#relief. anyways tagging for sorting

[viktorbot]

May as well post here too. Congrats to me and my static for being gamers and finally clearing FRU on patch ✌️

[telesodalite]

been real busy, so take some random new and old bioshock au doodles <3

[quick warm up sketch i messed around with a bit, but for some concept context, was thinking something along the lines of "fire fighting maintenance worker/big daddy" meets "art deco 'sea dragon' suit" for Grimlock here.]

[one minute you're nervously flying over the atlantic ocean, next thing you know you're 200 meters below the sea exploding things with your hands and paying child support in a city that is both creepy and wet, smh]

[older sketches i never finished of some rough concepts for Spin (with a rough idea taking inspo from the bird and butterfly masks for a sorta moth-like mask? perhaps? idk) and Krok (without his captain hat bcs i apparently gave up on that :/) Never got around to sketching up a design for Crankcase, but maybe someday. I like to think he lugs around a whole ass turret tho, bcs thats kinda funny to me.]

[mildmayfoxe]

❤️‍🔥 BESTSELLERS ❤️‍🔥 top eighteen just for fun!

[marypsue]

I finished reading Emily Nussbaum's Cue The Sun!: The Invention of Reality TV (fantastic, densely layered, beautifully written, highly recommended) and chased it with Craig DiLouie's How To Make A Horror Movie And Survive (fun, popcorny cursed-film meta-horror) and noticed an interesting parallel.

Nussbaum talks about reality TV contestants, after the concept becomes mainstream, no longer signing up to compete simply out of interest or curiosity and ended up stunned or traumatised by the genre's artificiality and artifice. As the contestants get savvier about what they're signing up for, she repeatedly talks about them as seeing themselves - or at least marketing themselves - as collaborators with the editors and producers in creating a great show.

DiLouie's fictional director, shortly after committing (spoiler!) to slaughtering his entire cast on camera to create 'the perfect horror movie', has a line about how he thinks of the actors: "More, he regarded them as fellow collaborators."

[multicolour-ink]

Definitely recommend Inside Out 2

This movie related to me so much more than the first. I'm so glad I saw it at just the right time in my life right now.

Context in tags 👇🏻

[veliseraptor]

#but also 👆👆👆 this is so crucial and so important because this is like. the fundamental disconnect between nmj and jgy #nmj was born and raised from childhood to know that death is coming for him and it is inevitable #jgy spent every moment of his life desperately trying to survive and outrun death #by violent johns or by jgs's lackeys or by miserable poverty (via @thatswhatsushesaid)

"Nie Mingjue would still have died young even if Jin Guangyao hadn't killed him" Not as in "So it's fine to kill him because people who won't live for much longer have obviously already forfeit their lives" (what) But as in "If you don't get that Nie Mingjue has had an inevitable young and violent death hanging over him since he was a young teenager and has embraced it you can't fully understand his character"

[starmapz]

what you know - ch17: ghosts || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). medical content. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 22.7k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

Two million, seven hundred and eighty seven thousand, four hundred and three. That's how many of those stupid little dots are scattered across Sukuna's aging apartment's popcorn ceiling.

Well, no- it's not. But mindlessly counting from absurd numbers is preventing his stomach from upheaving any more of its contents.

Funny, that he pretends to count the spots on his ceiling, but he can't count how many hours he's been awake, fighting against his own body to get some rest. His back, forehead, and the valleys of his chest and abs are nothing more than pools of sweat, his sheet and blankets long tossed aside in favor of cooling down his perspiring skin.

He groans in pain as his stomach churns, clutching his abdomen as he finds himself breathing deeply in an effort to prevent the inevitable. He can't decide whether the taste of the Everclear from earlier in the night coming back up or the feeling of shame as he’d passed by Uraume sprawled across the couch on the way to the washroom is worse.

He'd had more than enough of their scolding for one night. Is it even still night? He isn't sure anymore. If he twists to look at the clock, he'll be sick.

What's worse is that even as his hair sticks to his forehead, slick with sweat, he thinks he'd do it all over again. There's another bottle barely an arms' length away, tucked in his drawer for the moment he would need it most, the same one he’d contemplated having before Satoru’s frat party months ago. It's one of those party favor bottles, the one meant to be a sampler that's hardly a single shot, but with Everclear, it'll go the distance.

It’s not dependency, it’s just… escape. A cowardly escape.

He doesn’t consider himself to be a coward, but there’s relief that comes with the idea of being one, just this one time. If he can’t fix things and reverse the trial then… Just once, he wants to be allowed to do something for himself, even if it’ll actively make him feel worse afterwards. Still, he wants to forget, until the wounds close and the scars fade and his day-to-day routine isn’t filled with questions.

How could he have done better? What had he missed?

What stage of grief would that put him at, anyway? Three?

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

He wants to say that puts him at the bargaining stage, but in truth he thinks he’s experiencing them all at once in some sort of unfair turmoil. The denial and anger hit months ago, as though he knew from day one that he’d lost, but the bargaining and depression hit hard and fast after the trial, pummeling down whatever was left of him.

The acceptance… That slunk its way into his psyche somewhere along the way, like a parasite he never noticed taking root. He can’t remember when it was that he realized he’d lost and began preparing himself, but it was long before the trial ever even started.

His eyes are heavy lidded as he trails his gaze across the ceiling, the rise and fall of his chest weighed down by his stomach churning again.

He groans again, slowly raising an arm to rest over his overheating forehead as he’s reminded of his pounding head. He supposes he can only blame himself for that, Uraume had forced him to drink two full bottles of water before letting him pass out. If they hadn’t, he figures he would be worse off.

As the sun rises and filters through the gap in his curtains, a strip of light casts vertically across his wall, his stomach settles enough that he manages to flip onto his side and get some rest.

He can’t say how long he slept, but it can’t be much later when he’s awoken by the sound of knuckles rhythmically hitting the door. Dazed, he groans as he pushes up onto his elbows, bleakly letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. His shadow is cast over the strip of light at the center of the room, his hair sticking up in every which way.

Rubbing at his dry eyes, he kicks his feet off the edge of the bed, still in yesterday’s clothes. Still half asleep, he can practically see his little brother shuffling from foot to foot with teary eyes just outside his door. Probably another nightmare, Sukuna figures.

That makes it all the more jarring as he opens the door and finds Uraume staring at him. It hits him like a head-on collision and he’s pulled to the present suddenly, reminded of just where his life sits now.

Uraume’s gaze evaluates Sukuna’s well-being before they let out a long sigh. “I made you some coffee.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, his mood soured as reality settles in. He pushes past them, making his way to the old coffee machine sitting atop his counter, the vinyl scratched beneath the machine from the amount of times he’s pulled the machine forward and backwards. He pulls the brewed pot out of place, met with a sudden pain right above his left eye as he reaches for a mug. He squints hard at the onset of a hangover headache, setting the mug down and pouring himself a cup of black coffee.

Turning from the counter, he presses the ball of his palm against his forehead in an attempt to dull the pounding, squinting hard. Rubbing small circles into his skull, he takes a sip of his drink, the familiar bitter taste and caffeine providing clarity to his morning, if it can even still be called that.

Half past one in the afternoon. He supposes that makes sense after his tumultuous night. He doesn’t even think he was at the bar that long, completely plastered before ten o’clock even hit, but his stomach kept him up most of the night.

“Are you ready to talk about last night?” Uraume calmly stands opposite him, arms crossed across their chest with a mostly neutral, albeit slightly unimpressed expression.

“What’s there to talk about?” He grumbles from behind his hand, peeking up at them with one eye still shut.

“I’d like to start with what drove you to order three shots of Everclear within an hour,” they begin pointedly.

He sighs, frustrated. “You know what did.”

Uraume nods slowly, casting their gaze aside in thought. “Right,” they affirm to themself quietly. Moving to the side of the open concept apartment, they pull a chair out from the table, taking a seat and settling their hands in their lap. “Everyone knows now,” they state.

Leaning his hip against the counter, he takes a sip of his coffee. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter anymore,” he grumbles.

“Do you really think that? Have you actually given up?”

Sukuna pauses in thought, rubbing the pad of his thumb above his eye to relieve the pressure of his headache.

Does he really think it’s fruitless? He wants to say no, but is that just the first stage of grief, still? Is he just in denial that there’s nothing he can do? He supposes he doesn’t have a definitive answer to their question, like he wants to believe that he has a chance at turning things around.

But… What else can he do? He’d searched endlessly for incriminating records concerning Kaori. He’d searched the internet tirelessly, he’d been through his records twice, and he’d called enough telecommunications companies to last a lifetime. What’s left? At the end of the day, he thinks it’s little more than a daydream to hope for evidence to show up on his door on a silver platter.

Maybe he’d missed something in his documents? But still. Twice, he’d gone through everything. Kaori had tied every loose end with a bow at the end to really rub it in.

His lack of response is all that Uraume needs for their lips to quirk up into a minute smile. He’s not resolute yet in his acceptance of the loss of his brothers, and that’s enough for them. His spark isn’t out yet.

It’s dim, but it’s there. He may not have it in himself to nurse it back to life, but unbeknownst to Sukuna, he has a support system more than willing to help him bear the weight of his loss, if he’ll just let them in.

But therein lies the problem, doesn’t it?

“Maybe you missed something,” they point out, “when you went through your old files. I can take a look through them with you.”

Sukuna’s attention turns back to Uraume as he considers whether they could be right. He wants to say he’s looked through everything rigorously, but some files are harder to look through than others. Some of them he’s more than willing to admit sting to the very core and he avoided looking at them for too long. Some bring back memories that seem to burn the back of his eyelids, desperate to be seen once more, even when he closes his eyes to them.

He wants to say it can’t hurt to check again, but it hurt to check the first time.

He thought the second time would be easier, but that wasn’t the case either.

Still, the old storage closet filled with bankers’ boxes may have been stacked by Sukuna, but it was Uraume who packed them, all those years ago when Sukuna couldn’t bear to do so. Maybe they’ll see something he didn’t.

“Fine,” he relents, pushing a hand through his knotted and messy hair. It still sticks up in places, a sheen of sweat clinging to each and every strand after his shitty night. His skin is slick with that same sickening feeling and his head pounds with no sign of relent. “Not right now, though,” he grumbles, turning away to lean his elbows on the counter as he hunches over with his head in his hands.

Uraume gets up and pats him on the back, setting a bottle of Advil beside his elbow. He recognizes the telling rattle of the bottle and doesn’t hesitate to pop an extra strength tablet into his mouth, completely forgetting about his coffee as he throws the fridge open and grabs a half finished jug of apple juice- one of Yuji’s favorites- and drinks straight from the jug. He supposes it doesn’t really matter anymore.

Tossing it carelessly back onto a shelf in the fridge, he lets the door shut and throws himself down on the couch face-first. His limbs hang over every side, but his headache calms down the moment he’s laid across the cushions.

Unfortunately for him, Uraume’s always had a tough sort of love.

“Let’s start now,” they push, moving across the open kitchen and living space towards the hall.

“Fuck no,” he groans, muffled by the couch cushion. “Gimme a day or two, christ.”

Uraume grimaces, pushing his feet aside as they turn to take a seat at the end of the couch. They want to push to get it done as quickly as possible given that he has one month since the end of the trial to file for an appeal and it’s already been just over a week, but pushing won’t get anywhere when the throbbing of Sukuna’s head is making him increasingly grumpy.

Grumpy is better than numb, though, by Uraume’s standards.

“Can we talk, then?”

“Whatever.”

Uraume’s unphased by his frustration, settling their hands neatly in their lap as they begin. “Satoru told everyone he felt bad. He didn’t mean to get under your skin like that.”

Sukuna’s silent, staring blankly at the coffee table as he slowly blinks.

“You know, I actually think you two would get along well.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Uraume lets out a breath through their nose, something akin to a chuckle. “Toji?”

“Mm.”

They nod to themself, staring up at the movie shelf beside the TV. It’s usually full, with a little Star Wars Lego tank off to one side and a few bead lizards dangling off the higher shelf. That’s not the case anymore, though. A handful of family movies are missing, and the lizards that used to be scattered across the entire apartment have all been gathered in a pile they can just barely spot atop the shelf, mostly out of view.

He’s also cleaned up the final remains of the tinsel that used to pop up every so often from Christmas, the one that used to hang from the edge of the TV now having finally disappeared.

In fact, contrary to Sukuna’s personal living space, which is a mess- clothing everywhere, empty energy drinks and coffee cups scattered across every surface and a surplus of laundry ready to topple over the basket- the apartment is startlingly clean.

They recognize this pattern in him from when he lost his dad.

Wake up, lay in bed until he’s forced to his feet by an outside force, and find any and every way to keep himself busy, whether that’s chores or work or working out. Back then, that outside force was Yuji and Choso who would keep him on track. Now, Uraume can only pray that work is enough of a driving factor to get him out of that slump.

It’s why they aren’t exactly keen on leaving him to his own devices right now.

Moving along, Uraume says your name, trailing off for a moment before they continue, “you didn’t kiss her, did you?”

He shuffles, pulling his feet out from behind Uraume. “No,” he sighs, sitting upright. “Don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

His chest rises and falls heavily as bile sits sourly at the back of his throat. It tastes of Everclear, strong and repugnant. “I didn’t,” he doubles down, sinking back against the couch as his head rests on the back, his weary gaze plastered to the ceiling.

“Did you want to?”

He doesn’t move his gaze as his hands flail up into a frustrated shrug. “I guess, yeah.”

“Do you have feelings for her?”

Sukuna’s head whips up to look at his friend. “Can you stop? Fuck, I don’t wanna talk about it.” He winces as his head pounds in response to his snappy behavior, like sweet karma. Still, he’s too irritated and exhausted to be willing to apologize right now.

The thing about Uraume is that they don’t take anything Sukuna says to heart, really. They’re used to his outbursts and simply move on without a second thought. Simultaneously, Sukuna knows not to take their bluntness and tough love to heart when they’re a little bit too honest. That’s the dynamic that allows their friendship to work so well and has Sukuna just a little bit more willing to let Uraume in.

It’s sheer stubbornness, on their part. They walk in and take matters into their own hands. It pisses him off sometimes, but it was exactly what he needed back when Uraume caught wind of Sukuna’s situation all those years ago. They walked in and taught him the ins and outs of managing a one-year-old’s diet and baby proofing a new apartment, no matter how adamant he was on shutting them out. They even showed up out of the blue to help him pack up his dad’s old room when he couldn’t bear to.

They were there. They were there, and they found a way to help him manage, and they’re here now. For all his complaining and groaning, he appreciates it. Somewhere deep down, there remains a scared and lost man who’s grateful he isn’t alone.

He is, however, genuinely less grateful that they won’t drop the fucking subject.

“It’s a simple yes or no question, Sukuna.”

“It’s not fucking simple,” he growls, twisting in search of his coffee to find he’d left it on the counter. Huffing, he lets it go, unwilling to risk his head pounding if he attempts to get up.

“Why isn’t it?”

He flashes a snarl at his friend. “It’s just not, okay?”

“Why not?”

“Christ, how old are you?” He hisses in exasperation, letting his head hit the back of the couch with enough force that Uraume winces at the sound. “Stop fuckin’ asking, you’re worse than-”

Yuji.

The words die in the back of his throat, his shoulders slumping as realization crosses his face again.

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for Uraume to catch his drift. With a sympathetic smile, they get up and cross the room, grabbing his coffee and handing it to him. It’s not quite as hot as he’d prefer, but it’s better than nothing and it’s helping to settle his stomach a bit more, which still churns every so often.

Uraume rephrases their initial question now that Sukuna has some more caffeine in his system. “You do have feelings for her, don’t you?”

Sukuna’s grip on his mug tightens. He wants so badly to say that it’s the hangover making him feel sick again; that maybe three shots of Everclear is too many (two is perfectly acceptable though, of course), because admitting that he drowned his sorrows is easier than admitting there’s something to be said about the way his heart seems to take a different shape when you’re around.

The piece of himself that you hold has transformed over time, becoming something else that he isn’t quite sure what to do with and it’s easier to push it away. Last night, though, something in the way your eyes shone in the moonlight struck a chord with him. Your eyes gleamed, not with pity or sympathy that Sukuna's tired of receiving, but with care.

All the shit he’s put you through, and you’re still goddamn there. Putting your heart into every single thing you do for him.

The clammy skin of his palms sticks to the mug as the same feeling from last night sits heavy in his stomach.

He stills wants to kiss you. Not to guide you to a bed and chase a night of pleasure before moving on with his life, no, he wants to feel how soft your lips are again. He wants the taste of whatever lip gloss you decide to wear to permeate his tongue and coat his own lips. He wants to keep you tucked tightly to his chest and fend off anything or anyone that dares to take your warmth from him, as though your care is fleeting.

Heat blooms in his chest, rising to his throat. It’s not like bile, it doesn’t taste quite as bitter, just… foreign. He doesn’t think he minds it, though. Like your warmth last night, this offers respite from the onslaught of bad thoughts and guilt that presses down harshly on his lungs and threatens to stop his breaths.

It’s almost a relief, he thinks, to come to terms with the thought that he’s been running from for so long now.

Fuck, he has feelings for you.

And they run deep. They’re ingrained into the way he seeks your company, or the pull at the corner of his lips when you say something so sweet that he can’t help but smile. They’ve taken root in him in such a way that holding your hand and wrapping an arm around you is second nature.

But with that realization comes the tightening of his throat, the undeniable and inevitable feeling that he’s not what you deserve, and you both know that. You don’t see him in the same way as he sees you. Why else would your hands press against his chest last night, pushing him back?

Maybe you’re okay with him seeking comfort in your kindness, but the intimacy in which he held you last night was too much.

It’s sickening, to think he’s only just come to terms with something he thinks he’s known all along and you’ve already slipped through his fingers. How many times does he need to lose everything and start over again before he gets a break?

He remains silent for a long while before his thoughts slip from his lips without a second thought. “Doesn’t matter. She pushed me away.”

Nodding slowly, Uraume shifts to face Sukuna. “I’ll admit, I suppose I don’t know how she feels,” they agree, “but you’ve made it through this much and your friendship stayed intact, is it not worth it to ask?”

The truth is, Sukuna doesn’t know. So many last chances crushed under the weight of his arrogance, what if that’s the final straw? He’s not sure if he can handle that.

Not right now.

There’s too much going on, he’s not willing to drown you in his demons or to start something only to pull back when everything is too much to bear. He knows himself well enough to know that no matter what angle he looks at things, he can’t do that to you.

No matter how hard it would be, he’d rather be just your friend than bring you down with him. He’d rather drown alone than be forced to watch the life leave your eyes as you drown alongside him. It’s easier this way.

“‘M gonna go shower,” he mumbles, deflecting Uraume’s question as he sets his mug on the coffee table.

They grimace as he holds his head while he walks away, but they’ll take any amount of progress when it comes to the grumpy man struggling once again to find his place in the world.

–

It was a relief to hear from Sukuna the morning following the night out, even if it was the driest of updates.

Quite literally. He sent a thumbs up emoji.

Uraume had given you updates on him throughout the night. Maybe even too many, honestly. According to their nearly hourly texts, he’d been up most of the night throwing up, which was�� a gross dozen texts to wake up to. It’s not like you didn’t expect it (eight shots, and all), but you still didn’t need that much detail.

Hearing from Sukuna himself made your afternoon just a little bit easier. It also made your study session with Kento infinitely more productive as he helped to guide you through the final few chapters of your textbook, putting you back on track with your most difficult class.

A godsend, that man.

In fact, all of your friends are. The views on Sukuna seem to shift over the course of the weekend too, as you fall into step with Suguru the following Monday on your way to lunch. He’s looking relatively disheveled himself in unusually baggy clothes for him, with his hair down, rather than his signature half-bun. Strands fall in front of his eyes as he gives you a small wave.

“Morning,” he greets you with the easy smile he always manages, pushing his raven hair back out of his face.

“Morning, Suguru! How was your weekend?”

He hums. “I’ve had better,” he chuckles, casting the thought aside. “And you?”

“You and me both,” you sigh. “Everything alright?”

Suguru finds himself chuckling once more. “I’m fine, don’t you worry one bit about me.”

Pouting, a crease forms between your brows as you look up at him. “But-”

He interrupts you with a firm statement of your name, though his tone is playful and scolding. “I’m fine,” he reaffirms. “I’ll admit that I’ve been better, but I’m managing. I have lots of support from people with less on their plates and as much as I appreciate your kindness, I would prefer to see you not join myself and Sukuna in this state,” he chuckles, tired amusement pulling at the corners of his lips as his eyes crinkle at the corners just a bit.

You relent, smiling at him. “Just know that I’m here.”

“I’m well aware. Likewise for you,” he offers. “Speaking of Sukuna, how’s he handling things?”

“I’ll spare you the details from Uraume’s texts, but it sounds like he had a rough night.” You wince at the mere thought of the context from Uraume’s texts. “He hasn’t really been all that chatty otherwise.”

“Understandable,” Suguru acknowledges. “Give him some time. He’ll come around.”

“I hope so,” you sigh as you follow your friend into the lunch hall. A majority of the group from dinner the other night is there, and you know you’re moments away from being bombarded with questions, which does no favors for your disdain for being at the center of the attention.

Satoru also does you no favors as he practically leaps from his chair to take the empty seat that was once Sukuna’s between you and Uraume. “Hey,” he greets you, genuine sorrow painted across his pale features. He’s not the most genuine person, usually hiding behind comedy to mask his feelings, so the painfully serious look in his striking blue eyes causes you to shrink.

“Hi, Satoru.”

“Listen,” he starts, “I didn’t mean to start shit like that. I didn’t realize he-” he cuts himself off in an effort to keep his voice down to outside groups. The last thing he needs is to also accidentally spread rumors.

“You didn’t know,” you brush him off, keeping your eyes down on your lap as you avoid the curious gazes of onlookers and the rest of your friends. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s kinda his fault,” Toji adds dryly from across the table, his mouse full of food. “I fuckin’ told ya to shut up, man.”

“We were drunk!” Satoru retorts, throwing his hands up. “I thought you were just fucking around!”

Toji just shrugs. “I told ya you’d get along with him just fine if you just shut y’re damn mouth for two seconds.”

“Toji,” Uraume scolds him from across the table.

Satoru turns towards Uraume, clearly seeking answers although Uraume is the least likely to give them. “What even happened with his kids that I got to him so much?”

The air is silent as glances are exchanged between those who know of the lawsuit, and his loss. No one is quite sure what to say to appease the rest of the table, jaws ajar and eyes wide as anyone searches for an explanation.

“Would this have anything to do with the woman I heard him talking legal shit to outside his place the other day?” Atsuya asks, sounding wholly disinterested in the entire matter for someone who has no clue whether he’s airing out his friend’s issues. He chews on a toothpick, glancing between you and Uraume.

“Why were you at Sukuna’s place?” Uraume questions, incredulous.

“Didn’t know it was his,” Atsuya shrugs. “I was seeing someone who lives in the same building. Was gonna say hi, but he seemed busy.”

Uraume just sighs, making an executive call on behalf of Sukuna, which you’re grateful for as it pulls the attention to them, rather than you. Going back to Atsuya’s question, they nod. “Yes, it does. I’m not answering any more questions, though. It’s not your business,” they point out.

Satoru’s questions end there, though he still seems confused as he turns back towards you. “Can you tell him I’m sorry, at least?”

You nod. “Of course.”

“I appreciate you, short stuff.”

You swat his hand away as he tries to use your head as leverage to push himself up from the seat and head back around to his spot between Toji and Suguru. You shoot him a scowl, but he just grins, unphased.

–

You send Sukuna a text that afternoon letting him know that Satoru wants to apologize, but Sukuna’s replies remain dry.

In fact, he shifts his attitude not just within his texts, but even when you see him at work.

There’s no coffee awaiting you, nor does he ask you to accompany him for any of his four coffee runs on Tuesday alone, not to mention his five runs on Thursday. He also brushes you off for lunch both days, choosing instead to hole up in his office with headphones in. You can tell he’s at least going home since he’s in different outfits both days, but… you can’t help but feel as though it’s not doing him any favors to brush everyone off.

He’s doing it again.

So, you confront him by text on Thursday night after work.

6:49 PM You || Kuna?

It takes him a bit to get back to you, but he does. His replies are still as dry as ever, though.

8:01 PM Kuna || yeah

8:03 PM You || You’re pulling away again

Another break in his texts, it takes a bit to hear back from him.

8:29 PM Kuna || yeah.

8:30 PM You || I know things are hard right now, but you can’t push me away every time something goes wrong

You do what you can to express your frustrations, praying he takes it well.

8:34 PM Kuna || what do you want from me

8:34 PM You || I just wanna talk

8:35 PM Kuna || fine

8:35 PM Kuna || uraumes on my ass anyway about going through my files again

8:36 PM Kuna || come over tomorrow after your lecture

Able to finally breathe a sigh of relief, you send him confirmation that you’ll be there, followed by a thank you.

8:38 PM Kuna || mhm

Your day passes quickly and you’re standing at his door in a cute burgundy sweatshirt and a skirt, along with a pair of tights and some brown boots before you know it. Waiting outside Sukuna’s door, you smile as Uraume answers, raising your hand in a small wave.

“Hey,” you greet them as they move aside to let you in. Kicking off your boots, you shoot them a glance. “How’s he doing?”

They shrug. “I don’t think he’s sleeping much. I got here maybe ten minutes ago and he answered the door shirtless, then headed straight to his room and shut the door. He doesn’t seem all there.” They shake their head, running a hand through their white locks.

“Distant?”

Uraume grimaces. “Somewhere between distant and angry,” they shrug. “I don’t think he really wants to do this.”

“Look through the files?”

They nod.

Steeling yourself, you nod solemnly in agreement as Sukuna emerges from his room in a pair of black sweatpants and a black hoodie with an illegible band name on it. He’s freshly showered, hair hanging over his forehead and dripping down the bridge of his nose. He wipes the water with the back of his hand, pausing when he meets your gaze. His lips part and his shoulders tense as though the air’s been sucked from his lungs while his gaze travels the length of your body, but he finally shakes himself from his stupor and clears his throat.

“Storage closet’s this way,” he mutters, ducking his head and trudging away. Not even so much as a hello, just straight to the point. His movements are as empty as his words as his heels drag on the hardwood.

You suppose you’ll have to talk to him later about his frustrating tendency to push everyone away.

He barely waits for you both to make it to his side when he pushes the storage closet door open. It scrapes against the cardboard boxes painstakingly shoved inside, many of them on the verge of falling apart with frayed corners, while others look ready to burst at the seams. They’re all labeled with names, though you can’t tell what’s in them otherwise.

Sukuna pulls down the first few boxes, passing them along to the both of you, who move them into the living room. You shove the coffee table aside, attempting to set the piles of boxes up based on which brother they belong to. Sukuna brings out all the ones labelled for his little brothers, as well as any with his name on them in case they have something incriminating concerning Kaori. Lastly, he pulls down a couple of unmarked boxes that are mostly junk, setting those aside as well just to be sure.

With your hands on your hips, you survey the piles of boxes. “Where should we start?”

Sukuna shrugs. “Wherever. Doesn’t matter.”

You nod, looking him up and down before you move to a stack of boxes. His chest rises and falls heavily, you assume from lifting the boxes, his gaze settling heavily on the sight of them. He frowns at the stacks, the crimson of his eyes swimming with uncertainty. You find yourself lingering a moment too long on the gaunt skin beneath his eyes that denotes just how little he sleeps these days, as if he wasn’t already sleep-deprived before losing his brothers.

Now, the thought haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

You miss the way he’d attempt to hide his smirk when you made a dumb joke and the way he’d snort in amusement when you teased him.

Now, every reaction you get from him is hollow. A ‘whatever’ thrown around here, a ‘fine’ there. He just doesn’t care. He’s going through the motions, surviving, and that’s it. Alive, but not living. It hurts to see him so pained as he carelessly tosses a cover aside on the first box he grabs, labelled with his youngest brother’s name.

The detachment is likely the only way he knows how to handle going through this paperwork again.

As Uraume settles on the other side of the couch, you take a seat opposite them both on the floor, leaning back against the coffee table, and open a box marked ‘Ryomen’ in writing you assume must be Jin’s. It’s proper, albeit a bit bubbly. Teacher writing, easy to read.

Peeking into the box, you take in the contents. A variety of documents and paperwork all piled messily on one side, while seemingly random bits and bobs all fit along the side. You pull out a bandana, some pencils with various city names engraved into the sides, keychains that say ‘#1 Teacher’, and a stack of sports trading cards in rough condition, tied together with a dried elastic band that’s one tap away from crumbling.

Setting them aside, you purse your lips as you find an inhaler. The liquid within, or what’s left of it, sloshes around inside as you tilt it to read the label. Sukuna, Ryomen. Salbutemol, two to four puffs per day. Huh.

“Do you have asthma?”

Sukuna pauses, raising a brow. “No, why?”

As an explanation, you hold the inhaler up over the stacks of boxes between you for him to see.

He clicks his tongue, returning to sorting through paperwork. “Nah, it was a misdiagnosis,” he mutters with a hint of frustration.

“Is that what they gave you that day I drove you to the hospital?” Uraume queries as they squint at the plastic puffer held between your fingers.

Sighing heavily, Sukuna nods. “Yeah.” His exasperation doesn’t waver as he explains, “it was supposed to help with my breathing. Didn’t do shit, though.” You run your thumb over the label, nodding as you set it aside with the rest of the trinkets from the box you’re tackling.

His breathing. Anxiety, you figure. Yeah, you can only guess that an inhaler wouldn’t do much for shortness of breath induced by stress.

All three of you return to silence as the sound of paper flipping fills the air. You pull out the top portion of the haphazard pile of documents before you, flipping through a stack of old resumes, cover letters, and job applications. Nothing really sticks out, so you flip through the bottom portion of the pile before dumping the rest back into the box, setting it all aside.

Dragging the next box labeled with your friend’s name towards yourself, you pop the lid of the box off. This one is more well-organized, and when you leaf through the documents, it’s primarily school documentation. Grades, report cards, attendance records, and odds and ends of projects.

It’s organized by grade, beginning with first and ending with seventh. Although you do your best not to snoop, it’s tough when you need to double-check documents for anything that could help Sukuna’s case.

Also, you’re nosy.

His grades are stellar from the first grade all the way to the seventh, though the last couple of files are a little bit thicker. Most of the extra weight from the file comes from permission slips for field trips, as well as notices of school events like sports rallies and school plays. Most of them don’t seem to have much to do with Sukuna as far as you can tell, but Jin must have kept them anyway. A couple of notices of unexcused absences signed by Sukuna’s father are also tucked within the last two files, though one with a different signature catches your eye.

Kaori Itadori. The first sign of her involvement in Sukuna’s life seems to be grade six, coincidentally lining up with the start of Sukuna’s unexcused absences. It could just be by chance, but you’d wager a guess that there’s a reason behind the change in Sukuna’s behavior. After all, he’d mentioned that he was eleven when Jin introduced her to him.

Still, this box is a bust, so you place the lid back on top of it and push it aside with the other completed boxes.

As you drag the next box over, Uraume holds something out to Sukuna. Hospital documents, it seems. “Is this from when Yuji got that ear infection?”

He squints at the page, adjusting his view to see it better. “Yeah, it was.”

“That was a nightmare,” Uraume comments, though there’s a certain fond timbre to their words.

“Don’t remind me,” Sukuna grunts.

As you peer curiously over at Uraume, who sets the paperwork aside, they direct their attention to you. “Yuji woke up in the middle of the night and woke Sukuna up complaining that his ear hurt,” they explain, “but by the time Sukuna and I got him to the urgent care clinic, he was in tears.”

“More like having a fuckin’ nuclear meltdown,” Sukuna comments, crumpling and tossing aside something from one of the boxes labelled with Choso’s name.

Uraume chuckles, shaking their head. “Yuji got treated almost immediately because he was causing such a disruption.”

“At least the brat never put slime in his ear again,” Sukuna sighs, shoving aside the box he was looking through.

You wince at the mere thought of what a mess that would have been.

“Because he learned his lesson, or because you never bought slime again for him?” Uraume raises a brow with a hint of a smile.

For a fleeting moment, you think even Sukuna smirks, but the moment is gone when you blink. “Never bought it again.”

“Figured,” Uraume chuckles, shaking their head.

You laugh along with them at the thought, able to picture the poor kid sniffling when Sukuna refuses to buy him any more slime. The poor kid’s clearly been a troublemaker since birth.

Your attention returns to the next box, which you’re expecting to be grades eight to twelve, but it’s a box packed full of old printed photos.

The top few are more recent, mostly made up of photos of little baby Yuji with barely a hair on his little head. You pout at the adorable sight, setting it aside as you quietly sift through photos. The top of the box is made up of baby photos of Yuji, and the deeper you go into the box is where childhood photos of Sukuna begin to pop up, along with many of Choso.

��Oh my god,” you gasp as you pull out a photo of Sukuna all dressed up for his father and Kaori’s wedding with a little scowl. “Look,” you gasp, holding it up for Uraume to see.

They grin at the sight, suppressing their laughter as best as they can. “I see you’ve always been grumpy.”

Unimpressed, Sukuna scowls at you. “Focus,” he grumbles, his expression matching the photo in your hand. Mischievously, you hold it up beside his face, your giggles slipping through as you’re unable to hold it in. Sukuna reaches out to swipe it from you, but you pull it back before he can.

Your smile remains in place as you continue to sift through photos. “Do you think any of these photos would be worth bringing up?” You query as you hold up a tall stack you’d set aside, primarily of Sukuna with his little brothers.

Scratching the stubble along his jaw, Sukuna reaches over the boxes between you to take a look at the stack. Halloween, Christmases, nothing that really screams ‘guardian’ as far as he can tell, aside from the few at the end.

Holding his baby brother’s hand as the infant got his vaccinations. Choso on Sukuna’s shoulders at some sort of outdoor fair show so that the little boy can see. Sukuna helping Choso cut some steak off the bone, followed up by Sukuna flashing the photographer a snarl to stop taking pictures. Sukuna hunched over the table, pointing to something in Choso’s homework. Furious Sukuna covered in whatever baby food Yuji had flung at him.

And lastly, the first time Sukuna held Yuji. He’d held Choso too when he was born, but he was an older teen when he held Yuji, and everything seems so much more daunting at that age. You can see that fear in Sukuna’s expression in the photo, too. Having another little brother to look after felt like a world of responsibility given that Kaori couldn’t seem to be bothered with her own motherly duties.

Even back then, Sukuna knew.

Jin had excused her behavior as a part of the experience of postpartum, but Sukuna wasn’t so sure. His father was blind to Kaori’s quiet mistreatment of her children. Hell, he was blind to her quiet mistreatment of himself.

And so, Yuji always felt like a new responsibility.

He just never expected his father to not be there to handle the brunt of it.

With a sharp inhale, Sukuna passes the stack of photos back. “No.”

Your brow knits together with concern at his obvious dismissal as he buries himself back into whatever he was looking through. You exchange a glance with Uraume, silently sharing their worries. Casting the thoughts aside, you plop the photos back in the box and shove it into the pile of completed boxes.

Surely, you think the next box will be grades eight to twelve, but the inside of the box takes you by surprise. You glance at the label on the outside of the box, but Sukuna’s name is crossed out, with nothing to replace it.

Shuffling through the box’s contents, you pull out a variety of old acrylic paints, little figures of dinosaurs and trees, glue sticks, paint brushes, and toybox sand in a little bag. Setting them all aside, you blink at what sits at the bottom of the box. It’s honestly… hard to decipher exactly what it is.

It’s mostly orange, and whatever it is seems to have somewhat imploded. It… might have been one of those old volcano science fair projects at one point? Jin must have kept it, you can’t envision Sukuna wanting to hold onto it.

Shifting the box towards him, you tilt your head. “Is this a volcano?”

Sukuna swallows hard at the sight. “Yeah. It was a project for our school’s Science Fair Day.”

“Oh! Choso’s?”

“Mine. It was a demo of how eruptions preserve life,” he explains blankly, his scowl deepening as he stares down at his lap.

That was the one box he’d intentionally known to skip the last couple of times he’d gone through files, but it slipped his mind this time around. Seeing that project all these years later doesn’t make the memory any less painful.

“Y’r volcano looks great!”

Sukuna grins at Toji. “Thanks! Dad helped me put it together and I painted it,” Sukuna states. He knows it’s just about the most generic project he could have put together, but it allowed him to show off his history knowledge thanks to his dad by talking about volcanic events throughout the years, and he’d get to show off his art, both of which he prefers over science.

Bonus points that it explodes, and what twelve-year-old doesn’t love that?

“Lucky. I did the lemon and potato battery thing, didn’t know what else to do,” the raven-haired boy shrugs. There’s a hint of jealousy in his eyes, but he moves along. “Is Jin comin’?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna help with the eruption,” Sukuna nods, turning to face the baking soda, water, dish soap and vinegar set up along his table in the corner of the school gymnasium.

Other students wander and look around at different projects around them as Toji shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, his emerald gaze focused on the ground. “I hope he looks at mine, too.”

Sukuna doesn’t really understand why Toji’s parents never show up, too young to grasp his friend’s situation, but he does like that his friend gets to spend a lot of time at his house because of it.

It’s only in the later years of their childhood that Sukuna would grow to realize just what it means to have an absent parental figure. Maybe even neglectful, if he’s more honest with himself.

“I’m sure he will,” Sukuna shrugs. He pulls his flip phone from his pocket to check the time. “He’s supposed to be here in ten minutes.”

“Sounds good. I’ll go back to my project!” Toji calls, racing off towards the middle of the gymnasium.

Watching as he practically barrels over a girl in Sukuna’s math class, the pink-haired boy shakes his head and surveys his project. He adjusts a dinosaur at the base of his volcano and shifts on his feet as he waits for his father to arrive.

Jin’s never late. So, five minutes past the time he said he’d be there, Sukuna pulls out his phone to check for calls or messages.

Nothing. It’s probably an accident.

Picking at his nails, Sukuna glances around the gym. The teachers are a couple of rows away from his project, so he still has time.

Once they’re only a row away, Sukuna finds himself searching the entrances every few seconds. He flips his phone open, but there’s still nothing. Pulling his baseball cap off, he pushes his hair back, settling the black cap back on his head.

The teachers only a few tables away when he pulls his phone out to call his dad.

One ring, two, three.

Five.

He gets the answering machine.

“Hey, Dad. Uh- I’m just waiting for you in the gym. Uh- bye.” He hangs up, staring down at the phone screen as though it’ll light up instantly and his dad will apologize and be running through the door, but that’s not the case. He tucks the phone back in his pocket, shifting from side to side.

As the teachers arrive at his table, he searches the entrances quickly. “Uh- my dad’s just late, can I go last?”

It’s not a problem, and they move on to complete the last few rows circling the outside of the gym. His dad has another thirty minutes or so, plenty of time.

As the minutes go by, the gym begins buzzing as it nears time for the teachers to judge the projects and announce a winner. The students get louder as they converse with friends around them, all while Sukuna silently watches the doors. With each second, he feels his shoulders falling. He wants to believe his father will show up, but…

He’s not sure what the feeling bubbling within him is, really. The emotion that rolls within his stomach and tightens his throat. The one that sends his mind reeling as he wonders if this has something to do with his dad’s girlfriend. He can’t say why his thoughts go there first, but maybe it has to do with that feeling he can’t describe, right?

Maybe he should call her.

He flips his phone open again, scrolling through his few contacts until he finds Kaori, calling her as well.

Voicemail.

He calls his dad.

Voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

Scowling down at his phone, his eyes are hot and he wipes any evidence of his disappointment away, turning towards his table.

This can’t be any different from that soda and mint experiment, right? So… the baking soda would be the mints, he supposes.

Sucking in a breath, he pours water into the base of his volcano with a bit of dish soap and food coloring, and finally the vinegar. He picks up the diorama to give it a little shake to mix it all, and stands straight as the teachers make their way to him.

One frowns, concerned when Sukuna is still alone, without his father, but Sukuna begins before they can ask any questions. He explains the process behind the preservation of the dinosaurs due to molten lava rock, the ways it solidifies around its victims and forms shells that allow humanity to cast an approximation of what something may have looked like. He points to a poster board standing behind his volcano with examples of such a thing, and goes over moments in history where it’s been recorded.

He doesn’t falter once.

The teachers can’t even tell that he’s wracked with nerves that his volcano won’t erupt as he dumps the baking soda into the volcano. It erupts without a flaw, leaving a trail of orange across the diorama and demonstrating his point by having bumps where the dinosaurs once were.

The teachers all clap, before heading off to discuss each project.

Sukuna’s hardened expression searches for his friend, threading through the sea of bodies when he finds Toji.

“Hey, where’s your dad?”

Sukuna casts a glance back at the entrance. He pulls out his phone in hopes of a missed call, but the screen is still blank. “Dunno.”

Toji’s head tilts, scratching at his neck. “Sorry, Ryo.”

“It’s fine,” he dismisses, although Toji can see through his friend’s thin-lipped neutrality.

For all his stupid antics and the dumb shit Toji pulls his friend into, Toji was forced into maturity at a young age, even if he doesn’t always come across that way. He recognizes the depths of Sukuna’s disappointment more than he’s willing to admit, so he launches into a discussion about how shitty his favorite basketball player has been this season to distract the pink-haired boy.

It works well enough as Sukuna stops obsessively checking his phone and tapping his foot. Although Toji and Sukuna don’t often talk about their home lives, they’re always there for one another. They’re too young to see all of the pieces of the puzzle when it comes to either of their families, but they do understand the quiet agreement to look out for one another.

Someday in the future, Toji would find himself wondering where exactly he went wrong.

Sukuna would find himself wracked with guilt.

But for now, Toji wraps an arm around his friend’s shoulders with a grin as Sukuna cracks a joke about Toji’s terrible taste in basketball teams.

It’s not long before the teachers return to the gymnasium to congratulate the winners. Third place goes to a girl in Sukuna’s math class who did a demonstration on aerodynamics with paper airplanes.

Second place goes to Sukuna, and though his chest swells with pride at the unexpected victory, something else festers within his chest.

He almost wonders if it’s a pity win. A volcano is nothing special, and to him, the history lesson he threw into it is just another day at the Sukuna household. He doesn’t realize the depths of his research and understanding of history, art, and even science.

He grins as Toji shoves his shoulder in congratulations, but even as he jogs to the front to accept the prize, the eyes of students around him feel…

Do they know, too? Do they feel bad, too? His skin itches with the strange crawling feeling those questions leave behind.

First place goes to a girl in Toji’s science class. She’s beyond smart, everyone knows she’ll go far, and her homemade lava lamp proves it.

When Sukuna’s finally allowed to slip away, he ducks through the dispersing crowd back to his table, where he pulls out an old banker’s box to dump everything into. He doesn’t bother to even wipe down the diorama, just tosses it inside along with all the materials and tucks the box and his display under his arm.

He pushes out of the gymnasium, beelining straight for the outdoors.

Rain downpours, hitting the cardboard lid of the box in his hands with a subtle plap! as droplets accelerate around him until it’s pouring. He blinks, his lips parting as he realizes there’s no car waiting to take him home, and the bus route is still a good twenty minute walk from his house.

“Hey, come back to mine.”

The pink-haired boy spins around to find Toji grinning. There’s no sign of pity in his eyes, to Sukuna’s relief.

He fumbles with his project box to pull his phone out one more time before nodding when he finds the screen blank. “Sure,” he relents, pulling the hood of his sweater over his ball cap to prevent it from getting completely drenched and soaking his hair.

It would be two hours later, just after dinner, when Jin would call Sukuna in a panic.

He’ll apologize- eyes red and cheeks puffy- to his child as he explains what happened. An emergency at work, something completely out of his hands. Sukuna still won’t really get it, but he’s old enough to recognize the signs of tears on his father’s face. He’s at that age where things begin to click, and just as they had clicked earlier than usual for Toji, things are beginning to make sense to Sukuna, as well.

He would learn later that there was no emergency at his father’s work, but rather that his girlfriend had chosen Sukuna’s science fair time to reveal something to Jin.

The pregnancy was an accident on both parts. An unexpected baby boy.

The timing to tell Jin, however, was no accident. It was an opportunity to erase Jin’s past, to pull all focus and attention to a chance at a new life and leave behind the old one, should Jin allow it. That’s the thing about Jin, however. He would never, not in a million years. And so despite Jin’s joy, they had fought. The first- and maybe even only- time, to Sukuna’s knowledge.

Unfortunately for the little boy drenched right down to his socks in rain with his head down as he walks away from the Zenin household that night, he isn’t aware of the depths of Kaori’s manipulation in his life. It’s because of her that it won’t be the last time Sukuna is disappointed by her, or even by his father at her beck and call.

“Sukuna?”

Uraume’s staring at him with a raised brow, their arm outstretched. He blinks, pulling a document from their hands.

“Would that help with anything?”

Flipping the file to face him, Sukuna frowns at the contents. Detailed medical records for Kaori, and thus far the only record of her existence aside from one signed absence record. After looking through his documents the first time earlier this year, he’d come to the conclusion that Kaori had scrubbed her files and taken them with her before she’d left, as though she might someday get accused of something by Sukuna.

As though she knew.

“Maybe,” he hums, looking the records over. They’re detailed records of a full exam before Yuji’s birth with not a single thing out of the ordinary that he could potentially use to disprove whatever medical records Sukuna is certain that Kaori forged. Still, they’re from a year prior to the supposed sickness, so can he even be sure that would work? “Dunno if it’s enough.”

You narrow your eyes briefly at him, having noticed just how zoned out he’d seemed for a good few minutes, but he seems fine now. Shaking it from your head, you pull the next box towards you.

The following banker’s box that you find is grades eight to twelve, as you had expected of both previous boxes. This one is packed as full as it can possibly get, nearly bursting at the seams. Grade eight is similar to seven, a couple of unexcused absences, a few unsubmitted projects that Sukuna was allowed to make up, but nothing that stands out and no evidence of Kaori.

Grade nine does stand out. Dozens of notices of unexcused absences, and for whatever reason all of the signatures shift to Kaori’s. His report cards all seem to be missing from this year, as well as most of the evidence of his grades at all. Tucked between a novel study and math worksheet is also a photocopy of an apology letter, handwritten by Sukuna, asking for forgiveness for stealing an answer key for an exam.

You can only guess the lack of evidence of what took place this year means this is the year that Kaori bailed him out, and consequently the year that changed Sukuna’s entire perception of her.

Following the ninth grade, he seemed to pull his grades together with nothing that really stands out or points to Kaori.

Grade twelve tells a story that has your heart sinking.

Excused absences start here. Each one is signed by Jin, but as they progress, the signatures get sloppier- weaker. There’s a document denoting Sukuna becoming a part-time student in order to take care of ‘familial obligations’, and his signature to sign off on dropping an art class in order to have two spare time slots in his schedule.

You cast a glance up at Sukuna, who yawns and rubs the corner of his eye as he squints at something Choso wrote when he was in second grade, the little boy’s writing nearly illegible. Shaking his head, he continues to sift through files with the same devoid expression on his face.

You can’t help but wonder if this really isn’t affecting him, to go back through his siblings’ files like this, or if he’s just bottling up whatever emotions arise from the documents.

Frowning, you turn your attention back to the box. The last thing tucked at the very end of the box is Sukuna’s graduation cap. You pull it out, unflattening it and untangling the golden tassels with a minute smile. It’s clear that Sukuna meant the world to Jin, keeping every last detail from each year.

Sukuna catches sight of his graduation cap out of the corner of his eye, averting his gaze before you can ask any questions about the day. Talking about the time Yuji shoved slime in his ear is one thing, but he can feel his ability to search through documents waning as the day stretches on.

He’d thought he had no tears left to shed and no anger left to yell, but it would seem that isn’t quite the case as each one of Choso’s little worksheets and duotangs with sweet drawings of him and his brothers claws the wounds open once again. It seems as though Sukuna can still bleed.

Sukuna had never really cared for graduation, he’d always reasoned that high school was just that- high school. Grades hardly mattered to anyone but Jin, attendance was a joke, and he’d been adamant that math was a waste of time when instead of understanding the equations properly, he memorized how to program formulas into his calculator and still got high marks.

But Jin cared.

And Sukuna’s not sure he’ll ever forget the proud look on Jin’s face, alone in the crowd, as Sukuna crossed the stage.

“Right here’s great, Ryomen.”

Sukuna leans down to Jin’s eye level, squinting up at the stage. “You can’t see anything from here, Dad.”

“I can figure it out, you go to your seat,” his father insists, but Sukuna just rolls his eyes. Taking a hold of the handles of his father’s wheelchair, he stands up straight and takes a look around, making the executive decision to find a better spot. The venue choice for the ceremony is just about the least wheelchair-accessible option that the school could have chosen, but Sukuna’s positive they just went with the cheapest choice.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, go to your seat,” Jin attempts to shoo his son away, insistent that he can find a spot, but Sukuna knows damn well from the tremble in his fingers and telltale wheezing that today isn’t a good day for his father’s health and he’s just pushing through. Some days are better than others for Jin, and while today isn’t a good one, Sukuna deems that he’ll make it one, if that’s what his father wants. If he wants to watch his son graduate, then he will.

Slowly wheeling his father down an aisle of chairs, he moves him off to the side, out of the way but with a narrow view between the seats that allows Jin to actually see the ceremony. “Better?”

Jin sighs and nods, grateful to his oldest son. He reaches up to adjust his glasses before affixing the camera in his lap to a stabilizer that Sukuna had saved up for to help with the tremor in his hands. His father always loved photos, and Sukuna wouldn’t let his frailty take that from him.

Jin’s beyond proud of the man his son has become. He once worried Sukuna wouldn’t make it through high school when his grades began plummeting as he and Toji often disappeared the moment they were dropped off at school. As soon as no one was looking, they were gone with the wind.

Jin never blamed Toji, though. They were just kids, out doing what kids do best. Having fun and getting in trouble.

“Got it working?” Sukuna asks, leaning down to check the camera’s screen himself.

“All set!” He smiles, his eyes gleaming from behind his glasses. “Go sit,” he shoos his son away.

Sukuna’s gaze evaluates his father’s wellbeing a moment longer, looking over the way his fingers tremble, his slightly labored breathing, and his pale complexion, paired with obvious weight loss. His illness is undeniable, but he looks happy right now, so Sukuna finally nods and takes his assigned seat between a couple of people he scarcely knows who just happen to share last names close to his in the alphabet.

The ceremony is painfully long and Sukuna pays little attention throughout the majority of it. He probably would have stayed home and had his diploma mailed if this wasn’t the single most important event for his father. All month, it was the only thing Sukuna had heard about.

Could be worse, he supposes. At least he isn’t sitting between four sterile white walls with the sickening smell of some sort of pungent cleaner. There’s no rhythmic beeping, no distant sounds of the chatter of nurses. Just a low buzz of excited students and parents. It’s almost comforting knowing that he’s here with his father, rather than where he could be.

Row by row, students rise and cross the stage until it’s Sukuna’s turn. With a quiet sigh, he steps across the stage under bright lights and shakes the principal’s hand, taking the diploma in his opposite hand as he turns to pose for a photo.

His eyes scan the crowd, settling on his father, who has the biggest grin Sukuna’s seen on his face in months. The pink-haired man’s lips quirk at the corner, his shoulders relaxing at the sight as his father’s contagious smile somehow crosses the whole crowd to Sukuna.

For all his complaining, that one sight might have even made this whole ceremony worth it.

Stepping down off the stage, Sukuna returns to his seat, waiting for the ceremony to end with the traditional cap toss.

Sending his cap flying through the air, the graduate slips out of his seat as the ceremony comes to a close. He makes his way to the back of the conference hall where his dad is still seated, eagerly awaiting his oldest son.

“I’m so proud of you, Ryomen,” Jin beams, tears in his eyes as his son returns to his side.

A puff of air leaves Sukuna’s nose, something between a laugh and embarrassment as the tips of his ears warm. “Thanks, Dad.” He rounds the wheelchair to grab its handles, waiting patiently for the room to clear.

“We should find your cap, I want to make one of those graduation frames with the photo and cap.”

“School’s cheap, they rented the caps and gowns. We don’t get to keep ‘em,” Sukuna explains stoically.

Jin contemplates this for a moment as he places his camera within the bag he’d brought along. He pulls his phone out, fiddling with it as he speaks up again. “You know, they probably won’t notice if one is missing.”

Sukuna’s brow raises, a faint smirk on his lips. “You wanna steal something?”

Jin chuckles, a faint cough rocking his frame that causes Sukuna’s smirk to falter. “Let your old man have this.”

With a quiet sigh, Sukuna stares out at the hats littering the area in front of him. “How am I even supposed to tell which one’s mine?” He mutters, staring across the expanse of unmarked hats.

“My son’s got a big head. You’ll know,” Jin teases in such a way that it’s easy to forget anything is wrong in the first place.

Sukuna snorts. “Thanks, Dad.”

Wheeling his father to the edge of the seats where most of the caps litter the floor, he attempts to look for the biggest hat, but they’re all the same size. Jin knows it, too.

As Sukuna steps over the caps, he moves towards his seat, looking in the general direction that he thinks he tossed it. There’s literally no way of knowing, so he picks up a cap and holds it up for his father’s evaluation.

“Too small,” he calls from the edge of the caps.

Sukuna shoots him a look, but there’s amusement swimming in his eyes. With a little huff, he carelessly tosses the cap back into the pile, sifting through the remainder. After a moment, he picks up another one, flipping it only to see the tassels are somewhat mangled. He makes the executive decision to not even show his father that one, instead finding one that seems to have avoided being stepped on while the students all made their way out. He holds it up, satisfied when his father grins.

“That’s the one.”

“Great,” Sukuna chuckles, setting the cap on his dad’s lap as he steps over the remainder of them. Jin tucks it into his bag, his expression morphing to a more pained one as he pulls up his texts afterwards.

It’s not often that the pink-haired young man snoops, especially on his father, but one look at the contact has him immediately reading over his father’s shoulder. It’s not easy with the tremor in JIn’s hands causing the screen to shake, but that won’t stop Sukuna.

From what Sukuna can tell, Jin and Kaori seem to be in an argument about the graduation ceremony. Jin had told Sukuna that Kaori wouldn’t be able to make it due to her work schedule overseas (which is for the better, if you ask the brutish man), but his heart sinks as he sees the truth of what they’re fighting over.

It was never work at all. Kaori just didn’t want to miss an outing with her friends and colleagues.

It’s not like Sukuna cares, but Jin does. In the eight or so months since she left, she hasn’t once returned. Not for birthdays or anniversaries, not for Christmas, and least of all for graduations.

Yuji isn’t even a year old. 

As he reads over Jin’s shoulder, he wonders if the lie about her being unable to make it due to work was something she said to Jin in an effort to cover up the fact that she doesn’t give a flying fuck, or if Jin always knew all along and came up with the lie himself to protect Sukuna. It’s not like he needs the protection, but his father’s always been a kind soul like that.

With a final ‘talk later’ text, Jin sets his phone inside his bag and glances up at Sukuna, who coolly wheels him out to the parking lot, where he proceeds to help him into the small family car.

“How does lunch sound, kiddo?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sukuna mutters as he lifts his father into the passenger seat before rounding to the driver’s side. “And that’s alright. I know we’re short on cash, we can skip the-”

Jin frowns. “You don’t need to worry about that. As soon as my surgery date’s here, I’ll be back to it in no time and your step-mother can help until then.”

From the driver’s seat, Sukuna’s grip on the gear shift tightens. He knows damn well that Kaori has sent the bare minimum as far as money goes, just enough to pretend she cares. Being as kind-hearted as ever, Jin always sees the best in people and of course he believes her.

“Sure, Dad. Where do you wanna go for lunch?”

Sukuna swallows hard, grateful that when he glances back up at you, that the godforsaken cap is out of sight.

He stares down at the slight tremble in his own fingers, as though his own body is mocking him. His jaw clenches at the mere thought as he shoves aside the box he’d almost finished, deeming whatever sits at the bottom to be a waste of his time as he carelessly shoves more documents into the box.

He pulls the next box from the stack with a hardened expression as nothing continues to jump out at him, given that he’s already seen all of this shit.

Time passes in relative silence until Uraume needs to excuse themself to head to their evening plans. Sukuna follows them to the door to chat, though you hear their quiet exchange as Sukuna claims he doesn’t need them to check on him. Still, his friend insists they don’t mind and want to spend time with him.

You honestly expect him to put up a fight to defend his pride, but whether he’s too dejected or too tired, he doesn’t bother, back to sorting boxes before you know it.

Finishing up with the last box with Sukuna’s name on it, you take a look around. “Which one should I take next?” You ask, unsure what’s already been checked.

With a long inhale, Sukuna scans the remaining boxes. “Uh- just take this one,” he nudges a box near his foot. “It’s another one of Choso’s shit.”

You pull it towards yourself, popping the lid off. You pull out a stack of drawings from the top, unable to hold back a bittersweet smile at the drawings made by a very young Choso of what you can only assume is himself, Sukuna, Jin, and Kaori doing a number of fun activities. As you flip through them, your smile falters when Yuji appears, but Kaori disappears from the art altogether.

Sukuna’s expression in the art changes, too. From a neutral one to a frown.

There are no more drawings following one of the four of them around a Christmas tree. You’re grateful, honestly, because you’re not sure you could stomach seeing the way the drawings would shift after Jin disappears, too. Would Choso’s smile turn into a frown?

You don’t want to know.

You set the drawings atop the last box you sorted, alongside a hospital bracelet with any information completely smudged from its surface.

Sukuna glances up as you set a stack aside, the bracelet catching his attention. He blinks, rubbing his eyes. Why had he agreed to look through everything again? He already knew you would all come up short. A few medical records with Kaori’s name on them won’t do much to help his case. What’s he supposed to say? ‘Well, Your Honor, she was fine a year ago’?

Things change in a year. Hell, they can change in an instant. Sukuna knows that all-too-well.

The door shuts behind him as Sukuna turns to hang his keys off of the hook on the wall. Choso’s at a friend’s house, though his father should be around somewhere with Yuji. Sukuna skips every second step on his way up the stairs, heading past the chairlift they’d had installed to allow Jin to remain independent. He peers into his dad’s room, before finding him in Yuji’s nursery.

The kid had almost outgrown it at this point, but his father insisted on waiting until the last moment to swap everything out.

Jin’s not slick with his lies either, unable to hide anything from his keen eldest son. Sukuna knows the real reason is that they aren’t just short on cash, they’re completely and utterly broke. Jin’s relying on the medical leave payments from his work to cover their living expenses, and whatever pitiful amount of money Kaori claims she can spare. It’s not enough to care for the four of them, but he won’t allow Sukuna to drop out of college in order to get a job.

It’s his one and only request from his tattooed son.

Jin doesn’t ask Sukuna to drive him to appointments, or to help him around the house. In fact, if anything, he insists that Sukuna doesn’t help. He continues to take care of Yuji on his own, doing what he can to eliminate work for his oldest, but it doesn’t stop Sukuna from stepping in.

On shaky legs, Jin leans heavily on Yuji’s crib, pulling the child into his arms. It pains Sukuna to watch his father play a balancing game, all the while the baby in his arms is crying.

“I got him,” Sukuna mutters, pulling Yuji from his father’s grip.

“It’s fine, Ryomen, I-” Jin cuts himself off with a sigh, shaking his head as he takes a seat back in his wheelchair.

“Lemme take you guys down to the kitchen.”

Although Jin struggles with his loss of strength and therefore his loss of mobility and overall independence, the kind man struggles the most seeing Sukuna handle so much of the responsibility. He never allows his son to change a diaper or cook, he handles the bulk of the responsibility of having children, but for all of his denial, he’s grateful that his oldest has grown into a smart and capable young man.

It’s easy to see where Sukuna got his prideful independence from when you consider the way he misread his father’s intentions at the time. The young man always assumed that Jin tried to refuse Sukuna’s help out of pride, but that was never the case. From the moment Jin began to need an extra hand, he tried to spare his son of the responsibility not out of pride, but out of love. He always wanted his son to have the opportunity to enjoy the freedom of being a young adult in college.

Still, Sukuna just brings Yuji downstairs without a word, setting him down in a high chair and coming up next for his father.

The process is easy enough when you’re built like Sukuna is. He wheels his father to the stairs and doesn’t bother with the chair lift, opting to carry his dad down to the awaiting second wheelchair to transfer into. From there, he leaves his dad to do his thing, ducking away to his room without another word.

Shutting the door, he runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, falling face-first onto his bed.

It’s been a long day. College is a different experience from high school and he needs to put in a lot more effort to apply himself properly and he’s not looking forward to studying for his exam tomorrow. Why did he take geology anyway? There had to be easier credits elsewhere.

Pushing himself back up after taking a breather, he unloads the contents of his backpack onto his desk and settles down with his laptop.

With headphones on over his ears, he stares blankly at his geology textbook as he considers the life choices that led him to learn about sedimentary rocks. He thinks a part of him had expected more of a focus on mountains, or fossils, or… something. Either way, he doesn’t think he likes rocks enough for this.

His brow furrows as he swears he hears something loud and piercing over the sound of his music, which is loud enough as it stands. Pulling his headphones down, he hears Yuji crying, but shrugs it off under the assumption that Jin will handle it.

As a minute goes by and he hears more wails, he pulls his headphones down once more. He hears no movements, no shushing. What the hell?

Huffing, he tosses his headphones down on his desk and makes his way back down the stairs to the kitchen. He stops dead in his tracks when he reaches the edge of the tile, blood running cold at the sight of his father on the floor, slumped against the kitchen cabinets. He’s still conscious, clutching his chest, but has no energy to even attempt to soothe Yuji’s cries. His mouth is parted as he focuses on breathing.

“Shit,” Sukuna reaches into his pocket urgently, pulling his phone out and dialing the emergency number. He sets it on the floor on speaker as his wide eyes take in his father’s shallow breaths. His skin is pale with a sickening blue hue, and as Sukuna attempts to adjust him, he groans. “Shit,” Sukuna mutters again as the phone clicks to connect him to an emergency operator.

He runs on autopilot as the emergency operator begins questioning him. The nature of the emergency, his address, his father’s medical history. It comes naturally to him now, but it didn’t always. No matter how many times he’s gone through this cycle, however, it doesn’t get any less terrifying. Even now, the fourth time in five months that he’s called the emergency number, his hands tremble as he attempts to keep his father present and awake while replying to the operator on the other line, all while doing what he can to shush his little brother so that they can hear Sukuna on the phone.

When the ambulance arrives, Sukuna races to the door to let them in, pulling his hungry little brother into his arms as he surveys what his father was doing before he collapsed. There’s some sort of food in the blender, maybe he can just feed that to Yuji and take the kid with him to the hospital.

It’ll have to do.

He races to strap Yuji into his car seat, taking the family car and following closely behind the ambulance. The little boy’s wails only intensify as he grows hungrier, unaware of the goings on around him.

“I know Yu, fuck, gimme a moment, okay?”

Sukuna’s words don’t appease the little boy, who continues to sob. Reaching the hospital parking lot, the brutish man sighs as he parks, the screams of his little brother pounding in his head already. He turns in his seat, grabbing the baby food- or whatever it is- and spoon that he’d shoved into a little bag on his way to the car.

“C’mon, it’s alright,” he grumbles in his best attempt at soothing the toddler when he leans over the center console of the car to attempt to spoon some food into Yuji’s mouth. 

Yuji throws his hands around, knocking the spoon from Sukuna’s hand. The man pulls back, raking his hand aggressively through his hair in frustration.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles to himself, picking it back up and wiping it on his shirt. He can clean it later, it doesn’t matter right now. With a sharp inhale, he scoops up another spoonful of what he can only guess is carrots and pauses before Yuji’s arms can reach out again. “Don’t be a brat,” he mutters, holding it barely out of arms’ reach.

Yuji calms down for a split second, just enough time for Sukuna to propel the spoon through the air towards him. Just before it can reach his mouth, the toddler wails and turns his head, sending the spoon to the floor again.

Sighing heavily, Sukuna twists back into the driver’s seat, head in his hands as he levels himself so as not to take out his frustrations on his baby brother. He isn’t even one year old, Sukuna can’t be upset with him for acting his age. He knows that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with his current reality.

Sukuna’s head pounds with each sob that tears from the boy’s lips, and after a shaky breath, Sukuna flips again in his seat, composing himself with a frown as he picks the plastic spoon back up, wiping it on his shirt once more with a slight curl of his lip, and tries again. He recalls what his dad likes to do to get Yuji’s attention, raising the tone of his voice as best as he can to mimic his father’s gentle tone.

“Look, Yu,” he holds the spoon out, waiting for the baby to react. Yuji’s cries die down as he curiously stares at his oldest brother, kicking his feet. Sukuna takes the miraculous opportunity to spoon food into the little boy’s mouth, relieved as he eats in spite of his face being drenched in his own tears.

Breathing out a sigh, Sukuna feeds the kid until he begins to rub his eyes and refuse any more, yawning as his eyelids grow heavy. Able to easily get him into a blanket in his arms, Sukuna scoops him out of his seat and finally is able to make it inside, where he’s informed to sit in the waiting area.

He’s been here a handful of times for the same reason once or twice, though he’s sat in this waiting room for other issues more times than he can count. He knows the harsh overhead lights serve a purpose, but he despises the sterile glow they provide. He’d rather sit in the dark if it means he doesn’t need to see the equally terrified and sickly faces plastered across the waiting room around him.

A man with a towel held tightly over his hand, a woman with two crying children hugged tightly to her although she’s barely holding it together herself, a kid around Sukuna’s age, maybe just barely eighteen, asleep under his coat by himself. Different people, all in different stages of their lives, all here with the same shared experience under harsh lighting.

At least the walls are a pale blue, rather than white or eggshell. He wants to think it’s the hospital designer’s way of acknowledging what’s really going on here, like the blue is meant to let everyone down easy. It’s less harsh, more solemn.

He can only pray he isn’t about to be let down as a familiar face makes their way out of the double doors at the front of the room. The attending physician who’s been here the last couple of times this has happened spots Sukuna and makes his way over.

“Hey,” Sukuna greets him, rising from the chair carefully in an effort not to wake Yuji, who’s finally resting quietly in the blanket Sukuna had wrapped him in.

“Hi, Ryomen. Your father’s stable,” the man explains, looking over the records on the clipboard in his hands.

“Thank god,” Sukuna sighs, letting out a breath.

“We do need to discuss something important, though,” the doctor adds, his gaze settling on the page before him.

Sukuna’s chest tightens as he prepares himself.

“Your father’s not responding to his medication anymore. With that being the case, we need to look at surgery now. The original procedure is off the table, we’re looking potentially at a transplant.”

Sukuna’s jaw slacks in disbelief, his back straightening as unease slithers up his spine. His lungs feel as though they’re physically shaking within his chest, squeezing the air straight from him.

“We’ll need to find an urgent donor, so we’ll keep monitoring him here until then, but you need to make the call now whether to proceed, in case he doesn’t wake up before then.”

Sukuna’s eyes shift wildly around the room, searching for something to anchor the way his skin crawls and his heart races. He adjusts his hold on Yuji, hugging the little boy tightly to his chest, though he’s careful not to disturb the baby. “Uh-” his voice breaks before he can begin. He clears his throat, starting again. “I thought the meds were working?”

“They were,” the man affirms. “The human body can change in an instant,” he explains with a shake of his head, offering a thin-lipped smile in understanding. “There’s still a lot we don’t know about it.”

Sukuna lets out a shaky breath, staring down at Yuji. “Right.”

The little boy deserves to know his father, and if this is their only change at that, then-

“Do it.”

The physician evaluates Sukuna’s expression as he nods. “I’m glad you’re open to it, though I’d like to go over the risks with you first, transplants aren’t easy on patients or surgeons. In the meantime, you’re welcome to visit him. I’ll meet you in there to discuss potential complications.”

“Thanks,” Sukuna mutters.

“Room three-one-four.”

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Sukuna passes through the double doors. He hates that he knows his way around like second nature. His dad shouldn’t be going through this to begin with, he’s too young for this shit.

Sukuna, Choso, Yuji, they all are. They’re all too young to sit by their own dad in this state.

He stands at the door to the room, feeling it hit his back and knock him past the frame before he approaches his father. Using his foot, he drags a chair closer to the hospital bed, eyes scanning the man’s pale features, unconscious on the bed. Sukuna keeps Yuji clutched tightly to his chest as he lets out a shaky breath.

Risks, huh?

He knows what that means. He supposes he should see if Choso can get dropped off at the hospital. He should be here.

Just in case.

Sukuna blinks a number of times, moving a hand up to rub his eyes and accidentally sending the paperwork on his lap across the floor. He frowns, reaching down to gather the papers and dump them back into the box he’d pulled them from.

He glances up at you as you sift through a box of mostly Choso’s baby possessions. His first onesie, his first plush, a blanket knitted by one of Kaori’s parents, a baby tooth that you visibly grimace at as it clicks what’s in the little bag you’re holding.

The next sealed bag you grasp is filled with powder that faintly glimmers with pink sparkles. “What’s this?” You query as you notice Sukuna openly staring at the bag as well.

“Tooth Fairy dust.”

Your brow raises as you hold it up to get a better look at it. “Salt and sparkles?”

“Probably,” Sukuna shrugs. “Cho stopped believing pretty quick,” he adds, choosing to omit the fact that it’s because he forgot to replace a tooth with cash.

You frown, tossing it- along with the other contents of the box- back inside and pushing it into the pile of finished boxes. Dusting your hands off with a couple of claps, you peer around, eyes landing on the last box that you think is unfinished. “Can I take that one?”

Sukuna nods, uncaring one way or the other. He just wants to be done with this, at this point. He thought since he’d already been through these files twice that he could steel himself and make it through it, but it hasn’t proven to be that easy. He’d been so sure he’d spilled enough oh his own blood that there was nothing left to bleed, a husk of his former self, but every reopened wound pulls out more from him than he ever thought possible.

You hear him sigh as the silence returns while you both read through your boxes.

The last box is labeled with the youngest Itadori’s name, though when you open it, there’s no drawings, or plushies to be found. It’s filled with paperwork from back to front and side to side. Nothing jumps out at you immediately, so you pull out the stack stuck to the leftmost side and begin sorting through it.

It’s almost all hospital records and paperwork, the whole pile. You quickly flip through what else is in the box, your brow drawn together in confusion. Had Yuji spent a long time in the hospital as a baby? Settling down to get a better look at the documents, you flip the first one open. It seems to be a document printed off the internet with general information on a disease you aren’t familiar with.

Homozygous Familial Hypocholesterolemia. HoFH, for short. Inherited genetically from both parents, and a very rare form of the disease that affects patients from a young age. It influences how the body processes cholesterol and puts those affected at a high risk of heart disease at a young age.

You skim the remainder of the document, lips pursed in confusion as you flip to the next page. Does Yuji have HoFH? You know the document details that it affects kids at a young age, but you would think it would have come up by now.

The next document seems to be the second or third page from some sort of hospital discharge planner with a detailed recovery plan listing a number of prescribed drugs and when to take them in order to prevent heart failure, along with an extremely detailed health and diet plan in order to help the body accept a heart transplant.

Your chest tightens and you check the name on the outside of the box again. It does say Yuji’s name, but you get the feeling these files have nothing to do with him.

Frowning, you quickly flip through paperwork until you find exactly what you’re looking for.

Jin Itadori. HoFH. Heart Disease. Acute Heart Failure. Acute Cellular Rejection.

Your fingers pause on the page as the weight of the loss buried within the box settles in and you frown, sparing a glance up at Sukuna. You delicately and neatly put the paperwork back into a pile, setting it atop the box, and slide it across to him.

“I don’t think I should look through this one,” you tell him softly, your voice low with sympathy.

Attempting to rub the pounding in his head away, Sukuna presses circles into his forehead with the pad of his thumb before looking up at you with a pained sigh. It’s clear that he wants nothing more than for this to be over and it’s getting increasingly difficult to flip through the pages without losing himself in one memory after another, each one tearing away the scabs of old scars.

Dragging his hand down his face, he pulls the box towards himself in exasperation, his eyes skimming the paper you’d placed in a pile atop the box. This is the only box he deems not to check each time, because he knows the contents like the back of his hand. It’s one of the few he’d packed rather than Uraume, over the course of the year that his father had grown ill. The front is shoved full of dumbass brochures on how to handle Heart Disease and transplants, and one of the last things at the very back of the box, poking its corner out, is the obituary he’d been forced to write.

Sukuna’s fingers tapped along the top of the page, his eyes drawn to the photo he’d chosen for the column. Is that what you call an obituary? A column? Makes it sound like some sort of drama piece. He supposes that maybe that’s fitting, given the drama his life had become.

From appointments to unanswered phone calls to lawyers and social workers, followed by funeral arrangements, the most daunting task isn’t even the obituary that he’s struggling with. It’s the baby sound asleep in his little cradle… thing. That, and the kid clinging to his writing arm, watching as Sukuna struggles to figure out how to write an obituary.

Choso’s sitting on his knees in a chair he’s pulled up next to his older brother. Each time he shuffles, he tugs Sukuna’s hoodie, choking him and grating further and further on his nerves.

“Cut it out!” He hisses finally, shooting his little brother a sharp glare.

The little boy looks up at him, his expression entirely unreadable. Sukuna had expected him to be upset at the very least, but he’s just… nothing.

That’s been the case since Jin died.

Pure, unwavering silence.

Sukuna hears the older of his two brothers crying alone at night sometimes, but he doesn’t have it in him to face the kid. He blames himself for a portion of it as it stands, and that only weighs heavier on his conscience. It’s not like lashing out is helping, but his anger towards the world clouds his judgement.

It shouldn’t have happened like this. Sukuna followed every guideline to a T, and made sure his father did too.

So why the hell did his body reject the transplant? It had to be some sort of cruel joke that Sukuna swears he should wake up from any moment now, because this is too much. It’s all too much.

He wrenches his arm out of his little brother’s grip, leaning back in his seat and pushing his hand through his hair. His chest is painfully tight as he captures another glance at his father’s photo. Maybe it’s just the angle, but it feels as though he’s judging Sukuna’s behavior. He’d be disappointed, if he could see what had become of his family, and what had become of Sukuna.

Before Jin had passed, Sukuna had long grown out of his anger towards the world. Jin had labeled it as a ‘rebellious phase’, although Sukuna knows the cause of that ‘phase’ was Kaori. The anger he feels now, it’s not like back then. Sure, he’s always been on the quieter side and not an overly enthusiastic or emotive person, but he wouldn’t have called himself an angry guy. Now, he thinks the label might make sense.

Jin had been so proud of him, even just a couple of months ago when he’d awoken from his heart surgery.

He’d thanked Sukuna for being there for him, and for taking care of the kids. Then, without so much as a break to rest, he’d immediately taken over in caring for them all, again. After the first few weeks, he’d even been able to take some steps on his own. There’d been so much progress, and the whole family’s spirits lifted.

Then, out of nowhere, acute cellular rejection. He’d gotten a fever, and that was it. Sukuna had let Choso say his goodbyes before sending him out of the room. The two Itadori brothers had sat alone on the other side of the wall with the seven-year-old watching his baby brother, while Sukuna held his father’s hand as the light behind his eyes faded.

He turns his gaze back towards Choso, examining the way the little boy quietly sits and stares at the page in front of Sukuna, blank aside from a few scribbled out phrases.

The oldest clenches his jaw.

Choso’s mother should be here. Kaori should fucking be here now. How many more missed calls before Sukuna needs to accept the reality that he’s a guardian to two kids while trying to make his way through college?

It’s not a life he wants, nor one he ever prepared for, and he’ll hold it against his step-mother until the day he croaks. Not just for himself, but for Jin. For his brothers.

With anger festering in his chest, he doesn’t realize how hard he’s pressing the pencil he’d picked back up at some point into the paper until the lead snaps from the pressure. The sound brings him back and he stares at the blank page.

He should just try this again later. Maybe it’ll be easier when Choso’s asleep.

He drops the pencil with a heavy sigh, pushing away from the kitchen table with the heavy scrape of a chair. The sun is setting anyway, he should just make dinner.

He turns to his brother, one hand on the open freezer door. “Chicken fingers?”

No reaction.

“Uh-” he swaps to the pantry. “Veggie soup?”

Nothing.

He rubs the bridge of his nose, staring at what’s left of the food from their last shopping trip. “Do you just want cereal, or somethin’?” He shrugs, turning back to the little boy.

No reply, but there’s a shift in his expression.

“Fine,” Sukuna relents, too tired to worry about the fact that his little brother is having cereal for the third dinner in a row.

The little boy slides off the chair, making his way over to Sukuna to be handed a box of Froot Loops and a bowl. His older brother helps to pour the milk before turning on the oven to throw in some spicy chicken pockets for himself. He supposes he can’t judge his little brother when he’s been living off of these for the better part of a week.

He leans back against the counter, watching his little brother silently stare at the multi-colored cheerios in his bowl as they soak up milk.

They’re both shadows of what they once were. Him, and Choso. He knows it’s not fair of him to pull away from the boy, but he’s never been great at managing his emotions, now it’s simply amplified by the situation they’re caught in.

How is he ever meant to take a step in Jin’s shoes when his own barely seemed to fit?

He’s failing his brothers, and he’s failing his father. Hell, he can’t even write an obituary. He’s never been good with words and nothing seems to do his father justice.

His thoughts gnaw at him, even as the oven beeps to let him know it’s preheated, he doesn’t move a muscle, not until Choso has dumped his bowl into the sink and quietly slunk off to his room. It’s then that Sukuna feels everything pressing in on him.

“What am I supposed to do?” He mutters to himself, his eyes hot and watery, as though somewhere his dad might hear him and give him a sign. But this isn’t some sort of fairy tale and he’s hit with the harsh reality that he doesn’t get a happy ending like that.

Sukuna shakes his head as you call his name, bringing him out of his thoughts like a damn life preserver saving him from drowning.

He’s sick of it. Sick and fucking tired of reliving all of these moments, of being forced to recall the way his father deteriorated. Most of all though, he feels shame. Shame, and rage towards himself for how he’d handled everything. His brother only ever seeked comfort from him and what the hell did he do? Shove him off.

For fuck’s sake, he was seven. He didn’t know any better. Probably didn’t even understand what was going on, and Sukuna pushed him away. The guilt eats away at him still, and he wants so badly to go back in time and fix things. The struggle to take care of two kids is one thing, but fuck, he wishes he could go back, erase some of the things he said.

He never meant a word of it. He never meant half of his actions. He was just a kid too, angry at the world with no way to express it.

Yet somehow, they still chose him, didn’t they? Both Yuji and Choso clung to him like their life depended on it, like he’d somehow made their lives better and now more than ever he struggles to see how he could have ever earned that trust, that love from them. Somewhere along the line, they became his world. His family. His anchors.

He wishes he could grab his younger self by the collar and shake some sense into him in order to get him to step up and be the brother those two kids deserve.

He supposes that’s why they’re not with him now, though. He’s never been what they deserve. And as he sees the contents of the final box which have no information regarding Kaori, with very little to work with as new evidence, he thinks that maybe this is just the way things should be.

His jaw tightens, and he scowls as he quickly picks the pile up, opting to shove it forcefully back where it had come from, only for it to get caught on something.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters, attempting to shove them in with more force.

Sensing his distress, you shuffle forward on the floor until you’re in front of the box, one hand over his as you gently take the stack from his hands, pulling it back out to adjust it and see what was preventing it from being replaced.

At the bottom of the box is a paper folded neatly into three like a letter ready to be slid into an envelope. You pull it out, setting it aside on one of the boxes you’ve already searched as you neatly tuck the stack of paper back into place.

Catching a glimpse of handwriting on the paper you’ve set aside as the tri-folded paper pops open, Sukuna’s scowl remains in place as he reaches forward to grab it. He slides his thumb along the side of the page, letting the contents of the paper breathe for the first time in four years, unbeknownst to him.

The paper itself is torn from a staff hospital notebook with the facility logo in the corner. It’s lined, with shaky and smudged blue ink spanning the top three quarters of the page. The writing is somewhere between the bubbly and easy-to-read print of a teacher and cursive, though the shakiness of the writer’s hand means it’s no longer as easy to read as it clearly once was.

His eyes scale the length of the page without reading a word for longer than he’d care to admit as he takes in the state of his father’s writing. It’s not hard to deduce when this was written without even reading a word, and that pains him so much that he finds his own hands trembling, afraid to read the text written out before him. He’s not certain that he’s ready to face whatever Jin likely wanted his last words to his eldest son to be.

When he collapsed a month after his operation, when his body rejected his heart, there had been a moment in the hospital that burned itself into Sukuna’s mind. With Yuji in Sukuna’s arms and Choso curled into Jin’s side on the bed, the eldest son had exchanged a look with his father, one that said what they were both thinking.

Jin’s time had become limited. The dour exchange made Sukuna want to get down on his knees and beg for another chance, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Jin looked tired. More tired than Sukuna feels now, and he thinks it was that weariness that told them both that it was time.

Shuffling his hands over the paper, he snaps himself out of his trance. He holds the page taut as his eyes finally settle at the top when he finds some courage.

Ryomen.

I hope by now that you know this, otherwise maybe I haven’t done my job well enough (haha!) but I’m so proud of you. I know how tough the last year has been, but I’m so grateful I got to see you graduate and be there for your first day at college. Thanks for looking after your old man, too. Obviously I made it look easy, but taking care of the three of you is no joke.

Sukuna stiffens, his jaw clenching as he feels pressure build within his chest. A lump forms at the back of his throat as his lip minutely trembles.

You’re a good kid, and I know you’ll nail whatever you put your mind to. If I’m being honest, I was surprised you chose the same major as me, even if I’m proud to see you follow in my footsteps. I think I always expected you to go into art. Maybe I didn’t do a very good job of telling you that I’ll support you no matter what you chose, I just want you to be happy. Or maybe you like history more than I realized! I did make it pretty fun to learn, hey? Maybe I’m a better professor than I thought, haha!

Sukuna’s eyes burn and he blinks, rubbing them with a thumb and forefinger. He stares for a moment down at his hand, wet with warm tears that he can’t feel running down his cheeks, his face otherwise numb from the tension of his grinding teeth.

I wish I could continue to watch the three of you grow. You’re so good with your brothers, it’s always made me happy to see Choso follow you and Toji around. I know I’m supposed to scold you for spray painting around him, but I was just happy to see you including him. Someday, maybe that’ll be Yuji that Choso is including with his friends. Keep an eye on them for me, yeah?

I know you and your step-mom had your fair share of issues, but she told me she’d look out for you. She’s coming back, and she said she’ll make sure there’s space for all three of you until

Sukuna blinks. He flips the page, but the text simply… ends. He inhales shakily as he scans the front of the paper again as though he somehow missed the rest of the letter, but there’s nothing more. Sure, he was nearly at the bottom, but he couldn’t have meant to end it there, right?

You sit with your hands in your lap as you quietly watch Sukuna read the folded paper you’d set aside. You watch as he flips it once, twice, his jaw set with tension and eyes reddened with the streaks of the tears that have run down his cheeks as he searches for something. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he sets the paper aside and drops down to his knees on the floor across from you, beginning to pull documents out of the box, scrutinizing each one.

Your lips purse as his movements grow increasingly urgent, no longer setting the paperwork aside but rather tossing it. Sitting up on your knees, you shuffle towards him, frowning as you gather the paperwork back together into a pile where he’s tossed it aside.

“Is everything okay?” You ask softly, but he’s so caught up in whatever it is that he’s searching for that your words barely register in his mind.

Hospital discharge papers, prescription information, insurance claims, legal documents, that damn obituary that he’s still ashamed of.

It didn’t matter how many times he rewrote it, Sukuna had always been bad with words. There was nothing overtly personal about it, about as generic as an obituary gets, and fuck Jin deserved better than that. His hand trembles as he stares at the paper, unaware of his own strangled gasps as his grip tightens and the paper crinkles.

Attempting to prevent what feels inevitable, you sit up on your knees and attempt to take his hand and grab his attention. Before you can, the obituary slips from between his fingers and he continues digging through the box. His movements grow erratic, tossing paper anywhere in the hopes of finding something that answers the question of what remained to be said.

“Sukuna, stop,” you softly attempt to urge him as you reach for his hands, but he pulls away, intentionally dodging you. His breathing, the tears, his movements, it all grows increasingly manic by the minute, so you try again to reach out. This time, you’re faster. Your hands grip his wrists, gentle but firm as you momentarily halt his movements. “Stop,” you whisper.

“It has to be here, I-” he pauses, but you can tell even he isn’t really sure what he’s saying. “There has to be more.” With that, he pulls himself from your grasp and tosses the remaining neatly stacked paperwork from the box, searching whatever has fallen to the bottom as though there might be another tri-folded paper hidden as well as the first one was.

He sifts through long-dried sticky notes and half-crumpled hospital documentation, continuing to mutter to himself that there has to be more as he ignores every attempt you make to slow his movements and bring him back down to earth. When nothing seems to work and you find your own anxiety bubbling up into your throat at the sight of your friend- hell, the man you love- so broken, you do the only thing you can think of.

“Sukuna, please,” you beg, your voice barely above a whisper as your hands settle on his cheeks. They’re warm with his tears in contrast to your cold fingers, and you feel him stiffen under your touch, his movements coming to a halt. His chest rises and falls heavily as his fingers slow and the sticky note he was holding falls from the tips of his fingers. “Please,” you repeat quietly.

With labored breaths, his gaze rises to meet yours, flickering between your eyes as he searches for answers that he won’t find. Not with you, and not within the box. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, it’s then that he breaks. He grits his teeth harder, if that’s even possible, leaning on the edges of the box. He grips the cardboard so hard that one edge nearly collapses under the force of his hand as finally the tears in his eyes fall freely.

He’s deathly quiet, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and gathering along your palms as he blinks and averts his gaze. His face is warm with his frustration, confusion, and unadulterated melancholy, but the worst feeling of it all is chagrin.

If Jin only knew all the way Sukuna would let him down in the future, the brute’s not so sure his father would have written something of the sort.

You give Sukuna time to let everything he’d bottled up out in the open air and catch his breath, swiping away any stray tears with your thumbs as you keep your grip steady, fighting your own shakiness in order to do so. As his breathing evens, you slowly and carefully nudge the box between you off to the side and out of his grasp and shuffle forward. You let your fingers slide back through his hair and pull his face into your shoulder, letting him relax into you as you rake your fingers soothingly through pink strands.

His hands find purchase on your waist for a moment, before his arms slide around you. He pulls you closer, your body slotting against his like you belong, and he feels the slight vibration of your voice as you speak quietly.

“What was on the paper?”

You feel him swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing against your collarbone. “A letter,” he mumbles hoarsely. “From my dad.”

You nod slightly. “What else were you looking for?”

His grip on you tightens. “The letter-” he pauses, sighing against you, “- it’s not done.”

You shift slightly, looking over his head tucked into your shoulder to the letter folded on the couch. “Like, he didn’t finish writing it?”

He shakes his head against you. “It just ends.”

Nodding slowly, you turn your attention back down to Sukuna, who’s hunched forward in such a way that it can’t be comfortable given how much taller he is than you. “Can I read it?”

His chest rises and falls slowly. “Yeah.”

You pull back from him, sliding your hands back through his hair and down his cheeks with a solemn expression as you separate yourself from him to pick up the letter. Taking a seat on the couch, Sukuna plops down beside you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

The feeling you would describe upon reading the letter is wistful. A musing sadness, mixed with a yearning desire for Sukuna to find peace. Ever since he told you of his father’s passing, you’ve sensed that he never really got the opportunity to grieve, to understand, and to forgive himself for the blame he’s clearly taken when no one is at fault.

Jin’s writing dissipates three quarters of the way down the page. There’s more than enough space for him to have continued, but time clearly wasn’t on Jin’s side, and he’d run out of it before he could finish. You can understand why Sukuna so desperately searched for an end to the letter, but seeing it for yourself, you know he won’t find it. You can see in his eyes that he knows that, too.

The letter may not offer any real parting words given that it’s unfinished, but you can only hope that it’ll offer your friend the closure he desperately seeks.

“Your dad seems really nice.”

His head tilts back to look at you as he nods.

“Was he the kind of dad that made a lot of jokes?”

“Constantly,” he mumbles. “Y’know what one of the last things he said to me was?”

You tilt your head at him.

He lets out a short breath through his nose, shaking his head at the mere thought. “He told me he was glad he made it through his book about anti-gravity.”

Your brow furrows momentarily, but when it comes to you, you find yourself with a small, wry, smile. “Because he couldn’t put it down?”

The faintest hint of a quirk pulls at the edge of his lips as he stares at the pile of paper scattered around your feet. “Guess that’s a common one,” he mutters.

You shrug with one shoulder. “My dad’s a connoisseur too.”

Sukuna’s gaze slides to the side as he eyes you through his peripherals. His hair falls forward over his forehead, blocking most of his view of you, but sharp crimson irises peek through the curtain of pink as he examines the gentle and caring look on your face. Raising a hand, he pushes his hair back, tilting his head more towards you as he catches a glimpse of the tired look you seem to be trying hard to hide, probably for his sake.

A pang of guilt tugs at his chest at the realization that everything has been so focused on him that he’s failed to ask about you.

Fuck, he thinks he may even have never asked about you. Surely he must have, but… he can’t think of a particular moment. The shame makes his skin crawl and he damn near wishes he could crawl right out of it in an effort to rid himself of the feeling.

Maybe he can at least right his wrongs now.

So, he tests the water. “What’s…” he pauses, still leaning forward on his knees. “What’s he like? Your dad.”

You blink a couple of times, glancing off to the side in thought. “He works hard. My parents both do. They work hard to make sure I can be here, in school. It’s why my scholarship is so important,” you begin, considering Sukuna’s question. “I guess… he’s a little bit strict, but he’s always been really supportive. Money is really tight, you know? But…” you pause, smiling, “him and my mom work extra hours to make sure I get to go to school. They help with everything the scholarship doesn’t cover.” You smile at the thought, staring down at the letter held within your hands. It’s clear that Sukuna’s dad felt the same way. “Your dad seemed really proud, too.”

You twist the conversation so naturally back to Sukuna, and he blinks as his opportunity to check in on you seems to dwindle, and he isn’t quite sure how to turn things back. Still, he replies. “Yeah. Back then, maybe.”

You frown, eyeing Sukuna’s contemplative scowl. “He’d still be proud, Kuna. I know it.”

Doing his best to brush past the nickname that he’s still struggling to handle, he sighs. “I don’t think he’d be thrilled to know I dropped out, or lost the kids.”

“None of that is your fault,” you point out, holding the letter pointedly towards Sukuna. He glances down at the paper, sitting upright and leaning over to look at it as you hold it out. “Kaori made promises she didn’t keep.”

“Maybe she really was sick.” The defeat in his tone is devastating from someone who holds that woman in the lowest possible regard.

“You don’t mean that.” You know he doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t. You turn slightly towards him on the couch, your gaze flickering around his reddened eyes and slightly puffy cheeks. “Why do you blame yourself for all of this?”

He doesn’t move for a moment, his brow twitching as his scowl deepens. You wonder briefly if he’s ever even thought about the answer to that question, if maybe it comes from a place of self-loathing so deep-seated that he’s never once stopped to consider it. Your question is quickly extinguished like a flame underwater when he doesn’t so much as waver when he replies.

“I don’t blame myself for his death, or the shit Kaori pulled,” he explains grimly, his eyes darkening a shade as somewhere within him a wall is broken down as he allows himself to be vulnerable with you. Truly, and utterly vulnerable. “I blame myself for the fact that I’m in this damn position to begin with.”

Unsure of the meaning behind his admission, you set a hand on his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sure Kaori lied about a lotta shit,” he shrugs, staring ahead blankly at the wall behind the TV. “But everything she said about me was true. I didn’t…” he trails off, harshly raking his hands through his hair. “I didn’t even know Cho was being bullied.”

Frowning, you run your hand up and down his spine as he leans forward on his knees again. His eyes briefly flicker shut, a sense of calm flooding him as you attempt to soothe his nerves.

Sukuna allows himself a moment to bask in the silence. It’s funny, he thinks, how difficult it seems to let someone in, to air out your stress, and yet this is the first time since he lost the kids that his mind isn’t screaming at him. There’s no flood of self-deprecating thoughts or doubts, no ‘what if’s clawing at his throat and pressing down on his chest. It’s just open air and acceptance, because you never judge or pity him.

His eyes flicker back open, the dark circles beneath them more apparent now than ever. “When Dad died, I was so fuckin’ angry at the world,” he shakes his head, “I never meant to, but I took it out on Choso.” He shuffles to put his head in his hands. “I always wonder if I’m the reason he’s so quiet now,” he admits, muffled from behind his hands. “I know I’m all they had, but-” he shakes his head. “It doesn’t make all the doubts any easier.”

You shuffle closer to him, your thigh brushing his as you drape an arm over him in a makeshift hug. Your warmth and weight seems to lighten the pressure in his chest, even if only for a moment. Resting your cheek on his sculpted back, you run your thumb up and down his side softly. “You’re a good brother, Kuna,” you whisper. His muscles ripple beneath you, something you’ve begun to catch onto. “Your dad said so himself.”

He lifts his head from his hands, letting his eyes adjust for a moment before searching for the letter, settled in your lap. He sits upright, careful to let you slide off of his back without disturbing you too much. Slowly, he flattens the letter within his fingers again, listening only to the distant sounds of cars passing by outside the apartment. His eyes slowly move across the page as he takes in the words once more, settling within him with a sense of finality, rather than the anxiety that had threatened to drown him barely fifteen minutes ago.

You’re so good with your brothers.

With a long, deep inhalation, he grips the paper a bit harder.

Keep an eye on them for me, yeah?

Still, he frowns. He’d dropped out of school and lost his brothers. The two things his dad had asked of him. He can feel your eyes on him, examining the way he stares dejectedly at the scribbled words. He can see a question within those pretty irises of yours, held within the way you purse your lips. He answers before you can ask what he’s thinking.

“He asked me to look out for them, and I-” he shakes his head and shrugs, waving his hands through the air pointlessly.

You nod in understanding. “When do you get to visit them?”

Sukuna scoffs. “Today. She cancelled, shocker.”

Fuck. You had hoped that maybe she would prove both you and Sukuna wrong, but that’s clearly not the case.

“Dunno what the hell I’m supposed to do. There’s nothing here,” he gruffs, hopelessly motioning to the pile of paperwork scattered across the floor and within boxes. You know he has a point, there’s nothing here that won’t get the appeal request denied instantly as far as you can tell, but it’s not in your character to just give up.

It’s not who he is, either. But you hold the pieces of yourself close to your heart, while Sukuna’s are scattered across the floor with the paperwork at your feet. You can see it in the way he doubts himself, how he pauses whenever he gets a glimpse of a mirror, and now he’s flinching at the sound of his own nickname.

He’s lost himself.

“That’s not your fault. He wouldn’t blame you. He would see Kaori for who she really is,” you decide, steeling your own resolve as you attempt to take the blame from him and place it with whom it belongs.

He doesn’t reply, staring at the letter as he contemplates where it ends. He can only assume it was written at the hospital bed where his father passed, but how did Sukuna miss the letter? How did it end up in the box? Had he read it years ago and buried it so deeply within his psyche that it came across as new to him? Hollowly, he shakes his head at the mere thought. He’s not sure he could do such a thing. Not when this is the closest thing to closure that he’ll deem to get.

Silence hangs heavily over your heads, but the shared space held between you is comfortable. Your thighs are still pressed together, his bulky bicep brushing yours each time he shuffles. You help bear the weight of his troubles without so much as a peep.

It’s just who you are, and makes you far more fitting of the nickname he has for you, that he’s always thought was a little too sweet coming from him. Maybe it’s been more fitting than he thought all along, though.

“Are you okay, princess?” He asks out of the blue, finally finding the opportunity to ask the question that had been plaguing him for the better part of the last twenty minutes.

You straighten, eyes wide with confusion. “Yeah, why?”

Sitting upright, he tilts his head to get a better look at you. “You’re startin’ to look like me.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you try to make heads or tails of what he means. “Buff?” You ask lightheartedly.

“No, smartass,” he scoffs. “You wish.” He lets the teasing quip hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “Tired.”

“Oh!” You nod slightly, considering where he’s coming from. “Yeah, I guess. I’m fine though, really.”

Sukuna’s no fool, he can tell you’re hiding your emotions. He’s spent the better part of the last four years with a little brother who hides behind silence when he’s upset and in comparison to Choso, you’re easy to read. “C’mon, princess. Your turn,” he offers you the floor, waving his hand through the air as he leans back against the couch.

With pursed lips, you fiddle with your fingers uncertainly. Of course, he is right. You’ve been struggling a lot recently, and Kento’s told you time and time again that your emotions and stress are just as valid as Sukuna’s, even if his issues feel greater, but…

It doesn’t make it easier to admit to someone who you can’t even really say has seemed like himself in months.

“You don’t need to worry about it, Sukuna,” you brush him off, careful to use his full name. He doesn’t seem as bothered by it. His eye does twitch, but that might just be because you’re attempting to deflect.

You do so much for him, you push him to talk, and yet you won’t.

How frustrating.

Okay, so maybe he gets it, now. It is annoying.

“Princess,” he deadpans with an unimpressed curl to his lip. “What’s goin’ on?”

Sighing, you shake your head. “It’s not a big deal, really,” you attempt to brush off his concerns, but he’s staring at you pointedly now. “I just- um- I’m worried about my scholarship,” you admit. “But I’ll figure it out! It’s really not a big deal,” you quickly add before he can chime in.

He scowls in confusion. “What’s happening with your scholarship?” He queries.

“I- um-” you search for an explanation that doesn’t place the blame on him given that you’ve been helping him so much that your study time went to the wayside. “I missed a paper,” you sigh, deciding on something that might spare him a bit of stress. “It’s stupid, I thought it was due Wednesday but it was due Monday and the prof won’t let me make it up,” you shrug. “And now I’m kinda just behind.”

He nods slowly, staring down again at the letter in his lap. He sets it aside on one of the boxes, wrapping a bulky arm around your shoulders and giving you a squeeze. “If you’ve got a history class to study for, let me know.”

You chuckle. “Not this semester, but thanks, Kuna.”

He inhales sharply, nodding. His arm doesn’t move from its place as the both of you sit there, silently comforted by one another within your shared stress. Within the warmth of his arm, tucked into his side with your head resting on his pec, things don’t feel quite so bad.

That is, until the realization of just how close you really are sets in, and your poor heart begins to race and a pang of pain overtakes the comfort. You do what you can not to make a big deal of it, sighing as you sit back up and pull yourself from his grasp. You tell yourself it’ll be easier this way. It’s better you let yourself down than have him do it again. You’ll heal in due time, but you need to allow yourself the opportunity to do so. You need to separate the comfort you offer him from the confusing signals he sends you.

“I’ll handle this,” you offer in a mutter, looking for anything to create some space between the both of you as you slip down onto the floor and carefully gather the paperwork at your knees.

Sukuna examines you carefully, trying to make sense of where you stand as friends. It’s strange the way the lines seem blurred and one moment he’s certain you share his feelings, but the next moment… He watches the way you push away from him to gather the paper at your knees.

“I’ll help, just… gimme a moment,” he grumbles behind you, making his way to the washroom.

You breathe out a sigh when the door clicks behind him and the sink turns on. You shouldn’t even be thinking about a romantic relationship between all of the issues you’ve already got to deal with.

How are you even meant to think like that when Sukuna can’t bear the sound of the name that you and the kids call him? You scarcely catch a glimpse of the man you’ve grown so fond of over the last few months, the last thing he needs to add to his plate is romance.

Your eyes scan the contents of each of the pages before you as you sweep them up into a pile, heart sinking with the words strewn across each page, and the knowledge that Sukuna would have just barely been an adult as this was all happening. To need to list your own child as an emergency contact when they’re barely an adult is a terrifying thought.

Casting the thoughts aside, you finish gathering the last of the paperwork and shove it as neatly as possible into the box, taking the lid and shutting it before pushing it aside. Only a couple of documents aside from the letter were taken from the boxes, but Sukuna’s right to say they don’t consist of enough evidence to sway a court that’s clearly already under Kaori’s influence to Sukuna’s side.

Frowning, you take a seat on the couch once more, awaiting Sukuna’s return. You can still hear the sink running, so you find your eyes running along the familiar TV stand and shelves before you find your old GameCube tucked aside.

With Sukuna taking as long as he is, you take the opportunity to move the GameCube back to its original spot (conveniently in the center of the floor, of course) and flip open the disc reader, pulling out a Sonic game and popping in your old Animal Crossing game. Taking a seat back on the couch with an indigo controller in-hand, you wait for all the logos to finish crossing the screen before starting your old save file.

You occupy yourself with trying to figure out how to find bugs and catch neat fish once again when you finally hear Sukuna shut the water off and the handle of the door slightly jiggle. When he re-emerges, his hair is slightly damp near his forehead and a single drop of water drips from his chin to the hardwood below.

He takes in the somewhat cleaner living space and nods to you as thanks, taking a seat beside you and draping his arms across the back of the couch. His forearm brushes the back of your head as he blankly stares at the screen, watching as you run up to a little pink bear villager. An exclamation forms over her head as she notices you, before dropping what might be the funniest line Sukuna’s ever seen from a very family friendly game as the little bear proceeds to say ‘woah! You look so weird! And not weird in a hip way, either. More like, “weird” as in “makes me wanna barf.”’

He snorts. “Isn’t this game for kids?”

Giggling, you nod. “It is. They used to be really mean in the old games, though.”

Sukuna hums.

“Here, hold on.” You leave the dialogue with the bear villager, wandering around until you find the character that was your biggest hater when you were, like, seven. You spot the white cat with purple makeup and run over to her. “I spent so many hours as a kid trying to figure out how to get her to leave my town,” you explain.

“They can leave?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, doing little circles around her as you chat. “She made me cry as a kid, so I sent her hate mail-”

“Hold on,” Sukuna’s chest rumbles at the sheer amount of childhood information that one sentence just unloaded onto him. “You and your lil’ Flower character sent hate mail? You cried?”

You laugh harder, subconsciously leaning into him as he slides somewhat towards you. “Yeah, to both. She was really mean and my friend told me that’s how you get them to move away, so I wrote to her every day to tell her I hate her,” you speak through laughter, throwing your head back.

Even Sukuna seems himself for a moment with a tired smile as he chuckles alongside you, comfortably reclining his feet onto the coffee table. “Christ, princess.”

“The hate mail obviously didn’t work,” you add, finally approaching the cat and speaking with her. You can’t say you’re shocked when she says ‘what’s with you!! Get away from me! You smell!!’

Sukuna snorts again, his chest continuing to rumble with laughter. “Dunno. Maybe she’s right.”

Pouting, you shove Sukuna’s chest, but he hardly budges as he snickers at your side. You roll your eyes as you settle back into place, falling into easy conversation about the goal of the game and why you stopped playing as a kid.

For a moment, Sukuna doesn’t feel quite so hollow. As though maybe the piece of him that crumbled when his father passed can be mended with the revelation of the letter, and the piece of him that you keep within your heart is being held in place, just for a brief moment in time.

He finds himself staring at you more intently than usual, a calm, albeit weary look in his eyes. He settles comfortably into the couch, leaning back into the cushions and eyeing the way the green and blue tint of light from the TV illuminates your features and shines within your irises.

When it comes to you, Sukuna knows he’s a fool. He’s messed up so many times that the look of hurt on your face that he caused is something he knows he’ll be living with for a long time, but he feels like a fool now more than ever. He wants to think that maybe you still have feelings for him, he wants to think that maybe it isn’t just him that finds peace with you subtly tucked into his side, and yet…

You always pull away. And he can’t tell if you’re scared, or if you don’t feel the same way at all.

He frowns, staring down at his lap. Is he that much of a coward that he can’t just ask?

He contemplates it, examining the little content smile on your face.

Yeah, he thinks he is.

Yawning, you catch a glimpse of the time on your phone. “I should probably get going,” you say softly, saving the game and quitting. Sukuna grunts quietly, yawning himself. His eyes don’t leave you as you begin gathering your belongings, shrugging a jacket over your shoulders. “What do you think you’re gonna do next?” You query as you pull your keys from your bag.

He shrugs. “Dunno,” he admits quietly. “Guess I’ll talk to my lawyer again,” he sighs, shrugging hopelessly. “I think my only option is to sue her for not lettin’ me see the kids for visitation.”

You frown. It’s not ideal in the slightest, nor is it what any of you want, but at least he isn’t completely giving up. In fact, he seems okay right now. His breathing is deep and even and his jaw isn’t set with tension. There’s even a sliver of the Sukuna you’ve grown to care very deeply for peeking out at you.

“I’ll let you know what the lawyer says. Maybe there’s another way,” he mumbles from where he sits on the couch.

In comparison to the complete and utter defeat he’d been struggling with, this is a positive change. He’s more present than you’ve seen him in ages, and the drive to do right by his brothers has a flame lit beneath it once more, even if it’s not the brightest.

You smile softly. “Sounds good. See you at work Tuesday?”

“Mm. See ya, princess.”

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

❦ a/n ; i got a little carried away again with this chapter again LOL i hope everyone enjoyed the long chap!! this was such a challenging chapter to write when it came to keeping sukuna in character, while exploring different parts of his life, times when he wasn't quite so angry. the way he's grumbly and tired but still kinda happy at his grad might be one of my fave scenes tbh

i also really enjoyed writing for jin, even if it was just a bit. adding the little pieces of his personality to the letter was such a bittersweet moment as a writer to kinda wrap up a character i've teased so often :') i love these characters sm

anyway, thank you all for sticking with me for my very long and very slow burn LOL, ily guys and i hope you all enjoyed <33

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.

@yenayaps @kunascutie @aiicpansion @fushitoru @gojoscumslut

@hellish4ever @cuntyji @theonlyhonoredone @catobsessedlady @timetoletmyimaginationfly

@clp-84 @coffee-and-geto @candyluvsboba @favvkiki @gojodickbig

@spindyl @ohmykwonsoonyoung @kyo-kyo1 @officialholyagua @jeonwiixard

@ieathairs @cinnamxnangel @nessca153 @aerareads @after-laughter-come-tears

@tillaboo @thepassionatereader @erencvlt @v1sque @a-girl-with-thoughts

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@privthemis @captainsarcasmandsass @ryomeowie @vitoshi @kunasthiast

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[revasserium]

roronoa zoro; 21,051 words (not including epilogue), fluff and angst, ENEMIES!!! to lovers, the slowest of slow burns, canon-normal violence, on-page description of injury, excessive use of flashbacks, some banter, healing from trauma, baroque works!reader to strawhat!reader, no "y/n", emotionally constipated!zoro, hurt and comfort, angst with a happy ending; (epilogue tags will be posted separately)

summary: in which neither you nor zoro are the children you remember each other to be.

update: new chapters will be posted on @shouyuus!!!

a/n: IT'S FINALLY HERE!!! i honestly cannot believe i actually finished writing this lmfao. but anyway, this post will act as a table of contents/masterlist of sorts, and i will update links to the separate chapters as they go up. chapters will be posted every few days (but they are all done! except for the epilogue LOL). i've tagged everyone who has req-ed to be tagged in this series so far on this prologue post, but if you wish to be tagged for the upcoming chapters and you're not already on this fics specific taglist, please comment below to be added! and without further ado -- here we go!

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: someone, somewhere

chapter one: a shadow of the past

chapter two: tell no tales

chapter three: sleep of the living, dreams of the dead

chapter four: another life

chapter five: true love's kiss

epilogue: la petite mort (nsfw)

prologue: someone, somewhere

He remembers you most as a child, in halcyon images and gold-limned flashes of his own childhood memories, the edges blurring watercolor soft, but the center (always you) carved in knife-sharp relief.

You were one of the few children that lived in Shimotsuki Village who hadn’t come from the doujou — one of the few children he knew that (at least to the best of his knowledge) had a thing called family. A mother to braid your hair, a father to chase the darkness away, a warm bed and a kitchen that always smelled of freshly made rice. And perhaps it was jealousy, or some other more complicated emotion that had been then too big to name with one single word, but he’d never gone out of his way to befriend you like the other kids from the doujou did — fascinated as they were by your soft hands and round cheeks and the bright, glittering array of homemade sweets you’d bring with you once every couple of weeks.

He’d learn later on that it was because Shimotsuki-sensei had saved your father’s life at some point in time; the story now lost to the annals of legend and withering memory, but back then, he’d only assumed it was the natural way of things. Of waking up for kata practice and then settling in for lunch, and then maybe, if it was to be a good day, you, with your basket of sweets and your blue-bell laughter.

And perhaps this is why, years later, when he meets you again in a dark, nameless village tavern, he doesn’t recognize you — not at first. Because you’d looked so different. Gone was the roundness in your cheeks, or the natural star-bright light in your eyes. Gone, too, were the bright braids that your hair had always been set in — he remembers so clearly, watching the other boys from the doujou jab their fingers into the rings of your pinned up braids, pulling down just to hear you squeak. He hadn’t said anything then, stupidly thinking him above it all, watching as you tried to jerk away, but laughing when the boys finally relented with half-hearted apologies.

You always threatened to take their sweets away; you never did, in the end.

But there, then, in that tiny tavern, you’d been thin, your hair dark as an oil spill, loose and inky as it cascades over your shoulders, your eyes lightless as the windows to an abandoned house — the hollowness made all the more visceral by the light he knew once inhabited them. The way loneliness is always more potent when coming back to it, the second time around.

He wanders up to the bar, slates you a glance before rapping his knuckles on the worn wood to catch the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll have beer and a refill of whatever the lady’s having.”

You shift slightly, shoulders hunching towards your ears.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you say, shifting to shield your face from his gaze.

Zoro cocks his head, tossing a few Berry towards the bartender as they set down a stein of beer and a champagne flute to replace the one in front of you.

“Can’t a guy buy a girl a drink?” Zoro asks, rolling his shoulders as he reaches out for his beer. You eye him warily.

“Not for a guy that’s been tracking me for three weeks straight.”

Zoro hums, thumb poised on the hilt of his swords.

“We just happened to be going in the same direction.”

You reach out to run a forefinger along the rim of the thin champagne flute before swirling it once by the base. You watch the bubbles fizzle before leaning in to take a dainty sip.

“And they say chivalry is dead…” you murmur, almost too softly for him to hear. Zoro scoffs, allowing himself a twinge of a smirk before his mouth falls flat.

“You let me track you for three whole weeks.”

There’s no question in his words, only a harsh, accusatory certainty.

You lick your lips, leaning back in your stool, tugging your glass of champagne with you.

“Maybe I wanted the company.”

“Or maybe… you wanted me to follow you here.”

Every muscle in his body is tense, drawn taut as a tightrope, coiled tight as a spring.

You sigh, twisting a single lock of your hair around a finger, examining the ends as if looking for split hairs.

Then, quick as a flash, you’re at each other’s throats — him with a sword poised at your jugular, you with a knife pressed against his stomach.

“One move —” you warn, digging the knife slightly further into his skin. Distinctly, Zoro feels the pressure slice through his thick linen shirt, the cool kiss of the blade against his abdomen. And he’s killed enough by now to know that you’ve picked a major artery — one that would hurt, and take minutes for him bleed out. Just long enough for him to suffer, but not enough to get help.

The edge of his mouth ticks upward — not bad.

It’s then, in the infinitesimal flicker of your eyes meeting his, that he realizes who you are.

He nearly topples back, jerking away slightly with the revelation. Your eyes go wide, jolted by his sudden movement. But he’s quick enough to evade the sharp jab of your knife and a second later, you’re on either ends of the tavern, drawn blades and bared teeth.

“Y-you!” the word rips from Zoro like an unripe scab, thick and hard and still bloody underneath.

You lick your lips, eyes narrowing to slits beneath your long, lanky hair.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you don’t.”

“Oi! No fighting in the bar!” the barkeep’s voice is gruff and loud, and for a second, Zoro wonders if you’ll listen. The next, the sharp clang of metal on metal stuns him backwards a few steps as you wrest your knives from between two of his katanas, snarling.

“If you’re so much of a gentleman — let’s take this outside.”

“Ladies first,” Zoro spits out as he whips both swords through the air before sheathing them. He makes a show of holding the tavern door for you as you stalk out in front of him, your hackles raised, your knives jutting out from your belt like so many pairs of sharpened claws.

“What do you want?” you ask, as soon as you’re both out of the bar and standing in the moonlit street outside, the wharf to your left, the strip of small, rundown taverns to your right.

The air twangs with the metallic smell of fish and the thick, oppressive sweetness of rotting wood.

“An explanation,” Zoro says, crossing his arms and planting his feet.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Zoro nods, “Sure. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know.”

You lick your lips, glaring at him for a second longer before turning and marching down the rickety boardwalk. A moment later, Zoro levels himself with you as you round a corner onto a small stretch of beach, pillowed against a backdrop of sharp, unrelenting rocks, the tips bleached white by the round, silver moon.

“There was a beach just like this,” you say, stepping onto the tide-soaked sand, leaning down to pick up a fragment of a broken seashell, washed ashore by an errant wave.

It takes Zoro a second to realize you’re talking about Shimotsuki village, and the tiny little beach on the other side of the dense, cedar wood.

“Yeah. A bunch of us used to play there — see who can throw rocks out the furthest.”

“You were always the best at that,” you say, your voice softer than he’d heard all night.

“Yeah, well…” Zoro shrugs, leaning down to pick up a piece of rock, weighing it in his palm a few times before whipping his arm back to snap it into the gentle, shushing waves. You both watch as the rock skids out over the water before plunking into the sea, “Guess I’ve always been kind of a show-off.”

The sound of your laughter sends summertime sparklers racing up his spine.

The quiet pools between you like spilt blood, rank and dripping.

“So. You go by Ms. Double Nines now, I heard,” Zoro says, in a flagging attempt to be casual as he turns to glance at you, both his hands resting on the hilt of his swords.

You stand next to him, your eyes focused on a point far out on the horizon, still as statue.

“What’s it to you?”

Zoro sighs, looking down. In the pale, cool moonlight, his earrings glint like baring teeth.

“What happened?”

You suck in a breath.

"Life happened,” you say, turning back towards him with a steely glint in your eyes. Zoro stiffens, his grip tightening on his swords as he sizes you up. He does the mental calculations — you’re just far enough for him to defend against an attack, but close enough where if things were to go south entirely, he’d have a hard time getting back to safety.

You grin, seemingly noticing his rough internal calculations.

“Do yourself a favor, Roronoa — and don’t ask questions you don’t wanna know the answers to,” you say, flicking out one of your blades and tossing it up into the air, only to catch it around your finger, swinging it round and round, the sharp edge of the blade nicking the air just shy of your cheekbone.

“Who said I didn’t want to know?” Zoro presses, bracing himself for a fight.

You chuckle, the sound harsh and mirthless.

“If you’d wanted to fight me properly, you wouldn’t have waited till I got you onto this stretch of deserted beach.”

“Maybe I just wanted a quiet place to kill you.”

“Or maybe…” your voice is so low Zoro almost doesn’t catch the stomach-wrenching longing in your words, “I just wanted a quiet place to die.”

The sharp shink of blades being drawn is heart-rendingly familiar, but the bone-rattling clash of metal on metal still shakes him to the roots of his teeth. Zoro grunts as he parries a blow from either side, before crossing his swords to catch your assault down the center.

You’re fast, he’ll give you that, your body smaller and quicker. You slip through the shadows with the comfort of a person who knows nothing but and he can’t help wondering at the life you’ve led that had pushed you to this point.

To having a mark on your back, a bounty on your head.

You’re a good fighter — this much, he acknowledges. But good isn’t usually good enough to best him. This much, he also knows. Yet somehow, you’re keeping up, somehow, you’re pushing him back, forcing him to retreat one step and then another. It’s not until you duck beneath one of his pin-wheeling blades and force yourself into a knife’s-breath of his space that he realizes — it isn’t that you’re good, it’s that you’re reckless.

Reckless with your own body in a way that makes him stumble back at the realization. Reckless, in the way you charge forward and thrust your body into spaces where he’d easily be able to slip a blade between your ribs — and later, when he’s wiping his swords clean of your oxidizing blood, he’d wonder why he didn’t.

Still, there’s something terrifying in the way you barely flinch when he knicks your arm, drawing a dark line of blood through your clothes, or how you jerk yourself forward when the tip of his sword catches your stomach, almost as if daring him to impale you in one fell swoop.

“You — you used to be… someone else,” he says, panting as he steadies himself against a sharp jut of moonlit rocks. Behind you, the ocean churns, dark and foaming as it throws itself onto the jagged reefs.

You lick your lips, wiping a smear of blood from your cheek. Your chest heaves with the exertion, but there’s a pale, flickering ache behind your eyes that sets Zoro’s whole body on edge.

He shivers as you grin, savage and unrecognizable as the tiny girl with mochi-round cheeks who had once upon a time offered him sweets in a hand-woven basket.

“Yeah? Well — so did you.”

TAGLIST: @brairslair @msheds0519 @yunabelless @lynndt-chocolate @lostonthrillerbark @stunies @tsumu-senpai @phroggii @ssailormoonnn @breathinginyoursmoke @guridoodles @kyllium @naomihatake @itoshiexx @mythicallystupid @mars-mizuko @astroniii @crispynutella @enhastolemyheart @fanficwriter101 @jamesbparker @dira333 @weirdowithaphone @ink-perfect

[carbonfiction]

i know the general census is that frank is gentle but how would he handle if his little bunny that seemed all innocent and shy liked it insanely rough? not just spanking and backshots “rough” but face slapping and grabbing, breath play like holding her mouth and nose, intense manhandling like chokeholds and being held in the air to show how small she is in his arms and lowk clit torture. and she likes to act all delicate because she is and can’t even fit him all the way in after training and also squirts from a few touches to her clit but she likes being broken and wants him to use every ounce of his strength to do that and i need him to skullfuck me with my hands tied behind my back with a vibrator assaulting my clit…and then he slaps my cheek over and over and then pulling out to put me in a chokehold until i’m bruised 🐳 glasses anon i need him to break five pairs monthly from how rough he is i need him to CORRUPT MEEE

FIRSTLY!! 🐳ANON HELLOO<33 I have missed you<3

Please you are so real, it’s like actually a carnal needdddd how bad I need frank to hold my jaw and coo filthy filthy things at me while he blows out my back. And you are SO right on the corruption and skull fucking omggggg. Oh and I also wanna add bc of this ask (and my absolutely foul thoughts on born again bearded frank) I ammmm working on a rougher/mean!Frankie piece rn and I am quaking each time I open the draft. I cannot wait to get a sec to get it finished for y’all <3

im praying this is understandable enough though and not complete waffle😭 I struggle trying to get my thoughts out clearly enough sometimes if ya couldn’t already tell🥲 18+smut thoughts below the cut inc themes of rough sex, breath play/choking, Size kink? Doggy/prone? Was the goal anyway😭Overstimulation, bodily fluids and aftercare (pleeeeease lmk if I've missed anything, i always go blank tagging😭)

Buuuuuuut buckle up! in response to this, I feel like if there’s anyone who can offer the rough stuff it’s him yk? Obviously if you were to let him, no mattwr how embarrassed you could be about it, he'd listen openly. But just know there would be SO many conversations beforehand on likes, dislikes, hard limits, safe words, boundary’s ect, and this goes for both of you! Neither of you want to make the other uncomfortable, especially not in a moment that takes such a level of sexual intimacy, trust and even respect. (Even when being deceptively disrespectful sometimes)

Frank strikes me (and im sure many of you guys) as task motivated so if his baby bun wants something a certain way, he’s going to ensure everything is correct for her to get it. He loves you too much to do anything without afformentioned confirmation. This also includes a lot of discussion on what sort of thing you need for aftercare within those moments when things get heavy too-

And I say those moments bc I don’t think he’d always indulge it? like dont get me wrong, he’d do it, but it’s not going to be every single time you fuck yk? He might incorporate bits here and there like a lil hard tap on the cheek for your attention “eyes on me, yeah, there she is, theres my dirty girl” or a hand on the neck “that feelin good sweetheart? That pretty head gettin all fuzzy?”

Perhaps frank even indulges you with licks of overstim outside of those moments, forfilling it with whatever form is within the mood- vibe, his mouth or fingers. “Shhh, You can take it. Taken more than this before, atta girl, you feel it, aint gotta think, just gotta keep cummin”

But the whole shebang? The whole 9 yards of him getting reeeeal rough, properly leaving marks, really manhandling or getting intensely mean would definitely be different; perhaps even almost planned? Like for example those moments are reserved for say arguments sake, ovulation, pent up stress relief or when your headspace is feeling a specific way?

The way he fucks, the way he talks and touches you? All Completely different to how frank would usually operate in the bedroom and that’s not a bad thing in the slightest!! I just personally feel it would take as much out of frank to do it as it would for you to take it yk?

But That being said he would be disgustingly good with it when he does use it <3

Wrapping his big bicep beneath your chin as he fucks into you harshly from behind, the other hand pinching and slapping at your tits- the taugt buds of your nipples- sharply enough to make you jerk and gasp. Problem is though, the more you jerk and react the more he tightens his hold, squeezing you in the headlock until he can feel the flutters of your cunt and the heaves of your chest. His massive body completely draped over yours, the weight of him pressing you down toward the mattress, hips pummelling your backside in a brutal fashion, punching deep and fast. "Fuckin tight little hole's squeezin my cock, you like not bein able to breathe? feelin me in your tummy?" the hand at your tits drifting to press at your stomach making you squeak, the pressure intensifying the pleasure coursing through you. "Yeaaah, yeah you love all that cock in there dontcha Bun, greedy fuckin girl. Made for it, just lettin me use that pussy how i want"

That hand (sometimes then reaching for your vibe if the mood so runs that way) will then drift further down to your puffy clit, already oversensitive and abused from prior attention. Frank slaps it once, twice, three times before immediately massaging tight, quick figure eights until you practically end up limp in his grip, eyes rolling back as you cum again with a choked, almost gargled moan. Your cunt squeezing him almost as tight as the grip on your neck before he lets go; letting euphoria take over your body with each gasp of oxygen that fills your lungs.

Frank does not stop until he feels you physically cannot cum anymore (or you Safeword!!). He fucks you through orgasm after orgasm (even his own) until you’re nothing short of a mess, practically trembling like a newborn deer and the slightest brush on your clit has your legs closing with a broken yowl. Panting body absolutely covered with various marks, drying spit, slick and cum.

The aftercare, while hes incredible with it generally, is then a complete 180 however- gone is all the roughness of his movements, the sharpness of his words. Replaced by touchs that are feather light and words careful, quiet grumbles as he checks in on you. "Hey pretty girl.. Heads all hazy huh? I know.. But i gotcha, franks gotcha, your safe."

Once you've had a drink and a little bite to eat, some fruit or something simple, he'll always carry you to the bathroom and only leave you to change the sheets as you sit to pee (bc christ forbid a uti on his watch-) then you can lean back against his chest in the warm water of the bath he left running, his broad body sat behind yours as he gets you clean without you even needing to move.

Whispers of soft praise and gentle shushes filling the echoing bathroom as he ensures every sensitive inch of skin is clean even when your eyes droop. "Shhh, i know.. Know its sore baby, just one more moment. One more swipe n' ill leave it alone yeah?" punctuated with a soft kiss to your temble that an hour ago you wouldn't of been able to even dream of him doing.

Frank dries you off with the softest towl you own, of course warmed by the dryer. soothing your skin with a lotion and/or balm you love. Never forgetting to pay extra gentle attention to the red welts on your ass, thighs and chest as he tells you how gorgeous you are in a moment that sometimes, you can feel anything but.

He'll help you into the pajamas you choose (wether your own or one of his shirts/boxers) and not bat a single eye if wearing panties to bed is too uncomfortable for you to handle.

Once fully comfortable his first mission is to then get you a propper snack or little meal. Insisting food is fuel and you need it after everything he put you through as he treads of to the kitchen. Coming back to then execute mission number 2: laying down with you resting cuddled up on his chest.

Fingers softly running over your arm as he presses kisses anywhere he can with little movement. "Doin okay sweetheart? You tell me if you need anything else alright? Nothins too much for my girl." " so proud of you, ya know that?"

"Gettin sleepy down there? I know..shh, you get some rest. Not goin anywhere i promise, Love you sweetheart"

[adieutristana]

hii! could i request the arcane women comforting reader on her period?

of course! thank you for the request <3

b2b by charli xcx on repeat yuuuup

summary; headcanons of the arcane women comforting their girlfriend on her period.

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, maddie

tags/warnings; menstruation, fluff, comfort, suggestive (jinx's section), reader has hell periods, mentions of poor mental health, can't think of anything else honestly

minors and men dni.

jinx;

✧.* idk why, but i headcanon that jinx is one of those super lucky girls who has really light 3-4 day long periods. basically nothing at all.

✧.* so when you told her that your periods were long, and heavy, and painful, she was honestly taken aback. jinx was a bit puzzled as to how that's possible.

✧.* "but mine aren't that bad! are you suuure?"

✧.* she doesn't mean anything by it, she's just genuinely perplexed. sometimes it's difficult for jinx to put these kinds of things into perspective. however, the second she sees you doubled over in pain, clutching your stomach and whimpering in pain, her instincts kick in and she's rushing to your side.

✧.* "oh- oh, toots, are you okay?! what happened? why d'ya look so hurt?" she'd ask, crouching down next to you with panic evident in her voice.

✧.* "just... on my period," you'd strain. "nothing out of the ordinary. don't worry about me."

✧.* jinx absolutely will worry about you, though. she's by your side, asking you what you need. since her own periods are so mild, she doesn't know exactly where to start with this sort of thing. but she's doing her best.

✧.* she'll research! she finds out all about the cravings, mood swings, pains, and how to soothe all of those things. she nerds out when she gets to research anyways, but she'll go above and beyond to make sure her girl is comfortable and happy. as much as you can be during shark week, anyways.

✧.* the same day she finds you in pain, she's swiping things from shelves of pharmacies and convenience stores like no tomorrow. pain medicine, water bottles that she plans to heat up, chocolates, tubs of ice cream, blankets, lots of sanitary products. hell, she'll even burn a few dvds so the two of you can have movie nights. jinx doesn't do anything halfway, especially not something like this.

✧.* even more clingy than normal somehow. i imagine jinx runs pretty cold, but also has a lot of natural body heat, if that makes sense? she uses the guise of being your 'built-in heating pad,' though anyone can tell she just wants to be close to you and comfort you. she'll have both her arms and legs wrapped around you, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck and peppering kisses along the soft skin.

✧.* "mm.. don't mind me, sugar. just wanna be here for 'ya, help you feel better 'n all that."

✧.* she's got such a sweet tooth, jinx might swipe a few of the snacks she stole for you while you're not looking... sorry. she can't help herself

✧.* will try to distract you to the best of her ability. movie nights as i said, as well as taking you around the streets of zaun (when you can manage to stand upright), gaming with you and purposely letting you win just so she can see your smile and hear your laugh.

✧.* along with the extra clingy thing, jinx will not let you out of your sight until she's absolutely sure that you're off your period. it's not that she doesn't think you can handle yourself, but she just worries so much. part of her knows it's irrational, but seeing you in so much pain eats at her inside, makes her afraid that she's going to lose you. even though it's just a natural part of your cycle

✧.* she's also read that other kinds of relief can be especially helpful for cramps, so you know jinx will be offering that to you if you know what i mean.

vi;

✧.* oh she's right there with you.

✧.* has the worst fucking periods known to man. it's like she's completely MIA as soon as it hits every month, she's just dead to the world. trust me, she understands.

✧.* which means that she can help you that much better! she knows firsthand what it's like and what works for her, but she also knows that it's not a one-size-fits-all situation. it'll take a bit of time, but vi knows what she's doing.

✧.* she's already got a stash of things lined up for you in her bathroom the day after you tell her you've gotten your period. panty liners, pads, tampons of different sizes. she doesn't even bother asking what you prefer to use, she just wants you to have the options depending on what you need at what time. only the best for her girl

✧.* fridge, freezer and cupboards are also full to the brim of your favorite snacks, the best medications. candies, chocolates, baked goods, ice cream, pain relief... all the good stuff.

✧.* don't even bother asking where she got all this stuff and how she could afford it, just let vi take care of you.

✧.* "shh, cupcake. that's for me to worry about. you sit your pretty self down and let me do all the hard work, 'kay?"

✧.* has heated blankets and water bottles ready for you at all times! the second she hears the slightest whimper of pain from you she's got the water bottle in her hand, instructing you to lean back so she can put it against your lower abdomen. she'll stay with you to make sure you're okay. she needs that reassurance both for you and herself.

✧.* vi is the type of lover who can't rest until she knows for sure that you're okay, regardless of how much you tell her that you're alright.

✧.* "i'm fine, baby. really, you don't need to worry about me." you'd say, though the way your face contorted in discomfort betrayed your words. "are you sure? you can't fool me, pretty. i know you're hurting. just let me help you. that's what i'm here for."

✧.* she also knows that insomnia comes with menstruation at times, so she'll make sure you sleep in her bed until you're off your period. holding you close, rubbing soothing circles over your back and stomach to help relieve some of the pain for you. don't worry about clinging to her, don't worry about how long it takes you to fall asleep or even the possibility of bleeding onto her sheets. vi just wants to make you feel comfortable, she'll take care of everything later.

✧.* doesn't let you do a damn thing for yourself. she almost treats you as if you're made of glass. it's not that thinks you're helpless, vi knows damn well just how fierce and independent you are. but she also enjoys taking care of you and knowing she's making your life easier.

✧.* "i'm on my period, not helpless." you'd protest, crossing your arms over your chest with a light pout. vi would chuckle to herself, playfully pinching one of your cheeks. "i know, i know. but i just wanna do this for you, okay? let me take care of you."

mel;

✧.* mel probably knows your cycle by heart after a certain amount of time being with you. not in a creepy way, but she's just that connected and attuned to you.

✧.* she'll come to you a few days before she knows you're due for your period, concern evident in her tone. "are you starting to cramp at all, dear?" she'd ask, or something along the lines of, "i know you're due soon. no discomfort? any cravings? you can tell me these things, darling."

✧.* she has a constant stash of things and she knows your preferences when it comes to hygiene products, snacks, medicine, all of your favorite comforts. she truly knows you like the back of your hand.

✧.* she'll be taking off work for you as well, as much as you protest and assure her that you're okay. realistically, mel knows sure and well that you're okay. but she still wants that time to be with you and make sure that you're comfortable and you're in as little pain as possible. it's more for her own peace of mind.

✧.* her own are honestly pretty moderate, not too bad but not exactly pleasant either. though again, she's attuned to your own senses and knows exactly what you need.

✧.* mel will be basically attached to you by the hip. she doesn't let you out of her sight for a second out of pure worry for you and your well-being. seeing you nauseous, craving the most odd foods, doubled over in pain, it hurts your girlfriend to even think about. she knows she can't outright prevent all of that, but it'll ease her mind to be there by your side.

✧.* mel doesn't insist that you take it easy, she knows that life goes on despite everything. she doesn't want to hover over you too much, but again, she'll be by your side. helping you run errands, walking you to and from work, watching from the sidelines as you do those little things that make you happy. painting, reading, writing... any of it.

✧.* it's a well-known fact that she loves to spoil you, so if you mention wanting anything at all, she won't even go out and buy it for you. she'll take you to the store with her and tell you to just buy whatever you'd like. no limits.

✧.* "anything at all, beautiful. let me treat you." "but mel, this is-" she'd shush you lightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "too much? nonsense. i can handle it, you just tell me what you need. it pains me to see you so uncomfortable, regardless of how natural it is."

✧.* holding onto you so tightly, and you just know mel would give the best massages. literally anywhere that's sore, she'll massage for you with such love and care. her fingertips are a bit calloused and rough, but always so soft with you.

✧.* also runs you warm baths and even tosses in salts and flowers! they help her a lot when she's having period-related pains, so she hopes they'll have the same effect on you. she's happy to leave you to yourself, or sit near the edge of the tub and just talk to you. whatever would make you the most comfortable and happy.

sevika;

✧.* she's also got pretty mild periods, but she is very attuned to you and your senses. sevika can't exactly feel your pain and discomfort, though she knows how to ease it.

✧.* trust me when i say that she's got a good supply of things for you. all the sanitary products you could need, extra-strength pain medications, heated blankets, heat pads, snacks, the whole nine yards. uncomfortable and hurting? not on sevika's watch.

✧.* "just tell me what ya need, darlin'. you know i'll get it." she'd say, spooning you tightly while one hand rests over your lower stomach. you'd mumble light protests, but she wouldn't have it. "i know you're okay, babe. you tell me that enough. but i still wanna help, okay?"

✧.* so touchy and so clingy. sevika doesn't want to let go of you for a second, not if she can help it. whether that be holding you from behind while you move about the kitchen cooking, holding you close to her in bed, keeping an arm around your waist as you saunter around the lanes together, or brushing her lips against your forehead, she relishes that contact. especially when you're vulnerable like this.

✧.* she still has things to do. unfortunately, sevika's job isn't really one that she can take time off from, as much as she'd like to. but the second she gets off work, she's back home, by your side. your girlfriend is so loyal, so doting when it comes to you. a side of the usually gruff woman that's reserved exclusively for you.

✧.* she also won't hinder you from doing anything for yourself, the last thing she needs is for you to feel both excruciating pain and helplessness at the same time. however, sevika makes it clear that she's happy to take over whatever task you need if it gets to be too much.

✧.* you could be in the middle of a task when a cramp suddenly hits you, making you nearly fold in half and clutch at your stomach. "hey, what's wrong?" sevika would ask, cold metal against your shoulder. "cramps? come on, i'll take it from here. you go lay down."

✧.* do not worry about needing to ask for help with sevika. ever. she's more than happy to provide it for you, don't worry about asking for 'too much' or being 'too demanding.' you're her girlfriend, and you're on your period. there's no such thing as either of those with her.

✧.* "come on. you know whatever it is, i'll do it for you. so tell me," she'd pause, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow in that way she typically does, "what do you need, dove?"

✧.* also super attentive during sleep, would probably stay up just so that she can make sure you're okay and sleeping through the night. sevika is used to running on little to no sleep, thank her line of work. she'll try to keep it quiet, not let you know that she's observing, but she just worries. she wants to make sure you aren't suffering any bouts of insomnia. that, and seeing your peaceful expression during slumber is a plus.

caitlyn;

✧.* caitlyn gets it, she really does. one of piltover's strongest enforcers and officials, but struck down once a month by menstruation. something had to take her down a notch.

✧.* she knows exactly what'll help her, and she hopes it'll help you too. though she gives you options, since she knows you probably won't have all the same preferences as her when it comes to sanitary products, snacks, care, etc. cait will take her time so that she gets your routine down pat, before she eventually just has everything stocked in her home for when the time inevitably comes every month.

✧.* caitlyn is constantly checking in on you. she’ll ask you about every little thing, making sure that you’re not straining too hard, not in too much pain. you could be sitting on your bed, folding towels, and caitlyn would ask something like, “are you sure that’s not too much right now? if your back or stomach is hurting, i can take over.”

✧.* she’ll want to keep you at home with her on the days that are the hardest on you. the days where you’re groaning in pain, you can barely think straight from just how uncomfortable you are. when you’re an emotional mess from the mood swings and crying over a puppy you saw on the street. she wants to be there to comfort you and help you get back on your feet.

✧.* “shh… love, it’s fine. i know, that puppy was adorable.” you’d sniffle, looking up at her with pleading eyes. “can we get one, cait? please?” she’d chuckle quietly, letting out a heavy sigh. “maybe when i don’t have so much on my plate.”

✧.* she's on top of your every need. in pain? here's a bottle of painkillers. cravings? she's already got whatever you need. in the case that she doesn't, caitlyn is in the kitchen making something for you herself. she'll be damned if she lets her girlfriend go unsatisfied, especially on her period.

✧.* she'd be so doting especially when it comes to the pain, caitlyn wants to just hold you until all of the cramps are gone. realistically, she knows there's not much she can do besides offer a few over-the-counter methods. she's gonna have to wait until they run their course, but it doesn't make her want to cling to you any less. she wishes she could hold you and you'd feel the rest of the world melt away

✧.* "fuck, cait, it hurts," you'd whimper, clinging tight to the girl with your brows knitted together. she'd softly hush you, her one hand slipping under the fabric of your top to run soothing circles over your lower back. "i know, darling. i'm here, it'll be alright."

✧.* cait would run you warm baths as well, she's at your side the entire times. she'll throw in flower petals and salts, maybe even a bath bomb if it'll make you happy. not only will it help ease the pain, but making you feel cared for in this time is of the upmost importance to her. yes, you feel gross, but you don't have to! look at the nice bath she drew you! she'll even help wash you off if you need it, or she's happy to just stay by your side and talk to you as you soak.

maddie;

✧.* maddie's own are pretty moderate, but she has a cut-and-dry routine she's stuck to as a teenager. works like a charm every time her period rolls around, so she hopes those methods will work for you. though, if they don't, maddie will immediately stop and regroup.

✧.* maddie i don't think would be super in tune with everything.. i apologize. she'll connect the dots after she sees you hunched over in pain or with a bottle of painkillers in one hand and a tub of ice cream in the other, but she won't be able to pick up on it right away like some others might.

✧.* but that doesn't make her any less good at comforting you, let's make that abundantly clear. as soon as she catches onto what's happening, she's basically waiting on you hand and foot. maddie is devoted!

✧.* now of course, she's a junior officer. maddie can't be by your side as often as she'd like to, unfortunately. she likes her job, but sometimes she curses it for holding her back from her girlfriend in times of need.

✧.* so she second she's allowed off the job, she's swinging the door open with a bag full of snacks to make her presence known. "i'm home, darlin'! where are ya?" she'd announce, glancing around the empty space before her eyes land on you. "oh, there you are. here, i brought these back! sorry, i know i was gone for a while, but i'm here now, yeah?"

✧.* however, you'll have to ask for a lot of what you need. maddie knows that you're independent and capable of helping yourself, so she doesn't want to assume unless she knows for sure that you're incapable of it because of pain or discomfort. that's one of the things she doesn't really budge on. if you're able to voice what's bothering you, she'll be more than happy to be of help!

✧.* also really, really good at distracting you. she'll put on movies, plug in cassettes of your favorite albums, talk to you for hours on end about nothing and everything simultaneously. maddie figures that if she can take your mind off of it, that's better than just waiting out the discomfort.

✧.* she kinda sucks at cooking. sorry.. but! she'd still make sure any cravings of yours are filled. freezer is packed to the brim with ice cream, and she's got lots of sugary treats for you in her cupboards. i also would imagine she lives basically smack in the middle of piltover, next to a lot of vendors and convenience stores. so on the off-chance she doesn't have something you need, she's already on her way to grab it for you.

✧.* "i'll be right back, okay? just running around the corner. rest assured."

✧.* also so cuddly especially when it comes to being in bed with you. she's already clingy, but you might have to pry her off of you when you're on your period. she hopes you wouldn't want to, though, not when she's got her legs wrapped around your waist and her head nestled into the warmth of your neck.

[raewritesfiction]

Backseat Heat [Daryl Dixon]

A/N: thank you @dixondisease for tagging me in this idea! I hope you like what I’ve done with it!

Plot: Daryl and female reader have fun in the back of a broken down car that Daryl is trying to fix up. Semi-established situationship - they meet up for stress relief but they aren’t an item.

Pairing: F!Reader X Daryl Dixon

Warnings: Smut - fingering, oral (M receiving), unsafe sex (use a condom!!

[[ Lemme know if you wanna be added or removed from tags; no questions asked ♥️ likes are amazing however I really appreciate Reblogs to help spread my writing further! Thank you 🌈😘]]

Tag List: @jaseminedenisephotography @iraniq @snewsome756 @vikkikrash @amelia-in-w0nderland @pandaliciouz @crispyimagines17 @marie-is-blogging @bonniebird @nutinanutshell @louise-buchan @differentcatcat @madsadgenius @sycochick @rossieburrow @kcthescreamqueen @phoenix-is-closer-to-the-edge @charlottewatkinsblog @​atyourmomshouse01

—

You’d been watching Daryl from your spot under a large tree for a while now; the sun was hot in the sky as he worked relentlessly on a car that had been brought back to the prison. Rick wanted it fixed as soon as possible and so Daryl had been devoting his time to sorting it out. Things seemed to be going well so far but you could tell by Daryl’s strong language that the engine just wasn’t doing what he wanted or needed.

Daryl kicked a bench as the car, once again, didn’t start. You didn’t know cars well enough to be able to figure out what was wrong with it but you knew the sweaty, dirty covered man was getting to the end of his rope.

Looking around, you note that there’s few people outside right now and you get up, heading over to the makeshift garage where Daryl grumbled angrily about the “fuckin piece of junk”.

You don’t speak but instead just run your hands around his waist from behind. Daryl doesn’t jump and turns his head with a smirk “wha’ you think you’re doin’ woman?” You smile “you looked stressed… can’t be having that.”

Daryl huffs and shakes his head a little before sighing “dunno wha’s fuckin’ wrong with this thing.. replaced ever’thin with what we can find that works an’ still nothin’..”

You nod against the back of his shoulder and listen as he lists off everything he’s replaced or fixed, as if he’s trying to figure out if there’s something he’s missed but at the end of it he turns in your arms, pins you against the side of the rusty vehicle and kisses you passionately.

“Maybe some stress relief will help clear my head..” he smirks and opens the back door for you to get in, then climbs in after you.

The man kisses you like nobody has ever kissed you before; he knows how to take your breath away and get you worked up without putting his hands anywhere south of the border and this time is no different to the last or the first.

Everyone in the prison knew you two were hooking up as often as possible, but nobody said anything because they were probably hooking up with each other too. You find comfort anyway and anywhere you can in this apocalypse. You were surprised when Merle bit his tongue and didn’t say anything after he had walked in on Daryl railing you in the library - you and Daryl were expecting the worst from him but he’d never said anything to you and if he’d said anything to Daryl it was in private.

Daryl’s hands were up under your tee, groping over your skin and leaving oily marks when someone started yelling his name from outside.

“For fuck…” Daryl grumbles and looks out the broken window to see Andrew calling for him. “I’ll be right back… stay here…”

You huff and nod as Daryl clambers out the car and calls over “Wussup?”

You listen from the back seat as Andrew starts going off about how his small group are being treated by some of Rick’s group, you hear him ask Daryl to talk to his friend about it and see if he can sort it out. There’s other stuff that seems less important and you can tell by Daryl’s short replies that he just wants Andrew to leave so he gives the answers the man wants to hear and assures him when he sees Rick he’ll talk to him and no it’s absolutely unfair, we’re all in the same position and yes of course we’re a team now and we need to be able to trust one another.

It seems to take forever before Andrew walks off, happy with his discussion outcome. As soon as he’s out of sight Daryl crawls back into the back seat and kisses you again. You don’t care about what Andrew wanted so you don’t ask.

“I’m really not finished with you yet..” Daryl grins and quickly unbuttons your pants, pushing them down your legs while his hand slips between your legs to tease over your already soaking core.

The way he kissed and touched you was the biggest turn on you’d ever had and he loved to tease you about it.

“Already so wet… just from kissin’?” He sucks on your neck as his fingers work over you. “You always been this easy to work up?”

You swallow thickly and shake your head, “only by you..” Daryl chuckles low and pushes two fingers inside you, curling them as he thrusts into you. You rock and lift your hips to his fingers as he speeds them up the sound of your arousal fills the car making Daryl growl low. It never took him long to get you where you needed to be and as his thumb barely brushes your clit you arch and grip his biceps as you cum on his fingers, letting out a silent scream of pleasure.

“Good girl..” he whispers and watches you “you gon’ be a real good girl and take care of me?”

You nod and kiss him as you both awkwardly switch positions in the small space afforded to you. Your hands quickly unzip his pants and pull the material down, Daryl’s semi hard cock already straining against his boxers.

“If i’dda known this would happen… I wouldn’ta worn any..” he grins as you pull them down to free his length.

You waste no time and easily take him in your mouth; Daryl was still insanely proud that he had been the one to teach you how to give head and enjoyed praising how much of a fast learner you are.

You bob your head and swirl your tongue around his cock as you suck him fully, your hand massaging his balls firmly as you work on him. Daryl’s breathing is rough as you tease the head of his cock with your tongue.

“Woman…. Not yet! Stop…!” He gasps and pants as you pull away. “Get on me…”

You move and crawl over him, positioning yourself over his member and guiding him inside you. You both let out moans and start moving to one another causing the car to rock and creak. Daryl wraps an arm around you and helps you move your hips to him, his other hand moves to the back of your hair and tugs lightly as he kisses you.

Moans are swallowed as you speed up your hips, switching up your technique to keep him guessing as to what would come next.

“Woman I swear t’ god…” he grunts and moves his feet so he can thrust up into you. As his hips piston you can only hold onto him and whine his name close to his ear. Your eyes shut tightly and the way he pants, grunts, moans and whispers in your ear makes everything all too much.

“You gonna cum? You gonna cum that fast? You want it so bad you can’t hold back?”

You call out against his neck, your hips grinding down onto him as the waves of pleasure wash over you.

“I’m close..” Daryl grunts “move….”

You climb off him and lean down, taking him in your mouth again and sucking hard. His hips buck up into you and the hand in your hair grips tighter, holding your head in place as he grunts roughly with his release - his head falls back against the seat rest and he groans as he relaxes.

Daryl watches you swallow his load and smirks as you wipe the corners of your mouth. “Thassa good girl…”

You wink and both of you redress before climbing out the car and looking around; if anyone had seen or heard they hadn’t come looking.

Daryl looks at the driver’s seat and slides in, trying the ignition again and sitting surprised as it starts on the first try.

“Maybe it needed a good bang..” you remark, making Daryl huff out a laugh.

[lynnsmix]

SLEIGHT OF HANDS ⊹₊⟡⋆ h. haddock x reader

summary : knowing close-up magic, you always watched your boyfriend be amazed at all the enthralling tricks you showed him—with him showing you how dumbfounded he was, and asking you how you did it, acting all unknowing. But little did you know, Hiccup did have a trick up his sleeve.

word count : 3.06k words

tags : rtte!hiccup, fem!reader, magician!reader, idiots in love, love confession, fluff, chaste kisses, unrealistic wording and description of sleight of hand/magic, no use of y/n or (name)

author's note : yes i'm gonna be using hiccups confession when he gave astrid the bethrothal gift because i cannot let it out of my head (´ 3｀) bro ive been watching videos on how sleight of hand and close up magic is done and i was like—that sounds like a good fic. . . why don't i write it? i have free will anyways lols :p anyway enjoy this read im very sleep deprived ahdjajdasl

"Hey, do you uh— know where one of my Dragon Trivia Cards are?" Fishlegs timid voice was heard as walked into your hut, peeking in first before fully going in. He was fanning through the cards he currently had in his possesion, looking at each one thoroughly to see if maybe he accidentally just missed it.

You stood up from your hut's dining chair and turned around, finishing putting your shoes on and walking closer to the Ingerman.

"It's the one for the Gronckle, it's me and Meatlug's favorite, so if you see it anywhere—" Fishlegs started to talk faster, panic filling his veins.

"Oh, you mean this?" You flipped you hand quickly, the exact Dragon Trivia Card he was talking about appearing in your hand, which made him sigh in relief.

"You left it on the table last night at the Great Hall," You finished, while he looked astonished.

"Oh! Thank you. . .!" You put your hand out, and he took the card, examining it, putting it into light and turning it around to observe it.

"I still don't know how you do that," He commented, looking at the card and then at the hand you used to make it appear.

And you walked past him, before stopping at the door and over your shoulder to say three words that explains it.

"It's just magic." You shrug, a grin on your face as you speak. He started to follow you outside, seemingly to go back to his hut.

"Yeah— whatever," Fishlegs dismisses the topic, knowing he won't get anywhere if he pries any more.

"Where are you going anyway?" The Ingerman asked, while you replied in a curt manner.

"Hiccup said he needed to give me. . . Something, I dunno. . ." You replied nonchalantly.

"Oh," The blond Viking said unelated, with a few seconds of silence covering your conversation, until he suddenly spoke again, startling you.

"Ohhh!" He loudly exclaimed, a cheeky smile hinting at his face. You jolted a little from how loud he sounded.

"So, based on your reaction, I'm gonna assume it's something good. . .?" You were nearing Fishleg's hut, which meant this was probably going to be your last dialogue with him until you see him later.

"Let's just say it's. . . A surprise of some sort," He vaguely answered, and you had made it to the front of his home.

You both waved each other goodbye, with you walking past his hut to surge onto Hiccup's hut.

You were almost there, until The Twins had practically jumped you, asking if you could show them another magic trick.

"C'monnn, what you did last time was really awesome," Ruffnut pleaded. They were walking with you now, not that you disliked it—you were happy you were seeing alot of them today.

"Do the one where you switch the chains you were wearing and put them on Tuffnut! Or the one where a Terrible Terror appears from Snotlout's helmet," She cheered, grabbing your arm excitedly.

"Y'know, I don't think Tuffnut would really enjoy that, and Snotlout isn't here for me to do it. . ." You awkwardly shrug, not wanting to put one of the twins into a fit of being distressed again.

"As much as I had 3 days of trouble getting out of those chains, it was worth it seeing you do that." He defended himself, as if sacrificing his freedom again.

"Yeah, last time you did it, he had to scratch his butt with his—"

"O—kay, I don't need to know that," You put a hand up to stop her talking any more.

Ever since you were a kid, you were taught by your father how to do magic tricks, or more specifically—sleight of hand.

What he did teach you wasn't that much of the spectacular, showstopping actions; He taught you the basics, such as making cards appear into your hands suddenly and making coins appear from your ear out of thin air, but that was about it.

All this weird stuff they were asking you to do—like making chains attached from your wrist go to another person, and making small dragons appear from helmets were all your doing, coming from your own practice. You could say you were starting to become a magician, one might surmise.

But right now, you really needed to make it to Hiccup's hut. He sounded like he really needed you to be there right now, it sounded urgent when he said to go to his room today.

So now, the best you could do to send the Twins off your tail, with nothing in your disposal at all, was either to: A.) run away and disguise it like a magic trick, or B.) wait for Snotlout to unceremoniously arrive.

I think we're going to settle with A if we want to get to Hiccup's as fast as possible.

"How about I show you— a new trick?" you tore Ruffnut's grip on your arm and placed her next to her twin brother.

"When you guys turn around and say 'Yaknog' at the same time with your eyes closed, you'll make me dissapear. Cool, right?" You finished. They both looked at each other for a second and smiled deviously.

Once they had both turned around, you made the most silent run for it, the other Vikings seeing you scamper off until you were nowhere in their vicinity.

"Ready?" Tuffnut asked.

"Ready. 3, 2, 1. . ." They closed their eyes and balled their fists.

"Yaknog!" They yelled out at the same time, they opened their eyes, then cautiously looked behind them, where you were nowhere to be seen.

"Woah. . ." Ruffnut smiled in a goofy manner, looking around to see any trace of you, but nope. No sign of you anywhere.

"It's like she was never there," Tuffnut put his hand on the place where you previously where and waved around, as if he'd find out you were invisible of some sort.

They both paused what they were doing and looked at each other, proceeding to hit their helmets with one another.

"Awesome!"

You almost hit your face on the door if you didn't stop yourself with how fast you were going, knocking a good three times.

You put your hands on your knees in momentary exhaustion before dusting yourself off and standing straight, waiting for your boyfriend to open the door.

But much to your surprise, the person that opened the door to welcome you was not Hiccup, no, but his broad-shouldered Chief of a father, Stoick.

He greeted your name with a smile which you mirrored back, slightly shocked you were here.

"What are you doing here?" Stoick asked politely.

"Hiccup was actually going to give me uh— something," You gently replied, a tight smile on your face.

Stoick looked to be in thought for a moment, until something he was thinking of clicked, and he expressed his joy.

"Oh. . . Oh— I get it," His voice crooned, and it made you slightly feel odd. Even under all that hair on his face, you could still see a satisfied smile grace his face.

"You— you do. . .?" You inquired with a tilt to your tone, with Stoick coming up to you, walking past you, but not before grabbing your shoulder to reassure you.

You felt a sense of déjà vu, Fishlegs already gave you that response earlier.

"It's gonna be fine, don't worry too much about it," He walked off, seemingly to do his rounds and some Chiefing around the village.

You walk into the hut, and the smell of firewood hits your ears. The crackling sparks from the hearth warm the interior, with you looking around the first floor for a moment.

You've been in here dozens of times, but the comfort and warmth of their home always made you relax.

You walk up the wood staircase, and you see Hiccup on his table, twisting his charcoal pencil in boredom, looking at a sketch on his notebook of a random dragon.

He heard the nearing thump! of your steps, and looked at you at the entrance of his room.

"Hey," The brunet Viking said in surprise, a gentle smile growing on his face.

"Hello to you too," You walked around him, kissing his head caringly as you sit next to him, dragging a stray chair next to him.

You put your elbows on the table, leaning to take a peek at his face.

"What are you looking at?" You inquired.

He closed his notebook, then turned his body to you, so he can look at you better.

"Uh— nothing much, I was just waiting for you," His full attention was on you, and you smiled at him in amusement.

"Really?" You asked, but you already knew the answer.

"Yeah, and now you're here, so I can start," He started to adjust himself in his seat, and you were kind of perplexed.

"Uh. . . Start what, exactly?"

"Give me your hand," He ordered you softly, and you obeyed—putting your palm out for him to grab, and he closed it up to ball your fist.

"Wait. . ." You understand now what he was doing, given that you've done this magic trick dozens of times for the children in the village.

Your smile grew in excitement as you watch him ready the magic trick.

"I'm gonna make my something appear in your hand, okay?" He explained, looking into your eyes cheekily with affection.

Although you've heard yourself say what he instructs you to do a multitude of times, you still follow his orders, while you look elatedly as he almost finishes.

"Okay, once I snap my fingers, it'll appear. You ready?"

"Just do it, already," You smile, excited at what's to come.

He snapped his fingers together, and he lets go of your hand still balled into a fist. He looks at you in glee, waiting for you to open your palm.

You hesitantly sprawl your palm out, and to your surprise, his gift isn't there.

"Huh, I could've sworn it would be there," Hiccup's voice sounded defeated, and scratched his head, in confusion.

Not wanting him to look so upset, you grab his shoulders and scooch your chair so your knees were in between one another's.

"Hey, it was a good try babe," You comforted him, rubbing your hands up and down his arms.

"I was pretty intrigued." You added.

"Thanks, but I think if it would cooler if it did appear, I just don't know where it went— wait," His head was slightly tilted down, until he lifted in up in some kind of realization.

"What is it?" You ask, your actions pausing to look at his perplexed expression, as if his head was starting to turn its cogs.

"I think I know where I put it," He smiles, rejoiced.

"It was right behind here. . .!" His arm lifted close next to your head, and your eyes followed his movements.

What you didn't expect next was for a coin to be pulled out behind your ear by Hiccup. Consequently, your mouth went slack jawed in awe, before composing yourself and smiling, your hands slightly patting your lap in elation. It was a simple sleight of hand trick, yes—but still, it made you merry.

"You learned!" You cheer at him, looking at him in disbelief, punching his shoulder playfully.

"I wanted to surprise you." He replied smoothly, carding the coin between his fingers before holding it between his thumb and pointer finger so you could see it clearly.

It was a slightly large coin, with a leather cord tethered to it, creating a loop for a necklace.

"So, what is it?" You ask in curiosity.

"Well, this was my Dad's betrothal gift to my mother," He held it up by its leather rope, the coin slightly swaying from motion.

"Hiccup," You gasp softly, before Hiccup put the necklace over your head, lowering your head slightly to help him. He placed it around your neck, lowering his arms after.

You clutch it in both your hands, looking at it dearly, before he put his own hands over yours, covering them.

"And— uhm, he gave it to me, to give to you." He finished. You smiled at his confession, but something in the pit of your stomach had faltered your joy.

He gave you his father's betrothal gift, an heirloom passed on to him, to be held onto until given to the person he cherished—which was you, show you how much he loves you, but. . .

You didn't get him anything.

It ate at you, the swirling pool of guilt building in your chest until your smile was fully etched off your face, lowering your gaze slightly so Hiccup couldn't see it.

He called your name, instinctually making you look into his eyes, his eyes showing vulnerability.

"You're a part of our family," Hiccup said with unwavering assurance, and no matter how upset you were, it made you smile.

"You always have been, and," He looked shy to say the next words, but her says it anyways.

"I hope you always will be." He ended, his hands letting go of yours—and you smiled in adoration, but the fluttering beating of your heart didn't overcome the swirling feeling of shame and guilt in your stomach, making your smile falter.

"Hiccup, it's— I don't. . ." You struggled to convey your feelings, looking away from him, making Hiccup nervous.

Did he say something wrong? Was it too fast? Did you not like it?

"Uhhh. . . Okay— well, if you don't like it," He leaned back, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"No. . .! No, Hiccup— I love it," You sputtered looking at him in panic, you didn't want him to think that, especially when it was the most beautiful thing you've ever been gifted.

"Eh, you do?"

"I do, it's perfect, I just—" You sigh in defeat, letting your arms fall to your sides.

"I didn't get you anything," You shrug. Your voice was meek, looking away in disgrace. With your confession, Hiccup's tense demeanor softened into something of understanding.

"If I had known— Hiccup, I would've gifted you something great too. . ." You trailed off, not wanting to say anymore, you felt more embarrassed trying to explain yourself, it'd be better off just keeping your mouth shut.

"But you did," Hiccup said, making you pause and look up at him, wary.

"I. . . I did?" You reply, still confused.

"Yes, you got me the best gift in the world—" His voice was true, as if he was sure of all of what he said as he grabbed your hands together with his, making you stare up at his viridescent gaze.

"You," He answered, and all of the reluctance, the guilt of it all washed away, as if his voice was the cure for your looming doubts.

"You—just being here, with me," His soft, yet calloused hands brought your hands to his chest in adoration, making your arms jump out and hug him.

"Is that only gift I need." He muttered into your neck, making you smile at the feeling.

"Hiccup," You pull away to see his lovestruck eyes looking into yours.

"Thank you," You cup the side of his face with one hand, his smile growing.

You quickly kiss his lips, looking back at him. He was slightly startled, but he recovered quickly, pulling you back for another kiss. You could both feel it, the slight clanking of teeth due to you smiling—you both didn't care, you were in love.

"So," Hiccup enunciated when you both pulled away.

"Did you like the trick?"

"Hmm. . ." You looked up to think, but you already knew you were going to mess with him a bit.

"I've done better," You taunted, and shrugged.

"Really? Like what?" He smiled, he knew you could've done better, he'd seen your talent dozens of times do it for him, but he wanted to ask anyway.

"Oh, I dunno— like," You roll your eyes playfully, before holding his belt up to view.

"Taking your belt, perhaps?" He looked baffled, you'd never done that trick before. He looked down padded his hips, and there it wasn't, just his pants.

"How did you. . ." He paused his sentence when he saw you look at him cheekily. He shook his head in joking defeat, before he pulled you in for another kiss.

He didn't care how you did it; you could steal his belts, his pencils, his heart even—but he wouldn't pay it no mind.

Because you were here with him, and you loved him back, and that was all he needed to know.

BONUS ⋆˚ʚɞ

"So let me get this straight; you guys turned around, closed your eyes, then when you opened them again, she just disappeared into 'thin air'?" Astrid retorted, her arms crossed, unenthused.

You and the Dragon Riders were at the Great Hall, with The Twins explaining your 'spectacular' magic trick you did with them earlier that day while you all ate.

"Yeah!" The Thorston siblings said with confidence.

The Twins nodded eagerly, before going back and bickering, throwing their food at one another.

Astrid looked at you, tiredness coating her face, her expression unimpressed.

"What?" You said, but you already knew what she was looking at you like that for.

"I needed to get to Hiccup's hut, and they wouldn't stop bugging me," You complained, leaning into your soup. Hiccup was next to you, a gentle smile watching the scene unfold.

You were suddenly called by Snotlout, and you looked across the table at the dark-haired Viking.

"Any chance you could make someone fall in love?" He crooned, all the while looking at Astrid seductively and blew a kiss, which the blonde Viking rolled her eyes in distaste at, gagging.

"Eugh," Astrid heaved, with you softly giggling as you spooned food from your bowl into your mouth.

"Any chance you could make someone fall off a cliff?" She deadpanned at you.

"Y'know, Astrid, I think you could do that yourself," Hiccup piped up, Astrid going into thought as he said that, before grinning mischievously at you and Hiccup, before directing it at Snotlout.

His flirtatious demeanor faltered, changing into a nervous one.

"Uhh— somehow, I feel like I'm in danger."

bro nothing beats his confession to astrid and their love for one another, I NEED A RELATIONSHIP LIKE THEIRS ASAP!!!

anyway, don't forget to leave a note and comment what you think :3

thanks for reading ~ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

[jazjelspen]

my angel baby [part 2]

(alastor w/ angel daughter reader)

[caution: NOT PROOFREAD oh and angst hehe]

(notes: alastor joins charlie and vaggie in heaven to convince them about the hazbin hotel. angel reader physically resembles a fawn. )

[tags: @luujjvi @c-lunette @mokisano @ghostdoodlen @wildfire153 @anonymousewrites @bewitchedbymadness @thisbitchreallyneedssleep @22carolina08 @original-person]

[remember if you want to keep in touch with a particular series I write, let me know in comments or messages you want to be tagged! you will only be tagged once unless specified that you want to be tagged till the end of a particular series!]

(also once again, apologies if alastor’s last name isn’t actually altruist qwq it’ll stick till the end of this fic but I’ll try not to mention it as much)

For the first time in years, you feared being in heaven.

Not that you felt unsafe, just that you felt incredibly uncomfortable seeing your serial killer dad who's now a demon be invited to be in the place where light and goodness is it's main foundation.. even reassuring yourself that it was temporary didn't calm you down when you were flying away from him. For your own sake you even avoided where the welcoming was happening.

Ahh but.. it also didn't help that he was following you around after the show without you knowing.

After the angels had performed their song to welcome in the princess of hell, her apparent partner, and-- him.. everyone sort of went their separate ways and the visitors from below started to relax in their new yet temporary places of stay. You felt a bit of relief when you assumed Alastor would also be setting himself in to relax as well.

During heaven's performance you decided to take a breather at a local coffee shop, one where you thankfully always had a spot there where you could hide away from the huge windows of the cafe.

Although right after that, unbeknownst to you at the time, Alastor was looking for you, but obviously pretended as if he was looking for a good bite to eat.. unfortunately for him he had to behave and he couldn't eat a living walking thing until after they came back home.

Oh how bummed out he was.

You were in a far corner inside the shop, as mentioned before anyone that was able to look in through the windows wouldn't be able to see you since you were out of view. Drinking your favorite beverage that the shop offered and eating a filling snack to relax your body and mind. Safe to say you were now more in touch with your feelings and weren't overly panicked as you once were.

'Why is he here.. is he an advisor to the princess? a companion?.. some kind of servant?.. she's really young though, perhaps she's ward to him or something.. but she has her.. dad.. and I'm sure he must be alive still.. ' You thought, different theories and ideas passing by in and out your head trying to make sense of the situation.

'perhaps.. he's here to see me?..' you hoped, then scolded yourself right after,

'nono.. I can't be wanting that.. sure he raised you but he's a monster. he killed you, _____. get a grip..' you sighed deeply while massaging your temples in frustration 'even if he seemed to not.. have meant to do that. he tried to kill someone else anyway, that poor man could've died instead of you.' you tried to reason with yourself, coming to a single conclusion in the end.

Eyes glued to your drink. staring at it with intensity.

"I regret nothing." you claimed to yourself in a low mumble, not enough for anyone close to hear.

Ahh.. but you did miss him very much.. the version of him that you grew up with at least.

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

You were in your warm and humble home with your father. It was a fairly cold night with rain dropping onto the roof of your home yet the warmth of the house seemed to make the cold seem almost cozy to you.

Your small footsteps could be heard running around the house, as your little seven year old self ran around you seemed to be giggling uncontrollably with a peculiar circular item in your hand.

"No running in the house _____, remember what I told you." Alastor exclaimed in slight irritation as he could hear you from afar while he was cleaning up the table from the dinner you two just had, he started slightly missing the times when you didn't know how to walk and when you simply just blabbered baby nonsense.. he definitely doesn't miss the sleepless nights of baby crying though.

You huffed and puffed as you then plopped the item on the sofa, it was a disk, a record. You then climbed yourself up and once your little body landed on the cushions you then picked yourself up once more to then grab the disk and turn to the small table right beside the sofa where a large phonograph rested on.

"Papa!" you exclaimed, "Papa! Music music!.." you pleaded, your little voice begging to once again turn on the music playing machine.

Alastor faintly chuckled at your little demands, amusing how such a small thing dares to command but nonetheless he found it silly at how you tried. "Yes yes my dear, I'll be right there." He then set the last few dirty dishes away to be cleaned soon since he couldn't say no to listening to some tunes before bed.

You smiled brightly as your little feet playfully tapped on the cushions, almost jumping. Noticing your developing excitement Alastor hurried over to you.

"Ah-ah-ahh, no jumping on the sofa my dear. I'm excited as well but I can't have you break your little head open, that'd be no fun at all!" Well.. that and he didn't wanna ruin his cushions, but nonetheless he cared for your wellbeing the most even if he wasn't fond of admitting it.

His hands gently took the disk from your hands, carefully setting the disk on the phonograph to have it play your favorite tunes. Once you two heard the amazing first few notes of jazz was when Alastor settled down beside you on the sofa and you started clapping in delight.

Alastor looked at you almost fondly, letting out a small huff of delight at your reactions. Your innocence seemed to be something that contained him from wanting to continue his murder spree, although his bloodlust always wins in the end, he seems to always willingly pause his life for you.

Plus, he loves jazz just as much as you do.. why would he miss out on this?

Your fit of giggles dwindled down but didn't stop, in a sudden burst of energy you jumped off the sofa and then started dancing similarly yet obviously a bit more goofy to how you've seen couples and single dancers dance in the nights of Mardi Gras or just parties your father took you when he would be invited. Your little dance moves seemed to be fiddled with confidence yet they were so off from what you were trying to attempt, nonetheless you were happy, and that's what Alastor secretly liked to see.

"Dance with me papa dance with me!" you pleaded again, your smaller hands grabbing his larger one and tugging at it, trying to get him to stand up.

"_____ darling no tugging, besides I just sat down my dear and I'm exhausted." He sighed, his constant smile always present yet he was visibly a bit tired from the day he had.

But oh how you persisted, and how darn adorable you were as a kid. "But papaaa!.. pretty please! I wanna dance how you and that singing lady did the last time we went on those big loud places!"

"Parties, dear." he corrected you, but let out a long sigh and got up. Because no matter how tired he was or how annoyed he seemed to be he didn't mind keeping you happy.

So that's what he did, he danced with you. Swinging you, twirling you around to the melody and the beat, your cheers of glee and uncontrollable laughter motived him to keep up with your excitement. Not only that but your smile, genuine and pure, it was what he needed to get himself to match your energy. Jazz music was what always connected you two and it always brought you together no matter what.

At the end of the song Alastor ended it by gently throwing you up in the air and catching you, letting you get your last giggles out. You both laughed together, your bond ever growing stronger. You truly did tame this bloodthirsty killer without even trying or knowing, of course you were too young to know.

Once the giggle frenzy ended you both finished your dancing with a long sigh, the phonograph ending it's segment. You then suddenly yawned and rested your head in the crook of his neck over his shoulder, snuggling for warmth and for a sudden need to sleep.

"Seems like my little fawn needs sleep now, almost past your bedtime young lady." Normally he'd scold you a bit more strictly as he usually did, but seeing as how you were basically ready to fall into a pile of dreams he just felt no need to do that.

"Sorries papa.. I forgot.." your little words muffled by your face hidden in his neck.

Alastor was never one for being touched, let alone hugged or snuggled. Oh but he had no right to complain, he's had you this close since you were a baby.. to him this just felt normal now.

Of course no one but you could be this close to him, you're his little girl after all.

"No need to worry, my dear." He stopped in front of your bedroom, carefully opening the door with a creak following after. With careful footsteps he walked towards your bed, pulling the blanket away to then gently place you on your cozy sheets with care.

Alastor gently moved any misplaced hairs away from your face as he then pulled your soft and warm blanket up to your neck. Your sleeping face reassuring him.

"Sweet dreams sweetheart." His usual smile softening a bit more before backing away and slowly heading towards the door of your room, lingering for a few extra seconds to take one last look at you before slowly closing the door and heading off to bed himself.

After the click of the door closing can be heard, you mumbled "Goodnight papa.." with a smile, even if in the end Alastor didn't get to hear it.

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

You missed him, dearly.

A weight fell on your chest, your eyes begging to form tears. You missed when you had that childhood innocence, when you didn't know what he was capable of, when he was nothing but a saint to you.

It still hurt after all these years, you thought he was a good man.. a bit strict, blunt, a bit too true to himself and definitely peculiar but.. the Alastor that raised you would never do that. Until you were obviously proven otherwise.

Oh but I guess you were too into your reminiscing that you didn't notice the background gasps and small shrieks of surprise and fear, and you didn't yet feel the eventual stares and eerie presence right in front of you.

"What don't you regret, my dear?"

You choked on your drink in surprise almost spitting it out,

that fucking radio voice again.

For heaven's sake how did he find you?? He couldn't have seen you through the windows. Did he follow you??.. did you just not notice.. Oh geez maybe getting used to having your guard down during all your years in heaven definitely didn't help with this situation.

You continued coughing on your drink, even punching your chest a bit to get that last good cough out. The radio demon pulled the chair in front of you to sit across from you, not waiting to ask permission.

To him he didn't need to, he's your father after all.

Once you calmed down you immediately avoided eye contact, only giving him a once second glance to confirm it was him in hopes your ears were playing a trick on you-- they weren't.

"How.. how'd you find me.." you mumbled in slight fear.

"Oh how would I not! Sweetheart I'm your father of course, as your father I must have those parental instincts.. I always know where you are!" he exclaimed, seemingly proud of this.

"I'm guessing those 'parental instincts' didn't kick in when you stabbed me, huh." you spat with attitude, unafraid to be rude to him with so much sin he's committed.

A sharp static sound came from him, as if in slight shock at the disrespect and comeback you gave. "Watch the attitude young lady, you're still an Altruist you know."

You scoffed, hating at how indifferent you felt about your last name.

"Not by blood though.."

"I raised you, don't forget that." he spat back, starting to get irritated.

"And because of that I owe you?"

"Yes, yes indeed! Smart girl you are."

You scoffed at his response, finally getting the guts to look at him in the face. His appearance frightened you, disgusted you even.

Is this truly the man that raised you?

"As a matter of fact, I actually don't." you crossed your arms in annoyance and a huff. Your eyes couldn't help but to slowly drift to off to the people behind him and you see fellow angels you know continue to stare in awe or fear, of course at Alastor. With all eyes on you and mostly him it made you feel a little embarrassed. You cowered down a bit and your wings went over your head and shoulders a bit as if to hide you behind a 'curtain' of sorts.

Alastor obviously noticed this, but could care less about the stares.

You sighed, "Look, Alasto--"

"I think you mean to call me 'father'." he interrupted as he obviously seemed a bit sassy about it. "Even 'dad' is just simply fine and dandy with me!"

"No, I can't," you frowned, wishing you could "I won't. Not after what you did to me, to that man that night, and to every other poor soul you hurt."

Your face slowly scrunched up in disgust "You don't deserve my forgiveness, my mercy."

In embarrassment and feeling tears want to shed you grabbed your drink and got up to walk out, before you could get past Alastor though he grabbed your wrist harshly.

"Uh-- hey.. let go--"

"I didn't mean to do what I did, my dove." His voice turned into a weird version of gentle, almost uncharacteristically gentle. "I never intended to take your life away."

He sounded genuine.

Could he?.. Would he?..

Maybe, just maybe--

"No." you spat, "Maybe you didn't mean to hurt me, but you definitely meant to hurt others. That's something I can't forgive and I'm sure your victims wouldn't neither." you glared at him, setting your foot down. "I refuse to call you my father, not until I know that you repent for your sins but knowing you I highly doubt that." You snatched your wrist away and for a slight second you stopped caring about what others thought when they'd see this "Besides, you killed me two weeks after I turned eighteen.. don't even include the years that passed since the 30s and present time so clearly you can't control me anymore old man."

But Alastor wouldn't go down that fast nor easily.

His sharp smile widened, you felt immense dread.

"Oh little one, no matter how far you are or how much you try to disown me you are forever connected to me. I made you who you are and you can try to run and fly off however long you want but in the end you're tied to me whether you like it or not. Even in death."

He seemed deathly serious with his statements so much so that you could've sworn you could see his shadow giggling and smirking in a way that seemed even worse and more than evil.

Your breath quietly hitched in fear in noticing this to the point where it even forced you to take a step back. He let out a sinister chuckle before you couldn't help but speed out of the shop and flew out.

You couldn't handle him, he was shameless when showing this side of him.. how could he be this shameless and normal?? How could he act like this and be proud about it? He killed people and doesn't regret it, you being the only exception just didn't feel right and it wasn't fair!

Not to you.

He may have been able to silently control you and vaguely manipulate you to believe he was anything but a bad person back when you were alive and young but now your eyes are wide open and so is your heart.

You have such a bad feeling about this whole thing, he was up to no good he just couldn't be-- he had to be using the princess as an excuse to do something shitty.

Good thing you had plenty of connections, if you just played your cards right...

Hey.. wasn't there something about a court meeting happening soon?

On the other hand Alastor stayed sitting there still chucking devilishly, his intentions and true feelings smeared and unclear.

With a snap of his fingers a cup of black coffee appeared and he began drinking it with a sense of casual glee and eyes closed in delight. Until he felt eyes on him, two nearby to be exact. He opened one eye to look at the angels staring at him and they both seemed like more biblically accurate angels, both having one eye and all. The radio demon shot them an evil grin.

"Oh adolescents these days, rebellious aren't they." He cackled before going back to drinking his coffee, the angels creeped out by his interaction soon scurried away from him.

The fear. He enjoyed it, just not really from you.

(thank you all who asked for part 2!! of course I had to deliver since you all really wanted it and honestly I love adding flashbacks to memories Alastor and the reader had when they were alive, makes their ending on earth just that more painful (as if it wasn't clear I love angst). Honestly I don't mind making more parts for this! If the demand is consistent and you guys still want to keep up with it I have a few ideas to keep this going! Once again thank you so much for reading!! Now I must finish writing for other stories lolllll!)

(p.s: i highly recommend listening to any mitski song while reading this I think it fits well especially with the flashback scene hehe)

[c0s-lettuce]

wonder - sergei kravinoff x reader

synopsis: you and sergei have always had a friends-with-benefits sort of relationship. but it teeters on something more and more each time he sees you.

word count: 1026

warnings/tags: gender not mentioned, mentions of sex, mentions of violence, minimal swearing

a/n: aaron taylor-johnson, what a man. i think this is the fastest i've written a fic after watching the movie/show. hope you enjoy reading! <3

Sergei and his father have always had their differences. The patriarch would always prattle on about weakness and fear. It was exhausting and mostly certainly not something Sergei missed.

You were a weakness, though. Sergei was sure of this. He kept very few people in his life, and all were for good reason. You were the only exception. He ought to stay away from you, for your sake and his. But he could never bring himself to do so, no matter how hard he tried.

Initially, your relationship with Sergei was purely transactional. Your body for his, and he would be out of your hair soon after. It didn't take long for that to change. He knew he was beginning to grow attached, but he didn't care. He was sure the feeling was mutual.

You were like a balm for his soul, a remedy for the loneliness his line of work brought him. The only intimacy he had with other people was when he was driving sharp objects into the necks of his targets. His hunts were intense and chaotic, but they were something he knew well and was exceptionally good at.

Being intimate with you wasn't so different, except it was infinitely more beautiful. Sergei revelled in the way you trusted and desired him, in how you consumed each of his senses. And the way you fit against him made him wonder more than once whether the two of you were made for each other.

But there were days when he craved more than just your body. He would find himself longing for your gentle embrace and honeyed words. You offered him more affection than he deserved, more than whatever this casual arrangement called for. Yet you gave anyway, and he was all too eager to take.

He adored the feeling of your lips against his forehead and your fingers in his hair as he rested beside you, basking in the blissful state you would leave him in. He would rest his head on your chest, and your heartbeat would drown out the otherwise unbearable noises of your apartment building. And he would fall asleep in your arms.

Sergei was an enigma to you. When it came to his profession, both of you agreed that the less you knew, the better. It was strange, you thought. You were aware of his reputation. But he was so sweet with you, so vulnerable. Sometimes, it made you wonder what else he could be with you. It's then when you would stop your train of thought and join him in sleep.

He would always wake first. And as he looked upon your sleeping form, he would tell himself that now is the best time to leave. And he would at first, with no more than a lingering glance. But the glance lingered longer each time.

He immediately knew he made a mistake the day he decided to stay. There was a particular look in your eyes when you woke up and found him still next to you. Sergei couldn't quite place it. Was it relief? Amusement? Hope?

No, he wouldn't let himself think it was anything akin to love.

Either way, it was addictive. He vowed to never miss any opportunities to see it again.

But on this occasion, Sergei seeks you out after an especially gruelling hunt. He sleeps deeper and for longer than usual. A soft, high-pitched meow wakes him in the morning. He opens his eyes and sees that you're gone. The door is ajar, and your voice can be heard talking to someone on the phone. You sound irritated.

Sergei finally turns his attention to the small blob that has taken your spot in the bed. Sitting there is your cat, Suki, staring wide-eyed at him.

"Hello," he greets her, his voice rough as he readjusts to the waking world.

Suki meows again as if replying to him. Sergei cracks a small smile and props himself up on his elbow. He scoops Suki closer, and she happily snuggles up to him. He busies himself with giving her scratches and belly rubs as he waits for you.

You return to the bedroom soon enough, looking down at your phone with disdain. You sit down on the edge of the bed with your back facing Sergei, tapping away at the screen.

"Everything alright?" he asks you.

"Yeah," you say, "Just my work deciding to bother me on a Saturday morning."

"What do they want?"

"To remind me of deadlines. Don't worry, I'm very politely telling them to fuck off."

Sergei lets out a chuckle. "Alright, good."

Suki's purrs fill the silence as you finish typing your angry text message. You place your phone down with a huff and look over to see Sergei pampering your cat. The sight warms your heart.

"You know, she sits and stares at the front door for at least twenty minutes everytime you leave," you tell him.

Sergei looks up at you, amused. "Really?"

"Yeah, I think she loves you more than me," you reply.

Sergei laughs, looking back at Suki. "Is that right, киса? Do you love me?"

Again, she meows right on cue. You notice she's rather enthusiastic for a cat. Ignoring your daughter's betrayal, you lie back down beside Suki and her new dad. Your eyes fall closed, the comfort of sleep still tempting you.

"You got any plans for today?" Sergei asks after a moment.

"No," you answer, "Just hoping to relax."

He nods, but you don't see it. You also don't notice how he seems to be debating something with himself. After a few seconds, he makes up his mind.

"I'll make us breakfast then," Sergei says.

You open your eyes, surprised. He's never offered to do that before, let alone stayed long enough for you to offer it instead. When you turn to look at him, he's already getting up and heading to the door. Suki gets up after him, carelessly stepping over your stomach to follow him out of the bedroom.

As the pair disappear into the kitchen, you lie there in stunned silence, wondering what's gotten into Sergei. Though, you're definitely not complaining.

➸

[heartsickspider]

in another life; in every life (arthur morgan x reader)

a/n: idk if i really believe in the multiverse/parallel lives, but the idea of two people finding and choosing each other over and over again? my inner helpless romantic is SCREAMING. so here's a lil something about that with arthur :') tags: arthur has tb (i'm sorry </3), soft angst, hurt/comfort, grappling with mortality in the gentlest way possible, cosmic soulmates type beat

the stars gleamed in the navy blue twilight, twinkling as they welcomed the moon into their night sky. the air was cool and quiet, the stillness broken only by the crackle of the dwindling fire and arthur's soft, uneven breaths.

you couldn't help but steal the occasional glance at him as you idly whittled away at some wood with your knife. he was focused, eyebrows furrowed and jaw set as he meticulously polished his favorite revolver. you knew that look all too well. he was lost in his head again, thoughts gnawing at his conscience in the same way the illness was slowly withering away at his body.

he'd rarely talk about it, not directly anyway. said he didn't wanna cause you pain, as if watching him unravel before you hadn't already imprinted a permanent, dull ache in your chest. as if ignoring it made it any less real.

the silence stretched on, comfortable but not quite peaceful. you continued to pick away at the wood to form some sort of figure, the rhythmic scraping lulling you into a hazy state. today's ride had been long, and your body was desperate for a hot bath and his familiar arms holding you close.

"y'ever get the feelin'," he said suddenly, setting the gun aside, "like you've lived something before?"

you blinked, his low voice bringing you back to the present. "how so?"

arthur's gaze was focused on the dying embers that gently illuminated his tired features. "don't make sense, but sometimes i feel like we've done this all before. lived this life... the same, but different somehow."

you stared at him for a long moment, hands going still as you realized what he was getting at. arthur had never been one to believe much beyond the physical. notions of the afterlife or fate were foreign to him, silly ideas to be scoffed at. and yet, here he was, contemplating something so far outside his usual ways of thinking. the clumsy half-carving fell forgotten in your lap as his words slowly settled in, soft and steady, easing the weight of your weary heart.

he shook his head, a rasped cough escaping his chapped lips. "it's damn stupid, i know."

"it's not." you reached out, intertwining his calloused fingers with your own. "sometimes i can't help but feel like i've known you forever."

his eyes finally met yours, flickering with vulnerability and a hint of relief. "yeah?"

you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "i like the sound of that," he murmured as he gave your hand a soft squeeze. "maybe in another life, this all goes different."

you let out a soft hum and gently ran your thumb across his scarred knuckles. "how would you like it to go?"

he looked up at the stars, glowing brighter now that the sky had settled into an inky black. "reckon it would be just us," he explained quietly. "none of this running and surviving. a small piece of land, a few animals. that's all i want."

the simplicity of his wish struck something deep within you. he was a man riddled with sin, yes, but surely not beyond forgiveness. it was probably foolish to think that way. he'd spilled more blood than several lawmen combined, participated in cons that ripped apart innocent lives.

and yet, all you could see was the man before you. the one who carried the crippling burden of shame and regret like it ran through his blood. the man who stood by those he loved in the name of loyalty, without question. the one who, despite his fragile state, fought every single day just to keep breathing for you. wasn't that worth something?

you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek, letting your lips linger just a moment longer than necessary. "we'll get that," you whispered as you pulled away, just as the fire finally flickered out. "i can feel it."

[discordantwritings]

Creative Cures (Mihawk x Reader)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, gn afab! Reader, sex pollen trope (but it’s a devil fruit power), the inherent dubcon of sex pollen but the con is as con as it can get under the circumstances, intercrural sex, PiV sex, creampie, mild cumplay, semi public sex

WC: 3.3k

Summary: As a relatively high ranking Marine doctor you were in charge of Dracule Mihawk’s post mission check ups. Normally you don’t have to do anything- until he shows up sick.

The only solution both you and him can agree on is a little… unconventional

Notes: I (lovingly) blame @fanaticsnail for this. All of her lovely sex pollen fics pushed me over the edge to write this one so go check hers out. Go.

Tagging: @keiva1000

Most Marines didn’t like it when Mihawk had to come check in and give his after mission report in person. But you barely considered yourself a Marine anyways, always thinking of yourself as a doctor first before anything. A doctor who just so happened to be in charge of doing all of Mihawk’s post mission check ups.

Of course it took him a while to actually agree to do any sort of post mission work, but despite his generally sour attitude inside the Marines base he was never mean to you. Dismissive? Sure. Non-compliant with any medical advice you’d give? Yes. But that’s what you dealt with on a day to day basis. He was one of the few people you could have intelligent conversation with- he would listen to you and you would cherish the snippets of traveling stories you would get out of him.

Your check ups were never more than a handful of minutes, you had never seen him get more than a scratch, but he always let you run down your required checklist. Despite this you always cleared out half your day, just in case. So today, a day he was set to check in at your base, you sat patiently in your office until he was done talking with your superiors.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Until, finally, there was a frantic knock on your door before a frazzled looking cadet burst in. You immediately stand up and get serious- mass injuries were unfortunately commonplace for you to deal with and he had the scared look of someone who just saw a ship roll in half destroyed.

“Doctor-“

“How bad.”

“It’s Mihawk.”

That caught you entirely off guard and your stomach drops. “How bad?”

“We don’t know. He was giving his report and then he looked flushed and that’s when he ran out. Apparently he’s locked himself in some spare office and won’t come out.” He explains and you slowly get more and more concerned.

You quickly grab your bag and sling in over your shoulder, practically pushing the cadet out the door with you as you order him to show you where Mihawk is. It’s a quick jog down hallways and stairs but eventually you get to a door with two cadets on either side. One of your captains is leaning on the wall across from the door looking exasperated.

“The only thing he’s telling us is to leave him alone.” The captain explains, gesturing to the door.

You sigh and walk up to the door, rapping on it with your knuckles. “Mihawk, you’ve got everyone worried out here.”

A few seconds pass before you hear Mihawk’s voice, muffled from behind the steel door. “Doctor?”

“Everyone said you looked sick.” You explain.

There’s a long pause and you’re about to speak again before you hear his voice. “You all need to get out of here.”

You see the captain throw up his hands in your peripheral and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Turning your attention back to your fellow Marines you gesture down the hallway.

“Give me a few minutes alone with him.” You don’t need to tell them twice, and they eagerly take the relief.

You wait a few beats for them to clear out and then turn your attention back to the door. “Alright, it’s just us.”

“I thought I made it clear that all of you needed to leave me alone.” You can tell he’s close to the door, which you take as somewhat of a good sign.

“Look, if it’s something contagious I just need to know. If it’s something embarrassing I’m a doctor and I take confidentiality incredibly seriously.” There’s silence and you lean on the door. “Just let me help you.”

You hear him moving behind the door and then the heavy sound of the lock turning. You give him a few seconds before you enter, closing the door after yourself immediately.

All the lights are off, only the small amount of light through the high circular windows illuminating the space. It takes you a second to locate Mihawk but eventually you find him, shoulders hunched as he leans on an abandoned desk. It’s jarring to see his normally perfect posture gone and even in the low light you can see the intense flush over his face and exposed chest. You don’t need a thermometer to see that his temperature is dangerously high.

“What happened?” You don’t approach him, hoping the space gives him some comfort.

“It was-“ He breaks off as he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Some Devil Fruit user. Don’t know what the power was but I inhaled some smoke and then-“

He trails off and you know you’re probably in a bit over your head. Devil Fruit powers could be quite literally anything. You shove all that down though and hope your nervousness doesn’t show. “What are your symptoms?”

Mihawk shakes his head. “This was a mistake I shouldn’t have let you in you need to-“

“Mihawk I need you to tell me.” You’re unsure where this confidence is coming from, there’s not a world in which you would ever be in a position to tell a warlord what to do. But to your surprise, it works.

“I’ll kill you if you tell anyone.” He practically growls.

“You have my word.”

“Fine.” You see him shift and it looks like he’s uncomfortable in his own skin. “I have a fever, I am experiencing some mental fog, and my senses seem to be heightened.”

It’s your years as a doctor that let you immediately know he’s holding something back. “And?”

His gaze darts up and he glares at you making your blood run ice cold. If looks could kill you would be a pile of viscera on the floor. Despite this, he does give you and answer.

“I am in an… unnatural state of arousal.”

Oh.

That would certainly explain a few things.

You let your doctor brain take over as you set your bag on the ground, opening it and looking through what you have. Medication wouldn’t help since the cause was a Devil Fruit power but…

“Okay. I have a few ideas.” You reach into your bag and pull out an ice pack, throwing it over to Mihawk who easily catches it and presses it to his forehead. “The first is what you are doing, which is isolate until the effect stops. I’m not sure this is the best idea since you seem to be incredibly uncomfortable.”

“What else.”

“I could sedate you and hopefully have it flushed out of your system by the time you wake up.” You offer, showing him the vial of clear liquid.

“Absolutely not. I refuse to be further incapacitated around you Marines.” He spits out the last word and you would be offended if you actually considered yourself a Marine.

“Alright. Those are my… sensible ideas.”

“Which implies there are insensible ones. Spit it out.”

You can’t blame him for being short but it didn’t make your next concepts any easier to say. “I could find you someone to… ride it out with.”

That idea hangs in the air and you watch Mihawk screw his eyes shut, clearly struggling. “I don’t- it’s insufferable enough to be vulnerable on a Marine base but you want to bring in some stranger-“

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

A thought pops into your head as you scramble for more ideas as Mihawk’s composure slowly keeps slipping. It’s a stupid thought, one a doctor like you shouldn’t have even had. But in the moment, pressed for ideas, it tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think properly about it.

“I would help you.”

You realize what you’ve said a moment too late and wish that somehow the floor would swallow you whole. It’s not like you don’t want to- it’s clear that your stupid monkey brain has always held on an attraction to the incredibly handsome warlord- but offering yourself up like this?

Beyond wildly inappropriate.

“Don’t say things like that.” Mihawk says as he backs up a few steps and shame hits you like a brick wall.

“I’m so sorry- it was- you shouldn’t be with anyone when you’re compromised like this I’ll just-“ You fumble over your words and quickly turn to unlock the door and get out of there.

Before your hand can even reach the handle an arm comes out from behind you and slams on the door. Suddenly you feel the intense heat of Mihawk’s body behind you, heavy breath fanning over the back of your neck. He doesn’t press into your body but instead hovers and your mind can’t quite keep up with the sudden change in events.

“Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean it.” His voice is low and dripping with lust.

Your gaze is locked forward as you try to control your breathing. “I meant it.”

“Last chance.”

The professional part of your brain gets smashed to smithereens as he presses his body against yours. “If you’re sure you want this then-“

The air is knocked out of your lungs as he steps forward, pushing you harshly into the door. One hand knots in your hair while the other snakes around your waist and pulls you in impossibly closer. The grip on your hair forces your head to the side, giving Mihawk the space to attack your neck, teeth digging into your skin immediately. As he does so he grinds his hips up and you can feel just how painfully hard he is against your ass.

The hand on your waist pulls at your uniform pants and you quickly get the idea, using your free hands to shove them down. You’re only able to get them just over your ass with how your legs are pressed apart by Mihawk’s but that seems to be enough for him. His hands leave you for a second and you hear the clatter of his belt before both hands tightly grip your hips.

You feel his cock slide between your folds, not entering you but instead sliding between your lips. His shaft is almost scorching hot as it slides against your clit, slick dripping from you and easing his shallow and fast thrusts.

“I just- fuck I just have to take the edge of your so-“ The grip on your hips is bruising as he holds you still to use you.

“It’s alright just-“ You can practically feel every vein against your sensitive clit and you bring one of your hands up and back to dig into his hair.

The scratch of your nails in his scalp is all Mihawk needs to tip over the edge, grunting as he spills onto the door and your thighs. You feel his heavy breath on your neck as he collects himself but the hardness against you doesn’t fade. You hear frustration in a low growl against your back but despite this he places kisses over the deep bite marks he created on your neck.

Slowly Mihawk pries his body away from yours and you take the opportunity to quickly toe off your shoes and slip your pants all the way off. When you turn around you see Mihawk watching you from a large chair, slowly pumping his cock, soaking from you slick.

“Get the rest of that god awful uniform off doctor.” You quickly discard your jacket and pull your shirt over your head, earning an appreciative hum from Mihawk. “What a pity you have to hide all that.”

You flush under his compliment and piercing gold gaze. With his free hand he beckons you over and you obey without hesitation. The second you’re close enough he pulls you into his lap, your thighs pushed apart by his spread ones. Your hands grab his shoulders to stabilize yourself as his hands find your hips once more.

“Normally I would work you open darling but-“ He nuzzles into your neck, breathing in your scent. “You can take it, can’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before one incredibly strong hand pushes you down while the other lines himself up with your entrance. You don’t fight him as his tip presses into you, stretching you out. You curse as he pushes into you a bit faster than you can adjust, but probably significantly slower than he wants to fuck into you. The sting feels good mixed with the way Mihawk curses and praises you under his breath, words barely understandable as his fingers bruise your waist.

“Just like that- so fucking tight-“ He mouths at your collarbone as you sink down and your head falls back as he splits you open.

Soon enough your hips meet his and you moan and dig your nails into Mihawk’s shoulders. He can’t help but shallowly thrust up into you, hot breath fanning over your skin as his instincts seem to overwhelm him. Once you feel ready you work to move your hips in time with his, pulling yourself up and down further on his length.

“That’s it- you’ve been waiting for an excuse to fuck yourself on my cock huh? Proper little doctor- I’ve seen how you- fuck- how you look at me.” You flush with embarrassment and look down to see his golden eyes blown out by darkness.

Maybe you should have some shame, knowing you were seen through so easily, but when he looks up at you like that you can’t think of anything else. You quickly press your lips to his and he seems caught off guard for a second- only to quickly overtake the kiss. One strong hand grips the back of your neck and holds you in place as his tongue slips between your lips. You stay like this until your lungs scream at you and you push yourself back and gasp for air.

You’re about to lean in for another kiss when you notice Mihawk’s gaze quickly dart to the door. You’re confused for a second but soon a loud knocking bounces off the steel door.

“Doctor- status report?” One of the cadets yells through the door and you swear under your breath.

You stop your movements, hoping to catch your breath and sound somewhat put together but Mihawk has other ideas. The second you falter he grabs your hips and starts moving you up and down effortlessly and when you glare at him he only grins up at you.

Seems he still has the mental capacity to be an ass.

“We are-“ You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to stop a moan after a skillfully directed thrust. “We are quarantining until some of my tests are- are done processing.”

There’s a pause before the cadet responds. “Okay… are you alright? You’re not sick are you?”

When one of Mihawk’s hands leave your hips you know something is up and you’re able to bite down on your hand in time to stifle the moan that leaves your body when his skilled fingers find your clit. You’re so close to an orgasm but you fight it back just long enough to get this stupid cadet out of here.

“Quarantine this hallway until my further say- that’s an order!” You yell out and you hope and pray the cadet doesn’t hear the pleasure in your voice.

“Y-Yes!” The voice shouts back and you hope he’s running down the hall because you can’t take this anymore.

“What would your fellow Marines think?” Mihawk’s voice, cruel and playful, rings in your ears. “They’re precious doctor getting fucked stupid by a pirate- fuck you like that don’t you?”

You can only nod, overwhelmed by hick cock and fingers skillfully taking you apart.

“You’re squeezing me so tight- just- need you to cum all over my cock- you can do that can’t you? Cum for me-“ There’s a hint of desperation in his voice and his command breaks any last tethers you were using to hold off your orgasm snap.

Mihawk swears loudly as your walls convulse around him and it’s only seconds later he’s holding your hips down hard against his and spilling inside you. You lay your forehead on Mihawk’s shoulder as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. Even after you catch your breath he’s still hard inside you and you know you’re not done yet.

“I just want to see- hold on.” Is the only warning you get before Mihawk is standing up.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips but his strong hands on your ass are more than enough to keep you up. He moves a few feet to the desk, setting you down on it and tapping your thigh once you’re settled. You get the idea and unlatch your legs, letting him slip out and away from you.

“Let me see.” Mihawk says as he pushes your knees apart, eyes transfixed between them. “Fuck.”

He watches as his cum leaks out of you, his fingers quickly scooping it up and shoving it back inside of you. In any other headspace you might think that was disgusting but the way he watches you and is claiming you makes it incredibly arousing. Once he’s satisfied he brings his fingers up to your mouth and you automatically take them between your lips, tasting the mix of your fluids.

“I’m- fuck- you’re perfect.” He seems reluctant to take his fingers from your mouth but the second both his hands are free he’s easily flipping you around and pushing your chest into the desk.

There’s no warning before he’s plunging into you again, your hips roughly meeting the edge of the wooden desk. You don’t really feel the pain amongst the pleasure, oversensitive from your previous orgasm. You feel open mouth kisses pepper your spine as he thrusts into you from behind. While one of his hands stays on your hips- your skin practically indented in the shape of his fingers there now- one reaches down to your thigh, giving it a squeeze before he pushes your leg upwards. The new angle is heavenly as you just let yourself be used- sliding forwards and backwards on the desk with each powerful thrust.

“Need you to- fuck darling I just need you to cum on me again- please I need to feel it-“ Mihawk sounds so desperate, a whine to his voice that he no longer can hide. “Just a little bit more for me-“

Your body seems to crave following his commands and another orgasm is ripped from your sensitive body. Only a few moments later you feel him cum inside you again, and you’re confident at this point he’s dripping out of you onto the floor.

“So good for me- taking all my cum-“ He’s breathless as he pulls out of you again and you don’t need to turn around to know he’s staring at your fucked out hole.

When he actually give you space for a minute you turn your head, still using the table to support your weight. “You feel better?”

“Hm…” His hand skates up your back, soothing you. “Feeling just sated enough to get you back to the room I’m staying in.”

The prospect of going more rounds was overwhelming but you can’t deny that you wanted it more than anything. One problem.

“If anyone sees me I think they’ll figure out some of what happened.” From your messed up hair, the bruises forming on your neck, and the fact that there’s no way you’ll be able to walk normally- yeah it’ll be obvious you were just fucked within an inch of your life.

“Oh doctor.” He pulls you up off the desk and places a surprisingly tender kiss on your forehead. “If anyone else sees you like this I’ll kill them.”