#the loneliness that is knowing someone will come home at some point but most of the time the house is empty vs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

Text

HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO | PART 2

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in this part.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF NONCON, COERCION, AND SEXUAL VIOLENCE.

⊹ wc ; 18.4k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART ONE.

⊹ a/n ; here's part two!! miss ame has read it so im all good to post. i will upload to ao3 as soon as im awake i promise lol. hope you enjoy the fic and please heed the tags. likes and rbs always appreciated. also the last part is, relatively tame. the crazy gets amped up to ten so be careful.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

"You must learn, once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—a fugitive is also a kind of dog." - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART TWO : SOMETHING TAKEN IS BORROWED. SOMETHING RUINED IS YOURS.

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white.

Gojo Satoru sits on his hands and watches the blizzard outside from his window. His apartment is dark and there’s frost on his window. He can hear the wind from inside, and can feel the cold chill of glass as he stands close to it.

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. Spring feels like an innocent century ago.

Nothing’s changed, but everything is different. It’s starting to feel comedic. It’s so cyclical. He has two states of being. Being with you, and not. It dictates his internal world. He functions the same as usual. Repetition. Working, coming home, and waiting.

Gojo feels like he’s waiting. Perpetually waiting for time to set again so he can see you. There’s something in him only you can fulfill - an itch only you can scratch. Gojo is drawn to irreplaceable people, so perhaps it’s no surprise that he’s latched onto you this way.

There’s nothing to call it other than greed. Sometimes love, but mostly greed. A habit he can’t break free from. Gojo wants to see you. He doesn’t know why either. There’s not any particular reason. Or if there is, he hasn’t examined it too deeply. Gojo has always known in some innate way that he’s lonely. That his loneliness makes him untouchable - but not in the same way it might make a God.

The thought of doing anything without you makes paranoia creep up in his throat like bile. Gojo is that sort of lonely. Is it too much to ask to be next to someone, who never goes anywhere he can’t see? Monopolizing your time and all the ways to do it best take up most of his energy.

When was the last time anyone made him feel warm, in the cold white of winter? He thinks maybe he realized it too late, that he cares about you this much.

The reality is that Jujutsu Sorcerers are better off learning how to cut their losses. You love people and they die. You like people and they die. Gojo doesn’t think he can accept that from you so easily. He doesn’t think he should have too.

Does he need a good reason to want to keep you?

Gojo doesn’t want to make you hate him. He just wants to make sure you’re alive even if it means you might hate him. You might never understand either. Because you are still foolish, naive and human. Is that really asking for so much?

It makes him hesitate from the call to action. That instinct in his bones. He sees having met you as a blessing from the Heavens who’ve banished him. Gojo Satoru is not god. He understands God, but he’s not God.

No matter how much Gojo reaches for omnipotence, his long fingers can’t stretch towards it. Godliness is uninhabitable, an abandoned house. If Gojo casts his eyes on you for more than one second, he can do nothing but long. How can God long? Perhaps if he were more godlike, he could treat your inevitable death like a sacrifice. A martyrdom, or proof of your undying love for him.

Despite that, he understands how God's love can reach. Inciting violence to bring you closer to him is merciful. It’s only then you’ll come to understand it to the highest extent. That Gojo loves you after all, more than anything mortal in his world. He can hold all of you in his hands, keep you safe for the rest of your life. It’s what he wants so badly. If you just give him the chance to protect you - he could do it so easily.

Religion can be so much like a dog and its master. Maybe, you could understand Gojo’s feelings if you saw it as an animal instinct to protect you. Even if it’s a falsity, a fictitious tale, detached from what's true.

He doesn’t want you to hate him. He’s your watch dog, your keeper, your divine love. He needs you all to himself and he needs you to understand that you’re his reprieve. That in a universe decided by fate, the two of you are also red strings knotted together perversely.

He needs you. He needs you. He needs you.

Snow is falling.

Come Saturday, Gojo receives a knock on his door.

He’s usually sleeping in on the weekends, so he’s startled by it. School doesn’t start till later and if it was an emergency relating to sorcery - Yagi would’ve dialed him personally. He answers the door with sleep still in his, rubbing his eyelids as he yawns. He’s dressed in his P.J.’s with his hair messy and mind jumbled.

He’s not unhappy though, when he opens the door up to see you. You’ve got something in your arms, a bag it looks like and a look on your face that Gojo can’t decipher.

“Oh,” He says after registering who he’s talking to you “What’re you doing here so early?”

You sigh, deeply, rubbing your arm. That anxious little habit again, your eyes darting every which way.

“A pipe broke in my apartment. Like, flooded the whole thing. Spent the whole morning scrounging my stuff together a-and I called maintenance but they won’t be here for a while and.” You stutter as you explain yourself and Gojo stares at you in confusion “I need a place to stay but going back to my parents right now is gonna be so hard and plus there’s work,”

Gojo soothes you silently, putting a hand up.

“Hey, calm down,” He says first, smiling up at you. He reaches out to pat your head “I’m here. It’s okay. Slow down and tell me what's wrong?”

You sigh, closing your eyes and bracing yourself.

“Would it be alright if I stayed with you? Just for a few days, until I figure this all out?”

If God exists, maybe this is his way of giving Gojo grace. Gojo takes a minute to pretend, leans against his door frame and watches you fidget anxiously. He blinks at you, the way your teeth are pressing into your lip. You fold underneath the pressure of his gaze easily. He hums and haws.

“Hm,” He says, leaving you uncertain for as long as he can before you try to react. He’s memorized all your tells by heart “Well, there’s no reason not to, right? You’ll have to sleep in my bed though.”

He half-jokes, but not really. He waits on your reaction.

“Oh, uhm, then,”

He interrupts just then, raising his voice. You jump back.

“Just kidding! Of course you can stay with me. I’ll take the couch for a few days so don’t worry your pretty little head about it, okay? Stay as long as you like.”

You look relieved. It makes Gojo smile a bit watching you take a deep breath, leaning on the door frame as he stares.

“What?” You ask when you notice. He shakes his head.

“It’s cute when you get nervous,” He says, inhibitions lowered. You pout at him and Gojo has to stop himself from reaching forward to grab your face in his hands.

“You’re so mean,” You say with a sigh, arms crossed over your chest “I was really freaking out just now,”

“I know, I know - but it’s kinda fun watching you fuss. Dunno. Maybe it’s cause I’m sleepy,”

“You're wide awake right now!” You point out. He snorts.

“Noo, what? I’m half-asleep right now,”

“Gojo,” You whine, and he has to stop the blood rushing through his body “Let me in? Please?”

“Try Satoru. Sa-to-ru,” He says. You frown at him, sighing as you rub your face.

“Satoru,” You say, hardly getting the syllables out “L-let me in,”

He pats your head one more time as your frown deepens.

“Good girl,” He purrs, before switching his tone to a more lax one as he welcomes you “Come on in!”

Another sigh of relief. Gojo finds it fascinating that you can find relief in his presence. It speaks to how well he’s been doing to make sure he’s acting in accordance to expectations. Despite how easy the opportunity has fallen into him, he doesn’t think it’s time yet. You’re still skittish.

Still, he should get something out of your stay here. And he will, but he should let you settle in first. He gives you a hum as you shuffle inside, standing awkwardly in his living room. He shuts the door behind you and locks it up.

“Don’t be so stiff,” He says, waving a hand in the air before yawning “My home is your home. Be comfortable. Is there anything you need or wanna do?”

“Could I borrow your shower?”

Gojo feels something pressing into his ribs at the idea of you using his things - sharp and sinful.

“I was gonna shower this morning but, y’know.” You gesture vaguely. He’s quick to agree of course, nodding his head as he points in the general direction of the bathroom.

“Pretty sure our places are built the same so you should know where it is. The towels on the rack are all clean. Feel free to use anything in there and uhhh,” He scratches his head unsure of what else he needs to add. Though he’s certain he’s missing something “Oh, and I’ll give you some clothes,”

You flush at the sentiment. So maybe you do know what this seems like, at least on the surface. Gojo peers at you as you turn his words over, interjecting before you have a chance to refuse.

“Don’t say no,” He says, voice sing-songy. watching your expression morph into something nervous again. Maybe you caught it, because you certainly jump in your skin, but he switches into himself with ease. Over and over and over - startling you never gets less fun “Let me play out my domestic fantasies a bit as compensation,”

“That’s a bad joke,” You say, throat thick.

You want to trust him don’t you? He wants to praise you for that.

“Aw, c’mon. It’s lonely. Let me indulge a little,” He begs with enough lightheartedness that you don’t run away.

“Geez. I thought you were popular with the ladies,” You try and joke back, though it’s stilted and awkward. He can tell you’re getting prepared to squeeze to the bathroom before the conversation is too much.

“Old ladies do love me,” He says contemplative. You elbow him lightly.

“Stupid.”

He gives you a soft smile as you pass by him.

“Is there anything else that you need while you’re in there?”

“I don’t think so,” You reply back. Gojo watches you disappear into the hall, trailing after you silently. He waits, listening carefully for the sound of the shower to turn on.

When the water rushes, he follows you.

He almost has a conscious standing in front of the closed door. The water pressure in his apartment is a little higher than it’s supposed to be. The closed walls keep all the noise inside them, making it almost impossible to hear what’s going on outside. Even with heightened senses like him.

For someone like you, it’s probably impossible.

It’s knowing that he follows behind you, lying in wait. He counts up to 5 minutes as he waits, letting you settle into it before he puts his hand on the door knob. He finds it unlocked. He’s pleased with that.

You trust him, or you try too.

When he feels certain you’re relaxed, he opens the door. He could teleport in but it’s noisy. Steam plumes outward as the door opens. He looks around the bathroom. Your clothes are folded neatly, with your pants hanging on the rack next to you.

He stares at the fabric for a long time, contemplating what he has time for.

Ultimately, he suppresses whatever urges come up to do what he came for. Too many to count and even more that are risky to act on. Instead, he checks the tags of each piece, committing it to memory. After, he stares at the shower curtain until he’s sure he overstayed his welcome.

He leaves right after though, shutting the door just as quietly as he opened it.

The less you know the better. Gojo makes his way back into the living room.

He sits on his couch when he’s back. The sun hasn’t come up yet and he’s only turned on a single lamp for light. It’s hard for him to describe how he’s feeling. Things have been different for weeks now, but proceeding normally hasn’t caused him too many issues. Strangely the sense of routine has been grounding.

He’s been dealing with it better than he expected. For all of that restraint to unravel so quickly is funny.

But, Gojo thinks, that everything leading up to now must’ve been a sign. There are so many instances that befall him that feel aligned with fate. He’s naive in thinking you're different. He’s the only heir of the Gojo clan, the only one with the Six Eyes for nearly 400 years. He hears the water rush faintly through the walls of his apartment, picturing you trapped in those four walls. He thinks of how you met. Your proximity to each other.

It’s only now and in such circumstances does he think that you’re the due that the universe is paying back to him. Robbed of everything, of every joy he’s ever had - it’s both righteous and fair to take you. Gojo doesn’t want you to hate him. Not necessarily.

But they always say in sickness and in health. Through the best of times and the worst. If you were made for him like he suspects (like he knows, believes deep down) then he thinks it’ll be fine. As long as it's you. As long as it’s yours. Even if you cry or scream, what matters to Gojo is that it’s yours. That he’s yours.

Holding back is starting to be too much. Gojo’s never been the type to sit on his hands and wait. Being scared is so much like starving. Deprivation like that always threatens to turn Gojo to ruin.

But like anything he does though, he can’t take the easy way out. There’s a method to the madness. An order even among his most disorderly actions, there’s things that need to be done the right way for the best possible outcome. On less of a whim than it seems, Gojo decides that he’ll do his best to make that reality happen.

The thought settles in his body and suddenly he’s present again. He feels a pang of hunger in his stomach, causing him to stand to his feet. He feels lighter as he waltzes into the kitchen, whistling to himself on what he should make. Maybe crepes? He’s not a skilled cook but he’s pretty good at making those.

At the very least, he thinks you’ll like them too. He proceeds into a normal-ish routine. He follows the motions of making breakfast as he hums to himself silently. Grabs a bowl from the cupboard, eggs and milk from the fridge, and flour from the pantry.

He thinks to himself, immersing himself in the practical ritual. His comment from earlier about domestic fantasies was a half-joke at best. Gojo really does want to do this kind of thing with you, and he doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to play the part either. Even if it’s temporary. He’s giddy at the thought of doing this with you everyday, a warm fluttery feeling spreading through his body.

He grabs a whisk off of the wall as he dumps everything into an empty bowl, turning the heat of a non-stick low. He whistles a song he can’t remember the name of, cracking an egg on the metal edge.

Despite living in a nicer part of Tokyo, Gojo has yet to have an induction stove top. It’s not uncommon to have gas for smaller, cheaper apartments. Most of the stovetops in the Jujutsu Tech dorms are gas and Gojo has no issue using them. He doesn’t cook for himself often in the first place, so he’s never thought to complain about it or get it changed.

Maybe he should. Once you live here, it might get inconvenient. The thing about gas stoves is that they never heat evenly. It’s not impossible to work with, and the heat is easier to control - but induction lets every inch of the pan get hot the same way.

( He often thinks of the analogy for boiling a frog. If you put anything living in heat too directly, it’ll jump to save itself. But if you keep the heat tepid, gently raising the heat till it boils - it’ll let itself stay in the treacherous waters until the very end. It’s best to keep the heat even. It’s best to fix it sometime soon. )

The whisk makes a pleasant sound as it hits the bowl, metallic scratch softened by the presence of batter. He picks the whisk up and watches the yellow liquid drip off the edge, a hand over the pan. Still too cool to the touch, he clicks his teeth.

He waits, idly. The shower turns off, he hears, and feels his breath hitch. He has to steel himself, curb his enthusiasm.

Too much heat, and you’ll jump to save yourself.

Once the pan is hot enough, Gojo busies himself with cooking. It helps him distract himself, the monotony of pouring and flipping and waiting. He gets through almost 6 before he hears your feet pad gently across his hardwood floor, slipping into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your neck.

You’re wearing what seems like the only clothes you managed to bring. Gojo wonders how long it’ll last you. Despite it, he notices the way you smell. How you smell like all of his fancy bath products and soaps. There’s a twitch in his sweats that he barely gets under control. He lowers the heat and turns to you.

“Morning,” He says. You giggle a little.

“Morning. Are you making breakfast?”

“Yes ma'am. The only thing I know how to make but,” He puffs his chest up “Pretty good, I’m told.”

You roll your eyes at him, but smile anyway

“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,”

“The audacity,” He says, full of theatrics “I’ll knock your socks off,”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” You say, flippant and giggly. Gojo decides then, maybe, in its entirety. That he’ll have all of you and soon “Can I help with anything?”

“Get started on some coffee maybe,”

You nod your head and yawn.

“Sounds good to me,”

You decide to stay for a week.

More precisely, Gojo convinces you to stay for a week. That’s how long it will take for your apartment to get fixed completely. Concerned about inconveniencing him, you initially suggested 3 days - insisted you could find somewhere else or pay for a hotel for the rest of the time.

But Gojo insisted too. A week is more than fine (even longer would be better) and there’s no reason for you to go out of your way. Hotels are expensive, your parents live out in the countryside, and it’s not like you can’t board with a friend for a few days right?

But won’t that trouble you? Of course not. Gojo doesn’t mind at all. It’s like having a week-long sleep-over.

I don’t have the stuff I need. That’s fine. Gojo can take care of it. He already bought some clothes for you, an act of kindness. He can get the rest too. You can consider it a favor, if you really want to be sure.

Are you sure? Of course he’s sure. More than sure. You’re doing him a big favor, he assures with nothing but affection. Being alone at home is pretty boring, anyways. What’s sleeping in the same room when we’re neighbors?

Even with your unease, you agree to stay the whole week. You’re weak to being convinced, and hard-pressed on not fighting about things Gojo is adamant on.

(He’d be stupid not to notice how your earnesty makes you easy to exploit. It’s a good thing it’s only Gojo who knows.)

The first day passes quietly. You and Gojo go to your respective jobs and greet each other when you get home. At home, things are simple. Domestic. There’s no other way to view it. You graded papers and looked over lesson plans in the living room while Gojo got in his daily sets - TV playing in the background with neither of you particularly tuned in. Gojo sleeps on the couch.

(He doesn’t make it a day without touching himself. The proximity is too much, too stimulating, and even with all of the restraint in the universe - it’s hard for him to stave it off. What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Alone under the moon, he thinks of what you look like when you’re embarrassed and spills into his hand.

Eventually, he’ll graduate to watching over you. You leave the door unlocked because you’re naive and Gojo stands with his cock in his fist, watching intently. You squirm in your sleep but you sleep deeply - because despite all the noise, you don’t stir one even once. He stops it from touching you, so close to your mouth, to your skin. )

On the second day of living together, the clothes Gojo bought you come to his door. You’re not home when it arrives, so he waits until you are home to open it with you. You come home a little later than usual (parent-teacher conferences, apparently).

(“I have a surprise for you!” Gojo says, as finally comes back into the living room. You’ve returned from your shower, on your last pair of PJ’s. You blink at him softly, tilting your head to one side as he hands you a package.

“For me?” You ask. Gojo nods, grinning.

“For you,” He confirms. He walks with you as you set the box onto the coffee table. You stare at it for a minute, glancing up at Gojo. Your eyes search for your keys. Once you find them, you take the sharpest key and rip through the tape on the top of its sides. An unceremonious krrk sounds through the room, echoing in the dimly lit living room.

The clothes are wrapped in white, plastic packaging. You pick them individually, examining them closely. You look at Gojo again, more uncertain than before.

But Gojo shakes his head, nudging you towards opening the packages themselves. A promise to explain afterwards, silent in the air. You nod, confused, but do as he suggests. You rip the top open, dropping the thin plastic onto the table. More bags, this time clear. You repeat the action until the material flounces in your hands. You undo the careful folding for a minute, then stare at it.

“...Clothes?” You repeat.

“Surprise!” He says with his usual silly cadence “For you, free of charge.”

A lot of things pass over your expression. Gojo watches each of them carefully, amused. He wonders what you’ll do. What you’re thinking, it’s a shame Gojo can’t read your mind.

“How’d you know my size?” You say first, inquisitive but not accusatory. Gojo shrugs.

“Guessed. We’ve spent enough time together,” He says noncommittally. Your face changes, like you don’t quite believe him. But there’s not enough there for you to question him either. He can almost hear you narrate it in your head. The heart you wear on your sleeve, tender red and bleeding, thumps anxiously as you try to get a read on him. It’s not a sound he dislikes.

He’s been good to you. He’s just being nice. You shake your head, regretful of your own doubt for a minute. You force a smile, and Gojo doesn’t hate it even though he knows where it comes from.

The power of love, he thinks almost whimsically.

“This is a big box. How much stuff did you even get?” You repeat, noticing the contents are up to the top. He feigns indifference. Pretends not to know that he spent countless hours looking over it.

“Mm, dunno. Just whatever I thought you’d need.”

“I’m only here for a week, Gojo.” You mutter, hands grazing over the cardboard edge.

“So? Maybe you need a lot of stuff. I don’t know what women go through.” He says with a pout, lips together. Joking with you to lighten the mood, which makes you huff through your nose.

“You’re so dumb. It’s too much stuff,”

“I already bought it and I don’t feel like returning it,” He tells you, making it clear he’s not going to negotiate “Just think of it as a gift from Santa Claus.”

You snort.

“You even have the hair,” You reply. Trying to make yourself feel better in the process, Gojo gives you a half smile “Still. I feel like I’m really indebted to you, lately.”

“Yeah? You can count this week as one big favor, if that makes it easier.”

“I don’t remember Santa doing favors for people,” You quip. Gojo laughs.

“Change in management,”

You laugh a real laugh at that, and Gojo watches you turn the situation over again and again.

“Well. Thank you. Might as well look through the rest of it, huh?”

“Take your time,” Gojo says, before checking the digital clock on his wall “I need to go get something from the store. Just leave the empty stuff next to the trash and I’ll take it out tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll start on dinner. See you, Gojo.”

“Yeah. See you” )

If you notice all the clothes come in shades of blue, you’re smart enough not to say anything.

The third day passes in a blur. Nothing notable, but he’s content. You wear the clothes Gojo bought you and he’s careful not to stare while you know. He takes it upon himself only to do it when he knows you’re asleep, his nightly routine staring over the bare inches of your body in a dark room being a reprieve of his other desires.

On the fourth day, he doesn’t have the restraint not to touch you. Too many days in the same room and he wants access to everything already. He hates being patient more than he thought, but there’s a method to this - he has to remind himself.

Like taking out his aggression, he decides he needs more relief. Something to scratch the itch. With his infinity, you can’t feel his fingers ghosting over your legs. He checks if you’re wearing the other stuff he bought, settled at the bottom of the box. Not lingerie, but panties. Plain and cottony - white over your cunt as you sleep with your leg hiked up. Gojo knows you can’t feel him now, but part of him wants you too. He wants to know why you’re wearing them despite yourself. Gojo realizes too late that he’s interested in your misery just as much as he is everything else, and so far - that discovery has made everything all the more difficult.

On the fifth day, things proceed the same. There’s a routine you’ve settled into together despite the time limit on it. That night over dinner, you and Gojo spend time together. There’s not really much to do - it’s a Friday. It’s the first time neither of you are completely occupied with any one task.

You get to talking like that. On the fifth day, Gojo gets as close to opening up as he’s ever gotten in his life. Part of him isn’t sure why he does it. He thinks he’s seeking confirmation for something, but what that could be is lost on him.

(“So, you’re the only person left in your clan?” You ask, half-way through a glass of tea he’s sure has gone cold by now. The T.V. is on but muted. Gojo looks at you in the low lights, fighting his own sleep.

“Mhm. Technically, I’m the sole heir.” He replies.

“...Is it okay to ask what happened?”

Gojo laughs at you. You really can’t help your curiosity, but he still finds it amusing.

“It’s not a pretty story,” Gojo says honestly.

“That’s okay,” You say, voice filled with an air of innocence that Gojo has a hard time wrapping his head around.

“Most of them were wiped out. We had a lot of enemies, me included. A lot of them are dead, the remaining are somewhere far-away and have no combat abilities.”

“You included?” You pick up on, naturally. Gojo nods and smiles a little.

“Once I inherited my technique it was pretty commonplace. I went through a lot of assassination attempts,” He yawns in between, because this is an old, boring story “It took a lot of time for me to get strong enough to where I am now. But I got there eventually.”

“You say that so easily,”

Gojo peers at the frown on your face and laughs quietly to himself.

“It was a long time ago, now. I never really had a lot to mourn, except for when I was a teenager. I’m used to it.”

For a long time, you remain completely silent. Gojo almost thinks you’re going to cry. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s proof of something. Of his ambivalence towards the idea of sympathy. Sure, it’s meaningless now for someone to feel bad for him. It’s a pointless endeavor, because Gojo is a selfish dick and the strongest - and he knows both of those things intimately. He accepts them as part of himself in the same way, he doesn’t know what he’s like without being frivolous. Without being the strongest. The line between misery and character is paper thin and Gojo hasn’t known it since he was born.

It’s especially pointless for you to feel bad for him, because he’s going to ruin that very innocence you hold in your heart before the week is over. He’s going to do it with purpose and conviction. He won’t feel remorseful about it at all.

There’s an irony to it. A dramatic irony that brings him closer to Godliness than he’s ever really been. Because Gojo knows that this conversation is confirmation that he needs you, just as much as he knows he’ll do anything to have you even if it means you can no longer look at him like this.

He wonders how long you’ll hold sympathy for him. He decides for now, there’s no reason to not lean into it. It makes him happy that you care enough to feel sad. Even if it’s pointless. He doesn’t remember the last time someone did.

Maybe when he was 17.

“You look like you’re gonna cry.” He says lightheartedly. Sincere in a way he hasn’t been in very well over 10 years. You sniffle.

“How are you not crying?”

“I never cry.” Gojo says smoothly, not blinking “I’m a heartless bastard.”

“That’s not true.” You say, almost exclaim, turning yourself to look at him so seriously. It’s cute, he must admit, that you’re so sure on his character “You’re not heartless,”

“But I am a bastard,” He clarifies, mischievous. And you pout, less eager to correct him on that

“...You’re not heartless. Clearly.” You say again. Gojo laughs, a real laugh. He can feel it preemptively, how much he’ll cherish every minute of this conversation. He hums.

“Oho, you almost sound like you’re defending me.”

“From yourself, I guess. I know you’re not heartless,” You say, with some kind of clarity that you have him figured out. Maybe you do. It’s a little shocking. It’s not usually how this goes “You’re…weird. But you care”

“That’s true,” Because it is, and Gojo has no reason to lie to you right now. “More than that, I’m hung up on the idea of the future.”

“Isn’t it usually being hung-up on the past?”

“Right? Usually, that’d be the case,” Gojo says, unsure of what to express “But the past is the past. I can’t go back to it. My technique is infinity. It means I can see infinite realities.”

You sound like the winds been knocked out of you “That’s terrifying,”

“It is. But you know, even in those realities, the past is the past. There are places where the past hasn’t happened. But it can’t be changed. It becomes part of infinity, when events occur. The only thing that can be changed is the future,” Gojo explains, though he leaves out so many intricacies “There’s a future I want to see. I’d like if my students could see it too,”

“Because of your friend, right?”

Gojo smiles.

“Because of my friend. And for less selfless reasons.”

“Like?” You ask, curious.

“I like being able to do whatever I want, without consequences. Being strong lets me do that. For now it’s up to me, but eventually, I can raise strong comrades.”

You’re silent for a while, again.

“Seems lonely,” You say, simply. Easily. It’s true, and he knows that. It’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you’ve said it with little regard for anything. Almost mindlessly, a natural response to such a sad story.

Gojo feels it again. Those stifling, pesky emotions that linger in the cavity of his ribs. He can’t bring himself to be honest, because when does he ever? But he does smile again, a little more melancholy than usual. You notice, certainly, but you have the courtesy not to say a word.

“You think so?” Gojo says, passive and wilfully ignorant “Does it make you wanna hug and console me?”

He offers it sarcastically, but you don’t tear your eyes away from him. It’s almost enough to shake him. Almost.

“...A little? You feel like a sad dog in the rain.” You say, too honestly.

“Jeez. Maybe you just miss Pokupan. Thinking about another man right in front of me. I can’t believe I’m the other woman,” He says, with a faux pout.

You laugh, though it’s laced with sympathy. Gojo can tell you want to fuss. That you want to admonish him for being the way he is, and he’s almost willing to let you. That’s just the thing.

You see Gojo as human, still.

Gojo Satoru isn’t God. But he isn’t human either. If you want to know how God lives, asking Gojo is always viable. But you shouldn’t mistake false omnipotence for forgiveness, like you are now. You see Gojo for all of his humanity, but you're blind to his divinely violent tendencies. You will be until it’s too late.

So, Gojo doesn’t think you need to comfort him how you’re thinking you should. Gojo wants you to depend on him. Because coveting you is an affair distinctly inhuman and crueler than even the heavens could be and he believes that you’re owed to him.

Gojo wants to protect this version of you, even at the sake of corrupting it. He doesn’t want to let you go ever, for any reason. And he wont.

He turns the heat up gently. You’re none-the-wiser. The night swallows you both, but Gojo will remain untouched. He’ll hold you when it inevitably spits you back out. When reality washes into you, you should’ve trusted your gut after all.

For now, he smiles at you.

“If it’s any consolation, I’d be very sad if you disappeared.” Which Gojo hopes you can interpret without his interference. It seems like you do, because you smile to yourself.

“Me too,” You reply. Gojo knows he’s going to ruin you. “I’d be really sad if you disappeared, Gojo. So, don’t, okay?”

And if Gojo were an honest person, or a good one - he’d tell you you’re the last person who should worry about missing him. That you’ll be seeing him for a long time.

But he’s neither, just like he’s not god or man. He lightens his tone and holds out his pinky, which you link with his.

“Scouts honor,”

When he’s ready to look away, you pull a bare thread from Gojo’s clothes. Frowning at him, as you dust away the fabric with your hand. He stares at you.

“What was that?”

“You had a thread loose,” You say simply, unconcerned with anything “I just pulled it off.”

Gojo stares.

“Yeah. Thanks.”)

The sixth day passes quickly. Gojo doesn’t think there’s anything worthy of saying. By then the routine is so practiced and so constant. The sixth day passes like a shadow in the night, disappearing through the woods before morning comes. A stepping stone.

Today is the 7th day.

On the 7th day, things are different. The same but different as they so often are. You don’t have work today, so you do what you’ve been doing. You and Gojo work in proximity to each other, share meals, and idly watch T.V.

Night falls on the 7th day.

Gojo wants to take part in the act of creation, as the sun dips below the horizon. He’d set this in motion when the week started and now that it’s here - the anticipation is too much to bear. When Gojo Satoru sets himself out to be conqueror, the universe trembles at the sight of him. There’s no sound at all. The night reeks of death, in Gojo’s presence it trembles. Too fearsome to speak.

Night falls today. Gojo starts his usual routine with less caution than he’s had the previous six. Where he usually bides his time and enters the room carefully - today he merely enters. He places his hand on the silver handle and pushes it open. A breath rushes from his lungs, adrenaline entering his system as he steps inside. His room has felt so unfamiliar to him lately, but like this - a sense of serenity washes over him.

He stares at you. With his Six Eyes, with vision clear as ever, Gojo looks onto you as you are now. You can never reconstruct a flower crushed under steel boots. You’re not mud or earth, not adaptable like the sea. From the moment he’s met you - Gojo has known you to be so much like a flower. Gojo has never wanted to take the petals off of something so much in his life.

And Gojo is in this instance, a natural disaster ready to pluck the root of you up from the ground. He’ll pick you up in a storm but return you to his feet. There’s a method to this. Gojo stares at your silhouette wrapped and tangled in his sheets, body so loosely dressed. Your visible figure rests easy.

The night is glorious and silent. Gojo watches on in some cross of indifference and utter starvation. He blinks, leans on the wall.

Like a call from fate, you start to stir awake.

Gojo moves towards you. He decides it might be easier just to join you in bed, so he gently works himself into the sheets.. He creeps towards you slowly, and re-familiarizes himself with the feeling of his bed. It’d be lost on him for a week, but your presence in it makes it feel especially brand new. The bed dips under his weight, creaking. You shift lethargically, turning your head to look at Gojo.

You look startled once you realize. For the first time in your entire relationship, it seems to dawn on you that something is wrong. Just a minute too late. He gives you a second to wake up. Your breath hitches, a stifled gasp as you greet Gojo’s expression.

The hunger in his stomach is gnawing. Gojo feels like he’s starving. He thinks doing this will only half-way relieve the urge. This part of Gojo is inhuman as the rest of him.

Gojo’s presence suffocates you so much in the moment, you can only barely open your lips to say your next words.

“What are you doing here?” You sound still innocent. Gojo smiles briefly, under the glow of the moon. He can see your expression clearly. Sleep in your vision. A sheerness to your skin that comes with rest. Your bags are packed, and your things are cleared from his bathroom. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought.

He knows he shouldn’t think it, but some part of him is vindicated. You’re leaving him today and Gojo finds abandonment to be the highest betrayal of them all. So, he’s vindicated. He licks his teeth, usual mirth coming back to him.

Then he talks, his voice tender.

“Getting my debts repaid,” And he means it, more than he’s ever meant anything he’s said “You owe me one, remember?”

It dawns on you. Realization flickers in your eyes before it twists into fear. Gojo wants to encourage it. A curse starts to form, like tendrils around you. You’ll leave it here when you’re gone in the morning and Gojo will have a piece of you left with him.

“W-what are you…? What do you mean?”

He’s shrill, almost, leaning close to you. His sudden proximity makes you freeze. You know better, know so clearly it stops you from running. Gojo is tempted to see if you’ll do it. If you’ll run or if you’ll thrash or if you’ll fight. He’s not particularly sadistic, but he likes you - and he’s curious to know what your reaction will be to something like this.

He eases you into it, He brushes his knuckles over your cheek as your heart sky-rockets like you’re being hunted. Gojo thinks he ought to be gentle with you. Regardless of how this is happening, it’s your first time together. Your fingers tremble as you reach up to grab his wrist. It seems like you’re trying hard to pull him off, and wiggle away from his grip. You ready yourself to give him push back and Gojo times it so that it seems like you’ll be able to break free.

But Gojo is strong. Stronger than you by a lot, and you know that by now. When he finds that you’re trying to escape him, he’s quick to grab your wrists with his hands. They both fit perfectly in his palms. He pulls them up over your head and your eyes widen as you feel his grip - near bruising (though he is trying so hard to be gentle) on your body. He stares down at you.

You look so frightened.

“Wh-what are you..?”

“You owe me one for letting you stay here, right?” He asks enthusiastically, licking his teeth. Your eyes widen “I’ll take this as compensation, okay? It’s a good deal for us both I think,”

“I don’t,” You squirm underneath him “I don’t—I,”

“Shh,” He quiets you, humming softly “Don’t overcomplicate it. Just wanna see you,”

Gojo watches you turn it over in your head. He was wondering about this. What’d you do in these circumstances. If you’d act like you always do, pleasant and pliable trying to do what's best. Damage control for what's coming.

Gojo pulls his hands away to undress you and yours fly to his shoulder blades. You heave as you push, mumbling something about how he doesn’t need to do this. Your expression is grief-stricken. Gojo soothes you.

“You can bite, scratch, kick, scream - whatever works,” Gojo says, communicating his affection as best he can. He drives his hands under your shirt, laying his palm flat over the skin of your stomach. He runs his thumbs over your sides, committing every inch of you to memory. Without his infinity, Gojo feels every part of you “It’s not gonna hurt me,”

You look like you’re at a loss for words. He gives you a warm grin.

“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong,” Gojo says after some thought “Is this your first time?”

You whimper, nodding meekly. Gojo groans against your skin. You flinch.

“Fuck, course it is. Shoulda known. Such a sheltered girl like you,” He adds the last part with a hint of condescension, watching your face curl up into a frown.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing you know,” Gojo is careful as he pulls your shirt higher and higher. Your breath is being held, afraid of what’ll happen if you let g.o “We’re tied together like this. Isn’t that nice?”

“Gojo,” You say, swallowing something. Words that threaten to bubble up that you can’t find the strength to say. You’re not wearing anything underneath and Gojo feels a chill in his spine “Please,”

“Not wearing a thing even though you’ve been sleeping at a man's house all week,” He reprimands. He lets the material sit over the swell of your chest, just under your neck where it stays. He can see the outline of your tits clearly now, just enough light from the open window to illuminate your skin. Your nipples are hard, heaving. Gojo can hear your little heartbeat thump against your ribs “I’m not telling you off you know? I’m glad you trust me. Great job, on that really. But you really should be more careful.”

“Gojo,” You plead again, throaty. The sound goes through his system, sends blood rushing to his cock.

“Satoru,” He insists on, knowing it will take more than that to convince him “I’ll try and listen to your requests if you say Satoru,”

He doesn’t promise to stop, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to follow up on it. Still, with the level of desperation you show - Gojo thinks it’s worth it to gain something out of. You follow up his request almost instantly, lips wrapping around the syllables with a weak breath.

“S-Satoru,”

He gestures to take your shirt off. You’ve become more pliable, if only a little, letting Gojo see all of you completely bare as he tosses his clothes somewhere onto the floor. Shameless in viewing you, your instincts kick in to cover your chest. He clicks his teeth, pushing your wrists together again over your head.

“That won’t do,” He coos at you softly “I wanna see you. All of you,”

You hiccup, sobbing, Gojo reaches his palms towards your breasts, cupping them gently. Your nipples rub against his palms and he groans feeling how soft you are.

“So pretty,” He admires you. Means it. Gojo lets his gaze catch on the edges and curves of you with enthusiasm. Your chest is sensitive to his touch, thumb and forefinger tweaking and teasing your nipples as you remain underneath him obediently. Your eyes look so watery, soft like lilies in freshwater “So cute,”

“Satoru, please, I don’t—don’t want—”

“So ungrateful,” He tsks. He smacks your chest lightly, enough to make you squeal “That’s the only request I can’t listen to,”

You hiccup, looking away. Gojo hums as he hovers over you, seated over your figure. He pulls his mask off from his eyes, material falling into his fingers. Grabbing your wrists with his palms, he wraps the material around them - tight enough to keep you but with enough room so it doesn’t hurt. He places your hands over your head gently, kissing your covered wrists.

“Don’t squirm too much, ‘kay? Stay like that. I’ll make you feel good.”

“I don’t,”

“Hey,” This time he’s stern, and you slink back into yourself. It’s the first time he’s had to use this tone on you and hopefully the last “What’d I say? You owe me this much, don’t you think? After everything I’ve done for you, the least you can do is not turn me away. It’s not like I wanna do anything bad with you, y’know”

A pang of guilt passes through you. You stop squirming. Gojo keens, baring his teeth as he smiles.

“Good girl.” He dips his head to kiss the place under your ear, where your neck meets your jaw. He scrapes his teeth on the skin so you can feel his teeth over your pulse “You learn quick.”

You keep your arms over your head like he’s asked, hesitant and stiff. Gojo can work with that at least. He leans towards you, tipping your jaw so you’re forced to look at him. Tear-eyed and whimpering, a shudder passes through him.

“So pretty,” He mumbles. He leans forward, presses his lips to yours - hand resting on the base of your neck. You make a noise of indignance but Gojo keeps you there. He eases you into obedience, forcing his tongue in your mouth, grazing the inside of your mouth.

He swallows every sound you make. Distress and frustration and reluctance lend themselves to giving in easily. Your body is sensitive to touch, a trail of goosebumps where his hands touch you. On your waist, trying to ease you into it.

He pulls away from you, a string of saliva connecting you.

“First kiss?” He asks. You shy away, clamping your mouth shut. Gojo chuckles, teeth nipping at you “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You remain silent, so Gojo fills the space.

“Mm,” Gojo presses kisses down the curve of your jaw, all the way down your neck where he stops and bites - hard enough for something to be there tomorrow. He undresses the rest of you. You try to resist this time too, but Gojo doesn’t bother putting up a show. It’s easy to overpower you. He tugs your shorts off with your panties and tosses them somewhere. Unceremonious and uncharacteristically impatient.

He takes his time now that you’re all naked. It’s thrilling to watch distress fill your lungs, a ballooned breath and muffled protest. Gojo sucks hickies into your bare skin. It’s only fair to give you something to look at while you’re departed. Your blood rushes, capillaries breaking under the hardness of his incisors - ridges pushed against your delicate skin. He licks the bruises afterwards, kisses them tenderly.

“Gonna be a little sore for a while,” He says warmly. You’ve hit the stage of grief where you’re angry and resilient again but one look from Gojo is enough to make you slink back “Might as well enjoy yourself.”

Despair flashes in your expression.

“I mean it, you know.” He offers, stating it like he’s trying to appease you “You should relax a little, let it roll off your shoulders.”

It seems like you register that Gojo is teasing you. He does mean it, about thinking you should enjoy it. Everything else is deliberate and you know as much. It’s good you’re starting to understand him a little better.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You ask hoarsely. Gojo is surprised by your question.

“Ah, it’s a secret, so you can’t tell,” He starts. He squeezes the fat of your chest in his palms, silver tongued and playful “I like things that I can keep.”

A flash of true horror washes over you and you almost go ragged in realization. Weakened in your resolve once glimmering so brightly, Gojo takes the opportunity to please. He kisses down your sternum, runs his hands across the sides of your chest. He presses this thumb against your hardened nipples, rubbing lightly. Gojo takes them into his mouth. He bites then licks like he licks a wound

It pleases him immensely when you respond. When you gasp in a helpless sort of way and go to cover your mouth in shame. A sense of delight washes over his body and he does it again and again. He teases, changes from sucking harshly to lapping oh-so gently on the skin. Over and over until your voice can longer be contained no matter how hard you try - sharp gasps and cries of desire filling the air.

When he thinks you’re worked up enough, he slots himself against you and nudges your legs apart. He can feel the heat from your bare skin against his body, clothed. How you tremble underneath him. He eases his hand down gently, fingers trailing down to your pussy.

You hiccup. A sob of defiance stifled with obvious arousal, forced from you so easily. Gojo laughs.

“You don’t wanna?” He pricks, intentionally. Gojo lets his middle finger ease along your slit, dragging his digits up and through - catching on your achy clit “Are you sure?”

It’s torture for you. Of course it is. A pretty, sheltered little thing. It’s your first time with something like this and he’s sure all this is too much for you. Even if you tell yourself you don’t want it, your body can’t refuse him. You can’t either, try as you might. That’s why your legs are spread and why you’re practically dripping for him. Gojo thinks of it as admission. Your clit is hard underneath the pad of his middle finger, as he rubs too light and too gently.

You cry out, pitchy and broken. Gojo laughs.

“You need it here,” He punctuates, adding enough pressure that you gasp “Need me to touch you here, hm?”

You shake your head at first. Gojo tucks himself against your chest, sucking the skin gently.

“Be more honest.” He encourages a mockery as he so barely presses his finger inside of you - threatening to touch but never doing it “What do you want?”

“Don’t, I don’t.” You say, or you try.

“Liar,” He snips playfully against your clavicle “Your pretty little pussy is dripping wet and you want me to believe that?”

Gojo smacks your cunt softly. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure as you cry.

“C’mon,” He encourages meanly “Tell me what you really want.”

It’s a sick little mind game that Gojo is having too much fun playing with you.

“P-please,” You stutter, so unbelievably broken with so little done to you at all. Gojo will take all of you at a later time. When you’re thoroughly pliable and broken and so beautiful all for him “Please.”

So dependent like Gojo always thinks you should be.

“Please what, hm? What are you asking for?”

You swallow thickly. All your dread and doubt and disbelief gone as a sense of real and true need ignites within you. Of course this is too much for you. Gojo overwhelmed you like this on purpose. The resentment of wanting despite it all, despite how miserable you are makes for something so tragically Gojo’s. Whatever you have in your heart will always be for him. Good or bad, ugly or beautiful - like this you are all his and so perfectly too. It’s titillating, the sensation of control that wisps around him. It strikes him like a hammer on hot iron.

Gojo wants you to say it. Wants your selfless little heart to beg for his mercy this once. You’ll understand some time later, that this is how Gojo loves. Selfish and twisted. Cruel. Intimate beyond mortal comprehension. All of him just for you, just like this.

Strangely, it's perfect. Gojo teases you some more. Toys with your clit and feels a pool of arousal rush and drip from your sore cunt. He hits it with the palm of his hands as you try to form the words. You tremble in his arms, a vestige of your will to resist.

You want to resist so badly, he can tell. But it hurts now to leave it alone and you want it despite yourself. It makes you so frustrated you cry. Limp, crystal tears down your face that Gojo licks up nearly immediately. Salty and bitter. Gojo kisses the apples of your cheek, nose nudging your skin.

“So cute when you give up.” Gojo praises sincerely. You sob somewhere deep inside of your “Be good and be honest. I’ll reward you, hm? How’s that?”

Gojo can feel the moment you give in completely. When acceptance settles over your hazy and contorted mind. You let the tides take you, curling into yourself. A sound like you’re in pain even though you’re not hurt.

“Please touch me.” You whisper, hoarse and defeated. Gojo laughs airy, peppering your face with kisses. You wince.

“Good girl.” He coos, dipping his fingers down lower and lower. Heel of his palms pressed into your swollen, needy clit “That’s all you had to do. Easy, right?”

You scowl at him (you try too).

“Open your legs, baby,”

You listen this time, opening your legs wide enough for him to touch. Your pussy is so wet for him. Sticky and soft like you’ll fall apart, Gojo thinks it feels divine, wants to squeeze and grope and touch until you’re disintegrated. He likes feeling you like this. Vocal chords strung tight, all the noises throaty and gone. You throb against him like you’re begging. Gojo doesn’t stand to let you acclimate, flipping between three fingers in a gentle rub to a soft and well-practiced spank.

Only when your words start to come out t0gether, like you’re spitting them out because they fill your mouth too quick - does Gojo bless you with any mercy. He lets his hands sink lower, deeper - until his middle finger brushes your twitching hole. Your breath hitches, and the hands once stuck to your side, reach for Gojo’s hard to hold.

He licks his teeth, some unspoken feeling sending an bullet through him as he feels your body resist. Needy thing you are and so untouched that even the point of your middle finger makes your breath slower. You’re wet enough he doesn’t need anything else to aid him. He pushes in slow, slow, slow - painstakingly carefully as your wetness envelops you.

Because he intends to cherish you in his own way, he resists the urge he feels to flip you right over and take you. He’s being kind, and you’ll realize it later - when you’ve adjusted to him a bit more and know when to pick your fights. If he didn’t think it’d ruin the set-up, he’d have flipped you on your back just feeling. Fucked you without any consideration, just to feel your pussy around him in a vice grip.

It’s all he can picture, but he shows restraint. He’ll fuck himself off on you when you’re sleeping maybe, just to scratch the urge. You might pass out before then.

He comes back to you like that, a promise to himself to give the relief he needs with the body he finds oh-so tempting. He pushes his perversion aside to touch you. You let out a little sound every time he fucks himself deeper, gets his middle finger down to the first bend the all the way to the knuckle.

When he thinks you’re adjusted - ready for more, he gives it to you without making you plead. He uses his ring finger this time - his longest ones and feels you stretch around. He groans, deep and appreciative, as he feels how tight you are. You preen, squeeze your thighs together and call his name

“Oh, Satoru, its.”

He shushes you before busying himself with tasting your skin. Closes his mouth around one of your tits as he repeats the process. In, in, in until he’s all the way to his knuckles. Fucks you till it’s easy, till you’re wanting more.

If he were more merciful, a good man or a better one - he’d stop here. He doesn’t though. A third finger has your eyes widening. You gasp. Gojo kisses your face again and again.

“Easy, easy,” He coos, voice coarse but encouraging “It’s a good exercise for the future.”

You don’t register the words and Gojo doesn’t expect you to. Even still, he thinks giving you the heads up is quite nice.

Three fingers proves to be more than enough. It pushes you to an edge he has seen before. He fucks you with three. Your mouth falls open, slack jawed. Gojo curls his fingers. He rubs up like he’s motioning for you to come here, deep enough until he feels it. That spongy spot inside of you, apparent through the sounds you start to make as he touches it.

He hits something of a stride like that, finger fucking you with pressure on your clit and his mouth on your skin. Gojo takes to watching you once he knows he’s getting you to that edge. Your body stiffens underneath him, breathing going noticeably shallow. Mouth wobbly, lower lip trembling. He can tell you’re feeling it, just as much as you’re resisting it. Gojo coaxes you by whispering against your skin.

“C’mon,” He hums, nudging his nose to your neck “You wanna cum don’t you? I can tell you. You too scared? Need me to help you.”

You whimper “Aah, aah,” Gojo can feel you pulse. Can feel your insides tighten. He’s doing it on purpose, tipping you just over the edge. He wants to hear you beg. Wants to know what it sounds like when you beg for him. He fucks into you slowly, until you’re no longer able to put on a show of being composed.

“S-sato—oh, please, oh—please m-make me,”

“Want me to making you cum? Say it. Say, ‘Satoru, please make me cum,’ can you do that?”

A bitter sob leaves your lips and Gojo can’t think straight. It strains you.

“S-satoru, pleasemakemecum—please.”

Gojo grins. “Of course I can,” He quickens his pace enough to make you feel it. Your eyes shoot open before screwing closed again “All you had to do was ask me.”

He watches you intently. How you fall apart under his fingers, delirious whimpers of no, no, no - even though you begged so sweetly a minute ago. He hums as he feels the walls of your pussy start to tremble, a soft squelching sound hastened now. You say something he can’t decipher, words too jumbled for him to make sense. Gojo stares hard. Lets the infinity bleed away so he can feel you just like this, feel you cum on his fingers despite everything.

He feels giddy to the point he’s sick with it, moaning as your hands grip at the roots of his hair. He kisses your breast tenderly, just over the latest lovemark.

“Don’t hate me too much, kay,” Gojo says, whispering, means it so you carry it with you because he can feel the resentment nudged so deep into your heart by now “Come on. Cum for me, sweet girl. Want you to feel so good.”

And so you do. You cry, scream - but the noise amounts to nothing. A cosmic thing, like you’ve been struck by a comet. Gojo fingers you through it, absolutely delighted at the hot rush of liquid that comes pouring out of you. Your first orgasm from him and you’re squirting all over his fucking wrists, soaking his sheets and his arms and his PJ’s with your back curved in a beautiful arch. You break apart in an almost violent way, like the pleasure’s vicious. It tears into you and you succumb with a whimper.

Gojo shushes you as you break down finally into a teeny, tiny sob. You must be exhausted because you don’t pull away when he comforts you, despite the little angry why, why, why that you whisper. You hit his chest softly. He kisses your forehead and listens as your breathing goes still and you fall asleep in a heart-beart, still curled up into his bed and too tired to run away or go anywhere.

He stays with you like that, relishing in the warmth of your body until you’re deep asleep. He flips you onto the side of the bed that isn’t wet, and presses a kiss to your forehead before moving out of the sheets. .

When he stands to his feet, it’s to collect the curse that’s gathered itself on the foot of the bed. It manifests as a white snake with blue-eyes. Gojo finds himself amused. Of course the curse you’ve made is pretty. Gojo grabs it by the neck, watching it as it pries its mouth open and bares his fangs at him. He grins, pricking himself on the teeth to see if it makes him bleed.

It hisses loudly before wrapping itself around Gojo’s arm. It doesn’t take any effort to subjugate it, sensing his power it stills with some effort. Gojo tilts his head as he walks out of the room, glancing at you before turning his head back at the snake.

“Better warm up to me,” He whispers in the dark, a contentment to his words “You won’t be seeing your mama for a while,”

—

Communication stills.

Radio silence, more like - a busy bunch of messages deftly still. Suddenly, a raging storm of grief and anger disappears. The morning after Gojo assaults you, he wakes up to see you off like nothings happened.

He mostly does this because he wants to see what you’ll do.

You spend the morning perplexed and confused. You eat breakfast with him. You sit at the table, contemplative and silent and Gojo chats away at you idly. About the news and the weather and the classes he has today. You chew your food but don’t taste. You listen but your replies are short and stilted - out of touch.

Gojo learns that when something bad happens to you, you respond to it by detaching yourself. Though yesterday you were hot and fiery, the day after you seem to be mourning. Your grieving process starts early, and Gojo thinks rather amused—that you remind him a lot of himself.

He thinks you’re a little closer now that you understand the apathy of losing something that can never come back. And once this whole thing is over, once you find yourself back here - he’ll tell you all about it. You get it now right? It’s painful to feel like you can never be the same.

They say that mankind was fashioned from their Lord. Gojo supposes he’s made you in his image. You look a little empty, and though you’re both so different - you can become close by having the same wound. You can understand him a little more this way, all while retaining your sense of resilience.

What is mankind not known for if not perseverance? Of course he knows, once you recover from your grief, you’ll return to your usual spitfire. He’s counting on it, counting on you to fight and run. Escape from him and never come back.

But that cat and mouse game is more than okay. Gojo isn’t looking for your obedience, really. You’re too defiant of a character. Gojo thinks it’d be pointless if you’d just stayed the same.

You need to have hope to stay the way you are. Thus, Gojo doesn’t plan to rob you of it. He figures it’s best to give you breathing room. After all, he has full confidence in his ability to find you. He could hear the rhythm of your heart a continent away and chase it down without thinking twice. But it’s better if you’re able to show him some resistance. He thinks of it like a compromise. That sort of thing is typical for married folks, he thinks. He gives and you take.

Eventually, you might realize that the endeavor of running away is fruitless. Maybe you’ll be clever enough to recognize that it’s not that you’re succeeding, but that Gojo is letting you. You’re definitely smart enough to do so early, but just stubborn enough to believe that there’s hope in spite of that. If you try hard enough, persevere a little more, etc.

Gojo likes this part of you. Always will. You always put your best in everything and this is his own way of nurturing it.

It’d be a shame to take that from you. Gojo has remained out of your sight for the time being to try and reinstate it. While he raises the curse up in his apartment, he watches you through windows and flitters into your bedroom to peer at you before disappearing again. He makes sure that you can’t sense him or that he’s gone before you can. The more ease you feel, the easier everything else will go.

Feeding the curse you’ve left behind in his house has been taking most of its time. It’s obedient to him since he’s strong, and it’s big now. Longer and wider and more sinister looking (he feels a weird affection for it, maybe just because it’s from you), more hostile. He’s been careful to maintain it. Too much feeding will make it overgrown.

It’s currently on Gojo’s floor, on a dog bed like a disobedient pet - all in a single coil. He has to be careful not to endanger you by making it too strong or giving it too much range. It’s just meant to be a showpiece - a prop at best and a scraped knee at worst.

He’s been building it up for a long time. Then, though, it wasn’t such a clear desire. He figured sewing seeds of fear in you would benefit you in a different way. But that’s fine. The means don’t matter as much as the ends and in doing so - he’s made this all sort of seamless.

It’s not a complicated plan, ultimately. He’ll tell the curse to let loose, freak you out a little, and eventually - you’ll call the only person you know who knows how to handle it. Gojo will save you, and when you’re finally caught in his arms, you’ll have a little reunion amongst yourselves. He’ll reprimand you (but only lightly) and you’ll thrash (but only for a little while) and then he’ll keep you by his side again.

Except this time he won’t be so quick to let go. He’s sure you’ll protest (and be all gung-ho about it). He’ll feign cruelty and push you to the edge. Whatever response you do have, he’s thought of a way to reply.

A way to tend to it.

Like any relationship, things take time. He’s not expecting this to settle right away - but he’s confident eventually it’ll work out how he wants too. Gojo can make that happen as long as you’re within view.

He watches you through the window as you come in from your classes. You’re dressed up today despite the chilly weather - a blouse and nice pants with bangles on your wrist. He wonders what the occasion is given the time of year. Your bag is hanging loosely off of your shoulder - having only just returned.

A sense of warmth spreads through him as he peers at you, a smile on his face. He really does like looking at you quite a bit.

The curse hisses at the sense of your presence and Gojo waves a hand at it to keep it quiet.

“Calm down or I’ll exercise you right away,” Gojo says coldly. It retracts itself. “I’m getting impatient, too, you know? It’s been a long time.” He says wistfully.

He keeps looking until you’ve effectively disappeared from his sight. He listens for you outside of his door. The sound of the building buzzer, soft footsteps, and the slight jiggle and turn of keys before you’ve gone in - sound by a dull thump.

He leans against the wall near his door where he was listening, eyes up at the ceiling as he turns over his options. He should wait it out a little longer. Giving everything enough room to mellow out before it picks up again is an important part of the process.

But he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. Plus, keeping this curse around is starting to be troublesome. He’d much prefer you back in his arms, in his bed - all back to that kind domestic fantasy that he’d been thinking about again for weeks.

He supposes there’s no right decision, in this case. Just what he wants to do, versus what he should do, and some kind of middle ground he’s been spending too long looking for.

He stands to his feet, no longer leaning on the wall before glancing at the curse from the corner of his eyes.

“Today seems like it’s too soon yet too far,” Gojo pauses between sentences, scratching his head woefully “But it should be okay, right?”

At 7pm, the curse slips underneath the door of his apartment into the hallway. Gojo sits comfortably in his living room, one leg crossed over the other with his phone in hand, a warm mug of tea cooling on his coffee table.

The news is playing. A general and loose sense of anticipation fills him as he pays attention to the newscaster. Another storm is going to hit and the temperatures are dropping to an impossible low. Officials recommend buying bottled water and keeping warm as it continues to blow out.

There’s a soft hiss as the muscled curse squeezes itself underneath the tight crack of his door. It’s unfortunate he can’t monitor it directly. Though the instructions ( and subsequently the consequences of disobedience) were made clear - curses are greedy as they are stupid. This one in particular seems to be self-aware enough not to try to go against Gojo’s word.

So, when the time comes he sits patiently and waits. Watches the news. His ears itch and his skin pricks as he listens for the first whisper of your voice. He wonders if you’ll scream. You didn’t when he thought you should’ve but maybe there's a reason for you to do so now.

The clock ticks away. It’s unceremonious. Gojo thinks to himself that maybe this entire thing is esoteric. Capturing you is a tragedy that he writes to himself and he’ll re-tell it to you all the time in different ways.

The clock ticks. Again and again, the monotony is starting to settle in. Time moves slower than you could imagine. Like trying to pipe honey into straw, thick and impossible.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

At 7:02, a dog barks outside. It sounds cagey, and it’s not Pokupan because Gojo knows what that mutt sounds like. Nor is it cosmic. It does sound desperate, though - like asking someone to be let in. And if Gojo didn’t have such a pressing matter to attend to, he’d go outside and do it himself. After all the wind is frosty and the air is unforgiving and winter devours things so slowly it's painful.

Gojo can’t abandon his task. It’s too important for him to stick his neck out for a being he doesn’t even know. He hopes briefly that it survives. That someone lets it in before it gets anymore violent (or desperate or willing)

At 7:03, he reaches for the tea on his coffee table to drink it. It’s still piping hot, but Gojo can swallow it with his infinity. He does for a reason he can’t name. It’s just a compulsion, inspired by the fact it will probably be too cold when he comes back for it. He thinks, instinctively, that he should cherish the warmth in the glass despite the barrier that prevents him from feeling it. Ultimately it’s still milk tea. It will still fill his stomach and taste vaguely sweet where he permits. He ought to drink it when it’s warm even if it’s just an illusion.

The clock ticks again, this time to 7:04 and Gojo regains a sense of bravado that’s riveting. There’s a commercial airing now for a new type of kitchen gadget, an airfryer with more settings than any one person knows what to do with. The advertiser is enthusiastic and loud. He wonders what happens when it switches to the next one. Do actors on set feel awkward when the cameras turn off? He knows a thing or two about performing, which is why he finds himself so curious.

At 7:05, the first whisper of your pleading filters through the hallways. Though Gojo figures he’s not meant to be able to hear it - because however vague it is, the sense of shame that it holds is hard to ignore. Despite his urge to run to you, Gojo is reminded of the fact he is teaching you a lesson and this is all a show for you and in a way for him too. There’s timings and cues and calls, so Gojo lets your first prayer get passed through the winter winds. He’s sure it gets dropped off somewhere in the snow.

The dog outside bares its teeth and barks louder than before.

At 7:06, the feelings of fear and negativity start to weasel their way into his apartment. Through cracks in the floorboards and the aeration in the spackle - he can feel it come through his door and penetrate his being like waves of wind. With no barrier and no filter, your fear is a familiar presence in his life. It comes to a crescendo as he leans his head back on the couch and blinks up at the ceiling. He’s pleased with it so far. It’s proving to be just right. All the months of delicate orchestration have culminated into such a lovely overture. A symphony of sobs. It enchants him like a bird song, or maybe the whistle of a blizzard.

He waits for it to die down. He waits for it to start back up again. He waits for the sniffling to become sobs and for the sobs to become demands and for the demands to go back to sniffles. He waits for the dog outside to be let in because he can hear the buzz of the gates all the way from his apartment.

When Gojo has had enough of waiting, it’s 7:15 sharp.

He stands to his feet and walks through his door with not so much as a look back. The T.V. is still playing where he fazes out and he leaves it because this will be quick and easy.

You’re right across the hall. The walk is short. The building moans like it’s dead.

He stands in front of your door and presses his ears to it and there’s some semblance of an altercation. Mostly the sounds of shattered glass.

If you were any more familiar with this world, you’d know the thing is stalling. It has harmful intent but Gojo’s presence is too risky. If you knew anything about anything, then you’d know you were never in any real danger and even calling Gojo’s name when you hate it so much now would be pointless.

But Gojo has done his due diligence in keeping you in the fateful dark.

So this part is easy. He reaches for the door but it’s locked, so he teleports.

When he enters, your apartment is in terrible shape. The curse itself notices his presence but does not stop to act. He stops to take a look around. He figures you’re cornered and holed up in your bedroom. A trembling figure in the corner praying for God to save you.

Your house is effectively thrashed like there’s been a robbery. He’ll have to make up something in the report. Officials will come, but they won’t question his word. All the glass is broken and scattered and everything is torn up. Papers ripped and fabric shredded.

(The stuff Gojo demanded not to be touched has remained that way. Even he’s not so much of a monster to ruin your students' keepsakes. He’s sure you’ll look relieved when he returns them to you later. How kind he is.)

He prepares himself like an actor might for a role. He thinks of the lines he’s practiced and the way things will play out. This simple, choreographed tragedy. A manifestation of your fears. Gojo thinks that he is probably good at becoming the thing people love yet resent.

He’s sure you and Suguru would have a lot to talk about in another life.

He checks the time on your digital clock, left unscatched in all the destruction.

At 7:18, Gojo phases himself into your bedroom like he’s only just arrived. He hears you gasp in a sharp fear that quickly breaks into a sob of relief. He glances at you where he stands. He’s never been in your room. Kind of a waste it’s happening like this.

The first thing he does is check if the door is locked. When he finds that it is, he laughs to himself but covers his face before he turns to you. You are exactly how he predicts. Something curled tightly into your fists, fearful and backed into a corner. He coos internally. At what he's done to you. How this has played out.

It wasn’t enough to break you a little. This part is necessary.

Like he starts most interrogations off, he asks you question.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, Satoru.” Your voice sounds shattered in such a way he finds it almost hard to stomach “Oh, it’s—Oh it’s you.”

“Happy to see me, huh?” He says, tilting his head. You close your eyes instead of replying.

“H-how’d you…?”

“I can feel cursed energy,” He says, and it’s not untrue “I felt something very strange in your apartment. It’s been a while.”

You still can’t find it in yourself to say anything. Maybe desperate, maybe afraid, maybe exhausted by your own paranoia - you relent.

“Yeah.” You say. Gojo can feel the curse grow impatient. It lets out a loud hiss and you gasp in fear.

“Hey, you didn’t answer. Are you okay?”

You stare at Gojo for a long time.

“I’m not hurt but,” You swallow thickly. Upon looking at you closely, you look exhausted. He feels a little sorry for you. He’ll let you rest for a while when you’re home “I’m s-scared.”

“You’re right to be scared,” Gojo says, and he means it a little. Not about the curse, but in general “It’s a pretty powerful class. A special grade, probably. You share cursed energy.”

You look agape as he relays this to you.

“Share…?”

Gojo gives you a look. He can feel the creature coming towards you door down, slinking across the wood slowly. A coy, soft smile appears on his expression as he reaches down for you. You flinch from his hands but Gojo doesn’t falter. He strokes his thumb across your cheeks, peering at your eyes and how they reflect light from the outside.

“It was made with your cursed energy,” Gojo explains very gently to you. You look at him in disbelief “Curses are negative emotions. So something like this isn’t uncommon. No idea how it got so strong, though. But that’s all your.”

He watches you closely as a wave of horror settles over you. A nauseous feeling that has you cupping your hand over your mouth like you’re ready to throw-up. He masks a smile, but he doesn’t condescend you. Not openly, at least. Not to the extent he would like too. He reprimands you like a teacher - a sensei and his beloved mentee.

“I told you didn’t I,” Gojo says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as you quell your own disgust at the thought “You have to be careful. And you can’t fight all by yourself, so you’re kind of helpless. What were you gonna do if I wasn’t around?”

You look like you’re going to cry. Gojo keeps going.

“You can’t call the police, you know. They can’t help you at all. Good for nothing bunch, really.” Gojo states, gesturing vaguely. He tugs his masks off of his eyes so you can get a better look at him “But you can rely on me if you need to. I’ll always protect you. Next time just give me a call, okay?”

It must dawn on you, just then, what exactly Gojo is doing. Or some extent of this is hitting you for the very first time. The look on your face is picture perfect. It’s exactly what he wanted. An understanding he’d be hoping for for so long it’s unbelievable.

“I’m the only one who can keep you safe, understand?” But he’s not really asking. You know that too “Can you nod your head and agree?” He pricks. You don’t hold back your tears but you don’t cry them either. You break down silently nd you nod.

Gojo reaches down and wipes them off for you.

“Don’t be so sad,” He says to you, and he means it because what a shame it would be to wallow too much on such a nice day. Winter is for warming up next to your loved ones, isn’t it? “I’ll protect you now.”

Left with no choice, you nod again slowly and clutch your pillow. Gojo kisses the crown of your head and leaves you to untangle your feelings.

Then, almost on cue, the curse itself bursts through the door. The wood breaks off with the hinges.

It’s really a weak thing. If Gojo was trying to keep his powers contained, he might’ve put up more of a fight as it lunges at him in your bedroom. It knocks over your things left and right but he’s mostly busy trying to muffle the noises so he doesn’t disturb the neighbors.

It’s as fast as a gust of wind as he strikes out, neck elongated and jaw as unhinged as far as it can go. This time, Gojo can feel the weight of its desire to kill. A rampant sense of bloodlust in it’s every action, Gojo dodges each attempt and swipe at him. He leaves a barrier over you temporarily so that it can do you no harm.

It doesn’t go for you either. He figures maybe it has some understanding of its own predicament. Desperate animals can be clever too. Perhaps those things have always been linked together.

But he figures a fair-ish fight is as much as Gojo can do to stave the thing off before he sends it off officially. Plus, he can feel you watching his back - like you’re trying to measure how strong he is. It’s a smart thing to do. You’re learning. It’s probably better to show you now, since there’s not much left to hide.

So this time, when the snake comes flying towards him - Gojo reaches his hands out. He uses his infinity to stop it in its place. A noise of anger leaves its mouth, a low hiss as it hits the wall in front of him. Wide blue eyes stare at Gojo, a predator with its fangs bared.

Gojo stares back, a predator with its fangs bared.

He uses a reversal of his Limitless, the infinite blue. The creature is pulled into him closely, crashing first into the space he’s created before disappearing into nothing but smoke and ash. It’s gone just as quickly as it happened. A curse so inferior, it can’t have been more than ten minutes to fight even with all the purposeful delays Gojo set in place to finish it off.

It’s gone now, the product of you and him. A weird part of him is sad. But now he has you, so he cuts his losses. Now there is only you and Gojo, and a ruined bedroom and broken apartment.

Gojo, who has no intention of enlightening you, turns his back to look at you.

“Don’t know how long it’ll be gone but,” He shrugs, rolling his shoulder and cracking his spine “But it’s gone for now. Some officials will be here in the morning but with the way this place is, you might wanna come back to stay with me for a while.”

This is all a formality. He’s sure you know too, but instead of turning away - you’re shivering figure wavers in the dark. You’re terrified enough to reach for his hand and hold it. You know what’s coming, but that knowing does nothing to save you. You were a victim to fate from the moment you met. Yet, you still look to him for comfort in safety because even knowing better, there isn’t anything you can do.

And it’s just like you, to want to trust and forgive him. To reach your hand out hesitantly and try. Everything is tangled up and you are terrified and Gojo Satoru loves you.

“Come on,” He says, encouraging you to get closer. He reaches over your bed to scoop you into his arms and you don’t do so much as protest “Let’s go home.”

Gojo brings you home quietly.

When he enters, the T.V. is still on. You are curled up in his arms. He has no idea how long you’ve been crying and about what in particular - but that’s okay. Tonight, to him, is something like an anniversary. Like any time before, he has no intentions to treat you roughly.

It’s a good night, he thinks. Even in the state you’re in, Gojo can only think of making it even more memorable. You’re an injured thing in his arms. A delicate bird with clipped wings, or a butterfly with a missing antenna. Without Gojo there to pick you up in all your broken pieces, you might’ve really fallen apart.

It’s reasonable enough. For someone like you, he’s sure tonight has been so scary. It makes him feel a little sorry for you. It makes him want to make it all worse before he makes it all better.

He can’t describe it, but there is something so right about seeing you like this.

All angry and resentful and volatile. All lonely and scared and saddened and somber. All Gojo’s forever, permanently through everything. He’s made you so completely in his image, something he’s always wanted to do. Maybe you’re a trial run, in its own right, of all the things Gojo will be able to do in the future. What he’s capable of creating with enough effort.

Gojo is gentle to you. Tender, as he carries you into the apartment. You help him turn off the T.V. and put the mug into the sink. He carries you too afterwards, rewarding you with a kiss to your temple, before pulling through the threshold of his bedroom.

Just like that, you find yourself again in Gojo’s bedroom like you were so many weeks prior. You’re weakened and exhausted, so willing that he is endeared. Like this, he hovers over you. Looks at your tearstained face and smiles so lovingly.

Regardless of everything that’s transpired, above all - this is a reunion of two lovers to Gojo Satoru. So in the midst of it, he wipes your tears and kisses your cheek and you don’t pull away. Now you’re so ruined you relish his comfort if only a little, and this time it’s perfect. It’s everything he’s always imagined.

He’ll give you hope and freedom and let you be. Eventually, you’ll come to realize you’ll always need him a little. And it doesn’t matter, does it? That he’s made it that way on his own. Because it’s true. It’s righteous and religious and godly. Gojo Satoru is not god, but he does understand the urge to make something that listens.

He kisses your soft cheeks and hums at you, nose nudging your skin.

“Still feel like crying?” He asks you. You blink up at him like you’re only just now realizing where you are. Some emotion overwhelms you, but ultimately you shake your head no. Gojo grins impishly.

“That’s good,” He says tenderly. He kisses your lips this time, and you kiss back. It catches him off guard but he doesn’t dislike it “You didn’t get hurt did you? And now we’re together again.”

This does seem to incite waterworks in you but you don’t look like you have the energy to cry. He doesn’t push you too much. Though it is fun seeing you like this, Gojo is grateful he has some time to cherish you.

“Scary world out there, y’know?” Gojo says between kisses. He adjusts you, your arms around his shoulders loosely “Hold onto me okay? I’ll make it all better.”

You whimper under your voice but don’t go to thrash. There’s something about you that feels limp. A spirit softened and dampened, like wet soil. Gojo is okay with anything as long as it’s you, and there is some part of this he likes too. How pliant you become under the weight of your fear, so tantalizing to Gojo he can’t help himself but kiss you. Riper than the fruit of Eden. Just as sweet.

He kisses you for longer than necessary. It’s intimate and hopeful. All tangled hands and pulling different parts of you up to his lips.The occasional press of his teeth in your skin, with his senses so high he can practically feel the blood rush through them. Your mouth is soft and warm, the breadth of mint on your tongue. He pushes his tongue past your lips but this time around, you don’t do anything to refuse it.

So accepting like this. Gojo thinks life with you will prove to be exciting.

He rests his hands on your waist and you don’t pull away from him. Such soft skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat. It’s making him dizzy to have you like this, to kiss you in his bed. Again, again, again. You belong here with him and nothing has ever been so true. The euphoria of everything is overwhelming. He can’t get enough of you. Even if in the moment he carved a spot into you forever and buried himself there, he cannot help but want to be spoiled by your lenience and affection. He can’t help himself but to possess all of you so even time cannot spoil iit.

Despite yourself, you touch Gojo back gently. Knowing you, it is a way to deal with the pain. You want to forgive him as much as you want him to save you. You hate him as much as you love him.

From the beginning, everything has been exactly like this. This was the end of all ends.

This is a lesson in divine truth.

You’ve made Gojo this way as much as he’s made you. If Gojo Satoru is to play as God, then he supposes you are much like an owner. Some part of you has made him love you unconditionally. A dog and his master. An animal with a love so violent it shakes windows. Gojo Satoru makes you love him through violent means, and like a dog left abandoned in the snow - your own empathy for his unconditional but broken love makes you protect him. It’s cyclical. It can never change because the universe has ordained it. Because everything Gojo touches is a divination from the heavens.

Where Suguru proves to be a lesson, you are the dues he is owed.

This is a lesson in divine truth.

More simply, Gojo Satoru loves you in his own way. Any loyal dog will chase its owner no matter how far they run. He lives for you, after all. He’s made you in his image. The difference between god and dog is nothing more than a matter of positioning.

You love him back in your own way. Because his character and his tragedy makes it so difficult to abandon him and your disposition will never allow you. You’ll hate and resent him. You’ll grieve and you’ll cry. You will want to turn your back but he will always come to save you. And who can love you so loyally as a dog undisciplined? Who can keep your sheltered being protected like a wild hound?

Spring was an innocent century ago. Winter is here. Gojo loves you.

“My birthday passed recently,” He tells you. You blink at him.

“Oh?”

“Can you guess what I want?”

You don’t do much more than nod. It’s not permissive. You just know better by now, and that too is not something Gojo finds himself pleased with.

“You don’t have to do any work,” He offers you as a reprieve, busying himself once again with undressing you. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought you all those weeks ago “Just don’t run away from me.”

If you notice how heavy the words are, you’re smart enough not to do anything. Even still, Gojo can’t tell if there's a purpose behind it. Perhaps you just know it instinctively not to.

He takes you apart carefully. Careful, thick fingers unbuttoning the front of your shirt. You’re wearing nothing underneath, and the sight of your bare skin is almost too much for him. The hickies have yet to heal, though now they’re yellow and softened by time. Gojo will have to leave more to bring back all the color to you.

He starts at your jaw this time, teeth against your earlobe. Heart in your hands, he knows your body a little better now.

And he takes his time with it this time too. Even slower than before. Even more consuming, even more adoring.

He laps his tongue against your soft skin and eats. Your skin is salty and sweet and Gojo can’t contain himself. He gropes you lightly, planing his palms over your shoulders and squeezing your breasts tight. He’s missed touching you more than he knows what to do with.

Even in being gentle, there’s little he can stop himself from trying to devour. You lay about him squirming as he undoes each and every part of you. He can’t pick which place to go and what thing to do first because he wants so wholly. It’s making his head spin to listen to your sweet and short whimpers. You spread yourself as you lay under him, hands pinned to your sides - demure and needy.

How different it is but the same. Something about how you’re clinging to him so desperately is making him feel sick with lust.

Instead of going any further, he pulls away from you momentarily. He puts his arms on your sides and flips you over till you’re on top of him

The sudden change in position leaves you gasping for air. Gojo gives you an amused grin as you fall forward - as he props himself up on pillows while you try and steady himself. He holds you close to him once you’re all set, face to face like this.

“Don’t run away from me,” He says, more seriously. You swallow. Gojo lets you up until you’re half-way over him. You’re so much weaker than him, moved and manhandled so easily. There’s a target on your back so often and Gojo loves being an arrow.

He kisses the side of your body as you stand on your knees beside him. His fingers hook into your shorts and panties, sliding them off of your body all in a fell swoop. He squeezes your ass slightly, spreading you apart.

“Look at you all bent over for me,” He coos, hands reaching underneath you to toy with your pussy. You whine, shuddering, clinging to his shoulders. “So pretty, baby. Prettiest girl.”

A hiccup bobs in your throat. Gojo moves his fingers lower and lower, familiar now with the feel of you. Your cunt is just as welcoming as he remembers. The idea of making love sends a shiver through his whole body. Blood rushes to his cock like a bolt of lightning in his veins. He pushes his middle finger into your twitching, needy hole.

Another sound, cut off by a garbled word of surprise, falls out of your mouth. You’re soaking. Ripe for taking. Gojo wants to fuck you more than anything.

He takes a deep breath, whispering to your skin.

“Fuck,” He laughs, giggling at the thought of it “I’m gonna break you, huh? Gotta be—shit, need to be extra careful with you, right my love?”

“Please be gentle.” You say at his request.

“Of course, of course but—” He squeezes your hip as he feels his middle finger go into you down to the knuckle. You roll your hips against him involuntarily “You just—you’d look so good so full of my cock, y’know? Been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”

And he has, means every word. You shudder at the confession. He quirks his lips as he fucks into you, relishing in those pretty little sounds that fall out of your lips.

“You like that?” He grunts, another finger to stretch you out a little more for him “You like when I tell you about all the dirty things you make me think about?”

Shame fills you, like Gojo’s lit a match under you. He can feel your heartbeat pick up. Is it the being so wanted or is it the crassness and humiliation? Maybe both. Sometime later he’ll pick it apart more closely. He lets himself talk you through it, so close to your skin as he whispers all the filth to you that he can. Confesses it to you.

“Weeks and weeks, baby. Couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect and wet you would feel when I finally took you like this. Gonna make it so good for you, you won’t have to think about anything else again.”

The promise sends you limp. When Gojo finally feels both of his fingers slide in and out of you with no resistance at all, he sighs lightly and pulls away. The loss of contact makes you whine, but he brings you back to his lap now, sitting with your legs on either side of his.

His cock, clothed and restrained in his sweats, swells against your wet cunt. He watches your eyes widen as you stare at it, lucid enough this time to realize what it looks like. He looks up at you, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“C’mon. You can look.”

He guides you to the waistband of his sweatpants. You pull his pants down slowly, looking up for permission (which Gojo gives in a loving nod) before taking his boxers off too. His cock is so hard it’s almost painful. The tip is a flush red, white hairs trimmed neat at the base and feeling so fucking heavy Gojo can’t stand it. He hisses as your hands reach for him instinctively, and you try to pull away before he stops you.

“Touch it, sweetheart” He encourages, wrapping your hand around it for you “Feel it? That’s all you.”

A flush graces your features. For a minute, it’s all love and nothing more. Nothing less. Too briefly for it to mean anything, but enough for Gojo to know it. You wrap your hands around his shaft and stroke tentatively and Gojo groans shamelessly into you, rutting his hips into the round part of your palms.

“Fuck that’s it,”

He looks at your expression, examining the concentration before chuckling. Your lip is poked out, eyes dazed. He pulls away from you, securing you close to him.

With the new proximity, he holds his cock close to you. Measure it up against your skin, against your tummy. He feels you against him, Around him, folds nudging apart for him, The skin on skin alone has him so breathless. A dizzy sort of feeling as he presses the tip of his cock hard against your clit. You feel like silk around him.

Looking at you like this, all helpless and needy, he can’t help but think about how easily he can overpower you. He’s stronger and bigger. His cock would be enough to split you in half. How he’s gonna make himself fit inside of you spins in his mind over and over. Maybe like always, your pretty little pussy will yield just for him. You’ll open and endure and take him so deep.

He can’t help appreciating it. Can’t keep his thoughts quiet from telling you.

“See that? How deep I’m gonna go?” He measures up to you. A hand on the bottom of your stomach, stroking his thumb “Gonna feel me right in here. You ready?”

You close your eyes and look away. Gojo grabs your chin and tuts at you.

“Nuh-uh. Want you to see. Don’t close your eyes.”

It’s not a question or a request.

So, you watch. Gojo lifts you up just enough to line up with your entrance and sinks you down so, so slowly on his cock. It’s agonizing how slow. It’s incredible how fucking good you feel. How perfect one sensation could possibly fucking be - Gojo could die here in complete bliss. He can feel the stretch of your pussy trying to accommodate. That sensation of resistance that sends him reeling, spine tingling and skin prickling with a heat so intense he feels like he’s going to pass out just sitting there.

And then there’s looking at you, which proves to be an entirely new animal. You have this pinched expression, a shocked little gasp as Gojo pushes through. A whimper leaves your lips. Gojo rubs his thumb on your lower lip as he eases you down.

“Hurt too much?”

“N-no. Just… feels weird.”

He laughs a little at your honesty, before fucking himself into you even deeper. Another inch and he really starts to feel you. Your walls feel like they’re sucking him and Gojo wouldn’t leave if it killed him. He groans, deep in his chest as you shake. Your grip on his shoulders gets tighter and tighter.

With one more smooth thrust, Gojo sits you down on his cock completely. He feels so complete like this. Everything in him is at ease feeling your insides spasm and melt around him. He sighs contentedly.

“Still okay?”

You nod weakly.

“Can I move?”

Your reply is nothing more than a whimper.

So he does, but he does so slowly. Just to get into the rhythm. He thrusts up slowly.

‘O-oh. Oh, oh it’s,”

He chuckles against the crook of your neck, hugging you close to him. He loves the way you feel against his body, the way your frame fits so perfectly into him. He rolls his hips up into you so there’s no effort on you to move. You whine that time, and he does again and again until your voice is a mess.

“Starting to feel good?”

“S-satoru.”

He swears.

“Fuck, stop that,” He swears “Gonna—shit, gonna cum right away. Moving so hold onto me tight, baby.”

You take his words for it. Gojo feels your soft tits pressed into his chest as he pulls your hips up and starts fucking up into you. Each time he does, he feels like he can feel all the way to the back of you. None of his fantasies could compare to the feeling of being this deep inside, cock nudging against that sweet spot that keeps making you fucking mewl into his ear. He can hardly take it as it is now, focusing hard on not cumming until you do.

Making it good for you is his priority. Always has been, but you make it hard for him like you do most things.

“Touch yourself for me, okay?”

You look at him surprised but listen to his request regardless. Gojo takes to fucking you steadily. He builds an even rhythm as he keeps you up, hands firm on your hips as he pistons you from underneath. The pleasure comes in waves, undulates as blood continues to rush to his cock. He’s so hard he can’t think straight but he keeps each of his thrusts consistent, lines them with the pace you play with your clit so he can encourage you to cum for him.

He can tell you’re starting to feel good when your mouth falls agape. He drags on your walls with each punctuated movement and your thighs shake and tense. Everything comes together so slowly but the pleasure comes at once. It’s a force that’s nearly earth shattering. All the planets aligned, everything in the same plane. Everything for him and for you. For the togetherness he’s created and chased after so long.

Now this part of you is all his too.

“Sa—Satoru,” You warn, your hands trembling and fingers cramped up with need. He grunts as he stares up at you through thrusts “G-gonna…”

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my cock? Go on. Know you can do it, baby. So good for me. Perfect for me.”

It’s all babbling for him now, the sensation hitting him in waves. Your mouth falls agape and you cum so hard Gojo can feel every fucking pulse. Squeezing his cock hard enough he wants to grit his teeth. He presses his mouth to yours instead as you moan out, unable to hold it in. He swallows every noise like he’s trying to embed them into himself.

You cum hard and fast and Gojo is so quick to follow you. Only seconds after you fall limp into his arms does he feel it - no longer able to stave off the urge to cum so deep in you it stays forever. To mark you deeply you never think of anything. It’s almost animalistic for him. Every nerve on his body is on fire as he shoots his cum deep into you, sitting you on his dick with nowhere for you to go.

Panting, he pulls back to gaze on you. He’s still hard as he’s twitching. He can’t hold off tonight, he doesn’t think. But he’ll give you a minute to collect yourself. He presses a kiss to your hairline.

He whispers softly as the night comes to a quiet, quiet still.

“I’m yours and you’re mine baby. Forever and always.”

You shake. And Gojo knows you well enough to know that it’s the resentment coming back in waves. But that’s okay, because Gojo loves you.

And with this, he’s taken everything.

EPILOGUE / OVERTURE :

Your senses are accustomed to Gojo by now.

You never thought such a day would come. You spent the first year of this relationship (if you can call it that, to begin with) in trenches so deep you couldn’t really tell left from right. So many things persisted as normal, but nothing was ever the same.

In that, though, Gojo stayed by your side till the bitter end. He nursed you back into health and sometimes treated you so kindly that you could almost forget who you were dealing with. Sometimes the weight of everything became too heavy. You think you love Gojo almost as much as you hate him.

But it doesn’t particularly matter what your feelings are. Has it ever, in any of this? You always knew that something was strange but you didn’t think you were so clueless. Blindly following wherever his voice took you.

The first time you try to escape Gojo feels like so long ago. That time, he let you go quite far. You made it out of the house and even went out of the country during summer. But you were sloppy and inexperienced. When he found you and brought you back home, you figured it had been a fluke. You’d learn from it. You’d do it again and that time you would succeed.

That’s what you told yourself anyway. It’s how this all started. Where you would run, and Gojo would let you before he started to miss you. He’d come and he’d discipline but it was never too cruel.

(You wished it were. You wished it were sickly and sadistic and tortuous. You think it’s so much worse to beg for mercy when you are sobbing from pleasure. For Gojo to coddle and sedate you and never yield. You think you’d prefer if he were just out of it. Just cruel instead of what he is. Which is knowing but certain. Justified.)

This has been the farthest you’ve ever gotten. You don’t think you’ve ever been this far away from home. A cabin in the woods where you lived peacefully for days. You don’t know how Gojo found you.

You had been so sure. This was it. It had to be it.

Your heart shatters as you hear him. Feel him in your bones so much it frightens you. The world is covered in a sheet of white, and your ankles are bruised and bleeding from where you’ve fallen. You’re cold and your heart is beating so loud - but no matter how much you run you can’t find any heartbeat to motivate you.

Gojo pulls through the thickets with a frown on his face. Blue eyes and black coat, his feet crunch the snow as he comes towards you. You crawl away. You try too, anyways.

Gojo leans down to your level, looking at you closely. He reaches out to brush snow away from your skin.

“My birthdays soon, you know?” He hums, not angry today. Not even wanting to discipline you “It’s not a bad place, y’know? The cabin. We can spend some time there before we go home. Might be nice. But we should get going so we can check on your foot.”

He reaches his hand out to you this time. Too injured to run, you take it and he smiles before offering to carry you on his back. You hop on, arms around his neck and don’t even cry. A numbness settles.

It is not the cold.

“Oh, look,” Gojo says, reaching his hands out “Snow’s falling.”

You suppose it is. Another Winter will pass just like this.

A dog howls somewhere far off in the distance.

#writing tag #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #noncon cw #yandere cw #manipulation cw #coercion cw

1K notes · View notes

youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 9 months

Text

Good Company | Bucky Barnes

✦ pairing — Bucky Barnes x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.8k

✦ request — For the Christmas fics thing can I ask for something with Bucky Barnes? The reader is completely tired of her grandmother telling her that she should lose weight to get a boyfriend/fiancé right in front of the whole family at every Christmas dinner. The reader is talking about it with two of her coworkers/friends until Bucky interrupts her and tells her he can go with her as her boyfriend

✦ warnings — light angst, mentions of fatphobia, mentions of food and beverages (alcohol included), fake dating, fluff, kissing.

✦ author's note — changed this one a little bit just so I could leave some stuff up for interpretation or else I would have gone overboard.

════════════════════════

You weren't feeling as festive as everybody in the building. Your work environment was good, you got along with your coworkers just fine for the most part, and the pay wasn't bad at all.

Your family, though... there was room for improvement there. A big room. Maybe an open plan apartment's worth of improvement.

It had come to the point that you weren't sure you wanted to see them for the holidays. Your grandmother always had something to say about you — your career, your friends, your weight, your relationship status.

She wanted you to be just like her and your aunts, to 'make sacrifices for a greater life' as she so eloquently put it. You were supposed to hate yourself, to change everything about you to please her.

Her excuse always boiled down to your loneliness in the romantic department. You couldn't tell her about hook-ups and fizzled-out flings so you would often nod along and take her absurd comments.

You wouldn't handle them that well this year. It was a tough one for everybody, but she would only use it as an excuse to urge you to find a partner before life got worse.

Reaching your car in the parking area, you made sure it was intact before unlocking it. You were checking the backseat when someone called your name.

You half-expected to be told you were needed for an emergency, but as you searched for whoever had called for your attention, you found Bucky.

"Oh, hi, Bucky."

He gave you a small smile, greeting you back. "Going home?"

"Yeah. I hope traffic isn't too bad."

"You free for dinner or coffee?"

"Right now?"

"Uh-huh."

"Sure. "

He led you to a small bistro, one of those hole-in-the-wall establishments he always seemed to find. Bucky gave you recommendations from time to time, and that was the extent of your dynamic outside of work.

You ordered drinks first and talked about silly things while you decided what to order for dinner. Once the order was placed and you had a few sips in you, Bucky turned more serious.

First, he cleared his throat. Seemingly not comfortable enough yet, he sighed. "I heard your conversation with Nat and Sharon..."

You hadn't even seen him at lunchtime and somehow he had managed to hear your rant about family expectations. Which meant he heard you at the edge of crying over your overly honest grandma.

You looked down at your half-empty glass. "It's... a lot, yeah."

"I'm available for the holidays." He pulled a napkin and started rolling it up into a log. "I can go with you, say I'm your boyfriend. Or fiance if you want, I know a jeweler who could lend us a ring."

"I couldn't ask that from you. It's supposed to be a jolly time."

"I'm offering."

"A tempting offer," you admitted. You didn't want to sound desperate, although he certainly knew you were. "What would be in it for you? How would I repay you?"

"Not being alone on Christmas is enough already. "

He started to fold the napkin into a tiny square, focused on making it look perfect.

"Well, I'm sure my family will be happy to keep you company. So will I."

He looked up at you, then nodded. "Tell me about them?"

So you spent dinner telling him about your parents and grandparents for the most part, small details of your siblings and nephews. You didn't want to overwhelm him too much.

You also spent days worrying it would end in catastrophe. What would your family think of you if things were to fall apart?

Bucky didn't back down when you warned him about the questions he would have to endure, or when you reminded him he would have to be affectionate to you.

He helped you wrap gifts and asked your opinion on the clothes he planned to wear. He was also curious if your family knew he was coming.

They did. You told your mom a day after your dinner with Bucky, on your daily morning phone call. She was thrilled, albeit mad that you hid your relationship status for so long.

You just hoped your grandmother would be as thrilled – maybe less offended that you kept a man hidden from her scrutiny.

He laughed when you told him she probably would try to get him for herself and grabbed your hand to tug you closer. "Can't do. I'm already taken, didn't you know?"

"Oh, really? Are they a better prospect than my grandma and her handmade blankets?"

"Hey, you never said something about handmade blankets. I might have to reconsider."

You hit him on the shoulder without even realizing you were doing it.

He didn't complain. Instead, he pulled you into him and said, "Your grandma will have to settle for having me as a grandson."

You were sure she would be glad to.

Bucky was easy to like. You weren't worried that anybody would have anything negative to say about him, not even your overprotective brother.

Looking up at him, you felt your face warm up as you realized he had been staring already. "Do you want me to drive tomorrow?"

"No, no. You just gotta guide me and look pretty."

You tried hard not to think about it, about his flirting and compliments. It came easy to him, it wasn't a big deal.

Well, it shouldn't have been.

════════════════════════

You sat on the passenger seat, letting a Christmas playlist do the heavy lifting as you did your best not to bombard Bucky with suggestions as to what to say.

He wasn't stupid, and you had found he listened to what everybody said and internalized the useful parts. He didn't need you to treat him like a distracted child.

You just needed everything to be perfect and to survive Christmas dinner without crying for once in your adult life.

As if knowing you were torn between your anxiety and the catchy song playing, Bucky reached over and rested his hand on your knee.

"I'll be the best boyfriend, doll, don't worry."

You didn't doubt it. "I've never lied to them like this."

There was a first for everything. You were just glad you weren't doing it on your own.

Bucky helped you carry the gifts while you carried the cake you got from a bakery Sharon recommended.

Your mom opened the door in all her glory, with her hair done and a glittery black sweater underneath her red apron. Her eyes lit up when she saw you and Bucky, potentially more because he was real than because she missed you, and ushered you both inside.

Most family members were there already for your grand entrance, expectant, a tad impatient to see the man they would get to judge together.

Your brother and dad tore their eyes away from the football highlights on the TV at the same time, examining Bucky from head to toe.

Bucky introduced himself as such, just Bucky, but your brother insisted on calling him James which earned him a pointed look from your mom.

"I've heard so much about you," your mom said cheerfully. An attempt to dissipate whichever tension your brother could have arisen.

Bucky laughed charmingly, sharing a complicit look with you. People around you surely saw it as a gesture between lovers. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, ma'am."

He won her over with that, much like he did with your aunts and sister. Your brother would sneak weary glances from time to time and even looked offended when your dad laughed at something Bucky said.

But you agreed with your dad. Bucky was just so easily likable, serious on the exterior yet the funniest person you had met —a charming man who happened to be easy on the eyes.

Your grandmother, though, she almost fell in love with him. She grabbed your hand, giving it a strong squeeze. "See? I told you you'd be happier once you found a man."

You tried to smile at her.

"I'm the happiest," Bucky interjected. "Your granddaughter changed my life."

Your grandmother cooed, relishing just how right she had been. You were sure she was thinking you got lucky that you didn't even have to lose weight to find him.

If she thought so, she didn't say it. In fact, there wasn't a single comment regarding your weight the entire night. The fact that Bucky had his arm around your waist must have helped.

You saw another side of your grandmother, the fun one.

All you needed to be in harmony with your family had been to show up on somebody's arm.

It helped that Bucky was open to answering questions and patient with the kids who insisted he had to play with them because he was new.

Your brother was the only cautious one. He wasn't impolite, but his questions were as piercing as his eyes and his words too cold to come from your favorite person in the world.

He had never been anything but warm, much to some of the other men's disappointment. Raised mostly by your mom, you both were taught to be welcoming, to choose kindness even when it was the toughest thing to do.

But your kind brother didn't appear when it came to Bucky. You feared he knew you so well that your ruse had been discovered.

You followed your brother to the patio where you found him checking his phone. His fiancé was on a family trip, he probably missed them.

"You could be a little nicer," you said casually.

Your brother let out a huff, putting his phone away. "He looks like the type."

"The type?"

"Like the ones I had to beat up for breaking your heart in high school."

You tried not to think about those people and their cruel jokes. Their bets, their mocking tones. You had enough with the things your grandmother still said, the never-heard-before heartlessness she would throw your way the moment you showed up on your own again.

"This isn't high school."

"I'm looking out for you."

"Why don't you just say you think he's out of my league?"

"Because that's not it." He sounded offended, ever the protector. To make matters worse, he wisely said, "You didn't have to get a boyfriend if you weren't ready."

You frowned, trying to read his face in an attempt to find what he was getting at. Bucky wasn't the first person you had introduced your family to as a partner.

"If anything," he said, standing tall and lifting his shoulders in a shrug, "you're out of his league — who dates a coworker?"

"Me."

Your brother shook his head in disapproval, as he often did when you were younger. His semblance softened immediately. "You know what I mean."

"I don't."

He twisted his mouth, then tilted his head as he pointed —to him— the obvious, "He's more into you than you're into him."

"I wish you wouldn't say it like it's a bad thing."

"It is when you're so stiff around him."

Maybe you let your nerves get the best out of you. "I don't want to give Mom and Dad the wrong impression. Or grandma... you know how they are."

"Just... be careful. And call me if you need me; for anything."

You kissed his cheek in assurance and went back inside. Only then, you realized just how cold it was outside — you were only wearing a sweater.

You sat close to Bucky, resting your head on his bicep as your mom continued telling him about her upcoming retirement.

He wrapped his arm around you, bringing you closer. His comforting warmth seeped into you, pressed to his chest. He rubbed his hand along your arm, feeling just how cold you were.

You hoped he wouldn't want to move any time soon.

If he wanted to, he concealed it well. Bucky was hesitant to part from you when dinner was served, and even more after when your niece asked you to do her hair.

Eventually, you had to leave. It wasn't ludicrously late, but the drive was an hour long and you didn't have it in you to send Bucky home on his own while you stayed there for the night — inviting him to stay was out of the question.

He promised to visit soon, joking that he would bring you with him as a plus one. Your grandmother laughed so loudly that it scared you. It made you sad. You got your family's hopes up, and for what? A peaceful dinner that would only serve as a bitter reminder?

It was over so quickly and the aftermath would haunt you until you found someone else to lie. Or to actually date.

There was a chance you ruined it for yourself. Who would your grandmother approve of after having met Bucky?

You didn't know if you would approve of anybody else after that either. It didn’t snow this year. As though even the weather thought you had been wrong for lying to your family on Christmas from all days.

Bucky nudged you. "You good?"

"Yeah," you answered quickly

"You sure?"

"It was a long day."

"You didn't have a good time?"

"I woke up at five in the morning," you clarified. Not a lie, but you were used to that kind of schedule. "I'm surprised you still have so much energy."

"Having good company helped."

You hated that he said that.

It would have been so nice to agree, to enjoy how happy your grandmother had been, and your mom's laugh, and your sweet brother's worry...

Not hearing vitriolic comments about your body and lifestyle was lovely. You would still hear it soon, but at least your Christmas hadn't been ruined by your family but by yourself.

Sadness washed over you as your apartment came into view. You didn't know exactly why, he was still your friend, you would see him at work and have a secret just for the two of you which meant you were closer friends now.

You shouldn't have been glad to have him as a friend, to have a person willing to lie to multiple people just so you would have a good Christmas.

"Thank you. For everything." You didn't know how else to say goodbye. You would see him in a couple of days at work.

Ever the polite one, he smiled and said, "It was my pleasure."

You climbed out of the car and told him to drive safely. Bucky only nodded. Waving at him in goodbye, you smiled softly. Then, you stepped into the first front step.

"Hey,” he called for you from the car.

You turned around. “Yeah?"

He rolled the window up and killed the engine. Swiftly, Bucky got out of the car and approached you. "I liked it."

"You can come next year if you want." And if he wasn't busy. Or in a relationship.

"I didn't— I mean, yes, I would like that, but I liked the whole thing.”

Your heartbeat quickened. You lifted your eyebrows, not able to ask what he meant by that.

But you didn’t need to, Bucky was willing to openly say it, "You know, the handholding. And having you all over me especially.”

You froze on the spot, watching him get even closer. You were still on the first step, meeting his gaze by mistake.

He huffed to himself and added, "I always thought you were pretty, but having you this close... God, how did I ever go about my life without this? How can I go back to that?"

"Buck..."

"Look—"

"You wanna come in? Have some hot cocoa or a glass of wine?"

He let out a relieved laugh. “Yeah. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

It was and while you thought you looked pretty in your cozy sweater and your light coat, you really should have layered up. Bucky hung his jacket in the coat closet as though he had done so hundreds of times.

“Wine or hot cocoa?” you asked once he was comfortable in the living room.

“Wine.”

You pulled a pair of glasses out of the cupboard and set them on the counter.

Bucky stopped you from reaching for the bottle. “Wait.”

You turned around to face him. “Changed your mind?”

At the same time, he asked, “Can I kiss you first?”

You pressed your lips to his as an answer. He quickly kissed you back, cupping your cheek in one hand while the other one found the space between your hip and waist.

He caressed your cheek, making you sigh into the kiss which he took as an opportunity to deepen it. You grabbed his face, accepting the pace he chose to kiss you with.

The hold on your body became stronger as Bucky tried to pull you closer for which he lost his step, making you laugh and pull away in worry that he would hit his hip against the kitchen table.

He shook his head, assuring you he was fine.

Your hands ended up on his shoulders while he grabbed you by the waist with both hands.

"Merry Christmas," he said against your lips before kissing you again.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #ficmas

386 notes · View notes

elysiansparadise · 2 months

Note

Welcome back! 💗 How nice that you are currently writing posts again. I really missed your content, it is always so enlightening. May I ask what your thoughts are on Uranus in the 4th house? 🔮

Hello love. Thank you so much, we are finally back on track. And sure, I can give some insights about this placement.💗

Uranus in the 4th house

The emotional world of these natives can seem complex, their calm attitude can make them seem detached, when in reality they have the ability to take their emotions and analyze them in detail. There may be in them a feeling of not belonging, of being very different from other members of their family and a peculiar sensation when faced with the term "home", bringing with it a set of complex emotions, from longing for some security, to feeling that they have not explored that as such. It is likely that throughout their life they have experienced changes at home, that they have an unusual family or home situation or that there is a certain disconnection, whether physical or emotional, with their family. They learned to adapt and go with the flow, due to sudden changes in their family dynamics or in their parents' mood. In some cases and depending on how well Uranus is aspected, there may be the feeling that one or both parents are more friends than parents. From a very young age they learned to rely on themselves and not depend on anyone, probably not even needing anyone. A feeling of loneliness or having been misunderstood at some point in your childhood.

These people recognize their friends as family, generating stronger and more emotional ties with them, which makes them quite selective when choosing them. "I'm not limited to my biological family, I can start my own family." They may find that sense of family in friends, groups, or even their friends' families. In the same way, these natives tend to be caring and attentive friends, always making sure that those to whom they give such a title are comfortable, happy and safe. They can be very reserved with their things, as they will always choose to make their own decisions and not let anyone tell them how to live their lives. They have a great ability to adapt to any situation with resilience and a down-to-earth perspective. Many of them may be very nervous or anxious when it comes to the topic of family, not necessarily out of fear of commitment, rather a terror of making the same mistakes as their parents or some concern about the idea of having children. Many of them can find comfort in things like the internet, video games, music and whatever their hobbies are, beyond being something they do just out of boredom, they are things they put their heart into and make them feel good.

One of the things that makes them most nervous is seeing how the ties they build or what makes their heart happy end, although it is something in which they realize that it can end, it makes them have a harsher time with breakups of any kind. This is because they are afraid to surrender, but when they do they know it is totally true. Emotional intimacy is liberating for them even if it is difficult for them. They look for a soft spot or place to feel like they can be themselves uninhibitedly. They look for that because they know that they are able to give it in return, an environment of acceptance and encouragement instead of a place full of criticism and finger-pointing. They can be very self-analytical people, always keeping themselves in check, seeing what is happening in their inner world and exploring themselves to know themselves completely. Many of them have been very creative since they were children and although they are somewhat reserved with their authentic and emotional side, once you are someone they appreciate a lot, spontaneous displays of affection will await you.

-> Go back to the masterlist

#uranus #4th house #uranus in the 4th house #astrology #natal chart #birth chart #astro note #astro observation #uranus in 4th #uranus in 4th house #uranus in the 4th #uranus in 4h #uranus in the 4h

128 notes · View notes

voxisdaddy · 8 months

Text

You

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Vox x Reader

Type: Angst

Featuring: A lil bit of Alastor

"I really wanted it to be you. So badly. Until I understood that you didn't want it to be me." -b00zell

“I really wanted it to be you”

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Never in the decades that Vox has been in hell that he thought he’d find someone who just gets him the way you do. It almost blew him away. It’s ironic he’s asking but-were you hypnotizing him? No. Of course not. But no one could deny that you had him wrapped around your finger. And you barely had to do anything. You were just… you. The way you smiled, laughed, carried yourself, spoke, touched him, ect. Everything you did was just normal things and yet it seemed like it meant everything because it was you. He remembers one night when you showed up in casual clothing to a fancy dinner date. He remembers how embarrassed and apologetic you were-the name of the restaurant didn’t seem all that impressive at the time. And despite your initial worries that you embarrassed your perfectionist boyfriend that night, the cyan electric current that flashed into a heart shape from the tips of his antenna’s was enough to make you feel flustered for a completely different reason. Hell is forever. And since that night, he felt his forever with you would be the most enjoyable.

“So badly.”

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ VoxTek and Vox’s status as an Overlord just kept growing and growing which meant things change. For the better-he thought. Of course his beloved wanted to see him be as successful as can be. But as the success kept going, the more your lives seemed to not matter as it once did before. Weekly date nights turned into monthly date nights. No longer would you go to bed together and wake up either entangled in each other’s limbs or one of you snuggling into the other. Good morning kisses before he leaves for work? Yeah… good luck catching him before he’s out the door. Home cooked meals? Sweetheart-why bother when he can just order the highest quality meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? His mood swings worsened-if even possible-and soon coming home to a partner that’s already sleeping would just make him more agitated. Marriage was casually brought up by Velvette-something about wanting to make wedding dresses for an upcoming fashion show-he doesn’t quite remember. His inner fans were working hard in his head as the thought of you in a wedding dress kept him deep in thought. Perhaps rings binding you two together legally would reunite some spark. Yes. Surely it would!

“Until I understood,”

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ It was some dumb argument. Something small and meaningless. But the stress and constant work days Vox faced paired with your loneliness and bitterness that started growing however long ago seemed to have erupted. Things were said. Tears were shed-mainly from you. When things calmed down, Vox foolishly thought you’d be in his arms all night as you had makeup sex just like all the times previously-wait what do you mean you’re done? Their was no more shouting and tears that night but everything remained tense and heavy. Very bitterly and painfully Vox huffed as you packed a bag. You’re not serious. You’ll come back to him and everything will be okay.

“that you didn’t want it to be me.”

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ It had been several years. For months he tried everything to win you back until one day you just vanished. That was impossible. He had cameras everywhere in the Pride Ring. He would have noticed. An extermination wasn’t due for months at that point so you wouldn’t have been taken. What happened? One day Alastor showed up after being gone doing god knows what. Vox was of course angry about Alastor but couldn’t help and be filled with little rejoice when he finally saw you on his monitors again. That was rather short lived when rumours spread that Alastor had taken a lover and had spent 7 years on honeymoon with them. You know… Vox is incapable of crying, at least in the typical sense. His head wouldn’t allow it. So then how come seeing that ring wrapped around your finger make him feel like he could do the literal impossible?

“I really wanted it to be you…”

I hope I did okay for my first one lol. This took longer to come out than I thought it would. I’m only a smidge over 24 hours so it still counts right, RIGHT?!???? I’m kidding. Thanks for reading!

💕🌸

#Hazbin Hotel #Vox x Reader #Hazbin Hotel Vox #Hazbin Hotel Vox x Reader #Angst #Vox HH

304 notes · View notes

mrcavill88 · 1 year

Text

Inner demons

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Male Reader

Summary: There’s something so dark and attractive about a man who could kill you in a heartbeat. Even though Bucky’s twisted mind is healed, remnants of the winter soldier are still there. You and him have been through hell and back together, but his recents outbursts of anger are really starting to fumble your relationship

Word count: 2.9k+

Warnings: 18+, age gap (reader is 18, Bucky is 102 XD) abusive Bucky, alcohol addiction, face slapping, yelling, begging, bondage, whipping, daddy kink, skin sucking/kissing/licking, nipple play, genital licking, fingering, crying, vibrator usage, unprotected sex, breeding, fluff

A/N: Hey everyone! I’m back with another fic: my very first Bucky fic. This is one is definitely, interesting, to say the least. Thank you all again for all the support you have shown me, hope you enjoy;)

Bucky Barnes

The man of the hour, the one true love of your life, someone who made you feel stable - did I mention an ex-assassin with over two dozen credited murders?

You never were 100% sure about being safe around him. Sure, he was... insanely attractive. His soft and short brown hair, the dark blue sapphires he had for eyes, pearly white teeth, chiseled and muscular body, and his deep voice; his mere presence was enough for butterflies to flutter around your tummy. But Bucky's dark history was always a thinking point for you.

"What if he goes crazy and tries to kill me?"

"What if he goes on another rampage and starts murdering everyone?"

"What if he doesn't love me?"

Your intrusive thoughts never got the best of you, but a single thought of Bucky's past made you quiver in fear.

But your relationship with him wasn't exactly, perfect. He might be free of his control from Hydra, but, he isn't exactly free from his new demons

Alcohol

His loneliness after Steve's death was apparent as he turned to heavy drinking to aid his sorrows. That's when you came in, you were initially there to help Bucky through his journey of rehab, were you successful? Fuck. no.

Every time you encountered him, instead of discussing his progress, you and he did the most lewd things together. He was completely taken aback by your beautiful and slim figure, he didn't need rehab, he needed you.

As of now, you lived with Bucky. You were both pretty set on spending your lives together, and you were both happy. Currently, he was out with Sam, you knew that Sam was the only other person Bucky was close with, he trusted him, and so did you. You laid in bed, waiting for Bucky to come home, hoping you guys could have some dinner together, maybe have some fun.

You heard a car pull into the driveway; you ran to the door, waiting to greet the love of your life. The door burst open, and there he was, running towards you.

"Y/N! I missed you so much baby, give me a kiss!" he said, hugging you, connecting his lips onto yours. The things you felt when you were in an intimate setting with him, they were surreal. You really loved him, but something wasn't right, you could tell something was off.

And then it hit you

The strong and unpleasant scent of alcohol. You pushed the man off of you, an acerbic look painted on your face as you looked him dead in the eye.

"Baby? W-why are you l-looking at me like that? W-what's wrong?"

You could tell that he was a little tipsy, if the smell wasn't enough, the slurring of his words definitely was. "Bucky, please be honest with me. Were you drinking?" you asked, squeezing his hands.

"Y/N! You know I'm sober! How could y-you doubt me?" his hands cupping your cheeks, his face getting redder and redder. "Baby, please believe me! I know I have a bad history with drinking but, please, I'm being honest."

"James! Don't lie to me! I love you too much for you to lie to me like this! How could you! I thought you were a new man!" you yelled, slapping his face. "Ok. You caught me, I'm so sorry Y/N. Sam just said it was one beer, but it ended up being several. Please forgive me! I promise, this won't happen again! Please, Y/N?" he pleaded, holding your waist.

The single tear that formulated on your cheek dried as you contemplated what you were going to do with Bucky. Was he really going to stop? Or was this another white lie that he told? You decided to give it one last chance, hoping the decision was right.

"Fine. I'm putting my trust in you Buck, please, just think about what this could do to you! It's going to kill you! Please just promise me that you'll stop, ok?" holding your pinky out. "I promise, baby. Thank you so much for believing in me" he said, latching his pinky onto yours, giving you a small kiss on the cheek. "Now, let's enjoy ourselves! The night is still young Y/N! I brought some takeout from that Mediterranean restaurant across town, I know you it's your favorite" he said, bringing you over to the polished dining table, adorned with the most appetizing food you've ever seen.

But one little nuisance on the table was there, a needle in a haystack, if you will. A tall bottle of whiskey. "Bucky, are you serious?"

"Baby. I know I promised I'd stop, but please! Just this once, I swear, this is the last one. C'mon, I know you like this brand. Don't try to deny it"

You hesitantly sat down, opening the bottle of whiskey. You knew Bucky would have some trick of his sleeve, so what did he do? He fished in one last drink, and it just so happened to be your favorite kind.

You two enjoyed your supper. You guys' just had a special bond, every time you were in each other's presence, you just felt, complete. Any thought of Bucky's past actions were completely eradicated as the expensive whiskey started hindering your brain.

Next thing you know, it was already 9 pm. Bucky was completely OUT, his pants undone and his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he tried to stand up.

"Y-Y-Y/N, w-we haven't h-had some f-fun in a w-while. L-lets m-make the most of o-our night," he slurred out, bringing you to the couch as he gripped your right thigh. "G-get off o-of me, I k-knew you c-couldn't k-keep from d-drinking" you said, barely being able to connect your words together.

The cold air thickened as tension started to build between you two, both completely drunk. "H-how dare y-you speak to m-me like that! You l-little brat!" he yelled, slapping your face hard. The tension in the room completely skyrocketed as the man you loved, the man you trusted, struck your face.

"B-Bucky? W-what's gotten into you?" you sniffled, holding your face. "W-w-what's gotten into me? What a-a-about you! You spoiled l-l-little ingrate! You n-need to be taught a lesson! You need thicker s-skin, Y/N" he slurred out, dragging you to the basement.

The countless kicks and screams you let out were completely useless as the 6 foot man effortlessly powered through your resistance. He slammed you onto a stool and tied your arms above your head, leaving you helpless.

"T-that's better baby! You s-see, I'm much older than you. I had it w-way harder than you when I was your age! I'm only doing this because I love you, trust me, Y/N" he said, pulling out a long, matte black whip.

The sound of screams, cries, and begs filled the room as the absolute terror you felt completely consumed your body.

"P-please Bucky! I'm begging you! Please don't hurt me! I love you! Don't you love me?"

"Oh Y/N, you're so adorable, I-I'm doing this for your own good, I'm sorry little one"

The final words he said before he maliciously whipped your torso, the loud crack breaking the seemingly forever silence that formulated between the two of you.

The screams coming out of your mouth intensified as the everlasting sting coursed through your veins, tears falling from your eyes as the man you trusted, just whipped you.

"Oh baby! That's what I like to hear! But, I think we could have more fun! Don't ya think?" he said before he grabbed a pair of red scissors and started cutting up your clothes.

You winced as your body was slowly being exposed in front of the man, as if it hadn't happened before. But this was a new side of Bucky you've never seen before, much more, possessive

He rubbed your baby soft skin, the sight of your delicate and skinny posture truly astonished him. The only thing you had on was a tight little spandex, your cock hard from Bucky's presence alone.

"Y-you're mine now, understand?" he said, practically inches away from your face. You jerked a nod before the whip cracked against your body again, a gush of blood spewing from your body. You screamed mercilessly as the immense pain you felt was practically permanent.

"Bucky! Please stop! I-I can't take it anymore!" you begged, a raspy breath leaving your mouth as you felt the air suddenly get hot.

Turns out, it wasn't the temperature, it was Bucky

He took his jacket off, revealing his rippling muscles and toned body, laced by his tight black tank top.

"Oh baby, I almost forgot. Don't ever call me Bucky, again. I'm your daddy now, your master, are we clear?" grabbing your face tightly.

"Y-yes, daddy" you whimpered out, absolutely terrified yet turned on by Bucky's sudden dominance.

"Good boy! Oh Y/N. I'm so p-proud of you. You see? It's not so hard to behave, right? Now, here's your reward for being so good"

Mere milliseconds after his words, his lips latched onto your neck. Sucking the absolute life out of it; moans and whines escaped your mouth, your libido level skyrocketing as the sound of skin against skin filled the room.

"Oh baby! I love tasting you! You're gonna feel so good when you're with daddy tonight, just wait and see"

His mouth continued attacking your neck, his lips traveling down your body onto your shoulders, biting and sucking on your skin, marking what was his. The angelic moans that left your mouth were like music to his ears, something that caused him to go even harder than he intended on.

His fingers caressed your nipples, goosebumps forming around them as Bucky relentlessly stimulated them.

"Daddy! Ugh! That f-feels so g-good!" you moaned as Bucky continued pinching and rubbing your nipples.

With no hesitation, he latched his lips onto your nipple, sucking on it with much determination and lust. The pleasure you felt was unreal; the tingles reaching the tips of your toes, making your cock twitch and harden as he continued sucking your nipples.

When he let out, your nipples were puffy and decorated with saliva, your breaths heavy and constant from all the pleasure you were feeling.

"Oh my sweet baby, Y/N. I love seeing you all horny and vulnerable like this. You make me want to do horrific things to you. But the night is young, I'm not finished with you" he said, viciously licking your neck.

His head was now face to face with your hole, your butt perfectly propped up so he was practically in breathing range of it. He kissed your inner thigh, prepping you for what was about to come next. The moans that left your mouth fueling the lewd activities he was about to commit.

His tongue started flailing in and out of your hole, swirling at a rapid pace. Your toes started to curl as you quickly became a sex doll for Bucky. "Daddy! Oh Fuck! Daddy I-I'm gonna c-cum!" you whined as he continued licking and playing at your sensitive hole.

"Baby! C'mon now, don't disappoint daddy like that! I know you're stronger than that, come on now, let me make you feel good"

You whimpered in response as your hole became drenched in Bucky's saliva, acting as a lubricant as he slowly inserted his thick fingers into your hole.

You screamed at the immense discomfort you felt, you've never been this intimate with Bucky ever in your life. "Does that feel good baby? You like when daddy shoves his fingers in your tiny little hole?"

All this dirty talk was making you queasy, your head practically spinning in circles as Bucky continued using your hole as a domain for his sexual pleasures. "I-I-I'm g-gonna cum!" you yelled at the top of your lungs, cock ready to burst at any moment.

"Oh no you don't" he whispered, gripping your tiny little pre-cum covered cock tightly.

"I know you're a good boy baby. Show daddy how good of a boy you can be! C'mon baby I know you can be a good boy. My good boy"

You snapped

Your cock jerked uncontrollably, drooling with ropes of white, thick cum. Your face turned red as you met Bucky's slightly disappointed face.

"Baby, I really hoped you could pull through for daddy. But it's ok! Daddy has a few tricks left for you"

"No daddy please! I can't take it anymore! I'm gonna... explode!" you pleaded, struggling to break out of your bonds.

"That's not how it works. I am your master, your daddy, you are my boy. You listen to me, absolutely no questions asked baby. Now, daddy has a new little toy here that he would love to try on you" he cackled, pulling out a pink vibrator.

Tears stained your cheeks as you knew what was about to come, you knew that you had no other choice but to comply, so why not enjoy it?

He attached the vibrator on your cute little cock and turned it on. You screamed as the vibrator tickled and pushed against your prostate, cum leaking from the tip of your cock.

"Daddy! Please take this o-off! I-I'm s-so horny!!!" you moaned as your bottom half twitched and shook from the absolute pleasure you felt.

Bucky noticed the state of mind you were in, somewhat amused by how fragile you were. And with the little bits of remorse still in him, he yanked the vibrator off your body, your cock worn out and drenched in pre-cum. You were a moaning, panting mess, cum disseminated over the floor.

"Oh baby~ You turn me on so much you don't even know. Such a sweet boy like you acting like this, this'll just be our little secret. Now, daddy has one last present for you, I promise, it's worth it" he said, slyly, before unzipping his pants. The big dick print in his boxers was making you so hard, oh you were so in love with him.

And then, oh!

A large piece of man meat sprang from his underwear as he pulled it down. The sheer size of it amazed you as he walked toward you.

"I want this to be a night for the books baby, let's make this special"

"Fuck me daddy!" you moaned before he slammed his monstrous dick into your tight hole. His thrusts: strong and firm.

"Oh fuck baby! I love how your little hole hugs my cock! You belong to me! No one else!" he yelled, a mixture of moans and whines filling the room as you both became infatuated with pleasure.

He starts to develop a fast and consistent rhythm with his thrusts, your moans getting louder and more high-pitched, making him even more turned on.

"Oh yeah! You love when daddy's big cock fucks your hole don't you! You naughty boy! You bussy is so greedy for daddy's cock isn't it" he growled, getting a broken and long moan in response.

Your body temperature started to climb higher and higher as the man you loved dearly continued fucking the daylight out of you. What you didn't realize? The fact that the ropes that put you in this very position broke in the midst of all the sexual pleasure you were feeling.

You didn't know how much longer you could handle this. Your bussy was practically broken after enduring all of Bucky's abuse, but the pleasure you felt continued to escalate by the second.

That's when, it happened again

Bucky's cock penetrated the most sacred and sensitive part of your entire body, your cock exploding with cum as your body twitched and quivered at the pleasure that basically consumed your entire body at this point.

"That's my boy! Oh y-you're daddy is close you're doing so well. Fuck!" he groaned as you could feel his thrusts growing sloppier.

You took notice of this and decided to give Bucky a taste of his own medicine: you pinched and twisted your nipples, causing your hole to tighten around Bucky's cock, making the man grow weak as his cock was being stimulated like no other before him.

"Oh shit! You naughty little bitch! Oh baby! I-I'm g-gonna cum!" he slurred out before unleashing his load inside your hole, strings of his white sticky cum polishing your insides an ivory color. You collapsed from the chair, your legs were practically immobile after all the pleasure and abuse you endured tonight.

Bucky crawled toward your destroyed figure, hugging you tightly and nuzzling your nose against his.

He carried you, bridal style, up from the basement into the bedroom you shared together.

"Now baby, let's get washed up, alright? We need to be perfectly clean before we sleep" he uttered, walking you over to the shower.

Despite the immense sexual activities that occurred that night, the shower you two had was one that was completely ingenuous.

You two shared a few loving, intimate moments, but nothing that was extreme. You were glad to have Bucky back. The old Bucky back. Sure, you loved the sex god that just fucked the shit out of you a couple minutes ago, but the little moments you have with him: you cherished forever.

You both got dried up and cuddled up on the bed together. "I'm so proud of you baby, we pulled off wonders tonight. I love you, Y/N" he said, kissing your forehead.

"I love you too, daddy" nuzzling your head against his chest.

You went to sleep madly in love with the man, and James Buchanan Barnes definitely loves you too~

#bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x fluff #buckybarnesxsmut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x male reader #sebastian stan x fluff #sebastian stan x male reader #gay #gaysmut #fanfic

407 notes · View notes

twst-hottest-takes · 2 months

Text

OKAY TRAUMA OLYMPICS TIME!

Ranking every Overblotter based on how sad their backstory makes me: THAT MEANS IT’S VERY BIASED AND SUBJECTIVE!

Waves hands in a manic gesture towards the disclaimer* (Now is your chance to turn around!)

7: Azul Ashengrotto-Got picked on for being different. The thing that takes me out about Azul’s backstory and its connection to his overblot is how basic it feels. I’m not here to invalidate his feelings, I understand those insecurities, but apparently the only thing stopping more people from overblotting is that they can’t accumulate blot at the same rate because of lower magic output. If you ask me, the real tragedy of his character is his inability to acknowledge his own achievements. He says, “I’ll show them!” and, yes, hon, you did. Calm down. You are 17, nothing is stopping you from becoming the person you say you are (unlike half the other people on this list). (0/10 He tried to take advantage of my compassion and took my home away. He can cry harder into his money for all I care. Also bottom tier Overblot design.)

(Slight edit: changed Azul's age to 17 because I put 15 before. That would have been his age before turning human to go to NRC, but that might have been confusing and seemed inaccurate. Thanks to the person who pointed that out! The rest of the statement remains the same.)

6: Vil Schoenheit—Hates being typecast and treated like number two. Bro’s real crime is checking his socials too much and letting it get to him. I feel nothing for Vil and he’s only above Azul because his situation is a little less common as a one in a million super celebrity which can come with outlandish amounts of stress I can't comprehend. Again, the tragedy is his inability to be satisfied with his current state of his career and acknowledge his success because someone’s always above him. YOU ARE 18! YOU HAVE YOUR WHOLE CAREER AHEAD OF YOU! Give yourself some space to breath. He’s the one character you’d think would know and see a therapist. He’s so perfectly managed about every other element of his life it seems almost out of character for him not to be considering his mental health. If you consider he's even taking time away from his career to go to school and have "normal teen experiences" I don't know why I should feel bad. (0/10 Attempted murder. Jealous biotch. Probably, less sympathetic than Azul actually.)

5: Leona Kingscholar—Also hates his life situation and being treated like second fiddle. Leona is above Vil because he DOESN’T have a way out of being “typecast.” Time and talent can't save him. He was born into a situation where he can’t be anything other than the second prince and when he finally got a chance to be number one at something (Spelldrive at NRC) Malleus shows up to put him back down to second place again. Life seems to have a karmic way of making Leona nothing more and I feel that. Honestly, Leona’s state makes me cry but I can’t rank him higher because the canon content for his character is sparse. Most of the elements about Leona are things you have to look into and read out of his actions and backstory and while that’s not bad, it’s frustrating that a lot of people overlook them because they aren’t as explicit as the other characters. Leona’s depression is very real, but because the symptoms manifest as less sad-boy and more tired jackass a lot of people overlook his failing mental health. He’s badly written and I feel like the first iteration of his backstory (Book 2 in game) does the worst job about making you feel anything for him considering his actions. (4/10 Smart character with lots of potential but written like an idiot where it counted. Also attempted murder.)

4: Malleus Draconia (TENTATIVE)—Doesn’t want to be alone. After all, what’s the point of being so powerful when it’s so lonely? Loneliness is a feeling that I think doesn’t get explored enough in the media I consume (maybe I need to look harder), so Malleus can be a little higher for what I currently perceive as his reasons for overblotting. He’s an immortal being constantly ostracized by the position he was born into and suffers from the classic conundrum of having to watch everyone he cares about go before him. For all intents and purposes he’s an orphan. He doesn’t have a lot of people he’s related to and can really consider close, so it hits him extra hard when they can’t be around anymore, and for all of his age, as a fae he’s really very young, immature, and inexperienced. The game is doing its darndest to make sure that he gets as thorough an explanation as possible and actively wants you to understand where he’s coming from and feel bad. So he gets the halfway point because as much as I love this kind of thing, favoritism and getting the longest time to explore his feelings only gets him so high. (6/10 I like that the MC has a personal stake in this one, and he's not actively trying to kill anyone.) (Since Book 8 isn’t over yet, his position is subject to change later.)

3: Riddle Rosehearts—Anal retentive to the extreme. Riddle’s mom is so hated by the fandom she is never getting a face reveal. Is now the time to express how bad I feel about Riddle being traumatized by strictness and rules to the point where he honestly believes that bending the most absurd rules will result in disastrous consequences? Maybe. I appreciate that we saw exactly the inciting incident that made Riddle the way he is now. So much of his character falls back on that one time he broke the rules as a kid, and it HAS SO MUCH IMPACT. He gets a lot of props for being one of the few overblotters to actually have character growth post-featured book. Riddle is a contender for second place, but his potential ability to grow beyond his circumstances makes him less tragic. (7/10 Riddle is a surprisingly strong first antagonist in the main story. Almost killed someone, but that was notably AFTER he broke down and turned into a rampaging monster.)

2: Jamil Viper—Can never be his true self. Jamil is another guy who was born into his lifestyle and has no feasible way out of what’s driving him up the wall. It’s not just about Kalim being naïve and sheltered, it’s about how Jamil himself can’t ever use the gifts he has or escape from that fate. He is better than Kalim at a lot of things, but has to act like an amateur so he doesn’t outshine the guy he’s been sworn to protect and serve. He has expectations set on him, and duties to fulfill, and his best route in life as presented to him is just to be as average and boring as possible despite his innate talent and potential. I don’t know if there’s supposed to be a way for Jamil to get out of his family’s servitude to the Al-Asims that causes him to be so bitter, so at this point I kind of assume he’s stuck and that makes it extra sad. The fact that he really just wants to go on vacation makes it hit harder that he’s not even that bad for a guy at a villains’ school. Book 5 giving him a chance to break out of that shadow is great, honestly. (8/10 I can't hate him. He just wants a break, man. He wasn't even trying to hurt anyone, but loses a point for dragging Yuu/MC into his scheme. [Don't y'all dare throw Kalim hate in here. That's not what this is about. I will fight you.])

1: Idia Shroud—Survivor’s Guilt. Book 6 really went there and we are going to talk about it. He did something he shouldn’t have as a kid and now he has to live with the fact that his kid brother is dead. He wanted so badly to undo what he did that he built a new version of him even though he knew deep down he could never replace Ortho. No. I’m sorry. You’re not beating that. That’s not event including the fact that he’s also stuck as a fracking guardian of the underworld in a family that is supposed to be incapable of overblotting in the first place. Idia has textbook depression, and that’s not a bad thing. He feels just as trapped as everyone else and doesn’t see a point to doing anything the conventional way if he doesn’t have to. Idia is NOT a perfect person or character, but as far as his writing for why he ends up doing what he does, I think he easily takes the cake. (10/10 Will weep again. Character writing, with a little dash of hope that he can find some bright spots in life. Extra points for Ortho telling him to keep living. Also, he has the coolest Overblot design. 100/10 for Technopunk Hades.)

This is a super abridged version of what I have to say regarding each of these characters, so I may have to write out actual essays and character analysis for them eventually. I tried to get out the gist of my rankings in as short a form as possible, but that might not be good enough for some people. Feel free to tell me how I misunderstand and mischaracterize your fave.

102 notes · View notes

loversj0y · 1 year

Text

saving face

pairing: siren x gn!reader (villain wilbur soot from tommyinnits clinic for supervillains)

tws: okay so, im going to be REALLY thorough because there is some dark content throughout so kidnapping, chloroform use, drug use (power enhancers), reader gets called sweetheart at one point, violence, injuries, torture, major head injuries, alcohol, alcohol is poured on reader, mental manipulation (attempts at it), blood, broken nose, siren tells someone to claw their eye out, mentions of a fractured skull and concussion

notes: big major thank u to @medlarwrites for this idea!!!! ive been obsessing over siren since i read clinic and had to write something abt him. im not in love with the start of the fic bc i had a very different direction at first but!!! dont care i like how it ended up!! so :3

medlars original prompt: “anyways lemme leave you a siren!wilbur who finds our his bestfriend from college got kidnapped because they suspect she's associated with siren and so want to get information about his identity from them :)”

word count: 5.5k!

taglist: @l0veb0mb1ng / @core-queen / @zooone

When you were in college, you had a rather… peculiar best friend. Maybe you should’ve cared a bit more about the moral consequences of what he did, but honestly, it was college. Your best friend was one of the most well-known supervillains, Siren.

That wasn’t how you met him, though. You met him as Wilbur Soot, the guy who sat next to you in your Literature class, who often forgot his pens. You had a small crush on him, so you made a habit of always bringing an extra pen for him. You became quick friends after, bonding over mutual hatred for the professor’s teaching style, as well as sharing an onslaught of opinions.

You didn’t mean to find out about his identity, it was a complete accident. You and him had this mutual agreement that if something was going on (life troubles, finals stress, etc.), you have free permission to come over for some company. If the other person wasn’t there, you would just wait until they got home. It was a good system that kept both of you from getting too lonely, especially you. He lived at home, but you lived in a dodgy apartment by yourself. He would always make an effort to show up any time he had anything he wanted to talk about, mostly to keep you from feeling too alone. One night, the loneliness had gotten pretty rough, so you decided to go to Wilbur’s house. You two had given each other spare keys a long while back, and it wasn’t the first time you’d done this, so you were quick to unlock the door and head into his room to wait for him to come home. When the door did finally open, it wasn’t Wilbur who walked through.

You immediately jumped, backing up a bit as you saw Siren walk in. Once he’d processed that you were there, he cursed under his breath, trying to console you while quickly pulling off his blindfold. You watched as he went from Siren to Wilbur in a matter of seconds, your head swirling with confusion. You two had a very long conversation that night, while you helped him clean up a scratch along his arm.

After college, you didn’t see Wilbur as much anymore. You worked a lot, and he worked quite a bit too. You two still saw each other, just not as often.

You saw Siren much more often, though. Since Wilbur knew where your walk home from work was, he would always make an effort to be there and walk you home at night once a week if he could. Sometimes he would only watch you from the rooftops, other times when it was a bit darker and there were fewer people out, he would walk with you, chatting about anything he could think of. Over time, what once had been a small crush blossomed into genuine love for your best friend.

It was nice, a really good system. Kept you and him talking, even when your busy schedules tended to keep you from each other. However, for as good of a system as it is, it also had some apparent downsides.

Like your current situation.

You didn’t know exactly where you were.

The last thing you remembered was leaving work. You locked up the small bookstore you worked at and began your walk home when you felt a hand wrap around you, pressing a cloth against your mouth. Whoever it was ended up being too strong for you to fight against, and it was only a few minutes before the chloroform reached your brain, knocking you out quickly. In terms of kidnappings, it was fairly tame, at the very least.

It took a while to wake up, your consciousness floating in and out a few times, allowing you to get small glimpses of conversations.

“Try and get ‘em to talk. Just being friends with Siren doesn’t mean they’re strong. We can break them, even if it takes some… stepping in.”

A bit of a horrifying thing to hear post-kidnapping, but even if it wasn’t on purpose, it at least got your guard up a bit.

When you woke up, you spent a few minutes looking around and familiarising yourself with your surroundings. You were in some shitty warehouse. Which, honestly, cliche, and how many abandoned warehouses did this city have? Large, brown-stained windows lined the top of the walls, allowing for a bit of light to pour in. There were garage-type doors every few feet, but most of them had large padlocks, except for one the furthest away from you.

Your hands and feet were tied onto the chair, one hand behind handcuffed while the other hand and your legs were attached with zip ties.

Escape was not going to be easy, but you knew a bit of fighting, Wilbur having taught you how to protect yourself. You finally looked over to the middle of the room.

It took you a while to recognize the guy who’d kidnapped you. You did know him, though, only because of the things that Siren had told you. Schlatt, previously known as Gunmetal, an ex-hero. His power was the ability to strengthen his body to a metal-like level, making him incredibly hard to take down. The Syndicate considered approaching him for membership, but he was… unstable. He got discharged by the Hero Committee after his increased strength led to the destruction of an apartment building. There weren’t any villains around to pin it on, either, and there were too many witnesses. It had also been discovered that he’d been utilizing power enhancers, which were supposed to be outlawed, in order to extend his abilities and allow him to strengthen multiple parts of his body at once.

If what Wilbur had told you in his frustrated rants was true, Schlatt wanted to take over the Syndicate. He’d attacked them numerous times, always aiming to kill, and he’d taken a particular interest in finding out Siren’s identity.

You sat up a bit, preparing yourself for whatever bullshit he was about to spew at you.

Wilbur caught onto something being wrong a few hours after you’d been taken. He had gone on a minor heist with Techno, and things ran… suspiciously well. No hero intervention for the majority of the heist, until Flame showed up towards the end. Blade handled most of the fighting for him, while Siren took care of their escape. It was when they finally escaped that he noticed something odd. He and Techno passed by your apartment, and he knew your habits well enough to know that you would not be asleep this early. Despite that, the lights in your apartment were off. A bit of searching later, and he was quick to notice your disappearance. When he arrived back home, he was quick to enlist Tubbo to see if they could get a ping on your last known location. Your phone wasn’t anywhere to be found, so he hoped he could at least figure out where you had been. Normally, he would pace to try and distract himself, but when it came to you, there was no use. He immediately headed out, trying to find any sign of you and waiting for a response from Tubbo.

“Good mornin’ sweetheart,” Schlatt chuckled, standing in front of a table in front of your chair. He had two briefcases set out in front of him, “Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” There was an implied ‘yet’ at the end of that sentence. You got a good look at him. He wore a pressed suit, and an airsoft mask – equipped specially with two ram horns on the sides, his signature look. His knuckles were wrapped with red athletic tape, at least you’d hoped it was originally red.

“Then what the fuck do you want with me? It’s hard to believe you aren’t going to hurt me when you kidnapped me off the street.”

“I just need a bit of information, that’s all.”

You scoffed, “Really? So you just fucking kidnap me?”

“It’s effective, is it not?” He chuckled, leaning forward, “Do you have any powers?”

You rolled your eyes, “Cut the shitty small talk. Why am I here?”

“To answer my fucking questions.”

You looked down at your arm, noting a small cuff wrapped around it, “If I tell you, will you take the stupid power dampener off?”

He snorted, “Don’t act dumb.”

“Oh, good, then I’m not telling you.” You did have a power. It was part of why Wilbur felt comfortable being around you. You were also a mind manipulator, but you couldn’t get people to actually do things for you. You could just easily see through their words and arguments. Which meant that you could get them to believe you were telling the truth as well, which would be a bloody good thing to be able to utilize right about now.

“Fine, be like that.” He held up a photo, “So, if you won’t tell me your power, maybe you’ll tell me why Siren has had such a close eye on you?” You looked at the photo closer, being able to clearly make out Siren walking you home.

“He’s just a nice dude. Wants to walk me home sometimes,” you shrugged, trying to act nonchalantly, “I don’t know much about him if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He snorted, “Yeah, like I’d believe that.” He pulled out a folder, spreading out numerous photos of you and Siren, hanging out and eating together in your apartment.

“Have you been fucking stalking me, you absolute creep?”

“Not you, but Siren. You just happened to be there. And I wanna know why.”

“What? You’re mad that a citizen can show compassion to a villain?” You scoffed, “Boo-hoo, poor Schlatt, must be such a sad life you have.”

He growled, and you grinned at how easy it was to get under his skin, even without your power. “I couldn’t give less of a shit about that. I want to know why he’s trying to recruit new Syndicate members.”

You laughed, “God, you could not have worse of a grasp on the situation. He’s just a nice guy. Came to my bookstore once, offered to walk me home, and we became friends. Is it impossible for villains to have friends?”

“Supervillains don’t have friends. Not without an agenda.”

“What about their healer? He’s a friend, isn’t he?”

“He works for them. He doesn’t count.”

“Well, I clearly don’t work for them. So just leave me alone, why don’t you?”

“Okay, I will let you go. If you tell me one thing.”

Oh, here came the stupid request. “Oh? Let me guess? You want me to tell you Siren’s real name.”

“Obviously.”

“Do you really think he’s that stupid? To let a random civilian he met know his name?”

“No. But I know you’re not just a random civilian he met. Because these photos date back years.”

You tensed a bit, trying to hide any clear facial reaction, “And?”

“And, no one who doesn’t work with him would stick around that long, unless there was something keeping them there. So, you obviously know who he is.”

“Oh, obviously?” You tried to will down the blush on your cheeks. “Is it really that obvious? You don’t know anything about me, and you clearly don’t know anything about Siren.”

“So tell me what I don’t know.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not falling for that, dipshit. If you want information on Siren, you’ve got the wrong person.”

“Yeah, except that can’t be true. I know you have a power you’ve been hiding, and we know that Siren has spent a highly significant amount of time with you, longer than he ever did their healer. And, we have photos of you with him and other Syndicate members at your apartment. So we know you know his identity. But we can figure out other ways to make you talk.”

“Wow, so you’re adding misuse of power against a civilian to your list of crimes? That combined with the kidnapping, not to mention the murder and the numerous times you’ve hurt civilians and destroyed their homes, oh and getting discharged as a Hero?”

That got under his skin, “I have no problem adding torture onto that list.”

“So much for being a hero then.”

His fists curled up, and he slammed it down on the table, “ex-hero, for a reason.” He walked closer, crouching down to be eye-level with you. “So then, you’re really trying to tell me that the numerous dates you’ve gone on with Siren just don’t mean anything?”

“We- They weren’t dates!” Your face flushed dark red, “We’re just friends!” You blatantly tried to ignore the fact that you’d been in love with him for years.

“Your face is telling a different story,” he smirked, “Is he hot under the mask? Or maybe you just like a man with power?”

You moved back from his hand, jaw tensing, as he tried to cup your jaw, “Hm, well, if you aren’t saying anything willingly, I can make you talk.”

He stood again, walking over to the second briefcase, opening it to where you couldn’t see the contents. You didn’t know if you wanted to. “Plus, this is all just a distraction.” He lifted your phone, turning it on, “They’ll be here soon enough. I won’t need you then, I can take down the Syndicate myself.”

A shiver went down your spine, and you prayed that Wilbur hadn’t noticed your absence.

Tubbo was able to find you pretty quickly. Just when he’d thought your phone was too far for a proper ping, he got one with an exact location that he quickly relayed to Siren. Siren was on it almost immediately, but he wasn’t going in alone. He didn’t know who took you, so he was going to be prepared. By enlisting most of the Syndicate to join him. He made it to the location first, but he knew better than to jump in early, especially since he was one of the least physical fighters. He did some surveying, though, spotting a few guards in suits. Suits were the tell of Schlatt, and he mentally cursed the team members for not getting there as fast as he’d wished. He knew Schlatt could be violent, unpredictable, and hot-headed.

The rest of the Syndicate arrived, and Nemesis and Thanatos made quick work of taking down the guards. Which meant it was time to take down Schlatt.

You’d lost track of time. Schlatt had some interesting methods for getting you to talk. Most of them involve hitting you, his ability making it easy to hurt you, if the broken nose and cut lip were anything to go by. But a lot of it was mental. Using taunting words to try and get under your skin.

“It’s going to be so funny when you’re little boyfriend comes here,” he snickered, grabbing your jaw to make you look up at him, “It’ll be even better to make you watch him die.”

He almost seemed drunk the more and more he continued, “Or, maybe, I could hurt him more. Make him watch me kill you slowly. Or,” he chuckled, but the laughter quickly turned maniacal, “I’ll let him kill you. I’ll make him use that shitty fucking voice of his to kill you.”

You snorted, and he raised an eyebrow, “Something about that funny to you?”

You looked up at him, spitting blood out of your mouth, “His voice is real nice, actually. Much better than yours.” You were playing with fire, but you needed to buy time to get him hopefully exhausted enough to give you a chance to escape.

He smacked you, a loud crack reverberating and echoing throughout the warehouse.

“You piece of shit,” he rolled his eyes, moving away from you. He grabbed a water bottle, downing half of it easily. You watched cautiously, becoming all too aware of how thirsty you were.

“What? You want some or something?” He chuckled, walking back over to you, “Be my fucking guest,” he poured the water over your head. You tilted your head back and drank some of it down. Once you’d gotten some of it in your mouth, though, you quickly realized that it was not, in fact, water but instead vodka. You coughed once you realized, spitting out as much as you could.

He laughed as you hissed in pain, the alcohol stinging the wounds he’d left. He went to throw another retort at you, but before he could, the door slammed open.

Just as Schlatt predicted, the entire Syndicate was there. You sat up, watching as Schlatt moved back to his briefcase and pull out a syringe.

“Siren, run!” You yelled, thrashing and trying to draw attention to yourself, “All of you! Run! It’s a trap-”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence as Schlatt stormed over, grabbing you by the hair. “Oh, Jesus, just shut up with your whining,” he rolled his eyes, hitting your temple harshly, sending the chair to the ground and you with it. The ground rushed up to meet you, and the darkness of unconsciousness was quick to follow.

Siren was pissed. Blade quickly began to advance on Schlatt, but Wilbur was faster. It was stupid, he knew he was being stupid to rush in like this, but he was angry. He watched as Schlatt quickly injected himself with something, some odd shimmering yellow liquid, and in seconds, his body started glowing the same yellow. Power enhancers, Wilbur’s mind supplied. He cursed, hanging back to allow Blade to hit first. Zephyrus flew overhead, getting behind Schlatt to prevent him from running. As much as Wilbur wanted to fight, he needed to make sure you were okay.

He rushed over, grabbing a knife from the table that he prayed hadn’t been used on you. The first thing he did when he approached you was check your pulse, thanking anything that would listen that your pulse was still coming through. He cut the ties easily, then he moved onto the power dampener, trying to pry the thing off. He had no clue where the key for it was, but he didn’t have time to waste looking for it. He started breaking it off when he was tugged back, Schlatt having grabbed the back of his collar. He slammed Siren against the wall, grinning at him.

“For a world-class supervillain, you’d think you’d be smarter,” he chuckled, leaning his knee against Siren’s back and pinning him there. He pushed all of his power into his knee, strengthening and solidifying the metal against Wilbur’s back. “You know how easy it was for me to track them down? You made them an easy target, Siren. You’re the reason they’re here,” he pushed his knee further into his back.

“Let me go,” Siren ordered but to no avail.

Schlatt started laughing louder, “What, you think I’m an idiot? You thought I wouldn’t prepare my mask for you?”

Fuck.

Siren didn’t have to fret much longer, though. Blade came up behind Schlatt, driving a sword through his shoulder. He’d put too much power into his knee, leaving the rest of him vulnerable.

The rest of the takedown was easy. They were planning on taking Schlatt in, hopefully, to use as a bargaining chip against the Hero Committee since he was wanted by them. Once Zephyrus had him subdued, Nemesis and Thanatos grabbed his things and started heading back. Siren lingered with Zephyrus, Jester, Blade, and Ender (who’d only shown up to help take anyone who needed healing to Apollo). Siren walked over, ripping Schlatt’s mask off.

Schlatt was still spilling curses and threats against them, but he’d quieted for a moment as Wilbur pulled his mask off, eyes adjusting to the light. Wilbur threw the mask behind him, and a sinister grin spread over his face.

“We need him alive, Siren,” Blade reminded him.

He groaned, huffing softly, “Fine.” He hummed, tilting his head.

“Claw your left eye out, then knock yourself out.”

Wilbur didn’t stay to watch the aftermath, but he heard the groans and screams of pain from Schlatt as he walked back over to you. Ender was waiting next to you, double-checking for any serious wounds.

Wilbur got the rest of the power dampener off, throwing it to the side. He carefully lifted you, making sure to be mindful of your head.

Ender gave him a concerned look, "It looks bad, but they should be okay."

“No, not should be.” Siren snapped his head towards Ender, shaking his head, “I need them to be okay. Bring us to Apollo.”

Ender nodded, placing a hand on Siren’s shoulder. In seconds, they disappeared in a flurry of purple particles, appearing now in Apollo’s clinic in the Syndicate building.

Tommy was sitting by the desk, playing on his DS. He perked up quickly when he heard Ender teleport in, looking up and seeing Siren cradling you. Siren moved forward, placing you down on the doctor’s mat in the center of the room.

Tommy quickly walked over, “Jesus, man, what the fuck happened?” He placed his hands near your head, warmth emitting over them as he began healing you.

“Schlatt happened. But he won’t be a problem anymore,” Wilbur huffed, tearing off his blindfold and coat, draping them over a chair. He paced around the room as Tommy worked on healing.

“You’re going to burn a hole in the floor,” Tommy huffed.

“I couldn’t care less, Toms. They weren’t supposed to be involved with any of this, I’ve fucked it up again, I-I put them in danger,” Wilbur ran a hand through his hair.

Tommy straightened, pulling his hands away as he finished healing, “Don’t start with your self-deprecating shit, man. They know you’re Siren. They’ve stuck around, and they always knew this could happen. You’re not to blame.”

“But I-”

“You weren’t the one who kidnapped them. It’s not your fault,” Tommy sighed, grabbing a glass of water.

Wilbur nodded, walking up to you, still unconscious, “They- they’ll be fine, right? They’ll be okay?”

Tommy took a sip of his water, nodding, “Yeah. Head injury was the worst of it, but it should be all healed up now. They might be a bit foggy when they wake up, though.”

“When will they wake up?”

Tommy shrugged, “Should be soon. Probably an hour or two. Can’t give you an exact time. You should get them somewhere more comfortable before they’re up, though.”

Wilbur nodded, carefully picking you back up, “Thanks, Tommy.”

“You don’t have to thank me, man, it’s my job.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “I want to thank you, dickhead. Now, go to sleep, child.”

“I am n-” Wilbur cut off Tommy’s response by closing the door to Tommy’s clinic behind him. He called Techno, and within a few minutes, Wilbur was being driven home with you still resting in his arms.

“They’re going to be fine, you know that.”

“I know they will be, but they never should’ve been there in the first place. They never asked for this.” Wilbur sighed.

“Oh, please.” Techno snorted, “You tried to scare them away way back when. You even used your ability to try and convince them to not want to be around you.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the same. They turned down the offer to join the Syndicate, which meant they never should’ve been involved with this stuff.”

“Maybe you should ask again,” Techno shrugged. “Even if they don’t want to fight, we could use someone to help out with questioning people. Their ability would work pretty well for that.”

“Techno, I just said they shouldn’t have been involved with this stuff.” Wilbur sighed.

“All I’m saying is if they do become a member, it would be a lot easier to keep them safe. Less loose ends that we can’t keep our eyes on.”

Wilbur bit his lip, nodding with realization, “True. I- yeah. I’ll ask them.”

“Plus, with how in love with them you are, it won’t be long before something like this happens again.”

“I- What?” Wilbur spluttered, eyes widening, “How-?”

“How do I know that? Wilbur, it’s insanely obvious,” Techno laughed, “I have no clue how they don’t know.”

“They won’t know. And you won’t tell them.” Wilbur hissed out.

“Mmhm, okay, sure. Pretty big wimp move for a supervillain.”

Wilbur groaned but didn’t respond past that.

The rest of the car ride was quiet, Wilbur gently playing with your hair gently. He routinely moved a hand to check your pulse, just as a reminder that you were fine and alive and here with him.

He carried you out of the car once Techno pulled up, heading straight to his room. He laid you down gently, placing your head on his lap.

The world seemed fuzzy when you came to. You were too comfortable to open your eyes at first, shifting slightly and letting out a soft groan. Your joints felt sore and stiff, but your face felt even weirder. Your face felt warm but like all of your muscles were new and had never been used before. You scrunched your nose, slowly opening your eyes and letting them get used to the environment around you.

You recognized the room instantly and relaxed as the memories started flooding back to you. The kidnapping, Schlatt, getting knocked out. You heard humming, looking up to see Wilbur leaning against the wall, humming with his eyes closed. He was fidgeting with his fingers and biting at his lip.

You slowly shifted to look up at him fully, “Hey.” Your voice was groggier than you’d expected.

He looked down quickly, “You’re up,” he smiled, “Hi.”

“Did everything go well? With Schlatt?”

He laughed, shaking his head, “God, you just woke up from getting knocked out and tortured, and the first thing you ask is if the fight went well?” He moved a hand to your hair gently, “Are you okay?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, “I feel fine, just a bit tired, I guess. I feel like I’m supposed to feel worse.”

“Tommy healed you,” he supplied.

You sat up slowly, and he carefully placed a hand on your back, keeping it there until you’d gotten in a better position. “He didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine.”

“You would’ve had a concussion and a fracture in your skull.”

“That’s not the worst thing in the world.” You joked and gave him a lopsided grin, and he shook his head, chuckling.

He pulled you into a tight hug, “I’m so fucking glad you’re okay.”

You hugged him back, burying your face against him gently, “I would’ve been fine.”

You were lying. You were not fine, actually. As strong as you acted, you couldn’t deny the slight shake that lay in your hands as you thought about that warehouse and the overwhelming fear the image of that mask in your head put in you.

You could’ve used your ability to make Wilbur believe you. You didn’t honestly have the energy to do so.

“You don’t have to be fine,” he whispered, rubbing your back gently, “I know how terrifying it must’ve been. But it’s okay, you’re safe now.”

Your fists balled up the fabric of his sweater, and the tears started falling soon after. He rubbed your back as you cried, the waves of fear and stress finally coming out. You could only hold it together for so long, and Wilbur would always be there when you finally broke.

By the time you calmed down, you were left with soft gasps of breath and holding Wilbur like a lifeboat. He leaned over to his nightstand, handing you a glass of water. After a moment’s hesitation, he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You drank slowly, not wanting to overwhelm yourself. Wilbur’s kiss didn’t exactly help, but physical affection wasn’t something new to either of you.

As if he knew exactly what you were thinking, he wrapped his arms around you gently, leaning his face against your shoulder. You leaned into his touch, letting your eyes close for a moment.

“He was stalking me. Well, he was stalking you, but he had photos from years ago of us. Of Siren walking me home. Of Blade at my apartment. Of Zephyrus in my living room.”

Wilbur tensed, keeping you a bit closer. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered, “I-I never should’ve let you get involved with the Syndicate stuff, I was so stupid to think something like this wouldn’t happen.”

“Wilbur, you never let me get involved. In fact, you were the one pushing me from getting involved. I chose this. I knew something like this could happen, and I chose to stick by you.”

“You’re not a member of the Syndicate, though. I know you can protect yourself, but I don’t want to be the reas-”

“Wilbur.” You hissed out. “If you even for a moment insist again that this is your fault, I will use my ability to make you believe that the best way to sleep is by falling out the window.” He bit his tongue from responding, nodding. “I didn’t turn down the Syndicate offer because I thought it would keep me safe.” You reached for his hand, taking it and squeezing it tightly. You didn’t know if it was your foggy mental state that made the idea of confessing your feelings so appealing or if it was just the residual fear in your system, but you didn’t care regardless.

“Why did you turn it down, then?” Wilbur asked softly.

“I turned down the Syndicate offer because I was worried about working with you.” You sighed, “It’s hard to focus around you, Wilbur.”

“Me? I don’t understand, we’ve been best friends for years, why would..?”

“That’s the problem. It’s hard to focus around you because I am constantly wishing that you would love me back.”

You held your breath once the words left your mouth. Wilbur pulled away from you, and you felt your heart drop.

“Do you mean that?” He asked softly, moving to sit in front of you.

You nodded, unable to respond further in fear of the tears resurfacing.

Wilbur reached a hand out, pausing and hesitating for a moment. He continued though, gently cupping your cheek.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes widened. “Only if you mean it.”

He smiled softly, leaning forward and kissing you hard. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close as you kissed him back, putting all the passion behind it that you’d wanted to for years.

When he pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, catching your breath slowly. He smiled, fingers lightly tracing your arms.

“So… about joining the Syndicate then,” you started.

He laughed, pulling away to grin at you, “You don’t have to decide anything tonight. But it would be really nice. You probably wouldn’t be on the front lines, but we’d love to have you. Plus, we’d be able to see each other a lot more.” He grinned.

You smiled, “Well, I’ll give you a formal answer in the morning. But as for an informal one, I’d fucking love it.”

He grinned, holding you close once more. You ran your hands up and down his back gently, and he hissed in pain when you reached the midpoint of his back. You pulled away.

“Will? You alright?”

He gave a thumbs up, and you smirked, “Say it out loud.”

He groaned, “I am alright. I am perfectly fine.” You could feel the pressure of his words in your head, and they almost sounded distorted. A clear lie.

“Let me see your back.” You smiled, and he groaned.

“You know how much I hate that I can’t lie to you?” He huffed, turning and pulling his sweater up.

“I know, I know,” you took a good look at his back, frowning at the dark bruise on his back, “Wilbur, you have a huge bruise. Are your ribs okay? It looks like some might be cracked.”

“They feel fine,” he shrugged. The pressure returned to your head, and this time you could feel a sensation of burning below your hands. A big lie, then.

“...I’m texting Tommy.”

“No, do not!”

You already had your phone out, texting Tommy to ask for him to come as soon as possible, both for Wilbur and so you could thank him for healing you.

“Too late,” you smiled, and Wilbur huffed, pulling his sweater back down.

He wrapped an arm around you again, kissing the top of your head, “You’re lucky I love you, Aletheia.”

“I am,” you smiled softly. There was no pressure or warm sensation. He did love you. He meant it. “Alethia? God of… truth, right?”

He nodded, “It’s Techno’s codename for you. He chose it out months ago.”

You smiled fondly, “Cool. Has a nice ring to it.”

He nodded, “I agree. And for what it’s worth, I’m lucky too.” He smiled, and you gave him a gentle kiss.

“We’re both lucky. Maybe our duo name could be Tyche.”

“Oh, god, I’m going to have to deal with so many more Greek mythology references with you in the Syndicate, aren’t I?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

#mar writes #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #lovejoy #wilbur x reader #medlar :3 #siren wilbur soot #tommyinnits clinic for supervillains #siren x reader #sirenbur #siren wilbur soot x reader #clinic!wilbur #clinic wilbur soot

594 notes · View notes

alitheakorogane · 2 years

Text

Freedom's Protection: A Blasphemy or The Truth?

Summary: Venti's outburst shocks everyone, making the people of Mondstadt question everything they knew about their Archon.

This is the third part of Mondstadt's storyline for the Reader Protection Squad SAGAU series.

Note: There are instances of grammatical errors, please bear with me. Also, the entire layout was now changed and I placed a title on them so I could not be confused while I write the next chapters. It's still the same story though.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3 (current), 4, 5, 6, 7

"What if your dear Anemo Archon was also like them, an imposter who also steals someone's face?!"

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

Everyone couldn't believe what the young bard was saying, especially those who are very devoted to Lord Barbatos. The Anemo Archon is also an imposter?

Bennett and Fischl who accompanied him looked at Venti with surprised looks on their faces, while Razor was confused about what happened. On the other hand, you were shocked at what the bard did, even though you had expected him to do something stupid after Eula's harsh statement regarding imposters.

To be honest, you can understand why the usual happy and mischievous bard suddenly snaps out and break down at everyone. Eula's statement may be intended for you but it also applies to Venti's situation, and her scathing words hit the Anemo Archon on a personal level. You guessed that not everyone knows his real story, not even his very devout followers in his church, as you had remembered that only the Traveler was the one who had truly opened up about his real feelings of loss by telling his story about his bard friend in his story quest.

They didn't know who he really is... because all knowledge that the Mondstadters knew about their beloved Archon is from secondary sources, from the words of other people, and not really from Venti himself.

They never knew how hard is to pretend to be someone he really isn't. You know it wasn't his choice to rule a nation, since Andrius had stepped down from being a suitable candidate but Venti had tried his best to fulfill the wishes of his beloved friend before he had died: for Mondstadt to be free.

Mondstadters from the past to the present saw his Archon persona in rose-colored glasses, portraying him as regal, poised, and hardworking as his people (they were also overworked because they thought they can emulate Lord Barbatos' 'hardworking' work ethic) who value the concept of freedom over his domain, not knowing that their Archon is actually a happy-go-lucky troublemaker who has the heart of gold, who really likes apples and Dandelion Wine to the point of breaking the records for most shots a Mondstadter can drink in one go, or how he likes to annoy people with his songs and pranks when he feels like it.

You had sympathized with him, as you and he are similar in some aspects. You always force a bright smile on your face and feel optimistic, even though there are times that you feel like you wanted to give up on everything. You can crack jokes over your so-called friends, laugh at the corniest punchlines, and put up some masks on other people, saying to them that you're okay even though it really isn't.

There is a reason why you loved playing Genshin Impact, it's not because of the waifus or husbandos or you just want to have fun and spend over nothing, but it was an escape from your loneliness and the reality. You feel loved when the game greeted you on your birthday before anyone can and was given you a digital cake even though you know it was coded to be like that. You feel happy when your favorite character had come home and when you listened to their voice lines where they said something good about you.

You think that someone took pity on you and whisk you away to the beautiful continent of Teyvat, but it seems that there's a mistake. The moment you were spat at by the same characters you really loved, you feel like you were really unloved by anyone no matter what world you've been thrown in. You're not suicidal, but at that moment, the urge to throw yourself off the cliff and unto the waters of Cider Lake to drown was very strong.

So when you met Bennett, Razor, and Fischl for the first time and they had befriended you no matter what others say something bad about you, you feel happy that someone had accepted you the way you are, and you wanna cry with tears of joy.

And when Venti, the actual Anemo Archon of Mondstadt, came to your rescue, you feel like you were lucky that someone out there still appreciated your existence. You silently thank whoever is above that gives you some mercy over this forsaken world.

Meanwhile, Barbara Pegg, the lovely Deaconess of the Church of Favonius, couldn't help but ponder over what the bard had said. You had noticed how she was not as defensive as the other nuns present, but you just brushed it off as she was just in shock. You were unfortunately wrong about your assumptions, for you underestimated her just because you know from her game appearances that she was oblivious to her Archon being literally meters away from her.

She may be a devout follower of the Anemo Archon, but as a Gunnhildr, she had access to a certain diary of one of their ancestors living at the time of Decarabian, along with her older sister Jean.

She remembered a passage regarding a wind elf and his human friend who died in the rebellion, after her mother, Frederica, had let her read the family heirloom after Barbara joined the church as a Deaconess.

"The young leader had unfortunately passed away by a stray arrow to the heart, the winds took away his young life so early. We were devastated to see the one who had awakened our hearts and fought for freedom die in the rebellion against Lord Decarabian, but no one grieves more than the Elf, who was with him till the end. The Elf has done the unthinkable after they had ascended into a god by Celestia: they had taken the form of his human friend so he could see the free world under the eyes of the Elf, who was now under the name of Barbatos, the new Anemo Archon of Mondstadt."

Imagine Barbara's surprise when she found out about that, she had never read this information in any Mondstadt history books or tomes she had come across. She knew that her ancestor had been part of the first Mondstadt rebellion against Lord Decarabian, so she could assume that it was a legitimate source.

At the time, she can't believe that Lord Barbatos' current form seen in the statues isn't his, to begin with, for it was based on his human friend who had died in the first rebellion. Today, she had doubts about the issue, especially when the bard had brought it up.

"If that's the case, then it's true that Lord Barbatos is technically an imposter, just like how Mr. Bard had said," she thought to herself, "But how he known about that if that information isn't in the books I have ever read about our Archon? Did I miss a book?"

She looked at her older sister who was still standing with Diluc with a troubled look in her eyes like she was pondering about something. She ever wondered if Jean still remembered the contents of the diary or knew something about Venti. As far as she was concerned, Venti knew the Honorary Knight, Jean, and DIluc personally due to their involvement during the Stormterror crisis.

She knew that Venti can summon Dvalin, one of the Four Winds, when they went to the Golden Apple Archipelago months ago. He is also the only one she can't heal with her Hydro Vision, the first time since she had been blessed by the gods. He had an angelic voice and an exceptional talent for playing the lyre, which to be honest, Barbara was slightly jealous of. And he just recently appeared on Mondstadt, which was coincidentally the time when Dvalin, known as Stormterror that time, had attacked Mondstadt.

Who really is Venti anyway?

"Blasphemy!" One of the nuns screamed as her fellow comrades and citizens agreed with her, "Lord Barbatos isn't an imposter, you blasphemous child. How dare you speak to the Archon that way?!"

"History books had never told the Anemo Archon's whole story!" Venti continued as he lowered his bow down, his right arm wiping the stray tears on his cheeks. You wanted to comfort him, to hug him in your arms, but the situation was so tense that you prefer not to, for now.

"You just knew him because of those books and those spoken stories that always praise him! And in every single one of them, he was portrayed as a divinity who committed no mistakes and made some exceptional deeds just because he is an Archon. You may think that he is perfect, but news flash people, he's not! He's as flawed as any other mortal out there! He should have saved his dear friend if he was as perfect and powerful as you think he was!"

He was glaring at the people in front of him, his aqua-green eyes glowing in intensity, "You had never known that he was originally a wind wisp who had taken the form of a dead friend to honor a wish. He had never saved his dear friend... if only that blasted wind wisp was a second too early, his friend wouldn't have died in the rebellion! That friend of his was the one who started the peak of the rebellion, who had sang songs of freedom, and guess what, no one remembers his name or even his sacrificial deeds!"

Venti closed his eyes as he continued speaking, a look of nostalgia etched in his eyes as he stared at the skies above, "Freedom was given to all of you due to a sacrifice of a human who was now forgotten by history, but his face... his young face now lived on under the facade of Lord Barbatos. Without the bard's final wish, Lord Barbatos would never make freedom his ideal for Mondstadt..."

"...He would never have been the weakest among the Seven Archons if he had never fulfilled his dear friend's dying wish."

"And how would you know about that? Why would you try to defame Anemo Archon Barsibato just to manipulate our minds about the imposter?!" Rosaria harshly interrogated Venti who just spewed some blasphemous information about their Archon, her polearm pointed at the bard.

The nuns of the Church of Favonius had deadpan looks on their faces over Rosaria's mistake over Lord Barbatos' name, while the citizens who believed in the Archon glared at Venti for his statement.

To their surprise, the young Anemo user smiled at them, but they could guess that he was actually smirking. He chuckled as he bowed his head, bangs covering his beautiful eyes. It left people confused and scared, especially the Knights and the Church nuns. They had never seen this side of the bard who they have just known to be as mischievous and happy-go-lucky all the time.

You felt chills when you see his smirk, as you had an image of a young-looking boy with angelic wings who looked at the people with a menacing smile, the bow on his hands was stained in blood. You then realized that you had seen a glimpse of Venti in his Archon form, and it was possible that it was him in the Khaenri'ah disaster 500 years ago!

His Elegy of the End bow was still on his hand as he dared to respond with a playful tone at the young nun, staring at her with a coldness that could rival someone with a Cryo Vision, as if he was scolding a young misbehaving child, "You could say that I am more than just a mere drunkard bard, Miss Rosaria."

"After all, how could I ever spread blasphemous words about myself?"

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

BADASS VENTI IS LIFE.

Well, this is Part 3 of the Reader Protection Squad series of one-shots, where someone is trying to protect the Reader from being pelted down by the Divine Creator's obsessive acolytes.

This one was also cut into two parts, so there is a possible Part 4 regarding Venti helping you off. (sigh) I think I will do a full-blown fanfic if I kept this up. I also write the Reader's inner thoughts, based on my experience. I couldn't help but shed a tear when I wrote this part.

To those who are new to my story, in this series, Venti is part of your protection squad in this Imposter AU concept, one of the two Archons who are going to help you. He is usually the mischaracterized character in SAGAU fics, and I wanted to do justice to my boi's character.

I made Barbara more perceptive than she was on canon, because why not? I made her a book enthusiast, she likes to read books in her free time just like her older sister (if she is not busy with her idol work, practice, healing, and church duties). Her possible favorite books are about Lord Barbatos and his deeds to Mondstadt.

And here's Rosaria and her mishaps with Venti's Archon name...🤣

-----

Taglist: @eimuros, @vvyeislazzy, @ansyistiredsstuff, @haru-tofuu, @coquettemaiden, @voidlesslove, @depressed-bitchy-demon, @yuukaaariyuuu, @g3n0dtt, @misswitchthewindborn, @lumpywolf, @c00kie-cat, @mulandi, @genshin-impacts-me, @bloop-booop

2K notes · View notes

bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove · 9 months

Text

The First Christmas - S.Black

Summary - It’s the first Christmas without the Potters, Y/N and Sirius Black struggling with the very recent loss of their family. Sirius drowning himself in alcohol and Y/N laying in bed, unmoving for days. It takes a certain friend to knock some sense into the couple, to make them realize that they need each other before their marriage falls apart.

Word Count - 1292

Warnings - Female Reader, use of Y/N, Potter!Reader(no physical description given), mentions of not eating, drinking, death of loved ones, grieving, angry Remus, angst, not getting out of bed for days, loneliness, sadness, arguing, crying, not proofread

Author’s Note - Welcome to day 17!! We’re nearly to the end! This one is a bit sad, I don’t know where this came from but as soon as I started writing I couldn’t really stop. I hope you enjoy and please read with caution if anything in the warnings could trigger you.

my masterlist

25 days of fics masterlist

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy and please read with caution, this is not a very happy or uplifting fic!

not my gif

The first thing without a loved one was alway the hardest, it was the first Christmas without her brother for a certain witch. For Y/N Potter, it was unbearable, she had lost her brother and her sister-in-law and her nephew was taken from her to go live with Lily’s muggle sister, Petunia. She was alone for the first time in a long time, always having her brother by her side. One of her brother’s ‘best friends’ had sold them out to Voldemort, Peter Pettigrew was a rat through and through. What had hurt her the most though, was the fact that Remus had practically disappeared and Sirius had been on a bender.

She understood that her own husband was going through the same thing as her, processing his grief and betrayal differently. However, all she wished was that he was home with her, that they would face this together instead of apart. But that wasn’t the case, so instead of even trying to get out of bed, she stayed there. She had lost her blood relatives in one fell swoop, she was glad that baby Harry had survived but she wished that he could be with her. He wished that Dumbledore hadn’t insisted on taking him away from her for his ‘safety’.

She was in bed for nearly 2 days at that point, not wanting to move or talk or eat. She had only gotten up to go to the bathroom and even then that wasn’t very frequent. She felt useless without her brother, without Lily, without her husband present and home. She hadn’t even reacted when she heard the front door open and close, a voice calling her name and Sirius’ name. She hadn’t moved as she heard footsteps get closer to the bedroom door, she knew who it was but she couldn’t find it in herself to move. She hadn’t even looked when the door creaked open, light spilling into the dark room for the first time in over 40 hours.

“Y/N, how are you doing, darling?” She heard him ask, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she threw the blanket over her head to avoid the light hitting her eyes and also seeing someone who she thought she’d never see. “Where’s Padfoot?”

“Out,” She answered shortly, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

“Out where? Has he been drinking?”

“Get out Remus.”

“Not until you answer my question.”

“Get out,” She was defiant, not wanting to be interrogated about the whereabouts of her husband.

“No. Answer my question, has he been drinking?” Remus asked once again.

“Get the fuck out! Just leave me alone! Go find him yourself!” She shouted at him, using all of her energy just to get the words to come out. As if on cue, the front door opened and slammed shut. Sloppy footsteps rang through the house until they reached the bedroom.

“Remus! How have you been my old friend!?” Sirius asked drunkenly, “Hi my love! I’ve missed you, I’ve been out for too long!”

“How long have you been out?” Remus asked, his voice concerned because he knew whatever the answer was, that meant she had been laying in bed for that long.

“Like 2 days I think. I was catching up with some people from Hogwarts and lost track of time,” The drunk man replied, his speech slurring together more and more. Remus’ eyes widened at the statement before dragging his drunk friend out of the room and into the hallway, the bedroom door being closed behind them. Muttering the muffliato spell so she couldn’t hear what he was about to say.

“You need to stop drowning yourself in alcohol and realize that your wife needs you! She probably hasn’t left that bed since you’ve been on your bender! You need to grow up Sirius! The both of you are struggling and you need each other! All I have left is you two so you better grow the fuck up soon!” Remus shouted at his friend.

On the other side of the wall, Y/N was still unmoving from the bed, just staring at the ceiling since pulling the covers off of her head. She felt tears starting to well up, her eyes stinging and her throat hurting. She didn’t want to cry anymore but her body needed her to cry, her body needed her to release whatever grief it could so she could get out of bed. So she cried, and she cried hard. Sobbing hysterically, gasping for breath as she struggled to breathe behind her tears. She was able to spit out her husband’s name between sobs which he had heard.

Hearing his voice fall from her lips in such desperation had sobered him up quicker than anything ever had. He rushed into the room to find his wife sitting up in the bed, knees pulled to her chest and her chest heaving as she tried to breathe. He was at her side in a second, pulling her shaking frame into his arms and holding onto her tightly trying to guide her breathing. “Let it out baby, just let it all out,” Sirius whispered to her, stroking her tangled and greasy hair as she cried.

Remus had entered the room, his heart breaking at the sight of the woman he considered a sister so broken. “Can you go get some water for her? Like a big glass?” Sirius turned to his friend and asked. Remus had nodded and headed towards the kitchen, tears of his own falling with every step he took. He broke down in the kitchen, giving himself a few minutes before calming himself enough to fetch the water he went to the kitchen for.

He had filled a large glass that James had gotten her as a joke, he used to call her camel because of how much water she would drink in a day. Remus let out a watery chuckle at the memory before making his way back to the room. Y/N was still crying but not as hard as she was before, hiccupping as she tried to catch her breath. He had pulled some chocolate out of his pocket, breaking off a piece to hand to her. She let out a laugh as she took the piece of chocolate, popping it into her mouth and chewing. He then handed her the water which she downed in one go.

“Thank you Moony,” She panted as she caught her breath from chugging a huge glass of water. He just shot her a wink and sat at the edge of the bed with the couple. They sat there, soaking in the company in silence for a while. Y/N was feeling a little bit less heavy with two of her favorite people with her, hoping that they felt the same, which they did.

“I miss them,” Sirius broke the silence that had fallen over them, “It’s gonna be hard to get back to semi-normal but we’ll get there. I’m gonna stop drinking so much, it’s not fair to you to be here all by yourself when you’re going through the same thing I am, baby. And Remus, you’re more than welcome to stay here with us, I know it’s not easy for you either.”

“Thanks pads, I think I will. It’ll be better for us to stick together rather than try to do all of our grieving alone,” Remus replied. She had opened her arm that wasn’t trapped against Sirius for Remus to join in. The lycanthrope accepted, scooting himself to her until he felt her arm around his back, throwing his own over her shoulder. It was down to the three of them but together, they would get through anything they put their minds to.

153 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 months

Note

how do u deal with adult loneliness? i’m 22, i live at home but my family’s never been close to do stuff or hang out and work is just not an environment i can be close to people in and all my friends work or live together so i don’t ever get to spend time with them like they do each other so i always feel out of the loop. i come home and just hang out by myself and it’s been making me so sad recently. (i’m so sorry for venting in ur asks but u seem very wise.)

I am so sorry I wrote a massive answer to this and it just didn’t save but most of it wasn’t helpful anyways so let’s do round two of the better points

it’s totally okay to vent if you want, I can’t always answer but I try to when I can cos I know how it feels to really want to tell someone something and feel like you have no one to tell! I am also a very lonely adult, but I used to be even lonelier, and here are the things I do to cope with being lonely and to improve how often I feel lonely

I think we must first poke the relationship between poor self-esteem and loneliness, I hope you love yourself dearly but if you don’t it does tend to make you feel lonelier, so if that’s one of the reasons here is my case as to why you should like yourself more : you said you come home and hang out with yourself and that makes you sad but I actually loved how you phrased it, you’re hanging out with you. Not only are you unique and special and interesting, but you do have the ability to be your own company (though I won’t suggest it’s easy to just suddenly feel content by yourself OR that this will erase the need for connection with others). But I do think that anyone who knows you is experiencing a great privilege and that you should feel that way about yourself, you are amazing, you can do amazing things. my scenario was when you’re with Friend A, you’re not lonely because Friend A is amazing and good company. When Friend A goes home she feels lonely too, but why? Wasn’t she amazing to be around? I think if you can put some weight on the pleasure of being yourself even if that’s like. Even if it’s just that when you’re alone you don’t have to worry about being judged, and you give yourself leniency or something, does that make sense?

My next point is that to cope with loneliness I started writing about wish fulfilment stuff, fics where someone appreciated me, loved me, saw my struggles, and I read those so much. When I first started writing, a thousand words probably took me a week, and I would just constantly reread the things I wrote because they always made me feel less alone, even the process of writing now years later makes me feel less alone. If I couldn’t write I’m sure I’d constantly feel alone because I don’t have many friends either and I don’t see them much!! I feel so out of the loop with everything that I realised I actually can’t deal with social media and the feelings they give me and I deleted them all over again a few weeks ago (besides of course this and one other evil app). It’s actually my big recommendation to everyone ever to get off of social media if you can but I totally understand that it’s not easy and can make it worse rather than better. My point here before is that having a hobby and something to work on and to be with yourself instead of by yourself is a great way to deal.

Other ways I coped with loneliness were jigsaw puzzles (so many), rewatching the same TV shows, movies, reading A LOT, daydreaming, learning how to make friendship bracelets, nature documentaries (especially good to see how huge the world is)

If being alone is upsetting you and you can’t cope, please don’t be afraid to reach out for help. You’re very important, and the way you feel is important to. You don’t have to suffer through any bad feelings even loneliness which may feel incurable alone. In the UK there are lots of free resources (many terrible) but ones I would actually recommend are the Samaritan email service and the SHOUT crisis text line for stress anxiety and depression. Both are busy services which can make the loneliness more exasperating but they can help when you’re feeling awful. I’m really sorry you’re feeling lonely right now because it’s an awful feeling that genuinely goes to the bone, and I hope you feel less alone soon!! I’m sorry if this has assumed anything wrong about you but just based off of how I experienced my worst loneliness and what I did to feel better I hope my advice can help you ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#jade's asks #ily

53 notes · View notes

anton-luvr · 1 year

Note

can you do anton x gender neutral reader where he picks you up from a blind date your friend set up for you and you got stood up and he comforts you and they kiss or whatever 😭 sorry if this it too much

# PROMISE.

𖦹 bestfriend!anton x gn!reader | fluff & slight angst | friends to lovers au 𖦹 note; tysm for requesting!! hope u like it hehe ( •̀ ω •́ )✧ + join my 100 followers req event here!

"It's okay, I'm here."

For the first time that night, relief surges through you.

When your friend set you up for your third blind date of the week, you had a feeling it wasn't going to turn out the way you hoped it would.

And sure enough, it didn't.

Thankfully, you had Anton to come to your rescue; he was at the restaurant your date stood you up at in ten minutes.

"I swear to God, that dude's a jackass for not even showing up." Anton huffs as he leads you to his car, opening the door for you. "Get in, I'll take you home."

Sniffling, you merely nod and get into his car.

The curly haired boy sighs as he gets into the driver's seat.

"You know, maybe you should stop going on these blind dates," he scolds lightly, putting his car into drive. "They're starting to take a toll on you."

You didn't want to agree, but he was right.

For the past few months, you had been going on blind date after blind date, just to meet weirdos or get rudely rejected, which left your self-esteem wounded.

But for some reason, today hurt even more than usual.

Maybe it was because of the endless months of loneliness stacking up against you, nights spent alone in your bed.

Maybe it was seeing all of your friends happy with their partners, a bittersweet pain piercing at your heart in wonders when it was going to be your turn.

Maybe it was the stupid delusion that things would work out this time with a complete stranger that your friend said was "nice".

"God, I hate this." you groan, right before bursting into tears.

Anton feels terrible to see you crying, and he quickly pulls over by the side of the road.

"Hey, hey," he says softly, rubbing your shoulders. "It's okay."

"It's not okay!" you sputter, tears falling down your cheeks freely now. "I try and try and try, but I never find someone! Am I that hard to love?"

A sob escapes from your throat and you bury your face in your hands.

Anger boils in Anton's chest, upset to see you hurt thanks to irrelevant strangers who didn't know your worth.

But he lets you cry it out, his hand never leaving your shoulder as he rubbed comforting circles.

"Feel better?" he asks gently, passing you a tissue when your sobs finally quiet down to sniffles.

You shake your head, eyes puffy.

"I feel like shit, Anton." you admit, leaning back against the headrest.

He sighs, softly wiping away a stray tear.

"Listen to me." he says firmly.

"You're one of the most hardworking, gorgeous, talented, funniest, and most caring person I've ever met. Don't let these stupid idiots define your worth. You'll find the right one for you eventually, I'm sure."

You smile sadly at his words, chuckling.

"Yeah, maybe after ten years." you murmur.

Anton scoffs, folding his arms.

"Go on a date with me then."

Your turn to face him so fast, you hear a small crack in your neck.

"M-Me? You?" you stammer, pointing at him and yourself.

Anton doesn't know where his sudden streak of confidence came from, but he nods and leans in closer.

"Give me a chance," he whispers against your lips, cupping your cheek. "I promise I'll treat you right."

It sounds like a line right out of a cringy rom-com, but the genuine sincerity and adoration shining in his eyes says otherwise.

Your heartbeat rings in your ears, thoughts flying through your mind at the speed of light.

Never in a million years would you expect to be face to face with your best friend, his lips just millimeters away from yours right after he asked you out.

Yet it all made sense.

He was always there for you, be it at your lowest or your highest. He knew you like the back of his hand, remembering your favorite coffee order and your favorite songs.

So without hesitation, you close the distance.

Now, you've always wondered what your first kiss would be like, building up all sorts of different scenarios in your head before you slept.

But kissing Anton right now was better than anything else you could imagine.

His lips were so soft against yours, his sweet cologne tickling your nose as he pulled you closer to him. The kiss deepens, and all the noise in your head silences.

It's still silent when he slowly pulls away, his lips swollen and slightly breathless.

"I promise." Anton repeats, sealing it with a soft kiss to your cheek.

It was such a romantic moment, until your stomach grumbling loudly interrupted it.

Your eyes widen, and the both of you burst out laughing. "I think my stomach likes your promise," you joke, slightly embarrassed.

Anton giggles at this, kissing you on the cheek again. "Let's get you some food then, hm?"

You nod as Anton puts the car into drive again.

As he speeds down the roads, he keeps one hand interlaced with yours while the other steers effortlessly.

"Do you want McDonald's? Or something like Waffle House?" he asks, eyes flickering between the GPS and the road.

"Anything is fine," you assure him, squeezing his hand. "I love free food."

Anton laughs, jokingly rolling his eyes at you.

"Anything for my favorite person in the world." he whispers, smiling at you.

"It's giving simp behavior." you tease, cheeks flushing red nevertheless.

He gasps dramatically, clutching his heart as if it was wounded.

"Okay, no more free food then," he declares, shrugging.

"Hey, I was just joking!" you protest.

He laughs again, slowing down the car as he starts parking.

"Alright, time to be a simp and get you your free food!" he announces cheerfully, turning off the engine.

You've barely taken your seatbelt off when he's already out of the car, running to open your door for you.

"I see that chivalry's not dead," you say, taking his stretched out hand as you step out of his car.

"Simp behavior, remember?" he boasts.

You laugh, holding on to his warm hand.

"My best simp."

#riize #riize fluff #riize angst #riize fics #anton #riize anton #riize icons #riize headers #riize moodboard #kpop #kpop fluff #kpop fics #kpop angst

269 notes · View notes

campingwiththecharmings · 2 years

Text

Invisible String

AN: This is another one I started back in July of 2022 and am just now finishing! I had intended for it to be cute and kinda funny but it ended up being a little...I don't think angsty is the right word, but it has a little more feels than I'd anticipated lol. I dunno, I like how it turned out. Hope you all do too! ❤️

(Un-beta’d)

You're a new medic in the Resistance and you keep running into a certain pilot in the medbay.

Rated: T Words: 6,019 Pairing: Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Warnings: feelings of loneliness, mutual pining, a little awkwardness (but like the sweet kind not the cringey kind) (i hope lol), references to violence, injuries of varying degrees AO3

——————

The Resistance base on D’Qar was bigger than you’d expected. Then again, most things were bigger than the little outpost you’d called home for the last few years. When you’d heard HQ needed medics, you’d jumped at the chance to leave the backwater moon you’d been stationed on. Now that you’re here, though, you’re wondering if you’d made the right decision. Every day here is somehow more chaotic than the last and, while you feel like you’re adapting pretty well, you’re a little lonely. Sure, you’re friendly with people, especially the other medics, but making friends isn’t exactly at the top of most people’s to-do lists these days. Everyone’s too busy. Too busy to show you around the base, too busy to get a drink with you, too busy to get to know you….

Needless to say, it’s been a rough couple of months.

“Hey,” someone calls, dragging you from your thoughts, “Can I get some help over here, please?”

Two men enter the bustling medbay, one of which seems to be supporting the other. Without a second thought, you rush over, pulling on a pair of gloves as you go.

“What happened?” you ask the man who appears to be uninjured, gesturing him over to a free bed in your section.

“He hit his head,” the man says, nodding toward his friend as he helps him sit on the bed.

"I swear to the Maker that ladder came out of nowhere," the other man mutters, grimacing a little as the gash on his forehead oozes slightly.

You nod, grabbing a clean towel and gently pressing it against the wound. The man hisses, flinching at the pressure.

“Sorry,” you mutter, chewing on your lip as you search your pockets for your work light with your free hand. When you find it, you turn your attention back to the uninjured man.

“Hold this,” you instruct, indicating the towel on the injured man’s forehead. He does as asked, watching as you tilt his friend’s chin up and briefly shine your light in his eyes.

“What’s that do?” the injured man asks, squinting into the light.

You move it a couple more times before clicking it off and putting it away. “I'm checking you for a head injury.”

“And?” the other man asks, looking a little concerned.

You glance at him, smiling softly as you search the cart beside the bed for a bacta patch. “He’ll be fine.”

“See, Finn? I told you,” the injured man grumbles before pushing himself up from the bed.

“Whoa,” you say, bracing your hands on his shoulders when he wobbles a little, “Take it easy.”

Your touch pulls his attention to you and he stops, gaze locking with yours. Something in his eyes makes you feel seen, exposed, and your face warms a little.

“Yeah, Poe, take it easy,” Finn scolds as he helps his friend sit back down.

You look away, mentally shaking yourself as you prepare the bacta patch for his head.

“He wasn’t gonna come, you know,” Finn tells you, pointing at his friend. “I had to practically drag him here.”

You briefly glance at the two men and see Poe rolls his eyes. “That’s because I’m fine. Right, Doc?”

“You are fine, yes,” you agree, ignoring the (incorrect) honorific as you gingerly place the patch over the gash in his forehead, “But it doesn’t hurt to make sure.”

Finn makes a noise of agreement and you bite back a smile as you finish applying the bandage.

“Well, you’re all set,” you say, meeting Poe’s eyes with a teasing brow. “Try not to walk into any more ladders.”

Finn snorts, clapping his friend on the back. Poe chuckles, looking sheepish as he briefly glances away from your amused gaze. “I’ll do my best.”

—

You’re bored.

It’s the middle of the night, you’re the only medic on shift, and you’re bored.

You sigh, shifting on your stool then wincing when the muscles in your lower back protest. The metal wheels squeak as you stand and stretch with a groan. It’s been slow tonight, which you guess is a good thing, but it certainly isn’t making your shift go by any quicker.

Just as you’re wondering how you’re going to spend the next few hours, the medbay door slides open. You turn, gazing at a coughing, soot-covered man and a white and orange droid.

“Maker, what happened?” you ask, ushering him over to the closest bed.

“Engine fire,” he explains between coughing fits.

You nod, quickly grabbing a breath mask from the cabinet and racing back over to him.

“Here,” you say, helping him fit the mask over his mouth and nose.

He nods in thanks as another coughing fit causes his dark curls to fall into his eyes.

“Deep, slow breaths, okay?” you instruct softly, a soothing hand on his shoulder.

He nods again, coughs subsiding a little as his breathing steadies. You study him in silence for a moment when you realize you’ve met before.

“Poe, right?” you guess, smiling slightly when he meets your eyes and nods a third time. “Are you injured anywhere else?”

“Don’t think so,” he croaks, his voice slightly muffled by the breath mask. “Didn’t burn my eyebrows off, did I?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “No, it appears they’ve been spared.”

“Well, thank the Maker,” he jokes as another cough wracks his body.

The droid beside him beeps angrily and Poe sighs wearily. You bite back a smile, fighting the urge to chuckle at the interaction. “What’s he saying?”

He waves a hand at you as if to say it doesn’t matter, and this results in even more beeps from the droid.

“Seems like he’s a little upset with you,” you deduce, shooting him a knowing look.

He scoffs, his breathing almost normal now. “That’s an understatement,” he mutters, briefly glancing at the little droid.

“Why? What’d you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?”

Silent, you raise a teasing brow at him.

He huffs a laugh after a moment, the action sending him into another, albeit less intense, coughing fit.

“Easy,” you say softly, adjusting the seal of the mask on his face.

He nods, his eyes briefly locking with yours before his attention is pulled away once more by his droid. It beeps at him again, this time sounding more morose than angry. Poe sighs, his shoulders sagging a little as he reaches down to lay a hand on the little droid’s head. “I know, buddy. I’m glad you’re okay too.”

Your heart swells at the exchange and you briefly turn away to give them a little privacy. After a minute or two, you turn to check the gauge on the breath mask. His oxygen levels are now above normal, despite the occasional coughing fit, so you remove it and set it aside.

“Small sips,” you instruct, handing him a cup of water.

Poe mumbles a thanks and takes it from you, his fingers brushing against yours. You ignore the jolt that zips through you at his touch, turning away again to busy yourself with your next task.

When you return a moment later with a damp cloth, he furrows his brow in confusion. “What’s that for?”

“I just want to make sure there are no other injuries before I discharge you,” you say, smiling as you gesture to his soot-covered face.

“Right,” he laughs, shifting a little on the bed.

You angle his chin up and begin gently wiping the grime off his face. You work in silence, feeling Poe’s eyes on you as you turn his head this way and that. When the cloth you’re using is no longer clean, you stop, turning away with the intention of getting another. As a result, you almost trip over Poe’s droid.

“Oh,” you exclaim in surprise as the droid rolls back a bit, cocking its head to look up at you. “Hello.”

He beeps at you happily and you chuckle.

“Sorry. This is BB-8,” Poe says from behind you, fondness in his voice.

“It’s nice to meet you, BB-8,” you say, introducing yourself as you crouch down to the droid’s level. “Is it safe to assume you’re the reason Poe still has his eyebrows?”

Poe snorts and you can’t help the warmth that unfurls in your chest at the sound. BB-8 beeps excitedly at you again in response and you find yourself wishing that you understood Binary.

“How long have you two been together?” you ask, turning your head to direct the question to Poe.

He shrugs. “At this point, I can’t really remember a time when we weren’t.”

Your smile is a little sad as you stand to your feet, his brown eyes warm when you meet them. “Sounds nice. Always having someone, I mean.”

There’s a pause as you turn, walking to the cabinet and rifling through it in search of another cloth. When you find one, you move toward the sink in the corner to wet it, squeezing out the excess liquid so it doesn’t drip all over the floor. You lower yourself back onto your stool upon your return, rolling it in front of him. When you meet his eyes again, that something is there, the something you’d seen when you’d first met, and you know that he sees you.

You smile numbly, averting your gaze as you begin to clean the soot from his face again.

“You just transferred here, right?” he asks, his voice soft.

Your eyes flick back to his briefly before refocusing on your task. “Yeah, a few months ago.”

He makes a contemplative noise as you finish cleaning the soot from his skin. “How are you liking it?”

You sniff a laugh, turning slightly to prepare bacta patches for the minor scrapes and singes on his face. “We’re at war. Is anyone liking it?”

“Fair point,” he chuckles, absently drumming his fingers on his thighs. “There are still things to enjoy though, even in the midst of war.”

“Such as?”

“Family, friends…flying.”

“Sounds like a personal motto,” you tease, applying the last bacta patch.

He chuckles again, the sound filling you with a giddiness you haven’t felt in what feels like years. “I guess it kinda is.”

You smile, smoothing the edges of the patches over his skin one more time before allowing your eyes to meet his again. There’s a warmth and kindness there that makes you want to curl up in his lap like a loth cat. There’s something else too, something you can’t quite name, something that makes your stomach flip and your palms sweat. You’re staring, you know you are, but you can’t make yourself look away. He’s close, so close, you hadn’t realized how much, your body unconsciously leaning toward him, toward his comforting warmth—

“Also the smoked lizard.”

You blink, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

He snorts, briefly flicking his eyes away as a flush climbs up his neck. “It’s another reason to like it here. The smoked lizard.”

You laugh, chewing on your bottom lip. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

A slightly awkward silence falls between you and you will yourself to be professional, to be normal for two kriffing seconds.

“Well, um, you’re good to go, I think,” you say, rising from your stool and picking up the tray beside the bed. ��I trust BB-8’ll stop you from getting into any more trouble. Tonight, at least.”

The droid beeps cheekily and Poe smiles, nodding as he stands to his feet. “Thanks, Doc.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, fingers clenching on the tray as you meet his eyes again. “Take care of yourself this time, will you?”

“I’ll try,” he chuckles, rubbing that back of his neck. “Come on, buddy.”

The little droid whistles and beeps, swiveling his head toward you as if saying it’s own thanks, before rolling out the medbay door on Poe’s heels.

—

“Hey, someone’s asking for you.”

You look up from your data pad, head still running through the details of the medical chart you’d just been reading. “What?”

The medic speaking to you is new and you’re still having trouble remembering her name. Taia, maybe?

“Someone’s asking for you. In the front,” she repeats, gesturing back toward the medbay.

Your brow furrows in confusion. “For me?”

She blinks at you. “Yeah.”

“Who is it?” you ask, oblivious to her agitation.

She sighs, gesturing again to the medbay. “Will you just…come out here, please? Maker.”

You watch as she walks away, moderately amused by her impatience. As you follow her out onto the floor, you look in the direction of your assigned section that day and see—

“Poe?”

His head shoots up at the sound of his name, brown eyes warming with recognition as they lock with yours. A smile curls on his lips as you head over to him, one that makes something tingle beneath your skin.

“Hey,” he says, raising his hand awkwardly in a wave.

You do a quick once over and don’t notice any obvious injuries. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He nods, smile shifting into something closer to a cringe. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just uh–”

Instead of finishing, he gestures to his hand, which you now see he’s holding somewhat awkwardly in his lap.

“Oh, what happened?” you ask, pulling on your gloves.

He shrugs, averting his gaze like he’s embarrassed about something. “It’s nothing really. I was fixing something on my ship and got a little cut. I just don’t want it to get infected, you know?”

You nod, reaching out to gently take his hand. “Of course, I understand.”

He nods, swallowing thickly as you peel back his fingers to assess the damage. You bring his hand closer to your face to get a closer look, gently turning it this way and that.

“Right,” you begin, meeting his gaze again. “It’s not bad, like you said, but it is a little deep so I think we should put in a few stitches just to be on the safe side.”

He nods again, licking his lips. “Whatever you say, Doc, you’re the expert.”

You smile, gaze flicking briefly to his mouth. You avert your eyes immediately, skin warming with embarrassment as you turn away to retrieve the items you need from your tray.

“Alright, just, don’t move okay? This might sting a bit,” you instruct, guiding his hand to rest on the bed beside him.

“Okay,” he mumbles, watching as you push his fingers away from his palm.

You work on cleaning the cut first, making sure there’s nothing there that could cause an infection. Once that’s finished, you carefully weave in a few stitches and finish up with a bacta patch.

“There you go,” you say, before looking up at him with a smile.

He smiles back, butterflies erupting in your belly at the sight. “Thanks.”

You nod, maintaining eye contact for Maker knows how long (you certainly don’t), before the clatter of a tray overturning brings you back to reality. Your eyelashes flutter as you quickly stand with the intention of gaining some distance, only to end up even closer than you had been.

“I, um–,” you begin, finally tearing your gaze from his, “I’m going to give you a salve to put on your hand once the stitches dissolve. It’ll help with scarring.”

“Great.”

You smile awkwardly as you turn to head toward the supply cabinet in the corner. On the way over, you berate yourself for behaving so unprofessionally, staring at Poe like some lovesick kid with a crush. You pull the cabinet door open when you reach it, staring blankly at the shelves for a moment. You're not sure what it is about him that has you acting this way, but you really need to nip it in the bud; he’s here for medical attention, not you.

Resolved, you take a breath, grabbing the salve and heading back over your patient.

“Here you go,” you say, annoyed at yourself by how breathless you sound as you hold the salve out to him.

As he takes the small container from you, his fingers brush yours, causing your gaze to automatically return to his. His eyes are as warm as his smile, glowing with something you can’t quite place, something you want to drown in.

“Right,” he rasps after a moment, clearing his throat as he stands to his feet. “Well, I don’t wanna take up anymore of your time. Thanks again, Doc.”

“Any time,” you respond, far more nonchalant than you’re actually feeling.

He turns to wave as he walks out the door, almost running into one of the other medics. You bite back a laugh as he apologizes, the tips of his ears reddening a little in embarrassment. He catches your eye one more time before leaving, an almost shy smile on his lips, and you allow yourself to consider, just for a moment, that maybe you were wrong, maybe he was here to see you. You smile at the thought, however unlikely it might be.

—

Most of the pilots are off world training today, so the base is pretty empty. As a result, Dr. Kalonia had given most of you the morning off. You greet your fellow medics as you make your way to the back to stash your things, smiling amiably as you make eye contact with a few of them. They mumble their “good mornings” back, already tired from their late night or early morning shifts. When you return to the front, you check the clipboard to find that day’s assignment. As you hurry over to your station, you mentally run through the list of things you need to check your medical cart for. So lost in your thoughts are you, you don’t even realize there’s already a patient at your station until you reach it.

“Hey,” you say, a little surprised.

“Hey,” Poe responds, grimacing slightly.

“Back already, huh?” you say, a teasing eyebrow raised. “Are you really this accident prone or did you just need an excuse to come see me again?”

He chuckles, averting his gaze as a flush creeps its way up his neck.

“I, uh, I think my foot might be broken actually,” he responds, shooting a mildly dirty look in the direction of BB-8. “BB ran over it.”

The droid beeps indignantly at the accusation, drawing your attention as you pull on a pair of gloves. Whatever BB says makes Poe scoff.

“Hey buddy, you’re a lot heavier than you realize.”

The droid beeps again, head wobbling back and forth indignantly and you have to bite back a laugh when Poe shoots you a mildly exasperated look..

“How ‘bout I just take a look,” you say, sitting on your stool and rolling it in front of him.

He nods, hissing a little when you remove his boot and sock, setting them on the stretcher beside him.

“Does it hurt anywhere specifically or just all over?” you ask, examining his foot for any signs of bruising.

“My toes. They’re definitely broken.”

BB-8 beeps again, almost sarcastically, you think, and Poe sends another glare in the droid’s direction. “I am not being dramatic.”

You bite back a smile as they continue to bicker back and forth, your attention fixed on the appendages in question. Poe has no adverse reaction to your prodding and wiggling, and you’re beginning to think that BB might actually be right, until you get to his pinky toe.

He halts midargument, sucking in a breath and grabbing at his leg.

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly grabbing some medical tape from your cart and slowly wrapping it around both his injured toe and the one beside it.

He muffles a groan of pain as you complete your task, gently lowering his foot off of your lap.

“Okay?” you ask with a slight grimace.

He takes a steadying breath and nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good,” you say, offering him a small smile. “It’s hard to know for sure if it’s broken given our lack of equipment but I taped it up just in case. Just stay off of it as much as you can and redo the tape every few days until your pain subsides.”

He nods again as you finish, meeting your gaze as you hand him a roll of medical tape. “Got it. Thanks.”

His hair is a little unkempt, stray curls falling across his forehead and into his eyes. You try not to stare, you really do, but Maker he’s just so pretty and you’re only human.

It’s then that you notice that he’s staring at you too, brown eyes slowly roaming your face as if taking in every detail, his brows furrowed a little in concentration. Your heart skips in your chest at the realization, warmth flaring beneath your skin—

Does Poe Dameron like you?

Sure, you’d joked about it earlier, but the thought had never seriously crossed your mind before; why would he like you, anyway? You’ve only met a few times before this and none of them were outside of the medbay. No, he’s just accident prone, you think, your stomach sinking with disappointment.

You break away first, shaking your head slightly, as if to shake off your thoughts. Your movement brings him back to reality too, you assume, because he looks away almost immediately after you do, eyes falling to study his hands.

Before either one of you can say anything else, BB-8 beeps at Poe, whose head snaps so quickly in the droid’s direction, you’re surprised he didn’t pull something.

“What?”

The droid beeps again and whatever he says makes Poe immediately lean over and whisper furiously at him. BB beeps again, sounding impatient.

Before you can even think to intervene, someone on the other side of the room calls your name.

“Oh sorry, I’ve gotta—” you begin, pointing toward the commotion starting to unfold.

Poe nods, looking a little pained. “Yeah, of course. Thanks again, Doc.”

You shoot them both a smile before turning away, grabbing your data pad off of your tray before jogging across the room.

—

It’s been a few weeks since you last saw Poe. Apparently, the General had sent him out on some super top secret mission with no word on when he might return (not that you’d asked or anything…).

Is it weird to admit that you miss him? Can you miss someone you don’t even really know that well?

And yet, you do. Miss him, that is. You miss his kind eyes, his smile, his back and forth with BB-8, his (apparent) penchant for clumsiness, him calling you ‘Doc’ even though you’re not a doctor—

Kriff.

You sigh, dragging your hand over your face as you walk down the hall you know will lead you back to the medbay. They’re short staffed today—a bout of flu had run through the medics on the night shift and everyone else had had to work doubles for the last week as a result. It’s bustling when you return and you immediately throw yourself back into the fray; it’s only the middle of your shift, you’re exhausted.

Once there’s a bit of a lull, Dr. Kalonia sends you and a few other medics who look dead on their feet to the back to grab a little sleep. Normally, you’d try to protest, but you honestly don’t have the energy to fight her on it right now. You pass out the second your head hits the pillow.

The blaring of sirens rips you from sleep, the sound making your blood run cold.

The base is under attack.

You scramble to your feet, almost running into one of the other medics as you head to the front, struggling to remember your training. It’s a bit chaotic, but most of the medics manage to keep their heads cool, doing whatever they need to do for the good of the Resistance. It bolsters you, gives you the courage you need to do the same. That’s why you’re here after all.

After about fifteen minutes, the sirens abruptly stop, the sudden silence almost deafening to your ears after the loud blaring of the alarm. Everyone’s confused, including the doctor, who immediately grabs her comm to try and get some answers. The tension in the room is palpable as you wait, unsure of what’s happening; are you still under attack? Were you ever? Was this some kind of drill the General ordered just to see how everyone would respond?

You don’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, a group bursts into the medbay with someone on a stretcher. One of them calls for the doctor and she immediately jumps into action, calling on a few of the medics nearby for assistance. You hang back, watching with nervous bewilderment, still wondering what’s going on. Someone shifts, creating an opening in the crowd huddled around the patient, and you catch a flash of bright orange—a pilot.

Your mind immediately thinks of Poe, panic tightening your chest…until you remember he’s out on a mission. He’s fine, you think, turning away from the commotion in an effort to distance yourself from your thoughts. And even if he wasn’t, he’s not yours to worry about anyway, right?

Yours. The word makes your chest ache.

As you check on the patients in your section, making sure their vitals are all still stable, you hear a shout from across the room. You turn your attention toward them just to make sure they don’t need help, before returning your attention to your tasks. There’s another shout, but this time you don’t bother giving it your attention; there are closer medics than you. A few moments later, Dr. Kalonia herself calls your name.

When you turn around, several medics wave you over.

“He’s asking for you,” the doctor says when you reach them, gesturing toward the patient on the stretcher. “Just keeps saying your name over and over.”

“Me?” you question, baffled as you step a little closer, anxiety settling in your gut.

She nods somewhat impatiently. “Just let him know you’re here so we can continue.”

“O-of course,” you mutter, scrambling into the opening they create for you.

You pause when you see the pilot, mouth falling open in surprise. He’s bloody and bruised, eyes closed tight as he writhes in pain, orange flight suit pretty much torn to shreds—

Poe.

The doctor calls your name again, shaking you from your surprise. Immediately, you lean in close so he can hear you. You tell him that you’re there, that he’s safe, that you’re going to help him, your voice low and soft. He doesn’t respond, just keeps mumbling your name over and over again, clearly in distress, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. You try again, voice calm as you clasp his hand in yours, your free hand pushing back his blood and sweat-soaked curls. One of his eyes opens slightly at your touch and, while you’re not sure he can actually see you, you smile. He squeezes your hand then, and your smile widens, relief flooding through you. Your name continues to fall from his lips, but it’s less anxious now, more content.

Once Dr. Kalonia and her team stabilize him, they move him to the quietest corner of the room in the hopes that he can get some rest. His care is transferred to you, your other patients redistributed among the other medics. He’d stopped murmuring your name a while ago, the meds the doctor had given him finally kicking in and easing his pain. He doesn’t let go of your hand though. You could probably slip out of his hold easily enough, especially in his current state, but you find that you don’t really want to.

You find out later that Poe’s mission had (apparently) gone awry and he’d been forced to commandeer a First Order ship in order to make his escape; that explained the base alarms and the sudden cessation of them, at least. As for what had been the cause of his many injuries, you weren’t told (classified information, apparently). Doesn’t really matter though, you suppose, so long as he’s alright.

You’d cleaned him up the best you could given the circumstances (sponge baths only helped so much, after all), gently washing his hair, his face. The doctor had come by a few times to check on him (and one other time to try and convince you to return to your quarters to get some sleep). You can tell that she wants to know why he’d asked for you, why your mere presence had calmed him, why you now refused to leave his side. The truth is, you don’t really know. You know you feel a connection to him, one that you don’t have with anyone else, but you’re not really sure what it means. Do you love him? No, it’s too soon for that, you think, you barely even know him. Still, something in your soul calls to him, yearns for him. You wonder if he feels that something too.

It’s later in the evening now, the chaos from earlier having passed. The medbay is quiet, most of the day’s patients either having been discharged or are already asleep for the night. You’re still at Poe’s bedside, eyelids drooping as you fight to stay awake. You know you should leave, should get some rest, but he might wake up while you’re gone and you don’t want him to wake up alone. His hand is still clasped loosely in yours, his skin warm and dry. You stare at it, at the dried blood still beneath his fingernails, wondering idly if it’s his own or someone else’s; what had he gone through to get back here? What he had lost?

At some point, you must doze off because one moment you’re staring at Poe’s hand and the next you’re waking with a start. You groan as your neck twinges, the angle at which you’d been laying with your head half on his bed making it ache.

“I know what you mean,” a familiar voice rasps softly.

Your eyes immediately shoot up to meet theirs—warm brown, tinged with mild amusement and fondness.

“You’re awake,” you say, cringing a little at yourself for stating the obvious. “How are you feeling?”

Poe smiles, then immediately winces as he shifts, his hand pressing into his side. “Spectacular.”

You grimace, eyes sweeping over him in assessment. “Can I get you anything? Water? More pain meds?”

He chuckles, then immediately winces again. “I’m good. Thanks.”

You nod, unsure of what to do or say next; you’ve gotten so used to taking care of him, it feels odd to just sit here now.

“Where’s BB-8?” you ask, only just now realizing the little droid hadn’t accompanied the pilot to the medbay.

Poe frowns, averting his gaze. “He got hit pretty bad before we got on the ship. They said the mechanics are working on him, but no one’ll tell me any more than that.”

“I can find out for you,” you offer, moving to stand to your feet.

He stops you, grasping your hand, wincing as the movement aggravates his injuries. “No, it’s fine. I–he’s in good hands. I’m just…worried is all.”

You nod, reclaiming your seat beside him. Silence falls between you, and while he seems perfectly comfortable, you can’t help but feel a little anxious.

“Thank you, by the way,” he says softly after a moment, his gaze falling to your clasped hands. “I…don’t remember much, but I remember hearing your voice. Not sure I’d be sitting here if it wasn't for you.”

You clear your throat, skin heating with embarrassment as you shift awkwardly in your seat. “Of course. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He meets your eyes again, that ever-present something in his gaze making your stomach flip. “Me too.”

You keep him company for a little bit, the two of you swapping stories and telling jokes. He tells you about growing up on Yavin IV, about his parents and, in turn, you tell him about your homeworld, about your past. Dr. Kalonia stops by at the shift change, again trying to convince you to return to your quarters for some proper rest. You try to decline, but Poe insists, and it’s the care and concern in his eyes that ends up persuading you.

Weariness settles into your limbs as you shuffle down the hall, the events of the past couple of days catching up to you as the last dregs of adrenaline finally wear off. As you walk, you think about the time you’d spent with Poe and you smile, realizing he’d given you exactly what you’ve been longing for since you arrived here on D’Qar—a chance to connect, to be seen. When you finally make it to your quarters, you fall onto your bed, your brain going fuzzy as sleep rushes in quickly to claim you.

—

When you return to the medbay the next day, you spot Poe standing beside his bed with his back to you—he’s been discharged, you realize, disappointment sinking in your belly as you watch him pack up his things. It’s not that you aren’t glad he’s well enough to leave, you are of course, you’ll just…miss keeping him company.

You sigh, forcing yourself to look happy as you make your way over to him. If nothing else, you should at least tell him goodbye.

“Hey,” you greet, leaning against the side of the bed.

He turns at the sound of your voice, eyes brightening when they meet yours. “Hey.”

“You’ve been liberated, I see,” you say, gesturing toward the bag on the chair beside the bed.

He chuckles, wincing slightly at the action. “That’s one way to put it.”

You nod, momentarily averting your gaze. “Heading to a briefing?”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Gonna go pick up BB actually.”

The knowledge that the little droid is alright makes your heart lighten and your smile softens. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

“I’ll be glad to see him too,” Poe agrees, smiling fondly as he slings the strap of the bag over his shoulder.

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say, something that’ll keep him there just a little longer.

“Thanks again…for everything,” he says finally, his gaze soft and open as it holds yours.

You nod, swallowing thickly as your heart stutters a little at the intensity there; you’re not sure anyone has ever looked at you like this, has made you feel like this, and you’re beginning to think it’s not just you. Should you do something? Say something? Who knows when you’ll see him again. You open your mouth, the words sticking in your throat as you try to force them out—

In the end, you can’t, your courage waning at the last second as you force your eyes from his. You sigh, frustrated with yourself.

“Please at least try to take care of yourself this time, okay?” you croak, wetting your suddenly dry lips.

He chuckles again, and you have to bite back a smile at the sound.

“But if I did that, I wouldn’t have an excuse to see you,” he quips; his tone is teasing but the words make your heart skip nonetheless.

You scoff, waving a hand as you meet his eyes again. “Please, you don’t need an excuse.”

“No?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay. How about later then?”

Your eyes widen a little with surprise; he’s not…is he?

“Later?” you ask, trying not to get your hopes up.

He shrugs, his smile almost shy as he scratches the back of his neck. “You said I didn’t need an excuse.”

That something is in his eyes again; that something you can’t exactly give a name to but feel in your soul, that something that seems to connect you both somehow.

“Okay,” you say, chewing on your bottom lip. “One condition.”

“Name it,” he says, brown eyes shining.

“It has to be outside of the medbay.”

He laughs, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “Deal.”

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notifications.

Addendum - First "Date"

#poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron reader insert #my fic #should've called this 'something' with how often i used the word lmao

495 notes · View notes