenderspence]

A bunch of cuties in love | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Content warning: fluff, nicknames (i think that's about it?)

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Running late to a meeting with Strauss, Hotch leaves Jack with his favorite person - you. The scene that greets him when he comes back leads to some realizations. 

Request: Hotch request: BAU!Reader is Jack’s favorite and always spends the day with them when he’s brought along to the office. They have a cute bonding moment that Hotch secretly watches. Cue the “oh god I’m in love with them aren’t I”

A/N: it’s been two months today since I made this blog, and it’s been wild, it’s been fun, and it’s been a little teary. thank you for the love and support! Please enjoy this cute little hotch piece, I had a blast writing it! Thank you to the anon who requested this, and I’d love to hear what you think! Also, I miss old Disney😭

masterlist

9:23.

On the days you weren’t working on a case, and the only thing you really needed to catch up on was paperwork, your usual start time was 8:30. Yet almost an hour had gone by and he wasn’t in his office like he usually would be.

With a punctual Unit Chief like Aaron Hotchner, it was a shock, and a little nerve-wracking that he was late. 

You’d lie if you didn’t say you were getting a little worried, taking into account the last and only time he’d been late - Foyet attacking him in his own home, leaving him with long-lasting trauma, scars, and without his family. 

You'd never forget that day, and every day after where he was left to suffer, laying the blame on himself. No matter how many times you said it, how many times Rossi patted him on the back, reminding him it wasn't his fault, you knew a part of him still didn't believe it.

And the part of you that cared about him, maybe a little more than you should, didn't have the heart to watch him do this to himself - the silent guilt, the long empty looks. 

You’ve known him awhile, seen him through many of his ups, and just as many as his downs. You’d seen him laugh in glee and beam with happiness, you’d seen him lose it in anger and anguish and you’d seen him cry in heartbreak. 

So much of your life spent beside him, so many memories linked with him, and your team. And much of it you knew was friendly love - your love for Emily and Spencer, JJ and Morgan, Penelope and Rossi. But the love you felt for him was just a tiny bit different, deeper, not the friendly kind. 

You’d only recently started to understand what you were really feeling for him, as recent as the last few weeks. Still new and a little unexplainable at times, you were learning to balance that, within your friendship.

You didn’t think you wanted to pursue anything, right now. It had been a little over two years since he’d lost Haley, since he’d needed to start navigating his life as a single dad, a widower. 

You could still see the pain in his eyes, fresh as the day it had happened. You knew he was managing, but it was still apparent, that it was hitting them both hard.

And Jack? He was a little ray of sunshine in the otherwise gruesome life all of you led - the same could be said about Henry. But Henry was Reid's favorite, as his godfather, you knew the bond between them was unbreakable. 

But Jack? You were his favorite, and he was yours. 

He was your little buddy, your partner in all things art, cartoons, and Disney shows. He was your little helper during all things baking - you'd babysat once and he'd requested chocolate chip, peanut butter cookies and you'd been more than happy to help him make them.

He was a natural baker and a little taster. 

Your love for the little cutie ran as deep as your feelings for his dad.

At the end of the day though, you were a friend, a shoulder both could use to lean on and rely on. You were comfortable in your role within their little family and weren't looking to make any changes then.

9:28.

You were playing with your watch, already having decided you’d be giving him a call if he didn't arrive by 9:30.

Worry was making your hands sweat, and just as you went to wipe them on your pants, the door to the bullpen opened, and in walked a very frantic Hotch - his tie was a little crooked, shirt a little wrinkled, and Jack - a little backpack on his back, and a curious look paired with a timid smile.

Aaron's eyes searched the bullpen, as did Jack's, the little Hotchner noticing you seconds before his father did. You stood up, watching as the blond pulled away from his dad, and on a little run, made his way towards you. 

“Cutiee.” He called out, using the nickname you called him, to address you too. You leaned down when he was a few steps away, accepting his hug, his little arms wrapping around your neck. 

“Hi, cutie.” You greeted him, a wide smile on your face. Hotch had made his way over to you by then, giving you a barely-there smile, but his eyes shone.

“You're late.” You started, pulling to your full height.

“Yeah, Jessica was called on an emergency at the last minute, and Liah is away on a hiking trip, so here we are.” Liah was Hotch's neighbor, she looked after Jack for a few hours when Hotch couldn't stay with him, or Jess was busy.

He looked at his watch, running a hand through his hair, messing it up a little.

“I have a meeting with Strauss…well, right now. Can you please watch him until I get done?” 

“Go, don't make her wait. We'll be okay and we're going to have fun. Right, Jack?” You watched him nod at both you and his dad before Hotch exhaled.

“You're a lifesaver. Be good for Y/N, okay buddy.” Another nod from Jack, and he was on his way to Strauss's office.

‘’Okay Jack, let's see if Aunt Penelope can download a few episodes of ‘The Suite Life’ for us, and then we'll go color and draw for a while. Does that sound good to you?” 

“Very good. Can I also have orange juice?” He asked, taking your hand in his small, soft one, fingers wrapping around your own.

“Let's go see if we have any.” You walked towards the small communal kitchen space, checking the fridge and then you checked the pantry…and, “Bingo. Let's go see the lair.” You led him to Penelope's office.

“Knock, knock, may us mortals enter?” You joked, making your little partner giggle. 

“Us?” Her voice rang from the other side of the door.

“I have sir Hotchner with me. The smaller one.”

“Hey,” Jack said in outrage

“My favorite Hotchner.” You added.

Penelope pulled the door open, beaming at both of you, before she made space for you to enter. 

“Jack, my love, hi,” She raised her hand, letting him give her a high five. Even though she was affectionate, Jack wasn’t as much, especially after Haley. He only hugged a few people now - Jess, his dad, and surprisingly, you. 

It really showed how comfortable he was with you.

“What brings you to my tech cave?” She asked. You raised your brows at him, prompting him to do the talking. 

“Can you, please, download a few episodes of Zack and Cody for us?” His voice rang with its usual child calm and sweetness, fingers intertwined in front of him. 

Penelope's smile softened even more, “Sure thing, sweetie,” Her eyes turned towards you then, “Your tablet?”

“Yes, please.” You knew it was a work tablet, but no one had to know.

“Any requests?” She asked the little guy.

“You pick.”

“Okay-dokey. Should have it in about 10 minutes, my loves.”

“Thank you, Aunt Penelope.”

“Thanks Pen.” You gave her air kisses before you led Jack out and towards his father's office. 

His day had started rocky, hell, the whole night had gone that way. 

Jack had woken up from a nightmare - twice at that. After the second time, he’d asked Aaron to sleep in his bed, too scared and sad to stay in his room.

He’d snoozed his alarm, just once, and had a hard time waking his son up too. He’d had 20 minutes to get himself ready, but Jessica had called 10 minutes before she was supposed to arrive - apologizing because she’d been called on an emergency at work. 

Aaron had to rearrange his whole morning then, already aware he’d be late for work. He’d had to get Jack and his backpack ready and cook him breakfast. All of that, and be in the office before his 9:30 meeting with Strauss. 

Breakfast and preparing Jack for a day at the BAU, he’d done successfully. Arriving on time had been a little tricky, with barely 2 minutes to spare. 

But when he’d walked into the bullpen, Jack spotting you just seconds before he did, and he’d watched your smile grow, he’d known all would be okay. 

Watching you with Jack always brought a warm feeling within him, like he was watching something sacred. You were always patient and kind, always interested in listening to him talk, even though he was a quiet kid, who appreciated quality time more. 

You gave him that too, and a lot of it - you watched cartoons and shows with him. Colored and drew, baked cookies, and played with him whenever he wanted. Any time spent with Jack was about what he wanted, what he liked doing, and above all, making him comfortable. 

Even if it meant cleaning flour off your kitchen floor and whatever had gotten in the drawers too. 

He appreciated, even loved the bond you had with his son, every smile, every hug, and every minute you spend with him. He loved hearing about you from Jack - what you’d done together, what you’d told him, the stories, the jokes, the conversations. 

Hearing his son proclaim you as his favorite person in the BAU had made his heart soar. Taking into account all the time you spent with him, it wasn’t really a surprise. He bonded hard, but once he did, he never went back.

He was much like Aaron himself in that regard. His trust had to be earned, as did his friendship, and it required hard work. Jack was much the same. And you’d successfully earned both of theirs with your beautiful and caring personality. 

He exhaled a breath, checking his watch, step fast, and briefcase in hand. 

11:18.

His meeting with Strauss had run longer than he’d anticipated - over an hour and a half. Diplomacy, politics, budgets, and cuts, they’d run through countless things, half of that meeting already fully blacked out from his memory. 

He was tired - every meeting with Strauss left him drained. Worried,  about Jack and his state of mind after last night. All he wanted to do was get to his office and check up on his son. 

Walking into the bullpen for the second time that day, he quickly made his way towards his office, only to stop short at the window. The blinds were open, having forgotten to close them last night, so he had a clear and full view of his office.

You were sat on the couch close to the armrest, Jack cuddled against you, cheek squished against your collarbone, face almost buried in your neck. 

Your work tablet sat propped on the coffee table, and your arm wrapped around his small body, keeping him close. His eyes were almost closed, your thumb running soothingly on his back. 

He watched, mesmerized by the scene. He felt himself soften, all of him. His face, the furrow in his brow, and the tight set of his lips. His whole body, his heart, suddenly at peace. 

For months he'd observed the kindness you showed everyone - the families of victims, heartbroken by the injustice of life. Passersby, people you might never see again. Your team, especially, your work family. Jack, and even Aaron himself. 

And as he watched you with his son, the one person left in this world who truly loved him, no matter his rights or wrongs - he couldn't help but feel himself unravel. 

Every little thought he'd had about you, every feeling he might have somehow suppressed in order to protect himself and his child, they all attacked him, in seconds. 

Because the truth was, you earned his trust, his friendship, and somehow along the way, you'd won his heart as well.

Right at that moment, his heart pounded in need, in adoration, in pure, clear love. Love he hadn't allowed himself to feel since Haley. Love, he'd frankly hadn't felt in years, ever since he’d put his signature down on the dotted line. 

He wanted to get home to see this. He wanted to see you put Jack to bed, and kiss his forehead with a whispered ‘good night’.

He wanted to stroke your cheek tenderly, pull you into a kiss that made you melt, and stroke a fire within you like no one else could. 

He wanted to tell you he loved you - in the car, as he drove you to work. In the kitchen during breakfast and dinner. In his office, a few stolen moments as you worked. And under the sheets, while you made love. 

And even through the fear that gripped him in a vice, of rejection, separation, and even trust - he still wanted to love you, as if he was loving someone for the first time again. 

“Everything okay, Aaron?” David asked, passing on the way to his office. 

Aaron barely spared him a glance, nodding his head a little, “Yeah, it's okay.”

He pushed the door to his office open and walked in, greeted by his new favorite sight, and his two favorite people. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[anantaru]

・✶ ｡ synopsis — capitano loves teaching his darling how it feels to receive pleasure by a real man <3

warnings — inexperienced reader & naive ?? reader, petnames used: good girl, size kink/size difference, age gap ? (he's mentioned as being older), fem! reader <3

the thought of capitano teaching you about pleasure and passion was unbelievably hot to the point where you couldn't wait for it to happen again and again.

yes, he's older and more experienced than you, so of course you believe whatever he tells you and certainly won't question all of the depraved things he'd ask you to do, the harbinger obviously know better than you do, correct? these thoughts never failed to echo in your mind as you found herself alone with capitano, the strongest and mysterious harbinger whose very presence sent your mind in a daze.

he towers above your smaller frame with his dark eyes piercing through the dim light of the room, the silent command in his gaze strong enough to send an entire army to its defeat.

you couldn't lie to yourself, especially not when it came to him— and you felt a thrilling mix of fear and anticipation as he sank inside for the first time, making your pretty mouth part with a high gasp as he pressed himself through your tiny hole— first his thick tip splitting you open, then his inches rubbing through you, his movements deliberate and controlled yet never too much where it could hurt you.

although before he proceeds, his scarred hand reaches out to your face, gently tilting your chin up to meet his focused eyes.

"you must trust me, you're aware of that, correct?" capitano's deep voice resonates through you, each word a promise of what was about to come as he begins to thrust into you gently, his next following words accompanied by deep grunts and groans, "only then i will teach you on how to receive the pleasure only i can give you."

you nod immediately, eager to feel more, your heart pounding in your chest as his experience in the bedroom was certainly undeniable— not only that but it was sexy, hot as the flames of a pyro user as the authority in his voice made you ache to comply, to please him too with all you can.

the rush of excitement at the prospect of being guided by someone who knew exactly what he was doing was enthralling as your body showed him such, and if you weren't so cock drunk, you'd notice just how hard and messily you're squeezing him right now, your pussy drooling and messing him up until he knows he's yours.

his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "wrap your legs around me," and begins to instruct, his voice a low growl that made your back arch up immediately.

without hesitation you obey, your legs encircling his broad waist as the closeness was beginning to turn intoxicating, feeling like minutes before you could feel true solace as you felt the strength of his body pressing against yours the more he'd add on speed and strength.

"good girl, very good," he murmurs proudly, his breath hot against your skin as one of his hands slowly slide down your sweat covered stomach before reaching your clit, "now, relax, alright? let me show you how to feel every touch, every sensation of me,"

his hand moves with practiced ease on your clit as he pinches it, tugs and teased it, rubbing over the pearl and igniting a trail of fire wherever he applied pressure the most as your body was responding to his every touch, your senses heightened by the sheer dominance he exuded.

"focus on my touch," he commands softly, your hips curving upwards so that you'd be able to get his cock to sink even further inside of you.

"feel how your body responds to me,"

capitano fucks you with purpose, tugging your hips deeper onto his cock with every grind as your legs begin to shake, the blur in your eyes making it difficult for you to see anything more than his panting demeanor— not only that but his cock was huge, splitting you apart like he's meant to do that, as if there was nothing more than this moment in your life which was deemed important.

the warmth of his drags against your walls pooled into your veins and flesh as his cock fucks and fucks and lets you squeeze his inches in and out until you end up hiccuping of being so full and satiated, almost feeling stupid as he sent currents of electricity straight to your core.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[slutoru1207]

Invincible!Mark x reader x Variants!Mark

As requested by @halo-chao  <33

The atmosphere in the safe house was already tense before the arrival of the Variants. Mark had been doing his best to keep things together—keep you safe. You were too far along to be moving so much, too delicate in this stage of pregnancy, and the last thing you needed was stress. But fate was never kind to either of you.

It started with a distortion in the air, a strange pull that made Mark’s entire body go rigid beside you. Then, suddenly, they were there.

Versions of him. Too many versions of him.

Some looked the same, some had different scars, different uniforms, different eyes—but they were all Mark. And they were all looking at you.

"No way," one of them murmured, his expression unreadable as he took a slow step forward. His gaze was locked onto your stomach. "This—this actually happened?"

Another Mark let out a choked breath, his fists clenching. "You're pregnant." His voice wavered, filled with something that made your skin crawl. Longing? Grief? Possessiveness?

Mark—your Mark—immediately stepped in front of you, his body tense, ready for a fight even though he knew he couldn’t take them all. "Stay back," he warned, his voice low, dangerous. "You don’t belong here."

"Neither do you," a Variant shot back, eyes narrowing. "But look at her. Look at her. She’s happy. She’s safe. She’s alive."

You swallowed hard, your hand instinctively resting on your belly. The weight of their stares made your skin prickle, and a deep, unsettled feeling crawled up your spine.

"I lost her before we even got a chance to start a family," one muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His voice was thick with something bordering on grief. "We talked about it. We planned for it. But she never made it that far."

"Mine died carrying our child," another admitted, his face void of emotion, but his hands trembling. "I never got to know them. Never even heard them cry."

The room felt suffocating, their emotions—grief, anger, obsession—crashing into you all at once. You gritted your teeth, willing your heart to stop hammering so hard. Stress wasn’t good for the baby. Stress wasn’t good for the baby.

But then, not all of them were mourning. Some... some were smiling.

"This is perfect," a Mark said, stepping forward with slow, deliberate movements. His gaze was fixed on your stomach in a way that made bile rise in your throat. "I get my girl back and she’s carrying my child?"

"Not your child," your Mark snapped, his voice razor-sharp. "Not your girl."

"But she could be," the Variant countered smoothly, tilting his head. "I mean, she’s already where she’s meant to be, right? She’s already carrying our blood."

Your fingers curled into the fabric of Mark’s shirt, your breathing uneven. You weren’t stupid. You knew you couldn’t run. You could barely walk without feeling exhausted. If they decided to take you, there was nothing you could do to stop them.

One Mark sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "C'mon, let’s not stress her out. That’s not good for the baby."

As if that was your biggest problem right now.

Mark’s hand found yours, his grip grounding, protective. "You’re not taking her anywhere."

"No?" One of the Variants lifted an eyebrow, amused. "You sure about that? Because it kinda looks like she belongs to allof us now."

Your pulse pounded in your ears, panic gripping your chest like a vice. This wasn’t just about you. It wasn’t just about Mark.

It was about your child.

And these men—all these different versions of the man you loved—weren’t going to leave without a fight.

part 2? 👀

[lisalamona]

Lover Boy

. Summary: After years of stolen glances, unfortunate interruptions, and sneaking out of the palace, Telemachus finally musters the courage to confess to you, well… not without a little help, of course. . Pairing: Telemachus x gn! Reader . Warnings: None . Notes: This one had been rotting in the drafts for a while. You can all thank @selena-of-ithaca for inspiring me to finish it! I will probably be doing a second part of this closer to what the request originally was cause it left me thinking about some ideas I wanna explore Art taken from duvetbox's animatic of Legendary Stars devider made by @saradika-graphics, taken from this post

You can say what you will about love at first sight—that it's not real, that it's just an exaggeration poets use to get their point across. But for Telemachus, it was real. Way too real. He just didn't know it at the time.

The first time he saw you, he was just a boy, running from the suffocating walls of the palace. It had stopped feeling like a home—what it was supposed to be—and had become a den. He felt like a lone sheep trapped in a cave full of wolves, and there was no escape. He couldn't leave. He had duties, responsibilities. And most importantly, his mother needed him.

Ever since the suitors had stormed in, treating the palace and everyone inside it as if they were nothing, life had become unbearable. The halls were filled with laughter that wasn't joyful, voices that weren't kind. Every step he took had to be careful, every turn of a corner calculated, just to avoid crossing paths with them. It didn't matter that he was the prince, the heir to Ithaca's throne—his title held no weight with them.

He felt like he was drowning, even though he stood on solid ground.

So naturally, he went to the beach. Or at least, that's where he intended to go. Lost in his thoughts, his mind running rampant, he barely noticed where his feet were taking him. He was halfway down the docks when he collided with someone—hard. The impact sent both of you to the ground, and something clattered beside you.

"Are you alright?"

The voice reached him before he even opened his eyes. The blow had forced them shut, but when he finally blinked them open, the sight before him left him speechless.

At the time, he would've chalked it up to embarrassment. Maybe that was part of it. But looking back, he thought maybe—just maybe—he knew you were the one right then and there, even if he hadn't fully realized it yet.

"Uh... hello?" You waved a hand in front of his face. That snapped him out of his daze, but before he could speak, another voice cut through.

"Kid!"

Both of you turned in unison. A man stood at the edge of the docks—a gruff, towering figure with a bit of gray streaking through his hair. His arms, covered in calluses and old scars, looked like they belonged to someone who could crush a person with a single tap. But you knew better. You knew his heart was made of gold.

"What happened? Are you alright? I knew I shouldn't have let you hold the spears," the man grumbled, his deep voice thick with concern.

"Dad," you muttered, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your tone.

But he wasn't listening. He kept going, mumbling about how he should keep a better eye on you.

"Dad! I'm alright," you reassured him, then turned back to Telemachus—though at the time, you didn't know his name. "Are you?"

He nodded quickly, still a bit unsettled by the sheer presence of your father.

"See? Everything's fine." That seemed to calm the man, at least a little.

You rose from the ground, dusting yourself off before gathering the fallen spears. With one hand, you picked them up. With the other, you reached down and helped Telemachus to his feet.

Your father studied him with a keen eye. "What's your name, son?"

"Telemachus, sir." Anyone could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

Your father's brows lifted slightly. "The prince? What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I just wanted to take a stroll along the beach." Telemachus gestured toward the shore—a more desolate place, one few people ever ventured to.

"Oh, well, that's always a delight to see," your father said with a knowing smile. "Why don't you take [Name] with you? They love going there."

"Dad!"

Heat rushed to your face. That was all you could muster in your embarrassment.

"What?" Your father shrugged. "You could use a break. You need friends your age, anyway." He muttered the last part, but it was loud enough for Telemachus to hear—making your face burn even more.

That day was the first of many.

Over the next ten years, you and Telemachus built something unshakable—a bond carefully woven over time. And in those years, Telemachus came to a realization.

He liked you.

Really liked you.

He had always been hesitant to use the word love. He had never really seen it with his own eyes—not the kind poets spoke of. He had never met his father, and his mother had spent most of his life waiting, praying for Odysseus to return. He supposed the strength she carried was love, in its own way. But he had never seen it in action.

And the years had only made it harder. The suitors had grown more desperate, more dangerous, stripping away every ounce of his attention and confidence.

But then—after twenty long, agonizing years—his father came home.

Everything changed.

In the first few weeks, Telemachus watched his parents reunite. He saw the way they cherished each other, how they barely left each other's side. He saw love in the way they looked at one another, in the way his father reached for his mother's hand without thinking, in the way she smiled as if she had been holding her breath for two decades and could finally exhale.

And that's when he knew.

That's what he wanted.

He wanted to hold your hand, wanted to make you smile—not that he didn't already manage to do that. He wanted to wake up by your side, to trace soft, chaste kisses along your face. He wanted to look into your eyes and, without a single word, know that you both felt the same, that you loved each other.

The only problem was... he didn't know how.

And, gods, he was scared.

──────💗──────

Odysseus made his rounds through town, as he had made a habit of doing ever since returning home. He liked watching the people go about their day, seeing the town buzz with life. He took in every sound, every movement, every face. After spending so many years without proper human interaction, he had learned to appreciate the small things.

That, of course, didn't mean he didn't make time for his family. If anything, he dreaded the moments he had to spend away from them to tend to his duties. That was why, when his son volunteered to accompany him to the docks, he was ecstatic. His mind raced with possible conversation topics, excited at the rare opportunity to bond with Telemachus outside the walls of the palace.

But as they walked, it became increasingly clear that the conversation was more one-sided than he would have liked. Telemachus seemed distracted, his gaze scanning the crowd as if searching for something. Or someone.

Normally, Odysseus might have felt a twinge of disappointment at his son's lack of attention. But then he spotted you, helping your father unload the fishing boat. And then he noticed his son—staring directly at you, his hands fidgeting at his sides before he wiped them on his tunic, as if trying to get rid of sudden clamminess.

Oh. That explained it.

Odysseus' observation skills might have been rusty, but he wasn't stupid.

"Do you want to go talk to them?"

Telemachus nearly jumped out of his skin, his head snapping toward his father. "I— I already do talk to them! We're friends."

Odysseus raised an eyebrow with skepticism. "Friends?"

"Yes!" Telemachus insisted, a little too quickly. His cheeks, however, betrayed him as they flushed red.

"Then you wouldn't mind if I introduced myself?"

Telemachus gave him an incredulous look. "You're the king. They already know who you are!"

"Yes, well, I never personally introduced myself," Odysseus replied smoothly. "And any friend of my son's is a friend of mine."

And with that, he began walking toward you without waiting for a response.

"Father!" Telemachus whisper-shouted, but Odysseus—despite clearly hearing him—kept going, a determined pep in his step.

Panic surged through Telemachus. His father was about to make it so much worse. Desperately, he glanced around, looking for an escape. And then, without thinking, he ducked behind a stack of barrels, pressing himself against the wall in mortified defeat.

He wanted the earth to swallow him right there and then.

"Hello." Odysseus' voice snapped both you and your father to attention.

"Oh—hello, my king, what brings you to us?" your father said, immediately dropping what he was doing to give the king of Ithaca a respectful bow of his head. You quickly followed suit, though your own bow was a little sloppier in your haste.

Odysseus acknowledged both of you with a nod in return—once to your father, then once to you.

"I just wanted to meet my son's friend," he said casually. "Make up for lost time."

At the mention of Telemachus, your ears perked, and your gaze instinctively swept the area, searching for him. It was an unconscious reaction—but not one that went unnoticed by Odysseus.

"Is... is he here?" you asked, smoothing down some stray hairs without realizing it.

Odysseus' lips curled slightly in amusement, though his sharp eyes held something more calculating. He looked behind him, to where his son once stood. "He was. But he seems to have disappeared." His tone was light, but the glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly where his son had gone.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Sounds like him."

"Mm." Odysseus crossed his arms, glancing at you with a thoughtful expression. Then, after a brief pause, he gestured toward the town. "Care for a walk?"

You hesitated, glancing toward your father for guidance. He met your uncertain gaze with an encouraging nod.

"Of course," you answered, finally releasing your grip on your work.

Odysseus extended a hand to help you out of the boat. His grip was firm but not overbearing, a steady reminder of the strength he carried. You accepted his help with a small word of thanks, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

As you stepped onto solid ground, Odysseus and your father exchanged brief goodbyes, a silent understanding passing between them. Then, without further delay, you and the king of Ithaca set off down the worn path.

"Tell me—how did you and my son meet?"

"Oh, uh—he ran into me," you said, remembering the day vividly. "Literally."

Odysseus chuckled, nodding as if that sounded exactly like something Telemachus would do. "And you've been friends ever since?"

You smiled. "More or less. He's easy to talk to."

That earned a raised brow from the king. "Is he?"

You tilted your head, sensing a hidden layer to his question. "Once he warms up to you, yes. He's thoughtful, kind. He listens—really listens. Not just to respond, but because he cares about what you're saying."

Odysseus hummed, rubbing his beard in thought. "And what do you think of him?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. "I—well, I think highly of him, of course. He's my friend."

"Just a friend?" Odysseus asked, watching you closely.

You felt warmth creeping up your neck. "I—yes?"

He chuckled at your hesitation, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Well, I suppose time will tell." Then, as if switching subjects entirely, he gestured toward the boat growing smaller behind you. "You work hard."

"I have to," you said, welcoming the shift in topic. "It's not easy work, but it keeps me moving."

Odysseus nodded approvingly. "A strong back and a strong mind—both good things to have." He studied you for a moment longer before adding, "Loyalty is important too. My son, he has to be careful about who he trusts." You could sense something else in his words, more than a father concerned for his son, something personal.

You met his gaze steadily. "I understand. And I'd never betray his trust."

The weight behind your words must have satisfied him because, for the first time, Odysseus' sharp scrutiny softened into something resembling approval. "Good."

Then, without another word, he turned his head slightly and called out, far too casually.

"You can come out now, son."

A muffled curse sounded from behind some abandoned barrels.

Your face lit up with laughter as Telemachus sheepishly emerged from his not so secret hiding spot, his face redder than a pomegranate.

Odysseus clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, grinning. "A prince shouldn't cower behind barrels, Telemachus. Stand tall."

Telemachus muttered something under his breath that you couldn't quite catch. You, however, were too busy giggling to care.

Odysseus gave you one last, knowing glance before stepping back. "I'll leave you two to it, then."

And just like that, he strode off, leaving Telemachus staring at you, utterly mortified.

──────💗──────

"He embarrassed me!"

"You embarrassed yourself."

Telemachus stared at his father in disbelief, then turned toward his mother, silently pleading for help.

Penelope and Odysseus sat side by side on a wooden bench, a stack of parchment spread across the table before them. Penelope had been signing documents, her focus divided between the ink stained sheets and the arms wrapped securely around her waist. Odysseus, ever at ease, rested his chin in the crook of her neck, perfectly content to hold her as she worked.

Penelope glanced up at her son, amusement flickering in her gaze. "Your father just wanted to help."

Telemachus groaned. Of course, he knew that, but did his father really have to do it like that? "I didn't need any help."

At that, Penelope and Odysseus exchanged a look—one of those unspoken conversations only long-married couples could have. A smirk tugged at Odysseus' lips, and Penelope barely suppressed a laugh.

Telemachus narrowed his eyes. "I mean it!"

"I already told you, sweetheart," Penelope said, her voice warm with patience. "You just need to ask them."

Telemachus hesitated. "But what if...?"

"The worst that can happen is them saying no." Odysseus chimed in, casual as ever.

Telemachus huffed. "No, the worst thing that can happen is my friendship with my best friend being destroyed because of my stupid heart!" He dramatically pounded his chest before flopping onto his parents' bed, face first, as if trying to bury his shame into the linens.

Odysseus exhaled through his nose. "You just need to go over there, stand your ground, and be confident."

Telemachus lifted his head just enough to shoot his father a deadpan look. "Be confident? Me?"

Odysseus shrugged. "It worked with your mother."

"No, it didn't."

The response came in stereo. Penelope's tone was amused and firm, while Telemachus' carried all the exasperation of someone who had grown up hearing his father's exaggerated tales one too many times.

Odysseus blinked. "What? Of course it did!"

Penelope gave him a knowing look. "No, I fell in love with you because of your intelligence and because you were so unapologetically you."

Odysseus crossed his arms. "...And my confidence and persistence too."

Penelope hummed, tilting her head. "Ehhh... the good looks did help."

"Hey!" Odysseus gasped in mock offense before playfully patting her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her neck.

Telemachus rolled his eyes. Of course, he loved his parents. Of course, he admired their relationship. But gods, was it frustrating to witness when he felt so incapable of achieving the same thing.

How was he supposed to be confident when confidence had never come naturally to him?

How was he supposed to just ask you when the very thought of it made his stomach twist itself into knots?

His whole life, he had watched his father's legendary feats unfold in the stories of others. Odysseus, the clever hero. Odysseus, the king of Ithaca. Odysseus, who could talk his way out of anything. He was larger than life, a master of words, a warrior, a man who could fight off monsters and trick the gods themselves.

And Telemachus?

Telemachus could barely keep his voice steady when he so much as thought about telling you how he felt.

It wasn't just rejection he feared—it was the aftermath. What if things changed? What if it became awkward between you? What if you started avoiding him? What if he lost you entirely?

He couldn't risk that.

But at the same time...

He wanted what his parents had. The quiet affection, the easy laughter, the deep-rooted love that had endured twenty years of separation.

He wanted you.

And yet—he felt stuck.

"That's why you should be yourself," Penelope's voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. "You've been friends for a while. They'll understand."

Telemachus sighed, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "I can't be myself. Nobody wants that."

Odysseus snorted. "That's dramatic."

Penelope stood up and made her way to her son, gently touched his arm, her voice softer now. "Just try."

Telemachus swallowed, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Just try.

If only it were that easy.

──────💗──────

Telemachus couldn't get the interaction he had with you earlier that day out of his head. He had tried—tried so hard—to keep both his parents' advice in mind. He had finally gathered the confidence to tell you, rehearsing his words over and over, from the moment he woke up to the moment he finally said it.

Well... kind of said it.

You hadn't even heard him. And in that tiny, fleeting moment, all the courage he had painstakingly built crumbled into dust. When you looked at him with those oh so beautiful eyes and that perfect, heart melting smile, he panicked. The words he had prepared vanished like smoke, and before he knew it, he was scrambling to change the topic as fast as possible.

Now, as he replayed the disaster in his mind for what felt like the hundredth time, he decided it was both the smartest and most idiotic thing he had ever done. Smart—because he hadn't ruined your friendship. Stupid—because now he had to go through the agony of doing it all over again.

"You're distracted."

The sharp voice cut through his thoughts, making him flinch. His mentor, Athena, stood a few paces away, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locked onto him like a bird of prey. She had been watching his form as he attacked the training dummy, analyzing every movement, every hesitation.

Heat rushed to his face—not just from embarrassment, but because his mind had been so hopelessly wrapped around you. He swallowed thickly. "... It's [Name]," he admitted.

Athena let out a slow breath, attempting to mask both her amusement and her growing exasperation. She had seen this before—too many times, in fact. First with Odysseus, who had been equally lovesick, and now with his son, who spoke of you so fondly it was becoming predictable.

"Not again." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am not Aphrodite. I can't help you."

But her words only sparked something in Telemachus. His eyes widened, a flicker of realization lighting them up, and then—

A grin.

"But you're Athena! Goddess of strategy!" He straightened, excitement practically radiating from him. "We can strategize this!"

Athena stared at him, expression flat.

"Please!" In a dramatic flourish, he dropped to his knees, hands clasped together in a desperate plea. "Every time I even think of them, my heart feels like it's going to burst through my ribs! Every time I look at them, I can barely think! I love them. I can't take it anymore!"

Athena sighed, looking up at the sky as if seeking divine patience. This was going to be a long conversation.

──────💗──────

The plan was simple. Or at least, Athena had made it sound simple.

Step one: Get you alone. Step two: Lead the conversation toward something sentimental. Step three: Casually, effortlessly, drop the confession like it was nothing.

Easy.

Except, now that Telemachus was actually there—walking beside you through the sun-dappled forest, the scent of pine and earth filling the air—his entire brain had turned to mush.

You walked ahead slightly, arms brushing away stray branches, sunlight catching in your hair just perfectly. You looked so at peace, humming softly to yourself, completely unaware of the internal war raging within him.

He needed to start the plan. Say something smooth. Something clever.

"So... uh." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. "D-Do you like trees?"

You stopped mid step, turning to blink at him. "What?"

"Trees," he repeated, voice slightly strangled. "Do you... like them?"

A pause. Then, you burst into laughter. "Telemachus, we are literally in a forest."

He groaned internally. That was not part of the plan.

Desperate to recover, he tried again. "What I meant to say was... um, people... people are like trees!"

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Oh? And how's that?"

"Uh..." He hadn't actually thought that far ahead. "Well, some are really tall! And, uh, strong! Like... my father." He winced. Gods, this was a disaster.

You bit your lip, holding back another laugh. "Right. So, are you a tree too?"

"I—" He blushed slightly at the idea you might see him as someone strong. He was spiraling. "I think I might be a bush."

That was it. You doubled over, laughter spilling freely from your lips, and despite his humiliation, Telemachus felt his heart swell at the sound. He loved your laugh. He loved—

Wait. He was supposed to be confessing, not making an absolute fool of himself.

"Why are you so nervous?"

"Umm, it's just—" Telemachus' eyes darted rapidly, searching for something—anything—that could save him. His gaze landed on Athena, perched in the form of a huge white owl on a nearby branch, watching intently. He gave her a desperate, pleading look. She only responded with a subtle nod forward, directing his attention back to you.

"Are you alright?" you asked, concern laced in your voice. You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, forcing him to meet your eyes. Gods, you loved his eyes—the way they turned into molten honey when the sunlight hit them just right. At that moment, you cursed your father in your mind. He had hyped you up to finally tell Telemachus how you felt, only for the day to end with him having some allergic reaction or whatever was happening to him.

Telemachus stared at you, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The way the light bathed your features, making you seem almost ethereal—it was unfair. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

"By the gods, you are beautiful."

"What?"

"What?" His eyes widened slightly as if he could pretend he hadn't just spoken.

You raised an eyebrow. "I heard you. I just wanted to know if I heard right."

"Oh."

A thick silence settled between you. The air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken.

You swallowed hard, deciding to bite the bullet. "...I think you're beautiful too." The words tumbled out before you could second-guess yourself. Your heart hammered in your chest, but you forced yourself to push forward. "I like you. I like you a lot, and it's totally fine if you don't feel the same, I just can't hold it in anymo—"

"I do too."

The response came without hesitation, so natural it almost startled you. He took a deep breath, scanning your face for a reaction—some sign that he wasn't making a mistake. He found it.

His fingers tightened slightly around yours. "You are the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night." His voice was steadier now, more certain. "I try to find excuses to talk to you, to be around you, to hear you laugh—even if it's just for a moment. And I know I should have said something sooner, but I was terrified that if I did, I'd lose you."

The world around you blurred. The whispering leaves, the distant crash of waves against the shore, the rustling of Athena's wings—it all faded into the background.

"You won't lose me." you promised, squeezing his hand.

Telemachus let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His free hand hesitantly reached up, brushing against your cheek as if testing whether this moment was real.

"Then, can I—" He stopped himself, but the question lingered in the air.

You smiled. "You can."

And with that, he closed the distance, pressing his lips softly against yours.

BONUS:

"Would you be mad if I let go of your hand?" "Why? What's wrong?" "It's really sweaty"

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 4

[oop- more interaction with our Yautja 🤭 I love your comments and your support, they keep me writing more 💚]

(Tagging @celticsrightbuttcheek for their ongoing support 🥰)

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts.

This is it… this is happening, you told yourself.

You could hear the guttural sounds of the two aliens battling nearby. Quietly, you slipped out of the chamber that had served as your only protection and crept around, desperately searching for something—anything—that could be used as a weapon.

Your panicked hands rummaged through drawers, the noise loud enough to draw the xenomorph’s attention toward you.

That split second of distraction was just enough. The Yautja drove its talons deep into the xenomorph’s ribs, earning a piercing hiss before tossing the creature aside to avoid its acid blood.

You had studied xenomorphs long enough to know their blood could melt through nearly anything on contact.

You had, unfortunately, learned that the hard way.

You could run now. This was your chance, both creatures were locked on each other. You grabbed an intravenous stand and with your hands trembling you began slowly backing out of the lab, keeping your eyes locked on the xenomorph.

Somehow, you felt the Yautja wouldn’t hunt you. You weren’t a worthy challenge in comparison.

The xenomorph, however, would kill anything without a second thought.

It hissed in your direction, and your stomach dropped. But then it looked to the left, where the Yautja had moved to flank it. Strangely, it felt like you and the Yautja were circling the xeno together, like predators converging on a common enemy. The Yautja seemed to notice your synchronized movement, perhaps thinking the same as you.

The enemy of my enemy…

The Yautja wasn’t quick enough this time. Already wounded and bleeding, it didn’t react fast enough when the xenomorph made its choice.

You.

The weaker one.

You froze in fear but stood your ground as the creature lunged. The medical probe you clutched became your only defense. You collapsed under its weight, struggling, your head thrashing side to side as its inner jaw shot out, aiming for your skull.

You held it off, just long enough.

The xeno’s weight lifted suddenly, and you gasped, the breath finally returning to your lungs. You barely registered what was happening, before your eyes locked on the savage scene before you.

The Yautja had pounced. It didn’t roar or cry out. It fought in silence, its primal, brutal attacks overwhelming the xeno. No armor, no advanced weaponry, just claws, fangs, and fury.

Everything you’d studied about their kind told you they were strategic, calculated warriors. But this? This was personal.

You remembered then—this was a younger Yautja. Not an elder. Not even a forehead scar to mark its first successful hunt. That explained the lack of discipline, the rage driving every blow. It wasn’t fighting for honor. It was fighting to end this, no matter the cost.

Please…

You whispered to yourself.

Please run.

This wasn’t your place anymore.

The xenomorph’s tail twitched, about to strike a fatal blow to the yautja’s back.

You saw it, just in time.

You ran forward and shoved the tail aside with your probe before it could pierce through the Yautja’s chest. The predator paused, its masked gaze snapping toward you. It growled, low, furious. It didn’t want your help. This was its fight. You were in the way.

But there was nothing honorable about dying in blind rage, you thought. You ignored its warning growls and pushed the tail aside again.

That second of distraction was all the xenomorph needed. With a violent shove, it knocked the Yautja off of it and launched itself at you.

You hit the floor hard. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, and for a moment, you couldn’t move. The xenomorph raised one deadly arm for the finishing blow—

But it was yanked off you before it could strike, though not without pain: its claws had grabbed a fistful of your hair, ripping it clean from your scalp. You screamed in agony.

The Yautja’s reaction to your scream was unlike anything you expected. A deafening roar erupted from its chest, a sound so raw and agonizing that it made your blood run cold. You clutched your ears, trying to block out the piercing noise.

The predator had lost all restraint.

It straddled the xenomorph now, attacking like a beast possessed. It grabbed the creature’s jaws, prying them open with brute strength. The xeno shrieked and hissed, its inner mouth striking out and biting the Yautja’s hand, but the predator didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

With a final, sickening snap, it broke the xenomorph’s jaws apart, ripping one entirely off and tossing it across the lab. Then it backed away quickly, avoiding the toxic spray of its blood.

It roared loudly, as if savouring its victory.

You lay there, breath ragged, heart pounding, staring at the terrifying figure before you.

A true menace, in spirit and flesh. It was deadly and the only thing alive besides you in the room.

The Yautja moved slowly now, chest heaving. It looked at the xenomorph’s hand—still clutching strands of your hair. It knelt, touching them gently, its fingers strangely delicate as they brushed against the human hair. It took a second, trying to make sense of what it meant for you to lose strands of hair.

It meant something entirely different in Yautja culture, you figured, since their dreadlocks were more of an organ than hair.

The Yautja now turned to you and slowly stepped closer.

You instinctively backed away, just a little, unsure of its intentions.

Were you next?

It knelt before you, head tilted slightly, its eyes fixed on the bleeding spot on your scalp. You both stayed still for several long seconds.

When it finally moved, you flinched and shut your eyes.

You expected pain, maybe claws digging in…but instead, you felt the soft weight of its fingers pressing near the wound, careful, almost… curious.

You didn’t move, didn’t breathe too hard, just stared as it tilted its head, like it was trying to make sense of your bleeding. You could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, confused as hell, not knowing what to do. Run, fight, say something?

“It hurts,” you whispered, even though you knew it wouldn’t understand.

It stopped.

To your surprise, a soft purr started rumbling in its chest. You squinted up at it, trying to understand what that meant again. The sound rolled out of its chest in slow, steady waves, and for some reason you could feel it in yours.

You didn’t want it to. You were still scared. You should have been scared.

But that sound…

It was doing something to your nervous system, whether you liked it or not. Your shoulders dropped without you realising it. Your breathing slowed. It was like being wrapped in low-frequency sound that you couldn’t shake off. Some primal part of your brain responded to it like it meant safety. Calm.

You didn’t get it.

When you looked up again, it was still making that sound. Still not moving. Still just watching you quietly.

You noticed its arm then, coated in green blood. Your eyes widened in shock. You reached out instinctively, wanting to check the wound, but stopped halfway, afraid it might lash out.

But the Yautja didn’t move. In fact, it seemed to wait.

“Will you let me help now?” you asked, half-joking. If it had let you help earlier, maybe it wouldn’t be this bad.

The alien let out a low grunt, a sound that could’ve meant anything, but didn’t seem like a no.

You stood slowly, and it rose with you. When you moved, it mirrored you, as if still watching your every step.

You made your way to a specific cabinet. You remembered the tools the Yautja came with when they were captured to be studied—medical equipment and some kind of salve that you had studied before. Human medicine wouldn’t help it, but this… this might.

You reached up to the shelf and grabbed what you needed. The Yautja stood close behind, waiting. You turned to show it.

Its reaction was almost funny, looking between you and the supplies as if realizing, maybe for the first time, that you’d been capable of helping all along.

It grunted again, sounding… annoyed, maybe. Then it strode over to the operating table and sat down with exaggerated weight.

You hesitated.

It flared its mandibles at you, letting out a louder noise this time, clearly impatient.

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, suppressing a strange urge to laugh. You didn’t know why, but the way it behaved—almost human—was oddly comforting. And a little terrifying.

[flawseer]

Hi! I’m a big fan of your art and work over all

I’ve been wondering, since I’ve seen you give your thoughts on some other dragons, what are your thoughts on Clay?

On Clay...

Clay. I’ve talked about him for a bit in a previous post somewhere. He is the first protagonist in the entire series and thus serves as our introduction into this world. While he enters the story with his own emotional baggage, he pretty much resolves all of that within the first book and mellows out from then on, fading into the background as a quiet support character.

Because of that it is maybe easy to dismiss Clay as that big guy who talks about food a lot and doesn’t do much else. But I do think he’s a bit more complex than that and is a well-rounded character with things going on in his own right.

CW: Discussion of physical abuse.

Formative Years

Clays early years were molded heavily by his belief that he almost killed Tsunami while she was hatching. He believed this because his guardians, mostly Kestrel, insisted this is what happened. Of course at the end of the first book we learn that this wasn’t the case and that they were just misinformed about how Mudwings work.

To us, this may all seem absolutely ridiculous. We look at Clay and see this obvious gentle giant without a malicious bone in his body angsting about being a blood-crazed monster. But for Clay himself, this was a very real, very horrifying situation. Suspend your disbelief for a moment. His entire childhood was marred by the crushing guilt of almost having murdered his surrogate sister at birth, and he couldn’t remember why he did it. He understood nothing about this situation, and didn’t know if this secret violent side could even resurface one day. Basic things like going to sleep would become terrifying; he may have laid awake, wondering whether his body might act on its own as soon as he fell unconscious. Just like back then, when it acted before he could even form coherent thoughts. The fear of losing control to the monster and waking up on top of a loved one’s mangled body was always there.

This perception of himself as a violent killer was at odds with his social nature as a Mudwing. He loved his surrogate siblings with the same intensity that any Mudwing would love their own, and thus he hated the part of himself that threatened them. As a direct response to this dissonant view, Clay developed a desire to protect them. If he willed himself to shield them from getting hurt with all of his strength, he would never be able to harm them again. This was his way of coping with the fear.

It is pretty apparent from the text that at least Kestrel was physically abusive towards them. Dune was possibly too, Webs I don’t think so, but he also didn’t do anything to stop it. As Clay grew older I think he began to recognize the patterns. He would start deliberately acting in ways so that most of Kestrel’s ire would be redirected towards himself instead of the others. This is why all the Dragonets of Destiny have such deep respect for Clay; they remember him always standing between them and Kestrel, even as he ended up with more and more scars for it.

Luckily, he is able to reconnect with his Mudwing heritage at the end of book 1 and learns that he never was that blood-crazed murderer the guardians insisted he was. But even so, the scars and memories would never fully fade, and he’d never lose sight of the need to protect his loved ones.

Personality and Interests

Clay’s love of food and eating is well-established, to the point where it sometimes seems like it is his only character trait from book 2 onwards. This is normal; he’s got a big body and I assume the self-regenerative properties inherent to Mudwings burn a lot of calories, so he needs to eat a lot to refuel them. I think there’s a bit more to him still though.

Clay is at his happiest when he can either prevent someone else’s pain, or take it away. Conversely he becomes distressed when he sees someone suffering. I believe he is incredibly earnest and built close to water. He cries easily, though never in response to his own pain or suffering. He feels positive emotions very strongly and can get overwhelmed that way, especially when he sees his loved ones happy. When he cries, he does so openly and without shame. It is very unsatisfying to tease him because he will usually just take what people say to him at face value and thus make them feel bad.

He’s also very physically affectionate and huggy.

People who meet Clay often get the impression that he is book dumb, or just stupid in general. This is not the case, as Clay does have a capacity for learning even complex subject matter. I just think he struggles with subjects he can’t see a practical application for, or aren’t relevant to things he wants to do. He has little interest in memorizing ancient figures or learning how to measure the sides of a triangle

When Glory fights Deathbringer in book 3, she makes mention of a “dragon anatomy class” which I assume was taught by Webs. Clay, as much as he struggled with history and numbers, excelled at this particular class because its insight could be used to keep people safe. As such, whenever the need for it arises, Clay is usually quick to act as the group’s primary healer/medical advisor.

(Excerpts from WoF graphic novels 2 and 3, censored for blood.)

This notion is further supported by the fact that, once they all become teachers at the Jade Mountain Academy, Clay is the one to lead an anatomy class, just like the one he attended before.

In conclusion

Clay is pretty much everyone’s big brother. While he isn’t as eccentric and colorful as the people he is surrounded by, his earnestness and general benevolence make him the backbone of the Dragonets of Destiny. Whenever anyone has a deeply-rooted, serious problem they are hesitant to bring up with others, Clay will usually be the first person considered as a confidant. Tsunami and Starflight know he would never judge or shame them no matter how ridiculous the thing they approach him with. Glory trusts him with her emotions whenever her stoic facade cracks. And Sunny has an incredibly strong bond with him.

I think that makes him pretty cool, even if he doesn’t really have much to do anymore once he overcomes his personal demons. I’m happy that he gets to be happy in the end.

[starmapz]

love & company - r. sukuna

❦ biker!ryomen sukuna x biker!f!reader [non-curse au]

❦ oneshot

❝ you're beginning to lose hope of ever fixing your bike as the moon rises over the horizon when a man built like a brick wall and covered in tattoos stops to help you out. he's standoffish and his words are cold - but as it turns out the version of him you see is soft. who knew this man could ever become your best friend, let alone something more? ❞

❦ cw ; 18+ only. contains explicit content. friends to lovers. fluff. hurt/comfort. p in v. fingering. oral (f! and m! receiving). degradation (slut). choking. pet names (princess, brat, woman, girl). size kink. rough sex. unprotected. biting. hair pulling. manhandling. toxic relationship (not sukuna). manipulation (not sukuna). reckless driving. use of alcohol and cigarettes. reader is implied to be short/small mostly in comparison to sukuna but he's huge so. ooc warning for sukuna given that this is modern and i want him to be more realistically human. i probably got some of the bike information wrong.

❦ words ; 24.2k.

main masterlist || love & company masterlist

A cool evening wind chills your skin as you hunch over your bike on the side of the road. You’re thankful for your thick leather jacket to protect you from the brisk winds, but it doesn’t make it easy to work when your thoughts continue to stray to the fast-approaching night.

Your Kawasaki motorcycle puttered to a stop an hour ago and you’ve been on the side of the road ever since. Of course it would happen today of all days, where your patience runs thin and you want nothing more than to be curled up in bed.

Your small array of tools that you keep for times like these are finally proving useful, but you can hardly bring yourself to care as you run out of things to check. You’re almost certain the issue is a clogged fuel line at this point but without the necessary tools to check, you’re fresh out of ideas on what to do aside from calling a tow truck.

The sound of another passing motorbike is grating on your ears as someone speeds by on a bright red Ducati and you want to curse them out just for having a working bike, but to your surprise, they circle back a minute later and pull up next to you.

A broad-shouldered figure steps off the bike, pulling a dark helmet off and giving his head a shake, running a hand through his pink hair to give it a naturally windswept look. Tattoos line his sharp jaw and scars litter his right eye. Deep near-crimson eyes lock on you, a mildly cold expression spread over the tall man’s features. He’s just about the textbook definition of what you would think of as a ‘bad boy’.

He looks you over before taking in the state of your bike. The sight of you covered in grease and oil sitting in defeat on the ground is amusing to him to say the least- you don’t much look the part of a biker between your small figure and approachable stature but one look at your bike and attire tells him not to judge a book by its cover.

“Need a hand?”

Unfortunately for the tattooed man, he’s caught you in a bad mood.

“No,” you grumble, picking up your wrench and dipping back into a rhythm of checking everything.

“I’ve got more tools than just a wrench,” he offers. Your intense gaze looks him over again, surveying the black leather hanging off his shoulders and red helmet that matches his bike tucked under his elbow.

“I can handle myself,” you insist, not keen on accepting a stranger’s help, especially given his cold expression.

“Didn’t say you couldn’t,” he retorts with a click of his tongue. “Just askin’ if you want a spanner or pliers.” His eyes flicker to the moon rising in the sky. “Or a flashlight.”

You follow his gaze out to the rising moon, its light not offering enough of a look at your bike to be all that helpful as night begins to fall.

You sigh, wiping perspiration from your forehead with the back of your hand. The man’s lips quirk upwards in a minute smirk at the sight of the grease you accidentally wipe on your head. He thinks it’s cute.

“A spanner would be helpful,” you give in, pulling a pair of pliers from where you’d set them down beneath your knee to show you did at least have a couple of tools handy.

Pulling his hands from his pockets, the tall man turns to the backpack he’d set on the ground behind him. He sets his helmet on the seat of his bike and pulls out a spanner, handing it to you in place of the torque wrench you’ve set at your side.

He’s silent as you thank him and begin adjusting the spanner’s size to detach the fuel line. Standing in silence, he does little more than watch given that you don’t seem to want his help.

When the fuel line finally detaches, you groan as you realize you’d been right about the problem the entire time and the line is blocked. Without an air compressor, there isn’t much you can do to get your bike running again and your shoulders slump in defeat.

“Now d’you need a hand?” He asks with a raised brow and a small smirk.

The look you shoot him is fiery and he’d be a liar to say he doesn’t think your attitude is cute. It suits the strange vibes he gets from you in the best of ways.

“I’ll just call for a tow,” you insist, still refusing the help of the stranger you know nothing about, aside from the fact that he has just about the most high-end street legal sports bike in pristine condition and you find it to be pretentious.

“Suit yourself. I can fix it for free, though.”

You press your lips into a thin line, brow furrowed as you look over his features. The man practically towers over you, he’s built like a tank and dwarfs you in every sense. His expression is aloof, giving away very little about him. You have no reason to believe he’s lying though, so with a sigh, you give in and hand him the spanner he’d lent you.

The man lowers himself beside you, disconnecting the other side of the fuel line entirely as he begins pulling apart the carburetor. You sit back, watching your bike attentively as though he might do damage to it, but his fingers move deftly as if this is all muscle memory to him.

“What’s your name?” You ask as the silence stretches on. It’s a surprisingly comfortable silence, as he grabs a rag and water bottle from his backpack. He glances at you as he wets the rag and begins cleaning the carburetor.

“Sukuna.”

“You know your way around a bike.”

“Been riding for a while.”

You nod. Despite his kind actions, his words are distant and frigid, so you decide not to push the subject.

It’s silent for a while as you sit with your hands splayed on the asphalt behind you, watching his actions. Your eyes survey the man hunched over your bike, admiring the smooth lines of the tattoos that line his jaw, more ink just barely visible along his neck from beneath his jacket. His hair looks freshly dyed and his right eye is dotted in long scars that have you wondering what happened.

If the situation were any different, you might be hesitant to accept his help, but in truth you’re too tired to complain.

It’s not much longer before your bike is back together. Wiping his hands with the rag, he nods to the bike.

“Give ‘er.”

Pushing yourself to your feet, you turn the key. The engine flips once, twice, three times, before finally sputtering to life.

“Oh my god, thank you so much,” you sigh in relief, shaking your head. “I thought the issue was the fuel line,” you groan over the sound of the engine.

“It is. You need to replace it, this should get you a few miles away though.”

You nod affirmatively, reaching down to hand back his tools. Sukuna dumps them in his bag and throws it over his shoulder.

“You’re a lifesaver, I don’t know how to thank you,” you tell him, your mood no longer sour as your bike continues to roar, thankfully not dead on the side of the road anymore.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He simply shrugs.

“Let me buy you a drink, or something,” you insist in spite of your exhaustion, though his cold demeanor doesn’t give you much hope that he’ll accept anyway, so you figure you’ll be able to get some rest regardless of the offer.

As he turns to grab his helmet, you half expect him to start his bike and drive off without another word, ignoring your offer entirely. It’s just the impression he gives you, but he surprises you.

“Keep up, then.”

Your brow raises and before you have a chance to complain that you’re covered in a layer of sweat and grease and you’d meant at a later date, his bike is roaring to life.

You scramble onto your own bike and follow him closely. Sukuna is half-shocked when you actually pull up into the parking lot of a small bar right behind him, pulling your helmet off and shaking your head in an effort to fix your hair.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t find everything about you intriguing. From your bike to the way you ride and your feisty disposition all packaged in such a tiny figure compared to him, he thinks it’s cute. Maybe even something more than that.

He leads the way to the bar wordlessly as you complain about the grease coating your body, but he barely notices the oil marking your skin. He’s used to it, if anything, from working on his own bike.

You aren’t even sure if he’s listening given his flippant attitude and lack of response, but you drone on regardless. It’s better than silence.

Choosing to ignore your frustrated rambles, he orders a whiskey and glances in your direction.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” you tell the bartender with a sweet smile, waving your hand in the air like you don’t much mind what exactly you’re drinking. It’s your turn to surprise Sukuna.

“Don’t think I caught your name,” Sukuna says as you lean over the bar beside him.

You tell him your name with a sweet smile, your mood clearly improved as you take the whiskey and damn-near down it in one swift movement.

When your eyes land on Sukuna again, he’s smirking. He’s not really sure what to make of you nor you of him, but he certainly likes it.

Though you both elect not to have any more alcohol in favor of driving home later, conversation comes easily for the rest of the hour. At least, as easily as it comes for Sukuna.

“Where’d you get your bike?” You ask decidedly, trying to make conversation with the stoic individual.

“A shop up north.”

“Looks like it cost a pretty penny.”

He hums in approval.

That’s about how most conversations with him go, so when you throw your jacket on and insist you should get home, you’re admittedly surprised when he pauses and holds his hand out expectantly.

You stare up at him curiously. Not once had you gotten the impression he was interested in any of your conversations, yet now he wants something from you? You can’t decide what to make of this, what to make of him.

“Sorry, um,” you stare down in confusion at his expectant hand, mouth opening and closing as you try to decide what to say.

“Your phone,” he instructs and your pretty eyes widen as you stare up at him, the difference in stature between you both now incredibly apparent as he dwarfs you when standing over you.

“Oh!” You stare at him with pursed lips and pull your phone out, opening it to your texts. He sends himself a text and hands your phone back wordlessly, before turning his shoulder as he walks out abruptly, leaving you further confused.

Chasing after him, you just barely catch him as he kicks his bike’s stand up and throws his helmet on.

“Thanks again!” You call after him. He glances over his shoulder and though you can’t see his expression behind the dark visor of his helmet, he smirks back at you before driving off.

As you just barely make it back home on your sputtering bike, you manage to replace the fuel line and shoot him a text.

11:53 PM You || fixed the fuel line. thanks again, youre a lifesaver

11:55 PM Sukuna || thanks for the drink.

In all honesty, you figure that’s the last you’ll ever hear from him, but you quickly find out that the cold disposition he gives off isn’t really all there is to him when he asks if you want to go to a bike show a week later.

He fails to mention that his youngest brother Yuji would be joining you for the show, but as you walk the show floor with him and his younger sibling, you realize his brother likely just got all the conversation genes.

Sukuna is still aloof, he doesn't say much to you outside of comments about the bikes and even though he’s the one that invited you, you still can't tell if he enjoys your company. Although he’s quiet, his presence is surprisingly alluring and you're grateful to have someone to listen to your ramblings, even if he doesn't seem interested.

As you walk the length of the convention hall, weaving between crowds of people that seem to part at Sukuna’s menacing figure, Sukuna pauses to look at gorgeous black Yamaha. You barely catch the way he silently stops, managing to point out the pause to Yuji just in time to keep you all from getting separated.

“Don’t think I’ve heard him talk this much in ages,” Yuji comments with a raised brow. You tilt your head towards him, following his gaze to Sukuna.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” the younger man scratches the back of his head. “I don’t have my license yet but I like lookin’ around. He’s usually pretty snippy about which bikes I should be looking at,” he shrugs. “You guys must have a lot in common for him to be so chatty.”

Chatty, you practically scoff to yourself. The man barely said ten sentences to you.

You do notice the way he shoots Yuji a glare or groans about his chatting on occasion, though. Not once does he direct that at you.

Even still, you don't expect him to keep inviting you out. Ten sentences isn’t exactly something to form a friendship on.

Continuing to surprise you, you still hear from him. Next thing you know, you’re invited to ride with him and his brother Choso, invited out to dinner with a group of his friends and he even accepts your invite to see a horror movie with a couple of your friends.

You’re quick to learn that Sukuna is just like that.

Sukuna’s mild and somewhat haughty disposition is something you grow accustomed to as you learn how to talk to him. Though you find yourself talking mostly at him, you realize that’s just how he likes things. He pays a surprising amount of attention to your words, though you don’t tend to notice until he shows it through actions later.

He shows up to your work with takeout on his lunch break when you mention you forgot your lunch. He goes shopping with you despite his distaste for malls when you tell him you need some new clothes. He’s more agreeable when you’re around and his friends are quick to point it out, insisting you need to be there at all times to make him more tolerable, though they’re mostly joking.

He does treat you differently from the rest of his friends. You figure it’s just because your friendship is new, though.

After being invited along on a ride down the highway to a neighboring small town with Sukuna’s friend Uraume and his brother Choso, you eye up Sukuna’s plate. You’d ordered no side with your meal but god his fries look good. You shoot him a curious glance, met with his typical aloof expression, if not one of mild irritation. Glancing again at his fries, you reach over to steal one, pleased when you pop it in your mouth.

Sukuna rolls his eyes at you, muttering under his breath about you ‘being a brat’ and how ‘you should have ordered a side’, but it’s all a show as he lets you steal another one when you smile sweetly at him.

When Choso follows your act, wanting to try the fries as well, Sukuna swats his hand away with a hiss. “My plate isn’t a buffet,” he growls contemptibly. Choso wrinkles his nose, shaking his hand of the harsh slap.

When Sukuna gets up to use the washroom, Choso waits until he’s out of earshot to comment.

“How the hell did you get away with getting some of that asshole’s fries?”

You shrug. “Dunno. He just let me.”

“Grumpy bastard…”

Again, you insist you just don’t know him well and he’s being kind so the action is brushed off.

A week later, Sukuna insists you tag along with his buddy Toji to get drinks, but when you arrive at the meeting spot and pull your helmet off, Sukuna is haughtily arguing with the raven-haired man.

“C’mon, it’s cheap. Their food’s fine.” Toji insists with little more than a raised eyebrow and an unamused sigh.

“What food?” You ask with a smile as you saunter over to the two much taller men.

“Red’s,” Toji responds gruffly, his unamused expression turning to one of intrigue as he realizes you must be Sukuna’s friend. “You must be y/n.”

You grin at him as he smirks.

“Toji,” he introduces himself. “Now can ya tell this asshole that Red’s is cheap?”

Sukuna’s arms are crossed over his chest. “We can do better for cheap.” He all but hisses, his eyes fixed in the distance.

“I’ve never been,” you glance between the two with pursed lips, mentally chuckling to yourself at how much you have to look up to both men. “I think it sounds good.”

Sukuna’s arms fall to his side as his fiery eyes lock on you. He pauses for a moment, sparing a glance at Toji, but those deep eyes return to you with a begrudging sigh as he grumbles something under his breath.

“Fine.”

Toji’s eyes widen as he dangles his keys from his hands, his expression thoughtful. After a moment, he fists the keys as he gets ready to get in his car and head to the bar. He pauses before opening the door, a shit-eating grin spread over his scarred lips.

“Think I need ya to tag along more often, y/n.” He catches the tilt of your head and chuckles. “Think ya tame this shithead a bit.”

Sukuna roars something at Toji as he tries to catch him before the door slams and the car speeds off, leaving you giggling at the interaction.

Toji’s not the last to point it out, either.

You don’t think much of it, though. Sukuna just shows he cares through his actions and that’s how you come to know him as your best friend.

Sukuna is, of course, smitten with you. He adores how perfectly you seem to understand him. He loves the way you invite him along to everything with your friends despite his tendencies to scare others off. He loves that in spite of the trouble he gets himself into, your opinion of him never changes. He loves that you text him about stupid things, and that even when his response is inhospitable, you continue to text him like you would any other friend.

Because you’re his best friend. And he won’t admit it to anyone, but you know. He knows you know.

You get him. 

So of course when you excitedly text him about your date, you have no way of knowing that his naturally cold responses are no longer his usual tone. They’re frigid, maybe even mildly snarky, but over text you don’t see the way his brow is knit tightly in contempt.

When he meets your boyfriend for the first time, you notice the strange tension between your best friend and partner. Your boyfriend brings it up but you had warned him in advance that Sukuna comes across that way, so you brush it off as little more than Sukuna being himself.

Yet, you notice the little things. You’ve known Sukuna for a long time now. You notice the way his jaw tightens when he sees your boyfriend lean down to kiss you at a dinner for your birthday a year into your relationship. You tilt your head questioningly at him from across the table, a silent query, but he doesn’t give you a response, that mild expression never once leaving his eyes as he leans back in his seat.

“Kuna?” Your sweet voice pulls his attention down to you when you pull him aside as everyone is saying goodnight outside the restaurant. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

You cock your brow at his flippant response, dismissing you with a wave of his hand. “I know you well enough to know you’re lying,” you insist with an expectant look.

God, that look makes his hardened expression falter. Sukuna is well aware that he’s unapproachable, scary even. His form is built and he towers over most everyone, not to mention his constant disinterested expression and the tattoos he sports.

You often tease him for his ‘resting bitch face’.

Yet here you are, hand on your hip, so small and sweet, a fire lit behind those gorgeous eyes of yours. Cute.

“It’s just been a long day, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He knows you don’t believe him, but it’s the best you’re getting and you know that as well as he does. Hurt flashes through your eyes and he does feel a pang of guilt, but he keeps it locked away as he sighs and pulls something from the pocket of his leather jacket. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

Your wide eyes look up at him in shock. You’d insisted no one should get you a gift, but when you texted him this morning and told him your boyfriend, so cheerily talking to your friends behind the two of you, had forgotten your birthday, he couldn’t leave you empty-handed in that way.

You gingerly reach out and take the box from him. You know what it is instantly and the way your cheeks redden, the way it shocks you to silence has him smirking, mostly to himself. His hands remain in his pockets, his unamused expression locked on your hands that hesitate as you slowly open the velveteen box.

Lying so beautifully strewn in the box is a necklace you pointed out to him when you’d gone shopping together what must have been years ago now. A gorgeous silver chain lays delicately holding a dainty bejeweled star with your birthstone in the center. Of course he’d been paying attention. He always does.

“You didn’t,” it’s all you can manage as you stare at it in disbelief. To your surprise, Sukuna is smiling softly down at you, a rare sight that you want to burn into your retinas.

“You deserve a good birthday.”

You know it’s a dig at your boyfriend, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Maybe that should be a sign, but you’re too caught up in the moment as tears brim your eyes.

“This was so expensive though, I- I- can’t-”

“You can and you will.”

You know when Sukuna demands something, he means it. This is one of those times.

Tears threatening to spill, you wrap your arms tightly around his toned middle. If he weren’t a giant in comparison to you, you might have bowled him over with the force you hug him with.

Sukuna relishes in the moment, memorizing the feeling of your body in his arms, the way you bury your head into his chest, hiding your tears in his hug as they inevitably stain his white V-neck, but he doesn’t care. His arms wrap tightly around you, one of the rare times he returns one of your affections.

When you part from him, using your free hand to wipe your eyes, Sukuna takes the box from you, moving to put the necklace on with ease. He moves like every action he takes is practiced as he confidently clasps the necklace around your neck.

“It’s beautiful,” you hum as you look down at it, running a delicate finger over the pendant.

The salmon-haired man hums mildly. “‘Course. You chose it.”

You examine his eyes, your expression unreadable as you contemplate Sukuna’s actions.

He may be agreeable around you, he may be willing to make compromises with you that he won’t for others, but this is new for him. This is sweet, and he knows you’re thinking such a thing too when he meets those pretty eyes staring up at him. He doesn’t care anymore, though.

He wants you to be happy.

When your boyfriend confronts you about the necklace later that night, you tell him the truth. Maybe you hope he’ll realize he fucked up. Maybe you hope he’ll right his wrongs.

Instead, you end up in an argument as your boyfriend insists that his mistake in forgetting the date was honest but that Sukuna overstepped boundaries.

Maybe your best friend did, in truth.

And so as your boyfriend snaps when you defend your best friend and the argument takes a turn for the worse, maybe it shouldn’t be that same best friend that you turn to. Maybe that will just make things worse.

But the phone only rings twice before he picks up.

He sounds tired, his voice coated in sluggish exhaustion as he mumbles a ‘hello’ on the other line. You hear the rustling of sheets on the other end, a pang of guilt clawing at your throat as you know you’ve woken him up.

“Kuna?” The tone of your voice is foreign to him. Meek, strained. Even earlier in the night when you had confronted him about his cold disposition, your tone still held that unwavering strength and fire that he loves about you, so this wakes him up.

Leaning up on his elbow in bed, he squints at his phone.

“It’s three in the morning, y/n.”

“I know.” You pause and Sukuna waits for you to explain. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know that he’s listening. “We got into a fight.”

Sukuna sighs, full of disdain, though not towards you. Never towards you.

“You safe?” His voice is surprisingly soft, though you chalk it up to him being tired.

You nod, before realizing he can’t see you. “... yeah.”

He hears you sniffle on the other end of the line and has to physically resist the urge to say things he’ll regret about your boyfriend. “Right. ‘M on my way. Stay put.”

He hangs up, wasting no time in throwing on a pair of gray sweatpants and a plain black V-neck. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, although it doesn’t do him any favors and he isn’t about to waste time styling it. As it stands, you’ve seen him in a worse state after some particularly wild nights that had ended with one of you on the other’s couch.

His bike roars to life outside his apartment and he’s off into the cold night air, barely grazing his skin as his leather jacket and helmet protect him from the bite. He pushes the limits of his bike and of the road as he speeds past any cars he comes across on the short drive to your house, and he’s glad he did when he spots you on your front doorstep, head in your hands in little more than pajama shorts and a tank top.

He’s off his bike in an instant, shaking his head as he takes his helmet off in an effort to fix his hair before he kneels in front of you.

You’re relieved at the sight of him, clearly fresh out of bed and having hurried right over. Your knight in shining armor. Or at least a shiny red helmet.

His brow furrows as he looks you over, spotting the goosebumps that litter your bare legs and arms. 

“Shit,” he mutters as he rolls his shoulders and shrugs his leather jacket off, wrapping it around you. It engulfs your figure almost entirely, draping over you like a dress. If the situation was any different he would think it’s adorable.

You look up at him between long, wet lashes, fresh tears streaking down your makeup-stained cheeks. Your eyes are red and puffy from crying and you’re sure your exhaustion and defeat are written across your face in bright bold lettering by the way he frowns.

“Did he kick you out?”

“It’s a long story,” you mutter, just barely audible.

“I got time.”

There’s a note of contempt that floats between his words and you know just as well as he does that he’s resisting the urge to beat down your door and knock some sense into your boyfriend.

Your mouth opens then closes enough times that Sukuna grows impatient, muscles in his jaw clenching as he grows closer and closer to busting down your door when you finally find words.

“We’ve been fighting on and off since we got home,” you admit. Sukuna raises a brow. That was four hours ago. “He was pissed about- about-” you stammer over your words, biting your lip as you fiddle with the necklace that sits beautifully around your neck. Beautiful like you.

“Me,” Sukuna dryly finishes your sentence.

You frown and he knows he’s right. Of course. Maybe the necklace was overstepping this time, but he’d watched your shitty boyfriend step on you more times than he could count and hadn’t once said a word. He respected you and your fiery demeanor entirely too much to ever want to see you upset.

Yet no matter what path he chose, it seemed you would be upset regardless.

“He took my phone and went through everything,” you clear your throat as your voice cracks mid-sentence, staring down at the phone in your hands. The screen is cracked and Sukuna isn’t sure if he wants to know whether it was shattered before today or not.

Your words set him ablaze in anger. It burns like an itch on his skin and it takes every last ounce of self control that he has to hold himself back and just listen. The contrasting cold air is nice on his skin, soothing what little fury it's able to with its brisk touch.

“Do you remember that photo we took together on Halloween?”

Sukuna nods slowly. He knows exactly where this is going. It was well over a year ago, before you’d started dating your boyfriend, when you had convinced Sukuna to dress as a king and you his queen. He’d had a surprising amount of fun with it and with enough alcohol flowing through his veins, his words had grown more frivolous. He’d spent all night calling you his queen or his princess, pretty much until the moment he’d thrown up, the words ejecting from his dialect along with the alcohol. Regardless, the proof was in the texts between you from that night.

At some point in the night, you’d gotten a photo taken clinging to his shoulders, a calm smile on Sukuna’s lips as he’d carried you with ease. It made him smirk the following morning recalling the memory, glad it hadn’t disappeared with the words or alcohol.

Regardless, he’d missed his chance to shoot his shot, growing too accustomed to having you around to consider you didn’t see his change in attitude around you as anything more than friendly, so he’d retreated to his usual detached self.

Clearly that detachment wasn’t enough for your boyfriend as you flip him your phone screen. So it is newly broken.

God give Sukuna the strength to sit still.

“And you’re outside now, why?”

“I felt sick, I needed air.” You shrug, fiddling with your phone in your lap. “He got mad that I walked away and we ended up fighting again, then he slammed the door in my face.”

“He kicked you out,” Sukuna states matter of factly, venom dripping from each and every word.

“He locked me out,” you shrug again, but Sukuna doesn’t care for the details. You have no keys, not to your bike or your house, no jacket, you’re in shorts and a tank top… jesus.

“What a fucking prick.” With that, he’s on his feet and you know he’s about to slam his fist on your door. Or through it. Sukuna may be kind with you but the bad boy persona he sports isn’t a persona at all- Sukuna would not hesitate to knock your boyfriend clean out. He’d been to jail before, one more time wasn’t a big deal if it meant keeping you safe.

“Kuna.” He pauses at the plain tone you say his name in. It’s not a warning, it’s not scolding. He doesn’t know what to make of it. “Not now.”

He huffs and clicks his tongue. His jaw clenches as his shrunken, furious pupils stare down at you, but when he notices your legs are shaking from the cold, he relents.

“Fine.” The word is grumbled as his hands reach for your waist and lift you to your feet with little more than a hum when you’re standing at your full height, barely reaching his broad shoulders. He leaves a hand on the small of your back, setting his helmet over your head and zipping his jacket up over your small frame in an effort to keep you safe when you climb onto the back of his bike.

Sukuna glances back at you as you cling to his toned abdomen, his bike pulling away quickly. Riding with Sukuna is familiar. Though you normally follow him, his quick riding pace and not-entirely-legal maneuvers don’t scare you the way they once did, because everything Sukuna does feels practiced, rehearsed.

Pulling into his apartment building, he pulls the bike into a parking spot and lets you hand him the helmet as you follow him up to his apartment.

It’s a bit of a mess, dishes sit in the sink, empty bottles and cans littering the counter and a garbage bag sits at the door, but it doesn’t matter because you’re warm and you’re safe and it’s not like he’d let you take the couch anyway given the current situation.

Sukuna moves to at least tidy the couch, fully expecting you to make yourself at home like you always do, but when he turns to see you’re staring at the ground in the entrance, his jacket wrapped around you like a blanket, he frowns. That’s not like you.

In fact, in all the years you two have known one another, Sukuna’s never seen you so spaced out.

“Did he hurt you?”

It’s his best guess as to why you’re so out of it, but when you shake your head, he’s simply at a loss.

Sukuna doesn’t do comfort. He’ll watch your favorite movies with you and make you food, but he doesn’t do words of comfort. He’s a man of action, and although the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on is standing in his apartment, he doesn’t dare to act on the stray thoughts running through his mind, even though he knows you deserve to be treated right.

Coming to stand in front of you, he sighs.

“Whaddya want me to do?”

Anyone else would assume he’s irritated with your presence, but you know it’s a genuine question. Your friend doesn’t know what you need and he’s trying his best to figure it out. He’s trying to help.

“Can I have a blanket?” You ask him, shoulders hunched in exhaustion.

There’s silence in the apartment as Sukuna moves to his bedroom to grab a blanket.

“The red one please!” You call after him as though that isn’t the one he’s already grabbing. He knows your favorite.

Returning to you, he drops the red blanket in your arms, his heart twisting as you pull his jacket off and hand it to him in exchange.

“Can I, um, come in?”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow questioningly, subconsciously fiddling with the tongue piercing in his mouth. Not once have you ever asked him to come in. You always, always, made yourself at home, even though it was much to his dismay the first few times you’d let yourself into his apartment in spite of his grumbles and irritated huffs.

Sukuna’s reaction is all the permission you need as you realize he must find the whole situation strange, but everything feels foreign to you. It’s not like you haven’t stayed at Sukuna’s before, it’s not like the couch isn’t your second bed, it’s that you feel like you’re betraying your boyfriend by being here.

Not that Sukuna would do anything anyway, you know he doesn’t see you in such a way. You may be his closest friend but he’s never once shown any sort of other interest towards you. Even if he did see you that way, he’s just not that kind of person.

Still, you gingerly sit at the edge of the couch, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping yourself in the massive blanket. Sukuna moves to sit beside you, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. He looks at you expectantly, waiting to see what you want to do, if you want to talk.

But you don’t answer, and Sukuna is at a loss of what to do. A contemplative silence settles over you as he leans his head back against the couch, eyeing you and hoping you’ll say something.

“Can I ask you something, Ryo?”

The use of the nickname he lets only you call him quirks his brow as he realizes you’re serious.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

That’s… not what the gruff man was expecting to hear.

His jaw tightens as his piercing eyes stare down at you. He rubs a hand over his face as he tries to make sense of the question, too tired to be thinking this deeply over something. He stares at you pensively as though the world rests on this one response.

“Yeah. You’re pretty.”

Your eyes fall to your knees and the way Sukuna’s head tilts, you’re sure he thinks he’s made a mistake.

“Thanks, Kuna.”

“The fuck did that prick say to you that has ya askin’?”

You hesitate, avoiding his discerning eyes as Sukuna’s chest surges with anger. Your best friend’s fist clenches in his lap as he leans forward, examining your expression.

“What the fuck did he say?” Sukuna’s voice is monstrous, but you could never fear his anger knowing he’s never once directed it your way. You know he’s irritated you haven’t answered yet, but even between his irritation and the gruff tone he uses, he could never scare you.

“He told me I couldn’t do better than him.”

“And?” Sukuna pushes demandingly, his fingers clasping the back of his couch so hard you wonder if he has the strength to crush it.

“That he’s way out of my league and should have chosen…” you trail off, not oblivious to the way Sukuna quirks a brow for you to continue. When you meekly whisper your friend’s name, Sukuna’s seething.

Fury practically drifts from his body like smoke and to your surprise you do hear the couch creak beneath his hand.

You’ve only ever seen Sukuna this angry once before.

Sukuna’s closest friend aside from you, Uraume, often accompanied you on your trips to the bar with Sukuna and would join in on your rides with their own bike. The two of them were two peas in a pod, similar in all the ways you weren’t, but if anything it made you closer to Uraume for having an understanding of Sukuna.

For that exact reason, you’d spotted Uraume’s discomfort a mile away when someone began hitting on them. Uraume could handle themself, so you didn’t think much of it until the man’s hand was tightly gripping Uraume’s arm.

Alarmed, you pointed out Uraume’s discomfort to your drunk best friend and he didn’t hesitate to clock the man hitting on them.

So when Sukuna is on his feet with a familiar rage brewing and doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself, you know you have to calm him down before you’re bailing him out of jail again. It’s not something you want to make a habit of.

“Kuna, it’s okay.”

“No!” He hisses, swinging his hand through the air as he stares at the door.

“Please, I’ll be okay, I promise,” you try to insist, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“It’s not okay for him to say shit like that to you,” he growls, glowering from where he stands over you, eyes on the door. He wants to leave, you know he does.

“It’s not, I know, but it’s not your problem.”

“Not my- What the fuck don’t you get?”

Your eyes widen at Sukuna’s question. His voice is frigid as ever, but for once you feel the shards of ice pricking your skin.

“What?” Your dumbfounded and hurt question hangs in the air momentarily as you try to process this outburst.

Sukuna’s scarred eye twitches as he runs his tongue over his teeth. He huffs out a breath as he sees your expression, forcing himself to calm down so as not to make this about him. He doesn’t want to say something he regrets, and he certainly doesn’t want that icy tone to be directed at you, ever again.

“He doesn’t fucking deserve you.”

Your shoulders fall at his words, his chest heaving as he stares at you with an unidentifiable emotion.

“Where’s this coming from?” Your brow knits tightly over the bridge of your nose. As you subconsciously chew on your lower lip, Sukuna has to do everything in his power not to stare at your lips.

“Look, I just care, alright? Or somethin’.”

You barely know how to react to your best friend’s admission of care for you. Not once has he ever shown an ounce of his care through words. Sure, he’s shown it in other ways, but this is a first for him.

His gaze is fixed on the kitchen, so he barely notices when you stand up and set your hand on his arm, your thumb comfortingly rubbing his arm.

“I appreciate it, Kuna.” You tell him with a tired smile, doing your best to reassure him that you’re okay in spite of the situation. “Just… can we please just watch a movie or something?” You’re too tired, too worn out to handle everything going on right now and you’re afraid the buildup of emotions in your chest will overflow if you don’t distract yourself soon.

Sukuna’s focus fixes on your hand on his arm, the way it seems to burn into him in a way he’d long grown painfully familiar with. It wasn’t uncommon for you to grab his arm and drag him somewhere, or hug him each time you said hello. Hell, the Halloween you’d both gotten entirely too drunk, you’d been on Sukuna’s back half of the night giggling and telling him, your King, where to take you.

Yet this time, the burn hurts. It hurts him to see you here with dried tears on your cheeks. It angers him to know your boyfriend had gotten away with treating you in such a way for so long.

He lets out a breath through his nose and takes a seat on the couch again at your insistence, watching as you drape the big blanket over the both of you. And god is it cute when you do, making sure he’s completely covered from the waist down like you’re tucking him in.

When you lean back against the arm of the couch, slinking comfortably back into the cushions and grab the remote, Sukuna feels his body begin to relax too, allowing himself to focus on your wellbeing here and now rather than the fact that he wants to pummel your boyfriend.

He’s not shocked when you flip through options and eventually settle on a Studio Ghibli movie he knows you’ve seen a million times because he’s seen it one too many times.

You know he doesn’t mind although he isn’t the biggest fan of the movie. Either way, it’s nearly five in the morning and you both know you’ll be asleep before you know it.

–

The next morning as cool air pours through a window and birdsong decorates each blow of the breeze, the pounding of your head is a rude awakening. It’s too early for you to be up given that you were awake so late, but your phone seems to think otherwise.

Your eyes flicker open blearily, and you lean up in bed with a yawn, realizing suddenly that you’re in Sukuna’s room and he’s nowhere to be found. Sitting up fully, you bring a hand up to your temple, pressing on it in an effort to ease the pain as you search for your phone, finding it eventually on the floor a small distance away.

Hopping down from the tall mattress, you yawn as you stare at the screen, your heart clenching at the sight of the contact photo on-screen as your phone rings. Your boyfriend has his arms wrapped around your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both grin. With the way your screen is now shattered, it looks almost like a scene from a movie in the way it’s practically screaming a warning at you.

You’d spent far too much time alone with your thoughts the previous night. Hell, even with Sukuna’s comfort, his disdain for your boyfriend had been a bit of a wakeup call. Still, your thumb hovers over the green button.

“Hello?” Your voice is broken as you answer the phone.

“Thank god baby, I was so worried about you. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left you outside last night, I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

You take a couple of steps forward, walking towards the living room as your eyes lock onto the tall man draped over the couch, his limbs entirely too long for the cushions. He must have carried you to his bed at some point and taken the couch.

Your stomach twists as you realize your boyfriend’s words are all lost on you, you didn’t hear a single one. You’re not sure when you tuned him out, or how long you’ve been staring at Sukuna when your boyfriend’s words pull you from your thoughts.

“Y/n? Did you hear me?”

“Sorry, I’m a bit out of it. What did you say?”

He sighs in frustration on the other side of the line and you wince as his tone gains a familiar edge. “Where are you? I’m coming to get you so we can talk.”

“I- um-” you pause, brow furrowing as you stare at your best friend, who begins to shuffle from his uncomfortable position on the couch as your soft voice awakens him from slumber.

“Y/n?” Your boyfriend’s voice cuts through the haze again, but you’re at a loss for words as Sukuna lifts his head, irritation written across his face at being awake, but when he flips over on the couch and spots you, his demeanor softens.

“Yeah. You’re pretty.”

Sukuna’s words ring in your head over and over and you bite your lip. He pushes himself up on the couch, moving to stand a small distance in front of you in three long strides.

Sukuna may not have a way with words, but you never had a hard time telling what he was thinking just by the way he looks at you. As he stares down at you with a tilt of his head, you know exactly what’s going through his mind.

Like that, it all clicks. Of course he hated your boyfriend. The signs were always there, you just didn’t pay them any mind. The reason he was colder than usual towards your boyfriend is as obvious as the sun in the sky.

Sukuna thinks you’re pretty. He wasn’t trying to comfort you when he said that. That’s not who Sukuna is. That may as well be an admission that he would move mountains for you.

“Y/n, baby? What’s going on? I want you home, now.”

Your chest twists at his tone and as your eyes meet Sukuna’s, you wonder if your phone is loud enough for him to hear when his lip twitches.

You clear your throat, your eyes never once leaving Sukuna’s from where he stands with tousled hair, wrinkled sweatpants and a bare chest. It’s not unfamiliar to you, you know Sukuna is beyond hot. You know Sukuna could take anyone he wants home and you know he has a streak of doing so, but now that you think about it, it’s been a long time since you’ve seen Sukuna with anyone, and you know why now.

“You left me outside all night in the cold.” Your voice is meek, still mindlessly chewing on your lip as you stare at the tattooed man’s eyes, now lit ablaze with a fire that hadn’t been there earlier. “You know what- I should go.”

“What? Baby, come on we need to talk-”

“I have nothing to talk to you about. We’re-” You pause, your stomach stirring uncomfortably as all of your emotions seem to collide and collapse within you. You feel the tears that threaten to spill, your composure that threatens to break as you ball your hand into a fist at your side.

Sukuna’s hand twitches beside him as he does everything in his power not to lean down and kiss you then and there. He wants you. He wants all of you. He wants to show your boyfriend everything he’s about to lose.

He wants to make you his. He wants you to make him yours.

Yet, all he can reasonably do is set a hand on your upper arm. He can’t be selfish. Not when you’ve come to him in your time of need.

“We’re done.”

“Nonono, we are not done, hold on-”

“I’ll come grab my bike and my things soon-”

“-let’s talk about this, I just made a mistake, okay-”

“-goodbye.”

“Don’t hang up, baby, hold on, fuck-”

Your hand falls to your side as you stare up at the taller man.

He doesn’t say a word as a tear runs down your cheek, shortly followed by a sob wracking your body. Sukuna’s hand moves from your arm to the back of your head as he pulls you into his chest, holding you there as you cry against his bare skin, tears wetting his toned pecs.

It’s not his ideal morning, but at least he can shamelessly say now that he wants to rearrange your boyfriend’s face with his fist.

He won’t say it anyway, though. He knows better.

Your best friend doesn’t say anything but his actions speak volumes as he holds you to him protectively, unmoving as he envelops you into his form. He exhales deeply as he holds you tightly to his body, his fingers gripping you tightly. It’s reassuring to know you have him in your time of need and eventually your tears begin to subside.

You blink your wet lashes against his skin as your warm breath fans his chest and abdomen. He shoots you a disgruntled look as your lashes tickle his skin and he jolts at the feeling.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns through gritted teeth, but it holds no malice.

You chuckle through tears. “Sorry, Ryo.”

He rolls his shoulders and holds you again, letting your face fall against his chest once more. This time, you’re careful to keep your eyes closed to avoid tickling him.

He’s surprisingly patient with you as he lets you stand there, only moving to take and silence your phone when he grows frustrated with the vibration.

When you finally settle, he leads you back to the couch, tossing his shirt and the blanket off the couch and onto the floor.

“Did you move me to the bed?”

He hums affirmatively, his chest warming as you smile at him. “Thanks, I could have taken the couch though. It looked a bit too small for y-”

“No.”

You breathe out through your nose in a half-hearted laugh. There’s never any use arguing with him when he’s made up his mind, so you give it up. Oh well.

“Can I stay here for a bit?”

You figure Sukuna will huff and puff and make a show out of it but he nods easily.

“Thanks,” you sigh, sinking back into the couch.

You stare at the ceiling. What a morning. You’ve barely been awake for ten minutes and your heart is pounding in your chest just from sitting beside your best friend, someone you’ve known for years.

Someone you’d long pushed any attraction for down into the depths of your heart in an effort to save yourself the heartbreak of being with someone who seemed to have no interest in you. Hell, you’d once thought he was emotionally unavailable, and yet…?

You can’t help but stare.

He’s exhausted, you’re not sure how much longer he’ll be able to stay awake as his head bobs down onto the back of the couch, mouth slightly ajar as sleep settles over his form. You smile softly at the sight, swallowing at the yearning feeling of wanting to settle into his warmth, though you know you shouldn’t.

You’re a mess. You’ve heard your boyfriend- ex- say things you aren’t ready to admit to yourself that leave fresh stinging wounds. Hell, that’s an entire can of worms you don’t want to touch right now. Your belongings, your bike, your entire life is all trapped in his house, in the house of someone that-

God why had you let him step all over you like that? It leaves you frowning as your heart twists and clenches uncomfortably. You loved him. Deep down, you know it’s the reason. You convinced yourself he loved you too.

You curse yourself for overlooking your feelings for Sukuna, for pushing them down. He’d always cared deeply for you, the signs had always been there, yet you never paid them any mind.

Chewing on your lower lip again, you get to your feet and grab the blanket off the floor, draping it over him. Your thumb brushes over the faded black lines that race over his shoulders and down his collar bones as you tuck the blanket over his shoulders.

He hums subconsciously, a serene smile pulling at his lips.

You smile back, turning to get some rest yourself. When Sukuna kicks his foot out suddenly and damn-near trips you, you let out a surprised yelp, spinning around to confront him.

“What the hell, Kuna?” You harshly snarl at him.

His lidded eyes just barely open, your reaction earning a smirk from him. There’s his feisty best friend.

“C’mere, it’s cold.”

It’s not cold, and Ryomen Sukuna is not sly, but your stomach flutters and your heart jumps to your throat anyway. Your shoulders fall to your sides in surprise, unable to be frustrated with him.

He flips the blanket up, his arm extended over the back of the couch. His expression is mild as usual but when you take him up on his offer and plop down next to him, his racing heart tells you everything you need to know.

Pulling your knees up onto the couch, you let him pull you against is chest, your head resting on his broad shoulder as he barely lasts a minute before the rhythm of his breathing steadies and his head falls back on the couch again.

You’re not long for the world of the waking either as you succumb to the temptation of sleep on his warm chest.

When your eyes flicker open again, your head has fallen into Sukuna’s lap and he’s splayed in what looks like an uncomfortable position with his arm and leg hanging off the couch. His head is still leaned back against the back of the couch with his mouth hanging open as soft snores part his lips.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him asleep. You’ve spent many hungover mornings at his apartment and vice versa but now in the gentle morning light with the distant sound of birdsong as the only noise disturbing his snores, he looks peaceful.

You shuffle on his lap in an effort to get a better look at his serene expression, but his strained groan suggests that you may have awoken him earlier than he would have liked.

“Can ya cut that out?” He grumbles without opening his eyes as he reaches down and adjusts your head to lay more on his abdomen.

The irritation in his voice doesn’t hold a candle to the sincerity in which his arm now cradles you against him and you giggle, to which he opens an eye to observe you.

“Sorry,” you hum. He exhales as he closes his eyes again, sliding further down on the couch.

You lay in bliss on his toned and horribly attractive bare chest for what only feels like a few minutes before his eyes peel open and he’s drinking in the sight of you, his gorgeous best friend, smiling at him from his chest.

And oh my god, Ryomen Sukuna is blushing.

Would you really be his best friend if you didn’t point it out?

“Kuna?”

“Hm?”

“You a lil flustered?”

Sukuna’s brow furrows deeply. “I am not.”

“You’re blushing.”

“It’s warm in here, you’re laying on top of me and we have a blanket,” he refutes with an edge to his voice that tells you that you’re poking a nerve.

You also know him well enough to know it’s faux anger, playful if anything.

“Funny, I was told it was cold a couple of hours ago.”

His lip curls, chest rising and falling beneath you as he huffs. “You push my buttons.” You can see from the way a muscle in his jaw works that he’s fiddling with his tongue piercing.

“I could push more than just your buttons,” your voice drips with confidence, lowering an octave at the implication. You pull a hand out from beneath your chin, running a dainty finger across the length of his collar bone.

Sukuna’s pupils dilate in an instant, his attention drawn to your finger. He swallows hard, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smirk. All signs of his contempt forgotten, warmth swirls in those gorgeous eyes of his, but the smirk on his lips is devilish.

“Careful, princess,” he warns in a gruff voice that has you clenching your thighs together with wide eyes. Sukuna’s brow twitches as he feels your legs shuffle, entirely too happy with himself at getting such a reaction from you all from two words. He chuckles, his chest rumbling beneath you as you hide your face in his chest, heat radiating from your cheeks.

Tension is ripe in the air between you both when you finally meet Sukuna’s intense gaze and it makes a question pop into your mind.

“How long?” The words are blurted out and Sukuna shifts beneath you to get a better view.

“What are you on about?”

“How long have you liked me?”

Sukuna’s scoff hits the air before he can even register he’s made the noise. “Go get ready or whatever so we can pick up your shit.” His brow is pulled into a tight scowl as he all but shoves you to the ground.

You barely manage to catch yourself before falling on your ass, rolling your eyes as you steady yourself.

“Kuuuna!” You coo with a grin, but before you have a chance to tease him any further, Sukuna lunges at you. “Wait, wait-”

You shriek in protest as he barrels into your legs, effortlessly lifting you over his shoulder. He pays no mind to any of your protests, nor your kicking and squirming against him as he dumps you with little grace on his bed.

“What-”

“Stop complainin’ and go change or shower or whatever y’ gotta do. I want your bike back.”

Sitting up as you attempt to reorient yourself, you blink a couple of times and manage to call his name out just before he’s turning away.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you tell him, staring down at your pajamas.

“You’ve been leaving shit here for years, find something in my closet.”

“Have I?” You wonder aloud, suddenly realizing your hungover mornings passed in his apartment are likely the culprit for many missing outfits. “Wait, why do you want my bike back?” You realize suddenly, but he’s already shutting the door to his room and leaving you in tranquility.

Standing in the silence broken only by distant birdsong and the muffled sounds of traffic, you find your gaze lingering on the door where he once stood.

How long? You wonder to yourself. How many signs, how many signals had you missed or brushed off all these years under the assumption that your grumpy best friend was just that- your best friend?

You set a hand over your fast-beating heart, trying to steady the pace it’s beating at as emotions run rampant through you. Between the shock of realization of Sukuna’s feelings and the shitty night you’d had- your birthday, by the way- you can’t help the shaky exhale that parts your lips.

It’s a lot to take in.

You take your time showering, enjoying the way the warm water rinses away all signs of the prior night. It’s a warm respite from the days that are beginning to grow frosty as winter approaches. Most importantly, the white noise of the water falling drowns out the steady stream of jumbled thoughts flowing like a river through your mind.

Perusing Sukuna’s closet, you do manage to find more of your clothes than you had expected.

“My nice leggings were here the whole time?” You mutter to yourself as you pull them from a pile of pants. Along with them, you manage to find a pair of jeans, more shirts than you’d care to admit, an old jacket and a hoodie.

Pulling on a form-fitting black low-cut shirt and a red leather jacket, you poke your head out of the bedroom door.

“Why’d you never give any of this back?”

Sukuna’s leaning out the window with a cigarette held between two fingers. He blows a puff of smoke out into the cool fall air before turning to you. He’s still in his sweatpants but has pulled his shirt on.

“I used to bring ‘em back to your place when I visited but they always ended up back on my couch,” he shrugs simply. “Wasn’t worth the time.”

“I didn’t know it was this much clothing.”

“Your memory’s shit.”

“Ouch,” you hold a hand to your heart, feigning being hurt.

He stubs out the cigarette, waving the smoke out the window with his arm before shutting it. “Done in there?”

You nod and exchange places with Sukuna as he showers. He takes less than a quarter of the time you did and is out with the most effortlessly cool style that you can’t help but be jealous of him.

His typical black leather jacket hangs off his shoulders with a vintage Harley Davidson shirt beneath. He sports ripped jeans on his lower half and blackout shades sit atop his spiked pink hair.

“See something you like?”

You barely manage to utter out a pathetic ‘uh’ before Sukuna’s chuckling at you as he catches you eyeing him from your place on the couch. He makes his way around the couch, patting your shoulder encouragingly.

“Let’s go.”

Shaking your head to clear your mind, you get to your feet and follow Sukuna to the door, stopping him before he can leave.

“Hey. Can you stay on the sidewalk while I talk to him?”

The tall man pauses at your serious tone, examining your expression. “Why?”

You know why he’s asking.

“I’m serious, Ryo. I don’t want you two fighting.”

“He treated you like shit, y/n.”

“I- I know.”

His jaw clenches. “The piece of shit deserves-”

“I know, okay? Please, this is what I’m trying to prevent. Besides, if you get into trouble, I’ll leave your ass in jail this time.”

His head falls back, eyes closed as he comes to terms with just how serious you are. He rolls his shoulders backwards once before nodding. “Whatever, fine.” His tone drips with exasperation and anger and you can only hope at this point that he means what he says.

“Thank you,” you sigh in relief, falling into place beside him as he leads the way down to his bike.

Though you rode behind him less than twelve hours ago, somehow it feels different today as he places his helmet on you and pulls you tight to his broad form. His feisty little backpack, so cute in his helmet. He’s not oblivious to the way your hands roam his abs either as a smirk pulls at his features. It’s a sweet momentary distraction from his searing anger.

It takes every ounce of self control that Sukuna has to stay at his bike as he watches you ring the doorbell of your own house. Thank god for the cold air keeping his anger from simmering through his skin. He’s sure he’d be a pile of molten anger otherwise.

You shuffle uncomfortably at the doorstep, knowing entirely too well that this is going to go poorly. You were practically asking for a fight by showing up with Sukuna but what better option do you have? Your wallet and keys are still sitting soundly on the nightstand of the bed you’d spent the last several months sleeping in. At least, that’s where they should be.

It takes a moment before the door creaks open, your ex’s surprised wide eyes staring back at you.

“Shit, thank god you’re home-”

You barely manage to duck from his grasp as he attempts to pull you into his embrace. Your heart pounds hard in your chest as you face your ex, whose face contorts to one of pain when you duck away from him.

“I told you-” You mentally curse yourself as your voice breaks. Closing your eyes, you readjust and face your ex with confidence. “We’re done.”

“We need to talk,” he insists, his voice sickeningly sweet, and it almost makes you want to gag the way he swings between sweet nothings and manipulative cords that twist your heart.

“We talked for four hours last night. There’s nothing left to talk about!” You swing a hand through the air for emphasis as your voice rises, staring at him in disbelief. “Just let me in, I need my keys and-”

His arm swings out to block the door, knuckles white as he grips the frame of the door. His brow curls upwards in… frustration? Irritation? Anger? Pain? You’re not sure. “This is your home. You belong with me.”

You swallow the bile in your throat like a stone straight to the pit of your stomach. Once words like that would have made you swoon, now you feel as though you’re a deer in the headlights staring at a man you don’t recognize. A man who holds the barrel of a metaphorical gun.

You spare a glance behind you for reassurance, spotting Sukuna sitting at his bike. If it’s possible for a man to have smoke spewing from his ears, Sukuna is the spitting image of such a thing. His face is red with anger, hands clenched at either side of his body as he tries desperately to hold himself back.

He still remembers the way you excitedly told him about your new boyfriend. About how sweet he was, how kind he was. Although it pained him to know it was someone else making you happy, he was just glad you were happy. But when you had invited him to meet your boyfriend, Sukuna couldn’t help but feel as though the man didn’t match your description.

He’d tried to convince himself he was just being jealous, but the more time he spent around you, the more he noticed.

The last straw for Sukuna was when you had invited him, your boyfriend, and some of your closest friends along to see the latest installment in the Predator franchise. You’d stopped for dinner first and your boyfriend had insisted on ordering for you.

Sukuna hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but he had found it strange when a salad had been set in front of you. Not once had Sukuna ever seen you order a salad. Well, he had, but as a side. Never as the entire meal.

He’d tried to brush it off but when you’d decided on popcorn at the movie and your boyfriend had insisted you didn’t need it, Sukuna made a point of ordering a large one and sharing it with you.

Now as you look back at him uncertainly, every bone in Sukuna’s body screams to move. Yet his brain tells him to listen to you. He takes a breath in an effort to stay calm, deciding to respect your wishes.

“You brought him here?” Your ex pales as he follows your line of sight.

That seems to give you the confidence to face him again as anger sears through your blood. “You left me outside alone! He came to get me!” You search his face for any sign of remorse. When you don’t find it, tears prick at your eyes. Over a year spent together and he can’t even show you an ounce of kindness.

“I told you baby, it was a mistake!”

“No- No. No, a mistake is forgetting to turn off the sink, not leaving me outside in the cold with nothing but a broken phone.” Your voice drips with venom as the cold of the previous night envelops you in its memory, a reminder that this is for the best.

“Your phone isn’t broken, get over it y/n.” You glance down at his fist as it balls at his side.

“You shattered it.” You deadpan.

“Can we forget about the phone? For fuck’s sake.” He lifts his fist in the air to bring it up to his forehead as he attempts to calm himself down. “Look-” he shoots Sukuna a glance before smiling, his voice growing honeyed. “We’ll figure things out, okay? Why don’t you come in?”

You hesitate. You see the red flags as clear as day now that the fog has lifted, and you know Sukuna is grateful when you pleadingly look at him. His signal to come beat the shit out of your ex. Well, no, it isn’t. But he wishes it was.

Regardless, he’s up the front lawn to the door of the small house in an instant, standing behind you with all the self-control he can physically muster.

“We’re having a private conversation, would you mind-”

“Whatever you can say in front of me, you can say in front of him.” You insist, backing into Sukuna as your ex reaches for your arm. You’re thankful in this moment that your closest friend is nearly seven feet and built like a brick wall as it could never really matter who he’s up against, he’ll always be the scariest one in the room.

Your ex’s mouth curls into a snarl, eyeing Sukuna’s hands that rest easily on your upper arms.

“You’ve gotta be-” he grumbles to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his hand that isn’t blocking you from entering the house. “Come on baby, you know you belong with me and not-” he cuts himself off as he shoots Sukuna an icy glance.

You shift uncomfortably at the tone he uses as he says that you belong with him, growing uneasy the longer you’re in his presence. Steeling your resolve, you straighten yourself and muster as much confidence as you can.

“This isn’t about Sukuna. You left me outside in the cold last night and I called my best friend to get me,” you tell him without missing a beat. Sukuna is practically grinning behind you as your ex’s jaw clenches but you don’t see the exchange between the two men. “Oh, and I don’t belong with or to anyone.”

Sukuna squeezes your arm in reassurance.

“I need my keys and wallet. I’m taking my bike and some clothes.”

Your ex mulls over your words before relenting finally, just as you’re beginning to think you’ll be without belongings. “Fine, but he stays outside.”

You glance up at Sukuna, whose expression is unreadable. “Fine,” you agree, slipping from Sukuna’s grasp and into the house. Your ex goes to close the door in Sukuna’s face, but a steady hand stops him just as you dash out of sight into your old bedroom.

“Let go of the door, man.”

“Leave the door open, man,” Sukuna warns mockingly in a sneer.

“She’s my-”

“She’s not. She’s not yours. She doesn’t belong to you.”

“Go fuck yourself, Sukuna.” He rolls his eyes, pressing more of his weight against the door, but it’s nothing compared to the bulk Sukuna packs.

“Consider yourself lucky I’m not rearranging your face right now,” his deep eyes blaze as he leans closer to your ex, his words dangerously low. If ever Sukuna is thankful that he knows he’s a scary person, it’s right now as your ex flinches back and relents, leaving the door open and leaving Sukuna at the door.

Your ex disappears from Sukuna’s sight and he stands up straight, turning to the side as he stares at your bike. He knows you can handle yourself, but he still doesn’t love the prospect of you being alone with your ex for any period of time.

Sukuna especially hates how long it takes. He’s not sure how much you need to pack and he can’t make out whatever you’re talking about with your ex but each passing moment he grows less patient and less willing to wait outside.

Just as he’s thinking of stepping inside, he sees your tiny figure with a backpack and a suitcase, keys dangling from your fingers and your wallet held firmly in your hand. The relief on your face when you lock eyes with Sukuna is somewhat heartwarming, but what isn’t is the way your ex tries to grab your wrist as you make your way to the door.

You pull against him but his grip fastens.

Sukuna sees red. He sees red and he doesn’t think twice about stepping into what was once your house.

“Don’t touch her.”

Your eyes widen at the sight of Sukuna making his way towards you with gritted teeth. “No, no, no! Sukuna! It’s fine, I can handle this!” Your hand with your wallet and keys flies up as you maneuver yourself between him and your ex.

Your ex’s hand doesn’t loosen even when your arm physically blocks Sukuna from laying a beating on him.

You take a breath, looking between the two men. “I’m leaving. Please let go,” you say softly, so calmly it almost breaks Sukuna’s heart that your ex’s actions seem so normal to you.

“We aren’t done talking-”

“We are. I’ll be back for the rest of my things later.” You tug your wrist again, sending a pleading look to your ex, but his grip only tightens. “Please let go.”

“Y/n, please. Please, we can work this out.”

“Let go,” you tell him firmly, ignoring his words.

“Please-”

“I don’t know if you’re incapable of listening or if you just want your head bashed in, but I’d listen to her.” Sukuna’s voice is a warning, dripping with malevolence you’ve never heard from him before. His chest is pressed hard against your free hand and you aren’t sure you can hold him back much longer.

“Ryo,” you plead, looking between the two men as you try to pull your wrist again. Your ex’s hand twitches at Sukuna’s words before loosening and falling to his side. You breathe out a sigh of relief, glancing down at the bruising markings his fingers left behind.

“So he’s Ryo now, huh?”

You glare pointedly at your ex, knowing that one wrong word will have him with his face caved in.

Sukuna’s intense stare never once leaves your ex, but he does allow you to hand him your suitcase and gently tug his forearm to follow you out the door.

Your ex watches from the door as Sukuna follows you to your bike. His intent gaze has your hair standing on end but you choose to ignore the feeling in favor of hopping on your bike.

The sound of your bike roaring to life puts both you and Sukuna at ease and you ride down the driveway, stopping next to his bike. He jogs after you with your suitcase still in-hand.

Sukuna is quiet, which isn’t unusual for him but you can practically feel the anger coming off of him in droves like smoke. Kicking your bike’s stand out, you hop off and flip his Ducati’s storage compartment open, pulling out a couple of straps to secure your suitcase to the back of your bike.

“Ready?”

You pull your friend’s attention from your ex finally as your hand comes to rest on his bicep. His eyes travel from your face to your arm that rests on him, where he can see the way your wrist is reddened and sure to bruise.

Realizing the sight of your reddened arm has his jaw clenching with anger, you move it behind your back and out of sight.

“Kuna, please.”

His intense gaze examines yours as the breeze faintly ruffles his spiked hair. He’s completely still apart from the muscle working in his jaw as he thinks over his options at this moment, but his chest heaves as he sighs in exasperation and gives in.

“Whatever,” he growls, shooting a poisonous look back at the door that your ex hasn’t moved from. Sukuna haughtily pulls his helmet on over his head, flipping his visor down before getting on his bike and accelerating quickly.

Based on the way Sukuna weaves through traffic and carelessly speeds through lights, you know he’s furious. You pull your bike into the parking spot next to him a couple of minutes after he pulls in, finding him pacing in the parking garage.

Shutting off your bike and pulling off your helmet, you approach him with angled brows, trying to reassure him. “Thanks for coming with me, I appreciate it.” He’s blinded by rage and you’re not even sure if he hears you. “Kuna, I’m okay,” you insist, reaching out to put a hand on his arm but he still brushes past you.

Sighing, you unload your suitcase from the back of your bike and return the bungee cables to the storage compartment of the Ducati as you let Sukuna blow off some steam.

Once everything is ready to go up to Sukuna’s apartment, you turn your attention back to him.

“Can we go up to your place?”

“He hurt you,” Sukuna hisses with pupils the size of pinpricks. It would be intimidating if you didn’t know that anger was directed elsewhere.

“It’s nothing really, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Fucking asshole, I should have-”

“Nope, we’re not going into that. I don’t want to know what you think you should have done.”

You grab your suitcase and begin rolling it through the parkade to the elevator, relieved when you hear a frustrated grunt behind you and a pair of keys clinking. The ride up to his apartment is silent, shrouded in anger.

Really, you should be the angry one but if anything, you're more relieved. Relieved that you have someone like Sukuna to stay with, someone who’s so willing to come get you at three in the morning when you need him most.

Sukuna swings the door to his apartment open, slamming against the doorstop loudly before creaking shut. His hand flies to his pocket as he trudges across the apartment, tossing his leather jacket on the couch and leaning out the window as he lights a cigarette.

A puff of smoke leaves his mouth as he swings his head back with closed eyes.

Shaking your head, you decide not to give him a hard time for his bad habit and give him space as you busy yourself with setting the couch up nicely for yourself to sleep on given that you were now homeless, among other things.

Sukuna takes his time at the window, stubbing out his cigarette when it’s barely an inch long and finally approaching you from where you sit on the floor looking through your bag, taking inventory of what you have and what you’ll need to pick up eventually.

Your pretty face smiles up at him when his shadow blocks your view and he finds himself relaxing more from the sight of you than he had from the nicotine.

“Are you okay?” You tilt your head, noting that he seems more calm now and he nods.

“Should be askin’ you that.”

“I’m okay. I mean it,” you insist.

His eyes flicker down to your wrist again but he knows better than to doubt you and he knows you can handle the pain. Sitting down on the couch behind you, he leans back and watches you quietly.

“I got the things that were most important, but hopefully I can go back and grab everything else eventually,” you note, more to yourself than him. He still hums in acknowledgement. “Why’d you want my bike back so bad, by the way?”

Your friend leans forward on his knees. “So I can still go for rides with you.”

“What, do I make a bad backpack?” You tease with a grin that has Sukuna’s shoulders falling to his sides as his anger subsides completely.

“Hard to drive when you’re feelin’ me up, princess.”

Your lips purse as your cheeks redden, caught off-guard by his nonchalant smirk. You’d felt up his abs a bit during the ride to your old place, sure, but being called out still had the tips of your ears heating up.

You stubbornly avoid his gaze, going back to figuring out if you’d forgotten anything. Deep chuckles resonate from behind you as your new roommate ruffles your hair and gets to his feet.

“By the way we’re goin’ out tonight.”

You tilt your head, eyes following Sukuna as he saunters over to the fridge and pulls out an energy drink.

“Where’d you have in mind?” You ask curiously, not entirely sure you’re in the mood to go out.

“That new rom com movie or whatever that you wanted to see is showing tonight. I got tickets.” He reaches back into the fridge and pulls out your favorite beverage, tossing it to you.

You barely manage to catch it, mumbling a thank you. “I don’t really know if I’m up for it,” you admit, staring at the drink in your hands.

“I already bought the tickets,” he shrugs, laying back on the couch again. “Suck it up.”

Your nose wrinkles in distaste but you know it’s likely for the best that you’re out of the house so you do, in fact, suck it up.

It quickly becomes time for the movie and you find yourself back in the parking garage a couple of hours before sunset.

“Can you drive?”

“You gonna feel me up again?” Sukuna raises a brow at you, but a hint of a smirk pulls at his lips.

“... Can I?”

Your confidence catches him off-guard and he blanches, his lips parting as he stares at you. His eyes flicker to your lips and that single action has your heart beating fast and hard in your chest. The fluttering in your stomach as you wait for him to react is enough to make you wretch and you consider yourself lucky that he seems to pull himself together as his lips tug upwards into a sly grin.

He takes a step forward, dipping his head down to whisper in your ear. “Don’t stray too low while I’m drivin’.”

You’re left choking on air as Sukuna’s tone sends a jolt of electricity straight up your spine, setting your entire body ablaze. Your eyes trail the length of his body, pausing as you watch him pull his leather jacket over his thin white shirt. The way his muscles ripple and tense with each movement has you swallowing hard as you realize just how built and toned he really is.

You’re thankful you aren’t caught and are spared from Sukuna’s teasing as you hop onto the back of his bike, purposefully making a show of feeling up his abs. Moving from his pecs, across the peaks and valleys of each set of muscles, down until you take pause as you feel the waist of his pants connect with the tips of your fingers.

Sukuna groans, looking over his shoulder before he puts on his helmet. “Not while I’m driving, got it?”

You nod at him, batting your eyelashes sweetly. He huffs, adjusting the crotch of his pants before pulling his helmet on. He waits for you to follow suit before pulling out of the parking garage and heading to the theater.

Sukuna’s warmth is both a beacon of hope and a searing flame to your skin. A comfort and an exciting new idea to explore. You hold onto him tightly, your body melting into his heat as he drives much more carefully with you hooked onto him than he had earlier in the day.

Sukuna pulls into a spot by the front door of the theater and waits for you to let go before hopping off of the bike himself.

“Popcorn?” He asks you mildly, hands in his pockets.

“Um, that’s alright.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I don’t need popcorn.”

“Don’t need or don’t want?”

You pause, your brow knit as you silently question what he means, but Sukuna’s seen this play out before with your ex and he wants to break this habit.

“Do you want popcorn, y/n?”

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling quietly. “Yeah, it’d be nice.”

Sukuna nods, surprising you as he grabs not your forearm or bicep as he usually does, but your hand. His much larger, veiny hand folds over yours, his fingers tangling with yours. Your hand is so small in his and even the feeling of your hand against him feels like a reminder of just how cute you are to him.

Your cheeks are surely dusted in a red glow, but you don’t mind given the surprisingly pleasant eagerness in your chest.

With popcorn in-hand, Sukuna leads you into the theater, taking you to your seat and relaxing into the reclining chair. He lifts the arm rest between you, not once disconnecting your hands like it’s the most natural action in the world.

And in all honesty, it is. Everything with Sukuna is easy. It feels right. It feels right in a way you’re not familiar with and it’s exhilarating.

Given the cheesy scenario he set up for, you half-expect Sukuna to make a move during the movie, but his thumb simply continues to rub soothing lines over your knuckles.

It’s after the movie that he surprises you.

Bounding down the stairs ahead of Sukuna as you tug him along with you, you’re practically gushing about the movie that you’re positive he barely paid attention to. It isn’t his style of film but he doesn’t mind either way.

“-I mean come on, how can you not love Owen Wilson in that role?”

“Mm.”

“-and it’s so charming watching him start to learn and care about her world-”

“Mhmm.”

“-oh my god and when she realizes she loves him and she shows up at the tournament-”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Despite how little he has to say about the movie, he’s just happy you enjoyed it.

“-and when he gets her flooowers?-”

Sukuna chuckles as you continue to gush over the movie at him. Still hand-in-hand, he tugs you along, quietly listening to your rambles as he makes his way to his bike. His chest swirls with anticipation as you pay his actions no mind when he turns towards the storage compartment of his bike as you continue rambling on.

It takes only a moment for his hand to reach the delicate item he’s in search of, deftly wrapping two fingers around the dainty object. Keeping his hand behind him, he turns to you with a soft smile. Lidded eyes stare at you with mirth, an expression that isn’t typical for Sukuna, so your rambles begin to fade into silence as you tilt your head curiously at him.

“Flowers, hm?” He asks, pulling a beautiful, blooming red rose out from behind him. He holds it out to you, pulling you closer by the hand that’s still intertwined with his as you purse your lips in disbelief.

“I- I-” You stammer over your words as your mouth goes dry, eyes fixed on the gorgeous flower held in Sukuna’s fingers.

It’s almost a strange sight to behold- the same man you’d seen passed out on your couch dozens of times, the man you’d had to bail out of jail on more than one occasion, the same man who grumbled and complained every single time you went to Red’s Bar- now holding a dainty little rose for you.

“W- when did you even have time to get this?” You shake your head, it doesn’t matter. “Sukuna, this is so much I-”

His brows raise as your rambles begin again and although he’s flustered you more times than he can count over the years, he’s never seen you genuinely nervous like this.

“-you really didn’t have to do anything like this for me-”

“Y/n.”

“-taking me to the movies is already a big deal and I know the last day has been a hassle for you-”

“Y/n,” Sukuna chuckles this time, his grip on your hand tightening as he squeezes it in an effort to get your attention.

“-I didn’t get you anything, I don’t-”

“Y/n,” Sukuna leans down, capturing your lips against his. His lips are soft and the kiss is uncharacteristically sweet. His hand slides out of your grasp, sliding up your arm and coming to rest on your waist as he pulls you closer to him. He parts from your lips with a smirk. “Shut up, princess.”

You stare breathlessly at him, eyes flickering wildly between his eyes, his lips, before resting down on the rose again.

“Take the damn flower.”

“R-right!” You gingerly reach out, holding the stem as you bring it up to your nose. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

“Well, someone had to,” it comes out as more of a grumble as his brow furrows, but his fingers curl into the skin of your waist as he speaks, betraying the meaning behind his words.

“Mhmm, someone.” You agree teasingly, smiling up at him. “Thank you, Kuna.” You rise up onto your tiptoes, resting a hand on his chest as you lean up to kiss him, just barely able to reach his jaw.

His chest vibrates in a content hum. “So short,” he mocks, tilting his head to meet your lips again. Pulling his other hand from his pocket, he pulls the flower from your fingers, setting it in the storage behind him and finding your waist to bring you flush against him.

Your hands slide up the length of his hard musculature until you find his neck. Your fingers tangle in the short hair at his nape and another hum slips from his lips, swallowed by your kiss.

He leans down to meet your height better as the kiss gains urgency, years of pent up emotions flooding from Sukuna’s every movement. His fingers curl into your skin, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Kuna?”

He grunts into the kiss, smirking against your lips when he slides a hand from your waist down to your hips.

“Can we-” you breathe out between kisses, “-go home?”

Sukuna parts from your lips, examining your expression with blown pupils, so wide you can barely see the deep color of his irises. He swallows hard, his chest rising and falling fast as he nods silently.

You let out a surprised squeal when he grabs you by the hips and effortlessly lifts you onto his bike.

“-can do it myself,” you insist but Sukuna doesn’t register your words, too caught up in the intoxication of your smell, your feel, your taste. He wants more.

Hopping on the bike in front of you, he waits for your helmet to be on before he starts his Ducati and throws his helmet on. Your hands take their place around his toned abdomen, sliding down without a moment’s thought.

“Behave,” Sukuna hisses loud enough that you hear him even over the sound of his bike’s engine. He doesn’t need your visor up to know you’re smiling innocently at him.

He clicks his tongue and speeds out of the parking lot back towards his apartment. Though he’s still more careful driving with his sweet little backpack clinging to him, you’re not oblivious to the fact that he is driving quicker than usual.

Relaxing against Sukuna’s toned back brings with it a comfort you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s strange, despite him speeding through traffic and the sparking tension between you both, it’s easy to close your eyes and relax against him.

It’s not a feeling you’ve had with your ex for a long time. Although you ignored the flags throughout your relationship and defended him when he didn’t deserve it, it wasn’t always that way, but Sukuna has always been a safe and worry-free escape from the world for you. Since the first day he drove into your life, since you first realized that Sukuna enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

He’s a hard book to read and an easy presence to be in.

Your eyes flicker open, not realizing you’d grown so relaxed holding onto him that he’d already pulled into his parking spot, parking beside your Kawasaki.

Sukuna instinctively moves to get off his bike, expecting you to follow him, but pauses when you move rather sluggishly behind him. Pulling his helmet off, he shakes his head in an effort to fix his hair before he eyes you over his shoulder.

“You gonna get off?”

To anyone else, it might come across as aggressive, but his tone is mild as ever.

“Sorry, Kuna.”

You exhale and push off the bike with a hand resting on Sukuna’s shoulder blade. He watches you curiously, tucking you under his shoulder and leading the way back up to his apartment.

Pulling out his keys in the elevator, he ducks his head to get a good look at your expression.

“Tired?”

“No! … Well, yeah, but I was just relaxing,” you tell him and he hums, his eyes swirling with mirth. You cross an arm over your chest, your breast pressing against your arm. His eyes flicker to the sight, pupils dilating as he swallows hard. “See something you like, Sukuna?”

Your lidded eyes and purring voice has the taller man teetering on the edge of self control. His mind reels with thoughts that aren’t appropriate for the elevator and the moment the door opens, he’s making his way to his apartment like a man on a mission.

Desire pools between your thighs at his eagerness, made more apparent in the way he fumbles at the door with his keys.

It’s not even a second after the door is closed and he maneuvers you against the door, helmets on the ground as his fingers move to flip the lock behind you before they travel up the side of your body, admiring your curves before he cups your face.

He captures your lips, hungry to taste you again. He wants to devour you, he wants to mark you and make you his. Your lips move in tandem with his, matching his fervor with equal eagerness.

Your fingers rake his chest, thumbs sliding over the length of his collarbones. The feeling of his broad chest beneath your hands drives you crazy and you press back against him, your breasts pressing against the expanse of his chest.

“Kuna, wait,” you breathe, chest heaving as you part from him. Vermillion irises lock on you as he pulls back, his fingers gripping your waist almost bruisingly. “This isn't…” You pause, your mouth opening and closing hesitantly.

“Out with it,” Sukuna encourages hoarsely.

You shoot him a wry smile at his blunt impatience. “This isn’t just a hookup for me, you know.”

He raises a brow at you. “You think that’s what this is for me?” You might even assume he sounds offended.

“No! No,” you clarify, shaking your head as your pretty eyes go wide. He rolls his shoulders, leaning his face closer to yours as he intently watches you. “I just… I-” you pause again, avoiding his intense gaze.

“It’s not a one night stand, y/n.” Sukuna’s pupils shrink as he speaks solemnly. He feels you relax in his grip, your eyes coming up to meet his. “Relax n’ let me take care of you.”

Your cheeks redden at your best friend’s boldness and you shuffle as you press your thighs together.

“I better not be your rebound, y’know.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice now, the elbow holding him up against the door sliding down as his face grows closer to you. God, he’s tall. He’s tall and built like a monster, and between the size of his hands, his muscles, not to mention his height… Your wide, almost timid eyes flicker down to his crotch. He catches the action and smirks. “Don’t get nervous now,” he leers.

“I’m not!” You squeak, the blush spreading to the tips of your ears. “And… you’re not a rebound.” You grab his shirt collar as you pull him in for a kiss, much sweeter than the covetous one you’d shared a minute ago.

Sukuna’s eyes flutter shut as he finds himself relaxing into your touch when you slide your hands up his neck and into his dark, undyed undercut.

“I like you, Ryo.” You admit when you pull back just enough for the words to reach his ears. His smirk can be felt against your lips.

“Fuck, you’re hot.” In true Sukuna fashion, that’s his way of reciprocating your admission, because he doesn’t do feelings. But you know. You know exactly what he means.

You grin against his lips, giggling like a giddy school girl who’s just seen her crush smile. Sukuna’s chest rumbles at your sudden timid delight.

“You’re such a loser,” he chuckles, his hand moving from your waist to hold your chin. He kisses you softly, your giggles persisting against his lips. Your fingers curl gleefully in his hair when he pulls back with impishly narrowed eyes. “You’re makin’ it hard to kiss you.”

“Sorry,” you chirp, your eyes crinkling in the corners. “It’s just cute- you’re cute.”

“Me?” He pulls back, standing at his full height and making a point of showing off his broad shouldered stance. “Cute?” He tilts his head quizzically as if to prove a point but if anything, you find the strands of hair falling out of place over his forehead cute.

“Yeah, you.”

“I’ll show you cute,” he grumbles, and suddenly you’re lifted off the ground effortlessly. You shriek in surprise in his ear as you grasp at the back of his leather jacket. He mumbles something about you being a brat before dumping you on the couch and crawling over your body.

His form looms over you and you’re both suddenly very aware of the immense size difference between you both, something which might be one of Sukuna’s favorite things. He loves how tiny you are, how easily he can handle you.

Sukuna takes pause, his usually dour gaze filled with longing, admiring what he’d wanted for so long as you stare back at him with wide eyes. He loves the fiery attitude you always sport, but this flustered side of you is new to him and he drinks it in like a drug.

Your chest rises and falls quickly, eyes darting from his arms that cage you in, down the expanse of his chest that peeks through his V-neck, back up to that alluring tattooed face. His sharp jaw, his ever-present smirk, his intense stare, it’s all so goddamn sexy and you’re flustered to silence like a deer in the headlights being hunted by a wolf.

“Funny, you seem to have lost your bark,” he comments tantalizingly, dipping down to kiss your jaw. Now with your body trapped beneath him, he feels the way your hips twitch. “What happened to the brat from earlier?”

You swallow down a moan as his voice sets you ablaze. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, fingers gripping him tightly. You take a breath to readjust and bat your lashes up at him as you push through the sudden nerves that seem to chase you. “Brat? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kuna.”

Sukuna grins, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “There she is,” he hums, bringing himself down to his elbows to kiss you wholly. His lips move urgently against yours, tongue swiping your lower lip almost immediately. He groans when you grant him access by parting your lips, drinking in your taste. You gasp in surprise as his tongue piercing grazes your tongue, a strangely pleasurable new feeling.

Your hands slide from his biceps up his neck, keeping him close, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss. When you shift beneath him to clench your thighs as heat pools in your lower abdomen, he groans.

“Fuck,” he hisses into your mouth, catching you by surprise when he nips your lower lip. He pulls back for only a moment but in that split second the look on your best friend’s face tells you everything you need to know. You’re his prey, and he’s about to devour you.

“Kuna-!” You gasp in surprise when kisses down the side of your neck, leaving behind purple bruises as he sucks and nips at the side of your neck. Reaching the sensitive spot at the base of your neck, his teeth graze your skin before gently sinking in, testing the waters with a glance at your face.

You whine, squirming beneath him.

Sukuna withdraws with a smirk, running his tongue soothingly over the reddened skin. “Kinky little thing, aren’t you?” He purrs, rolling his hips against you so roughly you whimper. “Shit,” he mumbles and returns to his ministrations, his hips rolling against yours like a dog in heat.

“Sh-shut up, Kuna…” you groan, rutting your hips up into him. His movement stutters with pleasure and he nips your skin again in response. “Darlin’, hold onto me,” his husky voice commands against the skin of your ear.

“Hm? Ah-!”

Sukuna slides a muscular arm beneath the small of your back, pressing you to him and urging your arms to cling to his shoulders. You wrap your legs around his waist as he picks you up, holding your small frame to him in one arm.

He carries you to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him as you press kisses to his collarbone, leaving behind marks of your own. He hums, plopping you down onto the bed and standing to shrug his jacket off and unbuckle his belt, letting it and his jeans drop to the floor.

You’re sure your face is red as a tomato, pupils dilated as you admire his body, your gaze landing on the boner that’s pulling the fabric of his black Calvin Klein boxers taut. You swipe your tongue out over your lips, bringing your lower lip between your teeth.

Your best friend grins, pulling you to the edge of the bed by your ankles. You let out a surprised gasp, gripping at the sheets at either side of you.

“G’nna take my time n’ treat her right,” he purrs, falling over you as your legs wrap around his waist to pull him closer. He could be talking about you or your pussy, it doesn’t matter either way.

He lifts your shirt up over your head and you arch your back to make it easier. You’re so pliant for him and he adores your obedience, adores the desperate, lustful look in your eyes.

“Shit, girl,” he mumbles, his eyes eating you alive on the spot as he admires your body. You’re so small in comparison to the way his figure looms over you.

Catching your gaze, he squeezes one of your breasts, slipping the other from the fabric of your lace bra to press the warm flat of his tongue to your nipple. You jolt as pleasure buzzes through your body, moaning when he sucks the hardened bud between his lips. The cool metal of his piercing intensifies the pleasure when it grazes your skin and causes goosebumps to raise on your arms.

Your hands find his hair, tugging enough that Sukuna smirks against the plush of your skin.

“So needy,” he hums. Your thighs clench around his waist as the vibration of his voice against your skin rocks through you.

Your lidded eyes stare down at him and you take the opportunity to tug his shirt off. He complies, tossing it across the room. His heavily tattooed chest, abdomen, arms- he’s gorgeous and you can barely believe he’s standing over you right now, eyes for only you.

“Kuna,” you mumble between moans, jerking as he flicks your nipple with a smug grin.

He mutters out a ‘what’ before sinking his teeth into your breast. You gasp, eyes widening and bucking your hips against him as your head swings back into the mattress. As you arch your back for him, Sukuna deftly slips your bra off.

“Stop being a tease,” you plead, the hard length of his cock twitching against your core as you tighten your legs.

“A tease? What do you want then, hm?” His voice is cocky, knowing. He wants you on your knees begging.

“Kunaaaa,” you groan, laying the back of your arm across your eyes, suddenly timid.

Sukuna clicks his tongue, pulling your arm away from your face. He grabs your other arm and holds them both down above you with one large hand. “What do you want, brat?” His face is inches away from yours now and he rolls his hips against your core teasingly despite the ache he feels.

“I-” you pant, pausing to look at his intense stare. “Wan’ you to eat me out.”

“Yeah?” He hums, lowering his head so that his lips brush yours. “Thought you had manners?”

“Please, Kuna,” you beg in a whiny voice. Sukuna smirks, getting to his knees at the edge of the bed and draping his arm over your hips to hold them down as he sprawls your legs out before him.

“Fuckin’ soaked for me,” he groans, his breath warm against the fabric of your panties. He wastes no time hooking his fingers through the fabric to pull them aside. His digits brush your folds as you buck your hips in a desperate attempt at friction.

Chuckling softly, Sukuna languidly licks up your cunt, savoring your taste with the slow movement. You squirm beneath him, raking your fingers through his hair as you try to buck your hips towards his tongue.

“Patience,” Sukuna hums and flicks his tongue out to circle your clit. His piercing grazes the sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes go wide with pleasure.

“Such a- hah- asshole- ah-!” Sukuna doesn’t give you the satisfaction of teasing him as he pushes his long tongue into your dripping chasm, your walls clenching around the muscle in ecstasy.

Sukuna groans as your fingers tug his hair. He lets you buck your hips into his mouth and ride his face, relishing in the sound of your moans and pants.

The feeling of his tongue inside you is already so intense that when he brings a thumb up to flick your clit, the sudden desire that pulses through your body straight to the knot tightening in your core has you bucking your hips in surprise. His grip on your hips fastens as he holds you down again, keeping you from squirming out of his grasp.

The desire and heat pooling in your core quickly grow in intensity as Sukuna’s experienced tongue plunges through your folds, drinking up your arousal.

“K-Kuna- I- I’m gonna-” your words are mere babbles as you try to speak through the bliss, your orgasm steadily approaching.

“Let me taste it, princess.”

The feeling of his voice with his tongue within you, the way his piercing suddenly flicks your gummy walls, his thumb on your clit, the way he calls you princess, it’s so much that your orgasm crashes over you in a wave, causing your body to jolt and jerk against the mattress.

Sukuna’s thumb leaves your clit as he holds down one of your thighs to keep you from crushing his head as you moan and pant out his name while your body spasms. He slows his ministrations to drink every last drop of your orgasm before flicking your clit with his tongue one last time, pleased when you jolt.

He pushes himself up, wiping your slick from his chin with the back of his hand.

“Shit, you’re hot,” he mutters. You barely have a moment to come down from your high before he’s pulling you to the floor by your waist, dropping you on your knees. His hungry expression and throbbing cock tell you everything you need to know as you look up at him through your lashes.

Your fingers curl around the waist of his boxers as you pull them down his thighs. His rock-hard erection slaps against his abs as you free it from the confines of the fabric. Sure, Sukuna is a monster of a man at nearly seven feet tall of solid muscle mass and you’d felt him grinding against you, but your eyes still widen at the sight of his cock.

You feel your mouth water as you stare at the angry red tip, veins protruding and pulsing with desire on either side.

“Think you can take it?” He asks and although it’s a teasing and husky tone he uses with you, he is genuinely asking as well. You nod eagerly and he grins. “Good girl,” he purrs.

Bringing a hand up to his cock, you wrap your fingers daintily around the thick base, looking up at those glimmering vermillion eyes as you run your tongue from base to tip, eliciting a heavy groan from the man.

“Christ,” he groans, his head flying back in pleasure. You smirk and take the tip of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the leaking slit before teasingly pulling back with a pop!

His hips shudder as he does everything in his power to stop himself from using your mouth, to stop himself from shoving his cock down your throat with no warning.

“Needy, Ryo?”

You don’t expect the way that sets him off, lights his desire ablaze anew as he fists your hair and leans down with a clenched jaw to look you in the eyes.

You whimper in surprise, closing your thighs from where you sit on your knees as your cunt pulses from the way he handles you so roughly.

“Let’s get it straight right now which of us is needy,” he growls with a smirk, eyeing the way you shift your thighs. “You gonna be a good little slut for me?”

You nod up at him, pupils dilating as he tugs your hair. He grins, narrowing his eyes. “Words, woman.”

“Yes, Kuna,” you purr back at him. The wild look in his eyes intensifies as he receives your consent and pushes the tip of his cock past your lips. His jaw goes slack in pleasure as you swirl your tongue around the head, lapping up his precum.

“Shit,” he groans out, watching as you take his cock without breaking eye contact while he thrusts further into your mouth. You gag when he reaches the back of your throat, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes and you shut them as you take his length. “Ah ah, look at me. Takin’ me so well.”

Sukuna knows you can’t take his entire cock in your mouth, he knows there’s a fairly large size difference between the both of you. It doesn’t stop the way he pushes your head down on his cock watching the way tears run down your cheeks as you so obediently let him handle you.

Saliva runs down the length of his cock and you bring a hand up to the base, pumping what you can’t fit in your throat. His hand pulls your mouth off his cock, adjusting his hand to hold your head back against the bed so that he can relentlessly fuck into you, massive cock hitting the back of your throat and gagging you with each thrust.

He throws his head back as you pump the base of his shaft while he fucks you, being his perfect little doll. His abs flex and twitch when your muscles tense as you swallow around him.

“Such a nasty fuckin’ throat.” He barely gives you any time to breathe as his pace increases, along with the pace of your hand to match. His chest heaves as he moans, letting you dig your nails into his thigh for purchase while he uses your throat.

His cock twitches as you moan when he hits the back of your throat and his eyes shut tight with pleasure, jaw going slack. When he jolts again with the next thrust, you know he’s close so you hum contentedly, sending vibrations up his shaft and causing his hips to jerk erratically as he chases his high.

“F-fuck,” he groans out before his hips stutter and your eyes widen when his cum unloads down your throat, thick ropes of salty sweet arousal swallowed as he keeps himself warm within your mouth. You move your lips slowly around his girth, milking every last drop of his orgasm. You pull back after a moment to allow yourself a chance to breathe, panting as you stare up at him.

His chest heaves and his cock twitches every few seconds, telling of the orgasm he’s just had. Still, his eyes burn with desire when he finally opens them.

He reaches down to pick you up and sets you at the edge of the bed on all fours roughly.

He squeezes your ass before slapping it once. Your body jolts in surprise as you gasp.

“Princess, you on any birth control?”

“Mhmm, you can go raw.”

You hear him mumble a curse beneath his breath. “You tell me if it’s too much,” he tells you, catching the way you glance over your shoulder at him and nod.

In spite of the rough way he uses and handles you, he’s still very attentive to your pleasure and comfort.

He pays no mind to the fact that you actually liked the panties you’re wearing as he physically tears them off of your body, tossing the ripped fabric aside. You whine in complaint, shooting him a look from over your shoulder.

“I’ll buy ya new ones,” he huffs, returning his attention to your body.

Squeezing your ass in both palms, he leans down and buries his face in your pussy, licking a stripe from your clit to your dripping entrance. He hums at how wet you still are, moving a hand up your spine to hold you down and keep you arched for him.

His teeth sink into the plump of your ass and you squeak at the sudden burst of pain that quickly twists to pleasure when he soothingly laps over the mark he’s left.

He slides his hand down from squeezing your plump ass to glide a finger through your lubricated folds. You lean into his touch, gasping when he suddenly plunges one long finger into your lubricated pussy.

Your walls are tight as they pulse around his long finger. He eases another digit in, pumping them slowly as he realizes just how tight you are.

“Relax, darlin’,” he hums soothingly, curling his fingers against your walls a couple of times before he finds your g spot. His voice is such a stark contrast to his rough tendencies, but it’s soothing to have him so worried for your comfort.

“Ryo, f-fuck-” you moan out as his fingers languidly curl against your gummy walls which gradually relax against his long fingers. With a couple more pumps of his fingers, he pulls them out, leaving you pulsing around nothing and craving his touch as you shift your hips in search of friction with a whine.

Sukuna grunts when he lines himself up with your plump cunt, pumping himself a couple of times before he slowly eases his tip into you. Your eyes widen at the delicious burn of the stretch, fingers curling in the sheets as you adjust to his massive size. And god this is only the tip.

You cry out, the feeling of his girthy cock filling you up blurring your vision as the pain transitions to pleasure before the process begins all over again with each movement he makes. His cock throbs, making you feel impossibly full.

Sukuna wants to ruin you, he wants to tear you apart on his cock, but he doesn’t want to hurt his sweet little best friend, so he watches the way your face contorts in mild pain, waiting for your expression to relax as he slowly feeds you his cock, inch by inch.

“Doin’ so good for me, darlin’,” Sukuna purrs, his thumb stroking your back in contrast to the fact that he’s still holding you down and keeping you arched for him.

His cock head brushes your cervix, pressing against it as he bottoms out, fingers curling against your back at how tight you’re squeezing him as he waits for you to adjust.

Your shoulders relax beneath his touch and you whimper as he slides his cock out to the tip, setting a moderate pace so as not to shock you. The feeling of his thick, veiny cock is like nothing you’ve ever experienced, his size just so much to take that you moan and whine with each thrust of his cock into your tight hole.

You grip at the sheets beneath you, gasping as Sukuna speeds up his thrusts and presses you hard into the mattress, muffling your moans.

“Kuna- mmph,” you let out a muffled whimper, jolting when he slaps your ass roughly, no longer holding back.

“F-fuckin’- shit-” he groans, his fingers gripping your skin bruisingly as he holds you in place. He leans forward, sliding his hand from your back to your neck, restricting your airflow subtly. Pleasure tears through your spine as he leans forward and pushes in deeper with each thrust, pulling moans and screams of his name from deep in your throat.

“K-Kuna, I’m- hah- close,” you whimper, words muffled by the sheets beneath you. He loosens his fingers from your neck, grabbing your waist with both hands as he pulls your ass closer to him, pounding into you faster as he chases his own high.

“Shit, y’r such a good lil slut for me,” he groans, feeling your walls tighten around his thick length with each thrust.

Pleasure tightens deep within your core, knotting and curling as he fucks you so deliciously that your juices are already dripping from your cunt around his hilt. His eyes lock on the sight and he throws his head back in pleasure, his own high not far behind.

With one last hit against your cervix, your orgasm hits you like a goddamn truck, like nothing you’ve ever experienced before as your entire body shakes and jolts, your knees and legs giving out.

If Sukuna wasn’t holding you up, you surely would have collapsed as stars cloud your vision and you moan his name like a mantra. Your eyes are glossy and your mind delirious as he continues to fuck you through your high, your walls milking him in a way that has him quickly climbing towards his release.

With only a few more erratic thrusts that have you whining under him in overstimulation, his cock twitches suddenly as his entire load fills you up, mixing with your juices and dripping out of your swollen lips down your thighs that Sukuna is still holding up.

He moans as he slowly lets your body go and you sink to the mattress, panting beneath him as his cock slips from between your thighs. His eyes flicker to your pretty pussy, his cum leaking out with each pulse of your walls. His chest heaves as well as he slowly gets to his feet and walks to the side of the bed, sliding up against the headboard.

Sukuna pulls your body up from where you’ve collapsed, wrapping his arms around you as his sweat-slicked skin sticks to yours. He’s much gentler now, looking you over for any signs that he might have hurt you accidentally, but when you finally open your eyes, they’re glossy with pleasure and filled with adoration.

He can’t help the way he genuinely smiles, not a common thing for the tepid biker, but when you grin and giggle in return, it makes his heart jump.

He practically turns to putty in your hands and as you silently bask in the afterglow of the best sex of your life and lean into Sukuna’s embrace.

“Wasn’t too rough with you, was I?” He asks after a moment and you’re surprised by the way his fingers softly graze your skin.

“You were great Kuna, don’t worry,” you answer, yawning afterwards.

He hums in relief, leaning his head back for a moment before taking it upon himself to get you cleaned up before you pass out. Grabbing a towel, he wipes your thighs and tosses the towel in a hamper at the edge of the room before pulling the covers over your figure and crawling in behind you.

“Ryo?”

Sukuna hums quizzically.

“Do I get to know how long now?”

“You’re a brat,” he growls in your ear as he pulls you flush against his chest, his arms folded around your middle.

“Yeah yeah, just answer the question,” you grouse, rolling your eyes. You have an inkling of a feeling that you know when he realized his feelings for you, but you’re curious nonetheless.

He sighs, knowing you’ll never let him live this down. “Dunno. It’s been a while,” he avoids the question.

You flip in his arms to face him with raised brows. He groans, avoiding your gaze.

“I guess around the time you got with your ex,” he admits, his eyes locked on the wall behind you as he tucks your head under his chin to avoid your intent gaze.

“Is that why you stopped seeing people?”

“You noticed?”

“Kuna, you had a new girl under your arm every time I saw you for a while.”

He grunts, pulling you tighter to his body.

Giggling, you kiss his collar bone. “That’s sweet.”

Sukuna’s chest rises and falls heavily as he lets out a long sigh. You can practically feel the way his cheeks are heating up as you tease him, something that you’d only managed a handful of times in all the years you’ve known him.

“Sorry, am I embarrassing the big bad motorcycling bad boy?” You push, squeaking in protest as Sukuna wastes no time in shoving you away from him in an attempt to push you off the bed. “Wait, wait, wait! I’m sorry!” You insist, looking to him for mercy as you cling to his arms, clutching desperately at the flexed muscles.

“And?”

“And…” you search for the words he’s looking to hear in his eyes, gripping his arms tighter. “I won’t do it again?”

“And?”

“I’m sorry I ate the rest of your leftovers this morning?”

His brow furrows. Oh shit.

“I mean… no I didn’t. They’re still there,” you mumble, avoiding his judgemental gaze guiltily.

Sukuna’s hold on your shoulder begins to lax as you teeter at the edge of the bed, threatening to drop you to the floor. You scramble to try to grip him tighter.

“I’ll buy you new food!”

Sukuna sighs and drags you back to him. You let out a relieved puff of air against his chest, snuggling back into his warmth. “Jus’ wanted you to say when it was for you.”

You tilt your head up at him, only able to see his chin. “When what was?”

“You know. When you realized what you think of me or whatever.” Sukuna’s gruff tone is telling that he isn’t used to such sincere conversations. Although you’ve known him a long time and he’d told you about damn near every sexual encounter he’s had, Sukuna’s most record-breaking relationship was a shocking three months.

Of course, Sukuna isn’t a romantic, and she didn’t know him well enough to know that he was putting in effort, so it didn’t last long.

“Oh. When I realized I like you?”

He grunts.

You hum in thought, moments throughout your friendship scrolling through your mind like a slideshow.

Of course, your forefront thought is when Sukuna first stepped off that stupidly well taken care of Ducati and surprised you when he managed to not only get you home on a running bike, but let you buy him a drink. He’s always been ridiculously attractive, but no, those weren’t feelings.

You think of all the times you hung out with friends and they would point out his change in behavior. You’d always think on the statement, watch the way that aloof look of his turns mild when he faces you, but you didn’t want to think about it too much.

You ponder on the time you’d called him on a whim early in your friendship when your date had bailed on you. Sukuna did not want to see the cheesy romance movie you had tickets for, but he’d sucked it up and shown up. You’d offered to buy him dinner as a thank you, but he paid regardless. It was the kind of thing a real date would do, but he’d complained so much you brushed the thought away.

When you were entirely too obsessed with Game of Thrones and insisted he be your king in a big fur cloak for Halloween, maybe then something had changed.

“You want me to be some guy from the show you like?” He’d grumbled and guffawed over having to dress up at all, insisting he’d been planning to put in minimal effort.

“Pleaaase, Kuna?” You were practically on your knees by the time he’d agreed with a roll of his eyes. “You’d make a good Robb Stark,” you insist before second-guessing yourself. “Well, if he was grumpy and kind of a dick.” You shrug, grinning up at him as he shoots you a begrudging look through narrowed eyes.

It only takes you a few days to put together the costume given the abundance of medieval king and knight costumes around.

His arms cross over his rugged chest, the fabric of his shirt pulled taut by the movement. “You can’t be serious.” He stares at the tight faux leather coat you hand him with a scowl.

“He wears something similar!”

“I’m not wearing this.”

“Please, you said you would!” You pout at him as you sport your best puppy dog eyes.

“No.”

You jut your bottom lip out, taking a step towards him as you shove the leather top to his chest. His eyes narrow, gears turning in his head until he shuts his eyes, giving in.

Your eyes light up as he pulls the top from you, groaning as he pulls it on over his shirt. It’s tight on him, which you expected given Sukuna’s sheer size, but it’s a strangely hot look on your rugged best friend. Even more so when he lets you drape the cape over his shoulders and set a cute little crown on his head.

“No, absolutely not,” he hisses, slapping your hand away when you try to clip the crown in place with a bobby pin.

“You’re such a pain,” you tease as you try again, holding an extra pin between your teeth.

Standing back, you admire your work as you receive a very unamused look in return. Sukuna’s build makes for a very kingly stature in spite of the contrasting tattoos and it makes him hot. In fact, you’re half afraid someone will whisk him away at the Halloween party given how nicely he’s cleaned up.

Your lips twitch downwards at the thought. You don’t want him to be whisked away. You want your king by your side.

“So?”

Snapping you from your thoughts, your eyes light up again. “You look great,” you tell him with a grin. His eyes flicker with something you don’t recognize.

He hums, examining your expression. “Well, go get ready then. Gonna sweat through all this leather n’ shit.”

“Oh like you aren’t used to leather,” you roll your eyes, but you oblige, getting your matching Talisa Stark outfit on.

When you return to Sukuna sitting on his couch, you muster your best impression of your character. “My king?”

Your best friend’s attention turns to you, eyes widening as you approach him in a floor-length queen’s gown with a matching gray cloak and a crown pinned into your hair. “Shit, y’ look good,” he breathes out.

Your cheeks heat up and you scratch at the back of your neck. “Thanks, Kuna.” You clear your throat and your mind to the best of your ability as you offer him a hand. “Ready?”

He hums, taking your hand before grabbing his keys and offering you his arm. “My queen?”

You’d be lying if you said that wasn’t the first spark. The first real spark. As he loosened up throughout the night and repetitively called you his princess, you knew you were spent. Each and every time he used the name had you giggling up a storm and while you’d brushed it off as intoxication at the time, you knew the truth deep down.

So when he’d returned to his aloof self the following morning, you swallowed down your feelings.

You couldn’t bear the thought of losing your best friend and he didn’t have a good track record with relationships. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared, even now.

“Halloween,” you utter finally, unsure of just how long you’ve been silently contemplating an answer in his arms.

“Figures,” his chest rumbles in brief laughter.

“You knew?”

“Nah, thought it was the alcohol.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. That’s why I started dating other people.”

Sukuna doesn’t respond but he buries his face into the crown of your head, drinking in your warmth, your intoxicating scent, and your soft skin against his as he closes his eyes.

No more other people, you’re his.

“Was it me callin’ you my princess?” He asks of the night you realized you’d caught feelings.

“That, and you make a good Robb Stark.”

He snorts. “I remember being told I was a dick.”

You shrug, smiling against the warm skin of his chest. “I don’t retract that statement.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head and warmth spreads through your body as you relax against him, eyes closing as exhaustion spreads across you like a warm blanket. You know the kiss is a sassy retort, but it shamelessly works on you.

“Fine. I retract my statement.”

“That’s my princess.”

–

“Can you stop moving so much?”

Unsurprisingly, Sukuna’s got an attitude today and he absolutely plans on making it your problem as he huffs.

Your gloved hands work carefully to thoroughly cover every last strand of his short hair with dye. You know very well the only reason he’s being such a menace today is because you’d suggested a change in color and he’s afraid it’ll look bad.

In all your years of knowing him, he’s always had the same pink hair, so you were thrilled he was allowing you the honor of dying it back to its original color, black. You’d actually insisted on orange or red, but black was the only thing he was willing to compromise on.

You make your way back around him and find his scowling face looking up at you. Covering the last few strands of hair over his forehead, you boldly sit on his lap.

His demeanor changes in an instant as you straddle him and his hands eagerly find your hips and begin roaming up your waist and back down to your thighs. You shoot him a warning glance as you accidentally smudge some black dye on his forehead, but he pays you no mind as he continues his ministrations.

“Kuna,” you warn sternly, trying to wipe off the black marking before it leaves a stain, but it’s too late. You sigh and look over your work.

“Just a quickie, c’mon,” he insists with a grin.

“I don’t want to be covered in black dye,” you retort and Sukuna groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “How long do I gotta wait?”

“Thirty minutes.”

He frowns, eyes following your movements as you pull off your gloves and throw them in the trash of your shared apartment. He can’t for the life of him tear his eyes from you as you proceed to wash your hands before grabbing a damp towelette to wipe at his forehead.

Suddenly feeling like a child as you take care of the marking on his forehead, he swats at your hand.

“You’re a menace,” you mutter, avoiding his hand with practiced precision as you wipe away any traces of hair dye from his face.

He smirks, he likes the way you tease him and if anything it only makes him want to bend you over the table more.

Still, when you pull back to inspect his face and leave a gentle peck on his lips, he knows you don’t mind his attitude.

You know it’s all a ruse of sorts. Not around others, but around you it is.

Dating him for so many years came with its fair share of complications, especially given that Sukuna’s communication skills were about as good as those of a rock. He often didn’t pick up on small signs that you were bothered by things and vice versa, as he’s a tough book to read.

Regardless of any small arguments, nothing ever got out of hand surprisingly. You can’t imagine your life if Sukuna hadn’t shown up to get you the night your ex kicked you out. What Sukuna lacked in the department of emotional understanding, he made up for with his actions.

Although he very rarely says it, you know Sukuna loves you.

Each and every ‘I love you’ is met with a kiss, a squeeze of your arm, a tug towards him.

Sukuna has his own way of showing you he loves you.

He picks you up from work with flowers, shocking those around you when the grumpy-looking tattooed man hands you flowers that surely won’t make it home in great condition on his bike, but it doesn’t matter.

He runs you a bath when he fucks you into oblivion and your legs give out. It may be his own hand that inflicted your weakness, but it doesn’t matter because he shows you just how much he cares for you through his aftercare routine.

He makes your coffee with far too much milk and sugar for his own taste and complains about it the whole time, but it doesn’t matter because he still does it every morning for you.

Sukuna loves you, and he knows that you’re aware of it.

When it comes time to wash his hair, he closes his eyes when you help him wash it in the sink. Your fingers move so delicately, taking care to wash out all the dye.

When he dries his hair with a towel and sees the way you delight at the sight of his freshly jet-black hair, he chuckles.

“Why do you never grow your hair out?” You ask, running your hands through his spiked hair. The color suits him and brings out his eyes in the most stunning way, you’re sure you have stars in your eyes from the way you’re staring at him.

“Dunno. The other color looks good,” he shrugs.

“It does!” You agree with a grin, “but so does this!” You insist. “It’s hot.”

He hums, looking himself over in the mirror. In truth, he doesn’t mind it. He only really indulged you because you’d insisted, but it worked out given what he had in mind for the night. It would look good in photos.

“When is Shiu getting here?” You ask curiously, interrupting Sukuna’s thoughts as your short arms wrap around his middle from behind.

“Hour from now.”

You gasp suddenly. “I need to clean up.”

“I can clean you up,” Sukuna smirks, lifting his arms in an attempt to see your face from where you stand behind him.

“Kunaaa,” you whine. “I need time to get ready.”

He groans dramatically. “Fine,” he grumbles, watching as you prance away happily to get ready.

You, Sukuna, Choso, Toji, Shiu, and Uraume were all going out in celebration of Toji’s newest addition to his family, a young boy. It was surprising that he was the first to settle down, but when you’d met his wife, you could see that she was his world, the way he relaxed at her touch and his own edge calmed in the same way Sukuna’s does around you.

Sukuna lays on his bed, watching as you choose a gorgeous black dress that hugs your curves so delectably that he wants to tear it off of you then and there. The whole time, he fumbles with something in his pocket, grateful when you don’t notice the small box accidentally fall from his grasp and onto the bed.

You chat with him about your work the whole time. Sukuna’s mind is elsewhere but given that he’s never all that chatty, you don’t notice. Looking yourself over in the mirror, you let out a relieved breath when you manage to be ready with only a couple of minutes to spare.

“Y’ look gorgeous.” Sultry words are whispered in your ear, followed up by a kiss to your neck as your boyfriend comes up behind you. His hands rest softly on your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder, bending down to your height.

You watch his actions from the mirror, the way his lidded eyes look over the curves of your figure, the way he slides his arms so delicately around your middle to envelop you in a tight hug, it’s these moments that you treasure the most.

The quiet moments where you simply enjoy one another’s presence.

Your lives are so busy that you don’t always get time to yourselves, so melting into his arms in that moment, you wish it would last forever.

Of course forever is a long time, and Shiu certainly doesn’t have the patience to wait in his car that long for you both. You’re not entirely sure why Sukuna doesn’t want to take your bikes, but you don’t push the subject. Your boyfriend’s mind is a mysterious place.

Your group gathers at a restaurant that’s a bit fancy for everyone’s tastes, but Uraume had insisted on it given the occasion. The real surprise was that Sukuna had dressed up a bit as well, sporting a sleek black pair of slacks, a black long sleeve button-up, and a red tie. His ensemble went well with your black dress.

Over the years, Sukuna’s friends had become your friends, long before you started dating, even.

Choso and Yuji were like your little brothers, and Uraume and Toji your closest drinking buddies. They got along surprisingly well with your friends too, especially Choso and Yuji who, unlike Sukuna, seemed to have a talent for getting along with everyone. Shiu generally only tagged along when Toji was around, but their banter was always welcome.

As Toji shows off photos of his son Megumi alongside his daughter Tsumiki, you notice Sukuna whispering something to Choso, casting oddly uneasy glances in your direction. Frowning, you glance over yourself once as though there’s something wrong with your outfit. No… it looks fine. So what’s Sukuna being so secretive about?

You brush it off as nothing, sure you’re overthinking things… until he pulls Toji aside after the man finishes showing off photos of his son.

You tilt your head quizzically to Uraume as you lean over towards them, ensuring Sukuna can’t hear you.

“Is Kuna acting weird to you?”

“Yes,” Uraume follows your gaze, narrowing their eyes. “Perhaps he misses Toji?”

“Are we talking about the same person?” A small smirk quirks up the corners of your lips.

Uraume laughs lightly with you. “You’re right,” they agree, but the thought doesn’t leave your mind.

It’s not like Sukuna doesn’t have off days like everyone else, but this is a strange change of demeanor for him. He seems strangely fidgety, as though he can’t sit still. His leg had bounced under the table throughout most of dinner and he was strangely eager to get the bill.

He had been horny all day, the best guess you have is that maybe it’s that and he wants to get home.

Still, it doesn’t explain him being so secretive throughout the night. In fact, he’d barely spoken a lick to you. Which isn’t entirely uncommon, but in place of words he would normally find comfort in your touch. Yet tonight it felt as though you’d hardly seen him despite sitting next to him most of the night.

You resort to asking him about it later, though an uneasy feeling tugs at you the more you notice it.

You’re almost grateful the dinner is over when it is as you intertwine your fingers with Sukuna like nothing is wrong. Shiu leads the way across the expanse of grass by the restaurant to his car one lot over, chatting with Toji as you and your boyfriend trail behind.

With Choso and Uraume a short distance behind you, you figure now is as good of a time to ask as any.

“Is everything alright, baby?” You tilt your head to look at your boyfriend.

Something glimmers in his eyes, an emotion you don’t recognize. That’s odd.

“‘Course.”

Well, that’s not reassuring.

“Okay… Nothing’s wrong?”

He shoots you a small smirk, kissing the top of your head.

“Nothin’s wrong, princess. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

You sigh, unable to help the feeling that he has something up his sleeve, but also able to recognize that whatever he’s plotting, he clearly has no intention of telling you. Regardless, you’re relieved that his nonchalant attitude seems to have returned. Maybe it’s nothing to worry about after all.

You miss the way he glances between the two groups, nodding to both as you sigh and give in.

“Alright, Kuna. I love you.”

Sukuna stops to face you and you blink at him perplexedly. Time seems to stand still as his chest rises and falls so quickly, he’s sure you can hear his heart beating out of his chest as he fumbles in his pocket for a moment.

You open your mouth to question him but your words die on your tongue when your boyfriend swallows hard before making a quick movement down onto one knee and your eyes go wide, your heart pounding in tandem with his.

It’s just the two of you in that moment, all sounds drowned out by beating hearts, lights and movement a blur behind you both. Everything is just Sukuna. Just you.

“Y/n,” he begins hoarsely. His voice shakes slightly and he curses himself for it but he doesn’t dare look away from your gorgeous wide eyes.

Your lips part, a lump forming in your throat. It feels as though it could choke you and you swallow hard but it only seems to encourage the tears you had yet to notice welling in your eyes.

“I had this whole speech planned,” he chuckles breathlessly. “Practiced n’ everything.”

You nod slowly, your hands trembling as you bring one up to your mouth to suppress your shock and awe when he pulls out a small red velvet box.

“But I don’t think that shit's for me. So I decided to keep it simple.”

Nestled delicately within the box is a gorgeous silver ring with a beautiful diamond held delicately in the center. The ring splits into three separate parts just before the gem that all twist with smaller jewels around the metal.

“Marry me?”

Although he very rarely says it, you know Sukuna loves you.

From the way he holds you to the way he listens and kisses you between words. From the way he brings you lunch at work when you forget to the way he drives more carefully when you’re cuddled behind him on his bike.

Sukuna loves you, and he knows that you’re aware of it.

And you love him too.

“Yes!”

main masterlist || love & company masterlist

❦ a/n ; please follow/like/reblog/share if you enjoyed ♡

writing & format © starmapz. art © too-many-owls. dividers © adornedwithlight and © cafekitsune.

[imagine-you]

If I Open the Door to Heaven or Hell [Wally/Reader]

Summary: You're there for Wally after he confronts his scar. Word Count: 1.8k Author's Note: Just a little thing I wrote after I watched the new episode this morning. Because what do you mean he went through all that alone and no one was there for him? He deserved better. If you liked this, letting me know would make my day! Read On AO3 // Fic Masterlist

When you noticed Wally grab his football, you knew that he was going to investigate his scar to see if Mr. Martin was there. He didn't tell anyone. Not even Maddie. But you saw it happen, so you followed him.  

He was so focused that he didn't even seem to realize you were following him. It shouldn't have hurt. You had spent your life treated like an outsider, so going unnoticed wasn’t a new feeling. You just hated that your death wasn’t shaping up to be any different.  

Even though you had been half in love with Wally for years, he never seemed to get the hint. He joked around with you and threw his arm around your shoulders to reel you in close to his side and gave you these ridiculous smiles that sent your stomach flipping over itself. He was so bright and thoughtful and beautiful. All you wanted was more time with him. You would take an eternity with him, even, but once Maddie showed up, everything changed.  

You were all dragged into the mystery of Maddie's death. But it turned out Maddie wasn't dead. Not really. Janet had been the one to steal her body and Mr. Martin, the guy you had all trusted with your deepest, darkest secrets had been using you all along.  

The betrayal hurt and now everyone was hiding something. But not Wally. He was the rock of the group, lending support and care to anyone who needed it. 

But now, you all had the items that linked you to your deaths and they opened up your own personal hells. Rhonda had been completely shaken by what she saw in hers and you weren't quite ready to face whatever waited for you once you stepped into the girl's bathroom on the second floor near the pre-cal classroom. 

The fact that Wally was skulking away to be tormented by his death just didn’t sit right with you.  

You wanted to stop Wally. But he was so determined to help Maddie that you knew you wouldn't be able to sway him.  

He got to the football field before you did and once he stepped onto the grass, football tucked securely under his arm, he disappeared.  

"Wally!" You called, glancing around for him, but realizing that he wouldn't be able to hear you. He had stepped through a door and you wouldn't be able to follow. All you could do was wait for him and hope that he made it out unscathed.  

You sat down on the bleachers, keeping your focus on the field. You waited for him to reappear, but when he didn't show, you just started talking to fill the empty space in front of you.  

"Wally, I hope you're doing okay in there. I don't know what's happening, but I want you to know you're not alone." You started tracing your fingers along the grooves in the bench beneath you. "You're really the best out of all of us, you know that? You're so kind. You take care of all of us. You have our backs. And I know you'd do anything for us. I guess that's why you're facing your own personal hell just to help out Maddie. But sometimes I wonder who’s there for you. Who’s going to hold you up when you need it?"  

You felt nervous. You trusted Wally and you loved him, but you had never revealed to him just how deep your feelings ran for him. Sometimes, you thought Charley or Rhonda might have an idea, but they never brought it up. Whether it was to save you dignity or they just didn't care all that much, you couldn't really tell.  

It was hard not to be stupid over Wally, though. He drew you in and you were helpless against the pull of him.  

"Sometimes, I get really scared," you admitted, digging your fingernails into the metal just to ground you. "I get scared that you'll leave. I don't think I can do this without you, Wally. Not anymore. You're too important to me. I need you." 

Wally still hadn't appeared, so you kept rambling. It felt freeing, in a way, finally confessing when Wally couldn't catch you.  

"I think the first time I knew that I was gone on you was when you found me in the library. I was upset because it was the anniversary of my death. And for three years, my friends and family showed up to hold some kind of vigil. They would meet on the front lawn and share stories and talk about how much they missed me. That first year, seeing my mom and dad there nearly broke me. My best friend and my little brother and all of them. They showed up for me. But then my friends graduated. And my parents moved. And then no one showed up."  

You felt tears gathering in your eyes and hastily swiped them away. If Wally managed to leave his scar now, you didn't want him seeing you so upset.  

"They always left flowers at the flagpole, because they didn’t want to go anywhere near where they found my body. And my friend wrote a letter about how much she missed me and my brother left his favorite stuffed animal. It’s that orange squid I have stashed away in my old locker. But by that fourth year, I didn't have anyone left around to care about me and I felt so alone. You found me in the library and you dragged me out to the flagpole and showed me the flowers you stole from the groundskeeper and you wrote a letter about how I still mattered even in death. I didn't tell you then, but I think that's when I finally started believing that I would be okay. Because I had you," you added with a shaky smile.  

"I don't know what's going to happen to us. But I just want you to know, Wally, that as long as you're around, I know I'll be okay. And I would do anything for you too. I want to be there for you like you’re there for me. For all of us. Because you're the best person I’ve ever met. And I...I lo--" you were cut off from declaring your feelings for Wally by the sight of him suddenly reappearing at the side of the field.  

He collapsed to the ground, clutching the football to his chest. He was breathing heavy and he flung the ball away, leaving him curled up on the grass. He put a hand to his chest and his breaths were coming fast and uncontrolled.  

"Wally!" You shouted, racing down the bleachers to reach him. You hesitated at his side before seeing the agony in his expression. You dropped down to your knees and wrapped your arms around him, fearing that he was drowning in his own fear.  

You weren't expecting the way he practically latched on to you. His arms wrapped tight around your waist and he hid his face in the crook of your neck.  

"Wally?" You tried, realizing that he was shaking. "Are you okay?" 

Wally didn't respond. He simply shook his head, and you held on tighter.  

"I'm here for you," you assured him. Wally was always so strong. So ready to fight and defend. But whatever he had witnessed in his scar had left him speechless and traumatized. "I'm right here. I’m not going anywhere." 

Wally held you close, his breaths eventually evening out from panicked to steady.  

"I heard you, you know," he muttered into your neck after what felt like forever. He still hadn't lifted his head and you got the idea he was trying to hide.  

You tried not to shiver at the feeling of his lips brushing against your skin.  

"Heard what?" You asked, worried that you knew where this was heading.  

"I couldn't get myself out of there on my own. My coach and my mom and everyone was just so disappointed in me. I didn't want to be there but I couldn't make myself move. When I died, I didn't know it happened. It was over in a second. Just boom. Instant lights out. But I saw it happen and it hurt so much," he got out on a shaky breath. "I was about to lose it, but then I heard you. And you were talking to me about how much I meant to you and all I could think was that you're not disappointed in me." He finally lifted his head, his eyes locking with yours and leaving you transfixed. "I followed your voice out of there. You saved me." 

"Wally, you saved yourself," you said, bringing up a hand to smooth it down over his shoulder in an effort to comfort him. "You're the strongest person I've ever met. You've never been a disappointment. That coach and your mom? They were wrong. You’re amazing." 

Wally watched you for one moment into the next, leaving you with the urge to fidget under his attention. Finally, you noticed a small smile pull at his mouth, his eyes glinting with a hint of life. "Don't hate me," he murmured before he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours.  

You felt yourself tense, unsure that this was actually happening, before you felt Wally begin to pull away.  

"Wait," you whispered before grabbing a fistful of his shirt and reeling him back in.  

This time, the kiss was less hesitant and more searching. You never thought for one second you would get this opportunity and you didn't want to waste it.  

Wally had pulled you closer, practically putting you in his lap, so when you broke the kiss, you leaned your forehead against his and smiled at him.  

"You really think I would hate you for that? Wally, it's what I've been wanting for years," you admitted, knowing that Wally had likely heard your aborted love confession. You might as well go for broke. "I've wanted you for years," you confessed.  

Wally's lips stretched into another smile. This one was radiant and relieved. He brought his hands up, framing your face in his palms, and held you close. "I think this is the first time I've been on this field since I died and felt anything good." He bit his lip, his eyes searching yours, before he nodded his head as if he had decided something. He moved to stand up, gripping your hand tight in his so you followed after him. He started leading you away from the field towards the bleachers, taking a moment to scoop up his football, before leading you away.  

"Where are we going?" You wondered, trusting Wally and knowing you would follow him anywhere.  

"I think I've earned something good," he told you, his gaze lingering on you letting you know that you were the something good he was talking about. The idea sent a little pleased thrill through you. "Want to go make out under the bleachers?" 

"God, yes," you agreed, delighted and exhilarated.  

You knew that the time would come to find the others. Wally would have to talk about his scar and you would eventually have to confront yours. But for now, you would push all the pain and fear aside and finally let yourself have something good with Wally. 

[ellipsus-writes]

Stories of resistance; communities of power

(Read over on the blog!) The first time I met a queer character was a literal flash in the dark: stumbling onto Maurice on the IFC channel, sometime around midnight—the Merchant-Ivory adaptation of E. M. Forster's novel where the two leads actually get a happy ending.

Before that, the only queer characters I’d ever seen were Scar and Ursula, camping, preening, and scheming their way to classic villainhood—swishy, fabulous, undeniably doomed. And then I found Oscar Wilde at the library: an actual gay writer (thrilling: I bought a poster on the nascent internet of the author lounging on a settee and taped it too my bedroom door—abandon straightness, all ye who enter here). And then I learned how it ended: destroyed by the state, dragged through a prejudicial court system—the ultimate doomed narrative, for the crime of being human.

There have been big strides in the, uh… how many intervening years? (Y2K was 10 years ago, right?) We no longer have to sit quietly, waiting for a flicker of queer joy on late-night TV, clawing our way through a wasteland of tragedy to feel seen.

Now, we make our own stories.

I wrote my own stories in high school; digging through the cracks to find historic queer spaces I could enter, rediscovering buried worlds and realizing we’d always been here. (Ask me about mid-18th-century gay life in Paris, or ‘20s Berlin... or don’t.) And fanfic, which went mainstream a little later, changed everything. It’s the way so many people carve out space for themselves—claiming stories that were never meant for us and making them our own.

Of course, it’s 2025. There are tragedies happening right now. Big ones, small ones, ones so personal they’ll never make the news; losses so massive they leave entire communities grieving. They can feel insurmountable.

But we have something stronger—community.

You’re already doing the work. You’re making yourselves visible—writing without permission, without waiting for gatekeepers to tell you what’s marketable or appropriate. You write anyway. You’re valid because you write. Your stories spread across the void, forming bonds when they most want to divide us. Instead of more tragedy, you’re making whole universes gay (literally).

Telling stories—messy, joyful, painful, honest, true—will always be a defiant act. Every time you write a queer character, spin a fanfic with queer headcanons, share a few lines that spring straight from your gut, you’re pushing back. The act of creation sets off a chain reaction—visibility, empathy, and the simple, profound reminder that you’re not alone.

That’s the gift of stories: to expand someone’s world, to help them see others—and themselves—more clearly, no matter what the world tells you. The power of storytelling has always been revolutionary, and the beauty of community is that it makes us unbreakable.

Our community proves this every day. You show up for each other—offering feedback, encouragement, shouting 2AM prompts and plotbunnies into the void (and the void answers back). You share your worlds, your ideas, your selves. You make space for each other, and you make Ellipsus stronger, more resilient, and more fiercely alive.

That’s why Pride matters. And why writing matters—more than ever.

For us, this work is personal. As a queer-founded company (myself—Rex—and my partner, John—hey how are you), we built Ellipsus as a home for creators who, like us, find deep belonging in community and creative expression.

With queer voices under attack—rights stripped away, books banned, Pride erased from calendars (FCK GGL)—we don’t need to tell you we’re worried. You’re worried, too. But together, we’re determined. We’re courageous and connected.

For Pride Month, we’re excited to give back to the community that gives so much to us—and to launch a few things along the way…

A new Pride theme for Ellipsus

Because queer joy should shine in every word you write. (Yes, it’s forever—not just for June!)

And coming soon…

You’ll be able to support your favorite little writing tool in more ways… yep, we’re jumping on the merch gambit. But it’s not all about us—50% of all proceeds from our shop will go directly to LGBTQ+ organizations fighting back against censorship, discrimination, and erasure:

The Trevor Project—Supporting LGBTQ+ youth.

Trans Lifeline—Providing life-saving resources for trans people.

The ACLU—Fighting for freedom of expression, trans rights, and against book bans and censorship.

... Pride is about all of us—so we want to hear from you.

What does Pride mean to you as a writer? How does your creativity reflect your community, and your hopes for the future? How does writing get you through it, help you make connections, and bring you joy?

Share your stories in our Discord, or shout into the void of Tumblr, Bluesky (and tag us!). We’ll be sharing some of your responses throughout the month. Our aim is simple: to give you a space to write freely, protect freedom of expression, and uplift queer voices—not just for a month, but for as long as it takes.

[hoetachi]

GROWING PAINS — J. TODD

➠ jason todd x blk!batmom!reader

➠ mulan’s input; jason’s origin + a motherly figure = NO ONES GONNA HURT YOU AGAIN BABY! (i luv emotional pain! SUE ME!)

➠ cw; arkham knight!jason’s backstory, ptsd, angst to fluff

YOU WERE GLAD TO JUST have him back. it took him a while to return to the manor, but you’d gladly tidied up his childhood room. you left a box in there for him—his choice what to keep or toss.

yeah, it made a small, sharp ache in your chest when you saw the box sitting outside his closed door. right on top was the batman plushie bruce won for him at the carnival, back in his early robin days.

oh those robin days…

you pressed your lips to your palm as you flipped through the photo album—so many cherished memories. some were from dates with bruce in other countries, but most were right here in gotham. there were a few of dick playing pranks on alfred—you truly felt sorry for the unruly boys he had to deal with— then the photo of dick meeting jason for the first time.

he’d been so malnourished when you all met him—tiny like a finch, personality loud like a macaw, but tender and sensitive as a newborn kiwi. he was your baby. he’d latched onto you so quickly.

your fingers traced softly over the photo of you cupping his cheek, him smiling back—big, toothy, and full of love. he used to love being under your touch. whether it was washing his hair after a dirty patrol or him curling up next to you while you read—you were his safe haven.

heavy footsteps echoed from down the hall across the polished wood of the manor.

he stood in the doorway—sweats and a sweatshirt slightly too small clinging to his now-developed frame. he leaned there, lax but unreadable, eyes on you.

“hey, mom…” he said quietly, sapphire eyes watching you.

you looked up from the album, staring at him in silence. he was different in every way. the last time you saw him, he was seventeen and a little scrawny. now? a 22-year-old bodybuilder with a gaze like winter. still, part of you believed that little boy was in there, somewhere.

you blinked back to reality, noticing how he fidgeted under your gaze. your eyes dropped from the photo to the man before you, and nostalgia swelled in your chest. at that moment, you realized—you and jason hadn’t touched once since he moved back in.

gently, you placed the album aside on the coffee table and crossed the room in three strides.

“hey, baby…” you cooed softly, smiling. a dusting of pink bloomed on his ears.

“alfred said you needed me for somethin’, ma?” his voice was soft, almost warm. but you saw it—that quiet resentment lurking in the corners

“I just wanted to check on you…” you said, tilting your head, eyes catching the edge of a scar that peeked from the shadows of his gauze. instinctively, your hand rose to his cheek. however, he flinched back before your fingers could even make contact.

“don’t,” he said quietly, but firm.

and just like that, the softness vanished. his face hardened, and he walked away without another word.

he was different.

you knew why—at least, partly. bruce wouldn’t let you see the file. wouldn’t tell you what exactly happened to your boy, especially with the footage

it burned —worse than any grease or hot oil that had ever kissed your skin. to see him change so completely, to watch that sweet, smiling boy vanish and be replaced by this guarded, bitter man… it hurt in a place too deep to bandage.

the fury that consumed him whenever he clashed with bruce or dick—you hated to admit it—was frightening. not because he was aggressive. no, that wasn’t it.

it was frightening because it was deeper than anger.

it was pain. raw, buried pain that ran bone-deep.

and yet, you were still stuck at the surface, scratching at the walls, because jason wouldn’t—or maybe couldn’t—let himself relive whatever happened in that abandoned wing.

knowing that he was suffering mentally, and still refused to acknowledge it aloud to you—you, his safe haven—wounded you in a way words couldn’t touch.

so you sought help from other sources—well, forces, to be exact.

“you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” jason asked again, concern etched into that hardened face of his. “yeah, it’s always a pleasure to see zatanna perform” dick added with a grin. you appreciated the concern from your boys and almost bought in for them coming with how pouty dick looked. “i promise to come out this ladies’ night. and besides,” you smirked, slipping on your coat, “i doubt you two want to be surrounded by a bunch of thirsty cougars all night.”

“but it’s almost midnight though” jason protest as both boys were hot on your trail. “are you trying to give me a curfew, jason peter todd?” you threw him a playful glare, and dick burst out laughing at the light scolding.

when you all reached the front door, you turned on your heel to face them. for a moment, it was like déjà vu.

you didn’t see the men that stood before you.

you saw your rebellious 18 year old and his even more troublesome 12 year old brother.

my… how your boys have grown

“i’m going to be fine boys. take care of bruce while i’m out. he’s been down in the cave since evening” you said, tying a knot in your belt “yall hear me?”

they just stood silent —worry written across both faces.

“did i make myself clear?” you repeated, a brow arched.

“yes ma’am” they answered in unison, unintentionally ironic—and it made your heart smile.

“i won’t be out too late. i promise” you reassured both of them, but it was more for jason. that icy gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before turning and heading back upstairs— the opposite direction of where the batcave’s hidden entrance was. you looked to dick and lowered your voice, “please make sure they don’t destroy anything while i’m gone”

“i’ll try my best, ma” he huffed a quiet laugh, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

—

“thank you for being such a marvelous crowd,” zatanna beamed, waving to the audience. “and if you see a white bunny hopping around please return him back. he’ll chew through your baseboards if you take him home” the crowd chuckled, and then—whoosh—a dramatic swirl of purple smoke engulfed her. when it cleared, she was gone, earning one last round of applause.

you clapped as well but from the corner of your eye you seen the fluffy escapee a few feet from you. you weaved through tables before reaching him and carefully scooping him up. “time to return you to your missus… constantine” you whispered with a smirk

it didn’t take long to find her dressing room. you balled your fist to knock, but the door eased open for you. you stepped inside.

there she was—zatanna zatara, brushing lint off her top hat at her vanity. her posture was relaxed, but her aura buzzed with power. “i believe this belongs to you, miss zatara?” you crouched down, placing one last kiss on an ear and scratching the bunny’s head before letting him hop towards her.

zatanna smiled at you through the mirror, then rose from her chair. “mrof lanigiro sih ot enitnatsnoc nruter return constantine to his original form”

a poof of purple smoke—and the bunny was gone. in his place stood constantine, blonde and smug as ever, already lighting a cigarette.. “i promise to not tell bats about that little smooch, darling” he winked towards you before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and plucking one into his mouth

zatanna rolled her eyes. “thank you for coming out tonight, y/n. it’s sooo good to see you” she thanked sincerely

“it was great being here. fantastic performance, as always”

“i surprised the boys allowed you out of their sight” he chimed in, puffing smoke lazily. his eyes lingered just a second too long.

you fidgeted slightly under his gaze.

“about them…” you started, shifting your coat a little.

your voice softened.

“i need a favor, z”

zatanna’s smile faded as she picked up on the shift in your tone. “what kind of favor?” she asked gently, though she already had some idea.

you exhaled, eyes dropping for a moment before lifting to meet hers. “i need to see what happened to him. to jason. the truth—the parts bruce won’t talk about, and jason refuses to let me near.”

zatanna’s brows creased. her fingers drummed softly on the vanity.

“i was hoping you could… do something. let me in. not to interfere, just… to understand.”

before she could answer, constantine cut in with a sharp scoff.

“bloody hell, you want her to what? go rooting around in the lad’s memories?” he said, flicking ash into an empty cup. “that’s like going through a man’s personal drawer, love. violates all kinds of moral lines—spiritual ones too, if you care about that sort of thing.”

his voice wasn’t harsh—just firm. protective, in his own sideways way. “you don’t open up someone’s trauma like a damn photo album.”

you turned to him, and though your voice was steady, the ache in it made the room go still.

“i am his mother.”

that shut him up quick.

you took a slow step forward, hands folded in front of you—not defensive, but resolved.

“i don’t need to fix it. i don’t want to judge it. i just want to understand what happened to my baby that makes him flinch when i reach for him. that makes him lash out randomly towards father and brother. that makes him look like he’s wearing someone else’s skin. i can’t keep loving him from the outside of a locked door.”

zatanna watched you with wide, softening eyes.

“if I can feel the weight he’s carrying—even just a piece of it—i’ll know how to carry it with him. that’s all i’ve ever wanted as his mom. to carry the hard stuff with him.”

constantine sighed through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it.

“you know it won’t be pretty.”

“it already isn’t,” you replied quietly.

zatanna finally nodded, her voice low but steady. “there’s a spell I can use. it won’t change anything—it’ll only let you witness. you’ll be a shadow in the memory. no one will see or hear you. including jason.”

“that’s all i need,” you said, already steadying yourself.

she motioned for you to sit at the vanity and began drawing a sigil in the mirror with glowing blue energy, lips already moving in slow incantation.

her gloved fingertips brushing over the glass with reverence, like she was wiping away time itself. the reflection shimmered, distorting slightly as if the glass had become liquid mercury.

“this mirror is a tether,” she explained softly. “old magic runs through it. it’s seen things. held memories. reflected truths people refused to face.”

you sat down beside her, heart in your throat. you could feel the air shift—the hairs on your arms rising as the room dimmed just slightly, the colors draining like old ink from paper. zatanna’s voice dropped into a low chant,

“dnim sih ni deirub hturt eht em wohs! show me the truth buried in his mind.”

the symbols reappeared—this time inside the mirror. they spiraled inward like a whirlpool, glowing brighter and brighter until the mirror wasn’t a mirror anymore.

it was a window.

a faint image began to form—dark concrete walls, a rusted light fixture, and a flicker of movement in the corner. the angle shifted, as though the mirror was no longer reflecting, but watching.

zatanna placed a calming hand on your shoulder. “once you step forward, you’ll become part of the memory. you won’t be able to speak, only watch. you’ll feel some of what he felt—but not all. you’d never come back whole if you did.”

you nodded, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “i understand.” constantine muttered something under his breath and stood back with his arms crossed, cigarette long forgotten in his hand.

“you’re braver than most,” he said, not quite looking at you. you met zatanna’s gaze one last time. “will he know i was there?”

“no,” she said gently. “but maybe... he’ll feel it. somewhere deep, along with other forces.”

you rose and stepped closer to the mirror. the glass rippled like water as your hand passed through it. a sudden chill swept up your spine as you felt yourself pulled inward and the room vanished.

the cold hit you first.

not a chill, but something deeper—damp, stale, like rot sitting behind concrete walls. you blinked as color and sound bled into focus. your feet didn’t touch the ground. you were floating just above it, like a tethered spirit. the room was dim, flickering with the dull buzz of a single overhead bulb swaying lazily on a frayed cord.

it looked like a bunker… no, a cage. a prison.

your eyes adjusted—and you saw him.

jason, but he was just a boy.

just 17. shackled to a metal chair, arms raw from the cuffs, his black domino mask half-torn, smeared with blood and sweat. his breathing was shallow—panic laced with exhaustion. his mouth hung open slightly like he had screamed himself hoarse.

you stepped closer, a silent witness, your hands trembling as you reached for him by instinct—even though you knew you’d pass right through.

your heart thundered and, then came the voice.

“he keeps calling for you, you know”

that voice.

the joker

he slinked in from the shadows like a grotesque phantom—grinning, suited, and covered in filth. his eyes gleamed with delighted cruelty.

“mom… he says. ma—mommy…! like it’s some kind of magic word!”

“kinda breaks your heart, doesn’t it? kinda breaks your heart, doesn’t it?”

he dragged a chair across the floor, the screech of it piercing your skull. he plopped down lazily across from jason, casually twirling a bloody crowbar between his gloved fingers.

“you should’ve seen the way he cried, cupcake. not for bats. not even for dear old dad. just for you.”

your knees gave out, and if you’d had a real body, you would’ve collapsed. you felt every word like broken glass in your chest. your arms ached to hold your son. your skin screamed with the phantom memory of his tiny hand clinging to yours at twelve years old, afraid of thunderstorms. the way he used to tuck himself beneath your arm on bad patrol nights.

and now… now he was barely alive in front of you.

jason twitched in the chair, still trying to be strong. still fighting. a soft, cracked whisper left his lips—

“she’s not… gonna stop… looking…”

your vision blurred with tears. he had never stopped believing in you.

the joker leaned forward, the crowbar resting against his shoulder like a lover. “you hear that? your boy still thinks you’re coming. how precious is that?”

he stood and moved behind Jason, whispering like a demon coiling in your ear.

“too bad they’ll never find you in time. no bat. no mom. just me”

then came the swing.

the crowbar cracked against jason’s shoulder. he didn’t scream. he just flinched and breathed heavy through his nose.

you felt that strike—sharp, radiating, as if it landed on your own ribs.

“still quiet, eh? well, we’ll fix that.”

another swing.

then another.

each blow landed with a sickening thud, and though you couldn't touch him, you wanted to scream. Your hands moved uselessly, clawing at the air. tears streamed down your face as you watched your son break and never once beg for mercy.

the boy you remembered—full of fire and snark—was now a hollow, bleeding vessel held together by sheer will.

your baby.

zatanna’s voice echoed in the distance like thunder from another plane—

“y/n, it’s time—time to come back—

but you didn’t want to.

you wanted to stay. to rip through time and space and pull him out of that chair.

then jason turned his head—slowly, painfully. his eyes, bloodshot and barely open, looked straight through you.

and for a second—just one second—you felt it…

he knew you were there.

your breath caught as the memory rippled, the mirror-world cracking around you like ice underfoot.

you were yanked out of the vision with a violent pull—

—and came crashing back into zatanna’s dressing room, gasping like you had just surfaced from drowning. Your lungs burned as you staggered back from the mirror, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. the cool air of the dressing room hit your sweat-slicked skin like ice.

zatanna was by your side at an instant, her hands steadying you even as yours trembled. “i’m okay,” you choked out, voice barely above a whisper.

but you weren’t. god, you weren’t.

constantine hovered a few feet away, his expression almost-eerily sober. the usual smirk was gone, replaced by something closer to respect… and pity.

zatanna helped you to your feet, brushing a strand of braid from your damp forehead.

“y/n… you didn’t have to watch all of that,” she whispered.

you nodded, throat raw. “yes, I did.”

she looked like she wanted to say more, but held her tongue. instead, she handed you a bottle of water, which you barely remembered taking, and walked you to the back exit. you forced a quiet smile for her and constantine both, just enough to assure them you were “fine.”

“thank you so much” you said, hugging zatanna tightly—because you couldn’t hug him. not yet.

then you walked to your car with steady, practiced steps.

you didn’t break.

not when you started the engine.

not when your fingers gripped the wheel so tightly your knuckles turned bone white.

not when the joker’s words echoed in your mind again: “ he keeps calling for you, you know ”

but once you turned the corner, leaving the club’s lights behind, it all cracked.

a sob escaped you—sharp and strangled. you slapped a hand over your mouth to quiet it, but the tears broke through fast, hot, and violent. you barely saw the road through them, only catching glimpses of traffic lights as your shoulders heaved.

you remembered his voice in that room. how broken it sounded. how he still clung to you like a lifeline even when hope was bleeding out of him.

“my baby… my baby boy,” you gasped out, shaking as the weight of it all slammed into you.

you didn’t remember most of the drive. only that your chest felt hollow by the time the manor came into view.

the car rolled to a stop in the driveway.

and there, under the soft glow of the front lights, you broke completely.

you slumped against the steering wheel, arms limp, sobbing so hard it hurt. not pretty tears. not gentle mourning. ugly, gutting grief—the kind only a mother can know when she’s found out too late just how much her child suffered.

you cried for every moment you weren’t there. for every wound you hadn’t kissed. for every scream he swallowed while shackled in the dark.

and when your tears slowed, you whispered it like a vow;

“i’m going to help you, jason. I don’t care how long it takes. i’m gonna bring my baby back.”

the night was still around you.

inside, the manor was quiet. you closed the door gently behind you, wiping your face one last time before kicking off your shoes and padding softly down the hallway.

the house echoed a little more than usual tonight.

you moved toward the kitchen, guided by habit—and the faint scent of chocolate.

the overhead light buzzed dimly to life as you stepped in. on the marble island sat a small plate of cookies, slightly misshapen, still warm.

beside them was a note in dick’s familiar scrawl:

“ ma

thought you might need something sweet tonight.

don’t worry, they’re not burned :) — D ”

a laugh broke in your throat, tangled in the sob you fought to hold back. you brought a hand to your lips, eyes shining again.

damn that boy and his soft heart.

you sat down slowly at the counter, dizzy with exhaustion—grief still fresh in your bones. the last few hours played again behind your eyes like an old film reel— jason’s broken body, his voice whispering for you, the look in his eyes at the end.

your head felt heavy with all the new memories, you just let your head hang and your fingers curled around the edge of the island for grounding.

then came a voice from behind the shadows

“didn’t know we were out of milk.”

you jolted slightly, head snapping toward the pantry door. jason leaned there, arms crossed, one bare foot tapping lazily against the tile. his hair was tousled, and his hoodie hung loose over his frame, like he hadn’t meant to be seen.

the silence between you was thick. electric.

he watched you with those guarded blue eyes—quiet, cautious. but not angry. not tonight.

you turned away quickly, wiping your face again though you knew it was useless now. “i didn’t mean to wake anyone,” you murmured. “i—i just felt a little dizzy and needed something sweet.”

jason’s eyes flicked to the cookies, then back to you. “dick’s handiwork,” he muttered. “he always makes too many.”

you nodded, blinking back the tears threatening to return.

he took a step forward, then another. still watching. still unreadable.

“ma.. you okay?”

and then, you couldn’t hold it anymore.

“i’m sorry.”

the words left your lips like a broken prayer.

jason’s brows drew together. “what?”

you looked up at him, face crumpling. “i’m so sorry, baby. i didn’t know—i didn’t know what happened to you. i didn’t know how bad it was.”

he stared at you—frozen in place.

“ma… what are you talking about?”

but he knew. you saw it in the way his mouth pressed into a line, in the way his fists clenched just slightly at his sides. in the way he didn’t say "you shouldn’t have found out."

“i’m so sorry i wasn’t there,” you whispered. “i would’ve moved heaven and hell to find you. i should have found you.”

his jaw ticked silently, like the words were caught between instinct and emotion. however, his eyes—those beautiful, hurt eyes—glimmered with something softer than before. he took another step toward you.

“i’m here now,” he said, low. “that’s what matters.”

“but you’re hurting,” you said, voice cracking. “and you won’t even let me touch you anymore. that kills me.”

he looked up, adam’s apple bobbing whilst breathing through his nose—his walls twitching under the weight of your words.

“you’re the only thing i didn’t hate when i was down there,” he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself. “and after… i didn’t think i deserved to have that again.”

the silence returned—but this time it felt different. like the gap between you wasn’t uncrossable anymore.

you rose from the stool slowly and stepped around the counter. he didn’t move.

“i don’t care what they did to you, jason. you’re mine. my boy. my baby and nothing can make me stop loving you.”

he blinked, lashes damp.

and this time, when you reached out, he didn’t flinch away.

he let you place your hand gently against his cheek, and though he didn’t lean in right away, he didn’t pull back.

it was a start.

[clockwayswrites]

Birdritch what? Part 7

masterpost

It was warm.

That was the first thing that Danny noticed as he started to wake.

Danny didn’t sleep warm. Too often if it was too warm, Danny would wake up and have to push aside layers of bedding or shed clothing. Cooling sheets, heat wicking pillow, and light pajamas was the way for Danny to sleep best. He felt oddly rested despite the heat.

It was also heavy.

That was the second thing that Danny noticed.

Maybe he fell asleep with the weighted blanket on the couch?

Except that didn’t feel right.

His couch wasn’t that firm. His couch didn’t snore and his weighted blanket didn’t have arms. Yeah, okay, yep. Someone definitely had their arms wrapped around Danny, tucking him close to their very well defined chest and under their chin. Someone else, a much smaller someone, was tucked close to Danny’s elbow and breathing softly.

What the fuck did he get up to last night?

And why couldn’t he remember any of it?

Someone else mumbled something sleepily. That was three at least, four counting him. Maybe five with the soft, breathy snore? Danny stayed as still as possible and tried to mentally retrace his steps.

He had been at work. Right, Lucius had sent him home since it had gotten late. Danny had gotten food and headed home. He must have gone through Ivy’s park, it would have been the closest way…

…and that’s all.

He couldn’t remember anything after that.

There were flashes of fear and burning lungs and that deep-seated need protect, but over all of that there was a sense of belonging. No, belonging was quite the right word. It was less that he had belonged but more like he had found the missing pieces that had belonged to him.

As much as the snatches of feelings were coated with good, Danny couldn’t help the panic that settled in his chest. He didn’t remember. He should remember, being what he was. Why didn’t he remember? Why hadn’t he just gone ghost? Why did his bones ache like he had gone ghost? If he had he should remember.

Fuck, what sort of rogue shit had he gotten dosed with in the park?

The hand on his chest pressed down purposefully.

“Breathe.” The voice was low and rough, heavily with sleep over a deep gravely timber.

Danny wanted to say that he was trying to breathe, thank you very much whoever the fuck you are, but all that came out was a little wheeze of air.

“Okay. Here’s my other hand. One squeeze for yes, two for no.”

A large, calloused hand slipped into Danny’s, twining with his own scarred and bandaged fingers. Danny gave the hand a squeeze.

“Has this happened to you before?”

One squeeze.

“Often?”

Two.

“Is this an allergic response?”

Two quick squeezes.

“Asthma?”

Danny hesitated before giving three squeezes. He could hear other people starting to stir now, but kept his eyes stubbornly closed. He wasn’t ready to actually deal with the people he had fallen asleep with. Besides, it was hard to hear over the beat of his own heart.

“…No, or more, not yet?”

One firm squeeze.

“Panic or anxiety attack then?”

One hesitant, embarrassed squeeze.

“Alright. I am going to sit us up. Lean back against me and follow my breathing.”

Danny tried not to whimper as he was shifted. He failed.

“I’ll get a damp towel,” another voice offered quietly.

Fuck towels, Danny wanted his pain meds. He must have not taken them last night and now everything was stiff and tight. Forget breathing, Danny just wanted to stay curled up in the blanket and not move. Maybe everyone else would leave wherever they were and Danny could just go ghost and slip out of there without dealing with any of this.

“Relax,” the low voice rumbled.

Danny would have cussed them out if he had the voice to.

The board chest that Danny was resting against took an exaggerated breath. Danny struggled to try and follow it. It didn’t seem like he was getting out of breathing, damn it. An ice cold cloth suddenly pressed against his neck, startling Danny enough to suck in a breath of air.

“There, keep that up,” the main voice instructed.

Danny pinched the fingers still closed gently around his in retaliation.

Someone else, more feminine sounding, laughed while the person behind him let out a slightly amused huff. “I know you know. Now your body just needs to know.”

Danny pinched them again, though to their credit they didn’t pull away their hand. Which was… sorta nice. As much as Danny was sulking about it all, the comfort of a hand in his was nice. The calloused thumb rubbed gently over that web of skin between Danny’s thumb and pointer fingers in a pattern that Danny worked to match his breath to. Finally Danny figured he needed to brave opening his eyes.

He wasn’t in a hotel.

Or an apartment.

Or any sort of room.

No, he was in a cave. As suspiciously well furnished cave completely with a grouping of vigilantes watching him curiously.

“Well, at least it wasn’t an orgy,” Danny grumbled.

He heard someone trip further into the cave.

[atlabeth]

geyser

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: percy learns about the first girl luke castellan ever loved.

a/n: this is a lil sad. sorry about that. but i really like it and it came out of nowhere in like 2 days so i hope you enjoy despite the sadness. title from the mitski song

wc: 6.5k

warning(s): major character death; not shown but hangs over the whole fic. angst made angstier by fluffy flashbacks. mostly told through percy’s pov but includes luke, annabeth, and reader povs

also if you saw this before on another account DONT WORRY... that account was also me. im just doing some stuff behind the scenes right now as i figure stuff out lol i promise no plagiarism is going on

Percy thought that his head might explode. 

He didn’t know how he was still walking, honestly. His mom died, he killed a— no, the— Minotaur, all the Greek myths were real and his dad was one of them, and now he had to deal with that freak accident with Clarisse and the toilets. 

At least he would be ready next time she tried to beat him up. Percy had been the new kid enough to know there would be a next time.

All he could do was stare at the Minotaur horn in his hands, the only sign that what happened outside the border was real. The horn in his hands and the hole in his heart. 

Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d been thrown into the deep end, and the only thing on his mind was when he would start to drown. 

“Hey.” Percy looked up to see the counselor he’d met earlier with Annabeth—Luke. He tossed a ziploc bag at him and he caught it, taking a moment to look at what was in it. 

“I stole you some toiletries from the camp store,” he explained. “Thought it might make you feel more at home.” 

“…Thanks.” He didn’t know if Luke was joking, but the damage had already been done. And it was the nicest thing someone had done for him so far. He set it down next to his Minotaur shoebox. “Is this the best that it gets?” 

Luke’s lips quirked up in a slight smile. “For now. We’re a little crowded, if you couldn’t tell.” 

“Just a little bit.” Percy stood up from his sleeping bag and worked out the knot in his shoulder. “Where’s your bed? Assuming you have one.” 

“I couldn’t wrangle all these cats without some back support,” he said, and he pointed to a bed in the corner. It was the only one on its own without a bunk, and he had a fair amount of decorations. Counselor privileges, he figured. Percy walked over, Luke trailing behind him. 

“Nice place,” he said. Percy picked up the Yankee’s cap on his bedside table and nodded as he looked back at him. “Nice taste.” 

“It’s for Annabeth,” Luke said. “She wanted us to match.” 

Percy nodded again in approval. “Good taste for both of you.”

Luke had various other things around — an alarm clock knocked over next to the baseball cap, a huskie sticker on the wall half-scraped off, a poster for an album he didn’t recognize. 

But the thing that caught his eye was a polaroid hanging on the wall, surrounded by a smattering of others varying in size. 

The first one had to be an old picture—Luke didn’t have his scar, and the biggest smile stretched across his face. He had a girl close with an arm slung around her waist, and she might’ve been smiling even more than Luke. A bright energy emanated around her, something that must have transferred through the picture, because Percy found himself feeling a little better just looking at her. He wondered if she was a camper. 

His eyes flicked to the next picture, which was another one of Luke and that girl. They were both laughing as she tried to put a blue hat on Luke’s head, and he protested with a hand on her wrist. They were in the forefront of a baseball game, Percy noticed.

There were other pictures, too—Luke, a girl dressed all punk, and what looked like a young version of Annabeth, most notably—but a majority of them were either Luke and that girl, or the girl all on her own. In every single one, she beamed brighter than the sun. 

Percy pointed at the picture of Luke and the girl at the baseball game, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Who’s that?”

That seemed to catch Luke off-guard, his lips parting for a moment as if he wanted to say something. It barely took him any time to get back on track, but Percy found himself frowning. 

“That’s…” Luke cleared his throat, wet his lips, shook his head. “A friend. A very good friend.”

“Does she go here?” Percy asked. 

“She did.” 

He frowned. “Where is she, then?” 

“Percy—” Luke’s voice was strained, but he didn’t really notice as he went on. 

“I didn’t see her around,” he continued, “and you look pretty close.” 

Luke blinked a couple times, and Percy swore he could see the telltale glimmer of tears starting in his eyes. A muscle worked in his jaw, and suddenly Percy was worried that he’d said something horribly wrong. He had a talent for that, it seemed. 

Fortunately, he was saved by the bell—conch shell?—and something like relief flooded through Luke’s expression. Tension still coiled in his body. 

“Come on,” he said, that camp counselor smile coming back as he put his hand on Percy’s shoulder and guided him away from the enclave. “That means dinner’s about to start.”

Percy’s frown deepened as curiosity won out again. “Was she your—”

“You don’t wanna be late,” Luke continued, ignoring his attempt. “I assume you’re pretty hungry after two days spent out?”

Well, that only made him want to push harder. But Percy figured he wouldn’t get anything out of him—especially not now. 

“…Yeah,” Percy said. “Starving.”

An odd look flickered across his face, but again, it only lasted for a second before he was back to normal. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Eleven! Fall in!” 

Percy was at the back of the line by virtue of him being the new kid, and he found himself looking back at that picture of Luke and the girl. He didn’t know why, but something drew him to her. Before Percy could think about it more, the line was moving and his growling stomach drew his attention away. 

He would have plenty of time to ask Luke about it later. 

Or rather, ask him and piss off the only person who’d tried to be his friend so far. 

…Gods. 

Maybe he was going to drown sooner than he thought. 

-

“Luke—” 

“No!” 

“Luke, please!” 

“Annabeth will kill me if she knows—” 

“She won’t know!” 

“Alright, alright— stay still, you two!” 

Your mother laughed from behind the camera as you and Luke fought with each other, you trying your damnedest to get your Red Sox cap on his head as he tried his damnedest to stop you. The frantic laughter on both sides made it a little difficult for either of you to succeed in your quest, but eventually, you got the rock up the hill and the hat on his head. 

“Take the picture, Mom!” you exclaimed, pulling Luke even closer by his arms so he couldn’t get it off. “I need the proof!” 

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Luke groaned, staring at the camera as you wrapped your arm around his side and leaned into him. He could already imagine your victorious smile, brighter than the sun beating down on them in the stadium, and just the thought of it made one of his own flit across his lips. 

“Oh, shut up, Castellan,” you said. “You chose to come to this game. Everyone’s gonna know you’re a Red Sox fan now.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell her!” Luke defended, wrenching his arms free of your control to take the hat off his head. “I don’t even care about baseball!” 

“You care so much about it,” you said cloyingly, “and you’re ride or die for the Boston Red Sox.” 

“If you say a single word—” 

“Okay, kids!” Your mother pointed at the seats next to her. “The game’s about to start—you can keep arguing, but only if you sit down so I can see.” 

“Sorry, Mom.” You grinned at her as you pulled Luke over to your seats—they were a step up from nosebleeds, but they were the ones closest to the balcony so you could at least peer over the railing down to the diamond.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” She glanced at Luke with a smile, and he could really see where you got it from. “We’ve gotta make him a fan somehow.” 

“I guess I can live with the brand.” Luke set the cap back on your head once you were seated, purposefully pulling the brim a little over your eyes, and he smiled at you. “Even though it looks better on you, anyways.” 

“You just don’t have what it takes to be a Red Sox fan in the heart of Yank territory,” you mused, pushing the hat back up so you could see. “It’s fine.” 

Luke rolled his eyes, but he could hardly bite back his smile. 

“I am glad you came, though,” you said, glancing back at him. “I’m glad you came with me in the first place. This is gonna be the best semester.”

“Thanks for having me,” Luke said. “It’s… it’s been a while since I’ve left camp.” 

“Fingers crossed for no monster attacks, eh?” You held up your hand. “At least, not during the game. I could live with it happening any other time.” 

“Don’t speak it into existence,” your mom said. “We’re going to have a monster-free school year.” 

To humor her, you made a claw over your heart and pushed out. She hummed in satisfaction, and you looked over at Luke. “It’s gonna be fine.” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Because two kids like us aren’t gonna draw any attention.” 

“Oh, I know we will,” you said. “But I know it’ll be fine.” 

Luke frowned. “How can you be so sure?” 

You shrugged with a smile. “I’ve got you.”

And in that moment, he was thankful for the freakish heat that honestly made no sense in the spring—at least it covered up any sign of what your words did to him. 

Luke thought you were joking when you asked him if he wanted to come back home with you for the school year. He didn’t know why you wanted to go back in the first place, being a Big Three kid that apparently had a death wish, but the thought of him leaving camp was almost inconceivable. 

Even after you assured him you weren’t joking, he still wasn’t sure. He was on the run with you for three years, then… 

Well, he couldn’t think about it for too long. But Luke had been on the outskirts of regular society for so long, doing nothing but fighting for his life, that he didn’t know if he could actually function at a normal school.

But it felt right for you two to get some normal time together after you were separated for so long. It took him a semester to decide, but one day during your usual Iris message conversations, he told you he’d love to spend the rest of the year in Boston with you. Luke still remembered the grin you wore, your disbelieving but victorious cheers, the apology you yelled back at your mother for your noise. 

Luke watched you as you talked with your mom, discussing Boston’s chances and player statistics and baseball jargon he didn’t think he’d ever understand, and he knew he would sit through a thousand Red Sox games if it meant he would get to keep seeing your smile.

You must have felt his eyes on you, because you glanced over at him. “Are you okay?” 

Luke smiled. Gods, he was so glad you were here. 

“Never better.” 

-

“That one nearly got me,” Luke said. 

Percy huffed as he picked up his sword from the ground—he was pretty sure he would officially lose his mind if Luke disarmed him with that stupid move one more time. One benefit to the Hermes cabin being too scared to associate with him after getting claimed was that he wasn’t making a fool out of himself in front of other people. 

“Maybe I can only beat you when I pour water on myself,” he said. 

Luke chuckled as he took a bottle from the cooler on the side and held it up. “Wanna try?” 

He shook his head. “I think my arms will fall off if I keep going with you.” 

He tipped his shoulder. “Fair.” 

Percy stared at the ground as Luke gathered himself, trying to put the free range thoughts roaming around his head in order. It didn’t help that he’d gained a million questions after Poseidon claimed him, and it didn’t help that there’s been a newest addition to his dream last night. 

He still felt strange asking Luke about it, but he had to know more about her. Percy didn’t know why it felt like his mission to find out who this mysterious girl was, or why he felt that strange connection to her. Maybe it was the way Luke acted whenever he brought her up, maybe it was that she’d popped up in his dream next to him at the very end, maybe it was just plain old curiosity. 

“I’m not supposed to be alive,” Percy said, breaking the silence. “I could die at any time in a bunch of different horrible ways. So will you tell me more about that girl on your wall?”  

Again, Luke seemed to be caught off guard by it. Percy heard the crunch of plastic as his hand clenched ever so slightly around the bottle, and he tried to cover it up with an arched eyebrow. “Why do you want to know so badly?” 

He shrugged. What was he supposed to say? 

“I’m curious,” he decided. 

Luke huffed a dry laugh before he took a sip of water, and he stared off into the distance for a while. He did a lot of staring whenever this girl was brought up. They looked like they were best friends in those pictures, but maybe whatever they had ended badly. And if she was a demigod too…

Well, it would make sense why he didn’t want to talk about her. 

“You know that phrase about curiosity?” Luke asked. 

“And how it killed the cat?” 

He nodded, drinking some more. “It goes double for demigods.” 

“Everything else wants to kill me,” Percy said. “So curiosity’s gonna have to get in line.” 

Luke’s laugh was a little more genuine this time, and he shook his head. “I guess I can tell you a little about her. You actually probably have a right to know.” 

“Is she a half-blood?” Percy asked immediately. 

He nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Who’s her parent?” 

Luke capped his water bottle and looked at Percy for a good, long moment. His face glowed in the warm afternoon sun, his scar cast in a softer light than usual. The scar used to unnerve him, but he’d gotten used to it after weeks staring at it during sword fighting. 

“She was a child of Poseidon, Percy,” he said. “Just like you.” 

Percy felt short of breath, like Luke had just knocked his sword out of his hand and shoved him to the ground. But he stood on his own two legs that somehow still worked, and Luke hadn’t moved. 

He had a sister? 

“I have a sister?” 

“…Had,” Luke corrected. “She… she died a few years back.” 

A vice latched onto Percy’s heart. He was still having a hard time breathing. No wonder Luke always used past tense when he was talking about her. 

He had a sister, he wasn’t alone, but he was because she was dead. And if Luke was one of her friends, that meant she died young. 

Gods. 

“What about their oath?” Percy asked, trying to ignore the aching in his chest. “I’m already on thin ice for my whole existing thing. How did Poseidon get away with two kids so close to each other?” 

Luke shrugged. “I’ve never known why gods do things. Her mother was a great woman, though—I could see what drew Poseidon to her against the oath.” 

One half of Percy wanted to ask every question that kept popping into his head. The other side of him wanted to break down and cry. 

“How did you meet her?” 

“We ran into each other when we were both young,” he said. “Both child runaways, both demigods, both New Englanders—we decided to rough it out on the road together. Couldn’t be any worse than doing it on our own.”

Percy tried to imagine it. A young Luke and a younger version of that girl—maybe Percy’s age—living together in the wilderness and fighting monsters. Surviving off of nothing but their wit and skill, facing death each day before they’d even reached middle school. 

“It… it didn’t happen then, did it?” he asked hesitantly. 

Luke shook his head. “Couple years later. All we did was watch each other’s backs out there.” 

Percy couldn’t help himself. “What happened to her?”  

“The same thing that happens to everyone,” Luke said flatly. “There’s a reason I’m the oldest one here.” 

“That doesn’t make it better,” Percy insisted. “It— it makes it worse, Luke. You see that, right?”  

Luke stared at his empty water bottle then tossed it back into the cooler. When his gaze met Percy’s, he was shocked by how… tired he looked. Beyond exhausted—bone-weary. Percy wanted to say more, but he didn’t get the chance. 

“This isn’t good conversation,” Luke said, “and it’s getting late. You should hit the showers before dinner.” 

The sun still beat down on them, bright and angry in the sky, but Percy provided no argument. He had a lot to think about. 

Before they went their separate ways, Percy stopped and looked back at him. “I’m sorry she’s gone, Luke.” 

Luke’s gaze went unfocused for a moment, his eyes growing glossy. “So am I.” 

-

Percy sat on the floor of the Hermes cabin in the corner that used to be his, staring at his meager belongings. He had to decide what to take on his quest, which was made easier by the fact that he hardly had anything to his name. Things could always be worse, though. At least he would have a change of clothes. 

He should’ve been doing this in his own cabin, but it felt too empty, too suffocating in its silence. Eleven was still more familiar. He heard the door open and saw Luke walk in, and his eyes lit up when he saw Percy. 

“Hey,” he said. “I wanted to see you before you left. How’re you feeling pre-quest?” 

“Like the world’s about to end,” he said. 

Luke’s lips twitched into a smile as he sat on the bed across from Percy. “Understandable. It kinda is.” 

“It’s just overwhelming.” Percy shoved the unfolded clothes into his backpack. “I have to clear mine and my dad’s names and get Zeus’s bolt back, or else war will start. No pressure at all.” 

“You were chosen for a reason,” Luke said. “You may not see it, Percy, but you’ve improved a lot since you got here. If anyone can do this, I think it’s you.” 

Percy looked up at him, and he was reminded of the way their last conversation went. He was asking before he could really stop himself. 

“I could die on this quest and never see you again,” Percy said. “So could you tell me more about my sister before I go?”  

Luke smiled wistfully and sighed. “You really won’t let this go, will you?” 

“It’s not really something you just let go,” he said. “Besides, I… I saw her in my dream last night.” 

Luke’s smile faded. “You did?”  

Percy nodded. “For a split second, but I know it was her. I felt the same way I did whenever I looked at her pictures. And… it’s the second time she’s shown up.” 

He let out a long sigh and shook his head, his gaze trailing off to the wall. He always looked so much older when he talked about this girl, like he was a war veteran reminiscing on his lost love. And from what he’d gathered, it might not have been too far off. 

“I told you we ran together when we were young,” he said, and Percy nodded. “We were both nine, and it should’ve been terrible, but she had a way of making everything better. Always found the bright side of things, was always able to make me laugh.” 

“She was from Massachusetts—right in the middle of Boston.” Luke chuckled as he looked at Percy. “Huge Red Sox fan.” 

Percy grimaced. “We all make mistakes.” 

Luke smiled, though it faded a bit. “We got separated for a while, but we found each other again when I got to camp. Things were more peaceful than they are now, so she’d been claimed at camp pretty quickly. I figure Poseidon wanted her to have the protection of him openly standing behind her after what happened.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘what happened’?” 

Luke shook his head. “That would be an awful story to send you off on.” 

Percy wanted to protest, but he didn’t. Luke was probably right—Percy didn’t want to make him relive it and then have to go on a death quest right after.

“A happier part, then,” he suggested.

“She ran away from home as a kid to protect her mom, but now that she had an idea of what she was doing, she started going back to school. She invited me to stay with her during the school year one year, and I accepted. That—” Luke’s throat bobbed, and the other hand clenched into a fist— “that was when she died.” 

In his stunned silence, Luke got up and went over to his alcove. He pulled the drawer open on his bedside table and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. It must’ve been folded and crumpled a million other times in messier ways by all the creases he could see, but when Luke opened it, he could see handwriting all over the front. 

A letter. 

“We Iris messaged each other constantly while she was at school,” he said, “and we wrote back and forth when we couldn’t. This was the last letter she sent me.” 

Percy’s first instinct was to say he wouldn’t be able to read it, but he realized that he didn’t really care. These were words that his sister wrote—he would sit here the rest of the day forcing sentences to make sense if that was what it took. 

So he took the letter when Luke offered it. 

To the one and only Luke Castellan, 

My mom said yes! After a very long interrogation (she now knows basically everything about you) and a million promises that you would be as careful as possible and that you were good enough at sword fighting to take down anything that could come after us, she said you can spend the year here. We spent a couple hours every day making my mom’s study into a guest room, so you have a place to stay.

I’m an idiot that didn’t bring enough drachmas so that’s why I have to send this letter—hopefully it gets to you soon enough, because we’re gonna come get you a week before my winter break is over. Mom is letting me drive down because she says I have to get my permit soon. It makes sense that my first big test is getting to you. If we don’t make it, it’s because we died in a fiery crash. 

Just kidding. I’m a great driver. But tell me some of your favorite songs when you reply and I’ll burn a CD for the ride—I figured out how to use LimeWire. Oh, and throw in a couple drachmas with the envelope so I can Iris message you next time. I miss your face and your voice, and my hand is cramping up writing all of this. 

But this is so exciting! I can’t wait to introduce you to all my friends at school, and show you my favorite places in the city, and make you into a Red Sox fan. And you can come to my soccer games— I’m the greatest forward there is. 

Jokes aside, I’m going to make sure you have the best time. We’ll spend every second together, Luke. We’re gonna make up for the time we lost. 

I can’t wait to see you again.

Your hurricane.  

It took Percy a long time to get through it with the words swimming all over, and it didn’t help that his vision had grown blurry. 

Tears, he realized as he blinked, and he did it again to make sure they wouldn’t fall. He couldn’t cry in front of Luke, not over a girl he didn’t even know—even if she was his sister. But maybe he was grieving that—the fact that he would never get to know her. 

“God, man. I— I’m sorry.” Percy couldn’t think of anything else to say. “She sounds like she was great.” 

Luke couldn’t even manage a smile this time as he stared at the wall. Percy was surprised he could even talk to him about it. 

“She was,” he murmured. “You would’ve liked her. And gods,” this time, a bit of a smile broke through despite it all, “she would have loved a little brother.” 

“I’m gonna make her proud on this quest,” Percy vowed. “I’m gonna clear our dad’s name for her.”

Something in Luke’s gaze had changed—sadness, almost regret. “You’re a good kid, Percy. I hope your quest doesn’t change that.” 

I hope I come back alive, he wanted to say. But given the topic matter, he didn’t. Percy carefully folded the letter back up and handed it to Luke. 

“Thank you for telling me about her, man,” Percy said. “I… I know it can’t be easy.”

Luke let out a shuddering breath as he stared at the closed letter—Percy wondered how many times he must have sat in this same position, reading her words. “No better way to honor her memory than helping her brother.” He glanced at Percy. “I see a lot of her in you.” 

He’d been wondering if he had anything in common with her. Percy felt a sudden flare of anger shoot through him—it wasn’t fair that she was dead. Poseidon was a god, and she was a teenager. He should have saved her. 

Percy’s mouth was drier than a desert. A part of him wanted to curl up in a ball and sob over the sister he never got the chance to know, but the other part of him knew—from what little Luke had told him about her—that she wouldn’t want him to. 

“I should get going,” Percy said, standing up from the floor. “We have to leave for the quest soon, and Annabeth and Grover are probably wondering where I am, and…” 

Percy trailed off, and Luke nodded in understanding. He turned around and took one of the photos off the wall—one of you alone in the middle of a park, wearing a bucket hat and absolutely beaming. 

“You deserve to have a part of her with you,” he said. “For good luck.” 

He felt himself choking up, and he pushed it down as he accepted the photo. “Thanks, man. It means a lot.”

“Good luck, Percy,” Luke said. “You’ve got a lot of people rooting for you.”

Percy found himself studying the picture of you once he made it outside, trying to memorize your face. With your wide, infectious smile that emanated pure sunlight, he could have mistaken you for an Apollo kid. But when he looked at you, he got that same warmth that he felt every time he imagined his father. 

“I won’t let you down,” he murmured. “I promise.” 

-

After sleeping in his train seat for half the day, Percy vowed to never complain about his bed in Cabin Three again. He was gonna be going down to the Underworld with permanent cricks in his neck. 

Grover was still sound asleep—Percy envied him for how easily it came to him in the worst conditions—but thankfully, Annabeth wasn’t. Her gaze was focused on the view as their train chugged along. 

Percy cleared his throat in a flawless attempt at getting her attention, and it worked. 

“You’re awake,” she said. 

“Unfortunately.” Percy sighed. “How much longer do you think it’ll be?” 

“Another day, at least,” she said. “And we’ve got a layover in St. Louis.” 

“St. Louis,” he hummed. “Nice.” 

They sat in silence for a while—there wasn’t much to talk about when they were coming off of two— or was it three, now?—near-death experiences. But eventually, Annabeth cleared her throat, taking a page from his book, and it worked again. 

“There— there’s probably something you should know,” Annabeth said, and that worked even better than clearing her throat. “You’re not the only Big Three kid to come through Camp Half-blood lately.” 

“I know,” he said. “Grover and Luke explained it.” 

Her eyes widened slightly and she leaned forward in her seat. “Luke did?” 

“…Yeah. You all already told me about Thalia.” Percy glanced away, suddenly feeling a chill in the train car. “Luke told me about my sister.” 

Annabeth went silent. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “I kind of annoyed Luke until he told me. Doesn’t really seem like a subject people at camp like to talk about.” 

“I’m just surprised he did,” she murmured. “They were… they were close, Percy. Her death destroyed him—Thalia and your sister. All of it’s complicated.”  

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I got some of that.” 

“I only knew her for a year at camp, but everyone loved her,” she said. “She was nice. Popular. Always helped when she could, always had the biggest, most infectious smile on her face.” Annabeth looked down at her hands. “She didn’t deserve the fate she got.” 

Percy didn’t think he’d ever grieved so much for someone he never knew. “But her and Luke—were they…?” 

“Yeah,” Annabeth said, “they were a thing, later on.” 

That seemed to be all she wanted to say on the matter. Percy decided not to push. 

“How did you meet her?” he asked. 

Annabeth’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I met her on the day I thought I would die.”

-

For the first time in her life, Annabeth Chase couldn’t think. 

It had all happened so fast. One second she was running with Luke and Thalia and Grover, praying to her mother and any other gods that would listen to make the horde of monsters let up even a centimeter.

The next, she’d collapsed on the ground, never so grateful to have grass and dirt and dust in her face. But she could hear Luke yelling, barely able to make it out in her delirious state—she didn’t know when she’d last had a sip of water, and they’d been running for at least three miles—but he sounded hysterical. 

She remembered her last clear thought: they weren’t going to make it. 

But they had. They had, so why was Luke losing his mind? 

Annabeth pulled herself up from the ground—how long had she been bleeding out of those slashes on her arm?—and looked for the rest of her friends. Luke wasn’t yelling anymore, instead arguing with someone she didn’t recognize in a bright orange shirt. Grover’s furry legs trembled as he stared down the hill they’d just gotten up, completely silent, and Thalia— 

Where was Thalia? 

Annabeth tried to get up but her legs gave out almost immediately, and steady arms caught her before she could fall to the ground again. Kind eyes served to ease some of her panic—she was older than Annabeth, maybe around Luke or Thalia’s age. 

Thalia— 

“Hey, you’re okay,” the voice said, and Annabeth’s attention was drawn back to you. “I’ve got you.” 

“Where’s Thalia?” she blurted out, because now she couldn’t think of anything else. 

Your brows creased and you glanced back down the hill—Annabeth did too, and she saw Grover and Luke arguing with each other. Or rather, Luke was yelling at him as Grover anxiously hooked his hands through his hair. 

“I don’t know,” you said, “but right now, I need to make sure you’re okay. Are you hurt?” 

Annabeth absentmindedly held up her arm, but she was only focused on her friends. Why wasn’t Thalia with them? Why was Luke so upset?

You cursed under your breath in Ancient Greek as you cradled her arm, and you looked back down the hill. Annabeth could see at least half a dozen other kids. 

“We’ve got two half-bloods and a satyr, one injured!” you yelled back. “Get Molly and Brayden!” 

“Three,” Annabeth found herself saying. “There’s three half-bloods—” 

“Annabeth!” 

Her head shot up at the sound of Luke calling her name as he bounded over, and her eyes widened at the blood steadily spidering across the fabric of his shirt. 

“Luke, you’re hurt—” 

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “It’s fine.” 

“We have Apollo kids coming,” you said, looking up at him, still cradling Annabeth’s arm. “We’ll get y—” 

Your sentence stuck in your throat, and Annabeth could see tears welling in your eyes as your brows furrowed. She thought Luke’s eyes might burst out of his skull as he stared at you, his lips parted but nothing coming out. Neither of you were able to form words. 

When he finally did get something out, it was a single name. One Annabeth knew by heart, one that he’d mourned for years. 

“Luke?” you whispered. 

Before he had the chance to do anything, two teenagers got over the hill and called out your name, the same one Luke used. He always said you were dead, but you clearly weren’t dead, because you were here and you had her arm in your grasp and while your hands were cold, they weren’t cold enough to be dead— 

“Molly’s gonna take care of you,” you said, looking back at Annabeth and cutting off her inner dialogue. “She’ll get you to the infirmary and heal you up, okay?” 

“My friends—” 

“They’re gonna be okay too,” you said. “I promise.” 

Annabeth looked up at Luke, and he nodded. “We’ll be with you soon, Annabeth. We— we have to talk about some things.” 

So she went with Molly down the hill, and Annabeth put pressure on her bleeding wound when she told her to—it had started to sting like hell now that her adrenaline was fading. 

She looked back just in time to see you and Luke share the tightest hug ever. 

The hug of two people who realized they weren’t seeing ghosts, Annabeth thought. 

-

You bolted up in bed, eyes wide and your chest heaving as you rapidly sucked in air. Your fingers found purchase in your bedsheets, desperate for something familiar—it took a second for you to recognize your surroundings, that you weren’t in an endless void, but your childhood bedroom offered little comfort.  

You ran a hand over your forehead, damp with sweat, as you tried to calm down. Your breathing slowed, but you couldn’t shake that awful feeling that hung over you in your sleep. 

Your nightmares were getting worse, you knew that much. That raspy, demented voice used to be a rarity, and now it appeared every night. You could usually deal with your nightmares, but the sense of absolute dread that voice and the pit fostered in you was too much. You hadn’t managed to sleep through the night once since you came home for the school year.

You could deal with the monsters—to you, this was the worst part of your godly blood.

A knock rattled on the door out of nowhere, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. The only thing that calmed you down was the thought that monsters didn’t knock. 

“Come in,” you croaked, your throat drier than a desert. 

Thankfully, a monster hadn’t come to make your night even more miserable. Luke stood in the doorway, his eyebrows creased in concern, messy curls hanging just above his eyes. He wore the Red Sox t-shirt you’d bought for him at the game you dragged him to, and in your addled state, you didn’t even think to tease him about it. 

“Are you okay?” He should’ve been as disoriented as you, but his alerted eyes told a different story. 

You could only think of one thing. “How did you know?” 

Luke’s lips parted for a moment, as if he hadn’t even considered it. “I could just feel it.”

You managed a smile despite every atom in your body screaming at you. “I think that means you can come in.” 

He closed the door behind him, and you shifted over in your bed to make room for him. There wasn’t much in a twin, but you made it work. Luke’s weight pressed into the mattress, making you adjust your position, and it was more comforting than any amount of blankets. 

“You’re so cold,” he murmured, laying the back of his hand against your arm. “How do you live like that?” 

“Blame my dad,” you said. “I’ve got water in my blood.” 

“I think that’s probably a bad thing,” Luke said, and you knocked your shoulder into his with a huff. 

“You know what I mean.” 

Luke let his hand fall back in his lap, and as you brought your knees up to your chest, you pulled the covers with them. 

“So,” Luke said, glancing at you, “what’s got you awake at the witching hour?” 

“The usual,” you mumbled. 

“Nightmares that might be prophetic?” he asked. 

You made a lazy gesture with your hand. “Bingo.” 

“The worst sense of dread imaginable?” 

“Bullseye.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

You shrugged. “It’s nothing I can’t deal with.” 

“You don’t always have to put on a front, y’know,” Luke said. You felt his eyes on you. “You don’t always have to be strong.” 

“I’m naturally strong,” you said with mock austerity. “Comes with the god for a dad.” 

Luke chuckled and shook his head. “You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah,” you murmured. 

You leaned into his side, fitting your head into the crook of his neck. Luke wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, and you let out a contented sigh. 

That voice in your nightmares seemed so small when you had Luke. 

“Can you stay?” you asked softly. 

He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.” 

“Just like old times,” you whispered. 

“Just like old times,” he agreed. 

Luke ran hot, and you’d never been more thankful for it as you fully settled into his side. Icy blood ran through your veins, and you let out a shaky sigh. You could hear his steady breathing, feel his heartbeat through his chest, and the anxiety from earlier began to steadily fade. You never felt safer than when you were with Luke. 

There was something between you—you weren’t that stupid—but you hadn’t talked about it. With you and Luke, it was just… you and Luke. You didn’t have to put a label to it. 

How could you put a label to your relationship, when you’d spent your first few years together fighting for each day, and then the next few thinking the other was dead? 

Maybe someday, you would talk about it. But for now, this was more than enough. 

“Don’t worry,” Luke murmured in your ear as your eyes began to droop. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” 

And by the gods, you believed him. 

[norrisleclercf1]

Could you please do lando x reader woth reader being really clumsy and end up hurt herself

Don’t feel pressured to do this request if you don’t feel connected

Have a great day

A/N: OOoooo I've missed writing

"Max for the love of god, if you make me die again I'll-" Lando stops talking as he hears a crash from the kitchen and looks up into the camera like it was a scene in the office and sighs, "Hang on chat, my girlfriend might be destroying our home," Lando says and frog hops out of the chair and taking off the headphones.

"Baby, you alright in here?" Lando turns around the corner and stops and feels his heart stop seeing you lying on the ground with glass everywhere. "Fuck, Y/n," He says not caring he wasn't wearing shoes and rushes to your side, "I slipped," You grumble just accepting your fate not wanting to move. "You're surrounded by glass don't move," Lando says grabbing the broom and swipes a huge chunk of it away from you.

"Are you hurt?" He asks, trying to remain calm, but the panic is obvious from the way his eyes are moving around quickly. "Lando I'm fine, just I broke your fancy glasses though," You say sitting up and keeping your hand in a fist, Lando notices it but doesn't say anything in the moment, "Give me a second," He whispers kissing your forehead. Rushing back into the game room he quickly turns everything off without a second thought and doesn't even explain to Max, rushing right back to your side where you stand at the sink running cool water over your hand.

"You got hurt," Lando curses and you just sigh softly and looking at him tiredly, "It's fine, not even deep enough for stitches, just get those little strips you used for your nose," Lando makes a face, "No, I'll take a scar but you won't," Lando argues making you rest your head on his shoulder. "Lando please, it's literally a papercut,' You sigh knowing he'd continue freaking out.

You've always been clumsy, but in the way where you knock your hip, stub your toe, trip once in a while, and Lando was already protective and constantly keeping you from doing this, now he was seriously thinking about putting you in bubble wrap, maybe he should bring you to all the races to keep you from hurting yourself.

"I don't care, you could've been," Lando stops talking and you sigh and move closer into him. "Lando, I simply tripped and dropped the glasses, it's a small cut, that's it. I'm okay," You whisper reaching up with your good hand and press out the ridge between his eyebrows.

"I'll be more careful, okay," You whisper, as he turns to look at you and sigh tugging you close and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I don't like it when you get hurt," He whispers having always kept an out for you, even before you two started to date. "I know, but I'm clumsy, it's going to happen," You whisper softly. "I'm going to wrap you in bubble wrap," He groans, making you smirk, "I'd like to see you try,"

[little-fae-hero]

Linked Universe, The Hero of War

My headcanons/aus

Art by Atro

Colored version.

Long talk/Ideas under the cut, warning for implied self-harm and intentional scarring. (Note: I may add stuff over time, but nothing will be deleted from the list)

Twilight. Wind. Time. Hyrule. Four. Sky. Legend. Wild.

Warriors (Hyrule Warriors): Other nicknames: The Captain, Knight, Pretty boy, Flirt, One-Man army, Scarface.

Titles: The Hero of Hyrule, the Hero of the Era of War, The Gerudo’s prince, The Blood-stain General.

God who has claim over his soul: Demise (Because of the blessing from Ganondorf)

Part of First’s soul: Leadership

Note: Because of how much his war affected time and all that, he has met many different versions of the hero and looked after them (pretty much babysitting them). He’s also fought enemies he shouldn’t have and been to corrupt places, so he knows a little bit about everything.

History (note connecting to an au so most not canon):

Link was abandoned in the desert because he was a bastard, he ended up being adopted by Ganondorf the leader of the Gerudo. This Ganondorf knows the history of Hyrule but doesn’t want to be a destructive force, just wants his people to stay safe and alive. Ganon wants to be good, and makes a promise to himself by looking after the child he later calls his son. He eventually learns his son carries the Triforce of Courage, but doesn’t care, just wants to prove himself. 

Ganondorf is sort of warlike, mainly because his desert keeps getting attacked by outside nations and he’s trying to protect it. War grows up learning all different types of weapons, planning attacks and all that, but still always being protected by his father.

Eventually the malice was too much for Ganondorf, so Ganon sent War away, hoping he could have a good life before Ganondorf went to the Guardian of Time and pleaded with her to break apart and seal his soul.

Link is left in hyrule, his voice sealed away. Eventually he joins the army of hyrule as it’s really the only place that will take in someone like him, an orphan with no voice. Eventually the war starts, and it is revealed that he has the Triforce of Courage. He’s put in charge as the battle continues before Cia reveals hers, saying she is working for someone with the promise that Link will be hers. Eventually Cia is defeated however Ganondorf is now back.

Link tried to get his father to go back to normal, however it doesn’t work so Link was force to kill him, which only allow Ganondorf with his mind back, to plead and apologize to his son.

Link soon took on the persona of a flirty pretty boy, mainly as a way of coping. He also ends up carving up his face, because of what Cia would do just to get that pretty face. Right now he is Zelda’s right hand man and adviser.

Death: Unknown…..

Interesting stuff/Headcanons:

War’s love language has always been physically touch, the feeling of holding someone or being held and knowing you are safe.

He carved up his face after everything, mainly fearing that someone else would be after him, might as well damage what started the war.

He started the persona of the flirty pretty boy to survive in the army, most don’t know his true self besides the links, Zelda, Impa and Linkle.

Any romantic relationship he had with Zelda fizzled out when Cia happened.

War had deep seeded trust issues considering how many of his ‘friends’ were all in favor of tossing him to Cia to end the war.

War turned the flirting to girls during the war up it as a big ‘screw you’ to Cia.

War is ace, specifically a sex repulsed ace.

Ganondorf was somewhat paranoid about people taking his son away, so he trained War to be able to use any weapon he got his hands on.

He even taught him how to fight without one or turn your environment into a weapon.

This very much contrasted later as he refused to allow War to get involved when conflict happened, he had to stay in the palace where it was safe and figure out strategies.

War always had a stupid number of weapons on him. Many are hidden of course.

Even when sleeping he at least has three blades in reaching distance.

Because of what happened with his father, War always has a plan on what would've happened if one of his friends got possessed and what he could do to save them.

He also watches for weak points in others mostly to help them improve.

War thinks about battle and war in a terrifying mix of courage, wisdom and power, knowing where to strike and how to be effective with it.

Has a natural parenting instinct from babysitting young ones, both at home and from the war.

Typically wraps and tucks his scarf around his waist so it can’t be grabbed and actually choke him in battle.

He actually has Ice and Fire magic, because of a blessing from his grandmothers, it’s just not his preferred way of fighting.

Plus, it makes him weaker to the opposite element, it’s why fire from the dragon knight scarred and hurt more than normal.

Has a lot of manners from the gerudo (like why he had no problem with Zelda/Impa in charge), it’s just no one knows about the gerudo tribe in his world to notice.

Monsters either target War or hesitate to attack him, he uses this to his advantage.

War can play music on an Ocarina but can’t sing to save his life. (Correction, he can sing, it’s just gerudo sounding and most don’t like it)

He is like a field medic, he knows how to save a life, but it won’t be comfortable.

The only person who knows who War’s father is, was Mask. Mask didn’t seem to judge War for it but was super angry at Ganon.

War doesn’t allow himself to express emotions outside the select ones for his ‘persona’.

So, if stuff gets really bad, he needs to scream or cry, he goes to somewhere completely hidden and breaks down (he knows this isn’t healthy, but he doesn’t care).

War is attached to the scarf because it reminds him of the fabric he wore at home, the one which was insisted on to protect his skin from the sun.

War has a screwed-up sleep schedule. He often takes a second shift and then just doesn’t wake up the others and continues the watch. 

He still has a necklace from his father, which his dad promised was laced with magic and would protect him. Despite how many times War tried to get rid of it, he can’t.

Sometimes gerudo words will slip in when he’s talking, most just think it’s a mistake.

War ‘hobbies’ are typically cleaning armor and sharpening weapons. However, he can use his magic to make little ice statues.

He has flashbacks, where he relives memories and battles. There not as bad as Wild sense he can be brought out of them, however there is a chance he could react violently.

Confined spaces can really set this off as he was captured by Cia for a short time.

He’s the closest and trusts Time/Mask the most, there are no secrets between them.

War acts almost like a drill sergeant in battles at times, no one dares go against his orders (this is after he got his voice back).

----

War is done, as you can see he is heavily based off my ‘Like father, like son’ au. The boy isn’t canon which means I can do whatever I want. Let me know your thoughts.

[nezuscribe]

(18+, toji x fem!reader)

yes toji is known for being the guy that loves rough sex. toe curling, sheet gripping, headboard breaking sex. ask anybody who's been with him and they'll tell you that rough sex is all he ever does. he likes fucking girls from behind, a bruising grip on this hips as he pounds into them mercilessly.

but for once, when it comes to you, it seems to be different.

sure, he's not above that sort of fucking. in fact, that's what he's used to. but when he sees you and your gentle smile something tugs at the pitiful excuse he has at a heart and he can't bare to see you bruised up because of his fingers.

it confuses him, but he wants to see your face when he's deep inside you. he wants to see the way your mouth opens cutely and the way you whine for him. he wants his mouth to mark you up, nothing else, and toji knows that you're changing him without realizing.

"f-fuck, toji, you're so..." god, you can't even form words with the way he fucks you, his dick reaching that spot inside you that nobody else can. it kisses your gummy walls as he drags it in and out, his hair falling into his face as his eyes are set at where your two bodies connect.

"yeah sweetheart, shit, jus' like that," he'd praise, kissing your cheeks, at the corners of your eyes in a gentle way as he thrust's into you. his eyes are dark, overridden with his lust and love for you.

the room smells like sweat and sex, your essence coating a ring around his dick as his thumb finds your clit. don't tell anybody but toji wants sex to be more than a quick experience for you, he wants it to mean something.

your fingers dig into his toned back, moving up to curl into his strands of hair, just the way he liked it.

if he could take a picture of you in this moment he could. he wished that he wasn't so emotionally constipated so that he could tell you just how you make him feel, to let you know that you've burrowed your way into his chest and he wants you to stay there forever.

"love you," you murmur against his lips, kissing his scar as your eyes pierce his. and it's whispered with such intensity that he feels like he's about to choke.

but he doesn't, roughly pressing his lips against yours as your teeth clash, wrapping your legs around his waist as he bring the two of you to your highs. the kiss is messy and he feels ten different emotions at once but all he can say is,

"i know," he presses a chaste kiss to the column of your throat, "you're mine, only mine." and it's his own claim, his own way to say that no matter what happens, he will always be yours

[innorality]

could you do satoru coming home with a huge scar on his stomach after not contacting his gf for weeks and then reassuring her with intimacy please?

HEAVEN CAN WAIT — G. SATORU

cw : sad in the beginning, afab reader, unprotected, p in v, honestly very cute sex nothing too kinky

a/n : tysm nonnie you gave me the opportunity to use this song as a title finally 🥹 also this idea is so cute like yes pls soft vanilla "I missed you sex" with satoru #needthat !!! also #satoruisalive I believe in it 💔 oh and I'm so sorry this feels very rushed and is not proofread :(

wc : 1335 words 😼

empty. cold. that’s how his side of the bed felt at the moment. it had been weeks since you last saw him, and days since his last message. your eyes stayed glued to your screen, rereading his final words over and over again.

"i luv youuu"

cold tears slipped down your cheeks. you weren’t even sure if they were from grief or from your irritated eyes after staring at the screen for so long without blinking. deep down, you knew the truth—you weren’t dumb. this was bound to happen one day. but you weren’t ready to accept it yet. you wanted to stay in denial just a little longer.

satoru was supposed to be the strongest. so why hadn’t he come home?

with a shaky breath, you shut your phone off and set it aside. hugging his pillow tightly, you buried your face into it—only to realize it didn’t even smell like him anymore.

silent sobs wracked your body as exhaustion finally overtook you.

but in the dead of night, a noise startled you awake.

footsteps.

first near the front door. then in the living room. the kitchen.

and now… heading toward your bedroom.

afraid, you hid under your blanket like a child. you didn’t know if it was reflex or true fear—because honestly, after losing the man you loved, life had lost all meaning.

the door slid open, and you held your breath.

then, a voice.

"baby?"

satoru.

your heart stopped, then raced. it was him. the way he said your name, the way his voice carried through the room—you had missed it more than words could express. before you could think, you jumped out of bed and ran straight into his arms, clutching him as if he might disappear again.

he hugged you back just as tightly.

"where… where the hell were you?! you don’t know how worried i was, how much i cried! i thought you were—"

his lips met yours, silencing your frantic words with a soft peck.

"now, now," he murmured against you, his tone laced with that familiar teasing warmth. "i’m here, and that’s all that matters, pretty."

you pouted, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks as you buried your face into his chest, holding him closer. but then your fingers brushed against something different—a rougher patch of skin around his stomach.

a scar.

your breath hitched. "how did you..."

he turned away slightly, avoiding your gaze. guilty. he didn’t want to talk about it.

so you didn’t push.

instead, he gently eased you back onto the bed, his lips finding yours again, slow and deliberate.

"i was this close to dying," he murmured between kisses, trailing from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck. "but i remembered you were waiting at home for me..." his words sent a shiver down your spine as his kisses grew deeper, needier.

"and i decided that heaven could wait."

you let out a breathless giggle, threading your fingers through his white locs."you think you’re going to heaven?" you teased, tugging playfully at his hair. "what a joke."

swiftly, he unbuttoned the blouse you had on and grabbed a handful of your breast, massaging it gently while sucking and nibbling on your neck to create a colorful bruise. sweet moans of his name slid out of between your lips against your will and he simply smirked at them.

"I know you cried, and I know you were cold," his eyes bored into yours, "but now that I'm here, I promise I won't ever leave again." and this time, you're the one that closed the space between your lips. you knew that his promise wasn't true at all, but you decided to ignore that fact and let yourself believe it for the span of a single night. in the heat of the moment, your hand slid down his chest and onto his pelvis, before sneaking its way into his pants, stroking his erection sensually.

satoru moaned into your mouth before taking this bold action of yours as a sign to give you pleasure aswell, his hand rubbing your pussy through your thin panties. "Oh shit- yeah, just like that, 'toru.." your head fell to the side as his hand slid into your panties, rubbing up and down your slit to collect some of your wetness before rubbing tight and quick circles onto your clit, making you needily clench around nothing.

meanwhile, your hand was still skillfully rubbing his cock, thumb rubbing on his tip making him jolt up from the sudden intense pleasure. satoru bit his lip before penetrating you with two of his digits, making you gasp in utter shock and awe. your breath followed the rhythm of his fingers that he pumped in and out of you, as you sped up the speed of your own hand.

as expected, you felt orgasm build up pretty quickly, and as you were of the edge of climaxing, you stopped him. "stop, stop! 'toru, stop it," and he quickly halted his movements, scanning your face for any signs of discomfort or pain. "I'm sorry baby, did I hurt you? I'm so fucking sorry, fuck-" you interrupted him, "no honey, I just..." you bit the inside of your cheek, "after all this time, I wanna cum on your dick, not your fingers..." and you felt his cock twitch at your words. he stared at you in shock before his expression turned into a lustful smile.

and before you even realized it, he had taken your hand out of his pants, before taking said pants off along with your panties in a span of a second. impressive.

"you know baby," he rubbed up and down your slit with the tip of his cock, "even though I won't go to heaven, I'll make sure you do," he aligned his tip with your entrance. "what do you mean?" he pressed a quick kiss against your lips. "I'll take you there myself." and with that, he bottomed out inside you in one swift motion.

your jaw dropped and you instinctively closed your eyes to embrace the familiar sensation of him inside you, but he tapped your cheek with his finger to get your attention. "eyes on me love." and so you obliged, opening your eyes to be met with an expression that seemed to be the results of a love and lust mix.

the sound of his hops meeting yours over and over again made you delirious along with the sensation of his cock claiming your insides and the intense eye contact you held with satoru. at some point, satoru can't hold in anymore—he whines and moans into your ear, whispering confessions such as "fuck– I love you too much, baby-" and "I missed this so bad... holy shit, yeah- I need this- oh fuck, yeah.." which did nothing but turn you on even more.

your hand went straight to your clit to rub it when you felt your orgasm building up again. satoru chased your high as much as you did, using his six eyes to hit all those gummy spots that made you see stars. "fuck- m'cumming, m'cumming!" you couldn't hold back your voice as your orgasm crashed over you without a warning. you struggled to keep your eyes on him as you twitched and shook with the intensity of the orgasm, as it had been weeks since you deemed yourself worthy enough to feel pleasure.

satoru's orgasm followed suit, shooting long ropes of cum into your womb, as your tight grip pulled strings of moans of your name out of his mouth.

as you both calmed down, satoru pulled his cock out and flopped on his back next to you.

a comfortable silence fell upon the both of you before you broke it, "you know," he hummed in acknowledgement, "you were right." his head whips to the side to look at you, who was already turned towards him. "what about?", you smiled, looking at the ceiling, "you did take me to heaven, after all."

you crawled on top of him to kiss his scar, making him feel a bit tingly. he patted your head, "and I'd do it all over again just for you, love."