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randomshyperson · 6 months

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Sanctify - Cult Leader!Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Kinktober #06

Summary: After your worst semester at NYU, your Aunt Agatha convinces you to join the Children of Chaos as an alternative, and very expensive form of therapy. Leaving the cult becomes a very difficult task when you develop an unexpected affection for their leader.

Warnings: (+18), dom!wanda and brat!reader, rough smut, face-fucking, power dynamics, brat taming (ish), praising, lots of tension and teasing, definitely blasphemous on some levels, a lot of plot, mentions of past toxic relationship, unspecified age gap. | Words: 7.900k

A/N-> I’ve been dying to write something about Cult Leader Wanda since I watched the second season of Yellowjackets and became obsessed with Lottie Matthews, so while writing this, I was picturing Lottie’s cult to be fair. I also like how I ended this, as it makes it possible to turn it into a series. Good reading!

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

Although the movement of the car brought a gentle breeze through the window, the weather was hot enough to actually make thinking painful. In an attempt to relieve the temperature a little, and perhaps escape Aunt Aggie's provocative reminiscences about the long journey and the events that made this trip necessary in the first place, you put your arm on the door, and propped your chin up, your face on the safety edge outside the window.

New York had been out of sight for hours and had given way to countless trees and a plantation further and further away. You figured it wouldn't take long for the radio signal to stop working, but to your pleasant surprise, the soft melody of cassette tapes hidden in the glove compartment by Nicholas were picked up once that happened.

Your cousin had grown up over the summer - His still youthful appearance now featured neatly cut curly hair and reading glasses that he often hung on the collar of his shirt. When younger, it was common to hear how much he resembled Sir. Scratch, his scumbag father in the words of Agatha and the other adults, not yours - but over time, he looked much more like his mother.

Nick met your gaze through the rearview mirror and gave you an assuring smile. You didn't reciprocate, but not because you were upset. Just because you were distracted by the huge sign coming around the next corner.

"Oh, boy, I've missed this place." Agatha commented with a nostalgic sigh, as soon as she noticed the entrance plaque. She slowed down enough that the wind wasn't enough anymore, so you returned to your original position with a low snort.

"There's still time to turn around." You muttered, getting a warning look from the older woman.

She leaned over, without answering you, to grab something from the open glove compartment. You pushed your hair back as a pamphlet was dropped into your lap.

"I know you hated the idea, but you need to trust your elders for once in your life, darling." Agatha began, as you grimaced at the crumpled paper. The title Children of Chaos was painted in red, but it was faded in several places. "The 70s were the apex for this place, I had a lot of fun here. It's such a unique experience, connecting with nature and the chaos that is part of us all."

Nick chuckled through his nose. "Mom, don't start your witch thing again, you'll scare her." Mocked your cousin from the passenger seat, but Agatha waved him off.

"She'll thank me when she gets there, I'm sure."

But you didn't do that. When the car finally came to a stop, and what looked more like a fancy farm merged with the forest took over your vision, all you did was crumple the Immersive Community pamphlet into your pocket and throw your old backpack over your shoulder.

Aunt Aggie and your cousin hugged you tightly, saying they were going to write, but they couldn't get past the reception desk since they weren’t part of the program. You saw Agatha take your mom’s borrowed credit card out of her purse to start your so-called treatment, and the last goodbyes left your tongue before one of the tutors started the tour of the place.

In between presenting a large number of different huts that served as dormitories and classrooms for the most diverse activities - painting, handicrafts or poetry were the ones you memorized - Mr. Emil Blonsky also took the time to welcome you, emphasizing how incredible the community was and how lucky anyone was to be there. You bit your tongue to keep from telling him that only those with money could.

Finally, Blonsky showed you the stables and greenhouses on the edge of the property, and on the way back to the rest of the huts, you noticed the path up the hill.

"And what's up there?"

The man stopped walking with a small smile. He was wearing clothes very similar to those of the other people you'd seen on the tour, the difference being a golden necklace with a strange symbol that was hidden by the movement of his loosely buttoned shirt.

"We must not go up there without permission." He begins, although he's smiling, there's something in his gaze that says this rule cannot be disrespected. " The Prophetess' Retreat is a sacred place of peace and reflection."

You look back at the hut at the bottom of the mountain, far enough away that you can't make out the decorations on the balcony, but still beautiful and quiet, high enough to make it look like the prophet had her own little piece of heaven.

"So, no bothering the boss without asking? Got it." You retort, getting a chuckle from the other at the summary. He starts walking again along the path towards the general area, but you can't help the curiosity burning in your chest. "About this prophet, will she be isolated up there or will I get a chance to meet her?"

Blonsky walks up beside you, and looks you in the eye to say; "You'll meet her when it's time to meet her, not early and not late."

You don't know what to say to that, everything here is so theatrical in a way. Mystical, you might say. It suits Aunt Aggie so well, that it's not hard to imagine her here, dancing to the midnight moon and talking to the trees. She already does that in New York, it should have been much simpler in the middle of the forest.

"Come, child. You must start the cleaning process soon." Announces the man as he picks up the pace on the trail. With a sigh, you decide not to contradict him by saying that you bathed before coming, thank you.

It was soon revealed that the cleansing process really meant a bath - the colleagues around you who helped you laughed when you joked that it was a strange way of saying that someone stinks, before clarifying that it was nothing of the sort. The Cleansing Process was a bath of salts and herbs, in a tub of stones and some kind of botanical baptism, the latter of which only members who had completed thirteen full moons could take part in. You would be invited to the baptism with the prophet's blessing, but there was still a long way to go.

Blonsky handed your uniforms, and explained the last rules before leaving you alone, or almost, since your hut was shared with six other people, and despite this, it seemed very comfortable and organized. There were bunk beds and private bathroom spaces, and at least three spacious shelves for each. The latter wouldn't be of much use to you, since you'd brought almost nothing and the vast majority of your belongings had been left at NYU. Just thinking about that place gave you a terrible stomach ache: You would have skipped dinner, but the mere suggestion of not attending made one of your colleagues frown in concern and repeat the rules, so you ended up giving that up.

The routine that followed was calm: it didn't surprise you that the new members were responsible for the hardest tasks, and it didn't bother you either. You were never afraid of hard work, and keeping your hands busy also helped to calm your mind, so it was a win-win. Besides, even if you didn't get the jobs nobody wanted, all veterans had chores. There was some rule about the amount of service time and dedication being rewarded, so those senior members could choose what they wanted to do first.

You didn't have to worry about this anyway: you would do what you had to do because, after all, the agreement was to stay here only for the summer. However, with each passing day away from exams, traffic, and New York's typical filth, it became harder to imagine leaving the Children of Chaos and their strange harmony and kindness.

After three weeks in the group, you learned to knit. You also earned the privilege of mail when you showed up for all your appointments without delay and decided to check the items in the privacy of your cabin during the last hour of prayer.

Since you hadn't yet found your faith or received your calling or whatever weird way Blonsky explained this, you barely joined in the prayer sessions. This evening, excited to receive news from home, was no different.

Aunt Aggie wrote about the store doing well and mentioned your mother, who didn't write to you with more than vague words about hoping you'd feel better soon. The best present was hidden in Nicholas' letter about the university being a sack without his favorite cousin. Wrapped in silk and next to a lighter.

You haven't earned the right to write outside yet - something about a month in isolation to accomplish. So you just clutched the items to your chest and wished your cousin knew how grateful you were.

Your initial intention was to save the weed for some more stressful day - which was rare in the leisurely pace of this place - but the last letter made you consider using it all that night.

The recipient's perfect handwriting, and the address you knew by heart. You didn't even open the item, you put it away in your drawer and stood up with the weed hidden in your pants pocket.

The common area was empty, as the vast majority of your colleagues were praying. You stepped up to one of the bonfires and threw the unopened letter into the flames, without hesitation and without caring to see it burn. You turned on your heels and continued along the trail, heading for one of the few more secluded spots you had discovered during the hours of exploring between tasks.

The rules were clear about the prophet's hut but said nothing about the road towards it. And since apparently everyone there was afraid of upsetting the boss, that spot was always empty and the perfect place to smoke in hiding.

You leaned against a tree, curled up and lit the weed, and tried to keep away all the painful memories about last semester that the damn letter had brought up.

You were halfway through a joint when you heard a voice at the end of the trail next to you.

"Good evening, Y/N."

"Jesus fucking Christ." You gasped, jumping with fright and almost dropping the blunt to the ground. You looked sideways abruptly, imagining that you were hallucinating because of the weed, and were almost sure that you were when the words escaped you due to the apparition in front of you. The most beautiful woman you've ever seen in your life. Instead of a uniform, she wore a loose dark wine dress that hugged her curves perfectly; her long red hair cascaded down her shoulders and back and her emerald eyes shone curiously in your direction. The dim light from the fire lamps scattered along the trail and the moon really made the woman look like an angel.

You coughed awkwardly. "Sorry, you scared me." You clarified, the cigarette hidden behind your back a stupid attempt to mask what you were doing. Sure enough, your pupils were dilated, and it was very easy to see the smoke. So, as soon as you tried to hide it, you gave up, offering the woman an awkward chuckle and gesturing the cigarette gently. "Don't tell on me."

There was a soft pause, which you couldn't tell from the intoxication in your system. The woman watched for a moment as the charming gesture of bringing the cigarette to the smile formed on your lips and blew the smoke into the starry sky with your neck slightly stretched. Your mind seemed to clear, and before the woman could speak, you grimaced. "Wait, didn't you just say my name? How..?"

She smiled, folding her hands in front of her body. "It was premeditated that we met today, of course. I'm Wanda."

You've heard her name before, in conversation circles and in advertisements about her heavenliness hanging around.

"Shit." It was your natural reaction, which made her laugh softly, and it must have been the weed's fault that the sound echoed in your mind and made your body shudder.

"Don't worry, I won't snitch on you." She assures you with an easy smile playing on her lips, and you swallow dry, completely at a loss.

"Thanks... but I thought you were the boss." You mumble, and Wanda makes a funny expression, like a false realization.

"Oh, you're right." She murmurs amusedly. "I think I can let this one slide if you'll share it with me."

"Fuck, of course, here." Your limbs feel strange, almost too heavy to move around her. You awkwardly hand her the cigarette, certain that your face is flushed. Hell, the last time you were this clumsy was last semester, with-

"You swear a lot." Wanda's comment pulls you out of your daze. She takes a long drag before adding: "Especially for a Christian."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "My father's a Christian, not me." You retort, and end up grimacing. "And how do you know-"

"This is a very exclusive program, sweetheart." Wanda cuts you off again, the cigarette between her fingers but her gaze is completely focused on your face. "Having a lot of money or being someone's niece isn't enough to guarantee you a spot, but a good letter of recommendation might. And Agatha wrote me almost everything about you, except the reason for rushing to get you here before the next recruitment period."

The sentence was an invitation for you to speak, but you didn't fall for the bait. On the contrary, you looked away with tense shoulders, and Wanda didn't press. At least, not now. She took another drag before commenting more softly:

"We have general meetings every Wednesday. We encourage members to open up."

You grimace softly. "Group therapy isn't my thing."

But Wanda smiles lopsidedly, giving you back the joint. " Neither is nice weed." She retorts a little provocatively, attracting your attention. "If you want to try something new, show up next week. And if you want to try something good, you should try the weed from our greenhouse. It won't taste like crushed dirt." Adjusting her hair around her shoulders, she offers you a wink. "Have a good night, darling."

You think about the color of her eyes for the rest of the night.

-&-

Sooner than you'd expect, you'll discover that Wanda isn't the type to let things slide. Far from it, she notices everything, especially those who are being too slack and prone to not following the teachings of the Children of Chaos, possibly ruining their record of total efficiency or something.

She puts an end to your plans for a quiet summer, trying to go unnoticed among the countless other followers just as abruptly as she left her meditation hut. Wanda seems to appear at every moment that you consider escaping from your commitments - it even occurs to you that she has a particular interest in watching you, but the idea sounds so absurd that you push it away while forcing a polite smile before returning to your duties.

Less than two weeks after you met, you finally stopped avoiding Group Therapy and showed up on time to join the session. The presence of Wanda, in a loose dark purple dress and her red hair tied up in a neat braid, makes you almost give up, convinced that you couldn't say anything without stuttering in the presence of such a stunning woman.

But she offers a gentle smile, opening her arms softly. "Come along, darling, you're just in time." She greets and you stumble towards a corner in the background, begging the gods that you can attend in silence this time.

It doesn't seem so difficult when it's other people doing it. A young man with whom you've already shared the task of looking after the stables spoke of the frustrations of returning from enforced service with a missing limb, and how the support he didn't get from the government and family members, he found here. Bucky received a finger-snapping applause - something that was explained to you as a way to avoid triggers on the countless ex-combatants or victims of post-traumatic stress that make up the crowd - before giving his turn to another ex-military woman, Carol Danvers.

More stories were shared until Wanda's gaze fell on your slumped figure and she called your name. All the attention in the room fell on you too, and you chuckled awkwardly.

"Thanks, but I'm not good at public speaking." You retorted, but Wanda, with her hands folded over her stomach, gave you a gentle smile.

"Don't worry about it, dear, this is a no-judgment zone." She says, but you make no mention of getting up, and her gaze becomes more insistent. "It's important that we all make an effort to be present at these exercises. We encourage participation around here. Come along, dear, please." And she smiled so kindly that you could only trust her.

The group offered a small chorus of encouragement, and before you knew it, you were a few steps away from the redhead, who held out her hands for your wrists.

"I want you to take a deep breath and close your eyes." Wanda guided, her melodic voice bringing goose bumps all over your body. "Turn all your attention inward. And tell me, is there anything in there that you'd like to share with the group?"

The memories of last semester hit you full force. But Wanda massages your wrists and it feels as if she can calm down the whole storm inside of you.

You sigh, before opening your eyes. "I... I don't know where to start." Your whisper is met by another chorus of support from the members, who retort that you're safe. Wanda releases your wrists to sit with the others, and you try not to be so self-conscious while you're in the spotlight. "I think I can share with you the reason why I'm here." You declare a moment later, taking another deep breath.

Bucky gives you an encouraging smile, mimicking that of the people around him, and you swallow.

"I don't have a history of fighting and overcoming war or any illnesses, so I'm sorry to disappoint anyone." You mumble, receiving confused looks.

The former sergeant assures you: "No problem competes with another. All our pains have their importance." And it seems to be something that has already been repeated here a few times because everyone shakes their heads in agreement.

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. "Right... well, I won't beat around the bush. A month ago, when I was first enrolled here, I had just been kicked out of my house. Well, it wasn't exactly my house anymore, because I'd been living on campus for about three years, but I think you get the idea." You say, laughing awkwardly at the anxiety in your chest. You try to clear your throat so that your voice doesn't come out so shaky, but only Wanda's gaze really helps to calm your nerves. "And the reason for this was a relationship that my parents, more specifically my mother, didn't approve of. To be fair, no one really approved, because, well, the person... hm, I don't think there's any other way to put it, was another woman. An older woman, and also my professor. And well, the whole thing would have been a scandal anyway, but I really let myself believe that when the worst was over, we'd be fine. Bad news, we weren't." You laugh sadly. You pause, imagining that you'll get judgmental looks, but everyone listens attentively. "For a while, I thought the worst part was afterward. When everyone knew and judged me, and how my mother freaked out, and I tried... but no. The worst part was not realizing what that love if I can call it that, was doing to me. How ill it was making me. And until I got here, learned things about myself, and managed to take a break from everything that was left behind... For a while, I really hoped to go back and fix everything, but now... damn, sometimes I don't even think about leaving this place."

The group celebrates quietly, exchanging words of encouragement. Your ears feel warm, and Wanda stands up again. "You can stay as long as you need, darling." She says, massaging your forearm. She calls someone else to speak, but doesn't miss the opportunity to whisper in your ear: "I'm proud, stay a little longer today, I want to talk to you."

And you think you haven't absorbed anything for the rest of the morning.

Eventually, the session ends, and as soon as the room is empty, Wanda turns her face towards you.

"You were brave today, sweetheart."

Your hands, busy putting the cushions away, tremble a little. But you offer her an incredulous chuckle.

"Yeah, right." It's your answer, which makes Wanda frown in curiosity. At her inquisitive silence, you sigh before clarifying: "Everyone's nice, but I know it's kind of silly that my big trauma is a break-up and not post-traumatic stress from war or something that actually matters."

Wanda presses her lips together, studying you for a moment, and you take the opportunity to put away the last of the cushions. Suddenly, she says:

"This lack of respect for your own feelings comes from parental negligence, I suppose." You turn your face away in surprise, but Wanda gives you a small smile: "James wasn't lying when he said that no pain should compete with another. We all have our internal and external battles, and we shouldn't belittle our pain. I believe we should honor it, and wear it. And here, dear, you will learn to do that." Wanda makes her way around to one of the cupboards at the back, and you watch her movements in silence, from reaching into one of the last drawers to returning to you with an item in hand. "I have an invitation for you."

She opens the box she's brought, and inside is a necklace very similar to the one the instructors wear. The main difference is the symbol, the crown that Wanda also carries on the pendant around her neck. You frown in confusion.

"What is it?"

She wraps the item between her fingers, her gaze on you. "The disciple's necklace. The last one from the current solstice."

You imitate the gesture, touching the item with the tips of your fingers. Wanda doesn't move her hand away as your fingers brush together, and you ignore your own shyness as you watch her bite her lip for a moment. "I don't understand what it means."

She licks her lips, and the movement doesn't go unnoticed by your eyes. "It means that you would be my apprentice. You would accompany me during periods of meditation, you would study my teachings closely, you would be... entirely dedicated to..."

"You?" you add, and Wanda lets out a shuddering breath, warm against your cheek. When did she get so close?

"If you wish." She whispers, and you pull away gently, your face hot but the last thread of sanity in your mind.

"I'm sure there are more experienced members dying for this position. It wouldn't be right-"

Wanda shakes her head, interrupting you. "They weren't chosen. You were." She assures you, pressing the box with the necklace against your chest. "And if it wasn't you, the place would be empty until the next solstice. You don't have to accept it, darling. It's not a summons. It's an invitation."

You sigh, holding the box against your chest. "I just... I've never done anything like this. I don't want to mess things up."

There's a bell in the distance, signaling the start of the next activities. Wanda glances outside briefly before stepping close enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth that makes your whole body heat up at once.

"Just listen to your instincts." She whispers, before pulling away with a small smile.

You write to Agatha about it the following evening, but you don't have the courage to seal the letter for sending. The whole conversation with Wanda seems too private to be shared in this way.

Although the woman said it was just an invitation, you could feel some pressure to make a decision, and it seems that the news had been circulating ever since one of the tutors couldn't find the box of the last chaos disciple pendant, and Wanda ended up mentioning that she had extended another invitation.

In a way, you were stalling. Between your activities and meetings, you hadn't made any decisions and you hoped that the end of the summer would force Wanda to choose someone else. But there was also the question of the new, burning feelings that had appeared since you first laid eyes on her, and which seemed to awaken every time you two were in the same environment.

The idea of departing, of leaving her behind like a closed chapter in your life, seemed absurd every passing day.

In your second month with the Chaos Children, you received a rather unusual request: take the prophet her morning drink.

The crumpled piece of paper was handed to you by one of your cabin mates: Kate Bishop. A former student, a little younger than you, who, after destroying a bell at the university, was sent here by her millionaire mother. Kate was to stay until she had balanced her irresponsible impulses and could take over the family's security empire.

She seemed a little reluctant to interrupt your concentration on cleaning the garden, but much more determined not to disappoint Wanda.

"Just give it to the kitchen staff, they'll know what to do. And prioritize, she doesn't like to wait." Said the girl, but you gave her hand a gentle tug before taking the paper.

"But why did she ask me?" you asked, but Kate had no idea and just shrugged before leaving the garden.

While the kitchen staff prepared the item, you tried to improve your appearance in the bathroom next to the lounge, wiping all the soil from the plants from under your fingers, and even what had run into your cheeks.

When you came out, there was another order on the counter and a small group of people who hadn't been there before. They didn't see you. Blonsky, accompanied by two other women you didn't know, were talking to each other.

"I bet it was Carter. She hasn't stopped talking about her private piano lessons with the Prophetess for four whole weeks." Said the first, but the other laughed quietly.

" Sharoon is a simp, that's all. Wanda wouldn't choose her after the episode with Rogers last year, she knows she can't trust her." Rebutted the other. "Besides, I would have assumed it was Bishop, after all, she already acts like a maid. Why train another when you already have one so dedicated?" The women laugh amongst themselves until they finally notice you approaching, and fall silent. Blonsky smiles, but he appears very vicious.

"Hello, miss. Wouldn't you like to have a say in who our next disciple is?" He asks you, but you shrug, moving forward in the queue in front of the canteen to grab the prophet's items that were clearly being prepared in priority.

"I don't know anything about it." That's your answer, but the shorter woman gets in your way.

"Come on, dear, it's easy." She begins with a giggle. "Every solstice, the prophetess chooses her disciples. There are 24 of them, 12 of whom will become apostles after their apprenticeship."

You grimace softly. "It's very biblical."

Blonsky chuckles. "Of course, it is, despite the multiculturalism of our group, Wanda was raised in a Jewish Christian home. You're not going to tell me you didn't know that?"

You clear your throat. "Not really. Sorry, I have to run."

But the man puts a hand in your way, only to stretch his body out on the counter and reach for some colored leaves that he crushes and drops into Wanda's glass.

"She likes it this way. I would know, I prepared many when I was her houseboy for the first few weeks here." He says, and you swallow dry, mumbling an awkward thank you before hurrying off.

The path is a little tiring, you think it makes sense of Wanda's physique if she had to climb that trail every day, and you mentally curse yourself for thinking about her body. It's not at all appropriate, honestly.

The door is open, but you knock anyway. The woman inside, wearing her typical long, loose dresses at the edge, is busy finishing a loose fringe in her hair and offers you a smile.

"Come in, dear."

You do so a little awkwardly, almost overwhelmed by the moment of entering the most private place in the whole camp. It's a beautiful cabin, you let her know, without stopping to admire the perfectly arranged surroundings. You would have thought that the privacy of this place would allow her to make some kind of personal mess, but everything is impeccably in place.

Wanda approaches to pick up the items, and the smile falters on her face at the first sip of her drink.

"Did you put... did you put maca root in this?" She asks, and your natural reaction is a short laugh.

"I didn't prepare it, Wanda."

But she doesn't smile again, her tone of voice remains the same but her attitude changes to one of false kindness. "My morning drink is an ashwagandha. I need my concentration to increase, not my libido." It really sounded like a scolding, and her attitude of handing the cup back to you, accompanied by the memory of the recent events, made your blood boil.

"Well, I'm not your fucking maid, so if it's not good, get another one downstairs, or even better, make it one yourself."

It's the first time you see any kind of fury in her gaze, hot and vibrant, and it makes something in you rouse. Your mention of leaving the cabin is prevented by her hands closing the door and trapping you against the wood.

Wanda takes a deep breath, and the gleam in her eyes changes. "Can I ask... where did this attitude come from?"

You hold the glass tightly against your body, very aware that you'll drop it if Wanda doesn't step away and let you breathe. "I just want to make things clear." You retort with a seriousness that doesn't do justice to the way your heart is racing. "I didn't come to this place to be your personal servant."

Wanda chuckles briefly, letting her gaze drop to your mouth. "Oh, of course not, darling." She whispers. "You're not the type to follow orders willingly. You'd do a terrible job."

Swallowing dryly, you retort: "And why am I here then?"

Wanda smiles innocently. "I asked you to bring my drink." It's her reply, clearly trying to tease you, and you snort impatiently.

"I bet you expected an answer. Well, I haven't made up my mind yet, so if there's nothing else, I'll just go."

Wanda moves to take the glass from you and put it on the table by the door. The next second, her hands are in yours.

"Don't be silly, of course, there's another reason." She retorts, pulling you along as she walks backward into the cabin. "I hear you love painting."

What you had assumed was her personal painting canvas is offered to you. The laugh that escapes you is shy and genuine.

"Wanda, I don't... paint anymore."

But she doesn't flinch, her hands still in yours. "I know you haven't since last semester. It was in the letter. But you've progressed so much, that I thought you could paint for me." When you don't answer, she makes such an adorable expression that your heart skips a beat. "Please?"

Wanda definitely knows how beautiful she is, and how those puppy-dog eyes can take her anywhere. You bite back a smile, agreeing, and almost forget to breathe when she jumps excitedly onto your neck, hugging it for a whole moment before letting go as if she hadn't turned you into a complete mess with one touch.

She doesn't complain about the cocktail again - instead, she drinks it entirely while you get comfortable on the painting stool, doodling for a few moments before starting to paint the only thing you could after so many months without touching a paintbrush.

It's only when the drawing is clearer on the frame that Wanda becomes restless again. Loud sighs take your attention away from the painting and towards her.

"Is something wrong?"

She smiles half-heartedly, and only now do you notice the soft color of her cheeks. "I shouldn't have ignored my own complaints and drunk that juice."

You frown in confusion, letting the brush rest next to the paints. "Was it that bad? If you want, I'll complain to the kitchen-"

Wanda chuckles, shaking her head and you have to shut up because she reaches over to push the canvas out of the way and stops right in front of you, close enough to touch.

"Remember what I said? About focus and about... my libido." She asks, and you can swallow dryly, looking up in the direction of her dilated eyes. She lets her hands rest on your shoulders, pressing the weight of her body gently into yours. "Well, I suppose you'll have to see for yourself. Hold out your hand sweetheart, no, no, down... yes, you can move my dress out of the way." Your trembling fingers brushed against her knee, and immediately obeyed the order. Slowly making your way under her dress, while Wanda bit her lip and watched you draw patterns on her thighs. Finally, your fingers reached the side of her underwear. Instead of pulling it down, you let the inks drop to the ground, and your other hand went under her dress too, repeating the same path as before while you and Wanda panted together. Your face fell forward, flush into her dress, and you pressed your nose against her, inhaling deeply the scent of arousal she exhaled so strongly.

Her hands squeezed your shoulders as yours began to pull down her panties right away. A moment later, gracefully as everything so far, she kicked the item aside and spread her legs gently so that you could slide your fingers between more easily.

You looked up the second your index finger met her warmth, gasping at the mischievous smile of the woman in front of you.

"All this time I've been here..." You started hoarsely, your fingers spreading the wetness between her folds, and enjoying the way Wanda's breath caught in her throat. "Were you this wet?"

Despite the failure of her own breathing, and the way it's harder to stand up with your intimate stimulation, Wanda gives you a mischievous look and leans her forehead against yours, her red hair making a curtain between your faces.

"I get like this every time I'm around you." She confesses, giving you a provocative tug on your lower lip that forces you to thrust inside her with more determination. Almost enough for her to lose her pose. Almost. "It's disconcerting, to be honest."

Your thumb presses down firmly on her clit, and Wanda almost buckles into you, the delicious sound that escapes her throat will be in your dreams for sure. "Well, should I apologize, high sanctity?"

She chuckles at the teasing hidden in the nickname, before leaning in completely and capturing your mouth in a fervent kiss that takes you out of orbit for a whole moment, intense enough for you to whimper into her tongue, and force her hips down into yours, practically begging her to grind your lap. Wanda's response to this is a dirty giggle mixed with a moan into your mouth.

Without breaking the kiss that turns into a much hungrier one the next second, you get to your feet, adjusting your hands to grab her thighs to pull her onto your lap and carry her around the room. Between stumbles, you press each other against the various surfaces of the room, tables, and cupboards, exchanging increasingly hot and desperate kisses, and you're pretty sure you're going to have Wanda against the bookshelf if she keeps grinding into your abdomen like that.

In a pause for breath, when she's still wedged between you and the bookcase, your mouth descends on her jaw and Wanda struggles to keep her eyes open. She whimpers shamelessly as your curious hands advance down her body, pulling her dress out of the way and leaving it barely hanging off her body for you to clasp your palms over her now-bare breasts.

Her patience for release is quickly exhausted by the precise stimulation of her breasts, your eager fingers teasing and pinching her nipples until you turn her into a whimpering mess. She gives a determined tug on the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your face back to hers in a hard, dirty kiss that makes you shudder. She breaks it only to give an order:

"On your knees." And you groan in obedience, falling to the floor almost at once, desperately pulling her dress aside to force your face into her, now with nothing in the way. Wanda arches her back once your hot mouth finds her drenched cunt; her hands desperate for some kind of support on the shelves behind her, while her chest heaves and her hips are restless against your face.

Your hungry mouth leisurely devours her, your tongue teasing her folds, spreading her wetness around and making a mess on your face. Your closed eyes show your dedication and surrender to the task, but Wanda tugs at your hair again, trying to gain a little control back and order you to quit the teasing and fuck her the way she needs you to. Fully dilated Irises then confronts her from between her legs, and Wanda loses her breath.

"Beautiful." She panted, staring back, shamelessly grinding herself into your face. "So beautiful... fuck... on your knees for me... oh, God, detka." She struggles to compliment you, but her native language begins to escape mixed with English shortly afterward, her climax approaching. You moan contentedly at the scene, aware of the state of your own underwear from all this play. Wanda's body begins to betray her, trying to pull away so you grab her thighs with a strong grip, and one of her legs ends up over your shoulder, increasing your reach just the way she needs it to fall over the edge.

Wanda comes on your tongue, spasming against the books, and in a deep moan. You don't let her pull away, keeping her restless hips in place as you lick your way through her previous climax in search of a new one. Soon her whimpering protests at the overstimulation turn into begging, and you fail to hide the smug smile at feeling her so at your mercy for a second time.

She's so close, so close, that the Sokovian comes back to her tongue, but there's a sudden knock on the door, and all the stimulation is interrupted by your fright. Wanda gasps incredulously, losing the time to react in time due to her own lust, and having to watch you stumble away - quickly wiping her cum from your chin with the back of your hand - as she tries not to fall down on her shaking knees.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" she asks in frustration through her teeth, but you, with a very flushed face, look at her with a certain desperation.

"Wanda, there's someone at the door!" You retort as if it were a very justifiable reason to steal an orgasm from her. Wanda huffs angrily, lunging at you and ignoring your confused eyes to pull you upright by the collar of your shirt, hurriedly throwing you onto the mattress. "W-wanda, what?"

"Quiet." She cuts in, pushing your shoulders until you're lying down and following the movement of your body to straddle your lap. The person outside knocks again, and although she's pulling her off, and is still shaking from her last orgasm, Wanda manages to speak in the same tone of voice as she does every morning meeting: "What is it?"

Your protests are muffled when Wanda sits on your face, and in fact, you would have forgotten any guests if Blonsky's voice hadn't sounded in the next second.

"Good morning, Reverend, I've come to join you for today's service." Says the man, but Wanda has to bite her lip hard because you're eating her out again, somehow even better than before. "Reverend?"

Wanda shakes her head, frowning at the difficulty of maintaining a rational thought when she has your tongue inside her. "Hm, I'm not going today, Blonsky... Deliver the service in my place." She fails to sound so breathless and has to close her eyes when your hands grip her thighs tightly, holding her down.

Blonsky then sounds concerned: "Aren't you feeling well, Reverence?"

Your nose nuzzles into her clit and Wanda reaches for the headboard, a satisfied sigh escaping her. "I feel great." She murmurs back and has to take a deep breath so that the next sound that escapes her isn't a moan. "Just busy. Anything else, Blonsky?"

The man clears his throat, Wanda has to press a hand against her own mouth as you reach another right spot.

"Hm, yes, Reverend... As you know, the deadline for the selection of the disciple is coming to an end." He begins, luckily unable to hear the muffled sighs inside the room through the closed door. "I have expressed my concerns to Your Reverence about a premature choice of new members-"

Wanda snorts impatiently. "Are you really going to question my choices again, Blonsky?"

"N-no, reverend!" He defends himself quickly. "Never. I just worry that the... affinity, that Your Reverence has acquired for some new members, might affect your judgment about their vocations. The premature choice of a disciple could result in their departure from our community, and we know how the withdrawal of one of our own affects everyone..."

"Don't worry about it." Wanda cuts dry, and now, she's remarkably close to climaxing. She doesn't care about the roughness, she thrusts her hips frantically into your face, muffling your breathless moans. "Y/N is the best choice... she's... so-god... dedicated and-hm... talented-" Wanda's lucky you're quick to react too. She would have screamed to the ceiling, exposing all the inappropriate activities in the room if you hadn't grabbed her thighs and spun her on her back onto the mattress. She didn't have time to lose this orgasm by the brief interruption of your movements - your fingers took the place of your tongue when you hovered above her, and your free hand covered her mouth when you sank inside her again.

Wanda came harder than before, squeezing your fingers and wetting the bed. She clings to your body in a desperate grasp, shocked by the achievement over her body, and grateful for the muffling of her moans. You keep thrusting until she stops squirting on the sheets.

You only remember that Blonsky is still outside because he speaks again. "I'll take your word for it, Your Reverence. And I hope you've made a good choice." He says at last, the sound of his footsteps moving away is ignored by you and Wanda, who meet in a hot kiss in the next second.

Your fingers continue to thrust lightly inside her, even though Wanda shudders from the excessive stimulation. And despite this, she also controls the kiss, which slows down so that she can ask in between: "Tell me, love. Did I do it? A good choice."

You kiss her a little harder. "I still don't know... what I want... or what I should do, Wanda."

She brings one of her hands up to your wrist, stopping your movements. You open your eyes to look at her. Wanda smiles, but her eyes are very mischievous. "You think too hard when the answer is right here." She retorts, giving your hand a gentle tug. You follow her lead, and soon, you have your drenched fingers with her cum inside your mouth. Your hips move instinctively, pressing down on her, and Wanda giggles mischievously, her free hand trailing down your back to encourage the movement. "Don't you want that, baby? You can be all mine."

You suck your fingerprints clean, removing them from your mouth to support yourself on the mattress now that you're so wildly grinding your hips against Wanda's thigh. She doesn't let you indulge in the sensation, grabbing your cheek and stopping your hips with the other at your silence.

Your soft protest is ignored, and your voice is almost a pathetic plea when it comes out. "It's not fair... I was feeling so good."

"Oh, darling, I can make you feel even better, every day if you decide to stay with me." She retorts, her grip softening on your cheek. You look at her, but there is still hesitation in your gaze and Wanda wishes to replace this doubt with something else. She kisses you but pulls away when you go to increase the intensity, ignoring your protest and pushing you gently away by the shoulders. "No playing, until I have an answer."

Wanda flees - because she doesn't think she'll live up to her words if she is under you - and slips out of bed before you can grab her back. Your next long protest is muffled against the mattress because you press your face down.

Wanda giggles half-heartedly as she stands up, reaches for her dress, and tries to adjust her appearance a little. "Thank you for the sex, sweetheart, it was a very pleasant surprise, but I can't let Blonsky lead a communion, he's not good at it. And you have errands, so if you'll excuse me..." Your silence made Wanda, now dressed, look at the bed again. To her surprise, you were sitting on the mattress, hanging something around your neck.

Your gaze met hers as the disciple chain was secure on your skin. The mischief in your gaze made her swallow. Twirling the symbol between your fingers, you smiled as you asked: "So how does this work? Should I confess my sins so that you can forgive me?"

"God offers forgiveness, not me." Wanda whispers back, brazenly watching you start to unbutton your shirt, the necklace hanging in the valley of your breasts is doing things to her.

"Hm, since I'm going to be forgiven, maybe I can sin a little more..." Wanda moved on instinct, crawling onto the bed to meet you halfway like a magnet being drawn towards you.

Your foreheads touched, and she sighed against your lips. "I should punish you for this blasphemy." She says, to which you smile naughtily before sticking out your tongue to tease her lips, eliciting a low moan from her.

"Promise?" You challenge, and Wanda gets tired of wasting time.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #kinktober 2023 #marvel imagines

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loganlermanstanaccount · 10 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 1)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Prologue, Part 2

summary: After the breakup, you move into a new place.

warnings: no warnings! cheeky bit of angst at the end

a/n: this is me admitting that realistically, miguel would be sick of our shit.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here <3

wc: 4.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

or in the cold, crisp morn:

"These are the keys," Your new landlord hands you the copies, clinking against each other as you transfer them to a dish by the door. Your first thought is that there seem to be too many for this modest apartment: of varying shapes and sizes, and at least half a dozen. He steps through a wide archway to the kitchen, eerily clean. It's not modern by any means, the top half of a hulking brownstone some time away from college.

It’s been… a trying summer. Moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend had seemed like a great idea at the time. Younger you (barely 2 years ago) had been enamoured with the promises of city life: fast-paced, bustling, and never a dull day. Naivete and big ideas that you'd been too stupid, or maybe too desperate, to let go of. After being locked in a loop of the same 3 or 4 places, the same dozen faces - in a place as big as this, mind you - maybe your ex-boyfriend had freed you. Forced you from that halfway-home; as cold and empty as it had become; and back out into the world.

The reality was less than ideal - apartment hopping across the city for the past 4 months or so. You’d seen it all: glorified shoeboxes, fancy duplexes, viewing sublet rooms that were at least a little illegal. A box within a box within a box; coat closets rented out for double your monthly take home; and you had just about given up.

So this place seemed like a godsend: a brownstone, tucked away. Its interior is dated, but gorgeous. It had character: quirks and rich history in the brick and mortar. A fireplace tucked into the corner, window alcoves, wood panelling. Yes, the wallpaper was slightly warped with damp but it’s affordable - a reasonably priced gem that had made you jump when you saw the ad. With the overexposed and pixelated images, they didn’t do it justice.

You pad into the kitchen, running your hands on the smooth countertops. They’re bare and spotless - suspiciously so. Not many personal items, no fridge magnets, photos; nary a blanket on the sofa or half eaten plate of toast on the worktop. It’s so clean it feels staged, and it makes you squint. Isn’t there meant to be…

“I let Miguel know… he must’ve cleaned up the place-”

“Miguel?”

“The other tenant.” He pauses, boots clicking on the grain of the floorboard. “I don’t think he’ll be back until later tonight. Should give you some time to settle in.”

Nodding, you give him a small smile, and he steps out of the apartment. Your apartment.

~~~

You fill the rest of day with unpacking, putting some life into the place. You’d visited not long ago, fantasising about how you’d decorate. Something about sharing an apartment with your boyfriend for the past 2 years had done something to you: flattening and squeezing into a space not built with you in mind. How Jamie didn't like things on the walls, or how he needed the space for his textbooks, so why don't you find somewhere else to put your little stories? If his desk took up half the front room, then that makes sense, he needs it for work. But God forbid you needed a quiet space to study; what if the guest bedroom has your shit everywhere when his friends come over? A million compromises that didn't seem much like compromises: you'd give an inch and he'd take a mile. And so, the space to spread your wings without knocking over a gaudy plaque or two was very much appreciated.

You want to walk around the neighbourhood, map out the convenience stores, bodegas, community hotspots and hubs. Where's the best place to get a drink? The cheapest meal? Your usual haunts were a fair distance away, so maybe you'll make the trek and pick up waffles from Pam's, as a treat. Tired already, you slump on the sofa - a tattered old thing that can clearly take a beating. Looking around the place, something settles solidly at your chest. Contentment, maybe, a strange feeling considering the past few months. This will do, you think. This will do.

Perhaps it's not a very feminist thought, but you're not thriving . Thriving felt presumptuous, and yet coping seemed too complete a word - its implication too tidy, too neat. A mess, before; better, now…? And it didn't quite span the width and depth of the past few months; how long it had taken for the numbness to make way to anger, hot and intense - its flame fueling many a long night. And yet, maybe coping was just the way to describe your foray into this new chapter: a new year, new apartment, and whatever that brings. You had forgotten what it felt like to be alone; not lonely, but with only your own self for company. Without the ache of another person, for the first time in a while.

…except, you had a roommate. Which you had known when signing the lease, of course, but it's taken some time to sink in. What that means for you - a new person to tiptoe around and appease - you're not too sure yet. What is he like? He's out late, so maybe a chronic partygoer - sloppy drunk and vivacious, the life of the party. He might clatter into the apartment, chattering and bubbly. What do you know about him? From the apartment, as is, it doesn't tell you much. At first glance, it had looked too clean, but not unreasonably so if he had anticipated your arrival. No, it was the lack of personal effects that confused you. How long has he been living here and there aren't any pictures or knick knacks? To clutter is to be human, you think. And with the front room as blank as it is, you wonder just what kind of man he is.

It's getting late. Naturally, you do some snooping, lazily padding around in search of life. Onwards and upwards, to new frontiers: the cupboards and drawers in your new apartment.

He likes coffee, you learn. There's a fancy machine on the kitchen counter, glossy and shiny and clearly taken care of. Little packets of beans and filters line the cupboards, all with names you can't quite pronounce. The fridge is similarly well-stocked, with none of the junk food you've gotten accustomed to in the past few months. Its innards are leafy green and plush; labelled tupperware with leftovers notwithstanding. All the spices in a tray above the oven and fancy knives on the wall tell you he likes to cook, or rather, he likes to eat well. The lack of junk would take some getting used to - maybe he's a health nut? The type to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, to blend oddly coloured smoothies, and "reflect" after a long day of… dog walking or something.

You move on to the living room, running a light hand over the deep walnut of a side table behind the sofa. Again, it's oddly bare. When you tug at the drawers, it's brassy handles are solid. Locked. Kneeling, you run a hand across the larger cupboard door at its base. You pull at it, and it pops open with a click. Inside, it seems empty, save for a dusty box nestled in the back corner. With your top half almost completely inside its depths, you move it into the light.

It's old, a battered shoebox adorned with coloured sharpie - shaky drawings of flowers blossoming from its sides. The cardboard crackles when you open it. It's full of junk, mostly: half-dead pens, broken crayons, dried flowers, and little plastic toys - the kind you get from cereal boxes and happy meals. And, there's something peeking out. Confused, you dig a little deeper, to uncover a pair of… soccer cleats? They're tiny, clearly for a kid but seem barely worn, with minimal scuffing on the plastic blades.

"What the fuck are you doing?" A voice from above rumbles, and your head snaps up like a rubber band. You hadn't noticed the door open, and you are met face to face with, who you assume to be, your roommate.

He doesn't shout: tall, broad, and back straight by the door. He's got a backpack slung over his shoulder, dressed in a crisp white shirt and slacks. His name was… Miguel? Miguel crosses his arms, brows furrowed in quiet rage. Fuck.

"I was just looking for.. uhh…"

You know how it looks. It's the worst time for your brain to go blank, and you're left holding the hypothetical bag. You stand up a little too quickly, and smack your knee on the lip of the table. Half of the box spills onto the floor and you dart downwards, embarrassed.

" Shit. Sorry, let me-"

He leaps towards the floor, and you're forced behind him, as he scrambles to put everything in its place. You start to help and he stops, stock-still. As if in slow motion, his head turns to the side and he gives you a look that could kill thousands. Retreating, you shrink back, only able to watch helplessly.

" Chica tonta... ¿se crió en un rancho? ¿qué clase de persona entra en casa de alguien y toca todas sus cosas?" He's muttering something under his breath - too fast and not saying anything you can understand. Pausing, he throws you a look. "...y luego me ve como si yo fuera el que está mal- ojos grandes y bonitos como de perrito pateado...oh dios mío.-"

[silly little girl… was she raised in a barn? what kind of person walks into someone's house and touches all of their stuff? // and she looks at me like I'm the one in the wrong - big, pretty eyes like a kicked puppy… oh my god-]

He's gentle with the box, the way he puts it in its place contrasting his mood a couple of seconds before. He closes up the door and you stumble to your feet. In the glow of halogen bulbs, he follows, arms crossed like a mother hen.

"I think… I think I'm your new roommate?" You say your name and stretch out a hand, but Miguel doesn't move. You watch as his eyes sweep over your body, shameless.

"Are you asking, or telling me?" He sighs, pinching at his temples.

"...Telling?" You offer him a weak smile, and he cracks.

Softening, ever so slightly, he grumbles. "I know. I know. Mr Estévez said you would be in tomorrow, though."

"I like to be early."

"Right. Well… don't do that. Again, I mean." He clears his throat. "Don't touch my shit either. It's too… fuck , it's too late for this. I'm going to bed."

He kicks off his shoes, and all you can do is watch as he saunters off; the door to his room shutting with a resounding slam .

~~~

His name is Miguel O'Hara - not that he told you that, or anything. He hasn't spoken to you much at all, leaving you to figure out who he is and what he does from vague clues around the apartment. You don't go snooping , learning quickly from previous mistakes; but his full name on a letter slotted through the mail was fair game, you think. The most you've gotten out of him were grunts and frustrated requests to keep to your shelf in the fridge.

Passive-aggressive wasn't in his vocabulary, you’re convinced. A plethora of dirty looks in his arsenal? Sure. Plenty of vulgar swears in Spanish? Absolutely. Miguel was not, however, passive-aggressive. Just… aggressive. Not angry, of course. Upfront. Abhorred any passivity and indolence: umm-ing and ahh-ing for the sake of it.

So naturally , you were sent to kill him.

You tiptoe around the apartment, avoiding him at all costs. At first, it wasn’t on purpose, just the awkwardness of your first meeting bleeding into the next week. But you dodge and weave like an expert boxer - particularly impressive in the small space. Miguel’s in the kitchen? Suddenly, you’re not very hungry. He’s curled up on the couch for a movie? Wow, look at the time: and you're heading to bed. You can’t read him very well, and don’t trust yourself enough to look him in the eye without fear of melting under his gaze. The few short interactions you have, you crumble; a brush against his shoulder in the kitchen, or legs against his on the dining table. Not that Miguel offers a peace branch, pursing his lips when you’d make eye contact, somewhat frustrated at your theatrics. Call it cliche: you’re avoiding confrontation at all costs. It manifests itself in peculiar ways: the Shower Incident being the most memorable.

The Shower Incident, aptly named, happened not too long ago. The apartment is old , as you soon learnt, coming with its own plethora of quirks. What you had first taken as character and charm - window seats and wood panelling - also came in the form of a building half falling apart. Creaky floorboards, leaky pipes, and a distinct lack of central heating. The discounted price, that had seemed like a bargain before, clearly lacked some creature comforts… like heating. And a working shower.

As you’d been in a rush, you clattered into the bathroom; stripping in no time at all. Bare feet on the tile, and you turn the knobs at the base of the shower unit. You’re not going to pretend you know how it works, just yet, but… it’s not rocket science, is it? The brassy spout sputters; but with no luck. Groaning from the pipes makes you jump, before huffing in frustration. This is not the time; late to yet another 9.00am? You want to be different this year: organised, put together, and on time to your lectures. On your tiptoes, you peer down the shower head hesitantly, like it’s the barrel of a loaded gun. With cruel irony, it sputters to life, sending a face-full of ice-cold water your way.There’s a scream, as you scramble at the handles, scurrying out of its brunt; desperately trying to turn it off.

Unbeknownst to you, Miguel leaps out of his room towards the shouting, with a fumble and clunk of his feet on wooden floor. He’s quick , hand hovering on the bathroom door before you can register it; his voice echoing outside.

“Are you…” There’s scuffling, which you can just about hear over the pounding of the water against tiles. “Are you okay, in there?”

You wince, stepping out of the shower – legs shaky like a baby deer – as you gurgle. “...Yeah?”

“Can I –” He clears his throat. “Are you.. clothed ? Can I come in?”

You scramble for something to cover yourself, settling for a plush towel on the rack. Wrapping yourself up, you brace yourself for the grimace that's sure to be on his face. Tentatively, you crack the door open. There Miguel is, face knitted with worry.

There's a flash of confusion at the scene, and then, what you think is relief. Relief you haven't cracked your head open, most likely: the blood would be hard to clean from the grout. You feel guilty, as you've probably broken it, or touched something you shouldn't. The shower is still on; sputtering, starting, and it becomes a strange sort of background music to your silent exchange.

"I don't know how to use the shower." You say with a small voice, guiltily.

" No me digas…" No shit, he mutters, face back to the furrowed brow you're starting to become more familiar with. He sighs, easing up. "You hurt?"

You shake your head, and swear you see a small smile on his face. You looked like a waterboarded rat, probably: big watery eyes and shaking with the sudden cold.

A mess , he thinks. But not a bad view.

He's still in workout clothes from his morning run, compression shirt and lazy shorts that hug his ass on; as he turns towards the shower. With some sense of shame, you try not to stare, to not watch the muscles of his back and arms flex as he angles the shower head away from his face. It's not enough that you've embarrassed yourself – twice, in the space of a couple of days – but the fact it was in front of your roommate, who is maybe the most beautiful person you've seen up close. Which, granted, narrows the field; but Miguel is gorgeous, a flash of pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates, wide palms toggling the dial.

"You need to be careful… push it in slightly when you turn the-" You crane your head towards his movements. "Come closer, or you won't see what I'm doing."

You move towards him, half naked and shivering, trying not to buckle with the heat of his body next to yours. This is what you get for not having spoken to a man since your ex: a tight coil at the base of your stomach for someone that you've done nothing but unwittingly terrorise for the past week.��

He explains, patient and even-tempered; how to use the shower and you half-zone out to the low tone of his voice. There's no malice, or pomp in his words when there are a million things he could make fun of you for - that Jamie may have made fun of you for. You look up, at the sharp lines of his face, and chew at your lip, deep in thought.

"...and this side is for hot water. Next time, just ask me – instead of almost drowning."

You nod, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"...For what?" He says, softly. "Place is falling apart, anyway. It's not really your fault." You're convinced everything you touch in this house breaks, but with the way he looks at you, you believe him.

"Just ask me, next time." He echoes and makes for the door, stopping to drag his eyes up and down your frame. Oh… oh. You like that, the way he looks at you shamelessly, practically undressing you.

He smiles, amused at your deer-in-headlights expression.

"...I think that's mine."

He nods to the towel wrapped around your body and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. " Fuck , I didn't realise-"

He shrugs, noncommittal.

"...Seems like you need it more than me, anyways."

~~~

It's a rough first couple of days, and then a week, and then two. The rhythm is all off: like the jerky stop and start of an old car. He wakes up early to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, and you stay up late to finish papers and assignments. He has a job, you think, darting out at the same time once or twice a week in smart clothing and a backpack. Sometimes, you catch him hunched over a laptop or scribbling something in a beat up old notebook. Maybe, he’s a student - even if he doesn’t seem quite like the fresh-faced 19 year olds you see around campus. Although, you suppose it’s not implausible; you were one of the older people in your classes, after all. It’s hard to imagine O’Hara, stony-faced and serious, at a… dorm party, or something. To be that carefree, he’d need to get rid of that stick up his ass, first.

You’ve got a day off from lectures, using the time to catch up on the reading you should’ve done over a hectic break. The list seems to go on and on, already, this early into the year. Internally, you’ve made a promise to be on top of it all - the little hiccup with Jamie, notwithstanding. You’d knuckle down this morning, reading ( scanning) and summarising ( liberal use of the copy-paste function) in preparation for the rest of the semester. Miguel’s locked up in his room, somewhere, so you use the opportunity to spread out onto the dining table.

There’s a knock at the door that makes you look up from the muddle of words on your screen.

When you open the door, there’s a woman there with a notebook in hand. She’s pretty, in a classic sort of way, ginger braids cropped to her shoulders and lips slathered with gloss. Her outfit is relaxed, but carefully curated: a tight jumper and long brown legs stretching out from a black skirt.

“Hi.” She says, visibly keening. It’s clear she wasn’t expecting you, but she quickly recovers and gives you a blinding smile.

“...Hi,” Honestly, you’re a little confused. You haven’t seen her around the complex before; so who she was, you hadn’t a clue. Too pretty to be a door-to-door salesman, and too hot to try to convert you to Mormonism, you think. Whatever that means.

You wait expectantly, as a beat passes.

“Oh!” She laughs, and it sounds like puppies and rainbows, much too bright and airy considering the time of day. It makes her next words even more of a shock. “I’m looking for Miguel.”

With her last words, she steps a little closer; scanning the apartment from her vantage point. Something in you bubbles up, but you try to choke down the laughter.

“You’re looking for...Miguel?” Even out of your own mouth, it sounds absurd . The man had no friends, as far as you could tell. He seemed like the type to lock himself away in his enclosure, only stepping out for work, school, the bare minimum. In the short week that’s passed, his ‘enrichment time’ had consisted of a dry documentary on spider mating cycles - which had been a shock to walk into, the first time.

So someone here, at the apartment? Looking for him? Fidgeting, you scratch at your neck. “Uhh, I ca-”

“Sorry about that, Jia. You can have a seat.” His voice comes from behind you, and Jia breezes into the apartment, perching on the sofa. Legs crossed, she reaches into her bag, taking out a laptop and a pen and paper. He’s changed out of his workout clothes, donned in a loose white sweater and casual trousers - relaxed, for once. With a limp thud, you close the door. There’s an odd feeling as you look around at the scene: tension, and you feel like you’re interrupting. Miguel clatters around in the kitchen, fumbling for mugs and coffee filters and God knows what else.

“...was it two sugars, or three?”

“Three!” She throws over her shoulder, tapping away at her open laptop. “I like it sweet, Miguel.”

You squint. He laughs : a small chuckle that comes with a heat at the base of your stomach. Your head almost aches, trying to recalibrate; reconcile with the version of the person you’ve barely seen around the apartment to now - present, engaged, and personable. Exasperated is the only word for it. Miguel O’Hara was, in fact, capable of joy. Dickhead.

He barely acknowledges you, but Jia does; batting her wispy eyelashes in your direction, curious. The tapping stops, and she curls the corner of her mouth up with a hint of a smile.

“You gonna introduce me?” She calls out to Miguel, and then smiles to you; warm and genuine. It makes you feel a little more at ease. You catch the end of a sigh coming from the kitchen.

“Jia, this is my roommate.” He glances up to gesture towards you. “...this is Jia. I… help her out with work, sometimes.”

From the couch, she rolls her eyes. “He’s too modest. He’s my tutor, technically.”

With that, your eyebrows shoot up. Of everything you’d imagined him doing, tutoring students wasn’t one of them - especially considering he seemed barely out of college himself.

“...Technically?”

“He doesn’t like to advertise it, because he’s picky with his clientele.” She giggles and he scoffs. You get the feeling there’s a joke flying over your head, just out of reach. “Word gets out on campus that Miguel’s tutoring again…”

“ Vale, vale ,” He grumbles, but his tone is good-natured and light. “S’enough, Jia.”

She gives you a wink, before turning towards her work.

You walk towards your things, still on the dining table. He’s got his head buried in a kitchen cabinet and you look on, wanting to ask a lot of things. The words seem to die in your throat: too big, too small, not the right shape. She's a stranger; that knows where the coffee’s kept and the best spot on the couch. That makes Miguel laugh . You want to ask him about the stranger in your home; but you’re too scared he’d turn and point the finger at you.

He walks to the couch, balancing two cups of coffee. You look back. Next to him, her presence is an oddity - a blip in his carefully crafted universe. With the warm sheen of familiarity, she nudges his shoulder. Taking careful sips, he pointedly ignores her, tapping a finger at her screen - as if to say, pay attention. She smiles, wide; an asteroid across the depths of space, dazzling and brilliant in the night sky.

The exchange… it makes you think. If Miguel is the Sun, and Jia, a bright body in orbit: what’s your place in this four-walled cosmos? Where do you belong?

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@teacoffeeflavored @chuuyara@qiapia@rotten-zombi3@bonbyon @tianyhi @noelsilly @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @peachsteven @thesquidni@fatenpara @verr-uckt @kurakasabe @kamiko32 @mushy-mushroom04@izzys-hawttea@theandromedastar @wicked-futures @truthuntolddd @prettygirlpattinson @hellokittylover202 @angel-eyes05 @lacedinweb22 @starguiders @buggiecrawls @eugeab @tarjapearce @whoreloll @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @ancientbeing10 @shartythefarty@royalhearts

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #eventual smut #angst #kat_writes😼

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awkward-smirks · 2 years

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#submitted an article to that non-profit's blog again #✌️🧋#it's going to be part of their summer guide to my city blog series #like they contacted me and asked if i wanted to write and i was like ...bruh #ur asking me ??? the sheltered binch who has YEARS of outings to catch up on ??? to share her fav city spots ??#like ok just wanted to make sure #tbh i'm considering their offer to like... officially join their writing team so i can get consistently paid for stuff like this #but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i'm not that invested AND i have other work to do #so yeah #just glad they like my writing tbh #that's flattering after years of only getting feedback from fellow teens on wattpad LOL #sandy rambling

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wettestnjaay · 11 months

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STRANGER THINGS - PORN LINKS

VOL. 3 - [ MALE ~ !PART2 ]

NEW TAGLIST | REQUEST | WATTPAD

NEW TAGLIST, NEW WATTPAD PAGE BTW.

INCLUDES: Jim Hopper, Phil Callahan, Enzo - Dmitri Antonov , Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, Argyle, Jonathan Byers, Gareth Emerson (MORE IF REQUESTED)

WARNING: these are links that contain porn, sexual activities.. so be aware.

——

↣ JIM HOPPER

hopper just loves sliding between your thighs.

hopper likes seeing you work for his cum..

hopper love getting visits from you in his office.

after being in russia for a while hopper welcomes himself back into his sweet tight pussy,, and you enjoy it.

↣ PHIL CALLAHAN

your never too busy to give callahan some head.

callahan loves it when you bounce on him and take control.

callahan enjoys watching the tricks that you can do while having him inside.

↣ ENZO - DMITRO ANTONOV

you missed enzo so much, you creamed on him as soon as he was inside.

uh oh,, you took enzo's soul..

enzo has you against the shower wall & making out.

you two just need alone time to feel each other,

↣ EDDIE MUNSON

horse playing with eddie.

eddie likes to talk to you while shoving his fingers down your throat.

eddie has his way with you in the backseat of his van.

eddie's so big all you can do is cream again and again on him.

↣ BILLY HARGOVE

eddie and billy dick you down once?

having billy moaning and groaning while you teach him a lesson.

billy likes you going slow when you ride his dick.

billy moans loudly when he about to cum.

↣ STEVE HARRINGTON

steve fuvking you senseless before bed.

you can't get enough of steve so,, he has you bouncing on his dick in the shower.

your pussy is so wet for stevie

steve is such a needy-boy jerking off at work because he needs you.

↣ ARGYLE

argyle videos you on his dick so he can save it &watch later.

tit-fucking argyles thick cock.

argyle is very touchy when it comes to sex.

argyle knows how to get down in that pussy, and put it to work.

↣ JONATHAN BYERS

jonathan always records himself jerking his dick off whenever he missed you.

jonathan came to the halloween party just to fuck you, so you have to be quiet.

jonathan really likes your new school skirt, so why would have you jump on his dick with it on?

nobody's home so you and jonathan has the sofa to yourselves.

↣ GARETH EMERSON

gareth records you bouncing on him to flex to the cult.

gareth jerking off in the shower before you come over, after hearing your voice.

gareth likes being babied and pleased by you.

you &gareth famous morning special sex.

——

| OKAY SO UPDATE, I WILL START ACTUALLY STORIES AND SERIES ON WATTPAD,, AND I WILL TRY TO POST MORE ON HERE BC YK ITS SUMMER.

MAJORITY OF MY “reblogs” & CONTENT WITHOUT MY NEW TAG AND @ WILL BE EDITS SO,, AND YES THIS IS STILL RUUE JS A NEW USERNAME CHECK MY LASTEST POST FOR ALL THAT INFO.

— I WOULD RLLY LOVE SOME HELP TO START NT WATTPAD PAGE, SO PLEASE SEND A TEXT IF U CAN HELP ❤️.

©️ trustynjaay

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gurugirl · 1 year

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Gurugirl's Wattpad & Tumblr Fic Recs

Anything you read in these masterlists won’t disappoint but I’ve picked my absolute favorites from each blog and listed below.

NOTE: I did my best to include all my faves here but I've probably forgotten a few. I intend to add to this list (may need to make a part 2 once I hit my mentions and link limits) because I'm always reading new fics so come back often!

Angst recs (all taken from list below but specific to the more angsty ones)

Daddy kink

Enemies to lovers

Summer vibes & party fics

Personal faves from my own writings

Other blogs I love

Tumblr

@1d1195

One Shot: Right Here: one bed, nightmares, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, childhood "friendship," coworker Harry, grumpy/sunshine (I'll let you guess who's who), etc. etc. etc.

@a-strange-familiar

Series: His Memories (3 parts): you and Harry broke up few months back but still love each other. And after all these months you see him again in a party. All memories you tried to push back in your head came back with a powerful speed.

@adorebeaa

One shot: Undo Me: YN reveals a kink in front of best friend!Harry, who is curious…

@awideworldoffanfics

Series: Milking the Grip (5 parts): Harry Styles is a single dad who golfs every Tuesday. Y/N is his babysitter who also happens to work at the golf course he goes to. They’ve never run into each other there. Until they do.

@be-with-me-so-happily

Series: My Way Back Home: YN is left to figure out what to do when the love of her life, Harry, does not remember loving her. (AU)

Series: Don't Worry Darling: Y/N has her first big break as an actress as she lands the leading role in 'Don't Worry Darling'. The only problem is that her co-star is Harry Styles, who she feels has a very big ego. Tensions rise the more they film. All kinds of tension...

One Shot: Friendly Favor: When YN's best friend Harry asks for a favor, she knows it'll be difficult, but she loves him too much to say no. However, it's a dumb plan, and those usually don't end how you think they will.

Series: Laceleaf: Gemma is definitely Cassidy James' favourite Styles family member, considering they are best friends and all. And especially considering that Harry Styles is Gemma's smug and self-centered younger brother. Her life isn't perfect, and neither is she, but she knows for a fact that anything involving Harry gets messy.

@bopbopstyles

Masterlist (anything you pick here will be a pleasure - seriously)

@fkinavocado

Series: Daddy Issues: in which you’ve got textbook daddy issues and when your tool of a younger brother brings a sweet doe eyed girlfriend home for Thanksgiving and you end up offering her a ride home, you meet just the man to fix them. (daddy!harry, dilf!harry)

Series: Hard Candy: in which Harry owns a candy store and he just loves giving good girls special treats… especially after closing time (candyman!Harry)

One Shots & Blurbs: Long Hair Harry One Shots & Blurbs

@freedomfireflies

Series: Playboy: Welcome to 1965, where the women are loose, and the morals are looser. Here you'll meet Michelle and Harry. You don't need to know too much about them. Just that they're both incredibly bold...and incredibly jealous. The summer of June 1965 was a rather wild one for the Playboy Bunnies but even more wild for our two dear friends. Stick around and I'm sure they'll be happy to tell you all about it. You just have to promise one little thing... Don't tell Hefner.

Series: Teach Me: 5 parts - Harry needs a little practice in the art of Eating Pussy, and who better to ask for help than his best friend?

Series: Mafia!harry: 2 parts so far - more to come - Your mafia boss boyfriend, Harry, has been a little neglectful of his most prized possession. But he's found the perfect way to make it right. Exhibition kink!!

@goldenbuckyyy

Series: Illicit Affairs: A series of events between your affair with Harry. (Cheating together)

@harryistheonlyoneforme

One Shot: Little Freak: pairing: dbf harry x reader (so hot - so many kinks all in one little shot - must read)

@harrywritingsbyme

Sneaking Around (a series of shorts): Best friends dad - FUCKING HOT

@helladirections

Series: Brother's Best Friend: Harry is YN’s brother’s best friend, and YN isn’t a little kid anymore. Ft. dom/sub, rough sex, and soft words.

One Shot: Under Summer Skies: Harry and YN are longtime best friends back for another summer as the Dream Team on staff. Featuring getting called out by 12 year olds, two dumb best friends who can’t see what’s right in front of them, and lots of stargazing.

One Shot: Moka Pot: Do you think you can maybe do y/n and Harry having a slow morning routine? Like drinking tea together, doing skin together, basically just doing everything together?

@itslottiehere

One Shot: I Don't Want to Hear About Him (angsty): bff!harry writes a song about bff!reader.. and her boyfriend.

@jawllines

Harry is Y/n's Criminology Instructor (2 parts)

Harry is a single dad and y/n is surprisingly good at babysitting (2 parts)

Harry & y/n are witches, they hate eachother, and something's coming (3 parts)

Y/n knows something she shouldn't and Harry does what on Fridays? (4 parts) - Boxer!harry

Harry is a grumpy mechanic and y/n just can't stop talking (4 parts)

@jarofstyles

King of the Jungle (multi part series): Y/N’s family works for a wildlife preservation society and Harry is king of the jungle or tarzan!harry

Lone Wolf (multi part series): Harry is a grumpy alpha who has given up on finding his mate or werewolf!harry

Beauty & the Beast (multi part series): Harry is a moody, withdrawn but successful creature who needs a companion who can tend to his… needs.

@lemoncrushh

Series: The Entertainer: Set in the 70s, Sky Jones meets Harry Styles, an up and coming musician and soon-to-be rockstar. The Entertainer Part II

One Shot: Dressing For Revenge: Still heartbroken from finding your ex cheating on you, you go to a nightclub with your friend Kelsie, where not only do you run into your ex, but also a handsome gentleman who’s willing to help you get over him. Part II

@lukesaprince

Series: Intruder: You were an outside hire for a promotion Harry wanted, and he despises you for it. The hatred is mutual since Harry is a bit of an asshole, until the day of an important presentation where the tension is finally dealt with - A very steamy enemies to lovers romance (domrry)

Series: The Roommate Series: After Y/N’s best friend and roommate Alex decides to move out, she’s desperate for someone to take her place. Alex seems to have found the solution in a British fresh-to-New-York musician who ticks all the boxes. He just happens to be insanely attractive and charismatic… what could go wrong? (friends to lovers)

Series: Fratboy!harry You Can Pretend All You Want: You hate fratboys and everything they stand for, so you decide to prove one wrong by sleeping with him… safe to say it backfires (fratboy!harry, enemies to lovers).

Series: Rich: Neighbour/Older!Harry. A Summer dogsitting job for Mr. Styles is a dream come true for any broke uni student. He's rich, gorgeous and finally fucks you after your weekly dinner together. A series that follows two neighbours who end up in a sexual relationship.

@moonchildstyles

Series: Aster: Harry is a tattoo artist and y/n just wants to know if he's like this all the time or if he just doesn't like her. tattoo artist!harry / lhh!harry

Series: Citrine: Harry's a witch and it's been along time since since he's been around anyone new, but there's no way he was getting y/n out of his head. witch!harry

Series: Chiaroscuro: y/n needed a job but this place is strange and the owner is even stranger. vampire!harry

Series: Prosecco: Harry is just on the edge of 30 and y/n is someone he's sure he shouldn't get involved with. until she seeks him out anyway, and he realizes no one has ever really shown her how she should be treated. older!harry

@0oolookitsme

One Shot: Dazzled: In which Harry has an uneasy feeling about Y/n’s new mission but the devil ignores his guts’ screams. But the vampire as well as his fiancé, Y/n, isn’t dumb and is quick to listen and take some weight off of his shoulders. They both soon find out, why, he was feeling uneasy.

One Shot: Anything For You... And I: SMUTTY!!!! Dwd!Harry x Dwd-Character!Y/n

@0nlythrowharrybeaux

Friends Share (2 parts):Harry & Y/N have been practically perfect roommates for several years but the appearance of a hot new neighbor creates an unexpected shift in their relationship.

Unavailable (2 parts): Y/N has a very specific preference for unavailable/inappropriate people and Harry is her therapist who is supposed to help her work through this.

@pleasingforharry

Moans & Elevator Music (2 parts): Y/N is in a rush for an interview at her new job, but her luck gives out when the elevators shut down due to a sudden power outage. At least she isn’t alone.

@purplekiwis

Breaking the Ice (2 parts): Hockey!Harry x Skater!Y/N It’s no secret that as a figure skater, you’re fed up with the local hockey team being treated like royalty… and your ex’s status as a player isn’t helping much either.

In the Witching Hours (will be 3 parts): Wizard!Harry x Witch!Y/N; Soulmates AU An emergency admission to the hospital gives rise to a series of strange events but luckily, there’s a cute, shy wizard around…

One shot: Tentmate: Friends With Benefits Y/N has always hated camping… until her and Harry got stuck together in the same tent. (This one is smutty AF)

@s-brant

Series: The Getaway Car: In a drug deal gone wrong, Y/N, daughter to a famous racecar driver, finds herself behind the wheel of a car with a gun to her head. A masked man named Harry demands she helps him evade the authorities, so she does the only thing she knows how to. She drives.

One Shot: Midas Touch: The night before they leave to spend Christmas with his family, a conversation with their friends makes Harry and Y/N confront the future of their marriage.

@stylesloveclub

Series: Pleasing: In which y/n is a broke waitress, and Harry is a Michelin star chef who thinks she’s cuter than a puppy.

@swiftmendeshoran

Series: Curvy Secret/No More Secrets Daddy: Dad's best friend (dbf!) Harry x plus size reader

@watchmegetobsessed

Series: The Sun Will Rise: You’re glad to be back at college and away from your family. Everything is back to its normal, but you have a little issue: you told your family you’d bring a date to your sister’s wedding, but you have no actual partner. An unexpected deal is made with the person you couldn’t even consider to be your friend: Harry can take the spare room in your apartment for the semester if he’ll be your date for the wedding. But can you actually live together with a guy who obviously dislikes you and you have no idea why? Can you fool your parents into thinking you’re dating Harry? And what will they think about him? Nothing is ever good enough to them, nothing that’s not as perfect as your sister, Alice.

Series: Wildest Fantasies: You’ve been struggling to finish your assignment for Professor Styles’ Creative Writing class. Inspiration is seem to be avoiding you, so to relieve some stress, you mess around with your roommates and write a rather dirty fiction of the hot professor everyone is into on campus. Due to a fatal mistake however, you end up uploading the wrong file as your attachment to your assignment and your wildest fantasies end up in the hands of the person they are about.

Good Girl (Part 2): sugardaddy!Harry / CEO!Harry x Reader

@writerpetals (writes optional male lead smut but you can easily imagine any male *coughharrycough* as the males are described as tall, well-built, with a nice head of hair - read anything this author writes - it's good, you will find almost any trope - ENJOY)

One Shot: Lakeside: werewolf!au, werewolf x reader

@zayndrivesmeinvain

Series (wip): The One That Got Away: In which Harry and Alena were college sweethearts, however, all of that has changed and the only thing keeping in contact is the fact that they have a child together. Is it possible for them to even get to a normal standing friendship or is that long gone? dadrry x oc | single dad!harry

i hit my link limits so was unable to insert link to part one of their series. check out their masterlist and you'll find it!

Wattpad

1-800-TITS = @1800titz (added May 21)

Series: The Devil is a Gentleman: "My name is Eros," the masked male cocks his head a smidge at her, and, if only slightly through the shadow casts between the parted zipper, Isla catches sight of a smile tugging at his lips on the latter fragment of his statement, "But you already know that. I'd hope, anyways. We've had a chat. Or two." His lips - his mouth. Isla ogles the latex through the peepholes of her own and wonders what shape the rest of his features take, what carves and forges his face, how his nose slopes, the assemblage of it all. "I think I recall, vaguely," she teases. "Mm. Vaguely. I'll take note of that. Well, although we are acquainted," Eros smooths his fingertips over the arm of the chair, a lavish facade of plastic masquerading. The latter fragment of his statement prompts the steady bump of her heart to spur behind her ribcage. "You will address me as Master." Isla swallows. Despite her prior train of thought looping so intently on the tracks to decipher what she believes he'd look like beneath his mask, it's entirely derailed by the serious note in his previously light cadence. She wonders how a mere introduction manages to send such a thrilling rush rolling down her spine. Eros leans forward, forearms braced to his splayed thighs, almost as if to bend to her level. "Or Sir. Master, Sir, it's all the same to me. Your preference." OR the one in which there's a sex club, Greek stage names, the exploration of boundaries, an open house, a pair of dress shoes, and two sides of the same coin.

_miiki

Series: Artwork & Aquarelle: "Sierra, you go with Harry Styles." I raised up my head at the words, giving my teacher an incredulous glance. "Do I really have to?" Was the only thing I managed to say. The teacher gave me an annoyed look. "Did you not understand? You go with Harry Styles." I turned my head to look at him. At the mention of his name he glanced up, and if his green eyes hadn't frozen me in place already, the unimpressed look he gave me would've done it right away.

Aggressivelyfriendly = @aggresivelyfriendly

Series: Who Names the Colors: In the last year, Joanne Smith Giles, has once again become Jo Smith. In another heartbreaking turn of events, she's also the single mother of an infant, again. She knows she can do this on her own, and better at 40 than 19, but it seems weird to be launching a son into manhood, a new career as an art professor, and changing nappies all in one day. She is so thankful when Ethan, her boy, comes home from Uni. Jo could use the help. His best friend, Harry, comes round too. And his launch into manhood may be another heartbreaking turn, for all of them

ErinAlterEgo = @yourwattpadmom

Series: Late night Talking: Alex is craving something at night, and it's not ice cream. Encouraged by her husband to explore a polyamory relationship to meet some of her more....eclectic tastes, she finds herself on a dating app for the first time in her life. She expected maybe some interesting experiences, possibly her first one-night stand ever. She didn't expect to meet a man who made her question everything about herself. Harry is on a new path in his life that is exciting and different than he ever could have imagined. He's looking for excitement, experiences, but definitely not love and attachment. When he meets Alex, he sees a whole new path that he's unsure he wants to go down, but finds it hard to resist.

Hitterj (love all of her stuff!)

Series: All This Time: The coming-of-age story of Harry and Riley who have known each other for years, but never actually knew each other. They've spent countless nights at the same parties, shared a few drinks and glances, they're even on track to graduate top of their class. What happens when out of nowhere they start to connect? Like an invisible string pulls them together, so they can experience life and love and heartbreak. Riley and Harry learn a lot about themselves, and ultimately have to choose what's best for their future no matter how difficult that can be. But does love find a way? After all this time?

Series: Kiwi: If you don't know about this one by now... go read it - super duper smutty and sweet and angsty

Series: Sweet Little Lies: All her life, Ivy Malone has known what her family was. She grew up in the deep, unforgiving world of the mob. Ivy hates her position in life, knowing that her life was never fully hers. Harry Styles was cold. He trusted almost no one, especially his family. He had learned quickly that everyone was waiting for him to fail... to fall. An empire built by his father from the blood and bones of those who stepped in his way was all he had, no matter how much he hated it. He had no choice but to carry on the legacy. And marrying Malone's daughter was the next step in fortifying their defense. With new rivals making a move for power and a mysterious figure haunting the crime families of Queenstown, Ivy and Harry have to learn to live together. A bad start leads them down a tumultuous, passionate, and downright dangerous path, but maybe they were exactly what the other needed to live the life they always craved.

MysteryMixtapes (Just go read all their stuff)

Series: Stall & Stall 2: Violence/gangs/dark

Series: Perspective: Have you ever met someone that made falling feel like flying?

Series: Unforgettable: "If it feels so right, how can it be wrong?"

Peanutboyfriend (read all of Birdie's stuff - you won't regret it)

Series: Aerial: In Malibu, California in 1965, a surfer and world-famous aerialist undergoes a chain of comedic and not-so-comedic mishaps that force him to re-evaluate who he is.

Petit_cerise

Series: Devil's Due & Devil's Desire: Harry Styles, the brooding and intolerable tattoo parlour owner, meets River, a stubborn and somewhat oblivious girl, who just doesn't understand the reasoning behind his nefarious ways but is determined to find out. River comes to realize that Harry's hiding something much deeper than expected... only once those secrets come to the surface, it's too late to turn back.

Sunflowersnstuff

Series: One Word & Wonderland: We're all mad here, it's Wonderland.

ThousandYearsOfHope

Series: Lonely Nights: Willow Mackey is a quiet girl, but she is fiercely loyal and will never lie to you. Harry Styles is her brother's best friend, and someone she'll always have a soft spot for. Grown up and no longer shielded by their ages, lines start to blur, and mistakes keep being made. For the first time in her life, Willow realises that sometimes, the truth is too painful to hear. But how could she ever say no to the one person that's always understood her better than she understands herself?

Series: Pretty Boy: One night of impulse shouldn't lead to much for Joni Lewis, but when she meets the alluring Harry Styles, an opportunity arises that she can't ignore. A Harry Styles short story inspired by Pretty Woman.

Writhali (I really like everything I've read by Thali)

Series: Ambit: Gangs/violence/action/SMUT - "Hell's boring, Birdie." He claims, that cold, dead stare back to his eyes. "And this, this is what I call a Monday night."

#gurugirl fic recs #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry x reader #harry styles fic #my faves

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alphabetboyluvr · 10 months

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bad decisions | jjk - series masterlist

title credit: bad decisions - bts

pairing: bartender!jungkook x female reader | strangers-friends-lovers, fwb

synopsis

it's simple: write your deepest darkest fears on origami birds and string them up on jungkook's ceiling. when they fall—which they inevitably will, thanks to his cheap daiso washi tape—you have to face the fear. set it free. the issue? you've a fear of intimacy. jungkook, a fear of rejection. and you've both got the capacity to make some incredibly bad decisions.

genre / tropes: smut, fluff, a lil angst, bartender!jk, student!jk, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers (?), fwb, deal arrangement, undefined relationship (they're just friends! just besties!!), miscommunication, idiots in love, emotional slow burn, bucket list (a.k.a. the birds) - see read more for warnings & authors note

wordcount: 450k babbbbyyyy (on-going)

soundtrack: official | reader suggestions

start date: 2022.08.06

minors dni // originally posted to wattpad

warnings: reader has a fear of emotional intimacy and uses physical intimacy as a substitute, jungkook has a deep-rooted fear of rejection. lots of drinking, lots of cursing, lots of bad decisions (every chapter includes at least (1)), jk and the oc have different styles of communication (woo miscommunication!!), a lot of past relationship trauma on both sides, jungkook is the sweetest angel baby ever, jin is kinda evil, jimin is a shit shag (and you have to experience it not once but twice!)

smut warnings: oc is a lil bratty, both switchy but jaykay definitely leads <3, fingering, oral (m & f), ass play, a looooot of titty sucking, cock warming, vaginal sex, sex toys (m & f), every position ever created, jaykay has a huge cawk <3, filming, lots of showering together, thigh riding, 69, squirting, panty sniffing (and sucking !), mutual masturbation, motel sex, endless orgasms, like, idek what else to add but there's more!! they just fuck a lot!! not my fault!! blame the birds!!

note from holly: i heard bad decisions once, ONCE, and knew i had to write about whiney jaykay and how fucking him would be a bad decision, but then it spiralled and now im 370k words deep into a fic about origami birds, glitter, and the way jungkook thinks he'll die every time he gets horny. of everything I've ever written it's hands down my favourite set of characters. jungkook is good in a way that he isn't in literally any of my other fics. i think it's my most well-received fic over on wp and it's just v v special to me. i hope u enjoy it!

BAD DECISIONS

key: smut 💖 | holly's fave ✨ | reader fave* 🪩 | bird 🕊 | club 🍇 *as per my wp stats all chapters listed below are available on wp, and will eventually be linked here too.

BD #1 - Purple Starfuckers - 3.5k

🍇 | a disco ball walks into a bar...

BD #2 - Park Jimin - 3.2k

💖 | does it count if you don't finish?

BD #3 - Coffee - 2k

message request from justjk

BD #4 - The Gym - 4.1K

just wanted an excuse to write about gym rat jk tbh

BD #5 - The Bet - 6.6k

🍇🪩 | songs that remind you of the past, blissfully unaware you're laying the foundations of your future

BD #6 - Wishing - 6k

🍇| summer goes by in a technicolour haze

BD #7 - Sex With An Ex - 6k

✨| kim seokjin looks like an angel, loves like lucifer

BD #8 - Washi Tape - 8k

enter stage left: origami birds

BD #9 - White - 6k

✨🕊 | old, leering men at waterparks are gross. jungkook is not.

BD #10 - Blonde - 3.5k

in the wise words of maisie peters, there's nothing more frightening than a woman scorned and a box of bleach

BD #11 - Perry - 5.9k

🕊 | it's totally normal to shower with your friends

BD #12 - An Agreement -7.4k

💖🕊 | jungkook has to leave the room cause he gets way too hard (in a platonic way)

BD #13 - Work of Art - 11.8k

💖 🪩🕊 | you discover mirrors. jungkook discovers tits. learning is fun!

BD #14 - New Rules - 8k

💖 🪩🕊 | jungkook's got nice hands and he knows how to use them

TO BE UPLOADED

BD #15 - Paper Planes

BD #16 - Overindulging

BD #17 - Jeon Jungkook

BD #18 - Cake

BD #19 - Send To All

BD #20 - Park Jimin... Again

BD #21 - Doing The 'Right' Thing

BD #22 - Listening To Jimin

BD #23 - Cherry Picking

BD #24 - Resolutions

BD #25 - January

BD #26 - January, Still

BD #27 - Keeping Quiet

BD #28 - Avoidance

BD #29 - 'Daddy'

BD #30 - Evaluating The Meaning of 'Home'

BD #31 - The Photo Booth

BD #32 - Question...?

BD #33 - Boundaries (Or Lack Thereof)

BD #34 - Speed Dating

BD #35 - Saying 'Please'

BD #36 - Denial

BD #37 - Faking It

BD #38 - Delaying The Inevitable

BD #39 - Rooms

BD #40 - Spinning Bottles

BD #41 - Locked Doors

BD #42 - Hitting Where It Hurts

Wattpad | AO3

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pensat-i-fet · 10 months

Text

All yours (Rúben Dias x Reader)

**So I got a couple of requests to write about being on holiday with Rúben after he posted some holiday content. And a more specific one involved this sort of fwb situation with some jealousy in the mix that inspired me a lot. And this is what I came up with. I always appreciate any feedback but this time it'd be interesting to know your thoughts since the tone and vibe (not the topic itself completely) of this is similar to a Rúben series I need to continue working on. So it'd be amazing to know how you guys feel about it. Enjoy reading!! ❤️**

Word count: 2947

Masterlist

Wattpad

"You're coming with us to our holiday, right?", asked Rúben when you got out of the shower.

"I don't know".

"What do you mean you don't know? You've travelled with us for the last 5 years. Do you have better plans?"

"I just…I don't know if it's the best idea now that…you know".

He got closer to you, smirking. "I might be having memory problems. Now that what?"

"You'll have other problems if you don't remove that annoying smug grin from your ugly face", you said, rolling your eyes and making him laugh.

When you tried to walk towards your closet, he stopped you wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Do you mean", he said, leaving kisses on your neck, "now that we stay in each other's beds instead of the guest rooms during our sleepovers? Because I only see that as a bigger reason for you to be there. I'm sure we'll find a way to have some alone time".

"But this is just something casual, Rúben. You’ve said it many times. What if I cockblock you? Or worse…you cockblock me!"

You noticed his arms holding you tighter for a heartbeat before he let go of you.

"We'll be fine. Please come with us, the boys always want you there. I want you there. You know that".

There was something in his tone that made you stop. Did he sound a bit…sad? But why would he? It’s just the summer holidays.

“Where are you going anyway? Same as always?”

“No, we’re going to Miami”.

He looked at your reaction, knowing you’d wanted to visit Miami for years. That was actually one of the reasons why he suggested that place as an option in the first place.

“I mean…”.

“I’ll send you the info when I finish booking everything”.

“I didn’t say yes, Rúben”.

“You said it with your eyes”.

“Oh yeah? What are my eyes saying now?”, you asked, glaring at him. “Stop smirking! You’re so annoying!”

"We are going to have so much fun!"

"Nothing is going to happen there. No one can know about this…arrangement. Or we'll never hear the end of it".

"Try and be a bit more quiet, then".

He was still laughing when the pillow hit his face and you took that opportunity to go get dressed. And to start planning what to pack for Miami.

"I'm so hungover", you said when your little group of friends was waiting at the airport for your flight to the US.

"You sit with Rúben, then. He's probably still hungover too from the celebrations".

"As long as he doesn't puke again…".

"You're all so funny", said Rúben, rolling his eyes. He wasn't hungover but really tired after such a long season.

"You take the window seat. I'll be sleeping most of the time, anyway".

"Ok".

Trying to get comfortable, you started to notice it was a bit chilly on the plane.

"I need my jacket and your brother has my bag. I'll be right back", you said, trying to get up but Rúben stopped you.

"Just wear my hoodie", he took it off and put it in your lap, but instead of taking it you just stared at it. "What?"

"It's just that, wearing your clothes…that’s like couple stuff. And we’re not a couple".

"It's something you've done your entire life. Don't try to make it weird just because we are sleeping together now".

"Rúben!", your eyes widened and you also noticed the man sitting to your left staring at you two.

But he just shrugged and put his headphones on, ready to watch a movie. So you took the hoodie and put it on before trying to fall asleep quickly. But seeing Rúben sitting next to you made it harder to sleep. This whole friends with benefits thing was fun. I mean, it was Rúben you got to sleep with. But it was also…weird. You had always been friends and how were you supposed to go back to just friends once one of you found a partner? And why did that idea feel so wrong right now?

"Can't sleep?", he asked when he looked at you and saw you staring at his movie.

You shook your head, sighing.

"Come here".

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Come closer so you can cuddle me. You'll fall asleep quicker".

"You think so highly of yourself, Dias…".

But you did as he said, moving closer so you could put your arms around his waist and place your head on his chest. His arm was around your shoulder and his hand kept caressing the top of your arm. And even if you were overanalyzing a gesture that was so normal for you two, in just a couple of minutes, you were already sleeping.

Sleeping on the plane meant you were ready to enjoy the rest of the day once you landed in Miami. Everyone else just wanted to go to the beach and rest but you were itching to go out to explore the city.

"Come on!! It's so early. Let's go find somewhere to eat and then we can walk around the area".

"I'll go with you".

When Rúben spoke, everyone looked at him and you started to worry about them suspecting something. He was always volunteering to be with you, no matter what you suggested.

"Cool, Rúben can go with you and be your bodyguard for tonight".

"Bodyguard?"

"We aren't going to let you run around all alone in a foreign country…and at night".

"You don't even let me run around my hometown", you muttered, rolling your eyes at how overprotective they all were.

"You are like a little sister to us. We have to protect you. So off you go with big bro Rúben".

Shaking your head, you turned to leave the hotel, noticing Rúben right behind you.

For the first couple of minutes, you two walked in silence. You were too busy staring at your surroundings to say anything. And then you noticed Rúben putting his arm around your shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"There are some weird guys looking at you".

"Thank you, big brother. What would I do without your protection?"

Rúben didn't find your sarcasm funny and when you were walking past an alley a couple of seconds later, he made you both walk inside it so he could push you against the wall and kiss you.

"I'm not your brother".

"You aren't my boyfriend either".

He shook his head, looking like he wanted to say more but not doing it. "Let's keep walking".

When you got back to the hotel, a part of you was hoping he would ask you to go to his room. Or that he would follow you to yours but he only wished you a goodnight and left you outside of the lift.

That's where you found him and the rest of the gang the next morning.

"Ready for today?"

"What's the plan?", you asked, hoping they didn't just plan on staying at the beach all day.

"Breakfast, beach, sightseeing and night out".

"I love that plan", you said, clapping your hands. "Maybe we can go shopping too".

After you had some breakfast, you moved to the private area of the beach so you could relax on the sunbeds for a couple of hours.

"I need sunscreen on my back!", you said, lifting your arm that held the bottle until someone grabbed it. You didn't even know who did, but when you placed your head on the sunbed, you saw Rúben sitting a couple of sunbeds away from you. So it wasn't him.

You closed your eyes, trying to relax. But anyone who bothered looking at Rúben's face would have noticed the tension in his features. He knew neither his brother nor his friends were interested in you in that way. They really meant it when they said you were like a sister to them. But still, seeing another man's hands on your body filled him with rage. He wanted to be the one putting the cream on your back and shoulders, leaving kisses all over your body while he applied it. But he had to look from afar. And it ruined his mood for the whole day.

By the time you made it to the hotel, you only had 30 minutes to get ready. But you already planned some cute outfits for the nights out so you ended up getting ready in less than half an hour.

"You're wearing that?"

His friend's words made Rúben look up.

"We are not doing this, boys. It's just a dress".

"One of us by your side the whole time, yeah", they joked.

"You'll have to catch me first!", you laughed, running outside of the hotel and making all your friends get up quickly to follow you.

You were so busy looking behind you that you didn't notice someone walking in front of you until you bumped into him.

"Oh my God! Sorry".

"It's ok", he said, holding your arm to steady you. "Are you ok? Were you running away from someone?"

His concern made you smile. And the fact that he was cute didn't hurt. "My friends but as a joke. They are alright…and right there".

"And they are all men".

"Yeah", you laughed. "But they act like little boys most of the time".

When they got to where you, and a stranger, were, they didn't know what to do. It was always hilarious to you how they didn't understand the concept of you talking to other men. You were one of the lads to them, but in moments like that, they realized you weren't a lad.

"We were going to grab a drink at a bar, do you want to come with us?"

"Sure", the guy, Sean, said. And you introduced him to everyone before making your way to the bar.

To say that Rúben wasn't happy would be an understatement. He just kept staring at you and Sean, while you were laughing and dancing. It should be him doing that with you, not a random dude whose last name you didn't even know.

"Another drink? How obvious".

"What are you muttering, grumpy?", asked his brother, who knew more than you and Rúben thought.

"Nothing…but I mean, what's that? The third drink he buys for her? We all know what he's trying to do".

"We are here to avoid that, stop worrying. No one is hurting her while we are around".

"I don't know. Maybe she wants it. Maybe she wants him".

Everyone could hear the bitterness in Rúben's voice.

"When she should want you, right?"

Rúben cleared his throat, not wanting to look at his brother after being so obvious.

"Do you think I don't know about you two?"

That made him look. "How would you…".

"You're not as discreet as you think you are but I get you wanted to keep it a secret so whatever", he shrugged. "What I didn't know was that there was more".

"More?"

"You couldn't be more jealous, Rúben".

"It's just something casual. But she's my friend…".

"No, she's my friend. That's why I'm careful to look her way every once in a while just in case she needs me. You are just looking at him and fantasizing about breaking his nose, probably".

Rúben shook his head and left to go to the bathroom. He just needed to splash some cold water on his face to hopefully get his common sense back. You were just friends with benefits. He didn't get to be jealous.

"Hey, bro".

Of course, it had to be Sean who he found in the bathroom. "Hey! Having a good time?"

"Do you have to ask?", he laughed, and Rúben didn't like that laugh at all. "Your friend is so hot. Is she good in bed too? She has to be, right?"

"How would I know? She's just my friend".

"Right…if my group of friends had a hot chick like her in it, we would all be just friends. Of course".

"What are you insinuating about her?".

Sean didn't realise how much bigger than him Rúben was until they were almost face to face.

"The way you all joke, the way she dresses…and she just invited me to buy her drinks before she even asked my name. Do you want me to believe you haven't all at least tried it once? I know girls like her".

Rúben pushed Sean against the wall, lowering his voice to try to not make a scene. But making sure his voice was menacing enough for Sean to get the message that he could break his nose, like his brother suggested, very easily.

"You don't know her at all. And what you're going to do is go out and excuse yourself and leave. Or you'll regret every word you've said about her…and all the ones you thought but didn't say out loud. Am I clear?"

Sean swallowed and nodded. And Rúben moved back just enough to allow him to leave the bathroom but to also take note of how strong Rúben really was.

He took a couple of deep breaths before going out and when he did, he couldn't believe what he saw. Not only was Sean still there, one of his hands was on your waist and he was whispering things in your ear.

Without saying a word to anyone, he walked towards you two and when Sean saw him, he just smiled.

"You don't want to make a scene here, do you?"

"What are you talking about?", you asked, looking from Sean to Rúben, confused about the whole situation.

"We are leaving", said Rúben, grabbing your hand so you can follow him.

"What? No! Why would I leave? I'm chatting with Sean".

"The guy who calls you a whore the moment you're not around? No, you are coming with me".

"He called her a what?"

All of your friends were now surrounding Sean. But you didn't care about any of them, tired of their overprotective nature towards you. So you let go of Rúben's hand and got out of the bar.

Rúben followed you, worried about your reaction.

"Wait! Stop walking. You're not even going in the right direction!"

"Maybe I'm going in the right direction because I'm going as far away from you as possible!"

"You didn't hear what he said about you. It was disgusting".

"If I want to be with a disgusting guy, it's my problem!"

"Now you're being ridiculous. Should we let you be taken advantage of?"

You finally stopped walking and turned to look at Rúben.

"What do you want from me? You are confusing me so much that my head is fucking spinning! First, you want us to just be fuck buddies and nothing else. Then you act all jealous whenever I talk to a guy but you keep on going out with girls so…how does that work? Do I get to be jealous too? Or it's only you who can?"

Rúben didn't know what to say. Because he was the first one confused by what he felt.

"What is it, Rúben? Because I don't know. And now you do what? Defend my honour? As if you were my boyfriend".

"You didn't hear what he said about you", he repeated, still mad at Sean's words.

"Let me guess. He thinks I'm fucking all of you, right? Like literally every man I meet that finds out I have a group of friends with only men in it", when you saw Rúben's face, you let out a sad laugh. "He was going to be a one-night stand, Rúben. Not my future husband. Who cares what he thinks about me?"

"I do! Hearing him say those things about you…".

"I said it the other day and I'll say it again. Rúben, you aren't my boyfriend. Stop acting like you are".

He swore under his breath when you started to walk again.

"Let's change that, then".

"Change what?"

"Let me be your boyfriend".

This time you stopped walking but feared turning to face him. Those were the words you had been dying to hear since the day you kissed while watching a movie months ago. You expected him to tell you he felt the same way about you. That he had been in love with you for years too. But he just proposed the stupid friends with benefits arrangement. And you said yes because at least you got to have him in some way. But it wasn't enough. You kept pushing him, telling him you weren’t a couple when he acted like your boyfriend. You wanted him to react. And he finally did.

"Don't just say it because you are angry at a dude calling me names, Rúben. You don't get to play with my feelings like that".

"I'm not playing. I thought I was scared of losing you as a friend but…I was just scared of facing my feelings. Of telling you how I felt and seeing you rejecting me".

"How do you feel?"

"I love you. And I know it's not the first time I tell you that but …I don't mean love as a friend. I mean, that too, of course. But I'm also in love with you. And I have been for a while"

He didn't know how to interpret the tears in your eyes. But a hug was always a good option, right?

"I love you too. But I need all of you, Rúben. Not just the little bits I've been getting these past months. It’s all or nothing".

"You have it all. All of it. I'm all yours. And I need you to be mine".

"I already am".

#ruben dias #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias one shot #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias x y/n #ruben dias fluff #ruben dias angst #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer fluff #footballer angst

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nataliasquote · 3 months

Text

Masterlist

Welcome to my masterlist! Alongside my work on Wattpad and AO3, you can find all my mini series and oneshots linked down below. I usually only write for Natasha Romanoff and occasionally Yelena Belova, but feel free to send in any requests. But no smut, I’m not comfortable with that :)

Natasha Romanoff | Series

[F = fluff, A = angst, H = hot af ]

⧗ Double the Trouble AU | WandaNat x daughter: [F] Natasha and Wanda have their work cut out raising twin girls. But despite the struggles and the arguments, there is nothing that would break the bond this family has created

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

Canon oneshots:

A Day Out: [F] summer and sunshine calls for family trips out. To the zoo, naturally[2.9k words]

Groceries: [F] Natasha volunteers to do the weekly shop. Mundane, perhaps, but with two babies, things are never smooth sailing [1.4k words]

Cuddles: [F] a tipsy Y/n only wants one thing when she comes home from a party- Natasha’s hugs. And who is Natasha to refuse cuddles from her teenagers? [800 words]

New Families: [F] Natasha was content keeping her little family to herself. But Yelena and Melina weren’t. Which is how the family of four find themselves in Ohio, resurfacing memories for Natasha and challenging the three year olds in a whole new environment. Isla loves it, Y/n… not so much [4.4k words]

⧗ My Songbird AU | Natasha x Willow (O!C): It’s the 70s. Final summer of high school. Why not spend it getting high, partying and sneaking off with your girlfriend in a town that is so disapproving of anything deviating from the norm.

Mood board | part 1 [F]

⧗ Back in Time | Winterwidow x daughter: Natasha and Bucky’s daughter seeks comfort in her Aunt Wanda as her parents go missing on a mission. She doesn’t ask for much, she only wants to see them again.

part 1 [F] | part 2 [A]

Natasha Romanoff | Oneshots

⧗ Promises: [A] Natasha and Anastasia didn’t know love… not until they found it in each other. But the Red Room was cold, in more ways than one [2.6k words]

⧗ Ghost of You: [F + A] Learning to move on after Natasha’s sacrifice is the hardest thing in the world [3.2k words]

⧗ Lost in the Fire | f1 AU: [A] A horrific crash tests Natasha’s nerves to the limit as she has no choice but to sit back and watch from the garage. Her girlfriend and her sister push themselves for that all important win. [4.5k words]

⧗ I Will Rescue You | natasha romanoff x adopted daughter reader: [F + A] An alert from the Red Room sends Natasha, Yelena and Bucky on a last minute mission. But what they find is far from expected… [3.7k words]

⧗ Can’t You See This is Breaking Me: [A] Natasha isn’t quite ready to give her entire life for the woman she loves [5.2k words]

⧗ Tattoos For Troubled Minds: [F] Natasha struggles to trust anyone when it comes to touching her body. But that becomes rather difficult when a tattoo idea comes into her mind that she just can’t shake [3.6k words]

⧗ Midnight: [A] Natasha has never learned how to rest, and at midnight is where she is most vulnerable [1.1k words]

⧗ I Know What You Are: [A] The bane of Natasha’s existence had finally slipped up but when sent to eliminate her, feeling get in the way far too easily. [5.9k words]

⧗ Mustang | cowgirl Nat AU: [H] The mayor’s daughter. A bounty hunter. One has freedom, the other does not. But will one fleeting night be enough to convince Natasha to leave everything she’s ever known behind? [4.3k words]

⧗ Is It All For Nothing?: [A] You just want a friend. Is that so bad? How is it fair that everyone else gets one but you. What did you do that was so wrong? [1.3k words]

⧗ Midas Touch | Maid!Natasha: [F + A] no amount of money will ever save a broken marriage or a broken woman. But maybe the right person can turn everything she touches into gold and this time won’t be cursed to break everything she cares about. [7.1k words]

⧗ Welcome To My Head At Midnight | song fic: [A] Natasha Romanoff is her own worst enemy and maybe this fight isn’t one she’s so sure she can win. [2k words]

Yelena Belova | Oneshots

⧗ For Her: [F + A] Yelena tries to find the balance between spending christmas with her girl and tracking down Clint Barton… [1.7k words]

#double the trouble au #natasha romanoff #fanfic #marvel #kaya speaks!

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lostfracturess · 4 months

Text

【 ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ 】 ch. 03

"i hate this—i hate that i still need you, satoru." his arms tensed around you. "i know," he whispered. "but i'll always be here, even if you end up hating me for it."

x pairing gojo x f!reader (main), fushiguro x f!reader (jjk universe)

x summary you never wanted to become part of the world of jujutsu sorcerers, yet fate had other plans when the one and only satoru gojo took you under his wing at jujutsu high. but as the lines between student and teacher begin to blur, hidden powers surge to life, and a deadly target is set on your head.

x wc 13.9 k

x warnings [18+] this story contains abusive/possessive behavior, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, graphic depictions of violence/injury/combat, character death, suicidal thoughts. reader discretion is advised.

x author's note alright, here's the latest chapter! i'm always curious to hear your reactions—let me know what you think! (likes and reblogs are always appreciated!) ♡

series masterlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

Being friends with Satoru was fucking hard.

His mere presence had the power to crumble the walls that protected your composure. Every encounter became a silent war—an inner struggle to choose distance over the alluring closeness his aura naturally demanded.

But keeping distance?

Oh, it was a fierce, bitter, and relentless battle.

"Just a few more!" Satoru's voice, melodiously carefree, pierced through the chilly air. You forced your muscles into another agonizing push-up as your body teetered on the brink of collapse.

"Oh, how I adore him," Nobara whispered, her voice lingering beside you.

Autumn has subtly introduced itself. It bathed the world in warm amber and russet hues, gently wrapping the fading memories of summer's vibrancy under its soft blanket. The days began to cool. You could feel a gentle breeze on your skin.

"How much more?" You asked, your voice barely hiding the treacherous trembling of your arms.

"I'm going to throw up," Yuji declared. His face twisted in a strange mixture of effort and rebellion against his stomach's agenda.

Nobara quietly muttered a series of creative curses.

"Hmmm," Satoru peered over his sunglasses. "—just another easy 50."

"Ha. Ha. Haaa?" Yuji's voice scaled up with each syllable.

"You're joking, right?" Nobara asked, her voice a sweet poison.

You glanced over to Megumi for a split second. He seemed to suffer in silence.

The insidious muscle burn has found its way to your core. Ah, the betrayal of one's own body. You hate push-ups. And Satoru. But mostly push-ups, you thought.

And maybe, just maybe, you hated the way your heart still skipped a beat whenever he was near.

"Come on, only a few more. Push through it," Satoru cheered.

Meanwhile, Yuji, now completely horizontal on the ground, announced with dramatic flair, "Go on without me. Save yourselves. Remember me as I was—," his voice fading into an exaggerated death rattle.

Your visible exhale, clouds of warmth dissolving into the crisp air, as you exchanges a quick glance with Satoru. Your heart, that traitorous organ, fluttered at the unexpected sight.

Damn it all.

—49—49—50—Your arms gave way, surrendering to the undeniable pull of the earth below. Your face hit the slightly damp grass, allowing yourself a moment to enjoy the earthy scent and the cool sensation on your overheated skin.

Perhaps this was where you would remain for the rest of eternity—a monument to the fallen, struck down in the prime of life by Satoru's cruel push-up regime.

A shadow fell upon you. You knew who it was without looking. "If you've come to gloat," you began, your voice muffled by the grass beneath, "know that I've already drawn up my revenge plan."

Instead of a witty retort, Satoru's voice was softer, flirtatious, closer, as he said, "You did well."

Friends, Satoru. Remember?

"I highly doubt that," you rolled your eyes, catching sight of Megumi, already rebounding to his feet, seemingly unfazed. "Are you even human?" you asked him, half-joking, half-awe.

A nonchalant shrug and a lean stretch were his only responses, further fueling your suspicions about his humanity.

"What was today's hellish training even for?" Yuji lamented.

"Do I need a reason to torment my students?" Satoru teased.

Nobara's expression crafted a visual soliloquy of disdain.

"Actually," Satoru corrected, "—you have a new mission tomorrow." His tone grew more serious. "There have been disturbing incidents reported from an abandoned hospital near Shizuoka."

Megumi interjected, "Don't they have their own sorcerers?"

"Not strong enough, it seems." Satoru's gaze hardened for a moment. "But I assure you, it will be an exciting adventure!"

You lifted your face from the grass, strands of green clinging to your cheeks. You cast a skeptical glance at Satoru. "Exciting adventure, he says," you murmured. "—last time it was a 'minor inconvenience' and we fought a special curse that almost made a snack out of Yuji."

Yuji, still stretched out beside you, nodded solemnly. "I still have nightmares about those teeth."

"Your definition of fun, Gojo, seriously needs a revision," Nobara added.

Satoru lowered himself to your level. His eyes met yours as a grin played around the corners of his lips. "You'll love this one, I promise."

Yuji mustered the strength to sit up. "What's so 'exciting' about this mission anyway?"

Satoru tilted his head slightly, silver strands of hair capturing the last rays of the day, shimmering in the receding sunlight. "That abandoned hospital in Shizuoka—it's notorious. Local sorcerers have been trying to deal with the anomalies there for months, but last week two of them went in and never came out."

Nobara perked up. "So you're sending us to a place where sorcerers have gone missing?"

Satoru nodded. "Exactly. The hospital was a place of pain, suffering and numerous unexplained deaths even before it was abandoned. Now, it seems to have become a breeding ground for curses. The incidents are escalating and they can't contain it anymore. We must find out what's going on there, save the sorcerers, and cleanse the place."

Your heart raced. You pulled yourself up into a sitting position, grass and soil clinging to your sweat-soaked shirt. "Sounds more dangerous than exciting."

"Sure, there's a risk, but we've got this. As long as we stick together," Megumi said.

"The power of friendship saves the day, huh?" you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Satoru stood up and held out a hand to help you to your feet. As you accepted the gesture, a familiar electric charge ran through you. He pulled you up with ease, his voice a soft whisper meant only for you, "Be careful. I'd hate to lose my favorite student."

FRIENDS, SATORU. REMEMBER?

****

"Wasn't this supposed to be fun?" Nobara hollered.

Her voice sliced through the eerie silence of the abandoned hospital's hauntingly empty hallways, as all four of you sprinted, hearts thundering in your chests.

The distant, hollow groans of curses echoed through the deserted corridors. Each groan sent shivers down your spine and fueled your legs to push you forward with even greater urgency.

Megumi summoned his divine dog. It charged forward, fighting the cascade of curses that flowed like a nightmarish tide through the crumbling, cavernous passageways to buy you more time to escape.

"That's Gojo's version of fun, remember?" Yuji retorted, his words punctuated by ragged breaths.

Shadows seemed to reach for you, elongating as the dimming twilight outside filtered through the cracked windows, creating unsettling, contorting forms upon the walls.

Skidding around a corner, Nobara sent a cascade of cursed nails spiraling into an oncoming threat. The curses dissipated upon impact. But the brief respite was soon shattered by the oppressive feeling of more malevolent presences converging upon your location.

The hospital itself seemed to warp and twist with cursed energy. Halls elongated, and rooms reshaped into grotesque shapes. The walls themselves seemed to breathe, inhaling and exhaling a suffocating, eerie energy that enveloped everything within.

"How the fuck did we end up in this creepy horror show all of a sudden?" You yelled as you sprinted ahead.

"We must find the core of this energy—destroy it or we'll be overrun," Megumi shouted.

The scene was a total mess, no way around it.

The chaotic atmosphere, swirling with malevolent energy and the agonized screams of curses, pressed in from all sides. Shadows reached out and twisted around the group, the outlines of lurking creatures barely discernible in the pitch-black darkness, as an immense curse appeared, radiating an aura of fear so deep it seemed to suck the life from its surroundings.

Shadows reached out and twisted around the group, stopping you in your tracks. Then curses appeared, their outlines barely visible in the pitch-black darkness. Agonized screams echoed from all sides.

Suddenly, a massive curse appeared, radiating an aura of fear so deep it seemed to suck the life from its surroundings.

Satoru's voice crackled over your communicators, his voice tense. "I sense a tremendous amount of cursed energy. Get out of there now!"

But his warning came too late. With a bone-rattling roar, the curse lunged forward.

Everything fell into chaos.

Megumi's shikigami dimmed and flickered as the curse descended upon you all. Nobara and Yuji tried their best to fight back, but the monstrous creature effortlessly tossed them aside as if they were nothing. Their battered forms crashed to the debris-strewn ground with a sickening thud.

Satoru's voice again. "Everyone, retreat, now!"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You were paralyzed.

Move, you yelled at your own muscles.

Move, goddamn it. But they refused your command.

The curse twisted its grotesque form towards you. Its eyes completely devoid of light or life. Your heart raced as it advanced.

You had to do something.

In an instant, the curse closed in on you, its dark, oily fingers stretching towards you. Time appeared to crawl as its hand loomed closer. Your heart froze. Then an inexplicable sensation surged from deep within you, like a taut thread snapping.

The air shifted around you. The curse stopped.

Its grotesque form convulsed as the cursed energy surrounding it twisted and contorted. Its scream echoed through the cavernous decay of the hospital as its own malevolent aura recoiled upon it.

The curse transformed, changed into something else entirely.

Something you wanted it to be.

You could feel the curse, feel its fear, feel its evil. All of it.

With a trembling hand, you reached out, deflecting the cursed energy of the curse onto itself. The curse convulsed and writhed. Its form disintegrated under the crushing weight of its own malevolent energy. Then it simply dissolved into nothingness.

But it didn't stop. The fear didn't stop. You still felt its fear. Its evil. Everything.

It coursed through you, too overwhelming to bear. It threatened to consume you entirely as your own cursed energy spiralled out of control, creating a maelstrom of chaos around you.

Suddenly, Satoru's voice cut through the chaos. "Suppress it! You must suppress your cursed energy!"

But your consciousness was adrift in the maelstrom. The uncontrolled energy threatened to consume your very being. Then, for a fleeting moment, you saw Satoru's face as he ran towards you. Time stood still for a moment as your gaze locked with his.

Satoru.

In that moment, you found yourself ensnared in the depths of his terror-stricken eyes. All noise ceased, and sensations dulled. The chaos that had enveloped the surroundings was quelled, its frenetic energy pulled back, forcibly contained within.

Silence replaced the chaotic energy that had suffocated the room, and the swirling vortex of curses collapsed into a singularity within you.

An explosion of blinding light illuminated the decimated hospital before it was once again plunged into an unsettling silence, now without the oppressive presence of the curses.

You crumpled to your knees. A sudden sensation of decay washed over you. You leaned forward and coughed up a painful spurt of blood. Satoru ran towards your crumpling form. His arms carefully enveloped you, before you hit the ground.

"You're such a stubborn woman," he whispered. His voice barely audible, eyes locked with yours, shining with a depth that spoke volumes.

Friends, Satoru... Remember?

****

"Do you have any idea how damn reckless that was?" Satoru's voice now a sharpened blade slicing through the thick air.

"I did what I had to, Satoru. We're all still standing here, ain't we?"

He took a step closer, his voice low and lethal. "You gambled with something you don't understand, something you can't control. Next time, you might not be so lucky."

A bitter laugh escaped you. "Concern, is it? You're a fine one to talk about understanding and control!"

His jaw clenched, a battle raged in his eyes.

Nobara chimed in. "Both of you, maybe we should talk about this when—"

"No," Satoru interrupted, his eyes never leaving yours. "You can't just run around and do shit that might kill you."

"And you think I want to die?" Your voice cracked, "Satoru, I felt that power. I felt it trying to consume me! But would you rather I did nothing and let us all die instead?"

A pained silence followed your words, interrupted only by the strained breathing shared between you and Satoru.

"She's right. She saved us back then." Megumi pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against. "—wouldn't the better question be, what the hell this cursed technique was?"

You took a deep breath. "I don't know what that was—it just came all of the sudden."

Satoru's expression shifted and he let out a frustrated exhale. The silence that followed even more painful than the arguing.

After a beat, Megumi chimed in. "That cursed technique you unleashed back there? It's like nothing I've ever seen before." His gaze darted between you and Satoru, assessing the situation. "It kinda reminded me of Mahito's Idle Transfiguration, but it's not quite the same. Yours is more like—"

"—manipulating the very essence of the cursed energy, changing its nature, its intent," Satoru claimed in. "It's massively powerful."

"—and dangerous," Nobara added.

Satoru turned to you again. "You need to learn to control it. You hear me?"

"Oh, you think I don't know that?"

He stepped closer, his voice a whisper yet charged with intensity. "You know nothing."

Your gaze locked with his. Behind the layer of frustration and anger, there was a palpable fear in his eyes—a fear of losing something precious. But the stubborn part of you pushed forward, your voice tense. "What's your problem, Gojo?"

He raised an eyebrow as you called him Gojo. He was silenced.

"It's more than just control over her cursed technique. It's also about the consequences of that power," Megumi interjected cautiously midst of the strained silence. His eyes carried a grave seriousness that flickered between you and Satoru.

"I know," Satoru murmured, his stance still rigid, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Explaining for the ones, that don't get it?" Yuji said.

"Think about it. If this power can manipulate cursed energy to such a degree, it's going to draw attention. Not just from curses, but potentially from other jujutsu sorcerers as well," Megumi continued. "If it's that powerful, it's likely that others want to exploit it—or eliminate it."

You flinched at his words.

Eliminate?

Yuji's eyes widened. "So what do we do now? We can't just wait for someone—or something—to come after her, right?"

"No. We protect her, we train her, and we figure this out. Together. But for now it might be safest to keep a low profile," Megumi said.

Satoru inched dangerously close as he towered over you. "I won't leave your side," he declared, "—not until you can control it."

"What?"

"I will not let anything happen to you."

"You can't shadow me every single second of the day!"

His lips curved into a wry smile. "You'd be surprised by what I can do."

Did he even hear himself?

The room seemed to pulse with a charged silence as you stood your ground, anger glinting in your eyes. Then, a small smirk played on your lips. "Megumi can do this as well," you threw in, surprising not only Satoru but also Megumi, whose eyes widened slightly.

Caught off guard but still managing to maintain a calm exterior, Megumi shifted, opening his mouth to possibly rebuff or agree. But he was cut off by Yuji's enthusiastic, "Count me in, I'll protect her too!"

"Alright, Megumi it is," Nobara said with a playful wave of her hand.

"You're not even giving me a chance!"

The atmosphere shifted just enough to give space for easier breaths and softened expressions. But Satoru didn't let his guard down. He leaned in close, his voice low and hoarse. The words were for your ears only. "You're really pushing my limits, love."

Your pulse quickened. There was a hint of flirtation in his tone, but the fury in his eyes as they met yours stole your breath. You might regret this later, you thought.

****

Your fingers moved with gentle precision.

You maneuvered the sterilized cloth, dipping it in antiseptic before turning to Megumi. Positioned on the edge of the hospital bed, he offered a silent profile. His eyes deliberately avoided yours.

The scent of antiseptic lingered in the air. In the distance you could hear the echoes of footsteps and muffled conversations from the corridor beyond.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, subtly luring his eyes to meet yours, "—,for earlier. I shouldn't have put you in that position—with Satoru."

His eyes met yours briefly. "It's alright."

"It's just—," you leaned in closer, the distance between the two of you closing as your fingers gently dabbed at his wound. He flinched slightly. "—Satoru's arrogance is wearing me thin."

He was silent for a breath, his gaze lingering on the way your fingers delicately tended to his injury. "He wants to keep you safe."

"We all do," he added.

You looked up to him, and somehow you thought he wanted to say more. But the words were trapped.

"I know I am safe with you," you whispered.

For a split second, Megumi's face turned red. He quickly averted his gaze.

"Where did you learn to treat such wounds?" He asked after a while.

A heavy exhale escaped your lips. "Before Satoru found me, I was on my own—fighting curses and all." You paused. "I had to learn self-preservation, in every sense."

You guided the needle through Megumi's skin to close his wound, an unwavering focus narrowing your gaze. The sterile light of the hospital room cast a soft glow over the surgical instruments nearby, your fingers skillfully dancing between them with learned grace.

He watched, the slightest flinch barely revealing the sting of each pass of the needle. "You're quite good at this."

"Survival breeds skill, sometimes," you replied, carefully threading the needle despite the close proximity, "I suppose most sorcerers have a troubled past."

A faint smile played on your lips. "It's probably that struggle that pushes us into this dangerous career path, don't you think?"

"I wish circumstances were different for you—that your path wasn't so hard."

Your breath caught. You had to stop stitching him up for a second as you processed his words.

"Perhaps," you replied, gently placing the needle down and giving him your full attention. "But it's that path that led me here—so I'm glad it was."

Yes. Your past has been one of scars and bruises.

But it also led you to this very point. Even in the wreckage left by Satoru's heartbreak, there was a light, a silver lining. You'd found something unique, something precious—a home among friends who felt like family.

As your eyes lingered on Megumi's, an unspoken understanding bridged the space between you. In that quiet moment, between the antiseptic scent and the distant hum of other people, you found a trace of calm, a whisper of what might be amidst the remnants of what once was.

But reality, as it often does, shattered the serenity with a sharp crack.

****

Your whole body ached.

Every muscle screamed in rebellion. Frozen tendrils of breath dissolved into the frigid air as you fought to catch your breath. You were on the ground. Drenched in sweat. Shrouded in fatigue. You had reached your limits. Every sense was screaming at you to stop.

But as you looked up to meet Satoru's gaze, you knew he wouldn't let you stop. His face was a fortress of stern determination. It made the cold autumn air seem almost warm in comparison.

"Again," he demanded sharply, the word cutting through the silence that enveloped the training grounds.

You exhaled shakily, fists clenched. Weary limbs pushed you to your feet. You had to stifle a cry of pain as you did so. You couldn't fail. You had to do this. So you forced yourself into another attempt to control the unbridled surge of your cursed energy.

It lashed out rebelliously, ignoring your feeble attempts at containment. The result was a frustrated growl that escaped between your clenched teeth.

"They're not concentrating. Again. Channel your energy. Don't let it control you."

He acted like you weren't even trying. Like you hadn't been giving it your all to get a grip on this fucking cursed energy of yours. Like you weren't on the verge of tears because of your own failure.

"I am trying, Satoru!"

"Trying isn't enough!" His distance decreased as he approached you, his voice rising, "—trying will get you killed!"

Somehow, all fatigue was suddenly replaced by fury.

"You think I don't know that that?"

"If you truly understood, your efforts would show it!"

You parted your lips, ready to fight back, but he wasn't done yet.

"You can't always rely on physical strength alone," he continued. "You have to control your cursed technique, or die in vain."

The audacity.

Your fists clenched at your sides. "Not everyone can be a miracle child like you, you arrogant—"

All of a sudden, he appeared, standing so close before you that it sent a jolt of electricity through you. Your heart raced, beating violently against your chest, you were sure he must have heard it.

"You're leaving yourself exposed here," Satoru's voice, barely above a whisper, sank into the cold air as his finger traced a gentle, almost teasing path along your side, pointing to a flaw in your guard. Your skin burned under the subtle touch, a heat that consumed your resolve, already shaky with fatigue and frustration.

He stepped around you, his movements predatory, eyes meticulously scanned you, evaluating—appraising. Fingers brushed upward, caressing the line of your arm with a touch so light it was almost torturous. "And here, your energy leaks, untamed and wasteful."

His proximity was a palpable pressure, both comforting and intensely unsettling, wrapping around you like an impenetrable fog. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that bordered on intrusive. Yet you found yourself unwilling—unable—to break away.

He circled you. His footsteps silent against the training ground's cold earth. "Every point of weakness, an invitation."

When he circled to your front, those blazing blue eyes, locked onto yours. And then, ever so subtly, his gaze drifted downward, lingering on your lips, parted ever so slightly.

The air between you crackled, charged with a different kind of energy, intensifying the trembling of your cursed energy as it flailed uncontrollably in the ether around you.

"Every weakness is a door begging to be opened." He cupped your chin, forcing your gaze to lift and meet his. "But you, you've always been a fortress, haven't you? Yet even the sturdiest walls find themselves crumbling under the right—pressure."

"You're testing your limits, Satoru."

Friends. Satoru.

He leaned infinitely closer. His eyes glowed with seductive danger. "Am I?"

"I won't crumble, Satoru. Not under your touch."

"I guess we'll see."

THE AUDACITY.

The confrontation, the exhaustion, it all came together in a violent burst of cursed energy. It rippled through the air and made the surrounding vegetation tremble.

Satoru didn't flinch an inch. His eyes locked on yours.

You gritted your teeth. "We're done for today," you said and turned on your heel.

But he was faster In one fluid motion, he seized your arm, forcing you to face him once more. "Running from your problems now? That doesn't sound like you."

RUNNING?

Your blood began to boil. Jerking your arm away, you met his gaze with fiery defiance, "I'm not running. But maybe you should rethink your teaching strategy, Satoru."

His expression flickered for a moment before an amused grin touched his lips, "And what, pray tell, would your enlightened approach be, oh wise student?"

"For starters, a bit of faith would be nice," you shot back, "—and maybe some actual constructive guidance instead of theatrical yelling?"

"Faith, you say?"

"And maybe throw in a 'good job' once in a while. Positive reinforcement, ever heard of it?"

A reluctant smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I'll take it under advisement."

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Enough theory, then. How about we find a curse and test your control in a practical scenario?"

You blinked, aghast. "What?"

****

The crisp autumn air rustled through the vibrant foliage above as you as Satoru ventured deeper into the dense forest. Leaves of fiery reds and vibrant oranges fell gently, creating a colorful carpet beneath your feet. A slight chill whispered through the trees, accompanied by the sound of leaves crunching underfoot.

Satoru's hand was clenched around a mysterious, shivering object. His sharp eyes glanced your way, reflecting the cascade of autumn colors around, yet somehow colder.

Without warning, he unfolded his hand, revealing a squirming curse bound skillfully within his grasp. "Well then, let's see if my 'crappy' training has paid off at all, shall we?"

Huh?

"Think fast," he stated, almost too casually, unleashing the curse before you could voice a protest.

A nauseating squelch perforated the silence of the secluded woodlands. Emerging from the ooze, a curse materialized, its form an unsettling amalgamation of rot and despair. Its flesh, a sickly purulent yellow, hung grotesquely from its misshapen skeleton, numerous bulbous eyes blinking asynchronously from various points on its body.

Appendages, far too numerous and articulated in ways that defied logical anatomy, clawed at the air while a cacophony of guttural moans and shrieks emanated from a mouth that stretched far too far across its form.

You're kidding right?

As it lunged towards you, the sickening stench of decay overwhelmed your senses. Your cursed energy pulsated, thrashing wildly as you sought to harness it, direct it. Yet, the memory of previous failures and the haunting echo of Satoru's reprimands hindered your resolve.

The curse's limbs crashed against the barrier you'd mustered, shuddering vibrations rippling through you as it strained, contorted, and assailed your defenses. Its grotesque features contorted further, if possible, in malevolent delight. With a piercing shriek, it shattered through, the collision sending you sprawling amidst the dead leaves.

Trembling amidst the fallen leaves, you forcefully pulled yourself to your feet, icy resolve coating your veins as you stared down the grotesque curse once more.

You closed your eyes momentarily, attempting to steady the maelstrom of cursed energy swirling chaotically within you, sought to envision the energy as a tangible entity, something you could mold, control, and wield as your own.

Yet, as you opened your eyes, meeting the myriad of malevolent gazes affixed upon you, the cursed energy spiked wildly, lashing out without form or direction. It seared through your veins like molten metal, scorching from the inside, its potency overwhelming yet infuriatingly insubordinate.

"Focus!" Satoru's voice, distant yet piercing.

Your palms slick with a cold sweat, a sharp breath in, and your focus narrowed, eyes locked onto the pulsating monstrosity of the curse. Its form, a mangled amalgamation of despair and hatred, seethed under your gaze, eyes like voids staring back, challenging, defying.

Drawing from deep within, you reached out with your own cursed energy, a delicate thread connecting to the roiling mass before you. In that instant, a cacophony of emotions—fear, anger, sorrow—cascaded through the link, the curse's chaotic energy surging against your influence.

Within your mind's eye, you visualized the flow of its cursed energy, a violent torrent that you sought to redirect. Subtle adjustments, gentle nudges—that was all it should take. Your intention was to invert the energy back upon the curse itself, turning its own power into its undoing.

However, the energy resisted, reflecting and amplifying back through the conduit you'd created. The feedback was instantaneous and brutal, your own cursed energy rebelling against you, a visceral explosion that sent shockwaves through your being.

Pain seared through your veins, a scream tearing from your throat as your knees buckled, the earth rushing up to meet you. Yet even as darkness flirted with the edges of your consciousness, you could sense it—the curse, despite the misdirection, had been affected, its energy convulsing wildly, a grotesque dance of agony mirroring your own.

"Enough!" Satoru's voice cut through the maelstrom, his technique dissolving, sending the curse, now a writhing, shrieking mass, hurtling into the abyss from whence it came.

"Again!"

In the waning light of the chilly autumn day, the scene played out again and again—a cyclic nightmare. The curse, a vile creature of misshapen limbs and hollow, gouged-out eyes, was repeatedly brought forth by Satoru, its guttural roars clawing at the peaceful serenity of the woods.

Attempt after attempt, your technique faltered. Energy recoiled, backfiring with a vengeance that physically pained you.

"Again," your voice, once firm, now trembled with the strain.

Satoru nodded silently, releasing the curse yet again. His eyes, however, betrayed a flicker of something akin to anguish, watching you struggle, witnessing the physical toll each failed attempt exacted upon you.

Energy surged, collided, and once more rejected your influence, the backlash sending tremors of pain through your being. Collapsing to your knees, a pained cry escaped your lips, yet stubbornly, you rose again, your gaze meeting Satoru's, a silent plea for another chance.

"That's enough for today."

Your legs gave way beneath you. Your form, crumpled upon the forest floor, was eerily still, save for the shallow breaths that whispered through clenched teeth. "No—again!" A rancid taste clawed its way up your throat, your body convulsing forward as you retched, the aftereffects of the curses' chaotic energy polluting your being.

Hunched over the damp forest floor, each spasm was a brutal reminder of your failure, haunting every recess of your mind—Weak—ghostly whispers of failure that entwined the very air around you.

"I'm too weak," your voice barely pierced through, a low, despairing murmur, interspersed with harsh, ragged breaths. "I can't—I can't control it, Satoru. What use am I if I can't even master my own cursed technique?"

Satoru crouched down beside you, his fingers gently tipping your chin up, silently begging your eyes to find solace in his. "Don't."

"I'm still too weak, Satoru," your voice, raw, broken, shattered the haunting silence.

Weak. So pitifully weak. Never, ever enough. It twisted through your thoughts, an insidious vine, ensnaring every hope, every fragment of self-assurance that dared to surface.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

"You're not." Satoru's voice pierced the enveloping darkness.

"I can't save anyone like this," you choked out, near a scream, desperation snaking through every word.

"That's not true, and you know it. You've saved others many times!"

Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak.

"I'm not enough, Satoru!" It was a scream this time, a raw, visceral sound that erupted from the core of your being and tore through the silence of the surrounding forest.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to his chest. "Enough," he said firmly.

Within the secure embrace of Satoru's arms, a war waged within you. The sound of your ragged breaths and the rhythmic thumping of his heart formed a painful symphony, an agonizing reminder of what had been lost. It was in that moment, amidst the chaos of your emotions and the haunting echoes of your insecurities, that you truly crumbled.

Salty trails ran down your cheeks, mingling with the dirt and sweat from the torment you'd endured, as sobs shook your entire being.

You didn't want to be just friends. Damn it. You needed him desperately. You cursed yourself for it. All you wanted was for him to take the weightoff your shoulders, if only for a moment—you didn't want to be yourself. Just his.

"I hate this," you managed to say between trembling breaths, "—I hate that I still need you, Satoru."

His arms tensed around you. "I know," he whispered, voice scarcely audible amidst the rustling leaves. "But I'll always be here, even if you end up hating me for it."

His breath, warm and steady, grazed the crown of your head, igniting a bittersweet ache deep within. But in that moment, you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the memory of his warmth, the safety that once lay in the curve of his arm. Cruel. It was a cruel reminder of a time where love and pain were not such closely intertwined companions.

His arms became both sanctuary and prison.

****

The sound of shallow, fraught breaths filled the empty training room, your form collapsed on the mat, eyes shimmering with unshed tears and resolve broken under the weight of your own failure. This pattern was all too familiar, a rhythm that played out predictably, yet agonizingly. Megumi, a silent witness to your struggle, observing the relentless cycle unfold time and time again.

Fall. Rise. Inhale. Exhale. Rise. Fall. Silence. Scream.

It was a torturous play, a ceaseless descent into a seemingly impenetrable abyss. Your body, a silhouette strained to the brink, collapses, only to be compelled upward again by a tenacity that is both heartbreaking and awe-inspiring.

Fall. Rise. Scream. Silence. Rise. Fall. Silence. Cry.

Megumi watched as your eyes, once filled with unwavering determination, flickered between determination and a desolation that threatens to consume their fire. Your form, a vessel visibly marred by the incessant tempests of your trials, convulses with exertion and a despair that seems to claw insidiously from within.

Rise. Fall. Scream. Silence. Scream. Silence. Cry.

With each descent, Megumi felt a physical ache. Each scream from your lips, each shudder that wracked your body, kindled an impotent anger within him, simmering beneath the surface of silent solidarity. Your torment became his own.

"Gojo, we need to talk. Now," Megumi's voice broke the silence, marking the shattering of his observation. In his words linger the ghosts of your silent cries, your whispered pleas to the unyielding darkness, beckoning a reckoning long festering.

Satoru, perpetually enigmatic behind his blindfold, managed to maintain his typical composed exterior, but an almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw was visible. Without uttering a word, he simply tilted his head slightly, silently inviting the brewing tempest. The moment the door slid shut behind them, Megumi whirled around, his eyes ablaze with fury.

"What the hell do you think you're doing to her in there, Gojo?!"

"Training her." Satoru's blindfolded eyes giving away nothing of his thoughts.

"That's not training!" Megumi snapped, his voice echoing through the empty hall, "You're not training her, Satoru—you're breaking her!"

"She's strong. She can handle it."

"She doesn't! You're pushing her beyond her limits and for what, Satoru?! For your own damn peace of mind?" Megumi's words were sharp, the blade of protective rage slicing through the tense air.

"You of all people should understand, Fushiguro. Our world doesn't pull punches. Neither can we."

"How can you, of all people, not see that you're breaking her?"

"Think I don't know that? I'm damn aware. I know she might hate me for it. But I can't—" His voice trailed off, a momentary lapse that unmasked a shadow of vulnerability.

Satoru's silence was telling.

Megumi's eyes, fixed upon Satoru, discerning the unsaid. "It's because she reminds you of him, is it?"

Satoru's voice, when it surfaced, was barely more than a whisper yet laden with the echoes of past specters. "I can't let her—."

"—she's not Geto."

A visible tension cinched Satoru's features as the name hovered between them, evoking entombed memories and spectral pain.

"Your fear, Satoru—it's blinding you. You're gonna hate yourself if you don't stop now."

Taking a breath, Megumi continued, adamant, "I'm taking over her training, Gojo. I won't stand by while you tear her down."

A prolonged silence stretched, before Satoru, his voice nearly lost amidst the echoes, conceded, "You're right—Maybe I'm not what she needs right now."

****

The subtle rustle of pages being turned was the only sound that dared to pierce the stillness of the library in the midnight silence. Illuminated only by the gentle glow of a solitary lamp, you sat there, shoulders hunched, eyes scanning line after line of ancient texts and forgotten lore, desperately seeking something, anything, that might offer a glimmer of understanding regarding your elusive cursed technique.

Your eyes burned, flickering over words that began to blur and merge. The subtle creaking of the library door echoed through the vast chamber, heralding the arrival of another. Your weary gaze lifted, landing upon Megumi, his silhouette framed by the soft light filtering through the doorway. He approached, steps soundless, yet your tired eyes tracked him until he stood before you.

"You're overdoing it."

A bitter laugh escaped your parched lips, your gaze returning to the open book before you. "Overdoing it is all I've got left, Megumi."

He gently closed the book, forcing your eyes upward to meet his concern. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I know what you're trying to do." Your hand deflected his, reopening the tome with a determined flick.

"You look like shit."

"Oh, charming."

Choosing a chair, Megumi straddled it backward, facing you with an unyielding gaze.

A sigh, wearied and long, drifted from your lips. "What did you say to Satoru earlier?" You flipped a page, eyes scanning yet not truly absorbing the words.

"Do you really want to know?"

You looked up to him for a fleeting moment. "Probably not." You flipped a page, eyes scanning yet not truly absorbing the words "But I know you don't agree with his methods."

"That's putting it mildly," Megumi's exhale carried a weight of restrained emotion. "—Satoru might be okay with throwing you into the abyss in hopes you'll learn to climb out, but I'm not."

"That's not what he's doing."

"It's exactly that. You're just turning a blind eye to it."

Megumi's words hung suspended in the library's age-old air, intertwining with the scent of dusty pages and bound leather. Silence stretched between you two.

"Remember what you said to me? That I would be the one to protect you until you figured it all out?" For a moment, a sheer vulnerability flickered in Megumi's eyes, barely perceptible, yet achingly palpable, before it was sheathed again behind a veil of stoic resolve. "Let me be that person."

A lump formed in your throat, stubborn and obstructive. Despite the desperate tug of fatigue on your senses, Megumi's words seemed to pierce through the haze, demanding to be heard, felt, and acknowledged.

You stared at him, the intensity in his dark eyes sending shivers down your spine. The silent library, now seeming more like an observer, awaited your response, its shelves heavy with knowledge and stories of epochs gone by, of struggles and victories, losses and finds.

"Megumi—" Your voice was barely audible.

He leaned in, the space between you shrinking until it was a blur.

"Let me help you."

The simplicity of his request, his words echoed in your mind, honest and unembellished. Your heart raced as you felt his unwavering gaze upon you, his pure presence so close, and in that moment a heat wave cascaded through your body. Maybe it was time to release the grip on your pride, to accept that vulnerability did not equate to weakness.

For so long, you had carried the weight of your burdens alone, believing that independence was your only salvation. But now, as you gazed into his eyes, you saw something different—a genuine offer of support and understanding.

"Ok, but don't complain later," you said, a smile gracing your features.

Megumi nodded solemnly, though his eyes twinkled with gentle amusement. "I won't. I promise."

"But you know, there's one condition."

Your eyebrows arched upwards. "Condition?"

He straightened, adopting a stern expression that seemed almost comically out of place given his generally reserved demeanor. "You have to promise to stop sneaking out to the library in the middle of the night and depriving yourself of sleep. That's non-negotiable."

"What if I find a different place to sneak off to? Like the kitchen?"

Megumi's stern façade cracked, revealing a soft chuckle that warmed the room with its genuine timbre. "Well, at least in the kitchen, you might be compelled to eat something, so it's a step in the right direction."

"Ok, deal!"

Leaning back in your chair, you stretched your arms, attempting to ease the stiffness that clung to your weary muscles. A slight smile lingered on your lips, basking in the gentle relationship that had subtly unfolded between you.

You hadn't realised how much you'd needed it—this connection, his support, always unwavering no matter what, ease amidst the chaos. It was a gentle reminder that you weren't alone on this journey, and perhaps, accepting help wasn't a concession of defeat, but rather a brave step.

Wait

"—but you have to tell Satoru."

Megumi's expression changed to an unusually mischievous grin. "I think we will be fine."

****

In the hushed azure glow of early dawn, a veil of calmess blanketed the training grounds. Megumi and you stood amidst this tranquility, the silence punctuated only by the soft rustling of leaves under a gentle breeze, and your synchronized breaths, clouding in the brisk morning air. At this early hour, you were far from prying eyes and the scrutinising gaze of Satoru.

"Ready?"

You nodded slightly, your hand tightly gripping the hilt of a katana, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. Megumi, standing at a cautious distance, observed intently, his demeanour radiating a reassuring calm.

You took a deep, stabilising breath, centering yourself amidst the tumultuous tide of cursed energy within you. The katana served not as a weapon in this moment, but as a conduit, an extension of your being through which you sought to channel and regulate the wild stream of your power.

Your eyes fluttered shut, focusing inward on the tempestuous sea of cursed energy, feeling it churn and rage against your control. Subtly, you began to coax it, guiding it gently towards your arm and into the blade of the katana. The metal seemed to hum softly, vibrating faintly under the influx of energy. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead as you tried to control the flow of your cursed energy.

Megumi, his eyes reflecting the quiet strength that always seemed to surround him, spoke in a soft, steady tone, "Breathe. Let it flow through you, not against you."

Your breath hitched, then steadied, aligning with the subtle ebb and flow of the energy as it streamed through you, into the katana. The blade quivered slightly, resonating with the pulsations of your power.

The connection held—a gleaming conduit of cursed energy seamlessly bridging you and the weapon, steadfast and enduring. With an exhale, eyelids fluttered open, and your gaze met Megumi's, his eyes shimmering with unvoiced encouragement and proudness.

Triumph, at long last!

The preceding days had been a tapestry of rigorous trials, but control just out of reach, until now. Your attempts to master your cursed technique had always resulted in being consumed by its overwhelming surge, until Megumi proposed a theory that a cursed object might facilitate in channeling your erratic power. And indeed, it had.

Today marked the culmination of countless early morning training sessions with Megumi, where sweat and perseverance were your constant companions. Adrenaline coursed through you as your eyes flickered.

With a fluid, decisive motion, you elevated the katana, allowing it to slice through the air before it cascaded down, severing the scarecrow before you with an effortless ease. A shockwave rippled through the training ground, emanating from the blade with a tangible ferocity. It disrupted the stillness of the early morning, causing the foliage to shudder and the very earth beneath to quiver in its wake.

Megumi's eyes widened, astonishment flashing through them. Not only had the scarecrow been cut in half—but the wall behind it and the earthbeneath it bore the undeniable marks of your strike. An indomitable rush of cursed energy coursed through you, yet, it did not seek to devour you as it once did. Instead, it yielded to your will, becoming an instrument of your focused intent.

"You did it!" Megumi hastened toward you, his hand tenderly encompassing yours on the katana, signalling a gentle reassurance to relax your taut grip, which had whitened your knuckles.

You nodded, a cascade of fatigue intertwining with the residual adrenaline. "Thanks to you."

He gently shook his head, a soft smile blooming upon his features. "This was all you. Your strength. Your determination."

Megumi, his fingers still gently encircling yours, guided your trembling hands—and the katana they clutched—downwards with tender care, allowing you to disengage from the weapon, both metaphorically and physically.

As the blade met the ground with a melodic chime, its reverberation through the still air was nearly drowned by the frantic beating of your heart. The tangible warmth from his touch enveloped your hand, contradicting the chill of the metal beneath your fingers and soothing the quivers that shuddered through you.

"I couldn't have done it without you."

Indeed. Megumi, with his unwavering gaze and constant support, had become an unwavering pillar during your tumultuous journey. He embodied a home in the midst of chaos. Your soul ached with the longing for him to see you in a similar light, to recognise in you the same home and friendship he so generously gave you.

He countered softly, "I merely observed. You did the effort."

"Will you just accept a compliment for once, Megumi?"

A genuine chuckle bubbled from your lips, a lightness that you hadn't felt in so long time. And then, Yuji and Nobara entered, dressed in their school uniforms, and broke the serenity with their cheerful urgency. "Time's ticking, let's roll!"

Their gazes flickered to the subtle intertwinement of your hands with Megumi's, before being irresistibly drawn to the pronounced remnants of destruction adorning the training area. Nobara's mouth agape, she mustered, "I'm guessing you got the hang of it?"

"It seems so!" you beamed.

Yuji's eyes, alight with unbridled admiration and shimmering like distant stars, gazed upon you as if you had adorned a cape and mask, emerging as a beloved superhero from a realm of dreams and tales. "I need to hear all about this!"

"Class first," Megumi interjected.

But your only contribution to the day's class was the harmonious symphony of your steady breathing, intertwined with Megumi's, as slumber swiftly claimed you both. Sitting side by side, shoulders nearly touching, you allowed the gentle cadence of his breaths, subtly syncing with yours, to lull you into a well-deserved rest amidst the crowded classroom.

Megumi, despite the stoic facade he often wore, succumbed to the fatigue as well, his proximity providing a sense of tranquility that allowed the both of you a moment of peaceful respite. The rest of the class might be whispering, speculating, but in this shared tranquility, the world outside ceased to matter.

****

Sunlight dappled through the leaves overhead, casting a mottled shadow upon the café table where you all sat. The air was animated with the pleasant hum of conversation and the occasional clink of cutlery against plates.

A gentle breeze wafted through, carrying with it the sweet scent of autumn, an easy familiarity enveloping the group as you all enjoyed a brief respite from the rigours of your responsibilities as Jujutsu sorcerers—a rare moment of peace away from curses and training.

Yuji's hands fluttered about as he spoke, acting out the scene for added dramatic effect. "Picture this: I spot an old lady, seemingly distressed, and I'm thinking—convinced—that she's being plagued by a curse. I was all geared up, ready for a tussle," he paused, eyes gleaming with a mischievous, yet slightly embarrassed twinkle, "—only to discover it was just a super ugly dog!"

Nobara's laughter exploded in the tranquil outdoor space, a hand hastily dabbing at the laughter-induced tear meandering down her cheek. "Yuji, seriously? Only you could get into such a mess!"

Chuckling, you playfully chided him, "Of all the crazy things you've done, Yuji, mistaking a dog for a curse might top the list."

"In my defense—," he began, puffing his chest out with a brazen grin painted across his face, "—it was gigantic and emanated this bizarre, sorta eerie aura, okay?"

Megumi fought back a burgeoning grin. "None of that explains why you're 20 minutes late though, does it?"

"It does!" Yuji insisted, nodding vehemently. "I was primed to attack, right? But the grandma thought I was a mugger or something, and started assaulting me with her purse!"

Nobara nearly spit out her drink, gasping between her laughter. "She did what? Yuji, you're an absolute catastrophe!"

Yuji shrugged, unabashed. "You have no idea—I was legitimately fighting for my life out there!"

You leaned back in your chair, your laughter mingling with that of your friends, relishing the lightness of the moment. It was these times—times when you could forget the darkness, the curses, and the constant looming threat that shadowed your existence as Jujutsu sorcerers—that felt like a balm to your weary soul.

In the midst of the lively chatter and laughter, your phone vibrated subtly against the tabletop. Unnoticed by the others, its screen lit up, an unread message blinking in the upper corner. Satoru.

Your eyes flicked down, momentarily drawn away from Yuji's animated recounting, but you resisted the urge to pick up the device. The moment was too precious, too infused with a rare lightness that you were reluctant to shatter with the encroachment of him.

So, you allowed yourself to be swept back into the narratives of bizarre encounters and near-miss adventures your friends so lively shared.

Several minutes ticked by, but eventually, curiosity coerced your attention back to the device. Your fingers hesitated, then gently swiped the message open.

"Pack your bags. We leave in an hour".

HA?

Indignation flickered through you, a spark of rebellion against his presumptive demand. Why, exactly, should you jump at his command? Satoru was hardly one to require assistance, a point he'd demonstrated time and again. Thus, you opted to dismiss his message, submerging yourself back into the cheerful flow of your friends' banter.

However, your screen flickered once more.

"Playing hard to get, are we?"

HAAA?

Your jaw tightened. His audacity, it seemed, knew no bounds. Your fingers danced across the display with a fierce intensity. "Handle it yourself, you jerk."

The digital space enveloped in silence, your bold words lingered unanswered, suspended in a virtual abyss for an agonizingly elongated thirty minutes. Then, starkly and without warning, a shadow—imposing and uninvited—unfolded across the table.

"Time to go." Satoru's voice cut through the chatter, his eyes lingering on yours.

You must be kidding me.

Your eyes narrowed, a rebellion burning in your gaze. "I told you, Satoru, I'm not—"

But before the sentence could fully form on your lips, a swift, well-practiced movement from him had you lifted over his shoulder, the world tilting as you were hoisted over his broad shoulder with a grace that belied his strength.

"SATORU!" Your voice came out as an outraged scream, flustered and completely confused by the audacious maneuver. Your hands beat against his back in a futile protest, legs kicking air as he strolled—all too casually—toward his car.

"Feisty as ever, my love," he retorted, a playful smirk curling along his lips, entirely undisturbed by your vehement protestations.

"Put me down, you asshole!"

Satoru's voice, low and for your ears only, murmured against your skin, "You have a unique talent for testing my patience with your stubbornness, you know".

****

Your fingers glided across your phone's screen, crafting a brief message to Megumi: "I'm okay. Probably." Exhaling deeply, you could feel your shoulders gently relent their tension, sinking a little more into the car seat.

Your eyes wandered towards Satoru, stopping at his unexpected, but undeniably attractive, casual attire. The fabric of his white shirt, unexpectedly sheer against his skin, clung to the sculpted curves of his muscular arms, the sleeves mischievously forced upwards, stopping just below his elbows.

Dark, meticulously tailored dress trousers adorned his legs, providing a stark contrast and a subtle edge to the otherwise relaxed ensemble. It was such a departure from his typical attire that it was enough to make your stomach clench.

Your thoughts fluttered, curiously picking at the threads of his unexpected choice of clothing. Sensing your silent scrutiny, a flicker of mischief flashed in Satoru's eyes.

"Not gonna ask?"

"Is there a way out if I do?"

With an amused curve of his mouth, he simply said, "Nope."

You sank even deeper into your seat. "Alright, guess I'll just roll with it."

Your gaze lingered on him a moment longer, silently tracing the contours of his frame. Watching him drive was an unfamiliar sight. His control over the vehicle, his hand steady on the wheel. You didn't even know he had a licence.

Your fingers unconsciously moved to your mouth, nibbling lightly on your nails. "Logically, there's no reason I should accompany you on a mission."

His response was almost too nonchalant, "Maybe I get lonely without you."

"We both know that's far from the truth."

"Is it?" His eyes lingered on you, perhaps a tad too long for your comfort. Silence sprawled out between you, a tangible tension weaving through it.

"I told you I wouldn't leave your side," he spoke, his jaw visibly tightening, "—so, if I must leave for a mission, you're coming with me."

"That's ridiculous, Satoru. I've been doing just fine these past few weeks without your protection."

His tone carried a weight that feathered across your skin. "You really have no idea, do you?"

Your brow quirked. "Huh?"

His voice dropped, low and sore. "You think I wasn't watching your every step these last weeks? Observing every early morning training with Megumi, every single time his hands dared to graze your skin, every dinner you had in town, and every second you slept soundly through the night?"

And then, it hit you—Satoru looked tired. Not the usual 'I've had a long day' kind of tired, but something deeper, something that maybe only you could spot in that moment. His eyes flickered with a subtle fatigue that crinkled softly at their edges. A kind of weariness you hadn't seen before, tiredness that made your heart ache.

His defenses momentarily quelled, Satoru, for once, was laid bare before you—not as the unassailable figure he perennially projected, but simply as a man who wanted to protect the one he loved.

"I didn't ask you to."

His muscles tensed, eyes hard yet a flicker of something softer lingered within them. "You don't have to. I'm protecting what's mine."

The atmosphere thickened, tension hanging palpable between you, your senses acutely aware of every detail: the slightly too tight grip of his fingers on the steering wheel, the subtle frown marking his brows, the rhythm of his breath, even the pulsing of his steady heartbeat. Your own, meanwhile, stuttered erratically.

Your response was a mere breath, barely trespassing upon the charged air. "We're friends, Satoru."

He glanced at you, a slow, deliberate move, his eyes, in that brief, fleeting moment, bared a vulnerability that you'd never seen—or perhaps never noticed—before.

"Yes, Friends," he murmured, turning his focus back to the road, a subtle shiver threading through his words.

The remainder of the drive was bathed in an uncomfortable silence. Each passing mile seemed to stretch on indefinitely, the only accompaniment being the low hum of the car's engine and the gentle rhythm of tires rolling over the asphalt.

The landscape outside shifted, transitioning from urban sprawl to open countryside, yet its beauty went largely unnoticed. For your part, you gazed out of the window, eyes unfocused, taking in the world without truly seeing it.

Every so often, you'd steel yourself to steal a glance in Satoru's direction. But each time, you were met with that same guarded expression, that same set jawline that spoke of a man grappling with thoughts. The defeated look in his eyes behind the glasses unbearable.

It hurt. Even after all this time.

****

The car eased into a secluded area, obscured by looming trees and doused in the tranquil blanket of the nighttime. The destination, it seemed, was far removed from the bustling life and inherent dangers that typically accompanied Satoru's missions.

As the engine hummed to a stop, a tranquil silence enveloped the surroundings, providing a stark contrast to the tempest of emotions swirling within the car's confines.

You exhaled, a slow release of breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, as you unbuckled the seatbelt and gently pushed the car door open, the night's cool air softly caressing your skin.

Satoru exited the car, opened the trunk, revealing an array of bags and equipment. Drawn closer, your eyes were captured by a bag distinctly familiar—indubitably yours. "You packed for me?" You blinked in veiled surprise, a playful undertone weaving through your words, "And you ventured into my room?"

His eyes met yours, a boyish grin playing effortlessly on his lips. "Nothing I haven't seen before".

Privacy—a potential discussion, yet now shelved for a later debrief. Your intent to claim the bag was thwarted by his swift procurement of both yours and his own, fluidly securing them as he shut the trunk. His form began its progression towards the lodge, barely visible in the shadows of this remote area.

"Satoru?" Your voice gently perforated the night as you followed him. "What the hell is this mission all about?"

He exhaled, the faintest hint of hesitation coloring his admission. "They needed someone strong for this curse," his words, though hushed and contemplative, held an edge, "—it's a bit more complex than the usual."

Alarm flickered through you, eyes instinctively darting towards him. "So, is it really smart for me to be here, especially with a strong curse floating around?"

He paused, swiveling toward you, the stupid smile still lingering on his lips. "With me around, you'll probably be fine."

"Your God Complex is showing, Satoru."

You approached the lodge, a cozy albeit slightly worn-down building nestled in the heart of the remote area. As they stepped inside the lodge, the decor screamed of a charmingly rustic aesthetic, making you chuckle.

There was a quaint charm in its dated wallpaper and the creaky wooden floors beneath your feet. You glanced around, noting the relatively vacant environment, save for an elderly gentleman behind the counter.

Satoru approached the front desk. "Reservation for Gojo," he declared, a confident smirk etched onto his features.

The elderly man peered at you both over his spectacles, a curious twinkle in his eyes, before glancing down at the reservation book. "Ah, yes. The honeymoon suite. Quite a popular choice for young couples."

You choked on the air, "Honeymoon what?"

Satoru simply flashed a dazzling smile your way, ignoring the disbelief painted across your face. "That's right."

"But we're not—" you began, only to be cut off by Satoru's arm snaking around your waist, pulling you slightly closer.

He leaned in, his voice taking on a saccharine-sweet tone, "Love, you know it's silly to book separate rooms now that we're married."

"Married?!" You barely managed to keep your voice steady, throwing him a mock glare. "In what universe, Satoru?"

"In this one, apparently," he whispered, mischief lighting up his eyes.

What's wrong with his man.

As the gentleman handed Satoru a key with an approving nod, you turned to the gentleman, offering an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry about him. We're not really—"

"Sweetheart, don't apologize. Let's not make a scene," Satoru interjected, shooting you a sly wink as he gently tugged you away from the counter, key in hand.

Finding yourself weaving through a corridor, guided by his assertive yet gentle touch on your back. Satoru's fingers enveloped the quaint, antique key, turning it in the lock with a soft click. The door gently swung open, revealing a room awash in the gentle glow of ambient lighting, the delicate scent of roses permeating the air.

You blinked at the sight that unfolded before you. The room, undeniably beautiful, was adorned in what could only be described as quintessential honeymoon décor. A lavish bed, blanketed in delicate rose petals, stood as the room's focal point, while a scattering of softly flickering candles cast a gentle, romantic light across the space.

You could only stare, a combination of disbelief and amusement dancing in your eyes as you took in the careful, romantic arrangement that had clearly been made with a newlywed couple in mind.

Turning toward Satoru, you caught the barely-contained chuckle in his throat, his eyes shimmering with an undeniable joy.

"Satoru, what on earth—"

Carelessly, he strolled into the room, carefully setting down the bags before theatrically collapsing onto the petal-strewn bed with a contented sigh. "I know what you're thinking," he began, his words slightly muffled by the plush bedding, "but this was the best room they had."

"And it didn't occur to you to mention that we aren't married?"

He propped himself up on his elbows, a smirk curling at his lips. "The look on your face? Absolutely worth it."

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" you parried, leaning against the doorframe, "Didn't it cross your mind to book two rooms?"

He sat up, meeting your gaze steadily. "You think I'd let you sleep alone in another room when there's a strong curse lurking around?"

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You didn't have any ulterior motives in mind?"

He raised a hand, palm facing forward in a gesture of innocence. "I swear."

Sure.

But it was there—a subtle flicker in his eyes, and you found yourself inexorably drawn towards him despite your resolve. Your heart pulsed with a gentle yearning, fluttering softly against the protective walls you'd so carefully built. To be drawn to him, to be seduced by his unspoken words, and at the same time to fight to protect yourself from his potential pain—that was torture.

His allure was not simply physical but an emotional, magnetic pull that tugged at something deep within you, something that perhaps, you weren't entirely ready to acknowledge or explore. Every soft smile he shared, every lingering look, they pricked at your defenses, causing minuscule fractures in the fortress safeguarding your heart.

"We're friends, Satoru."

His expression sobered, the playful gleam now subdued, "I'm trying my best to remember that."

You stepped into the room, your footsteps soft against the lush carpet. Rose petals were scattered across the white duvet, and a bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket beside a small bouquet of flowers on a table near the window.

Struggling to maintain a serious demeanor amidst the clearly romantic setup, a playful smirk teased at your lips.

"Should I start calling you 'husband' then, if we're playing the part?"

But the levity of your comment seemed to falter in the air, as you noticed the subtle catch in his throat and the way his jaw clenched for a moment. "Forget it," you quickly amended, reaching for the champagne, eager to introduce a new focus. "We should get this open."

He offered a half-smile, a shadow of his earlier mischief lingering. "I'm not much of a drinker."

"Fantastic," you returned, easing the cork from the bottle, "more for me, then."

Oh, it was going to take a fair amount of alcohol to get through this night.

****

The gentle hum of inebriation softened the edges of the world around you as you lounged languidly in an armchair, a half-empty bottle of champagne cradled in your hand. Satoru, with all his languorous grace, sprawled across the bed, an inscrutable gaze fastened intently upon you.

"And then—then, Yuji, he—he looked at this giant poodle, right? And he was so sure, Satoru, so sure that it was a curse!"

A guffaw erupted from Satoru, his form undulating with the force of his laughter, the sound a warm, vibrant echo in the romantically adorned room. But his eyes, oh, those eyes, never veered from you. A simmering intensity, an emotion undefinable yet visceral, lingered within them, caressing you with a tenderness that teetered on the brink of too much.

In your tipsy state, the narrative continued to weave through flares of hilarity and absurdity, "—he was so ready to exorcise that poor dog! Had his stance and everything!"

But even amid the mirth, you were wholly aware of Satoru's gaze, the steady beam of his attention, undeterred and unyielding. It was almost too potent, the way his eyes seared into you, both exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.

As the echoes of your laughter dwindled, replaced by the palpable silence burgeoning with unspoken words, you shifted in your seat, a meek defense against the onslaught of his unrelenting gaze.

Heart raced, yet you found your voice, albeit wobbly, "Don't—don't look at me like that, Satoru."

He propped himself up on his elbows, the soft glow of the room's ambient lighting gilding his form with a tender, almost magical aura. His voice, smooth and laced with a sincerity that pierced through the alcoholic haze. "Like what?"

"Like—," a pause lingered, a fragile thing suspended amidst the serenity and the storm both threatening and promising to engulf you, "—like I'm your everything."

His eyes softened, yet the intensity within them did not wane, merely transmuting into something even more intense.

"You are—," he whispered, a simple confession, yet laced with an undertone of bitterness, "You are everything to me."

And there it lingered, suspended amidst the petals and the soft glow of the room.

"Don't say that."

"Don't ask then."

"That's not fair."

"Maybe." He began to stand, each deliberate step towards you echoing in the charged silence, "But here, we don't have to hide," he murmured, closing the diminishing gap between you, "—here, we're just a man and a woman, a married couple far from Tokyo."

"I hate you," the words, a tender contradiction, drifted into the delicate space separating your lips from his.

"I know," he breathed, his arms coming to rest on either side of your chair, imprisoning yet protective, "—I can accept that, as long as you'resafe."

His proximity was a furnace igniting every nerve ending into a frenzied state of awareness. Retreat was a tempting illusion, his nearness a siren's call inviting surrender, stirring a turmoil of restrained desires. He lingered on the precipice, an intricate dance of restraint and desire reflected in eyes that quietly pleaded and promised all in a single glance.

"We should get some rest," though his voice was steady, his eyes, drowning in restrained longing, told an entirely different story.

"Satoru—," your voice wavered, trembling against the temptation mere breaths away. Your neck arched so sharply to maintain that intoxicating proximity to his lips, you almost winced. Every exhale of his brushed warmly against your lips, every shaky inhale felt like it was drawing you in further, until you were both just teetering on that razor-sharp edge between giving in and holding back.

"I know," his breath, shaky, warm, against your lips, "I hate it too."

Your whole body was practically screaming under the strain, your neck pulled tight in a delicate arch to stay that close to him, muscles trembling with the effort. Your breaths mingled in the tiny space between you, hitched and ragged, a testament to the sheer restraint being exercised in maintaining that fragile distance.

It was like an invisible force field held you apart, despite the fact your entire being seemed to magnetically pull towards him.

In his gaze, the world beyond seemed to dissolve, its warnings rendered moot, every ounce of attention fixed on the gentle caress of breath against skin, and eyes that held worlds of silent pleas and promises. And there you lingered, a breath away from falling, from surrender, lost in a gaze that bore the weight of emotions unvoiced, yet palpably felt in every charged particle of the air around you.

With a shuddering breath, Satoru turned away, creating an immediate, almost tangible void where the warmth of his proximity once lingered. The room seemed to shrink around you, every rose petal, every softly glowing light now feeling impossibly distant and blurred by the sudden pain in your veins.

In that instant, a bitter realization came, more profound and cutting than any epiphany before—there wasn't a place on this Earth where you could flee to escape him, the deep-seated pain that his mere presence elicited within you.

Inside you, longing wove a tapestry of pain, wrapping tightly around every thought and emotion until you were bound by it, held captive by the silent cries of a heart pushed to its limit.

****

A harsh splash of water against tiles jolted you from your precarious perch between wakefulness and the somber sanctuary of sleep. Dazed, you blinked into the semi-darkness, the remnants of last night's melancholy wrapping itself around you like a shroud, heavy and all too familiar.

Your head throbbed, the remnants of alcohol-induced haze still coursing through your veins and the fragmented memories of the night before slowly knitting themselves back together in your consciousness. Satoru. The tenderness in his eyes, the tangible yearning that hovered in the space between you, and the impassable wall that came crashing down.

You pushed yourself into a sitting position, a hand gently massaging your temple as you tried to steady the world that seemed to be insisting on tipping off its axis.

The romantic ambiance was gone, every candle extinguished, every rose petal swept away.

Moments later, the bathroom door creaked open, unleashing a waft of steam that lazily swirled into the bedroom. Satoru emerged, a single towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water tracing paths down his defined torso.

His hair, darker when wet, clung to his forehead in damp tendrils. His eyes shining as always as they met yours, without sunglasses or a blindfold clouding them.

"Good morning."

Satoru's voice broke through your haze, his signature cockiness more comforting than you'd like to admit. Your eyes narrowed slightly, though the effect was somewhat lost given your state.

"Is it?" you replied, groaning as you held a hand to your aching head.

Without a word, he flipped an aspirin in your direction. "—for the headache."

One won't be enough, probably.

Your eyes tracked him, watching as he ambled around the room, gathering his clothes. The low-slung towel from earlier had been replaced, but the image remained, and you couldn't help but sneak a glance or two.

"That's sexual harassment, you know?"

You smirked, echoing his words from the night before. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you padded over to your bag, sifting through for something to wear after your impending shower.

From the bathroom, his voice echoed slightly, muffled by the walls. "What do you want for breakfast?"

The thought of food made your stomach flip. "Just coffee."

He reappeared in the doorway, now fully dressed, shooting you an incredulous look. "Coffee isn't breakfast."

"It is."

"You're something else, you know that?"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Navigating the space, you drew closer to him. The room felt smaller, charged. As you reached the bathroom door, he made way for you. There was a moment, a fleeting brush of shoulders, a shared breath. The memories of last night heavily in the air.

Not now, you thought, not today. But in the depths of your heart, you wondered if there'd ever be a day when he wouldn't affect you quite this way.

Chilled air grazed your bare skin as you exited the bathroom, a cascade of water trailing down from your damp hair. Clad only in underwear and pants, you aimed an exasperated yell into the calm ambiance of the room, "Satoru, where did you put all my tops?!"

He barely glanced up from his phone, unbothered by the urgency in your voice, or the semi-exposed state he found you in. "Maybe I put them in my bag," he responded, a casual lilt to his voice that only slightly betrayed his intrigue.

Your feet padded softly on the floor, moving towards his bag. The brief journey across the room felt extensive under his subtle scrutiny.

"Here they are," you mumbled, mostly to yourself, feeling a strange twinge in your stomach at the unintentional intimacy of mingled belongings.

Retreating back to the bathroom, a soft inquiry tethered you in place. "Does it still hurt?"

You paused, instinctually knowing his eyes traced the rugged line of the scar that blazed a path down your back. "It doesn't."

"You know Shoko could fix that."

Facing him, your eyes locked onto his. "I don't want her to fix it. It's a reminder that this world is not fair."

"You're just torturing yourself."

Sardonic laughter barely crept into your voice as you met his accusation, "Takes one to know one, huh?"

Silence settled between you, perforated only by the soft drips of water from your hair to the floor. He averted his eyes from yours as he rose, a newfound stiffness in his posture. "I'll wait outside," he mumbled, sidestepping the invisible barrier that had grown between you. Wrapping yourself in a top, you exhaled a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding, the fabric gently brushing against the scar.

Heading Downstairs, the murmur of the morning crowd in the dining room was a soothing hum, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air, providing a semblance of normalcy. Through the window, Satoru's form etched against the emerging light of the day on the terrace.

The crisp breeze kissed your skin with its autumn chill as you stepped outside, hastily pulling on your jacket. His eyes lifted to meet yours, his wet hair grazing his forehead, providing a fleeting distraction from the intensity of his gaze.

"Black coffee, your 'breakfast'," he said softly, a warm cup extending towards you.

Accepting the cup, your fingers fluttered momentarily against his. "Thank you."

His eyes, devoid of their usual shield, met yours with a nakedness that was almost too raw to behold. "Skipping the sunglasses today?"

A part of you missed the familiar shield that his sunglasses provided, granting you a reprieve from the depth of his gaze, that seemed to always see too much, feel too much.

He sighed, eyes briefly diverting towards the distant horizon, "Something's amiss today."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't place it," he mused, bringing the cup to his lips, "—but I want to be prepared, especially with you here."

Satoru. Stop.

"And the curse we're hunting?"

A momentary stillness enveloped him before he spoke, "It's already here." His stance subtly shifted as he eased away from the railing.

Huh?

"Stay back," his eyebrows knitting together even as a cynical smile played upon his lips. "—we're dealing with a special grade cursed spirit."

HUH?

Satoru's piercing eyes flickered a mere second before chaos erupted, an immense force shattering the serenity of the morning. With an almost imperceptible movement, he was before you, his shimmering, vast, cursed energy unfolding with devastating beauty. The cursed spirit, grotesque and dripping with malevolent energy, lunged with astonishing speed, aiming directly at you.

Just as the malevolent force was about to collide, Satoru parried, an invisible barrier of his own cursed energy deflecting most of the blow. Still, the residual shockwave was devastating, bursting outward, a storm of shattered timber and screaming metal splitting the once-silent dawn.

The lodge behind you was violently engulfed, splinters of wood and shards of glass scattered, suspended as if time itself had been torn apart. For a second you stood, frozen in the midst of the devastation, a stage set of wreckage all around you.

"Help the people escape!" His voice, amidst the chaos, was an unwavering command.

Your limbs, though trembling, pushed you backward, the adrenaline sharpening your senses. As you pulled away, the fight between Satoru and the cursed spirit intensified, their movements almost too fast and brutal to discern, intertwined flashes of cursed energy colliding and recoiling with devastating effect.

Panic. Chaos.

Sirens wail in the depths of your ears as shrapnel from the once idyllic lodge sprays across the landscape, razor sharp and merciless. No time. No time to process the hellish scene as your body moved on an instinctive impulse, hurtling through the carnage.

Smoke and dust clogged your lungs, your eyes, and yet through the sting you saw them—a huddled mass of terrified faces, trapped beneath a grotesque sculpture of shattered wood and twisted metal.

Adrenaline drove you forward, hands working with feverish precision, tossing aside the wreckage, clutching desperately at the shivering bodies beneath. The child's tear-streaked face is etched in your memory, wide eyes piercing through the chaos, seeing salvation in your outstretched hand.

"Move!" you shouted, your voice a whip that cut through the chaos, sending the child sprinting towards the tree line.

Behind you, an unholy thunder, a tempest of cursed energy and malevolence that blackened the sky, twisted and turned, the battle between specters and the spectral, unseen but felt in every thunderous crash, every shockwave that rattled through the splintering earth.

The child—stumbling, crying—disappeared into the embrace of the forest, its safety a cold comfort against the war raging behind you. A fleeting glance towards Satoru, you saw him, a symphony of power and finesse, every strike, every dodge a testament to his immense skill.

But the cursed spirit was relentless, an embodiment of pure malevolence, unleashing wave after wave of harrowing attacks, each one threatening to dismantle the very earth on which they fought.

Why doesn't he lure the curse away? If he continues to fight so close they will kill these people here. But there was no time to think.

Another trapped, another to save.

In the rubble, a man cried out, blood streaking down his face, his leg trapped by a massive beam, splintered and impaled on the shattered floor. The acrid stench of charred wood burned your nostrils as you rushed toward him, dodging the remains of a once sturdy structure now reduced to a death trap.

You grabbed the beam, muscles screaming, splinters embedded in your palms as you heaved with every ounce of your strength. The wood groaned but stubbornly held, the man's screams growing louder, cutting through the din of the ongoing battle.

"Hang on!" You screamed through clenched teeth, your veins pulsing as your eyes desperately scanned the wreckage for something, anything, to use as leverage.

The man's hand gripped your ankle, his eyes, wide and terrified, locked with yours, a silent plea etched into every crease of his pain-stricken face. A fresh explosion detonated behind you, a sinister crescendo of cursed energy that sent shadows dancing wildly through the chaos.

Debris, relentless and indiscriminate, rained down as the remains of the lodge groaned ominously, threatening imminent collapse. In this perilous moment, the bitter taste of despair clawed at your throat, every second a taunt against the relentless march of time.

Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak.

Swallowing hard, your eyes traced the cruel angle of the beam, down to where it impaled flesh and bone, understanding, reluctant and horrified, blooming in your chest. Your hands, slick with sweat and stained with his blood, trembled.

"We have to," you began, voice barely a whisper, your words choked by a thick knot in your throat, "I have to—your leg, I..."

His eyes, already dulling with agony, flickered with an understanding just as terrible. "Do it," he breathed, a single tear escaping to trail down his cheek, "please."

Shuddering, you reached to your side, your fingers closing around the hilt of your blade. Its familiar, cool touch offered no comfort as you lifted it, the steel glinting ominously amidst the wreckage. You steadied your hand, whispered a hoarse apology into the desperate silence, and lowered the blade.

A scream, raw and soul-shattering, tore through the air, intertwining with a sound you hadn't realized was your own sobbing until your vision blurred with tears. You turned away, the sight of his newly freed, mutilated form too much, but the haunting echo of his agony remained, an indelible stain on your conscience.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you tightly wrapped your jacket around the man's bleeding stump, trying to staunch the flow.

"Stay with me," you whispered, voice barely steady, hands shaking as you worked, nothing left of your usual surgical precision.

Then a sudden, intense presence emerged behind you. "Found you."

Panic struck as the malevolent presence loomed, its aura sickeningly oppressive, instantly suffocating the area. Your heart raced, pulsing violently against your ribs as the enormous curse lunged forward, a sinister grin distorting its hideous features.

Your hand wrapped around the hilt of your blade, instinctively positioning your body between the injured man and the approaching curse.

No time. No options.

You thrust your katana up, deflecting his hideous blow with a guttural scream, the impact reverberating violently through your bones. Your name, a tortured scream, echoed from afar—Satoru, fighting, reaching, his eyes burning with fear.

But he was bound, more curses leaping into his path, sneering, cackling, weaving a sinister barricade between you. His blows were deadly, precise, but for every curse he struck, another rose, an endless tide of malevolence keeping him at bay.

It was a trap.

But you would not fall here.

Not today.

The wind screamed through broken windows, carrying shards of splintered wood and glass. The hollow, menacing gaze of the curse pierced into you, an abyss of malevolence that saw you, saw through you. With a swift, voracious energy, it lunged again.

Your legs tensed, foot slammed forward. The curse was sent sliding back across a minefield of shattered remains. Without hesitation, your katana was a silver flash, striking, aiming to extinguish the threat in an instant.

The curse howled, agony and rage intertwining in its grotesque features. Yet, in a mere heartbeat, the curse was back on its feet, lunging into another assault.

Your breath hitched as the curse's claws barely missed your torso, grazing your arm instead. Blood, vivid and scarlet, sprayed into the cold air, staining your clothing and grounding the pain in reality. Stumbling backwards, you fought against the fog of agony that tried to cloud your vision, gritting your teeth to keep a scream behind them. Memories, ghosts of Satoru's words, haunted the chaos of your mind.